Evening Star Newspaper, February 1, 1896, Page 19

THE COMING OF MOLLY PEEVY ————+-—_ BY WILL 5. HARBFE. ——— (Copsright, 1896, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.) PARTL Every one in Cove valley, down In Georgia, considered Matt Digby a meddler. Joel Holtzelaw disliked her more than any wo- man in “the Cove.” She would often stop him obtrusively when he passed her cottage, and ask after the health of his children, and sigh, and say that it was such a pity their mother had died when they were so young wed helpless. But although Matt Digby was in her thirty-seventh year and was unmarried, she had never thought of capturing Joel for herself. The truth of the matter was that Matt “Digby did not want Joel to marry Mary Ann Hardiman, a pretty spinster just her age and her next door neighbor. Matt liked Mary Ann as well as she liked any good- looking unmarried woman, and she would have left her own work any day to help her with her quiltings, jelly-making, fruit-can- ning, or anything else that two women can do better than one, but she would never help her to marry Joel Holtzclaw. She told herself that any woman of Mary ‘Ann’s age, who had as good a home as Mary ‘Ann had, and was pretty enough “to get the best that was going,” would be a fool to bur- den herse’ th another woman's chiléren and a shiftless man, who had his spree al- most as regularly as Saturday came around. Matt had good grounds for believing that the marriage would never take place, al- though Joel and Mary Ann had been lovers for many years, and had only been pre- vented from marrying ten years before by old man Hardiman’s strong objection to Joel. The truth was that Holtzclaw's late wife, who was a jealous, irascible woman, full of imaginary ills and wrongs, had ex- acted a promise from Joel not to marry again in case she died. Everybody in “the Cove” knew this. A few believed that Joel would be justified in breaking the promise, since It seemed that nothing but a wife and home comforts would keep him from drinking once a week, and since his children were so badly in need of a mother's care. But the major- ity were opposed to it; and now and then. When the gossip was loudest, some one would openly declare that if Holtzclaw ever married he should be “churched One morning from the window of her cot- tage Matt saw Mary Ann leave. the back door of her house with a tray, on which there was something covered with a nap- kin, and make her way through the tall, dewy ragweeds to Joel's cottage. !” evclaimed Matt. 3 going to feed them children. I'll bet my bottom dol- lar he didn’t get home last night. He's on another bender, and she'll have them two over in her entry room tonight, sure as Preaching. Matt hurriedly lifted her coffee kettle trom the coals, so that it would not boil er in her absence, forked a piece of bacon Son a tot nome pan into a plate and mt out among the sassafras bushes near Joel's fen Here she stood for several minutes. Tl bet she’s dressing the imps!” she said, impatiently. “If I had thought of that I could a. con.” The next minute Mary Ann came out of Joel's house, the empty tray under her Seeing Matt there in the slanting of the sun, gazing at her so critically, ushed 1 on the steps for nd wound a stray lock of her hair about the knot behind her epped down into the rank finished my coffee and ba- arm. come home last night?” said K a sassafras twig and chew- ing the end of ii id not help admit ing to her Ann was graceful in move- well formed, too, and the r had given her such a won- Mary Ann replied, as she got down on the cther side, near to the questioner. Then she sighed. “I have just been over to give little Jce and Fanny a bite "t tell me what you went for,” t, with a hard, unforgiving su are making a fool of yourseif. Tl bet my life you didn’t close your eyes all “You needn't tell me what you went neered Matt. a-listening fer him to pass.” of weary resignation came into Mary Ann's face. She was too deeply trouble! to mind Matt Digby's reproaches. She hitched the tray and napkin up under her arm. “I coukin't help it,” she sighed. “The eight of them little things a-standing at the gate last night a-looking down the road nearly broke my heart. “You went over and put ‘em to bed, I'll be bound,” went on Matt, tentatively. “They was afraid to go in the house by themselves," replied Mary Ann, looking down and shaking her damp skirt. “I set by them till they went to sleep, and if he had come home any ways out of sorts I'd a-gone over again. I didn’t undress.” “It is a pity about that promise he made to their mother,” continued Mutt; “for he really ought to marry son-ebody Mary Ann's pretty lips twitched, and she wiped them with her shapely hand. nodded, but that was all the answi made. There was an awkward paus she caught up her skirt. “I must go in and help sister about her froning,”” she said; “and I reckon you got your own work to do.” She turned and, treading the weeds beneath her, made her way across the yard to her cottage. A woman about fifteen years her senior was in the sitting room, bending over an froning board, which rested on the backs