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FAWNING TO 1VONE-CHARITY TO ALL.
VOLUME YII.
DOUGLASVILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, MAY 19. 1885.
NUMBER 15.
Professional Cards.
ROBERT A. iASSEY,
ATTORNEY AT LAW
DOUGLASVILLE, GA.
(Office in front room, Dorsett’s Building.)
Will practice anywhere except in the County
Court of Douglass county.
wTIlmTs,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Will practice in all the courts, State an .
Federal. Office on Court House Square,
DOUGLASVILLE, GA.
m. T. ROBERTS,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
DOUGLASVILLE, GA.
Will practice in all the Courts. All lega
business will receive prompt attention. Office
in. Court House. ,
C. D, CAMP,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Civil Engineer and Surveyor,
DOUGLASVILLE, - - GEORGIA.
rTgTgrigg^
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
DOUGLASVILLE, GA.
Will practice in all the courts, State and
Federal.
JOHN M, EDGE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
DOUGLASVILLE, GA.
Will practice in all the courts, and promptly
attend to all business entrusted to his care.
J. S. JAIMES,
* ATTORNEY AT LAW,
DOUGLASVILLE, GA.
Will practice in the courts of Douglass,
Campbell, Carroll, Paulding, Cobb, Fulton and
adjoining counties. Prompt attention given
io all business.
\ devilish ufv^lIILEY,
Physician and Surgeon
DOUGLASVILE, GA.
Office Upstairs in Dorsett’s Brick Building.
P. S. VERDEBY,"
Physician and Surgeon
Office at HUDSON & EDGE’S Drug Store,
where he can be found at all hours, except
when professionally engaged. Special atten
tion given to Chronic cases, and especially
all cases that have been treated and are stiil
uncured. janlS ’85-ly
T RESPECTFULLY offer my services as Pliy-
I sician and Surgeon to the people of Doug-
lassville and vicinity. All calls will be attended
promptly. Can be found at the Drug Store of
HUDSON & EDGE, during the day, and at
night at my residence, at the house recently
occupied by J. A. Pittman.
J. i3. EDGE.
DENTISTRY.
T. IRCOOS,
BEHAI SURSEQN,
Has located in Douglassville. Twenty years’
experience. Dentistry in all its branches done
in the most approved style. Office over Post-
office.
T. $. BOILER,
HOUSE PAINTER,
DOUGLASVILLE, GA.
Will make old Furniture look as well as new.
Give him a trial in this line. Will also do
house carpentering work.
An Unfortunate People.
A Honolulu letter to the St. Louis
Globe-Democrat says the charge so fre
quently made that the missionaries are
responsible for the rapid extinction of
the native race at the Sandwich Islands
is without any foundation. The seeds
of deadly disease were sown before
their arrival. The Hawaiian race is
doomed, and nothing but a miraele'could
save them from certain extinction. That
disease has made awful ravages among
them is due to their contact with for-
eigners. Of late years leprosy has been
introduced by the Chinese, and it has
spread with alarming rapidity. It is
estimated by good observers that fully
one-fifth of all the native population is
infected with it, or with similar com
plaints in such an aggravated form as
scarcely to be distinguished from the
genuine Asiatic leprosy.
ECONOMY IS WEALTH.
A farmer and hi| wife went into the
dentist’s.
“How much do you charge for fillin’
teeth ?” asked the farmer.
“From two to five dollars.”
“An’ how much for pullin’ ?”
“Fifty cents.”
“Mariar, he said, turning to his wife,
you’d better git it pulled.”
THE OLD MILL.
Here from the brow of the hill I look
Through a lattice of houghs-and leaves
On the old gray mill with its gambrel roof.,
And the moss on its rotting eaves,
I hear the clatter that jars its walls,
And the rushing water’s sound,
And I see the black floats rise and fall
As the wheel goes slowly round.
I rode there often when I was young,
With my grist on the horse before,
And talked with Nellie, the milter’s girl,
As I waited my turn at the door.
And. while she tossed her ringlets brown,
And flirted and chatted so free,
The wheel might stop or the wheel might go,
It was all the same to me.
