The Weekly Sumter republican. (Americus, Ga.) 18??-1889, July 14, 1871, Image 1

Previous Issue Next Issue

Clip Visible Area View Page Text View PDF

Newspaper Page Textm THE WEEKLY SUMTER REPUBLICAN. PUBLISHED BY ^COCK, GRAHAM & REILLY. Volume 18. i D3VOTSD TO NEWS, POLITICS AND SENSUAL PROGRESS—INDEPENDENT IN ALL THINGS TERMS: Tl\ree Dollars a Year, PATABL* Df ADVANCE, AMERICUS, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, JULY 14.1871. Number 21. Sl'HTKK REPUBLICAN. ,;MS OF SUBSCRIPTION : atments ALWAYS TO BE MADE >etry . insertion tl 00 insertion,.. of Minion type, solid, consta nt* not contracted Jot will be . not specifying the length of uti* to occupy fixed ]>!»< cent. alKive regular rate •cal column insertod f< i will be twenty Professional Cards. HAWKINS & BURKE. uoya at Xj aw, Jno. D. CARTER, ivRSKY AT h£W % America*, Georgia. Imcrica* Hotel building, comer of '.YlVllrite hlreete. may 18 tf. c. T. GOODE, Utorney at Law AMERICUS, GEORGIA. 1.-, owrW. T. Davenport’s Drugstore. JACK brown. lornoy nt La w , americus, ga. inC**nrt H«m-o with Judge Stan- ftbl6 tf. N. A. SMITH, ornoy at Xj a w, ; L.n*t t'oiuilies, and in Circuit Court of ra,v,.aCo!l«Ke streii, next to Ilcpubli- feb 2a tf. J, A. ANSLEY, TO^NEY AT LAW, :e in all Courts in South Western also in the Supreme Court of June 1G tf. .WKINS & GUERRy! Atlorneys-at-Law, r Gran berry A Co's. Phillip p Cook, lorijey at Law, AMERICUS. GEORGIA. Counties of Macon, . , , r, Schley and Dooly. 1 tr Supreme Court of Georgia Ibaum's Buiiding Next jan 3 6m* h-r.-nnhOftio W. T. WEAVER, a«r AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW, Americas, Georgia. op atairs in building opposite Har- ’“rinun A t •• a \\arehousc, room ad- ^hopTance Hall. all business en- 1 WILLIAM A. GREENE, AMKB1CUS, GEORGIA Li to serre his friends of Americus mdiug country in all the depart- ftllfll8| 0P. aprlG-1 H G. F. COOPER. jk J. B. HINKLE aervioea (in all the • l " : i >rof * ; * u,ion ) to the R°°d i ~ 111,1 Sumter counts, and eo- 01 'he liberal patronage Pj Pcd»l»ti4|, J U1 * ,I1 Y llla - j iLeprug Htoro o? Dr. E. J. i i 6c * * n 11,0 1,0111,0 Vnown ae *>«arly opposite A. A. Adams. ;—- june 8tf ! £ DICAL CARD. K. smith woo d inform hie *t,4j*| lKl ‘I* 1 ? public generally, that he B. HAWKINS. E *t Dr. Eldridge’a Drug Store. ►rlY'Tf' ^ 1C Methodist Church. L,i; * RWU u,n<ler the good people of : fcif countr y generally. ’ D ’ P- HOLLOWAY 5ENTIST. GEORGIA. ^ r * - ^ A. Wright’s Millinery ^Laughlin & Burt, S GEORGIA. OTer C. W. Felder T ’ t r , e ’ F\lrona B e solicited. Price* ^^ iuni.CAHK. ay 5 3m lm* BROWN house; I '* EK, ‘8er Depot, M»coa, Ga., ".J’.BROTTN & CO, Proprietors. Come to Me in beautiful Dreams. Come in beantifnl dreams, lore— Oh come to me oft; When the light wings of sleep, On my bosom lie soft. OU come when the sea In the moon’s gentle light Beats soft on the air. Like the pulse of the night; When the sky and the wave Wear their softest blue ; When tlie dew’s on the flower, And the stars on the dew. Come in beautiful dreams, love ; Oh ; come and we’ll stray Where the whole year is crowned With the blossoms of May ; Where each sound is os sweet As the coo of a dove. And the gales are as »oft As the breathings of love, Where the beams kiRs the wares, And the waves kiss the beach, And our warm lips may catch The sweet lesson they teach. Uome in beautiful dreams, love ; Oh ! come and we’ll fly^ f Like two winged spirits Of love through the sky. With hand clasped in hand On our dream-wings we’ll go Where the starlight and moonlight Are blending their glow ; And we’ll linger on bright clouds— Of purple and gold, Till the angels shall envy Tho bliss they behold. THE LONE HEART. BX HELEN HERBERT. Clouds hang heavy o’er my pathway, Life seems dark and desolate ; But a voice is softly whispering— ‘ ’Patience, loved one, watch and wait For the coming day.” Memories sweet, of joys departed. Happy days forever past; Years of blissful dreams and gladness, All too beautiful to last. Tluoug my brain to night Slowly fading, lingering, dying, Like the leaf he passed away ; Heediug not my tears of anguish, Heaven has claimed its own to-day, And atone. I weep. Blighted hopes, and crushing sorrow Weigh my spirit down with grief; But a gentle, loving presence Calms, and soothes, aud gives relief To my troubled heart Yes ! he still is lingering near me, Loving, faithful, fond and true ; And his whispering voice of counsel, Bids me walk with courage new, The narrow way to Heaven. Life may yet be full of meaning, Though its bouyant hopes have fled, j °f Bia death. And its brightest buds of promise All are fading with the dead, Mouldering ’neath the sod. Yes ! I know that heaven will help me Patiently to watch and wait; Till the Angles come to bear mo Upward, through its pearly gate, Into Paradise. Ml acclli OVER THE BARS. ’Twas milking time, and thecowscame up From the meadows sweet with clover, And stood in the lane, while pretty Jano Had quiet chat with the drover— Such a quiet chat that it scarcely seemed That a single word was spoken ; While a magic spell withthenightdews fell And the