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Humble Life.
Tell me not that he’s a poor man, fjP
That his dress is coarse and bare;
Tell me not his daily pittance
la a woman’s scanty fare ;
Tell me not his birth is bumble,
That his parentage is low {
8s be honest in his action ?
That is all I want to know.
Is'his word to be relied on ?
Has his character no blame ?
Then I care not if he’s low-born ;
Then I owe not wbaie’er his name.
Would he from an unjust action
Turn away wRh scornful eye ?
Would be than defame another
Soonor on the scaffold die ?
Would be spend his hard-gained earnings
On a brother in distress?
Would he succor the afflicted,
And the weak one’s wrosgs redress ?
Then he is a man deserving
Os my love and my esteem,
And I care not wli.it his birthplace
In the eyes of man may seem.
Let it be a low thatcheil hovel,
Let it be a clay-built cot,
Let it be the parish work-house —
In my eyes it matters not.
And If othors will disown him
As inferior to their caste,
Let them do it—l'll befriend him,
Asa brother to the last.
Point D’Alenoon.
FABT ALIOB DE LONGUEVII.LE.
There are some towns in old Europe
itbat never appear to change. They
lb out of the highway of travel, and do
mot possess sufficient attractions of their
own to induce the tourist to deviate
from the beaten path. Tlio inhabitants
know little or nothing of the outer world,
and their sphere of action is bounded
by the walls with which many of these
old cities are surrounded Such are to
be found in France, Germany, even
Wales, without mentioning Sweden and
Norway, Holland and JXelg-ium, howev
«v, contain them in their greatest per
fection, Belgium is the more interesting
of the two, historically ( aud it is in
one of her. seldom visjted cities that our
story commences.
(Jourtrai is a very old city; part of
the Roman wall still remains. Her feu
•dul castle is nearly entire, though now
applied to another put pose than that for
which it was built ; but at the time wo
write of—namely, at the beginning of
the seventeenth century—the position
of Courtrai, with respect to France, ren
dered it expedient to keep the strong
fortification in good repair, for it had
endured many a siege, and more than
once had fallen into the hands of its
warlike neighbors. At the present day,
it has many houses outside the wails,
built according to the taste or fancy of
the proprietors; but the majority of the
intramural buildings have retained the
massive architecture of the Middle
Ages.
In the year 164—, a widow woman
■was sitting in one of the small .stone
fcouses of the Beguinage. Her hands
were busily engagod with her work,
■and a young girl sat at her feet, watch
ing the deft movements of the old lady’s
fingers, who was talking away all the
time that she was busily employed.
“Yes, my dear,” “your fath
er was the youngest son of a noble
French family, and was well brought
tip, wanting nothing »s long as his fath
er lived; but when yonr grandfather
died, all the possessions descended to
tiis eldest son, yonr uncle. The second
son went into the army, and married
the rich Reguiers ; hut your fath
er, who had just left the University,
could do nothing. His eldest brother
promised to allow him a hundred francs
■a month until he got some post fitted to
iiis birth and education-; and his other
brother and married sisters said that
there would always be a place for him
at their table whenever he felt inclined
to visit them. At the end of three
months, however, his brother appeared
to pay his allowance grudgingly; talked
about the increasing expense of his
growing family; wondered why your
father didn’t find something to do, and
so forth ; while his sisters were always
going out when he paid them a visit—
so that, in short, he felt that he was de.
torp, and one day he threw his noble
birth to the four winds, exclaiming, what
a stupid rule that was which forbade the
well-born to work; came to this
place, engaged himself to a mauufac'
turer of tapestry, and set to work
with a good heart to gain his own bread.
His family was scandalized at this
act; he had brought disgrace on their
name. ADe Longueville to work ! One
of that ancient house a tradesman!
From that day the doors of all his rela
tives were closed to him. Hiß letters
of explanation were possibly not read
—were certainly never answered —and
fill intercourse with the Marquis ceased
entirely.
Three years after his arrival he mar
ried me and that was the finishig blow
to his disgrace; for you must know, my
dear, that lam not of gold birth. Good
birth or not, I loved your father dearly,
and was a true wife to him. Ho got
on very well, and his scholarship stood
fcim in good stead, for scarcely any one
here could write, and very few could
read. In the course ol time he set up
for himself, and all appeared to be pros
porous and well.
It was not till four years after our
marriage that you was born, and yonr
father, as in duty bound, notified the
head of the house of the fact, as he
had previously done of his marriage,
but, as is the former case, no notice
was taken of the event. Ido not say it
a reproach to voupmy dear child, but,
from the day of your birth, nothing ap>
peared to go well. First of all, tire
broke out ia the town, which destroyed
CUTHBERT WM APPEAL.
a great deal of our merchandise. Then
the French government began to en
couraged the manufactories at Arras;
and after that, worst of all, there were
war, and levies, and taxes, without any
trade doing whatever. We got poorer
and poorer, and every thing seemed to
melt away. Your father’s courage,
also, appeared to begone, and he would
sit all day long in his room, passively
accepting the bad news that poured in
upon him.
