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THE MERCURY.
■Entered ns second-class matter,
at the Sandersville post-office,
April 27, 1880.
Sandersville, Washington Co., Ga.
Published Jiy
JERNIGAN W SCARBOROUGH.
Subscription, $1.50 per year.
THE MERCEHY
A. J. JERNIGAN, Proprietor. DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, AGRICULTURE AND GENERAL INTELLIGENCE. $1.00 PER ANNUM
Vol. 1.
Sandersville, Ga., July 20, 1880.
No. 16
G. W. Ho Whitaker,
XDE3STTXST-
SANDERSVILLE, GA.
Terms Cash.
Office at his residence on Harris St.
April 3rd, tf 1880.
" HDims,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
SANDERSVILLE, GEORGIA.
April 3d. 1880.
Or. f m Rawlings,
PHYSICIAN & SURGEON,
Sandersville, Georgia,
Office at Sandersville Hotel,
apy 10, 1880—ly
DIRECTORY.
SOCIETIES.
Bamilon Lodge No. 58 F. A. M.
neets on the Second and Fourth ir«/-
nes lays of each month.
Sandersville. Lodge, No. 8 A. O. U.
W. meets on the First and Third Mon
day nights of every month.
Neuman Lodge No 1551, Knights of
Honor meets on tie First and ' Third
Thursday nights of every month.
Burris Council No. 114 Legion of
Jonor meets on the Second and Fourth
Monday nights of each month.
Washington County Agricultural So
ciety meets on the first Tuesdays in each
month.
The County Grange meets even/
Month.
The Library Association meets at thi
call of the Directors.
RELIGIOUS.
Raplist Church.—Rev. J.M. Adams,
Pastor, regular services every Second
E • /• Sullivan,
notary public,
Sandersville, - - Georgia
Special Attention given to the ****
Collection of Claims. — : -■
OFFCE IN THE COURT HOUSE.
0. //. Rogers
ATTORNEY at LAW,
SANDERSVILLE GA.
Prompt Attention Given To All
Business.
Office in north west room of
COURT HOUSE,
may4th 1880 ly #
” fk ®nwnt»
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Will practice in the State and
United State Courts.
Office in Court House.
EE
J’ltpthau | piifgMf!,
SANDERSVILLE. GA.
Office nest, door to Mrs. Bayne’s
Millinery Store on Han is street*
PHYSICIAN & SURGEON,
Sandersville,
May be c insulted at his office on
Haynes St. in tlio Masonic Lodge
building from 9. A. M. to 1 P. M
and from 3 to 5P. 31.; duringoth-
t-r hours at LiR residence on Cliurcb
St, when not professionally engng
ed.
April 3rd ly 1880
7777 t i if i
ROBERT L. RODGERS,
attorney at j,aw,
SAN I >K RS VI I.LK, G EORGI A.
WI1.L GIVE HPECIAL ATTENTION TO
Mixktmo
Accounts,
Hills, Notes,
Drafts. Checks
•onds, Liens,
Judgments,
Executions.
Mortgages.
CONVEY AMINO.
Transfer’gTitles
hy Deeds, Bonds,
Mortgages,
Leases. Wills,
Assignments,
Partition Writs,
Trust Deeds.
fettling Estates
For Heirs,
Legatees,
Creditors,
Administrators,
Executors,
Guardians,
Trustees.
Methodist Church.—Rev. Geo. C.
Clarke, Past r, services every Sunday
morning except the Second when lie
holds services at Tcnniltc. Prayer
meeting every Thursday night.
Christian ('hurch.—Ref,/. M. Am
mons, Pastor, services every Fourth
Sunday. Prayer meeting every Wed
nesday night.
' MUNICIPAL.
Mayor.—J. A r . Gilmore,
Clerk and Treasurer,— Wm. Galla-
her.
Cily Council.—S. J. Smith, J. C.
Pu<r, Dr, J. R. Roberts* .7. T, Tapper',
M. Neu man.
City Marshal.—J. E. Weddon.
fJOUNTY OFFICERS.
Ordinary.—Bon. C. O. Drown.
Sherifi.—A. M. Mayo.
