Newspaper Page Text
ny.
VOL. I.
DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 12,1879.
NO 35
“TIME 11VXS OX”
We see the blossoms brightly glow,
Wo listeu to the brooklet’s flow,
Wo hear the gay bird’s merry call,
We note the blue sky over all ;
Lo! while we say ‘’the world is sweet,’’
The white frost chills our waiting feet!
The babe, now cradled in our arms,
To-morrow wakes to girlhood’s charms ;
Anon, a captive maiden stunds,
A willing capti ve in.Love’s bauds;
Ere long, a world-worn train await
Their summons, through Death's sombre
gate. .
Prom flower to fruit is hut u day ;
From youth to age, a swift, brief way;
Yet, if we garner fast aud well,
The ripening hurvest who can tell V
For time runs on; yet every hour
Is rich with some God-given ppwer.
All up aud down the world we see
Life’s royal g’fts are scattered free.
The patient liund has but to bind
The bounteous sheaves, each year to fir.d
Earth’s greeuapd gold will turn to wheat;
Though time ruiis on the world is sweet!
We may not And the autumn way
Has just the glory of the May!
And silver lieiid and Waning-sight
May feel “Life’s summer was so bright!"
Aud yet a chastened beauty glows
Win
cloi
lives draw near their
The Wil'd it* sweet, yet. time runs on;
And when our songs, our flowers are
/ j 'gone,;
Lo! others will the sickle wield
Adowu the same bright harvest-field;
And others watch, on sunuy eves,
The reapers bringing .1 ome their sheaves.
THIS LEGACY OP JFWJELS.
8Iconic Furnham was my niece,
my sister's motherless child, and 1
was an old maid a long way down
the declining pathway of life when
John, my brother-in-law begged of
me to come and take care of .Steeuie,
and. the household generally. My
nieces':name was Stophauiu; but she
called herself Steeuie w.ben she was
a baby, and the name clung to her.
Mite grew up under her fathei*'s
care ami mine into a maiden of sev
enteen, fair as a lily, blooming us a
rose, wtt.it blue eyes and crinkly gold
en hair, and a mouth as kissubicas a
baby’s. She was nn amiable, sweeT
girl, but John had indulged her, aud
i must cottfess 1 had aided him, till
Steenio was tts helpless as a child in
many ways, and had altogether too
much romance tucked away in hot
pretty golden curled head.
.She would tell mo'of her dreams,
of her ideal hero, who would come,
at some time, to our quiet village to
woo her, and carry her to an earthly
Paradise of perpetual love aud never-
ending happiness. And if I veutui ,i
ed upon some common-sense theories
to demolish this pretty castle, she
would shrug her shoulders, and say :
“Hut you were never married,
auntie, so you cannot tell ! Look at
papa and mama!”
That always silenced me, for my
sisters short wedded life was more
like a poem than a fact. John wor
shiped her, and her extremely deli
cate health brought into play all the
tender chivalry of his nature. She
was surrounded by such love and
care as I never saw equaled, and
mourned as few arc ever mourned in
this changing world. It was all told
to Steeuie little by little, and she
heard her father ever speak of bis
dead with dewy eyes and* a gentle
pathos infinitely touching in his
strong, vigorous manhood.
So Stecnie nursed her ideal of love
aud found no hero an til she was
nearly eighteen, upon whom to lavish
her romantic imagination, for I nev
er believed the strong true heart was
really touched.
When Steeuie was not yet half
way ucross the flowery path stretch
ing from her seventeenth to her
eighteenth birthday, my aunt Maria
died at the advanced age of ninety-
three. She was a wealthy widow,
and divided her estate amongst a
number of |oor relatives, but to
Steenio she left her jewels. These
jewels were the collection of a life
time, a fruit of vanity in youth and
became a sort of passion in old age.
Aunt Maria had loved glittering
stones, and to the last ’of her life
deeked herself with them. She lov
ed Steeuie, and so left her every one
of the beautiful gems.
The collection was large for a sin
gle womau’s possession, but its great
value lay in the purity and size of
the separate stones. A diamond
cross hud a rose diamond in the con-
ter of great beauty and cost. A ruby
ring was almost priceless from the
the size and purity of the stone pone
whole set of emeralds represented a
small fortune in every piece.