When you were eight years old, some
French regiments swept into the town.
I can see them now, with the gay cav
aliers—all plumes and lace, and gay
colors, and large boots with great spurs
—and fine ladies in the train of the ar
my. I took you to the window, and
your father came also to look at the gay
scene. Suddenly, I saw a deep flush
come to his cheek, as a tall, handsome
man rode carelessly by, apparently
watching some workmen who were re
pairing one of the old gateways.
“Great heavens,” cried he, “that is
Armand, my brother, who knows that I
live in this town and teas wot come to see
me—perhaps knows my house, and will
not look up as he passes it.” He turn
ed away from the window, and sat down
with that despairing look that grieved
me so much. For the remainder of that
day he hardly spoke, and I knew that
bis thoughts were with the homo of his i
childhood, and of the days when he
and that cold brother played together,
thoughtless of the future, little dream
ing that, the time would come when
they should be alien to onejanothe.r
The following morning, he told me to
dress you in your best clothes, and I
remarked that he, himself wore bis fete-'
day suit. He theu told me that he was
determined to make one effort to touch
his brother’s heart; and that was to pre
sent himself before him with you. “I
feel,” said he, sadly, “that I have not
long to live, and God knows what will
become of iny child when I die. For,
after all, she is a De Longueville,” he
cwntteaed. “She has never sullied the
family name;; her hand has never turn
ed to any thing that he might call meni
al. As for myself, X have no right to
allow my anger to stand in the way of
my child’s welfare; and however bitter
it may be to me to humble myself, I will
undergo the ordeal.”
You were a very pretty child then,
my Alice. Your fair hair flowed oyer
yorar shoulders, in long curls. Your
dark eyes and eyelashes looked darker
still by contrast with your fair complex
ion; and, as X kissed you before your
father led you away, X thought that
surely the stern captain would be mov
ed, and would take you to fais heart.
It is now nearly ten years ago, yet I
well remember every incident of that
day, and how long the time seemed that
you were absent I was sick at heart
at the thought that, perhaps, he might
want you to go away with him ere my
time was come, and what, then, was 1
to do ? My whole life was wrapped up
In yfru ; X could not live witbynt you.
Nevertheless, I felt that if they deßired
your presence, I must let you go.—
Again : you might be the means of re
conciliation between your father and
his family. I felt that I would be con
tent to sink uniK-itieed into my grave, if
you and he could be admitted there.-
And thus the time wore on, and you
came not back ; so that I was sure that
your father had forgotten me do his hap
piness, and that you, in your delight at
seeing all the gay uniforms aad the
soldiers, wouW not think of time.
At length you came back and I saw
at a glance that the attempt had been
unsuccessful. Shall I confess it ?—a
thrill of joy passed through my heart—
a selfish sense of preserving my treas
ure. That soon vanished at the sight
of the wretched look in your father’s
face. Ychi only saw that something
was wrong, as your father said almost
savagely: “Take off her fine things, and
clothe her in rags. Fool that I was,
to think that affection could conquer
pride.” 1 led you away, and when I
returned he was sitting again at the
window, gazing vacantly at the crowd
that passed to and fro in tlse busy street.
He turned his head as I entered, and,
in answer to my inquiring look, said:
“i went up to him with our sweet child,
in my hand, and said, ‘Armand, brother,
don’t you know me? I .have brought
your little niece, my child, to see you.’
He turned fiercely around, and exclaim
ed, ‘I have no brother here; he is dead,
and he and his are blotted out of the
records of our house.’ I could have
struck him, wife, but I felt little Alice’s
hand tremble in mine, and she pulled at
me, saying, ‘Let us go away, papa ; I
am afraid.’ So I swallowed my wrath
for her sake, and for that sake deter
mined on one more effort. ‘Brother,’
said I, ‘I ask nothing for myself; my
time is short on earth, but when I am
gone, will you befriend this little one ?
Will you take her to the home of her
father's childhood, so that she may be
brought up like the children of our
hous£ V ‘Yes,’interrupted he, ‘so that
she may act as her father did, and bring
disgrace and dishonor on the name she
bears. No, no; let her go and spin
flax, and scrub the convent floors. I’ll
have none of her. I tell you, man, that
I know you not,’ he added fiercely, as a
crowd of his brother officers came up;
‘begone, and never more offend my sight.’
My first impulse was to humble him by
proclaiming who I was, and to what I
was reduced; but I merely walked
quickly away. I could not come home
then; so Alice and myself wandered
through the city, looking at the soldiers,
who seemed to consider the place as
forever their own.”
