CHARLOTTE MESSENGER.
VOL. I. NO. 13. CHARLOTTE, MECKLENBURG CO.. N. C., SEPTEMBER 16, 1882.
The Silver Lining:.
There’s never a day so sunny
But a little cloud appears ;
There’s never a life so happy
But has its time of tears ;
Yet the sun shines out the brighter
Whenever the tempest clears.
There’s never a garden growing
With roses in every plot ;
There’s never a heart so hardened
But it has one tender spot;
We have only to prune the border
To find the forget-me-not.
There’s never a sun that rises
But we know ’twill set at night ;
The tints that gleam in the morning
At evening are just as bright;
And the hour that is the sweetest
Is between the dark and light
But there’s never a dream so happy
But the waking makes us sad ;
There’s never a dream of sorrow
But the waking makes us glad ;
We shall look some day with wonder
At the troubles we have had.
THAT DAY IN HIS BOAT.
It was a wild night. The wind blew,
the rain drove, the waves roared in the
near distance. It had been a fateful
day to mo.
Grandfather Delmar, with whom I
had lived ever since I could remember,
bad been carried to his final home that
afternoon, and now I was the last rep
resentative of our ancient name. The
wide acrts of the Delmar plantation,
originally one of the estates on the
eastern shore of Maryland, had come
down to me as sole heiress. To me had
also descended the Delmar diamonds,
which for two centuries had blazed on
the persons of the Delmar lad'es. I say
descended, but I am hardly correct, for
these broad lands and these priceless
jewels were mine only under the will of
my grandfather, and that will contained
a proviso which I had just learned for
the first time. I was to marry Randolph
Heath, the ward and adopted son of my
grandfather, or else the entire prop
erty was to go to this self same Ran
dolph.
The will had jnet been reed. The
funeral gnests, or, at least, the most
important of them, had listened to it in
the great drawing-room below, the walls
of which were hung with portraits of my
Delmar ancestors, handsome men and
lovely golden-haired women,
“Charlotte,’’ said my aunt, when the
reading of the will was ended, “Char
lotte, my dear, yon mnst invite onr
friends for the night. Yon are mistress
now.”
“ I shall never be mistress of Delmar
Hall, Aunt Mordaunt,” I said, firmly.
She clutched my arm, her eyes wide
with wonder.
“And why not, pray?”
“Because of the proviso; I will never
wed Randolph Heath.
Her face whitened to the hue of
death. 8 lie was a lone widow, and I
was her idol; and she coveted all those
jewels and rich acres for my heritage.
For a moment we stofld breathless.
“Bnt Randolph Heath’s in Australia,”
suggested a friend, “and you are mis
tress at least till he returns,”
“Poor Annty caught at this last hope
with a gasp of relief.
“So you are, my dear,” she put in;
“we’ll leave all these disagreeable
things to be settled in the future. To
night, my friends, we will shut the
doors against the storms and be com
fortable.”
She swept off toward the glowing
parlor, followed by all her guests,
while I fled away to my chamber.
The aiternoon, as I have said, bad
turns d into rain and the huge waves
thundered on the shores of the bay
close by with a hoarse cry, like a hu
man heart in pain. I paced my room
restlessly. I could not marry this Ran
dolph Heath, whose face I had never
looked npon since the days of my early
childhood. I could not do it, for an
other face rose before me—the face of
thb man I loved. A poor man, landless
and unknown, yet who had grown so
dear to me in the few brief months of
onr summer acquaintance that to give
him np were worse than death. Yet I
was a Delmar and it was a sore trial to
lose my heritage—to lose the Delmar
jewels, All the Delmar women before
me bad worn those matchless old dia
monds; and mnst I, alone of them, be
come disinherited and dowerless?
"Yes, cheerlnlly,” I said; since to
keep them I mnst give up the choice of
my heart Dear, dear summer days.”
For it had been during a visit to a
school friend, who lived in one of the
loveliest counties of Pennsylvania, that
I bad met. the preceding June, Herbert
Stanley. For tbe first time in my life
I bad found in him a perfeetly congen
ial soul. We liked the same poetry,
preferred the same mnsic, admired the
same scenery. Ah! what delicious days
those were. We rode, we walked, we
sailed, we read together. Our acquaint-
ance soon passed into intimacy, and
from that ripened into love.
