The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, May 29, 1886, Image 1

Previous Issue Next Issue

Clip Visible Area View Page Text View PDF

Newspaper Page TextVOL J. H. & W. B, SEALS}pKOPBIBTOB8. ATLANTA, GA., M ? Terms in AdvanceImngSu&py;*. NO. 553 Wheat or Tares. Truth and Obedience. BY W B. JONES. “Wheat or tares - which are you sowing. Fan ny, in the mind of thts little fellow?'’ said Uncle Frank to his niece, Mrs. Howard, as he lifted a child about four years of age, upon bis knee, and laid oue of bis hands amid the golden curls that fell about his neck and clustered about his snowy temples. “Wheat, I trust, Uncle Frank,” replied Mrs. Howard, smiling, yet serious. “It is the enemy who sows tares—and I am his mother.” There was a glow of proud feeling lu the coun tenance of Mrs. Howard as she said, “I am his mother.” It was Uncle Frank’s first visit to his niece since her marriage and removal to a city, some hundred miles away from her old home. “Even a mother’s hand may sow tares,” said Uncle Fraua. I have seen it done many times, not of design, but in thougtless Inattention to the quality of seed she held In her hand. The enemy mixes tares with the wheat quite as often as he scatters evil seed. The husbandman must not only watch his fields by night and day, but also the repositories of his grounds, lest the en emy causes him to sow tares, as well as wheat, upon his own fruitful ground.” “Willie,” said Mrs. Howard, speaking to her little boy, about ten minutes afterwards, “don’t upset my work-basket; stoot I say, you little rogueI” Seeing that the wayward child did not mean to heed her words, the mother started forward, but not in time to prevent the spools of cotton, scissors, emery cushion, etc., from being scat tered about the floor. Willie laughed in great glee at this exploit, while Mrs. Howard gath ered up the contents of the work-basket which she now placed on the shelf above the reach of the mischievous boy, when she shook her fin ger at him in mock resentment, saying: “You little sinner; if you do that again, I’ll send you off with th« milkman.” “Wheat or tares, Fanny?” said Uncle Frank, looking soberly at bis niece. “Neither,” replied Mrs. Howard, smiling gayiy “Tares,” said Uncle Frank, emphatically. “Nonsense, uncle.” * “Tares of disobedience, Fanny. You have planted the seed, and it has already taken root. Nothing will choke out the wheat sooner. The tares of falsehood you also throw in upon the newly-broken soil. What are you thinking about, my child?” “The tares of falsehood, uncle Frank;, what are you thinking about?” said Mrs. Howard, in real surprise. “Did you not say that you would send him off with the milk-man if he did that again? I won der If he believed you?” “Of course he didn’t.” “Then,” said uncle Frank, “he has already discovered that his mother makes but light ac count of truth. Will his mother be surprised if he should grow up to set small value on his word?” “You treat this matter too seriously, uncle. He knows that I am only playing with him,” “He knows that you are telling him what is not true,” replied her uncle. “It was only in sport,” said Fanny, persistent ly- “But in sport with sharp-edged instruments— playtng with deadly poisons.” The old man looked and spoke with the seriousnes that op pressed his feelings. “Fanny, truth and obedi ence are good seeds: falsehood and disobedi ence are tares from the evil one. Whatever you plant in the garden of your child’s mind, will grow; and the harvest will be wheat or tares, just like the seed,” Mrs. Howard did not reply, but her counte nance took on a sober cast. “Willie,” said she, a few minutes afterwards, “go down to Jane and tell her to bring me a glass of water.” Willie, who was amusing himself witn some E ictures, looked up on hearing his name, but as e did not feel like going off to the kitchen, he made no response, and let his eyes turn again to the pictures in which he had become inter ested. “Willie,” said Mrs. Howard with decision, “did you hear me?” “I don’t want to go,” answered the child. “Go this minute!” “1 am afraid.” “Afraid of what?” inquired the mother. “Afraid of the cat.” •‘No you are nor. The cat never hurt you nor anybody else.” “I am afraid of the milk-man, you said he would carry me off.” “The milk-man is not down stairs,” said Mrs. Howard, her face beginning to crimson, “he only comes in the morning.” “Yes. he is, 1 heard bis wagon a little while ago, and he’s talking wirh Jane now. Don’t you hear him?” said the boy, with remarkable skill, having all the resemblance of truth In bis tone and expression. Mrs. Howard did not look up toward her uncle; she was afraid to do that. "Willie,” the mother spoke very seriously, “you know the milk man is not down stairs, and you know that you are not afraid of the cat. What you have said, therefore, is not true, and it is wicked to utter a falsehood." “Ho, he!” laughed out the bright-eyed little fellow, evidently amused at his own sharpness, “then you are wicked, for you say that which is not true every day.” “Willie!” “The milk man has not carried me off yet.” There was a world of meaning in Willie's face and voice. “And you have not whipped me for throwing my cap out of the window.” “Willie!” ejaculated the astonished mother. “Do you see that?” And the young rebel drew from his apron pocket a fine mosaic breast pin. which he had been positively forbidden to touch, and held it up with a look of triumph and defiance. “You little wretch!’’ exclaimed Mrs. Howard, “this is going too far!” And springing towards her boy she caught him in her arms and flea with her struggling burden from the room. It was a quarter of an hour before she return ed, alone, to the department where she had left her uncle. Her face was sober and her eyes showed recent tears. "Wheat or tares, Fanny?” asked her uncle In a kind, but earnest tone as his niece came back. “Tares,” was the half mournful response. “Wheat were better, Fanny.” “1 see it, uncle.” “And you will iook well, in future, to the seed in your hand ere you scatter it upon the heart of your child?” “God helping. I will, dear unc!e.” "Remember, Fanny, that truth and obedience are good seed. Plant them, and tne harvest will come in blessings.” MAN AS A_RtFORMER. Things that He Would Do and that He Wouldn’t Do to Hake Life Happier. [Chicago Herald. I He would have the house run by force of such seeming magic that the male members of the family would never recognize washday, sweep ing day aDd house-cleaning time, or onions. He would have the coffee as strong and clear every morning as is usual on Sunday morning, the lamps all properly trimmed, and beef with out bone, gristle, fat or fibre. He would have the bedclothes securely tuck ed in at the foot of the bed—called If necessary. He would see that bis pipe and slippers were to be fonnd at night exactly where they were left in the morning, likewise his blacking-brush and his receipts. He would never pose as a martyr because tbe male members of the family were occasionally late to dinner. He would never look as If he bad swallowed something he conldn’t digest when male mem* bers of the family stayed out late and make ir relevant observations thereat. He wouldn’t make disagreeable remarks re garding habits of drinking and smoking to make sensitive members of the family feel uncomfort able. He would never be without a servant under any consideration; uy uint of discretion, con spiracy and an amiable disposition, a servant would be always in her place—to build fires and carry coal if nothing more. He would add to tbe culinary department without delay an improved patent bash ma chine, a cherry stoner, an apple parer, a potato slicer, a cabbage chopper, and he would wash dishes with a mop, always have a bolder in his hand ready for use, never have tbe stove-lid lif ter where it was hot, and always work with gloves on. He would never be seen with crimping pins or curl papers, never wear a soiled apron or a Mother Hubbard, never have a tear in his sleeve, and always wear a bewitching lace breakfast cap. He would paralyze the butcher the first time he sent tough meat, he would never have sour bread, and he would have more good things to eat and lesser bills from tbe grocer. He would always have the water-pitchers full of water; always have the coaljitovo filled with coal; always have tbe ash pan empty; always have the lamps filled; always have the wood-box full of wood, and never allow emptiness in any sort ot a receptacle, except the ash-pan and tbe cuspidor, to jar upon the nerves and sensibilities of weary bread-winners who come home from their daily toil. He wouldn’t allow the cook to burn so much fuel, and ne would put the kindling wood under lock and key- He wouldn’t always tell people how much he had to do, and he wouldn’t chase himself around the bouse, doing the thousand and one unneces sary things that women do. He would never cook boiled bam or cabbage, fritters, fish or onion within the sacred home precincts. He would never take more than usual pains to hide tbe outton-hook, the clothes brush and the morning paper. He would have eggs done to a turn in exactly three minutes by the clock, and not have the shells so hot that no man on earth could open them. He would never take advantage of the grave yard hours of the night to go through trousers’ pockets for small change. He would never ask a dry goods clerk to take down every bolt of cloth in tbe store in order to select two yards of cloth for an apron. The people of Macon have begun to talk about candidates for tbe Legislature from Bibb coun ty, and there Is much figurine going on. Col. H. J. Lamar has declined to allow the use of hts name. The friends of R. W. Patterson are put ting him forward, and he