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GREENSBORO, N. C., THURSDAY, DECEYIBER 9, 1875
I He ate heartily of the eiiuple fooil Ami !i[i efter lip was pressed to the found u young, slender boy awaitingh.m,
! planed before him, and then asking per- half-fainting girl, and begging to necome a page.
A niontli ago—liow beautiful!
To-day—how sere they lie !
The glory of the forest fle.l—
Like splendor from the ••kj’-.
I trample on the fallen leaves
That yesterday, like gems,
Tla-^hed briglitn&sson my wondering eye-,
Prom countless diadem-.
Tlicy answer to my he df ss f'ct
With crispness in Ihcir tone ;
Tread lighlly- for the heaiUy’s sake
Thine eyes in us have kn iw i;
We were but shadow', , h nwe glowd
In crims'in, of thy prid ;
We still are siiadows of its fall.
And jnsl bel’oie it gU u-1”
I would the withered leaies were lair.
That I might >hnti to t ead
Their dying verdur ' in the dost
With which my hop 'S fall dead;
For w ien, in erimsoii and in gold,
My ripened joys sliall llame.
The brief, hright beauty of the leaves
Is theirs—to sere, the same !
mission, he threw himself down on the
floor to sleep.
'If any one appears, wake me," he said.
'There is a piri e on my liea'i.’
For long hours he slept, and Barbara
Claxton stmiie'l liisTace. It wasagrainl
‘Ati'l. mind ve,’ shouts'! back one, as ' There was a subtle magnetism in the
they at last filed out of the house, ‘if we | boy’s manner, and he took him to be near
fiml that yon have harbored the King, 1 him alway-s There was something about
we’ll come back and burn your hut to the i the quiet page that pleased him, and the
grouml i dog-like devotion with whu b he followed
.'\t last the faint sound-of their re ■
one, full of pa.s.sion and force, .;ml intin- : treating footsteps died out, and Barbara
lively she realiz'le that this man'ss ation ' dragged herself to the door to see if any
wa.s a hove her own. ' one wa.s larking around.
■f seem to be sa.fe here,’ the stranger ; \.s ho one was in .sight she returned,
Barliara Claxton’s Love.
BY RF.BKCCA FORBES STURGIS.
A stranger stopped before a low, rude
■cottage almost in the heart of the forest.
He was travel stained and weary, as his
.-liow gait, tattered garb, anxious look and
blood-shot eyes attested.
T am persecuted ami poor,’ he said, in
s, low voice, ‘Will you shelter and feed
A young girl glanced quickly over to
mn elderly woman, on whose p.allid face
the imprint of death was being placed.
A. troubled expression shot over the
‘We are found !’ .-he whispered to her-
'Self. ‘God pity my poor child !'
‘Yes, come in,’ the younger one said,
■‘We are poor also, but we have a little to
Tne man advanced, made a respectful
obeissanoe to the aged dame, and then
threw himself down on a bench to wait
for a morsel of food.
Although his mind was oppressed with
a heavy care, he could not fail to notice
what a beautiful creature this forest flow
er was—a being superior to any he had
ever met before.
The old lady noticed his admiring
'glance, and spoke to him quietly.
‘Yon are the first stranger that ever
crossed our door;’ she said. ‘You have
found our retreat, and I beg of you to
■be merciful; conceal it still from the out-
i.-ide world 1’
'I will not betray '-your trust,’ 'he.-an-
3-wered, simply. 'I am in too sore need-of
friend.? myself to be heedless of others in
He spoke with the air and accent of a
.courtier, and he wondered who this wo-
ipap'P.squid be, with the air of a princess,
ii^Vhat s.ad.f^ie had driven them to hide
said. ‘May I stay awhile''*’
'Yes,' was.the response.
For days he linger d aroiunl ths cot
tage, and heaid ail the story of their ex
■fwaL nurse in a Duke's family,’ the
ol'l laily sai'l, 'hut I married a poacher.
He wa.s caught, and wonhl have bee:,
shot.; hut he got a\va3’, and I and our
child came here with him. We lived se
cure until he died, and then we buried
him down there berieaili that tree. Since
then we .saw no one from the outer world
until you came.’
'And I hope yo.i shall never regret my
com ng,’ he returned simply.
One morning, shortly after their co t
ve .sation, Barbara came rushing in lireath
less anil pale.
'The soldiers !' she cried. ‘They are
The man gave one hasty glance around,
‘Where can I hide?' he asked.
She pulled her mother’s rude couch
apart., and bade him lie .town, and then
assisted the old dame to lie down on top
'Ihen Barbara awaited their coming
with a throbbing heart.
'Where is he?' a rude voice shouted,
‘By the beard of the saint, we ve trapped
him now !'
dChere was a hasty i-latter of hoofs, and
in an instant the room was filled with a
set of wild, desperate men.
'Where is he ? Give him up 1 Quick,
girl, or I’ll run this sword through you !’
shouted the leader of the gang.
But with a face as white as the face of
the dead, the girl leaned against the wall,
and made no answer.
‘Where’s the King?’ asked one.
