Newspaper Page Text
VOL. X.
THE NINTH OF APRIL, 18G5.
tendon Spectator.
It is a nation’s death cry? Yes, the agony
is pnst;
The stoutest race tliat. ever fought, to-day
has fought its lust.
Ay, start and shudder, well thou mayest!
Well veil thy weeping eyes.
England, may God forgive thy past—man
can not but despise.
Yes, shudder at that erv that speaks the
South’s supreme despair,
Thou that could’st. save and snved’st not—
that could’st and did’st not dare.
Thou that Tiad’st might to aid the right and
heart to brook the wrong;
Weak words of comfort for the weak,
strong hands to help the strong /
That land, the garden of thy wealth, one
haggard waste appears,
The ashes of her sunny homes arc slaked
with patient tears ;
Tenrs for the slain who died in. vain for
freedom on the field,
Tenrs, tears of bitter anguish still for those
that lived to yield.
The cannon of his country pealed Stuarl’s
funeral knell;
Her soldiers’ cheers rang in his ears ns
Stonewall Jackson fell.
Onward o’er gallant Ashby’s grave swept
war’s triumphant tide,
And southern homes were living yet when
Polk and Morgan died.
But he, the leader on whose word those
captains loved to wait.
Tile noblest , bravest, best of all hath found
a harder fate ;
Unscathed by shot and steel lins passed
through many a desperate Held; • %
Oil ! God, that he hath lived so long and
only lived—to yield.
Along the war-worn, wasted ranks that
loved him to the last
With saddened face and weary pace the
vanquished chieftain passed.
Their own hard lot the men forgot they
felt what (his) must be;
What thoughts in that dark hour must
ring the heart of General Lee.
The manly cheek with tenrs were wet, tlje
* , stately head was bowed,
As breaking front their scattered ranks
around his horse they cpwd.
• f I did my best for you,” 'twas all those
quivering lips could say;
Ah. happy those whom death has spared
the anguish of this day.
Weep on, Yirginia / Weep the lives given
to thy cause in vain, ' #
The sous who live once more to wear the
Union’s galling chains;
The homes whose light is quenched for
aye, the graves without a stone,
The folded Hag, the broken sword, the
hope forever flown.
Yet raise thy head, fair land, tliy dead died
bravely for the right,
Thy folded flag is stainless still, the broken
sword is bright,
No blot is on thy record found, no treason
soils thy fume
Weep thou thy dead—with covered head
we mourn our England’s shame.
A STORY TOW) BY TWI
LIGHT.
“It is provoking,” M^p. Gaylord
said, looking up from a letter to ad
dress Miss Whitman, who sat near
her, knitting as placidly as if earth
had no disturbing element to trouble
her serenitv.
**
“What is provoking?” she asked
quietly.
“I have a letter here asking me to
provide a suitable governess for two
young ladies, of fourteen and sixteen
99 *
“Provoking!” said Miss Whitman,
“when you are wishing so much for
a situation for Agnes ?”
“Hear me out. The situation is
charming; my correspondent writes
that the home, on the Hudson, is all
the heart can des'.re, the pupils am
iable, the house under control of a
housekeeper, and the father, a wid
ower, ubsont in Europe. The last
•governess, however, married the
music teacher of a New York semi
nary, and a condition most impera
tive is that the governess must be
middle-aged.”
“And Agnes is twenty,”
“So you soe Agnc-s will not do.*
Mr. Giles is the lawyer of the family
and Mr. Wainright leaves all to him,
and he in turn hands the responsi
bility over to me.”
As Mrs. Gaylord looked up after
these last words, she was amazed to
see the placid face of her companion
flushed, eager, and with quivering
lips scarcely able to say:
“Suppose I go ?”
To speak of Mrs. Gaylord’s aston
ishment would be a vain task. For
twelve years Ella Whitman had been
her assistant in the management of
a popular seminary for young ladies,
and it was like asking her to lose
her right hand to propose a separa
tion.
“You !” said Mrs. Gaylord.
“Yes. I know I am competent,
and I am thirty-five and look forty-
five.”
“But what will become of me?”
