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CHARLOTTE MESSENGER:
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, . 1.19 W biMitaii> ,1 11 a I -.HnA iM
VOL. I. NO. 22.
Times and Seasons.
There's a time —the pv>verb tells us—
For all things under the sun;
Even so may be proper seasons
For good works to be done,
And for good words to be said.
In the fear lest I or you
May miss the happy occasions,
Let ns here note down a few.
When the trees are heavy with leaves,
When the leaves lie underfoot,
When fruit on the board is frequent,
And while there is rind or root;
When the rain comes down from the heavens,
When the sun comes after rain,
When the autumn fields are waving
With the weight of golden grain;
When the hills are purple with heather,
When the fells are black with cold,
When the larches are gay with their tassels
red,
When note are shrivel’d and old;
Whenever there’s growth in the spring-time,
Or June close follows May,
And so long as the first of January
Happens on New Year’s day;
When mushrooms spring in the meadows,
Or toadstools nnder the trees,
When the gnats gyrate in the sunshine,
When the oak-boughs strain in the breeze;
In the days of the cuckoo and swallow,
When the sea-gulls flee the foam,
W’hen the night-jar croons in the gloaming,
Or the owl goes silently home;
When the lake is a placid mirror.
When the mountains melt in mist.
When the depths of. the lake are as pillars of
gold n
On a floor of amethyst;
When a rainbow spans the morning,
When the thunder rends the night,
W’hen the snow on the hills is rosy red
With the blush of the wakening light;
When the soul is heavy with sadness,
When the tears fall drop by drop,
When the heart is glad as the heart of him
Who climbs to a mountain-top;
When youth unrolls like a bracken-frond,
W’hen age is grandly gray
As the side of a crag that is riven and scarr’d
With the storms of yesterday:—
Believe that in all of these seasons
Some good may be done or said,
And whenever t)ie loving thought and will
Are loving enough to wed;
And well is it with the happy heart
That hath thoroughly understood
How the “time for all things under the sun ”
Ls always the time for good.
— W. J. Linton, in St. Nicholas.
Getting Into Society.
“ I tell you, Jack, the farm is not
your vocation. I become more and
more convinced of the fact every day,
and less contented with the life we are
' carliug.”
Breakfast was over, and we stood on
lie farmhouse portico arm in arm.
)n the sill sat baby, screaming with
delight as she fed a pair of pet pigeons
from her dimpled hands.
Our breakfast had been a delicious
one—coffee clear as amber, bread like
snow, anil steak done to a turn.
All about us was a green tangle of
sweetbrier and honeysuckle; the sun
was just rising above the mountain
peaks, and the morning air was sweet
and fresh, and tilled with exquisite
woodland odors, and musical with the
song of birds. We could catch a
glimpse of the barn and the poulry
yards from where we stood, and hear
the plaintive lowing of the kine and
the dreamlike tinkle of their bells.
I felt a vague sort of conviction
that Jack had but little.sympathy with
my spirit of discontent, yet I was de
termined to carry my point if possible.
“ You are dissatisfied with your lot
—I see that plainly, N ell," said Jack,
a trifle sadly.
“ Oh, nonsense !” f putin. “Not
with my lot, nor witli you, only with
the farm, Jack. I’m tired to death
with tiiis prosy, humdrum life, and I
hate to see you delving and toiling like
a slave from one year’s end to another.
You were horn for something better,
Jack—something grander and nobler.
Fancy a man of your abilities sowing
grain and digging potatoes and raising
stork to his life’s end !”
“ But, my dear," suggested Jack,
“ one must live and have bread and
butter.”
“ To be sure, Jack; hut why not earn
it in a more genteel fashion ?”
“Honest labor is always genteel,
Nell.”
“ Oh, pshaw ! you understand me.
Jack. 1 mean that you have capaci
ties for something better. You only
cling to the old farm to please your
father, when you could do a hundred
fold better elsewhere. And, besides,
where is our society in this place.
Jack? What chance is there for our
children as they grow up?”
—■• ; „ .
, 'till 111 (stilus' 1 Olh !*> TV OS’fee
CHARLOTTE, MECKLENBURG CO:, N: C., NOVEMBER 18, 1882.
