Newspapers / Spirit of the Age … / July 5, 1871, edition 1 / Page 1
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L ( j- - FRIEND' OF TEfMRXilCE. "7 FRlEtlD "OF TEMPERANCE. 1 1 0rfc'U ORGAN OF THE ORDIB CF TK t FXttSDS ft- r jld vjsb tisbmenth. A limited n amber of JLdYerttsemeuts . : JPUBLISITEDQiYi- BALfclQH, N. C. 7 : .TERMS;..!..;.! ia will b inserted hi ibis paper at the FOLLOWING BATES; SPACE. 1 Mo '2 Ma. 3 Ma. CM. 1 Fr, One copy one yean.... ........ v. ..$t 00 " six months 1 25 1 Square. 2 50 400 S SO 7 00 76 625 6 25 8 60 1160 13 90 17 00 8 00 18 00 10 60 2 Squares, 41 three months...;. 75 3 4 . Colu'n 800 10 00 .CLUBS: 19 60 10 00 16 60 14 00 256 50 00 Clabs of ?etk:r aeT ; names will be re- j ceived at ............ $1.75 each. i Column, 21 00 1 24 50 RAIilSKiai tNV1 04 tfpAY.JTOY: 1871, , t NO. 10., 1 Coln'n 24 00 24 6016 0057 OOjlOOOC -1 .j 4 fc 1 i ' I ' rvY -3 r.rpv 'V7 111 II !ft "t.i:, i n ' ':rJ-r .- .n ' 'R;- 12 00 20 00 25 00 300(1 seoe 70 ot ,!! 1. i ! : v John I itan'd tthl54 bb elbW&alr, " My toft hand rests npbn bU hair Hair wboM surer u dearer to me .Than U the gold of earth could be ; " Aad toy eyes of brown " r t ! Look tenderly down 5 On John, my John. The firelight leaps, and laughs and warms Wraps us both in its ruddy arms John, as he sits in the bearth-g)oW red, , Me with my hands on his dear old, head ' Encircling us both V ' . Like a ring of troth, v Me and my John. . , His form has lost its early grace, K- Wrinkles reston his kindly face; -. ?, His brow ao longer is, smooth and fair, Tot time has left its autograph there ;; But a noble prize, In my loving eyes, Is John, ray John. "My lovp," he says, and lifts his hands, Browned by the sun of other lan'ds, In tender clasp on mine to lay ; "How long ago was out wedding-day-V I nmile through my tears, J - -And say ''Years and years, ,; ? . r . My John, dear John." : We say no more, the firelight glows: Both of us muse, on what who knows 1; My hands drop down in mute caress Each throb of my heart is a wish to bless . With a wife's best worth." The heart and the hearth Of John, my John. 4 Stoni Confer. ioHE i WAS reform BY MRS. CARRIE Mi' SMITH. ' :. Oh ! Merciful Father help me tothere was a gloomy foreboding , of bear this crushing weight cf sorrow, Give me irrace to do tho r'mh't." This aiiouized prayer 'was uttered by Elma Baldwin as she knelt in her chamber. The cause of this great grief can i bo briefly told. She was betrothed to a young man ot splend id talents and who was rising to fame.. lie was a noble looking man with a dignified bearing, and a cour teous manner. '-But lately there had been rumors that Charles Foster was drinking a little too much, ami some even feared that .he was s over stepping the bounds of "moderate drinking:" To day Elma had seen her worst fears; realized. She had seen her idol reeling and staggering along the street, arid when . he saw lier, he attempted to, raise his hat -and bow, but the attempt was too much for his gravitation and he had pitched headlong iu the mire. El ma had hastened hom-e and fastened herseltin her own room, and gave utterance to tho wail that begins this story j. What was she to do ? She could not trust herself with a man who had no control over his appetite No, she could never be a drunkard's wife, for1 then she wiust 6ink to hi level," as the hope would be vain to lift him to hers. No she would nev er mat ry him, unless he took aT to tal abstinence pledge. r bho vaald see him when he was sober and tell him plaialy ad soberly what her resolution, was. -When she had made this resolve she lelt : calmer, and went about her daily tasts as -mal. The time of trial came, and she met it firmly. Charles refnsed to take the pledge, and she asked to be released from the engagement. lie was prond, and gave the release without a rcmonstrance,"although he could not torbear to taunt her with a want of faith m him. '-Tos, I havo a" want of faith, tor it you love drink better than you do me, it is; better that yon cling to what you love best. But 1 cmenibcr there will come a time when you will'see and acknowledge the wisdom of my de cision. Oh! Charles, talce my advice,- and never, never drink any more," No Elma, I cannot, you do not know or understand the surround ings of men ; they must drink,i"or lose caste." Thus they parted. After the first storm of grief was over, Elma lived a quiet, useful life, in her home growing more gentle as time past.. We will leave her and follow the wanderer. : The loss of Elma was a bitter trial to him, and die deter mined to go far away from home and try, to live- without her J5ut .wher should he go ? Ho did not wish to see-or hear from any he had ever known, and so he concluded to go.Uie far West. His iiournoy by -railroad to St. Louis wasoon made, and then. he set out to travel ralon'e. Ho bought him a tood ;horge .