Newspaper Page Text
YOL. t.
DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 5,1879.
NO 38
VESPER BELLS.
Vesper belli are softly ringing
Ob tlife tMfet evening air*;
VMper iiyinns come sweetly singing,
llilng mortals now to prayer.
weary, way-worn sinner;
loors are open wide,
irden on the altar,'
te Saviour will decide.
Kneel and tell what memory brings thee
Of the days and hours gone by,
In a ceaseless round of pleasure*
Till wearied, thou’rt afraid to die.
Stripped of wealth of wife aud children
Friends forsaking one by one,
Life’s dead sorrows dll the measure—
None to help tliee-^all alone.
Not alone—the Saviour calls thee;
Kneel to Him in fervent prayer;
Tell thy griefs and He will help thee,
He still loves thee, He will care.
Hark! the vesper bells are ringing,
Do not tarry—come with me;
Angels bright in Heaven are singing
Praise to Him who sut us free.
THE COUNT'S- REVENGE.
“Yes, I was outside of the latticed
Window,” the comte narrated. “I
had my own reasons for watching
the game without being seen. I was
not greatly astonished to see it end
as it did, for the man had been rob
bing you mercilessly, and I do not
blame you for shooting him. But,”
with a shrug of his shoulders, “the
criminal courts have a way of mak
ing such an act appear bad—in fact,
villainous !
As he finished speaking his wick
cd, though’ handsome face, wore a
smile of triumph. lie saw the ter
ror that seized Dumont at the t hoitght
of having his long-buried secret
brought to light and justice, and ex
ulted accordingly.
“But you dare not accuse me
openly ! No one will believe yon
you have no proofs!” cried tho wretch
*d man in despair, yet hoping what
he said might be true.
“Ah! but I will dare, an.l I have
proofs! lteny me your daughter,
and I shall not rest till you arc con
victed as a murderer!”
He hurled the threat with such ven
om and determination that Gordon
Dumont did not dare brave the plot
, ting comte’s vengeance.
“But surely you would not marry
Estelle when you know she loves
your cousin, Claude de Gaston! Oh!
Comte,’ have pity—have mercy on.us
Both!”
“Bab! What do I care for a slight
fancy felt for niy boyish cousin? I
love Estelle, and after we are mar
ried she will love me—or no one! As
to mercy, I have said! and unless
your daughter becomes my wife iu a
month’s time, you will feel what it is
to cross the purposes of Comte D’Ar
ches P*
So saying he left Gordon Dumont
to cogitate over his threatening
words. Estelle was a most., loving
daughter, as we have said, and after
her father confessed in agony and
tears the crime, he had committed,
and how that crime had found him
out—for he never called his act of
self-defense by a milder name—she
was overwhelmed with grief at what
her darling and dearly loved father
had suffered, and must-still suffer,
if she did not consent to sacrifice love
and self; thus, without a murmur of
reproach, the glorious girl consented
to marry the hated comte.
To a proud and adoring heart like
that of Claudette Gaston’s, such an
end to his love was roost bitter. He
determined not to be a witness of the
comte’s success, and in twenty-four
hours after his parting from Estelle
he had quieted Paris.
Though the comte knew that Es
telle despised more than loved him,
he was furious when lie began to real
ize that she still loved his cousin,
even after she had become tiis wife.
As time passed the comte’s jeal
ousy increased, and learning that
Claude was about to return from his
travels abroad, he determined tq bo
revenged on his young wife and
coasiu; to better carry out this, his
second plot against them, ljp left
France.
Fortune seemed to favor his de
signs; for the steamer on wliich lie
attempted to cross the Channel was
lost, and all on hoard was supposed
to have perished.
With almost joy, Estelle heard
that the comte was among the mis
sing of the steamer A ntwerp.
A feeling of new-found freedom
came to her, and she hastened to
leave a city where she had known
such bitter disappointment. 8he
and her father had reached Italy,
where they intended to spend a short
time. It seemed a most fortunate
step, for they had been in Florence
but a few days when Estelle saw her
beloved Claude, as, with oyes turned
to the ground, lie passed her on the
street.
