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The Cartersville Express. Established Twenty Years. KATES AND TERMS. stJßst Birnoxs. One ropy one year ?*2OO One copy six months 1 00 One copy three months 50 CLUB BATES. Vive copies one year $8 75 Ten copies one year 15 tit Payments invariably in advance. ADVEKTSIING KATES. Advertisements xvii 1 be inserted at the rates of One Dollar per inch for the lirst insertion, and Fifty Cents for each additional insertion. Address S. A. CUNNINGHAM. Poetical Selections. PAY THE PRINTER. When the cold storm howls round the And you by the light of taper, Sit cosily by the evening fire, Enjoying the last paper, Just think of him whose work thus helps To wear away the winter, And put this query to yourself— Have I payed the printer? From eas* and west, from north and south, From JLnds beyond the water, He weekly brings you lots of news, From every nook and quarter; No slave on earth toils more than he, Through summer’s heat and winter; How can you for a. moment, then, Neglect to pay the printer? Your other bills you promptly pay, Wherever you do go, sir; The butcher for his meat is paid, For sundries is the grocer; The tailor and the shoemaker, The hatter and the vinter, All get their pay, then why neglect Te settle with the printer? Stories and Sketches. MAUD’S LOVE STORY. A long, pleasing July day was come to its sunsetting, and the fervent heat that crowned the sunshiny hours since early morning was giving way to a soft westerly breeze that stirred through the trees, and lifted tho short waves of hair off Maud Templeton’s sweet, upturned face as she turned and looked wistfully, thoughtfully in Neal Howard's eyes, that were holding an expression of half-frowning, half-appealing displeas ure. “ I would not have believed it of you, Maud. I have been so happy, so per fectly content and rested in your love for me! I have been so impatient for the time when our engagement should termi nate in marriage; and here now, you coolly, camly tell me that, unless I have better prospects you think it prudent to indefinitely prolong; our engagement.” He spoke sternly, eagerly, and he bent his handsome head, toward her in a way he hud of doing whenever he was es pecially in earnest. She listened, her sweet, grave eyes looking at him patiently. “ You w r ould see I am right, if you only would see, Neal. As it is, you only make enough to take care yourself; then how would it be if you were saddled with the extra expense of a wife? As we are, I am well enough cared for, and we can be very happy as lovers—only until I can see my way clear to come to you, dear. Do you understand?” Such a loving, appealing look as she gave him I But he curled his lips haughtily. “Do I understand? Perfectly! Poor people have no right to be happy, and you don’t care much fora poor husband.” “Oh, Neal! don’t be so harsh! You know—you know I love you; and no other one in all this world, rich or poor, will ever hear me tell him so!” He was sufficiently convinced by her argument to be angry at its correctness; so he shrugged his shoulders, as if in sarcastic unbelief. “You prove your words accurately. Women who love generally desire not to prolong their engagement. Or perhaps you have some practical suggestion to offer.” A little faint, deprecating, blush doomed on Maud's cheeks. “ I did mean to tell you of a chance for you, Neal; but you are so sarcastic and—cross.” “ Not at all! Cannot a fellow ever be in earnest? What is it, Maud?” She sent a shy, anxious glance at his face. “It is the foremansliip in the Man hattan mills, Neal, and the salary—” Mr. Neal Howard’s eyes flashed out his disdain, and he compressed his hand some lips a second, then interrupted her. “ You seem to forget that I at least lay claim to the position of a gentleman, Maud! A foreman in a factory? Thank you! I prefer my present position as a tutor, even at the risk of your displeas ure.” She colored deeply; and yet the look ■he gave him was eloquent with love and womanly sweetness. “ I want you to do just as you think best, Neal. I only mean that I think a man is bound to do the very best he can for himself.” “So he is; hut not at the sacrifice of his self-respect. A foreman in a factory! Maud, I’m astonished!” “Very well, theD, dear; consider I have said nothing to annoy to you. As I said at the beginning, I will patiently, cheerfully wait until—” He interrupted her hotly. “ There shall be no waiting! You do not love me; you mean to rid yourself of me as gracefully as only a woman can do. You are free—you will not be an noyed by having to wait for me!” And he plunged away into the little woody dell near where they stood, and his quick, angry footsteps went crash ing through underbrush and over twigs, ts Maud stood where he had left her, her face pale and dazed, then pitifully flushing as the hot tears rushed to her eyes. “ He is angry with me, and I meant so well! He will come back—l know he will come back, when his anger cools, and admit that I was right, or at least innocent of offense.” And she went slowly back to the farm house, the scarlet stain fading from her “ Mr. Courtenay! ” Neal Howard uttered the name in a surprised sort of way, as, leaping