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t u kv ♦ 1/ 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,