THE DANBURY REPORTER,
VOLUME 11.
THE REPORTER.
">•> POW.ISHBD WEEKLYBY
0,1: PEPPER & SONS,
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p Truilflll advertiser* will he expected to
..wmit according to these rates at the time they
,Mod their fnyora.
Local Hottws will be charged 50 per cent.
'lir»perannurti. '
, Bam'L Wnrra, , Joh» A. Jaiibos,
G *. flctinrfMU*.' ' *
,v*' WHITE & BUSf/UMAN, ,
. ,Iwholesale dealers iu
HATS, CAPS, FURS, STRAW GOODS AND
A DIBS' iIATS.
•s|fo. 918 W. Baltimore «treet, Baitinoote, M l
E. M. WILSON, or N. C.,
WITH
R. W. POWERS & €O.,
, WHOLES* LB DRUGGISTS,
and dealers in Paints, Oils, Dyes, Varnishes,
French Window Ac.,
Wo. 1805 Main St., Richmond, Va.
Proprietors Aromatic Pcrtivian Bitters if" Com
pound Syrup Talu and Wild Cherry.
J. W. RANDOLPH & ENGLISH,
BOOKSELLERS, STATIONERS, AND
BLANK-BOOK MANUFACTURERS.
1318 Mainrtrect, Ricbinoijd.
A Large Stock of IA W HOOKS always on
nol-Om
A L ELLEIT, A. JUDSON WATKTMB,
CLAY DRFWRY, STEPHEN B. HUtlHieS
A. L. ELLETT Si CO.,
importers and jobbers of
DRY GOODS AND NOTIONS.
Nos. 10, 12 and 14 Twelfth street (between
Main and Oarv)
®l-ly RICHMOND, VA.
F. J)AY, ALBERT JUNES
DAY & JONES,
Manufacturers ot
SADDLERY, HARNESS, COLLARS,
TRUNKS, J-e.'
No. 336 W. Baltimore street, Baltimore, Md.
nol-ly
W. A. TUCKKII, 'I- C. SMITH
s. B. Sl'ltAdlNS.
TUCKER, SMITH & CO.,
ManufactbrerSHiid Wholesale Dealer* ic
BOOTS; SHOES; HATS AND CAPS.
250 Baltimore street, Baltimore, Md.
J NO. W. HOLLAND
with
T. A. DRVAN ti CO.,
Mao ufacturers ol FRENCH and AMERICAN
CANDIES, in every variety, and
wholesale dealers in
FRUITS. NUTS, CANNED GOODS, CI
GARS, £c.
aee and 341 Baltimore Street, Baltimore, Md.
, Orders from Merchants solicited.
a, W. THQJUI, i E KTCBIBON.
C. W, THORN L CO.,
wholesale dealers in
■ ATS, CBfN. NTRAW GOODS, AND
LADIES' TRIMMED HATS.
1300 Main Btreet, Richmond, Va.
D. 11. BTSVBNBON,
MORT W. ROGERS, L SLINOLUI'K
STEVENSON, ROGERS & CO.,
wholesale
: BOOTS AND SIIOEB,
*24 W. Baltimore Street, (near Howard,)
r, Baltimore, Sid.
«, arts i Tr
B. F. KING
la-l'u .Aiu; .
u JOHNSOS. SUTTON k G9„
i DRY GOODS.
"Nos. 3lS an 3 328 Baltimore street; N. B. cor
ti net Howard,
BALTIMORE ill).
T. W JOHNSON, R. M. SUTTON,
■ a CItAHUE, a. J. JOHNSON.
, »ei-iy.
• Vi B®IWAMIN KUSSBIJL,
3 Manufacturer and Wholesale Dealer in
'"Hoot w and Nhoew,
• d ll Kos 18 $ IP South Howard street,
. (flew Building,)
BALTIMORE, MD.
«'il M; A. Wilaiajwob or N. 0. novlu-ljin
uJ; * ' B. J. A- R. * BEST,
HENR¥ SONNEBORN & CO.,
WHOLESALE CLOTHIERS.
S6 Hanover Street, (between German and
• i lx»mbhrd Streets,)
BALTIMORE, Mi).
uE ■ONNBBOttN, B BLIMLINE.
