The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1882-05-27
HOW HE WAS CURED.

1t was not any medal prescription
that did the work. his difficulty was be-
yond that. 1t had shown itself in
troublesome acute attacks from his boy
hood up, and since marriage had settled
down into slow chronic annoyance
but, as l said, he was cured at last. The
beginning of the end happened in this
wise.
Della Gray and Mrs. Russell were hay
ing just the contest time possible one
summer afternoon, one on the sofa read
ing aloud from Pickwick Papers. the
other in an easy chair with her feet on
divan, knitting and chatting be-
tween the lines; for they were old
shoolmates, and perfectly at home with
each other. Mr.. Benjamin Russell came
in from the office and found them so, in
sisted that he must put cushion under
each head to make them the very picture
of comfort, then seated himself between
them and treated them to basket
of cherries and an amusing account of
his days adventures. He did his very
prettiest, and that was no small thing.
He might have written three volumes
"On the Art of Pleasing" added an APP
pendix equal to the original, and still
had few facts too choice to waste on
the public left over for his own private
use.
And just now there was particular
reason. Miss Della had said mo" to
him once. Mrs. Benjamin more than
half suspected the fact, Mr.. Benjamin
was still very much aware of it; and now
that she and Jennie proved to be old
friends, and she was at his home for the
first time, prettier and saucer than ever,
it was policy in him to show that scorn-
full young damsel how much she had
missed.
After the cherries were gone, and he
had duly apologized for Interrupt ting
them (although he knew they would
fifty times rather have his chat than their
reading) he betook himself to the back
porch with a cigar and newspaper.
But just as he was going he caught 81 ght
of the blue yarn.
"Great Jupiter! why you will tire your
fingers over that coarse stuff? I'd rather
wear ragged stockings to the day of my
death than to have you! l protest 1
had, dear" and with that he was gone.
The smile that tried to come into the
wife's face died away in the corners of
her lip to a scornful curve. She did not
intend it should, but she had heard a
great deal of such trash when other
people were listening. He never wasted
tenderness on her at any other time.
Hes just an angelo Della said,
when he was almost out of hearing.
''On tin Wheels" her friend added
Jestingly; and they went on with the
reading. But one at least was not
thinking of Pickwick
Mrs. Russell had great deal of gen
uine wholesome common sense, not
particle of story book nonsense. She
would not have wanted him to be an
angel, but no more did she want him to
be sham one, and that was the very
heart of her trouble. He was devotion
itself to her in public. People said,
pityingly, that she didn't seem to appre-
ciate his attention, land he was SO af-
fectionateW They were afraid his mar
rage was not so happy Ascending with
a sigh and a poor fellowr' In private,
he was not exactly tyrant; he was
simply forgetful of everybody's comfort
OASNp o MS ONus
Iwould not have you think that Mrs.
Russell complained. She accepted things
as they were and made the best of them,
merely wondering to herself a little
sometimes il he really was contempt
BILE hypocrite, or if the springs of cour-
tesy in him had their source so high up
that private life could not. affect them,
nothing save the high pressure of the
public eyesight. She could have borne
the private indifference betterif the pub
lie devotion had not been overdone. She
never rallied at matrimony. She did say
once. half bitterly-she had been digging
in the garden at the time of year when
those great white worms turn into
beetles, and was crawling little at the
loathsome half-devcloped things-"Ju
like marriage, for all the world. They
don't live any kind Of life down in the
ground, not quarter of q life, but once
out of it they run the risk of humping
their brains out against wall, Of being