With impulsive joy she cried :
Claude! Claude! have you forgot
ten me?”
With a startled glance, ho beheld
the woman of whom he had been
that moment thinking, and most
harshly, too; but at the sound of her
voice, and the loving echo of his
name .'"all his bitterness lied; they
were powers ho could not resist, and
with a tender light in his passionate
eyes ho clasped her out-stretched
hands.
An answering glance from her eyes
flashing with intense love, told
Claude that the woman before him
had never been false in her love for
him, let circumstances bo what they
might, and in tho ecstacv of that
discovery he forgot that to him still
she was his cousin’s wife.
“Forgotten you? Oh! my glorious
darling, your image lias been too
vividly stamped on my heart and soul
since the first hour we mot for the
memory of it to have left me • for a
moment. My love lias never grown
less, but increases each hour of my
life. Oh, heaven forgive me! What
right have I to love my cousin’s
wife?” he exclaimed in a voice of
agony,
“Oh, Claude, 1 am no longer the
wife of Comte D’Archos. lie was
lost with all the passengers at the
Antwerp disaster!” Estelle said with
a saddeued voice.
Claude noticed the change, and
asked her quickly if she was sorry
her husband .was no longer able to
separate them.
“No, Claude, not sorry for that.
I thank Heaven that nothing on
earth ran now deprive me of your
love. But I pity him; his death was
sudden, and must have been terri
ble.”
lie had taken a seat in Estelle’s
carriage, and they were soon on then
.way to her father’s house. At first
a gloom seemed to have fallen ove’r
their new-found happiness; but. the
sweet maguetisin of each other’s
presence soon dispelled all shadows,
aud tenderly they listened as eaeli
whispered how fondly their love hud
been cherished.
Mr. Dumont was no less happy
than they in their reunion, and weeks
soon melted into mouths, and the
lovers were nearing their wedding
day.
Unutterably happy, Estelle and
Claude had uo presentiment of the
terrible blow that a revengeful haired
was preparing for them.
Comte D’Arohcs, it is true, hud
passage on board the Antioeip\ but
he was not a passenger. Some in
cideut hud just prevented him, and
being left, he determined to cloud
his exit from Paris with entire mys
tery. When he heard of the wreck
he tlutlcred himself that fate had
favored hi n, and he concluded to
let his wife believe that he hud been
drowned. He hud made arrange
ments with his haukers, and about
his property, so that it would not be
necessary to show himself for five
years if it took so long for him to
achieve his intentions. These in
tentions wore to lead his wife and
cousin into a trap, which he knew
his supposed death would be sure to
do.
We hate seen how well his plan
worked. Ho kept secret ugenU
wucthing the slightest movements of
His wife and cousin, and whon lu 1
learned that the ovo of their mar
riage was approaching ho hastened
to the scene of action, ready to strike
his deudening blow to all their hopes
Exulting in his expected revenge
tho comte prepared to reach Paris
just at the hour when he could make
his blow bitterest and most lnuAilia
ting.
Estelle, Claude, and Mr. Dumont
had returned to Paris—Claude’s
home—for the marriage; but they
all intended to quit that city imme
diately after the two were united.
As Comte D’Arches sped on his way
he soliloquized:
"They are to be married to-mor
row cvo. I reach there to-night,
keep myself concealed, till thev
stand before the alter, and then"
The sontence was never conclud
for at that instant a terrible crash
and explosion took place, tcariug
the carriage to spl i liters. The com te
was thrown witli fearful force oh his
head, and when discovered among
the debris of the cars; sometime af
ter tho shock, he was still uncon
scious.
He was carried to a hospital and
became sensible wlun bis wounds
were being dressed. • When told ho
was dying he became frantic. Mad
dening thoughts of his cousin and
wife tortured his mind while his
body was racked with pain .from
hurts.
“Can no one save me? I will not
die! They shall not marry.!” he
groaned with increased agony.
“Bo calm; you only injure your
self more by such excitement. We
will do all we can. to save you
physician soothingly said, although;
he knew the uijurea man was dying.
