Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME XXI.
ATHEISTS, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, SEEPR 2, 1874.
NUMBER 22.
by JOHN H. CHRISTY.
DEVOTED TO NEWS, POLITICS, AGRICULTURE, EDUCATION AND GENERAL PROGRESS.
the SOUTHERN WATCHMAN
priiLlSUED EVERY WEDNESDAY.
Oji er rorf.fr of ltroad am I Wall Strrrts, (up-itairt.)
'l’EHMS.
TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM,
INVARIABLY IS ADVANCE.
ADVERTISING.
Advertisements will be inserted at ONE DOLLAR
AND FIFTY CENTS per square for tae first inser
tion, sod SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS per square for
iftoatoniiausnce. for soy time under one month. For
l 0 ar«rperi<>Is. a* follows:
7^- A liberal le iuction on yearly advertisements.
LEGAL ADVERTISING .
Skeriff’* sales, perlevy of 10 lines .. $500
•• mortgage sales, 60 days... 5.00
Sales. 4i) tars, by Administrators, Executors, or
ii'jariians 6.50
Citations of Administration or Guardianship 4.00
JCalic* to Debtors and Creditors- 5.00
fales Nisi, per square,each insertion.- 1.50
L#are to sell Real Estate— 4.00
Ctuthnfor dismission of Administrator 5.00
“ ** * 4 Guardian 5.25
To ascertain the number of squares in an advertise
ment or obituary, count the words—one hundred being
equal to teu lines. All fractions are counted as full
iqa&res.
PROFESSIONAL AND BDSINESS CARDS.
LAKIR C'JiB.
A. S. ERWIN.
HOWELL COBB,JR.
/HOBB, ERWIN Je COBB,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
ATHENS, GEORGIA
Office in the Deupree Bailding. Dec21
B ANKRUPTCY.—Samuel P. Tlmnnond,
Attorney-nt-!.aw. Athens, Ga.
O'fireon Broad •irtet,occr ntort of Barry A Son.
Wifi give special attention to cases in Bankruptcy. Al
io. to the collection of all claims entrusted to his care.
TAMES K. LYLE,
0 Attors*t at Law,
WATKINSVILIE, GA.
TIIH.V M. MATTHEWS.
0 Attorney at Law,
Danielsviilc. Ga.
Prompt mention will be ijiven to any business en-
•estei :o his care. Marchl4.
E ngland & our.
Wholesale and Retail Dealers,
and COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
Dupree Hall.Broad St, Athens, Ga.
We are now prepared to store Cotton at 25 cents per
kale, and will advance cash when desired. Oct2S.
TT'XGLISH A- CLASSICAL SCHOOL,
For Boys. cor. Wray and Lumpkin sts., Ath
ens. 0%. apS—3m LEE M. LYLE, Prin.
T u. HUGGINS,
fj • holesaleand Retail Dealer in
DRY GOODS, GROCERIES, HARDWARE, de.
F*bl6 Broad Street, Athens, Ga.
TOHN II. CHRISTY,
tl PUin and Fancy BOOK AND JOB PRINTER,
Broad St., Athens, Ga.
Office corner Broad and Wall streets, over thestore
James D. Pittard. tf
PAVILION HOTEL,
-L CHARLESTON, S. C.
This FIRST-CLASS Hotel is situated in the very
leatre of the business part of the city, and all who
Slop there will find every convenience and luxury that
•aa t»e procured. Board, per day, $3.00.
R. Hamilton, S*pt. Mrs. L. H. Butterfield, )
Dee22 tf Propriety**. I
QUMMEY ic NEWTON,
O Dealers in
Foreign and Domestic HARDWARE,
Jane# No. f>,Broad street. Athens, Ga.
S C. DOBBS,
• Wholesale and Retail Dealer in
Staple and Fancy DRY GOODS. GROCERIES, Ac.
Fab? No. 12 Broad Street, Athens, Ga.
TpMORY SPEER,
-LU . LAWYER. ATHENS, GA.
As Solicitor General of Western Circuit, will attend
tka Court# of Clarke, Walton. Gwinnett, Hall, Banks,
Jackson, Habersham, Franklin, Rabun and White,
and give attention to collecting and other claims it
those conn ties. March 19, 1873.
K ELIAS, Attorney at Law.
. * FRANKLIN, X. C.
Practices in all the Courts of Western North Caro-
liaa, and in the Federal Courts. Claims collected in
all parts of the State. ap!6—ly
pDWARD R. HARDEN,
-Hi (Late Judge U. S. Courts Nebraska and Utah,
and now Judge of Brooks County Coart)
Attorney at Law,
juij23 ly Quitman, Brock* County, Ga.
T F. O KELLEY’S
O. PHOTOGRAPH GALLERY,
0t«r William*’Shoe store, Broad street, Athens,
sep3.
B f. camp,
t Attorney at Law,
CARNESVILLE, GA.
Will give prompt attention to all basiness entrusted
h»hiw. He will attend the Courts of Habersham,
franklin and Hall. sepl7—ly.
E. P. HOWELL.
PEEPLES & HOWELL,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
20 and 22, Kimlmll House,
ATLANTA, GA.
