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BY T. L. GANTT. THE OGLETHORPE ECHO PUBLISHED EVERY HORM\G, BY T. L.. GANTT, Editor tid Proprietor. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. Where paid strictly in idvance 82 00 Where payment delaye \ 6 months 2 50 Where payment delayeu 12 months... 3 OO CLUB RATES. flub of sor less than 10, pet copy 175 Club of 10 or more, per copy 1 50 Clubs must be accompanied by the cash, or papers will be charged for at regular rates. JpST' No attention will be paid to subscrip tions Irom other counties unless accompanied by the money, with 20c. per annum additional to pay postage, as the law requires that after January next postage must be prepaid by the publisher, except to subscribers in the county where the journal is published, in which in stance no postage is charged. THE ABOVE TERMS WILL NOT BE DEVIATED FROM IN ANY CASE. RATES OF ADVERTISING. Per Square (1 inch) first insertion $1 00 Per Square each subsequent insertion.. 75 Liberal contracts made with regular adver tisers, and for a longer period than 3 months. I/OC&l notices, 20c. per line first insertion, 15c. per line each subsequent insertion. L A. WILLIAMSON, PRACTICAL WATCHMAKER k JEWELER AT I)R. KING’S DRUG STORE, Street, - - - Athens, Cla. 5®- All work done in a superior manner, and warranted to give perfect satisfaction, octl-lv J. M. NORTON, IMttAiiier RflmflilmnmtßLtß, Under Nemon House, Athens, Ga., Giaar laifactnrers, And Wholesale and Retail Dealers in Tobacco, Pipes, Snuff, &c. Dealers would do well to price our goods before purchasing elsewhere. Our brands of Cigars are known everywhere, and sell more readily than any other. oct3o-tf YOUNG MEN AIT HO WISH A THOROUGH PREPA- H RATION for Business, will tind supe rior advantages at Moore's Southern Business University, Atlanta, Ga. The largest and best Practical Business School in the South. Students can enter at any time. Send for Catalogue to ootMO-ty B. F. HOOKE, Pres’t. C. S. HARGROVE CRAWFORD, GA., DEALER IN Dry Goods, Notions, Bats, Boots, Shoes, Groceries, Provisions r Etc. Or, J. H. McLEAN’S PATENT MEDICINES Be sure to give me a call and examine my stock if you want to Buy Goods Cheap I novl3-tf ATHENS Hartile & Granite Yard AR. ROBERTSON, DEALER . in Monuments, Head Stones, ffdTjjipW Cradle Tombs, Marble and Granite Box Tombs ; also, Vases and Mar- ijjm' ble Tops for Furniture. Persons Impß desiring work of this kind would sJkKJC. do well to examine my designs be- ' fore purchasing elsewhere. Prices ■*4 moderate. octiMy* The Echo Job Office. £l)c ©gktljM'jK €cl)0. The Little Grave. “ It’s only a little grave,” they said, “ Only just a child that’s dead And so they carelessly turned away From the mound the spade had made that day. Ah! they did not know how deep a shade That little grave in our home had made. I know the coffin was narrow and small— One yard would have served for an ample pall; And one man in his arms could have borne away The rosebud and its freight of clay; But I know that darling hopes were hid Beneath that tiny coffin lid. I knew that a mother had stood that day With folded hands by that form of clay; I knew that burning tears were hid * “ ’Neath the drooping lash and aching lid.” And I knew her lip, and cheek, and brow Were almost as white as her baby’s now. I knew that some things were hid away, The crimson frock, and wrappings gay ; The little sock and half-worn shoe, The cap with its plumes and tassels blue; And an empty crib, with its covers spread, As white as the face of the sinless dead. ’Tis a little grave, but oh ! beware! For world-wide hopes are buried there. And ye, perhaps, in coming years, May see, like her, through blinding tears, How much of life, how much of joy, Is buried up with an only boy. 0, Give Me a Home in the South! BY WILL S. HAYS. O, give me a home in the South ! Down by the murmuring stream, Where fragrant magnolias bloom, Life’s like a mid-summer dream. Beautiful stars of the night Peep thro’ the curtains of space, Shedding their soft mellow light, Loving to smile on my face. O, give me a home in the South ! The loveliest spot on the earth ; I care not how humble it be, The dear, sunny land of my birth. O, give me a home in the South ! Where the mocking-birds gather and sing Their melodies cheerful and gay, Welcoming beautiful Spring; Where the river floats gaily along, In its winding way out to the sea. I care not where others may dwell, A home in the South give me. O, give me a home in tlm South ! A home ’neath a Southern sky, Where I’ve lived all the summer of life. Where the friends of my youth live and die. When I’m called by the Angel of Death, To leave all I love on the earth, May the Angel then find me asleep In the beautiful land of my birth. ■t< > Vial, lies, line, ■i of |g, s led |',ST ■ M-St ■ lire I'l I SI I ly Bread and Butter. The girl engaged in