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The Democratic eagle. (Cape Vincent, N.Y.) 18??-188?, October 15, 1885, Image 1

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r\ i '\ i if i^f m #*#% PUSHED .EVERY TH08SDAT,. A,'!' LPB Yl N CJ3-NT, N.<- Y„ OHAELSS & WOOD, Editor and- Prop'* '\. To jrtiom all letters stand be addressed. All sowespondenoe and advertisements should rasoti is Tuesday morning to Insure .publication. JOE WORK A SPECIALTY. Win. AiUlion-yv YOL. XIV. IAMESATTCTOSTB^ Dealer In ai HIAYI HABK Opposite St. Xawrence Hotel, Market Bt FtEPAfRtNC a «n*ll Its branches done promp figures. I make 6 and at low BEST CQLLAE IN USE! Olre ma a call and satistr youneii, JEBOME'S HOTEI* AND BILLIARD EOOMi^ Io« Creara Always OB Has*. («iy) Cape Vlnoeia* »T. Jt. aw. ioNDKAvatB, yashiceqiable Barber Shop, HOXS OF HOME. Brsadwny, v*pe Tiiieuafc A.jmu$l$r*<ji rem of «cperie«58irtU«n««» —ntlsteotlonv '• (tO.gWjtSa* M.E. LEB, AND COTJHSBLOB; TlBo*n?M.T, otom cmr, Btmuivar »ad rwn* Ma, JfJllbH* JttAKKS, Dealer In Lpffiber, Coal, Salt, &c, At Gross' Old Stand, Cape Vincent, M. T. Sweet are the jgys of Home, And pute as sweot, for they, Like dews of morn and evening oome To wake and olose the day. Tie world hath its'delights, And its delusions, too; . But Home to calmer hiiss invites, More tranquil &nd more true. The mountain flood is strong, But fearful in its pr-ldej While gentlr rolls the stream along The -peaoeful, valley's sid e. Ciife ohai'ities.lilte light, Spread smilingly afar, Butstarg approached hecomeraora bright, And Home is Life's own star, Tha pilgrim's step in vain Seeks Eden's sacred ground! But in Home's holy joys, again An JSiien may he found. A glance of heaven to see, To none pn earth is givon; ind yet a happy family Is but a n earlier heaven. CTKDU'S WOOD'XXMPH. • NEWS' TN BRIEF -r-There are 122 Cigar factories in Key West. —The widow of Santa Anna is still living in Mexico. —Thedryest flour contains from 6 to. 7 per cent, of water. --Oroton water is purified by Seeping fish in the reservoirs. • -^-Germany is fitting out four Arctic exploration expeditions* —Most German army officers,' it is reported, wear corsets. —Silver is scarcer than\ gold m the 'Nevadamining camps. —One and two dollar bills bring a premium in New York. L —Semi-military discipline is to be m- jpduced at Vassar College. F—A Rochester druggist has construc- pd a safety jar for morphine. I -^-TDe^estimafed losses by the cyclone •^Cotton seed hulls are made into edling in an Alabama factory. —Thespire of St. Patrick's Cathedral, New Tort, is to be 330 feet high. —The new postal cards will cost the Government $47.71 per thousand. —Boswortli battle field is cut into quarters by a canal and a railroad. —At least one ton of gold is burled in the graves of the dead every year. —The product of the mines of Boli- via is estimated at 16,000^000 ounces. —Political gossips in Europe have it that Italy is preparing to seize Tripoli. —According to a late estimate there are 200,000 Adventists in the United States. —\Within the last twenty-five years 41 daily newspapers have died in New tork. —The manufacture of roller skates employs thirty thousand hands in this country. —The City of New Tork, it is esti- mated, has at present no fewer than 400 millionaires. —The Bolivian government levies a tax of four-sixths for each ounce of silver mined. —The. ore output of Leadville for July reached 1,000 tons a day for every working day. —The weight of 1,000,000 dollar bills in greenbacks is within a fraction of 2,841 pounds, —The Woman's National Industrial League has decided that Chinese laun- dries must go. —The circulation of all New York papers is steadily falling away in the West and South. —The pay-roll of the Comstock mines for the month of July will be not far from $115,000. —The output of the mineral products of the United States in 1884 was val ued at $408,104,620. —Adolph Sutro, the millionaire, is -^lOTiiaestablish a free scientific library in San Francisco. —The Chidiago banker* and moneyed men are unan-Tiously opposed to fur- ther coinage »' silver. —Attempts to introduce American jovook trout into English waters have not met with success. —-The depression of the coai trade in South Wales is so serious that nearly 40<000 men are affected by it. —Fire has not left the hearthstone of one-farmer in Georgia since it was kin- dled with flint and steel in 1842. —Thetotal number of self-supporting Women and girls over ten years of age, in New Tork Statu, is 2,647,157. —A New Tork lawyer Says he would have no trouble in getting 1,000 men in that city to swear falsely m a case. —*'l he death Is reported of Sultan Abdul Munm of Bruiicil, in the island Of Borneo, at the age of 141 years. . —A& average of 15,673- letters' for every working day are received at the lijead tettt'r Office in Washington/ -r-It is said that 955 farms in Iowa are owned by women, and that twenty dairy farms are managed by women. —Ti}e bones of PJzarro lie in the Li- ma Cathedral, a building that, was- fin- ished in 1540 and cost nine millions. ^The \brother-inrlaw is, tie Chicacro name for the bogus bell punch employed in \beating'* the street, car companies. •^-The popular supposition that an ostrich never lays but one egg,' and drops that anywhere Upon the sand, is nonsense. —Tlje ruins of Hierapolis, in the Delta of Egypt, once above inundation, are now beneath a deposit of seven feet of mud. y - •' \ -—The American Bible society ex- , ponds S15,000 a year in translat'ing,pub- Iishipg and distributing the Bible in foreign lands. Some yoars ilgo I stood musing on a balcony overlooking the Basse Plant at Pau. i hadbeenspendingmany months 'ibere with my uncle, who required jbangefor his health. But he had rrown gradually weaker, and now was scarcely able to return to England and Irevorhurst. The twilight shadows iad wrapped the town in night; the afterglow had faded from the lonely west; the mysterious outline of the Bhateau loomed ghost-like through the fragile screen woven by the interlacing trees within the moat; and still I lin- gered, till the lamps were lighted in the streets below—dull globes shining but to make a darkness visible. Then 1*turned slowly away. Through the window I Saw my uncle Lucius Trevor, reclining in ah arm- chair before the smoldering logs upon | the hearth, with legs outstretched and hands clasped over his waistcoat, form- ing with thumbs and little fingers, acute angles, north and south. The resemblance to a benevolent gnome wa3 striking, as the flickering light danced disrespectfully on his bald head, losing itself in the furrows which sprang like gothlc arches over his deep- set eyes, but the attitude of repose, the flexible, good-humored lips, now parted in a genial smile, flatly contradicted the comparison, and left no doubt as to the character of the good old gentle- man. \I'm glad you've come in,\ he com- menced, as I sat down. ''Cyril, my boy, what do you think of getting mar- ried?