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VOL. I.
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POET B v.
The Old House Far Away.
The wild birds warble, the silvery rills
Sing cheerfully round the spot,
And the peaceful shade of the purple hills
Falls dim on my mother’s cot;
windows are small, and its tliateh is low,
And its ancient walls are gray ;
< \. . i see it, l love it wlioivYi I go—
That old house-far away.
i he little dock ticks on the wall,
Recording the passing hours :
Ami the pet geranium glows rank and tall,
With its brilliant scarlet llov.-rs ;
And the old straw chair so cosy and low,
When mother sat knitting all day,
Oil! I sec it, I love it. where’er I go—
In that old house far away.
Lear mother, how plainly I see her now
Reclining in that old chair,
With the sunset resting upon her brow
That once was smooth and fair ;
With her crimped border white as snow,
And her once dark hair now gray ;
Oh ! my heart is w’ith her where’er I go
In that okl house faraway.
Not all the treasures the world affords,
The riches of land and sea -
Not all the wealth of earth’s proud lords
Can blot from my memory
The roof that sheltered each dear, dear head,
And the humble floor of clay,
Where the feet I love were wont to tread.
In that old house far away.
MISCELLANEOUS.’
31AKtUKET'S BAt H 1 KICK.
BY RKBEfCA. J’OUBES STVKGIS.
‘•You will wait for me, Miss Afyirgu
rot? He will-surely relent.”
Margaret Montressor’s face flushed
softly; but, her voice never faltered as
slut responded :
“I will!”
Ho was a fair-haired youth, with
eyes that wore of the shade of hlue
that, poets love to rave about —a youth
goodly to look upon, if you n itre not
too severe in your scrutiny. People
said that lie was vacillating, unstable
as. water, swayed by every passing
passion ; but Margaret Moiitressor
heeded them not. She was blind to
his faults; be loved her, and the felt
that she needed his hoe and hi"sym
pathy in her cold 'desolate life.
"I will go away'from here, he con
tinued. “’Nobody appreciates me but
von, and 1 wdl yet show your uncle
that, I am worthy of your regard.’
“1 believe in you!” she returned,
her duskv eyes growing duskier as
she thought of the glories the future
would hold .out to her if she was a
man, and consequently must hold the
same for him.
“If I only ...bud a start in life, he
sighed, “I would get along so much
faster.”
For a moment her heart almost
stood still. Would she dare to make
the offer 'which her love prompted ?
In her own right she possessed a few
hundred dollars, bequeathed to her
by her mother. Her uncle, a col l,
lmrd, miserly man, had taken her in
and brought her up, so that she need
not spend it, assuring her that, “as she
would not get anything from him after
lie was dead," she would need it by
and-by. Now she wished to give it to
Lyle Willard, and she knew lier uncle
would bo furiously angry, perhaps
turn Lor into the world ft beggar if
she did; but when did love —the real,
true love, which is the only thing wor
thy of the name—hesitate at such a
sacrifice as, that for the loved one.
“I—l have a few hundred dollars,
Lyle,” she said eagerly. "You shall
have them, and perhaps they will help
you on.”
“If I only dared to take them, Mar
garet, my pearl!” he responded; “but
it would be wrong.”
“No, no ; do Lyle, to please mo.”
He was easily persuaded. Lis re
luctance had only been assumed; for
be reasoned that lie would soon be
able to pay her back, and anyway, if
not, before they , were married, that
would be time enough.
She quietly,- withdrew her funds
from the bank, and gave every cent
into her lover’s hand; then, with a sad
farewell, they separated.
She hastened to her uncle and told
him what she had done. She was
not one -who could conceal an act which
might bo disapproved of for fear of
the eonshquenc.es.
“You did!” ho shrieked, in passion
—“you did! You dared to give to
him, when you. know I hated the
whining, hypocritical beggar! I al
ways told you you would need it some
time, and that some time lias come!
You will never get a cent more from
me—never eat a bite more of my
bread!”
That, same day the whole village
knew that Margaret Montressor's un
cle had cast her oil for giving her
money to Lyle Willard.
She sought employment as a seam
tress—for she was expert with her
needle—and obtained it.
That same day, Doctor Wardlaw
was called upto-sec the old man—for
lie was troubled with the gout and
heard the whole story.
.V pang shot through his heart.
“She loved him so much,” lie said
to himself, “and he is hot worthy of
her.”