Clerk Sap. Court.—S. M. Northing-
Ion .
Tax Receiver.— I. Hermann.
Tax Collector.— IF. R. Ihigpen.
‘Treasurer.—O. 11. Rogers.
Surveyor.—Morgan L Jackson.
Coroner.—John Layton.
SUPERIOR COURT,
Convenes on tin; Fourth Monday in
May and Sip/ember Hon. II. F. John
son, Judge. Hon. J. K. Hines, Soli
itor General, S. M. Northington, Clerk.
CQUR’l OF ORDINARY.
Hon. <'. C. Rroum, Judge, sits on
the First Monday in every month.
Jurors.*
For the information of pnrties in
terested we give tlio names of the
Grand and Traverse Jurors, who
were regularly drawn for the next
term of onr Superior Court, which
commences its spring session on the
2d Monday in July:
GRAND JURY FOR 2d WEEK
S H R Massey, Josiah Jones, S S
Thomas IF THarrison, IFm Webster,
Stephen Vonbrackle, T MHarlhington,
.1 T Cheatham, M E Wavthen, W E
Martin, J L Garner, Joseph R Smith,
Ghas I Duggan, W J Henderson, Hope-
well Adams, R F Murphy, T O Wick
er, Shade Dukes, James IF Smith, A J
Harwich, Rufus A Cochran, Sytranu>
Prince,, J U Floyd, IF C Riddle, J F
Royers, Geo. II II Whitaker, Abe
Youngblood, T J Gilmore, F J Rearson
C R Pringle.
TRAVERSE JURY 2d WEEK.
Wm Martin, W It Hall Gordon II
Smith, Sherod Hood, L L Adams, G
W Mills Hear a T Downs. James I
In Golden Chains.
A captive am I
In golden chains,
Through winter’s frost
And summer’s rains.
The days pass by
With falling snow.
Which drifts and flutters
To and fro.
And yet I am,
Till life's day wanes,
A willing captive
In my chains.
And not for all
The lnnd and sea,
Would I for e’en
And hour be free.
I would not, could I,
Burst my bands.
Ench link was mado
By woman’s bands.
And ns long ns stars
Shull burn above,
A captive am I
In bonds of love.
i the Fedora! Courts.
I Miry,
REPAIRED BY
Jernigan.
A Webster, A II Ainsworth, IIII Rras-
well, A It Adams, Rennetl R Smith, M
M Cook, Geo W Newsome, G (J Walk
er, Morgan L Jackson, Joel F Tomp
kins, A P Heath, Henry M Smith, C
W Joyner, IF IF L Underwood, New-
some Tantum, II A Re.nfroc, W L Me
Milieu, James P Jordan, Jno R Hall,
Woo Waller, Jno Redfcarn, Jno Q
Amerson.
n wevk In yourown tmvu. *5 Outfit fra*.
Nil ri»k. I! wlrr, If you want u liualucuaat
whit'll pt-rftotiR of i-itlit r RUX rail lllilke gjrnt
pay nil tlir time tlievwork. write far par.
titulars 10 11. Hau.Btt & Co.. Portland.
Maine. July 13, liSFO—ly
iclt J£r
THB PEOPLE’S
SANDERSVILLE & TENNILLE
RAIL ROAD.
n and after to-day the. PassengtT
1,1 0,1 this road will run as follows:
J , 1,Ay I’ASSENGKIt TRAIN,
r.J >s Sandersville daily 9:15 a. in.
/, aw * Bundle daily 9:41 a. m.
j p a „ ie> Sandersville daily 3:30 p. m.
?,!“ Bundle daily 4. : 10 p. m.
ed fa. n * n . ri1 dispatch all articles deslin-
Sandert
point, should be. marked
t(Z tr!iCille Bstrad of No. 13 as here-
a , J ' 1 IRWIN, So
filf 3, 1880. ' *’ SUpL
AhRlVAL OF TRAINS AT
13, C. R. R.
lion,ii V ""' il 'nger train arrives 3:54p.m
NO.
wm day •<
yP Night «
J) vwn Night"
9:4(1 a.m
“ 4:41a.m.
“ 10:43 p. m.
TOST OFFICE HOURS.
