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T. H.KIKBY. I’ 1 :: :• ,
ELLIJAY COURIER.
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nr-AiSatf '■■■ i I ' ‘ TZT * -x a ' jjt'r
GESEIIA L DIRECTORY.
TOWN COUNCIL.
M. G. Bates, J. W. Ulpp, G. 11. Ran
dell. M. J. Wears, TANARUS, J. Long. Al. G.
Bates, President: .1. W. flipp, Secreta
ry ; Al, J. Meats, Treasurer: G. 11. Kun-
Uell, Marshal.
COUNTY OFFICERS.
J.C'. Al.leii, Ordinary.
L.M. Greer, Clerk Superior Court.
11. Al. Bram.ett, Sheriff.
Ai. L. Cox. Deputy Sheriff.
*T. W. Craigo, Tax Receiver.
G. W. Gatos, Tax Collector.
James A. Cnrnea, Surveyor.
W. F. liili,’ School Commissioner.
wwi.lt;lOUS SEll VIC rIS.
BiMjii: Out:non —Every second Satur
tlity *Hd Sunday. l>y Rev. W. A. Ellis.
. Exisoonxt. Cm-ircn—Eveiy
Afctoday nnd Saturday before,' by Rev.
84 P. Bi'oka\> r
■ : ErtscorAi. Oivkoii, South —
Every toiutk Sunday and Saturday before,
by Rev. Engl-nd.
„ 0.-;
"* k FRATERNAL RECORD.
OArtiowteir Loires,No. 81, F.-.A.-.M,
—'Altfirt Friday In eacli uitnuii.
N L. Ost orn, W. M.
* - . J. F. Chastafn, S. Vi.
* A. Ai W *
•
■ i • ’ * r
ALLa-N,
\ Attorney ai Law ,
•* ’ <*.
ELLIJ AY, Cj A.
v .
WILL practice in. the Superior Courts
of tilt* Blue *f Ridge Oireuft. Prompt at
iehlfort given‘to alt iHiiftiess entrusted to
bis care.: / '
* ; .
thomas f. Greer.
ai Law,
' v, ‘ v -: r A -i , .
vi c* ~. TP T I IT A V 11 A
JLIibWAI, UA.
WILL practice ia the Superior Courts of
the Blue Ridge ayid Cherokee Circuits, and
in tlie Supreme'Coiut of flteorgin. Also,
in the United States Couits in Atlauta.
Will give special attention to, the purchase
and sale of. dll kinds of real estate-and
and litigatioßv-, . A V
\ ~ S —i gar
\apo fioapUajs s.
_ v .* ’■ - ;
r *
nurior Court and dfteaer by special con.
tract when sufficient work is guaranteed
to iiismv me in making the visit. Ad
*•*£* % beve - • ma >'
; ■
Jno. S. Young,
SANFORD, CHAMBERLAIN & ALBERS,
*’ WIIOI.ESAIJE AND MANUFACTItIiIN’O
iiHUGGISTS,
l Knoxville, Tenn.
K&sl * U*j. ***vul*
—
- J '
, I
THE ELLI.JAY" .COURIER.
BEAUTIFUL THINGS.
BY Mil?. M. A. KIDDER.
A gentle voice, a heartfelt righ,
A modest blush, a speaking eye,
A manner unaffected, free;
These th ugs are beautiful to me.
A ready hand, a loving heart,
A sympathy that’s free from art,
• A real friend among Ihe few ;
1 heae things are beautiful and true.
A mother's prayer, an answer mild,
An agid sire, a fittle child,
A liappy home,a cheerful hearth;
These things are beautiful on earth.
A joyful song, a chorus sweet,
An earnest soul and willing feet,
A day oi peace, a night of lest ;
These tilings are beautiful and blest.
A TRUE SrOUY.
“Tell the Boys it was Liquor.”
About fifteen years ago a parly
of young men hail galhered in an
upper room of a warehouse of a
western town.
People going by saw the lights,
and heard the cheering and
shallts of laughter, and nodded to
each other good-humoredly.
