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POET I* \ .
‘ i
■ [Written for the Reporter.]
FRIENDSHIP.
BY T. D. D.
As star shine on a moonless niglit,
With pale, yet steady ray,
* Illumine by their cheering light
... The weary wanderer’s way,
So friendship’s flame, all calm and bright,
Seems sweetest, when in sorrow
, It sheds its pure lieart-warming light,
With lustre naught can borrow.
As ocean’s breast, when calm and still,
Reflects like some clear glass
The ships that on jjs bosom lie,
The clouds that e’r it pass,
So love, deep hidden in the heart,
L Betimes one image dear,
Whose radiance can ne’er depart,
E’en when grief’s clouds appear.
FAMILY HEADING.
MY OPAL RING.
I am very susceptible to the influ
ence of associations, anil to this day
the Sunny October haze l , or the pecu
liar balsamic odor of the pines, waft
ing across my senses, clings vividly to
my mind the witchery of that day j
when I wandered with Percy amid the
pine forests and sunny hills in Oali
f; >rnia.
It was a bevutifnl balmy afternoon.
Far off in the blue distance the snow
capped mountains bounded the scone,
(U'onnd us floated the summer atmos
phere, over ns bent the deep blue
J‘"hali skies of that delightful land.
i't was a deserted mining claim
th >u di which we strolled. Man, in .
’ s eager search for grid, had torn up
the Airfare of the earth, uprooted
rock i and trees, built sluices and ;
turned on water to melt away the
t. T-l mting hills, but the claim was j
w • he 1 out and abandoned, and now
the busy ri ... r.s and sweet influences .
of nature were striving to repair the
damage*, covering file ravages with 1
g..'cu mivi a.:. 1 gnus and wild fl liv
ers.
It vis a wild, romantic" spot.—
Around us towered the gray rocks;
the ground was carpeted with dry
])ina leaves, with here and there a
spot of green sward, where a little
spring gave root to the grass.
A’earied with our ramble, wo sat
down on the clean soft matting of the;
. pine leaves. At our foot the soft
•murmur of the ditch that used to
work the claim as it trickled through
the gravel, but aside from that all was
still.
This was the first time we had been
alone together, and I knew he would
tell me that he loved me in words, for
as yet naught but his eyes had spoken
of love.
Our laughing badinage, the over
flowing of our happy hearts, had died
away into silence. I was conscious
that his admiring, loving gaze was
fixed on me, and that T was looking
well in my white muslin dress, with a
knot of blue ribbon at the throat, my
liat hanging to my neck by its blue
ribbons, my eyes downcast to the
ground, where I was making nonde
script figures with pay parasol.
Percy sat a little lower on the hill
at my feet, where lie could look up
into my face. As we sat there in
thought, my mind went back over the
long happy days of that delightful
summer, during which I had learned
to know and love him.
For it was not three months ago, at
a picnic in early spring, a merry
laughing group of us tumbled into a
large farm wagon, to return home by
moonlight, and it happened that lie
was at my side.
A noisy, rolicking group we were
at first, but soon the delicious moon
light cast its wonted spell, and we
sank into silence.
“Sing something for us, Aline,” said
merry little May Elton, turning to
me.
“Agreed,” said I. “ \’. hat shall
I sing ?”
“Oh, sing something sentimental,
nothing else will suit this hour.”
I don’t know why I chose the song
I did, for I was then a very wild girl,
full of fun and mischief, contemning
love, and despising all sentimentality,
but immediately, under tlie impulse
of the moment, I burst into the love
sick trifle—
’Tvverc vain to tell thee all I feel,
Or say for thee I'd die ;
I find that words, will but. conceal
What ray soul would wish to sigh.
never, never say
my love for thee ;
let me silently reveal
■Lvswul would wish to sigh.
■ n
' w i
||gLs if in\
| trie spark that went from one to the
I other, was horn the love that linked
our hearts together for nil time.