-and whatever ho deemed necessary for :his couifurt, not forgetting a flask of good randy; Th us; equipped , I ne T6tartea."-ue onrneyea siowiy westward, and 1 byH-he varied and beautifat scenery; was, through ihe day, diverted partially from thought of what had ooc formed hii bappis less but which; was now gone forev er : but when night slut - out all these beauties, and he was forced to seek shelter in some.rude and' lowly cabin or mnst oass the hoars of darkness withpiit any shelter save the blue Bkv : then the waves of thought would purge oyer his brajn, and threaten to overwhelm tiipi. ". i Then ha would. taka Uoa. brandy flask, and from its Lethean depths seek oblivion ; soon he would be wrapped . in a d reamlet.s el amber. AVhen he had been traveling in this way for ten day?, he was obliged to take the shelter of a large tree 'that grew on the .margin of -a beautiful stream, and make it his home for the uight. The country had grown trary, all the medicines they gave jwilder and houses farther apart, and him did not have any effect. Night for the la9t ten miles he had no seen came, and I the Indian woman no traces of habitations ; the roads thought him so sick that there was were less distinctly marked, and for no use to stand guard; and all went some distance he had followed a" to bed; This ".was what Charles mere(path, but I whether made by wanted and prayed for. .No soon man or beast he could not tell. In er did he find tbem al! wrapt in this isolated situation the night had slumber, than he arose noiselessly, falleh, and the large tree offered the and crept out of the wigwam. He only shelter visible. Added to this furnished himself with a blanket evil, and alter he had eten his lunch and tethered his horse, ihe sat down 8nd leaned against the tree ; but his mouguw uw uaus, anu ue uveu uie past over again with ten told added anguish. Sometime passed in the deep silence and darkness, when he - . - , started up and satd, rhis"-will nev- er do, I will take a lar&e dose of the autidote lor the blues and . go . to sleep the light of day will exorcise glllu visiumw. -r m Accordingly he drank a little deep- er of the contents- of 1 the, flask, ; and! lay down to sleep, wrapped, in -his blanket.-How long he slept he nev- er knew, but whyn he awoke it was amid darkness and confusion ; such horrid yells and shrieks as he never dreamed could be uttered by hu- man beings.! Ilq could not com- prehend what it meant, or where he was, for. his brain was stiff under the influence of the brandy. But too soon he was made to understand . it alL A straggling party of Indians had come across him and were now exulting over his arrest. They soon kindled a Are and by its light pro ceeded to hold council to determine what should be done with hist. He could not understand what was said, but he was made to stand in the centre of a circle, and by- their ges - tures he. could comprehend that some wro infavor of death and some of -captivity. At length the council broke up, and he was secure- ly bound and placed upon his horse, and the whole band started in a southerly -direction.' They traveled for three days very rapidly, not making any stops thatcould be avoid- ed, and m all that tme there was seen no sign of civilized life, and. the country grew wilder and wilder, Charles Foster was now- a captive, but what was to be his fate he could not divine. He was allowed to ride story. Many friends offered to loan for most of the time, but he judged him money to go back to his old that it was hot from any humane home, but he resolved to be inde t'eeliug toward himself, but to has- pendent and earn it by his own ex ten the journey he could hot ertions. walk as swiftly as his red captors He found employment, applied wished. At the close of the third himself industriously, and in six day they came to an Indian village month3 was out of all debt and had whefe they were welcomed by all earnea enough besides, to clothe its inhabitants, .the next day he was led out and placed in the midst of a circle of Indians who were -to act in the capacity of judges. After wnat seemed to him an age, his ef fects were brought in and given to the chief of the party -that had cap- tured him, and he was led off to the ugliest brave of them all, and made to understand that he was to be his slave. Then began "a? life .of hard ship and abuse. To one .reared as he had been, the mode of his ;pres ent life was hard enough, but added to this he was forced to perform the most menial seRvicea,:-anjl receive the abuse ot a drunken tyrant. He .was thechKif of the tribe, and each, par ty i that weut from the ?