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Bii'Duffic Hanrnol,
IS [PUBLISHED WEEKLY
—A T—
THOMSON. G-. A-.,
—B Y—
GERALD &, WHITE.
BUSINESS GAEDS.
JR se&*yEißE% 9
IMPORTER AND DEALER IN
WINES, ALES,
LIQUORS, pORTERS,
Cigars, Etc.
Cornel* Broad mid .Tn<*li
«on Street,
AUGUSTA, GA.
May 7. ts
PAUL C. HUDSON.
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Thomson, Ga.
CiT Prompt attention given to all busi
ness entrusted to his care.
March 12. 6m
pXlmer hol SE~.
(Over Bignon & Crump’s Auction Store,)
Broad Street, Augusta, Georgia.
J. I. PA LMER, Proprietor.
Good board furnished by the week, month
or day.
April 9 9m
R. W. H.
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
THOMSON, GA.
Office. —OverJ. H. Montgomery's Store.
CHARLES S. DuBOSE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
WARReNTON, ga.
C-?r Will practice in the courts of the
Northern, Middle and Augusta Circuits.
HQ RONEY,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
THOMSON, GA.
CvT Will practice iu the Augusta, North
ern and Middle Circuits. nolyl
C. E. DODD. H. L. MEILINO.
C. E. DODD & CO„
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN
Hats, Caps and Straw Goods)
No- 250 Broad Street,
jun Al T (s l 'S'l’A, C*A.
WALTON CLARKE & CO,
Wholesale Grocers
—ANT)
Commission Merchants.
3Vo. Broad Streot*
Jaa.2ll, —ly. AUGUSTA, GA.
A. D, HILL,
Druggist and Apothecary,
THOMSON, GA-,
Keeps constantly on hand a full and com
plete supply of Drugs, Medicines, Chemicals.
Paints, Oils. Varnishes, Glass. Putty, Pure
Wines and Liquors for Medicinal purposes.
Kerosene Oil of 150 fire test-; also Lamps,
Chimnies and Burues.
ALSO, Just received a fresli supply of
Buista Warranted Garden Seeds.
Prescriptions carefully compounded.
jan 15 mG
Thomson High School
po/t BOPS .l.t’D UIH 1.8.
O
N. A. LEWIS, PaiNcii’an.
MISS E. F. BRADSHAW, Assistant.
The Spring Term began on the 15th of
Jan. 1873, and embraces six scholastic
months.
The Fall Term begins August 11th and
embraces four months.
For particulars apply to the Principal. J
Feb. 12 ts.
Central ijotcl.
BY
MRS. W. M. THOMAS,
AUGUSTA, GEORGIA
oeplltf
Plumb & Leitner,
flXl BROAD STREET, AUGUSTA, GA.
WHOLESALE RETAIL DEALERS IN
Drugs and Modlchies,
Oils, Glass,
Brushes, Perfumery,
3Tresh Garden Seeds &c.
AGENTS FOR THE CELEBRATED
%V A B B E 110 E .
March 26 3m
Mrs, Lecliie,
DEALER IN
FASHIONABLE MILLINERY
ND
FANCY GOOD,
(Deal and Imitation.)
HAIR CURLS, SWITCHES, &C.,
JET AND FANCY JEWELRY, &C.,
171 BROAD STREET, AUGUSTA, GA.
april 16 2m
Livery & Sale Stable
SPEIR & EMBREE.
At the old stand on Main Street, above
Masonic Hall, Thomson, Ga., propose to
continue the business of a Livery and Sale
Stable. They will keep a good assortment
of Fancy and Substantial Stock, and the
very best Vehicles. Their Stables are com
modious, convenient and secure, where
drovers can obtain the best accommodations,
Jnd by giving their personl attention to the
auedness, at all hours, day and night, will
buarrantee satisfaction.
Jan. 8. 6m tTEIR A EMBR EE,
(The 3tkfluf)ic (ickeliln journal.
VOLUME 111-NUMBER 24,
regulator]
For over FORTY YEARS this
Purely Vo«etjiT>le
LIVER MEDICINE has proved to he the
Groat Unfailing Specific
for Lives Complaint and its painful off
spring, DYSPEPSIA, CONSTIPATION,
Jaundice, Bilious attacks, SICK HEAD
ACHE, Colic, Depression of Spirits, SOUR
STOMACH, Heartburn, CHILLS AND
FEVER, Ac., Ac
After years of careful experiments, to meet
a great and urgent demand, we now produce
from our original Genuine Powders.
