McDuffie weekly journal. (Thomson, McDuffie County, Ga.) 1871-1909, June 19, 1872, Image 1
VOLUME 11-NUMBER 24. ®l \t fgfjfuffic fottwal, IS PUBLISHED WEEKLY —A T— THOMSON. C3-A.., —B Y— HONEY & SULLIVAN, RATES OF ADVERTISING, Trausient advertisements will be charged one dollar per square for the first insertion, and seventy five cents for each subsequent insertion. BUSINESS GARBS, E. S. HARRISON, Physician and Surgeon Offers his service? to the public. Office with Dr. J. S. Jones, over McCord & Hardaway's. aprlom3 Thomson, Ga. /. Mimrnr <t* co. Wholosale and Rotail Dealers in EJffl WHITE SMITE & l. S, Ml —ALSO— Kemi-Cliiiia French China, Ac. 244 Broad Street, Augusta, Ga aprlO ly. DU. t 7 L LYLLEHSTEUT OFFERS HIS PROFESSIONAL SERVICES To the Citizens o( Thomson and Vicinity. He can be found at the Room over Costello’s, when r.ot professionally absent. REFERS TO Pro. J A. Evk, Pro. Wm. 11. Doughty, Dr John S. Coi.K'tvv, Ur. S. C. Evk. I^i” A. PEACOCK, <Mi Green Strcot, AUGUSTA, GEORGIA. Transient & Permanent Boarding. _ jandl ly GLOBE HOTEL. S. W. CORNER BROAD & JACKSON STS., AUGUSTA, GEORGIA. JACKSON & JULIAN, Proprit’rs- We beg leave to call the attention of the travel ling public to this well known Hotel, which wo have recently leased and placed on a footing second to none in the South. No expense will l>o spared to render it a first class House in every respect, and every attention is paid to the comfort and convenience of guests. O 3ST TIIVLE TILL THE FIRST OF NOVEMBER. J WILL furnish planters and others in want of s si o e $ on City Acceptance, till Ist November next, at cash prices. D. COHEN, apr 3 13m3 Augusta, Ga. LUMBER. LUMBER” LUMBER! AN V quality or quantity of Pine Lumber de livered at Thomson, or 34 Mile Post on the Georgia Railroad, low Tor cash. Poplar, Oak or Hickory Lumber saw ed to“fill orders at special rates. J. T. KENDRICK. February 21, 1 87*2. 7m6 CHARLEsTDuBOSE, sSFF&MJVFFsiTMW, Warrenton, Ga. Win practice in all the Courts of the Northern, Augusta & Middle Circuits. 11. C. RONEY, Montey at Jfato, Tiro.nso r, u*a. Will practice in the Augusta, Northern aud Middle Circuits, no I—ly JAMES A. GRAY & CO., Have Removed to their New Iron Front Store, BROAD STREET, AUGUSTA, GA aprlOtf JAMES 11. HI’ESEY’S Steam Dyeing and Scouring ESTABLISHMENT, taa Broad St., Augusta, (ia. Near Lower Market Bridge Bank Building for the Dyeing and Craning of dresses, shawls, cloaks, ribbons, Ac. Also gen tlemen’s coats, vests and pants cleaned and dyed in the best manner. Piece dry goods, cloths, me rinoes, delane, alpaca, rep goops and jeans dyed and finished equal to those done in New York. IST Orders by Express promptly attended to. Augusta, Ga. apr.dmli Thurston’s Ivory Pearl Tooth Pow der. The best article known for cleansing and preserving the teeth and gums. Sold by all drug gist*. Price 25 and 50 cents per bottle. F. C. Wells k Cos., New York. faetrjh ltainbow of" Gold. *‘lf you get to the foot of a rainbow before its fades away you will find a bushel of gold.—Legend of Fairy Love. When I was a child I was solemnly told. When the rainbow appeared in the sky, That under its foot was a bushel of gold, That any could get would they try ; So I ran where the splendor came down to the ground. But it fleeted as fast as I ran, And with all my search it was nothing I found; Yet I’m doing the same as a man. There’s the rainbow of love when the affections are young, The brightest, wo think of the lot. We follow to find it a thing of the tongue, Or a foolish abstraction of thought, There’s the rainbow of fame, with its amaranth crown, We chase it in ominous strife. We reach where its foot so enticing came down, And find—we have wasted iu life. Hope’s rainbows are ever abroad in the air, Alluring us fools to pursue, We follow and follow, and find nothing there, Save a sprinkle of glittering due, Earth’s rainbows of promise so fair to the sight, Are but fictions at best of the mind; Their gleams give at most unsubstantial delight, They fade and leave nothing behind. Then, what of the rainbow that gleams beyond death; The promise hereafter? Who is there can tell, If, after parting of body and breath, He is sure under that rainbow all will be well? Can be certain it is the last bow to allure The one that stoops down on the bushel of gold, The gold he at last shall possess ? Who is sure? Alas! ’tis a secret wo cannot unfold. Gazetted. The type-setter stands before his case. The gas burns low, and the night is deep ; And over the straggering chimney stacks Darkness and shadows creep, And the city is lost in sleep. The type-setter stands, gaunt and gray, With dim, old eyes ami a weary brain ; And he sings a cadence solemn aud low, To the beat of the bitter ruin On rattling casements aud pane. Tremble the rafters, roof and floors, As he fingres the