Newspaper Page Text
VOL. 1.
DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18,1878.
NO. 14.
CALL ME PET NAMES, DARLING,
Call me pet names, darling,
The sweet dear names of yore.
When love’s young blush was on your
cheek
And earth’s bright rose-tints wore.
No matter if the years have been
Less bright since that long syne,"
Misfortune’s looms have closer wove
Your happiness and mine.
Call me pet names, darling 1
No matter if the years
Have held some clouds, the sunshine
Has dried away our tears.
And though sometimes the fates, love.
Have not been what we would
Have had them, yet the blessings,
We'll prize them as we should.
Call me pet names, darling,
Though my step may be less light,
My heart still loves the glinting
Of your eyes, yet soft and bright
And to me the same old music
Is found in the gentleness
Of the words of our first young love days,
In themselves a sweet caress.
Faces may grow old, darling,
But our hearts are ever young.
And the strings will give forth music
When stirred by caressing tongue.
And in its rythmic measure
We find the blessed truth,
That in affection’s fountain
There 1b perennial youth.
Then call me pet names', darling.
The sweet dear namds of yore,
When love’s sweet blush lit up your cheek,
And earth’s bright rose-tints wore.
No matter if the years have been
Less bright since that lang syne,
Misfortune’s looms have closer wove
Your happiness and mine. '
H. W. J. H.
IN THE BITTER COLD.
{By Lee Frank Benedict.]
} * v_. (Concluded.)
He sank into a seat completely un
manned by a blow so unexpected and
terrible. Beside Margaret’s note
lay a folded paper which he opened
eagerly—it was the letter that con
tained the allusion to Miss Melville’s
former engagement with himself.
A perception of the truth dawned
upon him; that letter, or some exag
gerated and untruthful account, had
beeu the cause of Margaret’s leaving
his house.
How much unhappiness a false,
artful woman had wrought for him.
lie had met Miss Melville several
years before, while he was a very
young man, and had been fascinated
by her beauty and manner. She was
a bold, unscrupulous woman, who
had passed beyond her girl-hood, and
had left there every relic of youth or
enthusiasm. Cold and designing,
she determined from the fix-st to se
cure so rich a prize as Mr. Hope, and
she nearly succeeded. Fortunately
for him, circumstances disclosed her
treachery before he had gone too far
to retreat, and he left her forever.
Several years passed before he even
again thought of love, and when he
met Margaret Foster, with her pale,
still loveliness, and her shy, proud
manner, it- was a new revelation of
the sex to him. He loved her devo
tedly, and it was that feeling only
which prompted him to make hor his
wife.
Mr. Hope had one serious fault
which had aided much in bringing
upon him that great misery—he nev
er confided to any his real feelings.
Brought up by a stern, harsh father,
who looked upon any outbreak of
enthusiasm as an actual crime, and
regarded an imaginate child much in
the same light as our forefathers did
those possessed of a devil, Arthur
learned to appear cold and unsym-
patlnzing, though he had a kind
.heart, full of generous impulses and
feelings. And so, even in his affec
tion, Arthur Hope conld not be de
monstrative. When the thousand
tender follies of a lover rose to his
lips, his father’s bitter laugh seemed
ringing in his ear to check them;
when in conversation ho would have
indulged in the fanciful theories and
<5omparison8 peculiar to an imaginate
mind, the recollection of the biting
sarcasm which of old had lacerated
his feelings kept him silent, and ho
appeared cold and reserved when his
heart was most interested.
. So it easily happened that Miss
Melville’s name had never been ut
tered by him, though the thought of
her brought no pain. That letter
had filled him with great anxiety
on account of the friend whom he
had truly loved, and the Buddon jour
ney was undertaken to preserve him
from the misery which must result
from a marriage like that.
Mr. Hope had saved his friend,
but returned to find his own life
darkened forever.
ThuB two beings of like sympathies,
loving each other fondly, and with
eveiy prospect of happiness, had been
separated by the faults which hod
grown up in their natures from the
effects of false teachings. A single
idle word had served to do this, and
now they were far asunder, each for
ced to bear in solitude that weight of
wretchedness. ,
Mr. Hope’s search for his wife was
vain, and he was forced to settle
down in his lonely home, maddened
by the thought of the suffering those
dear ones must endure, and the bleak
future which Btretched out before
him.