He tried to melt the obdurate old
man's heart, but in vain ; and tin'll, j
| without mentioning his intention, he !
wrote to Lyle Willard, and told him i
I of the sore, strait that Margaret Moil- j
| tressor was in.
It was several weeks before he re
ceived a response, and then it was
i only—“ She will not suffer where slie
is so well known. I have not, the
money to return to her at present
without discommoding myself serious
ly. The old fellow will relent by-and
by.”
“The heartless cur!” the good doc
tor ejaculated, as lie crumpled up tlio
note and threw it in the fire.
* * * * * * *
Six months went past, and Marga
; rot’s bright color was fading, and a
' dreary look crept into her l .. s.
Doctor Wardlaw '•■died to SCO her.
“Miss Moiitressor, your uncle is se
riously ill, and I wish you to come
i and nurse him, he ud.
“Is he willing?” she asked, eagerly.
“Yes.”
| She went back to her old home,
j and took up her post by his bedside.
At-last he died, and then Margaret
! was informed that lie had left her an
; annuity of five hundred a year for five
! years. “Enough to keep you decent,”
lie had said, “liutnot enough to make
that cowardly dog have designs on
! you!”
That insult flushed Margaret's
; cheeks, and had it not have been for
! the thought of what a help that five
j hundred a year might be to Lyle, she
I would not have touched hi.-; gift.
Slie went back to lier work again,
j after writing a letter to Lyle, and
sending him her first installment of
j money.
He wrote back profusely ; told her
how much good it did him—for he
I needed it at that juncture —but how it
ironndnl him to take it from her!
| “Never mind, darling,” he added—
! “by-and-bv, when we are married, I
will be aide to keep you like a lady.”
I Doctor Wardlaw watched her labor
ing so incessantly. He offered her
his friendship, and she did not reject
it. He lent her many books which he
knew she hungered for, and tcvgk her
| out on occasional airings, and m time
she came to confide in him.
“Pardon me.for wliat may look like
importinen! eu'riusiiy,” he observed,
| one day ; “but I wonder why you deny
yourself oven the necessaries of life,
! and work so hard, while your uncle’s
bounty would keep you.”
A delicate flush suffused her cheek
and brow, ami her voice i.reniblcd.
“1 need not be ashamed to tell you,
ray friend,” sis said, “for you know
all tile past, i have never touched a
1 peery of that money for my own use.
Lyle needs it in his business.”
“And you send it to him ?’
“I do.”
“Pardon me again. Does lie ask
y.ai to marry him >on ?”
•No,' she fnln.ed. lie -!ie can
not. afford it yet.”
Doctor Wardlaw made no response.
He was, literally speaking, dumb
struck. He had no idea that sin was
remitting him that money -that If
j could take it. He wondered how so
noble a woman could love such a
, man —what blind, infat nation held her !
| “And he is false to her,” he said to
himself ; I am sure of it.”
1 He did not dare to speak against
Lyle to her, for fear of offending her;
1 but he very gently told her that lie
thought slie was carrying her gener
j osity too far, and hinted that. Lyle
! Willard laid no idea how hard she
; was working.
“No, he has not, slie said, frankly.
|“I do not wish him to. He is coming
down to see me, and I do not want
i him to bo worried.”
“Coming to see you !” the doctor
j echoed, and then he secretly wondered
if anything could have kept him from
i Margaret Montressor’s Bale for three
j years.
Lyle Willard came back to his native
village. He had not changed much—
men of his stamp seldom do. He look
| ed as youthful as ever, and was as care
ful of his delicate complexion. He
ivas dressed and perfumed in the la
• test’style. He was shocked at Mar
garet's altered appearance.
“You look five years older,” he ex
claimed ; “you have lost your fresh
coloring, and you are not one-half so
stylish looking as formerly, or else my
tastes were more countrified then.
Why diil you not try to keep your
beauty when you knew how I love a
j handsome face ?”
Margaret was pained beyond er
| pressiou by his unkind criticisms.
"How could lie !” she sighed to her
self ; “but then, lie never knew how
hard I have had to work.”
He only stayed two days inthovil
j lago. He told her ho would come back
! for her “some day” (a very indefinite
Time), and lie spoke very feelingly of
her as being his "good angel” and the
star of his existence.”
i Someway his expressions did not
impress her so deeply as in the days of
: yoro, and though she would not ac
j knowledge it, she was not satisfied
j with herself and him.
