Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

~ TTTnT7r7 ‘ t .InnmiV^ hww Vicim »V\ < ... o»H ; • W " ' ■ ■ OLUME VII. BRUNSWICK, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MAY 20*. 1882. NUMBER 46. Advertiser mid Appeal, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY, AT TNSWICK. - GEORGIA, BY O. STACY. subscription Hate*. fop, one year II ropy alx month* 1 ■Ivertlaemcnt* from responsible parties will mbltahed until ordered out, when thetlme is meflfled, and payment exacted accordingly, muiunicattons (or Individual benefit, or of a , on al character, charged a* advertisements, irriages and obituary notice* not exceeding lines, solicted (or publication. When ex- ling that space, charged as advertisements. 1 letter* and communications shonld bo ad> ■eil to the undersigned. T. a. STACY, Brunswick, Georgia CITY OFFICERS, u. J. Colson. vn- J, J. Spears, J. P. Harvey, V. J. Doer a. C. Littlefield, J. M. Couper, J. Wilder, Hardy, J. R. Cook. ,t Trcaiurer—James Houston. Marthal—J. E. Lambright. nun—D. B. Goodbread, W. U. Rainey, 0. B. C. W. Byrd. of Guard House and Clerk of Market—IS. A. lhiitician—J. S Blain. '/i'/xtetnn—J. R. Robins. , white Cemetery—C. G. Moore. Colored Cemetery—Jackie Wbito. i/,u(«r—Matthew Shannon. Wanlent—Thus O'Connor, A. E. Wattles, J. UTANDISO COMHITTSES OV COUNCIL. cr—Wilder, Cook and Spears. in, Uiuiss Biuwiks—Harvey. Hardy and . ,■ i'iimoms—Harvey, nardy and Spears. irsiaKs—Littlofiold, Doerilinger aud Hardy. ,i;—Hardy, Cook and Littlefield, • ic uuiuunos—Harvey, Couper and Wilder, loans—Wilder, Spears aud Hardy. VTI os—Cook, Couper and Wilder, iv—Spears, Harvey and Cook. KVAurMkNT—Doorfllnger, Haray and Spears, t—Wilder. Cook aud Harvey. UNITED STATES OFFICERS. , ‘ tor ofCustoms—II. F. Farrow. ,,—H.T. Dunn. ior Internal Revenue—D. T. Dunn, v Marshal—T. W. Dexter, inter—Linus North. iMoner—C. H. Dexter, mg Jommisaloncr—O. J.Hail. iAN LODG-E No- 214.F-AM. A lar communication! of thi* Lodgo arc hold 1 on ami third Moudaya In oach month, at 7:30 .g anil all brcthreulu good standing aro ira- invitod to attond. „ J. SPEARS, C. L. FLANDERS, Secretary. " • “■ every Tuoaday night at eight o’clock. H. PIERCE, N. G. J. T. LAMBRIGHT, V. Q LAMBRIGHT, P. k R. Secretary. ILLINERY! s HETTIE WILLIAMS W RECEIVING A LARGE AND WELL-SE LECTED STOCK OF inery & Fancy Goods, I,ACES OF ALL DESCRIPTIONS, ttern Bonnets l tho latest itylea, Just from Now York. A full lino of arettesLadies’Underwear HILDItEKPS DRESSES, Etc. ss-Maklng a Specialty, the moat fashionable itylea, orders prompt- aprltt-ly SPECIALTY J —: • - f ; nr*t. lts’Furnishing Goods -m D gTt-p^“ cv er Before Known! • me xml ace my stock, which wa* bonght • lur this market. J. B. WRIGHT. A Buried Secret. Even in the kindly shadows of the gathering twilight, she looked older than be, this woman of rare grace and matchless charm, whose eyes rested so worshipfolly on the face of the man who had thrown himself on the cush ion at her feet—older than the years themselves would’ warrant, for she, Sydney Reed, was, in reality, but six years George Winston’s senion. But six years leave tbeir impress when their way lies over burning plow shares. There were lines upon the lovely face and a sadness in the beautiful eyes no time, unaided, could have wrought. She passed her hand now, half-oewilderingly, across her Brow. “Is sorrow for me really at an end?” she murmured. “I cannot grasp it.” “At un end forever, darling, if my streugtb avails anything to keep it from your door, for to-night you be long for the last time to yourself. To morrow you belong to me 1” answered the young, confident voice. He was but twenty-two—this boy. She was twenty-eight, and a widow. Her married life had been one of un utterable wretchedness. Four years before her husband had deserted her. Two years later she had learned of his death, which had taken place in n drunken brawl in a far western city. She had put oa her outward badge of mourning in memory of the days when he, handsome and rockless, had smiled away her girl’s heart. She bu ried in his unseen grave her weight of woe, and with it all his faults. She thought, too, that she had long buried youth and happiness, but three months since they bad resurreoted themselves, listening to George Win ston’s pleading words and loving prayer, she found resistance had failed her, and so granted him the boon he asked of hor. And to-morrow was to be hor soc- oud wedding day. Fondly and hope fully he painted to her tho coming years, each moment of which should be to her a recompense for past mis ery. She said little. It was snob* joy to heiiv his voice, to feel bis touch, to creep into the shelter of his love and rest there, grateful and content It was ten o'clock whon she bade him good-night She still felt the tender prossare of his lips upon her she mounted the stairs to her room. She had made him leave her thus early because some of her prepa rations were yet to be made for to morrow and she had promised him to retire before midnight, though her waking dreams, she said, were sweeter than any slnmber might be stow, she hardly ‘thought the ex change • fair one. There were some letters she wanted to look over—some to be destroyed, others to be preserved. Among these latter were a few be bod written her, dariug a short absence a month pre vious. She took out the first from its wrapper to re-read, but hud not turned the page when there came u low rap at the door. “Gome in 1” she replied, half-impa- tiently, without looking np. She had given orders to her ser vants not to be disturbed. She had told Maria, her maid, to come to her at midnight. It was not yet half-past ten. The door opened at her summons, bat no one entered or spoke. 