NEWS.
CLINTON & BEADLES, Proprietors.
FAYETTEVILLE, GA.,
FRIDAY,
w
FEBRUARY 1, 1889.
VOL. I. NO. 27
Meadows of Rest
I remember the beautiful meadows
And their sweet streams purling clear,
"With flowers besprent, where my young
days were spent,
Where the birds their nurslings rear.
I was sheltered then in the dear home nest,
Where my feet turned oft to the meadows
of rest.
I remember a grave in those meadows,
Where slumbered a laughing-eyed boy.
Death found him at play, he lured him
away,
And with him went half our joy.
We molded the turf that his feet had
pressed.
And kept his grave green in the meadows
of rest.
I remember a silver-haired father,
Who walked by the river wave
To. watch the reeds grow, or the sweet
waters flow.
Or to muse by that little grave. ’
He has passed long ago to the place he loved
best,
To the infinite peace of God’s meadows of
rest.
I wonder if green are thoso meadow's,
If purling and clear are the streams,
If the moon shines as bright, if the stars give
such light
As they did in my youth’s happy dreams.
O, angel of destiny, heed my request:
Give me back, give me back my dear mead
ows of rest.
—[Mrs. M. Li. Rayne, in Free Press.
A NUMBER ONE.
BY rATIENCE STAPLETON.*
On a weather* beaton board, supported
by a creaking iron rod, hung the sign,
“Soles Saved Horc,” which Breckin
ridge thought so exceedingly iunny
that it never ceased, to attract custom
and comment It had boon there ton
years, ttince Jonathan Mender came
Into the little town in the Rockies and
boughjt out tho Sjioa-ropalmg business
lender on this JUft afternoon ant
the door of hi* shop, repairing a smalt
and extremely shabby shoo. He was a
short, stubby man, with twinkling eye*
behind spectacles, and a shock of gray
hair standing straight up I rom his fore
head.
Down tho trail from Rid'Mountain,
as the afternoon shadows grew long,
and night came creeping undor tho
evergreens, galloped a lean broncho at
a headlong gait. Ilis rider, a big-
bearded miner, glanced around under
his bushy oye-brow3, and now and thon
gave a grunt of satisfaction.
“The old place don’t see you on
more, Bill,” he muttered, as tho bron
cho panted up a short in c'.iuo, ‘.‘fur
you've struck it rich, as a certified
check fur ’way up in tho thousands kin
testify.”
Ho gnlloped into Breckinridge, loft
his broncho at tho hotel aad went along
to tho shoo shop.
“Samo old sign,” ho smilod.
“Ev’nin’, Mendor.”
“Hullo, Bill; thought you was dead.
Ain’t seen you those throo years. Same
Lute*, too, I maid. Wal, I alius done
good work.”
“You did; but just clap n patch on
this one whilst I wait, fur I ain’t a-goiu’
to torture myself of I hev struck it
rich. My lect is liablo to swell in tho
keers. I’ll leave yo an order, too, Men
dor, for butes is good crnufl with me.
Ho lnce shoes like a judo,”
“Who you roped in oa tho mine,
Bill?"
“No one: thoy’ll doublo what they
givo me—three hundrod thousand—but
I ain’t no hog; I know when I’ve got
enough.”
“Few doos,” muttered Mendor, wax
ing hi* throaef.
The miner looked around tho shop;
then his eyo full on that shabby litilo
shoe.
' “Beats all what sawed off foot wim-
men bos, though I ain’t mentioning
Norwoiguns.”
“Tho Lord made ’em so.”
“Prob’ly. An’ this now,” (turning
the shoo over in hi* big hand) “is a
gal’s, not a growed woman’s?'’
“All of twonty-eight: quite a yarn
about that, too. Throo yoars ago I was
aettin’ here betwoenst day and dark,
when my door busts opon an' in runs
what I took to be a gal, but afterward
see was a little mito of a growed wo*
man, with bright, bird-like eyas and
curly hair. 'Them miners is a foliatin’
me,’ she cries, drops inter that cheer,
an’ faints dead away.”
