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GREENSBOIIO, N. C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 13,1876
Empirks and kiii^ have pass’d away
Into obllviriiRs mine;
And toweriii!; domes have felt deciy,
Since au!d lang syne.
BuOIasosrt. the glovions art,
\Yith wisdom’s ray divine;
’Twas ever so, the Hebrew cries,
In auld lang syuo.
Behold the occidenial chair
Proclaims the day's decline—
Hiram of'I'yre was seated tliere,
In aukl lang syne.
Tlie Soiif/i proclaims re:'reslmient nigli
/lii/h twdm!s the time to dine ;
And beautij decked the southern sky,
In auld lang .'yne.
Yes, Masonry, whose temple here
AVas built by lia ids divine,
Shall ever shine as bright and clear.
As ould lang syne.
Then, brethren, for the wortliy Wn'ce,
T.et lisa wreath entwine.
The tliree great lieads ot Masonry
In anld lang syne.
Remember oft that wortliyonc.
With gratit ide divine.
The Tyrian youtli—the widow’s son
Of auld lang syne.
'Promise me, Charlie.’
She was leaning over the back of his
chair, looking down into his face. By
‘she’ I mean Mrs. Cole and ‘Ci'aTlie’ was
her husband. He had just settled him
self for a quiet after-dinner cigar. But
Mrs Cole had mischievously snatched it
from his hand, threatening to withold
it until he gave her the desired promise.
And now she laid one hand caressingly
on his forehead, and stealing the other
under his chin she looked archly yet ear
nestly down into the dark deeps of his
eyes, with her tender bine eyes, a.s she
repeated: ‘Promise me, Charlie. Now
do ; that’s a dear !’
‘Nonsense Virginia !’—and he tried to
put away her hand.
‘Oh, Charlie !' reproachfully.
•Pshaw, do let me go. You’ll choke
me,’ he said, half impatiently.
‘And so I will,’ she cried merrily, ‘if
you don’t promise me this very minute,
not to drink anything stronger than pure
cold water at Uncle Logan's party to
‘Yes, yes, yes ! There, now I hope
I've promised often enough to satisfy
‘On your honor ?’
‘Certainly. Yes of course !’
‘Oh, sir, I thought I osuld bring you
to terms. Kecollect, you h.ave said on
And then, while her face grew earnest,
in its pleading, she added : “Oh Charlie
you don’t know how anxious I have felt
about this party ever since we decided
tt) go. They always have such a gay time
at Uncle Logan’s. .And you know dear,
though you would not do a wrong thing
yourself, how easy it is for your compan
ions to make you g® too far because you
are such a dear good-natured fellow.
But now that you have promised me, I
feel quite easy. And, dear, don’t forget
when the young men begin to get too
gay, come up stairs to me and baby.’
And he promised.
■ fioing out to an evening party at Un
cle Logan’s was no small affair, consider
ing that it was a good five mile ride from
Glendale, out into the country, over
rough roads, with Maple B'.ver—swollen
by recent rains—to be crossed. For this
was in a remote and secluded part of
England, distant from any railroad, and
with no town near where a vehicle might
be obtained—Besides Virginia Cole was
a first-rate horsewoman and feared noth
ing on her own account. That she was
thus rather rash and foolhardy, will ap
pear from the fact that she had resolved
to encumber herself with a burden though
of a very interesting kind.
Lights were glimmering from the win
dow? as they rode up to Uncle Logan’.s
gate, and the number ef horses and ve
hicles already congregated around it
showed that the invited guests of the
Ghristmas-eve party were already begin
riing to drop in. Aunt Liznie came out
to the door to meet them, and took the
sleeping babe from Virgie’s poor tired
'Remember Charlie !’ she said implor
ingly, laying her head upon his shoulders
as they were on the point of separating—
she, for Aunt Lizzie's comfortable room
above-stairs—he, for the society ol his
‘Never fear me !’ And he went gaily
Alas! for the promise made to the
fond, credulous wife, sitting up stairs in
the quiet matronly circle, with her babe
on her knee, so proud and happy—for it
was her first child. And what young
mother ever failed to appreciate the dig
nity of her position at such a time ?
In less than half an hour Charles Cole
had forgotten his promise, wife, child,
everything; and again and again his
glass was filled, and his voice raised in
riotous chorus with the loudest.
The night waned and the guests began
to disperse. Virgiesatin the dressing-
room all ready for the ride, holding in
her la/c what seemed to be a huge bundle
of shawls, but which was in reality little
Charlie, who lay curled up in his warm
nest fast asleep, with one little fat thumb
in his mouth.
'I wonder what makes Charlie so late,’
she Said at last impatiently ?
‘Aunt Lizzie will you please send for
him, and say I’m waiting ?’
He came at length. But the first
j words he spose t»ld her all. She knew
at once that he was intoxicated, though
to others only a very slight excitement
was all that appeared unusual about him.
Oh ! the shame ! She hardlv dared to
speak to him. All her thought was to
get him away before he betrayed his con
dition to other e"ed.
‘Give me the child,’ he said.
