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About The Conyers weekly. (Conyers, Ga.) 18??-1888 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 26, 1884)
THE book of mormon. History of Joe Kcuinrlinble True 1’iero ul Jnsglcry. [From tl.e St. I-ouis S;|ctator.] How many I*"^ ktsow bmit the origin of the .Mormon religion rather, of the Book ot Mormon, which r ? I knew precious little its authority week, when I acci bout it until this LentlT fell in wiih Mr - Clark Brad< f’ So has recently investigation. given the His subject story a ost searching religion be [hows ot what stuff a may lade. The Mormons number nearly 100 000 They are divided in many , . the polyg ects bat the principal . . are Utah and the ous Brighamites in m Josephites scattered m ion polygamous The story may be given -arious places. The Book of Mormon . a few words. written by an old broken-down va8 named Solomon Presbyterian clergyman Spaulding. Spaulding was born in Con jeeticut in 1761. He graduated at Davt nouth College and settled as Minister a Congregational church. He made or preaching, and went into bad failure at rasiness with his brother in New York state, did not succeed, and started an iron foundry in a town in Northern lohio. He soon failed in that venture tnd became very much family discouraged. by taking Eis wife supported the [boarders and he spent his time in writ ling, like though moved what did to Pittsburg, not then when appear, he family adding second part. I rewrote his book, a He afterward rewrote the entire book, adding a third part. This is the origin of the manuscript. i Now, what became of it ? Spaulding made arrangements to have it printed in Pittsburg. After a part of it had been set up the whole manuscript was stolen by a tanner named Sidney Rigdon, who was in the habit of loafing around the printing office. Rigdon kept it concealed for some years, until he fell in with Joseph Smith, who evolved the plan of producing it. Smith belonged to a not very reputable family living near Pal¬ myra, N. Y. They lived in a house and supported themselves by hunting and and fishing and other means suspected to be more questionable. Joseph, one day, found a remarkably clear crystal, shaped much like a child’s foot, and he declared it was a “peep-stone,” in which he could read the future and discover stolen goods, strayed cattle, eto., and on several occasions was so successful in predicting the locality of goods and cat¬ tle that he soon came to have consider¬ able reputation. He then extended his field of operations by divining where treasures were buried, and under his di¬ rections a great many diggings were made, unsuccessfully, however. These diggings extended over a large area, some fifty miles or more, around Pal¬ myra, and some of them may be seen now. He fell in with Sidney Rigdon, who told him of the manuscript. Smith soon devised a scheme for producing it under proper surroundings. The al¬ leged book of copper plates was found under divine guidance, on which charac¬ ters of reformed Egyptian were graven. The book was accompanied by a pair of spectacles of wondrous power, which enabled Smith to translate the remark¬ able characters. This he did from be¬ hind a screen, while an amanuensis took down his words. The Book of Mormon was printed in 1830 at Palmyra, N. Y., a fanner, Martin Harris, putting up the cash to pay the printer. Thus Solomon Spaulding’s manuscript found its way into print with such additions and alter¬ ations as Smith chose to make for his own benefit. A Photographer’s Story. “An old man came in at 11 a. m. He Was right from the country; had mud on his boots, and all the other testimony. Hewasgoin’ west to his ‘darters,’and wanted a picture to take with him, you know. I knew all about it, and soon had him in the chair, the iron clamps behind his ears and the camera ‘gun’ aimed at his gray head. He was quite nervous about something, and asked me to wait. ‘I want my picture drawed off to look like this,’ he said, as he pulled a a tintype of a young man from his pock e t. ‘The same pose like, you know,’ he said, as he told me that it was his son, who had been killed at Stone River. ‘He was a dear, good boy, he was,’ said the old man, with a weak voice and a sigh, ‘and I’ll soon be with him.’ “I got him in position while he still held in his hand the dead boy’s picture. I went through the usual ceremony, telling him, ‘All ready now, right still;’ and as I took the cloth from the table, turned my back to prevent any embar¬ rassment. In thirty seconds I said, ‘That will do.’ He never moved. Aon may rest now,’ I said; but he sat still and held the precious tintype as if wrapt in thought. Thinking he was deaf, I touched him on the shoulder. Still he did not move, and I noticed a fixed stare in his eyes. He was dead. He had died in the chair, and I had the negative of a dying man. Of course I got help and sent word to his friends. The doctors said he died of heart dis¬ ease. I developed the picture, and started as I saw the face of a dead man look at me from the collodion coating. It was a nervous day for me I can tell you, and I have always been careful with old people .”—Cincinnati Time*- Star. A correspondent asks if it is proper to dance with a married lady when her husband is looking on. Certainly. The dancing is sure to be very proper under such circumstances. The Conyers Weekly. VOL. VII. LA MORI. The Day is dead. See how his life-blood dyes The soft cloud-pillows in the western skies. What tho’ a smile still glorifies his eyes ? I tell you he is dead ! Why loiter here Till those unsightly proofs of death appear, And the sad Night drops tears upon his bier? Nay, let us go, while yet the skies are red, Ere Darkness draws the curtains of his bed, Our last look finds him beautiful, tho’ dead. Dear Love is dead; slain by his own delight, What tho’ his feverish cheek is strangely bright, I tell you he lies dead in all his might Let us not wait till on his rigid face There rests no lingering luster, and no trace Of his surpassing beauty and young grace; Ere ’round his stiffening frame, from head to feet, Satiety shall fold her winding sheet, While his still form, tho’ dead, is fair and Bweet. Let us shako hands. There is no more to say. Wo part with Love until the Judgment Day— This is the end of dreams like ours alway. Ella Wheeler. Mount Desert. BY O. E. DAVIS. “And so you leave Mount Desert and pleasure to-morrow, Miss Young ? You have made the summer doubly pleasant to me—pleasant as I always find vaca¬ tion time.” “It is very good of you to say so, Mr. Darley, and I’m sure you have made Mount Desert very pleasant to us. In¬ deed, my mother was saying only this morning how useful and nice to us you have been. But, you see, she must be getting back to New York now; there are the boys going away to school, and all that.” “Well, I suppose it is necessary. But you won’t like leaving ?” “Why, of course it is. No, I shall be very sorry to leave; and yet I shall be glad for some things to get back. It will feel so much like home after all this traveling and seeing all these things.” “Yes, no doubt you will bless the first brick house and dull pavements you see in town: they give your eye such a sense of relief and quiet.” “You are going to stay on here some time with Mr. Paget, are you not ? He tells me now you have left the hotel where you met us, you have got such pleasant rooms.” “No, I don’t think I shall stay on here any longer after this week.” “Why, I thought you intended to stay right on into the fall, and he- in¬ tended to read all the gossiping old his¬ torians, and you meant to hunt up every kind of fish that could possibly live in these cold Maine waters.” “So I did ; but I’m not going to now. I’m going to leave. I’m tired to death of it.” “Why, just now you said it was al¬ ways pleasant; and what will Mr. Paget do?” “Oh, Paget! Paget! I suppose he’ll come with me c-r else he won’t. I used to think Mount Desert pleasant, but I don’t now.” “Well, you are a changeable person.” “So would you be if But do you really think me a changeable person, Miss Young ?” “No, Mr. Darley, I don’t think—at least I didn’t think that you were ?” “Well, but what did you think about me? I think you thought something about me. ” “Perhaps I did. One thinks some¬ thing about everybody, you know; but perhaps I don’t think it now. ” “I suppose you thought something about Mr. Paget, too?” “Oh, yes, I thought something about Mr. Paget, of course. I like him very much.” “But how differently did you think when you thought about Mr. Paget and myself ?” “That’s a very difficult question. I —at least we—thought you very nice, too; bul “But—but what, Miss Young?” “Oh, nothing, except that I thought so.” differ¬ “Bnt I want to ask you how ently you thought, and I want you to understand me, and not to look too serious.” “Why, you don’t think I’m serious, do you ?” “Well, as a rule, you are not serious, certainly; you are delightfully gay. But there is a certain quality of seriousness about you; and you are always very serious when I want to say anything