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Sljc (Ba^tte. PUBLISHED WEEKLY, BY J. T. McGARTY, Editor. SUBSCRIPTION: On Ybar $2 00 Six Months 1 00 In Advance- W. B. VAIL, WITH KEAN & CASSELS, Wholesale and retail dealers in Fareign and Domestic Dry Goods 209 Broad st., late stand of H. F. Russol & Cos. AUGUSTA, GA. J. MURPHY Sc CO. % . Wholesale and retail dealers in Wliite Granite & C, 0. Ware ALSO, Semi-China, French China, Glassware, &c. No. 244 Broad Street, AUGUSTA, GA. tTmARKW ALTER, MARBLE WORKS, BROAD STREET, Near Lower Market, AUGUSTA, GA. ’ THE AUGUSTA Gilding, Looking-glass, Picture Frame F ACTORY. Old Picture Frames Regilt to look Equal to New. Old Paintings Carefully Cleaned , Lined and Varnished. J. J. BROWNE, Agent, 346 Broad st., Augusta, Ga. E. H. ROGERS, Importer and dealer in RIM. GODS PISTOLS And Pocket Cutlery, Ammunition of all Kinds, 245 ROAD BTREET, AUGUSTA, GA, REPAIRING EXECUTED PROMPTLY (Hbcrto.i §usitttss tf aids. GEO. LOEHR, 9* "■*' '■* Has received a stock: of furniture nad is constantly adding thereto, which he will sell at the lowest cash prices UPHOLSTERING AND REPAIRING and. all work in his line done in a. nent and workmanlike manner. Satisfaction guarantied. Orders tilled for Sash, Doors and Blinds. ily22-ly ___ light J. F. AULD, (Carriage ELBERTOiH, GEORGIA. BEST WORKMEN ! BEST WORK! LOWEST PRICES! Good Buggies, warranted, - $125 to $l6O Common Buggies - • - ; Repairing and blacksmithing. * Work done in this line in the very best style. The Best Harness V My22-i y IT. M. SWIFT. MACK ARNOLD 'i SWIFT & ARNOLD, (Successors to T. M. Swift,) DEALERS in dry goods, groceries, crockery, boots and SHOES, HARDWARE, &c., Pnblie Square, IXBERTOIV GA, JOHN H. JONES & CO., '•% GENERAL Variety store, Always on hand a complete stock of ©BY GOODS, FANCY GOODS, HARDWARE CROCKERY, GROCERIES, BOOTS, SHOES, &c., &c. A Specialty or Silver-tipped Shoes • Mr32-ly H. K. CAIRDIMER, ELBERTON, GA., • DEALER IN 11Y COOIS. SIOCSII. HARDWARE, CROCKERY, boots, shoes, hats Notions, &C- THE GAZETTE. gr §dfitwat at (BmxH t 3UI SHkiitgg—§(SxftaiMttj (0 the gntewatis of the Community, New Series. PATTERSON’S GHOST. BY ANNA SHIELDS. He was called Pat Truitt, but bis name was not Patrick, but Patterson. He was tall and strong, with an honest frank face, a voice full of cheerful, hearty life, and a laugh that made the window rattle; and he was in love with Maggie Blackis ton. He was a farmer and lived upon one of the finest farms in Dutchess county, a homestead and grounds that h: ve been over a hundred years in the possession ol the Truitt family. Some six years ago we cele brated the twenty-filth birthday of Put, and it was upon the occasion ol the country ball givdn by 'Mrs. Truitt, Pat’s mother, that Maggie Biackiston first met Mr. Hora tio Seymour, a laud agent, who was trying to fiud oil wells in Dutchess county, and was boarding with Mrs. Grey, who brought him to the party as escort For her three red haired girls. Maggie Biackiston was belle of the hall, bewitching, pretty, in a dainty blue dress that fitted plump little figure to perfec- tion, Tier brown curls caught up ami snood ed by the brightest of azure ribbons, and her brown eyes full of sparkle and vivacity. From the glossiest of hei rich curls to tha tip of her pretty little slippers, she was as bright a picture, and as fascinating a coun try belle, as could be wished for to attract admiring eyes. One pair were at her service at cnee, and the city beau struck bis colors half aD hour after he entered the room, and paid admir ing homage to the sparkling little beauty.— It was not very strange that the simple country girl should be attracted by the gal lant attentions, the courtly bows and smiles of the now-comer, but I did want to box her ears when she turned the cold shoulder upon Pat. The first rebuff only caused Pat to open his houest blue eyes in amazement, it seemed so impossible that Maggie could mean to slight him. Maggie ! Why, he had carried her. about in her Icig clothes, when he was a sturdy six year-old urchin, had been her loving admirer ever since. But a second time he came to her, as she was standing near me resting from a dance. “Will yen dance the next quadrille with me ?” he asked. “I am engaged to Mr. Seymour,” she an swered, toying with the ribbons on her wrists. “But you have not danced with me cnee this evening, Maggie?’ “Miss Margaret Blackiston is my name,” bhe said grandly, and then walked away proudly. * Pat gave a long, low whistle as he watch ed her; then meeting my eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and turned to other guests. I could see that the blow stung him deeply, but he was not a man to parade his sore heart; and bravely filled his part of host.