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Entered according to Act of Congress, in June, 1870, by J. W. Burkr & Cos., in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the So. District of Georgia Vol. IV—No. 18 Written for Burke’s Weekly. ROSIE ROSEBUD’S TRAVELS, And What She Saw, U® bfiL TOLD you in my last of my visit to Cedar Town, and of H the fine limestone spring there. This is a limestone region, and there are many beautiful springs in the neigh borhood of Rome. Some of the finest are at Cave Spring, which is only a short ride from Rome, on the cars of the Selma, Rome and Dalton Railway. Mrs. Ford lives at Cave Spring, and the Deaf and Dumb Asylum is located there. There is a beautiful cave there, from which the place takes its name, and there are several springs that are large enough to run a mill. Col. Pickett, who wrote a “History of Alabama,” believes that Rome occu pies the site of the ancient Indian town of Chiaha, where the Spanish explorer, De Soto, took up his quarters in 1540 — three hundred and thirty years ago. In an old account of De Soto’s travels, written by a Portuguese gentleman— who claims to have been with the Span ish traveller —and translated into Eng lish and published in 1609, an account of Chiaha, and of De Soto’s visit, is given, which older heads than mine have declared proves beyond contro versy that the present Rome is on the same spot once occupied by the Indian town. I have no opinion on the subject myself, and only tell you little folks what I have heard. The truth is, Ido not consider it a matter of much impor tance, anyhow. We left Rome on Wednesday morn ing, for Chattanooga and Look - out Mountain. A little girl got on the train at Rome, who was going to see her gi’andmother at Dalton. I knew she had never seen a railroad or been on the cars in her life, for she was just as fidgety and scared as she could be. Her father brought her from the country, in a wagon drawn by two oxen, and she had on a homespun dress. But it was nice and clean, and she looked like a nice little girl. Just before the train MACON, GEORGIA, OCTOBER 29, 1870. started, the engine blew its whistle, and you just ought to have seen how that little girl did jump! Poor little thing, she was so frightened that I saw she was most ready to cry, and as the train started directly afterwards, and she was all alone, I asked mamma to let me go over and sit by her. When I first sat down on the seat by her, she seemed to be afraid of me, and shrunk up close to the window of the car. But I said, as kindly as I could : “ Good morning, little girl, where are you going to ? ” “ I’m gwine to Dalton, tc see my granny,” she answered. THE TUNNEL ON THE STATE ROAD. “And where do you live, when you are at home?” I asked. “I lives at Punkin Pile,” she re plied. I could scarcely keep from laughing, the name sounded so funny, and I was really no wiser than before, for I hadn’t the least idea where Punkin Pile was ; but I found out afterwards that it is the name of a post-office in Chattooga County. However, I had a long talk with the little girl, and found out that her name was Sarepta Ann Jones ; that she had never been to Rome before, or seen a railroad until the morning I met her, and that she was going to Dalton to spend a month with her grandmother. I noticed two boys on a seat a little way in front of us, who behaved very badly. They were dressed like city boys, and seemed to think a good deal of themselves, and that my little friend from the country was fair game for them. They would look back at her, and then at one another and laugh, and I saw that little Sarepta noticed and felt it, for, though she was unused to the ways of the world, she was a girl of good sense. Every now and then, I gave these two boys such a look that I thought they would take the hint and be have themselves, but it seemed to make them worse. At last I got out of pa tience, and leaned over and said to them: “See here, little boys, if you don’t behave better, I shall ask the conductor to put you in another car.” After that they behaved very well, until we reached Kingston, and there we left them, for I think they were going to Atlanta, while we took the up train. Nothing special happened before we arrived at Dalton, where my little friend found her grandmother waiting for her. The old lady seemed delighted to see her granddaughter, and Sarepta seemed to be just as glad to see her “ granny,” as she called her—and such a hugging and kissing you never saw. I thought she had forgotten all about poor me ; but, Whole No. 174. bless your heart, she hadn’t done any thing of the kind ; for in a minute or two, she brought her grandmother up to the side of the car, where I sat look ing out of the window, and said: “ Granny, here’s a little gal that was monsous good to me as we come along; and I do believe I should a got skeered to death at that critter thar, if it hadn’t a been for her.” “Bless your pretty eyes, honey,” said the old lady, shaking hands with me, “ the Lord will bless you for bein’ kind to my little granddaughter. Seems to me,” she continued, “that He’s pow erful good to us all anyhow—a heap bet ter than we deserves. 1 knowed, when I writ for Sarepty to come and see me, that she would find somebody on the way to take kere of her. And now, honey, if you ever stops in Dalton, I’ll be main glad to see you, and do as much for you as you’ve done for Sa repty.” Just then, the whistle blew, and the old lady thrust a large red apple into my hand, as the train started. I’m so glad I was kind to Sarepta, for you see it made two hearts glad, to say nothing of my own. In a little while after leaving Dalton, we passed through the tunnel. I tell you, it is dark. One man on the train said the darkness was “so thick you could cut it with a knife;” but it was no such thing. The train rushes from the bright light into the darkness so suddenly, however, and the contrast is so great, that it startles one, even if you are looking out for it, as I was. One little baby, that was near me, got terribly frightened, and began to cry ; and an old gentleman, who was busy reading a newspaper, gave such a jump that his spectacles fell off of his nose. But we soon got through the tunnel into daylight again, and were all glad of it. I must tell you about Chattanooga and Look-out Mountain in my next let ter. So, good-bye. Rosie Rosebud. There is only one thing worse than ignorance, and that is conceit. Os all intractable fools, an overwise man is the worst.