rythm of song was unbroken. The cattle stood at the lover’s side, Without any show of vexation, As though impressed that a five bar rest Was a part of their rest-oration. And as Jane listened to the note that came Right under the bars and over, Her heart took wing, the silly thing. And nestled up close to the drover. She heard him say his home was poor. That he had nothing but love to give her; And she smiled content, as though Lot had spent Every arrow he had in his quiver; She smiled content, when the evening a With voices of birds are ringing. And her lips confessed that a lowly nest Should never prevent her singing. So over the bars the lovers lean, In the joy of their sweet communion ; And their looks declare that poverty se’« Shall be a bar to their union ; O, sweetest music, thread your rhymes Now under the bars and over! Where pretty Jane, in the fragrant lane, Bewitched the heart of the drover. Sira. Nelson II. Slierman. A History of the Woman Arrested for the Murder of Three Husbands and Eight Children. Arsenic as a Sedative. Her victims are thus far summed as eleven in number—three who were hus bands and fathers, one a rafined and educated young lady, and seven boys and girls, six of them being her offspring, and all less than ten years of age. Mrs. Nelson H. Sherman, nee Lydia Danbury, was boru at Burlington, N. J. When she was less than a year old her mother died aud her father became, a butcher at Trenton. She lived nnder the paternal roof until her father remarried, when, not liking her step-mother, she went to live with her aunt at New Brunswick. Heie she remained until 17 years old, when she became acquainted with Edward Struck, a police officer in one of the upper wards of New York city, to whom she was married. Strnck had been married before, and had two child ren who were now placed under guard ians The newly married couple lived together about seveu years, during which time six children were born. And now begin the awful events which throw such an air of mystery around the woman who is now confined in this house, accused of eleven mnrders, First her husband was taken sick aud suddenly died. It ap pears that a physician attended, who said he didn’t know what the man died of. The symptoms, as described by those,who saw him, were those of a person who had taken poison. Mrs. Sherman said the cause of bis death was by getting np the absence of the doctor and taking the wrong medicine. Subsequent to the death of her husband, her children, in number, all died inside of about two yoars, and no one seemed to know what ailed them, except this—they all died sud denly. A OOOD INVESTMENT. Mrs. Sherman—or Mrs. Struck, os she was then named—spent two years after the death of her first husband as a seam stress and nurse. She next got employ ment in a sewing machine store in Canal street, where she made the acquaintance of a Mr. Curtis, who afterwords engaged her to live with his mother at Stratford, about nine miles from this place. It was while living there shelrecame acquainted with her second husband, a man named Hurlbnt, who lived at Huntington, and who was thought to be quite well off. At his death he left considerable real estate, beside $10,000 in cash. This man had lived quietly and economically as a farm er and fisherman, aud was well known all round by the name of “Old Hurlbut.” Mrs. Sherman professed a great fond ness for her husband, and it was nol long before he had made a will bequeath ing all his property to hex in the event They lived on, apparent ly happy, the neighbors noticing that every time he returned from his business ihe met him at the door and kissed him. Time passed on, and one day Dr. Church, the village physician, was summoned to attend Mr. Hulburt On arriving at the house he found him suffering acute pains head and stomach, accom panied by an intense burning, os if the patient had a violent fever. Dr. Church, becoming alarmed at the crittical con dition of his patient, sent for consulting physicians. “Old Hurlbut” died be fore the doctors agreed upon a diagnosis, aud was buried out of sight. Both doc tors, on retiring home after the death of Hurlbut, fell to cogitating. Finally they met in the street, and Dr. Pinney said to Dr. Church : Church, what do yon suppose was the matter with Old Hurlbut ?" “I really can’t say,” replied the other, but I have been studying np and I find that his symptoms were exactly those as arsenical poisoning.” This seemed to coincide with tbe opinion of the other doctor, who said he was sorry there had not been a legal in vestigation. The pith of this private conversation leeked out and quite a sensation followed, still no legal steps taken. 