“Give my place to Miss Keyse;
and advance the other teachers, giv
ing the last place to Agnes.”
“But--”
“I will not hear objections. I
want a change, and when these young
ladies cease to require a governess,
if yon want me, I will return to
you.”
“I thought you were happy here,
Ella,” Mrs. Gaylord said, reproach
fully.
“Iam. I always have been. But.
I want to see a glimpse of life else
where. I can never forget all your
kindness to me ; and yet I want a
change. Write and recommend me
to Mr. Giles.”
“If I must, I must. But promise
to return here if you are not happy
at Mr. Wainright’s.”
. “I promise.”
* * * *
“I wonder what she will look like,”
Nell Wainright said to her sister
Lily, as the two stood upon a vine-
wreatod porch, on a lovely day late
in June. 1 .
“We shall know very soon,” said
Lily, gently, “tor the carriage is
turning the bend in the road.”
“I hope she won’t bo cross,” Nell
said, half pouting. “Here she is.”
It was natural that the girls should
Jppk eager at the lady who alighted
from the carriage, which had been to
meet the afternoon train from New
York. She was tall, wth a full’
commanding figure, a noble face,
fiill of intellect and refinement, and
with brown eyes so full of tenderness,
a smile so winning that her pupils
advanced to meet her with hearts air
ready e^ger to give her loving wel
come.
“We are Lily and Ella Wainright,”
Nell said, with a girlish courtesy.
“This is Lilly and I am Ella—hut
everybody calls me Nell.”
Miss Whitman replied pleasantly,
kissing her pupils with affection, and
seeming decpjy moved by their cor
dial welcome. The old housekeeper,
Mrs. Short, was in the hall, and a
cry rose to her lips as she came for
ward. But Miss Whitman greeted
her as a stranger, and she drawback,
muttering:
“.Well! well/ If that aint a cu
rious thing! I never saw two peo
ple so alike!”
It would make my story too long
to tell of the life that filled the next
three years. Walter Wainright re
mained abroad, and Ella was mis
tress of his splendid home, instruct
ress of his daughters, who gave her
almost worshiping love.
It was marvelous to sco how she
seemed to grow younger in her now
home. Her great beauty was of the
type that does not fade early, and in
pure air her color brightened, her
eyes grew luminous, and she had
ever a happy light in them, more
beautiful than tlfeir old seren’ty.
For many years there had lurked
under the peaceful expression the
traces of sorrow overcome, of a life-
battle where the victory was won by
fierce struggle; but all sadness left
the noble face at Moss Hill, as Mr.
Wainright called his place, and the
peace brightened to happiness.
Three years after the June day
when the sisters hatched for the ar
rival of their governess, tho happy
trio were assembled on the same
porch, after tea, chatting in the
twilight. In October Ella was to
lose one of her pupils. Lily was to
go to her aunt in New York, to en
ter society, and Nell would remain
still two years at Moss Hill.
“Tell us a story?” Nell said, sit
ting on the porch step, and leaning
against a pillar; “a love story please,
Miss Ella.”
“A love storv ! Let me think!
Once upon a time—”
Lily laughed musically.
“It ought to bo a fairy story, if it
opens so,” she said.
“No/ it is a love story,” said Ella,
but she did not smile. “Once upon
a time there was a very rich man
who owned a magnificent estate
near a large city. He had married
late m lifo and lost his wife, whom
lie idolized, soon after their mar
riage, by an accident. She was
thrown from her horse and killed
before his eyes. For years ho shut
himself up in his splendid home,
soeing no ono, living tho life of a
hermit. But his sister died and loft
him the care of a noble boy of thir
teen, while almost at the samo time
tho sister of the wife lie loved so
dearly, oven in memory, also died,
leaving a little girl of ten, utterly
friendless and penniless. Tho two
children went to their now home on
the sume day, and as their kind
friend and relative did nothing with
half a heart, he threw off in a great
measure his reserve and melancholy,
to make their home pleasant to
them.”
“What wore their uamris ?’.’ asked
Nell.
“You may christen them.”
“Well, papa has the prettiest name
in the world—Walter! Lily, you
may name the girl. I call tho boy
Walter.”
