Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

Augusta business Cards. SCHNEIDER^ DEALERIN WINES, LIQUORS AND CIGARS AUGUSTA, GA. Agent for Fr. Schloifer & Co.’s San Francisco CALIFORNIA BRANDY. HHBGiU CUCQUGTT CHAMPAGNE. E. R. SCHNEIDER, Augusta, Georgia. E. I I. ROGERS, Importer and dealer in RIFLES, Gift PISTOLS And Pocket Cutlery, Amm >in it ion of all Kinds, 245 BROAD BTREET, AUGUSTA, GA. REPAIRING EXECUTED PROMPTLY VT. H. HOWARD C. H. HOWARD. W. H. HOWARD, JR. W. H. HOWARD & SONS, COTTON' FACTORS AND MUM MBMITS COR. BAY AND JACKSON STS., AUGUSTA, GA. Commissions for Selling Cotton $1 Per Bale. Bagging and Tics Furnished. ORDERS TO SELL OR HOLD COTTON STRICTLY OBEYED. Particular attention given to Weighing Cotton. dlbcrttm §ujmtcss (Cards. LIGHT CARRIAGES & BUGGIES. J. K. ATILT), ELBGKTO.iI, GEORCI.t. BEST WORKMEN! BEST WOP.K! LOWEST PRICES! Goad Buggies, warranted, - 5125 to $l6O Common Buggies - 5100. REPAIRING ANDRLACKSMITIIING. Work done in this line in the very best style. The Best Karness My 22-1 v T* M. SWIFT. MACK ARNOLD SWIFT & ARNOLD, (Successors to T. M. Swift,) dealers in DRY GOODS, GROCERIES, CROCKERY, BOOTS AND SHOES, HARDWARE, &0., Public Square, GA. H. K. CAIRDNER, ELBERTON, GA., DEALER IN MY GOODS. MOPIG, 11A RL) W ARE, CROC KER Y, BOOTS, SHOES, HATS Notions, &c- • ELBERTON FEMALE (Mtptejnstitute m'HE exercises of this institute will be resum- X ed on Monday, August 18th, 1813. jggg“Fnll term, four months. Tuition, $2.50, $3.50, and $5 per month, according to class— payable half in advance Mrs. Hester will continue in charge of the Musical Department. Board in the best families can be obtained at from $lO to sls per month. For further information address the Principal, H. P. SIMS. JOHN T. OSBORN, ATTORNEY AT LAW ELBERTOS, CA. Will give undivided attention to law cases. ANDREW KALE HIGH SCHOOL ELBEETON. GA. P. E DAVANT, A M., - - Principal GEO. Q. QUILLIAN, - - Abstain Fall term commences Monday, Aug. 19, 1872. THE course of instruction in this institution is thorough and by the analytic system. The pupils are taught to think and reason for themselves. Boys will be thoroughly prepared for any class in college. Those desiring aspeedy preparation for business can take a shorter course in Analytic Arithmetic, Surveying, Book keeping, &c. The discipline of the school will be firm and inflexible. An effort will be madein all eases to control students by appealing to their sense of duty and honor, but at all events the discip line will be maintained. Rata of •Tuition: Ist class, $2.50 permontli ; $3.50 ; 3d class, $5 —one-halfj^^^- THE GAZETTE. JSTew Series. THE RIVAL CLAIMANTS. BY JUDGE CLARK. Who Mr. Wilson was, whence he came, and what had been his antecedents, were points upon which the good people of Pokebury remained as unenlightened after he had dwelt ten years among them as they were on the first day of his coming. His health had been for sometime fail ing, and one day I was sent to write his will. The instructions he gave me were very brief. He wished his entire estate to be vested in trustees, the annual in come to be devoted to certain specified charities; but in case his brother, of whom he had lost sight for many years, was alive and should be discovered, the bequest was to become void, and the entire property to go to the broth er. “This brother,—have you any clew that may lead to his discovery?’’ I ask ed. “None, and I greatly fear, for certain reasons, that even if he be living, he will never, voluntarily, make his name known.” “Few people purposely keep out of the way of good fortune,” I remarked to him. He made no answer, but seemed to be reflecting. I wish to confide a secret to you,” he said after sometime. “May Ido it safe ly?” “A lawyer’s oath, ’ I answered, “for bids him to betray his client. You may speak, sir, with perfect freedom and safety.” “My words may place my brother's life in your hands,” he said ; yet it may be possible to clear up a horrible suspic ion which for years, has haunted me. I have read of so many cases in which it came out that men were innocent whose guilt seemed proved to demonstration that I blame myself for not sooner seek ing aid in the solution of a dreadful mystery, instead of helplessly brooding over it.” He paused, as if still hesitating to dis close his secret. The indecision was but momentary. “My brother Charles and myself,” he resumed, “were brought up in a distant city by a wealthy uncle, of whom I was the favorite. “Charles was younger than