3. SMILE AND BE CONTENTED. The world grows old, and men grow cold. To etch while seeking treasure; And what with want, and care, and toil, We scarce have time for pleasure. But never mind—that is a loss Not much to be lamented; Life roll on gaily if we will, But smile and be contented. If we are poor and would be rich. It will not be by pining ; No! steady hearts and hopeful minds Are life’s bright silvery lining. There’s ne’er a man that dared to hope Hath of bis choice repented; The happiest souls on earth are those Who smile and are contented. When grief doth come to rack the heart, And fortune bids us sorrow, From hope we may a bleating reap And consolation borrow; If thorns will rise where roses bloom, It cannot be prevented, So make the best of life you can, And tttRe and be contented. Nelson H. Sherman was a skilled me chanic and much loved for his genial spirits. Indeed his greatest fault was too much generosity. So expert was the among mechinery that the owners of the tack manufactory at Derby found it al most impossible to run their complica ted machinery whenever he was absent for a day or two, and they therefore, paid him the very highest wages for re maining with them. So popular was he with his townsmen that they had several times elected him to office, but he each timo resigned, as his business was more lucrative. A little more than a year and a half ago his wife died leaving him with four children, the eldest, a son named Nelson, aged 17 ; a daughter Addie, aged 14; another boy, “ Nattie,” aged 4 years, and an infant five months old.— The widow of Mr. Hurlbnt was still liv ing in the same place. “ Old Hurlbut’s” place, near the river, had always been quite an attraction for visitors, and he used to take pains to show them how he fished for shad, Ac. The same visitors continued to frequent the place after Hurlbut’s death, and one day Sherman accompanied a party of friends to the place. He there first met Mr. Horlbnt’i widow—his future wife. They were married in September, 1870, and wentto Massachusetts on a wedding tour, turning they settled in the house where the wife is now ft prisoner. From that stage on to the present time the facts re lating to the career of this mysterious woman are clearer and more terrible in proportion. The next person to' become “suddenly ill” was Mr. Sherman's infant by his former wife, which died inn few • I days. The next victim, either to th. 1 devilish designs of the prisoner or to the strangest series of fatalities on record, was tbe mnch-loved daughter of Mr. Sherman. This young lady was in the very bloom of health, always vivacious and remarkably intelligent. She was the idol of her father and the favorite ol many friends. In the middle of last winter she was taken “suddenly ilL”— Her father, as soon as he found that her symptoms were dangerous, became great ly alarmed, and summoned tho advice of a number of physicians. The symptoms all these cases appeared to be the same —that of acute pains in the head and and stomach, with intense fever. The doctors found it impossible to help the girl, and in a few days she was lying in the grave yard beside her infant sister. Sherman, whether on account of his troubles or not, hod begun to dissipate, and, together with his own, spent most all of his wife’s money. It now transpires that Sherman and his wife, though but recently married, had already had secret troubles of a very seri- nature, and, though living in the e house did not cohabit. Mz. Sher- i had for some time slept with the ba by and Mrs. Sherman had slept alone. On the 11th of May, six weeks ago, tiher- started off with a number of friends for New Haven, telling his wife he would be back that night. It appears that the party all got to drinking in New Haven, Sherman among the rest, and did not re turn for about a week. When they pro posed to go back, Sherman objected to going at all, and bo the rest of the party went bo the cars, leaving Sherman with the team in the city. Young Nelson, af ter waiting a day or two longer, said he was going to find his father. Mrs. Sher man gave him $2 50 and he went in search. Sherman was found in a den with low people. The father and boy re turned together. Sherman was in a very bad way,and unable to go to work for eral days. Finally, when he did go to the factory, he appeared very low-spirited, and would not go home to his meals.— Mrs. Sherman here appeared to have con siderable regard for him, for each day she sent his meals to him, the best she could get. About this time Mrs. Sher- remonstrated with her husband for refusing to cohabit, sayiug it was wrong. He replied that he “knew too much of her, and that he should soon begin to talk out to her.” He also told her that many of the neighbors knew as much he did, and that there would soon be trouble. Mrs. Sherman was still doctor ing her husband for his sickness, mixing up various kinds of potions, which he drank. Each time that he came into the house she greeted him with a kiss. About the 1st of June, Sherman, after drinking his usual evening beverage mix ed by his wife, went down town. In two hours after he came luck, sjt down on a chair aud said he had a bad headache.