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site III-wich IS PUBLISHED BY THE DISPATCH PUBLISHING WAIT, R, F. MORRIS, - - - - Publisher. E. W. MORRIS, • Local Editor and Agent. BAYLUS CADE, - - - - Editor. juBSCRIFTION FRICE $iTo1ebTeAR IS 1DYA1CL fl@FA.il communications to Tiie Dis patch should be sent to Baylus Cade, Editor, Lock Box 1U3, Louisburg, N. C. flgyAlladvertisements must be banded in by Tuesday evening or they will be left over until next issue. } I WONDER. HELEN A. MANVILLE. I wonder when the day will be, When Death shall come to tell to me The Story that vve all must hear; When, with the silence drawing near I feel my hold on earth so weak My pale lips have no power to speak Of anguish or of ecstaCy. Ah. lowly house the grasses under, When will ye ope to welcome me Your silent guest to be, I wonder? , I wonder if it will be spring, When o’er my bead the birds will sing Their first sweet song [not set to words? And which of all the, many' birds Will»be the first to carol there. When, I forever done with eaie. Just like a child tired out at play. Sleep all the night and jail the day, ' So peacefully my green roof under, Will it be autumn time or May, Winter or summer time, I wonder? I wonder if I shall he glad— To leave the pain I long have had? Or, if friends who love me so. But with reluctance 1 shall go? Go out upon that journey long So voiceless 1 shall sinjg no song, Ah, chain of life’s fair wrap and woof When will your bright links drop asunder? When'will I sleep beneath the roof Thatched with the violet*, I wonder? —Toledo Blade. THE CASKET'S KEY. BY 1/ CY H, HOOPER. When Chester Seabok, i\ young wealthy, intelligent, and-ambitious of literary fame, went to Italy to collect materials and to eouSrtlt authorities before baginning his projected trag edy of “Ciesar B rgji j.” ii s f; iends aml_relalives'in New jYork were far from anticipating, tliej actual' results of bis researches. These had brought ahum Ins aefjuainteneY with a certain Dr. Alexander MaV niTan aged phy sician of Milan, w o claimed descent from one of the collateral branches of the Borgia ijunuy. The old doc tor’s grand daughter, Lucrezia Marini, was wonderfully beaut5 fu I, an Italian blende, growing with the freshness of extreuie youth, being then hardly seventeen, and with ail the Ins re o! a loveliness which, is her grand father declared, revived and repro duced- the charms of her of the ) same name who was the famous bride of Duke Alfonso of Ferrara. The tragedy remained unwritten, and Chester Seabrook took to wifeths dazzling creature. If, wedding in baste. 1m afterward repented at lei sure, the outside world was destined never to know. li is. married life lasted a little over one year. His brilliant Italian wife died in- giving birth to a son, and the young widower returned to his native land with his litile .child, po sibly; a wiser man, but certainly a sadder one It was an ominous fact that - he never referred to his wife in any way, nor to the ex periences of his lew months of mat rimony. A miniature, painted on ivory and reproducing the glowing yet delicate beauty of Li e fair Lucre zia, was all that remained to him of that episode in his hfe* Tiiat, and the boy, who had received the name of Louis, and who bore well his transfer to the United States, grow and thriving as though he had been born under the shadow of the Stars and Stripes. When Louis was a little over twelve years of age his father died suddenly of typhoid pndumonia. Lie had1 one onty sister, Mrs. Richard Jdarsden, and to her and her husband he bequeathed the guardianship of his son and that son’s large fortune. It was a healthy natuaed and happy family in whieu the boy grew to man hood. Mr3 Marsdeh’s three sous were ail older than Louis, and did not, it is true, takh very kindly to their cousin. But her only daughter little Grace was so^n • years his junior, and, as is hften the case in such instances with intelligent, pre cocious little girls, she developed a great fancy for her mpbdy boy cousin regularly took him under her -protec tion. The poor bo\’ needed all the affec tion that could possibly be bestowed TELL BOTH SIDES, AND TAKE THE CONSEQUENCES. i 1-111 ' ■ -■.^., -- .- ■ ' ■ ■■■ ircxL. 1. FRANKLINTON, N. C., NOVEMBER 4,1887. 