Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

PEOPLE’S Volume 1. PEOPLE'S FRIEND. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING BY A. B. S. MOSELEY, ROME, GA. HIIHSORIPTIOX, One year in advance ------- $2.0 ADVERTISING, luOne ■Mjnare, firM Insertion - - - - sl. insertion, each - M Lib r.I contracts made for six or twelvemonth ad Vert wwentr. LO, THE POOR INDIAN. BY JOAQUIN MILLER. 1 have not been, shall not be under stood; I have not wit, nor will, to well explain, But that which men call good find not good. The lands the savage held shall hold again, The gold the savage spurned in proud disdain For centuries; go, take them all; build high Your gilded temples; strive and strike and strain And crowd and controvert and curse and lie In church and state, in town, and citadel and—die. And who shall grow the nobler from it all? The mute and unsung savage loved as true— He lelt, as grateful felt, God’s blessings fall Abggt his lodge and tawny babes as you In e«o>p/en,' Moulwn, Chri»ti»n uiunk or jew. The sea, the great white, braided bounding sea, Is laughing in your face; the arching blue Remains to God ; the mountains still are free, A refuge for the few remaining tribes and me. Your cities! from the first hand of God Has been against them; sword and flood and flame. The earthquake's march, and pestilence have trod To undisccrning dust the verv name Os antique capitals, and still the same Had destiny besets the battle fields Os mammon and the harlot’s house of shame. Lo! mau with monuments and lifted shields Against his city’s fate. A flame! his city yields. A M A N ’ S W ILL; OR A WOMAN S RIGHT. <«•»> BY MARGIE P. MuSELEY. CHAPTER IV. '1 wo weeks had passed since May Ethridge had left the loving Uncle's roof and protection. She was working day and night - with brain and hand for that support which, unfortunately, is as necessary for one sox as the other, but which is so much more difficult for one to make than for tin* other. “ 1 wenty-tive dollars a month and board,” said May in a reverv, as she laid her pen aside, and placed her hand to her head. “Precious little for so much work;” and with her other hand she gathcnsl a pile of manuscript and rolled it into a bundle for the printer. “I cant see how I'm to i»vt along with that little, when there is so much suffering around me. and so many calls made upon me. I’ve paid dearly for the whistle’ this time, and no mistake; but as 1 lune paid, 1 wul use it. Right is right, and wrong is w rung, and uh eouse.it nee tells me 1 have dime any duty, and if I die a mar tyr to truth and right. 1 will not vivid Rome, Georgia, Saturday, April 26, 1873. principle to brute force or sophistry!” The beautiful eyes brightened, the cheeks kindled and May forgot her headache. Seizing her pencil, she wrote for several minutes with a rapid ity that w r as astounding. She was in terrupted by a knock at the door, and in reply to her “come in,” a pretty, delicate little girl made her appearance upon the door sill, and stood irresolute. She eyed the occupant of the room furtively, glanced at the floor and ceiling, and seemed about to forsake her mission for a flood of tears, but May smiled kindly and said, “Come in my dear, I think we can do it, what ever it is—can’t you tell me!” The child seemed reassured; looked more steadily at her companion, and advan cing, delivered a note. May broke the seal and read as follows: “Dear Miss Ethridge: “I have never seen you, but I know you—know your heart, and I feel I shall not appeal to you in vain, when I ask you to procure me some employment by which I may sup port my worse than orphan children. For eight long years I have struggled with poverty, drunkenness, and a de spair, which only a drunkard’s wife can know, and to-day life seems utterly hopeless. I cannot much longer fight starvation from my door, for my health is gone, and as I once bore the proud name of Ethridge, I cannot beg. Ido not ask alms; I ask only for work that will help me pay for bread for my children. I have done most menial labor, for I could get no other, on ac count of the low grade to which a drunkhrd sinks his wife, but now I cannot do that. Pray use your exten sive influence to procure me that which if I fail to get, my children will starve, and I shall never cease to pray for you. Nettie Graham. 