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BY BREWSTER & SHARP.
The Cherokee Georgian
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The Georgian.
Canton, Ga.
JAMES O. DOWDA,
Attorney at Law,
CANTON, - - - GEORGIA.
WILL practice in the Superior Courts
ot Cher-•k-c and adjoining counties
Will fsilhtidlv and promptly attend to the
•coll-coion of all c<aimi p it in his h inds.
Office in the court-house, Canton, Ga.
ntig 4, * _ I t v
15. K- Pavne,
Attorney at Law,
•CANTON, - - • GEORGIA,
Will practice in the court* of Cherokee a«t
■JoiliitHj toimlies. Dale in the Court-house. 2-1 v
W. A. BIUGHTWELL.
CARPENTER, ’ CONTRACTOR AND
BUILDER,
Residence, Canton, Ga.
O
ALL work done bv me will bo .tone with neat
auJ dispatch, ir.ces reason*! de— aalislavliou
•“CT-
J. M. 11 A III) IX,
HOUSE AND SIGN
1’ AIN T K I v,
Canton Ga.
Aug 4. 1- ly
J. IL CLAY,
Brick and Stone Mason, Brick
Maker and Plasterer,
CANTON, • - • GEORGIA,
A A TILL do all kinds of work in his line,
\ \ such as budding Brick and Slone
ftnuaes. Pillars and Chimneys, Pl istering
ILhucs, vic- AU work .done in the Ih-si
style. Satisfaction guaranteed. Prices rea
tou tble and just Bust of rvlmmccs can
lie given when desired.
, aUg 11 3 ly
@ljc Cljctdwe
DOROTHY Q.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
O Darn'd Doro'hy ! Dorothy Q !
Strange is the gift that I owe to you ;
Such a gilt as never a king
Save to daughter or son might bring—
AH my tenure of heart anti band,
All my title to house and land ;
Mother and sister and child and wife.
And joy and sorrow and death and life!
What if a hundred years ago
Those close-shut lips had answered No,
When forth the tr •mtilous qn< s’ion c line
That cost the maiden her Norm in name,
And under the folds that look so still
The bo'tic-: swelled with the bosom’s thrill?
Should I be I, or would it be
One-tenth another, to nine tenths me?
Soft is the breath of a maiden’s Yes ;
Not the light gossamer stirs with less;
But never a cable that holds so fast
Through all the billies of wave and blast,
And never an echo of speech or song
That lives in the babbling air so long!
There were tones in the voice that whis
pered then
You may hear to-day in a hundred men.
O. lady and lover, how faint and fir
Your images hover, —and here we are,
Solid and stirring n flesh and bone, —
Edward’s and Dorothy’s—all their own, —
A good record for Time io show
Os a syllable spoken so long ago!
Shall I bless you, Dorothy, or t< rgivc.
For the ten ler whisper that hade me live ?
♦- ♦ EM*
A Htirricl Courtship.
I was a young man possessed of sufficient
means to enable me to live at my ease, and
refrain from liborof any kind, when sud
denly there came a blow' that scattered my
prosperity’ to the winds, and forced me Io
employ my labor and wits in the general
struggle of gaining a living. The blow
came in the shape of the failure of a firm
in which my capital was invested.
After securing u clerkship in the house of
a creditor of our late firm, my first care
was to look up a less expensive boarding
house than the fashionable one in which I
was living. I inserted an advertisement
asking for board in a strictly private’ fami
ly, and, of course, received a multitude ol
answers by the next mail. Out of this
molly installment <>f p|V|stiA, there was but
one which pleased me, and that one I de
ci led to answer in person immediately.
Grace King-ley w .s the name ot the fa
vored landlady writing to me, and the letter
slated that her house was entirely private,
having no boarders whatever I wrsm idi
pleased with the fair, delicate handwriting,
an I an idea took possession of me that
Grace was a fascinating widow. I was
not disappointed when 1 reached the house,
and by ringing at the door-bell was an
swered by herself. She invited me into
tlie parlor in a manner so courteous, and
yet so modest, that I had fallen dvsperateli
in love with her before I could cross the
threshold.
