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The Neman Herald' PUBLISHED EYEKT TUESDAY. I, ||, CATES, Editor and Publisher. TKBSS or SFBSCBIPIOS : 0nP copy one year, in advance $1.50 If not pa'd in advance, the terms are $2.00 a year. ^ I„i) of si* allowod an extra copy. Pi f: r-two numbers complete the volume. THE NEWNAN HERALD. WOOTTEX k CATES, Proprietors. WISDOM, JUSTICE AND MODERATION. TERMS 50 per year in Advance. VOLUME xxn. UEWXA5, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, MARCH 8, 1887. NUMBER 21. >ur lives are albums, written through With good or ill, with false or true. A SACRIFICE. cal -i Til-- snows were drifting around the the winds echoing among the nak'-'l pines. Now and again a fierce gu-it whirled up a drift, and dashed it, in h u red flakes, against the unshuttered I».iii**. Clouds, like birds of evil omen, wt re scudding across the winter sky. A, ii'Df tin* base of the mountain the 1 i of the little valley town flickered Chilly, intensifying the darkness of the iiit. rinodiato mountain trail. She was a glorious creature physically; wild and untamed as the Sierra wastes that surrounded her. Darcy Breene's 1.1 ii** eyes caught a warm gleam as the}* dwelt on her, j>oring over lx*>k and slate i 1 the light of a pine fire. Red Ranch glowering from the opposite ( n' t-, noted the glance, and clinched ),. i- Ch over a curse that was only half stifled. Darcy’s eyes grow jierceptibly warne r as the murmor reached him. It was in the nature of the young fellow to grow defiant under lire. Sal closed her book with a sigli and i- . slowly, her splendid figure, in its plain, dark habit, outlined clearly against flu In k-round of ruddy flame. I in tbiiikm 1 cz bow ye’ll need sutliin hot agin ye git down yonder, 1 ’ she said f ■ Darcy, and took down a brown bottle fi -rn the hanging cupboard, loosening th" cork as she handed it to liim. He accepted tin* Iwttle from her hand, smiling into her glowing face as their fingers met, and replaced it upon the shelf from w hich r.he had taken it. ••None to-night, thank you,” he said, ni'-aiiingly. **My heart is too warm as it is. T' lhaps you know what hand has already kindled the flame.” The next moment lie had bidden her good night, an 1 was struggling bravely through the drifts without. IW some minute* after tlie door had cl<1 u;. in him there was silence in the little c.min. broken only by the heavy breathing of old Tom Enderly, enjoying hi nightly drunken sleep in the adjoin ing r<'mu. Sal, standing dreamily with folded hands, and happy eyes fixed some what wi lfully on the flames, sighed as a i -u h c!a p upon li«*r arm recalled her from 1 r reverie. She shuddered invol untarily as : he turned to confront Bill’s re nt t ul. surly face. It was such a con tract to that delicate face, pale anil quiet, that h tul just turned from her to the Btormy night w it limit. * 1 \\ ■lint ter 1 know,” said Bill, huskily —“I u tint ter know jest how long this yor’s n -goin’ te r last?” The girl shn nggcil her shoulders with f«lig!K*(l 1 iinliffcr enee. This yer blizzard? Can’t say, I’m sure. P’r’nps ye might tell better—on tli’ road hum.” lh d Ranch Bill’s great fist came down like a liammor on the little table. “Deni ye an’ yer sass! I'll—I'll kill ye!” She looked up nt him unflinchingly, with scornful, fearless eyes. ITis face soften"! suddenly. •Sal. Sal.” he cried pleadingly, “don’t rile me. - don’t ye Ik* hard on mo—don’t ve! Quit this yer thing now, whar it Ik*. Hum ter tli' ranch, ter th’ ranch ez hez be n waitin' fur ye sense th’ night when ye gov me th' word ez I’d lived fur, fur three long year! Me nor th’ ranch don’t ax no lamin', Sal. We only wants— yersef!” The girl shrank from his touch, brac ing herself against, the chimney side. Then* was a conflict coming, and she was not sure just bow tierce a on" it might Id*. The lire on the hearth was paling. The glow on her face paled with it. and died out. -Bill.” she said, “I’m sorry ez how ye wants me; I’m sorry fur thet thar word c7 ye counts 1 gov ye. fur I can’t hold ter it. 1 can't. I’m a-goin* ter ax ye ter let nr go ye' don't want a gal ter th' ranch ez ’ml hate it more 'u more ev'rv day an' night. Don’t hold mo ter it. Bill, fur 1 can't marry yo—I can't!” Tears were in her voice, tears were very near her eyes, but the unwonted softness of her face was not of long dura tion. for the man's arms were round her, crushing her in their grasp; his tierce eves burning her face. “I ax ye one question,” he panted. “Ik* ye tli* gal cz I've loved an' wanted — th' gal ez is lit ter bo an honest man's wife or lx? ye Darcy Breene's leavin's— th* woman ez the schoolmaster hez wronged?” He read her answer in her steadfast, unshamed eyes. “So much th' wursen fur him,*’ he muttered. “Ef he'd owed ye aught. I'd hov let him live* to pay it. Now” And More the girl realized that she was free lie had flung her from him and was {-.lunging madly down the trail. She ran to the door, wringing her Iran Is and sobbing despairingly, as she vainlv called him back. “Bill. Bill, kum hack! I wuz only a-foolin' of ye! I’ll marry ye. Bill—I’ll marry ye!” The wild words echoed along the