Newspaper Page Text
C. HEARD,)
PROPRIETOR. j
.VOL. XVII.
Georgia Mint Caipiij,
Office General Manager, Augusta, Ga., JULY Ist, 1 882.
Commencing Sunday JULY 2d, 1881, Tassenger Trains will run as follows:
Wno. I, West- Ia iy. No. 3, East-Baiy.
SMaM, Augusta 10:30 a. m. Leave Atlanta 8:20 a. m.
Macon 7.10 a.m. Leave Greenesboro’ 12;03 pm
Leave Milledgeville 9:05 a. in. Arrive Athens 3:45 p m
Leave C'amak 12:25 am. Arrive Washington 2:55 p m
Leave Washington 11:20 a.m. Arrive Camak 1:57 p m
Leave Athens 9:45 a. m. Arrive Milledgeville 4:49 p m
Arrive at Greenesboro’ 2;16 p. m. Arrive Macon 0:45 p m
Arrive at Atlanta 6:45 P- m - Arrive Augusta 3.55 p m
S ' IVo. , Wcst-Bitijr >o. 4, Knst—l>aiy.
Leave Augusta 8:50 p m Leave Atlanta 8:45 p m
Arrive Greenesboro’ 1:44 am Leave Greenesboro’ 1;41 am
Leave Macon, 7:10 p m Arrive Milledgeville 4:27 a m
Leave Milledgeville 9-15 p m Arrive Macon 6:40 a m
Leave Athens 6:00' p m At rive at Athens, 8:30 a. m
Arrive Atlanta 6:40 a m Arrive • Augusta 6:30 a m
I rafft-Snpcrb Sleepers to Augusta and Atlanta.
I El DORSESY,
General Passenger Agent.
J. W. Green, General Manager.
1 wimn | " | ii MiFLL'f iKhudßwiraagjgcacgßl}
CITY DRUG STORE.
J ALWAYS keep a Latge and variedassortinent of
Chemic.*!ly Pure and
NEW goods l|f Medicines.
Arriving every week. V
Full stock of
PAINTS, OILS, VARNISHES,
COLORS, BRUSHES, etc.
All Sizes WINDOW GLASS.
lamp GOODS, CHIMNEYS, etc.
j Buist’s Gai’den Seeds.
* ONION SETS, POTATOES, etc.,
Crop of 1879, warranted fresh and Genuine. EO pouts papers sold at 5 CABItS
strictly, The best Seed for this climate.
Fine Cigars & Chewing Tobacco
Toilet Soaps, Perfumery, Tomades, Tooth-brushes, and Druggist’s sundries.
4©“Physicians’ prescriptions careful compounded and dispensed.
John Ao Griffin.
Greenesboro’, Ga., January 29,1880. .
J. L. BOWLES & ( 0.,
Wholesale and Retail 1
in m n
No. 717 Broad Street,
Augusta, - - - GA.
OUR Stock is complete in every particular. Chamber Sets from SSOO down to $25
Parlor Sets from S4O up to $250, Come and see us, or write for prices. We
have all the Latest Styles and Novelties in our line. We are Agents for the Woven
Wire Mattress Company, and the National Wire Improved. The best two springs in the
market We have a full line of cheap Spring and Mattresses; also fine Feathers'
J. L. BOWLES & CO.
Jan 20 1881 No. 717 Broad Street, Augusta, G
ill, CAMPBELL Hi
DEALERS IN .
Paper, Paper Boxes, Books
And Stationery,
Office and Salesroom No. 29, Whitehall Street,
ATLANTA, - - - <SA.
PLAIN WRITING PAPER. WRAPPING PAPER.
FANuY do do PAPER BAGS of all sizes and
BLANK BOOKS. weight at
INKS - Bottom figures
MUCILAGE,
m SoMlei
October 14, 1880 ,
Central Hotel.
Mrs W M THOMAS,
PBOPRIETBESS.
Centrally located neaTc'oMederate Monument,
Broad Street; AUGUSTA, Ga.
Comfortable Rooms. Excellent Fare. Courteous Clerks and altent.ve Servants
Sept. 50, 1880—
Devoted to the Cause of Truth and Justice, and the Interests ol llio People.
