Newspaper Page Text
VOL. 2.
THE. GOLD THAT WEARS.
DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY^SEPTEMBER 3,1871).
We parted one eve at the garden gate
When the dew was on the heather,
And I promised my love to come back to
her
J$re the pleasant autumn weather—
That we twain might wed
When the loaves were red,
And live and love together..
She cut me a tress from her nut-browu hair,
As I kissed her lips of cherry, •
And I gave her a ring of old-time gold,
With a stone like the mountain berry—
As clear, and blue ;
As her eyes were true—
Sweet eyes, so bright and merry !
"Tlie wealth of my love is all I have
To give you,” she said in turning;
“The gold that wears—like the radiant stars
In yonder blue vault burning !”
And I took the trust
As u mortal must
Whose soul for love is yearning.
Fate kept us apart for many years,
And the blue sea rolled between us,
Though I kissed each day the nut-brown
tress,
And made fresh vows to Venus—
Till I sought my bride,
And fate defied,
That had failed from love to wean us.
1 found my love at the garden gate
When the dew was on the heather,
And we twain were wed at the little kirk
In the pleasant autumn weather;
And the gold that wears
Now soothes my cares,
As wo live and love together.
THE DOCTOR'S VISIT.
Dr. Dove's horse stood very pa
tiently ut-the gate at which Dr. Dove
had alighted.
Almost over his head, his master.
Dr. Dove, sat. in the small, prim
parlor waiting for some one. He
expected to he ushered into a bed
room where he should sec some one
who needed him lying upon the pil
lows; but the girl who opened the
door had shot^i ‘ him in here; and
begged him wait for Mrs. Pritchard.
Everything; spoke of the presence of
a girl who had been at a finishing
school, There was a piano in the
room, and a little pile of nuisie; and
there was a shelf of books.
The books had evidently been left,
to themselves a good while; and in
deed, now Dr. Dove thought the
room close and cold, and there Was.a
good deal of dust on most things in
it.
1 Just us lie came to this conclusion
the door opened suddenly, and a tall,
elderly woman catered, shut it, be
hind her, and stood looking curious
ly at the doctor, who in return look
ed curiously at her, Then she spoke
slowly; .
“Exouso me. I think l kind o’
stared at you. I expected ’twits Dr.
Dove, and with your hack round you
look like him. Yon see, I’ve been
send in’ for the. doctor, and the girl
she said he'd come. Please to sit,
down; who did you wish to seo ?”
. “I am Dr. Dove, for whom you
sent, madam,” replied the young
man,
“There’s some mistake,” said the
old woman; “he’s an old man—the
one I mean; lie was grown up when
I was a gal—yes, ami practicing.
The family alAvays.lms had Mm, and
I felt to “put confidence m him. I
didn’t know there were two Dr.
Doves. I hay n't been to Mdl Ridge
since the folks died, and nobody has
t^me over to* sec me.” .
“The Dr. Dove you mean was my
grandfather,” said the young man.
“I wan always his assistant and when
he died* two years ago, the practice
fell to me,”
“I want to know !” cried the old
woman. “Then poor Dr. Dove is
dead? Well, the world seems to he
going fast. All I knowed of it.
Your grandfather must lmye spoken
to yon of the folks. Chrjjichton
was their name. Mr. and Mrs.
Chnnchton. Very old they wore.
They died on the same day.”
“Oh, yes. I remember said Dr.
Dove.
“I came to them as help when I
was a gal. I’ve lived here ever since.
Their daughter grew up, married,
and died; and her husband was lost
at sea; but her child has always lived
here. She. was their pet. I don’t
know as I ever knowed folks to love
a grandchild so. Since they died,
Pvo staid with her. It was about
her I wanted to see Dr. Dove.”
“Is she very ill?” asked Dr. Dove.”
“I don’t know as she’s down ill,
but she's real sick,” said the old wo
man. “I sent without asking her.
It was as much to get advice as med
icine. She could have been made to
think it was a friendly call, ef it had
been the old gentleman. How she
must know it is the doctor. Please
come ivith me. She’s out in the ar
bor.”
