Newspaper Page Text
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ttiMtsmlk Htcotdi ) '4
VOL. I.
JOHN a Til SYCKEL & CO.,
Wholesale and Retail Dealers in
CROCKERY,
GLASSWARE f
Bouse Furnishing Goods
Tin-Plate,
Stoves,
Hardware,
&c..
xammennuBs o»
TINWARE:
No. 116 Third Street
1
_MACO N, 04. _
OARHART & CURD,
DEALERS IK
Hardware, Iron & Steel !
WOODEN WARE,
Carriage Material,
Cotton Gins,
Circular Saws,
SCALES,
is:
PAINTS, OILS, &c.
NTnenu. On
U. J PAVANT. J. 8 W OP, Jit
DAYAN! & WOOD,
1 r i
114 Street (
Savannah, Georgia
Special attention given to sale ol
COTTON,RICE& NAVAL STORES
AOKsrra roa
DRAKE’S COTTON TIES.
Css*- advances made on consignments.
SID.A. PUGHSLEY. Ji.
A8ENT AND SALESMAN,
— WITH—
I. L. FALK & CO.,
%
CLOTHIERS,
425 and 427 Broome St., New York,
Cor. Congress and Whittaker Streets,
SAVANNAH, GA.
A. J. BRADD Y & SO N
Wrigtitsviuje, Ga
BLACKSMITH SHOP.
A epfcialty , of Plantation Work.
Buggies, Wagons,
etc., made and repaired.
, . „ ,. ,
A. J. BRADDY & PON,
Wrichisville, Ga.
SMITH’S HOTEI
W. J. M. SMITH, Agent.
Wrlglitsrllie, Georgia.
public with the finest the market aBnrds. Tht
highest market prices paid for country produce
John A. Shivers & Son,
Tennhxe, Ga.,
Are now prepared to build, repsir and
overhaul
Carriages, Baggies, Wagons, ic.
Wa also make a specialty oi Ono
Horse Wsgons.
WRIGHTSVILLE, GA., SATURDAY, APRIL 9, 1881.
DRUG
J. W. BRINSON &
Wrjghtsviile, DRUGGISTS,
Have on hand a complete stock of
ana ali other ait Wes usually kept in a
Firmt- Class
Drug Store
Which they ate sellmg at prices to suit
times, and are prepare,1 to fill all orders am
prescriptions on the shortest possible notice.
Dr. J. W. BRINSON continues to prao
tico his profession in its various brauces.
OfUce at the Drug; Store.
W. B. MELL & CO.,
Wholesale n:;d retail dealers in
SADDLES, BRIDLES, HARNESS,
Rubber and Readier
BELTING AND PACKING,
French and American Call Sfeina, Sole, Har¬
ness, Bridle and Patent Leather,
WHIPS and SADHIJSRY WARE
TRUNKS, VALISES,
Market Square, Saronnah, da
Orders bv mail nromntlv attended to.
A. M. MATHIS,
'Ienniu-e, Ga.,
Horse-Shoeing a Specialty,
All work Intrusted to my care wifi roceivi
prompt attention. Chaiyes reasonably aui!
satisfaction gu arante ed in ever y insta nce
Miss Anna E, McWhorter,
Wrightsviu-k, Ga.,
Koeps on hand a nice selection of
Millinery and Fancy Goods
suen as
LADIES’ HATS RIBBONS,
FLOWERS and TRIMMINGS
In endless variety; uIbo a nice assortment o,
latest patterns, etc., all for sale as cheap ri
the cheapest. Iam also prepared P'out, fl
and make dresses at short notice. Call on
before purchaeing elsewhere._
3. T. & B. J. DENT,
Bight miles west o‘ Wrightsvi lo, Ga.
Keep constantly on h nd a fine assortment
ol Pure
Liquors, Brandies, Wines, Ales, Laijer.
Etc., etc.; also Tobacco, Cigars, Candies,
Pickles, Oysters, Sardines, ami a
lull lino ol latniiy
GROCERIES!
All ol which we will sell at m-ide figures
Give us a Dial, llespecttully,
J. T. & B. J. DENT.
HUMOR OF THE DAT.
