Newspaper Page Text
YOL. I.
DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1878.
NO |f
THOSE TERRIBLE TONG UES
Ah file! those terrible tongues of ours!
Are we half aware of their mighty powers?
Do we fever trouble our heads at all
Where the jest may strike or the hint may
fell?
The latest cliirp of that “little bird”
That spicy story “you must have heard”—
We jerk them away in our gossip rash,
And somebody's glassof course goes smash.
What fames have been blasted and broken,
What pestilent sinks have been stirred.
By a word in lightness spoken,
By only an idle word!
A sneers—a shrug—a whisper low—
The}* hlc poisoned shafts from an ambush
ed bow,
Shot by the coward, the fool, the knave,
They pierce the mail of the great and brave.
Vain is the buckler of wisdom or pride
To turn the pitiless point aside ;
The lip may curl with a careless smile.
But the heart drips blood—drips blood the
while.
Ah me! what hearts.have been broken,
What rivers of blood been stirred,
By a word in malice spoken,
a bitter word!
A kindly word and a tender tone—
To bnly Sod is their virtue known!
t , They can lift from the dust the abject head,
They can turn a foe to a friend instead;
- The heart close barred with passion and
pride
Wiirtlirtg at their knock its portal wide,
- And the hate that blights and the scorn
that sears
Will melt in the fountain of childlike tears.
Whai ice-bound griefs have been broken,
■ What rivers of love been stirred,
By a word in kimlucss spoken,
By only a gentle word!
THE DEACON’S STORY.
I remember her well. She was a
blithesome little creature—this Ber-
tna Maynard—as happy as any bird,
caroling hoi- song all the (lay long.
We all loud her very much, and I,
for one, shed tears of joy when she
left the flowery paths of sin, and
came out on the Lord's side. I re-
niuiuhor well the day upon which
she was bapfizeTtr Good did Ed-
...wards was our pastor then ; and 1
believe that I never heard him preach
■•so well as he did on that morning.
1 never knew another who had such
a voice, strong and powerful, yel
having ' a peculiar sweetness, thrill
ing every nerve, and holding all lis
tenors entranced while he spoke.
The good man is with the angels
now, where I hope to meet him in
the great hereafter; hut by many his
name is cherished sacredly, for they
that knew him loved him. Well,
let him rest; he has fought the good
light, and has gone to receive the
crown of immortality. Bertha May
nard was just seventeen years of age
then—a pretty girlish creature, slim
and graceful, blue-eyed and sunny-
liuTred, ;Yet young as she was, she
seemed very much in earnest, and
willing to give all * to the Lord ; and
and none, unless Brother Gregg, oven
doubted her sincerity
“Slic is too giddy a girl to make a
good Obristian,” ho said shaking his
head doubtfully. She has commenc
ed m the right way, but I fear she
will, ere long, turn back.”
“The Lord lias power to bring all
iuto IIis fold,” I said in a reproving
tone.
“I know that ; but I do say- that
it takes great stability of character
to make a good Christian. Now, we
all like Bertie, Who is a petted and
spoiled child, used, young as she is,
to all kinds of dissipatation, and
with a score of fashionable friends
whom she likes tpito os well as any
of the bretheren or sisters of this
church. Think you she will bear,
their temptings and remain pure?
that she will pass through Satan’s
tire and come out unscathed ?”
“I. think so,” I returned—still his
words set me to thinking, and I re-
8olvod to watch the poor girl, and to
sec how far Brother Gregg’s words
would prove true.
. She had been a member of our
church for nearly a year before
I saw anything un-christion-like in
her behavionr. It was one night in
early spring that I happened to be
kept at my office of business until
after II o’clock. At last, having
finished, I closed my books* and put
ting out my lamp, I stepped into the
street.
Just opposite to my office was
Burke’s Hall, now all lighted up for
a grand hall. I could hear the rich
music and could see the magnificent
ly dressed ladies as they glided
through the dance; and I sighed as
I thought of the many ways which
Satan had of enticing poor mortals
from their Maker, only to add them
to his own list. I resided about half
a mile out of town, and my way
lay by the Maynard Place.
