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VOLUME V.
Atlanta Medical College.
ATLANTA, GA.
The Twonty-Flrnt Annual Course* of Lectures
viii commence Oct. Iftth, IH7H. and dose March
4th, 1879.
Faculty—J. G Westmoreland, W. F. West
moreland, W. A. Love, V. H. Taliaferro, Jno.
Thad. Johnson. A. W. Calhoun, J. H. Logan, J.
T. Banks: Demonstrator, C. W. Nutting
Send for Announcement, giving full informa
tion. JNO. THAD. JOHNSON, M. D., Dean.
Albemarle Female Institute, Charlottes
ville. Virginia. $•&*) for Hoard and Liteiary
Tuition for Nine months, beginning o*tober Ist.
Music, Drawing, and Painting extra. For Cata
logues address K. H RAWLINGS, M. A., Prest.
IB PIIIBUR' *“
H Ip B KWI Opium K<m I) W P Squira
™ ■ W ■ W*rUUui u, Greene Cos., lud.
DCTUri CLASSICAL ami MILITARY
otl DLL ACADKMY, near WARREN*
TON, VA. Prepare for Cos I leg**. University,
or ltusiiieNM. Recommended for
Jf*tUA, Scholarship, and Di*'ipllue.
TKllMS—Board and tuition per half session 905.
For Catalogue address Ma.i. A G. Smith, Sup’t,
Bethel Academy P. 0., Fauquier County, Vo.
VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY.
FOURTH SESSION opens Sept. 1, 1878, and
closes June 1, 1879.
Fees in Literary and Scientific Department,
$65; Law, $1U0; Medicine, s♦'►•’>; Thcologj. sls.
Hoard and lodging per n onth. sl6 to $2 I.
Professors, 27; Instructors, 8; Students last
year, 466. For Catalogues address
L. C. GARLAND. (Tbancellor.
Nashville, Tenn.
GAYLESVILLE HIGH SCHOOL.
IHIE Ninth Annual Session of this very popular
school will open on Monday, September SOth.
The prospects of the school were never so fini
te riug.
There were five teachers employed in this
school last term, and from present prospects
there will be more required next term. A com
petent teacher is already employed for drawing
and painting.
< >ur course is now equal to that in our best
colleges.
Rates in all departments very low.
Hoard only $8 per month.
For further particulars address the principal.
REV. S. L. RITSiSKLC, A M
septl2-4w. Gaylesville, Ala.
ft* R*a4; *f At IM Oatarj.
/iwtX Barham's Infallible
PILE CURE.
\ / Monuffcrtuml by the
\ sMt jt Birtsm Ms Care Cos., Darisa, if. C.
MaRR-IlMtfrftlUlt Mr* Mra*rrk*U
V * r • • r * U Hslkl*.
rrlM Use an.l boaa lids —* HV
rsraisAaS •• •vsUaaila*
TH E
Home School for Young Ladies,
AT
ATHENS, CLARK COUNTY, GEORGIA.
MADAME SOPHIE SOSNOWSKI and MISS
CAROLINE SOSNOWSKI, Awoeiate Priori..als.
With the assistance cf an able corns of t eachers,
this institute will resumeitseyercfscHSeptenilier
18th, 1878. For Circular and further particulars
refer ns above.
CHEAPEST AND BEST.
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For the Gazette.]
TO MI'S .
Oh! you are a charming young miss of exquisite
taste.
Perfect in prude acs, and lovely in grace,
A pf?rt young miss, you certainly are.
Surpassing n intelligence, your a**oc.l<ite# far.
The number of admirers that comes your way,
1m beyond the knowledge of the author to say.
Imagination MMggestn that all such arcjfccrt*,
And quite ns scarce as Caiter's oats.
But let this boas it may, / care not.
Though the slanders you've uttered will ne'er be
forgot.
My candid opinion is that you are quite young.
To make your debut with a slanderous tongue.
When you arrive at maturity please deliberate.
And bridle your tongue, for your associates sake;
For when everybody desires your opinion to know,
They'll communicate with you— till then, go slow.
—G.
THE HEAUUHAMP TRAGEDY.