over a thick, low hedge, he came upon Fred Courtenay and his sketching parapher nalia under the shade of a tree. The handsome young artist lifted a pair of black eyes, that were just a little deprecating in their smiling expression. “ I’m sorry to have been so stupidly near at hand, Howard; but what could I do? I’m sorry, pon my word, that I was an eavesdropper, and yet, How ard —” Mr. Courtenay hesitated and looked thoughtful. Neal frowned. He wasn’t pleased to know that this stylish city gentleman was a perforce confident of his and Maud’s little lovers’ tiff. “ I tell you what I was thinking—what ■truck me when I heard you speak. Let me do you a favor, to atone, if I can, for being a third party to your little confer ence.” Howard’s face was not cleared even as he intimated his willingness to know what the “favor ” was that Ferdinand Courtenay could do him. “ From what I heard, Howard, I take it that you would not refuse a chance—a fair good chance—to make a nice little file of money. I can give you a chance; would be glad to give you a position that has been offered to me, and now open, waiting my answer, which, how ever, must be at once.” He was evidently in simple earnest, and Howard was suddenly interested “ Give me a chance, Courtenay! I’d go to Nova Zembla if I could come home rich.” Courtenay smiled as he took a letter from his pocket. “It’s almost as bad as going to Nova Zembla; in fact, is quite as far in an op posite direction—further possibly. But there’s a good chance to make money, as the firm who have written this letter specifically say. They offer a position in South Africa, at Port Elizabeth—quite a civilized place—to look after their in terests there—dealers and importers of ostrich feathers—a big salary and a com mission.” “Why don’t you accept the offer? Would you not like to make your for tune?” Courtenay laughed. “ I don’t care to go so far south; I am not enough of a salamander. Besides, I am in a fair way to do better at home with iny pictures.” Howard frowned, puzzled and thought ful. “And you actually give me the chance? Will the firm take me in your stead?” “ There’s not a doubt of it, if I recom mend you. Will you accept? There’s not enough time to do more than to de cide. The shin sails to-night at eleven o’clock from New York, aid you’ve only time to pack a trunk and catch a train to the city. Howard’s face suddenly flushed ex citedly. “ Yes, I’ll do it! Write me the neces sary introduction, and I will write a line of explanation and farewell to Maude Templeton, for you to kindly deliver after I’m off. I’ll be ready in no time; and, Courtenay, I thank you most heart ily for your kindness.” He shook the artist’s aristocratic white hand eagerly. “All right old fellow I Come back rich and be happy ever after. Write your note, and ITI write to Finch <& Wing by you.” So, all on the hot impulse of the mo ment, Neal Howard went abroad, leav ing a letter, half proud, and with a pa thetic undertone of love in every word, for the one girl he really and truly cared for above all the world. For Ferdinand Courtenay to deliver. And while Neal Howard was walking the deck of the ship at. midnight, and Maud Templeton was sleeping and dreaming of the morrow, when her lover would come back to her, Mr. Cour tenay was lying on his lounge in the moonlight, with the ashes of Neal How ard’s fareweli to Maud on the empty hearth. “And now I shall have everything my own way. Fair Maud will be comforted in due season for what she shall believe is her lover’s defection, and I will be the comforter? If it doesn’t end as I prophesy—in Maud’s marrying me—then I am not so shrewd as I flatter myself I am. Port Elizabeth! Whew! Well, he’s welcome to all he can make, for me. I prefer the beautiful Maud and a tem perate zone! ” A year had gone by, and away off, down by the Cape of Good Hope, Neal Howard was wondering what in the world was the reason he had never re ceived an answer from Maud to the lit tle farewell letter he left fo Mr. Courte nay to deliver. He had found his position not an un pleasant one, and the climate did not especially disagree with him. His sur roundings were very delightful, his bus iness hours short, and he found himself making money by the handful: and if only Maud had answered his letter 'he would have been almost perfectly con tent. But Maud did not answer bis letter, for the very good reason that she never received it. And in the weeks that fol lowed her recreant lover’s departure, Mr. Courtenay was her comforter, be cause to him only Neal had confided his intentions. And Ferdinand Courtenay made the most of his opportunity—so much that Eeople round about nodded their wise eads, and said that Maud was readily consoled for Neal’s defection. Of course, among the occasional letters that friends sent to Africa, the news was more than once mentioned that Maud and Mr. Courtenay were on the most intimate terms, and Neal’s mother, in one letter, actually announced the gossip of their engagement. Ferdinand Courtenay proposed to Maud and was promptly rejected, and he went away, disgusted and disappointed and chagrined at his ill-luck; while Maud, whose hopes were gradually dying, whose spirits were slowly