' “Gosh, this very cheer?” echoed Bill,
in an awe-stricken tone.
' Same—set right there. I opens the
door, ‘B’ys,’ I says, 'I’ve got the drop
on yo, an’ it's a shame to act like thet,
an’—git,.’ whieli they done, an’ I wont
back an’ givo her water, an’ sho como
to an’ jost kitched my han’ up an*
kissed it.”
“Lordl" cried the miner.
“An* it wasn’t over-clean, fur mondin’
ain’t over-pertikler wurk. Wal, she
hsdn’t no frens, an’ was come here to
settle, an’ bein’ woak an' hystoricky, 1
took her homo to Bister Jane. 'Tears
to me,’ she says to Jane, 'all the
troubles of my lifo is bin caused by
mon.’”
“They be onneiry,” said the miner,
sympathetically.
"We kept her a week, an’ thon she
went to wurk sewin', an’ insisted on
payin’ her board, and made Jane tho
trimmest gowns an’ caps, and mo a
dressm’-gown like I was a female. I
wears it to ploase hor, but I alius feels
I looks like ono of them old patriarks
in’t. Wo never nrsked her hist’ry, but
Jane sed sho was bruised from blows,
an’ I seo she trained her pretty curls
over a scarco healed scar on' her fore
head. I calc’lated she was one of them
thoroughbreds what will stan’ ■ enny
amount of drivin’, but it’s a smash an’
a runaway if you hit ’ora.”
“There’s soma men a* ought to ba
shot oa sight,” muttered tho miner.
“An’ thet shoo was hern?”
“Yoah, an’ I’vo got to kcer fur hor
so much thot I’ve alius boon glad I was
hero ’stfd er Caleb; he wa’n’t never
qighborly.. When I come hero I says,
: ^ve■ ■ye- fifttfife della** fttrtt&e
place.’ Says ho, ‘Tako it for fourteen
an’a hnrf.’ ‘Why?’said I. ‘Did you,’
says he, ‘ever know a man wot become
a sewer fur gab? Wnl, look at me.
Ev’ry crank as lia9 breath ernuff tor git
up tho bauk comes in an’ talks to me;
ev’ry bummer who kin walk staggers in
an’ vent* his rum-sonked remarks on
me; ev’ry sunbunnited or shawl-headed
femalo woman comes to tell mo her
troubles with tho old man or tho neigh
bors.’ *Wal, n, I soy*, ‘it’s comp’ny?'
‘Yah, 1 hate ’em,’ growls he. ‘Kiow
where I’m going, not you. You’re the
kind as tells about a gal you loved,
natnod Sairy, wot died fifty year ago.
Wal, I’m goin’ to ba a shco'p-hcrdcr,
where I wunt oco ono of human kind
fur months on a str-'tch, an’ whoro I
kin go bare-footed the year ’round.’
So he goes an’ I stays.”
“Whon I was in Arizony,” said tho
miner, laying tho shoo down, with a
sigh, “1 boarded to the house of a
little woman as could a- woro them
shoes. Tho vittlos was awful.' Some
of the biscuits would a took a blast to
open ’em, ’an tho pies might a solod
them lutes, but sho wa’n’t but a young
thing, ’an liar husband was tho onnori-
cst.”
“They alius hes thet namo in thorn
casos,” suggested Mender, slyly.
“This wa’n’t no cases. Ho' never 1
keered, only that tho wurk was
done, but I did,"—tho miner’s f.ico sad-
doned—“an’ Isold out as good a team
ing bu9in033 as you ever soe.”
“’Count o’ poplcr sent’ment, I
sposo?"
