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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.