3STO. 10. upon him. He was never strong, and fa's disposition was gloomy and mor bid to a degree that was extra ordinary in one that was so great a fayovorite of fortune. He was shy and silent to a painful extent, and, despite his Italian origin, he de veloped no taste for either art or music. He decided early in life to become a physician, but, after study ing medicine for some few years in a in a desultory, languid way, devoting the chief part of his tima to investi gations concerning the nature and properties of poisons, he suddenly announced that, on attaining his ma jority, he had made up his mind to relinquish all idea of studying a pro fession. And he likewise astonished Mr, and Mrs. Marsden by making iorroal proposals for the hand of Grace. These proposals were negatived at once, and decidedly, by Mr. Mars den. “You are both of you too young to think of such a thing as maariage, or even of an engagement, Louis.” ! is uncle made answer. . ‘ You are only just twenty-one, and Grace is but a few week3 over sixteen. Moreover, 1 have decided objections to the marriage of first cou-dns-” “Yon do not knew to what you d om me, uncle,” was the gloomy response of tiie young man. “Grace i is alt that I have to 1 ve for upon j earth, and if I lose her - •‘.Now, do not tal it nonsense, I Louis,” responded Richard Matsden. | briskly* but not unkindly. ‘-Grace j is too much of a child to bo adowed ! to li ^ten to 3'our proffers ol aff-c ion. ; Sue ca-es no more for you than she i does for Ned. or Harry or Frank. : You are like a brother to her—noth ! iug more—and l do not mean to have j her mind disturbed by anything like j love-making. Besides, you have seen nothing of the world, as you should do before choosing a wife and set tling d wn to matrimony and qui ! etude Go abroad—spend the next 'two years in European travel, and | then-” “And then you will give Grace to ! me?,’ eagerly asked the youth, his pale face flushing and his dark eyes glowing as he spoke. “I make no promise; I will enter into no compact with you on that subject. You and Grace must both : be entirely free, and if either of you should fall in love with some one else “I cannot ad nit the ex.stcr.ce of sticha possibility as1 far as I cm con . ", | eerned,” Louis made answer, pas 1 sionately. i “Neve'rless such tilings are pos ' stb'e, and' have often occurred, es : pecially where two such children as | you both are were concerned. Now | let rnc hear nothing more on this sub ject.- I shall send Grace to stay with her annt, Mrs. Elavjn, in Washing ington, until you are gone, and I | feel seriously displeased with )ou if you broacli to her any subject con j nected with love and matrimony be i foie her departure. | And so well and carefully did ! Mrs. Marsden (who was at once ac quainted by her husband with all the | details of the affair) watch over her | daughter, that Grace went away for her visit wholly unconscious of the conquest she had made of her coasifi’s ; affections. She was, to tell the truth, i so delighted at the idea of a journey to Washington, of a sojourn with her i favorite aunt (whose daughter Alice ! waf about her ow* age) and of all the things slie meant to see and do, that she lost sight of the fact that Cousin Louis was going to sail for Europe ; iu a few weeks, and that she would I not see him again for a long time. In fact, the peculiarly morbid dispo sition of the of the young man had finally becoms repellent to her bright nature, and though she was always affectionate and kind to him, she fell unconsciously, a certain degree *ol (relief m the thought of his absccnce, i “Tou must not forget me Grace,” j ! he said, fervently, at the moment of j ! her departure. And the young girl | answered, gavly : “No fear of that, Louis. Even if you never write to 'any of us, I shall always remember you. For you are ray cousin, you know—just the same to me as one ef ! my brothers.” 1 Louis was about to utter some t protestation respecting this announce : meat on Grace’s part; hut a signifi cant touch on his shoulder from the ! hand of Mr. Marsden recalled that ! gentleman’s stern prohibitions, and I he contented himself with kissing ! with fervor the little hand that Grace ; frankly placed within his own, un i heeding the fresh young face that was held up to him for a parting salute. “How odd you are, Louis, not to kiss me good-by 1” she cried, gaydy, j as she sprang .into the carriage; “re I member, you must write your first \ letter from Rome to me. And be sure you tell me what you think ! about St. Peter’s and the Cdlosseum. I wish I were going with you to see ' them all.” “If you only were!” muttered Louis, .as the carriaue drove away. “ There goes ray guardian angel, and I must go forth alone to meet the de ; mon.” 