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), rs, nJ O K? LiL t«i.as , .-;2£XaX2B6SBS2 THE Southern iUcoulct. i: v 4 p, A. HARRISON, ORME & CO. B4St O^ WVRICK, Editor - £2 00 Per Annum in Advance. Penial wu.** I- yTE' of advertising. MILLEDGEVILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, MARCH 28, 1871. Number 12. I o, j os < \ B \ B p, 3? ~ ! c j o j SZ 1 ^ P ?. 7T M « j sr 'L'.Hj S7.50 $12.00 §20.00 0 < 1.7) r,.o0 | 12.00 | 18.00 30.00 3 j - 'j“ 4 , 7 00 16.00 28 06 40.00 <t o0 ' 25.00 35.00 j . 50.00 1" Oil ! 1 40.00. 00.00 b i j 15 op i*T.Ca'{ TTo.oo 1 ■ 1 1 • , J. I.O'/ let)’. 5U.OO SO 00 .120-00 100.00 L ti;\L AUVEKTISIKp. Ordinary's .—Citations for letters 00 a:Ln.guardianship, Ac. ^ •> }J. pi.-stpad nt.f i 00 or dimi'n from adm’ ii.. 5 00 Application or dis. m'n of guard’ll. 3 50 Xj-plii-atioii oi leave to sell Land. f> 00 y.ficeto 1) ; btors ami Creditors. 3 00 .Sales <tl Lh id. per sail a re of ten 1 nes 5 00 S tie oi p- rs mat per »q.. t.-n days. 1 50 Slurifs-E tell ievt .•! ten lines,. 2 50 v |os of ti i: 1 inns or It s .. 5 oo Tax Collect CIcrLs-fe ii's -a! >. (2 months. — 5 uo pf.'jsiirc oi mortgage tnd !v'-. per square 1 00 •s.thirty days - - - O 00 S t’ -' nl' L and, by Administrat ns, Execu- tors or Gu.ii ' ians, are required, by law to beheld hi t! e first Tuesday in the month, betwp»‘n the hours of ten in the foren' on an ,j three ii tiie afternoon, at the Court- ouse in the county in which the property Notice of these sales must be published 40 avs previous to the day of sale. Notice fi.r the sale of personal property cust be published 10 days previous to sale Notice to debtors and creditors, 40 days. Notice tiiat application will he made to ij"urt of Ordinary for leave to sell land, Citations for letters cf Administration, iaariianship, Ac., must be p'ublisbed 30 [ars—for dismission from Administration, mlhlysitr months, for dismission from guar- ICuIes for foreclosure of Mortgages must je published monthly for fair months—for istablish eg 1 osi papers, for the full space of hrtt months—tor compelling titles from Ex- ■cutorsor Administrators, where bond Las jeer, uvea by the deceased, the full space Application for Homestead to be published wice :a tl. • <: a • • often consecutive days Ml For the Speedy Relief A\D PERHASKXT CURE OF Consumption, hBronolaitis, ASTHFSA, GOLDS) AND ALL DISEASES OF TIIE U'XKS, CHEST 01! THK0A1 1 EXI’EC 1 OR ANT is composed ex- .... u ' JsiV " y *4 li..rha! and Mucilaginous rf th? causing them to throw of ^n:ch collects in the Eronel [. ■ same time forms a sooi p Tlrl R the irritation uh; Tot' DgS, e acrid matter Tubes, and at ig coating, re produces the rp to be obtained is to cleanse the ®‘ . tmpuiitics; to nouiish and ndtpi^Ki tl has become impaired , io renew and snvijf- ! ne circulation of the blood, and ^^FfOjSl\-T : dms S tL; 0r f aUiZatl t n '- r hG , 1 u,) 's this to an astonishing i is active but mild and congenial, g junctional energy and natural • It an ids Ox.igen to vitalize the Aitriigeu to a-simikite the matter— *• tbs “Nervous Influence,” ‘“S quiet au,l composure. lOAst tn'TIVF-S . g .! ' 1- “C it immediately relieves the attend, ‘'“'"tugauu harassing cough which ‘ OR ISTIItIA distress,'^ >l i C ° ne dose often relieving the P‘-«saiit r •• a “d producing cairn and .. t uoip EApp/ li il ‘ ',* j e without a bottle of the numerous . *“ * l ' le house. We have ^tin.,™^ °h ih s having relieved. «pt,H.„ ;' littl.i sufferer, when death ’ *'®o»t inevitable. ,0 *HEUS be ADVISED! j kt ‘P it on Hand : 48 soona s t i 1!i . ease requires prompt action f)' the r | arsP ’ hollow cough is heard, . “‘"'v.and it is easily subdued; H.j. iy | S dangerous ! r^n,, AST , P r "perti of the EXPECTOR- wu wiin|r an ji , 8 L i “utimvu, uatsanu ! ' V!Ien i an l , lll £ - braces the nervous S tep produces pleasant and refresh.ng ^•‘HLARATESAXU relieves W IXESS AXD DEPRESSION. .'