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THE STANDARD AND EXPRESS.
8. H. SMITH & CO.]
AN ORIGINAL STORY.
ONE WOMAN’S WORK.
DY MI3B BRYANT.
“You nay you have a protege rescu
ed from the fury of a perfect virago.
Come, give us the history of the affair,
while we discuss these Havanas,” con
tinued he, timing to a young author,
whose growing lame bid rendered
him a “lion” during the past season,
in the I. el at, 1 elegant society of
Biltimoi . ‘-Beware, Wilton, V said
Phillips, “ that you disclose no secrets
or you may one day see them paraded
before the public under the enticing
g;ub of romance in real life; you
knew l idles and authors aie permit- j
tod to lei; everything they know.’’
I cun gratify you gentlemen in a
very few words. I was walking liur j
riedly through the suburbs of the.
city a few days since, when my ear
w is ...Siiled by two voices in high al
turcation. One was raised in a shrill,
angry key—such as can only belong
to a K rui igant. The other was low,
full, and tremulous, mingling in pro
testations of innocence and fear. In
a moment I had thrown aside the
rickety gate and stood before them.—
A glance assured me brutality and !
power were triumphing over weak nous
and innocence. The parties were too
much engaged to perceive my intru
sion, and their conversation was con- j
si quently not interrupted.
“I can not lie,” said tho young girl
in trembling tones. “My mother in
heaven would bo sad. Did I not bring
you every cent? No one seems to fan- 1
cy my flowers to-day. A gentleman
bought ono bouquet, and you have
tho money. Oh! do not—do not turn
me out in the cold, friendless, in too
street. I’ll work, bog, but 1 can not 1
lie.’’
“O, no, you wouldcnt lie; your moth
er taught you bettor. Didn’t your
drunken father teach you better too?
Where did you get this loaf of broad?
You stolo my money to buy it.”
“The baker, n.t tho corner, asked 1
me if I was not hungry, and gave it ,
to me.’’
“I s’poso you told him i starved j
you, you lying wretch. It would be 1
but right if 1 did.’’
“Oh, my mother! would that I might
loan my weary head upon your breast.”
“Hush that gibberish and take that,
and that, to learn you better.’’
“Hold!’’ cried 1, aiTostiju/ *•*>» "
1 ...... j</u unman thus to op
press one of your own sex?’’
“And who arc you?” sho s aid, “and ,
what right have you to interfere?— ]
When she steals from mo and. lies j
about it, I’ll beat her as much as I
please.’’
“Ob, save me, kind sir, save me,” said j
tho young girl kneeling at my feet. !
“Take mo away from this wretched
woman. Oh! I know you, you aro i
tho kind gentleman who bought my
flowers. You will not leave mo hero,’’
said she, convulsively clinging to my
knees.
“Four nothing,” said I, “you shall j
be protected, I will take you with me.” i
“Take her with you! I ’sposo be
cause you are a fine gentleman, you
think you can do as you please; she i
shall siay here, work for me and pay :
her old father’s board, and that will
take her lifetime, as it is preciom lit
tio she uoes. Tuere's tho floor," said (
sho with increased violence.
“Here,” said I, handing her a bank
bill, which soothed her ruffled spirits,
“take this and my little friend goes 1
with me. Dare object, and I will re
port you to tho poheo.
“Oh!” she said, complacently vtw
iug tho money: “I wanted my rights, j
and I was dotei mined to have ’em.”
“What shall I call you, my little j
friend?” said I, turning to tho now I
gratified clild.
“Deal,” sain the irritated matron.
“My mother called mo Cordelia,
and you will too,” she exclaimed, her
brown eyes dilating with joy for suc
cor so providential.
“Well, get your bonnet, Cordelia;
get your cloak.’’
“L have none,” said she, “but can I
not go so?"
“Yes,’’ said I, “let us leave this hor
rid place.”
The old lady renewing her invec
tives, we gained the street. Hailing
a hack we were borne away from her
miserable hovel. Cordelia bore it
until she realized she was indeed res
cued; then, bursting into tears, sho
overwhelmed me with thanks and
gratitude.
“Oh, my mother will smile on you.
Yours is the first kiud word I’ve heard
since death sealed her lips. Look
here!” she said, drawing from her
bosom a minature beautifully set in
pearls. I noticed some particles of
earth upon it, observing which, sho
said:
“Oh! I have kept it buried beside a
bod of hyacinths. Had Mrs. Martin
known this she would hnvo broken it;
it is my only treasure, ’tis my mother’s
picture. Is it not beautiful? ’
I immediately drove arouud to Mrs.
Glen's, (my aunt) ordering her ward
robo on the way. I placed my young
protege under her care, knowing she
would be a mother to her, having no
children of her own. I made proper
arrangements with regard to her edu
cation; and should 1 sever re
turn from Europe she shall never
want. You cannot coucoive, gentle
muD, what iMerest I have taken in
this poor desolate orphan. lam con
vinced the f acre in which I found
her was n uer’s.’’
“I fear jou are so much interested
you will forget tha heartless coquetry
of Clara Lansing. Then I should be
deprived of your kiud guardianship
to Europe. You know my dear moth
er supposes wind and waves would be
more propitious iu your behalf.’’
“Cummings, this is most unkind. ’’
“Can blighted buds e’er bloom
again?” said Wilson, us a tide of sad
reminiscences Hushed his broad brow.
“ Pardon me, dear Harry ; m y
thoughtlessness w is unkind. It grieves
me to see a heart like yours wasted
on a vain, heartless woman.”
“Gentlemeu, 1 am iutc eated iu Cor
delia,’’ exclaimed Philip j. “How old
is she? Is she beautiful?’"
