A.ti Independent Family Newspaper: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South.
VOL 6.
LINCOLNTON, N. C, SATURDAY, APRIL 12, 1879.
NO. 306.
PUBLISHED BY
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elected
FRANCIS SILVERS' CONFESSION.
We publish, by request, sajs the Blue
Ridge Blade, the following confession of
Frances Silvers', who was hanged in Mor
ganton on the 12th of July, 1833, for the
murder of her husband.
' This dreadful, dark, and dismal day
Has swept my glories all away,
My mn goes down, my days are past,
And I must leave this world at last.
, Oh ! Lord, what will become of me ?
I am condemned you all now see.
To Heaven or hell my soul must fly,
All in a moment, when I die.
-- - -
Judjre Daniel has m sentence pass'd,
Those prison walls I leave at last,
Nothing to cheer my drooping head
Until I'm numbered with the dead.
-But oh ! that Dreadful Judire I fear ; .
Shall I that awful sentence hear ;
"Depart ye cursed down to hell
And forever there to dwell?"
I know that frightful ghosts I'll see
Gnawing their flesh in misery,
And then and there attended be
For murder in the first decree.
There shall I meet that mournful face. "
Whose blood I. spilled upon this place ; -.With
fl iminjr eyes to me he'll say,
'"Why did youTalrwHjUifilAWiiy ?"
I In feeble hands fell gently down,
His chatteTin- tongue soon iost its sound,
To see his soul and body part
It strikes with terror to my heart.
I took his blooming days away,
Left him no time to God to pray,
And if his sins fall on his head
Must I not bear them in his stead ?
The jealous thought that &rst gave strife
J To make me take my husband's life,
For months and days I spent my tinie
i. Thinking how to commit this crime.
And on a dark and doleful night
! I put his body out of sight,
With flames I tried him to consume
But time would not admit it done.
You all see me and on me gaze,
BeTca refill how you spend your days,
AniLiiever commit this awful crime,
But try to serve your God in time.
My mind on solemn subjects roll ;
My little child, God bless its soul !
All you that are of Adam's race,
Let not my faults this child disgrace.
Farewell good people, you all now see,
What my bad conduct's brought on me
To die of shame and of disgrace
Before this world of human race.
Awful indeed to think of death,
In perfect health to lose my breath,
Farewell my friends, I bid adieu,
Vengeance on me must now pursue.
Great God ! how shall I be forgiven ?
Not fit for earth, not fit for heaven,
But little time to pray .to God,
For now 1 try that awful road.
"Giving In."
It is better to yield a little than
quarrel a great deal. The habit of
standing up, as people call it, for their
(little) rights, is one of the most disa
greeable and undignified in the world.
Life is too 6hort for the perpetual
bickering which attends such a dis
position ; and unless a very moment
ous affair indeed, where other people's
claims and interests arc involved, it is
a question if it is not wiser, happier
and more prudent to yield somewhat
of eur precious rights than squable to
maintain them. True wisdom is first
pure, then peaceable and gentle.
A rich, but parsimonious old gen
tleman, on being taken to' task for his
uneharitableness, 6aid : "True, I don't
give much ; but if 3-00. only knew how
t hurts when I give anything, you
Wouldn't wonder." - -"
A iPOT OF GOLD.
"tJncIo Pardon never shall leave
his money out of th'e family!" said
Miss Katura Bean.
She said it half a dozen times a day
on an average, in the hearing of
Emma Kane, whose cool, unconscious
face had never yet seemed to take in
the hidden meaning.
- It was a delicate, reserved face, of
great.sweetness, yet having a certain
power of biding any strong emotion
of Which the tender heart was capable.
And they were not Dean features
those exquisite lines and curves. The
Dean features were strongand aggres
sive. From a little child, Emma had
secretly experienced a feeling of
dread when viewing Miss Katura's
nose in profile
She had come to the Willows', Par
don Dean's fine farm, when but nine
years old. His younger sister, a
sweet, childless woman, had adopted
the little girl when an infant, and
loved and cherished her as long as
she had a husband and a home.
Losing both in a terrible conflagra
tion, 6he returned to the old home
stead where she had passed her youth,
and, dying soon after, left this little
daughter of her adoption to the ten
der mercies of her brother and sister.
