Newspaper Page Text
*
a;
JOHN H. SBALt, - Editor aid Proprietor.
W. B. SEALS, • - Bailnraa M»ag»r. j
HRS. HART B. BRYAN (*) Asaoclsto Editor.
ATLANTA, GA.. SATURDAY, SEPT. 29. 1877.
President Hayes in Atlnnta and the
South.—We are very much gratified at the ova-
tioos which hare been extended to the President
and his suite all through the 8outh. He is emi
nently worthy of erery demonstration of regard
from the whole nation, and no portion of it is more
ready to acknowledge and accord it than the
South.
Rising above party shackles and partisan preju
dices, he has planted himself upon the Constitu
tion of his country, and his highest ambition is to j
be recognised as the President of all the States,
and not of a section. In this he has so fhr sue-
ceeded most wonderfully, and has won the esteem
and reverential regard of all patriotic hearts eve
rywhere.
The capital of Georgia has not been behind other |
cities in her demonstrations of gratitude and re
spect. Her citizens have turned out in legions to
greet him; her military displays have been upon
the grandest ecale, and as we go to press, this
whole city is in a feverish ferment of excitement—
all bent on showing their respect to the honored
President of the whole nation.
Gen. Hampton in Atlanta.—No mm ever
received a more enthusiastic aud hearty reception
than did this noblest Roman of them all in this
city on Friday evening last. We have never seen
the spacious halls of the Capitol so thronged and
packed with people, and his appearance under the
leadership of Gen. Gordon aud Gov. Colquitt was
greeted with an outburst of yells that threatened
the safety of the Mansard roofs. After a brief but
handsome introduction by Gen. Gordon, he made
a short speech, uud expressed his astonishment at
the magnitude of the ovaLion. Senator Hill was
then loudly called for and spoke briefly, after
which hundreds shook hands with Carolina’s most
distinguished son.
We are to be Taught “Manners.”
Now, at last, we shall all know how to talk,
walk and comport ourselves generally in “the
best society. ” Morris Phillips & Co. are going
to tell us in response to “numerous and con
stant applications from all parts of the country."
They are going to send forth all useful instruc
tion in the shape of a series of copyrighted ar
ticles to be put into a book—cream paper and
gilt, of course—after they have appeared in the
pages of that rose water organ of the Crtme de la
creme, the Home Journal.
This series of instructions in the niceties of
etiquette, we are kindly told, are not wholly
designed for New York petioners at the Paradise
gate of “good society,” but are for the benefit of
those “unfortunates, who have been reared- at
remote distances from the centres of civilization,
and for whom nothing is left but to make a care
ful study of unquestionable authority in tfiose
matters of etiquette which prevail among the
most refined people."
This is all right Push ahead with your se
ries, Messrs Phillips A Co., and distribute your
instructions to all the dark corners of this eti
quette-benighted country. We acknowledge to
a need of the soft amenities, especially, sinoe,
the hard times has knocked us about with his re
morseless digit Already, we see x the “Series”
working a change: we see the Alabama “baok-
woodser,” the Georgia “cracker,” the Lousiana
‘ ‘cagen, ” all walking, what the Home Journal po
etically calls, -‘the white highroad of refined civ
ilization.” We see the “grin” of our country
cousins, a frank, joyous display of ivory, sub
dued to a “prunes and prisms” ghost ofasmile;
we see the grip of honest old Jack’s hard hand,
exchanged for a well bred touch of the fingers,
slipping away like an eel, or other cold-blooded
thing ! We see the Texas stock drover tipping
his coon skin with a Chesterfieldian (beg par
don, a Phillipian) bow, instead of bringing up
his mustang with a “Whoa!” and a “Hello
stranger, got suoh a thing as a ohaw about yer?’’
We see the copperas-clad youth relinquishing
the chimney corner seat next to his Sally with
graceful alaorityto the grandmother who has pop
ped in d« trop on his Saturday night courting, in
stead of sheepishly remarking, “I’ll keep this
here seat I reckon, if there’s nothing agen it; its
handy to spit from.”
