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VOL. 1. DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 22,1879. NO 31 BEAUTIFUL HANDS. A king who was noble, just and good, Once, in a royal whim or mood, Sent summons out to a grand affair. Inviting all ladies to be there. “Come one, come all I” so the mandate read "The light of your love and beauty shed On my birth-day fete, but ’tis my com mand That I shall see each and every hand. To the hand most beautiful, 1 declare, I will show all honor then and there 1 Now the ladies of my realm, come all, With your presence, fair ones, grace my ball.” For weeks before that eventful night Thousands of bauds were bleaching white; And those who had faithfully worked before With their folded fair hands toiled no more. Well pleased but grave was the king that night, As the brilliant forms in the brilliant light Low bowed before him and then passed Till, among the last the king’s keen eye Rested upon a glove-clad hand. "Woman," he said in his auger, "stand! Remove the covering, tell me why You have dared to shun my wary eye?" With a flushing face and low-bowed head, With a modest mien the fair culprit said: "I am not rebellious, my liege beloved, Because you command I came, and gloved; For I hoped among.tho.se fairer than I, Unchecked, unnoticed, to pass you by.” The hand before him was clean not white, By far the roughest he saw that night. She said “I am. mother of girls and boys, I join in their games and play with their toys; My husband, oh king, is a son of the soil And l am his wife ! I assist in his toil. All over your realm you know, Prince, is spread Many an aged and suffering head. Tho’ we are not rich we are-not so poor That the hungry unfed should be scut from tlie door.” The good king answered, "Here honor is due, Go bring your husband, liis wife is true. 1 have searched throughout my princely land. • And at last have found the most beauti ful baud. The hand of true mother, the hand of true wife, The pitying hand of a merciful life. ' The fuirest of hands, decked iu glitter ing lieads, Compare not to-this hand, thus gemmed with good deeds!” A HARD MAN. It was a poor rqo n scantily fur nished, bearing poverty’s signs in the miserable fire, the pinched air of every object, anil in nothing more conspicuous than the haggard, care worn face of its only occupant. She • was a woman middle-aged but with a face that needed only, health and brightness to be beautiful. Her hair of golden brown, waving, glos sy and abundant, was gathered into a knot at the back of a small, shape ly head, and was as yet untouched by age or trouble. Although her sunken eyes and hollow cheeks spoke eloquently of over-work, she was not working, but listening. The snow struck against the glass as it fell with a sharp tinkle that told of bitter cold, but it was not for that Mrs. Burlington held her breath almost to listen, but for foot steps that came at last. She hoped the feet would spring up the staircase, light us ii fairy’s, and her eyes dilated, with fear as they came slowly, heavily, as if under abnrden. “Something has happened!” she whispered. “Alma has mot trouble!” The door opened as she spoke, and a girl entered, a winsome copy of her beautiful mother, ujion whose fair face trouble had not drawn its heav iest lines. But the face was very pale as she came in, and putting her bun dle upon a chair, looked ut her moth er with despairing eyes. “You have brought the bundle back, Alnm,” Mrs. Burlington said in a tone of absolute terror. “Did Mrs. Thornton find fault with the work?” The girl paused before answering, as if her news was so heavy bIio jlared not tell it. Then, iu a husky voice, •she said: “The cloak is ruined, mother, and they say we did it!” “Ruined,” cried Mrs. Burlington tearing open the package. “Oh, Alma! child! how did that happen?” For she held up an infant’s cloak of fine merino, embroidered heavily in white silk, daintily lined and fin ished, a garment fit only for a child of wealth. But across the entire back was a stain of several different colors, a great unsightly blotch, that made the exquisite garment utterly valueless. “I cannot tell you how it happen ed, but they say we did it! I sent the parcel up to Mrs. Thornton and waited in the hall. I heard voices in the sitting-room, at the head of the staircase, but I could not distin guish any words, till the servant told me to go up stairs. There I found Mrs. Thornton and her daugh ter holding up the cloak, with that stain upon it. They scolded me, and sent the cloak buck!” “How could the stain have come there unless you dropped it?” “Into what? A dye vat would not have given all those bright col ors. I cannot tell what it is! Oh, mother what are we to do? I—I went to Mr. Vaughn’s, and told him exactly what had happened, and lie —mother, I know he did not believe me—he said I must not come again for materials till the last bill is paid.” “How can we ever pay it with the cloak thrown back upon our hands? Thirty dollars! Oh, Alina how often have I spent four times that upon useless trifles, and never thought of it again! Child, we must starve!” She spoke the last word with a despairing