People's friend. (Rome, Ga.) 1873-18??, February 01, 1873, Image 1
THE PEOPLE’S FRIEND.
Vol. 1.
Fill No Glass for Me.
8. G. FOSTER.
Oh, comrades fill no glass for me,
To drown my soul in liquor flame;
Fur if I drink, the toast should be—
To blighted fortune, health and fame,
Yet though I long to vuell the strife
That passion holds against my life,
Still boon companions you may be,
.But, comrades, fill no glass tor me !
I know a breast that once was light,
Whose patient suffering used liiy care,
I know a heart that once was bright,
But drooping hopeshave nestled there
.Then, while the tear-drops nightly steal
From wounded hearts that I should heal
Though boon companions you may be,
Oh, comrades fill no glass for me.
When I was yountr I left the tide
Os asperatiotM undefiled:
But manhood’s years have wronged the
pride
My parents centered it their child.
Then, by a mother’s sacred"tear,
By all that memory should revere,
Though boon companions you may be,
Oh, comrades fill no glass for me.
AN ANGEITnAWARES.
BY GEORGIA.
“Oh! why does misery so often come
hidden in a nutshell? Why did mine
come to me in such away? I J?<l not
dream that it would ever burst its narrow
bounds. Perhaps I might have borne it
better had I known how rapidly it would
grow. But now it is entwining a out me
till my very soul is being smothered.
‘Moan, moan, ye living fftlcs !
The of jour titif-.B
In not so . ad an life.
Beauty and sunshine in the morning, but
wild winds calling together clouds the live
long day. Wiiat wonder that the cold rain
beats against the window at night! So
my life goes, and at its close, after the
‘watersof tribulation’ have drenched my
heart, what then ? Will the morning dawn
with new glory? Will there be a rest for
me, or only bitterness forever?
The pale lips of the woman twitched
nervously, and her slight figure seemed to
shrink into still smaller proportions as she
drew back into the gathering darkness o
the room. It was only fora moment. —
Again shp leaned her face against the cool
panes, and her tearless eyes gazed listlessly
down into the street below, while her voice
resumed its chanting complaint.
“Only three years ago the world seemed
so full of joy and hope, but there’s no more
happiness for me. Cun this be the anni
velfeary of my wedding day? Yet I uiu-t
walk through long years husbandless and
childless, ‘cold, dark and dreary.' Would
that the All-Father would guide me to a
haven of nest on earth or in heaven I Ha !
What is that? The gaslight looks so dim
through the driving rain ! But it was a
child, and she lies still in the place where
she fell. Poor wee bit of humanity I are
you hurt, or stunned or—dead?
An impulse of mercy stirred the sad
watcher to action, and she quickly sprang
fiotu her chair, glided down the dusty,
creaking stairs of the tenement house, and
out into the street. Strong gusts of wind
and freezing rain dashed against her face
and took away her breath, but the frai',
weak woman had suddenly become strong
and resolute. A moment more, and she
stood on the slippery pavement across the
street. The child still lay pristratc and
motionless. There was no chance for in
quiry there in the storm, and she bravely
bore her dripping burden back to (he house
and up the long, dark stairs. How long
and dark they seemed to the struggling,
panting woman, with such a dead weight
in her arms!
“That you, Florence?" said a voice at
her elbow, as she reached the top of the
second flight.
“No, sir," sh 6 answered in a startled but
defiant tone, "I am never F.orencu to you.
I am Mrs. Harden. Let me pass, Mr.
Rawley.” but the uiau impudently refused
to let her proceed.
“Tell.me first where you've been. What
you got in your arms ? Needn't be mad.
Will call you Florence. What’s your hur
ry?
“Mr. Rawley, will jou stan 1 wide?”
Mrs. Harden, as she called hcrstxf, spoke
Rome, Georgia, Saturday, February 1, 1373«
calmly, but she was trembling with indig
nation. Just at that moment a door open
ed at the further end of the hall, and an
old woman’s head was thrust out.
■‘Dick Rawley,’’ she called, “come back
to your supper! What are ye doing out
there? Be ye botherin Mi'’ Harden agin,
and keepin her waiting? Leave her ’lone
if it’s her.”
“Coming in a minute, Aunt Poll. Go
back and shut the door,” said the man,
angrily.
“I won’t go in till ye do come Dick,
Mis’ Harden won’t never have nothing to
say to such as you with yer miserable fid
dlin’ and dancin’ at an old circus. I won’t
board ye no longer, if ye be my nephew,
if ye don’t mind yer own business, and let
alone disgust'n’ that woman.”
.With smothered oath and mutterings
about arousing the neighborhood, Rawley
took his ’eave, and Mrs. Harden faltering’y
climbed up step alter step, till she reached
her own little attic. She locked the door
with her quivering fingers, and hastened
to light a lamp,
“Living or dead?” was the query of her
mind, as she turned to the couch where
she had laid down her strange burden.
