Newspaper Page Text
YOL. 2.
DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1879.
NO. 12
o
domestic greeting.
As homeward comes the married man,
He’s met by wife at door,
With fond embrace and loving kiss
And—“Baby’s throat is sore!
'And did you think to stop at Brown’s
And get that marabout
I ordered yesterday?—and, dear,
Fred’s boots are all worn out!
"I’m glad you'are so early, John,
So much I miss you, dear—
I,ve had a letter from mamma;
She’s coming to live here.
“How very glad you look, dear John,
I knew that you would be—
The flour’s out, the butter, and
You must send home some tea.
"That plumber has been here again;
If you don’t pay he’ll sue;
^And Mr. Pendergast called in
To say your rent was due.
"‘Fred’s trousers are half cotton, John,
You thought they were all wool—
Oh, that reminds me that your son
> Was whipped to-day at school.
“The roof has leaked and spoiled the rugs
Upon the upper hall,
And Jane must go, the careless thing!
She let the mirror fall.
“To-day, ns she was moving it,
JTbc largest one, dear John];
Of Course it broke; it also broke
The lamp it fell upon.
“What makes yo.u look so grave, my love?
Take off your .things and wipe
Your feet—and oply think, to-day,
Jane broke your meerschaum pipe
“Oh, John! that horrid, horrid word!
You do not lpv,e me. dear;
I wish that I—boa-boo—were dead—
You’re cross £s any hear.”
WINNING THE WIDOW.
“Oh, what a handsome man!'’
ciied Mrs, Hunter; “and such a
charming foreign accent, too!"
Mrs. Hunter was .a wjdow-^rich,
childless, fair and 2§4=#ii4 she-made
the remark above recorded to Mr.
hunting. bache)o , who had come to
piiy an aftornoou call, apropos to the
departure of Prof. LaFontaino, who
had according to etiquette taken his
departure on the arrival of Mr. Bunt-
ing.
“Don’t like to contradict a lady,"
said Mr. Bunting. “But I can’t say
I agree with you; and these foreign
ers are generally impostors, too.”
Mrs. Hunter shook her head oo-
quettishly.
She was rather- coquettish and
rather gushing for her age.
“Ob, you gentlemen! yon gentle
men! I can’t ape that you ever do
justice to each other.”
And then she rang the bell and
ordered the servants to bring tea,
and pressed bachelor Bunting to stay
and partake of it.
There was a maiden aunt of 80 in
the house, to play propriety, and al
low her to have as many bachelors to
tea as she chose, and Mr. Bunting
forgot his jealousy and was ouoe
more happy.
He was, truth to tell, very much
in love with the widow, who was his
junior by fifteen years.
He liked the idea of her living on
the interest Of her money, too.
She was a splendid housekeeper
and a fine pianist,
She jy?15 V0Vy popular and good-
looking,
He intended to offer himself for
her acceptance gs soon as he felt sure
that she would not reiuse him.
But this dreadful Prof. LaFontaine
with black eyes as big as saucers, and
long side-whiskers—bjack as any
raven’s wing, had the advantage of
being the widow’s junior.
This opportunity to make a foul of
herself is so irresistible to every wid
ow.
It troubled his dreams a good deal
—not that he thought him hand
some.
Oh, no!
But still, at fifty, a man does not
desire a rival, however lm may de
spise him.
“She did not ask him to stay, and
she did ask me,” said Mr. Bunting,
and departed, after a most delightful
evening, during which the maiden
aunt, (who was, at best, as deaf as a
port;,) snored sweetly in her chair.
But, alas! on the very next evening
his sky was overcast.
Prof. LaFontaine took the widow
to the opera.
He saw them enter the doors of
the opera house, and, having follow
ed and secured a seat in the retired
portion of the house, also noticed
that the Professor kept his eyes fixed
upon the lady’s face in the most im
pressive manner during the whole of
the performance, and that she now
and then even returned his glances.
