THE DANBURY REPORTER.
VOLUME 11.
THE REPORTER.
PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY
PEPPER & SONS,
PBOPRIITORB.
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send their favors.
Local Notices will be charged 50 per cent,
higher than above rn-es.
Business Cards will be inserted at Ten Dol
lars per annum.
SAM'L WHITS, J OHS J AKN °SI
G. F. Ponst.LIFKF.
WHITE & BCStiU.MAN,
wholesale dealers in
HATS CAPS, KURS.STRAW GOODS AND
LADIKb' DATS.
No. 318 W. Baltimore street, Baltimore, Md
~ E. M. WILSON, OP N. C.,
WITH
R. W. POWERS & CO.,
WHOLESALE DRUGGISTS,
and dealers in Paints, Oils, Dyes, Varnishes,
French Window GIHS*, 4c.,
Ho. 1306 Main St., Richmond, Va.
Proprietors Aromatic Peruvian Rillert .j- Com
pound Syrup Tolu and }H/d Cherry,
J. w, RANDOLPH & ENGLISH,
BOOKSELLERS, t-TATIONBRS, AND
BLANK-BOOK MAN U F ACTERERB.
1318 Main r.treet, Richmond.
A large Stock j f LA It' HOOKS alicayt on
nol-Gin hand.
A. L. KLTHTF, A. JUDSON WATKINB,
CLAY DKEWRY, STEPHEN 11 HUOUKS
A. L. EI,LETT & CO.,
importers and jobbers of
DRY GOODS AND NOTIONS.
Nos. 10, 12 and 14 Twelfth street (between
vtnin and Gary)
nl-ly RICHMOND, VA.
O FMDAY, ALBERT JONES
DAY & JONES,
Manufacturers ot
SADDLERY, HARNESS, COLLARS,
TRUNKS, £o.
No. 336 W. Baltimore street, Baltimore, Md.
aol-ly
W. A. TUCKER, H - C - SMITH
8 B. BPRAGINS .
TFCKER, SMITH & CO.,
Manufacturers and Wholesale Dealers in
BOOTS; SHOES; HATS AND CAPS.
250 Baltimore street, Baltimore, Md.
01-ly.
JNO W HOLLAND
T. A. BRYAN & CO.,
Manufacturers o( FRENCH and AMERICAN
CANDItCiS, in every variety, and
wholesale dealers iu
FRUITS, KWl>. CANNKD GOODS, CI
GARS,
.339 and 341 Baltimore Street, Baltimore, Md.
Orders from Merchants solicited. "ftSi.
O W. THORN, J E ETCniSON.
C. W. THORN & CO.,
wholesale dealers in
HATS, CAPS. STRAW GOODS, AND
LADIES' TRIiIMBD HATS.
1306 Main Street, Richmond, Va.
I>. H. STEVENSON,
MORT. W. ROGERS, L. BLINOLUFF
STEVENSON, ROGERS Si CO.,
wholesale
BOOTS AND SHOES,
524 W. Baltimore Street, (near Howard,)
Baltimore, lid,
~ B. F. KING
WITH
JOUNSON, SUTTON & GO.,
DRY GOODS.
Nos. 326 and 328 Baltimore street; N. E. cor
ner Howard,
BALTIMORE MD.
T. W. JOHNSON, R. M. BUTTON,
J. K. R. Clt ABBE, O. J. JOHNSON.
kol-ly.
BKNJAMIN BUSSELL^
Manufacturer and Wholesale Dealer in
Boot HI and Shoew,
Nos 16 IP South Howard street,
(New Building.)
BALTIMORE, MD.
8. A. WII.LI AMSON op N. C. novl9-12m
B. J. k R. E. BEST,
WITH
HENRY 80NNEB0RN & CO.,
WHOLESALE CLOTHIERS.
If) Hanover Street, (between German and
Lombard Streets,)
BALTIMORE, MD.
B SONNRJIOUN, B ULIMLINK
47-1y
11. 11. MAR.IINDALE,
with
WM. J. C. DULANY k CO.