GREENESBORO’, GA., THURSDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1882.
LOST A KOI.
BKLECTEDBY I„ L. M'w.
He went from the old home hearthstone,
Only two years ago,
A laughing, rollicking fellow, L
It would do you good to know ; V\
Since then we have not seen him,
And wc say with a nameless pain,
The boy that we knew and loved so
We shall never see again.
One heaping the name wc gave him
Comes home to us to-day,
But this is not the dear fellow
We kissed and sent away.
Tall as the man he calls father.
With a man’slook in his face,
Is he who takes by the hearthstone
The lost boy’s olden place.
We miss the laugh that made music
Wherever the lost boy went;
This man has a smile most winsome,
Ilis eyes have a grave intent.
We know he is thinking and planning
Ilis way in the world of men,
And we cannot help but lovo him,
But we long for our boy again.
We are pround of this manly fellow
Who comes to take his place,
With hints of the vanished boyhood
Ir. bis earnest, thoughtful face ;
And yet comes back tha longing
For tb boy we must henceforth miss,
Whom we sent away from the hearthstone
Forever, with a kiss'.
Saved by Love.
With a roar and a rattle the 6
o’clock express train rushed across
the bridge that spanned the narrow
river near the Derwent farm, and
Alice Derwent, the farmer’s pretty
dark-eyed daughter, stood under 1
tho vine-shaded porch, looking
after it with an unconscious sigh.
“So many come by you, so many
go by you out into the great, wide,
beautiful world,” she thought, as
she gazed over the fertile valley
farm and out through the break in
tho blue mountains, whence a trail
of white smoke came floating back.
‘I wonder if you will ever bring
me anything, or carry me away,
or must I live my life out to the
end shut in by these quiet hills ?’
‘Supper ready, mother V called
out the hearty-looking farmer,
halting in the glow of the firo-light
on the open hearth, as ho came in
from foddering the stock, followed
by his son Thomas, who was the
living, breathing ‘image of his
sire.’
‘To be sure it is,’ replied his
bustling little wife, who had just
such eyes and hair a3 bonny Alice,
and just the same sweet smile.
‘lsn’t it always ready, father,when
the train goes by ? Come, Alice /’
‘Alice is out there looking for
her fortune, mother,’ said Tom.
‘lt is coming by that train. I
know all about it,’
Alice smiled and shook her head
at her saucy brother, as sho took
her seat at her father’s side.
Little did any of them think how
many a true word is spoken in
jest, or that the fortune which the
evening express was to bring the
daughter of the house was even
then nearing their hospitable door.
‘l’ve worked hard all day loug,
Martha, and Tom has kept pace
with roe, and we both said as we
catne home that wd were too tired
to eat. But this is comfort ! It
would be hard to see anything
much pleasanter than this tidy
kitchen, and just as hard to find
any of their French cooks that can
beat you and Alice, my doar,’
said Elihu Derwent, glancing
thankfully at the blazing fire, the
table laid so neatly, the tempting
meal of batter-cakes and wheaten
bread and golden butter, and a
large dish of cold beef and vege
tables that was placed before the
two hungry men.
Mrs. Derwent poured out the
tea—strong, hot and fragrant.
‘Old Seaton, up in the big house
yonder, don’t often get suoh tea as
this, with all his servants,’ said
{ESTADriSHED I.v THE YEAR 1815).
Tom, looking across the valley to
the brick and stono palace of the
one millionaire of tho village.
‘Poor man !’ sighed Mrs Der
went. ‘I do pity him ! His wife
end daughter dead, and his only
son so wild and willful and a wan
derer all over the world Only
last week he told mo, with tears in
hia eyes, that he had heard of his
boy, and that he had been seen
lately in London intoxicated and
poorly dressed. Yet when he
wrote thero to him—and wrote
kindly—he has disappeared. If
it was our Tom, Elihu, I should
just break my heart. Tom, if you
over do grow unsteady and run
away, like Philip Seaton, you will
give your mother her death-blow.
Remember that!’
‘Thank God, it isn’t Tom,
Martha ! I’m sorry, too, for the
man and the boy. Mr. Seaton
owns that he turned him out of his
house in London in a fit of anger,
and that the boy ewor* he would
never enter bis doors again. Bad
temper on both sides, you see; and
bo . Why, Martha, what on
earth is that ?’