type (in his desolate way ) And he hears the music faintly borne From the theatre over the way. At some strange old tragedy play. The old man sings, and trembles the floors, With the bellowing engine down below, And the crash of the whirling axel bars, And the thunders that from them grow, Echoing too and fro. As he fingers the types (in his desolate way) He set* them up with a heavy load; And a marge of black encircling his work— The name of a man just dead, A soul in the battle sped. And he sighs as he thinks this man, so gray, Winking and blinking before his case, llow out In this dark, desolate blight, Some form of womanly grace Is weeping upon her face. Lower and lower the gas light burns. And grow the shadows dusky and gray* And the storm is hushed and the music’s swell At the theatre over the way, And finished the tragedy play. And the type-setter wipes his dim old eyes, The types no more with his fingers move; And he smiles that in setting the name below, The angels in tender love Were setting it up. Tender and True. BY T. S. ARTHUR. ‘Strong and tender and true as steel.’ It was the remark of a gentleman standing near me. I did not hear the reply made by his companion, who was a lady ; but from something in the manner of the gentleman, I concluded that her ideal of the person referred to was not in full accord with his. At the lower end of the room a beau tiful young woman stood leaning on the arm of her husband, into whose face scarcely any one could look without admiring its manly beauty and signs of intellectual strength. It was moreover a true face; and yet as my eyes linger ed upon it, and then turned to the sweet loving countenance of the bride, a shadow crept over my spirits. ‘Strong and manly and true as steel.’ Yes, you saw all that in the finely cast face, in the full lips, in the large wide eyes and nostrils, in the ample forehead. ‘Strong and manly and true as steel.’ Even so. And yet, looking still into the tender, almost dreamy tace of the bride, I could not feel all at ease touch ing her future. Grant Baldwin, I inew him well. We were old friends. His bride I had not seen until this eveniug. Tfyore was Thomson, mcduffie county, ga, June 19, 1872. something more than beauty in her face —something that held your gaze like a spell. Her eyes were of deep hazel, large and soft, her countenance very fair almost to paleness ; her form slight, and her statue low. I noticed that as she stood by her husband she leaned toward him in a kind of shrinking, de pendent way, and every now and then glauced up into his face with a wistful sort of loo£ that I did not clearly under stand. I met them not long afterwards in their new borne, and was more than ev er charmed with Mrs. Baldwin. She was pure and sweet and gentle, and he was strong and manly and true as steel —meet compliments of each other one would think, and yet, as on that first evening, I felt the lack of some element to give a complete harmony to their lives. It troubled me. I knew my friend well, knew of character; a little cold and undemonstrative, as we say, rather more inclined to hide what he felt than to give it free expression. It happened that I did not come very near them again for several months, and then I noticed with pain an invisible barrier had grown up between them, and that neither had found the sweet satisfaction anticipated. During the evening 1 spent with them, I saw the tears spring to the eyes of Mrs. Baldwin mere than once, and I noticed in them a hungry kind of look as they rested now and then on her husband's face. I was puzzled. What could it mean ?’ A few days afterwards, meeting Mr. Baldwin, I asked after his wife. ‘Well,’ he answered. But in a tone of voice my eye read : ‘not well.’ ‘How does she like her new home?’ I inquired. He had brought her from a neighboring city. My friend sighed (involuntarily. ‘Not so well, I am afraid,’ he answered. ‘She still feels strange.’ ‘The tenderer the flower,’ I remarked, ‘the more difficult to transplant.’ ‘Yes,’ in an absent tone. , ‘I should say,’ I added, ‘that your wife has a highly sensitive spiritual or ganization.’ ■» ‘Undoubtedly that is true,’ answered my friend. ‘But are not persons so or ganized dilficult to understand.’ ‘Sometimes.’ ‘Always, I should say,’ he returned. I did not know what to reply it wa9 best to make, and so kept silent. After a little while he said, with some feel ing : ‘I would give the whole world to make her happy.’ ‘Happy!’ My surprise expressed it self in my voice. ‘Yes, happy,’ he said with emphasis. ‘My wife is not happy, and it troubles me beyond measure.’ ‘Do you make no guess at the cause of her unhappiness ?’ I asked. ‘I am at sea. Sometimes I think she don’t really love me. No! No!’ he added quickly, ‘not that! lam sure of her love.' ‘ls she as sure of your love ?’ said I. , The question seemed to hurt him. ‘Have I not chosen her from among women to be my wife?’ he answered with something of indignation in his voice. ‘Am Ia man to say 1 love, and not mean it? Did I not promise before God to love and cherish her till death? Sure of my love / If I have auy ele ment of character more strongly devel oped than another, it is the element- of truth. When I told her that I loved her, I told her an abiding truth. She is as dear to me as the apple of my. eye. The very thought of a doubt on her part hurts me li&e an accusation of wrong.’ A fight came into my mind, bringing a revelation of the real ground of trouble, and said : ‘Have you been as tender to your young wife, always, as true?’ His eyes flashed, but the fire went out of them instantly. ‘Mere truth in character is often re served and proud,’ said I. ‘True as steel is all well enough. But steel is hard and cold, and chills by contact.’ Baldwin looked at me strangely. ‘Tender and true my dear friend. Tender and true/ Love will have nothing less,’ I ventured to add. ‘Good morning,’ he said, in a voice that I scarcely recognized, and turaiog from me he walked away. Had I offended him? We did not meet again for several weeks. I was going homeward one eveujng, when I heard quick feet behind nje. A hand was laid on my shoulder and a familiar voice spoke my name. It was my friend Baldwin. ‘Come home with me,’ he said. I tried to excuse myselft but he would fako no denial; so 1 accompa nied him home. His manner as we walked was frank and cherry. ‘How is Mrs. Baldwin?’ I natural ly inquired. ‘Oh, very well!’he answered, without change of tone. ‘Getting more reconciled to her 1 new home?’ •Yes.’ ‘I am glad to hear it. Few of us can bear an entire change in our surround ings without a shadow falling on our spirits.’ , He did not reply to the remark, but changed the subject. Mrs. Baldwin met her husband at the parlor window. I noticed that he kissed her very tenderly and put an arm about her waist, spite of my presence. Her face was all alive to pleasure, and its whole expression so different from what it was when I first met her, that I could but wonder at the change. Her manner toward me, her husband’s friend was very cordial, and quite in contrtast with what it had been at our previous meeting. Then she was depressed, and ill atease, and when she looked at her husband, her face, instead of fighting up, grew strangely shadowed. I understood it all. The true and loyal husband had supplemented fidelity with I saw this in every word and tone, and action. The half-proud courtliness of manner—the dignified re pression of feeling---vvhich so chilled and hurt his loving little wife, and held her away from him, were all gone, fused by the tenderness he permitted to go forth in speech and act. Tender and true/ Yes, he was all that now ; and his sweet young wife felt herself to be the happiest woman in all the world. Lite’s JJriffhtest Hour. Not long since I met a gentleman who is assessed for more than a million. Silver was in his hair, eare upon his brow, and he stooped beneath his bur den of wealth. We are spea/cing of Ufiat pprioj’f of life when we had realized tMj;.niost perfect enjoyment; or, rather, wheujjie had found happiness nearest to being unalloyed. ‘I tell you,' said the millionaire, ‘when was the happiest hour of my life. At the age of one and twenty ! (ad saved up SSOO. I was earning SiOO a year, and my father did not take it away from me, only requi ring that (should pay for my board. At the age of;twenty-two I had secured a pretty cotjtago, just outside the city. I was able to pay two-thirds of the value down, and also to furnish it re specably. I was married on Sunday —a Sunday in June—at my father’s house. My wife had come to me poor iu purse, but rich in the wealth of her womanhood. T(ie Sabbath and the Sabbath night we passed beneath my father's roof, and on Monday morning 1 went to my work, leaving mother and sister to help in preparing my home. On Monday evening, when the labors of the day'\#ere done, I went not to the parental shelter as in the past, but to my own house—my own home. The holy atmosphere of that hour seems to surround me even now in the memory. I opened the door of my cottage and entered. I laid my hat upon the .little stand in the hall, and passed on to the kitchen—our /dtchen and dining room were all one then. I pushed open the kitchen door. The table was set against the wall—the evening meal was ready—prepared by the hands of her who had come to be my helpmete, in deed as well as in name—with a throb bing,: expectant look upon her lovely and loving'face, stood my wife. I tried to speak and could not. I could only clasp the waiting one to my bosom, thus showing to her the ecstatic burden of my heart.