PRACTICE in the Stateand Federal Coarts, and
A attsad regularly all theCouru in Atlanta, includ*
*t ’!>• Supreme Court of th. State, and will argue
easts upon briefs for absent parties, on reasonable
term,.
They also practice in the Coarts of the cost, tieieon-
tlgao as oraseestible to Atlanta by Railroad, aepll
M. W. HIDEN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
0. S. Claim Agent and Notary Pale
GAINESVILLE, GEORGIA.
°*ce on Witsoa street, below Kins * Bro’s.
^February 1#, 1373.
itstws BELL.
*ew i. tsiti.
Estes & bell,
r .ATTORNEYS at law,
®A/A ESVILLE. GEORGIA.
\V **d* Ptaetice in the counties composing the West-
V? a«d Daw»on and Forsyth conn ties
• Bine Ridge Circuit. They wUl also practice in
Coart Pr Y* Court °* ®* or F**» *•! in CnitedSutn*
mayld
J AS. L. LONG, M. D.
burgeon, Accoucheur and Physician,
(Ofict al Mr. Thomas ShtaU" Star*,)
Oood Hope District, Walton co., Ga.
m”* P r °fessional serr ices to the citisene of the
y^aBdiBg country. , ng 27
(, Feed & Sale Stable,
. ATHENS, GEORGIA.
'JJ** * SKAVES, PHOPBIETQB8,
W H,..! £*•??, ** tk * ir oU «fcn<L rear Franklin
•b band VhotaaB street. Keep alwayi
Stock —n* Tern-oniB end carefal driven.
Stock „ * , c *”' 1 for »hen entrusted to our cere.
—mb on band for sale et ell times. deelS—tf
WALTON HOTEL,
T „ MONROE, GA.
aad'^IT^ woold >a«PMtfaUy inform travelers
»f tb« e , that hehaa taken charge
4ll ««mformb! H4t t ’* B,,wiU ■P* f * BO P**®* to aaake
who "V hta »ltn tnelr patron-
k * U1 *>• reaaonnble. janlS lm
‘R. B. ADAIR, D.D.S.
0*^“,. qai xbsville, ga.
!*. B< xnbwt..r,. T P.blle Sqaare. martT
. fAEDGE,
Boot > Harness
deleft ^liscrilang.
S0N6 OF THE TYPES.
Sages! who bend ’neath a bnrdon ripe,
Yontbs! where tbe rose still lingers,
Como list to the song of the rattling type,
As it falls from the printer's fingers.
In a dismal garret and dingy town,
Where the Rhine's blue wares are flowing,
Old Gnttenhurg conjured ray spirit down,
And set my footsteps going.
Bat I burst on tbe world like the morning’s sen,
And lighted its midnight hoary.
And though my long jonrney has jnst began,
I bare flooded tbe globe with gtory.
I have torn down the castles of crime and sin,
1 have opened the dungeons of sorrow,
I have let the radiance of freedom in.
And scattered the legions «f horror.
I have broken the fetters that shackled tho
mind.
Restored its strength and beauty;
And taught the prond princes that role man
kind
The lesson that power is duty.
I have rescued from prison the human soul,
And opened its inner portal.
Till it spurns indignant all human control,
And soars in its flight immortal.
In the realm of science I scatter light,
To tbe poor bear hope in its hovel;
For never again shall the world in night,
In darkness and slavery grovel.
Let no scholar despair, no warrior qnail;
Oblivion’s scythe is rotten ;
For no more shall the words of wisdom fail,
Nor tho hero's deeds be forgotten.
The minstrel's strings shall not break again,
And love shall ever be vernal.
For the maiden's vow and the poet's strain
Shall sound through the aisles eternal.
The old world shakes 'neath my iron tread,
And in vain tries to fetter my pinions.
For my voice speaks doom and my arm bears
dread
To crumbling thrones and dominions.
for freights and commissions, and then allow
them to settle the price of tbe raw material
and tbe manufactured articles between the
producer, the manufacturer, and the oonsnmer,
jnst so long wilt yon and yoor children remain
“ hewers of wood and drawers of water.”—
Well, now, my brother-farmers and Patrons,
all this is clearly a wrong, and I think ths^e is
a maxim of law somewhere which says, “ there than ever, as if the partial break in her retire-
never was a wrong but what there was a
remedy." In my next, I propose to show
what that remedy is.
Very respectfnlly. See.,
Johx I. Cheatham.
Four hundred years their wails I've beard.
And the cause of their alarm is.
That the pen is mightier than the sword.
And tbe Types than a thousand armies.'
Thrice welcome to me is the Lord of the West,
Where Franklin's simple story
Proclaims in type how a king's behest
Was eclipsed by a Printer’s glory.
•Wtt-l,
JL ...
VTA'IEINSVILLE, GA.
For the Southern Watchman.
Direct Trade, Railroads, and Manufactories.
Jacksox County, Ga., July, 1874.