“Mercy!” a hysterical laugh that sounded
like a sob. followed the exclamation, for
she was unprepared for the picture before
her. A little girl, six or seven years old,
stood on the floor, with garments drenched,
ragged and muddy, clinging close!}’ to her
form. Her large eyes stared wondering!} 7
up into the face of her rescuer, and her
tiny red hands were clasped together tight
ly. Mrs. Harden found her voice. “Chilli,
you kept so still, I was afraid you were
killed.”
“I thought I was, but I guess I ain’t. —
I hurt my head some on the bricks, and
the storm poured down so bard I couldn’t
get up, so I said ‘I want to be an angel,’
and then I thought God sent you to carry
me up there, rtiW pretty quick I heard a
man speak, and I was afraid he would take
me away from you, so I kept still.” She
paused a moment to breathe, and again
gave loose reins to her voluble little tongue.
“It’s nice and warm, and dry here—so
nice 1 Are you my new mamma? Grand
ma Weeks said God would fi,.<l one for me
sometime.” She tossed back her brown
curls, so heavy with rain, and smiled
winningly, stepping forward towards Mrs.
Harden.
What a strange expression flitted over
the young woman's face ? Had her prayer
been answered so soon ? Was this joor
waif sent to comfort her lonely heart?
The hard look in her eyes softened, and a
sudden determination sent the blood to her
pale cheeks.
“Yes, mv dear, I will be your mamma,”
and she placed a motherly kiss on the up
turned brow. New coal wa« added, hasty
preparations made tor a warm meal, and
then Mrs. Harden proceeded to warm and
dry the little stranger. An hour or more
afterward the child, enveloped in a soft
wrapper, sat folded in the warm arms of het
new mother. There was a smile of supreme
content on her baby 'ips.
“My name is Happy.”
“Whose Happy?” asked Mrs Harden,
with a shade of jealousy already creeping
into her heart.
“Your Happy now. All my name is
Happy Mary Alice Dayton, Papa was
Captain Dayton. I can ’member him and
mamma too. But they went away in a
ship years and years ago. Aunt Marysaio
they sailed to heaven and won t come back
no mere. Aunt Mary said she was glad I
didn't ro, for I was her Happy. She call
ed me Happy Day sometimes. And last
week she went to heaven too- She went in
a box on a wagon. I cried to go too,
but Grandma Weeks said I couldn’t go
then”
“Who is Grandma Weeks, and where
does she live?”
, "Oh! she is poor old Grandma Weeks.
She ain’t my grandma, but she’s somebody’s
[ guess. She lives up here a little ways.
She is awful poor, too. She don’t have
much to cat. I gave her rill the things
Aunt Mary had, but ’twan’t no such nice
i things as you *h* TU here. God gives you
beautiful things, don’t he? See what a
I pretty bed, and mats and curtains, and
stove and everything ! Mho is that beauti
ful man in a frame up there?’’
1 "That—that—il Mr. Harden.”
“Oh! your father-”
“No, he—that isn’t my father,” stam
mered Mrs. Harden.
“Is he my papa, my new one?” Happy
looked animated; she thought she had
made a discovery. “Will he come home
soon
“No,” answered her new friend confus
edly. “He don’t live here. Tell me what
made you go out in the storm to-night, my
little one.”
“Grandma Weeks Jet me stay with her,
but her awful wicked son came home to
night and he swore he’d kill me if I stayed
any longer, so I ran away.”
Just then there was a loud rap at thu
d or. Mrs. Harden flushed angrily, and
called in an impatient manner:
“What is wanted?”
“Nothing,” replied Rawleys “S’pose
you’ve locked your door, as usual. Don’t
care. Saw your husband to-day. Pretty
girl on bis arm. Both drunk, I thought.
Good night,” The quiet step of slippered
feet passed down the naked stairs, and the
malicious heart of their owner was satisfied
fur be knew he had caused the woman who
scorned him a pang of misery, g
She looked down into the face of the
child in het arms, but the sweet, dark eyes
were closed. Happy’s short life had been
spent amid .the haunts of wickedness and
distress, Slid she had grown wise in reajnng
the signs of wrong-doing. The picture on
the wall,' th# coarse, bitihg wprds of the
man, rhe sudden pallor of Mit. Harden’s
face, had bgen enough to convince her that
she had f?»und another home where trouble
reigned. ~
Through the long hours of that wild night
that childish head rested peacefully on a
Inflow: but a pale wftcher moved noiseless
ly to and fro, pondering, weeping, praying.
When day dawned, and a glorious sun made
the earth rejoice after its night of desola
tion, a new light rose in the heart of Mrs.
