Evening Star Newspaper, January 31, 1874, Page 2

FaR APART. Beneath the quaint old bridge you hear The ake music as they pa-s, And, windi —— —— pars oe You see the way throu, 5 Whore we wore wont to walk, alas! ‘The river wanders as of old Beneath the shade of willow-trees: ‘The saniit waters gieam like gold And ripple to the gentle breeze; But I am far from thee and these! The sky ben ts over, broad and blue And, in the soft and meliow light, You tread the lane our tootsteps know In former days, when da: re brigh Do these days bring such sweet delizh And still that lane with grass La With fragrant flowers the banks are fair; In golden gloss and silver sheen, The bees still haunt the balmy air Bat you will fail to find me there. Again, perchance, I may not see he rushing of willow-trees Which lent a leafy canopy When we strolled underneath at vase’; For I am far away from thee and thee! War joys forsake us. Soon does Spring Pass by aud for the Summer call; Soon do the birds lose heart to sing, When fading leaves in Autamn fal! And Winter is the end of all. = [ The Quie 'S ADVENTURE zar.) A WINTER EVENIN [From Harper It was a Monday evening—rainy, sleety, windy, snowy. Now when I explain, gentle reader, that my beloved husband, Anastasius Statias, and myself are by no means what the Cranford ladies would have called “vulgarly rich"—nay, are very far indeed from that agreeable, if plebelan, state of existence—it will at once be perceived that [ am never able to forget that Monday is wash-day. On this particular Monday every thing had been even | more than usually unpleasant. The temper of everyone in the house, imsluding the baby, had been severely jarred, and it was with a deep | gasp of relief that I seated myself at tive | o'clock in our hice parlor to await the arrival | wf my better half. The washing was over, the | dinner—a fairly good one for Monday—was in | progress. The baby was asisep, the servants | were tranquillized. Still, there is no rose with- | out its thorn, consequently my quiet hour was | disturbed by an uneasy fear of being force to go out in the wi d,slippery, sleety, snowy stre ste. The truth is this: Anastasius, who is abso- | lutely perfect in all other respects, is fond of | going out in the evening. Iam not. Now on | this particular, memorable, and ever-to-be-ac- cursed Monday evening we had three invita- tions; therefore it was that I welcomed my be lowed with a nervous tremor, and a determina- tion to make home particularly pleasant. Par- ticalarly pleasant. too, he seemed to find it, and after a cheerful little dinner he retired to the | sofa with acigar, and the request that I-would | read him to sleep. Never was command obeyed | with greater alacrity, and in a short time sleep knit up my raveled sleeve of care, and Anasta- sius enored. Relieved and gratefal, 1 settled myself in an easy-chair, and presently the pa- ges of Midd’emarch became strangely blurre.l, the dancing fire-light dwindled toa dull red ese, asoft, hazy peace began to envelop me, when a retreshéd and cheery voice exclaimed from the sofa, | “ Deary, will you be good enough to tell me the time, the exact tim Only 8.20. When did With an iron recti- which the excess of temptation ever de- velops inan upright nature, and for which I shall always respect mysel did not put for- ward the hand of the clock, but replied, calmly, 7 one minutes past eight.” Twenty-one,eh? Are you sure?” Now there is nothing more trying to the te- male mind—I appeal toevery married woman— than this assumption on the part of mankind that they alone are fitte manage or wind a clock, oF even to see the time correct! Mastering the indignation it invari duces, I replied, with severe truthfulness, « It is now twenty-one minutes and a haif.” “Iti', eb?” replied Anastasius, not in the t per etrated. 28 1 ad iaten kd him to be, by a sense of his rudeness. ‘Well, it is too lat for the ccmmittee, that is certain.” Betty dear, Ishould Ike ac p of tea, and as you are up, please tell me what manner of night it is.”” « It is a bitter cold, cruel night,” I answered «-[should be sorry to send a dog into the streets. Doo't you bear how the wind is blowing? * “ That means you don’t want to go out your- self,” said Anastasius, with provoking per. ¥ pro- spicuity. “But does it snow, Betty dear? Honor bright!” No,” said 1, slowly—‘‘no, it does not.” And then, urged to tarther truthtulness by the con- viction that Fate was fighting against me, I added, desperateiy, “The s' y is cloudiess, ana the stars are shining. That's as it should be!” exclaimed Anasta- giug, Jamping up with aiacrity. | “Jones is the | best fellow in the world, and f should not like to disappoint bim to-night, particularly as Mrs. Jones made such a point of our going, you say. | If the weather is at all decent, we really ought to go to-night. Don’t vou think so? What do | you think? What did Mrs. Jones say?” | “I think,” replied I, making a violent and | successful efort wo be calm dispassionate, | “that I could hardly have explained to you dis- | tinetly the nature of Mrs. Jones's invitation. This is Hot such a very special occasion as you | cua to imogine, but merely one of her regular receptions. Sie happened Only to ask us so | particularly to this one because she met Ma- dame Hartman coming down in the cars to-day, | and as she promised to come and try the new piano, Mrs. Jones knew we should be delighted to meet her and hear her play. She will re- ceive every Monday through the whole winter, and of cour @ Madame Hartmann will be quite likely to be there as we shall ourselves.” | “*Why didn’t you tell me that before?” said | Anastasius, in a tone I defy any woman living not to resent—a tone familiar, {doubt not, to | many wives, which implies clearly that ‘the wife of @ man’s bosom, from pure perversity, either misrepresents facts or willfuily with= holds them. “Strange!” he continued, re- tlectively, “(that a woman never can represent | facts correctly—1 T can, never. However,” ‘do tell me whether it is | ” replied f, with a sinking heart: and jamped Anstas us to begin his toilette. For the next hour the vibrations of his mind were 7 to drive a woman distracted. When halt dressed he suddenly felt cold, and | resolved to stay athome. Thenagain he would | again he woulin’t, until, when at nine ‘lock he had the impudence to assert that I ras shametully derelict in fe Mase in not ac- _ company ing Lim, I was so distraught that I as- sented. to spite him, and thereby most signally bitof