Newspapers / Lincoln Progress (Lincolnton, N.C.) / Jan. 4, 1879, edition 1 / Page 1
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An Independeat Family Newspaper : For the Promotion of tlto Political, Social, -Agricultural mid Commercial Interests of tlio South. VOL. 6. LTNCOLNTON, K C. SATURDAY, JAN. 4, 187?. NO. 292. She pncalw rogws. PUBLISHED BY DelAlVE BROTHERS, TPTJATS TV- ATYVAXCTE r One copy, one year,... ......... ......... $1.00 One copy, six months...... - 50 Single copy, .. v 5 To persons who make: up clubs of ten or more names, an extra copy of the paper will be furnished one year, free of charge. . ADVERTISEMENTS Will be inserted at Oao Dollar per square (one inch,) for the first, and Fifty cents per square for each subsequent insertion less than three months. No advertise ment considered less than a square. . Quarterly. Semi-Annual or Yearly con .tracts will be made on liberal terms the contract, hotferver, must in all cases he confined to the immediate business of the firm or individual contracting. Obituarv Notices and Tributes of Res pect, rated as advertisements. Announce ments of Marriages and Deaths, and no tices! of a religious character, inserted erati, and solicited. CRY OF A STRONG MAN My boat is drifting with the tide, The noon of life is past, All silently the waters glide, And steady stands the mast; There's now small sign of wreck or storm Around my barks'strong hold, Or tracery of the lightning's track Where threatening .billows rolled, Lo ! he who sees me now will say The light is on the river Bat, mother, I am lost -to day, I need thee more than ever. There was a time O happy thought I felt thy gentle hand, Kref. yet Hie mariner had brought My boat from sight of land. There was a shore I lingered near A morning and a day, Er i youth, grown tired of sky too clear bailed recklessly away, But they who see me now will say The light is on the river O, mother, l am lost to day, . I need thee more than ever. O, could one hour of youth come back Had I thy gentle hand . ' To lead me toward the certain track" Where lies my dwelling land "Ah, stronger than the words-of men, Or gentler ones who smile, Would be that clasp I'vcjonged to reach O'er many a weary mile 'For though they look at me and say ,. The light is on the river De ;r mother I am lost to-dav, I need thee more than ever. . .. I sic in dreams thy gentle eyes Kent on nfe from above; I feel their glance of sad surprise I know thou wouldst reprove, "For hardened heart and brow so stern And pace set 'gainst the world As Snul's ag lint the song of him "Who fled from javelin hurled ; I.o ! he who sees me now may say Tlie light is on the river - But; mother, I am lost to-day, X need thee more than ever. ; They knew He Meant It. , When a newly married widower .' - - passed a crowd who were standing on the corner last week one of the party remarked: 'lie waited a long time before ho hitched onto his socoud wife, didn'' he?' 'How long ago did his wife die ? queried a subdued looking stranger, : who was standing near,1 The party figured that it had been four years. - - 'Too soon, too soon,' mused the stranger, 'if my wife should die I'd never get married again.' The moisture that gathered in the stranger's eyes cngulphed the crowd in a sea of sympathy, and when he bowed his head, and they saw the marks of a rolling pin behind his car, and observed that several tufts of hair were missings from his calp, they knew that bo meant what he said. '" An editor in one of the northern counties has received $2 in an en velope, with no writing except the words "Conscience money," written in a trembling hand, as though the writer was about to die. The editor don't know which of his delinquent subscribers to give credit to for the sum, and has decided to credit a cent apiece to the two hundred names re presenting that class on his books. - . On being asked why he went into bankruptcy, be replied ; 'Well, my liabilities were large, 'my inabilities were numerous, and"my probabilities unpromising; and so I just thought I'd do as my neighbors do you know." ' . To the drunkard a bottle of gin is a weapon of defence;. the liquor is a dagger and the bottle is its sheath. 