to to you. Remember how serious yon were that day when we looked at the old wharves over in Rockland ?” “Yes, but that was some time ago, and_ But- let us talk of something else and be friends,” “But we are friends, are we not? Only-” Darley, along. Mrs. “I say, come CONYERS, ROCKDALE CO., GA„ FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1884. Young says she’d like to look inside the new hotel before we get into the car¬ riage, though it does look like a meet¬ ing-house except for the tower.” “Oh, 1 don’t care for the hotel, thauks, and I believe, Miss Young, you would, would you not, prefer to finish your sketch of that yacht ? It will be in 1 ! done now.” “Yes, perhaps, I should; that is, I think that I ought to finish it.” “All right, Paget; we’ll join you in five minutes. I’d just like to sketch the coast in the distance myself; it looks so well just now with the sun on it.” “Well, don’t be long coming down.” “Had you not better get your sketch¬ book out now they have gone, Mr. Par¬ ley, and begin the coast ?” “Oh, my sketch-book ! OL, I suppose I have forgotten it!” “Never mind, here’s a leaf from my block; and here’s a pencil.” “Thanks; but I don’t want to sketch at all.” “You are changeable, indeed 1” “I want to sit here and talk to you and look at you, as you are going away to-morrow.” “But if you look at me I shall be em¬ barrassed and unable to sketch, too. Be¬ sides, you know tue coast looks so well just now, with the sun on it.” “Bother the coast.” “What, the coast that you used to rave about, with its grass mosses of rock and the white spray darting up in clouds against it! You used to say it reminded you of what—what did it remind you of ?” “I really, don’t know. But I wish you were not going away to-morrow. I don’t know when I shall see you again, if I ever clo. “Why, mother asked you to come and see ns, if you ever found yourself in New York.” “If I ever do! I suppose I should run over from Boston and you will ask me to dinner; and then you would show me your house, and, perhaps, your fa¬ vorite seat in the library; and Mrs. Young would be very distant, and you would be very stiff and reserved, and un¬ like what you are at Mt. Desert.” “What a splendid picture, down to the easy-chair, even ! And my good brother will look at you through his eye¬ glass, and offer you a cigar, and say queer fellow or good fellow of you, ‘should think,’ when you are gone. But you won’t really leave Mt. Desert?” “Yes, I shall, and knock about some¬ where, spending my time as uselessly as I usually spend it. But do you truly expect me to come some day, Miss Young?” “Yes; I shall be very much disap¬ pointed if you don’t come. We Lave been such eood friends, and mother likes you, and—and we have been such good friends, you know.” “Then I certainly shall try to come. Anu, perhaps—will you let me begin to talk again as I did that day at Rock¬ land V” “I don’t know. But I can’t sketch if you put your arm across my block, Mr. Darley. And I think it’s quite finished now—I could finish it at home.” “Never mind finishing it; let ns finish something else, which may remain un¬ finished forever if we don’t do it now. Please look me in the eyes, and let me go on with what I said on the beach at Rockland a month ago. Only then you said it was very painful and sudden, and you had never dreamed of it. Have you ever done so since ?” “Mr. Darley, I think—but I hear Mr. Paget calling. We must go home. ” “But may I not come home with you —I mean to New York, and further ? Will you not trust me to find you a home ?” “Darley, Darley, where are you?” “Your eyes look yes, and your lips say ‘Yes.’ Thank you, thank you; it shall be indeed a home.” “Darl 9 v. I say. didn’t vou hear me ? Win S a long five minutes your sketch takes 1 It’s getting late, and Mrs. Young is in the carriage. Bat—I hope nothing is the matter, Miss Young ?” “No; nothing at all, thank yon.” “No, nothing is the matter, Paget, and I’m sorry for being so late, But, vou see, Miss Young and I have settled —I mean we have arranged- -to leave Mopnt Desert and go home—to make a home, you understand.” — Domestic Monthly. “Youb daughter ? It is impossible. Why, you look more like twin sisters.” “No, I assure you she is my only daugh¬ ter,” replied the pleased mother. And the polite old gentleman spoiled it all by remarking: “Well, she certainly looks old enough to b~ your sister." “Therb, now!” exclaimed Mrs. Bas com ; “the paper says that Professor Henry Clam, a noted scientist, has been instantly kiUed by the explosion of j a