Newspaper Page Text
tlwjpriptefliiu L t\ y I / y 4
-VOL. II.
JOHN C. m STCKEL & CO,
Wholesale and Retail Dealers in
CROCKERY,
GLASSWARE
House Furnishing Goods
TinrPlate,
Stoves,
Hardware,
&c.. &c.
m A>anricrrwres of
TINWARE.
No. I 16 Third Stre©;,
MAOON. ax.
_
CARHART & GUHJJ,
X> BALERS IH
Hardware, Iron & Steel i
WOODENWARE,
Carriage Material,
Cotton Gins,
Circular Saws,
SCALES,
n
PAINTS, OILS, &c.
M.ioon. On
K. J. DA VAST. J. 8. WOOD, JK
DAY ANT & WOOL,
114 Bay Street,
Savannah, Georgia,
Special attention given to tale ol
COTTON, BICE & NAVAL STORES
AQBXTX FOR
DRAKE’S COTTON TIES,
Cash advances nude on oomignmenta.
W. B. MELL & CO.,
Wholesale and retail dealers in
SADDLES, BRIDLES, HARNESS,
• Rubber and .Leather
BELTING AND PACKING,
Fronch and American Call Skins, Sole, Har¬
ness, Bridie and Patent Leather,
WHIPS and SADD1.ERY WARE,
TRUNKS, VALISES,
Market Square,' Savannah, Ga
Orders by mail Dromntlv attended to.
SID. A. PUGHSLEY, Jr.
AGENT AND SALESMAN,
—WITH
I. L. FALK & CO.,
CLOTHIERS,
425 and 427 Broome St., Hew York,
Cor. Congress and Whittaker Street?,
SAVANNAIt, OA.
ft. J. BRADDY & SON
WniGnTSvnxK, Ga.
BLACKSMITH SHOP.
A specialty ol Plantation Work. Wagons,
Buggies, etc., made and repaired.
Rows and Plow-Stocks of all kinds, and
every kind of Wood und ironWork done by
A. J. RRAPPY & SON,
Wrightsville, Ga.
WRIGHTSVILLE, GA., SATURDAY, JULY 2, 1881.
The Threshers
This is the wheat—
The wheat well grown, man’s lawful spoil,
The new-plucked fruit of patient toil;
Pledge me the farmers’ sinewy hand—
Hia goodly acres waiting stand;
Pledge me the hands his force can wield
To plow, to sow, to reap the field !
Bruise the bright heads and break them sore,
Scatter the chaff from door to door,
Show me the kernel sound and sweet—
The nation’s bread, the winnowed wheat!
This is the flail—
The noisy flail, whoso loud uproar
Wears the oaken threshing-floor;
A measured beat, a ringing round,
A hardened resonance of sound !
The long, low scaffolds wax and wane,
Drop down the sheaves of garnered grain,
And empty, careless, laughter-wild,
The yellow straw is loosely piled.
Thoso level crashings tell tho tale—
Swing round the flail, tho mighty flail!
These are the men—
The men who cleave, with sturdy stroke,
Tho fallen giant’s heart of oak,
Now build for life and life’s demands,
And fill with bread the waiting lands.
Clash rhyme with rhyme, the threshers’ song—
Deal blows on blows, striko loud and long;
The wronch of hunger drives at length
The iron of unyielding strength;
Wield the bent blade—again, again,
And serve the puny race of men !
—Elane Ooudale , in the Critic.
r r o m.
Oil! but it was cold, freezing, biting
bitter cold, and dark, too; for the feeble
gaslights, leaping and flaming as the
gale whistled by, hardly brightened the
gloom a dozen paces around them. The
wind tore through the streets as if it
had gone mad; whirling before it dust
and snow and every movable thing it
could lay its clutching hand upon. A
poor old battered kite that some time
last autumn, had lodged far up in the
tallest tree in the neighborhood and
had there rested peacefully ever since,
believing its labors at an end, was
dragged from its nest and driven un
pityingly before the blast. Some feeble
efforts it had made to dodge into cor¬
ners, lurking behind steps and driving
into areas; but not a bit of it 1 Down
would swoop the wind and off it would
go again.
At last, driven around one of the long
row of barrels that stood like wretched
sentinels along the edge of the side
walk, it flew into the very arms of a
small boy, who, seated on the curb¬
stone, crouched down in the barrel’s
somewhat questionable shelter. Such
a very small boy! He looked like
nothing in the world but a little heap of
rags; and the rags were very thin, and
the small boy was very cold. His nose,
his ears, his hands and his poor bare
feet were blue. He was almost too cold
to notice the unfortunate kite which,
as its enemy, the wind, approached with
a roar, seemed to cower close to him, as
if begging his protection. Bound both
sides of the barrel at once came the wind,
shook hands right through poor Tom.
and, howling with delight, rushed off
with its miserable victim.
