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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.”