Col. Christt Before I proceed, permit
mo to state two of my mottoes. Tho first is,
it was said we fought our Northern brothers
because they would not let ns alone, my motto
now, is to let them alone. The next is, that in
terest in some shape governs man under all
circumstances, and in all conditions of life. I
have, therefore, thought it not amiss, by your
permission, and in tho absence of over-much
political excitement, while oar people could
take time to think, to call, through the columns
of the Watchman, tho attention of the farmers
and planters, and particularly the Patrons of
Husbandry, throughout the whole of the South
ern and Southwestern States, and especially
Georgia, to what I think and believe, and what
I shall attempt to show them is, at this rime,
their greatest pecuniary interest. You, .hen,
brother-farmers and Patrons, from the clcse of
the Revolutionary war with Great Britain to
the present time, have suffered yourselves to
become the “hewers of wood and drawers of
water” to our Northern brethren, while they,
with an iron grip, have held the purse strings
over your heads until you have become poorer
and far greator slaves than those yon lately
emancipated, and they, the moneyed kings and
wonld-be lords of creation, have become rich
er, until they now think that we, •* born for
thbir use,” live only to work for them. Then,
brothers and sisters, (for I hold that the ladies
are as much interested as the gentlemen,) let
us look this thing fall in the face, let ns view
it calmly and with a little common sense.—
Why, then, should we, if we wish to ship our
cotton or other produce from Savannah to
Liverpool, or any other European market, bo
forced to ship by the way of New York, and
there be compelled to pay as much extra ex
pense as would carry that same cotton or oth
er produce directly from Savannah to Liver
pool T And why is it that European goods for
Southern and Southwestern consumption
should be shipped by way of New York t The
same may be said, only a little more so, of all
South American or West India goods that are
consumed in the Sonth and West, because they
pass our ports both in going and returning,
and land the goods at New York, where they
are taxed for the privilege of re-shipping back
to tbe Sonth, for all of wbiob delightful priv
ileges tbe Southern planter and Southwestern
farmer pays to Northern moneyed kings and
shippers, in a very few years, millions open
millions.
What, let me ask, wonld be tbonght of a
person that wonld ship goods, produce, or any
other thing, from Savannah to New York by
tbe way of Liverpool f His friends, if be bad
any, would certainly place him in an Asylnm,
jnst where he shenld be. Well, my friends,
there is jnst as ranch common sense in ship
ping cotton, or other things, from Savannah to
New York by the way of Liverpool, as there
is to ship from Savannah to Liverpool by the
way of New York. And why has this thing
been snbmitted to by onr people so krngf I
know of but one answer, it is only because it
has been the practice; we all know how bard
it is to break np old habits.
Previous to the Revolutionary war, England
thought that tbe American Colonies belonged
to her, and that of right abe was entitled to
their labor. If w« made a surplus beyond our
necessary wants, that surplus bad to be ship,
ped to England at her own prioes, and what
articles of eommeroe we took in exchange, bad
to be shipped back tons lnher own ships and
at her own prices. Now, my friends. If this
was not an abject state of slavery, then I have
forgotten the^meaning of tho word bondage. Bat
the sequel showed that oar people acquiesced
in this state of things so long that it took time,
money and blood to break tho delusion.—
Well, from that day to this. New England and
New York have taken np the same idea, and
■along aa yoa will acquiesce qqd suffer these
moneyed millionaires qf the North to act as
middlemen and speculators between you, the
manufacturers and consumers, and ship yonr
cotton or other produce by the way of New
York in their own ships, at their own prices
LUCY HARGROYE.
When Lacy Hargrove first came to Oakland
there was a great stir in the rural population.
The advent of a real city belle—one of the
very ton—was too nnosnal an event to fail of
producing a sensation, and so every gossipping
tongue was set wagging, and the family history
of all the Hargroves, from Adam down, was
duly discussed. There was a gap in bis his
tory, however. Two-and-twenty years ago,
Gerald Hargrove, the last of his family, bad
gone from Oakland to live in the great city,
and his life was hidden from his old associ
ates, save by occasional glimpses of his wealth
and greatness, which seemed almost fabnlons
to those who had once known him as the pale-
faced student striving to ascend the ragged
heights of knowledge. Rumor said be had
married a city lady, but of his domestic life
nothing was known.
The Hargrove estate, consisting of an old
dilapidated farm, had never passed from his
bands. For a score of years, old Abram Law-
horn bad tilled its sterile acres, and yearly had
met its landlord’s lawyer to pay over a trivial
sum, for the old farm barely paid tbe taxes
and necessary repairs.
So now, when the daughter of Gerald Ear-
grove bad suddenly come to Oakland, un
heralded and unattended, it is not strange that
many wild rumors shouljl be set afloat con
cerning the strange occurrence. Nor was the
wonder lessened when the next Sunday, at the
village church, a vision of dazzling beauty, ar
rayed in the most costly fabrics, sailed up the
aisle and took a seat directly in front of tho
sacred desk ; and when the service was ended
the vision departed, walking briskly, yet grace
fully, away in the direction of Hargrove Farm.
In vain did the good-natured gossips ques
tion Abram Lawhorn and his wife. They
knew only what Miss Lucy had seen fit to com
municate, viz : that her mother was dead, that
she was an only child—that her father had
broken op his household, and that she was to
remain at the Farm all Summer. Upou this
meagre intelligence many a story was built,
and many a dissimilar canse assigned as the
reason for this step, but, as is generally the
case, they were all quite far from the truth.
