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VOL. V.
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BILL. ANTHONY, MARINE.
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r Captain Sigsbee was writing a letter to his wife in the cabin when the
explosion occurred on tlie Maine. All tlie lights were instantly extinguished.
Sigsbee was thrown out and ran into William Anthony, a marine, who, despite
the shrieks, groans, flames and bursting shells, stood at “attention,’ gravely
saluted and said in an even voice:
“Sir, I have to inform you that the ship has been blown up and is
sinking.” waited orders.
Then, he for
The next day Anthony said to Sylvester Scovel when spoken tojbcmt his
conduct: would do it. agggfigp'm
“Oh, that’s nothin CbOQ ; a £ y Yankee marine
Anthony has serve th o United States in the army atfd p-tweuty
tour years.
When above the awful din rose the sailors’ voices shrieking** tf
“Help! help! For God’s sake help us, ere we sink into^ffl ■I
When the light from bursting shells showed the decks wit™ 1 were reeking.
At “attention” stood Bill Anthony, with courage bold dbd fret.
! Straight and cool as on parade, from the danger never shrinking,
The orderly saluted as in steady tones he said;
<‘I imve, sir. to inform you that the ship’s blown up and sinking;”
Then waited for his orders while the shells crashed overhead.
In the And fury of a charge, drunk with when fighting, tlie cannon acts roar of bravery and thunder, are seen, Co
men are
Put to stand still at “attention” while his ship was rent asunder Vf
Was the kind of courage shown by Bil 1 Anthony, marine.
In the roster of the heroes who have striven for Old Glory,
OIM. attention tvhaa t»ath .t.j.4ig,'.“ World.,
AT THE COST OF A LIFE.
BY MRS- BURCKHARDT.
\*.xm T is very unfortun
ate. I really don’t
V know how it can
have h a p p e n e d.
__Nos. 20 and 22 are
2 § l|lgpl|L both would engaged. step into If
you
(. ■' I the drawing room a
iSv’v"'*??-' moment I will m
■ quire.” Hotel
p. The manager of the Seacliff
rubbed his hands together, aud
smiled ingratiatingly at the couple
before him; Mr. Thompson, stout,
prosperous and middle-aged; Anne,
slender, blonde and lovely, with
“bride” written large all over her at¬
tire, from the picture hat, the fawn
traveling cloak lined with white satin,
aud the watch bracelet set in tui
quoises, down to her new patent
leather shoes.
“Will you go upstairs and wait, my
dear?” he said, turning to her.
“Oh, no! this will do,” she said,
indifferently; and pushing open the
door of the writing room, she walked
in.
Away from her husband’s eyes she
drew her breath hard, her gray eyes
had the look of a child rudely awak¬
ened, she clasped her hands together
with a gesture of nervous dread. A
man, the solitary occupant of the
room, turned hip head at the soft rus¬
tle of her silk-lined skirts, and as
their eyes met both uttered a cry.
“Charlie! You here?”
“Aune! My God, is it you? I’m
not too late!—say I’m not!” he cried.
“I was married this morning. We
—we are on our honeymoon; but what
has that to do with you?” said she, al¬
most fiercely. “You—you broke off
our engagement. I would have been
irue to you in spite of everyone. ”
“Then there has been foul play! I
was sure of it. Look, Anne, I had
such faith in you that, when there
was no answer to my letters, I knew
they must be tampering with you.
And then came the news of your en¬
gagement—my sister wrote to me; she
always was jealous of you—and Colonel 1 got
leave somehow. It was the
who managed it for me, and I have
traveled day and night to lie in time.
I haven’t slept or eaten since; and I
meet you here, married.”
He was close to her now, his hand¬
some face flushed and quivering, his
strong hands clenched iu a masculine
impatience of suffering.
Anne shrank away from him, w Trite
and trembling. She could hear her
husband’s voice speaking to a waiter
outside.
“Aune, haven’t you a word for me?
Tell me why you have done this hid¬
eous thing! Waslt his money?” he
demanded.
“To thine own self be true,and it will follow, as night the day, thou cans’t not then be false to any man.”
