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VOL. IV.—NO. 12.
THE JOURNAL
BY LAHATTE ft GRAWBERUY.
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Business Onrcis
TDr. T- j_j- Jenfclns,
TIST,
’'llglgr
HAMILTON, GA.
~J. M. M O I) L EY,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
HAMILTON ; GA.
Will rrwitlmie to prnctice law in all the
Htt© nd United State? Court?.
Thus. ft. MITCHELL, ML I).,
Rrsitlrnl Physician and Snrjcnn,
HAMILTON GEORGIA
Special a'lention £>vsn to operative surgery
X*f~ Terms Cash -s®.
CHA TTAIK)OGHEE IIOUSE. ~
By J. T. HIGGINBOTHEM.
WEST POINT, GA
" ALOMZO a7dozTeU,
Attorney and Counselor at Law,
COLUMBUS, GA.
Practice* in State and Federal Courts in
ieoigia and Alabama. Makes Commercial
law a specialty Office over C. A. ReM &
Co’s s'ore, Columbus, Ga. dec4-ly
Hines Doaior,
ATTORNEY-AT LAW,
HAMILTON, GEORGIA
Will practice in the Chattahcochee Circuit,
•r anywhere el*e. Office in the Northwest
corner of the Court-house, up-rt iir*. janß
Columbus Dental Rooms,
W. T. POOL, Proprietor,
Cfor:'a feme Rtildinr, rolumbtn, Ga
CENTRAL HOTEL,
Columbus, Ga.
Mrs. S. E. Woldridge, Prop's*,
ft. 1. Harvey, Clerk.
H. A. RUSSELL. C. R. HUSBEELL
RUSSELL & RUSSELL.
Attorneys at Lav,
COLUMBUS, GA.
Will practice in the State and Federal
Oor.rt“.
*Sr-Offi' C ori-r Ac'-e & Murdock's stoic.
103 Broad S:rect, Columbus. Ga.
RANKIN HOUSE
COLUMBUS, GA
Mrs. F. M. G IVY, IV rprietr&M
J. A. '"jcve 7*. C ork.
MILTON SB! JOURNAL.
GOING AFTER THE COWS.
They waited tluro by the pasture bars—
Dapple ur-d Dolly, and Dun,
Sol slip the bars in the well-worn pouts,
And drop them one by one;
But I do not go, as I always go,
To see the milking done.
I lean ray check on the past re bar*,
And walch the stars come out;
Ferhaps they will miss me, up at the house,
And wonder what I am about;
But I’ve something to think of here to-night
While I watch the stars come out.
L'st night when I came for the beautieß,
Willie was walking with me,
Aud he asked me if I thought ever
A farmer’s wife 1 could be ;
For I am a city girl, you know,
Aud a farmci’s son is he.
Willie weirs home-spun trowsers,
And such a coarse straw hat!
But the face that locks from under the rim,
Is handsome and brave, for all that ;
Aud iiia eyes, they look at me so queer
That my heart goes pit-a pat..
Every night, when the work is done,
We sit in the t gray—
Willie and I, in the ivied porch,
Ann sing the hours away ;
I think it’s better than opera,
Or theatre, any day.
He said last night that the summer
Is brighter because I am bore,
That his work was never so easy
As it is when I nui neir
And he said—but there, 1 won’t tell.
Such words are too sacred aud dear.
How pure is the breath of the clover,
That comes from the meadows mown !
How holy tne sky above me.
With the twinkling lights full sown I
No wonder that Willie is better
Than men who live in town.
So I ihiuk I will stay in the comit-y,
With Dolly, and Dr.pple, and Dim ;
Perhaps in the far, sweet summers,
They would know should I fail to come,
In tiie dewy eve, to the pasture bars,
To drop tln-m one by one.
WINE’S WORK;
-0R-
What Caine of a Broken Promise.
‘Promise m*, Charlie!’
She was leaning pin;, fully over the
back of his chair, looking down into
his face. By ‘site’ I mean Mrs. Gale,
titid ‘Charlie’ was her hu bind. Me
had *c-ttied himself for n quiet after
dinner cigar. But Mrs. Gale hn
mischievously snatched it from his
hand, threatening to withhold it un
til he made her the desired promise.