of two chairs near a window. As Mary Ann entered she went to the firepiace and took up a fresh iron. She dusted the ashes from it with her apron, and tested its heat with a damp finger. “Was they out of bed?” she asked, sym- pathetically. “Yes, and a-setting by the window a- watching the road to town. Little Joe had been a-crying. He dried his eyes, and tried to make out that they hadn't been up long, and I heard them jump out of bed before Se The elder woman sighed. She went to her board and rubbed her iron en a folded newspaper till it began to scorch. “I don't know what's to be done, Mary Ann,” she sighed, “but this can’t go on. I have been thinking. In one way it losks like you ought to marry Joel. He's the cnly man you ever wanted, and you are the first one he ever took a liking to. If it just ast’, for that promise to a dead wo- a “I hain’t no idea of trying to make him break it,” interrupted Mary Ann, despond- ently. She put the tray in the cupboard and came out and stood before her sister, her hands at her shapely waist. “It's just them poor children I'm a-thinking about now. ae to me if they was just pro- vided for the balance wouldn't matter. 1 reckon he's made a night of it, and will be along some time today.” “Not till dark,” opined Mrs. Bftson, sprinkling the garment on the board with water from a bowl “He's always that ashamed to let you see him after one of his tantrums that he waits for the shelter of darkness to pass the house.” ‘The two women had the children over to. @inner that day. Matt Digby saw Mary Ann go through the weeds for them. She brought back the little yellow-haired girl in her arms, and led the boy by the hand. Matt went out in her back yard to her bee- dive, near Mary Ann’s fence. She Wanted She she then Mary Ann to know that she had ebserved the proceedings. She would have made some pertinent remark if she could have caught Mary Ann's eye, but she could not do so. Little Joe wase talking Ann was leeking down at him and holding the little girl's head close to her face. As the afternoon began to wane the two sisters concluded that the little ones would be apt to spend the night with them, but, happening to go out on her porch just as the sun was going down behind the moun- tain, Mary Arn saw a famillat form com- ing up the road. It was Joel Holtzclaw. Her heart rose in her throat, and she fell to trembling with excitement. She did not look up as he drew near, fearing to notice something in his walk that would indicate that ke was still under the influence of drink. She did not look toward him till she heard his voice at the bars. “I wish you would step down here, Mary Ann,” he called out. “I want to see you.” She nodded and went down toward him. As he stood there awaiting her, his hat off in deference to her, and his long hair brushed back from his brow, she was glad that her house cut him off from Matt Dig- the fence to her. she thought that it would be only another embarrassing confession of weakness and shame for the neglect of his children. But, to her surprise, as she drew near him his giance met hers frankly and steadily, and there were about him none of the signs of Pe uteness which her sight had : n to detect. “Howdy do?” he said. ‘Have you been looking after them children again?” She nodded, unable to speak for a mo- ment. “I ‘lowed you would,” he added, and she found her voice In the silence that followed his words. “They are in there now, Joel,” she said. e had thtir supper and look sleepy. just thinking they might as well stay with us, but if you want ‘em, now you're at home. “I'd hate to seeing that she was going no further. ‘They like over at your house uncommon well. If it hain’t too mnch trouble, let ’em stay tenight Then a red flush on his fece and neck showed that his thoughts had taken a turn. He tore a splinter from one of the b: thrust it between his teeth, and plunged suddenly into what he Wanted to say. “You may not think so, nn," he stammered, “but this time ‘pt sober. The minute I heard I eculdn't get beck last night, I knew what you'd have to thirk, but there was no helpin’ it. They nabbed me on the jury in the Matthews case; Bill Wilson hung us, » does every jury he’s on, and they kept us under lock ard key till we de- clared a verdict, an hour ago. I'd 'a’ sent word, but nobody was coming this way. I didn’t worry; I knew you'd look after them like you always have done.” appoint "em,"’ he answer- thorght—I'm sorry—" The look on her face was asure and contrition. "t owe me no ed, awkwardly .chew- ve made a hog of my- so many times hand running, that get- credit for an extra time once in a apologies,” he splinter. ting while ain't going to shatter my reputation. It's a wonder, though, that I didn’t go wrong yesterday. Iwas in good hands. I was with Fred Bartiett and Jake Pla and they be- gun as usual. I believe it was the last talk you and me had about liquor that helped me to hold out. You recollect me a- telling you that if I just had you for my wife I'd never drink no more? Well, I got to thinking of that, and it struck me I'd said something mighty foolish. Because, if a man can keep