»yw»_ :
41 - H H MARTINDALR,
ui.. ' s. with
WU. J. C. DULANY & CO.
Stationers' and Booksellers' Ware
'"f"'' house.
atftOOL BOOKS A SPECIALTY.
fttationery of Till kinds. Wrapping Paper,
Twines, Bonnet Boards, Paper Blinds
JBAW. BALTIMORE ST., BALTIMORE, MD.
WULIAM DKVRIKg, WILLIAU R. DRVRIU,
buairm* ncvain, of*., solomoi kimusll
'WILLIAM DKVRIKS & CO.,
"*■' '■■■' Importers and Jobbers of
and Doaestie Dry Goods and
L ' Notions,
SI 2 West Baltimore Street, (between Howard
and Liberty,) BACTIHOKE.
M mm h Mjiis, of va. uvi h. shall, of w. va.
HAINES & SMALL,
, 0 8 J S.,Howard Street, Baltimore, Md.
*, Manufacturers and Wholesale Dealers in
W«od and Willow Ware,
CVBDAGE, BRUSHES, BROOMS, DEMI
JOIfNS, PAPER, SIEVES, TWINES, Ktc.
DANBURY, N. C., THURSDAY, NGVEMBfiR 19r1577.
MAUDE'S MISTAKE.
"Marry Justin John ? No 1"
; 'But why 'no' so emphatically,
Maude ? I know you love him."
The pinlc on Maude's facd glowed to a
guilty orimson, as gentle Lucy Mordaunt
looked up, a quiet, searching inquiry in
her oalui, truthful eyes.
"You are accustomed to drawing very
unwarranted conclusions, my dear Lney,
perhaps this is one of them."
Miss Campbell's voice bad a hard,
metallic ring in its clear tones as she
thus lightly answered, anl she laughed
loudly, but it was a constrained merri
ment.
"Look at me, Maude, doer.'*
Lucy went from her chair over to the
scarlet lounge, whereon Maude, in her
flouting while dress, looked like • lily
among roses. She took both Miss Camp
bell's bauds in her own.
"Listen, my dear. Six weeks ago
who was your lovor ?"
A vivid glow leaped suddenly to
Maude's face, and she turned away, as
if aonoyed at the query.
' No, you must confess to me, Maude.
Tell me who, on the last picnic at the
Fine Grove, was to you 'fairest among
ten thousand'—who carried you captive
by bis elogunoe, his refinement, bis in
telligence, his chivalry ?"
"Oh, you allude, I presume, to Juslin
Bt. John, but then "
"Exactly; it was Jnstin St. John, the
noblest fellow I ever saw True, then
you hud not met Mr. Jameson."
'"Lucy, you ate cross. Haven't I a
perfect right to marry John Jameson if
I see fit ?"
"Not u,.less you love him, Maude.
You know you do not eire a straw fc r
him. You do not need me to tell you
how truly you love Justin St. John, for
your own heart whispers it. Maude, be
true to your own womanhood. Give up
all thought of,the old man, because bo
h«B half a million, and betroth yourself
to the lover who cannot offer you a for
tune but bis own priceless love."
Lucy's cheeks glowed as she spoke,
enthusiastically and earnestly.
"It's ali very well for you, Lucy Mor
duunt, with a foitunc at your command,
to talk about love in a cottage, and all
that sort of romanoe. But I—l am
poor."
"And you will, then, marry a man old
enough to be your grandfather bcoeuie
yosi are poor ?"
And Maude Campbell's eyes flashed,
as she returned the quiet, impulsive an
swer, "I will."
* * * * *
It was a splendid aparlment. The
plato glass windows were shaded by
orange and whit 6 curtains that lay piled
in gleaming golden beauty upon the
oarpet, the deep ply of which reeeived
Maude Campbell's light footfall and ga*e
no returning ooho
With an impatient gesture she threw
j herself in the embraoo of a uap*oious
I arm-chair, and, her eyes lighted with
anger, ber obeeks flushed, her lips dain.
I lily apart, disposing the pearls within,
she gated at the luxury around.
Flowing laces, rustling satins, droop
ing silks, clinging velvets, diamonds,
Carriages, servants, plate, dinners, admi
ration, envy—all these were the pictures
1 that crowd,d through Mande Campbell's
restless brain as she lay, half in dreams.
