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Um? Ipit’jt d’fiuniii HMtly. VOL. 111. Advertising Kates. One square, first insertion $ 75 Each subsequent insertion 50 One square three months 5 00 One square six months 10 00 One square twelve months 15 00 Quarter column twelve months... 30 00 Half column six months 40 00 Half column twelve months 60 00 One column twelve months 100 00 BoP-Ten lines or less considered a square. All fractions of squares are counted as full squares, NEWSPAPER DECISIONS. 1. Any person who takes a paper regu larly from the post office—whether directed ta his name or another’s, or whether he has subscribed or not—is responsible for the payment. 2. If a person ordeis his paper discontin ued, he must pay all arrearages, or the pub lisher may continue to send it until payment is made, and collect the whole amount, whether the paper Is taken from the office or n )t. 3. The courts Lave decided that refusing to take newspapers and periodicals from the postoffice, or removing and leaving them un called for, is •p'rima facie evidence of inten tional fraud. TOWN DIRECTORY. Mayor— Thomas G. Barnett. Commissioners— W. W. rurnipseed.D. B. Biviriß, E. G. Harris, E. R. James. Clerk —E. G. Harris. Treasurer —W. S. Shell. Marshals —S. A. Belding, Marshal. J. W. Johnson,Deputy. JUDICIARY. A. M. f'PRER, - Judge. F. D. Dismukb, - - Solicitor General. Butts —Second Mondays in March and September. Henry—TTuttf Mondays in April and Oc tober. Monroe—Fourth Mondays in February, and August. Newton—Third Mondays in March and September. Pike—Second Mondays in April and Octo ber. Rockdale—Monday after fourth Mondays in March and September Spalding—First Mondays in February and August. Upson—First Mondays in May and No vember. CHURCH DIRECTORY. Methodist Episcopal Chcrch, (South.) Rev. Wesley F. Smith, Pastor Fourth Sabbath in each -month. Sunday-school 3 r.M. Prayer meeting Wednesday evening. Methodist Protestant Church. First Sabbath in„each mouth. Sunday-school 9 a. a. Christian Church, W. S. Fears, Pastor. Second Sabbath in each month. Baptist Church, Rev. J. P. Lyon, Pas tor. Third Sabbath in each month. CIVIC SOCIETIES. Pink Grove Lodge, No. 177, F. A. M Stated communications, lourth Saturday in eaeh month. DOCTORS. DR. J. C.TURNJPSEED will attend to all calls day or night. Office i resi dence, Hampton, Ga. j\R. W. H. PEEBLES treats all dis ■l * eases, and will attend to all calls day and night. Office at the Drug Store, Broad Street, Hampton, Ga. DR. N. T. BARNETT tenders bis profes sional services to the citizens of Henry and adjoining counties, and will answer calls day or night. Treats all diseases, of what ever nature. Office at Nipper’s Drug Store, Hampton, Ga. Night calls eau be made at my residence, opposite Berea church. apr26 JF. PONDER, Dentist, has located in • Hampton, Oa., and invites the public to eali at his room, upstairs in the Bivins House, where he will be fonnd at all hours. Warrants all work for twelve months. LAWYERS. JNO. G. COLDWELL, Attorney at F,aw, Brooks Station, Ga. Will practice in the counties composing the Coweta and Flint River Circuits. Prompt attention giveD to commercial and other collections. TC. NOLAN, Attorney at Law, Mc • Donougb, Georgia: Will practice in the counties composing the Flint Circuit ; the Supreme Court of Georgia, and the United States District Court. WM. T. DICKEN, Attorney at Law, Mc .Donougb, Ga, Will practice in the counties composing the Flint Judicial Cir cuit, the Supreme Court of Georgia, and the United States 'District Court. (Office op stairs over W. O. Sloan’s.) apr27-ly SEO. M. NOLAN, Attorney at Law. McDonough,Ga. (Officein Court house) Will practice in Henry and adjoining conn ties, and in the Supreme and District Courts of Georgia. Prompt attention given to col lections. . mch23-6m JF. WALL, Attorney at Law, //amp . ton,Ga Will practice in the connties composing the Flint Judicial Circuit, and the Supreme and District Courts of Georgia. Prompt attention given to collect ions. ocs EDWARD J. REAGAN, Attorney at law. Office on Broad Street, opposite the Railroad depot, Hampton, Georgia. Special attention given to commercial and other collections, and cases iD Bankruptcy. BF. McCOLLUM, Attorney and Coun • sellor at L»w, Hampton, Ga. Will practice in Henry, Clayton. Fayette, Coweta, Pike, Meriwether, Spalding and Butts Supe rior Courts, and in the Supreme aDd United States Courts Collecting claims a specialty. Office uo stairs in the Mein loch Building. THE LOST, LOST DAYS. Ay, happy are the nodding flowets That, tasseled, hang from yonder tree ; Their lives, all beauty, wear thfeir gold In Summer crowns of purity; But