- The years have passed— long, long years—and worldly wealth has flowed in upon me, and I am honor ed and envied ; but—as true as heaven —I would give it all—every dollar— for the joy of the hour of that June evening in the long, long ago/’ Grass-Hoppers. —Dr. T.’L. Anderson brought several small stalks of cotton to us last Saturday, the Ist., which he said he found literally covered with grass-hoppers. He had number of the insects in a bottle. They are small, and of a light green color, and Dr. A. stated that they destroyed the cotton very rapidly and completely. He stated al so that there were large numbers in the field from which he obtained the speci- Woihington Gazette. The first piece of artillery .was invent ed by a German, soon after the inven tion of gunpowder, and artillery was first used by the Moors at Algerias, in Spain, over five hundred years ago. Despair, Murffei' an<l Suicide. The public sentiment of the country has progressed to that point where it deems the laws now existiug upon the statute books of the States inadequate to the proper punishment of the seducer. Hence, when one of this class of superlative villains is shot down by an avenging brother, father, or husband, no jury can be found to convict of murder the slayer of the doubly-dyed scoundrel. \Ve do not propose to discuss the morality of this advauced public sentiment; it is suf ficient that it is now the rule of justice, if not of right, and that fathers and brothers and husbands do not usually appeal to the disgraceful law that in flicts a fine as the penalty for seduction and the debauchery of a daughter, sis ter, or wile, but generally with a trusty pistol or a well sharpened knife sends the seducer to that hell that is so prop er a receptacle for him. There are instances of seduction, however, where there is no relative to take swift and certain vengeance upon the seducer; cases in which poor or phan girls, fatherless, arc ruined by the practiced villain under pledge of af fection and marriage, and then cast off after being robbed of the priceless gem of virtue to wander away into deeper sin, or forever cover up their shame and end their agony of soul in the grave. Below we relate the particulars of the saddest case of this latter /rind we have ever heard. A short time ago there lived in this city a young, very beautiful and attrac tive girl, named Mary Frasen. Her personal charms were equalled by her accomplishments and gentleness of dis position. She was an oiphan, and re sided here with her grandmother, by whom she was tenderly loved and liber ally provided for, all her wants being promptly attended to. She was art less, confiding and truthful, and in her simplicity of mind and truthfulness of heart thought every one else equally without guile o# deceit. She was therefore just such a one as was most likely to fall under the wiles of the cold-blooded and soul damning seducer. Mary Frasen’s attractive personal ap pearance brought to her many admi rers. Among these was a man ol some note and posilion in society, we are in formed, but whose name, we regret to say, the person giving us these facts refuses, for the present, to reveal.— This man was assiduous in his atten tions to her, and in time, by his fine address and false pretenses, won her af fections, and then, under promise of speedy marriage, accomplised her ruin. Weak after week, from one pretext and another, he postpone! the fulfillment of vows, and heid her in his toils and at his dalliance, even threatening, in order to do so, to proclaim her dis grace; but fiually finding herself about to become a mother, the poor ruined girl told the story of her sin and fall to her grandmother. This resulted in the girl being cast off by her betrayer, and her grandmother, to hide the disgrace that was sure to follow, made arrange ments to send the now heart-broken half-insane girl to some relatives iu a distant State, there to remian in priva cy until after the birth of her child. Mary Frasen departed from her once happy home, where the years of her innocence had glided away so pleasant ly. Bitter tears were shed by her and her distressed grandmother, and the parting between them was one of deep est sorrow. The poor orphan wrung her hands in the agony of soul that this parting brought, and earnestly prayed God to interpose his mercy and remove her from earth, as death was preferable to the torturing humility, the woeful shame, and deep disgrace that had overtaken her. In due time she had reached her des tination. Her relatives had been advis ed of all in advance ; nevertheless they met the half-distracted orphan with the tenderest sympathy and the most cordi al hospitality. llow heavily the hours toiled away, and the days came and passed to her, only her own soul could feel and know. She wandered about the house and over the farm liAe one lost in that deep grief which makes the heart and mind forgetful of all passing events, and shuts up the soul in a living tomb to dwell with unspeakable grief. In a few months after her arrival Mary Frasen was a mother. There was no joy in her soul at the birth of her offspring; it was not to her a messenger of love and hope; nor came there with it into the world a single ray of light to shed its effulgence over hpr now darken pathway. She felt that her own shame would ever be its disgrace, and again she prayed most ferveutly for death.