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About Grant County news. (Canyon City, Or.) 1879-1908 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 30, 1880)
FAILURE. Lonsr gfo you Raid to mo: "?wcat, A glorious kingdom befon-yon lis.'' Yon pointed It. nut to my willing You lighted the way with your loving eyes. Marv tho triumphs thP years hav brought ; Keen the plenKure. hut limner the Prti. I stand by your side in the realm oi" ' bought, A nd I ask inyself, is lL loss or gain? Yu give to me generous meed of praise. You ii've to me. honor ami fust, 1 know; But. you think with icicret of my simple wy3, My fonrt unwisdom or long ago. Though I speak with the wisdom of gods and (Thl tne bitter that spoils my sweet), I know lull well that. never Hgitlii Oau I Htiryour palse by a single beat. You are not to blame there is naught, to ce Ever bv fato is our pJanning crossed. J nd ihe'oest thai. I could, love-led, For the sake ol winning what J. have lost, "3I1ZPAH." BY ETHELIND KAY. From the Portland Telegram. Chloe Hathaway sat in the firelight one cool, autumn evening, her head rest ing on her hand, and her dark eyes fixed thoughtfully, almost sadly, on the dying embers. It was her twentieth birthday, and her thoughts involuntarily wandered back over the year that had just passed. What a long, dreary, hopeless year it had been, she thought, and a little bro ken sigh fluttered from her lips. These last two years had been like a groat barren desert, with no oasis no bright sun showers to refresh them. And yet no one suspected that Chloe had a "skelleton in her cupboard." She was always, when in company, gay, light hearted and cheerful always ready to laugh at, and make light of trouble of all kinds; and though she counted her lovers by the score, she kept them ail at a safe distance, and solemnly declared she would never marry. "But Chloe," her uncle with whom she lived, and who was her only rela tive would sometimes say to her, "yrni will surely marry some time for l am old and can not live always, and what would you do without me, dear?" "I'm sure I don't know, Uncle," Chloe would answer wearily. "t only know that I have a horror of marriage, and never even give it a second thought ex cept when you compel me io. Please let me stay with you, always. Uncle I am perfectly contented to drift on in this way forever." But there hud been a time when Chloe was 18, when life was not the dreary, aimless thing to her that it was now; when her heart beat lightly and joyously, and existence itself seemed a pleasure. She thought of it now, and sighed; it seemed so long ago so many bitter changes had come since those halcyon days. When Chloe was only eighteen, she had met "Will Boone handsome, noble, intelligent just such a man as women fall in love with in spite of themselves, and almost unconsciously she had given him her heart. And he, handsome, polished man of the w rid, though he was, learned in a few, short months, to love this little, pure, wild flower tenderly, and truly with all the ardor of his strong, passion ate nature. For one short summer they had drifted on in perfect happiness, forgetting every thing and everybody but themselves and their Jblden dreams living only in the present, forgetting the past, and caring not for the future. Ah! methinks such days have dawned for all of us and wore thny not brighter, purer, better than any we have known since then? "Ah! for the golden days!" But autumn came, and Will was compelled to return to the city. But before he left, he told Chloe that he loved her, and slipped a flashing opal on her finger. "If you love me, darling," he said, "wear it till Christmas, when I will re turn I can say no indre till then."' And then ho had kissed her and left her, and Chloe had woru his ring be cause she loved and trusted him. In side the ring was engraved the quaint, old-fashioned motto, "Mizpah," signify ing, "Tl: Lord watch between thee and me while we are absent one from tho other.' He had promised to write her, but not one line came from him; yet she waited patiently, trustingly, feeling sure that in the end it would all be right. The weeks passed away, and Decem ber camev and the days dragged slowly by. Christmas morning dawned clear and cold, and Chloe entered the break fast room and took her place, with her heart in a flutter of feverish hope. He would come to-day, she told herself con fidently. Then tho mail was brought in two or