HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1885-4-23, Page 2The Pale Horse.
Sus eyea wide and eager, his breath breathing
fast,
Sporting foam from his nostrils, his proud,
head upeast,
Bee feet shod with swiftness, yet, stiller than
snow
That flits tbro' the air to the chill earth below.
When sent from the glory and joy of our God
To the sphere where have suirered all who
have trod.
Unpaus1ug resistless in pomp of his might.
Who gni t? y the pale horse in his, terrible
But one, only one, sees the pale horse of death,
wear tithe hoof ahis comiug, feels mist of his
BO the dew on the brew 91‘ our loved, and his
eye,
Grown glassy, and Axed, tells the pale horse IS
Away thre" the vale and the shadow of Death.
Across the still waters that stir with his breath,
Thro' spaces ethereal of heavenly light,
Or down to the region of terror. and night,
When from its cold slay the dear spirit Oath good, uileless little Elsie, the only
u Ivor dlr one amongst us, with her
ur'dcadi joyous little ;aught
she --oh, who could tell the remorseful
thoughts of the days when she was
young and innocent, and had learned
that song froth her old Scotch nurse,
that passed through her mind, Her
good angel seethed shadowing her with
his white wings, and whispering of
better days. and of the crown she
might win to encircle her beautiful
brow in heaven.
I watehed them furtively, Maggio
and Lionel, but no good angel's wltls-
per ever filled frail sinner's eyes with
the light that blazed in his, that irradi-
ated all his handsome face. I knew he
loved her, married man as he was, as
he had never loved his teal -hearted lit -
tie wjfe at his feet. I saw it all; for if
the world had nearly erushed out my
woman's heart, it had made me keen•
sighted to detect evil in others, too.
Elsie's voice first broke the silence;
lied,
the Pale Horse away With the soul a! . n �
—Stella A. Ganong.
emeeesaseemeeimemem
A HUSBAND'S TREACHERY.
Never was there such a sunny little
village as Green Vale—a. real fairyland
R was, and the brightest, sweetest,
cheeriest of village homes was Green
Yale Cottage,
Like a little white pearl eueireled by
emeralds, its snowwhitofront gleamed
out through therreen glisteningleaves.
Behind was the dark cool pine -forest.
spreading away to an unknown dis-
tance; in front bloomed the loveliest of
gardens, all ablaze with !lower -glory.
Down near the end of the garden
was a tiny ornamental lake; and bere
the fair white water -lilies, the flowers
"How sober you are all to -night!
Maggie, Lionel, Agnes, what ails yon
all?"
"A bad fit of the diismals, Elsie
dear," said I, "Maggie's doleful song
has made me "darkly, deeply, beauti-
fully blue,' as Byron says of the
ocean.
"The song was beautiful, and so was
the singing," said Lionel quietly.
"And so was the singer, " said I sag-
eastieally--'°eh, Mr, Arian?"
"Yes—even so, So beautiful that it
would be presumptuous to praise it,"
he said in a deep meaning tone,
A slight dusk tinted her oral cheek.
I could see it even in the moonlight. .
"I thought no man ever knew how
I loved best of all, lifted their pure to pear compliments after being mar -
stainless heads, shining in the sunlight ried six months, said Maggie, trying
like pearl, tipped with dew. to grass) a spray that grew above her
On one side was a large meadow, and head.
on the other side was an orchard. "Oh, they forgot' to compliment no -
Oh, ye gods! my mouth fairly waters
even now when I "think of that orchard.
So close grew the apple -tree to my
bedroom window, that on warm sultry
nights. when the heat and mosquitoes
wa:ie sleep impossible, I used to raise
the sash, and reaching out my hand,.
pull and eat away until my dainty
•cousin Maggie declared herself fairly
disgusted. Alt, those were the days!
The cottage was owned and occupied
by Mr. and Mrs, Ararat. Mrs. Aram,
still a merry little girl of nineteen, and
only harried six months, had been a
school -friend of ours, and had invited
Maggie and me to spend the summer
with her. And that is the reason why
I—eity girl that I was ---was in the
country.
How I enjoyed the country; how I
loved it!
