Newspaper Page Text
®he Art ® nines Sentinel ♦
JOSHUA JONES, PUBLISHER.
VOL. II.
Drifting On.
In the dark or in the dawn,
Drifting on!
In the sad and glad of life—
In the sunlight, in the strife.
Drifting on!
Hills to climb, and rivers wide.
But the starlight's on the tide—
Green banks on the other side.
Drifting on!
Where the ocean wanders far,
Drifting on!
In the stormiest skies a star—
Bells that ring across the bar,
Drifting on!
In the darkness of the nights
Faith the distant haven sights;
And, behold—the harbor lights!
Drifting on!
—F. L. Stanton.
THE CAPTAIN’S PARTY.
BT MARGARET MOORE PIGGOT.
The Captain made up his mind to
give a party. He first thought of a
dinner—a dinner it is called in that
part of the world—but upon mature
consideration decided that an evening
party with a dance would be better.
“You 6an get more people in the
house that way,” he reasoned, “and
then, Mammy is right, it don’t take
so many dishes. ”
“Whar yer gwine ter git ’nough fer
all dem folks to eat?” demanded his
dictator, for the Captain like many
another southerner, was still under
the care of his “Mammy” and she
ruled him and his house with a rod of
iron. She had never even dreamed of
leaving the old plantation. Freedom
had no charms away from all her life¬
time associations, and the comfort of
her “chile” was far more important to
her than personal independence. So
she stayed at her post with her old
husband—who would possibly have
had some revolutionary ideas if Mam¬
my hp .owed him the luxury of a
private opinion—and she cooked for
her one lamb left in the old fold,
nursed and cared for him, though he
was forty as she had done when he
was four.
It was the first Christmas after the
war, dreary, sad and hopeless; too
soon after the stunning blow of defeat
for much reaction even in the healthi¬
est nature. The terrible poverty, the
desperate outlook over many fields
left fallow, crushed even the most
buoyant souls.
The Captain was “pretty blue,” he
declared, and felt that somebody must
come to the front with something to
cheer up the neighborhood and as he
was a bachelor, with a big house un¬
touched by the chances of Avar, he was
convinced that he was the one to do
it; but Mammy’s question about sup¬
plies was pertinent and must be an¬
swered.
( < Well, Mammy, I reckon there’s a
wild turkey or so in the hollow, and
Uncle Jake can set all his hare traps
and he can eatch us a lot of old
hares”—the Caiitain called them “ole
hyares”—“and I can get some squir¬
rels and partridges, and I don’t think
we’ll starve on that.”
“Huh! Mar yer gwine ter git
no cake, an’no ice cream ner nuthin?”
“Well, everything you cook tastes
so good, Mammy,the folks won’t know
the difference.”
“I don’t min’ cooking things, when
I got things ter cook,” -was Mammy’s
parting shot as she left the room, ob¬
viously mollified, and the captain
knew his first ally was secured.
It was a different matter when he
spoke to his sister-in-law of his in¬
tended hospitality. She had been
widowed by the war, and she consid¬
ered the captain’s “frivolity,” as she
called it, a heartless proceeding, a
want of proper respect for his dead
brother.
“Is this a time to dance?” she
asked.
“Well, yes, Molly, I think it is.
We’ve had time enough to weep, the
THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE 18 THE SUPREME LAW.
FORT GAINES. GA., FRIDAY. JANUARY 17. 1896.
Lord knows, and we've done
of it, and we’re going to do
more before wo get through. And
that’s just the reason I took it into
mv head I’d like to dance a little
now.”
“Who’ll danoo with you; who will
you invite?”
“Everybody, you and the children
to begin with. They’re young enough
to dance, sure, and I'll get all the old
folks to playing in the little parlor,
and we’ll begin early and keep it up
late and forget our troubles for one
night, anyway, and dance the old
year out and the New Year in, as we
always need to do. Tom’s been dead,
poor fellow, these three years, you
know.”
“As if I could forget Tom in three
years!” but she made no further ob¬
jection, and as the Captain expected,
every one who was bidden was only
too glad to come. It was the only
party in the country side, the only
break in the monotony of that dreary
winter, and everybody seized upon
the opportunity, and everybody made
merry.
