Stephens City star., September 24, 1881, Image 1

About Stephens City star. (Stephens City, Va.) 1881-1883

Image provided by: Library of Virginia; Richmond, VA

                
HERE SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE'S BIGHTS MAINTAIN, UNAWEB BY INFLUENCE AND UNBBIBED BY GAIN.
CHARLES E. PAINTER, Editor. STEPHENS CITY, FREDERICK CO., VA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1881. VOL. 1.--NO. 10.
True or FnNe.
Underneath the latticed porch
Sits she nf tlin ilroamy eyes ;
Fir«lly has lit his torch,
Starry glory tills tho skies ;
At her Brat the moonlight lies,
Checkered liars of dark and bright,
All tho Hummer night
Drowsy murniurings from beyond,
Where the treetops brush the Hky ;
From hiH rank and weed-grown pond
Comes fho bull-frog's croaking cry,
All night long strange boings fly,
Chirp ami hum and buzz and boom,
(living voice to gloom.
But she heeds nor firefly's light,
Nor tho moonbeams at her foot,
Hears no voices in the night
Save some words her thoughts repeat,
Ohosts of golden dreams, and fleet—
Echoes of some far-off days
Cast in pleasant ways.
And her heart says, "He is true I"
And the blood Impulsive springs ;
Lighting her palo features through
With tho happinoss it brings-
And her soul, a glad child, sings,
Always with an old refrain—
"He will come again !"
Hide thy doubting face, O moon,
Ere her eyes may read the truth I
Croaking frog, thy dismal tune
Is black prophecy, in sooth,
For the hopeful heart of youth ;
All tho world in death would lie
If her dream should die.
— Wacerley Magazine.
' _ ~
DOUGLAS HALSTEAD'S WIFE.
"Am I going to die?" The doctor's
keen gray eyes dimmed suddenly as he
looked down into the wan, girlish face,
so thin and pale from the wasting dis
ease that baffled his skill, at the white,
nervous hands that lay crossed in her
lap, then he tried to clear his throat,
but answered, huskily,—
"Dear child, no, we hope not. You
have been very ill, and I must talk up a
change with papa. Be hopeful, Eva ;"
and he smiled cheerily as he turned to
Mrs. Campion while he stood buttoning
his glove,
Eva only lifted great, solemn eyes in
a sad, questioning way that haunted the
honest old man as he went, perturbedly
thinking, to obey the various 'callings
of disease and distress. Once he gravely
shook his head and sighed. He was
thinking of his dear little patient, so
gentle and so fondly loved, only sixteen,
yet so womanly for her years ; she had
been the light of the house bofore she
was stricken by this mysterious illness.
She was generous and impulsive to a
fault, warm-hearted, with a pure, child
ish mind that even though she ranked
among the brightest students at tho
academy, retained the guileless sim
plicity of an infant.
Just before the blighting disease had
fallen upon hei, new hopes and aspira
tions had come. The eccentric bachelor
uncle across the seas whose name she
bore, who had loved her from her baby
hood, died, willing to her his thousands,
and his store of exquisite foreign treas
ures, the much-prized accumulation of
years.
"As the one person who loved 'Uncle
Jessie,' I bequeath to Eva Worden Cam
pion my entire fortune and personal
possessions, sure that ehe will prize
them, the whole to be her husband's in
case of her death, otherwise to descend
to the State National Hospital, in case
of her decease while single."
It was peculiar ; every one admitted
that; but Uncle Jessie Worden had al
ways admired the poor, struggling,
student-cousin, Douglas Halstead, who
loved Eva so dearly. Hidden under the
crusty exterior there was a warm heart,
and a tender little romance he would
have blushed to own twined about the
lives of these two.
Douglas Halstead, only nineteen, pale
from intense application to the few
books he owned, pursued the torturing,
useless, over fleeing ambition of his life,
and cursed the grinding poverty that
debarred him from the hope of years.
Kestlessly ambitious, life became a
burden by reason of the never-'atisfied
longing that possessed him.
"No one but Eva understands me,"
he told himself as he went toward her
house that afternoon; "she always helps
me."