- village brought back a supply of whiskey, of- which a large share fell to the chief. -Charles now had ample.time to studv the efft-ctsof drinking. At pst!ie dld " not think ' the liquor j maaoTnem'worse, otti as umo wore? onvhei)ecamH convinced of the vil elSjCU bfthje demoa'arink.? 4 f I tr ' :Nw'l would think Of Elma and her gentle pleadings for his for mation; and of her decision not to ntarYy him unless he would abstain from drink. " How hi wished1 that he had not been so stubborn. Bat regrets were vain. He tried sever al times to escape,' but!' was too closel v 1 watched. In this -wav a vearwent bv. He had leained to I tndersUna some of the Indian dia- . .. -B 4e asd on day heheardihe uX of a general hnnt, one that was to last for some time and in which all the braves were to join. "When they had p;one a" day or two he feisrned .sickness, and the chiefs wife alldwed him to go to the wig- n i warn and lie down. But he did ap- pear to get any better ; on the con- and some food, and an old hatchet, and set forth. Guided by the stars, her traveled all nicht, and when day Hght came found a hiding place, ate a small portion of his food and lay dovn to rest. He travelled thus by niffht for three nicrhts and sleDt bv day. As he was about to set out on o . . CD 1 - "J the fourth night, he heard voices and botsteps approaching. He hid him uif and listened. -Soon ho heard WOrds of his own languao-e and his joy was so great that he rushed out, regardless of the consequence. But it proved to be a party of trappers, and not any one who would molest him. Thev asked him so manv (lues trtns, and all talked at once that it confused him in his weak state, for his food was all gone and he was veiy hungry ; he sank fainting to the ground. An old trapper bid all the rest stand-back while he loosed his belt, chafed bis hand and batbei his head in cold water ; life came back to-him just as one ot them said : "Here, give him a snort out-er this, and that'll fetch the dead to life," at the same time handing out a, flask of liquor. And now Charles had an opportunity to know how good his promises were that he had made when ifl.captivfty, which were, to touch one drop of the accursed cause 1 of all his misery- It all came back to him, and he raised up and gently, yet firmly refused fthel drink. He told them his story, and they, in their rough but kind way expressed their pity for him and assured hiaa that they would help him and guide I him baek to the civilized world. The journey baek was toilsome and perilous, and after great fatigue they again reached St. Louis. But here he was completely prostrated, and although he was without means or clothing, all his wants were supplied by those who had( learned his sad himself nicely, and take him , back to his native place. He had - worked faithfully for this end, and nowvthat it could be gained his heart misgive him. Doubt upon doubt arose, and was combatted. The worst one was concerning Elma, "How would she receive him ; perhaps she was married.;" and at that thought all the old anguish came back, "Could he live without Jierr? No. But it was his own doiqg.that he had lost her, it would be a just punishment for his great sin." But he resolved tcjput an end to .these doubts, and started for home, "ffwo -years had gone by since he had traveled this road with bitter ieelings, and now he returned hum Died and made bet- ter. through aftliction. W e will norj dwell on his homeward journey or oh his meeting with Elma, for that was too sacred to admit the third rjartv. but tell tou mat mere was a hew mcmblidrd'ed ythe temper ance lodge,' wholiLi nien to its high est offices dncef &t&tfocn after there w aweddmgat 'which Charles and Elma played'p prominent part! I All this bappWe nlany years ago, and now Carlesofrtells his ear ly history to hifqung friends, and warns his sons tobewafe of the bowl that had almostwtecked their fath er. and bids theia listen to tho voice of those who love them most. El- ma da"llJ : thank;45o4 that He gave her strength to do-thejight. FIV MINUTES WORK. BY MRS. FRANCES D. GAGE. Here, Lizzie, I wish you would put a few stitches into my coat ; it s getting so shabby. "It's so Frank ; but really I think yon had best take it to the tailor." 'Take it to a tailor I By ireorge ! but that's a huge idea. Why, there's not five minutes' work to be done, and the tailor would charge a dol ar. J1 f I suppose he would, but I don't see how I can do it to-day. Walter is very fretful,5 and you know he kept me awake nearly all night.' "Little-imp! It does not seem tome there ever was so cross a young one Always some excuse ! Well, j on must mend my coat, any how." "I will try and find time." "Try ! just let him " squall ! 