“It can’t go on,” said Mr. Bunting
to himself. “I can’t allow it. She’d
regret it all' her life. I must remon
strate with her. No woman likes a
coward. Faint heart never won fair
lady. She’ll admire me for speaking
out.”
And that very evening Mr. Bunt
ing trotted up to the widow’s house,
full of deadly purpose, and with a
set speech learned off by heart.
The speech he forgot as he crossed
the threshold.
The purpose abided with him.
There were usual remarks about
the weather. The usual chit-chat
followed, but the widow saw that
Mr. Bunting was not at his ease.
At last, with the sort of plunge
that a timid bather makes intp chilly
water, he dashed into the subject
nearest his heart.
“He’s a rascal, ma’am, I give you
my word.”
“Oh, dear! Who is?” cried the
widow.
“That frog-eater,” replied the
bachelor. “Upon my soul, I speak
for your own good.
I am interested in your welfare.
Don't allow his visits. You don’t
know a thing about him.”
“Do you allude to Monsenr La
Fontaine?” asked Mrs. Hunter, sol
emnly.
“I allude to that fellow,” said
bachelor Bunting. “Why his very
countenance proves him to be a ras
cal. I—I’d enjoy kicking him out
so much, I—r”
“Sir,” tuid the widow, “if you
havn’t been drinking, I really think
you must be mad.”
“Ma’am!” cried Mr, Bunting.
“Perhaps however, I should take
no notice of Snell conduct. Perhaps
I should treat it with contempt,” said
Mrs. Hunter.
‘•Oil, good gracious!” crie.d bache
lor Bunting: “don’t treat me with
silent contempt. It’s my affection
for you that urges me on. I adore
you! Have me. Accept me. Mar
ry me and be mine to cherish and
protect from all audacious French
men.”
The widow’s heart was melted.
She bu.st into tears.
“Oh, what shall I say,” she sobbed.
“I thought you were merely a friend.
I—am--I—I am engaged to the pro
fessor, he proposed yesterday even
ing.”
Bachelor Bunting had dropped
down upon his knees while making
the offer.
Now he got up with a sort of groan
—not entirely caused by disappointed
love, for he had the rheumatism.
“Farewell, false ono,” feeling for
his hat without looking for it. “I
leave you forever.”
He strode away, banging the door
after him.
The widow cried and then laughed
and cried again.
In fact sho had a regular fit of
what the maiden aunt called “ster-
icks,” and the chumbormaid “high-
ptrikes,” before she was brought to
and prevailed on to take a glass of
wine and something hot and com
fortable in the edible line.
After which the thought of her
fiance consoled her.
Days passed on.
Bachelor Bunting did not drown
himself or sup cold poison.
The wedding day was fixed.
The housemaid informed her
friend that Mrs. Hunter “kept steady
company,”
The maidep aunt, who had no in
come of her own, curried favor by
being almost always in a state of ap
parent coma.
The widow was in the seventh
heaven of bliss, and all went merry,
as a marriage bell until one eveniug,
as the bethrothed pair sat before the
fire in the polished grate, there came
a ring at the bell, and the girl who
answered it soon looked into the par-
lt r to anuounce the fact that a lit
tle girl in the parlor would come in.
“Oh, let her in,” said Mrs. Hun
ter. “.I’m so fond of children iii the
neighborhood. It’s one of them I
presume?”
But, while she was speaking, a
small, hut very old looking little girl
in a short frock, with a tamborine
in her baud bounced into the room,
and, throwing herself into the Pro
fessor’s arms, with a strong French
accent, screamed:
“Darling papa, have I then found
you? How glad mama will be. We
thought you dead.”
“I’m not your papa,” said the
Fienohnian, turning pale. “Are
you crazy my dear little girl?”
“No, r.o, no; you are my papa,”
cried the child. “Do not deny your
Estelle. Does sho not know you!
Ah, my heart it tells me true! Dear
mamma and I have almost starved,
but she has never pledged her wed
ding ring—never. She plays the
organ, I the tamborine. Wo have
suffered, but now papa will return
to us. Ah! heaven!”
