Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

VOLUME YI. SATURDAY NIGHT. Placing the little hats all in a row, Ready tor church on the morrow, you know; Washing wee faces aui little black fists, Getting them ready and to be kissed; Putting them into clean garments and white— ITJbaJ is what mothers are to .night. Spying out holes in the little worn hose, Laying t>y shoes that are worn at the toes, Looking o’er garment so faded and thin— Who but a mother knows where to begiu ? Changing a button to make it look right— That is what mother); are doing to-night Calling the little ones all round her chair, Hairing them lisp forth their evening prayer; Teaching them stories as Joseph of old, Who loved to gather the lambs of his fold; Watching, they listen with weary delight— That is what mothers are doing to-night Creeping so softly to take a last peep, After the little ones are all asleep; Anxious to know if the children are warm— Tucking the blankets round each little form; Ki.ssiug each little face, rosy and bright— That is what mothers are doing to-night Kneeling down gently beside the white bed, Lowly and meekly she bows down her head, Praying as only a mother can pray: * ‘God, guide and keep them from going astray.” MISCELLANY. . HOW IT WAS, ‘Folds of the silk and cream-colored roses. You will have the hats just alike, then?’ asked Miss Lucinda Smith the milliner. ‘Just exactly alike. It will please Ilermione, and there is nothing I like s > well as to please my pretty step tnamra >,' answered \Linly Thetford, lifting her sweet eyes for sympathy to the precise countenance oi Miss Lu cinda. ‘UinpM—so you arc very fond of her, Linly?' ‘Yes, indeed! She is my best friend since poor papa died; and being so near of an ago, we are constant com panions. I don't know what I should do if it weren't for Ilermione; Rye lands has changed so much since pa pa's death.’ ‘You have Mr. St. Charles’ company a great deal, I hear.' A flash like sunset dyed the beauti ful brunette face. ‘Of course; he is Herinione'scousin, and—and like a brother to me,' an swered stooping over a box of silk violets to hide her confusion. ‘Umphl—yes—well, it's aR right, of course ’ remarked Miss Lucinda, pinching out a brier leaf, and setting the little rose more firmly on its stem. 'But didn’t it ever occur to you that people will talk?* ‘About what?’ asked Linly, lifting her hazel eyes to Miss Lucinda’s profile. ‘llis being at Ryelands so much, so soon after your father's death. Poor man! dead but six months; I should think your step-mamma, as you call her f would have more respect fur his memory than to 1 ‘Than to what?' asked Linley, her large, bright orbs growing larger and brightet with Indignation. ‘What have you to say against Ilermione— against my father’s wife, Miss Lucin da?' ‘Say?—oh, I say nothing. It's what oth*r people are talking about. But I must add tnat it is strange you are so blind, Linly. 1 have known you since you were a child—used to come to Rveiands every spring to make caps in your grandmother’s day, and your mother always bought her bonnets of me—and you were always bright enough about other things. It’s strange you can’t see.' ‘What?' with a thrill in the young voi co. ‘Why, of course, your step-mother married your father for his money, and to have a home and position She was only a district school teacher, down in Marshfield, when he married Eastman her, and everybody knew she did pretty well for herself when she mar ried Dr. Thetford. But she was dead la-love with her cousin, Rupert St. Charles, and he with her; but they were poor, and he working his way so slowly throughcollege that she thought there was not much chance there, and so gave him up for your father. He is now a promising young lawyer, and she the mistress of Ryelands; what is so likely? Lor’, you ain't going to faiut, are you, Linly?' ‘Faint? No! The day is warm and your store is close. It is foolish for me to stay here listening to this gossip. I do not feel in the least in debted to you for repeating it to me, Miss Lucinda. My beautiful step mother loved my father dearly when she married him—five years of utter devotion to his interests, and her crushing grief at his death, proved it to rne—nor do 1 believe she loved any one else when she married him. And if she chooses to marry Mr. St. Charles now, she is at liberty, for all Circle ville/ and bowing with the barest civility Linly left the shop. The cool air of the village streets cooled her burning cheeks; but how her loyal young heart ached in her bosom J Not for worlds would she have had Miss Lucinda confirmed in her suspicion that she loved Rupert St. Charles; but it was the cruel tru‘h. He was so kind and refined in his nature, so handsome and unspoiled by his rapid success in life, no wonder the girlish heart worshiped him. She bad never believed that there was any thing between the cousins but cousin ly kindness and freedom. But perhaps others knew better. May be she was “blind.'