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About Schley County news. (Ellaville, Ga.) 1889-1939 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 30, 1890)
Forever Young. Tho wild world hastens on its way; 1 The gray-haired century nears Us close; It* sorrow deepens day by day; . The summer blush forsakes the ra«e. But, darling, while your voice I hear, f And while your dark brown eyes I see, gad months and sunless seasons drear Are all the same, alt glad to me. , Despair can never reach me, While your soft hand I hold: While your eyes love and teach ms I never shall grow old. They say that love forsakes the old, That, passion pales and fades awav; That: even love’s bright locks of gold M list lose their charms and change to gray. But, darling, while your heart is mine, And while 1 feel that you are true, For rue the skies will ever shine With summer light and tenderest blue. Yes. let old age deride me! I scorn his mocking t.ngue; 1 -ear love, with you beside me. i am forever young. — Belgravia. When Romance Was Over. Miss Dora Dwight, on her thiitictli birthday, receiveJ the first love-letter of her life—the first offer of marriage, it was handed into the dormitory of ihe “Physicians’Orphatis’ Home”—not, ts may be supposed, a home for the or phans doctor! have made, but for the children of deceased medical men. Miss Dwight was matron there, and at jhe moment was changing the pillow cases before the wash. “I suppose it’s about Johnny Gilroy trid his swelled knee,” said the servant. “Doctor Emory seems to think it wuss.” Miss Dwight, however, waited until the girl was gone before she opened the aote. Then, not greatly to her sur prise, she read the words: “My Deaii Dora: You have known me since you were a baby. Do you like me well enough to marry me? Of course, you and I have given up ro mance long ago. I have had two wives. You must be thirty-two or three.” [“Just thirty,” said Dora to herself; “ho is sixty-nine.’’] “You will greatly improve your position by marrying me, and I always liked you. Please meet me in the garden after hours. 1 hope to find you under the willows. Yours, hopefully, “B. Emoky.” It was not a love- letter calculated to flatter the heart of a woman of any age. At first she said: “I will refuse him.” Then she remembered how good and iindly he was. “I will accept him,” mid she, “but no romance shall be in my talk with him. lie shall find me .ike a stone, lie shall have the sort of ‘- wife he wauts.” T> lit was early when the door-bell flanged, and a foot crossed the long passage, and ceasing to echo ou the painted floor, struck the stone3. Earlier than she had expected him, but she was ready for him under the willows in the garden. “I am glad to find you here,” said a deep, old voice. “I thought you would be sensible enough to do what 1 asked, but I was not quite sure—uot quite. No. Y’ou have read my note carefully? Yes? Well, imagine that I say to you again what I wrote. I await your an swer with anxiety.” She looked at him, and he saw that she smiled in an odd, embarrassed way. 4 t Will you m irry me, my dear?” he added. “I see I must mike it easier for you to speak.” “It was a little hard to begin,” she said. “The usual reason moves me,” he said. “I’m in love with you. I think -it best to marry again, and I know no one liko you—no one. I've had two •wives before, I admit. However, neither of them complained of me, I believe. I have a very nice home, and, really, it will bo a very much better po sition for you than being matron of au institution. Y’ou do it admirably, but t hale to see you here. Y’our father was older than I, but we were great friends. I think he would advise you to say ‘yes. * » ) She put her hand upon his arm. “1 am a practical woman,” she said. “If I marry you, I forfeit a good posi tion that may be mine for life—aa in dependent position. It is dangerous.” “My dear, you’ll have half of all that is mine; and I’m not poor.” “Y’ou don’t think me young, I know,” she answered. “Who thinks a woman young at thirty? But you have four sous, hard, business men, older than I. They’ll not approve of the match.” “They are not at home; it can’t mat ter,” said Dr. Emory. “But,” said Miss Dwight, with cruel distinctness, “the trouble will come when you die. Y’ou have made a mis- 4*ke;youare older than poor father. SCHLEY COUNTY NEWS. If you leave me a widow, your sons will make every effort to take every thing from me; I shall be left with nothing, my place gone, my habits of industry, my briskness. I make no doubt you have heard of such cases; I have.” The suitor sat—and who can marvel at it?