He echoed the doctor's sigh ; there
was an undefined fear in his heart as
with his wonted freedom he opened the
heavy outer door, hung his hat in the
hall and went in softly to the bright
room where, in her cushioned chair,
Eva leaned back, white as the pillow
beneath her head. She started a little
as he stood] by her chair and said,
softly,—
"How are you to-day, Eva dear ?"
"I wanted to see you," she said, ex
tending her cool little hand for his warm
one to clasp in groeting, and failing as
she did so to answer bis question. "I i
was thinking about you," i
"And I came down hero to be talked ]
to," he said, tenderly; "you always i
help me, little cousin." ]
His voice shook as he said the last i
words ; ho was thinking what a short ,
time was left for her to help him, she
looked so fragile and unearthly. ]
"Eva," ho said, despairingly, "it is ,
the old story of ambition at war with
bitter, grinding poverty. I have studied
all I can here ; books do not trow like
wild flowers—would to Heaven they
did ! 1 have tried to forget my dreams, ,
and resign myself to the inevitable; but i
oh, I want to get away from this and be
something. Tell mo what to do, littlo |
girl," he concluded, in a softer tone, his f
white face showing the intensity of his |
fierce struggle with his dearest wish. ,
"Talk to mo if you aro able—you always j
calm me."
"Poor boy!" The tone had that little «
cadence of protection and pity iv it com- i
mon to loving women. "It is hard, I t
know, Douglas,"— she stopped sud- -
denly, and then went on—"I am going i
to say something strange. When you t
came in I was thinking of—you reniem- I.
ber Uncle Jesses will ?" r
"Yes," he replied, wonderingly. 1
"I want you to have your wish—to be
a scholar," sho continued, gravely. "I a
know you will be a great one—l feel it
here ;" and she laid her hand upon her '
heart. "I want the money that dear c
Uncle Jesse left mo to do good. I meant t
to make it if I lived." She spoke seri
ously, with only gentle affection and i
pure unselfishness looking from tho soft s
eyes, with not a tremor of womanly g
feeling, nor a flush of self-consciousness j
disturbing the serene grandeur of her c
act. "Douglas, look at me ;" her gaze
infinitely sad and sweet met his. "I am c
going to die ; will you marry me and
take my money ?" j
Douglas looked at her dumbfounded
for a moment. As he realized her good- s
ness, the depth and beauty of this in
nocent, act of childlike devotion, he
buried his face and groaned aloud.
"Don't! Oh, Eva darling, I can't let t
you go! I could not accept your dear 1
sacrifice." '
"I want yon to have it," she pleaded ;
'•'not because ours would be like other *
marriages, or that wo love one another
as men and women do, but only to help c
you when I am gone." '
Douglas sank on his knees reverently E
by her side.
"Little girl," he said tenderly, "you
are an angel I I cannot take your money 1
in that way ; it would be a consuming «
fire to devour my whole future lifo ; the
touch of it would burn me. Eva, you
shall not do this. You deserve the best
gifts of earth and heaven. You shall not
die, and you shall be mine, when you '
can be proud of me."
"Oh, no, no!" she cried, shrinking
timidly. "Not unless I die. I did not '
mean because you loved me." The first '
feeling that she had done wrong touched '
her pure mind. "Of course I would
not marry you in any other way. You
will take it and use it for me ? Please,
Douglas, let me do some good before I
die ! I shall never enjoy it."
The pleading eyes were dim with
tears, there was a faint flush in the pal
lid face. Pride melted, and Douglas
Halstead said in unsteady tones, —
"As a saci'ed debt of honorl will take
it. Heaven bless you I You are my
good angel. On you rests the crown of
my future success." And he went away
thinking of her words "Of course I
would not marry you in any other way,"
with a pained feeling in his heart that
he could not fathom.
He went to college later—how none
could conjecture—with a little mystery
brooding about him, but none knew of
the girl wife at homo who as yet did not
love him, and who would permit nothing
but that he go at once. But Eva unac
countably lingered—was taken to the
seashore, and across the water to sunny
climes. As if by magic she was raised
to better health. Always delicate she
would be, something of an invalid, but
the disease was gone ; so said the fa
mous physician under whose care she
was.