I enjoyed a very pleasant chat with Mrs.
Kingsley. During the conversation she
informed me that her liusban I had been in
a fairway of business, and nt. his death
which had occurred a year previous, had
left her in pretty com fort al le circmns nnce'.
They had but oim chill, and this item of
mortality I was graciously permitted to
look upon, ns it lay peacefully slumbering
in its cradle. I also learned that the lady
was living in the house quite alone, and
dgsired a man boarder more as a means of
protection than as a source of revenue. In
conclusion, the landlady looked so pretlv
(she was quite young, not more than two
or three, and twenty), and the lx>ard so
moderate, the companionship so inviting,
and she seemed to trust in me. ami looked
up 'n me so favorably, that I would have
b-Tii a heathen, dead to all charms and in
ducements of the sex, il I had not engaged
board on the spot.
The next day I had my trunk removed
to my new b larding-pkn e, and permanent
ly established myself there. Before leav
ing my former boarding hous ', a letter was
handed me by the postman, but I did not
fiud time to examine it until I was conifoi t
ably ensconced in the parlor of Mrs. Kings
luy’a cosy home.
Opening the letter. I discovered it to be
from a wealthy uncle of mine, residing in
Vermont, who regularly sent me a letter
once, a year, but whom 1 had never sgen
His epistles were always short and to the
I* >int, generally consisting of the weather
in his lot slitv, and some advice to me to
take care of my money, as I might be bur
dened with some of it laforc I was much
older. 1 was always very glad to get this
advice from him, as I regarded it as an in
timation that I w« to inherit his wealth
on his decease.
One day, however, about a year previous,
I received a letter from him which con
: tained another topic besides those I have
j mentiouvil. My uncle made some pressing
i inquiries respecting my matrimonial pros
i |>ecu, and slated th.it if 1 was not alnady
married I should immediately inter into the
‘ wedded state, and let him know of it, or
i he would never more be an uncle of mine.
I Now, as my uncle lived in Vermont and
I I in Philadelphia, and I never anticipated
■ tli® old genthman would pay me a visit
i and discover the talsehtxxi, I wrote and in
i formed him that I was not ooly married
ibut the father of a bouncing baby. This
Virtue and Intelligence—The Safeguards of Liberty.
CANTOX, CHEROKEE COUNTY, GA, WDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1875.
intelligence so pleased my uncle that he
sent a gold goblet and a silver pap-spoon,
to be presented to my child. lat first sal
down and wr« tea very romantic letter to
my uncle, thanking him for the present?,
and then visited a jcwcliy store and turned
both goblet and spoon into cash, which I
pocketed.
I received no further letters from my
uncle until the one which I read in Airs.
Kingsley’s parlor. The postscript not only
astonished, but frightened me. It read as
follows:
-y
P. S. —I have never visited Philadelphia,
so I have decided to do so at once, and get
a look at you and your wife and child.
You may expect me about the 10th of the
month. ... . y
‘Good grneiotrs ! My uncle is coming to
vi<it me!’ I exclaimed; ‘and it’s past the
10th of the month now! I don’t know at
what moment be may,.pnp in. What am I
to do for a wife and chitd ?’
At that moment there came a terrible
pull at the door-bell, as if the man who
pulled it imagined that he owned the house
and could make as much noise as he
pleasel. A sickening sensation took pos
session of tno, for I had a misgiving that it
was my uncle. Now, as good fortune
would have it, Mrs. Kingsley had gone out
to a neighboring store for a few moments,
and had requeued me to have an eye on
-her child while she was gone, so il would
not fall out of the cradle and hurt itself.
As I glanced at tlie cradle and thought of
my uncle at the door, an idea entered my
mind. I determined, in case the visitor
was my uncle, to claim the youthful occu
pant as my own.
The visitor proved to be my, uncle-. I
knew him by the picture I had seen, and
he likewise knew me by my photograph.