Giving him an opiate, the physi
cian returned after un hour to find
that the comte had just awakened
and was more calm.
Two Sisters of Mercy were pur-
suading him to have a priest, and
receive the consolation of the church.
He was at last prevailed on to have
the priest; but would not listen to a
hint, of his dying, lie did not for a
moment forget his determination to
thwart his wife and cousin, and he
sent for a messenger to receive dicta
tions for a telegram to be sent to
theln.
The priest came; but before tho
confession was entirely made the
comte became too exhausted to dic
tate the telegram.
Finally he rallied enough to tell
them his name, and the Com less Es
telle’s address; but before he finished
the dictation death claimed him,
and instead of telegraphing that the
comte lived, a dispatch left to say-
that he had that hour died.
Mr. Dumont leccived and opened
the telegram, and seeing what an
awful calamnity had threatened his
darling daughter; had determined
not to let a shadow of what had hap
pened reach, her knowledge. He
telegraphed to learn all the particu
lars of ifie comte’s death, and mak-
iug arrangements for his burial, kept
silent about the whole uffair till Es
telle and Claude were Bafely married
Not till several days after did they
learn how near' they had come to a
second separation. From what the
attendants und ] hysician related of
the dying comte’s ravings, they dis
covered that hi} death by the An
twerp had been a pretence, and that
lie was on his way. to crush them in
a malignant triumph.
Months after the comte’s death,
Mr. Dumont received a strange let
ter, written by ono who had beei.
supposed insensible while Comte
D’Arches made his confession; but
though he was too wesk to speak at
the time, he had heard and remem
bered it all, and, as soon as lie was
ablo, wrote to them, believing tliut
it would be just to let him aud Es
telle know wliat the dying man hail
confessed.
By this strange letter they learned
that the Comte D’Arches, and not
Gordon Dumont, gave the Freneh
gambler at Bordeaux his death-blow.
For some revengeful motive lie had
sworn to kill him, and the affair with
the Englishman lmd given him -the
long lookod-for chance.
Tho coihtc also confessed that ho
had pretended death, to be revenged
on his wife and cousin, as soon as
they believed him dead.
Among the cointo’s papers was
found a bt)x sealed, and it was Gor
don Dumont's watch; the comte had
kept it liictde)i over sinoo thc mur
der at Bordeaux. It was the only
good thing he ever did, for by it*
concealment,: Gordon Dumont
escaped execution as a murderer.
(the end.)
The Recipe for Prosperity.
1. Lot every youth b& taught some
useful art and trained to industry and
thrift.
2. Lot every young man lay aside
and keejj sacredly intact a certain
proportion of his earnings.
3. Lot every one sot out in life
with a fixed determination to engage
in business ; for himself, and let him
put bis determination in pmctico ns
early tu (jfq aq possible.
4. Begin 1 iu u small safe way, and
extend your business us experience
will teach you is advantageous.
5. Keep your own books und know
constantly what you are earning and
just where you stand.
«. Do not marry until iu receipt
of, a tolerable eertuin income—suffi
cient to live on comfortably.
7. LctvOVOry man who is ablo buy
a- farm on wliich to bring up his
pons, h is from tho farm the best
men arc turned but, morally and in
tellectually.
8. Bear in mind tliut your business
cannot t bo permanently prosperous
unless .you ; Share its advantages
equally witli your customers.
A Splendid Wife.
BILL ARP’S SUNDAY CHAT.
He Steps up to Ben Butler and
Talks of Old War Claims.
Wo once knew a man who wus al
ways praising tps wife. On the cor
ner, down the street, at the post-of
fice, at tho theater, iu tho sal—that
is, the choir meeting, he was uhvuys
telling what u happy man he wus,
just because he had such a splendid
wife, and lie talked every man into a
frenzy of envy about her. Well, one
winter morning, when it was ii3t yet
too light to make one appear'ovci
ostentatious, we sneaked into that
neighbor’s yard to steal a board fo:
kindling, and hud to wait until that
man’s wife came out. and sawed u
couple of urmsfull of wood, shoveled
out three snow paths, fed and groom
ed tho horse, mid cleaned out tho
cow shed ; and when she went into
the house, and we heard hor call to
her husband that tho sitting room
was warm enough for him to dress in
if he wanted to get up, i s t so amazed
us that we forgot wliat wo were wait
ing for, and went back und kindled
the fire with a corn-cob und a pint of
kerosene.