The Prepared.
A Liquid form of SIMMONS’LIVER REGU
LATOR, containing all its wonderful aud
valuable properties, and offer it in
ne Dollar Bottles.
The Powders, (priceas before,) slooper
package. Sent by mail, i (14
C~iT CAUTION! .g*
Buy no Powders or PREPARED SIM
MONS LIVER REGULATOR, unless iu
our engraved wrapper, with Trade mark,
Stamp and Signature unbroken. None
other is genuine.
J. H- ZEILIN & CO.,
MACON, GA. AND PHILADELPHIA.
SOLD BY ALL ORBCGISTS
BMMMGL’S
LADIES’ BITTERS,
Manufactured by
282 BROAD ST„ AUGUSTA, GA.
ItectifierH, licdisUllers, Importers and
Wholesale Dealers in
PURE RYE
AND
Corn Whiskies.
FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC LIQUORS,
Brandies,
Wines,
Gin,
limn,
Porter,
Ale,
Etc.
Also a Superior Article of
LADIES’ HITTERS.
CiT Tobacco and Segars of every variety.
January 20, 187 B— Dm.
The Guide Is published Quarterly.—
25 cents pays for the year, which is not half
the cost. Those who afterwards send mon
ey to the amount of one dollar may also or
der 25 cents worth extra—the price for the
Guide. The first number is beautiful, giv
ing plans for making Rural Homes, Dining
Table Decorations, Window Gardens, Ac.,
and a mass of information invaluable to the
lover of flowers. 150 pages on fine tinted pa
per some 500 engravings, and a superb col
ored plate, and t'hrorao Cover,
"The first edition of 200,000 printed in Eng
lish and Germrn.
JAMES VICK, Rochester, N. Y,
March 12
Fine Work.
T
X HE undersigned is prepared to do all kinds
HOUSE AND SIGN PAINTING,
Papei- Ilnn^injf
.Y IV x>
in the very highest style of the art, with
pro mptness Address or call on me at
Thomson, Ga. F. J. BRIDHAM.
March 26 7m
20 Dollars Keward!
Ransom, colored, an apprentice
bound to the undersigned to learn the black
smith trade, ran away Saturday night, 17th
inst. He is about 17 years of age. is tall
and slim, with flat face and large head and
mouth, and is very nearly black, had on
when ho left dark clothes and a dove color
ed hat. He will probably seek employment
as a blacksmith.
The above reward will be paid for his de
livery to me, or his arrest and confinement
until I can secure him.
JOHN M. CURTIS.
May 28. ts Thomson, Ga.
rork for iia Ia t .fir tpare nv’Dieuls or all the time than atmiythfy !
tUc. rasLtwi&.il.ve. X.ilOiUii*G.U!iuua#Cu..,L'wit!«Q4 l UAluo.
THOMSON, McDUFFIE COUNTY, GA., JUNE 11,1873.
POETICAL.
The Golden Side
: There is many a vest in the road of life,
If we would only stop to take it;
j And many a tone from the better land,
If the querulous heart would make it!
; To the suuny soul that is full of hope,
And whose beautiful trust ne’er faileth,
The • rasi is green and the flow, rs a-e br.ght.
Though the winter storm prevaileth.
Better to hope though the clouds hang low,
__ And to keep the eyes still lifted;
For the sweet blue sky will soon peer)
through.
j When the ominons clouds are rifted!
There was never a night without a day,
Or an evening without a morning ; '
And the darkest hour, as the proverb goes,
j Is the hour before the dawning.
; There is many a gem in the patli of life,
j Which we pass iu our idle pleasure,
; That is richer far than the jeweled crown
Or the miser's hoarded treasure; ’
It may be the love of a little chilli,
| Or a mother's prayer to heaven, '
Or only a beggars grateful thanks
j For a enp of water given.
! Better to weave iu the web of lifo
' A bright and golden filling,
; And t° Lie God’s will with a ready heart,
! , , And hands that are ready and willing,
lhan to snap the delicate, minute threads
| Os our curious lives asunder.
And then blame heaven for the tangled ends
And sit and grieve, and wonder.
SELECT MISCELLA 3 ).
Worth or Birth ?