H arden, and tenderly shone forth from her
eyes’
Days, weeks and months pa*?ed. /J - *
lesson of faith and wisdom was learned from
the lips of an innocent child, reared by
Christian hands, though surrounded by
wretchedness in every form. Mrs. Harden
had a new interest in life, tco. She labored
for the support of herself and the orphan
she had learned to love.
Ono evening she briefly rehearse I to her
little companion the story of her suffering.
But ere it was finished, she forgot that she
i had a listener,and poured forth her thoughts
' audibly, instead of hiding them iu her heart
as she had long done.
“When I was a girl like you, my Happy,
I was left an orphan, too, and I lived with
my aunt. But she was not poor : she wa
rich and prond. She taught me that out
side appearances were of the utmost im
portance in this world. She had girls of
her own, younger than I, and she tried to
persuade me to marry, even when I was
very young. They called me beautiful in
those days, and I knew that I was haughty
and willful as well as fair. I married a man
that seemed to meet all my 7 requirements.
He was young, and handsome and wealthy.
To be sure, many called him wild, but that
was nothing to his discredit in my estima
i tion. They called him ‘fond of the social
. glass,’ but that seemed innocent in my eyes.
I He was not, a Christian, but that was no
objection to me. Married life proved to be
’ different from what I anticipated. There
was harmony for*a few weeks, but we were
Imth undisciplined, selfish, unwilling to
yield our wishes when opposed- Then our
, trouble bega n to manifest itself in reality.
My husband commenced by absenting him
seP from home evenings, and ere long he
came home intoxicated. My pride was hurt
and my feelings outraged and I reproved
him severely. It did no good, for he did
the '.ame thing again and again untill I was
nearly distracted. I heard whispered ru
mors of hi' being seen in company with a
young and handsome woman, and I
* could endure life there no longer: but I
was too proud to go back to my friends,
and my only wish was to hide away from
' th? That is how I cam? to be in
1 this poor, naked destitute room, for I hir
cd it from my kind old washerwoman,
i Mother Rawley. And even here I cannot
remain in peace, because I am persecuted
'by her wretched, dissipated nephew. He
urges me to marry him. saving that my
‘ husband has obtained a [divorce, and is
about to take another wife. Alas ! my hus
band has forgotten me, for he does not
seek me, though he knows I am within the
city. Oh ! what is marriage in these days
of unceasing change but a mockery, a farce?
There are vows, but they are not binding •
There is an appearance of love, nuritv and
truthfulness, but it a temporary display. I
did not mean to perjure myself. I had a
reverence for God’s ordinances, but I did
not think of what might be in store for me.
I had no high and noble thoughts of life’s
duties and responsibilities. I had not made
up my 7 mind to bear and forbear. I forgot
that marriaee was to be for ‘better or
worse’ till death. I did not realize that
soul must be united to soul in Christian
love and labor in order to render a union
lasting forever, even through eternity. But
in these five long, weary mouths I’ve learn
ed the lesson too late. Oh, my little, girl!
my heart was growing hard and desperate
in its desolation, but you have warmed it
to new life, and led my soul up to holier as
pirations.” '/'ti
There were secret, sober thoughts hidden
down deep beneath the quiet brown eyes of
the child in her arms, though Happy an
swered no* a word. For several days after
she had been made a confidante she.seemed
to have some concealed burden resting {on
her mind, which Mrs. Harden in vain tried
to comprehend.
“Come here, my bird,” she called, one
day “ The sun is bright and warm, and
you are growing too solemn shut up in this
dull place. lean trust you. Good-by!”
Down the same time-worn stairs, where
she had been carried two months before,
she lightly stepped, and out into the gay,
busy street, so different from that dismal,
stormy night, when she had been turned
our shelterless. She remembered it ail,
and pondered upon it in her childish way,
as she tripped along up the street, down
another, across, and still on, for she was at
home on all the streets of that vicinity 7 "
An elegant blown house In an aristocratic
neighborhood at length attracted her atten
tion. She looked at it curiously. She
walked to the opposite side of the street
and scanned it. She peered through the
iron bars of the gate into the garden that
seemed a paradise to her, with its musical
fountains and rare flowers.
“ Wonder if it’s locked ?” she whisper
ed to herself, as she tried to open the gate.
To her joy, she found no difficulty in en
tering. The great bronze lions on either
side startled her a little, but she walked on
up the broad path to the massive stone
steps, her eyes growing larger and darker,
and her lips closing firmly together. The
door was fastened. Should she ring the
bull ? She had never done such a thing,
ami she concluded she would not try, but
search for another door. Down in the base
ment kitchen an old gray-headed Irish wo
man looked up from the floor and her scrub
bing brush to see what human being was
daring to invade her domain.
“I would like to see your master,” said
with a coaxing smile, that made
the old servant put her hand on the bib of
her sloppy apron as if there was a sudden
disturbance beneath.