The host’s request to “come early
and stay late” was obeyed to the letter.
Before 5 o’clock, a nondescript pro¬
cession of vehicles began to file in the
“big gate.” Horses were very scarce,
mules almost as much so; therefore,
the carriage—where one survived—
was out of the question, if the whole
family were to come which they did
in most cases, so the usual chariot
was the farm wagon, drawn by the
mule and horse with rope harness, or
what had once been a “sure enough”
harness, tied up in a multitude of
places with a collection of strings;
mamma and the children inside upon
straw, pillows or anything that could
soften the hard wooden floor; papa
driving, and tho whole party bent on
enjoying themselves to the utmost.
A few young men rode a farm horse
or mule, but many of them walked,
miles and miles, and danced all night
afterward. The old colonial house
literally glowed with hospitality
through every ruddy window, for the
problem for enough light had been
solved by Uncle Jake’s“elbow grease”
at the woodpile and countless chunks
of lightwood were heaped up to
brighten up the festivities. There were
a few candles in the parlor and in the
supper room, but the long drawing
room, which had not been used for
years—the war closed those doors—
had a roaring wood fire in the great
chimney at each end, upon which,
from time to time, the fat pine knots
were thrown, and the bright,flickering
flame illuminating the large room
with a rosy light, throwing deep
shadows in the corners where some¬
times a shadow came handy, if a man
and a maid—we know the rest. Cupid
had been very busy during these four
restless years, and it was not to be ex¬
pected that he would give up his old
habits immediately.
“Long Mose” and “Yellow Sam”
were the fiddlers, and “Mammy’s”
Jake “knocked the tune” on the
banjo with such good will as well as
good time that to keep cue’s feet
slill necessitated the loss of one of
them, or a “Yankee bullet in the
knee.” In the “little parlor were the
cards and the old folks, and in the
halls, up the old stairs, peeping
through the railing on the landings,on
the floor among the dancers, romped
the children.
From the open door a beam of rosy
light fell across the lawn, the moon
rose majestically over the mountains
across the river, the dry leaves of the
old red oak near the house soughed
in the mild breeze, the Potomac silver
here and there in the moonlight,
glided on as peacefully as though its
current had never been tinged by
other red than the glow from the fire
light in the lockkeeper's house under
the shadow of the mountain. In the
ball room “Long Mose” was calling
the figures for the Virginia reel.
“Honor to yer partners,” “Fust
couple forrard and back.
Mammy’s supper was as groat a tri¬
umph of tho Captain’s markmanship
as of her cooking,for powder and ball
were too scarce to be wasted in a sin¬
gle unprofitable shot, aud every time
the music of “Mars Dick’s” rifle had
been heard, some bird or beast re
gretted being within call. There
were partridges stuffed with little balls
of sausages and baked—“One o’old
miss’ ways”—there were three wild
turkeys cooked to a turn, a ham—part
of the one hog that was killed that
year—there were squirrels aud rab
bits galore, aud real coffee with sugar
and cream.
As the night was waning the Cap¬
tain saw his sister-in-law crossing the
hall with her youngest boy fast asleep
in her arms. He hastened to relieve
her of the burden. As they entered
the “chamber,” the down stairs bed
sacred , to , the mistress , ol .... the
room
house i ■ and tho , usual , irmly ...... sitting
'
also, , Molly ,, ,, seated . . herself . by the ..
room
fare and 1 held , out , , her arms for . the ..
child, but the Captain did not hand
him to her immediately. Ho stooped ,
to let tile firelight fail {on the l.ttle
face lying against his breast.
( i T How j much he looks like m Tom , I
and yet he is like you too, Molly—
like you looked when Tom and I drew
straws to see which of us-Should speak
first.” She looked uty. quickly.
“Didn’t he ever tell you?fitWell, you
see, I made him promise IJte wouldn’t
when but, all I found the he was I can’t the .Target ••Jfacky one; it; I
same,
never have.”
He __ , bent forward . . the ( child
over
again, kissed , the , sleepy little month,
then . faying , him ..... in his mother , s arms,
said quietly: “Molly, ,, I T will , be a
father . ,, to , them , all ,, if will let , ,
you me,
and I have loved you all my life.”
