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THE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 26, 1892.
15
GUDGER’S NEWS DEPO’.
J Written specially for Thanksgiving issue.]
Down toGudger’s News Depo’,
Where I always used to go
Early every morning; say
Have you read ‘-Jack Harkaway,”
And his schooldays ; needn’t 1 ok
Eor a more exc tin’ book ;
There weie twenty in a row,
Down at Gudger’s New Depo’.
My, the things that fellow had.
All was good and nothin’ bad,
Apples, segats. gum to chew,
Lemonade and sod.v too,
Pistols—everything indeed,
A growin’ boy like me would need.
In.the long, long years ago,
Down at Gudger’s News Depo’.
In those happy days of yore,
I was clerkin’ in the store,
Cellin’ dry goods all th>* time
When I wasn’t writin’rhyme;
Pap, he used to con-tant say,
‘‘Dern a poet anyway—
Dust them goods and don’t you go
Nigh to Gtidger s News Depo’.”
Of en ‘or my boyhood past,
Gomes a longin’ deep and vast,
O, the dear old days that were,
When me and Jimmy Carpenter,
Nosey Jones and Dicky Dill,
Played around the old Fort Hill,
Till Nosey says, says he—‘‘Les’ go
Down to Gudger’s News Depo’.”
—Robkrt Loveman.
DAN BREWSTER’S THANKS
GIVING.
An expression of hopeless anguish
settled over the face of Dan Brewster,
as the last red glimmer of the passenger
train’s rear lights disappeared beyond
a distant curve; a heavy weight
seemed to press vice-like over his
heart, and never before had the little
village of Pineville looked so gloomy
as it did this damp November evening.
A faint drizzling rain was coming
down, but he heeded it not until the
depot agent slammed tolthe little office
door, preparatory to going home for
the night.
The noise aroused his inert senses,
and he turned, just as the agent ap
proached, lantern in hand.
“Hello, Dan, aint you lost,” was his
greeting, as the dull rays of light illu
minated the woe-begone face before
him.
“No,” was the surly reply, “I’ve
just seen some of the folks off.”
“Well, you’ve done your duty in
that respect, so ’spose we journey to
ward home; you live out my way
don’t you ? ”
“Yes.”
“Let’s mosey, then, for this rain is
getting next to me.”
The man and boy strode away
through the darkness, their boot heels
grating harshly in the sandy road,
while their shadows danced fantasti
cally up and down the sides of the
buildings as the rays of the lantern,
swinging in the agent’s hand, struck
the moving figures. In vain did the
man endeavor to draw Dan into a con
versation; the only sounds that issued
from the boy’s lips were simply yes or
no, as the occasion demanded.
This silence puzzled the agent, for
Dan was noted for his genial disposi
tion and talkative qualities, and final
ly, to probe the matter to the depths,
he asked :
“What’s wrong, Dan?”
“Nothin’,” was the brief reply.
“But there must be, you’re not natur
al to-night. Were you interested in
any of the girls that went off this even
ing?”
“No,” shortly.
“Now come, my boy,” laughed the
man, “that won’t do ; I saw how you
stood to one side and eyed that little
creature they called Ethel. I also re
member that you have been very devo
ted to her, since she came to visit the
manager’s daughter—no one could
show her about the country as well as
Dan Brewster.”
“S’pose I did,” hoarsely demanded
the boy, “is it any of your look-out?”
The loud laugh that had crept to the
agent’s lips died away in a faint gurgle,
as the boy spoke—there was a fierce,
heart-aching emotion in the voice that
silenced the man’s mirth.
“Pardon me, Dan,” he said softly,
“l meant no harm; I was only teasing
you.”
“You are excusable,” came the reply.
Not another word was spoken, until
they bade each other good-night, and
the boy sped on alone, followed by the
curious gaze of the man until the
dreary fog enveloped the receding fig
ure iii its folds.
