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About McCook weekly tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 188?-1886 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 25, 1883)
PHILOPENA. "What sort of gift will I take ? " * Askfl my saucy debtor , "Shall she make , or buy , the thing , Which do I like better ? " to mlno a little hand Is yielded up completely , While the red lips try to pout And the eyes smllo sweetly. "Khow'stthou prifl'nerattho bar , ( Still I hold her tightly , ) The meaning of that Grecian word ? " ' 'No , ' ' she answers lightly. 'Poena penalty ; philo love , According to the letter , And if you cannot pay the debt I must keep the debtor. cWould you buy your sentence off ? Useless the endeavor ; Yet , if you work the whole term out , It will take forever ! " I.E. ALMOST A SEPARATION. A faint glow of a July sunrise was reddening all the east , a delicious cool ness pervaded the air and the robins just wakened into consciousness sang as if they would sing their little hearts out. The mowers who slept "in the barn-chamber were just vawning into wakefulness. Farmer Efden was up and on his way , to the milking-yard , and his thrifty helpmate was already breaking golden eggs into the break fast frying pan . "It seems as , if Rasa was later and later every morning , " she thought. And hurrying to the foot of the stairs where an odd , corkscrew-shaped little flight of wooden steps twisted itself up to the second story , she called aloud , in no very musical voice : "Rosa ! Rosa , I say ! " There was no .answer. Mrs. Elden ran hastily up , and enter- tered the bed-room , where the eastern flush was already irradiating the rough beams with the softest pink light. To ter amazement , the bed was empty , a bundle of faded roses lay on the pillow , and a little cotton glove caught in the wistravine that trailed luxuriantly up to ike second story , betrayed in what taut er the bird had flown. "Now I am astonished ! " said Mrs. Elden. "The child has got out of the window again. She is off for the county fair , where I expressly told her , last night , she was not to go. It's the second time she has run away within the month. \ \ hy , she couldn't behave worse if she was a gypsy , and I don't believe but what she is ! I told Joshua that no good would ever come of adopting - child of the Insti inga out Foundling tute. And 1 won't stand it very long- mot another day ! " Mr. Joshua Elden , coming in from the barn-yard with two pails of foaming milk , was met by his wife , whose lips were compressed , and whose brow had grown ominously dark. "Rosa Las gone again ! " said she. "Gone ! " repeated Mr. Elden , setting down his pails and starting "Gone where ? " "How am I to know ? " said Mrs. Elden , sharply. "To the fair I sup- 'pese. There never was such a willful child ! " "That wasn't right , " said Mr. Elden , . mildly. * 'Rosa knows ' ' "Rosa knows quite enough to outwit two old folks like us , " said Mrs. Elden. * 'We were fools for taking her , Joshua , and we're fools for keeping her. It's the last night she shall sleep under this raoft" "My dear , " remonstrated the farmer , "she's only a girl of seventeen ! " "She's old enough to know better , " -said Mrs. Elden , who had by this time placed a pan of frizzling bacon upon the fire. "I've put up with her freaks amd follies long enough. I've talked to > faer , and it does just about as much .good as the wind blowing over yonder field of timothy grass. " "But Sarah , " said Mr. Elden , "yon never would turn little Rosa out of doors ? " "Yes , I would , " said Mrs. Elden. "There ! She's tired me to death , with Iker wild ways ; and I shan't put up with them no longer ! Call the men in 'to breakfast , " Joshua ; and I'm goin' into -to fit her little room , and let it to city boarders this summer. " "Look here , wife , " said good Mr. Elden "don't be too sharp with Rosa. Remember she's young ; and p'raps there have been times when we held the reins pretty tight. I'd have taken fcer to this couuty fair myself if you iadnt said no positively. " "And spoilea her worse than over , " said Mrs. Elden. "No , I'm done with her ontshe goes ! " "But , Sarah , think again ? " urged Mr. Elden. "What is to become of her ? A pretty young ereatur' like that thrown adrift upon the world ! " v "She should have thought of that before - fore she defied me , " said Mrs. Elden. "I won't have her treated so rough ly ? " said the farmer , a little curtly. 