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C . ■ 5^ : /:-■ • v; r — coin ••• v fr r-y . ?-■ ;,• •• . ..•■j*».-;• 1 J a t % € % VOL. V. ... BILL. ANTHONY, MARINE. to'. "’ll A* AW / .a: .&• 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.