Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

VOLUME VI. THE MAY. BY MARIE 8. LADD. When the cruel frosts have dried All the jrices from the trees, Adcl the snow, with mantle white, Wraps the world so wearily; In the shadow then we sit Solemnly, and sing our lays, Yet through memory will flit Thoughts of other fairer days. These, alone, can give us cheer, Wmtry hours are then so drear. Creeping her slow lenth away, Leaving earth full brown and bare, Then the winter on her way Leaves behind her glcom and care; Lotindeu by our earthly scope, ’Mid the gloom so dark and strange, There would be no wing for hope, If we do not look for change— And there comes a happier day, With the opening buds of May. So when sorrows grimly clasp ’Round the heart with frosty touch, Steeling life within the grasp Of their unrelenting clutch; Shading all with wintry gloom, Thrilling with dismay and dread, Bringing blight where only bloom Ouee dropped sunshine ’round the head— Fear not, neighbor, then, I pray, There w ill surely come the May. FAltMEll A. AND HIS BUTTER Avery line dairy has old farmer A.; He makes “gilt-edged," his neighbors all say. Now, old farmer A thought his butter so nice That by “holding" he’d get a much higher price. JUNE. "Good morning, good morning,” the middle man said; "Have you butter to sell?" Mr. A. shook his head. "What d’ye say?" “Thirty-five is a very fair price.” Mr. A. shook hjs head; “My butter’s too nice.” SEPTEMBER. "I’ve called 'rouud again to look at your butter." This remark set the old man’s heart in a flutter; (It’s advanced, his cal ling shows that very plain; I think I won’t sell till it rises again;) "What d’ye pay?” “Forty cents,” the middle man said. "That's a little more like it,” out still shook hie head. NOVEMBER. "I want some ‘gilt-edge, ’ some ‘A number one,* I think to the very top ‘notch it has gone;’ Mr. A. you bad better take my advice— Dispose of your butter while it brings a good price. 01 course you’re aware you may liokl it too long; Ihe best butter sometimes gets very atroug.” "'Vliat d’ye pay?” “Forty five,” the middle man said. “Let’r bob up to fifty,” he still shook his head. march. The butter is ‘frowy;’ he’ll ‘hold’ it uo longer. I or every day it smells ‘stronger and stronger,’ •Sorry he hadn’t sold when ’tw r as higher, He starts off to town to ‘hunt up’ a buyer, the middleman’s trier goes down through the stuff- Whew! whew! how it smells! One smell is enough. “I don’t wish to buy." “Make me an offer, please.” “Mr. A.,1 am paying ten cents for poor grease.” moral. N°w, don’t ‘hold’ too long just because it is nice; ‘Dot ’em slide” every time when it brings a good price. MISCELLANY. fWritten tor the Eastman Times.] THE LOST RABY. BY MRS. C. V. A. As Mrs. Devant sat sowing busily, an( l Kinging a soft lullaby to her baby she heard the familiar footstep of her husband advancing hurriedly. ‘Come, Mildred, away with and toil. I have goo 1 news for you ; we will soon be in possession of untold wealth.’ T)o explain yourself, Mr. Devant, or I shall really think you have violated your temperance pledge ' ! ‘Ah, no, indeed—read this, (throw- £l]c Eastman ernes. ing her a letter) it is all truo—blessed fate/ Mrs. Devant obeyed in breathless surprise. ‘Dear Walter— Conte without delay to my death-bed. Bring your wife and child, that I may bestow on him the wealth that long years of industry has accumulated. He is the only male child to propagate my name. Unclosed is a check for a small amount to bear your expenses. ('Small amount, indeed; he little dreams how great it seems to ns/ murmured Mildred, lifting her tear dimmed eyes t> her husband.) Now, as delays are dangeaous, had best make the greatest possible haste. Your affecti mate uncle, 11. James Devant/ ‘Oh, how c m this be true ? Are we to he made wealthy in a single day ? I can realize no such good luck/ said Mrs. Devant in a vehement outburst of gratitude. ‘Now, dear, when can you be ready ? The steamer leaves to-morrow at 12. If we do not go then we will have to remain another dav/ ‘Yes, to-morrow ; my trunk shall be packed to-night—l shall hinder* ance ’ The night was far spent ere Mrs. Devant sought her pillow. But she could not sleep, thinking of the long journey ami trie unexpected happiness that wealth can bestow. Tiie morrow came, and soon the hour of departure. Now can be seen two happy faces, beaming with hope, on the handsome Glide, embarked for a southern port. Many hours were spent in day-dreams of the future, and the thought of returning in more than regal splendoj to the former horn a of noverty, was one of the most pleasant and cheering. The city of S was reached,after a few days voyage, where they were to spend one night only, to prepare for the consummation of their journey. But, alas ! how sad are the decrees of fate. Like a robber in the night came the enemy of childhood— croup—and in two short hours the messenger of Death had folded his somber wings about the idolized form of little bright-eyed Homer, and the p >or, disconsolate, weeping mother sat alone in the sti ! lnoss of death’s cham ber. All the bright hopes of the future gone and a broken heart her only so lace—no kind friend to so >the her an** guish with loving sympathy—no gens tie hands to close the eyes or fold the tiny hands. Mr. Devant returns with a physician—too late—all is over— earthly help can avail nothing.