The Council Bluffs nonpareil. [volume] (Council Bluffs [Iowa]) 1857-1867, 1859-01-01
you, my fine gentleman-you shall not ridi-

you, my fine gentleman-you shall not ridi.
cule me to Lima againv
As he walked the rain continued to stream
down in torrents. When he came to a thick
copse BY the road side, he hid himself am ons
the trees. There was partial shelter foi
him overhead, but he stood in the tall we,
reeds and grass. No matter the chill die
not cool his hot blood, nor quench the fire
OF Jealous rage that was consuming him
and be waited there until the morning begar
to break through the dense watery clouds
Then he established himself under careful
covert, where he could see the road from
Brigham, but wuold be himself unseen by
any one approaching from that direction
The rain had ceased, but thick vapor rose
from the fields and dense vegetation about
him. His watch was prolonged he begar
to feel pains in his limbs and head, and gid.
diness. He found that he could scarcely
steady his hands to raise the gun not from
any failure in his purpose but from sheer
physical inability. At last he heard the tro
of pony on the road, and the clear whistle
of the young clerk. With a mad haste he
tried to raise the gun. But his arm failed
him. 1t was suddenly struck with suct
weakness, that he could not lift the weapon
above his own breast and, in that momcn,
his deadly chance was lost. He sprang out
into the road, with the intention of drag
ging the stranger from his horse, and beat
ing him to death; but his foot slipped on the
mud Of the bank, and he fell PROSTATE on
his face. The clerk, hearing the noise,
turned, rode back, and recognized the mason
whom he had seen at Lina's cottage.
SEh uhnf nnn.bipr ha criat .Inhp
reared his indignant head and stumbled upon
his feet take my warning, Giles, if that's
your name, and leave the game to them il
belongs TO-. There's only one step, and that
a short one, Eve heard say, between poach-
ing and ssheep::stealing,' and with that he
trotted off whistling his tune, and leaving
John more wroth than before. lie was hall
mad us he staggered home and restored the
gun to its place over tho chimney. His mo-
ther was just stirring. He had sense enough
left to crawl into his chamber SO stealthily
that she did not suspect he had been absen,
all night. But for any rest he could get, he
might have had his body stretched upon the
rack and the tooth Uf IN active devil gnaw.
ing at his heart.
1t was full three months before John lIur-
land set foot over the Threshold again. and
when he did so at last, it was gaunt spec
tire, crippled and deformed by rheumatism
in almost every limb. Towards the close of
sunshiny September afternoon, when the
village was empty, every available hand be-
ing engaged in the harvest field, he said to
his mother, who was sitting with her knitting
in the open doorway:
'Mother, how long is it since Lima Fernie
came to see after me? haven't heard her
voice for days-weeks, Think
'lt is weeks, John. Be advised by me and
give up thinking about her. was the plead
ing reply.
'It is all very easy to say give up thinking
about her; but it is none so easy to do,
said John bitterly. Il mean to hear my fate
from her own lips; and, if you'll reach me
down my plaid, l'll 50 and see her ow-she
never goes to the harvest
'Waita bit longer, John, wait bit longer
YOU can't bear anything yet.'
And you think she'll have nothing
more to say to me = asked the young man,
hoarscly,
t 80, johnny, lad! don't look so wretchcd
she's never worthit. She's never worth thy
good heart,'
Amiserable contortion passed over his fca-
lures as his mother uttered the last words.
No one but himself knew what evil intcn-
tions had been bred in that good heart, which
n merciful Providence had frustrated. lie
arose with Il stick and crutch and hobbed
to the door. ., what wreck he was! Blu,
! not such wreck as he might have bccn-it
God had left him his strength unparalvzcd
! on that terrible night when he went out il.-
tent on shedding blood. Ills mother brought
his plaid and wrapped it all round him
and then kissed his sallow, sickly face fer
ycntlv.
/ Remember, Johnny, thee has me always
me that loved thee first, and will always 10y
thee bestn she cried. as she let him 60.
Something tells me Pl have need to re.
member it, mother,' he replied 'but can,
bear this torture Of waiting any longer, and
I III know the worst at once.'
! She watched him down the village street
and saw him disappear within Ferne's cot
tage; not FIVE minutes elapsed before he came
than sad-tO see the painful haste with
which he toied up the sunny, dusty street
His mother ran to meet him, and helped
him in doors, not thinking of questioning
him, so terrified was she at the expression ol
rage and uSony that conyused his features
He dropped upon the settle, with Il groan
and hid his face. After moment, he burs
into womanlsh passion of tears, which
shook his crippled form vehemently. TIL,
mother watched him, and knew what i
meant. The whole hope, dream, JOY of hi
life was gone from him-forever gone.
1t was many weeks before John brough,
himself to speak of his brief interview viii
Lima he then told his mother what had pas
sed.
'Lina, said he, twas sitting by the window
and she gave scream when she saw me,
'Eh, John, but what a miserable lamestel
you are = and laughed. suppose there
was something startling in my changed looks
| asked her if she meant to keep her wore
by me; and her answer was, 'Nay, John,
never loved you much, and you must be on
of your head to think shall marry YOU now!
And, so left her, laughing at my hobblne
walk. That's Lina.'
John I1arland is a gray headed old mar
now-harsh, bitter, unlovelv; tainted
through and through with the passion of hi
disappointment. A kind word, a kind deed
are not altogether strange to HIM, perhaps
but he hides them, rs something Of which III
is ashamed. lie says all the world is selfish
and crafty, and cruel.
AS for Lima, beautiful, vain, unfeelins
she has been in the grave these many, man!
years though where she lies, or how sh'
died, we cannot tell. No one wept for her
nor felt for her, but him whom she despised
John knows what became of her. His char
ity found her in her despair, and gave her
grave; bnt how, or when, or where, he nev
er said and none of those left in Brigham
who knew her, care to ask. She was no
much beloved.
HOW TO TELL A LAWYER.
A few days since gentleman being be
yond the limits of his neighborhood, in
quired of pert negro if the road he wa
trave cling led to a certain place. Cuhie
gave the required information, but SCENE,
curious to know what the stranger was a
well as his occupation. For the fun Of tn
thing the traveller concluded to humor ebo
ny little, and the following dialogue en-
sued:
my name IS, and as to the bushes
follow, if you ure ut all smart, you cal
guess that from my appearance-can't 20,