And now she laid one hand caress
ingly on his forehead, and stealing
the other under his chin, she looked
archly yet half earnestly down into
the dark deep of his eyes, as she re
peated: ‘Promise me, Charlie. Now
do; that’s a dear ! ’
‘Nonsense, Virginia I’ And he
tried to put away her hand.
‘Oh, Charlie!’ reproachfully.
‘Pshaw, do let me go. You’ll
choke me,’ he said, half impatiently.
‘And so I will,’ she said merrily,
‘if you don’t promise me, this very
minute, not to drink anything strong
er than puro cold water at Uncle Lo
gan’s party tonight.’
‘Yes, yes, yes! There, now, I
hope I’ve promised often enough to
satisfy you.’ •
‘On your honor ? ’
‘Certainly. Yes of course ! ’
‘Oh, sir, I thought I could bring
you to terms. Recollect you have
said on your honor.’
And then, while her face grew
earnest in its pleasing expression, she
added: ‘Oh, Charlie, you do not
know how anxious I have felt about
this party ever since wo decided to
go. They always have such a gay
time at Uncle Logan’s. And you
know, dear, though you would not do
a wrong thing yourself, how easy it
is for your companions to make you
go too far, because you are a dear
good nalured fellow. But now that
you have promised me, I feel quite
easy. And, dear, don’t forget when
the young men begin to get too gay,
come up stairs to me and baby.’
And he promised.
Going out to an evening party t
Uncle Logan’s was no small affair,
considering that it was a good five
mile ride from Glendale, out into the
country, over rough roads with Ma
ple river—swollen by recent rains—
to be crossed. For this was in a re
mote and secluded part distant from
any railroad, and with no t >wn near
where a vehicle might he obtained.
Besides, Virginia Gale was a first
rate horsewoman, and feared nothing
on her own account. That she was
thus rather rash and foolhardy, will
appear from the fact that, she had rc
HAMILTON, HARRIS CO.', GA„ WEDNESDAY, APRIL 5, 1876.
| solved to enentnber herself with a
j burden, though of a very interesting
kind.
Lights were glimmering from the
windows rs they rode up to Uncle
Logan’s gate; nnd the number of
horses and vehicles already co. gre
gited around it showed that the in
vited guests of the Christmas ovo
party were already beginning to
drop iu. Aunt Lizzie came out to the
door to meet them, and took the
sleeping babe from Virgie’s poor,
tired arras.
‘ Remember, Charlie I ’ she said im
ploringly laying her hand upon his
shoulder as they were on the point
of separating—she, for Aunt Lizzie’s
comfortable room above
for the society of his boon compan
ions.
‘Never fear me I’ And he went
gai y away,
‘Alas ! f m the promise made to the
fond, crediting wife, sitting up stairs
in the quiet, matronly circle, wi ll her
babe on her knee. In less than hu’f
an hour Chillies Gale had forgotten
his promise, wife, child, everything;
and again nnd again his glass was
filled, and his voice raised in riotous
chorus with the loudest.
The night waned, the guests began
to disperse. Virgie sat in the dress
ing-room nil ready for the ride hold
ing in her,lap what seemed to be a
huge bundle of shawls, but which
was in reality lii tie Charlie, who lay
curled in his warm nest fast asleep
with one little fat thumb in his mouth.
‘ 1 wonder what makcß Charlie so
late,’ she said, at last, impatiently.
‘Aunt Lizzie will you please send
for him, and say I’m waiting?’
He came at length. But the first
words he spoke told her all. She
knew at once he way intoxicated,
though toothers only a very slight
excitement was all that appeared un
usual about him.
Oh! the shame! She hardly dared
speak lo him. All her thoughts were
to get him away before he betrayed
his condition to other eyes.
“Give me the child," he said.
And as she did so, she felt thet his ;
arm was unsteady.
“Oh! I dare not trust the baby !
with him,’’ was her thought, but she
was silent.
She could not bear that, tho-e
around should know tbo mortifying
truth.
“Ido wi-h yon wou'd stay all
night Virgie,” spoke Aunt Lizzie, re
newing her entreaties. “Itis so late
and then it is growing colder,’’
Virgie thought of the dreary five
miles’ ride with a drunken hnsbtnd
—and then the river! She had before
refused to stay, but now she thought
better of it.