—stricken quite dumb by this speech. At last he gasped: “You are candid.” “I am.” she answered—“I am, in deed. Now is your time. Y’ou can take back your offer, Dr. Emory. Everything can be as it was before, i’ll rear up your letter; I am content that all shall shall remain as it is.” i t But, then,” he answered, “I am not. After all, a'.I you say is only true. I can face ti e music, I hope. My an swer is this: Marry me, and I will make a will, leaving you everything, on our wedding day.” “That would be unjust,” she said. “It would be a will to be contested. Leave me a home and an income.” She named the sum sufficient to keep it up. “That is moderate—seusible. And you will say 'yes,’ ” he said, “I promise, of course, I shall make it better than that, still leaving my sous no cause for complaint; but it is not my fault that we arc not more ro mantic.” “Let the romance come afterward, if it can,” said Miss Dwight. After this, they walked about the garden awhile, and the day of the wedding was set, leaving time to find a new matron for the establishment. Miss Dwight was certainly, as domestics say, “bettering herml!';” but she was uot elated. In fart, a little regret stole into her heart as she walked about the place where she had been so independent, so respected; and wondered whether she would be happy in the future. “At least,” she said,with a degree of bitterness, “I matched him with his ‘romance is out of the question between two like us.’ Matched him and went further.” The bell tinkled in the hall just as supper time was over that evening, aud in a few moments a servant came to call Miss Dwight. “It’s a gentleman; ho don’t know who he wants,” she said. “Some one who kuows all about the place, he told me.” Aud Dora went into the parlor, a bare looking room, long, aud with white walls, a panel carpet, a library table, a horsehair sofa aud six chairs, and the portrait of the fouuder of the home over the mantel-piece. There stood under this portrait, with his el bow’' on the marble itself, a gentleman. Dark-eyed, dark-haired, with a face that avas not so much handsome as de light ful. Writers often spend a good deal of time in discussing what it is that men see iu the women whom they fall in love with—when they say: “This is the woman for me!” I believe the woman who meets for the first time the only man on earth to whom she would willingly give herself, has deeper experiences still. The moment had come to Miss Dwight. She had waited 30 years for it, and now she did not know w’hat it meant. But an unconscious smile came to her lips, a light to her soft blue eyes, a flush to her smooth cheek. She looked prettier than she could have dreamed possible of at that moment. The stranger told his business. He had recently come from Paris, where ho had bceu occupied in certain affairs for 10years. Meanwhile, his brother had died, having recently lost his wdfe. He understood, to his astonishment, that his little nephews were in the Home. “Of course, I wish to take charge of them,” ho said. “I am a bachelor, but I cau arr'ange for their care. They need not live on charity.” “It is uot charity,” said Miss Dwight. “Dr. Ellwood gave largely to the home in his lifetime. The chil dren are considered little ladies and gentlemen. They are well educated; hiught tho usuages of good society. They will have a collegiate course when they leave this place. Most of the girls become teachers, 1 think. The boys choose their profession. There would be at least no need of haste in removing them.” They talked together awhile. She gathered that ha was what might he called a poor man. lie liagered after the boys had come and gone. He came ou the morrow* and agaia and a^ain. The ostensible motive was to see his nephews, but he also desired to see Miss Dwight. Meanwhile Dr. Emory called every af'* 5 rnoon and consulted with Dora as to the new parlor carpet and the china. “Buy good things,” she saiL “What is the use of getting a carpet that will fade soon, or china that chips; and sil ver makes a table look well. Besides, the things about a house belong to the widow—if I should be left.” “She is deuced practical,” said poor Dr. Emory to himself. This.was after the new matron ar rived and was being drilled in her du ties by Miss Dwight, who calmly said before everyone: ‘ ‘You see I'm to be married shortly.” ‘ Do ycu know, poor Nellie never talked like that; nor my dear Maria.” “Of course not, ” said Miss Dwight. “But you remarked in jour offer to me that (of course) you and I had done with romance long ago. * 1 Dr. Emory tried th laugh, but he was not happy. That afternoon he took a long, long ride to the sea shore, and stabling his horse at the hotel walked down to the beach. “The season” was over. The caterers expected only a little chance custom. It was a day when driving clouds made it cool enough to be pleas ant. There he sat down behind a big mound of land and watched the sea and thought of Maria, and how he used so often to kiss the back of her neck because the two little curls looked so cunning, and how she inought him handsome; how dear they were to each other. How long his reverie had lasted he did not know, when merry voices sounded in his ear. A man’s tones, those of two little boys and a woman’s. Surely he knew the last speaker. Ha peeped from uu der his big Panama hat, and saw Dora. She had brought the