— Not once however, did he go near Maggie after the insulting rebuff. When everybody else had gone, Mrs. Truitt and I drew our chairs to the kitchen fire for a little gossip before we retired. As we were chatting, Pat eame in sat down be side me. “Tired, Pat?” I said. “No, lam not very tired. Aunt Fan ny, what do you know about Mr. Sey mour ?” “Nothing. He is looking for oil wells, he says, and drives about the country in a stylish buggy, with a high stepping horse. Likewise he wears store clothes, a gold watch, and a shiny silk hat, every day in the week.” “I know all that. You don’t know who he is, or what he is.” “No. He converses well, seems to have travelled, and is an adept in the art of pay ing compliments.” “Don’t you worry, Pat,” his mother here broke in sharply. “Maggie always was a born coquitte. She would flirt with the cows, if she could find nothing else con venient, but her heart is in the right place.” “She may think the right place is in Mr. Seymour’s keeping,” Pat said gloom ily.. A moment later he impatiently brushed up the thick clustering curls from his high forehead, and said: “It is very late. Good .night. Don’t sit here gossiping all night,” aud so left us. “Is Maggie Blaekiston blind, that she canuot see how handsome Pat is 7” said Mrs. Truitt; “he is worth a dozen city chaps. She is a dear little girl, and will make a good farmer’s wife, but she will make a fatal mistake if she tries toba a city lady.” ELBERTON, GA., WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 26,1873. I quite agrreed with my cousin. Pretty, bewitching Maggie would certainly never be at home in fashionable cireles. Yet it seemed as if Mr. Horatio Seymour did not view matters with our eyes. Every day his attentions became more marked. He drove Maggie out in his stylish buggy ; he met her when she walked; he trod daintily in his shiny boots into the barn-yard to watch her at milking time; fe drank tea about seven times a week.at Mr. Blackiston’s, and made that well-to-do farmer feel quite pov erty stricken when detailing the accounts of the individuals he had made mil lionaires by the discovery of oil upon their farms. Mrs. Biackiston muttered something about humbugs whenever these stories were repeated for her benefit, and did not scruple to tell Maggie she -was a little idjot if she threw Pat over for this perfumed dandy.— But with her father on her side, the willful little, beauty flirted with her new adorer to her heart’s content, never heeding Pat’s grave, pale face. Matters had gone on in this unsatisfacto ry fashion for nearly two months, when a lever broke otjt in the village two. miles be low us, and soon made its appearance in some of the farm-houses inour more imme diate neighborhood. The malady assume.d so much of an epedemic form, and so ma lignant, that a terror crept over us all, and those in health could scarcely find time to nurse the sick, console the dying and bury the dead. At the first sound of danger Mr. Horatio Seymour suddenly vanished. ' Mrs. Black iston, Mrs. Truitt and I bad but little time to watch the young folks, but l did see that Pat preserved a dignified reserve, and I respected him the more for not throw ing his heart again under Miss Maggie’s feet. During the worst of the malady Pat Tru itt was foremost, in the ranks of male nurses and assistants, and great strong farmer as he was, wc heard from all sides his gentle care of his old friends stricken down by ill ness and death. The day came at last when the plague wrt,. stayed, when fora long week there had been no new case, no death. Mrs. Truitt and I were sitting over the kitchen fire, talking gravely of the scenes and trials of the past lew weeks, when the door suddenly and Pat reeled in, white as death, arid faint ed at our feet. Niue days of suffering, of delir ious raving, of burning fever, and tliep our brave handsome boy lay before us cold and still, a sheet over his face, and no breath in the shrunken nostrils or on the pale lips. Two days of mourning passed heavily away, and we dressed the stalwart figure in the long white grave-clothes, aod placed him in the narrow coffin lor hie last deep sleep. The funeral party were all assembled in the little parlor, and Mrs. Truitt and I were in a little room next the one where Pat lay still and cold, when the little figure of Maggie Blackiston came in softly.