— TERMS—TWO DOLLARS IN ADVANCE, But this solace of grief came not, and> in the course of a month she was able to leave her room. She would take- the child in her arms and wander out into the forest, and over the fields, and along the banks of the winding- river", weeping bitterly, and asking God for strength to endure her misery of soul until the silver cord should be loosed, and the golden bowl be broken, when she hoped for that rest in the grave which was denied her in life. Poor deceived, betrayed and forsaken orphan, she has at last found that rest she so much coveted. She sleeps upon a beautiful hillside overlooking a river, and folded in her arms in the same si lent bed, lies the little one begat in sin, but upon whose soul*no stain of sin will ever rest. Wandering out on Tuesday last, as was her custom, rea son tottering on its throne, she reached a bridge spanning St. Louis river. She tarried upon this bridge for a time, and then knelt down, and with her child pressed to her heart she commended its soul and her own to the all-merciful God. flow fervently she did so can on ly be imagined. But when she arose from her knees she seemed calm enough to those who, at some little distance away, witnessed her devotions. Then folding the child in her shawl, and clasping it still more tightly, she sud denly leaped from the bridge into the nver below, and the souls of Mary Frasen and her bady went to that God whose proviuce it is to have mercy, and before whose bar there is One who for ever pleads tiio cause-of the orphan, even though she go to Him through the pathway of self-destruction which the distracted mind so often selects for surcease of sorrow. Was it a murder Mary Frasen committed when she car ried the evidence of her guilt with her to the bar of the Great Judge. Oh, no ; for all of sin that was in her act was that sin committed against her bv her vile seducer. We wish we had bis name, that we might heraldjt with his infamy to the worW- Tire law would punish such a monster by a fine, or at least by a Verdict for money damages. It Is to be won dered at, then, that fathers, brothers and husbands shoot down or cut to pie ces such scoundrels as though they were wolves or hyenas VVe onlv wonder that so few are thus treated.-^ From the Louisville Ledger. «>.«»,«_ A good story is told of the recent ex cellent performance of Handel’s Mes siah at the Broadway Baptist church. A farmer too lc his wife to hear the grand music, so splendidly rendered on that occasion, and after listening with apparent enjoyment, the pair became suddenly interested in one of the grand choruses 2 ‘We all, like sheep, have gone astray.’ First, a sharp soprano voice exclaimed ; ‘VVe all, like sheep—' Next, a deep bass voice uttered, in the most earnest tones ? ‘We all, li he sheep— ’ Then all the singers at once asserted 2 We all, life sheep— ’ ‘Darned it I do P exclaimed old rusti cus to his partner. ‘I like beef and bacon, but I can’t bear sheep-meat!’ There was an audible titter in that immediate vicinity, but the splendi I music attracted attention from the pair, and they quietly slipped out —Louisville Courier Journal. A number of old bachelors in this city who have been driven nearly to distraction by the importunities allow ed by Leap Year privileges, have or ganized into a double bacA action self protecting club, to repel their fair as sailants at the point of the law. They have unearthed an old English statute which they claim is still in force, and are now circulating a petition to our uext Legislature to pass a law en forcing its provisions in Georgia. This English law reads: ‘Ail women, of whatever age, rank, profession or degree, whether virgins, wives, or widows, that shall, from and after this act, imp se upon, seduce and betray into matrimony, any ot his majesty’s male subjects, by scents, paints, cosmetics, washes, artificial teeth, false hair, Spanish wool, iron stays, hoops, high-heeled shoes, or bolstered hips, shall incur the penalty of the laws in force against witchcraft, socery and the like, and that the mar riage, upon conviction, shall stand null and void.’ The petition is receiving quite a num ber of signatures and onr bewitching young damsels had better look sharp be fore they leap, henceforth,— AllanUi Whig.