“She is fourteen,” said Wilson. “She
is certainly not beautiful, and proba
bly such connoisseurs as you are would
not pronounco her even pretty. She
has, however, brilliant and expressive
eyes. Usually silent, she makes them
the medium by which she conveys her
ideas. The manner iu which she has
been lately treated has injured her
health, but I hope her constitution
has not been materially affected. I
feel for hoi the uffcction of u brother;
5 the only thing that renders her pic
ture incomplete is that she overwhelms
me with gratitude.’’
“You are a noble fellow, Harry; I
am sorry you leave to-morrow. Don’t
forget me, old fellow, in the Coliseum
at Rome, where the mighty spirits iu
silence linger still—when gazing on
tho glaciers of the Alps, or when fas-
cinuked by the soft gDnce of an An
dtiusiin eye. R-uwmber that I would
enjoy this and all else that is beauti
ful, were I with you.’’
“We will remember you in the gay
cases of Paris and will drink your
health in good old Bordeaux, which
sparkingly supports a century’s age.”
“Ono glass before we part,” said
Phillips, lifting the champagne to his
hp;-
Thus they sealed the holy bond of
friendship with rosy, joy-inspiring
wine.
chapter n.
Five yeary h ;ve passed on the wing
,of time, dispensing happiness and
misery, hope and despair, life and
| death. Cordelia Gray has passed
1 many vicissitude* in that time. Kind
friends Wave fallen into the gentle
; slumbers of death— new ones have
folded her in their embrace.
Wilton perceived the powers of her
mind, that had, like a lit glected gur
i ikm, produced nothing beautiful save
a few early flowers; so deeply had na
! turn rooted them, that neglect could
not steal their sweets. .She remained
at a highly esteemed and well kuowu
boarding school till she was eighteen.
, Sue left witli the honors of her class
and the hearts of tutors and pupils.
She truly merited all. The we A
wore sure of her protection; tho afflic
ted sought her first for sympathy.—
From tho halls of learning Mrs. Glen
J led Cordelia in triumph to present her
to the world. Sho was received with
admiration, und for one year she was
happy in conferring happiness upon
her adopted mother. Cordelia re
: ceived the adulations of the gay world
but not with exuberance of joy, as
one who had never known reverses:
j alio bettor knew its worth—that
smiles only on the wings of fortune.
By means of her mother’s miniature
, she had discovered hvr rolatives, and
when death—delighted to turn smiles
to tears, joy to wailing—laid his icy
hand 011 tho brow of her benefactress,
I she was not left alone. Sadly she
parted from those she had learnt and to
J love. Lmg sho lingered near the
gravo of her second mother before
j she left with her uncle, Mr. Everett,
j for his Southern home.
“Cordelia,” said he, establishing her
m his magnificent mansion, “it is kind
in you to take pity on my lonely state
ami dreary abode by tn »••»»•«■’/? “
t ,m.. How swiftly will
tho hours pass! You will play and
sing for 1119, and then come and sit
you down at my feet, read to me from
some old poet, till tho beauty of the
work and your silver tones divest me
of every earthly care, and I roam in a
land of dream*. But I may not felic
itate myself from this picture; for you
of coarse, will not bo here long, and
the gloom us the walla will be deeper,
that your smile has illuminated them.’’
“On! Undo, I will not leave you—
how could I?"
"Well, we will sue. Meanwhile, as
you won’t change your name, I must
for you; it shall be Cordelia Everett.”
Cordelia had ever remembered Har
ry Wilton with gratitude; indeed, the
feeling for him was the strongest oi
her hie. When she thought of his
disinterested kindness and generosity,
110 appeared to her the truest hero and
the noblest being m existence, In
to U.-JO »run Mm scorn shrt fV-i* for lit*
women who had drugged his life’s cup
with bitterness; yet she half pitied
that weak creature who could live ou
admiration, and smile sweetly, while
she knew she tortured wfih her light
ness. Cordelia could not account for I
Harry’s itifalu dion. Sho thought!
could ho see her ia her true character,
his love—as noble for a trifle—would ;
turn to scorn, and would it not be j
right to rend tha vail and show' the
proud haughty woman that he appre- j
ciated her rightly? When Wilton !
first left ho wrote occasionally to Cor
delia, but in course of time he was
content to mention her naino kindly
in wiiting to Mrs. Glen. This was j
mortifying to Cordelia. Wilton’s gen
erosity was unimpeachable, but the
blush of wounded pride would cause
her cheek to burn, that ho had bo -
soon forgotten her who owed every I
happiness to him. >ihx; determined ;
he should be, at least, prtuid of her, |
and to accomplish this she studied un- j
ceasingly.
To convey some i lea of her attain
ments, we will give the remark of a
young gentleman, whose person was
more elaborately adorned than his
mind: ‘Oh! I admire Miss Everett
greatly; her voice is enchanting; but I
when she is done singing I always |
grasp my heart, for her eouvarsaaon ;
is so blue, that I am always afraid of j
displaying my ignorance. I therefore ;
invariably make my most exquisite i
bow and withdraw.”
On leaving Baltimore, Cordelia had
written to Wilton informing him oi
lier removal, ghieg him her address
and begging him on his return to has
ten to Charleston, that she and her
uncle might unite their thanks for his
kindness.
The letter was never received.
“Permit mo to present my friend I
Mr. Wilton, Miss Everett,’’ said Col. !
Hey wood, a frequent visitor and avow-!
ed admirer of the fair Cordelia, one !
autumnal morning as ho entered Mr. j
Everett’s parlor. “Ho has just return- i
ed from a lung sojourn iu Europe, !
and wishing to see some of his fail
country women, I have kindly offered I
uiy services as cicerone. But I fear
by bringing him iieru tirst, I have
done injustice to the other ladies —ho ,
will not care to see them.”
“I hi>pe, Mr. Wilton, as our Amer
ican gcutlemen have such a passion
for everything foreign (though they .
accuse us alone ot being attacked!
with the mania) you will convince!
them flattery is not in vogue across !
the broad Atlantic; at least introduce i
a reform.’’