‘‘You do not heed ine, Vievie, do you
not hear me? Vincent Du Cheaue im
patiently grasped the small white hands
that were pulling away leaf after leaf
of the hazel besido them, and looked
almost fiercely into the deep, dreamy blue
eyes that were raised to his.
“You have been gazing at nothing for
the last half hour, while I have been
telling you—Heaven kuows what I have
been saying, but it came far short of
what I want to say. Did you hear one
word I said ?”
“I have been listening, Vincent, but
you know what a habit I have of dream-
DJf? J’ ou must learn all my faults now,
before it is everlastingly too late,” laugh
ingly answered Vievie Bayne, as she
coaxingly slipped her hand in his.
“I could never dream while you were
talking, Vieve. Oil ! I want to see you
once with your thoughts all on me, your
eyes seeing only me, your ears only for
my words, aud your voice for me alone.
Then I would grasp the happiness that
now only trembles tauntingly just beyond
my reach.”
“I shall begin to think I am insuffi
cient for your happiness, if you talk in
that way. I have promised all a woman
can promise, and if that does not make
you happy it is beyond my power to make
you so. ”
“You know I should bo utterly miser
able without you, and I must be content
if you assure me you love me, though
you are so dreamy aud indifferent at
times.”
“That is right. Vincent. Try and en
dure ray words and caprices patiently,
for they are numerous, I warn you.”
They turned and walked homeward.
Vievie fell to dreaming again, and Vincent
silently and gloomily watched her.
They were engaged—those two. You
would scarce have thought it possible, to
look at them ; she was such a noble,
beautiful woman, with such a pure,
strong soul beaming from her eyes, aud
a broad, white brow so expressive of in
telligence,—he was so young, so boyish,
so childishly impetuous and impatient,
so extremely fastidious in all the little
details of dress, and with such a little,
petty vanity showing through all liis ac
tions, that you could not help but notice
how utterly unsuited they seemed to each
other.
I Vievie thought she loved him—per
j haps she did. But it was not the love
j you would have expected from a strong,
ardent nature like hers. She had known
Vincent from cildhood, and liked him
better than any one she had over known.
He was refined and educated and roman
tic, and his fanciful little air castles, aud
liissweet, dreamy sentimentahsmscharm
ed and amused her, while his gallant,
devoted love-making was done so prettily
1 that she felt flattered and fascinated.—
And then he was so wealthy, and he be
: longed to one of the best families and
, was one of the matches of the city, and
so Vievie concluded she loved him and
became duly engaged.
But still she was conscious that there
was something looking. Somehow his
flattering, ardent love-talk did not make
her as happy as she would be—indoed
she was becoming a little tired of his
ceaseless adoration and longed for some
thing—she knew not what. She con
cluded that a real country visit—not a
journey to some fashionable rural resort,
but a long visit to a real old country
farm-house, away from fashion and show
and dazzle, and among the hills and
streams and clover and meadows of real
country life—would refresh and enliven
mind and body. So she bethought her
self of a friend of her mother’s away out
among the hills and valleys —4l good
motherly soul who would kindly care for
her during her sojourn. And so Vievie
had recommended to Vinoent a little
more attention to his neglscted law
books, and left him disconsolately among
them. But oue week’s separation doom-
ed the law books to dust and neglect and
found Vincent tied to Vievie’s side again.
And this is how they happened to be on
the banks of a swift, beautiful river
away out in the country that lovely sum
mer afternoon.
As they neared home Vievie looked up,
started and blushed, then glaneed quick
ly at Vincent to see if he had noticed
her ; she saw that he had, aud bit her lip
with vexation. Vincent looked around
to see what could have caused her confu
sion, but saw no one excepting a farm
laborer who was shutting the gate after
the cows he had driven in.
“What is it darling? Are you not
well ?” he asked tenderly.
“I am a little tired, that is all,” she an
swered quietly.
“And now, dear Vievie,” said Vincent
holding the gate open for her, I must
say good-bye again. I wish the time
were come when I should never have to
say good-bye. ”
She smiled a little Wearily, and simply
said “good-bye.”
“I must see you again before I go back
to the city, Vievie. Good-bye.”
As soon as the gate clicked upon her
departing lover, Vievie ran up stairs,
threw herself upon the bed and burst in
to an angry fit of sobbing.
“What a silly, wicked, unreasonable
little fool X am,” she exclaimed passion
ately. ‘ ‘What does ail me, I wonder ?
