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DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, MAY 28,1879.
NO 50 1
PAROLE.
So gayly lie crossed the Atlantic.
And landed ns sleek as a mole,
Then drove all the Englishmen frantic,
That tough little racer, Parole.
In form ho was nothing to brag on,
In figure decidedly droll,
And yet both St. George and the dragon
At once knuckled down to Parole.
Although by the jockeys, derided,
The bay was the first at the goal,
And lucky were they who confided
In Lorillard’s plucky Parole.
Some stared as they gazed at the yankee,
And sour were the smiles that they smole;
No wonder it makes them feel cranky
To settle their bets on Parole.
The stranger was fearfully weighted,
But that couldn’t conquer his soul;
No matter how heavily freighted,
He still had the pluck of Parole.
His sweet little sister, Papoose, too,
From Englishmen’s pocket took toll,
And now they perceive ’tis no use to
Make sport of the blood of Parole.
Wherever his owner may send him,
His pluck we can surely extol,
And Lorrillard’s luck still attend him,
That tough little racer, Parole/
.—New York Sun.
“A TATTLE PEARL.”
. They stood together in the orchard
—Alfred Brandon and his sweet-
lfeart, Esther Gray. They were not
quite alone, for a girl, startling like
Esther, but her juniof by three years,
sat perched upon a mighty limb of
a huge old oak not many yards away,
and swung and swayed, keeping
time to her own listless, dreamy mo
tion by the nnmnering hum of a
most delicious voice crooning a sweet
old song.
“It’s no use Alf.,” Esther said,'in
response to her lover’s plcudings.
“No use in wasting both our lives on
a fond dream that never can become
reality. Think of the.ears it would
take you to earn a fortune. ! And
while I am waiting, growing old and
faded, and letting otli^r chances pass
me by, you may fail, after all!" No,
np—give me back my promise—our
marriage can never be!”
“It can—it shall!” cried Alfred
earnestly. “ ‘Other chances !’ If
you loved tug truly would you think
of them? Do you love’me Esther ?”
She looked into his flushed and
Imnda'ome face and sighed involun
tarily.
“Yes, I do.- If you wero better
off I’d marry you and be a happy
woman. But that will never be. I
love you, but I hate poverty. I’ve
been poor all my life. I must better
myself when I marry. Why should
not I ? You all tell me I’m so hand
some. Even your brothor Henry
tells roe that. By the bye, I thought
you wero so sure that he would be
our friend ?”
“Ho tells me lie said all-he could,
but father will not hear of it. But
what of that? He finds no fault of
you but your poverty, and when I
am no longer dependent upon him,
but my own master, able to support
my wife, he will welcome you as a
daughter, Essie. Henry says so; it
was Henry who suggested that I
should go to San Francisco—the land
of golden dreams and speedy for
tunes, Essie. I shall make a fortune
for you to share, my darling; only
promise me to wait three years. We
are so young vet; you are but eigh
teen. Oh! what arc three years—
save for the pain of parting—to love
like ours?”
He judged her by himself, poor
fellow, and never doubted of her
loyalty and truth; but Esther was of
a very different nature—selfish,
worldly, calculating and cold. Even
now, while her lover’s arms were
around her, while his eager tones yet
trembled in her ear, while his hon
est, loviug, pleading eyes met her
own dark, though tfnl glance, she
carefully weighed her chances—set
inclination against interest—ponder
ing thus:
“I do love him—dear, kind Alf.
I do wish I could marry him. He is
so bright and hopeful, perhaps he
may get rich, after all; and, mean
time, what other chance will come
to tempt me, living in this out-of-tho
way place, and seeing no one? And
three years will soon pass.”
So in the end she promised to
wait for him, truly and faithfully
through three years, and then, when
he should claim her, become his lov
ing wife.
Meantime the musical murmer
from the treo had ceused, though
quite unnoticed by the lovers, and as
Esther gave the promise a graceful,
girlish form swung itself down from
its leafy nest, and suddenly placed
itself before them..
Esther’s figure, only less fully and
finely formed. Esther’s beautiful
face, and glossy, abundant, hair.
Esther’s dark eyes, too, you would
liavo thought at the first glance, un
til you saw that quite a different
mind and soul looked out from them.