Eight years bloomed and faded, and
Douglas Halstead's name blazed like a
star in public life. His talent amounted
to genius. The newspaper world courted
i and feted him, aud fortune smiled upon
him. One gentle hand had opened the
• store-house, so it poured out earth's
i choicest benefits upon him. Ho had
, repaid Eva's littlo fund long since.
"The greater debt," he wrote, "I
never can repay ; I havo you to thank
- for all I have and am. lam so glad you
i aro well, little girl."
s "Little girl—" nover "wife." He
meant her to feel her exact position,
she told herself with sensitive pride,
forgetting who had placed the ban of
silen 'c upon him. She never thought
her girlish error —"sin," she mercilessly
called it—without a sense of heart-brok
en misery.
"Oh, how could I?" she would ago
nizingly aßk herself; and the grandeur
of her offering was lost in the intense
mortification and sorrow that never left
her. -.—
Twice Douglas Halstead had sought
her presence. She avoided him. His
earnest, manly appeal in his letters to
see her had been unnoticed.
To-night she was alone, and she was
thinking after a remorseful fashion that
she had not been quite just, when, in
the same quiet way that he had entered
eight years before, Douglas Halstead
stood by her side.
"Forgive me!" he said, humbly.
"They told me you were alone, and I
must see you. Eva, my only love—wife
this once—though that is forbidden me
—dearer with every hour of life, gar
nered into my heart and treasured as '
the grandest, purest memory it ever
knew, don't send me from you I May I
not hope some day to win your price- >
less heart ?" «
For answer she only covered her face '
and wept piteously.
"Have you forgotten ?" she sobbed. f
"Is it because you are honorable, be- '
cause you fancy you need be grateful, 1
that you pain me thus?"
•'Pain you !" He sprang to his feet I
in vehement passion. "I would die '
sooner than give you pain! I have for- i
gotten everything save that I want the '
purest, sweetest woman in the world to
come to her rightful shelter, my heart." •
He waited eagerly ; there was no re- :
sponse. '
"Shall I—must I—go hopeless?" he
pleaded at last.
"No—if—" the words were very faint
and low—"if—oh, Douglas!"
The voice died in a broken little sob.
"My proud darling, my wife!" <
He had her in his arms ncAP>f the
great deeps were broken up. He kissed
passionately the pallid face, and held
the trembling hands.
"What have you thought?"she asked,
timidly, at last.
"That you were too cruel to be the
dear little girl who honored me, as
never man was honored before, years
since."
His voice was low and reverent.
"Oh, I did not mean to be," she cried,
in tender remorse. "Forgive me, won't
you?"
"The clear eyes met his; he bent
low.
"If you will tell me you love me."
As she said the words shyly he held
her close, saying,—
"Thank you, dear love! Oh, may
heaven reward you and bless you even
as lam blest 1 You have been first in
my heart ever since I can remember,
and now at last you are all my own."
The pride in her face made him smile
fondly, and Eva, won at last, was silent
from purest joy.
The world calls Mrs. Halstead an in
valid, so delicate she is, so fragile, and
it wonders as usual if she be not a bur
den to the grand man of suclr superb
physical and mental mould that she
calls husband. It does not see the fond
care and tenderness which never fails
her, nor yet does it know that its idol,
its king, will carry to death, embraced
in his heart of hearts, his wife.
WORDS OF WISOOM.
Modesty is the conscience of the body.
Nothing makes men sharper than want.
Fly the pleasure that bites to-morrow.
The man who knows the most is not
an owning man.
Worldly faces never look so worldly
as at a funeral.
Proud hearts and lofty mountains are
always barren.
A man may suffer without sinning, he
cannot sin without suffering.
Bagged clothing cannot debase a man
as much as a frayed reputation.
Wo shall be free from evil desires
only when we are pure in heart.
He who can suppress a moment's
anger a day of sorrow.
He that wrestles with us strengthens
our nerves and sharpens our skill.
