The Buena Vista Argus. (Buena Vista, Ga.) 1875-1881, January 28, 1876, Image 1

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&hc gwmi 3ttteta A. M.< . RINSKU., K.IIIOI, RUFUS \, RUSSKIH, AMOCIuUKiUtor Vutm lMipion 00., Gt *• rnnuv morning, January iwtb, 107a. Circulates in tlie Most tiplvcnt and ltrlinblc Portion of the State. Trmof SilrcrtixiiiK tlio wuno an thnso l„hi‘rt by tho Ftoa* AMOciatlou of Uoorgia for tho MhMwvcirtl MTre duo on tho flrot appear Mice of tho odvortmoment, <n wluu prenontod, ex cept whoft otherwise contraotwi tor. OP THE ¥fsf Aifis FOR THE Centennial Year of American Inde pendence. A M C RUSSELL, Editor and Proprietor, WUFUS A RUSSELL, Re,. WILLIS M RUSSELL, RUFUS A- A^. E - EdHor Correspondent. ... . . , f ,rp„aoin<r Events, and Earnest Exponent ofDemocrat- Good Stones for Grown Folks and Children, Poems, Fun, Important iSews, Local Intelli gence Crop Reports, Prices Current, Campaign News, A alu g 2 ltJcipes, Agricultural Letters, and Lditoral. • o A Blight Base*, with Everything Hew, Eieh and Interesting. TMq vear 1876 is the Centennial year of our national independence l rSit fmnortont one in the history of America. The press wil. he and a nn interesting and valuable intelligence ol startling, grand and teeming with interesting forcf-hatt g c con , es t s of the year’s campaign will be waged with all IK S excitement of the battle-field. The elec,ion of President. Vice-President, ofeonsress ... Governor; Mkmilm'ks legiftlalwrc: all county ofiiceßS. •„ i • tho eamnainn. The defeat and death or the further ■w.ll be lnclm . a n( f usurping Republican party, is to be decided this r ye n ar Cy The great Centennial Exhibition of Arts, Sciences, Mechanics : ,u and the grand fraternal meeting ol nations, is to take AWcXlnhia 1 876 is of vital importance to the Democracy of the ? And Vtites d an.l untiring vigilance as well as persistent and determined ,u U * d for liberty and Democratic victory. It is of the first n no’rtance for every man in the land to take a newspaper, especially one P an Itnl the interests of his own section, and keep posted as regards repicsenti n Questions of the day, and the movements of parties andwKciaSfc No citizen can vote intelligently who does not thus inform and qualify himself, for the discharge of his duty to Ins country and his family. 'Vista Argus will be alive to all the vital issues of the day ii in , its leaders well informed on all questions and movements in ™lvini .heTSs“ S liberties of the pc. pls. It shall continu. to be 1 1 nrtofin in nrineioles and sentiments, striving with all its power and m democia it P capable, for the overthrow and total demolition of It goes Into tho campaign armed *1 Katticai coifui resolved to achieve in its section the triumph of equipped and honest government. The Argus will 8t: „,i vneßte of all home enterprises and industries, satisfied that in t°hem and a administration depend the prosperity and happiness 0t “sSmSm MW to spared to make tlio BcexaVista Amos jl* Mmriwtw.,. , OTwl PT ,tertaimn and valuable to all. Its news columns will contain al general political, State and local nows. Especial attention will Kvm toSoriS all information and chronicling all events transpiring Sthat seSS of comitry claimed as its territory, comprising all that por the State bounded on the north by the Columbus branch, and on i u ‘l sou ’ h by the Eufaula branch of the Southwestern railroad, and ?d on IS?by & ChattAhwheo river, eontaiirag tta eonntUe of Ma rS Webster Schley, Chattahoochee and Stewart, and portions of the on ’f .nfSnmtpr Tavlor, Macon, Talbot, Muscogee, Randolph aad Tcr- C ™ Q ' lts' be thorough and complete. 1 ' Besides its editorial and news departments, there will be carefully edi ted Literary Agricultural and Children’s Departments. Thn ling and in- Srestin- stores choice poetry (selected ana original), entertaining t les andvarfousSrmationfor the children, well digested articles on agr.cul ture 'communications discussing public questions and reforms valuable re does of ad kinds, amusing anecdotes, laughable episodes, dro 1 and ludic rous incidents, &c. Doctrinal disputations and sectarian or denommation ftl in the columns of the Argus valuable infor mation and interesting literary reading, suited almost to every taste. We call upon all to aid us in the good work wo have undertaken. While we can assure our readers that they will receive the full value of their sub- SitSbM in the paper itself, yet, for the purpose of securing 1 hree lhous ami iCew Yearly Subscribers, cash in advance, we oiler besides the paper th * rasissfm ? “ “tootSt" MW ycariy'SbscriS'oib iliM in advance, from this date, WC Y% pint fine black ink, retail price w j fine mtUl pf , n holder “ “ .25 1 pack*‘fine amber envelope*, „ 20 % dozen good cedar pencils “ “ 1 