It was not long after the events de
scribed by the widow had taken place,
the poor trader, broken in fortunes, bro
ken in spirit, took to his bed, and would
have died with a sigh of relief, had not
the thought of his child racked his last
moments. He knew that the good Beg
uines would admit his widow into their
community; he knew that Alice would
be safe under her care as long as she
lived; but, after death, what was to
become of her ? His thoughts ever re
verted to his own family. Nothing was
to be hoped for from that of his wife,
she being the daughter of a Spanish
soldier, who had married a peasant girl.
Surely, thought be, when i am dead
and gone, they will forgive the father,
in the child!—they can not thrust her
from the gates 1 He wrote an earnest
appeal to his brother, the marquis, who
was rich, full of titles and honors, with a
large family of his own, to which this
fairy-like, bright child would, of a cer
tainty, be looked upon as an acquisition
—not regarded as an imcumbraace.—
He dwelt upon their past affection ; of
the love he still cherished, spite of their
broken intercourse; and implored him,
ia the name of their mutual father, to
accept Alice as the only legacy that he
could bequeath, and bring her up as
his own daughter.
This letter he confided, on his dead
bed, to his wife, enjoining her to give it
to Alice, in case of the necessity for so
doing ever arriving.
In less than a year after the above
mentioned scene between the mother
and daughter, a violent epidemic devas
tated the territory of Hainault, which
carried off upward -of one-third of tire
inhabitants of Courtrai— Madame de
Longueville amoDg the rest. Alice was
left alone.
Alone, in the very tmth I—alone1 —alone in
her grief, ail solitary in her sorrow 1—
fur old age is seMsh, and the other Be
guines were more careful to look after
then owd health and avoid contagion,
than to comfort or console the poor,
bereaved girl. So that, had it not been
for a good old priest, she would have
been the only mourner, as the sexton
laid the remains of one she loved so well
iD their last resting place. Her grief
was silent, while the good father led her
away from the scene of her calamity.
PART II. —MADAME COLBEBT.
Louis XIV, was king and Colbert
was his minister. The ambitious mon
arch, have escaped from the iron grasp
of Mazario, had adopted the astute Col
bert as his counselor. Philip XV, held
tbe Netherlands with a feeble grasp,
and the frontier towns were as ofteu
garrisoned by French, as they were by
the soldiers of the most Catholic mon
arch. The inhabitants, except during
an actual siege, were not disturbed in
their avocations, aud having no heredita
ry attachment to either of the contend
ing parties, took little or no interest in
the-result of a battle, provided they
could follow their pursuits in peace.
At that time the French had overrun
Hainault, and were strongly fortified in
Courtrai; and a deputation of priests,
headed by their bishop, left that city
for Paris, in order to lay certain griev
ances, under which their order was suf
fering, before the Court. Therefore,
Alice gladly availed herself of their es
cort to seek her uncle, the Marquis de
Longueville, and present her father’s
letter. The Marquis’s chateau was at
Clermont, a few leagues from Paris,
and the good fathers bad to pass
through it on their way to the capital.
The fair young orphan sold all the mov
ables that her mother had left, reserv
ing only some few relics of her dear
parents, and, with sad forebodings, set
out on wbat was, to her, a long journey,
aud the only event that had hitherto
broken upon her even course of life.
After a tedious pilgrimage—for trav
eling, in those days, was difficult and
very wearying—the small cavalcade ar.
rived at Clermont, and passed the night
at the monastery—taking belore
.departing, to leave Alice in good bands.
The poor girl could not sleep toe
whole of that night, notwithstanding
the fatigue ofhefjourney. Her thoughts
were continually reverting to that
dreaded morrow, which was to decide
whether she should be admitted into
her family or not; and yet, while toss
ing and agitated, she feared the day
light.
Yet, as she stood, the following morn,
ing, at the portals of the chateau, there
was no servile fear of greatness in her
mind. She felt that she stood on the
threshold of her forefathers; that she
was of km to those who were reared
under that roof; and, as a lackey ush
ered her into the reception-hall, she trod
the floor of the vast apartment as though
she had been accustomed to it from
childhood. It is true that she glanced
around the walls, and looked with young
curiosity at the old paintings, and , the
armor, and the great carved oak fire'
place; but she no longer felt the dread
of the past night, and, when the Mar'
quis entered, stood up before him as
proud as himself.
She gave him the letter, but, before
he opened it, he looked long and earn
estly at her face. He partly guessed
the truth, as his brother’s lineaments
came back to his memory. He broke
the seal and read slowly ; but Alice, as
she watched his countenance, saw no
relaxation of that cold, haughty ex
pression which his features possessed
when he entered.
“This can not be !” he said, without
a pause, as he finshed reading the let
ter; “young lady, this can not be!—
Your father left us of his own will, ask
ed no advice, confided his intention to
no one, and took that step which forev
er shut him out from this house. I
have vowed never to kaovv him or his.