mountain, and shuddered back to her. lv»rne on the answering wind. For an instant she yielded to her despair, totter ing weakly against the open door. The chill snows dashed in her face; an icicle, snapped from the rafters by the wind, fell upon her cheek, piercing sharply into the soft flesh. The pain revived her. Quich as thought, she ran to the hearth, falling upon her knees as she threw aside the rude bearskin rug, and groped along until her hands jarred a loosened stone. To lift this, seize the old fashioned purse that lay lxmeath and hide it in her bosom was the work of a moment. Then she caught up a shawl, wrapping it tightly about her head and shoulders and dashed boldly into the bitter storm. Not down the* trail. She knew a shorter way than that! Five rods ahead of the cabin be gan a sharp, natural descent, jjerilous in summer sunshine, surely fatal now, in the snow and darkness; a descent that cliff by cliff shelved down to the highway leading to the town. Lightly as a deer she sped through the snowdrifts, sinking upon hands and knees as she neared the clifT. Then she freed her arms from the restraining shawl, and without a moment’s hesitation began the terrible descent. Again and again she lost her footing; again and fcgain her numb fingers loosed their hold upon the ice bound ledges. Once, hands and feet played her false together. She felt her self falling down, down, through the darkness, with dizzy speed, while the white rocks Hashed past her eyes, the loosened icicles beat into her face. Half way down the descent stood a single pine tree- towering like some hoary giant in its robe of ice. One of its boughs caught her gown, held her in mid air for one awful moment, then, crisp with frost, broke of! sharply, crashing down with her into a bank of snow. For a few minutes, tliat seemed as many hours to her, she lay with closed eyes, Bick, dizzy, blinded. Then, bruised and bleed ing. she resumed her awful journey, reck less of pain or peril in her desperation, hiding only that <$ach new* fall brought her nearer te the man she loved. As she leaped from the last crag down to the snowy highway Darcy Breene's lantern was just shining around the last turning of the trail. She caught it from him and hurled it upwards, its telltale light vanishing within an extinguisher of snow*. Then, as, sjy^echless with aston ishment, lie stoad irresolutely, she seized his hand and dragged him hastily towards the town. “Th* night freight ’ll lx* passin’ yer in five minutes,’ she gasped, almost inco herently. “It allers slows just thar, by th’ junction. Fur God’s sake, fur life's sak", board it. It’s yer only chance!” The schoolmaster drew himself up de fiantly. He was a slim, blonde fellow, with girlish eyes and coloring, but he had .a manly pirit under his effeminate ex terior. He understood at once that her jealous suitor had been working upon SnB.i fears with some threat of violence to him. But if his heart lx?at more quickly at the Drought, it was not from coward ice. lb* put his arm around the trem bling girl and drew her to him. "With a stili.*d cry she broke away, urging him forward with all her remaining strength. ' quarter of a mile up the mountain she bad caught the gleam of a lantern. • Bill’:; a-goin’ ter kill yer,” she cried. “He’s got his-shooter. Wot kin ve do agin him?” Dairy’s pantonymic answer was elo quent. 1 fe flung off his coat and began to turn up bis sleeves. For on** moment Sal's heart despaired. Then her woman’s wit came to her aid. “Darcy.” she pleaded, “ye ain’t a-goin’ t"r hack out now—ye ain’t— ain't refusin’ ter kum—wi’m ?” With her? The man started and caught up his coat hurriedly. Those last two words opened a vista not unpleasing to him, in his passionate, selfish youth. lit* went a f"w sTcps forward and then hesitated. Tin* little inherent good in his nature as serted itself in this last moment. “Sal.” he said, “do you know what ou are asking? 1—1 have not done well y you. but 1 never meant you—quite •uch wrong—as this.” A great sob welled up from th - girl’s heart and strangled her. She put her hands to her throat, wildly. Keener than tin* bitter hi;i d.surer by tar than thewounds from the icy lodge was the stab of those repentant words. lie had never meant to marry her. never—not even when his words were softest, his eyes and heart most warm! And this was the man fer whom she had just dared death—the lover whom she would have saved at any cost. The thought of Bill—poor, rough, loyal Bill: of his love, honorable, manly, steadfast, which she had bartered—for this! A sudden hitter resentment took possession of her—to vanish as she looked up and met Darcy’s soft blue eyes. Poor, godless, untaught Sal! What chance had she that love would not prove too strong f < >r her? “I love ye,” she whispered. “Wecan’t never lx* free ’yer. Take me away, Darcv—don’t leave me yer—ter Bill.” Leave her to Bill! All the passion, the jealousy, the dogged determination of Darcy Breene's character, to carry through at any cost whatever was most opposed, was quickened by the words, lie put on his coat, and turned toward the junction, Ills hesitation all but nomi nally at an end. “I—I