During the summer there was not a
week, scarcely a day, in which we did
i not meet, and as our acquaintance
progressed our iutorest and affection
deepened. Until now, it had been
sufficient to be in liis society, know
ing that I was dear to him, but now
1 began to hope that lie would tell me
with liis lips what in liis manner lie
had long disclosed.
“Aline,” said lie at length, “in a
tone deep with earnestness, “Do you
not wish it could be always thus, this
delicious afternoon, this lovely scene
ry, and alone together?”
The imp of the perverse that often
possessed me, made mo a reply in a
light mocking tone to the earnestness
of his rein, r .
“Do you upt think you would tire of
it, for a steady thing?”
A shadow fell on his face, a slight
color rose to liis cheek.
“Aline,” said he seriously, not re
plying to my mocking spirit. “If I
am so dear to yon as you arc to me, I
do not think you could tire of my :
society.”
The color flashed crimson over my
face ; in a moment my eyes filled
with tears. I could not speak imme
diately.
“Percy,” said I with sudden earn
estness and fervor, smiles and tears
strangling, “you know I could never
tire of your society—-for I love* you.” j
“Then if you love me,” said he with
attempted playfulness, “don’t you see
liow heavy my head is, how I have i
been longing, yet not daring to rest
my head in your lap—can I lay it
there?”
Not waiting for mv assent, lie laid
his head down, while I frightened at;
his audacity; yet mingled emotions
swept over me, as I rested my hand
on his brow, and suffered hit fingers 1
to stray carelessly through his laiir.
IJlionght then, with the unreason
ing partiality of a loving girl, that the j
face that lay there was the model of j
manly beauty, as I deemed liis char j
acter free from faults.
His dark, reddish brown hair curled !
in little bronze rings about his open [
broad brow, his earnest, clear blue
eyes, his arm set lips, and rather
square lower face indicated earnest- 1
ness, firmness and resolution. But;
iookiug back at (his lapse of time, I
can see that lie had his faults: with
his warm feelings he had a rather |
quick passionate temper, and often
acted from impulse rather than from !
judgment.
Tie was rather reserved, grave, and i
serious, and I then, full of my fun, 1
often delighted to lease him. But I
had very quick (act rnd true love for
him, and instantly detected was!
quickly subdued by the sparkle in liis
eye, which warned me, when 1 was
going too far.
I liked to try my power over him, 1
but I loved him too well to wound
his feelings or give him cause for;
jealousy.
I often look back to that delicious
summer of my life with feelings of
tender regret. It seems as if that
wild thoughtless girl could not bo I,
so different from what I am now.
But as we sat there in silence a kind
of fori boding, a presentment of evil,
that often haunts our brighter hours,
as if they were too happy to last, came j
over me. I shrank from the trial, as
if it contained some groat trial.
Nothing that we can endure to- j
gotlier will be dreadful, thought I;-
but my heart sinks at the idea of [
treachery, misunderstanding and sep
aration.
‘•Percy,” said I, with more than ray :
usual earnestness, “promise me tii.it
you will believe in me always, no mat
ter what happens. You know lam
gay and thoughtless, but not frivo
lous. I have deep, earnest fceligs and
warm affections, and they are all
yours. You must not likely think me \
fickle and changeable.”
“Aline, dear,” said he, “warm, pas
sionate love cannot exist without
jealousy. I ran naturally of a jealous
disposition, and I love you with my
whole soul, so I hope you will not try
me too far; and on my part I will
promise to boas reasonable as I can,
and not easily believe your feelings j
have* changed toward me. My dor- j
ling, do not try me, for it will bo like
blotting the sun from the heavens to j
make me doubt your truth and love.” j
“I never will, said I, and yielding
to an irresistible impulse, I bent over
and pressed nip lips to his forehead
in a long, passionate kiss—a kiss in
which I vowed to love him, and, him
alone, during the rest of my life, no
matter what happened, even if he
ceased to love and believe in mo.