After he had gone, Doctor Ward
law w atched her t'urtlicrtivoly.
“Are wo' to lose you soon ? ’ ho ques
tioned."
She shook her head.
I hardly think Lyle is pleased with
the chango in me, ’ she said, half
musingly. “He finds me older than
he expected in appearance, and- ”
“The brute !” the doctor muttered
between liis clenched teeth. “Miss
Margaret, I want to say something to
you, and I do not want you to be of
fended. lam an old friend, am I
not ?”
She nodded assent.
QUITMAN, GA., THURSDAY, FERIU ARY 2<>, 1874.
“I <lo net. believe in Lyle Willard
any more than your uncle did. He
would sell himself for money. He
will never succeed in the world - never!
And as for marrying you, depend upon
it, ho has no intention of it.”
“Doctor Wardlaw!” she exclaimed,
angrily'.
“Hear me out 1” ho continued . pas-;
sionately. “1 love you a thousand i
times bettor than lie ever can, Marga
ret Moiitressor, and yet I never hope
to win y r ou until you know how thor
oughly ignoble he is!”
Her cheeks flushed and she Lit her
lips. Why did her heart beat so fu
riously ? Surely slie could not be
disloyal to Lyle ? Slie hated herself
for the bare suspicion.
“You forget yourself,” she said,
with assumed calmness. “An engage
ment is as sacred to me as the mar
riage vow.”
“I know it--I believe it!” he re
sponded. "But do von belie ,■ that
money would influence Lylo Yviliiud
to break his vow ?”
“No.”
“The world thinks differently, Mar
garet. It is commonly reported in
the city where he is that lie is courting
mi heiress. Ido not tell you this,
thinking to influence you ; but simply
because you ought to know.”
The rest of the ride was in silence.
When he went homo, lie sat down and
indicted a few lines to Lyle Willard.
A week later there was an ans- er.
He took a copy of the letter that he
-sent and the response over to Marga
ret,
“Read those both,” lie. said, simply,
“and do not be angry with me. Oh,
Margaret, I felt that I mud save you
from that man !”
She looked annoyed, but took the
i notes. She read Doctor Wardluw's
first ;
“Fkikxu Lyi.t-; : Since you war, up
here, I have been thinking that per
haps you have regretted your engage
ment with Miss Moiitressor. I love
lier liiysi If. I dare not tell her so,
because she is your fiancee, and she
believes in you. I believe that you
love her money, and think if I should
hold my tongue for two years longer
(as then her uncle’s bequest dies out)
that the field would be clear for; V.
As it is, I prefer to make a business
transaction of it now. If I give you
twelve hundred dollars down, will you
relinquish all claims on her, and give
; me leave to win her if I can ?”
With flushed cheeks and palpita
. ting heart, Margaret read the note
through, which, if sent to some men,
would have cost Rr. Warallaxk liis life.
Then she unfolded the otWr.
] “Send on the died* for the tv dve
I lnnidiv and dollars.” lie wrote, “aid I
| will write a farewell letter to Miss
! Margaret. To tell the truth, I think
it is the wisest thing I can do. She
! has changed agreh deal ami. Ido
| not believe we would be happy to
gether. Besides, old Harpy has a
j daughter that is sweet on me, and who
I will inherit all the old man's money.
: Seriously, I think the engagement
i broken will bo more satisfactory than
i the engagement continued.”
Margaret buried her face in her
hands and wept for very shame. It
j was for such a specimen of human rui-
I lure as this that she bad made her
j sacrifice ! #
“Margaret! Margarc!” tlio doctor
i pleaded; “you could not have loved
him ! Only tell me I have not helped
jto break your heart!” “
She raise'd-lier head proudly.
“My tears are not for wounded af
-1 fection. They aro tears of humilia
tion that I could ever have cared for
j such a blot on the name of man.”
| * * * * + * *
Six months later, Margaret Mon
: tressor became Mrs. -Wardlaw. The
doctor had won bis bride, and loved
i her all the bettor for the sacrifice sho
! had made for one she had loved.
What was tlieir astonishment when,
■ upon the day of tlieir wedding, the
old lawyer came to see them, and pre
j sented them with Mr. Hardin’s will!
“Tlio money was all willed to Miss
i Montreraor,” lie said, “by her uncle—
| only I was to keep it secret until she
\ dissolved her engagement with Lyle
Willard, or else khey were married.
He would not have her married for
money.”
