Denison Daily News. (Denison, Tex.), Vol. 6, No. 145, Ed. 1 Sunday, August 11, 1878 Page: 2 of 8
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Lancelot.
How 0110 grown old I can not tell;
Are these my liiuidj, no Ion# and thin?
My voice 1m Uko u tuneless bell;
All day the spiders spin mid spin
Betwixt me and the Bun. Betimes
1 luive a fancy to be ylad;
I hear strange burdens of old rhymes,
And blare of trumpets. Once I had
Such fame dark Lucius' face grew white,
That night on Lessoyne's trampled Held,
When through the du*k, athwart his itlght,
The lions grinned upon my shield.
But If 1 wake, or If I sleep,
And dream an idle dream, God wot,
Would I were dead, and buried deep;
Anon a voice culls "Lancelot!
Sir Lancelot!" I lift my f&oe—
The world is very gray and oold;
Then comes a whisper out of space,
" He growoth old; he groweth old.
— W. If. Young, in Atlantic Monthly.
«
A Scene from Enoch Ardeu.
And that same morning officers and men
Took up a collection among themselves,
Pitying the lonely man, and gave it him;
Thou moving up the coast they landed him,
In that haibor whence seven years before lie
sailod.
Then Enoch spoke no word to anyone,
Not even thanking the officers and crew,
8ut homeward—home—what home? had he
a home?
Down to the pool and naitow wharf he went,
Seeking a tavern which of old he knew
Saying if it was still there,
And kopt by the sumo old party
Who run it seven yeurs ago, he would
Stop with him a few days, have
His drinks hung up on the slate,
And learn the lay of the land.
Ho thought it must have gone; but he was
gone
Who kopt it; and his widow, Nancy Jones,
Was sole proprietor, and stood behind the
bar.
A haunt of brawling seamen once, but now
Business was dull and a stranger didn't
Happen along once in two weeks.
Thero Enoch rested silent many days,
I Mrs. Jones thinking him a wealthy sea cap-
■ tain.
!§
'fflM! lady of the house was good and garru-
lous, |
Nov let him be; but often breaking in,
Told him, with other annals of the port-
Not knowing Enoch, he was so brown, so
bowed-
All the story of his family,
His baby's death, his wife's growing poverty,
How Philip Bay took a great interest in her,
And sent her little ones to school,
How they oft walked In the twilight,
And the talk it raised; Uls long wooing her,
Her slow consent, and marriage,
And the birth of Philip's child.
Ho seemed to take but a passing interest
In the tale; only when she closed,
'* Enoch, poor man, was oast away and lost,"
He shaking his head pathetically,
Bepcatedmuttering, "Castaway and lost!"
And, "Mrs. Jones, another whisky sling!"
But Enoch yearned to see her face again
And know that she was happy.
thought
Drove him forth when the dull November day
Was growing duller twilight. By and by
The ruddy square of comfortable light
Far-blazing from the rear of Philip's house
AHiu'edhim, and with beating heart he sang:
There's a light in the window for—Philip!"
Philip's dwelling fronted on the street,
lUie last house to landward, No. 205,
Opposite the grain elevator; but behind, "
With one sinail gate that opened on the waste,
Flourished a little garden square and walled;
Enoch shunned the middle path and stole
Up by the wall, behind the gooseberry bush,
And looked In at the window.
Now when the dead man came to life and saw
His wile, his wife no more, and saw the babe,
Hers, yet not his, upon the father's knee,
And all the apparent happiness and tran-
quility,
He therefore, turning softly like a thief,
Crept to the gate, and opened it, and closed
As lightly as a sick man's chamber door
Behind him, and came out upon the waste,
Remarking, "If Philip's satisfied, ditto here,"
And straightway went and married Mrs.
Jones.
—Oil Oily Derrick.
, 3IADEL.INE.
Ail the girls who were leaving school
carried with them anticipations of a gay
winter, a round of parties, balls and op-
eras. Not so with Madeline Delauney.
The dying will of her father made her
aunt's house her home, for the years
between 18 and 21; and if Madeline had
been unwilling to comply, she would
still have gone, so great was her respect
for her father's memory.