Summer ripened into Aatumn, and the afiair
was still a sealed book to those who sought to
pry into Its closed lids. It was known that the
weekly mail brought bulky packages to tbe
secluded belle—those who had formed a speak
ing acquaintance found her civil and respect
ful, but surrounded with so much well-bred
dignity and courteous reserve, as to utterly
forbid all approach to the familiarities. To all
invitations to pic-nics and merry-makings a de
cided but courteous refusal was returned, till
at last all attempts to draw her in tbe circle
of Oakland society was abandoned in sheer
despair.
It was one day in early Aatumn that Felix
Graham, ‘ awkward Felix,' he was called, was
returning through the Hargrove Farm from an
unsuccessful quest of small game. He walked
carelessly along near tbe edge of a ravine,
when a clumsy step threw him headlong over
the brink. As he fell on tbe rocky bottom his
piece was discharged, and the contents there
of entered bis side, and tbe poor fellow, with
a groan, fell back insensible. When he awoke
from that death-like swoon, soft hands were
adjusting a bandage about the wound in his
side, and a radiantly lovely but tear-wet face
was bent over him, as an angel of mercy might
bend over the morally fallen man. He knew
that face, for odco when be had performed a
little favor for her he had received a smiling
‘ thank yon, sir,* from the sweet lips of Lucy
Hargrove. He groaned with pain, and the
girl looked into his face.
‘ Thank God!’ she aspirated, then hurriedly
added—
* Be qniet, pray, till I summon assistance.*
Like a flash she was gone, and Felix Gra
ham wondered if it were not all a dream. No;
that burning, deadening pain at his side was
real; that pool of blood was real, and that wa
ter in his hat was too welcome to be an illusion.
Across his brow he felt something moist, and
removing it he found a dainty handkerchief
with the monogram ‘ L. H.’ in one corner.
By tbe time the weakened and half wander
ing mind bad realized all this, be heard voices
coming near. In another minute Abram Law-
horn, John, his son, and Peter Grimes, tbe
hired man, led by Lncy Hargrove, came to the
spot where be lay. Lncy bent over him, and
tenderly inquired how he felt.
* Better, I reckon,’ faltered he, ‘ bat what is
the matter with me t’
* Yon have met with an accident, sir—have
shot yourself. We will take you to the house,
where, I think, we- will meet a Doctor.’
Tenderly they lifted him np, and alowly boro
him away, though every irregular step of his
bearers evoked a groan of pain. Lncy walked
beside him, frequently moistening his lips with
water, and twice she called a halt and admin
istered a cordial. They reached the house at
last, and the wounded man was placed on a
bed. The surgeon soon came, and when he
had examined the wound, congratulated mi—
Hargrove on her nerve and skill. The iqjmy,
be said, was severe, bat not necessarily fatal,
and that be could confidently state that, with
good care, tbe patient wonld soon bo welL
Thus It came about that Lncy Hargrove be
came better known to the Inhabitants of Oak
land; for daring those weeks that Felix Gra
ham lay wounded at the fcarm, she was con-
sUntly at Us bedside, and those who watched
his nurse at her self-appointed post of dnty,
could not bat own that she was assiduity and
tenderness combined and embodied in tbe pres
ence of a lovely person,
jij Yet of her own affaire she wa3 persistently
reticent, and the two or three attempts ol the
less scrupulous of the visitors to crass examine
her respecting her fiunily, were so quietly, but
so completely baffled, that the inquisitors were
glad to leave tbe tabooed subject alone.
By and by the wound of Felix Graham was
well enough for his removal, and he was taken
home. Then the old life seemed tojeome back
to the strange, isolated girt at the Hargrove
Farm. Bather, she seemed more secluded
meat demanded a more vigorous shutting out
of tbe world, and tbe gossips once more found
themselves busy detailing and amending tbe
numerous surmises they mutually held con
cerning her.
The statement that Felix Graham’s wound
was partially well, bad reference only to his
physical hart. Cupid, the invisible, and there
fore more dangerous foe to the peace of young
humanity, bad deeply planted a shaft in bis
heart, and tbe great, awkward, country booby
wonld gladly have laid down his life for the
sake of the city belle. Yet the gate of Har
grove Farm shut out no one more entirely than
him. Perhaps she realized the state of his
feelings, and recognizing the hopelessness of
his love, wisely forebore feeding a passion that
could possibly bring bat ill.
One day, before he removed from the Har
grove Farm, he had spoken with Lncy relative
to the accident, and she had simply said—
* I was reading in the woods, and saw yon
pass by. Yen were past, when I was startled
by a gunshot, and heard a groan. Fearing an
accident, I ran down the ravine till I found
you. I thought you were dead, bat 6oon as
certained that yon were not; I tried to staunch
the flow of blood, and—yon know the rest.’
* Which is, that I shall never be able to re
pay the debt I owe you 1’ exclaimed he, asham
ed and shocked at his temerity a moment af
terward.
* I have done nothing,’ wls the cool reply,
* Eiore than a duty we all owe to one another.
Do not mention it again.’