LINCOLNTON, OA.. THURSDAY, APRIL 28. 181/8
“His ‘moniy? N’O, no; I never
heard from you. I was so lonely and
miserable,” she faltered, “Oh! Ckar
lie, Charlie! What shall we do?”
She held out her hands to him with
a little gesture of appeal, but he did
not take them. He was beginning to
see that it had been better for them
both if they had never met again.
“I don’t know—God help us!” he
said brokenly. “To meet you like
this! Is he—does your husband--?”
The door swung open—Mr. Thomp¬
son was entering.
It was such a stale device by which
they had been parted that it seems al¬
most impossible Anne could have
been taken in by it! But, after all, a
well-brought-up girl does not lightly
suspect her mother of such an extreme
measure as suppressing letters from
an ineligible lover; and Mrs. Carruth
ers’ daughters were eminently well
brought up, so, when Charlie Dacre’s
letters suddenly ceased, she began to
believe that the popular opinion as to
his inconstancy was well founded.
She suffered a good deal uuder the
belief; her wrists grew so slender that
her bangles were too big; the roses
faded out of her cheeks, and the once
ready smile came and went infre¬
quently, and Mrs. Carruthers was
genuinely sorry for her child. She
supported herself, however, by the re¬
flection that it was all for Anne’s ulti¬
mate good.
Mr. Thompson was obviously only
too ready to marry her, and endow her
with his twenty thousand a year, his
big country house, his moor in Scot¬
land, aud his share in the business of
Thompson, Goodrich & Co.; and Mrs.
Carruthers was sure that Anne would
he happier in the long run as his wife
than to a young man with nothing but
his pay and good looks. Mr. Thomp¬
son was forty-five, rather bald; but
personal experience had taught her
that after a few years a husband’s
banking account is of infinitely more
importance than his looks, so she felt
justified on high moral grounds in
putting a stop to one engagement, and
doing her best to bring on another.
At first A nne resolutely avoided Mr.
Thompson; but by degrees the kindli¬
ness of his manner and the sense that
other women would gladly have had
his attentions gratified her; and then
a feeble longing to be revenged on
Charlie, to show him she was not wear¬
ing the willow for his sake, grew upon
her. Moreover, she was of an affec¬
tionate nature, and the disgrace in
which she had felt herself with her
mother during the time she had held
herself bound to Charlie had weighed
on her heavily, and she turned eagerly
to the approval which graciousness to
Mr. Thompson broug it her.
So it ia not to be wondered at at
less than a year after Charlie h
West with his regiment, Anne found
herself awaking op the day of her wed¬
ding to Mr. Thompson. little
She lay on her white bed look¬
ing dreamily around the room, lit¬
tered with all the paraphernalia of
packing. Her going-away dress was
stretched across two chairs, a huge
trunk, gaping open, gave a glimpse of
dainty cambric and lace, and across
the jiassage she knew her wedding
gown was displayed on the spare room
bed; but her imagination refused to
realize that she was indeed going to
be married, though the previous night
she had seen the drawing room
blocked up with costly presents, such
ar Mr. Thompson’s wife was likely to
have, and the dining room already laid
for the breakfast. Smart clothes,
diamonds, and excitement are some¬
times very effectual in drugging the
mind, and for the past week Anne had
refused to let herself think, so she
, ’as not going to give way to it now.
Vhe sprang out of bed and dressed
herself quickly. There was something
she wanted to do before her mother
came to her, so when she had put on
her plain white dressing gown she un¬
locked a trumpery rosewood desk and
took out a packet of letters, a bunch
of faded violets and a photograph.
She slipped the last two into an en¬
velope and went swiftly downstairs;
for, it being June, there was only the
kitchen fire available.
The cook had just gone out to the
side door for the milk, so there was no
one to witness her holocaust. She
did not feel any pain over it, only a
desire to get it done before her mother
came, and she even laughed a little as
she heard the cook boasting to the
milkman of the number and value of
the weddmg’presents.
