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VOLUME VI.
THU FIOWN BIRD.
A JAPANESE SONG.
The maple leaves are whirled away;
The depth of the great piues are stirred;
settles on the sullen day,
As in its nest the mountain bird.
My wandering feet go up and down,
And back and forth from town to town,
Through the lone woods and by the sea,
To find the bird that fled from me.
I followed, and I follow yet;
1 hive forgotten to forget
My heart goes back, but I go on,
Through summer heat and winter snow.
Poor heart! we are no longer one;
We are divided by our woe!
Go to the nest I built, and call—
She may he hiding, after all—
The empty nest, if that remains,
And leave me in the long, long rains.
My sleeves with tears are always wet;
I have forgotten to forget.
Men know my story, but not me;
For such fidelty they say
Exists not such a man as ho
Exist not in the world to-day!
If his light bird has flown the nest,
jShe is no worso than all the rest;
Constant they are not—only good
To bill and coo, and hatch the brood.
He has but one thing to regret
lie has forgotten to forget.
All day I seo the ravens fly;
I hear the sea-birds scream all night;
The moon goes up and down tbo sky,
And the sun comes on ghostly light.
Leaves whirl; white flakes about me blow;
Are they spring blossoms or the snow'?
Only my hair! Good-bye, my heart,
The time lias come for us to part!
lie still! you will be happy yet,
For death remembers to forget.- [Scribner.
Mary’s Lamb.
Miss Mary had a little lamb
Its w'ool was white as snow—
And Mary didn’t care a clam
Where that young sheep did go.
it lollowed her down town one day
Into a dry goods store —
The clerk he said it “shouldn’t stay,”
And kicked it out the door.
The lamb wout home both sick and pale,
And gavo one awful jerk—
It ceased to wag its little tail,
And Alary lammed the clerk.
MISCELLANY .
[W KITTEN FOR THE EASTMAN TIMES.]
A STOItV OF REAL LIFE.
BY J S. T.
In or.e of the eastern counties of the
State of Georgia, in the year 1817,
there lived a farmer whose name was
William Wakefield. From some pe
culiaiity in his voice he was better
known by the cognomen of “Scream',
hig Billy,” or “Old Screaming Billy/’
Being a man of generally correct hab
its, ho had married at an early age a
woman of some refinement, gentle
disposition, and respectable family.—
Mis occupation of tilling the soil prov
ed remunerative. After two years
had passed, the pleasures of his quiet
home were enhanced by the advent of
a babe. Lydia was the idol in this
secluded home, and at her feet were
daily laid many offerings from over
flowing hearts. But as is often the
cas*’, Billy got tired of liis old home,
and longed for the fresher lands ot the
far west. Having realized a few hun
dred dollars from the sale of his farm
and stock, lie wended his way to the
then attractive lands of Louisiana, lie
purchased a domain upon a largo river
and erected his cabin and began his
new life with flattering prospects.--
the few hundred dollars left to meet
possible emergencies proved the be
ginning of unexpected troubles in his
new home. A peddler who carried
his merchandise on his sturdy should
ers, made an occasional tour of the
neighborhood and little by little ac
quired the confidence of Wakefield,
and an exact account of his financial
standing.
His christian-hearted wife, with a
woman’s unerring instinct, saw with
painful forebodings a pack of cards
placed upon the table, and Billy and
tiie peddler engaged in a game merely
to while away the long winter evenings
She cried in her heart for mercy when
die saw Winslow, ere ho departed
with his wares, give a flask to Billy
and take a parting drink with him.
We now c >me*to the oft told tale—
the career of the unsuspecting man
thoroughly duped and ruined by a
designing gambler. Wakefield soon
became a habitual drunkard. Wins
loWj the peddler, furnished much of
the drink gratuitously when they were
at cards. Sometimes he allowed him
to win, thus bating him to final de
stiuction. One day when they were
playing, A\ akefield met with some suc
cess, and being very drunk he staked
his entire money, and seeming to grow
furious and desperate compelled his
wife to bring hirn his land deeds and
staked and lost the entire pile. A ter
rible fight ensued between him and the
peddler, resulting in a serious injury
to Wakefield. The sudden loss and
ruin ot this little household proved too
much for the hitherto heroic little wo
man. She was seized with convulsions.