moulding bread Shall make some sweet-heart flutter, With hope to get the dairy-maid To make his bread and butter. She may not play the game croquet, Or French and German stutter, If well she knows the curd from whey And make sweet bread and butter. In meal and cream she’s elbow deep, And cannot stop to putter; But says if he will sow and reap, She’ll make the bread and butter. The dairy maid, the farmer’s wife, Shall be the toast we utter ; Alone man leads a crusty life, Without good bread and butter. Paper ha.s actually been made from frog-spittle—the green scum of ponds. A bull with a human arm has been brought to this country from Calcutta. The genius has yet to be horn who is to invent a practical substitute for work. There is a still fruitful apple tree in Rol lingford, N. Y., which was planted 125 years ago. A new spirit.in London plays the pi ano and another in Baltimore pulls bell wires. A female claimant to the throne of France is housekeeper at a hotel in New .Albany. At Sheffield people drown themselves in the reservoir from which water is drawn for public use, and in the time of one keeper ninety bodies have been found in that reser voir. Despairing of another opportunity to go back “ on” his native land, Santa Anna has concluded to go back to her—and Mexico welcomes the wily old revolutionist with for giving grace! Three snakes were caught sucking a cow at St. Martin’s, N. 8., a few days ago, and two of them were killed. They were a yard long, and in the stomach of each was found a pint of milk. The daughter of Gen. Sherman re ceived among other bridal presents, twenty three dozen silver spoons. The Richmond Dispatch now knows why Ben Butler was not invited to the wedding. An old soldier in Sicily gave his wife a silk dress. His wife died and was buried in the dress. Some weeks after the old soldier saw this dress on a woman in the country, and, making inquiry, was told that she had pur chased it from the Capuchin monks, who had the custody of the village cemetery. He re ported the case to the police, who investigated and made the discovery that a regular trade was carried on in effects taken from dead bodies. There was even a trade in hair. CRAWFORD, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 20, .1874. EMERALDS. One wintry afternoon in January, up in the black attic of a wretched tene ment house, a pale, sad-eved woman sat sewing. The garment upon which she was engaged was very rich and costly, being a handsome party dress. The twi light closed in rapidly, with a blinding fall of snow, and a bitter, wailing blast, that made the windows rattle in the casements. Still the sad-faced woman on. “ Mother,” piped a slender voice be neath the window, “ shall you get the fine dress done ? O mother, I’m hungry; if I could only haveUome Tea and a bit of sausage.” The mother worked steadily on for a few minutes, pausing only to brush a tear from her white cheek and then she rose and shook out the glittering robe. “ ’ Tis done at last," she said ; “ now mother’s poor little girl can have some supper. Only be patient a little longer, Flora. Ross, Ross, where are you, boy ?’’ A manly little fellow came out from the bed room beyond. “ The fine dress is done, Ross," said his mother, “ and you must run home with it as fast as you can. Miss Garcia will be out of patience, I know. Tell her I could not finish it one moment sooner, and ask her to give you the money. We must have it to-night. And you can step in at Mr. Ray’s as you come back and buy some coal, and we must have some bread and tea, and a mite of butter, and you must get a sausage, Ross, for poor little Flora.” “I’ll get ’em all, mother," he said, and be back in no time. You shall have a big sausage, little sis,” he added, turn ing toward the cot. The little girl nodded her curly head, and her great, wistful eyes sparkled with delight. “And you shall have half of it, Ross," she piped in her slender bird-voice. “ Hadn’t you better put on your thick jacket, my bov?" continued his mother; “ the wind cuts like a knife." “ Pshaw, little mother! I don’t mind the wind." And away he fvent down the creaking flight of stairs and out into the storm. In her splendid mansion on Fifth Av enue, Miss . Garcia Fontenay was in a perfect furore of impatience and anger. Her dear five hundred friends were as sembling in the halls below, and her handsome dress had What did that beggar woman mean by disappointing her? At that moment there was a ring at the door and a voice in the hall. “ Please tell Miss Garcia my mother could not finish it sooner, and she wants the money to-night." The servant took up the handsome dress and message. “ I’ll never give her another stich of work," cried the angry beauty. “ I ought to have had it three hours ago. Hence, Fanchon, come and dress me at once, there is not a moment to lose ! No, I can’t pay to-night, I haven’t