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klip qliJ UirMvH co??IiM%f:' 42 F?R ANKUM,1 ' fi - , ? ' ? T^d-'i -..#1.77:** Ii/.'' "Otf WE MOVE INIJifcSOLUBI.Y FIK^ Goi> ASl> NATURE BID T1IK BAME. ?{ IN ADV^A^C^ . it) t?:t ? "Vol, 1 SOUTH ?AROLIBTA, WEDNESDAY, MARCH SO, 1872, i 'i i i. iic'ji 3x THE ORANGEBUltG TIMES I?, publbhedoVery W E D N E B DAY. At 5RANOEBURG, C. IL, SOUTH CASGLIKA .BY ?.ffif_ _j HEVWARD & BEARD. SVBBCBtPTXOK nATES: ' $2 a Tear, in advance?$ I for six month*, JOB* PUINTINO in. ?11 ita, departments, neatly txeoated. Xiireti? a call. _____ :.: ' -nr "FATHErt, TAh*_ HAND." _ ,?,.,,.<" Ii . The way is dark, my Father I .Cloud on cloud In gathering thickly o*er' my head, and loud The thunder* roar ibovw me. Mec, I itand Like one bewildered! Father, lake my hand, And through the gloom bead Koftlv home >ii thy child! ' The day goes fa#t, my Tather i and tlie night 1* drawing darkly dowm Sty faithless sight Sec* gkeatiy vision*. ' Tear*, a sjtetVral band, HneompaM mo. I), Father ! take my1 hand, And from night It but Load up to light m Thy child I The way Is long, Fathrr! and my soul Long* Car the rest and <ptiet of the goal: "While vet 1 journey through thin weary. laud. Keep ate from wandering.. dEather, ituke my haad; | ?l/iiekly tud sfntjtht L\%A t<> h-ivfii'e gare Thy ebild ". .. O , *.'... .f? , ,.'.*,, The i-t\\m m heave, Father! I have lierne It lone, and full) <ht hear it. I-e< my, worn And fainting ?pirh rife l^^hal hle-t laud ft'livr* ? Txivrm. ?re'^gireiu Failu-r, take my ??and; ii'.iin ? And, reaching do^n I.< nd to the ?r?.v. it Thy child! TIIK AS^vr.n. i ,,tT . /.ft" run t 'dl J/??? ? ? ' * * * . Th?* er??** i? heavy, child S Yet there wa* one Who hon* a heavier for thee: my r*on. My nrell-liv loved. For him bear thine; and stand Il'ith him at last; nnd, from thy Father's hand. Thy cross laid down, Rtcelvo a crown, My child! (Selected. IbSTlN TIME. ;i am no tired of it aU!" said Acidic? Clitigrovc. The little wooden clock on the mantle had just struck eight; the fire in the cyl inder stove glowed with a red, comfort able reflection. Mr:-, CJiffgrovo had gono down to is sue orders to the kitchen department, relative to tho morrow's breakfast, and Addie was nil alone with a pile of inva lided household linen, a package of un ntended blockings, and a work-basket well supplied with all the necessary im plements of needle craft. Aad this was to be the occupation of her elegant leisure. Abs, poor Addie! .She was u pretty girl; rather below than above the medium height, with big blue eyes, of the soft color you ace iu the "flowing blue" china of our grandmoth er's days, sunny brown hair, streaked here and there with reddish gold, and a round face, where red lips and dimples and shy roses made up a distracting con fusion to tbe eye masculine. And her hands were white aud soft, and her waist slight and trim, und she wore a number two aud a half shoe, und altogether would have been phrased a beauty, had she only been fortunate enough to live in Fifth Avenue, instead of being tho daughter of Mrs. Cliffgrove, w_o "took boarders/' and was oftentimes sorely troubled to make both ends meet. Four little brothers and throe little sisters to make and mend for, to wash the facet and brush the locks of, and see duly packed off for school every day ?dyed dresses, three winter-ohbbonnets, and gloves so shabby that eho wok lain to hold her hands folded within her shawl whenever she went out, ami a treadmill round of daily labor more weari some than the constant dropping, which is said to wear the hardest stone away? thin was the epitome of Addie's Hie, and, for a girl of eighteen, there is no denying that it was very hard. And Addie wondered, sometimes, if the blessed gates of relief would never opoa to her faltering footsteps! To be sure, there wan John Torrcy, ; who had the little hall bedroom in the 1 third story latek, and was a clerk in I Messrs. Cash and Bullion's