man, O man. what costly tears Bedew thy cradle, as thy grave; What griels enseam thy course Of years And break the rest we vainly crave; I fain would be the nodding flower Which one bright Summer morn arrays, Than in a Wintry noon of life Sit down to count the lost, lost days! Pause, listen to that singing bird, He trills not for a vague applause; He but obeys bis Master, God, And sings in cadence with Ilis laws. I hate the bitter lies of art, Melod ; ous fraud that fills our ears, The servile school where men are taught To mould in song pretended fears. I fain would be the bird who sings With fearless throat bis honest Jays, Nor heeds, nor knows to-morrow’s dawu, Nor yet regrets the lost, lost days. Ay, happy are the bursting buds, Ay, happy are the birds of song ; Tis only man whose discontent Disturbs the earth with railing tongue ; He mourns for childhood’s artless joys, And youth’s and manhood’s vision fled ; While, by the embers of old age, He mumbles only of the dead. Whence is it that frail man alone Should fill the earth with grievous lays, Always a story of regret, And wasted life, the lost, lost days 1 Mothers-in-Law. How fashionable it has become to laugh at raothers-in-law! It is enough for a woman to have a married daughter to render her a walking witticism. Just bring up one girl; educate ber as well as you can ; watch over ber with that care no one knows save a mother ; marry ber to somebody’s good for nothing son, and yon will find yourself the subject of every stale joke that every news paper man can make oo you. Every time be is short of an item, he will have a fling at the mothere-in-law. Now, this ts all very fine, but at times and seasons Fannie’s mother-in-law is the most welcome guest that can come into tbe bouse. Don’t you remember that winter when Tom had tbe long fit of sickness; when nothing looked bright, and the only certain things in tbe future were doctors, grocers, and gas- Dills ; when tbe honse-rent and taxes loomed darkly up in the distance? Who was it that used to come in on a frosty morning, with a rosy old face full of sunshine, crowned with silver locks? Who stepped softly in the dim sick-room, where the recollection of last night’s sufferings still lingered, and lay ing aside her dear old shawl, that Fannie could remember ever since she.cut her tee'h, laid a soft, cool band upon tbe hot brow, and coaxed a spoonful of tea between the cracked lips, and after awhile tbe whole room found itself put to rights, and all the sticky cups and spoons gone, and the fire bomiug brightly, and just a touch of sweet, pale winter sunshine lying on tbe carpet ? Who was it that brought the basin, and coaxed the sore, fretful, big. unmanageable baby to have his face washed and his tum bled hair smoothed down with a gentle touch, that soothed instead of irritatiug the bead sick with want of sleep? Who under stood Tom so well, and knew why he was cross—because of Fannie and little Tom aod that last bald-headed incumbent? Did any one know so well as the much-abused mother-in-law how the big man felt to lie there and be helpless, while the busy, hard world spuo on, and every one who was not up aod doing had to go to tbe wall? Bless her heart I she feoew just how be felt, and did just wbat was oest for him. She brought the fat tyrant who screamed so whenever he ought not, and sat close to the bedside while baby took tbe wasted fioger of tbe sick man in his own soft grasp, and cooed out a morn ing hymn of praise to Him who looks after tbe birds of the air aod will not suffer one of His little ones to perish. No one laughed at tbe moth r-ki-law then; no, nor years after, when the curly-baired boy of four bright years went out to play, full of youth ful bealtlfcand dancing with joy, and was brought in an hour after, a mangled morsel of human suffering. Wbo eame first when heart-broken words traced by the hands of ber daughter reached ber : “Dear Mother— Johnnie bas been knocked down by a cart, aod tbe doctor says he wiH die ?” Yes, she was there—to wet the ashy lips; to kiss tbe little, chubby, unconscious bands, struggling against tbe hard fate that bad so early over taken them. Her arms raised the head, and placed the ice upon it, to still tbe throbbiog ; her bands strove ail through the long day and night of agony that followed to ease tbe HAMPTON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, JUNE 20, 1879. pain that knew no easing, until the gray shadow of the wings of death’s angel lay over the waxen face of little Johnnie. On that beautiful baby brow fell soft, Rilent tears from a grandmother’s eyes; and she alone marked the deepening of tbe purple tiut under