Just at that moment the pressure
; of my foot dislodged some little peb
-1 bles. They rolled away, and where
they had been I saw something shi
ning in tlie sluice bed.
“.See there, Percy,” exclaimed I,
starting up, and picking up a piece of
gold that lay in the crevice of a rock,
I undiscovered by the miners who had
worked the claim.
“What a rich specimen,” exclaimed
lie, examining it.
“I will tell you what I will do,
Percy,” said I, after a few moments,
i “I will have a ring made out of this,
that will always be a memento of this
trust of ours.”
“And let me have a sliaro in it,”
said lie. “See here,” withdrawing a
silken cord that was around liis neck,
“hero is a little pin that was my
mother’s.”
It was a quaint little opal pin, with
fckgettiiig of live tiny starry diamonds.
QITTMAJM, oa„ twitusdaY, APRIL *:!, ISM.
“She gave it to me not long before
she died, when I was a mere boy, bid
ding me keep it us long ns I lived.
Ever since then I have worn it, on a
cord around my neck next my heart.
You are my promised wifo. I will
have it set in this gold for our betro
thal ring. I will have no alloy put in
the virgin gold, and it will he such a
ring as no onu. ever had, unique and
costly, with the memory of my mother
and our love united in an imperish
able memorial.”
And truly, when a few days after,
Percy placed the finished ring on my
linger, it was a miracle of workman
ship anil beauty.
The pure, pale opal, with the im
prisoned fire at its heart, like a glob
ule of bail with the firelight shining
on it, the sparkling diamonds encir
cling it, and bound together by the
delicate tracery of tiny leaves and
tendrils of pure gold that formed the
ring. _
“What a beauty!” exclaimed I,
pressing it to my lips as it gleamed
on my finger.
“And as long as you wear it,” said •
he, “you are mine as sacredly and
truly as if you were already my wife.”
But showy and attractive as it was,
connected with such associations, was
it an ill fated ring ?
It seemed so, for that interview in
which lie placed it on my finger was
the last loving, satisfactory interview
we enjoyed.
A slight shadow seemed to fall be
tween us indescribably, almost imper
ceptible, yet it was there. There was a :
petulance, a quickness to take offense I
on his side, a mocking perversity on j
mine. The sweetness and confidence j
of early love seemed to have vanished, j
and yet it was possible to divine the I
cause.
Several weeks passed on, and one j
day I lightly remarked:
“Percy, I believe this ling, beauti- j
ful as it is, has brought us ill-luck.’ .
“Then I would not wear it,” said he,
liis face darkening with the sudden !
jealous anger that often visited it
now. "Return it to me and I will
bestow it on someone that will like
it more.”
“You forget,” said I, “that it !
is as much mine as yours—that I have j
as much right to bestow it on some j
one 1 like better as you have.”
“I wish I had never seen it, said he :
angrily, as he left me.
That niglit there was an out-door
political meeting, a very earnest and '
enthusiastic one. “Of course,” thought I
I, “Percy is too angry to come and;
go with me, but J. will go with a par-'
ty of friends, and perhaps if lie sees
us lie will come where we are and !
give me an opportunity to make it all |
right with him.” Notwithstanding
his petulence, and the grave faults of
temper and disposition Percy often
displayed now, I never cherished a !
single indignant feeling toward him. !
True, sometimes I spoke rather J
hastily, but the moment ho was gone, I
I felt the same tenderness that a |
mother feels toward a wayward child;
no matter what were his faults, he I
was still dearer than all the world to j
me.
With a party of gay young friends,
I was on a low balcony overlooking
the crowd. Excited by the scene, the
brilliant torchlights, tlie music of the
brass band, the cTieefs of the excited [
crowd, I indulged in a lightness and
recklessness of spirit I had not felt for \
some time, and was apparently the
gayest of the gay. Dressed in a soft
creamy white dress, my hair uutor
tured by the prevailing mode, those |
unsightly chignons, so trying to most I
faces, fell in careless ringlets behind j
iny ears, a little shawl of scarlet Shet- j
land wool around my shoulders, 1
was conscious I was looking my best,
and was looking carefully around for I
Percy.