A man bom at sea cannot be proud of
his native land.
The business of this world is steered
by the tillers of the soil.
Three periods of life: Youth
mumps; middle age, bumps; old age,
dumps.
A sick man is considered out of
danger when the doctor discontinues
his visits.
A lady friend says that bachelors are
like a batch of biscuits, good enough
after they are mixed.
The ordinary life of a locomotive is
thirty years. Possibly it would live
longer if it didn’t smoke.
Young ______, people are __ always ready , to
adopt the “latest wrinkle.” It is the
Gen. Clingman, of North Carolina,
Ka .y s living is so cheap in that state that
^ more economical to feed a man than
.
“ It is harder to get ahead in this
I world,” said Clorinda’s young man, an
her father assisted him out of the door
with his boot, “ than it is to get a
foot.”
“Don’t yon think,” said a husband,
soon aB tbe y are married,” was the quick
reply.
Gladstone goes to church with a pin
holding his shirt cuffs together in place
of a button, but if all waited for buttons
there would be no sermons. Hang a
statesman who can’t make a shingle nail
answej for a suspender button.— Detroit
fr *.e Press.
__
Mixed stuffs, in which the colors are
blended with no apparent desitm, * are
ne w and becoming.
My Rights.
Yes, God has made me a wonim,
And I am content to be •
Just what He meant, not reaching out
For other things, since He
: Who knows me best and loves me most has
dersd this for me.
A woman, to live my life out
In quiet womanly ways,
Hearing the far-off battle,
Seeing as through a hare
The crowding, struggling world of men
through their busy days.
I am not strong nor valiant,
I would not join the fight
Or jostle with crowds in the highways
To sully my garments white;
But I have rights as a woman, and here I clai m
my right.
The right of a rose to bloom
In its own sweet, separate way,
With none to question the perfumed pink
And not to utter a nay
If it reaches a root or points a thorn, as even a
rose tree may.
The right oftho lady-birch to grow,
To glow as the Lord shall please,
By never a sturdy oak rebuked,
Denied nor sun nor breeze,
For all its pliant slenderness, kin to the stronger
trees.
The right to a lii'o of my own~
Not merely a oasual bit
Of somebody eise’s life, flung out
That taking hold of it,
I may stand as a cipher does after a uuinera
writ.
The right to gather and glean
Wlrnt food I need and can
From the garnered store of knowledge
Which man has heaped for man.
Taking with freo hands freely and after an
ordered plan.
The right—ah, best and swcotost 1—
To stand all dismayed
Whenever sorrow or want of sin
Call for a woman’s aid,
With none to cavil or question, by never a look
gainsaid.
I do not ask for a ballot;
Though very life were at stake,
I would beg for the nobler justico
That men for manhood’s sake
Should give ungrudgingly, nor withold till I
must fight and take.
Tho fleet foot and tho feeble foot
Both seek the solf-saroo gcsl, R3>
Tho weakest soldier’s namo is writ
On the great anuy-roll,
And God, who made man’s body strong, made
too the woman’s soul.
—Susan Coolidrje.
LOLA.
THE THE story story OF or AN »v ocF*K ocean voyage.
I was homeward-bound from one of
my various excursions across the ocean,
by which I had for many years beguiled
the tedium of my monotonous bachelor
existence, and having settled my belong
ings in my stateroom, I turned out to take
a survey of my fellow-passengers. It was
autumn and the last of the summer tour
ists were returning, and both saloons
and decks wero crowded with animated
groups. Every one seemed cheerful am
gay, and already several embryo flirta
tions could be detected among the young
people, of whom the passengers wer<
largely composed. Being an outside
myself, such traveling alone, and having left
tender pursuits lar back in th -
vagueness of the past, I amused mysel*'
with merely watching and listening, and
it is perhaps not surprising that I sooli
found myself wearied. It was for tin.
most part such senseless chatter, such
arrant frivolity that I heard, such cod
scious posing and airy fluttering that I
saw. 01 course after a while I found ex >
ceptions to this tendency, but the quiet
and sensible people on board, as usual,
occupied the background.
