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VOL. IV. Advertising Kates. One square, first insertion $ 75 Rich subsequent insertion 50 One square three months 5 00 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 One column twelve months 100 00 56?“ 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 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