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VJL. X.. DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, JUNE 4, 1879. NO 51 LIFE IS TOO SHORT. Life is too short to waste In unavailing tears, Too short to spend in bootless grief. In-coward doubts and fears. Too short to give it up To pleasure; or to sow One hour in guilt, to yield at lost Eternity of woe. Time lags not on its way. But spans our days in haste; If life should lost a thousand years ’Twere still too short to waste. For, short-lived as we are. Our pleasures yet, we see, Vanish soon; they live, indeed, E'en shorter date than we. But even with us here, Besides sorrow, pain and care; The shortest life is long enough Its ’lotted grief to bear. To the old the end is nigh; To the young far off it seems; Yet neither should dare to toy with life Or wast it in idle dreams. For by each Time’s servant waits; Though not for servant’s wages; And the same worm nibbles the bud of youth That guaweth the root of age. Live, therefore, as he lives . Who earns his share of bliss; Strive for the prize that Virtue wins, Life’s not too short for this. ~LOVE LAUGHS AT LGCK- HMIf ITS.” Tlillslmrg is u pretty little village somewhere on the eastern side of the Allcgliunics, but I won’t tell exactly where, and Mollie Dane was one of the prettiest girls in the village. At least so thought Mr. Charley Abbott, and nothing :iu the w« rid .could have made him so happy as to !>o the owner of one of the heat cot tages on Main Street, in a joint part nership with pretty Mollie l^ane. Now;. ClufMey Abbott wasli man ly, good-looking young fellow, with a clear, bright eye, and a heart as big as a barn. And as like begets like oftner than most folks believe, when lie fell in love with Mollje, she straightway returned the favor by falling in love with him. It is quite likely that the partner ship . woujd have been' speedily brought about, but Mullie’s mamma had selected another .partner 1 for her -fair daughter, and would not listen to a word about young Abbott. Mrs. Dane’s choice of a son-in-law was her own nephew, a rising young doctor, by the name of Paul Reeves. The Reeves had always been people <of importance. Paul lmd a compe tency already, and at the death of his grandfather he would come in for a fortune. A better match for her daughter, surely, than Oharlo- Abbott a poor banker’s clerk, .ou a tlumsand a year. There was one Uti le circumstance of which Mrs. Dane was not aware— Mr. Paul was not quite free himself. There was a young lady in the city where he attended lectures, who had a word to say on that subject. Mollie knew it, however, for Paul lmd a strong, brotherly friendship for his pretty cousin, and for Char ley Abbott, too; so they all took each other into confidence, and Paul was sworn ally of the lovers. Mollie was an obedient daughter in general, hut she had a spico of her good mamma’s will, and would not give up Charley Abbott. Mrs. Dane would not permit him to visit at the houso, and Mollie was too proud and high-minded to ap point .clandestine meetings; but there were many occasions when they “met by chance,'the usual way,” and there were walks in the open streets, and several time* Charley bravely escorted Mollie to her own door. Mrs. Dane could not prevent this, except by keeping Mollie’ a prisoner at home. That she did not want to do. But one morning, when, as she sat by the parlor window’, they came walking up gayly together, and part ed at the gate, she could stand it no longer. Pretty Mollie came in, smiling and blushing*, well knowing a lecture owmited her, and resolved to have it over at onqe. “Well, Miss/” began Mrs. Dane sitting up very straight and severe “how’ much longer is this to go on?” “Is what to go ou, mamma?” asks Miss Mollie, the very picture of de mure innocence. “This disobedience, madam! This running out into the street to meet that—that young man ?” “Well, mamma, you won’t let him come here.” “That is not an answer to my question, Miss.” “Oh! well—not very long I hope W lion he is your son, you won’t oh ject any longer.” “When h&is my—w)mt!” gasped •Mrs. Dane. “Your son, mamma. He will he before many weeks.” “You—you—Mary Dane ! You haven’t, you surely haven’t— “Promised to marry Charley? Yes, I have mamma. 1 mean to kee| my word, too!” Mollie turned and faced her mother with the flashing eyes and firm set lips, which Mi’s. Dane knew the meaning of very well. Her bwu eyes flashed back, us she answered sternly: “Never! -I’ll see yon buried first Never, with my consent!” “With it, I hope mamma. Char ley is coining to day to ask you Hut if y<3u won’t give it, why, we shall he forced to marry without it, that’s all.” Mrs. Dane rose to her feet. She was a woman of few words and quick* action. “Ho has the audacity to come hero for mv consent, does he ?” “Yes, mamma.” “Very well. I—I can’t talk upon the subject just now. I piust go up stairs and think awhile before I can decide wlmt to do. I am overpower ed with astonishment. Stay you here, and when I call you, come up stairs.” Mrs. Dane swept away, and Mollie waited anxiously to be called. In a very few minutes her summons came and most unsuspiciously she ran up to her mother in the.third story. “She