The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on September 19, 1894 · Page 3
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Algona, Iowa
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Wednesday, September 19, 1894
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tOWA, fltt, IN bands And fefealed Oyei. , Kiss them once and oome ownj-, Ixiate hef till th<5 dftrhne« dies, Vlll ttt6 da*nln? ot the day. ; yon cannot leave her so? ^ Irott W«|*6 W6nt to Watch her e«t- &&e may fftke When wild winds ;»to*, Seem forsaken, feel forgot. * tiangathefl-fl slopasfihe sleejja, f till the nl*ht &e donj; a still host keeps watch abote oui? little one. t*Bst her, trust Her it> tU Kflthft, IV) the Earth— the Stars above. llnater, he ^ fr: God will *ake her— God is L6*a. Jennia HaHowa, 1JY W. CtAttlS OMAPTfift IX, „ name," he began* "is Harness. 1 Was captain and part owner of a little bark called the 'Mary AnatfUtter.' We sailed from London at the close of August ih last year and all went well till we Were in some six Of seven degrees south latitude, when a couple of drunken Villains of sailors, entering the hold with a flaked light to breach one of a heap of rUm casks below, set fire to the ship. We wore bound to Callao with a general cargo of light inflammable stuff, and when the cry of fire Was raised 1 seemed to feel as though instinctively that the vessel was doomed, as a man gets to know inwardly that he is bound to die within a certain time, though they may tell him there is plenty of hope and that his .complaint isn't deadly. All that could bo done was done; but the fire quickly took a strong grip, and the fore part of the hold was "presently in a blaze, with the smoke dribbling up and gathering in a sort of thunder storm upon the ship, and a glare like lightning upon it.now and again from the leap of a crimson flame. I had my wife on board with me. I secretly 'called aft three good, trustworthy seamen, quietly got them and my wife into one of the quarter boats, and told them to lie off ready to receive me should I hall them. It was ten o'clock at night, i must tell you when the fire broke out, the weather Salmost a calm, and the air dark rthough- starlit. 1 bent the end of the boat's painter on to some running gear, and paid out the lino plentifully overboard that the boat might I have plenty of scope to lie hid away I put in the darkness out of sights of ithe sailors who were toiling with 'hose and pumps and buckets. The ^quarter boat had not long been low- Bred when a fresh 'breeze of wind sprung up right abeam, i'ou heard Ihe flames roar again as the ship gathered away, for the yards lay as fthough trimmed for that slant. The v ship was fated, I saw that; we'toiled an a bit, then all hands were seized rith a panic fear, and rushed aft in body to the boats of which we had ft.wo remaining. I sprung oh to the lluarter and shouted, straining . my into the atmosphere that was fellow with the light of the burning khip a long distance the whole way round, but heard nothing, and saw. ilothing. It was blowing fresh, the ship was whitening the water as she e wept through it with, a fellow at ithe helm jamming the wheel hard H-starboard to bring her to that the boats might be lowered. I seemed to be able to follow the line that had been secured to the boat's painter to the end of it where it followed in. the arching wake like a, black serpent out on the sulphur-like water. Well, air, to shorten this yarn, the boat had gone adrift; I had lost my wife, and I could have flung myself into the burning hold of my vessel in my misery and grief." A sigh broke from him with a sort of half choking sob with it. He oame to a stand to pass the sleeve of his shirt over his streaming forehead. "Ha!" cried he, with a sudden glee coming into his face and pointing, "I see your boat, sir. Oh, my God! it is a sight I have been praying for flatting my imprisonment here," He brought the sharp of his hand , to his brow and peered again. The figure of Jenny seated under the cocoanut tree was as visible as the form of the gig in that exquisitely atmosphere, but she was a good long walk from us. ' H§ continued peering a little and f ^ &•' "I'Tour companion is a ar^d "yes," in a low _ .