The Dublin post. (Dublin, Ga.) 1878-1894, July 30, 1879, Image 1

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Newspaper Page TextVOL. 2. DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, JULY 30,-1879. NO. 0. A LITTLE WOMAN. In a little precious diamond, Wliat a splendor meets the eyes / In a little lump of sugar How much of sweetness lies 1 So in a little woman, Love grows and multiplies; You recollect the proverb says— “A word unto the wise." A pepper-corn is very small,' But seasons every dinner More than all other condiments, Although ’tis sprinkled thinner, just so a little woman is, If love will let you win her, There’s not a joy in all the world You will not find within her. And as within the little rose You’ll find the richest dyes, And in a little grain of gold Much price and value lies; As from a little balsam Much odor does arise, So, in a little w'oman, There’s a taste of Paradise. The skylark and the nightingale, Though small and light of wing, Yet warble sweeter in the grove Thun all the birds that sing; And so a little woman, Though a very little thing, Is sweeter than all other sweets, Even flowers that bloom in spring / FORCED TO EAT HUMBLE PIE. “Only tliink of it! A clerk! A salos-woman ! It seeins to me I’d have worked my fingers to the bone in some other way before I would come to that,” said Lizzie Doyle, going to a mirror and re-adjusting a twenty dollar hat. “So would I. But, then, what could she do ?” “At least she might have made herself a little less public. If there is anything I despise it’s these sales women.” “So do I. How much hotter it would have been to have gone into dressmaking or millinery, some thing of that sort, but to stand be hind a counter like a man !” “Papa always did like those Stan ley’s,” said Lizzie Doyle, petulantly. “Yes, we all liked them well enough until Mr. Stanley failed, didn’t wo?” “No, not I, for one. Laura was always so independent in her notions. Don’t you remember how hard she studied at school? It does seem that she foresaw her father’s fail ure.” “I wonder she didn’t try some better position then. She is certain ly capable of being something better than a shop-girl.” “0, I believe papa intends to pro mote her when Mr. Jobley goes West. She will then take Mr. Job- ,ley’s place as junior book-keeper. Think of that for a woman !” “That would bo better than sell ing goods. I don’t see how she can do that with her refined tastes. Why don’t she give lessons, I won der? It might not bring her in so much money, but it would be a deal nicer. ” “Yes; then we could recognize her,” said Lizzie Doyle. “That’s what I was coming to,” was the reply of her companion, a small, sallow-faced girl elaborately trimmed and flopneed. “How arc wo to treat her now? We have been great friends, you know; that is, when she was in our set,” she added, seeing Lizzie’s brow darken. •‘I’ll tell you how I shall treat her,” responded Lizzie, slowly draw ing on a pair of perfumed, three- buttoned kid gloves; “precisely as I treat all of pupa’s clerks. And would like to see one of them pre sume !” “0, but Laura won’t presume You need not be afraid of that; she is too proud.” “But how cau you help it when yon go to the store or church ? She sits so near us you know.” “Of course she’ll give up that pew. She can’t afford that.” “That’s precisely what she does not mean to do. I heard her say the family must economize some where else and keep the pew.- Her mother is hard of hearing and could not enjoy the services further back. Tlio chi Id rou, too, must go to ohuroh. That is the last thing she said, one ought to give up. I heard her say this to your father last Sunday.” * “How provoking!” said Lizzie im patiently, “she will always be in our faces. But I shall have nothing to do with her. I know what it is for, the artful minx! it’s to keep near us. She kuows she has got into papa’s good graces; and Al, too, admires her. I don’t see what there is to ad mire. She is very plain.” “Laura is no beauty,” was the re ply, “but I don’t think she’s so very plain. She certainly has lowered herself, though, by going into a store*” And thereupon the two girls went out for their walk. It was near twilight of the day when Laura Stanley walked briskly home and entered the neat two-story house to which her mother had lately removed such of her household effects as had been spared by the auctioneer. “This is really pleasant,” she said, sinking into a chair that had been drawn near to the glowing grate. “I had no idea, mother, that yon would so soon make the house so homelike.” “Are you tired, my dear?” asked her mother, a refined looking woman, as she helped the daughter to take off her cloak and liat. “Rather; but I like the business; and it’s a fine place for the study Of character.” “I wish you had chosen something else my dear.” “I don’t wish so,” said Laura. ‘There’s nothing else that would have brought a salary at once. I used to wonder what a certain per son would be to me if I were not the ich Mr. Stanley’s daughter, and now I know. It is a knowledge worth gaining.” “Do yon meet many persons you are acquainted with?” asked her mother. “0, yes; and it’s amusing when they come upon me suddenly. 