have so little, money!” he cried, yieldingly. “ Yer - mine; take it. take it! Ye kin pay me back enny time.” She forced the purse upon him, and led him unresistingly toward the frosty tracks, glittering at the cross roads. “But my room—my things—I cannot leave so!” He stepped, resolutely, as a sudden remembrance swept over him. “There is a picture,” lie said, a flush of honest shame mounting redly to his brow as be spoke; “it is under my pillow. I don’t mind my other traps, but—I—must —have—that!” The whistle of the engine sounded in the distance. “Giv* me th' key! I'll git it fur ye!” the girl cried, recklessly. —Go on: I’ll fuller; and mechanically lie went for ward. the blinding snow veiling her from his sight. She shrank hack against the white rock and waited till the snort of the coming engine could be distinguished through the silence. Then she folded her shawl about her. and sped towards the tracks, in Darcy's footprints. lie looktxl at her inquiringly as she reached him. jianting. just as the long train began to slow, and the engine puffed jKist them. -I've got it! G it on—They 're start in'!” she crk\i. as the last car. an emigrant coach, neared them. He attempted to help her up. but she pushed him W fore her, and jumped after him. The wheels began to quicken. “Darcy.” she sobbed, “kiss me!” There.* on the icy platform, with the wind sweeping around them, the snow whirling in their faces, he «'pened his arms and folded her in them^pressing a hot kiss on her passionate, death white face. The next moment he was flung back ward into the lighted car: the door closed upon him. When he had leaped to his feet and regained the platform, he was alone, with the train racing along the tracks at pitiless speed. And far behind, by the tracks on the snowy roadside, alone and defenseless in the bitter night, stood Sal Enderby, and her heart in her face as she held out her arms in a mute farewell to the man her love had saved. Ten minutes later she was in Darcy Breene's room, groping her way to the pillow under which rested the picture he had refused to leave. She drew i* out, and felt around for a match, a mad jeal ousy in possession of her. The poi trait that he could not part from—of whom was it? A low fire* was burning in the grate. She bent down eagerly, holding the picture to the light of the flames. It was a photograph of a girl—a fair, sweet, gentle looking girl; and on the margin was written in Darcy Breene's clear char acters. “Sweetheart.” A faint sensation swept over the girl. The flames dazzled her, the picture danced before her. “Sweetheart!” “Sweetheart!” And to know it now. now in the hour when she had risked her life to save him! She staggered to the bed and fell across it. face downwards, scorching tears gather ing slowly in her wide open, unseeing eyes. She did not hear the door ojien, nor the quick footsteps that sounded in the room. -Kum out yer!” cried a voice, iLfugmy. -I inn i a gom cer git ur oec-I ter o’ ye unbeknownst. I’m willin’ ter I fight ye f’ar an’ squar’, an' let th’ best man win.” The words reached her, but she did not grasp their meaning. The long strain *had brought its inevitable reaction, and she had succumbed at last. “Git up. thar. I say! No playin' asleep 11 fool me! Ye're a coward ter try it! Show up. like a man. afore I count five, or I'll shoot ye fur tli’ dog ye be! One!—two!—three!—four!—five!” A sudden familiar sound recalled Sal Enderby to a dim sort of consciousness. It was a sound tliat she had learned to know well during her life in that lawless region—the click of a revolver, cocked for action. Some faint, natural instinct of self preservation impels her to open her lips, but no word issues from them. Twice she essayed to speak, and both times vainly. Then she shut her lips again, resignedly. Sweetheart! Sweet heart! That cruel word was the only one she had not forgotten. She was dead to fear, to shame, to everything but the sore agony in her heart. There was a flash, a sudden, sharp re port. a keen, stinging sensation in her left side, piercing through to tli" beauti ful white breast! The next moment the light of a lantern flashed full in her face, and. lying hack, faint unto death, with something warm and dark trickling through her gown and staining the white counterpane, she saw the face of Red Ranch Bill, drawn, ghastly, horror- stricken. above her, -Sal!” lie cried. “Oh, mv God! mv God! Sal!” The despair in his voice recalled her from the lethargy into which she was fast sinking. “It'sall right, Bill—ye didn’t mean it,” she said, softly. “It don’t—hurt half ez much—ez ef—’t h'd lie'n—him!” Her eyes closed, her lips paled. Bill sink on his knees. burying his face in her frosty, draggled skirt. Suddenly, with a last effort, she raised herself in the bed and held out the velvet framed pict ure. “Keep it—till Darcy Breenc—sends fur it,” she gasped. “Don't take on, I fill. I'm — glad — ter die — fur— his — sake!” Then her lips parted, her eyes glazed, her bead fell forward, and the tragedy of Ranch Village was played to its end.— Minnie Gilmore in Frank Leslie’s. Tbe Neman Herald. PUBLISHED EYEKT TUESDAY use: i t>.’ One inch one year, $10; a colutn on* year, $100; less time than three months. jl.00 per inch for first insertion, and 60 ,-ents additional for each subsequent In* sertion Notices in local column, ten cents per ine for each insertion. Libera) arrange ments will be made with those adrertis* inc by the quarter or year. All transient advertisements must b paid for when handed in. Announcing candidates, Ac., $3jB: •trictly in advance. Address all communications to A. B. CATEo, Newnan Qa THE BRITISH TRAMP STEAMER. The Work of the Reporter. A very large proportion of the work of collecting and preparing news for a daily paper can not. from the nature of things, l>o performed by women. About half the jiersons employed on a city daily paper are reporters. They are likely to be sent anywhere and everywhere by the city editor at any hour of the day or night. They .We obliged to visit places where the foot of a modest woman should never tread. They are forced to familiarize themselves with crime and criminals. They must attend horse races, sparring matches, prize fights, “hanging bees,” political conventions and other disrepu table gatherings. They must follow en gines to fires, run after the police patrol wagon, mingle with mobs, witness dog fights and “chicken contentions,” go in disguise into secret meetings of Anarch ists and be in attendance at police court trials and coroner's inquests. Till women abandon their womanhood they can not become efficient newspaper reporters.— Chicago Times. How Is It in Europe. Pending the discussion of the desira bility of adding dynamite to red hot stoves and oil lamps as a remedy against ,, , « , * . „ I UllcUtUU * IIUJLIil' Uiri.liiUiicU dlJU the sufferings and tortures of being first the proccss carrie d on night smashed and then slowly roasted m a day. and without any thought of re; burning car, it might be worth while to inquire why it is that the effete nations of the old world never are under the necessity of discussing means of speedy death as a relief from the torture of rail way casualties. Is it not somewhat sin gular that among the played out denizens of Europe bridges don't drop when trains cross them; switches are not misplaced when a lightning express is due; the pas senger coaches never tumble down high embankments and then catch fire and roast their mutilated contents? Ilow do they do things over there? It is true that those people are effete, and worn out. and passe, while it appears that there is a point or two where they have the advantage of us.—Chicago Times. An Olrt Sf* Captain Tells What He Knows About the Craft. “The majority of ‘tramps' are built on the share plan.” said an old sea captain; “tliat is to say that any individual or firm able to get together a sufficient num ber of subscriber.- to the necessary capi tal in from £3 to i'10 shares organizes a company, securing for the trouble the sole management of the vessel and hand ling all the earning^ charging a commis sion to the shareholders for managing the ship, and in many instances themselves not owning a single share. They are satisfied with the commissions, which are first deducted from the gross freight earned. Whether the vessel makes , money for the shareholders or not tiie ‘ agent is always secure, aud takes care to indemnify liimself in all cases. “A registry of these vessels is published annual!}', and a character assigned if paid for which may or may not truly set forth the real character or condition of the vessel. Tliat tiiis certificate of good char acter is not always to be relic 1 upon is not by any means the fault of the staff of surveyors, hut can be traced to the ras cality of builders who, haring taken the contract perhaps ruinously low, are tempted to substitute unknown to the in spector an inferior quality of metal, light frames, insufficient or defective riveting, or poor workmanship throughout. Or, granted tliat the builder has faithfully performed his duty, and that the vessel has left the yard in a practically perfect condition, it is after she has passed into the control of the managing owner that her unseaworthiness surely commences. “The ship, now ready for business, is chartered, for example, to load a cargo of coal, and without any previous knowl edge (except tiie somewhat theoretical knowledge, perhaps, of the builder) as to iiow the vessel may perform, she is loaded as deeply as even the greed of the owners can exact and started on her voyage. Jack, who comes on board only after the ship is loaded, and sees the dangerous manner in which she is to be sent to sea. can but shake his head, for the vessel is only down to the Plimsoll mark, and the board of trade surveyors will not in that case stop the ship and compel her to be lightened “Tiie Plimsoll mark is a mark which is painted on the side of a vessel at her lowest point of siieer, and is supposed to denote the depth to which she may with safety be loaded. Tiie distance between this mark and the deck line (measured on the side of the ship) is called the free board. and by an act of parliament this freeboard, expressed in feet and inches, must lie entered upon the articles of agreement lietween