CHARLOTTE MESSENGER.
VOL. I. NO. 18.
The Daikie DiwleN Kmnv.
Look ont, backslider, wfcar jwt wmikia*,
Make a miaetep, ska* j» r bo'n,
1 tell jort what, n& use taalkxa^,
Es yon slip up, dxile, too. g«e.
De road w fall er stamp* ami sftobMe t
Rats and sink-holes efcennrLw;
I ’spec de’ll gib you heap «r tsomMav,
Es von doa’t atop fbofiix r d!ar.
It’e dark as pitch an* mighty eloadr.
Spec* <le (lebhiTs rowa*,.
Fa*t thine: yoa know he'll tell yew “Hoenly,.
LiF hie hoof an r stomp ds groom".
Kao, can’t yoa see a stocm a hwh\ * .
Heac de amful hnaiW peak?
Look! Blazin’ Ughtofcs’ ffaeartaß* rate-
Oli,b*ckalidar. how you Lai >
Brap on yo’’ knee* and go to m*iU
Ax le Lawd to h»Lp wjw
Chile, tell him jott'* . lamb . tfnf.
Done got lom and mnW tnt
An' den eon'll see 4* stare • r f —•*'
’r uminatin' nil de wav ;
'Boat ten thoaennd twiaktiu’. Wafe'-
Srnsck until da hank at day. >
But es von fhil da dekktl fat yon.
Fetch yon dtay right tajafaja;
You'll Seel moat tika er gragwrtra kit you,
Drapped from half wayto da sky, v
THE. BUND MY.
Is November, 188—, Mr Kay. form
erly professor oI mamn at Toalnaae.
came to settle at Meatea with hit aoa
Henry. He lh* furtfcrr nl
cf the town, tkagaanl Sana as shown
whose windows looked xato the (tract,
and at the same tine an the road lend-.
ing down the mountain. Itwaanattha
beauty ot site that had fadared :kat
choice, bat the peaceful eairamra ud
the pore and fngnat ur which pervade
that part. Henry Nay was Uiai
He was about fifteen, when his eye
sight, until then cxeeOent, became
gradually weaker. A aery strange dim
ness fell over his eves, mod scon he had
to give up reading new music; for
Henry, young as he was, had already
made his mark as a rioticist. Qae
morning all was night and darkness
arc and him, and when, placing himself
befere the sun, he opened ha eyes wide,
he felt they were paralysed, two large
tears rolled on his cheeks; nothing mete
had revealed his grief.
Then the father took the child by the
hand and searched the world for an oe
culist. Ail the celebrated speemiists
were consulted, and nnanimoaalT de
clared that the boy might be eared, if
willing to submit to a painful and peril
ous operation.
Mr. Nay dared not take epos himiTlf
all the responsionity. Besides; this
hesitation could not compromise the
success of the undertaking. The pre
cocious child was developing rapidly,
and the father resolved to iet him i
eide later on.
In the meantime they went bom pace
to plaee, traveling almost constantly.
For Henry, whose smallest wishes were
never denied, was led oo by that fever
ish activity and want of change which
deluded him to hope for a ray of tight.
Five years had gone by. They were
living a: Menton, as everywhere else,
very secluded, and were seldom out
before evening. The mornings were
given to reading, the afternoons to
on the piano, as wall as has stiffened
lingers would allow him to follow, the
brilliant improvisation.* of hi* ion. It
was the boy’s only joy to give way than,
for hours at a tuns; to the fanrifal
strains of his imagination Notes
sparkled tike a jet of fire under hi*
capricious bow; then long, melancholy
strains would follow — fall of regrets
and tears for the lost treasure.
One cool evening Henry; leaning m
his father, walked to the sea-shore. Be
his attention centered an the darting
waves, he was trying to perceive, die
sounda which compose the moaotomon*
harmony of the sea
Another day they walked to the
woods, following the road that pa—rd
near their hoaae. Alter tab an hoar
the boy stopped.
“Father, von are tired?"
“Not in the least," answered the old
man.
“Ton could not deceive me.*resumed
the blind boy, g “Torn near
stumbles at each step. Fortunately,
here we are. 1 hear Um wind raalliag
among the leaves.”
“Not quiet yet. We are walking
along the railing es n park, whose trees
p reject their branches art* tbs rand."
“dost than the silence cf that culm
night was broken by s lew knrmontose
chorda from • piano; then, after a pease;
the invisible aawaciaa played the Hong
cf the Star.” a Tea eh inset
Henry stopped, hie hand resting on
his father’s arm.