1 City, Tuesday Evening. The sweet face of May Ethridge was pale and rigid; the lips tightly clasped; the hands cold and tremulous; and rnising her eves to liaaveft nhc eX tlaiuied, How Umg, l’atne«Thow long shall this injustice rest upon the earth ? They cry to me for help—-I am power less—l cry to thee! Open some way j by which I may assist those whom ' the world has left to the tender mer cies of the wicked!” The words were murmured almost inaudibly, but the little child knew them to be a prayer und quietly knelt where she stood, and covered her face with her hands.— When May turned and beheld her, she bent down, removed the little hands and kissed the pale face, upon which her own tears were falling. Then ris ing she took a purse from a trunk in the room, threw on her hat ami vail, 1 and said, “Come, my child, let us go j and see the lady who sent me this note.” The little girl dropped her head and was silent, refusing to move. “Will you not go with me?” said May. The child stammered—glided to the wall, put her head against it and burst into tears. This was strange! May thought rapidly, while she silently contemplat ed the wretched litile figure. Then approaching her she said, “\V hat is it my dear: win' don’t you want me to go?” “Oh, she sobbed. “You must not! Papa i-s s-o bad ! Mamma is so poor and ragged, it would make her so shamed to see a fine lady like you look at her poor p-o-o-r mamma,” and the little* head sank again, and the tears flowed freely. May did not .speak—she could not. Tenderly she I kissed the little girl, and going to the | trunk, she took out every kind of gar ment m t iled m a lady’s wardrobe and j made them into a bundle, and called a ' servant: then she rolled something in | a paper, handed it to the child and I said, “lake this to your mamna my dear, show the senant where to take the j bundle, and tell your mamma I will comt 1 and s- e hi r to-morrow.” It was a simple message; but with I the :tc< onipanvmg gilt it told much to I the heart of the worse than widowed mother. When May was again alone she I raDud her eyes an i < l.i- j ,1 her hands, and saitl f iv ntly: “Father. I thank thee for tin misfortune which has rob j bed me of i..\ wca '.h, ami brought me to see ami ft cl for the sufferings of others. Oh, aid me, Father, that I may help them ! ” Then she went out iu the city, and visited every place where she thought “woman’s work” might be procured. She received various answers —all of the same import, viz: that “there were always ten applicants to one position suited to woman’s capacity,” and all placed the prices so low th#t the re muneration would not feed, much less clothe the worker. Towards night she turned homeward with a heavy heart, Her money was near! exhaust ed. She could get along, but how with the poor women to think she could do anythwg by her influence ? Her heart bled for them, for she recognized as only p woman can the miseries of dependence, and pov erty, when attached to • drunkenness 1 She visited her charity oiyects on her return, and when she h:\» taken a part, of the misery of each, |he was too unhappy for hope, or prayd”, or tears, and throwing herself on in the quiet of her own room, she cover ed her face with her Lunds and thought and thought, amU'-mffered, as the philanthropic suffer —Baking the woes of others her own ! While thus engaged, a servant en tered and handed her a note. It was from the gentleman who had given her employment, and ran thus: City, 4 O'Cloek, P. Jf. Miss Ethridge: I have juab received the enclosed letter, which I send you—if the statements be true I can no longer employ you. Respectfully, Charles Coleman. With eager fingers May opened the “letter” and read it. She was white to the lipsjjy the time she read the first page, and no words can express the young girl’s outraged feelings, when she read the last. Those who have read the bitter reproach, anif violent reprobation with which modern editors attack anything to which they are op-., posed, and ngainst \U. 'AThey think tiiink to carry the popvw.Yrmind, may have some faint idea of the style of that “letter;” but of the statements which it contained, and the insinua tions it gave, no one can form a con ception, nor can I present them to my readers, forbid. Suffice it, that we tell the substance which was a violent at tack upon the character of May Eth ridge; it charged upon that pure, sw'eet girl, all the crimes which are known to the “isms” and charged her with advocoting the same. Had a thunderbolt bursts! at her feet, she could not have been more as tonished, ami yet in benumbed stupor she sat silent. At last last she was aroused by the boy saving respectful ly* “Shall I take an anwer, ma’am ?’