“What do von think of it Charles?
Hadn’t we better slay?” she asked
persuasively.
But liquor had made him sullen.
“No, we must go home,” he said
surlily.
She knew it would avail nothing
to argue the matter with him’ but on
ly lead to a painful exposure, so she
commenced paying her adieu*.
By dint of gentle coaxing she in
duced him to give the babe to her
before they started.
As they road away, Uncle Logan
shouted out to them.
“ Look out for the river ! ”
Virgie’s heart was too heavy for a
reply; but Charles shouted back with
inaudling cheerfulness :
“All right!’’
As they rode on she saw that bo
was sinking into a drunken stupor.
Oh, if they were only safe at home
how glad she would be. And then
she thonght of tho river to be forded;
and every breath was a prayer. She
dtUrznin and not to let him have the
child when they came to the crossing,
but to trust to her arm and courage
to carry the baby and hertself through.
She hoped he would not think to
ask her for the child, and was nerv
ing herself for a refusal in case be
should when they came in sight of
the water.
The moon shown down making it
ns bright as day. Virgie thanked
Heaven for that! But she shuddered
as the sweep of the water fell on her
ear; and she saw it foaming white in
the moonlight, as it swept on in a
strong current.
Charley roused himself.
“Where’s the boy?” he asked.
“Never mind dear! ho is asleep,
and I don’t like to disturb him, I
can carry him over. I’m strong
enough for it.”
“What i.- the woman ihiukj ig r f ?
You carry him over indeed! Give
him to mo,”
“But Charles you are not in a con
dition to hold him. I shall be thank
ful if you can guide your horse over
safely as you are.”
“I Ta! W hat do you mean by that?’’
She made him no answer.
•‘Do you take me for a fool?" he
said roughly and angrily.
“Now Charles don’t do so! You
know your arm is very unsteady,
just at this time. It is indeed!”
“Ah! I understand you now. So
madam, you think I am drunk?
Again she was silent.
“Give me the child!’’ he fiercely
said
“Oh, Charles ! For God’s sake
“Give him to me, do you think to
bravo me so? Give him hero this
minute.”
Resistance, she knew, was useless.
It would only infuriate him, and
what will not a drunken man do?
Uncovering the little sleeping face
she kissed it once—then drawing the
the thick shawl which enveloped the
little figure, she covered the face
again and gave it into her husband’s
a< ms.
“ Charles ! for the sake of heaven
be careful.”
“ Don’t be a fool!”
So they plunged in, and she did
not take her eyes from the other two
until they had nearly reached the
opposite bank. Then her horse step
lied on a stone, aud slipping, nearly
precipitated her into the water.
When her attention was again free,
they had reached the opposite bank.
“There he is!” said Charles, tri
umphantly, as he placed the bundle
iu her arms. “ What a simpleton
you w ere to think I could not bring
the bundle over safely.
How very light it was! Good
heavens 1 She moves it about in her
arms, pressed it closer and tlieu ut
tered an awful shriek.
“My child ! My )i tie child 1 My
Charlie! O'), my child !’
Both turned simultaneously back
to the water. The quick eya of the
mother was just in time to catch one
last bright glimpse of a little rosy,
pitiful upturned face—and then it dis
appeared down the ouennt and the
rapid waters flowed on.
In his drunken unconsciousness
Charles had let the sleeping infant
slide out of the shawl, and nothing
could lie heard above the noise of
the waters. He did not know it un
til the mother screamed.
There was no help. Oh I it was
pitiful, heartbreaking! Poor young
mother.
* * • * * *
The home of the Gales is very still
now. Virgin’s pale face seems paler
yet, from contrast with her black
dress. The cradle looks so desolate,
standing always back in one corner
of the nu-ery. She never passes it
without having her heart wrung
anew ; ami she will sit for hours,
folding and unfolding the little
clothes and her hands linger lovingly
around them. There is a pair of tiny
worn shoes in the drawer of her
work table, and a lock of fair uoft
baby hair in the great Bible.
Let us hope that Charles Gales is
a better man.
A Boy’s Experience at Cat Tam
ing.
