North Carolina Newspapers

THE ALAMANCE GLEANER VOL. 1. THE GLEANEK. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY PABEEB Si JOHNSON, Graham, N. C» RATES OF SUBSCRIPTION, Postage Paid: One Tear IS 00 Bix Month* 1 00 Clubs! Clubs!! for 8 copies to one P. 0.1 year $lO 00 " 6 " " " ''6 months S6O "10 " " " "1 year 16 00 « jo " «•"-»" « 6 months 800 "20 " «• « "1 year... 28 00 *2O " " " "6 months 16 00 No departure from the eath tyttem. RATES OF ADVERTISING t Transient advertisements payable in advance; yearly advertisements quarterly In advartfe. 1 mo. 2 mo. 3nfl[ 6 mo. 1? mo. 1 square $ 225 $ 360 $4 50 $720 $ 10 *0 3 * 360 640 720 168»» l«t0 t " 640 720 900 16 20 22 60 4 - 630 900 10 80 18 00 27 C 0 6 " 720 13 50 16 20 22 60 Si 40 V. oolnmn 10 20 16 20 18 00 27 00 45 00 " IS 50 18 00 27 00 45 00 72 00 1 " 18 00 31 50 45 0 72 00 126 00 Transient advertisements $1 per square for the first, and 60 cents lor each subsequent insertion. » Advertisements not as to time, published until ordered out, and charged accordingly. All advertisements considered due from first inser tion. \ One inch to constitute a square. POISTBT. Till BOHB. BT JOHN O. SAXIE. Again I hear the creaking step! He's rapping at the door! Too well I know the boding sound That ushers in a bore, I do not tremble when I meet The stoutest of my foes, :,j But heaven defend me from the friend Who comes but ne'ver goes! He drops into my easy chair, And asks about the news, He peeps into my manuscript, And give's his candid views; He tells me where he likes the lines, And where he's foreed to grieve ; He takes the strangest liberties— But never takes his leave, He reads my daily papers through Before I've seen a word, He scans the lyrick that (I wrote) — And think it quite absurd. He calmly smokes my last cigar, He calmly asks for more ; He opens everything he sees— Except the entry door. He talks about his fragile health, And tells' me of the pain, He suffers from a score of ills, Of which he ne'er complains ; And how he struggled once with death To keep the fiend at bay ; On themes like those away he goes— But never goes away! He tells ms of the carping words Some shallow critic wrote, And every precious paragraph Familliarly can quoie ; He thinks the writer did me w r?ug, He'd to run him throngh ! He says a thousand pleasant things— But never says "Adieu ! When e'er he comes—that dreadful man, Disguise it as I may, I know that like an autumn rain, He'll last throughout the day, In vain I speak of urgent tasks, In vain 1 scowl and pout; A frown is no extinguisher— It does not put him out I " ' I mean to take the knocker off ; Pat crape upon the door; Or hint to John that I am gone To stay a month or more ; I do not tremble when I meet The stoutest of my foes ; But heaven defend me from the friend Who comes and never goes ! WRI.Ii IIIIT KSDB WEIJII There was a suppressed hum of con- I versation in the dress-making depart ment of the largedry-goods house otMax well & Son, which the steady whin- of a hundred sewing-machines could not wholly drown. Where the presence feminine can be found, be sure the tongue feminine will be heard. The superintendent ot the room, understand ing this, did not attempt to enforce si lence, so pretty Bessie Lawton and Lizzie Turner, for whose machine Bes sie basted, talked confidentially in their corner of the great room, and no one interfered, so long as fingers were busy as well M tongues. And this was what Lizzie said, Bes sie's blue eyes being rivetted upon the quilling she was basting into folds: "I saw her yesterday when I was go ing out to Innch. She was jugt step ping into her carriage, and Mister Charles himself handing her in. She old, nearly forty, I should say, bnt they say she is immensely rich, and her dress was splendid, so I suppose her mt>ncy goes against her age." "Did you hear they were to be mar ried soon?" "Bless me! Didn't I tell you that? My brother is clerk in the stationer's store where the are be ing printed. They are to be married in church on the twenty-seventh. Mr. . and Mrs. Charles Maxwell, and the cud of the bride's mother, Mrs. John Tetter. Txvelvc 1 Come; we will go for a walk for lunch hour " "No, I am tiredßessie pleaded, and her friend left her, never heeding the sudden pallor of the sweet young face, the dumb agony in the great bine