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'I&tor'tnRKCTORY.
Mayor —Thomas G. Harnett.
Commissioners— W. W. I’urnipseed, D. B.
Bivins. E. G. Harris, R. It. James.
Clerk —R. G Harris.
Treasurer —W. S. Shell.
Marshals —S. A. Belding, Marshal.
J. W. Johnson, Deputy.
CHVRCti DIRECTORY.
Methodist Rpisoopai. Church, (Sonth.)
Rev. Wesley F. Smith, Pastor Fourth
Sabbath in each month. Sunday-school 3
p. m. Prayer meeting Wednesday evening.
Methodist Protestant Church. First
Sabbath in.each month. Sunday-school 9
A. M.
Christian Church, W. S. Fears, Pastor.
Second Sabbath in each maith.
Baptist (shurch, Rev. J. P. Lyon, Pas
tor. Third Sabbath in each month.
CIVIC SOCIETIES.
Pink Grove Lodge, No. 17,7. F. A. M
Stated communications, fourth Saturday in
each month.
THE
•101 TQJT
SALOON
♦ 537? ,il i *i viW# ,* Uii'Jp st
(In rear of D. B. Bivins’,)
HAMPTON, GEORGIA,
n;:fl * il-:M* 14 : .
•tfl*.. «t ki HT 'T*’- i. ..
IS KEPf BY
•fl >• I v
CHARLIE MOQOLLCM,
4od is open from 4 o’clock id the morning
until 10 o’clock at night,
&qqs Liquors of all @m&es
And at prices to suit everybody.
If yon want good branch Corn Whiskey,
go to the Bon Ton.
If yon want Peach Brandy, from one to
Eve yeara old, call at the Bon Ton.
If yon want good Gin go the Bon Ton and
get a drink at 5 cents or a dime, just as yon
want
II you want a good smoke go to the Bon
Tpp and get a free cigar.
loe always on band at the Bon Tod.
• l ii.i- '• t’> i I - ’ I ' ■
Nice Lemon Drinks always on hand at the
Bon Ton.
NOT THE LARGEST, BUT THE
BE SI SELECTED STOCK OF
LIQUORS IN TOWN.
I have just opened my Saloon and am de
termined to make it a success.
Fair dealing and prompt attention to all.
Call and see, Cali and sample, sail and price,
before buying elsewhere.
CHARLIE McCOLLUM.
N A ICING THE RARY. '
- a
They gathered in solemn counsel,
'l'lie chiefs in the household band ;
They sit in the darkened chamber,
A conclave proud and grand ;
They peer in the curtained cradle
And each with one voice exclaim,
As they point at the new found treasure,
• The baby must have a name !”
They bring forth the names by dez ms,
With many an onxious look ;
lltey scan all the fublee and novels,
'I hey search through the good Old Book ;
Till the happy-voiced young mother,
Now urging her prior claim,
Cries out in fondest accents :
“Ob, give him a pretiy name!’’
“His grandpa was Ebenezer—
Long buried and gone, dear soul,”
Says the trembling voice of grandma,
As the quiet tear-drops roll.
“Oh, call him Eugene Augustus,”
Cries the youngest of the throng—
“ Plain John," says the happy tather,
“Is an honest name and strong.”
And thus is the embryo statesman
Perhaps, or the soldier bold,
Respecting his future title
Lelt utterly out in the cold !
And yet, it can matter but little
To him who is heedless ol fame—
For no name will honor the mortal
If the mortal dishonors the name.
New York Sun.
How it Came to be Published.
The publisher of the Overland Magazine
has been telling a newspaper reporter of the
narrow escape Bret Haite’s now famous
story of "The Luck of Roaring Camp,” had
of being refused publication. The gentle
man says:
He and I stnrted on a fishing excursion to
Sonora. We were having an excellent time,
binding magazine with sport, and had de
termined on a longer Stay, when a letter
from my partner, after reading the proof of
“The Luck of Roaring Camp,” denouncing
it as “wholly indecent and unfit for publica
tion in a moral magazine,” caused us to
hastily pack our traps and return.
Mr Harte was out of sorts all the way,
and I nursed my disappointment at his first
venture. However, he said he had other
matter that might please the fastidious C.,
and there need be no delay in the month’s
issue. He did not try to explain away C.’s
objections, but said the argument was taken
from real life, too real perhaps, and that may
be his philosophic treatment was at fault-
Oa reaching my office I met several of the
establishment ready with their condemna
tions, even to uplifted hands, aod all prophe
sying that such an article would be a death
blow to my magazine. Mr. Hnrte iri the
mean time had hurried to his home for other
MSS. I took Ihe proof home when I went
to lunch, and I thought that perhaps after
reading it in that sanctity, I might get a
better idea how to caution and direct Mr.