“Sure, an’ it s a darlint like the littl
lady that can be after seein’ him."
“Is he in his own room ?”
“Faix, an’ he is that same. Wud ye
be"—
“I know the way,” interrupted Happy
“I can go alone. You stay here?”
The cHld boldly marched up the stairs,
and the astonished old woman sat down on
a bench to contemplate, with folded
arm.’, the “queer darlint:”
Happy did not have any difficulty in find
ing the room she sought—a large front one
on the secund floor. The door was slightly
ajar, and she noiselessly pushed it open and
entered. She had never before seen an
abode of luxury, but her eyes were fixed
upon one object. A man, still young and
fine looking, but bearing marks of dissipa
tion in his face, sat in an easychair appar
ently asleep. There was an expression of
sa Iness about the mouth as if he bad tast
ed the cup of pleasure, and found it unsat
isfactory—bitter. He did not arouse until
a pair of soft white arms inclosed bis neck
in their warm clasp, and a kiss from child
ish ii ps fell on his brow.
“I’ve found you, papa. I knew I should.
I’ve looked at your picture so much, I
Number 4.
know you ’most as well as mamma.” Sur
prise and bewilderment overcame Mr. Har
din, for it was he, and he looked up into
that fresh, dimpled face as into a deep
mystery. “I’m Happy Harden now; ma
ma says she has ’dopted me. We live in
a little room together, but she says she
wants to live here again, only you don’
love her no more. You do, don’t you?
She didn’t know I was coming here, but
sbe told me one night where you lived.
We walked by here and she cried. She
loves you for better or worse, and she told
Dick Rawley so. I heard her.”
Mr. Hardin began to have a perception
of the trnth. His eyes flashed at the men
tion of Rawley’s name, and he pulled the
child down into his hip with an almost sav
age force.
“Are you spirit or flesh? Do you speak
the truth? Rawley told me long ago sbe
had left the State to procure a divorce, and
was going to marry him. Is it true, child,
woman., angel, whatever you are?”
“She hates him 1 We never speak to
him now. He has gone away from Mother
Rawley’s. She wouldn’t keep him, ’cause
he plagued mamma and told stories about
you. I don’t believe you are bad.”
“Where is my Florence?” he asked qui
etly.
“Como home with me,” she answered.
Mr. Haiden seized his hat, and together
they went out in silence. He loved the
woman he had married more than he
knew himself, and during that short walk
lie registered vows of future faithfulness
apd temperance in his heart of hearts.
tn that little room, where, a few months
before, a despairing woman had accepted a
forlorn waif as 7 a trust from Heaven, this
map and wife renewed their marriage prom
ises, ■ Mid with enlarged wiews of life’s du
ties, and” simple faith in the commands of
God,perhaps, even hereafter, “a little
ehiMikfcall lead them.”
The “Dijant Pierrefond,” as Louis the
mu oiltha late Napoleon HI. and the Em
press Eugenie is now called, is said to be
attentive to his studies in the military aca
demy at Woolwich, England. His most
intimate companion is the son of Dr. Con
nean; the Emperor’s physician. He, how
ever, not only goes up to class and drills
with the other youths of the same standing
in the college, but joins with them in their
amusements. He is a good athlete, and
particularly expert at fencing. As he rot
only reads English, but speaks il well, he
is enabled to pursue his Studies in our lan
guage to the same extent as other students.
Special privileges arc al owed him. li.s ead
of residing in the college he has a house
of hii own outside the wall, young Conucao
living with him. Then a special bell has
been put up in front of his house to give
him notice drill hours. &c,. He is particu
larly boylike in all his deportment.
A little romance enacted in one of the
Brooklyn courts on Thursday again illus
trates the fact that truth is stranger than
fiction. A woman claiming a large amount
of money on the ground that she was the
wifeof u dead “sportsman” was confronted
unexpectedly with a husband whom she
had abandoned thirty years before, and
with the records of a bigamt us marriage to
still another. Compulsory brevity in the
telling of the rather dramatic story leaves
us in doubt whether she got the money or
went to jail ]— N. Y. Tribune,
—
A recent act of the Virginia Legislature
amendatory of former acts on the same
subject has been approved by the Governor
providing artificial legs for all soldiers of
either array of the late war, residents of the
State.
“How I found Robinson Crusoe” is the
title as a burlesque at one of the London
theatres. Stanley and Bites are both
shown up iu a most nonscncial man
ner.
An Indiana (Pa.) country man walkod
barefooted two ra les through the snow on
; a wager of $7. Doctor thinks he can save
his feet.
♦ »
The St. Paul Pioneer says that the dan.2
age to crops and fruit trees and loss of stock
by reasons of the late col snap, will amount
I o millions iu tde state. *