A sudden spasm of intense pain throb
bed over ber face ; then she sprang to
her feet, holding her hands tightly over
hedrt.
"Lucy is right. I atu bartering dll
that is dear to me—all I hold
all that I love—for money 1"
She went to the mirror—a tall, gold
framed glass, wboee apex, surrounded by
a winged serpent, with eyes of satanic
allurement, reached ihe ceiling; whose
base rested on a marble stand, which t#o
cupids held on their dimpled shoulders.
A flush of pardonable pride met her
gate as sbe viewed her reflection—and a
glorious reflection it was "Peerless"
her lovers called her, and truly it was
troth.
Suddenly a frown, flrst of thoughtful
ness, then ot sorrow, afterward of anget,
crept over her brows; and with ■ ges
ture of impatienoe, she turned awty
fVom her roview of herself.
"I know lam beautiful. People tell
me so, and I can see it myself. And of
what avail is it unless I can make my
fortune by it y I may be pretty, but I
l am certainly poor; yes, indebted to a
generous charity for the very shoes oi
my feet, tho food I daily eat !"
Her teeth with a very hiss, and
she murmured w herself; "True, Mr.
Mordaupt and little JJpy heve been fafh-'
er and sister lo mo, yet I aui a depend
dent; they are simply almoners of their
own bounty. I must be riub ; I sboull
die were I deprived of the luxuries, th»
elegances that have surrounded me sine*
1 was a tiny little girl."
She arose, aud from % little invalid
drawer drew forth a miniature portrait,
aud, her eyes full of eager, passionaie
light, pressed it to ber lips
"Justin, my darling, this is my lest
caress; it is my farewell I Ob,
you never will know how my heart aeßts
with love for you; how I long to have
you fold me to your heart and (ell me
how you love me ! But, Justin, I can
not marry you You are poor and lam
poor; and—and Mr. Jameson is worth
half a million 1"
With a trembling, icy hand, Maude
closed the drawer ; sbe paced tbe floor a
second, clutching her owu hands in ag
ony of thut unnatural sacrifice. Her
heart made many a superhuman strug
gle ag linst the bond of slavery she un
relenting cast about it; and the etno
-1 tiopless, bewildoringly fair and heartless
( Maude Campbell went forth to fight ber
wny from love and content, to riches aad
ambition
**' * * *
Above them the clear, blue sky,
around them the leafless chestnuts, their
brown urtns all aglow with tbe glt>ry of
the setting autumn day ; beneath tbem
the leaf strewn forest path, where, in a
perfect blaze of war-nth and beauty, lay
piles of orange, russet, crimson, and dull
green f >liage. There tho too stood alone
with Nature, in Nature's vast aisled
temple.
"Maude," and Justin St John's voice
came in a tenderly-lo°ing manner, while
his arm stole around her tapering waist,
"Maude, my darling, the time haa-oome
when T can no hnger refrain Tfl?vc,
you ; I love you, Maude !" lie bowed
to kiss her, his whole face lighted by
hope and joy.
She wheeled aside, then looked up at
him, her wondrous eyes filled with amaze
ment.
"Why, Mr. St.John!"
That was allshe said, but the flush on
ber cheek deepened, and the fire iu her
eye brightened.
"I may repeat it, then ? Come to me,
Maude, and Idt me hear you tell me that
I am as dear to you as are to me. Come,
Maude."
She gently shook ber bead.
"Mr. St Jobn, you must not allow
yourself to be mistaken. Forget what
has passed, and let us finish our walk as
we commenced k—good friends, and
nothing more."
Sbe extended ber band, and Justin
St. Jobn grasped it with a might that
brought a cry of pain to ber lipa.
"Maude Campball, you dare to Mt
aside my offer* of love 1 You who have
t%ught me tbe sweet lesson —yen, By
teacher ? Maude, what does it mean V'
His voice was full of quivering knguiah.
Then, by a mighty effort, Maude si
lenced tbe loyal ory in ber heart, and
looked coldly up at him.
"It means this—simply this. We
never, as long as yon sun shines, can4m
more lo eaoh other than we are to-day—
nor even as much, if you annoy me fur
ther."