A respectable working woman was
returning home one afiernoon, ssys
a French Journal, when a very little
child, apparently a prey in the wild
est terror, clenched her gowD, cry
ing, “Take me away, take me away 1”
Looking at the little fellow more
closely, she perceived that lie was
covered with deep scratches. *|llow
did you get these?” she inquired.
“From the cats!’’ he exclaimed;
“the four cats!” It then appeared
that the child was being trained to
act the part of a dwarf in a miniature
circus, in which lie was to imitate
Bidel, tha lion-tamer, on a very small
scale, by exercising his sway over a
number of cats, stained to resemble
tigers. To this end the unhappy lit
tle fellow was daily shut up in a cage
supplied by the locksmith to his cruel
guardian, with four cats, whom he
was was directed to whip into sub
mission, but who, nfterthe manner of
their kiod when uqable to escape,
tore him to pieces between them.
The boy who presented bis father
wiih a Christmas cane now rubs Ids
back, and wonders that he didn’t
hart- fore-tbonght.
For the Joukkal.
Man’s Progress.
The poet has said that “ Order is
heaven’s first law,” nnd we would
concede tt# it the position it so
justly merits; yet we think if Heaven
might have two “first laws" one of
them would he the law of progression,
the law of ceaseless improvement
written on all her workings front the
dawning of creation’s first morn down
to the present time. Glance we
back to the primitive earth, “wheel
ing, unshaken,through the immensity
of space,’’ and behold it barely cov
ered with a sparse vegetation, desti
tute of beauty ; and see thereby the
law of Progression becoming moriv
and more perfect until it was account
ed a fit habitation for man.
Poets love to cherish the idea that
the vernal bloom of Paradise far ex
celled in beamy and attractiveness
any which man’s sinful eves have
since beheld; nnd they love to repeal
the thought that the flowers which
sparkled in the “dew dropped love
liness” of Eden’s fair morn, shone
with a resplendent beauty eclipsing
those charms which Flora’s a objects
now wear so regally; but those ideas
are not sustained by the observations
of the historian or the teachings of
science. Observe the great improve
ments that have been made in vege
tables, fruits, and flowers even within
the memory of some of us who do
not claim to bo “ the oldest inhabi
tant.” The large, luscious peach
that we esteem so great a luxu y, was
unknown to our forefathers ; but bad
its origin in a bitter, unpalatable fruit
found in Persia, and has bjen brought
to the perfection in which we enjoy
it by a system of culture, or by a
development of the laws of Progres
sion; nnd what is true of Paradise, is
equally true of all the other fruits
with which we regale our senses.
Compare the rose of the olden time
which was an insignificant object,
with five petals, almost void of at*
tractions, witli our magnificent rose,
“a thing of .beauty,” with her hun
dred petals—he sits upon her stem
wearing the crown ns queen of
fl owners.
But nowhere lias natu e written
more plainly the imprint of the ca
pabilities of Progression, than upon
her master-piece —man. Retrospect
the lessons of history, and learn what
progress man has made; see what
the human mind has accomplished
There was a time when the greater
portion of the human family was
such brutish heathens as now inhabit
southern Africa and the South Sea
Islands.
Let us in our imagination take a
tour through thoso ancient tribes,
and see their modes of life, their dis
gusting habits, their filthy abodes,
destitute of every comfort. Look at
their obscure amusements, witness
their fighting, cruelty, treachery and
assassinations, th<tn possibly we may
form an adequate idea of the progress
we have made. From the contem
plation of these revolting thoughts,
look upon the position man occupies
to-day. The rude uncleanly hut has
been exclffinged for a tasteful, sub
stantial building, furnished with lux
uries and comforts innumerable, bee
him as he grasps the lightning and
with skillful bauds trains it to do his
bidding ; see him riding the ocean
fearless of its surging roar, until he
has encircled the glob* with his nav
igation ; see him with bis telescopic
vision scanning the illimitable uni
verse, assigning to each planet its
position, its revolution, its seasons,
and calculating the pathway of the
planets with mathematical precision ;
see him perfect the art of printing
until every new thought lias power
to thrill all the reading world at
once; see him as by the application
of steam to labor-saving machinery,
he has multiplied the power of the hu
man race an hundred fold, and one
has said “released ” millions from the
tiiraildom of toil into the enfranchise
ment of intelligence.