three letters for her father and one for herself, and as she glanced at the post mark Iter iieart gave a joyful bound, for it was from New York. She opened the envelope and two ereruu colored cards fell into her hand; one bore the name, Miss Lizzie Combs, and the other Mr. and Mrs. W. L. Boone. And poor Chloe, without one word, slipped down, white and sense less on the floor. "Great God!" cried her father, "I have killed my child my little Chloe!" And when, an hour later, Chloe came back to consciousness and life, she found herself an orphan her father had fallen dead as he uttered that twguished cry, "Great God; I have killed my child!" He had always been subject to heart dis ease, and the sudden shock had "loosed the silver cord," and poor Chloe was fatherless as well as motherless. Her uncle immediately came, and after the funeral, carried her away to his own elegant luxurious home in the city the same'eity where Will lived with his beautiful bride, who had taught him no soon to forget poor little, dark-eved, faithful Chloe. But she learned that Will had gone to Europe, and would uot return for two or three years; and so with a dreary hope less despair settling over her heart, she "took up the burden of life again," and none of her fashionable friends or ad mirers dreamed she had a deep, deep grave in her heart, in which she had buried her first and only love; for un like men, a woman can never forget the man she has once loved. And as she sat in tho firelight, this evening, thinking of tho bitter past, and still more bitter future, the door opened softly, and her uncle entered and seated himsolf beside her. "Chloe, my dear," he said, gently drawing her head down on his shoulder, ana softly caressing tuc aarK, waving 1 1 IT hair. 1 want to talk to you awhile. Have you given Mr. Hampton his an swer yet?" "Not yet, uncle," replied Chloe, wearily ; "he is coming this evening." "And may I ask, dear, what your an swer will be ?" "I intend to reject him," said Chloe, hesitatingly, "for I do not love him." "My dear child," said Mr. Hathaway, "I beg you to pause ere you reject Guy Hampton. He is the noblest man I know, and very wealthy besides. You understand my wealth will pass to my sister when I die, and vou will be com pelied to earn your own living. I can not be satisfied until I see .you provided for. O Chloe ! if you would only marry Guy ! Nothing you could do would make me so happy as this, and I am sure you would care for him in time." It was the first favor ho had ever asked of her, and Chloe felt that she could not refuse. After all, what did it matter ? Will was dead to her forever ; and as he had been false, why should she remain true to his memory, especially as her uncle desired it so much ? He had done so much for her. and it seemed so un- I grateful to refuse his first request. Here her reflections were interrupted by the ringing of tho door-bell. "Chloo," whispered her uncle, shall it be as I wish? Dear, I wish itso much !" 'Just for a moment Chloe was silent, and a convulsive shudder passed over ( her Then she said slowly, "Uncle, it ! ftiuui uu i& j uu w iru, , aiiii iviancu 111m. He returned her caress and left the room, and a moment later a tall, noble- u.ime n Egypt, Paris, and London, and of looking man entered, and with a heavy the courag'o and humanity he (lis heart Chloe arose to meet him. played in as isting plague-stricken "Chloe," he cried eagerly, clasping j Frenchmen when lie was consul at Alex both her cold hands in his, "0 darling, andra. The relations she heard impres do not keep me in such suspense. May sed her as the narrative of Othello's ad 1 keep these little" hands forever ?' ventures imposed Desriemona. Mile. "If vou wish, Mr. Hampton," said i de Braga ea .v in M. de Lesseps a hero of Chloe, hoarsely. And as her lover took j modern times. His courtliness, elnval her eaerlvinto his arms, and pressed , rous manners and vivacity enchanted a wovm nnccinnoto Lnccnc nn nor hminritu tor beautiful face, she closed her eyes resolutely upon j the dreary, hopeless, aimless past, and I resolved to make a good and faithful wife ' to the man who loved her so fondly. ii ' 1 ii v i 11 . i. t n ' Aim just wien ner opai nasi hu ruu in uau : 4 -, ... , Till it.' men Lint. ;iuu h nue ui uu uiu auui; iuui Will used to sing, rang through her mind, and her sad heart echoed, "Ah! for the golden days!" k :k Mr. and Mrs. Guy Hampton were spending their honeymoon