“rie, Aline,” said one of my merry !
young friends, “you have won a dc- j
voted admirer in the crowd, and no !
wonder, for you never looked better |
in your life.”
i turned, and in the surging mass
of men that thronged beneath, I saw |
a face intently regarding me. Only
the face, with keen, dark eyes, fixed on
me, dark hair massed over his brow, :
and heavy black 1 card covering his j
face.
It was the face of a stranger, and
wliat was remarkable, instead of seem
ing to be interested in that which
interested the crowd, listening to
the speaker, and hurrahing with the
rest, lie seemed to see nothing but my
face.
A cold thrill went over me, as I en
countered bis eyes, and although I
turned away, and tried to ignore liis
admiration, again and again, in spite
of myself, I felt my eyes drawn to
ward liis by the persistence of his
gaze.
It was not a bold, insulting, im
pudent stare. It seemed as if he was
mesmerized—fascinated unconcious
ly. He gradually moved nearer the
balcony, and when lie was as near as
he could get, his lips moved, lie mur
mured something, evidently intended
to draw my attention, but I could not
distinguish what it was.
I was a young, inexperienced, gid
dy girl, and with tlie folly and reck
lessness of youth, instead of drawing
back out of liis sight, I advanced
near the edge of the balcony, laid my
hands on the railway, and spoke to
him in the same low suppressed tone
with which lie had addressed me.
It was an act of the merest audacity
and bravado, without reflection, on
the impulse of the moment, but dear
ly did I pay for my folly.
“'Were you speaking to me ? What
did you say ?” I said as I bent over
liis flashed and eager face. His reply
was a course expression of fulsome
flattery and admiration. I would not
distinguish all of liis thick, hurried
words, but heard enough to causo me
to draw back, with the color flashing
over my face.
“You are either drinking or crazy,”
said I, throwing up my hand to ward
him away, for he seemed bent on com
ing nearer, “go homo and go to bed,
if you have one.”
“So I would if I were blessed with
you,” cried he, springing up on the
edge of the balcony, seizing my hand
and pressing it to liis lips; his hot,
fevered, drinking breath swept across
my face, a moment, and lie was gone.
Startled, frightened, indignant, 1
screamed and fainted away, and my I
friends who until then had not no
ticed the episode, carried me in the
parlor and laid mo on the sofa.
But when 1 had recovered a little, i
and began to try to tell the story;!
when I spoke of liis seizing my hand,
I lifted it, and, for the first time, no- i
tired the ring was gone ! That com- ■
pletely overcome what little self-pos
session I had left; my nerves were j
shaken by that incident, and a sense |
of my loss, and the probable conse- !
qnences, rushed over me; in an over- 1
whelming flood I fainted away again !
and again. I went from one passion
ate hysterical fit of weeping to anoth
er, until my friends were alarmed.
In vain they tried to comfort me,
assuring me that a ring so singular
and showy as that could easily be
traced. It was not the loss of tlie
ring so much as that which it forebo
ded—the loss of iny lover. And sure
enough, tlie next morning, before I
was able to rise from my bed, a note
was handed to me from Percy.
“Nothing that you could have done,”
was the curt and abrupt manner in
which it begun, “eouldhave alienated
and wounded me as the lightness j
with which you have treated my ring I
—our ring—the memorial of our sa- \
crod betrothal. So little did you j
prize it that you could bestow it on i
a gambler, a libertine, a rough, a man j
unworthy to touch the hem of your j
garment. And yet you have exclian- j
ged words with him, you have per-1
mitted him to take the ring from your
finger, the ring that you promised me [
should never quit your hand. He
told me so last night, and flourished i
it in my face, but nothing. I struck I
him down and left him for dead on the j
floor of tlie drinking saloon where we j
met. Now I must get out of the way I
but what difference does it make!
what becomes of me ? There is noth- j
ing left to render life desirable to me.!