*T will make the effort, Miss Ever- j
elt, as you request, ltemeiqber,” con- i
tinued he bowing, “there is a marked
difference between truth and flattery.
I cannot impeach my friend, Col. Hay- ;
wood, till he offends.’’
Harry Wilton was immediately re
cognized by Cordelia, who was ou the j
point of receiving him as she should j
her friend and protector: but, seeing j
he did not know her, she suppressed j
her feelings, determining to see him j
soon, and assure him that her child- I
hood’s gratitude had grown and ex- |
pauded with her increasing years. j
When several allusions to her for
mer life reassured her it was tho friend
of earlier days, she exerted herself to
fascinate and please, that when she
made herself known, if lie still felt an
interest iu her, ho might be gratified
to find his generosity and care were ;
not in vain. Never did she appear j
more brilliant. Wit danced and spar-!
klod iu her conversation, enlivening
even the most prosy topics —beautiful
smiles and poetic thoughts graced
and adorned ber idoas. Wilton was
surprised and charmed. Col. Hey-1
wood, re-enfctauced, sighed to think j
CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 5, 1872.
that dazzling creature might never be
more to him.
Wilton became a constant visitor of
Mr. Everett’s he seemed spell-bound '
at the side of the fair Cordelia. Of
ten when seemingly engrossed in his
polished and instructive conversation,
she was resolving to make herself
known. She condemned herself as
unkind and ungrateful. She knew
not why, yet her mind seemed to
shrink from the denouement.
We marvel not that Harry did not
r. cognize his protege. Her queenly >
form was indeed different from the
meager, half starved girl he left.
Those eyes, whose brilliancy had i
been always admired, added to their
daae.ing hues a steady intellectual
light, which never failed to beam forth
in a conversation that interested her
or enlisted her enthusiasm.
Weeks, months passed away. The j
belles and beaux of Charleston were
delighted at the announcement that!
Miss Everett would receive the fash
ionable world. All the bright and
beautiful, attended by wit and talent,
were, ou the specified evening collect.- i
e<l at the hospitable mansion of Mr.
Everett. None seemed to enjoy the j
gay scene more than Cordelia's uncle, i
Her presence seemed to cause the
youthful blood to leap in his heart.—
His benevolent countenance was irra-!
diated with a proud smile when he j
watched her graceful motions while
she played the part of hostess to per- |
section.
“Mr. Wilton,’’ said Cordelia, “do 1
you know this is my birth day ? Do J
not offer mo any congratulations. I j
can assure you it is no pleasing reflec- !
tion—one year older.”
“Miss Everett, you have nothing to |
fear from father Time; you have used !
him so kindly that he will give you |
more than he oan take.”
“You arc very generous, thus to of-!
fer me consolation.’! “Uncle,” she !
continued, as Mr. Everett approached, i
“you promised to grant me my request, !
however fanciful, I might make on this
day. Now listen and tremble: I want
you to go down to Bassett’s to-morrow
and order your portrait. Oh! I kuew
this was the only way to get it. You
must submit. I will accompany you
each sitting to keep you in a good hu- i
mor und watch for the happy expres- j
sion.”
“Oh! you have taken advantage of
me. I JtU * ac e should
1 pass away unrecorded; but it shall be
as you wish.”
“Have you no request to make of
me, Cordelia ? I would grant it, were
it iny last beau,” said merry Kate Lee.
Not wailing for a reply, she accepted
a proffered arm and was soon tripping
in the gay dance.
“Would that Miss Everett would de
mand this tribute of all her friends,”
said Harry Wilton, tn tremulous tones,
as they were left aloao.
“You must grant ino one request,”
Cordelia answered earnestly; “that
you never touch that poison again,”
pointing to a glass of wine he hud just
taken from a servant.
“Before I promise, will you fit l o .to
say why you make so strange a re
quest ?”
“It is a long story; I will relate it
some other time. You hesitate—l
hope the sacrifice is not too great?”
she said inquiringly, fearfully.
“It is not. I give you freely tiie
boon you ask. You must pardon me
if I insist on hearing the story.”
“Give mo your arm; I will gratify
you, ’ said Cordelia. Passing through
the halls, she arrived at the garden.
Reaching ono extreme corner, she
eutered a bower formed by the wild
grape intertwining its tendrils with
the branches of an old oak. Placing
herself on a rustic seat sho silently in
vited her companion to her side. The
peaceful beams of the full, round
moon revealed her pale face and the
emoliou sho cauld not conceal.
“ Twenty-five years ago,’’ she be
gan, with an unsteady voice, “ there
stood in those halls, where all now is
gaity and mirth, a happy, hopeful
bride. Kind friends whispered words
of regret that she, the pride of their
circle, should part. But love was
busy in her breast, picturing a home
of happiness and years of domestic
bliss passed with the sovereign of her
heart, whoso joys and sorrows should
be hers. Were tho life-like dream re
alized ? That pale marble gleaming
in the distance tells of a youthful wife
and mother laid low. But I, oh ! my
mother, can tell of years of suffering
—of your pure, self-sacrificing love.
I have seen the heavy blow fall on
your devoted head, knowing it sunk i
deep into your heart, causing a I
wound naught ou earth could heal. J
Many mourned that consumption was !
hurrying you down to the grave, but
I felt I hat a more fatal hand had your
vitals 111 its grasp. You passed away,
blessing your child. How wildly I
prayed you once to gaze ou me—to
take me with you from a world full
of darkness to mo.”
“My father loved his bride, but he
loved wine also! He soon found him
self in the embrace of a demon of
giant strength ; though he saw it sap
ping his life, fame and honor, he had
no power to free himself! I support
ed his reeling foct-steps to her grave
—she whom he had sworn to protect!
His remorse was intense—his grief
agonizing!
“The wine cup offered oblivion!
