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■ ; •> < : ." . , 1 "'ffifis*’'"”’ >J i *^* ■ ’ - s 7 rai' iPflw . iM r $ * VOL. 1. DUBLIN, GEORGIA., WEDNESDAY, MAY 21, 1879. NO 49 BE A WOMAN. -a Oft I’ve heard a gentle mother, As the twilight hours began, Pleading with n son on duty,. Urging him to be a mail. But unto her blue-eyed daughter, Though with love’s words quite ns ready. Points she out the other, duty— “Strive, my dear, to be a lady.” What’s a lady? It is something Made of hoops, and silks, and airs, Used to decorate the parlor, Like the fancy rings and chairs? It is one that wastes on novels Every feeling that is human? If ’tis this to he a lady, ’Tis not this to lie a woman. Mother, then, unto your daughter Speak of something higher far Than to be mere fashion’s lady— “Woman” is the brightest star. If you in your strong affection, Urge your son to he a true man. Urge your daughter no less strongly To arise and he a woman. Yes, a woman/ brightest model Of that high and perfect beauty, Where the mind and soul and body Blend to work out life’s great duty. Be a woman 7 naught is higher • On the gilded crest of fame ; On the catalogue of virtue There’s no brighter, holier name. Be a woman ! On to duty ! liaise the world from all that's low, Place high, in the social heaven Virtues lair and radiant bow, Lend tlly influence to each effort That shall raise our nature human ; Be not fashion’s giddy lady-— Be a brave, whole-souled, true woman. CONTRARY MINDED. “I wonder he didn’t take the par son, ” mused the deacon’s housekeep er as the deacon drove off alone to the annual contcrc'nce. “lie’s com monly master-thoughtful about look ing out for folks. What a husband lie was !’’ Yes, Asti Phoenix lmd been a good husband.' All tin-neighbors agreed with Mrs. Dubbs in that particular, lie had waited upon bis fussy invn- **lid wife by dying Riches for thirty years, making her as happy as she would let liitn; and when her sum-- inons^tame, lie had closed her dying eyes tenderly, saying, even with -tears, “Poor sufferer, she is better f off!” That he was better off he hinted not • by word or look. Ho wore I113 wid ower’s weeds with sad decorum; he reared in memory of the departed Lucinda a monument which the most fastidious deceased might have qii- vied; he grieved faithfully for the. full allotted year of mourning. If now, from the ashes of the funeral pyre, like his feathered- namesake of faille, lie was springing up with re newed youth and freshness, was it not well ? In truth, though he had not seen fit to confide this fact to Mrs.-Dubbs, Deacon Phoenix had slighted the minister deliberately and w'.th malice . aforethought. Nor was it of the conference he was thinking that fra grant June morning as he whirled away, tuekhig the lap-robe well about liis glossy new broad-cloth. For once in his hitherto blameless life ho was essaying to hide secular underneath the spiritual. He did not mean to go straight to meeting ; it was his wily intention to make a wide circuit, and call on Miss Olive Wayne in the town of Chester. He lmd a question to ask her, and did not want the parson witli him; lie hoped he might want him later. Pretty cheerful Olive! How fond lie had been of her, years ago, when she attended his school! If he lmd not been in love’ with Lucinda, he was sure he should have fallen in love with her, mere child though she was. He had never lost sight of her, and he thankod Providence that, he lmd been enabled by money and influence to help her family over some , hard places. Please God, the dear girl should henceforth have an easier life. Girl! Why little Olive must he fifty! The good deacon laughed at the amasing recollection. Well, she would always seem young to him. And as for himself, at sixty odd lie was a hale man yet, lie could jump a five-rail fence as well as he ever could—give him time. Ilis thoughts continuously reverted to Olive, so patiently devoted to her invalid father. She should bring the old gentleman to his house if sho wished, or he would provide for his maintenance at her brother Reuben’s. He was inclined t.o consider that the better plain The money would bo an object to Reuben, In those cogitations the morning passed and noon found Deacon Phoe nix at ‘the little hotel at Chester. Impatient of delay, after a hasty din ner he set out almost immediately for the Wayne homestead. Arriving at the gate he spied Miss Olive at the window, and alighted with a youthful agility not altogether pru dent in a man who lmd twinges of sciatica. And yet—strange incon sistency of human nature!