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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 traced papers by F.D. MILLET, R. SWAIN GI -g- rows, E. A. 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