Aoio n feteel Pfnj . . , , , a . Total retail price of premium, $2.80. All these articles are included in one premium which we present to every new subscriber who pays us in ad vance $2 25. This offer'is open only to new subscribers. Half and quarter yearly subscribers are not entitled to premium. We have made up this premium for the purpose of securing a self-sustaining subscription list. P The Buena Vista Argus contains twenty-eight columns. Its size is 24x86. Published every Friday morning in the town of Buena > ista, a rioD SubseripUon Rates: One Year, including postage and premium, $2.25; Six months including postage, $1.00; 3 mouths, including postage, 75c. Cash in advance. Those who waive the premium can have the Argos at 00 a year including postage. Our advertising rates are as high as any weekly newspaper in thl State. Send money by Registered Letter. Ad dress all letters and communications to. T -p *A. M- C. HIJfeSiLLL,. Jbditor had proprietor THE BEEN A VISTA A BUIS A- M- C- RUSSE~L, Proprietor. VOLUME I. ■A. DEMOCRATIC FAMILY ISTE-WSIP.AJpgELS*- BUENA VISTA, MARION COUNTY, GA., JANUARY 28, 1878, MORE CRUEL THAN WAR. •'A Southern prisoner of war at Camp Chase, in Ohio, aftor pining of sieknesrin the hospital of thbt station for some time, and confiding to hisfiiond and follow captive, Col. W. 8. Haw kins, efTonnossco, that he was heavy of heart because hi* tifliuoced bride, of Nashville, did not write to him, died just before the arrival of a letter, in which the lady broke the engagement. Col. llawkins had been requested bv his dying comrade to open any epistlo which should come for him thereafter, and, upon reading tho letter, in question, penned the following versified an swer:” - •My Fri n •, Youi lo ter, lady, enmo too late. For Heaven had claimed its own, Ab, sudden change—from prison bars Unto the great white throne ! And yet 1 think ho would have stayed To live for his disdain, Could he have read the careless words Which you have sent in vain. 80 full of patlc nee did ho wait, Through many a weary hour, That o'er his simple soldier faith Not even death had pow’r, And you—did others whisper low Their homage in your ear, As though amongst their shallow throng His spirit had a peer. I would that you were by mo now, To draw the sheet aside, And sec how pure the look he wore The moment that ho died, The sorrow that you gavo to him Had left its weary trace, As’fworo tho shadow of tho cross Upon his pallid faco. “Her love,” he said, “could change for mo Tho Winter’s colcl to Spring.” Ah, trust of fickle maiden's love, Thou art a bitter thing! lor when these valleys, bright in May, Once more with blossoms wave, The Northern violets shall grow Above his humble grave. Your dole of scanty words had boon But one more pang to bear, For him who kissed unto the last Your tress of golden hair; I did not put it where he said, For when tho angels come, I would not have them find the sign Of falsehood in his tomb. I’ve read your letter, and I know The wiles that you had wrought To win that noble heart of his, And gained it —cruel thought! What lavish wealth men sometimes give, For what is worthless all; What manly bosoms beat for truth, In folly's falsest thrall! You shall nol pit.y him, for now His sorrow has aneud; Yot would that you could stand with mo Beside my fallen friend; And I forgive you for his sake, As he—if it be given— May e'en be pleading grace for you Before the court of heaven. To-night the cold winds whistle by, As 1 my vigil keep Within the prison dead-house, where Few mourners come to weep A rude plank coffin holds his form; Yet death exalts his face. But I would rather see him thus Than clasped in your embrace. Jo-night your home may shine with lights, Auil ring with merry .0 ig, And you be smiling, ns your goal Had done no deadly wrong; Your hand so fair that uone would think It penned these words of pain, Your skin so white—would God your heart Were half as free from stain. I'd rather be my comrade dead Than you in life supreme, For your’s the sinner’s waking dread, And his the mnrtyi’s dream, Whom servo we in this life, we servo In that which is to come. Ho chose his way, you yours—let God Pronounce the tilting doom. A Practical Lover. It was agreed on all hands that Ned Stone was a very practical fellow. He was a broker in the city. Ho had been a very poor man at one time in his life, and had to work very hard. His in dustry had in the end, however, met with due reward. At middle-age he was comfortably circumstanced When he announ ced it to his friends, therefore, that he thought of taking to himself a wife, it was thought generally that the step he meditated was a pru dent one. And when he further said that he had made an offer of his hand to one Georgianna War ren, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, and