—he dal lied at the hitching post, afterward, with his hand on the very knocker, lie paused to scan the distant horizon as though he had come mainly for a view of the mountains. Miss Olive opened the door, her check flushing like late October peaches. She would not have been a woman lmd she not divined the deacon’s tender mission, proclaimed by every detail of bis im maculate toilette, by the grasp of his hand, by his nervous, expectant air. And, moreover, Olive was an attrac tive woman, not unversed in lovers’ ways. “Happy to see you, Mr. Phdmix, walk in,” said she, fluriedly ushering him into the sitting room, where her aged father dozed in his arm chair. “Who is it, Olive?” said the old gentleman, waking with a.bewildor- ed stare. “Mr. Phoenix, father. You re member Mr. Phoenix, I’m sure.” “I don’t know as I’do,” said he, quornoiisly, fumbling with the guests outstretched hand. “What’s he come for, Olive ?” The deacon looked as if he was suddenly feeling the hot weather; Miss 01ive*was positively feverish, blit she-deftly evaded the trouble some question by diverting her fa ther’# attention. His peppermint tea was ready—would he not drink ■it? As she hovered about the inva lid, straightening his footstool, ar ranging his pillows, steadying the oil]) while lie drank, Mr. Phoenix re garded her admiringly. How young she seemed still! Not a gray thread in her golden hair; scarcely a wrinkle in her face. That was because of her excellent disposition. He wait ed till she lmd soothed the old man into slumber, then in a direct, manly way introduced the subject that lay next liis heart. Miss Olive interrupted him by an eloquent glance toward her father. “He is very childish and depend ent. Ife cannot do without me.” “Let me help you care for him, Olive; my house is large, my means are ample.” “I couldn’t, Mr. Phoenix—it is like your generosity to propose such a thing; but I couldn’t have him a burden upon you.” “Why, bless your soul, Olive, do you suppose I should consider a friend of .yours a burden?” “You don’t know how trying poor father would be to anybody but liis own daughter, and I think he is like- 13' to live to u great age, as grand father did.” “For that very reason then, then “Besides it would make hirn wretched to take him from tho old Homestead.” “But Olive—” “So you- see I’m engaged, Mr. Phoenix,” said Miss Olive, playfully, while she whisked away a tear. “I am engaged. You must niarry some lady who isn’t. And I hope you’ll be a^ happy as you deserve to he,” she added, with a little tremor, springing up to adjust the curtain. In vain he tried to bend her to his wishes; she remained outwardly as firm as the hoarthstone at her feet, till at length ho arrived at the un welcome conviction that she lmd no liking for him, or she would linvo listened to liis pleadings. She had interposed the «kl gentleman merely as a sort of cushion to softon the blow of her rejection. If he took a smiling leavo, it was because pride tugged at. his facial muscles, for, to tell tho truth, he had never been more disappointed and chagrined in his lifo. Of what avail the stylish cquippugo upon which he lmd ouco plumed himself! Was it not bearing him on to the tomb? And why should ho wish to prolong his early prilgrimage? What, further attraction had life for him, a lonoly old man nearly seventy ? Hardly conscious of the reins, he had driven some miles at an unsnne- tified. pace, when ho almost ran over Mr. Torroy, brother of the deceased Lucinda, wlvo was walking behind his carriage up a long ascent. “Going to conforenco?” asked that gentleman, after an exchange of greetings. “Didn’t you como a roundabout way?” “I’m inclined to think I did,” as sented the deacon, with a prodigious show of candor. “A roundabout way and a hard way. Is your wife with you?” “Yes; and the widow Vance. I have to. foot it up lull, you see. Horse stepped on a rolling stone back apiece and lamed himself.” “Your load is too heavy let sister Tyrrjy ride with me.” But sister Torroy. being nervous, lilco Lucinda before her, and mor tally afraid of