or moon shine, it might more properly have been called in this instance in continual traveling, but at last, Chloe grew weary, and they stopped at Saratoga to spend the summer. The first evening of their arrival there was a ball at the hotel, and they went into the ball room and at a late hour, Chloe looking radiantly beautiful in her 7)alo pink satin and opals: her cheeks were flushed slightly, and her eyes flashed with a bright, restless lire; only the weary, hopeless drooping of the scarlet lips showed that her heart was not in this gay scene. She had danced several times, and was sitting quietly, talking with a friend, when her husband's voice suddenly aroused her. "Chloe," he said, "let me introduce my old friend, Will Boone!" Chloe lifted her eyes. One wild, startled glance into the cold, handsome face of the man she loved, and then she slipped quietly down off the sofa into the arms outstretched to receive her the arms of her first, false love. Twice in her life had Chloe fainted once when she found that her lover was false, and now that she found that lover before her. Her husband took her hastily from the arms of his old friend; the usual restor atives were applied, and Chloe was soon herself again. "My poor little girl," said Guy, ten derly, "what could have caused it? the heat and excitement, I daresay; and as soon as you've spoken to Will, wo will leave I know you are tired!" "Indeed I am not," returned Chloe, bravely; and then, with a little cry of surprise, sho held out her hand to Will Boone. "Why, I'll declare!" she cried, "if it is not an old friend of mine, after all! Why, Guy, I knew Mr. Boone two or three years ago! I'm so glad to see you," sho went on, hurriedly, for she felt that her courage was failing her. "Is vour wife here?" "3 wV!" repeated Will, while Out burst into a loud laugh. "I have no wife, Chloo." Chloe's face turned ghastly white. "No wife?" she gasped, "why; Will, you sent me your wedding cards !" "By George !" exclaimed Guy, ab ruptly, "I'm engaged for this waltz!" And the unconscious, blundering fellow hastened away, and with a long drawn breath, that was almost a groan. Will caught Chloe's hand, andhurried her into the conservatory. "Now, tell me," he exclaimed, with great beads of perspiration on his brow, "what you mean ?" 1 "I mean what I say,'' replied Chloe, faintly. "Did you not send me your wedding cards ? "NO!" thundered Will. "Then O, Will, why didn't you write ?" "Because your father curse him told me you were engaged. I did not believe it at first, and wrote you again and again; but when Christmas came, your father wrote me that 3-011 were mar ried!" Chloe, Chloe, say that it was not true !" "It was not;" CJhloe was weeping now. "I loved you all the time, Will!" "And he Tour father curse him! " He stopped abruptly, as Chloe put out both white, trembling hands. "Chloe, darling," he said, hoarsely; "vou are Guv's wife, and he is blameless wo must not forget that! God help us to live our lives nobly, desinte this great wrong! "Oh, Chloe, my darliug," he cried, holding out his arms, "come to me just once you belong to me I have a right to hold you. But poor Chloe shrank away. "Lead mo not into temptatiou !" she murmured, with white lips. And just then Guy came rushing 111. "Helio!" he cried, "are you two talk-,-. .1 - mi 11 ing over old tiniesr vjome onioe, tins is 1 our dance.' "One moment," said Will, as he shook his friend's hand, and then took Chloe's m a long, painful clasp. "I leave in the morning." Then his eyes fell upon the flashing opal, and he added, brokenly : ' the Lord watch between thee and me while we are ausent one iroin tne other." Chloe never saw him again. 1 wonder, are such wrongs righted in the Beyond. The Be Lcssops Romance. The historv of M. de Lesseps' second mnrriage is a curious. The lady who is his wife was nearly twelve years at the chateau of which 3be is now chatelaine, staying on a visit. Ker family name was de Braga. She was of a French ori gin, but English nationality, her father bavin; tilled a post under the British government in the Mauritius. Mile, de rreoie type aiid very ha(1 been n'the mbk 0 iiraga was the pertection ot the rrench romantic, bhe of listening to the accounts of the diplomatic and material difficulties which M. de Lesseps over- "Ui U5eu - ineinooient pumicis ui me e 01 An1'dce- Mie s UI fe ia? e 'l1?11 ,: mPj", W I1CII till IjUIWUC iVD aoiu wuui. niv. eaient of the