Dan hurried rapidly to the little farm
house where his mother was anxiously
waiting for him, and as he neared the
place, the sad, plaintive low of cows
came to his ears, accompanied with
impatient pawing of horses, wishing
to be fed.
“Poor things,” he muttered, as he
quickened his pace, “they must not
suffer because I do.”
His work that night was rapidly
completed, and in another hour he was
sitting in front of a huge, crackling
fire, dreaming of what had been, and
what might be in the future.
Dan was not yet twenty years of age,
but the experience he had encountered
since the death of his father, had ma
tured his mind and actions greatly;
he was of stalwart build, but still
awkward and shambling, though his
form gave promise of handsome pro
portions; his face was not possessed of
anv curves of beauty, yet when his
honest soul was stirred with emotion
it was not a homely countenance.
His mother sat near him, contented
ly knitting and casting occasional
glances toward the boy.
“Dan,” she finally asked, “did the
girls get off?”
“Yes,” drawing a long breath.
Mrs. Brewster heard the sigh, and
glanced up quickly.
“My son, do you feel badly?”
“Not very—a little lonesome, per
haps,” with a sad effort at a smile.
“I feared this when they first came,’’
thought the mother, as she gazed un-
’ easily at the silent figure opposite, “he
must, indeed, be lonely.”
Then aloud she continued ;
“The girls have spoiled you, Dan,
! and made you discontented with your
old mother’s company.”
“Never,” he cried, leaning over and
caressing the silvered hair, “I miss
them, it is true, but there is no one so
I sweet, so comforting as you, mother
dear.”
A smile of happiness illuminated
the wrinkled face as he spoke, and she
asked, ingeniously:
“If I am such a comforter, why
doesn’t my son confide his troubles
to me and let me share them ?”
Dan started.
“Why do you think I am in trouble?”
i “My boy,” Mrs. Brewster replied
| quietly, “I am getting old in years,
but as age dims these eyes, the quick-
i ness of an inner sense increases—now
tell me, do you love the fair, little city
girl?”
Dan went over to her side, and half
kneeling he laid his head in her lap.
“Yes, mother, I love her more than
life.”
This news caused a pained look to
settle on the face of the lady, but other
wise she appeared calm and quiet.
“Is it wise for you to think of such a
love; do you feel that a girl brought up
amid luxuries and pleasures that you
never even dreamed of, would return
the passion you lavish upon her?”
“1 don’t know”, he half reluctantly
replied, a wave of doubt creeping over
him, “when I told her to-day how I
idolized her she seemed to be pleased,
but would not give me an answer; she
promised to write me, however, so I
would receive the answer on Thanks
giving Day, making it an especial occa
sion, for me, you know,” and he
laughed joyfully to himself.
“God grant it may be a pleasant
one,” fervently breathed the parent.
The subject was not mentioned again,
until the eventful day arrived, although
it was constantly in the minds of both;
Dan dreaming of the sweet, tender
words he expected, and the mother
dreading the coming of the epistle.
Thanksgiving morning dawned at
last, bright and glorious; Dan arose
after a feverish, restless night, and
when his duties about the house had
been completed he sauntered down the
walk to his front gate and gazed upon
the glistening sandy road to where he
could see th9 lazy smoke from Pine-
ville’s chimneys.
A strange calm seemed to come over
him, and he felt ready for any blessing,
or any woe.
“I’ll wait,” he muttered, “until the
train comes aud goes; then I will get
my mail unseen by any of the boys.
Presently, in the distance he heard a
low, rumbling sound, gradually grow
ing louder until it became a continu
ous roar; then a wild, shrill blast came,
borne ou the warmth laden air,
echoing and re-echoing among the
tall pines.
A tremor of excitement rushed over
him—his heart ceased to beat for one
moment, then rapped furiously against
his breast. “There it is,” he muttered
huskily, as he leaned, weak and trem
bling against the gate—“I will go
direct ly.”
