Newspaper Page Text
VOL. IV.
Advertising Kates.
One square, first insertion $ 75
Rich subsequent insertion 50
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One square six months 10 00
One square twelve m0nth5....... 15 00
Quarter column twelve months... 30 00
Half column six months 40 00
Half column twelve months 60 00
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All fractions of squares are counted as full
squares,
newspaper decisions.
1. Any person who takes a paper regn-
Inrlv from the post office—whether directed
to his name or another’s, or whether he has
snhscribed or not—is responsible for the
pnvment.
2. If a person nr Iris his paper discontin
ued, he must pay all arrearages, or the pub
lisher may continue to send it nntil payment
is made, and collect the whole amount,
whether the paper te taken from the office or
n >t.
3. The courts have decided that refusin'?
to take newspapers and periodicals from the
postoffiee. or removine and leaving them un
called for, is pnma facie evidence of inten
tional fraud.
TOWN DIRECTORY.
Mayor —Thomas G. Barnett.
Commissioners —W. W. rnrnipseed,T). B.
Bivins, R G. Harris, R. R. James.
Clerk —R. G- Harris.
Treasurer —W. 8. Shell.
Marshals—S. A. Belding, Marshal.
J. W. Johnson,Deputy.
CHURCH DIRECTORY.
Methodist Episcopal Church, (South,)
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 mouth. Sunday-school 9
A. X.
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, fourth Saturday in
each month.
“801 TCI”
•w'** - **
SALOON
(In rear of D. B. Bivins’,)
HAMPTON, GEORGIA,
IS KEPT BY
CHARLIE MCCOLLUM,
And is open from 4 o’clock in the morning
until 10 o’clock at night,
Good Liquors o f all Grades
And at prices to suit everybody.
If you want good branch Core Whiskey,
go to the Bod Ton.
If you want Peach Brandy, from one to
five years old, call at the 800 Ton.
If you want good Gio go the Bon Ton and
get a drink at 6 cents or a dime, just as you
want it.
It you want a good smoke go to the Bon
Ton and get a free cigar.
loe always on hand at the Bon Tod.
Nice Lemon Drinks always on hand at the
Bon Tod. ,
NOT THE LARGEST, BUT THE
BE SI SELECTED STUCK OF
LIQUORS IN TOWN.
I have jupt opened my Saloon aod am de
termined to make it a success.
Fair dealing uDd prompt attention to all.
Call and see, call aod sample, call and price,
betore buying elsewhere.
cnARLiF, McCollum.
DRIFTED APART.
Lost, and I know not where thou art;
I know we change in mind and heart,
And dearest friends will drift apart,
Upon 'l’ime’s treacherous tide.
And yet 1 dreamed that thou and I
On wateiß calm, ’neath cloudless sky—
Might onward float, forever nigh,
Across life’s ocean wide.
And still 1 mourn the ruthless day,
I marked thee slowly glide away }
My heart in piteous tones cried stay,
And leave me not alone!
No answeririg word or look from thee
Came through the distance back to me;
Ooly tbe waves ol Life’s deep sea
Made melancholy moan.
No parting word, do farewell kiss ;
Only n vanished dream ol bliss,
A void that aches for what we miss
From out the life and heart ;
To weary of the world’s duli ways,
To scorn alike its blame and praise—
Ah me, to drift apart.
I loved thee ; I. who loved so few ;
I trusted thee, aud loved tbee too;
They always trust whose hearts are true —
Nor fear the change of yeurs.
Some bparts are m ide to love in vain,
Some stmls to cover ache with pain,
Some lips to sing a sud refrain.
Some eyes are made for tears.
I quit the busy baunts of men,
And seek sweet solitude again,
With friendly look and faitblul pec,
These are not lost to me;
But, love, 1 know not where tbou art;
We change in mind and change in heart,
And this ia why we drift apart,
Upon 'l'ime’s storm-tossed sea.
