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VOLUMEJI
THE EASTMAN TIMES.
IS PUBLISHED WEEKLY AT
Eastman, Dodge Cos., Ga.,
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Professional and Business.
H. W. J. HAM. | | THOMAS H. DAWSON.
HAM & DAWSON,
A T TORN EY S A T LA W ,
(Office in Times building.)
EASTMAN, GEO.,
Will practice in the counties of Dodge, Tel
fair, Appling, Montgomery, Emanuel, Laurens
and Pulaski, and elsewhere by special con
tract
Feb. 14-tf
DR. J. I X m lL A. SI lER,
Physican and Surgeon,
Offers his professional serv ices to the people
of Eastman and surrounding country.
JSST' Office near Gen. Foster's house.
1-ly.
L, A. HALL,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
EASTMAN, GA.
t 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. it. Half fee in advance ; con
sultation fee reasonable.
J&r Office in the Court House.
i-iy-
J. EUGENEHICKS,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Mount YernoD, Montgomery Cos., Ga
PULASKI house;
Savannah Georgia.
Fronting South, a Frontage cf 273 Feet.
WM. 11. WILDBERGER,
toI 1 no 1-tl Froprietor.
a j 0 _„-, -
Selected Poetry.
Thoughts of Thee.
It may be so, my dearest one,
That w'O shall never meet again ;
Yet in my heart I hold thee dear,
And there thine image will remain.
When I am far away from thee,
And other friends afound thee glide,
Say, wilt thou ever think of me,
And w ish me once more by thy side ?
The sweetest hours I ever knew*
Were those, dear one, I spent with tliee ;
Fond memory, to her promise true.
Will often bring them back to me.
Then how can I regret the day,
Sw'eet one, when first we fondly met?
Each flower that blooms along my way,
Forbids that I should e’er forget.
Trust iis Gcd.
EY NOBMAN XICLEOr, D. D.
Courage, brother ! do not stumble,
Though, thy path be dark as night ;
There's a st..r to guide the humble —
“Trust in God and do the right.”
Though the road be king and dreary,
Ami the end be out of sight ;
Foot it bravely, strong or weary—
“ Trust in God and do the right.”
P ;r‘. h “policy” and cunning,
iVrish all that fears the light,
Whether losing, whether winning,
“Trust in God and do the right.”
Shun all forms of guilty passion,
Fiends can look like angels bright ;
Heed no custom, school, or fashion—
“ Trust in God and do the right.”
Some will hate tliee, some will love thee,
Some will Hatter, some will slight ;
Cease from man, and look above thee,
“Trust in God and do the right.”
Simple rule and safest guiding—
Inward peace and shining light—
Star upon our path abiding —
“Trust in God and do the right.”
BARBARA.
Weirdly beautiful as the ideal crea
tion of some old master, with the face
and figure of an Eastern sultana—a
strange, intense light burning in her
stormy eyes—was Barbara Brundenel
as she gazed seaward from a window
oi Brundenel House, fascinated by the
grandeur of the storm that raged with
out.
By her side stood Dr. Eustace Brun
denel, her cousin.
Every now and then vivid sheets of
lightning flame lighted up the heavens.
Looking up into her cousin’s face,
Barbara distinguished an expression
of extreme anxiety. i
‘Eustace, what troubles you ? Is
there any one in danger?’ she whis
pered.
‘Y cs. Old Betteridge but now sight
ed a small vessel—a yacht apparently
—and this is such a treacherous coast
that a calamity seems inevitable.’
l’rcsently there came a more vivid
flash than any that had preceded it.—
Eustace jumped, to his feet with a cry
of horror.
‘What is it ?’ eagerly demanded
Barbara “What did you see ?’
‘The yacht is on the bar !’
Snatching his dreadnought from its
peg, and catching up a lantern that
lay near by, Brundencl tore from the
house, followed almost immediately by
the impulsive Barbara, who had been
seized with a determination to per
form a part in the perilous work of at
tempted rescue.
When Brundenel arrived on the
beach, with the assistance of some
sturdy fishermen who were collected
there, conferring as to the course to
be pursued, the life-boat was speedily
launched. But no amount of persua
sion could induce Barbara to relin
quish her purpose of accompanying
the crew.
Ihe oars dipped into the crisp foam,
and the boat carried its- occupants up
great black horrors of waves, and
down into whirling hollows with swift
alternation.
Presently the yacht loomed up be
fore them, the bristling jaws of the
reefs holding her fast, and the vivid
lightning playing about her bows.—
Half a dozen human figures could be
seen clinging frantically to the ropes.
Nearer and nearer the rescuers drew,
until at last they were close to the
wreck. The frightened men tumbled
eagerly into the boat, until there was
leit only a solitary figure on the deck
of the yacht.