'A lew weeks later Louis Seabrook saiieii from New York for Europe. I He did ‘not fail to write to Grace more than one impassionate love lettei* shortly after his arrival, but the child, perplexed, unsympathiziag, and half provoked with what she | called ‘Cousin Louis's foolishness,” ! made no response to Lis fervent pro testations. Louis took the hint, and ■the correspondence thereafter was ; conducted on a more trauq'u 1 footing. To this change a sharp reproof f ont Mr. Marsdeu, and a treat of forbid ding altogether any interchange pf letters, probably contributed largely ! The traveler wrote but seldom, bnt ! he often sent tokens of regard and j remembrance to his uncled family, ; and especially to Grace. One of | these was a tine copy of the cele ! brated portrait of Caesar Borgia, by | Raphael, which is one of the noted ad treasures of. the Bdrghese Palace. Au i inT.be strangely beautitui face, wLh the evil tendencies of the inner nature looking from the large eyes a..d curving the full red lips, Mrs. Marsden recognized with a shudder a strong resemblance to the counte nance of her nephew. Indeed, he al luded to the likeness of Liujself in ! one of the infrequent letters received from him during tiis sojourn in Romo. “1 must be a true descendant of the Borgias,” he wrote, “for my likeness to the Raphael portrait has been commented upon even by total Yran igcis, and when I went to see my I great grandfather, Dr. Marini, when | 1 passed »through Milan, the other day, his first exclamation on bebold i me was; ‘You are like your mother’s race.’ By-the-way, what a wonderful old man he is! 1 have promised to pay him a long visit on my way back to Paris, and he tells me that he will then confine to my keeping su dry family relics of great importance. I confess that 1 am very curious to see him. lie is --nearly ninety years old now, but preserves ali his facul ties uni tn. ait%i.” A few months la*er Louis wrote that his promised visit had been paid, and that Dr. Marini had placed in his hands some curious and antique objects, several of which had at one time belonged to t e famous family ; of Pope Alexander Borgia. “Amongst these,” be wrote, “is an ivory casket of exquisite and artistic workman ship. It possess certain singular i properties which I shall describe when we meet.” Next came the 1 of the death of the old doctor, wh3 ; seemed to haye lived thus long for f the express purpose of bestowing his cherished heirlooms on his great grandson and sole direct descendant. The two years that had been fixed as the period of young Seabrook’s absence had nearly come to an end, and he had already written to an nouncer the date at which he would sail for home, when he received from Mrs. Marsden the news of Grace’s engagement to a young talented law | yer, Stuart Hasting by name. The match was one that was satisfactory in every way to Mr, and Mrs. Mars den, and to do them justice, they had both looked upon the attachment of Louis for his cousin as a mere boyish passion that had not survived the tests of time and absence. This let ter received no response, but Louis wrote a few hurried lines to Grace, declaring bis intention of being pres ent at her marriage. “And to prove to my pretty cousin that I bear her no malice for the way that she lias trifled with my affections,'’ hs wrote: “I will bring her a wedding present such as few brides in this nineteenth century have ever seen,” But it was not-ill the day before that fixed for the ceremony that Louis made his appearance at the | house of his aunt. He received a ! warm welcome from Mrs, Marsden, i who had always looked upon him as j one of h®r own childred. | ‘/You have grown tali and manly, ' Louis,” she s dd, after the first greet ings were at a i end, “but you look wind, haggard and feverish. Are you suffering from malaria? You must 1 not fall ill on the very day of your re turn—the eve of Grace’s wedding • day. Your playmate of bygone days • woulil feel sorely grieved if you were not to be present to morrow.” | “Ah, yes—where is G ace?