— She wore a heavy black dress, and her face was white and wan, with red swollen eyes. “I don’t deserve to see him,” she sobbed. “I don’t deserve to have you speak to nfa; but will you not forgive me, Mrs- loved him so dearly ! I have bud the fever too, or 1 should have been over bsforc, They never told me till to-day that he was dead. Oh, Pat t Pat l dead, and. never can say you forgive me 7” It was hot in human natuie—certainly not in our softened, sorrow stricken hearts —to resist the pitiful pleading, and the be reaved mother herself led her to the death chamber. I could hear her wailing out her grief over the white, still figure, pour ing kisses and caresses over the pale face, and sobbing out all her love and penitence. Side by side with the widowed mother, sh( followed the hearse, and saw the coffin low ered in the grave. Then we caught th< little fainting figure, and took her again ti the carriage. She was so evidently ill, tha Mrs. Blaekiston consented to stop with he at our house, being nearer the cemeter; than her own, and so it fell out as the cloc! itruck 12, we three were grouped around lounge upon which Meggie lay, exhauote with weeping. Suddenly as we sat there very stil and sorrowful, Maggie started up, wit a piercing shriek, and pointed to the wit] dow. “Look ! It is Patterson’s ghost 1” she ci ed and fainted again. We turned startled looks to the windc to see, in the clear moonlight, standii erect before the window, the tall figu. of Patterson Truitt, in his long wh shroud. While we sat breathless, expd iug to see him vanish, he slowly moved I ward the door, and on the still air rose a feeble voice : “Mother, let me in !” “Great Heaven keep my reason 1”. she gasped; but Mrs. Biackiston opened the door. In walked the ghost,;feebly, and stagger ing like a drunken man. “Mother,” he said again, “I am pot dead. The medical students from B College dug me up to-night and are run ning home at this minute, frightened nearly out of their lives. I am no ghost, mother.” There was a fluttering movement on the lounge, a little figuro shot past us, and Mag gie was sobbing out her joy in Patterson’s arms. Whop we were all quieted, and Patter sop was seated in the deep arm chair wrap ped iu blankets, and sipping hot wiue, he told us: “I knew all that was passing when I lay in the deep trance sleep. 1 heard dear mother weeping tor her son, Aunt Fanny’s choking words of copifort. I knew when I was dressed for the grave and laid in my coffin. I heard Maggie's grief, and it seeu;ed then as if my breaking heart must burst the icy bonds that held me. But when I heard the clods fall upon the coffin lid, I fervently prayed that death might come soon, and I he spared the agony of waking in my horrible prison. When the coffin lids were raised agaiu to-night, the first rush of air stirred again the bloud in my veins, aud I shouted aloud aud stood up.— I wish”—and here Pat broke into his old genial laugh—“l wish you could have seen my preservers run. I did not stay to call them back, but came here at once, to mother, aud to”—here here he held out his thin hand—“ Miss Margaret Blackis ton.” “Don’t, Pat,” she pleaded. “I. won’t, if you’ll drop your namo next month aud take mine iustead.” “Nonsense Pat,” said his mother in a pleasant tone; “you won’t be übout in a prove a powerful tou- both invalids rapidly improved, aud we baa a merry wedding just one month alter the appearance of Patterson’s ghost- < o Fof the Gazette.] ! PRAYER. A SHORT SERMON, IBY A. a. All things whatsoeverye shall ask in prayer, b< Jjeving, : yc shall receive.”- Matt., xxi., 22. Prayer forms an essential part of oxperl njntal religion. The Christiun cannot live without prayer ! Prayer is as necessary to hi. inward spiritual life as breath is to the nitural life of the body. Prayer is the con verse ol the soul with God, its spiritual fath e* Prayer is the language of the spirit of adoption, crying Abba, Father ! Jacob’s Isldcr was an emblem of prayer. “Prayer clmbs, the ladder Jacob saw.” r M, Gives exercise to faith and love, Brings every blessing from above, rrayer mingles with the sweet incense of a Saviour’s merits, which he offers upon the golden altar of his Divinity, which rises to the throne above, Acceptable through his prevjjlipjr intercession. Prayer is the very native of the Christian. It is the secure ,tsylum for .the soul of the be liever. i. us consider the matter of pray* We have many examples left us in scrip jure, both in regard to the manner and the Matter of prayer. We are taught, first of 11, in every duty and every work, to love, onor, and venerate the name of our God. -he first petition in our Lord’s prayer, as le taught his disciples is, “hallowed be thy bame,” (that is let thy name be reverenced is holy.) We can give God no higher praise : ,han to sensibly proclaim his holiness. It -ivastbe employment of Isaiah’s Seraphims, :|o continually cry, Holy, Holy, Holy is the >Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his tglory. —(Isaiah, vi., 2,3.) It is allowable rfor us to pray for temporal blessings, but |hese should be secondary. “Seek first iho kingdom of heaven.” The reign of the heavenly king, Jesus ; the blessings he dis penses in his gospel; the powerful display and influence of his grace. This