^ifciit K , • 11 *hpse qualities in a con- the COucen trated form, it has proven J KT valuable lung balsam ''Offered t n IT 4* es o sufferers from Pulmonary dis ^ re p4red t jy W- H. TUTT & LAND, hid tic n. AUGUSTA, GA le7(J 42 6m. JOB BBUNITUNTGr IN ALL STYLES & COLORS, fim MB MIST, SOUTHERN RECORDER AND Southern Times & Planter, book And JOB PRINTING OFFICE, Ivlilleclgeville- AND Sparta,. <3-a UjyE INVITE TIIE ATTENTION OF the Public generally, to our extensive and well-fitted Jpati J3*tLnJ±n<£. Office*. I Our facilities for Executing BOOlv ;and job printing I are as good as those of any Office in the couu try, having a large lot of types iu our two ! Extensive Establishments. C A. R D S. WEDDING, VISIT] 11(1, AND EVERF OTHER KIND- Plrfll.y OR CQZcQREBf m BEASOTJSuBlB IPJOCSS WE keep on hand all the lime a full supply of Legal [Blanks. Sheriff’s, Ordinary’s, Clerk’s, Mag istrate’s, and Law Blanks, of every kind. Printed on the Best Paper, and at Low Prices. Book Printing AS we have a FINE lot of the BEST TYPE and a No. 1. Power Press, we are fully prepared to ex ecute as nice Book-work as any one. Call and give us a trial and be con vinced. BILL HEADS, ETC., In the line of Bill Heads, Letter Heads and Circulars, we are prepared as heretofore, to execute neat work, on favorable terms, and we guarantee that our work will be equal to that performed in any of the larger cities : so that our Law yers and Merchants need not send off t > have such work done. Send in your Orders. POSTERS, PROGRAMMES, HOUSE-BILLS, &c.. These Offices will be found to be equal to anything in the State. Par ties have but to call and Examine to be convinced. CALL ON OR ADDRESS R. A. Harrison A Co. ZVIXL&XSDOEVZXiZiB OR Byron and His Sister- Though the day of my destiny’s over, And the stay of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find, Though thy soul with my grief was acquain* ted, It shrunk not to share it with me, And the love which my spirit hath painted, It never hath found but in thee. Though human, thou didst not deceive me; Though woman, thou didst not forsake; Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me; Though 'andered, thou never could’st shake Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me; Though parted, it was not to fly; Though watchful, it was not to defame me, Nor mute that the word might belie. From the wreck of the past which hath per ished Thus much I at least may recall. It hath taught me that what I most cherished Deserved to be dearest of a'l. In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wild waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee. Likes in Lord Bvros’s Bible.—These lines were copied from the fly leaf of Lord Byron’s Bible—probably the very one bis sister gave him, as the Marquise de Boissy writes this was the one he daily used: Within this sacred volume lies The mystery of mysteries. Oh! happy they of human race, To whom our God hath given grace To hear to read, to feel, pray, To lift the latch, and force the way; But better bad they ne’er been born, , Who read to doubt, or read to scorn? (The folio icing Story, written by a y’fted Southern writer, is entered as a competitor for the 8100-00 prize offered by Messrs. R. A. Har rison ,j- Dro., for "-'Jhe best original contri bution” furnished their papers, during the pres ent year. MISTRESS ELSIE. ter thinking of my own clear home, f or m my heart, I was far from L-m- R. SPARTA, GA. & P CHAPTER III. It was near night when we arrived at the gteat town, and so dark, I could see nothing but gloomy walls rising on the right hand and on the left, as we rode along. A great clock was striking the hour, and sounded so loud and angry like, I c ied out — ‘ Dear uncle, will the horse take fright?” “At nothing, lest it bp at thee,” he said, making rnv ignorance a lit' tie jest. Presently we rode into a small paved court, the which I remember very’ well, since 1 hurt my feet no little as I alighted on llie hard pav' ing stones—being used to soft green turf, I had not calculated the differ- cut way one must alight on city stones. A boy carried the horse away, and my aunt met us at the door. She was round and short, as was my un cle, and spoke very kindly to me, bidding me take my bonnet off, say ing as I did so, “She is every whit thy