That that common farm laborer, whom I
never saw till a week ago, and with
whom I have never had above two hours
conversation with in my life, should
make me blush and tremble so ridiculous
ly, is perfectly- awful ?" said she, at
aloss for some terrible word with which to
express her vexation. But she sobbed
on till the gold faded from the clouds,
and the sky grew dark, and heavy
shadows came settling over the room.
She scarcely know for, what—weariness,
loneliness, vexation altogether, perhaps.
I rank Wyman, “the common farm
laborer,” was a nephew of Mrs. Stan
hope s, (the lady at whose house Vievie
was boarding,) orphaned from his child
hood and her sole care. She had given
him a good education, which he had
come home to eujoy a summer on his
aunt s farm, as only with his love of na
ture and freedom, could enjoy it. He
had donned the laborer’s suit, and had
gone to work with a zest that made rest
and sleep, and Mrs. Stanhope’s good
substantial meals, true luxuries. But
Vievie only knew that he was Frank Wy
man, one of the fields hands. Yes, she
knew that among all her many admirers
she had never seen so tall, vigorous and
manly a form, so high and noble a brow,
or such deep thrilling, soul-speaking,
eyes. But, pshaw ! what was all that to
her—lie was only a poor, country farm
hand, not even a farmer.
Tiie weeks passed on like a fairy
dream. Vincent would flit back and
forth from city to country, like au idle
butterfly that he was. Vievie speut the
time between his visits in walking,
riding, or sailing on the river witli Frank
too often her companion. Yes, too often,
for unconsciously she was beging to love,
to listen to his quiet, earnest conversa
tion, to watch liis changing, expressive
eyes, and his calm, respectful manner
towards her. Always distant but courte
ous, he had nevei shown that he thought
her more than a mere passing acquain
tance ; and so Vievie, uualarmed by any
action of his, dreamed on, and innocent
ly believed her heart true to Vincent.
Her whole life that idle, dreamy summer,
was like a dream in which she took no
part glidded unconsciously along with
it.
But an awakeningcame at last. Vincent
had been down and had been more impetu
ous, impulsive aud boyish than ever,urging
her to a speedy union and declaring that
he could not live without her. At last
she had promised, and his rhapsodies
had been so persistent and passionate,
that his departure was a relief. And
now she sat at her window watching that
old yet ever new—over beautiful scene—
a sunset, and looking her future steadily
in the face.
“Why is it that I dread my marriage
day so much ? Do all young girls on the
eve of anew life, feel so reluctant, I
wonder ?” she mused and then the name
of Frank trembled on her bps. “No,
not him! Never him.” she said reso
lutely, while her compressed lips, and
face slowly paled till they lookod cold and
still, like marble. ‘‘A country laborer !
A penurious farm hand ! I love him ?
Never !” Then the words she had some
where read rang faintly through her
brain;
“I do not love thee, no, Ido not love thee,
I do not, though a smothered thrill
Qnickenes the beating of my heart when
thou art near me, -
A quick strong beating that I cannot still. ”
Then she pictured Frank as belonging
to another, as being lost to her entirely ;
with one great heart bound and one tear
less sob, she sank upon the floor. “O I
do love him 1 God help me! I love
him and am bound to another ! I love
him unasked, and unloved in return !”
Tears came to her relief and she wept
long and bitterly. Then with a prayer
to Heaven for help to do her duty, she
arose composed and resolute and proceed
ed to pack up her possessions. “I must
go home and the sooner I am—married,
the better, for as the wife of Vincent I
TERMS-TWO DOLLARS IN ADVANCE.
cannot, will not think of another. One
more evening with dear good Mrs Stan
hope, one more visit to the loved scenes
around the Valley Farm—and then good
bye to them all forever. Oh Frank,
Frank, can I ever forget you ? This
happy, blissful summer with you will
ever be green in my memory. Oh, that
I could forget. ” The tears sprang again
to her eyes but she fiercely brushed them
away.
Vincent was there again the next day,
aud together they wondered over all the
old walks and stopped at last close to
the river's edge. The river was deep,
with a swift, strong current, and Vievie
had often stood gazing into its dark,
gloomy depths, dreaming for hours;
now she bent over them silently, scarcely
hearing Vincent’s passionate words. Just
across the path in the next field were the
haymakers, and among them she easily
distinguished Frank by his tall and sym
metrical form and his easy, graceful mo
tions. Fixed her eyes determined as
she would, upon the water, they would
wander to him, and had Vincent known
how far her thoughts were away from
what he was saying, he would have been
more impatient and reproachful than
ever. But Vievie was growing so' weary
of his ceaseless homage, and a fancy
seized her to see how far down she coulil
look into the clear water of the river.