On this class, “remote” from the New York
central sun of civilization, we seem to see the
etiquettical rays of the Home Journal brightly
radiating. But what can be done with those
other “unfortunates,” who are already social suns
and spheres of perfection, in their own estima
tion? How can the “Series” enlighten those
who think they “know it all?” that class so
large everywhere, extra large in railroad cities of
mushroom growth, where springs up a Jonas-
g ourd snobocracy, who, having amassed a little
money, by ways that had best not be inquired
into, cover their houses with ginger bread work,
their backs with cheap broadcloth or slazy silks,
their fingerswith paste diamonds and purple glass
amethysts, mount a brass door-plate,,a gorgeous
display of dollar store silver and imagine them
selves “society,” leaders of hnutton, though un
able to write a decent card of invitation, or a legi
ble note of hand and incapable, from the shal
low poverty of their natures, of treating ungild-
'ed genius or worth, other than sneeringly, or,
(infinitely worse) patronizingly.
Was it not one of these, who declared that he
read no “literachure” that didn’t notice his
“business? ” Was it not a shining light among
these, who sent in hot-haste for a “pusson of
cnlchure” to relieve her mind as to whether a
picture her husband had bought,—a gorgeous
green and red “Cleopatry”or “Beatrechy”—was
truly the “Crowmore" that it was bought for,
or a “common piece of hand work,” as an ac
quaintance had insulted her by calling it, as if
she would have “hand work hung on her parlor
walls,”—that temple of taste being sacred to
“Crowmores.”
Small good will Mr. Morris Phillips do to this
class with his copyrighted instructions. Igno
rance mixed with conceit is un piercable as Achil
les’ heel, and all the Home Journal's polished
i arrows of golden etiquette will rebound from it
/like birdshot from an alligator's hide.
The Northern Tramp and Oar Southern Pest.
A pyramid of Northern exchanges, and not a
word in them in glorification of the negro—noth
ing whatever save a few growls over his inability
to distinguish mtum from team and his constitu
tional laziness, and an energetic appeal from a
Washingtonian—a patronizer of Don Piatt —to
get rid of the colored brother as a nuisance.
“Send him down South where he belongs,”!
urges this correspondent.
And this is all ? No more ! Not a pat upon
tbe bead of the aforetime cherished pet; not a
word of bullying over his wrongs! Alas for
constancy !
“ Is Uncle Tom. whom thon didst bold so dear,
80 soon forgotten f Yankee love, then, lies,
Not la the heart, but in the ”
pooket—if Shakspeare will pardon the travesty.
What a change a few years have brought forth !
Well do we remember, when we swayed the quill
and scissors over the destiny of a little Leuisi-
ana tri-weekly, and threw in our small oar to aid
the gallant struggle that the Louisiana press was
striving to make against overwhelming wrong
and military tyranny—well do we remember
how every Northern exchange, from the mam
moth sixteen-paged to the provincial thumb-
paper, teemed with praises of the Newly In
vested; how the dusky hue stained through
everything—poem and romance as well as para
graph and leader; and writers lauded the vir
tues, political fitness and superiority of the col
ored citizen with such evident tears in their
eyes, that we sympathetically felt for them be
cause of their misfortune in having a white
skin.
But our restless Northern brother must have
something to growl over. It is no longer the
wrongs of the sons of Ham—it is strikers and
tramps. That Tramp ! what vials of wrath they
pour upon him! what an incubus of accusa
tions they heap on his ragged back! He pounces
upon the fat grunterand the frolicsome mutton.
“ Little Mary had a lamb," but she has it no
longer. He shakes the laden apple tree like an
equinoctial storm, and fills his dirty wallet with
the red fruit-rain that follows. He picnics on
the turnip patch, and sups sumptuously on the
milk of the unprotected cow, returning across
the field to her bleating offspring and the wait
ing milk-pail. He “ sasses ” the damsels, bul
lies the housewife, and rises like Baaquo’s ghost
at every banquet to beg or “ borrow’’-the pifik-
ings. Truly, he is a nuisanoe; and we feel your
trial, brother—but we can bear it, for have we
not a similar pest in our midst, and one you
have kindly entailed upon us ? Ask our farm
ers. They too can tell of the fat pig suddenly
non est and the hen roost despoiled of its glory.
They too can point to the grabbled potato patch,
the plot that yesterday knew the cabbage-head,
but now knows it no more, and the collapsed
milk-reservoirs < f Br n lie.
