SUljms Wcchln Cljwidc
ny j- u. stotve.
( t Kt) D. THOM AS,
Office over University Bank, Athene, Ga.
Business respectfully solicited, and prompt atten
oe guaranteed e ' ) * 22
A TTORNEY AT LAW, ATHENS, GA.
2A Office on Broad street, up-stairs. Entrance
next door above Long’s Drug Store. Will at
t»”id promptly to all business entrusted to his
care. I>e 2 4
>ICHAIti) B. RUSSELL,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Office : Corner of Claytou St. and College Av
enue, opposite Tai mad ge, Hodgson & Co.
Business respectfully solicited, with the guar
antee of prompt and faithful attention. Col
let.c. ns a specialty. July 31.
A J. WURM, , .
«£>_• Teacher of the Violin, Cornet and Gui
tar. Dealer in Pianos and Organs. Tuning
a .d repairing done in a workmanlike manner,
ai dat model ate prices. No 8, Broad Street,
Athens, Ga. april 8 5m
Dr. Robert I. Hampton.
Office Corner Clayton and Lumpkin Streets,
Feb 18 3m ATHENS, GA
Edgar H. Orr. Gustavus J. Our, Jr.
ORR & ERO.,
No. 48 Marietta St., Cor Forsyth,
May 13 Atlanta. Georgia.
TOHN T. ANDERSON,
TTORNEY AT LAW, Waskinsville, Ga
Wil! practice in Oconee and adjoining coun
ties, with a guarantee of businees promptly at
tended u>. Sept 25.
(TH S. MELL,
s . attorney-at-law,
Office: Bishop’s Corner, corner Broad and
Jackson streets, up stairs.
LEX. R. JONES,
Attorney at Law,
Rooms 1 and 8 Grant Building,
Will practice in the Fedral and State
WHOM AS CHYMES,
1 ATTORNEY AT LAW, ATHENS, GA.
Will practice in Clarke, Oconee, Madison,
Banks, Franklin and adjacent counties—giving
prompt attentionto all business committed to
L: care. Office, corner Hancock Ave. and
Hull St July 31.
PARR & BROS.,
BOUSE AND SIGN PAINTING,
Grainin'?', Marbling, ,
GLAZING, PAPER HANGING, Ac.
E. •■ omining on Hard Finish or old Lime Walls
neatly done. Work in the country promptly
eXe'-Uted. „ , , „ .
- Shop up stairs, corner Broad and Spring
streets, rpposite door to Reid A Harris’ Barber
H, :p, Athens, Ga. Sept 28 ts.
’ ir. R M. WADE,
1 RECENTLY removed from Atlanta, tenders
V his services professionally to the citizens
o; Athens and vicinity. Office at the Drug
Store of E. C. Long & Co. Aug 22 ly.
XT iT. tttjiTtLT
I> UYS and sells on Commission, Bonds and
j> Stocks of all kinds. Office at the Bunk
of the University, Athens, Ga.
June 11 ly
88. J. iWpBELLT
OFFICE and residence, Insurance Building,
where he may be found all hours ot the
day or night. marchlb-ly.
S AMUEL C. BENEDICT, M. D.
Office Brumby’s Drug Store,
Offers bis services to citizens of Athens and
vicinity. Jun 21—3 m.
ON N. E. Railroad.
rpiHESE Mills are running regularly, and we
1 are prepared to furnish bills of lumber of
every character. Besides the two saw mills,
we have a lath mill in successful operation,
und can supply laths in anv quantity desired.
Feb 21. Nicholson,Ga.
I b ENJ. J. EDWARDS,
A TTORNEY AT LAW,
Monroe, Walton County, Ga.
Will practice in the Courts of the Western
Circuit, and elsewhere, by agreement.
Boot and. Shoe Shop.
k HAVE moved my boot and snoe shop over
A the room formerly occupied by me,on Col
-1 \ venue, where I am better prepared than
ever, for any work in my line. My work is
firs, class and warranted. Thanking my cus
tomers for their past patronage, I respectfully
soli jit a continuance of the same.
Jan Lb—ly. P. WEIL.
IS THE PLACE TO GET YOUR CLOTHING
made to order—Uniforms and all kinds of
ge: ts’ garments. Cleaning and repairing neatly
done. You can order by samples, as he gets
his goods from one of the largest merchant
tailors in the United States. aug2ltf.