Never could I forget the day, the
blissful day. when my hopes became a
certainty. Herbert had asked me the
evening before if I would go with him
in his boat. No knight of old could
have handed me into the little vessel
more reverentially than he did. How
manly he looked! How strong and self
contained! My heart beat fast, for
something in his manner told me what
was coming, but I was inexpressibly
happy, nevertheless. Ha rowed for
about half an hour, then stopping, he
lay npon his oars, and looking me in
the face like a brave heart as he was,
told his tale, though with many a hesi
tating word, and many a look of anxiety.
Should I give such an one up? Never!
Yet the temper of my thoughts was such
that I could not stay indoors! I left
the hour e and ran down to the shore of
the bay, having first thrown a shawl
over my head. The storm and dark
ness were tenific, and tbe tide was com
ing in with a hearse, sullen cry. The
salt mist drenched my hair, the winds
tore and shrieked aronnd me, and over
head hnng the pitch-black sky.
Suddenly I heard a step, and looking
up I sc.w Herbert himself. I started
with surprise.
*‘l have been hovering about all day,”
he said. “I had given np the hope of
seeing yon. But still I conld not' tear
myseli away.”
••You did not doubt me?” I exclaimed.
“Ob, Herbert
My look, my tone, even more than my
words, reeesured him.
“Thank God!” he said, drawing a
deep breath. “Thank God! It is not
trne, then, what I hear. You are not
going to betray me?”
“Betray you?”
“I was told you were to be disin
herited unless you married Randolph
Heath, and that the temptation had been
too great for yon. I did not believe it.
And yet, and yet—forgive me, darling.
I see I was wrong—l was fearfully
afraid.”
“Be afraid no longer,” I whispered,
nestling to his broad breast. “What
are broad acres and gleaming jewels to
your dear live? lam yours, and yours
only.”
He bent and kissed me. After a while
he said, —
“I do not fear for your fidelity, but I
do fear for the persecution you may
suffer. It is bnt a shoit walk to the
little church. 1 know the rector; he
was, I find, one of my old schoolmates.
Be mine to-night, and I will go away
content. Not till you permit it shall
the marriage be made public."
“I am yours,” I said, “but let it be
to-morrow evening. I will tell my aunt
in a day or two afterward. Poor annt,
it will need that time to prepare her.”
It was arranged, tnerefore, that I
should meet my lover at tbe same hour
the next evening, and with a parting
embrace, I harried into the house, lest
I should be missed.
Aunt Mordaunt was in a flutter of ex
citement the next morning. She had
just received a letter, saying that Ran
dolph Heath had returned and would
be at Delmar Hall by sunset.
“Now, Charlotte, my love,” she said,
bustling into my chamber before I was
awake, “do try and look your best to
night. You are a beauty, I know, but
a charming toilet sets you off amazingly.
Lay off your heavy crape just for to
night, and wear that white silk with the
lily-of-the-valley trimmings. You must
fascinate this Randolph Heath at the
outset, it will be quite comfortable to
have him at your feet, for you must
marry him, my dear; yon are too senai
ble a girl to make a beggar of yourself.”
I only smiled in answer, and I suffer
ed my maid to array me in the dainty
silk. Bnt at set of sun, instead of receiv
ing Randolph Heath in the grand par
lors of the Hall, I was speeding away
with my lover toward the old, ivy-cover
ed church, built of bricks imported
from England a century and a half
before—the chnrch where the Delman
for five generations had been married.
In the soft glitter of the early starlight
we were wedded. An hour after I wae
home again. Bnt as I ascended to my
room I remembered tbat I bad looked
my last upon the blinking Delmar
diamonds and on tbe broad lands of the
Hall.
I had hardly closed the door behind
me when my aunt entered.
“Charlotte, you must come down at
once, yon mnst indeed,” said she.
■ Randolph is in the drawing-room, and
asks to see you. Don't be odd. Here,
Lncile, do your young lady’s hair.”
I stor’d uncertain.
“And now, my dear, do pat on your
diamond*,” rontinned poor auntie, flut
tering ronnd me; “yon should always
wesr g< ms, they become you.”
“Bnt, anntie, tbe diamonds are not
mine,” I began, wishing to gain time to
think.