The colored citizen, whose cabin-smoke rises
up everywhere through the land—who goes
“ halvers ” with the unfortunate white owners
of the soil, or has his patch to himself—alas!
he holds in his religion that his white neighbor
is his legitimate prey, that he “ owes him a
livin’," and that out of his poor belongings must
be got “ that mule and fifty acres ” which ex
press a broken promise that was none of his
white neighbors' making.
Then, too, our pest is pious. He is given to
protracted meetings—distracted, he calls them
with unconscious fitness—and when the noise
and commotion of these are heard like a mighty
cyclone through the land, then woe to the pig
pen, the turkey roost, the melon or roasting-ear
patch; for, unless the owners thereof mount
nightly guard over them and freeze to their
post, the contents of pen and patch will go to
regale the alimentary organs of the slick shep
herds, that are stirring up their sheep with such
nightly lung exercise as drives sleep afar, and
sets every hound and “cur of low degree” to
howling in frantic emulation. *
Cremation of Dr. Winslow—A Cheerful
Ceremony.—It doesn’t seem that the new method
of disposing of the dead is a very solemn ceremony.
A gentleman who conducted the cremation of the
late Dr. Charles Winslow at Salt Lake, speaks of
the lively manner in which the corpse boiled before
the moisture was expelled and it began to roast.
A quarter of beef had previously been burnt in the
fiirnace to try its cremating power, as it was a
new contrivance invented by the friend of Dr.
Winslow, who attended to the cremation. After
two hours and a half of steady heat, the fires were
drawn off, and the body was seen cousumed to
ashes, the bones white and friable. Then the
“ friend” gives us this cheerful description of the
finale of the ceremony : “ We rubbed the bones in
an iron mortar with a pestle, and sifted them
through a common flour sieve, making in bulk
about one quart, and in weight about four pounds.’
When we make our will (if a poor editor may be
allowed such a luxury), we shall alter Shakspeare’s
epitaph into a clause, reading, “Cursed be he who
peetlee my bones.” *
Hon. Wm. Archer Cocke, of Florida, on South
ern Literature.
We shall begin in next issue the publication
of a series of able and deeply interesting sketches
on “ Southern Writers and Southern Literature,”
from the pen of Judge Cocke, of Florida, who is
now one of the most distinguished citizens of
the South. His able efforts as a member of the
late “Returning Board ’’ of that State in behalf
of justice have given him an enviable distinc
tion all over the country, and he will now add
to his already wide literary fame by his contri
butions on “ Southern Literature. ” We invite
public attention to the articles.
A Wrong.
President William Vanderbilt in his flying
trip from Sohenectady to Syracuse on a light
ning train of his own, whirled through the lat
ter city at the rate of twenty-five miles per hour,
thus violating a city ordinance which limits
trains passing though the city precincts to eight
miles per hour. The engineer was discharged;
the President whose orders he had followed, was
not even reprimanded. *
Mrs. Hayes.
We have not yet had a sight of this “power be
hind the throne,” but she is winning all hearts
everywhere, and the ladies of the whole land are
honoring her for the bold stand which she has ta
ken in behalf of temperance. Her visit to this
city is a great social event, and all our ladies will
have the pleasure of seeing her.
The President Visits Atlanta.
Having noticed on the streets a vigorous clean
ing of sidewalks, a polishing of plate glass, a
turning of apples rotten side downward, a fur
bishing of the dummy show-figures that guard
the front of clothing stores, and stare with
sphinx-like gaze from their new cut-a-ways,
swallow tails and uslters; having observed
those notes of preparation, we are moved to
make inquiry—Can it be that we are about to
have another colored excursion? Another Con
vention then? Is ex-Governor Bullock coming?
Tweed? Train? Gail Hamillon ? Not so. The
Pbeswbst will visit Atlanta tomorrow—Ruther
ford B., himself.
There will be a big day, a orowd, trade will
wake up—people will rush about from store to
store—and buy a paper of pins; the worthy gro
cer and drygoods man as well as his minor com
mercial brother of the peanut and apple stand
will stand a chance to “do a little business.”
So Atlanta is really to have the pleasure of a
Presidential visit; for it is a pleasure to pay our
respects to a President who has been just to us
as far no doubt as he could; —a man who is sen
sible, sober and capable of decent utteranoe-al
beit a President. It was a long time that we
could not say this. Every body should fling up
his hat for the President of the United States—
because he is not Grant - . - —
“Grant us anybody but Grant,”—had long
been the groaning prayer of the South—any
body but that Ulysses, at whose departure for
foreign parts we shed tears because we knew
that unlike his illustrious namesake, he would
not stay away twenty years.