'Well, Maria, what is it?” she ques tioned, and slowly raised hor eyes, to fiud—no Maria, no servant, but a man’s form, gannt and haggard, dark ening the threshold—a man’s eves hot and burning—fixed m>on her face. Sbe sat carved into stone. I was pitiful to see the blood recede from her face, leaving it white aud drawn. If three hours previous sbe had looked older than her lover, ten years were now added to her age. Her lover? No longer bad she a right to the sweet title, for he whose gaze held hers was her living hus band—the man whom for two years she had mourned as dead. He came forward at last closing the door behind him and advancing with feeble, tottering steps toward her. “Speak to me 1” he said. “Give me one word of welcome—one word of forgiveness.” She opened her lips then, bnt no sonnd came. “I—I know,” he went on, “you need not tell me; you were to have been married—it would-have been a crime. Bat for this I would not have come. I wonld still have let you give credence to my death. Oh, Sydney, will yon believe me when I swear to you that both for your sake and my own, I wish I were dead.” The ntter misery of his tone brought her own desolate anguish more fully before her. With a low cry she bu ried her face in her hands. The let ter she bud fell from them. Still she heard her husband speaking as though from afar off. “Courage, Sidney!”- he said. “You will only need patience, dear. Look at me! Is it not hard to see that I am a doomed man ? I have never recov ered from the wound I received in the affray in which they* reported me to have been killed. Dissipation helped the work along, thoagh since that night, Sydney, no drop of liquor bus touched my lips. When a man stands so dose to death that he recognizes his icy breath, he sees things with a new clearness. Daring my long and desparate illness, I thought of you with a longing yon can never dream of, bnt I dared not send for you. felt that all my right was forfeited.— Nor will I trouble you now. When I am dead you shall learn of your free dom. Until that time you will hear of or from me never again.” He stopped as be finished. Sho knew that he lifted up the material of her dress and pressed it a moment to his lips. Slowly and faltoringly he again crossed tho room. His hand was on the knob of the door, when she broke the spell that bound her, and roso to her feet. “Stay, Harold 1” she cried. “Your placo is here. It was yon who de serted me. Yon shall not say that I deserted yon. He staggered against the wall. “Is this an angel or a woman who thns speaks to me?” he cried. It is no angel,” she answered, “on ly a woman, striving to do her dnty so plainly marked before her.” Bat the strength that had upheld him in his hopelessness now failed him. With a great cry he cast himself down at her feet, striving in vain to catch the sobs which so cruelly rent him. Very gently she soothed him. She bad no time to realize her own mis ery, until, at last, she left him, quiet and sleeping. How the night passed she never knew. With locked bands clasped before her she sat watching the dawn break, conscious neither of heat nor cold, of day nor darkness, nntiPat nine o’clock her maid brongnt a cap of coffee to her door. The servants had been apprised of the master’s re turn the night before. She took the coffee now and drank ik “When Mr. Winston comes,” sbe said, “admit him yourself, Maria, aud bring him immediately here to me.” An hour later her door opened. “Not dressed, my darling!’’ cried a happy voice. “Syduey, what has happened ?” With marvelous strength and calm ness she told him all. He listened silently nntil she had quite finished, aud then with one bound had gath ered her to his arms. “What is this man to you, that he should take you from mo ? You are mine—mine! I never will forego my claim!” At the old tender masterfulness of his tones, her womanhood re-asserted itself. She bowed her head upon bis breast and burst into a passion of sobs. “My love—my own!” be whispered, “this is but a chimera of tho dark ness. Our wedding day has dawned —you are mine 1 Oh, my darliDg, come to me!” But now she lifted up her face. “He is my husband, George,” she said. “My duty lies with him. Now leave me—I can bear no more. You —who have always said you loved best in me my womanhopd, my parity - you would not tempt me to sin ?