I aas almost resdy, then and there, to
tell the truth. But 1 pitied auntie and
hesitated.
“But they will be, my love; as soon
as you marry Bulolpk Heath,” ffce
urged.
“I shall never marry him,” I answer
ed.
“We shall see, my love. At any rate,
come down and welcome kin- That
much is due him at the least.”
This decided me. It was his dan. As
we descended to the grand drawing
room where my grand&ther'a adopted
son awaited ns I stopped for a moment
on the stairs and gazed aronnd me with
almost a sigh of regret. la a few days
I must go oat bom the dear old place
disowned and disinherited- Poor
auntie I the blow will toll heavily on
her.
Shutting my hand involuntarily over
the marriage ring upon my finger. I
followed my aunt, my heart in my mouth.
A tall figure arose as we entered and
advanced to meet ns. I beard my
aunts warm word of welcome and then
I felt my own hands grasped and look
ed up.
I cried out in amazement, for the
stranger was Heroert Stanley, my newly
wedded husoand.
“Can I hop.- that yon will ever for
give me f 7 he said with* smile. “I ta
Randolph Heath. I have known of the
proviso of your grandfather's will for
years. But as I wanted yea to love me
for myself, if yon could, I planned to
meet you last summer. Can you for
give me f
I looked up into his dear, kind face.
“No matter who yon are; or what yon
planned,” I answered, patting: my
hand in his, “I forgive you, foe I knv
you.”
Tnen we told the story cf onr mar
riage. Aunt MorJau.t listened in hor
rified amazement.
“An indiscreet thing, to say the least,
mv love,” she said; “yen might haw
committed a grave mi-take. It is all
right, since you’ve married Mr. Heath.
But really, my dears, yen most have a
wedding. Yes. in order to preserve the
prestige of the old name, if nothing
more, we really must have a wedding,
and marry yon over again.”
And she did, and it was a most magni
ficent affair. The old Hall was in a
blsze of light, and crowded with noble
guests, and I wore point tree and the
old Delmar diamonds.
But I was not half so happy ason the
day when I first heard bom* my hus
band’s lips that he loved me—heard it
that day in his beat,
A Party fanriJrtem.
One of the patrolmen on Jefferson
avenue was halted yesterday by a stran
ger who seemed to have had a wrestle
with the tumbling-rod of a threshing
machine. and who towered his voice to
a whisper as he began :
‘•Can I speak to you in strict con
fidence ?”
“ft’s according to what yon desire to
communicate."
“Well, for instance, if a party named
Johnson, who came here to see the
Knights and the soldiers and have a
good time should inform yon that be
had lost his watch, coal l yon do any
thing for him on the quiet*’
“Perhaps.”
"And if the same party named John
son should inform yon that be had lost
a clean hundred dollars, that wonld be
confidential also 3”
“Yes.”
“And if this man Johnson sbomlJ
farther add that be had keen drank
twice, had three fights, been licked
three times and was all broke up and a
hundred miles bom home without a
nickel, yon wouldn’t give it in; so
that his familv could hear of it 7"
“Ob, no.”
“Can't be anything done for me, can
there?”
“I hardly think so.”
“I’d better take tbe dirt road home,
eh?”
“Yea”
“And gradually brace np as I gradn
allv draw near home?”
“That’s the idea.”
“And not have any brass bond out to
serenade me, nor send on any advance
word for tbe boys to assemble to give
me a public welcome 7”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Then I won’t. HI do just an yon
say about it. 1 didn’t expect to meet
with any such kindness and sympathy
here, and it affeeta me. Let’s shake!
If yon ever strike Livingston county
inquire for a party named Johnson, and
be powerful careful to add that when
you met him in Detroit he was leading
the whole precession. Where do I
strike the Howell plank road?”—[Free
Pres*.
Master: “What doss Condillac my
about brutes in the scale of being 7*
Scholar: “He says a brute is an imper
fect animal” "And what its man?*
"Man is n perfect brute.”
No, Peter, tbe aphovsM “>denee it
golden,” is net baaed on error. These is
many n professor in a deaf mate asylum
who earns a good salary without ever
■eying n word.