Lyle Willard read an account of it j
in tlio papers, and bit liis lips.
“Just my luck !” he swore. “1 bet j
she was aware of it all the time, and |
was trying me!”
Thought. -Thought is a great and
important lvivcrflowing into the ocean j
of life. It takes its rise in the undu
lating Talleys of the Brain, and flow
ing through the Heart-country, sends
its strength and impetus to the wheels
of Invention and Human Will. Hope .
is one of its great tributaries, and it j
is subject to an ebb and flow. Some
times ils w a tin i "are as clear as crys- t
t.al, but at others they arc darkened |
by the muddy streamlet of Despair, j
or the, black and poisonous waters of i
Yice. Near its rise are the charming
cascades of Innocence flowing ft om j
the lakes of Virtue and of tsuth; and ]
as the river flows into the great ocean,
it passes through the rugged mount- i
ains oj Death.
A little girl in Dos Mbinr ; wants to
know wliy there aro no he dolly.-
Sure i uougli, why not?
“Game to his death while being hit
on the head with a long-handled stew
pan iu the hands of liis who,’ was the
verdict ill a recent, cawie iu Illinois.
THE WHITE MENUS DRESS.
A STORY OF TWO SISTER.
bt ur.r.r.s rmiKsT ouaves
“It’s only a headache, Doctor Maj
lis, " said Mr. Atlufling: but Meli
eent is very delicate, and I think it is
always best to take these things in
time/’
“Certainly- -certainly said Doc
tor Maylis, absently.
Ho was not thinking of what the
bald-headed, sumptuously-dressed i
old gentleman was saying—ho was
looking at Melieent At holing, as she!
reclined in a low chair, in a blue silk i
! morning-wrapper, with turquoise in ;
her cars, and great clusters of din- j
1 meads spar*ling on I. r pretty fingers 1
j—a human "lily of the field,” who
I “toiled not, neither did she spin.” •
How different slie was from the last
patient, he had visited, this spoiled,
lovely heiress;
Stoopingovet a. he Ini;
j riedly penciled# prescription.
“This will set yovu head right,”
I said lie, rising.
“Why arc you in such a hurry?”
pouted Melieent, with a shy sidelong
! glance from beneath her long, dark
1 lashes.“ It’s so dull here : and I de
! pended on you for a little news and
; gossip.”
“News and gossip! Nay”—the
handsome young phy ocan answerd,
j carelessly—-“I am a poor medium for
j that. But lam busy to-day. By-tlio
way, Miss Hester —”
i Hester Atheling came forward from
| the window where she had been sew
j ing in unobtrusive silence. She was
j a pale, dark girl, singularly unlike
Melieent, although she was Mr.
Athcling’s daughter by liis first mar
rage—-ono of the world’s Marthas,
| who are seldom missed until we are
forced to look in "rain for tlieir quiet
offices of duty and affection.
“What'can I do for you, Doctor
Mavlis? ’
“I don’t exactly like to beg," said
the doctor, laughing,“but I have just
come from a house where a young
girl—scarcely older than yourself,
j Miss Melieent—is drifting away on
i the tides of consumption. She is a
! working girl, pitifully poor, and suff
ering for the little luxuries which are
almost a necessity for one in her con
dition. In a largo establishment like
this, there is nlui' ,t, always a super
fluity -wine, fruit lit,tf delicacies—-”
I . . Oi -J M--1- ”
! said Hester, quiet'v. Where does
she li i e 1 *
“In Motf. . No. 13. Her
: name isr Estelle lvcuqflM-u. French
girl!” ' W
“Off, I know!” \ ! M. licent, sud
! denlv lifting “licU Aden curls fftam
die blue ’tiatiu —“Julio Iff iff
mix's- sister! June dues up all my
Swiss dr..-.ies> Yd' l laces. I pay
Julie a great prie< she does
them up in real French style—like
‘ new. I never could bring myself to
beat down the poor!”
“Melieent is so Kind-hearted,” said
‘ old Mr. Atheling, patting Lis daugh
ter's cheek.
Doctor Mavlis went away.
! “Isn’t he ’handsome?” said Meli
: cent, when she w>o alone with Hester:
“liis features n.o as straight as a
; Greek statue, and, thcro is that drea
my, far-off look iu his eyes that I
! never can fathom. I like a man that
I can’t understand. Hetty, I’ll wager
! my diamond locket against your ivy
leaf pin that lam Mrs. Doctor May
j lis in three months !”