Alfred held out his hand to her,
“I had forgotten you, Pearl,” said
he. “Well, you can witness our on
gagement.”
l’he girl drew herself up to her
full height.
» “I shall witness nothing so foolish
and false,” sho said, sternly. Then
turning to her sister: “Why do you
promise that which you will never
pcrfoim? Why do ydu deceive one
who is so honest and true-hearted?
Esther will never wait for you three
years, Alf. You must be mad to
believe it!”
And with that she left thorn. Es
ther looked after her with a smile.
“A silly girl and you are her hero,”
she said, pouting a little. “1 am
not good- enough for you in her
eves!”
Ho clasped her to his heart enthu
siastically.
“And you will be true my darling
through three years—faithfully and
patient for my sake?”
And Esther—flushed still with an
ger, and a tinge « f jealousy, against
poor Pearl—renewed her promises,
and so they were betrothed.”
One year went slowly by. Alf.’s
letters—bright enough in the begin
ning—-grew sadder and less hopeful
as the months rolled on. He had
obtained a position in Sail Francisco,
and toiled faithfully and patiently at
his post; but he began to realize that
his modest savings would not suffice
to.attain the object of his hopes, and
he wrote to Esther gloomily of his
disappointments, and spoke of that
first y r ear as wasted time.
Henry Brandon was beside her
when she received that letter; he was
oftner with her now, lavishing upon
her the most flattering attentions, un
der pretence of guarding her for Alf.
She turned to him reproachfully.
“Alf. hopecl 6o much from your
influence with your father,” she said.
“Since you like me so well and are
so kind to me, why did your father
object-to me as a daughter?”
He caught her hand; his bold eyes
fixed on her face.
“He does not. He will welcome
you as a daughter to-morrow, Essie.
But not as Alf.’s wife.”
She shrank away from him, start
led, frightened.
“Whose then ?” she cried.
But his look answered her before
he uttered.
“Mine ! Only mine !”
. His own brother’s rival! That
thought repulsed her for a wliilej but
not long. Hero was a suitor,
rich, while Alf. was poor; present
while Alf. was absent; waiting and
ready for her acceptance, while Alf.
might never be ready. The tempta
tion was a great one to a woman of
Esther’s worldly mind.
But shumo withheld her—shame,
and a positive fear of Pearl’s reproach
and hot, out-spoken scorn. For
Pearl watched her closely, uud
guarded the poor absent wanderer’s
rights in her with a most jealous
care.
Then, while sfio hesitated, came
another letter. Alf, was going to
the gold diggings, “fortunes are won
there yet,” ho wrote. Honry smiled
contemptuously.
“An idle dreamer,” ho said coldly.
“Will you waste your life and mind
waiting for him?”
But she stood firm.
“I’ll wait at any rate, another
year,” sho said. “Ono more year.”
The “one more year” passed by.
Alf.’s letters, growing more and
more .hopeless and discouraging, at
last ceased altogether. Three
months went without a word from
him, and then Esther, two years of
the three being over, set all her sis
ter’s prayers and reproaches at defi
ance, and became Henry Brandon’s
bride.
Meanwhile far away in the goldeu
fields of California, a certain digger,
patient, silent, sad,, toiling, night
and day, with heavy heart ami weary
frame—a sad-eyed, louoly man, to
whom no letter came, whom no com
panions cheered—a man whose long
and unchanging ill-fortune had won
for him from his rough mates the
sobriquet of “Luckless Fred.”—this
mail, one day, without a moment’s
warning, struck his spake against an
enormous nugget of gold, and arose
up from his toil the fortunate pos
sessor of thousands.
“My own—my own at last/” he
cried, and fell upon his knees, and
kissed the nugget, and laid his face
on it and wept. “Not for myself,
my yellow beauty,” ho murmured,
“but that you give me back my hopes
—my life—my love! Her patieflt
faith shall be rewarded, and in her
tender arms my sufferings shall be
repaid. I will not wait to write; I
will go to her. Fortune and happi
ness for my own love—my true and
faithful love !”
Ho would not wait to write--what
need?—to ono whose faith lie never
once had doubted, measuring it by
his own. True ho had not heard
from her* of bite—nor had ho written;
having no good news to send. But
what of that? Sho knew his heart.
Doubtless she was waiting sadly, pa
tiently. Oil, wiiat a bright reward
was now in store for such sweet con
stancy! Ho would wait for nothing.