Mrs. Chathard was an invalid, and
her family consisted only of her son—a
man over 80, and said to be eccentric—
and the old family servants. Decidedly,
not a very brilliant prospect for Made-
line.
It was a sullen autumn day when
Madeline rode, for the first time, up the
avenu.e leading to her aunt's house.
She saw a gray sky, flying clouds, and
a white beach, on which the sea beat
heavily in, and standing in the midst of
a cluster of pines, was a low, massive
building, that might have been a prison,
and possibly was a house. No one came
to the door to welcome her. Mrs.
Chathard was in the library, and begged
that Madeline would come to her there.
She found her lying on the sofa, busy
with some sort of knitting—a sallow,
delicate, fretful woman.
"No," she said, shrinking back, as
Madeline showed a disposition to kiss
her; " no one but Frederic has kissed
me for years. Don't commence. I am
a creature of habit; I don't like to be
disturbed in any of my regular habits.
I only came down to-day on your ac-
count, and it has quite unnerved me. I
shall not try it again. I must have per-
fect repose. Frederic comes to see me
morning and evening; that is as much
as I can bear."
With that, Madeline was waved off to
her room, whero indignation supplant-
ed a strong desire to cry, and curiosity
gr.wlually got the better of both.^ It was
really, she decided, on looking about
bureau, with a great many little di iw
ers, and shy pleased herself with arratig-
! iug them mentally. There was a vase
of flowers that spoke of a conservatory;
she had seen that the library was well
filled; a pretty piano occupied a recess
j in her room
"I shall pass uiy tiino very tolerably,"
i thought Madeline, resignedly. "I won-
| der what my cousin is like?"
Perhaps this last thought had some
influence in her toilet, else why should
she have braided her hair and put on
her most becoming dress P It was hard-
ly to be supposed that her charms
would have much effect on the quiet
parlor-maid who alone was in attend-
ance.
Madeline ate her supper with curling
lip and stormy brow.
" He is a barbarian! I know I shall
hate him!" was her inward comment.
" He must have known that I would be
here. He might have been civil. How-
ever, I shall do very well without him!"
And, getting a book from the library
shelves, she sat herself down resolutely
to read. But, try as she would, her
thoughts wandered back to the pleasant
room where she used to sit with her girl
friends, reading and talking—so differ-
ent from this great, silent, handsome
house. I am afraid the contrast was not
too favorable, for her pillow was wet
with tears that night.
A week passed away. During that
time Madeline saw Mrs. Chathard once
—that was all. The rest of the time she
passed in solitude, till Saturday evening,
when the prim old housekeeper enter-
ed the parlor where Madeline was sit-
ting, work-basket in hand.
" Mr. Frederic is at home," said she,
" and Mrs. Chathard thinks it proper
that I should sit in the room," with
which explanation she walked over to
the extreme end of the apartment, and
vanished behind the curtains of the bay-
window.
Madeline curled her lip slightly at
these prudential preparations, and went
on with her reading, trying to convince
herself that her heart was not beating
fast. She heard a quick, masculine
\ step without in the hall, heard it come
in the room and advance toward her,
I but did not raise her eyes till he stood
j directly before her. She had hard work
! to repress her surprise, he was so little
j like what she had imagined. Not old—
I for if he was really thirty, he by no
| means looked bis age—not tall, thin
| and sallow; on the contrary, small,
j though well formed, with an abundance
of hair; large blue eyes that should have
So the j belonged to a woman, so evenly arched
j were the brows, so long were the lash-
i es, so soft, so almost suffering, their ex-
| pression; clear-cut features; teeth that
showed white and even through his
thick mustache; a gentle, quiet, assured
j manner, neither austere nor frown ish,
as Madeline had imagined, but that of a
gentleman and a man of the world.
He apologized easily enough for the
apparent incivility: "Important busi-
ness," that much-enduring scapegoat,
had detained him—he was extremely
sorry.
Hut Madeline, who had no patience
with his lame excuses, interrupted him
sharply;
" Pray, spare your regrets; it is quite
evident that your sorrow is of the deep-
est dye. Your countenance bespeaks it."
Mr. Frederic opened his eyes wide and
sat down. Hitherto he had seemed un-
decided on the question.