bunking es j tuhlishment?John Torrcy, with the j clear hazel eyes, and the merry ringing voice, who had told her only yesterday I that he loved her, and would fain make licr his wife! But John Torrcy was not j rich, and hud only hi* salary to depend upon, and Addie had always dreamed that her pretty face might win her a more important prize in the matrimonial lottery than u mere banker's clerk ! Yet she liked him a little too, or she had thought she did, before .Mr. Curew ??hm?! to the hnardiug-housu and engaged uer mother's handsomest room. And Mr. Carcw had taken uergtn the theatre.nnd sent her hopMUclr-. and ' - her a pre,-nt of a tUMpioise brooch; the prettiest thing she had ever seen. Of course he Mas very rich, for he wore diamonds and rupcrlinc broadcloth, ?itul talked about In* country scat on the Hudson, und bi?yacht and bis ruci horses, until Addie's simple eyes Were diluted with surprise und amazement. Alas lor poor Jehu Torrcy ! bis heart would have sunk into the solch of his boots, bad he but known how s.ruder were bis chances, compared with ih>s.' of bis dashing rival ! But ignorance is bliss, at least so sUys the old proverb, and .\ir. Torrcy's' luce wum as bright as ever when hi came into tite little pallor .where Addie mii dam tug tablecloths. *it rains pretty bard, eh?" said .lohn, rubbing his hands liefere the lit.. "Mo church lecture for iia to-night!" Addie bit her lip. "I was not thinking of going to church, even if it didn't ruin. Mr. Curuw asked me to go to the opera." "Mr. Carcw, eh ?" said John, somewhat lugubriously. "Seems to me you and Mr. Carcw uro getting to be pretty good friends!" "Yes, we arc," said Addie, with a toss of her pretty little head. "Addie," said Mr. Torrcy, after a mo ment's silence, which he employed in twirling the spoolstand round and round. "Well?* "Have you thought anything more of what I said to you last night?about? , about being my wife, you know?" "Yes," said Addie; coloring, and sew ingon very intently. "Of course 1 havo thought ot it ?" "And what have you decided?" "That we hadn't bettor think any more of it, John." Honest John's countenance fell. "Addie, you're not in earnest!" "Yes, John, I am." "But, Addie?I love you; I can't be happy without you. And?it may seem conceited?but I always thought you liked me." "80 I did, John; but liking isn't loving, you know; and the more 1 think of it, the more I am assured that vre are Dot adapted to one another. Of com rat, if you are disappointed, I am sorry; but I cant help it!" John had risen up, pule and troubled, with a pleading light in his eyes. "Hear me, Addie," he said. "I cannot let this matter be decided so. It is a question of life aud death t?> me, what ever it nmy be to you. Before this Carew" came?but 1 won't speak of'him," he burst forth, with an evident ? flbrt at self control, "except that I am firmly con vinced he is not the lort of man to make a good.' husband to any woman? but you liked me well enough then. Ad die, take twenty-four hours tnoro to con sider it well before you pronounce your decision/' "It will be of no use,"she said, in a low voice; "and, John, if you think to advance, your cause by abusing a rival, you are sadly mistaken, that's all." "But you will wait one day more, for mj sake, Addie?" he urged. "If you insist upon it; but the delay will be. uselc.s/Vhe said, coldly. "Because, Addie, nthb.g like this that involves the happiness of two life-times ought not to he decided upon too rashly," he went on; "and perhaps- But.I won't say more now, Addie. Shall I have you?" "I would rather be alone," she answer ed, briefly; and Mr. Torrcy rose quietly, an I went slowly away. Would Mr. t.'arcwcomc now? lie had -jlb.L-bcr/thut ?1'" ??*>??fc-*grf ;s^wd?r,^t.wlv do.vn-pouring of the ruin seemed to forbid i .p fullilmcLt of their opera engagement, that he would spend the evening with her, r adi.ig a volume of new poems aloud, and si .iple Addie had couu.cl the hours that to erveued, in her restless eagerness. .i our.lohn! how little thought she gave to him and the. bitterness of his disap pointment! how much to Mr. Oarew, with b's d irk eyes and his command of lau .