— Tho headache was followed by a raging fever and fearful cramps in the stomach. Drs. Finney and Beardsley both attended him, bnt he died after two days. The doctors held another consultation after his death, and as the symptoms of thi sick man had been precisely those of his two daughters, they decided to hold a post-mortem examination. Accordingly, the stomach was taken out, besides about third part of the liver. These were box ed up aud sent to Prof. Barker, at New Haven, for analysis. It required nearly three weeks to make the aualysis, and it only a few days since that the startling report of the proof was sent in, saying the liver had been found perfectly satu rated with arsenic, and that there was enough in it to kill three meu. A warrant was at oacj sul out for Mrs. Sherman’s arrest, and put in the hands of the Deputy Sheriff, Henry A Blakeman, for execution at the proper time. Since the suspicion had grown so strong, young Nelson, his brother Natty, and their grandmother, had all left the house, through fear that they might become the next victims if they stayed. Mrs. Sherman was not arrested immediately, but she was closely watched by the sheriff and the men employed by him. Although the report of the chem ist hod been kept as secret as possible, its import had become known, and was i cussed on the public street. In two three days Mrs. Sherman, not knowing that she was watched, quietly removed to New Brunswick, N. J. The Chief of Police at that place was directed to keep watch of her movements, and he employ ed a lady to assist him. The most thrilling chapter in the his tory of all those terribly interesting pro ceedings is that wlucbj now follows As soon as Mrs. Sherman hud left the vil lage of Derby the authorities resolved to continue the unraveling of the mysteries by exhnming the bodies of Mr. Hurlbut, the daughter Addie aud the infant Un der cover of a dark night, June 10th— for they acted with the greatest caution —a party of three meu, ouo a grave-dig ger, carrying a spade and pick, another surgeon, with a set of knives aud instru ments, and the Sheriff, carrying a dark- lantern, stole forth and entered the Bir mingham Cemetery. They groped about over tho graves until they came upon two rather fresh mouLds, one a very small These were the tombs of Addie and her little sister. The grave digger for once was deeply affected os well as the others present, for they had happy smiles on the (aces which they were now nncoveriog to find ghastly and oold as the earth that surrounded them. The two coffins were at length brought to the surface, the coven were removed,and the concentrated rays of the dark lantern were tamed upon the habitants. The surgeon, who had brought all the neces sary implements, completed his solemn task, and portions of the bodies of Addie and tbeinfant were placed in boxes,which were tightly sealed. The coffins having been lowered again, and the earth filled in, the party proceeded noiselessly into another cemetery, the one at Hunting-1 ton, where was buried “ poor old Hurl but.” While performing a similar ope ration there a startling incident occurred. They had just raised the black, earthy coffin to the surface, when some laboring men, driving past, saw the bright, round light of the dark lantern, and distinguish ed tbe outlines of the men’s forms. They stopped, and after a breathless ‘silence, one of them shouted in hollow tones, “For God’s sake, what devilish work is going on there ?” Nothing bnt profound silence followed—the three grave-openers shutting off the light of the lantern and standing motionless. The outsiders left their seats in the wagon and crossed over abont half way to where the three were, and again shouted in the same hollow voico, ‘‘Who’s there?” and again “What’s the mattet there ?” Still receiving no an swer they retreated almost like shadows, and soon drove away rapidly, not to re turn again. Tho stomachs taken irow the three bodies were immediately taken to Prof. Barker, of New Haven, for analysis.— The chemi st having had the bo dies under his inspection for twelve or fourteen days, came to Derby on Wed nesday last with the report that he had discovered arsenic in each of the three bodies. By this time Mrs. Sherman had left New Brunswick, on a visit with her sister to Philadelphia, intending to re turn soon. A detective was watching her every movement, and reporting to New Brunswick, thence to this place.— Sheriff Blakeman immediately telegraph ed to Philadelphia and New Brunswick, telling the police to arrest Mrs. Sherman at once. The Sheriff himself went to New Brunswick, and learning that Mrs. Sherman was then on a train coming through from Philadelphia, proceeded on as far os Trenton, where he waited for her. Tbe train was so long and so crowd ed that the Sheriff did not see Mrs. Sher man until she got off at New Brunswick. She was then arrested, and in a short time was on her way bock to Derby. She accepted the situation with perfect non- chalence, while her sister was quite frus trated. The prisoner asserted that she had at no time anticipated her arrest, and had made no effort to elude the officers, not knowing they were watching her.