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voranviii: 1 ] THE EASTMAN TIMES, IS PUBLISHED WEEKLY AT Eastman, Dodge Cos., Ga., BY If . S . T? IT If, TO N . — Terms —One year, $2 00 ; Six months, SI.OO. All subscriptions required in advance, invariably. Advertising Rates. Sqrs IM. 3H. # C> Mi | 12 M. 3 $4 00 $7 00 slooo| $l5 00 2 625 12 00 18 00 j 25 00 0 75 15) 00 28 00 3!) 00 4 11 50 22 50 34 00 4G 00 \ 20 00 32 55) 55 00 80 00 1 col. |35 00 00 00 80 00 130 00 All bills for advertising are due qjfihe first appearance of advertisement, oxv,%hcn pre sented, except Voiron teted for. Parties handing will please state the required time for vindication, other wise tKfey will he inserted till forbid and charged for accordingly. > Transient aiavefliKe'ments unaccompanied by the money will receive no attention. Advertisements or Communications, to se cure an insertion the same week, should be handed in on Wednesday morning. All letters should be adddressed to It. S. BURTON, Publisher. Professional and Bnslness. J •>.. J 111 i . ASIIER, Pliysican and Surgeon, Offers his professional services to the people of Eastman and surrounding country. pO" Office near Gen. Foster’s house. 1-ly. 3U AV liALLr, Attorney and Counsellor at Law } EASTMAN, GA. Will practice in the. Circuit and District Courts of the United States, for the Southern District of Georgia, the Superior Courts of the Oconee Circuit, and all counties adjacent to the M. &B. It. R. Half fee in advance; con sultation fee reasonal le. Office in the Court House. 1-ly. THOMAS H, Haws OH, Attorney and Counsellor at Law, EASTMAN, GEO. T. L. r r AYLOI^ Attorney at Law, EASTMAN, - GEORGIA. <>. C. IIORNIdT ATTORITE Y AT LAW, Hawkinsville, Geo. Oconee Circuit — G/nd Calendar 1873. Wilcox—4th Mondays, March and September. Dooly—3d Mondays, March and September. Irwin —Fridays alter above. Montgomery—Tliurs after Ist Mondays, April. Laurens—2d Mondays, April and Oct (and Oct. Pulaski 3d Mondays, April and October. Dodge 4th Mondays, April and October 1 Telfair —Thursdays alter above, jan 31st, ly. GUANO! GUANO!! Cotton Bale Brand, TIIE BEST NOW IN USE, Cun lie found for sale by the Ton or Sack, by applying to J. J. ROZAR. Eastman Lodge, F. A. M. 279. The following Officers of Eastman Lodge riVe elected for the ensuing year : James Bishop, \V. M.; R. A. Harrell, S. W.; A. C. Page, J. W. ; 11. Coleman, S. D.; J. J. Ttozar, J. D.; B. A. Herndon, Treas.: W. A. Morgan, Sec’y ; C. P. • Mills and C. I?. Murrell {Stuarts ; C. D. Parkerson, Tyler. First and third Fridays regular meetings. PEACOCK BAR. The proprietor of this well-established and higldy-reputed bar begs leave to inform hisnu lnerousTriends and generous patrons that he is still at liis old stand, and, as usual, prepared with an assorted supply of liquors of all grades, to supply their every demand. Call and see him. L. M. PEACOCK. 1-ly. Asa iiAmuiLi., TM3AOEK IN Dry-Goods, Family Groceries, &c., keeps constantly on hand Goods of all kinds in his line, and is like wise prepared to do any work in the lino of Blacksmitliing, And furnish to farmers, on reasonable terms, farming implements of all kinds. He hopes to merit a liberal share of public patronage. 1-lm. CHARLiE MURRELL, DEALER IN Fine Family Groceries and Liquors, Keeps on hand Flour, Sugar, Coffee, Tobac. tfo, Candles, Soap, Caned Fruits, Oysters, Candies,! Cheese, Crackers, Sardines, Pepper, Spice, Starch, Potash, Powder, Shot, Caps, Ac, nil of which he proposes to sell cheap for cash. My. . ■ ~ j m t . sit ■,- - 4 ' f •• •' -hJ .y. Selected Poetry. The Poet and the Proof Reader. Ah ! here it is ! I'm famous now— An author and a poet! It really is in print! Ye gods! How proud I’ll be to show it! And gentle Anna ! What a thrill Will animate her breast, To read these ardent lines, and know To whom they are addressed. Why bless my soul! here’s something strange : What can the paper mean By talking of the graceful brooks That gander o’er the green? And her /s a t instead of r, Which, makes it tippling rill ** We'll seek the shad, instead of shade, And lieU instead of hill. They look so —what ? I recollect, 'Twas sweet and then ’twas kind, And now to think, tlie stupid fool For bland has printed blind ! Was ever such provoking work ! Tis curious, by-the-by, How anything is rendered blind By giving it an eye. Hast thou no tears? the t’s left out, Must thou no ears, instead; I hefpc that tliou art dear, is put I hope that thou art dead. Who ever saw in such a space So many blunders crammed? Those gentle eyes bedimmed, is spelt Those gentle eyes bedammed. The color of the rose, is nose ; Affection is affliction ; I wonder if the likeness holds In fact as well as diction ? Thou art a friend, the r is gone— Who ever would have deemed That such a trilling thing could change A friend into a fiend. Tliou art the same is