from doing a thing for his wife's sake, surely he would for a woman that would be his wife if she could. The long and short of it is, I'm going to give up drinking, wife or no wife.” She put her apron to her eyes. His face scftened as he leaned over the fence toward her. otf Ann, said it. “I wouldn't ’a’ missed hearing it for my right arm,” she sobbed. “I'm going in. I see Matt Digby out in her yard. She'll have semething to talk about now.” She turned toward her cottage and Joel walked on to his house. That nigat Joel Holtzclaw did a thing he had ngt done since the death of his wife. He came over and stood on the perck of Mary Ann's house, and through the window watched her moving about in the candle light within. Ske had heard his sted and knew that he was there, but she did not speak to him. She was cold all over, and her hands trem- bled ever everything ghe touched, as ‘she put things in the room to rights. ped on the window. “When you get through in there I wish you'd come out here, Mary Ann, “I've got someting to say to you.’ She glanced at him as he stood in the light, but said nothing. She could not have spoken then to save her life. She saw that he had shaved himself, and put on his Sunday clothes, and she knew, from the look of determiration on his face, that his visit was to be 2 momentous one. She knew what he had decided to say, and she loved him the more for it. She would never marry him with that promise hang- ing over him, but she edmired him more than ever for boldly trying to win her over every obstacle. n't mean to make you ery, Mary he added, gently, “‘or I wouldn't ‘a’ He rap- he said. PART It. In a few minuies Mary Ann came out, bringing two chairs with her. She would rot ivite him into her house, but she weuld sit there with him in spite of all that Matt Digby might put into circula- tion about her. Matt's house, on the left, was dark. Joel was happy over the thought that she had gone to bed, and that she could not have heard him open the gate and ascend the steps. But Mary Ann knew that if Matt v:as alive she was sitting at the open windew, thirty yards from the porch, straining her eyes and ears to see and hear all she could. However, Mary Ann soon forgot Matt Digby. There was something terse and manly in Holtzclaw’s face that absorbed her. He waited until she had seated herself before he sat down; tlen he placed his chair near to hers. “I've come to the conclusion something's got to be done, and that quickly, Mary Ann,” he began, nervously stroking his beard. “This way of going on don’t seem to me to be right. I ain't good enough for such a pretty girl as you are—that could git the best husband in the country, but I'd be a better, more steady man if I had you. I believe that if Sarah could look down from where she 1s, she’d want you to be a comfort to me and a mother to her children. When she made me make that Promise she was just peevish and jealous, because Matt Digby had said so much to her about me a-courting of you. I've al- ways thought if she’d just a-been in her right mind at her death she'd a-released me.” Mary Ann started. She spread out her skirt carefully and then smoothed her. apron over it. She glanced at him shyly, and then looked cautiously through the darkness at Matt Digby’s window before venturing upon a reply. “Why, Joel,” she said suddenly, “I never did hear all about it, because I—I didn’t want to seem. interested; but somehow I got the idea that—that she asked it on her deathbed.” “No such thing!” he answered quickly. “It was fully three monfghs ’fore she died, when she was starting off for a visit to Aunt Molly Peevy, over in Fannin’ county. On the way home she had a stroke of par- alysis, and did not know a thing till she died, two days later.” Mary Ann moved uneasily, and her chair creaked. She felt that she was leading him on to talk of such things, and she wanted to change the subject. “Little Joe tells me that Mrs. Peevy is coming to see you tomorrow.” ‘That's what she wrote the other day. She'll get here about eleven o'clock in the morning.” “She'll be hungry,” replied Mary Ann, by’s view. Her heart throbbed painfully as ° i EZ His face softened as he leaned over us. talk about.1t with Mrs. Peevy on “That'll be Just the thing!” he cried. “It'll be right sort of a welcome. Aunt Molly al- ways did think a lot of you folks.” The conversation paused. She saw from his face that he was coming back to the subject uppermost in his mind, and she would have stopped him if she could have resisted the temptation to hear what he had to say. It seemed so much lke the time when he used to come to see her in the years before. There, in the semi-darkness, he did not seem to have changed greatly. True, Hs hair was slightly gray, but his eyes and Pes voice were the same, and he still loved her. “Tl tell you what, Mary Arn,” he went cn, ter.derly. “I’ve made up my mind that I just can’t do another year without you. I am able to keep straight and decent when I've got something to live for. You know I did all right when Sarah was alive, although me and her wasn't at all suited nor never was. Now, if I am