Then axe we forced to admit that
this all-pervading principle of pro
gression finds its grand climax in,
man —and we exclaim, fjotn what
groveling depths to what lofty bights
has he arisen ! We are apprised of
the fact that some indolent croakers
advocate the idea that mankind is
degenerating, that the world is grow
ing worse, more wicked every day;
but where is their warrant for snub
assertions, Bad as the worltj is reoy,
it has been infinitely worse. Many
* arc the evi'ts and abates under
I # y
whioli wo groan, they sro greatly
ditninihing ootnpnred w ith those of
any former age, aud the men of the
19th century are wiser and happier
than any people who have ever lived.
Wiser becatiF* for knowledge they
can draw upon the experience and
wisdom of nil their predecessors;
happier because not only is their ca
pahilities for enjoyment augmented,
hut the means of administering to
their comfort nnd happiness is so
largely increased. If man’s intelli
gence, aided by the ever present in
spiration of Deity, his wrought out
tlyesc wonderful advancements—
v/ii&t may wc uot expect of tho future
/iewed from the vantage ground of
the present? If man's progress lias
ever been onward and upward during
the 6,000 years that ho has trod the
globe, is it reasonable to presume
that this law of his being should now
he suspended. Nol we exult in the
thou ;ht that man’s improvement his
not yet reached the maximum of its
attainments. We are still groping
about the dark base of the mountain,
while above and beyond us the low
ering heights gleam in the eternal
sunshine of perfect day. Every good
deed is a stepping-stone towards the
glittering peaks. Every noble aspi
ration, every honest purpose, every
faithful endeavor lifts us toward the
sublime goal.
Morgan F. Barns*.
For tl.e Jcunmt ]
Up bud Rice.
Mulberry Grove, Ga., )
March 25th, 1816. j
Ed. Journal: Having noticed
lately several articlus on the subject
of rice culture, and especially in your
last issue, that )ou seam to prize
very highly, on planting npland iu
rice, I have concluded to tell you
what I know about makiug rice, ns
tbo late Horace Gruely would say
about farming.
Well, sir, in the first place, I think
it useless in this section of country
to plant upland iu rice, where there
is so much creek aud branch land,
that is fit for nothing else. Ah, but
Borne will say it is not fit for that, but
I tell you it is, if managed as it should
be, provided it will get dry enough
by the first or even the middle of
May to walk upon. I care not how
stiff or how much bull rush there
may bo upon it, if it is rich, it will
make rice, and that abundantly, if
properly planted and cultivated. Of
course, a good, rich loam if inclined
to he damp, is preferable, hut I think
planting upland in rice is exceedingly
uncertain, where ,re so often suffer
for wap*, of rain, when rice most
needs it, anil many will agree with
me in this if they have use for their
upland for other purposes than that
of growing rice.
Well, someone will say, go on
and tell us about the swamps, as we
can’t raise any thing else on them;
that we have ever tried rice, but
could not get it to come up. Rtid
therefore have abandoned the swamp
Find entirely as good for nothing.
I pursued just that plan mysolf until
last year, when I adopted a different
one and am sure I made it quite profit
able, ahd what one has and. ne others
may do.
If my land is damp loam, not too
wet for a borse to walk through, I
mark my rows lightly with a plow
two feet apart, then drop from ten
to fifteen grains of rice about a foot
apart in the row, then cover lightly
with a hoe or foot: hut If the laud is
very stiff, and too wet to plow, [
mark the row with a hoe, and dig a
shallow hole, some distance above,
drop rice same way, and put a hand
ful of sand on each hill, enough to
hide the rice. After |hc rice come*
up and gets three or four inches high,
if the land is not too wet, plow light
ly, hoc or pull out the grass, and
continue to do so as occasion may
require. But if si iff bullrnsh laud,
ami quite wet, but little or no grass
will grow on it, and all that is neces
sary is to chop around the rice, and
keap the builrush cut down.
The directions given in your last
paper for harvesting, cleaning, etc.,
sro all right except the time tor cut
ting, which should not be done be
fore the rice is fhHy matured, as
green rice will not clean well, that is,
ii breaks up too badly, and besides
it still retains its green color when
cooked.
