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VOL. IY. Afivtitisins' One square, first insertion $ 75 Rich subsequent insertion 50 One square tlwee - maw tbs. 5 00 One square six months 10 00 One square twelve months 15 00 Quarter eoljmn twplfp s>s.&*.’’. $0 001 Half column six m0nth5........ 40 00 Half column twelve months 60 00 One column twelve mpnt.b5,....... 100,00 lines or'teks (tOhsiflered a square. All fractions of squares are counted us full. Squares, NEWSPAPER DECISIONS. 1. A 4 a paper regu larly from the post office—whether directed to his name or another’s, or whether he has subscribed or not—is responsible for the payment. 2. If a person orders his paper diseontin 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 from the office or n >t. 3. The conrts have decided that, refusing to take periodicals from the {TnsToffice. or removing'and leaving them un called for, is prima facie evidence of inten tional fraud. '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