- u .go! "lie i- so handsome!" she thought, "and he basso much slyic; aud then?then he ?ovo? me .-o much! If he had not, believ er would have j rcssed my hand as he did last night, when ho was speaking of the loneliness of bis bean, and its yearnings for congenial companionship. The current of Addie's dulcet medita t mis was here interrupted by Bridget's voice. "Miss Addie, plasethe mistress has gone to market to tec about tbe chops for break fast as was orderet! to be brought, and the blond .rin' thnfe of a butcher left behind." Addie shuddered a little at the abrupt change of menial temperature. "An' liter's a lady here anxious to sec her?and per haps yes would do as well." "Ask her to come up," said Addie, sigh ing, as the golden pinnacles of dreamland vanished in the dull gray atmosphere of daily life. "1 dare .-ay it's some one about the big extension room." And she rose and drew a chair towards the tire, as a tall, slender figure entered, with shawl and wrappings all dripping with rain, and a long era pp veil thrown back from a face ?hat. was very pretty, though thin and quite colorless. In her hand she carried a small black leather travelling big; and she entered with the free, graceful air of one well ac customed to society. "Youaro Mrs. Clngrovo?" she asked, las her eyes fell on the figure by the stove. "'1 am Miss GTifrglove. " "1 have called specially to see. Mr. Carcw, but the servait tells me ho has not yet conic in. la the meantime, I i should like to ask you a lew questions." I Bbo sat down qtjictly, and Addie vaguely wondered what,was coming next. "Una he been here long ?" "Mr. Carew, do you mean?" . "Ye*." "For ?beut four weeks, I beHove," said Addie. "Has ho puid his bills?'' Addie crimsoned. "Not yet." "I thought so. Nor will he." "Madam," said Addie, spiritedly, "you have no right-" ' Yes, child, I have," broke out the lady, impatiently, "the best right I in the world?the right of one whom, thorough paced villain and impostor though ?be; isj he has cheated and wronged mostcrucUy of all." I am his wife!"' "His wife!" involuntarily repeated Addie. "Ah, I sec," nodded the strange guest; "he has been palming himself oil' ou you as a single man. it is his style Ho lives a gay life, while I, down in the conn-: try, am suttcrhig lor the bare necessaries of life. But, in so fa? as I can, I will not see people deceived and deluded'b>' his arts. If, as I suppose, your mother is onu who depends lor her daily bread upon her daily income, let her get rid of him at once. He is not one who I pays Ink debts, and the widow and the intherless seem to be his natural prey." Addie sat pale, and, as it were, para lysed. This, then, was her hem of romance-1-*-' her chevalier "without fear and without JUJ>K?(l<.ll." ? . . {I Yet, perhaps there was some cruel mis take, some spiteful, envenomed slander.' She would not believe it until? Even as this reflection eddied vaguely through her.mind, the door opened, and Mr. Carew himself entered, with the light, jaunty step that was customary with him. lie stopped short, turning of a livid pallor as he saw the pale woman in black. "Augustus!" she greeted him, com posedly. "Flora!" he gasped. "I?I did not expect to sec you here." "No, I knew you <lid not," she said, bitterly. "You thought you had effectu ally concealed your whereabouts from inc; but a neglected wife has keener vision than one is apt to suppose. Will you not introduce me formally to your pretty young friend?" "Certainly?oh, of course," said Mr. Carew, growing red and pale with saor tification, yet striving to assume an easy manner. "Miss Cliftgrovc, this is?a? my wife!" And Addie's look of contempt was per haps the keenest mortification of all that Augustus Carew bad yet experienced; Mr. and