So a year had passed, a long, terri
ble year, the remembrance of which
would have cost a shadow over a
whole after-life of happiness, and
once more winter was at hand.
Margaret had' taken refuge in a
small village in the interior of Penn
sylvania, a spot so l'emote from tlio
highways of travel that it seemed to
offer every security she could desire.
In the outskirts of the village stood
an old brown house rapidly going to
nxin, so dilapidated and desolate,
that for several years no tenant for
itjcould bo Mind. The proprietor
was a miserly man, who took overy
advantage of Margaret’s ignorance of
business to make extortionate de
mands.
So in that old house she arranged
her home. It was dreary place
enough, and she had been gently
bred. There was a thousand petty
details to irk her; the furniture which
she had been able to buy was of the
coarsest kind, and the labor of the
little Ixonsehold was performed by
her own hands.
To avoid disoovery she had taken
her mother’s name, and her dress led
those about her to suppose that she
was a widow; there was no mockery
in her assumption of that garb—had
she bent in anguish over her hus
band’s grave, her heart would have
been less widowed than now.
After a short time the little boy
fell ill, and she was kept in constant
attendance upon him for many days
and nights. When he had recovered,
suffering and fatigue threw her into
a nervous fever, which prostrated her
for several weeks. She was forced to
have attendance, and the only per
son to be found was a woman reccom-
mended by her physician, a goodrUA-
tured soul, but whose rough kind
ness annoyed Margaret as much as
the doctor’s prying ouriosity.
So the winter wore on wretchedly
enough, and when spring came, Mar
garet found that her little fund hud
dwindled almost to nothing.
She made an offort to start a school
but she was too shy to get along with
the villagers, they thought her very
proud and extremely mysterious—
only hoped there was nothing wrong
about her, but they had their doubts.
Still she succeeded in obtaining a
small class of children, aud did her
best by them, hut the employment
was anything hut lucrative. One
woman sent her a pan of doughnuts
by way of compensation, and several
of the others forgot to pay her at all,
nor could Margaret summon resolu
tion sufficient to. refresh their flag
ging me modes.
Now the winter wee upon her,
cold and terriblo. Hud the neigh
bors known of her actual sufferings
they would gladly tow? aided her,
but they had grown to avoid her en
tirely, and she sometimes did not
leave the house for days. Often the
little hoy cried for food, and she
had not enough to. satisfy him, but
still she did not wholly despair, she
must bear up for the sake of those
children. Late in December the rent
fell duo, and tho landlord was punct
ual to the moment.
“Well, Mrs. Moulton,” ho said,
abruptly entering, “have you got
any money for mo?”
Margaret trembling told him of
her poverty, and begged him to wait
for a little time; at first he would
not consent, but at length ho said
that in ten days he would come again.
“That’ll be the day before New-
Year’s, ma’am, and if you have’nt
got the cash ready, why you must
make tracks, that’s all.”
Margaret scarcely remembered the
menace, for her babe was ill, and
every thought was devoted to it.
The days passed op, and their mis-
eiy had reached tho climax—there
was nothing left but beggary or
death. It was the last day of tho year,
and to Margai'et there remained
neither flonr nor wood. Tho little
boy oried with hunger and cold, and
the infant slept upon her bosom
moaning with pain even in its slum
ber.
The day wore on, thoro was no
hope of l'elief. Margaret sank down
in her misery—terrible thoughts of
suicide eamo over her—death for her
and those infants would bo. a bless
ing; but she was still sano enough to
put by the idea.
It was growing evening, and the
fire had died to a few faint embers.
Margaret felt tho babe growing cold
upon her breast, and that gave hor a
little energy. She brake to piecos a
wooden stool, and kiudled a flame
with it, wrapped herself in a coarse
cloak-41*54 stiff rsanained, and sat
down, holding the child, while the
the hay crouched close to her side.
Suddenly there was the tramp of n
horse—it paused before the house.
Margaret knew that the moment hat!
come.
Tho outer d'oor opened, and the
landlord entered, muffled to the chin.
“Well, Mrs. Moulton, hero I am
yon see—I expect you are going to
square accounts and give me a supper
into, the bargain?”