I, by some years. He was a light-hearted, affec tionate boy, a little wild and extrava gant, but not vicious—just the very per son, on the whole, not to meet the approbation of our old uncle, who was strict. “When the latter made his will, lie left the bulk of his property to me, ap pointing me also trustee of the very moderate prc vision made for my brother Charles. My brother expressed no displeasure at this. He placed too little value on money, I thought, or had too much con fidence in my generosity to ( are which of us our uncle left his immense fortune to. “Not long after the will was made, re turning home one night, I found the front door unlocked. I paid little atten tion to the trifling circumstance, attrib uting it to the carelessness of the serv ant. “On reaching my room, I discovered I had not with me a valuable book which I had started with from a public library to which I was a subscriber. I had stopped to visit a friend on the way, and conjectured that I left the volume at his room. I determined to return and as certain. “As I passed out of the door, I met Charles coming in. Ido not know that I spoke to him in my haste. I found the book where I supposed it was, and had nearly reached my uncle’s door again when I saw my brother rush out of the house excitedly, and walk very rapidly away. “I met the housekeeper in the hall way.. She seemed almost paralyzed with fear. “I’m afraid something terrible has hap pened,” she said recovering her voice with an effort. “What’s the matter I asked. “Oh, sir, Mr. Charles ran out of his uncle's room just now, looking like a ghost, and having a bloody knife in his hand. He passed me without’ speaking and hurried from the house,” she an swered. my uncle’s apartment. — ■■jlMuimy sight' My ELBERTON, GEORGIA. DECEMBER 10, 1873. uncle lay lifeless in his blood! The gas was burning brightly, and every detail of the horrid scene was appallingly dis tinct. “My uncle had been stabbed through the heart. His secretary door stood open, and the floor was strewn with pa pers. “Like a flash of lightning the question presented itself, “Can my brother have committed this deed ?” His flight, the housekeeper’s statement, his possible re sentment at our uncle’s will—all seemed to point to one conclusion. Could I be lieve it? “I called for help. The housekeeper and servants came in answer to the alarm. The former fell fainting at the sickening sight, and had to be carried to her room, where, fortunately, she remained for a season in a condition which prevented her from relating what she had hear and and seen. “The authorities were notified and an inquest held; but nothing afforded a clew to the murderer. I was the only witness examined. What the lrouskeep er could reveal, was known only to my self and her. She had been Charles nurse, and was devoted to him, and it needed only a hint that speaking might put liim in peril, effectually to close her mouth. . “I was questioned only as to what I had seen after entering the house, and an swered fully and truly. If in failing to tell what I was asked about—the suspic ious circumstances under which I had seen my brother leave the hous,.— I tri fl< and with my oath. I can only beg the forgiveness of Heaven. What the house keeper herself had told me was lieresay, and inadmissible. The coroner nevr thought of calling her. ' “I gave our friends some plausible ex planation of Charles’ absence, hoping to myself, from day to day, he might re turn and relieve my mind from its dis tracting doubts; but through all thi, long years that have since followed, he has never, to my knowledge, been seen or hcai'd of. “I feel that were he found and placed on tiial, should all the evidence come out, any jury would convict him. For myself, l have fought, night and day, to drive away the torturing suspicion, but it will not leave me. I left my native city and came hither, fearing, if I re mained, I should not long be able to di vert attention from Charles’ strange ab sence. “I have now told you all. To morrow I will put in your hands a sum sufficient to defray whatever expense it may be necessary to incur in restoring me, if possible, my brother freed from mis trust.” Mr. Wilson’s startling narrative left me little hope of being able to gratify his wishes. The proofs against his brother seemed unanswerable; and there was slight reason to expect that a man in hiding for such a crime would voluntari ly expose himself to the chances of de tection. I prepared Mr. Wilson’s will in