Is the only candidate who has so far announced that he will be In the race. It is understood that Messrs. Harris, Gusrin and Barlett have not as yet made up their mind whether to stand for re election Their candidacy hinges upon some contingen cies. The working men will probably put oot James A. Schofield as their candidate. W A Huff has been spoken of but says he has not yet decided to run. S. H. Jemison has also been mentioned as a candidate but he has not yet de cided whether he will run or not. He would never allow church societies, mti sionary enterprises, literary clubs and other foolish female organizations to interfere with the domestic diversions of mending, darning, patching and tbe like. He would hang an illuminated motto of “Char ity Begins at Home” over the mantelpiece and reflect on its bidden meaning. He wouldn’t hamper the mind of a busy man with mailing unimportant letters to feminine correspondents in obscure sections of tbe coun try, and tnen create an unnecessary family dis turbance on finding them a week or so there after in the same coat pocket banging safely in the closet. He wouldn't be a dog in the manger and ob ject to a man going to the theatre because he nad to stay at home himself and take care of the baby. He wouldn't allow his watch to run down; he would get the baby into the habit of sleeping all night, and wouldn’t throw out insinuating re marks about spring bonnets and wear a martyr expression and red eyes with every change of the seasoD. He wouldn't berate a dressmaker that he had paid S25 to ruin a silk gown. He wouldn’t use his lap for a writing desk and criss-cross tbe lines on the same sheet, so no one on earth but a woman could read ir. He wouldn’t put pins in hts stocking support ers and shoe-strings; he would button his col lars and cuffs like a man, and never put pins in his belt. , . . . He wouldn’t give a man a pair of hand-em broidered velvet slippers four sizes too large for him. and then feel offended because he won’t wear them. He wouldn’t give a man a smoklDg-cap and a $15 cigar-stand for Christmas, and then make in consistent remarks all tbe next year abont the extravagant habits of meD. He wouldn’t quarrel with lady friends in the street car about who should pay the fare, but quietly allow the other women to pay, always maintaining an indifference—an imperturbable aDd highly masculine demeanor. He wouldn't trade off old clothes for plaster of parts images in broDze and other foolishness in bric-a-brac to hang on the walls. He wouldn’t put tidies on the chairs, and he wouldn’t buy silks to cut up and sew together again to construct a crazy quilt. He wouldn't shut all the blinds up tight in the summer, and he wouldn’t wear a drawn expres sion abont the corners of tbe mouth, when, per chance, the front hall is decorated with the um brellas and rubbers of the family. He would cultivate an amiabie disposition, never have odious headaches, bridle his tongue and never hang on for the last word. In short, he would endeavor to make the lives of male members of tbe family as felicitous and as free from care as possible. Habtot Holt. OUR GALLERY OF SPRING BEAUTIES. TRIED TO SAVE THE BABY. TBE SATI RE OF LOVE. Love is a fire in air. Love is a rose in spring, Love is a crystal sphere, A melody, a mirroring. Love is a blossom, love a flower, Love is the gleamiDg of a shower Of dew-drops from an oraege bower. Lore is a golden star, A fragrance of the night, A rainbow in tbe air, A cloud, a lost delight; Love, 'tis the sense of Heaven near, The memory of Heaven gone, The last leaf of the lingering year, The faint smell of tbe dawn. John Philip Parley, An Hour ot Agony and Suffering for an Heroic Woman- Horxellbyille, May 4.—Frazer French and his wife live on the old Miner farm in Bradford. In the farm yard is a deep well with a low curb, the water being drawn up by an old-fashioned sweep. On Saturday all the family were absent from home except Mrs. Frei ch and her two- year-old son. Farmer French came home at noon. There was no one in the house. He went into the kitcbeD. On tbe table was a slate on which was written, in a hasty scrawl: “Baby and I are iu the well.” French ran to the well. Looking dowD, he saw his wife in the water > clinging to the wall, apparently dead. Morris, a neighbor, who was passing, let himself down in the well and fastened a rope around Mrs. French and she was drawn to the top. She was alive, but unconscious. She was restored with difficulty. As soon as she revived she asked for her child. The body of the child was found at the bottom of the well in ten feet of water, and drawn to the surface by means of a rope. “At ten o’clock this forenoon,” said Mrs. French, “ I went to the well after a pail of water, taking baby along. I saw that a board on the curb was loose, and I ran back to the house to get a hammer and nails to fasten the board, and