Newspaper Page Text
>rtl}
PUBLISHED EVERY THUR<DA
—AT
bellton, ga.
by JOHN BLATS.
iBBMB—SI,OO per tnigm 60 cents for six
dionUig; 25 cents forihree months.
irom Bellton aie requested
to send their names with such amounts of
money a they can pare, >om 2ce. *o |1
DO THE MEEK INHERIT THE EARTH}
» BY JOHN W. HATTOM.
The plucks the raven.
And the raven plucks the jay,
To whose voracious craving
The cricket falls a prey.
The big fish dines at leisure
Upon the smaller fry,
And the minnow cats with pleasure
The poor, unconscious fly.
The miser skins his neighbor,
And the neighbor skins the poor;
And the poor man, doomed to labor,
Spurns the beggar from his door.
And thus the world is preying,
The strong upjn the weak,
Despite the precious saying:
The earth is for the meek.
“ HIPED OUT."
A Thrilling I**id*nt on th* Trairi**.
What is that ?
Look closer, and you will sec that it
is a gaunt, grim wolf, creeping out of
the little grove of cottonwoods toward a
txiffalo calf gamboling around its mother.
Raise your eyes a little more, and you
will see that the prairie around is alive
with buffalo. Count them ! You might
na well try to count the leave* on a giant
maple ! They are moving foot by foot
as they crop the juicy grass, and living
waves rise and fidl ns the herd slowly
sweeps on. Afar out to the right and
left—mere specks on the plain—are the
flankers—brave old buffaloes, which
catch a bite of grass and then sniff the
air and scan the horizon for intimation
of danger. They are the sentinels of
the herd, and right well can they be
trusted.
The wolf creeps nearer !
All the afternoon the great herd has
led in peace, and, as it now slowly moves
toward the distant river, it is all uncon
iscious that danger is near. Look you
well and watch the wolf, for you are go
ing to see such a sight as not one man in
10,000 has ever beheld.
Creep—crawl—skulk—now oehind a
knoll—now drawing himself over the
grass— now raising its head above a
thistle to mark the locality of its victim.
It a low, shambling, skulking wolf,
lame and spiteful and treacherous.
Wounded or ailing, he has been left to
get on as best he may, and his green
eyes light up with fiercer blaze as he
draws nearer to his unconscious prey.
There ! No, he is yet too far avyay.
Creep—creep—creep ! Now he is
twenty feet away—now fifteen, now ten.
He hugs the earth, gathers his feet
under him, and he bounds through the
air as if shot from a gun. He is rolling
the calf over and over on the grass in
three seconds after he springs.
Now watch !
A cry of pain from the calf—a furious
oellow from the mother as she wheels
and charges the wolf—a startled move
ment from a dozen of the nearest ani
mals, and a rush begins. The one wolf
is magnified into a hundred, the hun
dred into a thousand. Short, sharp bel
lows—notes of alarm—a rush, and in
fifty seconds after the wolf has wet his
fangs with blood that living mass is in
motion to get away from an unknown
terror.
The waves rise higher and higher as
the confusion spreads. One instant it
seems as if 10,000 solid acres of prairie
were moving bodily away—again waves
rise and fall as the cowards behind rush
upon those in front who wait to sniff the
air and learn the danger. In one min
ute the alarm runs down the herd to the
leaders, further than the eye can see,
and the entire herd is going off at a mad
gallop, heads down, eyes rolling, and no
thought but that of escape. If Lake
Erie were to dash itself against a wall
the shock would be no greater than the
awful crash with which this mass of rat
tling hoofs, sharp horns and hairy
bodies would meet it. The clatter of
hoofs and rattle of horns would drown
the noise of a brigade of cavalry gal
loping over a stone-paved road.
Ride out on their trail. Here where
the stampede began the ground is torn
and furrowed as if a thousand cannon
had been firing solid shot at targets.
Here and there are calves which have
been gored or crushed—here and there
older animals with broken legs and disa
bling wounds. Here, where the herd
was fairly off, you might as well hunt
for a gold dollar as a blade of grass.
You look for three miles as you look
across it. It is a trail of dirt and dust,
and ruts and furrows, where half an
hour ago was a carpet of green grass
and smiling flowers. The most dread
ful cyclone known to man could not
have left more horrible scars behind.