accor dance with his wishes, and he placed in my hands the money he had promised. He died however, before any discoveries were made. I now advertised cautiously for Mr. Charles Wilson, mentioning the fact of his brother’s death, and stating by com municating with me he might learn something to his advantage. I was seated in my office one day, when a stranger entered. “I am Charles Wilson,” he said to me, “and have come in answer to your adver tisement.” I looked at him narrowly. There was no great resemblance between him and the late Mr. W T ilson ; yet the want of likeness was not sufficient, of itself, to render their relationship improbable. “W T hat proof have you of your identi ty ?” I inquired. “I can mention all the family names, for one thing,” he answered. “A little preparation might enable any one to do that,” I replied. “I have a ring given me by my uncle,” he said, a little reluctantly. “His name is in it. It was a parting present when I left home.” “Let me see it,” I requested. He took from his pocket and undid a small parcel. It con tained an elegant diamond ring. The gem was costly and elegantly set. The name was there as he had stated. -‘By the way,” I added, turning upon him quickly, “are you not a little afraid to present yourself as a claimant of your brother’s fortune ?” “Why?” he asked, with evident ner vousness. “Did it never occur to you,” I explain ed, “that you might be accused of your uncle’s murder ?” “My uncle’s murder!” he exclaimed, turning pale and trembling. “W hat proof is there to found such a charge upon ?” “Enough to hang you, I fear, should it ever be brought forward,” was my re p!y- And determined to push him home, and find what explanation he had to give, I went over all my late client had told me. The effect on him was singular. He was evidently reassured by the state ment. “Of course you are not at liberty to use to my prejudice information thus confided to you,” he remarked. “My c’ient employed me to serve, and not to injure his brother,” I answered. “His last wish was that he might be freed from this black suspicion.” “That wish shall be fulfilled,” he said. “I think I can yet find a clue to the real culprit, and, in a few more days, satisiy you of my innocence as well as iden tity.” He took his ring and went away, pro mising to return as soon as he could pro duce his proofs. Next day another stranger appeared. He, too, introduced himself as the long missing Charles Wilson, and the likeness between him and the man of whom he claimed to be the brother was striking in the extreme. “I have not come about the fortune,’ he said, “ but to learn what I may about the last years of my brother s life.” He wept when I repeated the dead man’s story as I had to the other—wept mingled tears of joy and grief. “Would that my poor brother were alive,'' he cried, “that I might at last stand as clear in his sight as he this clay does in mine! It was to turn suspicion from him that I fled on that terrible night, and have ever since remained con cealed. “As he told you, I met him hurrying out as I entered the door. Having occa sion to visit my uncle’s rocm. I was hor ror-stricken at the sight of his corpse stretched upon the floor. Near it lay a bloody knife, which I recognised as be longing to my brother. A dreadful thought flashed upon me. I snatched up the knife, and was running from the room to conceal it, when the housekeep er met me. I knew she would believe me guilty. In justifying myself I might implicate my brother. I fled from the house and never returned, determin ed to save my brother at the cost of rep utation, and, should need be, of life it self. If suspicion fell on either, it should now be on me.” The story was simply and touchingly told. I had no doubt of its truth, and requested the stranger to hold him self in readiness till I required his pres ence, which I should shortly do. I fur ther cautioned him to keep his own coun sel. After the lapse of some days the first claimant returned, accompanied by an ill-looking man of aged appearnace. “I have found out the real murderer, he said, “ but, unfortunately, he is beyond the reach of justice.” ’•His name?” I asked. “ Richard Wnite,” he answered. “What proof have you?” “This,” pointing to his companion, “is the man with whom Wnite pawned my uncle s watch shortly after the mur der. The pawnbroker bas kept it ever since, and has it with him now. 7 • “ Yesh, here it ish,” said the gentleman referred to producing the watch, “ Mr. Vhite shpouted