“I do not like wagers,” said Hetty,
coldly; “and least of all, on such sub
jects as that.” •
! “You’re bom to be an old maid!”
j said Melieent, laughing. “He is to be
at Mrs. Dressy's to-morrow night—
-1 Leonora told me -:o—and I shall have
i a fine opportunity to fascinate him
| thou and there.”
Hester looked almost enviouly at
: her younger sister.
Yes, it was true; Melieent fascina
ted every one; Melieent was beauti
| ful and vivacious, and seemed to
have the gift of winning all hearts.
“Am I growing envious?” asked
herself, hiring L.V lips. Anil vain
cnougn to fancy chat Docteor Majflis
would ever cast a second glance to
ward me?”
And she went away with crimsoned
cheeks and hurried footsteps.
“Hetty !” her sister called after her, j
from tile luxurious depths of the blue
satin easy-ehoir, if you’re really go- •
ing to that Renoux place, ask Julie j
to send home iuy India muslin. • I!
want to wear it to-morrow night,!
and it should have been sent before.!
now.”
“But, Melieent, if the sister is sick, ]
perhaps Julio may not havo had!
time—”
“Nonsense!” cried tlio spoiled!
beauty. “Time, indeed! It is her
business; and if sho don’t send it J
home this afternoon, I'll give my flut
ing and laundry-w ork to someone,
else! Tell her so; for I certainly shall
not wait upon the c< mveniece of Mad- [
omoielh: Julie Renoux, or any other
washer-woman 1”
And so Melieent returned to her
novel, w hile Hester, dressed in gray, j
like a sober little nun, sallied forth,
with a well-filled basket on her arm, 1
upon the errand of m*;cy to No. 13
Molyhcux Street.
“it is a dismal little street,” thought
Hester, “and a dismal little house, n
wonder 1 ow people enduro to live in
such places always ?”
Bushing open the door, which al
ways stood ajar, Hester ascended
the uncarpeted stairs.
“Poes Miss Kcnoiix live here ?” she
asked of a slatternly girl who was
toiling up stairs with a pail of water.
“Yes, mum, she do,” replied the
girl, refreshing her eyes with a good
stare at tlio visitor. “Third floor,
front room, miss.”
And following* these directions
Hester Atlieling knocked at the door.
Julie Renoux herself opened it. j
Hester kucw her well by sight—a
pretty, slight girl, with great black j
eyes, transparently fair skin, and a
pleasant, smiling mouth.
“Miss, Atlieling!” she cried. “Oh, 1
am so sorry about Miss Mclicont’s
dress; but our Estelle lies so ill.
Look!”
And with ft true French gesture
she pointed to the shadowy, colorless
young creature, who lay, supported
by pillows, on the bod at the further,
side of tlio room.
“Bhe can hardly breathe, at times,”
I whispered .Tulie, ns Hevter stood in
pitying rib -1 have' to fan her
tour Once-* ..ioe■ - L
Oi. M is liWlicent's do ss; but she
walks. ;,o mi ‘J ilie,' : said, ill her
poor, faint voice, ‘ I shall not be with
you long. Do not leave me now!"
And the tears streamed down Julie’s
I cheeks, answerd by bright drops oil
| Hester Atlieling's own lashes.
Kneeling quietly down by the bed
j side, she unpacked her few little
treasures of wine, jolly and fruit.
“Perhaps you can taste of these.,
i Estelle,” said she,.kindly. “Will you
; let me pare an orange, and cut off a
few v. kite grapes ?”
Estelle looked gratefully up.
“They are beautiful!" she faltered ;
I “and I am so much obliged, made
moiselle; but my throat is so bad that
perhaps -and in theqpPP’fiine, leave
them on tlio table. They arc like a
pretty picture to my eye.”
! “All!" sighed Julie, “we poor folks
cannot lmy such tilings. The land
lord clamors l'or rent, Ike grocer
will not, send starch or roal’uiitil the
back bills are paid. And yet—the
j poor must live!”
“Julie,” Haid Hi ster, drawing her
! aside, “my sister wants lier clfbss to
! night.”
“It is not possible,” said Julie.
; “Look there!” and slie pointed to the
! ‘lying girl.
Hester hesitated. Sho know how
despotic and obstinate the beautiful,
soft-eyed Melieent could be. She
i saw the full wretchedness of the
l poverty in which "these two poor
you* ; foreigners dwelt.