And as she did so, she felt that his arm
,Oh ! I dare not truot the baby with
him,’ was her thought, bnt she was silent.
She could not bear that those around
should know the mortifying truth.
‘I do wish you would stay all night,
Virgie,’ spoke Aunt Lizzie, renewing her
entreaties. ‘It is so late, and it is grow
Virgie thought of the dreary five mile
ride with a drunken husband—and then
the river ! She had betore refused to
stay, but now she thought better of it.
‘What do you think of it Charles?
Hadn’t we better stay ?’ she asked per
But liquor had made him sullen.
‘No, wo must go home.’ he said surlily.
She knew it would avail nothing to
argue the question with him, but only
lead to a painful exposure, so she com
menced payinr her adieux.
By dint of gentle coaxing she induced
him to give the baby to her before they
As they rode away Uncle Logan shout
ed out to them :
‘Look out for the river !’
Virgie’.s heart was too heavy tor a re
ply, but Charles shouted back with
maudlin cheerfulness :
‘All right !’
As they rode on she saw that he was
sinking into a drunken stupor. Oh, if
they were only safe at home how glad she
would be. And then she thought of the
1 iver yet to be forded ; and every breath
was a prayer. She determined not to
let him have the child when they came
to the crossing, but to trust to her own
arm and courage to carry herself and the
babe through She hoped he would not
think to ask her for the child, and was
nerving herself for a refusal in case he
should, when they came is sight of the
The moon shone down, making it al
most as bright as day. Virgie thanked
He.aven for that ! But she shuddered
as the sweep of the waters fell on her
ear ; and she saw it foaming white in the
moonlight, as it swept on in a strong cur
Charles roused himself.
‘Where’s the boy ?’ he asked.
‘Nsver mind, dear! he's asleep, and I
don't like to disturb him. I can carry
h m over. I’m strong enough for it.’
‘What is tho woman thinking of?
You carry him over, indeed / Give him
‘But Charles, you are not in a condi
tion to hold him. I shall be thankful if
you can guide your horse over safely, as
‘Ha ! What do you mean by that?’
She made him no answer.
‘I)o you take me for a fool ?’ he said,
roughly and angrily.
‘Now, Charles, don’t do so. You know
your arm is very unsteady, just now. It
is indeed !'
‘Ah, I understand you now. So, mad
am, I suppose you think I am drunk
Again she wa,s silent.
‘Give me the child f he said fiercely.
‘0, Charles ! For God's sake—‘
‘Give him to me. I say ! Do. vou think
to brave me so ? Give him here'this min
Resistance, she knew, was useless.—It
would only serve to infuriate him, ami
what will not a drunken man do ?
Uncovering the little sleeping face, she
kissed it once—then drawing the tbici;
shawl which enveloped the little figure,
she covered the face again and gave him
into her husband's arms.
'Charles I For the love of Heaven Lz
‘Don't be a fool !'
So they plunged in, and she did not
take her eyes from the other two until
they had nearly reached the opposite
bank. Then her horse .‘■■tepped on a stone
and slipping, nearly precipitated her inta
the W'ater. V hen her attention wa^
again free they had reached the opposite
“There he is!’ said Charles, trium
phantly, as he placed the bundle in her
arms. ‘ What a simpleton you were t-.'
think I couldn't bring him over safelv. "
How very light it was I Good heaven 1
She moved it about in her arms, pressed
closer, and then uttered an awful shriek.
“My child! My little child./ M\-
Ch rite./ 0, my child ./”
Both turned simultaneously back
the water. The quick eye of the moth-
er was just in time to catch one last brief
glimpse of a little rosy, pitiful, upturned
face—and then it disappeared down the
current, and ttie rapid wattrs flowed on !
In his drunken unconsciousness Charles
had let the sleeping infant slip out of the
shawls, and nothing could be heard above
the noise of the watei s. He did not know
it till the mother screamed
There was no help. Oh ! it vras piti
ful heartbreaking ! Poor young moth
The home of the Coles is very still now.
Virgie’s pale face seems paler yet, from
contrast with her black dress. The
cradle looks desolate, standing alway,--
back in one corner of the nursery. She
never passes it without having her heart
rung anew ; and she will sit for hour,‘-,
folding and unfolding the little clothes,
and her hands linger lovingly among
them. There is a pair of tiny worn shoe.s
in the drawer of her work table, and *
lock of fair, soft baby hair in the grear
Let US bop# that Charles Coles is a he'^-
A Hard Cass.—The good little bov
was sitting on the front steps whittling
up his sister's embroidery frame and mui-
tering to himself. “This ain’t no good
world to live in, unless a fellow is hi.-
father's and mother’s only orphan bo\
What makes me get so mad is to have m v
sister go and take all my ripe peaches to
give to that big loafer of a sweetheart of
hers that comes around here seven nights
in a week to get a square meal, and makes
out as if he wanted to talk polites with
the old man. I whish they’d marry anil
go to Texas, I do !’’ And then he threw
the remnants of the frame in the stre.-'i
and seemed lighter hearted.