Standing in the vine -covered porch,
watelting the sun go down behind the
far-off tree -tope. I felt I never wanted
to enter the noisy, roaring, brick -built
city again. But most of all, I loved to
bright
1 bre ht
• t tit, lake in file coo
\\ by l
ltd n
S down
with my arms around
Prince. the great Newfoundland dog's
meek, and listen to the silence, new and
unspeakably delightful to me.
At such times, the bard selfish crust
of worldliness would melt from my
heart, and all the childhood's sim-
plicity and love, lost long ago, would
come back. I was no longer a hard
worldly woman, laughing contemptu-
ously at human love and trust, but a
merry graceless girl, as I had been
once.
Oh. those radiant nights! Oh, those
long sunny days! Oh, for my golden
dreams in the dark, bright starlight!
with the dreamy odor of flowers
around me, the mysterious whisper-
ings of the tall pines in the fragrant
wood. the clear wild songs of the un-
seen birds, like voices from invisible
spirits. I lived a new life—a better and
holier life in those sylvan days.
Was it of anything like this Lionel
Aram was thinking, as he stood lean-
ing against the porch in silence, watch-
ing the moon rise above the blue hills,
far away?
The cool beauty of the night had
tempted us all out. Elsie Aram, his
girl -bride, sat composedly crotcheting
on a low stool near him.
Maggie, looking proud and hand-
some, as she always did, stood before
him, her white amts, shining in the
moonlight like polished marble, extend-
ed above her head, as she broke off
sprays of honeysuckle, and wantonly
flung them away.
Very handsome and stately she was,
with her cool white dress failing like a
mist around her tall regal figure, her
shining black hair brushed back from
her broad high brow, her bright dark
eyes, filled with a dreamy look they
seldom wore, on the distant moon.
And I—I, too, was there, with
Prince's head on my shoulder, his
great human eyes fixed lovingly on my
face, wondering why Lionel Aram's
blue eyes should lilt and soften so
strangely when they met hers.
There was a long silence. Maggie
was singing softly—singing sadly, ends
of old ballads, very low and dreamily
to herself.
Now it was "Auld Robin Gray;" now
"The Banks of .Allan Water,"' and
again, "Love Not" One I remember
with a strange wild air, the sweetest
and saddest I ever heard, ended in a
sort of refrain like the following:
Tho moon shines as brightly to -night o'er
the snow,
As it did when he loved me a long time ago.
No funeral dirge could have sound-
ed more dreary than did that refrain.
The words seemed to sadden even the
singer; for, lost in thought, she sang
again and again to the wild mournful
air, like the last cadence of a funeral
hymn:
"As it did when he loved me a long time
Wo were all silent when she ceased.
Good brave Prince, looking up in my
face, wondered, perhaps, at the tears
lying heavy on my eye -lashes, as I
thought of all I had lost in that dreary
"leng time ago.,,
Lionel's eyes seemed. mesmerised to
the 'beautiful face of the singer; and
body but their own wives, I under-
stand."
"What a cynic von are. .Agnes!
You'll be an old maid, sure; you seem
to have lost all your faith in men,
said Maggie
eWell, if I'lu only an old maid, I
have cause to be thankful. Some peo-
ple have been worse," 1 said pointedly.
"Worse! how? -••-what do you mean?"
,aid Maggie, starting violently, and
flushing deepest crimson.
"Oh, a married woman, for instance;
the worst fate that can possibly befall
a girl,"
"Nonsense, Aggie, von don't think
any such thing." said 'Elsie, laughing.
"'Don't 1? W'PelI, you'll see; some
day you may be of my opinion, too,
little matron."
"Never, never!" said Elsie impetu-
ously; and standing up she nestled
proudly and fondly toward her hand-
some young husband.
He put his arm round her waist, but
without Iooking at her, His eyes saW
non but t It.
It D :i 1
n
""f telt you what," said Margie
gaily; "Ag. must have been jilted when
in. her teen.. Nothing else would mese
her so bitte=i; Colne, proud cousin
;nine. confers; you have learned before
now how faithful man van be."
"I at I may or may not. But if I
had, Maggi', I would thank God every
day of my life for finding it' out in
time."
"Thank Cod for anything so bad!
Oh, Agnes!" said Elsie.