“Julie,” said she, yon are right,
jDo net leav- poor Estelle while she
! lives. But the dress must be com
: pitted md sent home to night.”
“Ho- (
“Where are. yovr irons? Bring out
| {lie table—l will do the dress.”
“You. Miss Hester?”
j “Yes, I. Why not ? I will promise.
vout'>%, very quiet :;ud not 1 disturb
Estelle ; Snd my eider will never
/now that yflu were not the laundress.
•FonjMolioi'nt is capricious and v.ilW
fill, mvl if volt disappointed her, shiv
would p" jbably take ens
| tom. '(Juiekf —give mo the irons!”
[ “Miss Hester, you ,are nn angel
j from heaven!” cried Julio, as from
> her position by Estelle’s pillow slie
watched the snowy drifts of muslin
! grow into folds of glimmering beauty,
i beneath Hester’s quick and not un
skillful hand.
| “I am nothing of the sort,” said
• Hester, laughing ; “but I believe I
am a tolerably good laundress. How
! long have I been doing this? Three
< quarters of an hour. Does it look
1 right, E-italic V”
j But at the same moment one of the
! glowing hot irons slipped t'om its
i stand, and fell across her arm. Slie
j uttered a cry, which was echoed by
| Julie Renoux.
! “Oh, Miss,Hester, yon aro hurt!"
j “Not seriously,” Hester bravely
'answered. “Indeed, Julie it is noth
| ing. Back the dress in iis basket,
and I will send a servant for it as
soon as I reach homo.”
But EstuVe motioned weakly for
i the young visitor to approach her
bedside, and pressed lier lips to tlio
rod scar raised by the iron.
“fiod bless you !” she murmured.
“God’s saints have you in their keep
ing, gentle lady!”
And the pain seemed less in her
burned arm after Estelle’s lips had
| breathed tlieir fervent blessing.
:|c :|c * 'M *
“How provoking!” said Melieent
Atheling, petulantly. “Doctor May
lis said lie would call for mo, and
hero I have been sitting in my party
dress tliis half hour all in vain! I'll
| wait no longer! Probably there is
some misunderstanding, and I shall
see him there, wondering why I
don't make my appearance. Call!
tlio carriage at once, John.”
And she rustled away in the snowy :
dress, all puff's, and ruffles, and dainty
flounces, that Hester's own hands had
ironed -
JustAulf an hour afterward, Doctor
Maylis came in, looking wearied and
pale.
“ I am glad your'sister did not wait
forme,” lie said. “lam in no mood
for waltzing or music to night, I have
just been seeing poor Estelle Renoux
die.”
The tears sparkled into Hector’s
eyes.
k “Poor girl!” she murmured, under
flior breath.
“Don’t say ‘poor girl 1’ ” said Doc
tor Maylis, abruptly; “say rather
‘happy girl!’ Her troubles are all
over now. What is the matter with
your hand ?” as his quick eye caught j
sight of lier bandaged wrist.
“Only a slight, burn," she answered, j
in rather an embarrassed manner. j
“Let me look at it," said lie. “Yes, i
1 comprehend now. You are the!
heroine of the little story I heard at
Julio Renoux's, yesterday. You iron- :
ed your sister’s dress, scarring your
self thereby, rather than let those two !
poor girl; suffer from her caprice.”
He rose and walked oneo or twice 1
! across the room, iu liis old eccentric!
way, while Hostel at, with trembling j
fingers, at lier sewing.
“Hester,” he said, approaching her, 1
! “ 1 wonder if 1 might dare to speak all
| that is in my heart—if I might toll i
j you that this night I have met my j
i ideal of womanhood, ami that she is j
| before me now ? Hester, dare 1 ask!
I you to be my w ife ?”
|* * * * . * *
I Wlioh Melieent Atlieling came
i home that night, cross and tin and. v ith
| the mem 'A him .-malm dress Ml
j erumplri md - A tinkers farted
. rir 'uer’ b iquel uid her pearl fan i
j broken, she foum; Doctor Maylis and
! Hester still A b •--{< /<• before the par
j lor fire.
“Oh, Melieent,” the elder sister
faltered, with eyes wot with happy
dew, “ I have promised to marry Doc-!
j tor Maylis]”
And so Melicent's castle i,i the air'
foil to ruins! It mix mortifying to!
have plain, simple, dark-faecd Hester
! married the first, and to Doctor May
His, of all persons hi tlio world! But
; there seemed to be no help for it, and ;
: Melieent cried herself to sleep that
j night.