willing to set aside that unreasonable promise, surely you ought ee to object. It wouldn’t be you a-doing of She caught her ‘breath and shrank from him as he leaned toward her. “Don’t talk that way, Joel,” she pleaded. “I'd do anything on earth to help you. I’a willingly work my fingers to the bone; but I can’t sin against a dead woman. Besides, we'd both be churched for it, and we couldn't live in the community. The Lord knows I'd rather be your wife. I'd die the next minute, it seems to me, to be able to call myself that, if it was right in the sight of God. But it would be a sin, and there ain’t no good or happiness in sin.” He leaned back into the darkness for a moment; then he rose and pushed away his chair. “There is two sides to it,” he said, des- Perately. “You say it will be a sin against a dead woman. What about it being a sin against a living man? You can save me from the dogs if you want to. If you don't marry me, the Lord only knows what will happen. I’ve just got so much mortal Strength and no more. I can stand out against temptation when life is worth liv- ing, but that’s all. I am as weak as a rag tonight.” She covered her face with her hands. Her breast rose convulsively. A low sob es- caped her, and then a little moan. She got up suddenly, and without a word shambicd into the candle-lit room behind him. She extinguished the candle. Her footsteps ceased and the room became so still th&t he could hear the clock on the mantel ticking. He leaned against the wall, hardly daring to draw his breath. Something told him she was on her knees beside her bed, and he folded his arms and bewed his head. He tried to resolve to he a better and stronger man; but he could think of nothing except her bowed figure and her sobs. Ten minutes passed, then he heard her coming. She advanced to him She Caught Her Breath and Shrank From Him. fiom the darkness and laid her hand on his arm. Her hair, which had al ys added such a charm to her face, had become un- fastened, and made her look so much thief balied younger. She held a handker«! in her hand. “Go away, Joel, and let this be your last visit, after tomorrow at dinner,’* she said. “I have decided. It has been like dying a hundred deaths, but I can’t be the cause of your breaking that promise. I admire you for making it to her,.weak and sickly as she was, but I couldn’t no loner if you broke it. A promise is a promise under heaven; there ain’t no ifs and ands about it; it is just so. If you'll let me, I'll take the children and bring them up. I'll never marry, and they would be a comfort. A man by hisself can't do justice to children.” He turned away. “Keep ‘em,” he said, huskily. ‘As soon as my crop is in, I'll sell out and so west. I don’t think we ought to be so nigh each ether.” He passed through the gate and entered his house. She stood motiontess on the perch. She heard his heavy boots ringing hollowly on the bare floor, and watched the light in his window till it went out. Then she went to bed. The next day about noon tne hack brought Mrs. Molly Peevy and her little hair trunk and carpet bag to his door. Joel and his children were standing at the gate, and a moment later Mary Ann and her sister came out and shook hands with the visitor and invited them all in to dinner. A tempting meal was spread in the kitehen of the two sisters, and Mrs. Peevy could not hide her satisfaction at the sight of it. “I'm as hungry as a“bear,” she said as she took her seat at the table. “I -hain’t tasted a bite since before day, except a Piece of cold liver and some buttered bread, and nothing makes me as hungry as a jolting vehicle.” g All were seated and had turned up their pie when. Matt Digby appeared at the cor. “May I come in?” she asked with a smile. “I just couldn’t wait to come and tell Mrs. Peevy howdy. Howdy do, Mrs. Peevy? I'm glad to see you looking so hearty.” Mrs. Peevy extended her fat hand and smiled and nodded, but did not rise. She was trying to remember where she hati met Matt, and if she was a relative of Mary Ann or Mrs. Batson. Matt sidled along the wall and sat down on a closed chest in the chimney corner, and tried to look as if she did not see the dinner table. Mrs. Batson had never been accused of inhospitality, even to people as unwelcome as Matt Digby, so she said: “Shake that cat off that chair, Matt, and pull it up and eat a bite.” Matt obeyed, muttering something about having put on some potatoes to boll, but that they would keep for supper. “T had liter’ly forgot that Joel had such good neighbors,” said Mrs. Peevy, with her mcuth full of turkey. “I'd think him and the children would just live over here.” Mary Arn, who sat opposite Joel and the children, blushed scarlet, and busied herself in helping Matt's plate to vegetables. Matt Digby laughed softly and significantly, and Mrs. Peevy went on, as she reached to the center of the table and broke a piece off the large corn pone: “I hain’t got a bit of patience with you, Joel, nohow. I "lowed you would have had the common sense to get you another wife Before this, especially as Sarah wanted you “Tt was just the other way,” replied