Stationers' and Booksellers' Ware
house.
SCHOOL BOOKS A SPECIALTY.
t-UUionery of «I 1 kinds. Wrapping Paper,
Twines, Bonnet Hoards, Paper Uliods
(332 W BALTIMOIO ST., BALTIMORE, MD.
WILLUM ORVRIES, WILLIAM R. DRVKIKS,
CHRISTIAN DKVITLKB, OF SOLOMON KIMMCLL.
WILLIAM DKVRIKS & UO.,
Importers and Jobbeisof
Foreißu and Domestic Dry Goods aua
i> otitis,
,*l2 West Baltimore 81reel,(between Howard
and Liberty,) liAl.Tl >IOKE.
JOH M J. HAIKKB, OL VA, LKVI H. SMALL, ofw. VA.
HAINES & SMALL,
 21 S. Howard Street, Baltimore, Md.
>- Manufacturers aod Wholesale Dealers in
Hood and Willow Ware,
CORDAGE, BRUSHKS, BROOMS, DEMI
JOHNS, PAI ER, SIEVES, TWINES, KTO.
DANBURY, N. C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 3, 1878.
AN EMBROIDERED STOCKING.
She was very pretty—but there came
a time when I tion't think I cured in the
least for her beauty—her soul was so
much more attractive than her body.—
She was no humble wild-flower maiden,
but a woman who had received a mag
nificent dower of blue blood, including
talent and the highest attributes of char
acter and all that culture could develop
in a beautiful and intellectual woman
was hers; all that wealth could bestow
upon her Bhe possessed. She had the
go'd fortune to have no singularity of
nature, but all was a symmetrical and
harmonious whole.
I loved her, and I possessed the hum
bleness of true love. The more inti
mately I knew her, she made me con
scious of things that were mean in my
self. Out of this feeling grew jealously
of other men.
A bitter jealousy. She was of too
sunny and generous a temper to pick for
flaws, norcouldshe know a man as often
men knew bim.
She could not understand that Dr.
Cosgrove was irritable in private as be
was su ive and agreeable in public, and I
would uot tell her that Capt. Langdale
seldom pays his debts. These were but
two of Iter uiauy admirers, but they
were both handsomer and showier than
myself In time, I was miserable on
their ucc iunt.
I cannot now, iu cold blood, accuse
her of coquetry, but Stepheoie St. Jean
was of French blood on ber father's side.
Besides speaking that language perfectly
she had the French woman's secret of
fascination. A trifle more in vivacity,
when surrounded by geutlemen, made
her utterly irresistible.
I saw and felt tbe charm, and could
not content myself in the thought that
in the quiet hours we passed together
I knew myself dear to her. Many a
winter evening had we sat together on
the little velvet sofa before the drawing
rcom fire, secure from intrusion, her
beautiful head resting on my breast,
content in her eyes, happiness in her
smile. And yet swearing ber to be the
proudest and most delicate of women, I
was madly jealous of the other men.
For month* £ would not see her alone.
She was one of a large family, and she
had a favorite cousin, Lily Lawton, who
was ber constant companion.
She was very young, and a bright,
sweet little thing; but of late she had
seemed droopiug, as if out oi health,
aod Stephenie had been unusually pro
tective ami kiud.
For Stephanie's sake I often took Lily
oat to drive, though her exceeding sim
plicity often bored me.
I could not but wonder thatStephenie
associated with her so constantly; but
Lily worshipped her magnificent cousin,
and the latter delighted in being kind
to those weaker than herself. "Kitten,"
sho called Lily, and there had been
something especially kittenish in the
girl's round, bright gray eyes, and play
lul graceful ways.
Her special charm was gone now. Sbe
was a pale, faded, spiritless little thing.
Stephenie kept her constantly under ber
wing
"Kitten must have green fields and
pastures now," she Buid. "The May
suns are getting strong, and 1, too, long
for a country trip. We are going to
Branchville, and shall be absent a week.
Mind you are a good boy till we come
back."
I smiled, but on the wrong side of my
face.