Miles away, on the bank of winding,
growling river, are three white-topped
emigrant wagons. A camp-fire blazes
up to boil the kettle—men, women and
children stand about, peering over the
setting sun at the distant mountains and
The North Georgian.
VOL. 111.
glad that their journey is almost done.
Butterflies come and go on lazy wing—
the crickets chirp cheerily in the grass,
and the eagles sailing the blue evening
air have no warning to give.
Hark ! If that thunder ?
Men and women turn in their tracks
as they look in vain for a cloud in the
sky. That rumble comes again as they
look into each other’s faces. It grows
louder as women turn pale and men
reach for their trusty rifles. The ground
trembles, and afar off comes a din
which strikes terror to the heart. “In
dians !” they whisper. No! A thou
sand times better for them if savage
Pawnee dared ride down where these
those long-barreled rifles could speak in
defense of the peaceful camp.
“ A stampede of buffaloes !” gasps
one of the men as he catches sight of
the advance guard under the awful
cloud of dust. Rifles are held ready for
a shot, and the children climb up in the
heavy wagon-wheels to see the strange
procession gallop past.
Here they come ! Crack ! crack !
eraek ! from three rifles, and a shout as
each bullet tells. Next instant a shaggy
head, followed by a dust-browned body,
rushes through the camp. Then another
and another. The men shout and wave
their arms—tire women and children
turn paler yet.
The roar and din shut out every other
sound, and the wagons jar and tremble
with the concussion. Now another
shaggy’ head—another—half a dozen—a
score—a hundred—a great living wave
which sweeps along with the power of a
tornado, followed by others more fierce
and strong, and the camp is blotted off
the earth more completely than by any
power of Heaven. Nothing to lx? seen
—no shout to be heard. Wave, followed
wave across the spot—over the bank—
into tile stream and across, and when
the last of the herd has passed the
keenest hunter can find nothing on that
spot of wood or iron or cloth or bone or
flesh to prove that a dozen men, women
and children were there wiped out ot
existence and reduced to shred and dust.
MAKING LUMBER OCT OF STRAW.
The versatile ingenuity of a Western
inventor, who doubtless foresees the
time in the far-distant future when the
forest shall cease to clothe the hills and
dales, and the demand for lumlx-r shall
prove vastly in excess of the supply, has
succeeded in devising a substitute for
the product of the virgin or the culti
vated soil. His plan is to use the frag
ile vegetable, straw, and by a peculiar
process to compress it into a substance
as hard and indestructible as oak
lumber. It is claimed that this pro
cess converts wheat straw into
timber, which is susceptible of as fine a
polish and finish as mahogany and
black walnut, at a cost not in excess of
the best clear pine. The straw is first
manufactured by the onlinary paper
mill process into straw board, and suf
ficient number of sheets of the right
size are taken to make the required
timber. They are soaked and softened
in a chemical solution, which is, of
course, the inventor’s secret. After the
fiber of the pasteboard is sufficiently
saturated, the pile of sheets is pressed
between a series of rollers, which con
solidates them so that when dry the
whole is a hard stick. It is also claimed
that the process renders this wood sub
stitute impervious to water, and the
chemicals used are such as to make it
fire-proof. But the sanguine inventor
has only made samples thus far.—
Trenton Gazette.
STARTLING SURPRISE.
A startling surprise, after the fashion
of the story of Ginevra, was experienced
by a party of Btyrian wood-cutters in
the forest of Drommling. They began
to fell a venerable oak, which they s<X)n
discovered to be quite hollow. Being
half decayed, it speedily came to the
ground with a crash, disclosing a skele
ton in excellen preservation. Even the
Ixxita, which came above the knees,
were almost perfect. By its side was a
powder-horn, a porcelain pipe-bowl, and
a silver watch, on which was engraved
the name “H. von Krackowitz, 1812.”
The teeth were perfect. It would seem
to be the skeleton of a man between 30
and 40 years of age. It is conjectured
that, while engaged in hunting, he
climbed the tree for some purpose and
slipped incautiously into the hollow
trunk, from which there was no release,
and he probably died of starvation.
A deaf mute used the new audiphone.
