Newspaper Page Text
ito ---——--“- ; -----. tecor&ft: ^ mmmm ——
Urifl Msmllf 4
YOL. II.
JflHH C. 7AH SYCKEL i
Wholesale and Retail Dealers in
CROCKERY,
Rouse Furnishing Goods
TinrPlate,
Stoves,
Hardware,
<fcc., &o.
xuronen am or
TINWARE.
tto. 116 Third Street,
MACON. GA.
Car HART & CURD,
MtiLEES IK
Y
Hardware, Iron & Steel.
f WOODENWARE,
Carriage Material,
Cotton Cine,
Circular Saws,
SCALES,
d
PAINTS, OILS, &c.
Mncnn. an
R. J. DAVANT. j . s. wood, jxt
DAY ANT & WOOD,
1X4 Bay Street.
Savannah, Georgia,
Special attention given to sale ol
RICE & NAVAL SMS
AO ENTS FOR
DRAKES COTTON TIES.
Cash ad- ".noes made on eOTnypmrnntK.
SID. A. PUGHSLEY, Jr.
AGENT AND SALESMAN,
—WITH—
I. L. FALK & CO.. **
CLOTHIERS,
427 Broome St., New !
425 and York,
Cor. Congress and Whittaker Streets,
SAVANNAH, GA.
A. J. BRADDY & SON |
WRiGirrsviLLE, Ga. [
BLACKSMITH SHOP. |
i
A specialty ol Plantation Work. Wagons,
Buggies, etc., made and repaired.
Bows and Plow-Stocks of all kinds, and
every kind of Wood and iron Work done by
A. J. BRADDY & SON,
Wriehtsville, Ga.
SMITH’S HOTEL,
W. J. M. SMITH, Agent.
WrlghtsvIHe, Georgia,
Having lately undergone thorough repairs,
this Hotel is prepared to accommodate the
public with the finest the market affords. The
hjghest mar ket prices paid for country produce
John A. Shivers & Son,
Tennille, Ga.,
Are now prepared overhaul to build, repair and
Carriages, Buggles,Wae.ons, &g.
We also make a specialty ol One
Boris Wagons,
WRIGHTSVILLE, GA., SATURDAY, MAY 21, 1881.
j DRUG
J- W. BRINSON &
Wrlghtsvflle, DEMISTS,
Georgia
Have on hand a complete stock of Druei
and ui other artlolw usually kept in a
Plrwt-OlABS
Drug Store 3
Which tnoy are selling at prices to suit tin
times, and aro prepared to fill all orders ant
prescriptions on the shortest possible notice.
D f: W. BRINSON continues to prao
tioo . his profession
in its various bratices.
Office at the Drag Store.
W. B. MELL & CO,
Wholesale and retail dealers in
sms, BRIDLES, HARNESS,
Rubber and .Leather
BELTING AND PACKING,
Frouoh and American Call Skins, Solo, Har
ntm, Bridle and Patent Leather,
WHIPS and SADDLERY WARE,
TRUNKS, VALISES,
Market Square, Savannah, Gs
Orders by mall promptly atton.W1 u».
A. M. MATHIS,
Tennii.i.k, Ga.,
iliriill
Horse-Shoeing a Specialty,
All work Intrusted to my oare will receive
prompt attention. Charges reasonable and
SHtisiactioi) guaranteed in every instance.
Miss Anna R. McWhorter,
WRIGIlT8Vn.LE, GA.,
Keeps on hand a moo selection of
SUCIf AS
LADIES’ HATS, RIBBONS,
FLOWERS and TRIMMINGS.
In endioBB variety; also a nioe assortment oi
latest patterns, etc., all for sale as cheap tt
the cheapeBt. I am also prepared O' out, Hi
and make dresses at short notice. Gall on im
before purchasing elsewhere.
J. T. & B. 3 . DENT,
Eight miles west o f Wrigbtsville, Ga.