After a ftuTual recognition and hand shak
ing, I ushered my uncle into the parlor and
introduced him to my newly-claimcd off
spring.
‘There, uncle,’ said T, ‘is the first pledge
of our married life. I assure you I take
pleasure in presenting to you my child.’
‘lt is a fat little youngster,’ said my
uncle, gnz : ng at it admiringly. ‘By the
way, what is it, buy or girl?’
That was a knotty ipiery for me to an
swer, for h£ was just tffe much acquainted
with its gender as I was. But it would
not do to sJtovv ignorance on the subject,
so I answered at hap-hazard that it was a
boy.
‘I am sorry it is a boy,’ said my uncle ; -
there are too many boys in the family.
Now, if you had only produced a little
blui’-eyvd girl, it would have been more
sensible.’
I assured him I was sorry the gender did
nut suit, but hoped in the tenure his wishes
would be gratified.
So far I had succeeded in deceiving my
uncle, but the worst I feared was that when
Mr.-. Kingsley returned she might object to
ny claiming owner-hip in her child. Be
-ides, to carry out the deception, I must
find a wife as well as an infant, and .Mrs.
Kingsley was the only one I could con
veniently claim. The iwHy diliiculty was
to get lift to consent to the deception, and
this might be done if I could only secure a
private conversation with her before I in
troduced her to my uncle; then it would
be all rigid.
I watch cl :ny opportunity, and gained an
interview with nor before she entered the
room. I told her, in a few hurried words,
the extent of my difficulty, and how I
had taken the libeity to act as papa to
her httle one I then told her I must find
a wife s >mcwhcic, and begged her to allow
me to intnxlucc her in that capm iiy. She
lam h’d very heartily at the suggestion,
said she could comprehend the difficulty,
a .d consented to my proposal, but very
•oguishly warned me not to presume upon
I he occurrence.
We then entered the parlor, and I intro
duced my better-half. My uncle was very ■
much pleased with her, and complimented
- me upon my good choice in the selection of
j i wife Mrs Kingsley of course colored
| most charmingly at this compliment, and 11
could plainly see that she could scarcely j
re r in from laughing.
‘You have a tine boy here,’ said my uncle .
ito Mrs Kingsley, pointing to the era Ic. i
| ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said she, coloring up j
i again, ‘it’s a girl.’
I was dumb founded. I wie- exposed in i
imy iniquity Would aiy uncle believe me I
j after this? He looked from me to my-j
pretty landlady’ with a puzzled counte
nance.
j ‘Y< ur husband told me it was n boy,’ he I
i said, and rathur suspiciously, too, I thought. 1
i ‘Well, I always took it for a boy,’ was ■
i nav reply, putting on a bold face, ‘but I 1
i suppose my wife knows Ix-s 1 ..'
Here Mik Kingsley fairly screamed with ,
: laughter, and my uncle’s face assumed an ;
i ironical stuilo. -
‘You arc a nice father, ain’t you ?’ said '
i he, touching me with the ixiint of bis um- ■
; brvlla, ‘not to know the sex of your own 1
child. Why, I knew it was » girl the mo-1
: nrnnt I looked at it.’
‘But, Charley,’ he said again, addressing I
; me, ‘what did you do with the goblet and
i pap-spoon I sent to the little one ?’
I ‘Oh, they are perfectly safe, I assure t
you,’ I replied ; ‘I haVi taken good care of
them.’ ' v
‘Yes, but where in the detitc are they?
I would like very much to tak' another
look at them.’ 'Na.
‘Well, I have deposited them in a bank
lor safe keeping, but 1 can readily produce
them; that is, in the course of a week’s
time.’
He told me to do so, as he wanted to see
them ; and I got out of the room, for fear
he might ask me some more perplexing
questions.
A short time afterwards, Mrs. Kingsley
came to me, when I was alone in an ad
joining room, and I saw immediately that
something very humorous must have hap
pened, for the corners of her lips were
breaking into smiles.
‘Do you know, sir, into what an awk
ward predicament you have got me?’ she
inquired, as she took a seat on the lounge
by me.