the owners and crew, a copy of which must be always hung up in the forecastle. Now, there is no law that fixes the rule where this mark shall he. but it is left to the owner to put it where lie chooses. lie may, therefore, give the ship as little or as much free board us he sees fit. It is needless to sa\ that the universal rule is us little as pos sible. “Well. Jack being on board, the ship proceeds on her voyage, overloaded and shorthanded in many instances. Bad weather is encountered; tiie ship, being too deeply laden, cannot rise to the sea, but wallows along through it, to the peril of the deck fittings and the men obliged to lie on the deck. The machinery being new, there is not much danger of Iteing disabled unless the gale increases to hur ricane force, in which cuse, if the 6liip survives, she is sure to come out of the encounter minus some of her boats, houses, bridges, etc., and perhaps badly strained in tbe hull. ■ -The vessel having arrived at her des- j tination is quickly discharged and loaded, and repair- damages, except those absolutely necessary. Should any of the boats have been lost they will not 1* replaced until she arrives at a home port. Should any of her sails be blown away they will cer tainl o£ Aelita to serve as siea runners, wus not so much coasting as a coasting burlesque, so utterly ridiculous were most of the methods employed to get down tiie 'hill. The truth was that as each boy happened along and caught sight of the glittering path of ice he threw himself upon it if he had a sled, or. if he had none, he got the first thing that came to his hand to sit upon. Night after night this crazy coasting goes on and thus far there is no news of any one having lieen seriously hurt.—Albany Cor. New York Sun. What Arabia Is Like. Thanks to those instructive works called manuals of geography, and the valuable infor. ustion of various worthy folk* who have never seen any desert but Coney Island, we all know pretty well by this time what Arabia ought to be like. A dreary, unending level of burning sand, tastefully decorated with human skele tons and milestoned with solitary palm trees thirty leagues apart, each overhang ing a “limpid well” (whatever that may be), while hands of dusky robbers mounted on horses possessing the singular property of always going at full galop arid never needing to be fed. scurry over the path less waste in a style of clothing repulsive to every right principled mind, living com fortably where there is notliing to eat, and amassing rich spoil where there is no one to rob. But these well ascertained facts are rudely shaken when confronted with Arabia as it is, which does not agree by any means with Arabia as it ought to be. The untraveled traveler sees with amaze ment Arabian mountains several thousand feet in height, Arabian valleys as green and beautiful as the charming little glens that lurk amid the black lava ridges of Iceland. Arabian fortresses armed with European cannon, Arabian coffee planta tions worthy of the choicest districts of Java and Brazil. Indeed, the whole northern slope of the Coffee mountains of Yemen is still as rich and productive, even after centuries of Turkish misrule, as in the far off days when Mocha was the chief outlet of southern Arabia, little dreaming that it should one day be as magnificently useless as a London foot man or the head steward of an ocean steamer.—David Ker in New York Mail and Express. Tiie Sneezing Spot. As a Journal representative sat in the chair of a Maiden lane barber the other day. the genial artist of tiie brush ob served that the journalist sneezed when his hair was comlied. “Did I toucli the sneezing spot?” inquired the barber. He then proceeded to explain that the “sneez ing spot” was a sensitive place to the left of the middle of the forehead. “Why,” said he, “thereare men whocome inhere who sneeze regularly every time I comb their hair or shave them just as soon as the comb passes over that spot. I had a man in here yesterday who sneezed three times just as hard as he could, all because I touched the ‘sneezing spot.’ It must he a very small nerve that tickles the nos tril.”—Albany Journal. President Monroe’s Property, President Monroe, according to a re cently published letter of his grandson, was not overwhelmed with debt, finally dying in poverty, as generally believed. He says that hi3 distinguished ancestor left large unincumbered real estate in London county, Va., and personal prop erty worth $40,000, which public records show.—Chicago Tribune. Nature is never in a hurry save when in a destructive mood.—Maurice Thomp son. THE BALLET GIRL’S SACHEL. The Fees Lecturers Receive. Henry Ward Beecher has received more money for lectures than any other man on the platform record. He has lxvn lecturing fur forty years, his fees having increased from £.‘>0 to $200, and the aggregate amount being estimated at $230,000. Most of this money, how ever. has been lost. Greeley paid for Chappaqua by his lectures. Bayard Tay lor cleared in tbe same manner $3,300 in one season. Tilton used to deliver fifty lectures in a season at $73 to $100. Josh Billings had all the engagements he wanted at $100, and left an estate of $75,000. ail made after he had passed 40. C hapin made $20,000 by his lectures and Emerson got rich in the same manner. Anna Dickinson was at one time worth $13,000. all made by lectures, but it was last through mismanagement. Twain lias made between $23,000 and $•’10,000 l»v his lectures.