— r-
By Another Name.
A few mornings ago a gentleman
stepped into Floyd’s restaurant and
took breakfast. As he came out,
and while paying his bill, he remark
ed: “Billy that was very good
ground hog tho hoy gave me foi
breakfast.”
“Ground hog 1” said Billy.
“Ground hog! You never got any
ground hog here. No such thing
ever comes into this house.”
The waiter was called and testified
that he hud given the gentleman
nothing but some sausage.
“There,” said Billy. “I knew
you wore mistaken.”
“Well,” replied the customer,
“what is satniuge but ground hog?
Don't they have to grind the hog to
make sausage ?”
Billy offered to treat to oysters the
next time his friend would call.
“I would go to the end of the
world to picnic you,” said a fervent
lover to the object of his affections.
“Well, sir, go there aud stay/’
Admit a Constitution.
Old Father Time is a good doctor.
Ho don’t rnako any noise about it,
but ho cures maladies that nobody
olso can. He sots things to rights
and brings things to pass that seemed
almost i’lipossible;^ His pendulum is
always swinging even or odd, good or
bad, Jack in the bush, cut him
down, hero she- goes and there she
goes, but it is the grand regulator of
all subloonary things. Futhor Time
brings pestilence and war, makes
nations to rise and fall, deposes kings
ami cheats presidents out. of their
offices and allows the good and tho
brave to bp slandered by the moan
and tire little, but by and by it all
turns out right. It looks dark for
awhile, but the light of history un-
covors it. Sometimes it takes him a
hundred years to euro a bud case
sometimes fifty—sometimes less, at*
co.din to the nutur and fhagnitude
of the trouble, but it took him only
fifteen to bripg Ben Butler to his
right mind. Bon Butler is a great
man. Like Bob Toombs, lie was
born groat, and he improved upon
what nature liad done for him, hut a
screw got. loose in Ben’s philanthropy
and ho quit praying for his southern
biuhron—fellow-sinners though they
wore.
Somebody 1ms said that great men
are full of contradiction—that they
are great in somo things, but very
small in others. Well, I .reckon tliAt
is so, considerin’ that Sam Johnson
wore a shirt five weeks without wash
| in’ and Isaac Newton cut. three hides
in tho door, ono for the old oat and
two for the kittens, and Lord Bacon
toqk bribes, und Shukosjioure stole a
deer, and Demosthenes and Frederick
the Great run away in their first but’:
tie, and Henry Clay bucked the
tiger, and General Jackson bet. a big
plantation and niggers on a horse
race, and Beecher, well ho—I dont
know wliat lie did nor what ho didn’t,
but Im afford lies boon a little loose
in tho socket. But, uftor all, none
of om nor any other great mini over
stole.spoons. Its not in the nutur of
things. Ben Butler novel’ stblo om.
I never did believe it, and Im glad
the accusation dident come from our.
side. Ho may have stole a railroad,
or a big plantation, or u state treasu
ry, but lie never stole spoons. 1
would have contradicted it long ago,
but he didcut Kce/n to euro anything
about it and wouldont do it himself,
lies too great a man to notice slab
dor. We'read his last speech over
three times and he oouldont have
made it if he took tho spoons. If
somebody' put em in his overcoal
pocket when he was a little absent-
minded, he dident know it. Its tho
best speech thuts boon made since
Sunset Cox plead for us iu 1800. Its
based upon tho fundamental rock of
high justice. Its wliat wc’vo been
waiting for and hoping for, and what
I have for years avowed would come
before all the one-eyed, one-armed
and one-legged rebels died out. Its
a sign of a returning seiiso of wliat is
right and honorable, and Ben Butler,
the wont abused man in Christen
doin, is tho first enemy, so-eullod,
who had the manliness to acknowl
edge it. I honor him for it. I wish
I could have heard him say it, for I
would have hollered amen and glory
and embraced him, shore. It wasn’t
a long speech, nor a big speech, nor
a speech fixed up for a sensation, hut
it was an unexpected, unpremedituted
and unpretending gushing forth of
kind and considerate emotions. IIo
wants all the muimed and disabled
soldiers of the lute war put on the
samo footing north and south. He
want* all tho states to make up their
war expenses and let the general gov
ernment assume cm, like it was done
aftor the revolutionary war.