niece, good man !” At which I knew not wheth er to be glad or sorry , out I made a low courtesy, and my uncle nodded his head, to signify his willingness to have me resemble him in looks, I thought. Everything struck me as very line and grand. T he walls had no end of closets in them; the chairs were stuffed until they could hold no more wool; and the bedsteads were so high and dismal-looking, hung round about w’ith curtains, that I had n great mind not to sleep on mine at all. The which my aunt reproved me for. and said I “must not give myself such airs!” but in my heart I knew I dreaded witches, nor thought on “airs” all night. My aunt was a great house-wile, and my uncle was some kind of a magistrate, and never ceased from talking of politics and great folks. On all occasions he brought home men to sup with him, who wore wigs and chains as he did: and together tliev would drink wine and talk ol the government and the country, un til a late hour of thl night. At such times, my aunt and I would sit in her house-wile’s room, and mend the linen, or knit great stockings for her to wear,—whilst every now and then, sounds of loud talking would float back to us. Sometimes to keep me better com pany, she would tell me tab s of the north country, which had been her home; and often as she talked I would lose all that she was telling, of the turf and the hill-sides, the clear springs, and the birds that built nests and sung at our cottage win* dows ; of the sorrowful, sorrowful church-yard, where the daisies grew between two lowly graves—unno ticed day after day ; and above all, of my good John Gray, whom I could see so distinctly in my mind, help' ing every body who w r as friendless, and taking no thought for himself. Once or twice a tear fell down my cheeks, and my aunt seeing it, would say something on this wise : “Tush, Elsie, my girl, ’lis’nt a thing for thee to cry about, if my cousin.did beat me twice a day!” And all the while, she did not wist that I was erving for my own sor rows which were ever present, not for tier’s that were past and gone, anti which, moreover, I had not lis tened to, nor knew if I hey were great or small. I saw very little of the - bustle which, I had heard, went on every day in the great streets around me ; lor my aunt was most c£relul not to allow me to go out, unless I Bad Ja net or Donnel to wait upon me, and it was seldom the former could be spared from her spinning wheel, or the litter from his attendance upon my uncle, who liked to know that Donnel was busy curling his wig or rubbing up his golden chain, incase he needed them to wear at a mo- ment’s notice. Donnel was ever a kind bod}’ to me; and I call to mind many little posies he bought of the poor flower- girls. to give me when I grew lone some and sick at heart, shut up in that dismal city house— and of Ja net, his wife, there lingers a loving remembrance—lor she, too, was most, good to me. Often I would spin her task that she might go and bring me a little tuft of grass, or a handful of wild flowers, which I struggled to make live, in a pot in my window. Many tim«s when my uncle had his company in the best room—and they grew merry over their wine—I thought I could heai that word “I u- ritan,” rLing above other words, as if they were making it a matter of discussion between them; and my first thought was to regret thai. any one should speak lightly, and around the wine tankard, of something I held sacred, even though I did not understand the lull meaning of the word. Mv secord thought was to wonder it in any way, their talk con cerned John Gray; never remem bering that ail these line towns folk knew nothing of my good shepherd lad, who tended his lather’s sheep upon the hill-sides, and ever and anon, as opportunity offered, ex pounded holy writ to such of his companions as would listen to him. Dear steadfast, faithful John Gray ! If at this late hour it be a sin to re call thee, may the good Lord wipe the memory from my heart, for my poor hands have tried in vain. Once, as the argument waxed louder in the best room, and I heard an oath or two mixed