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Volume 3. Number 14.
THE
18 PUBLISHED WEEKLY
-A T
(>llic« on Mon*our »t- op|»o*ito Ijutheru * Wmkiu*.
WILLIAM H. ROYAL,
EDITOR 4 PROPRIETOR.
C. 8. Du BOSE, Awoiiite Editor
RATE8 OF* 8UB8CrTpT 10M~
VT TERMS CASH Ah
One copy 14 month* fS 00—6 month* $1 Ou
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
Tranol«nil Advertinemont* will be ohargod aud at the
rate > f cue dollar par iqunr« for the fir*I *ov> > n»y
five cent* for each eubeequent insertion, for one
month or I«m
1 equnr. .1 mouth-, $10 -----6 month* $16
: 3 ; 16——6 : * 2 . r ,
: 3 : as—« : 45
r 3 : 35-6 : 55
4 c'dninn 3 t 45-6 i 75
3 1 50-f> 41 1,50
All adyortwemonta from a distance, must be paid
for quarterly iu' adyanoe - or with aatiafactory rt f, i -
•nee, may he paid at the eud of each quarter, by the
addition of 5 per cent ter indulgence
Ten ItiMM • f iIlia lype fill one nqunro.
CHAS. 8. DuBOSE.
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
”W ARREN'TON, O A..
Will practice iu all the CuuuUcn of the
NORTHERN CIRCUIT;
FRANK L. LITTLE,
fAVir®lBB!l(SV A? (LAW*
SPARTA, GA
HIM III lata building Weal of Court llouee.
O AMAK HOTEL
Haiti 76 emit a Meal—Lodging 60 cents
- PASSENGER* ’oh the Maroaand Augusta Rail
load arWI And thle b*u»e Hie pl..c,o for a Good lire.k
fa« R t. SEAY, Proprietor.
"f
1STB-W 8ALOON
JND
roterg-§»iow I
«MKA A. ACUDOAY take* Ihia method of in
•mag rhe put the that hie new •
SALOON & GROCKRV STORK
ia now in fall bWt Hh cu«*omete atteet that hi*
IV'iitfa, Urunhita, fivt ttftiiBkiro,
TOBAOO Sc OA.3XTXYV'
of ali grade* cannot excelled for quality and
pnee
g*r far MiOJt Va ntiy kept on hand, aud
for aale* I« the Family Grooory line,
FLOUR. MEAL, BVCoN fco.
and all kind* of Groceries will he m*W on reason¬
able tetfrt*: Call and got a Ba. aiti.
Store in Scudday'* new buildnif,
June 9, tf 'RTA GEO*
ICE Received Eve ry Pa y.
POLLARD, COX & GO.,
.GENERAL d80<’EKY AND
^ Merchants',
Gerrtmission
t l f| 979 BROAD STREET,,
(A A. ms&sssr^
V HEP countMitly on hnnd « large and wall circled
IV .took of Urooeriee of every deacnBUon.uiclud.ug
a fiat atemtmewt of Whiakw", B-audie*. Wlnea, Ac
The iutoraft, rgH, of the firm will bo mpreaoated by
. la gaHeU FiUpatnok of Warrau oouuty|
W.M.WARR8H, A J. UANB, J. W. W ARCG
Angumn Han*** Co- Au^^.
Warren, Lute Ilenry'Watimil & Jl On.
* nbcomare to #. CL):
COTTON "° FACTOR! v
WaKKHOUHE AN1> ■ 1
COMMISSION MERCHANTS.
185 aud 177 Broad street, ,
AUGUSTA, GA.
CASH ADVANCES mad* at ahipmonte of Colton
• Now York and Liverpool. 4 ilh ii ,in'
We are agent* ,or (ieorgia and South (‘aroltn* Vo;
the celebrated ••« * 1 * • *
KtUlcwcWs Manipulated Guanos, Ober's
•«dthe ARROW TIE, Phosphate «nd Patent , Iron Band .
Balhjl tor
Caitoa.