retort. What a warning to married 1 men not to quarrel with their wives." THE CATTLE PLAGUE. Prof. Law of Cornell University Offers Some SuKKentiotts. Prof. James Law, the celebrated Vet¬ erinary Professor of Cornell University, being questioned concerning the pleuro¬ pneumonia now creating some excite¬ ment among Western cattle-breeders, said that he had something to say on the subject. His remarks summed up are as follows: 1st. The plague having been allowed to reach the West, it is no longer safe to purchase stock cattle that have been carried by rail or other public convey¬ ance; that have been in public sales, mar¬ kets, fairs or other assemblages of cattle, or that have been in contact with cat¬ tle so exposed. 2d. Stock cattle should be taken only from well-known herds that have had no deaths nor sickness for six months, nor any additions made to their numbers in that length of time, nor any contact with adjacent or passing herds. 3d. Stock cattle should not be oarried home by rail or other public conveyance, unless these shall have been first thor¬ oughly cleansed and disinfected, and un¬ less the train has carried no other cattle on that trip. 4th. Any stock cattle carried home by rail, etc., as above, even when this is done under disinfectant precautions, should be carefully secluded in quar¬ antine, under separate attendance, for three months, until they are found non¬ infecting. 5th. Butchers and dealers handling fat stock destined for slaughter, should on no account allow them or their prod¬ ucts to come in contact with stock oat tie. 6th. All public carrying companies should cleanse all cattle-carrying cars and boats, and disinfect them with a lime whitewash containing four ounces of chloride of lime to eaoh gallon of water. 7th. These precautions should be kept up until by Federal and State action the plague shall have been stamped out, should this still be possible. Our Steamship Captains too Reckless. A Captain in the Royal Navy may certainly be supposed to speak with au¬ thority on the dangers of ocean racing. In a letter to the London Times, Cap¬ tain James W. Gambier, R. N., writes: “I have recently twice crossed the At¬ lantic, in both instances on steamers of great tonnage and the highest speed, and I have gone down to my cabin at night, to turn in, with a feeling that nothing but the Providence which sits up aloft, and in looking after poor Jaok, has to perform the same duty for passen gers, could avert a fatal accident if any vessel approached ours at the same speed. Through dark, thick nights, amidst blinding storms of hail, still we drove ahead at fifteen or sixteen knots (seventeen or eighteen miles roughly), with the most reckless disregard of what we might chance to meet.” Captain Gambier suggests that a cer¬ tain degree of safety would be attained if insurauoe companies were to deciirib to insure these ocean steamers, unless all alike adopted a certain track, and if the vessels were to be mulcted by the companies if found out of the track, un¬ less able to give a satisfactory reason, such as broken-down engines or th« like. The writer further suggests tha‘ as a safeguard against the danger o collision, the entire upper deck shoulr be constructed as a raft which woulc float off when the vessel sank, a plan ht declares wholly feasible. Considering the vast proportions which ocean travel has now attained, this is a question which interests a large part of the pub¬ lic, and suggestions from such a source deserve attention. A New Idea. A new idea has been started in bee¬ keeping. It has long been a grievance among farmers that a neighbor should keep a large number of bees without any pasturage of his own and gather honey from crops planted and sown by others. It might not be that any loss or damage was inflicted, but it was a clear case of reaping where one had not sown and gathering where one had not scattered, aod therefore had a large ele¬ ment of injustice in it. No doubt the unfounded charges against the bees that they injured the crops and the fruit, es¬ pecially grapes, were thus originated, and more from prejudice than any real belief. A Mr. Hetherington, of Scho¬ harie county, N. Y., is one of the most extensive bee-keepers in the world, and it is said keeps 2,500 swarms, a large number of which he puts out among farmers to whom he pays a rent for the use of the pasturage, clover, buckwheat, etc., grown upon the farms. This is a new departure which will oommend it self to farmers who do not keep bees, as an example which other bee-keeper* might