him mit me for foofzy dollar. I can shvear to dat. Unt my frient, Shandy Yilson—l can shvear to him, too—Anow’t him from a poy.” I stepped out and sent a messenge r for the other claimant. In a few minutes he entered the office. At the sight of him the first comer start ed to his feet and sprang toward the door. It was plain that he recongnised the real Gharles Wilson, and saw that his own game was up. A couple of officers intercepted his flight. The pawnbroker was fain to make his peace by confessing that the counterfeit Charles Wilson had placed the watch in his hands and instructed him what story to tell. Vol. 11-No. 33. Both the watch and the ring were iden tified as the property of the murdered man, and other circumstances coming to | light, the criminal was, in due time, tried and executed, first making a full confes sion of his guilt.—[N. Y. Ledger. ENTOMOLOGICAL WISDOM. Joshua Billings, Esq., humorist, and author of a certain “Allminax," has fol lowed Solomon’s direction, been to the ant, considered her ways, and become wiser than ever. His observations are as follows • The ants have no holidays, no eight hour system, nor never strike for enny higher wages. They have no malice, nor 1 back door to their hearts. You never see two ants arguing sum foolish question that neither of them didn't understand. They didn’t care whether the moon is inhabited or not. They don’t care whe ther Jupiter is thirty or thirty-five nines up in the air, so long as it don’t bob over their corn-crib and spill their bar ley. They are simple little bizzey ants, fall of faith, living prudently, com mitling no sin, prazing God by minding their own business, and dying when their time comes to make room for the next crop of ants. They are a reproach to the lazy, an encouragement to the in dustrious, a rebuke to the vicious, and a study to the Christian. VOLTAIRE AND CHESTERFIELD. Chesterfielu happened to be at a rout in France, where Voltaire was one of the guests. Chesterfield seemed gazing about the brilliant circle of the ladies. Voltaire accosted him: “My lord, I know you are a judge ; which are more beautiful, the English or the French ladies?” “Upon my word,” replied his lordship, with his usual presence of mind, “I am no connoisseur of paintings.” Some time after this, Voltaire being in London, happened to be at a nobleman’s rout with Lord Chesterfield. A lady in company, prodigiously painted, directed her whole discourse to Voltaire, and en tirely engrossed his conversation. Ches tm-field caine up, and tapped him on the shoulder, saying: “ Sir, take care you are not captivat ed.” “My lord,” replied the French wit, “ I scorn to be taken by an English ves sel under French colors.” CONUNDRUMS FOR THE CURIOUS. When is a penny like a hermit? When it s a loan. When is a cat like a tea-pot? When you're teasin’ it. When is a soldier not half a soldier ? Wlien lie’s in quarters. What man carries everything before him? A waiter. Why is the world like a piano. Be cause it is iull of flats and sharps. The following is a slight acquaintance between a school boy and the alpha bet : Mistress. “What is that ?” Boy. “A.” Mistress. “What next?” Boy. “B.” Mistress. “Well, go on—what comes next ?” Boy. “Well, mum, I knows the beg gar boi soiglit, but I can't name ’un.” ANTECEDENTS OF THE CUSTIS FAMILY. Hon. Henry S. Foote, in his reminis cences published in the W asliington Chronicle, says: George Washington Parke Custis, in addition t.) being the adopted son of General Washington, grandson of his wife, and father of Mrs. R. E. Lee, was a descendant of the celebrated Lord Baltimore, under whose auspices the State of Maryland was colonised and the first formal edict of universal reli gions toleration adopted and promulga ted. The maiden name of his lady was Calvert. Perfect friendship puts us under the necessity of being virtuous. As it can only be preserved among estimable p rsons, it forces us to resemble them. You find in friendship the surety of good counsel, the emulation of good example, svmpathy in our griefs, succor in oui distress. “My dear. sir,” said a candidate, ac costing a sturdy wag on the day of elec tion, “I am very glad to see you.” “ You needn't be,” replied the wag, “ I have voted.” We may have many acquaintances, but we can have but few friends; this made Aristotle say that he hath many friends who hath none. A boy being asked what he would take for a hot lunch, very promptly replied— “ Fire crackers.” For the Gazette.] A SHORT SERMON. What I do thou knowest not now ; but thou shalt know hereafter.