"A weefc ?" I murmured.
"A week and one day," she laughed.
"[ shall be grny.headed when you
corno back," I said, suiiliug at my own
vexation.
She laughed more gaily than ever;
then a shadow fell ovrr her face.
"1» is for Lily's sake," she whispered.
"Look at her."
Lily lay in a hammock on the piam,
her hands lying listlessly in ber lap, not
a shade of color in her cheek.
The tho-ight came to me that the child
was bound for the land of shadows.
"She must have help soon," said Step
henie.
"i'e6," I answered.
1 saw them off in the morning train,
Kitten with her oheek on Stephenie's
shoulder I oarried the picture they
made before my eyes all the week—my
magnificent, generous brunette support
ing the failing strength of that pale,
fair-faced child. And I bad never loved
her better in my life than in this new
phase.
A week and a day, Stephenie had
said : therefore I hud no expeo'alion
of seeing her, when, at the end of five
days, I entered the drawing-room of her
father's house to find an opera glafs I
bad left there.
I bad told the servant at tbe hall dr.or
what my errand was, and tbat I knew
just where to look for tho glass. But on
the threshold of the apartment my steps
were arrested by tho sound of Step
henie's voice.
A rush of delight went over me. I
was about to spring forward, when I
discovered that Stephenie was seated in
the aloove of an inner room be«ide a
gentleman.
I stood irresolute. A curtain of blue
(ilk fell aoroes tbe upper part of tbe fig
ures, but upon it their shadows lay as
they sat against tho sunny window be
yond, and plainly outlined Stephenie's
beautiful bead and Capt Laogdale's pro
file
I did not mean to be a listener to
their conversation, but as I demurred
about about going fotward I distinctly
beard Stephenie say :
"I love you utterly, with all my heart.
I am not ashamed to say this, because you
will never see me again." .
She continued talking, but ber voice
fell to a low monotone, and I realized
my position, and stumbled backward out
of tbe room and found myself in the
street, going dizzily home. Like some
hunted thing I rushed to my room and
hid myself from all eyes.
I remember throwing myself upon a
couch and then starting up aod walking
tbe room, looking at my pale face in the
glass, taking up books and opening as if
to read them, doing all sorts of uninten
tional things in a mechanical way, trying
not to think of tbe revelation tbat bad
come to me, because it seemed tbat I
should go mad if I did. But a haunt
ing voice was crying in my ear, "StppV
enie—lost Stepheuie !"
"No, no, she is mine !" I cried, in de
spair. "I have loved ber so long and so
well, and she is my only darling 1 What
could I do without ber ? Ob, God, what
can I do
For tbe truth would not be gained,
and must be faced With mine own
ears I heard ber say to another man, "I
love you," and what I may have mur
mured in momonts of impatience, I knew
in my soul that Stepheoie St. Jean wis
no coquette.
Captain Langdale bad been ordered to
bis regiment, and she had probably re
turned bome to bid him farewell. A
soldier's life is always in peril, and in
tbe moment of parting Stephenie had
confessed to him what I had never sus
pected.
Heaven knows that I had no reason,
and I had good cause to think different
ly. She had never plighted ber troth
to me, but by word aod look and sweet
privileges she had accepted my love, and
I had such utter faith in her truth that
the possibility of ber deceiving me had
never occurred to my mind. The warm
est and tenderest intimacy existed be
tween us, and yet she had never given
ber promise to marry me.
Sick at heart, 1 realised it now. re
viewing the past in the hateful light of
my sudden discovery. I was a lawyer,
and in the long hours of that utterly
sleepless night I studied the case untir
ingly as if it had not been my own.
It was not a matter of mistaken iden
tity. Leaving out the consideration that
my heart would never in this world mis
take Stephenie's voice, I distinctly saw
the outline of he - bust, and her dress
revealed below the ourtain was very fa
miliar to me. It WHS cream colored silk
trimmed with black lace. On her foot
she wore a pretty black satin shoe, with
a silver buckle, and the instep showed
a cream-colored stocking, embroidered
with silken buds aod vines.