He purchased such clothes as he
could find, and set sail, looking shab
by enough, to be sure. But what
matter? That could be rectified at
home. It was himself that Essie
loved. Doubtless she would welcome
him, though he came home a beggar
and in rags! And then a fancy took
him to put that to the tost—to test
them all. See how they would wel
come him *‘f ho came home poor?
Ho had no doubts of Essio—but It
would be sweet to show the world
how she loved ♦him—for himself
alone. Laughing to himself, in the
oxccss of his now happiness, Alf.
Brandon resolved to keep his wealth
a secret for a while, and return to
his friends as the poor and luckless
digger he had actually been some
few weeks ago.
The autumn sun was shining, hot
and fierce, as a traveler—poor-look
ing and traveled-stained—came slow
ly up the dusty lane that led to a
certain well-remembered orchurd.
.Ho had decided to look upon the old
place first—the dear old spot where
they had parted.
“And who knows but I may find
her idierl ?” ho mused. “Doubtless
the place is dear to her.”
It seemed us if his love hud been
prophetic. There, under the trees
under the very treo where they
had stood that summer evening over
two years ago—he saw once moro the
graceful, slender form, and lovely
face that had animated his hopes and
haunted his dreams so long.
Her soft, fair cheek was leaned
upon her hand, her dark eyes
downcast os if in sad and earnest
thought. What he said—what he
did, ho never know—but suddenly a
cry of love and ruptum startled the
dreaming girl, and the next moment
she was clasped in Alf. Brandon’s
arm.
In that moment all but the joy of
his return was forgotton. It was
Alf, who embraced and" passion
ately kissed her; Alf., whom sho
had mourned as dead—whom she
loVcd—ah, sho no longer concealed
the truth from her own heart! whom
sho lmd loved from her girlhood-^-
Alf., who, too evidently mistaking
her for Esther, now blessed hor for
hot constancy and truth.
Bhe struggled from his arms—
burning with shumo to remember
how willingly sho had yielded to and
returned his first caress. Not meant
for hor at all—for Esthdi*:—till for
Esther—liis brother’s wife !
He looked at her reproachfully.
“Do you shrink from me? Oh,
my darling, is it because I have not
written for so long? I had so much
ill-luck, Essie, I wanted tosparo you,
dear. You are not changed. Not
one day older in all this uneasy time
—more bountiful than ever indeed,
iny wife! my own sweet wifo!”
Ho had her in Ills arms again, but
sho broke away, spreading out her
hands wildly to keep him off.
“You don’t know what you say!”
sho cried. “And, oh, I cunnot tell
you!” she hosiluted—looking ut his
palo, perplexed face—no! she could
not wound him with the truth. “Go
to Henry—ho will tell you all !” she
cried, and bursting into tears at the
thought of liis doming sorrow, turn
ed and fled wildly from his sight.
Tlie brothers stood together face
to face.
There liad been stormy and bitter
words, and now catno an ominous
silence. Alf. broke it.
“Whdro is sho ho demanded bit
terly'. “I desiro to see her.”
The other answered:
“She is far from well—unfit for
such an interview. What good can
your reprouclies.do now?”
iNo good. Nevertheless I desire
in see once more I lie woman who was
to have been my wife, ii return to
California to-morrow, and would bid
her good-by before I go. As to her
illness—she was well enough a few
hours ago in the orchard—and see !”
pointing to'the gardeii—“there she
is now! With yohr permission I will
join hor'there!” and without waiting
for an answer, or noticing Henry’s
look of quick surprise, ho hurried
out.
Pearl saw him coming, and arose,
pale and trembling, to meet him.
He stood for a moment, regarding
her sternly and in silence—she raised
her gentle eyes to liis timidly, sor
rowfully :
“Do not he angry with vie Alf.,”
sho said, “I am not changed—I am
your gistcr still—”
But ho stopped her with a great
cry:
“Pearl! My little Pearl! Oh,
what a blind fool I have been!”
The memory of welcome she bud
given him, the affection that had
found expression in her eyes—nay,
Esther’s half contemptuous words of
long ago: “ You arc her hero, silly
girl!” All these came back to his
memory now, with a thrill of joy and
pride. All was not lost—the world
was not yet desolate—here was a
creature, better, nobler, truer tlmn
Esther ever lmd boon, uud yet with
al so like bis old love tlmt bis wound
ed heart instictivcly turned to her
for comfort, and this beautiful, ten
der, creature loved him.