\ . - '\A proceeding, in the abstract, nat- ural; in particular,, unpleasant,\ I re- plied. \What has suggested the idea now, sir?\ '•Myoldage,Cyril,and failing health,\ returned my uncle; \and you are the last of our race. It would be a pity to | let the family die out. You ought to InTtne^ettgVlMgglcr^P^,™ tip of his nose. I groaned. This was an old point of difference between us. I could not rec- ognize in) his ardent desire to see me settled iij life, any reason for burden- ing myself with a companion whose sympathies were likely to he at vari- ance with mine. Even the prospect of an heir was not sufficient to lessen the dislike I had conceived toward all of the feminine gender. Allowing that the sentiment was unnatural in a young man, it certainly increased in exact proportion to the eagerness my uncle showed to provide me with a wife against my inclination. Therefore it is not surprising that the impending discussion provoked anything but grat- itude in me. \In my opinion,\ continued Mr. Trevor, \it isn't good for a young man to wander about the world with plenty of money in his pocket, and no respon- sibility to steady him. Why don't you choose a pleasant girl to share the cares of. Trevorhurst with you, when I am no longer here? There are as many as one could wish for, even in Pau, my boy.\ \Oh as many and morel\ was my cynical response. \Only preferring to be married for merit father than money I should like to know something of the young lady herself, and thanks to folly and fashion that feat is well nigh im- possible. Can't we let the subject drop, sir? 1 am thoroughly tired of it.\ \Let it drop?\ said my tormentor, rolling his head round to see me better. Then suddenly drawing in his legs, he darted a lean hand sideways in my di- rection as greater emphasis tohismean- ing, and recommenced: \Now Cyril, just listen. Tou rep- resent the good of life to me. I took you when your parents died; reared you as my heir—my son; and you have always been a good lad—always. I can't last long—you know I can't. 1 grow weaker every day. Do me this favor — this one favor. Promise to look seriously about you while we are at Pau. I will not ask you to propose to any one. No, no! But to please me, to gratify and old man's whims, con- sider the subject seriously.\ \Enough sir!\ i answered, touched by this appeal. 4t I give you rriy promise Tou deserve far more than that from me. 1 will think the matter over care- fully, and do my best to meet your wishes,\ \Thank you, my boy!\ exclaimed my uncle, rubbing his bands together. \You always was a good iad—very!\ Nevertheless I was greatly annoyed. One afternoon not many days after the preceding conversation, I strolled across the bridge over the Gave* inten- ding to walk off a fit of ill humor inci- dent on meeting three fashionable young ladies in the Place Gramont. The day was intensely hot, and in my present state of mind shade became ab- solutely necessary on advancing into the country. Luckily a little by-path, seeming to invite investigation, enticed me, and taking it, I found that it led through a thick plantation, which af forded a grateful relief after the dust and glare ai the high road. Presently, emerging fronTthe wood the ripple-of running water attracted my attention, Following' the sound, I arrived at a group of beech trees, and forcing my way through the under- wood, saw a natural basin where •' the stream had collected into a clear pool a few feet deep. Around the margin ferns and ivy found their way through moss, bending down- ta admire -their. grace reflected in She mirror ' beneath. In the centre thews jutted up a fe*g- nient of rook, elud with grayish lichen and a few odd «iok-ferns which peeped from the narrow fissures in its sides. It was a place for DJana herself to bathe in. Throwing iayself down, i reclined upon a couch of fallen leaves, conceal- ed by the undergrowth, which still per- mitted me to enjoy the peaceful beauty of the scene. My happiness was com- plete but not lasting, for at the moment a sweet voice broke the stillness. \Merrily merrily shall I live now. Under tlio Dlosaom that bangs on the bougli.', .: • \The nymph of the stream,\. I mur- mured. *'Here she comes!\ Orish', crackle,swiskt The brambles on tjhe. other side were parted, and a young girl stood upon the bank. ' She seemed about seventeen, but well formed for her age. Her feet were conc&aled by Sabots, and she wore a short cloak, iike that of a French officer, over her dress An old hat, wlrch had slipped back 'during the str'm.gla with, the thorns, framed a quaint little face more quaint- ly still. ,. \Delicious!\ she exclaimed in En** glish.'peering eagerly into the green shadows, \Howcoel the. water looks! Oh, dearl How tired I am, and how hot my head and feet are!\ Flinging an armful of ferns on the ground, she seated herself on the \brink of the fountain, tapping the surface of the water with the point of her sabot. She was strangely beautiful,, but the great soft, \brown eyes, fixed dreamily on the surface of the pool, wpuld have redeemed the most Irregular features from the cbarge of ugliness-. \I will!\ she-suddenly cried. \There is no one here to see, and no one any- where to care.