Pardon Dean was an eccentric man,
far advanced in years. Katura was a
hard, unloving woman, between forty
and fifty, stiff in her notions, im
movable in her prejudices. From the
time little Emma was brought to the
Willows, she had looked upon her as
an interloper. Yet, when Lucy died,
she promised her that she would take
care of the child until she was old
enough to take care of herself. . .
More than a decent living she never
meant her to have. As she said
'Uncle Pardon's money should never
go out of the family." For there
were the children of another . brother
to inherit the patrimony a family of
five, all Deans to the back bone.
As for uncle Pardon, as he was
called, he made no demonstration re
garding the little Emma, until the
child had lived with him a year.
Alva-s quiet and sensitive, she
grieved long for her adopted mother,
and under the rule of Miss Katura
grew quiet and sad." Th'e cold, hareh
woman., never -found opportunity to
punish her with blows, but she frown
ed so ominously on the slightest mis
hap that the whole existence of the
child was darkened.
When about ten years old, she ac
cidental- terribly scalded her little
hands, with a pail of boiling water;
and Miss Katura was about to rush
upon the poor child and punish her
irrepressible screams, when uncle
Pardon caught Emma up, and mur
muring, "Poor little dove poor little
dove!" plunged her hands into a bowl
of sweet oil, thus relieving her an
guish. Miss Katura stood aghast. Not but
what she would have .applied means
of alleviation, if the child had patient
ly awaited her leisure, but she in
stinctively resisted any demand made
upon her by the little alien j and
when her brother showed not only
solicitude but tenderness, she was as
tounded and enraged. The next
morning, when he asked how the
child was, she retorted :
"She is well enough. So you have
adopted her, too, have 3-0 u ? 'You
will be leaving her your money next 1"
"I shall do as I please about that,"
he replied, slowly adding, as he rose
from the breakfast-table : "I think
likely I shall leave her a pot of gold."
Miss -Katura was uncertain how
much of earnestness there was in this
but she feared she very much feared,
that the eccentric old man, as self-
willed as herself, had found a soft 6pot
in his heart for the little white face
and blue eyes. Do as she would, she
could not help Emma growing up
pretty and a lady. The beautywas
irrepressible, the refinement irrnate.
Clad in the coarsest homespun, her
slender feet disguised in coarse, ill-
fitting shoes, the sweet voice and fair
face, would yet attract the beholder :
and, in cautious crumbs and snatches,
old Pardon gave her his heart.
Emma soon learned that he loved
her, and'loved him warmly in return ;
but, both dreading, domestic storms,
they never demonstrated affection in
Miss Katura's presence.
But while Emma's life was sweot
ened by the feeling that she had one
friend, the woman's was embittered
by the apprehension that her favorite
nephewsall Deans, as I have said
would lose a penny of tbo Dean for
tune. When Emma was sixteen, she
would have driven her from the house
to earn her own living, but that Linly
Lahe came to the Willows, and then
and there fell in love with Emma, so
that Miss Katura said, in her heart:
'.'It is well. Let him marry her and
take her out of the way. That will
save all gossip and notoriety."
For she knew that the neighbors
whispered among themselves :
"She is hard on Emma Panel"
As for Linly Lane, he was just such
a heart-, generous, handsome fellow
as gentle, loving girls adore; and it
seemed to Emma that a whole jo'ous
spring, full of sunshine, flowers and
bird songs, bad suddenly come into
her life, when he told her that he
loved her but the were poorer than
any pair of robins in the orchard, for
they had nothing to build their nest
Of.
"If you want her," said, Miss Ka
tura, grimly, "take her."
"But I have no practice yet, and no
home," said young Dr. Lane. "If Mr.
Dean would like to help us a little,
however, I would gladly make a be
ginning, and have no doubt but that
we 6 hall succeed fin el."
He knew that Emma had labored
faithfully in the house as a handmaiden
or many ears, and believing that
she deserved the dowry of a daughter
bo had no hesitation in hinting as
much.
. "Uncle Pardon's money never shall
go out of the family !" snapped Miss
Katura.
Seeing how matters lay in this
direction, Dr. Lanc'simply replied :
"Then I can not marry at present."
He was satisfied, however, that
uncle Pardon had warmer feelings for
Emma, and believed that a more gen
erous response could be elicited from
lim.
As for Emma, lie know that he had
so brightened her life that she was
now comparatively content, and he
prepared to commence his practice
opefully. But there were two older
and well-established physicians in the
city, and at first it was up-hill work.