When he had heard the sound of the
train leaving the little station he open
ed the gate and strode nervously in the
direction of the village.
He had gone only a few steps, how
ever, before he halted; down the road
he beheld a wagon coming toward him,
and recognized the express agent as
the driver.
“I wonder w r hat he’s got for me,”
muttered the boy, “I’ll wait and see
anyhow ; there’s plenty of time to go
to the post office.”
He sat down beside the road, as
calmly as possible, and waited for the
approaching vehicle.
“Hello, Dan,” yelled the driver,
when he had reached a speaking dis
tance, “got a little package for you;
come last night, but I concluded you
could wait until morning for it.”
“I am very much obliged,” answer
ed the boy as he walked to ths wagon
side and lifted out a neatly tied bun
dle, “but you could have saved your
self the trip, for I was just starting to
the post office.”
“Oh, yes,” laughed the man, “I came
very near forgetting; the postmaster
gave me this for you.”
And he held out a dainty little en
velope that caused the blood to leap
swiftly through the veins of the boy.
He tried to be calm and uncon
cerned, but it was a failure, for the
brown hand that clasped the missive
was trembling from suspense.
It was the first time in his life that
he had ever failed to ask a person into
his mother’s hospitable home.
It seemed as if the driver would
never leave, but at last he drove away,
and Dan found himself on the broad
verandah of his home, the package by
his side and the letter in his hand.
With trembling fiagers he tore open
the envelope and gazed with anxious
eyes at the delicate writing before him.
At the first glance his face bright
ened, his lustrous eyes beamed with
happiness, then the look suddenly fled,
his countenance darkened and assumed
a bitter expression.
When he had finished, his hand, still
clutching the letter, dropped listlessly
to his side, he gazed vacantly across the
road into the dark w oods, being lighted
with the bright sun’s rays, a deep sigh
mingled with a passing breeze, and he
sank hopelessly into a chair on the
porch.
His mother found him a few mo
ments later in this position, and at
once guessed its meaning.
“My son,” she asked softly, “has it
come at last?”
He did not respond, but held out the
letter, still looking into the distance.
Mrs. Brewster took the missive, and
unfolding it, read.
Dan:—According to my promise, I
now reply to the question you saw fit
to honor me with. I think a great deal
of you, Dan, but not enough to cast my
lot in your sphere, fori was not brought
up to be a farmer’s w ife, and so far as
that is concerned, I do not wish to be
anyone’s wife at present. I have taken
a great interest in you, and am desir
ous of seeing you succeed in life; you
should endeavor to raise yourself from
your present humble position to one of
higher honor. You can do so by proper
study, and with that thought in view,
I have taken the liberty of sending you
some books I selected, and that have
been endorsed by a very learned pro
fessor, for you to begin on. Study,
Dan, and become more than a mere
country farmer. Your friend,
Ethel.
A flush of indignation mantled the
wrinkled brow, as the mother finished
the letter, and a speech of anger was
on her lips, but it died away as she
looked into the pallid face of her sou.
“Dan, does it hurt you that bad ?”
she asked softly.
“Hurt!” he echoed hoarsely, “it al
most kills me.”
“Don’t take it so hard, my son; she’s
not worthy of you, and I would cease
to think of her.”
“Not worthy of me?” he asked, va
cantly.
“No, if she was she could not write
such a cruel letter.”
“Hush, mother, she is right; I am
not worthy of her. as she implies, and
I can’t imagine why I ever dreamed
that she would care for such a person
as I am.”
“You not fit for her?” gasped the
parent, “you, who never harmed a
thing in your life, not fit for a woman
who can deliberately sit down and de
stroy my boy’s happiness ?”
Dan arose to his feet, and said:
“Please don’t, mother; as I said, she
is right. I need education, and I will
have it, and more ^han that, I shall
begin my career oil the material she
has kindly sent mej”
“I’d send it back> to her,” snapped
the mother.