\ I watched her in amused perplexity The girl pleased me, and tne wild,\ graceful freedom of each motion con- trasted agreeably with the studied ele- gance of polite society. \What a goose I ami\ she soliloquiz- ed, pausing in the act of throwing off her little sabots, as a alight change of my position rustled the leaves of which my couch was composed. \That is the consequence of unorthodox amuse- ments. Every leaf that stirs must be construed by my guilty conscience into some one looking at me. A pretty sight they would see, tool The idea is laughable!\ She took off her hat and let loose a mass of dark, curly hair, which floated about her shoulders m picturesque dis- order. Then, lying down on the edge of the pool, she stooped over and dip- ped her face in the water, pouring it with her little hands over the top of her head, till her curls were dripping like a water spanmel, then laughing as she wrung out a shower of diamonds At that moment an incident occurred for which I have been thankful even 1 since. In casting off the sabots, one had fallen dangerously near the edge of the bank, and this, now receiving an impetus from its heedless little owner, quietly slipped Into the water, com- mencing a journey on its own account by?oggh\s over the miniature waves witb most prosaic obstinacy. A cry o£ dismay followed the dis- covery. What was to be done?\ The shoe was alteady out of reach and how could it be recovered? I laughed silent- ly. All tracft of my dislike to women had evaporatts-, I-blessed-vthat shoe., loss brongnCTisars into the brown eyes, then softly d/awing aside the branches I stood up a|d spoke. \Madempfeellel\ wasall Isaid,though I saw thafc«he was English. Such a/3tartl Such a blush! It rose over her eyebrows, Hooded the sun- burned \neck affected, I verily believe, the tiny feat themselves.. Her shyness conquered mine. 1 longed to set her more at ease, \Mademoiselle pardon me. I would not have presumed to make my pres- ence known, had not it been for this misfortune \said I, respectfully,poin- ting to the self-constituted boat steadi- ly approaching the centre. The Nymph hid her face. \Will you permit me to attempt the rescue?\ I persisted, determined to hear her speak. \Oh sir, have pity! I thought I was alone. If you can assist me, pray do sol\ she answered, striving to conceal her tears. CAPE VINCENT. N. V.^pto&BAY, 'OCTOBER 15, 1885 Leading her on to speak of herself, I learned that her name was Beatrice Ross, that she lived with her father in a villa on the Goteaux, with no othsr-f-^^onhavejuec my niece before, I companion than an old housekeeper. Sometimes her only sister came from Pan, where she resided with an aunt, to visit her, but these events were com- paratively rare- To our mutual de- light,, in this sister was^a pretejct found for our acquaintance. I had often rrjej her at parties, and she had describ^fTlfi is impossible to recall what folio w- rn'e to \Beatrice as -a \wnmn.ti.har.B*.» I i/i -ro™..'„M.i— < — -•• • me to Beatrice as -a. \woman-hater but immensely rich.\ \I don't know why she called you that,\ said my Nymph, doubtfully. \Toii are not unkind to me, but quite the reverse,\ >. - {'' '•• \Ne?erjudgea man by what' hear,''returned I gravely; \Man ;sa- rnany-sided animal; gentle to those wb%P treat him well, the opposite when b; ly managed. He must be hutno: Miss Beatrice. But areydunever'k lv, separated-sd much from all social Do you never wish to be with Yd' sister?\ \No \so© answered,, quickly. .T quite hap'py as! am. Now and th4, long-to see the beauties of other to?: 1 but that cannot be. And, after \ though nature may look otherwise,, cannot be more beautiful than herei. *'Tou are right,*' said I; \there ma be difference in kind but not of d; gree.\ \ \So I believe. People often say^s^ Coteaux are disappointing, the Fyren nees not to be compared to other mighty ranges, but the fault it seems to me, is.! theirs. If you come to nature,\ she continued, waving a, little hand to.ilt lustrateher meaning, \with a fixed idea, there must be •a'hill here, a fonM tam there, icebergs glittering in the, sunlight yonder, and moss-grown ruwj|i where i stand; of course one will np\ r always find them. But come to the great earth-mother saying, 'Show me what thou wilt!' And what loveliness she then unfoldsl Tne morning sky of palest yellow, darkest indigo, and clear- est rose, so shaded as to be a miracle; no harsh discord, but all a blending harmony, the pure aip sbj!jpeftJh£4S«8 drops off tne trembling grass; : the mW ody of fifty different birds, and the solemn tremor of the forest trees. • At mid-day, the deep hush of sleep—only the \cicala to make the silenee felt. At night, the glorious stars and peaceful slumber of the-'^oodlandSi Nevertwice the same!\ •w»wpwea.i—.^ii ..•.J^T- JS T 0. 29. MgMgtmTinTffiTwarwnaaGBsaa ADVERTISING RATES' nrs: BTE 1 iss. ITS 8 ISO 8S8 6 00 10 00 SIM ins SCO <ooj TOO 13 00 !*1*V » « lis 4 00 til 800 l|« $3 88 8 76 400 SCO ,'» « 10 001 Woo 8M 100 8 00 900 IB 00 15 00 115 00 8 00 9 00 1000 1800 2B00 [45 00 'J jr. *s\w H09 MOO 16 00 20 00 145 00 180 00 hive been kindly ungracious. Madame however, welcomed me exceedingly, and after a few words, said understand. Perhaps, however, a mo're, formal introduction would not be out '9?i>lace. Beatrice, my dear, allow me tp present to you Mr. Cyril Trevor.\ •My head reeled, my heart stopped, as, in the radiaiit being before me, I regpgnized my lohg lost woed^nymph As she stood, with iiands clasped over the ferns, hsr eyes, saining with a strange light, fixed on t&e quivering beeches. I almost fancied ibat she-saw the earth-mother herself, reckoning from the dim recesses of the Whisper- ing shadows, and that, like som^ haro- ed, Everything was enveloped in a rosy haze 6f blissful Incredulity. When I recovered somewhat we were sitting 'together in a distant part of the room, •screened from the public gaze toy rows $£ plants, from which 1 conclude that jpfen at that .trying moment my native 'common sense had not entirely deserted Srje, i The time passed with terrible rapidity Seatrice told me that her aunt had jlome a few days since to the villa, and, alter a lbnst conversation with Mr. Boss, had carried her off to Pau. Mak- ing good use of my time, a bond of %Tn,athy l was binding us very closely together when madame at last broke in \\ion oursolitude. '•Eeally, Mr. Trevor, I cannot per- mit you to monopolize my niece all the evening. Tou may call to-morrow if you like, but I must separate you now. Beatrice Mifis LuOy wishes to speak to. you about Lady O.'s ball. Are you \going Mr. Trevor?