Jack laughed as he glanced down at
bany, who was struggling furiously to
get a pigeon’s head in her mouth.
“Ah, Nell, that is looking so far
ahead,” he said; “and, my dear, you
seem to forget that I have lived here
all my life!”
“No, no, I don’t forget. And pray
what have you done, .Jack?”
“Led an* upright life and married
yourself in the end.”
“ But you didn’t pick me up among
the clover-blossoms, Jack, don’t forget
that. You found me in town, and
Jack, dear, I’m anxious to get back to
my nalive element- I’m tired of all
this. You can get on ever so nicely in
town. Jack, and there we can get into
society.”
" I’m not overfond of society, Nell.”
“ Oh, but you should be for my sake,
Jack. I’m fond of it. I hatg to live
like a hermit. Why, Jack, it we de
sired to give a little party to-morrow
we could not for lack of guests.”
“Dear me,Nell, why I could muster
scores.”
“Os a certain sort, yes; but I don’t
want them Jack. I’m a little peculiar
in my notions. I want no society but
the best; the—the—sort of society one
gets into in town.”
“Fashionable society, Nell.”
“ Weli then, why not? You have
means, Jack, and I flatter myself that
we are fitted to move in any circle.
Why should we bury ourselves in this
wilderness?’
“Our means are not inexhaustible,
Nell.”
“ I’m aware of that, Jack, but we’ve
enough for a start, and Vanborough
offers you a good place in the bank.”
“ At a limited salary, Nell.”
“Oh, yes, but you can work your
way up, Jack; right up to the top
most round of the ladder. Do let’s go,
Jack ! I’ve lived here to please you
ever since our marriage; 1 think
you can afford to please me a little
now.”
Jack sighed as lie looked out upon
his ripening grain fields, but he drew
me close to his heart and kissed me.
“ That’s true,” lie said ; “ you can’t
be expected to care for the farm as I
do, Nell. I promised to make you
happy when you consented to become
my wife, ami I’ll try and keep my
word. You shall have it all your own
way, Nell.”
The continuous dropping of water
wears away the solid stone. I had
conquered my husband at last, and the
desire of my heart was about to be
accomplished.
When Jack once made up his mind
to do a thing he did it with all bis
might. The matter was soon settled.
Cherry ITill, as we called the farm, was
sold at a great sacrifice, and one line
sunny morning we turned our hacks
upon the breezy mountain summits
and golden grain fields, and journeyed
cityward.
"I’m afraid you’ve made a big mis
take,” said Jack’s father, as he hade us
good-bye, “you’d better have stuck to
the farm. You remember the old say
ing about rolling stones?”
“ I don’t believe in old sayings, sir,”
I answered, loftily; “and I think I
can appreciate my husband’s abilities
better than any one else can.”.
“ All right; I hope you won’t find
yourself mistaken, my dear. Good-bye
to both of you. Whatever you do, care
well for the little one. I’m afraid she |
won’t like the change. If you happen
to tire of town and fashion don’t forget,
that a welcome always awaits you at
home.”
Jack’s heart was too full for ut- j
terance.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, “but we I
shall not get tired.”
Our new home in Penryth was a [
stylish residence in a fashionable
block. We established ourselves in !
the principal hotel, and then set about
the task of furnishing the house.
“My dear child,” said Mrs. Van
borough, the banker’s wife. dropping
in for an early call, “ don’t dream of j
sueli a thing as ingrain carpet. Get I
brussels, by all mflans, good Kngli.sU j
brussels. You’ll find it much cheaper I
in the end, and besides it is so much j
more stylish.”
We hearkened to our friend’s advice
and laid our rooms witli brussels, and
the cost ran up into hundreds.
Then furniture we got to match,
Mrs. Vanborough and several other
friends aiding us in our selection, and
all sorts of pretty, costly bric-a-brac,
and real lace curtains, cad a new
cottage piano. My old Instrument
was b>o plain and clumsy for the new
establishment.
There is a curious sort of excitement
in spending money, which seems to
drive the most sober and economizing
people desperate, when they once get
at it. Jack had always been the most
careful of men, counting the cost pf
everything as he went and saving
every stray penily.