Long hours they walked and talk
ed together—watched, from the
house, by Esther’s and Henry’s anx
ious eyes. It was Pearl who pleaded
for their pardon, and won it; he could
refuse nothing to her, he told ber
th o one heart that had proved- itsilf
faithful and true. Why Pearl should
have crimsoned so ut those words,
or why his heart should have heat
the faster for hor rising color, I can
not say; but, doubtless, they under
stood each other very woll.
It scorned so, indeed, as the days
and weeks rolled on. No moro talk
from Alfred of a return to Califor
nia.
“The fact is,” said lie, “I havo
not been unsuccessful there. I have
gold enough, coiild I but secure a
certain jewel to sot in it. And tho
jewel I havo. sot my heart on is—a
dear mid precious Pearl 1”
IIo wonjiis heart’s wish. As the
third year of his long probation ond-
ed tho villago bells rang out for a
morry wedding; and Alfred Brandon
—rich both in love and gold—led to
tho alter a boautiful, happy bride—
liis little Pearl!” * ' *
'AS PENNED BY ARP. ,
Upon tlie Stool ol’Reflection.
Atlanta Constitution.
We are all right now. Tho crisis
are past. A hundred editors liavo
rubbed agin us and partookon of our
hospitality. A hundred shirs havo
illumined our atmosphoro like a fall
of brilliant meteors. Thoy have
gone. They picked up their tents
like Arabs and silently stole away.
And now a hundred papors will soon
ring poans to our people. We felt
right proud of them and I think they
feit right proud of—tliom too. Bro.
Bryant spako feelingly to mo whon
lie said, “Brothor Arp, this are the
most intellectual body of gentlemen
I have ever saw oxcopt. onco and that
was a Baptist oonvolition some six
years ago and I was a member of
that.” |
Good sakos, how thoy did scribble
and scratch. All tho tiino that bus
iness was going on they wero taking
notes and making memorandums,
mid it was almost impossible for
Father Estill to got their attention.
1 lo talked to*thom like a patriarch,
but they hooded him not. When ho
spoke of tho importance of preserving
a “free press” brothers Porhimi and
Willingham seemed to catch the tail
end of tho idea and thanked him for
complimenting their papers. Whon
lie said something about the success
of tho “enterprise” brotbors Hansell
and Jenkins and Si Hawkins stopped
writing and exclaimed, with, unaf
fected zeal, “that’s so,” “it’s doing
as woll as could bo expected,” “the
people appreciate it.”
JIo continued by remarking that
at this important junoturo of our
political relations the people moro
than over needpd “sentinels and her
alds,” whereupon thoro was a tumul
tuous, uprising. Brothor Littlefield
said Jessups Sentinel was on the
watch tower, and brothers Modlook
Ben us and Peoples said “the Herald
was all right”—“best weekly in tho
Stale,”—“only two dollars a year.”
When tho president advised thorn to
bo wide awake an I keep up with tlie
“timoB,” old father Martin never
loosed up-but muttored audibly,
“they emit do it.” Brothers Triplet
and Christian smiled a thoughtful
assont. Brother Hancock rose to a
pint of order. The president added,
“In your march onward always keep
your paper up to tho “standard”—
whereupon brothor Mumfcrd lifted
up his coi-porosity liugoly mid said,
“that’s mo—I’m him—boys, keep
your eyes on the boss.” Brother
Hancock roso to pint of order. Tho
president urged all of thorn to obey
tho rules and by laws of the associa
tion and bo always govorned by tlw
“constitution,” whereupon brother
Hemphill roso forward with all tlio
dignity of a Chesterfield. Placing
his right hand upon his left heart ho
bowed a lordly bow and said, “Tho
Constitution will endeavor to guide
them aright. I presurno it is hardly
necessity to state that it is admitted
to be tho best paper in tho South.”
Brothor Hancock bore roso to u pint
of order.