He did not stir or seem to notice
them until Brundenel shouted to him :
Tor Heaven’s sake, man, come
down. You’ll be drowned.’
‘Push ofl !’ was the reply. ‘I ara
well enough here.’
‘Good heavens !’ Brundenel exclaim
ed, sharply, ‘lt is Guy Thornton.’
‘Brundenel !’ was the surprised res
ponse, ‘Life is worth saving since it is
EASTMAN, DODGE COUNTY, W EDNESDAY, MAY 21, 1873.
saved by you, dear friend.’
They had been traveling compan
ions a year before, and a warm affec
tion between them had been the result.
There was a merry party in Brun
denel House at breakfast the following
morning. The storm had swept past
while the darkness lasted, and day-had
dawned as fair as a dream of heaven.
Thornton had quite recovered from
any exhaustion from the previous ev
ening, and announced to his friend his
intention of bidding adieux and going
back to London without farther delay.
Brundenel stared at him and rejoined :
‘You shall do nothing of jthe sort. —
I cannot part with you so soon. The
sea gave you up to me, and I claim
you. Do not think of going for some
weeks to come. I shall really feel hurt
if you do.’
‘Friends are awaiting me there.’
‘Let them wait.’
But Thornton seemed resolute.
‘You can send back word by the men
who were with you in the yacht,’
Brundenel resumed
Barbara looked up at their guest.
‘Stay !’ she whispered.
He seemed strangely moved, strange
ly averse to remaining. At that whis
pered word from the girl, even his lips
lost their color. But he leaned forward
suddenly until his bronzed beard
touched her hair.
‘I am your slave,’ he said.
Afterwards there was merry times
at Brundenel House. Thornton, with
his marvelous spirits and rare moods,
seemed to fascinate everybody.
Brundenel began to notice the change
in his cousin at last.
‘Barbara,’ he said to her one day,
‘haye a care. You are falling in love
with this handsome stranger.’
‘Not so,’ she answered, flushing hot
ly. ‘He is glorious, he is superb, and
I admire him. That is all.’
‘lndeed !’
‘Don’t be exasperating. Eustace.’
‘1 only wished to warn you. I would
not like you to fall in love with Thorn
ton.’ ••
‘Why ?’
‘Because I’m half in love with you
myself, and may ask you to marry me
some day.’
She laughed.
‘Foolish boy. You’d better not.’
There the conversation ended.
They were all out on one of the is
lands that dotted the harbor, one per
fect day full of hazy warmth and sun
shine. Mrs.. Grimshaw, the house
keeper, was there to play propriety.
Barbara and Thornton had made the
passage in a staunch green and white
wherry, while Brundenel and Mrs.
Grimshaw followed in their wake with
a smaller boat.
It was glorious—wandering idly
along the pebbly beach, or sauntering
among the rocks, with the midsummer
sun dropping its splendor about them,
the hazy air heavy with sweets, the.
sea one vast purple plain speckled
with silver spots.
Barbara wandered a little apart from
the rest presently, and stood on the
edge ot the cliff, looking seaward. —
Suddenly there was a cry. Thornton
looked up from the mimic castle of
shells he was rearing. In the place
where the girl had stood a moment
since there was only a gleam of sky
and of water.
\\ ith a bound he had reached the
edge of the cliff, and was leaning over
the dizzy height. There scarcely
twenty feet below him was Barbara,
lying still as a dead woman, on a
shelving rock. She had caught at
some bushes in falling, aud had bare
ly managed to crawl to that place of
temporary security.
Even as Thornton looked down on
her he could see an imploring express
ion on her 'white frightened face
‘Fear nothing,’ he shouted down to
her. ‘I will save you.’
He dropped over the dizzy verge,
clinging to the sharp, jagged points
of the rock. Downward he made his
slow’ and tedious way. He reached
her and caught her up in his brawny
arms.
‘My darling!” he muttered, with
white lips.
‘Guy, oh, Guy! I am so glad!’ And
she flung her arms round his neck
and clung there convulsively.
Her words seemed like a revelation.
His face grew ghastly in its despair
ing anguish. He put her from him for
a single instant.
'I had never dreamed of this,’ he
moaned.
Then he turned suddenly, as if not
daring to trust himself farther, snatch
ed the scarf from his neck and knotted
it about her waist.
‘lt vould be so easy—so easy to
plunge into the boiling flood below,’
he civd suddenly, ‘ls life so very
deaf i’ you Barbara?’
For answer she flung up her hands
with & frightened look. The lines
ifis mouth deepened and ifkrden
ed as he saw the gesture.
‘Cling fast to me,’ he whispered,
huskily. Let Heaven be the Judge.’
His arms were around her again.