Out in the arbor a girl sat leaning
over a little port folio which seemed
to be full of letters opened out fiat
and pinned together. She was nat
urally pretty, but her nose was red,
and there were blue circles about her
eyes, and she was altogether like a
girl who spent her time ir. crying.
“This is Miss Emmeline,” said the
old woman. “Emmy, dear, I felt I
couldn’t let your cold run on any
without, scein’ to it. And this is Dr.
Dove’s grandson that has. took his
business, now lie’s gone.”
The young lady arose, closing the
portfolio in haste, and tucking it
under the folds of a stripid shawl
that lay near her.
“Jane, is always troubling about
me,” she* said, “I am duo of th •
miserable sort of people who are
never quite well, and who would do
bettor to get worse and die.”
It was a queer speech for a girl of
eighteen. The doctor thought so as
he felt her pulse. He asked her a
few questions, and went hack to the
parlor to make out the prescription.
“Is Miss Emmeline always so sad?
Is it her- nature?'’ ho asked the old
woman; .who answered, moilrnfuIly:
“No; she was .as chipper as a bird
before the folks went off; and some
thin' else happened. I’d never
thought it of Mr. Rawdon, hot when
lie found Emm? wasn't left rich,
only this cottage and just enough to
live, oil, why, lie went, off. I believe
ho married over the Point, near
whore yon be. Now I’ve out and
told what I didn’t mean to. Some
times I think it is a broken-heart
ails poor Emmy,”
“Ah, this is the girl that brute
Rawdon jilted,” thought the doctor.
Aloud he said: “Well give her this
and get her to travel, to seo young
emu puny to ride, to row, if she will.”
His hand was on the latch of what
lie supposed to bo the door by which
he had entered, as he spoke. The
old woman was looking at the pre
scription.
“I’d orter settle with you,” she
said, “but I don’t know yom price
without asking.”
“Oh, it is nothing,” sujd the doc
tor, and opened the door.
“Not that way!” cried the old wo
man; but she was too late. The
doctor had gone lo the wrong door—
the old house had many, and from
before this one the porch had fallen
away. It was not needed and was
generally locked; but the girl had
boon scrubbing and had opened it for
light, and down the doctor went up
on a pile of stones below. It was a
slight fall, but when lie tried to rise
lie felt that it had been a serious one.
“Some one will have to help me
in my carriage I fear,” he said, look
ing up at the old woman, jvho peered
over the sill with consternation upon
her countenance. And as he spoke
he fainted.
When Dr Dove came to himself
lie lay in bed and two fellow-physi
cians ware regarding him with grave
faces,, for he had made rather a seri
ous case of himself. In order to live
and be strong and active again it
was necessary that he should lie whore
ho was for mnny a day. It was not
pleasant news for an energetic young
man with patients waiting for him
in a dozen places, with a practice to
build up, with alj sorts of projects
nheud; but he knew the necessity.
“Confound the old woman!” he
said to himself, as he lay savagely
quiet oh the pillow. “What, good
could I do that lovo-sick idiot? Why
did she send for me to come lo this
ogre’s castle?”
Some one who lmd come in heard
the last words. A little, wlijtp face,
with many tear stains upon it, bent
over him.
“I don't wonder you hate the place
and us,” said the girl it belonged to.
“I don’t expect you ever to forgive
us. I oaii’t forgive myself, lint we
will do all we can to make you bet
ter, and you will not be lanio—I ask
ed the doctors when they went away.
And, perhaps, thorp is some why of
punishing us by law for having brok
en steps to break ‘people's bones, and
you needn’t mind doing it. I’d
rather like it. But pleaso take this
beef tea. The doctors* said you
must, as soon .as I.cpuld make it.”
All this was po|||ctly serious, aud,
amidst his pain, Dr. Dovo could not
help being a little amused as Miss
Emmy, keeping buck her tears, fed
him with an old, silver teaspoon from
a bowl that would, have driven China
maniacs madder still.
How they nursed him, tljeso two
women! The young physician, who
had not a female relative living was
in good hands. All night old Jane
kept opened-eyed watch. AH day
young Emmy coaxed and petted him
as though he hud boon a sick baby.
They fed him with every home-made
luxury.permitted by his medical ad
visers. When lie was hideously cross
they bore him meekly; when lie
patronizingly praised wlmt they did
they rejoiced. Their guilty con
sciences continually said to them
that they were tlie cause of Iris suf
fering, and they wore only too glad
to he punished. But one thing Dr.
