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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.