Slowly and with difficulty he made
his way up the almost naked face of
the rock, thus burdened—slowly and
with difficulty, and on the edge of the
precipice he reeled and felt himself
dragged upon solid ground by the
strong arm o: Brundenel.
My faith,’ panted the latter. ‘But
you two have had a narrow escape of
it. My head swims only to think of
the risk you run.’
‘Wonderful, sobbed Mrs. Grimshaw.
Thornton diu not speak. For a
minute or two lie was like one from
whom all life and strength had been
taken. Then Ix3 looked at Barbara.
Like himself, she was deathly pale.
There were half a dozen hysterical
ejaculations on the part of Brundenel
and M"s. Grimshaw, then a strange
quiet fell, and Thornton heard foot
steps retreating. Looking up a sec
ond tii -e, he saw that he and Barbara
were alone.
His face became strangely convulsed,
lie struggled with himself for a mo
ment, then put out both his arms,
‘Barbara,’ lie whispered.
She crept nearer by a step or two’
then drew back again.
•What is it? she cried. I rc. fright
en G > 1 canrqji dps*.-tend
you.
His hands dropped listlessly to fits
side.
‘You are right to shrink from me,’
be groaned. Away, away! Follow
Mrs. Grimshaw. You are not safe
with me.
‘Why not?’ she ventured.
‘Barbara I am a villain.’
Her stormy eyes dilated.
‘A villain*!’ she repeated, in slow
incredulous tones.
Yes.’ He flung himself on the grass
at her feet. ‘Forgive me, if you can,
for the wrong I have done you. I can
never forgive myself.
“Guy, Guy!’
‘You love me,’ he went on fiercely.
I know it now, though I’ve been blind
up to this day. You love me, and
you are dearer to me than life or my
hope of Heaven.’
Hot blushes swept over her cheeks.
She went nearer to him and sought
to slip her hand into his, but he push
ed it rudely aw’ay.
Barbara, hear me!’ he cried, in a
voice that seemed not his own. ‘Learn
the full depths of my treachery. The
morning after I came here I told
Eustace that a friend was waiting for
me in London, Shall I tell yon some
thing of that friend?’
*Yes.’
‘lt was my wife of whom I spoke.’
Barbara recoiled as from a blow.
The color forsook her face, leaving it
marble-like in its pallor once again.
She put out her hands involuntarily,
like one groping in the dark.
‘Have you anything farther to say
to me?’ she asked, in a strange, icy
tone of voice.
‘\ es > yes! I have been wrong wrick
ed. But believe me, I uever thought
of anything like this. I saw the danger
oi my loving 3 7 0 u, but I never thought
j
‘Hush she said!’ holding up her
hand.
‘ W ill 3 r ou not forg’ive me? Heaven
knows that I struggled against temp
tation. I knew 7 from the first that the
spell of 3’our presence would be irre
sistable. I sought to break awa3’ r to
fly before it was too late—
‘And we would not let you go. Yes
I know all that she said wearih’.
‘Will you not forgive the great
wrong I have done you ?’
‘Yes I forgive it.’
Thornton leaned towards her.’
‘Listen he cried. ‘You must hear
my story. At twenty, to save my
father from ruin and the shame of an
exposure, I married a woman I hated.
She was ten years older than myself,
and ugly; yet I married her. A sad
mistake was it not? But I felt my
father must be saved at any cost.’
Here he paused a moment to wipe
tiie moisture from his brow.
‘That was five years ago Barbara.
Since then I have been like an ishmoe
lite or. the earth. I could not look on
the face of the woman who was mv
wife for many consecutive days with
out going mad. Hence I have wan
dered up and down the earth. Death
would have been a welcome release
from the bonds that galled me, but
death does not take so kindly to those
who court him. Now you know
why I lingered till the last one on
the wreck that fearful night. It
seemed as if my hour had come
Would to Heaven I had died then and
there.’
Barbara stood with her face turned
from him when he ceased speaking*
A statute could not have been more
motionless.
‘Pity me Barbara,’ lie cried, touch
ing her hand gently. ‘I am so misera
ble.’
‘I do pity you’
She turned and walked swiftly to
ward the beach. At first her eyes
were so blinded that she saw nothing
—not even the way in which she was
going. But when she reached the
landing-place she discovered that the
smaller of the two boats was not there.
A footstep came striding up behind
her just as she made this discovery.
You must go back with me in the
wherry,’ said Thornton’s voice behind
her.
‘ls there no other way?’
‘None.’
It was too true. Brundenel and
Mrs. Grimshaw had deserted them,
and were already far oil the home
ward route.
Barbara stood irresolute for a mo
ment.
‘Come she said then in a sharp cold
voice,’ let us go at once, I am weary.’
They stepped into a wherry, and
Thornton caught up the oars. Barbara
sat by herself in the prow, her passion
ate slumberous eyes fixed on the crest
ed waves over which the}' glided.