Mrs. Carew went home the next day, the former promising to scud a remittance to Mrs. Cliftgrovc per mail, which remittance, it may be unnecessary to state, never arrived. Addio became .John Torrcy's promised wife. For John's loving heart was very wi.se in its tenderness, and ho never spoke Mr. Ca row's name again. And Addie is very happy in bor quid, horhr, and always thinks with pityinr kindness of Augustus Carew's pale wife. Probably there is not the remotest corner or little inlet of the minute blood vessels of the body that docs not feel some wavelet from the great convulsion produced by hearty Inujrbtcr, shaking tho central man. The South Carolina 1 tail road will commence vigorously in the repair I of the Laurent* Branch at a very early j day. The King's mistake. A number of politician*, all of whom were seeking office tujdajt the govern ment, were seated under a tavern porch, when an old toner naincd Joel I)., a per son who wns very lwmncious Srhen corn ed, but exactly the opposite when .sober, said that he would tejl them a story - They told Jiim tp fire,awgy, whereupon h i spoke ns folio vs: '-'A certain ting-rr I don't recollect his nar^e^r-bud. a philos opher upou whose jud^crneut, always depended-; Now it, .bajppened. 'jOnp,j;djy t'intthc king tot l^Ujntfybw bend to go hunting, and sum mo nod Jus; noble?, and making the wc^?faa^:,;prep^ratiqi?? .bio summoned the philosopher and asked him.if it. would rain; ,;$he pbUvfftfiber^ told hint ,it.\Yflufclinot* ?-jtf^f$fP-tqL While journeying. al?)ng, ?,ijhey(< f meet ,a countryman, #ioAmtcd on,.a jacka?fl?tnttlcr* "He advbfvd them to- return, .wid'. he, 'it >vil| ccrJabJyufain^, flOfflf smiled contemptuously upon .him, and Xntssed on., Bctoro tljcyT ha,d\ gone ninny miles, howcvertfthcy badrca^n;t^,re^rc^ not having takcu^Uio. rusticV^dY/^r** n shower coming up dreached them . to the skin. When tbevebad returned to ihc placj, the>^inglrci^nn>udcd tho phi losophctf;fleverely.tB7m * H\ ?Tf?^ ?rfT 1 hc.k?iows a( great .^trWftnfhlRXpK lie to'd,,rue it wotdd^r^lp^^b^uw^W? told me it woul4 ,;uofP\ ;^|f(0a>mg ,thea gave him his walking papers and cc-nt fjr the countryman, who -nam made his .up??enrnnce. . - <. " ? Toll me,' said the king.' how ypUj knew it would rain.' ? I didn't know,' said the rustic; 'my jackass ,tpld me pp.' * And how, pray, did he tell you ?' asked the kinc. 'By pricking.up bis cars, your Majesty,* said the rustic,; t ?/*). "The king sent t|ie rustic away,. aa?d procuring the jacka-.s of him, he placed: 1 .im?the jackass?in t\\d offico t|i?f;phil osopher filled., ^?jnjai trt?miJn>? "And here," observed Joel, looking very wise, "is where the kigg made a great mistake." "How to?" inquired the auditors. " Why ever ainco tbat t ine, " said Joel, with a grin on his phiz, "every jackass wants office." The Local Paper.?A local news paper is a traveling agent, taking its w ekly rounds to the families of all its customers. 2so matter whether times are good or dull, no matter whether trade is bri.sk or otherwiso, no business man can. afibrd to take down his sign, nor withdraw the pleasing influence of a weekly chat with his customers through the news paper. For a business man to stop ad vertising would be equivalent to saying, ? "I have stopped bmincss, and ask no favors of the people." I never saw a Frenchman laugh. They smile, they grin, they shrug up their shoulders. They (lance, they cry "Ha!"and" Cicl?" but they never givo themselves up to boisterous, unlimited laughter. Men and statues that arc admired in an elevated station have a very different effect on us when wo approach thorn: tho lirst appear less than wo imagined them, the last larger. Every heart lias secret sorrows which the world knows not, and oft-times wo caii a man cold when ho is only sad. A locomotive consumes, on the average, forty-five gallons of water for every mile it runs. These two lines look very solemn, Arc just put here to fill this column'