“Tom”—that was all the name he
had. Who he was, or where he came
from, ro one knew, except, perhaps,
the wretched old woman with whom he
lived; which meant that she let him
sleep upon a pile of rags on the floor of
her miserable room, and sometimes
gave him a crust, but oftener a blow.
When she was drunk—and that was the
greater part of the time—Tom took to
the streets; and by night she was very
drunk. The boy was, perhaps, some
six years old; but as he cowered down
on the cold flagstones, with his worn,
pinched face and drooping head, he
might have been a hundred.
A carriage came rattling through the
street and stopped cloae by him. The
door was pushed open and two children
half tumbled out, and leaving the door
swinging rushed up the steps. Tom
watched them stupidly, heard the quick,
sharp ring of the bell, caught a glimpse
of something that looked very bright
and warm, and then it was dark again.
He turned his eyes toward the carriage,
expecting it to drive off again ; but it
still stood there. The coachman sat
upon the box like a furry monument.
One of the horses struck the stones
sharply with his iron hoof, and cast an
inquiring look around, but the monu¬
ment sat unmoved.
Tom’s heavy eyes looked through the
open door into the carriage. Dark as
it was he could see that it was lined with
something thick and warm. He raised
his head and glanced about him. If he
were inside there the wind could not
touch him. Oh, if he could only get
away from it one minute! He would
slip out again the moment the house
door would open. Unbending his still
little body he crept nearer, hesitated a
moment, and as the wind came round
the comer with a roar, slipped swiftly
and noiselessly into th^ carriage. In
the further corner of the seat he curled
himself into a little round heap and lay,
with beating heart, listening to the
wind as it swept by.
It was very quiet in his nest, and the
soft velvet was much warmer than the
cold flagstones, and he was very tired
and very cold, and in half a minute he
was fast asleep. He did not know when
at last the liouse-door opened and a
lady, gathering her cloak close around
her, came down the steps—did not
know even when the suddenly-uuinmLeil
monument descended from its pedestal
and stood solemnly by the open door
until the lady had stepped inside. But
when it shut with a slam, and the
coachman, returning to his post, drove
rapidly away, his eyes opened and fixed
their frightened gaze upon the lady’s
faco. Preoccupied with her own
thoughts she had not noticed the queer
bundle in the dark corner. But now,
her attention attracted by some slight
movement on his part, she turned her
eyes slowly toward him, and then, with
a suppressed cry of alarm and surprise,
laid her hand upon the door. The rat¬
tle of wheels and the roar of the wind
prevented it reaching the ears of
the coachman; and Tom, rapidly
unwinding himself and cowering down
in the bottom of the carriage, said, in a
frightened sob:
“ I didn’t mean no harm. I was awful
cold. Say, just open the door, miss,
and I’ll jump out. You needn’t stop
the kerridge.”
The lady, with her hand still on the
door, demanded:
“ How did you get here 1”
“The door was open and I clum,” he
answered. “ It was awful cold.”
The lady took her hand from the
door. “ Come nearer,” she said, “ let
me see your face.” /
Tom drew his ragged sleeve ai >ss
his eyes and looked up at her ovei* his
shoulder. They had turned into a bril¬
liantly-lighted street, and she could see
that the tangled yellow hair was soft
and fine, and that the big frightened
eyes that raised themselves to hers were
not pickpocket’s eyes. With a sudden
impulse she laid her gloved hand on
the yellow head.
“ Where do you live ?” she asked.
Something in the voice and touch
gave him courage.
“With Mammy Sal,” he answered,
straightening up—“ me and some other
fellows. Sometimes we begs, sometimes
we take the barrels. When wo got a
haul it ain’t so bad, but when wo don’t
wo ketch it. She’s drunk to-night and
drove us out."
She pushed the heavy hair back from
his forehead. “Is Mammy Sal your
mother ? ” she asked.
“ No! ” cried the boy, almost fiercely,
and then added, sullenly, “I ain’t got
none.”
Slowly the gloved hand passed back
and forth over the yellow hair. The
lady’s eyes were looking far away ; the
boy’s face was like, so strangely like,
another face.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, sud¬
denly.