QUEEN AND WIFE.
BY MABX E. BBYAN.
(See engraving on front page.)
She is beautiful as an icicle is,
But who would dare to dream that those lips
Could melt on his in a womanly kiss
Or that love could hide in those eyes dark crypt* ?
So thought I of queenly Isabel,
As l watched her float o'er the ball-room floor,
And the thought was pain, for I loved her well,
Though I vowed to seek her never more.
No heart has she; she is cold and fair
As the Lnrlie thit combs her golden hair.
And siags till the flsher finds a grave,
Lured by her song, in the rock filled wave.
A tender mother had once been mine,
Her memory etill was a sacred shrine.
And the wife I took to my heart must be
Ueutle and womaniy-kind as she,
Full of sweet ministering, made to bless,
To love, to comfort, and to caress.
Such can never be Isabel,
Though in h»r dark eye witcheries dwell;
I will free myself from her wildering spell,
I said, though I loved her passing well.
But one eve when a storm had swept the land,
I wandered cut in a restless mood,
And saw the sky with a rainbow spanned,
And the scattered boughs in the wet, green wood.
And near fair Isabel's stately hall,
I spied in the ground a broken nest
And three young birring*, featherless all,
Save for the down oL each tiny breaat.
Hovering together, ccid and scared,
They chiiped their^rlefs fa a piteous strain.
Ill no doubt had the mother fared
In the storm that had blown from the angry main.
Poor callow nestlings 1—some claw or.beak.
Less cruel than hunger, will end your woes.
I Baid, as passed them by to seek
The strand where the waves in their unrepose,
Still murmured hoarse and broke at my feet,
In sullen foam as I stood there long
Till I turned at last from their gloomy beat,
And their voice that echoed my heart’s sad song.
And back I strayed o’er the storm-lashed ground.
Till I stopped transfixed as I neared the spot
Where the storm-blown nest had atrewn the ground
On the chill, wet ground the nest lay not;
White hands had gathered it tenderly ;
Soft fingers cherished each motherless bird ;
Low tones were murmuring pityingly—
So sweet and dove-like my heart was stirred.
Wide open the hungry bird-mouths flew.
And she fed them there with a loving art.
Her sweet eyes full of the pitying dew
That could only come from a tender heart.
Like the mother-heart of Mary the Blessed-
Dearest of gifts—a dower divine
It seems to man, who in woman's breast
Finds his sacredest earthly shrine.
So I knew that my darling was no frost-queen.
But a human woman, warm and sweet;
And unchilled by her stately, maiden mien,
I laid my heart at her little feet.
The laint flush staining her oval cheek—
Her hand, that thrilled like a frightened dove,
Told more than another maid could speak,
And 1 kuew that my queen was at last my love.
A Lover’s Fatal Quarrel.
A tragedy, involving the death of one person
and the probable death of the other, was enact
ed Wednesday night at No. 44 Governeor street,
a short time before midnight. Catharine Hays,
a handsome yonng womanof twenty-two years,
was stabbed and killed by Edward Newman, her
lover, who immediately plnnged the weapon—
an oyster knife—into his own breast, inflicting a
probably fatal wonnd.
Newman and Miss Hayes were lovers, and
were visiting last night at the house of Mrs. Ven-
dover in Governenr street. They passed a pleas
ant evening in the rooms of Mrs. Turner, a
mutual friend, on the third floor, bidding her
good night at half-past ten o'clock. What hap
pened between that time and a quarter past
eleven, when the stabbing was done, will prob
ably never be known, unless Newman should
survive his injuries long enough to make a state
ment. It seems, however, that they remained
talking on the doorstep until about eleven
o’clook. Mrs. Yendover, the landlady, had
gone to her room on the second-floor, but recol
lecting that tbe milk pail had not been left at
the door, took it and started down stairs. Before
she reached the bottom, Miss Hayes uttered a
piercing scream and rnshed up stairs past the
landlady crying, “Jahe, I’m dying; he's killed
me." Mrs. Vendover turned and followed the
girl up the stairway, and Newman bounded up
after them. At the first landing Miss Hayes fell
fainting to the floor and expired almost immedi
ately. Newman fell over her prostrate form,
and, before he coaid be prevented by the now
terrified Mrs. Yendover, again raised th9 knife
and stabbed himself in the left breast about an
inch below the heart He simply exclaimed,
“ I’ve killed myself, too,” and then became un
conscious. He was removed to Bellevue Hos
pital, and at a very late hour was reported to be
in a very critical condition. The body of Miss
Hayes was conveyed to the the Seventh Precinct
Station.— Sew York Tribune-
Snoring and How to Slop It.