Family Grocery Store
NEXT DOOR TO A. S. DORSEY.
KEEPS on hand at all times the finest To
bacco and Cigars. The best and freshest
Lemons, Oranges, Apples, Peanuts, Candies,
and Confectioneries generally. Also keeps on
hand a constant supply of all country produce—
such as Eggs, Chickens, Butter, Cabbage, Po
tatoes, Ac., &c. The Cheapest Family Grocery
Store and Confectionery in the city. Give me
a call. P. LEWIS.
JUhw "WvcMy Unwick
PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY.
T K AIS :
ONE DOLLAR A YEAR,
INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
Advertisements inserted at One Dollar per square
torthe first insertion, and Fifty Cents for each con
tinuance. For longer periods a liberal deduction
will be made.
The following gentlemen have also
been authorized to act as agents in !
their respective localities. Other |
agencies will be established from
time to ti:..e:
Rev. T. A. Harris, Winterville, Ga.
Daniel McKenzie, Franklin co., Ga.
M. L. Dunaway, Princeton Factory.
Maj. T. M. Bradford, Clarksville.
P. M. Center, High Shoals, Ga.
J. W. Johnson Watkinsville, Ga.
W. J. Goss, Harmony Grove, Ga.
Walter Brock, Mayesville, Ga.
Wesley Johnson, Fort Lamar, Ga.
A. H. Brock, Jefferson, Ga.
Goldin Carithers, Carithers store, Ga.
J. M. Nix, Apple Valley. Ga.
E. C. Anderson, M. D., Scull Shoals, Ga.
W. F. Phillips, Cromer, Franklin Co. Ga.
B. F. Woods, Barberville, Ga.
J 8 Smith, Jug Tavern, Ga-
J. T. Seymour, Dowdy. Ga.
G. W Mabry, Danielsville, Ga.
Jas. McCurdy, Paoli, Ga.
11. J. Daniel, Symrna. Cobb county, Ga.
J. H. Meyer, Augusta, Ga.
W. H. Goodwin, Walton county, Ga.
Prof. R. W. Milner, Lithonia, Ga.
J. Riden, B iscobel, Ga.
!£ rXii-S*. ’
Cured my little girl of fits. Bhe was also deaf and
dumb, but It cured her. She can now talk and hear as
well as anybody. Peter Koss, Springwater, Wls.
Has been the means of curing my wife of rheumatism.
J. B. Fletcher, Fort Collins, Col.
Made a sure cure of a case of fits for my son.
E- B. Ralls. Wattsville, Kan.
Cured me of vertigo, neuralgia and sick headache.
Mrs. Wm. Henson. Aurora, 111.
Was the means of curing my wife of spasms.
Rev, J. A. Edie. Beaver. Pa.
Cured me of asthma, after spending over $3,000 with
other doctors. S. R. Hobson, New Albany, Ind.
Effectually cured me of spasms.
Miss Jennfe Warren - .
710 West Van Buren 't. Chicago, 111.
Cured our child of tits after given up to die by our
family physician, it having over 100 in 24 hours.
Henry Knee. Vervilla, Warren Co., Tenn.
Cured me of scrofula after suffering for eight years.
Albert Simpson, Peoria, 111.
Cured my son of fits, after spending 82,400 with other
doctors. J. W. Thornton. Claiborn, Miss.
Cured me permanently of epileptic fits of a stubborn
character. Rev. Wm, Martin, Mechanicstown, Md.
Cured my son of fits, after having had 2,500 In eighteen
months. Mrs. E. Fobes, West Potsdam, N. Y.
SAM A KIT AN N E RVIN E
Cured me of epilepsy of nine years’ standing.
Miss Orlen a Marshall,
Granby, Newton Co., Mo.
Has permanently cured me of epilepsy of many years
duration. Jacob Suter, St. Joseph, Mo.
Cured me of bronchitis, asthma and general debility.
Oliver Myers, Ironton, Ohio.
Has cured me of asthma; also scrofula of many years
standing. Isaac Jewell. Covington, Ky.
Cured me of fits. Have been well for over four years.
Charles E. Curtis. Osakis. Douglass Co..Mlnu.
Cured a friend of mine who had dyspepsia very badly.
Michael O’Connor. Ridgway, Pa.
Has permanently cured me of epileptic fits
David Trembly. Dea Moines, lowa.