— Mrs. Sherman was brought through by way of Bridgeport on Friday night, and lodged in her own house with officers to watch her. The prisoner was taken be fore Justice Platt, of this township, yes terday, when a day waa fixed upon for her examination. She has secured the services of Samuel H. Gardner, of this place, for her counsel, arid Mr. Gardner will secure the ablest Associate he cau find in New Haven. j I drove over from Haven to-day —there being no trains running—for the purpose of looking upon the face of this most extraordinary prisoner, and of talk ing with her, provided she bad anything she wished to say ton stranger aud a rep resentative of the press. Mrs. Sherman in her own sitting room, where Bhe had sat with her husband and his child- many a day and evening. The fami ly occupied one side of the house owned by Mr. Hubbard, and of which I have previously written. At the side door leading through a little hall-way into the room where she wua imprisoned, I met police-officer, who readily admitted m< The room was small, but had an air < cosyness, the furniture beiug simple and comfortable, and the carpet clean and neat. A little clock ticked sharply mantel, and on its right and left were From the Ladies* Pearl. THE FIRST REST DAY, OB THE YOUNG ITINERANT. ■READER, have yon ever had much ac- H quaintance with that nondeacript,*«i- generix, com polite class of men called by the vulgar, “Circuit Riders ?” Well, the writer has, and proposes to let you into the secret mysteries of a young intincr- ant’s start. It would have interested you him launch out on his itinerant career, wheu the ways were all greased and the wedges knocked away and he came sliding down into the broad ocean of ministerial labor and responsibility. But as you did not see the lunncli, and with a photographic picture of the event. Well, that is he over there, packing his saddle-bags—thin, pale, and weigh little over one hundred pounds. This is the third time he has unpacked and repacked those saddle-bags. He is trying to find out if he can do with fewer garments, so as to lessen the bulk and stiffness of his saddle-bags: but finally determins that he absolutely needs everything he puts in, and the bags are stiff and as straight as a board. The father, mother, brothers, and sisters are all there, and a few friends have come to say good-bye.” What a beautifnl young colt just three years old, not yet bridle-wise. He is bright and slick, cost one hundred and fifty dollars—and horses were cheap in those days—and other fixtures cost fifty dollars, not inclu ding the cost of clothing. He will get one hundred dollars for his year’s serv ices. The parting kiss is given, and the hand shaken, Selim is mounted, a tear drops, and is responded to by many tears from the loved ones, and the young itin erant is on his way to his first circuit. Young N. had just graduated at the College C., situated in “the city by the and with a sincere heart he re nounces all the world offers for an hum ble place in the ranks of the S. C. C.— Success you say, to the young hero.— The graduation of young N. had detain ed him a few days, and his appointments had begun ere he left home. His minis terial colleague, would have special charge of him was an old veteran of high position in the chnrch, bnt of great ec centricity, who always rode one horseback, hence, young N. was obliged, according to the fitness of things, to travel horse back too. The circuit is one hundred and fifty miles distant, in the hilly por tion of the State, and Selim was almost as unused to travel os his master. Both had been reared in the city and equally unacquainted with country life. The first day’s travel was unmarked by any special event, only that the night lodg ing cost $2.50, and next morning found our young hero so sore and stiff that it was difficult for him to mount his steed. In fact there seemed to have commenced a mutual repulsion, as the colt’s back had become so sore, that he was not especial ly desirous to be mounted, nnd there a corresponding soreness on the body of the young parson coming in contact with the saddle ; but with the aid of the host ler and landlord, after a few trials he suc ceeded, and he is on the second day’f journey. The sun which had shed bnt feeble rays the day before, now shown with brighter glare, and the young par son raises his umbrella, but no sooner if the attempt made, than Selim starts and seems to fancy that he is on a race course, and his duty is, to simple mantel ornaments. The j Away he went in Gilpin stylo, leaving largest picture in the room was a portrait first umbrella, then saddle-bags, then of young Nelson Sherman. There was cloak, then saddle-blanket, far be- also a picture of Addie, taken when quite small. A large looking-glass, with a few pictures, French fancy pieces, and a veiy well executed water scene, sketch ed by Nelson, completed the ornaments. Mrs. Sherman was seat**! on one side of large sofa, with a pillow for a rest when she wished to recliue. I found the pris- a tall woman, aliout forty years old, rather slim, with a sallow complexion, and sharp, firm features. Sho was dress- a light-colored, cheap calico dress, and ft thin neglige shftwl was worn around her shoulders. She sat with a pin in her hand, with which she kept picking at her finger noils, or else at her clothiug, prob ably more from the force of the habit ox sewing than from any want of self-pos- on. Her manner was quite cool and collected. When she spoke she talked off-hand and free. I should say that she i woman of little intellect, but a great deal of firmness and uot a little can ning. She has dark eyes, quite large, and thin black hair, which was done up plain. The only way she had of betray ing her feelings was an occasional spas modio lifting of the chin, aud a simultan eous twitching of the lips, the way some women have for silent self-assertion. In the absence of the prisoner’s counsel I re frained from asking the woman any ques tions which might tend to commit her.