Dove began to notice. Emmy’s oyos
were red no longor, hbr*
light, hor eyes bright. Her miud
and hands occupied, she laid no time
for retrospection.
“I suppose I have been quite a
good medicine to her,” thought Dr.
Dove, and he spoke more truthfully
than he know.
Emmy Was very pretty now.
Sometimes ho thought no one coulu
be prettier. Slip brought hor hooks
into the room and read poetry to
him, and she road very well. One
day she asked him if lie liked music,
and when he said yes, she opened
the doors that he might hear, and
played and sang for him. At first
the voice trembled now and then,
and Dr. Dove would say to himself:
“Thinking of that shabby Rawdon;”
hut soon there was no more tremor.
Clear and sweet tlie notes arose to
the sick man’s chamber. “The
sweetest voioo ho had ever hoard,”
lie used to say; and one day ho told
her so, and she gave him such a
look, a bright, swept, happy look,
that lie never forgot while he lived,
and that made him say, “What an
idiot Rawdon was.”
Spring sped on—surnmor came.
It was late in July when Dove was
first able to creep down the stairs
into the parlor, now fresh and sweet,
and garnished with roses; hut he
was really getting well now; though
Jane brought hor big Boston rock
ing-chair for him to sit in aijd held
out her bony arm to help him to it
—so well that he was going aw.iy
very soon.
He was glad to get well—very,
very glad; but tlio thought of leaving
the “ogre’s castle,” as he had called
it, was less pleasant. He had fallen
into a habit of seeing Emmy every
day, and he felt lie should miss
her. The little light hand had
touched him so tenderly in his help
lessness. Tears had fallen from her
eyes for him, and now he should go
away and she would forget him.
The convalescent sighed. He was
restless. He arose when Jane had
.gone away, and went feebly to the
window. Beyond this lay the or
chard, through which a tiny stream
ran. Emmy was sitting beside this.
It occurred to Dr. Dove that he
might muimge to get that fur with
care, and, leaning op hjs cane, ho
•went softly upon tlie grass, and soon
stood behind the girl. She did not
hear him. She sat softly upon the
grass, holding a portfolio in hor
hand, from which sho slowly took
one letter after the other, tore it to
bits, and east them into the water,
which ciiught thorn and carried them
away, winding amongst the little
rooks, caught in its tiny whirlpools,
and lost; .at last, in the shadow of
tlie woods through which it, bubbled.
Dr. Diive stood quietly watching
the girl.
IIo know that these were Rawdon*s
old love-letters. Ho knew that if
sho lovodyRuwdon still she would not
destroy them, aud suddenly his heart
throbbed rapturously, and ho knew
that he wits very glad.
“Go,” said Emmy, at length.
“This is the end of it, thank Heav
en! I have rid my heart und my
life of him!”
And she turned and saw Dr. Dovo
at her side. He was very handsome,
and tlie feebleness of his step touch
ed the girl’s heart. She hold out
both hands to him as a mother might
to hor babe, and a little, soft, cooing
cry of surprise escaped her lips.
Then she blushed crimson and drop
ped them at bedside.
“Don’t take thym hack, Emmy,”
said the doctor, softly. “Give them
to mo.”
lie took the white lingers in his
own.
“Dear, kind hands, that have done
so mnoli for me!” ho said then ho
put them to his lips.
It was five minutes boforo either
spoke. Then ho said ;
“When I go home, Emmy, will
you go with me?”
And she said: “Yg3, if you want
poor little tne.”
‘^On tlioj wliole/’ said Airs. Jane
Pritchard, a fortnight after, as slie
made the wodding-eako, “I don’t
know as I could have done better
than send for the doctor. 1 ’
Extraordinary Versatility of
Western “Dusters.”
Detroit Prop Press.
A day or two ago a motherly-look
ing woman * of forty-five on ter ad a
Woodard avenue clothing store hav
ing a man’s linen duster on her arm.
and when .approached by a salesman
she said:
“Some one in hero sold tips duster
to my son yostorday.”
“Yes, ma’am, I sold it myself,”
replied the clerk as ho looked at the
garment.