Once in the vortex of city life his
prudence was speedily changed intp.a
sort of recklessness. After the first
few days, and by the time our netv
home was ready to receive us, he ae
t uidly seemed to take delight in. seeing
his money go.
“ We’ve got snug quarters here, Nell,
by George 1” he said, locating tiirou'A
tile extravagantly furnished rooms
with admiring pride. “No one in town
can outshine us, not even Vanborough
himself. It has lightened our purse a
good deal. I’ll admit, but what does
that signify ? What good comes of hav
ing money unless one enjoys it?”
“We must try and save up a little
now, Jack, since we are fixed so nicely,”
I said, feeling somewhat terrified*at
his growing recklessness.
“ Pshaw, child ! Whoever heard of
a’banker’s clerk saving anything. If
we make both ends meet it will be
more than I look for.”
“My dear,” said Mrs. Vanborough,
when we were pleasantly settled in our
handsome house and had Hired a couple
of servants “ I suppose you will want
to give some sort of a party now.
Suppose you let it lie an informal re
ception, with cards and coffee for the
old people, and ices and fruits and
dancing for the young ones? That
would do nicely. You can throw your
parlors into one, and the new carpets
will not get much injured. I’ll help
you to order your refreshments, and
Cecelia will write out your in\ itations
for you. She’s an excellent judge as
to whom it is expedient, to invite.”
I mentioned the matter to Jack
when lie came home, and he entered
into the spirit of the affair with great
excitement.
“To be sure, my little wife, have a
party by all means. When one’s in
Home, one must do as Romans do, you
know. Don’t spare expense either,
my dear; we must make as good a
show as other people. And I shall
take it upon myself to order your
costume. 1 want you to look as grand
as a little empress.”
“ But Jack,” 1 suggested, timidly,
“we are spending a great deal of
money.”
“ Oil, well, never mind. It will all
go, anyhow, one way or the other, and
we might as well enjoy it. You’ve
always wanted to get into good society,
Nell, and you're fairly in now, and it
won’t do to let people see that you are
cramped for money. Let’s make the
most of it while we’ve got it.”
My heart ached a little ; and in the
midst of all the Hare and flutter of
preparation, I was conscious of a vague
feeling of regret whenever 1 recalled
the quiet npmtlis of my early wifehood
spent at Cherry Hill. Jack had seemed
' such a different person in those days
-—so strong and steady and self-re
liant ; and now lie seemed to take as
much pleasure in life’s frivolities as I
did. With the foolish inconsistency
of my sex, I sat down and cried over
the consummation of the very hopes
which I had cherished so long.
But, despite my tears, our reception
went on and it turned out to be a great
success. The beat people in town
honored us with their presence, and
everything, thanks to Mrs. Vanbor-1
ougli’s foresight, was carried out in
the most lavish and elegant manner.
“ By George,” said Jack,“this sort of
thing is jollier than the old farm. I
see now, little wife, that you were j
right, always right.”'
1 would ten times rather he should |
have upbraided me for what I had i
done.
The winter that followed was ex
ceedingly gay. We were invited every
where, and our house was constantly
filled with guests. Balls, soirees, ket
tledrums and the opera, seemed to en
gross every hour. Jack and I seldom
had a quiet moment together, yet he
seemed to enjoy It with his whole
heart.
When spring came our last surplus
dollar had been expended, and we were
solely dependent on Jack’s monthly
salary.
The warm weather came on, and :
baby soon fell ill. 1 hoped day by
day that Jack would say something j
about going back to bis father’s for ;
the summer, hilt lie did not even hint ,
at such a thing.
The days grew longer and warmer, j
The sun shone down with a pitiless I
splendor, and the paved streets seemed 1
like heatist brass.
Our fashionable friends fluttered off
like summer swallows, and we were
left almost alone.
“Couldn’t you manage to make a
little trip to the seashore, my dear?”
Mrs. Vanliorough had suggested, and
'c'itight at the Idea Wit*
eagerness.’ •! - i < im
‘f IVe might, N|dh I think we cap.