" Can you pay me that $5 ?” These were
the first words he heard. *‘ I prefer to
remain in my original condition,” he
said, sternly, and threw the audiphone
out ot the window.
BELLTON, BANKS COUNTY, GA. AUGUST 5, 1880. NO. 31.
BIOGRAPHY.
George Gordon Ryron.
The distinguished subject of thia
sketch was born in London in 1788,
being the only son of Gapt. John Byron
by his second wife, Catherine Gordon, a
Scotch heiress of Aberdeenshire, and a
lady noted for the ascerbity of her dis
position. Caph John Byron, or Mad
Jack Byron as he was frequently called,
was one of the handsomest and yet
most dissipated men of his day. Young j
Byron was emphatically a chip of the ;
old block. Upon the death of his uncle I
Byron was raised to a peerage, though
but 11 years of age, and he was vested
with the proprietorship of Newstead
Abbe/, a magnificent country seat,
shaded by Sherwood forest, which had
echoed with the bugles of Robin Hood
and Little John. When quite a boy he
entered Harrow school, and at 16 went
to Trinity College, Cambridge, where he
wasted many hours in idleness and
profligacy, which properly employed
would have given him a solid founda
tion iu learning. At 19 he left Cam
bridge and took up his residence at
Newstead Abbey- and soon prepared for
publication a number of his juvenile
poems entitled "Hours of Idleness."
These poems were not destitute of merit,
but might have been written by any lad
who had moderate talent for poetry and
a good education. Judging from the
character of these publications it was
evident that some stimulus was needed
for the development of Byron’s powers;
and that stimulus was provided by
an anonymous writer in the Edinburgh
Review. This caustic criticism was
something after this style : “ The
poetry of the young bard belongs to
that class which men nor gods can toler
ate ; we counsel him that he does forth
with abandon poetry.” Scarcely hod
the laughter ended when Byron replied
in a satire entitled “English Bards and
Scotch Reviewers,” which publication
would have done honor to Pope or Dry- ‘
den. So popular was the work that all
authors rejoiced in the new champion
who had arisen to avenge their wrongs.
This popularity, however, did not last,
and the injustice the satire contained
was afterward admitted by the author
himself, who termed it a ferocious rhap
sody—a miserable record of misplaced
anger and indiscriminate acrimony.
In 1809 he went to the Mediterranean,
and spent some time in Turkey and
Greece, and after two years returned,
and published two cantos of his favorite
poem “Childe Harold.” Moore, in his
“Life of Byron,"'says, “The effect of
this poem was electrical; his fame had
not to wait for any of those gradations
usual in such cases, but sprung up like
the prophet’s gourd. ” During the next
two years, Byron’s pen was not idle—
the following books were produced, viz :
the “Giaour,” “The Bride of Abydos,” I
“ The Corsair,® and “Lara.” While the
reading world was enjoying these pro
ductions, Byron (to follow the modern
newspaper style) joined himself in holy
bonds of connubial bliss. His marriage,
however, was an unhappy one, and only
lasted one year. His domestic troubles
seemed to have stimulated his mental
activity, for, during the next six months
he produced the third canto of “Childe
Harold, “Manfred,” “ The Prisoner of
Chilion,” and “The Lament of Tasso,”
and not long after came his gay and
witty little poem, “Beppo.” The next,
last, and one of the greatest poems of
his life, was “Don Juan,” which he
commenced in 1822, and in which he
was engaged the remainder of his days.
In 1823 he became seized with the in
spiration to take part in the struggle for
Greek independence and in the
next year he left England, and
plunged into the struggle with
a zeal worthy of his ancient
dwelling place of liberty and genius. It
is a pity to Ix 3 compelled to record it,
but by this time, owing to his dissolute
habits, Byron’s constitution wax com
pletely undermined, and in 1824 came
his untimely death, in the 37th year of
his age. And thus ended the life of one
who will ever be remembered by an in
telligent world.
DISADVANTAGE OF RICHES.
A very rich man once said : “ I worked
like a slave till I was nearly 50 to make
my fortune, and I have been watching
it ever since like a detective.” This
may be an exaggerated case of opulent
misery, but the rich as often need socie
ties for the amelioration of their condi
tion as the poor.