— No, dear. Leavo me and forget me. You are young—yon have but to look for happiness and find it." "Sydney, I cannot resist your words; you bid me go, and I obey yon. But first, love, I exact a yromise—whon you are free, send me word. I will leave an address, where a letter will always reach me. I must put the ocean between ns—I conld not stay here and prove obedient But, my own, I never will ronounco my claim, and, be it one year, or ten or twenty, one lino will bring mo to yonr side, to leave it never again.” Then with a dozen kisses he sealed the promise he had exacted, and went out from her, believing earth held no such wretched man as he. Five years had passed—fivo years to Sydney Reed of faithful, devoted duty—five years during which her lovo and care alone fostered the fee ble spark of life of Harold Reed’s re morseful heart, and then ho lind laid the benvy burden down, and with liis last words murmurs of grateful love and blessing, tho tired eyes closed, shutting out forever more tho vision which all these years had been tbeir light and gladness. Sbe bad no word from George all this time. He had kept his promise faithfully. For a year longer, sbe, too, would be silent, and then—ab, then she would send for him. Once more she would look into his face— once more listen to his voice. They might be friends only, bnt would friendship e’er before have been so sweet ? The love she loDg re pressed as sin still held sway. It had burst its fetters and bad renewed its strength. When the time came for her to write the letter sho knew not how to word it, thongh every day for months she had fancied the hour when she shonld pen it. But at last she wrote these simple words: Come to me, George. You will not have forgotten me, and I—I have lived but to remember. “Sydney Reed.” Then she sealed and addressed it to the address he had given her, and SAnk back in her chair to dream awhile, ere touching her bell and or dering it posted. A happy smile played upon her lips. The future so long closed to her opened its gates of promise and feast ed her hungry gaze. Idly sbe took up a paper at her hand, holding it before her eyes as a screen from the fire, « lieu her atten tion was arrested Lv a imme—the name which was inaoribed ni«>n >he envelope whose ink was scarcely jvt dry. ’ ’ It was a printed description of George Winston’s marriage to the young and beantifnl heiress of one of England’s noblemen. The marriage had taken place in Lnndou, a fort night before. N ' Once, twice, thrice she read it through, and then, very quietly reach ing forth, she took up r.ne letter she had written, pressed it an instant to her white, quivering lips, and, falling upon her knees, dropped it in the flames. As the fire darted up she laughed aloud in the strange stillness.- Others- wonld have seen but. the light the pa per gave, bnt she saw more—it was the fuueral pyle of a broken heart. Insanity lu Oeorgla. Augusta Chronlcla and CoustttuUouaUsti Dr. Powoll, Superintendent of the Georgia Insane Asylum, reports that there are in all G3G patients in the State Asylum, of which 223 are col ored. Among the latter, Dr. P iwell says insanity is increasing witn amaz ing rapidity. The illnstrations-whicb the learned. Superintendent uses are said to be familiar enough to thoso who come in contact with the uegro. Before the war idiocy was the only form of mental alienation to be found among them. Now drinking, grief and loss of property take hundreds to the asylum where none went before. The Doctor says: “A uegro, for in stance, sets his heart on buying a male, gets all bis little fnnds togeth er, stints himself, and finally makes the purchase. The mule is carried over, and in a short time dies,, and the man broods over his loss until he becomes insane.” Freedom has brought the colored man pains and penalties he never knew in bis condition of servitude.— It is the old lesson, us the Psalmi-t says, that “as we increase knowledge we increase sorrow.” The rate of insanity in Georgiu is about one in fifteen hundred. This is low compared to New England, where tho rate is one in five hundred. Female Typo-Mottora, Somebody writes of feminine type setters: “As a class female printers are dil- igenfrand worthy. They never ‘sojer;’ they never bother the editors for chewing tobacco; they never prowl aronnd amon the exchanges for the Police Oasetle\ thoy never get them selves fnll of budge and try to clean out rival print shops* they never swear about the business manager; they do not smoke old nasty clay pipes; they never strike for more pay; they never allade to editorial matter as ‘slush’ or ‘hog wash’—in short* they are patient, gentle, conscientious and reliable.” A paragraph is going the ronnds of the press stating that a New Hamp shire man, who is seventy-two years of age, aud on excellent farmer, claims that he bfs never ridden on a railroad, altbongb one passes within a few rods of his house; never travel ed below Cbncord, ten miles from home; never owned a watch or gun, and never nsed tobacco in any form, except to kill vermin on his catt.o and sheep. Thu only comment we should care to mnke in sncli n case is that a world full of Immun beings like that man wonld be alanit as interesting, and not half os n-eful. as a bed of clams or a collection ui mummies, be cause tint clums could h<- eaten ami the mummies used for firewood.