“Eorena.”
About the year 1858, there appeared in
the musical circles of the West a song,
which for twelve years had a run rarely at
tained by popular melodies Tue music had
a charm, the words were singularly touching,
and their veiy IfDgth, extending to eight
long verses, suggested to the reader a story
back of them. In fact, the extreme pathos
of the words contributed as much, perhaps,
as the music to give the composition its
wonderful success It was sung everywhere
—in parlors, io concerts, on the street, and
in the camps of the contending nrmies. In
the Northern army it was immensely popu
lar, and it found its way South through
Louisville ard Cincinnati, and during the
rebellion it was the only piece sung in
Sonthern homes, and, excepting martial airs,
about the only one sung in the Con federate
camp. Everywhere was “Lorena.” A
steamer on the Ohio was named ‘ Lorena,’’
engines on Western roads were called
“Lorena,” and a person dow sometimes
meets in society young ladies named Lorena,
called that by mothers twenty years ago.
That the song had a story, Dearly every one
familiar with it supposed, and supposed cor
rectly. and it may not be uninteresting at
this late day to give the admirers of the
famous melody the facts in the love affair.
The author of the words was the Rev 11.
D. L. Webster. He studied in the Colum
bus Academical aud Collegiate Institute,
and was editor of the college paper. In the
year 1848, being then twenty-four years of
age, and full of poetry and romance, he was
enjoying his first pastorate in Zanesville,
Ohio. His leading parishioner was a
wealthy manufacturer, whose residence was
npoD one of the many hills which surrounded
that smokey town. The bouse was about
half a mile out, and the eminence npon which
it was seated was the one referred to io the
song:
Twas flowery May,
Wheo up the hilly slope we climbed
To watch the dyiog day,
And bear the distant chorcb bell* chimed.
There lived in his family a younger sister
of bis wife, who was the leading singer in
the choir. She was nineteen years of age,
small of stature, bad blue eyes and light
brown hair, and was as fair as a lily. She
was not only a sweet singer, but she was as
full of poetry and romance as her pastor,
and they soon became very much attached.
Their loving did not, however, “prosper
well,” for the family were proud and aristo
cratic, and “had higher notions of the girl's
future than to sanction her marriage with a
poor preaebpr.” As she was dependent upon
them for a home, she was forced to yield to
their counsel. Mr. Webster says be now
thinks it wise counsel, and they were obliged
to give each other up. It was, however, the
strong will and the prood spirit of the sister,
more than the opposition of the brother in
law, that separated them, or rather kept
Lorena from him. Lorena seems to have
been passive, indecisive in character, and
snhmisoive in the hands cJ her atr/M**-
HAMPTON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1879.
time at her home, learned of the sister’s un
conquerable opposition, beard his fate, and
took a quite but painful farewell, very little
being said That night she wrote him a
last letter, in which she used the words, so
well remembered by those familiar with the
song, “If we try, we may forget.” It was
eight years after that he wrote :
For “if we try, we may forget.”
Were words of thioe long years ago.
• * * • * *
Yes, these were words of thine, Lorena ;
They burn within my memory vet ;
They touch some tender chords. Lorena,
Which thrill and tremble with regret ;
There is a future. Oh! thank God,
Of life this is so small a part—
Tie dust to dust beneath the sod ;
But there, up there, ’tie beurt to heart.
The effect of the separation was to crush
the young man, and wri'ing to a friend five
years ago, twenty-six years after the occur
rence, he says: “I doubt if all durk lines
are erased from my heart yet.” He resigned
big pastornte and Fought another field,
smothering his pain by hard study and work.
And the only sign of that paio the world
ever saw, was tbe heart-cry in the soDg of
“Lorena.”