my own nose; for neither during the evening nor subseyuently bas the wretch ever expressed any penitence. As we closed the door of the house behind us, Anastasius suggestea that we should take the —— Street cars, and change to the Six"h avenue cars at Thirty-tourth street. Of course, as the weather was particularly unsuited to pe- | destrian traveling. the —— Street cars were not forthcoming, ami, equally of coarse, we pro- ceeded, stumbling and strazgling thro he snow, to University Piace. Now a walk of five jocks across the town in the teeth of a cutting | mary blast is not calculated to raise the spirits or to cool the temper, however it may and does pierce to the marrow of one’s bones. but when all this suffering is intensified by the | provoking and, | may say, unier the circum- stances, revolting cheerfainess of a hasband who has insisted on facing the weather from pure perversity and obstinacy, sach a journey ts almest too grievous to be endured; and by the time Anastasius bad given vent to the twentieth utterance of his pleasare that we should be going up to dear old Jones's on just | such a stormy evening—‘for the old boy was | one of the best and dearest old fellows in the | world, and it would show how anxious we were | to come”—I was goaded tosach a pitch of ex- | asperation that I can only marvel at my selt- | command ip not pushing bim into a snow- bank, ¢ven at the risk of falling in myself. we stood shivering on the corner at Uni- versity Place, I made one last appeal for merey Very few cars seem to be running,” said [, chnging bard to my husband’s arm, to sho# | him what a weight a woman neces arity was in such slippery streets. “+ Don't yon think it very | ikely that we can get up to Fity-fifth street <v, sa decent time?” 3, decisively. 4 get us up don’t in the | a car now gToaning and creakin; | thivugu we enow, the deiver shouting | swearing, the horses foundering and slipping, | and & general misery and discomfort pr. ailing. However, we huf no choice, unin: the car looked. In we scramb'ed, maac@ as «0 sammately uncom/ortable as only @ New Yorx public vehicle can makea traveles. At last, somewhere up town, we came to a dead halt, and after bearing it in patience for five minutes—indeed, endeavoring to ignore it bya ay and cheery manper—Anastasias hambied he iM so far as to go to the door and inquire ‘wo the delay. Car ahead stopping,” was all the comfort we got. a Five minutes more must ray, uugrat fal tone, that if hs bad been h Anastasius obser alone, he *-would have been at Fifty-fifth street by this time . ** No doubt, imiy; adding, with T replied, cal hich I hoped woald be unmius- | 1 saw was the platform, so that the only benefit which re- sulted from our attempt was of bones, and a ruffling of temper, which had the ad- vantage of warming us a little. I pass ever the various false starts, the enforced stoppages, the jars, and pauses of the next three-quarters our. Suffice tt to say that when we at ng clocks were king eleven. The long | block of stately brown-stone houses rose dark i — the star-lit sky, their closed and dark windows bearing excellent testimony to the early hoursof their inhabitants. It was grati- fying to see such evidences of primitive sim- plicity in one of the most fashionable quarters | of one of the most corrupt cities in the world; but I honestly confess that it would have been, under the circumstances, pleasanter, to see | some sign of wakefulcess ‘about the house to which we we were bound, particularly as An- | astarius, regardless of the untrodden snow which covered them, mounted the steps, and | prepared to pull the bell. “Geod Heavens!” [ callecl, with more energy | than I supposed the cold had left me, ‘‘you are | surely not going to ring?” “Indeed | am,” replied my beloved. “Do | you suppose I am going to have all our trouble | go for nothing? Not ring! Whatdo you pro- pose to do?—stand there in the snow ail night?” “<1 propose to go home,” I called, stimulated to desperate energy by seeing his hand on the | bell. “Don't disgrace | gn and me by | ringing the bell at this hour of the night, and | Onsucha night too. Don't you see that not even the people in the next ‘street have been here? Don't let us appear to be fools—pray ion « Nonsense,” retorted Anastasius, putting an end to further discussion by pulling the bell with @ violence which caused a ntartiing sound in the deep stillness of the night. ‘Jones is sure to be up, and we can stay until twelve at least. I couldn’t venture to take you back | agaip until you are thoroughly warmed; and of | course they haven't gone to bed yet. Why, there was alight burning somewhere; I'm sure | i saw it as I came up the steps.” “ Yes,” I answered, ‘a dim one, bnt that was in the nursery, and they keep a light barning t. Come, do let us be sensible, said Anastasius, ringing the bell this time with tremendous energy. “If they've gone to bed, they must get up again. Confound it! they've no business to go to bed so early on a reception evening—s cold night like this t I'dlike to know what Jones means by it if Itis useless to wait,” I said, after a mo- ment’s silence, during which it was quite evi- dent to me from the expression of my husband's face that no one was coming. ‘Lo let us go home!” “ Never, until we have been warmed and fed,” said Anastasius, boldly, again pulling the deli, and assuming an air of cheery valor ha was far from feeling. “There!” be called, triumph- antly, “Ll hear footsteps coming down stai I told you they were up.” A pause, and then the sound of some one un- barring the inner door was heard, and presently the outer door opened slowly, and the voice of our trusty and well-beloved Jones uttered these cheering words of welcome. “ Who is there, and what do you want?” “ Itis1, Jones. Are you not ree iving to- night!” replied Anastasius, in tones of admira- | ble innocence and indifference; and angry as I | was with him, 1 respected his courage. “ You, Statius? Why, where haye you been?” exclaimed Mr. Jones, still not relaxing his hold of the door, and apparently a little doubtful of his dear friend's sanity. ** Been” answered Anastasius, bravely. “My dear fellow, we were invited here to-night; we supposed you would expect us; and my wite and i made a great effortto come. Our only fear was lest we should arrive too early. Betty dear, don’t stand there in the snow; come up.” ** Mrs. Statius too!” said Mr. Jones, in to | a we lighted at Fifty-fifth street, the meigh- | this frie: | Man as a