Joel, his eyes irresistibly drawn to Mary Ann’s face. “She made me promise never to marry again.” Mrs. Peevy laid her knife and fork down. She rested her hands on the edge of the table, and stared at him over her glasses. “I know she did once,” she said, wonder- ingly. “But that was before she come to my house. Over there, during our big meeting, me and her had a long talk. She confessed she had been narrow and spiteful, because she had heard aboyt you and Mary Ann’s doings before you married. A powerful change come over her. She saw she was go- ing to die, and she wanted to prepare for it. Why, she told me the chief thing she wanted to hurry home for was to release you from that promise, and make her peace with smc folks she had fussed with. Why, Joel, d’ 'n’t Sarah mention it when she got home?” He was pale, and the hand encircling his goblet of milk was trembling. “She had a stroke of paralysis on the way over,” he replied, “and she didn’t know a thing frcm then on till her death.”” rd! And all this time you've been Why, what a pity! Well, that needn't be no hindrance any longer. She actually wanted you to marry. I can testify to that; and it's your duty, if—if you have found anybody.” Mary Ann rose abruptly to pick up the spoon little Joe had dropped. She did not resume her seat, but went into the sitting room. There was a silence. No one was eating except the children... Matt Digby was smiling, half sardonically,. half fear- fully, end watching Joel's face. He got up = rua pushed his chair under the fal ‘I'm going In there to-speak to-her,” he said, and he went into the other room and closed the door.”'Mrs, Peevy shi her shoulders, and‘@vith a very serious face helped herself beynteously to the pple dumpling and sweetened milk. meal was fintsh&d “when Joel came back, a manly sheepishnés on bis face. “You just coma in the nick of time, Aunt Molly,” he sald.,.“I/ll never get over being obliged to you. 7m going to run over and “Your comin’ is n godsend to us both.” feed my stock. I reckon I’d better not be around for a while, Mary Ann is mightily teased, but she’s willing. Your cemin’ 1s @ godsend to us both.” As he went out at the back dodér, Matt Digby rose and started to go to the sitting room, but Mrs. Babson detained her. “I wouldn't bother her just now if I was you, Matt,” she said, peremptorilly, and Matt sank back Into her chair. (The end.) A QUIET KENTUCKY FLOCK. The New Minister Received Quite a Number of Suggestions. From the Courler-Journal. In a pleasant, social little Kentucky town, not long ago, a new minister arrived. Fer- vent inghis mission against the world, the flesh, and tite evil one, and not duly con- sidering the points of his compass, he de- livered from his pulpit the first Sunday a tirade against card playing. On Monday the wealthiest member of his flock called on him and said: “Oh, dear Brother Parker, your sermon was very unwise. You will offend half your people if you talk against cards. We are just a little quiet community all by our- selves here, and we play cards whenever we want to. Don’t say anything more, about card playing.” So the next Sunday the new preacher launched out on dancing. Again the wealthy member visited him to say that his church people hid always danced all they wanted to, and he must not say anything more against dancing. The evil of horse racing was his subject the following Sunday, ard this brought the rich member to him in great distress of mind. “Great goodness, Brother Parker! this is one of the finest horse sections in the state. You are beside yourself when you try to put dewn horse racing.” “Well,” said the despondent preacher, “if you Say so, I'll have to let these evils alone. Next Sunday I'll abuse the Jew: “All right,” remarked the wealthy mem- ber, “but don't overlook the fact that I'm the only Jew in your congregation.” THE TYPICAL, AMERICAN HUSBAND. He Haw but Few Spare Hours to De- vote to His Home. From the North American Review, The type of American husband most fa- miliar among us; howe is the man of busy energies, Kindly, affectionate, proud of his family, with,whom he is free-handed and sympathetie.in their pleasures—who might, if the stress of making a livelihood would leave hint free to-do so, enjoy do- mestic life heartily, and aid in bringing the married state to be what good old Dicky Steele deserved it in the Tattler—“a complication of all. the pleasures of life and a retreat from is inquietudes.” But, alas! under the conditions of modern money- grubbing, what opportunity has the poor man to cultivaie fireside amenities and harg garlands upon the lares of his hearth? In New York, for instance, he hurries away frcm home directly after eating a hasty leakfast, to return to it late in the day, fagged from the incessant and nervous grinding of the mill down town, and raven- ing for his dinner. At such a moment, all the charms and all the virtues combined in one wife, often cannot win smiles or playful speech from any husband so beset; and a wise woman effaces herself until the post-prandial hour gives her a reasonable hope of claiming his conyersation. At this period