„. wifeP" he inquired, , ''"My'wi.fe," I answered quickly. v.i.A-ii. lwly ,,, hQ gftWi j heavfty upon np matter, A t^pe. are ships out £ &0Eifefe\Y8lP^T **$$& ra'sti' ,p,| "Jjywrifltf jn'oim TTiy Vt'emi^ *.. ^-TUin « ;nnMn , wsrajn, 1'hrfes days ftftef- w6 i^efe picked «f> by an Amecicftn whaler bemad round the Horn into the South Seas. I worked as an able seaman in that ship, and was content to do so, but grew weary of the life long before We had antered the Pacific, and one day, having to come to an island off which we lay with the design 1 of filling 1 oar water-casks, I quietly dropped overboard and softly swam ashore, and tiext morning the ship was £oiie. There were a number of blacks OH this island, and I thought when they fell in with me to be knocked on the head and devoured; but instead of ill-treatment they car- tied toe to their king or head man, who received Me Very civilly, fed me, aad tnade me rest o' nights in his house. 1 had hoped since the whaler had dropped anchor here, that other Vessels Were in the habit of calling, T)Ut I was disappointed. £Jo ship came near the island. 1 never caught sight of a sail on the horl* zott. Indued, I gathered from the natives that the presence of any sort of craft at that place was exceedingly Unusual. My heart sickened, and one night I stole a cinoe, carrying With mo twenty or thirty cocoanuts, and put off to sea, hardly caring what became of me, and reckoning that it would be as good to be drowned as to go on living among savages for the rest of my life. .Well, sir, sometimes paddling or sometimes sailing after as many hours as Would make about three days, I fell in with this island and stepped ashore to refresh myself and to obtain a night's rest on dry land. I imagined I had left my canoe safe, but wben I sought her in the morning she was gone, having broken from her fastenings and drifted away, and here have I been ever since, a helo- less prisoner and all alone. My God, sir, how much alone!" As he said this ho made as if to raise his hands to his eyes to screen or press them; but the movemen't of his arm was all on a sudden arrested as if by a withering stroke of lightning, and he came to a dead stand with an indescribable expression of what 1 must call terrified astonishment upon his face. We had by this time advanced so as to bring Jenny within easy eyeshot. I saw her rise when she spied, mo coming along with a companion and approach us by perhaps a dozen strides as if to meet us, then she stood waiting for us to draw close; the sunshine was upon her and her sweet face and fair hair, the rich color of her lips, nay, the very luster that lay • in the depths of her liquid glowing eyes were diii^inctiy visible, though she was .stilFa little way off. My companion had been looking at her when he, suddenly stopped dead; he continued to stare while YOU might have counted twenty, and his hand remained' arrested midway 'to ,his eyes. All at once he cried out in a voice whoso shrillness brought it very near to a. shriek, "Why, 'tis Janet! 'tis Janet! My wife, sir!" and without another word he ran to her. CHAPTElFx. • She stood erect, and a single glance at her sufficed .to assure me that she did not know him; that he lay as black and dead in her memory as all else that had^ formed her life previous to her awakening from her madness on board the "Lady Charlotte.". He fled to her. with his arms outstretched, crying iis .he ran: "Janet! Janet! my wife,my darling!" I walked hastily after him, i felt as though I were goiue mad, the blood surged into my brain, and there was an agony across my brow as though "my head would burst. I saw her recoil as he approached; her posture of withdrawal was full of terror, as though she viewed him as some wild man who was about to attempt her life. She waved him off, and then with a wild scream swept past him and rushed up to me. She threw her arms round my neck and cried out; "Who is he? Does he wish to harm me? Why does he fly at me?" and I felt her whole form trembling as she clung to me, while she continued to gaze with horror and consternation at the man, but without the dimmest gleam ot recognition of him in her looks, His arms had fallen to his sides, and he gazed at us with an air of miserable dismay. He then slowly approached us, "He shall not, hurt you," ' I 'whispered tp Jenny, tenderly unclasping her hands from my neck, and holding one of them for such cQtnfqpt as my grasp might give her. »»Who is heP" sh,e muttered, s!4U tremWing .violently, ' , jje g^me 1 , close