'And all for a mere girlish freak ! Yon are my wife , Sarah , and you must obey mo in this manner. " "I am your wife' , " said Mrs..Elden , setting."down the bright-blue milk ' .pricher'with such energy thac it cracked - ed from spout to handle ; "but there are some things in which I will not obey .any man ! I choose that Rosa-May shall go ! " "And I choose that she shan't ! " said Mr. Elden , roused into unwonted spirit. -"We've brought her up from a baby , and she's just like my own child. " "You must choose between her and me , " said Mrs. Elden , the hard lines around her mouth growing grimmer and more grim. "Aunt Amanda wants -me to come up to Uphill Farm and take -care of her. I ain't one to depend on anybody for my daily bread ; and she's got money to leave. " The hired men , as they sat at the breakfast table , eating bacon and eggs , hotjohnpy-cakes ana cold-boiled beef , had a vague idea that something in the household machinery was wrong. Mr. Eldou was unwontedly silent ; Mrs. Elden's lips were screwed up , her cheeks flushed. "Where's Rosa ? " Hugh Hardie ask ed , starting around , as he bit into a huge slice of bread and butler. "Wo do not know , " said Mrs. Eldeu , "We calculate likely she's gone to the county fair with Dr. Duganne's daughter , " said Mr. Elden. "Girls will be girls ! " And then ensued another silence , un til finally Hugh and Joseph lumbered off to the hay-field , and the husband and wife were left alone together once again. "Come , Sarah come ! We've been husband and wife too long to quarrel now , " said Joshua Elden kindly. "I own little Rosa is a provoking piece ; but she is our Rosa , after all. S'poso we 'harness up old Gray and go after her ? It's three years uow since you've been to the county fair " "And it'll be three years more before I go again , " said Mrs. Elden. "No ; I shall go to Aunt Amanda's and lot you and Rosa settle things to suit your selves : " Mr. Elden , gnawed , hislip. atient soul thougUfhe.wasJhis-wife'sobstina'cy ! * ' " ? * * nettled him : "Of all tryin' creatures , " said he , "I do believe that a woman is the worst ! " "It's all Rosa's fault , " said Mrs. El den. den."No "No , it ain't , " stoutly maintained the farmer. "Rosa has faults enough ; but I won't have her falsely accused in this case. " "You're an unfeeling brute ! " said Mrs. Elden. "You're obstinate ! " an woman re torted her better-half. "Very well , " said the lady. "I'm going up stairs now to pack up my trunk. If things have got to this pass , it's high time , Ileave the house. " "Just as you please , " said Mr. Elden. And his wife went away , too angry to cry , and indignantly questioning her self why she hadn't married HezeKiah Williams , twenty-odd years ago , in stead of bestowing her hand on Joshua Elden. All day long an armed neutrality per vaded tfie low-roofed , cozy old farm house. Mr. Elden was silent. Mrs. Elden busied herself about her packing. And , just at twilight , when the spicy odor from the bed of white and crimson clover-pinks floated in the window , a neighbor came hurriedly along. "There's bad news , " said he. "Jim Cole has just come from the fair grounds. There was a runaway team there , and your Rosa was -knocked down and killed. " "Rosa ! " cried Mrs. Elden with a gasp. "Rosa ! " the farmer groaned , drop- Eing the piece of harness which he was iboriously mending. "They're bringing her up the street now , " said the neighbor. "Body came down on the afternoon train. They do she's ! " say dreadfully disfigured He hurried along to meet the little cortege , now scarcely visible down the darkening road. Mrs. Elden ran up to her husband , and threw her arms around his neck. "Joshua.she ! cried. "Oh , Joshua , forgive me ! I never meant it. I loved the poor darling all the while. Oh , Rosa , my little JRosa ! " "Don't fret , , wife , " huskily whispered the farmer. "It ain't your fault. You did all you could for her. " He put his arm tenderly around his wife's waist as he spoke. "Whatever it is Sarah , " he said , bravely , we'U.bear it together. At the same instant asjt.seemed , a light footstep floated like a thistle down , on"-the threshold ; a little figure ran up to them , and clasped them , and clasped them within one embrace. "Rosa ! " they cried with a single voice. 