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AntnirjnQ
VOL. I.
JOHN C. VAN STCKEL &
Wholesale and Retail Dealers in
CROCKERY,
House Furnishing Goods
Tin-l?late,
Stoves,
Hardware,
&c.. <fco.
MANUFACTURERS OF
TINWARE.
No. 116 Third Street,
MACON, GA.
HOW TO SAVE MONEY
BUY YOUR BOOHS
FROM
J. M. WOOD,
Wrightsville, Ga.
deals in DRY GOODS and GRO-
7ER[ES, and will sell as low as the lowest,
Jalicoes, Homespuns, all Drillings. Jeans, Boots
ind Shoes of kinds.
Bacon, Flour, Coffee, Rice, etc., always on
lai d. Also a nioe selection of
Millinery Goods,
?uoh as I oiflies’ Hats, Ribbons and Flowers ol
ill descriptions, and vatious other thing* too
mmeiouj to mention. Cali and see lor your,
■elf.
OARHART & OURD,
DEALERS IK
Hardware, Iron & Steel i
WOODEN WARE,
Carriage Material,
Cotton Gins,
Circular Saws,
SCALES,
»
PAINTS, OILS, &c.
Macon, Ixa.
R. J. DAVANT. J. S. WOOD, JK
DAVANT & WOOD,
114 Bay Street.
Savannah, Georgia,
Special attention given to Bale of
COTTOI,RICES RATAL STORES,
AGENTS FOE
DRAKE'S COTTON
Cash advances made on consignments.
SID. A. PUGHSLEY,
agent and salesman,
—WITH
I. L. FALK & CO M
CLOTHIERS,
425 and 427 Broome St., New
Cor. Congress and Whittaker
satannah, ga.
WRIGHTSVILLE, GA • • SATURDAY. NOVEMBER 6. 1880.
Mother’s Way.
Ott within our little cottage,
As the shadows gently fall,
While the sunlight touches soltly
One sweet voice upon the wall.
Do we gather dose together,
And in hushed and tender tone,
Ask each other’s lull forgiveness
For the wiong that each has done.
Should you wonder why this custom
At the ending of each day,
Eye and voice would quickly answer,
“ It was once our mother’s way!”
If our home be bright and cheery,
II it hold a welcome true,
Opening wide its door of greeting
To the many—not the tow;
If we shares our Father’s bounty
With the needy, day by day,
’Tis because our hearts remember
This was ever mother’s way.
Sometimes when our hearts grow weary,
Or our task seems very long,
When our burdens look too heavy,
And we deem the right all wrong,
Then wo gain anew lrcsh courage,
As we rise and proudly say,
“ Let us do our duty bravely—
This was our dear mother’s way.”
Thus wo keep her memory precious,
While we never cease to pray
That at last when length’ning shadows
Mark the evening of life’s day,
They may find ns waiting calmly
To go home our mother’s way.
..
HOW I BECAME THE FASHION.
AN ENGLISH STOUT.
I was born a beauty; from the time I
could talk and understand, it was in¬
stilled into me hb a fact. When I jeculd
toddle about, some judicious person,
probably a nurse, gave me the name of
“ Beauty,” and it stuck to me ever after.
I don’t think 1 was inordinately proud
of my distinction, although even in
childhood it makes a difference, but it
seems to me as I look back that my at¬
tractions were made use of by my
brothers and sisters for their own
benefit. They were always sending me
to beg a holiday on the plea that “ Papa
won’t refuse Beauty,” or later on to get
leave to go to this or that place of amuse¬
ment, for “ Mamma is sure to let Beauty
have her way.”
It’s a wonder I wasn’t quite spoiled,
but I don’t think I was; at least no
such accusation was ever made, even
when sisterly civilities were being inter¬
changed. We were a. large family
principally girls, all presentable except,
my eldest sister, Matilda; she had no
looks to speak about, but she made it up
by a superabundance of brains—she
was the family headpiece, a sort of
plateau to be relied upon on all state
occasions. She certainly was a remark¬
able woman; her one idea was to push
one’s self foward in life.
How angry she was when I married
Charley! She was at Gibraltar settling
my brother Edmund in his appointment,
and I was Mrs. Redcar before she came
back. Charley wa3 a captain with good
prospects of getting on, but Matilda
i made him sell out and put his money
into a new company started to provide
Venice with tram ears; after that we
came up to town, because Matilda said
that with my beauty and Charley’s con¬
nections London was the place for U3.
We were sure to push our way; but
curiously enough, we didn’t. Charley’s
connections belonged to the Plymouth
Brothers and Sisters, and my good looks
were quite thrown away on people who
wore poke bonnets. There was one
old man, a grand-uncle of Charley’s,
who had live 1 in the regency days, and
said I was the image of Dolly Bloom¬
field, whoever she might be.