sob, and sat down, cover ing her face with her shaking hands. “I told Mr. Vaughn so mother, but he is a hard man, just anil upright, but strict. He said if he once estab lished such a precedent as to allow this bill to increase, he would have all the embroiderers asking similar favor. Don’t sob so, mother! Some way will open. Perhaps we can clean the cloak, and get. a trifle for it, or have it dyed and sell it. Don’t —<>h, don’t cry so! It breaks my heart!” But having once allowed the tears to start, Mrs. Burlington could not at once control them. All through the long evening mother and daugh ter, suppcrless and chilled, talked of the misfortune that seemed the cli max of throe years of toil and suffer ing. They had been thrown from luxory to poverty by the death of Alma's father, but hud muiugcd to live by their needles until Mrs. Bur lington’s health failed. After that it was a sore struggle, but Alma, though only fifteen when her father died, was brave and industrious, and and worked doubly hard Their chief employment was iu or dered work for the wealthy class, and the cloak represented three weeks of incessant labor. Mr. Vaughn, who kept the store where the work was ordered, and supplied with materials was, as Alina said, a man perfectly just, but most strict iu all business dealings. He was a bachelor past fifty, liv ing alone in a largo, handsome house controlled by a house-keeper who kept the servants iu order. His bus iness was not largo, .-but ho lield wealth in real estate and worthed harder than any clerk he employed to keep his affairs in the most pros perous state. On the evening when Alma and her mother sat in their poor room, wondering vaguely if they must starve literally, Mr. Vaughn sat in his cosy, well warmed library busy with heavy ledgers. But his thoughts would wander from the long rows of figures to the brown eyes of Alina Burlington, sorrow-laden and en treating, as he lmd lust seen them. “I wonder if that absurd story could be true,” he muttered at lust, pushing back his books; what slight of hand could have ruined the cloak in the time it pissed up the staircase! Stop a minute! That was the in fant's cloak Jane ordered! I wonder now if I could got nnv solution of the mystery by going up there.” This idea once started in his busy brain, Mr. Vaughn could not rest till he tostod its value. Jano Thorn ton was his only sister, and Ilia nieces and nephews were probably inhoritorsof all his wealth, so he was sure of a cordial welcome whenever he wont there. His pot of all was Jennio, a beautiful girl of sixteen, whose jewel-box bore witness to her uncle’s indulgence of all her whims. Hard ns he was in business relations, .Mr. Vaughn’s heart has many a ten der spot, and none more tender than tho niche where ho carried Jennie’s image. He believed her as pure, true, and womanly as she was lovely iu face and form. “If I cannot do any better,” he thought, “I will lot Jontiie find out about that poor girl and help her. She is never so happy as when I let her help the poor. Dear, goncrous girl!” But when he arrived at his sister’s, he found Mrs. Thornton and Jennie had gone with Mr. Thornton to a concert. Bob was at homo, doing sums, and he dragged his undo into the sitting-room. “Wait a little while uncle,” he urged, “and mother \vill # be in. Sho said I might sit up, so she’s sure not to bo late.” So the uncle took off his overcoat and sat down. Upon the table Bob’s school-books were spread, and amongst them a large sheet of paste board with a map on it. But the outlines were all smeared, and the map almost illegible. “That is not. a very nice piece of work, Bob,” Mr. Vaughn said tak ing it up. “I am afraid Bob you won’t get any praise for that. ” “That is all Jetmids fault,” said Bob; “hut she did the cutest trick you over'heard ot afterwards.” “What was that!” “Why this afternoon I finished my map, and spread it out here on the table to dry. It was awful wet, for I alway* do plaster the colors on thick. Well, it was here drying, when a sowing-girl came with a new cloak for the baby, and what docs Jennie do but throw it over this ta ble. Yon ought to have seen it when she snatched it up again, all red, blue, yellow, green and black. Mother commenced to scold uio for leaving the map there, but Jennie stopped her, and whispered to keep quiet, and she need never pay for the cloak. She just whipped the map into the table drawer as quick as winking, scut Ann for tho sewing- girl, and gave her the greatest blow ing up you ever heard, for daring to bring home tiic cloak iu that state. 