0 , I am so sorry so ashamed ! " sobbed Rosa May , looking pretty and penitent enough to melt the hardest heart. "But Caroline Duganne over- persuaded me. We were together , and I didn't tenjoy a single moment of the whole day. Mother father I never will disobey you again. For when those terrible "wild norses rushed by like a whirlwind , and knocked over the poor feeble old lady , who was standing close beside me " "Then it wasn't you ? " said Mrs. Elden , who had been nervously scan ning her adopted daughter's face for signs of some deadly hurt. "It would have served me right if it had been , " said the girl , "but it wasn't. It was old Miss Dorothy May from Newton. Look ! They are carrying her by now. Oh , it is so terrible so ' terrib'le ! " And Rosa hid her face in her hands. Mrs. Elden took the girl tenderly into her motherly arms. "Rosa , " said she , "you are forgiven , but after this , dear , always remember how dearly we love you , and guide your conduct accordingly. " And * not another word was said about the packing of trunks. If possible , Joshua Elden's manner was more affec tionate than usual toward his wife ; Sarah , more tender and. deferential to ward her husband. And Rosa was the darling of both of them. It was through her that they had bad their first quarrel ; it was her unlooked- for appearance that healed the deadly rift in their hearts. And when Mr. Elden said : "Didn't I tell you , jarah , that little Rosa would be benefited bv the lesson ? " his wife answered , cordially : You are always right , Joshua. " FBIENDSHIP. , A ruddy drop of manly blood The surging sea outweighs. The world uncertain comes and goes , The lover rooted stays. I fancied ho was fled And , after many years , Glowed unexhausted kindliness , Like daily sunrUe there. My careful heart was free again. O friend , my bosom said , Through theo alone the sky is arched , Through thee the rose is red ; All things through thee take nobler form , And look beyond the earth , The mill-round of our fate appears A sun-path in thy worth. Me , too , thy nobleness has taught To master my despair ; The fountains of my hidden life Are through thy friendship fair. [ Emerwon. Hiding a Blackfish. Cor. Philadelphia Times. "You're the man , " said one of the listeners , "who killed a whale single- handed , aren't you ? " was asked of Capt. Lish Flicker , champion fighter , revivalist and exhorter of all the coun try about Booth Bay , Me. "Well , " replied the captain , after he had finished whistling a strain of what is familiarly known as the "No. 2 selec tion , " "I am about the last man to talk about his own doin's.but _ sence you ut a leading question jlfna 'bleeged to say I'm the identical old man , but it wasn't a whale , only a blackfish wuss , I calls 'em. Ye sec , afore old Grimes was dead he and I used tew do considerable seining , and he'd abaout all aour ready cash salted daown in nets. One morn- in' we'd jest got 'em aout and old Grimes he'd gone off on some chore , when I see somethin' big and black risin' right in the net. Fust thought it was a whale , then I see it was a blackfish. I was in the dory and the only thing in it was a bit of broken scythe that we'd used for cleanin' fish , so I shoved off and in a minute was alongside of the critter and him in wa ter not over six foot. Growin' mad I jest hopped aout on tow his back and fetched him a jab and off he went , a- runnm' high and dry ashore. I aout with the scythe agin and fetched him another hit , , and when he ran ashore agin I reached daown and cut his thro't and I got a knock side o' the head that raised me abaout ten foot. I landed in the blood-red knee-deep - wa ter head first , and when I picked my self up I see the critter a-wallowin' off. Grabbing the scythe I jumped on his back and fetched him another jab , and that settled it. " THE BAD EFFECTS OF UKUSUAL DIET. "Yes , I have drunk whale's milk. A caow whale with young kem inter Deer Island a spell ago and a hull party of us tried it jest to say we had. I was took with a spell that ' night , and when I was done heavin''ye'd never a'knowdme. The milk was the richest , sweetest , creamy stuff ye over see ; good for the infant whale , I reckon , but no use ter me if I was a starvin' . I have been asked a dozen times by these doctors to explain my feelins , and I ain't ever been able tew do it justice. It seems I was seasick on my port side and had a mas ter colic tew starboard , and they was ' sides minute and ' changin' every gittin' mixea. I never think o' the stuff with out f allin' from grace. "I sell a heap of tinkers tew the fac tory , " continued the old deacon , yank ing savagely at a dessicated-sculpin that had been entangled in a net , . "but mackerel is gone daown. I hev seen the .time when the hull bay was so chock full the fish'd be pushed aout of the water as ye pulled along. Why , " and here he peered around at his listeners as if to gauge their limit , "I was settin' in my bet off Nigger Island one 'day last August fishin' , when i heard a kind o' rushin' sound , and lookin up I see a bla'ck mass o' fish comm'inter the bay , hoppin' and jumpin' jest like they was tryin' to git aout o' the wet. First I knowed a No. 1 extra lept intew my lap , another landed on my head and intew the bet they kem , two or three at a time , so't I hauled in my jib and commenced to clean 'em. But they kept knockin' agin my hands and kem faster , and in abaout ten minutes the bet was half full and they commin' in wuss and wuss. I began tew git scart , so I hauled in the killick , but it got afoul in the kelp and fish , and afore I got her clear the bet was full tew the seats , and by the time I got it up the oars was buried aout o' sight , and lookin' round I see her chock tew the gunwales and the fish aslidin' over board , and the next minute she settled ; never see her since. " "But how did you get ashore ? " asked an incredulous listener. " " said the old "the "Why , man , bay was solid , and I walked ashore on the fish. " _ The Negro Preacher. November Atlantic. The negro preachers may be sharply divided into two classes , the educated and the uneducated , or as they phrase it , the "larnt" and the "unlarntJ' The former are young men who have grown up amid the new order of things , and who by dint of their own industry and frugality have managed to defray part of the cost of their limited education , some assistance having been afforded by their respective churches. They read with tolerable fluency , are slight smatterers in theology , and write after a fashion which , although almost whol ly unintelligible to educated people , is , 1 believe , Decipherable by their own race. These young divines , though they have higher ideals for their race , and" are gradually acquiring a whole some influence over them , do not as yet possess the sway of the older un educated preachers. It would seem that they have learned just enough to make them obscure ; enough to lift them out of sympathy with their simpleminded - minded hearers , but not enough to give them true breadth and insight ; and while sticklers for polysyllablesthey fret in grammatical traces , insomuch that ti.oso 1-glow , the ebullient spontaneity of the race , is entangled and smother ed. Book lore is as yet clogs , not pinions. It is among the older set , if anv- where , that we must look for the tradi tional black orator. His originality would more than satisfy the wildest apostle of the unconventional. Neither in point of rite or doctrine is he fetter ed , scarce even guided , by rule or pre cedent. He manufactures theology With the nonchalance of a Jesuit , and coins words witn the facility of a Carlylo. He may just bo able to flounder through a chapter of scripture , uncouth in gesture , barbarous in dic tion , yet earnestness lends dignity to his manner , and passion fuses his jargon gen into eloquence. He may habitual ly outrage logic and occasionally con travene scripture , but the salient points of his discourse are sound , and his words go straight home to the hearts of his hearers. , His power out , , of the pulpit is also great , almost boundless. Within his own parish he is practically priest and pope. Excommunication itself is his most trenchant weapon. Never was p'apal'anathema a more potenTf bugbear than his threat to "cut off.2' His cen sorship of the morals and de portment of his flock , though to our minds insupportab.ly annoying and humiliating , is undoubtedly wholesome and necessary. Though his discipline can Ijy no means escape the charge of inconsistency , his influence is always exerted to make them honest and faithful men and wo men , and to restrain the besetting sins of the race. In many instances he re sorts to their employers for information touching their honesty and industry. Then monthly , on a stated Saturday , they are rigidly required to assemble and give an account of themselves. As the negroes possess almost a morbid local attachment , they are exceeding loath to transfer their membership , when in quest of employment they move to a distances and in many in stances this monthly attendance in volves a tramp of forty miles or more. But no excuse is taken , and upon failure to attend for three consecutive mouths they are unhesitatingly cut off. It is at these meetings that all rumors touching the morals and deportment of each member are rigidly investigated , and the culprits summarily , though from our standpoint indiscriminately , punished ; the same penalty six mouths' suspension being inilicled for dancing and for theft , for v.