up with their angry words, I said to my aunt, “Dear madam, what may these things lie? They do amaze me migbi- ily, seeing I nevei heard such harsh speaking amongst good friends be fore.” “It does not concern either me or thee,” she made answet, “but, an you must know, ’ti3 all about some new kind of doctrine, neither here nor there, to a decent minded maid en !” “What call they this new doc trine, dear madam ?” I was bold e- nough to ask, for without knowing why. it seemed to concern me, wheth er very “decent” or not. “God rest your curiosity, child, they call it the ‘devil’s own work;’ and, if you take my counsel, you will not pry into that; some folk call the followers ‘Puritans!’ Now do not speak again until I bid thee, else I call thee an ugiy name for such ill-mannered ways, inquiring nio all unwholesome things like this!” And straightway 1 began to sew, thuugh long were the stitches and crooked the seam 1 made that day ; don town, and when the thread re fused to pull through the linen, it was by reason of my sorrowing tears. CHAPTER IV. Not many days after, as I stood by the lattice, near sunset, spinning lor Janet, whilst she went to gather me a few green things,—grasses or even leaves, I heard the latch of the gale click, and saw her returning to me empty handed. As she drew near she pul her finger on her lips as a token I must keep still, and when she was quite near me whis pered in my ear, “Such things as I have seen and heard, Mistress Elsie!” “Have you no leaves or grasses?” I asked, not heeding her words at all, for the disappointment weighed upon me. “I forgot them, dear lady ; not be cause I did not wish to please thee, but by reason of the strange sight, which I ran back to tell thee I had seen !” “Was it a show?” I inquired, not taking much interest, for Janet was simple minded, often making much of every little— “Nay, mistress, no show—least wise, no funny show.” “Then what did you see?” I said, growing impatient at her mysterious way. “Never mention it to Donnel if I tell thee, dear mistress. : the good man gave me a lecture only yester night, because I did not mind my business, as he th iught I should.” “Nay, I shall keep it safe,” I made reply, for I was beginning to tyke some little interest. “I was walking very orderly along when I saw a knot of folks—men and women collected together in a court-yard; and from little things I overheard from folk like me upon tie street, 1 found out that it was a iran speaking to the people, around him and expounding the scriptures in a manner none ever heard be fore! Then I Ir^t a great desire to g>over and hear him too; but says l to myself, ‘Janet, woman, what will Donnel say to the like of this?’ and I knew he would frei no little— so 1 shut my ears and went a bit far.her; but the farther I went the more I wanted to know what the strange man was saving ; so, thinks I again, all to myself, ‘Donnel is a good man, but he has his ways ; and, alter all, who knows but what it might be something to his interest it I were to listen to this strange man ?’ and, thereupon, with ail such reasoning I turned me back ami joined the folk.” “And what heard ye Janet? come to that right away,” I said ; but I was full sure what she had heard. “What heard I? good Mistress Elsie, I heard a kind voice read ing the blessed gospel and ex pounding it all in such a comforting way, as never I heard before. We were standing around him—the men quite near, the women some little distance off - ,—when, in a twinkling, persons came from behind a house and bound the good man with fetters and carried him off. He did not resist them; but I saw him put his good book in his breast.” “And why did you not all beat the men who took him way !” i cried. “Beatthem! beat them Mistress Elsie? Nay, nay, we all tan off as fast as ever vie could, and the Lord be praised that Donnel did not see me as I ran, with my best gown a- Hying in the breeze !” “Shame upon thee, Janet!” I ex claimed, “to think more of your gown than of the poor soul who, peradventure, has fallen among thieves.” “Aye, Mistress, ’tis all well e- nough for thee to blame me now ; but 1 thought on Donnel then,—nev- ^ of every thing pertaining to his weal er once on the kind man.” j and mine,—even to the kindness of “What has befallen him, Janet,” | Janet, in being the bearer of the let> I asked. aught of him at all.” “And where were the men he tried to teach, Janet,—where were they ?” “Did I not say they disappeared, Mistress Elsie?