The wide-open gray eyes would have
answered her without the quick sob and
the low “Yes’m.”
The carriage stopped, and the monu¬
ment again accomplishing a descent,
opened the door, and stood staring in
blank amazement.
“ I am not going in, John,” said his
mistress. “Drive home again.” And
she added, smiling: “ This little boy
crept in out of the cold while the car¬
riage was waiting. I am going to take
him home. Drive back as quickly as
possible.”
As the bewildered coachman shut the
door and turned to his perch the boy
made a spring forward.
“Lemmeout!” he cried. “I don’t
want to go home. Lemme out!”
“Not your home,” said the lady,
gently—“my home.”
Tom stared at her in wonder, and too
much overcome by the announcement
to resist let her lift him up on the seat
beside her.
“My home,” she repeated, “where
you can get very warm, and have a good
dinner, and a long, long sleep, on a soft
bed. Will you like that ?”
Tom drew a long, slow breath, hut
did not answer. It was too wonderful!
He—one of Mammy Sal’s boys—to go
to the lady’s house where the children
lived whom he had seen go in that
evening! He looked up suddenly.
“ Were those children youm ?” he
asked. With a sudden movement she
drew him very close to her, and then
answered softly:
“ No, not mine. I had a little boy
once, like you, and he died.”
When the carriage stopped agaiu Tom
was fast asleep—so fast asleep that the
still bewildered coachman carried him
into the house and laid him on a bed
without waking him. The next morn¬
ing when the boy’s eyes opened, he lay
looking about him, hardly daring to
speak or move. I don’t believe he had
ever heard anything about the fairies,
or he would certainly have thought him
self in fairyland. Best of all, the lady
of the night before was standing by the
bed smiling at him, and, smiling back,
i.'ne held out his arms to her.
I wish you could have seen him a
little later, when arrayed in jacket and
trousers that made him think with dis¬
dain of certain articles of the same de¬
scription which he had but yesterday
gazed at lovingly as they dangled before
a little table by the sunny window tak¬
ing a short, a very short, preliminary
view of a gigantic beefsteak still indig¬
nantly sputtering to itself; a mountain
of smoking potatoes, an imposing array
of snowy rolls and golden butter, and a
pitcher of creamy milk. And I wish,
too, you could have seen the same table
still later, for the table was about all
that was left.
That was the first time that I ever
saw Tom. Since then I have seen him
very often. And now I will tell you,
only I am afraid yon would hardly be¬
lieve me, about the last time, and that
was not very long ago.
I was riding along one of the prettiest
country roads you ever saw, and when I
came to a certain gate my horse, without
waiting for a sign from me, turned in.
As w r e drew near the house I caught
sight of two figures standing among the
flowers. One was a handsome old lady
with white hair, the other a young man.
She was armed with an immense pair of
shears, and he held in his hand his hat
filled to the brim with flowers. The
sunlight, creeping down through the
trees, fell upon his close-cropped hair
and yellow beard. As I drew in my
horse and sat watching them, it all
seemed to me like a fairy story. But it
wasn’t; for the tall, handsome man
looking down with such protecting ten¬
derness upon the white-haired old lady
was really Tom—poor, little, thin, cold,
hungry Tom._
The Magic ol’ Numbers.
Numbers are supposed to be of magic
import, and have been used from time
immemorial for purposes of divination.
Different nations set different store on
numbers. Tho Bedui of Java regard
the number one with superstition. One
day, for instance, is appropriated for
carrying home tho grain, and what
cannot be carried homo on that day is
left to waste in the field.
Several nations regard three as the
most important number. According to
tho Brahmins there are throe supreme
powers, a creating, a preserving and a
destroying. Among the ancient Greeks
three was a magic number; Jupiter had
his triform symbol, or three-forked
lightning, Neptune, the trident, and
Pluto, tho dog Cerberus with throe
heads. TheBosicrucians taught that there
were three orders of angels, the Tere
pliim, the Seraphim, and the Cherubin.
The Magi presented three gifts, gold,
myrrh and frankincense, which Chryos
tom says signified that Christ was man,
king and God.
The Pythagoreans held four to be
sacred, and swore by that number.
The rabbinical writers thought that six
was the important number. They say
that the world was created in six days,
a servant had to serve six years, the soil
was tilled six years, and Job had six
tribulations. In Borne six was ominous
of evil.