He grasped it with eager hands and
drank deeper than before. Months
passed away. Iu a wretched hut in a
distant city lies a dying man. Squal
id poverty brooks arouud him. His
daughter sat near—with tearful ejes
she saw his life fast drawing to a
close. The storm rages without, but
its furious blasts, though they threat
en to rend the tottering hovel, do not
drown the sick man’s terrible ravings.
Snatches of songs—the Sunny South,
where first love smiled upon him—
the martyr wife—the desolate child—
burst, in uuminglcd tones of gladness
and despair, from his parched lips.
“ Midnight has thrown a mantle of
repose around the child. A convul
sive grasp of the hand arouses her.
Tne sufferer murmured a holy name.
With one earnest gaze tho struggling
spirit was free, and I was indeed an
orphan !”
A silence of some moments ensued.
Cordelia’s emotions forbade her
speaking.
“You have bitter reasons, Miss,
Everett, for hating the wine cup. You
have told your story ; permit me to I
tell one less sad,” taking Cordelia’s i
hand and gazing on her with a face j
glowing with admiration affd tender-1
ness.
“ I have not finished,” she said hur
riedly. “My mother’s remains were,
iu after years, removed to mingle with
the dust of those who had loved her.
When I thiuk of her sufferings, und
remember that thousands are subject
to pass through like afflictions, I feel
that I have not lived in vain when I
induce one noble mind to make the
same vow you have this evening ; for
who can tell how many hearts as no-
Lie as iny father's have been thor
oughly metamorphosed by its witch
eries? But, I, a delicate girl, was left
alone and desolate to the mercy of a
brutal woman—one whose heart was
unsusceptible of sympathy or kind
ness. Night after night I was driven
shivering and hungry to my garret,
where I sobbed myself to sleep. Spring
came, but brougut no joy to my heart!
Mrs. Martin sent me through the
streets with boqnets of many-hued
tulips— sweet hyacinths and other
spring offerings. One day I was re
turning home in despair, for I had
sold no flowers, and knew that harsh
ness awaited me—but before I had
reached the gate, happily for me, a
gentlemau purchased one of my neat
little boquets. Iu a few moments as
he was repaying the house, he heard
Mis. Martin’s angry voice, indicating
that she was committing an outrage.
I believe Heaven directed his foot
steps ; he entered, and Henry Wilton
stretched forth his hand to defend—
Cordelia Gray ? Oh ! think not, my
inend, my silence was ingratitude.
\\ hen you were far away, exposed to
danger by day and night, I have nev
er failed to ask God to watch over, in
His mercy a heart so noble. Nay,
my friend, my brother, will you cot
receive my gratitude and blessings ?”
“ Not btother, Cordelia. Oh ! speak
it not again. I knew not my little
protoge ; but I met Cordelia Everett,
and saw her but to love her. Will
you be mine, and gild life’s shores
with happiness : Fear not thy poor
mother’s fate, for I vow by the love I
bear you, to dash the luring cup
away. Shall this hand be an amulet
to foil the tempter’s guiles ?”
CHAPTER IH.
“ Well, lam not considered credu
lous, but my mind is prepared for
anything—nothing is wonderful since
Harry Wilton is a teetotaler. I should
think the ghosts of long necked bot
tles and jovial midnights would rise
and upruid you,” began Cummings in
a railing manner.
“ They do.”
“ Shall I proclaim that Harry 'Wil
ton, Esqr., having seen and felt the
injurious effects of spirituous liquoi’s,
in every quarter of the civilized world,
feels it his duty toward the citizeno
Baltimore to awntr." to a prop
er view o: the horrors of their daily
practices,” said Philips. “ All those
with whom in days of yore he has
tossed ofl wit-inspiring champagne,
are particularly requested to attend.”
“ I want no better audience than I
now have. lam sure there are none
in whom I feel greater interest. My
friends, when I left you six years ago,
how bright seemed the future ! Your
mind, Cummings, wa* the pride of a
mother’s heart—she l’ondly hoped, ou
returning from your travels, to see
you enter the arena of busy life, as
sured that your talents would demand
the urn? • in < v vi sphere !
Where, Philips, in the wreath of
lame uu admiring cou . y was wil
ling' to dedicate to you ? Those hopes
have withered—the fires of di sipation
have consumed them. You have
promise of a lonely life—spend it
worthy of your heart and mind. I
can not see you launched on such a
sea of dissipation, without asking you
to forsake its boistrous, treacherous
waves, and come to the land of steady
habits. Be men ! Be worth, of poor
mothers’ prayers scorn not jour
country’s praise.’’ Eloquently, ear
nestly, and not iu vain, did Harry
Wilton plead with the friends of his
earlier days. Joyfully Cummings’
feeble mother greeted her darling’s
return, and saw him struggling with
the busy world with vigor and suc
cess, but never for a moment did she
imagine Harry Wilton’s young bride
instrumental in his reform—this des
titute orphan who, in former years,
she pitied and loved.
Years have passed. Sweet Kate
Lee, Cordelia’s Southern friend, as
she glitters in her husband’s fame,
the celebrated Philips, knows not the
mind she adores would have been a
wreck, and the noble heart, iu which
she trusts, would have been naught to
her but for—Cordelia Wilton.
But Harry knows all and gazes on
his young wife with a love that
knows no change. He Bees how
many happy hearts sho has been the
instrument in making by acting as a
true woman, and reflects, if woman
would only do her duty, from how
much misery she might save herself
and the human race. How vigilant
she should be—never for a moment
desert her charge.
IS FATHER ON DECK?
A number of years ago Capt.
commanded a vessel sailing from Liv
erpool to New York, and on one voy
age he had all his family on board the
ship.
One night when all were quietly
asleep, there arose a sudden squall of
wind which came sweeping over the
waters until it struck the vessel and
insiautly threw her on her side, tum
bling and crushing everything that
was moveable, awakening the passen
gers to a consciousness that they were
iu imminent peril.
Every one on board was alarmed
aud uneasy; some sprang from their
berths and began to dress that they
might be ready for the worst.