Poor Felix! Had he been more deeply
versed in the ways of the world, he would not
have pnt so liberal a construction upon the
world; but considering himself guilty of an
imprudence, and fearing that the whole sub
ject was distasteful to her—that even tho care
she bestowed on him was a disagreeable bur
den, he essayed a deprecatory sentence. She
stopped him at once, and, handing him a book,
bade him keep it and endeavor to profit by its
teachings. It was • Bunyan’s Pilgrim's Pro
gress,’ but is was not until long afterward that
he knew the dark stain on its cover was made
by his own blood—that was the book she sat
reading at the Black Ravine that, to him luck
less day.
So Felix Graham, loving with all the ear
nestness of his rude soul, feared that his lovo
was offensive to its object, and set the seal of
silence upon it, choosing to sutler alone rather
than to give pain to one so pare, and so far
above him.
It was a cold, cheerless morning in mid-win
ter that Felix Graham sat reading in front of
a cheerful fire in his father’s home, endeavor
ing to exorcise a spirit of restlessness that was
stealing over him of late. For awhile he had
been content to lore th ■ girl at Hargrove Farm
a3 ene might love a deity; but in all earthly
love there is a desire for the possession of the
object loTed, and this desire was growing strong
in the soul of Felix Graham. He bad met
Lucy once or twice since his recovery, and
she had met him cordially; but he was too
modest to hope that her kindness sprang from
any other motive than a friendly interest in
one to whom she bad done a favor—least of
all, that it grew out of a personal interest in
himself. He was, therefore, greatly surprised
when the door opened and John Lawhorn walk
ed in with a note from Lucy. It ran thus:
* Afr. Felix Graham:—Please come to me at
once, and confer a favor on
Lucy Hargrove.’
He arose, donned his overcoat, and set off
with John for the Hargrove farm.
* Do you know what is the matter T’ he ask
ed of his companion, as they walked along.
* No,’ said John. * I had jnst brought in the
mail, and was hardly warm when Miss Lney
came with a white face and asked me to take
a note to yon.’
Graham found Lncy in tears, bat habited
for a walk, and waiting for him in the sitting
room. She rose to meet him, and brokenly
said:
* I want yon to go with me to the Black
Ravine.’
* To the Black Ravine t—why P be asked,
in surprise, for neither of them bad been there
since the day he was borne from thence with
that ugly wound in his side.
Read that !* And the trembling fingers
held oat a crumpled note. He took it and
read:'
January 10th, 18—.
Dear Lucy: This is the last lino yon will
ever receive from yonr nnbapy father. The
accompanying papers will show yon that ev
ery thing is lost. To escape tbe degradation
of poverty, and worse still, of exposure, I
choose te end a life that for months has been
nothing bat a burden of care. If yon find my
body, and do not fear that the sleep of a sui
cide will haunt your future life, bnry, it on the
Hargrove form. The Farm is yours—yonr
solo possession—it was settled on yonr moth
er at onr marriage. Hay God shield and com
fort yon, my darling, and may he have mercy
on the soul of Gerald Hargrove.
With blanching cheek Felix Graham read
the note, then, standing above Lncy, said, in
an unsteady voice—
* Miss Hargrove, let me go alone.*
‘No, no!’she wailed. *1 moat go too,
could hardly writ for yoo to come, bat I could
not go rioae. Together we will ge and see
him—my poor, poor father.
Assuming a cheerfulness he did not foel,
Graham essayed a word of hope.
* Do not try to cheat me with a hope yon
do not share,’said she. ‘I think he was on
the way when he wrote, and I have often
heard him speak of Black Ravine, even in my
childhood. 1 know we will find him there.’
In silence he took her hand and they start
ed. A light snow was on the ground, and as
they entered the dreary woods Graham felt a
shiver ran through bis companion's frame.
With a reassuring clasp he led her on until
they reached the head of t\je ravine.
.‘ Will yon not wait heret’ he tenderly asked.
, A dismal shake of the head was the only
reply—the qoivering lips made bat a gasping I
sound. They wont down the ravine till they |
reached the point where Graham had follen.
* It is there!’ whispered the girl, and with
a rigid countenance and bloodless fingers she
pointed to a white heap at the bottom.
Together they descended, and reverently
removed the snow from the form, and met the
cold stare of a ghastly face.
•My father! my poor lost fother!’ walled
the girl; and she fell prone upon the corpse.
Gently her companion raised her np, and find
ing that she was in a swoon, he lifted her in
his arms and conveyed her to the honse.
Stating what he had seen, he sent at once to
the coroner; then giving Mrs. Lawhorn strict
chargos respecting the girl, and dispatching
another messenger for bis mother, Felix Gra
ham returned to the Black Ravine to keep
watch over the body of the suicide till proper
investigations were made.
In a few hoars the inquest was held, and
the verdict rendered that ‘ the deceased, Ger
ald Hargrove came to his death by a pistol
being fired by his own hand,’ Sce. Then they
lifted np the body and conveyed it to the house
and thence next day it was taken to its final
resting place in the Hargrove burial ground.