tuougbtlessly left the child by the well. When , I came back tbe baby was gone. I looked in the 1 well and saw him struggling in the water. ' Think ug that someone might be in the house soon, I rushed back and wrote on tbe slate that we were in the well. I then hurried to the well again and let myself down. I succeeded in get ting the baby out of the water with one hand, while I held myself above the water with the other. I then placed one foot in a niche on one side of the well and the other foot on the oppo site, and then braced myself so I could keep above the water, which was above my waist. I shouted for aid until my voice was entirely gone; and then, feeling that we must both die from ex haustion and cold unless I could reach tbe top, I began to work myself up, using one hand and my feet. Little by little I crept upward by aid of the niches In the wall, and within half an hour I was almost within reaching distance of the top of the weU. "How my strength ever held out I do not know. I stopped to rest, and thought of tossing the baby up over the curb. If I had had strength enough in my arms I know I could have done so, but tney were too tired and weak. After resting a while, I was feeling around for another place to put my foot a little higher to draw my self. when I lost my looting entirely and we fell back into the water. The baby was knocked out of my arms, and when I came to the surface of the water I could not find him. I remember grabbing about among the niches In the wall, and that was all until I came to after belDg res cued. I must have clung to the wall over an hour unconscious.” International amenities are thus touched off by tbe Chicago Timet: “The Canadian news papers that were nettled by the nagging of the Yankee paragraphists over the delay in captur ing Riel and the needless ferocity displayed in hanging him, now retort by twittiLgns with our failure :o catch Geronimo. After we catch him we shali probably kill him fast enough to make up for lost time. And then the Canadian re venge will be complete. We shall be called murderers, and Saint Geronimo will be added to the list of martyrs.” DEATH OF HEVJAS. E. EVANS. He Dies Suddenly in Thomson While in the Act of Going to Bed- A telegram from Thomson was received in Macon at midnight Tuesday night, announcing the sudden death of Rev. James E. Evans. The telegram was addressed to Rev. J. W. Burke, now absent in Richmond, and was opened by his wife. It simply announced the death, but Rev. J. T. Lowe, who accompanied the remains from Thomson to Macon yesterday evening, gave the particulars as to how the death occur red. Dr. Evans was the presiding elder of the Au gusta district. On Saturday morning he went to Thomson to assist Mr. Lowe in the conduct of a meeting held at that place. Owing to the rain there was no seivides at the church on Tues day. Thai night he repaired to the house of Mr. Curtis and after family prayers went to his room up stairs. As was his custom he arranged his clothes lor the morrow, laid out bis razor and shaving cup for a shave In the morning, and then, so it seems, sat down upon the side of the bed. About 8:30 o’clock Mrs. Curtis heard a noise iu his room as if some one had fallen, and going to the stairway called out to him. There was do response, and soon after Mr. Curtis endeav ored to get into the room but found it iocked. Falling to get an answer, Mr. Curtis broke the glass window, and on looking in discovered Dr. Evans lying on tbe floor. Gaining access to the rot m, Mr. Curtis found that Dr. Evans was dead. It is supposed that he died oi appolexy, and in falling struck his bead against tne back of a chair near the bed. The marks of the chair could be seen on his face. Dr. Evans was in bis 77th year. His ministe rial life extends over more than half a century, aud was distinguished for Its consecration aDd usefulness. His church honored him with ma ny offices of trust and honor, and his fldellty, devotion and usefulness challenged the admira tion of all men. For several years he was the pastor of Mulberry street Methodist Church and also the presiding elder of the Macon district. His daughters are Mrs. Daniels and Mrs. Glass, of MacoD. Mrs. Fattlllo of Griffin, and Mrs. Strong of Savannah. Tbe last named was telegraphed for and will be here this morning. HEINRICH HEINE Tiie German »?oet and Tenumic Voltaire So little is known in even onr highest cultured circles of America concerning Heinrich Heine, that it will not be amiss to give a brief sketch of him and his wilting, sffice German poets and metaphysicians are the aesthetic gods of literary people of to-day. Heine was one of the wittiest of men. It is remarkable, considering the influence and un questioned force of his writings, how little is known of him or [them in this country. His name and certain sharp sayings of his are very familiar; but what