— She said she felt qnite contented where she was, as it would be useless to be oth erwise. To Relieve Neuralgia.—A New Hampshire gentleman says : “Take two large table-spoonfols of cologne and two tea-spoonfuls of fine salt; mix them to gether in a small bottle; every time you havean acute affection of the facial nerves, or neuralgia, simply breathe the fumes in your nose from the bottle, and you will be immediately relieved.” M. Rudolf Gottaohall, one of the most estimated of German critics and poets, expresses, in a recent article on American poetry, his surprise at the popularity of Bret Harte’s production, Until the 1st of July, 1870, one hun dred and two presens had committed suicide by jumping down from the now destroyed Yendome column. hind. But fortunately the yonng parson managed to haDg on until the race was er, then reining np, only lost a mile distance, an hour in time, a little un pleasant exercise and an increased sore ness of the parts already braised, and with the assistance of a kind darky, got all things right again, and pursued the even tenor of his way. The young par- meditations were now a compound of pleasure and pain. Pleasure, that al though not accustomed to ride had been able to hang on, and escape without terial damage ; and pain in view of the rays of the snn, and the probability of rain sooner or later during some periods of his itinerant life. He pholosiphized himself, however into a quiet state of mind, and sped on his journey. At night he put np with a methodist brother, who, with the family seemed much pleased at entertaining a young methodist preacher and in consideration, ouly charged $1.25 for the night Thus he traveled until he reached the town of E. He had never thought of asking where he should put up on oiriving. and now found him self in quite a difficulty. It would not do for him to put up at the village inn, and he was entirely unacquainted with any one. But here comes a colored man. “Can you tell me,” says the young par son, “where the Methodist preachers stay, when the/ come to town ?” “Gist oberdare, boss.” “Who lives there?’ “Mas P.; he is de fader of tho Metwodist about here.” The house to whom the informant pointed was a splendid white mansion with green blinds, partly hid a luxurious cluster of oaks, with a flow er garden of ample dimensions in front. The young parson was worn out by his long journey, his white cravat and bosom badly soiled, and hat, coat, and pants all covered with dust. Young N’s heart within him at the thought of enter ing snch a house in his present con dition. He soloqoised, “Nice people live there. I am dirty and worn out, ’twill never do for me to go there. But where else can I go ? I must go there,” and mechanically he rides np in front of the gate, undetermined what to do. A lady in the flower garden, who at once comes to the gate, opens it, and. comes oat and then right np to oar yonng parson. She has a sweet face, and with a bewitch ing countenance all beaming with pleas ure, she says, “You are our young preach er I suppose,” and without waiting for s reply, continues. “Alight and come in, we have been expecting you for several days. The bell will ring direotly, for we expect you to preach for us to-night.” The young parson is taken by storm, and yields himself a willing captive. He attempts to alight from his horse, bat with great soreness, stiffness of limbs, and saddle-bags in the way, he is unsuc cessful. He tries ugain bnt with the same success. “Let me help you,” said the fair lady, kindly, and with the aid of her gentle hand, an houest effort on the part of the young parson, he gets on terra firrna once more, and with a hobling gate makes his way to the honse. He is introduced to Mrs. U. and two fascina ting young ladies, Miss Marry and Miss Annie, relatives of the fair lady wlio had first greeted our young hero. Mrs. U. was a Methodist lady, living twelve miles distant in the country, two miles from where the young parson was to preach his next sermon, after one day’s rest Just starting home, she says, “you preach at our church day after to mor row. ” The parson consults his plan, and replies, “according to my plan, I preach at Bethlehem, teu miles distant fvom this place.” “That is onr church,” she said, “and os to-morrow is arestday yon must come out early after breakfast and spend the day, with us, aDd you will be only two miles from the chnrch, and we will go over together.” “How shall 1 find the way ?” asked the preacher, “Oh, youcan not miss it” said she, “just take up tbe big road and follow it for ten miles, and yon will bco a left-hand neigh borhood road, which will take yon in two miles of onr house. We live just twelve miles from the town.” “Very well, I thank you, ‘twill be pleasant to spend a rest day with you, aud be so .