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VOL. I—NO. 13.
®|t Hamilton Visitor
D. W. D. BOULLY, Proprietor.
CASH SUBSCRIPTION RATES.
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One copy tix mouths $1 00
One oopy three months 75
Any one furnishing five -subscribers, with
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py nifty numbers complete the year.
CASH ADVERTISING RATES.
“ Space I1 mo 3 mos 6 mos |l2 raos
4 fddh' $2 60 $1 60 $6 00 *UMW
2 4 60 7 25 11 00 18 00
3 “ 500 9On 15 00 22 00
4 “ 6 60 IX 00 Is 00 27 00
J col 650 14 00 25 00 35 00
£ col 112 60 25 00 40 00 60 00
1 col |22 (JO 41 0J 62 00 100 00
Marriages and deaths, not exceeding six
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Payments quarterly in advance,- according
to schedule rates, unless otherwise agreed
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Persons Bending advertisements will state
the lengih of time they wish th.-m published
and |bp space they want them to occupy.
Partieradyertisiug by contract for a given
time, will be charged extra for everything
outside of their legitimate business.
IL
LEGAL ADVERTISEMENTS.
Sheriffs sales, per inch, four weeks. .$3 BO
“ mortgage fi la sales, per inch,
eight weeks... ....< 6SO
Citation for letters of administration
or guardianship, thirty da>s 3 OS
Notice to debtors and creditois, forty
days...., 5 00
Application for leave to sell land, four
weeks 1.. 4 00
Sales of land, etc , per inch, forty days 5 00
“ perishable property, per inch,
ten days 2 00
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from guaidianship, forty days... 5 00
Application for letters of dismission
from administration, three mouths 7 B 0
Establishing lost pApere, the fulfepace
of three months, per inch 7 00
Compelling titles from executors' or
administrators, where bond has
been given by the deceased, the
full space of three months, per
inch, 7 00
Estray notices, thirty days 3 CO
Rule for foreclosure of mortgage, four
months, monthly, per inch 6 00
Sale of insolvent papers, thirty days. 3 00
Homestead, two wet U 5.... j 200
Business Car cis
LIVERY AND SALE STABLE,
At the Brick Corner,
Within twenty steps of the Car-shed,
WEST POINT, GA.
W. L. WILLIAMS, Proprietor.
THOS. S. MITCHELL,
Eesident Physician and Surgeon,
HAMILTON, GEORGIA
Special attention given to Operative Sur
gery and treatment of Chronic Diseases,
i ar Terms cash.
Xi-A/W".
Jas. M. Mobley
"Will continue to practice law in all the
State and United States Couits.
Office, Hamilton, Ga.
n. A. Russell,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
HAMILTON, GEORGIA
ID* Special attention given to collections.
CHATTAHOOCHES HOUSE,
By J. T. HIGGINBOTHEM,
WEST POINT, G A
HENRY O. CALMER ON”
Attorney at Law,
IIA MILTON, GA
DR. J. W. CAMERON,
HAMILTON, GA.
Special attention to Midwifery. Charg-s
moderate.
Mines Dossier,
ATTORNEY’-At-LAW,
WAVBJtLY HALL, GEORGIA
Special attention will Be given to all busi
ness placed So my hapds. bo-2 ly
W. J-FOGLE,
Dentist,
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA
Office in the building of the Georgia Home
Insurance Company. feb'Zl lyr
KAJS KIIST HOUSE
-r COLUMBUS, GA.
J. W. RYAN, Prop’r.
Frank Golden, Clerk.
RUBY* RESTAURANT,
Bar and. Billiard Saloon,
UNDER THE RANKIN HOUSE.
janio J. W. RYAN, Prof’r.
SAMUEL WILLIAMS '
Will be fourd at bis old stand, ready to
shoe yocT horses, aud .do amthieg else in
his liue. Solicits public patr. nage. net
THE SUN FOR 1873.
Special Announcement.
The Sun has entered upon the New
Year with several important changes,
which wiH, We trust, commend it yet
more to the patronage of the reading
public. The subscription to the
Daily is reduced from‘ten to
Eight Dollars Per Annum;
Two Dollars per Quarter; 75 Cents
per Month. *
The purpose of this i*eduction is to
place the Daily within reach of those
of every class who desire to read—
the workingman and the farmer, as
well as of the merchant and cap
italist.
