Nebraska Newspapers

    DUST AND ASHES.
Mm practiced on him rTI her wnss
Till in love's silken net she cuughft him
And showered on him her sweetest smiisi
When to her lectshe captive brought
him.
But when he pleaded with the maid
To be regarded as her lover,
■be sighed a little, blushed and said,
"Please wait until ths summer’* over,’
Aad then began love’s golden dream;
To every picnic, every dance he
Took her, bought her femon-creum
And other things that maidens farcy,
At beach hotels with herb* hopped,
For she was quite an ardent daaesr—
At length the youth the question popped
And waited for the maiden’s answer.
It drew the eweetnees from his life,
It burnedandjscorchedhimlikeabllster;
Twas this: “I cannot be your wife,
But I will be to you a sister."
Boston Courier.
besertedIoyeks.
**Our ship! our chip! See, Henry, she
*» sailing away without us. What can
It mean?”
The speaker, Lucy Morril, waa a
beautiful girl—a dark-eyed brunette;
the person whom she addressed was
bar lover—Captain Henry Cavendish
young man of twenty-si*.
They had left the vessel in the dingy,
only an hour before, to visit one of
those isles of the Pacific ocean, near
which the ship was then lying “off and
on.”
Tha noma rtf iVia /*rnff. waa fVi* Aval.
low, and she was the joint property of
Cavendish and of Lucy’s brother. She
contained a valuable cargo, which the
two owners expected to dispose of at
Sydney, Australia, at a profit of many
thousands.
His share would, the captain had an*
ticipated, afford him the means to com
snerce married life with, and he had
already won a promise from the sweet
fhi, who had accompanied her brother
on the voyage, to become his wife as
•oon as the cargo was sold.
Now, at Lucy’s exclamation, her
lover, who was in a small valley, gath
ering flowers for her, ran to the sum
mit of the hill on which she stood.
“Aye, what can it mean?” he cried,
In surprise and dismay.
The ship had made all said, and, be.
lore a fair wind, was receding from his
faze at a rapid rate.
He gesticulated—waved hat and
kerchief in vain. On went the vessel,
•nd at last her hull was invisible, and
Only her upper sails could be seen.
Gradually these dipped lower and
lower, until every vestige of the craft
oas lost to view in the distance.
The two looked at each other with
blanched faces.
Here they were, left by themselves
On this far away isle of the Pacific,
ohich they knew wae out of the track
Of passing vessels.
“Something is wrong,” said the cap
tain sadly. "I fear I have lost every
thing. I was in a fair way to be hap
py and prosperous. Now I am poorer
than abeggar.”
Tears rose in Lucy’s eyes.
I advised you not to go into partner
Aim nrSfVi rmr KmfVioi* ** utio qqw)
I did not beliove he was dishonest. I
thought he was only wild and reckless.
Sow I do not know what to think.”
“It has spoiled our happiness,” said
Cavendish. “Probably we will never
eeethe craft again, and as I am thus
penniless, I cannot think of obliging
you to fulfil your promise of being my
wife.”
For several moments Lucy’s dark
ms were veiled by their long lashes;
then she threw herself weeping on her
lover’s breast.
“Can you believe me to be mercen
ary?” she said. “Oh no, Henry; I am
yours the same as ever.”
“But,” replied Cavendish, “we have
wo money to live on now, if I should
make you mine.”
“We hardly need money here,” said
Lacy, smiling.
“That is true; but wo will want
bod."
“We would want that whether we
•ere married or not,” said Lucy
softly.
“And so you are willing to be my
bride—to marry me now?”
“I—I did not say so,” she answered
shyly. “It is for you to say.”
“Who is here to marry us?”
"True enough; but—but—I don’t
know—I have heard that missionaries
are sometimes on these far away is
land*.”
“We will go and look for one,” said
Cavendish, offering bis arm.
They had not proceeded far when t bey
net a native—a dusky, wildly-clad
nan, with long, black hair. He show
•d surprise on seeing them, and mini
them many questions in broken hug
ieh.
From him the lovers learned that
(here was a missionary on tin- island.
Us guided them to that person • house,
a small budding, with a thin-'Iwd roof.