■or the church ; I shall come.” Now let us look at our young friend, be has just completed a horse-back journ ey of one hundred and fifty miles, having never rode forty miles in this way before his life, with a little experience in preaching as in horseback riding; his garments all soiled and dusty, and those his saddie-bsgs, mashed and stained by the perspiration of his horse, so as neither to be pleasant to the eye nor olfactories ; had ate but little breakfast, and no dinner, with head aching as though it would burst, and reeling and tottering when he walked, as a drunken man, and yet required to preach that night, but he dares not demur! He saw from the very tone and manner of tbe fair lady, that preach he must, and he qnietly submits to his fate. He is now in an elegant sleeping appart- ment,thinks of home and all the dear ones left behind; hears the bell that wich gives notice tliat he will preach ;all the responsi bilities of his position crowd upon him, and overwhelmed,he throws himself upon his knees, a flood of scathing tears flow down his cheeks, aud with heavy groans seeks the divine assistance, and hears the soft, sweet, whisper, in his heart, “Lo ! I urn with you always the end of tho world,” and then with an encouraged heart gees to the church to preach his first sermon on a circuit. Everybody was out, even to Squire Tom F. who it was said, had not been at Church for ten years. The house full, and without intending any injus tice to the young parson, I will only add, that it never was as full nt uny appointment of his afterward. After breakfast, according to previous arrange ments Selim is brought out, mid all the family come to the door to bid the young parson adieu. There is the old and ven erable gentleman, the head of tlie family, bis young and beautifnl wife, as captiva ting in her manners us in her person, and the two elegant relatives of the fair young wife. And now according to the popular phraze, the scene beggars de scription. The repulsion which had been gradually increasing, on account of the soreness of Selim's back, and the equal soreness of the yonng parson’s body, had arrived at their maximum, which, together with the stiffened limbs of the young parson’s, and the stiff sad dle-bags, made every attempt at mount ing the steed fruitless. A chair was brought by Mist Annie and held by her and her sister, but what good was a chair with a dancing horse ! The old gentle man came oat and lent assistance. The three ladies did all they could. Tom, the hostler, held tho horse by the bridle, bnt Selim seemed to think it was a grand frolic, he danced around, reared, kicked, ran forward whirled around, aud to tell the truth, withogt exposing the young parson too much, ho did not know how to mount a horse, having never done enough of it to learn how, and nnder the most favorable circumstan ces, it were an awkard job; bnt now with those saddle-bags, straight out, coming in contact with his leg at every attempt to throw it over ; his stiffness, soreness, and the incorrigible restlessness of the horse, made it a matter ont of the ques tion. Bnt it must lie done, and no mis take, so here goes for another trial. The saddle is adjusted by the old gentleman. Tom. the hostler, in a broad grin, in which every tooth in his head shines, holds the horse ; the fair lady stands be side her husband on the right, and Miss Annie and Miss Mary on the left; and onw one more desperate effort is to be made, but Selim throws his bead up, whirlcs round, Miss Annie’s dress skirt is nearly tom off, and Miss Mary's foot is badly hnrt. The old gentleman, whose patience has been suffering for some time, with a lond and angry voice cries out, * Tim, Harry, Ben, Joe, Peter, come here.” They all appear. Then in a voice accustomed to command, he says “Boys, hold that colt, and put this yonng man on him.” The gordian knot is cat, for no sooner said than done. In a moment the yonng parson finds himself unceremoniously lifted higher than he was wont to be; and whila some hold tho horse, the others put him over tbe difficulty of stiff saddle-bags aud all, and he is landed safely in the saddle. Ho feels rather cheap, his face boras with blushes, the girls seem half sorry and half amused, and lifting his list, he gracefully bows sdieu to the ladies, the old gentleman grumbles oat “good-bye,” the ladies, wave their handkerchiefs, and onr yonng hero is fairly on his waj to spend his first rest day at Mrs. UV. The directions are plain—ten miles up the big road, and then two miles to the left, and the twelve miles will make the journey. The prospect of relief from the incessant trituation of the saddle, and a plersant day’s rest with an ag reeable family, cheers the heart of our young parson ; and though he suffers at every movement of