eyes When she was alone Bessie stole away to the little room where the cioaks shawls and hats of the girls were kept, and in a corner, hid den entirely t>y a huge water proof, she tried to think it all out. What had it meant? What i id Charles Maxwell mean in the long year he had tried by every masculine device to win her love? She had not*been uiiraaidcn ly; heart and conscience fully acquitted her. She had given her love, pure, true and faithful, to the son of nor em ployer; but lie had sought it, delicately and pcrsistenly, betore he knew Jhat it was given him. The young girl, now 6cwing lor a living, had been daintly bred and thor ouhgly educated, her father having been a man drawing a salary sufficient to give his only child every advantage. But when he died and his wife in a few months followed him, Bessie had cho sen a life of honorablellaborr r to one of idle dependence upon wealthy relatives. Yet in the social gatherings of these relatives, and the friends of summer days, Bessie was still a welcome guest, 'and it was at her uncle Leonard's brown-stone house she had been intro duced to Charles Maxwell. Aftet this ahe met him frequently, and in her sim ple dross, with her' sweat ( pure face, had won marked attention from him. With the frankness that was one of her greatest charms, the young girl had let her admirer know that though she was Leonard Law ton's niece, she worked for -i living in the dress : making depart ment of Maxwell & Son. Then he had made her heart bound with sudden, grateful joy, by telling her ho had seen her leave the store night after night, but wor.ld not join her for fear of giving her annoyance by expos ing her to the remarks of her compan ions. After this, however, she often found him waiting for her at some point farther from the store, and always so respectful and courteous that she was glad of his protection in her long walk. 35ut he was going to marry an heiress on the twenty-seventh, only a week away, so he had but trifled with her, after all. Poor little Bessie, crouching among the shawls and cloaks, felt as all sun shine was gone from her life forever, as if her cup of humiliation and agony was full to overflowing. But the noon hour was over, the girls coming in or sauntering from resting places in the work-room, and the hum of work commenced again, as it must, whatever aching hearts or weary hands crave rest. Bessie worked with tho rest, her feelings so numbed by ihesurf den blow that sh-3 scarcely heard Liz zie's lamentations over a sudden flood of "order" work, that would kcjp many of them in the room till after midnight. ."We'll have all day to-morrow if we can finish theso dresses to-night" fjaid one of the small squad of girls told off for the extra work. "Miss Smith says so. But these must be ready to deliver in the morning." Talk! talk! .talk! Whirr! whirr! whirr! Bessie folded and basted, working with rapid mechanical precision, hear ing the noise of voices and machines, feeling the heavy, dull beating of her own heart, and the throbs of pain ift her weary head, but speaking no word of repining, excusing her palid face by the plea of headache. It was after elcyen o'clock when the last stitch was set in the hurried work, and the girls ran down the long dark Sights of stairi' to plod home through a drizzling raid falling upon the remains of a late snow-storm As Bessie passed down the staircase, she saw in the counting-house her recreant lover busy over some account books. But for the heavy news she had that morning she would have felt sure that this sudden spasm of industry was to furnish an excuse for escorting her home at the unusual late hour, but, if so, Bessie felt it was bnt an added in sult to his dishonorable conduct, and harried on, hoping he bad not heard her step. - She had gone a dozen or more bloclas from the store, when, passing a church, she slipped upon a treacherous piece of ice and twisted her ankle. The sudden pain made her faiut for a moment, and she sat down upon the stone work sup porting the railing to recover herself. Beside her, not a stone's throw away, a dark, narrow alley-way ran along the high brick wall of the church-yard, and GRAHAM, N, C., TUESDAY, MAY 4, 1875 the,girl's heart sank with a chill of ter ror as she heard a man's voice in the alley say: "Didn't you hear a step, Tom?" "A womati. She's turned off some where. He hain't come yet," was the answer. "He's to-night,' said the first voice in a gruff undertone. You are sure lip's taking the dia monds home?" "Sure as death. I was at 'a when the order. 