—I had forget ten Grace!” the young man responded, hurriedly. “I want to see her—I have my wedding gift ready : for her, and I want to present it to her myself.” “Go into the library, then, and I will send her'to you in a moment. See is just having her wedding dres3 tried on for the last time, and T will | tell her not to take it off, for I want ! you to see how charmingly 3he looks [in it.” ! And with a nod and a smile. Mrs. J j Marsden disappeared. | Some ten minutes later the door j of the library where Louis wns pac ing the floor impatiently, was slowly 'opened, and the bride elect, graceful , and charming in her vesture of snown ; satin, with a mien of grave sweet | maidenliniss, advanced with out : stretched hands to meet the newly ! returned wanderer. • He gazed upon j her for a moment wiie a lowering brow and a bitter smile. “So it is thus that I find you, j woman that I loved,” he said be ; tweeu his teeth, “on the eve of your | marriage , all radiant and smiling in ! your bridal finery!” “Coij9in—Cousin Louis!” stam mered the young girl,. amazed and halfyilarraed at Sea'brook’s demeanor. ‘ Oh, you need not be afraid—I have,not come to overwhelm j-ou reproaches or tell you all the ill that yon have wrought, my Cousin Grace. I have brought you a present from ! beyond the seas. Take it, and with ■ it such blessings from me as you anti your kinsfold richly deserve.” So saying, he turned toward the table, anti brought forward to the light an ivory casket that stood there, still half secluded in its wrappings. Divested of these, it showed in the sunset light as a morvel of artistic beauty. In high relief ppoin the lid was carved the meeting of Bacchus and Ariadne, and the sides were adorned with a representation of the bridal procession of the god, wherein bacchantes and satyrs, nymphs and fauns, and cupids and panthers, were all mingled in graceful confusion. The mountings of the casket were in antique silver, and on a shield jnsfc above the lock were engraved the in \ ■;. .. ‘V ; - ; ■ "■*.... -; v - : tertwined initials “C, B.” and below them a “V.” surmounted with a ducal coronet, the insignia of “Caesar Bor gia, Duke of Valentinois.” It was a gift worthy to be ctfered by an enam ored monarch to his future Queen. Grace drew near and gazed with breathless delight at the exquisite workmanship of the' ivcry carvings. Meantime Louis took from his pocket book an antique key. , in darkened silver. This, too, was a veritable work of art The tube was held in the upraised hands of a mermaid, whose curved fish tail formed the handle of the key. This handle on its outer edge was bordered with small, scarcely perceptible points, or spines, which would be apt to wound the hand of any one trying to open the lock and not warned to take due precautions. This key Louis care fully fitted into the lock of the cas ket. ] “Open it—open it, Grace!”, he cried with feverish eagerness. “With in you will find inclosed a necklace of the choicest pearls to be found in all Paris. Open it—open it, and tell me what you think of your wedding presents.” But without touching the key the girl glided forward, and, resting her clasped hands on the lid of the cas she looked into the dark, troubled depths of her cousin’s eyes with a tender seriousness in her glance'lhat caused him to turn paie and look aside. •‘Deal* Cousin Louis,” sue said, “you have brought me a magnificent gift, but.do not think me exacting or ungrateful if 1,ask you for something more. You know I am going out to morrow to a new life, and 1 want to take with me all the kindly thoughts and laffectiou of those who loved me when 1 was a little child. You (eel bitterly towards us all, I know, be cause I could not love you better than I have done—jjust as I have ioved my brothers. It will cast a shadow on the brightness of my we l ding day if I think you are still dis pleased with my parents, and si ill feel unkindly towards me. Dear Cousin Louis—ray brother Louis—in memory of our old pleasant days to gether, will you not grant me my re quest? Take back your lovely’ casket and your necklace of pearls, and give me instead your frank brotherly af fection once more.” He fixed his dark, burning eyes on the soft-blue ones raised so plead ingly’ to his own. “c?o y ou wi l not op* n the caske^ Grace?” he said, hoarsely. **Not till you promise to grant me my request. Ah, Louis, have you "forgotten all those days when we were children together, and litt e Cousin Grace used to pet you, and watch over you, and keep her bois terous brothers from teasing you? You were always very dear to me, Louis—be my dear brother once again and always.”