* A feellug ofbltter desolation fell up on her as she entered the broad gates of Ryelands, whence her beloved fa ther, whose pet she had always been, had bem carried scarcely a year be fore. She loved Hermione, and had believed that Ilermione had loved her b st of anything in the world ; but now it seemed as if she had no home in any heart. Mr. St. Charles' beautiful mare, Sul tana, stood tied to a tree. For the first time the sight gave Linly pain instead of pleasure. She did not wish to meet him, and she turned away from the door, and took the garden path. The grounds of Ryelands were old and fine. The doctor’s large practice and open-hearted hospitality had tors merly kept muchstate, but of late was very quiet. She saw no one as her path led on through the shrubbery ; but soon she heard voices, and pausing to learn the direction they were in, the following conversation forced itself upon her : ‘I hardly know what to say.' ‘But Hermione, surely you trust me ?, ‘Yes, entirely. But, Rupert, wait a year. My husband has been dead but a short time, and I shrink from such a responsible act.' ‘I cannot wait a year. You know how lonely I have been, and now that I love one woman with my whole soul —and she is and I can at least take care of a wife—surely you will not refuse ?’ ‘Boor Rupert, I love you so much, how can I ?' ‘Then you give your consent ?' ‘I do.’ Breathless with pain, Lin ly tore herself breathless from the spot. She sought the house now, and fleeing to her own room, cast herself across the bed, writhing with anguish. Lost ! lost ! They had all left her. She had not one. ‘The tea-bell rang ; she didn't heed it. Inquiring voices called her name ; she covered her ears with her hands.— Twilight and darkness Ailed the pret ty white room ; the whippoorwill’s call came on the dewy air, and the piano sounded softly in the room below. It was Hermione’s touch, and Rupert St. Charles was bending happily over ‘the woman he loved with his whole soul,'' no doubt. Poor Liuly ! she wished she could creep into her father's grave EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, APRIL 4, 1878. and be out of sight of their happi ness. By and by. in the stillness, she heard steps on the stair. Was Her mione coming ? Yes, the door opened, and Hermioue’s voice syllabled : ‘Dear are you here ? We thought you had not come from town.' She advanced into the room, putting the light she carried under a shade in the corner. ‘You have come home with a head ache, I know—the day has been so hot ; but you ought to have drank some Linly dear.' The graceful form pressed the couch by the girl's side ; a tender arm stole around her neck. ‘1 am glad we can be quiet. I have something to tell you. Did I hurt you, Linley, with my ring ? Why did you wince so ?' 'No, Hermione, no,' feebly. ‘Linly, something has happened to day, which gives me great hope and pleasure. Shall I tell you V There was a little pause—such a hard little pause. ‘Yes.' ‘You have known my cousin, Ru pert St. Charles, a year, and you feel quite well acquainted with him, go you not ?' 'Quite well.' ‘He is all he seems to be, Linly. I think you like him.' No answer. ‘I hope you do, for he is just what a young man ought to be—hon orable, pure and steadfast—and the woman who has won his love is fortu nate indeed —blessed, if she returns it —for he will make a devoted husband. She euuld not have a better fate than to be the wife of Rupert St. Charles.' Hermione Thetford heard her step* daughters quickened breathing, but could not see her face ‘I walked with him this afternoon in the garden, and—surely, dear, your head must be very bad. I heard you moan.’ ‘Very bad. But never mind, Her mione.’ ‘He urged me to a promise which I was reluctant to give, ‘Yes. ‘1 hesitated to take a step he urged upon me, because your father has been dead just a short time, and oth ers might think ’ ‘You need not care what others think if you are sure of your own feel ings, Hermione/ ‘lt is because I am sure of them, Linley, that I at last yielded. I have known Rupert from a child, and he is one in a thousand. So dear, you will forgive me if you are averse to this— ’ 'Forgive? What should I forgive, dear Hermione ?* ‘I yielded and gave my consent that he should tell you his love, aud try to win yours, dear. For nothing could make me happier, my sweet girl, than for you to marry my cousin.* Hermione’s voice died away. There was no sound in the darkened cham ber. She listened anxiously fur Linly's response; but the girl realized nothing but the feelings of her own heart. 'Will you not speak, dear V 'What shall I say, Hermione V ‘Are you pained or pleased by what I have told you V 'Hermione, I have been told that you and Rupert used to love each other/ 'I have always loved Rupert as a cousin loved—nothing more. It was your father whom I loved, dear, and so you are next dearest to my heart. I have promised Rupert to urge you to give him a little sign of encourage ment, and so he has sent you this blush rose. If he may speak to you, wear it in your hair when he comes to-mor row night; if you have nohope for him you need not see him at all, dear, as it may be painful to you, and will sure ly dash his dearest hopes to the earth So I will tell him as gently as possi ble/ ‘Giv6 me the rose/ Hermione unfastened the cool, fra grant thing from her own dark hair, and in the darkness saw its whiteness lifted to her lips. ‘I will wear it.