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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.