“My gracious! the moral of fur-
runers. He’d have married missus!”
cried the girl at the door.
“She tells one black lio; never be
fore have I seen her; belief me, mad-
ume!” screamed the poor Freneh
man. “Ah, mon Dieu, am I dream
ing?” .
““Oily Alphoiisq^’ ci-ied the widow.*
“But there, ! will be firm, Jtfy best
friends warned me of you; Take
your hat—go. Never enter my pres
ence again. Go with your unfortu
nate child—your poor half-starved
little girl. Go home to your desert
ed wife. Go!”
“Ah, madamo, zese is falsehood,”
cried the unfortunate Frenchman,
losing his temper in his excitement.
“Belief—”
“Out of my house!” cried the wid
ow. “Peggy open the door. Go:
What an escape I have had!”
The professor departed.
Mrs. Hunter threw herself into
her chair and burst into tears.
After It while she grew more calm,
and, taking a letter from the drawer,
she perused' it.
“Ah me! what deceivers those
men are!” she said, as she pensively
lay buck on. the cushions. “Only
think ho could write a lettor so full
of love, and prove such a villain; but
I am warned m time.”
And she tore the letter into frag
ments.
The maiden aunt, who had not
heard a word demanded an explana
tion.
Biddy howled it through her ear
trumpet in these words:
“The scoundrel has ever so many
wives and families already, playin’
tamborincs for their bread—the ras
cal!”
And in the midst the door boll
rang, and Mr. Bunting walked in
with a slight bow.
Biddy and the aunt slipped out of
the room.
Mr. Bunting approached the wid
ow.
“I called to apologize,” he said.
“I was hasty the other day. Had I
known the gentleman was dear to
you, I. should have restrained my
speech. I wish you happiness; I—”
“Don’t, please,” cried the widow.
“He’s worse than you painted him.
I’ve found him out I hate him. As
for me, I can never be happy again.”
“Not with your own Bunting?”
cried the bachelor, sitting down be
side her,
“I’m afraid not said the widow.
. “Are you sure?” asked Mr. Bunt
ing.
“No, pot quite,” said Mrs. Hun
ter.
“Then marry me, my dear, and
try it. Do, oh, do/”
Mrs. Hunter sobbed and consent-
4
And after having a white-colored
silk made up and trimmed with real
lace, it was too bad nqt4© figure ns a
bvide after all. * #
She married bachelor BJfli4tug and
was Very happy. •*%
It was well, perhaps, that she had
nbtthe fairy gift of the invisible cap,
aiuLduT not put it on and follow Mr.
B(jntmg to a myseerions recess in the
rear of a theater, whither he took
his way after parting from the widow
on the night of his engagement.
. There lie met a little girl, small
but old. looking, the same indeed
who had claimed the professor ub her
lost papa, and this is what ho said to
her:
“Here is the money I promised
you my ohild, and you noted the
thing excellently wpll. I know that
liy the effect you produced. She
believes lie’s a married man, and lie
can’t prove to the contrary. I knew
you would be able to aot it when I
saw .you play the deserted child in
the tragedy.”
Then $100 werecountod out in the
little brown hand, and Bachelor
Bunting walked off triumphant.
To this day his wife does not know
the truth, but alludes to poor inno
cent Prof. LaFontaine as that wick
ed Frenchman.
Not so Pushing.
An American paper states that
thoso who go around with the con
tribution box in California churches
plead and argue the case in the pews
as they go along.
The following dialogue, it is said,
took place betweon one of thesegen-
trVand an.honest-looking miner :
Bill, and he slowly shook h’s head.
“Come, William, give something,”
said the pai’Bon.
“Can’t do it,” said Bill.
“Why not? Is not the cause a
good one?” asked he.
“Yes, good onough; but I am not
able to give anything,” answered
Bill.