Th# missionary, an aged man. rs
Mini litem kindly and heard then
(lory
“It is seldom that vessels pass thU
•ay.'' he said "lam afraid yon w ill
Save to stay here for moulds Vmi
will ha veto live pnmipatl) on fruit
and u»h ‘‘
“Can we get plenty of that m<|Uir
al Cavendish
It you have a boat, you i n go out
aod > aleh all I he lid* )uU want h
|B Intit, it grow* Wild on mill* parte
sf th* Mk, hut to nake sure ol gel Him
pnnw.li vow had better cultivate *
plantation of your own
w Th* young hmm Ivad no difficult y in
bibihgl tli* missionary to |«nh>rm
■t* Snatriage «event onV
n| I.* ll>s».. | man. the* »1»
•• i mil • tmg a hat*
I- was rtimlw-l in a lew >iavs,
Wto- -ii try h*imd tint young
• l • His-.« i to oiaineu- •
»i4- siii> For a porks*
•a
b«——. which eh* bod oh
tained, in exchange for fruit, from [the
master of an English vessel that had
once anchored on the island. These
dresses, Lucy, who was skillful with
i the needle, soon altered to fit her per
■ son.
And now, while Cavendish never
ceased to 1 egret the loss of his vessel
and cargo, he and his pretty wife could
not help enjoying their island life.
The captain eventually had a thriving
plantation, on which he cultivated
not only fruit, but also vegetablee.
In his boat—the Dingy—he would
row miles away from the island to ob
tain fish, and often Lucy would ac
company him.
Happy in eachotlier’s society,the two
at last became r/t ached to their snug
little island home, which stood, with
its thatcned roof, perched on a rising
bit of ground above the beach, where
the sea waves came rolling in white
and high. One morning, after they
had lived there almost a year, Caven
dish left his wife to go on one of his
usual fishing excursions.
It was a calm, still day, and the
young man, rowing far from the isle,
was soon lost to the gaze ol Lucy—who
wAs watching him—in the misty dis
tance.
An hour later a terrific gale sudden
ly came sweeping over tho ocean. The
wind and the sea t ogether roared with
a din that was almost deafening, and
it seemed to Lucy that thegreat waves,
scattering sheets of spray that filled
the air like white clouds, were as high
as mountains.
Terrified and anxious on her hus
band’s account, she watched ia vain
for his return.
“He is lost! He is lost!” she cried,
wringing her hands. “His boat could
not live in a sea like that. Ob,Henry!
Henry!”
The old missionary mode his ap
pearance. He strove to console her,
Dut he could give no hope, for he, too,
could not help thinking the captain
was lost.
The spray and the rack of the storm
covered the raging water for miles, so
that no object could at present be seen
through the cloud-like curtain.
KfrainSnir tlipir PVM fhfl utmost’,.
the two anxious watchers vainly en
deavored to pierce with their gaze rush
ing masses or vapor.
All at once Lucy fancied she saw
something UJf. a black speck tossed
and hurief Along towards the island.
“geel What is it?” she gasped.
“An overturned boat,” said the
missionary, when the object had drifted
nearer.
“It is his boat!” Lucy cried in agony.
Such was indeed the case.
Broken and battered, the dingy in
which Cavendish had left the island,
was at length hurled high upon the
beach.
It seemed as if Lucy would lose her
reason.
With wild eyes she gazed upon the
boat.
Not a sound escaped her.
She stood like a statue, staring at the
broken dingy, as if she could not tear
herself away from the spot.
"Come, child,” said the missionary;
“come. It is hard, but you must try
to control yourself.”
"I will stay here. I will watch for
his body,” she groaned. “It must
soon come.”
But she waited in vain.
The waves refused to give her the
remains of her husband.
She tottered to the little house, and,
throwing herself down on a rustic
lounge there, she gavo way to her grief.
“To think that I will never, never
see him again!” she cried “Oh; I wish
that I, too, was dead!”
There was a bright, hectic color on
each check, and a restless gleam in her
eyes.
The words of consolation offered by
me missionary icu unneeueu on ner
ears. A delirious fever was fast tak
ing possession of her brain.
The old missiona ry went outside of
the house, and walked to and fro, his
mournful gaze turned seaward.