“Sweet little Bertie is sound asleep
and not wasting the hours which
God has given us for rest?” I said
to myself, as I glanced at the dark
windows of the building. “One
and all of the family are enjoying the
blessed boon—sleep !”
But no—just then a faint light
glimmered from a window, out into
the darkness.
InVolintarily I ceased my rapid
walk, and paused before the dwelling
wondering whether or not any of the
family were sick ; for I knew they
were in the habit of retiring to bed
very early.
I was not left long in doubt; the
window was raised noiselessly, and a
lithe little creature sprang out. It
was dressed in a rich evening robe,
and wore a mask ; but for all of that
I knew it was Berth Maynard!
How swiftly flew the little
feet, as she took her way toward town
while I, like a wolfc seeking for prey,
followed on behind her! On. on she
went, in a kind of feverish haste,
pausing not until she readied the
hot;mil'"of the broad stops which led
to Burke's Hall; where she stopped
long enough to give a hasty glance
around her, ere. she sprang up them
and vanished from my view.
“So, so,” I mused bitterly, Broth
er Gregg was right after all. Bor
tint Mitpiai’d woars urduak of religion
and attended a masquerade! Pool
foolish child ! I must see her to-mor
row. For the love I bear her;'.I will
he kind and patient, and then if she
does not mend her ways it will he
my painful duty to report her con
duct. to the church. ”
Accordingly I called the next day
at the Maynard Place. Mr. May
nard and his wife were riding out
and Bertha was alone, as I had
hope.! she would be.
She met me cordially, but her eye
lids dropped under my piercing gaze
and I thought her face wore a guilty
flush.
“Bertha!” I asked, “where were
vmi last night?”
F shall never forget the deathlike
pallor which' ovespmid her face
then, or how she grasped a clmir to
keep herself from falling.
I pitie d her, and felt glad that it
was only I, of all the church, that
knew of lien sin ; another would not
spare her feelings as I would do.
“Bertie,” I said more kindly,
“Why did you go there last night?
Trust me, I am only your friend.”
“Deacon Mar!” she exclaimed,
with sudden energy. If 3-011 are
really my friend, trust me. Do not
soek to tear my secret from me ; for
as the Lord lives I meant no wrong!”
Her pallid face was raised beseech
ingly to mine now, and I could not
see it in ray heart to condemn her.
I only said i
“Bertie, I believe you and will
trust 3-011, if you will promise never
to go to such a place again.”
“I will promise that readily,” she
returned, grasping my hand. “I
want to do right, but sometimes I
find it hard to tell what is right.
I am not us guilty as you think I
am, Deacon Mar.”
And so the matter was dropped for
the time, and I, silenced but not con
vinced, left her. As I at first de
cided, I made no mention of the
matter to any one; but not feeling
quite satisfied with cither myself or
her, I kept a close watch upon her
movements, staying purposely out
late at night, whenever any kind of
sinful amusement was going on in
town, to see whether or not I could
discover another error in her conduct
resolving if I should to report her at
once to the church.
And so a month passed, and thou
there came an evening when Burke’s
Hall wa8 again lighted up for anoth
er grand masquerade; and on that
evening I took my stand near the
Maynard place, in a spot that would
command a good.viow of Bertie’s win
dow, and where I could remain tin
seen by any passer-by. And there,
hour after hour, I crouched like a
wild beast ready to spring upon its
prey ; believing the while, I was do
ing God’s work, in thus trying to
hunt down the poor girl. The town
olook hud already struck 11, and I
was beginning to think of going
homo, whim I observed a tall, well-
dressed gentleman conic down the
road, and pause boforo the Maynard
Place. ...
Beginning to get rnoro interested
I bent eagerly forward to watch . bis
movements. Ho waited at the gate
a moment, as to make sure that the
inmates of the house were at rest,
and then passed cautiously down the
garden path to the house, where he
paused, and glancing up at Bertie’s
window, uttered a low but peculiar
whistle, which was unswerod in a
moment by the raising of a sash suf
ficiently high for hi in **0 spring into
the room, when it was lowered as
cautiously as it had been raised.