follow. NO. 29. A RAILROAD DISASTER. Reminiscences of tlie Accident ntt l.nsco un.de Itrldscin Missouri. The presence in Denver of Mr. O. A. Reed, the Chicago Traveling Agent of „he Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Rail¬ way, Galls to mind one of the most hor¬ rible railway disasters that is known in the annals of railroading. It occurred in October, 1857, at the time of the opening of the Missouri Pacific Railway from St. Louis to Jefferson City, Mis¬ souri, and it is known as the Gasconade bridge disaster. In the morning of the day on which the accident happened sixteen coaches filled with the most prominent men of St. Louis started out from that city filled with the brightest anticipations of a delightful trip, and among the passengers was Mr. Reed. In the train there was also a commissary car filled with the choicest wines and liquors, and amply supplied with eata¬ bles. Eighty-eight miles west of St. Louis the Gasconade River empties into the Missouri, and witliiu sight of the latter stream the railway stream crosses the Gasconad^. The bridge over the Gasconade had been tested, and so con¬ fident was the engineer who built it that he rode upon tho locomotive. When the train reached this bridge the passen¬ gers were in the midst of luncheon, and the white-aproned darkeys were in the act of carrying the wines and liquors through the cars, and no thought of danger appeared to enter the minds of a single one of the hundreds who were upon the train. Suddenly the crash oame and the engine plunged through the broken bridge into the river below. It was followed by several of the oars, while all but one of the others were jerked from the rails and thrown across the track. A scene which is beyond de¬ scription followed and the destruction of life was fearful. Mr. Reed wa s sitting next to the window, about the centre of one of the cars, and he attributes his escape to the fact that he had just a moment or so before raised the window, The weather was misty and he desired to look at a steamboat which was opposite them in the Missouri River, and he raised the window for the purpose of getting a clearer view. When the orash came his car plunged forward into the water, but the rear portion of it rested on the unbroken part of the bridge. Mr. Reed caught the side of the window with his hands and this prevented him from falling into the front part of the car, as it stood upon end in the water. Almost all the other passengers fell, a confused and mangled mass, into tl\e end of the ear and with them went the stove and other articles not securely fastened. The gentleman who sat in the same seat with Mr. Reed was one of those who fell forward, and he was also among the killed. Altogether there were forty-four persons killed in the ac cident and about fifteen subsequently died from their injuries. There was only one lady in the party and she es¬ caped without the slightest injury. The civil engineer who built the bridge and who was riding on the engine was among the dead. To this day the accident on the Gas¬ conade bridge is spoken of in Missouri as one of the most horrible of which the people of that State have any knowl¬ edge .—Denver Tribune. Konnd Hats. Harper's Bazar says: Round hats are in the ample and compact shape worn during the summer, with rather high crown, and a narrow brim that is rolled alike on both sides and in front, or it may be pointed upward directly above the forhead, or slightly wider on the left side, but it is always very nar¬ row behind, hats being designed, as the bonnets are, to be worn with the hair dressed high. Felt hats trimmed with velvet and a bunch of feathers directly in front will be most used, but there are ako many velvet hats trimmed with China crape that may be plain or else embroidered with gold, The velvet trimming is a smooth or folded band around the crown, and a facing on the brim. The ornamental galloons and passementeries are sometimes added on this velvet facing. Wing clusters made up of small pointed wings are much used on round hats. The shapely point¬ ed Pierrot hats, sugar-lOaf crowns, and melon-shaped crowns, are shown in felt and cloth for girls and misses. The Tam o’Shanter is also imported, made of cloth — red, blue, gray, or brown embroidered with crescents or sprays done in gilt threads or in silk of the same or a contrasting color. A New York traveling salesman has married a Hoboken dressmaker, A drummer and a fluter in one family ought to make it lively for the neigh¬ bors. __ ____ Beware of green fruit. The