the large clear eyes, the easing of the muscles stiffened by pain, the relaxing of •the round young limbs and tbe fainter beat ing of tbe little heart. What need to call the poor mother to watch those last mo ments ; to see the breath come more and more slowly I "Johnnie has gone home, dear Fannie," said the tireless watcher. ‘•Come and see him.” All painful traces had been removed. He lay, a little form of snowy marble, in his own cat, his pure white night-gown wrapping him for the sleep that knows no waking. White lilies lay about him, and his soft curls just stirred in the soil breeze that waited in between the while cur tains. Birds sang outside among the green elms, and as tbeir brunches swept against the windows they peeped in and whispered to each other: “There is a new angel in Heaven to-day.” Let us laugh at our mother-in-law, by all means. She wants to regulate ns free-born citizens ; and very badly some of us need it. She has an interest in her own daughter. Is that so very extraordinary ? If she is a lit tle bard to please sometimes, can we not for give her ? Think bow fall yoar bands have been ever since you got dear Fannie, a grown-up young lady ; and just imagine what a time there was with ber before she reached that state of perfection. Have a little patience with the dear old lady, and don’t sneer at her little failings. What if she does talk about when “your father and I were young,” and the great things they ac complished. They have provided you with a wife, and once on a time you thought thit was a great thing. When they were making up their minds to give Fannie to you, you did not sleep much. Yon thought more of their good opiuion then than anything in the whole world. Don’t you remember how yon used to sit Sunday evening, and listen to “when your lather and I were young” with out a murmor? Certainly you did. Think of the days that have passed away and the days that are coming, when strangers will come to stop with you, and tbe best bed room will be darkened and tbe old nurse will show you a bundle of pink flannel ar.d telf you it is the image of you ; think of nights when herb tea and youthful appeals against the hardships of this life will make your house seem almost too little to live in. All these things in tbe pust, and lots more of the same kied in the future, ought to make us tolerant of our mother-in-law’s little failings. After all, she has bad all our trials, and some more we won’t know übont till Fannie Junior begins to have young men see her home. When you begin to ask what keeps “that Tompson banging around so much,” then you will begin to tbink. Yes, indeed. Does not the poet tell us : “ Thus it is our dau.hters leave us, Those we love and those who love us. Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, Beckons to the fairest maiden, And she follows where he leads her, leaving all for the stranger ?” That is how it is ; and now-a-days the youth does not have even the “flannting feathers," and sometimes, alas I has very little to make up for their absence. The Sort of Place lle Wanted. —A tramp applied lor food at tbe house of a suburban agriculturist recently, and while he was eating tbe rations that had bpen furnish ed at his solicitation, be was asked : “Why do you not go to work?” “1 have looked long fora place that would suit me,” he replied, “bat have uever found it!” “Is there not plenty work at farming?” asked tbe interrogator. “Oh, yes,” said the tramp, “plenty of it ; but you see,.sir, I want to find a vineyard where tbe man who goes in at the eleventh hour is tbe first to come out and to draw a full day’s wages. In the olden time they dealt fairly by a man. That is New Testa ment treatment, and that is what I am look ing for.” At the close of bis meal he started again iD pursnit of that coveted agricultural op portunity. A Noeth Carolina man got tired of life and went out in tbe stable and hung himself with a blind bridle. Just as be was bring ing bis last gasp, a neighbor opportunely passed, and seeing his peril, promptly rescued him. “Ah,” said the would-be suicide, “why didn’t you let me alooe ; in two minutes I would have been in heaven.” “Yes,” dryly exclaimed the other, “you’d play thunder in heaven with a blind bridle ou, wouldn’t you.” Ineligible Men. The eligible man, says a writer in Lip pincott’s, is generally a gentleman of good connections and seme small fixed income, which is sufficient to serve as a narcotic to ambition, but which from its incapacity to provide for more than one person, puts mat rimony out of reach. “Oh, I’m no marrying man,'’ he says, and is conscious of his freedom and of his privileges. The best of every