Newspaper Page Text
N ’ill)
published every thursda
BKLLTON, GA.
by JOHN BLATS.
I sbms— fl.ou per Miim 50 cenu for six
mouias; 25cents foritvee moucha.
Parties away irom Bellton aie requested
to send taeir names with such amounts ol
money a. toey can pare, >om2cc. -oil
PASSING AWAY.
BT MBS. P. O. TTlUtn.
Passing away, so whispers the wind.
As it treads in its trackless course;
And passing away, doth the bright rill say.
As it leaps from its crystal source.
All passing away on the stream of time,
To oblivion’s vale in a far-off dime.
Matter and man, we make no delay,
To eternity’s gulf we are passing away.
Passing away, mark the wrinkled brow,
And the head with the silvery hair.
And the furrowed cheek, how they plainly speak
That they’re leaving a world of care.
Yes, passing away, even beauty’s flower
Is fading fast ’neath the spoiler’s power,
And fair and frail, to their bed of clay,
A down in the tomb are passing away.
Passing away, shrieks the ocean’s wave.
As it breaks on the beaten shore;
And the tortured tide is left to chide
The cliffs with a hollow roar.
Aye, passing away, both from castle and oot,
'1 be places which know us will soon know us not;
Whether peasant or Prince nature's last debt to pay ,
At the fiat of God we are passing away.
Passing away, even time himself
Bends under his load of tears,
Illa limbs are frail and his cheek grows pale
With the furrows of sorrowing tears.
With hie broken scy the, with a silent tread.
He is passing on to the home of the dead ;
With a bending form and with locks grown gray.
Even time himself is passing away.
Passing away, how swiftly they go I
Those scenes of our youth once dear;
Prose friends we loved are by death removed.
And the world waketh strange and drear I
And the hopes of our youth, see, they all depart,
And the chords of love roflud the human heart;
E’en the soul growetb tired of its cot of clay.
And the essence Immortal would fam pass away.
Passing away, all but God’s bright throne.
And His servants’ home above,
And His grace divine and the boundless mine
Os His eternal love.
And His will to save, through a Savior’s blood,
The child of faith who hath washed In the floral: |
Even earth to its frame-work doth all decay,
But God and His love will ne’er pass away.
TRUE TO HIS OATH.
Ono morning about ton years ago the
Parisian public were made aware of the
fact that the confidential clerk of Mon
sieur Launn. a well-known banker, had
absconded with tne sum ot nearly 1,00(1.
000 francs. Large jiayments were <lue
that day by the banker, to meet which
he had been relying upon this sum. A ;
run upon the bank followed, and that
evening his name was among th c list <>f
bankrupts. Detectives had, of course,
instantly been put upon the truck of the
absconding clerk, and, just as he was
stepping on the boat at Calais to cross
the channel, he was arrested and con
veyed hack to Paris.
When arrested, he seemed horrified |
at the charge against him, and earnestly
protested his innocence. This was but
atural under the circumstances, and
did not have the least impression upon
ha ..dicers ; but one thing that did puz
zle them was the fact that no trace of
the money he had stolen could be found.
At his trial the evidence against him was
too strong to admit of any doubt of his |
guilt. The banker swore that on the i
previous day he had given the clerk j
several orders upon the treasury, i
amounting in all to between 900,000 ;
and 1,000,000 francs, with instructions, |
after getting them cashed, to return to |
the bank, and deposit the money in the |
vault, of which he alone, beside the i
banker himself, knew the combination. '
Evidence was forthcoming from the ,
Treasury Department that he had re
reived the money, but the evidence of
the other employes was definite that he
had not returned to the bank during
business hours, while the janitor was
confident he had not done so afterward.
This, taken altogether, and added to
the fact of his sudden flight, seemed
conclusive to the Judges that he was
gnilty. The prisoner’s defense took
the form of an accusation against his
employer. He acknowledged having
received the orders, and also getting
them cashed, but denied that he had
been told to deposit the amount in the
bank vault. Instead he averred the
banker had told him to retain the
money in his possession until evening,
when he was to admit himself by a key
the banker gave him to his house, and
deliver the money into his own hands.
This the prisoner declared he had done,
when the banker, unlocking a drawer
in the desk at which he sat, took out a
large envelope, and told the clerk to
address it to a well-known banking firm
in Leadenhall street, London.