'Send them at my sjore at nine o'clock,' says he 'and I will take thpm home with me.' Andhc gave the 'address, Maxwell & Son." "But are you sure he will pass here?" "Of course lie will. He lives in the next block. Ho*ll come. "Suppose he shows fight." "You hold him, and I'll BOOU stop h s fight." Eevery word fell upon Bessie's ears, clear aud distinct in the silence of the night. They would rob him, murder him, these dreadful men, if nobody warned him. They would spring out upon him as ho passed, and strike him down be fore he knew there was danger. He must come alone, unprepared. False lover, false friend as she lelt he was, she could not go ou her way aud leave him to "death. When she stood up, the pain of her ankle was almost unendurable, but she clung to the railings and so limped one block. The others seemed intermina ble; often she crawled through the wet slush ot the streets, often on one foot hopped painfully along, till the store was reached at last, and the light in the counting-house still burned. The side door for the working girls was still un fastened, and Bessie entered there, reaching the counting-house, soaking wet, white and trembling, to confront both Charles Maxwell and his father. Unheeding their exclamations of dismay and surprise, she told her story with white lips, but a steady voice. '•Waiting for me!" cried Charles Maxwell; "the scoundrels! "You bought diamoud at 's to day?" asked his father. "A panne for Miss Potter, sir. I wish to present them, with your per mission, on Thursday." "Ah! look at that poor girl!" For, overcome by pain, fatigue and mental torture, poor Bessie had stag gered toward the door and fainted up on fho floor. A hasty call summoned the janitor, and in a tow minutes the janitor's wife had appeared, rubbing her eyes, but fulf of womanly resources for the comfort of the girl. A hack was procured, and clothed in dry garments furnished by the good hearted Irishwoman, and escorted by. the janitor, Bessie was driven home. The next morning walking proved to be impossible, and Bessie was obliged to call upon her landlady for assistance to dress, wondering at herself a little for caring to get up. But before noon, sitting in the parlor of her boarding house, her lame ankle upon a cushion, she was surprised by two gentlemen cullers, no other than Maxwell and son in person, and a* lady who introduced herself as Miss Potter. • "We have all come to thank you," the lady said, "and I have corr.e to car ry ypu home with inc. These gentle men owe you their lives; I owe you my diamonds." "But what did yon do?" asked Bessie* We captured the robbers by ly stratagem," said the old gentleman. '•Charley sauntered past the alley-way, willi a revolver already iu his hand, while I, with three policeman, went round and enterejl the alley softly, be hind the villians. Taken by surprise, their retreat cut off, they were easily made prisoners. You understand we coald not arrest them, unless they act ually attacked Charley.- As it is, how ever, was a pretty little tussle before we came up. Bless me, dear child, don't faint! lie's all right/' ".My foot!" Bessie murmured. "I sprained my ankle last night. It was to rest it that I sat down on the church yard wall!" "You didn't come all the way back with a sprained aiiklc?" "Yej sir!" "You are a heroine!" called Miss Pot ter. "But, my dear," aud the heiress drew nearer to Bessie, aud took ber hand in a close clasp, "we have been hearing this morning a pretty little little love story, of which you are also the heroine, and I have come to see if you will *be my guest until Thursday, and then make poor Charley there tha happiest of men, by assisting at a dou ble wedding." Bessie's eyes, slowly dilating as the other lady spoke, to their fullest extent s this climax was reached. "Charley I" she said. "I thought he was lo ftiarry you on Thursday." A musical laugh answered her, call ing the gentlemen at the same time from the window where they had sauntered during the progress of this little scene. Miss Potter looksd up at them. "Convince this young lady, Charles," she said, "that your