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JOS. A. nARRIS, Editor FOR THE PUBLIC GOOD. $1.50 PEE ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. VOL. IV. i V CHAPEL HILL, N. C, SATURDAY. MARCH 20, 1880. NO. 23. . . r -? J , -1 r ! : , . "i Entire NEW FALL GOODS AT THE LOWEST PRICES- A Choice Assortment of - . - i Styles and Fabrics at Very Low Prices. 1 Great Success. Prices Further Reduced i coiu a; a jjargum, uuu uu I respectfully InvitC a look froiii dIress goods a Black Silk and Fancy Silks from ... H . LAWNS, GRENADINES, ORGANDIES, KID GLOVES ! I am Headquarter WHITE Piques, Irish Linen1, Bleached Domestic Sheeting, Ac, a very full lot. m CORSETS. HOSIERY I offer many new attractions i 1 NECK WEAR AND NOTIONS. Kew Designs In I adies' Ties, ' White and Colored Zephyr and UMBRELLAS in Newest Designs and Celebrated mak. PARASOLS GENTS' SHIRTS AND CASSIDIERES. 1 Uuudried aid Unlaundried ShirU and Fine Cassimeres., Bought to be -sold Very Low. . - i- ' '., j- - I Carpets, Matting and j Floor Oil Cloth. My Line oflbwe Goods is Equal to any and I Guarantee my A Magnificent Line BlifSSEd-Ali New Designs, for 75 M TTI.wMW. White and Checked, some ot the nest graue, L Ind dutiful Pen, in Rugs, Door Mats of the Best Fabncs, an.1 Fl.wr Oil Cloth in the Bet Extra Quality. . ' OT J Maed Free ;-h pleasure any panics Prompt Attention t J, N. GAMMON, IBmporiilm ' j MAIN STREET, rXJjaHVX, ISortU Caroliua. YOUR - MONEY' SAVE BARB EE'S DRUG STOUH IS HEADQUARTERS j : . , . . For Bare Drugs, Genuine Medicines, &c UT EVERYTHING USUALLY KEPT IN A i . ; j "TIP-TOP" DRUG HOUSE. Stock i to Suit the Times. Everything iiiisrcpreMriuuuuii. nil wliobiiy First-Class Good specialty. FIFTY CENTS upward. i PRESS LINENS, PERCALS, HID CLOVES for Kid Gloves. I - : r i OOODS. and KID GLOVES. in this line this seasou. r, ; . . Ties, Ac. Silks. Fringes, Ac, Ac, Ac. and Second to none in the'State, l"Kll.o ol."- of Tapestry- Cents per yard. - afc . promptness on appl.caUon to Given to Orders oil u? asmun,, I4 AT REST. - Once mora the ripnd year untold Her i enuons, gold embossed; And where the grand oaks. tempest tossed Lift np bare arms, communion holds With Him who thus a bouud has set : For human longing and re&ret! , While blessed Seat, in si imber deep Ondrooping ejelids lajs a htnd, And spreading white wings o er the laai. Bids stars, eternal rigil keep 'Till sleeps sweet influence shall restore' The earth to fruitfulness once more! Thus the full year so lightly rounds Her fluished meed of work, an i stands i Exultant; 'though her folded hands Assures us that all peace abounds, And past all longing and regret Is tbe fair goal her soul has set How differeat we! We trembling stand On our grare's brink and cringing cling;' To all the transient hopes which flin j Their fitful lights along the strand, ! And 'till our star of life has set ' j; Cheat us with longing and r'gretl ; ; Oh! typo of erery thing Divine , . ; : Dear Nature draw us closer jet, And us where norain regret Can our unwdhug souls confine, : ; And fold us in thy Jond embrace. When we shall meet Death face to face! ? The Widow's Wiles. Paul Carroll was one afternoon sitting listlessly on the porch of the "Farmers' Inn," when who should alight from the old' stage but his friend, Harry Coleman. There was a hearty greeting; each had surprised the other by his selection of this rustic re treat. . ' 4Come!" said Coleman, "tell me who she is. Some rustic beauty I'll venture, with cheeks like blush roses." "Ha, ha!" laughed Paul. "Did the green-eyed monster inform you that I was trespassing on your rights?" Harry, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, answered: "I have run down at. the solicitation ofta little cousin of mine. Come, get off that hunting regalia and I will pre-, sent you to the sweetest little cousin in the world." . Paul drawled listlessly: "Well, any thing for a change!" Good-natured Coleman was used to his friend's manner, and only quickened his pace when once they had started. They approached the farm-house as the twilight descended. . . 1jrood evening, gipsy!" said Harry, rais ing his hat. "You see I have kept my word." He hastened towards the old swing gate to receive the merry greeting awaiting him, then said, gaily, "I found my dearest friend at the inn, and have brought hmi with me. Miss Jardine Mr Carroll." Paul opened his keen gray eyes a trifle wider to discern the young girl in the com ing shadow; her mellow, rich voice fell upon his ear so harmoniously and musical ly, that he tried to hear what was. said. This much he did hear, as she tripped ahead, " leaning on her cousin's arm, and talking in an undertone: "I detest that dearest friend of yours! He has shot all my pet squirrels." i 4 'Ha, ha! " laughed Coleman. Yes, he is a cruel fellow; look out for him." Well did Anna Jardine rememoer