Failing to find myself interested then
in these surroundings, I began a leis
urely inspection of the vessel, wandering
about its nooks and crannies, and famil
lanzing myself with my little island
home. And so strolling along, I came
upon a small, quiet, gray-clad figure
seated alone and looking wistfully over
the waters. As she was quite unconscious
of my proximity, I stepped a few paces
off and examined her closely. She looked
almost a child, so small and slight she
was, and yet one would not have dared
to treat her as a child. There was a self
reliance and serenity about her entirely
unchildlike, but, all the same, very
pretty to see. Her complexion was dark
and very rich, and her cheeks charm
mgly rounded and curved, and her
owf’ a.SL* S y awar ~’ were largest
remembere ^ to
. i
1 !0 uncom
,v> « 8ize at , when . ?® me
'
rl™! ed i h !' aD | d , sl ? f e turnedthem , by them ,
hJa a 8trang ® as f ict T
w g ’
him/nnim a ,L u ian *y far from
RclTf j„ H T® 8 Spanish—T
* JL £r^ e an d th
wb * C £ 7 she looked , , i
. mo P conviction that she
. lf , i-P e “ e «****■
,/J’ ,P e ed b Y th® fact that she
wfj , tongue , After that
; one
long, steady glance, she turned her face
away agara and I heard her sigh gently,
After a moments hesitation I moved just
a step nearer and addressed her in her
™v»!^ Uage ’ a8kiDg lf ltwa8herfirst
HNn She turned with -,v a swift impulsive .
smile and looked at me again. The groat
eyes were radiait with pleasure, and,
with an exquisite utterance that made my
answer^fearlesslv answerea fearlessly ^d and naturally natural!wtlm’t that !h she
j was and, going indeed, to America for the first time,
; was for the first time at sea.
! “ You will be seasick almost certainly,
i then,” I said. “Are you prepared for
that?”
hoped “Oh, yes,” she answered. “I have
that perhaps I might not be, but I
am There prepared for anything.”
tones that was piqued a patient resolution in her
cially she presently my informed curiosity, espe
; as me she
| was all alone and going simply under the
( Captain's care. She was full of joy at
] meeting some one who spoke her lan¬
i guage, and constantly intermingled with
her talk little ejaculatory expressions of
thanks, which seemed to have no
application beside the general one
of my knowing Spanish.
W hen the bell sounded for dinner, I
took her down. My arm, which was
rather timidly offered, being promptly
and gratefully accepted. After that I
used to seek her always before meals
and take her in with me, and once, when
something late, I detained me and I was a little
found her waiting for me. I think
thepeople of the vessel tliougfc that we
were alluded companions from the start, and some
me to her once as my daughter,
und although I hastily corrected this, I
willingly traveling let it be supposed that she was
under my care. In the sim¬
plest and most natural fashion she
learned to defer to me and lean on my
decisions, and, by-and-bye, to confide in
me.
It was one evening that we had been
sitting together a long time, idly talking
about the weather and the ship, and
wondering fair, how long we should have it
so when she turned to me, in her
soft Spanish speech, that loses so incal¬
culably by translation, and said :
“ I want you to tell me about vour
people and your home.”
I felt as if her little, soft, plump hand
had dealt a blow upon my bare heart;
but I answered, simply:
“ I have no home, and my people arc
all dead or gone from me—that is, my
parents and sisters and brothers, for I
never had a wife or a child, which is
what you meant, perhaps.”
“ Yes ; I meant that. It is so sad. I
thought, perhaps, you might have a
daughter kind.” like me, and that made you so
“ No, I have no daughter,” I said
slowly; “though I am, in truth, old
enough to he your father.”
“ And you have never loved any one—
never wanted to be married to some one
who was good and beautiful and kind ?
How strange f ”
These questions were scarcely marked
by any interrogative accent. Sho seemed
to he merely stating them as facts, with
a gentle reluctance. But, though she
expected no answer from me, I was irre¬
sistibly prompted to confession.
“Yes, Lola,” I said, “I knew some
one lille tllat once > ftn<11 lovf>(1 her. But
it was long ago, and we were parted.”