The morning seemed to pass with
her like a dream, in which her share
kisses, was only the imaginary. crowd ill the Her church; mother the s
service, the wedding breakfast witn
its endless speeches, the fussy officious
„ ess of the bridesmaids who helped
to array her in her traveling gown,
Wt .lie .ml Mr. Thompson „.re
“the carriage that was to take them t .*
the train, and he laid his hand on her
arm, she suddenly awoke to
ties. S’
“At last I’ve got my dear little wi:
larm to myself,” he said; *mte#h.er ana passing
around her. face mis
his with one plump hand and laid
lips on hers for the first time.
“Don’t Don’t! You mustn’t!” cried
Anne. Her words seemed to fall ovet
each other in her haste; her heart was
beating like some caged wild thing.
“Did I frighten you, my darling?
Come, you musn’t be so shy of your
husband,” he’said, smiling at her in¬
dulgently. kissed.
“I—I don’t like being I—
am tired,” faltered Anne.
She suddenly seemed to have be¬
come aware that she belonged to this
man. His short blunt fingers, on one
of which was a big signet ring, his
double chin, the big creases on his
cheek when he smiled filled her with
repulsion.
“Are you tired, dearest? Does
your head ache?” he said, kindly so¬
licitous at once.
“Yes, it does, rather,” said she,
catching at the immemorial excuse of
womenkind.
She shut her eyes and leaned back
in the corner while he fussed over her
with smelling salts and eau-de-cologne.
They had engaged rooms at the sea¬
side resort, but there had been some
mistake about them, and it was while
he was talking to the manager that
Anne went into the writing room to
wait.
“Oh, yes, that will do quite ai
well!” said Mr. Thompson, coinin'
briskly in and speaking over his shoul¬
der to a waiter. “Anne, my dear, it
is all right now. We have threj
rooms on the first floor; they are tak¬
ing up our tliiugs. Why, my dea - ,
what is the matter?”
“I have made a mistake,” sad
Anne, hardly knowing what she sail.
“This—this is Charlie Dacre.”
Mr, Thompson had heard a sketoiV
outline of his wife’s previous love sf
fairs from Mrs. Carruthers. “B*y
aud girl affair”—“mere fancy’
“quite unworthy young man”—tie
phrases seemed to ring in his bran
now.
A dull flush rose slowly to his fae; 1
he laid his hand on Anne’s arm.
“I have heard of Mr. Dacre,” le ;
saicl coldly; “I think you had betfer j
come with me.”
“You have stolen her from me! Yu
know best yourself by what means”
said the younger man savagely.
The situation was insupportable: a
primitive emotion was out of place.n
the commonplace room, with its wrt
ing tables littered with directories aid
hotel stationery.
“I gained my wife by no means of
which I need be ashamed,” said Hr.
Thompson, with a certain dignity. I
“But it was all a mistake. le
wrote, only I never had his lettes. sad |
He was coming back to me,”
Anne, helplessly.
“I don’t understand; perhaps I m
dense. You mean to say you oily
married me, believing Mr. Dacre xas
false?” began the elder man, cu
fusedly. The door swung again a
busy traveler bustled in, bag in had,
drew a chair noisily up to a table, and
began to write.
4Mr. Thompson beckoned impera¬
tively s|eak to Anne. “Come! I must
to you,” he said, sharply. He
held the door open for her, and she
obeyed litter him mechanically, leaving her
j^verless standing by the mantel-piece,
£ to stop her.
Mr. Thompson led the way up the
first flight of stairs, a waiter threw
open a door, and Anne found herself
alone with her husband.
“Now, perhaps, yon will explain.
yhis» man, what is he doing here? By
what right does he address you?” he
said. There was a tone of sharpness
in his voice.
“He did not know I should be here.
He was coming home from the West to
stop my marrying you. He thought
he would be in time,” said Anne, al¬
most in the voice of a chidden child.
i “But he is too late! Yon are my
wife now. No one can take you from
me.” The remembrance of the hand
'some young face below moved him to a
touch of brutality.
“But I can’t live with you now!
Don’t you see? I can’t, oh, I can’t!”
cried Anne.