The violence of the gale had now
abater! and the atmosphere had
cleared.
Far away the watcher beheld a large
ship, apparently headingfor the island.
"Here conies a vessel!" he called,
hoping thus to turn the young wife's
mind a littlefrom the grief.
She was on her feet and out of the
house in a moment. With eager in
terest did she gaze on the approaching
craft.
"I know that ship.” she cried, in a
voice of agony. "It is my husband's
and my brother’s—the swallow. But
it has come too late'—too late! My
Henry has gone, and 1 w ill never leave
the island. I will die here, anil when 1
die I must be buried in the sea, where
i he lies.and there uesliall meet again.”
Wildly shone her eyes as she spoke,
and the missionary feared that Iter
mind hail already Isguit to w ander.
Meanwhile on came the ahip, until
she was within a mile of the bench,
when a boat was lowered and pulled
: shoreward
As it drew nearer, there was a slut
( lilt uncoil* cry of toy from Lucy ami
: the missionary, for tltey recognized
Captain Cavendish, standing in tlie
| bow wav list his hat to them.
"He lias been picked up and saved!"
rricd (any a companion
"Aye, ate, »of» ami well"' shouted
the captain, hearing the word*,
i tt*toll j fief the taint'* ini grated on
I Its I lent h. amt I nicy threw herself into
her hu*hand a arm*
H ite yon no giietiiig for ms**'saa|
I a vose near them.
| |nicy look'd up to s«wi Iter brother,
i » hum stat had no' rt* 'gliaut on an
! fount of his tbs k Is aid
kalletaplaln NkoMsikn it* owi
hraced au.l\its<l Iter.
this l*. Imired a hnppv day for
: me. Its *aal “t Nil ui ibe sittmt, p»*i
is it itimitK luvd. I Mi ut with
1 your hudiwml »t minting in hi*
lull* In wit, am| I was fortunate
! etitotsb to pa k him up 'l lm boat
however, dr ill t* I aw at ft ton it* I who*
I* riHihi m is* II Mow | tlml mv sc*
Ur, w*il ami happi si til, I le*|w, Im
Um faith in hat wiki scamp of a broth
or '
"Why del you il *#H #»'" li it ports!
lasy "Why Watt hi mi (Ins Island*"
“ll was sol I who ik*terlcd you. hut
the Mien |l«y rose in mutmy. winch
they had |tvtb«t'iy beco ho tulia tWs
pluming, knocked me and the two
mates down, tied our hands and feet,
thrust os into the hold like pigs, and
then, clapping on sail, beaded away
from the island.
“Their object as I afterward learned,
was to take the vessel to some South
American port, there sell the cargo,
pocket the funds, and then make off
inland, leaving the craft in our posses
sion. They were not good navigators,
and, therefore, they were many months
beating about the Pacific Ocean.
“At last they were within some hun
dreds of miles of the South American
coast, but by this time half the num
ber concluded that their plan was not
a feasible one. They would, on reach
ing port, be boarded by the authori
ties, questions would be asked, and
detection, it seemed, would be inevita
ble. They were unanimous for freeing
us and returning to their duty, provid
ed we would promise not to punish
them severely for what they had al
ready done.
“Two others did not like this propo
sition; the two parties quarreled, and
the end of it wus that they all finally
resolved to dosert the vessel in a body,
and make for an island they saw m
the distance. They did so, first setting
us at liberty. They took the launch
—tho best boat wo had—and many
useful things from the ship.
With the cook and steward, there
now were only five of us to work the
ship. A few (lays later, however, we
shipped some Portuguese sailors from
the Felix Islands, otf which we then
lay becalmed.
“As these men wanted to go to Syd
ney, and would not ship until I had
promised them I would make a
‘straight wake for that Tilnce, I was
obliged to head in that direction, in
stead of retracing my course to the
distant shore—a thousand miles away
—on which you and Cavendish hod
been left.
‘‘A fair wind favored me, and I final
ly arrived at Sydney, when I disposed
of our cargo to a much better advan
tage than I had even expected. Then
I shipped another crew, and headed
for tnm isle, off which, it seems, I ar
rived just in time to save your hus
band’s life. I have to add that his
share of our profits is with mine, safe
under lock and key, aboard ship.”