I could have gone homo fully con
vineed of Bertie’s perfidy, Imt I re-
solvod to find out who the midnight
visitor was ; and so I waited in the
chilly air of a spring midnight for
him to come out again ; but it was
an hour, from the time lie entered
ole ho did come, and oven then lie
lingered at the window for a good
night-kiss from the fair occupant of
the room, before taking his way hack
to the town, whithor I undertook to
follow him ; but being a ii old man,
Tcould not walk as fast as be, and
finding very soon that I could not
overtake him, I turned my steps
homeward, for once in mv life foil
ed.
And perhaps for being thus foiled,
T grew moi'o angry with the girl.
‘She will iiot find mens lenient,
now as she did before. I, one of
the pillars of the church, cannot see
such iniquity and let it go unpun
ished. The church must deal with
her !” I said to myself, a little spite
fully, I think.
Accordingly, the very next day.
taking Brother Gregg with me, I re
paired to the Maynard Place, whore
I found Bertie seated wjtli her par
ents in the parlor.
“Tin glad that 3-011 have come,”
said 'Mrs. Maynard, reaching out
her hand to me. Bertie seems ail
ing to-day. I never saw her looking
miserable. Perhaps y-ou may
cheer her up a little.
“The wages of sin is death!” said
Brother Groggl sternly.
“What do von moan?” asked tlie
lady in a half 'frightened tone, while
a spasm of intense pain passed over
the' girl’s face,* leaving it’almost
deathly in appearance.
‘For an explanation I refer to
Brother Mar,” lie answered, without
relaxing one feature of his stern vis
age. Tell all I must, there was no
help for it now; and though I wished
myself a hundred miles away, I told
what I hud seen, while the mother
listened with gasping sighs, and the
daughter sat with her face buried in
her hands, trembling violently.
When I had finished Mrs. Maynard
asked sternly:
“Bertie! what have 3-011 to say to
this ?”
The girl rose instantly to her feet.
She was calmer irow, though her
face wus death-like in its pallor.
“I have no reply to make, my
mother,” she responded. “What I
have done I am not ashamed of, and
may do again. I may have a secret,
but if I have, all the blooded hounds
in the world shall not hunt it from
mo!”
Brotlior Gregg grew u lititle angry
at this, and said tartly:
“Miss if 3-011 keep on in this way,
you will have to get out from the
sheltering arms of the church!”
How her 03-68 blazed then! I saw
at once that wo wore rutting the
wrong way to bring the erring child
back to Ilis fold; and I said kindly :
“Sister Birtio, if you have done
wrong, confess your fault, and strive
to do better. It is an awful thing
to dare an Almighty- God, as you are
But my words woro ot 110 use. Iu
my anxiety to mend matters, 1 only
made them worse, for, drawing her
self lip to her full height* she said
proudly:
“Deacon Mar, f have no confes
sion to make to any one besides my
Muker, and He, knowing my intents
does not wish any. This is all 1
have to say. Please consider me no
longer a member of the church.”
I would have expostulated, hut
she gave mo no chance, for when she
had consod, with the dignity be
coming a Qlieon, she passod out of
tho room; and, though I called sov
oral times afterwards, I never again
had a chance to converse with iior.
From that timo she whs always “hot
at home” when any of tho members
called, and after a while she was
turned out of tho church. (Subse
quently much sorrow came to this
poor girl. First, the young popple,
even her host friends, rofusod to as
sociate with her, and afterward sick
ness and death came to her homo,
robbing her of thoso who loved her
best—her parents.
Mr. Maynard went first, dying
with a blessing on tho head of her,
who hud attended him so faithfully;
and a few wooks after his death, his
wife followed him down into the
dark valley.
I pitied Borthu more than I can
tell, as I saw her bonding over the
new-made grave, weening bitterly
Tbi'TTVe mother wild battlev'cd her so
well, and stepping to her side, 1
placed my hand upon her fair young
head, and said, as kindly as 1 know
how: “The Lord lovotii whom He
clmstoneth.”
“Then-, Deacon Mar, I trust thill
Ho loves me,” she returned sadly.
A few moments afterwards she
took a stranger’s arm, and walked
slowly homeward. And that was
the last time she was evor seen in
Elton. The next day, tho Maynard
House was closed; and on it was a
placard bearing the words: “For
Sale.” with directions to inquire for
terms at aklistant city.