expected to he talked to, but as soon as she was safe inside the door, Mrs. Dane shut it, locked it, took, out the key, and put it in her pocket, “There now!” she said, “I think I shall bring y.ou to your senses! In this room you shall stay. You shall never leave it until you promise to give this fellow' up.” “Then I shall never leave it!” re turned poor Mollie, very pale, but firm and resolute. “We’ll see! I fancy a day or two of solitary confinement will bring you to your seuses. And when your fine lover comes, I’ll show him the door, and that’s all the answer he’ll get. Now Pll leave you to your ow’n reflections.” Mrs. Dane let herself out, locked the door on the outside, and went down stairs, leaving poor Mollie completely taken by surprise. But what could she do? She could not jump from the third story window, nor struggle with her mother for the door-key. Her case appeared hope less, for she had not even any chance of communicating with her lover, Mrs. Dane allowing no one to come up stairs but herself. By the end of the second day, Mollie had cried and frettied herself into sucli a fever, that Mrs. Dane felt herself obliged to send for Dr. Patil Reeves. Dr. Paul came, looked very grave, prescribed some medicine, and told Mrs. Dane he thought it best to look in again before bed-time. And he made out when he shook hands with his cousin, to leave a tiny paper in her soft hand. The instant the key was turned upon Mollie she unfolded the scrap of paper, and read : Dear Mollie: Charley and my self agree in thinking that desperate cuses require desperate remedies. If you are willing to follow our lead, give me a hint when I return to night. p.” Mollie had no writing materials So she tore a bit from a blank leaf of a book, and scratched a few words deeply upon it with a hair-pin. This she managed to give Paul when he made his second call. Dr. Paul was still very grave. He told Mrs. Dane that he was afraid that Mollie would have a tough siege of it, unless he could help her at once, (and that was the truth, too) and ho promised to come again early next morning. Mollie took her cue from him, and pretended to be much sicker than she really was. So when Dr. Paul came in the morning ho found her in bed in her room on the second floor. Mrs. Dane, much alarmed, had ventured to remove her there, think ing she would certainly not try to see Charley Abbott while she was sick. This time Paul brought Mollie another note, it read thus: “When I come to-night, Oharly will be,in my carriage at the door. I will get aynt Jane out of the room, and you must fly down and make your escape quickly. Courage now, and be ready. P.” Mollie was very sick all the morn ing. In tho afternoon she thought it prudent to grow better, and when Mrs. Dane biought up a cup.of tea at supper-time, she found Mollie dressed, wrapped in a big shawl, and sitting in an easy chair. “Why Mollie what made you got up?” she asked. “Oh, mother,” says Mollie, “you know I never could bear to lie in bed. Let me sit up a while, and I shall rest better to-night.” Mrs; Dane did not object, but she mentally resolved to have her to go back to the third story inAhe morn ing. Dr. Paul came soon, pronounced her better, sounded her luiigs and said lie still thought she hud hotter have mustard applied to her chest. If aunt Jane would prepare the poul tice herself, to make sure it was just right, they would apply it at once. Aunt Jane, not supposing there was any danger in leaving the patient a few moments in the doctor’s care walked right iuto the trap, and wont down to prepare the mustard. The moment she was down the the sick girl-sprang up, crying excit edly, “now Paul, what?” “Throw your shawl over your boad —don’t stop for it lmt—and run down to Charley. I’ve Jeft the front door open on purpose. Fly, now, and make no noise. I’m going to rain down now and tell aunt on the sep ond thought, I have decided to let the mustard wait till morning. You will escape while I’m gone, you know so I shall know nothing about it. Bo quick, now !” Mollie flew down, and Dr. Paul followed, making a good deal of needless noise, and kept his aunt nearly five minutes before she re memhoreu that Mollie was alone. Then she hurjpd to her post, but the bird was flown ! Paul put on an air of surprised in nocence, and was so indignant at tho idea of their running oil with his carriage, that aunt Jane never was certain as to his complicity. But at lust she wisely resolved to endure what she could not cure, so she forgave Mr. and Mrs. Charley, and now they all live together as’ happy and cosy as can bo. BATTLING THE BLUES. Bill Arp ns a Hypochondriac. Henry Ward Beecher on his re turn from his trip South told a Cou- rier-JournaV reporter that he was much pleased with our poople. He said: As far as I have lmd an opportu nity of judging, I love tho southern people. They are noble, kind, con siderate and enthusiastic. I have lectured in Europe and all over the United States, but never has it been my lot to meet with more intelligent poople than you southerners. The ovations tendered me at Memphis and Nashville I consider the pleas antest of ray life. I only regret that I can stay no longer. Atlanta Constitution. Act-iou