Her voiee wts cold and calculating,
for she was thinking of John Jameson
and his half million ; so that she did
not see the oontraoted look of supreme
pain tbat oame over St. Jnha's hand
some faoe, sad the white, haunting quiv
er of his muetacbed lip, as, for an in
stant, ha bent beneath the sudden ferae
of the unexpected blow.
f'Tben, Miss Campbell, wa will return
as we came. But may God keep me in
able hour, when the woman I love teHs
me that I annoy ber by offering her as
honest, as true a love as man ever pos
sessed "
Homeward they went, while tbe sun
sank lower and lower. A damp chill
succeeded tbe genial' warmth ot tbe air,
and, as they silently, gravely bowed
adieu at the house door, a sudden gust
of wind, fresh from the dim forest aisles,
oame shrieking upon them like a wail of
despair to both their bleeding hearts,
a • • • •
The glory of the autumn htd given
way to tbe frost king; and from the win
do* of Lady 'M rdnunt'S palatial home ,
chrerifystreamed Broud bunnenof ruddy
light over tbe tnotr, while within all was
gaiety and reVMry.
Maude CampbeH was there, queen of
grace and beauty, as usual, surrounded
by her admirers at a sovereign by ber
confers.
Lucy Mordaunt, gentle and lovely,
had her time employed as liosteM, while
Maude entertained a large portion trf the
guests.
"Lucy," and Maude's voice eatoe fa a
confidential whinper to Miss Mordaunt,
"let's run to the library to rest B moment.]
or so ; that last dance has fatigued me
wonderfully."
' Arm in arm th« ladiss passed Into tbe
library.
With a weary sigh, Maude threw her
self into an arm chair. .
"Oh, Lucy, I am so tired—not of our
party, but the people—almost of life 1"
Her face was grieved and bitter in iu
cipressiou.
"What! not the envied Miss Camp
bell talking in that strain, so melancho
lio arid forlorn ?" and Luoy leaned her
gun-brighk bead against Maude's shoul
der.
"What nonsense! And yet, Lucy,
dear, when I see you, so luH of hope,
and jny, and animation, I think to my
self, she has all the things to live for—
I none."
Bhe spoke vety bitterly.
"You none, beautiful Maude?"
"Yes, I have cast away all that I ever
did, ever will, oare for. • Lucy, you little
think that I rejected Justin St. John
last October ?'**
"No, Maude!"
"I did. I repeat it. I loved htm !
Oh, Father in heaven, how I loved I im 1
But, Lucy, I must marry a rich man—l
must barter all I hold dear for the love
of ease that governs me with a power
that I cannot withstand I Lucy. I hate
bim ! I loathe him ! I despise him, but
lam going to accept Jobn Jameson
when he proffers me his hand, and all
because tbat hand offers mo a fortune
He will die ! he must die! and then who
knows what his rich, young and haod
somo widow can do ?"
There was a fearful tensioti in bier
Voice—a bright glitter In her eyes, that
frightened timid Lucy.
"Maude, you must not. Yo« aro
wicked to talk so. If yon have spurned
Mr. St. John, it WBB your own fault. If
you marry Mr Jameson, yon must learn
to respect —to loye him !"
"Never i tbe childish dotard! I, Mande
Campbell, to fall id love with Jobn
Jameson !- It is his fortune, Luoy !"
With the same steely ring in her voice,
she returned to tbe saloon.
Half an hour later Mr. Jameson, with
all the gallantry of a youth of twenty,
begged her to grant bim an interview
the next morning.
She allowed it, and the pleasure seek
ers retired to their homes.
• * * *' 1 * * ■
Arrayed in her tasty morning robe,
Maude prooeeded to the parlor to greet
her lov*r.
"It ha* come," she thought, as de
scending the stairs sbe caught a glimpse
of hit bowed form, aB he chatted with
Luoy Mordauat, who Bat sketching by
the window.
At Miude entered tb« door, Lucy
gracefully exoused herself, and went into
the inner parlov.
"Miss Campbell—Miss Mande, if I
may presume to aay it," and Mr. Jame
son made bie most delightful
"I need hardly mention theobjtotof My
call thin morning.' My Intention was to
offer yon n>y heart, my hand, my name
and my fortune.**"
He paused, an 4, if Maude noticed the
dubiousness of hU words, the only bewed
respectfully.