Mb. J. T. Trowbridge, the author, is
53 years old. He was born near Roches
ter, worked in New York many years
ago, and finally settled in Boston, where,
ax a writer, he has acquired a comfort
able independence,
WORK VERSUS IDLENESS.
Let us fling overboard the sickly idea
—more like the lazy dream of a water
lily at mid-day in a slimy pool than the
thought of a human being—the notion
that there is any absolute bliss in rest.
The world is a working world, and mon
is a working creature ; and ho who does
not understand this is plainly out of
place here. Epicurus, no doubt, sitting
in his leafy Attic garden, with fragrant
honey-laden breezes from Hymettus
fanning him on a summer's day, might
fancy his Olympian gods doing nothing
through eternity but drinking nectar
and sipping ambrosia, and laughing at
lame Vulcan ; but this certainly was not
his serious thought; he was merely
shunting the Celestials of that day off
into a corner, like an easy David Hume,
not to be bothered in any wise with
what he could not comprehend; and he
was busy himself all the while writing
books, in which sort of work he was ex
tremely prolific, having written not less
than 300 volumes in his day. Buddha
likewise, the great Oriental Quietist.if
all that is written of his Nirvana be true,
is the prophet of an extreme kind of
stupid holy life, which can never be a
model for a healthy Occidental man.
Historians and travelers prove most
abundantly that at all times and in all
places a man is most a man when he
has most to do. The savage in a tropi
cal climate works little, works violently!
and works by starts; our civilization in
this temperate Western zone is all built
up of a higher potency, a more cunning
division, and a more persistent con
tinuity of work. We are all working
men ; those who work with the brain
often a great deal more so than those
who work with their hands. Who more
assiduous in work than a well-employed
barrister? Who more the minister of
another man’s needs than a skillful
country surgeon? Who more hardly
worked than a conscientious clergyman
►the most populous and least prosper
ous districts in one of our large towns
Let no man, therefore, sit down and fret
over his work because it is work, and
envy the rich who have nothing to do.
The richest men are often those who
have worked and do, work the hardest;
and if there be rich men, as no doubt
there are in this country, who live upon
the inherited produce of other people’s
work, with nothing specially to do for
themselves, they are to be pitied rather
than envied. Work enough there is for
them, no doubt Plato would not have
tolerated them in his well-ordered re
public, nor Alexander Severus in his
palace; but they have, unfortunately,
no spur for action, and, being inspired
by no high feeling of the dignity ’of
work in the universe, they will be found
frequently sitting down and rotting their
lives away, living on their rents, or fill
ing up the vacancies of their hours with
degrading pleasures and unfruitful ex
citement. For such we must be heartily
sorry, and, if they can be of no other
use in the world, they may at least
teach us not to fret over our daily task,
but rather to rejoice in it
CHINA AS A MILITARY POWER
It is not customary to look upon the
Chinese empire, with its 300,000,000 of
people, ax at all formidable in war.
The celerity with which Great Britain
forced the use of opium upon that no
tion gave us all a very poor opinion of
Celestial prowess. That was a war of
noise versus cold lead. It was gongs
against guns. John Chinaman had no
conception of the military ways of John
Bull.
But that was several years ago, and
hardly had peace reigned at Hong Kong
Wore the prudent Chinese Government
set alxjut getting ready for future con
tingencies. A careful study was made
of foreign civilization, not with a view
to improvement, but simply of defense.
China had no more idea of becoming
(Incidental than a hunter has of becom
ing a wild beast. Finding it necessary
to protect itself against powerful bar
barians, the Government determined to
learn all about war as carried on by
I larbarianx. Industriously pursuing this
course, China has supplied itself with a
I very respectable navy—some twenty
1 gun-boats, manned by foreigners, and
any number of native men-of-war. The
soldiers are armed with the latest breech
hauling rifles, bought largely in this
country.
Everything in nature indulges in
amusement. The lightning plays, the
wind whistles, the thunder rolls, the
snow flies, the waves leap and the fields
smile. Even the buds shoot, and the
rivers run.
Old Pokebuby, Blood Sucker, Grand
Turk, Scud, Old Hat, and Squedunk are
unmet of mines in Arizona.
