Newspaper Page Text
'— ■
■
(SfKip;^pw
'V ‘ :
, i^r .^’*‘ ■* '■/ w ^!r*taR|
. ....
• •
: . -S> v i
,,
'- : ;.>v-* ' ■
..... .' . '■■ ■■. 1 .'. :
v. ^w^im
■ !
--■
VOL. 1.
DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 2, 1870.
KAIXr DATS.
by l; a. r.
Like the soft voice of muffled drums
Their sweet, sad strain repenting;
Or the low tick of pendulums,
How plaintively the soft rain comes.
Against my window beating. „■>
How gently God’s most perfect gift
Falls from its native heaven /
While to and fro the dark clouds drift,
The-grateful flowers their bright cups lift
To catch the draught, God given.
Like tear-drops on my window-pane,
They fall in quick succession /
With Nature (in this hour of pain)
I. too', with silent tears would fain
Relieve my heart’s oppression.
Some lives are like rare jewels set
In rich surroundings golden !.
Some eyes with tears are never wet;
But like the heart of violet,.
- With light and warmth enfolden.
Their joyous way seems thickly wrought
With sunny-tinted flowers;
With every happy phase of thought,
So rich with golden sunshine fraught,
They find no room for showers.
But all alone in solitude—
The happy past recalling—
Where none save Nature can intrude
To interrupt my quiet mood.
I bless the rain for falling.
I love this sweet, sad, «ainy day,
More than God’s sunniest weather;
For tender nature seems to say,
In her most sympathetic way—
"Our tears shall fall together 1”
THJS COUSINS.
It was terrible weather, rain upon
snow, freezing here in slippery traps
for the unwary, thawing there in
broad ponds of mud and water—eold,
wet, dreary. New York on such a
day presents any thing but tempting
streets with pedestrians. And May
Leverctt might, be forgiven if she
shi-vered and wrapped her fur-lined
cloak closer about, her graceful figure,
even although she had'only to step
from, her own door to the luxurious
carriage awaiting her.
Her business was really important,
for only two weeks later would be her
wedding day, and there wore innu
merable “last things” to be purchas
ed and attended to. So, although
Mrs. Leyerett had thought to-morrow
would do as well as to day tor some
of the purchases; May, with a pretty
pout pleaded-for the carriage, and as
usual had her way. Pray who can be
petted, if the only child of a million
uire is to be denied anything ?.
It rather puzzled May that her
mamma, who was the most indulgent
of that much imposed upon class of
humanity, had been so sad, ever since
her engagement to Lane Dallas.
There was really, May thought, some
thing mysterious about it. Because
there was positively no interruption
in the course of that love story, al
though it was true love on both sides.
Family, wealth, position were all of
fered, with youth, manliness, and
lloiior to pretty May. There was to
be no long separation, for Lane had
purchased the house adjoining Mr.
Leverett’s, and communicating doors
lmd been cut between the twiThouses
through, which May flitted many
times a day, to be sure that the fur
nishing of her new home was pro
grossing satisfactorily.
Why, then, was Airs. Lovcrett so
very sad duriug theso many prepara
tions of bridal home and trousseau ?
Why had May often surprised her
weeping or praying with sobs between
the whispered words ?
She thought of it as she drove
along Broadway to the milliner’s, and
as she thought, thero arose in her
mind another problem, over which she
had often speculated. Why had she
no relatives? Her father, she knew,
was an Englishman who lmd come to
America when very young, and made
his way, by his own efforts from pov
erty t» wealth. Somewhere in Eng
land there might be cousins or other
relatives, of whom May had never
heard. But her mother. was an
American, born in Philadelphia, she
knew/and that was all she knew
In the family bible the first record
was the marriage Paul Leverctt to
Mabel Randolph, and then a list of
five brothers and sisters who.had liv
to
ed and died, leasing only May
grow up in the stately homo.
I wonder,” May thought “if there
was something painful about mam
ma’s wedding, and she thinks of it
i n preparing for mine I wonder if—”
and here the carriage oarne to a full
stop, and the door was opened for
May to alight.
Oh, please buy a cake of soap or
a paper of pins?” said a plaintive
voice near her; and May paused, be
cause in the deep sadness of the voice
there was no professional whine. A
girl of sixteen or seventeen stood be
side the carriage looking into May’s
face, and the petted child of luxury
shuddered as she noted the calico
dress, thin shawl, and shabby hood
that were a mockery of protection
against, the cold.