“Miss Molly, Mammy says can’t
yer come thor jest a minit.”
“Take him, Dick won’t you?” she
said, as she rose, giving the child to
the Captain.
i C For my own son?”
i i Don’t urge me now; let me think. „
He sat with the child on bis lap for
a while. Then, as Molly did not re¬
turn, and a burst of laughter from the
ball room reminded him of his duties,
he rose, laid the boy on the bed and
went out to his guests again.
They were beginning to leave. Molly
was saying farewell to some of them
at the door as he joined her. By the
time the last one had gone tho streak
of gray over the mountains had broad
ened almost to the zenith: the cap
tain turned to her and said, as they
watched the growing light:
“Well, Molly, my party wasn’t so
bad after all, was it?”
“It was a great success, and I think
you were right to do it. I find we
need mirth sometimes, almost as much
as we need prayer.”
“Was it a success for me? See, the
New Year is breaking on the world
with the new day. Shall a new and
happier day dawn for me, too?”
“Yes.”
< < Miss Molly, little loms awake,
and he’s a crying for you.”
As she caught up the child he folded
both of them in his arms. A “happy
New Year to you, my dear,” he said.
—Washington Star.
High Enough.
Miriam—Don’t you think my new
hat a poem, Ned?”
Ned (critically)—From its height,
dear, I should instead compare it to a
short story.—Judge.
The chapel in honor of St. Panl
gave a new name to the Minnesota
city. It was originally called Pig’s
Eye, from a nickname given to a one
eyed Frenchman, who kept a drinking
shanty at the place.
Wlu'n Men Weep.
It is ono of the first laws of tho
philosophy of emotion that men
shall not cry. They must find some
other outlet for their pent-up footings,
The safest plan, perhaps, is to make
frequent the use of the expressions,
“Dear me!” and “Goodness gra
cions!” which are perfectly harmless,
1 There are, as every ono must know,
times when even the strongest mon
are overcome by their foelings, and a
terribly heart-roudiug sight it is to
see a big frame convulsed with sobs
and a proud, manly face stained with
t ears -
11 IU * < ’ * lu ' vovor * ^ 1H neither
P a * n not f? 1 f thut will make a man
01 k°Mh ik who will beat ixi.iu
Clating in > UneB without fl moan ’ havo
been known to break down when the
lights aro lowered and some thilliug
scene is portrayed on tho Adolphi
boards.
Orators and singers are both subject
in an extraordinary degree to the
sway J of emotion, dears are no uu
common sight in the pulpit. In fact,
there few preachers whose , voices
are
aro not at times so full that they J are
choked , with feeling, and their eyes
3
bedimmed , , with . , tears. Then if you
g allCe around the hushed assembly.
who are hanging on the preacher r s
words, vou will see many J a man whoso
cheeks moist with , sympathy.
are
Tho great Spurgeon would ofton
break down under stress of feeling
and Cannon Liddon’s utterunco many
atimo failed him from the ovorwholm
iug pathos which liia emotional voice
betrayed.
Sims Reeves’ “Tom Bowling” al
ways affected tho famous singer, and
Mario was known to break down
when , tho ,, well of his . gentle ,, heart , ,, s
emotion ,. was filled until the tears
could , _ longer , ,,,,,, be held back,
no
_ When T1 Charles Dickens put , an end ,
to the career of little Paul Dombey,
the great writer went out into tho
darkness of the night and found com¬
fort in tears. Many men are over
come when reading books; even
frivolous uovels may contain a chap
ter which will make the threat husky
and blur the pages till thoy become
invisible.
Johu Bright was known on several
occasions to give way to his feelings
in delivering a public speech, while
Lord Russell is often beaten by the
pathos of bis own impassioned lan
guage.—Pittsburg Diupateb.
The Potato’s Genesis Unsolved.