" So, then, you are really offended,
and show it after a spirited fashion.
Good! I shall have to make my peace.
It will give us something to talk about."
"Is there really any necessity for
talking at allP" demanded Madeline,
still more indignantly.
" A few minutes ago I though not. I
intended to have gone through the nec-
essary formalities, and after that, to
have sat occasionally with you, by way
of keeping you in countenance; but now
I say yes! There is something original
about you; it may be only a spark, a
glimmer; but whatever it is, I will de-
velop it."
" You leave my individuality out of
account, I think."
" Not in the least. I count on it for
my amusement."
"Amusement! We share the same
blood, Mr. Chathard. I think you should
know something of the will which is
among our heirlooms. I doubt if I shall
choose to serve even a Chathard as
amusement."
" You will have no choice. You will
go to church with me to-morrow. You
will see and be seen of all the magnates.
They will forthwith call upon you; you
will go to make a round of dreary visits;
you will go to solemn tea drinkings;
you will talk to Capt. Fanway and Sir
Peter Farquhar, the two eligibles of the
parish; and when you have talked over
the weather, you will begin to fidget,
and wish yourself home with me. Even
a bear like me will prove more endura-
ble than those unmitigated young men.
You will talk with me and, in the nature
of things, you will amuse me. You can
not help yourself."
"I have other resources," answered
Madeline, loftily. " I have arranged a
dramatic course of study."
Mr. Chathard laughed.
••Try it, my dear cousin, by all
means. It is the most enchanting thing
in the world—in prospect. Try it, I say
again; and remember, I shall be very
happy to aid you if any difficulty occurs
which, though, it is to be presumed,
ing Madeline piqued and curious. She
had ample time, however, to reoover
herself, anil proceed with her studies.
It was three mortal weeks before he
presented himself again. When he did
come, it was in a ghostly fashion. She
was bending over a book, and looking
weary and strangely dissatisfied. He
gave her a chair near him.
"Talk!" he said imperatively. "I
am bored."
Madeline's hot blood leaped up in re-
volt. Words hovered on her lips, that,
cool as he was, could not but have placed
an effectual barrier between them.
Something arrested them. A pained
look was in his eye, anguish about his
mouth, showing dimly through the
mask of cynicism. A new impulse pos-
sessed her.
•• Cousin," she said, gentle enough.
" Why should we be at war? We are of
the same blood; and I think we are
alike in one thing at least—that we are
both alone. Why goad each other with
bitter words P Would it not be better to
help each other P I don't ask nor offer
any confidence; only if there could be a
liking and a friendship between us, let
it develop itself. Let us not hinder it.
|l am so lonely; and I think, if you
would let me, that I should like you."
" I swore once," he said, " never to
trust mankind, still less womankind,
again."
" Unsay the rash oath," she said eag-
erly. " It shuts you from all happiness
and goodness."
"How dare you ask meP In whom
shall I trust P"
"In me?"
««A girl—a child, that doesn't know
even the meaning of things about her,
much less her own heart!"
" I know one thing; the truth that I
feel within me. That never dies, and
never fails. Only try me, cousin. I
long to do you good."
" I believe you do," he said much
softened. "I believe, with all my inno-
cent fervor, you do wish it. I will trust
till I see that you, too, are going to de-
ceive me. Will you take the respon-
sibility?"
Madeline held out her hand, and so
FOR THE YOUNG FOLKS.
JACK'S LETTER.
DliAR AUN'TIK:
Did you ever have
A llttfe baby brother?
I have got one, and 1 don't think
I'll ever want another.
He Is not big enough to slide,
Or play with hoop or ball;
And Mother has to tend him so,
Sht can not play at all.
It's always "Uusli I!' and "Jack,bo still!
The baby Is asleep I"
And overy body in tho house
On tiptoe has to creep.
I wish you'd let me go and stay
With you and Auntie Jane;
And whon tho baby has grown up
I could como back again.
I'm almost six years old, you know-
So tall, thoy say, I've grown !J
And since the baby came I sleep
■ All in the dark, alone.)
I'd be so good, dear Auntie Kate,
And nevor answor back.