'twill do him good strengthen his lungs." 'Then, youkn'6w, it is ironing day.' "Well, how" many more "excuses ? Fll put it on, rips and all, if you are going to make a fuss." J "Oh, no Frank, I did not mean to maker a fuss ; but it's along job, and one I am not used to ; and with my dinner to get, and baby, and ironing I do hot see yet, how I can get it done. But I'll do my best." j Such was the conversation that passed between a young husband and a wife of eighteen -months standing. Frank Burton was what the! world calls a real driver. He made any thing that went through his: hands insure to his own benefit. Everybody liked him because he was so frank, and withal so honest and upright in all his dealings with his customers. Ie was well ebucated for a business man; lived in society ; had made up his mind that be could support a wife, and,according to bis reckoning, save something to boot. " Yes, to be sure he could. There were six dol lars a week for board, "one dollar a week for washing, and then quarters and dimes innumerable for taking bis lady acquaintances to ride,' to the theatre, to ice cream saloons, ball, operas, etc. ' " j "By George! he exclaimed, as he east up his yearly aeeoat, "that's huge ; enough to breik a fellow ; a thousand a year ; it won't do ; I'll marry and settle down !" So he applied to Lizzie Forsyth to be his wife; and he was soon in possession of her. j . A snug house was rented, and the work of supporting a wife began in earnest. The five rooms cost two hundred dollars a year, and were piettily furnished. Lizzie pefered to do all her work. Sometimes by her needle she .earned a dollar extra. Then, as it was a little lonesome for Frank, he bi ought home several clerks as day boarders, at four dol lars a week. Still, with all this, he would tell his acquaintances how much less it,cost him to live now he : ! supported a -wife. He never seemed for a moment to realize that she it was who was saving all -these ex penses, and that if;he had not earn ed a dollar, her .busy hands would have paid the rent and kept him from starving. : i i So -th e matter stood when he asked his wi feXo mend his j coat. Lizzie drew a deep sigh after he was gone, and hurried .her dishes away as fast as possible. - ' ' The coat was of -broadcloth, . and was his redding garment ; but -it was well nigh wearing out, broken un der the furm&ytthe cord and lining in rags, the sleeve dinings-broken lose, buttons worn off; in fine, there w.as nearly a day's work,.Sbe.6at down to the coat with hearty good will, de termined to do her best. Her needle flew, fast, but every moment it had to be laid down to Bee to dinner or hush the baby. The hours wore away, and though she did all she possibly could, the job was still un done at sundown. . .Walter cried incessantly. He looked pale, and his eyes were dim. She then remembered Frank's words, "let him squall," and let him cry half an hour or more. Oh, how it wearied her to hear her darling cry for its mother. Tears swam in her eyes ar she thought of her hard day's work'and thewant ''et appreciation, of her labor. She ' knew she was making his old coat look almost as well as new. But he would never think of the toil she had put upon it. "And what if he don't,'' she .mental ly said; "I shall in my own spirit know all I have done, and that is enough." But Lizzie was Btrong hearted as well as loving and dutiful. So she shook off her discontent, and became as cheerful as possible. Tnen she worried through supper getting, and with much managing had all things done by the time that Frank oamo in with his companions. H 'My coat done Lizzie ?' "No, not quite." "There's a woman for ye, boys. One half of them would let a hus band go out of the elbows a .week before thev wonld turn aside from any plan of their own. All the iron ing completed, I'll be bound, Lizzie." , Lizzie was taking her biscnit on of the oven, and the young men did not-ee the deep flush of pain (ha flashed over her weary features. "Will you bring in a pitcher of water, please ?" she said pleasant- 'There it is again ; when I was a bach' I had nothing to do but hand my coat over to the tailor, pay him a dollar, and 'twas done in ajiffyii and not 'any "grumbling. No water to fetch when a fellow's tired, eith- er. Lizzie was nervous, was tired with household work and care. She could not endure his badinage,' although half playful. She hastily set the biscuit on the table, and 6aying simply "supper is ready," stepped in the bedroom and then burst into tears. Her tears did not flow long though she was deeply and wrong fully hurt in her feelings. Her