J to 11:30 A. M.
1-30 to (j P, M.
K - A - SULLIVAN, P. M.
TRY IT
The Lightest Running Machine
ever Made.
-THE MOST POPULAR AND BEST OF All.
The BobliliiH are Wound without Running or
Unthreading the Machine.
X0 GETTING OUT OF 0BDEB.
The Beet Machine for Agents to Sell.
Send for Illustrated Circular to
People’s Sew Machine Co.,
Wadley, Ga., V. 8. A.
My Hoar Miss Cline.
When the twilight shadows gather,
When all nature looks divine;
When I gaze upon the heather
I’ll thick cf thee my dear Miss Cline.
When by (he snows of winter driven,
To seek a shelter and repine;
Becnuse my heart with pain is riven.
To he with thee my dear Miss Cline.
When, oh! when the stars are beam
ing
O’er my cot as well as thine;
Sweetly sleeping, I am dreaming
Of my darling loved Miss Cline.
Now must I bid thee Aurevoir,
’Till we meet to make thee mine
And yet I’ll take this enfe noil*
And drink thy health my dear Miss
Cline
Drink it in a cup of coffee,
Why not quaff the sparkin g wine?
Not to please some fair MjssEffiu
Only sober, sweet Miss Cline.
A FT i IiTomT YEARS.
•Wlmt is this, Burt?’
‘That is the mortgage of an es
tate culled the Derby Place, Mr.
Faxon, foreclosed more than a year,
I believe.”
‘Well, it’s what I have been
looking for. I will take charge ol
the papers and attend to tli<5 mat
ter soon. Down East, isn’t iff’
‘Yes, sir.’
Mr. Faxon put the pnpers into
the breast-pocket of his coat, came
down the office stairs, and stepped
into the glittering, purple-lined
phaeton, beside his wife.
The delicate Arabian, Mrs. Fax
on's horse, sped away out of the
city confines, and soon tossed his
jetty mane along the open roads,
lined with gardens, ornate cottages
and villas.
‘Going away again to-morrow,
dear?’ asked Mrs. Faxon, sudden
ly lifting her fair countenance, as
she interrupted her husband. ‘You
seem to be away all the time lately.
Take me with you.'
‘Not this time, Violet.’
And Violet Faxon’s husband fell
into a tit of abstraction, from which
the smartest chatter failed to
arouse him.
They came at last to the Faxon
mansion, grand and simple, and
fulfilling the promise of a beauti
ful interior.
Amid the white lace and crimson
silk of her chamber, Violet was
brushing out her long, lair hair,
when her husband paused in the
doorway, and looked at her sharp
ly. Then ho came slowly across
the room, and lifting the oval face
in his hand, looked closely at .the
roseate cheek, pearly ear and curv
ed lashes.
‘What is it?’ asked Violet—‘a
frecklef
‘No,’ he answered, smiling faint
ly and strolling across the chamber.
‘You looked like my sister then—
that was all.’
‘Your sister, dear? You never
told me about her? said Violet.
'No,’ he answered, and said no
more.
Mr. Faxon bore no resemblance
to his delicate patrician wife. A
little less than thirty—dark, strong
ly built., active, vigorous, he im
pressed one as a strong character.
If, with a renmrkuldy rich comeli
ness of countenance, there were
some sensual lines, there was also a
ctrtain evidence of strong good
sense and a look of deep experiences,
Mr. Faxon looked like a man who
carried weight.
He was up and away at daybreak
the next morning. An early train
bore him enstward and nine o’clock
found him landed at ft littlo station
called Sea brook.
The dismal little building was
set in a field of clover, around which
a road wound away among the
mounds of verdure.
After a glance around, Mr. Fax
on took this road, and walked slow
ly along. The robins hopped
acro. s it; the bobolinks sang in the
trees over it. The unassuming
white clover among the grass per
fumed the cool morning air.
He passed only a few houses, hut
he observed them attentively. They
were all old nnd fc liuinhlc farm-hou
ses. Apparently, this property
which luid, by the* foreclosure ot
a mortgage, fallen to Mr. Faxon,
wns not situated in a very rich or
enterprising neighborhood.