While The Sun is not quite @o large
as our cotemporaries of this city, and
we shall not attempt to complete
with them in the amount of general
reading, we promise that as.
A NEWSPAPER.
its shall be second to none in the city
or State in quantity of news, either
Foreign, National, Slate or Local.
Our
MARKET REPORTS
shall be very full and strictly reliable,
and this, we are sure, will be an at
traction for our readers, especially
those out of the city. Our
EDITORIAL STAFF
receives two valuable accessions, in
the persons of Mr, C. H. (J. Willing
harir, (late editor of the La Grange
Reporter) in the Political Depart
ment, and Mr. W. 11. Moore, well
known in this city by a former con
nection with The Sun as its City
Editor. The Editorial corps of The
Sun will be as follows:
A. 11. Stephens, Political Editor,
S. A. Ecuols, Associate Editor.
C. H. C. Wilunghaji, Assistant.
Political Editor,
Pascal J. Moran, News Editor.
W. H, Moore, )
A. J, Hulsey, f Clt y Edllors -
With this corps of writers, we
enter The Sun upon the New Year,
soliciting of the public patronage,
which we shall endeavor continually
to merit.
Weekly, §2 per Annum.
Letters and remittances for The
Sun should be addressed
Samuel A Ecuols,
Business Manager.
1873 THE 1373
Southern €ljristtan '2li)uocate.
F. M. KENNEDY, D. D., Editor.
THIRTY-SIXTH VOLUME.
This old and well established relig
ious family weekly is devoted to Re
ligion and tlie Church; to literature,
science, art, the news, the markets,
advertisements, etc., etc.
It is proposed to keep it equal to
any family newspaper in the country
—being all that a family that takes
but one paper can need; and also
worthy of a place with other papers,
where several are taken.
Tekms : $2 a year, in advance.
The Ministers of the M. E. Church,
South, both itinerant and local, are
agents for the paper. Address,
J. W. Burke & Cos., Macon, Ga.
RATES OF ADVERTISINGI
One dollar per square—one inch
being a square—for each insertion.
Gash only—not the goods adver
tised—taken for advertising.
No advertisement inserted from
abroad, without a responsible refer
ence, known in Macon.
In advertising medecines and med
ical specialties, nothing will he ad
mitted improper in itself, or believed
to be of hurtful tendency. Publish
ers and editor disclaim ah knowledge
of the merits of specifics advertised,
and will not indorse them, in any
manner whatever, or be held respon
sible for their effects.
Advertisements will not be admit
ted among reading matter at any
price whatever; neither will special
notices or local notices be inserted.
TRIED AND APPROVED!
©mnsiiipiss'E iisr© ediese
STERLING’S
Southern Series of School Books!
1, Sterling’s Southern Primer—in
[taper covers, 48 pages, per dozen, 90
cents; in boards, 48 pages, $1 08.
2, Sterling’s Southern Pictorial
Primer, profusely illustrated with
new and handsome wood-cuts, and
adapted as well for a gift as a school
book, with elegant illuminated cover
—l2 mo, 60 pages, per dozen, $2 40.
3, Sterling’s Southern Elementary
Spelling Book, pp. 128, per dozen sl.
4, Sterling’s Southern First Read
er, 101 pages, 25 cents each.
5, Sterling’s Southern Second Rea
der, 216 pages, 50 cents each.
6, Sterling’s Southern Third Rea
der, 240 pages, 60 cents each.
7, Sterling’s Southern Fourth Rea
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8, Sterling’s Southern Fifth Read
er, 456 pages, $1 25 each.
9, Sterling’s Southern Little Ora
tor, 142 pages, 00 cents each.
10, Sterling’s Southern Orator, 544
pages, $1 50 each.
Sterling’s Southern Copy Books—
nine -numbers—per dozen $1 50.
Published by J. \Y. Burke & Cos.,
Macon, Ga. janOl
HAMILTON, HARRIS CO., GA., FRIDAY, APRIL 4,1873.
An Act to Require tlie Payment
of Costs in Advance .in Certain
Cases.
Sec. 1. Be it enacted by the Gen
eral Assembly, That from and after
the passage of this Act, no Sheriff or
Deputy Sheriff in this State, shall be
required to advertise the property of
any defendant in fi fa for sale until
I the cash for such advertisement shall
have been first paid by the plaintiff
in fi fa, his agent or attorney: provi
ded, that whenever any such party
plaintiff, or his agent or attorney for
iiim, shall make and file an affidavit
in uniting for him, that, owing to his
poverty, he is unable to pay such
cost, then it shall be the duty of said
Sheriff or his Deputy to proceed as
now required by law.