affection for me is only that of a dutiful son, and that I shall have a motherly aflection for her likewise, when I become the wife ot your father, Charles Maxwell, senior." And then Charley took the chair his stepmother elect vacated, while the old lady and gentleman went outside to arrange a cushion in the carriage for the sprained ankle. What Charley said may be imagined; but certain it is, that Bessie drove home with Miss Potter, and was that lady's guest uutil the following Thursday, when her wedding-cards, too, were distributed, and the bridal party con sisted of two bridegrooms, and two fair, blushing brides. The daily papers, in noticing the wedding, stated that the superb parurc, diamonds worn by Mrs. Charles Max well, junior, was a wedding, present from Mrs. Charles Maxwell, senioFT TIIB UUOST OF THE »0> Fi: D- E It AC l'. [Phi'adclpliia Timet*.] Tho spectacle of three or four score cx-Contedeaate soldiers in the Forty fourth Congress sits uneasily on the fin'te patriotism of the truly loyal edi tor. In his mind's eye, which is as limited in its range as in his mind, he sees these eighty ex-rebels clad in all the habiliments of war and lilting aloft great swords recking with the gore of their countrymen. The clink of their spurs resounds on the marble floor of the Senate Chamber, and they are put ting up their touts in tho Ilall of tho House of Representatives. The dissi pated fragments ot Jefferson Davis' armies, like the skeletons of tho scatter ed tribes of Israel in the inspired vision of the Prophet, are reforming rank by and regiment by regiment, and their cry is the battle shout of the rebellion, "On to Washington." Lee, like an other Cid Campeador, rides at the head of the host, and that " old yell" fills the air. We are not scnsation-il, inr are we drawing upon our imagination; we arc only echoing tho opinions da ly ex pressed in scores of nowspapers iu the land, and the sort of stuff upon which the Administration is trying to rebuild it 3 shattered fortunes, ft Now it is aboHt time this sort of thing was stopped. The war has been over for more than ten years, and we believe the Nation is safe, at least from the South. Its enemies arc in its own household, and tho great danger now is their presence therein and th ;ir in sidiousness. At all events the people have been fed on powder and whiskey long enough. The thieves aro within and not without, and the watch-dog which is oftenest appealed to can be given a little ueeded rest. Tho iact is the soldiers on both sides are less con cerned about the matter than the civil ians.—lt is only your loyal editor now adays who employs military phrases aud marshals his words as he would a regiment of raw recruits. Every day we have evidences that tho men who wore the bine and they who wore clad in the shabby gray, and who crossed j swords with each other, have forgotteu | the causes of tlie struggle in which thoy engaged, in a generous fraternization. It was just a little more than a year ago that the, noblest eulogy, pronounced over the remains of Charles Sumner on the floors of Congress, was spoken by 1 Colonel Lamar, a representative South ern mas, and an origiual Secessionist, who had resigned his seat iu the same Hal), fourteen years'before, to buckle on a sword in behalf of what he believ ed were the rights of his people, 'and : certainly agaisnt the canso ot the ! Union. Ia that same speech be express ed the hope that the names of the battle fields of the civil conflict would forever remain on the flags and army record* of the Republic, and declared that the memory of tho valor displayed on both sides in those battles—by rebel and loy alists alike—was a common heritage of the North and South, and so long as it wonld survive would be a common bond of union—not tho i|erpctuation ot a feeling of enmity. AnA who donbts that the chivalrous Larriar spoke for nine-tenths of the men who, buoyed up > by a cause they believed high and holy, for more than four years opposed the advance of onr conquering armies? And it was just about this time one year ago tbat the first floral tribute laid upon a-monument raised over the Con federate dead at Montgomery, Alabama was placed there by men who had fought for the Union, while the first salute fired in honor of the event came from the muzzles of the cannon ot the