Shuddered because looking into the
girl’s face was like looking into a
mirror. Were siie pale, thin, shabby
lie would look just as- this street
1 toddler looked. The same large
brows eyes, the same curling blonde
liair, the same delicate features, sen
sitive mouth, and low, bro«0 brow,
under the .coquettish velvet hat and
shabby hood.
It gave May a strange thrill of
pain. Scarcely knowing what im
pulse moved her, she re-entered the
carriage and motioned to the girl to
follow her.
“Soap?” she said, touching the
basket, “what is the, price of your
soap?”
There was a quiver on the pale lips
and a gasp, and then there came over
the sweet, sad face a deathly pal
lor, and the street peddler fainted
“Home!” May cried to the bewil
dered coachman, “as fast as possi
ble, John.”
“Well, here is a go!” muttered the
man, as lie obeyed ordors. “I won
der what Mrs. Leverott will say to
this ’ere carriage load.”
It was not far to drive, and John
had the highly disagreeable task of
lifting (tut in his arms the senseless
girl, whose thin clothes, saturated
by the storm, clung clostdy to her.
and whose hood hatffalleu off, while
May vainly endeavored to restore her
to consciousness.
Mrs. Loverett’s amazement may
be imagined; but, like her daughter,
the strange resemblance in the two
faces before her seemed to give her
also an interest in the senseless stran
ger, and she had her carried at once
to'a bedroom.
“Send Susan here,” she said, as
John deposited his burden on the
bed, “and tell her to bring some of
Miss May’s night-clothes, and
wrapper. May, where did you find
her ?”
May told her story in a few words,
and the three women busied them
selves over the unconscious girl until
she lay in bed clad in dry linen, and
with one of May’s dainty wrappers
around her.
It was a longer task to restore her
to consciousness, but at last the
brown eyes opened and looked won-
deringly around her.
“Mamma !” she murmured, look
ing into the sweet face bending over
her—“Mamma am I dead?”
“Hush, child/” said Mrs. Lovcrett
gently.
“Dead! How can I be with yon
if I am not dead? Oh! what is it?”
slio cried, pitifully, as fuller con
sciousness came to her. “Where am
I? And you—who are you ?”
“Will yon tell me your name?”
said Mrs. Leverctt, in tlio same sub
dued, almost awe-stricken tone she
had used from the moment she
saw her uniuvited guest’s face.
“Helen Freiton.”
“And you arc begging?”
“No,” said the girl struggling to
rise, “I am not begging. I am try
ing to sell some buttons and soap,
We are.starving, grandfather and
mysejf.”
“Starving! I cannot understand,”
said Airs. Loverett. “Who is your
grandfather?”
“Benjamin Randolph!”
For a moment -May thought her
mother was going to follow her
visitor’s example and sink into a
swoon; her face became deathly in its
pallor, and slio trembled as if about
to fall. But in a moment she rallied
and said :
'“Your mother, then, was Helen
Randolph ?”
‘Yes. She is dead.”
‘Dead! Oh, Nellie! NclPe! I
hoped Heaven would let us meet
once more!” said Airs. Leverott, sob
bing.
Yon,” the stranger said sitting
erect—“you must be my aunt Mabel!”
Yes, darling .child I am your
limit Mabel, your mother’s twin sis
ter!”
“Alumina!” cried May, “you never
told me you had a sister !”
“No. dear, I never told you! T
was'Wind by solemn promise never
to speak of her, of my home, my
father. But now I must be absolved
from that promise, for you hear, you
hear, May. My father is starving 1”
“And so is my cousin!”cried May,
seeing the wide-mouthed astonish
ment of Susan for the first time.
Go down stairs, Susan, and bring
up the best luncheon you bun! Go
now!” for Susan lingered.
“Now, mamma,” she said as Susan
reluctantly departed, “please take
pity upon my ciiHogity.”
She nestledjlown upon a scat be
tween her mother’s chair und the
bed, her lovely face close besifao that
of her new-found cousin, and pathet
ically con trusting in youthful health',
and bloom with tlio pule, sweet one
so like it in feature.