is needed to teach us our depravity. Without a sense pf our sinfulness and weakness, we cannot pray aright. We must see the deformity of Bin, before we can appreciate and breathe after holiness. Mercy was the plea in the ipublican’s prayer, because he saw, felt, and [acknowledged he was a sinner. Thus, af jter the wound is opened, we must seek the 'healing balm. When we are brought to sec that we are lost, we must pray to God to save us, as the sinking Peter cried, “Lord, save; I perish.” Vol I—No. 44. Christians should pray for an increase in spiritual attainment. Here ambition is al lowable. we are exhorted to “covet earnest ly the best gifts.” We should desire and pray for these in order to our usefulness and our happiness. 11. Let us notice the manner in which wc should pray. We must pray in faith, not wavering, so as not make shipwreck of our steadfastness by dashing upon the fatal rock of unbelief. When we ask in uubelief wo fail to receive because we ask amiss, to consume the bless ing asked for upon our lusts. Again the manner of our prayers should he direct and coocise, not needlessly multiplying words or making unnecessary repetitions, in a hea thenish manner; but simply ask for what we feel we need, in the name and for the sake of Jesus, our Mediator, as the only channel through which the blessing can be received. Let us endeavor to cherish the blessed assurance that Jesus is on the throne of mercy, full of grace, and that when we are sensible of our needy and helpless con dition we may obtain from His infinite boun ty an abundant supply for ourselves, and when we have received the fullness of grace is yet utidiminished. We may continue to receiro grace as wc need it, day by day, and the same grace is abundant to supply all the wants of others of our race. Then let us implore its blessings upon our fellow crea tures, believing in its fuilness and frecness and adapteduess to the condition of the, fall en and ruined ol earth’s teaming millions every where. He who prays in faith finds himself by this overflowing fountain of free sovereign grace, and while he prays he tou ches the very head-springs of infinite good ness, the very treasure of Heaven, unlocked by the mediation of Jesus. “Whoever will, 0, gracious word, Shall of this stream partake, Come, thirsty souls, and bless the Lord, Ami driuk for Jesus’ sake.” WILLIAM IIAVEIiLY. “About thirty years ago,” said Judge P , “I stepped into a bookstore in Cincinnati, in search of some books that 1 wanted. While there a little ragged boy, not over twelve years of age, came in and in quired for a geography. “I iciity of them,” said tho salesman. “How much do they cost?” “One dollar, my lad.” The little fellow drew bock in dismay, and taking his little hand out of his pocket he commenced to count some pennies and little silver pieces that he had held until they were all wet with sweat. Several times he counted them, and then he said : “I didn’t know they were so much." He turned to go out, and even opened the door, but closed it again and came back. “I have only got sixty-one cents,” said he; “you could not let me haye a geography and wait a little while for the rest of (ho money V ’ How eagerly his bright little eyes looked for the answer; and how he seemed to shrink within his ragged clothes when the man, not very kindly, told him that he could not. The disappointed little fellow looked up at me with a very poor attempt at a smile, and left the store. I followed out pod overtook him. “And what now 7” I asked, kindly. “Try another place, sir.” “Shall I go too, and see how you succeed?” I inquired. “Oh yes, if you like,” said he, in sur prise. Four different stores I entered with him, and each time he was refused. “Will you try again ?” I asked. “Yes, sir; I shall try them all, or I should not know whether I could get one. We entered the fifth store, and the little fellow walked up manfully, and told the gentleman just what he wanted, and how much money he had. “You want the book very much ?” said the proprietor. “Yes, sir, very much.” “Why do you want the geography so very, very much ?” “To study, sir; I can’t go to school, but I study when I can at home. All the boys have got one and they will get ahead of me. Besides, my father was a sailor and I want to learn ot the places where he used to go.” “Does he go to those places now ?” “He is dead,” said the boy softly. Then he added after a while: “I am going to Le a sailor, too.” “Are you, though 7” asked the gentle man, raising his eyebrows curiously. “Yes, sir, if I live.” “Well, my lad, I will tell you what I will do ; I will let you have anew geography, and you may pay the remainder of the mon ey when you can, or I will let you have one that is not new for fifty cents.” “Are the leaves all in it, and just