“I will name the girl for yon,”
said Lily. “So they arc Walter and
Ella/”. .
Had the light beeii stronger the
girls might have noticed a sudden
pallor on the face of their governess,
but her voice was steady as she con
tinued. Not one of tho three had
seen a tall figure cross the lawn at
some distance from them, and enter
tho house by the low French win
dows at the back of the drawing
room. Neither did they see him
cross tho room and seat himself be
hind tho lace curtains in the dark
ness, so near the group he could have
touched any of the trio by stretching
out his arm. ,
“Walter and Ella, then, since you
so name thorn,” said Miss Whitman,
“lived a life of complete happiness in
their luxurious home. Their undo
loved them, they loved each other
and their only sorrow was the sepa-
t-ion of school life, as they passed
from home instruction to college and
seminary.
“It was after their final return
home that thefr uncle told them of
his wish that they should marry, and
inherit his fortune and home, to
gether. Now my darlings, yon may
take an old maid’s word for one fact,
that love will not come to order.
Ella asked no greater happiness than
to become Walter’s wife, and for a
time she believeu he loved her. But
as she grew older she beeamo con
vinced that she did not hold Walter’s
heart as he held hers. She was jeal
ous of tho daughter ot an old friend,
who came often to visit them. As
wo are confining our names to those
near at hand, will call her for you,
Lily. She was very beautiful—-not
tall as Ella was, not quite so fond
of music and books, but a fairy-like
blonde, winsome, and tender—the
very woman to win a man’s heart
and hold it in silken bonds stronger
than iron. Walter loved her.”
“And Ella loved him,” sighed
Lily. “Oh, dear!”
“What did the uncle do ?” asked
Nell.
“Before the uncle know of any
cross to his plans he died. But in
his will he left his property to Ills
nephew and his ward only upon the
condition of their marriage. If eith
er refused the marriage, tho money
went to u'public charity, the house
to be sold, and tho proceeds added
to the sum. But if either died the
other inherited all. It was a oruel
will, for every day it became more
evident, to Ella that her heart was
given to ono who found the gift a
heavy burden. The soul of chivalry,
Walter tried to conceal his avorsion
to the woman lie must marry, unless
they both became boggars. She lov
ed him so well that his grief became
hors, arid she tried to imagine somo
way to free him. Only her death
could release him. so she resolved to
dio.” ;
“Oh,” gasped Nell
“She ’wrote a loiter bidding him
farewell, rind left the house. There
was a small row boat which she often
rowed upon the river alone. This
was found turned upside down, and
her hat floating near it. Walter ad
vert.isodf for tho body, for any news
of her, but none oamo, aud after a
year tho law gave him solo control of
his uncle’s property. It ought to bo
his, for Ella was not related to the
old man, although she called him
uncle and loved him tenderly.”
“Did ho marry Lily ?”
“Oh, yes, they were married.”
“But poor Ella,” sighed Lily,
“Bitt she did not dio,” said Miss
Whitman. “She shrank from the
crime of suicide. So. while they
were hunting for her body, she wits
in another place, a large city, earn
ing a comfortable living in a conge
nial pursuit. Do not sigh for lier
Lily. She conquered her lover years
ago, and her life is a tranquil, happy
and usoful one.”
There was somo further conversa
tion, and the sisters wont to thrill
own room, while tho govorncss went
into the drawing room to get a hook
she had loft there. As she Jit the
gas, a tall figuro rose from a seat near
the window, and came forward. Ho
spoke ono word only:
“Ella!”
And sho staggerod back, and
would have fallen if his strong arm
had not caught her.
“Elia!” lie said again, “my love!
my d.arling! I- heard your story, hid
den hero, to see my children unseen,
before tliov knew of my return home.
Oh, my darling, you wero wrong.
Pal ways- loved you, but your own
doubt made me so cold that I thought
you would marry me only in obedi
ence to my nnelc’s will.”
“ You did not love Lijy?” she said.
“Only in a friendly way. I loved
yon—yon only. But when I believed
yon dead, her sweet consolation won
what was left of my sore licort. We
were happy, and she never knew she’
was not my first love; but how—I
will nevor let you go again, Ella !”