0! it’s really! is this Miss Stanley ? and sometimes up go the eye-glasses. Then I feel—well, as if I should like to freeze somebody, if I could, for a minute* Others see mo and make believe they are examining goods; so absorbed that they go clear by me without looking up, and pass out in the same way. But such sights do not trouble me. I find out how much true friendship is worth and who, out of all the seeming ladies I have been in the liabicof meeting, arc true, and who are false.” “Then you meet some that are true ?” “Yes, indeed; Judge Agate’s wifo, who always seem so proud and dis tant, came ujf to mo with a glowing face and fairly congratulated me. She did it like a lady, too, and like a friend. There was nothing patronizing about her. And there were several others to whom my po sition makes no difference. They prize me for what I am. Yet what a price to pay for learning the value of true friendship,” added Laura, with a doep sigh. “I met Aggie Doyle to-day and she would not speak to me,” said Alice, Laura’s sister, who had come into the room and overheard the last remark. “Why should she not speak to me, I wonder?” “Because your sister is a clerk in her father’s store,” said Laura, some what bitterly. “That’s no reason she should treat me so,” the child replied. “Of course it isn’t, nor is it any reason why Lizzie, her eldest sister should ignore me. I liked her so much, too. But to-day she came into the store and passed me with such a glance, after I had prepared a smile and wolcomc for her. Mr. Doyle lias been so kind since papa’s death, that I looked for better treat ment from Lizzie. That, I confess wounded me; and I shall have to meet her so often! But nover mind —I must remember my place,” she added: “1 have to work for my liv ing now—but I will be proud of it! Good-bvo, old worthless friends! Your colduess cannot hurt the real me; it is only the worthless young lady of fashion who feels it, and she is slowly departing this life.” “Have you filled all your invita tions?” asked Lizzie’s eldest brother, one of the firm of Doyle & Co., somo days aftor the proceeding conversa tion took pluco. Lizzie was arranging a hundred or more tiny, cream-colored envelopes, which she tied together with some pretty, bright-lined ribbon. “I believe so,” she replied with a smile. “I have asked every young lady of my acquaintance, and I think our party will bo tho finest of the soason, if papa will have tho carpets tuken up in the west rooms and the floors chalked. Rutger will do them for fifty dollars, and you have in idea how beautifully he works.” I think father will not refuse that,” her brother replied. “I’ll speak to him.” ‘Thank you, Al. Then I am snro lie will have it done. I have asked him for so much, that I was almost afraid to ask him for more.” “By-lhe-byo have you invited Miss Laura Stanley?” her brother asked as lie was going#out. “Of course not,” said Lizzie. “Of course not? and pray, why not?” lie asked, standing still. “Why Al, what an idea! She wouldn’t accept it. Our shop-girl— father’s clerk—I. wouldn’t have her for the world/” ‘Then if you aro sure she wouldn’t come, you might have sent her an invitation out of compliment,” her brother replied. “I don’t considor her an acquaint ance,” said Lizzie, and Al walked out of the room with a shrug of his shoulders. Presently her fatlior came in. “Lizzie lie paid, “f particularly wish you to solid a note of invitation to Miss Laura Stanley.” “Papa, you don’t mean it!” ex claimed Lizzie, cluigrined. ‘Indeed, I do mean it. What! slight tho daughter of one of my most cherished friends, because she has come down in the world in a money point of view. I should de spise myself for it.” “But, papa, she won’t como,” said Lizzie. “Never mind whether she will or not. Write an invitation. I’ll tako it to her.” Lizzie sat down, pale and angry, to write tho note. After all her boasting of having “cut the (Stan leys,” it was very hard to bo obliged to invito Laura. Her cheeks grew hot as she indited the polite little missive, while she remembered the many times she had ignored her to whom it was addressed. (She would have uisoboyod had she dared— would oven have withheld tho note after it was written, had her father liot stood by to take it. Later, her brothor Al came to her. “I should like an invitation. Liz zie, for a young lady of my acquain tance,” lie said, in a quiet voice. “Who is she?” “Tko young lady whom I have asked to bo my wifo,” he said, smil ing. “Oh, Al, of course you shall have it! I am to have a sister, then? I am so glad. What is her name? Is she in this city? Will she be sure to come? I’m sure I can’t think of any one.” And then she paused, puzzled at his shrewd smilo. •‘Do I know her?” “You used to,” he answered. “It is Miss Laura (Stanley/” “Oh, Al!” She sank down cover ing her face with her hands. “I was afraid she might feel the slight so keenly,” he said softly “that I hurried matters a little. So you need not be afraid now that she will not come. Will you not prepare an invitation?” “I have. Papa has earried it to her. But, oh, Al, a clerk !” “A noble woman/’said her broth or. who dares face tho sneors of her set,’ and take an honest position for the sako of thoso who are depend ent oupon her rather than whine about her former dignity, and live upon charity. I wish there woro more like her.” So Lizzie was forced, for onco in her life, to eat humble pie. 