How my hourt ached then! W here
in all tho world was tho poor child?
I feared that she had no friends and
might go rapidly to destruction. I
would hunt her up, and prove a hot
ter friend than I hud ever been be
fore.
I was preparing to set out in search
of her, when one day a long tear-
stained letter came to me from the
absent one. I will givo it here:
“At last Deacon Mar, I mayniako
my confession to you; but in order
to do so I must go hack and com
mence at my childhood, tine* giving
you a sketch of my short; but events
fill life. In a pretty village, many
miles from here wo lived—father,
mother and I. We were poor, but
for all that wo wero very happy; for
love buttomkour brown bread and
sweetened our corn coffee. .Still my
father was not quite contented. He
wanted to make his darlings more
comfortable; yet, by doing his ut
most, his scanty earnings were bare
ly sufficient to give us shelter for our
heads, and to provido the poorest
food for us.
Such wero our circumstances
when there arose the cry of “Gold
in California,” and a party of adven
turers, among whom was my father,
started for the far-off Eldorado. We
had still harder times after he was
gone, but my mother boro up brave
ly, toiling all through the long days,
and often the greater part of the
nights for a sustenance for herself
and child, until the news came that
he liad died of fever in the lund of
prom iso. Then she sank beneath
tho blow and fell sick; It wus many
months after the day on which the
dreadful letter emne ere she was able
to sit up again. During these long
months 1 know that we should have
suffered from want, of food, fire and
clothing, had it not lieon for the
kindness of a gentleman, a stranger,
who was recruiting his health at our
little village.
Indeed, so kind was ho that, when
after a time lie asked mv mother’s
hand in marriage, she could not find
in her heart, to reftiso it to him.
They wore married at the little
church in Afton, and soon after their
marriage, they purchased the house
known as the Maynard Place, and
removed to that town, whore, in ac
cordance to my stop father’s wishes
I passed for his child.
But my own father was not. dead,
though lie had stood upon the boun
daries of tho other world; and after
months of hard labor he returned to
find the ones for whom he had toiled
claimed by another.
“At first,” said this dear father to
mo, on tho night, when ho met. me
by Appointment at the masquerade.
“I thought, thut I should go away,
and none would know that I was
still alive; but, my love for my child
ovorcamo my resolution, and I resol
ved to see Iior at all risks.”
After that, I mdv him often times
in niy own room, sometimes in the
woods; for it always gave mo joy to
live even a moment in liis presence.
I have heard it said that 1 am too
unstable in mind to ho a good (Chris
tian. Perhaps it is so; still I have
been strong enough to endure every
thing for my mother’s sake. To
keep the bitter truth from her, l\uw
myself an outcast from society, and
the object of the joors of even those
who lmd professed to love me the
b'est._
It was only in tlie,closing hours of
my mother’s life that slut know; all;
and when thoso unearthly bright
eyes gazed fondly upon' 1110, and the
dying lips murmured faintly, ‘God
bless you, my darling!’ tho suffering
of years wus amply repaid.
This is the confession you wished
me to make—this is the dreadful
thing for which you took away my
good mime, and had mo expelled
from the church!
Well, those hitter days aro over,
and, thank God, they cm. never re
turn !
The lust sod Inis been placed upon
my mother's coffin-lid, and [■ go
away with my only remaining, curt il
ly friend, never to be parted from
him until God shall call one or tlie
other to the eternal rest. And now.
Deacon Mar, I entreat you by the
love you once boro me, to clear iny
name of tlie blackness with which 3-011
liuvo. surrounded it. Do this and
you will over have the prayers of
Bkhtha Aj.i.un ”
This letter I read aloud in church,
as it was right that I should do; and
when I had finished, there was not
a dry eye in that room, for all had
Joyed blithsomo Borthu Maynard,
who signed bersoir Bertha Allen,
now.
And I^think that one and all of us
went h >iiie that day, wiser and better
f »r tho lesson we lmd learned.
Even stern Brother (1 regg wiped
liis eyes and hoped that God would
forgive him for the part ho had taken
in the matter and not lay it up against!
him at the last day, when the books;
shall be opened, and all, both groat
and small, shall be judged there
from.