A few days later, Captain Cavendish,
now the fortunate possessor of many
thousands, sailed away with his wits
from the island. In due time the lipp
py couple reached London, and on the
outskirts of that city they eisctod a
comfortable cottage—their fetata
home.
THE BL.UE GRASS REGIOBr.
Til a Cnltlvatad People of Thi* Section and
Their Happy Paatoral Life.
Letter in the New York Evening Poet.
That one may hear the English lan
guage spoken here in purity; that the
best magazines are read; that Ameri
can authors are discussed and intelli
gently liked or disliked; that young
ladies know good music and are ae well
dressed as those of New York; in short,
that there is here a class of people who,
in all that goes to make up culture
wealth, travel, manners, morals,
speech, etc.—are the equals of the best
Americans to be found anywhere, are
truths unsuspected by many, and
doubtless incredible to many others
with whom invincible ignorance or in
grained prejudice are obstacles to faith.
The pastoral life goes on prosperously
and happily year after year in the
blue grass region. It is necessurv that
discrimination be made at the outset
as to locality. Between the dwellers
in this rich rolling plain and the in
habitants of the river and mountain
counties is all the difference, as re
spects cultivation and peacefulness,
that one might reasonably expect to
find between different races. Undoubt
edly by the stranger who should visit
this country for the first time, the
class of people first to be met and
studied are the more prosperous and
intelligent; tanners, no neeu not go
among them armed to the teeth. In
the vicinity of the towns he w ill find
that some of them are men of busi
ness in town—bank officers, profes
sors, lawyers, etc. And so they are
men of ideas. They have private li
braries, they drive tiie most beautiful
of horses over the most beautiful of
level white limestone roads. The
grounds and the woodlands around
their homes are sometimes worthy of
an English park. Of course you will
ex|iect to see the herds of Jerseys and
Diirhama grating over their fertile
meadows. One of theminay showyou
the stables where famous trotters or
racers are being groomed. Anotb
! er may take you to the aronmtie
j sited where his men are pressing
I the tobacco which has of late begun
to he so largely cultivated in this part
| of tin-State Another may ojssn for
you the Imndcd wart-house, whi rs "old
| liotirhoit" is stored away . barrel above
barrel, tier after tier, and of enures, if
j y<>U bavs a mind to, you •all Hint out
• what "old Bourbon' is when you ret urn
I tn the shaded veranda. You walk to
stuns knoll, and from it* summit cast
your eye over I he *!»•■* id mead
ow. th hi amt forest The m-:ro<-i areful
lnwicg the ploughs down tie tong rows
of tiie young Indian com 'It . -hul < Is
of the nrt|«rr Is heard Ml the w I teat Itehl
tin ihe dtsf ,tnl hillside, and i he faint
m-ream of a locomotive as it rushsw
along tits hanks of the winding river,
t ■•ad wind sweet with the, odor of
| wild mw and rider bloom, with them
I lultrnm* smell of fnwlih cut • Ittvwr. or
1 new ly ploughed earth blow • frviu this
j •inarter amt limn i hat AUai you is
j tci* d«i p senate blue, w it h whilst'hutds
! drilling over I'inter you g thwdesfi
green of the idol turf Around you
1 is an ii,».»pl«te lb* most ho moo us
,i d • ry • • illoie 'I'o y<»u com# ths
| coo of huthlmg doves, I he notes of ths
•|ss kw> hr-usted lark, ths shriek of tbs
imtateu tduw Jay. ths drowsy Istlos
of the woodpecker, driving his biff
agaUist the top of a dyuig walnut.
Vmi think of lw Inal and dust ami
dm and weariness id ike great stir,
ami thank your stars that you wM ii
Iks Wu* grass region of Kentucky.
^—■——
TOCTH.
Ohl strange inconsequence of youth, ~
When days were lived from hand to mOdtl
And thought run round un empty ring
In foolish, sweet imagining.
We handled love in childish fashion—
The name alone and not the passion—
The world and life were things so small,
Our little wit encompussed all!
We took our being as our faith
For granted, drew our easy breath
And rarely stayed to wonder why
Ws were set hers to live and die.