Of the many crimes committed on the
sacred soil of Kentucky, there never has
been one for romance of incident, chivalry
of motive, tragedy of ending equal to that
of the Beauchamp affair. Though trans
piring many years ago, its details Lave
lost none of their freshness, and ihe high
standing of the families and their persis
tent efforts to suppress everything relating
to it have tended to perpetuate its re
membrance and render it a romance that
even at tins late day all Kentuckians love
to talk of and wonder over. The mur
derer, or infatuated avenger of another's
wrongs, was J. 0. Beauchamp, the son
of a respectable farmer near Bowling
Green. He was a young liw gtudo it of
unusual promise, whose talent and ad
dress bad attracted the favorable notice
of the afterward murdered Solomon I*.
Sharpe, at that time Attorney General of
the State. Young Beauohauip was of
ardent temperam nt, entertained exalted
ideas of woman's purity, and once upon
his vacations chanced to meet Miss Ann
Cooke, n beautiful young la ly, who,
during his absence in the pursuit of his
studies, had, with a widowed mother,
taken up her rcsidenco near his father's
farm.
It was a case oflove at first sight. Miss
Cooke was melancholy as a lover's lute,
lived in great privacy, and her mysterious
movements and intentional withdrawal
from society threw around her a halo of
mystification that fired the ardor of the
law student aid made him a willing slave
at her feet. He called upon her, ac'ually
forced himself into her presence, and bor
rowed books of her, simply to afford him
an exensc to call again. She repelled his
advances in a manner that only lured him
on. He persecuted her with kindness
and haunted her with attentions. He
proposed, vras rejected; she would never
marry. He persisted with an excess of
passion and ardor that induce I her to
tell him her story, and wrung from him a
promise of revsngo.
She had been betrayed, she said, by
Colonel Sharpe. Her case w;\s a pecu
liarly sad anc. Colonel Sharpe had toea
raised in her father's family. The sacred
rites cf hospitality he had repaid by filch
ing the daughter's virtue. And she. like
many another, became, a mother ore she
was a wife. She had be".o famed for her
beauty, vet her disgrace had withered its
charms and crippled is powers. Her
family had been wealthy, but adversity
hal overtaken them. Her father and
male relatives were all dead. There was
no one to avrage her wrongs. Beau
champ, tied to her fate Ly the silken
oerds cf a desperate love, as well as t>y the
rcnactle notion of a eLivalrie tempera
ment that urged him to wash out by as
sassination or challenge the wrong
done, readily took an oath to hurl Sharpe
to the doom he deserved.
“Sharpe will not fight,” said Miss
Ceokc. when Beaueliamo announced his
intention of calling him out; “he is too
great a coward.” That was in 1821.
The legislature was in session at Frank
fort. Beauchamp readily found Colonel
Shame at the Mansion House. The
Colonel recognized him cordially. “I've
eeme to Frankfort to see you on important
business,” and Id auchamp took him bv
the aim, saying, “Let’s take a walk.”
They went to a retired spot by the river
side. The bell at the Mansion House
rang for supper.
Beauchamp turned upon Sharpe with a
nervous manner, and eye sparkling with
anger. “Do you remember the last words
M iss Cooke, whom you ruined, spoke to
you?’'
Sharpe stood as if transfixed.
“I am the avenger whom, in the spirit
of prophecy, she, the last time you ever
saw her, warned you would right her
wrongs."
Sharpe stood still deigning no reply.
“Will you fight a duel with me?”
“My dear friend,” cringingly spoke
the Attorney General, “I cannot fight 1
you on Miss Cooke's account.”
SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1878.
"Defend yourself, then, coward and
villian that you are,” shrieked Beau
champ, drawing an enormous dirk.
“I have no weapon but a penknife.”
Beauchamp threw him a Spanish knife.
“My dear friend, I cannot fight you,”
still urged Sharpe.
"You d—d villain, what do you moan
by that? That she is not worthy you
should fight her friend and avenger?”
My friend, 1 meant that l never can
fight the friend of that worthy, injured
lady. Had her brothers murdered me, I
would not havo raised my hand to defend
myself. And if you are her husband, 1
can never fight you.”