Oh I won't you write and ask Mamma
To let you take your
Jack.
P.S.—I left this letter on the desk;
And Mamma read it through;
And then she lookod so very sad
I cried, and kissed her, too.
" And so'my boy would go away,
And leave his darling mother,
And cares for nothing but his play,
Nor loves his little brother.
" And "—but I can't tell all«he said,
Only It meant, I know,
That I could help her when she's tired,
And that she'd miss me so.
I don't think I can go, Aunt Kate;
But Mamma says I may
Hold baby every day an hour,
And that's as good as play.
—Mrs. K. D. M. liianciardi.
NOTHINfw TO DO.
Kit had taken a slight cold, and so
she did not have to go to school. Al-
though glad enough to stay at home,
she could think of nothing in particular
to do, and after breakfast she wandered
around the house aimlessly for awhile.
She finally strayed into her father's
study. No one was there. On the ta-
ble was the unfinished sermon, just
where her father had left it. Kit glanced
over the neatly written pages, but did
not attempt to read them. Then she
An Appalling Calamity.
The Yankton Dakotnian, of July 27,
says: Parties who arrived last night
from northwestern Turner County
bring accounts of a cloud-burst near the
headwaters of the west branch of tho
Vermillion River, at 4 o'clock Tuesday
morning, which was attended by the
most disastrous results. Seven miles
east from Silver Lake and 15 miles west
from Sioux Falls is a Mennonite colony,
which settled there some four years ago
and has built up a thriving agricultur-
al settlement. The colony is located on
the river bottom, a portion of its do-
main being on low land. It was early
Tuesday morning that tho flood came
and caught the people unawares, and
before they were out of their beds a
cloud-burst just above them emptied a
vast volume of water into the Little Ver-
million and its bottom, and in a few
minutes that stream was over its banks,
and far up the slopes on either side. The
water attained a depth of from 10 to 80
feet, and filled the houses to their eaves
almost before their occupants could
escape. One of the parties who brought
the information says the Vermillion was
as big as the Missouri. We wore una-
ble to obtain any detailed particulars
from our Russian informants, as they
are unable to speak our language to
any great extent. But enough was
gathered to enable us to state that seven
persons were drowned by the flood.
Four of them belonged to one family
named Garings—tho mother, two
daughters and one son being over-
whelmed and drowned before they could
be rescued. Mr. Garings was almost
lifeless when taken from the water, but
by timely exertions he was resuscitated,
and is now recovering. Jacob Goren, a
young married man, was also drowned.
|The names of the other two victims we
[could not obtain. The bodies of the
! dead were sill recovered after the sub-
| sidence of the flood. One family was
| taken off the top of a house just in time
! to prevent fatal results. All the crops
j on the river bottom were swept away,
i and the damage from this source is
i largo.
| This cloud-burst undoubtedly caused
went into the sitting-room; but her
there was a truce between them. Every ' mother was not there, for she had gone
night they studied and talked under the out also. Kit returned to the study, ! t.ho unprecedented flood in the Vermil-
supervision of the prim housekeeper; feeling a trifle lonesome; and, for lack , H"n Ri,ver,' at Finlay. mentioned in our
and at last he feU into a way of taking of better employment, she built a bright! Thursday s issue .
a morning walk with her in the garden, | fire on the hearth. She placed the back-! ny wIunh has suffered so grievously
and riding with her to several parties,' i0g and fore-log in their places; and,
and al way to ohurch; and the neigh- tliis done, she sat down in a big chair to
borhood held up its hands in astonish- j enjoy th0 blaze. She had not sat there
ment. j long, when she heard a queer rustle,
Months passed away. Very peaceful, j and, turning toward the door, she saw
happy ones they were. But one even-1 enter a half dozen crash towels. They
ing ho failed to make his appearance, j were sighing at a tremenduous rate;
All the next day Madeline watched for ; an(j finally one of them said (juite plain-
ly:
" She promised to hejn us the first
day she could; and
of ^jince."
k!
Tin* Mennonite Colo-
which has suffered so
from this visitation is located 40 miles a
little east, of north from Yankton and 25
miles east from Milltown. It was one
of our most prosperous foreign settle-
ments.