"Nothing is bad, Mrs. Aram, but it
might be worse."
"Worse! Nothing could be worse
than that."
"1 beg leave to differ from you. I
;night have married him---"
"Well?"
"And found it out afterwards.
Would that be worse, Mrs. Aram?"
"Oh, that would bo dreadful!" she
said with a shudder.
"What an unpleasant topic you have
chosen," said Maggie petulantly; 'lust
like you. Agnes, always mocking truth
and feeling, always bitter and satiri-
cal."
"Who would you have me learn the
trnth and feeling from—you, Maggie?"
said I carelessly.
She turned away and made no
answer
"How serene the ladye moon looks
to -night!" said Lionel. "Who would
think, bright and beautiful as it ap-
pears, that it is, after all, a black and
blasted desert?"
"Very like some people I have met
on this planet," said I.
"Mocking again," said Lionel with a
smile. "H"ave you lost all faith in the
human race?"
"God forbid!" I answered reverently.
"Thank heaven! there are some true
and warm hearts, loving and trusting
in this fruitless world yet. You have
ono throbbing near you, and for ou,
Mr. Aram."
Elsie's beaming smile shone for me a
moment, and then was lifted to the
:ear face above her—dear above all
earthly things to her. I saw him clasp
her closer, as if he hoped his own heart
would be pacified by the contact, but
he did pot venture to meet these lov-
ing, trusting eyes, with the guilt of his
faithlessness upon him.
"How I love those hydrangeas,"
said Maggie, stooping and gathering a
cluster of their pale pink blossoms;
"those thick rich bunches make lovely
bouquets.".
'"It is natural you should like them,"
said 1; "you know they are emblemat-
ic of heartlessness."
'"Come now, Agnes, you are too bad.
What is your favorite flower?"
"Sweet William," says I, plucking
the flower; "allow me to present it to
you, Mr. Aram."
"It means treachery;" said Elsie,
pushing it away with something like a
shiver. "Oh, Agnes, how can you be
so cruel?"
"Well, perhaps, this will be more
acceptable to you, said I,'handing her
an oleander, and ,glancing at her bus -
"And that says beware! what do you
mean, Agnes?"
"Oh, nothing. Now, Mr. Aram,
what do you choose?"
"Pink phloxes. 'I like its meaning;
accept it, Miss Maggio," he said care-
lesshv.
"TThat signifies our souls are united.
You should replyto that, coz."
"With pleasure; this crocus answers
for me," said Maggi e, her eyes flashing
with anger anddeftance at me,
"Andsays, I am yours. Very pretty '
and interesting all this. eh, Mrs.
Aram?"
Elsie's face was pale, and her eyes j
wandered uneasily from face to face,
Mr. Aram fastened the crocus in his
button -hole, while his eyes flashed with
triumph. Alas, for thee, Elsiot thy
doom is sealed.
"I believe 1 have an engagement
down the road," said Lionel, drawing
out his watch; "I must leave yore
ladies, for a short time."
""Good riddance," laughed Maggie;
but I saw how her eyes watched. dais
tall manly forth until it disappeared—
watehed as a woman watches only the
man she loves.
We were all silent when alone. I,
with a heart swelling with sorrow, in-
di enation, and pity—sorrow for poor
little Elsie; pity for her blindness, and
indignation at the heartless girl beside
me, Maggie watched the long white
dusty_ street, down whit's" he had gone,
and Elsie watched the beautiful solemn
stars•
" 'When shall we three meet again?'
as the witches say in ".'iiaebeth,' " said
Maggie, breaking the silence, that was
growing oppressive. "Elsie, darling,
what ails you tonight?"
She was not usually demonstrative, .
and very chary, of course, but now she
came over and put her arms round
Elsie's graceful little figure, pushed
back the pale golden hair, and kissed
Iter tenderly.
I did not understand it then; but I
know now she wished to give that last
embrace with pure liips---that Judas'
kiss to the friend she had wronged be-
yond earthly atonement.
"I don't know. I feel sad and
troubled," said Elsie, laying her little
head on that false friend's shoulder. "I
wish Lionel were back, I'm afraid
something way happen to ham—I have
such a strange presentiment of evil."