My love for you is turned to bate. |
To think I have bestowed my heart’s
love and confidence on a heartless
flirt such as you are. Farewell for ;
ever, you will never see or hear of
me again.”
That was the angry, bitter, unjust, '
incoherent note, so like Percy, so<
madly jealous, not stopping for ex-!
planation or justification, but jump- j
ing to a wild, absurd conclusion, re- j
fusing to listen to reason, anil acting
from the impulse of the moment.
In spite of our utmost endeavors,
advertising anti offering rewards, no
trace of Percy, nor the ling, nor the j
fellow that robbed me, could be dis- j
covered. Wc had at first thought |
that robbery was tlie sole motive of [
the man; that the sparkling of my
ring had attracted his attention, and j
he had taken the means to get it;!
but Percy’s note disproved the idea, ;
and there was a mystery about the ■
whole transaction impossible to fath
om.
I suffered keenly and intensely for
a while. The sense of loss, outraged, j
and iTOunded feelings, suspense in re- j
gard to Percy’s fate,kept me in alow, '
discouraged state of mind all that
summer, which had its effect on my
body.
And when tlie hazy frosty days of
autumn came around again, with all
their haunting memories, I thought
my heart would break. I found I
must rouse myself, I must banish this
melancholy, or I knew not what must;
be tlie consequences.
I was an orphan, and had sonic
little property of my own, and instead j
of putting it into the hands of some j
man to manage for me, I resolved to j
manage it for myself, both to interest j
my thoughts, and I believed I could ,
do so to good advantage.
I loaned it on good sreurity, I in
vested in real estate, I speculated, I
read the papers, kept myself inform- j
ed as to the state of the markets, and
was either very lucky or very shrewd,
for I prospered.
I seemed to be inspired to know
just when to buy and sell. Every
thing I touched turned to gold, and
as years passed on I became wealthy
and my mind became interested in my
| business, just as a man does ill similar
; circumstances.
The love dream of youth was laid
j away, not forgotton,*but embalmed in
| a sacred and tender memory. No
! thought of love or marriage with an
| other ever entered my mind.
Seven years had passed when busi
ness required me to take a voyage to
Europe. On board the steamer on
which I sailed was a beautiful and
fascinating young actress.
The other women on board treated
her with coolness, which she appa
rently did not care for, anil drew
around her with much ease plenty of
admirers among the men.
I never tired of watching and ad
miring lior fascinating manners, her
winning ways, her restless, glancing
beauty, like some tropical bird; her
\vayivardiiefe, n L. air . s ’ I,0 l" . Cft P ri > !
! ted head, the Kpa&B? °1
j (lark eye, the ripple of her laugnV. *, i
i r her musical voice, as it rang out
[ over the water in some ballad.
I had not treated her with quite the
of the other women, had not
considered myself contaminated I>v
! exchanging a few words with her i
| whenever it came in my way, and that
! perhaps was the reason she sent for
mo one night when she was taken i
suddenly ill. The doctor pronounced i
I her dangerous, and said if sho did |
not got relief soon she would not live |
! many hours.
My state room was just across from
hers, and I went immediately to her.
. How changed from the bright, beau- j
j liful creature I had so often admired.
Pale and blue, pinched and cold, j
she lay in her night-dress on tlie nar- j
row lounge, under the window, her |
hands tightly clenched over the head.
Alarmed I dropped on my knees at j
her side, chafed her cold hands, forced j
a spoonful of brandy between her
teeth, and such was the good effects
of my efforts, that she begun to get j
better.
“Thank you ! thank you!” murmur-!
ed she, “you are kind—- you will not |
let me die. Take off my rings please, ’
they hurt me when I clasp my hands.” i
I took the soft, white, slender bauds
in mine, and removed three or four
sparkling rings from her fingers.
“Where shall I put them ?” said I.
“Look in my travelling basket—you
will find my jewel case.”