The faculty of reasoning seldom or
never deceives those who trust to it.
When a friend corrects a fault in you,
he does you the greatest act of friend
ship.
In ourselves, rather than in material
nature, lie the true source and life of
the beautiful.
The power to do great things gene
rally arises from the willingness to do
small things.
I — ■■
FASHION'S FOIBLES.
Fringes of great beauty are now seen
in importers' sample books.
Buds on bonnets are about to be
superseded by full-blown flowers.
The most recent novelties in lace are
vivid scarlet and old gold colorings ip
Spanish lace.
It will bo good news to some that
silk'velvets are likely to be sold at very
low prices this autumn.
Button cloth is a new kind of chevoit,
with raised threads scattered through it
which look like buttons.
Plush flounces that are as rich as fur
and have pile as long as fringo will be
the supreme novelty at midwinter.
Foulards and pongees having excelled
"staying" powers will be the rule for
autumn toilets at the seashore.
Pokes with square projections and
somewhat short sides, reaching to the
top of the ear only, have recently ap
peared.
A trimming to be used for scarf and*
bonnet draperies this fall is an embroi- ,
dered gauze, accompanied by a border- |
ing to match. (
Scarfs, fichus and collarettes have by \
no means exhausted the invention of ,
designers, but are, if possible, more ,
beautiful than ever. |
The newest Mother Hubbard dresses ,
for little girls are of Turkey red oil- ,
dressed calico or serge, or the soft dark- t
blue flannel called beach flannel. ,
One of the richest novelties promised ,
for the fall is sealskin cloth, a material ]
embroidered with gold or silver, and \
designed for carriage or promenade i
wear. ,
Squares of linen batiste aud linen (
lawn are now the favorites for legiti- ]
mate handkerchiefs or "nosowipen," as |
oi\r Teutonio brethren would say. ]
Gowns of one solid piece, brightened
by a small quantity of rich trimming,
continue to be recommended _by the
best French dress makers.
The small, fluffy curls, which have
for- some time been worn at the nape of
the neck, are becoming somewhat
larger when seen with evening toilets.
An eminent artist declines to paint
the portraits of ladies who "fritter away
their foreheads and cover their brows
with a smothering fringe of hair."
Fluting and knife-plaiting take the
lead in frills and ruches for the nock,
as they keep their form bettor and stand
away more firmly from the throat.
Satin finished beaver hats, with
crowns that may be either broad and
low or high and pointed, but of which
the brims aro in all cases immense, are
among the stunning novelties.
If you see a caterpillar on the bonnet .
of a lady in front of you at tho theater
next winter, do not be uneasy, for the
sweet creature—the caterpillar, that is,
and not the lady—will probably be
made of silk chenille. ,
Crescents, stars and circles of metal
set with stones, closely imitating real
jewels, will bo seen on fall bonnets, the
tendency being to display moro showy
and costly ornaments than have been in
use heretofore.
A Fiery Grave.
The Westphalia papers give an ac
count of a terrible catastrophe which
occurred in the northwestern part of
that province on the 18th ult. There
has been for some time in operation in
the neighborhood of Solingen, not far
from Barmen, a strange phenomenon.
A part of the soil of a hilly heath be
came excessively hot, so much so that
some people living close by availed
themselves of the heat for domestic pur
poses. The explanation suggested was
that some inflammable subterranean gas,
or perhaps petroleum, had been acciden
tally set on fire. Some water had been
brought to the spot by an artificial
channel; but its contact with the burn
ing soil had only produced violent ex
plosions, which seemed to shatter all
the ground around. Beoently some
persons drove out in a carriage from
Bemscheid to inspect the spot. W T hen
arrived at a distance of about a quarter
of an English mile, they heard a strange
rumbling noise, which so terrified the
horses that they had to alight and send
the carriage back some distance. They
walked on, discussing the likelihood
of any danger, when suddenly a space
of the hillside, about 100 metres square,
opened, disclosing a gulf of liquid tire
and throwing up flames. The house
where the family mentioned above lived
was at once surrounded by the flames
and was, before their eyes, swallowed
up in the liquid fiery caldron at their
feet, apparently feeding the flames. It
is known that several persons were in
the house; none were saved, but it has
not been ascertained how many per
ished.—London Tunes,
A (iomlola Procession.