The Lime-Kiln Club,
“Do man who expecks leas’ of do
world am de one who has do fewest
; complaints,” said the old man as the
sound of rattling hoofs died away in the
ball "De man who imagines dat friend
ship will bony money at de bank am
doomed to disappointment. My friend
may lend me his shovel, but he expects
me to return his hoe in good condi
shun. He may inquar’ arter my wife’s
health, but it doan' toiler dat I kin
turn my chickens into his garden. If I
am sick I doan’ expect de world to stop
movin’ right along. If my nex’ doah
nsybur whispers to my wife dat he am
wiiliii’ to sot up wid my corpse he am
doin’ his full dntv. If I am in want
dst’s cuffin' to de people who have
plenty. If lam in trouble, dat’s nuffin’
to people who have sun thin’ to rejoice
ober. De world owes me only what I
can aim. It owes me room to pass to
and fro, space fur a grave, an’ sich a
funeral as de ole woman kin pay Inr an’
keep de bin full o’ ’taters. De world’s
friendship reduces a man to rags as
often as it clothes him in fine raiment.
De world’s sympathy blisters a man’s
back as often as it warms his heart. De
world's charity excuses the crime of a
boss-thief an’ am horror-stricken ober
de steelin' of a loaf of bread by an or’
pban. De world promises eberythin
an' performs only what am convenient.
“De man who relies on de honesty of
de public instead of de vigilance of a
watchdog will have no harvest apples
fur sole. De man who pauses at each
stage cf his career fur de world to
applaud or condemn will become a toot
hall fur all men to kick. Expect no
friendship to las’ beyond tbe moment
when you want help. Expect no sym
pathy to endure longer dan it takes fur
tears* to dry. Expect no praise from
men in de same trade.”—[Free Press.
The Sonsensicality of Spiritualism,
Tbe following extract is from a ser
mon on “ Modern Spiritualism " recent
ly preached in Pittsburg by the Rev.
M. D. Liehliter: " Trouble drives some
men to Spiritualism. Tbe loss of a
loved one makes men frantic, and they
are deluded into consulting a medium
to hold communication with the de
parted. The speaker here related the
story of a father who had lost his sou
by death. The young man was the
finest penman at the school. Yet the
medium had the audacity to presentthe
parent with a scrawl, which he said
was a note sent irom Heaven. The
father sent word to the medium to tell
tbe spirit to go to school. After all
Spiritualism is nonsensical in the ex
treme. Think of a spirit coming from
mansions of bliss playing tbe acrobat
under tbe table, rapping like a drum
mer, breaking dishes and playing a
tune on tbe guitar, whereas perhaps the
departed while in the flesh could not
tell erne note from another. How is it
that Spiritualism is always practiced in
tbe dark, either in a darkened room or
after sundown ? Because the mediums,
like their master, Satan. love not the
light; they cannot bear inspection
withont revealing the imposition. Like
the wolf, the mediums sneak away at
the first dawn of day. Last week a
Spiritualist, after being exposed in
Erie, fled to Canada. He gave a seance.
Every time he was bound the ropes
came* loose. At last an Irish sailor
asked leave to tie him. This was
granted, and the Irishman made such a
complicated knot that the medium
couldn’t conjure up a spirit expert
eaongh to set him loose. He was ex
posed and fled to parts unknown.
A Belle of Newport.
Clara Belle, in the Cincinnati En
quirer, says: By far the most beau
tiful girl in all Newport at present is a
Boston hairdresser. About all the
male admiration in the entire Casino
yesterday afternoon was bestowed upon
her, and she received it with the uncon
scious grace and dignity of an ideal
dueheas Her father was a bricklayer,
I am told, her mother a washer
woman, and she herself ended her
schooldays at tbe age of thirteen to
earn her own bring. And here she
is—a bright-skinned brunette, with
big. melting black eyes, an abundance
of jetty hair, regular features, a tall,
alupeiy, well-carried figure, and per
fectly ladylike manners. She works
busily and quite profitably at home,
but is now out tor a holiday, and,
when a woman loftily sent for her to
come and dress her hair, meaning an
insult, she wrote back: “ I regret to
say that it is impossible. I did not
leave my shop is long ago as you did
your slaughter-house, but I am, for
the time being, quite us far away
from it.”
The fact was that the woman had,
more than twenty years ago, been a
practical worker in tbe Boston pork
packing house in which her husband
founded bis fortune.