And now, I am sorry to say, Miss
Katura 'showed a spirit utterly veno
mous.
"That fellow isn't going to marry
you, Emma flane, and you had better
go somewhere and earn your living,
instead of waiting around here fur
uncle Pardon's money."
"I am not waiting around here for
uncle Pardon's money," answered
Emma, her gentle eyes flashing at
last with indignation. "I do not want
bis money. I am willing to go away
and prefer earning my living. As for
Dr. Lane, we we shall be married
some time, when he is better off,"
with a maidenly blush on the pure
cheek.
"Umph ! you had better talk to
somebody who can't see. You can't
cheat me about what's going on be
fore my eyes every day. You and
uncle Pardon are as thick as can be
behind my back but you needn't
think to wean him from his own
flesh and blood."
"Hold your tongue!" harshly in
terrupted another voice. "Let the
girl alone ! As for you, Em ma, if 'you
want to marry yonng Lane, tell him
that when I die I will Leave you a pot
of gold ; for '0ir deserve it, if ever a
girl did."
"You shall not!" screamed Miss
Katura.
"1 will 1" shouted old Pardon.
Whether this fit of ange.r was the
cause of it or not, I cannot say, but
that night the old man was stricken
with paralysis. It was the third time
he bad been thus attacked and the
doctor said he could not recover from
it; but he partially recovered, and
lingered some weeks.
"Don't you dare send Emma away,"
be muttered, thickly, to Miss Katura.
"Let her come in here every da and
water the plants. I want to see her."
Miss Katura could have killed her
brother, but she dared not refuse him.
He had always been fond of plants-
his room was full of them and as
Emma " went lightly to and fro,
dusting thecalla leaves, twining the
ivy vines, and supporting the heavy
heads of bursting buds, he watched
her meaningly through his half closed
eyes. In Vain Miss Katura frowned.
At last she said :
I will find his will, and see what
he has left her."
So she commenced a furtive search.
In desks and drawers, in closets,
trunks and boxes, she carefully
searched, and at last discovered, in a
partition of her cccntric brother's
tool-box, the important document.
It was eminently satisfactory.
House, lands and moneys he had left
to the Deans.
She put the paper back carefully.
"It is all right. He has left her
nothing!" she cried, triumphantly.
As for uncle Pardon, bo seemed to
care nothing but to be undisturbed
among his plants. One, a beautiful
foreign vine, with pink blossoms, he
had suspended close to his bed so
near that Emma was obliged to
water it very carefully, lest the
moisture should drip upon the sheets.
Her young heart ached in these
last days on earth of her kind old
friend. How many a dark hour his
smile of indulgence had brightened!
What a power, not to be overthrown,
was he in that austere household !
And now he was slowly fading out of
it.
Almost helpless, and half-insensible,
he lay among the white pillows, and
his hours were numbered.
Dr. Linly Lane was far from her,
too. An epidemic had appeared in an
adjoining town, and be had been sent
for three weeks previously, and had
not returned.
One night, old Pardon grew restless.
The doctor was at his bedside. Miss
Katura bent over him, and there were
servants in the room.
"I am going. I give Emma the
vine with the pink flowers. IVans
plant it in the spring, child. Goodbyegood-bye
!"
And, the ebbing tide of life falling
suddenly, uncle Pardon was dead.
While he lay composed in his grave
clothes, Emma, after pressing a cares
sing hand on the cold brow, which
she could hardly see for her blinding
tears, reached up and took down the
pot of trailing pink blossoms. Turn
ing, she met Miss Katura's tri
umphant smile.
"I wish yon joy of your inheritance,"
she said.
"1 am glud to have it; I want
nothing more," sobbed Emma.
Perhaps the hard woman was re
buked by- the young girl's sincere
grief, for she uttered no more taunts
for days.
On the day of the funeral, Dr. Lane
hurried to the Willows.
"I could not come before," he said
to Emma. "W hat did uncle Pardon
leave you, Emma?"
"You, too?" she asked, reproach
fully, "lie left me the memory of
much kindness, and a pot of pink
blossomed vines, which was long in
his room."
"It is well," was his only answer.
His prospects had brightened. He
had won friends for himself in the ad
joining town, where he had labored
faithfully among the sick and dying,
and had been invited to settle among
them. So he took Emma from her
lonely home at the Willows, and they
commenced their housekeeping in the
prettiest of little villages.