of the even- ing‘urless she is a mere monger of nursery gossip or a household drudge, her spirit, braced and expanded by the day of inde- pendence and responsibility, is eager for the fray of ideas. She longs for the inter- change of sentiment on current topics, while her heart (an organ among our wives apt to be fairly well stored with conjugal affection) owns to a little joyous thrill of satisfaction in the tete-a-tete that has lost nothing by years pf repetition. To it, even the grown children are an interruption,and she sees them go their several ways in search of more active entertainment with almost a sigh of satisfaction! What, at this interesting juncture, is the attitude af the ideal husband? What, of the real hus- band? These are queries to be answered by observation or by experience! —— + e+ ___ IN THE COMMONS. Women Are Employed to Do Type- writing Work. From St. Paul's (London). A few years back if any person dared to make the assertion that a time would come when ladies would be employed in the En- glish hcuse of commans, doing duties which were practically the work of men, that person would have been looked upon as a fitting candidate for a lunatic asylum; and yet such is now the case, for at the present time two rooms in the house are specially devoted to Miss Ashworth, who, at the bead of several lady clerks, is responsible for a typewriting department introduced for the benefit of the members of the house. “We exist solely for tie benefit of the M. P.,” said Miss Ashworth. “There are many occasions when he wants some let- ters or a speech or a note to his constit- vents typewritten, and when he ioes, we are at his service. He may also have a for- eign letter that is written in a language which does not happen to be one of thcse with which he is conversant; again we are at his service. Or he may be in a great hurry, and have several letters to write. He has not time to do them himself, so he sends for one of my staff, dictates them to her, and they are written down as quickly as he speaks.” __ n shorthand, Miss Ashworth?” Not always. Orie or two of my clerks are so proficient with the typewriter that they ara able “te'write from eighty to ninety words a fnitiute, which, as you will agree with’me, is-¥ery good.” ——_4 40+____ An Old Heit's Inscription. From the New York Tribune. The old bell sof! St. John's Episcopal Church, Ellicottvitlé, N. ¥., has an inter- esting history. %é lung orlginally in a monastery in Mglaga, Spain. The mcnas- tery was sacked 4m 1832, ‘and this bell, with others, was shippédito New York. Nicholas Devereaux, agent “of tte Holland Land Company at Elliggttville, bought it and ee sold it to St. John’s Charch. ‘The inscrip- tion on it is as follows: “Abe sol labos del angel qve en alto svena Maria Gracio plena Bargas Mefeci Malaga 1708." The mean- ing of this was a mystery for a long time, until Bishop Coxe studied it, and said it was in corrupt Spanish, in which b was often used f and which changed many 8, be’ should be ‘ave’ and ‘labos' should be ‘Ia vos.’"" The inscription put in pure Spanish follows: “Ave (col la vos del angel ave en alto svena) Maria, plena gracia.” The English transla- tion he made thus: ‘Hail (I am the voice of the angel who on high stands forth) Mary! full of grace.” The last words, of course, menzn: “Bargus made me, Malaga, 1708.”” 22 —_—_—_ Market Quotations. From Harper's Bazar. “How old is your daughter, Mr. Dinkel- spiel “Forty, Mr. Harkins, but to you her at thirty, net.” Tl quote cines as with erence to any saparilla. @ remedy has your confidence. ence to experiment=- The new remedy may be good---but let somebody elge prove it. The old remedy must be good judged on its record of cures. ' reason for choosing AYER’S Sarsaparilla in pref- It has been the standard household Sarsaparilla for half a century. ‘record inspires confidence- others may be good, Ayer’s Sarsaparilla must be. You take no chances when you take AYER’S Sar. _ THE EVENING STAR, ‘SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1896-TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. Drs. Maybe & M You choose the old doctor before the young one. Why? Because you don’t want to entrust your life im imexperienced hands. True, the young doctor may be experienced. But the old doctor must be. You take no chances with Dr. Maybe, when Dr. Mustbe is in reach. Same with medi- medicine makers- =when you other. Still have doubts? Send for the “Cuarebook.” It kills doubts and cures doubters. J. GC. Ayer Co., Lowell, Mass. You prefer experi- =50 years of cures. ustbe, =-the long-tried are concerned. o Just one more Its If USED TO NOIS: Familiarity Makes City People Un- conscious of the Street Din. From the Chicago Record. In the main office of the Western Union Telegraph Company there are fifty or more telegraph instruments clicking all the time. To the untrained ear the noise Is distract- ing. It would seem impossible to hear one sounder and turn a deaf ear to the re- | mainder. That is what the operator does however. He takes the message from the sounder in front of him, and does not hear the dots and dashes