The early naturalists differed great
]y afj ^e origin of tho potato,
writes John Gilmer Speed in Ludies’
Home Journal. In England it was
Helrl to be a native of Virginia, and
in Spain it was said to have origi
nated in Peru. Modern opinion holds
that it is indigenous to tho elevated
tablelands of Chile, Peru, Bolivia,
Costa Itica, Mexico and southwestern
United States. It probably got to
Virginia by the hands of some early
Spanish explorers. It is certain,
however, that it was not cultivated in
Virginia till far into the eighteenth
century, and then it was introduced
in the American Colonies on account
0 f the esteem in which it was held in
Europe.
Trade Secrets.
Tailor—Thought I’d met some nervy
people, but-
Shoemaker—What now?
Tailor—I’ve had to press these
trousers four times, and they are not
even paid for.
Shoemaker—That’s nothing. I went
to collect a bill for a pair of shoes
yesterday and the fellow kicked me
out with them.
Pure milk is insured to the inhabi
tants of Havana, in the Island of
Cuba, by the milkman bringing his
cows with him and drawing off at each
house the amount required.
ONE DOLLAR PER ARHUS*
NO. 2.
A Spider Farm.
A sirup bottler has improved upon
the prison lesson of Bruce- He ha*
takon the spider into partnership in
tho working of ono of tho most im
portant departments, Flies, oook
roaches aud other insocts, attracted
by his sweets, aud encouraged by the
genial air of his bottling room, used
to interfere with his work, get into
his bottles, steal his goods and worry
him. Ho has recruited the spider
against his foes and he has vanquished
them.
Some 6,000 spiders now make their
home on the ceiling and walls of his
Bottling department. Their webs are
everywhere ami they behave thorn
. 80 l VCB with great intelligence.
Said tho bottler to an interviewer:
“1 hose creatures . . know more than ,, a
great many people. Spiders do not
care for sweet things and never drop
into my vats or get into my bottles.
| Inuvord . Bturl)them % to £(jed
them occasionally.
“They shut themselves up during
most of the winter months in the lit¬
tle nests you see stuck like daubs of
mud about the ceiling, When win
ter comes I brush away all tho woIjh;
they prefer to weave new ones every
spring.
“Each May they reappear, ready to
unravel tho silken fabric that is stored
in their bodies. It is just about then
that tho flies have hatched their first
young. If the spiders appeared earlior
tho crop of flics would soon give out.
I have only been runniug this spider
farm two years, but I find my littl*
partners indispensable; thoy will not
j endure in the place a single fly or in¬
! that is plunderer of sweets am*
sect a
sirups. ”—Science.
Mourning Etiquette.
Social observances attendant on th«
death of a relative have of lute become
HO complicated and important that not
even intensity of grief will excuse any
one from observing all the iiioeties ol
mourning etiquette. When a bereavo*
meat occurs in a family, not only i#
Hie p U v»li c notice published every da/
f or u but to those friends wli#
are abroa d, and not likely other wiM
t () receive the .news, largp, black-bor
dcred cards are sent out, engraved
wjttj tJje dttte of tbo f unera l am i a re*
qlUiH t to attend it. This is purely »
formality of course; but it serves t#
acquaint one’s friends with tho bo
reavement.and often prevents ignore
home-comers from making, unintee
tionully, cruel mistakes. Good for: [J* 1
requires that, on tho receipt of one <*4
these cards, a letter of condolence b<8
forwarded at once, and written on
paper delicately bordered, on one
edge, with a black line. The envel¬
ope flap of such a letter is stamped
with a black wax, and the expression#
of sympathy must be brief, except
when ono has been asked to assum*
mourning.
The last, is a compliment extended
by the family of the deceased,who se¬
lect twelve friends of their lost rela
live to wear mourning for twenty di ys
in honor of the beloved departed. The
mourning consists of a band of bhck
crepe on the left arm, both for rue*
and women.—Demorest’s Magazine,
Custom of Saying Grace Sot Falling 0®
The old-fashioned habit of saying
grace before meals is not dying out.
In some families the custom of saying
a silent grace is observed, but, to my
mind, the old-fashioned inethoi oi
asking God’s blessing on the “foot!
which we are to receive,” while all
stand reverently, is the most proper
way in which to observe.—Ladies’
Home Journal
During the recent trouble at Con
stantinople the British Mediterranean
fleet lay at Lomnos with full steam up
for four days. This cost #35,000 fot
extra coal.