However, you are his daughter; you
still bear our name. If you will change
that name, aud assume another, I will
grant you an annual stipend that will
be sufficient for your support during
your life.”
As Alice rose and stood opposite the
Marquis, there was a marked resem
blance between them. Her pale face
was as rigid as his, her forehead was
held as high, aud her voice as firm, as
she said :
“Is this your final answer to the let'
ter ?”
“I have no more to say.’’
Alice de LoDgneville bowed her head
and walked through the broad hall, re
turning the salute of the seneschal with
the air of a duchess ; passed along the
avenue that led to the great gates with
the same composure; but once outside
the domain and unobserved, the hot
blood rushed to her cheek, even to her
eyes.
She went back to the convent, and
hid herself from all eyes. The whole
oAhat day her looks were turned to
the great oak-trees that surrounded the
manor. She pictured to herself the
time when her father had played there,
a boy, and had hunted there as a man—
and now he was in his grave, and she
was forbidden to cross the threshold. —
All that morn and afternoon she sat at
that window. The summons to dinner
was unheeded, and a little before sun
set an irresistible impulse urged her to
see for the last time the house and park
of her ancestors.
She made her way to the old ruined
wing, with its fallen tower, aud sitting
*on the ivy-clad stones, watched the
sinking sun. She was far enough from
the inhabited part of the house to bo free
from interruption; and there she sat till
the cold evening dew made her shudder,
and the full moon cast black shadows in
tho angles of tbs walls. She felt weak
CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 27, 1870.
and faint: her long fast, the
excitement of the day, had been too
much for her. She dragged herself
slowly along the paths that ted outward
—growing weaker and weaker, until at
length she found herself lu the highway,
cling to some iron railigs for suppostaud
then all grew dark, and she knew no
more. Before this house, which she had
fondly hoped would bo her shelter,
and where she would find the calm
peace of home, the poor orphan fqlt her
self dying. Worn out and prostrated,
she with her face to the
ground, and lay there utterly senseless.
In a short time the noise ©f wheels
and horsemen was heard approaching,
and soon a carriage drawn by four hor
ses, and surrounded by an escort of cav
aliers, carne in sight. One of these lat
ter reioed up his horse suddenly, as he
saw, by thg light of the rnoon, the dark
'vei? crndntecTi dress of Alice, as it
on the light-colored gravel of the patf^
way.
“What is the matter, D’Arteville?”
said a young and pretty woman, putting
her head out of the window; and then,
herself seeing the cause, she stopped the
carriage, and alighted. “Great heav
ens ! it is a woman that has fainted,”
said she, raising her in her arms, and
looking around for some house. No
sign of a habitation was to be seen; so
calling some of her people, she ordered
them to carry the young girl into her
carriage, and then turning to M. D’Ar
teviffe, said: “Be so good as to stay
here I can see, by the beauty and the
youth of this girl, that someone will
claim her. You will tell them that Ma
dame Colbert, the wife of the king’s
minister, has taken her off to Versail
les.”
M. d’Arteville bowed acquiescence,
and Madame Colbert got into her car
riage, placed herself by the aide of Alice,
who had not recovered her senses,, and
whirled away as fast as tho four horses
could go.
Marie, daughter of Jacques Charrons
—the lord of menars and high steward
of Blois—had married the great minis
ter, Colbert. She not only brought hid
a considerable dowry, but, what was Ot
greater consequence, a mind and undsr
standing that, while superintending the
brilliant fetes, or inventing some aew
costume for that extravagant period,
never lost eight of any thing that would
aggrandize her husband’s power, or in
crease his influence.
Early the following morning, D’Arte
ville, having learned a portion of Alice’s
history and conjectured the rost, repair
ed to Versailles, where he bad an audi
ence of the wife of the minister. Her
own physician had been immediately
sent to attend the young girl and he rep
resented that there w»3 no serious dan
ger—only excessive weakness, the re
sult of past nervous excitement. He re
commended absolute repose for one day,
and insured a cure for the following.—
So Madame Colbert determined to hear
her story from Alice’s own lips, and if it
was as she supposed, she would take
her into her household.
Alice’s story was soon told, and she
thankfully accepted the home that was
offered to her. Her health was quickly
restored, and the bloom that returned to
the cheek, together with the vivacity ot
her manner, endeared her more and
more to her newly found protector.
One morning early, the minister sent
to beg an audience, and was in such
haste that he followed close upon the
heels of his messenger.
“You see me in the greatest distress!”
he said, so much excited as not to no-»
tice that Alice was in the room.—
“Mme. de Grespigny has married the
Duke de Nevers.’
“I know that; but what then ?” an
swered Madame, in vain seeking the
meaning of this speech.
“But he has given an entire trimming
to her wedding dress, of Venice point,
lace.”