Minnie Warren's Death.
her, a pleasant room, with crimson cur
tains and furniture, and a deep window j is not possible."
'ooking out on the sea. There was aI With wWeh he took himself off, leav
him, but in vain.
" He has gone away," she thought,
with a* keen pang, "and did not tell
me." <
One week passed—two—three. Sus-
pense grew unendurable. She ventured
an inquiry of the prim housekeeper.
"Mr. Frederic is not far away—he's
ill."
"111! Why was I not told? I will
go and see him at once!"
"He has the typhus fever, Miss; and
Mrs. Chathard ordered that you should
on no account be admitted, for fear of
the infection."
Madeline left the housekeeper without
another word, and went straight to Fred-
eric's room. She was not very sure of
its locality; for it was in tlfe other wing
of the house, a place where she had
never ventured. She was, however, ex-
ceedingly doubtful of the propriety of
going in at all; but if he should die
without her, would propriety console
her? She went in trembling. He was
alone and awake. He turned towards
her, hollow reproachful eyes.
"Areyou better?" was the first ques-
tion.
" Yes; but why have you left me alone
so long? I thought that you cared for
me."
"I do, I do! I never knew. I wait-
ed and wondered, and grow sick at
heart. No one told me, and to-day I
asked. I was too proud to doit before.
I thought you had gone away, after the
old fashion, without telling me. Then
they said I musn't come to you for fear
of the infection."
"There is danger! Go away at
once!"
"I will not. Why should I not
share danger with you! All the orders
in the world shan't drive me from you!"
He turned toward her with sudden
animation, seizing her hand, looked
earnestly into her face, and said, " My
little darling, I really believe that you
love me as I do you!"
And from that moment he mended,
spite of doctor's physic; and the som-
ber old house is gay enough under the
blithe supervision of the young mis-
tress, Mrs. Frederic Chathard, or Made-
line.—English Magazine.
Minnie Warren, the Dwarf, who has
just died in child-birth, was the young-
est of a Middleboro family of oi<rht chil-
ho hasn't thought j dren, all of whom except herself and
I her sister Lavinia, now Mrs. Tom
"s conscience reproached her. She j Thumb, were of ordinary size. When
was just going to excuse herself, when
a pair of thick-soled walking-boots shuf-
fled in.
" Seven buttons oil"," they groaned
Minnie was 11 years of age she joined
the Tom Thumb troupe, and for 15
years she traveled almost continually,
visiting nearly all the civilized parts of
She was 30 inches in height,
Gen. Grunt's Talk.
Gen. Grant seems to have taken a
great fancy to John Russell Young, tho
clover newspaper man who " does up"
his tour for tho New York Herald, and
converses with him so freely that tho
correspondent avers "we have few bet-
ter talkers in America." Young gath-
ers up tho best points of divers talks on
tho rebellion into a letter tiiat dovers
over a page of the Herald. Grant's
recognition of Sherman and Sheridan is
as hearty as could be made. There will
be some surprise at his judgment of Lee,
whose reputation he considers out of all
proportion to his achievements; Stone-
wall Jackson's fame ho thinks would
have suffered if he had lived to meet
Sheridan and our army when it had be-
come well drilled. Joe Johnston was
the Southern commander, Grant says,
who gave him tho most anxiety; Albert
Sidney Johnston died too soon for any
body to tell what he might have achiev-
ed. Grant doesn't sympathize with the
theory that Jeff. Davis was a drawback
on the South; he thinks he did the best
any man could have done. Of the Gen.
erals on the Union side Grant was great-
ly disappointed in Roseorans, Stone,
McDowell, whom he considers a real
victim of ill-luck, and Buell, whom he
credits with genius enough for the high-
est commands; Warren's failure he at-
tributes to his hesitating temperament.
Grant drops a word of apology to But-
ler for having called him "bottled up,"
and speaks well of Frank Blair and John
Logan; gives Hancock a fine character
as soldier and man; recalls fondly the
memory of Mcl'herson, who died too
early; and excuses Meade's failure to
destroy Lee at Gettysburg, on the
ground that he was new to his army,
though he thinks that, if Sherman or
Sheridan had commanded, it might and
would have been done.