IMF* The internet* of the Aria will ho represented
in tlaaeork county by J. CLARENCE SIMMONS
Eoq, Sparta mug 10
Cabinet-Shop r ] 1 HR & Upholstering
A WWendfitod take* th* method of romiudiug
Public that h* in still carrying on the
CABARET AND UPHOLSTERING BUSINESS
at tea (hop son door to the Journal Office, awd i*
▼Miag prepared old, to . xerute all order* for Repairing, Retie
kinds Cabaret «nd Making Ur w Furtntsm, amt all
of Work, at short ao’ic*
Md U at*.. prepared for all sort* of GIN repairing
•lhag Jun* Bruahca 4c
83 fm S’) i-TUABT.
^WEEKLY 04
IR ktllanj).
Birih for Breakfast.
A Talk OF Til* SKTTI.'II»'T of ARKANSAS
Westward ho ! A party of hunters
had brought back marvellous reports of
the fertile prairies on the ban&s of Red
River, aud in less than a month—I be¬
lieve in August, 1820—a long train of
Conostoga wagous had crossed the Mis¬
sissippi on the way to the land of prom¬
ise. They were under the direction of
Squire Frierson, a wealthy old planter,
who had grown rich by land specula¬
tions, and now hoped not only to ‘lo¬
cate’ some rich tracts for himself, but
to get mortgages on the farms of his
associate pioneers. Stalwort sons of
toil, they had little idea that they were
in reality but serfs, and indulged in
high hopes of future prosperity, as they
goaded along the sluggish oxen, or kept
together the herds that grazed as they
journeyed. The wagons, generally
speaking, would rumble over about ten
miles in a day, and when the sun began
to decline, they were so halted as to
form a square, within which the camp¬
fires were lighted. The cattle were
‘carolled,’ supper was prepared, and
then groups would gather round the
files to listen to the maryellous tales of
frontier life. As the fires burned low,
the groups would diminish, and soon
the watchful guards would have the
lights in the tents extinguished, one by
one, until the sileuce of night reigned.
One morning, three young men who
had been patrolling through the night,
lingered behind the train, to cook some
fine birds that Hal Harson, the young¬
est of the trio, had shot at early dawn.
Ilis compauious, gauut and weather
bronzed, were veteran hunters, but Hal.
was a tine looking fellow, ruddy witu
health, aud having oVM ry pioneer attri
bute. Evory one wondered he should
have left a good paternal farm in Ten¬
nessee, to be a hireling guard on Frier
sou’s train ; yet he was the favorite of
the party.
“Now for a breakfast,” said Hal. as
he approached the fire.
“WKell, bird-meat’s better nor deer
meat,” replied Jim Long, who had just
succeeded in resuscitating the fire.—
But here comes old Frierson on his fa¬
vorite pacer, biting the stem of his pipe.
Hu be dogged. What does he want V
The leader of the train, who now
rode up, had that cramped, heartless,
cold expression of countenance, pecu¬
liar to those who make Mammon their
god. In his opinion, men were good or
had according to their means, and he
especially disliked poor young men, re¬
garding them as adventurers, who tried
to deprive capitalists of wealth. Per¬
haps, too, he feared that some one
might woo and wed his niece, whose
property had been of such essential ser¬
vice in several speculations.
Left an orphan at an early age, Mary
Friersou had been brought up ou her
uncle’s farm in wild independence. She
could shdot, fish and bunt like Diana,
yet as she ripened into womanhood, her
feelings became chastened. An unde¬
fined yearning took possession of her.
She fell in love with Hal. Harson, and
soon discovered that he loved her, and
ss the wagon-train moved slowly along
it was her delight to have him join the
merry group of girls, for she felt that
she, of all others, was first in his mind.
And he, though sensible that there was
a great gulf between the n, which
nothiug but a bridge of dollars could
span, lived in the intoxication of her
presence. To enjoy that, he felt that
he could endure any privation, face any
difficulty—nay, even bear tbe insulting
manuers of her uncle.