When the jewels were sent we
spent a whole morning ml miring their
wonderful beauty.
“To think,” Stecnie said piling the
glittering mass upon her lap, “that
these cost two hundred thousand
dolhtis, and the eases and all will go
iiito this small satehel.”
I remember that speech later,
many weeks after, when the jewels
had become a matter of course, ai.d
ceased to be a special topic of eoiir
vernation* Steeuie thought little of
them ^hen, for her hero had conic to
Rutherford, our village home. lie
came in the month of roses, when
June sunshine made the whole earth
radiant, and he met Stecnie in one
of her long walks, and introduced
himself by protecting her from his
ijwji, dog, who barked furiously at her
approach.
More than onec they met before
John became acquainted with Her
bert Arnold in the village, and with
his usual, cordial hospitality invited
him to the house. I did not like
him. -
1 do not pretend to have auy more
insight into character than other peo
ple. or to read faces any more accu
rately. But I did distrust Herbert
Arnold from the first. He represent
ed himself as a young merchant from
Boston on an amateur sketching tour
for the summer; also declared him
self devoted to John’s one hobby, a
love of fishiiig.
So he became intimate with Stee-
nie, going off with John for fishing
and sketching, and returning to a
substantial early meal, supper and
dinner combined. In the evening
he would sing with Steeuie, play chess
with John, and examine the progress
of my chrocfiet work.
He had certainly all that a society
man requires lo be popular; small
talk in plenty, a good voice, a ready,
polished courtesy, and that deference
for every one’s opinion that is fasci
nating to old and yonng. lie lent
John some New York publications
upon his favorite sport; lie sent mu
sic and flowers to Stecnie, and actu
ally drew several patch-work patterns
especially for me. But before he
had been long upon this intimate
footing in the house I began to sus-
[icct that he was seeing Steenio oft-
uer tlian was apparent to he. - father
or me. She quoted remarks some
time^ I was sure were never spoken
iir the parlor, and she took longer
walks than ever before. Besides,
there was often an abstraction in her
manger, as if her thoughts were fair
away. This troubled me sorely.
Never hud i be child hidden a thought
from me before, and she was still so
young it greved me to think that
she was having her woman hood thrust
yet upon her. r Once I hinted some
thing of my fears to John, but he
could not think of Stecnie as more
than a little girl.
“Her mother was married at eigh
teen, John,” I said.
“Yes, yes,” he answered, hurried
ly, as he always did when the great
wouud of Ins life was pressed; “but
Steouie is top young to think of these
things.”
But the' anxiety would not leave
me. If this mau with his handsome
face, his courtly manners, his smooth
tongue, was what he represented
himself to be, why did he not woo
our child openly, honorably? Every
day my conviction grew stronger that
she met him secretly.
I should have followed her in those
long mysterious walks, but it was
impossible to do so undetected. I
have had to take, a crutch for my
walking-stick for nearly twenty years
and my hobble could be heard too
distinctly for me to aspire to the place
of a private detective. All my at
tempts to win Steenie’s confidence
wore vainly made, and I could only
hopo her own sense would keep lull’
from too great an infatuation.
Late in August John was called to'
Boston upon some business connect
ed with aunt Maria’s property, aud
Steeuie and I wore alone, with the
exeeptiou of the servants. Wo had
been keeping old nmid’s hall for near
ly a week, when one afternoon I
went unexpectedly to Stcouio’s room
and found her reading a letter. She
concealed it hurriedly as I canto in,
but I noticed it fell from the folds of
Iter dross to the floor. I lingered
in the room, fussing about, and con
trived to spread my owu dress over
the letter, till I could pull it near
me with my foot. Soon after I sent
Steouie away, and put the letter in
my pocket.
Before Steenio returned I was
safely locked in iny own room, rotul-
ing a glowing letter from Herbert
Arnold, imploring Steouie to return
with him to New York, before her
father canto back.
“New York!” I muttered. “The
scamp said he was front Boston!”
All the preparations for an elope
ment, the next day was carefully
planned out, and in the last para
graph, Herbert Arnold wrote;
•‘Bring your aunt’s legacy, that I may
see my fair bride decked like a queen.”