I soon found the box, a little toy of
rare and cost scented wood, crusted
with coral and gold. I opened it, |
and on the rose-colored, silken lining
sparkled a variety of beautiful jewel
ry.
“What a number of pretty rings
you have,” said I, admiring such j
things, as any woman will.
“Yes,” said slio, faint and exltans- !
ted with her recent struggle with!
death, but still interested in her trin- j
kets. And they are all presents
from devoted admirers. I have nine ;
diamond rings, some such lovely—•
“This ring—my opal ring!” ex-}
claimed I, suddenly, as I discovered }
in the case my own ring. I could
not mistake it, for there was no other
like it in the world.
“Where did you get this!” said I}
more calm!}’, holding it up to her. |
“That,” said siie, hesitating, “I |
bought that at a pawnbroker’s.”
“How much did you give for it ? j
It is mine, and whatever the cost Ii
must have it again,” said I, eagerly, j
“No,” said she, after a pause, “I !
will not lie to you. You have been a
friend to me, and I will tell you the
whole story. It was given to me by
the one * fiat robbed you of it, and j
itjjwas ..ty fault that you lost it. Was j
it much of a loss to you ?”
“A loss!” said I, as the memory of j
tlKit lost love rushed over me, and !
fSRYse long years of suspenso, anil |
slow heart-break, “with that ring I j
lost everything that makes life desira- j
ble.”
“And your lover, where is lie now ?” j
“Never have I heard a word from
him from that day to this.”
“And I have done this. lam sorry, j
I did not think of all this.”
“You! what did you have to do
with it?” said I, in surprise.
“Listen, I will tell you. You will
see what wheels within wheels give
motion to the most trivial action, and
how the circumference of one cubit of
society intersects and influences an
entirely different one. Marston, the
fellow that took your ring, had been
my lover for some time, but we were
beginning to get rather weary of each
other. About this time I met with
Percy. He seemed rather struck with
my "appearance. We were thrown
together several times, and lie idulg
ed in the careless admiration; the
light flirtation that men of the world
will toward women that will ecourage
them. It was merely the pastime of
an hour with him, but 1 was strongly
attracted toward him. Perhaps if lie
had been easily won I would have soon
tired of his admiration; but it was so
evidently tlie merest nonsense with
him, that lie piqued my vanity, and
aroused my interest; The first thing
I knew I was as desperately in love
with him as it was possible for me tube
with any man. But my arts appear
ed all in vain, and I heard that lie was
engaged to be married to a young
lady moving in an entirely different
circle from mine. Naturally, I had a
strong curiosity to see her, and one
night at tlie theatre, Marston with
me, said:
“Ada,” there is a woman in that
box, near, that I have been sometimes
more than half in love with,” and
j looking up I saw you, and, Percy
j with you.
“And that is liis fiance,” thought I, I
j while a subtle train of thought went;
like lightning through my mind. “If!
;it had not been for her, perhaps he
| might have looked at me.”
“At that time you raised your hand,
and this ring sparkled into the light.”
“What a lovely ring ?” said I. “I
wish I had it.”
“I wish I had it!” growled Mars
ton. “I would throw it into the sea.
It is no doubt the engagement ring,
! and I would give a great deal to
J break the engagement. I don’t sup
pose she would speak to me, though,
muttered lie, more to himself than to
me. She is too proud—too far above
! me; but she could not have a more
devoted slave. I would kiss the
ground she walks on, if it would do
i any good.”
“Could you not gain possession of
the ring, Marston, by some means,
fair or foul, and by making him think
she gave it to you, break off the on
|-;V nient? He is very passionate
! ami then, ,H easi! { d ! mp >
love might win hers. ''2r i f l £“^ 8
it is worth trying, nothing venture
nothing have, ilo you not think so?”
“Perhaps so,” muttered he, but he
did not say whether he would or not.
However, the very first opportunity
he hail he ocized it to carry out my
suggestion.