* “Yes, if you please,” said she recol lecting herself. She reached for her pencil and pa per. City, 5 delock, P. M. Mr. Coleman: Sir: The statements are false. May Ethridge. May did not sleep that night. She read and re-read the letter. It warn Uncle Ethridge's hand-writing. He was determined to rum her, or have his will over her; she saw this, and deliberated a long time, whether it were better to submit to his injustice ami sue for pardon, or to go on brave iy struggling against his persecutions. Her conscience told her she was right; she owned property ami had a right to use it; she owuetl herself and hud a right to dispose of herself as she saw tit, at least, she thought it just that slit* shuiud not be conqielled to marry Colonel Johnson unless she saw fit to do so; and tins she knew would be the result if she returned to the Ethridge mansion. After a night of wakeiul Hess, she determined to resign her po sition, and go to teaching, under un essunied n une, ami with this de termination she arose the next duv witii a heavy he r . She visited her poor people; said nothing to her fashionable triends; sold a splendid diamond ring, ami the mxt day, left the city, not, how ever, until she had explained to L< r employer, her Uncle's iniu-i all I UUl’e lent persecution of hersof. ami the realms th ere r‘< >r. She could only es- F RI E N I). cape it, by concealing her whereabouts; and although Mr. Coleman offered to double her salary, she refused to re main. When he saw he failed to in duce her to stay he could not settle himself to business. His heart hurt him. He felt vaguely, that he had done wrong, to send May the letter— wrong to notice the attack of a cow ardly man, upon a true woman, for none but a coward, would assail the the character of a virtuous woman; and this Mr. Coleman knew and ev ery other true man knows. He tried to get rid of the feeling, in vain! It grew more and more, ami by the time of May’s departure, he felt as much condemned as though he had not as sisted, he had not done his duty—-had not proven the truth of the letters as sertions, before h< gave it to her. He felt like he had connived ot a slander er’s base work, because he had been a silent observer, and he felt this sorely, for he was an honorable man. X: * * # ‘h Twelve months had passed since we saw’ May Ethridge leave the first place, where she had procured employment, and wence, she was driven by an Un cle’s tyrrany. She had letters all the while from Nettie Clayton her ‘dearest friend.’ Twice she had been compell ed to leave her occupation of teaching, with those months, and now we find her employed as a little sewing girl, living upon the fruits of her own la bor. She had just come home from a day’s labor, and found a letter di rected to ‘Miss May Ellis,’ for an as sumed name w’as her only refuge from Uncle Ethridge ‘loving protection.’ She seized it and read as follows: At Home, May 12, 1870. My Little Darling: 1 am delighted at the idea of seeing you again, come home, come immedi ately, for you are now’ your own mis tress! That old tyrant will not annoy done any more, for your loving ad mirer Col. Johnson has sent hini on a long journey, to a distant country, where he mav sputter ami broil, and I cough and curite to Ids hearts content, yet, hurt nobody. Sometimes I feel like it is a good thing that there is a place where mean people can be as mean as they please, yet not trouble the good. The city was ‘shocked’ yesterday by the intelligence that Col. j Johnson (who as you know’ has been 1 living with Col. Ethridge since your departure) had killed the old man in a j drunken broil. They had, to all ap pearanvex lived amicably, but it seems ! not; that it was only the friendship !of drunkenness, in w hich there is no I dependence to be placed. After mak i ing many people believe you, both pen nyless ami abandoned, these two men ■ sat quietly down, to enjoy your mon ey, (as I always believed) and as is I now proven to be a fact. The servants say they lived joyfully ! for a time, drinking ami carousing, to their hearts content, but Col. Johnson who spent a day or two of every week out of the city, drew too heavily upon the purse of Unde Ethridge. That the latter said had already been ‘taken by the gallant Col.’ That he would die before he would give more,’ ami that j his wily companion threatened to ‘tell how he nad cheated’ you, if he did not. ■ Thus he got the money, from time to time, until the old man had no more. Then came the last demand —it could not be met—both parties were heavily 1 intoxicated, anti after an hour of the ' ‘most abusive altercation,’ Col. John | son fell upon the old man, ami liteially , beat him to death. It is horrible, but ; when when I think how he did you, jit seems like a retribution from heav en ! Do comt* back my little darling lam living to see you, anti every I body is pitying you, since it came out how you have been treated. 