Grant declares that his losses in the
Wilderness campaign have been greatly
exaggerated; instead of throwing away
100,000 men, his total loss was only
about 39,000—death, wounds, capture
and all—while every blow he struck was
steadily weakening Lee. Speaking of
this campaign, by the way, Grant makes
the interesting revelation that lie! at
first thought seriously of massing his
army in movable columns, giving the
men 12 days' rations and throwing him-
self between Lee and his communica-
tions—a plan that, if successful, would
have shortened the war by a year—Out
as lie was new to the army and it was a
risky job, lie finally decided on the slow-
er and safer Wilderness move. The
iconoclast has at last attacked one of the
dearest memories of the war—tho long-
sung " Battle Above the Clouds." The
battle of Lookout Mountain, Grant de-
clares, " is one of the romances of the
rrnr. There wftl no ntlCll battle and 110
action even worthy to be called a battle
on Lookout Mountain. It is all poetry."
The traditional " council of war" also
gets a blow. Grant says ho never held
one, and never heard of Sherman's or
Sheridan's doing so. Of course he
dismally; " and she declared she would | the globe.
1 sew them on the first day she had time." i and never attained a weight to exceed ; listened to what any body at Iieadquar-
Kit felt much ashamed; but she could 45 pounds, being considerably shorter I ters had to say, " but 1 always made up
think of nothing to say, so she sat very j and more slender than Mrs. Thumb, j n>y mind to act, and the first that even
still, blushing, however, a good deal,
for the crash towels and the walking-
boots were staring at her most unpleas-
antly.
The silence was growing oppressive.
To a pretty face she added pleasant dis-1 niy staff knew of any movement was
position and winning ways, and she be-
came the fast favorite of Mr. Barnum as
well as of the public. When Tom
) Thumb was married to Lavinia Warren,
A cokbesponoent gives an interest-
ing account of a mouse that crossed
from one building to another on a fire
teiegraph wire, over a distance of some
four or five rods. Although the build-
ings were among the highest in Chica-
go, the feat was performed with perfect
ease and grace. When near the ob-
servers he was frightened, when he
carefully turned about and returned to
tho roof from which he came.
The municipality of Prague has for-
bidden the wearing of dresses with
trains upon the streets, •• because of the
dust, injurious to the public health,
raised by them."
The towels and the shoes stared and the general opinion was that Commo-
dore Nutt would take Minnie for his |
bride; but tho little commodore had set1
his affections on Lavinia, and his little
heart was blighted when Gen. Thumb
won her from him. Subsequently he
" paid attentions" to Minnie, but, as he
stared, until poor Kit felt very much
like crying; and she would have done
so had not her attention been attracted
by a funny scraping sound out in the
hall. The towels bent their heads for-
ward to look; and the shoes turned
themselves squarely around, as there
entered Kit's upper bureau drawer.
Such a looking thing as it was! It was
when 1 wrote it out in rough and gave
it to be copied off."—Spring field {Mass.)
Republican.
An Indiana Duel.
Gen. Thomas Green and Mr. David
McCluro, two well-known citizens of
| Madison, Ind., fought a duel recently
! on Big Creek, a few miles distant from
Madison. They wero members of a par-
was reported to have become a fast; ty who had gone out on a hunting and
young man after his first disappoint- J fishing excursion, and the quarrel arose
ment in love, she discouraged him. A i between McClure and Green while the
Liliputian, Major Edward Newell, who J During the progress of a war of words
was rechristened Gen. Grant, Jr., and their companions returned, when it was
crammed full with ribbons, pins, bits of I few years ago Barnum found another | other members were absent from camp,
jewelry, collars, cuffs, morsels of very
sticky taffy candy, fancy work, chest-
nut shells, handkerchiefs, gloves, some
apples, notes from the school-girls—a
little of every thing, in fact; and it
seemed as though Kit had stirred them
all together like a pudding. The crash
towels laughed disagreeably, and the
boots squeaked in disdain.
" She was going to put me in order as
added to the Tom Thumb combination.