In one of these attacks her arm was
fractured, and finally from the effects
of the injury, required amputation.
The depraved husband now habit',
ually abandoned his home, poverty
and destitution joined to constant sick
ness brought his wife to the very verge
of the grave. Some years have elapsed
since Lydia was born with this unfor
tunate family, and she now proves a
prop and solace when everything else
was gone, Upon a cloudy, unhappy
looking day the drunken father was
passing his quondam and hear
ing the wail of his daughter, turned
aside in half awakened curiosity to
know the cause. Entering the house
bis besotted intellect still had light
enough to receive the fact tnat a fond
and faithful wife was in the article of
death. When she had breathed her
last lie laid the body upon a little cy
press table in the room, and with the
measure of the body in hand started to
the village a long way off to get a
coffin. Lydia noticed with overwhelm
ing sorrow that lie hid a bottle under
bis coat as he departed. Lydia spent
the long day in her lonely watch at
the bedside ol her dead mother, her
little soid rising to the demand, as one
after another these terrible events
were crowded upon her.
But when she had looked agaiiTand
again down the way her father was
expected to return, and lie came
she could not longer remain at her
post. The old time-worn clock struck
four, the shadows began to lengthen
themselvos eastward ; Lydia strolled
down by the side of the river, hoping
to meet her father. But the search
was fruitless. Tnc sun was already
hiding its golden tints behind the
western hills. Lydia turned with a
sad heart towards the lmuse. SheJiad
gone but a lew steps when she was
aroused from her gloomy reverie by a
shrill, almost human-like scream. It
could not be her father ; no, it was the
voice of a ferocious panther, which
had scented the corpse and started in
search of it. The little girl had heard
the terrible note before, and after a
second thought started to the house
with all possible speed. The panther
pursued her. As she crossed the bars
in front of the house she felt the hot
breath of the animal on her hands.—
Bushing into the house she retreated
to the corner most remote from the
door, beheld the beast infuriated by
hunger and the scent of the body,
tearing it in pieces, and devouring it
with intensest fury. The tallow can
dle that she had lighted and placed at
her mother's head, according to the
simple custom of the country people,
was thrown down and ttiu clothing
about the body of the corpse set on fire.
The flames reached the roof. Terrible
as were her surroundings, Lydia con
ceived the idea of revenge upon the
panther, and remembering the fact
that under the bed upon which she was
crouching there was a part of a keg
of powder, stealthily and quickly left
her place, opened the keg and strew
ed some of the powder towards the
fiirc, climbed up the wall, pushed off a
board, escaped to a limb of a tree,
and going down the body of the tree,
ran for life towards the river. Her
feelings may be better imagined than
described, when a few hundred yards
from the burning house she beard
above the roar of the fire and the burst
ing of the powder, the terrific cry of
the panther in his death struggle.—
The noise of the explosion aroused
some of the distant settlers, who came
and met Lydia and learned the facts
that we have narrated.
At sunrise on the following morn
ing the drunken father was found un
der a woodshed at the village, with a
few yards of black cambric and a bot
tle halt empty by his side.
Here little Lydia wept in the over"
flow' of her feelings by the side of the
drunken father, feeling that his de"
bauck represented him a thousand
fold worse off than her mother. She
was then an angel of light in the bet"
ter world, and the father, yet here, but
dead in trespasses and sins.
A pious old deacon of the Baptist
church took Lydia to his home and
adopted her into his family, after they
had gathered the ashes of her mother's
body and given them a formal inter
ment. The father recovered from his
drunken stupor, but reason had fled.
He was a maniac, and as such spent
the remainder of his days in a lunatic
asylum.
Lydia was sent to school, decently
clothed, and introduced into the best
society in that neighborhood. When
she was seventeen years old she found
an opportunity to visit Georgia, in
company with a family returning to
this State. During her visit a well
to-do mechanic became enamored with
Lydia, and delayed the piessing of his
suit till she was on the eve of her de
parture to the far west again.
He conceived the romantic idea of
journeying to the west himself, and
falling in with Lydia’s party. That
this might appear purely accidental,
he started one day sooner than Lydia.