ecoldin; penetrated through and through with ama: ment, now for the first time opening the door wide, and then as hastily disappearing bebind it as he saw that I really was there. ** Come in—do come he added, after a second, with more cord ity than [ felt we had any right toexpect. ‘Come in.” Deeply mortitied, and ruriously angry with Anastasius, | obeyed—Mr. Jones ettacing him- self bebind the hall door with such determina- tion that I perceived that | had better avert my head while I took off my wraps. Waile I was doing so he glided up stairs, and ..nastasius; sitting down on one ot the hall chairs, gave way toa violent tit of laughter. Idon’t care,” he gasped, as soon as he could speak. ‘Serve them right for going ty ned so early. Now we will stay, at any rate, until twelv “ Pray don’t,” 1 replied, following him into the drawing room, where the dying tire and ex- tinguished lights were proofs positive that the evening had long since ended there. ‘Pray don’t Lum mortified as it is, and you know very well what he likes.” “ You do net know what his wife likes, how- ever,” said I, with cool dign “But perhaps that, to a man of your habits of consideration, is of no consequence”? “i know she isan amiable woman,” replied my spouse, with a gleam of the eye which was pArticularly irritating. ‘The entrance of our hosts, with a welcome which we certainly did not deserve, forta- nately interrupted ua at this juncture, and an hour passed so pleasantly that it was p twelve betore we set out on oar homeward journey. “ [hope to Heaven you won't have to walk home,” said Mr. Jones, peering anxiously out into the cold night ax we descended the staps, “ Walk!” exciaimed Anastasius and [ simul- taneously, arrested, petritied with horror, on the bottom step. “* You dou’t mean to say there’s any chance of such @ thing, old boy?” exe aimed Anasta- sius, more serious than I had seen him during the evening. “« T hope not,” replied Mr. Jones, doubtfally; “but to tell you the plain teath, I tear there is.” *« There is a livery-stabie on your way down, though,” interposed Mrs. Jones, in an encour- aging voice. They would be kept waiting there an hour, I'm atraid, and perhaps not got a carriage at- ter all,” said her husband. ‘ However, old fellow, if you won't stay all night, and don’t it, acar,it is youronly chance. Remember, ifty-tirst street, lower side.” ‘As to staying all night—" began Anasta- sus, evidently quite appailed by the prospect before us. “You are extremely kind@’ I interrupted, hastily pulling him off the step, “but it is not be thought of for a moment <Biiy such a good nu: said my hus- “ Excellent,”” I responded—‘mach too good to be spoiled by such an exkibitiou of careiess- ness a8 ny staying out to-night would be. “ But—”’ began Anastasius. “ Good-nigh' , dear friends,” said I, dropping his arm in disgust. ‘I can not stay, but p haps you may persuade my husband to do so.”" “Gooc-night. Don’t stand there in the cold, Jones,” said Anastasius, seizing my arm a striving away. ‘‘What a goose you are, Betty’ Any one else could have seen that I had no idea of staying.” «It looked remarkably like it,” I answered: “but it is too cold to quarrel; so pray don’t let us discuss the subject.” ; | Fortunately we nad not proceeded as far as | the livery-stable wt 1 a car overtook us, of | which we took instant, grateful, and sole pos- , session. Safely housed at the further end, with | the straw heaped about our feet, we be; feel that our worst perils were over. neared Forty-second street, the conductor yened the door, walked through, surveyed us curigusly for a moment, repelied my hasband’s Offer ot fare with a wave of the hand, and slowly retire “Curious!” said I, looking at Anaptasius, “What did he do that for?” “ Oh, I don’t know,” he replied. carelessly. “Probably be didn’t want to take itnow. By- the-bye, that sketch of Jones's, that girl gathe ing forget-me-nots, is full of delicate seati- Alas! just as we were ready for another ar- tistie discussion, that fatal door opened, aud the conductor, advancing with firmness, an- nounced, ‘* Forty-second street. This car ain't a-goin’ e here, do we?" no furthe: | We cha said Anasta- sius, with forced cheerfulness.” “There ain't no car a-goin’ till the reg’lar | yn to 3 we tiny, as he took oat his memorandum book, to ke an entry therein. ‘asios jastice, 1 believe it w this point that the vasc folly of our expedition first stared him im the face. He was strack speechless, and only I found voice to say, feebt e’But what shall we do?” The conductor's reply was eminently ra- tional. He first rolled a quid of tobacco in his mouth, then surveying u with a grim smile, said, « Live far from here?” Fy Avenue, near Tenth street,” an- swered Anastasius, with more meekne$s than I “Waral,”’ said he, you | don’t want to waik, you'd and wait tilithe as ‘lar nigh! * Bat when will it go?” said 1. ‘That man in there can tell you.” replied vanished into the darkness, chuc! ing: 1'4 like to punch that fellow’s head,” a. as he assisted me over the slippery What horrid place!” I rejoined; for we Dow gained the door ot a small trian; rope com- . the pt ofthe stove, sat an Otitclal looking tad vidual, whose appearance cugeeeses & rooted dirty white roposa it was a pity 1 had come at ion han ithad f austere firmness but at the end of twenty ——e minutes decided that It woald be better Seated to watk. an frozen, and con- Of course the car started with just as we emerged upon | future life bad been biasted by that swing.— | name of another of her sex | quarrelled five years before. | old lady of ber da | the street, after a | night car goes,” replied the arbiter of our des- | of » vridal ca | the girl, who looked five years home,” said I, wofully, a. pavement, and ch “was ap) rently ges5 stables, and which was ark as the livery “hat kept open ail night Ls | en all night.’’ through the enow-drifts tovacd y light, and finally reached it. The door was promptly opened by a man who was prol ly the vight watcher ot the establish- ment, and who was evidently supported in the discharge of his arduous duty by a capacity for sleep under the most trying circumstances, for only repeated questions was he suffi ciently roused to inform us that there was “a ge out now,’’ which we could have when it came in. Didn't know when it woald come in— We str might bean hour, might be more. No, the proprietor wouldn’ itch up a carriage to- night, not another one. If we liked, we “might come into the offis an’ wait.’ “Shall we wait, Betty? “ You shall decide.”* “* No indeed,” said I. So we returned to the depot, to the hot stove, the close air, and the hilarion: both of us on @ broken chair, and gazing at the rusty stove, we passed what we have since agreed was the longest balf hour of our lives, and it was past two when we left the car atthe corner of Tenth street on our way home. Our long, weary, and dreary walk across the town was accomplished without passing a human be- ing (except a policeman), and in profonnd si- lence. Once, indeed, Anastasius ventured to remark that all the world seemed to bein bed and asleep, but { replied with such asperity that bo one but lunatics and martyrs would be abroad on such a night that he was quenched atonce. When we reacted home the following colloquy ensued. ** Anastasius."* said Anastasius. “Weil: «« Confess yourselfa lunatic, and a crael, self- ish~wretch, and | will promise not to say another word about this evening; b jon't— « Now, Bett There is nothing: uisive to a woman.” ll. Tf you will contess— “Ve y “ Were not your arrangements wrong’ and didn’t you manage this whole business as badly as ble?" “Tt was very uncomfortable; but—"" “Confess, do confess yourself in the wrong | for once—if a man can ever acknowledge his faultst”? “Now, Betty, do_be candid, if a woman can be. if the Street cars had been runnin, as they onght to have been, would we have that! horrible walk over to University Place’ ** No. “Very well. Now if the other cars had been running at regular Intervals, as they ought to have been, could we not have changed at Street to the ——— Avenue cars, and got up in half the time’ wy all on the way up town, had not stopped to water the horses at the same time, could we not have reached Fifty-firth bari? almost an hour e artic: “If any of the —— street ears had been run- ning as we came down town, could we not hare changed cars, and saved ourselves that cruel walk across the town’ “TL suppose #0.” “ Phen, don’t you see, the adventnres of this evening are merely so many arguments in favor of rapid transit!” 1 permitted him to sleep in peace. soe. Gabriel's Trumpet VOICE OF GOVERNOK ALLEN, OF OM10, HEARD A DISTANCK OF FOUR NILES. A correspondent ofthe Cincinnati Commer- cial says the vocal orgauizatione* iovernor Al- len, of Ohio, is a marvel. His acslity to make himself heard when with General Cass at Bu falo, in 1545, in spite of two steamboats attemp! ing to prevent his being heard, is true. vatly day he spoke near a saw-mill in Scioto | county the owner of which was a Whig, and who thought to break up the speaking by start- ing his mill. Allens voice soon got complete control of the other sound, aud he was distinctly beard. Then the owner stopped the mill and began to file the saw. That proved equally in- eflectual, and he gave up the attempt and let the meeting goon in peace. When Pierce was nominated tor the presidency, Allen made a ification speech, from the veranda of the Clinton-house in Chillicothe. The field for miles up the Sciota river was unobstructed. Hopetown is four and @ half miles away. Ou the hill above that town Jived atarmer. He came into Chiilicothe the next day and said that he did not know that Allen was going to speak the | night previous of he would have come in to hear him. But he said hisdog kept barking and he went to the dour and distinctly heard Atlen’s voice and many of his words. ‘When Judge Ranney and Governor Dennison were candidates for governor they held a joiat discussion in Judge Keith's large sugar-grove, in Chillicothe. Allen presided for the demwo- crats and Corwin for the republicans. Atver Dennison bad closed his tirst speech, and Ran- ney had been “peaking for some time, « violent storm of wind and rain burst upon the crowd, and they rapidly fled and scattered. While the wind howled through the trees, Allen arose and proclaimed, “The battle of Sulferiuo was inter- tupted by a storm. When it ce: the struggle was renewed. We will imitate the example. Go to Masonic-hall.” The writer was, at this timo, just out of the grove, and had sought shelter on the porch of a nouse. He heard distinctly every word, as did hat flying muititude. The wind seemed to titt up and drop the voice entire upon the ear dis- tinct and separated from every other sound. Thi- power in the man was lit'le understood by Morton, Sherman and Noyes when they opened the campaign by caerqing Allen with being en- reebled and rendered decrepit by age. If they had ever heard the late Colonel Sam. Medary relate his experience in that way during the Harrison campaign, they wou!d have refrained. Med: said that he bad iterated and reiterated in the Statesman, day after day, that Harrison was old and teeble, and to conceal it, his friends kept him secluded and a strict gaardover him. He mace ii eo hot that Harrison determined to let the people see and hear him. He reached | Columbus one night by stage. Medary wastwo or three squares distant, talking with a friend. He beard the stage drive up, heard cheera, and | some one mi ig anetiortat aspeech, which | he coul! not understand at the distance from | the Neil-house. He paid little attention, but | soon another cheer, and then Harrison's voice. It rang out clear asa bugle, penetrated fa: and every word he uttered was distinctly hear “We are beat,” said Medary, ‘‘that voice is our overthrow.” So it proved, and soit turned out in Allen’s case. THE A YOUNG LApyY in Waco, Texas, who lost the | power of speech had ge ago from an attack of the measice, attended a picnic, and while enjoying a swing the excitement brought a re- f speech. She was congratulated by everyborly present but one: he wastne fellow who took her to the picnic, and had got her | consents by nods and squeezing of hands, and the day was set. He went around the picnic swearing he would put a head on the man who proy the swing. The peace and quict of his St. Louis Republican. Iw an instant she became white assnow, and, after a moment’s hesitation, hissed out, ‘How was she dressead*” This is the Elmira Advertiser's description of & woman’s emotions on hearing mention of the ith whom she had What biiss is comparable to that she would have experienced on receiving reply that her foe was dressed in a shabby bonnet and faded silk dress cut in last year’s style? ¥. Commercial. “How do you hike the clam song?” asked an iter as they stepped into popular concert. ‘Clam med the young lady in astonish. iy, what do = refer to, motber? “Why the first song she sang.” mean, ‘Shelis of the Ocean,’ mother?” “Well, yea, do think that was clams anyway, and you know I do like them so well. “Hovv OLD are you?" asked a St. Louis justice idate. ‘Kighteen,” replied younger than that. ‘‘In what year were you borb’”’ continued the justice. The girl stammered, blushed, and guessed it wasin Ixjv. The hard-hearted offi- celal thereupon refused to perform the cere- mony, and she went out counting on her finge! how mnch 18 from 1873 left, 80 as to be prepa: for the next trial. Me. Resxin thus wrote to an Aberdeen Sun- day school teacher: “I should much like to send your class some }, but have no time for anything I likes My own constant cry to Bible readers is a very sim, : ‘Don't think that Nature (human or other) is corrupt; don’t think that you yourself are t out of it; and don’t think toserve God by praying instead of obeying.’ Wry young ladies at the breaki: party like arrows? Because they can’ withvut a beau, and are all in a qui get one. S7A choir of the church of thé Messiah, Boston, sang with their ices on in the per- formance of ‘Little E: at tl and were discharged the ‘7 Mynbeer, do you know for what we call our boy Hans?” ‘Do not really.” ba hid . Der reason dat we call our boy Hans, calls attention to the G7 Anti-tobacco Trask ? up ofa T the ver till they his name.” : that even a herse won’ ater, ft popaestinanee, © . Wonder if it ever cccarred to him that even | at can not be helped,” said my husband. beet Ne ak enon | Betty, if you will stay here, I'll go and got s | 82,40 (crs 23vou may. Nook at this mater | oe moment,” I whispered, for by this | 18 whatever light you will, but simmer it down timewe had entered and I wisuad'te Secont | And itis but aquatrel with the Almighty that noitre the interior more fally before being left | W@ &r@ not all men.' there. It not inviting, and olf, iy orIrn @ row—we'll have to have thing but fragrant. fd. r i gercerins yn — and coffee,” said ee tot thee n ', just a* 4 compan ‘wasin, . yourg men. evidently slightly” hitarigas, | ber friend q: muskets and cnoe- eros ded inte the room, olate, and Atan | , | could know their Harry and not love him, - THE STORY OF A KISS. (Wm. H. Maher, wm Hearth and Home.) * You wished to see me, Doctor?” ‘I did, Mise Dallas, and upon a very serious matter. Pardon me if { appear to be med. with your secr I do it only to save a fellow- creature’s life.’ The young woman's face finshed during the remarks, but paled when he spoke se gravely. He continued: “Three weeks ago 1 was called to the bed- side of Harry Gilman, and fuand him prostrated with a brain fever. I saw at the outset that the case was desperate one, bat hoped that skill and care mignt bring him through. From that day until this [have been almost constant in attendance upon him; have battled with th disoase inch by inch; and striven with what I had at command to save hi: arly in my attendance I saw there was some dreadful disappointment beneat his malady, if not the canse of his prostrat! Ia the hours that his mind wandered, your name | was constantly on his tongue. His sister told me. in answer to my questions, that Harry was deeply and truly in love with you, but thi getrangement has come between yca latei eT I think this blow has been the one that brought him under my care. To-night the crisis in ais disease will be reached, and to-night will an- Swer our questions as to whether he will live or die. Without any help but such as I caa ren- der him he may be saved; bat @ man’s life is too great a jewel to trifle with, and we teel if ‘ou would but help us we conldsurely save ie. Will you consent to assist us’ “What could I do?” she asked. “ The plan I have marked out in my mind,” said he, “is simply this: About midpight he will arouse from his present stupor and in the next ten minutes his tate will be decided. The main point will be to have him make an effort for his own lite. Should he try to live, his chances will be among the best; should he make no such effort, we might with stimulants carry him ment he ree past, and despondently sinks under it, no power under heaven but you can save him.” “ And what would von have me do?” “Just this, Miss Dalias: If when he awa- keus,he is hopeful an‘ remembers nothing of Lis disappointment, we will not need you at all. But should he begin to sink, the sight of you would save him.” “ But how?” * We could pretend you had recalled your de- cision ot a few weeks ago.” “Qh, that would be too horrible! never do that.”* **Not to saye ia man’s lite?’ he asked solemnly. “He would not thank me for saving his life by such a mockery,” she said. “Why, I might have to say that I loved him might I not?” «Yes. “Oh, L could not do it!” * Not even to save his life?" “You said that before,” she said, ‘but not even for that could I do this thing. Harry and ! have ever been dear friends. never fan- cied that he could love me until he surprised me by his avowal, and then I told him it could not be. How could I stand at his bedside now and say that I loved him! be. Think of some other plan.”’ “Ihave thought of all ways, Miss Dallas. I I could may not have to ask you to do this thing that | you dislike so much, anless in the contingency spoke of. Iwill not say to you what you ought te do, my dear young lady, but | promise you. if Lam compelled to ask your assistance, that I willexplam the whole matter to Harry, just as it is, and give him a correct report aud understanding of your part in it.” * But bow could I ever meet him again® “It will be no harder then than It is now. And I have uo doubt Harry will leave the piace if he recovers.” **L would be glad to help you, Doctor, put this would seem like profanity tome.” I to save a fellow creature's lve, and be »lame on me. ish I could do 1 thing it is for a girl to di “Lean appreciate your hesitation, and yet, if | y it was your jaughter | would s *Thank you for saying that, Doctor; it de- cides me.’ I will do what you ask.”” “Thanks; I will call for you this evening, and explain your part to you.”’ Later in the night there gathered around the of the sick man his mother ani sisters, the doctor and Kate Dallas. The doctor had’ ex ined to the others the part he had persuadi 'e to act, if it should be necessary; and they Ki | bad thanked her over and over for consenting. ‘They sat near each other; the mother and sisters wondering in their own hearts that any te uu yet, they are women enough to know that’ love can not be forced or reasoned “How is he now, Doctoi whispers, and his reply, ‘There is no change.” They await the slow turnings of another hour, and then the sleeper makes some movements with his lips, and the doctor, bending over, the mother | catches the word, ‘‘Kate,” but he does not tell | it to the others. By and by there is another movement, and the doctor beckons them out of the room. “In a quarter of an hour more he will | | awaken,” he says, my “You, Mrs. Gilman Ruth will stand near me and be ready to cai whe first question he asks and answer it. Miss Dallas, you will stand at the dvor and come if I ~peak to you, and act asl have told you betore. If we are prompt and careful, and God wills it, we will save bis life.” The mother and sisters step softly back to the »edside, and the doctor, reading the tremor in "s eyes, waits tospeak with her. You will not have to say @ word, Miss Dal- I will play the tyrannical doctor to per- rection and #ave you, as well as quict any ap- prehensiuns that come to his mind. God bless yor it was no common case with Doctor Brown, this attendance on Harry Gilman. When he came to Meiville a poor, unknown graduate, seeking to establish himself and earn his d. bread, it was Harry Gilman's father who been the firet to trust him, the first to say a kindly word to him, the one who had taken him to his own fireside and made him feel he was in the house of a friend; the one who had honored him with his friendship in all the succeedin; years. Doctor Brown was now, with skill a: care, repaying to the son the debt he owed the hery and hecould not havedone more tor his own child. As he looked into the face of Kate Dallas, he could not but feel it was @ fearful ex- periment he was about to make in two lives, but ed brushed the thought aside, and returned to his patient. There were the premonitory symptoms of awakening upon the part of the sick man, and the hearts of the women around him seemed al- most bursting with suspense and anxiety. At last the eyes opened; the wild look in them soon gave way to one of recognition, and the lips feebly uttered: “Mother.” She could not speak; her heart was too full for words, but she bent over and kissed him. = been here one if **Notsuch @ great while,” said the cheery voice of the doctor, ‘bat pienty long enough. Here, take a dron of this,” and be gave him some stimulating drops. “ Have I been very sick’ “You have been _pretty sick, my bor, you ist not talk. Turn over and go to sleep again, and you can talk as long as you wish to- morrow.’ “ Cs that Rath “Yes, Harry. «Peli Kate fe “Nonsense,” broke in the doctor,‘‘take a little more ot this and go to sleep without another word,”’ but he turned to Kate,and his eyes said, “it will have to be done.’ She tried to still the beating of her heart, but she had no fear for herself. “Yell _Kate”—Harry started again, but the doctor—after a quiet draught was adminis- istered—said: «: Why don't you tell her yourself?” “Who? Isshe here?” he asked excitedly, but the doctor oats his hand quietly, saying, ‘Do not get excited, Harry, but listen; obey me ex- actly, and all will be well. Miss las and ou have had some misunderstanding, but you ave fancied it to be much more serious than it really was. She ishere now to see after you; she wants you to get well, and if you obey me you will.’ The sick man’ wider and w'der as his physician proceeded, and when he said, las is now here,” he would have imse!f, but th e 4 look, she came close to the bedside. “* My orders,"’ said the doctor, ‘‘are that you may look at Miss Dallas a moment, but you must not speak, and then sheand your own Waive iano wav aieneee a death ly white as she aate’s face was al y a toward Hi vricate, ob Katel”"cried he with the most su- preme happiness written in his face. ‘There, there!” said the doctor, ‘*; ya diso~ bey me already. Clear out of the » you women, at once.” Kate, said Harry, “stop @ minute! me’? ond danger; but if at that mo- | No, no, it cannot | ut what an awful | meat. The poor girl's nerves underwent a ter- = ae Sac ‘that night, and I called to help | hed Doctor, I to ask you one qaestion. Do want think I can ever have any hope of win es 7 haps of wincing “To be frank with , 1 do not think you ever é you a earefal account of what passed between us at interview, and to me, her manner showed you had no part i her ‘et mother says she has sent over daily to inquire for me.” | “Yes, but it was at my suggestion, until I | nad told you the story. * Doctor, fam. so fs right mind; am [ not ** Certainly you are. « The fever has —— «< Of course tt has. What are you driving at” «* Just this,” said he, with despairing bitter- ness, ‘‘I wish to heaven you had let me die!” 1. Way, Harry?” 1 mean it. You onght to have let me die” *« My boy, you are too young to talk like this. | There is more in life than just loving or being | loved. You have vour mother ang sisters, i! | Fou care nothing for yourself.” ‘Well, let it go. As I amalive, I mast make the bes: of it. thank you just as mach ic life was dearto me. When can I drive out* “To-morrow, if you choose. Where do you ant to go? “ To see Kate Dallas.” Not to worry her, Harry" No, to thank her, and then withdraw from you, my dear bo: Chare given’ as you can tell, in my | jm idles “D to let me visit Ror without an- | nouncing that I am coming.” } ‘Itshall be as you wis.” The next day Harry was driven to the home of Kate Dallas, and as hesat in the parlor awaiting her appearance, his thin waite Nps seemed to move as if he were rehearsing lus part. “Tam glad to see youontagain, Harry.” he said, came toward him, but tho her voice was, sprightly, her tac? was f “Thank you, Kate, this is my first ca Or. Brown consented to my ride to-day Her eyes tried to read in his if the doctor had told the story, but she said hope you will soon be out of the doctor's | bunds.”” | **Tlearned from Dr. Brown only last ing,” he went on, as if determined to, | once what he had come to say, ‘of what consented todo for him during my si ought to thank you, perhaps, for saving my | life. Ido thank you heartly for all that you did, and all the more because I know it was a terrible task for you. He told me the complete istory of his plan, and while I wish [had never been thought of, | cannot but see how great a sacritice you made tor me, and [ thank you for it. She had covered her face with her hands as soon as he began, and still kept them there. He waited 4 moment as if to give her an opportu- nity to speak, but she remained silent. “Ihave come,’ he resumed, ‘not to thank you only, but also so say ‘Good-bye.’” She