Harte as to magazine morals. Pursuing my
habit of resting on the lounge, I gave the
proof to my wife to read aloud, as was a
common practice, and lay with my eyes
closed, expecting a fearful encounter with
her, yet hoping for some favor from her crit
ical judgment. I was struck particularly
wilb its descriptive force and conciseness in
narrative, and thinking what a waste of
imagination over so frifliog an incident,
when I beard a sob. and looking up, my wife
was in tears. This was enough. I rushed to
the office, and without explanation, ordered
the article inserted, and so "The Luck of
Roaring Camp” appeared. Our San Fran
cisco papers were somewhat careful in their
notices, and waited most eagerly for the
Eastern papers. They came and were uni
versal in their praises; and then I told my
wife that she was truly the sponsor of Bret
Harte.
Official Attitude.— A politician who
had been on terms of intimacy with actors
and artists is suddenly elevated to an impor
tant official position. One of bis friends, a
distinguished actor, goes to call on him, and
entering the office, says genially, * Hullo, old
fel.; how’s ”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” says the official
iu a glacial manner, "I am occupied for a
moment. Be so good as to take a seat.”
The actor sits down in surprise in a chair,
and presently his friend 3ay3. ‘‘Now, sir,
wbat can I do for you ?”
"Why, don’t you know me? I’m ”
"I do £ot precisely follow you,” say 9 the
official. "You have come to ”
“I came, sir,” says the actor, in a terrible
voice, jamming his hat down on his head, “I
came, sir, to give you some hints as to de
portment, now that you are a public official,
but, by the nine gods, you don’t ueeJ any)
HAMPTON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1879.
How lAstz Been me a Hnsband.
The following story of the marriage of
List* the pianist, is, if true, certainly very
remarkable and romantic. It is as follows :
Listz was at Prague in the autumn of
1846. The day after his arrival a strunger
called upon him, and representul himself as
a brother artist in distress, having expended
all his means in on unsuccessful law suit, and
solicited aid to enable him to return to
Nureberg, his place of residence. Listz
gave him a hearty reception, uod opened his
desk to get some money, but found lie pos
sessed only three ducats.
“You see," said lire generous nr.tist, “that
lam as poor as yourself. However, I have
credit, and I can coin more money with my
piano. 1 have here a miniature given me
by the Emperor of Austria ; the painting is
of little value, but the diamonds are fine ;
take it, sell the diamonds, and keep the
money.”
The stranger refused the rich gift, hut
Listz compelled him to take it, and he car
ried it to u jeweler, who, suspecting from his
miserable appearance that be had stolen it,
had him arrested and thrown into prison.
The stranger sent for his generous benefac
tor, who immediately called upon the jeweler
and told him that the man was innocent;
that he had given him the diamouds.
“ But who are you ?” said the jeweler.
“My name is Listz,” he replied.
“I know of no financier of that name,”
said the jeweler.
“Very possible,” said Listz.
“But do you know that these diamonds
are worth six thousand florins?"
“So much the better for him to whom I
gave them.”
“But you must be very rich to make such
presents!”
“My sole fortune consists of three ducats,”
said Listz.
“Then you are c fool,” saiff the jeweler
“No,” said Listz ; “I have only to move
the ends of nty fingers to get as much mouey
as I want.”
“Then you are a sorcerer,” said the jew
eler.
“I will show yon the kind of sorcery that
I employ," said L'slz.
Seeing a piuno in the bark parlor of the
jeweler’s shop, the eccentric artist sat down
to it, and began to improvise a ravishing
air. A beautiful young lady made her ap
pearance, and at the close of the perform
ance, exclaimed, “Bravo, Listz !”
• “Yon know him, then?” said the jeweler
to his daughter.
“I have never seen him before,” she said ;
“but there is no one in the world but Listz
who can produce such sounds from the
piano.”
The jeweler was satisfied, the stranger was
released and relieved. The report of Listz be
ing in the city flew, and he was waited upon
and feted by the nobles, who besought him
to give a concert in their city. The jeweler,
seeing the homage that was paid to the roan
of genius, was ambitious of forming an alli
ance with him, and said to him :
“How do you find ray daughter?”
“Adorable 1” was the reply.
“What do you think of marriage!” con
tinued the jeweler.
“Well enough to try it,” said Listz.
“What do you say to a dowry of three
millions of francs?” be was next asked.
“I will accept of it,” was the reply, “and
thank yon, too.”
“Well, my daughter likes you and you like
her,” said the jeweler; “the dowry is ready.