that his ofler had been accepted by the lady, we, of course, hastened to tender our heartiest congratulations of that oc casion . Ned spoke of the matter in his own simple, sober way. “Well, you know, I’m getting on,” he said, “and if I’m to marry, it is about time I should be setting about it. You’re vory kind. I think I shall be vory happy—in fact I have no doubt about it —as happy as a fellow has any right to expect to be. One has no right to expoct too much, of course. But I am quite fond in my way, of this Goorgianna Warren, and I think that she in her way, is fond of me. (She is not too young or too old ; not too good-lockiug nor yet too plain ; she is sensible and accom plished enough ; and I don’t see why I shouldn’t make a very good husband. PerL.'ps I’m not very fond of old Warren, the father, and perhaps he isn’t very fond of me. But I don’t know as that matters much. I daro say we shall understand each other better by and by; meantime, I must try and make the best of the old man’s humor, and not run counter to him more than I can avoid. And it seems that the old fellow would he no fonder of anybody else than he is of mo. You see it is our af fair—Gcorgianna’s and mine—and not his, though it’s hard to see it in that light. But I dare say it will all come right in tho end. That’s what I tell Georgianna when she takes up with gloomy views about her father’s temper. She has sense, and I think looks at the matter very much as I do—only, of course, she can’t help feeling that he is her father ; whereas, thank goodness, he ain’t mine.” It will be seen that Ned Ntone was not a lover to “sigh like a fur nace.” As to writing a woeful ballad to his mistress’s eye-biows, I don’t think ho could have ac complished such a feat even if his life depended upon his doing so. The thermometer of his love stood at’temperance, with no tendency toward an upward rise. The marks of love, as they are gener ally understood, were not discern rble upon him. lie never said a word as to the agitated state of his breast, nor to the excitement of his feelings. lie did not regard Miss Warren as an angel or goddess. Probably he would have been the first to con tradict any assertion that might have been made to the effect th at she was any thing of the kind. Miss Warren appeared to him what she seemed to everbody else—a nice sensible girl. lie was alone. He looked a little grave, and held a small seal package. We discuss ed various indifferent subjects, then I enquired concerning Miss Georgianna. “Oh, havn’t you heard?” he an swered. “But of course you couldn’t have heard. The affair is off. Our affair has come to an end.” “You don’t really mean that ?” I asked in surprise, “Yes, the thing is ‘broken off,’ as people say. It’s a hard job and I’m sorry for it, hut it can’t be helped.” Had the lady resented his seren ity and discharged him ?” I asked myself. As though he had heard the ques tion he went on: “It’s the old man’s doings. I hope he is satisfied now. He is the most unreasonable and disagree able old fellow I over had the mis fortune to meet.” “But what did he do ?” “We fell out about the settlement —that was where the liiteh arose. I’m sure I did all I could to pleaso him. I gave up condition, after condition, quite in opposition to the advice of my solicitor. 1 told him to settle on his daughter—it wasn’t much after all—just as ho pleased —I didn’t want to touch a cent of it. He might settle it, I told him, just as strictly as ever ho pleased, or he might settle nothing at all on her, if he liked that better. It was his daughter I wanted and not his money. And for my part I’d take ca;;e that my wife never came to want. I undertook to insure my life for l, largo amount and to assign the policy to trustees for her benefit, in case of death, cove nant of course, to the premiums regularly paid to keep up the in surance in the regular way. I thought that a fair arrangement, but it did not content him. “lie wanted to tie my hands completely. Ho hadn’t a hit of confidence in me. lie gavo cred it for no sort of affection for his daughter. He insisted that any money I in future possessed I covenant into a settlement. It is absurd. Ot course my wife and children —if I had any—would reap as much as 1 should. I told Georgianna exactly how the mat ter stood. She’s of age. I asked whether she would marry mo with out the consent of tho old man. Poor girl! she was in an awful way. But she didn’t care to do that. She shrank from offending her father, so no help for it—the thing is broken off, and I’m not to be married it seems —not this time at any rate.” He spoke rather sorrowfully, but still without the slightes trace of ill temper. I endeavored to console in a common sort of way. He opened the small package he had been holding in his