uncovered her face at this, and her eyes filled with anxiety—he went on, “In a few days [ will leaye Melville forever, but if—no matter where I am—the day shall come when I can be of help or assistance to you, you will reme that | owe my life to you, and”—he broke down bere—‘ail be at your service. She had covered her face again, and had he looked closely he might have seen tears forcing their way between her fingers, but his eyes were on the carpet, wherethey had been all the ti m- at ou I most that | am or have will “Tam sorry,” he continued, ‘more sorry than I can tell you. that I have ever been the cause of annoyance to you, or have ever brought aught of sadness into your life, but you have beautiful days yet in stcre for you wherein these will be forgotten, and I hope you will thiukjof me. If at all, as one who would rejoice in your happiness and would be happy in your joy.” He waited a moment, as it hoping she would | say @ word, but the tears were dropping trom r helt thick and fast, and Ler tongue refused to speak. Finding that she did not intend to break the silence, be arose to take his departure, and then, for the first time, saw her tears. A wild, ulting light leaped into his face and eyes, but away as soon again. Good-bye, Katie,” he said, and he moved toward her. Her answer was a sob. “It ig not my lot,” he said,‘«to bring unpleasant experiences, when my de st wish would be to bring you jov. 1 siiail never be a | cloud on your horizon again, se once more, good-bye.” She turned her face trom him, an/ said be- tween her sobs, “Ident want—to drive you— from your—home.”” ‘Let that give you no pain, erly; “1 conid not live bere now. ‘But it is I who amdriving you away,” she said. “No, you must not take the blame,” said le. “I ehould never have supposed you could love me, but let that go now. Good-bye | "Don’t go,” was her answer. “T must. Leould not stay and see you the wife of some one else.” | ‘ Don’t go,” she repiied. Heavens! Could he believe his own heart! Could it be possible that she loved him! His eyes filled with light and hope again, and with one step he was beside her. ‘:Katis,”” said be, “am 1 coming from death once more to life? he said, tend- Can you love me? Do you love me? Ask me to stay but once again! Iam yours for lite or death if vou love me. What shall it be, dar ling, will I go or stay?” “Don’t go,” was all she said. InMIGRATION.—The vast change effected of iate years in the c! ‘or of our immigration is well illustrated by a paragraph in one of the | recent letters of our New York correspondent. He tells us that the number of immigrant arrivals at New York during the quarter ending mber 31, 1873, was 44,789, of wnom 24,999 were males, and 20.090 females. Of these 2: were from Germany, 5,912 trom Ireland from England, 1,292 from Scotland, 1,507 from France, and 1,933 from . Those from other countries were each under 1,000, Austria giving 850; Sweden, 831; Switzerland, 733; Denmark, (72; Hollans Tye Poland, 365; —-2 = way, 297, ‘ungary, 1 jere the great ‘4 for comment is obviously the enor- proportion of German immigration, which 21,487, ‘ainst 23,302 from all the rest ot Europe comb: |. Comparing this with the days when the arrivals from Great Britain were more numerous than all others combined, it will be seen what a change in character the im- migration has undergone. It must be re- membered, too, that the German imperial gov- ernment hasilately put new and onerous re- strictions on emigration from that country,save for which the outiiow of lation to our — would probably be still greater.—Piuia. eur. Sockine Wire Murper im Virgrnia.--On Thursday night about nine®’clcck Washington Jones, who resides in the vicinity of Haws’ shop, Hanover, Va., cight miles from the court Louse, was heard by a passing colored man cry- ing murder at his front door. The man at tracted by the sound, approached the door and asked Jones what was matter. He stated that some one was in the house and had mur- — = — mee —_ se — 4 him, “1 wan! go.and see if my dead.” The Ter thus instructed made were evidently done with an axe. said to the man, “‘no ne; has killed me, but Mr. Jones did it.” On ing this Jones re- treated to an upper room and locked himself in. The neighbors were summoned, and put under arrest at his own house. The doctors say that Mrs. Jones cannot The wounds, which were inflict —— purchased | 2 appearance. Her that ar be motiv is sup he was under the liquor. The parties are wealthy. Susan B. Antaory DiscusTep.—Miss Susan . Antho: and M: re thing necessary to the puoceee of the un 'verse cree | ra was Qn swimmingiy. He bad no Mea ment musts in tae ast fifty years the world bas gave beh Sot v2 Le a oy <4 more than tn all the thousands of yours that ny 4 ——— | coded that period. He saps that when hisawn? 2! OPES battens SF: oatwer Pal The Kind of Girls Tecy Used To Ha "Clarence x. street, has been = wee ts gran aged Phaut in th? Past week, and DOUGLABS, of No 13 vast toed Ro goa sath Papattag eres ened by oe nee, 1 La rag = branch at No. SBA ish sirest . where a ont te oe r sartsat et Bioaee ae a Sted in the past Sfty rears. te wouldn't Deftove it it this aunt hadn't to'd hin With het ing and Ball Dresses. bi mouth. A: it maker Mr. OCA Srence & Order promptiy attenaed” ie, and many voveltion, B a a tritie uncomfortable. He says he thougtat every M ReM™M IME roreed tro was a young woman, a half century ago, were no'such goings-on as characterize th bappy time. Children were children then, knew how to keep their place. Boys went to ‘ork, 17th st.. hear Brosdway ticular ‘€ atteptien p»id to bridel and mourn! igo, school or worked on the farm, and kept steady, and the gitls did the same, and Kept by them: AN, ALL MATERIAL FOR EMBROIDERING. selvus until they grew up to be old enough to AMmPr 1 od to. at have sufficient ju nt to take care = ong sia = Whe wkiMa SCRPERTS, selves. There was no (lirting, nor simmering, 614 5b sirert, opp. Pateat Oftos. nor bold-facedness, nor. profanity, nor slang, anc Store nor tobacco, nor gambling, as there is now, dragging down the people and making old men snd women of {hem before they have got th growth. There was no turning down of lights, and hugging and kissing in the parior antil morning, four nights in the week. There was no gadding about the streets after dark, staring into the faces of the men rad ac gling in the most shameful manner possible When they went to church in those days it w. to bear the preaching, and not to bite handker- chiefsat each other, and act like « *‘passel” fools generally. There was nothing silly, nor improper, por new-fangled, nor sot-ap the actions of people then. 