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About The standard and express. (Cartersville, Ga.) 1871-1875 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 5, 1872)
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*