When he hud walked nearly a
mile, he came to a green doorynrd,
among widespread apple trees, with
a well-sweep among them, and a
residence, though plain, more pre
tentious and comfortable than the
others.
There was a narrow, well-worn
path among the short grass and
buttercups to the porch, where a
bitter sweet twined its strong arms.
I n a corner, under the verdure, was
an arm-chair, with a book on the
scut, and a cane lying across it—a
gnarled, twisted stick of hickory,
that Mr. Faxon looked twice at.
The book he saw was a Bible.
There was an old lady, with a
sweet faded face, and snowy cap-
strings tied under her double chin,
knitting at a window near by, hut
his quiet step had not disturbed
her.
He had put his hand to tile
knocker; lie took it down again as
he caught sight of this placid face.
He stood there quite still for sev
eral minutes. A gray cat came
and rubbed against his leg. Seme
apple-blossoms, floating down,
touched his cheek.
At length the gentle lips moved.
‘Father,’ said the mild old lady,
‘you had host lie down and take a
rest.’
‘Such old people, and I have
come to take their home away, said
Mr. Faxon.
There was strong pain in his
dark face now as he stood looking
down at the porch-floor.
After a moment, he stepped off
the porch, on the further side, and
walked away under the apple trees.
When Mr. Faxon came hack
from his hiief stroll, his presence,
as lie crossed the yard, was ob
served.
A white-haired old man, who had
come to the open door and taken
up the hickory stick, turned hack
hastily, with a few hurried words,
and the aged woman dropped her
uiitting and rose up, with a pale
ness dropping over face.
But, while Mr. Faxon hesitated
on tlio porch again, both came to
the door. Sad, startled faces they
both had, hut they were civil.
Their gretting was kindly as to a
friend.
•My name is Faxon,” said the
visitor. “I—”
“We know who you he, sir?
8ont,hi8 mind occupied with otherjeamc rumors I didn’t like, ns to
thoughts.
“We’ve been long expectin’you,
sir,”
said the old lady, gently.
Her hands, crossed on her spot
less gigliam apron upon her lap,
trembled a little, hut the serenity
of her manner was not much
changed.
But the old man’s eyes swam in
tears, lie rested both hands on
the hickory stick between his
knees, os he Bat in a corner, and
bending liis forehead upon them,
partially hid his face.
“Yes ! yes ! hut it comes sort
o’ sudden now,” said the old man
Mr.Faxon satin speechless sym
pathy.
Alter a little pause, old Mr,
Derby looked up and met his
eyes.
“Of course, its all right, sir.
We don’t question your right to
the place; but we’ve been sort of
unfortunate. I think so—don’t
you, mother?”
The old lady lay buck among
the cushions of the dimity cover
ed chair. She had a look of phys
ical weakness Mr. Faxon had not
observed before. She did not
speak.
Her husband looked at her at
tentively. A sudden flush went
over his thin face.
“D’s not for myself I cure—it’s
her?” lie cried, striking his cane
violently upon tlio floor. “She
iclped earn this place when she
was young. There wns no kind
o’ work hut wlmt them hands you
see lyin’ so weary now in her lap,
sir, wns put to. She was up ear
ly and late, always a-doin,’ a-doin’
fur me and the children. God
never made a better wife an' moth
er. An’ now, sir, it’s hard, its
hard, that she should he turned
out of her homo m her old age.”
t“Hush, hush, Daniel ! said the
old lady, softly. “The Lord will
provide; and it's not long we liavo
to stay in this world, you know.”
“Will you toll me tlio history of
the place, Mr. Derby?” asked Mr.
Faxon. “How did you come to
lose it ?”
“It wns mortgaged, sir,” said
the old man, at last, “to pay the
boys’ college hills. You see, «'e
had three children—Selwyn, Ros-
und littlo Annie. Mother an’ 1
lidn’t have an eddieation, hut we
said all along that our children
should have; an' they went to the
distric* school an’ then the acade
my—and by and-by we flirted
them off for college. Bright smart
boys they were-—everybody said
my hoys had good parts, though
Hoe was a little wild. I think
mother, there, loved him hotter
for that.' He was more trouble,
an’ she clung to hifii closer be
cause others blamed him at times.