“Nnw, thare’s queer things in a
man’s lifo; an’ of I’d stayed I’d a killed
her husband, an’ that would a bin no
way to git hor affection, mi’ wouldn’t a
looked fair. Them’s my morols. Sho
was his wife an’ a good woman. Isold
out tho biz at a dead loss,” (with a
sigh) “an’ I just wisht hor timo o’ day
an’ run off liko a coward. I starvod up
here fur ten yoars, nu’ I wan’t pleased
with myself neither whou a fellor from
Fairplay told me he hccrod sho an’ him
was awful poor, an' she was tho wust
abused woman ho ovor soe.”
It was quitQ dark in tho little shop
now, and Mondor lit his lamp, leaning
low to his bench to soo in the light. A
lean cat came purring out of a cornor,
and tho minor tilted back his chair.
“An’me, with all my money, can’t
make that poor little soul comferble,”
he sighed.
There was a sound of quick footsteps
outside, something like the clatter of
slippers down at the heel, thon the
latch clicked.
“Ain’t done, Nolly,” called tho old
man. "I’ll.vjait and finish'em; they’re
purty far gone.”
Thero was no answer, only a sort of
gasp and a smothered exclamation from
the miner, who brought hi) chair down
with a jerk. Tho old lean looked at
them.
“I calc'la to you two is’quninted,” he
grinned.
Bill ha l forgotten his pno stocking
foot, even bis stern morality, and she,
that littlo, thin creature, with hor
white, worn face, her sad, tearless eyes,
was looking at him so wistfully, so
yearningly that ho mutt havo known
she had not needed his tailing her that
ho cared for her boforo he ran away. A
quick suspicion*, Unshod through his
mind. Bho loved him, and had come
to Colorado to find blip, thoso three
years back. Still his lips had to utter
the name in his heart so long.
“Nolly !" ho cried, with a sob; and
sho- she put out her hands liko a sleep
walker; then, with a low cry, sho ran
to him and hid her face on hi3 breast.
Still he did not touch her as bhe clung
to him, weeping passionately.
“It aren’t right,” ho muttered,
hoarsely. “I sed never should you be
as you is now, till it were. You an' me
has seen camp?, an’ knows what wrong
lovo is.” ■ .
Sho only clung closer, su$h a child
like thing, in her shabby blacky, gown,
with her short littlo curls, and her tiny
hand clutching his arm.
“I tell you,” ho criod, passionately,
“onse my arms meet arounjl you, I shall
dev*!' let you go."
‘•Wal, you needn’t,” said Mender,
dryly; lut thoro woro toars in hi* old
eyes. You neodn’t, Bill—she’s a wil
der.” '
“It’s only since thi* mornin’ ” he
continued, as the big arms inclosed tho
tiny figure, “but it's proper,
I calc’late. She’d run away
from him, but ho tracked her; six weeks
ago ho como i.i when wo was catia’ sup
per, an’ Jane liovo tho teapot at him.
Vi'tonco wa’n’t no me; ho took Nolly
an’ hor savin’s, an’ was jest a-goin’ to
lonvo town arter losin’ all sho hoJ, an’
drnggia’ her along, when tho nltitudo
kitchod him. I calc’ late this placo is
too nigh heaven fur a crcepin’ cuss like
thet to crawl. I was a mendin’ that
shoo for his wilder to wear to the fun
eral.”
“I knowed no woman but her could
wear’em,” criod Bill, holding tho shoe
reverently, “an’ it shall be set in gold
outer my mine.”
“It’s a mile too big," sho said, very
blushing and shy, “an’ is so horrid."
“Never heered a woman but sod them
very word*,” grinnod Mender, beaming
ontliom. ,“Now, Bill, yourn’s done, an’
lommo stick a patch on that one, Nelly,
fur you don’t wantcr bo a creckin' round
in now ones to tho funerel, liko you was
too glad to git him plarnted."
, Tho next afternoon, whon tho twi
light shadows wero falling, Jonathan
Mender stood in his shop door and
watchod the train creep miles nbovo on
the mountain on'its way to Denver.