CHARLOTTE, MECKLENBURG CO., N. C., OCTOBER 21, 1882.
‘•ls it where the light shines?" lie
asked.
‘ Ten."
“L=t ns listen. Do you mind?”
“With pleasure.”
After the ‘-Song of the Star" came
almost without interruption a Waltz of
Chopin, played with feverish rapidity
as if the artist lacked time to finish it
After the waltz e nocturne, with senti
mental variations expressive of grand
grand despair. Then, all at ones silence
and darkness resumed their away. The
light had vanished with the last sound*.
"We have heard a real artist,” said
Mr. Say, taking his son by the arm.
did not answer, but he thought,
With the sagacity of the blind, whose
other senses era wond-rful) keen and
delicate, he bed recognized the woman
in the. nervousness ot the touch and in
the penetrating emotion of the senti
ment. He had been. divined tbit she
was a offerer, from the erratic choioe
of her music, and the btuaque transi
tion* of merriment to sadness end the
vniied ehedee of her play.
The nest day, as be questioned the
old woman who waited on them, he
heard that the villa belonged to' Mr.
Valnnoonrt, a gentleman >J»ra Paris
who bad bought it for hia daughter
Madeleine, “a poor young lady who
eccmcd very ill.” .‘"7
On that evening Henry did not men
tion that be wanted to go again toward
the park. He only raid he wished to
being hia violin in ease be should take
a fancy to improvise e serenade to tbe
•tar*. That aky and the following, Mr.
Nay and his son spent the whole even
ing on the beach*-
‘Shall we go to the wood T said Mr.
Nay, one morning; “ft is nearer, and we
should return earlier, for the nights are
getting cooL”
Tbe young man repressed s smile.
“lit n* go to the woods,” he said,
seemingly indifferent.
It was dusk when they reached the
villa. Madeleine, alone in her room,'
ns at the piano playing the “Eisgy of
Erast.” . ■
Henry seized his violin, sod, standing
oo the road, trembling with excitement,
he repeated like an echo, the melody he
bad heard.
At tbe first notes Madeleine rose sud
denly and looked out wonderingly, then
dosed the window.
“I am watched," she thought, and she
blushed.
Tbe violin was silent.
A minute later the girl opened the
curtains, and tried to see through the
impenetrable darkness ontside. But all
in vain. Alter the first feeling had
subsided, curiosity had awakened.
“Who can it be?" she thought.
Henry Nay went home out of sorts,
and well aware that be had disturbed
her solitude. And yet be returned every
nicht with his viol’U. One would have
thought that he endeavored, in inspired
improvisationa, to implore foregireness
and express the feelings which were
agitating him.
Bet tbe villa was buried in silence
and obscurity. This irritated him to
tbe fast degree.
“It is all over!’’ said he, one day. “I
offended her. Onoe more I shall go;
and then I shall leave the country.
How wearily dragged tbe hours. At
sunset his father led him on, gently
hnmonug what he called a “romantic
fancy." Henry played a prelude, and
commenced the “Elegy of Ernst." The
melody was to bid bn farewell. Plain
tive and sonorous, the notes fell in the
petcefsl night
Suddenly he started, and his bow I
almost slipped through bis fingers. A
jay unspeakable pervaded all his being,
the piano, timid at first then more
distinct, was following the violin. It
ws* Madeleine, who, encouraged gradu
ally, was playing the aceompaiment of
tbe “Elegy." Tbe dno would have
born prolonged far into the night bad
Mr. Kay allowed iL
On his way home Henry was silent
and grave. His voice had a tinge of
ralores when he wished his father
good night. As they parted, he called
him hash.
“Father r
“What fa it, my son?”
«‘Nothing—to-morrow.”
Henry hod changed his mind. He
did not sleep that night As hours
roared sway ha evoked the memories of
hia childhood, to hare tome ides of
Mud-lriu-*- borne, and, above all, of her
person. Wknt was she like? He re
called to mind the image of the yonng
ladies be bad seen. He ooold see her,
Brat slender, graceful and fair, then
dark, with classical features and fiery
eve*; he could not think of her as not
beautiful.
The next morning Mr. Nay entered
his room early.
"Father,” mad he, hurriedly, "l hare
mode ap my mind. Will yon write to
OnDesmareesr
“Have ran thought it well oar?”
rated Mr. Nay, growing very polo.