“Pooh, pooh ! I know better; you
must give tnc a hotter reason than
that,”
“Well, I owe. too much money, I
must bo just beforo I am generous,
you know.”
“But, Wijliam, you owe heavon a
larger debt than you owe any one
else.”
“That’s true, parson, but heaven
ain’t pushing me like the rest of my
creditors.”
Of course women can keep a secret,
but it takes a good rnUny of them to
do it.
Good Advice.
Pay your debts as soon as yon got
your money in your pocket. Do
without what you, don’t need. Speak
your mind when necessary. Hold
your tongue when prudent. Speak
to a friend in a seedy coat. If you
can’t lend a friend money tell him
why; if you don’t want to, do the
same. Cut acquaintances who lack
principle. Bear with infirmities but
not vices. Respect honesty, despise
duplicity. Wear your old clothes
till you can pay for new ones. Aim
at comfort and propriety, not fash
ion. Acknowledge your ignorance,
and don’t pretend to knowledge you
haven’t got. Entertain your friends
but never beyond your menus,
There is a gentleman living in
Nashvillle who owns a dog which,
will never leave him during the week
but will not notice him on Sundays.
A little boy hearing some one re*
murk that nothing woe quicker than
thought sflid: “I know something
that js quicker than thought.”
“tyhat js it, Johnny?” said his pa.
“Whistling,” said Johnny. “When
I was in school yesterday, I whistled
before I thought; »pd got whipped
for it, too,”
Good Society.
Many parents who have sons and
daughters growing up are utixiouB
for them to got into good society.
This is an honorable anxiety, if it in
terprets good society after some lofty
fashion. Parents, your daughter is
in good society when she is with girls
who are sweet, and pure, and true
hearted;-who are not vain and frivg
Urns; who think of something elso
besides dress, or flirting, or marriage;
between whom and their parents
there is confidence; who are useful
aa well ns.ornamontal in the house;
who cultivate thoir minds, and train
their hands to skillful work. If so
ciety of this sort is not to be had,
then none at all is preforable to a
worthless article. See to it Unit you
impress this on your children, and
above all that you do not encourage
them to think that good society is u
matter of fine clothes, or wealth or
boasting to be Bomebody. As you
value your ohild’s soul guard her
against these misorublo counterfeits ;
and impress upon her that intelli
gence and simplicity, modesty and
goodness, are the only legal coin.
The same rule holds to hove as well
as girls. You would lulve these
outer good society.
Do not imagine that you have ac
complished it when you havo got
them with a set of boys whose par
ents are wealthier than you, who
dross better than you can offord to,
who pride themselves on their social
position. Good society for boys is
the society of boys who are honest
and straight-for ward, and who have
no bad habits, who are earnest and
ambitious. They are not in a hurry
to bccoim mon. Thov aro not ambi
tious for the company of shallow,
lieavtlcss women, .oMpubiigIlfpr.tiioir.
mothers, and not envious. of their
friends, who fancy tlioro is something
grand in dulling all the edge of their
heart's hope upon suoli judod favor
ites. There is nothing sadder than
to see young men' or young women
priding themselves upon the society
which they enjoy, when verily ’t
was a Dead Sea apple that will choke
them with its dust, when they seek
some generous juicy fruit to cool
their lips and stay the hunger of
thoir soul.
Mother’s Affection.
Many of you havo fond mothers to
caro for, watch over and koep you
from harm and danger. Then let
me impress it upon you to never cease
being kind to your ever obliging
mother. Those* of you who have
mothers do not know how to appre
ciate them, but, -alas! when that
lovely form is taken away, then and
not till then will you realize the value
of one. If you have spoken an un
kind word or disobliged her, will
not those harsh words rise often in
your memory long after that lovely
form has been laid in the cold dark
grave, and cause your heart to throb
with pain ? What would you not
give then to havo her back to toll
her iiow you hud wronged her and
how you sinned against Heaven in
disobliging her; but regrets are use
less, after she lias passed from earth
away.