E Iwood boys down for a holiday, at their uncle’s re quest, and he had come also. Dr. Emory guessed who the gentleman was, for he had had the case of these boys laid before him, and w T as looking for two orphans to fill their places when they should be gone, but the presence of Mr. Ellwood gave him offence. “It has quite the air of a family party,” he said. The boys played about, dug with their little spades and tilled with white sand those painted jmils which all good picnickers buy at the seaside. They took off their shoes and stockings and waded along the edge of the water. The eider people seemed as happy as they, and how young! At last they sat down very near to Dr. Emory, w r ith their backs to his sand barrow, and he saw a man's brown hand drop upon a little white one and hold it tight. "Without showing himself he could not see their faces. “Do you know why I asked you to come here?” said the owner of the brown hand. “To miud the children, as Sally says,” replied the owner of the white hand. “No, to tell you something,” said Brown Hand. “Darling little woman, prettiest and sweetest of all created beings I have loved you from the first moment I met you. Do you think you would mind marrying a man who has his fortune yet to make? Cou'd you be poor with him, and yet be happy? Y’ou see I am poor, but I adore you and I’m selfish enough to ask you to do just that for my sake, if you can try to love me.” The white hand flutlcred. A soft voice trembled. “I,should not have to try it,” she sobbed. “It seems to come of itself, aud as for poverty. I d rather beg with you than live without you aud have millions. Oh! don’t look happy, don’t look happy, dear, when we both must be so miserable. I'm engaged; my wedding day is set. I thought I had outlived romance, and I promised to marry an old man who only wants a lady at the head of his house. Oh! why did you not come to me one day earlier?” Silence fell. Dr. Emory heard them rise and go away. In a minute more a little boy rushed up to the sand mound and poked it with his spade. “Here’s a dead man,’’ he said—“a drowuded dead man.” 4 » No; it's a tipsy man,” replied B 1 ly. “Let’s pile sand on him.” This they proceeded to do, until Billy descried “uncle beckoning,” and they departed on the run. After the last train had gone city ward, an elderly gentleman took a sand wich and some ale at the hotel before getting into his gig. Ho emptied a great deal of sand out of his pockets, but did not fee the waiters, and seemed to be, the cashier said, “in a temper.” It was Dr. Emory. He drove straight home, and sat down at the desk. i 4 Thank Heaven, I can appear to have the best of her,” he said, spite fully. “But the next time I propose (o a woman I will not tell her that ro mance is out of the question.” Then he wrote: i l Miss Dwight: lam an old man, but I find I Lave made a mistake. I have too much romance left in mo to marry you. Any pecuniary recompense you desire I wiil offer; and, if you like, the matron’s place is again yours.” “Emory.” Miss Dwight only noticed this note by packing her engagement ring in pink cotton and sending it back. Sho did not want the matron’s place, and sho married Mr. Ellwood very shortly. Dr. Emory is now courting a girl of 16, who vows she adores him, and wishes very loudly that he were hers. He likes it .—New York Ledger. Jefferson Davis’ Memory. Jefferson Davis had a memory for faces and names that has probably never been excelled by that of any public man in the United States. It has been said of Gen. Sherman that when he meets a mau -who was introduced to him 20 years previously he will recall his name aud the circumstances of the introduc tion, and will talk over the incidents of their first mecliug. Both Grant and Lee possessed to a great degree the same faculty of remembrance, but nei ther Sherman nor Grant nor Lee could do what Mr. Davis did. At his office in Richmond, as President of the Southern Confederacy, and in his visits to the front of the army, he treasured up in his memory the names of every officer and soldier with whom ho came into contact, and he never forgot them. While he was at his Beauvoir planta tion last winter there came to him a W’orn-out and broken- dowai man w r ho made a claim on his charity as having been a lieutenant in a certain Missis sippi regiment. Davis taxed his mem ory for a moment and then told the ap plicant that he was a fraud and that a naan bearing an entirely different name was the lieutenant of the company which the mendicant had specified. The beggar made a quick exjt. from the house and was never seen around it again. Prince Bismarck Astonished. Signor Crispi, the Italian Prime Minister, related a characteristic story of his visit to Prince Bismarck in Friedrichsruhe to a number of delegates who visited him in Naples a few days ago. “During the conversation,” said the minister, “the . chancellor ordered two colossal mugs of beer, one of which he placed ou the table iu front of me and invited me to drink it. I answered that I drau’.c only water, a remark which astonished him, judging from the expression of his face. He remained silent upon that point, how ever, but after emptying his own glass, reached for mine, which he also emptied in a short time. Two pipes were then brought out by tho servant, one of which Prince Bismarck offered me after lighting his own. ‘Y’our high ness, ’ I answered, ‘I thank you, but I do not smoke.’ ‘What!’ cried the chancellor, ‘you do not drink and you do not smoke? What a rare man you are!’ The conversation was then con tinued while Bismarck went ou smok ing, using both pipes before our inter view was ended.” A Crow Tamer. Charles Smith, of Concord, Vt., has been a keeper and tamer of crows some forty years, never being without one or more of these birds. Fanny, his pres ent pet, has been with him two years. She warms herself for hours by the smithy fire, chatters ■while ho is hammer ing ou tho anvil, and when ho is shoe ing a horse, is sure to stand at tha beast’s heels. Recently a horse put hia foot on Fanny and pinue l her down tilL she was as flat as a board. She was laid on the hearth apparently dead, but an hour afterward she shook herself up into shape again and begin chattering as usua', though iu a very squally aud melancholy (one, which lasted for a Week or more. The mule always puts his best foot forward. Wliat is Good. S “What is the real good?” I I asked in musing mood. I Order, said the law court; I I Knowledge, said the school- I Truth, said (he wise ' Pleasure, said man; I the fool; Love, said the maitleu; I beauty, said the page; I Freedom, said the dreamer; I I Home, said the sage: Fame, said the soldier; I Equity, the seer;— I Spake my heart full sadly; “The answer is not here.’’ Then within my bosom I Softly this I heard: “Each heart holds the secret Kindness is the word.” —John Bogle O'lteilhj j HUMOROUS. Board bills—Three-sheet posters. A letter- carrier—Tho postage-stamp.! Y’our vegetarian thinks flesh h not meet for the stomach. When the pigs begin to fly— you try to drive them in. The favorite pursuit of the fibwer oil nobility is haughty-culture. When a young raau goes ou a “teatH the sooner he “mends” his ways thi better. The inconsistency of nature is showj when it supplies the turkey with i comb and no hair. By their fruit you shall know them and, therefore, the almanac makers an known by their dates. “Miss Forauforty has very sharp ures.” ‘‘Exceedingly; she cut me tbs other day on the street.” He hoped to win her by his presents] but she said his presence wasn’t ble, so he didn’t send any. That the moral nature of the pig ij essentially mean and selfish is proven the fact that he is always willing and ready to “squeal” when he gets into tight place. “I see you are uot a very expert pocket,” said the detective to the whom he had caught iu the act. ‘ the latter replied, coolly; “I am getting my hand iu.” “Wei!, Iniver! If there isn’t blessed child a-goiri’ and its stockin’s wrong side out! 1 ’ “Why, of course, nurse; don’t ’oo see dere’s a hole on de odder side?” Funny Man’s Little Bob—May Ileave the room, teacher? Teacher—Why do you want to leave the room? F. M. L. B.—’Cause I can’t take it with me, course. A young lady scut in a poem en titled, “I Cannot Make Him Smile,” a newspaper. The editor ventures iu express the opinion that she would have succeeded had she shown him the poem. Somebody claims to have discovered a substance that is 300 times as sweet as sugar. It is not known what that sub stance is, but it is supposed to bo about 18 years old and to have a fondness for ice-cream. The meanest man we have heard of yet is the one who, suspecting his wife of going through his pockets for change after he retired, procured two trained mice and let theui loose iu the room every night. Some fashionable women put dia mond rings ou the tails of their pet dogs. A diamond ring ou a dog’s tail is so conspicuous that the animal is not obliged to scratch his nose with hi! caudal appendage to call attention to the jewel. “Now, children,be quiet,” said their mother; “father is goingto be surprised tomorrow night, and presented with a clock, and he’s busy thinking up a few appropriate words of thanks that he will say as soon as ho recovers from his surprise.” Ha wooed ber and sued her and sought her Till he melted her heart so cold, Then he married the ice-man’s daughter And now he is rolling in gold. Smallest Prayer-Hook in the World. Tho smallest and daintiest prayer book iu tho world is tho “Fingef Prayer-- Book’ ’ which lias just beea issued by the Oxford University Press. It i3 printed in diamond and brilliant type ou the famous India paper. P contains 670 pages, measures 3^x1 inches, and weighs only three- quarters of an ounce. It i3 arranged for “the chatelaine, the waistcoat pocket, or the purse,” and ranges iu prico from 39 cents to $6.50. Though tho paper is exceedingly thin, it is entirely op.iq u ®» and the typo i3 beautifully clear.