“Purty rapid this wostorn country,”
ho soliloquized, jingling tlis coins in
his pocket. “Wo never miss no time;
hut there ain’t man/ small wimmon like
Nelly as kin bury ono husband in tho
forenoon an’ git morried to tho second
in the arternoon, an’ I guess Bill don’t
know tho mate to that littlo shoo he’s
got stowed away is over on my shelf*
as a memontomory that littlo number
ono—tho smallest fur wimmon-kiad as
ovor I see.’ 1 —[Oaco a Week.
A Seasonable Article.
Poldoody (tn a rostaurant)—Here’s a
seasonable article on oysters, Gu*»
Ponsonby—That's good. What is it!
Poldoody—Cit>upl—[Tho Idea.
Sunday is tho golden clasp that
biads togothor the volumo of the
week.
Japanese Women Destroy Their Beauty
A woman married, among the lower
clateet in Japan, is indeed, writet
Frank G. Carpenter, a woman spoiled
as far as beauty is concerned. Ac
cording to tho old Jap&neso custom,
when a girl has arrived at old mai
denhood, when she no longer expects
a husband, or when sho has got one,
she shaves off hor eyobrows and blacks
her teeth. This produces an effect
which it is impossible to understand
without seeing. My stomach turned
sick when the first Japaneso married
woman I saw. a plump, rosy-cheeked
girl of about 20, opecod her mouth. If
you will paste a strip of black court
plaster over ycur teeth end try to
laugh you may approach'it. Y r ou can
not get tho full ugiiacss of tho custom
until you have your eyobrows shaved.
It scorns to tako all of the life and
beauty out of the face and to turn it
into a thing of loathing. The teeth
look as though covered with black
varnish. and t I am told
that the preparation for coloring
them is made of a mixture of iron and
vinegar. Thi* custom prevails through
out tho interior of Japan. In the citios it
is falling into disfavor, and the Court
ladies and those of tho better classes at
Tokio have entirely given it up. It is
n very old custom aad its origin is
ascribed to different reasons. One rea
son is that a woman upon hor marriage
shows by this that sho has devoted
herself ontiroly to hor husband and has
rendered it impossible for her to be
tempted by making herself unattractive.
The fact that she must also become
disgusting to her husband does not
seem to have entered into tho calcula
tion.
The Japanese girl’s hair is jet-black.
A red-headed Japanese girl is unknown
and so far I have not seen a white horse
in the’empire. This hair is more care
fully cared for than tho many colored
locks of thd American girl, and it takes
a professional liair-drcsscr to put it up
in its wonderful shape of watcrlall and
coil. She has combs of a dozen kinds
and she uses hair oil profusely. Her
oil is made of the seeds of the camellia
and tho tea shrub, and her hair is so
long that it often reaches to her heels.
When put up it is so stiff that it stays
in place and sho expects one good hair
dressing to last for several days. This
she is able to do by being careful in the
daytime and by the use of the Japanese
pillow at night.
Facts About Dakota.
Dakota i* certainly a big territory.
The Now York Press says cf it: Among
our own states and territories Dakota,
with its 93,598,480 acres, outranks all
other states and territories in area ex
cept California, 99. S27,200 teres, and
Texas, which can boast of 107, S83,000
acres. Tho total valuation of tiiii ter
ritory is estimated at §329,090,000, tho
assessed valuation of the land alone in
18S8 aggregating $1G1,420, 974. The
population of D ikot* is today greater
than tho population of any of the 'fol
lowing state* in 1889: Nebraska, Now
Hampshire, Vermont, Rhode Island,
Florida, Colorado, Oregon and Dela
ware. Only twelve states out of the
thirty -eight can boast of more miles of
railroad than Dikota, ami tho other 23
havo to take back scat* wheu tho rail
road milcago of Dikota is called. It
stands eleventh in regard to national
banks, and outranks h\lf our states in
many other important respects. In
agriculture Dakota fairly takes tho
load. la 1887 tho wheat crop was
62,553. 499 bushels, exceeding by nearly
20,000,000 Lusliols the crop of Minne
sota, and standing lir.t ns a wheat pro
ducing state. Oaly Illinois and Iowa
nro ahead of Dakota in the production
of corn and other farm produce.