leaving her— and leaving her depressed and silent— went on her lonely way, patiently as she might for the never-ceasing pain at her true, loving, wounded heart. Out at Port Elizabeth, Neal Howard was leading his lonely, unloved life, trying to put the sweet memories out of his head and heart, after he had written almost savagely to those who had volun teered their information of Maud, never to mention her name or Courtenay’s ■gain. And so, widely diyided, these two lived another year and another, he im agining Maud’s happiness as the wife— doubless long ago -of the man she loved; and Maud feeling sure that Neal had found his happiness in the distant coun try to which he had gone. Until ©ne day—one perfect October day—Maud had gone out for a little walk, the way she always went, because it was the way Neal and she had been accustomed to go. It lead past the village post-office, where for many weary times, whenever the papers announced the arrival of the foreign mails, Maud had asked if there was anything for her, until her sweet, pale, tired face had made the post-mis tress’ heart ache and tears come to her eyes. To-day, Maud was in no mood to in quire. Why should she have been, when for months, and months, she had been slowly learning her lesson? And so she was walking past, when, like an inspiration, it came to her that she would inquire just this once more— just this once, because such a swift strange yearning fiad come over her. And so she lifted her lovely, pale face to Mrs. Morrison, standing inside her office window “1 dare say I am very foolish, but per haps there is something for me after all?” And, instead of the grave, pitiful shake of Mrs. Morrison’s white-capped head and she gentle, sympathetic, “ No. dear, not this time,” Maud’s heart stood still in almost suffocating emotion to see a smile broaden on the kind old face. “Well Maud, I shouldn’t wonder if there was something at last. What’d you say to the biggest letter from for eign parts that ever came through this omce, efi 7 (Jome in back, dear, and get it!” _ * To her dying day, Maud will remem ber just how she felt as Mrs. Morrison spoke. Then she managed to force her trembling limbs to carry her into the little back office, and there— Neal Howard sprang to meet her and catch her in his arms, and kiss her over and over, and explain in eager, passion ate words, what a terrible mistake there had been. Isn’t the story told? The Dark Continent. [Toledo Blade,J Africa, from being an unknown land full of dark, impenetrable mysteries, a land whose glory lay entirely in the past whose wonderful pyramids, which spoke so eloquently of a race gone forever, con stituted its chief interest in the eyes of the world, is fast becoming of great com mercial importance. The travelers who have, of late years, penetrated Central Africa, have found it a region of great wealth, with a vast population of from 200,000,000 to 400,000,000. The climate of the high regions is healthy, very dif ferent from what has been imagined in the past, when the only idea had was that obtained from the low, marshy lands upon the seacoast. The soil is adapted for the cultivation of most of the useful plants grown in the southern part of our own country. The mineral wealth is great, but it needs intelligent development by means of men and machinery, such as are employed in other and better known regions. England has become thoroughly awake to the advantages of obtaining a foot hold and influence among the people of Africa, uncivilized as they are. In her present depressed financial condition, it is absolutely necessary that she should find new lands to conquer in trade and here is her golden opportunity. Already her steamers are plying upon the Zam bezi, and she contemplates placing them upon the Niger. The plan of building a railway five hundred miles long from the seacoast to the interior costing $50,000,- 000 is under consideration in London, and is most favorably regarded. It is the hope of Great Britain that the future development of this vast country, now so rapidly becoming known by the push and courage of different explorers,—and the consequent civilization of its people, will open and maintain vast commercial interests that will restore the manu facturing prosperity of England, and give her again that pre-eminence of which she has so long proudly boasted. The Horse’s Wonderful Memory. The powers of a horse’s memory were illustrated at Rochester, N. Y., recently where the driver of a book, and ladder track tried an experiment. Three and a half years ago the city sold a team of horses that had been used for drawing the truck, and since then they had been employed in different work. One day recently the driver took the horses into the truck house and turned them loose, whereupon each went directly to his own stall, and when a gong was sounded they ran out and took their accustomed posi tions at the tongue of the machine. “Is Life Worth Living!" [J G. Holland in Scribner for November. | Mr. Curtis once asked Mr. Greeley, it respome to a similar question nut t# him by the great editor, “How no you know, Mr. Greeley, when you have suc ceeded in a public address?” Mr. Gree ley, not averse to