Cured my wife of epilepsy of 35 years standing.
Henry Clark Fairfield, Mich.
Cured my wife of a nervous disease of the head.
E. Graham. North Hope, Pa.
Cured my son of fits. He has not had a fit for about
four years. John Davis,
Woodburn Macoupin Co., 111.
IS FOR SALE
BY ALL DRUGGISTS
Or may be had direct from us. For further informa
tion Inclose stamp for our Illustrated Journal giving
evidences of cures. Address
1)K. S. A. RICHMOND CO.,
World’s Epileptic Institute,
ST. JOSEPH, MO.
87EAM DYEING AND CLEANING
Next to the Episcopal Church, Clayton Street
Aliens, Ga. Sept 14 ly.
A NICE SEVEN ROOM HOUSE, with a good
kitchen, and large garden, good well, Ac., in
front of Lucy Cobb Institute.
Apply to JOHN BIRD.
March 25 ts
THE ATHENS PARLOR
BAPPE & BRYDIE,
The Champion Tonsorlal Artists. Prop’rs.
CFIHIS superb shop has five of the unest work
men in the State, who are polite and ready
to fix you up in style whenever you desire any
thing in their line. They keep a first-class es
tablishment in every particular.
They also prepare a HAIR TONIC which is a
sure cure for daudrutt. Give them a trial, and
you will be well pleased. Shop on Broad St,. ,
over A. 8. Mandeville’s. • May 14
DEVOTED TO THE INTERESTS OF ATHENS AND NORTHEAST GEORGIA.
ATHENS, G LX) A. MXY 27, 1 882
Alerted U lovu.
“Geraldine, my beloved!”
As a rose full opened, with golden heart
to the sun and fragrance unchecked, so was
my Geraldine to me. No stint of love, no
shadaw of deception about her. All her
heart unclosed ; the pink and white petals
of her life showing like a “thing of beauty.”
To me now “a pain forever.”
“Oh, my Geraldine ! My Geraldine!”
I took the rose and crushed it in my hand
and it died yet breathing fragrance.
Talk of ghosts 1 Sweet memories may
haunt the heart with as bitter anguish and
terror as ever blue-lighted, softly' stealing
“There are no ghosts !” you cry.
“There are,” I answer, “and have been
ever since the blood of Abel cried out to
“Oh, Geraldine, my own! My fair
haired, white-throated Geraldine! Why
will you haunt me with those mournful
eyes? Why will those lips still smile upon
me with tender suppressed love? Oh,
my own beloved 1 Do 1 not know now
why you died ?”
“God ! could an eternity of eternities of
utterest torment but be suffered by me, I
would suffer with glad smiles, so I could
have my Geraldine again 1”
Let me whisper why my Geraldine died
I starved her. Yes, I starved her.
She loved me, my own. I was a writer
of books. People said my books were
full of grand and noble thoughts. “What
a soul, a heart, the man must have!’’
they cried. The nobles of the land bowed
down before me—and I—the egotist—
looked down upon them as but worms.
I married her—my martyr ! But I kept
my heart, my soul, for my books. So I
starved her. She had a loving woman’s
heart, and I would not. feed it.
“Where thy treasure is there will be thy
heart also.” My treasure was this last
book, which was to come before the world
: after years of patient labor and bard
thought. Alt, no patience was too great,
i no toil too bard, no thought too earnest for
i my book.
My book was my wife. If she, my
Geraldine, came and knelt beside me and
! 1 kissed ber, it was because she held up
I her mouth to be kissed, otherwise I had not
I thought of it. if she took my hands in
hers crc-ssingiy and kissed them. I let her,
|mdl* wis p 1 : :sant ’.ins . 1 toe. i Ss a
; rather might a daughter's love. If she ''-aid
tier head upon my breast I let it lie there;
that was its place if she wanted it so. If
my own head ached, I was glad to rest it
in ber lap or on her bosom and let her
soothe its pain away with her tender fin
gers ; it was her wife y duty.
If she came, as sometimes she did in those
first weeks of our married life, and less of.
ten as the weeks ran into months, and
kneeling before me, with her bands resting
on either shoulder, looked into my eyes
and asked with a wistful earnestness —
“My husband, do you really love me?” I
would perhaps put my hand on either cheek
“Of course I do, my own.”
