Newspaper Page Text
VOL. 3.
DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, FEBUARY 2,1881.
NO. 31.
MY RAYEN;
OR,
TWENTY YEARS A MYSTERY
BY MARY HAZEN.
Ours was a strange household-
mother, Uncle Thomas, Ralph (my
raven) and I,
Mother was a little, timid woman,
with pale bine eyes, always ready to
fill with tears, whether at some mis-
fortune or domestic mishap. l I dou’t
remember that I ever saw my mothor
manifest any great grief or fright.,
but looking back now from the van-,
tage ground of thirty, and recalling,
as I can, minutely, each petty detail
of my sombre boyhood, T think
mother’s tears flowed daily, and her
timid starts of nervous fear were
constant and habitual, though both
were of such a* mild and quiet order
as to affect one only as a foggy day
might, producing a feeling of gen
eral discomfort without giving cause
for a serious inconvenience.
Uncle .Thomas was tall, gaunt and
solemn. His hair was snowy white,
though he was by no means ah old
man, not mmh past forty, I think,
though he looked much older. His
face wore an ashen hue, and hu eyes,
black and restless, had a watchful
expression. Not fearful, not guilty,
but always watchful. The mouth
was firm aun rigid. In all the years
that lie lived with mpther and me, I
think, I never saw it relax into a
smile. Neither was Uncle Thomas
given to many words. Watchful of
all things, ho commented on few.
Wlion he did speak his voice was soft
and winning, but the routine of daily
_-life.fit)Igd,19, intsn» fc him. i-Uss
.8jen liim set for hours watching
Ralph and me at; our play, silent, at
lontive, like one who waits for some
one or something which any moment
may bring. Every day, wet. or dry,
hot or cold. Uncle Thomas took a
walk through some portion of the
forest which stretched away for miles
to the west of our homo.
Often I begged to go with him,
luit mother always shook her head
in a mysterious Way, and Unqle
Thomas would walk rapidly off, as
though half fearing I might follow,
in spite of mother’s prohibition. As
a child, I was content to obey with
out question, but ns I grew older,
and was sent to the village Bcliool.
thus mingling more with the boys of
my own age, I soon become informed
of the gossip current about Uncle
Thomas. It was generally believed
that lie was of an unsound mind,
thoguH opinions differed as to the
cause of his disease. One lad—high
in authority, by right of the strong
est pair of fists in the school—in
formed me privately that Uncle
Thomas lmd been married to a beau
tiful young lady, who ran away and
left him before his honeymoon was
over, and his daily pilgrimage to the
woods was to hide away money.
“Wheii he gets enough,” continued
my informanjt,“he is going to the
West Indies and hunt her lip.”
Another version of the story was
that Unclc Thomas had been on the
point of marrying a beautiful young
lady wlio" became insane, and-now
her faithful lover, more demented
than she, daily roamed through the
woods, caUinj lifer by name, unde
the delusion that she had lost her
wav therein while coming from her
home in a neighboring town.
At last, confused by the variety of
stories 'that.I heard, and,determined
to know the triith, I one day qnes
tioned my mother. After some lies-’
itation, and with many tears, she
told me the story of Uncle Thomas’
life. Many years before, when my
fat her was living, and Uncle Thomas
was a young and handsome man,
they had all lived together in a town
some twenty miles distant. Uncle
Thomas was engaged to a lovely
young girl, Mary Parsons by name,
the daughter of their pastor.
One week before the marriage was
to have iaken place she sickened and
died. Uncle Thomas was wild with
grief; indeed, so violent was liis
emotion that he refused to allow the
coilin, containing all that was mortal
of his hearts idol, to bo removed
from the church to the grave, and it
was only after a painful struggle that
he was removed from the church to
his own home.
Only a few days had passed when
another terrible blow fell upon him.
Tho old sexton, preparing another,
grave, noticed something not rigljjt
in themppcarunco of Mtiry Parsons’.
The authorities were notified and the
grave opened. It was discovered
that the grave had been robbed. The
box,remained, but both coilin and
body were gone. For a while fath
er and mother kept the terrible news
from my uncle, but tho whole town
was so niuph cxeitod over tho out
rage that if was impossible to keep
him long in’ignorance of the shock
ing truth.
“i thought,” continued my moth
er, while the tears rolled quietly
down her cheeks, “your uncle had
suffered as much as possible before,
but when he heard this last awful
news, he grew queer and dazed-like,
lie began to take long, solitary
walks; seemed to love the woods, and
at last proposed we should leave our
home and-conic here to live, where
tho forest would be nearer.