the perpetration of a joke at his own expense, replied: “When more stay in than go out.” Mr. Mat lock's famous question, answered by himself in a weak way, and repeated by Professor Mivart, and answered in a stronger wav, is practically voted on every day, by the entire human race, and decided in the affirmative. “More stay in than go out,” for reasons very much less important than those consid ered by Mr. Mallock and Pfofessor Miv art, There are great multitudes of men who possess neither the Roman Catholic faith n<ir rightness of life nor love, who yet live out their lives—men who are open to no high considerations, such-as would have weight with the Mullocks and Mivarts. There is a great pleasure in conscious being. So universal is this that, when a man occasionally takes his life, it is con sidered. by those whom he leaves be hind him as preumptive proof that he is insane. YV e say of a man who de signedly ends his life that he is not in his right mind. One of the most pathetic things about death is the bidding good bye to a body that lias been the nurs ery and home of the spirit which it has charmed through the ministry of so many senses. Men find their pay for living in vari ous ways. Hope may lie to them, but they always believe her, nevertheless. The better things to come of which she tells all men, become indeed, the sub stance of the things desired; that is, expectation is a constant joy and in spiration. The pay for this day’s trouble and toil is in the reward which is ex pected. to-morrow. That reward may never come, but the hope remains; and so long as that lives, it pays to live. It pays some men to live, that they may make money, and command the power that money brings. To what enormous toils and sacrifices the love of money urge a great multitude of men! The judgment of these men as to whether life is worth living is not to be taken at life’s close, when they sum up their pos sessions and what they have cost, but while they are living and acting. A man whose life is exhausted may well con clude that that what he has won is van ity ; but it was not vanity to him while he was wanning it, and, in the full pos session of his powers, he believed that life was worth living. * * * If this be true —that character and duty and love are better than any success without them—then there is no needs to say that life is not worth living. But the people who do not succeed, wlio are unloved, who live lives of pain and want and weakness—what is there for these? A chance for conscious nobility of character and life; and if this be not enough, as it rarely is, a faith, not in a great church, but in a good God, and an immortality that will right the wrongs and heal the evils of the present life, and round into completeness and sym metry it imperfections and deformities, It is not foolish, after all, to raise tlif question of success or failure in treating a life that is only germinal or fractional Mechanical Chess Players. Mr. Richard A. Proctor contributes an interesting article to the Belgravia Magazine on mechanical players. He denies the possibility, on scientific princi ples, of constructing an automaton capa ble of making the complicated moves required in a game of chess. It is mechanically possible, humanly impos sible. No man’s life is long enough to adapt the machinery to the innumerable variations required. He proves conclu sively, we imagine, for most readers, that the famous automaton of De Kem peleu, which attracted so much attention m this country under M. Maelzel, con tained a living player. One amusing proof which he gives we have never seen on record before. A conjuror had been performing his tricks in a German town with great success and profit to his purse, when the arrival of the automaton drew off his audience to a more powerful attraction. He went to witness the performance of his rivals, and was satisfied from his own methods of working that the chest of the automa ton concealed a cunning conjuror. A simple test was suggested to his shrewd ness, and at once applied, with success. He raised the cry of fire, which was caught up by one or two of his comrades in the secret. The alarmed spectators began to scatter, and curiously enough the automaton shared the alarm, and began to move convulsively, tottering about as if mad. The conjuror was avenged. Mr. Proctor censures sharply the de ceptions of Kempeleu and Maelzel, and commends the frankness of the inventor of Mephisto, another mechanical player, now exhibiting in Europe. This inven tor makes no claim that his machine works automatically. He confesses that its movements are guided by human brains and hands, but the method of ac tion is as mysterious as in the old automaton, for the new is too small to hold a living man. — 1 KNOW I’m losing ground, sir,” tear* fully murmured the pale-faced Fresh man, “but it is not my fault, sir. If I were to study on Sunday, as the others do, I could keep up with my class, sir— indeed, I could; but I promised mother ne-he-never to work on the Sabbath, and I can’t sir, ne-ne-ver;” and, as his emo tions overpowered him, he pulled out his handkerchief with such vigor that he brought out with it a small flask, three faro-chips, and