’Tis twenty years since last.I stood
On the spot where L stand to-day,
And Nellie is wed and the miller Is dead,
And the mill and I are gray.
But both, till we fall into ruin and wreck,
To our fortunes of toil are bound,
.And the man goes and the stream flows,
And the wheel moves slowly round.
Thomas Du^in English.
THE OLD BmIeLOR.
“How ’did I come to adopt her ?” My
dear friend, that is about one Of the sil
liest questions I ever heard to come
from a man, of your wisdom and com
mon sense ! It was Fate, that’s what it
was ! Personally, I had no more to do
with it than you have this moment.
These things are all ordained and marked
out for us, and we can neither avoid nor
alter them. Fatality, do yon call the
doctrine ? Well, call it what you will-—
there it is, and you can’t make anything
else out of it!
But about little Magdalen. I was
coming down Broadway in a great
hurry to catch an uptown stage before
all those ferry people blocked into it,
when there she sat on a curb-stone, the
wind blowing her yellow hair about and
her .poor little hands blue with cold,
crying as if her heart would break. I
didn’t think the veriest savage could
have helped stopping to ask her what
the matter was, and I don’t call myself
a savage, if I do happen to have my
little crusty fits now and then. So
says I:
“Child, what’s the matter?”
“I’m lost!” said she.
And come to inquire, why, the poor
little elf was fatherless, motherless,
friendless, in all the wide world! Of
course, I took her home, and you ought
to have seen old Hannah, my house
keeper, stare when I walked in with the
yellow-haired baby clinging to the
little finger of my left hand. For she
wasn’t more than eight years old, and
small at that !
“I give you a monih’s warning, sir !”
says Hannah. But, bless your soul, she
didn’t go. Maggie took her heart by
storm, as she always has done that of
the rest of the world, and at the month’s
end yon couldn’t have hired old Hannah
to leave the child.
Well, sir, she grew up as tall as a
feed, and as pretty as a posy. I sent her
to Madam Aimard’s fashionable French
boarding-school, for I was not going to
have my Maggie a whit behind any
one’s else girl, I can tell you. My sister
Simpkins objected. You see, with those
nine daughters of hers, she grudged
every penny of my money that was
spent on any one else.
“Your putting silly notions in the
child’s head,” said she. “A girl that
will have her own living to earn, ought
not to mingle with Madam Aimard’s
young ladies.”
“I should like to know why ?” says I.
“Because she is in no way their
equal !” said Sister Simpkins.
“Fiddlesticks !” says I. “My Maggie
is good and pretty, and if that don’t
constitute equality with any girl alive,
I’ll own up that we don’t live in a repub
lican country ! As for earning her own.
living, why it’s my business to look
after that, and no one else need trouble
their head about it 1”
Mrs. Simpkins pursed up her lips and
looked unutterable things, but she did
not dare to say anything more. She
knew of old that I wasn’t to be disputed
when my will was up. But I sent the
nine Miss Simpkinses nine coral neok-
laces the next Christmas, and that kept
the peace for awhile.
When she came home from the board
ing-school, she was prettier than ever—
tall, as I said before, with yellow, silky
hair, great shady-looking blue eyes,
with lashes that curled up at the ends,
and cheeks as fresh and pink as I re
member the inside of two big shells thai
used to stand on my grandfather’s best
room mantel fifty good years ago.
So I cast about. in my mind to find
some new plan for making the old house
lively for my little girl. I knew she
couldn’t thrive without her innocent
gayeties, any more than a bird could
without free air and sunshine; so I in
vited company, and made up little im
promptu parties and frolics, and beat
my brains for something to keep her
amused. And I believe I succeeded,
too, for her step was as light as a
feather, and you could hear her sing all
over the house, when she thought she
was alone.
And one day old Hannah came in.
dusting chairs, and prying about for
finger-marks on the paint in her odd,
near-sighted way.
“Mr. Felham,” says she, rubbing
away at a door-knob that was as bright
before as hands could make it, “what
would vou say if we were to have a wed
ding in the old house ?”