Sec. 2. Repeals conflicting laws.
Approved August 24, 1872.
On aud after this date I will not
advertise any property unless the
plaintiff comes tip to the requirements
of the above law. It may be adver
tised or postponed. All parties in
terested will take notice. The ad
vertising fee is three dollars and fifty
cents per inch, in advance.
B 11. Williams, Sheriff.
Hamilton, Ga., March 28, 1873.
500,000 Subscribers Wanted.
The new volume of Scribner’s
Monthly will present a more brilliant
array oi contributors, a wider and
more thorough discussion of the top
ics treated in its Editorial Depart
ments, finer illustrations, and more
uniformly good }ftinting than any
which has pteceded it. The list of
contributors just published contains
nearly one hundred of the brightest
names known’ to our literature.
Among the features of special inter
est will be Dr. Holland’s Splendid
Serial, “Arthur Bounieastle,” a story
of American life. Also a series of
brilliantly illustrated Papers, By Ed
ward King, under the title of “ The
Great 'South,” which will he alone
worth the price of the Monthly.
There will also be entertaining pa
pers “ About Authors, their Friends,
Whims and Ways,” Papers on the
“Decoration of American Homes.’’
“Sketches, with Portraits, of Living
American Writers.” Also “The
Best Short Stories” by the best of
living story writers. There will he
Descriptive Articles, Tales of Travel
and Adventure, the choicest Poems,
the most Brilliant Essays, Editorials,
Reviews, and Art Critiques, Depart
ments relating to Horne and Society,
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Progress, Amusing and Interesting
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ature by the best writers in the En
glish language.
Scribner’s Monthly has obtained
something more than national recog
nition.
An eminent English author, in a
note to the Publishers, says: “It is
incomparably better than any Maga
zine I have come across.”
.It claims to he “ the foremost Mag
azine of its class in the world."
Subscription price $4 a year, pava
hie in advance.
November and December numbers
sent free to all subscribers for 1873.
Scribner & Cos.,
654 Broadways New York.
LARGEST CIR GULATION
IN THE WO RLE I
A family journal which can be trusted, and
which i.- always full of interest, is a necessity
of the times. Such a one is tlie Christian
Union, Die uuecctarian, evangelical, literary
and family newspaper, Henry Ward Beecher,
editor Something for every member of the
household, in religion, mtsals, politics, liter
ature, art, science, agriculture, poetry, news,
wholesome fiction lor young and old, and
truth for everybody.
Mr. Beecher’s brilljont and characteristic
pen in his Editorials and Star Papers, and the
verbatim reports of his Lecture Room Talks
in the Plymouth Church Prayer-meetings, are
great attractions. There is also a laige and
able editorial staff
The remarkable success of this journal—it
having attained the largest c irculation of its
class in the world—ha-- enabled its publishers
to yet further add to its attractions.
A splendid list of contributors write for the
Christian Union, including many famous au
thors of England and America.
Anew and exquisite French Oleograph, or
two pretty French Oil Chromos, ure given to
every yearly subscriber.
Every subscrilcer, for Three Dollars, shall
receive the Christian Union for one year, and
tlie choice between the two’piciure premiums,
viz,: the Pair and the Oleograph.
Any one sending $5.75, shall receive the
Christian Union or two years, and both of
tlie Picture Fieuriwns
A supplement containing the back numbers
of Miss Alcott’s story will lie sent to all who
subscribe previous to May Ist.
bend money by postal order, draft, or reg
istered letter. Currency at risk of sender.
Send six cents for specimen copy
Intelligent men and women wanted every
where to act as agents. To get good terri
tory, exclusively assigned, send curly for cir
culars and terms, v
J. B. FORI) & CO., Publisher-*,
27 Park Place, New York.
K. W. DUKLS*,
WMMSm QAmm,
BAR AND RESTAURANT,
Corner of Gilmer and Randolph Street*,
WEST POINT, GA.
J3~ Also a first ela-s barber shop and good
sleeping rooms connected w-itn tlie Reuse.
My friends in Harris county are invited to
give me a call whur they visit West Point.
For the Visitor.
1)E-L00F LIRPA.
BY ANN RAVIS.
A proudly-sailing ship had left her
port in sunny Italy, bound for India.