“Your father died about this time,
and all places were alike, to me after
lie was gone. I left my old home
and friends and camo here with
brother Thomas. So, Dick,” con
cluded she, “vour undo is only a
poor, broken hearted man, w.ith a
sad history. T thiftif J»o .lym never
been quite clear in . his mind since
that dreadful day, but there is noth
ing mysterious about him. You
should do all in your power to please
him and not let tho idle talk of the
boys set you against him.”
Pleased as I was to hear tho story
of iny uncle’s life, I was for all that
bitterly disappointed. A boy four
teen years old has but little sontir
meat in his composition.
The sad fate of my uncle’s early
lovo failed to awaken fli me more
thin a momentary compassion. 1
had secretly fostered the hope that
he would turn out to be a miser with
Untold wealth hidden away in the
trunk of some old tree, or a man
treasuring deep and lusting hatred
against that other man who had' in
jured him, who had daily retired
into the depths of the silent forest
to practice a sure and deadly aim,
which at some time, at come place,
would curry unerring death to the
heart of his enemy.
In either case I had resolved to fol
low him, and when discovered throw
myself upon my knoesand cry: “Let
me avenge your wrongs!” *
I lmd pictured myself my uncle’s
envoy, standing upon the defek of
some outgoing steamer, with set.
teeth and gloomy brow, following
fast and following far the black
hearted villian who had robbed him
of his young wife.
I had oven imagined the tragical
meeting, the scorn that I had hurled
into his teeth, and the fiendish de
light with which I had steeped a
lock of his hair in the blood which
flowed from a gaping wound as I
listened to his gasping prayer for
mercy, while 1 whispered thrillinglv
in his ear:. “Ah, ha! Uncle Thomas
is avenged, and I will bear him this
gory token of your fate!”
Time went on; vacation came.
Ralph and I were once more reduced
to our own society, for mother dis
countenanced many visits from the
village boys, and forbade mo to visit
them. I spent most of my 1 ensure
time teaching Ralph new tricks, at
which he wa8 extremely clever.
One day a strango event occurred,
which got Ralph into dire disgrace (
and robbed me of my last- play-fel
low.
I had for sometime been teaching
him to pli»y“hunt the handkerchief,”
at which ,ho r had become quite ex
pert.
Uncle Thomas ciihi’ein and I beg
ged him to watch om-sporti t cov
ered Ralph’s head, sebreied my hand-
korchiof;bohi nd UtieleThomna’ olini »*,
callbd “Ralph! Ralph!” and waited
to see him find it.
Across the room he worit'V peeking
herd and there with Hia sharp;, bendy
eyes and Iris saucy • head bit •one side.
Presenfly lie hopped• up- on thy
uncle’s chair, thrust his head into
his pocket and drew fbtyly a •bit
ribbon to, which was attached a sily
key. An oath; qwftil us it- wits un
usual, broke from my? uncle’s lips;
his face grew livid, and his eyes fair
ly started, from their sockets; he
seized the bird, tor© from liis beak
the key, hiding it quickly in his
pocket, and with all his force threw
poor Ralph.from him. “Dick!” he
shouted hoarsely, “never let that'
bird of the devil come in these
doors again; if you do I’ll surely
wring his neck.”
Confounded at my uncie’s most
tin heard of, burst of, anger I stood
and stared dumbly at Imp, and only
recovered my senses when the dooi
closed with a slain bclijnd him.
I told mother. She looked sur
prised, but said nothing except,
“Whitt key was it? I did not know
he ever took the trouble to lock any
thing.”
One, night, about. a week after
this, Uncle Thomas, who had dur
ing this time been unusually silent
and depressed, failed to return home.
Tho next day passed, and tho next,
still no tidings of him. Mother grew
alarmed and insisted Upon a search
being made.
The village was aroused, and we
looked ; for i tint fbV Atrd iieVn-j buV iio
Uncle Thomas cmild be found.
Ju’fit, atTwilight of"n»e'¥dartW day.
as I was sitt ing by my wiiulow,W(5urv
and discouraged, I saw Ralph come
flying from the forest ami settle in a
tree close to my room,
I tUen remembered that twice be
fore I bad seen him fly frb'm
the! same direction, and a horrible
suspicion camo upon me that pos
sibly he might lead me, to tiny uncle’s
resting place. I resolved tp watch
him in. the morning when Ire would
no doubt again take flight.