“The boys are getting along
with, their plans,” they said, tor
the town was a small one, and
every body knew his neighbor,
and took a kindly interest in him;
and the military company which
“Ihe boys” were going to form
was a matter of public pride and
interest.
There were about thirty or for
ty of the voting men. They had
most of them been to school to
gether at John's Academy, and
now were clerks in the town,
or students ul law or
medicine.
There was the heartiest, good
feeling among them, therefore,
when they met to adopt their
conslitnliou and by-laws. They
had been drilling all winter, in
private, and were to appear in
public for the first time on Satur
day in their new uniform. It was
a gorgeous uniform, chosen from
a dozen patterns sent by the eas
iern manufacturer. It. fairly
blazed in crimson and gold. They
kept it a secret from every one,
•even fathers and mothers, and
sweethearts, so that the grand
display on Saturday would break
with more effect upon the daz
zled eyes ot the towns people.
Now, all this was before the
war. The military arder, which
prevailed like an epidemic in the
town, did not mean patriotism or.
sell-sacrifice, but or.lv a little
agreeable vanity, and a great
deal of cordial, good fellowship,
fun and kindly feeling.
Some more weighty sense of
the constraints of honor, too rest
ed upon the young fellows with
their swords and glittering epau
lets ; some increased stricture ot
obligation to bear themselves as
mien, galiant and chivalrous in
soul as well as body. Mauy ot
’Ey wise elders of the town,
therein?, lent their help to the
under!old Coi,.SloiTS,
a retired accepted
the post of captain, atwTjgave
himself zealously To the work;
The organization had been
rather lax until to night, when
tjie by-laws had been definitely
adopted.
“Number nine seems to me su
perfluous,” objected Ned Moore;
“the company pldges itself to
attend all the funerals of the
members, saying and excepting
such as may have suffered the
oenalty of the law, or laid vio
lent hands on themselves. That
appears to me more melodramat
ic than necessary. There are not
likely to be any suicides or mur
ders among”up,” glancing about
with a larfgh to his companions
“The rule is customary in such
f organizations,” said the Col. dry
j The rule remained,.* therefore,
in spite of Nod’s joke, which
“A Map of Busy Life— -Its Fluctuations and its Vast Concerns.”
ELLIJAY, C,A, THURSDAY,•'JANUARY 19, 1882.
caused a great deal of laughter.
Ned was the youngest of the
hoys, the merriest, the most gen
ial youn'g fellow in the town.
Every body knew his frank,
handsome face and curiy hair.
He was book keeper iti one of
the iron mills, and out of ins
small salary supported his moth
er. But, the money was a small
matter, compared to the fun, and
jollity, and tumultuous affection
which lie brought into the poor
widow’s life.
“The last years of ray life,” she
used losay, “have all the warmth
and brightness that were missed
out of the otiiers.
Ned ran down Ihe stairs of the
hall when (he meeting was over
singing “Lilly Dale” at the top
of his voice. lie had a clear ten
or, which was the delight ol every
body in the town wiio loved mu
sic.
“Thai’s light,” said Joe Wil
son ; “come up to I he house, Ned.
(lie girls are at home, and we’ll
have a little singing. You ere
in voice to-night ”
“That's right! What do you
say, Charley ?” lor Ned and
Charley seldom spent an evening
apart.
“Bother the girts!” muttered
Charley ; “fhev’re a bore. Their
rattle debang pianos set my teeth
on edge. Some of the fellows
are going to have an oyster-sup
per dovvti at Brice’s, and I prom
ised that we’d join them.”
Ned iiesitated.
“Is Phillips to be there ?’’
“Yes; he asked the crowd.”.
“There’s sure to be liquor and
. squabbling. I promised mother
I'd keep cut of men’s parties This
wilder, particularly where there
are cards and drinking. We’d
j better go to Wilson's.”
“Oh, neve r mind Wilson I
Come along;”
' ‘Ned laughed and nodded.