Farraor Derwent might well ask
th 9 question and rush from the
tea-table to tho door, followed by
his wondering wife and children.
A procession of four of his neigh
bors was coming up from his gar
den gate.
At the gate stood, a horse anc" a
light wagon, and from Hie JpAi?. n
the four men had lifteoan inani
mate body, and were bearing it
towards the house.
‘The 6 o’clock express has run
off the line, a mile or two up the
valley,’ said Farmer Jones, s ha
and his two sons and hi3 brother
in-law reached tho porch with their
senseless burden. ‘Ever so many
people hurt but able to go on ns
soon as they got righted. But
this poor fellow is so nearly dead
that we thought we had better
bring him here, being as it was the
nearest house, and send for the
doctor. We knew that your wife
could curse him, if any one could,
Mr. Derwent.’
‘You’re right there. Bring him
right in,’ said the farmer.
llis wife led the way to her best
bedroom, next the parlor.
Tom sprang on the back of his
swift sorrel colt and set ofl for the
doctor.
Half an hour later the supper
table was cleared, the supper dishes
were washed and put away aod
Alice Derwent sat pensively by the
kitchen fire, while her mother and
father were busy with the doctor
in the spare room, and Tom, bur
rying to and fro on their errands,
stopped once or twico to inform her
that the Btranger was yeung and
handsome, but dressed like a labor
er, and that the doctor said‘it was
a near chance whether ho lived or
died.’
Two weeks passed on.
Tho doctor came and went each
day, tho neighbors far and near
volunteered their services—all ox
cept Squire Seaton, who lived his
usual secluded life in his great
mansion, buried in his books, and
knew nothing of the stranger who
lay at death’s door.
‘Poor boy ! Alice, I wish you
would go and sit beside him awhile,’
said Mrs. Derwent, on the first
evening of the third week of illness.
‘Ho is asleep now. If he awakes
you can call mo If we only knew
his people 1 would send for them
I fear he will not last long.’
Alice crept in, and took her
place in the nurse's chair.
Tears of pity dimmed her eyes
as she looked at the wasted figure
in the bed—the pale, thin face,the
fast-closed eyes, the hollow temples
under the waving brown hair.
‘1 wish his mother or father
could corao !’ she said aloud.
The heavy eyelids opened.
Two deep-bluo eyes looked at
her imploringly.
‘My father !’ whispered tho sick
man. ‘Bring him—tell him 1
was coming Soaton—Seaton
The faint voice died away the
eyes again were closed,
Alice stood an instant like one
struck dumb.
(She had never noticed the re
semblance before; but now she
could trace tho firm lines of the
old Squire's countenance in that
pale, pinched faee.
‘Sleeping still! That is a good
sDn,’ said her mother, coming in,
ready to resume her place for the
night.
Alice hesitated a moment.
Never before had she acted by
or for herself in any matter of mo.
ment.
But the sound of voices might
arouse the slumberer.
Her father and Tom had gone
on a household errand to the vil
lage; there was no one else to con
sult.
Finally she threw on her water
proof, drew its hood over her head,
and sped across the valley to
Squire Seaton’s house.
Squire Seaton looked up from
his book, and his usual pallor in
creased to a ghastly hue as he
listened to the breathless girl.
_ f l ' -iflap —my boy—my Philip
at imur father's house ? And dy
ing, you fear? Asking for me ?
Coming to me? Wait, child; I 11
go with vou, of course —l'll go to
my poor boy ! But, the room is
turning round I think * must be
going blind !’
Alice pprang to his si le, ihe
gray head fell on her shoulder.—
Tenderly she smoothed tho silvery
I hair away Irom tho high forehead
and bathed the pale face with the
cold water which the frightened
servant brought, Ihe old man
revived to find her ministering to
him thus.
It was almost like father ano
daughter that they took their way
across the valley bo lean
ing on her arm and listening greedi
ly to all that she could tell bim of
his long-absent, long-mourned son.