and reaction. There’s al ways a calm, after a storm—winter succeeds summer and nviuce pie and fruit cake are followod up by internal commotion. It is a pity a man cant, indulge in a little frolic some hilarity with a passol of genial editors without taking a fit of the blues as soon as they are gone. It aint the result of any excesses 1 know for they wore the soberest set of gen tlemen 1 ever saw; ouV mountain air and limestone water seemed exhiter ating opougli without any fluid ex tracts, and as for big dinners I know I didn’t got my share according to appetite, for just as wo had sqtuvrod ourselves boforo a sumptuous feast the whistle blowed for Taylorsville and we doparted in sad and uncere monious haste. I reckon the trouble is that a lonesome farmer dont get such an overdose of mental recreation very often- and when he does the collapse is bound to borne. 1 Weeded the onions and thinned out the boots and went down to- the branch with the children to catch minnors, hut "A fueling of sadness came o’er me That Is not akin to pain And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles rain.’’ So at the last I conoludod to go over and soe Gaston. 1 like Gaston. He is always Imppy. He lives in a cabin with a shed-room, and has a horso and a cow and sumo pigs and chicken^, and all his life lias boon tending rented land. He works hard and livek rough, aiul always looks on the bright side., “You lost your mule the other day, Gaston.” “Well, yes,” said lie, “It sot mo buck lap'rsmart "forif while, hut I reckon its ail well enough^/' Yon,seo, squire, ho wasn’t much of a critter, and I got him for an old debt that was clean out of date, and the follor I had hired quit me the day before, and he was a mule I novor hail much confidence in and was afoerd ho in out hurt some of the children, and my corn was a gittin powerful low, and so after all I reckon its for the best.” But how are you agoin to run your crop without another horse and another hand ?" said I. “Oh, as to that,” said Gaston, “lye got a chunk of g, hoy ongaged, and the widow Cramer wants mo to use her nag as long os I am in a pinch.” “Youroom looks like it wanted rain pretty had,” said I. “Well, yes,” lie repliod, “a shower would hope it, hut white its dry aud hot is the best time in the world to kill grass.” “Your fall oats scorn to he a fail ure, Gaston.” “That’s so, squire. Its the first time I ever sowed iu the fall, and I dident count very much on ora, The nabors was a try in of it. and I thought I would too, in a small way. But I dont think it will do .this high up the country. As it is they wont bother rao much about harvestin, I’ll have all the more time in the cotton patch, and ray cow will do mighty well in the oats if tlioy are scatter ing. “Gaston, I want you to tell me honcstly~de you ever have the blues ? “Well, squire, I reckon maybe I do have a few sometimes, but I dont let em bother mo long, 'flier’s folks a heap worse olf than I am, and when I git tho blue* I go to thinkiu about them. Tliero’s Billy Jenkins over here who is down with the rutnatics, and his wife is losin what little sense she used to have and their last child is a club-foot, and then there’s old man Billeu over yondor who is the poorest rich man I over see, and he dont have no peace day nor night for fear he’ll lose some of his money that he’s got loaned out. He’s got the dyspepsy awful. Well, when I have a bit of had luck I go to think ing about sicli ;w them, and I’m all right again ir, a few minutes. You know, squire, my wife is an oncom- mon purty woman, though I do say it, and my ohildrou are nil sound and likely and I’m a schoolin of em a little; and we’vo nevor suffered for something to oat. I’ve got along anuizin well since the war, oonsid- orin.” “Gaston,” said I, “do yon. owe anybody anything?” “Exactly so, squire; that's what. I was a coinin to; that’s what gits me. If it wasent for a passol of money that I owe, I think I would bo mod erately happy.” “ITuw much is it,” sa “Well, squire, I dont know pro- niiotly to a dollar, hut its somewhere betwixt and between 85 and 30 dol lars. It aint so very much, hut then, a little debt these hard times is tho devilishost tiling to eatioli up with I ever see in my lifo. I’vo boon trying to overtake it now nigh unto 10 years and 1 burnt done, it yet. You see I owed a little money when I jinod the army, and when I was a Hglitin it was a growin, and after tlve war Was ovor I kept pay in and pay in aud had about cotoli lip with it when my old wound broke out afresh 'and I lost my crap and had a doctor’s hill to pay, and altogether- it sot me hack high unto a thousand dollars; hut Ive worked that down right smart, and if the good Lord will trust mo this year I think I will wipe it all out. I tell you, squire, debt is the worst thing 1 over expe rienced. Thunder and lightning aint nowhere. The fact is I’d rath or risk a small war and Yankee bullets, for debts makes cowards of us all. I ve soon the time when I was afoerd to go to town, for it. did look like l could meet them fellers I owed more times and at'*moro Corners than any body olso> and sometimes one of cm would lioiler at me clean across the square, 'Gaston! Oh, Gaston! John Gaston I I say! let. mo see you a min ute,’ and then it would tako mo mighty nigh half an hour to toll it; all over to him, why I hadn’t paid and what was niy futuro prospects. Positively Ive waked round a whole squa.ro to slip in somewhere whore they wouldn’t see mo, to buy a plug of tobacco or a spool of thread.” “Debt is a hard master,” said 1/ “That it is, squiro; and I was a read in lost Sunday about David; and it read that when David went to the cave of Aditllum to start a little army to light Saul, everybody came to him who was discontented or in debt. My conscience ! said I, tImt’s a now idea, for raisin an army, It boats conscription all' to death.’ If our government had only thought about it, and {Hissed si law that the soldiers’ debts should all be wiped out, I be lieve “yvo would have whipped the light. Well, tho next time the Yan kees stir up a fuss, we’ll know ex actly what kind of a horn to blow. I do think David was about the smartest man, perhaps.” I’ve' been feeling better since I interviewed Gaston. He’s a good man; and General Wofford told me a bettor soldier never shouldered a musket or sliiug a canteen. Bill Arp. P. 8.—-Harris wants to know if I eger saw a whippoorwill up in a tree. Please ax him what kind of a treo he alloodtf to. Such conundrums ought to be very specific. And he wants to know why the milky way don’t turn like the other houvonly bodies ? Because when milk turns to whey it don’t turn any more. This" may not he correct hut there’s no copyright applied for. He axed me some time ago whore Are went to when it went out. What kind of fire? Maybe tho kind of fire he is concerned about dont go out at all, B. A. A weak mind is like a micro scope, which mugiufles trifling things, but cunnot receive great ones. Short, isolated sentences was the mode iu which uucient wisdom de lighted to convey its precepts for the regulation of human couduct. How Many Were There? Honry, upon being asked how many hoys were in liia Sabbath school, class last Sabbath, replied : “If yon multiply tho number of Jacob’s sons by the number of times, which the Israelites com passed. Joviolvo, and add to the product the number of nious- h iros ol barley which. Boa/, gave Ruth, divide this by the number of Human’s sons ; subtruct tho number, of each kind of clean beasts that went, into tin* Ark; multiply by the number of mou who went to seek Elijah after lie was taken to heaven-; subtract from this Josoph’s age at tho time when lie stood bofore Pha raoh; add the number of stones im David’s hag when ho killed aoliah; subtract-tho nmnborof furlongs that Bothuny was distant, from Jerusalem; divide by tile number of anchors oast out at. the time of Paul’s shipwreck ; subtruct the number of people saved. in tlic aljc, and. the remainder will he the number of boys in. the eluss.. How mi£ny were there ? A Business Boy. One of the orange sellers on the Campus Martins yesterday found a bud specimen among his fruit and carelessly tossed It away. Jt struck an old woman in the eye, and: slur made such a fuss over the accident that Hie man gave her n dozen good oranges to go her way in peace. She hu:l scarcely left when a sharp-look ing hoy about twelve years of age slid up to Mm fruit soilor and said: Say. are you going to hit any more old women to-day ?” “Why, no—not if I can liolp it,” was fclm reply. “If you. are-, give me a chance,” continued', the lad. “I’ll bring my ; mother down here and you may hit lmr in both oyes for half the oranges you gave that, other woman, and if that, isn’t fair yon can liavo a shot at dad ami moP—Detroit Free Press. “I want you to distinctly under stand,” said a green street man, across the fence to his neighbor, Wednesday morning, “that the next one of your chickens that gets to scratching in mv‘cauliflower bed will he sent over to you to roast.” “Yes,” coolly replied tho man addressed, “and when you soe one of your children coming across tho fonco like ho was shot out of a eau- nou, you may know ho eomo ovor to bring a dead ehiekou.^ Tho chick ens are all in good hoalth. As a little child pooped through the blind at tho star of the evening in the western sky, she exclaimed : “Oh, inamiha, tho moon has got a little baby!” An oxchago tells of an old farmer who. lmving eaten an oyster stew for. tho first time, said: “I like the soup pretty well, hut I didn’t like them pollywogH; An anecdote is related of an old ludy who ontortainod truvolors. Be fore her guests commenced a meal, it was her custom to ask a blessing iu this wise: “Oh, Lord, make ns truly thankful for the food' before us. Nancy, hand round the corn- broad first, tho biscuits afterwards, Amen.” j,,.. During an election a candidate called upon a tradesman and solicit ed his vote. “I would rather voto for the devil than you,” was the reply. “But,” said tho candidate, “hi. case your friend should not run, • might I then count on your assist ance?’ “Talking about good butter,” said uncle Dan, ut tho post office, ono evoning this wook, “tho best 1 over saw was an old North Carolina ram. I’ll bo dad-djuged if ho couldn’t but tho spokes out of the 'wheels of time.’” . As love without os loom is volatile and capricious, esteem without love ifc languid and cold.