Keep constantly on h ml a fine assortmem
ol Pure
Liquors, Brandies, Wines, Ales, Lager,
Etc., etc.; also Tobaoeo, Cigars, Candies,
Pickles, Oysters, Sardines, and a
lull line ol lamily
GROCERIES!
All ol which we will sell at inside figure*
Give us a trial. Reepectlully,
J. T. & B. J. DENT.
Fernando Wood’s Joke on Henry Clay.
Henry Clay took a fancy to Fernando
Wood, and never lost an opportunity of
paying him personal attention. One
day, while Clay was walking with him
they passed a shop where men were
manufacturing cigars. Clay expressed
surprise at the dexterity of the workmen,
and said that it must require years o
experience to do the work with such
apparent ease. “ Oh, no,” Mr. Wood re
plied, “ they merely cut off a piece o
the tobacco, roll some of the dry part in
their hands, then wrap it up, and the
whole thing is done. Any person can
make a cigar.”
‘ ‘ If you think so,” said Clay, “ per¬
haps you had better try.”
The young Congressman sat down,
took a knife and a leaf of tobacco, and
with a dexterous cut prepared his wrap¬
per. He then broke the filling to the
proper size, rolled it all up together,
twisted the small, symmetrical pigtail
at the end, cut off the top, and handed
the well-made cigar to the Kentucky
Senator.
Clay was amazed. Wood had become
a skillful cigar maker during the cholera
season, while in the tobacco trade. The
shopkeeper 6tared with wonder at this
new congressional accomplishment. The
j >kfi ran the rounds of Congress, and
was frequently told at Clay’s expense.
The compositor who set up a line
from Bums, “Then gently skin thy
brother man,” knew more about Wall
street than be did about poetry.
The History of Life.
saw an infant in its mother’s arms,
And left it sleeping.
Years passed—I saw a girl with woman’s
charms,
In sorrow weeping.
Years passed—I saw a mother with hor child,
And o’er it languish.
Years brought me back—yet through her tears
she smiled,
In deepor anguish.
I loft her—years had vanished—I returned,
And stood beforo her ;
A lamp beside tho childless widow burned.
Grief’s mantlo o’er her.
In tears I found her whom I loft in tears,
On God relying;
And I returned in after years,
And found her dying.
An infant first, and then a maiden fair—
A wife, a mother—
And then a childless widow in despair—
Thus met a brother. *
And thus we meet on earth, and thus wo part,
To meet, oh, never !
Till death beholds tho spirit leave the heart,
To live forever.
TOM BOLLIVAR’S WIFE.
Somebody knocked at tlie door. And
such a night as it was!—the snow and
the wind making it dreadful to think of
while you sat beside a roaring fire, let
alone being out on the dismal flat where
the little house braved the fury of the
elemental war. It was quiet inside, the
loudest sound being the moan of the
wind and the hiss of the feathery snow¬
flakes falling down the wide mouthed
chimney to the flaring logs below.
A woman was sitting by those flaring
logs, mending a little child’s frock. The
six lit le shoes, in various worn stages,
placed before the fire, told a story that
oftentimes louder noises than the moan
of the wind and the hiss of lost snow¬
flakes on the fire disturbed tlie room.
Sitting there sewing, and with a woman’s
mind far away from w T hat she was busy
at, and yet tied all the stronger here by
reason of her wandering .thoughts, the
woman started—somebody knocked at
the door.
She arose hurriedly, suppressing a
cry, and unlocked and flung the door
open. A man’s voice in the snowy dark¬
ness said, harshly:
‘ ‘ Where do Tom Bollivar’s wife live at
—here?”
“Yes,” she answered, her hand upon
her heart, her eyes peering out in the
night; “I am Tom Bollivar’s wife;
what do you want of me ?”
“Lass, will you ask me in? I’ve
news of Tom.”
“Yon have I Come in, sailor, and
tell me what you know.”