I have never seen Bertlm since the
day when, in bitter grief, she stood
beside tho new-made gruvo; but I
hear of her sometimes—always as a
gay woman of tho world, and I can
not; get rid of tho thought, Unit if
she, who was once such a bright bud
of promise, is lost at tho last day-, I
shall, iu some way or other, have to
answer for it. Jj
Crimes sometimes shock us too
much ; vices almost always too little.
Tlie Philosophy of Newspaper
Advertising.
“Hermit,” tho Now York corres
pondent. of the Troy Times, a close
observer of things boro, in his latest
loiter, pliilbsophieul 1 y remarks: ?‘The
utmost, tunic is How in full adi iiv,
mid business men arc oxerting every
effort to improve tlie harvest One
method is the Ihimlbill system by
which tlio hotels are daily inundat
ed. During tlie htisinoSs season one
boy uftor another will go the rounds,
and in this way un attempt is made
to Obtain trade. Of these, however,
t he greater pint are wasted, since tlie
waiter generally picks them up and
throws them into the street, and the
next day a fresh inmidiifion takes
place. Experience has clearly dem
onstrated that. the most efficient
motliod of ad vertising is foimdin tlio
judicious uho of the licwspaper col
umns. The ground on which news
paper advertising, as a system, is Ims-
ad is human confidence, since we
cannot avoid believing that which
wo constantly road. ■
This confidence is sometimes abus
ed, hut. still it is evident tlmt u good
advertisement will, if sufficiently
repented, carry popular opinion
Men who advertin'.) with the greatest
persistency oVetitmtffy reach success/
There is a. military principle involved
iu this method, since the article ad
vertised should ho pressed on the
public by repealed assaults. Tlio
correct, view, which experience brings
td each mini, is Hint advertising
should bo included in the genci'iit
estimate of expenses, us regularly as
store rent, clerk lure and insurance.
It is of mu said 11 good stand at a high
rent is better than a poor one, relit
free. Well, advertising brings man
before the public in a why''that makes
any stand good . Tho best stand you
cun have is to lie in the newspapers.
Tlie iWatli,
Of lhis there are two kinds—^the
breath we take in, whjch is. or ought
to bo, pure air, composed, on tho
whole, of oxygen and nitrogen, with
a minute portion of carbonic acid—
and ‘lie breath we give out, which is
an impure air, to which has been
added, among other matters which
will not support life, an excess of
carbonic acid. This carbonic acid
gas, when warm is lighter than tlie
air, and ascends; and, when at the
same tompofatiire as common air, is
heavier Ilian that air, and descends,
lying along the floor, just as ft • lies
often in tlie bottom of old wells or
hid brewers’ vats,, as a stratum of
poison, killjiig oeccasionally the men
who descend into it. lienee a word
of admonition is udfreused to those
who think nothing of sleeping bn tlie
Hour; and Ijenye; as the poor in great,
cities are loo apt, in times of dislress
to pitwn their bedsteads and keep
their beds, tho friends of the poor—
those who go about doing charitable
work among them at this season—
larg cut tented never to Tot this hap-'
pen, and to inniloyo tlibrii to keep
tlie bedstead, wlnitever else may go,
to save the sleeper from the carbonic
acid stratum which lies close on, tno
floor, especially in cold weather.—
Hall’a Journal' of Health. ...
Needs Hath Followers ami Lead
ers. -"h
Knoxville OJirOiitele, rep.
Alexander II, .Stephens thinks the
(leriiocrafs iiced leaders. The recent
elections show that they need soveral
thousand more followers.
Tlie Country and General Grant.
. Washlngloa Post.
, The. debt which this country owes
to Grant is a rousing defeat,,and jt
stands ready to pay it with' interest
on demand. t- 'rii
If rats arc about, scatterqxnvdeml
glass about their holes, or ]K>Wdore(l
copperas, or fill tip the Crevices with
hard soap, or snuar their holes with
soft tar. or dip tlio rat in a cup of
tar and let it go, aud it will tar-phis,
ter every hole in the hottso,
Toil, feel, think, hope, A man is
sure to dream enough before lie dies
without making arrangements for
tlie pnrpo-e.
The greater the knowledge, the
greater the doubt,