We often find seals, modest and unassuming
in every day life, who, when the hour of trial
comes, nnconsciocsly assume the leadership,
and to whom all eyes are turned for help. So
it was with Felix Graham in those dark days
at Hargrove Farm. It was his voice that gave
every command, his head that planned, and
his purse paid for everything. It was his
hand and his mother’s that supported the
frame of the grief-broken orphan at the grave,
and it was bis voice that essayed to speak
words of cheer to the stricken heart. It was
his helpful presence that first brought a ray
of comfort to the suffering one and it was his
clear head that unravelled the tangled com
plications of the suicide’s business, and saved
a smali sum for tho portionless daughter.
Perhaps he wrought with a hope of reward,
bat it was a distant hope. His was an unself
ish natnre, and he realized that the best part
of love is in bestowing favors upon the belov
ed object. Yet ho did not go unrewarded,
for twelve months after the tragedy in the
Black Ravine there was a wedding at Har
grove farm, and a new master thereof was in
stalled.
Nor wa3 this all, for one day, two years af
terward, when in the Black Ravine, an idea
struck its owner that tbe black walls might be
other than common clay. He collected some
lumps, tested it, and found it to be superior
coal. Subsequent experiments showed that
the farm rested on a coal bed, and measures
were taking to turn it to account, A branch
railroad is now built, and shafts are souk all
over tbe farm.
Felix Gaafiam for years has been Mayor of
tbe thriving city of Oakland, and his wife now
a middle -aged matron, is deemed one of the
most blessed of women.
Ze Name of ze Street.
A Frenchman, a stranger in New York, stop
ped a lad in the street, and politely asked:
* Mon fren, what’s ze name of zis ’ere street V
‘ Well, who said it wasn’t V replied the boy.
4 What you call zis street t’
‘ Of course, we do.’
* Pardonnez! I have not ze name; what yon
call himf
* Yes. Watts, we call it.’
* Zis street t’
‘ Watts street, old fellow; and don't yon go
to make game of me.*
‘ Sacre mon de Dien! I ask yon one, two,
dree, several times, often, will yon tell me ze
name of ze street, eh f ’
* Wa’ts street, I told yon. You’re drunk,
aint you t’
* Mon leetle fren, vere yon live, eh T’
‘ In Yandam street.’
* Ee bien! Yon live in von dam street, and
yon is von d—d fool!’
And they parted, entertaining a mutual dis
like.
The Death of a Wife!
The reply was:
‘ Yaas; yonr money’s jlstas good as any
other money, bat then yon ain’t got ennff eh
it to git dis niggab to lose de custom ob gen
tlemen. Go ’way, now! Git right oat ob
here! You’se got the money, now go buy a
razor and shave y’self 1’
Didn’t Like It.
Who can help admiring the Roman stocism
of the Arkansas judge who said, after one law
yer had shot auother dead in the court room,
Look yeer, if you keep on foolin’ around in
this yeer way. I’ll commit some of you for con
tempt.’
Eqaal to thi3 in patient suffering wa3 the
gentleman who lives in Coates street, who
hen he entered the basement dining-room
tbe other evening, fonnd no one there and
discovered no preparations for tbe evening
meal. Ho went up to the parlor, and there he
fonnd his wife sitting on tbe sofa with a young
man by her side, and that young man’s arm
about her waist.
’ See hero,’ said the mild husband, ‘ I don’t
like this kind of a thing. Why isn’t my sap
per ready t’
* Becauso I don’t like to make it,’ said tbe
loving wife.
* What are yon sitting there a letting that
fellow hug you for t’
Because I do like it.’
I tell you what it is, Annie,’ and his face
assumed a fierce glow of passion, ‘ if this state
of things continue much longer. I’ll get mad,
yon bet your life.’
We don’t think that man will be arrested
for making an unprovoked assaalt on any one.
In comparison with the loss of a beloved
wife, what are other beroavemeots T The wife!
she who fills so large a space in the domestic
heavens, she who is so busied, so unwearied—
bitter, bitter is the tear that foils upon her
grave. Yon stand beside her tomb, and think
of the past; fain would the sonl linger there.
No thorns are remembered above that sweet
clay, save that yonr own hand may have un
willingly or unkindly planted. Her noble,
tender heart lies open to yonr inmost sight.
Yon think of her as all goodness, all parity,
and truth. ,
Bat she is dead. Tbe dear head so often
laid upon your bosom, now rests upon a pillow
of clay. The hands that ministered so untir
ingly are folded, white and cold, beneath the
gloomy portals. Tbe heart whoee every beat
measured an eternity of love, lies under yonr
feet. And there is no white arm over yonr
shoulder now—no speaking face to look np in
to the eye of love—no trembling lips to mar-
mar * Ob, it is so sad !* There is so strange a
hash in every room! No smile to greet yon at
nightfall—and the clock strikes and ticks and
strikes. It was sweet music when yon could
count the hoars with her—when she coaid hear
It! Now it seems only the hours throagh
which you watch the shadows of death gather
upon her dear foes. Bat many a trie it tells
of joys past, sorrows shared, and beautiful
words and deeds registered above. Yon feel
that the grave cannot keep her. Yon know
that she is in a happier world, bat still yoa
feel that she is often by yonr side—an angel
presence.