But all the same I loved my books better,
and she—was jealous of them.
So she came to me less often with her
tendernesses, and grew more into herself
She took to keeping a diary, and put in it
She kept my house faithfully, learning
all tlie little secrets of housekeeping with a
brave patience. She made our home a
paradise, and visitors praised it. She en
tertained our company with her bright
gaiety and bid her heart-hunger.
They all loved her, and I was well con
We had no children or her heart might
have been in a measure filled.
Sometimes she looked after the little
ones in the street, with quivering lips and
tear-filled eyes, and I—fool—thought she
was nervous, or had a headache. Now I
see it all.
Sb the years passed and I labored at my
book. She, my Geraldine, coming to have,
oftencr and oftener, tierce headaches, and 1
asking ber, or, going into her room some
times to speak to her personally—then off
to my work.
She, true wife, was proud of me and read
my work as it progressed, and I remember
how, all unconsciously, my conversation all
turned off to my work.
She had a lover before me. He would
have laid down his life for her. He would
have surrounded her with tenderness.
There would never have been the lack of
the arpresswn of love, But she bad loved
the ideal heart and soul which site thought
she saw in me.
Could she dream of any stint to her, when
it poured out like water for the base world
to drink ?
This lover had taken her in his arms once,
and bidding her “Goodbye,” bad kissed tier.
She never talked about it, but I remember
once she said to me—
“My husband, you don't know what a kiss
is.” And I know there had been some
thing in bis kiss which she did not find in
I did love her—in my way—but my
thoughts were in my book, as I struggled
along with it year after year.
Geraldine’s headaches came more and
more frequently, leaving her weak and
helpless. I was used to them.
As my book neared its close, she came
to lie on the sofa more and more, Dr. Ma
son, grand and stern, always attending
upon ber, ordering carriages exercise,
change of scene, everything that heart
could conceive of to please ber.
She took all his care with a listless pa
tience. He bad known her from childhood,
and been the young family doctor when
she was a child He was a grave, very
grave man, will gray hair and somber
eyes; large in rame, aid with an un-,
speakable genth ness and tenderness of
in inner to all, rit and poor, old and young, i
My book was before the world at last, j
and the world knelt at my feet. I was in
toxicated with i s wine of praise.
Magazines with reviews of my book
came every post. Lct’ers from great
men, nobles of t land and nobles in liter
ature, flowed in, . led with words of praise
Was there ever - ich a babel of applause
for one man’s work ? I was a god—they
I went into ( - rddine’s r< om one morn
ing with some 7 letter and revie
She would i’c J’a I and i joicc with i. ■.
She was proud of me—and my work.
Dr. Mason was standing there with hands
crossed on his breast A face more som
. ber, yet tender, L iau ever, I thought.
“Geraldine, they like my book’!”
“Yes, my b isband. lam very glad. I
j knew they would.”
“See these reviews ! these letters! Let
■me read you vital they say ?”
“Not to day. dear.”
“Are yon worse, my Geraldine ?”
A light shown over her f: ce at the “my
“No, dear, b ttcr, I think.”
“Then let me read you this letter. It”—
“ Kiss me, n y husband !"
I stooped and kissed Iter.
“ Now”—l turned to the paragraph 1
■ wanted and looked to see if shs w< re lis
Iler eyes were turned to my face W’itb a
strange yearning look.
“I—made—a—mistake,” I heard her say
in a quiet voice, as one .speaking over an
open grave. Then the lids closed and the
golden lashes lay on the colorless cheeks.
‘My Geraldine ! My Geraldine !” but no
cry of mine could reach her.
A strong grasp was on my arm. A face
tierce and ense with great passion bent
over me, ai d a voice, shaken und hoarse
“Do not mock ber with your love 100 late.
I loved i; -..md would have made her hap
py. I couid have compelled her love with
mine. B?. she loved you, and died for
your love, while you—your ht.-art was givt n
to the wo Id. You led the multitude. You
starved y«»ur wife. And yet she is yours
through rd eternity
He stooped and kij.c.ed her <• lemnly, ten
derly, and there broke fro . him one ex>
' cued i i ° r cJj',• < f
He called the women an » gave them or
Tders; then led me into the library, where
j the accursed book had been written.
“I would have died for her. She died
' for you,” be said with an infinite sadness,
and left me then.
My Geraldine I My Geraldine! And
you had toaaA for that kiss!