I’ll try and borrow a few hundreds
flqrtiewhere.’* 1 11 .‘ lul ! |
‘'Oh 1 , Jaeki no, no!” I sobbed out in i
mytxemorse and despair. ,“J gq j
to the eeashorq. You see how ill ljaby
is. "On, Jack.'ask yoUf father to - ret’hs !
returnhomel”’ d” - .i i in -J ttio Jo
j" Ofi, yon wouldn’t be satisfied, Nfjllj ,
■ifi we wgnt back. Jt is. .dreadful);
stupid down there thete sdwthkf days',!
with tlie haymaking, and the reaping,
and all that sort of thing. We should
never he able to endure it now.”
I said no more. The long, bright,
burning days wore on, and our bills
ran up higher and higher, and baby’s
little breath seemed to grow weaker
and weaker, and poor Jack himself
began to look dreadfully ill and worn.
And one afternoon he was seitt home
in a carriage, quite unconscious,
stricken down by a sudden fever.
I put my pride aside then and wrote
a letter to Jack’s father.
Jack and baby are both ill, and we
are sick and tired of this life. Pray
forgive us, and let us come home.”
The very next' day the dear old
gentleman arrived, hut the bailiffs and
the officers of the law were there be
fore him. The rumor that we in
tended to leave town had got out, and
our creditors rushed in, anxious to
secure the lion’s share of our effects.
The Brussels carpet, the handsome
furniture and costly bric-a-brac all
went under the hammer at a disas
trously low figure.
“ Never mind,” said my father-in-law,
not a shadow of reproach on iiis kind
old face; “let them squabble over it if
they will. We must get our sick ones
home.”
As we got Jack into the carriage,
and with his poor hot head Upon my
face, and baby in my arms, 1 turned
my back upon the scene of my short
lived triumph.
“ We are going back to Cherry Hill,”
said the old gentleman, as in the dusk
of the golden day we drove through
the dewy stillness of the mountain ra
vine. “ Tlie old home has been wait
ing for you all these months. I was
pretty sure you’d want to come back.”
I could not utter one word in an
swer. A great full moon was rising
above the mountain peak 3 as we
reached tlie house. Not the smallest
thing was changed, Tlie great red
roses bloomed on tlie terrace, the bees
droned in their hive and the cattle
bells tinkled in the barnyard. The
doors stood wide open. We carried
Jack in and laid him down in the
broad, breezy room that had been our
bridal chamber. .1
He opened his eyes and drew a deep,
quivering breath, as tlie mountain
breeze touched his throbbing head.
“Nell, where are you?" ho said.
“Surely this must be home?”
“ I am here, Jack,” I answered,
through my tears, “and this is home,
dear; old Cherry Hill."
“ Thank God !” he murmured, and
fell back upon the pillows, and 1 saw
great tears trickling slowly from be
neath his closed eyelids.
Beyond the open window, in the
silver glory of tlie rising moon, the old
grandfather sat, with baby at his feet,
half hidden in the rank, cool grass, and
even at that late hour the pigeons came
fluttering round her as of old, and she
screamed with rapture as she clutched i
at them with her thin little hands.
I arose softly and fell on my knee 3
, beside Jack’s low pillow.
“Oh, Jack,” 1 sobbed, “I have been
so wicked. Forgive me. Jack, forgive
me. 1 am so glad to be at homo
again.”
His worn face grew radiant, and his |
dear arms held me close.
And then and there, clasped to my
husband’s heart, in tlie safe, sweet
shelter of the home he loved, I under
stood all the past.
“You didn’t mean it, Jack,” I
whispefed. “ You only pretended to 1
enjoy it all to please me.”
He smiled at me with hi# grave fond
smile.
“ And, oh, Jack, our money is all
gone, and— ’’
He silenced me with a kiss.
“No matter, little woman, the lesson
we have learned has been cheaply
bought. We shall noteare to leave the
| safe old mountain nest in search of
[ fashion and society again."
I could not answer. I heard my
baby cooing to tbe pigeons in the grass,
| and sat there, clasped in .1 ack's for
giving arms, the iiappiest woman the
world held.
It Is tha young girl of engaging
manners who naturally becomes en
gaged first.
■ ■>.'’ ■ II Kl ,
I. G. SiilflLM’isK -
* ’ M®o MTS W u 'I
"1 So Coes the WorMi
When I wear the cajr antfbells,
Many friend* have I:/(,<, , i t
tjntp pftrelesa. merry hearts,
Merry heprts reply.