“A wedding 1” I dropped my pen so
that it made a big round blot on the pa
per, and stared. “Why, you’re not go
ing to be married, Hannah, after all
these years ?”
“Do I look like it?” sniffed Hannah,
contemptuously—and, to tell the truth,
she didn’t very much. “No, indeed,
sir; I hope I know my place better than
that. It’s Miss Maggie I’m thinking
of, sir.”
I sat as if I had been stricken with a
paralytic shock. Maggie to be married !
Strange that I had never thought of
that, as a natural consequence of
parties, companies, evening concerts
and summer picnics ! And somehow a
desolate chill crept down my veins as I
thought how lonesome and dreary the
old house would seem without Maggie.
“What makes you think so, Han
nah?” I asked rather dolorously, and
the old. woman lowered her voice mys
teriously as she answered :
“It's that Mr. Carlisle—he keeps com
ing all the time, and it’s my honest be
lief he just worships the ground my
young lady walks on. He is very hand
some, too, and folks tell me he’s worth
money.”
Mr. Carlisle ! Well, old Hannah was
right. He was a fine-looking fellow,
and well-to-do in this world’s goods; but
—who was there, after all, worthy of
my tall, golden-haired princess with
dewy blue eyes and lips like scarlet
coral newly plucked out of the sea ?
Why couldn’t Carlisle go off and marry
one of the wise Miss Simpkinses, whose
mother was on the look-o-ut for husbands
as an ogress watches for eatable young
travelers ? I began to hate Carlisle.
“Pooh 1” said I, upsetting my waste
basket of papers over the floor with an
unwary fling of my feet. “I don’tthink
she cares for Carlisle.”
“Just you watch her, then, and see
for yourself,” said old Hannah, wisely
wagging her cap border. “I never did
set up for a prophet, Mr. Pelham, but
them as isn’t blind can’t help seeing,
and our eyes Is given to us to use,”
So old Hannah went her way, leaving
me about as uncomfortable as a man
has any business to be. My Maggie to
be married 1 My pretty blossom to be
plucked just as soon as it began to shed
fragrance round my door-stone. I felt
as a monarch may whose domains are
invaded by an audacious foe. Should I
out of you. At your time of life too !
Did you ever see a chestnut tree blos
soming in November or a grape-vine
loaded with blue fruit at mid-winter ?”
So off I trudged into the garden where
Magdalen flways walked in the early
morning tr tell her of young Carlisle’?
proposal.
She listened, looking very pretty and
preoccupied, until I had finished.
“Well?” said she.
“Well ?” I quoth, “what do you say?”
“What do I say? No, of course 1”
“You mean yes, my dear,’’said I, “if
you’ll only take time to think.”
“ I mean no!” she flashed out. “Oh,
Mr. Pelham, how can you think so
basely of me ?”
“Basely, my dear. I don’t compre
hend you.”
She was beginning to cry now—big,
sparkling drops like the first glittering
diamonds of a July shower.
“I don’t love him. I never can love
him.”
“But, why not, my dear?”
“Because I love somebody else,” she
sobbed, growing pinker and prettier
than ever.
“Who is it, Maggie? You’ll tell me,
won’t you ? Why, child”—as she shrank
blushingly back—“I am old enough to
be your father!”
“You are not!” she exclaimed, indig
nantly, ‘ ‘and you are the last person in
the world I would tell!”
“My darling, why not ?”
The enigmas these women are! in
stead of answering me, she began to
cry again as if her dear little heart was
going to break.
And suddenly a great light flashed in
upon my mind !
“Magdalen! Darling! Is it me that
you love ?”
And in another moment she was
laughing and crying on my breast!
The old chestnut tree was garlanded
with blossoms, even though its prime
was past—the vine of life was mantling
in blue clusters in the late, late harvest!
8o I had to send as civil a note as pos
sible to young Carlisle—and it’s surpris
ing hqw my feelings moderated toward
him as I wrote it!
that is the way I won this peer
less rose among women to be my wife—
and I don’t think she has ever regretted
marrying the old man yet. Though I
shouldn’t dare to call myself “old” in
her presence, to speak truth. People
say it’s a romantic story, but I say it is
only an illustration of the fact that there
is more romance in real life than there is
in. books, if we only knew it.