“ When he displayed it to Percy, he
struck him down and left him for
dead, and fled the country, so you see
I lost the opportunity to try to get
him.
“Marston lmd a long and danger
ous spell of illness succeeding liis
wound, and I took care of him and
nursed him back to life. When lie
recovered he gave me the ring and
went away. 1 have not heard of him
since, so the possession of tho ring
was all I made out of that transac
tion.
“But it is yours; vtiu can have it,
and if you knew what a passion 1
have for beautiful and unique jewelry,
you would appreciate the sacrifice I
am making. But while I feel grate
ful and generous, and equal to the
occasion, let me put it on your finger
with the most unselfish and disinter
ested wish I am capable of making,
that it may be the means of reuniting
you to your lover.”
“I hope so,” said I fervently, “but
that is too much to hope. I fear
Percy is dead, or I would have heard
from him.
******
It was tlie close of the long sultry
day. I had been travelling all day,
and was still on tho cars, with the
prospect of night’s journey before me.
Arranging my baskets and [bundles
I laid down on my seat, preparing to
forget my fatigue and all mundane
things, in sleep.
As I laid down I laid my ungloved
hand on the back of tho. seat, just as
the guard lighted the lamp, and a}
gentleman entered at the seat back of j
me.
The lamplight flashed on my ring,
just as he took his seat, and he start
ed up with an exclamation.
“My Clod !” and looking up I met
the blue—the unforgotten eyes of
Percy.
What passed in the next few mo
ments I can scarcely remember. The
tiryt glance of recognition seemed to
sweep away by magic all the mist of
years, and absence, and misunder
standing. He clasped both my hands
in his strong grasp. As ho bent over
looking into my eyes, lie asked sev
eral questions, which I answered as
hurriedly and incoherently.
I told him all the circumstances
connected with the loss of my ring,
and what I had lately heard, and
soon everything was explained, we
were still true, and loved each other
still.
Tlie lapse of time, tlie experiences
of life, had happened, strengthened
and improved both characters. We
were better calculated than we were
in youth to be happy together.
We were never separated again.—
It was not long till vve were married,
and to this day my opal ring, with all
its associations, is one of my most
cherished treasures.
One Peculiarity of Lore.
At first, it surprises ono that love
should be made the principal staple of
all the best kinds of fiction; and, per
haps, it is to be regretted that it is
only one kind of love that is chiefly
depicted in works of fiction. But that
love itself is the most remarkable thing
in human life, there cannot be the
slightest doubt. For see what it will
conquer! It is not only that it pre
vails over selfishness, but it lias the
victory over weariness, tiresomeness
and familiarity. When you are with
a person loved, you have no sense of
being bored. This humble and tri
vial circumstance is the great test, the
only sure and abiding test of love.
With tlie persons you do not love you
are never supremely at your ease.
You have some of the sensation of
walking upon stilts. In conversation
with them, however much you admire
them, and arc interested in them, the
horrid idea will cross your mind of
“What shall I say next?” Converse
with them is not perfect association.
But with those you love, tlie satisfac
tion in their presence is not unlike
that of the relation of the heavenly
bodies one to another, which in their
silent revolutions, lose none of their
attractive power. The sun does not
talk to tlie world, but it does attract
it.
Scandal.
The story is told of a woman who
freely used her tongue to the scandals
of others, and made a confession to
tlie priest of what she had done. He
| gave her a ripe thistle top, and told
her to go out in the various direc
tions and scatter tlie seeds ono by
one. Wondering at the penance, she
obeyed, and then returned and told
her confessor. To lier amazement he
bade her go back and gather the
scattered seeds; and when she object
ed, that it would bo impossible, he re
plied that it would still be more diffi
cult to gather up and destroy all tlie
evil reports which she had circulated
about others. Any thoughtless, care
less child can scatter a handful of
thistle seed before the wind in a mo
ment, but tho strongest and wisost
man cannot gather them again.
FRO LESS I ON A E.