rendered lame— It really is too bad ! Aud here because an i is out, My lovely maid is mad ; They drove her blind, by poking in An eye—-a process new ; And now they’ve gouged it out again, And made her crazy too. Let’s stop and recapitulate ; i ve dammed her eyes, that’s plain— I’ve told her she’s a lunatic, And blind, and deaf and lame. Was ever such a horrid hash In poetry or prose ? Ive said she was a fiend, and praised The color of her nose. I wish I had that editor About a half a minute ; I’d bang him to his heart’s content, . And with an n begm u , - Id jam his body, eves and bones, . ! And spell it with ad, And send him to that hill of his— He spells it with an e. r l he It ejected Manuscript. BY CLARA JULIEN. ‘Twas evening in the great city. Crowds of people thronged the busy thoroughfare, each seemingly intent upon some particular object. Some had come from luxurious homes, and with happy faces seemed in pursuit of pleasure, while others were trudging, with dejected countenance, towards and ens of poverty and despair. Through the crowded street a ycung girl clad in the habiliments of mourn ing glided swiftly, her rapid move ments and firmness of countenance indicating the importance of accom plishing her object. Before a brill iantly lighted mansion on Fourteenth Street she paused as if dreading to enter; then as if life depended on this one action, she hurriedly ascended the steps and rang the bell. A servant answered the summons, whereupon the young lady inquired lor Mr. Malin, and was invited to enter. The domes tic proceeded immediately to the libra ry of Mr. Malin The room was luxu riously furnished. Books, paintings, and stauary were profusely yet taste fully arranged, and every surrounding betokened the wealth of the occupant, who was editor of a very popular jour, rial. He was a middle-aged man, seated in his lounging-cliair, perusing one of a number of newspapers by which he was surrounded. As the servant entered, he seemed provoked at the intrusion, and upon reading the Card, his irritation did not lessen. “Alice Malin !” he read aloud. In a gruff tone lie commanded the do mestic to “show her in.” Timidly the young girl trod the velvet carpeting to the library, and as timidly entered. Before proceeding further we will relate some of the past history of both individuals Reared in the bosom of wealth and luxury, Alice Malin had disdained that purse-proud spirit which so often imbues the minds of children who are favored by fortune. All the advantages that parental love and wealth could procure wer* lavish ed upon her, and at the age of eighteen she was innocent and pure-minded as in childhood, yet endowed with a gifted and cultivated intellct. Her father had one brother, the editor bc- EASTMAN, DODGE COUXTY, GrA., FRIDAY, FEI3. 7, 1873. fore mentioned. Atlhough his journal was in wide circulation, he had ac quired the reputation of selfishness, being unwilling to pay reasonably for talented productions which were often sent him for publication. From her childhood Alice had intuitively shrunk from this man. Although he was a frequent visitor at their house, and was ever agreeable during those vis its, yet with a child’s foresight, she always imagined a disagreeable some thing behind bis pleasant exterior. Alice had just returned from school when her father was stricken with Se rious illness. He sent for his brother —his only relative— and intrusted him with all his earthly affaire should he never recover, at the same time telling him that his business was in a very complicated state, but' entreated him to promise that his widow and or phan should never suffer for the neces saries of life, apparently much affect ed, he promised his protection to the dear ones of his dying brother. The next day Alice Malin was father less. The blow was so stunning to the mother and orphan that a long time elapsed before they realized their utter loneliness. They thought not of troubles in store for them since the loss of their only protector. The whole world seemed a blank without him they loved so dearly. A few days were allowed them for grief at the end of which the uncle made his appearance; and informed Mrs. Malin that his brother’s property would be insufficient to satisfy his creditors, and that they must ex change their elegant home for one bet ter suited to their circumstances : henceforth they must labor for them selves. This intelligence was shocking to them in their deep affliction, but Alice preferred to labor with her own hands, to dependence upon this man whom she so entirely distrusted. He promised to find rooms for them, and came the next day with the in formation that he had taken lodgings in the lower part of flic city, whi|> they might occupy immediately. With many tears Alice tore herself away from her beloved home and all its fond associations, and