* H’hat’s this ?’ exclaimed Frierson iu
an insolent tone. ‘Who shot
birds?’ .
•I did,’ cooly replied Harson.
‘You did, ha ! I was fool enough
think the Injuns would trouble us,
so hired you lazy fellows as a
Sparta, Ga., July 28 , 1870 .
But I didn’t buy powder for you to kill
birds with. 9
‘The birds were shot with my own
ammunition, purchased at Memphis,
look !’ And as Harson . spoke, he ex¬
hibited a small canister of ‘Dupont,’
with a leather bag of shot. ‘I have
done my duty, sir,* ho continued ; ‘and
if you think there are do Indians about
I—’ • „ ■
‘Humbug !’ inrerrupted Frierson.
‘Yon bad better look stricter after the
cattle.’
‘Look a here,’ grumbled Bill Long,
‘if you think you can put on your airs
here, old hose, you’re a cave-in. We
was hired to guard the camp at night;
we’ve stood our guard—Hal, here, more
than we two—but we ain’t your slaves,
no 8ir,-ree. So &eep civil, or dry up.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Frierson, turning
purple with rage. ‘But never mind.—
in a week you can all travel. But do
not loiter here, or the wagons will get
out of sight.’ Ere Harson could reply,
he bad turned his horse, plunged in the
spurs, and was hastening after the train.
‘I would like to send a bullet after
him,’ said Long, kicking apart the blaz¬
ing wood.
‘Never mind, never mind,’ said Hal.
Harson. ‘He’s a crusty old fellow; but
after all, it wasn’t perhaps right to lin¬
ger behind. So I’ll carry along the
birds and we’ll have them for supper.’
‘I’m amiable,’ laconically replied the
third member of the party, and they
walked along in silence. Overtaking
the train, the hnntere joined a party of
young men, who were ever ready to lis¬
ten to their yarns, while H#)/Ijforab 11
bashfully approached a wagon in which
the girls of the party were riding, hav¬
ing rolled up the eanvass covering at
either ride. Prominent in this galaxy
of rosy beauty was Mary Frierson, who
welcomed Hal. with a meaning smile.
Untutored in those arts which refine¬
ment has adopted to conceal the wild¬
est passions of the soul, there was, in.
the glance that beamed from her flash¬
ing eye, an assurrance of regard which
made her lover’s breast beat high with
hope. But another saw that glance,
and Hal. was roused from his dream of
bliss by the voice of Frierao n : * ff'ell
younp man, having finished your game
breakfast, you are now making morn
ing call, / Oo book and mind the oat
tie, sir. This is no place for you.*
Harson trembled and nervously
grasped his rifle, but a look toward his
insolent employer, caught the eyes
of Mary. Her look was more eloquent
than weeds, mingling entreaty and re¬
gret H wall RB k>Fe. Passing bis hand
across his forehead as if to banish the
scene, he slowly moved away.
‘A pretty guard,* growled Frierson,
eyeing his niece. ‘I don’t see what bu¬
siness a penniless fellow lUe that has
hanging about you girls. You ought
to know he is after your money;* •
Mary’s lip quivered, as sbe spoke an¬
grily to her .uncle;. I * • 1 •Iff* !> /i
fVe girls know where our money is,
and who tries to keep it’
The old man started iti his saddle,
and then gave Mary an earnest look, as
if to read her thoughts. ‘You are sharp,’
he said, with a faint smile, but it could
not mas* his vexation, and then mak¬
ing some remark about the road, he
passed on to the next wagon.
Night threw her sable mantle over
the prairies, and Harson agaiu found
himself oo guard. At first, the young
sentinel felt sad. Affection for Mary,
aud resentment agaiust her uncle strug
gled for the mastery. But as he paced
t>is round, his spit its rallied. His im¬
agination soon began to revel in lighter
scenes. Hark ! be heard a rustling.- -
Cocking his rifle, he brought it to his
shoulder, but then the familiar tones of
her whom he loved echoed through his
heart. In a moment she stood by his
side.
