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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.