It was in the sultry summer weather,
but favorable gales had wafted her
on until the blue waves of the Indian
Ocean rippled back from her bows,
and the spicy breath of Ceylon floated
out over the placid waters. Another
day, and she would ride safely iu her
harbor.
Walking slowly up and down the
deck, looking out over the hounding
billows, Siguora Clarella watched for
the sight of land. The long, golden
hair, that fell ike tangled sunshine
around her slight form, was pushed
back from a brow of transparent
whiteness. The large, brown eyes
had that weary look that comes with
deepest sorrow. Pale, feeble, she
leaned on the arm of her companion,
and listened, with a patient smile, to
the glowing account of health and
happiness to he found in tlie palm
groves of India—but which she, alas!
would never find.
Suddenly the quick puffs of wind,
the angry swelling of the ocean, be
tokened the approach of a siorm.
Light clouds, that had-lain in dreamy
splendor around the setting sun, now
rolled up iru dark masses, and their
jagged fronts were rent with blinding
flashes of lightning. Heavy peals of
thunder replied to the deep, sullen
roar of tlie sea, and the ship tossed
helplessly upon the howling waste of
waters. The wild fury of night, and
storm, aud darkness, was rendered
more hideous by the piteous cries for
help from the luckless vessel. Min
gling with the curses of the seamen,
and the shouts of the captain, were
heard vain and fruitless prayers for
succor.
The morning dawned, but the storm
still raged ; and still tlie torn and
battered ship, driven far out of her
track, little more than an empty hulk,
drifted, at the mercy of the waves,
upon an unknown tide, And when,
after days of storm and peril, tlio
winds subsided, and the lashed and
angry ocean sunk into quiet, the sea
men hailed with joy the rugged peaks
of a distant shore.
Drenched with tlie cold surf, weak
and faint from fatigue and suffering,
the crew and passengers crowded to
gether upon the beach. The ship,
stranded upon the rocks, had gone
down ; and they who had escaped the
sea now looked forward to a death
from famine on the barren coast be
tween Keshin and Dofar. Clarella,
like a bruised and storm-beaten lily,
rested on the hard, bare earth. Over
come with exhaustion; forgetful of
the dangers yet in store for them, the
wearied group slept long and pro
foundly.
But what sounds are these that
mingle with the solemn moan of the
waves? A band of Bedouin robbers
approach! Rudely arousing them,
they compel the fugitives to fo low
them to the camp of their chief.
The fragile loveliness of the Signora
Claiella moved the compassion even
of these wild men of the desert; and,
dismounting from his steed, the lead
er placed her on it, and himself held
the reins that fell from her trembling
hands. A full-orbed moon wheeled
up from the East, and her bright rays
lighted up the weird scene with al
most midday splendor.
The setting sun easts his lurid rays
upon the burning sands of the desert
of Akhof. Not a blade of grass wel
comes the eye, weary of gazing at
the dreary expanse unfolding itself
upon every side." Not even a shrub
casts its grateful shade on the parched
earth, and there is no Moses to strike
living water from the bare and gloomy
rocks that lie piled around in wildest
confusion.
Why, then, docs Don Salvator-de-
Ilosa, the flower of Spanish chivalry,
linger here? What charm can the
trackless desert possess for him—the
courted and petted favorite of for
tune? Yet, scorning the world and
its homage, in the-e dreary wilds he
makes his home, and amid the perils
of such a life he hopes to deaden tho
sufferings of his heart and stifle mem
ory and regret.
Selim, his fleet Arabian steed, this
day has borne hirn many wearv miles;
and as night’s shades descend upon
the plains, he nears a spot w here the
lofiy rocks, approaching, form a small
amphitheatre, in whose recess lie can
conceal himself from prowling bands
of Bedouins during the night. He
halts. The master and horse share
the scanty supply of food and water.
The simple meal is soon concluded,
aud, prostrate upon the sand, Don
Salvator abandons himself to sad rev
eries. The darkness, the silence, the
solitude, concord with his gloomy
thoughts, and in the heart of the wild
desert he feels the sorrow Unit drove
him from the world brooding over
him with heavy wings, and in his an
guish ho groans aloud: “ Oh, memo
ry!—worm that never dies!—that
preyed ceaselessly upon my heart,
sparing not itsj tenderost and inmost
recesses! I fancied I had killed thee!