What was I to do? To tell Stec
nie the villian was discovered Woul.1
only postpone the scheme that
lie proposed, atid there was yet time
to avert the catastrophe.
I went again to Steenic’s room and
dropped the letter where I had found
it, aud returned to my own room.
"In an hour I was in the village,
had telegraphed to John, bogging
him to come home on the train by
which Herbert Arnold proposed to
curry off Stecnie.
“Look for friends on the platform”
I added to the message, for I had no
mind to put our darling’s name in
the gossip of the village telegraph
operator.
All the next day Steeuie was nci-
vously busy in her own room, uncon-
cious that I, in my room adjoining
it, heard every movement.
The train was due at Rutherford
at three o clock in the afternoon. At
two 1 called Steenio, and pleading
headache, asked her to make me a
cup of tea.
She went to the kitchen, and I
softly opened the door between my
room and hors. Upon the bed was
her walking-dress, hat and shawl,
and a small black satchel, contain
ing, as I snpposed, her legacy from
aunt Maria. Five minutes finished
my work, and when the tea came I
in my arm-chair languidly nursing
my headache.
It gave me a pang to see the look
of relief upon Steenie’s pretty face
when I begged her to darken the
room and let me sleep for an hour or
two. A little later I. heard her creep
down stairs. Then a new torture
possessed me. Suppose John missed
my telegram, or failed to eomo!
Should Herbert Arnold carry Steenie
away ?
I hnrricd to
sobbing pitifully m my arms, John,
turning to me, asked;
“Did you over hoar of a James
Davis in your family ?”
“Certainly ho is a son of my
oouain.”
“You never saw him?”
“Novor; but I know ho is a scamp,
lie squandered the little fortune left
by his father to his mother, got, him
self into disgrace with his employer
by some dishonest practices, became
a loafer and a gambler, finally lYutr-
rieff a school teachor, who supports
flBlri
will
you
finis'
“Yon are perfectly correct! 1\y
ish the list of liis crimes for v<
Finding himself left out of your uunt.
Maria’s will he resolved to obtain
possession of her valuable jewels hv
eloping with Stcpliaiiiu!”
“Father!” Stcphunia cried witli a
white, horror-stricken- fuce, “it was
not Herbert!”
“Exactly, my dear, Herbert Ar
nold, whoso wife is doubtless wonder
ing where ho i* passing his summer,
But for your aunt’s tclegruin, yon
would be now upon your way to New
York with James Davis, a gambler
and married mail !”
The white misery on Stoonio’s face
was torriblo to see. Sho cowered
down shivering, and I drew her into
my arms, thanking Heaven it was uo
worse. Suddenly she looked up.
“1 forgot,” she said “my satchel!
where is my satehel? I must have
left it in the carriage !”
“No, my dear,” I said. “Our
cousin caught it from your baud
when you fainted at the railway sta
tion. I saw him take it and carry
it into (lie cars.”
“Oh further,” Steeuie cried burst
ing into a passion of tears, “1 ought
not to earo since you have savod me
Oil child,” John said kindly,
“What is it? Little I cure for
any other loss, now you are here safe
beside me. What was in tlio sateh
el?”
“All aunt Maria’s jewels!”
John could not repress a cry of
dismay.
“The villain,” ho* cried. “So lie
secured the prize, after all !”
“Not exactly,” I said. The jew
els wore not in the satchel.” .
“Yes, auntie, tlioy were,” Stecnie
said sadly. “I opened the bag just
before the train came up, and all
the cases were thcro.”
“All the cases were there,” I said,
“but the jewels are all in your up
per bureau drawer, under a pile of
linen there. I emptied overy case
while you were making my tea.”
It was a sharp lesson for Steenm,
and she lost much of the light-heart
ed gladness of her girlhood after this
experience. But wo, who love her,
were well satisfied with the noble
sweet woman who replaced our mer
ry child; and when, six years after
wards, she married a man in every
way worthy of her, she * took, as her
dowry, to her new homo, aunt Ma
ria’s legacy of jewels.
A young lady of Brooklyn died
from the effects of a fall which she
received the other.day, having boon
tripped by a wire that a party of boys
hud strung across the pavement “to
see the fun.” AVhereupon an ox-
diess, ordered the I change exclaims: “Now let those
carriage and followed the girl, giving
the coachman strict orders not to
overtake her. I saw her ascend the
steps to the platform, saw Herbert
Arnold join her, heard the train
come up, and then—Heaven be
thanked—John sprang from the car?