At the end of the first day's journey he
obtained lodging at a clever-looking
in what was then Jones
county. On the following morning he
paid his bill and went on his way re
joicing in anticipation of the arrival of
Lydia's party. He delayed much on
the route that this happy coincidence
might be realized.
We little know what is just ahead.
He IrAd gone but a few miles, when at
a well known tavern on the highway,
a sheriff made to hirn the startling an
nouncement, “You are my prisoner.”
A man had beeu murdered and conl
- at the house where he had spent
the n'ght, and in making change that
morning ho bad received from the band
of tire murderer a bill slightly stained
with blood. This had escaped his ob
servation.
John Smith, for that was his name,
tilled with horror and de
manded a speedy trial. Lux,, the hotel
keeper, appeared as a witness against
him, in the commitment court, and
testified that he saw him. inflict the
fatal wound with a knife, and afters
wards saw him handle deceased’s mon
ey. Smith’s purse was examined, and
the bloody bill foiled. He was com
mitted. When Lydia and her party
passed that way they heard from the
lips of the wondering settlers the tale
of blood and the conviction of Smith.
It seems that the quiet current of
Lydia's thoughts had been disturbed.
She sought an interview, and there
confessed her sympathy for him. lie
made the simple request of her that
she would not wed another until his
fate had been decided—assuring her
of his innocence and his strong faith
in being eventually cleared.
Lydia journeyed westward, and her
pious soul sent up many a fervent
petition for the incarceratad lover left
behind. After weeks of travel the
family she traveled with reached the
hospitable threshold of the deaeorq
and Lydia was once more in the midst
of the duties of her adopted homo.—
Meanwhile the regular session of the
Superior court had convened, and hun
dreds of anxious spectators witnessed
the trial and sentence of Smith.
The testimony was overwhelming, and
though there was much sympathy for
the noble looking youth,the conclusion
was inexorable that he did the deed,
and it was just that he should die the
death. The 12th of October was the
appointed day. The 10th had come.
But that mysterious Providence who
is ever working justice on earth, sent
sickness into the Lux family, lie too
fell a victim, and when the grim mon
ster faced him, lie sent for the judge
and the executioner, and confessed
the murder. He implored the judge
in his dying breath to release Smith.
The innocent man resumed his journey ,
and just one week from the Friday
appointed for his hanging, he stood
before the astonished and happy Lydia
—told his simple story of love, and
received her betrothal. One week
later the good old deacon j lined their
hands iu holy matrimony. To-day
while we write they live in a grand
old farmhouse on the banks of the
meandering Sabine, aud it stands on
the very spot where her mother’s body
was burned, and the tragedy enact
ed that begins our story.
False Swearing.
If a man will not tell the truth with
out swearing, his oath must be accep
ted with many grains of allowance.
Nobodg sicears’cept dem as lies, was
the definition given by the old woman
and one almost feels that it is too near
the truth with many. To tell an hon
est straight story is one of the highest
achievements of life. An oath is a
law form, but all men should always
tell the truth independent of an oath.
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JITTY I, 1878.
The Reliable Man.
Of all the qualities that combine to
form a good character, there is not one
more important than reliability. Most
emphatically is this true of the char
acter ot a good business man. The
world itself embraces both truth and
honesty, aod the reliable man must
necessarily be truthful and honest
We see so much all an#md us that
exhibits the absence of this crowuing
quality that we are tempted in our
bilious moods to deny its very exis
tence. But there are, nevertheless,
reliable men to be depended on, to be
trusted, in whom you may repose con
fidence. whose word is as good as their
bond, aud whose promise is a per
formance. If any one of you know such
a man make him your friend. You
can only do so though by assimilating
his character.
The reliable man is a man of good
judgment. He does not jump at con
clusions. lie is not a frivolous man.
He is thoughtful. lie turns over a
subject in his mind and looks at it all
around. He is not a partial 01 one
sided man. He sees through a thing.
He is apt to be a very reticent man.—
He does not have to talk a great deal.
He is a moderate man, not only in
habits of body, but also of mind. He
is not a passionate man; if so by nature
he has overcome it by grace. He is a
sincere man, not a plotter or schemer.