Into the light and warmth stepped a
rough, brawny fellow, dressed in tlie
slipshod manner of a sailor upon shore.
Ho shook the snow from his shaggy
coat and his beard. Slapping his
slouch hat upon his knee, and looking
fiercely down into the little woman’s
face all the time, as though to intimi¬
date her. She returned the look with
an odd expression—not frightened, but
startled, bewildered—the look that had
come to her face when she opened the
door and peered out at the man; then
from the bewildered look another came,
one of understanding, comprehension,
and she said to him, calmly:
“ Sit by the fire ; you must be chilled
through this gruesome night.”
The startled look seemed to have
flown from her face to his, but he said,
more harshly:
“ I gm chilled through, Tom Bollivar’s
wife, and that ain’t no lie, ’cordin’ to
Scripter. Are ye all alone here, wo¬
man ?” and glanced about him.
“ No,” sho said, pointing to the six
worn little shoes. The man looked at
them, and then turned his face away
from her for an instant.
“ Now, sailor,” she said, “ what’s this
great news o’ yours ?’’
" Ain’t ye afeard o’ me, ye a lone
woman ?”
Bosh! Tell me the news!”
Tom Bollivar’s wife, ye flustrate me.
But it’s right, ye ain’t afeard o’ me—
why should ye be? I—I kinder thought
ye might be, though. But—I’m a rough
sailor, and—”
“Oh, pshaw! hurry up with the
news.”
“ I—I don’t know how to commence
the yam, wi’ you a settin’ there so un
ekeered.”
“Oh, it is a yarn, eh? Well, wait
sailor, till I put some wood on the fire
-then fire away.”
She put the wood on, sat down on tho
t ool in the red light of the blaze and
took up the little frock again.
“ Now,” she said, “ I’m ready.”
The man had his mouth open. Despite
his bronzed akin and tho file from the
*
sogs, something else sent that flush over
his face that now suffused it.
“ Be’n’t ye a little narvous, anyways ?
he asked.
“Oh, my, no; not at all! I’m steady
enough to count the threads while I
titch this band of our Susy’s frock!
Nervous! Me ? Oh, dear! ”
“ Tom Bollivar’s wife, I’ve that to tel
as’ll not make ye brag o’ bein’ steady
Tom Bollivar’s been gone three year
and over, eh?”
“ If you know it, sailor, what do you
ask mo for ? Don’t you suppose I can
count the months that make three
years ?”
“ When did ye hear from Tom last?”
He gulped, and his eyes were wrathy.
“ Six months ago,” she said, easily ;
“he was sailing for Madagascar, and
hadn’t time to say much.”
“ Tom Bollivar’s wife,” said the man,
solemnly, and suppressing his strange
anger, “ye’ll not be likely to hear from
him agin’ in a hurry; he wont wrHi
soon.”
“ I expect not. There ain’t much use
o’ him writing, anyway, seeing I can’t
answer, not knowing if I’d send my
letters to sea that they’d find him.”
“ Lass, he’ll never write again no
more. Tom won’t. There now!”
“ That’s a pity for Tom,” she said,
biting off her thread, “for he always
likes to write a bit about the children.
Oh, dear!”
The man looked at her in blank
amazement.
“ Tom Bollivar’s wife, I think I’ll
commence that there yarn I promised.”
“Lor’, sailor ; you don’t mean to say
you ain’t begun yet ? What a tedious
one you can he, to be sure! Bless my
heart 1”
Again tlie man gulped and gritted his
teeth. He went on, madly:
“Ye know, six months ago, Tom he
sailed around Madagascar, don’t ye?
Well, I was along wi’ Tom, I was. Me
an’ him we was churns ; whatsomever he
done, that there done I; wheresomever
he went, theresomever went I; wlien
somever he writ to ye, I seen that there
letter, true as gospel. When he was
a-thinkin’ o’ ye, I knowed it. But there’a
storms at sea, lass- -oh, sich storms!