In 1856 he was residing in Racine, Wis
consin, where be met J. P. Webster, the
composer, who, though of the same name, is
no relation to him. They soon became very
intimate. J. P. Webster was writing song
music, and was troubled to find appropriate
words. Rev. Webster told him that he
would write a song, and in two days he
produced it, entitled “Bertha,” a mere fancy
name. When the composer come to set it
to music, he wanted a name of three sylla
bles, arc nted on the second, and tbe author
then made op the name of “Lorena."
The young lady’s name was not Loreoa.
however, nor Bertha, but Ella.
It is said that she lost her vivacity, and
sunov, witching ways after they parted, and
never recovered them ; and that she is now
a sad. sickly woman, past tbe prime of life.
She is tbe wife of a judg-. and lived for
many years in Ironton, on tbe Ohio. Wheo
laet beard from, however, several m. .iths
ago, sbe was traveling in Europe. Her proud
and haughty sister has long since passed
over the river, where “ 'tis heait to heart,”
instead of dollar to dollar. Her brother-in
law died only a few weeks ago. Mr Web
ster, also past tbe prime of life, is married,
and lives in Neenab, Wisconsin, a minister
and the editor of a local paper.
The Spanish Living aud Dying.
The Spanish father is absolute king and
lord by his own hearthstone, but bis sway is
so mild that it is hardly felt. A light word
between husband and wife sometimes goes
unexplained, and if the rift between them
widens through life they cannot be divorced
—they will not inc * the scandal of a public
seraratioD —and as they pass lives of lonely
isolation iD adjoining apartments, both think
rather better of each other and of themselves
for this devilish persistence.
If men are Dever henpecked except by
learned wives, Bpain would be the place of
all others for timid men to marry in. Tbe
girls are bright and vivacious, but they
have oever crossed even in school day excur
sions the border lines of tbe ologies. They
have an old proverb which coarsely conveys
this idea, that “a Christian woman in good
society ought not to know anything beyond
her cookery book and ber missal.
An ordinary Spaniard is sick but once in
bis life; and the old traditions which repre
sent tbe doctor and death an always bunting
in couples still survive in Spain. In «II
well-to-do families tbe house of destl is al
ways deserted immediately after tbe funeral
and the stricken ones retire and pass eight
days in inviolable seclusion. Children are
buried iD coffins of a gray color, pink or
blue and carried opeD to tbe grave.
A Inxory of grief consists in shutting up
tbe house where a death has taken place and
never suffering it to be opened again. I
once saw a beautiful house and wide garden
thus abandoned in one of tbe most fashion
able streets of Madrid. Tbe wife of a cer
tain Duke bad died there many years before.
Tbe Duke lived in Paris, leading a rattling
life, but be would never sell or let that
Madrid home. Perhaps in his heart, that
battered thoroughfare, there was a silent
spot where through the gloom of dead days
be could catch a glimpse of a white baud,
tbe rustle of a trailing robe, aod teel sweep
ing over bim tbe magic of love’s dream,
softening his fancy to tender regret—Chris
tian Days.
This is the seasoo of tbe year when the
wise man goeth up a chestnut tree to shake
it, and cometb down in time to hear the
grateful gruut of the industrious hog that
walketh off crunching ,b n {yy<f|
Thtit Kiss.
“That kiss I It made me a painter I” is
the grateful tribnte the world-renowned
Benjamin West gives to his mother, who in
his first crude sketch recognised her cradled
babe, and perchance, simultaneously, the
dawning light of genius, which that tender
maternal kiss brought to such a glorious
fruition.
That kiss! Ah. there ia scarcely a life,
however forlorn, that has not at some time
felt the deep, heart-sanctifying and inspiring
power of some special kiss—-either the gentle
impress of mother love, tbe fervent seal of
cherished friendship, or tbe impassioned
pledge of deathless devotion. It touched a
thrilling chord within the heart which must
ever vibrate at tbe recollection, and opened
a fresh well of emotion into which no drop
from the Lethe fountain can ever find its
way. Its record is inscribed within the life
volume as with a diamond pen ; and even
in oor dreams we feel its faint touch upon
lip and brow as if fanned by the wings of
angelic visitants.