Margaret had not stirred from hor
seat; she felt no dread, though, the
boy was crouching in tear to her
side, but she was past that.
“Indeed, sir,” she said, lifting her
dreary gaze to his face, “I have not
a penny money, nor have I tasted
fond since last night.”
“Hey day! a fine story; and what
are you going to dje about paying
I your debts?”
“Have a little mercy—for these
children’s sake do not bo too hard
upon me—at least let us die horcl”
“Don’t f alk to mo>! AVhy, you’ve
got a bigger fire than I’d. think of
having. Hallo! if you ain’t burning
up the furniture for fear I’ll seize it.
Why, you wretched, abominable wo
man 1”
“I couldn’t see tlxoso children
freeze I Oh, think what your own
feelings would) bfito.hpar your babes
cry with, coldi and biungor, and not a
morsel to give thom.1”
“People should^
e to
have ^children
support them.
unless they’re able
No, ma’am, out of this you, Bhall go!
I shouldn’t wonder if you had plenty
of money—you only want to get l id
of paying your debts.”
“Do I look like it!” she exclaimed,
throwing back the hood of hor cloak,
and exposing her pale, famine-strick
en. face. “Take all there is ifl. tho
house, but leavexis the shelter of this
roof for ^ few days longer”’
“Take all there is? (it course I
1 shall—it’s mine by right; but I don’t
wont any live stock with it, so you
pack!”
“Not to-niglih—ohr, my God—not
to-night! Hoe* the wind—you would
not murder us!”
“Go and beg—anybody’ll let you
sleep in their barn—but I’ve bean
so cheated that you needn’t expect
any mercy from me.”
“Just to-xiight? Wo will go in
tho morning, but wait till then.”
“I won’t wait a moinoutl Como
you’ve got your cloak and aro ready
to start—you ought to bo obliged to
me for leaving yon a rag to wear.
Out with you, I say!”
“Oh, you would not drive mo away
now—you must be human! To-mor-
iw will bo the first day of the Now
Yoai'—would you leave a memory
like that to haunt yon?”
.^“Doii’t attempt that sort of thing,
it Vail no uso. Up with you. I say,
and be off!”
Ho forced hor out of the chair,
and pushed hor toward tho door with
coarse imprecations.
Margaret ceased to sfcniggle—she
uttered no word, but still holding
tho babe to her breast, aud tho boy
still clinging to her robe, allowed
him to thrust her ulong. He pxishod
them out upon tho steps, and the
door closed clanging.
Slio heard him nailing fast the
windows and doors, and in a fow
moments he appeared, lie fastened
a placard upon the fence, and then
turned toward her.
“If you aro soon around these
premises to-morrow morning, I’ll
find those that’ll clear you out,” he
said; “romemboi', I am a man of iny
word!” .
Ho got into his sleigh and drovo
off; the echo died in tho distance:
there was no sound but tho moan of
the wind and t.lio low wail of the
child.
The snow was falling rapidly, and
cut like ice upon her bare forehead.
She dragged herself along a short
distance from tho house, and sank
down against a high fence. A paper
was rattling in tho wind—it was the
announpnj,out of the coming salo of
hdrfhriiiture; ■
“Mamma, mamma!” plcadod tho
boy, “do speak to me! I don’t mind
the cold; but it deems as if you were
dead.”
“Yes, Willie, yes,” she said, faint
ly, “mamma is horo.”
“Can’t you walk, mamma? Do
try! Somebody’ll let us slay in their
house, I know they will.”
“It’s of no use,” murmured Mar
garet, “it will soon be over—very
soon!.’,
She was so. weak and, exhausted
that the cold had taken an almost
instantaneous effect upon her; the
blood in hor veins scorned congealed
to ice; yet, in spite of all, a strange
drowsiiipss which she could not over
come, stole over her.
“Mammal mammal” cried tho boy
again.
His voice of agony brought hex 1
| bupk. to horsolf. She oponedt Ucr
eyes and looked l’ound.
1 “Yes,, Willie, yes!’’
“Comp, mamma,. dp .come!’.‘'
j Slip strove to rise, bat foil, back
upon the ground, I'lip. snow WO 8
.sifting heavily upon their garments,
[and ouch instant tho wind, increased
in fpi’ce, till it threatened tp,over
whelm them in, the gathering drifts.