“I am not her husband, but her friend
and avenger. Sho sent me to take your
life. Now, d—d villain, you shall die.”
He raised his dagger. Sharpe ran.
Beauchamp seized him by the collar.
Sharpe tell upon his knees and begged
for his life.
"Take my property; my whole estate is
at your command, but, oh, let mo live,”
he cried.
Beauchamp released hi* hold, slapped
Sharpe’s face, and kicked him as ho
arose. “Get up, you coward, I’ll pub
licly horsewhip you to-morrow in tbo
street, you infernal coward,” he said.
Beauchamp meant to boas good as his
word. He procured a horsewhip, and
presuming that Sharpe, surrounded ly
his friends, would make a show of resist
ance, provided himself with pistols, with
which to finish him. Sharpe felt that—
Flu who fights and runs away,
May live to fight another day.
So before break cf day he was on his
horse en route for Bowling Green; Beau
champ returned to his home. Mias Cooke
now resolved to take vengeance in hor
own hands. Daily she practiced with
pistols till her nim became deadly. She
tried to lure Sharpe to her lionse. Ho
avoided her. Beauchamp refrained from
any further attempt on Sharpe’s life to
give Miss Cooke tho opportunity she
wished for. It never came, and this de
sire to kill him herself gavo to Sharpe
ninny a day of life. In .June, 1824,
Beauchamp and Misr Cooko were mar
ried. And then ho claimed he Lad the
tight to assassinate his wife's seducer.
Sharpe was now a candidate for the legis
lature, but his treatment of Miss Croho
added to his unpopularity, so he r.r
no”cocd thst Miss Cooke's child was the
offspring of a negro. He ce n produced
a forged certificate to substantiate this
unherrd cf villainy.
Boruchamp hoard the tale, and re
solved that Sharpe's hour had now come.
He repaired to Frankfort, and, unable to
obtain lodgings at tho hotels, passed tho
right with Sectt, the keeper of the peni
tentiary. He retired early, and prepared
for his murderous deed. Instead of shoe*
he put on yarn stockings. Ito eotieouled
his face in a red bandanna handkerchief.
lie secreted a long knife in Lis bosom.
Stealthily he craulcd unobserved out of
his lodgings, aud repaired noiselessly to
Sharpe's residence. Drawing his dagger
he knocked throe times.
“Who’s there?” cried Sharpe.
“Covin; ton,” replied Beauchamp
(Covington was ar, intimate friend of
Sharpe’s).
The door opened, Sharpe appeared, and
Beauchamp seized him by the throat.
He tried to escape.
M rs. Sharpe appeared at the rear door.
Beauchamp tore off his mask and thrust
his face close to his doomed victim. “And
do you now know mo?” he scoffingly
sneered.
Sharpo drew back and cried, “Great
God, it is ho.”
They were his last words.
Beauchamp plunged his dagger deep
into his heart. Tho blood spurted upon
tho walls and dabbled tho floor. “Die,”
was all Beauchamp said. And he died.
The hue and cry was sood raised. The
assassin was followed by an eager crowd
of pursuers. Captured, arrested, he was
brought back and tried. He was con
victed; he was sentenced to to executed.
His wife remained with him to the last.
She made no attempt at concealing the
fact that she instigated arid urged on the
assassination. She gloried in it, and scout
ed the threats of indicting her as acces
sory before tbe fact. The night before
the execution she procured an ounce vial
of laudanum and persuaded her husband
to cheat the gallows if he could. The
laudanum was divided. She swallowed
one-half. He took his portion. Then they
knelt and prayed. They sang for joy; they
shouted that their sins bad been forgiven,
and in a delirium o' ecstacy roused the
other inmates of the prison. The poison
did not, work. She swore that she would
starve herself to death, die with her
husband, and be buried in the samo
coffin.
Juno 5, 1826, was n great day in Frank
fort. The city was thronged to see the last
of J. 0. Beauchamp. The black and
ominous gibbet was erected on a hill-top
near by. The drums beat mournful dirges
froiu an early hour. At 11 o'clock Mrs.
