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£ BLACKSHEAR NEWS.
PUBLISHED T7EEKLY BY
. Z. BYRD,
editor and proprietor,
ackshear, GA.
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jial Rates to Advertisers on application.’
T7NTY DIRECTORY.
Qslqi put- V A. J. 8tricklan<i
Ota J. W. Strickland.
—B. Z. Byrd.
Coi —B. D. Brantley.
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Tax Collxctok.—A lfred Davis.
COURT CALENDER.
Clinch County.— First Mondays in March
and October.
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and October.
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TOWN DIRECTORY.
Mayor.— Wm. R. Phillips.
Aldermen.— Dr. C. H. Smith, T. J. Fuller,
J. M. Shaw and J. W. Strickland.
SECRET SOCIETIES.
A BLACKSHEAR LODGE NO. 270, F. & A. H.
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day nights in each T. month. W. M.
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PROFESSIONAL. CARDS.
W. R. PHILLIPS,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
augt-tf Blackshear, £ Ga.
A. E. COCHRAN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Blackshear, Ga.
Practice regularly in the counties composing
the Brunswick Circuit and in tho District and
Circuit courts of the United States at Savannah
or the Southern District of Georgia. my!6-6m
.Q. B. MABRY,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Brunswick, Ga.
Practice regularly in the counties of Glynn,
Pierce, Ware, Wayne, Brunswick Camden, Coffee, Appling and
of the Circuit, and Telfair,
of the Oconee Circuit. aug4-tf
s. W. HITCH,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Blackshear, Ga.
Practice regularly in the Brunswick Circuit.
aug4-tf
A. B. ESTES, JR.,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Blackshear, Pierce Oo., Ga.
Practice regularly in the Brunswick Circuit.
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PHYSICIANS.
jQR. A M. MOORE,
PRACTICING PHYSICIAN,
Blackshear, Ga.
Calb^jMomptly attended to dayor night.
’yj'EDICAL AND SURGICAL NOTICE
DR. C. H. SMITH
Offers his professional services to the citizens
of Pierce and adjoining counties.
Blackshear, Ga., March 1, 1880-tf.
DENTIST.
|JR. WM. NOBLE,
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DENTIST,
Blackshear, Ga.
Office on Maine street, opposite Poetoffice
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Blackshear News.
E. Z. BYRD, Editor and Proprietor.
VOL. IV.
What Then I
We ■wreathe our brows with fairest flowers,
We quaff the eup of pleasure,
We dance through hours of giddy mirth
To music’s gayest measure;
The garlands fade—the cup is drained,
The restless leet are weary,
The eyes are dim with mists of tears,
And hearts are sad and dreary
What then? U
We build ns monuments of fame,
We twine us wreaths of glory,
Our names through deeds of honest worth
Are told in song and story;
But hand and brain grow weak at last
By pain and age o’ertaken;
We watch the busy world go by
Forgotten and forsaken;
What then ?
Ah, then we sigh for blossoms fadeless, aweeti
Which once we might have nourished in out
breast;
We long to fill our cup from crystal rills
And turn our footsteps to the vales of rest;
Wo learn the worth of temples built above,
Of names engraven in the book of life,
Of hearts made purer by the furnace fires.
Unhardened by the years of toil and Btrife.
Oh, thoughtless one, turn not from wisdom’
ways,
Nor all the higher aims of life forget,
Else memory will mock your misery,
And fill the after years with vain regret.
— Mrs. 8. L. Howell.
MISS TILT'S NIECE.
“ I wish very much I could do any¬
thing,” said Ted Murchison. “ I will
go np to London on purpose, if you
like, and call at your house. But don’t
they write to you?”
“ They think it better not. They
would let me know if there were any¬
thing fresh to tell. I have to console
myself with the proverb, * No news is
good ne -s. > »
Cecile R edding spoke with a ring of
sadness in her voice, and for a minute
her gray eyes looked misty as she
turned them away. Directly after she
glanced back at her companion and
laughed merrily.