—New York Mail and Express. An Honest and Safe Escort—The Sachet** Potver of Guardianship. I am a night bird. Not that I sleep by day, but I take my most precious not lx? replaced, but the yards will j flights around when half the town lias b*‘ sent ashore, and the vessel reduced to gone to bed. Tims my strolls usually her fore and aft rig only, thus economiz- j i>ring me by the theatres when the cur ing in spars, rigging and sails, and de- tain lias fallen and the back door is priving the sailor of liis last chance for j slamming; when men with shaven faces life in case of a mishap to machinery dur- dodge out and into the handiest saloons, ing a heavy gale, or in the event of the ; and ladies with remarkable complexions ship’s losing her propeller: As the tramp | take the arms of the dudes, who hang steamers are now being rapidly reduced around the alley way or the curbstone, in their sail power it is found possible to elegantly disdainful of the scoffs of the man them with two hands less in the' mob. And I always halt a little way crew, so that a vessel of 3,000 tons dead j bevond and watch the sacliels take the weight capacity frequently carries only \ ballet "iris home. six men before the mast, and of these it j great Dane or fighting bull dog is safe to say that only two of the number j could be as honest and as safe an escort are lit to lx* trusted at tiie wheel or on i as this sachel. The toughest lounger at the lookout. j the stage door draws aside to give it “As long as vessel and outfit are com- : passage. As it goes through the dark paratively new she may live through byways the policemen nod to it and the many a storm, but when the outfit is 1 vilest of the scum that floats upon the worn out it is replaced, if at all. in the night tide of the streets eddies aside and cheapest possible manner, ami as regards . leaves its passage clear. It brings its repairs to hull, engines and boilers, they j charge into the street car, and the surly are only made when there is absolute!}’ ; conductor, becomes civil. It takes her no oilier way to get the vessel to sea, and through a mob of poor, foot weary what may then happen concerns ^the wantons swarming at some dive door, perfection of the sense in the two sexes, and the same may be stated as regards the sense of sight, which appears to bo equally acute in women and men. In Jhe extreme delicacy of taste it is proba ble the’ men excel. As regards the sense of smell, some exceedingly conclusive experiments have been made by some American savants which appear to sub vert our preconceived opinions. The ex periments were performed with prussic- acid and other strongly odorous sub stances on forty-four males and thij-ty- eight females, and it was found that in nearly all cases the sense of smell was about double as active in men as in women. The cause of the difference in this matter between men and wo men is quite unknown, as is the object of the distinction: but it has one practical bearing that may be borne in mind. The employment of strong and potent perfumes by women may depend on their less acute sense of smell, and they would do well to bear in mind the fact that odors and perfumes which may be quite pleasant to them may be almost overpowering and decidedly unpleasant to individuals of the other sex.—London Queen. The Mahdi’s Musicians. The Mahdi’s musicians are the men of the moment in Paris. They are about fourteen in number, and, in their red tunics, turbans and blue pantaloons, with yellow stripes, they were taken by many of the Parisians, who were enjoying their Simday stroll, for an Ethiopian con tingent of the Salvation Army. They have come to Paris for the purpose of giving some perfomances in the Eden theatre with their national instruments. The musicians belong to the Soudan and were enrolled in the Egyptian army. After Tel-el-Kebir they revolted and joined the Prophet in the desert, but were subsequently pardoned.—London Telegraph. Chinamen Who Can Row. Some months ago I commented on the fact that some of her majesty’s ships on the China station were to a large extent manned by Chinamen. In a regatta which came off at Hong Kong just before Christmas the Victor Emanuel entered an eight oared galley, manned entirely by Chinamen, who beat all the boats of the squadron in capital style over a one mile course. The Chinamen are said to have rowed a longer and slower stroke than any of their competitors, and their boat has never been beaten yet. There must be some good stuff in the Celestials after all.—London Truth. STILSO IT, JEWELER, 55 Whitehall treet, Atlanta, Ga. New and Full Lines of Watches, Diamonds, Jewelry, Silverware, 'locks, Canes, <fcc. -? e< ‘ v Cl ’° is and New Store, hut m.v, as heretofore, R'liable Goods k air Dealing and Bottom Prices. 