What he says may be relied on. He
is a trustworthy man. You feel safe
with your property or the administra
tion of aflairs in his hands. He is a
brave man for his conclusions are log
ically deduced fioni the sure basis ol
truth, and he does not fear to main
tain them. lie is a good man, for no
one can be thoroughly honest and
truthful without being good. Is such
a quality attainable? Most assuredly
so. It is not born, it is not made.—
Character may bo of course
then its component parts may be
molded to that formation.
Outdone by ix Boy.
An exchange tells the following sto
ry of a boy who showed himself the
superior of four men:
A lad in Boston rather small for his
years, works in an office as errand
boy for four gentlemen who do busi
ness there. One day the gentlemen
were chaffing him about being so
small, and said to him:
‘You never will amount to much;
you never can do much business; you
ate too small ’
The little fellow looked at them.
‘Well,' said he, ‘as small as I am, I
can do something which none of you
four men can do.'
‘Ah! what is that?' said they.
‘I can keep from swearing!’ said the
little fellow. There were some blush
es on four manly faces, and there
seemed to bo very little anxiety for
further information on that point.
Ungatlicred Sweets.
Evening before last Justice Moses
married a high-toned Chinese couple —
Ah Suee to Miss All Moy. The cere
mony being concluded, some of those
present thought to joke Mr. Ah Suee
by telling him of the American custom
ot kissing the bride. ‘Welly good,’
said the husband of a minute, *s,pose
you likee kiss her, you pitch in. Me
tell you, she one welly good kisses.
John then explained to the bride in
Chinese the curious custom. She
blushed a little, looked askance at the
outside barbarians present and smiled
in a moderate and modest way. ‘You
no kiss her,' said glancing from
one to another. No one responded,
though the bride was quite pretty. —
The young wife was not pleased. Her
nose went up and her diagonal eye
brows went down. She took her lord
by the sleeve, and as she led him to
wards the door, turned about and re
marked: ‘Hi yah, you all too muchee
dam foolee!' which showed her to be
a woman of spirit.— Virginia City
(Nev ) Enterprise.
Never despond. Keep up your
courage, whatever happens. The
most perilous hour of a person’s life is
when he is tempted to despond. The
man who loses his courage loses all ;
there is no more hope for him than a
dead man, but it matters not how poor
he may be, how much deserted by
friends, how much lost to the world ;
if he only keeps up bis courage, holds
up his head, works up wi*b his hands,
and w>th unconquerable will deter
mines to be and to do what becomes
a man, all will be well.
Interest.
Interest is the worm that gnaws un
ceasingly into the vitals ot industry.
It outnumbers the grasshoppei s on the
plains. It consumes seven-eighths of
the products of busy” hands. It brings
ruin upon thousands of enterpi ises ev
ery year. Nearly every dollar in cir
culation is drawing interest from some
body, and the little that doe3 not is
being withdrawn by evil-doers to give
place to that which will. The largest
proportion of tilled lands arc infested
with interest. Towns, cities, counties,
States, and even the natiou, arc all
drained by interest. The great mass
of busy people, and all the homes that
are mortgaged, are victims of this in
satiable worm—interest! It is the
greatest curse entailed upon labor irf
our age and civilization. To get rid
of it should exercise the best euergies
of every lover of bis race, every patri
ot to his country. The vicious schemes
through which it fastens itself upon
all public enterprises should be opposed.
Our industries are nearly strangled,
millions of our countrymen arc impov
eiislied and dependent, and our very
national existence is ondangered by
this curse of curses—this scourge of
the land—interest. Keep yourself
free from its fangs, if you would em
joy the products of your own labor
and enterprise.
Little Danny and His Dead
Mother.
I've just been down in the parlor to
see mama. She's in a long box with
flowers on her. I wish sheM coine and
bathe my head—it aches so. Nobody
oyer makes it feel good but mama.—
She knew how it hurt me, and she used
to read to me out ot a little book how
my bead would get well and not ache
any more some day. I wish it was
“some day” now. Nobody likes me
but mama. That’s cause I've got a
sick head. Mama used to take mo in
her arms and cry. When I asked her
what's the matter she would say, ‘l’m
only tired, darling.' I guess aunt Ag
nes made her tired, tor when she came
and stayed all day mama would take
me up in the evening on her lap and
cry awful hard. I ain’t had anydinnei
to-day. Mama always gave me my
dinner, and a little teenty pudding
with “I).'’ for Danny on the top. I
have little puddings with D’s on the
top. I like to sit in my little chair by
the fire and eat them. I wish mama
wouldn't stay in the long box. I guess
aunt Agnes put her there, cause she
put all the flower trimmings on and
shows her to everybody. There ain't
any fire in the grate, but I guess I’ll
sit by it and make believe there is.—
I’ll get my little dish and spoon and
play I've got a pudding with D for
Danny on it. But any way I want
mama so bad. —New Orleans Picay
une.