‘Mary,* exclaimed Hal., offering his
hand,
‘Speak lew!’ replied tbe excited girl,
cordially returning bis grasp. Then,
with a slight tremor in her tone, she
said, ‘I could not sleep, Hal. Harson,
without thanking you for the manner in
which you received my uncle’s insulting
remark this morning. It stung you to
the heart, I saw, but—but—”
‘But lo.ve for you chained my temper,’
interrupted Harson. ‘Hear me. Mary
Frierson; you are far my superior, but
I can but uiore you. Can I hopo .or a
return of my love? can you share my
bumble lot ? elm you become my wife?’
Mary looked earnestly into the anx¬
ious face of her lover, but her heart was
too full for utterance. Yet she suffered
Hal’s, arm to steal around her waist,
and when he imprinted a deep kiss upon
her lips, it was returned—she was his
own. Justthentho moon shone ap¬
provingly forth, and .sentinel stars wit¬
nessed this union of two fond, loving
hearts.
‘You will be mine, then, Mary?’
‘With all my heart and soul,* replied
the true-hearted girl; but*at that mo¬
ment the well known figure of her un¬
cle approached them, and he shouted,
‘Mary Frierson, leave that beggar, or—’
A hundred hideous yells interrupted
him, and a cloud of arrows whistled
through the air, as a large party of
dians dashed into the camp. They pas¬
sed the lovers, but two sprang from
their saddles as they approached Mr.
Frierson, who was soon levelled to the
ground by the heavy blow of a war
club. In an instant an Indian grasped
him by the hair, and drawing his scalp¬
ing kuife, was about to seize his fatal
trophy, when a shot from Hal Harson’a
rifle laid him low. Confusion now
reigned; the sharp cracks of th« rifle
and curses of the whites mingling with
the yells of the Indians, and the shrieka
of the women aud children. *
Leaving Mary to attend to her sense¬
less uncle, Harson dashed into the thick¬
est of the fight, and by his bravery the
tide of battle was soon turned. - The
warfare was waged with fury, but soon
the Indians, uttering a whoop of de¬
spair, abandoned the strife, whiioa loml
cheer of victory U P from thc 8UC ‘
cessful' whites. hastened to the spot where
Hal. now
be had left Mary Frierson and hor uncle,
where he arrived just in time. One of
the Indians, mounted on a fine horse,
had fled from the scene of contest in
that direction, and was in the act of
throwing a lasso over the poor girl, who
was kneeling by her uncle’s side. Just
as the rope had tightened, and she was
expecting to find herself dragged over
the ground, a bullet from Harson’s rifle
passed through his heart, and ho fell
dead. She was safe.
Need we say, that for once, Frierson
was sensible of the kindness he had re¬
ceived, and hailing Hal. as the preser¬
ver of his life, he told him that he was
at liberty to claim Mary as his bride.
They were married on the broad pra
ries of Arkansas, just as the sun appear¬
ed above the eastern horizon. There,
surrounded by the stalwort pioneers and
their delighted wives and daughters,
they took each other for husband and
for wife—pledging a mutual vow which
angels might have witnessed and heaven
sanctioned, although there was neither
priest nor license. The doubt and fear
of love was over, and the two, hearts
united, looked forward to the future as
they did on their pathway—a pleasant
journey to be taken in company. The
only ones who appeared at all to regret
the happy eveut were Hal’s comrades
on guard duty, and as Squire Friersou
was gaziug with some pride upon the
newly wedded couple, Bill Long came
up, bearing the game which Hal shot
the previous morning, and asked, in a
malicious tone:
‘Well, Squire, hadn’t you better let
him eat birds for breakfast, arter all/’
And . . whenever , Mr. and Mrs.
now
Harson travel that road they are sure
to turn wide to revisit the scene of the
r g Bnr k ’ : c#n at the t 1 .t
by Bill Long, who is sure to ask if they
will have “Birds for Breakfast.”
p‘ {
Li l- L .