Will you be my son-in-law ?”
“Gladly,” replied L slz ; and the marriage
was celebrated the week following.
editing a Nf.wbpaper. —Editing a news
paper may be just the thing, but we know
by a large majority that it isn’t. In the
first place your wealth does not accumulate
so fast but wbat you caD be your own busi
ness manager. Xot very many editors keep
a carriage, and those that do, have it in their
wife’s nume. When your paper comes ou‘,
about one-half of the people in your town
feel kindly toward you for the position you
took in some local matter, aud the other
half won’t speak to you. The party that
feels kindly towards you may set op cigars
and hope you are doing well, but the other
side won’t even give you a light. About
twice a month you have great difficulty in
explaining to a roan as big again as you are.
that you meaot just the opposiie of wbat
you said about him. But an old editor can
always do this. Young editors sometimes
get licked, but bd old editor can talk a bull
dog out of countenance. The experi-nces
and troubles of an editor is too big a thing
for one issue of a country paper ; bat that
they have their share of torment, while here
on earth, and that they will finally be
crowned iu J ‘
Talleyrand and Arnold.
There was a day when Talleyrand arrived
in Havre on foot front I’urls. It was the
darkest honr of the French Revolution.
Pursued by the blood-hounds of the Reign
of Tetror, Talleyrand secured a passage to
the United States in a ship aboot to sail.'
He was a beggar and a wanderer to a strange
land, to earn his duily bread by the sweat of
bis brow.
“Is there any American staying at your
house T” la* asked of Ihe landlord of the
hotel ; “I am goir.g acro-s the water, and
would like a letter to a person of influence
in the New World.”
“There is a gentleman up stairs, either
from America or Britain; but which coan
try I cannot tell."
He pointed the way, and Talleyrand, who
in his life was bishop, prince and minister,
ascended the stairs. A mi'-erable suppliant
he stood before the stranger’s room, knocked
and entered. In the far corner of the dimly
lighted room sat a man of fifty years of age,
his arms folded and his head bowed upon his
breast. From o window directly opposite, n
flood ol light pound in upon bis forehead.
His eyes looked from beneath the downcast
brows and upon Talleyrand's face with a
peculiar and scorching expression liis form,
vigorous even with the snows of fifty win
ters, was clad in a dark but distinguished
costume. Talleyrand advanced, stated that
he was a fugitive, and with the impression
that the gentleman was an American, he
solicited his kind feelings and offices. He
poured forth his history in eloquent French
and broken English.
“I ant a wanderer and an exile. I am
forced to fly to the New World without a
friend or home. Yon are an American.
Give me, then, I beseech you, a letter of
yours, so that I may be able to earn my
bread. lam willing to toil in any manner ;
a lile of labor would l»e a paradise to a ca
reer of luxury in France. You will give me
a letter to one of your friends?”
The strange gentleman rose. With a look
that Tnlleytand never forgot, he r?treated
toward the door of the next chamber, his
eyre looking still from beneath his dark
brow ; he spoke as he retreated backward ;
his voice was full of meaning : “I um the
only man of the New World who can raise
bis hand to God and say, 1 have not a friend
—not one—in Am<rica."
Talleyrand never forgot the overwhelming
sudness of the look which accompanied these
words.
“Who are you ?” ho cried, os the strange
man retreated to the next room ; “your
name I”
“My name,” he replied, with a Pmile that
hail more of mockery than j>y in its con
clusive expression, "my name is Benedict
Arnold.”
lie was gone. Talleyrand ennk in the
chair, gasping the words, “Arnold, the
traitor I”
A Judge in a "Fix An awkward af
fair, which once occurred to one of the
judges on the Western Circuit, has been the
subject of much mirth. Jt appears that the
pioui judicial, having finished his labors, and
having cast off hig forensic wig at his lodg
ings, had ret ires! info the next room to wait
for his brother judge, whom he was about to
accompany to some of the local aristocracy
to dinner. The female servant of the bouse
had entered the bed-chamber by a side door,
arid, not knowing the judge was in the next
room, in a frolic arrayed beraclf in the judge’s
wig. Just at fbe moment when the fair
Mopsy was admiring herself in the looking
glass, the judge unexpectedly entered the
room ; aud poor Mopsy. catching a sight of
the stern countenance looking over her
shoulder in the glass, was so alarmed that
she fainted and would have fallen to the
ground if the learned judge, impelled by hu
manity, had not caught her in his arms. At
this critical moment bis brother judge ar
rived, and, opening the dressing-room door,
with a view to see if be was ready, dicovered
hie learned brother with the fainting maid in
his arms. Not wishing to interrupt what
he thought to be an amour, he quickly at
tempted to withdraw, when bis brother
judge vociferated :
“For heaveu’B sake, stop and hear this
matter explained.”