thin seems to be oflered to him ; he is ami de la motion among all his old set ol friends, both masculine and feminine, who have mar ried and settled down ; he may drop in any where to dinner, and is a favorite guest at ladies’ luncheons ; be has invitations to par ties of all kinds, and never has to buy more than an entrance ticket at the opera. The ineligible man is in no way to be con founded with “detrimentals,” ineligible al though the detrimental may be. Tbe dis tinction is so bread that a radical difference may be perceived at once. Tbe ‘ detrimen tal” is considered “so dangerous”—the “in eligible” is “so safe.” The “detrimental” is regarded as an open foe by parents and chaperone the “ineligible” on the other hand, is the friend of both, and stands, by some gift of nature, even at an early age, toward young ladies in loco parent is, and is himself a capital chaperon. “Let me go, mamma—its only wuh Mr. Smith,” the girls urge. “Only Mr. Smith” is a plea in exten uation of anything unconventional. “No body but Mr. Smith” makes a partiecarree, a hand at whist—fills the odd corner every where. In fact, a man who is known to be dis tinctly not a marrying man has his hay to make in a long spell of pleasant weather. He is confidential friend to a dozen sets of debutantes, who enter society as it were under his auspices; he criticises them, counsels them, aids them, does everything except in terfere with their lovers. The moment a lover comes forward tbe ineligible man un derstands,*if he is bright—or is forced to understand if he is dull—that his claims must give way. He has, however, the priv ilege of taking the place of nsher or grooms man at tbe weddings which follow; he dandles the babies on his knees if so inclined, and may have a few named after him ; he enjoys a sort of hereditary friendship for tbe oflspring of the marriages he himself pro moted. It may seem for a long stretch of years that he has roses without thorns, the sparkle of the wine without the dregs, all the comforts of life without any drawbacks. He has his little income, which he knows how to spend in such a way as to get the utmost out of it for himself; he has pleasant rooms in a pleasant quarter of the town, and makes his meals at clubs or goes out to his dinner, breaklast and luncheon. Whereas his married friends endure tbe miseries of domestic annoyances—bills, wretched ser vants, sick wives, troablesome children—he has his quiet room, his luxurious meals, bis ease and leisure in all the daily habits of bis life. No skeletons lurk in his copboard ;he has nothing to hope, and may calmly sit on shore and count tbe wrecks among the barks which pat oat to sea. All this may be very pleasant while a man is tolerably young. Then follows the time when life becomes a sort of Barmecide feast for him. Ou every hand there is beauty, love and duty, but not for him. Hitherto he has an idea—vague, yet still actual enough to throw a little roselight over his futare—that when the right time came, and before it was too late, be, too, should marry. He remembers with a bachelor’s unspoiled vanity all the half triumphs of bis youth, and makes an effort to wio, perhaps, the daughter of one of his old friends. To her, however, and to all her friends, nothing can be so frankly prosaic, so flatly antique, as be. ’Tis as if December tried to enjoy tbe apple blossoms ol June. It is a blank moment of disenchantment and disappointment, and when the “ineligible man” discovers that he is not now-a-days ineligible because he has chosen a career without checks and encumbrances, but be cause be is too old, because the freshness and power of real manhood have left him. He who wili not when he may, When be will he shall have nay. He has disregarded the poetry and romance of youth ; he has been satisfied with the mere shell of existence, without reality of feeliog or truth of passion. Au uncom promising egotist, he has closed bis heart to the appeals which actuate less selfish men ; he has wanted no wife and children to work and plan for; he has waited until bis power of amusing himself is past before he has aspirations for the calm comforts of the fire side. After play-at being eligible all through the years when he had a chance of making what be wanted of his life, it ia only fair that in bis age be should suddAly find himself confronted with the idea of bis actual ineligi- Paris by Night. Paris by night! What a falry-like pic ture, what ElysiaS* dream! There are many with a simple rustic mind who, idealizing this city, conjure up an immense town solely composed 6f ifiarble palaces, with gilt ba!