Annie, his sister, was always a-
pleadin,’ too, for, Roc. He play
ed truant, and he whipped the
hoys who told on him; he was al
ways puttin’ his hones in peril,an’
twice he was half drowned—yet
in spite of all he was ready for
college when Selwyn was, though
Selwyn was steady as a clock.
Mother and I had been scrapin’
together for years, and at last we
fitted them off.
“We went on denying of our
selves, for it was just the one
hope of our lives to have the
hoys graduate with all the honors;
an’ time went on, hut many of the
crops failed, and there canio dis
how Ro8coe was up to his old
wild ways again, and at last it
came like a tliumlebolt—Roo was
suspended and had run away to
foreign parts* Well, I pass over
that, sir; I tried not to be too
hard on the hoy. Then Selwyn
came homo. He had graduated
well, hut he had a cough. He
didn’t complain, hut he was thin
and pale, an’ soon mother an’ I
saw that the son we had meant to
rely on was an invalid upon our
hands.
The thought struck me dumb.
But mother wns all energy. We
traveled here with him, we travel
ed there. Wc saw all the noted
doctors, East and West. Wc bor
rowed more money on the old
place, and we never paid any
lmck. I had mado one or two
payments at first, but they were
hut a drop in the bucket. At Inst
we brought Selwyn home to die.”
“Don’t Daniel!” said the moth
er, softly.
“He wants to hear the rest.
There’s only a little more, but it’s
no better. Annie was like Sel-
wyn—good an’ patient; delicate-
like, too. We didn’t mind it at
first, hut her checks grew thin an’
too red; u cough sho had had
from childhood grew harder, and
though the best doctors wo could
got came curly an’ late, it was on
ly a year after Selwyn died before
wo luid Annie down among the
snows. Thank ye, Hir, for your
pity ! Mother an’ I huve shed
most of our tears.”
Mr. Faxon put his cambric hand
kerchief hack into his pocket.
“ Your other sou, Roscoe, Mr.
Derby—did lie never come home?”
‘•Never, It’s nigh eight years
since we have seen Roe. lie
knew lie disappointed us; but
that was nothin’—was it mother?”
‘I never think of it,’ said Mrs
Derby, shaking her head. ‘Perhaps
—I don’t know—we took the wrong
course with Roc. He was restless
an’ active. He was wild, but lit
wns lovin’—’
ller voice broke.
‘Mrs. Derby,’ said Mr. Faxon, ‘1
find I know something of your sto
ry already. Your son, Roscoe
Derby, who ran away at nineteen
years old, in probably living, and
it may come in my way to obtain
some information of him for you.’
The oi l people had risen eagerly
from their seats, hut he went on
quickly:
‘Meanwhile, be at no inconve
nience regarding your stay here in
your old home. Your right to oc
cupy it is unquestioned in my mind,
and let- meassuro you that you will
never, during your lifetime, lie re
quired to go hence. There is the
mortgage'—lie placed some papers
on the table—‘the Derby place is
your own.’
He rose, putting them gent
back, as they pressed toward him,
trying to express their gratitude.
‘No—no thanks! Believe me
you owe me nothing—nothing.’
He took his hat. The old man,
who was voiceless, wrung his hand.
Mr. Faxon turned to Mrs. Derby,
and taking her soft, wrinkled fingers
in liis strong palm, bent low and
kisred them Then he turned to
ward the door, hut in a moment he
had come back.
‘Mother—fatherf he said, ‘I can
not go, for I know you have for
given me?’
And the not instant the strong
incut there, an’ failing to get the
money the hoya^sciit for—espe-
saidthc old man
you he, though we never seed ye
before. Will you come in?”
Mr. Faxon stepped across the
white hall floor into the quiet,
cool and comfortable sitting-room.
The rough blue paper, like
chintz, on the wall, some “hones
ty” and dried grasses in opaque
white vases upon the high, nar
row mantlcpiece, unconsciously
struck his eye, while lie took a
“we know who dally Roe—we mortgaged the
farm for five hundred-dollars
“They were nearly through,you
see,an’ mother and Annie thought
that frelwyn might ho principal of
the academy or something when
he came home, an’ Roc would be
a lawyer,’ ’cause he could argufy
an’ speak so smart in public, an’
the money would he. paid back
easy.