W. E. Croffut thus describes, in the
St. Paul Pioneer Press, his experiences
in a gondola at Venice: At eight
o'clock we started in three gondolas for
the rendezvous half a mile off. Here
we found innumerable boats Burround- I
ing the queen's private bark, which was 1
a clumsy, stately barge, sadly lighted 1
up with a sort of Chinese lantern, hay- I
ing no ropes from the deck to the top
of the shoit mast. There was also a
yellow canopy hung round with lights,
which seemed to be tumblers of oil
suspended in blue mosquito netting,
perhaps 100 lights in all. It did not
make the royal craft very bright, and
the radiance did not extend more than
twenty or thirty feet on either side. In
a few minutes we started, and spite of
the darkness, for, as usual, the unoffi
cial gondolas were prohibited from car
rying more than one light, and that re
quired to be about as dim as a fire-fly ;
the scene was quite impressive. There
were said to be 1,000 gondolas in the
crush —for crush it literally was, the
black boats jammed tightly together,
and the musical gondoliers pushing
their craft along at the expense of adja
cent boats, or swinging their futile pad
dles high in air and dancing in rage on
the prow, and swearing at adjacent gon
doliers, and calling them dodbinged
grandsons of the pestiferons emu in the
sweet syllables of the South. After
going half a mile in this way, our gon
dola, perhaps 100 feet from the royal
launch, suddenly stopped in front of
the palace and a slight form clad in
white silk throughout, stepped upon the
overhanging balcony. It was tho young
queen, first cousin of her husband, King
Humbert. Her face was fairer than
that of most Venitians, and the chestnut
hair, slightly "banged" over the eye
brows, waa drawn straight back and
fixed in a Grecian knot behind. She
bowed to the right and left.
Bill Arp's Vievr ot Life.
We had a good, old-fashioned country
dance last night, and don't feel any
worse this morning for it. We had
young people and middle aged people,
and old people, and those of us who
didn't trip on the light fantastic toe sat
in the broad piazza aud talked and
looked on and enjoyed ourselves all the
same as wo used to do when the gush
and vigor of youth were upon us. What
a blessed thing it is that kind nature
takes away our desire for frolic as we
grow older, and begin to wear the sere
and yellow loaf. I don't care to dance
now that the S2iring in my extremities
is gone and there's lead in my shoes,
and I don't lament that old age is creep
ing on me, for I have many new pleas
ures, and one of these is to look on and
see other people happy. Enjoy your
day, whether it be in youth or old age ;
enjoy every day, make most of it; get
all out of life yon can. It won't pay to
always be hankering after something or
grieving over troubles that haven't
come, and may never come. I know
people who lei the dark side of life
cheat 'em out of every day's happiness,
who ponder and fret over little troubles
until they swell up like dried apples
and get to be big ones, and they can't
eat or sleep in any peace.
Life to them is a grindstone, and the
grit of it is always cutting away little
by little until there's nothing left. En
joy the day ; get some good out of it
even if it's nothing but contentment for
good health and being out of jail. An
old gentleman of three score years and
ten was here last night—came Aye miles
just to sco the young people happy—
and he was bright us the full moon, and
it was a pleasure to see him and listen
to him discourse upon life and how to
live and how to farm, and so on. He's
seen trouble enough, goodness knows,
but he never took it to heart or surren
dered his manhood.— Bill Arp, in Atlanta
Constitutitm.
A Toad Fight.
I always keep a number of toads in
my orchid houses for the purpose of
destroying vermin. The other morning,
while watching two males, I was highly
amused at seeing them have a regular
set-to fight. They went at each other
in a regular scientific manner, sparring
and boxing with their fore paws and but
ting with their heads. After a while
they seemed to get tired, coolly sat
down and viewed each other with great
complacency. From my earliest days I
have been in the habit of watching the
ways of toads, and never saw them fight
before.