“Well, what’s the harm of that ?” said
his wife, almost laughing.
The minister continued with increas
ed excitement: “And this lace cost thir
ty six thousand frances; and what is
worse, created a great sensation at the
last Court ball,”
“Very well,” she again replied; but
without sgiiling, although she could not
conceive what all this would lead to.
“What, Madame, can’t you see that
all the ladies of the Court, yourself
among the first, will send to Venice for
your lace."
“If that would vex yon, you may rest
assured that I shall uot.”
“You are speaking for yourself, Mad
ame; but the other women will all go
to Venice for their lace, and will drain
France of her capital. France is not
rich enough just now to allow our wo
men to buy their dresses of foreigners;
and all the money we send there enrich
es them ami impoverishes us. We
haven’t one smgle lace manufactory to
oppose that of Venice.”
He rose to go, and his wife said,
“Whoever should see the Minister’s
anxious face to day, would little think
that the cause is a bit of lace.”
“Ah 1 Marie, Marie, after all, you are
only fit to talk lace to.”
He went out, and after he was gone,
his wife said bitterly, “I would give a
great deal that he had not said that to
me.”
“You must -make him repent of it,
dear mistress,” said Alice.
“But how ?” said Madame Colbert,
“Is it possible to see this famous
lace ?”
“Certainly ; the Duchess is my great
friend.”
“Well, then, quick, dear lady, give
me but one fine, so that the Duchtss
shall show me this magnificent and uni'
que robe, and—but I will say nothing,
until I am certain of success—l fear—l
hardly dare tell you—but if I can devote
the labor of my life, as a recompense for
you kindness, I will doit; therefore, I
entreat you, for a word to the Duchess."
“You silly child. You will be tired.
You want to go out.”
“Oh, I shall not be in the least tired;
I have only one desire, and this is to see
this lace.”
“I can easily satisfy you on that
headso, taking up a rich tablet of
ebony and gold she wrote ;
‘•Dear Antoinette —Accept this tri
fling souvenir, and let one of my women
look at your Ve.jice lace, the beauty of
which has made so much noise iu the
world. Your affectionate
“Marie Colbert."
Alice seized eagerly the tablets, and
flew out of the room. When she re
turned, instead of repairing to her mis
tress, she shut herself up ia her apart-
ment, begging that she might be left
undisturbed for one week. Partly be
cause she hoped something from the
young girl’s enthusiasm, and partly be
cause her affection for her prompted the
yielding to the whim, Madame Colbert
gave ordeis that Alice’s request should
be respected—indeed, she respected it
herself. At the end of the week, Alice
reappeared iu her mistress boudoir, and
her face was radiant with joy.
“Madame,” she said, “I addressed
myself to you, to obtain a moment’s au
dience with Monseigneur the Minister.”
“Without letting me know the rea
son 1” replied Madame Colbert. “Well
come aloftg.'”
It was the hour when Colbert was
scheming those vast plans which shed
such lustre over the reign of Louis XIV.
No one except his wife dared knock at
htedeer at that moment; and, as they
Wf&V;jj||)g, Marie told her companion
wftat aooid stjp they were taking.
At the noise of the door creaking on
its hinges, Colbert turned sharply round,
“ with an angry expression ; but, at the
sight of his wife and tho young girl, his
brow cleared, for he was sure that only
something very important would make
Madame Colbert interrupt him. So,
with a charming smile, he waited for his
wife to speak, when, to her great aston
ishment, Alice broke the silence.
“Monseigneur,” she said, opening the
bos, “will you do me the honor to ex
amine this lace, and say if that of Ma
dame the Duchess is superior ?”
“It is the same—the very same 1 Why
this is a miracle 1” said Colbert, whose
hand almost trembled under the light,
vaporous material. “Where does this
work come from—who has made it ? Iu
what part of the world does that fairy
Sve who can imitate so well ?”
“It is no fairy, ;Monseigneur; only a
poor young orphan, too happy to repay
by the work us her hands, the goodness,
that your wife has bestowed ou her.—
Flemish by birth, I have often watched
the working girls making lace, and
learned all the mysteries of the trade.—
At Courtrai, I used to amuse myself by
making new patterns and fresh stitches
for the young girls, and they used to
come to me if anything difficult or out of
the way was wanted. At last, it was
only necessary for me too see a piece of
work twice, in order to understand it;
and if your Lordship will give me a
building and some young girls, I will
make a workshop of the former, and
skilful lace-makers of the latter.”
Colberts quick intellect seized upon the
idea at once ; but he said, sadly ; “They
will be made in France, and our grand
ladies prefer to buy from the foreigner.
What will compel them to buy this lace,
when made V
“The Fashion, Monseigneur!” said
Alice. “Let the King command that
the first lace that comes from the work
shop shall be given to the Duchess, who
will prefer her royal present to her Ve
netian lace ; and the second to Madame
Colbert. They will both wear them at
all balls and public spectacles. If it
does not become the rage, then I will
close my workshop.”