There was an old tree near them that had
fallen with its top far into the stream.
Out upon that she climbed, as far as she
could go, spite of Y r incent’s entreaties,
and lightly leaning over an old bough
she gazed down, down into clear swift
waters. But the old decayed limbs
could not bear up even her slender form,
and swaying and trembling a few mo
ments they fell with a crash and left
Vievie struggling in the cold river. She
grasped one limb after another, but they
all gave way and she gave up in despair.
Meanwhile Vincent was delivering a se
ries of frightened yells, running up and
down the bank, and jumping in and out
of the river. And finally pulling off his
“beautifully fitting boots” aud laying
them carefully on the log. He was just
deciding to wade out a little way into
the water, when Frank Wyman bounded
past him, and plunged into the river.—
Some of the harvest hands started for a
boat a quarter of a mile up stream,
others stood hopelessly with Vincent on
the bank. But Frank rapidly swam to
wards the spot where Vievie had sunk,
and grasped her firmly just as she arose.
He struck out vigorously for the shore,
but the swift, strong current carried him
farther aud farther down the stream, and
in spite of all his efforts, burdened as he
was, he could not get near the bank.
His only hope was that he could keep up
till the boat came ; but at last he despair
ed even of that.
“Oh Vievie, I cannot save you. God
help us, wo must die together.” “Leave
mo and save yourself,” said Vievie faint
ly. “Never! Oh darling ! with death
so close it cannot be wrong to tell you
how passionately .1 love you ! Vievie I
Vievie, one word ! Oh God, she is
dead !” But she was not dead, only ex
hausted. Oue faint smile, one low whis
per, “I love you,” and her senses left
her. With a now strength in his arms,
and anew hope in his heart, he exerted
himself once more, and with almost
superhaman effort kept Vievie and him
self above water till the boat came, and
they wore lifted almost lifeless into it.
Ceaseless aud untiring cure at last re
stored them both. Vincent was bending
over Vievie with passionate extragvagant
exclamations, and praying her to live for
him, when she came to herself.
“Vincent, if my life was not worth to
you the risking of your own to save it, you
cannot have it. It is useless to saymore;
henceforth you are nothing to me,” No
entreaties or excuses could prevail; and
Vincent departed from the country a sad
der and a wiser man.
Vievie returned home soon to make
preparations for her coming bridal day—
but she did not make them reluctantly
this time, what ever may have been her
thoughts of marrying a “poorfarm-hand’’
once, she is to-day proud es her noble,
intelligent farmer husband.
A Good Joke,
Mr. Jones one evening in fly time,
having been provokingly lashed in tho
face, tied the tail of the cow he was milk
ing very securely to his boot strap. Every
thing went on smoothly for a time, and
Mr. Jones congratulated himself on the
strategem.
Presently, however, the cow took a no
tion to lash a fly that was biting her, Mr.
Jones chuckled some when he felt the
pull at his boot strap, but the shuckling
was cut short, for “Bessie,” finding that
she could not touch her tormentor, sud
denly started, and as Mr. Jones was not
prepared for such a demonstration, he
was upset, and the contents of the pail
distributed over his clothes.
The cow stopped for a moment and in
that time our hero had gained his feet.
In an instant after he was seen with
his hand on the hip of the cow, making
the tour of the farm yard with prodigous
hops on one foot. At every hop he
would ejaculate, “So, Boss ! So Boss !”
But “Boss” didn’t “so” worth a cent.
At last the boot attachment gave way,
and Mr. Jones returned to tho houso a
wiser, if not a sadder man,
Queer Epitaphs.
We have taken an interest in the col
lection of queer epitaphs. Here is a
mite of the result of ora labors :
Iu a church yard near Hartford, Con
necticut, is the following :
Here ließ two babies so dead as nits,
De Lord he kilt dem mid his ague fits.
When dey was too good to live mit me,
He took dem up to live mit He,
So he did.
On a tombstone erected over the body
of a youug lady iu Dorchester, Massa
chusetts, is the following :
On the 21st of March.