"Never mind Lionel, sweet Elsie,"
said Maggie, laying her burning cheek
on Elsie's bright curls. "It night be
better for you, and I, and the whole of
us. if—
"He was in heaven," interrupted 1.
"Hush, Agnes! What dreadful
things you say!" said Elsie, with a
shudder.
"And others do dreadful things!
God pardon us all; for we need it."
"Amen!" sadly and solemnly said
Dfaggie,
"Agnes, what have 3you been allud-
ing to all this evening. What dread-
ful thing is going to happen?" said
Elsie, starting up.
..O
1 never min A gale, o,
ox
rt
te
Maggie, gaily, "'she's always d
a terribly
sn sterious person—the 'Mysteries of
Ildolpho' are nothing to her secrets.
She's an old cynic—a misanthrope—a
man-hater—you know, Elsie, I want
you ,to ��promise me one thing, little
darling."
what is it, Maggie?"
""That, if ever you hear =rhino
m you wi 1 t
of me as you knew me itrst--a warm,
fresh, merry -hearted girl. You will re-
member I never had a mother—God
help mei—or I might have made
another sort of woman.
"Dear Maggie, what a strange re-
quest!"
""Yes I know; but promise me,
evil, anything badof e, y 1hin
Elsie.
"1 promise, dearest Maggie."
"Thank you—oh, thank you, foe
that. And now, one more favor.
Give me a. flower --your favorite, what-
ever it may be—as a token of remem-
brance."
emembrance."
"Well, here's rosemary—that's for re-
membrance. But what an odd mood
you're in to -night," said Elsie laugh -
in
"Oh, I'm an oddity altogether.
And," she cried, starting up, " 'by the
pricking of my thumbs, some one
wicked this way comes'—is here!" she
cried as Lionel re-entered the garden.
"Welcome back," said Elsie, spring-
ing into bis arms, while Maggie drew a
step back. "Dear Lionel, how glad I
am you've come."
"Well, really, if I had been away 20
years instead of 20 minutes, my wel-
come could not have been warbler,
said. Lionel laughing. ""But it's grow-
ing late, and you were complaining of
headache this morning, Elsie. I move
we adjourn to the house."
"I think I'll adjourn to bed," said
Elsie, smiling faintly; "for I find my
headache is not quite gone yet. Good
night, Agnes. Good night, Maggie—I
hope you'll be in better spirits to -mor-
row morning."
I felt littri'e inclination to stay with
either of them, now that Elsie was
gone; so I arose, and leaving them
both in the vine -covered porch, I bade
them good night and entered the
house. I never saw either of them
again.
That nig�jjtt I felt . miserable and
wakeful, and could not sleep.
Toward midnight, as I lay watching
the moonlight falling in broad. flakes on
the floor, a dark shadow fell across it
as a figure flitted through the garden.
I sprang up and looked out.
A carriage stood before the gate, and
Lionel and Maggie stood there, too; I
saw him hand her in, :springin after
her, the door closed, and the guilty pair
were whirled away.
Stunned, and nearly fainting, I f ell,
back in my seat. For neither of them
I cared -both had forfeited love and
respect for ever; but for Elsie—child-
like, simple, loving Elsie—my heart
bled.
I knew she loved her young husband
with her heart, and crying out, "Oh,
Elsie! oh, Elsie!, who will tell you 1 454
4194
this?" I sank on the bed, and wept
for her. Wisbee to annoeuce to the inhabitants of
Morning came, Pale and haggard, Exeteratul aioLuily, tl:,tt no has opened out a
I descended to the parlor, Elsie was
there pale too, with undefined appre-
"Agnes," she cried, "where is Mag- c}li
gie
""Gone," I said,
She rose up, came over, and laying In the Corner Store North of Sandwell
face with wild fearful eyes. & Ptokar&'B, where he is prepared to snake
""And my husband?" all kinds o: ordered work.
"Gone with her, my precious Elsie!!!"
She did not cry out nor faint. Pale': Sewed work a speciality.
and tearless, she sat down, holding her
hands over her heart. In straits like
these, when the bolt goes right through
the heart, the eye has no tears to shed;
and she, who would have wept for the
death or loss of a pet bird, shed no
tear, heaved no sigh, note.