A year or so passed very quietly, and
then Matiida came up to see how we
were getting on. She was very indig¬
nant when she found that wo had made
no way, and scolded us roundly for our
supineness.
“I have no patience with either of
you,” she said. “ With Beauty’s looks
and the Redcar connection you ought
to be at the very top of the tree.” And
then we explained to her about the
Plymouth there’s Brethren. Charley’s godfather’s
“But
wife; she has nothing to say to trade or
meeting-houses, because I see her parties
every week in the Morning Post," said
my sister with a look which meant:
‘You can’t impose on me; if Beauty
were only seen there she’d soon push
her way.’
Charley looked at me and I looked at
Charley, and then we both hurst out
laughing. It was a mortifying confes¬
sion, but the was we had been at
Charley’s wife’s godmother’s—no, I
mean Charley’s godfather’s wife—more
than once, and nothing had come of my
“ being seen there ” but the bills we had
to pay for the dress I wore and the car¬
riage.
Matilda looked very glum when we
told her this. “I don’t see what you
are laughing at,” she said, crossly. “ No
one but a fool would find amusement in
heir own failure.” This was very
severe, but Matilda was awfully put
out, and in the evening, when .Charley
had gone to the “Rag” to have his
smoke, she spoke very seriously to me.
“ I don’t like the look of things,” she
said. “ I shouldn’t be at all surprised
if those Venetian tram shares don’t come
to much. The people there are so silly,
they prefer the’gondolas, and if they go
down where will you be?”
“Good [gracious! Matilda, 1 thought
you recommended them, and said they
would double our income.”
“And haven’t they done so, you silly
thing? All you have to do is to put
your shoulder to the wheel, and push
Charley, and that will make it all right.
As for him, he is a regular stick in the
mud. So you must do it yourself
“I? Why what in the world can I
do?”
“ Make yourself the fashion!” said my
sister, oracularly.
The next clay Matilda, Charley, and I
went to see the pictures at the R. A. It’s
a iong way fron Inverness Terrace to
Piccadilly, particularly on a hot day, so
we went in an omnibus. I don’t mind
an omnibus, but Matilda thinks it’s a
disgrace to be seen in one. She has a
provincial idea that every one knows
her. She sits far back with her veil
drawn in a tight little ball over her
nose, which makes her ever so much
more remarkable. This day in particu¬
lar she was in a great fright and was
very indignant with Charley and me,
who were laughing at the faces she
made.
When she got out she said: “To
think that our Beauty should be brought
down to sit with washerwomen in an
omnibus!”
Charley flushed up. He’s the most
good-humored fellow in the world,
but he doesn’t like Matilda. “ She
should drive in a coach with six horses,
if I could give it to her,” he said; “ but
she knew I was a poor man when she
look me.”
“And.iiked you all the better.” cried I,
gayly, as I pressed bis arm affectionate¬
ly; but Matilda only snorted. I heard
her mutter: “A pair of fools!’’
The Academy was very full that day,
and I thought it a great bore. Neither
Charley nor I care much for pictures,
but Matilda says she understands
“color.” She goes round religiously
with her catalogue and pencil and marks
the good ones. She leaves it on tiro
drawing-room table when she goes
home, and holds forth to the country
people upon the “ flesh tints ” of Millais,
and the “deep imp as to ” of Burne
Jones.
I scon got tired, 30 1 sat down near the
passage leading to the refreshment room.
I always think the lunch is about the
best thing at the pictures. But they
seemed never to be coming. For some
time I amused myself looking at the
people; they were a shifting mass o'
faces and dresses, and 1 was greatly
diverted. By-and-bye I began to observe
that the crowd when they came to a
certain picture stood there, forming a
regular line, as they did for Miss
Thompson. It was awfully hot, and I
had taken off my veil and pushed up my
hat, for my forehead, was burning. Sud¬
denly I noticed that a great many people
turned their backs upon the picture, and
looked at me, am then faced round
again to the canvas wall. In my
character of Beauty I have been all my
life pretty well accustomed to the sort of
homage conveyed by what is called
“hard staring,” so that it must have
been an undue amount of it which at¬
tracted my attention; but surely I had
never seen any like this. Groups of two,
three, six at a time would stand before
me, calmly surveying me, and, I could
gather by their gestures, talking of me.
But I didn’t hear what they said. I be¬
came very anxious to see the pic¬
ture which attracted such attention,
but the block round it was too great.