Well, that’s fair that’s right that’s
honorable, that’s tjic way to settle up
this fuss, that’s the way to establish
peace and good will and eternal loy
ally to till! constitution and the
union. When t lint’s done Bob
Toombs will knock at the door with
bis hot off Set! if lie dont. Let nil
the dead horses and mules and cattle
and corn and cotton go, for it would
break Cresus or Golconda to pay for
em; but maybe if (lie stale gets paid
that money could bo divided out,
among tho losers :is far as it would
go. If they dident, get but 5 per
cent, its that much more than they’ll
ever gel from congress. The French
spoliation bill was before cur for 30
years, but it dident die a more pro
truded death than will those loyal
southern claims.
Bon Butler’s speech dident make
much noise. IIo said it in such a
conversational way they hardly knew
vvlmt lie did say. I wonder wluit
Bluino thinks, and what Logan says.
But it. dont matter. They’ll follow
suit in time, for the people are mov
ing in that, direction. This southern
outrage, blbody-shirt, kuklux busi
ness is playing out. Blaino & Co.
to resurrect the old corpse, but
it wouldn’t rise worth a odnt. Fif
teen years will smother most any
common mini’s malice, but I don’t
believe Butler ovor had any to spdak
of. JIo wont, into tho ivar; but ho
never tried to hurt us bad, IIo al
ways speaks kindly of Mr. Davis.
Like Horace .Greeley, lie is full of
the milk of human kindness und
loves peace better tlmn wtii\ lie
honors tho brave of both sides, and
is a friend to Joe Johnston and Gor
don and all Hie southern heroes.
Hurrah for Butler, 1 say.
Him. A iu».
My Hoy. '0
Some years ago the Into ■ Horace
Mann, the eminent educutor, deliv
ered an address at the opening of
some reformatory institution for
boys, during which ho remarked
that if only one boy was saved from
ruin, it would pay for all the cost
and care und lubor of establishing
such an institution as that.
After tho exorcises bad closed, in
private conversation, a gentleman
rallied Mr. Mann upon liisstatcmont,
and said to him:
Did you not color that a little,
when you said that all the expanse
and labor would bo repaid if jt only
saved ono boy?”
Not if it was viy■ boy," was the
solemn and convincing reply.
A Fearful Story.
New York, February 181-r^A
Herald letter from Brazil gives a
frightful picture of tho drought,
famine and pestilence raging in the
northern portion of that country for
more limn a year jmst. It is said to
be the greatest calamnity in two
hundred years. Half a million peo
ple were swept away by starvation
and diseuso. 8mull-ppx und black
plague carried off their victims in
appalling numbers, and thousands of
bodies were rotting in open trendies
at Logon Fimdu. Thousands of
other corpses were torn and devour
ed by wild animals, and tho starving
peasants ato their offspring. Some
places, including tho city of Corea*
have been depopulated. Jii the ter
rible struggle of life, children were
abandsned und the young souls mid
for bread. Thousands of living
skclotons wore to bo seen. Govern
ment aid-was tardy. Tho letter pre
sents pictures of woe, such us cun
scarcely be pimlleled in history, ex
cept the siege of Jerusalem and the.
black death, which •devastated Eu
rope iu the fourteenth century.
The Gainsvillc Southron says that
notwithstanding tho severe freozesof
tho winter, tho wheat in that section,
looks well where it was properly put
in, und it thinks if probahlo that the
crop will he better Jlum for several
I>reviou8 years.
Partridges are among the thing*
that whirr.