1'HOFESSOR CAIlL. "Girls, tho new professor has ar rived, and I have seen him. Madam ba3 mado an excellent choice, so far as the safety of our hearts are concern ed -I will iwarrant every one, myself included 1" exclaimed Florence Tres ham, laughingly, throwing herself on the grass beside her companions. v She was the ruling spirit of madam's select seminary, an heiress, and an only child one who seemed fitted only for life's sunshine. Youth, beauty, wealth, all were hers. What wonder that. her. friends worshiped, and her teachers forgot to chide? "Is. he so ugly, Florence?" question ed one of the group, v "Not so ugly," she answered ; "but certainly not "handsome. Tail and nngainly, with eyes that would flash fire, 1 think, at any reckless spirit 'of mischief in hi3 class. I am rather fond of fire myself, and believe I will, give him an opportunity. I always hated German ; it has such a harsh, guttural sound. Imagine one making love in such a language !" I And a merry laugh escaped the red lips, echoed by the little group by which she was surrounded. Meanwhile, looking down on them from a window above, with eVerv word distinctly heard, stood the; sub ject of this conversation, an ominous light even now glittering in the dark eyes." ' "So I have already incited a spirit of rebellion," he murmured. "At all events, I shall have a very pretty rebel to deal with. But what have I to do with youth and beauty? - Tall and ungainly she pronoueed me chosen by madam on account of my thorough safety to hearts. You are a good physician, Miss Florence, if your medicine is somewhat bitter to swol low." : 3jC " 3C 2fc 3fC "Wo will conjugate the verb 'to love,' oung ladies." It was the German class that profes sor Yon Yolkburg : addressed, some two weeks later. .."Miss Tresham, will j-ou begin ?" "I cannot conjugate love in German was the reply. "May 1 ask 3-onr reason ?" . Could it be thai her ear detected a touch of irony in the professor's ques tion ? It stung her into saying more than she had intended. "" "It seems pollution!" she replied. She had said she liked fire. .For an instant it flashed from the dark eyes bent full upon her, then vanished, as he spoke courteously : "I am sorry to mark your lesson a failure, and to learn such ignorance can exist. I will excuse you from class," Miss Tresharn, that your ears fnay not h& polluted T 1 What had she done? How did she know but that this mau had left wife or sweetheart in his own country, from whose lips any words would seem music ? , She did not know what spirit of op position he had, called forth, that she had striven from the first to impede his path, but her spirit was too gener ous not to regret itg momentary weakness and folly. The German lesson was over when she approached the class-room. The professor had a tired, weary look, as he rested his head upon his hand. For a moment she stood irresolute npon the threshold, hal tempted to turn, and .flee; for a moment only,, then she boldly entered. "Professor," she said- at the voice, he glanced up, astonished "I wish to apologize to you for my behavior in class. It was both rude and un ladylike, as well as utterly uncalled for. Will you try and forget the im pertinence ?" The afternoon sun streamed full upon the girl as she spoke; but the clear, peach-tinted complexion might jwell challenge its rays, as they could find no blemish in the lovely face. For a minute the man's eyes rested on its beauty, then he turned almost coldly away, as he answered : "It is already forgotten, Miss Tresham, and I am sorry you should have been forced into this humilia tion." . "You do not know me, sir, when you speak of my having been forced. No one knew of my intention, and I came of my free will only. Other wise no horses could have dragged me. I have only one favor to ask in return -that you will put the same question to me to-morrow, and let me demonstrate to the class that I stand ready to atone for my rudeness." . "That is not necessary," he an swered, more gently. "Pray let it pass." ' ' ' " ' -' ' "I prefer to have it fo," she insist ed ; and," waiting only for the promise that her' request should be complied with, she left him once again to his solitary thoughts.. , '-'-"-'-" ,. The school-year was drawing to its close. But one week of the term re mained, when, one morning, a- tele gram was put into Florence Tresh a m's hand. It was from her father, who had spent this last year of her school-life abroad, and stated that sudden and unexpected - business would prevent 'hi3 being present at the close of the term, and bidding her remain under madam's care until his return. It was the first great disappoint ment of her life, and sho felt for a time she could not bear even sym pathy : but, holding the telegram clasped tightly in her hand, she ran swiftly down the stairs, out into the woods, where none might seb her tears. - "You cry, Miss Florence? I am sorry. What troubles you? Can I not help you ?" A voice with a slightly foreign ac cent aroused her from her grief. Rais ing her tear stained face, she saw the two eyes, whose ability to