* Soon all Circleville knew of Linly‘s engagement, and this is the way it was. The Penniless Man—Canticles by Caliban* Blessed is the man who is penniless, for he is never stricken—-for a dollar. The deadhead annoyeth him not, neither is he pursued by the book agent. He is not grasped by the lightning rod seller. The lunch fiend turneth away from him. He is not asked to invest iu church lotteries. He has no friends to cocktail ; he is poor and hath no enemies. When he risetb in the morning his stomach is not rebellious from over feeding ; neither doth he chink his sil ver and say, ‘l.ow shall I get rid of these dimes When he eateth he is not vexed by a multitude of dishes. His bowels, by reason of his sparingness, are not troubled with revolutions. His lands will never take unto them selves wings, neither will the fire de vour his water lots. lie is not perplexed about taxes, neither careth he for the rise in lum ber. Hetoileth not for gold, nor orateth like Jones on silver. lie hath no ti<*s for money, there-* fore careth not to demonetize, never theless a dime he will not refuse, nor turn away from a rive-center. YeSj a gerkin lie w T ill relish, and storm the outworks of a steelclad bis cuit. He loveth none but himself* he is sel fish; yea, fond of fish, clams in chow der, oysters raw ; and lobsters in vine’s gar. will he not despise. He maketh his lair in a bar room; he squatteth upon a keg w hile it is day, and sleeps in a barrel at night. Where the scent of whiskey is, there he is found ; he snufteth the lunch with frenzy, and crieth f 'TIa, ha" at the chink of glasses. He liveth like a ringtailed moke, and dieth like a spotted jehosaphat. What You Do, Do Well. When you undertake to do anything, be in earnest about it, do it with your might. Fortune and fame are often lost by not being in earnest. This is a real world—a world of real work, geal success, real conflicts, real failures, real triumphs, real defeats. And let no one be so overcmfi lent in his own abilities as to look with indifference up >n the difficulties before him—the danger and tr als that he must p iss in order to reach the g al upon which his eye is fixed. Full and glorious suc cess never yet did crown the languid and indifferent exercises of the powers of mind and body. It requires effort to push one/s craft against the current of rivalry, jealousy and vice; and if one would have his progress marked by complete triumph, his efforts must be w’dl-directed, constant and unren lax ng. But he who feels that he has only to be inactive and wait lor the wind of fortune to drift him into the haven of wealth and fame, has lost every promise of success, and is in far more danger of ultimate disaster than the tempest-tossed mariner, though his mast be gone and his vessel shat tered and torn by the raging sea. Be in earnest; meet the difficulties which daily arise with determination to con quer aud rise above them. Let not your adversaty find you sleeping or dreaming of an easy conquest. Too much confidence in one's powers is fatal to success, and often brings de. feat most di-astrous. Be faithful, be true, be kind, be firm, be earnest. “What is your occupation, bub V* said a visitor at tbe capitol, of a bright boy whom he met in the corridor.— The boy happened to be a page in the house. “Fin running for congress, sir/’ he replied. Honor Your Business* We commend this paragraph from the London Economist, to all who have a ‘vocatiou t f ‘lt is a good sign when a man Is proud of his Work or his calling. Yet nothing is more common than to hear men finding fault continually with their particular and deeming them* selves unfortunate because fastened to it by the necessity of gaining a livelihood. In this spirit men fret and laboriously destroy all their comfort m the work ; or they may change their business and go on miserably shifting from one thing to another until the grave or the poor house gives them fast grip. But while a man occasion ally fails in life because he is not in the place fitted for his peculiar it happens ten times cflener that fail* ure results from neglect and even con tempt of an honest business. A man should put his heart into everything he does. There is not a profession that has not its peculiar cares and vexa tions. Commerce, in its endless varie tieSj is affected, like all other human pursuits, with trials, unwelcome du ties and spirit-stirring necessities.