\ \I tad not intended accepting the invitation on account of my uncle's ^health,\ I replied; \but If Miss Boss will favor me with her hand \ I stopped and looked at Beatrice, •^-JM- \I »m not a good dancer,\ she said, here, a fomWfolushing. \Tou will be sorry for hav- firintr in *h«*i„g asked me, afterward.\ \Never!\ I cried fervently. \Grant my request, and I shall be happy for life.\ r Madame laughed heartily at my ar- dor, and having obtained the desired promise, I toot my leave. \Sol ho!\ chuckled my uncle, when I reappeared in his room. \Shall we go to Borne next week, Cyril? Do you WWt.branicg now, my boy?\ \The wind has changed, sir,\ I an- swered gravely. '\The journey will scarcely be necessary on my account. Sad you any idea that Miss Boss would be at her aunt's^ to-night, sir?\ I in- quired. \Of course I had,\ chuckled my uncle. \I arranged the whole affair. Got Madame B-—to drive with me to the villa one day, and had a chat with Mr. Boss. The long and short of it is that I obtained his consent to your mar- riage with his daughter, provided he incurred no trouble or expense in the fnatter. A selfish old man, Cyril. Tou Poor little thing! Decidedly that sa- bot must be obtained. 'If mademoiselle would kindly aid me by throwing stones from her side, so as to drive the shoe toward the shore,\ I suggested, ignoring her dis- tress. Dashing her hand across her eyes, the girl immediately set about collec- ting missiles, which were then flung by my direction—at first badly, but, grad- ually regaining confidence, her aim im- proved, and, to my great joy, forget- ting in the excitement all the disagree- able attendant circumstances, her clear laugh rang through the fragrant air, each peal re-echoing within my heart. Here w«as a revelation. In all my life, a perfectly natural girl, at the same time perfectly well bred, had never crossed my path. Hundreds of pretty damsels had walked, danced and posed before me for the sake of Trevorhurst, but never one whose grace had not been cultivated, made to order—whose smile was not a languid elongation of the lip. On the other hand, the frank abruptness o£ the country lasses was no better; loud voices from charming women jar upon my nerves; so that be- tween thia SayUa and Charybdis 1 be- came a man, whose books and horses represented to him the only pleasure in life, Now, to upset these crude ideas, came a maiden, With bare feet gleaming through the moss, over whose entire person sweet modesty had thrown her vail. If but the mind equaled the ap-. pearance in simplicity, my uncle's wish would not seem so hard to gratify. Meanwhile.the would-be boat drifted nearer to the,land and having by means pf a long stiek obtained possession of it, I dried\ it in my handkerchief before surrenderine it to the owner, who dared not raise her eyes to aid her faltering thanks,' Feigning not to observe how, the sa- bots were resumed, I occupied myself in gathering up the ferns strewn upon the bank, talking incessantly, I told her how the Autumn tints had charm- ed me, BO that town life faded into in- significance before the freedom ot the uplands, and as I praised, a bond of sympathy sprang un between us, and we chattered like two old familiar friends. \Are you an artist?\ she asked at length,. \f am quite sure that you are English. Besides, you are too—cour- teous—for a Frenchman,\ I laughed. \Thank you. No, lam no artist, except so far as appreciation of beauty can wake one. I am—a s(m-. dent of nature, at piesent intent on be- coming aeqttatiitea with the neighbor: hood of Pau from, a different fetandpjittt to that of the ordinary visitor. Will you help me?\ ' My companion smiled, complying by describing favorite :nao&%jit<ict$j[, like ;| * \\J . .V, , , . , ,, . - . . \ me of German folk-lore, she wa&fastrhio well to take the girl away from Ms losing the consciousness of morta|lityJ-influence. But, nry bov \ he i^ded under the influence of a mystic cha|M you must have the wedding soon, 1 „,I„I *.~ _=•• ,.,-- - ,, .—^ can't last much longer.\ '•Don't sir, for pity's sake, say so. I Toujll live for many a long year yet, I please God,\ said I, brokenly, \Ah no! My time is almost «run,\ he answered, sadlj. \And I should like to see yot? settled first,\ . I took adr- 5 \— -\ *\ aaliyJBeejfe** tely won my unffl! _^^ i«ery pretty to see her teiHKJ while unhaopily the snap of a dry tj aroused her, and with a gentle dig she bade me farewell. \We shall meet again?\ I asked: taining her hand. \Who can tell?\ was the repli pushing aside the brambles, Wiiil out of sight. T \ » ! I wanted to follow l] retracing instead, the i ._ , „„ Pau, oppressed by a stninge senscL of loss, and dizzy with new ideas, Qk Childl-^-yeb no child, but woman f Si* the deptsi and tendernesB of unsophy luet&nee to fulfill, was about tp be grat- ified—he might not see the consumma- tion of his hopesl How often it is thus in lifel When the dawn was shining clearly through the curtains he raised himself with.my assistance, and, with the ghost of his old, quaint smile, he whispered; \So you're going to be married at last Cyril, and the old man has not a wish on earth unfulfilled. Farewell, my boy? you have ever been as a son to me, the one bright spot in a lonely life. God bless you and make you happy! Good-by, Cyril, Some day we shall wish each other good morning in a hap- pier clime.\ tuen he fell back as if to sleep—but it was the last long sleep that knows no waking, A few weeks afterward there was a very .quiet wedding in Pau. I was obliged to return to England, and could not bear to leave my wife behind, so the trousseau was curtailed, and Bea- trice came with me to disperse the gldoni of Trevorhurst. Tears have passed since then, years full of quiet happiness seldom broken by storms,and never once have I regretted meeting my fate among thebeeches, The misti are again stealing up the hillsides, as I stand on the same balcony on which this tale commences, looking over the same scene. The sun is once more de- clining in the west—the Pyrenees seem far, and dim, and cold—too grand to heed the sighing of the breeze that comes'from them to me. But they cannot chill the memories that bind us to the past, nor freeze the mingled joy and sadness of those days, when the dear old man who loved us both, plot- ted and planned the welfare of my wood-nymph and myself. JB-Ovtuue from a Joke. BuBlnea* 0«rd«, flvo lines or less, JS a rear. AdrertlsementsinLocal column, ten cents ft»r line the first week, and five cents per line each subsequent Insertion. Obituary JtoMceo will be oBarged a™ eente per line tor all overalx lines. Notice* of Marriages ana Peatha Inserted ftea. Ibe onem or \o. ir..