—that the Lethean wavq|,pf oblivion
had swept over my wounds with heal
ing power! But to-hight, rising like
a giant in your might f out the tomb
I had made for thee, again thy cruel
clutch is fastened on rny soul! And
here upon this desert earth l writhe,
and groan, aud plead for mercy! Is
this a tear upon my cheek ? Can tho
stern warrior weep? Mothonght the’
fonntniu-of my tears was dry, even as
these barren sands; for my soul is a
desert, seared and blighted by the
consuming fires of passion! aud my
life’s morning, once smiling with
promise, is now enveloped in the
darkness of night! Shadowy demons
mock my misery, and smile at the
ruin of a nature which, hut for you,
Clarella, might have been a blessing,
instead of a curse, to humanity. Born
to be the bane of mankind with your
maddening beauty, your hair of gold,
and soft, sweet eyes, you have tho
heart of a fiend! and gaily now', in
your fair Italian home, .you smile at
the memory of him who wanders an
outcast for your sake! I poured out
my whole soul at your feet; all the
sweet hope of my youth clustered
around you, my idol, and my thoughts
went forth, like doves from the Ark,
to find rest in your kindred Haul! In
vain ! in vain 1 Oh, Death! come,
like an angel of light, and free me
from my misery; for the grave itself
is not as dark as life to me! But I
will cense these vain omnnurings, and
kill my love! It shall not he said
that the proud nobleman, oncp tho
slave of a lady’s smile, is now the vic
tim of a lady’s frown! ” And spring
ing to his feet, he mounts his steed,
and out in the darkness and night he
madly rides, as if ho hopes to flee
from thought, as ho flies from this
scene of his anguish. Ilis weary
horse catches his master’s fli c, and as
the mad pair rush on through tho
black night, Don Salvator thinks of
tho Wild Huntsman of German le
gend, and smiles bitterly at the invol
untary comparison.
On and on they rush! Ho thinks
of fair Italy and her moonlit bowers,
and redoubles his speed. But hark!
Above the sound of his horse’s hoofs
domes the a galloping troop!
lie checks his steed, and, with the
caution of a practiced soldier, he ad
vances slowly. A friendly group of
rocks cast a deep shadow in the moon
light, and hidden by these, he awaits
the approach of the band. In his
present desperate mood he feels it in
his power to defy the whole world.
So no thought of fear causes his heart
to tremble. Why, then, docs he
start and shrink as the troop„da u h by
in the full light of the moon ? Why
does his cheek pale, and the reins fall
from his nerveless hand ? He sees
Clarellal—/unloved Clarella —in the
midst of the robber band! For a
time lie is motionless, as if stunned;
then, involuntarily, he turns and pur
sues, They have swept out of sight
ere this, and his horse, wearied out,
can scarcely follow; hut lie spurs hirn
on. His blood is on fire. The
strength of a hundred demons is in
liis arm. He cannot overtake them,
but he tracks them over the sajidn.
A fringo of trees is seen on the edge
of the horizon. With joy ho sees
that tlie track of tho 1 and leads to
this oasis in the desert. The wild
hope that they have encamped there
thrills his soul, and ho determines to
rescue Clarella, or die in the attempt.
Clarella, no longer a “fiend,” .but
loved with all the tenderness of yore;
for the despair he saw on her face
during that hasty glance has wrought
a revolution in his feelings. Regard
less of danger, he dismounts when
within half a mile of the spot, and
creeps caqtiously up on the sleeping
band, lie hears them slowly and
gently: he sees the fair form of Cla
rella, and his heart almost stands still,
in the depth of his emotion, Not a
sound is heard, save tlie deep drawn
breath of the sleepers; not even a
leaf rustles under his stealthy tread.
He steps over the sleeping figures;
he stoops ; he gently takes her in his
arms; the frail form, so ligtft, is al-
oo great a burden lor the strong
man in his agitation. She opens her
eyes and looks up in his face with a
smile of ineffable content aud peace,
lie sees no surprise on her counten
ance; perfect trust beams iff her eyes.