Vague dreams we had, a grander Fat*
Our lives would mold and dominate,
Till we should stand some far-off day
More godlike than of mortal clay.
Strong Fate! we meet thee but to And
A soul Hiid all that lies behind,
We lose Youth's Paradise and gain
A world of duty and of pain.
—The English Illustrated Magazine.
IIIS BROTHER S KEEPER.
Prom tho Youth's Companion.
"I’m not good for much, am I
mother?”
The question wns naked playfully
but tho young mun Hitting at tlx
breakfast-table, from which a rod-arm
ed girl was carrying tho dishes, throw
down his paper, and springing up,Huid,
with a flushed face,—
"No, Dick, you’re not good for any
thing!”
"Come now!” was the angry re
eponse, and Mrs. Barnes hurried for
ward nervously, for it Heemed as if the
two brothers would light.
"It's a fact. You are living on us
?’ou are lazy—and you’re almost twen
y years old,” said Tom, tho eldest
"0 boys! hoys!” protested the worn
an, holding out her hands. “Youncv
er quarreled in your life. Don’t bo
gin now!”
"It’s time he heard the truth!” mut
tered Tom.
"But, mother, haven't I tried?”
asked the boy, turning to her, and his
voice trembled just a little.
"You know, Tom, that Dick is deli
cate,” pleaded the woman.
"Yes, and that's been his shield long
T liA*._4. A._
delicate to go to all the merry-makings,
and eat his share, and when he get* a
5ood chance in life, ho don’t know it.
’ll never try for him again, never!”
and out he went, slaming the door be
hind him.
"I don’t see what's got, into Tom!”
said the widow, distressfully, “I nev
er knew him to act so before.”
“Oh, it’s been in him some time,”
muttered Dick, hoarsely, “Ever since
he got acquainted with the Mosses.
That’s what’s the matter.”
“Do you really mean it, Dick?”
“Of course I do. Helikes Miss Anne,
and he wants to marry arid settle
down. I’m in the way. I wish father
had lived, or I had died with him.”
“Dick, darling, don’t talk so!”
“I say I do! Everything was going
on ]ust right. I liked my studies, and
meant to make a man, though in a
different way from Tom. Ho likes
hard work, and can do it. I hate ev
erything but hooks, study and law.
I don’t see why Tom should be so
hard on me. I’m trying my best.
Lawyer Bates said that in less than
two years I can make my own way.”
"My, poor, dear boy! You are do
ing your best I know you are.”
“Yes, you think so; you feel so; I’m
sure of your sympathy, but you see,
Tom wants me to be making money.
He begrudges me the food I eat, and
thinks I am shirking, and trying to
get along without work. He never
said so before, but I have seen it of
late. I can read it in the way he looks
at me.”
“My dear boy! try not to mind
It!” said the widow distressfully.
“Ihavetriedjlaughed at his hints,and
swallowed my chagrin. But I can’t do
It any longer, my self-respect is hurt.
All is, I must throw up my place with
Lawyer Bates, and go out to Oregon,
and buckle down to hard work.”
“Dick, I never will consent to it!”
said his mother, growing pale. “You,
with your delicate constitution, to go
away so far from home,—from me,—
when you have always needed to be
watched over nnd canid for! Try not
to mind Tom!”
“1 havedone so, mother, but I can’t
pretend to try any longer. Tom wants
to be married—to the silliest girl in
the family, too, because she has a
pretty face and dresses so stylishly. I
titj n iitib nr i 'i'lllit;, lit? n i n nivj ’
five years old, and doing a fair busi
ness. It’s only I um in the way. He
has to help me to clothes, you know,
end of course my board costs some
thing. 1 might as well say ye*. The
journey will do me good, maybe, and
there’s a chance to make money. It’s
s new place, you know."
The conference closed, and Dick went
to his other, leaving Ins mother al
most broken hearted, it was such a
rlinnge from the tender ears of her
husband, to dc|Mtndencs upon the
strong, self willed innn whose word had
begun to he law. And it was embar
rassing to feel that before long she
would only lot second in his heart and
home For he called the hums his.
though his mother had bought it with
her own money years before, and fur
nished it herself Hot now she was
tell so iiii|siirn4i«l that site had no
Kiestis to pay tlie tales, and iter health
was poor
If Toot would only wait! Hut no,
Tom believed that |h*k was buy; that
Ins studying law was I tot t fares; that
h# should I* no more exempt from
hart! work titan himself AimI Its had
uut had siii h a »pl< mud situation of
Iwwl tor bun. that it angered him be
rood measure when I»t. k da lined.