Captain D ► had a little girl on
bourd just eight years old, who, of
course, awoke with the rest.
“What is the mattsr said the
frightened child.
They told her a squall had struck
the ship.
“Is father on deck?” said the little
girl.
“Yes, father’s on deck. - ’
The little thing dropped herself on
her pillow again without a fear, and
iu a few minutes was sleeping sweet
ly in spite of the waves and winds.
Blessed child ! How her confidence
shames our doubts and fears, and rest
less, vague surmisings. She has faith
in father, and no room for fear.
And how is it with us? We have
our storms and troubles and tempta
tions. We fear and tremble. What
is the matter? Is it not time for us
to ask, “Is Father on deck?” Father
understands all about the vessel, the
winds, the waves, the rocks, the squalls
and the tempests. “Is Father ou
deck ?”
Yes, blessed be God! Father’s ou
deck, for he says, “Lo, I am with you
always.”
He is "on deck,” for he has said “I
will never leave thee nor forsake thee.’’
Tempted, troubled, distressed and
frightened soul, look up. Give to the
winds thy fears. Rest in God’s faith
fulness and love. Cast every care up
on his arm.
Fear not the windy tampests wild,
Thy bark they shall not wreck;
Lie down and sleep, 0 helpless child,
Thy Father’s on the deck.
Time, moderate fare and absti- i
nence, much prizes iu public, but in j
private gormandizes.
POETRY.
CARELESS WORDS.
A little word, a careless word.
Breathing of shame and wrong,
A messenger of death it seemed
To one amid the throng.
'Twas but a breath, an idle br«ath,
And memory with it fled,
But out there stood, whose every hope,
Lay mangled, crush’d and dead.
Deep, deep within that maiden’s heart,
There lurked a treasured name,
But none there stood that crowd amid
To shelter him from blame.
It all might be, she knew it not
Nor dared the world refute,
So wandered on, a spirit lost,
With voiceUss anguish mute.
O, deemed ye not, ye careless ones,
In blighting thus his fame,
That ever dwells some kindred heart
To feel that other’s shame?
On yonder hill-side, lone and drear,
Beneath the grassy sod,
There rests a gentle maiden’s form,
Her spirit with its God.
Ye thoughtless ones, that sadly mourn,
The fate of one so fair,
Y T e little dream that careless words
Alone have laid her there.
C. G.
Charleston, Oct,, 1872.
A UTUMNAL REFLECTIONS.
In fading grandeur, lo ! the trees
Their tarnished honors shed ;
While every leaf-compelling breeze
Lays their dim verdure dead.
Erelong the genial breath of spring
Shall all their charms renew.
And flowers, and fruit, and foliage bring,
All pleasing to the view !
Not such is man’s appointed fate;
One spring alone he knows ;
One summer, one autumnal state,
One winter’s dead repose.
Yet, not the dreary sleep of death
Shall e’er his powers destroy ;
But man shall draw immortal breath
In endless pain or joy.
Important thought—ye mortals, hear,
On what your peace depends !
The voice of truth invites your ear,
And this the voice she sends:
“ When virtue glows with youthful
charms,
v.igiu me vernal skies !
When virtue, like the summer, warms,
WTiat golden harvests rise!
“ When vices spring without control,
What bitter fruits appear!
A wintry darkness wraps the soul,
And horrors close the year!
“ Let youths to Virtue’s shrine repair,
And men their tribute bring ;
Old age shall drop its load of care,
And death shall lose its sting,
“ Borne upward on seraphic wing,
Their happy souls shall soar,
And there enjoy eternal spring,
Nor fear a winter more.’’
A WOMAN'S EXECUTION. PAR
IS, MAY, >7l.
Sweet-breathed and young—
The people’s daughter:
No nerves unstrung—
Going to slaughter!
“ Good morning, friends !
“ You’ll lore us better
“ Make us amends ,
“ We’ve burst your fetter!
“ How the sun gleams !
“(Women are snarling);
“ Give me ysur beams, .
“ Liberty’s darling!
‘‘ Marie’s my name—;
“ Christ’s mother bore it!
“That badge? No shame:
“Glad that I wore it!”
(Hair to lier waist;
Limbs like a Venus;
Robes aro displaced);
“ Soldiers! please screen us !”
“ He at the front ?
“ That is my lover:
“Stood all the brunt:
*■ Now the sight’s over!
“ Powder and broad
“ Gave out together.
“Droll! to be dead.
“ In this bright weather!
“Jean, boy! we might
“ Have married in June!
“ This the wall ? Right!
“ Vive la Commune!"
MAXIMS FROM POOR RICH
ARD.
Without justice, courage is weak.
Many dishes, many diseases.
Many medicines, few cures.
Where carcasses are, eagles will
i gather.
And where good laws are, much
| people flock thither.
Would you live with ease, do what
you ought, and not what you please.
Better slip with tho foot than the
tongue.
Be slow iu choosing a friend, slow
er in changing.
Pain wastes the body ; pleasures
the understanding.
The cunning man steals a horse,
the wise man lets him alone.
Keep thy shop, and tby shop will
keep thee.
The king’s cheese is half wasted in
paring ; but no matter, ’tis made of
the people’s milk.
Nothing but money, is sweeter
than honey.
Os learned fools I have seen ten
times ten ; of unlearned wise men, I
have seen a hundred.
Three may keep a secret, if two of
them are dead.
Poverty wants some thing, luxury
many things, avarice all things.
A lie stands on one leg, truth on
two.
What’s given shines, what’s receiv
ed is rusty.
Sloth and silence are a fool’s vir
tues.
There’s small revenge in words, but
words may be greatly revenged.
A man is never so ridiculous by
those qualities of his own, as by those
that he affects to have.
Ever since foltieshave pleased, fools
have been able to divert.
It is better to take many injuries
than to give one.
