Newspaper Page Text
HERE SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE'S RIGHTS MAINTAIN, UNAWED BY INFLUENCE AND UNBRIBED BY GAIN. CHARLES E. painter, Editor. STEPHENS CITY, FREDERICK CO., VA., SATURDAY, OCTOBER 8, 1881. VOL. 1.-NO, 13. There's darkness over every land, The hearts of men are failing: Man takes his fellow by the hand, In nearer brootherhood they stand, For all the earth is wailing. There's sorrow in the hut and hall; The bolls of death are tolling : The sun is hidden hy a pall; In whelming billows, over all The tide of grief is rolling. Loved Britian'B queen of grace and worth - The proudest thrones of power— The millions high or low in birth— Yea, all the peoples of tho earth Are one in sorrow's hour. Tis not that bloody-handed war A nation's strength has broken ; No pestilence has swept the shore, Nor famine left in any door Its grim and deathly token. A cruel, vile, accursed blow The world's great soul has smitten ; It laid the man heroic low, And lines of deep and bitter woe On countless hearts aro written. Up to the Majesty on high Unceasing prayor ascondod ; And kneeling millions wonder why A righteous God should let him die For whom their prayers oontended. 'Tis true a serpent strikes tho heel, And man Binks down to perish ; And swift diseasos from us steal Ths loved and loving, till we feel This life has naught to cherish. Yet, world of weeping I question not Whatever God ordainest; He cannot err, no mattor what The scorning strangeness of tho lot- - The Lord Jehovah reignest ! — Philadelphia Times. HIS NEXT ENGAGEMENT. I The glories of the entertainment have faded, down goes gas, out scram ble audience. It is the last night of the soason, and the band, sorrowfiilly, gloomily every one, from the big drum down to the piccolo, are playing the National Anthem over said season's grave to give it docent burial. Even tho first fiddle fe6ls out of sorts. The bassoon has a tear drop trembling on his left eyelash, and lets it hang there, unsupicious of the fact fiat all the while it glistens visibly in a tiny ray from tho foot-light. As for the violon cello next him, that cliff-browed, set faced, hoary-headed veteran of a score or two of pantomines, surely this par ticular pantomino's death grioves him but little. Why should ■ it—whilst he can twine his bony left arm around that old violoncello's neck as if it lived and loved him ; when he can bend his gray head to its strings and hear the sweet pathos of their tones; when he can pass his long, skinny musician's fingers fondly over them to draw forth rich, soothing, swelling, falling, beauti ful melody? Why should there be a quavering lip and trembling eyelash when the last chord comes ? The chord is struck and over. Out of the orchestra, and already on his way home, is the first violin, the cornet ha* brought up in the rear with a ca denza morando; the big drum has closed his last roll; the second violin has packed up his fiddle-case ; bassoon and violoncello remain alone with the dying light in the hall. "Dick !" said the bassoon, quitely. Poor old white-faced violoncello never heeded. The left arm in its rusty sleeve still clasped the instrument's neck in that loving way; the old gray head bent down over the strings, with the eyes closed. "Poor old chap!" observed the bas soon, pityingly, as he turned up his coat-collar and tucked his instrument case under his arm. " Blowed if he ain't a playing now!" "Dick—Dick!" he repeated, tapping the old violoncello good uaturedly on the shouldor. The old man opened his eyes and awoke to the silence. "Hallo, Tom Hornby 1 What--all gone? I thought "—he looked around him in disappointed inquiry, and he spoke in a tone of sadness—" I thought he repeated that second strain. Well, well! How deaf I'm getting, to be srire!" The rusty black coat heaved with a sigh as its wearer rose and shut his music. "All gone but you, Tom ?" he said, sorrowfully. "Well, I won't deny I thought they might ha' wished me •Good-night,' or 'Good-by,' or some thing of the sort, for the last night; but I won't grumble. An old fellow who's as deaf as a post and has nobody to mind him ain't no place in an or chestra. He'd better get out of the I road as quick as he can, and make no I fuss about it. Friends ain't in his j "Now come, Dick, old man," ex postulated the bassoon, "don't go for ti. speak like that. You knows there's one chap as is sorry for you—dash my same fare as I has myself, whenever yAlike to claim 'em; and if we can't find you another ' sit' somewheres directly, it's a pity. Blow me, it's a pity I" I" Tom Hornby, you're a good-hearted low," returned the violoncello, grate- Ily, as his stolid face relaxed a little fore the bassoon's genial smile. " A eless, old, worn-cut blessing like me ain't much to give anybody," he ntinued, "but such as it is, Tom, take to your kindness; and may yon ver have such a blaok world before v as I've got now." They shook hands; the bassoon ipped through the little narrow door neath the stage, and his companion, iring his unwieldy violoncello, extin ishing the last gas-jet as he followed "Good night, Dick; and don't be I wn-hearted, old man. Your next en gement '11 make amends." " Good night, Tom Hornby; God l *s you." \gain they shook hands; then bas in whistled off into the hurrying iwd at the stage door, and violoncello Bed to face the wind the other way. t into the bleak street, where tiny low rush-lights of lamps cast a lancholy glimmer or two upon wds of hurrying faces, some fat and md, some red and well favored, all I frying along through the little snow- I s which the wind blew about. )ld violoncello buttoned his rusty ,t close, and turned up the collar as ;he wind might find that an obstacle its attacks upon his scraggy old throat, whilst he hugged that dingy big fiddle of his tight against his body, and settling his eyes straight before him, dragged his trembling knees in the direction they pointed. Up one street and down another; along a wide white road, lined with tall white man sions ; down a narrow, wriggling, dark alley, lined with ricketyJodging-houses. On he trudged through the gray, pulpy mud of trampled snow. On and on to the dreary blank of future which lay before him, the old lack-lustre eyes fixed in that straight forward look of despair, the cold lone liness steadily settling down upon his aged heart to brood there. For the season was over, and old violoncello had struck his last chord at the hall. "You see, Dobbs," the leader of the I orchester had said, " now the full season's over, it's unreasonable to ex pect the management to keep up such a band, so, much as it goes against me to say it, we must part." "Quite right," had chimed in the manager with thi ferocious moustache. " Establishment expenses must be cut down, my man ; everybody can't stop on ; so there you are I Might as well ask me to keep extra bandsmen out of my own salery 1" So old violoncello struck his last chord, and went with a leaden hqart. Good hearted Tom Hornby comforted him with hopes of that next engage ment. But who would have him — poor, old, worn-out, deaf as he was, Nobody, he said. And his heart sank liko a lump of cold lead as he thought The pulpy slush changed to white, Untrodden snow upon the path; the streets were quieter and darker. Old violoncello reached his humble lodging, admitted himself by his latch key, climbed the three flights of ricketty stairs. In the tiny garret at the top of them was a tireless grate, a square, white bed, a table, a chair, and a win dow—one broken pane of which was stopped with brown paper. As he lighted his two inches of lean candle and showed these, the old man sat down upon the chair and bent his gray head J upon the table. No tear was in his eyes when he lifted them. He drew I his violoncello closer to him ; he hugged I it as he might a favorite child ; then he bent his head once more upon the little table, and his bow slipped to the floor from the numbed fingers which claspod | it. Lower aud lower burned the candle, i whilst outside, upon the bars of the window-panes, white snow gathered higher and higher as the flakes kept When the blanched face was again i upturned the eyes were moistened. "So we've come to it at last, have we, old fiddle ?" tho old man moaned in ' apostrophe of his loved violoncello, as ' he stopped to pick up the bow. "We're old now, both of us ; we're no use now I You're patched and cracked, and your master's deaf ; they don't want a pair like us now-a-days. We're ready al- something, too, in your dny ; but not much longer—not very much longer. We're old now; they can do without us " A tear dropped upon tho finger-board, and the old man wiped it carefully off with his coat-sleeve. "Yes, old friend," he continued, gazing affectionately on his battered companion of wood and strings, "we've been friends for long, but we're coming to our last engagement." '' Whilst the snow flakes fell thicker I against the window, softly and noise- I lessly, the old man drew his bow across i tho strings of the violoncello in a half | unconscious way, bending down his i head to the instrumi nt just as he always did. Though his ears were deaf to aught else, they never failed to drink jin the tones which sprang from those vibrating chords. Slowly, weirdly, pa- I thetically tho music rose and fell in gentle ripples around the room, so hushed and low that it awakened no echoes in the silent house. Only in that poor chamber would it wander; only around that poor old couple, in strument and player, would its sweet melody float. As he played, the old man's eyes gently closed, and from his face the linos of settled despair gradu ally cleared away, till only a happy smile was left beaming around wrinkles. The player's thoughts were far away ; to him the cold room and the snowy window were become as nought. Back j in the little garden of fifty years ago, in the arbor scented by the pinks and roses, with the dark velvet pansies | clustering tho little plot at his feet; he was listening again to that same old tune as he heard it first, when his wife, ong dead, sang the words and he played the air upon that well remem bered violin. He could hear her voice ; he could smell , the roses' perfume. Surely it was that same violin he was playing now! From his closed eyes, down the white cheeks, tears dropped warm and fast upon the strings of the violoncello. He heeded them not; his thoughts were far away. So the tune rose and fell, and the snow gathered thicker and thicker on the window-panes, MB tho candle on the little table flickered out. Yet the arm in tho rusty sleeve did not weary in its slow, regular motion ; the cold fingers still pressed the strings ; the player did not awake to the darkness of the room. "We're old now," he murmured ; they don't want us any longer." His eyes were still shut, but tho tune waxed slower and slower, till it died altogether. The bow slipped from the old man's fingers, the gray head sank upon the table ; the violoncello rested soundless against the breast of the rusty **** **** „*„x **** When the morning came and bright sun-rays struggled through the snow blocked window-panes, they shone upon a tiny table, a square white bed, a fire loss grate, a patched and dingy old vio loncello. But the bow had fallen upon the floor, and the player's nerveless fin gers hung white and stiffened upon the Old violoncello had gone to his last Learn to Work. Now, girls, don't allow mother to darn your stockings ; attend to this simple duty yourselves. Fine darning |is really an accomplishment. Take the care of your entire wardrobe as far as possible. Don't let a button be off your shoes a minute longer than is necessary. It takes just about a min ute to sew one on. and oh, how much j neater a foot looks in a trimly buttoned I boot than it does in a lop-sided affair, with half the buttons off. Every girl shonld learn to make the simple articles lof clothing. Make the- work a study. Once get in the habit of looking over your things, and you will like it wonder fully. You will have the independent | feeling that you need not wait for any j one's convenience in repairing and : making, but that you can be before-hand in all such matters. The relief to your weary mother will be more than you can estimate. When you beoome as old and worn as she is, you will know how much, 'every little helps." A Wall street broker, who was caught I in a corner, acknowledges a loss of some I $23,000, and adds :" I al-1-lways I p-p-prefer to ack-k-k-knowledge a loss | than a g-g-gain, for it d-d-discourages p-p-people from t-t-trying to b-b-borrow m-m-money from me." The President is a widower, but that's Reason in Birds. ' Several years ago a pair of my canaries built; whilo the hen was setting the weather became intensely hot. She drooped, and I began to fear that she would not be strong enough to hatch the eggs. I watched the birds closely and soon found that the cock was a de voted nurse, He bathed in the fresh cold I supplied every morning, then went to the edge of the nest, and the hen buried her head in his breast wid was refreshed. Without hands and without a sponge what more conld we havedjno? The following spring the same bird was hanging in a window with three other canaries, each in a separate tl was sitting in the room and 1 my little favorite give a peculiar 1 looked up and saw all the birds ihing on their perches, paralyzed fright. On going to the window certain the cause of their terror, I . large balloon passing over the end of the street. The birds did not move till it was out of sight, when all gave a chirp of relief. The balloon was lin sight of the bird who gave the ), and I have no doubt he mistook a bird of prey. I have a green i yellow canary hanging side by They are treated exactly alike ire warm friends. One has often ed to partake of some delicacy till >ther was supplied with it. One had five blossoms of dandelion ; I three to the green bird, two to the w one. The latter flew about his singing in a shrill voice, and show nmistakable signs of anger. Guess ing the cause, I took away one of the three flowers, when both birds settled Ii quietly to enjoy their feast.— ator. The Story of a Breakfast Cap. new an instance this summer where rerly-worn breakfast cap repaired had threatened to prove fatal mis . A girl of very moderate natural nsions to beauty, but mighty artful easing and adorning her hair, was In love with a line fellow, and was fast lig him love her. She invited him md a week with her family in their c cottage, with the perfectly r intention of bringing him to the of popping the matrimonial ques- Well, after he had been there several days, and was well nigh capti vated, he saw a sight that disenchanted him. The girl had washed her hair and taken a nap while it dried. Whilo Ing through a hallway, she met illow face to face. Her hair was , matted close to her bead and fling in thin disorder down her It required a second look to rec ognize her. Whenever he had seen her ler hair was puffed, frizzled and in a manner that made her head and attractive. Now the home lier face was unrelieved ; all id departed, and she looked place to a shocking degree, izod tho disaster immediately, c to my room with tears in her I ,t shall Ido ?" she whispered, sh the breakfast-cap you're " I said, " and wear it in your sst manner at breakfast." LUght the idea and acted on it. reakfast table she appeared in t coquettish cap imaginable, t precisely the right angle on ully-dressed hair. The fellow 1 the evening before that he he would go home next day; jreakfast cap restored the spell ntment, which had been tem dispelled, and before his visit he was engaged. I don't know i effect will be when, as a hus sees the girl with her hair down rife. I simply describe, as a ar of the fashions, the potency cc breakfast-cap.