inose warning words I ' The family and visitors formed a pleasant group. Paul tried his best to define the peculiar charm of this girl. She avoided him; that he knew, and there was a novel ty in the fact. She was young and culti vated, not beautiful, but with a presence bewitching and piquant. She seems ab stracted, not entering into the general cori luwaiinn hilt. R.Q she raised the shv brown eyes there was a language in them that en tered his heart. . One by one 'the rest strolled out. PauJ walked to the piano and, turning over the music, found the popular songs of the day. "Will you sing, Miss Jardine?" he said, almost imploringly. . U JVithout a moment's hesitation she com tO; with his reouest. The sweet con tralto, with its soul stirring pathos, was too grand for common-piace maniu. ddi nrrnll and Anna Jardine had been betrothed one year. He had won her by nktmnx love, and she had en Ilia upi - ' j . throned him king her first love and her laS-Di normil was one of the guests at the X BUI vc."" ' , mansion of Anna's aunt, where she was spending the winter in tne gay ukui a 7a innpr was iriven m his honor. The bewitching woman on the barrister s baaW- like some great light, burst upon the fashionable world. A widow and a blonde ! A woman in her early thir- ff hinA pvpfl that knew now to lies, wnu ou , . j viT,o with nower. She had come among them with reports of unbound- n.n copmpd romnletelv captiva ted by her fascinations, careless of the suf . J . ::f irr iinnn nnfl constant. icing ne was lumuu uv- - To-night, for an instant, he mentaUy contrasted the two, anu pulsedrank to the health of his betrothed. sir jj tMrs. L'Kstranffe's feel- i - KawAnri HpsnriDtion. She was toil- liis v ao uj "w - - t eVrrt-' ,A y-r tn thft niano. and solic fn-au ohA rati tr ft vocal waltz; tne lieu xa.tTTwi, o . brilliant air fell flatly on his ear; there was noreponse in. his heart w im! sang at him. 4 ?J "Ahl fly to the one most dear. v.io h!.trrt.hed to her hiding Place in yonder alcove, and she, crimsoning like a rose with joy, looked his forgiveness and they were one in heart again. m ocpH Rummer with its iireamydays and shifting snadows had come once more, awu - century in Anna's life; within the brown ly wa. written, "LL. U earawt," aad there were tell-tale lines that lay in broken' bars over the fair, girlish brow. Not, how ever, that Paul Carroll neglected any of the; great items that go bo far with the world as regarded his wife's happiness. Carroll was lounging on the steps of a sea: side hotel, with a friend, who remarked, 4 'Have you seen her the new-comer ? She gets up stunningly, I assure you. But talk of angels and they are unfolding their pin ions, for here she comes." He rose with a courtly bow to the magnificently-dressed lady coming toward them. But, to his surprise, Mrs. L'Estrange coolly nodded and rustled on. , Carroll's face, at all times a puzzle, now remained inscrutable. He murmured, "Her coldness is worth a legion of smiles." Clendenning thought it singular that any woman could receive Carroll so coolly, and took renewed .interest in thinking what the result of this spur to the mettle of, the man would be. . , The grand ball of the season had reached its height. It grew tame, particularly to Mrs. Carroll, who had recognized the rival of her girlhood. Now Paul was bending over this bewitch ing woman," and she sang to him once again. She threw off the icy exterior, for "ven geance is sweet." She had not forgotten that one dinner-party, when the shy, brown eyed woman came between them. ; " J . It was all so like a dream to him the white hand resting on his arm, and the cob web handkerchief which she fluttered so prettily. They had wandered from the house. He led her to the shady nook in the vine wreathed corner, where the moon's rays layllike silver bars. ' ' In her seeming embarrassment she tore the rose leaves from "their snowy-resting place ; he did not note the glance and tne scorn that swept her features as the white teeth bit the red lips, acrain. He was enchan ed Paul took the remnant of the mutuatea . . mm m m 1 ! TT ?1 T . . - - - ' - - ... . i rose, thanking her ior inis renc. ner snenue was broken by sobs, and if a mighty power in smiles, what danger in her tears! She said, with averted face, J'Too late for relics ! You are another's, and this interview must end." ! She turned to go'. Paul, with pallid face and luminous eyes, besought her not to leave him without a word of hope that she could love him still. ? f 'I will answer you to-morrow at -the park," she replied. A silent figure, which seemed like statu ary among the odorous evergreens, the dead ly whiteness only relieved by the lace scarf, glided away, and Anna Carroll clasped her hands in agony. , The weak man and wicked woman kept their engagement. He said,- in significant tones, "l have come