But, oh, who can paint the agony,
the mortal anguish, that overspreadber
face?God forgive me if, in that moment, 1
was tempted to curse them both.
Had her husband died, she would
have grieved; but what wan death to a
loss like this?
Elsie did not die, then ---people often
live on after all that makes life dosir
able is gone, but from that moment the
name of either never crossed her lips.
I heard of them sometimes; now in
Paris, now in Naples, and slow in Lon-
don—ever restless and roaming about;
and I know that neither of there will
ever return to that little cottage -home
again.
c"
h.en,
at gad Shoe Shop
her hands itt mine, looked up in my
ret Uarte's Joke.
Perhaps it is the influence of the
climate, perhaps mercy the exhilara-
tien attendant upon well-earned liter-
ary fame, but whatever the cause quite
certain it remains that Bret Harte has
recently developed a penchant for
practical jokes which alt the royalty el
the "tight little isle" will find it difTi-
cult to suppress,
Only one American joke can be set
down to the credit of Harte during his
entire sojourn in the United States, the
details of which are as follows: Harte,
at one time, used to plunder the people
from the rostrum, in the way of 50 -cent
Iectures. Durinu a trip over the Penn-
(Repairing promptly attended to,
GEO. MANSON,
Late Manager J. Eacrett'A Boot and Shoe
lestablishmeut,
May 14th 84.
A.YER'S PILLS.
A Ism* proportion of the diseases which
cause bwuan Buttering result from derange*
went of the stomach, bowels, and liter,
stir lin"a Winter= 1 44 act directly upon
*hese organs, and ere especially designed to
cure the diseases *sated by their derange.
:Pont, tuclueuag Constipation. Indigos.
Clop. Dyspepsia. Bend»cite. Dye atery,
and a host of other snout.aw, tor as of
wheel, they aro A safe; sure, pr•.% 1 t sat
pleaialtt rens- ly. 1lie. e+.4111414 1 t > >
P.1LL*by4ii..; ott •+ al .'
time, sh• till 1.;,•n ' '• . t , r• 1 .et
ishicb tbcy are L"•d by x 1......-. J". •
Eau.
s lvania circuit, to found himself one y ThessPu+i gra." , r r... • 1 or ... • ••�
evening in a small town, the very at aubst:m ur ':. a t a ,, s •
=sphere of which was depressing. calomel arany ull-ri,lIr..a+se, .. ••t.
Turning to the committeeman who
awaited on him at his room in the ho-
tel, Harte said:
"Li this a healthful climate?"
"Passably," responded the com-
mitteeman.
"What's the mortality of this city?"
"About one a day."
"About one, e11?" said Harte. "Come
this way a minute," and he drew the
committeeman into the recces of the
bay window, and then said to him,
solemnly;
"Is the Dian dead for to -day? I. am.
going to leeture here to -night, and it
would be it great relief to nue to know
that I could „et through alive."
But the great London joke of Bret
Haste's, which he perpetrated, a short
time since, is now the talk of the town.
Dressing himself in the threadbare,
frayed fringed and faded garments
which would, quite likely, be worn by
a Cross between a Bohemian journalist
and a tramp, Bret Harte visited the of-
fice of Laboueherels Truth, and asked
to see the eminent journalist. He was
ushered into the holy of holies, the
inner office of the nowspaporial M.
and told him that he had a poem which
he would be pleased to sell, and asked
Mr. Labouchere to look it over, But
the famous lance -hurler of the London
press at first refused to lance at the
offering, but upon Heath's earnestly
pleading his immediate need of money,
Mr. Labouchere hastily examined the
production. Then he returned it with
the remark:
""I cannot use this trash."
"But, my God!" exclaimed Harte,
"I'm starving."
He looked like it, for his make up for
the occasion was superb.
""What do you want for it?" inquired
Labouchere.
"Is it worth a pound?" said Harte,
with an expression indicating that his
heart was crawling up in the vicinity of
his larnyx.