« conies overlooking magnificent and spacious streets. And when these good people urrive in broad-daylight at either of ihe great de pots, be it at that of Orleans, or Lyons, or the North, they experience a very na'oral disappointment, for in order to appreciate Puris one must have made it a long and se rious study. Its artistic marvels or its in dustrial splendors must be sought for either in the monuments, promenades, museums, warehouses—anywhere, in fact—and very frequently where you leust expect to find them. Y\ ere all onr lynx-eyed compatriots who come to Paris gifted with \be keen glance of that great and national bird whose spread iness we are forever vaunting, they could not take in with their most searching vision the vast ex tout of houses and the incomparably beautiful bits of architecture which are the glory of Paris, end which are overflowing with themes. 1 hey see well-paved streets, sumptuous dwellings, admirable gardens, grave and impudent statues, all which things they may have seen at home after a fashion. But, supposing the reader who has not yet been to this city arrives at the Orleans depot alter dark, and on his way to the quarter of hotels passes over the Pont Royal, he stops instinctively his cab, and then looking on one side towards Notre Dame, und on the other towards tbe Trocadero, he will see a sight unrqnaled in any other city. Magical Paris, the enchanted city of their imagina tion, is now before them in its very best The gleams of a whole avenue of electric light brightens the sky above; immense gasaliers supplement this brilliancy in i very quarter; fully a score of bridges, which meet the eye, present the passing glitter of countless colored lights; the windows glisten, the great shops sparkle, and, to quote a Parisian poet whom I know, the sky Beems to have relinqnisbed all its stars to grace tbe banks of the Seine. Tbe river flows through quave on either side unequaled in any other capital, and Paris by night is a metropolitan picture no one should fail to see. Midnight has passed ; the theatres have given forth their thousands of guests, and by degioes a solitude, relatively speaking, is created. The Rue de Rivoli, lately swarm ing witli coronated chariots, is now disturb ed simply by the long string of market carts going t« the Halles Certrules. Individuals of suspicious mien, manners and morality are seen and heard on their way homewards ; a sergeant de idle here and there steps rcgti - larly and monotonously on bis beat, and soon the gas pales before tbe coining rosy dawn Men with wan faces, tired of their orgies, totter homewards, having changed day into night and night into day. Faded fair ones in every sense of the term, with sorrowful, sinfhl and sometimes gleeful faces, can also be seen in couples or one by one wend ing their way to that locality that knows no such word as “home ” Those who but an hour before entertained the theatrical world of Paris as cavaliers or Dagss to Emperors and as ladies-in-waiting to Queens, are now, after tbeir scanty and democratic suppers, returning to their girrets, anmindfnl of the canvass palaces they here have recently left behind. Now the sky grows more colored, and warmer tones, on wbieh you see clearly drawn the sharp vignettes of tbe great build ings, begin to clothe the horizon. Squads of street sweepers, chiefly women from Au vergne and Eastern France, take possession of tbe footpaths; the early letter-carriers are hurrying to tbe general office io Rue Jean Jacques Rousaeau, and, finally, the blouse-clad workman smoking bis pipe is seen hastening to his daily labor, while tbe toil-worn type-setter, pale and meagre, hur riedly seeks the nearest rendezvous of refresh ments. —Paris Corr. Baltimore Sun. Tbe Parisian, Painted by One of Themselvea. A true Parisian, born at Paris, of parents who were themselves Parisians, having grown up there and having passed almost all bis life there, is a very rare exception. Tbe provincial imported into a new town will find it agreeable and will remain there be cause be is pursuing the object of bis ambi tioD, because be satisfies there bis needs or bis pleasures ; but io tbe bottom of bis heart be will always regard it as a battle-field, an inn, and a bad place ; and if be has any trouble, if be feels fatigue, if be falls ill, it is of bis native town, bis distant province that be will go aod ask consolatioo, repose and health. The true Parieiao, on the contrary, will love Paris as bis fatberlaod. It is there that the invisible change of the heart will bind him, aod if he is constrained to exile Vlme. de Siael, the nostalgie of the dear gut ter of the Rue du Bar. He who now speaks to you is one of tbos Parisians. In this