the deacon’s spirited steed, it was in the end Mrs. Vunce who nestled into the vacant seat. Bho was a gushing young widow whose mitigated grief manifested it self in certain coquettish 'bows of pale lavender. Slip protested that 1 slip already felt acquainted with Mr. Phdmix through her lato. husband,, to whom lie lmd been sd kind. She would never cease to bo grateful for the many favors lie had conferred upon dear Charles, etc. In the morning the worth}'deacon would have smiled inwardly at this, effusive panegyric. Tins afternoon he hugged it like a poultice to his aching heart. It soothed liis wound ed self-love, and inclined him toward his fair eulogist to whom lie recounted pleasant anecdotes of her husbands boyhood. Indeed, lie made himself so agreeable that she was rather sor ry to roach Church\illc, where the whole party wero cordially welcomed at the house of Mr. Zenus Torroy. A proud man was Mr. Phoenix. He would not for tho world have lmd his recent disappointment suspected by his wife’s relatives, and during those three days of conference lie carried himself .with a resolute cheer fulness that sometimes—out of meet ing, of course--verged friskiness. Mrs. Vance told Mrs. Zorins Torroy that he was “just splendid,” which compliment Mrs. Torroy repeated to him with a significant smile, hinting that if ho thought of marrying again ho need not search far for a wife. He looked, confused and hotly dis claimed any matrimonal intention. As to the 3'oung widow, was he not double her age? Would June join hands with December. Alas! wlmt an insignificant trifle can turn the scale of human destiny! But for a horse’s right forefoot Dea con Phoenix might have roturned to his homo on the morrow as he iiad left it—a free roan. It was the lame horse that kicked the beam and de cided his fate. On Friday morning that meddling quadruped having been found lamer than ever, the dea con could do no less than offer to es cort Mrs. Vance home. She could do no less than to accept the offer gladly. By some mysterious law of sequences, this led to a second offer and a second acceptance, and almost before he knew it Deacon Phomix had pledged himself to escort tho widow for lifo. When, after gal lantly depositing his promised bride at her own door, bo was alone with his thoughts, ho felt a littlo suprised at his own precipitancy; but lie told himself-over and over again wlmt a fortunate man lie was—how happy he ought to be. Contrary to his usual custom* he had acted from im pulse, and the result was highly sat isfactory. “Highly satisfactory,” ho repeated to himself, as he passed the entrance to the oross-rond which led to Miss’ Olivo’s. Somohow his ro- fleotion^ were loss cheerful after that. Perhaps tho chilly rain-storm just setting in depressed him, or perhaps it, was tho empty hoarse that lie mot faco to face—for tho host of us have our superstitions. Certain it. is that, as lie alighted from his buggy that evening, with weariness of limb and linipnoss of linen, his countenance led Mrs. Dubbs to fear tho mootings lmd not.been profitable. Next’morning, tlumks to tho un gracious weather, lie was aroused by sciatic.tortures. To an elderly gen tleman, newly-botrotlicd to a bloom ing lady greatly liis junior, such nil awakening was peculiarly trying. Ho thought ruefully of the early visit he/lmd promised Mrs. Vance. Should the pains increase, ho must, defer it indefinitely; or limp into hoi presence with crutches—an alterna tive too suggestive of advancing age. Flattered as lie was by tho widow’s aepoptaneo, lio could not deny that it placed him in a position in some respects irksome. It admonished him that lie had no further right to infirmities; that, henceforth it was liis bon mien duty to bo as young as he could. The reflection wearied, him; the clutching pain wearied him. Mrs. Dubbs said she had never soon him so nearly opt. of sorts us on that evening when she took in liis mail. -.Among tho letters was .erne Hut caught, his eye at ojiec: “Dear FuruNi)”(it run):—“My poor fat her is at rest. Ho was seized with paralysis the morning after you left us, and pussod away painlessly in a few hours. How little I uni im puted this-even;, when wo talked to gether! My hands wore full then; now they are but very, empty. My. work here 4s done. If you still be lieve 1 could make