manner of mortal be was but few have any conception. Tbe scholars read him, it is true, and few like him. Carlyle, who has done much to lead us through tbe labyrinth of German writers,l completely ignores Heine, intentionally or through an unpardonable over sight. I question much if Carlyle (that great iconoclast) found Heine to his taste, s lnce Heine was also an image breaker where litera ry idols are concerned. Carlyle, the Critic, glor, ed Tleck, i. ^valis.IRlchter, and others of tbe German romantic school; Heine, the poet, detested the romantic school; satirized it ruth lessly ; ridiculed it to death. Heine’s eccentric character and painfully sin gular position would have made him a marked man in any career or any age. He was a Ger man, ana ne despised tte Germans, though he honored Germany. He loved France and the French without being allied to them by any tie He admired English literature, and abhorred the English. He was born a Jew, and abandon ed the Jewish faith. He turned Christian and wholly rejected Christianity. He scoffed at sen timent, and beauty melted him to tears. He sneered at generosity, yet opened his heart aDd S urse to all who needed sympathy and aid. He elighted in the world, and waged incessant war against it. He abused women ruthlessly in writing and conversation, and was chivalrously tender to his wife and mother. He had a stlDg for every virtue, and compassion for every suf fering. A skeptic as to faith, he was a religion ist in art. Though irritable through- life, he bore years of absolute helplessness and supreme pain with heroic fortitude. It is said that “he so defied and derided death that it seemed afraid to take him. When saints might have murmur ed and moaned this brilliant sinner was cheer ful iud.jocGS6. an-3 fairly conquered Face bv omnipotence of wlTr.” Entirely without hope, he bad a patience beyond hope, and scorning resignation he was more than resigned. Believ ing nothiDg and expecting nothing spiritually, be supplied the place of belief and expectation with a mystical philosophy and sublime egotism as measunless as it was imperturable. He possessed the happy faculty of making en emies, and he gave this peculiar faculty con stant exercise. When remonstrated with by an admirer as to his tact in this direction, he re plied: “Any one can have friends, but there are few who have such brilliant traits of charac ter as to make stauDch enemies.” “Never trust a man who has friends; he is certain to be a hy pocrite, and will sometime betray you.” He waged war, not only with individuals, but na tions. Alike fell State and subjects beneath the keen shafts of his merciless ridicale. He exas perated Germany until it was at a white beat of passion. He won the enmity of Great Britain by ridiculing the conservatism of its subjects. He offended the Jews by his apostasy; ana out raged tbe Christians by leaving them, ridiculing their doctrines, and becoming an infidel. Heine was bora at Dnsseidorf. January 1st.. 1800. Of himself he says in the Reisebilder: “I first saw the light on tbe banks of that most beautiful Rhine, on whose emerald hills Folly grows, and in autumn is pressed and gathered How like the poet and the scoffer would have been bis own words on his simple monument: “Sweet Fate, pntnee answer My love with your knife, And cut oat this cancer OI damnable life.” AUu on tbe other side that verse Into which be S ut all bis passionate yearning to be free from le Intolerable pain be suffered: “Oi Lethe, Letbe! thanks to Heaven Tbat your black waves forever flowt Tbou best of balsams, freely given To all our follies and our woe.” Qotejt Babb. WHY GORDM KEPT THE FARM. A Profitable Decision. Tbe prominent part Gen. J. B. Gordon has lately played in tbe festivities at Montgomery, Ala., brings to mind tbat bis fatber became a millionaire solely through bis love for good spring water. Tbe elder Gordon, fatber of General and Wal ker Gordon, formally resided in what is now Marlon county, Teun. About forty years ago be bought a strip of barren mountain land for $50. Tbe land was too poor to be fanned, bad no timber of value on it, and Gordon bought it more to help its owner than because he wanted tbe property. Soon after be moved to Georgia and almost forgot tbat be owned the tract. One day an old Tennessee neighbor rode np to bis door and was received with great cordial ity. The Tennessean said he was in Georgia on business, and thought be would see bis old neighbor before returning borne. After conversing on different subjects, the xennessean urougnt tne conversation around to real estate. “By tbe way, Gordon,” said the Tennessean, ?J DESERTED HIS BRIDE. A. Woman Who Pays Dearly for Mar rying a Man She Did Not know. St. Paul, Mctn*., May 16.