-d.-lllliness and for-unchastity. Brother Gardner on the Working- man. Detroit Krec Press. "How does your" club stan' on de workingman queshun ? " Brother Gardner read these lines from a letter on his , desk , and , after looking around upon his > audience , re plied : "Who am de workingman ? He am a machinist , carpenter- painter , glazier , car-builder , molder , wood-sawyer , or white-washer. He works for "wages. De amount of-wages am determined by de need-of. -servicesp-ny de price of what ho helps to make , by de demand fur it , and byde profits his employer makes. A contractor km no iro' pay a carpenter § 4 a day dan de carpenter kin pay seventy-five cents a pound fur butter. De law of supply an' demand doan' fix de rate of wages altogether. A man kin be wulh only a sartin sum at auy craft. Workingmen realize dis as well as philosophers. De workingman has jivst as fa'f a show as de merchant. Supply an' demand regulate prices , an' goods are wuth only-so ' 'much to any consumer. ' 'I has no tears to shed oberwhat am termed de condishun of de laborin' classes. De boy who sots out to larn a trade betters himself instead of sacri- ficin' anytbin' . De man who am airnin' § 2 a day ought to lib in a $2-a- day style. If he kin aim mo' let him spend mo' . If he can't let him be sat isfied. Deaiverage workin' man libs in a comfortable cottage and has it comfortably furnished. His condishun , as dey call it , am robust health , sound sleep , plenty to eat , a good fire , chil dren in school an' an' , a pipe a news paper arter supper. .De workin' man has no business buyin' what he cannot afford. "An' what has popped up in de last score o' y'ars to make de laborin' man discontented ? I tell ye , my frens , it am de sperit o' false pride dat am play- in' de ole boy wid de man who has to work fur his money. He wants to ap pear better off dan he railly is. He wants a house better dan he kin afford. His daughter mus' have a.n organ or pianner , nis son w'ar fine cloze , an' his wife walk out in garments nebber in tended fur her. It takes mo' dan goin' wages to keep up dis false show. . I doan believe dar am one workin'man in fifty who am satisfied to lib widin his income. If de man was satisfied his wife wouldn't be. It has got so dat de daughter of a laborin' man am ashamed of de fack. It has got so dat 2fals consider it adisgrace to do house work. It has got so dat sons of labor- in' men want to spend money fast , an' sunthin has got to drap. When de daughter of a whitewasher an' de wife of a wood-sawyer mus' have fur-lined cloaks de condishun of de laborin' classes am sunthin' dat no one man kin tackle. Let us purceed to purceedin's. " Care makes a man old before his time. * I City Versus Country. November Atlantic. I have heard good people declaim . * against the social life of cities as if there were really something criminal in a fondness for dinner parties , receptions and balls , and a high degree of virtue j in abstaining from such pleasures by _ J those who could not have them if they would. I have had considerable expe rience of life in rural towns , and so far as it informs me I am willing to main tain that life in them is no more earn est , dignified with worthy interests and ( I aims , than life in cities , but merely a less busy and a duller thing. The friv- jj olous city girl's day is filled with en- gagemeuts from morning to night ? J with shopping , paying and receiving I visits , driving in the park , and theatre i or ball-going in the evening. Her mind is taken up with these things to the ex * clusion of anything like intellectual occupation - cupation for novel-reading does not ' come under that head. She is absorbed in pleasure-seeking in all its various kinds. The frivolous country girl has more time on her hands , but docs she do anything better wtth it ? She , too , seeks her pleasures , as many as are to be had , and sighs that there are no more of them. She shops and pays calls , and plays tennis in the afternoon in stead of driving