Seven is regarded as a number of
strong import. Naaman was told to
wash in Jordan seven times. Elijah
sent his servant seven times to look for
rain, Jericho was encompassed seven
times, and Jacob served seven years for
each of his wives. It is believed that
the constitution changes every seven
years and that trouble ends after seven
years. The seventh son of the seventh
son is a born physician, and can some¬
times heal by the power of touch; and
the seventh daughter of the seventh
daughter sets up her claims as a seeress
Does a man ever go into a grocery
store and say, “ I’ll give yon five cents
a pound for sugar,” and expect to be
treated with respect? Not at all. He
asks the price of sugar and pays what is
asked or goes without. But the same
man will offer a price twenty per cent,
below rates for a given space in the ad¬
vertising columns of a newspaper, and
feel offended because it is not taken.—
New Haven Register.
The estimated value of the product of
raisins in California during the coming
season is from $150,000 to $200,000.
LADIES’ DEPARTMENT.
When It Is Heat to Declare One’alUve.
The following lines were taken from
tho scrap-book of a grandmother:
Long lived will the happy maiden prove
Whose lover on Monday declares his love.
Plutus and Hymen will sweetly smile
If on Tuesday she yields to her lovor’s wile.
Wednesday, tliev tell me, is lucky but rain
Will dampen your prospects. Oh, refrain,
Hash maiden, nor plunge into deepest woe.
If ho sues on Thursday bid him “ go.”
Friday, though some foolish folk may doubt it,
Is perfectly safe; that’sall about It,
Have no fears, maiden; all will go well
If on Saturday ho his talo doth tell.
As home from church yon wend your way,
And one short word is all you say,
Oh, happy maiden, you’ll be blest;
Your joy begins on the day of rest.
Fans, Parasols, Hosiery, Gloves, etc.
The newest fan is of large size and
of cretonne figures, outlined with crewel
silk and tinsel tambour tvork. The
faces and general figures are not
touched, but the hair and lace trim¬
mings of the dresses are elaborately
worked in the silk. They are mounted
on plain ivory or fancy wood sticks, and
have a chain and ring attached to keep
the fan from spreading when closed.
Parasols are of the most elaborate de¬
scription, with stripes, blocks, etc., in¬
serted in tho outside and two or three
colors in the linings. They are often
made of the material forming the gar¬
den suits of gingham, flowered satteen,
foulard, etc. For street costumes they
are of the trimming on the dress or are
trimmed with the same striped or black
trimming when much is used. Those
having old frames often utilize them in
this way. Hosiery and slippers are an
important item in the costume at water¬
ing-places and country houses. The
stockings must match if possible either
the dress trimming, the tie, cap or
gloves. The newest colors are a bril¬
liant scarlet, called ponceau; that is
one of the favorite colors for millinery
also this season. Carmelite slate, bish¬
op’s violet, pilgrim gray, canoness
blue, cardinal red, bronze, rose, olives
steel mixture, plumb blue, moutarde
Anglaise and sapphire, mignonette, etc.,
are the favorites. Silk hosiery, forty
inches long, is in these colors, in vari¬
ous designs, from the plain rib at $2 a
pair to the jardinere at §15. The latter
has natural colored flowers embroidered
on the black silk stocking in the most
beautiful manner. Vertical stripes oj
alternating contrasting colors, or of a
black or white stripe, with one of color,
are among the newest. Embroidered
and lace open work is seen on many of
the choicest. Slippers are finished on
the toes with steel or colored stitching,
and are sometimes of colored morocco
Walking boots are made with moderate
sized heels, and are sometimes of kid,
combined with patent leather. The
latest importations of gloves for summer
wear are of silk, without buttons, reach¬
ing above the elbows and wrinkling like
tho Mousquetaire, which is also worn in
the Swedish undressed kid, equally
long, and confined at the wrist by two
or three buttons. The silk gloves are
§3 a pair, and the Swedish $2.50 to
$3.50 .—New York Herald.
Fashion Fancies.
Satinette is the Paris name for sateen.
Pink crape has been revived for bon¬
nets.
Necklets of beads are becoming very
fashionable.
Walking jackets never go entirely
out of fashion.
Sashes of ombre ribbon will be much
worn with white toilets.
Mother Hubbard is the fairy god¬
mother of fashion this spring.
There is a brisk demand for batistes
seersuckers and ginghams.
A new collarette called the Medici is
made of puffs of mull muslin.
Mixed black and white feathers are
used to trim black rough straw hats.
Black costumes are brightened with
ombre Surah or Bayadere striped goods.
Bright gold color, not to say yellow,
is one of the most popular shades iu
dress.
Embroidery of tho finest kind is con¬
sidered more elegant on mull dresses
than lace.