Beauchamp told the jailer to leave her
for a few minutes with her husband. The
jailor left, but was soon recalled by deep
groans from their cell. He returned and
found them both weltering in blood.
They had stabbed themselves with a knife
tbe wife had concealed. His wound was
not fatal. His wife soon expired. Beau
champ was carried to her bedside as hor
life’s blood was ebbing fast, lie felt her
pulso. “Farewell, child of sorrow; fare
well, victim of persecution and misfor
tune! You are now safe from the tongue
of slander. For you I’ve lived, for you I
die.” He kissed her lips; he was ready.
The blood was trickling from bis
; wounds. He was too weak to sit up, so
they laid him in a covered wagon and
hauled him to the gallows.
He waved his hands to the ladies, whose
weeping eyes cheered him with sympathy
and consolation. They were compelled to
help him get on his coffin. He was too
weak to sit upon it unsupported.
"Give me some water. Let the drums
play ‘Bonaparte's Retreat from Mos
cow,’ ” were his lasi words.
They buried the self-tuurdered wife and
the executed husband in the same coffin,
folded in each other’s arms. Even in
deuth they were not divided. Their grave
is ct Bloomfield, Kentucky, marked by a
modest shafu
The excitement over tho fate of Beau
champ and the (regio ending of his wife
has lent to tho tragedy a romantic halo,
and some y'crrssince John Savago, n New
York journalist r.nd play writer, worked
the leading ircidenta of the affair into a
drama, entitled “The Sybil,” which,
however, was performed only twice.
Sharpe s son got out an injunction at
Ijouisvillc against the performance of tho
pieoe, and succeeded in suppressing it
entirely. Cincinnati Commercial.
—
I.OOK AT THIS.
Ye men who pay tho taxes, aud who in
turn are naturally interested in an econo
mical erpendituro of the public funds,
should inquire into tho records of the
Democratic and Republican parties on
that question. The record shows that
for the ten years beginning with 1852 to
185), inolumve, the public expenses of the
nation under Democratic rule amounted
to only $573,000,000 in round figures, for
while the ten yoarH beginning with 1867
to J 876 inclusive under the Radical
administration, in the time of peaeo and
exclusive of interest on tho public debt,
our national expenses aggregate the
astonishing sum of $1,520,000,000 or
nearly three limes as much as was ex
pended under tbe frugal and economical
administration of our government fur the
same period by the national Democracy.
These figures show an average annual
expenditure for tbe ten years mentioned
of more than $152,000,000 upon the part
of tbe Republicans, aud only $57,000,000
| per annum during the last ten years of
; Democratic supremacy. As an evidence
lb:>t the Democratic party still adhere to
the rules of economy aud honest frugality
that distinguished its record in ante
bellum days, its record now shows that
during the past three years it has, through
its control of the House of Representa
tives, reduced tho public expenditures
more than $87,000,000 over the appro
priations preceding three years when the
Republicans controlled the House. These
are solid facts and figures that cannot to
refuted even Ly the cunning demagoguery
and chicanery of Radical politicians, and
the people, il they would have their
burthens of taxation lightened, should
take them into consideration and ponder
them well iu their minds ere they go to
the ballot-box next November. Carters
mile Exj/ress. .
——
Some of the boys of Currollvillc, Wis
consin, made a midnight parade wrapped
in sheets ami starting from the village
graveyard. Their idea whs to scare who
ever saw them. They succeeded. Three
women went into convulsions at the sight,
one sick man was thrown into a relapse,
and a girl brwke her arm by a fall in
climbing hastily over a fence.
“Yes, sir,” yelled a preacher in a
Dakota church, one Sunday morning,
“there’s more lying and swearing and
stealing and general deviltry to the square
inch in this here town than in all the rest
of the American country,” and then the
congregation got up and dumped the
preacher out of the window.
Atlanta Constitution.]
lIILL ARP'S SUNDAY UIIAT.
“Seed time and harvest shall not fail.”