Oh, God, I wait.—Cottage Hearth.
If I only had known when we parted,
I That tears would be shed,
O’er the words so unthinkii gly spoken,
They had surely been left unsaid.
For the hasty remark of the morning
No grieving can ever efface,
Once spoken—so readeth Hk proverb—
It echoes through all times and space.
Ah, for these who have palled in anger:
Ah, those lips that have curled in scorn—
It may be too late in the eventide
To cancel the work of the morn.
We’ve a jest and a smile for the stranger
Or a kindly word to let fail;
While the harshest, unkindest are vented
On those we love better than all
ATRIAL IN THE EARLY DAYS.
From Mark Twain’s “Roughing It.”
These murder and jury statistics remind
me of a certain very extraordinary trial
aud execution of twenty years ago ; it is a
scrap of history familiar to all old Califor
nians, and worthy to be known by other
people of the earth that love straightfois
ward justice, without nonsense.
Capt Ned ships out of
the harbor of San Francisco for many
years. He was a stalwart, warm-hearted
eagle-eyed veteran who had been a sai or
for over fifty years—a sailor from boyhood.
He was a rough, honest creature, full of
pluck, and just as full of hard-headed sim
plicity, too. He hated trifling conven
tionalties—“business” was the woid with
him. He had all a sailor’s vindictiveness
againt the quips and quirks of the law, and
steadfastly believed that the first and last
aim and object of the law and lawyers was
to defeat justice.
He sailed for tlie Cbinca Islands in com.
mand of a guano ship. He had a fine crew,
but his negro mate was his pet—on him he
had for years lavished his admiration and
esteem. It was Capt. Ned’s first voyage to
the Chincas, but his fame had gone before
—the fame of being a man who would
fight at the drop of a handkerchief when
imposed upon, and would stand no non
sense. It was a fame well earned. Airived
in the Islands, he found that the staple of
conversation was the exploits of one Bill
Noakes, a bully, the mate of a trading ship.
This man had created a small reign of
terror there. At nine o’clock at night,
Capt. Ned, all alone, was pacing his deck
in the starlight. A form ascended the side,
and approached him. Capt. Ned said :
“Who goes there ?”
“I’m Bill Noakes, tlie best man in the
“I’ve heard of Capt. Ned Blakely, and
one of us is a better man than ’totlier—l’ll
know which, before 1 go ashore."
"You're conic to the right shop—l’m
yourjhan. I’ll learn you to come aboard;
this ship without an invite.”
He seized Noakes, backed him against
the mainmast, pounded his face to a pulp, i
and then threw him overboard.
Noakes whs not convinced. lie returned
the next night, got the pulp renewed, and
went overboard head first, as before, lie
A week after this while Noakes was ea
rnusing with a sailor crowd on shore, nt
noonday, Capt. Ned’s mate came along,
and Noakes tried to p.ck a quarrel with
him. The negro evaded the trap and tried
to jet away. Noakes followed him up ; the
negro began to run ; Noakes tired with a '
revolver and killed him. Half a dozen sea- ;
ca/tains witnessed the whole aftair. Noakes
retreated to the small afteKCab of hia ship,
with two other bullies, and gave out that I
death would be the portion of any mai. j
that intruded there, There was no attempt
made to follow the villains ; there was no
disposition to do it, and indeed very little i
thought of such an enterprise. There ■
were no courts and no ofticers; there was j
no government. The Islands belonged to !
Peru, and Peru was far away ; she had no ,
official representative on the ground ; and -
neither had any other nation.
However, Capt. Ned was not perplexing '
his head about such things. They con* I
cerned him not. lie was boiling with rage i
and furious for justice. At nine o’clock al '
night he loaded a double barrelled gun .
With slugs, fished out a pair of handevdfs, |
got a ship’s lantern, summoned his quar j
termascer, and went ashore. He said :
‘ Do you see that ship there at the dock?”
“ It’s the Venus.”
“ You—you know me.”
“ Ay-ay, sir.”
■ V *iy well, then. Take the lantern.—
Cairy it under your chin. l’il walk behind '
you and rust this gun-barrel on your shoul* ’
de r , p : inting forward—so. Keep the iau
tern wi ll up, so’s I can see things ahead ol
yot good. I’m going to inarch it. on Noake.-.:
—and take him—and jug the other chaps.