Since the spread of the epizootic the
Washington Republican has been print
ing reports of thrilling accidents like
this: “A sleek-lookiug, high-fed man,
attached to a light wagon, became
frightened at the sight of a steam-roller
yesterday, and seizing the bit, in spite
of the efforts of the man behind the
vehicle, ran away. A policeman see
ing the frightened animal coming down
the street at a fearful speed, with coat
tail flying and foaming mouth, sprang
in front of him just in time to save a
sick horse which was crossing Seventh
street from being run over* and by
firmly holding to the bit, finally stop
ped him near Frank Finley’s store.—
With the exception of the loss of some
parcels from the wagon, no great harm
was done.’’
SAY AMEN TO THAT, BROTH
ER.
Iu the south of New Jersey, some
years ago, there traveled over some of
the hardest counties, a faithful, hard
working brother named James Moore.
He was devoted to the itinerancy, a
true Methodist, plain, pointed, and
sharp in all his preaching and exhor
tations. He bad beeu laboring a year
on his circuit, and before leaving for
his new field he gave his people, who
dearly loved him, his farewell sermon.
At its dose he said:
“My dear brethren, this is the last
address to you. lam going from you,
and you may never hear the voice of
James Moore again.”
“Amen !’’ came loudly from the seat
before him.
lie looked at the man with a little
I surprise, but thinking it was a mis
take, went on.
“My days on earth will soon be
numbered. lam an old man, and yon
may not only never bear the voice of
Jame3 Moore, but never see his face
again.
“Amen!” was shouted from the
same seat, more vigorously than be
fore.
There was no mistaking the design
now. The preacher looked at the
man; he knew him to be a hard, grind
ing man, stingy and merciless to the
poor.
He continued his address; “May
the Lord bless all those of you who
have honored Him with your sub
stance, who have been kind to the
poor, and”—pausing and looking the
intruder straight in the eye, and point
ing to him with his finger—“may His
curse rest on those who have cheated
the Lord and ground the poor under
their heels! Say amen to that broth
er !”
The shot told. He was not inter
rupted again.
WHAT IS TROUBLE.?
A company of Southern ladies were
one day assembled in a lady’s parlor,
when the conversation chanced to
turn on the subject of earthly afflic
tion. Each had her story of peculiar
trial and bereavement to relate, ex
cept one pale, sad looking woman,
whose lustreless eye and dejected air
showed that she was a prey to the
deepest melancholy. Suddenly arous
ing herself, she said in a hollow voice :
“ Not one of you know what trou
ble is.”
“ Will you please, Mrs. Grey,” said
the kind voice of a lady who well
knew her story, “ tell the ladies what
you call trouble ?”
“ I will, if you desire it,” she le
plied, “ for I have seen it. My pa
reu's possessed a competence, and
my girlhood was surrounded by all
the comforts of life. I seldom knew
an ungratified wish, and was always
gay and light-hearted. I married at
nineteen, one I loved more than
all the world besides. Our home was
retired, but the sunlight never fell ou
a lovlier one, or a happier household.
Years rolled on peacefully. Five
children sat around our table, and a
little curly head still nestled in my
bosom. One night, about sundown,
one of those fierce black storms came
on, which are so common to our
Southern climate. For many hours
the rain poured down incessantly.
Morning dawned, but still the ele
ments raged. The whole Savannah
seemed afloat. The little strern near
our dwelling became a raging torrent.
Before wo were aware of it, our house
was surrounded by water. I manag
ed with my babe to reach a little ele
vated spot, an which a few wide
spreading trees were standing, whose
dense foliage afforded some protec
tion, while my husband and sons
strove to save what they could of our
property. At last a fearful surge
swept away my husband, and he nev
er rose again. Ladies—no one ever
loved a husband more, but that was
not trouble.
“Presently my sons saw their dan
ger, and the struggle for life became
the only consideration. They were
as brave, loving boys as ever blessed
a mother’s heart, and I watched their
efforts to escape, with such agony as
only mothers can feel. They were so
far off I could not speak to them, but
I could see them closing nearer and
nearer to each other, us their little
island grew smaller and snlhllcr.
“ The sullen river raged around the
huge trees ; dead branches, upturned
trunks, wrecks of houses, drowning
cattle, masses of rubbish, all went
floating past us. My boys waved
their hands to me, then pointed up
ward. I knew it was a farewell sig
nal, and you, mothers, can imagine
my anguish. I saw them all perish,
and yet—that was not trouble.
“ I hugged niy babe close to my
heart, und when the water rose to
my feet, I climbed into the low
branches of the tree, and 60 kept re
tiring before it, till an All-powerful
hand staid the waves, that they should
come no further. I was saved. All
my worldly possessions swept aw ay ;
all my earthly hopes blighted—yet
that was not trouble.
“My baby was all I had left on
earth. I labored night and day to
support him and myself, and sought
to train him in the right way ; but as
he grew older, evil companions won
him away from home. He ceased to
care for his mother’s counsels ; he
would sneer at her entreaties and
agonizing prayers. He left my hum
ble roof that he might be unrestrain
ed in the pursuit of evil, and at last,
when heated by wine one night, he
took the life of a fellow-being, and
ended bis own upon the scaffold. My
heavenly Father had filled my cup of
sorrow before ; now it ran over. This
was trouble, ladies, such as I hope
His mercy will spare you from ever
experiencing.
There was not a dry eye among her
listeners, and the warmest sympathy
was expressed for the bereaved moth
er, whose sad history had taught
them a useful lesson.
Tough and Rough. —A merchant
who was noted for his stuttering as
well as for his shrewdness in making
a bargain, stopped at a grocery and
enquired:
‘How m-m-m-mauy t-t-turkeys have
yon g-g-g-got?’
‘Eight, sir,’ replied the grocer.
‘T-t-t-tough or t-t-t-tender?’
‘Some are tender and some are
tough,’ was the reply.
‘I k-k-k-keep b-b-b-boarders,’ said
the new customer. P-p-p-pick out the
f-f-f-four t-t-t-toughest turkeys, if you
please.