“It fa no art to ran,” answered
Henry.’ “Nothing can be worse than
my present state. Besides, I have re
flected seriously, and am quite reso
lute," he added in a Arm voice.
Mr. Nay telegraphed immediately to
Dr. Desmarres, and two days later the
yonng and celebrated ocoalist arrived
at Menton.
“When shall Isee the light, doctor?"
eagerly asked Henry.
. “It will be a week; for that time yon
will remain in this room, in the most
absojpty, qbseupity aqd gilence, but qf ter
■ “After that—l shall see Madeleine,"
thought Henry, who did notc.ue-what
more the doctor had to say.
That evening and thq pegtiMadeleine
waited iu vaiD. The third day she be-|
oame sad and anxious.„ Had the ,un
khown musician, wfio‘'UifideArWod'her
so well, grown weary ti Had betotfths
town ? Strange thougfita, troubled [bar,
No, be bad not, gone. Consumption,
that totrifrie disease, teemed "to 1 gain
M the poor ohiM gave war to
her sombre misgivings. A terrible pry,
sentftnehf agitated her.' ,,r ■ T ”
Sbe hardly lived, except for the.hour
when her mysterious friend waa toj app
pear. The time come, she was at the
piano placing their fartrite mWodiesf
then, opening the window, bending
down, she wonld listen and try to learn
something of the dark night,
i One evening she fancied she heard
stops on the road. In the thoughtless
ness of her excitement she rushed out
in her thin muslin drees, bare-headed,
her shoulders hardly protected by the
light tiasne that covered them. Dike a
shadow she glided on through the wind
ing paths and opened the side door of
the park.
It was a laborer returning from ins
day’s work, a spade on his shoulder.
Just then he hummed a merry tune,
soon lost in the distance. , ; •
Madeleine remained, leaning against
the wall her burning'forehead,'and her
.mind lost in revery. She did not feel
the cool evening breeze and the scarcely
perceptible di ops of rain that fell on her
.shoulders. A' painful idea absorbed
! her. He will come no morel"*'
All of a sadden a violent chill shook
her from head to foot; she went in doors,
fainting, sick at heart, and laid down
with bnrniDg fever.
Ten days after that fatal evening,
Henry Nay in his room, with drawn
curtains still, was expecting the visit of
the Menton doctor, Dr. Desmarres had
loft in charge, fully instructed, after the
operation. Tbe success was complete.
Henry was blind no longer; bnt bis
eyes were gradually brought to bear
the light. For a few days past he had
gone with mt a fold over them, and that
very morning the doctor was to open
the thick cuitains and let him behold
tbe light of heaven, the dazzling bril
liancy of the snn.
The doctor entered, followed by Mr.
Nay. Henry was agitated with great
emotion. His father led him by the
hand to the window jnst opened by the
doctor.
“Look I” said he.
Henry screamed with joy and closed
his eyes, 'then opening them again,
with a raptured look, he embraced the
whole horizon and triedjto discover tbe
way to the villa.
“At last I shall Bee Madeleine!” he
thought.
At that very moment he perceived at
the turning point of the road a priest in
his snrplioe, with a silver oross in his
hand; then the children’s choir, fol
lowed by six women carrying a coffin
covered with a white sheet; after ths
coffin, yonng girls dressed in white and
bearing tapers, and closing the proces
sion a long file of men and women of
all ages.
“Henry’s heart sank within him.
"Doctor,” said he, "that is a young
lady’s funeral?”
“Yes,” he answered, “a charming and
unfortunate child, tbe victim of con
sumption. Jnst imagine, she died at
her piano, as she was playing the cele
brated ‘Elegy oi Ernst.’ Her name
was—”
“Madeleine I” exclaimed Henry, in a
stifled voice.
“Yon know her?” asked Mr. Nay,
astonished.
“No,” murmured the yonng man,
“bnt I loved her I” [Waverly Maga
zine.
An Established t heory.
There is a theory advanced by scien
tists that if yon whisper in the eir of a
sleeping man the impression of your
words will be conveyed to his mini as
by a dream. We recently experimented
with this theory and found it worked
very satisfactorily. A noted Western
scout who boasted of having slain two
hnndred Indians was stopping at the
hotel where we reside. We entered bis
room and whispered in his ear : “We
are attacked by Indians 1 Tbe red devils
are upon ns I” Did he spring np, grab
for a knife and blindly rash forward for
a fray ? He did arise from the bed.
And he crawled under it. There can
be no doubt that the theory is correct.