to w,s, and looking at hep as gm whose b^qyt had be,e» broken, he said, MJanefc, flo you act, know we 0 " Sh§ cried Mjfo," gtrajning at -Jie? mory as, I saw b^ JUe, esprpsj^n her- gaz,e t '.,'•' Jpnathan Harness, Jan.eti J , dearest;','and. di-6<! mad jt&etiGi&a tUbtti m§. continued to gaze altosraateiy at ii! for some moments with amazement, seemingly yielding to deep thought well illustrated by hifl corrugated brows, tie then said, "May 1 speak apart with you from this—ladyP" "Certainly*" I answered; aiid 1 asked Jenny to return to the tre§ under which she had been sitting. She at once went, but with a look of fear and astonishment at my cotn- panton as she quitted my side. "Mr. Furlong:/' he exclaimed* speaking softly, as if to guard my ear agaiast the thoughts ia him which a louder tone might express-^ I had mentioned my name in telling himjmy story—"that girl is my Wife." I bowed. I knew in my heart that he spoke the truth. Tho suspicion that he was her husband had crept into, me like the very chill of death itself, even while ho was relating his adventures. It was past all doubting indeed now. Of a surety this man was my wife's husband!' I in^ elhled my head, and ho continued: "Can you explain why it is she does not recognize mo? : ' "She has lost her memory, 1 ' 1 re» sponded,scarce able to speak through the involuntary clinching of my teeth. "Ha!" he cried, with a start, "I ask you in God's name and in the name of pity, too, sit 1 , to let me have her story as you know it.'' I related it. at once; I caught him bending his ear to heat 1 me. and wondered at him, believing that my words dropped very clearly from me. I told,him how we had found her in the dead of night singing in her madness out in the black calm with a dead sailor for a comrade, how I had nursed her, how she had recovered her intellect, but how her memory had lain dead. I told him of our love and of our marriage in Sidney, and of our sailing thence in the "Lady Charlotte" for homo, "and the rest," I said, "you know." He stood in silence, musing over what he had heard. • I cried out passionately: "Who was to tell mo that she was married? She was without a rinjj on her finger!" He answered, still speaking softly: "It was always her custom to remove her rings before going to bed. She would do so before washing her hands, one of her last acts before lying down. Her wedding-ring foundered with;'the 'Marv AnstrtT- ther,' yet this hand," said he, holding it up, "for all that slipped it on her finger sixteen months ago, at St. Thomas' church, Hammersmith, where her mother, Mrs. Jameson, lives, or was living when we sailed." "i'ho is my wife!" I cried, and moved a.step as if to go to her,- but stopped on 'perceiving him to bring his hand to his brow and stagger. "I-am faint," he exclaimed; "can you give me something to eat?"'; An emotion -of pity- and misery filled my heart. My first thought was to carry him to the gisr, but! an odd, unintelligible dread of giving him a close view of the little craft possessed me. I conveyed him to the cave instead, where lay a few articles of food which we had brought from the gig at sundown on the preceding evening. There were some biscuit, and there was also the half, of; a'tiri of boiled mutton. He flung himself down and ate ravenously, while I stood near the entrance, watching -him with such a hurry and fury of thoughts in my brain, that I feared I must presently fall crazy. "I thank you for this meal," he said presently, "after a diet of cocoanuts -and roots—Fray, sir," he exclaimed, rising and preserving his subdued voice, while I seemed to find in the expression of his face a sort of anxious gratitude, so to define it, a subtle and indeterminable lOok, "when do you leave the island?" "When i have filled the breaker with frqsh water," I answered, "and laid in a stock of nuts and any other commodities fit for food which you will have the goodness to point out tp me," [TO BE CONTINUED.] An Angling Competition' One of the most curious spectacles in the British isles is the annual fishing competition on the Avon. Xbe start at the last competition was by pisb<?l-fire, and at the discharge, the anglers of the Avon, numbering 650, having all drawn for places, oast 650 leaded lines, bearing an equal num* her of,genres or branding worms, into the, classic waters of th<? river, The sun was bright, the waters low, the weeds many the fish, indifferent, but thQ 650 fished bravely on for three hours, and, at <4 e encjl .of the -flay", the basket of a Mr. Hpjme yra§ weighed,,. o«ti; '&s«-w^nei', wftfc 7 ppuftdj 1 ,6£ puneea 'of fcsh, 'A Mr. J?a^e.