52-26 W, G, Aycock, WHITESBURG, GEORGIA., MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN Dressed and Matched Flooring, Ceiling and Rough Lumber, Laths, .Shingles, all kinds of Mouldings, Sawed an l Turned Ballasters, Brackets, Ac., Sash, Doors and Blinds. V v Binds am wired with patent "liiudier wire machine, which never break loose, •ormspqndeuce solicited and special prices riven on bills for buildings. Write fo price lis. ami discounts on Sash, Doors and Blinds, Ac. 4-52 -Will Take- Contracts or Superintend Buildings In town or country at reasonable prices. ^^‘.Satisfaction guaranteed. (>-26 B. F. KING, Newnan, Gra. Railway Seat Spring. A new form of railway seat spring has been devised in England, and is highly spoken of. The entire seat is carried on a coiled spring of peculiar form, and is free to move in all directions, so that every jerk and oscillation that the car can receive is perfectlv taken up.—Chicago Herald. ' Adulteration of Pepper. The city analyst of Liverpool finds that pepper is largely adulterated with a worthless material resembling ground olive stones, which is imported from Italy for the express purpose.—Arkansaw Traveler. owner to a very slight degree."—New York Times. THE CRAZE OF COASTING. A Walk Refore Breakfast. It is curious how ideas change with the times. Not so many years „go it was considered the most healthful thing in the world to take a walk before breakfast. • It is not only absurd, but dangerous." said a well known physician, speaking on this subject a few days ago. -The early morning air is malarial and will cause catarrh and lung troubles. If you can avoid it never leave your house until the sun lias warmed tiie atmosphere. Never mind about seeing the sun rise: it will rise without your assistance—take care of your health and let the sun take care of itself."— Philadelphia Cal!. — IN SPRING- Ah ’ when the robins make melodious The twilight dusk, when scaly leaf buds swell. When mosses in the swamps grow living green. When downy catkins suit the willow well; When golden warm the sunshine glows at noon. When earth its bounty Danae-like receives, When in the woods the Indian miskodeed Hangs its pink bells above the last year’s leaves; When blackbird concerts in the elm tree tops Foretell the summer's carnival of song, We ll smile and >ay, “Dear heart, the spring is here: And after all, the winter was not long. So will it be when, life's long journey over, Its storms all braved, its thorny pathways trod, Some day of days, our eyes shall open On the fair city built and kept by God And gazing on its radiant spires and turrets, And listening to the burst of heavenly song We’ll smile and say: “Eternity is dawning. And after all, dear heart, life was not long.” Carlisle. TJghtning Procession of Coasting Machines—R id icu Ions Methods. The other day Howard street liill was Mark I ^ on either side with men and women roaring with laughter. Strangers who added to the throng and looked on some times joined in the merriment, but at other times held their breath at what they saw. The boys had poured water down the middle of the street and it had frozen into a narrow roadway of silvery ice. Along this slippery slanting path there shot a lightning like procession of coasting machines of sorts the most re markable that were ever seen together. First there would come half a dozen fragile painted sleds, followed by an errand boy in a soap box nailed to a sled, with brown paper fluttering out from under him to show that lie was supposed to be delivering a parcel some where. Next came eight little urchins on a piece of rough plank, firing as if they ■were falling from the clouds. Swiftly pursuing the plank came a boy on the lid of a trunk, a girl on a square block i -f ice. a boy on a side of such a box as oranges come in. with another boy astride of his back, all flying down at sixty miles an hour. Close upon these came a j _ oung lady and a boy upon a tolwggan. more painted sleds, another i rrand boy on a soap - box. and. strangest -led of all. a door mat. that had l)een been wet and frozen stiff, bearing- a ragged girl, revolving around and around after the manner of a pinwheeL and yet darting down hill like a flash. But there were many other strange sights to come. One was that of a boy flitting by with nothing beneath him, while close to his back came the square block of wood that had slipped from under him. Another boy slid along in side a decrepit old basket, and one went by like a swallow on a little piece of wood under which he had screwed a pair and they drop their ribald voices, and here and there among them you may note -a white, harsh face turned aside and a swelling in a throat. It is, in short, a badge of honesty and labor that has gained a recognition for itself, like the policeman’s badge or the fireman’s uniform. As long as a ballet girl carries her own sachel she is safe. It is only when she gets a njaid to handle it for her tliat her peril has begun. It is a poor thing enough in itself. Even when it is brand new it exhales an odor of cheapness. A very little use makes sad havoc with its symmetry, and you often encounter it in a deplorable state of collapse. But it is never so rickety as to lose its power of guardianship. It is stuffed with a pair of tights, a pair of slippers, a wig, perhaps, and certainly with some rouge aud drop chalk and grease paint. 