“Charley has made an engage
ment for me, Joe. I'll coiiie up
10-niorrow evening .and sing with
the girls. I’ll go round and tell
mother not to sit. up for me,
Charley, and wili be after you in
five minutes.”
The boys went on. Nobody
laughed at Ned for “r u n n in g
home to mother.” Not even
Phillips thought him in leading
strings. The lads were neither
course nor vulgar, as Mrs. Moore
thought; they were maul y
enough to appreciate her manly
boy.
She followed him to the door
“Good night, my son; God
bless you!”
“Good night, little mother. I’ll
be at home by eleven, at the lat
est ”
There could be no harm, she
thought, in i party of intelligent,
clear-minded boys, tired with the
day’s work, meeting to sharpen
and strengthen their wits .over a
well cooked supper.
Nor would there have Been,
perhaps, if the poor, loolioh lads
had not essayed, like some of
their foolish elders, to driuk the
poison which makes them feel
Jtke gods and act like beasts.
“1 say, Brice, let’s have cham
pagne,” cried Phillips, when the
supper was oyer. “Let’s have the
pop of the corks,just for to-night."
For Phillips had made one or two
journeys to New York, and af
fected the reckless humors of a
juvenile Anacreon.
Ned Moore rose.
“I must, go Phillips. 1 promised
to be home early.”
Not till you have tasted Brice’s
dry wine—not a step. l
“1 can’t* ton h liquor von know,
Phillips;-it makes a foot oi me.
don’t want to slay and be a kill
j^.v”
“You needn’t touch it Su
down l Sit down 1” shouted a
dozen voices.
Ned eat down. The pleasant,
easy going fellow, they all knew,
was no spoil-sport. Presently he
tasted the wine to please the
others. He could not bear liquor.
Phillips might sip and tipple all
night, and be comparatively cool
and saber in the end, but a sin
gle glass made a fool of Moore;
the second made him a madman.
Nobody had ever known him so
witty. He kept the table in a
roar, ihe means of such fun was
there in abundance, and thev
urged him to drink more.
When Charley lliii drank he
grew surly
“You’ve had e n o u g li,” he
growled.
“You’d better go home to your
mother. I wisli she had Clara
Wilson might see you, and I’ll
call on Clara Wilson in the mor
ning and tell her how and where
I left her sweetheart.”
Ndw, in fact, Ned cared more
for his chum, Hill, than for all
the Claras is the world, but he
was in no mood to be jeered
about a woman, so.lie faced Hill
white with drunken rage.
“You play spy, do you ? Cow
ard !’’
As l said, the liquor made him
surly. He was roused at once,
and struck Ned full in the face.
Ned was the slightest of the two.
and fell heavily to the ground.
He sprang up and closed with
him. and was thrown again and
again bet ore bis companions
could separate them.
“lie's a little fellow beside
you !” cried Joe Wilson, holding
Ned back, trembling and color
less. “Shame on you! Shame,
Hill!”
Hill stood dumb and sulky,
But the liquor and defeat had
driven Moore mad.
“Am I to bear a blow? Let me
go, Joe! I was never struck be
fore !”
I
There was'a dangerous gleam
in his eyes that frightened the
boys. Phillips motioned to Joe
to take him out. He led him in
to the cool air outside.
“You shall not touch him, Ned !
You don’t know what you are
doing, boy. Why, Charley is the
best friend you have in the world,
wiping the foam from his lips.
‘Come, let me take you home.”
“I’ll go home alone. I want
neither help nor advice.”
He turned off, and Joe thought
lessly went in.
Hill had already repented.
“I’ll go after him and make up,”
he said, rising and going out.
The door closed behind him.
“It’s curious,” said Phillips,
“that one or two glasses of wine
should make such a fool of that
fellow, Ned,” '
There was a sharp cry outside,
then a heavy thud on I be ground,
and then silence.
When the men rushed out,Ned
Moore stood sober and motion
less, looking down at his old
friend, Charley, who lay before
him quite quiet, with blood ooz
ing from wounds upon bis head.