Sateen and cambrics are more in de¬
mand at the moment than muslins,
lawns or linens.
Shirred waists, with shirred yokes and
belted in fullness at the waist line, ap¬
pear among late novelties.
Bayadere striped goods form the cuffs,
collars and revers of all dressy cos¬
tumes of silk or wool in solid jolors or
cheviot mixtures.
A wide straight scarf of white dotted
muslin edged with Irish embroidery is
passed around the neok, brought down
NO. 7.
the front to the waist line and arranged
there in loops and ends.
Black and white half-inch striped
silks and satins, block patterns of black
silk, light foulards and also light small
figured brocades, are made into round
basques to wear with black or dark
colored silk skirts.
Beacousfleld’s Famous First Speech.
No sketch of Benjamin Disraeli is
considered complete without allusion to
his first speech in parliament and its
ridiculous failure. Mi. George Make¬
peace Towle, in his Unity club lectures
on Disraeli, alluding to it as a “most
lamentable failure,” and in this way
speak nearly all who attempt to outline
the career of this remarkable man. The
tendency of this is misleading, since
the inference of those who are not in
telligent on^the subject is that the fail¬
ure was due to the impotence of the
speech itself. Such is not the fact,
however. Justin McCarthy, in his
“ History of Our Own Times,” says it is
difficult to understand, in reading it
over now, why it should have excited so
much laughter and derision. “It is a
clever speech,” he says, “full of point
and odd conceit, very like in style and
structure many of his speeches which in
later years won for the same orator the
applause of the house of commons.”
But Disraeli was at that time nn
known save as the author of “ Vivian
Grey,” and other literary trifling, and
there was but one man in parliament at
that time who saw in the dapper dandy
the promise of a statesman, and that was
Sir Bobcrt Peel, against whom later
Disraeli pronounced a philippic that
convinced the house he was not only an
orator, but a man who had mastered the
intricacies of British politics.
When Disraeli rose to make his
maiden speech he was dressed, accord¬
ing to an eye-witness, “ in a bottle-green
frock, and a waistcoat of white, of the
Dick Swiveller pattern, the front of
which exhibited a glittering net-work of
glittering chains; large fancy pattern
pantaloons, and a black necktie above
which no shirt collar was visible.” Nor
was his dress more remarkable than his
toilet. His forehead was overhung by
clustering ringlets of coal-black hair,
which, combed away from the rigli
temple, fell in bunches of well-oiled
ringlets over his left cheek.
Fancy a gentleman with that figure
with a reputation for fantastic freaks
and audacious whimsicalities, and with¬
out any standing with either political
party, rising to address tho sober and
soberly-clad house of commons, and
doing it with an amount of theatrical
gesture that was considered “ wild and
extravagant” beyond anything seen
there. Consider also that though no
longer a Jew in faith and practice, he
was looked upon as the representative
of a race held in much less regard than
it now is in England, and it is not sur¬
prising that his first sentence was re¬
ceived with laughter, and that it was
the accompaniment of every period of
the speech, however well turned. And
yet his temper was retained until the
interruptions became intolerable, and
as described by one who heard the de¬
bate, he turned upon his persecutors,
and in a remarkable and most terrific
tone said: “I have begun several times
many things and I have often succeeded
at last; ay, sir, and though I sit down
now, the time will come when you will
hear me.” A remarkable prediction,
as it has turned out.
Fretting.
There is one sin which seems to me is
everywhere and by everybody under¬
estimated, and quite too much over¬
looked in valuations of character. It is
the sin of fretting. It is as common as
air, as speech; so common that unless
it rises above its usual monotone we do
not even observe it. Watch an ordi¬
nary coming together of people and see
how many minutes it will be before
somebody frets—that is, making a more
or less complaining statement of some¬
thing or other, which, most probably,
every one in the room, or the stage, or
the street-car, or the street corner, as it
may be, knew before, and which, most
probably, nobody can help. Why say
anything about it ? It is cold, it is wet,
it is dry; somebody has broken an ap¬
pointment, ill-cooked a meal; stupidity
or bad faith somewhere has resulted in
discomfort. There are always plenty
of things to fret about. It is simply
astonishing how annoyance and discom¬
fort may be found in the course of
every day’s living, even at the simplest
if one only keeps a sharp eye out on
that side of things. But even to the
sparks flying upward, in the blackest of
smoke, there is a blue sky above, and
the less time they waste on the road
the sooner they will reach it.— Helen
' Hunt.