In a sunny bay-window the pink
flowered vine was hung, but it
gradually lost its rosy blossoms and
drooped.
"Uncle Pardon told me to trans
plant it in the spring," said Emma,
one fine March day. "I must do so,
or it will die."
She carefully removed the root and
turned out the earth, and then, won
derful to see, the pot was lined with
gold pieces, so that in a moment she
had counted a thousand dollars I
"I knew it was so, or I gussed at it!"
said her husband. "I was sure he
would outwit that woman."
But Emma bad no feeling of tri
umpt. She only sobbed, gratefully :
"Dear uncle Pardon ! He meant
to take care of me, after all, though 1
was not one of the family."
Invested wisely, the money laid
the founnation of a fortune.
John Newton once said to a lady
with ideas of a pure church : "Well,
madam, if there were a perfect church
on earth, it would cease to be so the
moment you and I entered it."
"Pizun and Ki-Mne."
She wasn't after hair dye or cos
metics, but when the druggist had
finished putting up a prescription to
cure a long-faced bov of a hacking
cough, she turned from the stove and
asked :
"Do you keep drugs and medicines
and pizuns and so on ?"
"Oh ! yes, we keep all such things."
"And ki-nine?"
"Yes, we have quinine."
"Well, I called in to see about git
tin some pizun and some ki-nine, but
I dunno. So many folks have been
slaughtered by druggists' mistakes
that I'm canmost afraid to even ask
forcamfurgum ; tho' I suppose I can
smell camfur gum farther off than
any other woman in Michigan. Have
you ever killed anybody by putting
up morphine for baking powder ?"
"Never."
"Been in the business long?"
"Only twenty-one years."
"WelI,you orter know gum 'Babic
from sweet oil by this time, but some
men are awful keerless. I've had a
brother pizuned by wrong medicine,
and I'm a little shaky. Where is
your ki-nine ?"
"This is it," he replied, as ho took
down the jar.
She wret her finger, pushed it into
the jar and then rubbed it on her
tongue.
"Tastes like it, but I dunno. Sure
that ain't morphine ?"
"Yes, very sure."
"Sure your clerk washed the jar out
clean afore he put the ki-nine in ?"
"Oh ! I washed it myself."
"If this shouldn't be kinine, you'd
have the law put to ou the worst
kind. We've got money in the bank
and we'd never settle for no ten
thousand dollars !"
"I know it to be quinine."
"Well, then, gimme fifteen - cents'
worth, and I want down weight too.
If I'm treated well I'm a grea. hand
to trade at one place ; but the minnit
I see any stinginess or cheatin', a yoke
of oxen couldn't pull me into that
store again."
lie weighed out the drug, labelled
it with great care, and then she said :
"Now I want ten cents worth of
pizun to kill rats."
"What kind ?"
"Why the pizun kind, of course.
Pizun is pizun the world over. Don't
seem as you were used to handling
'em."
"Do you want arsenic,?"
"Certainly ; but I want 3-ou to be
powerful kcerful. I'm a woman of
59, and I've nuss'd the sick ever since
I was a girl, but I never handle pizun
without a chill creepin' up my back.
Where is it ?"
He handed down the jar, and she
smelt the stopper, shook her head,
turned the jar around and whispered :
'That looks a powerful sight like
cream-a-tarter!"
"Oh ! no that's arsenic and no
mistake."
"Well, I've got t take the chances,
I 'spose. I'll take ten cents worth
down weight.; Any one who will be
stingy sellin' pizun, will be stingy in
other things, and I do hate a stingy
person. My first husband was power
ful stingy, and he was struck by
lightning."
When the poison had been weighed
and labelled, she carefully took up the
package and said :
i
"Now, then, write on this that it is
to be kept in the old china tea-pot, on
the third shelf of the pantry, and that
it's for rats. Then write on this ki
nine that it is to be kept in the old
coffee-pot in the cupboard, and that
it's for chills."
The druggist followed orders, and
the old ladyi put the "pizin" in her
pocket and the "ki-nine" in her reti
cule, and want out saying:
"It may be all right, but I dunno.
If my old man is took off instead of
the rats, I'll begin a lawsuit next day
after the funeral !"
A distinguished English professor
of, chemistry has named his five girls
respectively Glycerine, Pepsin, Ethyl,
Methyl and Morphia. We feel sure
that Morphia: must be one of those
nice, soothing kind of girls who calm
a fellow down like a warm flat-iron ;
Glycerine must be the pain-killer of
the family ; Pepsin the cook. As for
Ethyl and Methyl, they are too awfully
scientific for us. Xew York Advertiser.