The Popular Science for October has a short
article, illustrated by two queer looking cuts,
about “snoring and how to stop it.” To snore
it seem* the month and nose must both be open
1 and the two air currents entering by those aper
tures, pass along the separate little galleries,
and passing oach other at the foot of the palate,
catch the little loose elastic palate-flap or curtain
and throw it into the sonorous vibration that is
j called snoring
This is the simple cause of the fearful commo
tion that so often makes night hideous; the re
medy is even simpler, it consists in keeping the
mouth shut -a remedy by the way for a good
many evils beside suoring.
To ensure this, Dr. Wyeth—the writer of the
article, describes a contrivance of his own,
which as seen in an illustration- cut, bears a
strong likeness to a headstall, but evidently
clamps the jaw firmly enough aid keeps any
! counter air currents from slipping in, and turn-
! ing the palate flap into a trombone or a Chinese
gong. Married ladies and young ladies con
templating matrimony should not neglect to
aupply themselves with one of these machines,
by which they may elap the extinguisher on
their husband’s performances in the snoring
line. If one may judge from the noises that
greet the ear in a sleeping car, the most of
Adam's descendants perform on the sonorous
palate with more or less ability. Why women
do not whistle or snore well i» one of the con
undrums for science to solve. But meantime
the apparatns for preventing snoring need not
be valueless to the masculine head of the family.
It might be useful to keep around for other
contingencies beside snoring. We can all think
of other oases in which a jaw-bolding machine
would subserve a useful purpose. Dr. Wyeth’s
contrivance is destined to be popular. * .
Virginia’s Method of Paying Her Debt.
While Minnesota repudiates it is gratifying to
observe that Virginia is taking very emphatio
steps te seoure the payment of her indebtedness
as fast as it matures. Most of the steps lead in
the direction of the dram shop; and it must be
a sight to inspire a tax-gatherer with heart-felt
pleasure to see the entire population of the
State so enthusiastic in maintaining the public
credit. Under the beneficent operation of tbe
“ Moffett Register,” so-called, an account is
kept of every spiritnous and malt drink taken
in the State; and notwithstanding the fact that
the former speoies of drink has advanced fifty
per cent., the latter nearly seventy-fiye per cent.,
there is no appearance of any serious falling off
in the daily average of drinks. One class, it is
true, has been ruthlessly cut off from friendly
communication with the barkeeper—the class
that asks credit. As the State demands its tax
in cash, the dealer is inexorable, and the days
of “chalking-up” are no more. But aa the
credit drinkers belong as a rule to tbe class
which needs reform, if possible, more than any
other, the State even in this will reap a benefit.
Twenty Fifth Session of Roanake College.
Salem. Va.
We are pleased to know that the twenty-fifth
session of Roanoke College has opened quite
favorably, the attendance of students being large
and daily increasing. Nearly every Southern
State is represented already, Texas and West
Virginia coming next in representation to Virgin
ia, as was tbe case last year. President Dosb has
entered upon bis duties under encouraging
auspices, and, we learn is making a highly
favorable impression in tbe College, as be has
already done upon tbe citizens of Salem. If the
authorities carry out their aim to make Roanoke
distinguished for thorough scholarship, whole
some discipline, good morals and a wise econo
my, the College will meet the demand of the
times and march on to a grand and permanent
successs.—Salem (la.,) Conservative, Sep. 13th.
‘‘Needn’t Come. Taint Nothing;”
A certain handsome, yonng artist, who wears
his hair long but not parted in the middle, has
been making sketches this Summer in the King
ston valley and among the Catskills and the
“rooral deestricts” there abonts.