Margaret’s senses began to foi’sakc
her—she hoard strange noises in tho
beating storm—hor pain began to bo
loss felt-ythe pries of hpr infant were
scarcely heard.
“Mamma!” said the boy again, and
more faintly, “I’m not quite so cold
—tho snow will cover us up and wo
can sloop.”
“No, no,” she groaned, “wo must
not sleep. Come, Willie—come—
wo will go. I can walk npw, indeed
I can!”
Again that fearful struggle—that
clinging to life thut gives uunaturul
strength to the weakest frame; but
it was all in vuiu—once more she foil
back, and this time she know that it
was approaching death.
After that there were but fow
worjp sppkoqj—they wore beyond
complaints,
“Mamma!” said the boy again,
“I’m sleepy now—very sleepy!” and
this time she scarcely.comprehended
the horror in his words.
Thero was a jinglp of bells iix tho
distance, but Mai'garet did not heed,
though they startled tho boy from
his stupor.
“Tho bells, mamma, tho bells!”
A sleigh whirled swiftly in sight,
coming from the opposite dii'cction,
aud paused bofore the house. A
gentleman sprang out, and ran up
the steps, knocking impatiently at
the door, but tlioi'o was only a hollow
echo in response.
“It’s for us!” oried the boy, trying
to rise, but his numbed limbs would
scavooly support him, and he could
only drag himself feebly along;
“Hero we aro, sir, if yon want us—
mamma, baby and I!”
The man turned quiokly at the
voice, and hastened toward the
child, catching him up in a close
embi'Aoc.
•‘It’s papa!” he exclaimed, “it’s
papa!”
He pointed to the spot where Mar
garet was lying, and their preserver
rushed toward them.
“Margaret—wife!” cried a voice
that reaohodi thjej sufferer.
“I am dream,iug>” elm muttered;
“this is doath!”
“Nu> no; it is reult See, Marga
ret, it is I—your husband!”
He clasped her in his arms, and
his kisses her cold lips brought
consciousness book.
“Arthur!” she whispered, ‘Arthur!’
the chilled blood rushed to her heart
aguin, dispolling tho lethargy which
had stolon over hor; but the sudden
reuotion was too much for her woak
frame, and she sank insensible in his
arms.
Mi 1 . Hope called to tho driver for
«id, and they bore tho tlx roe back to
tho lvw30. An entranoo w,as speed
ily effected, Mai'garet and her chil
dren laid upon tho bed, while they
ligirted, tho fire, breaking up tho
fui’uMuro iu tho most pitileiH way,
and kindled a blaze, suoh as hud not
warmed tho old hearthstone for
years.
Mr. Hopo ordered tho man to re
turn to tho nearest tavern for food
and wino. Very soon the drivor
cumo buck.
Before tho wifo recovered from
that long swoon, the children had
been quieted, and tho old kitchen
wore an air almost of comfort.
When Mai'garet came to herself
she was in a low chair by tho fire,
tho littlo boy holding tho child at
her foot, hor husband’s arms about
hor waist, and his eyosflxod tondoi'ly
upon li.or fuco.
“Isn’t it a dream?” she cried, wild
ly; “toll me—do speak!”
‘ ‘\t is real, Margare.tr—I have fouud
jy.QU; again-T-in a.fewimomonts you
'will; leftYfi this place forevor. Oh,
t iTargaret, hflw could you doubt mo
o .cruelly?”
j Sitting in tho firelight ho told his
|talo, and Margaret clung to him in
mingled love and solf-roproach.
“And you forgivo mo?” she said,
j “It was not your fault,” ho an
swered, “nor mine—we have suffered
jfoi; the oiTors of those who guided
bur early youth—let us take warning
lost wo likewise peril tho huppinoss
of these little onos.”
! So the warmth stole back to Mar
garet’s heart, and the light of her
soul—tho unwavering day of perfect
trust and love which conld never
again bo dimmed.
(the end.)
Servants know their rights, and
knowing, dare maintain, in Britain.
Victoria is reported to have said not
long ago, when she had given an or
der to one of her domestics: “I am
queen of Great Brition and ompross
of India; but I have not power to
inakp one of my servants put coal on
the fir ( e if she had been hired to look
bftor th(j bed chambers.”