Before 1 slept I had told my dis
covery and suspicion to two of our
most reliable neighbors, and received
the promise of their assistance. Both
were on hand early in the morning,
and from my window wo watched
and waited for the raven’s depart
ure.
At lust a rustling in the tree-top.
and immediately up rose Ralph and
flew straight- towards the wood, high
and clear. Then, with a sufidei dart
down, he disuppeard.from our sight.
Noting as well as we were able
the tree by which he 'sank, an hour
or more we searched, when suddenly
we came upon liis trucks in the moist
earth, close to the trunk of a fallen
tree which lay at the base of a large
cliff.. Hero the tracks ended. Breath
lessly wo pushed aside ,tho bushes,
half expecting to see-some terrible
spectacle. An oxclamation of sur
prise and wonder escaped ;is we dis
covered that.the bushes concealed an
opening in the rock—a sort of nat
ural cave. Here again we saw tho
print of Ralph’s feet leading away
into the darkness. . One of my
friends went tp the village jo pro
cure a light and more assistance,
while I and my companions remain
ed on guard.
Never shall t forgot that half honr
of suspense, and tho feeling of re
lief with which we greeted par re
turning friends.
Ouo man, more, courageous
than t|)c rest, took the lantern and
enrerod the cave, which ran in about
tea feet, and thou, witli ati abrupt
turn, opened into a room of arch
way about twelve feet square. A
shout announced that my nncle was
found.
One by one wo entered the cave,
myself among tho number. What a
sight met our horrified gazel The
mysjtcryof years was solved. Upon
rude trestles rested a coffin continu
ing tho skeleton of n young woman.
Over it—his face .resting against the
glass, ithat covered her bopes—lay
Uncle Thomas. He must hayc boon
| deud for several dliys, His face was
calm aud a smile, tho first- I had
over seen, was on his lips. One
j ehefek was pressed against the coffin.
The other—alas ! the ruvon, had left
| his disfigUring marks Upon the luce
of his enemy | In the coffin lock
was the silver key with the blue rib
bon! ■-■'•
Many hands lifted my uticle up
and curHed him gently out, while
others bore after him the. treasure lie
had so long guarded. Once out in
the fresh, clear air, I ptqoped and
read upon th? tarnished coffin plate:
Shaky parsons*
? Aged 20 J
They were buried side by side
tho girl who 1/ad been dead for twen
ty years, and the white haired man,
who, in his. rtmdnfess, had defied tficj
grave to separate him from her.
.—i— |— • ■
NnturarillHtoyy of n« Editor.
“What ferocioiis looking animal U
that?” ; -
f‘Thnt is! the editor.”
“■IndeedI* ( Aro they very danger
ous?” |
“Sometimes.' When cornered up
they have lieen known to be quite
combative, jiiid again they have beer,
known to gp through' a convenient
hack window. Generally they are
mild and passive.’’
“When are they most dangerous?”
i. “When intruded upon by a book
agent who \vahtsafie verity-fiVc liuc,
When,
I intruded itpoiriby :i poot wilira poem
iaboutgentle spring.” ' s ’ 1
‘‘Are editora'crbss to each other?’’
“Only when separated by several
blocks of ’buildings!*-’
'Do they often have fearful com
bats with each other?”
i“0ccasiotudly-they go out, in op.
positedirection and moot by chance.”
*fAro editors over cowhidod?”
‘Sometimes the little ones are,hut
tho big ones arc’mroly molested.”
“Do editors eat?”
. “They do. ft was formerly sup
posed that they iito at long intervals,
but it. is an atillienticHtcd fact that
they can eat- a great deal when they
can get it.”.
‘.‘What kind of food do they like
most?”
“They aro not very particular.
While they .won’t refnSo quail oh
toast, fried crab or roast turkey about
ChristifiiS time, they have been
known to nrnke a hearty repast off a
dishof cold tufiiips and a consump
tive herring.”
“Can they eat concert tickets?”
Wo believe not. Some people
have fhis rrronebuS impression from
false teachings in early life, but rio
authenticated installed -of such a
tiling is on record.”
“Do editors go free into shows?”'
“They do when they give a-dollar
and a half local for a twenty-lTTe
cent ticket.”
[ fetlitors bald?”
“No, only married 'ones aro bnid,
but let ns pass on, tho editor does
not like to be stared at.—-Ex.
Queen Victoria nnide $4,000 from
tier stock farm last year.