God’s angles made a fturch.
Around the door they stood;
They took a maid,
It is said,
And cut her down like wood.
Near Sau Diego, California, a tomb
stone inscription thus reads:
This yere is sakrid to the memory of
William Henry Skaraken, who came to
his death by bein shot by a Colt's revolv
er—one of the old kind, brass mouutid,
and of sutch is the kingdom of heavin.
The following comes from Ohio:
Under this sod
And under these trees
Lieth she bod
y of Solomon Peasa,
He’s not in this hole,
But only his pod ;
He shelled out his soul
And went up to his God.
An inscription on a tombstone in East
Tennessee concludes thus :
She lived a life of virtue and died of
the cholera morbus, cause by eating
green fruit, iu the hope of a blessed im
mortality, at the early age of 21 years 7
months and 16 days. Header, go thou
and do likewise.
The following, which is suggestive to
coffee drinkers, is from a tombstone in
Connecticut:
Here lies, cut down like unripe fruit,
Tho wife of Deacon Ainos Shute,
She died of drinking too much coffee,
Anny Dominy eighteen forty.
A tombstone in Texas has the follow
ing inscription :
He remained to the last a decided
friend and supporter of Democratic prin
ciples and measures. Blessed are the
dead who die iu the Lord.
The following is from a cemetery in
Maine, and was erected by the window :
Sacred to the memory of Jamas H.
R.—m, who died August 6, 1800. His
widow, who mourns as one who can be
comforted, aged 2-i and possessing every
qualification for a good wife, lives at
street, in this village.
Here is a good business-like epitaph,
more than a mutoh for the cool calcula
tion of the “widow who can be comfor
ted
Here lies Jane Smith, wife of Thomas
Smith, marble cutter. This monument
was erected by her husband as a tribute
to her memory and a specimen es his
work. Monuments of the same style
$250.
From a “Book on Epitaphs, Quaint,
Curious and Elegant,” recently publish
! ed in England, the following is selected :
The necessity for rhyme is well illus
trated by the following touching epit
aph :
Under this stone, aged threescore ft ten,
Lie the remains of William Wood Hen.
N. B.—for Hen red Cook. Cock
wouldn’t come iu rhyme.
Epitaph :
Here lies John Bunn,
Who was killed by a gun,
His name wasn’t Bunn, but his real name
was Wood,
But Wood wouldn,t rhyme with gun, so I
thought Bunn would.
Another:
This little hero that lies here
Was conquered by the diarrheer.
In a churchyard near Newmarket lie
buried the two wives of Tom Sexton. On
the tombstone of one is the following :
Ilore lies tho body of Sarah Sexton—
She was a wife and never vexed one.
I can’t say so much for the one on the next
stone.
In Westminster Abbey, on Samuel
Foote, the comedian:
Here lies one Foote , whose death may thou
sands save,
For death has now one foot within the
grove.
Here is a curious specimen, found in
the Old Gray Friars, Edinburg :
Heie snug in grave my wife doth lie;
Now she is at rest and so am I.
The following is a beautiful instance
conjugal affection :
Here lies my dear wife, a sad slattern and
shrew;
If I said I regretted her, I should lie too.
On a lawyer, in a churchyard iu Nor
folk:
God works a wonder now and then,
He, thought a lawyer, was an honest man.
In St. Michael’s churchyard Coventry,
on a wife:
She was—
But words ar wanting
To say what
Look what a wife should be,
And she was that.
On a talkative old maid (1750.)
Beneath this silent stone is laid
A noisy, antiquated maid,
Who from her cradle talk’d till death,
And never before was out of breath.
Maoon. —Some two months since, a
young German, Charles Boswillvrold,
disappeared from Macon. His remains
were found a few days ago, hanging in a
tree by his suspenders about fifty feet
from the ground, on the place of Mr.
James R. Rioe, two miles from Macon.
He has hung there since his disappear*
ance. — Enterprise
Advertising Hales.
One square, first insertion $ l 0O
Each subsequent insertion 75
One square three months 10 00
Onesqaresix months... 15 00
One square twelve months 20 00
One quarter column twelve months. 400.)
Half column six months 60 00
Half column twelve months 75 O)
One column twelve months .’.25 Ol
Ten line3 or less considered a square
All fractions of squares counted as squares
How Gas Is Made.