‘lt i3 my father's voice ! I hear
his step ! I shall get well, if ho
will only forgive me I’ said the in
valid, greatly to Mrs. Derwent s
surprise, as the house-door softly
opened to a stranger’s touch.
lie struggled up from bis pillows,
resisting her attempt to soothe him
‘Father, I am sorry—forgive
me !’ he said, in a firmer voice, os
Alice entered, fallowed by tho aged
■nan.
And then Squire Seaton came
feebly but swiftly into the room
and held his son to his heart,
bing aloud with gratitude and joy,
while Alice drew her bowildorod
mother into tho kitchon and told
her of her expedition to the house
of the lonely millionaire.
Joy seldom kills, and there is a
revivifying power in love and bap*
piness combined far beyond the
skill of all earthly physicians or
the virtue of all earthly drugs.
So it happened that as the spring
months deepened into summer,
Philip Seaton. 3trong and well once
more, stood beside bonny Alice
under the porch one evening to see
the 6 o’clock express flash by.
‘ln Boston, when I was utterly
recklees, and utterly penniless, too,
a lotter from my father reached
me,’ be said in a low tone. ‘lt was
so kind, so ad, that it seemed to
turn me from my evil course in a
moment. Just as I was I set off
to return to my father, like the
prodigal son. And God led me
here !’
There was a long silence; the j
sun sank out of sight behind the ■
mountains; the first chill of even
ing was in the air.
‘ln my anger I swore that 1
would never enter the door of my |
father’s home,’ the young man (
went on. But I may now ontor.
purified, repontant, forgiven, if
only the good angel of my new life I
will go with me. Will she, Alice ?’
He took her hand.
‘But your father,’ stammered
Alice.
‘I am not worthy of your lnve
in any way; hut my father begs
you to be his daughter, Alice. Say
yes !’
And so the greatost fortune of
her life—the brightest happiness of
both their lives—tamo in that
evening train.— [Ex.
THE HOUSE WHEN ALtjHE?
[Selected.]
When the h"U<e is alone by itself,
inexperienced persons may believe that
it behaves exactly as it does when there
are people in it; hut that is a delusion,
a* you will discover, if you are ever left
alone in it at midnight, sittibg up tor
the rest of the family; at ttysAour its
true disposition will reveal itself.
To catch it at its best, pttend Jo
retire, put out the uas or the dump, and
go up-stairs. Afterwards, c one down
softly, light no more than one imp.
go into the empty parlor, and seat
yourself at a table, with to
rea( L
o’ 'sooner tiifif you *<T
than you will hear a littlo chip, chip,
chip, along the top of tho room—a
small sound, but persistent. It is evi
dently the wall-paper cnii'ng otf; and
you decide, alter some tribulation, that
if it does come off, you can’t help it,
anil go on with ynur book.
As you sit with your book in your
hand, you begin to be quite sure that
some ono is coming down-stairs
Squeak—squeak —squeak .' What fol
ly ! There is nobody up there to come
down; but there—no, it jis on the
kitchen stairs. Somebody is coning
U[> '
Squak— snap! Well, if it is a rob
ber, you might as well face him. You
get the poker, and stand with your
back against the wall. Nobody comes
up. Finally, you decide that you are
a goose, put the poker down, get a
magazine, and try to read.
There, that’s the door. You heard
the lock turn ? They are coming home.
You turn to the door, unlock and un>
bolt, and peep out. Nobody there!
But, as you linger, tho door lock
gives a click that makes you jump.
By daylight neither lock nor stairs
make any of these noises unless they
are touched or trodden on.
You go hack to the parlor in a hur
ry, with a feeling that tho next thing
you know something may catch you by
tho hair; and you try to remember
where you left off.
Now, it is the table that snaps and
cracks, as if all the spiritualistic knoeks
were hidden in its mahogany. You
do not lean on it heavily, without this
result; but it fidgets you, and you take
an easy chair and put the book on your
knee.
Your eyes wander up and down the
page, and you grow dreamy; when, ap
parently, the book case fires iff a pistol.
At least a loud fierce crack comes
from the heart of that piece of furni
ture —so loud, so fierce, that you jump
to your feet, trembling.
You can not stand the parlor any
more. Y r ou go up-stairs.
No sooner do you got there, than it
seems to you that somebody is walking
on the roof. If the house is a detach'
ed one. and tho tiling is impossible,that
makes it all the more mysterious.