The delighted grocer very willingly
complied with the unusual request and
said, in bis politest tones:
‘These are the tough ones, sir.’ m
Upon which the merchant coolly
put his hand upon the remaining four,
and exclaimed:
TU t-t-t-take th-th-th-these.’
TEMPERANCE JOKE.
Joe Harris was a whole souled mer
ry fellow and very fond of the glass
After living in New Orleans for sever
al years, he came to the conclusion of
visiting an old fond uncle, away up
in Massachusetts, whom he had not
seen for many years. Now there is a
difference between New Orleans and
Massachusetts in regard to the use of
ardent spirits, and when Joe arrived
there aud found all the people ran
mad about temperance, he felt bad,
thinking with the song, that keeping
the spirit up by pouring the spirits
down, was one of the best ways to
make time pass, and began to fear
indeed, that he was in a “ pickle.”
But the morning after his arrival, the
old man and his sons being out at
work, his aunt came to him and said:
“ Joe, you have beeu living in the
South, and, no doubt, are in the hab
it of taking a little drink about 11
o’clock. Now. I keep some here for
medical purposes, but let no one
know it, as my husband wants to set
a good example for the boya”
Joe promised, and thinkiug he
would get no more that day, took, as
he expressed it, a “ buster.” After a
while he walked out to the stable,
and who should he meet but his un
cle.
“ Well, Joe,’ says he, “I expect
you are accustomed to drinking some
thing in New Orleans. Yon will find
us all temperate here, and for the
sake of my sons, I don’t let them
know I have any brandy about ; but
I just keep a little out here for my
rheumatism. Will you acoent a lit
tle ?”
Joe signified his readiness, and
took another big horn. Then con
tinuing his walk he came to where
the boys were hauling rails. After
conversing a while, one of his cousins
said :
“Joe, I expect you would like to
have a drink, and as the old folks are
down on liquor, we keep some out
here to help us along with our work !
Won’t you have some ?”
Out came the bottle, and down Joe
sat, and says by the time he was call
ed to dinner he was tight as a fellow
could well be, and all from visiting a
temperance family.
BAmga ss uu
ST
This nnri vailed Mediant s warranted not to
contain a single particle of Mkkcurv. or any
injurious mineral substance, but is
PURELY VEGETABLE.
tor FORT I y EARS it has proved its great
value in all diseases of the Liver, Bowels and
Kidneys. Thousands of the good and great in
all parts of the country vouch for its wonderful
and peculiar power in purifying the Blood,
stimulating the torpid Liver and bowels, and
imparting new life and vigor to the whole sys
tem. Simmons’Liver Regulator is acknowl
edged to have no equal as a
LIVER MEDICINE.
It contains four medical elements, never be
lore united in the same happy proportion in
any other preparation, viz : a gentle Cathartic,
a wonderlul Tonic, an unexceptionable Alter
ativc, and a certain Corrective of all impurities
oi the body. Such signal success has attended
its use that it is now regarded as the
GREAT UNFAILING SPECI
FIC
for Liver Complaint and the painful offspring
thereof, to wit: Dyspepsia, Constipation, Jaun
dice, Uillious attacks, Sick Headache. Colic,
Depression of Spirits, Sour Stomach, Heart
Dura, &c., Ac.
ltegulate the Liver and prevent
CHILLS AND FEVER.
Simmons’ Liver Regulator
Is manufactured only by
J. H. ZEILIN & Cos.,
MACON, GA., AND PHILADELPHIA,
fr r o^ e pr P ac Jage • sent by mail, postage paid
?1.25. Prepared ready for use in bottles, f1.50.
SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS.
R&* Beware of all Counterfeits and Imitations
REMARKABLE CURE OF
SCROFULA, ETC.
CASE OF COL. J. C. BRANSON.
Kingston, Georgia, September 15,1812.
Doctor J. &. Pem berton:
Hear Sir—lt gives me pleasure
to furnish you with an account of
tho remarkable cure which I have experienced
irom the use of your Compound Extract of
Stillingia. For sixteen years I have been a
great sufferer from Scrofula in its most
distressing forms. 1 have been confined to my
room anil bed for fifteen years with scrofulous
ulcerations. Such was my condition—far more
painful and distressing than language can
describe. Most of the time I was unable to
rise from bed. The most approved remedies
for such cases had been used, and the most
eminent physicians consulted, without any
decided benefit. Thus prostrated, distressed
desponding, I was advised by Doctor Ayer, of
Floyd county, Georgia, to commence tne use
of your Compound Extract of Stillingia.
Language is insufficient to describe the relief
I obtained from the use of the Stillingia as it
is to convey an adequate idea of the intensity
°f nty. sufferin f> betore using your medicine;
sufficient to say, “I am cured of all pain,” of
all disease, with nothing to obstruct the active
pursuit of my profession. More than eight
months have elapsed since tills remarkable
cure, without any return of the disease.
For the above statement I refer to any
gentleman in Bartow county, Georgia, and to
the members of the bar of'Cherokee Circuit,
who are acquainted with me. I shall ever
remain, sir, with the deepest gratitude.
Your obedient servant, J. C. BRANSON.
August 15,1872—1 m.
Gilbert & Baxter,
HARDWARE & IRON STORE,
Agents for sale of Fertilizers, Agricultural
and Mill Machinery, Engines, Grist, Saw and
Sorgham Mills, Reapers and Mowers, Thresh
ers and Separaters, Horse Powers, etc. For
goods on Commission, at Manufacturers’ terms
and prices. For our own goods. Terms Cash,
march 28-1 y
STERLING
SILVER-WARE.
SHARP & FLOYD
No. 33 "Whitehall Street,
ATLANTA.
Specialty,
Sterling Silver-Ware.
Special attention 1$ requested to the many
new and elegant pieces manufactured express
ly to our order the past year, and quite recently
completed.