Suez enterprise. rnma wrP !irri vmtr f'rntti thf THilt Jl I UG till I'll. iHljtl'lHlll in ii"""" nri v f" I 1 irif'fll iinnunf infr I n VI t II t IMT1 -"c o , fc. iuuu,rura, ceremony. TheFrencu sovereign was on ooaru a rrencn war ship' to lead a fileet, composed of vessels of all nations, with heir-apparent and heads of governments on board. Fes tivity reigned at Chesnaye. Mile Braga grew silent and solitary. One day, in the garden, she saw de Lesseps walking on a terrace She plucked a rose and going up to him, begged of him for her fake to wear it at dinner. He asked whether she did not mean it for his son? No. It was for himr-elf. Her host explained to her that he was on the wrong side of (0, while she was not yet 1 J. That did not matter. "What his age was. never occured to her. She had on ly thought of hisgreatness and goodness. In short, he was her beau ideal. How was it possible for a man reared on the .sunny side of a Pyreneean mountain to reason down the feelings this confes fession aroused? Time was given to Mile, de Braga to retlect, and she was made to nmierstand that no frieuship would be lost were she to change her mind after the bands had been published. The rnaniage was celebiated contem poraneously with the Suez fetes. A Bond of Sympathy. A man with a grip-sack in his hand halted before a Detroit fruit-stand and priced a choice variety of peaches. When told that they were twenty cents a dozen he whistled to himself, walked softly around, and fiually asked: "Are you a Baptist?" "Hardly." "Neithr am I. I didn't know but thnM if we both belonged to the same denoitf nation vou'd throw off' a little, leau on the Methodists? ' "Can't say that I do." "That's my case. I never much stock m the Methodis s. os Do vou I did take Twenty cents a dozen is an awful price on these peaches, considering how tight money is. I expect you are a Univcrsalist, eh?" "No." 'Neither am I. Can't you say fifteen cents for a dozen of these?" "Hardly." "Aren't you an Episcopalian?" "No, sir." "Neither am I, but I was afraid you were. Iv'e been a sort o' looking you over, and I shouldn't wonder" if you trained with the United Brethren. Come, now. own up." "I never attended that church," was the steady reply. "Nor i, either. Say, what are you, anyhow?" "I'm a hard -baked old sinner." "No! Whoop! That's my case to a dot! I'm called the wickedest man in Washtenaw county! I knew there was a bond of sympathy between us if we could only find it out! Now, do you say fifteen cents a dozen?" The fruit dealer counted them out without further oblection. Campatia is the best pedestrian in the world. He has quit the business. POVERTY OF LOVE. They are on board a Lonpr Branch steamer, Mr. and Mrs. Jelison and Dolly. Mrs. Jelison is a delicate woman, lady like under the most trying circumstances, and made up after the latest fashion. Dolly is their daugter, and about her is an atmosphere both debonaire and sweet. She is noticeable for quantities of bright, blonde hair, very clear gray eyes and something more. When you have taken all these points, and decided they are what makes Dolly attractive, you have missed the point al together. It is Dolly herself. Sitting in a dog-cart, driving a horse with a banged tail and a cluster of vio lets in his bridle, at 11 a. m., riding bo hind four horses with banged tails, be tween the hours of 0 and 7 v. m., form some of Dolly's pastimes. She is riding to-night, and while her companion dexterously handles the rib bons she as dexterously coquettes with a big bouquet of jacqueminot roses. Somowhore between tho blush of the fading day and the first shining of moon and stars he surrenders income which is magnificent, bachelor habits which have their charm, and himself to boot. "Papa," Doily says, next morning, "I had two ofiers yesterday. "I should say that was nothing mirac ulous, my dear." "One was from Mr. Adams." "You accepted him, my dear? He is reported to be a millionaire," "I didn't, papa, because I don't love him; the very best reason in the world. The other offer was from Mr. Brooks. He candidly owned to me that if his debts were paid he would find it hard to jingle two quarters together. You see he did not try to deceive me about him self; and, dear papa, I took the liberty to accept him, for I love him, and have all his love in return." The days that are "golden as a crown" glide very quickly away. The big fire comes, and business depression straight away