“How can I return them,” asked
Dan, smiling sadly, “I do not know
her name, other than Ethel, nor do I
know her address.”
“We can find out very easy from her
friends.”
“I do not wish to, for then I would
become the laughing-stock of the com
munity. No, mother, I do not wish
Mr. Chas. A'. Hauer
Of Frederick, Md., suffered terribly for over
ten years with abscesses and running sores on
his left leg. He wasted away, grew weak and
thin, and was obliged to use a cane and crutch.
Everything which could be thought of was done
without good result, until he began taking
Hood’s Sarsaparilla
which effected a perfect cure. Mr. Hauer is
now in the best of health. Full particulars of
his case will be sent all who address
C. I. Hood & Co., Lowell, Mass.
HOOD’S PlLLS are the best after-dinner Pills,
assist digestion, cure headache and biliousness.
ARTIFICIAL LIMBS,
With all the latest known improvements, at
greatly reduced prices. Satisfaction guaran
teed. Send for circular. B. MATTHEWS,
Cor. 4th Ave. & Market St., Louisville, Ky.
*ftCENT
WENT
FREE
STKaNOE Bl T TRI E! I etvr away Pianos, Organs and Sewing
Barbines. Bend your address, on postal, at once, tell which
you need and learn how it's done. A cent sent to Bent is well
Spent. GEO. P. BENT (Clerk No. 55 ), Chicago, 111., MTr. of
“CROWN” Pianos and Organs. tEstab. wioj
a i id Whiskey Habits
cured at home with
out pain. Book of par
ticulars sent FREE.
B.M.WOOLLEY.M.D.
Aiiania, lia. Office 104)4 Whitehall SL
Opium
Auania, Ga. offi
Have You Seen Our New
Catalogue for 1892?
A” Grade $35.
ALLIANCE. GRANGE.
LEAGUE.
Grade $46.
It contains more valuable in
formation to the page than any
catalogue you ever saw. We
can’t begin to tell you about it
. in this small space. Send your
name and P. O. address and UNION,
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get. H’e’re Headquarters
for everything on Wheels:
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HARNESS, SADDLES.
SALESROOMS AND FACTORY :
Sycamore and Canal Sts.,
Grade $72.50
UXIANCE CARRIAGE CO.. CINCINNATI, OHIO.
A fresh start
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The earlier this is understood the better, yet it is never
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Every jeweler keeps It In all styles for
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says the Newburyport Herald man.
“See it.”
Isn’t there some member of your family that really
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PORTRAITS and FRAMES!
Send us at once a photograph of yourself, or anv member of your family, li'ing
or dead, and %ve will make you from it an enlarged Portrait, with frame f ° ra P ) r .
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Put your name and address on haem of photos, and send it to BROOKLYN ART UNION, 62 / IVlarcy AV©.,
cor. Hart St., Brooklyn. N. Y Refer you to any banks in this city.
What are the Essentia/ Requirements of a Desirable Investment of Money?
It should provide It should be
1st. ABSOLUTE SAFETY. 2d - NON-SPECULATIVE.
It should have & well defined
3a - EARNING CAPACITY.
The Nantahala Marble and Talc Company
Offers an opportunity for the investment of money, which laeets
all of above requirements. The property consists of
8,000 ACRES.
OF LAND in
SWAIN COUNTY,
North Carolina,
$ 20
per
month
for ten.
months
secures $300
non assessable
stock, and deed
to a lot whi< h may
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four shares two lots, ten
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y
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Do not be
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NANTAHALA
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Do not wonder if the lot yon get with each
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Address, for Prospectus, etc.,
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Elegant Mandolins from $10 to $50 each.
German Guitars from $4.00 to $20 each.
American Guitars from $9.00 to $75 each.
Banjos, small size, nickel-plated rim, at $1.50 each.
Superb Banjos from $6.00 to $75 each.
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AND SHEET MUSIC.
WRITE FOR PRICES. “^8