It is no disgrace to le poor, but
poverty effectually bars any man
from buying a scat in the United
States Semite.
Tho Boston Globe says “tho liens
are in perihohon and eggs arc forty-
eight cents a dozen. It’s about time
Macduff began' to lay on again.”
A “Young Naturalist” Writes ns
to learn “how to catch a live wasp
for scietific purposes, without injur
ing it?” Right bv tho tip end of the
tail. Squeeze it hard,the wasp won’t
mipd it a particle and if it seems to
be injured ntiy that you can see,
send up tlto bill aud we will pay for
the wasp# , # V _ •
WASHINGTON LETTER*
[Prom our regular Correspondent'j
Washington, Ja n. 510 1881.
> For tho present the funding bill
is srtfcly out of its troubles in tho
House, and "the debate, already
more protracted tlmh was over antic
ipated, is transferred to tho Senate.
But there ia not ! much hope that it
can pass ilto latter body without im
portant amendments,sending'it buck
to the House; and, in that criso, the
prevailing opinion to that a filial
noiricbnbnrrerico ivfld the failure of
-the measure will result. The bill,as
it passed tho House, provides for a
three per cent, bond to tho^ amount
pf not exceeding $400,000,000, to
run H v« yours and bo made payable
in ten yours, with $300,000,000 cer
tificates, bearing three per cent,
interest likewise, and redeeiriablo at
the pleasure of tho United StateB in
| one or ton years. It • prtividfea also
that inno of these securities lire to
bo issued until after the Treasury
shall have paid out all its standard
silvfer dollars and all its gold, saving
a reserve of $50,000,000,in redemp
tion of the. bonds die maturity of
which ia now accruing, and that the
interest on the bonds!to mature shall
cease after forty days, notice by tho
| Treasury Department* The new
three per cent. .bonds authorized by
this not are to be the oilly Securities,
lifter May 1,1881, receivable as secu
rity for national bunk circulation,,
but provision is made for the Sitbsti
tution of the issues Of United States
bonds by the banks- when-die bonds
of this series have.been called tin for
redemption. Tho bankiug interest
is against t binm ciih uro- and aa-nearly
as can bo ascertained,the Somite will
eithnrextend the time on these bonds
to twenty years or inorease the rate
| ofjiitfercst.
A curious example Of our rcluc-
Vttnco to copy after Eu ropeiui models
in financial.and other matters is the
fact that no proposition Ima-boon
made to adopt tho form of the Eng
lish consols. They are, technically,
interminable and may ho hold by their
owners M'om generation to generation,
biit praelicaliy they are far more
within the control of the Govern-
mopt than any bonded debt, redeeim
able or payable within certain peri
ods; can bo. Their, prico in die
niaiket is governed by the aspect 61
national and buisrioss affairs, and
any surplus revenue that tlie Govern
ment may have tm -hand from time
to time can bo used in their redemp
tion and cancellation, while on the
other hand, the principle of contin
uity which they embrace makes thoni
adosirablo investment for thodo who
look for permanency ruthor than for
a high ruteof interest. Mr, Hawley,
of Connecticut, in the course of tl|c
disfeussioii, signified liis preference
for jmeli a form of the public debt,
but Intimated that the popular feel
ing was against tho .idea of a perriiu-
nent national debt in any form, and
hence he did not offer any amend
niOllt.in that sense.
Strangers from all parts of tho
country who have visited Wa.shlngion
within n nuniber of yenpast will
romemtyer tho old gentleman who
kept a picturorstund in the dome of
the capitol. His venerable appear
ance and kindly manner, as well as
his chatty talk about tjie interesting
fcatijresof die building, often de
tained visitors jto that lofty lieight
and repaid them for the wearisome
climb, Baninel Douglass Wyeth was
his’name. But liis pleasant face and
quiet greeting will he missed from
tho great dome, for the tired old
man has “gone up luglier.” Mr.