Ho folds her to his breast; ho hears
her to the-spot where the chiefs
Imrse is grazing. In a second they
have mounted him ; in another they
are tar away o’er the plains. But the
sound of their horse’s feet arouses the
sleeping robbers. They ore a little
disconcerted by the loss of their finest
horse, hut the chief mounts another,
and they rush on in hot pursuit. But
Don Salvator is far away, anil already
feels secure and supremely happy,fur
hr’has rescued Ohm-llu. -'*• ’ *
But what is this that comes to meet
them with fearful bounds? A fierce
fyer,filling the air with hom'd growls,
is springing upon them ! —when, be
hold, in tho dlstunoo
If tlie kind reader should ho suffi
ciently interested in the fate of these
unfortunate lovers to desire a sequel
to this thrilling story, he or she has
only to turn to tho title, and spell it
hack words.
A TRUE GHOST 1 STORY.
REMINISCENCE OF A COUNTRY PHYSICIAN.
“ Did you ever hear,” said a friend
once t o me, “ a real true ghost story
one that you might depend upon
“There are uot many such to be
heard,” I replied, “ and I am afraid |
it has never been rny good fortune to
meet with those who were really!
able to give me a genuiue, well au
thenticated story,”
“Well, yon-shnll never have cause
to say so again; and it was an adven
ture that happened to myself, you
can scarcely think it ol!her than well
authenticated. I know you to he no
coward, or I might, hesitate before I
told it to you. You need not stir
tho fire; there is plenty of light by
which you can hear it. Aud now to
begin. I had been riding hard one
day in the autumn for nearly five or
six hours, through some of the most,
tempestuous weather to which it had
ever been my ill luck to bo exposed.
It was just about the time of the
Equinox, and perfect hurricanes swept
over tho hills, as if every wind in
heaven had broken loose, and gone
mad, and on every hill the raiu and
driving sleet poured down iu one un
broken shower.
“ When I reached the head of
Wontford valley—you know the
place, a narrow ravine with rooks on
one side, and those rich .-full -woods
(not that they wore very full then,
for the winds had shaken them till
there was scarcely a leaf on their
hare rustling branches) op the other,
with a clear little stream winding
through the hollow dell—when 1
came to the entrance of this valley,
weather-beaten vetran as I was, I
scarcely knew how to hold on my
way; tho wind, as it wero, held in be
tween the two high banks, rushed
like a river just broken loose into a
now course, carrying with it a per
fect sheet of rain, against which my
horse and I struggled with consider
able difficulty; still I went on, for
the village lay at the other end, and
I had a patient to boo there, who
had sent a very urgent message, en
treating me to come as soon as pos
sible. We are slaves to a message,
we poor medical men, and I urged
on my poor jaded brute with a keen
relish for the warm fire aild good
dinner that awaited mo as soon as I
could see my unfortunate patieut, and
get back home . doubly valued on
such a day as that in which I was
then out. it was indeed dreary rid
ing in such .weather; and the scene
altogether through which I passed,
was certainly not the most conduct
ive towards raising a man’s spirits;
hut 1 positively half wished myself
out in it all again, rather than sit
tho lionr I was obliged to spend by
tlie sick-bed of the wretched man I
had been summoned to visit. He
had met with an accident tlie day be
fore, and as lie had been drinking up
to the lime, and' the people hau de
layed sending for me, I found him in
a frightful .tale of fever; and it was
really an awful thing either to look
at or to lie was delirious,
and perfectly furious; and his face,
swelled with passion, and crimson
with tho fever that was burning him
up, was a sight to frighten children,
r and not one calculated to add to the
tranquility even of full grown rrien.
I dare say you think me very weak,
and that 1 ought to iiave been inmired
such to things, mincing his ravings
no more than the dash of tlie rain
against the window; but, during the
whole of my practice, I irnd never
seen man or woman, in health or in
fever, in so frightful a state of furious
frenzy, with the impress of every bad
passion stamped so broadly and fear
fully upon the face; and, m tlie mis
erable hovel that (hen held me with
his old witch-like mother standing by,
the babel of the wind and rain out
side added to the ravings of the
wretched creating within- 1 began
to feel neither in a happy nor an envi
able frame of mind. There is noth
ing so frightful as w here the reasona
ble spirit seems to abandon man’s
body, and leave it to a fiend instead.