like the others, only not new ?” ®|e (gazette. Cash Rates of Advertising. lyr. 6 mos. 3 mos. 1 mo. 1 time 1 columD, $l5O S9O S6O $35 $26 “ 80 60 40 23 16 5 inches, 50 35 25 12 > • 3 “ 35 25 15 7 4 2 “ 25 15 10 5 3 1 inch 1 time, $1.50. “Yes, just like the new ones.” “Lt will do just as well, then, and I’ll have eleven cents left toward buying some other book. I’m glad they didn’t let mo have any at the other places.” The bookseller looked up inquiringly, and l told him what 1 had seen of the little fel low. lie was much pleased, and when lie brought the book along I saw a nice, rtew pencil and some clean white paper in it. “A present my lad, for your perseverance. Always have courage like that and you will make your mark.” “Thank you, sir, you arc very good.” “What is your uame ?” “William llavcrly, sir.” “Do you want any more hooks ?” I askod him. “More than 1 can ever get,” he replied, glancing at the books that filled the shelves. I gave him a bank note. “It will buy some for you,” I said. Tears of joy came into his eyes. “Can I buy what I want with it?” “¥es, my lad, anything.” “Then I’ll buy one book for mother,” said he. “I thank you very much, and some day I hope 1 can pay you back.” He wanted my name and I gave it to him ; then I left him standing by the coun ter so happy that 1 almost envied him ; and many years passed before I saw him again. Last year I went tq Europe on one of the finest vessels that ever plowed the waters of the Atlantic. We had beautiful weathor until very near the end of our voyage; then came a most terrific storm that would have suuk all on board had it not been for the captain. Every spar was laid low, the rud der was almost useless, and a groat leak had shown itself, threatening to fill the ship.— The crew were all strong, willing men, and the mates were practical seamen of the first class, but after pumping for the whole night and still the water was gaining on them, they gave up in despair and prepared to take to the boats, though they might have known that no small boat could live in such a sea. The captain, who had been below with his charts, now came up; he saw how matters stood, and with a voice that I heard distinct ly above the roar of tLo tempest, he ordered every man back to his post. It was surprising to see all those men bow before the strong will of their captain and hurry back to the pumps. The captain then started below to exam ine the leak. As he passed me 1 asked him if there was any hope. Her looked At mo, then at the other passengers who had crow ded up to hear the reply, and said rebuk ingly : . “Yes, sir there is hope as long as ono inch of this deck remains above the water. When I sec none of it thgn shall I abandon the vessel, and not before ; nor any one of my crew, sir. Everything shall bo done to save it, and if wc fail it will not be fnom : in action. Bear a hand every one of you, at the pumps.” Thrice during that day did wc despair; but the captain’s dauntless courage, perse verence and powerful will mastered every miad on board, aud wc went to work again. “I will land you safely at the dock in Liverpool,” said he, “if you will be men.” And he did land us safely, but the vessel sunk, moored to the dock. The captain stood on the deck of the sinking vessel, re ceiving the thanks and blessings of the pas sengers as they passed on the gang plank. I was the last to leave. As I passed ho grasped my band and said : “Judge P , do you recognize me ?” i I told him that I was not awaro that I had ever seen him till I stepped aboard his ship. “Do you remember the boy in search of a geography years ago, in Cincinnati ?” “Very well, sir ; William Haverly.” “I am he,” said he. “God bless you.” “And God bless noble Captain Haverly 1” “Good morning, Mr Smith. On the sick list to-day 7” “Yes sir ; got the ague.” “Do you ever shake 7” “Yes, shake fearfully.” “When do you shake again 7” “Can’t say when ; shake every day. Why do you ask 7” “Ob, nothing in particular; only I thought if you shook so bad, I’d like-to stand oy and see if you couldn’t shake the five dollars out of your pocket which you have owed mo so long.” People talk of hard times, and well they may. An exchange says: “We dre fast be coming a nation of schemers to live without genuine woek. Our boys are not learning trades; our farmers’ sons ore crowding into cities, looking for clerkships and post olfices* hardly one American girl in each one hun dred will do house work for wages, however urgent her need; so we are sending to Eu rope for workingmen and buying ot her art isans millions worth of products that wo ought to make for ourselves. We must turn over anew leaf.” I here is a young lady in Camdenfowa so refined in her language that she never uses the word “blackguard,” but substitutes “African sentinel.”