heart gained in its natural relief, and after pretending that : she was getting Walter asleep (which she actually jdid) washed' her ilishes, "and sat down again to the coat. .V- 'l f J Frank sat watching' her flying fingers for ad hour or two, "as he laughed and talked with his friend, thinking to himself that every turn would be the last. At nine o'clock she had set the last stitch. The coat looked like a new one all around. As she finished, she looked up with still a shade of sadness upon her brow. There, Frank, I have mended your coat thoroughly. I guess it will last another year now.1' "Quite a job, wasn't it ? longer than I thought," said he, degreca tingly. "How much clear cash have you made to-day, Frank ?" asked Lizzie, in , a very earnest tone. "What do you want to know that tor ?" was his answer.. "For my own satisfaction ; cer tainly I should feel an interest in all of your affairs."' "Well, I think the shop has cleared twenty dollars." s "How much do you count your own services worth f" "Not less than five dollars a day." "How many hours do you labor ?" "Ten is theJegal time now-a-da'ys. I don't generally iork that many. But what are all these questions for?' ".Because, '.Frank, we are husband and wife. 'We expect .to live :the rest of our lives together, and if there is harmony in our marriage re lation, there must be -justice and light. You may call me daily to appreciate anything -you - can do. 3Tou have earned five dollars to-day .i and the -shop has . cleared .twenty. Xet to.save.y-oa one dollar, I worked ten hours on your. coat, and six on your breakfast, dinner and supper, and making your home pleasant and comfortable. fTo save you that dol lar, I have had to harry all day, to put all my work out of my line, and to really neglect our darling boy, who should be our r first care, . and I the last . thing under any circum-Jand stances, to be set aside." , Ito I had not thought of that." "I know you h?d not, Frank, so I shall freely forgive you, but I must insist that hereafter I , may be al- lowed to be fpy own judge of what work I had best do, and shall notlness is branded all over with de- expect to be threatened, nor hear 1 myself accused of not being willing J to do my duty,", i' J'rank.Jelthe force of hei words j and sat silent, Oue thing-more, Frank. I want to say while I am about it, that I don't want to hear you talking about J supporting your wife. I will not j be supported while I am able to support myself. I find on lookirg over my books, that the profits of my labor amount to fivo dollars a week, and the board of yourself, my self, and the baby beside. Then I do all your extra work and my own. All this saving has gone into 'ycur I capital to be invested, and to helpjan financier of the chureh family of you make your twenty dollars a I day. Out of this comes the five dol- lars you call the worth of 3 our day's work, while I must labor with weary I limbs .and aohing head and eyes to save you one dollar, in mending an 1 old coat, which when done, would not sell tor the amount of vour ten hour's work." "You are making out a pretty strong case against me, Lizzie." "No, Frank, not a case against you ; I could not do that : but I am stating facts. One thing more. I have been at work three hours since unusuamcasures. Ira , was intcrro supper,' and you have been entirely gad by some of the leading Sha- idle, not even rocking the cradle, which I have been obhgred to do half a dozea times." l "Lizzie, don't say another word, I and I'll never do so again" said Frank, springing 'from his cbairto jog the cradle, where the boylfTWal cestling. "You Bhall never mend another coat." "Yes. but I will " answered Liz. zie, advancing to the cradle,1 "only don't tell me ten hours' work can bo done in five minutes, nor 'ask me to let the baby squall again." ' She lifted Walter from the cradle. They stooped to kiss his fair, rosy cheek but made a mistake, and kissed each other, while Frank whis pered : -"God bless you, Lizzie, I never tho'fc of all this before. I won't do it again. - ' ' : 1 Six -years' have -passed by and Frank has kept hisword. : r BfUctcfc How Not to J$e BeautjU A vacant mind takes all the mean ing out of the fairest faee. A sen sual disposition deforms the hand somest leatures. A eold, selfish heart shrivels and distorts the best looks. A mean, groveling spirit takes all tha dignity out of the fig ure and all the character out of the countenance. A cherished hatred transforms tho most beautiful linea ments into an image of ugliness. . It is as impossible to preserve good looks with a brood of bad pas sions feeding on the blood, a set of low lovea tramping through the heart, and a selfish disdainful spirit