The Canadian Crescent. (Canadian, Tex.), Vol. 1, No. 27, Ed. 1 Thursday, May 3, 1888 Page: 3 of 8
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THE CANADIAN CRESCENT.
-— m —
E. H1LLIB, Editor * Pub'r.
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PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT
CATSTAmAlsr. - TEXAS
AS OTHERS SEE US.
X)ear Robbie Burns, "when he one day upon a
■* Sunday bonaet
"Beheld a strange creation that did not belong
upon it,
Prayed then and there a little prayer, that just
as others see us
We so might see ourselves, that it from vanity
might free us.
•O, what a prayer it was, and what would be our
sad condition
If then or si*ce a granting had como to that
pet tion!
3Ter this dear self-satisfaction that Robbie
railed about f
üs Just the thing the world can not affew'd to be
without.
m * * i ^
"Tis the glamour fnd the glory that crown the
mountain height,
That make the distant fields so green, the dis-
tant sail so wfcite;
That like moonlight over meadow, or on ruin
b;eak and bare.
• *
Make ugliness less ugly, and beauty yet more
fa:r.
"You know your auburn hair is just the tint that
Titian loved, •
'The classic contour of your face to you is fully
proved.
Your gowns are just an artist's dream, and
you have a secret notion
That you move with such a grace as is the
poetry of motion.
The poem you recited, the sermon that you
wrote.
The song you snng last evening, though you
Hatted every note;
The speech, the book, the lecture, all these
or any one
A ce quite ad good a bit of work as any man has
done.
The beautiful contentment that these sweet
convictions lend you
"Would tu~n a very serpent's tooth to torture,
tear and rend you,
If fate a single moment from your present
slate would free you,
And let you see'your very self just as your
neighbors see you.
Your ha4r, sOTitianesque, might seem unquali-
fiedly red.
Stern fact might in a moment strike your pet
ambition dead:
"Your grace might seem but awkwardness, your
wisdom otherwise.
If you should but a moment see with other
people s eyes.
And what, I pray, would be the use, and where
would be the gain?
A little more discouragement, unhappiness and
pain;
A little less of smoothing the paths that are so
rough,
A great deal more of heartache, and of that we
have enough.
As others see us! No, indeed! Pray put that
on the shelves,
And say let others see us just as we see our-
selves,
And ten to one before the year Is gone you'll
say to me
How wise and good the world is grown to what
it used to be.
O! poet of the present, if upon a Sunday bon-
net
Youfeometimes see a something that does not
belong upon it,
Don't pray the luckless 'wearer may be made
too sadly w.se,
J*.or yet that all posterity may see it with your
eyes.
—Carlotta Perry, in X. T. Sun.
A BEIDGE ROMANCE.
-My Blunder and Apology, and
What They Led To.
When I come to think it all over 1
hardly know where it began mvsell
f O %/
Naturally, I am a very observing man,
and have 44 a nose for news/' other-
wise I should long ago have been
C O
looked npon as unreliable, and would
have received notices in various shapes
that, "owing to circumstances, etc.,
etc.but such has been my fate but
once, and that was the beginning of
my romance.
•
Notwithstanding my observative
liabit I must confess that there are
moments when I lapse into periods
of what might be termed "thinking
C* O
back," and then I do not "observe
more than half of what I notice." It
Wits in one of these moods that I left
my home, and, to this day I can not
recall how 1 reached the Brooklyn
bridge, on my way to New York; but
I suddenly awoke from the reverie I
was in, and saw standing in front of
me a female figure. My gentlemanly
instincts awoke at once, and I sprang
from the seat I had occupied, and
with a touch of my hat, said: "Beg
pardon—take my seat."