The Major was bright and in-
telligent, and he and Minnie be-
came great friends. About a year ago
they were married, being the smallest
wedded pair that ever lived, and they
lived happily together with Gen. Thumb
and wife in Middleboro. Their last
soon as she had time," said a knob of tour together was in the West, from
the bureau drawer, meaningly. Bang! j which they recently returned. About a
b rom ofl a shelf dropped a fat History J month ago Barnum iet out the secret
of the United States, and as it landed on | that Mrs. Newell was "in an interesting
condition," and, though the old ladies
the floor its leaves opened at the ac-
count of the settlement of New York by
the Dutch, in 1G10.
Kit's cheeks grew redder yet. She
had promised her father to read that,
sometime when she had nothing else to
do; and here she had dwadled away
nearly a whole morning in trying to
amuse herself. She looked sadly at the
unhemmed towels, the grinning shoos,
the disorderly bureau-drawer, and the
History; and they looked at her in such
a disagreeable way that Kit put her
hands up before her face and b6gan to
sob. Straightway the shoes hopped up
and commenced to kick her, the crash
towels slapped her face, the bureau-
drawer fiung apples at her, and the fat
History climbed up on top of her head
and began to push her into the fire.
With a great effort, Kit tried to get
away; and at last she succeeded in roll-
ing off her chair to the floor. Then she
woke up. She moved her eyes and
stared rom## the quiet room; and after
a second fi * realized that she had been
dreamini ^Straightway she roso and
went to / a own
cr^sh tof -i out
hemmed!
Waring,
room, took the six
of the basket, and
,iem till dinner-time.—Carl
the Independent.
at first ridiculed the idea, they soon dis
covered the purchase of little bits of
muslin, lace and flannel by members of
tho Warren household. A lady friend
who visited the Warrens described the
little garments as " too comical for any
thing." Dolls' patterns were used, and
the little slips and wrappers were made
one-sixth of the size of garments for or-
dinary babies, though, when the new-
comer arrived, it proved to be of very
respectable proportions, weighing
nearly six pounds. Mrs. Newell is said
to have looked forward to maternity
with great anticipations of happiness
and no misgivings. Her husband, how-
ever, had gloomy forebodings, and ex-
pressed great solicitude, which the
death of mother and child has sadly
justified. Mrs. Newell's death caused
deep sorrow in Middleboro, where she
and her sister wero much loved, and
much sympathy is expressed for Major
Nowell, who is overwhelmed with grief.
—Springfield Republican.
Edgar Fawcktt wishes that •• Man
could make love like a bird." IIo does,
Edgar, he does; like a goose.—Hawk•
eye.
proposed to settle their differences ac-
cording to the code. It was determined
to light with shot-guns at ten paces, and
Jacob Greiner and Robert II. Hum-
phreys were chosen to act as seconds.
Thy duelists took their places, each pale
and determined, and, at a proper signal,
both fired, but without effect. Hum-
phreys remarked that they had fired too
high, and would have to try again. The
weapons were reloaded and tho princi-
pals took their places. At the word,
McClure's gun was discharged, and the
General, finding himself unhurt, fired
into tho air, telling his antagonist he
would spare his life. It was decided
that tho honor of both had been vindi-
cated, and the seconds refused to allow
a third round to be fought. After a
reconciliation had been effected and the
party had returned to Madison, it. leak-
ed out that the seconds had loaded the
guns with nothing more deadly than pa-
per wads.
Willabu Ci.akk, a high-mettled
young fellow shot and killed the man
who won from him his lady love. This
was in Now Haven 24 years ago, and
emerging from the State Prison the other
day, he walked up and down the City of
Elms like one in a dream. His playmates
wero too thickly bearded to be recog-
nized, the landmarks were only remem-
bered with an effort, and with tears in
his eyes, he at last beat his breast as a
veritable Rip Van Winkle.
—
Thk Chinese are capable of being civ-
ilized. A couple of them had a lawsuit
in Salinas, Cal., not long ago. The de-
fendant was convicted, but declared he
would hire more witnesses, and try it
again.
k
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Denison Daily News. (Denison, Tex.), Vol. 6, No. 145, Ed. 1 Sunday, August 11, 1878, newspaper, August 11, 1878; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth326995/m1/2/: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Grayson County Frontier Village.