1 nearly choked laughing over the girl’s face. She looked all over the room, as if she thought the colors had rained down from the ceiling, and she'stammered and stuttered us if she was going to be killed. And Jennie stormed and fumed till she fairly drove her out of the house, bundle aud all. Then she laughed till she bad to sit down.” “You think it was fun then, to swindle the girl out of the price of of weary weeks of labor?” usked Mr. Vaughn, sternly. Tho boy looked up, fri«l»>A«od «t the angry voice. “1 did not think of that,” he said. “I suppose It was rough on the girl!” “You are but a boy!” his undo said, “and might he excused for thoughtlessness.” Then he paused. It would scarcely do to tell Bob his opinion of Mrs. Thornton aud Jen nie. lie was fairly sick with the keen pain of this “cute trick” of his •favorite niece. A man of rigid in tegrity, the thought of his own share in the cruelty that pressed upon Al ma Burlington was almost unendur able. Scarcely hearing Bob’s piteous entreaties that he would remain, he put on his coat and hut and went out again into the driving storm. Mrs. Burlington and Alina were still up, counting by the Ijght of a candle their limited stock of materi als to seo if some tviflo conld ho man ufactured to earn a dollar or two, when a knock at tho door was fol lowed by, the entrance of Mr. Vaughn. Mrs. Burlington shrank hack iiito deeper shadow as ho camo into the room, but Alma stood up to greet him. “Miss Burlington,” ho said, ab ruptly, “I have just learned the truth of your trouble this morning, and have como for tho cloak. You inqst blamo a careless hoy for the milhup. What were you to rccicve?” “Fifty dollars, sir of which I owe yott thirty.” “Yes—yes that can wait till the next order. You need not hurry about that.” “Oh, mother!”, the gill cried, al most hugging tho crisp notes, “how can we thank Mr. Vaughn!” The gentleman turned to tho cor ner where Mrs. Burlington Bat, and in a second advanced hurriedly to wards her. “Am I mistaken?” lie oried; “or is this Edith Loeompton?” ‘‘That was my name long ago,” was tho answer, in a tone of quiet dignity. “I know now why your daughter’s face always seems so familiar. May I sit down?” Blushing deeply for her own omis sion of such an invitation, Alma placed a chair for their visitor, and, in a little time, drawn out by his respectful kindness, Mrs. Burling ton had told him cf her father’s death, her husband’s failure in bus iness, sickness aud death, and their own struggles. “And you did not lot mo know,” Mr. Vaughn said, reproachfully, “or perhaps’you did not know I had left West and settled here ?” “I was not sure you were my old friend,” she said gently, “and I would hot trouble you.” “But qow—you will let me he your friend now 1 have found you out?”’ “You have proved so already,” said Alma, impetuouslv. “Mamma I must toll him. We have hot one cent except this,” and she held up the notes he hud just given her, “and we have not eaten anything since breakfast; Now—oh! yon do not guess how we can work now!” “And you will come to me, will you not, if I can in any way servo yon?” Mr. Vaughn asked eagerly. “I will,” Alma promised. “Then I will say good-uight. 1 liavo your daughter’s promise!” said the visitor, cordially shaking Mrs. Bui lington’s hand. Then he added in a low tone: “Surely Heaven guid ed my stens to-night, Edith!” He left her thou, and Mrs. Bur lington wept softly, thinking of their last parting, when he asked her to shurc his life, and she, wor shipping James Burlington’s hand some face, refused the hand of tho less favored lover. Twenty years ago! Pride had kept her from ever seeking her old admirer when she was sure from Alma’s description that the Mr. Vuuglm who supplied their materials was the same Dick Vaughn who hud loft her old West ern home after she refused to he his wife. , »,cmm Aima only time he was an old friend, smiling softly as the girl expressed her surprise at tho change in one sho had considered ever strict and stern. “He was not a hit like himself, mamma,” she said. “His voice was as gentle as a woman’s. “I should never think of culling him a ‘hard man’ after this evening. I think I cun find something to eat if you will keep up tho fire, and then we will sloop.” “Don’t go far, dear. It is late,” said Mrs. Burlington; and Alina promised haste. Bnt it was the last time tho girl had to face storm and darkness for food. Dick Vaughn, memory once busy, found that the wan, wasted face of Edith Burlington lmd the same pow er ovor his matured,.but otnpty heart, as tho blooming, liappy Edith Lo- compton had had over his youthful one. Business excuses were framed to account for frequent visits to the poor rooms, luorative orders were sent or carried, and tho sad heart of the widow, brightened under tho dol- ieato, thoughtful attentions of her old friend. Every day somo new proof of his onro for her touched her gratitude and affection, till, when the long, weary w inter was over, and lie lusked her if she could not at last reward tho lovo that had never turn ed from her, sho knew that she could answer it by tho truo lovo in her own heart. There was no display at the wed ding, only a quiet walk to church, and from there to the grand houso to he desolate and lonoly no longer. And Mi'b. Thornton’s deep vexa tion over tho fact of her brother’s marriago, was only equalled by her amazement when introduced to his step-daughter. “I—surely have seen you' before?” she said, us graciously us possible, for after all, it was hotter to keep on good terms with Dick. “Yes,” said her brother dryly, “the last time that you saw Miss Burlington was the day whou Jennio threw the baby’s cloak, she had em- broidorcd. upon Bob’s wot school map.” And Alma, pitying tho confusion and dismay upon Mrs. Thornton’s face, added gently : “Lot us forget all that now! Will you como to my room, Jennio, and take off your hat ? We are cousins, arc wo not, and good friends?” And Jcimio cnupliod, though to this day site assures her mother— “Undo Dick has never been just tho same to me since that horrid cloak business. 