"Too Much Elewation."
Ho was a new boot-blac but
already seemed quiet at home at the
old stand so long a familiar object on
the line of our daily peregrinations.-
"Sartin, boss ; shine 'cm up in less'n
no time," said ho ; and we mentioned
to tbo hurricane deck of his plaeo of
business.
"Well, yes, boss, not been here long,
but I'6e getting' insight inter der
ways mighty fast. Do ways here,
sah, is different to what dey Is down
in olo Mississipp. Bin Mississipp,
sah ? Fine old State, sah."
"The colored people hero appear to
be quite as happ3 as in any part of
the world," We ventured to remark,
"No, sah ; beg leave to diffah ; ou's
not on do inside, eah ; dar's tod much
e'.ewation ; dat's what's do matter. ,
Give you an instance. Las' week,
you know, sah, do cullud folks had a
ball ; quite a high toned affair, sah.
Well, I engaged a young lady for de
party, sah; ono dat I at dat time
looked on as de pride ob de country,
sab. I am not indifferent to dress,
r r yA T wait vv Tvy!.' A.t. 1 1 I. . . 1
don't every day see do light ob do
sun and went to de residence of do
gal.
"I 'rived at de 'pinted time. Do
gal was in do bes' room an' in her be
clothes, waitin' my arrival on do
scene. Do olo man was dar, an' do
ole woman also figgered in do tab
leaux, wid a few juvenile supernu
merary members ob de family.
"Miss Augusta smilcdon mo in dat
meltin' way ob de ecs dat allers guv
me-a movement of do heart. I was
interjuced to de moro influential mem
bers of do household, an' de discours
was agreeable. Present I suggested
dat it would be well to bo movin' for
de. party an' Miss Augusta rose in all
do pomp and circumstances of her
high-priced attire.
"We arrived on do stoop of do door,
an' offering my arm, I supposed we
should progress. No, sah, not a bit
of it. Dat gal receded. Sho roso
crcc' to an astonishin' bight, an' as
she transfixed me wid her gaze, sho
uttered dese memorablo words:
'Whar's de transpotation ?'
" 'De what ?' says I, feelin' dat suf- :
fin was agoin' wrong.
"'De trans-po-tation ! Whar's do
transpotation ?'
" -What's do transpotation ?' says I.
"De .. wehicle whar's do wehicle?"
sne says.
"I don't know nuffln' 'bout no
wehicle,' says I.
" 'Whar's de kerridge?' says she.
"'De kerridge?' says I. 'I haven't
seen no kerridfje.'
"Mistar Berry, does you pretend to
tell me dat you've come to do ball
without a kerridge ?' and she became
of a still greater bight.
"Why, of course," says I. 'I thought
we could walk. Down in ole 'Mis
sissip de gals think nuffln' of goin'
miles an' miles'
"'So you expects me to hoof it,
Mistah Berry? You tell mo 'boutde
gals in Mississip, Mistah Berry ; do do
gals in Massissip know anything 'bout
proper attire, Mistah Berry?' An'
she guv a sort of kick an' a sling of
her body an' trailed out about four
yards of train.
"De ole man, an' de ole womanj an'
all de rest now put in dar 'pearance,
an' says de ole man, -What's all dia
'fusion of tongues ?'
"Mistah Berry doesn' consider de
honah sufficient to warrant him in de
outlay necessary for do furnishing of
propah transpotation," said Miss
Augusta.
'Sah !' said do olo man ; 'Sah !' said
de olo woman ; 'Sah !' 6aid all de little
members. .
"I said nuffin'."
"Does de niggah 'spect, he's gwino
to lead our darter off on do hoof like
she was a cow ? said de ole woman.
"Who you call niggab, ole woman ?"
says I. "Why, I'so drove better
lookin' heffers nor yours to de plough
in ole Massissip!"
"De gal shriekt!"
"Dar you talk to me and my darter
in dat bituminous manner, said de olo
man, an' he guv mo a lift wid his olo
stogas dat raised me offiu do stoop an
followed it up wid numerous of de
same dat was much assistance to me
in gittin' out do gate.
"Dar's too much elewation, 6ah
creepin' into cullud society. I turns
my back to it, eah."