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SUljms Wcchln Cljwidc ny j- u. stotve. VOL. V. tabs, ( t Kt) D. THOM AS, \J Attorncy-a-Law, Office over University Bank, Athene, Ga. Business respectfully solicited, and prompt atten oe guaranteed e ' ) * 22 “hTIh. CARLTON, 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, ATHENS, GA. 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. 3 )entist, Office Corner Clayton and Lumpkin Streets, Feb 18 3m ATHENS, GA Edgar H. Orr. Gustavus J. Our, Jr. ORR & ERO., ATTORNEYS AT-LA.W, 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, Athens, Ga. Office: Bishop’s Corner, corner Broad and Jackson streets, up stairs. LEX. R. JONES, Attorney at Law, Rooms 1 and 8 Grant Building, Atlanta, Ga. Will practice in the Fedral and State Courts. 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 IRiSTAL SUKUEON, ATHENS, GA. 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, ATHENS, GA. Offers bis services to citizens of Athens and vicinity. Jun 21—3 m. WTTKM’S SiIOIILLS! NEAR NICHOLSON, 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. JAMES DOTTERY, Feb 21. Nicholson,Ga. I b ENJ. J. EDWARDS, J» 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. ~ —_A_T— TOM JACKSON’S, THE TAILOR, 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. CHEAP, CHEAPERJJHEAPESTI in iawis- Family Grocery Store And Confectionery, .BZEdO-A-ZD STREET, xVtlioiis, Ga., 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. out9-12m. JUhw "WvcMy Unwick PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY. T K AIS : ONE DOLLAR A YEAR, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. ADVERTISING. 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. AGM its. 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. CURES FITS. < • !£ rXii-S*. ’ * SAMARITAN NERVINE 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. SAMARITAN! NERVINE Has been the means of curing my wife of rheumatism. J. B. Fletcher, Fort Collins, Col. SAMARITAN NERVINE Made a sure cure of a case of fits for my son. E- B. Ralls. Wattsville, Kan. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured me of vertigo, neuralgia and sick headache. Mrs. Wm. Henson. Aurora, 111. SAMARITAN NERVINE Was the means of curing my wife of spasms. Rev, J. A. Edie. Beaver. Pa. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured me of asthma, after spending over $3,000 with other doctors. S. R. Hobson, New Albany, Ind. SAMARITAN NERVINE Effectually cured me of spasms. Miss Jennfe Warren - . 710 West Van Buren 't. Chicago, 111. SAMARITAN NERVINE 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. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured me of scrofula after suffering for eight years. Albert Simpson, Peoria, 111. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured my son of fits, after spending 82,400 with other doctors. J. W. Thornton. Claiborn, Miss. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured me permanently of epileptic fits of a stubborn character. Rev. Wm, Martin, Mechanicstown, Md. SAMARITAN NERVINE 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. SAMARITAN NERVINE Has permanently cured me of epilepsy of many years duration. Jacob Suter, St. Joseph, Mo. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured me of bronchitis, asthma and general debility. Oliver Myers, Ironton, Ohio. SAMARITAN NERVINE Has cured me of asthma; also scrofula of many years standing. Isaac Jewell. Covington, Ky. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured me of fits. Have been well for over four years. Charles E. Curtis. Osakis. Douglass Co..Mlnu. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured a friend of mine who had dyspepsia very badly. Michael O’Connor. Ridgway, Pa. SAMARITAN NERVINE Has permanently cured me of epileptic fits David Trembly. Dea Moines, lowa. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured my wife of epilepsy of 35 years standing. Henry Clark Fairfield, Mich. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured my wife of a nervous disease of the head. E. Graham. North Hope, Pa. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured my son of fits. He has not had a fit for about four years. John Davis, Woodburn Macoupin Co., 111. SAMARITAN NERVINE 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. MILES JOHNSON, 87EAM DYEING AND CLEANING Establishment. Next to the Episcopal Church, Clayton Street Aliens, Ga. Sept 14 ly. r r< 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 Barber Shop. 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. TOO LATE. “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 murdered souls. “There are no ghosts !” you cry. “There are,” I answer, “and have been ever since the blood of Abel cried out to God.” “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 and answer— “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 her heart-thoughts. 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 tent. 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 mine. 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 the worshippers. 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 i Geraldine.” “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 tening. 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 said : “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. Kegi-et. 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 islands.” “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 was salistlud. 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?” “Ay-ay, sir.” “ It’s the Venus.” ■Ay-ay, sir.” “ 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 ’* j 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 the door.” 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 \ niyger ?” “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 ing—” “Why, what do you mean ? Are yon go ing to hang him anyhow— and try him ass terwards ?” “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 question: , “ 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 satisfaction : “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 ! ’ — Always KcfrcHhiiig;. 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 NUMBER 19 For the Chronicle. CHRONICLE APHORISMS. by “q.” “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 ninety-nine. 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 field, | And the children to fix away To school, ami the milk to be skimmed and churned; 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 sides 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 know, They would lie in no haste to wed 1” . “ Jennie, what do you think I told Ben Brown ?” 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 best And the dearest wife in town.” Tlte farmer went back to the field, and the wife, 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 the clothes Were white as the foam of the sea; Her bread wus light and her butler was sweet, And as golden as it could be, “Just think,” the children all called in a breath, “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 smiled 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 hat rack.