Cherish these emotions. They will make
yoa happier. Let her holy presence be as
charm to keep yoa from evfl. In all new and
pleasant connections give her a place in yonr
heart. Never forget what she has done for
yoa—that she has loved yon. Be tender of
her memory.
To how many bereaved hearts will these
eootences come, who will look back upon the
past with mingled recollections of sorrow and
joy—perhaps penitence. * So should live hus
bands and wives,* says an old English worthy,
* that when either dins, the spirits of both may
mingle.”
—A negro barber in Cincinnati refused to
shave a darkey, who indignantly asked: * Now,
look a-yeah—hain't my money jist as good as
any body elso’s money V
ANTIQUITIES.
There is no song like an old song.
That wo have not beard for years;
Each simple note appears to throng
With shapes that swim in tears.
It may have been a cheerful strain,
Bat ’twas so long ago;
That glee, grown old, bas turned to pain,
And mirth has turned to woe.
There is no friend like an old friend,
Whose life-path mates onr own.
Whose dawn and noon, whose eve and end,
Have known what we have known.
It may be when we read his face.
We note a trace of care;
*Tis well that friends in life’s last grace
Share sighs as smiles they share.
There is no love like an old love,
A lost, may be, or dead;
Whose place, since she bas gone above,
No other fills Instead.
It is not we’ll ne’er love anew.
For life were drear if so,
Bat that first love had roots that grew
Where others cannot grow.
There are no days like the old days.
When wo. not they, were yoang;
When all life’s rays were golden rays
And wrong had never atnng.
Dear heart! If now oar steps could pass
Throngh paths of childhood's morn.
And the dew of yonth lie on the grass
Which Time’s fell scythe bas shorn!
* I will,’ said B. with equal earnestness.
* Then shake hands,’ said tbe judge, and as
the softened brothers grasped each other’s
hands the spectators and members of the bar
riready thrilled by the words they had heard,
felt their eyes moisten and their hearts swell.
Jndge ’Foster himself was deeply affected
when the offenders both audibly invoked
God’s blessing on tbeir reconciliation; and
bis voice trembled as be said to the convicted
one .-
1 Then I impose on you the lightest sentence
of the law, a fine of one dollar, and I discharge
yonr bond.’
John’s Share.
* Dad,’ said a hopeful sprig, ‘ how many
fowls are there on the table t*
* Why,' said the old gentleman as be looked
complacently on a pair of finely loasted chick*
ens, that were smoking on the dinner table,
‘ why, my son, there are two.’
‘ Two!’ replied smartness, there are three,
sir, and I will prove it.’
.* Three,’ replied the old gentleman, who was
a plain matter cf fact man, and understood
things as he saw them. ‘ I’d like to see yon
prove that.’
‘ Easily done, sir, easily done. Ain’t that
ene V laying his knife on the first.
‘ Yes, that's certain,’ said dad.
* And ain't that two!’ pointing to the sec
ond, ’ and don’t ono and two make three U
* Really,’ said the father turning to the old
lady, who was in amazement at the immense
learning of her son, * really, wife, this boy is a
genius and deserves to bo encouraged for it.
Here, old lady, do you take one fowl, and I’ll
take the second, and John may have the third
for his learning.’
How to Pat Children to Bed.
Not with a reproof for any of that day’s sins
of omission or commission. Take any other
time but bed time for that. If you ever heard
a little creature sighing or sobbing in its sleep,
yon could never do this. Seal their closing
eyelids/with a kiss and a blessing. Tbe time
will come, too soon, wben they will lie on tbeir
pillows, lacking both. Let them, then, at
least have this sweet memory of a happy child
hood, of which no future sorrow can rob them.
Give them their rosy youth. Nor need thi s
involve wild license. The judicious parent
ill not so mistake my meaning. If yon have
ever met the man, or the woman, whose eyes
have suddenly filled when a little child has
crept trustingly to its mother’s breast, you may
have seeu one in whoso childhood's home Dig
nity and Severity stood where Love and Pity
should have been. Too mnch indulgence has
ruined thousands of children; too mnch Love
not one.—Fanny Fern.
“I Don’t Care If I Do.”
In olden time before tho Maine law was in
vented, Wing kept the hotel at Middle Gran
ville, and from bis well-stocked bar furnished
accommodations to man and beast.’ He
as a good landlord, but terribly deaf. Fish,
the village painter, was afflicted in the same
way.
One day they were sitting by themselves in
tbe bar room. Wing was behind the counter,
waiting for the next customer, while Fish was
lounging before tbe fire, with a thirsty look,
wishing that some oue would come in and
treat.
A traveler from tho South oa his way to
Brandon stepped iu to inquire tho distance.
Going up to tbe counter, he said:
* Can yon tell me, sir, how far it is to Bran
don t’ '
* Brandy V said the ready landlord, jump
ing np ; ‘ yes, sir, I have some,’ at tbe same
time handing down a decanter of tho precious
liquor.
You misunderstand me,’ said the stran
ger ; * I asked how far it was to Brandon.’
* They call it pretty good brandy,’ says
Wing. • Will you take sugar wi;h it f reach
ing. as he spoko, for tho bowl and tbe toddy-
stick.
Tbe despairing traveler turned to Fish.