“Did you tell my son that this
duster could be worn either to a pic
nic, funeral, bridal party or a quar
terly mooting?”
“I did, madam, and so it can.”
“Did you toll him it made a good
fly-blanket when not otherwise need
ed ?”
“I did.”
“That it could be used as a boat
sail, a stretcher, a straw bod and a
bed spread?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did.”
“And that many people'used them
as'table covers?”
“I did.” .
‘.‘And that they would last for
years and them make excellent stuff
for a rag carpet ?”
“I did.”
“And you only charged a dollar?”
“Only a dollar, mu’am.”
“Well, when John came homo last
nigH and brought the duster, and
told me all you said, I made up my
mind that ho must ha ebeon drunk,
uml I was a lectio afraid ho stole the
garment. I am glad its allright.”
“It certainJy is alright, nia’au,
and since he was here yesterday wo
have discovered that t|je duster js a
great conductor of sound, a preven
tive of sunstroke, and that no man
inun with one on his buek ever drop
ped dead with heart Jisoaso.”
“Lund save us!” sho gasped, as
she wailed for the bundle; “but who
knows I hat they wont fix ’em so
'fore long that they’ll ruiso a mort
gage off the farm.”
Drink cayenne pepper tea for a
cold.
How Not to Get the Local News.
Tho other day-an old and rospecto*d
citizen came into our office, and after
paying his last year’s subscription,
took a seat and remarked:
“I guess von heodn’t send mo the
paper any longer; I have just sub
scribed for a Philadelphia paper
which suits me pretty well, and it
doesn’t cost as much as the Obm'v-
<o\”
Here hb handed us the paper for
inspection. Wo found it to be a neat,
looking sheet, handsomely printed,
with a largo ongruved head, contain
ing about forty-eight, columns of
miscellaneous reading matter.
“Pair looking paper,” wo remark
ed, as wo Imhdod it buck to him;
“hu; did*you over seo anything in it
concerning our county?”*
“Well, I don’t know as I o\er
have.”
“Anything in regard to this
State?”
“Nothing.”
“And yet you give up a paper that
contains tho local market reports,
the state of tho crops, tho deaths and
marriages, and tlie thousand and but
happenings from week to week, which
make up tho history of the region in
which you aro most interested, and
which you can got from no other
sou roe and take i nstead a ci ty paper,
simply because it comes a little
cheaper.”
“Yes, and it contains mr.ro reading
matter,” lie added.
“Certainly,” we remarked, “hut
what is tho character of the mutter?
Nothing in regard to your own village
—your schools, your churches, vour
local improvements and the t housand
and one things that happen in your
eonlitv. There is nothing in it that
port homo institutions. It is us for
eign to you as the city in which it is
publish!!}. It may contain more
reading mutter, hut your neighbor
hood is not represented, in its eol-
tun ns.”
“But why can’t you furnish your
paper cheaper, if they can afford a
much larger one in tho city at a low
pribfl,” he queried. “Labor is cer
tainly choapor here.” .
“For tho reason that a country
paper has a small circulation compar
ed with a city paper, atid the labor
expended upon 1,000 papers is about,
tlie sumo us on 50,000, especially
when it is taken into consideration
that the city weekly, which is fur
nished for a dollar per year, is ‘made
up’ of. type set for tho daily.”
“That’s enough,” exclaimed the
old gontloimm, as he polled out his
wallet, “just send mo the Obwrver
for another year !”
As he bade us good morning, and
passed through the sanctum door, we
heard him remark: “It’s my belief
that a man who stops or refuses to
subsoribo for his local paper, simply
hocausc it doesn’t contain as much
reading matter as one ‘made up’f :om
a daily and published in tho city,
should he supplied with medical
almanacs at the public expome.”
Tlie Dalton Enterprise says it hears
a great deal of complaint of hard
times in Georgia, for which there is
no excuse. The resources of tho
State are houudloss aud varied, aud
itsavs; “Wlmt we Want then to case
up rho hard t imes is energy and in
dustry well and intelligently applied.