—About two months ago John Cowdright went to Pennsylvania and nfarried a well connected young lady of that State. Cowdrigtt owned a large farm near Grand Forks, Dakota, and at once took his wife home. Thursday evening last tbe couple arriv ed at Fargo, Dakota, and took rooms at a hotel. Cowdright disappeared the same evening aDd has not been seen since. Yesterday Mrs. Cowd right reported tbe matter to the Fargo chief of police. He discovered tbat Cowdright had tak en all bis baggage with him. The deserted wife, who is penniless, says her husband sold his farm preparatory to moving to Washington Territory, and nad several thou sand dollars in his possession. She had do ac quaintance with Cowdright before she married him, and took him as her husband on tbe recom mendation of a Mr. Baker, wbo was well known in Pennsylvania, and in whom tbe young lady and her friends placed implicit confidence. into casks and sent to foreign lands. Yesterday I beard a man talk folly, which, in my child hood, lav in a bunch of grapes that I saw grow ing on the sunny slopes of Johannlsberg.” His fatber was a Jew merchant, in ordinary circum stances, and his uncle, the rich Jewish banker, Salomon Heine, distinguished for his charity. At an early age Heine gave evidence of literary genius, which annoyed his father very much, who wished his son to follow his trade. To bis uncle’s indulgence he owes hts subsequent ca reer of brilliant success as he materially aided the youDg cyDic. At the age of twenty-three he published his Gedichte, which was favor ably received by the public and critics, it seems a silly thing that a boy in love with his cousin should inspire such exquisite strains from the poet’s lyre, but his love for Evelina Van Ge'.dera made the boy’s touch soft aud ap pealing. He afterward ridiculed these verses as puerile, and scoffed at the idea of passion evoking anyibiug so pure from human heart or mind; but that was when the ideal had gone from out his heart to give place to the actual. At the age of twenty-six he published bis Uar- zreise. followed by the Das Buch der Leider, aud cherefrom dates his success as a poet. The peo ple went wild over him, aud he was toasted be yond conception of this day when every other man sets himself up as a poet and has no admi ration for any one hut himself. His avowed liberalism, a published pamphlet fiercely sarcastic on the status of the govern ment In 1831, made Heine leave Germany for ever, for ne had no likmg for Spandau and its discomforts. It was then be betook himself to Paris, and thereafter loved France as his own land. At the age of forty-one the Aristophanes of Germany married an ugly Frencn woman, whom he called in public pnuc bis darling, his sweet Mathllde; and it is said that in spite of these public endearments he aid not mistreat her in E rivate. He was not tbe kind of a man for a nsband, but he made a good one. coming, l sup pose, in one of those eccentric streaks which threaded bis character like gold does quartz rock. He seemed to have a holy horror of wo men in hts writing, but it is an estab'isoed fact that he adored them. “Never offend any wo man,” he was fond of saying; “she may be your wife some day, and think of uer powers of retal iation:” “Women are like cats. While they are purr ing in yonr arms, look out for their claws!” “All womeD are waiting impatiently Id Para dise for tbe coming of the Evil One.” “God rewards good women with marriage, and punishes bad men by the same means.” “Women may be weak, but they know how to make men weaker.” During his fifteen years in Paris he wrote steadily—his torturing illness in no wise imped ing his pen. In his forty-eighth year he was at tacked with a spinal disease, which tortured him for eight years before death came to his re lief His bitterest enemy would have pitied him in bis agODy, hut pity was the iast thing be wanted. His “Book of Lazarus” was written dnriDg this time; and I never read anything more strikingly grand even in its horrible de tails, that catch one’s mind and bolds it in an in tense grasp throughout bis eldrich tale. The grand egotism of this Teutonic Voltaire never left him—no amount of pain could drive It from him. He read ail the medical works that bore on his disease, and said to an attendant: • I can’t imagine what good my reading is to do me unless I give lectures in Heaven on the ig norance of physicians on earth concerning affec tions of the spine.” Poor Heine died February 17!h, 1856, without a groan even in direst pain. Among me few wbo attended him to his last resting place were Mjg- id the elder Dumas, net, Theirs, Gautier and was buried at Montmartre. He casually, “you have a piece of land next mine would you like to sell it? It is not worth much,’ he continued, “hut It will do for me to let the beavers run on.” “Well,” replied Gordon, “I had almost for gotten that strip; what’ll you elve for It?” “I don’t think it’s worth more than $10,” said the Tennessean, carelessly. “Ob! I reckon its worth more than