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BY BREWSTER & SHARP. The Cherokee Georgian JS PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY BY . • :.. i 1 -J ' BREWSTER & SHARP. RA TES OF SUIiS(JUIP TION; (POSITIVELY in advance.) Sialic copy, 12 months.... ....$l5O Single copy, 8 months 100 Single copy 6 months 75 Single copy, 4 months 5C AI) VER TWIN 0 RA TES. Space |_l m. | 2 in.J 3 in. | 6 m.| 12 nl ' | $2 50 | $3 50 | »4'50T¥7~6Q I SIOOO ‘J ipc’s | 350 | 5 00j 650;10 00 IJS 00 3 m<?s | 500 | 750 | 10 00 fl 400 | 20 00 4 I 000|1150 |'B 00J 25 00 U col J 10 OO 'fl2 50 j IB 00 |2500 j 40 00 <i"cITTI2 SoT io oo I 25 00 I 37 50 |_so 00 '<V?ol Jls W1~25 00 |3500|45 00 | 6-5 00 * col. I 20 00 I 35 00 I 50 HATES OF LEGAL ADVERTISING [P \V\BLE, IN ALL CtSWS, IN ADVANCE.] Sheriffs’ sales per levy, not exceeding _ one sqtiare, Notice of Application for Homestead, 2 00 Citations on letters of administration, 3 00 Citations on letters dismissory from Administration, 5 00 Citations on lett- rs dismissory from , Guardianship 3 00 to sell Land.&c,- . 4 00 Notice to debtors and creditors,... . 3 50 Sale of personal property, per square, ) 50 Bale ot L ind by Ad ministrators, Guar- di ms, ,tc., per sq uire, 2 50 Hs'rays, one week, I 50 Estrays, sixty days 5 00 The money for advertising considered du>' »ftei the first insertion. Advertisements sent without a specifica tion of the number of insertions marked tloreon, will bn published till forbid, and c'l.’.rircd accordingly Business or Professional Cards, not cx eweillng three-fourths of an inch in length, Including the paper one year, Ten Dollars Advertisements inserted at intervals will n»- charged as new. Local and Business Notices which will alwavs immediately follow the reading matter, will be frw'fted at 10 cents a line rac.i insertion No notice under three lines will b- inserted for less than 25 cents each inserted in Columns with Heading inatt-r will be charged 15 cents per line for each insertion. Double column advertisements 10 per ct. eX Adverils**mcnts sho dd always be marked for a specified time. A ldrev* all commutiicationi on bu incss .connected with the piper to 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!’