"But, Miss Maude, so old a dotard as
I, whom you loathe, bate, and despise,
wotild be very presumptuous to do h.
Therefore, Miss Maude, I announce the
object of my oall lo be an errand of
thanks—sincere, grateful thanks to you
tbat, when yon discussed this aubjßet BO
freely to Miss Mordannt last evening in
the library, you spoke sufficiently loud
for me, in the text room, to g«4 the ben
efit of it. I rejoice, though tny dream
is over"—here his voioe trembled, in
spite of himself—"l awoke before it
wat too luU:."
Ha burned adieu, and was gone ere
Maude in ber speeabloen surprise and
mortification, was aware of his departure.
A-ery oft pain and rage, she ran
to Abe window to sea litw 4«*»ling the
•Up».
"My dreaas, too, is over. , Fate aeeins
determined to deny me wealth, so I'll
make the bunt of it. I can obtain love,
though " And her love came quicker
as she tbopght of Justin St. Jobn. "He
]o*ea ,w still, I kn*w he does, Justin,
darling, you shall be mine yet 1"
tier faoe beaming with delightful
hope, Maude stepped to tbn door of the
adjoining parlor. Voices arrested ber
attention, and she stopped. Tbe door
was ajar ; she could listen ; she eould
hear ; the could lee ; she did see.
"Lucy, I know it has only been a
couple of months since Maude rejected
my suit. But I have learned to be
thankful for my escape from her merce
nary hands. I have learned to forget
her ; and, Luoy, my own true little girl,
I have learned to Inve you as I never
loved Maude Campbell. Darling, may
I place this ring on your finger—may I
call ynu mine—my very own, forever ?"
"Y jur very own, forever, Justin St.
John !"
He silently placed a spotkling jewel
over her plump little finger.
"They are diamonds, my pet, of the
purest Wdter. I am not Justin St. John,
the poor man, though as a poor man I
have woo my prize. I am Justin Su Jobn
the millionaire, whoae money can outbuy
Mr. Jameson twice over."
Maude Campbell heard the words. Uer
face grew deadly pale, and, with a shiver
that shook her heartstrings and a sigh
that almost carried away her breath, she
turned silently away, a lone woman.
Tbe Dark Biver.
The following address of Mr. Stand
fast, as he stood at tbe "river" and talked
to bis companions, from whom be was
about to be separated, was oalled by Rn
fus Choate "the moßt mellifluous and el
oquent talk that was ever put together in
tbe English language. It will be found
at the close of the second part of "Bun
yan's Pilgrim's Progress." We give it
in the quaint style of the first edition :
"This river has been a terror to many,
yea the thoughts of it also have frighted
me. But now methinks I stand easier;
my foot is fixed upon that upou whioh
tbe feet of the priests that bare tbe Ark
of lite Covenant stood while Israel went
over this Jordan. The waters indeed
are to the palate bitter, and to thestom
soh cold; yet the thoughts of what I
am going to, and of tbn conduct tbat
Wgits me on tbe other side, doth lie as a
glowing coal upon my heart.
"I see myself now at the end of my
journey, my toilsome days are ended, 1
am going to see that bead that was
orowned with thorns, and that face that
was spit upon for ma.
"I have formerly lived by hearsay and
Oaith, but now I go where I shall live by
sight, and shall be witb Him, in whose
company 1 delight myself.
'I have loved to bear my Lord spoken
of, and wherever I have seen the print
of his shoe in the earth, there I have
coveted to set my foot to.
"His name has been to me as a civet
box, yea, sweeter than all perfumes.—
His voice to me has been most sweet,
and his countenance I have more de
sired than they tbat have most desired
the light of thesnn. His word did I
use to gather for my food, and for anti
date* against toy faintings. He hath
held me, and hath kept me from mine
iniquities; yea my steps hath He
strengthened in His way."
And Bunyan adds:
"No* while be was thus in discourse,
hia countenance changed, his strong man
bowed wnder bim, and after be had said,
'Take me, for I am oome unto thee,' ho
sensed to be seen of them. But glori
ous it wna, to see how the open region
was filled with horses and chariots, with
trumpeters and pipers, with singers and
players on stringed instruments to wel
come the pilgrim* as they went up and
followed one another in at tbe beautiful
gale of the oily."