There was rapturous give ring for
“pupa” tho next morning, but the
delight of the girls was increased
when ho said to them, very gravely :
“I will finish the story, your gov
erness began last.evening: Walter's
wife died, but ho found Ella, and
loved her. Sho is here, and you
must give her a place in your hearts,
as my wife, and your mother.”
When a woman spends three hours
in a. hot kitchen and roasts her brains
out almost in preparing a tempting
and rippetizing dinner for hor hus
band, to which ho sits down without
a word of commendation, and replies
when asked how he likes his dinner,
Oh, it will do,’ tho tired-out wife
doesn’t feel encouraged to waste
much time on his suppor.
When the Confederate army was
on tho shortest rations General Leo
remonstrated with a straggler for
eating green persimons, and asked
him if he did not know they were
unfit for food. 'I’m not eating them
for food, General,’ replied the man,
but for tho sake of drawing my
stomach up to fit my rations.’
Sinco the 5th of March 2,709 ne
groes have left Louisiana and Missis-
rppi for Kansas.
Stern poverty may compel, but it
can never reconcile a hoy to wearing
a yellow patch on a black pair of
pants.
AMONG THE ARPS.
A Double Fire In the Family.
Atlanta Constitution.
It was my timo to go. Mrs. Arp
said it was for I looked puny and she
thought a small excursion would do
mo good. A rollin stone gathers no
moss aud as I drink like moss I con
cluded to roll. Whotv'sho went away
the motto was aauttin hen riovcr.gots
fal.
For six months I have stayed right
close at home and 1 felt like my feel-
ftigs was a feeling stagnant. A man
can keep on doing a tiling nritcll he
settles down in a bed of inertia and
dont want to got out of it. By and
bv ho gets deeper*and deoper and has
to ho prised out, or else lie becomes
fossiliforbns. Somo men get fossil-
iferous runnin after money and Keep
on arid keep on q long time after
they have got, onuf. Some get fos-
siliferons in hankorin after office and
keep on and keep on long after they
have played out.
My good wife was a thoughtful
observer of my brief preparations.
Sho carefully repaired tho shuttered
linen, got mo a fresh handkerchief
out of that samo old trunk, ironed
out, the wrinkles in my black cravat,
and brought forth a now pair of socks
which she knit more than a year ago.
When I Was all fixed up she pornsod
me with unusual interest and said .*
“Now, William, dont forgot, how to
behave yourself for what—with your
foolishness in tho newspapers and
your likt-lo slandors of mo arid the
children—you have gotten somewhat
notorious and tho people will he
watching you. *Dont you give them
any chance to talk about yon. Dont
gas around. Dont try to show off,
ami above all, thiiigirddnt go to living
around ( lie women.” (I knowod that
wuh a coming.) “If tlieros anything
in the world I do despise if, is to see
a man with a wife and children mak
ing a fool of hiniaolf about othor wo
men. You wont, will you P”
“I will not, my dear,” said I. “I
nevor do. Your sweet and patient
face is always before me.* You are
the bright particular star that—”
“Well, never mind the stars.” said
she, “I havont got up thore yet.
Kids the children a good-by and go
along, and I hope you will have a
good time.”
Sol departod those lovely coasts
amid the fond embraces of my nu
merous wife and offspring, and now
find myself in tho midst of tho cen
tral city, where I’m having such an
elegant timo I dent, want to go back
riiot yet,
I’m sorter like tho old cow who
had to bo pulled by the horns up to
the slop pail and pulled by the tail
away. I’m delighted w.ith Macon
and her refined and intelligent pco-
plo. Thore is nothing crowded here
and nobodv in a harry. Whon a
horse Vims away there is plenty of
dodgin room. The heights that
surround the city look like Arling
ton, and arc adorned with grand and
bountiful residences, where the na
bobs live in elogant luxury. Most
everybody is rich. The business then
wait for trade but dont run after it.