$j?a.n, him,, a. olps.e seggud, wore. by-.- JUQ£ 4foa.n < judgment; h,§ h$4 oa,ugh,£ p,sjly tyro 8sh, but' one Q{ thQW AM) MAIDS, SOME REMARKS ABOUt MY LADY'S dLOVE. i to the Cost, Color ftnd Treatment thereof _ ttLanninf tot tfao Ba? o< tlost — Good Motnlngr, Dear — Soinfl liconomleal t)l&he». My Lady's Oloro, It is false economy to buy a poor kid glove. As a rule the skiu used is imperfect. Every scar or tear Weakens the skin. Good gloves frfe cut from the best part of the hide and the remnants are taade Up for What is called the cheap trade, it doesn't pay to put skilled labor on poof material, and consequently the dye is "smeary" and the sewing is given to cottagers, who do the Work on the toaehine and find their own thread. To hide the blemishes iti the skin and to conceal the streaks in the dye the glove is touched up with a pettcil or brush of grease paint. To judge a glove it is only necessary to turn it inside out. in the trickery of trade a fair quality of skin is used for the back, while a worthless thumb may be used, with a palm cut out of a bias Scrap. If the seams are sewed tight they will rip with the first strain. It is well worth the while of the poor woman with conventional ideas to got acqiiainted with her glover and loam something about the trade. Hcarly all the small manufacturers repair their goods. This is merely a word to the wise. The following price list, compiled from a series, will give the reader a general idea of the cost of reliable kid gloves: Dressed kid, with hook and lace fastening cost '$1.60; two-button, plain back, $1.05; two-button, embroidered back, $1.90; four- button, embroidered back, $3; two-button, pique, $3; four- button, pique, $3.35; four-button, English derby, $1.50 to $2.75. Undressed kid gloves cost as follows: Four- button, $1 to $1.75; six-button, §1.35 to $3.35; six- button length mous- quetaire, $1,35 to $3.75; eight- button length mousquetalre, $1. 50 to $3-. These quotations are for colors and neutral tints. Black kid gloves ai*e 50 cents higher. Even ,then the- dye is not warranted fast. Castor gloves, of the four-button length, ara $1,50 a ngh-. Buckskins of the four-button Ls-Aigth are $1.35 a pair dogskin, bud gloves are from $1. 50 to $3. The pique gloves come from France. They are sewed on the inside, which gives the glove a neat appearance. , The English gloves are at once the cheapest, most serviceable, and most fashionable' just at present. Girls who affect tailor-made siiits wear them, and many go to men's furnishing establishments for them. They are made of selected skins in dog, lamb, kid, buck, and castor, with gored thumbs, strong gussets, and horn buttons that don't come off. They look clumsy, but they also look reasonable; the fit being easy does not destroy ; the usefulness of the hands. ' The fashionable colors are red and yellow tan, mahogany, gold and gray. A 1 $3 pair will stand a season's wear. . .'•'.•'• Gloves would last longer than they dp/if thev were cared for in time. When a stitch breaks in the buttonhole facing it should be repaired; if a rip starts turn the finger inside out and sew the seam on the wrong side using the finest needle and the finest cotton that can be had, the looser the stitch is the longer the seaui will wear. Instead of ti'ying to darn leather, 'get a scrap of an old glove and baste a patch on the part that is beginning to yield. Use a wax thread to sew on buttons; sew them loose and put a piece of cotton tape under to stay them. 4 tightly gloved hand is an evidence of vulgarity, A big fat hand crowded into a small glove is a deformity; a pretty hand is ugly and an ugly one is made uglier by the prominence it is. given. Aside from being powerless and almost useless, the hand that Is tightly gloved comes out formidable looking with ridges and lines seamed in the flesh and the skin crimsoned by congested blood, which has been <law»ed U P ever since the circulation wa,§"cut oft', It is not unusual to see at 'ft "dinner party a vain wonjan chafing- and rubbing her inflamed hapds together in the effort tp restore the,Jr, " natural complexion. Besides the hav^s apoplectic; looking