How to be Handsome.
Most people would like to be hand
some. Nobody denies the great power
which any person may have who is
handsome, and attracts yon by good
looks, even before a word has been
spoken. And we see all sorts of devices
in men and women to improve their
looks. Now, all cannot have good fea
tures—they are as God made them—
but almost any one can look well, es
pecially with good health. It is hard
to give rules in a very short space, but
in brief those.will do:
Keep rlean-—Wash freely. All the
skin want* ikleagdjqeot freely, audit
Eat T*gnli»ly, and Bleep enough—not
too much. yThe sfomach can u mope.
work all the time, night and day* than
W horse. It mh*l hart retfula/ work
rtd.rpslL. .) bt ' ,Th*q la ill
' Good, teeth are a help to. good, looks.
Brash them Willi 4 soft brash; especially
at bight. Go tofecd with Cleansed teeth.
Os course to btoM MMtortootp.it »* heed
ful to. lpt tobacco alone. All women
MOW that. Washes for the teeth should
be very simple; Arid may trbiten the;
teethwbnt it takgs, off jrnd
injures them. . 11 “ I
Bleep in a cool room, ft port- sir 1 .
No one can. have a qlaanly elfin who
breathes .bad air. But more thus all,
in order to look well, wake up mind
and Soul. <* I o-'D " ' i3i|
When, the mind to awake, the doll,
elnepy look passes away from the eyes.
Ido not know'that 1 the brain expands,
but it seems so.' Drink, and read, not
trashy , novel*, bnt books and papers
tha't have something is them.
Men’ say ‘they cannot afford' book*,
and. sometimes do, not even pay,. for, a
newspaper. In that case it does thet*
little pood, they feel so mean while
reading them. But men oan afford whet
they really choose. If all the money'
spent in sell-indulgence, in hurtfnl in
dulgence, was spent in books 'or papers
for self improvement, we Shoald see a
chaege. Men wonld grow handsome,
and women too. We were.ndt' meant to t
be mere animals. Let us have boo d
and read them, and sermons and h ee
them.
Physical training of Uirls.
Physical training jnst at this period is
one of vital importance. The exercise
that is best adapted to develop all parts
of the body in a natural, healthy man
ner is domestic labor. It is always at
hand ; it oan be token regularly every
day, and there is such variety that al
most every mnscle can be exerejsed.
Housework should never be considered
menial or degrading; it is nature's la
boratory in which the girl may obtain
not only the best physical development
bnt most valuable knowledge that will
fit her for the praotical dnties of life.
This training may be supplemented by
other kind? of exercise, snoh as walking
and ont-door sports. The very general
introduction of foreign help into domes
service has proved most unfortunate for
the health of American women.
Closely connected with this neglect
of physical training at home is an evil
of great magnitude—that is, snpreme
devotion to brain work. Tbe practice
pursued very generally at tbe present
day of confining the girl in school or
seminary for a series of yeais is attended
with most serions evils. In the lan
guage of a popular writer, “It is educa
ting our girls to death.” While we
wonld not discard education in all its
varions departments, extending to the
highest cnltnre, we maintain that it is
no advantage or blessing if it is to be
obtainel at the expense of the physical
system. There are other parts of the
body besides tbe brain that need faith
ful training. The highest accomplish
ment* and mentsl acquisitions will not.
compensate for impaired constitntion
and poqr health.
■ Habits of the Codfish,
A correspondent of tbe New York
Post says that the codfish frequents
“ tsble-laifds of the sea.” The codfish;
no donbt, doss this to secure, as nearly
as possible, a dry, bracing atmosphere.
This par* air of the submarine table
lands gives to the codfish that breadth
of chest and depth of lungs whioh we
have always notioed. ,
The glad, free smile of the oodfish is
largely attributed to the exhilaration of
this ooeanic altitoedleum.
The correspondent farther says that
“the cod subsists largely on the sea
cherry." Those who have not had tbe
pleasure of seeing the oodfish climb the
sea cherry tree in sesroh of food, or
cinbbing the fruit from the heavily
laden branches with chunks of coral,
have missed a very fine sight,
The oodfish, when st borne rambling
tbrongh the submarine forests, does not
wear his vest unbuttoned, a* ho doea
when loafing arohnd the grocery stores
of the Halted States. 1
The best portion ot a good man's life
is his little nameless, unremembered
acts of kindness and ot lore.
I. C, SMITH, PflliMer,
Poesy.