He comprehended the situation at u
glance, for I saw his face darken as
he spoke to Herbert Arnold. A mo
ment later he was carrying Stecnie,
not seeing, as I saw, Herbert Arnold
catch the satchel as it fell from Stee
nic’s nerveless lytnd. In another
moment the train was puffing past
with Ilerbcrt Arnold aboard, and
John was at the carriage door, with
Stecnie jnst reviving.
We drove home rapidly, Steenio
boys be taught a lesson at the hands
of the law.” Could anything Iks
more heartless and cruel ? What!
would you consign to the tender
mercies of the law a merry troop of
boys, each of whom is perhaps his
mother’s own precious darling, mere
ly for having their tun in their own
way, thus darkening their gushing
yonng spirits with a cloud of woe ?
No; compel their fathers, or the con
stable, to take them into the collar
and give them each about a thousand
earnest, heartfelt caresses with a raw
hide every day for three weeks, hut
for mercy's sake suffer no inhuman
law to bruise their tender young
hearts by upbraiding them in open
court.—Courier Journal.
Grant’s Nomination Assured.
St. Louis Post-Dispatch.
The question was, Is it possible
that Grant can he nominated for a
thivd tonn ? The question now is,
Ts it possible that his nomination
next, year can bo defeated? Is it?
Ho will start with a “solid south”
in his favor—that is, a solid delega
tion from ovory southern state in the
repubttean national convention. The
negroes and carpet-baggers, who con
stitute the republican party at tin
south, ure all enthusiastic for (Irani
for as many terms as ho pleases.
It only requires a majority to nom
inate in tlio republican convention.
But it only requires tlio seventy votes
of New York added to the solid vote
of the south to havo that majority
for Grant. And ovorybody knows
that Coukling and tlio “machine”
will go for Grant most heartily in
preference to any other caudidatc.
But Don Cameron and his ring
own Pennsylvania, and will give the
great vote of that dobauchod state
to Grant with »is much ubsoluto cer
tainty as the rising of the sun.
Hero, then, wo see how the simple
will of Coukling and CatneroiL with
the vote of the south, cun secure
Grant’s nomination by nn overwhel
ming majority.
And this is not all. In Illinois
and Michigan, and Wisconsin and
Kansas and New Jersey tlio Grant,
machine is owned us if in fee simple
by Logan, Olmiidlor, Carpenter,
Robeson & Co. Their delegations
will undoubtedly all go for Grant's
nomination. All tlio present indi
cations point to this.
Really, it looks very much as if it
were already too late to organize a
respoetablo opposition to Grant’s
third nomination. It seems more
probable that ho-will bo nominated
very much in the sumo manner and
by tim same crowd as in 1808 and
1872.
I would keop “bottor hours 1 ’ if I
wero a boy again—that is, I would
go to bod earlier than most boys do.
Nothinggives more mental and bodily
vigor than sound rest when properly
applied. Sleep is our great rcplonishor
and if wo neglect to tuko it regularly
in childhood, toll tlio worso for us
when wo grow up. If wo go to hod
party, we ripdn; if wo sit up late, we
decay; and sooner or later wo con
tract a disease called insomnia, allow
ing it to ho permanently fixed upon
us, and then wo begin to decay, even
in youth. Late hours are shadows
from the gripe;—■J. T. Fwlch.
A new theological question has
boon sprung by a colored divine up
in New Haven. Ho wanted com
munion wine, and when asked by tlio
dealer what kind, he answered that
“some oh do ladies ob do congrega
tion had desired a preference fur
gin.” Is gin orthodox is / now the
point for decision in that church.
Aftor the unique and cautious ver
dict rendered recen tly by a Coroner’s
jury at Tunbridge Well.-, all disbe
lievers in the jury system should he
converted. The verdict referred to
was; '.‘The child was suffoouted, but
there is no evidonce to show that the
suffocation was before or aftor
death.”