fruit nannot help being green, but you can, THE HUMOROUS PAPERS. WHAT VVE FIND Iff THEM TO SOtlUE OVER. A LITTLE QUARREL. Two ladies had had a little tiff, and one of them remarked as she departed: “Well,, as I told my husband this morning, 1 shouldn’t care to be in your shoes.” “I imagine not,” the other replied. “You would find them painfully close fitting.” WITH A KEEN SENSE. “Look here,” said Colonel Bloater, addressing an acquaintance whom he suddenly met in turning a corner, “you are a very long time in paying that bilL You do not seem to care.” “Oh, yes I do, Colonel." “No, sir, you do not. You do not seem to remember your obligation.” “Oh, I remember it, Colonel. If I did not, I would not cross the street tc avoid meeting you. I have a keen sense of obligation, otherwise I would not be put to so much trouble.” “Now here; you are not acting right¬ ly. Juet put yourself in my place and--” “Impossible, Colonel. I cannot put myself in your place. I cannot imagine your feelings, for no one ever owed me.” —Arkansaw Traveler. THE LON (I, LONG DAT. Visitor to Nantucket—For goodness* sake tell me what you do here in the winter? Native—Oh, we get on pretty well. We go to bed at sunset and sleep next day till noon; then we get up and pray for night to come, that we may go to bed again .”—Boston Transcript. A CRUEL MAN. Mother (to married daughter)—“Why, What’s the matter, Clara? What are yon crying about?” Clara—“Henry is so cruel (sob), he is getting worse and worse every day (sob). What do you suppose he said just now? He told me I must get rid of cook; he couldn’t stand her cooking any longer (sob). And he knows we! enough that she hasn’t done one bit of cooking for a fortnight, and that I have done it all myself! Boo-hoo I boo-hoo!” —Boston Transcript. A BATNT DAT. Mrs. Winks—“Did you notice in the Arctic reports that the exploring party, after running out of food, kept them¬ selves alive on seal skin ?” Mr. Winks—“Yes. It is strange that it should contain so much nutriment. But speaking of starvation reminds me that, we have not saved a penny this yea., It won’t do to go on that way, you know.” “Certainly not, and that is what I was going to speak about. We must lay up something for a rainy day. We don’t know how soon we may meet with mis fortune." “True, and as Uncle Jake has prom¬ ised to send me a present of $500 in the fall, I think it would be a good starter, don’t you ?” “Just the thing, dear. Buy me a $500 sealskin saeque for a Christmas present, and if the worst comes to the worst—we can eat it, you know.”— Phila. Call. SUNDAY CLOSING. New York Alderman—“No use letting John go to the public library. All of them are closed on Sundays.” Mrs. Alderman—“Oh ! you must be mistaken. I know one was open Sun¬ days this spring, because I was there myself.” had “Yes, it was then, but wo have them closed up since.” “Why, what for?” “Well, the fact is they interfered with the business of my saloon .”—The Cab. GBEAT STRENGTH OF SINNERS. “My dear boy,” said an earnest Sun¬ day-school teacher at the North End Mission to a frowsy urchin, “do you know that we are all sinners ?” “Yes, marm.” “Do you know that you are a sinner?*' “Yes, marm.” A long and earnest talk followed, in which the claims of the gospel were fully set forth, but the teacher was only rewarded by an unintelligible stare. Finally, it occurred to the teacher that perhaps she had taken the boy be¬ yond his depth, and she inquired: “John, you know what a sinner is, don’t you?” “Sinners, marm? oh, yes; sinners ip strings in turkeys’ legs .”—Boston Globe . The Diseased Cattle. Dr. Salmon, Chief of the Bureau of Animal Industry at Washington, is very' positive in his opinion that the cattle disease which has appeared at several points in the West is contagions pleuro¬ pneumonia. The commission which in¬ vestigated this disease two or three years ago reported that it was invariably of foreign origin, and up to that time had never extended beyond a narrow belt along the Atlantic coast. They recommended the mest vigorous meas¬ ures for stamping it out and protecting r .eom it all lines ot communication to the West, as, if it once got into Western herds, it would be very difficult to dea 1 with. They were also of the opinion that the only certain way of checking its progress was to slaughter the whole of every herd in which it made its ap¬ pearance. Comparatively little has been done toward carrying out tho recommendations of the commission, and. as a consequence what its members mos* dreaded seems to have happened.