Having done as he was desired, his
employer took a folded paper from the
drawer, and placed it in the envelope,
sealed it securely and gave it into his
hands, telling him that he wished him to
start for London at once to deliver it to
the firm to which it was addressed, and
receive in return some securities of
value lying in their hands. As he had
on more than one former occasion been
thus sent on similar secret missions by
his employer, he thought there was
nothing strange in the request, and,
The North Georgian.
VOL. 111.
setting out in less than an hour, luul
traveled all night to Calais, arriving
there just in time to catch the boat, was
stepping on board, when he was arrest
ed and brought back to Paris to be
charged with a crime of which he had
never even dreamed.
The officers testified to having found
the envelope upon him, directed as
he had stated ; but, on opening it, the
inclosure was found to be notliing more
than several sheets of blank paper. His
story though told with the earnestness
truth and conscious innocence, seemed
so wildly far-fetched and improbable
that it only influenced the Judges still
more strongly in the belief of his guilt.
To be sure, the main proof against him
was the banker’s word, but the whole
chain of circumstances also favored his
assertions. Where or how the clerk had
hidden the money- was certainly an un
explained mystery, but the supposition
was natural that he had laid his plans
well beforehand, and made arrange- |
incuts so that it would still be secure in
case he was arrested before he could
make good his escape. Weighing the
evidence carefully, though not perhaps
without taking into account the high
social standing tire banker had always
occupied, the Judges pronounced the
clerk as guilty, and sentenced him to
the galleys for a term of twenty years.
When the prisoner heard this doom,
to which even death would have been
preferable, his head fell upon lus breast,
and an unrestrainable wail of agony |
broke from his lips. The following day I
he was sent to the galleys at Toulouse.
Four years passed away, during which
time the banker had resumed liis busi
ness, and had reached an even higher
social position than he had occupied be
fore. His only cliild, a daughter of
mere than ordinary beauty and sweet
ness of disjKisition, had blossomed into
womanhood. The wealthy young Mar
quis de Beaunois was smitten by her
charms, and ambitious hopes were en
tering the bunker's mind that through
her he might even enter a higher grade
of society and become associated with
the nobility. Ho could now afford to
laugh at the threat of vengeance uttered ;
four years ago by a convict whose rivet- |
ed chains were clanking in the galleys at. :
Toulouse. He did not even know if he I
were alive or dead.
Had any one told him, or had he hap- j
pened to rear], that one of those galley |
slaves, who was not even allowed a
name, but was known as No. 411, had
escaped, it would have passed out'of his
mind nt once. Convicts often escape—it
was notliing to him.
Time still passed on, and the date of
the wedding ot the banker’s daughter
with the young nobleman was fixed to
take place with an elegance that was to
surpass all former bridals of the season.
All Paris knew of it, and one may judge
of the sensation when, on the night be
fore the wedding, the banker’s house
was broken into, and not only all the
valuables taken, but the bride herself
carried away. A large reward was of
fered, but in vain ; and the most earnest
efforts of the whole detective force wens
fruitless to discover the slightest clew as
to the perpetrators of this bold outrage.
The days went by and grew into weeks,
and still no tidings of the missing girl
could be found, and the banker’s form
grew bent, and his face hollow and care
worn with anxiety and gnef. The whole
affection of his life had been wrapped up
in this girL
Late one night, after more than two
weeks had passed, as he was seated in
his library, in conversation with one of
the detectives engaged on the fruitless
• search, a note was brought to him.
“ I must see you at once,” was writ
ten in a large, sprawling hand. “I can
give you tidings of your daughter.”
Almost overcome with emotion, the
banker gave orders for the liearer to be
admitted, while the detective rose quiet-
I ly and took his position behind the cur
tain of the window. Scarcely had he
done so, when the servant opened the
door and admitted a man who, though
' flashily dressed, carried in his face and
manner the unmistakable stamp of the
lowest criminal class. The banker
I sprung from his chair, his face flushed
with glad expectation, to meet him.
“You bring me news of my daugh
| ter? ” he cried, eageriy.
“Yes,” the man answered; “that's
what I came for.”
"And where is she? Is she well?