PEARLS of thought.
Its Altitude.
“How’S beef today, Sparribt” in
quired Mr. Up3oa Dowuoa airily.
“High, eh?”
“If you want it on credit, Mr.
Downes,” replied tho butcher, sternly,
“it's on a hook about eleven foot up
the wait. But it ’ 11 cemc down for cash,
if I whistle.”
Now is always the very best time if
we make it so.
Tho best friend is the one who gives
;hc boit advice.
The ups and downs of life are batter
han being down al! the time.
The highway of virtue is so little fre
quented that collisions are rare.
To bo really yourself you must be
lifferoat from those (.round you.
A little knowledge wisely used is
better than all knowledge disused.
Excessive labor is wrong, but judic
ious labor is the safety valve of life.
Han may growl, grumble and fight,
but it has no effect upon natural right.
Falsehood can make the best spurt
but truth can do the steadiest trotting.
Instead of complaining of the thorns
among the roses, we should be thank
ful there are roses among the thorns.
The use we make of our fortune de
termines its sufficiency. A little is
enough if used wisely, too much if ex-
f pended foolishly.
We finR it hard to get and to keep
! any private property in thought. Other
i people are all tho timo saying tho same
things wo are hoarding to say vshea we
' get ready.
j- If thy friends be of better quality
than thyself thou mayest oo sure of
two things: the first, that they will bo
i more careful to keep thy 6ohass?, be-
| cause they have more to lose than thou
• hast; tho second, thov will esteem thee .
I for thyself, and not lor that which
j thou dost posies*.
Individuality of the Horse.
One thing curious and lute resting
abcut-the Ijfrse is its indmdqdiitj.
J This is"n Ylfflmtetf'itfe-'ceuim'im Yt> nil
' animal?, undoubtedly to a greater or
j less degree, bat surpas«ingly so, wo
think, in the case of a hor*c. How
this charncteriitic viries in horsss is
well kaowa by acyoiu who has ever in
telligently drawn a rein over a good
roadster. The individuality of horses
varies as much as that of men. Every
one has a different meital as well a3
physical mike-up. Srme horses seem
to possess brain*, to have some sense,
are quick to understand and obey the
1 least sign, motion or werd of their mas
ter. Some men drive and urn horses
for years and yet nev.r realize that they
know anything, or that there is any
j more difference between thorn than
there is between so many barrels or saw
i logs. Other men who handle horses a
great deal, who buy and sell frequently
and study much their different charac
teristic*, will tell you how wcndenul
, horses are, how much they will some
times teach even their drivers. Between
| a nervous, sensitive, intelligent horse
aad his considerate owner how large a
union of fellowship and sympathy ex
ists. In the stable, on the road, if over
taken by an accident, the cool, sensible
man is suro to have a quick sympathy
from his laithful horse. He trusts his
master as his mister trusts him. If tho
master is quiet tho horse will be equally
so, knowing that everything is safe. If
the master blusters or becomes anxious
or exhibits fear, tho horse knows it at
once and becomes restive likewise. Oh,
that men only knew that horses know
much more than they givo them credit
ior,nud that they would use them more
humanely than they do now. Horses
are not brutes—they arc noble, intelli
gent, sensible creatures, the most use
ful animal servant which Divine good
ness has given to man.— ^Ncw Eng
land Farmer.
Hired Entertainers.
It has become a custom with our rich-
. est and most hospitable families to in
troduce hired entertainers at their
receptions. Tho Vanderbilts had an
entire negro minstrel company for a
midnight hour last winter. Oa an Astor
occasion tho whole company of a cur
rent farce were brought in to perform
1 au act of the piece. But generally the
professional amusement is provided by
single singers or comic reciters, often
1 distinguished artists.—[New York Sun.
