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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.