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VOLUMEJI THE EASTMAN TIMES. IS PUBLISHED WEEKLY AT Eastman, Dodge Cos., Ga., by ii. s. buT£ nr oiv. Terms— One year, $2 00 ; Six months, SI.OO. All subscriptions required in advance, invariably. Advertising Hates. Sqrs Tm. ’ 3M. GM. 12 M. 1 $4 00 $7 00 $lO 00 sls 00 2 6 25 12 00 18 00 25 00 4 9 75 19 00 28 00 39 00 4 11 60 22 50 34 00 40 00 \ 20 00 32 59 55 00 80 00 1 col. 35 00 GO 00 80 00 130 00 Advertisements inserted at $1 per square for fust insertion, and 75 cents for each, subsequent insertion. A square is the space of ten solid 1 ines bre vier type. Advertisements contracted for a specified time, before the expiration o time contracted for, will be charged for th time run at our schedule rates. Marriage and obituary notices, tributes of respect, and other kindred notices, occupying over ten lines, will be charged fur as other ad vertisements. Advertisements must take the run of the pa per when not contracted otherwise. All bills for advertising are due on the first appearance of advertisement, or when pre sented, except when otherwise contracted for. Parties handing in advertisements will please stato the required time for publication, other wise they will be inserted till forbid and charged for accordingly. Transient advertisements unaccompanied by the money will receive no attention. Advertisements or Communications, to se cure an insertion the same week, should be handed in on Monday morning. All letters sliouM be adddressed to R. S. BUKTON, Publisher. RATES AND RULES FOR LEGAL ADVERTISING. Sheriff's sales, per levy, $3 50 ; sheriffs mort gage sales, per levy, $5 ; tax sales, per levy, $3 ; citation for letters of administration, $1; cita tion tor letters of guardianship; application for dismission from administration, $10; ap plication for dismission from guardianship, $5 ; application for leave to sell land (one square) $5, and each additional square, $3 ; application lor homestead, $2; notice to debtors and cred itors, $4 ; land sales (Ist square), and each ad ditional square, $3 ; sale of perishable prop erty, per square, $2 50 ; ( .stray notices, sixty days, $7 ; notice to perfect service, $7 ; rules nisi to foreclose mortgage, per square, $4 ; rules to establish lost papers, per square, $4 ; rules compelling titles, qv-r square. $4 ; rules to per fect service in divorce cases, $lO. Sales of land, etc., by administrators, exec utors or guardians, are required bv law to be belli on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of 10 in the forenoon and 4 in the afternoon, at the court house door in the county in which the property is situated. Notice of these sales must be given in a public gazette 40 days previous to the day of sale. Notices for the sale of personal property must be given in like manner 10 days previous to day of sale. Notices to the debtors and creditors of an estate must be published 40 days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell land, Ac., must be published for two months. Citations for letters of administration, guar dianship, Ac., must be published 30 days—for dismission from administration, monthly for three months—for dismission from guardian ship, 40 days. Rules for foreclosure of mortgages must be published monthly for four months—for estab lishing lost papers for the full space of three months —for compelling titles from executors ° r administrators, where bond has been given by the deceased, the full space of three months. Publication will always be continued accord ing to these, the legal requirements, unless oth erwise ordered. 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.]