'What little costume goes with these essentials is left in the care of the wardrobe people at the theatre. Its contents and herself are the ballet girls chief professional capital, and every time she closes it she wraps up in its stuffy depths a dream of the day when Patti or Bernhardt shall have a rival, and the honest old sachel give place to a jewel case and a Saratoga trunk to a villa at Havre or a castle in tYales. And why not, indeed? Did not Bern hardt carry her sachel once, and Patti not own a sachel to carry? What has happened once may liappen again. What place hi the world is there like the stage for ambitions, romances and dreams?— Alfred Trumble in New York News. The Hebrew Race. America has the best, tiie strongest, the manliest, the handsomest specimens of the Hebrew race. As you go east ward in Europe you seem to approach nearer and nearer to the Shakespearean type. While the Jew in Austria-Hun gary is through his financial power the companion of the high social classes, often of the nobility, and sometimes him self ennobled, as a person in the lower walks of life he preserves the humble and submissive bearing which was until late years everywhere his most notable characteristic. The sufferance which was the 1 tadge of all his tribe in Shake- (jeare’s time continues to be his distinct ive mark in the southeast of Europe. The signs of it have almost disappeared at Vienna since his fellows have not only taken possession of the banks and all the great corporations; but in Hungary, in the Danubian principalities, in Turkey and in Russia they are still plainly visible.—Buda-Pesth Cor. San Francisco Chronicle. THOMPSON BROS. Bedroom, Parlor and Dining Room Fnrnitnrc Big Stock and Low Prices. PAROR AND CHURCH ORGANS, WOOD AND METALLIC BURIAL CASES •p]6- lv Orders attended to at any hour day or night.^^T THOMPSON BROS Newnan. tfa. G.Q. McNAMAKa Milch Cows in the City. There are 2,400 places in New York where cows are kept to be milked for the public benefit, and a health officer re ports that “there are not fifty places in the long list where a decent man can re main five minutes without being made sick.”—Detroit Free Press. The man who knows the most never tells it in a crowd.—Philadelphia Times. The Senses ms Affected by Sex. If the senses are taken seriatim it will be evident that they are not parallel in men and women. The latter possess in a much greater degree the perfection of the sense of touch; those occupations that re quire extreme delicacy of manipulation, such as lace making, embroidery, bead stringing, etc., are therefore usually fol lowed by women. As regards the Bense of hearing, we are not aware of any ex periments or observations on the relative Paper Pipes. In Vienna there were recently ex hibited gas and water service pipes made of paper. The same kind of pipes will do for many factory pur poses, and for laying electrical wi-es etc., we should snppose it to be spe cially useful. The^pipes according to the Paper World, are made a follows: Strips of paper are take the width of which corresponds with • he length of one pipe section. The paper is drawn through melted as phalt and wound upon a mandrel, which determines the inner diame ter of the pipe. When the pipe thu nade has cooled it i pulled off the mandrel and the inside is co vered with a kind of enamel whose na ture is kept secret by the makers. The outside is painted with asphalt varnish and dusted over with sand. 1' is stated that such a pipe will ve- -ist some 2,WO pounds internal pres sure, though the thickness of the 3‘uffisonly aei.ut halt an inch. O’Kelley—Is it lireakin’ year long ■eekyez afiher in thedark? Dolan —Sure art’ oi can’t foiud the mstch- s. O’Kelley—Then sthrikea loight nd luk for thim like a sinsible per son.—Detroit Free Press. NEWNAN MARBLE AND GRANITE WORKS. ISON & McNAMARA. DEALERS IN MARBLE & GRANITE MONUMENTS, TOMBS AND HEADSTONES, TAB LETS, CURBING!, ETC. Special Designs, and Estimats for anydesired work, furnished o n application. NEWNAN, GEORGIA. * S S s s sssssssssssss piBMfUIMI I f 8 III 111 I I I I Ml II -fl S 9 For Fifty Years the great Eemedy for | S Blood Poison and Diseases, s B S s s Interesting Treatise on Blood a:,ct Ckin Diseases mailed free to all who apply. It should be carefully read by everybody. Address THE SWIFT SPECii tiC CO., A’.'.anta, Ga. SSSSSSSS3BSSS It Wasn’t His.—Miss Nellie, an . uthusiastic dug fancier—“Is that charming little bobtail yours, mon sieur?” Monsieur—“Oh, no, mad- ■ moiselle; zat eez ze dog’s.” Fannie—“Youforgotmy birthday, Jack.” Jack—“I thought it was on the first of April.” Fannie—“Many iversons think so when they see my husband.”—Boston Beacon.. IB^IFLIROlSr f £Q g Hall Self-Feeding Cotton Gin Co. SING BING, N. Y. i lull 8elf-Feeding Cotton.Gin, Cotton Gn Feeder and Condenser, also a Hailing .■u, Feeder and Condenser. £»Feedersand Condensers made to work on au* ^; ns of other makes. Fileing and repaiitog of gins done In first-elsas style.