Though mighty deeds of valor done,
And many fields of valorjwon,”
Be Soon forgot, they ahinejin’farae
By me*ps of men of humble name..
gome youth, perchance, of ardor fine,
Whose will can wield the flowing line,
Whose mueiq teaches him to sing,
Sheds lasting lustre on a king.
' ! Bloc long aslbeaateons poesy
And genUe triei their pencils ply,
"TbffASt'btth a'plsceito fiU,
And itertar with mighty skill,
c n in s //*• / . ;. 1,/j ...
Soitfe ttftn must rhyme and some must play,
Some Tauqniebm tbe.Twll.fimght d*y;
But these as they atg! eat——
Bothtt&yWho yutfa shuttlehhe-ekate.
Then deem «u»Wum,wliose wordi rehearse
The deeds of kings In flowing vkrae
A useless weed amidst the trees—
Abloasoifllwafteotra the Wetoei • .
The king must die, the.qonq iiioi lie
Aa lowly a* hia brother' fcliy ;
But winsome wonii slid ferVro lines
Last while the an* iiTheaven shinea.
.rirrrb •,•« ■■■■ , . ,
.1 ' HUMDROCS. M
“Goods are at half price,” said the
was the respbfi*e. ; “I guess I’ll take it,”
she said, thKWinfi dofirdAiqwrier. The
sign was token in« ; ■ j j u
Eoitaph said tq be copied from a
tombstone in thepemetery Montmarte :
“Here liAs ifiieph X.. Who for twenty
years after the'dertb‘of ’his wife lived
in the society of his-mother-in-law, and
died it; , the «erto*c. l hopS of a better
world beyond.”
A father soolds hia son fpr his numer
ous youthful errors. ,'Bwllly, father,
yon were once young.' 1 Did you never
frolic ?" “Never,” said th* father, with
a melancholy sigh 5 “whan-1 was young
I had : no momey; and whwrl ibecame
rich it was too late.”
Daring a conference of clergymen,
the following dialogue was overheard
between two newsboys: "I say, Jim,
what’s the meaning of so many minis
ters being together?" “Why,” an
swered Jim, scornfully 1 “they always
meet once a year to exchange sermons
with each other.” t ,
A little girl once took a letter from
her mother to an old lady friend.
“Many thanks, my child,” she said;
“you may tell your mother that you are
a good child and a faithful little ines
senger." “Thank you, ma’am ; and I
shall tell her, too, I didn’t ask you for
ten cents, because mamma told me
not to.” ..
Her Mistake —“Why do you sup
pose Bey. Johnson Reed is always
driving over to Smithville?" asked one
Austin gentleman of another. “Hia
wife says he goes over to admire tbe
beauty of tbe place,” was the reply.
“Yes; but doe# his wife know that the
beauty of the place is a yonng widow?”
Youno America.— First proud mother
—‘•My boy is only eleven years old, and
he comes in every day with his pockets
full of fruit. He can get over the top
of any fence they can put up, the dar
ling l” Second proud mother—“ Pooh
for your boy 1 Why, my Jimmy is only
ten, and he’s a corner loafer, and has
been to the police court twice.”
Laurie’s mother was teaching him to
add, and held up two fingers. He
counted. ‘‘Now,” said she, “here are
three more. How many docs that
make?” The little fellow did nut qnite
understand. “Why, Laurie.” said she,
“if you had two apples, and I should
give you three more, what would yop
have?” Looking up with his great,
speaking eyes, he said, “Why, mamma,
I would have the stomach-ache.”
A Haunted Railway.
Firemen on the Virginia Midland
Railway tell wonderful stories of the
nightly appearance ot a ghost on the
track of that road, near Otter River,
where a tramp was killed some time
ago. His ghoatohip first appeared an
two white horse*, but becoming more
bold of late, the spiritual stranger, in
tbe form ol a man, has dispensed with
the steeds, and has several times, unat
tended, token a position on the track,
in the attitude of the mud bull, and
defied the iron horse. One night last
week tbe fireman of an engine discov
ered what waa supposed to be a man on
the track. The engine, wbieh was going
at a high rate of speed, struck the man,
and apparently killed him. The train
was stopped, and several bands were
sent back to see what damage had been
done. The body -was seen s short dis
tance down the road, bnt npea Aha men
reaching it it disappeared. At other
times the ghost has appeared in the
osbs of engines, and, after rarvsyfag
things generally, just stepped out into
epaoe.