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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.”