"Want a pound! It is not worth the
paper it is written on," raged La-
bouchere. "If you want charity, I can
give you a few shillings, but it would
only be accompanied by advice to the
effect that a strong, able-bodied man
like you can make more- money and
give less cause of offense by seeking
employment at hoppicking, or ship-
ping before the mast. Instead of at.
tempting to worm your way into
journalism, why did you not join the
expedition for the relief of General
Gordon? Who are you, anyway?"
"Bret Harte," was the answer, as
the major portion of the disguise was
removed, and the astonished La-
bouchere beheld a club companion
whom he had known for years. The
poern, however, will soon be published
to the world, and it is one of Harte's
greatest efforts. But its introduction
to the great 'world will not be through
the columns of London Truth.—Chi-
cago Sunday Telegram.
•
The largest gold nuggets ever found
were the tollowin : The Sarah Sands
nugget, found at Ballarat. It weighed
130 pounds, Troy, or 1,560 ounces.
This; at £4 per ounce, would be worth
£6,240. The Blanch Barkly nugget,
dug up at Kingower. It weighed 145
pounds, and was worth £6,960. The
Welcome nugget, found at Ballarat. It
weighed 184 pounds, and. was sold fax
£10,000. This was the 'largest ever
found.
d!>>rtite turn•.
""Antra PILLS are invalu Ii' a r•• t t
aro my constant companion.t 1 ► 't
a severe sufferer from lir el , l .-, s. 1 :
1"11.1s are the only til^, g 1 i' u •e +t • •
for relief. one dose w.ti ,,l tt n 5 .." +
bowels aA.l rte ley 1+. ad 1 , ,te 1 + . i•
are the gnat eilevi,n,• a, ,: t,
i bave ever ;•sunt; l t t, n 1 • • : ,
speak iu their pl t:ar, 11110 t 8....,,s
When ueeaste•t, ..r,.
W. 1'at,t,of W. I.. Poo. . r p'•
Franklin Si., 3;,es.t.,•..e., d a., •.,,. . ..
""1 '1154* used .\h'it's lilt.' y In , •.
less instances as roeuIt,I i•,1,•.1 1., • ,
1 „ -suit
..i
Lava never known thou t 1 , t "
the desired result \\ ee:e 1,t2 xi '..
all halal a t our home and 1 , , • 1.
pleasant, sale, 8130 relinl ie 1.1%,* . . , •
,
YOU J. srlirsL•1 they are hit .
,a
The Itar. 1?n sees li. ll.utit.•r. - • r
from Atlanta Ga., sees. rot. r'. • i
best 1 hate Been subjeet to rest. , t
front which, in epplto of the use 4,3 r •
cines of various kinds,1 suaer,'0 i
.1',r,.•
Neale, Tosca, June 17, Usti.
inconveuionce, until some pa•l.tl,1•t
began taking .e1.m a PzaL.s, ! 1, t ;e
entirely corrected the costive lust r, .1
have vastly improved els general bL seta,'
ASEn's CATuAnrie Pit.Ls correct irrn;a•
larities of the bowels, stimulate the :li Pe-
tate and digestion, and by their }swept and
thorough action giro tone and vigor to the
whole physical economy.
PBEPAnnD nY
Dr. J. C. Ayer &Co., Lowell, Mass.
Sold by ail. Druggists.
YODNG, All experience the wonderful
O" AND beneticiai eifecta of
LDOMDDDLE- Ayer% Sarsaparilla.
Children with Sore Eyes, Sore
AGED. Ears, or aur scrofulous or syph-
ilitie taint may be trade healthy and strong
by eta use.
Bold by allDruggists; •3t, six bottles for
1885.
faarpor's 111Cagazia,e.
1LLUSTATED.
With the new volume, beginning in Decent
bor, HARPER'S MAGAZINE will conclude its
thirty.fiftl, year. The oldest periodical of its
type. it is yet, in each new volume, a new
magazine not simply because it presents fresh
subjects and new -pictures, but also, and chiefly
because it steadily adv snces in the method it-
self of magazine making,. Ina word,tbe Mao-
Azxun becomes more and more the faithful
mirror of currentlife andmovement. Loading
features in the attractive programme for 1885
are: new serial novels by CONSTANCE IF'ENIMORE
WonnsoN and V. D. Howsnns; a new novel
entitled "At the Bed Glove ;" descriptive illus
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