happy the kind friend who has always been our ben efactor, J should be glad to see you. Yours, sincerely, 0t.ivis Wayne.” Mr. Phoenix read kills missive, re read it, shut it into tho book of Job safe from Prying Mrs. Dubbs, and drummed uneasily on the closed Bi ble. What a predicament! Must he thrust back upon Olive this gift for which lie lmd so lately sued? Must, he thus humble her? He writhed at tho thought. Must lie thus humble himself? Bitterer than all, muse he relinquish this tried friend of a lifetime? Having re tch ed life’s autumn, must lie reject life’s mature and appropriate fruits for tho rhubarb and greens of sp.ing-timo? Alas! } r es; lie must fulfill his engage ment, for was lie not an “honorable man?” He would write at once to Olivo a candid statement of the case. Bui while lie idled at his dosk on the morrow, Mr. 'Torroy, came to ask tho loan of a horse till his own should be in running order, and tho deacon laid down his pen with a sigh of re- Hof. Feeling that he ought to .toll his brother-in-law of the contemplated marriage, at dinner he led the con versation buck to the conference and Mrs. Vance. “By-thc-way, I met tho widow this morning, riding with John Vance,” remarked Mr. Torroy casu ally. * You remember him—the brother next to- Clmrlo#? He’s just from CuKforniu, with his pockets full.” “Ah r “Yes. Shouldn't wonder if he took tho widow. Some say they’re engaged uli-ead}'.” Of course the deacon knew better than that, nevertheless he delayed liis tender confession. And bo did not write the letter. Time enough for that after he bad paid Mrs. Vance the promised visit. Tho latter lady hud certainly bad the first claim up on bis attentions. Unfortunately several days of tor menting pain ensued, (luring which the deacon’s patience was put to a pretty severe tost; but ho was at last able to seek tho object of his lmsty choice. He found her in her door- yard, playing croquet with n lull, well-dressed gentleman. • “So happy to see you Deacon Phoenix!” cried she, with voluble embarrassment, “and sc gli.id to in troduce Mr. Vance, dear Charles’ brother. Do como in.” “I hope my tardy coming does not seeiii discourteous, Mrs. Y'miqp,” said lie, in affable formality, while llie stranger hastened to a sudden ly-ro- eallod engagement. “I havo not—” “Oil—oh’, no,” broko in the wid ow, nervously. ♦‘I have not been woll. Otherwise under our present interesting rela tions—” “Oh, Mr. Phoenix!” interrupted she, throwing herself upon a cricket at'his feet. “Do you know I am so afraid I am not the one to mitko yon happy? And our friends say the discrepancy in our ages is too great. Ought I lo marry agonist their wishes?” “You must decide Unit.question, dear madam,” responded tliqdeacon, with suppressed eagerness. Tho lin go r of Providence was in this, lie hold his breath to make su.ro which way it, pointed., “Then, if }'ou don’t mind very much, Deacon Plmmix, perhaps it would he better for us to*part ns friends. Oh, dear! I hope you’ll forgive me if I have done anything wrong.” The deacon hardly heard .the clos ing sen tenon for the glad heating of his heart. “My dear child, you have done quite right; 1 do not.-re proach you,” fluid lie with a smile of infinite bonovoldnce. “It is natural that youth should choose to wed with you Mi.” .“'And that age should wod with ago,” lie added, mentally, as, witJi an adieu almost paternal, he drove him in the direction of Mi’sh Olivo’s. lie and Miss Wayne wore' married the following October, but Mr. and Mrs. Vance waited till Christmas.— J/urpar'n Bazar. Foot! for Reflection. Naturo novor says that, which roa- son will contradict. It is betf. r to bo saved in a storm tluiii to be lost in a calm, To live without a purpose is to load a restless, unhappy life. They who Inivo tt'uo light in them selves seldom become satellites. Actions, looks, words, stops, form the steps by which we may spell char acters. A good report lingers on its way, hut an ill one flies straight to where it can do the most harm. There arc inscriptions on ail liti man hearts, which are never to lie seen, except, at low, dead tide. People do not reflect f lint they may soon die. If they did, their quarrels would quickly! terminate. Friendship in noma people is cru elty, like feeding a thirsty man with the beaded foam in the wine cup. Self-denial