Wye|h was an educated and pnlishod
gentleman,; with a taste for old pic
tores,rare books, and articles of brie
a-brac winch amounted almost to a
passion. * His rooms were a treasury
of these art-gathpriugs, and here ho
lived a quiet, nearly secluded life,
excepting only an occasional rccep
don to a few friends of cultivated
taste, to whom tlieso visits were rare
tmits. JIc was a native of Harris
burg, Pa., where his father taught
Simon Cameron “tho art} pveserva-*
tivc.” Onco the poasoasor of wea]th,
whicii took wings, lie also lmd a
trugic doi'ncstlc history which respi
ted ill the almost hermit, career ol
his latter years and left the sad im
press of grief aud loneliuess on a
hmrtns teudor as a woriiup's.. He
seemed to striigglo against being
wmiped by tiio rough usage of t io
world, and tb the last was cheerful,
“#!• M WKlf*
to say n hinq word mid do a tlioiight-
f ill deed, So bore, its else whore, Wo
note the chnrgos of t|mo fttid the dis
appearance of old landmiuhs and
noted cliuraatei's. It seoiiis but it
shoj’t time sinco the o|q fresco-pain
ter iBruniidi, who hiborod ' for years
upon tho capitol decorations, passed
away, leaving his work unfinished.
Tlioro has been, at difforeut times
during tho-paafc ton yonra 1 iiiorc or
less talk of a government telegraph-
line, or of placing lines of telegroph
under govoinpiont control for Uio
benefit pf the public, but nothing •
ever ciinie of it, earnestly as tlio pro
position isadvooatod. Binco thocon-
soliLliition o# the Amorican Union-
Jay GouldVline—with the Wosteru
Union, a very decided sontiment hus
boon awukcnod on the subject. It is
appurent that Gould’s purpose from
tho start wivs stockjobbing,mid iiow,
with tho entire buisness in tho hands
of one com puny, fo havo.a mprp gi
gantic monopoly than ever before,
whose earnings must be doubled by
higher charges in pyder to pay. largo
d videnda upon its increased stook.
It in the public who must suffer from
the new order of things unless Gov-
ernment OPU^a tp their• •'relief.; But (
thero is soirio prospect of speedy ap-.
tioii in tliat direction. Wlieroeon-
grossinen wore before indifferent to
the subject, they pro, ri o w aroused .and,.,
the Cpmmiticeon 'Post-Offices ami
Post-Roads is considering the ques-
tion of an expori m op till pos tal tele-
grnph in (ioikd earpfest. Pnoxo.
All UlIlViNli PIlVHlcliin.
Tlioro have- boon ho.nobler instan
ces of self-sacrifico tlian those recor
ded of Physicians who, to savo a
Ul l/UUIt XIIWIU in, IIWIUIIWM »
reasonable limit to such oxpei iincut s,
and no physician is warn}nted in
Hllhjectillg himself to Imz-
ards. If the object aimed itf mi ho.
gained without incurring any special
risk it is obviously the part of wis
dom to choose tho safer wav. The
spirit wiPch impolied yoting Mr. San
ford, to choose the more dangerous
way, and so lose his life, at Green-
point tho other day;, was beyond
fiiqstioii commondable; but liis act
Wits the rovorsc of justifiable.
As the case is. edported,Dr. ban-
ford lmd boon uti ending a child afllie-
tod with rriiiligiiant diphtheria.
Watching the patient day, and nigiit.
At hist Uie nir passages became b|oek-
od. tind' oponiivg in tho windpipe,
inserted a small rubber tube, and*
with liis mouth drew'out fche’poispri-
oiis fluid. By this act ho prolonged
the child’s life sovral hours, lnit put
tin end to his own life.
This is nfet the first fatal instance
of the sort which, has occurred itU-v
this country, iind two oi; threo cases
of thc.same rature.lmvo bccn.repor,tc<l
in France. Tho infeotious elmrueter
of ihoAliplithoritio excretion is well* i
known, and Dr. Sanford knew that
hisdjfe would possibly! if not proba-,
lily, pay the forfqit for his profcssion-
ul zeal, ' 1; *' "
Ought he to have taken the > risk?
More specifically; cun wc justify his
taking the risk? . ; ;
We have no hesitation in an«wer-
ing, “Ortainlv not!” For the simple
reason that the deadly matter could
have been as promply and a* surely
drawn off by purely mechanical
means. The emergency was not a
sudden one, or ono that could not
lmvo> been, provided for beforehand;
In any apothecary shop the dpct*n\. ;
might have bought for a few cents a
rubber bulb tluil would have served
the purpose of an aspirator ms well
us ms own mouth, and it Would not
lisve suffered infection from the pois-
oiioiisnmtterdrawuintq.it.
Our natural admiration for devo
tion curried to the point of sclf-saeri-'
flee is apt to niuke os forget to ask
wiietiier Gw devotion might hot
better bceu manifested in a
more rational and equally effective
w;iv. In Dr. Sanford'; case w«
think it might.