The dress and stocking, with its em
broidery, were all of (be same tint, and
the whole costume revealed but two
O"lors —cream and black. As she sat
within the blue curtain tbe artistic effect
was very beautiful
Ah, no! it was Stephenie, peerless
among women, and in heartsick misery I
at length gave up the lost cause.
The gray dawn was stealing in at my
windows, its sweet bret zes bathing n>y
aebing temples, when I sat down at my
deak and penned my farewell letter :
"Stephenie—l oounit trust myself to
see you again. 1 am weak as a child,
and worn out with such suffering as I
pr»y you may never know. Inadver
tently, yesterday, I beard you confess
your heart to Capt. Langdale. I heard
you say that you loved hint Then y;U
do not love uie ! God only knows how
utterly I believed you did, and what
j fervent gratitude and happiness there
; was to me in that belief. Ob, my dar
j lin& 1 how could you let me wreck my
lieart on the shoals of your mere care
less liking? I was only a congenial
a pleasant companion Your
i*beart was his ; and yet —farewell!"
This passionate, incoherent letter I di
rected to ber, then called my valet.
"Pierre, pack some trunks. We will
I go down to Black Hocks for tbe sum
! uier."
I The man stared.
'•Pardoc, Monsieur, it is very dull
down there. No gunning, no fiohing,
j and no young ladies!"
'"And consequently no waiting maids
■ for you to ogle !" I answered witb a
drears attempt ut ease and lightness of
spirits
Hut the fellow still looked at me.
"Monsier looks very ill. I will bid
the doctor call on you, and, if he con
sents we will go to that horrid place to
-1 morrow."
"Nonsense! I shall be well enough af
ter a bath and some breakfa|(. Don't
'be impertinent Pierre. Wo start on the
10 o'clock train."
Black Rocks was not frequently by
i fashionable society; this was my only
I reason for choosing it. The Neptune
; House, where I took up my abode, was
a large rambling, old fashing inn, not
the least in the world like a modern
seaside hotel.
My valet, of oourse, arranged all the
conveniences of my life; consequently I
did not know the dnrk skinned old wo
man who one day presented herself at
the door of my apartment, with a long
covered basket upon her arm. My man
was dusting a coat upon the back of the
piazza.
'■There is some one at the door, Pierre,"
I said to him as 1 sat at the window with
a book whioh I was not reading
"It is the washerwoman. She is a
very nioe laundress, Monsieur."
"Yes," I said, indifferently. "Pay
her."
He received the curiously covered
basket, settled tho bill and the woman
departed.
Pierre prepared to arrange my linen
by opening a bureau drawer. I turned
a page of my book as be withdrew the
white oloth from the basket, when my
attention was again arrested by his ex
olamations :
• "Jfon Dieu ! Lacae, ruffles."
"What ii the matter, Pierre f"
"These are Indies' things. Here is &
wrapper witb fluted ruffles, white skirts,
and—ha, ha I—embroidered stookings.
Mees Betsey, Mees Betsey, couie back."
He dropped the basket on the floor
and rushed after the old woman I
glanced within and saw a maes of snowy
laoe and embroderies, beautilul as a bed
of liles. The olothing wos too dainty
and expensive to belong to any bat a
i lady, and I wondered idly who the own
er might be. In one corner was a pile
j of hosiery. 'Whe stookings wero not
white—one pair was of cream color,
with a silk embroidery ot buds and vines,
and while I was oareleasly considering
bow and where such exquisite needle
work was done, the thought flashed
across me that I had seen that very pat
tern of silken rosebuds on Stephenh St.
Jean's foot.
My hand trembled. I drppped my
book as Pierre came rushing back with
I the panting won.an.
"Yea, I have left the wrong basket
i The other, outside, is yours, air. Hope
you'll excuse me. I'm getting old and
forgetful."
"Stay!" I said, breathlessly. "Whom
are the lady's things for?" "For the
young lady down stairs, who came last
week, sir—Miss St. Jean. I'll take them
away direotly."