that are being GC him, The amazed stranger hears only a lcud and angry buzz. This is a part of the town education—to have noises all around you and not hear them. When trains began running on the Alley elevated road, between State street and Wabash avenue, a carriage manufacturer who had a number of workmen employed at tables rext to the alley windows decided to have them moved to some place where they would not be disturbed. He supposed that when the trains began rushing by the win- dows and only a few feet from the build- ing the men would constantly have their attention drawn from their work. For a few days after the trains began running it seemed that he was right. The men would stop work and watch the train un- til it had passed. But in one short week the novelty wore off. The roar of the pass- irg train became familiar and was almost urnoticed, and in less than a month the workmen said the trains did not annoy them at all. As one of them sald: “We forget there are any trains passing unless some one speaks of it.”” Any hotel clerk will tell you of the tribu- lations cf country people who stop at down-town houses. They cannot sleep un- til the cable cars have ceased their rum- bling and bell ringing, and then they are aroused before daybreak by the market wagons and the early cable cars. Often enough they cannot sleep at all. The rat- Ue of a hansom cab in the street below will arouse them to full wakefulness, and the sound of some one passing through the hallway outside will cause them to open their eyes and listen intently for fifteen minutes. Then there is the dread of fires, which is never conducive to slumber. But there is another side to this story. A Chi- czgo man who has lived at a down-town hotel for years said he never awoke before 8 o'clock except when he was in Chicago. When he was in town he could sleep for three hours with cable cars, wagons and rewsboys making all kinds of noises under his window, but when he was in the coun- try he was awakened by the first crow of a rooster. He could sleep through the noises to which he had become accustomed, but a new kind of noise aroused him in a mo- ment. The farmers cannot hear the frogs sing, but to the city man the chorus has the volume of a Thomas concert. The city man, with an office overlooking La Salle Btreet, never hears anything in the street below, unless it be the music of a brass band or a manhole explosion. His country cousin, however, will be dazed by that con- tinuous mumble and rumble. His head will ache from Istening to the city’s incessant grow], and to him it will seem the growl of a savage beast, without sympathy or pity. He will be back on the farm for three days before the noise gets thoroughly out of his cars. —+e<2—_____ PRAYERS BEFORE BATTLE, by Famous His- torical Personages. From the New York Herald. One of the earliest records in history of a prayer before battle is that of Childeric, King of Gaul, a pagan, who before going into battle at Zuelpich, some 400 years after Christ, prayed to the God of the Christians to help bim to victory. His foe wes Attila, King of the Huns, and Chil- deric vowed if God would give him the vic- tory he would embrace the Christian faith. The prayer of a Hungarian officer before one of the battles fought for the indepen- dence of Hungary in 1849 was as follows: “J will not ask Thee, Lord, to help us, and I know Thou wilt not help the Austrians; but if Thou wilt sit» on yonder hill Thor shalt not be ashamed of Thy children.” This was the prayer of the “Fighting Bishop” Leslie before one of the battles fought In Ireland: “O God, for our un- worthiness we are not fit to claim Thy help; but if we are bad, our enemies are worse, and if Thou seest not meet to help “sg, we pray Thee help them not, but stand Thou neuter on this day, and leave it to the arm of the flesh.” The one offered before the battle of Edge Hill by Sir Jacob Astley was: “Thou know- est O Lord, that I shall be very busy this day, and if I forget Thee, forget Thou not me,” and then the command followed, “March on, boys!” As King Edward ad- vanced with his columns, to Bannockburn, he remarked to his aids, seeing the Scotch on their knees: “See, they kneel. The reb- els are asking pardon. D'Umphraville was heard to remark; “Yes, but it is to the King of kings. These men conquer or die on_this field.” Oliver Cromwell kad public prayers be- fore going to battle on several oecasions, as, for instance, previous to the battle of Dunbar. It is a curious fact that the Eng- glish prayer book contains prayers, or at least one prayer, to be said before going into action at sea, while nothing is pro- vided fer use before engagements on land. If amicted with scalp diseases, hair falling out amd premature baldness do not ute greage,or alco- helic preparations, but apply Hall's Renewer. ed off on other sounders all around | | it and refused, PAG 'S LAST VIOLIN. Kept Behind Lock and Seal by the city of Genoa. From Cornhill Magazine. The beauty and sweetness of Sarasate’s tone are often commented on by people who never think of the tone being in any way due to the fitness of his