“Oh, why did you part?” she said
passionately. thing “ Why did you suffer anv
to part you ? Was she not willing
to give up all, to leave homo and friends
and country and everything to follow
love, as I have done ?”
Urged on by a deep excitement, she
had revealed her secret, and I half feared
she would repent and try to retract it.
but she did not. She seemed cither
to be unconscious that anything had been
divulged, or unconscious of the fact
that I had not known it all the time,
“You do well,” I said, fervently. “It
is worth the sacrifice. God grant vou
do not repent it.”
“ I have no fear,” she said, confidently,
“Fear could not live in my heart, which
holds a perfect love.”
Then, so simply and naturally, she
told me her story. She had become en
gaged to a young American sent out to
Spain as agent for some New York busi
ness firm, and he had gone home a few
months ago, expecting to return; but
his superiors had made other arrange
ments, and he had written that although
he would be stationary in New York
thereafter, he was coming back to many
her and bring her to her home in the
new world. At the time set for his ar
rival, however, he had sent a letter in
stead, saying an attack of illness pre¬
vented his coming, but he was now con
valescent, though the physicians said he
must not take the voyage for some time,
“When I got that letter,” said Lola,
“ I could do nothing but cry and fret for
the first two or three days. I did not eat
with, or sleep, and my aunt, whom I lived
said I would die, and was very
hard and cross. I was utterly wretched,
until ono night as I lay thinking it all
over I resolved that I would go to him.
Fie had once, half-hesitatingly, suggested
it, saying it would save so much expense,
ind he is not at all well off; but it had
frightened me so that he gavo it up, say
ing be would spend all ho had, sooner
than give me the anxiety and trouble of
such a voyage. But now—now that ho
was ill and alone-I could think no
Jogger and all of I thought my dread; of indeed, was to it go was to gone, him,
and comfort and nurse and take care
him. feo I got my aunt’s consent, though
would not give it at first, and I took
the very next steamer. And see how
easy and pleasant it has been! He need
ha T5 afraid for me; but, then,
he could not know, and neither could I,
that I should find you!”
Her ardent tone and look, as she said
these last words, thrilled me strangely.
It was a spontaneous, affectionate out
burst that pained while it caressed me.
And beside my own personal feeling, a
dreadful misgiving about her weighed
on my heart. She was so confident, so
full of trust—what if she should be de
j ceived in this man ? What if the attack
] ft of illness A? d were be£m a mere 1 subterfuge ed ? Such
‘ tU
! hot at the mere suggestion. r t I asked her
lover’s name, but it was unknown to me,
though the name of tho house he repre¬
sented was familiar. But that went for
nothing ter, as to the man’s personal charac¬
and the fear that this might be
treacherous made me sick with dread.
What would be the end, if my appre¬
hensions proved correct ? What would
become of the poor child? A wild
thought suggested itself. It was a
strange deep mixture of deep pity for her and
joy, tempered with pain and yet
sweet with hope, for myself
At last the voyage was over, and the
realization of this fact made me unac¬
countably sad. For Lola was dearer to
illness, me every which day. she In her little attacks of
had not altogether
escaped, I had carried her about in my
arms, like a child, and she had leaned
on me and looked up to me with a child¬
ish confidence and trust that was un
speakably bachelor sweet to the lonely old
whose attitude toward this
young girl had seemed to touch his age
and world-weariness with a magic wand
that had made them drop from him like
a garment.
Lola and I stood together on deck, all
for our bags and parcels strapped and ready
she moving. She had not told her lover
not was coining, her. and of course he would
meet I reproached her for not
having luctance telegraphed, feeling a strange re¬
to go and hunt him up; but she
answered simply that she could not af¬
ford it. All her money was reqi uired for
the voyage, and, “Besides,” sh e added,
to quickly, give blushing like a rose, “I wanted
him the joy of the surprise.”
“And if,” I said, reluctantly, “if he
should not be here, or anything, have
you not money to return ?”