We want Ipsa politics and political
bickering—less time spent in tlie
stores and at the oross roads—and
tpoie t ime devoted to work and stor
ing the .mill'd with that knowledge
which will aid ns to work and apply
our means, eupitul aud labor in the
best ami must profitable aud efficient
manner. Iu other words, our farmers
want to produce something to sell,
both at home and abroad. When
this id done, their profucts will find
sale either at home or ubroud, money
will come into their hands and pov
erty will give way to happiness und
prosperity, Farmers, look into this
subject a little. It is worthy of your
most, serious consideration.”
{ NO. 11
Equally Applicable Now- > , * t
A good many years ago Tom Cor
win, of blessed memory, when Secre
tary of the Treasury, gave some
advice to u young man who came to
him with an application for office
that deserves to be written in letters
of gold and hung up in tho conspic
uous places about Washington. “My
dear hoy,” said ho, “go to tho North
west, buy ono hundred aird sixty
acres of government; land, or, if you
have not got tho money to purchase,
squat- on it, get yon an axe and a
mattock, put up a log cabin on your
habitation and raise a little corn and
potatoes; keep .your conscience dear
and live like a freeman, your own
master, with no ono to givo you
orders, and without dependence upon
anybody. Do that, and you will bo
honored, rospeotod, influential, and
rich. But iicoept a clerkship here,
and you sink at onco all independ
ence; vour energies become relaxed,
and you are uufitted for affy other
and more independent position. I
may give von a pluco to-day and turn
you out to-morrow; and there’s an
other man oyer at the White IIouso
who etui turn mo out, and tho people
by-und-by can turn him out, and so
wo go. But if you own an nore of
land it js your kingdom, and your
cabin is your oast.le; you are a soveiv
eigiq and you will feel it in every
throbbing of your pulse,* and every
day of your life will assure me of
'yoiir t hanks for having thus advised
von.”
/■ A
Mark Twain's Horse,
‘Gontjpmen, this liorspof mine is
tough-bitted, and h.e went. So last 1
had to guide him by electricity—-lmd
Imlps build up your county and sup* ,, 0 l,uv-i wires apd keep a battery h,
lim-l, linmn insil il nl time 11 id* uu I'm.. .1 -:.n 1.1 ’ ,■ • . . * .
the wagon ill) tjie tjmp in order to
stop-him.’
■ Why didn't you Stop him by hol
lering who-g?’ I inquired.
‘•Stop him by hollering whoa?'
Why, I couldn’t Jjol)er loud enough
to make that horse hoar me, Ho
traveled so fast that no sound ever
reached him from behind. Ho went
faster than sound, sir, Holler
who-a! and lie’ll bo in tlie next town
before tho sound of your voice reachr
od the dashboard. ‘Travel fast?’ I
should say be could. Why, I onoo
started from Virginia 0)ty for Mead
ow Greek right in front of one of the
most dreadful rain storms we ever
had on tl|« Pacific (Jogst, ‘Wind
and rain?’ Why, the wind blew
eighty miles ai) hpur and the rain
fell in sheets, I drove right beforo
tho storm for three hours—just on
tho edge of that ljurrieanh for forty
miles,”
‘Did .you got drenched ?'
‘Drenched? No, sir? What did
l keep a fust horso for? Why, I toll
you, J drove right in front of that
rail) storm. I could loan forwurd
and Ipt the sun shine on mo,* nr leaij
backward and feel min and catch
liail-stones. When the hurricunp
slackened up tho horse slacked up,
too, and when it blow faster I ji;ab
mid ‘Gjt up!' to tho horse and touch
ed tho battery, and away he went.
Now, I don’t want to Ifo about my
horse, and I don’t want you to -be
lieve what I say, but when I got to
Meadow Greek my linen duster whs
us dry at powder. Not a drop of
rain on the wagon scat, either, whilu
tho wagon box was level full of hail
stones and water.’
When you see a lady throw her
right hand around behind her hack-
like a base bail pitcher, ami twist
her body like a circus con tourist, or
a gentleman rushing down tlie street
of a hot aftf-nioon with living coat
tails, hat on the back of lps bead,
and looking at biz watch i-vna two
second), you may kmm tlmt. they are
both trying toQaicl) a train. Mo.-tou
Commercial Bulletin.
A new way to light a duel: Let
each of the com bunts swallow a dose
of poison, and then toss up for tho
emetic.