\ One hot night in July, i885,when the burden of proof-reading in a close room seemed almost suffocating, Dick Shanks was working as Only night fiends on morning papers can work, gazing in- tently at the agate and nonpareil takes, deciphering bad manuscript, aud labor- iously contributing his share to make a morning paper. About half-past 3 o'clock in the morning there was a slack in the run of copy, and while Shanks and his feilow-workmen were waiting for other proofs, he began to tell'how night work was wearing on him, how he could not sleep through the hot days, and yet how dependent he was upon his small salary for a liveli- hood. He told how he had lost a fortune in the war and now had to work like a slave; that he was poor and discouraged with his condition, and he did not care how soon the good angel called him to another world. A few minutes later the proof-reader, who sat k^'/ie him, came to a little telegraph c take » IAIJII said something about a vast fortune m ^.tucky left to the heirs of David Shana.b. -»ra, m i r ! nff ],„ could have a little fun by laseiO hi ? companion's name in the despatch, ws. proof-readeraddedin a lew lines arum manifold paper these words: In the language of the Choctaw In- dians, one of the most frequently oc- curring expressions is the emphatic oke with which an affirmative or denial is concluded. This oke (pronounced with strong accent on the last syllable} is one of the substitutes for the copula- tive verb \to be\ which is wanting m Choctaw. Oke, as pronounced in Choc- taw, has exactly the same sound as the alphabetic pronunciation of the O. K. in English. The meaning of the expression as nearly as it can be conveyed in English is: \That is true; that is all so.\ A few examples, out of many that might be cited, will illustrate this, \The Choctaw Indian is a good fellow\ is expressed thus: Hattak api hnma Cbahta ackukmab oke, in which hattak api hurua means \Indian\ (literally, lnan-body-red), achukmoh means'good' and oke is the copulative expression, \it is so.\ In the Itev. Oyms Byiug- ton's Choctaw New Testament the first; sentence of Matt. 5, 13: \Ye are the salt of the earth,\ is: gakni m huppi huchchia hoke, literally: \the earth its salt ye: that is so.\ To Gen. Andrew Jackson is attribu- ted ^he introduction of the Choctaw word into our Anglo-American speech. Before the war of 1812, in voyages up and down the Mississippi and in trad- ing expeditions overland from Nash- ville, Tenn., to Natchez, Miss,, through the Choctaw nation, he was brought into frequent communication with the Choctawsi Gen. Jackson, as everybody knows, was prone to the use of downright and energetic methods of assertion. Hear- ing this emphatic oke so frequently ut- tered by the Choctaw people, he learn ed the meaning conveyed by it to the Choctaw mind and appropriated it, out of hand, to his own purposes. From him it passed over to the multitude. This account of the origin of O. K. has been current in the south for man} years. If not true, it is, to say the least, ben trovato. No one who has ever read an auto graph letter of Gen. Jaokson's will eas- ily credit the story that he was in the A Scm-od CooRnev, He was an Euglish clubman, and he came to thiu country with the best of intentions to see his translantic cousins at home and observe their peculiarities. He was here just one week; then ha sailed back straight for England. He had seen enough of America. It wasn't his fault that he chanced, to do a young American a substantial favor one night in London a month or two ago; it wasn't his fault that he happened to meet the same young gentleman on the deck of his steamer on his passage out. It was fate. The American was grate- ful for past services and urged his Eng- lish friend to visit him at his home up in a little Connecticut town. The. clubman was not backward in accept- ing the invitation. Which promised him full opportunities to see the Yankees around their own hearths. A day or two spent in New York after the steam- er reached this side, and the English- man was speeding along in a hot, dusty railroad train which lefI him finally at the station of the village where WttsJua friend's home. Here more fate^rf^- in. The American was laid uffWrEn. a sprained ankle, and the task of enter- taming John Bull fell to the rest of the family, including a younger brother. Bright and early one morning this boy proposed a swim in a lake a mile or so distant. His propositiun was accep- ted, and in half an hour a man of the world and two small boys were riding over a stony country road in a wagon built chiefly to withstand hard usage and furnished with springs that did. everything else but spring. The strange boy had something in his pocket and on his mind. He carefully drew from un- der his coat what looked like a big fire- cracker, covered with yellow oiled silk, and furnished with a yard of rubber tube dangling from one hand. Over the rough road along went the wagon pitching recklessly, and the English- man for a long time ignored the fire- cracker, having time to pay attention to little else than the gymnastics of that wagon, ricocheting here and there all • over the roadway, and threateaiHgjno- mentarily to dump its whole cargo on_ hoVTf^'i \^T^ m TZ.L7-^T S thJ i *e rocks and biaipbles over the high- ^h. 1 *'^ 6 ? 116 was president of the | wnvfBnnBq . v,,,* n1 W.v mn ham,i M™ United States, of indorsing, in kalteni blute, applications for offl JH; with the letters O.K., under the belief that these were the proper initials for \all cor- rect.