to hear your answer. Her eyes kindled in triumph, and, with an uplifted glance, she replied, "If you pos sessed my love two years ago, you have it now intensified a hundred times I But, : ah ! you are beyond love's reach." A single horsewoman just then approach ed with a dangerous light m her usually shy eyes. Paul s wife. i ''May I have a word with you, rauir she asked. i He walked slowly by her horse's side. Quietly she drew from her finger the golden circlet, saying; "iaKe u delck. ior ever uuu ever!" ' He thought of the anger of the previous evening and, in order, to avoid a scene, re plied : "We will talk about this hereafter. A ' - ; -m A "11 1 Without uttering a word Anna aasnea from his side. i Paul returned to a deserted room, and as he read his wife's farewell missive his heart was touched; arid he started to follow her, meeting on his way the woman who had come between them. 'Ah! he was under the tyranny of a des pot who made him a fettered -slave, and humiliated him in his own estimation.. The avenue leading to the hotel was thronged with equipages. Paul Carroll leaned back among the cushions of the low phaeton. The conspicuous yellow curls and white plume of the fair widow were tossed by the lake breezes. On their return from the hotel Mrs. L'Es trange noted the recklessness of the man, while the champagne he had taken betray ed itself in his unusual hilarity. He. had taken the reins. A carriage tried to pass them. .Carroll, with an oath goad ed his horse to wildest speed. The rival vehicle was drawn by snow-white horses. . The road grew narrower. Carroll mad dened by strong drink,' heeds not the grasp of the woman whose lightest wish had been his law. ; , "Oh, in mercy, stop!" she pleaded. There was a whizzing of horses' hoofs a fearful crash--a wild scream 'of agony the horses wounded, the carnages broken, and all that was left of elegant, stately Paul Carroll was a mutilated mass. , Mrs. L'Estrange lay in the darkened room, while a noiseless stepj indicated the presence of the careful nurse. : Mrs. Carroll had forgiven the dying wo man whose sin had cost her so dear. The sad broken-hearted wife followed the remains of her husband to the tomb. When she returned to the great throbbing city, many a passer by noted the mute elo quence of the pale, sad face, little dreafn ing of the great tragedy that had occurred on the stasre ot her life, leaving the sequel to unfold when we, too, have played the loot ant iinrl nerhaDS lie awav in some quiet corner awaiting judgment. Modernized Othello. Just previous to the smothering scene in 'f)thPlln." at the N Theatre, recently, and while the curtain was down, the fol iiWrr rntroroftt?ftn . was overheard bv a TT 1 UQ WU ' "What an awfully jealous man Othello ia trt h Riiri. You 11 never De so wueu we are married, will you?" T ohrmlfl en v nnt. " "I can guess how it will end," continued V,n foir nn. "JNOW tne Villain Will UW found out and there will be a reconcilia tion." ; .. L , 'Yes, my dear, I'sa cirtaia UIW 1 Mabel's MLusio Lessons. Young Mabel Vaughan had lived all her life in the West. It was not a very long life, to be sure, for Mabel was only Seven years old, but she had never known ) any other home. ; Mabel ldved the Indians very much! Her papa was a missionary to them ; he had left his pleasant I home and had eone with his wife to teach the dark- skinned Indians. :: The Indians are very fond of 'music, and unfortunately neither Mr, nor Mis. .Vaughan cared for music at all i they had no piano or harmonium, and jthey could sing but very little. But Mabel sang like a lark. She caught up the Indians' songs and sang them constantly to thejr great de light ; and Mr.- and Mrs. Vaughan thought this talent for music ought to-jbie encour aged, so they determined tot send Mabel East, to Mrs. Vaughan's sister, to learn music. It was a sore parting. . , . "Don't be sad, dear child,' said her his eyes, father, while the tears stood in "God will take care of you. Learn all you can, and soon you shall come ljmck again about and teach the Indians how to sing the blessed "Saviour. A day or two after, Mabel and her friend Mrs. Cowie took the train for hevr York. Miss Leslie met them, and Mabel's heart went out to "Aunt Annie" at once, for She was so. bright and happy. At first Mabel could hot keep the tears back aslshe talked about the happy little home she had left. L "Don't cry, darling," said auntie; 44I love you dearly, and I am sure we shall be happy together, and the time wil soon slip away, and then you will be going back again " It all looked ; so strange to 3Iabel "Wha't a lot of houses!" she said. "Where do all the people come 'from? Is there somebody in every house "t V 4Yes, indeed, and this street is only one of the hundreds in this large town." MaDei s eyes openea,wiae m asionisn- ment. "Why, there can't be room to walk about." ' : "Oh yes, we have plenty of room," said auntie, lausrhina:. ! "I'll take you to see the shoos and the Park to-morrow. Now let us take oil our wraps." When they came down stairs again, auntie busied herself in making the tea, and when she turned round, Mabel was standing before the piano. "What is this, auntie?" 