Tell me quickly, and relieve my sus
pense.”
“ I was here before, the night he did
this little job,” the man went on, in a
stolid sort of way, as if he were repeat
ing a set speech and ignoring the other’s
excited questions. “ There were six of
BELLTON, BANKS COUNTY, GA. AUGUST 12, 1880.
us in it beside the Oaptain. We six
had all the swag. All the Captain want
ed for his share was the girl; and, while
we were gathering up the articles, he
took her in his arms and walked off. ”
“ And where is she now ? I will give
any amount—my whole fortune—to have
her restored to me! ”
“ None of us knew where he took her
until to-nigbfc He sent for me to come
and fetch you to him.’’
“ Let us not lose a moment, then,” the
banker exclaimed, eagerly. “I am
ready this instant.”
The detective came from his hiding
plact? behind the curtain.
“ I will accompany you,” he said.
“ All! ” said the man, coolly survey
ing him, “you’re a detective. But it
don’t matter. The Captain said he
wasn’t particular if the whole force
came.”
“ Lead the way, then. We are ready,”
the officer answered.
The man Jed the way out of the house
and .along the streets for a distance of
nearly half a mile, until at length they
reached one of the lowest quarters of
the town, down by the river. Knocking
at the door of an old, half-ruinous house,
whose rear windows overlooked the
stream, the guide gave some password
to an old woman who answered the door,
and then led the way up several flights
of stairs, that croaked and groaned at
every step, as if they would fall beneath
their feet. Arrived at the top floor, the
man knocked three, times on a door at
the head of the stairway. A voice an
swered, bidding them enter, and, doing
so, they found themselves in a small,
low-ceilinged room, one corner of which
was partitioned off by a dingy curtain,
and before the tireless grate a man was
standing with folded arms. As they
entered, a look of almost fiendish tri
umph lighted up his face, and he ad
vanced to the banker.
“Monsieur Laurin,” he said, in cold,
measured tones, “do you recognize me?”
The banker started back, with an ex
pression of dismay.
“ Pau) Favarge-! ” he gasped.
“Yes,” the other answered, “Paul
Favarge—the clerk, who, to further your
own grasping aims, you consigned to a
fate worse than death, and who swore to
be revenged. The time has come. I
will restore your daughter to you, but it
is upon one condition, and one alone.
If you refuse, you and she both die I ”
He waved his hand as he spoke, and,
before they were aware of it, a man
stood, one on each side of the banker
and the detective, with a pistol leveled
at their heads.
“ You see you are in my power,” said
the other. “The condition that I re
quire of you is that you confess you
fabricated the story that sent me to the
galleys, that you might secure the money
yourself.”
An agony of irresolution was visible
on the banker's face, but he was silent.
* 1 If you do not decide before I have
counted three you die.”
Still the banker was silent.
" One—two ”
"Yes,” the banker almost shrieked,
“I confess it all. You were innocent,
and I the guilty one. Are you not sat
isfied now with your revenge ? If you
have any human pity left, let me see my
daughter.”
“I have none,” the other answered,
“ but you shall have your wish.”
He drew aside the dingy curtain as he
spoke, and the banker saw a pallid form
lying upon a narrow pallet, but so
wasted and attenuated that in the feat
ures he could hardly recognize those of
his daughter.
“ My God 1” he wailed, “ she is dead.”
“Yes, she is dead,” the other an
swered, in the same fiendishly dispas
sionate tone. "Would you know how
she met her death ? Upon your soul is
I the sin, for it was you who made me the
i fiend I am. She starved to death.”
The unhappy father sank upon the
I floor us if struck by a bullet. " Let your
j revenge lie complete, and kill me also,”
j he wailed.
; “No,” the other answered with a
i fiendish laugh; “it is I who die. My
' vengeance would not be complete if you
i did not live. Officer,” he added, turn
i ing to the detective, “ this man is by his
I own confession your prisoner; arrest
j him. My band know of my resolve, and
i I have arranged it all. My mission on
earth is accomplished now, and life is un
endurable to me.”
As he spoke he placed the muzzle of a
! pistol to his forehead, and, pressing the
| trigger, fell to the floor a corpse.