“Only a tress of a woman's hair 1”
The lover musingly, fondly said ;
“And yet it forms a halo fair
To-night above her sacred head /'
“Only a tress of a woman’s hair i"
The maiden, smiling, sweetly said,
And laid it on the back ot a chair
And went to bed.
Baron Ileinchenbach says: /Always
sleep with your face to the equator/
'Jesso, Baron/ riplies a convivial wri
ter; ‘but when a fellow gets home at
1 a. m., and sees the bed and mantel"
piece spinning around like bobbins iD
a mill, how’s he going to know where
on earth the equator is?'
Society must reform. You have no
right to ride in a carriage when you
owe for it. But if you are in debt,
hopelessly in debt, get down, walk
like the rest of us. As soon a3 you
see a man-deliberately consent that Lis
outgo snail exceed his income, you
may know he is on the broad road to
bankruptcy and moral ruin.
He was making a call, and they were
talking of literature. “The Pdgrims
Progress," she remarked, “always
seemed to me painful. Of course you
have read Bunyan V* lie said he had
one on each foot, and they troubled
him a good deal.
Here is some spring poetry :
Her cheeks were very ruddy,
And the streets were awful muddy,
And she loudly shrieked, f O thunder/
As her feet flew out from under.
It was really very shocking,
For she showed her striped stocking.
Abolish the Parlor.
What horrible associations crowd
into our rain 1 when the word ‘parlor*
is mentioned. We immediately pic
ture in our imagination the terrible
oppressiveness of that best room,
where the sun is never allowed to
shine for fear of fading carpet and fur
niture, where the chairs have all a
stately, polished and still look about
them, where the children are never
allowed to enter, where what little air
there is may never be allowed to
change, and where there is something
akin to that of a family tomb. This
is the best room, and is too sacred for
the use of the family, and is only kept
for the purpose of ceremony, and for
the convenience of those people for
whom we do not care a rush. People
whom we like and with whom we are
on familiar terms, come right into the
living room and have a good chat in a
pleasant way; but the ceremonious
visitor, whose departure gives us re
lief, is ushered into the 'parlor.’
The principle upon which this room
is founded is all wrong. Let us have
no such room in our house. Open the
shutters and windows. Admit the
sunlight and air. If the carpets and
furniture fade, let us enjoy their use
in that condition. Abolish the ‘par
lor* and enjoy the home. —Rural New
Yorker.
Pretty Near True.
Longfellow came pretty near utter
ing a truth in writing that what we
admired in woman is her affection, not
berintellect. The proposition is scarce
ly to be admitted in its whole length
and breadth; yet even in this form it
is"nearer right than the converse. It is
generally the fate of witty women to
be unloved. Whenever you see an old
maid, unless she has a hump on her
back, you may safely conclude that in
youth she had a reputation for bril
liancy. No man ■would offer himself
to a young lady who would call him
an owl because he looked somewhat
serious before asking to bo allowed
to support her and pay her millinery
bills, nor would any man marry a wo
man when the possibilities and proba
bilities were that she would place
chestnut-burs on his side of the bed,
or fill his boots with hot mush in the
morning, by way of a joke. If ever
you have a lady acquaintance who de
sires to introduce you to an intimate
friend of hers, because “she is so orig
inal and so witty that you will be sure
to like her,’* plead business and res
pectfully decline the honor, say that
you have no Sunday clothes.
Simple Cure for Earache.
Many years ago two of my children,
one aged three the other one year,
had a terrible attack of earache all oue
day and night. I worked over the
little sufferers, doing all I could think
of, and trying remedies suggested by
our neighbors. On the second morn
ing of the attack, a lady came in and
asked me if I had tried burnt sugar.