resolutely deter mined to become her mother’s support and comfort. Once installed in their new abode, Alice began to look around her for em ployment. She had never boon taught to do plain sewing, therefore could not rely upon that as a means of sub sistence. She thought of applying to the friends of her prosperity for pupils, hut resigned that idea when she re flected that they had proved them selves only summer friends, not hav ing visited her in adversity. At last she recalled the little triumphs of her school days. When composition day camo around, Alice Malin was always awarded the victory over many of her ciders. Her teachers were ever praising her, and encouraged the idea that her name might one day swell the list of fame. But with a true woman’s instinct, Alice shrank from publicity, and wrote because slie loved to express in beautiful language her varied thoughts. Her portfolio contained many little bits ol poetry and romance, and she resolved to plot a beautiful story and weave into it some of the former productions of her pen. She confided the plan to her mother, who, knowing her superior talent, encour aged her. They had money sufficient to last them a few weeks, and Alice resolved that her MS should be fin ished before that time. No one could have worked more diligently in those few weeks than Alice Malin. She en tered into the planning, writing, re reading, and revising with an energy that could not fail of success. The excitement she had undergone placed her mind far distant from all doubt, but now that she had finished her task, her first misgiving arose. What if the publisher to whom she would apply should reject her story under the plea that it was sentimental, or the first effort of a young author. At first she had not intended to apply to her uncle, but when all these doubts arose, she felt that claims of relation ship ought to demand for her a hcar ing. With a heavy heart she prepared for the street, grasping her thrilling MS. in her hand. Emotions of doubt and despair were struggling in her mind, for upon the success of this story de pended all her earthly happiness. We left her in Mr. Mai in’s library, and as we return, she is about parting from him. Her uncle had refused even to read her work, and with despair writ ten in every feature of her counte nance, she uttered these words : “Farewell, sir ! You promised to pro tect your dear brother’s widow and orphan. God knows how you have failed to fulfill that promise. May the entreaties of your dying brother ring in/your cars until death !” With a heavier heart than when she entered, did Alice Malin retrace her stops, rowing never to cross this man’s threshold again. If her own uncle would not encourage her, would not even test the merit of her efforts, upon whom could she call ? “Surely there must he men of heart in this great city. My labor must not be lost. I will try again to-morrow.” She sallies forth in the morning, re solved not to be discouraged until after the publisher had tested the real value of her work. Three or four ap plications were met with, “No young authors employed,” yet she persevered. At last she was shown into an office where an elderly gentleman was ex amining MSS. Alice’s heart beat joy fully as she met his kindly eye and heard his gentle voice. She took courage from his gentlemanly demean or, and broached her errand. lie gave her no false hope, but told her that success seldom crowns the efforts of young authors-, yet assuring her that her story should be thoroughly criti cized, and she be remunerated accord ing to its merit. Upon examination lie found evidence of great talent in the simple story, his noble heart de cided him to encourage her in the work she had begun. He published her first MS., and ac cepted all others she chose to send, for in each succeeding narrative higher and more beautiful ideas were re vealed. AVith each successful effort, she seemed to take fresh courage and write as ii' by inspiration. Years passed on, yet Alice Malin continued to wield her pen with in creased facility. Her vivid imagina tion was over in readiness, and her wonderful command of language never failed her. She had written books, whose contents had been eagerly pe rused by thousands, for no one could read one of her productions without realizing the gifted mind of the author. Wealth had come to this noble girl through the medium of her mighty pen. Meanwhile, what has become of the uncle? We will look at him again, en tering the same library into which Al ice Malin was ushered ten years ago. He is thinking of this literary star who has attracted the world’s attention and admiration to secure her service, re solving to call upon her publishers the next day The next morning found him at the publishing house of M. & S., the same place where Alice had left her Jirst manuscript. He