It must interest us to know the pro
cess of making an article so extensively
used in our cities, and we herewith pub
lish a sort of gascatechism, which con
veys a good deal of important “light” to
the juvenile mind on this subject:
“How do they make gas?”
“First, they put about two bushels of
bituminous coal iu a long airtight retort.
This retort is heated red hot, when the
gas burst out of it, as you see it burst
out of lumps of soft coal when on the
fire. The gas passes off through pipes.
A ton of coal will make 10,000 cubic feet
of gas. The gas, as it leaves the coal, is
very impure. ”
“How do they purify it ?”
First, while hot, it is run off into an
other building; then it is forced through
perpendicular pipes, surrounded
with cold water. This cools the gas,
wheu a good deal of tar condenses from
it and runs down to the bottom of the
perpendicular steam boiler, half
full of wood laid crosswise. Then
ten thousand streams of cold water are
squrted through the boiler. Through
the mist and rain, and between the wet
sticks of wood the gas passes, coming out
washed and cleansed. The ammonia
condenses, joins the water and falls to
the bottom. ”
“What next ?”
“Well, next the gas is purified. It in
passed through vats of lime and oxide of
iron, which take out the carbonic acid
and ammonia.”
“What next ?”
“The gas is now pare. It passes
through the big station-meter, then
through the main pipes, till it reaches
the gas jets iuyour room. Then it burns,
while you all scold because it don’t bum
better.”
The Noble Red Man.
The nearest approach to the heroic
coloring given to Indiau character by
the palefaced poets of other days has just
been told us by one of the participators
in a little squabble with one of the bone
picking Baunacks who haunt this vicin
ity. One day last week, when George
Gohu and George Smith were killing
beef at their slaughterhouse no the glucb
a Bannack Indian, accompanid by three
or four squaws, came upon the soene iu
search of wood and the legitimate plun
der of the slaughter house—the refuse.
The lordly cliild of the forest undigni
fiedly streched himself upou the ground
and calmly smiled upon his industrious
wives as they gathered the trophies.
Happening to pass this way, Smith acci
dentally or otherwise touched the big
Injun’s foot with his boot, when big In
jun resented the fancied insult by lay
ng hold of a clapboard and swatting
George over the back. More pleased
than angry, Smith retaliated by squeez
ing the red man’s windpipe, and shoving
him one side, supposing this would set
tle it. Not so, however, for “Lo” had
been insulted, and his dignity must be ap
peased. He accordingly went for Smith,
and iu a ten minute rough and tumble
fight came out second best. Now right
here is where a sensible white man would
have quit, and where the traditional her
oism of the red asserted itself. He had
been grossly insulted in the presence of
his sunburnt loves, and then ignomin
iously thrashed. It was too much, and
with a voice humbled with shame and a
bosom bared to the skies ho approached
Mr. Gohn with: “Me licked; me big
Ingen, aud me no want to live. You
shootee me, George—you killum mo
quick—mo no want to live.” George
remonstrated, but in vain. That buck
was disgraced and wanted to be gathered
to his fathers, and insisted on being
killed as he stood smiting his brave,
brown bosom before the human slayer
of kine. Failing to convince him that
many a white man got whipped and
then had the audacity to want to live,
Gohn had to lead him away. On Smith
returning to town and cabin in the even
ning, the noble Bannack again came and
insisted on being, killed and finally persua
ded Smith to perform the bloody deed with
a “little axe.” Stoically stood the ohief
under the shadow of the blade, ready for
the sacrifice, and as it descended with a
crash, Mr. Indian sprang one side,and you
could’dt have seen his heels for the dust,
as he struck out for his “wakiup.” If
Cooper had been writing this, that In
dian would have now been an honored
corpse, but as it is, he remains for us to
endure and the peace commissioners to
take care of.
A contemporary records that a nice
young girl at Green Bay, Wis., was be
ing courted by a nice young man. He
was generously inclined, and made her
presents of hair oil, which he purchased
from the store of the father of his adored.
After giving her some twenty bottles if
the oleaginous fluid he discovered he
was working in a circle—as fast as he
presented them she returned them to the
store, thus dutifully making trade for her
father.
“You are beautiful, and I adore you,”
said a gentleman to the belle of the even
ing. “For my part, I hate you, and
think you frightful,” she retorted. “I
believe you, you frank girl. You don’t
tell polite falsehoods, like me.”
Q tJEBX—Does a dumb man always keep
his word ?