is tho most, exalted pleasure, and the conquests* of evil habits the most glorious triumph. It is better ’to sit on tho ground with freedom of speech than to re cline in a palace with the lips scaled. Some people never have a story to tell, because of their quicksund na tures, from which every new wave washes out the old impression. The force, tho mass of character, mind, heart or soul, that a man can put into any work is the mast im portant factor in Unit work. Leave your grievances, us Napoleon did liis letters, unopened for three weeks, and it is astonishing bow few of them by that time will need an swering. There are moil who no more grasp tho truth they seem to bold than a sparrow grasps the message through the electric wire on which it perches. It is better to suffer on the sido of right than to reign on the side of the wrong. Success, which is the result of wrong-doing, brings a curse with it. Trapped. She lmd been so often importuned by him to lot him como in the house, that her heart, melted till*it was almost as soft as liis hoiid; “But mind." said she. “my pa is Bnrglar-mnd, and imagines every noise ho hears in the liouso is one of them ; and as he will not allow me to keep company in the house, you must go as soon as he comes homo.” lie promised obedience. They lmd scarcely sat half an hour before the old man was al. (lie front, door, fumbling with the key. “Oh! I must iiido you,” cried tlio girl, ns she hurriedly glanced around for a place. Sho led him into the .kitchen ami persuaded him to creep ihto a barrel; which stood in a corner. Slio cov ered him up with a brond-bourd and returned to the -sitting-room' to meet her pa. Tho barrel was damp mid contained lin odor not altogether congenial ; hut lie dared not stir. The old man wont armed, so sho Iiad informed him. Ten minutes passed, when hea vy footsteps approached the door, which was opened; then the old man took off tho lid and emptied the contents of tho wiisli-haSin over him! He winced, hut, was glad when the barrel, was covorod again mid flic old maii loft, the kitchen. Trying to shift liis cramped position, ljo humped his head against the lid, and it fell with a clatter to the floor! ID* leaped from the barrel, sought llie cover in tho dark and found it; lie jumped buck into the slop barrel just, in time ; the lid Was adjusted just as putor fanuHaii came.in-with a lump in one hand and a revolver in the other. “Face mo like men,” roitred he, savagely tramping about, “and I’ll show you wlmt, a nuui in bis own house cun do.” Ho seareliod around for ten min utes, then returned to tho Bitting- room. .Julius began to wish himself ill; "homo. His love was decidedly cooled. But the catastropbo was near. A littlo pet dog slipped into the kitchen ami smelled him but. He began to lmrk, which brought out tho old mun nguin, followed by iiis wife. “Tliore’rf some one in tho slop bar rel,” roared lie. “Weald him to death,” cried his ’ wife. I’ll fix him,” said lie. Hero tuko my revolver, aud shoot when lie pops out liis head, while I rollout the barrel.” Then he rolled it into the yard, turned it upside down, and called for his revolver. 'This was not to he endured. Our love-sick youth gave one kick mid emerged from tho bar rel, mid went for the fence. Ho scrambled over it mid van for his life. He' avoids that girl now, for lie 1ms a faint idea that it was a “put up job” botweon her and lior P ll< _ • There are four metulie qualifica tions which holjt a mun through tho world : iron in liis heart, brass in his face, silver in liis tongue, mid gold in his pocket. A man who was in lovo with a bountiful Hebrew girl, on hearing that hIio was sick, exclaimed: “Ou my precious pearl! iny Jew-ill. . There are people who have no higher ambition than to be well in formed in regard to other people’s private business, to retail scandal to their neighbors, and exult in fiend ish triumph ovor the wounded feel ings and bruised hearts of their innocent victims. A gentleman lmd a had eye ami was advised to Imvo it out so that ho might save the other eye. Ho took chloroform, and the doctor, a famous specialist, look out the good eye by mistake. The patient is' blind mid can not shoot the specialist. A man who soya he “peaks from experience,” thinks that one felon on the bund is worse Hum two in the penitentiary.