4 'That's a mano. dear. Did you never see one before ?" . 'No, never. What a funny thing ! " "Tliat is what you have come; to learn," said auntie. "Shall I show; you how it goes?" And sheeat down and played a few chords, while 3Iabel listened in amaze- ment and deli sht. ; But how can I ever learn it, Aunt An- nie? It looks so difficult I" "Patience and perseverancethat's the way, MaDei. " And tney sat down to tea. . -mm- ta 4 . m . 1 ' a Directly tea was over, Mabel turned to the piano again, and begged for a lesson. "Not to-night, I think, dears you are too tired. We will begin to-morrow. "No, to night, please, auntie, for the In dians sake.'" . . "Come . then, ". said Aunt Annie ; .and they sat down while Mabel learnt the names of the different keys. 4 4 Why need I ; Jearn . to read music, auntie ?" she asked one day. "Why won't it do to play by ear ? ' . - "Because one plays more cdrrcctly by notes ; and Sometimes there are ttines that would be difficult to learn by earj "Well." said Mabel, with a sigh, "IdonT hke it "at all." ! h Have you forgotten papa's last words ?" asked auntie gently. "JNo, said JViaDei "no." men paus ing a moment, she added, "Yes, I did for- cet for a minute, but I'll learn the notes now." . I And she did, and learned so readily and well that at the end of six. months she could read music quite nicely. And every inorninar Mabel and auntie were found at the piano. 'When can I so home?" asked Mabel one morning;. i "I don't know, dear: vovi came for a vear. vou know. ' ... ' - i But the time was nearer than they thought. A letter came from Mr. Vaughan, asking auntie if she would not come out, and fcring; Mabel with her ; and auntie was very glad to go, and as for Mabel, she fairly danced. "Then you 11 see the Indians at ter all I" And she dahced about again. r Just before they staited, a kind friend who had loner Known Mr. Vaiierhan, sent a niano as a nresent. "for Mabel tolteach the j ' : i Indians to sing. v i I "Isn't it good Of Mr. ForbesJ auntie ? Won't we thank him when he Comes to ri io-ht f A nrl won't, thft "Indians be clad! But you must teach them first, you know. because I'm riot big enough." .Tennyson and Mis Family. He belongs to a tuneful family. His father was Georere Clayton Tennyson, a Lincolnshire clerermarr, more lemarkable for size and physical energy than intellec tual gifts; but several of his brothers- there were twelve children in $11 were clever verse-makers at. a very earlyj age, and he seems, therefore, to have come honestly by his singing qualities. He w not, as many bards have been, a child of the peo ple. He is of renowned lineage, and prides himself upon it, even if he does strike occa sional democratic strains, as in "Xiocksley Hall." He claims to be, and is, no doubt, descended from the ancient Norman family of D'Enycourt, his uncle, Charles Tennyr son, having gone so far as to ask permission in add D'Envoonrt to his name. Which he obtained, and was made snobbishly happy thereby. The Tennyson children seem to have had very decided scribbling; tenden cies. It is asserted that the whole dozen wrote stories and rhymes in the parsonage' at Somersly, where they were born, so that nothing better could be expected than that one ofthem should prove to be a celebrated poet. The three eldest sons graduated at Cambridge: Frederic won the prize lor a Qreek peer. Alfred ia his twemtieth year, ducioo -a poem oi some aw uiaua.-yt lines, and about the same .time the twain published for private circulation . a small volume entitled "Poems by the Two Bro thers." Charles, the other brother, assum ed orders; was made Vicar of Grasby, and on inheriting a handsome-estate through his parental grandmother, took her family - name, Turner. Ampie means prevenieu him from inky continuance : but. Jfrederic, kwhen he was past forty, published a collec tion of poems, "Days and Hours." len nyson is in his mode of : composition the very reverse of rapid or inspired. He wreaks himself on expression, spending hours sometimes on a single line. As an example, he is reported to have written 4 'Come into the Garden, Maud," In his poem of "Maud," entirely over fifty times, , and to have occupied three . whole days on six of the lines. No poet has ever worked harder or more faithfully, and he never as sumes to have done anything in a fine frenzy, which indeed, he censures and ridi cules as a pretence of mediocre minds. He holds that genius can accomplish nothing without work; that everything famous In- literature is the result of