The detective turned to arrest the
' banker, but started back with an excla
; mation of. horrified surprise. The mus -
■ cles of the banker’s face were twitching
in a convuls-ve sort of way, until sud- i
denly he burst into a peal of terrible,
joyless laughter. He had become a rav
ing maniac, and the convict’s terrible
vengeance was, indeed, complete.
A SMART DARKY.
In the year 1851, when the whole
world was thinking and talking of the
World’s Fair in Hyde Park, the Colonel
of the Second West India regiment was
one day startled on parade by the ap
proach of his bugler to make the modest
request of a furlough of sufficient length
to enable him to go over to London to
see the exhibition. Cuffey was sternly
ordered back to the ranks, with the al
ternative of the guard-room, and he re
tired, muttering, however, that, fur
lough or no furlough, his journey to
London was a fixed fact.
The next morning he was missing at
roll-call, the fact being that he had en
gaged himself as stoker in one of the
mail steamers, and was at that moment
sailing pleasantly out of the harbor.
He came to London, saw the exhibition,
had liis spree out, and, when he was
tired or had spent all his money, he pre
sented himself at the Horse Guards and
gave liimself up as a deserter. It was
some time before he could gain belief
for his singular tale, and had to play a
selection of the Colonel’s numerous bu
gle calls before he could prevail on the
authorities «o order him into custody.
At last ho was duly taken prisoner and
shipp'd for the West Indies, along
with a detachment going out.
When the ship had been some days
out at sea, the officer in command, a
young Lieutenant, found greet difficulty
in collecting the men at meal-time, hav
ing no bugler with his detachment.
“On this hint” Cuffey “spake,” po
litely offering to relieve the officer of a
world of trouble by playing daily the
necessary calls. His offer was accepted,
and the service duly performed during
the remainder of the voyage. On the
arrival of the ship, Cuffey was delivered
to.’zs :;ugry Colonel. wh« ‘ immediately
ordered him to be taken into custody,
preparatory to regimental court-martial.
Just, however, as the guard was tak
ing him off, he called a parley, and po
litely informed the Colonel that ho could
not be tried as a deserter, inasmuch as,
having done duty since the commission
of the act, he was now as free as before
he left the regiment There was no
gainsaying tlris well-known point of
military law, and the Colonel was com
pelled to content himself with simply
ordering Cuffey back to his duty, amid
the broadest permissible grins on the
countenances of his ebony comrades
e »
TOM OCHILTREE, OF TEXAS.
Persons traveling in the South after
the close of tire Rebellion could see on
the telegraph jxists on every route lead
ing into New Orleans and in all public
thoroughfares large signs—“ Buy your
shirts of Moody ” —“ Go to Moody’s to
get your shirts,” etc., etc.
One afternoon a stranger entered
the slrirt store, and addressed Mr.
Moody;
“I have come for my shirts.”
“ Have you purchased shirts of us?”
“ No, sir.”
“Oh, you wish to purchase?”
“ No, sir. This morning I put on the
bed at the hotel some shirts to be
washed, and when I went to my room
after dinner, in place of my shirts i
found this notice on my bed ” (produc
ing a placard, “Go to Moody’s and get
your shirts ”), “ and so I have come for
them. ”
“ What is your name, sir?”
“Tom Ochiltree, of Texas,” and, after
asking his size and liis room at the ho
tel, Mr. Moody said :
“ Very well, Mr. Ochiltree, you will
find your shirts at your room,” and at
' once dispatched a dozen of his best
I shirts to carry out the joke.
As the “ joke ” found its way into the’
city papers, and was copied into all the
j provincial papers as a good joke on "T.
perhaps Moody got value received
I in the way of advertising ; and T. O. en
i joyed the free shirts.
- •-
Sixty-foub years ago occurred the
l year without a summer. May 17, 1810,
the snow fell eight inches deep on a level
i in Hartford. July 5, that year, Indian
corn was so frozen that the greater part
' was cut down and dried for fodder in
! Connecticut. There was frost every
j month of the year in the Northern States.
1 “Do you say I’ve been a hard drinker
all my life ?” said an old toper to an ac
quaintance. “Yes, I do.” “Well,
i there’s where you're mistaken. At one
i period I didn’t touch a drop for twe
j years—in fact, I drank nothing bui
j milk.” “Indeed I What two years was
I that?” “My first two.”