follows it. Investments that wore bright with promise only a few short months ago, turn heavy as lead on their owners hands too heavy to hold. Fail ure and loss is of common occurrence, and manv a brave heart "rows sick with (ut sio mu jwui the midst oi these disappointment m A. A. dark days. Mr. Jelison is taken ill, snd soon, too soon almost to realize, mother and daughter are one morning fixing flowers in his dead hands. Then, after the ten der heart is laid away in its long home, they face a new world, or rather a part of the world hitherto unknown to them. I mean the grasping avaricious part that seldom lifts its eyes towards God's in finite blue heaven, to catch a crlimpse of a life that is not bounded by human wants, or vanities, or measured by three score years and ten. It is a clamorous, greedy place that Dolly and her mother step out into, where hands are constantly reaching for more, and where it seems that there is not room enough or things enough for the creatures He has made. Like the figures of a dream melt away stately house and luxurious appointments. It is the day before the auction; a bleak morning that must be misery to it self. Dolly is busy about some of the many things that have fallen to her to do when she hears a well-known stop in the tiled hall and flies down stairs to meet her lover. Her dress is marred by specks of dust, and the room is in disor der so far, and chairs are in unusual places, pictures and mirrors have slid from the walls, and draperies have dis appeared. He looks twice at the marble slab before he ventures to let tho edges of his hat rest upon it. There is dust there also. But Dolly thinks of neither dust nor disorder. She is only con scious that ho is here, and comes for ward with both hands extended to him. They are slim, dimpled hands, and her cheeks and lips are abloom, and there is a tender light in her gray eyes. Handsome, loving Dolly has i.ever dreamed how this meeting will end, for she judges him after her own heart, and it is both sincere and faithful. It is not exactly words that give her the key to his feelings; it may be his manner, or possibly something more suitable still; but she has the key, holds it irresolute for a moment, and then looks into that . ercenary organ he calls his heart, and her own nearly breaks in doing so. "It was oulv a question of money," she flings out bitterly; "you never loved mo at all: you are a coward a liar sir. Poor Dolly hardly knows her own voice speaking to him so; and she is con scious that her heart aches through it all. They are the last words he ever hears her speak. Two years have fled. Two seasons of suow, frost and dreariness. Two seasons of flowers, blue skies and tender days. We left Dolly standing alone in the dis orderly drawing room with tears on her face. She wiped the tears away, and did nothing more tragic than go up stairs and finish her work. After the sale of their earthly goods, they moved into a little and rather shabby house in the suburbs, and lived or existed, rather, on a pittance, a pittance, by the way, that ere long would be exhausted. All the world is open to pluck and en terprise. It is easy to forget disappoint ments and failures, in new successes. Dolly had the intricacies of crewel works, or something of a kindred nature, to divert her thoughts. It appears that it was not enough. It came about in this way. They have a rich neighbor; in fact his mansion almost overshadowed their small home. He is a gentleman of leisure and means, and possesses a mania for farming. He squanders a good deal of money per annum on his thousand acres, but that is of no consequence. "Raising poul- try is. tho only part that pays, Dolly heard him remark one day. This result was that she schemed, planned and cal culated, until now we behold her nc- lie is in love once more and with ifchafc which will never play her false. Ihis time 'tis the sunshine, woods, flowers, fair sky, and all the tender, loving ways of nature, but most of all, the loving One whose symbols only are these. Mr. Parnham is their rich neighbor. xVny one would naturally remark that He is not a handsome man, and ne is uuu wise one according to the world's discreet ideas of wisdom. Never goes into socie ty unless dragged in, and then his best friends wish he was not there; is careless as to money, and kindhearted, the hypo critical say, to a fault. "It is good for one's senses to see how plucky and practical