“Never mind, my dear brother, the matter
explains itselfand he 1* ft bis learned
brother to recover the fainting maid as he
could.
A tramp applied to a lady for employ
ment "I have nothing for yon to do,” re
plied the lady. "Ab, madam,” sighs the ap
plicant, "if you only knew how little work it
would take to occupy me.”
A carpet dealer in Burlington advertises
"new Brussels carpets that can’t be beat.”
- ‘ ii..-o.i' l i li
Smitten With the Circus Peter.
Last evening, after the performance was
over at the circus, a young man called on
Gbiarhti find said he wanted to see him on
private business. The old veteran took him
into bis offiee and received him with his
usual politeuess.
“I cunte op all the wav from Carson to
#ee the show, and I'd like to join,” said the
young man.
“Oh. I see," said the circus man ; “you
are a well formed, healthy looking young
fellow, and 1 like to encourage such ss you.”
The youth’s face brightened.
“Yoa don’t cbow, smoke or drlofc, I
hope ?”
‘ Oh, no; honor bright—except soda and
beer."
“You must leave ofl three bad Imbits.
They weaken the muscles and paralyze the
nerves. You can soon stop drinking, but
your salary will not be Urge until you have
overcome three tendenciea. A little Irmon
ade—circus lemonade—is all the performers
drink. Cull at eleven o’clock to-morrow
morning and 1 will see what I can do. Yon
mu«n’t expect more titan SSO a week,
though, at first. We never pay high sala
ries until we know just what t mm can do,”
The delighted Carsonite went away and
this morning was on hand.
Chiurini took him to a tent where three
immense Ber.gal tigers were caged. Hand
ing him a currycomb and a pair of shears,
he remarked :
“Yonr duties will he comparatively light
at first. You will go into the cage and
curry the tigers down every morning, and
übout once a week cut their claws ; keep
’em down pretty short, so thut when they
attack the tiger-tamer, Mr. Wilson, they
woo't lacerate him much. Roniotimre. but
not more than otioo a mouth you may have
occusioD to file their teeth. You just throw
the animal on his back and hold his head
between your knees. If he acts rough, belt
him on the nose a few times. Keep belting
him until he quiets down.”
“Haven’t you got a vacancy In the art
department ?” asked the young man from
Carson.
"Is art your line?” inquired Chiurini.
“Yes,” diswlrd the yoi ng man. “In all
the circuses I’ve always run with I wus em
ployed to paint the stripes on thezibrus.
I killed so many tigir* keepiu' ’em straight
that the boss wouldn't let ute bundle ’em.
He said I used ’em too rough."
Clilarinl swears that the terror from Car
son shall have the first vacancy. —Carson
City (Nev ) Chronicle.
It is Dawk. —The following beautiful
sentiment is from Minister Earth's sketch
book entitled, "The Night of Heaven.” It
is full of touching tenderness :
"It is dark when the linucat and honora
ble man sees the result of years swept cruelly
away by the knavish and hear! less adversary.
It is dark when he se.-s the clouds of sorrow
gather around, and knows the hopes and
happiness of others are fading with his own.
But in that hour the mem >ry of past integ
rity will Ire a corisolution, and assure him
even here on earth of the gleams of light in
heaven. It is durk when the voice of that
sweet child, once fondly loved, is no more
heard in murmurs. Dark when the patter -
ieg feet no more resouod without, or ascend
step by step the stairs. Dark when some
well known air recalls the slrains once often
attuned to a childish voice now hushed in
death. Darkness—but only the gloom which
now heralds the dawning of the day spring
of immortality aod the infinite of heaveo. ”
In tub Art Gallbrt.—lt wa9 a lady
with a check shawl, a reticule and a squiot
eye who flounced out of the art rooms on yes
terday afternoon with a remark that "it * an
outrage that them there figgers ain’t got do
close oo.”
Her husband, a stoop-shouldered man,
with a low-crowned, wide-rimmed soft hat,
a rumplid necktie, long coat, short pants
and a beard under tiis chin, remoostiated s
“Don’t make a foolayerself right afore
folks,” said fie.
But the dame was angered.
“It’s a sin an’ a shame," she persisted, aod
her oil eye twitched worse and worse in the
excess of ber imiignutioo. "It is an insult
to every woman that comes here, and what
they’ve got on is wuss'u though they didn’t
have nothin’.”
"Will ye keep still?” mildly plead the
old man.