That kiss ! What happiness and inspira
tion it gives to childhood, what strength
and hope to manhood, and what a sense of
peace and heavenly longing to bim whose
evening twilight is far advanced I
In memory’s gallery is hung n beatific
vision representing tbe conjunction of lips
in that tender kiss of reconciliation which
converts gall and wormwood into nectar and
ambrosia. Beside it is pictured a death
chamber ; but the humid eyes see only the
outline of the portraiture, though tbe
tempest of the sool is hu-hed by the tbrillin.'
imp; int of a kiss from the lips upon which
the relentless arbiter is pressing his icy
signet. Emotions are aroused with which
the stranger intermeddleth uot, for feeling is
too deep for words, and love and remem
brance arc stronger than death.
But these ure not all—there is a kiss that
is a farewell to the life forever ended, the
life of love ! given in token of a subtle kin
ship of soul that all tbe mournful vicissitudes
of life, and even the solemn death throes of
humanity can never destroy. The only
visible exponents are tremulous lips, the
divine moisture of eyes, and the faint glow
of smothered feelings; but in the soul that
kiss shall live forever, and etneraldiza the
memory of life’s holiest love. How strangely
does its recollection stir the depths of our
nature, and smooth away the shadow despair,
and lift the burthen of unrest from brow and
spirit. It bridges over the loveless chasms
of the intervening years ; and in the blossom
ing beauty of girlish trustfulness, tbe gate
that barred onr heart’s paradise swings open
once more. The poison of the wound ia ex
tracted by those tender pitying lips that
rain sweet balm upon our own, and we feel
strengthened to struggle on and bear tbe
cross of duty with Spartan fortitude. Ah,
yes! there is magical healing in such kisses,
and cold sod cheerless would life be without
tbeir memory.
The careless, matter-of-fact lip-saluta
tions of our everyday experience vanish from
memory, scarce leaving a trace of their ex
istence; but uot so with that kiss in which
seems condensed all tbe tenderness of a life
time, and which can no more parish than
can tbe soul by which it is treasured This
is not tbe ‘‘bliss’’of shadow kissing, but an
ever-present consciousness that tender, sym
pathizing kisses have been showered upon
us by one whose soul is akin to ours. The
way may be long and gruy, and life’s narrow
pathway hedged with thorns, but by-and-by,
if this be one of the beatitsdes of our God
tbroned home, we shall feel tbeir rapturous
thrill once more.
While that kiss often makes us sadder men
and womeo, it rarely fails to make us better,
and more worthy of the God-giveo life by
unsealing our finer natures aod creating
within os an intense yearning for that great
love of which oar strongest earthly love is
but tbe faintest prelibation.— Baltimorean.
Don’t. —Don’t insult a poor man. His
mneclee may be well developed.
Don’t color meerschaums for a living. It
is simply dying by inches.
Don't throw dust in your teacher’s eyes.
It will injure tbe pupil.
Don’t turn up your nose at light things.
Think of bread and taxation.
Don’t boast of your pedigree. Many a
fool bus had a wise ancestor.
Doo’t buy a coach to please your wife.
Better make her a little sulky.
Doo’t write long obituaries. Save some
of your kind words for those living.
Doo’t publish your acts of charity. Tbe
Lord will keep tbe account straight.
Don't put on airs in your new clothes.
Remember your tailor is suffering.
A Utica barber announces himself as
Lio foali' ul ! _ ’ \ i
Natural History—The Editor.
“What ferocious.looking animal it this ?’
“That i" the editor.”
“ I mleed ! Are they very dangerous T"
“Sometimes When cornered op they
have been known to be quite combative, and
again they have been known to go through
a convenient bock window. Generally they
are mild and passive.”
"When are they most dangerous?"