the horse he hopefully moves forward until his eyes rest upon the ten mile post A gentle man approaches. "Sir, canyon tell me the neighborhood road which leads from this to the house of Mrs. U’s?” •Mrs. U ! Mrs. U ! Do yon mean the widow U ?” “Yes,” responds the parson. “Why, she does not live on this road stall. You should have turned square off to the left, a mile from the village.” Wifh a heavy heart the young parson “How shall I get there ?” “Go right back until yon come to the fork one mile from the village, then go nine miles, and two miles to the left of that road, lives the widow.” “Then I will have to travel twenty miles before I get there.” “Yes,” he replies, “unless you are a ‘ good hand to fellow the direction. If so yon can take the road,” pointing to a dull road to the left, “which will bring yon out at Colonel B’s, and you will save tor seven miles.” "Well, sir. I’ll try it” In qnite a gloomy state of mind the parson starts off. He takes the road to the left, which seems to do very well for abont four miles, when suddenly he is confronted by a pair of draw-bars, the road stops there—rides back a mile, and finds a fork which he did not notice, tries *bat, bnt soon gives out rides back [farther, tries rather a dubious path which leads him to a plainer road, which he follows, and then he arrives at a point where the road leads in every direction. He tries first one and then another. They all either lead up to fences or into the woods; and perfectly heart-sick, worn oat, and faint from fasting, for it was now late in tbe afternoon, in despair he throws tho reins Selim’s neck to go just where he liked. The horse pricks his ears, starts with spirit through the woods, and after be ing nigh pulled off his horse more than once by the branches of the trees, comes out into the big road just a mile from toa'n. Of oourse there is bnt one al ternative left, so parson N. rides to his old friend, brother P’s, where was the fair young wife, and the two elegant young ladies, Miss Annie and Miss Mary, who heard with much interest and sym pathy the story of his first day’s rest The fair young wife saying, "what a pity we did not know it a little earlier that you would have been here to-night, and then we would have had the bell rang for preaching.” Curiosities of Breathing. The taller men are, other things be ing equal, the more lnngs they have, and the greater number of cubio inch es of air they can take in or deliver at a single* breath. It is thought thot^ man’s lungs are sound and well devel oped in proportion to his girth* around the chest, yet observation shows that slim men os a rule will run faster and farther, with less fatigue, having more wind, than stout men. If two per sons are taken in all respects alike, ex cept that one measures twelve inches more around the chest than the other, the one having the excess will not de liver more air at one full breath, by mathematical measurement, than the other. The more air a man receives into bis lungs in ordinaiy breathing, the more healthy he is likely to be; because an important object in breathing is to re move imparities from the blood. Each breath is drawn pure into the longs; on its outgoing the next instant, it is so im pure, so perfectly destitute of nourish ment, that if rebreathed without any admixture of pore atmosphere, the man will die. Hence, one of the «nnJjii(ni« necessary to secure a high state of health is that the rooms in which we sleep ■b* 11 be constantly receiving new snppUee of fresh air through open doors, windows, or fire-places. If a person’s lungs are not well devel oped, the health will be inperfect, bat the development may be increased sever al inches in a few months by daily out door runnings with the month closed, beginning with twenty yards and back at a time, increasing ten yards every week, until a hundred are *pne over, thrice a day. A substitute fo/ladies and persons in cities is running op stairs with the month closed, which compels very deep respirations, in a natural way at the end of the joaraey. As consumptive people are each week is a witness to their inability to deliver as much air at a single out- breathing as the week before; the best way to keep the fell disease at bay is to maintain long development. It is known that in large towns, 10,000 feet aLove the level of the sea the by consumption are ten time* leas in places nearly on a level with the sea. Twenty-five persons die of consumption in the city of New York where only two die of that disease in the city of Mexico. All know that consumption does not prevail in hilly countries and in high situations. One reason of this is because there is more ywniling exerrisci. in- creuing deep bradhiog; bende, the air being mace ratified, larger quantities are Distinctly taken into the lnngs to an- swear the requirements of tbe system thus at every breath keeping up a high development. Hence the hills shonid be sought by consumptives and not low. flat situations.—Hairs Health Tracts.

Georgia Historic Newspapers

The Weekly Sumter republican. (Americus, Ga.) 18??-1889, July 14, 1871, Image 1