‘Explain yourself,’ I said.
‘Why, your uncle came to me a short
time ago, and asked to see my marriage
certificate, and he said he had some money
to settle upon us immediately, but wanted
to be sure that everything was all right
first.’
‘Did you expose me?’ I inquired, anx
iously.
‘No, sir, I did not, for T never enter into
a deception, or anything else, by halves.’
I was so glad that I could not withstand
the temptation to embrace her. This did
not make her angry, for she nestled her
nead cosily on my shoulder and smiled se
renely..
She he«itated a moment, and then said :
‘I promised to produce the marriage cer
tificate,’
‘But we haven’t got any,’ I remarked.
She indulged in a quiet little laugh to
herself, but said nothing.
‘Airs. Kingsley—nay, my dear madam —
no, I will call you darling—we are both in
a scrape, and there is but one way for us to
get out of it. AVe must get married imme
diately. AVill you be my wife?’
‘I shall ba- delighted,’ she answered,
frankly, and, seizing both my hands, said
she was ready for a frolic of any kind.
f AVe lost ho time, I assure you. I don’t
think Airs Kingstey ever got into her Sun
day clothes in such a hurry in her life
before, while I spoiled two pairs of sus
penders in my frantic endeavors to be on
time. We quite astonished the parson by
7>ur haste, and at the conclusion of the
ceremony, I would have forgotten to give
him the usual fee, if he had nut reminded
me of it.
We had secured the coveted marriage
certificate, signed and scaled, and were now
safely out ot our difficulties, as we thought.
We omitted one precaution, as we present
ed the marriage certificate to uncle. It
was all right with the-exception o£ the re
cent date.
‘Why, how is this?’ said my uncle, gaz
ing at the document through his glasses; ‘I
thought you were married over a year ago?’
‘So we were, uncle,’" I answered,solemnly.
‘How came it, then, that the certificate is
dated to-day ?' he asked, in a voice of thun
der.
Wc were struck speechless, wife and I.
‘Come,’ said my uncle, ‘there has been
some trickery here. Own up to it, or I will
never forgive you.’
I did own up to it, and told him the
whole story. 1 expected it would make
him angry, but it didn’t, for he laughed
heartily, and said I was a clever rascal, and
he was proud of me.
‘But how about the gold goblet and pap
spoon? You haven’t been drawing the
wool over my eyes about that, too, have
you ? eh ?
I told the truth about the goblet and pap
spoon.
‘Why, you are a regular trickster,’ said
my uncle. ‘I believe you would deceive
Satan himself. But I won’t get angry with
you, for I used to play the same games
when I was young.
In a word, wc became thoroughly recon
ciled, and my unde settled upon me suffi
cient money to relieve me from irksome
duties as a clerk. He has gone back to
Vermont, and I can but say in conclusion
that when he pays another visit, I can show
several ‘little people’ that I can call my
own, and without telling a falsehood.
Three Things to Love —Courage, gen
tleness, and affection. Three things to
admire: intellect, dignity, and gracefulness.
Three things to hate: cruelty, arrogance,
and ingratitude. Tlm-e things to delight
>in ; beauty, frankness, and freedom. Three
things to wish for: health, friends, and a
contented spirit Three thii-gs to like:
; cordiality, good humor, and cheerfulness.
I Three things to avoid: idleness, loquacity,
I and flippant jes‘ing. Three things to cul
! tivate-: good books, good friends, and good
I humor. Three things to contend for: hon-
> or, country, and friends. Three things to
I govern: temper, tongue, and conduct.
Three things to think about: lite, death,
I and eternity.
We learn to climb by keeping our eyes,
not on the hills that lie behind,, but on the
i mountains that rise before us.
The Banished Preacher.
Paul Gerhardt was a noble-minded and
devout minister of the gospel, who preached
in Germany about the middle of the seven
teenth century One of his settlements was
at Brandenburg, a city of the principality
of the same name, thirty-five miles from
Berlin.