hand. “This is pleasant” he said, quiet, ly. Hero are all my letters to Georgiauna. Ah ! and hero is a little present I gave her, sent back to me.” There were not many letters. There contents I could guess; lit tle enough like conventional love letters, probably like unexstatic compositions, yet simply to the point. The present was a ring—a large diamond heavily set in pure gold,just the valuable, simple, substantial present which I could have fancied Ned Stone selected for his betrothed. “I suppose they’ll expect me to send back Georgianna’s letters to her.” “Undoubtedly. ” “It’s the usual way when en gagements come to an end 1” Certainly; it’s the usual way. lie rubbed his chin and seem to reflect a little. “Have a cigar,” he said present ly, “and let’s talk about something else. This is not the most agreoa ble subject in the world. Tell me what you have been doing with yourself lately ?” We fell to talking about this, that and the other. Presently I went away. As I went away he said quietly; “I think I shall try to see Georgianna once more, for a particular reason.’ ’ I did not ask what the particu lar reason was, and he did not tell me. A few nights afterwards I saw him again. Ho was at no timo subject to much change of mood, or at any rate seldom betrayed any variation of that kind. But it struck me that, if anything he was in better spirit than usual. “You did not mention,” said he “what I told you the other night— that my engagement was broken off?” I explained that I had not men tioned it, for a particular good rea son ; I had not seen any person whom it would interest to be in formed of the fact. “It’s just as well,” ho said, be cause the engagement isn't broken off-- 91' rather it’s on again.” Animal Subscription, $2,25. NUMBER 18. “Indeed I I’m very glad to Lear ft." “I told you I should try and see Georgianna again. Well, I knew that she often went with her father and other relations the park on Sun day. So I wont tofthe park. I soon discovered her, with Warren and a lot of other people. She saw me, anft understgod by my sign, that I wanted to speak bn the ft'Sc!,- Well, she lingered bohind a little, and when the rest of the party went on, she slipped off with me. She looked a little friglitcned, and the tears were standing in her eyes. “So I put my arms around her— it didn’t matter who saw, yon know, and told her there was nothing to be alarmed at, and that I only wanted to say a word or two. I told her that I was sorry I had not sent back her letters, as I ought to have done, but the plain fact of the matter was I couldn’t do it.” “You love me still, then, Ned?” said she. “Of course I do, Georgia, is any one been telling you I don’t ?” “She began crying bitterly.” “Come Georgia,’’ I said, “let’s get married whether papa likes it or not; only say the word.” ‘‘‘She didn’t say a word. Poor child. She could not speak for cry ing, and she looked at me, and gav me such a little nod, and then sh began laughing through her tears. Tt was the prettiest sight you ever saw. Of course I kissed her; and then I turned, and who should be standing close by my side but old Warren. “Georgia gave a little scream, and then tried to make believe that we were looking at the lake. But, of course, that didn’t work, so I said to old Warren, in a cherry sort of a wav, and putting out my hand cbeeriully: “Mr. Warren, Georgia and I are go ing to be married —that’s quite set tled. But you and I may as well be friends all the same. We’d much rather have your consent than not. Suppose you give it to us ? ’ “Be was so astonished that before I think ho knew what he was doing, he’d taken my hand. With all friends standing around and looking on, of course he could nob go back after that. And —and so the thing was settled.” I congratulated him heartily. Pres ently I said, by way of change: f “How lucky it was that you didn t send back Miss Warren’s.” “Mv dear fellow, that was what I wanted to explain to her; I couldnt send them back.” “You found them dear to you ? At last; then, he had been betray ed into a feeling of romance ! “> T ot at all,” ho exclaimed. “7 could not send them back because I had not kept them. I had destroy ed them ” “Destroyed them ?” “Yes; what was the good of them r I keep business letters only—they’re regularly docketed at my office. But as to Georgia’s letters, they were of no use, so I made them into pipe lights.” ~ “You didn’t tell her that V “No, I hadn't time. I never ar rived at any explanation about the letters.” “Then, my dear-Stone, let me en treat you, whatever you do, don’t give Miss Warren your explanation about the matter.” “Why shouldn’t I?” “Dr n’t you see ? She thought you did not send back her letters for a sentimental reason, because they were so dear to you that you could, not possibly part with them; and so, in