— New York A Just Tribute. >r Voorhees delivered an elo- Idress at a Garfield memorial at Terre Haute, Ind., last week, he had known the late Presi fears, had served seven years 'ess with him, and that the kind lis nature and his mental ac re his leading traits. "There d Mr. Voorhees, "a light in a chord in his voice, and a in his hand which were full of his fellow-beings ; he had the writs of boyhood and the robust lality of manhood more per mbined than any man I ever Mature was bountiful to him, acquirements were extensive 1. If I might make a compari aid say that with the exception ron and John Qnincy Adams he most learned President in Imperfect Handling of Cotton. Until the last census, ginning, pres sing, and baling have been classed with the "production" of cotton, and its manufacture held to consist solely of spinning and weaving. Yet there is not a process to which the lint is sub mitted after it is thrown from the ne-1 gro's "pocket" that does not act direct ly on the quality of the cloth that is finally produced, and on the cheap ness and efficiency with which the cloth is made. The separation of the fibre | from the seed, the disposition made of fluffy lint before it is compressed, the compression itself, and the baling of the compressed cotton—these are deli cate operations, involving tho integrity of the fibre, the cost of getting it ready E.e spindle, and the ease with which y be spun. Indeed Mr. Hammond, nth Carolina, a most accomplished writer, contends that the is the pivotal point around whioh the Ile manufacture of cotton revolves, here is no question that with one h of the money invested in im •ed gins, cleaners, and presses that Id be required _ for factories, and incomparably less risk, the South d make one-half the profit, pound for pound, that is made in the mills of New England. Mr. F. C. Morehead, already alluded to in this article, says : "A farmer who produces 500 bales of cotton—2oo,ooo pounds—can, by the expenditure of $1500 on improved gins and cleaners, add one cent per pound to to the value of his crop, or $2000. If he added only one-half of one cent, he would get in the first year over fifty per cent, return of his outlay." Mr. Ed- Xl Atkinson—to close this list of au ities—says that the cotton crop is riorated ten per cent, at least by g improperly handled from the to the factory. It is, of course, equaßy true that a reform in this de partment of the manufacture of cotton would add ten per cent, to the value of the crop—say $30,000,000—and that, too, without cost to the consumer. Much of the work now done in the mills of New England is occasioned fey the errors committed in glaning and packing. Not only would the great part of the dust, sand, and grit that get into the cotton from careless handling about the gin-bouse be kept out, if it wore properly protected, but, that which is in the fibre naturally could be clean ed out more efficiently and with one third the labor and cost, if it were taken before it has been compressed and baled. Beyond this the excessive beating and tearing of the fibre necessary to clean it after the sand has been packed in weaken and impair it, and the sand injures the costly and delicate machin- I cry of the mills.— Harper's Maqazinefur October. How to be Beautiful, Most people would like to be hand li. All cannot have good features are as God made them ; but almost no can look well, especially with health. It is hard to give rules in y short space, but in brief these do: iep clean—wash freely. All the want 3is leave to act free, and it i care of itself. Its thousands of oles must not be closed. Eat regularly, and sleep enough—not too much. The stomach can no more work all the time, day and night, than a horse. It must have regular work and Good teeth are a help to good looks. Brush thorn with a soft brush, especially at night. Go to bed with cleansed teeth. Of course to have white teeth it is needful to let. tobacco alone. All women know that. Washes for the teeth should be very simple. Acid may whiten the teeth, but it takes off the enamel and injures them. Sleep in a cool room, in pure air. No one can have a cleanly skin who breathes bad air. But more than all, in order to look well, wake up mind, and soul. When the mind is awake, the dull, sleepy look passes away from the eyes. " Checks." A "society" item says it is now the fashion for the bridegroom and bride to receive checks for wedding presents. I The custom is an old one. A man who married a rich young woman last spring received a big check about an honr after the ceremony