enthroned in the will, as to preserve the ' beauty of an elegant maneion with a litter of swine in the base ment,, a tribe of gypsies, in the par lor, and owls and vultures in .the upper part. Badness and beauty will no more keep company a great while than poison will consort with health, or an elegant carving sur vive the furnace fire. The experi ment of putting them together has been tried for thousands of -years, but with .one unvarying result. : : 1 Stand -on -one of the crowded streets and note the passerby, and any -ono.can see:how a vacant, mind has made a vacant eye, how a thoughUesflftimlessmind.has .robbed the features of expression; howvan ity has made everything - about its victim petty; how frivolity has faded the lustre of the countenance ;, how rbaby thoughts have made baby faces? . how pride has cut disdain Sato tho features and the face a chronic sneer; how selfishness has shriveled, and wrinkled, and withered up the per souaiity j how hatred has deformed demonized those who yielded its power; how- every bad pas- leion has taraed tell-tale and publish- Jed its disgraceful story in the lines of the face and the look of the eye ; how the old. man who has given himself up to avcry Bort of wicked forraity and repulsiveness and he will get a new idea of what retribu- ! tion is. This may not be all, but it is terrible this transforming of a faee - oocafult'of hope and loveliness into deformity and repulsiveness ;. then tho rose blushing on its stalk, now ashes and brand. Annual of IVirenoloyy and Physiogomy. From the Boston TraTeler, June 9. A Shaker Elopement. Pittefield was thrown into nn ab normal state of excitement on Thurs day morning by a report that Ira Lawson, the leading business man tQe Hancock bhakers, had eloped on the Previus evening with Sister iiAlz!X Y an v alen, a matronly and prepossessing iaay 01 aoout His own ager ana eoine loose change for their 1186 and convenience. The following particulars of the great sensatiou have been pnbhsbed : The first (known of bis intended departure wassterday noon. The prepara- mods 01 iue wupie excitea some iit- tie surprise m the minds of the Ska ker sisters just alter the dinner hour, and led to inquiries as to suoh Ke5? aQU aumiueu iransiy ms mten uu 01 tasing leave that evening. and gave his reason therefor. He expressed his intention of returning ih wa week or ten rjays," for the pur- pose of adjusting all matters of busi luess, and bfgiving his successor an ln8,ght into his way of doing things, ana mst reappearanoo is connaenliy expected. The" ynung couple are ahout 38 or 35 years of age, and in inir reiauous ai vue ouaiter oociety have enjoyed those privileges of so cial intercourse that tire individuals of the opposite sex, possessing liko inclinations, are too apt to conduco 10 relations of a more intimate chaN acter, and which go to prove f tho satisfaction of nearly every one that "man was not made to live alone" nor woman either. The grist mill of the Shakers has been, controlled almost exclusively by Mr, Liwson, Day before yesterday lie was at the mill, and requested a squaring" up of the books and osb by the uuUer4 Sir. Power, which was shortly an complished, A car ring e and driver, iu the best style .of the Pittsfield livery, sppeared before the large brick residence ol the Church Socie ty last evening, at 8 o'clock, and Lawson, with bis companion, took their departure from the Hancock Shakers, where both have lived from childhood, both grown into the con fidence and esteem of the fShaker Society, and both attained to a po sition of influence among the breth ren and sisters. i Speak kindlttohim. A farmer once saved a very poor boy from drowning. After bis restoratjop be said -to himj What can I do for you, my boy? ' Speak a kind word to me some times," replied the boy a the tears gushed from bis eyes. "I ain't got a mother like some of them." A kind word ? Think of it. That farmer had it in bis power Jo give :that boy money, clothes, playthings,, but the poor boy craved nothing so much as a kind word now and then. If the farmer had ever so little heart .the boy must certainly (have had -the .wish gratified, j I jS. kind word ? You "nave many of .them spoken to you dady, amj you don't think much of their value-.: but that poor, boy an your .village at whom everybody laughs, would think . that he had found a treasure if some one would speak a Jcirid word Lto him. Suppose you speaJs it - the next time you meet him, .instead of laughing at him. Then watch him and see bow ho looks.
Spirit of the Age [1873-1???] (Raleigh, NC)
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July 5, 1871, edition 1
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