The lady, for she was a lady, any
one could see it in a moment, as she
wore a hat that you could look over
the top of, and you could pass around
her without disturbing her rearward
drapery, looked at me in a half-sad,
half-quisical manner, and as at Oie
same moment the shadow of the New
York terminus came over the cars, and
I realized that we had reached our
journey*s end, I am satisfied that I
blushed, and said again: " 1 beg your
pardon. 1 was preoccupied." She
bowed to me and smiled in a sad way,
as much as to say she did not doubt
me, and we went our several ways; I
was not so distrait, when I went down
the stairs leading to I*arlé Row as not
to observe that she crossed the foot-
bridge leading to the park
In the confused nfoment that I had
lo look at her, my usual observative
habit came into play, and I noted that
she wore a gray stuff dress, not at all
new, but well cared for and seat, and
not so tight in the* amis as to pull ©tit
in the back, and while she had oa the
# ÍJ3
|> ti
usual brown kid gloves, the'backs
could be plainly seen through the
stitching, and the linger ends were
n* o
neatly darned and showed long and
constant wear. As I descended the
stairs, and she kept on the even foot
way I could not help but notice her
foot. It befitted her height and must
have been a liberal three at the least,
but it did not run back at the heel or
slope over on the outside, and had no
pinched look about the toes, while the
heel itself was low and broad. When I
reached the street I paused for a mo-
ment for another glimpse of her, but
failed to get it, as she was lost in the
crowd or took the up-town elevated
road.
1 went through my duties that day
in an entirely mechanical man net1, and
was somewhat surprised when the city
editor said: "What the dickens is this
you have been writing about a *gray
dresi?1 " I hastened to his desk, and
looking over my copy, said: "I meant
it for 'great distress,and with a
grim look he said: "Why didn't you
write it so?" and I went away ^qre, at
heart, for I am rather proud of my
"copy," and know that the ty]>os like
to set it, as it is so clear.
I did not know that I had been
thinking of a gray dress, but it seems
that I had, and as L crossed the "bridge
that night—it was nearly midnight—
1 looked in a vague way for a gray
dress, which did not appear, and I let
myself in my home with a feeling
that I had missed something. After
that night I seeded to live in a gray
atmosphere. The hazy days of In-
dian summer had come, to be followed
by the misty ones of the close-follow-
ing winter. It grew to be a habit of
mine to time my bridge trip as nearly
as I could to the time when first I saw
her. I scanned the faces on the plat-
form before I entered the cars. I in-
variably secured a seat in the hope
that I might give it up to her. At
length 1 had my reward. It was over
a month since I had seen her, but
finally she entered a full car where I
was seated. I at once arose and said:
"Please accept my seat before we get
over, this time." She smiled, bowed
and blushed as though she also re-
membered our first meeting, and nota
word was said until we reached the
New York side, when, as we left the
car I said to her: "I do not wish you
to think me rude, but I have been
looking for you for over a month to
apologize to you for my seemingly
rude conduct to you the first time I
met you. Do you remember it?" She
said, with a smile: "Very well in-
deed. I did not, at the time, think
you intended any rudeness; Viit X
imagined vou were thinking of feome-
thing and had only waked up to the
fact that you were on the bridge when
we were nearlv over it."
I said that I had often thought of
O
the day, and had hoped the day would
come when I could see her and tell
her that I only intended to act as a
gentleman: and not to call attention
to her, as he might have thought, and
as I had seen others do, who kindlv
f •
offer their seats to ladies after finish-
ing their own journey in the street
cars. Shr said: "I did not look at it
at all in that light, for I really do not
O y
believe vou knew where you were when
you spoke to me."
"How long ago it seems," I said
"Have vou any idea when it was?"
v *
"Oh! yes. perfectly. It was on the
the 25th of Oetobcr. I wrote it in my
diary; and beside it was my birthday."
All this while I had been walking be-
side her, and then I said, "Will you
be offended if 1 walk with you as far
as you are going?*'
"Not at all," she said. "I am onlv
going on the next block, where I work
in a boot-bindcrv."
She looked up at mo with honest
eyes, and they were gray, too, like
the dress she wore, the first one I saw
her in, and when we reached the door
of the tall factor}', I tore a" sheet from
mr memorandum book and wrote mv
name upon it with my address. I
asked her if she would feel offended if
I waited to see her on the other side
of the river the next morning, and she
told me: "Not at alL" Then 1 said:
44Who will I meet?" She gave me
another of her wholly sweet and half-
sad smiles, and banded me a neatly
written card, evidently done by her
own hand, which re$d:
Eunice gray,
Clermont Ave.,
Brooklyn.
1 walked on air that day, and toil
was pleasure, and when it felt to my
lot to write something about a collision
between an ice-cart and a horse-car, in
which an old lady was killed, the mat-
ter-of-fact editor said to me: "What's
the matter with vou? Take this con-
founded blank verse and m¿ake a stick-
ful of common sense of it" I came
down out of the clouds and did his bid-
ding, «tnd slept but little thafc ' night
after átiding my pillow.