“ But he is bound to be here; nothing
like that could happen. And if he were
away I should wait till he returned. I
have no money to go home if I should
want to, but there’s not much danger of
my wanting.”
Heavens I what trust, what exquisite
And feeling, what beautiful belief in love!
if he should prove unworthy!
When we stepped ashore, Lola and I
got into a carnage, which I ordered to
take ns to a hotel. She let me arrange
everything just as I chose, and we had
agreed to go together to the hotel, and
then I was ta find her lover and send
him to her.
parlor, and then, as it was early morning,
I ordered a dainty breakfast there and we
ate it tete-a-tete. I don’t think either
had - much appetite, though I taxed my
nuts to the uttermost on the menu anil
had even given a lavish order for flowers.
I tried to think of everything that
could give her pleasure, for I
felt almost certain of a impending
calamity and I looked again and
again into her sweet face trying to
fix its look of happiness in my mind.
And she was happy! Her voice was joy¬
ous as a lark’s and her face as radiant as
day. I would fain have lingered a while
to bask in this bright sunshine, but she
I was should feverishly be impatient think and eager that
gone. I she grudged
me the boon of seeing him first, for she
made me promise that I would not tell
him of her presence, hut bring him bacR
with mo under some pretext if I fonn
him well, and return and take her to hir
if he was ill. In either event, sho had
settled it in her mind that they were tv
be married that very day.
When I was ready to go I went up to
her and took her hands in mine. “Lola,”
I said, “whatever lies before you,
whether joy or sorrow, remember that
you have me always for your friend. You
must rely npon me as you would upon
your”—I paused and then said—“father.”
It was an effort, but I forced myself to
say it. Then, before leaving, I stooped
and kissed her sweet lips. It was tho
first time and would probably be the last
and I valued it as people do value what
can come to them but once.
When I reached the house, the address
of which Lola had given me, I inquired
for her lover—he was gone. The woman
who kept the house could give no infor
mation except that she thought he had
gone West.
I was unfeignedly distressed. In that
moment I rose above self and thought
only of Lola. How shall I describe the
scene that followed my announcement to
the little creature ? Tho heart-rending
grief, tho wild denial of her lover’s
faithlessness! She utterly refused to
believe it. She would far sooner, she
said, think that he was dead. After her
first outburst of passionate grief was
over, she calmed herself and said, stand
ing np: “I must go away; ' I must not
stay here.”
The sight of her agony almost killed
me.
“ Oh, Lola,” I said, “ where 7”
She flung herself back on the lounge
with a motion of utter despair. I went
to her and threw myself on my knees
beside her and folded both her tremb
ling hands in mine.
“ Lola, bo brave,” Isaid. “Face the
worst. It is a bitter thing to say, but I
believe he is false to you. I believe the
illness was a feint, and I believe he is
willfully hard lost to you. My little darling,
it is I know, but not so bad as if you
had married him and found it out after
ward. But do not despair. I will not
leave you, and you shall tell me just what
you would have me do. I will take you *
back «I to Spain if you want to go.”
cannot! I could not bear it! And
I have no money.”
“Never mind that ” I said. “I have
plenty, would give more—far life more than I want. I
my to oomfort you. I
will go now, if you say so. and take oas- P
j i gage on could the nextreturning ship ”
<<l not bear it. I never will there° zo
back,” she said; “ no one loves me
1 8111 only a useless little burden ’ 111RVCr
will g0 back 1”
NO. 47.
“Then stay,” I said, passionately—
“stay with me. Let me love and com¬
fort you. Stay with me always, Lola.
No one can love you as I will.”
At first I think she did not understand
my meaning, but when she did she
wrenched her hands from mine and
sprang to the middle of the room.
“ How can you? How can you be so
cruel ?” she said. “ Doron think I could
ever love any one else after having given
my love to him ? No; I have loved him
only—I worthy have given him all my love—and
“Lola, or unworthy, he has it still.”
my little child,” I said, “you
must face the truth. You cannot live
in this strange country all alone. You
have neither friends nor money. You
cannot work, and if you could you must
not be alone. I cannot help you and
maintain you unless yon take my name
and occupy the honorable position of
my wife. But I will not force it on you.