\ Jackson was no scholar, but he was not so grossly ignorant of English orthography as to fall into a blunder af that sort. He may have indorsed doc- uments with the letters O. IC. as a joc- ular symbol of his favorite Choctaw expression. The story that these let- ters were seriously intended by him as an abbreviation of \oil korreet\ was probably, as Mr. George Bancroft sug- gests, an a posteriori invention of the enemy—to wit, the Whigs—during the hot political contests in the days of the roaring '40's. That the abbreviation O. *>- ™°* ESsril&? Jacuson himself ana used by oWiUtsl for him.. In due course the day of the balJ : \ -\ • - - - iall arrived, and I sent Beatrice a bou; duet and wreath of flowers, but as 1 yet r cated wisdom—who could have\ i? fl had not dared mention the wedding but yesternight thy lot and mine < W* da y- u 3 u 11016 nad nee n tar from weB interwoven in the weft of time?l;f% ' tllati da J» and toward evening alarming that it may not prove a passing gjJ|^«?mptoms began to appear.- He was thread, glittering against the darM* 168 ??^ att 830 \ 3 that I should go, however of a lonely life, but that the two |ma:declaring that he should rest more easi- twine together all through the jBBarfly when he knew his dearest hopes were the future holds concealed! » [consummated and I was actually mar- it was not difficult to interest f ayped; and grew so excited on perceiving uncle in the adventure. The elder Pisyny reluctance to obey, that at last I left Boss had impressed him fayorablyfi bjjtheroom, pledged to redeemnxy promise her beauty and accompllshmentslhulilto him before returning home. he fully approved of my winning a whose youthful mind could resi . adapt itself to her husband's vaewsK m( il customs. However well Miss I' 08 -' might play the lady of the Manor,,, younger sister would probably be'asw ter match for me. Then the qua arose, how to gain Mr\. Itoitti a a-caua n _-. 1 Plainly the road to the villa lay through' his sister Madame B— —'a drawfeg- room. My uncle, therefore, proposed calling on her, stating my wishes to' see more of her niece, and enllstin|4er sympathies on my behalf. As the plan seemed feasible'; I consented gkidly promising to await the issue witlji»ll, the patience at my command. Weeks passed on without any visible result. My uncle only responded to-aiy importunities by mysterious nods, OB more exasperating proverbs. I wan- dered all over the country in the hope of meeting Beatr ce, returning at the close of the day more despondent ttfan ever. I haunted the pool, but thoigh the sun-elves played upon the surfa:6, •no girlish figure came through Ihe brambles, no sweet voice sang the priip ses of the wood.. Granted tbat all .»' attempts began and ended in folhit what will not a man do when he ief*a love? I grew discontented and peevish and augmented my private woesbyajp- iety about my uncle's health, heha'lretg caught a cold which he seemed umypgl to shake off. We did not talk muTfun those days, we were not sociable com- panions, he sat on one side of the fsl'4, rolling his head and coughing; I sat ift the other, responding by impatient sighs, -, ', One evening, on coming home irf a more dejected mood than usual, 1 -fi|» 'freeted with a volley of chuckles thlt must have been the death of any other man. • ' 'J \Tou seem merry, sir,\ I remarked crossly, throwing down myliat. | \Very merry!\ he replied, rolling his head fearfully. -'I think you need a change of air, Cyril. We'll go'to Mentoneor Rome. They say the e}i~ mate is more exhilarating and quite as mild as this. What do you say to it?\ \I'm well enough, sir. But all plas-ss are alike to me, and I'm quite ready to accompany you anywhere.\ \A very proper frame of mind,\ he chuckled, gathering his legs up sharply; and shooting them out again with equal rapidity. \\Very good! Then we'll be off next week. By-the-by, Madame B—-4ias a party tt night, ps you know. She Wanted me to go r feu.y I said the night air was too great a rie& and I told her - I'd send yoit instead You'll look in my boy?\ ''Certainly, if you promised, sir,\ I answered,, morosely. \But. frankly, I wish you had not dons so. I am in rlfj humor for frivolity just now.\ , \ \Quite right,\ coughed my tmelf> 'Satirically, \At your advanced age you ought to h&fve done with frivolity.. Bir-i you'll go, Cyrjl?\ <*: Accordingly, about half-past eigMij^ presented myself at) Madame B*—~V* The rooms were full, and, as I paused on the threshold, if my face betrayeftj fay secret feelings, ife» expression nmlSSi • \' >' ' ' Determining only to explain my un- cle's danger to Beatrice^ and carry back from her a single word for him, I searched the crowded rooms and cor- ridors of Lady O 's villa, and at last found her seated in the conservatory jeened by large flowering plantB from observation, the very embodiment of melancholy. On seeing me she sprang up hurriedly, a vivid flush dying her lovely features, It was not difficult to guess who WBS the object of her con- templations. \Cyril! I thought you would never come!-1 even heard some one mention that your unble was worse, and you would most probably not be able to leave him.'* \And was this the cause of your sad- ness, Beatrice?\ She blushed and looked down, with all the charm of modesty tbat had cap- tivated me that very first day I had seen her at the pool. This innate mod- esty was part of her nature, inseparable as herself, as exquisite as, alas, it has become rare. Then I told her that my uncle was indeed worse, and thought his end ap- proaching. I added that his only re- maining wish on earth was our mar- riage, and begged Beatrice to name the day. At first she was pale and agita- ted; but with all her modesty and sim- plicity there was an absence of coquetry about her that before many minutes were over she had given me the requir- ed promise, and named the day. Then, together With as much happiness in our hearts probably as was ever given to mortals, we went in search of Madame B That good lady was not surprised at the news we brought; but while con- gratulating me, joined with Beatrice in Urging my departure, as my uncle must require my immediate care. In truth, my own eagerness was great to hasten back to him. I bade them both farewell. The servant met me at tbe door. \Mr. Trevor is worse, sir,\ was the news that greeted me. \We were go- ing to send for you The doctor says there is little hope.