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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*