Some men, otherwise steady-healed,
eon never keep their balance in a
I bank.
f. C. SMITH, Publisher.
Trip Lightly.
Trip lightly over trouble,
Trip lightly over wrong,
We only make grief double
By dwelling on it long.
Why clasp woe’a hand so tightly ?
Why sigh o’er blosaoma dead ?
Why cling to forma unsightly ?
Why not eeek joy instead ?
Trip lightly over sorrow,
Though all the days be dark,
The sun may shine to-morrow
And gayly sing the lark ;
Fair hope has not departed,
Though roses may have fled ;
Then never be down-hearted
But look for joy instead.
Trip lightly over sadness,
Stand not to rail at doom ;
We’ve no pearls to string of gladness
On this side of the tomb.
Whilst stars are nightly shining,
And heaven is overhead,
Encourage not repiniog,
Bnt look for joy instead.
ITEMS OF INTEREST..
Mr. Sailer, the veteran financial editor
of the Philadelphia Public Ledger, who
recently retired from that position, will
receive as an honorary pension his full
salary for life.
One of the finest residences in Cleve
land, Ohio, is a big stone structure,
surrounded by beautiful grounds, and
toll of the costliest furniture and decora
tions. Bnt the owner does not now live
there with his family, having been sent
to a retreat for drunkards, where he is
confined in a barred room.
A law passed by the last Legislature
of Massachusetts to prevent the sale of
adulterated food and drugs went into
effect on Saturday, August 26. The
enforcement of this law rests with the
State Board oi Health, Lunacy and
Charity, who are given power to expend
annually an amount not exceeding 83,-
000 in carrying out its provisions.
Clark A Ryman’s Minstrels declined a
parting demonstration by their friends
on leaving San Francisco for Australia.
Four important members were escaping
from creditors and two from wives, and
it was thought that modest privacy was
becoming. The six artists mentioned
were secluded in the hold when the
steamer was searched for them.
Two Philadelphia detectives accused
an innocent young man of stealing 8100,
and showed him how strong was the
circumstantial evidence against him
Greatly frightened, he paid them 8100
out of his small savings, and they kept
half, giving the rest to the loser to
settle the case. Now the original money
has been found where it was mislaid.
HUMOROUS,
The beet reason yet advanced tor
having Monday washing day the next
day after Sunday, is because cleanli
ness is next to godliness.
Ont West a man is considered nobod)
unless he has “killed his man.” There
is where young physicians have the
advantage over the average man in mi
grating West.
“Pa," said the inquisitive small boy,
“what do they mean by unanimous ?”
“Unanimous, iny son, unanimous—ah
—why, when all the men want the same
thing, that's unanimous.” “Politicians
is all unanimous, ain’t they, pa ?” "No,
my son, not by a jnglull.” "Well, I
don't see why, ’cause they all wants a
office, anyhow.”
She said she wanted a ticket to Wy
andotte and return, and tbe pale, gen
tlemanly agent with the dark moustache
asked as he took np the pasteboard :
“Single?” “It ain’t any of yonr busi
ness as I know,” she responded tartly.
“I might have been married a dozen
times if I’d a felt like providin’ for
some poor, shiftless wreck of a man,
"Ma,” said a Dallas yonth, as he came
skipping into the bouse, "it’s wioked to
take anything, ain’t it ?’’ "Yes, my son,
it is wicked to take anything, but don’t
be so boisterous." "Whoop I Well,
I've been swimmin’, and don’t ask me
to take a lickin’, ’cause it’s wicked. I'm
after a piece of pie.” And before his
parent conld get bold of a slipper he
had slipped out through the pantry
with it and was aioking the dog on to
a scissors-grinder down the street. .
Uncle Boze was indisposed last week.
He had an attack of malaria and fever
and ehills and a variety of ailments, and
finally bad to go to a dootor, who ad
vised him to take quinine and whisky.
Uncle Boze was almost well again with
the thoughts of it, and ■ day or two ago
the doctor met him and demanded:
“Well, nucle, did you take that quinine
and whisky, as I told you?” “Yes,
boss, I done took it. 1 done tied de
quinine to de neck o' dc bottle and
drinkt de whisky. I ’low it done ma a
heap o’ good, boss, pow'fnl heap.”