'iHllltllMIl Ihckas b» sUserUtgly
railed him He*t»l*s, he did wish to
marry, but would not whits bs fancied
Dak au ttu uiobranc*.
That night ths broliisrw mst for a
isw momenta, tbs mother was awt In
I lbs room
"(lavs you written your friend m
Orwun!" asked Dak. and something
In H*S handsome, iMsths tu*d lo»* re
buksd his eider broths* as he su
•wsrsd. -
••No, I shall writs to him tonight ”
Mt’wU huu lmv.pl, saidDtek, short
ly, turned on his heel and left thi
room.
"Come to his senses at last," sail!
!* Tom, reflectively, yet with certain un
easy twinges, as he remembered thi
most unnatural brilliancy of thcdarlt
pathetic eyes, so like his father’s
•‘Pshaw! it will do the fellow good tc
knock round the world a little. Hi
has been tied quite too long to hii
mother’s apron-strings. And—as tc
law—there are too many lawyers al
ready. He will thank me before thi
year is out, and mother, too.”
Dick broached tho idea to his friend
Lawyer Bates,who tried all in his po wu
todissuade him.
"You’ve the making of an excellent
lawyer in you," he said, “and you an
getting along wonderfully. If you will go
off so far, why don’t you wait till youget
your diploma? That's tho business you
were made for."
But all the talk did no good, and in
wardly calling him a fool, the man
turned to the papers before him
How could Dick tell him that he was
an unwelcome guest in his mother’s
house?
"Die in a year,”thelawyer muttered
afterwards, when somebody spoke to
him about it. "The boy isn’t made for
hard work, and lie'll find it out.”
The year passed. Torn had beensix
months married, and bad brought his
pretty, helpless bride to bis home, hired
ext raservants, and seemed as happy
as a lord, lie did not notice the in
creasing pallor of his mother’s face, the
heart-broken look that told how sh*
missed t bought less, wurm hearted, lov
ing Dick.
lie had always mado such a
pet of his little, gentle mother, and
now she felt as if she were almost for*
gotten. Her son and his wife were
kind to her—but 0)1, she wanted the
clasp of lovingarrns about her neck,
and the kiss of a son, sometimes.
Her only solace was the reception of
tho letters that came at first every
week—but of late there had been great
gaps between. He laughed in his let
ters, but sobbed as lie folded them;
she never should know—never!
He had enjoyed the novelty of the
trip, and the new associations among
which he was thrown, for a time. The
work which he-was expected todo was
entirely beyond bis strength, and the
.....i_i.„ ........ __
contact were rough and uncultivated.
He had been accustomed to delicate
and nourisning food; that which he
tried to eat wan coarse, badly prepar
ed and unholesome. i)uy after duyhe
labored from early morn till late at
night, leaving for his place of.lodgment
so exhausted that the best meal would
have been distastful. As the weak
ness increased, he fought bravely
against it, and yet the longing for
home—the almost agonized desire to
look upon his mother’s face once more
—added to his physical sufferings.
“That boy looks like a ghost," said
some one, to his employer.
“Yes; not fit for the business," was
his reply, “but the poor fellow is try
ing very hard."
“O mother! motherl I am coming
home. I must come home," he wrote,
at the conclusion of the year.
“I thought so,” said practical Tom,
with a clouded brow, when his mother
read him the letter, her voice trembling.
“You made a baby of him for all time
—he’ll never be a man!”