\ I ran Up stairs to his room. The dear old gentleman was struggling hard for breath, but he smiled and tried to speak as I leaned over tbe bed. \it is all right, uncle,\ I said, softly, ' 'Beatrice has promised to be mine in a month from to-day, but sent me back to yoa the moment she heard of your UllBea'-\.\ He pressed my hand feebly in reply. All through the sorrowful night I' sat beside him, distressed at the sight of his sufferings, which he boreso patient- 1 ly. Toward morning the struggle abated, and he fell into a semi-stupor. How strange life eeemed to me during the long hours of that watch 1 From a sick bed to a ball; from a proposal to a; death! How every act of loving kind- ness came back to me as I recalled the .years we bad spent together, with never an unkind word to rear the mommy of the tenderness bestowed on me. And now—Just as the great wish of his heart arthe only one t had ever evinced re-* * way fences; but jitetty soon he did give an ear to the conversation of those two high-spirited companions of his. \How much is in it?\ asked his friend's brother, addressing the other small boy and tenderly caressing the yellow silk packet, while that youth with evident pride, answered: \About half a pound.\ \Sure it will go off?\ '\Coarse; there's half an inch of ful- minate in the cap.'' Fulminate! Somehow that had an unpleasantly familiar sound. \Ah what's fulminate fort\ asked the queen's loyal subject. \TO kill fish!\ came from the twain in one breath. That was reassuring, somewhat, Tan- kees were so ingenious, he had heard, and this was probably some novel sort of a reel. \But how does it work!\ he \Easy enough,\ Was the response,'' j ust light this fuse and chuck man an* a jmtroe,. The old col.hulderread it andlatsfT '-^Wt ingly put it it> his vest pocket, whets--Wf remained for many months. No one svar dreamed that there was a word of truth in the manufactured telegram Mrs. ShanKi one day found the \tele- gram in her husband's vest pocket, and asked what it meant. Just for fun he said it was a true telegram which he had received. She told a slster-in-Jaw, and this sister-in-law wrote to Stanford, Lincoln county, Ky., to know if it was so. The answer came that there was a fortune there for the heirs of David L. Shanks, formerly of Virginia: that he had at one time owned a number of shares in a turn-pike road. He died in i841, and the annual dividends had accumulated and been in the public treasury ever since, and that the heirs could not be found. When Dick Shanks saw that letter he knew that his father, who died just before Dick was born, was the former owner of those shares, for his name was David L. and he came from Virginia. Subsequent com- munication with the State Treasurer and county officials has placed Dick Shanks' identity beyond a doubt as the heir of three-filths of the entire fund, which has been accumulating for over forty years. The case is in the hands of Mr. J. C. Bower, of Kansas City, and Diek will soon have his money. , McjSary to Gasp! J roan, which was Frluoeas Alexandra. A recent writer in a London paper says it would be ungallant not to admit that the princess of Wales Is an orna- ment to her sex, and her sweetness and beauty are the themes of every scribe whenever the royal lady is to be seen in public. But has anyone ever observed the wife of Albert Edward smile? Her absolutely immobile countenance and her set expressson are well known, and photography reproduces them in perfect truthfulness. That fair but sphinx- like face one in time begins, naturally enousrh, to regard as a mask, beneath which the real index of the soul moves in concealment. Keflections such as these are suggested by examining the latest cabinet portraits of Alexandra clothed in her doctor's robes—doctor of mu3ie, not of law nor of divinity—as she wa3 lately seen in Dublin, It would be enrions to know why the princess always affects one fashion in the arrangement of her coiffure, but the fact is she Is bald, or nearly SO, Her head was shaved during a serious illness, and her hair has since refused to grow. Consequently the royal ward- robe includes fifty wigs,the distinguish- ing feature of which is that the curls are brought well over the forehead, Artistic dressing serves another pur- pose, also, and the presence of a mark of disfigurement on the swan-like neck is effectually concealed by the high collar, large bow, hand of velvet, or other artless contrivance Invariably worn by the future queen. Poor lady, she knows her sorrows! It is within general recollection when it was the fashion of court dames to affeet the '•Alexandra limp,\ in servile imitation of the princess of Wales, whose free gait was slightly impeded by theeffects of rheumatic fever. A cork heel of unusual height added to one boot now, however, restores, as far as possible, the ravages of disease. - , Miss B8B3IE— \Tell me, Auntie, ami twefity-five or twenty-aix to-day. 16 is funny enough, but I never can reraem-. her.\ AujraiE,—\Why Bessie, you ooghtn'tto forgetwhenyoft were born- yon are twanty-six.*' UNCLE JOJS ivrho as a little deaf)—\Bessie born in twen? ty-iixi Why Jane yoa are eritzy; she «*isif t b6fa till fifty; she ia drily thirty- five,\ ' rStllSg 'iai5ore it passed into cur- ££\£ St E'rt\« onfirmation man ex- i Panted. ^ ,,SL ^ the u.«. ^„ lt re(10 „l8 of f.'-in Ms.'y.'e of J:.r k ., yo]i , , -i., r .r i tn t , r Mt .; Why, whatisin I Dynamite,\ culmly ononise^ Aii,Uo„ j„t„„ youngsters. T,,pn < ?,<?«>. wfiLT '. Jtpctober 6, ITSQ •GSai/, proved a bill ^\\••.(pioted hy Par-, * Ipwbere the water's deep.\ of J:..-K-, J/lf •» v 0l . ! , \Lv'! t the frs-! Why, whati ;d/, proved a bijfj of H ai 0 lrom'H%«/^, s t,f;'r B^arytoGasnC-Manskerforaiiegro/S\ western mistake^', ^L [f: \forO.R. ddds ^ means Ordered B* perhaps, the sayin- corded. Hence, O.K.