The Fayetteville news. (Fayetteville, Ga.) 18??-????, February 15, 1889, Image 1

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The Fayetteville news., February 15, 1889, Image 1

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Newspaper Page Textv- u w* THE FAYETTEVILLE NEWS. cum S BEADLES, Proprietors. FAYETTEVILLE, GA., FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1889. YOL. I. NO. 2!*. S. S. MOORE, DEALER IN Fine Liquors, Brandies, TOBACCOS AND CIGARS, 9 West Metchell St. Atlanta. Ga. PRICE LIST. Gal, Qt. Pure Pickens Co., Corn $2.00 70 Lots 4 gallons and 3 qrts. 1.75 N. C. Sweet Mash Corn 1.65 50 In lots 4f gallons, 1.60 W. S Samuels & Co. Sour Mash Rye 10 years old, 5.00 1.25 Old Baker Rye, 5.00 125 Old Cabinet Rye, 3.00 1.00 Robinson County Rye, 2.25 75 Old Reserve Rye, 2.50 85 Boubon Rye 3 years old, 2.50 75 XXXX Mill Creek Whisky 200 60 70 Proof Rye, 2.50 50 Pure Cherokee County Apple & Peach Brandies 3,00 1.00 Imported Juniper Gin, 3 50 1,00 Holland Gin, 2.00 60 Imported Port Wine, 3.00 75 Beer, Pints per dozen, 1 25 JBeer by keg, 2.50 Blackberry Brandy, 1.50 50 Cherry Brandy, 1.50 50 Jugs per gallon, 10 cents. Send money by Postal Note, S. S. MOORE, 9 West Mitchell Street, Atlanta, Ga. My Sweetheart f#- The Blacksmith and the Daisy, Among the daisies sho nestled down, And plucking one tiny bud, She peoped through her lashes 'of hazel brown At its beautiful crimson hood. Then shaking the dew from its bonny head She lifted it up to her lips. And whispered his name with a cheek as red As the bloom on its fragrant tips. “I love, I lovel" and her voice grew bland As the breeze from the gentle south; ‘‘I love, I loveT—but a strong brown hand Was laid on her smiling mouth. “You love, you love 1” and the brown hand twinod Through the waves of her sunny hair. “They love, they lovel” sang the tell-tale wind, Through the locks of the whispering pair. The shy wee daisy was borne away From the fluttering girlish breast. And the rough smith smiled ns it coyly lay In the crease of his opon vest, As though it were gracing the loneliest place In the forge whore he gayly toiled; It smiled through the smoko with its sweet round face, Till its leaves were all smeared and soiled. Up went his sledge with a right good will, Then down with a merry dang; Louder and louder, and louder still, As ho whistled the tunes she sang. He tossed his crisp locks as ho fondly cried: “How happy this toiling will be, When you, love, are tending our own ingle- side, And waiting, my darling, for me! “Through the lights and shadows of forty years I see you with wrinkled brow; Ah, lovelier fur! though your face appears More grave and more thoughtful than now. I steal to the window, and softly tap, While you smile in your low rush chair, In your modost kerchief, in your snow wliito cap, And your halo of dear gray hair.” A rush of wind, and the daisy lay .’2£id the dust on the smithy floor, Welcome flie sotf eyed day 1 Dr the song of the blackbird more. But the blacksmith lifted the faded thing, Saying: “Little I thought that this, The most common flower of the field, could bring Such a vision of perfect bliss.” —[Chambers’ Journal. Ob, my sweetheart! Not coy is she. Each morning She gets in bed with me. She.makes a little dash, And though I sleep as sleep the dead. She wakes me as she pounds my head And pulls ut my mustache, And gives me many a shako. ‘'You dear o!d uncle, wake!” Then I move slightly, with a great pretense Of drowsiness and dull'indifference. And tlion she gives another shake— “You dear old uncle, wake!" And then I make a sudden, mighty start, And laugh and draw her down beside my heart (Gulp down the thought that comes that I’m alone— Try to forgot that one life's had it’s wreck). And feel a soft cheek laid against my own. And small, warm arms wound tightly round my neck, And it’s “Oh! and Oh! j I love you so!" And then 1 cuddle her and say how sweet Sho is, and that I've half a mind to eat Her bodily,and still it's “Oh, aud Oh! ‘ I love you so!" And thus we make great love, Oh, my sweetheart!'’ —Chicago Mail. ! Of three women living in one house in \ Walker County, Ga., there are two j wives, two mothers-in-law, two daugh j ters-in-law, three mothers, two graud- j mothers, and one great-graudmotner. A DOMESTIC TYRANT. “Things is happening quite provi dential this year," said Mr. Proul, pi ously, as ho closod his bank-book, put it into his table-drawer and turnod the key on it. “Applos lias gone up a quarter of a dollar, on a barrel, and I’vo kopt my bay long enough to bring the best market pricos.” Chloo looked earnestly up from tbo stockings sho was darning, on the other side of the tallow candle. It seemed to her as if circumstances were auspicious for a demand which had long been in her mind. “Don't you think, Uncle Peter,” she hazarded, “that I might have a now dross?" Mr. Proul put on hi3 glasses and viewed his niece with a stern and sol emn gaze. “A now—dross?” ho ropaatod. “A new dress? Didn’t you have one in the spring?" “Yes, Uncle Peter; hut that was six months ago; and it was only a calico!’ “There’s the dress I bought at Widow Salisbury’s auction and give you. What’s become of that?’’ questioned Mr. Proul, without varying tbo glasses one- sixteeuth part of an inch, until poor Chloo felt us if sho wore being scorched by a pair of baleful suns. “Girls don’t wear black bombazine, Uncle Peter!" timidly ploadcd his niece. “And, besides, it was so tenlor that it was all dropping to pieces. A calico, now—" “Hold your tongue, Chloe l’> gruffly spoko up tho old man. “Your dross is good enough. It’s a deal better than anything I wear. Eut you’vo inherited every drop of your mother’s extrava gant blood, that’s very plain to see!” Chloo winced visibly. A slur on her motbor’s momory was to her a keener insult than any reproach addressod to hcrsolf. “I wouldn’t so much mind it, Uncle Potor,” said sho, “if wo were hero by ourselves; but 1 am ashamed to sit at the t&blo when Mr. Cresson comes in, my clothes are so faded and patched.” “You needn’t worry!’’ satirically ■poke up Uncle Peter. “It ain’t no way likely that Mr. Cresson takes much notico of you, or of what you’ve got on. He’s got something of more im portance to think oil” Once more Chloe crimsoned, but sho made no further response, and went on with her work, while her uncle took up the poker and pulled the hickory logs forward, so that they shbuld not burn away too fast. Mr. Cresson was late that evening. He was the agent at the little railway station in tho woods, and there was al ways extra freight on Wednesday nights to attend to. But when at last ho did come in, he had a now magazine and a littlo roll of story papers for Chloe. “The train boy had -omething new to-night," said ho to Chloe. “I thought perhaps you would like a little read ing.” Uuc'.o Peter scowled under his shag gy brows. “Tho Bible and tbo (ookory book is enough reading for wo', n-folks,” sail be, “according to. my j'L.ns.” Tho next day, vsj.an Chloe had finished her churning, gqt the dishes washed and the floor scrubbed, and tbo chicken stowing in the pot for dinner, she looked around for her magnzino aud newspapers. They wero gone. Sho ran out to tho barn, where Mr. Proul was putting up new manger- boards. “Uncle Peter,” said sho. “where is my magnzinc—the ouo Mr. Cresson brought mo?" “Your magazine?" slowly repeated Mr. Proul, turning his foot-rulo this way and that. “Oh, yes I I sold it to Mary Ann Burtis thia^ .morning for ton conts when she chine for a quart of via*- ogar. Mary Ann she sort o’ took a no tion to it. And I give her tho papers; there’ re short o’ newspapers for fire- lightin’ at Burtis*. Now you needn’t say a word, Chloo; I aiu’t goiu’ to have you foolin’ away your timo over story books whoa there’s all them carpet rags to bo sewed and the house work to do, and mo noedin’ a new set o’ work shirts There!" Chloe obeyed. She did not say a word. Sho turned away and went slowly back into tho bouse. “There is no slave in all this world worse treated than I am 1” she cried to herself. ' “I will enduro it no longer! For all that I do in this house I receive neither credit nor wages.’’ When Mr. Proul came into dinner the chickons were still stowing away, emit ting savory odors from under the pot- lid ; but tho table wa3 not spread, and Chloe was not there. Chloe had packed her littlo bag, and loft tho bouse. Tbo station agent arrived, as usual, on the stroke of twelve, and to him, Uncle Peter Proul confided his sor rows. “I don’t wonder,’’ said Mr. Cresson. “I oniv wonder that sho had not run away long ugo.” “I’vo been a father to her,” whined Uncle l\tcr. “A tyrant, if you please," snid Cres son, shrugging his shoulders. “A tyrant who ruled hor with a rod of iron —a ruthless oversoor, who allowed hor neither rost no recreation. If this bo patornal treatment—why, thoa you are right.” “Eh?” gasped Uncle Peter, as he slowly ladled out iho chicken stew, j “So you and sho’ve cookod it up tu- J getlier, have you?" “I beg your pardon," said tho station I agont, with freezing politeness. “You i are entirely mistakon. I did not know ! that Ch’.oo thought of leaving homo; • nor do I know whero sho is. And if you are going to make any more such j conjocturo3, I shall go elsewhere to j board.” “Don’t do that!" gasped Uncle Poter overwhelmed at tho propositi of losing a paying boarder—“don’t think o' no such thing, Mr. Cresson. 1 didn’t moan no harm; I won’t do it ag’in. The fowl’s very nice, and I ain’t no bad bund at cookin’ myself. Wo’U get along somehow, until Chloe cornea back. Twon’t be long, I guess.” But the day3 passed on and Chloe did not return. The coarsc-handcd maids whom he hired only made matters worse, and he wrung his hands over their lack of economy and piteous mismanagement of ail airs. But tbo wor3t of all was yet to come. Ho crept down stairs, one da} - , with a.’, ashen lace. ’•My money 1" he gaspod—“my money 1 I put it, for safe keeping, in tho pocket of tint oi l bombazine gown o’ Widow Salisbury’s, that I gsvo Chloo, from tho auction. And it’s gonel Sho took it away with hor things; and Idunno whero she’s gone!" “Was it much?" said the station agent. “A hundred dollars 1” sai 1 Mr. Proul. “In one clean, new bill. .1 Intn-Jcnl dollars!'' “Don’t fret yourself," said Mr. Cres son. “I hoar-1, yesterday, that Chloo was helping Mrs. Ma=oa with the bakery that sho has opened in Uoio - ville, two stations further up the line. I can easily get word to her tomor row.’’ But instead of sending word by tbo express-ageat on the Mr. Cresson left lii3 duties in charge of the freight- master, and went to L'oior. vide him self. “That old dress!’’ cried Chloo. “Why, I gave it to Grand mother Mason, yester day, to moke into a wadded chair cushion. It was fit for cothiog else." “Pocket and all?’’ sai l Mr. Cresson. “Yes, pockot aad all," nodded Chloe. But I’ll go and get it at once." Grandmother Mason, fortunately, ha 1 not as yet put scissors in her new in heritance, and the crisp bill w: s folded safely away -in the v pocket of the dc- lapidated bombnzine gown, just where Mr. Proul hod stored it. “Is Uncie Peter very lonesome?” said Chloe, wistfully. "No more than he deserves to be," said tbo station agent. "Bet-ey Brook has burned a hole through tho bottom of the new wash-boiler, aud Edia Jones flur.g out a silver 3poou to the pigs, yesterday. ” “You ought not to laugh!" appealed Chloe. “No, I know I oughtn’t to,” said Mr. CressoD, “but I can’t help it. Did I tell you that ho wants you to come back?" “I don’t know but that it 13 my duty to do so,’’ said Chloe, twining and in tertwining her fingers together. •‘My dear little Chloe, that’s all non sense!" snid Mr. Cresson. “Hasn’t ho ground you deeply enough into the earth already?" “Y*e-es; but—■” “Now, listen to me," said Mr. Cres son: “I boarded at the old larm-house with you and your uncle for three months. Ail the while I was in love." “Yes, I thought you wore,” faltered Chloe. “I was sure of it. I often wanted to ask you who she was, but I hadn’t the courage. Aud now you’re going to be married, I suppose? Is—is sho pretty?" “Very prettyl" “I should iiko to know her,” said Chloe. “Would you?" said Cresson, his eyes sparkling with mischiof. “That is eas ily accomplished. For the littlo maid who has stolon hor way into my heart is no other than yourself, Chloe! Kiss me, darling! Toil me that you will be my wife!" So Uncle Peter got