Little ho thought how prophetic were
his words! The next letter said,—
“Expect me by tlw third of next
month at latest.” The next—written
in a strange hand,—
“Dear Madam,—I amsorry to write
you bad news. Yourson was getting
ready to start for home, w hen he broke
down. He was never strong enough
for the work, and I told him so, months
ago, but he would not give up. Thera
was good metal in him—but—I think
he mourned toomuchforhishomeand
his mother. Just before he died, he
said, ‘If I could only see my mother for
one moment, I could die happy!’ ”
Why need we follow the letter? Tom
broke down, for once, when the news
forced itself upon him. The mother
went rapidly to the grave, and to this
day there isalook in Tom’s face, which
neither care nor bodily suffering put
there—only consciousness that having
been his brother’s keeper, ho failed in
/luftr iiti/l n fTii/>f (/.ri iid/1 f n (• t Ka
rest of his life must pay the penalty.
The Course of True Love.
From the Heruklstmry (Cal.) Knterprise.
It was one day Inst week, and in ths
city of Cloverdule, that a wedding had
been given out to take place; all ths
necessary preparations hud been made
and the guests had all assembled, when
lo and behold! it wasdiseovered that
the license hud been issued by the Clerk
of Mendocino county, in place of Bo
noma- It hud so hap|H'tied that ons
of llealdsburg’a ministers had been en
gaged and was on tlu> ground ready to
perform the ceremony, and it can be
tuner miiiKittcu man w>ktiun me
con*tcrnatton that wa* produced when
the divine Informed the ConlritttiM
parti** that a luurriagv llrcnee l •will'd
In l ktali waa not ju«t the proper au
thority to la-rform the mar ring* iww*
luuiiy Inlloverdaie, «*that hunt hap
|wn«d to ha in another county. At
that time the dinner * aw almost on tin*
table, and many of tha ipimti
•«r« »t audio* on tbair ti|ii«M> of «•
riteineut. and what an* to tie done
waa on the tongue of every one. The
thoughtful lit.nlater informed them
that it wae only three mil*e to the
Mendocino county line, ami whenthat
|m tin t was the (voting iltMU'
inaivt Would n**un.e I*-; it authority,
Ae eoon aetlwee words turd fallen from
th« iiiiiiMitei • h|M a nodi lor the livery
•lahlve l uinlneieid. ami team* follow
el team* ui t|uk k iikeweiun until all
thegtteete were on dying wheel* in the
direction of Mrid>* ine line When
IhU wae crowned and a friendly shade
had Unu found. Ilie party alighted
ami the happy temple were made one
Thau all rviunud to the tdme altare
the tablee were headed wii U the chon*
•*. daliit lee of the land A lent log n
Mut'd wu» lm|Hr»»»*d u|w>n th* nunde
of thoae |wnnit that threw an lew make
a w undetful dial erne when on th«
• ruogt'l* of I he county line
AMERICAN GIRLS.
An Eminent Divine Seym They Are We*
Mere Appendage, to Saratoga Trunk*.
Prof. Swing in Chicago Current.
The girl of to-day, with rare excep
tions, is industrious and with a breadth
of invention and execution. The ironi
cal and often mean essays on the wom
an of the present often picture her
as good for little except for accom
panying a Saratoga trunk on iis wan
derings in summer and for tilling fash
ionable engagements in winter. Much
of f 11 I <4 Mfl M'll Mfl I 1M 1 I V* t 111* fl»lV
but when the millions of girls nre
tnought of ns they are ornamenting
their mothers’homes in the villages
and cities, the honest heart enunot
hut confess tlmt the word “girl” never
meant more than it does to-day. This
being, when found in her best, estate,
can go gracefully from her silk dress
and piano to a plain garb and to work
among plants, or to the kitchen, or to
a mission school class. In the city
she can easily walk three mill Lan
guor has ceased to ho fashionable;
sleep in the day tune not to be en
dured. The soul is thought to be
action, not repose.
All cun contradict thc-e words of
praise; because all who think a mo
ment, can find except ions in girls who
are ulways just dead wii h a headache,
or as averse as a mummy to any kind
of conversation or activity; girls who
who are pleased with nothing and no
body. These exceptions are so disa
greeable that they seem to mar the
whole world and make the beautiful
characters invisible. In matters of
this kind one can only offer opinions.
One dare not assert with confidence.
At a popular summer resort, where
quite u number of t hese 10-year mor
tals were met and observed daily, it
appeared in evidence and in common
fame that to be full of obedience to->
ward parents, of kindness toward allr
persons and tilings, to be industrious,
to be full of inquiry and rational talk
was not the exception, but the average
of condition.