1 hey . can believe me, now, but they would I not do it before! Strange, how peo ple do love slander, ami how ready luey are to help put down a woman .' ; Ums would be eumemptible world it | it were not .so pitiful! Conic home Uiy poor little persecuted darling, 1 1 have wept ami prayetl tor you, anil now 1 uni to see sou, I cannot express iny happiness! Col. Johnson has ts- , capetl, out you wilt now tali heir to the I Etnriuge mansion and property; so j co.a< numediuteiv and have 11 settled ; u , ! Yoiu - loving friend, Nfttie ChirroN. i | I'- s. | Number 18 I saw Maj. Duprey yesterday, he has changed sadly. Had just return ed from that strange absence, I tlidk not speak to him. N. C. May was surprised, shocked, n6t glad, she had received only injustice from her Uncle, but death had come as her avenger, and she felt no joy over the fate of her worst enemy. She was glad of being free, of having am opportunity to shew her city that her name was untarnished, by telling it ichy she left, but she was not glad of the ill fate of her accuser. She hadl : suffered too much, not to ft el for the sufferings of others; and though her heart w r as guileless, and earnest when she went out from her home, determined to do what was right, anti not to suffer the birthright of freedom to be snatched from her, without ai> effort on her part, to prevent it, still she returned a wiser, a happier, a tru er woman! She had gone through the furnace, of affliction, and had como out purified, chastened, elevated. She was not afraid of the world now’ —not afraid of the slaneerous tongues of base and bitter men, and as she had maintained her right, as a to manage her own property —to receive the same justice and recognition, from the law’, which has accorded to the man who had robbed her; so she would do again; for she knew the right: but was w illing to suffer wrong, rather than say one word to bind the chains of injustice upon others. She returned to the honse of her childhood; and when her story w r a» ‘ known she wras the ‘threei days won der,’ admiration and pity of the city. All heatrs sent out to her, and it was an ovation to the woman, who had suffered so much, for daring to assert that she had a right to her own prop- ■‘~ erty. Maj. Duprey’s story .also was told, and when it was knowm that he had spent all these months in a cave, the prisoner of the man wdio had killed Col. Ethridge—‘public indignation tuow AJLO I>oujxcln,’—; tlio lin<3 flown, ond our observations have shown us, that as long as a man hag money, it matters little how unprinci pled he is, he hns she apparent respect of his own son; but just let him be un der the ban of public censure, let him fall publicly, and each runs up hastily, to ‘give him a kiok,’ byway of show ing his own outraged virtue! Thus it was with Col. Johnson. They abused and belabored the poor scape-goat, until May cried, for pity’s sake, have some mercy on the eering. Mr. Forsithe was nevor heard of again, nor w’as Col. Johnson brought to justice. Instead of taking posses- ' sion of the Ethridge mansion; May found mortgages covering that, and all other property in the vacinity which had been hers. These mort gages were held by the most reliable men of the town, and the issue of it all, was that May found herself with out a dollar. Uncle Ethridge did have his “will,” and May had that jus tice meted her, which is common enough around us, and t>f which we know more instances than we ever care to record ! Do you ask what become of May? Well, she is now Mrs. Duprey, resides in one of the North western cities, and is rapidly winning fame as a journal ist. Nettie Clayton is also marrid, and boards with May, and she says . ‘ifthere ever was a woman w ho spoiled a husband, that woman was May Eth ridge. Nettie Clayton, theMrunkard’s wife, who had worn the name of Ethridge, was moved to the city win re her ben efactress liv:d, und just to please Mrs. Duprey, the drunkard became a tem plar in the lodge of which May Du prey was the Vice Templar. The Cleveland and Pittsburgh Railroad is mentioned as one of those lines which provide racks in the cars for the Dibit's furnish ed by the American Bible Society to be read by the passengers. Wo have something more to say of this raiiro al. she abovt; named road allows mi light or vicious lit crature sold on its cars; nor does it allow its employees to use pro fam* language, nor indulge in al coholic drinks.