I usod to think that meant the spring and
fall of the farmer’s year, and l reckon it
did in the olden time when 'arming was
in its infancy and folks dident know much
about the natui of seeds and plants and
: guanno arid agricultural implements. But
now its seed time and harvest time nearly
all the year round. Wo sow oats from
August to April, and wheat from Septem
ber to January, and it takes most all
winter to gather in the cotton. There is
no time when a tired man can set down
and be easy—no rest for the wicked in
this world and not much I reckon in the
next. It looks like we farmers would have
nothing to do new but to gather in tho
fruits of our labors and bo thankful and
happy, but what with pulling and hauling
corn and picking out cotton and turning
under the grass and weeds and sowing
oats ami wheat and stripping and cutting
and topping the sorguin and hauling it to
the mill and getting up tho winter's wood,
its the busiiest season of the year. It
does seem almost impossible to carry it all
on at onco in a felistous manner con
sidering tho uncertin woathcr and the
scarcity of transient labor durin the
cotton season. A fool nigger had rather
pick cotton at 50 cents a hundred for the
next two months and perish all ihe winter
than take a good home now at 8 dollars
a month.
It takes a power of work to realize
from anything on a farm, and if anybody
thinks tho craps grow without sweat and
toil and jump from the field into tho crib
of their own accord, just let him try it
awhile and see. It looks like a bushel
of meal dident cost much to make it, but
even Bftor the corn is ripe you've got to
pull it, and get your feet wot in the dew,
and then you must haul it home and
throw it out and shuck it and shell it,
and take it to the mill, and all this re
quires a wagon and team and greasin the
axils and fussin with tho infernal mules.
And if you want to sell 25 or 30 bushels
arid hnv'nt got any corn shelter, by the
time you’ve shucked it mid shelled it by
hand, and hauled it to market, your
fingers will to worn down to the quick
and your hand blistered, and you'd take
five dollars a bushel for it if you could
get it, and feel no tare of conscience.
Well, its just so with most everything
made on a farm. Its all hard work. 1
sent a load jf wood to lown ard sold it,
for seventy-five cents, and I thought
that if those city folks about Rome who
stepped out of their offices some cold
day and Jewed a poor wood hauler on
his load, know how much hard work it
cost him they wouldn’t do it. Grinding
his ax, making the maul, tapering down
the gluts, cutting down tho tree, cutting
it up and splitting it, straining the grunts
out of him when the timber is tough and
and kno ty—loading up the wagon, strad
dling a sharp edged .-tick for acushion to
ride on, stalling in a mud-hole, prizing
and sometime* cussing out of it, paying
bridge toll, hunting round for a buyer,
being Jewed like you was a common
swindler, getting home again away after
dark, and having to feed and wash up and
eat a bite of supper, and go to bed and
get up in the morning to do the same
thing over again. I wouldn’t like that,
would you?
But farming aint that bad, though its
all hard work and constantTwork and it
looks like you don’t more than half
enough for your cirn and your wheat.
But there is a heap of solid comfort and
independence in having a plenty of all
these products about you. I Lke to feed
the hogs and see them enjoy it. and grow
fat. I like to peruse the cattle and see
the milk cows come up so slow and digni
fied with their udders all on a strut. I
like to see the calves and the pigs and the
sheep a gamb-liu’ around. It makes a
man feel patriarchal to have so many
lovely creatures a looking up to you and
following you about with the basket on
your arm and dependin’ upon you iike
little children. It gives a man the same
sort of comfort be used to feel when be
owned a pastel of darkeys and the little
nigs was a bangin’ around watchiu’ his
n ovements as he went to and fro, and
hitiicr and thither, and lieariu ’em say,
“dar goes Mass William —dar he.” I
suppose that the love of dominion is
natural to all people, and a man don’t
mind belongin’ to another man so muoh
if somebody or something belongs to him.
In slavery times there was but one thing
a darkey could own that didn’t belong to
his master by law, and that was a dog,
and a dog he was bound to have if he was
allowed to keep him.