a euchre-deck; and some how or other the professor took no more stock in that Freshman’s eloquence than if he had been a graven image. HAILING AKBCTTCS. BY BOSE TERRY. Darlings of the forest! Blossoming alone l When earth’s grief Is sorest, For her jewels gone— Ere the last snow-drifts melt, your tend® Buds hare blown. Tinged with color faintly, Like the morning sky; Or more pale and saintly, Wrapped in leaves ye lie— Even as child, en sleep, in faith's Simplicity. There the wild robin Hymns your solitude; And the rain comes sobbing * Through the budding wood. While the low south wind sighs, but Dare not be more rude. Were your pure lips fashioned Out of air and dew ? Starlight unimpassioned. Dawn's most tender hue? And scented by the woods that gathered Sweets for you ? Fairest and most lovely, From the world apart,* Made for beauty only, Veiled from nature’s heart. With such unconscious grace, as make#- The dream of art. Were not mortal sorrow. An immortal shade. Then would I to-morrow Such a flower be made. And live in the dear woods, where MLv lost childhood played! Clipped Paragraphs. There are 30,000 deaf mutes in the United States, and fifty places of wor ship where services are conducted in the sign language. One man asked another why his beard was so brown and his hair so white “ Because,” he replied, “ one is twenty ■yfa ■ ,r e> ‘ban the other.” The head of the rattlesnake has been known to inflict a mortal wound after being separated from the body. The head of a turtle will inflict a severe bite under the same circumstances. Married persons in P rance are not so often criminals as are unmarried persons. Out of every 100,000 unmarried persons 33 are criminals, but out of every 100,- 000 married persons only 11 are crim inals. It cost an Ishpeming man SBOO to kiss a woman on the streets recently.—Ex change. Served him right, too! Here in Catskill the kissing is done smack on the lips, and all pecuniary consequence! are avoided —CaUhll Recorder. No mother wearing banged hair should preserve her photographs. Twenty years from now if her son should get hold of one he would exclaim: “Oh! why did they put my mother in the House of Correction!”— Detroit Free Frew. Indian uprisings are not always un pleasant to Western settlers. A redskin with a hemp knot around his throat, ascending skywards on a rope thrown over the limb of a tree, the end of which is being pulled by strong arms, is the sort of an Indian uprising relished the most. The Steubenville Herald contains this startling, but pleasing announcement: “Watch the credit opposite your name. We want all arrears settled up.” Yes, we’ve been watching it. It says X. We presume you know how much that is. Please forward without delay.” The Ute Indians are a mean, treacher ous lot; but none of them wear theii watchchains dangling from the 4 p out side pocket of their coats, nor part theii hair in the middle, nor never pay theii subscription to the paper, nor do a whole lot of other things not much pleasantei of contemplation than scalping a woman, or eating a roast bady, with oyster trim mings. A man read that ho should endeavor to draw something useful from every thing he saw, and nobly resolved to profit by the teaching. That night when the moon was shining, he essayed to draw a number of useful cord-wood sticks from his neighbor’s wood-pile, and got filled so full of rock-salt out of a gun, that he won’t be able to taste anything fresh foi the balance of his natural life. “ Why did you weep so in church ? ,! “ Oh, it was because of the thoughts evoked by those solemn words, “ Dusl thou art, and unto dust slialt thou re turn.” “ You are an ass—a preferred ass! If you were gold and had to return to dust, you’d lose a hundred per cent, by the operation; but as you are dust, and to dust return, you neither lose 01 ain any thing—it’s a stand-off.” Seeing a servant rushing out of a Lon don house for medical aid, a rascal said: “ I am a doctor,” and obtained access to the room of a sick child. He feigned to minister to* him for hours, read prayers by his bedside, and then, descending into the dining-room and taking advantage the carelessness wrought by the approach of death, took a good meal, and de camped with all the portable property he could lay hands on. Two grammarians were wrangling the other day, one contending that it was only proper to say, “My wages is high,” while the other noisily insisted that the correct thing was, “My wages are high.” Finally they stopped a day laborer and submitted the question to him. “Which do you say, ‘Your wages is high,’ 01 ‘Your wages are high?’” “Oh, offwid yer nonsense,” he said, resuming his pick. “Yer naythur ov ye right—me wages is low, bad luck to it.” Poor Pay of Eminent Authors. The pioneers of literature were not too liberally rewarded. Edward and Alexander Everett, Bancroft and other leading writers of their day re ceived but one dollar a printed page for their contributions to the Forth American Review, But then, Milton sold ’‘Paradise Lost ” at even a less rate. But again Shakespeare went in for loot as well as laurels, and although we almost. deify him, we think none the less of him for not affecting to despise money