“What is the matter?’ asked the
young man, somewhat taken by sur¬
prise, and looking quickly first on one
side and then the other, with the ex¬
pectation of finding some cause for her
amusement. There was nothing to be
seen but the smooth lawn with its neat
flower beds, the high laurel hedge, and
the brown gate, half open, as though in
readiness for his departure.
His astonishment only increased the
girl’s merriment, so that it was some
minutes before she could answer. While
they dogcart were standing thus in the porch u
was driven by, its occupants
being the village doctor and his groom.
The fonrer looked hard at the little
group in the doorway, half raising his
hand to his hat, bnt refraining on see¬
ing that he was unobserved.
“I beg your pardoD.’teaid Cecile, re¬
covering her gravity; “ but you do look
so funny. Your coat is covered with
green from the woodwork, and you were
putting on such a sentimental expres¬
sion.”
“ I wasn't aware that to have a few
patches of green on one’s clothes made
be one so irresistibly ludicrous. It would
much more practical and sensible to
offer to give me a brushing betpre I go.”
His ill-used air caused Cecile,’s mouth
to curl again as she shook her head.
“ I daresay it would; but you ought
to have learnt by this time not to ex¬
pect anything practical or sensible from
e.”
£<r 1 expected , , nothing, ... Miss ^ Redding,
Candidly, I never knew what to expect
from yon. When I am inclined to
with your troubles you shut
me up by laughing in my face, and if
I venture on a joke you look as solemn
as if I were preaching jou a sermon.”
“Your jokes are very, very bad,” she
said, naively; “I think I should prefer
the sermon.”
'• Yon re always down on me,” said
Murchison, in a mock despondent tone,
It is fortunate your aunt is more mer
“Won’t you come m . again?” said
Cecile, ignoring this speech. “ You
must be quite tired of standing.”
“ Is that a hint that you wish me to
go r
‘ , -n- yell. 11 t 1 i “ve a great many things
to do, she answered, laughing again.
i“ "hat on earth can you have to do ?
A novel to read, I suppose ?”
“ Perhaps,’ said Cecile, calmly.
‘■Then good-bye for the present. I
shall look in again this afternoon, as I
rather want to see Miss Tilt. You think
she is sure to be in T'
“Oh, yes; auntie never goes'out
twice in one day.”
They ebook hands, the young man
holding hers rather longer than polite
nesa after required, him, and then the gabs swung
while Miss Redding re
entered the house with a heightened
color
BLACKSHEAR, GA., MARCH 23, 1882.
She went into the pretty little dining¬
room and sat down to write a letter,
which took a long time through her
stopping every few minutes with the
end of the pen pressed against her soft
under-lip, lost in thought, and the
writing forgotten. More than once she
smiled and colored consciously, though
there was np one to see or note how
well she looked with that flush in her
fair cheek.
Cecile was one of those girls whom
severe critic would eet down as decid¬
edly not pretty, though under favoring
circumstance^ she often seemed so.
Her complexit n was very fair, with a
bluish, peachlike bloom upon it; her
eyebrows her by no means well marked but
scanty; month a little too wide and
her teeth large and irregular. Her
chief beauty was her brown, wavy hair,
that had never been marred by scissors,
but grew all over her head to "its natural
?ength, the shortest part being about
her temples, where it oar led and waved
unassisted by art or curlpapers, gleam¬
ing with touches of gold shaded into
the darker hue of the rest. EnviotB
friends admired this becoming growth,
and endeavored to imitate it, with un¬
varying ill-success. Even her aunt,
Miss Alethea Tilt, had tried her hand
at it, but her straight tresses absolutely
refused to be tortured into anything
resembling a curl.
Before the letter was finished Miss
Tilt came in, accompanied by her friend
and companion, Miss Pelham—a large
lady, with very round, protruding eyes,
and a good-natured smile.