What she desired was accomplished.
The Court was going to Aleneen and
Colbert sent to Flanders for thirty young
girls, whom he established at his cha
teau of Louray, near the city, with Alice
de Longueville at their head, to whom
he advanced 50,000 francs.
When the first pieces of lace were
made, the King, instigated thereto by
Colbert, appointed a day to inspect
them, informing his courtiers that he
would show them something better than
Venice poi nt. The King and the whole
Cojirt were deligbed. The former or
dered large sums to be given to Made
moiselle de Longueville out of the treas
ury, and commanded that no other lace
should appear at Court
And thus rose and prospered the fa
mous Point d’Alencon; and Colbert
said, as lace-making schools sprung up
all over the country :
“Fashion is to France what the mines
of Peru are to Spain.”
And Alice became Comtesse d’Alen
con.— Overland Monthly.
Curiosity. —The Dunkirk Journal
says that a curious individual was
greatly perplexed, at the opening of the
Masonic rooms, to understand the whys
and wherefores*of the three large can
dles which bacl conspicious positions.—
He viewed them on all sides, thought
fully summing up in his miud their pro
bable use. At last his patience was
exhausted, and he asked a Mason what
those candles were for. The Masou,
looking about him to see that no one
was near, and exacting the most sol*
emn promises of secrecy, got close up
to the ear of his friend, and with bated
breath said : “The candles are to burn."
The curious man hasn’t told any per.
son about it, but somehow such things
will leak out.
What a Single Dollar WilA Do. —
A paper in Illinois talks in this way ;
“It you owe but one single dollar, go
and pay him, when there is so little
money we ought to keep it moving
around lively. Jim owed us, and we
owed Bill, and Bill owed Jim. Jim got
mad because we made him pay one
morning last week ; but we paid Bill,
and Bill paid Jim, and Jim went to bed
that night happy as a clam, with just as
much money as he had in the morning,
and three men out of debt.”
Light. —Light moves with a velocity
of one hundred and ninetytwo thousand
five hundred miles in a second of time.
It travels from the sun to the earth in
seven minutes and a half. It moves
through a space equal to the circumfer
ence of our globe ia the eighth part of
a second ; a flight which the swiftest
bird could not perform in leas than three
weeks.
flgS-An orator, who had raised his audi
ence to a great height by his lofty soar
ings, exclaimed, “1 will now close in the
beautiful and expressive language of the
poet—l forget his name—and—and I
forget what he said too.”
The fireside is a school of infin
ite importance; it is important because
it is universal, and because the educa
tion it bestows, being woven in with
the woof of childhood, gives form _and
color to the whole texture of life.
A newspapmijust started in Os
wego, N. Y., declares that it will be
neutral in religion and politics, as it
“knows very little of the former, and
nothing whatever of the latter,”
SA VANS AR CARDS.
P. H. BEHN>
COTTON and RICE FACTOR
AND
General Commission Merchant,
West of the Exchange,
BAY STREET, : : SAVANNAS, GA.
augl9-6ra*
AUSTIN & ELLIS,
COMMISSION
—AND
forwarding merchants
aud Cotton Factors,
SAVANNAH, : : : ; GEORGIA.
|3f Bagging and Ties and other articles fam
ished, and advances made upon Cotton on Con
signment or for sale. augl9-6m
CQTTQJF TIES! COTTON TIES
Dorr’s Pateßt Self-Adjusting
HORIZONTAL COTTON TIE
AS AGENTS for the above namsd Patent, we
beg leave to commend it to the attention of
Planters and Merchants.
This TIE is a decided improvement, had contains
the advantages of
GREAT STRENGTH,
GREAT SIMPLICITY.
EASE IN MANIPULATION.
Being superior to any other TIE manufactured,
W« can confidently recommend it to the public.
JNG. W.'ANDERSON'S SONS A CO.
augl9-6m _ Agents ia Savannah, Ga.
JOSEPH FINEGAN & 00,
Cotton Factors
AND
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
BAY STREET,
SAVANNAH, : : : ; GEORGIA.
KT Liberal Advances ma le on Cotton consigned
to us or to our Correspondents in New York aud
Liverpool. augl9ly*
PALMER & DEPPISH,
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DBALES IN
HARDWARE,
RUBBER BELTING,
AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS,
Powder, Shot, Caps and Lead.
148 Congress & 67 St. Julian Sts.
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
augl9-6m*
GROOVER, STUBBS & CO.,
COTTON FACTORS
AND
General Commission Merchants
Bay Street, SAVANNAH, GA.
Bagging. Ties, Rope and other Supplies
Furnished.