on the avenue ; wishes there were a dauce.for the evening'but since there is not stays at homo and does some fancy-work , finishes hct novel , or chats with soinn intimate who "drops in" on her.Vhat real differ- 'enc'e in her character is made by the fact that she" has had but one party to * attend during the'wgek , where the oth er girl has had 'Six ? I * worldliness worse because it is on a larger scale ? Is scandal about the last elopement in fashionable society more demoralizing than gossip about one's next-door neighbor's son and the attention he is j paying to Miss So-and-.So ? The virtue ' , of minding ; one's own-business is not t , more commonly * practiced in rural { / places than in larger ones. I know of city girls who mingle with their pleas ures an active care for the ooor and | sick , spending as much thought and f time in charitable work as those who , lt living in country places , have less de mand upon their leisure. It is sad to see a man or woman spending life in * * thoughtless gayety : to me , it is equally sad to see one wasting it in simple , neg atively virtuous insanity. I know ccr- u tain worthy persons , the mure sight of l | whom is depressing beyond words. The. / , ' ] vacancy of their mind oppresses i mo a ? a suspension in a strain of music j distresses the car ; the dullness of their undeveloped scr.sibilitus , the. contrac tion of the mental and .spiritir.il space w they are shut up in , r.ffects me us a | positive pain. If it wer an external ij necessity that compelled to this way of / existence , the. case woidd be hard enough ; but being , as I know it is , the result of choice and habit , and that , again , the outcome of sluggish temper- { amert and minds deprived of proper stimulus , the pity of it is so much the greater. Sometimes such people do suffer from this species of self-starva tion , yet without knowing it , or at least without comprehension of the true cause of their dull unrest. Perhaps it is just such a one , of all persons , whom 3'ou will hear speaking iu disparage- > inent of "fashionable" society. In the name of reason , one exclaims internally - J ly , is it not better at least to enjoy one's I self than to make an absolute nothing of one's life ? To be'pleased with tnfles ' is at least no crimi ? , but you would make it a virtue to be pleased with nothing. " "a' A Gentlewoman's Real Dress. Clara Belle , in Cincinnati Enquirer. The dress of the real gentlewoman , the truly refined and sensible of her sex , is never in the .height of fashion. The first study of such a woman is to seek the becoming ; her second thought the good , and her last what is merely fashionable. She cleverly adapts the fashion to herself. She will not stoop to make herself a mere figure for the modiste to hang her wares on. She has a law in her own mind , Jiigher than the law of fashion. She wears many nice things , but probably the most becom ing of them have been fashioned by her own taste , frequently finished , perhaps , ( by her own deft-fingers , or at least she ( has carefully superintended their manu facture. Many an envious neighbor < may have glanced at her tasteful toil ets , cynically observing : "Her poor husband working so hard and she spending his earnings in French frib- beries. " All this while her costorae is rarely rich , never very costly , often not even new , for the genuine gentlewoman remembers the "bread-winner" and home-maker , the husband who toils. But whatever she wears is prettily made , and never decked with gaudy tinsel , trumpery lace and sham jewels. " All is fresh and simple , good of their " * kind , collars , cuffs , frills and gloves alike faultless. After all , there is no great art in her fashions or in her ma- ' terials. Her secret consists in ker knowing the three great unities of dress her own station , her own age and her own good points. Above all , " ' she takes care that her plainest and cheapest dress shall be well cut. She need not be beautiful nor even accom plished , but we will answer for her be ing even tempered , sensible , and that very rare jewel in the present fast going days , a "perfect lady , " a "gentle- ' woman" in its fullest and best sense. In California prune culture is ? success. Each tree bears abouylOO pounds of prunes , worth about 14 cents , per pound. A stitch in Time must make the old chap feel sew-sew. [ New York Journal - ' I nal- ' Not leveled by love The rank of an onion. [ New York Journal. t '