flash - fire she so often in that early time had tested, bent kindly, pityingly, upon her, and somehow the first ray of comfort stole into her heart. "What change had come over Florence?" This was the question the girls had put each other, in these later months, when tho old impulse of mischief seemed to have left her, and a new and tender light to have sprung into her eyes. They might have; read tho answer in tho sunbeam I ho professor's words thrcAV on her darkness. Sho had fled from sympathy ; yet, from his lips, she felt she: might bear it, and so sho handed him the tele gram she si i II unconsciously clasped. Then she was not yet 'to leave iheni this bright young spirit, who had come into his life for a little while; whom ho bad studied until the study grew more precious than he had thought ;, who so soon was to vanish in her own world, so widely different, so far apart from his. v Her head was bent again, else she could not have failed to see the flash of joy lighting up the eyes, which for a moment made the tall, ungainly man almost handsome. "Do you find it so hard to stay with us a little longer, Miss Florence?" he questioned. "No, it is not that; but fchat my father should not be here to see me accept the fruit of my long year of toil, robs it of all it3 sweetness." "Poor child 1 How little you know of life and its disappointments ! But come, let us go back to the house ; some of your companions may teach you forgetfulness." ' . The trunks were packed, the diplo mas received, the last good-byes said, and deserted halls and empty rooms met the eye at every turn. Outside, the June roses were in bloom, the birds sang their note of welcome, the green grass and leafy trees waved invitingly, and day after day Florence accepted their silent in vitation. Often the tall figure of the pro fessor would suddenly appear at her side, until she grew to look for it, and to miss it when it failed her. She Iittb dreamed ftovr each night he determined to go away, to put an end to the passion he felt was over mastering him, which to his strict sense of honor seemed dishonorable ; how every morning found him power less, and brought him, as the magnet needle, to her side. "Professor,", she cried,- one . day, when ho approached her, "I have had great news I One week more and ray father will be with me." A sudden shade of paleness over spread her listener's face ; then, with incoherent words of apology," he left her.-" -";"'':";' ' " y-; ' .'." Was she ill ? She would follow him. Haifa mile further on, in the heart ofthedensc woods, her search was ! rewarded. . Even bo had he once found her prone upon the ground, his face buried in his hands. The same question he had put rose to her lips, t . "What is it? Are you ill? Can I do nothing for you ?" - At her voice, he staggered to his J feet. IIU face looked haggard and aged. , "Orree,' he said, "I " asked - yon to conjugate the verb 'to love,' and you refused. You said in German 'twas pollution. You wore right, perhaps, when the poor professor made the de mand of the young and beautiful heiress the tall, ungainly man (in whose ugliness lay his only claim to favor of the most favored of his pupils. He should have known bet ter. It was just he should meet his punishment." In dumb bewilderment, she listened to his words. They had been:friends so long, she had almost forgotten the act of folly for which sho had tried to make atonement ; and he was he so ungenerous that ho must visit it upon her even now ? Th en a sudden light dawned upon her alight brought by the know ledge that this 'man at whom she, had laughed mockingly had gained her heart, and perhaps perhaps (oh, blissful thought!) he had made her rich, indeed, by giving her his own. As once before her pride had bent before him, so must it bend now. Full well sho knew he would ask her noth ing. A now sweetness crept into her tone as she drew nearer. "Carl!" she whispered, the name, uttered for the first time, unconsci ously passing her lips "Carl, have you not yet forgiven me ? Will you not teach me to conjugate it With you as my teacher? or -or will you not change places, and let me teach you ?" "Hush !" ho exclaimed, imperious ly. "Do you know the gulf that yawns between us that I am a poor man, exiled from title and estates on account of political differences in my own country that you are young, rich, beloved? How would your father greet the thief who had stolen 3rou from him ? Quickly take back the words which for a moment seem ed to open heaven, lest I can not later close, the gates against myself!" "You must shut me out with you then," sho answered ; "but too well you have taught