I have already made this ooinmn
nictuioti too long, and tl'.t-reiore beg
pardon by sajing that I do not in
tend harm, tup. simply wish the good
Uf the country by bringing into oubi
vutiou ihe rich c aste land. I must
say one fihiug more that I know
qb'otit ripe, ami that is this: I would
r-i her have the straw after being
thrashed, than to have wheat or oats
bclpte :to aiming.
J <L VT. Bigsius.
$2.00 A YEAR
Mow She Caught Him.
A gentleman of an autobiographic
al turn relates how be was instructed
in the cnstoin of taking toll by s
sprightly widow, dnring a moonlight
sleigh ride with a merry party. Ha
says:
The lovely widow L. sat la tha
same sleigh, and under the same
robe with me.
“Oh! oh I donTl don’ll ” she ez
claimed as wo came to the first bridge,
at the same time catching me by the
arm and turning her veiled face to
ward me, while her little *ye twink
led through the moonlight.
“Don’t what?” I asked. “I’m
not doing anything.”
“Well, but I thought yon wore go
ing to take toll,” replied the widow.
“Toll! ’’ I rejoined. “Whut’s that?”
“Well, I declare?" cried the
widow, her clear laugh ringing out
above the music of the bells “you
protend you don’t know what toll is?”
“Indeed I don’t then,” I said,
laughing, “explain, if yon please.”
“Yon never heard, then,” said tho
widow, most provokingly, “you nev
er heard that when we are on a
sleigh-ride the gentleman always—
that is, sometime*—when they cross
a bridge, olattn a ki, and calls it toll?
But I nevor pay it I ’*
I said that I never heard of it be
fore; but when we came to the next
bridge I claimed the 1011, the widow’a
straggles to hold the veil over her
face were not enough to tear it. At
last the veil was removed, her round
rosy face was turning directly to
wards mine, and in the dear light of
a frosty moon toll was taken, for tho
first time in my experience. Soon
we came to a long .bridge, with sev
eral nrches; the said it was no use to
resist a man who would hare his own
way, so she paid the toll without a
mariner,
“But you won’t take toll for every
arch, will yon ?’’ she said, so archly
that I could not fail to exact all my
due*, nnd that was the beginning o t
my courtship..
A Strange Truth.
The other day when a prominent
dry goods house in this city seemed
to be alive with lady customers,*
journalists said to the proprietor :
" You are having a big afternoon's
trade.”
“ Bah I’’ replied the merchant.
“ There’s fifty ladies in here,’’ said
the journalist, as he looked around.
“And that signifies nothing," re
plied the merchant. “ See thoee two
over there. They have Keen here
half an hour, looked at twenty differ
ent articles, nnd are now going away
without making a purchase. Fifty
ladies iu a dry goods store may mean
tIO, $25, or S6O, but hardly ever
more. One buys a spool of thread,
another a bit of ribbon, a third a
pair of gloves, and the cash aggre
gate is nothing.”
“ Who are yonr hest customersf”
asked the journalist.
“ Farmer people, old Isdiea and
men. Farmers hardly ever buy less
than $25 worth at a time, and old
ladies want good aolid goods and
don’t waste much time in purchasing
Let a man come in hare for goods,
and w* will sell him fifty dollar*
worth and have him oat of the store
in fifteen minutes. When he seee
what he wants he orders it cut off,
pays his cash and away he goes.”
“Then the hundreds of ladies who
who *go shopping* are not good cus
tomer*?”
“Sometime*. They buy umm*r
and winter clothing in season, but
never until they have gone the
ronuda and called here from two to
four times. li>* what you might call
‘between the seasons’ now. On
fine day ladies will walk or ride a
mile to reach the store, stay here an
hour, buy a paper ot pin*, and go
home- Tney come out to eee and bo
seen, to meet and gosaip, and hava
no idea of trading. If the man of
>he bou-e had the buying six clerks
would be enough for any store in
Detroit. I now keep thirty, and tho
lime of twenty at least i* wasted in,
throwing down and putting tipgood*..
A* the journalist went out a clerk
handed a lady a tiny package—two
or three ypi ds of ribbon. She laid it
on the county, gnyo him a slurp
sr.d said : - j
“ Send that tqmy carriage sir fv,
Exchtyiye.
Whep did Abraham sleep five in a fa!
iH-d ? When lie with his fore- r
twiners.