People's friend. (Rome, Ga.) 1873-18??, February 01, 1873, Image 1

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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. *