them cold in winter and summer, tight gloyea. are £>x- Instead <$ the kid- wearing-, , burs^ ftnfj tb« buttonholes, vl'A glove onj> sise larger ttean the ft'i^ economical, ' il t an.0. fl, i»f*p, w^jcb, plage, pn, fchj ' fa feoil fel tided to t#y aft e*|r6HiBfeflti no ilia steamed some dry cake and dropped it in the cake box. When she went to it the ne*t morning it had nearly & pint of roaches, aad she kspt this ttp for a week and about Hd her house oJ the pests. The box was so deep that they could foot climb the unpainted, inside to get out, and the smell of the cake attracted them in great numbers.' * he A ot Rest. In many homes Sunday is planned and worked for With such ardor that When it does at last come around a weary housekeeper sees no pleasure in the absolutely neat details of feef home and the choiea ediblel prepared for the three meals to be eateh ott that day, and with aching bones she contemplates sorrowfully the new and arduous work of Monday, for the initial day of the Week on which labor is permitted is always the most trying of the whole six. It is well to plan for a day of rest, but do n(5t overdo the matter. T,he bright, sWeet, contented face of the Woman who contrives to make her family comfortable ort this day of rest exerts an influence that Will certainly bear weight of a more spiritual nature than that oppressively high moral tone that makes Sunday in some houses a day to be dreaded as a horrible nightmare to be undergone, but from which to awake is bliss. ' In most families breakfast is served late, dinner following at 2 o'clock, with a light evening meal. The house that employs but one servant cannot expect to have that single aid with them always, and "Bridget's Sund&y out" means that the family must turn in and do their share in the matter of housework. This duty can be made one that will be anticipated rather than dreaded if the Sunday night tea is converted into a sort of indoor picnic, every one, down to the wee son and daughter, taking part in its preparation.' The chafing dish does duty in this line, and, despite the fact that the day must of necessity be more or less attuned to the solemnity which is its due, very pleasant, happy remembrances can have their birth in the Sunday night gathering if only the proper spirit is broughtto bear upon it. — Philadelphia Times. Good Morning, Dear* My nolghbor met me on the street, She dropped a word of greetln? gay, Her look BO bright, her tone so sweet, I stepped to musio all that day. The cares that tugged at heart and brain, The work too heavy for my hand, The ceaseless underbeat ot pain, The tasks I could not understand, Grew lighter as I walked alon? With atr and step of liberty, Freed by the sudden lilt of song ' That nlled the world with ehear for ma Yet was this all A woman wise, Her life enriched by many a y ear, Had faced me with .her brave true eyes, Passed on, and said "Good morning, do art" E. Sangster. Amiable Authors. ; ,0f other letter 1 writers, Charles L'ainb and Mme. de Sevigne are perhaps best suited for our dozy hours, because they are sure to put us into a good and amiable frame of mind, fit for fair slumber and the ivory gates. Moreover/, the bulk of Mme. de Sevigne's correspondence is so great that, unless we have been very faithful and constant readers, we are likely to open iu to something which is new to us; and as for Lambs, those who love him at al.\ love him so well that it matters little which of his letters they read or how often they have read them befoz-e. Only it is best to select those written in the meridian of his life. The earlier ones are too painful, the latter ones too sad. Let us take him at his happiest, and be happy with him for an hour. — Atlantic Monthly, _ Baby's Sitting rosture. Careful mothers give much attention to the first sitting posture of a child in the baby carriage, where the continued motion may exert a wrong influence in curving the spine, pays the Philadelphia Ledger, Miss Lindley, a physical culturist, observes that "careful thought should be given the chair that succeeds the high chair at the table. This must have the seat of a length to correspond to the child's thigh from the back to the bent knee. Then tb& leverage of the spine in sup^ porting the body in its'cprreqt sitting 1 posture i& brought from the extreme lower end> instead of &t the waist; as is the e^se when the, chair