Gerhardt preached the Reformed taith,
and the purest doctrines of the New Testa
ment. The Elector of that time was a man
by no means in sympathy with the simple
and searching truths taught by the humble
minister, and he sent him word that be
must alter his pulpit teachings or leave the
country.
This bitter message distressed Gerhardt
sorely. He had a happy home and a com
fortable income in Brandenburg, and if
driven away, he did not see how he couid
provide for his family. Still he felt it was
impossible to change his preaching without
doing violence to his conscience and his
heart.
He determined to obey God rather than
man. He wrote to the elector that though
it was very hard for him to give up his liv
ing, his people, and bis country, he could
never do otherwise than preach plainly
what he found in the Bible.
The consequence was that he was ban
ished from the principality, and went out
with his wife and little children, not know
ing where his travels would end. A day’s
journey brought them to the entrance of a
forest, weary and sad. The children wept,
and the brave mother herself could not now
keep back her tears.
They found a little inn by the wayside,
and with heavy hearts prepared to spend
the night. After supper, Paul Gerhardt
walked out in the dark night among the
trees. The sight of the tears of his little
family had filled his heart with gloom. He
knelt down to pray, and soon the words
came to him with comfort: “Commit thy
way unto the Lord; trust also in him, and
he shall bring it to pass.”
The text seized hold of his mind, and
there, alone in the darkness, he began to
frame his thoughts into a hymn:
“At cost of all I have,
At cost of life and limb;
I cling to God, who yet shall save;
I will not turn from him.
The world may fail and flee,
Thou standest fast forever ;
Nor fire, nor sword, nor plague, from thee
Aly trusting soul shall sever.
No hunger and no thirst,
No p. verty, no pain—
Let mighty princes do their worst—
Shall fright me back again.”
Gerhardt went into the house, repeated
the precious text to his wife, and then the
lines he had composed, till she was also
comforted. They prayed together, and
boih fell strong in the resolution to trust
everything to God. Soon after this they re
tired for the night. But they had scarcely
fallen asleep when a loud and stormy
knocking was heard at the inn-door. A
messenger on horseback was there from the
Duke Christian, of Merseburg.
“Do you know if Paul Gerhardt has
passed this way?” be inquired ot the land
lord. “I am sent by the Duke to find
him.”’
The inn-keeper did not like to disturb his
guests, but the messenger insisted, and Ger
hardt was called. A letter vas put in his
hamls. It was in Duke Christian's own
writing, and signed with his name. The
great man had heard of his coming hard
ship, and determined to provide for him.
“Come in my country, Paul Gerhardt,”
the letter said. “You shall have church,
and people, and house, and home, and live
lihood and liberty to preach the gospel to
your heart’s content.”
It is needless to say that Gerhardt and
his family thanked God and went. They
had trusted him for their future support,
and he had brought it to pass.
Paul Gerhardt’s hymns are still loved
and sung among Christians of Germany
and other lands; but none ot them is sweeter
than the one he composed in the dark wood
on the first night of his exile from Branden
burg-
Good Advice. —A writer in the Southern
Cultivator says: “Many of our young men
have concluded that no money can be made
on a farm. No, nor it never will be, unless
you can get your consent to go to bed later,
rise earlier, stay away from town more,
trust Cuffee’s honest judgment less, see that
your stock is cared for, your ground pre
pared, crop planted, cultivated, gathered,
etc. Make your farm self-sustaining, by
raising everything for family consumption/’
Another refers to a class which certainly
does exist, but which we hope may rapidly
diminish in numbers, as “our lordly young
planters, who wear the rails smooth where
the fence runs under the big shade trees, in
watching their two or three hands”; and
advises the-.n to go to work, telling them it
“would be good exercise—not so laborious
as the free use of dumb-bells, and great deal
more profitable.”
If all men were to take their misfortunes
together in one place, most would be glad
to take his own home again, rather than
take a portion out of the common stock.
VOLUME 1.-NUMBER 5,
ALL FOR FUN.
A revolver —The eartli.