“You are my wife. You are bound
’ to live with me. You thought it possi¬
ble half an hour ago, Nothing has
changed since then.”
“But I didn’t know, then! I thought
he had left off caring for me. My
mother knew. It was she who made
me marry you,” panted she. All her
delicate color had faded, even her lips
■were white, her eyes were full of
terror.
“Oh, won’t you be kind to me and
let me go?”
“To your lover?”
“No, no! I will never see him again
li yon will only let me go.” ■
“But don’t you know I love you?
YeS) as dear]y as you love that man
downstairs. Haven’t you a little pity
for me ?»
Anne looked at him dully. His
florid face had not paled; he
Lm? as nrosncrmis young" as ever 'strong? Love
Love was and
an( j CO mg]y f with ardent looks and
b '“ "”‘ 5 " Bn ’"
“I am sorry. It is not my fault.
We have loved each other so long.
Oh, if you will only be kind enough
and let me go!”
She came up close to him in her
earnestness. Her hat had fallen off,
he could see the little tendrils of hair
curling round her tiny ears, the depth
of her eyes darkened by coming tears.
“You ask too much,” he said, with
sudden anger; “I love you, you are
my wife, aud very beautiful.”
He had both her hands in his now,
and was drawing her nearer. Anne
did not speak, only looked at him
with a white face of terrified repulsion.
He could see the pulse in her throat
beating furiously.
“You would not be the first wife
who had lived down a fancy for an¬
other man, aud has been happy with
her husband,” he said slowly,aud then
the girl broke down into a storm of
wild, hysterical weeping, cowering
away from him with bent head.
“My poor child! my dear little girl!
You are quite overdone,” she heard
his voice saying in quite a changed
tone. “Come and sit down and let us
think what is for the best.”
She suffered him to lead her to a
couch, and sat down,burying her head
in tlie pillows.
Mr. Thompson was not accustomed
to women, and her long-drawn sobs,
and the pitious heave of her shoulders
went to his very heart.
'“You ask me to let you go, Aune;
but what would you do then? Would
von go to vour mother?”
“Oh, no, no!”
“I thought not. And as you bear my
name, in common fairness to myself,
I could not let you go out alone in the
world.”
She said something incoherent be¬
tween her sobs of wishing she were
dead. 1
_____
“For God’s sake, child, don’t treat
me as an enemy!” he said bitterly.
“Listen! You must share my home,
there’s no help for that; but in all
other respects I will leave you utterly
free; only I ask you for your own sake
not to see that man again.”
Through her own distress the sense
of his generosity reached Anne’s soul.
“You are very kind to me,” she said
faintly.
“I will think it out. I will see
whether I can think of anything better;
but you must give me time,” he said.
“I will let you know to-morrow. Per
haps you would like to go to your
room now; the waiter might be coming
up with the dinner.”
Anne complied, thankful to be
alone, and sent word bv the maid that
she did not want any dinner, so the
bridegroom dined .alone under the
watchful eye of the waiter,who formed
his own conclusions on the situation,
Anne was lying on her bed, worn
out with the emotions of the day,
when, about nine o’clock, she heard a
rap at the door, and her husband’s
voice asking if he might speak to her.
She got up and went to him, iook
ing at him with eyes full of appre
hensiou. “
“I am going out for a stroll aud
smoke, and I thought I would just
come to see how you were.”
“Oh, 'etter, thank you,” said
Anne, He paused, quic%^ looking at her with
an
expression she could not interpret.
Stoutness, a bald head, and a florid
complexion cut one off from much
comprehension by one’s fellows.
“Well, good night then," he said
awkwardly.
“Good night,” said Anne.
He held out his hand, and she laid
hers in it. He could feel the nervous
twitch in her slender lingers.
“I am going to think it over, yon
know. Good night,” he said once
again, and turned away.
He lighted a cigar, and, strolling
along the shore, proceeded to think it
over.
What conclusions he came to can
never be certainly known, but the
following paragraph appeared in the
evening paper:
“Fatal accident to a bridegroom—
A most I lamentable occurrence took
place at Narragansett last night. Mr.