Unheeding the wondering eyes of the
two, I snatched up a handkerchief on
whioh I saw a name marked. Yea, it
was "Stephenie J''
I grew faint and turned away to hide
my emotion. My hand shook as I
snatched up my hat and rushed out uf
doora.
The MO «M setting aorosa the wator.
Tbe waves danced blood-red in its light.
The air had grown cool, and a pair of
singing shore birds flew before me as I
sought a favorite seat of mine, retired
among tbe rock.«.
I had not composed my mind when
there was a rustle of silk, and a soft
hand was laid on my arm
"Forrest!"
"Stephenie!"
"You know I am hero, now, and so I
have come lo speak to you."
She sat down close beside me, facing
me, her arm across my knee, l>er clear
eyes steadily meetit g mine; and, before
she spoke a word, I took that fair hand
tenderly, feeling that she was to be re
stored to me.
"Forrest, I have been here a week,
wishing to sec you, yet repelled by your
determined seclusion. If the old wo
man called Aunt Betsey, who frequents
ibis place, had not told me to night that
accident had revealed my presenoo to
you, I should have lost my last remnant
of courago, and returned borne without
speaking to you.
"What have you to say to me now,
Stephenie ?"
"You overheard me talking, as you
supposed, to Capt. Langdale, Forrest I
was reading a letter."
"A letter ?"
"I have a startling story to tell Lis
ten All the spring my cousin Lily's
malady bad seemed strange to me. I
could not understand her loss of strength
and color, until I learned by occupying
the nest apartment to ber at Branch
ville, tbat she spent her nights in weep
ing While I wondered that she should
have a secret trouble from me, and per
plexed myself how to gain ber confi
dence, I entered her room one morning,
and fouud it to be full of a strange sick
ening scent, while Lily lay scnsoless upon
tbe bed. Sho bad taken an opiate pow
erful enough to produce death, and upon
the table lay two letters. One was ad
dre.-.scd to me, the other to Cupt. Lung
dale. , ,
"As soon as I had procured assistance,
and a physician's help to save her life, I
read the letter the poor child had ad
dressed to me. Poor Kitten ! ber heart
was breaking, for she bad set it upon one
friend, and she believed that he loved
me. lam speaking of Captain Lang
dale. He is handsome, gay and itcbo
naire, and the poor girl believed hiui
necessary to her existence. So she con
fessed to mo, yet ber heart seemed to
bold no bitterness for her supposed rival.
"She had always loved me, she said,
and I was more worthy of her hero. But
she was so pitifully miserable, poot little
| thing! Well, I considered the matter
carefully. I was only an hour's ride
. from Captain Langdale, and I resolved
to see hits. Lily wis sleeping a restor
| alive slumbfr, and I could go to the city
and return in about three hours. I did
\ so. When I reached the depot I sent a
| carriage for him to como to our house.
1 He came and read the let.ter. Our sol
dier has a tender beurt: he was affected
to tears. He gavo me tho letter to read,
bidding mo to read it aloud. As 1 did
so, you entered and heard the words
which so misled you."
Her eyes were swimming as they met
mine; but after an instant she went on :
''Captain Langdale showed deeper and
' more delicate feeling than I had sup
- posed him capable of.
"'lf little Lily thinks such a harum
scarum fellow as I am worth dying for,
! 1 ought to make myself worthy tbe
\ blessing of such loye,' he said ; and
added: 'I will give myself to Kittco to
morrow, if sho wants me, and I will be
• better man than I ever have been, for
i ber take.'
"So," said Stephenie, brightening,
i "there is to be a marriage in early au
tumn. My Lily is quite hippy in the
1 prospect of sharing a soldier's life, and
—aod" —blushing radiantly, aod flash
ing one beauteous look into my eyes—
"there may be a double wedding, if you
please, dear 1"
I tell my wile my htppiness was saved
by such a fragile thing as an embroid
ered stocking—certainly lor this world,
and I believe for the next.