“It is an old, old'story, May.” her
mother said. “When I was a girl,
not more than your own age, I loved
a poor man, and my father, then a
very rich man, wished me to inarry
his partner in business, m Wi
many painful scones,,but I could not.
love James Pieatoii, a man thirty
years' mv senior, and bound up in
money-making. I loved your father,
May—tlio noblest, best man I over
know. But he was very poor,—a
teacher in one of the public schools,
and your .grandfather opposed our
marriage for two years. Then, find
ing I was firm, lie gave a reluctant
consent, on condition that we left
the city, and I hold no communion
with my only sister, Helen, who
might otherwise follow my rebellious
course. It was a hard decree, but 1
loved my husband. When we part
ed my father gave mo five thousand
dollars, and we wont to San Francisco
where your father invested my (low
ry, and became a rich man. It was
fifteen years before wo returned
to Philadelphia and I hoped fb bo
once more received into my father’s
home. But we learned that the firm
of Randolph & Preston had ceased to
exist and the partners had left the
city. I can tell you no more, but
your cousin’s name makes me sure
that Helen, more obedient than I,
married our father’s partner.”
“Yes,” said the low sad voice
“my mother married a man chosen
by her father, lie did not love her,
she did not love him All my child
hood memories are clouded by the
reeollectiou of scenes between my
parents of mutual reproach. But
my mother died when I was twelve
years old, and my father a few months
later. When he (lied it was found
that we wore beggars. Grandfather
had put all his business into my
futber’s hands, trusting him with his
entire fortune, after they.retired from
active business. He used every dol
lar in wild speculation, and my grand
father, old and feeble, and I, but
child, have struggled to live nearly
five years—I can scarcely tell you in
wlmt way. We have been peddlers
we have twice bad a tiny store, and
failed to meet its expenses. But we
had enough to eat until grandfather
it. is father’s if he will take nothing
more from me. Now, my dear qbilfrjt,
l am going to leave yon in May’s euro
while 1 go bring my father homo.
Tell me whore I can find him ?”
It was a wretched room in the ten
ement house that, the feeble old man
lay sufforieg wli.en liis daughter came
to him. Over that scene of recon
ciliation, of mutual pvaybrs for for
giveness, I draw a vail; but. there Was
only peaco in each heart when the
garlet was forsaken, and John was
again disgusted by driving another
ragged pauper to the Lovorctts’stuto-
ly homo.
Thero was no interruption to the
wodding preparations, and the only
chnugo made in tlie programme was
the addition of awhor bride’s maid,
in the person of the hrido's pretty
cousin, Helen Pieston. Air,-Lovcr
ett gladly seconded liis wife's gencr-
the prettiest, pout, declares that she
doesn’t boliovo father or mother miss
her one bit, since they have a daugh
ter to pef., and who gives them warm
est'love in return for their affcotion.
And the old man, who gives ah
worshiping love to both his
grandchildren, humbly acknowledges
now i.hat he was wrong to force his
child to marry for wealth, or oppose
the course of true, honest love.
became ill.^ Now—”
“You will never want again,” said
Airs. Leverctt. “I know my hus
band’s generous heart. And years
ago lie put aside my dowry to repay
it if he ever saw my father. It has
been lying at interest for years, and
oils arrangement., and Mabel, with
BILL AKiP’S SUNDAY CHAT.
Why Some People are Poor.
•Silver spoons are used to .scrape
kettles. #
Coffee, tea,.pepper and spices aro
left to stand open and. lose their
strength.
Potatoes in the cellar grow, and
sprouts are not removed until the
potatoes become worthless.
Brooms are never hung up and are
soon spoiled.
Nice handled knives arc thrown
in tit hot 'water.
The floilr is Sifted in a wasteful
man nor, and tlio bread-pun is left
With the dbiigli sticking to-it.
Clothes are loft on the line to whip
to pieces in the wind.
Tubs and barrels aro left in the
sun to dry and fall apart.
Dried fruits are not taken care of
in season and become wormy.
Rags, string and paper arc thrown
into the fire.
Pork spoils for want of salt, and
beef because tlio brine wants scald
ing-.
Bits of meat, vegetables, bread and
cold puddings arc thrown away when
they might bo warmed, steamed and
served as good ns new.
The Cabbage Worm.
Tlio green cabbage worm (pieris
rap®) can be successfully destroyed
with hot water. Tlio cabbage plants
will bear, without,injury, tlio water
heated to 200 degrees Fahremheit,
while oven at a few degrees lower in
temperature it will kill the worms.
The hot water is best applied through
the rose of a common watering pfdi.