For the present I will find some safe place
to put you in, and we will see what
mu be done. At all events, whether you
can love me or not, I love yon and will
nlwayR love you.”
“Do you love me?” she said, facing
me and speaking with eager vehemence.
“ Oh, I do, I do!” Isaid.
“ Then find him for me!”
I could not speak at once. For one
moment a wild hope had budded in my
breast, and it would not die without a
struggle. Then I looked at her and
said, calmly:
“ I will try. I will do my utmost. I
will give it my most conscientious ef¬
forts. But, Lola, if I fail ? ”
“ If you fail to find him,” she said,
“ or if you find him to be false, then I
will give you the reward you wish. I ,
will many you.”
It was not a rapturous consent, but I
fQUnd a wonderful satisfaction in it,
despite my fond sympathy for her. I
was not being selfishly happy part,' at her ex¬
pense, for, on my own I entirely
believed in her lover’s treacherousness,
though there was nothing that could go
for real proof. It was a foregone con¬
clusion with me, and it was, therefore,
only its issue I rejoiced at.
In my present state of feeling it was
easy to fall into hopeful dreams of the
future ; it was impossible not to. And
now, as sho sat meekly on the sofa, after
all her passionate struggles were over, I
felt convinced that, if I could win her
hand in the way we had agreed upon, I
could also, with time, win her pure
heart for my own. It was a glorious
goal. Something to live for, something
to work and struggle for. My life and
utmost energies had found the incentive
they had lacked so long.
We fell now into a composed and
quiet talk, and she listened patiently
while I unfolded my plans for her. But
there rested on her lovely face such a
,
look of unutterable sorrow that I had to
turn my eyes away. How blessed it
would be to smooth'away this look—to
recall the gay vivacity of my own bright
Lola! Wliat a happy task ! In spite of
all, I felt I should succeed.
A long silence had fallen upon us
both. The room was warm, and I had
set open the door leading into the hall.
I was glad of an excuse to do so, as it
took away some of tho air of privacy
which I feared she might find irksome.
She did not seem to notice mv action,
but sat facing the door, with her drooped
eyes resting on the little hands clasped
in her lap. Presently a footstep was
heard coming along the hall, and she
listlessly looked np. As she did so,
tho light of a great, ecstatic joy rushed
over her face. She sprang to her feet,
with the glad cry:
“ Richard!” and flung herself into his
arms. He clasped her tight to his heart,
and drew her into the room. Was he
true or false ? I knew that I need only
see his face to tell. In that moment of
extreme excitement he would forget to
don his mask. He stooped above her
and covered her neck and lace with
kisses. Then, after that moment’s rap
ture, ho looked at jne. It was a noble
face—honest, manly and kind,
I ought to have been glad, but I heard
myself groan.
I would have left tho room, but Lola
detained me, telling her lover in en
thnsiastic terms how kind I had been,
and begging him to thank me, which he
did in such terms as only a good and
honorable man could have used. I had
to listen, too, to his explanation. He
had, indeed, gone West, having accepted
a promising appointment which would
give him permanent aud remunerative
there, employment. Having settled matters
he had obtained leave, and was
now on his way to Spain and Lola. It
'was all as clear as day.
That very evening they were married.
I was the only witness besides the cler
gyman, and I never will forget tho radi
ance of her face as I watched it during
the service. I rather feared her joy
might be dimmed by some remember
ing thought of me, but it was not so.
I don’t think sho ever comprehended
my feeling for her, and, of course, it
pleased her to fancy now that it had
been The chiefly pity for her loneliness.
service ended, there remained
nothing but to take Lola to a jeweler’s
shop near-by and let her choose a pres
ent from me, which she munificently
paid for with indeed, a kiss, the last!
It was,
“Do you realize it, Angelica,”
whispered Clarence to his betrothed;
“ only two weeks more and we will be
one; but, remember, darling, I am to
be that one.” And then the angelic
creature touchingly silently warbled: stole to "Oh, the piano
and to he
Nothing!’! ** g
---- — -----
j | He soul who is can the P lant best physician. coura g° in tho
man