But Hester said her simple prayer :
! Dear Father in Heaven, 1 thank
Thee for the treasure of a true man's ;
| heart that Thou hast bestowed upon
| me!”
Profits of Farming in Georgia.
By the Janurrv report of tlio Do-j
j pai-iifterJ of Agriculture it appears!
that ill no State where corn : ; a crop
i of any general importance is the yield
! equal to last year. Only in Massa
chusottes, Florida, West Virginia,
Oregon and California, is the rate of!
previous production maintained. The
I decline is considerable, and we r -
| grot to state greatest in the corn- •
; growing region. The lowest average
;is in the Western States. In Illinois
the average is 21 bushels; in Kansas, i
22!, bushels; in Missouri, 2:1 J bnslufls;!
;in Nebraska, 25|; lowa, 29; Indiana,
291; Wisconsin, 30; Michigan, 31;
Arkansas, 221; Tennessee, 23j; South
Carolina, 01; and in Georgia 12 ; : |.
The object iff giving these statis
tics is to show our farmers that ejen !
| corn growing is more profitable in
•Georgia than in any State of the
• West. Take Wisconsin as an exam-1
| pic. The average in that State is 30
bushels. There corn sells at twenty:
e. nfs, and this is regarded as a fair '
price. In Georgia it sells at one dol-!
lar. In Wisconsin the farmer gets 1
six dollars as the result of the produce j
►of an aero; in Georgia he gets twelve j
dollars and seventy-five cents. In!
] Wisconsin farm labor commands;
twenty-live dollars per month, in
I Georgia from ten to fifteen dollars.
| In Georgia our climate is such us to j
! permit labor during the entire Wiu- •
! ter: in Wisconsin itlic ground is fro-1
zen five months in the year. In
j Georgia we have a greater diversity
1 admit ting a larger variety,of products |
than can be found in almost any oth-!
or State in tlio Union; Why then do j
Our people show so much restlessness j
I and such a disposition to emmigrate V
There is no reason or sense in it. (tod 1
has given you thd- best country on
I earth. More sunslfi*io and better
i soil than can bo found in other parts i
lof tliis continent. Stay afUoim ; quit
j giving liens; make your own provie- \
' ions and cotton to bo your surplus !
I product, and in a tew years you w ill |
i have money to lend, instead of being |
I dependent on the West for your
smoke house and corn crib. Fonder j
| well before you leave a country that]
! will raise sweet potatoes and cow
i peas. Take the writer’s word for it,'
: such a country is better-for the far-j
mer than any ho can find this side of ’
| tlio Rocky Mountains. — Atlanta 1 I<t
j aid.
A Trustful Fiuuily Cindo.
We hear a good story of a man
I who went to the frontier let see a
friend. The family consisted of tSe
husband and his two grow n sons.
TllC. good old lady was the only
one of the family who did'not take
some of the “Oil be joyful." Hitting
by the fire a. few minutes, the old
man tipped him a wink, and the vis
itor followed him Stopping by
a tree, ho took out’ a long-nocked bot
i tie, remarking :
“I havo to keep it hid, for the boys
may get to drinking, and the old wo%.
j man would raise the deuce.” Soon
Tom, the elder son, asked the visitor
out to see the colt, and . taking him
bohiud the bam, pulled out a flask,
remarking: ' •
I hove to keep tliis hid, for the
old man will get drunk, and the
deuce is to pay,” and they both took a
drink and returned.
Boon Bob stepped on tlio visitor’s!
toe and walked off, tlio visitor follow
ing. As they reached, the pig pen,
Bob drew out a good-sized bottle,
remarking: 4§
.“You know the old man and Tom
will get drunk, and 1 have to hide
this.”
The visitor concluded he ould
not drink confidentially with tin
whole family, and started for Joint.
ntOFESSIO N A L
III’. E. A. .1 E L k S,
Pradinn*? Physician,
QUITMA N, GA.
Office: Riiek bnil ’’ ;
of Messrs. Rri .) . 1 '•mtdvi u
street.
w. h. m-SNirr. i. ivu.. t.Einvv.
HEXXET i'N KIXaSBEItY,
Attoni it Law,
QUITMAN, j> ■ T CO., GA.