point of fct, that little misunder standing of hers led to the lishment of your love affair.” “Do you tnink so 7” he said mus ingly. “Yes.” “Bnt if Georgia has made any mistake about the matter I think that I am bound to set her right." “My dear Stone, take my advice, for fear of accident; set her right af ter the wedding ceremony, not before. As to whether he took my advie'e or not lam not aware. He was mar ried in due course of time to Miss Warren, and I know that that lac’.y has been heard to declare that she married the best husband in the world. A California bridegroom, on being asked if he would take t.hte woman to be his wedded wife, replied with en ergy that the minister must boa fool to ask such a question as that, ad ding, “Drive on with your businoss.” “Wc love cats,” said a spinster, “because, never having been able to obtain husbands, we attach ourselves instinctively to cats, as being, after man; the most treacherous animals in i creation’” "ey 1 111 ' ■■ iw p. tm{ . PubP-ihed Every Friday* It.VTES OF MUBSCUIPTIOfIi INCXUWSO POSTACR. One Y0ar........... $2,-25 Six Months... I IS Three Month# ... .80 Always Ad vance. Country Prodmt tafeu *W Salsmb* eamt'fc Pay (Wt Best Advertising Medium in this Section of Georgia . A WAIF. I can recall neither the day nor the hour, but thedneideut I am about to relate is ns fresh in my mind as if t bad happened yesterday. I was lin gering at a small watering place, sit uated on the- rocky shores of the coast of Scotland. The ordinary vis itors had already fled, dreading tbo high winds and terrific storms, which were of frequent occurrence at that time of the year, and it was only a few hardy ones like myself who still found pleasure in lacing the rag ing elements of wind and water com bined. It had been a more than usually stormy night, and many an anxious heart haa watched through its vigils, tor it seemed as if some terrible dis aster must be heralded by the boom ing sound of the waves, and the screeching of the wind when it found opposition to its course in the shut doors and windows of the little ham let. Bnt morning broke at last, and brought a few wintry gleams of suir light to brighten the agitated atmos phere, though the waves still could not forget their angry roaring, and dashed against tho rocks as if bent on their destruction. I wandered along the low line of sand which, broken as it is into ma ny small bays, runs under the high beetling cliffs of the shore, and reach ed one of the most retired of theso spots. Here I sat down on a flat rock, which guarded the entrance of the bay, to enjoy the beauty and ma jesty ol the scene. I had not long sat thus, when I was disturbed from my meditations by a low, whining sound, and looking down, saw a dog standing before me. Its coat was dripping with water one of the fora feet covered with blood, and the sad wistful look in its eyes went to my heart I gently patted its head, and tak ing a piece of bread from my pocket, offered it some; but the animal scarce ly glanced at it, and only continued to look at me with that sad, search ing gaze, as if asking assistance. Af ter awhile he turned a little way back on the sands, and laid himself down, casting a look toward me. My curi osity and interest were both aroused, and I followed. At first I could see nothing, but presently from under the paw of the animal, which was placed protectingly upon it, I drew out a little glove —only a little well worn child’s glove—where life seemed still lingering, so completely had it re tained the form of the fingers which had once worn it. I cast my eyes over the wide waters but no sign of life or death was there, only the mute token in my hand told of both. Long I scar died up ancf down the shove, but iu vain. The poor little body must have been carried out to sea, and was never found as far as I know. “Ah, little one,” I sighed, “have the greedy wave*, then, required such a holocaust as thou, young, in nocent and forlorn; and is there no mourner for thee save this faithful dog, and no monument but this little glov ■! At last,” I continued, ns I folded it carefully into my pVrtfol o, - “it shall live in my memory, and thou, poor creature, in my affections,” I stopped as I spoko to caress tho still prostrate animal, and so great had been tho absorption of my feel ings that I had not marked the in coming tide; but now a wave rushed swiftly up, and, though I was still beyond its reach, it wrapped its cor onal of foam round tho weak and wasted form of the faithful dog, and carried it helplessly back into tho ocean. One short, sharp bark, one feeble.struggle, and the brave heart sank to rise nq more. It is long since tliis happened; but the glove still lies in my pocket-book nnd a tear lies in ! my heart whenever I rcc 11 its guar ; d.all’s late. — Oar F, tend.