that. I paid $50 for It, but then I just Uef get shet of it, ior it’s no use to me now.’ r “I’ll give you $20 for it.” “Go a little belter,” said Gordon, with asmile. “Well, I’ll give you $30 for it.” Gordon tbongbt there was a slight eagerness in the Tennessean’s voice, and so stood ont for more. Tbe Tennessean raised to $50, and being re fused, continued to raise until ne reached $100. By this time Gordon was aroused, and informed the Tennessean tbat be reckoned he’d take a trip to Tennessee and look at tbe land. The neighbor dow saw be had made a mis take, so tried to dissuade Gordon from the trip, saying the roads were not only bad but danger ous to riders. Gordon said be reckoned he bad as good a horse, pistol and rifle as anybody, and was not afraid of a few hundred miles in the saddle, if it was through a wild mountain coun try. After some further talk the pair made ar rangements and started out. Tbe ride was through a wild though beautiful country, and was accomplished in safety. Af ter a rest at tbe bouse of the Tennessean the two gentlemen started out to investigate tbe land. ft is a dreary looking place, a short distance south of the present Memphis & charleston rail road, and not far from tbe Georgia line. The land lies on the mountain side, and is about as miserable a looking piece of land as can be found. Old Gordon gazed at it a few minutes aDd said: “I reckon yon were right, neighbor; tbe land is not worth $5.” They proceeded a short distance further, and Gordon was congratulating himself on tbe idea of getting $100 for land that was of no earthly use to him, when he spied a trail winding to the right towards a cove. “Where does that trail lead to?” he asked. “Oh, that leads to a spring,” said the Tennes sean hastily; “but come over this way,” he con tinued. “Oh, if there is one thing above all others that I am fond of,” said Gordon, “it’s a drink of Tennessee spring water. I have not had a good drink since I’ve been in Georgia. It makes my mouth water to think of it.” “I’ll take you to a better spring than that,” said the Tennessean nervously. “Come on.” “This one will suit me.” persisted Gordon, starting down the trail. Finding that Gordon was determined to follow the trail, the Tennes sean reluctantly followed. Gordon had scarcely gone 100 yards before he saw wnere tne blacksmiths had been digging coal from the mountain side. The Tennessean’s object in wanting tbe land Immediately flashed across bis mind. Turning to hts companion with a meaning smile he said: “WeU,neighbor, I reckon I’ll not sell.” The Tennessean looked very uncomfortable, and Gordon’s good humor made him feel more so. Tbe mine was goon after promptly opened, and a short railroad was built connecting it with tbe Memphis & Charleston road. These mines, which have uow passed into other bands, Mr. Gordon having sold them aDd moved to Alaba ma, have, since their discovery, been valued at $1,000 000 Old Gordon is still alive, and is a hearty man at 80. while his two sons. Walker and the General, conduct tbe vast coal and land interests owned by the family In Georgia, Ten nessee and Alabama.—Boston Traveller. FROM A FAMILY "OF EMPERORS. A Step-Daughter of Col. Jerome Bona parte Becomes a Nun. Baltimore, Mo., May 6 —Miss Constance Ed gar, the step-daughter of Col. Jerome Bonaparte, paid adieu to the world and society to-day and was wedded to the church as a nun of the Order ot the Visitation. CoL and Mrs. Jerome Bona parte, Jerome and Louise Bonaparte, brother and sister of the young rellgleuse, Mr. and Mrs. Charles F. Bonaparte, Mrs. Day of Boston, mo ther of Mrs. C. J. Bonaparte, and friends from Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Washing ton attended the ceremony. The little chapel of the Convent of the Visita tion was beautifully decorated with flowers. Twenty nuns composed the choir that sang the music of a solemn nigh mass celebrated by Car dinal-elect Gibbons, assisted by Very Rev. Al phonse Magrten, superior of St. Mary’s Semi nary, Rev. L. Cbapelle of Washington, and Rev. Charles Gieson of Baltimore. When the mass was concluded, Miss Edgar, known in religion as Sister Mary de Sales, kneeling at the feet of the altar, made the perpetual vow of poverty chastity and obedience, and then prostrated her self full length on the sanctuary floor and was covered with the black pall, while the nuns soft ly chanted “De Prof uudls.’' The Archbishop then placed a crown of flowers on her head and gave her the sUver cross, when the choir sang a joyous anthem. Miss Edgar is but 20 years of age, beautiful and accomplished. A y ear after she entered so ciety she tired of its gayeiles. Her father died in New York, and her mother—who is a great grand-daughter of Daniel Webster—married CoL Bonaparte at New York.

Georgia Historic Newspapers

The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, May 29, 1886, Image 1