United States, loaned for the occasion. On April 27th, lust year, the Southern fields, which bring forth flowers earlier than ours, having blossomed and bud ded, and being as green and beautiful as ours were bleak and bare, the cere mony of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead was celebrated, but not a tomb was neglected in many towns, no matter whether its occujlUuts had been friend or foe. And last year, on our " Decoration Day," no distinc tion was made by tho Graud Army of the Republic of New York in tho pay ment of the vernal and Flora's tribute to the memory of tho men of the North and South who fell fighting for what was and is their , common land. And so we tell the. Bombastes Fnriosos of Congress—tho great braves, who like Logan, carry a thousand sculps in their belts, and the warriors of the editorial clos.t, to cease their efforts to renew the strife and to forco its ugly memo ries upon us. As Senator Ransom said a few days ago, speaking to the Presi dent of the chamber, but with tho whole nation for his audience, " Is this hostil ity between the sections never to cease? Is the temple of Janus never to be clos ed? Will not a war that cost so much precious blood, so much dear bought treasure, suffice ibr this insatiato pas sion? Have we uot had Buffering encugh?" Is it not time for pcaco and reconciliation? We believe so, as do the vast majority of the people of the country.' It is not a dagger thc«e af frightened Congressmen and timid journalists see before them—tho handle towards their hands—but a dagger of the mind—a false creation proceeding from their heat-oppressed brains. ' ENGL V!VD'B ROVAIi FAMILY. The cablo announces the birth of an other grandchild for Queen Victoria, a a boy, the first baby ot the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, who wero mar ried at St. Petersburg on the 23rd of January last. This new scion of roy alty increases the number of Queen Victoria's grandchildren to twenty-six, and of this largo family twenty-three aro still living. The Queen's eldest child, the Princess Royal Victoria, wife of the Crown Prince of Germany, has had four sons and four daughters of which numbor one son has died. The Queen's second child the Prince Wales, married to the Princess Alexandria of Denmark, has lipd three sons and three daughters, one sou being dead. The Queen's third child, tho Princess Alicb, wife of Prince Louh of Hesse-Darm stadt, has had two sons and five daugh ters, one sou being dead. Next comes the Queen's fourth child, tho Duke of Edinburgh, married to the Grand Duchess Maria of Russia; with one son born a few days since. Finally, tho Queen's fifth child, tho Princess Helen, wifb of Princo Christian of Schleswig liolstein, has had two sons and two daughters, all of whom arc living. The Princess Louise,.the Queen's sixth child, wife of the Marquis of Lome, is not ye l tho head ot a family. The other three children ot the Queen, the Duke of Contiaught Prince Leopold, and the Princes Beatrice, aro unmarried. Al together Queen Victoria has thirty-two children and grandchildren living, which c-mstitntes a very respectably size toftnily, even lor a Queen. Superstition in Georgia. In the coun ty of Newton, eight miles from Coving ton, three families reside together. The first household consists of an old maid and hor widowed mother; the sec ond of husband, wife, and two children; and the third of an old lady and son. 80 strongly has the delusive idea im planted itself-iu the minds of the two latter families that the widow is a witch, and in league with the devil, that they refuse to allow her to visit or borrow anything from their houses. They say she has made witch balls from hair gathered from the tail of a tricky cow, wich, if nibbed against any article will charm any one who touches it. These people place horse-shoes over their beds and under their door-Steps to kill the influence of the old woman's i charms. They verily believe that she iateqd* lo witch the whole neighbor hood, and bring some plague upon its inhabitants. Silver bullets have been moulded with which to shoot her in case she intrudes upon the families at night by creeping through the keyholes or coming down the chimney. Silver dimes have been nailed in the bottom of the churn ami well bucket to prevent the witch from (aking an