“How nice and cool you look, Ce¬
cile,” said Miss Tilt, sinking iDto a
chair and fanning herself with a Japan¬
ese hand-screen. “ I was so afraid we
should meet some one—and my face I
know is flaming!”
“ Mr. Murchison has been here,” said
Cecile, adding a few words by way of
postscript, and looking absorbed in her
writing, so that she did not see the
consoions way in which her aunt
dropped her eyes on to the grotesque
figures on the screen.
“What did he want?” Miss Pelham
inquired, as she unfastened the strings
of her bonnet. *
Cecile carefully folded her letter in
half, and answered, demurely:
“ To see aunt.”
“ Dear me. How very strange!” said
Miss Tilt, blushing.
“ He is coming again this afternoon,
as I told him you would most likely be
in then.”
“ Whatever can he wish to see me
for ? I can’t imagine.”
Her aunt’s ton i was so odd that at
last Cecile raised her eyes.
“Poor aunt! She thinks he is in
love with her!” was the thought that
flashed into her mind, and her cheek
became as rosy as her lips. “ How can
she, when he is twenty-four and she
six-and-thirty “Now, ?”
if it had been the doctor,”
said Miss Pelham, with a ponderous at¬
tempt at looking arch, “I should have
said he was coming to. ask you a very
important question.”
“ For shame !” said Miss Tilt. “So¬
phia, how can you ? Poor Mr. Parry!
What a shame to put such ideas into
one’s head.”
“ He certainly is very fond of coming
here,” said Cecile, thoughtfully. “ And
he is about your age, auntie, and a very
nice, kind man.”
“ My dear girl! He is years older
than I am. He must be at least thirtv
eight.”
Her niece did not smile when Miss
Tilt made this announcement, but she
had hard work to keep her rebellious
mouth straight. That afternoon Cecile
went by herself to call on a friend who
lived some two miles away, As she
was Yon returning she met Murchison,
‘ ‘ should not^sHralone, now
that the hop-pickers are in the neigh
borhoed,” he said, severely. “ You
must let me see you home.”
As she made no opposition he walked
by her side, stealing many aside glance
at her face.
“ Promise me,” he continued, after a
minute, “ that you will not go out
alone again until they are gozio. I
don’t like to think of it. They are an
awfully rough lot,”
“ They won’t interfere with me. I
am not afraid,” she said, laughing.
“ But I am. Pray don’t tbink me in
terfering, bat it is not safe for an un
protected girl in these ljnely laDes.”
Cecile was silent and half embar
rassed for a few minutes, but soon re
covering herself changed the subject.
found 'J hey were both surprised when they
themselves at the gate; the time
had passed so quickly, owing to an in*
teresting conversation,
“ Oh, here we are at home !** said
Cecile, blushing directly after for the
dismayed tone of her words.
“ 1 am sorry,” he answered, extend
ing his hand. “ It has been a deiight
ml walk to mo at least. May it aoon be
reposed I”
H i held her small gloved fingers
lingeringly, and when her shy !»>k met
Subscription, $1.00 per Year.
NO. 48.
his, as she sa ; d, “Good-bye, and thank
you,” there was something iff his eyes
that made her hastily withdraw and run
into the house, with her very neck suf¬
fused with color.
She went straight upstairs and had
removed her hat when her aunt’s voice
called her into her bedroom. She found
Miss Tilt sitting on tho side of her bed
with her handkerchief to her eyes.
"What is it, auntie?” and Cecile
hastened to her side in some apprehen¬
sion. “ Oh, not—not—bad news from
home!"
“ Oh, dear, no!” Miss Tilt hurriedly
responded. “Nothing bad has hap¬
pened. I am only a little agitated.
Cecile, depr, I am engaged to be mar¬
ried.”
“ Oh, aunt, I am very glad, and not
much surprised. I thought it would be
so somo time—I guessed it as soon as
I came."