NO. 32.
MAKING AMENDS.
A dramatist sitting by a friend at a I
theater contrived to extract a handker- j
chief from his pocket and transfer it to
his own. Presently a man behind him,
tapping him on the shoulder, whispered:
“Beg pardon; here’s your purse. Didn’t
know you belonged to the profession ;
all right ! ” at the same time slipping in
to the amateur’s hand the purse he had
extracted from his pocket. The story
may pass, for, although honor among
thieves has no existence, it is probable
that regular practitioners act on the
principle that dog should not eat dog.
That they ever go an inch beyond that
we do not believe ; even though we have
it on the authority of the Gaulois that
Charles Dickens once lost his watch at
a theater in Paris, and found it at liis
hotel with a note running:
Kia: I hope you will excuse me; but I
thought I was dealing with a Frenchman, and
not a countryman. Finding out my mistake, I
hasten to repair it by sending herewith the
watch I stole from you. I beg you to receive
the homage of my respects, and to believe me
my dear countryman, your humble and obedient
servant. A PiciyocKirr.
Triflers with feminine affections do
not always get off cheaply. A young
clergyman wise enough to choose well,
hut foolish enough to allow himself to
be ruled by his friends, after proposing
to a young lady, declined to fulfil the
engagement, and, being sued for breach
of promise, was cast into damages—
.£s,ooo. This brought him to his senses.
Seeking the plaintiff, he owned that he
hi 1 behaved infamously, but vowed that
he had loved her all the while and loved
her still, and prayed her to forgive and
forget. “My friends,” said he, “can
make no objection now; they cannot
say you are without a penny, since you
have £5,000 of your very own.” His
pleading proved irresistible, and the lady
and money were soon his own again.
INVIOLABLE.
A friend’s secret is ever his property,
even when confided to another. The
coirtklmui should loeir it up, even from
liis own thoughts. He should not be
content with refraining from betraying
it to others, he should also refrain from
betraying it to himself. If a man con
signs a casket containing treasure to the
care of another, he will justly feel that
his confidence has been to a degree vio
lated if ho comes to know that the latter
has been in the habit of unlocking the
casket and poring over its contents day
after day as if it were liis own, and that,
too, in an exposed position. So with
tne secret. Though confided to a friend,
it still belongs to liim by whom it was
confided, who has his own reasons for
performing this act of friendship; and
to have it continually before the mind
is not only making, in one sense, anoth
er’s property one’s own, but it is ex
posed to the danger of escaping at any
unguarded moment in one form or an
other, sufficiently at least to give grounds
to surmises which may closely bear upon
the truth.
•• WHEN IS HE GOING TO TALK HOG.'
It was while Garfield was making the
sjieech in which he presented the name
of John Sherman, in which he led up to
his nominee in graceful words, reserving
the mention of his name to the very
last, that the most distinguished dele
gate from Massachusetts lieckoned to a
gentleman from Michigan who was sit
ting near him and said : “ This reminds
me of the celebrated case for the re
covery of hogs.” “I am not familiar
with it,” said the gentleman from Mich
igan. “ Why,” responded the gentleman
from Worcester, “a man brought suit
to recover his hogs. His counsel, in ad
dressing the jury, spent two hours in
going over all the law points involved,
and at last his client, becoming impa
tient, interrupted the proceedings by
asking the Judge if he might ask his
counsel a question. The Judge ruled
that such a procedure was hardly allow
able in open court, and the client ac
quiesced with the remark, ‘ I only
wanted to ask him when he was going
to talk about my hogs.’ ”
■
m China the names of children art
given according to circumstances asso
ciated with the time of their birth. If a
child is born at midnight, its name may
lie Midnight; if birth occurs on the
birthday of some relative, that relative’s
age may be the name of the new born,
and so there are names of Thirty, Five,
Fifty, One, and other numtiers. But
i there arc even more curious names. If
i the parents desired a boy, and a girl is
I born, her name maybe Ought-to-bc-a,
i Boy _
Colored Senator Bruce is only 39,
i weighs 240 pounds, and dresses well.
1 He is very modest, and never gets in
j anybody’s way.
Fublishkd Every Thursday at
BELLTON. G-EORG-IA
RATES OF SUBSCRIPTION.