Why, this here storm outside is a baby
squall compared wi’ them there at sea,
wi’ creakin’, an’ groanin’, an’ cussin’, an’
orderin’, an’—there’s storms as makes ye
think o’ home an’ your wife an babbies,
an’ to look up in the face o’ the angry
sky an’ try to speer out tlie pityin’ face
o’ Jesus Christ as walked on the waters
an’ told them waves to be still; storms
as makes ye look up at that there sky
that seems to be figlitin’ wi’ the mad sea
that vises up to clinch wi’ it, an’ falls
back all shattered an’ broke; there’s
storms as makes a sailor’s heart cry for
the help o’ God for them as he loves,
even if the help don’t save his own life.
Who knowed more about storms nor me
an’ Tom Bollivar? We’d follered the
sea nigh on to twenty year, an’ never
separated. I can’t tell ye, for ye’ll feel
that bad.”
“ No, I won’t, sailor; upon my word
I won’t. I like it—I like to hear you
talk; it sounds old-fashioned.”
“ Old-fashioned ?”
“ Yes; Tom used to sit where you sit,
and I sitting in this blessed identical
spot, sewing as I do now, and he’d tell
his awful yarns and try to make me be¬
lieve them. You see, I don’t swallow
all I hear.”
“ Ye don’t think I’m a-deceivin’ yet
do ye ?”
“ I don’t think much about it, so you
needn’t have that in your noddle. Go
on, do; for mercy’s sake, what ails the
man ?”
Such a look as he gave her 1
“ Well, there comes a storm one day,
an’ the skipper he comes to us an’ says,
says lie, ‘ It’s all up wi’ us, as ye see.
Try to save yourselves.’ The ship had
sprung a leak, the whole side was stove
in on a rock, an’ tlie pumps was no use,
an’ we was a goin’ down, an’—oh, Tom
Bollivar’s wife, how kin I say it ?—your
husband he wouldn’t desart that there
ship as he knowed, man and boy, since
him an’ the ship was both young.”
“That’s right in him,” shiv said,
shaking her head and settling herself on
the stool, a light in her eyes, “ that’s
right in him. I wouldn’t own Tom
Bollivar if he’d iorsookhis work because
it got troublesome.”
“Yes—but, lass, Tom he was aboard
till the last two timbers hung together.
He wouldn’t go. He got tlie others off
an’ helped wi’ the cargo; but there he
staid; a lookin’ out in the direction of
his home, and a-thinkin’ o’ ye an’ the
babbies.”
“ True for you, sailor,” she said, her
lice tremulous and almost glad, “and
good for Tom Bollivar.”
“ But why don’t ye get flustrated!
Didn't yekcer nothin' ’bout Tom? Why
don’t ye get into a reg’lar terrer ?”
“ Oli, I’ll get all that way after a bit.”
Again that dreadful look at her.
“Then ye didn’t keer nothin’ for
Tom?”
“Now look here, sailor,” she said ^
“ you knew Tom powerful well, you say.
Didn’t Tom ever know of the time and
time again when I sat here all alone
through the night, after I’ve tucked the
children up in bed, and staid at the
window looking out at the raving storm,
thin-ring of my husband? Didn’t he
tvei know at such times that my heart
went away over the cruil sea hunting for
him—went further than the sea, up to
heaven to Him vhat holds the sea and
the storm in the hollow of his hand?
Did ho ever know how I treasured up
every hope, every dream of him, every
word he’d ever said—that I searched
the children’s faces day after day, see
ng his likeness there, so that I’d never
his looks and should know him
always, no matter when or how I met
him ? And didn’t he know how, when I
was timider for him than usual, and
wanted him more than usual, I’d
go to the children and cry: ‘ Babies,
babies, wake with mammy and pray
for daddy on the wild, wild seas?’