— Brooding over the frets and burdens of your calling only gives them strength. On the other hand, man has power given him to shed beauty and pleasure upon the homeliest toil, if he is wise. Let a man adopt his business and iden tify it with his life, and cover it with pleasant associations : for God has given us imaginations, not alone to make some poets, but to enable all men to beautify homely things. Ileart varnish will cover up innumerable evils and defects. Look at the good thing. Accept your lot as a man does a piece of rugged ground, and begin to get out the rocks and roots; to deepen and mellow the soil, to enrich and plant it. There is something in the most forbidding avocation around which a man may twine pleasant fan cies, out of which he may develop an honest pride.’ Keeping- up Appearances. A member of the sanitary police force came across a boy the other day who was wheeling home a load of oys ter cans and bottles, and curious to know what use the lad could put them to he made a direct inquiry. *Going to throw them into our back yard,* the boy said. I took two loads home yesterday.* ‘But what do you use them for V ‘lt‘B a trick of the family/ grinned the lad. ‘How trick ?* T‘d just as lief tell you,* contmued the boy, as he spit on his hands to re sume hold of the barrow. *We‘re gos ing to have some relations come in from the country. We may not have much to eat, but if they see these cans and bottles and boxes they*ll think w3 have had ‘isters, champagne, figs and nuts till we have got tired of ‘era and are living on bread and taters for a healthy change.* The officer scratched his ear like a man who had received anew idea.— Detroit Free Press. A doting Chicago father has just received his sou's expense account fur the last quarter at Princeton. Among the items.are : $9 for a revolver, $2 60 for ammunition, $4 for a burglar alarm, $27 for blacksmith's and locksmith's work to make the study door sopho** more-proof, sl7 50 for half interest in a bull dog, $9 for sword cane, $2 50 for loaded ditto, and S2O to doctor for digging buckshot out of the calf of his ’eg. The sympathizing progenitor says it is very expensive work fitting a man for the ministry. The f blowing decision in a closely contested debate over the rival yowers of the pen and the sword was arrived at in a Louisville literary society the other day: 'De committee decide dat de swoard has de most pints and de best backin', and dat de pen is de most beneficial, and dat de whole ting is about a stan'-off.* The mud dies hard. The whole thing in a nutshell—the worm. Now we may begin to hear the crow squawk snd see the little crocus. Mules are only $35 in Alabama.— Get one, it is not good for a man to be alone. A Bridgeport man arrested for striking his wife Mary admitted that Mary had a little lam. It is becoming fashionable now to spray the hair with cologne. Let us spray. “What will the present year bring forth ?" asks an exchange. Bring Fourth of July, of course. An editor publishing a long leader on hogs, a rival paper in the same vil lage upbraids hiio for obtruding hia family matters on the public. The first hours of slumber are the sweetest. If ever a man sleeps the sleep of the just, it is when he is just asleep. “Well, I swan, Billy,” said an old farmer to an undersized nephew who was visiting him, “when you take off that 'ere plug hat and spit two or three times there ain't much lelt of you, is tliar ? ' One reason why the Chinese are be coming so popular as kitchen servants is that they keep their hair out of the butter. John never lets one of them go away. No hair means uo heaven with him. A distinguished professor thought to puzzle a maniac by the querry, ‘'how long, my good fellow, can a man live without brain ? ’ r l he patient at once replied, '‘l don’t know, doctor ; how old are you ?” 'Tarn at your service,” said a young clerk the other evening to a handsome young lady, in answer to her inquiry for a bow. “I am much obliged to you/’ she said, “but I want a buff and not a green one. He sank into his shoes, and she went out. Servant looks into the breakfast room and says : “Please ma’am there's a beggar womau in the kitchen who wants something to eat ” ‘'Give her the water in which the eggs were boiled this morning, Bridget ; it’s quite nutritious.” A man, having lost his wife, was asked to ride tc the grave with his mother-in-law. He objected at first, but allowed himself to be persuaded, adding, however, 4 'l want you to un derstand that it robs this occasion of all pleasure for me.’' A farmer having cattle trespassing upon his grass fields posted up the fol lowing: Notis—lf enny mans or womans cows or oxen gits into these here lots his or her tales will be cut off as the case may be. I'm a Chris tian, and pay my tax—darn a man who lets his critters run loose says I. They had been engaged a long time, and one evening weie reading the pa per together. '‘Look, love/’ he ex claimed, “only sls for a 6uit of clothes.* ‘'ls it a wedding suit ?” she asked, looking naively at her lover. “Oh, no,” he answered, '‘it is a business suit.” '‘WeU, I meant business,” she r plied. KO. 14.