Head-waiters—Barbers.
Cheap living—Living on excitement.
A bootless enterprise—Going barefooted."
If a small boy is a lad, is a big boy a
ladder?
AVhat is the best tine to lead a man with?
Crino-line.
If you don’t bridle your tongue; saddle
be your fate.
An Trishin n calls his sweetheart honey,’
because she is bee-loved.
‘Rents are enormous,’ as the beggar said'
on looking at his jrants.
A duel is quickly managed. It only takes
tw o seconds to arrange it.
The worst kind of an education—To be
brought up by a policeman.
The man who was lost in slumber
his way out on a nightmare.
The Maine young women want to be jus-'
tices, so they can marry often.
A little gill being asked what dust was/
replied : ‘lt is mud 'with the juice squeezed
out.’
One swallow does' not make a spring,'
but a dozen swallows sometimes make a l,
fall.
When two gentlemen fight a duel, each 1
of them is a man after the other’s own’
heart.
Why is a selfish friend like the letter P?
Because, though first in pity, he is the last’
in help.
The man who challenged contradiction'
ffot into an awful fight and was severely
beaten.
When you hear a row next d3or, it is a
sign that the mother-in-law is paying a'
vWit to the family.
No man can become thoroughly ac
quainted with his family history without"
running for office.
Men who endeavor to look fierce by
cultivating profuse whiskers, must be hair
em-scarcm fellows. ,
As thorns are to the rose, so are pins to '
lovely woman. A female in full dress is •
never unprotected.
The most direct method of determining
horse power—Stand behind and tickle his
Bind legs with a brier.
In a Scotch court, recently, a witness
swore to the identity of a chicken from the
resemblance to its mother.
‘Do you see anything ridiculous in this •
hat?’ said a young man to a friend. ‘Noth--
ing but the head,’ he replied.
‘My son, have I not given you every ad
vantage ?’ ‘Oh, yes; but I couldn’t think
ot taking advantage of you, father.’
It must make a man feel mean to pay an
old debt because he thinks he is going,to
die, and then have the doctor pull him.
through all right.
A man is said to be absent-minded when
he thinks he has left his wa’ch at home,
and takes it out of his pocket to sec if he
has time to return home and get it.
The ‘voice of nature’ is particularly dis
tracting to the young father who, in the
middle of the night, clutches frantically
at the paragoric bottle and finds it empty.
When a man nearly breaks his neck try
ing to get out of the way of a lightning,
bug, supposing it to be the headlight of •
locomotive, it is time for him to sign the ;
pledge.
An editor says: ‘We don’t mind record-,
ing the deaths of people without being paid l
for our trouble, but panegyrics on the deadi
must be paid for. We positively cannot,
send people to paradise for nothing.’
Three young Boston girls, riding ouU.
tried to get their head down so thatitcouhi'
drink by unbuckling the crupper. They
were the same girls who loosened the.
breeching-strap, going down hill, because it
pulled against the poor horse so.
A hen pecked husband closed his testi
mony in his action for divorce from his ;
wife as follows: ‘I don’t want to say any
thing agin the woman, Judge, but I wish,
you could live with her a little while, and
you’d think I told the truth.’ The earnest
sincerity of this appeal won for the poor
man the decree he desired.
A gentleman was describing to DougTas
Jerrold the story of his courtship and mar
riage—how his wite had been brought up ia
a convent, and was on the point of taking
the veil when his presence burst on her en
raptured gaze and she accepted him as her
husband. Jerrold listened to the end of
the story, and then quietly remarked: ‘She
simply thought you better than nun.’
An itinerant preacher in the mountain
districts of Kentucky, attempting to ex
plain how it was that the Israelites crossed
the Red sea in safety when the Egyptians
were swallowed up by the returning wa
ters, said that the Jews, being unarmed,
‘went light,’ but the pursuing host, with
their chariots and heavy armor, broke
through the ice. It being suggested that
no ice was found so near the tropics, ha
promptly replied: ‘Oh, that was before
she days of jography!’