North Carolina is ouo of tho states
in which republican papers have pro
claimed that republican congrcsional
gains were probable, one sangxxine
correspondent going so far us to say
that tho delegation mightpossibly be
evenly divided. Senator Kaixsom, of
that stato, however, says there is ab
solutely nothing to inaicuto that the
congressional delegation will bo other
than solidly democratic.
Why is Hymen represented by a
'i? To throw light upon those
torch
little imperfections low? is,‘blind .to..
Gen. Joseph E. Johnston.
Gen. Joseph Eccleston Johnston,
who has been nominated as the Dem
ocratic Conservative candidate for
Congress in the Richmond (Yu.)
district, is in the sovoiity-socond year
of his ago, having booh born in Prince
Edward county, Va., February, 1807.
Ho graduated at West Point as a
Seoond Lieutenant in 1829, and
seized in Florida against tho Semi
nole Indians, a portion of the time
on the staff of Gen. Winfield Scott.
In 1827 he resigned liis commission
to engage in oivil engineering, but in
1838 reentered the service as First
Lieutenant of topographical engi
neers, and for gallantry in Florida
was brevoted Captain. At the siege
of Vera Cruz, Mexico, ho served on
engineer duty, was appointed Lieu
tenant Colonel of voltigenrs; at Ooxto
Gordo rccoivod several wounds and
was brevoted Major and Colonel.
Ho afterwards participated in tho
battles of Contreras, Churubusco,
Molino del Roy, Clmpltltopee and the
final assault on the City of Mexico,
being again wounded |it the latter
I place. In 1855 General Johnston
was appointed Lioutonant of cavalry,
and took part in tbo Utah expedition
as Inspector General. In 1860 he
was appointed Quartermaster Gen
eral, with tho rank of Brigadier
General, which position lie resignod
iix 1861 to follow. thO' fortune’s of
Virginia. His ourcor in tho Confed
erate army, where lie roao from the
rank of Major General to, tluit of tw
full Gonoral, is familiar to tho pub*
lie. IIo was early wounded in tho>
advanco upon McLblltux, and was
immediately succeeded by Gen. R.
B. Loo, and subsequently, as is
known, his military operations were
in tho Bofatliwost. After the war,
Gonoral Johnston ongagod in tho
insurance business in the South, with
hoadquartors in Savannah, and a few
months ago made his homo in Rich
mond, Va. General Johnston mar
ried u sister of tho Hon. Robort M.
McLuno, of Baltimore, who is an as
pirant for tho Democratic Congress
ional nomination in the Fourth
Maryland district.
In accepting the Democratic nom
ination for Congress, Gonoral John-
stnn modo a modest but very happy
littlo speech. IIo said ho accepted
the nomination with gratitudo, but
'with diffidence, conscious that ho
owed it to tho partial kindness of the
delegates rather than to any conspic
uous qualifications ho possessed for
tho position, but, General Johnston
declared, ho was conscious ho pos
sessed one.fundamental qualification
for public 6ffico—conscientious devo
tion to public duty. He added that
ho was not loss than the delegates a
Virginian—by blood, by birth, in
heart—and the almost. passionato
prido and devotion of lxis boyhood
to his mother Virginia had been
confirmed, not ooolcd, by all tho
wide experiences of his maturor
years. After promising to refer to
tho leading matters of public inter
est in his letter of acceptance, tho
General closed by wishing tho mem
bers of tho convention a safo and
happy return to their homos.—
Savannah Nows.
One can live on #2 a month in Chi
na. Tho thing is to got the $2.
Susan B. Anthony is at Long
Branch, and the sharks have struck
out for deop wutoiv
Liko a young pigeon, Koanxoy was
biggost wlion he wua first hatched.
Half a dozen ixow national banks
wore established in different parts of
tho country last week.
It has boon ascortainod that tho
average life of a greenback organ is
six weeks,.
Govenor Wade Hampton is trying
to recruit his lioalth by a stay among
tho mountains along tho southern
border of North Carolina. Dyspep
sia, in its worst form, appoars to
his greatest too, and one that liis
■ *
, oat courage cannot conquer*. ....
oluto vest und freedom from all offi
cial cai*es and anxiety is what ho
needs ami must have before ’
recover.