time. He must call to-morrow." “ But we’ve no fire and nothing to eat, and my little sister is sick,” called tlie boy, pushing up the grand stairway. “ Shut the door, Fanchon !” command ed Miss Garcia. And the door was closed in his face. From her perch at the parlor window little Pansie watched the whole scene, her violet eyes distended with childish amazement. “ Poor little boy,” she said, as Ross disappeared down the stairway, “ sister Garcia ought to pay him. It must be dreadful to have no fire and nothing to eat.” She stood for a moment balancing her self on the tip of one dainty foot, her rosebud face grave and attractive ; then a sudden thought flooded her blue eyes with sunshine, and snatching something upon the table, she darted down stairs. The servant had just closed the street door, but she fluttered past him like a humming-bird and opened it. On the steps sat Ross, brave little fellow that he was, his face in his hands, sobbing as if his heart would break. “ What is the matter, little boy?” questioned Pansie. Ross looked up, half believing that the face of an angel was looking down upon him through the whirling snow-flakes. “ Oh, I can’t go home without the money,” he sobbed; “ poor mother work ed so hard, and little Flora is so sick and hungry.” Pansie's eyes glittered like stars. “ Here,” she said, “do you take this, little boy, and buy her lots o’ nice things. ’Tis worth a great deal; papa bought it for my birth-day present, but do you take it and welcome.” She extended her dimpled hands and something like a show er of falling stars tinkled to the boy’s feet. He caught it in amaze —-a necklace of emeralds, illus- trous, gleaming things, set in tawny In dian gold. “ No, no!’’ he cried, running up to where she stood; I can’t take this, take it back.” “ You shall take it!" she commanded imperiously. “ I’ve lots o’ jewels and fine things—run home, now, and buy your sister something to eat." She closed the door with a bang, and stood irresolute in the stormy gloom. Should he ring the bell and return the jewels to Pansie’s father, or should he do as she had bid him ? He thought of his mother and little Flora watching wist fully f<?r his return. He could not go back and see them starve. With a sud den feeling of desperation, he thrust the glittering necklace in his bosom and dashed rapidly down the snowy street. “ Would you like to buy this, sir ?” There was a tremor in the boy’s voice as he asked the question, and the hand that held up the necklace shook visibly. The lapidary took the gems, examined them closely for a moment, and then shot a sharp glance it the child. “ See here, sir,” he said presently, his voice stern and commanding, “ I want to know how you came by this ?” The boy’s clear eyes fell, he blushed and stammered evidently embarrassed. The jeweller put aside the emeralds, and taking the lad’s arm, led him into a small ante-room, “You are a thief!" he said. “That necklace belongs to Mr. Fontenay ; he bought it from me not one month ago. You stole it. You are a thief.” The little fellow straightened himself, and his brown eyes blazed. “I am not a thief, sir," he retorted. “ I didn’t steal that necklace—a kind little girl gave it to me, and I know that it was wrong for me to take it, but—my mother and sister were starving.’ 7 The jeweller hesitated. “ You don’t look like a thief, sir," he said, “ but I will send for Mr. Fontenay, ana will settle the matter at once.” He dispatched a messenger according ly, and Ross sat down in a corner and sobbed bitterly, as he heard the driving winds and thought of his mother and poor hungry little Flora. In half an hour Mr. Fontenay came, bringing his daughter, little Pansie, with him. The little creature darted iu like a humming bird, her cheeks ablaze, her blue eyes flashing lightning. “He didn’t steal my emeralds," she cried, “ I gave ’em to him to sell ’em and buy bread for his little sister.” Ross rose to his feet, struggling hard to keep back his tears. He put out his little brown land, which Pansie instantly clasped in both her chubby palms. “ I am noi a thief, sir," he said at last, addressing Mr. Fontenay, “ I never stole anything in my life. I know it was wrong to take the necklace. But—but, sir, my little sister is sick and she is starving.” The merchant drew his hands across his eyes. “ You’re a manly little fellow," he said, patting the lad’s head, “ and I do not in the least blame you, hut we will give you something more available. Here, Pansie, give this to your little friend.” He put a gold piece in Pansie’s hand, which she handed to Ross, with the in struction that he should run straight home, and buy lots o’ goodies for his sister—a command he was not slow to obey. “ I think we’ll not lose sight of the little fellow,’-’ continued Mr. Fontenay, as Ross disappeared in the stormy dark ness, “ shall we, pet? Let’s see what w 5 