I f v'
Terms Two Dollars Cash
Faded Flotvers*
Hnw keenly ye recall to me
Those hours of joy that knew no care,
Of which alone in memory
The sweetness still is there.
Faded tokens of the past,
hraqiaut still, though dim and sere ;
True, thy freshness could not last,
But thy sweetness still ia here.
So with her who gave me these,
Freshness from her cheek oo fair
Has passed away like summer leaves, •
But the sweetness still is there.
Thu* transcieut beauty takes its flight,
Aa fragile as the flowrets fair;
But lovely souls aie ever bright—
The sweetness still is there.
Love.
Who in journeying through life, has
not felt its rapturous pleasures, its men¬
tal torturing pains, for love has pleas¬
ures, and love has pain—pleasures the
most deeply thrilling—pains of deep¬
est anguish* What a powerful thing is
love! How it stirs up all the secret
springs of our being—rouses into action
energies and passions that we knew not
were in us. neutralizing at the same
time, and sometimes almost completely
destroying others All that love! wo deemed all
powerful. realm potent monarch of
the mental ; to which all high or
low, rich or poor, are forced to bow.—
Confined to no grade or clime, it sweeps
through the universe, and is felt in the
•oft airs of Italy—in the frozen regions
of Lapland. It stales through the palaces
of the rich in finance, it lingers in the
hovel of the peasant and the outcast—
it softens the hearts of Emperors and
Kings, and bends them to its will. It
elevates, transquilizes, and ma£cs con¬
tentment often in the souls of the loWly
born. It abounds in savage as in civi¬
lized life; the untutored out-pourings
of the artless Indian of the forest are as
sweet to the ear of the savage maiden ;
as the most refined and flowery phrases
of the courtly lover to her who is pol¬
ished by the arts of civilization. Ah,
Who can withstand it? It warms into
new life the heart of the stoic, it de¬
stroys the seeming eternal reason-raised
fallacies of the great philosopher :
as one by one his self conquor*' J g theo
ries melt away before nfui, he a1 g ha to
that is bis master, and thus
own frail piece of mortality.
proves himself a
Al) pervading love! who has not felt its
presence ?
Oh ! it is sweCt to love, to gaze upon
some gentle or noble being, and feci all
the deep of emotions, all the secret sympa¬
thies our nature centered there, as if
it were a nucleus to our own vitality ;
and theu to-ftfel that that love is return¬
ed, to know, to realize a spontaneous
unity, a sympathetic yearning of soul
for soul, that there is in this cold and
selfish world, a heart, a being on whom
we cau lely to stand by us, let good or
evil betide. Oh/ how sweet I imagine
this to be. But love without hope,
love without a reciprocity of feeling—
Oh! there’s tho pain ; to love and not
be loved again, to foel your whole life
and soul centred on a being—a btinig
very worthy, but one who in turn is
fixed upon another, and sees you uot—
knows you not save as a friend; who
respects you as a brother or sister, aud,
dreaming not of a warmer feeling . in
your breast makes you perchance a re¬
pository of confidence, and paints in
glowing Oh how colors tins your rival to your face. how
. can wring the heart,
make bleed, heave and palpitate, aud
burn and ache, and the brain, too, grow
hot and seethe and wither and strain,
and reel with this one mighty truth
sapping at length all the foundations
of an otherwise steady intellect, wrecked and
destroying the system, and the
vassal of love’s cruel mandates often
terminating their own existence, and
sending a shrieking ghost to join the
mournful throng. We may talk of the
rack, and all the damnable inventions
of fortune for the physical man, but
what are they compared with the rac&
that rends tho soul—that deprives
wealth of its luscious pleasures—home
of its attractive loveliness, and man of
his moral sensibilities? Let those an
swer who have experienced it, for wheth
er we be one of those happy beings,
who pass through on a road of beautiful
flowers our soul wafted on the ethereal
wings of bliss to love's extent, or fall a
victim to its most ragged and thorny
destruction, is left for time to
decide
An Irish — girl -» Erie, ♦. —--- day two
at a or
’ «'‘8 ht a "“ ther S irl °“ .Tt
, l
; compelled them off and
her to take sur
render them then and there.