It you fliweh—well, you know me.”
‘ Ay-ay, sir.”
lu this order they filed aboard softly, ar
liv’ d at Noake’s den, the quaitennaslvr
pushed the door open, and the lantern re- '
ve.ded the three desperadoes sitting on the ;
floor. Capt. Nedi said :
I’m Ned Blakely. I’ve got you under
flic. Don’t you move without orders —any
oi ,you. You two kneel down in lh< r -k-/*
nei ; tb the whH —now Bill Noakes,
pm these handcuffs on; now coihe up j
close. Quartermaster fasten’em. Ail right
Don’t stir, sir. Quartermaster put the key
in ’he outside of the door. Now, men,l'm
going to lock you two in ; and if you try
to burst through this door—well you’ve
he: rd of me. Bill Noakes, fall in ahead,
and march. All set. Quartermaster, lock
Noakes spent a night on board Barkley’s
shin, a prisoner under strict guard. Early
in the morning Capt. bled called in all the
S' - captains in the harbor and invited them i
to be present on board the ship at nine I
o’clock to witness the hanging of Noakes |
at the yard arm.
“What! The man lias not been tried ?” i
“Os course he hasn’t. But didn’t he kiil
the nigger ?”
“Certainly he did ; but you are not think
ing of hanging him without a trial ?”
“Trial! What do you want to try him
for, if he killed the nigger.”
“Oh, Capt. Ned that will never do. Think
how it will sound.”
“Sound be hanged! Didn't he kill the \
“Certainly, certainly, Capt. Ned, nobody ■
denies that —but—”
“Then I am going to hang him that’s all.
Everybody I’ve talked to talks just the same
you do. Everybody knows he killed the
nigger, and yet eve?y lubber of you wants
him tried for it. I don’t understand such
bloody foolishness as that. Tried! Mind
you, I don’t object to trying him, if it’s got
to be done to give satisfaction; and I’ll
be there and chip in and help, too; but
put it oft till the afternoon, for I’ll have my
bands middling full till after the bury
“Why, what do you mean ? Are yon go
ing to hang him anyhow— and try him ass
“Didn’t I say I was going to hang him ? I
never saw such people as you. What's the
difference ? You ask a favor and then you
ain’t satisfied when you get it. Before or
aster’s all one— you know how the trial
will go. He killed the nigger. Say—l
must be going. If your mate would like
to come to tlie hanging, fetch him along
I like him.”
There was a stir in the camp. The cap
tains came in a body and pleaded witli
0 ipt. Ned not to do this rash thing. They
promised that they would create a court
composed of captains of tlie best character;
they would empanel a jury; they would
conduct everything in away becoming tlie
serious nature of the business in hand, and
give the ease an impartial hearing and tin
accused a fair trial. And they said it
would be murder, and punishable by tlie
American courts if he persisted and hung
tlie accused on his ship. They pleaded
hard. Capt Ned said:
“Gentlemen, I’m not stubborn and I’m
not unreasonable. I’m always as willing
to do just as near right as 1 can. How
long will it take ?”
“Probably only a little while.”
“And can I take him up the shore and
hang him as soon as you are done ?”
“If he is proven guilty he will be hanged
without unnecessary delay.”
“If he is proven guilty. Great Neptune
ain't he guilty? That beats my time. Why
you nil know he’s guilty.
But at last they satisfied him that they
were projecting nothing underhanded.—
Th n he said.:
“ Well, all right. Y'ou goon and try him
nm I’ll go down and overhaul his con- ;
science and prepare him to go—like enough i
he needs it, and I don’t want to send him
off without a show for hereafter.”
'1 his was another obstacle. They finally
con'ineed him that it. was necessary to
have the accused in court. Then they said i
they would send a guard to bring him.
“ No, sir, 1 prefer to fetch him myself—
he con’t get out of my hands. Besides, I’ve ;
got o go to the ship to get a rope, anyway.” I
'1 le court assembled with due ceremony,
empaneled a jury, and presently Capt, Ned ,
ent-red, leading the p. Aoner with one ■
han 1, and carrying a Bible and a rope in i
the other. He seated himself by the side of j
his captive, and told the court to “ up an
chor and make sail.” Then lie turned a
Seai :hing eye on the jury, and detected j
No.-kes’s friends, the two bullies. He
str< -le over and said to them confidentially:
“ You’re here to intuit ere, I see. Now,
yoit vole right, do you hear?—or else there
wii. be a double-barrelled inquest here
whi n this trial’s otf, and your remainders |
wih go home in a couple of baskets.”