“When intruded npon by a book agent
who wants a forty-line locul for a seventy
five cent book, or by a poet with verses
about gentle spring.”
“Are editors cross to each other?”
“Only when separated by several blocks
of buildings.”
“Do they often have fearful combats with
each other?”
"Occasionally when they go not in oppn
site directions, and conic upon each other by
accident.”
“Are editors ever cowhided ?”
“Sometimes the small ones sre, but (he
big ones are very rarely molested."
“Do editors eat ?”
“They do. It was formerly supposed that
they ate at long intervals and npon rare
occasio s, but it is now a well authenticated
fact that they can cat a great deal when
they can get it.”
“What kind of food do they like Aost ?"
“They are not very particular. When
they won’t refuse quail on toast, fried crab
or roast turkey about Christmas time, they
have been known to make a hearty repast of
a dish of cold turnips uud a consumptive
herring. ”
“Can they eat concert tickets?”
“We believe not. Roms perple have
•gained this continuous impression from false
teachings in early life, bat no authenticated
instance of such a thing is od record.”
• Do editors go free into shows?”
“They do wheo they give dollar and a half
locals for twenty-five cent tickets.”
“Are all editors bald, like this one?"
“No; only the murried . ones are bald.
But let us pens on, tbe editor does not like
to be stared at.”
His Idea of a Minister.
In his farewell sermon to his Chicago
congregation, prior to leaving for bin new
home and ministry in New York, Rev
Robert Collyer gave his idea of a minister's
calling as follows : “You have never held
me as one pet upart and above you, who
could not luugh on one occasion, or tonch
the springs of laughter, or love old ballud*
that have poured from tbe living heurt of
the people, or be touched by noble music, or
witness a wholesome pluy, or could stay to
supppr but go out before the dance,or could
eat only cresses and lentils like the old
anchorites, or could not tell stories to the
children tba' have nothing at all to do with
Moses and the prophets, or he interested be
yond measure when young men and maidens
God had made for each other caught the
secret be had kept for tbe true moment. In
all things it has been my pride and joy to be
one with you, to tbe peril, I suppose, of
what some men cal! ministerial digDity
But I have always believed that the nearer
a minister could come to his people in every
wholesome human way the more surely he
could help them and they could help him ;
and the record this church has made through
all these years—l say it with proud humility,
thanking God—has justified our faith in
such wholesome human ways. I know 1
have vexed you many a time, and hurt you,
and yoQ have held your own. I hope, aod
made tbe account square. But it was ail
manfully dons, and may help to prove that
our friendship and fellowship were Dot
devoid of a right austerity, and that we
have not taken tbe fatal drift toward a
society for mutual admiration. It bos been
a sweet and kindly relatioo on this human
si'ie as ever man bud in tbe world, tod, for
anght else, I am forgetting that already as I
speak to you, and shall not seed tbe kindly
touch of time and distance to rob me of
what no man wants to keep.”
An old citizen in a country village being
asked for a subscription towurd repairing the
fence of the graveyard, declined, saying, “I
subscribed toward improvin' that buryin’
ground nigh auto forty years ago, and my
family haiu’t bad no benefit from it yet.”
This idea of tbe biggest head knowing tbe
most is all uoosense. The mastodon bad the
biggest bead of bis time, and yet he didn’t
kuow euough to go into tbe ark out of tbe
raiu and tie saved. Tbe tnoi-quiloes, with
scarcely any bead at all, were wiser.
The man who snores and kuows that be
snores, and yet who won’t pul a clothes pin
oo his nose on going to bed, bus tbe blood
1 ' Tifr nirnri ui mcL
A Komatic Lowe Story.
The Count de St Croix, belonging to one
of the nohl'Rt and wealthiest families tn
France, became engaged, after a very long
nod assiduous courtship, to a lady, bis equal
in position and fortune, and famous for her
beauty. Hhortly after the happy day was
appointed, which w»s to render two loving
hearts one, the Count was ordered immedi
ately to the siege of Sebastopol; so be
girded on his sabre, end at the tiead of bis
regiment marched to the battle-field.