Oae year (52 number*), $1.00; lix month*
, 6 numbers) 50 cents; three months (13
numtiers) 25 cents.
Olice in the Smith building, east of the
depot.
FARM WORK.
BY BILL ABF.
The days are getting long, but some
how there isn’t time enough to do what
has to be done. I map out so much
work for the day, and when night cornea
I haven’t done it. I’ve got behind, and
can’t catch up. That’s bad. Ben Frank
lin said a man ought to drive his work
and not let his work drive him. The
wet weather has got us farmers all in a
stew. There hasn't been but two days
in two weeks that we could plow, My
corn iripot all planted; my garden is in
the grass ; potato slijis are waiting for
the patch; the clover is nearly ready for
the scythe. If it was only the big things
that were pressing I could soon catch
up, but there’s so many little ones to
mix in it takes about half the time to
tend to ’em. I received orders the other
day from headquarters to have all the
palings wliitewashed. Then again the
flowers have all to be taken out of the
pit, and benches fixed up for ’em, and so
I had to go to the saw-mill for a few
planks. The grape arbor had to be lat
ticed and the vines tied up, so I had to
go to the creek for canes. It was gently
suggested that a large watermelon patch
was a great necessity, and it took a
whole day to prepare the ground and
dig the holes and haul the fertile, as
Cobc calls it. Mr. Theodore Smith re
lated to Mrs. Arp as how he pulled
twenty-two melons from one vine, and
the smallest one weighed eighteen
pounds, and so I’ve planted 100 hills,
which will make 200 vines, and 4,620
melons, weighing about 120,000 potmds.
That’s the hopeful way I figured it all
up for her, but I've seen women who had
more faith in her husband’s work than
she had. She was working a button
hole, and remarked that if I raised fifty
she would bo agreeably disappointed.
In laying outwork, these sort of jobs are
never counted. Then again, there’s
many an hour lost in waiting on the
children, the little chaps. They are al
ways hanging around flor something.
Everything Ido they want to do. They
have got little gardens, and everything
I plant they must plant. I have to tie
up their big toes most every day
and get splinters out of their
fingeis and pick ’em up when
they fall down, and be sorry a
great deal and comfort ’em. They’ve
got to wading in the spring branch, and
the maternal ancestor thinks a snake has
bit ’em every time they holler. When
they get out of sight she imagines some
baby-thief has come along and stole
’em like they did Charley Ross, and so
I have to drop everything and hunt 'em
up. But they are a world of pleasure, and
it does look like the more Mo for ’em
the more I love ’em. They tag around
after me most all the time, and drive
away the blues with their hope and
trust and childish philosophy—their in
nocent unconcern about the future,
altout trouble and want and suffering,
about politics and pestilence and mira
cles and suicides. I reckon that a good
little child is about the best of al)
created things, and don’t wonder that
the scriptures tell us we must be like
’em before we get to heaven. I’m a
light good family barber, and was
shingling one of their little heads to
day, when somebody came running in
and hollered, “The liees are swarming—
the bees are swarming; come quick;
ring the bell; they are going off.” I
had been looking out for this every day
for a week. Last fall I bought five
stands and camo home and told my wife
I had bought 50,000 head of live stock,
which would have made a sensation, but
she didn’t believe me, as usual, and went
on with her sewing. Well, I had the
hive all ready, but the trouble was
alxmt getting them down from the tree,
for they were about thirty feet up and
hanging down from a swinging limb. I
used to lie a regular squirrel to climb
trees, but somehow I’ve lost the lick,
and so my 12-year-old boy undertook
the perilous job. He tied a net over his
head and went up like a cat, then tied
the rope to the limb as I threw the
other end higher up over another limb
and dropped it down to us, and then we
Bent him up the saw and he cut off' the
limb and it came down easy and slow on
tho table and we sprinkled ’em with
sweetened water and brushed them off
to the mouth of the hive, and just had
no trouble at all hardly in getting them
housed. Well, I did get popjx don the
upper rim of my left ear, and in a tew
minutes it looked like the end of a cow s
tongue and hurt like the mischief, hut I
made no sign, lam always brave about
a thing like that.
Senator Edmunds is an enthusiastic
angler, and makes a trip every summer
to the salmon rivers qf the North.