I kissed *^y dear old mother with
unwonted tenderness that morning.
She was all I had in the world then*
and I was all sihe had; my father hav-
ing' died tfcn f ears before, leaving her
with a siendo a^d jnyseU aud
í i "" " -
an elder sister to smooth as best we
could her pa¿h down the declining
yéárs of her life.
A little n&re than a year before, my
sister had been taken with a severe
cold, which ended in a fatal attack of
pneumonia, and she was lying by the
sicbe of our father in the shades of
Greenwood, and poor mother, Kke
Raehael, "would not be comforted."
When I met Eunice that morning
• o
she held out her hand, covered with
the same neatly darned gloves, and I
could not feel as if we were strangers.
I told her so, and also what little of
history there was in my humdrum, un-
eventful life, and asked her if she
would allow me te call at her home
that night and finish my story.
She said: "1 have but a poor home
to show you, but if you will come, I
shall be glad to see you."
How slow the hours passed that day,
and when tiie hour of seven came. I
rung the bell at a cottage door, which
she herself opened to me. She had
changed her street attire, and had re-
cj
placed it by a house dress of some soft
gray material, and looked lovelier to
me than ever.
She took me into the little rear par-
lor, where, in a reclining chair, sat, or
rather lay, a lady whose hair was
snowy white,, and whoso pinched face
and care-furrowed brow still held the
traces of the beautv which once must
have made her a remarkably handsome
woman.
"Mother," said Eunice, "this is Mr.
Grayson, the gentleman I told you of
a month ago, and said he woke up and
offered me his seat in the bridge car
ii j
after we got over on the other side.
■
Do you remember, you almost laughed
over it? And I told you when I came
home to-night that he was coming to
° O
see us. Do yo'u remember?''
44 Yes, Eunice, I seem to remember;
but I do not remember things as well
as when your father was here. Was
there no letter to-day?"
"No, mother, but there may be one
to-morrow. We must be patient, you
know."
4'Mr. Grayson, sit where I can see
you plainly," said Eunice's mother.
She eagerly scanned my face for a
whole minute, which seemed an age,
and then said: 44 Yes, I think you
could be patient too, but could you
wait for a letter for four y ears f And
then the tears ran down the pinched,
wan face, and the sobbing brought on
o o
a cough which ended in a fiow of bright
o o
blood from the pale, thin lips.
Eunice took the pillows from under
her mother's head and while I offered
to run for a physician, she had poured
out some styptic already at hand, and
the hemorrhage wa3 staved. She fell
o %*
asleep soon after, and we sat silent
by her side for awhile, and uncon-
sciously had clasped our Lands.
After a time, when her mother slept
soundl}*, we walked noiselessly into
the front room, and almost in a whis-
per Eunice told me the story of her
own and her mother's life.
Until live years before, she, her
father and mother had lived a quiet,
happy life, her father being a junior
partner in a grain and provision house
in Broad street, and from his share of
the profits had bought the home where
tlfey now lived, and had laid by for a
rainy day a snug Mini of money in
bonds. One day a friend, whose judg-
ment he thought infallible, came to
him and unfolded a scheme where large
profits were sure to ensue, but which
took more monev than he alone could
command. Mr. Robert Gray took all
his savings except two thousand dol-
lars and embarked in the undertaking.
Then a further sum was required, and
rather than take his little remaining
hoard, he indorsed his fríen l's notes
with his firm's name, which was a vio-
lation of his co-partnership agreement.
The project failed, and Mr. Gray,
after writing a heart-broken letter to
his wife explaining all the circum-
stances! and another to his firm, in
which he stated that he would in time
make good the los3 he had caused
them, had left the city, and from that
day no word had been heard from him.
His firm refused to take from Mrs.
Grav the little monev that she bad, or
even accept from her the deeds of her
homestead, which stood in her name,
and said they were willing to wait Mr.
Grav's own timé for settlement.
In all these years no word had pome
from her father. Thev had lived as
economically as they could, had let
the upper floor of the cottage to a ten-
ant. and still they had to encroach on
their small hoarding. The mother's
health was broken and she became a
confirmed invalid which added another
drain. Eunice, who was but sixteen
at the time of her father's flight* saw
but one way out of the difficulty. She
must go to work. Through her own
exertions she secured work in the
book-bindery where she now was, and
was earning fair wages, and there her
story ended.