—went away like the earth hid haply swallowed them !” I could not but think of John Gray, and dread that some such ill might befal him ; for I knew how greatly he delighted in just such practices as had brought this stranger to grief; and whilst Janet finished her spin ning, I laid rny head against the lat tice and cried as though my heart would surely break in two. “Poor little mistress, I did not think to make thee cry,” she said, leaving her yarn and coining to com fort me, “my tongue is over long, as Donnel saith.” Ami while she blam ed herself, a happy thought came to me : I would write John a letter, and would tell him of the danger, and I would save him from it all! “That’s a dear mistress, don’t cry any more about the man ; like as not he was a wolt in sheep’s clothing, as some folks said he was.” “Some folk tell great ugly lies !” I exclaimed, “’Tis an ugly thing in you to say so,” she answered,—“a dreadful word in a gentlewoman’s mouth like yours, Mistress Elsie !” “Ana they did a dreadful thing to call such a good man a wolf!” ] made answer, very angrily. “Dear, dear!” Janet cried, “did any one ever hear such like?” And in my anger, ] left her to her spinning, and wenL off by myself to brood over all I had heard,—and I made some things very clear to my mind. John was a Puritan, for he had said so, and his word was truth itself; he had a good book, and so hail this man whom they had bound and carried away, none knew whith er; and John delighted to expound it to anv who would listen to him, on the hill-sides—at the market—nay, even at the church doors, if oppor tunity favored him ; and might he not suffer a like fate? Might not strong men steal upon him unawares, and take him off where I should never hear the sound of his voice a- gain, nor see his kind, good face ? And as I thought thereon, my tears fell fast, and plentiful, and I was the more determined to write and tell him ol his danger. Then it came to me, that I could never gel it to him ; but presently such a gladsome thought occurred to me I laughed for joy.—Janet, always ready to do me a service, should take my letter to the country side, just beyond Lon- Ion town, and should give it to some kind body to give him. For miles and milesaround, the folk knew John, and any would do him a service that had ever known him ; so that matter was settled in my heart. Poor foolish heart to be so easy soothed ; and poor wretched maidm that I was, to know so little W the ways of the world in which I lived ! To dig with mine own hands—these hands that would have borne any toil for his sake, the pit that caught his feet ;—to fashion with all the skill I knew, a net to entrap him;— when, in this poor uneasy heart, the love I bore him was the first and only thing! CHAPTER V. At spare moments, and with Ja net’s assistance, I got me paper and a quill, and wrote such a letter as I believed would keep all harm from him ; and lest he should not do as I bade him,—cease expounding and no more call himself a Puritan — l put such loving words therein, as 1 had never courage to tell him, face to face ; and for fear that he might doubt the letter did indeed come from me, I was most careful to make mention of my dwelling place—of my uncle, the Magistrate,—in sooth, “Who knows what hath befallen ler; and at the close I signed myself, with all the grace I knew, his ‘faith. him, <lear mistress? Some lolk said ftiend ' vel1 k “ 0 ' v '"* “ was •death would be too good lor him >; : something better than a friend I was some said, *a hair of his head should to him.