instrument. As a matter of fact, Sarasate has two Strads. One is the renowned “Boissier” Strad., which he managed to secure in Paris for £1,000 and an hour or two before Hil! of London sent an offer for it. The other is one that had been used by Paganini, which came to him through his son Achille. Of course the latter instrument has an additional value from the cireum- stance of its former ownership. Paganini had several valuable violins, and the in- strument which he used in his later years— a Guarrerius, dated 1743—would probably command something like £5,000, if it could be put in the market now. Indeed, the sum of £2,400 has already been offered for and a report was lately cir- culated that £10,000 had been tried. But the instrument cannot be sold. Paganini self bequeathed it to the city of Genoa, and the municipal authorities there are keenly alive to the value of the treasure. They have it bestowed in a glass case in the recess of a_wall, which is again incased in heavy French plate glass, the whole being closed by a mas- sive door. Every two months the seals are broken and the violin is played upon for about half an hour in the presence of city officials, and then it is replaced and put under municipal seal. This, of course, is done to keep the instrument in good condition. Paganini came by the violin in a curious way. A French merchant lent him the instrument to play upon at a concert at Leghorn. After the concert Paganini brought it back to its owner, when the lat- ter exclaimed, to the delighted astonish- ment of the player, “Never more will I profane the strings which your fingers have touched; that Instrument is yours.” The Genoa people have teen in luck in the mat- ter of violins. Sivori, who died last year, was a pupil of Paganini, and Paganini pre- sented him, when a youth, with a very fine Guarnerius instrument. It was, therefore, but natural that Sivori should wish his vio- lin to rest beside Paganini's, and so today, for a small feeyou can see both instru- ments in the municipal niche at Genoa. The Stove Job Which Johnson Did Could Not Have Been in Real Life. From the Topeka State Journal. This is about a man who put up a stove. It is unnecessary, perhaps, to go further with it. You know in advance just how he swore and tore, and spoiled the carpet, and the pipe didn’t fit and he skinned his knuckles and cut his finger and spilled soot down the back of his neck and finally went up town and got six men to finish the job. “Johnson,” said Johnson's wife at dinner yesterday, “I want you to come home early this afternoon. I want that sitting room stove up and going by Sunday.” “All right, my dear,” said Johnson, “I'll be home at four.” So that afternoon Johnson’s wife sent the children over to visit on the other side of town and stuffed rags in all the cracks to deaden sound. After a fervent prayer that all the neighbors would be out of town for a few hours that afternoon, she was ready for Johnson. He arrived promptly. “The stove is out in the woodshed,” said his wife. The stove was not very large, and after Johnson had dressed himself for the occa- sion with the help of Mrs. Johnson, who had taken care to have his old clothes and gloves handy, he got the stove to the back porch without much difficulty. “It must be blackened,” said Mrs. John- son, as she mixed the blacking. It black- ened to a beautiful finish with very little rubbing, and Johnson whistled at his work. Then he tacked down the oil-cloth mat and the zine and kept on whistling. He took the stove in carefully and put it in the right place. There was plenty of the old stove pipe, and while he cleaned it in the alley with a stick Mrs. Johnson sat on the back porch and listened to him whistle. The first joint went on all right, and the damper stayed in place. The negt joint fitted so well that Johnson almost’ stopped whistling in sheer admiration for it, and so did the next one. The elbow fitted ad- mirably and the collar and last joint went on like a top. The seam was on the right side all the way up. There was not even a speck of soot on the papers Mrs. Johnson kad spread on the car- pet. In ten minutes more Johnson had a love- ly fire in the stove and Was in his business suit again spick and span reading the pa- per while his wife got supper. It was just here that there was a savage nudge in Johnson's Jeft ribs and he heard his wife tell him to wake up and hustle out now, for it had been dayligh* for half an hour. ——— At Luncheon. From Truth. Bobby—“Mamma, will a piece of hot mince ple give one’ bad dreams?” Mamma—‘“It will, Bobby. Bobby—“Well, I had a whole lot of had dreams last night without any hot mince pie. Can't I have a piece now to make up for them?” Inadequate. From the Cleveland Plain Di “John!” dear?” you in earnest about going to war “Why, darling won't be too lone! (She was as one in a great s certainly I am. Hope my little ruzgle.) don’t think our government does right ‘Certainly it do . But it Well, that what, ‘That $8 a month—i: allow a widow?—is enough QWohn has quit talking wa’ soe | We all ought to that——" that what they, A Game of Chance, From Lite.