The next best thing was to ask for in¬
formation. It was some time before I
could pitch upon a person fitting for this
purpose. At last a very quiet-looking
lady came near me. She had a catalogue
m her hand. I addressed her. “May I
ask you to tell me the name of the pic
ture at which every one is looking?"
She turned to the book, but first glanced
at me; then hurried on, and I saw her a
few minutes afterward pointing me out
to some of her friends. I felt extremely
uncomfortable. I looked about anx
iously for Charley and Matilda, but
there was no sign of either. Then, I
did a very foolish thing; I got up to go
and look for them, principally to escape
from the numberless eyes lixod upon
me.
To my surprise the crowd made way
at once, and, as I .walked, followed me,
pressing very closely upon me, but not
discourteously. I could hear some of
the remarks, which were of the most
flattering description. Just then I saw
in the distance a brother officer of
Charley’s, a certain Captain Winton.
He was a hanger-on and toady of the
great, and a most conceited, tiresome
little creature. I disliked him, although
I’m bound to say lie never absolutely
cut us.
He now stopped fo speak to me; o
course, he was politely indifferent as to
the loss of my party.
“I would help you to look for Charley,”
he said ; “but the fact is the Duchess of
Cranberry is here, and she’s quite on
the qui vive. Some one has told her
that the original of the picture is actu¬
ally in the room, and, of course, it would
be everything to secure her for the 20tb,
and—”
Here I interrupted him rather rudely,
but he is such a bore.
“I wonder,” I said—but here I was
in my turn interrupted. Two gentle
men on ciri side, two on the other,
tapped Captain Winton on each shoul
der.
“ Will you kindly introduce me?” said
one.
“And me?”said the other.
“And me?”
“ And me?”
Little Winton stared, but did as he
was bid.
“Lord Snappington — Mrs. Redcar;
Colonel Fotheringham—Mrs, Redcar;
Sir John I)e Tabley — Mrs. Rsdcar;
Major Beaulieu—Mrs. Redcar. Bean
lieu, I think you know Charley Redear;
he was one of ours?”
In right of this acquaintance, Major
Beaulieu walked on my right hand;
Lord Snappington fought hard to keep
his place on my left, but the crowd,
which persistently followed in my wake,
would not let him. Hardly any conver¬
sation was possible. At the first con¬
venient pause, little Winton darted for¬
ward :
“My dear Mrs. Redcar, how sly you
have been! And Charicy, too, never
breathed a word of this! Now, you
must come at once to the ^duchess; I
have her positive orders." And, be¬
fore I could take in what he meant, 1
was being introduced to a very large
lady, with a high nose, and a most
charming manner.
“ I am so pleased to know you, Mrs.
Redcar,” she said. “ I am obliged to
hurry away; but you will come to me
on the 20th, won’t you? I haven’t
time to say half the pretty things I
ought; but really, without flattery, it
isn’t equal! There, now, I’ll not say
another word. Stay; could you come
to me this evening? It’s shockingly
informal, but you don’t look formal.
Eh? What?”—in answer to a whisper
from little Winton—“of course, Cap¬
tain Redcar, by ail means—that is, if
lie will give me the pleasure. I have
to run away—so sorry. My carriage,
Captain Winton, if you please. Good
bye.” And, with a pretty amile and a
bow, she vanished.
It was all so sudden I felt quite
stunned. “ I don’t understand it,”
I said. “ I don’t know her, or what,
she wants with me.”
“That’s the Duchess of Cranberry,
Sfie’s a great friend of Masse’s, and her
wonderful party is to be on the20th.”
“But what does she want with me?”
I repeated.
They all smiled, and Winton, who
had just come back, said “Capital!”
He volunteered to go and look for Char¬
ley, and suggested to one of the gentle¬
men to see about my carriage.
“The Duchess is delighted,” he said,
“ and thanked me so much for the in¬
troduction. No wonder, it makes the
whole thing complete. Didn’t I do well
about CharleyP It wouldn’t do at ah
for him to be in the background. But.
listen. I have a hint for your private
ear. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if
a certain person is there this evening.”
“Where?”
“Oh! atthe Duchess’s, of course. I
just give you the hint. Throw over
any engagement, do you hear? And
mind you bring Chariey.” And with a
grave face he went.
For a minute or two I felt inclined to
cry. I had had no luncheon, and this
extraordinary adventure puzzled me.
I looked round at my escort of four
gentlemen. “ 1 should like to go home,"
I said.
M Snappington imme diately of
fmd me hia arm . Major Beaulieu
brought my parasol—the other two ran
for my Cftrri!lge . “I haven’t any. in
deed) » j wcnt 0 n; “I think you take
me p or SOIne one c i 9e .”