me the lesson I once refused to learn. Carl, I love you lovcVou! In all its tenses it comes back to this. Once I laid ; down my pride and pleaded for pardon. Can you not lay yours down, when the plea is for hisclf!" "Do you know what your words mean? all that they imply ?" "Oh, Carl, would you make me also parse the sequel to the verb?" Then he opened wide his arms, a glad, new light giving strange beauty to his face, as he bent it close over that lying on bis breast a kiss fall ing soft and low as a prayer upon the bright head pillowed there. But it was not, after all, a penniless suitor who claimed from Mr. Greshara his daughter's hand. Dame Fortune is not always chary with her smiles, and news came speeding from across tho seas that Carl Von "Yolk burg's estates had been restored to him ; but for this Florence cared little, only smiling mischievously, when " she heard it, as she whispered : "If I had waited a little longer, Carl, the verb might have conjugated itself without all my help. Shall we take it all back, and begin over again upon equal footing?" "No," be answered, stooping to kiss the smiling mouth. "What conquer or again places himself at the mercy of his foe? Darling, will you not be generous to accept new defeat at my hands ?" But Florence, smiling her assent, knew her defeat was victory. Lost in the Mississippi. A heartrending and distressing acci dent occurred yesterday. In the after noon Mr. Uane, with his wife and two children, went on the ice in the -river at Lanesville to enjoy themselves. He improvised a hand sleigh and a large box, into which he placed his wife and children. Two handles extended from the rear of the sleigh, with which Mr. Lane shoved the sleigh on the ice. They were having a delight ful time. The ice near the shore wa? ! three inches thick.: The river watf ! open in the channel, and the ice near the open water was, of course, much thinner. . Mr. X.ane, unfortunately, ventured too near th6 open water. He felt the ice giving way, but before he could retrace hia steps it broke through, engulphing in the stream bis wife, the children nd the father all, in. a moment, were launched into eternity. The maddening shriek of the drowning family was heard by a party of wood-choppers on an adja cent island, who saw the catastrophe. The hastened to the rcscuo, but were unable to arrive in time to be of service. Lane and his family were under the ice, their dead bodies pro bably floating down the river. It was sad to contemplate, and the bronzed faces of the hardy wood-choppers were moistened with tears they could not control. They went to the station and gave the alarm, and then proceeded to Lane's cabin. They found the door unlocked. Inside a bright fire crackled in the stove. The silver bright tin tea kettle was sing ing for the return of the unfortunate family. The est and dog were nestled under the stove awaiting the return of the two children who petted them. Everything about the bouse indicated happiness and neatness. The people of the station at once organized to re cover the bodies, but up to tho time Mr. Hickey passed the station they had not been found. Mr. Lane was the ticket agent at the station, and is spoken of as a man of industry and frugal habits and a man who thought the world and all of his little family. The Troubles of a Poet. - The editor of a well-known literary paper was sitting in his office one day, when a man whose brow was clothed with thunder entered. Fierce ly seizing a chair, ho slammed his hat on the table, hurled his umbrella on tha floor and sat down. "Are you the editor?" he asked. "Yes." "Can you read writing?" "Of course." "Read that, then," he said, thrust ing at the Colonel an envelope with an inscription on it. "B ," said the Colonel, trying to spell it. "That's not a B. It's an S," said the man. SI 0, yes; I see? . Well, the words look a little like 'Salt for Din ner, or 'Souls of Sinners' " said the Colonel. . "No, sir, replied the man, "nothing of the kind 1 That's my name Samuel H. Brunner. I knew you couldn't read. I called to sec you about that poem of mine you printed the other day on the 'Surcease of Sorrow.'" 1 ' "I don't remember," said the colo nel. "Of. course you don't, because it went into the paper under the infa mous title of 'Smear-case To-Mor-row.' " . "A stupid blunder of the composi tor, I suppose." "Yes, sir, and that's what I want to see you about. The way in which that poem was mutilated was simply scandalous. I haven't 6lept one night since. It exposed me to derision. People think I am an ass. Let me show you." j "Go ahead," said the colonel. "The first line, when I wrote it, read in this way : 'Lying by a weeping willow, underneath a gentle slope.' That is .beautiful, poetic, affecting. Nowyhow.did.your vile sheet present it to the public ? ;Thereit is! Look at that! Made it read this way : 'Lying by a weeping widow to induce her to elope.1' Weeping widow, mind ypa ! A widow 1 That is too much. It's enough to drive a man crazy 1" "I am sorry," said the colonel ; but" "But look a-here at the fourth .