“Did yoa, dear?”
Her aunt bestowed on her a surprised
glance, and then surveyed herself in
the mirror which happened to be op¬
posite. *
T like him so much,” Cecile went
on; “he is so unselfish, and so qniet
and grave and gentlemanly. Is it to
be a long engagement?”
“No; on the contrary, Edwaru wishes
to be mairied as soon as possible.”
“Edwaru ! I thought—I did not
know his name was Edward ?”
“Ted, then!" sai* 1 Miss Tilt, with
diffidence. “I can hardly bring myself
to speak of him so familiarly,”
Cecile started, opened her lips and
closed them again without speaking,
while the blood rushed to her face and
then receded, leaving it unusually pale.
“He came directly you had gone. Of
course people may be rather surprised
at my accepting a man so much younger
than myself—but after all age is more
in feelings than in years; and he looks
older than he is.”
“Yes,” she answered slowly, and
placing figure, her a; ja about her aunt’s thin
she g• ?e her a loving kiss.
“I hope you will bo happy,” she
whispered; door, then moving toward the
she added, “I remember that my
letter is not posted. I’ll just run anu
take it myself.”
She walked down the road with her
■head in a whirl, and it was somo min¬
utes before she could collect her
thoughts. When they assumed definite
shape Ceoile knew that she bad been
very Murchison. near falling in lovo with Ted
So near that jnst now she
felt as though she had lost something
out of her life, and as though she would
give a great deal to be at home.
having A dangerous and infectious disease
appeared in her family was tho
reason of Cecile’s exile, which bad now
been of two months’ duration. Daring
those two months she had been thrown
much into contact with Ted Murchison,
and Mr. Parry the doctor, it being the
latter of these to whom her thoughts
had flown when her aunt announced
her engagement.
“ Aunt has a nice income of her own,
and I have none,” she could not avoid
the thinking, though despising herself for
base suspicion. “ But he has always
how sought me out, and oh ! how could he—
dare he—talk to me as he has done,
and look at me like that! How
stupid him!” I have been not to see through
Hhe walked straight past the post
office unconsciously, and hurried on
with the letter in her hand; bnt soon
recollecting herself, she turned sharply
and crossed the road.
Too preoccupied to notice the sound
of wheels behind, this unexpected
movement of Cecile’s very nearly 're¬
sulted in an accident. She was awak¬
ened from her reverie by a loud ex¬
clamation, and looked round quick.y
to see a horse pulled back on its
haunches, its head having almost
touched her shoulder.
The next minuie some one had
leaped down, and Cecile found herself
confronted by tho doctor. She kept
her face averted slightly, lest it should
betray the mortification she. was feel¬
ing, and spoke carelessly:
“ I shall have you taken np for
furious driving, Dr. Parry. Your man
was going to run over me, it seems.”
“It was a narrow escape,” he said,
briefly, and waved his hand to the
groom to drive on. After a pause, he
continued: “ I look upon myself as
your medical man, Miss Redding, since
I attended you when you first came
down. That is my only excuse for re¬
marking on your appearance. What
is the matter with jou?”
“If anything you ought to tell,” said
Cecile, laughing.
feelings,” “ Perhaps I can il you describe your
said Parry.
“There is nothing tbo matter—I am
perfectly well," she protected, adding,
as though tho words wore forced from
her by his sesrehiug eyes. “ I oru only
a little surprised at some news I have
had.”
“Nothing bad, I hope?”
“ No—ob, no. It ia only th»‘ my
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aunt is engage! to be married to Mr.
Murchison.”
Gecile had no sooner said this than
an uneasy conviction came across her
that she ought not to have spoken out
so frankly. She had received no per
mission to make the affair public.
“ Perhaps I ought not to have men¬
tioned it,” she ftaid, hastily. “Yon
won’t say anything about it just yet,
will you t*
Looking at him fully for the first
time, sue was. startled to see that hq|
was “Oh deathly pale.