—and how I’d fix their hands,
and how we four would kneel down and
say ‘ Onr Father,’ and feel sure that tho
Lord know what we were asking for and
would answer our prayer! Didn’t Tom
ever know how I must have counted
days, then weeks, then months, and at
last years, wanting him, waiting, watch¬
ing for him, ever true in word and
thought? Couldn’t he tell you that he
guessed I loved all sailors for his sake,
and that I pitied lonely ones that came
to port here and who made friends with
me ? For I’ve gone to them and I’ve
said: ‘Cheer up, my lads ! I’m Tom Bol¬
livar’s wife, and he’s on the briny deep.
Let me help yon all I can; if you’re
sick or lonesome or want little jobs of
woman’s work done for you, why, come
to me. I’m Tom Bollivar’s wife and lie’s
on the briny deep!’ And how often
and often has this room been crowded
with sailor men! And how they’ve
kissed the children, in case they’d
pass Tom’s ship, they said, and
would seem to take the kisses
to him; or they’d kiss ’em be¬
cause they had little oues of then’ own
far away who must be looking out to sea
and thinking of their daddies. And I’ve
helped ’em all I could—indeed, indeed
I have; and me and the children, why,
we’ve gone down to see their ships off,
ami I’ve made the children wave their
hands and say ‘ Good-bye !’ right loud,
and the men have called, ‘ Three cheers
and a tiger for Tom Bollivar’s wife!’
and ' God care for the babies!’ And
I've done all this for lovo o’ Tom
And you don’t say that he ever thought
of that, only that I didn’t care for him.
If he didn’t know me without words,
then lie didn’t love me as I always
thought he did.”
And she wiped her eyes on the frock
she was mending. The man looked at
her for a minute, seemed to hold back
something he was about to say, put his
hands nervously in his pockets and
went on :
“Well, lass, yes, he knowed it. He
thought he knowed it for a truth, but—
and now comes the all-firedest awful
part o’ this here gospel-truth yarn.”
“ Yes, sailor.
“ Well—.now don’t ye cry out, an’ don’t
yo flop down—hut Tom Bollivar lie
won’t never, never come home no more.”
She smiled up in his face.
“ Why ?” she simply asked.
“Because—he’d drownded dead,” ho
replied.
“ I don’t believe it, sailor.”
“ But I was wi’ him all the time, I
orter know.”
“ Then why wasn’t you drowned, too ?
If yon thought so much of him as you
say, why didn’t you drown trying to save
him, if notliing else ?”
“ I-I well, I was washed ashore. But
poor Tom oh, lor’! poor Tom, lie’s
“Oh dear! if that’s ,, the case. I . might ...
^ ^ a
widow U '“ leather ”
think so. Well-why don’t
ye get flustrated, Widder Bollivar?”
cried the man, aghast; “yc promised
that, anyways.” 1
“I’ll get a’ that I way after .. awhile, ,
sailor ”
“ But I tell ye, Tom Bollivar ain’t
no more; he’s drowned dead, him that
was your husband.”
“ Well, I can’t help it, can I ? I
didn’t drowu him, did I? I’m a widow,
ain’t I ? Now I’ll tell you what I think
about it. You see, sailor, I can’t live
i :
here all alone, now, can I ?”
i “What do ye mean, Widder Bollivar?”
NO. 1.
“ That’s it—that's right—I’m Widow
Bollivar. But I musn’t be Widow Bol¬
livar all my life, so I must get married.”
“Married! My God! woman, your
husband he ain’t cold yet.”
“ I can’t wait until I’m cold because
you say he ain’t quite cold yet, can I ?”
“Eo ye mean to say ye don’t love
him ?”
! “ It would be foolish to love a dead
man and yet marry a live one.”
“ Who—who’ll have ye for a wife when
they knows all I knows ? Widder, I’ll
tell the whole town, I’ll tell the whole
world, i'll p ct y' in the ‘ log ’—I mean
the papers,”
“ Bosh, sailor — that’s nonsense.