can do to help him. He’s a promising lad and an honest one, I’m sure. Mr. Lennox, you’re in need of an errand boy, why not try him? I wish you would." The jeweller consented, to Pansie’s great delight, and on the following day Ross was duly established as errand boy in the fashionable establishment. * * * * * * Fifteen years after, one blustering March morning, a young man sat behind the counter of a thriving Jewelry estab lishment in one of our Northern cities. He was a handsome man, a scholar, and a traveler, a man of taste, intellect, and money, for he was junior partner in the firm, which was a prosperous one. But despite all this good fortune Ross Dun bar was not happy. His mother and lit tle Flora had gone to their long home, and he was utterly without kith or kin in the wide world. Sitting alone that morning, with the roar of the March winds in his ears, his thoughts went back to the days of his boyhood—to his mother’s humble home. How r vivid the past seemed, and how dear and sacred despite its privations and sorrows. His eyes grew dim and his heart swelled. All were gone over the wide waters of time and change. A tender smile softened his sad face as he recalled the stormy night when he sat sobbing on the steps of Mr. Fonte nay’s mansion, and little Pansie taking pity on him dropped her string of emer alds. Darling little Pansie, the remem berance of her sweet face, as he saw it through the snow wreaths that night, haunted him constantly. In all these fifteen years never fora moment had he forgotten her. But she was gone; lost to him forever. His reverie was broken by the entrance of a customer, a lady closely cloaked and veiled. She approached the counter with a jewel case in her hand. “ Would you buy these sir?" she asked simply in a clear, sweet voice that stirred the young man’s heart, as no other wo man’s voice had pow er to do. He took the casket and unlocked it, and spread out its contents. A watch, exquisite and costly, a diamond ring, one or two rubies, and an emerald necklace. Ross Dunbar barely suppressed a cry of surprise as his eyes fell upon it. He turned it over with eager, trembling fin gers, and there on the tawny clasp was the name that had lived in his heart for so many years, “ Little Pansie.” “ You wish to sell them all ?” he asked, striving to steady his voice, and the wild throbbing of his heart. The lady hesitated an instant, then she put out a slender hand and drew the emeralds toward her. “ I dislike to part with this,” she said, “it was my father’s gift—and—and—but no matter, take them all, I must have the money. In her eagerness she had drawn aside her veil, revealing a lilly face, lit by a pair of lustrous sapphire eyes. Ross Dunbar stood silent a moment, every nerve in his manly face thrilling with supreme delight. He had found her at last—the one idol of his heart. “ They are fine gems,” he said, after a moment, “ and I am'willing to give you a fair price—suppose we say SI,OOO, will that do ?’’ The girl glanced with a flash of glad surprise from beneath her heavy veil. “So much as that, she said, traum lously. “ You are very kind, sir. you cannot know how much this money will help me." The young man made a potite reply, and proceeded to put aside the jewels and to draw up a check for the money. The March winds were still blustering without, and the girl shivered and drew her wrapper closer as she started out. “ Won’t you let me iun down to the hank for you," said the jeweler, catching up his hat. “You can play shop lady the while, it won’t be but a minute or two.” “ But I’m troubling you so, ’’ she fal tered. “Not a bit, just take this warm seat, please, you’ll not be likely to have any customers,” and seaU ng her beside his desk, he took the ch#ck and hurried out. . Pansie Fontenay threw back her veil, and leaned her head upon her hand,with a puzzled, reflected look upon her sweet sad face. “Where have I seen his face?" she asked herself over and over again. ‘ ‘lt is so familiar; who can it be?" His return broke upon her meditation, and receiving her money, she hurried away to her humble lodgings. The following afternoon was even more blustering and stormy; the wind and the sleet beat tinkled against tl'.S windows of the little room in which Pansie and her father sat. Severe mis fortunes had reduced them to poverty,and the old man being an invalid, all the care fell upon Pansie’s slender shoulders. She sat busy with her sewing, while her fath er read aloud from anew book, which she had bought for him with some of the money received for her jewels. Her sweet face was wan and sad, and the fu ture stretched before her hopeless and gloomy in all its aspects. There was a ring at the door, the ser vant brought up a package for Miss Fon tenay. An exquisite bunch of pansies, fragrant and golden-hearted, done up in a tissue paper, and attached to them a card bearing