‘We traced him here '' shouted another.
They looked up the ch.mney, they ran
their eyes over the bare walls of the rude
log hut, and saw there was not a place
i for a bird to hide, and then gave up in
‘Corae, pretty lass, give us a kiss for
luck !’ suggested one ; ‘and tell us if you
know anything about the King.’
‘Open your mouth !’ shouted another.
‘I never saw a King,’ she said, gently.
‘Kings do not come in the forest to live,
and I have never been out of it.’
‘Oome, don’t be wasting time 1’ shouted
another, ‘The bird is hid around here
'Give ns a kiss 1’ cried another. ‘I
willbave it 1’
‘A«d I!’ 'And 11' shouted they all.
him aroused in him a sincere affection.
But it was a time of war. Peace was
something which did not last long in that
turbuleni land, before men were taught
tosub'lue their passions.
Richard’s page followed him into the
thickest of the fight. In vain they tried
to dissiiaile him from such scenes.
‘My King lea-ls ; I must follow,’ was all
! and assiate'l the ohl dame to move from
I oft' the almnst smothereii man.
I He .arose to his f et, glanced with pity
I upon the ci'ini-O'i, humiliated face of the
i heroic Barbara Claxton, who had exposed i tke respoiice they obtained
' liei'fell'to insult rather than to betray her I Yt last an arrow was sent in the direc-
irusi. I i on of the King, hut it 1 ierced the page’s
'.Mv poor Barbara,' he cried, ‘the sac | bo.som. He would have fallen, but the
nlice wa.- too great! I was tempted to 1 t^^dig caught hi.n in his arms, and while
his fa.i.-e was filled with sorrow, tried to
staunch the blood,
'I must die 1’ the page whispered, faint
show mvselt, but it would have done you
no good, aii'l only cost me iny life.'
■J am hapjiy to have saved my King,’
':'Nay nay; ilo not u.-e that title,' he
ejaculated. ‘I am thy lover, Barbara!
Thou art dearer to me than life !'
He atteuipteil to draw her hand to bi.s
lips, but she motioned him off.
‘I am only a porcher’s daughter,’ she
said, proudly, ‘and not fit to mate with a
King / Do not betray your trust.'
He turned away.
'I will never forget you, Barbara !' he
said, solemnlv ; ‘and when I get back to
fhy rightful place, vou shall not regret
having sheltered me.'
A few hours later there was a sound
of a bugle heard in the distance, and as it
Came nearer and nearer, a' horde of men
appeared in view.
The King gave a peculiar whi.stle, and
then the air rang with loud cries and
oh arsfor “Richard Coear de Leon !’
The King stepped to the door, and in a
few moments was told that his enemies
were beaten, and the way was clear.
He returned into the hut,
‘This is no safe place lor you now. Bar
bara,’he said. ‘Your retreat has been
discovered. Come with ns, and we will
She shook her head sadly, but firmly.
‘I cannot ! Look at my mother. The
journey would kill her. My confidence
is above !'
‘I will return again, then. For the
sake of all you have done to me, give me
one kiss to remember you by.’
He pressed Barbara to his heart for a
moment, and read in her clear, truthful
eyes how dear he was to her.
A week went by. Richard returned
and the hut was but a smouldering pile
of ashes. There was no trace of any one,
living or dead.
‘They have fulfilled their threat!’ he
cried ‘The bravest heart England held
has perished by their murderous hand!’
He had no doubt but that Barbara tvas
dead, and he cherished her memory in
When he returned to his 'court, he
ly. 'Richard, my King, think kindly of
me when I am gone 1’
‘Barbara !' the King said,
‘Yes your faithful B-arbara. I have
saved your life. I am happy P
‘You shall not die P the King cried,
passionately. ‘You shall live to become
my Queen P
‘No, no .I My love is too great .f she
returned. ‘Hawks must not mate with
doves, I am not a lady. I love you too
well to drag you down. Kiss me good
Almost before the words were finished,
while the King's hot breath was on her
cheek, the soul of Barbara Claxton lied
from the body.
He laid her down tenderly, and never
in his lieart lived for another woman a
passion so pure and so warm. He mar
ried a woman of his own rank in time,
but Barbara Claxton’s memory never
faded from his mind.
Lion-hearted in war, nogreat lover of
peace, rather grave in manner, and coarse
even, as compared with courtiers of more
recent date ; but he loved with a love
that drove smiles ever Rom his face.
A youth was rushing around the cor
‘All I want in the world is to lay my
hands on him P
He presently came upon a boy weigh
ing about ten pounds more than himself,
and rushing at him be exclaimed ;
‘Did you lick my brother Jim?’
‘Yes I did,’ said the boy, dropping his
bundle and spitting on bis hands,
‘Well,’ continued the other lad, back
ing slowly away, he needs a lickin’ once
a week to teach him to be civil P
An ancient maiden lady up in .Johns
town, who W'as dtsappointed in love sev
eral years ago, then pledged herself nev
er to out her toe-nails again.—Love, you
know, produces strange results, Her toe
nails are now so long that she cannot wear
shoes, so she remains secluded and goes