This method of destruction is easier
und more efficient than the use of
salt, carbonate lime and other sub
stance which liuve been employed
more or less efficiently heretofore.’
Ilow to manure Grapes.
Prof. Goesman of the Massachusetts
Agricultural College, demonstrated,
by experiments and analyses, that
animal manure was postivoly injuri
ous to grapes, producing large vig
orous vines, but little fruit, and tend
to induce rot mid mildew. But he
found that potush and superphos
phates had the opposite effeet, pro
ducing abundant fruit of superior
quality.
Funny advortisemonts takon from
an advertising column : “An airy
bed-room for a gentleman twenty-two
feet long by fourteen wide.” “A
house for a family in good repair.”
“A delightful gontlcman’s residence.’
“Red children’s stockings for salo
hero.” “A large Spanish blue gen
ileman’s cloak lost near the market.”
“Green, black, and 'white ladies’
veils for sale here.”
The “Old Lady” Makes Divers
Preparations to go on Her First
Visit in “Forty Years.”
Aiiaiita (Constitution.
Alan was not nuido to live alono.
I dont mean alone like Robinson
Oruso, bufc alono in a house without,
a woman—-a help-mate, a pard. Its
an awful thing to come in and find
the maternal chair vacant, even for
a season. 1 know sho'has gone, hut
still I imagine that she is somewhere-
on the premises a circulatin around
and aroumi. I am listening Tor the
rattle of her dress or the Creak of her
nimble shoe—sho wears number 2%
with a high ins to}), and walks like a
door. Ever and uiion lhethinks 1
hoar her accustomed voice saying,
William, William—Air. Arp, major,
come here a moment.
Wlmt wonderful resolution some
women 'have got ? Airs. Arp Ims at
last, departed. She 1ms undertook a
journey. . Kor several weeks, it Ims
been the family tidk. Some said.she
would get-off and some said she
wouldeut* As for herself, sho was
serious and non-committal, hut wo
daily observed that tlio big old trunk
tlmt.contained the accumulated frag
memts of bettor days was being di.li
gently ransacked. Scraps of lace,
ami lawn, and ribbon, and silk, and
velvet, and-muslin, and bumbuzcon,
and eassimore, were brought forth
and airod, and the flat-iron kept busy
pressing and smoothing the wrinkles
that ago had furrowed in them. All
sorts ofjmttdrns froTTi Demurest and
Khrcek and Buttoriek, wore overhaul
ed and consulted with a kind of sad
reality. A woman may lie too poor
to buy calico.at 0 cents ii yard, but
she will lmvo patterns, little jackets,
and pants,, ami shirts-—litile drosses,
and drawers, ami petticoats, and
aprons .lmd to bo made up, and
nobody but Iter knew wlmt tboy
would bo made of. I toll you one of
tlioso old fashioned mothers is a mir
aole of grace. ' It aint onoonmipn for
folks nowadays to bo their own tailors
and dressmakers, but it takes sense
and genius to get up a respectable
outfit from scraps and old clothes
outgrown or abandoned for mtage or
leakage. It was wonderful to see her
rip cm, and turn ein, and cut cm,
and twist cm—gittin a piece here and
scrap there, cuttin them down to
the pattern—running tlieih through
the machine, and before anybody
knew it sho lmd the littlo chaps ar
ranged as line as a band-box ami
never called on anybody for a nickel.
Tjmts what I call the quintessence
of domestic economy. Nobody can
beat her in that lino. She knows
how to put the-bost foot foremost.
Hor children lmvo got to look as
docent as other people’s, or slio will
keep om at homo certain. She dont
go aljput much, and scorns, to grow
closer ami-closer to the chimney cor
nor; but when slio does move its a
family sensation. Every one helps-
every one advises and encourages her
in a subdued and respectful way.
All want her lo go off and rest and
have a good time for her own fiiko,
but tdl hor over and over how much
they will miss her, aiid wear a littlo
shadow of sorrow in tlio high side of
the fuco. I think though she sus
pected all tho time they would turn
up Jack while sho was away.
\fell, she did got off at. last—on a
three hours journey and to stay a
whole week. It was a tremendous
undertaking, for she said the harness
might break, or the buggy collapse,
or tho old mare run away on the
road to town, and the ears might run
off the traqk or brink through a
bridge, or not stop long enough for
her to got off with the children, or
let her off and tuke tho children on,
or somo of us would get sick, or the
house catch afire, or some tramp
come along in tho night oud rob us
and entail our throats while wo were
asleep, and we wouldent know aching
about it iill next morning.