was performed. It came from a police officer. In less than ten hours he would have taken passage with his bride for Europe, if he had not been checked by the officers. He had I led a checkered career with false checks and such. The bride could not check her tears, and her father could hardly I check an impulse to kick the villain in side out. We never heard of a society Beecher's Eulogy on Garfield. Memorial services in honor of Presi dent Garfield were held at Peekskiß. The number assembled was so large that the overflow crowded into the Presbyterian church and listened to ad dresses from various speakers. The Rev. Henry Ward Beecher pronounced a most impressive eulogy. He said : "This is a funeral service, and we are 1 gathered as a household whose father has been struck down by the hand of violence. Not even when Lincoln was slain was there such an exhibition of nniversal sympathy. The pulses of the foreign governments are qnickened by i by the common sorrow. Crowned heads, legislators and nobles, and chief of all, the noble Queen of England, our moth er country, all have taken this sorrow into their own bosoms. I look with profound admiration on the man who has gone, with profound sympathr for those nearest to him, but with stUl greater admiration do I regard the na tion of which President Garfield was the illustrious head. He was stricken down, but nothing fell with him. The vast machine did not stop; every func tion went on because the government is the people. No blow struck at a sin gle man can remove that power which lies in universal citizenship. Four names of American presidents stand out conspicuously in history—Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Garfield, who, though it was not his good fortune to complete his task, had arleady develop ed such noble traits which promised a rich harvest in later days. He was a noble man, made illustrious to the end of time as a military man, as a legisla tor, as President, as a Christian gentle man, and as a canonized martyr. As we have passed from boyhood to man hood in this village, we have met in services joyful and sad, when political discussions ran high, when patriotic memories were recalled, and when the graves of our heroes wore strewed with flowers, but never on such anoocasion as this, when we share a 'sorrow whioh overcomes the whole world. All classes recognize his greatness and his glory. He was no cold figure on the page of history with all the human taken out of him, but one of us, with a character and manhood such as we all love and admire. tie is recognized everywhere as the nob lest example of manhood. The peas ant grievos for him because from pover ty he became a king; monarchs weep for him, because, though of humble birth, he possessod kingly attribute*." Into Society aud Hack Again. A letter from Indianapolis, Ind., tells the following story: "Six years ago the younger member of ono of the lead ing business firms of this city, a scion of one of the wealthiest families, was united in marriage to a shop girl, and ' society' was horrified over the alleged mesalliance. True, the bride was hand some, well educated and of pure charac ter. Last week the bride of six years ago resumed her old position as a clerk. The history is in a nutshell. The young merchant, wearied of ' society,' wanted a home and a wife. The bride, wearied with her daily toil, wanted 'society.' ' Society' weloomed her after her fash ion ; the husband, who knew its hollow ness, was ill-content with his domestic surroundings, and dissensions grew un til ending in separation. The death of their only child is thought to have hastened the estrangement, and the lady, with a will of her own, has vol untarily returned to the duties whioh she apparently relinquished for life six years ago. The business interests of the husband meanwhile have been trans ferred to Chicago, and it is understood that formal divorce proceedings will be instituted at once. VIRGINIA ITEMS 7 The fast mail train bound south and a northern-bound regular mail train of the Atlantic Cost Lino collied near Chester, on the Richmond and Peters burg Railroad. Both engines and the baggage and mail cars of each train were badly * smashed. Fortunately, no one was fatally hurt. B. E. Beaseley, postmaster at Mount I Landing, Sussex count*, was arrested, charged with willful neglect to de posit postal funds. B. H. Holland's brick building at Danville, Va., was burned. Loss 63, --000 ; insurance $53,000. The Dismal Swamp Canal was re opened and the regular line steamers have resumed their trips between Nor folk and Elizabeth City. The shoe faotory in Winchester is now giving steady employment to sev enty-five hands. Northern capitalists are reported to be examining the mineral lands in the neighborhood of the Shenandoah Vaßey Springs, and it is said that a large amount of money wUI be invested in the valley for their development. A nnmber of settlers from the North, who have reoently purchased land near Petersburg, came by the county roads, bringing their teams and household effects with them, all ready to take pos-