. Still gazing fixedly upon her, he ! drew the casket towards him, un locked it threw back the lid, and withdrew the key. lie held up his baud with its open palm turned to ward Grase as he did so, and the astonished girl could see upon it one or two minute drops of blood caused by the punctnres of the points on the hapdle of the key. •‘Take your casket and your pearls, Grace, and with them my full for givuess. You do not know what good service I have done you to-day. I have swept from your path a bitter and dangerous foe. Did you ever read Victor Hugo’s ‘EsmeraldaT There are four lines in an old trans lation of that po m which are now ringing in my brain: “ ‘Mine be the tomb and thine be light and life. I die, and Fate avenges thee. ’Tis well. I go, Oh angel of my life, to learn If Heav’n is sweet as were thy love. Farewell.”’ So saying, he took Grace’s bead - •' .V'"' ‘ . t. . RATES OF ADVERTISING. 1 square 1 time......... $1.00 “ 1 month,. 2.00 “ 3 months,. 4.0fr 6 months,... 6;00 “ 12 months,. 10.00 Contracts for larger spaces can be made at greatly redueed rates by applying to the Soliciting Agent. i Local notices to regular advertiser* one cent a «ord. To those not regular advertisers ten cents a line. fig^'Send for sample copies. in both his hands, kissed her tenderly on the forehead, and departed. A week later the community was electrified by the news of the sudden death of young Louis Seabr-ook, who succumbed to a rapid and mysteri ous malady a few days after the mar riage of Miss Marsden. The disease which proved so speedily fatal baf fled all the science and conjectures of | the physicians called in Ito attend him. They agreed that hinssmptoms closely resembled those produced by the bite of a serpent, and finally de cides that the patient had fallen a victim to some acute and mysterious form of blood-poisoning. It was only Richard Marsden who learned the truth, and that was after the death of Louis Seabrook. Amongst the papers of the deceased was fuund a letter addressed to his uncle. It set forth in rambling, in coherent fashion these facts: “I brought the casket of Ctesar Borgia a3 a present to Grace,” he wrote, in tending that she should not long sur vive her marriage. The little points that stud the handle of the silver key. and that are arranged so as to punc ture the hand of any one who tries, unwarned, to open the .casket, con tain a deadly venom. But once brought face to face with my fair and gentle cousin, I could not find it in my heart to carry out my purpose. Two natures have striven lor'super I maey in my sbul. The one is the cruel serpent-cunning infused there by the Borgia blood of niy maternal ancestors. The other is the frank kindliness of niv American father. What if the fi st named element should once again win the upper hand, as it did when I * planned Grace’s bridal g.ft? I have deliber ately tested on myself the death* dealing properties of the poisoned key. I have destroyed it. Never again will it work harm on any human being. Ind never again shall I. I would not live to deal with fresh temptations—perhaps to suc cumb to them. The legacy of my great-grandfather has wrought evil, for no one—not even for myself. I g° “ ‘To where, beyond these voices there U , peace.’ ” —Frank Leslie's. A kidnapper—paregoric. A stable government should be i one that ruled by horse sense. “I think I’ll give this country the shake,” remarked' the malaria, as it prepared for business. Cardinal Newman says : “A gen tleman is one who never inflicts pain.” That settles it, then ! The watermelon ! is no gentlemfh. Miss■Bli»k5X-,‘\Yhy do you marry Torn Bloodgood? He is well off in years.” Miss Jinks—“Yes, but he is also well offiu money.” “What is more lovely than a peace ful grandmother?” asks a:i exchange. Her granddaughter. If this is not the right answer, we give' it up. Husband (attempting to sing)-y^ “My voice is rather h-tms-husky to night.”- Wife—“No wonder it’s husky. You arefui! of eorn.” “What do you sell that ribbon for!” asked a young lady in a dry goods store. “Eight dollars a week —bb, beg pardon—50 cents a yard, Miss. A New York brewer is said to give away to his workmen forty kegs of beer a day. He must be busy. At least this looks like an evidence that he has his hands “full/ When Dr. H. and Lawyer S. were were walking arm in arm, a wag said to a friend: “These. two juat equal to one highwayman.” “Why/ asked his friend. “Because,” rejoined the wag, “it is a lawyer and doctor*** your money or yonr life.” As *0* ■ / *1: ‘ &j|r. : •.■ -
The Dispatch (Franklinton, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Nov. 4, 1887, edition 1
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