great city of which, as Alfred de Musset complained he knows all the paving-stoned, a memory awaits him at each turning A. peaceful street in th“ Faubourg St Germain* the silence of which is rarely disturbed by the rattle of a landau or coupe, reminds him of his childhood { he cannot pass before a certain house in that street and look up there at tbe balcony of the fifth floor without see ing himself once more a little toddler seated on a high chair at the family table, around which there are now, alas! many vacant places, but where still he ofteD sits opposite his elder sister and speaks of the dear dead and absent ones. He never stops at the bookstalls in the open air around the Odeon —which are, by the way, one of the most pleasingly original things in Paris—without recalling the time when, bis school-boy’s satchel under Ws arm, he used to read, hasti ly and gratis, in the interval between two classes, the books of the poets that he al ready loved. Finally, there is somewhere, he will not say where, a little window that he sees as he walks in a certain public gar den, and tbnt he cannot look at it in autumn about 5 o’clock in the afternoon, when the setting sun casts upon it its fiery rays, with out his heart beginning to palpitate, just as he felt it beat long, long ago, but at the same season and at the same hour, when he was hurrying home with all the intoxication of twenty summers, and when that little window, opening all at once, showed, amidst an uureoie of verdure and flowers, a smiling* blonde head. Happy, ah t happy, be who lives in the full openness of nature at that delicious moment of life. It is a nest of moss under the oak trees, it is the banks of u little rivulet where the mill-full boils, it in a deep lane in the valley, it is a meadow of Hewers and ol butterflies, charming and dear landscapes that will keep only to restore them later, the first thought of his mind and the first sentiments of his heart, and which ofler him iu after life, when the illusion shall have fled, an asylum of solitude, freshness and peace. Tbe enfant de Paris, always de prived of free air, of space and of horizon, cun only frame his most delightful souvenirs in paved streets and plastered houses ; if he is truly a poet, he will nevertheless get poe try out of them, und be will resume in the green and rose gloaming seen at the end of a faubourg, tbe morbid melancholy of autumn, and in a sunny morning near tbe lilacs of the Luxembourg gardens all tbe divine joy of spring.— Francois Coppee. An Afghan Amazon Queen. A messenger having been ordered by his master, the late Shere Ali, Ameer of Af ghanistan, to fetch a supply ol dates from Regi, a town some sixteen miles from Herat, the man came across a district ruled over by a woman, whose name was oever allowed to be mentioned. In addition to great personal attractions she claimed direct descent from the hero, Rustam, nor did she show much degeneracy from our reputed an cast ry. For od one occasion General Feramoiz Kuhn paid her a visit, with the view of impressing cameis for the service of Shere Ali. Jumping on her horse and car rying a trusty speer in her hand the amazon queen rode out to meet the general, whom she informed that she was ready to fight either the whole of his master’s forces or the Ameer himself in single combat should he prefer that alternative. Feramorz Kahn was so scared by her warlike demeanor that he took himself off without seizing a single camel, and the plucky qneen was left un troubled for the future. Perhaps it wasjast as lucky for Shere AH that he did not ac cept the challenge to personal combat, for the dauntless lady was no mean proficient in warlike arts, being accustomed to take a prominent part at tent pegging and polo among the nobles of her land. When the Kafir was staying at her fort she was at widow, baviDg lately put her husband to. death by reason of bis being deficient in. physical courage. It was understood, bow-, ever, that she would be quite willing to. change her condition, aod several of tba neighboring chiefs bad made her offers of marriage. But to oue aod all there was the same fatal objection—they were oot brave enough to come up to her idea of what a husband should be. In addition to beiug a feminine warrior, she cultivated the arts of peace with a thoroughness not usually foaod among Oriental rulers. Ad energetic mer chant herself, with many thousands of camels constantly carrying merchandise to aod from the outside world, she encouraged her sub jects to trade by suppressing dace it c« and putting a stop to kidnapping, u favorite weakness with the Afghans. It does not follow that women are black- NO. 50