“Now, William,” said sho, “be
mighty careful of everything, for
you know how poor we are anyhow.’’
“Poor as Lazarus,” said I, “but
n rest in in Abraham's bosom.”
“Well, never mind Lazarus,” said
she; “the paregoric and quinine awl
turpentine are on the shelf in the
cabinet. I lmvo liid the landmim,
for its dangerous, and you Imvoiit
more than half sense •ill the night-,
time, and might make a mistake.
Dont lot Ralph lmVe the gun nor go
to the mill-pond. There are four
geoso a setting, and yon must look
after the gosliiis, and if you dont
shoot that hawk spring chickens will ;
bo mighty scarce on this lot. And
see here, William, I want, you to take
the beds off the. bedsteads in my
room and sliut the doors and windows
and make a lire of sulphur fh some
old pan. They say it. will just, kill
evory tiling;” “Must I ^ta^ inisido or
'outside,” said I, in a uafisabiaflea’
tone*, ‘•Araybe ybu had better try it
awhile inside,” said slio ? “jest to see
if you ever could get used to it.
Now, Witlifim, take good care of
everything, for you may never see
me again. Hoinohow I fetff like
soinetiiiug’s going to happen to me.
Dont. whip'.Ralph while I'm gone—
the poor boy uint well—he looks i-iglit
pokid—and when vou Whipped <Mri
tho other dav tlio marks wore nil over
li is 1 i tlilo legs.” Slid ft] ways looks for
marks—the little willows uro soft as
broom-straws, but she is Udnnd to
find a faint streak or tvyoj liiM thoves
a tear for every liiarlc. ~ ' ' 1 '
“William, the buttons are all right
on youl'shiris. Feed the little chick
ens till I come back. I think the
bnntin hen is settin somowhOro; ahd ,
t Imres six eggs in my drawer that old
Brownie laid on lily bed. If the
children get sick you nniwl, telegraph
me.” “And if I got sick myself,”
said I, inquiringly—“Why* Uteres
tho medicine in the cabinet,” said
she, and yon mu sent forgot to water
my pot-plants, I told All*. Freeman
to look after you und the boys, and
Mrs. Froenmii will keep an eye on ,
the.girls. Good-byo. Dont yon out
the Imms. I want them for compa
ny, and dont go in the looked pun-
try.” I reckon sho must have taken
the key off with her, for wo cant find
it. “Good-bye—fake caroof Bows.”
Hlio kissed us all round and choked
up a littlo and droppod a few tears
and was gone. > •
Its mighty still, and solemn, and
lonely around here now. Lonely'
uint the word, nor howlin wilderness.
There aint any word to express the
goneness and desolation that wo fool.
There is hor vacant chair in the
corner— • \
Yes, the rocker still is sitting
Just where she was ever knitting— •
Knilling for the bairns hie: here.
Another room is sad and ilrcary, I J.
And my soul is getting weury, . •
And my heart, is sick mid sore—&e.
The dog goes whining around—tho
malteese eats are mewing and tho
children look lost and droopy, But
we’ll get oyyr it in a day or two,
maybe, and then for a high old
time.' Yours, Bju, Aui\
Isis?
“Divines” ami Tobacco.
| New York Nfar.J
Rev. 0. H. Spurgeon, the Baptist
preacher of London, is a great smbk-
er. On one oocousion Hcv. G. II.
Pentecost, of Boston, addressed an
audience in Spurgeon’s Tabernacle,
in which lie (Icinnnmcd smoking as
anoffensointhesightof God.. When
lie had finished speaking Air. Spur
geon got up and told his people that
lie saw no possible sin in smoking,
and electrified Brother Pentecost
by reiiiurkmgl.hu! as soon as tho ser
vices were overlie was going to smoko
a cigar himself. RoV. W. 11, II.
Murray, of Boston, enjoys a cigar as
well as n dinner, rim same may be
truly said of a grout many divines.
lkn$:
“Pcoplo who never have ;
ed on their oyes probably do
know that 400,00),000 wavo-len
of light strike upon the retina
a single second.” And probub!
don’t care so long as a brick, or
thing‘that way doqsn’i strike on the
sumo spot in leas than u minute.
'I
1