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'— ■ ■ (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