the simple words, “ Ross Dunbar bus not forgotten little Pansie.” Pansie sat amazed for a moment, and then a rich bloom drifted up to her white cheeks. “O, father !” she cried, “I know him— I know him. O, we have found Ross at last.” An instant later Ross was in the room, clasping her fluttering hand in his, and looking into her blue eyes with a glance that brought rosy blushes to her face. And a few weeks later, when the blustering winds were over, and the blue birds sang in the hedges, and the golden hearted pansies bloom.ed on the garden borders, little Pansie became RossJMM bar's bride, and for gave her back h VOL. I--NO. 7. Thirty Tears in & Cave. In the wilderness eight miles north west of Dinghartl's Ferry, Pike county, Pa., underneath a huge rock in a small cave, six by eight feet, has lived for up wards of thirty years a human being named Austin Sheldon. He Was born in Wales, and emigrated to this country in 1840. When he landed in New York, he had a small sum of money, with which he came afoot to Pike county and purchased a single acre of wild, unculti vated scrub oak land, situated in Lah- amid a dense and dismal forest, several miles from any habitation. At the western end of this small strip of land is a small cave, in which,[without any alterations or improvements, this hermit has lor thirty years made his home. The hermit is nearly seventy years of age. His face lias not been shaven for forty years. The sides of his face, and chin and neck, are covered with coarse gray hair, while his beard is several feet in length, and white as snow. He wears the same suit of clothes he wore twenty years ago, which are so badly rent, as to render it necessary to fasten them together by means of twisted hick ory wit hes. He "never works, and unless obliged to go to the neareststore for am munition, never loses sight of his cave. His mode of living is peculiar. His diet consists principally of. berries and fruit during thejr season, while in the winter he subsists on various kinds of wild game. His education was not neg lected during his boyhood, for he is well read and remarkably intelligent. He is a firm believer in religion, and devotes most of his time to reading the Bible and other sacred works. He is deaf and has been so for several years, rendering it necessary to communicate with him by means of writing. He has the faculty of charming birds, many of which he has secured in this way and reared. He has never used a lamp nor candle in his cave. His bed is composed of straw scattered upon a solid rock. Shel don enjoys his peculiar mode of living, and says he expects to make this cave his final resting place. Peck’s Buies and Begulations. Upon entering this office you are par ticularly requested not to use the door mat, as we wish to accumulate soil in side fora potato crop. jp Please leave the door Wide open, or, should you forget yourself and close it, slam it like thunder/ (Winter arrange ment.) y It the propi'etor is engaged in con versation ar;d it is your turn next, please lean Ytt'ir chair against the wall and whistle, sing.* Never neglect an opportunity to im prove your mind. If we are temporarily absent sit on the desk, pick your teeth with the gold pen and read the letters. More may be found in the right hand drawer. Smoking is particularly agreeable. If you are out of poor cigars w r e will lend you a pipe. If you see any spittoons please expec torate on the floor, as the former are on ly for ornament. Our office hours for listening to so licitors of church subscriptions are from eleven to one, or book agents one to three, advertising men all day. We at tend to our own business at night. We need about $1,000,000 more of life insurance. If you are acquainted with any agent pleasesend him in ; he hasn’t been here since yesterday. Don’t hesitate to ask for a loan, the larger the better; but talk about some thing else half an hour beforehand— time isn’t worth a cent a year to us. Persons having no especial business with us will please call as often as their health will permit, or send a doctor’s certificate in case of absence. Parties leaving date calendars will oblige us by placing them wr the present in the basket under the desk, or until we can get a room with more commodious walls. But collectors will hang statements on tho file and call on Saturday at 4 a. m. This store closes at 3* p. m. on Satur days.—St. Jjouix Republican. The Mount of Olives.—The Mount of Olives has changed hands. The Countess de la Tour d’Auvergne, who liver at Jerusalem, has bought and handed it over to the French Govern ment. She is now erected a convent on the spot where our Savious prayed. The prayer is inscribed on the stone wall around the court yard, in thirty-two languages. Thr countess is a lady of immense wealth, and is as queer as she She lives in an old cottage ■ Hfttal style, with only a tortoise'