He had beeft violently knocked
down, and as he fell his bead'
struck the curbstone, inflicting a
mortal wound.
I began to write this story
(which, but for the change of
names, is altogether true) simply
because I thought it ought to be
told to the .thousands of boys
who will read it here. But when
the remembrance of the pain that
followed comes upon me, I teel
that I may set down the tacts as
briefly as may be.
The ilemt boy was takws to bis own
home. Where tiis friend had gone who
killed him, no oue knew. lu the confu
sion lie had disappoured. It was curious
how strong the remembrance was with
every one, now, how near the friendship
had been between tbe two boys. Even
the mother of the dead boy placed the
guilt where it belonged.
“It was the wine that did it,” she said.
“I have no anger against Ned ; he would
have given bis life for my poor Charley.”
But the police were net so lenient,
there was talk of malice being proved by
his watching ontside for his friend. StiM
their search was of the feeblest, and singu
larly unsucceesful. They were giving
him time to escape, people said, under
their breath.
It was a gray, cold day in November,
! tne fogs laying heavy in tbe valley a Late
' in the afternoon, Joe Wilson, mounted on
a strong, swift horse, left the towu by tbe
by-streets, and crossed the hills to the
south. Just before sunset he met Ned
Moore, wandring aimlessly by the side of
the river.
He rode up to him. and, dismounting,
stood beside him
‘‘l thought I'd fiud you lierebouts, on
our old hunting ground. I’ve brought
you this horse, Neil, and all the money I
could raise, i'ou had better keep in tue
bills for a day or two.”
But he saw that Mo re did not hear him,
though his eyes were fixed upon his face.
“I've been waiting to hear,” he said ;
“is—is he dead ?”
Joe did not speak.
The boy turned hie back oa him, and
stood loosing in the river.
“Nobody blames you, Ned,” Joe whis
pered. “Charley himself, if he were
alive—”
“It's not .Charley,” said Moore, with
the -ame dry, hard tone. “He knows
how I loved him ; he’ll forgive me. It’s
mother I think of mother 1 It’s all over
with me now.”
“No.no. There are plenty of chances
yet. Take tbe money, old fellow, and
the horse. You’ll start fair ngain.”
Ned went on as though he had not heard
him:
“ fell the boys it was the liquor. Don’t
let it ruin their lives as it has mine. Good
bye, Joe.”
He held out his hand. Joe wrung it
hastily.
“Good bye, Ned ; Sod bless you. Now
mount at once.”
Moore shook his head, and, turning
away, walked to the edge of the river,
drew out a pistol, anil, before Joe could
reach him, tired and fell.
“It's all done and over ! ” he mntteaed
groping with his hands a moment, and the
next he lay dead upon the pebbled beach.
—Exchange.
Fkesh A*k is tub Bedroom.
How much air can be safely ad
milted into a sleeping; or liviug
room is a common .question.
Rather, it should bo considered
how rapidly, without injury or
risk, and af how low a tempera
ture. We can not have too much
fresh air, so long as we are warm
enough, and are not exposed to
draughts. What is a draught? It
is a swift current of air. at a temp
erature lower than the body,
which robs either the whole body
or an exposed part, of its heat, so
rapidly as to disturb the equillib
rium of our circulation ami gives
us cold. Young and healthy per
sons can habituate themselves to
sleeping in even a cold draught,
as from au open window, if they
cover themselves, in cold weath
er, with an abundance of bed
clothes. But those who have
long been accustomed to being
sheltered from the outer air by
sleeping in warm and nearly shut
up rooms, are too susceptible to
cold to bear a direct draught ol
cold air. Persons over 70 years
of age, moreovar, with lower vi
tality than 'in their youth, will
not bear a low temperature, even
in the air they breathe. Like hot
house piants, they may De killed
by a winter night's chill, and must
be protected by warmth at all
times. Asa rule we mav say that,
except for the most robust, the
air which enters at night into a
sleeping chamber should, in cold
weather, be admitted gradually
only, by cracks or moderate
open, or should have its force
broken by some obstacle, as a
curtain, etc., to avert its blowing
immediately upon a sleeper in
Iris bed.— Health Primer .