An unusually attractive assortment of novel
ies in Fancy Silver, cased for Wedding and
Holiday presents, of a medium and expcnsir
character.
The House we represent manufacture on an
unparalleled scale, employing on Sterling Sil
ver-Ware alone over One Hundred skilled
hands, the most accomplished talent in Design
ing, and the best Labor-saving Machinary, en
abling them to produce works of the highest
character, at tirices UN APPRO ACHED by any
cempetition. Our stock at present is the lar
gest and most varied this side of Philadelphia
An examination of our stock and prices will
guarantee our sales.
OUR HOUSE USE ONLY
936
BRITISH STERLING,
1000
an4-tf
HOBBS & MAGUIRE,
BUTCHERS
HAVE associated themselves together in business, and have opes anew stall at tha lata
stand of Dobbs and Anderson, where they keep constantly on > nd an abundant supply •
FRESH MEATS,
during all market hours. They will sell their meats on as short pro* as any butcher can at
ford t° sell and live ; and warrant them to be as decaudr butch ere* kid dressed, and of tha
fat kind only. j,.g.
New Goods ! New Goods !
Erwin, Stokely and Cos.
ARE DAILY RECEINING NEW
TALL AND WINTER GOODS.
Their Stock Is Large, Varied and Elegant. Special attentkl called to their
Dress Goods, Piece Goods for Men and Boys.
BOOTS, SHOES AND CLOTHING.
Their Stock also embraces every t triety usually
kept in the trade. They are selling u i Mali profits t«
t'ash Buyers, or prompt payiug eufioi lers.
Überal Discount made on Cash Bills.
They solicit from their old friends an 1 customers, ns
well as the public, a liberal share of ‘outage.
10-3-ts. EBWII, hTOI ELY dr CO.
TOMMY, STEWART & BECK,
HIRDWIRI IIEROHINTS,
ATLIAIVTA ga.
Are sew opening a large and well selected stetk of liar are li heir New Store, Conor
Pryor and Decator Streets, Opposite S-Aball I «se.
Manuiacturer's Agents and Dealer# *ll kind f
HARDWARE, IRON, STEEL, CUTLERY, Tools of all kinds, iuildeu lud Carriage At ate rial*
Agents for BURT’S SHINGLE MACHINES,
Sycamore Powder Company’s Rifle Blasting swder,
Mill Stones and Bolting Clntag,
Proprietors of the Siooks’ Cottet nd May Screw Prese.
We are doing a Wholesale Business, and always kuep on hand t Xmple Stock to sup
ply Retail Merchants and Contractors. 10-4-ly.
WILLIAM RICH & CO.,
WHOLESALE
NOTIONS, MILLINERY, AND FANCY GOODS,
Atlanta, Greorgla.
Have removed to Clarke’s Building, No. 16, Decatur Street, opposite the Kimb
now fully prepared for the
FALL TRADER
with one of the Largest and best Assorted Stocks of Goods in the South.
Merchants will promote their interests by examining our Stock and Prices before p
elsewhere.
N.8.-WE ARE PREPARED TO DUPLICATE NEW YORK BILLS.
WM. RICH A COMPANY
Hunnicutt & Bellingrath,
DEALERS I"V
CO KING and HEATING
STOVES, Wf&L
Grates and Tin-Ware, Tinners’
Trimmings, Slate Mantles.
Wrought Iron Pipes, for Steam, Gas and Water.
ALSO MANUFACTURERS OF
Concrete Sewer Pipe, of all Dimensions.
Brain Pipe, Bubber Hose, Pumps,
Steam Fittings, Oil Cups, Globe Valves,
ISteam Gauges, Whistles, Hydraulic Rams,
Gas Fittings And Fixtures, Sheet Iron,
Patent Burners, Tin Plate,
Eead Copper and Brass,
Water Closets, Wash Basins, Etc., Etc.
BUY HUNNICUTT £ BELLINGRATH’S COLUMBIA COOK.
No, 9 Marietta Street, Atlanta, Georgia.
HUMICUTT & BELLINGRATH,
No. 9 Marietta St., Atlanta.
PLUMBERS,
Steam andGas Fitters,
COPPERSMITHS
Slieet-Iron Worlters.
ROOFING, IN ALL ITS BRANCHES, IN TIN AND CORRUGATED IRON.
Oct. Ist—wly.
PEASE & HIS WIFE'S
RESTATJRAMT
AND
ESUROPB AN HOUSB,
ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
This is the Largest, FINEST, and Best Arranged
House South. 54 fflarble Tables.
Private Billing Rooms and Special Apartments
for Eadies, and can seat two hundred People at one
sitting.
50 Sleeping Rooms, elegantly furnished, with Ta
pistry, Carpets, and Oil-Finished Furniture is now
opened to the public.
Single or Suites of Rooms can be furnished, by or
der, to parties that may desire.
Meals are furnished from 5 o’clock in the morulas
until 1 o’clock at night.
Our Steaks, our Coffee, our Golden Fries, and our
Game, Fish, Oysters, and other delicacies of the sea
son—in fact onr Cooking Oepartments—have long
since been pronounced by onr people to excel all
others.
Thanking you kindly for that unwaivering patron
age in the past, we shall still strive to suit your taste
and cater to your wants.
CITY BEEP MARKET,
EAST SIDE OP W. & A. R. R., NEAR POST-OFFICE.
FRESH MEATS, of different kinds, kept constantly on hand, and for sale at a
hours.
Our business being on the increase, we have thought proper to remove onr place of busi
ness to a more central point in the city, therefore our Market House will be found between
Messrs. Trammell ft Norris’ corner and the Post-Office, where we propose to supply the market
with
FRESH MEATS, FAT and XIOE.
and butchered in the very best style of the art. Dry and Green Hides wanted, for hich
highest market price will he paid.
JOHN ANDERSON.
C*rters?Ule,‘-«3 Sept. 10th, XBTS.—if.
VOL. IS—NO. £4*