1 have found out now what people mean when tlioy cull him a‘hard man.’” Strange Things About Churches. That they never forget to take up a collection. That short sermons urc always tho most effecting. That every one trios to he tho last one out when services are ovor. That no preaohor over neglected to tell tITo story of the Prodigal Son. That the woman with a new bon net and the young man with a high collar always occupy front seats. That the “squirt” with a pretty girl has to walk the whole length of an aisle before ho cun get a scut. That the smart had hoy always gets red iu the faco when his father or big sister gets up to tell their ex perience. That sonic good deacon always guts up, just before the collection, and says something about the “poor hea then.” That the man who starts the hymns on the old-fashioned plan, thinks all the psulms should be sung to the same tune. That the “man of the world” who helps to sing the doxology imagines he is taking an active interest in his ooi.ro rutivaclon. That some people take more pride in saying they “haven’t been to church in two years than others do in declaring they haven’t missed a Sunday for seven years. ” That the young man who hasn’t hod a cent iu the past two months, goes through every pocket while the contribution bosket is going around, then asks a man in the next seat if he can change a V. Texas has 1,700 convicts, fiOO of whom urc kept within the wull, and the rest are hired out to work on railroads and farms. Colored Senator Bruce, of Missis' sippi, is making reputation for him self as a very sensible and conserva tive mau. Wouldn’t Marry a Mechanic. A young man commenced visiting a young woman, and appeared to bo well pleased. One evening he call ed when it was quite late, which led tho young lady to inquire where ho had been. “I had to work to-night.” “What., do yon work for a living?” sho inquired in astonishment. “Certainly,” replied tho young man, “I am a mechanic.” “I disliko tho name of a mechan ic,” and sho turned up her pretty noso. This was tho last time tho young maii visited tho young lady. He is now a wealthy man, and has one of the host wonion in the country for a wife. The young lady who disliked llio name of a mechanic is now the wifo of a miserable fool—a regular va- grunt about grog shops—and tho Hoft, verdant, silly, miserable girl, is obliged to take in washing in or der to support herself and children. You disliko tho nainQ of Mechanic, oh? —You whoso brothers are but well-dressed loafers. We pity any girl who is so verdant, so soft* to think less of a young man for being a moclmnio—one of God’s noblemen —tho mos,t dignified and honorable personage of heaven's creatures. Beware, young ladies how.,,you treat young men who work for a giv ing, for you may ono of these days ho a menial to ono of them. Far hot ter to discharge the well fed pauper with all his rings, jewelry, braston- ness ami pomposity, and tukotoyoiu* affection, tho hard-handed, industri ous mechanic. Thousands have bitterly rerouted thoir folly who liavo turned their bucks on Inmost industry. A few years liavo taught tliom a sovoro les son. ^ An Englishman, Irishman and Scotchman, were found guilty ‘ '6f murder, and wore sentenced to bo hung. Tlio Judgo told them they could each choose tho tree on which they would like to bo hung. Tho Scotchman promptly choso an ash tree and tho Englishman an oak. “Well, Put, what do you choose?” “If it plouso your honor, I would rather ho hung on a gooseberry hush.” .“Oh,” said tho Judgo, “that’s not large onougli.” “Bogorru,” said Pat, “I’ll wait till it grows.” Among various other things, Gov ernor Robinson of New York, in liis message to the State Senate, says that the number of insane porsot.s in that State has increased by busi ness loses and disuppointipontfc al most beyond tho power of the State to provide for. lie also calls atten tion to the danger of permitting Federal interference at oloctioiis to pass unrebuked, and calls for . a prompt aud fearless protest from the Legislature. The Favoritism to Fred, New York Sun. This unwarranted favoritism to young Grant will sorvo to[wake the very namo of Grant—us] the syno nym of an upstart hereditary nobility —hated and abhorred by tho massoi of tho American people. Mary’K Lamb. CIUNBHK. Was gal named Moll bad lamb. Flea all Mince wbitee snow, Evly place Moll gal walkee, Da ba hoppee long too. iiiian. Begorry, Mary bad a little shape, And tlie wool was white entirely, And wherever Mary would stir her gthumps The young shape would follow her conp platcly. women. La petite Marie hail le June muttong, Zo wool was blancboc as ze snow, And everywhere la belle Marie went, Le jano muttong was sure tq go. DKUTSCHK. Dot Mary liaf got ein little abaf, Mit luiir yust like some wool, ’-wwi lind all liar place «l«t pi I did void, Dat sliaf go like ein fog),