How to Win Success,
We wish every boy and young man
who reads our paper to grow up a use*
ful, intelligent and successful member;
of the society of mankind, Every boy, ‘
no matter how poor and humble he
may be, can, by industry in seeking in¬
telligence, surely succeed in life, for
there is a demand for intelligent labor
throughout this great nation. ’ Don’t
try to make money at first—you will
waste valuable time in doing so; hot
try and gather all the information pos
sible from the fount of knowledge, and
when you possess this the walks of Ufe
will bo open to you and money will find
its way into your pockets in generous
sums. i i
Those who start in life with the sole
idea of making money quandsr valuable
day8, and while they may acquire it,yet
pass down to honored graves. Let the
world be benefitted by your residence
in it, and every man can do this bystart*
ing aright in seeking knowledge first,
and wealth afterwards. Never get ruf¬
fled if you meet surly people ; and you
will be the victor by being courteous
and affable under all circumstances.
Occupation.— Ocupation ! What a
glorious thing it is for the human heart/
— Those who work hard seldom yidldf
themselves up to fancied or real sorrow.
When grief sets down, folds its hands,
and mournfully feeds upon its own tears,
weaving the dim shadows that exertion
might sweep away into a funeral pall,
the strong spirit is shorn of its might,
and sorrow becomes our master. When
trouble flow upon you, dark and heavy,
toil not with the waves—wrestle not
with the torreut—rather seek oooupa
tion to divert waters that threaten to
overwhelm you in a thousand chanc»%
which the duties of life present. waters
Before you dream of it, those
w jll fertilize the present, and give bfrth
to fressh flowers, that they may bright¬
en the future — flowers that will become
pure and holy in the sunshine which,
penetrates ter all, is but the path selfish o^auty. feeling, Grief, and most af¬
a 4
selfish is he who yields himself to the
indulgence of any passion that brings
no joy to his fellow men*
Tiie Idle Man. —The idle man is an
annoyance—a nuisance. * He is an in¬
truder in the busy thoroughfare of eve¬
ryday life, lie stands iu out path and
we must push him contemptuously aside.
He is no busy advantage lie to anybody. He
annoys men. makes them un¬
happy, and is but a cipher in society.—
He may have an income to support him
in idleness, or he may sponge on his
friends, but in either case he nr despised.
Young men, form habits of industry;
do something in this busy, wide awake
world. Move about for the benefit of
mankind, if not for yourself. Do not
be idle; God’s law is, that by the sweat
of the face we shall earn our bread.—
This is a good one, aud the bread it
sweet. Do not be idle. Minutes are
too precious to be squandered thougbt
le88l y*________
, .
Dabk h 00m ._t 0 every man thorn
are many, many dark hours, when ba
fee| s inclined to abandon his best en
terprise; when his heart’s dearest hopes
appear delusive; houw whei he feeis
unequal to the burden, when all aspire
fcj ons gce ni worthless , Let no one im
a gine that he alone has dark hours. It
ig the common i 0 t of all. They are
tho touc h 8 toue to try whether we are
ourren t coin or not. .
......... ,
One mistake in principle is worse
than a thousand errors in opinion. of It
is hope that writes the poetry the
boy, but memory that of the man.—
Man looks forward with smiles, but
backward with sighs. Such is the wise
providence of Gud. The cup of life is
sweetest at its brim ; the flavor is im
paired as we drink deeper, and the dregs
made bitter that we may not strau
gle wheu it is taken from our lips.
—- + --
. A Chinese maxim We require
says : •*
‘four things of woman—that virtue
dwell in her heart; that modesty play
on her brow; that sweetness flow from
her lips, aud that industry occupy her
j ian( j 8 »
1 _ 7---TT- Coun
; ' 8W i c * Railroad, are becoming burden
( some and sluggish iu Macon.
-