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Stephens City star. (Stephens City, Va.) 1881-1883, October 08, 1881, Image 1

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn2008060934/1881-10-08/ed-1/seq-1/

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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.
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 |
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.—
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
,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
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
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.
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-

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