I fast as this old earth of oars
. Dimples in a hundred flowers,
Wb*n above, in summers byurs
' .
I . When grief bidea with ina, alnal
Not a friend hate Is' '. _
Sad’hhifjs itieef OSieveryaide
* -bye.” f
j. .Just as this old earth of ours
Parts with all the drooping flowers,
When uygvej in autumn hours,
Glooms sky.
—Vflr/Vw«S Kjiuige.
. - 1.,' -c l 1 .
HUMOROUS.
A St. Louis horse chews tobacco.
We have often seen a fast driven hors 3
smoke.
. Some tramps refuse to eat chops be
cause they are so suggestive of the
woodpile. p
Hindoo girls are taught to think of
marriage as soon as they can tall;.
American girls are not. They don’t
require teaching. —Philadelphia Aleuts.
An exchange asks, “ AVhere do the
hats go?” Well, some g:> tythe attic,
but the most of them go out witli their
owners. Ask us an easy ond.— <Neu>
York Commercial.
It is not good to take tea in tha
middle of the day. Tlie man who
tried it, in an Austin grocery store,
when lie thought tlie clerk was not
looking, is our authority. —Siftinr/s.
Bumbleton had a severe strain on
hi 3 conscience the other day. He aims
to be the nioSt honest of critics, and
on being asked by tlie father of an
animated fog-horn how he liked his
daughter's voice, he replied: “ She
flings like a Patti-(under his breath)-
gonian !’’—Musical Herald.
Paris wit: Tlie inexpert huntsman
having missed five partridges in suc
cession, blazes away at a sixth and
cries exultingly to the gamekeeper:
“ .There! I hit him ! I saw the
feathers fly! Didn’t they?” The
gamekeeper : “Yes, sir, they’ flew—
they flew off with the bird.!”
A South End man has taught Jiis dog.
When offered sausage, to siueil of it and
then, turn away with a mournful howl,
and when he goes into a butcher's shop
where there are a lot of folks, offers
the dog a sausage and the dog does tho
act, it is awful embarrassing for the
butcher, and, if be gets‘a chance, he
i kicks the dog.— Boston Post.
.| Blotting'paper* was discovered in
| 1455. Previous to that, when a man
| dropped a splotch of ink on the lower
1 left hand corner of his paper, he would
j give it a lick with liis tongue toward
| the upper right hand corner and make
a better picture of tlie codifet of 1880
i than any that has yet appeared in the
j illustrated papers. —Norristown Her
ald.
When we see tlie young mah of the
| period, with the cutaway erfat, h!s ears
! sheltered from the cold north wind
blasts by the broad expanse of collar,
bill two watch' chains, but no watch,
his pointed shoJs and Intellectual eye
glass, his tootsey-wootsey cane and pan
t-aka hat, we realize that the $84,000,-
000 annually expended in educating
- the American youth is little enough.—
Rochester Express.
General Terry says that those In
j dians who have been placed upon farina
j and given cows to tend are perfectly
- wrapped up in their oceupatioflyahd
1 show no disposition to go on the’war
j path. Naturally, The man who lias
; three or four cows to,keep track of hqa
all he wants todo without going scalp
bpnting: and besides, after an experi
ence in circumventing the eussednesa
of a cow, Indian lighting must, he a
mighty tame and uninterestitig bnsi
-1 ness.
! The Scientifle American says: “An
i.invention that will lie appreciated tiy
, travelers who play chess en voyage is
that reported from Berlin of an irou
chesa-boa'nl, with magnetized men,
tiiat will hold in place, uo matter how
often the ship or the ear rolls over.”
When a ship rolls over a few times,
or when a ear g.-t* to the liuttom of an
embankment, we can imagine how
much a traveler will appreciate an
iijm chess-hoard wiff! magnetized men.
" — Testa* Iff l'tinni. »'
I ■ The Minneapolis Triottpe says that
goats arctlie best land cleaners known.
It mentions that a herd of 1.000 en
-1 tirely cleared a piece of brush land,
consisting of 500 acres, in three yipirs.
So complete was the work tiiat not %
vestige of undergrowth was left.