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' Jj* B. URKETf, Editors and I T. H.KIKBY. I’ 1 :: :• , ELLIJAY COURIER. jPulisMdiJivery 2%ursday, . > —BY— GREER & KIRBY- Otfco in "the.. Court-house. rates ani ; : universal anil hnpurtttive, ami ad.aii *W SUBSfiT IPTIO N OHEYEAIi, CABl\, $1.50 *HJC MONTH'S, KE MONTHS bates op aDvei:nsiN'i;. OiieWqWite one insertion - - - - # 1.00 Kncfr subsequent fuuertlon - - • .50 One squai'e oae rear 10.00 Two (.quaies one year 20.00 Quarter coin in oue year - * - - 25.00 Halfeolunin one year ----- 45.00 • One column one year ----- HOMO Ten lines.one inch.conrtitircra square. Notices amouK local refilling matter.2i> per line for first insertion, ami 15 cent* fflr encli subsequent insurf bln.* Lcfittfcwfioos following reading matter, 10i-ents per line fur Uie first insertion, aiW Sycents i,pr lino for each subequent insertion. *.. Cards written in the Interest of individ uals will be charged for at tile rate of 6 cents per line. Yearly advertisers will He allowed one ehaugc without extra charge. 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.