During the Count’s ab ence it happened
that his beautiful fiance had the sma'l pox.
After hovering between life and death for
many days, she recovered her health but
found her beauty ho;»elessly lost. The dis
ease had assumed in her case the most
virulent character, and left her not only dis*
figured, but seamed and scarred to such a
frightful extent that she became hideous to
herself, and resolved to pass the remainder of
her days in the strictest seclusion
A year passed away, when one day the
Count, immediately npon his return to
France, accompanied by his valet, presented
himself at the residence of his betrothed aod
solicited an interview. This was refused.
He. however, with tbe persistence of a lover,
pressed his suit, and finally the lady made
her appearance, closely muffled in a double
veil. At the sound of ber voice the Count
rushed forward to embrace her, but stepping
aside she tremblingly told him the story of
h«r sorrows aod burst into teara A heav
enly smile broke over tbe Count's handsome
features, as raising bis hands above, be ex
claimed :
“It it God’s work ; I am blind.”
It was even so When gallantly leading
his regiment to tbe attack, a cannon bad
passed so closely to bis eyes that, while it
left tbeir expression unchanged and bis
countenance unmarked, it robbed bim for
ever of sight. It is almost unnecessary to
add that their murriage wus shortly alter
solemniz d.
The Queen or All.—Honor the dear old
mother. Time lias scattered the snowy
flukes on her brow, plowed deep furrows on
her cheeks, but is she not sweet and beauti
ful now ? The lips are (bin and shrunken,
but those are the lips which have kissed
many a hot tear from the childish cheeks,
and they are the sweetest lips in all tho
world. The eye ia dim, yet it glows with the
soft rhdiance of holy love which can never
f ide. Ah. yes, sbe is a dear old mother.
Life’s sands are nearly run out, but feeble as
sbe is, she will go farther and reach down
lower for you than any other npon earth.
You cannot walk into a midnight where sbe
c nnot see you ; you canoet enter a prison
where burs will keep her out; you can never
mouot a scaffold too high for her to reach
that she may kiss and bless you, in evidence
of her deu'hless love When the world
shall despite end forsake you, when it leaves
you by the wayside to die unnoticed, tbe
dear old mother will gather you in ber feeble
arms aod carry you home and tell you of all
your virtues, until yoe almost forget that
your soul is disfigured by vtcea Love ber
teoderly and cheer her declining years with
holy devotion.
Excki.lkht Intkrkst Rules.—For finding
tbe interest on an; principal for an; number
of da;a, tbe answer in each case being in
cents, separate tbe two right hand figures of
tbe answer to express it in dollars and
cents:
Four per cent,— Multiply b; tbe number
of days, and divide b; 72.
Six per cent.—Multiply by tbe Dumber of
days, separate tbe right-band figure, arid
divide by 6.
Eight per cent. Multiply by tbe number
of days, and divide by 45.
Nine per cent.—Multiply by tbe somber
of days, separate tbe right-hand figure, and
div da by 4
Ten per cent.— Multiply by tbe number
of days, and divide by 35.
Twelve per cent. — Multiply by tbe num
ber of days, aud separate tbe right -band
figure, aod divide by 3.
Fifteen per cent. — Multiply by tbe num
ber of days, aod divide by 24.
Eighteen per cent— Multiply by tbe num
ber of days, separate tbe right-baud figure,
and divide by 2.
Twenty per cent.—Multiply by the num
ber of days, and divide by 18.
A tocno artist baa pa nted the picture
of a dog under a tree, and tbe work is so
artistically done that none but tbe best
connoisseurs emu tell tbe bark of tbe tree
fiom tbut of tbe dog.
A mud turtle can neither fly, sing, gallop,
laugh, cry, or go blackberrymg, and yet if
NO. 18