Tic caution was not without fruit. The i
jury was a unit—the verdict, “Guilty.”
C..pt. Ned sprang to his feet and said :
“ Come along—you’re my meat now, my i
1 . . anyway. Gentlemen, you’ve done
yo i elves proud. I invite you all to come
an i see that 1 do it all straight. Follow i
me •) the canyon, a mile above here.”
r l'i.e court informed him that a sheriff had ■
bet • appointed to do the hanging, and— |
( pt. Ned’s patience was at an end. His
wr. i was boundless. The subject of a
sheiilf was judiciously dropped.
A uen the crowd ai rived at the canyon,
Ca| Ned climbed a tree and arranged the
hal r, then came down and noosed his
man He opened his Bible, and laid aside
Ins I at. Selecting a chapter at random, he
it :u it through, in a deep bass voice and
will sincere solemnity. Then he said :
“ u td, you are about to go aloft and give
a i account of yourself, and the lighter a
m u. s manifest is, as far as sin’s concerned,
tie better for him. Make a clean breast,
man, and carry a log with you that will
bai inspection. You killed the nigger ?”
N. reply. A long pause.
T> e captain read another chapter, pans- j
ing from time to time, Io impress theeflucl
Tin be talked an earnest, per.-nasive ser*
mo; to him, and ended by repeating the
“ Did you kill the nijjer ?”
No teply—other than a maliennnt scowl. |
The captain now lead the first and second !
chapters of Genesis, with deep feeling— [
pm:;- d a moment, closed the book rever*
ently, and said with a perceptible savor of
“There. Four chapters. There’s few
that wi'iild have look the pains with you
that I have.”
Then he swung up the condemned, and
made the rope fast ; .stood by and timed
him half an hour with his watch, and then
d live*red the body to the court. A little
afte». as he stood contemplating the motion- j
less figure, a doubt came into his face; cvi |
den y he felt a twinge of conscience—a I
miseiving—he said with a sigh :
“ Veil, p’raps 1 ought to burnt him, may- i
be. But 1 was trying to do for the best.”
Wiien the history of this aliair reached ;
Calilornia, (it was in the “ early days”) it i
made a deal of talk, but did not diminish I
the iptain’s popularity in any degree. It
ii cii ised it, indeed. (California had a pop-1
ulati >n then that “ inflicted” justice after a ‘
f; sn on that was simplicity and primitive- ’
ness tself, and could therefore admire ap
prec atively when the same fashion was fol
lowe I elsewhere.
A Word to Xlolliers.
![■ fliers should remember it is a most im
port: :it duty at this season to look after the j
healui of their families and cleanse the ma- ;
lari:: and impurities from their systems,
anil hat nothing will tone up the stomach
and liver, regulate the bowels and purify
the Flood so quickly as Parkers Ginger I
Ton ■, advertised in our columns.—Post.
See < ther column.
Write OFleu to the Old Folks.
"Write often to the old folks,”
1 heard a young man say,
Unto the lad who with him walked,
One bright and spring-like day ;
“I know that my dear parents
Can scarce afford to wait
Until they get that letter long
From me or sister Kate.
“I fancy I am there, Will-
So many miles away—
I see them both, the dear old folks,
With heads so bent and gray,
I see them take the letter out
And scan its pages o’er
Will, write once a week,
If you can write no more.
“All! yes’ my lads and lasses—
From home so many miles—
Away from father’s kind advice
And mother’s laving smiles,
Pray, don’t forget the old folks,
Tney think so much of you.
Ami write a letter once a week,
Whatever else you do.
“And let your words be tender—
With fond expressions then—
For well they cherish every line
That comes from your dear pen ;
Their days may not be many—
Their journey's almost through—
Write often to the old folks, then ;
1 hey tliink so much of you ! ’
A delicious oder is imparled by Floress
' >n U ‘login-, which is always rein sliing, no j
latter how freely Used.
SI.OO per .-Vtiuuin in advance
For the Chronicle.
“It is better to dwell in the wilderness
I titan with a contentions and angry woman.”