your daughter is, Mrs. Jelison," ho remarked one morning after his usual greetings were over. ' I wish there were more like her, but there are not.' "I think Dolly's manner of getting along is dreadful;" and, perhaps uncon sciously, Mrs. Jelison heaves a sigh. "Life is a burden," she remarks, cheer fully, after a slight pause, and so far as it only concerns herself she is more or less right. Well dressed, and carrying a well-filled purse; it is a different matter. Not well dressed and minus the purse, as she remarked the other day, she is merely nothing. "But why dreadful?" persists her visitor. "If you only knew!" she answers, in a tone implyimg that he can never know, it being impossible to make him to un derstand. "But please come in, Mr. Farnham; it is getting damp out there." She has a well-founded fear of dampness. They enter; and Mrs. Jelison sitting in the twilight, dressed in widow's cap and a becoming gown, makes a neat picture, done in quiet gray and lavender. DoUy is not there; indeed she slips out of another door as they enter, and dampness not being suggestive of evil to her, site down on a bench in the garden. What is she thinking of? Of Mr. Farnham and her mother; and she has shrewdly made ui her mind that Mr. Farnham means more than disinterested fri lsbi In 8hort she has concluded . . ..i lw. -,;iTr before long. "Dolly!" a hand touches her hair. She starts as' well she may, not knowing Mr. Farnham is within speaking distance. "Dolly," he repeats, you are the dearest girl in the world!" "Except the girl you have just left," she interrupts, rising and making a sweeping courtesy. "I know all about it, Mr. Farnham,and am glad you love her." "I esteem your mother more than any woman in tho world, but what your words imply I must frankly own never occurred to me. Confound it, Dolly! you pay me a poor compliment. Do I look old enough to wed your mother?" "I don't know. Mother looks vent young when she is dressed," returns Dolly. "I suppose I am rejected," he says a moment later, "God bless you doliy, anyway." He is moving away ; he has nearly reached the house when something swift rustles behind him, then pauses at his side. It is Dolly. "I did not comprehend that it was me you meant, you took me so by surprise." "How could it be a surprise? I have loved you so long I thought you must know even before I spoke. Oh, it was ever so long since I first loved you! It occurred to mo first one morniner when you stood in this very garden." "In picturesque rags?" Dolly infer rupts. "No; but your dress was faded and your little shoes were worn. I took it all at a glance. But you stood here, and all unconsciously assumed an attitude that was neither an effort nor an act of vanity; and the faded dress could not rob it of its aristocratic pride. I looked in your face and saw there courage, in dependence, dignity and what were worn shoes or faded gown? It was vou, Dolly, I loved." "Mother always said fine clothes were requisite to a fine marriage." "But she has made a mistake, if, Dol ly, you will marry me," he interrupts. And it is such a contented and happy face the moon looks down upon that we Avill venture to sav that Dollv answered "ves." Emperor Norton once remarked that "All men are liars." He qualified it by saying, "in California." The truth of the Emperor's remark has been vorified a thousand times over. The latest un- truth is brought to light through the! captain of a French bark lately arrived. Wlule in San Francisco he was told thatj Oregon was a wild country; that heJ could get no stores in Portland, and that! but few people lived here. By this XI. - 1 -. . iiieaiih uiu capiain was lnciuceti to pur chase his stores in San Francisco siifli cient to last him until reaching England Upon arriving here he was astonished U lind a prosperous city and magnificeni country, and what was more he couL have purchased his stores here inuc"! cheaper than ho did in San Francisco. iNowthat winter is upon us, and 11! morning sun ploughs his ravs alon the earth's surface through heavy frost! uie goou nousewue will get out the oi rusty parlor stove, drag it over the or pet to its former position and attempt uv'" 11 .vuui ittu uourss narci wo to get the legs on the wrong end. an successful attempt to make the elbow j on the oven door, and a successful lATV1-f of "u ummuy uu;. WllltO WDl witmn reach, she will send for a tim to set the artair m proper shape and n Uinrr nv.lnr O WAX.WA.