American Fables.
A SPAHISH IIASHLK.
WHO ENTERS CASTLE MORRO LEAVES
HOPE BEHIND.
All the Records of Prisoners Taken to
Spain and there Destroyed.
A. BATCH OF STRAY JOKES
FOUND IN THE COLUMN-* OF OIIK
HUMOROUS EXCHANGES.
The MaSdcn ami the Ilude-The Russian
General-A Tmanly in One Ass-MaKioa
his Word f*oodi Etc.* Etc.
write Carlisle a note and tell him to go
about his business, or should I simply
convey to him by my manners the hint
that his presence was no longer specially
desirable, or—but old Hannah’s words
recurred uncomfortably to my mind-
should I at first find out whether Mag
gie really did care for the young up
start ?
My head dropped on my hands—my
heart sunk somewhere below zero at the
idea ! I wondered if al’l fathers felt so
when gay young cavaliers came wooing
at their gates ! And, after all, Maggie
wasn’t my real child, dearly as I loved
and tenderly as I had cherished her/
I think I hardly slept all that night.
I tossed to and fro on my pillow, count
ing the chimes of the old clock, as one
by one it told the hours, thinking about
Maggie and Carlisle, and wondering if
the tardy daybreak would never redden
over ihe hill-tops.
By that time my mind was made up.
I would repress all these selfish ideas
and only think of my girl’s ultimate
happiness. If she liked Carlisle, why
Carlisle should have her.
I rose, dressed and went down to my
study. The first thing I saw was a note
lying on my library table. Probably i
had arrived late last night. I broke the
seal; it was from George Carlisle, asking
permission to address Miss Magdalen
Pelham.
Well—it was nothing more than I had
expected—in fact, it rather expedited
matters, which ought not to run too
slowly. I refolded the epistle, and
looked severely at myself in the opposite
glass.
“You middle-aged old fogy,” quoth I,
staring at myself with the severest ex
pression of countenance I could call up j
at so short a notice, “I see through you. *
You have dared to suppose bright-eyed ,
Magdalen could prefer you to these gay s
young fellows nearer her own age—you !
have even presumed to fall a little spice
in love with her yourself. It will do you |
good to have some of the nonsense taken j
A Carter whose vehicle was stuck in
the mud plied the lash over his mule in
the most vigorous manner, and Finally
called out :
“Alas! that I should be the owner of
such a Cheap Beast.”
“But you must Remember,” replied
the mule, “that my food consists of the
very Poorest Quality.”
moral:
Cheap hands turn out cheap work.
THE PEASANT AND THE DOG.
A Peasant who was Awakened at mid
night by the Barking of a Dog under
his Window, threw up the sash and
Balled out:
“How now—what is the danger?”
“There is none.”
“Then why do you Bark and Disturb
my Slumbers ?”
“For the same Reason that you play
the Fiddle and keep me Awake—for
Self-Amusement.”
MORAL :
When the Piano next door becomes
Unbearable buy your boy a Drum.
THE WISE JURYMAN.
A Juryman who had Assisted in
Reaching a Wise Conclusion in Several
Cases of Importance was Complimented
by the Lawyers on his Wisdom, and he
replied:
“Really, I Deserve no Praise for what
you Mention, for I was sound Asleep
during your Arguments.”
moral:
The less Lawyer the wiser the Ver
dict.—Defowi Free Press.
The Composition of the One Cent.
Do you know of what the common
one cent pieoe is oomposed? It is
ninety-five per cent, of copper ai>d five
per cent, of tin and zino. There is no
nickel in it. Its real intrinsic value is
about one-tenth of a cent. The old
penny used to be made of pure copper,
and was worth one-third of a cent. Few
counterfeits have been mad© on the one
cent piece. It would not pay. Too
many would have to be made and dis
tributed to produce any money for the
sharpers. The old penny was once
counterfeited, the fraud being made at
Birmingham, England. It didn’t pay,
and the counterfeiters gave it up for
a bad Albany Argus,
The severity, and even cruelty, with
which Cuban insurgents are punished
by the Spanish authorities is well known.