wished the name and address of the lady who had recently wrtten many beautiful articles for his journal. The brother publisher dotted the following on a slip of paper: “Miss Louise Selden, 223 West 23d Street.” Politely thanking him, Mr. Malin left the office, and calling a hack, started for 23d Street, During the ride, his reveries were of a plesant nature, for lie was considering the increased val ue which the new contributor would add to bis journal He was never in better humor than when lie found him self in the drawing-room of Miss Sel den, taking a seat fn an obscure cor ner that he might readily criticize the lad} r when she entered. Five minutes elapsed, then the door opened and ad mitted the hostess. “Beautilul!” you would have ex claimed, upon gazing at her fair face and graceful figure. From her sweet countenance was reflected a pure heart; Irom her lofty brow, a noble mind, b rom a timid, shrinking girl, she had developed into a beautiful, self-possess ed woman. Mr. Malin sat as one charmed. Suddenly lie seemed to re- cover his self-possession and advanced to introduce himself. As Alice met his glance, every feature of her beautiful face seamed distorted. She had recog nized in the. gentleman before her her uncle. As he knew her only by her nom de plume, and did not seem .to remem her her, she concluded not to reveal herself until he had made known his errand. Said he:— “I have read many of your charming works, and count you among the most talented authors of the day. If you •will contribute to my journal, I shall consider it a great favor, besides pay ing you liberally.” She replied “Air. Malin, my numer ous engagements prevent me from con tributing to any other magazine; yet, were 1 at liberty, an event which oc curred some years ago would cause me to decline the honor of writing for your periodical. Ten years ago, your bro ther exacted from you a promise to protect his family. Ten years ago, your brother’s only child.. Alice Malin, asked you to publish her first manu script. You unkindly refused even to read it, scorning to encourage one so young to obtain a livelihood for herself and mother, and striving to extinguish every spark of ambition in her nature. Sir, lam Alice Malin. I have been successful in the course marked out by myself. My mind has increased in vigor from constant action, and my soul has been purified with contempla tion of the true and beautiful; yet, were I to write for so base a man, my success would end. This is the first time you have crossed my path since my early days of adversity. The prom ise you made my dying father must ever ring in your ears. God pity you!” During this time, the uncle sat mo tionless, with eyes dilated, scarcely willing to believe his ears. That this boautiful, talented lady could be the once timid, shrinking girl whom lie had so shamefully neglected, seemed incredulous. AVith out a word he left the house, feeling that his prosperity was at an end. Conscience was a roused, and he felt that he had signal ly failed in his greatest earthly duty. So great was his remorse that in a few short months he became incapa ble of attending to business, and was lain upon a bed of sickness a deserted man. At last he summoned courage to send for Alice, knowing that she would not refuse to come to him. The noble girl left all her duties to minis ter to the wants of her only enem}’ on earth. AVhcn she saw how his awak ened conscience caused him to suffer, she granted her forgivness for all his shortcomings to her and her mother, and remained by his bedside until he breathed his last. Alice is yet in prosperity. *AII her spare moments are devoted to the sick and afflicted. In doing this she is her self blessed, and is to-day one of the most successful authors of the age. Miss Prymm On Babies. BY WINNIE. Of all created human ertters, said Miss Priscilla Prymm, emphatically, 1 dew despise a baby! I used to reckon a snake about the most hateful; but a body knows in ginoral where to look for snakes, and how to keep clear of 'em, whereas there’s no pitting 1 out of the Way ot a baby. Go where you will, in town or country, on land or sea, you find the pestiferous little critters; and as for street cars and steamboats, a body'd think they were made for their special accommodation. If I was a railroad president, ora steamboat com pany, I’d have “babies,” as well as “ladies,” cars; and the wonder to me is that it hasn’t been done before this; Twould pay, sure. The first thing a baby does is to holler, and it hollers till it’s old enough to use its hands and feet as well as its voice, and then the mischief it does do is beyond calkilation. Why, I’ve had my ink-bottle upsot on my new list carpet, and my best cliany tea set, with the yaller rosebuds on’em, knocked off the table—leastways a plate and two cups; and my “Book of