Also, Liberal Cash Advances made on Consign
ments for gala or shipment to Liverpool or North
ern Ports. C. E. GROOVER, Savannah,
C. F. STUB 138, “
aug!9-6m A. T. MACINTYRE, Thomasville
R. H. Andbes'js, G. W. A.vdebson, Jr.,
Jobs W. Anderson, A. H. Cole.
JOHN W. ANDERSON’S SONS & Cos
COTTON, FACTORS
AND
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
Anderson's Block, Drayton St., near the Bay,
SAVANNAH, GA.
Liberal cash advances made on con
signments for sale in Savannah, or on
Shipmont to reliable correspondents in Liverpool,
New York, Philadelphia, Boston or Baltimore.
To old patrons we return thanks ; to new ones,
promise our best services.
ALSO—
Agents Empire Line of Side Wheel B‘eimerg
to New York. augl9-l y*
THOMAS M, ALLEN,
WITH
COLQUITT & BAGGS,
COTTON FACTORS
AND
Commission Merchants
Savannah, Ga.
pB~ Liberal Advances on Consignments when
pesired. may 13-6 m
CLAGHORN & CUNNINGHAM,
Wholesale and Retail
Grocers,
And dealers in
Fine Wines, Liquors, Segars, Etc.,
Corner Drayton and Bay Streets,
SAVANNAH, GA.
jgy*All Goods Warranted. Orders from the
onntry promptly attended to. augl9_ ly
A. J. MILLER. C. P. MILLER.
A. I MILLER & CO.!
Furniture Dealers f
134 Broughton St.,
SAVANNAH, : : : GEORGIA.
WALNUT Bedroon Sets, Imitation French
Sels, Parlor Sets, Bureaus, Wash Stands,
Bedsteads, Chairs of all grades, Children’s Carri
ages, etc.
par* Jobbing and Repairing neatly dene and
with dispatch. Mattress making, Feathers. Up
holstering, etc. augl9-6m*
A. S- HARTRIDGrE,
General Commission Merchant
AND FACTOR.
92 Bay Street, SAVANNAH, GA.
Having had over twenty years experience in
said business, he will pay the same strict attention
to the sale of Cotton and other Produce, and to
the purchase of Supplies, as in former years.
He will not have any interest in the pur
chase of Cotton.
Liberal advances made on Consignments.
augl9-ly*
J. J. DICKISON & CO, {
COTTON FACTORS and
General Commission Merchants.
SAN ANNAH-, GA.
}' ' . •*/ . fly'
■
J3F* Liberal advances made on Consignments.
augl9.6aa
SAVANNAH CARDS.
A. M. Si.oa.ir. J. H. Sloan.
A. M SLOAN & 00,
COTTON FACTORS -
■Am
Creneral Commission Merchants
CLAOHORN * COSXIXGham’s RAJCCE,
BAY STREET,
SA VANRAR, ii : GEORGIA .
Bagging and Rope or Iron Ties, advanced on
crops. Liberal o-sn advances made on consign,
tnenta for sale in Savannah, or on shipments to re
liable correspondents in Lireipool, New York,
Philadelphia, or Baltimore. augl9-6m*
H- H. LINVLILE,
WITH
S. W. GLEASON,
Iron and Brass Foundry and Ma
chine Works,
Manufacturer and dealer in
SUGAR MILLS, SUGAR PANS, Gin Gear,
Cotton Screws, Shafting, Pullevs, Portab'e
and Stationary Steam Engines, Corn Mills and Ma
chinery of all kinds.
St. Julia* Street, West of tbe Market,
SAVANNAH, GA.
£SV Orders respectfully solicited.' auglStf
M. KETCHCM. A. L. ttARTRIDC*.
KETCHUM & HARTRIDGE.
BANKERS
- „AND-• * *
COMMISSION-’ MERCHANTS,
EXCHANGE BUIIDING,
SAVANNAH, : : :* GEORGIA.
References:— Moses Taylor, President City
Bank, N. Y.; P. C. Calhoun, President Fourth Na-
Bank, N. Y. > John s. Cisco A Son, Bankers,
N. Y.; Morris Ketchum,* Banker, if. Y.; J. N.
Notris, Cashier First National Bank, Baltimore;
M. Me Michael, Cashier First National Bunk, Phila
delphia.
augl9 ly
>. A. SCHWARZ. ISAAC A. BRADY.
SGHWARZ & BRADY,
Wholesale and Retail Dealers in
OARPE T
Floor Oil Cloths. Mattings,
SHADE LINENS,
WALL PAPER, WINDOW SHADES,
CORNICES, CURTAINS, CORDS, TASSELS.
115 Broughton Street, WyUg's Budding,
(South Side, Between Bull and Whitaker Sts.)
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
Post Office Box 494. aug!9-ly*
■ W. M. DAYIDSON,
Wholesale Dealer in
FOREIGN and DOMESTIC
Wines and Liquors,
150 Bay Street, Savannah, Ga.
(Established in 1844.)