Nothing ever moaned in the chitn
ney before, but something moans now.
There is a ghostly step in the bath*
room. You find out afterwards that it
is tho tap dripping, but you do tot
dare to look at that time.
And it is evident that there is some
thing up the chimney—you would not
like to ask what.
If you have gas, it bobs up and down
in a phantom dance. If you have a
|H. T. LEWIS,
j EDITOR.
■ •**’ ' •?
lamp, it goes out in a blue explosion.—
If you have a candle, a shreud plainly
enwraps the wick and falls towards
you.
The blinds shake, as if a hand clutch
ed them; and, finally, a doleful cat be
gins to moan ir. tlte cellar. You do
not keep a eat, and this finishes you.
You pretend to read no longer; and,
sitting with a towel over Jyour head
and (ace, and hearing something below
go, “shew, shew, shew,” like a little
saw, you believe in tho olu ghost sto
ries. ;
Ten mioutes afterwards the bell
rings; the belated ones comes home;
the lights are lit; perhaps something
must be got out to eat, People talk
and tell where they haTe beeo, aud ask
you if you arc lonessmo.
And not a stair croaks. No step is
heard on the ronf; no click ut the front
door. Neither bookcase nor table
cracks. The house has nn its compa
ny manners —only you have found out
how it behaves when it is alone,
to ItiitMV all about
Siiiinumi.
‘ Pa,” said the Rev. Mr. Mulkittlaf’s
son, “Samson was the strong man.
wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Samson was the strongest man
that ever lived.”
“Tell me about him ’’
“It was intended that Samson should
be tho mao, and before he
was boro ?
"The bewildered expression on the
child’s face arrested his narration.
“Before he was born.®” asked tho
hoy.
“Yes; before —that is before he was
found in a hollow stump.”
“Just like sister?”
“Yes; just before ho was found an
angel appeared and foretold of his
strength, saying that no razor musk
touch his head."
“Was the nngtd afraid that the razor
would cut him?”
“No; the angel meant that hi*
strength lay in his hair, and that his
hnir must not he cut off.”
“If I let tny hair grow long, can I
lift more than I can now?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Arc women stronger than men?”
“No.”
“But they've got longer hair”
“Yes; they have longer hair.”
“A woman couldn't whip you could
uue?”
“No, net oa-ily.”
I “Was Samson a democrat?”
“I don't know.”
“But why don't you know? I'd
know if 1 was as old as you. llow ma
ny men was it that Samson killed?
“One thousand.”
“He was bad, wasn’t he?”
“No.”
“But when a man kills anybody he’s
bad.”
“fbe Lord was with Samson.”
“But the Lord says you must net
kill anybody. Did Sauisom go to
heaven?”
“I suppose so.”
“He is the strongest angel there*
ain’t he?”
“You are getting foolish again.”
“But L want to know. Will you
know damson when you go to heaven.' 1 ’
‘ l suppose so ”
“But you won’t fool around him,
will you? If he wuster hit you he'd
brake yonr wings, wouldn’t he?”
“Goto your mother. The n xt time
you attempt to question me about the
Bible I shall whip you.”—[Arkansaw
Traveler.
new Dress Goods, “Chudas/,
Flannel Suitings 23 and 3SJ cents perynrd;
Pin Checks, combination Suitings, etc.; al
so *he new Tubular Dress Trimmings in
Sets; Tubular Braid; I’assamentarie Trim
mings ami Ornaments; the new Ball But
tons all colors, to arrive at C. A. [Davis &
Co’.s.
hi— # I—
j B®uA full line of childs clothing; boys
clothing; young men's and gen is clothing
—new styles arriving—C. A. Davis It Cos.
rnmm • —I
—You can get not only the lowest priies
but every item you want of C. A. Davis St
Cos
—Early fall Prints coming in this week
at C A Dav|s & Cos,.
C7*The buyer of C. A. .(Co
has been for many days in the great Eas
tern markets securing nice Goods and low
prices for the many patron* of that house.
s>S}?“Do not buy till you see the large
Stock of new Goods to arrive at C, A. Da
vis St Cos ’s.
NO. 42.