THE DARK HORSE—HOW THE TERM
ORIGINATED.
Many years “befo’ de wah” there
lived in Tennessee an old chap named
Sam Flynn, who traded in horses, and
generally contrived to own a speedy nag
or two which he used for racing purposes
whenever he could pick up a “soft
match” during his travels. The best of
his flyers was a coal-black stallion named
Dusky Pete, who was almost a thor
oughbred, and able to go in the best of
company. Flynn was accustomed to
saddle Pete when approaching a town
and ride him into it, to give the impres
sion that the animal was merely “a
likely’ boss,” and not a flyer. One day
he came to a town where a country race
meeting was being held, and he entered
Pete among the contestants. The people
of the town, not knowing anything of
his antecedents, and not being overly
impressed by his appearance, backed
two or three local favorites heavily
against him. Flynn moved quietly
among the crowd and took all the bets
that offered against his nag. Just as
the “flyers” were being saddled for the
race, old Judge McMinamee, who was
the turf oracle in that part of the State,
arrived on the course, and was made
one of the judges. As he took his place
in the stand-he was told how the betting
ran, and of the folly of the owner of the
strange entry in backing his “plug” so
heavily. Running his eyes over the
ruck, the Judge instantly recognized
Pete, and he said : “ Gentlemen, there’s
a dark horse in this race that will make
some of you smell hell before supper.”
The Judge was right; Pete, the “dark
horse,” laid back until the three-quarter
pole was reached, when he went to the
front with a rush, and won the purse
and Flynn’s bets with the greatest ease.
Ever after that the horsemen of the
vicinity fought shy of “ dark horses,”
and it would be well if political parties
would do likewise.— Chicago Telegraph.
JOURNALISTS IN THE HOUSE OF
COMMONS.
Journalism is now represented in the
House of Commons by some twenty
newspaper proprietors and writers.
Among these are Sir Charles Dilke,
proprietor of the Athcneeum and of
Notes and (Queries ; his brother, Ashton
Dilke (of the Weekly Dispatch and the
Referee), who shares the representation
of Newcastle-on-Tyne with Joseph
Cowen, owner of the local Chronicle
and a former owner of Mayfair. One of
the members for Northampton conducts
the National Reformer, and the other
is the proprietor of Truth, and a part
proprietor of the Daily News. T. P.
O’Connor, whose scathing “Life of
Lord Beaconsfield ” has had a good deal
to do with the results of the recent elec
tions, is connected with the London
press; so are Frank Hugh O’Donnell, A.
M. Sullivan, Justin McCarthy, Leonard
Courtney, Arthur Arnold (whose hand
we now think we detect in the Pall
Mall), and Mr. Finigan. Edward
Dwyer Gray owns the Dublin Freeman,
and T. D. Sullivan the Nation, and
Young Ireland. Then there are John
Walter, of the Times; Passmore Ed
wards, of the Echo; W. J. Ingram, of
the Illustrated London News; Beres
ford Hope, of the Saturday Review;
Samuel Morley and Sir Charles Reed,
part proprietors of the Daily News;
Mr. Macliver, J, O’Kelly, J. D. Hutch
inson, and Mr. Sexton, who is connect
ed with a Dublin paper. Surely the
laws of copyright and libel will be the
subject of satisfactory legislation at
last.— London Pen.
A FORTUNE FOR TWENTY-FIVE
CENTS.
All the worn-out and mutilated legal
tender notes come to the treasury for
redemption. After new notes are issued
in their stead, the old notes are de
stroyed by the process of maceration.
This process includes the introduction
of chemicals in the mass of notes, which,
by the aid of steam are reduced to a
pulp very much smaller in volume than
the original notes. This pulp is of a
gray-whitish color; it has heretofore
been thrown away. An entcq>rising
young man in thix city has had an idea
on this subject, however, and is work
ing it out. He has taken the pulp, and
is modeling it into different shapes.
When dried the pulp assumes a light
consistent form. Dogs, cats, bells, and
all animals and everything else almost
are reproduced. Out of the destruction
of $1,000,000 in notes, he modeled a
bullfrog of heroic size ; SIO,OOO goes to
make u mouse ; $50,000 into a paper
weight, and so on through the list He
sells these “pieces of art "at 25 cents
each. One can, for that amount, pur
chase at least what was once a million
or more of dollars in the currency of the
land.— Savannah (Ga.) News.