A fellow by the name of Ephraim
Ilazeltine wrote to a down-town
bookseller as follows; “Dere sur: if
yewhev gut a book called Daniel
Webster on a bridge please to send me
a copy by Pysors express c. o. d.—i
want ter git it termorrer if i kin,
cans my spelin touchur says i ortcr
hey it.”—Ponton Pont.
A lady at Bighampton, while look
ing over her husband’s old clothes
recently, discovered a lotter which
she had given him to post II years
ago. The letter was addressed to a
lady friend, and its non-arrival was
the cause of an estrangement between
the two families over sinco. And
yet g*rls continue to get married.
Joe White’s Temptation.
Deacon Jones kept a little 'fish
market;.
“Do you want a lioy to help you?”
asked Joe White one day. “I guess
I cun sell fish.”
“Can you givo good weight to iny
customers, and tuko good care of my
pennies?”
■: *,Yes, sir,” answered Joe, and
forthwith ho took his place in tlio
market, weighed the fish, and kept
the. room in order.
“A whole, day for fun, fireworks
and crackers, to-morrow,” exclaimed
Joe, as lio buttoned his white a]iron
around’him the day beforeiho Fourth
of July. A groat trout was flung
down on tho conn tor. :
“Hero’s a royal trout, Jbo. 1 I
caught it myself. You mav have'it
for ten conts. Just hand over the
money, for I’m in a hurry to buy my
fire crackers,” said Nod Long, one of
JoP’s mates.
Tlio Deacon wub out, but Joe Inid
made purchases for him before, so'
the (litno was spun across to Neo, ’
who was off like a shot.
Just then Mrs. Martin appeared;
■*11181?
“I wiiiit a nice trout for my
to-morrow. This ono will do, how
■lit- I.iw n: '
mffbh is it?”
“A quarter, ma’am;” and the
was transferi’ed to tho lady’s on
aud the silver piece* to • the money ’
drawer.
But. hero Joe paused. “Toil cbiit'b 1
was very cheap for that fish, if I’
tell the Deacon it cost fifteen lie’ll lie.
satisfied ; and I skill luvvo flvoCeutii
to invest in firecrackers.”
'rite Deacon was pleased with Joe’s
bargain, and when tho market cldsbct
ouch wont; his way for the night.
But tlio nickel in JobVpocket burn- ;
od like a coal; he could eat no supper
and was cross and unhappy. At last
he could stand it no longer, hut,
walking rapidly, tapped lit the door
of Deacon Jones’cottage.
A stuiul was drawn out, and before
the open Bible sat tho old mini.
Joo’s heart almost failed him, but fib
told his story, and with tears of sor
row, laid the coin in the Deacon’s
hand. Turning oyer the leaves of
the Bible, tho old man read : “He
that Covereth his sins shall not pros- ’
por ; but whoso confessoth and for- ;
snketh them, shall have mercy.”
“You have my forgivonoss, Joe; no#
go liotno and confess to tho Lord, ‘
but remember you must forsake art
well as confess. And keep this lit
coin as long as you live to renihn^
you of this first temptation.’’-[Child's
World.
The Wrong Way to Help Men.
' ■■■ ■ ■ •. 'iGiv;*:’ au, pi
There is a rather prevalent notion
that tlio host way to help people who '
fail to ti.ke cure of themselves is by
what is called “passing laws in their
favor. ’• This is a great mistake, and.
it does much injury. If peopleware
honest and industrious and econom
ical they will usually got along. If
they are dishonest and lazy and
wasteful they will not got along, and
no amount of legislation will enable
thorn to succeed. Suppose our Leg
islature should pass a law that every
man in the State should have a good
muscular system! Everybody knows
that such a law would be utterly use
less, because no mau can have strong
muscles unless he either inherits
thorn or Oise develops them for him.
self. The same principle rune
through social life. The tirac-hon.
Oredudage, “HeavOn helps (hose who
help tbeniHolvos,” is an emphatic ex
pression of this truth, and it should
always be kept in mind by those who
wish to help their foUow-meu.
Do not trifle with the affections of
an innocent yonng widow, nor try to
make friends with a rnulc by squeez-
ing his hind foot. If you aspire ci-
ther way you will find life a misery
ble failure.
Are “elicrrv lips” w»t In a pout,
A case ot “swcetnewi loiigilruwn outf*