Not a word was said.
At last the keel grated on the sand
at the base of the headland. Barbara
sprang out.
Thornton gave her a look that was
eloquent with despair.
‘Am I to come no more to Brunden
el House?'" he said.
‘Never again/ she answered.
Then she darted oft.
Up the slipperypatli she climbed,
like one fleeing from doom.
It was Brundenel- who opened the
door on her arrival at the house
‘Where is Thornton?’ he cried teas
ingly. ‘Mrs. Grimshaw and I saw
what was cooling, and wisely took
ourselves off. Am I to congratulate
either of you?’
‘No.’
lie looked at her sharply.
‘What’s happened? Surely you
have not refused him?’
Then he said no more. Something
in her face that awed and frightened
him. In silence he led her to the sofa,
and in silence went away, leaving her
there alone.
At the end of an hour he came back
again.
‘Something terrible has happened,’,
he said gravely. ‘You are more com
posed now. Tell me all/
She did tell him, sitting there like
some figure carved in stone. When the
end o£ the recital was reached Brun
denel started up, his hands clenched,
his face pale with passion.
‘Thornton is a villain/ he said be
tween his teeth
“No, no!’ She flung her arms wildly
round his neck, her statue-like self
control giving way for the moment.
‘You do not comprehend his tempta
tion/ she cried. ‘Be just, Eustace.
Pity him,’
[NUMBER 18.
‘Ami you Barbara?’
‘Don’t mind me. Culy promise one
thing: that you will have no quarrel
with this man.’
‘I promise/ he replied sullenly.
He strode several times up and
down thej'oom. At last he came back
again and halted by the girl’s side.
‘I always liked Thornton,’ he said.
‘But he must come here no more.
I cannot take his hand after this. And
Barbara, if it will be easier for you to
face the world with the brotherly sort
„of love I can give you— ’
Hush I Never speak of that again,
Eustace.’
‘B'it l am really,.fond of you
er than I can ever be of any other wo
man. I was willing to give you up to
Thornton, though—while I thought
him worthy of you. But that is all
over/
‘Hush V she said again, and crept
away.
After that two or three wretched
days slipped by, then Thornton came
over just at dusk one night, a haggard,
weary man, the ghost of his former
self.
Brundenel met him at the door.
‘Your business here ?’ he said, curt
ly*
Thornton put out a hand that shook
like an aspen in the wind.
‘Barbara has told you/ he murmured.
‘l’m glad you know what a villain 1
am. But will you not take my hand
just once for the sake of the old friend
ship V
‘Heaven help you ! Why are you
here V
Brundenel spoke in a softer tone,
and his lips trembled.
‘I wanted to hear from her, to see
her just for one minute, perhaps/
‘No, no. It must not be. Don’t come
again. Good-bye. You will go back
to your wife V
‘Yes.’
‘Do so.’
The two shook hands and parted.
Brundenel started to go in. He found
Barbara standing liko a j*tst
within the door. A single glance into
his face told him that she mnst have
heard all.
He went up to her and kissed her.
‘Shall I never see him again V she
gasped.
‘Never/ Brundenel answered ; and
lie realized now, as he had not done
before, liow madly this girl loved his
friend.
But Barbara did see Thornton again.
It was three days later. She wa3
out on the rocks at the hour of twi
light. She stood near the verge of the
precipice, watching the restless tide
as it came tumbling in and wondering
in a listless sort of way how one felt
who was going mad. Suddenly a foot
step pounded beside her.
‘Barbara !’ cried a rapt, eager voice r
and she felt herself drawn to a wildly
beating heart.
‘Oh, Guy, Guy I’
She lay in his arms without the
power of motion or resistance. For a
few blissful seconds she forgot every
thing save the frantic joy of his pres
ence. Then she suddenly pushed him
from her.
‘Let me go/ she moaned.
T cannot. Ah, how I love you.—
Look at me !’ And lie suddenly drew
back, turning his worn face full upon
her, ‘See how I have suffered. I
thought I should never see you again.
The struggle is terrible 1 It is killing
me.’
She put up two weak trembling
hands.
‘For the love of Heaven, leave me l’
‘I will not l’ he cried, fiercely. ‘You
are my sun, my life 1 I should droop
and die without you. Have mercy,
Barbara l’
‘\\ hat would you have me do ?’ she
asked, with blanched lips.
Tly with me, darling ! I love you
above honor and friends and country.
I love you better than life. Just so
madly ought you love me. You do
love me—you cannot deny that 1’
She stood like a statue. He fell at
her feet, lifting up his handsome, con
vulsed face iu prayerful entreaty.
Fly with me/ lie repeated. ‘Let us
leave this place. Afar from here we
can be happy together. We will for
[CONTINUED ON FOURTH TAGE.]