\\ hy should a few girls of marked
vanity and of giggling tendencies
cast into reproach that multitude
whose hearts are as innocent as th®
June flowers and June birds? Much
of the ruin of character comes in th®
later years of woman, when the im
jjrudence of late dancing, late supper®
and the mental anxiety, and,perhaps,
sorrows which come from the vain ef
forts of the heart to create a paradise
of pleasure away from duty, make th®
cheek fade early and the eye lose it®
luster in the morning, like sun that
?;oes behind clouds before noon. As
or noble girls of 10, the Western con
tinent is full of them. They are in the
cities,in the villages, in the farm houses.
We meet them on all streets, along all
paths in the lone and lovely country.
They are ready for all duty and hap
piness, and constitute to us older and
fading hearts the most beautiful and
divine scene on earth.
*.. ■ —w
First Confederate Buttle Flags.
From Mrs. Burton Harrison's‘‘Rec
ollections of a Virginia Girl in theFirst
Year of the War,” the following is tak
en: ‘‘Another incident of note, in per
sonal experience during the autumn of
’01, was that to two of my cousin®
and to me was intrusted the making
of the first three bat tie (lugs of the con
federacy, directly after congress had
decided upon a design for them. They
were jaunty squares of scarlet crossed
with (lark blue, the cross bearing stars
to indicate the number of the seceding
states. We set our best stitches upon,
them, edged them with golden fringes,
and when they were finished, dispatch
ed one to Johnston, another to Beau
regard, and thethird to Earl Van Dora.
—the latter afterward a dashing cav
alry leader, but then commanding in
fantry at Manassas. The ban
ners were received with all th®
enthusiasm we could have hoped
for; were toasted feted, cheered
abundantly. After two years,
when Van Dorn had been killed in
Tennessee, mine came back to me,
tattered and smokestained from long
and honorable service in the field.
But it was only a little while after it
had been bestowed that there arrived
one day at our lodgings in Cullpeper a
huge, bashful Mississippi scout—-on®
offtlie most daring in the army—with
the frame of a Hercules and the face of
■ l . ■ 1 , I 1C (I 41 lilililun f A OAltlU filters®
by bis general, he said to ask if I
would not give him an order to fetch
some cherished object from my dear
old home—something that would
prove to in® 'how much they thought
of the maker of that lla#!’ after some
hesitation, I acquiesced, nlllioTjdi
thinking it a jest; V week later I wan
the as ton inlied recipient of a lamented
hit of finery left within the lines,’a
wrap of white ami azure brought by
Dillon bimseif, wit b a beaming face,
lie bud gone through the I'ninn picket*
liiountisl on a loud of firewood, and,
while im (Idling poultry, bad presented
bimseif at our town bouse, whence be
curried oil bis prise in triumph, with a
letter in its folds, telling us how rel
atives left Isdiiml longed to Im sharing
the joys and sorrow* of those at largo
Ui the confederacy."
Allen Thorndyk* lla-#, the propria
tor of the North American Hvvlew, ie
said to b® the fortunate jsmsesor of
•a.OOO.UUO—a very comfortable sum
to have at one * coin m,t n4 Sir. If ice
knows how to use o to hi* own enjoy
ment and t< *tn< enjoyment of otfu i *
lie ie a young man. not ttS, it k aanl,
with olive u*nq«l« »n«n, dark hrowit
hair, targe hare) »n», H good slra%nt
hum ami a **il t»ru*b«d, nines it
•ward in . rbuitg bv <v long must*■ <j
lie dree*.* (Uleily, and, while «<
clot hew are all of the hiuuDmmet ml
lertal. he *««ms to hos a fancy fur a
iop tout that it a Utile worn in lias
•cam*, •»> Dial hu> to!lies alt) not have
the appeal ale e of hating just cum*
Iruat the tailor Mr Hu* t* a very bu*jr
maw, for U-1-U-s lakmg care uf bta
[ uvumjr he butks after the mierwwts ut
the Sort it American Hevtew. engage®
esttlkelnrt, ami when he ia In Near
, York lake* entire < barge uf the editor
11*1 ftfwiiiunit wpuw hta »howlders.