Well, I don't see tuuoh difference in the
NUMBER 41.
darkeys between now and then. There’s
a lew of cm stuck up by education in tho
Lie -'iiies just enough to control the
mass, of on politically and religiously,
but mo.- the ru,-o arc the same nigger*
they used to b< they can’t, got, along
without a master, and they don't. They
have to ho tv. - ; is rod just like little
children. Our northern brethren call cm
Ihe nation's wards; hut you see the
guardeon is so poor off he can’t do them
any good, and so wo are playing substi
tutes and can do cnytbing in tho world
wiili thorn we want to Imtvoto cm. We
Democrats can tdo that. They won't
vote for anybody but a Republican if they
know it, and every one in my nahorhood
is a Felton man for that reason and
nothing else, and you can't make eui be
lieve he is a Democrat. I’ve got tHeir
confidence in everything else but that.
They won’t believe me, and the fact is
they seem so certain that he ain't a
Democrat, 1 sometimes think may bo they
know more about it than I do. But I’ll
tell you what’s the fact, and you may tell
it to the doctor, if he’ll make a speech in
this nahorhood aud tell the darkies he’s
a Democrat and is opposed to the Repub
lican party, I’ll tot anybody a bat he
don’t got nary nigger's vote that bears
liim —and its the samo way all over the
district. Ax Harris if ho thinks it’s
morally correct for a preacher to capture
votes of the nation’s wards in that way.
Don't it look like as it one of the elect
was deceiving the elect to to elected?
Yours, Bill Arp.
NOT A GOOIJ WITNESS.
A lawyer who was defending a case of
assault and battery in the police court,
tbo other day, was given to undeistand
that he could secure a valuable witness in
tho person of a woman ncur where the
“battery” bad occurred, and lie therefore
made a call at the house and requested
her to detail all the circumstances.
“Well, sir,” she began, “I sot right
here, holding this 'ere baby on my lap,
and was singing, ‘Darling, I am Growing
Old.' The baby he was squalling great
guns, my boy Wili am was making up
faces at hisself in the glass, and the man
who owns the house was trying to get in
to toll us that if we didn’t pay up we’d
be bounced.”
“Yes,” remarked the lawyer.
“Well, sir, all of a sudden 1 heard a.
rumpus on the street, and I pitched tit's
’ere young 'un on the hod, give William
a cuff on the ear, and ran to the window.
Scch a sight as I seed, sir!”
“Describe if, madam —describe tbe
affair just as you saw it.”
“Well sir, there was Mrs. Perkins, who
never h: and hall the husbands nor eddeca
sliun I’ve had, sailing right by my door
with a calico - n. in four feet long, and
never a- much a looking at my house,
though I lent her a summer squash ami
two onions -nily last night at dark 1”
“And tlm fight?” queried the lawyer.
“Was thero a figh*, sir? If there was
I’m not to Ijlnuic, sir. 1 did think at first
I’d go out. and put anew eyebrow on tho
old jade for putting on stylo over her
betters; but William, ho got the tack
hummer fast in his mouth just then, the
baby kicked hisself off the bed, and she
sailed iut of sight around the corner.
Fin an innocent woman, sir, and if J’m
tooken up I’ll sue for damages—the wust
kind of damages, sir!” — Detroit Free
l’rcss.
AN AFRICAN FINANCIER.
A night or two ago a knot of colored
citizens were standing ut a corner dis
cussing the financial affairs of the govern
ment. A variety of views were advanced
on tho subject, when one speaker tcok it
up after this style:
“It don’t make no diff’cnce what sort
of money dey ma' es, nobody an’t gwine
to give me none of it; hut l's gwirie ter
have my share as long as I can work for
it. Ef dey makes gold money, I’ll git my
share, or ef dey makes silver money
I’ll git my share of it, or ef dey makes
paper money J ’ll git my share of'dat; hut
dey may uiake any kind of it b.y the ship
load and you and uie will never git a cent
dut we don’t wurk fur. Dey talk about
matin’ money plenty, but it will never git
to to so plenty dat anybody is gwine to
give it away. One thing certain, de
government ain't gwine ter givo yer
none. ”
This is about the true philosophy of the
financial question.— Tclcf/ram.
—
Crime is certainly running rampant in
tho land. Plainly if there ever was a
time when a regard to the public good
required the law to he rigidly enforced,
now is the time.