The friendship of an artful man is
mere self interest; you will got nothing,
and may lose much by it.
By imputing aur griefs we balve
them ; by eomtminteativg our j«ya we
dout>l» them.
Bome t.ood, loving, self-saorificing
deed will transform ihe homeliest face
into beauty and sanctity
NUMIiER 2a.
Hemarkabie Mmpw «f
ioi nidi jQjd)
Some years ago a young man holding
' a subordinate position in the fiaat India
Company'* service twice attempted to
deprive himself of life by snapping a
| loaded pistol at his beid. Each time
; the pistol missed Ore. A friend enter-
I ing his roopj shortly afterward, he re
quested him to fire it oat of the window,
I It then went off without any diffioulty.
, Satisfied thus that the w»apoo had been
I duly primed and loaded, the young man
; *P r,n K "P. exclaiming :"I must be pre
-1 served for something great," and
I that moment gave up the idea of suicide,
. lor tome time previous, had been
uppermost in his thoughts. That youog
i man afterward became Lord Clive.
Bacon, the sculptor, when a tender
! boy of five years old, fell Into a pit of a
soap-boiler, and must have perished had
| not a workman, just entering the yasd,
! observed the top of his head.
When Oliver Cromwell was an infant
; a monkey snatched him from his cradle,
leaped with him from a garret window
and ran along the leads of the house
The utmost alarm was excited among
the inmates, and various devices were
used to rescue the child from the guard
ianship of his newly-found protector.—
All were unavailing] his would-be res
cuers had lost oourage and were in de
spair of ever seeing the baby alive again,
when the monkey quietly retraced its
steps and deposited its burden safety
upon the bed. On a subsequent occa
sion the water had well nigh quenched
his insatiable ambition. He fell into a
deep pond, from drowning in which a
clergyman named Johnson waa the sole
instrument of his rescue.
Doddridge, when bom, was so weakly
an infant he was believed to be dead.—
A nurse standing by fancied she saw
signs of vitality. Thus the feeble spark
of life was saved from being extinguished,
and an eniinent author preserved to the
world.
Many >ears hive now elapsed since
thr-e subalterns might have been seen
struggling in the water off St. Helena,
one of tbem peculiarly helpless. He
was saved to live as Arthur Welleeley,
Duke of Wellington, and the famous
hero of Waterloo.
The life of John Newton is but the
history of marvelous deliverances. As
a youth, he had agreed to accompany
some friends on board of a man-of-war.
He arrived too late ; the boat on whioh
his friends had gone was capsized and all
its occupants drowned. On another oc
casion, when tide surveyor io the port of
Liverpool, some business had detained
bitn. to the great surprise of those who
were in the habit of observing his un
deviating punctuality. He went out in
the boat, as heretofore, to inspect a ship,
which blew up before he reached her.
Had be left the shore a few minutes
sooner, he must have perished with the
rest on board.
A Bad Temper.
There are few things more produotive
of evil in domestic life than a thorough
ly bad temper. It does not matter what
form that temper may assume, whether
it is of a sulky kind that maintains per
fect silence for many days, or the madly
passionate, which vents itself in absolute
violence. 11l temper at any age is a bad
thing; it never does anybody any good,
and those who indulge in it feel DO bet
ter for It. After the pas-ion has passed
away one Bees that he has been very
foolish, and knows that others see it, too.
Bad temper in the aged is, perhaps, the
most trying of all. It is, indeed, a pit
iable sight to see the wrinkled cheek of
an old person aflame with anger and paa
sfon. Since anger is useless and an un
speakable misery to its victims, why
should it b& Indulged in at all?
Fiu END*. —There are three aorU of
friends; the Grit in like a torch we meet
in a dark street; the seoond is like a
candle iu tho laoteru that we overtake;
the third is like a link that offers itself
to the stumbling passenger. The met
torch is the sweet-lipped friend, which
lends us the flash of compliment for ft
time, but quiokly leaves us to our fbraitr
darkness The overtaken lantern is tha
true friend, which, though it promise but
a taint light, yet it goes along with na,
as far as it ean, to our journey's end.—
The uffurcd link is the mercenary friend,
which, though it be ready enough to do
us service, yet th*t service hath • ser
vile relation to our bounty.