Dr. E. A. *1 E L K S,
Practicing Physician,
QUITMAN, GA.
o/ m,; bsi u adjoining store
street. [l'-'L evou
\V. IS. BI N NET. 8. T. KINUSBERP.Y.
RENNET & KINGSBEIIY,
Attorneys at Law,
7
QUITMAN, BROOKS CO., GA.
February 11, 1871. tf
EDWARD H. HARDEN,
-AMtoimey nl T^aw
QUITMAN, GEORGIA. *
- Office iu tlie Court House, first floor.
1-tf
O. A. HOWELL B. A. DENMARK *
HOWELL A DEN HA UK,
ATTORNEYS ATLAW,
NO. 8 DRAYTON ST.,
SAVANNAH - - GA.
Refer, by permission, to Messrs. Groover,
Stubbs A Cos., and It. 11. Reppard, Savannah,
Hon. A. 11. liens'll, .1. 1,. Seward, Thomas
villa. Rennet A Kiugsberrv, Quitman, Ga.
39-1-ly
MISCE LEAN EOF\s.
.W. PRICE & SONS,
DEALERS IN
Gen era 1 .Merchandise,
Cloths and Cassii lores,
READY-MADE CLOTHING,
Hats, Caps, Shoes, Trunks. V disos. Ac.
would inform {the citizens of Qaiimni md
surrounding country that their Fail and
Winter stock comprises the largest and best
assortment of
Gentlemens' Furnishing Goods
ever brought to this market.
I). AV. PRICE
will continue his business as
TAILOR,
and will cut and make suits 'at the 'shortest
notice, and satisfaction guaranteed. ~
Cutting. Cleaning uml Repairing done
with neatness and dispatch upon reasonable
terms.
AVe invite the public to call and examine
the quality and prices of our goods before
purchasing elsewhere.
D. AV. PRICE & SONS.
1-tf
F. It HARDEN,
DEALER IN
DRY GOODS,
N O i l O IV s,
Hoots and Shoes
FANCY AND
FAMILY GROCERIES,
QUITMAN - GA.
BI'SIRES TO NOTIFY his friends and
the public generally that he is now lo
cated on Screven street, one door West of
(’apt. Brooks’ store, iu the building formerly
occupied by Mr. AV. S. Humphreys, with a
complete assortment of Family Groceries,
Dry Goods, Notions, etc. consisting princi
pally of
Bacon, Canned Goods,
Flour,
C’oLiho, PVnits,
C'mh c 1 i os. Nuts.
Ivioe, Cheese,
Dross Goods, Domestics,
Sh i rt iiihrs, Slie-t ings,
Drints,' Scc., &c.
All of which ho proposes to sell cheaper than
the cheapest, for the cash.
The highest market prices paid for Coun
try Produce.
Thankful for past, favors, a continuance of
custom is solicited.
F. R. HARDEN.
1-tf
A. J. ROUNTREE
"firrOITLD INFORM HIS FRIENDS and
▼ V the public generally that he has now
on hand a good assortment of
Dry Goods,
Groceries,
I I ardware,
&c., &c.
and will sell them as cheap as the same
quality of goods can be bought from any ono
else in this market.
TO DEBTORS :
rno THOSE INDEBTED TO HIM he
1 would say that he is obliged to have the
money to carry on his business, and he can
indulge no longer. He hopes they will set
tle without delay, and save costs of Court.
A. J. ROUNTREE.
1-tf
T. A. WHITE,"
Boot & Shoe Maker,
/ }
QUITMAN, GA.
BEGS LEAVE TO INFORM his old cus
tomers and the public generally that he
is still at his old stand on Depot street, and
will continue to keep constantly on hand the
best quality of material and as many active
and experienced workmen to work it upas
liis patronage may require.
Boots and shoes cut and made to order,
and a neat tit always guaranteed. r
Repairing neatly and expeditiously done,
at prices to suit the times.
J&-ALL WORK WARBAXTED.^
1-tf
NO. 10,