When a friend comes to sco om they
order a carriage, and shut up tho
store, and ride him to Vinoville and
Arlington and tho Central park, and
if some othor feller gets the trude
while tjioy are gone tlioy tjont cure a
darn. Colonel Hardeman came to
see mo, and was the same genial
gentleman ho always, was. He said
there wore four important things
about Macon that needed the foster
ing care of tho people, und must be
protected at all hazards, which was
the blind asylum, the femalo college,
the agricultural society, and Hurdo-
mail’s warehouse lie went off last
night to make a speech for tho ladies
of Thomuston, which his privutc
secretary told mo, upon honor, was
tho 297th since tho war. tl tho
ladies could only voto ho would ho
elected govornor as long as he lived.
I aiui snre hut what lie’s the coining
man, anyhow, for if our good gov
ernor wont run tho noxt time I dont
know of anybody who has . got. more
friends. His apple is about ripe.
He thought it was several years ago,
but I reckon ho was mistaken. But
its ripe now. Tlunvs a heap of
apples on I ho gubernatorial t ree.
Some of thorn are green and sour-
some are half rollon. Tho yaller
jackets have bored into some like a
slander gimlet ; some look mighty
smooth and pretty on one side, but
have got an ugly flaw on the other,
arid some are rotten at tho core.
But tho colonel is like a big ripe red
round, snioothakin apple that, hasn’t
a speck or pimple ami smells us sweet
as a juicy girl. Some of his friends
told me that we must make him
governor-that, it was a mattor of
imminent necessity, for the pressure
was so grout upon him tho fear was
that ho might speak himself to doth.
They said that it was impossible for
him to dodge it, that lie tried vari
ous little wliito lies und prevarications
saying that “other previous engage
ments,” etc., but now they wrote
him six months, and twelve months,
and two years in advanco, so as to be
in time.
Well, we will all see about it, col
onel, and do tho very host wo can.
Bii.l Am*.
Wlint In In the Bedroom?
If two persons nro to occupy a
bedroom during a night, lot them
stop upoir weighing scales as they
retire and thc;i again in the morning
and (hoy will liml thoir actual weight
is at least a pound loss in the morn
ing. Froquoutty there will lie a loss
of two or more pounds, and tho av-
orago loss throughout the year will
be more than one pound—that is,
during the night there is a loss of a
pound.of matter wjiicli has gone off
from their bmlios, partly from tho
lungs and partly through tho pores
of tho skin. ’I’jio escaped material
is carbonic acid, and decayed animal
matter or poisonous exhalations.
Tills is diffused through tho a:r in
part and in part absorbed by tho hod
clothes. If a single ounce of wool
or cotton bo burned in a room, it
will so completely saturate tho air
with smoko that ono can hardly
breathe, though there can only ho un
ounce of foreign mattor in tho air.
If an ounce of cotton bo burned every
half hour during the night, tho air
will ho kept continually saturated
with tho smoko unless there bo an
open door or window for it to escape.
Now tho sixteen ounces of smoko
thus formed is far less poisonous than
the sixteen ounces of exhalations
from tho lungs and bodies of tho
two poisons who havo lost a pound
in weight during tho eight honysof
sleeping, for while the dry smoke is
mainly taken into tho lungs, tho
damp odors from the body are ab
sorbed into the lungs and into tho
pores of tho wliolo body. Need more
bo said to show tho importance of
having bodrooma woll vontUntcd, and
thoroughly airing the shoots, cover-
lots and mattresses in the morning,
before packing thorn up in the form
of a neatly made bed.
Owing to hard times there is a
good deal of suffering in Oil City.
A poor man there offered to pawn a
dozen eggs, a pound of mgar, a quart
of molasses and a half pock of pota
toes for a glass of whisky.
A sour old bachelor, who hod oneo
had thoughts of matrimony, said lie
changed his.mind when ho found
that the girl and all her people were
opposed lo it.
When a girl gets mad and rises
from a follow’s knee, but thinks bet
tor of it and. gets back uguin, is what
they call a relapse.—[American
Punch. .
‘Sam, why am lawyers like do
fishes?’ ‘I don’t meddle with that
-ubjtei, I’omp.’ ‘Whv, don’t you
see, niggu, kuze dey am so fond of
de-butc.’