I told her no, I had not heard of that.
She told .nu to put some live coals on
a tin plate,sprinkle some brown sugar
on them, set a funnel over it and then
hold the child so that the smoke could
go into the ear. I did so, using the
remedy for both the little ones. The
result was marvelous; the pain stopped
instantly, and soon both sufferers were
in a sound refreshing sleep.— Mother ,
in Exchange.
A Backward Lover.
‘Don’t you know I dreamed of von
the other night?’ said an audacious
young lady to her backward lover.
‘lndeed! And may I venture to ask
what was the dream’/
'Oh, nothing much—l thought you
asked me to raarty you/
‘And did yon consent?’ he inquired
eagerly.
‘Why, you see yon asked in such
an indirect and unfair way that I
would not give you an answer/
‘Ah! my dear Julia, how can I thank
you for this opportunity! Let me ask
you now, fairly and directly, will you
marry me?’
‘No, sir, I woi/t/
,f We earnestly recommend every
man who is languishing for a job to
retire to the country, rent a farm, raise
everything that you will need for the
support of your family ; sell what you
cannot use ; be frugal, enterprising
and industrious, and all the panics
that the world has ever seen may come
and go, for they will not affect you in
the least/’ —Wheeling (Fa.) Standard.
The easiest thing for a negro to do
keep dark.
■
It is a tight squeeze when a drunk
en man hugs a lamp post.
No man, let him be however wise,
Can sell goods unless lie advertise.
■# • 1
When you dispute with a fool, he is
very certain to be similarly employed.
What is the difference between a
man and a tired dog ? One wears a
coat, the other pants.
Mr. Post, of Ohio, who is nearly 100
years old, is missing. lie is probably
held for postage somewhere.
The Norristown Herald insists that
no man likes to hold a girl baby in his
arm until she is 16 years old.
4,*
I sot me down in thought profound,
this maxim wise I drew : it’s easier to
love a girl, than make a girl love you.
A barefoot Syracuse girl kicked a
burglar out of the bouse, and an ob
serving mule went behind the barn and
wept.
Josh Billings says: “If I was in tho
habit of swearing I wouldn’t hesitate
a moment to cuss a bed-bug right in
his face.*’
A man in Maine applied for five gal
lons of rum for mechanical purposes.
*‘Pcr what mechanical purposes ?’*
‘*For raising a bam*.’
If the strolling temperance lecturers
keep on enumerating the crimes for
which they are guilty, wo shall yet
find out who killed old man Nathan.
Just about now if you hear your
neighbor, during the night, slam a
pillow against the bed room wall, you
may he sure that the mosquito got
away.
Before a man deliberately makes up
his mind tew be a raskal, he sliood ex
amine hisself closely tew ascertain if
he ain't better constitooted for a fool.
—Josh Billings.
A little urchin in a school being
asked, ‘‘What is llliode Island cele
brated for?’' replied, “It is the only
one of the New England States which
is the smallest/’
•
“Paper, sir?” asked the newsboy.
"N T o, I never read," answered the man.
‘‘Hi ! boys, come here l" called out the
gamin ; “hire's a man that is practic
ing for the jury !"
—
It is said that nine Chicago lawyers
and nine insurance men are matched
to play a game of biseball. They
will have no need of wire screens for
protecting their cheeks.
'Tis sweet, when the berries arc ripe,
And the lily pads bend Tieath the snipe
To sit at your ease
With your fair Eloise,
Did give the mosquito a swipe.
The simple iron-cast fact stares the
public iD the lace, that when a mos
quito has made up big mind to come in
and spend the evening with a family,
he means to put up with abuse and ex
pect no praises.
A man may face death with compo
sure, and adversity with smiles, but
the cuances are that he will swear and
hop when he discovers that a twenty
cent silver piece has been palmed off
on him for a quarter.
“We have got to practice the most
rigid economy in such times as these/
remarked a man to a crowd on the
side walk, the other day. ‘1 have
stopped all the papers to which I for"
mcriy subscribed and dou’t buy any
candy, toys and trumpery for the chiU
j dren ; times are hard. Come in, hoys
; and take a drink/’
NO. 27.