At Sbandakin, he hoisted his umbrella and his
camp stool in front of a magnificent tree covered
by a luxuriant vine, and proceeded to make a
study sketch of it. He had been intent on bis
work for some time, when he noticed that a man
with a yoke of oxen bad entered the field and was
plowing seemingly unconcerned as to him, while
the people at the house seemed mnch concerned
at the sight of a man under an umbrella working
away at some mysterious labor. After the plow
man had made a circuit of the field several times
his curiosity became excited, and he walked up
to him, and, without a word, looked over the ar
tist’s shoulder for a time, then raised his head
and voice and called to his “wimmen folks,”
who were streaming across the field to learn what
was going on: “Needn't come; t’aint nothin’,”
and then walked back to his plow and resumed
his work, while the females returned to the house
with their curiosity allayed.
Such waa the honest farmer's opinion of art,
but he was not far behind the city dame and her
“crowmore." *
A Breath from the Blue Kldge--Crisp
Breezes--Encbanting Views-*
“ Thirty-Four Years,”
“Baby.”
A good audience greeted this play in the Opera
House on Thursday eveniug, and while all enjoyed
the really excellent acting of the entire caste, all
condemned the morale of the piece. It is entirely
too broad. Its only tendency is to demoralize and
it should not be sustained.
The Smiths Have a Reunion.--The Chief
They Should Have Chosen.
The great Smith family had a reunion in New
Jersey lately. Nobody, not even a reporter ad
mitted on the grounds unless his name was
Smith. A neighboring city paper remarked that
it looked lonesome in town that day; the Smiths
had all gone to the reunion. The female Smiths
should have organized a clan and selected as
their chief, Judge Smith of New Orleans, in re
turn for his gallant decision, lately, in the case
of Maggie Kern, who had knocked down and
punished a gay Lothario that had under a false
name, passed himself off as a single man to Mag
gie’s young sister, and won her affections and
her promise to marry him. When the elder
sister discovered that the deciever had a wife
and children, she met him as he came to the
door and floored him in the warmth of her sis
terly indignation. He had her arrested and Judge
Smith, when ordering her discharge, added tnese
words:
“You have done just what you should do. As
for this man, I have seen much of human nature,
but never in my life have I seen so much mean
ness in so little of God’s make. There is a man
who assumes a name and represents himself as a
single man, to make love to an unprotected
young lady, when her sister discovers that he is
a fraud, she punisues him herself because she
has no one to do it for her. Ha has the impu
dence to call in a court of justice aud ask for
redress. I am sorry that the law does not per
mit me to punish him as he ought to be. If you
had beat him more severely, he would have got
just what he deserved.”
Now Smith ladies, married aud single, doesn't
the Judge deserve to be chief of your clan.
Will a breeze from the mountains be too chil
ly this weather ? Not to my fanoy. The air is
crisp here, even in sweltering August, and a fire
pleasant in the morning and a blanket indispen
sable at night. It is a little more frosty now,
but exhilarating as champagne, bracing the
nerves and quickeniag the pulses. Moreover,
this autumn time is loveliest of all among the
mountains, and if you wish to drink deep of
nature's beauty just get on the “Air Line,’ and
go to Charlotte. Then via Stateville to Hickory;
there take a hack, ride leisurely through the
pretty little village of Lenoir, across the moun
tain gap, through the upper part of that gem of
nature, known as Happy Valley, on to Morris, or
Sherrill's on the very top of the Blue Ridge.
Vain to attempt a description of the many
grand and picturesque views, to tell of “Blow
ing Rock,” where nature ia so obstinately honest
she refuses to accept any light article thrown
over the rook (such as a veil or handkerchief)
and watts them back to one's feet—nor of “ Fair
View,” where one can look upon fifteen well-
known mountains, including King’s Mountain
in South Carolina.
Diversions we have in plenty: hunting for
gentlemen, trout fishing, croquet, fancy work,
and confidential obats for ladies. Besides we
have a daily mail, a perfect lnxury, is it not?
And are you not flattered to hear that some of
your admirers have the “Sunny South ” forward
ed regularly? There was a long sigh when the
“ Mystery of Cedar Bay" was finished, and the
words: “Oh 11 am sorry that charming story is
ended. I wonder when Mrs. Bryan will begin
another!”
The latest sensation in book form is "Thirty-
Four Years," by John Marchmont Any one
who has travelled in upper South Carolina will
be greatly interested in it. But its interest is
not looal merely. It describes an ante-bellum
Christmas most thoroughly, touches lightly—
but forcibly—on our war, then gives an account
of the’oppression, the outrages, which foroed
Kuklux Khans into existence. The writer cer
tainly “sets down nonght in malice," the pic
ture was not so black as it might truthfully
have been painted, as it existed in more regions
than in upper Carolina.