great labor. His tastes are domestic. He is fond of home and family, though he is likewise fond of nature, takmg many long solitary rambles on the Isle of Wight, where he has lived ever since his marriage, making studies of earth and sky to be used in his poems. ! He may be pronounced very professional. Nobody admires his poetry more than he himself, and he is very much addicted to talking about it. He does not sink the shop when he has anybody to listen to him whom he imagines to be appreciative, lennysou is a genuine type of John Bull. He has virtues and defects inextricably mixed, and one of his defects is inexcusable rudeness ; another is prodigious egotism. He is an illustrious poet, but he is full to the lips of vanity, and is capable on small provocation of becoming a colossal bore. . A Baffled Old Man. There is a baffled old ,m$n in Williams- port, Pa., and he is xlisgusted, too. it seems that he learned that his daughter In tended to elope upon a certain evening with a lover upon whose suit ne trownea o he locked his child up in her room, and sat down stairs listening for the sound of the lover's carriage wheels. But the disgrace ful young man tied rags around the tires of his sulky, so as to muffle the noise, and he drove softly up to the back gate, lie then sent a boisterous, rickety hack around to the front, and engaged the man to make as much noise as he could for the money! When the infuriated father heard it he rushed out with a shot gun just in time to see a female figure jump into the hack and drive, off. He fired two rounds of bucki shot at the concern, rushed out and got his horse, and started in pursuit. Meanwhile the insidious outcast who loved his daughr ter persuaded her to slide down the light ning rod, and then fled away with her in the opposite direction from that the enraged parent had gone. The bereaved old man caught up with the hacs: about eighteen miles out of town, and he not only shot the driver but he burst the door open and dragged forth a man dressed in a water proof cloak. The father was immediately arrested for highway robbery and assault and battery with intent ,o kill, and the pro3ecutors say they will press the suit un less he comes down with a handsome dower for his daughter, and then gives the couple his paternal blessing. There is no use' try ing to explain the mental condition of the bid man. The English is copious and vigor ous, and all that; but it fails utterly in these extreme cases. The Rathskeller. Except in the height of the summer, the. native of Berlin seems so have a de cided preference for underground con vivialitv. He is indifferent to ventilation! , and delights in the darkness.- Alost chaxacr teristic, perhaps, of the nodern places of entertainment is the great range of vaulted drinking cellars under the Rathhaus. Kiag William himself paid them a ceremonial "visit soon after their opening, when he drank to the health of his loyal subjects from a silver flagon of ale. - These cellars "are filled from morning to midnight with a crowd of more than a thousand persons o various ranks, the majority of them eating, smoking and shouting, and all of them steadily drinking." You descend into them bv a flight of steps which lands you in a long passage, from which; there issues .on either side a succession of chambers. each fitted for parties of drinkers and with wSnfe bottles in bins stacked all around. The passage leads to a great circular hall, al ways overflowing, while beyond that ar long-drawn aisles, divided by low arches on massive columns, and especially devoted t beer drinkers. The meats and drinks are as good in their way as the frescoes by clever artists on the walls and ceilingsi This Rathskeller, which is only the chief among several similar establishments draws so well that at .particular hours there are always eager expectants waiting to slip into vacant places. . A Diseoaraged Debcar. ' One could see that he had a grievance as he walked up and down the post office corridor, and pretty soon he met with a friend and began: . "I'll be 'anged if I know what to make of this blarsted country I n "What's the matter with bur great and glorious America?" asked the other. . "Hin HiBgland, God bless her, my gro cer sends nie 'alf a barrel of wine or a box of tea. or ten pounds of coffee at the hend of the year as a present. " "Yes." I "While, hover ere in this frpzen-up country my grocer drinks the wins! himself, blarst 'is heyes! and sends me a statement,' showing that I'm howing 'im a glance of $13 hon account. What sort of lkway his this to hincourage me t run up a sAU Uere kin 1WW" received the Chancellor's msdal for "Tim- . m . cser . J 0 i 4-
The Chapel Hill Ledger (Chapel Hill, N.C.)
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March 20, 1880, edition 1
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