Who’ll have me ? Why, you will, sailor,
I knew you will.”
“ Git cut o’ my way, Tom Bollivar’s
wife. Me have you? Lord! I thought
I’d find you crazy mad at the idee o
him bein’ dead and layin’ rollin’ around
wi’ the sharks an’ sich in Davy Jones's
locker. An’ now to hear ye ? Oh,
woman, woman, ye don’t know what
ye’ve done ! I’ll go back to my ship ;
I’ll hate all women for your sake; I’ll
never tell who I—”
“ Sailor, you shall have me now.”
Let me out o’ this here b--house.’’
: Sailor, I’ll lock the door. You shall
not leave this room till you say you’ll
have me for your lawful wedded wife.”
“Let me out! I’ll never say sich
words to yon. Woman, you’re a bad
lot, that’s what ye are—a bad, ungodly,
wicions ereetur. Yo’ve lied to me about
lovin’ your husband so ye’d get me to
marry ye ; ye’ve saw so mauy sailors, an’
thinks we're all green alike. I don’t be¬
lieve ye ever thought o’ your husband ;
I don’t believe even the babbies thought
o’ their poor deceived father—”
“Not of their deceived father, sailor,”
she said, coming toward him, the tears
raining clown her cheeks, her lips smil¬
ing ; “but their father, who must
always believe me to he true and loving
—their father I saw this blessed night.”
“Who—who—their father—this night?
Where is he ?—where is the—? ”
She threw herself upon his breast,
her arms clasped wildly about him :
“Here, here,” she cried, rapturously,
“ here is their father—my Tom, my dear
old boy.” And then cried aloud:
“ Babies, children, wake up! Come to
mammy, for daddy’s come home from
the cruel, cruel seas, and he’s tried to
make mammy believe he was somebody
else, and that daddy was drowned, Oh,
Tom! I knew you when I opened the
door; I never could be mistaken in you,
never, never!” And. the patter of the
children’s feet, the crying of the child¬
ren’s voices, drowned Tom Bollivar’s
voice deeper than any sea had ever
drove ad Toni Bollivar.
Au Anecdote of Two Judges.
Judge Whiting was chief justice of
Wisconsin about forty years ago. Judge
Woodle was an associate justice. Judge
Whiting was not considered a very bril¬
liant man, but though his perceptions
were sluggish, his motives were always
trustworthy. Judge Whiting and Judge
Woodle were traveling together, hearing
appeals from nisi-prius terms. They
traveled on horseback and on one occa¬
sion occupied a room together. Judge
Whiting had a very shapely foot (a fact
which he was suspected of knowing as
well as anybody). Judge Woodle had club
feet (as to which he was suspected of
being very sensitive). On the occasion I
speak of Judge Whiting was lying
stretched on the only bed there was in
the room, with one of his shapely feet
extending out of the bed. He looked
up and saw Judge Woodle looking at the
foot intently.
“What are you looking at?” said
Judge Whiting.
“ At your foot, Whiting,” said Woo¬
dle. “ And do you know, if I had your
feet I would be almost willing to have
your head ?”
Microscopic Writing.
8 trard 0D yiew at an exhibition
ia Gsmauy there had been written in a
German system of shorthand the large
num her of 33,000 words. Subsequently
Mr. Hurst, of Sheffield, in England, the
P“ er of the Ponograph * shbrt
W magazine, offered pnzes for minia,
«re^shorthand. Ike writing wasto be
le 8* b « to the n ^.T’ “ d * b * °f
one side of f an English post f, card, ’ which
18 . considerably .. ,, smaller than a German
card, £5,000 words on Ihe former being
reckoned equivalent to 33,000 on the
latter. The first prize in this competi
tion was awarded to G. H. Davidsou,
whose postcard contained 32,363 words,
including the whole of Goldsmith’s
“ She Stoops to Conquer,” an essay on
John Morley, and half of Holereft’s
“ Hoad to Buie,”