back the hundrod- dollar bill which, like an older’.y mag pie, be bad bidden away iu the Widow Salisbury’s bombazine pocket, and Stanford Cresson got Chloo herself, the most precious treasure of all. And Undo Peter is yet in tuo slough of despond as regards the “hired-help" question. Perhaps lie de erves it. At Last that is tho opinion of Mr. Cresson, who keeps heme in n pretty little cottage close to the station. — [Saturday Night PEARLS OK THOUGHT. Eavr is only oao form of disposition to steal. You can train a child to do anything tut act naturally. To be popular act liko others; to be honest act yourself. In ordor to servo a truo friend wo i.ust first learn to bo one. Tho apprehensions of women are finer und quicker than those of men. Never content you-'self with the idea d having a common-place wifo. A little knowledge wmly used is bet- .cr thun all knowledge disused. Inspirations to a higher and purer ifo always comes from above a man. A man is tho healthiest and happiest • hen bo thinks the least about either. The vdl which covets tlia face of nattily is wovsn by the heed of mercy. Contradiction animates convention, ij-.t is why courts are generally monoto- p .u>. O t what seems £ trifl’, a mere notli- ,.g by itself, in some situations, turns he scale of fate, and rules the most im- uriant actions. If philanthropy is properly defined a be a love of tenukind, most of wo- -en huve an unequivocal title to be .■usidcrcd philanthropists. Wonders of the Dead Sea. One cf tho most interesting lakes or inland seas in the world, is the Dead Sea, which has no visible outlet. It is rot mere fancy that has clothed the Dead Sou in gloom. The desolate shores, with scarcely a green thing la sight, and scattered over with black stones and ragged driftwood, form s fitting name foj; the dark, sluggish wafers, covered with a perpetual mist, and breaking in slow, heavy sepulchral- toned waves upon the beach. It seems ns if the smoko of the wicked cities was yet ascending up to heaven, aad as if tho moan of their fearful sorrow would never leave that God-smitten valley. It is a strange thing to see those waves, not dancing along and sparkling in tho sun as other waves do, but moving with measured melancholy, and sending to the car, ns they break languidly upon the reck, only doleful sounds. This is, no doubt, owing to tho great heaviness of the water, a fact well know::, and which wo simp'y verified in the usual way, lor, on attempting to swim, we went floating about liko empty casks. This experiment was moro satisfactory in its progress than in its rosults, which were a very unctuous skin and a most pestiferous stinging of every nerve, as if wo had been beaten with nettles. Nor was the water we took into our mouth a whit less vile than the most nauseous dru,s of the apothecary. That fish cannot live in this strong solution of bitumen and salt is toe obvious to need proof; but to say that birds cannot fly over it end live is one of tho exaggerations of travelers, whe perhaps wero nor, like ourselves, so fortunate as to see a flock of ducks re posing on the water in apparently good health. And yet this was ail the lifa we did see. The whole valioy was ono seething caldron, tinder a more than tropical sun, God-forsaken and mac- forsakon, no green thing grows within it, and it remains to this day as strik ing a monument of God's fearful judg ments as when tho tiro from heavoa de voured the once mighty cities of the plain.—[Missionary Herald. It is snid that iu France one person in seven follows art, either as a profes sion or dillotaute. Largest American Steel Plant. The steel plant of tho Phoenix Iron Company, Philadelphia, which has been in course of erection for the last fout months, is completed. The engines weigh 370,000 pounds, and tho roll- train weighs 400,000 pounds. This is the largest plant in the country, not excepting that at Pottsville. The ougines have a capacity of 2000 pounds pressure, and the plant is expocted to turn out stool suitable for armoring cruisers for the Government, and for making stoel guns of any calibre. Tho works havo bogun running in earnest. — [New York Tribune.