We think—yea, wo know a mother
is the kindest friend we havo. She
is so thoughtful aud tender; she 1ms
the first care, and is evor ready to do
something to promote the happiness
und contentment of those uround
ami the sorrow we experienced in
the loss of a mother is unsurpassed,
for a,
Mother lost in childhood
Grieves the heart from day to day,
We miss her gentle hand,
Her fond and earnest care,
And oh! how dark is life around us,
What is home without her there?
Macon Telegraph: A wagon train
train has been established between
Butler and Macon for the transpor
tation of goods and to avoid the pay
ment of freight on the railroad. A
few days since a trip was made, and
a saving, of 33 J per cent was realized,
A Romantic Scene.
It is doubtful if any theatre evov
offered such volumes of remain l •,
incident us the deck of the old time.
Mississippi steamer. In the old-days
before the railroads traversed the
continent in every direction, and the
Weal was a wilderness, New Orleans
was‘the Mecca of travelers, and the
fleet wave-born carried thousands of
'pleasure seekers to the South. It
was then that life was a cardinal; and
men and woman surrendered them
selves to the most lavish enjoymonts.
Gaining was a custom und courage
an instinct. Men were as prone to
brawls as the sparks to fly upward.
Oonspiouons among the fierce and
rollicking habitues of the stcumers
was Oupt. West, a noted duelist.
One day ho engaged in a controversy
with a geutlemun whom he met on
the dock, whom he aodusod of staring
ut him impertinently.
“Why do you look at me so intent
ly P” demanded the captain.
“I am not looking at yon,” calmly
replied the stranger, his oyoB mean
while fixed in a stony glare upon the
duelist’s face.
“Butyou are, sir.”
“I ain not.”
The captain turned away, but a
short time afterward ho .felt that
those stony eves wore again upon
him and following all liis movements
witli pitiless ferooity. It became
inexpressibly annoying, and the cap
tain ut lust determined to muko an
end of it. Stepping up to the
stranger lie Inquired with suppressed
passion:
“Can you fight as well as look?”
“Perhaps so. I never tried it.
Place mo in position and I will do
my best.”
\y The singular conduct of fello stran
ger had by this time attracted uni
versal 'attention, and whispered con
ferences regarding his remarkable
apptuminco agitated little groups of
persons all over the boat. In a short
time however, the vossol rounded to
a lauding for wood, and theft the
parties to the impromptu duel wont
ashore. The stranger was led off by
a negro servant’, who soomingly pick*
ed his way. Indeed, from theintenso
interest ho was manifesting in tho
encounter, tho colored servant was
apparently more deeply interested in
the encounter than his master. But
tho time allotted for the preliminaries
was brief, and tho men were put. in
position and pistols placed in their
hands.
The word was givon and two ring*
ing reports flashed out on the air.
Oapt. West fell pierced to the licart.
The strangor stood erect, calm and
dignified. His second rushed up to
him.
“Aro you hurt,.sir?”
“No ; how is it with my antago*
nist ?”
“Can’t you see? You have killed
him.”
“No; lam unable to see.”
“You can’t see!”
“No; I ain blind.”
And ho was. Tho tragedy was a
nine days’ wonder, and all sorts of
rumors were rife as to the identity
of tho fatal stranger. But who ho
was and whither ho went was a mys
tery never solved. The circumstance
wont to make up an incident m tho
dark 'and bloody memories which
made famous the olden timo.
A desperate street encountor oo*
curred at Benton, Ala., on tho 11th,
betweon two men named Dudley and
Gwen. Dudley’s sister, it is said,
had advised against tho introduction
of a cousin to Owen, who called
Dudley to account about it. Dudley
refused to make an explanation,
when Owen drew a pistol and snap*
ped it at Dudley, who in turn shot
Owen four times cut his throat and
stamped on his head until lie was
dead.
A Western editor epouks of his
rival us “mean enough to steul the
swill from a blind hog!” The rival
retorts by saying: “He knows lie lies;
I never stole his sw : ll.”