THE INTERNATIONAL COTON
EXPOSITION,
The International Cotton Exoo
sit inn, at Atlanta, closed the 31ss
uli. with appropriate and impos
ing ceremonies, which were wit
ness •ei by t
VOL. VI. NO. 50.
At half past one o’clock, Judg
es Ila. I, where the exercises took
place, was filled by an audience
representing all ‘parts of the
country, ihe hall was appropri
ately deeorated for the occasion.
Upon anil around the stige were
the officers of the Exposition,
members of the Executive Com
mittee, Ihe orators, distinguished
.invited guests, the orchestra and
j chorus.
i Prayer was offered by Rev. I!
!E. Warren. Letters of regret,
j because of their inability to al
| tend, from Ex-Secretary of State
! Blaine, Genera! Sherman and
: others, were read,
j An address was then delivered
,by Director-General Kimball,
i who said, in substance, that Ihe
Exposition had dep&nded wholly
for its support upon the volunLarv
subscriptions of its friends ill
many and widely separated parts
of the country. It received no
oonus from the city, and no
j bounty from the State, but the
j countenance which the people’s
\ representatives refused has fort
unately been accorded by their
cheif magistrate, sustained and
applauded by the people them
selves. Ihe grand central idea
of the Exposition, the main shaft
to which has been bolted ever y
wheel that has worked for its
success, is concentrated in one
word. “Improvement.” As to the
great resources at their command,
what American ingenuity ha,
adapted to the demauds of Amer
ican iudustries, productive and
creative, has been shown far
more abundantly, and to a jjreat
er degree than ever before in the
i history of tiie country. Kefer
ing to cottoß ginning devices on
exhibition, he noted as a wonder
ful fact, that every cotton gin
wgs but a modification ot Whit
ney’s principle, and said :
“Ttris lact alone constitutes a
j valuable discovery, and enhances
iin no small measure the fame of
;an American inventor, whose
j lobors raised him to a rank ot a
j benetactor. There lias been here,
, also, brought to the attention of
the cotton producers of the world,
a recent invention that is likely
to be as grand a gift as the cot
ton gin was when it revolution
ized industry. I refer to the cot
ton cleaner, which has been de
clared the best device ever in
vented for the accomplishment
of an universally desired end
and has been awarded the grand
prize of this Exposition.” In an
nouncing the close ot the exhibi
tion, he expressed the thanks of
the directors and all concerned
to their friends in different cities
of the Union, whe had aided the
work, and to the press of the
country which had so liberally
upheld their cause. He thought
every exhibitor most be proud of
the success which the Exposition
had achieved. “Who can meas
ure its beneficent results? Who,
after failing to estimate the re
sults on our productions and our
industries, can hope to weigh the
influence it has cast on the hearts
of tb people f’
The address of Hon. W. C.
Breckenridge, of Kentucky, was
unqestionably one of the best of
the many called forth' by the Ex
position. It was purs and noble,
in stvle and thought, and well
merited the sincere applause
which was given it. Mr. Frank
Norton, of New York, read his
poem, a fine prod net ion, and the
speaking concluded with a brief
and eloquent address by tbe Pres
ident, Governor Oolquitt, of Geor
gia. The quartette and choru9
singing, with archestral accom
panraifent, the lingers under the
leadership of \Mr. Cady, of this
city, were pleasing and success-,
ful features of the programme.
When Governor Colquitt had
concluded his address,' he an
nounced, officially, the end of the
Exposition. He touched the key
of an electric battery whose wire
was connected with the great
bell on the grounds. Three strokes
of the ham mar sounded the sig
nal, and the multitudions machin
ery in all the buildings, which
for three months had illustrated
the progress and glory of the
nineteenth century in the indus
trial arts, stopped.
Thus, with the close of the old
year, ended one of the most
unique and valuable Expositions
ever held in this or any other
country. The good effects of it
will be seen and felt for a centu* •
ry. —Christian Index.