Richard Thompson, senior partner in
the well-known firm of Thompson,
Goodrich <fc Co., and who had just
started on his wedding trip, was
washed ashore a few hours after he
had left his hotel for a stroll. His
body was discovered by some fisher¬
men, and was easily identified by the
papers in his pockets. ”
It was nearly a year later before his
bride-widow married Charlie Dacre.
His voice and looks, when he had
bidden her farewell at the door of her
room, haunted her. It was absurd fo
suppose that a well-to-do merchant
could carry love to such a height as to
lay down his life to make a woman
who did not love him happy, and yet
—no! she dared not let herself believe
it. Such a love would have demanded
a life-long fidelity to its mere memory.
So she married the man she loved,
with whom she was happy enough;
but the memory of her brief' honey
moon never qiiite faded from her mind.
—St. Louis Star.
WORDS OF WISDOM.
A life spent worthily should be
measured; by deeds, not. years.
The mail most in need of mercy, is
the one who will have no mercy on
himself.
No man can be provident of his
time who is not. prudent in the choice
of his company.
Doing is the great thing. For if,
resolutely, people do what is right,
in time they come to like doing it.
There is no greater aid iu securing
enrichment and fertilization of one’s
whole nature than intimate association,
with superior men and women.
Life is continually weighing us in
very;sensitive scales and telling every
one of us precisely what his real
weight is to the last grain of dust.
How does a man become wiser as
he grows older but by looking back
upon the past, and by learning from
the mistakes that he has made in his
earlier years
Every attempt to make others
happy, every sin left behind, every
temptation trampled under foot, every
step forward in the cause of what is
good is a step nearer heaven.
God does not take away our gifts
arbitrarily. He gives them to be
used, and if they are not used, they
dwindle, they vanish; the power
goes, the will becomes like an unused
muscle—paralyzed, useless.
The greatest and noblest work in
the world and an effect of the greatest
prudence and cure, is to rear and
build up a man and to form and
fashion him to piety, justice, tempeK
anee and all kinds of honest and
worthy actions.
Like alone acts upon like. There¬
fore, do not amend by reasoning, but
by example. Approach feeling by
feeling; do not hope to excite love ex¬
cept by love. Be what you wish
others to become. Let yourself, and
not your words, preach.
That great mystery of Time, were
there no other, the illimitable, silent,
never-resting thing called time, roll¬
ing, rushing on, swift, silent, like an
all-embracing ocean-tide on which we
and all the universe swim like exhal¬
ations, like apparitions, which are
and then’are not; this is forever very
literally a miracle—a thing to strike
ns dumb, for we have no word to
speak about it.
Coal Treasure* in Africa.
In his new book 011 South Africa
Captain Younghusband dilates on the
coal treasures of that country: “In
one colliery, not half a dozen miles
from the gold mines, I have seen a
seam of coal seventy feet in thickness.
This coal, though of a low quality,
suffices for the purpose of the 4^1 d
mines, and there is a sufficient quan¬
tity of it to outlast far the lives of all
the gold mines. Besides these coal
deposits near the gold fields and those
others by the Vaal River, which fur¬
nish coal for the railway system far
down into the Cape Colony, there are
literally hundreds, perhaps even a
thousand, square miles of coal in the
Middelberg and Ermelo districts lying
between Pretoria and Delagoa Bay.
In the midst of these coal beds is the
outcrop of iron ore; and running
through them is the lately constructed
railway to Delagoa Bay.”—New York
Post.
A Professional Habit.
In 1000 cases of the morphine habit,
collected from all parts of the world,
the medical profession constituted for
ty per cent, of the number,
ISO. 47.
A Home-Grown Experience. : 1 S
A man went into an icehouse to cooi
_
off.