underhand advantage of her neighbors— Covington Enterprise. NO. 13. I. FKBK LIDLVCM BY THE CAOSO* WARY. Rumors being in circulation to the ef fect that A new consignment of animals for the Zoological Garden had reached thj* city, a reporter calls at the office of the society to obtain some information respecting the matter. Tlio secretary is out and the office in charge of a boy^, who is sitting with his feet on the stove 'filing a skate. The following conversa tion ensues: Reporter—"Anything new at the gar den to-day, sonny?" Boy—"Dunno of nothin'. The skeet in' was good yesterday, and I seen a whole lot of fellers goin' in there. Rep—"Aiiy Jot of animals arrived lately?" Boy—"I b'lieve not. Leastwise I ain't heard of any. But I heard the ole man say he hoped tliey wouldn't bring auy more cassowaries." Rep.—"Why not?" Boy—"They've got one out there now. Leastways the ole man calls it a casso wary, but I call 'em ostriches. And the ole man says that animal busted loose night afore last, and (aised Hail Columbia: went a scootin' around that garden behaving scand'lous. Nobody knowed it was loose until morniu,' and then it had played.bob with things. The ole man says it et all the door-knobs oIT the monkey-house and the restaurant, and then swallered six croquet balls that were piled up by the pump. One of the keepers found an old hoop-skirt during the day and hung it agin the wall. The ole man says the cassowary must have ct that too, and then itbroko into a cage and put away two horned owls and a cockatoo, I 'blicve they call it. Ono of them birds like parrots any way." Rep.—'"Ate them do you mean?' Boy—"That's what the ois man said. And then it went boomin' around tast iug almost everything, and it got away with two trace chains on one o' the wag gins, and half § keg of nails that was settin' on the porch. I never knowcit them birds had such appetites. But the ole man says they hav; and they'll tackle almost anything, and swallow it as if it was confectionery. He tay» he saw one once eat the litter of five pnps, and then begin on a crowbar 'r though it hadn't had nothin' for a month. And this one, out yer at the garden, it ct the ole man's skeets and two butter crocks that was in the restaurant winder, and then it stutfed iu two of the prairie dogs that happened to be waudcrin' about." lipp.—"Did it seem -well after wards?" , Boy—"O, middliu' 1 But one of the keepers left his revolver layin' on a bench, and the cassowary scooped that in, too aud iu the mornin,' while they was drivi n' it into the pen, it rnn agin the fence, and two or three explosions, kinder smothered like, was heard growlin' and ruuibliu' on its insides, and the next minute the smoke camo bustin' out of its mouth aud it rolled over aud stepped out. The ole man says the Jolt must have started the re volver." Itep.—"Anythingelse new?" Boy—"No, nothing; but you como round yer whenever you want an item. There's most always eomethin' going on. You see the ole man; he'll "ston ish yon with information. Good mor niu'."—Philadelphia Bulletin, I.AWVBBS' VKM IN CEOBUIA The Atlan'a (Ga.) Herald has tho following: "Yesterday,in conversation, some one remarked that Gen. Toombs never crosses a court-house door for less than $5,000, when Judge Lochrano replied that there was nothing strange about that. "I wouldn't take any case for a smaller,feo than $10,000." This caused tlie crowd to discuss* legil fees, and it was fojind that several largo fees had been paid Atlanta lawyers since tho war. Mr. Hill, in tMo cele brated Metcalf case, received a SIOO,OOO fee. Judge Lochrane a fee ot $40,000 iu the Brunswick and Albany case. l Mr. Hill received a fee ot $25,000 for his management of Kimball's case. Judge Lochrane received $15,000 as a tee from Mrs. Kimball iu the Kimball House case. In addition to these cases, there is a case now pending between Ilcnry Clews & Co. and the Cherokeo Railroad, involving $275,000, in which the toes will be large. It is said that Judge Ijochralie's feo as attorney for Clews will bo $25,000. It is said that three men in cleaning out a cess pool on Siaten Island, New York one any last week fouud between twenty and thirty thousand dollars in gold coin. It seems that the premises . were formerly owned by a city battle cashier who proved to be a defa nlWt - [ to tho amount of $160,000.