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Entered according to Act of Congress, in June, 1870, by J. W. Burke Sc Cos., in the Clerk’s Office of 1() ■ Jtrict Cos aft vs the United States for the District «f Georgia
VOL. IV--NO. 20.
COUNT PULASKI.
OUNT Casimar Pulaski was
born in the province of Lithu
ania, Poland, in the year 1746.
After having unsuccessfully fought for
the principles of free government in his
own country, he determined to connect
himself with those who were engaged
in the same struggle in America. He
arrived in the United States in the year
1777, and volunteered his services to
the American Government in its first
struggle with Great Britain, and at once
threw himself heartily into the cause.
He fought gallantly at the battles of
Brandywine, Germantown, Quebec,
Charleston, and Savannah. In the
battle of Brandywine he held a post
near Washington, and by his bravery
and activity confirmed the reputation
which he had made in Europe as an
accomplished officer.
He was appointed by Congress Brig
adier-General of Cavalry ; but owing to
some dissatisfaction among the officers
under him, he resigned his commission,
and joined the main army at Valley
Forge.
In 177"8, with the approbation of Gen.
Washington, and Congress, he raised a
corps, which was afterwards known as
Pulaski’s Legion.
In the assault on Savannah, on the
9th of October, 1779, while leading a
cavalry charge, he fell mortally wounded
by a swivel shot, and died at sea, a few
days afterwards, from the effects of the
wound, aged 33 years.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
A Cat's History, Written by Herself.
CAT to write! ’Tis nonsense
quite, you all exclaim, with
* > "™. muc h disdain : a fairy tries
in this disguise, a tale to weave that
will deceive. Puss replies, with some
surprise: fairies, I ween, are never
seen. They boast to be of high degree;
but a false race, we cannot trace, by
MACON, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 12, 1870.
land or sea, their pedigree. They live
on air; such slender fare suits not a
cat, healthy and fat. Their tribe I
scorn, for I’m true born. Rats and
mice 1 think so nice; they seldom slip
from my fond lip.
Now of myself I'll quickly draw, with
my front paw, a likeness true, ar.d
bring to view. My back is like the
tortoise-shell, my breast like soft white
fur; among the cats I reign a belle, and
make the greatest stir.
My photograph won’t make you
laugh; but one I’ve seen of ancient
COUNT PULASKI.
mein, so stiff and dried, and mummi
fied; twisted in chair, with vacant
stare, and crossing hands like iron
bands; you would deem a witch, or
goblin sprite, of Egypt come again to
light. Could a cat smile, ’twould be a
crime; for my old mistress holds her
head as though she were already
dead.
But with my story I’ll proceed, and
you will find it true indeed. I lie upon
the carpet soft, and on my lady’s lap;
she strokes me gently then, and oft I
take a pleasant nap. But when atten
tion turns my head, to make me vain
and bold, I’m apt to jump upon her
bed, to shield me from the cold. Then,
should she chance to look about, I
blush at my disgrace; “Katie,” she
cries, “I’ve found you out, now leave
that dainty place.” Soon from my
downy couch of rest I’m cast upon the
floor, where, with a meek and humbled
crest, I wait beside the door; hoping
my mistress to escape, while m her
angry mood, for no excuses can I shape
that will be understood.
But other trials grieve me more, and
sadden all my fate; for boys will tease
us as of yore, and blast our best estate.
My mistress has a youngster here, he
lives within our home; I wonder she
can call him near, I dread to see him
come. He lifts me up so high in air,
and turns me round and round ; his
merry laugh I often hear, when tumb
ling to the ground. Did he but treat
me well and kind, I would the tale dis
prove, that says, all cats are deaf and
blind to gratitude and love.
I have a darling kitten here, I wish
the world could see ; she is like myself ,
so good and fair , and full of fun and
glee. She pulls my tail and bites my
Whole No. 176.
ears —a disrespect I know, but when I
chide she never hears, so what am I
to do?
But, hark ! I hear the dinner bell,
sounding so loud and clear; and 0I1!
the savoury kitchen smell, I’ll hasten
to be there. So now my history must
end, this brings it to a close; you see,
my listening little friend, I've not a
fairy's nose. Your faithful and loving
Cat. Kate Doolittle.
# * *
*
*
THE MIDNIGHT CROSS.
IN IDYLS.
Albert Sidney Johnston.
Shiloh.
IS Soul to God ! on a battle-psalm !
The Soldier’s plea to Heaven !
J/J From the victor-wreath to the shi
ning Palm :
From the battle’s core to the cen
\v> ft) J
tral calm
And peace of God, in Heaven.
*
* * *
*
*
Oh ! Land I in your midnight of mistrust,
The golden gates flew wide,
And the kingly soul of your WISE and JUST
Passed in light from the house of dust
To the Home of the Glorified.
*-•>«
The Beauty of Purity.
was in company with
a mot ) ier an( ) daughter, when
l a tter, being reproved for
something, blushed and burst into tears.
He said to the mother, “How beautiful
your reproach has made your daughter !
The crimson hue and those silvery tears
become her much better than any orna
ment of gold or pearls; those may be
hung on the neck of any woman ; these
are never seen unconnected with moral
purity. A full-blown flower is not so
beautiful as this child —blushing and
shedding tears of sorrow for her fault.
A blush is the sign which nature hangs
out, to show where purity and honor
dwell.”