“ After an hour or more, waiting
patiently ly his bedside, not liking to
leave the helpless old woman alone
witli Bo dangerous a companion (for
I could not answer tor anything he
$2 A YEAR.
might do in his frenzy), I thought
that remedies by which I hoped in
some measure to silbdne the fever,
seemed beginning to take effect, and
that I might leave him, promising to
send all that was necessary, though
fearing much that he had gone bey
ond all rny power to restore Mai;
and desiring that I might be immedi
ately called hack again, should he
got worse instead of better, which I
felt almost certain would ba the case,
I hastened homeward, glad enough
to he leaving wretched huts aud ra
ving men, drhing rain and windy
hills, for a comfortable house, dry
clothes, a warm fire, and a good din
ner. I think I never saw such a fire
in my life as the one that blazed up
iny .ehiupiry; itdooked 30 wonderfully,
warm and bright, anil there soemed
an indescribable nir of comfort about
the room which I had never noticed
before. One would have thought I
should have enjoyed it intensely af
ter my wet ride, but throughout the
whole evening, tlie scenes of the day
would keep recurring to. my mind
with most uncomfortable distinctness,
and it was in vain that I endeavored
to forgot, it all in a book, one of our
old favorites too; so at last I fairly
gave up tho attempt, as the hideous
face would continually come between
my eyes and an especially good pas
sage; and I went oft’ to bed heartily
tired, and expecting sleep very rea
dily to visit ino. Nor was I disap
pointed: I was soon deep asleep,
though my last thought was on the
little valley I had left. llow long
this heavy and dreamless sleep con-
tinued, I cannot tell, but gradually I
felt consciousness returning, in the
shape of the very thoughts witli
which I fell asleep, aud at last I
opened my eyes, thoroughly roused
by a heavy blow at my window. I
cannot describe my horror, When, by
the light of a moon struggling among
the heavy snrge-liko clouds, I saw
tho very face, the face of that man,
looking in at mo through tho case
ment, the eyes distended and the
face pressed close to the glasd. I
started up in bed, to convince my
self that I really was awake, and not
suffering from some frightful droatn;
there it staid, perfectly, moveless, its
wide ghastly eyes fixed unwaver
ingly on mine, which, by a kind of
fascination, became equally fixed and
rigid, gazing upon the dreadful face,
which alone without a body was vis
ible at tbe window, unless an indefi
nable blnelc shadow, that seemed to
float beyond it, might be fancied into
one. 1 can scarcely tell how long I
so sat looking at it, but I remember
something of a rushing sound, a feel
ing of relief, a falling exhausted back
upon my pillow, and then I awoke in
the morning ill and unrefreshed. I
was ill at case, and tho first question
I asked, on coming down stairs, was,
whether any messenger had come to
summon me to Wentford. A mes
senger had come, they told me, hut
it was to say I need trouble myself
no further,' ns the man was already
beyond all aid, having died about tho
middle of tho night. I never felt so
strangely in my life as when they
told mo this, and my brain almost
reeled as the events of the previous
day and night passed through my
mind in rapid succession. That I had
seen something supernatural in tho
darkness of the night, I had never
doubted, but when the sun shono
brightly into my room in the morn
ing, through tiie same window, where
I hud sopn so frightful and strange a
sight by tlie spootral light of tho
moon, I began to believe more it
was a dream, and endeavored to
ridicule myself out of all uncomfor
table feeling, which, nevertheless, I
could not quite shake off. Haunted
by what I considered a painful dream,
I left my room and the first thing I
heard was a confirmation of what I
iiad been for the last hour endeavor
ing to reason and ridicule myself out
of believing. It was some hours be
fore I could recover my ordinary
tranquility ; and then it came back,
not slowly as yon might have expec
ted, as the impression gradually worn
off, and tithe wrought his astral chan
ges in mind as in body, but sud
denly—by tbe discovery that our
largo white owl bad escaped during
the night, and had honored my win
dow with a visit before he came
quite accustomed to his liberty,”
A Joke on a Doctor.— A few
nights since, at a late hour, tho speak
ing tube at the office door of a pop
ular physician in New Haven was
used by some niiduight wag to the
following effect:
The doctor was in a sound sleep
when lie was partially awaken by a
liullo through the tube, when tbe
following dialogue took place:
“ Web, what do yon want?”
“ Doeo Dr. J ones live here ?” ,
“ Vea, what do you want!”
“ Are you Dr. Jones
“Yes.” ,
“Dr. Simon JoneS?”
“ Yes, yes; what do'yon want ?”
“Why, how long have you lived
here?’’ *
“Some twenty years; why?”
“Why? Why in the thunder
don’t you move?”
“if you stay there about ten sec
onds more, you’ll fiud that I am
moving!” and ho bounced out of
bed; but the patient was heard mov
ing down tlie street at a rate that
defied pursuit. * 0
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