“No, l won’t,” said she. "Aud the sooner
you take me out of this Sodom and Goraor
rer the better for both on us, I guess.”
"A pleasant smile be srnole,
A holy wiuk be wuuk ;
O, it was a glorious thing to think
. . UeJiuvik."
The Romantic Storv of lVuiEiwkteowN
tno’s Marriage.— Browning’s marriage.was
very romantic. Mrs. Browning, belter
known nnd more widely read than her hu
band, was three years his elder, a confirmed
invalid, nnd one of the last wfthtCn M<w£uld
have been suspected of loving. She paM
him a handsome compliment ;in her T«tAdy
Geraldine’s Courtship”—they had never .mot
—and he called on her ,tp, express his
acknowledgments. He was admitted to Jtcr
presence by the mistake,of n ?eivmy. anti,an
acquaintance began that culminated in mar
riage. See to what doleful results the mis
take of a servant may lead I He seemed to
benefit her. Site improved very much after
her union ; but site never ceased 40 8 be ail
invalid. They went to live in Florence,
where they stayed for fifteen Tears, with
occasional visits home nnd to France. She
died in Florence. She has been dead
eighteen years, and her husband itf reported
to mourn her sincerely still. He has at
least rt-m lined a widower, which is a rare
thing to do In these wife-forgetting days.
Their only child, a son, is now thirty, and a
painter; but he does not seem, though born
of two geniuses, to amount to anything in
particular. Since his wife’s death BroWnt
ing has never been iu Italy, because, a* he
says, the association would lie painful.—
London Cor. San Francisco Chronicle .
A Had Story. —Among the far-off bills
oT New Hampshire, in the primitive days of
the republic, a meeting was convened on the
school question. Hez'dilnh Stubbs, one of
the fathers of the village, arose, and in an
earnest manner opposed the movement. "My
brethren,” said he, “for one, l am against
this thing of building a school-house ; it is
all nonsense 1 hav ■ raised a fine family of
boys and gals, and they hain’t got any edu
cation, and they are. nil good and fujthfql
helps on the form. Books and school-hopsea
I am agin, fori don’t sec any use in’em:
look, for Instance, at neighbor
family, and see what education did for his
son Dan. You all know Dan was' a good,
clever boy, till he eonimenced reading book«,
newspajicis, and a getting all sorts of' non
sense aud jim cracks in his head ; and the
first thing the people in onr settlement knew,
Dan, he went of! down to Boston, and has
never been heard of since.”
"Jonhs, do you know why you ure like a
donkey?" f
"Like a donkey ?” echoed Jqms, opening
his eyes wide. "No, I don’t.”
"Do you give it up ?”
"I do.”
"Uecaase your better-half is stubbornness
itself."
“That’s not bad. fla! ha! I’ll give
that to my wife when I get home.”
"Mrs. .Tone*," h« asked as he sat down to
supper, "do you know why 1 am like a don
key?” «
He waited a moment, expecting his wife
to five it up. Bui «bo didn’t. She looked
at him somewhat comiuiscralingiy as aim an
swered :
"I suppose because you were born so.”
The ram iz a inaskuline sheep, and the
most antique mutton io market. Next tew
stewed krow. they are the tuffest fuel known
to the stuminuk. They are kivered with
wool, and at times air az krosa az a skool
mairi. They hav two long bones on the top
ov their bed, which are called horns, and they
air as krooked »i a cork-ekrcw. Though a
ram baz a sudden way ov putting a hed olMo
things, which he duz bi shutting ujt both
eyes, and advancing becHong for things.
They will fite ennything, ftom Jim Mace to
a stone wall, an they kan hit az hard az a
trip hummer. An old fashioned merino ram
iz generally boss ov the sitnaties, and one ov
them, in an apple orchard, iz wuth more to
keep the boys out thaD a squad ov police of
ficers.—Josh Billings.
"The worst drunkard iu America” baa
been booked in by the limes, of Bsih, Me.
He is sketclied as a young tramp of fine per
sonal appearaoce, rough and coarse to the
last degree. But there falls from his lips
the most beautiful lauguage ever beard. All
the standard works of literature in the dead
and living tongues come readily to his lips,
and impromptu versea are lashed off with
snap and babble. A Bath merchant offered
the tramp, who is a graduate of Oxford, a
clerkship, but the Bohemian refused, saying
that he wouldn’t give up hi 3 whisky for
SI,OOO a day.
When the dentist of this country can dis
cover a way to pull teeth without making a
man wish he hud been boru a ben, life will
have twice as much brightness.
The question has been asked ■ “Can a
Christian go to the circus?” Yes, until
he’s married, and then iu most cases the cr-
.nnninii! v i
NO. 17