A correspondent of the Boston Herald
gives an interesting description of Castle
Morro, at Havana, which has witnessed
many mysterious imprisonments and
executions:
“Who enters Castle Morro leaves all
hope behind. To pass between its por
tals involuntarily, for any reason, is
considered equivalent to a sentence of
death, and many who have gone there
cannot even be traced beyond the iron
doors. Some say that the records of ar
rest and confinement are sent to the
Minister of Justice at Madrid. Others
suggest that the daily reports of the
commandant are sent to Spain and de
stroyed after perusal. But, however it
may be, the common understanding is
that whoever enters Morro Castle loses
his identity, and never comes out again,
for the bodies of the dead are said to be
cast over the parapets into the sea.
“This castle stands at the entrance to
the harbor of Havana; a picturesque but
gloomy pile—massive masonry resting
upon the crest of a rock which rises
about 200 feet perpendicularly out of the
seas. It is the point of a peninsula
which embraces the harbor of Havana
and makes the latter, when once entered,
as safe as any in the world. Covering
many acres with its walls and dungeons
the castle is one of the largest and most
formidable fortresses in the world, sur
passing even Fortress Monroe in its ex
tent. The present castle is not so an
cient as some others on the island, as the
English captured it and blew it up 100
years ago, compelling the Spaniards to
spend a million or two of dollars in its
re-erection. Modern artillery would
batter down the walls, but would make
no impression upon the eternal rocks,
among whose crevices and ravines the
dungeons of the castle have been placed.
There is no prison in Europe so secure
from capture, either by exterior or in
terior attack, for the corridors constitute
a labyrinth in which it is said the com
mandant himself requires a guide. No
pen will ever record, and no mind can
ever correctly imagine, the horrors
which have taken place within those
walls. The iniquities of the Inquisition
did not surpass them, if the stories that
are told are true; and people say that
the cruelties still continue.
“The life of every citizen of Cuba is
the property of the Captain-General,
to be disposed of as he chooses, and he
has chosen that many of them be spent
within these castle walls. Nobody
knows how large a number are in con
finement; nobody knows who they are
or what they suffer; all the public ever
knows is that Senor So-and-so has been
‘denounced’ and taken to the Castle,
and his friends keep mighty quiet lest
they have to join him there. These
Senors So-and-so seldom, if ever, come
back from the Castle, and it is better for
the family and friends not to ask why.
The Castle is for political prisoners ex
clusively, and when we were over there
our guide told us it was full. He
showed us the place—a little parade
ground—where the executions take
place, and the preoipiee over which the
bodies of tbe dead are cast into the sea,
but could give no clue to the number
annually shot, or the number who die
in the dungeons; and the officers and
guards on duty were quite as uncommu
nicative, if they were not as ignorant.
To all inquirers they have one answer.
If you ask them how many prisoners
are confined in the dungeons, the samf
reply will be:
“ ‘Dios sabe.’ (God knows).
<« <How many ever come out alive ?’
“ ‘Dios sabe.’
“ ‘Dothey ever secure release?’
“ 1 Dios sabe.’
“And the words were true. Heaven,
and heaven only, knows all that ha?
transpired within these gloomy walls.
The officers on guard are changed often,
and while they stay it is their business
to learn as little as possible. When a
prisoner is sent there they look him up
and report the fact to headquarters.
With that their duty and their knowl
edge end. And it is in this way that
Cuba is governed. The theory of gov
ernment which Spain has followed since
she assumed control of the Western
Hemisphere, and by which she has lost
all that she once had, is still in vogue.
The Spaniard has learned no lesson by
experience. He seems oblivious of the
results of tyranny in Mexico and South
America, and has seen a magnificent
empire pass from his hands without re
alizing that murder and cruelty are not
the best modes of securing peace and
promoting civilization.”
THE LOUISVILLE MAIDEN.