A little fellow, five or six years old,
who had been wearing undershirts muoh
1 too small for him, was one day, after
having been washed, put into a garment
as much too large us the other had been
too small. Our six year old shrugged
his shoulders, shook himself, walked
! around, and finally burst out with, "Ma,
1 do feel awlul louesoiue io this shirt!"
- NUMBER 30.
Plevna, the Plaoe ef Horrors
A correspondent writes from Plevna:
The first day of my residence in Plevna
was spent in an inspection of the hospi
tals. Our party placed itself under the
guidance of Dr. Ityan, a young English
surgeon in the Turkish service, and set
out lor the chief buildint?, in which the
wounded were bestowed. When we
reached the main hospital we encoun.
tered a scene of horror which went quite
unspeakably beyond all our previous ex
periences lam authorized by the gen
tlemen I accompanied to say that it is
quite beyond the power of language to
exaggerate their opinion of the deplora
blo and hideous condition of the wound
ed. If I could present you with an ad
equate picture of this dreadful place, I
should produce a record which would
dwarf DeFue's description of the plague.
But to attempt such a picture would be
to shock decency by every line. I ven
ture to believe the horrors of this homo
ef filth and agony unique and singular.
The chambers were large and lofty, and
there were reasonable facilities for venti
lation, but the odors which filled every
one of them were sickening past all
words. Wounded men in every stage of
disease and filth and pain littered tho
floors. The stagnant miseries had over
flowed the corridors and on to the vory
stairs, and men with fractures forty days
old, lay unattended and helpless, side by
side with cases of raving fever and con
fluent smallpox. If the reader will pain
himself by thinking into what foul aban
donment of nas'iness one wounded man
might fall if left absolutely unattended A
for a week, and will then multiply that ™
imagination by a thousand, he may be
gin to conceive the state of things which
so horrified men accustomed to the sighta
of war and the ravages of disease.
A Reunion after Many Tears.
The State, of Richmond, Va., has the
following pathetic little Btory: Mauy
years a young gentleman of this
city, of good character and honorable
connections, had the misfortune to fall
out with his wife—a beautiful girl of
only eighteen summers. He speedily
arranged his business affairs, and with
out formality took an abrupt leave of his
wife and sweet little babe. He traveled
far and lingered long in many strange
lands, without communicating intelli
gence of his whereabouts, and withont
knowing, or caring to know, the fate of
his dear ones at home. In the mean
time (he little ono had passed away, and
the wife broken hearted acd disconso
late, kept the faith she had pledged at
the altar. Mano years had elapsedsinee
her truant husband had left her, and in
all that time it was her habit to visittbe
little grave of her dead infant, with the
same deep mourning dresj she had don
ned the day of its buriai. Late in the
dusk of the evening, or, loter still, in the
silver she-sn of the rising moon, when no
observant eye was there to molest her
devotion, she might have have been seen
bending in deepest grief over the grave
of her precious little one.
A few evenings ago, itso ohanoed that
fate brought her husband back to this
city, who, immediately upon his arrival,
sought out the little grave, where, by
the dim twilight, he enoountered a
strange figure in black, in the attitade
we have described above. A heavy veil
hid the face, but his was opec and clear
and seemed unaltered. The discovery
of eithcr's identity was but a moment's
time —a groan— a shriek— and husband
and wife firmly clasped in loving em
brace
We give no names. The affair is sa
crediy and profoundly confidential.
GBNKRAL INSKNSIBILITY TO AN IMPOR
TANT TRUTH. —This, namely,— that the
misery ot human life is made up of large
masses, each separated from the other
by certain intervals. One yecr, the
death of a child ; years after, a failure
in trade; after another longer or shorter
interval, a (laughter may have married
unhappily ; —in all but the singularly
fortunate, the intergral parts that oom
pose the sum total of the unhappineesof
a man's life, are early oounted and dir.
tinctly remembered. Tne happiness of
life, on the Coutrary, is made up of mi
nute frictions—the little soon-forgotten
charities of a kiss, a smile, a kind look,
a heart felt oompliuie'it in the disguise
of a playful raillery, and the countless
other infinitesimalsof pleasurable thought
and b enial feeling.— Coleridge.