HAS constantly on band a large assortment of
French Brandies, Holland Gin, St. Croix and
Jamaica Rum,
Scotch and Irish Whiskey,
Port and Sherry Wine, (the latter direct Importa
tion from Spain.)
All the above Liquor* are guaran
teed tv be genuine a* imported.
Also on hand,
JOHN GIBSON’S SONS * GO ’S
Celebrated Whiskies, of all grades.
Sole agent for Georgia and Florida, for Massey,
Huston A Co.’s celebrated Philadelphia Draught
Ale, in barrels and half barrels.
augl9-6m*
WM. HENRY WOODS,
COTTON FACTOR
AND
nui commission me hat,
BAY STREET,
Savannah, Ga.,
I* prepared at all times to advance liber
ally on consignments for sale in Savannah, or
for shipment to bis correspondents in New York
and Liverpool.
augs-6m*
L J. GUILMARTIN & CO.
COTTON FACTORS
▲KB
SIMM mm MEEK
Bay Street, Savannah 6a.
Agents for Bradley's Super Phosphate of Lime.
Bagging, Rope, & Iron Ties, always on hand.
Usual Facilities Extended to Customers.
ang!9 6m
DEMIS FALVEY,
FURNITURE DEALER,
153 Brough ton
SA VANN AH, : : : GEORGIA.
MAHOGANY, Walnut and Chestnut Bed-Room
Suites; also Imitation French and Teastcr
Suites ; Mahogany and Walnut Parlor Suites, in
Haircloth aud Reps; Sofas, Marble-Top Tables,
Bureaus, Sideboards. Wardiobes, Book-Cases,
Washstaods, Chairs and Bedsteads of all kind.
New Work made to order, and Country or
ders promptly filled.
aug!9 ly.
W. Duncan,.... ....J. Q. Johnston.
DUNCAN & JOHNSTON,
COTTON FACTORS
AND *
General Commission Merchants,
76 bay street, savannah, ga.
sepil ly*
RANDELL-& CO„
Wholesale G-rooerW,
SOI & SO3 Bay St., West of Bernard,
SA VAiVXAU, GA,
tSY General Agents of the Orange Rifle Pow
der for Georgia, Florida and Alabama.
augLW-tat*
VOL. IV--NO. 11.
SA VANNAH CARDS.
¥. H. STARK & CO.,
WHOLESALE
G-R.OGERS,
COMMISSION MERCHANTS
AND
Cotton Factors*
Agent* for the **k of Giilett's Steel
COTTON GINS.
ALSO,
L P. Co£’S SUPERPHOSPHATE of LIME,
tSP* Careful attention given to Sales of
Shipments of Cotton, and all
kinds of Produce.
Liberal advance* made on CentignmenU.
BAGGING, ROPE and ARROW TIES
Constantly on hand. sepSO Cm
ADOLPHE SACK.
Importer of
SILVER AND GOLD
*W .A* T CHBB
CHOICE JEWELRY,
BIJOUTERIE , CLOCKS , Eta., A?*,
Cottier Bryant A Whitaker Street*,
SAVANNAS, « < * t GEORGIA.
Repairing of Watches and
JeweFy executed with dispatch, and
Warranted to Give Satisfaction*
angl'd 6m
W*. H. Tison. Wm. W. Gordon.
TISON & GORDON,
COTTON S-AOTona
—AND—
HnuL uinm
street f Savannah, Georgia*
Bagging and Rope or Iron Ties advanced on
Crops.
Liberal cash advances made on consignments es
Cotton.
Grateful for liberal prtrotiage in tbe past, a son*
tinuance of the same is respectfully solicited,
sep2-6m*
ISAACS’ HOUSE,
Cherry St... Macon, Ga.
E. ISAACS, Proprietor.
fT'HTS HOTEL is located in the central portion
A of the city—convenient to Ware Houses and
bu <iness houses generally. It being the osiy boas*
in the city kept on the
EUROPEAN PLAN,
Offers unequalled advantages to the planter tad
traveling public generally.
The table is supplied with the best the market
Rfr>ads, and the rooms furnished with new and je»t
furniture.
13T A FREE Hack will be in attendance at all
trains. jySOtf
EACH CARGO OF THIS
G- TJ A IVTO
IS ANALYZED
Before Being Offered for Sale,
And Warranted Equal to the
Original Standard Value.
a&'J'o It used on att Crops precisely at
Peruvian Guano.
H. H. JONES, Agent,
ang26tf Cuthbert.Ga.
Now is the Time
TO BUT
Drugs, Paints, Oils, Glass, Chemicals, Etc.
C H E A. 3?.
marll-lr J. J. McDONALD.
Dr, M. A. SIMMONS’
GENUINE LIVER MEDICINE!
TABaNE’S Plantation Bitters,