Kentucky is about to have a mush
room farm in the Mammoth Cave.
It is said there is room enough to pro
duce a million pounds mushrooms daily.
The one wife of the present Khedive
is a woman of European education.
Tho business men of Baltimore aro
taking steps to make the Oriole a per
manent . local institution in that city
every year.
Chicago and New Orleans are the only
American cities that license gambling
| houses. St. Louis is aliout to follow
their example.
There are 390 educated female physi
cians, in active practice in twenty-six
States of our Union - tho majority in
Massachusetts, New York and Pennsyl-
Some of the Protestant clergy of
Philadelphia are censuring some of the
Catholic clergy for taking part in mock
baptismal and marriage ceremonies at
a picnic.
The Springfield Republican holds that
the higher education of women renders
them averse to matrimony. Such be
ing the case, ought that sort of educa
tion to be tolerated ?
After the profuse kissing that went
on between the Czar and Emperor Wil
liam, at Dant/.io, it would not be unpre
cedented in history if they should pro
ceed to fight each other.
The owner of a large cranberry farm
at Berlin, Wisoonsin, employs a hun
dred girls, and he promised to marry
tho one who picks the most berries this
season, provided she wants him.
The story goes that Mrs. Cornwallis
West, the far-famed "professional
beauty," is coming over with the new
British Minister, a kinsman of her hus
band, to grace the legation establish
ment.
A rich Catalan capitalist, long resi
dent of Cuba, died there recently, and
is reported to have left his fortune of
$12,000,000 to be divided among four
negroes, formerly his slaves, who once
saved his life from a wildcat while he
Sneral Gordon, of Georgia, is said
iv* acquired a more than comfor
i fortune since he left the Senate,
me through the sale of coal lands
in Alabama, for which he and his two
brothers and Governor Colquitt re
ceived $700,000, together with $1,000,
---000 in stock of the Richmond and Dan
ville Extension Company.
Inconvenience of Being a Humorist.
Bret Harte's peculiar horror is the
poem that made his reputation—"the
Heathen Chinee." To a friend who once
made a quotation from it in his hearing
he said : "If you love me never men
tion 'Heathen Chinee' in my hearing.
If I die young it will be of that miser
able washerman. He it my nightmare
and my daymare. I cannot get rid of
him, go where I will, and ho springs up
like a jack-ma-box. With some people
1 have to be polite and listen to all they
have to say on the subject ; but I feel
that I know you well enough to cry out
'spare me!' I am willing and pleased to
talk of any of my stories, and even any
other poems are not unpleasant to my
ear; but the Mongolian will kill me
yet. Why, do you know, they have ac
tually set it to music—a frightful dirge!
A young lady insisted upon chanting it
to me, the other night, and I had to. .i
listen patiently, instead of following my
inclination, which was to tear the music
into a thousand pieces, and dance up
and down on the. key-board of the piano.
It was enough to drive me mad. My
friends think that they aro paying mo
a huge compliment by making constant
quotations from tho different vorses.
They will poke me in the ribs and say,
"That for ways that are dark,'and wink
at me as they say, 'His smile it was
childlike and bland.' I thought I would
get away from it all by coming east, but
the pigtailed nightmare pursues me."
The Considerate Tenant.
Uncle Nace owns several shanties on
Austin Avenue, that are rented out to
olored tenants, among them Sam John
sing. Night before last Sam knocked
at Uncle Nace's door, and woke him out
of a sound sleep.
"What's de matter ?" said the old man
sticking his head out of the window.
"I jess come ter tell yer dat I can't
got a wink ob sleep. I has ter pay yer
de rent ob de house next Saturday."
"Dar's no need ob yer staying awake
at nights, and worrying on dat account.
Dars no hurry about de rent."
"Yes dar is. I jess come ter tell yer
dat I aint got no money to pay de rent,
and I has done moved my tricks out, so
I you is bound to loose de rent. Now,
you kin stay awake and do de worryin',
and I'll go home and do do sloepinuow.
T lifts irnfc dat nftAn mv mind " Siflinti*.