-'.''V ; - - - verse," said the poet.. "That's worse yet. What I said was : 'Cast thy pearls before the swine, and lose them in the dirt.' I wrote that out clearly and distinct ly, in a plain, round band. Now, what does your compositor do? Does he catch the sense of that beau tiful sentiment ? Does it sink into his soul ? No, sir! lie sets it up in this fashion. Listen : "Cast thy pilTfl before the sunrise, and love them if they hurt. Now isn't that a cold-blooded out rage on a man's feelings ? 111 leave it to you if it isn't." , ''It's hard ; that's a fact," said tho colonel. ' "And then take the fifth verse. In tho original manuscript it said plain as daylight : 4 , Take away the jingling money ; it is onto guttering dross y A man" with only one eye, and a cataract over that, could have read the words correct'. But j-our pirate up stairs there, do you know what he did? lie made it read: Take away the jeering monkeys on it sorely glandered boss ! By George, I felt like braining him with a fire shovel! I never was so cut up in all my .life." "It Was natural, too," said the colonel. " 1 "There, for instance, was the sixth verse, I wrote: I am weary with the toss of the ocean a.3 it heaves.' It is a lovely line, too; but imagine my horror and the anguish of my family when I opened your paper and found the line transformed into: 'I am wearing out my trousers till they're open at the'knees !' . . lUli 13 i IOO IMUl'U. i. Hub seems to me like carrying, the thing an inch or two too far. I think I have a constitutional right to murder that compositor, don't you ?" "I think 3'ou have." "Let mc read you one mere veisc, I wrote : 'I swell the flying echoes as they roam among the hills, And I feel my soul awaken to the ecstasy that thrills." Now, what do you s'poso your mi serable outcast turned that into? Why, into this : T smell the flying shoes as -they roast among the bulls, And 1 peel my soul mistaken in tho arctary that whirls.' Gibberish, sir ! Awful gibberish ! I must slay that man. Where is he ?" "He is out just now," said tho Colonel, "come in to-morrow." f 1 1 1 V "l win, saiu tlie poet, "and l will come armed." Then he put on his bat, shouldered hia umbrella, and drifted down stairs. What to Teach Boys. A philosopher has said that true education for boj-s is to "teach 'them wliflt. IliAV rm irlit to know vvlinn tlmv become men." What is it they ought to know, then ? First Tobe true, to be- genuine. No education is worth anything-that does not include this. A man had better not know how. lo read, he had better never learn a letter in tho alphabet, and be true and genuine in intention and in action, rather than being learned in all sciences and all languages, toj be nt .the same time false in heart and counterfeit in life. Above all thing, teach the boys that truth is more than riches, ..more than culture, more than earthly power or position. Second To be pure in thought, language and life, pure in mind and in body. An impure man, young or old, poisoning the society where ho moves with smutty stories and inf pure examples, is a moral ulcer, a plague spot, a leper who ought to bo treated as were the lepers of old,-who were banished from society, and com pelled to cry "unclean," as a warning to save others from the pestilence. Third rTo be unselfish to care for tho feelings and comforts of others; to be polite ; to bo genrrous, noble, and manly. This will include a genuine reverence for the aged, and things sacred. Fourth To be self reliant and self helpful, even from early childhood -r to bo industrious always, and self supporting at 'tho earliest proper age. Teach them that all honest work is honorable, and that an idle, useless life of dependence on others Js dis graceful. . ',. When a boy has learned theso four things, when he has made these ideas a part of his being, however 3'oung he may be, however poor, or however rich, he oas learned seme of the most important things he ought to know when be becomes a man. With tbeM four properly mastered, it will ho easy to find all the rest.
Lincoln Progress (Lincolnton, N.C.)
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Jan. 4, 1879, edition 1
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