- We turn from the scene—we will not in trude on their sorrow. ‘Mildred, we must shake off this gloom ; dear as our little Homer was to us, we will have to leave him in this strange Southern city, and pursue our journey.’ ‘No, no ; I cannot leave him—l will not leave him. We must take the dear lifeless form to our native home, and make his grave among our loved ones. I care not for wealth, nor even life, now our babe is gone/ ‘Mildred, you astonish me in youv weakness ; be calm and brave, as be comes a woman of ybur strength of mind. Would you dash a fortune away in this manner ? I will not —I cannot —as much as I love you and our babe; I cannot let this golden opportunity pass. I have a plan to disclose to you which I trust your better judgment will submit to, if not at first approve/ ‘A plan, Mr. Devant 1 Oh, Walter, what can you mean ? Tell me, for I cannot bear this torture longer—for as such I feel it to be.’ ‘Now, Mildred, try and calm your self ; when the last sad offices are per formed, 1 will disclose all.* Mrs. Devant burst into a fit of dis consolate weeping. ‘You will not carry him back, then let me go with my child homo, aud you can continue your journey. Your un cle will not change his plan, and if he does he will give you enough to remove our present embarrassment. ‘Mildred, you know not what you say, or of whom you speak ; moreover my plans are laid, aud I demand your acquiescence/ ‘Then I am a tool in your bauds, and care not what you do ; but my babe EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, MAY 16, IS7S. is more to me than wealth, even tho' he is dead. Remember, that whatever your plan may be, I shall not bear the burden of the sin before my Gol, though the world condemn me/ ‘Nay, Mildred, speak not thus i if I sin it will be only that good may come.j In the afternoon of the same day two lone persons might be seen return ing from an unmarked grave—the fa ther thoughtful and slow—the mother weeping sad and lonely. Who can. tell the depths of a love and sorrow for a lost babe, when alone in the solitude of their own room? Mr. Devant made a full disclosure of his hastily matured plan, and wheth er for weal or woo, his mind was made up to carry it into effect. Could he persuade Mrs Devant to keep the se cret ? Ilis heart was not dead to all feelings of good, but money had tempt ed him, as it had others, and will con tinue in time. ‘We will linger in the city to-mor row in search of a child to bear the name and inherit the fortune that is so soon to be ours/ Mrs Devant threw up her hands in holy horror at the* thought of commit ting so great a sin, and begged and in sisted that he wouldn't engage in such a crime. ‘Leave all to me—just promise to keep my secret, and I can manage the rest/ It was not without long pu-suasion and stern commands that Mrs. Devant would take any part in the daring scheme. Early in the morning of the second day they set out to find some babe to fill the place of the dead. Nor were their efforts vain—late seemed to smile on them. Before one short hour they met*i babe carrie 1 by a woman star ing idly about as if all were new and strange to her. ‘There, Mildred, if that is a boy we must act at once.’ Calling to nurse, ‘Won't you let the lady see that pretty baby ?' ‘Yes, sir/ ‘What is the baby's name, girl V ‘II >mer Eugene Cromwell, sir.' A tear stood in the mother’s eye.— Mr. Devant seeing it, whispered : ‘Courage, Mildred, courage.' ‘lndeed, how strange —that is my wifi/s old friend. We must see her— does your mistress live in the city ?' ‘No, sir, she just come down last weeK to spend a short time with Miss Lou/ 'Can you tell me where to find her?' We will call on her immedi ately/ ‘On Soutli Broad # sir.’ ‘We will take the babte with us and you can come on—here is some money, go buy something for yourself.' ‘Thank you sir, but please lot me carry the baby, he might cry, and then Miss lola would not like it/ ‘Never mind that, your Miss will be so glad to see her old friend she will not think of that. Now come home when you have spent your money.' The Devants drove away and the girl made no haste. There, Mildred, you see the first ef fort is a success, and in one h >ur we will be on our way westward. You must change his clothes for our own, and destroy these he has on.' ‘Do you remember its name is the same as our babe's V ‘Yes, that is so strange —Cromwell —I once had a particular friend at col lege, Eugene Cromwell, that lived S'Uth/ ‘Waller, supp >se that should he his babe and you should meet him in fu ture ? Have you thought of the Hearts you are breaking, even though we es cape detection V ‘See here/ continued Mrs. Devant, ‘are little loop-ups with baby's name— what shall I do with them ?’ ‘Destroy them, by all means/ But Mrs. Devant followed the dic tates of her own head, and put them safely away. ‘Now Mildred, be re idy in fifteen rninut *s, aud we will soon be beyond detection/ Toe Devants are speeding away as fast as rail and steam can carry them. Let us turn to our friends, the Crom wells. Behold the agonized look of terror and dismay on the faces of both mother and nurse when they were convinced that the baby was no where to be found. A runner is dispatched in haste for Mr. Cromwell and his host, to inform them of the abduction of Mrs. Crom well's babe, while her frien 1 Miss Lou was exhausting every argument in woman's power to convince her that tiie friends would arrive soon with the little one ‘Noj Miss, they are gone. I see the man whisper something to his wife, and she was crying, and I begged them to let me carry the baby/ ‘Did they give any names ?’ ‘No, Miss ; I 'tirely forgot to ask them. I did not want to be p jrt to any of your old friends.' J ust at this juncture the two friends, ! Cromwell and Ashton, came in, breath less and pale, with suppresse 1 eni >tion. Mrs. Cromwell rushed to her husband, and could only litter^ ‘My babe ! my babe is gone !' and was borne fainting from the room. The two gentlemen heard the nurse's statement, and were deliberating what course to pur ue, wnen anew thought suggested itself to Mr. Ashton. ‘Can you put full confluence in the girl's statement —may she not be bribed ?' ‘.She and her mother are old family servants, and have ever been faithful. I must think she is the dupe of this scheme/ ‘But you can have a private inter view with her and see if there is any ground lor hope from that source.’ ‘He'’ sorrow was so de p that none could doubt her, though money some times dazzles stronger minds than hers/ ‘I will go and see what I can glean from her/ ‘Make her any offer for the tiuth— her liberty, aud that of her mother— anything to gain information of my lost child. Ido so much fear the re sult on Mrs. Cromwel/s health—poor lola —she is so unprepared for this blow/ Mr. Ashton so m returned, with all hope from that source dispelled. They proceeded to alarm all the detective and police force, and send advertise ments to all parts of the country. — Much time and money was expended; still day after day passed and no tid ings came to gladden the hearts of the sorrowing parents. Sorrow aud des pair were delineated on every feature of the stricken parents' faces. Though hope, true to her mission, would whis per ‘your babe will yet oe lound.'— They lingered in the city many weeks, till hope seemed to be vain, aud being deferred made the heart sick. Mr. Cromwell proposed to return home. ‘How can we go without our babe ? If I c >uld only see God’s hand in this, my submission would be meakness its elf. I cannot feel that it is Ilis will. — If I could have seen the angel of death in all its cold horror, bear my babe away, and the clods of this distant city cover his form, I could - recognize His hand, and submit with Christian fortitude. But, alas ! not so ; this very moment he may be cold or hun giy —thrown on some cold charity, or perhaps raised to revel in crime and vice—a curse to the land My God ! my God ! why hast thou forsaken me !' ‘lola, my dear .wife, this is unlike your sustaining faith, -rust and pray, my dear, and God will in his own good time restore our darling to our arms.’ The quietude of their home reached, Mrs. C. was taken ill, and for many weeks hovered between life and death. The ravings through all her delirium were for the restoiation of her babe Many were the tears shed f>r the suf fering of so gnod and pure a friend. She was not thus to die and f >rget her sorrow —she must come back to life again to realize all the grief ot a life spent in sorrowing for a lost child.— Slowly and surely did the doctor watch the recovery of his patient. ‘Friend Cromwell, you must take your wife away from this place and its associated memories. A change will do her infinite good. She willjbe diverted from her absorbing grief by new scenes and surroundings/ Anywhere, Doctor, your judgment may suggest. I will spare no time and means to restore lola to her wonted health/ ‘Allow to suggest the beautiful scen ery of the Potomac, There you will find every comfort that the noble sons and daughters can bestow, and the bracing air will do much to restore her vigor/ ‘\\ hen do you think Mrs. Cromwell will be strong enough for the trip ?' ‘Several weeks hence, but anticipa tion will do much to strengthen her, b >th mentally and physically.’ ‘I will make known your suggestion to her/ ‘lola, how would you like a visit to the mountains of Virginia ? The doc tor thinks it advisable for you to trav el/ ‘I leave it with you, dear ; we have nothing to live for now.' ‘But we have much to gain, dearest. Your health is the only source from whence comfort can arise.' ‘Then as I grow stronger we will decide/ Before the heat of summer is fully upon them, Mr. Cromwell is seen fol lowing the meanderings of the Poto mac, with his wife by bis side. She is stronger now, but the old grief still grows at the heart, and the roses for bear to bloom in their former richness on her almost snowy cheek. [concluded next week.] A ‘gentleman of the period' was go ing out in his carriage to make some calls with liis wife, when he discovered that he had left his visiting cards He ordered his driver, recently come into his service, to go to the mantel piece in his sitting room and bring the cards he should see there. The servant did as ordered, retaining the articles to be used as he was directed, and off start ed the gentleman, sending the driver with cards wherever, the ‘not at home' occured. As these were numerous, he turned to his servant with the ques tion, ‘How many cards have you left?' ‘Well/ said the servant, ‘the queen of hearts is all that remains/ ‘When I was quite a boy/ says Smith, ‘my father ordered a coat f>r me from an Israelite, and when the garment came home, it was luge enough for two or three of my size. The perplexed Jew, after vainly trying to gather up the fulness in the back with his hand so that the front might set tight, declared at length that ‘the coat was goot; it was no fault of to coat; te coat fit goot enough, butte poy was too slim ' ‘Mama/ exclaimed a beautiful girl, who suffered affectation to obscure in tellect, ‘what is that long green thing lying on the dish before you?' ‘A cucumber, my beloved Georgiana/ replied the doting parent, with a bland smile of approbation on her daughter's commendable curiosity.— ‘A cucumber! gracious goodness, my dear mama, how extraordinary! I always imagined until this moment that they grew in slices!' Babies are said to resemble wheat in many respects. First, neither are good for much till they arrive at ma turity; second, both are bred in the house, and are also the flower of the family; third, both have to be cradled; fourth, both are generally well thrash ed before they are done with. A Newton county man having lost his horse recently, recalled to mind Sut Lovengood’s story of ‘How Dad Piaved Hoss.’ So he hitched himself to a plough, and made a boy drive him In this way lie ploughed out two acre 9of corn in two hou rs. All | who feel inclined to doubt this story j are respectfully referred to Covington ! Enterprise. Why can’t the captain of a ship keep a memorandum of the weight of his anchor, inst ad of weighing it ev ery time he leaves port? ‘B b* said a young fellow at a fancy fair, ‘you are missing all the sights on this side/ ‘Never mind, Bill,* retorted Bob, ‘I am sighting all the misses on the other/ Two lovers courted a Miss Grubb. One named Garrett was successful. The other left the country because he detested a garret, aud couldn’t live without grub. ‘Mother/ said young hopeful to his mother the other day, ‘did you know the iron horse had but one ear?’ ‘One ear? merciful gracious, child, what do you mean?’ ‘Why, the engineer, of course/ Why are sheep the most dissipated animals in creation? Because they gambol in their youth, spend most of their days on the turf; the best of them are blacklegs, and they are sure to be fleeced at last. ■ ♦♦♦ ‘Waiter/ said a fastidious gentle*-, man, exhibiting a singular looking ob ject on the soup-ladle, ‘waiter, do you know what that is?’ ‘That, sir, looks like a mouse, sir. We often find them in soup, sir. No extra charge, sir.’ The author of a radical total-absti nence novel wrote in his book, ‘Drunks ennoss is folly.’ lie was much cha grined when the work came homo from the press to find that the printers had made it read, ‘Drunkenness is jolly/ ‘My dear, did you say or did you not say what I said you said, because Mrs. Grundy said you said you never did say what I said you said? Now, if you did say that you did not say what 1 said you said, then what did you say?’ ‘Ton say, Mrs. Jones, that you have lived with the defendant for eight years. Does the Court understand that you are married to him?* ‘lu course it does/ ‘Have you a marriage certificate?* ‘Yes, your honor, three on *etn—two gals and a boy.* A perplexed housewife introduced to her guests a dish of oysters, the re sults of her first efforts at Cooking this luscious bivalve, with this explanation: ‘I found it very difficult to dress them, so I just held on to their wings and cut their stomachs off. I guess they **l be good/ — A gentleman being asked by a cler gyman why he did not attend the evening prayer meeting, said be could dot leave the children. ‘What! have you no servants?’ ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘we have two servants who keep the house and board us; we are allowed few privileges/ it a supper party at which Dumas was present, the lady of the house called upon him, in the name of the other guests, to say something bril liant and witty. ‘Pray do so, Mon sieur Dumas/ she said, when he did not seem to listen to her; ‘say some thing witty, that is your business; you are doing so every day.* ‘Ah!* replied Dumas, ‘if you look upon the matter in that light, I am ready to do so, provided all the other guests give us likewise a specimen of their busi ness. Pray, sir/ he continued, turn ing to an artillery officer on his leff, ! ‘commence, and fire off a cmnon shot, I It will be my turn next/ xo. 20.