“But from time to time there
THE MERCUl
PUBLII NED EvIRtTuI
Retie*.
Oft'
mrAU
'his paper must be accompanied with
'hefull name of the writer, net neeee-
•arily for pub/ietlion, but Os a fworsR.
fee of good faith*
We are in no way responsible for Ike
vieunor opinion of correspondents.
chants then in London. Ho gin
me a good position, nnd I decided
to return home with him, rad serv
ed faithfully in hie employ, until
just before hie death, when, having
formed ra engagement with hie on
ly daughter, he gave hie consent to
our marriage, with the proviso that
I would take hie name, and carry
on his interests exactly as they had *
been. To this I consented, for in
spite of settled habits and ideas, I
felt an alien rad alone; but moth*
I have a good wife and the best ot
sons—a little fellow two yean old,
named Derby. Does that please Y
you?’
All, indeed! What loving old
woman is not pleased with her
grandchild? Soon the house was
graced by the presence of Violet
Faxon and the lovely boy, whom
grandfather could not praise enough
and grandmother could not fondle
enough; yet it was sweeter, per
haps, to Roecoe Faxon to hear his
mother’s voice whisper:
I like your wife, and do yon
know, dear, I think she is very like
Anniei’
Little Billings.
little thing,
up the ele-
apoiutment here and' disappoint- uiau was kneeling witli his head on
his mother’s knee
‘After long years, mother,’ he
said, as she sttoked liis temples
with fond fingers. ‘I am but twen
ty-eight years old, hut sorrow for
my early faults has brought some
gray hairs about my head.’ *
And you are not Mr. Faxon,
after all, Roc?’ suid the father, with
a puzzled smile.
‘Yes, I am, dear father. Five
years ago I had the good fortune
to gain the good-will of one of the
wealthiest. American shipping-mer-
A leros word iss a
but it ix wlmt stirs
pliant.
A kind word iz a little thing,
hut it iz just what soothed tlio
sorrows ov the setting hen.
An orange peel on the sidewalk
iz a little thing, but it haz upset
menny a giant-.
A serpent’s fang iz a little tiling,
but death ix its victory.
A baby iz a wee littlo thing,but
a constable wax once a baby.
A hornets sthig iz a littlo thing,
but it sends tho schoolboy home
howling.
An egg iz a little thing, but the
huge krogerdile kreops into life
out ov.it.
A spark iz a lttlc thing, but it
cuu light the poor man’s pipe, or
set the world to burning.
Thu akorn iz a little tiling, but
the black bear and bis family live
in the oak that springs from it.
A word iz a little thing, yet one
word has boon menny n man’s
destiny, for good or for evil.
A penny iz a very little thing,
but the interest on it from thq
days of Cain and Able would buy
out the globe;
A minute iz a little thing, bnt
it iz long enough to pull a dozen
aking teeth, or to get married and
have ynre own mother-in-luw.
A lap dog iz a little thing, but
he iz a very silly thing besides.
Life iz made up ov little things.
Life itself iz but a little thing;
one breath less, then comes the
phuneral.
Libraries anTttie shrines where
i the relics of the saints, full of
true virtue, and without delusion
and imposture arc preserved and
reposed.
It were better to be eaten to
death with rust than to be scour
ed to nothing with perpetual mo
tion.
Repentance without amendment
is like codtinual pumping in a
ship without stopping the lcuks.
l/fn
Every man is bound to tolerate
the act of which he himself seta
the example.
■■ #•»! ,
He who iz tali*. iu .... present
duty breaks a tnread iu the loom,
und will see the effect when the
weaving of a lifetime is unravel
ed.
—-
o beautiful, woudarfal yorld; .
W %
of Chi
beauty,-*
of the road, leading uuie cup.,
lifting sad hearts, wiping*- "
tears and winning wayward sjY
To fill tho sphere which Pi
idenee appoints is true wisdom,
to discharge trusts faithfully air
iive exulted ideas, that is tl
sion of good men.