At this they all laughed, and Lord
Snappington said would I honor him
by making use of his? He didn’t want
it for the rest of the afternoon, if I
liked to drive. He was so pressing that
I really couldn't refuse to go to Inver¬
ness Terrace in it, although I hardly ex¬
pected the wonderful footman to know
where it was.
j declare when I found myself in the
carriage quite alone I rubbed my eyes
and pinched my fingers. I could hardly
help thinking that I had fallen asleep
and had dreamt all this, but just as 1
was pinching myself hard I saw Charley
and Matilda standing on the pavement
in Piccadilly, looking very hot and un
comfortable. I put my head out of the
window and called to the grand coach
man to stop.
The man looked at me very wickedly,
but 1 didn’t care. I jumped out, and
I never felt, more pleased than when I got
hold of Charley’s am and the fine car¬
riage bad driven away empty.
Anything like the amazement of
Charley and Matilda, when they heard
my adventure, I never saw. They
couldn’t make head nor tail of it any
more than myself; only one thing was
clear to me, that I must get home and
have something to eat. I was so taint
with excitement and hunger. We all
made up our minds that it was a mis¬
take of some kind. We went carefully
through the catalogue, but there was
nothing there. Charley proposed run
ning into Mrs. Smithers at No. 10 (she
sets up to be artistic), but Matilda said
no—not cn any account—the thing was
to keep our own counsel. Matilda was
all for our going to the duchess's. She
said it didn’t matter, mistake or no mis¬
take. She had asked me to her house
in my own proper person and under my
own proper name, and there was no im¬
position or forcing myself in on my
side. Charley said the same, and added
that at all events it would be fun—so
we went. Charley burst out laughing
in the carriage- he said his godfather’s
wife would get a tit when she heard that
we had been to Cranberry house. But
I think he got nervous when we were
actually inside. I know I felt ready to
sink into the earth when we walked up
the grand staircase through lines of
powdered footmen. It seemed to me so
utterly absurd. The first person I saw
was Lord Snappington near the door.
He seemed Hue an old friend; and
presently Colonel Beaulieu joined
us. He seemed to know Charley
very well, although Charley says
they haven’t done more than ned
these ten years; but he was very
friendly, and asked us to drive]down on
his coach to the Orleans next day. I
was very pleased, for Charley had been
wishing to go and—so had I.
After a time little Winton came up in
a great fuss, and said the duchess was
asking for me, and that I was to go into
the boudoir. I didn’t, of course, know
where that was, but Lord Snappington
gave me his arm and said he would take
me there. As we walked along, I
heard a great many people whispering
together: “There she is, on Lord Snap
pington’s arm.” I was dying to know
what it all meant, and I would have
asked Lord Snappington then and there,
only that Matilda’s last words had been:
“ Mind you ask no questions. Just take
everything as it comes.” Still I think I
would have said something, but just
then we got into the boudoir, and there
was the same lady I had seen in the
morning, only looking much grander,
and witli the most lovely diamonds on
her head. She had about twenty other
ladies and gentlemen with her, and she
was talking to a personage whom l
recognized at once, and my knees
knocked together with fright.
“ Oh! here is Mrs, Redcar!” cried the
duchess; “ now we have her we shall be
ail right.”
The certain Person put> glass to his
eye and looked at me:
“ Fond of swinging, Mrs. Redcar?”
much in the manner Charley would
have said it, And then every one began
to laugh. I laughed too, although I
had no idea why.
“Do you swing much?” the Person¬
age went on. still surveying me through
the glass earnestly.
I hadn’t swung since I was a child,
and I thought it a very odd question,
but, before I had time to answer, the
duchess struck in.
“ My swinging party comes off on the
20th, and I have given directions
to have a rose-colored swing put up for
Mrs. Redcar.
There was a general chorus of appro¬
bation, and I really began to think I had
got among a set of lunatics. Just then
some music began in the next room,
and there was a move toward it. The
certain person lingered a moment.
“ Duchess! I shall certainly come to
your swinging party on the 20th
for the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Redcar
in the rose-colored swing.” He smiled
pleasantly at me as he spoke, did this
Great Man, and strolled lazily out oi
the boudoir.
When he was gone every one crowded
round me. I’m sure I made twenty ac¬
quaintances and had twenty invitations
in as many minutes.
Ail the rest of the evening was one
whirl of pleasure. Charley enjoyed it
quite as much as I did, and we both
agreeo that after all good company is
nicer than and quite as cheap as, any
other.
In the middle of the night Charley
awoke me by auother loud fit of laugh¬
ter. “ I can’t help it, Beauty,” he said,
“ but I can’t get over godfather’s wife
when she hears of our being on easy
terms with the best in the land.”