\] It is not more Kkely that the O. K. of this entry was suggested by Jackson himself, as a brief way of saying, after the Choctaw fashion, that the claim hud been legally made out. .Bouts oxGoia. The Museum of Northern Antiqui- ties in Oopennagen has just been en- riched by a remarkable discovery made at a small place near Thisted, on the west coast of Jutland, Denmark. Two men digging in a grave-pit in the neigh- borhood of an old burial mound, called Thor's mound, struck an earthern ves- sel with their picks, disclosing a num- ber of gold pieces. On examination it was found that an earthern vessel of about seven inches in diameter at the rim, and covered with a flat stone, had been buried about a foot and a half below the surface* and this had con- tained about a hundred little golden boats, curiously worked, varying m size from three to four and a half inches. A gunwhale and frames of thin strips of bronze had first been formed, and these had been covered with gold plates, eome of which were further ornamen- ted with impressions of concentric ring3. The boats, of which only a few are in a fair state of preservation, are tapered at both ends, and resemble the Danish fishing craft of the present day. The discovery, which may be regarded as a deposited treasure of votive offer- ings, and belongs, doubtiess.to the close of the bronze age, proves that frame- built vessels were already Known at that time, and that man was not satis- fied with the hollowed-out trunks of trees. The gold of which these little fishing-models are composed was val- ued at .£27, which amount, together with a gratuity, has been forwarded to the finders, who are both poor men. popular Motion ot Beauty. Our popular notion of beauty is dis- played with unconscious exactitude In the saws which declare it \only skin deep,\ a \snare\ and \handsome is that handsome does.\ The tendency pf English people to moralize is not to be repressed even in such a matter as this. They refuse to grasp an abstract idea. Beauty must be allied with some concrete quality of tbe individual, as truth, or modesty, or good works, or what not, or it is merely frivolous. A good many people truly are content with it as such; In fact, they prefer Phryne to Apasia, But the iron of moralizing has entered all our souls, and though a few dare own to them- selves that beauty is an end'sufflcient, fewer dare to avow it, The great masters of old would have stared, then laughed consumedly when tney caught the humor oi tbe thing, to hear the \interpretation\ of their works which some of our brooding authorities have hit upon. They aifned at beauty and nothing else—it was supremest beauty they found because themselves were supreme. There is grave reason to think that if a greater number of their masterpieces survived, our fashionable critics would be sadly puzzled te recon» cite many inconsistencies. In that earlier and happy day there, was a more general agreement abou^ principles than now. By nature, or habit, or 'circum'stanee,parsoiial tastes were more 8kin,it Eegm^ana great wcte,sppealea more generaJfy W toe crowd, r Jiaon. __ \HM 'SS'fW^mlteT common I—it,,,,,, n-us<\j ••>• aipny road, and a i\u-too, I paiT ot reckless boys! What a fate! And he howled and he ran. But those small boys were not to be sat upon in that way. They called for him to come back; he didn't come; then out the little ecallawags started in Close pursuit, threatening that if he did not halt they would throw the whole cartridge fair and square for his head. There was no hope but in surrender, and he surren- dered; then those wicked Tankee lads put that firecracker shaped affair into his own hands, coaxed him up into their wagon again, and with persuasive tones such as the youth of a certain age is best master of they rattled on toward their destination, They had no fear. Tes, it was real dynamite they assured him; dynamite, and enough too to blow up a county or two if it were given half a chance. It was perhaps because he was new to the climate that the gentleman from over the water perspired freely, while the youngsters kept comfortably cool till tbe journey ended, as most journeys do. and the good man was given a little exhibition. Those boys had not been fooling him, that fuse was lighted, and over into the water it went with a little splash that developed in a minute or two to ..what sounded like an exploding parliament house, as safe behind a big tree he waited and trembled and list- ened. A big stream of water had shot up into the air,and fish dead or stunned so that they could readily be picked up lay over a wide aufarce of the lake. Then the lads—having done what hosts . of \sportsmen\ all over New England do daily—went swimming; but they went alone, for the man behind the tree had been quite content to hurry back over that road altogether satisfied to bear himself company, and It was the very next train to N«w York thai brought him from CoJ«w«tiout. \It's all very well, of courae,\] explained, \when you are usi-d to it, but I haven't been brought up on dynamite at home, you know, and I'd rather a blarsted sight tate my chances with the Fenians than any of your fool youngsters who try to be funny.\ This is a true story. That gentle cockney was fairly prostrated. He had seen quite enough of the States. And away he sailed. HOino TeiMlorilODO. No matter how busy a man may be he should find time every day to tell his wife he loves her. No matter what social demands made upon the woman, ehe should find time to kiss her husband and give him one of the smiles that were so sweet to him when he came courting her. No matter what their daily cares, the parents should find tim« to take the children upon their knees und caress them with kind words and tender touches. ,When& bsoheloi: cays he is single from choice, it makes him mad\ to «sfc him why the girl made choice of some other fellow, A aoor> story is told at the expense of a certain naval officer well knownln Ed- inburgh circles. He was one day sit- ting in his cabin at dinner and bad just carved a slice from a roast on the fcaWe, when he suddenly aummonei hie stew- ard before him, \What d'ye mean, nit; whit d'ye meah,Eli,by tiM '*%• \th$$&\ exefcirw.-. J the ftetonjefced siejy* ami. 'By what, uir? * replied he of the panletk.!, \ohy rl»mme, sir, don't jou eee tU-*l ll>a roait beef's not half^. boiled]'* %

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