'Wouldn’t have him for n Pull Bearer. Sonic timo ago a citizen of this place was very ill. Ho foil into a stupor which Listed threo or four days, lie was carefully watohod by his wife and two or tlireo ladies from tho neighborhood. One aftornoon tho attending physician said he could not live through tho night, and tho sorrowing wife, with a view to hav ing everything in roadinoss for the end, held a consultation with her friends as to tho arrangements for the funeral. This very sad conver sation was held at the bedside of tho dying man, and in a short time all the details wore arranged except the names of thoso who should be asked to bo pall-bearers. Throe or four young men had been selectod, when tho wife said, in tho sobbing tone suitable to tho occasion, ‘IIow would Mr. So-and-so do?’ ‘Oh, ho would do nicely,’ echoed tho chorus of friends, ‘lie’s such a niece young man.’ There was a sudden move ment under tho coverings of the bed, and tho dying husband slowly raised himself on one elbow, rubbed his eyes and said in a weak voice, ‘No, he won’t do. I ain’t going to have that fellow for one of my pall-bear ers.’ The ladies woro astonished at this revival of tho dying man, but tho wife laid him back gently on,tho pillows, and said soothingly: ‘Nover mind, dear; don’t worry. This is a matter tfiat need hot trouble you. It is a*sad duty which wo will have to perform aftor you aro gono.’ ‘No, it isn’t,’ said tho husband cross ly. ‘That fellow isn’t going to bo one of my pall-bearers. I don’t like him, and I never did, and if you aro going to have him, I’ll get well, see if I don’t.’ Again he foil back into the bod and became unconscious, but in a few hours tlioj^j .came a chango for tho bettor. To-day ho walks tho stroets as hale and hearty as any man.—PUtxburg 7olograph. The Boy Monkey. New York Tribune. The Cincinnati ‘boy with a tail,’ George Relin, oxoites considerable interest at tho west. Tho medical examination states that the append age is fourteen inches long and cov ered with silken glossy hair, and that it grows exactly whoro tho tail grows on the average monkey of the po- riod. Tho boy is four years old, and surgeons havo decided that tho tail cannot be removed without endan gering tho child’s life, on account of its being articulated with tho back bone. It is so strong and so tough that tho boy can use it. for support, us tho Kangaroo uses his, and when seated ‘can, by tho aid of the tail, spring to his feet without the use of his hands.’ The announcement is ijiadc that Chicago has executed the flunk movement foreshadowed the other day, and has obtained posses sion of the boy. When tho newspa pers began to print column accounts of ‘Georgio,* his father, hitherto in different to tho fact that the child was boing cared for by tho Cincin nati medical college, suddenly ap peared, burst into tears, snatched him to his bosom, and fled to Chica go, ‘without giving Georgio oven time to get his hat.’ That emotional father evidently thinks tho boy’s head of comparatively slight impor tance. The capitul fact is that Chi cago has added tho boy to hor otlior notable possessions. Aro requisi tious and habeas corpiiBes unknown in the queen city ? It is strangely singular how much the boy with a new pair of sus|Mm- ders hates t< wear a coat. A Tough Witness. Prize Essay on Women. Prosecutingattornoy—“Mr. Parks, state if you plcaso, whether yon have over known tho dofondant to follow any profession.” “lie’s been a professor over since I’ve known him.” “Professor of what?” “Of religion.” “You don’t understand mo, Mr. Parks. What does ho do ?” “Gonorally what lie pleases.” “Toll ^ l0 im> Mn Parks, what, tho dofondant follows.” “Gcntlemon of tho jury, tho do fondant follows tho crowd when they go in to got drinks.” “Mr. Parks, this kind of prevar ication will not do hero. Now state how tho dofondant supports himself.” “I saw him last night support himself against a lam]) post.” “May it plcaso your honor, this witness has shown a disposition to trifle with the court.” Judge—“Mr. Parks, stato if you know anything about it, what tho defendant’s occupation is.” “Occupation, did you say ?” Counsel—“Yes, wlmt is Ins occu pation ?” “If I ain’t mistaken,, lie occupies a garret somowhoro in town.” “That’s all, Mr. Parks.” Cross-examined—“Mr. Parks, 1 understand you to say that the de fendant is a professor of religion. Doos his practice correspond with his profession ?” “I never heard of any correspond ence or letters passing between them.” “You said something about his propensity for drinking. Does ho drink hard ?” \ “No, I think ho drinks as easy as any iriau I over saw.” “Ono more question, Mr. Parks. Yon havo known the dofondant a long time; what aro his habits-—loose or otherwise ?” “Tho ono lie’s got on now, I think is ratlior tight under the arms, and too short waisted for tho fashion.” “You can take your soa,t, Mr. Parks.” No Smoking In Here. ‘Yon can’t smoko in hero/ said a John stroot conductor to a country man, who was pulling away vigor ously at a H vo cont cigar in a car full of ladies. Tho man didn’t seem to hoar. ‘I say/ cried tho man of tho boll- punch, in a louder koy, ‘if you want to smoko come out here on tho plat form.’ ‘All right/ returned the passenger, and he stepped out. ‘Didn’t think it would hurt nothin’, ho said, apol ogetically; ‘seoin’s tlioro ain’t any straw in the car to catch firo.’ ‘But tlioro are ladies there*’ ‘Ob, yes; didn’t think nothin’ ’bout that. Might get ashes on their gowns and spilo ’em.’ ‘It isn’t so much that/explained the conductor, but ladies object to smoko.’ ‘Well, I didn’t ask any of’em to smoke, did I? They needn’t object before tliey’ro invited/ ‘You do not understand. Smoke is disugroeable to ladies.’ ‘Best reason in tho world why they shouldn’t practice it. Cuteli mo smoking if it woro disagreeable to mol’ And ho tranquilly puffed away at bis live-center Grant Can lie Easily Beaten. Bt. Louis Republican. Wo liopo tho boom may wax louder and loudor and louder until it drives Grant down the throat of bis party as a presidential candidate. Of all others be is the man tho democracy can most easily bout, und whom they are most anxious to beat. And if they cannot beat him they can bout nobody. If tho rottenest record over made by an American president is not sufllcieiit to demolish the bum mers’ favorite at tho polls, thou no earthly power can accomplish that desirable object, or bring victory to democratic banners ju 1880, Aftor man cunio woman. And she lias been aftor him ever since. Slio is a person of freo oxtraction, boing niado of a man’s rib. I don’t know why Adam wanted to fool away Lis ribs in that way, but I suppose be was not accountable! for all bo did. It costs more to keep a woman than throe dogs and a shot gun. But slio pays you bnok with inter est-—by giving you a house full of. children to keep you awakoat nights and smear molasses over your Sunday coat. Besides this, a wifo is a vory con venient artielo to havo aroirnd the house. Slio is so very handy to swear at whenever you cut yoursolf with a razor, and don’t feol like blaming yourself. Woman is tho superior boing in Massachusetts. There aro about sixty-flvo thousand more of her sox than mulos in that State. Woman was not croatod perfect. She had lior/aults—suoli as false hair, fulso oomploxion, and so on. But she is a groat deal bottor than any of her neighbors, and sho kuows it. Eve was a woman. Sho must have boon a model wife, too, for it cost Adum nothing to keep her in clothes, (Still I never thought that sho was very happy. She omildnT go to sowing oirolos and nir her information about every body slio knew, excite the envy of otlior ludioH by wearing her now bon net to church. Neither could slio hang over the back fence and gossip with her near noighbor. All these blossod privileges wore denied her, “The process of solf-dovolopmoiifc should bo encouraged to the fullest extent. Children should he lod to make their own investigations and to draw thair own inferences. They should bo told us little as possible, and induced to discover as much as possible. Humanity has progressed solely by self .instruction, tigd that to achieve the best results each mind must progress somewhat aftor the same fashion, is continually proved by tho marked success of self-made men. A little child hoaring a sermon, and observing the minister very vo- licmently in bis words and gestures, cried out*. ‘Mother, why don’t the people lot the man out of the box?* Who wants a wife that can walk a hundred miles in a hundred hours ? Rather give us a girl that can get a hundred dinners in a hundred days and novor leavo tho track. “George,” sho said, to tho per spiring young nmn, “I love you just the same, but us our city relatives aro coming next week, mother thinks you’d bettor Htuy away, because yonr long hair and freckled face might make them think our acquaintances weren’t very high-toned.” The yonng man is staying. “Mr. Jones, you must como into my room soon and see my lovely baby,” said a fond mother to a fel low lodger. “Thank you, I heard him all last night,” was tho equivocal reply. A most excollont wash for the faco —wator. Child, pointing to a bronze group representing a torrifio eombal bo- tweon a lion and it crocodile—Wlmt are those things doing, pa? Father— 1 Talking politics, inydcur. A mini took off his cout to show what a terrible wound he received some years past. ‘Oil/ said ho, nob being able to find it. * I remember, now, it was on my brother Bill’s arm.’

Georgia Historic Newspapers

The Dublin post. (Dublin, Ga.) 1878-1894, July 30, 1879, Image 1