*<)h! Mr. Grayson," she added, **rt
only mother could get strong, and
father would return, 1 would be a
k*PPy girl again," and she broke down
with a burst of tear .
I comforted her as best I could, and
asked her how long her mother had
been s*> iiL She said she had her iir¿t
suffusion of blood in the early spring,
but since then they had been rather fre-
quent, and sometimes alarming, but
the medicine the doctor had prescribed
had always checked them.
When Í left her that night, I told her:
"I always want to be your friend, and
if I can be of any service in any way,
and do not see it myself, you will, I
know, point it out to me." And then
we said our first "good night."
Early next morning I told my mother
the entire story of our acquaintance,
and begged her to call on Mrs. Gray
and see if any thing could be done to
relieve her in any way, which she
p/omised to do. Eunice had told me
when we parted at night that she might
be late in going over, but I could call
the next eveuing if I would to see how
her mother was. so I did not wait at
the bridge, and took a lonely ride.
When I reached home that night I
found a note from mother asking me
to come at once to Mrs. Gray's. I ar-
rived there only to find my worst fears
realized. The poor woman had had a
return of the hemorrhage shortly after
my mother's arrival, the physician had
been unable to stop it, and her life had
ebbed away.
There is no need to tell of the quiet
funeral, or of the drive back from the
family plot to our own home, where
mother insisted Eunice should sfav for
a few davs, until she had learned bet-
ter to bear her grief. The days grew
to weeks, and, every time mention
was made by the poor girl of the nec-
essity of her going home and back to
her work, mother said: 44Not yet"
What use is there to tell how they two
grew to love each other, or of the state
of my own heart, for I was well aware
that Eunice knew, even if I had not
spoken.
One night as we sat by the fire in
our snug parlor, it was shortly be-
fore Easter a year ago, mother said,
gently:
44Eunice, dear, you have no mother,
I have no daughter. I will gladly be
your mother if you will be my child."
1 knelt at her feet and said: 44 For my
sake."
And so she staid. The cottage where
her mother died was rented entire,
and brought her in enough means to
obviate any daily toil, and when June
of last vear was brightest she reallv
• O to
became my mother's daughter and my
wife.
There is verv little romance in all
«r
this, }*ou say, and that, no doubt, is
the fact, and here is where it conies
in. About a month ago, as 1 was
looking over the exchanges in the of-
O O
fice, I picked up the Leadville Chroni-
cle and read the following short para-
graph:
44 As Mr. Robert Graydon, the owner of the
famous Holy Cross mine, was descending th6
shaft in the second level, the bucket-rope part-
ed when near the bottom, and he was thrown
violently to the bottom of the shaft, sustaining
injuries which it is feared are fatal. Dr. Wis
ner, who was called in, told the injured man 1/
he had any directions to give as to the disposal
of his effects he had better do so at once. He
said his will and a letter of instruction were in
Counselor Peters' hands, and shortly after be-
came unconscious. He is not expected to live
through the night."
Jn the next issue was this:
4*Mr. Graydon, of the Holy Cross mine, died
shortly arter midnight. Counsellor Peters,
who held tfce letter of instructions in his hands,
wbicii was in an envelope indorsed: 'To be
opened only after my death," says that he
opened it in the presence of witnesses, and that
the only instructions it contained were a re-
quest to find if a Mrs. Elinor Gray and her
d lighter Eunice were living at No. — Clermont
ave:me, Brooklyn. X. Y., and in that event, to
not fy them of his death, as thejT were his
widow and daughter, and that his real name
was Robert Gray. H s will leaves that afier
the payment of his just debts, the property re-
verts to the mother for her natural life, and at
her death to go solely to the daughter. Mr.
Graydon or rather Gray, had just sold a half
interest in his mine to a St. Louis syndicate for
3.),(X)0, and the transfer of the deeds was to
have taken pluce next Saturday.**
I gave myself my own assignment
for that and many succeeding days.
Eunice and I made the trip to Gun-
nison armed with the proper proof of
her identity, and carried out the terms
of her father's contract. The mine
pays her about four thousand dollars
montlilv; the firm of which Mr. Grav
was a member has been paid in full
with interest, and I no longer fear the
frown of the citv editor, but rather
•r '
patronize him when I drop in on him
and take him over to the Astor House
for luncheon. — Walter Cooperf in
Drake's Magazine.
CONVINCING GUARANTEES.