* The landlord,' said he, ‘ seems to bo deaf;
will you tell me how far it is to Brandon V
‘ Thank you,’ said Fish, * I don’t care if I do
take a drink with yon.’
Tho stranger treated and fled.
A Strange Scene in a Court of Justice.
Many remember the story told by Prof. Wil
son, in bi9 own tender and vivid way, of the
hostile highland brothers, William and Steph
en reconciled at tbeir father’s grave. In a
city no farther than Bridgeport, Conn., a re
cent trial for assault and battery was made
memorable by an incident almosteqnally wor
thy Wilson’s pen, and we wish wo could see
it described as be wonld deecribe it. Two
brothers, named Adams, residents of Westport
who had lited on bad terms with each other
several years, finally came to blows. Both
made complaint before a trial justice and
both were convicted of breach of the peace.
Dissatisfied with this they appealed at the
next session of the Superior Court, the jury foil
ed to agree in the ease of one, hot found the oth
er gnilty. Jndge Foster, grieved, as a mao, at
the spectacle of two yoang warring brothers
and humanely anxious to stop farther litiga
tion in the fntnre between them, called tho
men before him and talked totbqm in a strain
of serious bat kind reproof. He briefly re
viewed their difficulty and showed tbeabeard-
ity of this quarrel, and then appealed to tbeir
self-respect, their relationship and their sense
of moral responsibility to let this unnatural
enmity go on no longer.
M-, yon have always used yoor brother
well V questioned the Jndge.
* Jee. sir.’
* And be has always abased you. P
* Yes, sir.’
* B., yon claim that yon have always need
yoor brother well f
* Yes, sir.’
* And he has always abused you V
* Yes, sir.’
* See,’ continued the Judge, * yon are both
to blame and no jury can decide which of yoa
is the worse.’
Then he warned them solemnly, and even
tenderly, of tho folly of doing as they had
done, and charged them by all they held sa
cred never to go to law on difference again.
He pointed ont to them tho beanty of harmo
ny and peace and urged them then and there
to pledge friendship and brotherly kindness
for all coming time.
Gravely, as if reading a printed covenant,
he pronounced the words: * Yon, ,11. Adams,
do yon promise on your part that yoa will bi
friends in the future with your brother I’
* I will,’ said M. earnestly.
* Yoa, B. Adams, do you promise on yonr
part that you will be friends in tbe fntnre with
your brother!’
“Somebody Host Be In It.”
Here is a little story which tells better than
a dictionary can, the meaning of the word
disinterestedness.”
The late Archdeacon Haro was once, when
tutor of Trinity College, Cambridge, giving a
lecture, when a cry of “ Fire !” was raised.
Away rushed his pupils, and forming them
selves into a line between the building—which
was close to band—and the river, passed
bnckets from one to another. Tbe tutor
quickly following, found them thus engaged;
at the end of the line a youth was standing
np to his waist in the river ; ha was delicate
and looked consumptive.
What!’cried Mr. Hare, ‘you iu the wa
ter, Sterling f you, so liable to take cold !*
* Somebody must be in it,’ tbe yonth an
swered ; * why not I as well aa another V
The spirit of the answer is that of all great
and generous doings. Cowardice and cold
ness, too, say, “ Oh somebody will do it!”
and the speaker sits still; be is not tbe ono
to do what needs doing. But nobility of char
acter, looking at necessary tbiags, says :
• Somebody mast do it, why not 1 f and the
deed is done.
..A Sacramento lawyer remarked to the
conrt:
* It is my candid opinion, judge, you are an
odd fool.’
Tbe jndge allowed his mild beaming eye to
fall npon the lawyer a brief moment, then, In
a voice bosky with suppressed tobacco juice
and emotion, said:
‘ It is my candid opinion that yon are fined
one hundred dollars.’
Fate of the Abolition Leaders.
The St. Louis Republican thus refers to the
tragic fate of some of the abolition leaders: #
" On the other hand, the leaders oa tbe other
side are either still living, honored and respect
ed, or have died peaceful deaths, with a foil
consciousness of having done life's work nobly
and welL
John Brown was hanged on the soil of the
State where be struck tbe first blow for free
dom. Mr. Lincoln, the first anti-slavety Pre
sident, died by an assassin’s bullet, which, yet,
as scarcely more pitiless than the biography
that afterwards tore bis good name to tatters.
Preston King, it is said, committed suicide.
Gerritt Smith is said to have lost bis reason.
Jim Lane died by his own band, the victim «f
a remorse which even bis fierce, iron natnre
coaid not endure. Horace Greeley died in
defeat and delirium, amidst the exosrationa of
the party which be had buildod. Mr. Beecher
still lives, bat to look upon tbs ghastly * frag
ments of a reputation which was the greatest
of aU—torn to pieces by his own friend, whom,
in torn, he ha3 groand to cfast under his heavy
heel. Mr. Sumner died .under Coodemihatiou
of his party, having lived the last two years
of his life under the condemnation of his own
State. Fremont live3 under the ban of outla w
ry of a French court, before w'uie'i he refuses
to appear to answer charges ui' fraud. So
much for the tragic fate of tbe antt-s'.avery
lers.”