A Louisville girl, who was visiting
here a short: time, ago scored a signal
triumph over a fresh yon;qg society mars
of this city. They were sitting upon a
sofa together, and as the conversation
progressed he allowed his arm to grad
ually fall down until he had it around
her waist.
She arose very indignant, and he
made the following explanation and
apology: “I hope you will not tnink
anytning of this. . Jt is just a way I
have. All Ihe Memphis boys act the
same way, and you will have to get
used to it. I hope you will not take
any offence at it, as it’s just my way.”
She left the room, but came back in
a few minutes with a married friend and
sat down on the sofa again. Soon she
began to yawn and gave every ostensi
ble proof of being thoroughly bored.
Finally she said: “I’m dreadfully sleepy,,
and I hope you’ll go home. You mustn’t
take any offence at this. All the Louis
ville girls act the same way. You are
exceedingly tiresome, and you had bet
ter go home at once. Don’t be offended
atthis. It is simply a way I have !”
He stood not upon the order of his
going.—Memphis Times.
AVOIDING A BEAT.
The editor of the Deadwood Roarer
atttended church for the first time last
Sunday. In about an hour he rushed
into the office and shouted:
“What the blazes are you fellows
doing ? How about the news from the
seat of war ?”
“What news?”
“Why; all this about the Egyptian
army being drowned in the Red Sea.
Why, the Gospel sharp up at the church
was telling us about it just now, and not
a word of it in this morning’s paper.
Hustle round, you fellows, and get the
facts, or the Snap Shot will get a beat
on us. Look spry, there, and run an
extra edition, while I put on the bulle
tin board ‘Great English Victory in the
Soudan.’”
GOD THE SPJKIT.
Oh. blessed Spirit! let me feel
Thy vital breath upon my heart;
Thirsting for thee, I lowly kneel,
And wait Till thou thyself impart
To Thee my earth-dimmed spirit cries;
Change tliou my blindness into sight.
Give me from shades of sin to rise,
And bathe my soul in Heaven’s pure light-
Thou canst, to ray weak thought unfold
The wonders of Christ’s matchless grace;
.rr-t biii faith’s ravished eyes behold
The glories .of his unveiled face !
If but thy quickening breath inspire,
This heart with fervent love shall glow;
And kindliiig as' wRli'Hgaven’a own fire,
Heaven’s bliss, anetrth begun, shallknow.
Gome, Hcily 'Spirit, iTH this breast
With thy's,w;eet,'sqitl-transformihg power;
Be Thou my ever present guest,
Mv life, rny joy,-' fn&iu hour to hour !
HE MADE HIS WORD GOOD.
A passenger got off to walk around a
little. As the train began to move again
the passenger jumped aboard, but just
then he discovered that he had but one
overshoe. Thinking that he dropped
the other, he pulled off the remaining
shoe and threw it out on the platform,
exclaiming:
“There, that makes a good pair of
overshoes for somebody.”
Entering the car, there, to his great as
tonishment, was his other overshoe. A
look of intense disgust came upon his face,
but he did not hesitate. Quickly pick
ing up the lone arctic he hurried to the
platform, threw the shoe as far as he
could back toward the other one and
shouted:
“By jimminy, there is a pair of over
shoes for somebody!”— Chicago Herald.
SENDING IT SLOWLY.
Jinks: “Poor fellow ! it will be a ter
rible blow. He knows nothing of the
failure yet, does he ?”
Minks: “Not a word.”
“Well, I certainly would keep it from
him as long as possible.”
“Yes; 1 have arranged for that.”
“In what way ?”
“I have sent the news by a messenger
boy.”—Phiia. Call.
THE SITUATION IN AFGHANISTAN.
The Czar—General Komaroff, why
did you attack the Afghans ?
General Komaroff—I crave pardon,
sire, but did you ever come suddenly
upon a flock of wild geese when yon
had your gun loaded for lions ?
The Czar—No, General.
General K—Well, sire, then it would
be useless for me to make any explana
tion.
The Czar—My brave and gallan
General! Here, take this medal and,
when you get a good chance, hit ’em
again \—New York Journal,