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Having branch houses and laboratories in
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having a world-wide experience, we, H. H.
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Firtt.—For the past decade we have held
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kidneys, .which introduce uric acid into
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the organs which are the weakest. We
have also held that if the kidney* are kept in
perfect health most of the ordinary eulments
will be prevented,, or, if contracted, cured.
Other practitioners have held that extreme
kidney disease is incurable. We have proof
to the contrary, however, in hundreds of
thousands of cases in every section of the
globe.
¿itcond.—The kidneys being the sewers of
the human system, it is impossible to keep
the entire system in good working order
unless these organs are doing their full duty.
Host people do not believe their kidneys
are out of order because they never give
them any pain. It is a peculiarity of kidney
disease that it may long exist without the
knowledge of the patient or of the practitioner.
It may be suspected if there is any gradual
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Third.—We do not cure every known dis-
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Fourth.—Warner's Safe Remedies have
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Fifth.—We make the following unqualified
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Guarantees 1.—That Warner's Safe
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Guarantee 2.—That the testimonials used
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Guarantee 3.—Warner's Safe Remedies
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Sixth.—Ask your friends and neighbors
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R*v. J. P. Arnold, Camden, Tenn., had fear
ful abscesses caused by Kidney disease. In
1878 and 1881, other running abscesses ap-
peared. He was fully cured in 1882 by
Warner's Safe Cure and in 1S8S reported
himself sound and well, and he is over 70
years old.
Mrs. Annie Jenness-Miller, editress ol
Dress, 253 Fifth avenue, New York, eight
years ago was cured of nervous prostration,
when the best New England physicians could
do her no good. She cured herself with
Warner Safe Cure, and writes in 1S37: "To-
day I am a perfectly well woman. It is the
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E, B. Price, M. D., a gentleman and physician
of the highest standing of Hanover C. II., Va.,
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eral waters, cured himself by Warner's Safe
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Dr. Dio. Lewis wrote: 44If I found myself af-
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made by H. H. Warner that, if the remedy
now known as Warner's safe cure, restored
him to health, he would spread its merits
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demand has grown so that laboratories have
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For this no other specific is known.
Didn't Work tor Once.
••Will you be kind enough, pa,
said Boljby, in a low wel!-modv*** ti
tone of voice, 44to give me another
piece of pie?"
44No, sir." replied the old man,
44you've had enough."
44Ma," said Bobby, with a dubious
air, *4you told me that politeness al-
ways pays."—y. Y. Sun.
A Wise Business Rule.
Visitor (to convict)—What are you
in for, my friend?
Convict—Burglary.
Visitor—Rob a bank?
Convict—Excuse ine, sir, but I have
always made it a point never to dis-
cuss my private business affairs with
strangers.—Ni T. Sun. ,
—In British India during the past
decade Christianity has advanced thirty
per cent; Mohammedanism only tco
per ccnt
Drug Stores in Germany.
The drug stores have a curious way
here of shutting up just about the time
you want them. And as soon as it be-
gins to grow dark, down go the shut-
ters, and if you need any thing yo* go
to a little bell handle outside of one of
the iron shutters and ring it Then
you hear some one at a crank inside,
the massive frame rolls up, and a head
looks out the window. Finally the
man or boy inside opens part of the
window and you talk through a pane of
glass,and you make known youf wants.
Instead of showing anger at being
aroused, the man begs your pardon for
keeping you outside and says: 44I
thank vou for your order." If you
have not the exact change, and the
man inside is not in the same predica-
ment, he will beg you most politely
and thank you to allow him to change
it Having done so he will thank you
for calling (evidently taking the visit
as a social one), bow, close his little
peep hole, bow again, and then smile
sweetly as he grinds (down his iron
shutter and his smiling face is lost to
view. How different from the druggists
in America! I remember I once woke
one tip in the States and he came down
stairs with a shotgun after me. But, as
I remarked before, they have a curious
way of doing things in Dresden.—
Dresden Correspondence.
Xaitt a man gets a repmtation for beta* a
knowing man on aoooant_ of hia ddil
A owing
iasl
-
/
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Miller, Freeman E. The Canadian Crescent. (Canadian, Tex.), Vol. 1, No. 27, Ed. 1 Thursday, May 3, 1888, newspaper, May 3, 1888; Canadian, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth183559/m1/3/: accessed April 26, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Hemphill County Library.