One gentleman remarked:
“By George! this Marcbmont tells many
truths, but has made several mistakes about the
Khans.”
1 look at his keen eyes and firm mouth, and
say quietly:
“I’ve no doubt you know."
He smiles significantly, then adds:
“The statement about Shotwell conveys a
wrong impression. He was innocent of the
offense for which he was sent to the penitentiary,
but he never, even during his trial, denied that
he was a Kuklux.”
“Yes,” said a bright-eyed little lady, “and if
I had been a man, I should have been a Kuklux
too. There was nothing else left for ns to do,
and I dont like that sweet Agnes being shocked
because Guy was a Kuklux.’’
I must confess I agreed with Mile Bright-
Eyes, much as I like the book. Its influence
will be for good —and then it is written by a
Southerner, and ought to have a place in South
ern hearts and homes. What does our Mrs.
Bryan think of it? I wish she would give us
one of her piquant editorials on the subject.
Or will Paul Hayne notice it? (Our Paul Hayne
—for Georgia must not claim him altogether.)
Ugh! how chilly ii is growing. I fear we
here “on the heights,” will not be enviable
much longer. I begin already to “ sigh tof the
land of the cypress and pine,” for the “ Sunny
South,” literally and metaphorically.
Now, as always, you have the good wishes
and congratulation. ■ of Elise.
Blue Ridge Hotel, September 1877.
Burning a Faithless Wife at the
Stake.
About three weeks ago an Indian known as Sam
lost his squaw Mary, through th* blandishments
of an Indian named Jim, with whom she eloped,
taking some of his household goods. The loss of
these goods added much to the wrath of Sam, and
he raised such a commotion among the Piute braves
that they determined to teach the frail Mary, and
by her example, the rest of the women of the tribe,
a lasting lesson. Jim tried to screen her from the
gathering storm by hiding her, but they soon found
her, and about fifty of the tribe, including Jim and
several squaws, escorted her to the hills, just back
of Washoe Lake, on Saturday evening last, and
there, safe from Caucasian intrusion, they made a
great pile of sage brush, and after tieing her firmly
in the middle of it, set it on fire. Then they began
a war dance around the scene of cremation,in which
all joined, Sam being very fierce in his leaps and
yells. The screams of Mary added to the zest of
the dance. Jim, meantime* sat quietly by, and
seemed an indifferent spectator. After the body
of the unfortunate Mary had been reduced to ashes
Sam expressed his satisfaction, and they dispersed.
A Mormon Matrimonial Row.
New York, Sept. 16—The Herald’s Salt Lake
special, reports that the ApoBtle John W, Young
has gone to St. George to marry Miss Cobb, step-
daughter of the late Brigham Young, and that Lib
by his wife, hearing of his intention has left her
husband and returned home to her father, Mr. Can-
field, an old railroad engineer living in Philadel
phia.
Thibtt Chinese merchants in San Francisco have
united in an appeal to the Board of Education to
have public schools opened for the instruction of
Chinese youth.
Gen. John Freeman, of Mississippi, on ‘‘Geor
gia and the Georgians.”
On the 6th page of this issue will be found an
able article from Gen., John D. Freeman, a dis
tinguished Mississippian and ex-member of
Congress, on “Georgia and the Georgians,” to
which we invite special attention. The General
informs us he has been admitted to all the courts
of Georgia, and his legal card will appear in our
next issue.
M. Cole & Co., whose Atlanta Nurseries are the
best and cheapest in the South, have just received
direct from Holland an assortment of the choicest
and rarest Bulbs. Many of these are altogether
new, and bloom in superb colors and sizes. Send
for a Catalogue (free of cost) descriptive of the
Atlanta Nurseries, and read the list of choice fruit
aud ornamental trees, flowers, blooming shrubs
beautiful vines and potted window plants which
Cole & Co. keep constantly for sale at prices with
in the reach of all. *
Bring Along Your Subscriptions
when You Come to the State Fair.
—As everybody and “the balance of man
kind ” are expected here during the ap
proaching Fair, it will be a good plan to
bring along your subscriptions to The
Sunny South. We hope to receive ten
thousand new names on that occasion
JS^Don’t forget this.
INSTINCT PRINT