While tho president was speaking
about tho wonderful advance of sci
ence mid art ho rcinurked * that tho
“telegraph” used to bo considered a
miracle of wonder. “It is yot,”
said brothor Jones. “But,” contin
ued tho speaker, “now tho ‘phono
graph’ looms up ahead,” and imme
diately brothor Thornton threw up
his lmt and exclaimed, “That’s so—
with that endorsement I’ll go aheud
and never quail any moro.” At tho
bull that night lie culled on the bund
for Cuptain Partridge’s quickstep
and slung as lively a number ton us
I over saw for its sizo.
Brother Gormane looked ill, his old
silver bull’s eye ami said lie thought
it was about tinio to adjourn for din
ner—that dinner was un institution
handed down from tho lmrons of
England along with tho magna cliarta
and tho bill of rights—that when bo
lust visited Europe ho investigated
its origin—Unit ii was a meal of
groat dignity und ceremony, and was
novel* called by the scandalous name
of hash or gruhb.
AVherenpon Mr. Gruhb. rose to a
question of privilege, and informed
tho gontlemaii f.liat just as soon as
the anti-pistol sensation subsided, ho
should hold him personally responsi
ble. Brothor lluncoclc rose to a pint
of order. Brothel* Dwinell then
stretched forth his voice and remark
ed that, speaking of European din
ners, ho had been over thoro himself,
and his book of travels would throw
groat light upon—Brother Hancock
again rose to a quart of ordor.
Brothor Willingham said ho liopod
the association would adjourn, for
ho hud been on his logs for 43 hours
out of 40, and needed rest. Brother
Carey Styles said ho wanted to urgo
the eon volition onco more to visit
tbit city of Cantor,;- but brother
Haiiflol objected, saying that the fed
eral relations! botween this country
mid China were not altogether pacif
ic; whereupon brother Styles wanted
to know wlrot'in the dovil that had
to do, with it. Brother Wdstoii then
informed brothor llansol tlmt brothor
Styles alludod to die liiitlo villago of
Canton, with 7i> or 80 right clever
pcoplo, sohunvhero over hero in tho
woods. Brother Hansel was apolo
gizing when brother 11 an cock *1*090 to
a half gallon of ordor. Brother
Stylos swelled up with tumultuous
indignation, and busted two vest
buttons. Brothor Mumford cuelu-
nuiod two mom off of bison, and
again moved mi adjournment—and
the hotel hell just then seconded tho
motion. By tho time tho lmll was
cleared, Father Estill put the motion
and declared tlioconvontioniuljourn-
cd.
After tho adjournment an envelop
was picked up addressed to the Count
Johannes B. Gormanc, and on tho
hack was written; “Groat people—
glorious people—generous Oarters-
villo—bootiful villago—splendid lu-
dios — handsome children — lofty
moufitiiifis—lovely valloys, and vit-
tlos lit for a king—soe dictionary for
other adjectives. ” A poem was pick
ed up beginning—
Hurd by Etowah’s glassy strenm
I ale a qt. of strawberries ami cream;
I feel as good as any fellah—
These lines are writ by .J M. Belial).
Then there was “a ode to Cartors-
villo:” “Hail, happy land! Thy
mountain breezos blow soft as zeph
yrs on a sylvan lake, ye grand old
hills. How tamo and spiritless is
Okoefeonokeo’s dismal Bwamp, where
tho alligator liowleth and tho mus-
keeter singeth liis little song; vyhoro
all around is one unbroken plane
ironed fiat upon an endless board,
then sprinkled over with sand, and
nurry lump on liatul'o’ssurface* higher
than asweet tutor hill.” Dupont,
“Okeofeonokeefeoan.”
On tho hall-room floor was found
a little editorial ditty beginning—
Bartow girls, cant you oome outto-iiight
Come out to-night, come oat to-night;
Bartow girls, cant you come out to-night,
And dance by the light of the moon ?
I reckon it was an accident but it was
written on tho margin of the Christ
ian advocate. I’ve boon afraid that
Block case would demoralize some
body. Yours, Bill A up.
P. »S.—Tho convention was to have
sot another day, hut the president
announced that tho members would
bo called on next morning for their
unniiul dues of two dollars cuc'i, uud
thuts why
Tlity pick.ed up their tents like tlie Arabs
And silently stole away.
. v B. A.
I Some people arc so constituted m
to bo unable to sco anything beuuti
ful in this lifo—not even in a mirror.
[Boston Transcript. * ^