It was most surprising. There was
certainly no doubt on that point.
The next morning we had just done
breakfast when, to our surprise, Char¬
ley’s godfather’s wife drove up. Ma¬
tilda had just time to give us a word ol
caution when she came in, all laces and
ribbons, bangles and chains—3o unlike
the duchess. She made straight at me.
• Mv dear,” she said, and kissed me on
VO. H25
both cheeks; “how sly of you!” and
then she kissed me.
Just then there came another knock
at the door, and one of Charley’s uncles
(a very great manufacturer, with works
atthe East End) was announced. Hewa
a good man, and I liked him, but his fac
was extra long this morning. He took
Charley and me aside:
“ Is this true?” he said, and he thrust
a copy of the Whitehall Review into my
hand, pointing to this paragraph:
“ I am glad to tell my readers that the
charming original of Monsieur Henri
Masse’s famous picture of “ Love in a
Swing” is among us. She i3 not a
Frenchwoman, but English born and
bred—Mrs. Redcar, wife of Captain
Charles Redcar, late of the Tenth regi¬
ment; and we may well be proud of
our lovely countrywoman. This puts
an end to the countless stories which
have been floating about since the pic¬
ture appeared. It is to the Duchess of
Cranberry (Monsieur Masse’s old friend)
that we owe this addition to the ranks
of the Beauties. Mrs. Redcar appears
under the duchess’s wing. She made
her debut at thejJranberry bouse soiree
last night, and was hugely admired.”
So much for the truth of report.
After all, then, there was no harm in it,
and although at first I didn’t like sail¬
ing under false colors, sti J1 Matilda per¬
suaded me it would be foolish to make
a fuss; I had only to hold my tongue
and let the fashionable world and the
fashionable newspapers tell as many lies
as they pleased. I did so. I became
the fashion. After the duchess’s swing¬
ing party on the 20th of June, 1879,
my position was assured. No one can
be more fashionable than I am. Under
Matilda’s directions I am trying hard
to push Charley on. If I succeed I will
tell you all about it.— Whitehall Review.
American Cheese Business.
From an article in Bradslreets, on the
growth of the cheese industry in the
United States, the following extracts are
made:
The growing importance of the cheese
industries in the United States is attract¬
ing much attention abroad, as well as in
this country, and some facts concerning
its increase may prove both useful and
interesting to our readers. It is only
within a comparatively few years that
the factory system has been adopted,
which has resulted in the building up of
innumerable factories in ali the cheese
centers of the United States, and in the
production, by every art of manufac¬
ture which improved methods could
bring about, of cheese of such uni
fonnly rood quality as to be in con¬
stantly increased demand by our for¬
eign customers. In fact, ever since
1878 we have taken more pains to
cater to the t tstes of English consumers,
and consequently our cheese lias been
improved in flavor, as well as in firm¬
ness and keeping qualities. The result
is that our exports of cheese to Liver¬
pool alone during the present fiscal year,
it is estimated, will be about 130,000,
000 pounds, against 23,220,000 pounds in
1805-0. Since the first of May the Eng¬
lish market has been taking from New
York every week from 25,000 to 120,000
boxes of cheese, all of which have been
consumed at the ruling high prices.
During the past five years the cheese
production of the United States has
fully doubled, of which 41.6 per cent,
was exported last year, while only
3.9 per cent, of our butter was
sent abroad. In July, 1879, the price o
finest cheese in the New York market
was down to five cents per pound,while
other grilles ranged from three and a
half to four cents. The consequence
was that English manufacturers could
not compete with us, and a large number
were driven out of the business, being
obliged to sell their cows, etc., to meet
their obligations. Up to about four
years ago the trade of New York de¬
pended upon the English cables for the
ruling price, but since then the boards
of trade throughout this country have
become so thoroughly organized that
the business now centers in New York
city, which makes the price daily tor
the whole world.
The best cheese are made in June and
September, the latter for winter stock.
It may not be out of place in this con¬
nection to give the comparative number
of milch cows in this country and the
| principal Europe. Tnese agricultural statistics countries last of
are up to
December, and as late as any we know
ol:
In Germany 8,961 221
In France.., 5,.>13,765
In Great Britain and Ireland.. 3,788,766
In Sweden.................... 1,356,576
In United States, about.......13,000,000
j
“ A man recently died in New Orleans
from eating matches,” says the Wash
ington Capital. We presume eating
matches may be as fatal as starving or
walking matches.
Cruelty to any living creature shows a
bad heart. The boy who delights in
torturing a wasp with a pin will surely
come to some bad end if the wasp has a
air show in its business movements.