—hut growing modest as I not be' touched anti every body neared the ending of my letter, looked behind them before they said Janet bore it away one summer afternoon : and as I was wont to do, I spun her task; and there-while, my aunt sprinkled sweet leaves in the linen chests, and my uncle dosed in the sunshine. That evening she met no one knowing anything at all of “one John Gray, a shepherd boy;” but nearly every afternoon, for the space of a week, with some pretence or other, she made it convenient to try again, until at last, one day, when 1 had well nigh given over to despair, she returned without the letter, and told me she had come upon a kind body, who had inquired her wants, telling her he had seen her come full often, and go aw ay as if she had not done her biudii. c ; and thereupon, she asked him if Le knew John Gray, and spoke ot having a letter pertain ing to important matters, to send him by some one going to his parts ; and, to her great joy, he said he knew the lad so named, quite well; and being a near neighbor of his fa ther, honest Roger Gray, would bear the letter in all safely to his son ; and without more ado, Janet in trusted it to him, taking him aside to whisper, that it might be well, to give it to him in private, if occasion effered. How 1 mind me of the songs I sang that night; and how these eyes, so weary with the sights and sorrows of three score years, look back upon that time, wheu in my heart, I trust ed all around me,—a simple, un skilled maiden, having no knowledge of the craftiness of the world ! How in my dreams I was doing John Gray such service, and being so thankful I could return him some of those good deeds he had done to us, when we had none to offer hi Ip, but him. My aunt praised me for the mer-d* ing of my manners, the which she said “was not a whit too soon in tak ing place,” and never wisted how that happy thoughts make comely ways, and a light heart giveth gentle demeanor. And altho’ I thought it strange he did not send me an answer to all those loving woids which I had made bold lo write, I knew lie was less ready wiih the quill, and so I did not marvel very much, or feel one doubt as to his heart and mind lowants me—knowing as I did, how rue and beyond all change he was. (To be continued.) Najnjleon’s Flower.—The violet is the emblematic flower of the Bona- partes, as the lily is of the Bourbons. When Eugenie agreed lo accept Napoleon’s offer ot marriage, she expressed it only by appearing one evening dressed in an exquisite vio let toilet—violets in her hair, in her dress, even to a bunch in her hand. Louis Napoleon understood. Napo leon the First, while consul selected this as his flower. It was through Josephine asking him to bring her a bouquet of them on her birthday— a desire he was not able to serve after irreat difficulty. He cultiva ted them assiduously while a pris oner at ?!. Helena; and they were profusely pitted over the grave of Josephine. Alter his death, his coffin was covered with the humble flowers he loved. It is even said that in the earlier days of Louis Napoleon he was silently told who his friends were by cautious display of violets. Opium Eating.—The subject is again revived of opium eating in the United States, particularly in New York City, and the develop ments are startling. Physicians are called upon not to prescribe it in any shape unless absolutely necessary, as the habit is often contracted by being first taken lo alleviate pain. It is reckoned that many millions of dollars are annually spent in that city alone for the drug, which is taken in the form of pills. Women are know to use six and eight oun ces of it in a day. An Ohio Prodigy.—Ohio is brag ging over a man with wonderful memory. He is filly three years of age, illiterate and nearly blind, but he remembers the occurrences of every day since January 1, 1827, when he was nine years old. Men tion any date to him in the last for ty-four years, and he tells yon in stantly what day of the week it was what sort of weather prevailed, ai.d what he was working at and con versed about. A gentleman who proposed a test provided himself with a journal tor lorty-five years, and after several severe cross-exam inations proved the Ohioan to be correct invariably*