'A young coup! those days were totally different from a young couple now. He never thought of coming more than once a week, and that on Sund never came through the week, bec them bad too much to do to be AUISS EA. Mot onion Qi 90d PEXN. Avance, np aire 8 A large apd slogant assortmen! of BTR NNETS and — wis BOUND Bats, constantiy on hm 4 . led by Mie GRD. a ell Urders for DBL SSES, tc NEY.of New York city. J. 3: TOUMO Shaw voms paren. arters for "ERY Oo UNDE WEAR, ant BoTions, f° ali VENTA STRERT. WaAR E At lowest market octS-tr 18 am tomtoolery. He always accom, vr acinanp Liven oF trom church of @ Sunday night, and if he went Slow to the fabric in the house at all (which he rarely did) it was eresieby Groner. | oon veutcterars simply to sit on the extreme edge of a chair im CREB AM, oy cet b. wbard strest, a very respectable manner and converse with yanle-ly Baitim, oe. Maryinad. er parents. Promptly at ten o' he went home and she went to bed, respectable happy Her folks were aiways there when be was, an 1 there was no squeezing of bands, and slobbering and other nonsense. “He never thought of cali ng her by ber given name nor she him by his given name. They bad too much regard for each ber and their parents to fall into such levity. When they were married ‘which was at aproper HEE, FIRST CLASS SCOUENS, age and not like they do now) she had plenty of SPECIALTIES ¢ Tis sol Phockes clothes of her own spinning and making and — Ladses Dresses cleaned withont taking them many other things which he did not have fegntlemen’s Clothes clothes cleaned wit oat stata : s provide, and did not go to - they er husband without spots removed efeotnally, so that The men wert weazen faced and broken down, and the girls pinch-wasted and weak- backed—as all men and all gifls are to-day People then took care of themselves, and lived tos green old age, but now they droop. away and die betore they are forty. Where do you | see people seventy and eighty years old now, as they were in those times’ Where do vou. to be sure. Nowheres, of course. All this and | much more Mr. O'Clarence’s aunt teld bim, and ail this and much more Mr. O’Clarence re- hearsed to an attentive and admiring auditory, in Hollister’s store, Saturday night. (ae among them was 4 pale young man of one hun- dred and ninety-tour pounds burden. a ft type of this degenerate day, and he, with his weakly eye on the fortunate nephew of his aunt, asked How old is your aun Seventy,” answered Mr. O’Clarence, with exulting pride. “A fine old ag she any children’ “Five,” said Mr. O'Clarence, promptly. “How old is the eldest.”” Fifty-odd. «Fifty-odd,” repeated the young man, slowly. Bow much over titty?” He is fifty-two, for certain,” said Jarence, in atone that implied he was im ~arting some astonishing but gratifying infor- mation, “Furty-two, eh? and she is seventy,” purened the young man, “Then she was eighteen when he was born? Yes,” said Mr. O’Clarence, uneasily. She was eighteen when he was bora,” said the young man, thonghtfully, ‘and ’ abou: seventeen, perhaps, when she was married. As this was said in a speculative manner, and appeared to be addressed to nobody in particu- ar, no one answered. And Mr. ©'Clarence took up his groceries and went silently home.—Dan- | ry News. 4 rag to her back, as is customary for brides to “Et5 rw eesia do now, as our readers well know. Girls are ; SOneteet te eae eeet motice. Prices wea. arried Dow who then would be tn spinaiores, pl eS ng chores about the house, and looking up ws es | to their parents. Rat now the great, object ls GROCERIES, &«. man, and they get him as soon as they — - ap hod of one, and before they are olf FSLPHONZO YOUNGS & CO. enough to know anything but ribbons, and gew- s gre aaa ise hair. Not oF ina hundred «t GROCERS, them can bake a loaf of bread that a hog would ae . and Fon eat. In those days every gitl could bake to onan: Tove, soem rr Bi . perfection, and could milk, and spin and churn | Beg leave te call your careful attention to the fol- everybody lived on a farm then, we infer) as lowing List of Prtone well as their mothers. There was no such sick SUGARS. ness and poverty, and misery as there is now York (Standard N | Crashed Loat ‘TEAS. Extra Fine, silver Leat ie, Fair. a = Good = etauaseceuesvess fi As will be seen by ¢ ise ne . ccoverene he above list, our stock com rteen different grades and va-ietios, of n hand, end our e ”’ said the young man. ‘Has P which wehave a large supply now acilities for obtauing yhe aa: have pr hesitancy in asserting ¢ mpete fully with say he ity of to « carefaily considered, th qotations will challenge comprtition, a« ra attention to the quality of our Tl CUFFERS, especially the higher grad Micha, Gen ~~ - Boasted ‘®, Old Government, Raw = Boast pa - — Motier's Diemora “Drips sliver Drips, Amber Civil Rights, Drips, Golden Syrup, kc., &c., #0 A COLORED MAN RECOVERS DAMAGES POR MOLASSES. BEING PORRIDEN TO EAT AT A STEAMEK'S FIRST TABLE. A casé under the Civil Rights bill was settled 10} choice article of genuine New Orleans, alw on band, a8 also other lower grade>—prices low. FLOUR. Welch's best_Family, oo in the supreme court in Detroit, Michigan,on Golden Hill Family, per sack the 22d inst. The plaintiff was Thomas Nickles, | Burnt Mille Family’. 0 4 colored barber in Detroit, who, the Post ot | Issse Wenger's Family. that city says, ~ eo 6th = May last oom as- | Deairie Bird oe . ~age there on the steamer «J 6, for Put- hoicest Extra “ ood intbay, having purchased a teket tor'which he | ObSiC«et Extra, per wack, (good vatd first-class fare. At noon of that day,when | Choice linner was announced, Nickles betook himseif | Good Batra, per sack to the dining cabin and found a seat at the table wit ie other parsengers. The captain of the | Thirteen different boat sent the steward to Niekles to say that he | ®#ortment of ch antil the second . One of the proprie- tors of the boat was also on board, ana he also removed. Bat pro- avail. seat at self he did not : i E " ¢ H E * i A & ELPHONZO YOUNGS & CO., Grocers, 9ru AND F STREETS, Opporite U. “BUY row” cLOTHiING AT NOMINAL PBIOES. “ CLOSING SALES” waine FINAL AND PEREMPTORY. ss 4.6. BOGAN, Manateccerst, ‘13 MILDEW) Sites Sea he = fee - Ajon retary mmmemons norma 10 PRB CENT. = Br 1E83 THAN WHOLESALE PBICES. “BUY NOW” AT HALF PRICE. FINAL SALES OF OVEROOALS. OF FINE CLOTHING. “BUY NOW.”