Published Every Thursday at
BELLTON, GEORGIA;
RATES OF SUBSCRIPTION.
One year (52 numbers), $1.00; six months
<,6 numbers) 60 cents; three months (1$
numbers), 25 cents.
O.lice in the Smith building, east of ths
depot.
CURRENT ITEMS.
The first pupil that is taught to see is
the pupil of the eye.
What kind of fur did Eve wear the
first winter ? Bore-skin.
A mule is no physician, but he wel
understands the art of heeling.
An Irish cat that had crossed the At
lantic five times died in Marion, Ala.,
recently, 54 years of age, it is said.
Hiram College, of which Gen. Gar
field was once President, and of which
he is now a Trustee, has 209 students.
A man thrust his arm into a hollow
log to catch a rabbit, at Americus, Ga.,
and was fatally bitten by a rattlesnake.
Eleven million dollars were spent last
year for hair restoratives, and we can’t
see one more hair than the year before.
Frivolity, under whatever form it
appears, takes from attention its
strength, from thought its originality,
from feeling its earnestness.— Madam
de Stael.
The advocates for marriage with a
deceased wife’s sister in England are
very actively organizing their ensuing
campaign. They believe that the new
Parliament will give the desired relief.
During the past year thirty divers in
the pearl fishery of the Persian gulf lost
their lives, most of them by sharks. The
value of the pearls taken in the Persian
gulf in 1879 is estimated at $1,500,000.
In England there are at present about
180 Generals holding honorary Colonel
cies of regiments, costing the country
nearly $200,000 a year, and doing not
one hour’s work from year to year for
their pay.
More clergymen have sailed for Eu
rope thus far this season than up to a
corresponding time in any previous
year. It is now considered the respect
able thing for every pastor of a self
supporting church to go to Europe in
the summer.
The American trotters now being im
ported into England are attracting much
attention among stud masters on the
other side. This new revelation in the
science of horse-breeding will, it is an
ticipated, be likely to create a change
in the attributes of English sport. The
Prince of Wales is said to express the
greatest interest in this new breed, and
has become the purchaser of one or two
of the fastest horses brought over.
A promising youth recently surprised
his father by asking : “ Father, do you
like mother?” “Why, yes, of course.”
“ And she likes you?” “Os course she
does.” “Did she ever say so?” “Many
a time, my son.” “Did she marry you
because she loved you?” “Certainly
she did." The boy carefully scrutinized
his parent, and, after a long pause,
asked : “ Well, was she as near-sighted
then as she is now ?”
Calls for clergymen are frequently
heard from the frontier, but not often
for the kind described in the following
passage from Hie Aurora (Nev.) Herald:
‘We are sorely in need of a preacher,
but we don’t want any cheap trash. We
want a good, muscular Christian, who
can snatch sinners by the scruff of the
neck and drag them howling up the
plane of righteousness, and who will not
drink more than he can hold. Buch a
man will get a right smart layout here.”
KEEP YOUNG.
Don’t grow old and rusty and cross,
afraid of nonsense and fun. Tolerate
the follies and crudities of youth. Gray
hairs and wrinkles you cannot escape,
but you need not grow old in feeling un
less you choose. And so long os your
age is only on the outside you will win
confidence from the young, and find your
life all the brighter for contact with
theirs. But you have too many grave
thoughts, too many weighty anxieties
and duties, too much to do to make this
trifling possible, you say. The very
reason, my friend, why you should cul
tivate fun, nonsense, lightness of heart—
because you need them so much, because
you are “ weary with thinking.” Then
do try to be young, even if you have to
be foolish in so doing. One cannot be
wise all the time.
NEVER TO BLAKE.
Some people are never to be blamed
for anything, in their own opinion.
They are not the most agreeable people
in the world, for the simple reason that,
no matter what they do, they always
succeed in making yon feel that you are
the sneak-thief after all. “That mon,”
said one of these folk, “has been scold
ing me for an hour, ami has told me at
least forty times that I stole $1 from
him, when the simple truth is I only
stole 50 cents. I don’t want to be
blamed for what I don't do.”