is too 4 e ^P fovths len^lj of the < child's , lihjgh, The ba^k p{ ( ' thia chaiy $fap»l£ be .straight instead of holfow, t ' , , A Frnlse pf Ham, ( '.. j -Cui eojd hanj in small, thin bi$a, a batter of a pint of milk, a, of fl«?w rnbbed smooth in, 'a, , An operation consisting ot tfe* grafting of the ikin from the affiptt* tated arm of & tailroad victim is tftft head of a young woman who tad ally scalped several months ago fast lately been accomplished at gi Barnabas' hospital* N6tark« afld ttltt surgeons at the hospital Say it tft euccessful beyond aoubts Sh§ woman is Mies Mary Collie, twenty-* fOuf years old, who, previous td tfi§ accident Which placed he? it the hospital, had beautiful and luStifiotig hair. Miss Collis was employed itt the thread mills of Keaf&eyi ft. J«» says the New York Tribune, iinlil December 10, 1893. On that day, while she Was passing through th6 mill, her hair, Which hung loosely over her shoulders, caught in some of the machinery, and in an instant she was Scalped as cleanly as With an Indian's knife. , She was taken to the hospital afcd since that time has been a Patient sufferer. Repeatedly she has sub* mitted to operations of skin graft* ing, nearly all of her relatives, ift* chiding her brothers and sister?, aa Well as physicians and nurses of the hospital, having generously contributed portions of skin from theif arms and leers. Little by little the disfigured portions of the girls head were covered. First her forehead Was covered with grafts, and then, row after row of skin about an eighth of an inch in width was placed around the entire head. It was believed that it would take at least two or three years more to' complete the task of covering the entire head, but a victim was thrown in the way of Miss Collis. and by Wholesale grafting of skin from him the time for the completion of the task will be lessened by at least a year. Tho victim referred to is Jacob Beck, eighteen years old, of Harrison. Beck fell from a train on the Pennsylvania railroad while stealing a ride a fow nights ago, and* was badly injured. He was taken to the hospital, where it was found that prompt action must be taken to save his life. Dr. L. E. Hollister amputated his right arm, and Sister Aimee, a nurse, who was present suggested that some of the skin of the amputated forearm might be used on Miss Collis' head. The surgeons considered her suggestion a good one, and took immediate measures to preserve the arm. Miss Collis was then brought in, but anaesthetics were not administered. Her head was simply bathed with cocaine to allay the pain. Dr. Mercer then started to work, and in the three hours that he worked on Miss Collis placed on her head between sixty and seventy pieces of skin, each about the size of a pea, taken from Beck's arm. .Next bight both patients were doing well, and tha operation to all appearance had been entirely, ( 8uccessiul. When Miss Collis leaves the hospital she will probably wear a portion of the skin o'. at least 100 persons. V. ft THE BOLD, BAD SMUGGLER. 1 >- ;vs Cus- Ho Fell Into the Hands of Kindly toia House People, But Woii. It was the lady of the house.' her- eelf who answered the bell at one of the palatial residences on Woodward avenue, says the Detroit Jfree Press, the housemaid being engaged in peeling pineapples for preserves, "What do you wautP" she askei of the person on the doorstep, an, impulsive looking man with a roil of rugs under one arm. "Sh," said the impulsive one, "not so loud. I've got some rugs, here that I will sell you for a" song,! > only you mustn't let anybody know.1* "Why, are they stolen P'>' •* - ' y The person made a speaking trunv" pet with one'hand and whispered, iji a sepulchral tone: "No; smuggled,'^ "Come right in," said the lady>' and ushered him into the hall. Care-: fully closing the door she invited him to display his wares.' ' £ He did so, and as the rugs wepg spread out on the hall floor .tlieii?,' dainty richness filled her %) wj-.th' longing, "Ypu are sure smuggled?" 3he aske,d. in tpne pf voice, '. ' '"Certain . sure, ma'am;" B.wered; •«! smuggled .* them and you can have "th'em for " Tvhich^ ia less than half ,^ would poet you ^t.a»y t '^1 <4/K , m.j}k, flye' op» small jwt, ***$* i**** HW« ' IW «#** ' VpltW* <• £ f VJ pa}e^'~ fMFopvb^ayeMlf pfce ift&fc; mgfa*JuM$$&)s(

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