1 I am so sorry!” she exclaimed,
struck with dismay, as she remembered
hi^ ft frequent visits to her aunt’s honse.
“ was very thoughtless of me to tell
you that!”
“ Why ? what do you mean ?” He
looked down with an amused smile at
her troubled face, reading it with the
greatest ease. “ Don’t get it into your
head that this piece of information af
fecti me one way or another. If any¬
thing, it is rather welcome.”
“ Then you are ill ?”
“ No, MiBs Redding. The truth is I
nearly ran over you just now, which
made me feel awfully queer, though
you appear to regard it as an incident
of no importance.”
“Doctors onght to have stronger
nerves!” Gecile remarked, lightly.
“ Don’t 1” he said, quickly, “It
isn’t like yon, Gecile! It is the greatest
wonder that I am not taking you home
seriously, if not fatally, injured! Don t
be so flippant, for heaven’s sake!”
“ I will say good-afternoon now, as I
have a letter to post 1” and Gecile ex¬
tended her hand, anxious to get away
before the tears that had started up at
his grave, reproving tore should make
themselves visible; but the doctor’s
perception was keen, and he caught the
wet glo»m under her drooped lids*
He took her hand, but pot in farewell.
Instead, he drew her to a stile by the
side of the road, so &s to be out of the
way of a passing vehicle.
“A minute longer! Have I hurt
you idiot, or Murchison?” are you grieving for that young
“Please Jet me go!” she entreated,
trying to withdraw her fingers from the
tifsht clasp in which they were held.
“ My letter will be too late I”
“ The box will not be cleared for an¬
other hour. You shall go if you wish
it, but first give me absolution for what
I am afraid you think my impertinent
interference.”
“ l will attribute it to a fatherly in¬
terest in my welfare,” said Gecile, with
a half smite. "I know you too well
really to tesent anything you may
choose to say.”
“ Do I, then, seem so very old?” he
asked, rather netted.
Thus appealed to she gave a critical
glance at his tall, well-proportioned
figure, and dark, earnest face that
might have belonged to a man of thirty
or even Jess.
Gecile, am I too r'd for you? I
am only thirty-foar a f tr all! 1 can see
you have never thoi ght of my asking
you this—never thought of it!—while
I have thought of little else since I first
saw you I”
Ho stopped, and silence fell between
them. Gould anything be more dis¬
couraging than the blank sunwise that
greeted his Bpeech ? Sutton Parry felt
it more quenching than a decided nega¬
tive.
“ Your face answers me, child!” he
said, sadly; “but let mo speak a little
more plainly before the subject is at
an end—for the present! I love you
dearly! I would do anything on earth
—endure anything for your sake! Give
me yourself, Cecile, and you shall never
know a care from which I conld shield
you!”
interrupted, “Pray—pray say no more!” Gecile
“ The more yon say the
more ungrateful I feel. I wish I had
never come here. I could not—I wish
I could say yes!”
She looked pale and distressed, and
stood before him like a culprit, steal¬
ing a troubled glance at his face, its ex¬
pression affording her anything but
consolation. £
Tn< re was silence Tor a space; and
then Parry lifted his eyes to see her
dash hastily away a couple of tears that
were on the point of falling.
“ Don’t do that!” he said, quickly.
“ Don’t grieve; it can’t be helped. I
might have known, Yon are quite
sure—yen never will care for me,
child?”
A decided shake of the head was the
only answer, and he took her hand to
look earnestly into her clear eyes. Then
relinquishing it with a deep sigh, stran¬
gled in its exit from his breast, be said,
quietly: Good-bye,
then. Bat if you should
ever think differently promise me that
yon will be honest enough to let me
know. Don’t let false modesty part us,
Gecile, for I shall never change.”
Cecil® went home in a very dissatia
fled frame of mind. For the ensuing
days Button Part y cc enpu-d a far
Oeatiuusd on fourth page.)