An abrupt and impetuous hired
closed and locked the door and ' ve 1
away. Tlie next day was Sunday
the hired man did not come
While tlie man who yearned to coo!
off waited for the return of tlie hired
man his object was accomplished in
very thorough man tier. He cooled <>u\
The muffled door gave back
echoes to his blows, and his voice covtlA
2nd no place to escape and sound the 1 1
alarm. |
When lie grew tired of walking and
swinging his arm to keep warm the I
chunks of ice that were piled around A'
him did not offer a tempting bed. Hun¬
ger gnawed at bis vitals and refnsad to
be satisfied with diet of raw air. Dark
ness settled down like a six ■ months’ | 1
Arctic night, and the only sound which
broke the profound stillness was tlie
man who wanted to cool off trying to «
swear.
The hired man opened tlie door on
Monday morning, and the man who
wanted to cool off crawled out more
dead than alive.
When his tongue had thawed out he. :
began to abuse the hired man.
•■Fool!” retorted the hired matt.
••Fool, you are a. lucky dog and do now;, . .
know it. Don't waste your time iu|
abusing me, your benefactor, hut guA
aml write a book of impressions ou -jf ,
Alaska.” - ’
Then the man who wanted to cool off /
saw that his fortune was mafic.—Qb.- 5
cage Record.
Within the past few years three nor- | *
els in the English language on the
theme have attracted wide attention.;
Their subject is the failure of Chris
tSanity, or. as some prefer calling it, of
Ghui’Chianity, to redeem mankind from !
Ignorance, misery and vice. In each
story an orthodox clergyman breaks
away from his environment, defies
ecclesiastical superiors, and plunges of g
straight into the moil and muck f -
humanity for the purpose of rescuing!
it from its slums and its mire. These
three books, two of which have been
written by women, are “Robert Els- B
mere. ” by Mrs. Humphrey Ward: “A
Singular Life,” by Elizabeth Suiarl
Phelps (Ward), and “Tile Christian." by
Hall Caine. In each instance the lien:
becomes a martyr. Htf suffers front
the reproaches and even the
ly of his former friends and associates
He secures- only it tardy. «jeo£’ • f
his zeal and self-sacrifice from his tv if.
or his sweetheart. And he finally dies
n victim to ids devotion to his fellow
man. Elsmere is carried off hy a sick
ness while prosecuting lfis work. Ematt
usl Bayard, the self-elected missionary
to the vicious population of a Massa¬
chusetts fishing port, is murdered by a
liquor dealer whose trade he had
jurod. John Storm is killed by some •
London ruffians out of their jealous
hatred toward him. The result iu each
fas" 9 practical defeat of the very
Work which was Intended to mak<
amends for the failure of ecclesiastical
Christianity. For all that appears the
noble mission thus self-imposed
these three instances ends with the
of him who entered upon it and so va. i
iantly anil splendidly wrought iu it.
It is true that many a poor soul has
been inspired to finer and diviner liv
ing, but tlie “movement,” as it is call
d. no longer moves when he ^ wTit:
started it no longer gives it ,
It would seem as if the creators of
these fictitious heroes were forced ft’
surrender them to martyrdom. Tbej
are at a loss liow otherwise to dispose
of them. Is It not possible for a
ern crusader to survive his
and be rewarded by seeing the von
summation of his work in some per urn f'•
nent and substantial form? Or is
Inevitable that individual reform li:i
the weakness of the individual ami p
ueeds tlif; strength of organization?
"When a fractured ankle begins to 1
swell after having received apparent¬
ly curative treatment, soak the foot in
hot water every night aud rub it thor¬
oughly. A silk elastic anklet is a gre%
protection to the joint
GEORGIA RAILROAD^
—a tv r^
Connections,
For Information and as Rates, to Routes, Both— Sebed^ •V
-r-ules
Passenger and Freight;
Write to either of the undersigned.
You will receive prompt reply am
reliable information.
JOE. W. WHITE, A. G. JACKSON,
T. P. A. G. P. A, j
Augusta, Ga.
8 . W. WILKES, H. K. NICHOLSO
0. F. & P. A. G. A.
Atlanta. Athens.
W. W. HARDWICK, S. E. MAGI:
S. A. C. F. A. I
Macon. Macon.
M. R. HUDSON, F. W. COFF
S. F. A. S. F. &P. A.
Miiledgeville. Augusta.