So spake a wisi: man thousands of years
ngo —a man whose experience better ens
allied him to know this truth titan any men
i who livi d before, or has lived af'er him ; a
: man endowed with more wisdom than any
man on earth, and yet, lie acted the fool to
prove the truth of the above aphorism.
Solomon did not utter this truth when he
was young. Youth is ever iingufne, and
everything in the future is tinted with a
roseate hue. He wrote it when he was
I old, multifariously married, disappointed,
soured witli the world, mad with himself,
I and disgusted with all creation. He had
lost his virtue, and past the freshness of
his youth. He disobeyed God—his wisdom
waned, and lie foolishly thought that he
could live in peace with seven hundred
wives—a mistake of just six hundred and
Poor Solomon ! How fallen ! What a
[study for mankind! How sad the lesson !
Hid be obeyed God and walked in His
commandments, his wisdom would hate
[ increased, his life happy, his reign glorious
to the end—and lie would have transmitted
[ to all succeeding ages a hallowed name,
I and an example worthy of all emulation.
The man who thinks that he can please
two wives is a fool. Woman, to>bc happy,
must know that she Is enthroned queen in
! her husband's affections. She merits it, : 3
entitled to it! The realm is hers by right,
and with nothing less will she be satisfied.
Woman is purer than man—with sensi
bilities more refined, more unselfish, more
abiding in affection, far more guileless; and
the wealth of her affections bestowed, de
mit.ds the richest tribute in return.
Is it. then a marvel that man’s divided ass
fectioos should 1' unsatisfactory, and the
want of a return on bis part arouse angry
elements in so sensitive t nature, transform
every faculty of the soul, and save, by the
re training gre >of God, change au angel
i into a devil? for—
“ Earth hath no rago like love to hatred turned,
■ Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”
I A faitiiful husband will, in nine times out
i of ten, have :i loving and devoted wife.—
Tie husband is lesponsib: in almost every
instance for the ex’-tence of a.t angry' amt
c i- t<‘“tioii-: Love and cucrisli '. our
, wife, and her will lurvb re
, sponsive to your every wish, and your hap
: piness will be the supreme labor of her lite.
!L;w little do too many husbands appre-
I ciate the responsibilities and obligations of
lite marital relation, and thereby become
converts to Solomon’s opinion, when they
themselves have converted a paradise into
a wilderness, where they deserve to dwell
unchecred by' woman’s smile and unsolaced
by woman’s love.
l.on- t ighteii. I.abor.
A good wife rose from her bed one morn,
And thought, with a nervous dread,
[ Ot the pile of clothes to be washed, and more
| Than a dozen mon ills to be fed.
There’s the meals to get for the men in the
| And the children to fix away
To school, ami the milk to be skimmed and
And all to be done this dav.
It hail rained in the night, and all the wood
Was wet as it could be l ;
There were puddings anil pies to bake, be
A loaf of cake for tea:
And the day was hot, and her aching head,
Throbbed wearily as site said :
“If maidens but knew what good wives
They would lie in no haste to wed 1”
. “ Jennie, what do you think I told Ben
Called the farmer front the well;
And a flush crept up to his bronzed brow,
And bis eyes hal f basli Uy fell,
“It was this,” said be—ami c ming near,
i He kissed from her brow’ the frown :
j “ It was this,” said he, “that you were the
And the dearest wife in town.”
Tlte farmer went back to the field, and the
In a smiling and absent way
| Sang snatches of tender little songs,
She’d not sung for many a day.
And the pain in her head was gone, and
Were white as the foam of the sea;
Her bread wus light and her butler was
And as golden as it could be,
“Just think,” the children all called in a
“Tom Wood lias run off to sea!
He wouldn’t, I know, if lie only had,
As happy a home as we.”
i The night came down, and the good wife
To herself as she softly said :
I ■’ ’Tis so sweet to labor for those we love,
It’s not strange that maids will wed 1”
A AA’obu:: n’w lilxperitince.
Mothers and Daughters should be alarms
i d when weariness constantly oppresses
I them. “If lam fretful from exhaustion of
vital powers and the color is fading from
[ my l ice, Parker’s Ginger Tonic, givesquick
relief. It builds me up and drives away
■ pain with wonderful certainty.”—Buffalo
A pretty girl in Sweden turned up her
nose at her poor but deserving lover, aud
it froze in that position. Now she doesn’t
know whether to retire from the world or
: hire out to stand in somebody’s hall as a