February It, 187 J if
i;:!nvA£>v,\ Ul
Attorney Caw
rri'MVN, < I'id . \. \
• Offie- in tlio Com irst flooK
1 tf
G. A. ID >\\h:t . VM V UK*
innYKLLA I)E i H K,
VITOSIN KYS .V r LAW,
NO. S DRAYTON ST.,
SAVANNAH - - - GA.
IDtVi*. by viiilss; hi, I • Mossrs. Groover,
Stubbs (‘<* , Mil i’. H. lb*Dp..i vl, Savimiiidi,
Hon. A. 11. U *i, m 11, >\. li. S ward, Thomns
! ville. H L.i i a v, Quitman, Ga.
1-1 y , '
.ii SC I! LLAa EO i S.
iUV. PRICE & m,
DEALEBS IN
(JeiKTiil Mercliandise,
. (lotlis and Cassi meres,
READY AFAD ( )THIM
i Hats,C:' | >s A Siix ’* ’ ; ; isi‘s, \g.
j bmToumliuu enuu'.ry ta,-! ihe*r Fall hid!
WiiiG ;• ok - .j• i.- Fe litr;a-.-.t ami best
assortment of
UnslbmHms'’ Flintisliing Goods
ever brought to (his market.
i). w. riu.CE
i will eoiiiitme hia business as
r r,v 1 LOR,
ami will eu* :tul iv.'.he suit "at the ‘shortest
j liotiee. and ••( i:-tact ion D'o trent- • •!.
Cuttinq, Cbt iniiv; md Rtqmiring done
I with neatness and disj..d< U iq n reasonable
terms.
1 We invite t'ue I'D.blie to enll and examino
the. qmlilx ;.nd -ji '-va of our >ods b*foro
purchasing t lsewhen’.
i>. w. rmcii a kons.
1-tf
F. R. IIAKDK V,
dhaij-t. in
DRY GOODS,
IN o r r IONS,
Hoofs mid Slices
FAXCY AND
FA JULY OIiOCERI ES,
1 IJUITItAN -> - Cf.Y,
I YIhSIPFIS TO XGTTTY his friends and
1 / the public .y-nemlly lhut he is now lo
cate! on Savvt'ii street, one door West of
(•apt. nro As’ store, in the building formerly
! occupied by Mr. \V. S. Humphreys, with a
complete assortment of Family Groceries,
Dry (foods. Notions, etc. consisting prinob
1 pailyof •
Ilnonn, Ojnned Cfoxis,
FToviv. ’X’ioklo--,
Codes. jrviiits,
Caml ios*, Nuts,
Olr eewe,
I Dress Goods, Donu'.slics,
Shia i irurs, t'lioeliny;s,
FriuW, . tXo., iVe,
; AIJ ofViileh h proposes to sell cheaper than
| tli'' cheapest, for the cash.
Tee hi i u market prices ‘ 1
try Produce. *
I Thankful tor past favors, a continuance of
i custom is solicited. .
•. P. It. lIAIIDEN,
! l-tnpls
A. J. ihor NTIIFFi
v y tlie pnhlic generally tlwt bo has now
!ou ]. "...I a good assortment uf %
I )l*y (foods, *•
( f i*< k *ei‘ic'S,
t l acdwa re,
dXo.. Yc.
nd will 11 fb, m as eh ,p same
. oUjjlih of *■. M>ils can be hough' * .no ono.
I (Is -in 'this irtarlpet.
, M O 'DldlSTOli • •
rpO THOSE INDEBTED TO H|M Ik',
5. would say that he is obliged toiler (ho
nr a y to carry on his business, and-fto can
indulge no: or. He hopes they will sot
; tjo without delay, and save costs of Court,
.‘A. J. IIOUXITvEF).
; Htapl
T. A. U. 11 ITJi r
M & Shoe laker,
QiriTMxVdV, CfA.
I>EGS LEAVE TO l\d v Oi;M bis ohlouH
toni' is ad the public generally that hot
hs still at his old stand* on Depot street,
*\ ill continue to keep constantly on
1 t nual'fy 1' mat- ii;d pud as
mid ' \j ■ : ieiiccil workmen*work T
his j : i ua;; ■ may lanplii’*
I‘oois‘and shoes cufc nmf ntode dspv . . vd
mid aif tit always v C
lh pairing neatly mid expcdßßH
at prices to suii 4.tic times. T ,V’ ■■■if'jSSt
- Dii
NO. 2.