— John, xiii., 7. Thus Christ spake to Peter, one of hia disciples and one of his apostles. I sup pose he thus speaks here to all his true followers. Why are we not to know now what God, or Christ, is doing? Because now we are to walk by faith, and not by hu man sight. Often, when we cannot see, we are still taught to believe. God works now, and his works are to us mysterious, as they appear in provid ence, in nature, and in grace. The wis dom of his works we cannot now under stand. He does and permits many things to be done now that seem to us to be against us, which may all be fully and satisfactorily explained to us in the future. If not in the present life, yet, when all his wonderful works and mys terious ways shall have been completed, and his dealings with his creatures fully developed and truly set forth in the light of eternity, then we may be enabled to understand the design and admire the wisdom and goodness of Divine Provid ence in all that he has done and provid entially permitted to take place on earth. God’s work must correspond with his word; that word plainly teaches that tribulation, distress and affliction, with persecution, awaits his godly people in this world. Their endurance of fiery trials is to test the genuineness of their faith. They may be amazed and feel at a loss to conjecture where the present afflictive dispensation will end. Let them be still and await God’s time—in the meantime endeavoring to discharge, as best they can, their known duties. Tho present is the working and suffering time—the revealing time is to come here after. The wisest and the best may bo in gloom and darkness now —in the future the simplest and the most humble shall see things clearly and joyfully. Let all God’s people exercise faith and patience to the end of their pilgrimage below, and all will be well when heaven becomes their home. Now let them sing, to their heavenly father— Do what thou will, it should be sop Thy work I shall hereafter know. When death the vail remove; Unwind the providential maze, And gl idiy own that all thy ways Are wisdom, truth, and love. THE GUARDL\N ANGEL. Tlmre are a thousand little things ne cessary to the general comfort which no one but mother thinks of doing l —a thou sand such little things which no one can ever do just as she does them. You thought it was “Mary” who kept the children quiet, but you will find out your mistake if mother goes away. Poor little things! They wander about the house, calling out, “ Where’s mother ?” “I want my mother!" “Why doesn’t mother come home?” And then they get into hitherto unknown mischief, and do all sorts of wrong things, and make themselves and everybody around them uncomfortable —get their clothes torn and dirty, and their faces, too, and by the fact of their heads being in a state of permanent uncombedness, as to hair, you may know that mother is away from home. And the baby! Did you ever see or hear of a baby that wouldn’ t cry all day—and all night, too—when mo ther’s gone away ? I don’t care if it is the brag baby of the world, and a big two-year-old at that, it cannot get along without mother; and it has too much sense to try to do so. Very, very dreary is the family hearthstone when her place is unfilled! Very dismal are the rooms of the household when she moves not through them with her matronly step and air, unconsciously dispensing cheer fulness and light, and beautifying the humblest duties by the sweet, womanly way in which she performs them. Bear in mind that I speak always of the Home Mother.—[Howard Glyndon. THE EAKMEBS’ MOVEMENT. We find in the Western Rural, of Chi cago, the following succinct statement of the purpose of the farmers’ movement, as it is called: The real object of the uprising of the farmers, or rather of the industrial class es, for it must eventually come to this, is not as against the railroads on behalf of the people, although this has been made one of the prominent features; it is as against the power of gigantic mo nopolies of every kind, which, through the centralisation and consolidation of capital, bribes politicians of every grade and party to subserve their ends. A Chicago lady gives this advice to young ladies: Never marry a man who is impudent to his mother, snubs his sister, helps himself to the largest piece of cake, or takes the under pancake at table or who beats his horse causelessly in sudden temper. A favorite exolamation—A lass!