Beautiful Ex tracts” (that was given me by Porti field Grubbs before he took to keepin’ company with that bold minx Aiathusy Wilson) turn to atoms a’niost. And [MT3II3ER -1. all by a baby, or leastwise by a variety of’em for they’re all alike as a basket ol peas. And what’s most aggravatin' of all is the foolish mothers excusin’ the “little darlin’s,” on the score of “cut tin’ their teeth,” or “being so remarka bly precocious,” or something else equally interesting. I’ve always no ticed that whatever badness a baby is guilty of, it’s always set down by its mother to either its teeth or its smart ness. 1 wonder what the worrying little varmints arc made for, and why nature couldn’t hev sent folks into the world ready grown up, or at least old enough to he of some use. Now, of what earthly use is a baby, I should like to know? A little shapeless lump of flesh and blood, with its bald head lolloping on one side, and its two goggle eyes staring straight at nothing, and its flabby lists catching at everything in its way, crying at everything sensible and grinning at everything foolish. And what nonsense mothers dew talk to their babies! Why, ’twas only just now 1 heard Mrs. Simmons, next door, chattering on the back stoop to that baldheadcd monkey of hers. dor’s owny daiTm’ itty piggy-wiggy! Is be hoongry? Den be sail hab one tacker for caty. One nicey-ticey itty tacker for mudder,s itty precious plum pie, apple-dumpling, sugar-tandy ba by!’’ Fab! it’s enough to make a body sick, and I, for one, don’t wonder that children are so long in learning to talk plainly, with such outlandish, gibber ish ding-donged into their ears day and night! To my mind it’s more bar barous than French or Injun. And the ridick’lous way in which some folks dew dress their babies! All smothered up in satin, and feathers, and laces, and furs, for all the world like a milliner’s figger-head. I declare to goodness that I sometimes feel a Sort Ol pity I'>r ’em, jeev n-\ wimu -* a organ-grinder’s monkey sewed up in a milingtary coat and trowsers, with a wooden sword by his side, showing off to a grinning crowd in the streets; and which of the two is most laffable I’m sure it’s hard to tell. “Innocents,” indeed! Jest as if they don’t know the badness they’re about, and don’t mean to dew it! Why, I’ve * seen ’em kick, and screetch, and bite, and scratch, and pull people’s hair like young grizzlies; and to this day you can’t convince me that Miss Jones’s baby didn’t mean it when the little wretch grabbed hold of my new curls as I was purtendin’ to kiss it afore Deacon Peabody (the week after poor, dear Miss Peabody departed this life, it was), and pulled the hull on’em right off afore his face, comb and all! If it hadn’t a’bccn for that I might hev —hut, ahem! All that I can now say is that I’m truly rcj’iced I’m not likely to be pestered out of my life with one of the ugly, dirty, good-for-nothin’ lit tle varmints. Of all the troubles and trials of this mortal state and vale of tears, deliver me from a hahy! Another Horse Epidemic. —The New York papers reports the existence in that city of a new disease of horses, or rather the develop ment of a disease supposed to originate from the seeds of the late epizootic, which is said to l>e more fatal than the original disease. The pa pers represent that since the disappearance of that epidemic, horses, apparently in good health, have suddenly dropped down, often while in harness, and died as if of apoplexy. Veteri nary surgeons call the disease eerebro-spinal meningitis. The suddenness and fatality of the attacks, and the paralysis accompanying it, were the features that seemed to warrant the dragnosis, and as that disease is almost inevi tably fatal, very little study has been wasted on this new phase of it. Inquiry has invariably shown that the horses attacked by the new dis ease had v ly severe cases of the former epi demic, and it is probable that the present trou ble is due to their having been put .to work too soon. So tar the trouble has been most noticed in truck horses. The ear companies and other l arge owners of horses Mill not admit loss from it. A large number of horses have died in va rious parts of New York, and not a few been killed in the earlier stages of tlie attack to curtail their sufferings. A Warning. —To the men, and particularly the young men and boys, I would say a few fare, well words. Look at me, lam on the scaffold about to be launched into the other world. What has brought me to this? Let me tell you and let these words ring forever in your ears. It was whiskey and the carrying of fire arms. V bis key and the bearing of pistols have ruined me It you do not want to be imprisoned,'and in the end be brought to the scaffold, don’t drink liquor, don’t carry fire arms.— Jeremialt M'oly, on the scaffold, at Xeic Madrid, JJc. 10, IS7U.