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VOL. I.
THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL
Ii published every Thursday Morning,
IN’ COLUMBUS, GA.
BY WTO. H. CHAMBERS,
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
Office up stairs, Corner of Broad and Randolph sts.
Terms of Subscription.
One copy twelve months, in advance, - - - $2 50
•< • - * At the end of the year, 300
■ ♦* u After the year expires, 400
Rntes of Advertising.
t>ne square, first insertion, - - - * 01 00
“ * Each subsequent insertion, - - 50
Contracts will be made for advertising by the quarter,
br by the year, at liberal deductions from the above rates.
All obituary and marriage notices must be accompanied
by a responsible name, and where they exceed one square
thev will be charged as other advertisements.
To Correspondents.—All communications must be
addressed (post paid) to the Proprietor at this place.
Contributions must be accompanied with the real name
tf the writer.
THIS PAPER
IS MANUFACTURED BV
THE ROCK ISLAND FACTORY,
Near this City.
Columbus, Feb. 28, 1850. 9 ts
gjriEORGiA MUSCOGEE COUNTY.—Where
as, James T. Flewellen applies for letters of
administration upon the estate oi Allen Caldwell,
late of said county, deceased.
These are therefore to cite and admonish all and
singular the kindred and creditors of said deceased,
to show cause (if any they have.) within the time
prescribed by law, why the administration of said
estate should not be granted to the said applicant.
(iiven under my hand this 27th day of February,
1850. JOHN JOHNSON, c. c. o.
February 28, 1850. 9 5t
Planters take ft otice.
Saw Mills, Grist Mills, Factories, Gin Gear,
Rice Mills and Susfar Mills.
THE firm of AMBLER & MORRIS, are now
ready to build any of the above named Mills,,
propelled by Water, Steam or Horse. Our work shall be
done in the best possible manner, and warranted inferior ,
to none now in use. Both of the above firm arc practi
cal men, and attend to their business in person, and will
furnish Engines lor Steam Mills, Grist or Saw, and 6et
either in complete operation. The firm can give the best
assortment of Water Wheels and Gearing, of any in the
Southern States, and will say to our employers, if a Mill
or any of our work does not perform in the business for ;
which it was intended, no pav will he exacted. Try us
and see. AMBLER & MORRIS.
January 24, 1850. 4 ly
IMPORTANT
TO MILL OWNERS AND PLANTERS.
PHN HE undersigned will contract for building
Rock Dams, or any kin and of rock work and
ditching, in any part of this State or Georgia, in Uip
most improved manner.
TIMOTHY B. COLLINS,
Fort Mitchell, Russell, Cos. Ala.
Dec. 6,1849. 49 Cm.
tcTphysicians, druggists
AND
COUNTRY MERCHANTS.
Dll. J. N. KEELER & BRO. most respectfully
solicit attention to their fresh stock of English,
Eretnch, German and American Drugs, Medicines, Che
•nicals, Paints, Oils, Dye-stuffs, Glassware, Perfumery,
Patent Medicines, fcc. Having opened anew store No.
294 Market-st., with a full supply of Fresh Drugs and
Medicines, we respectfully solicit country dealers to exa
mine our stock before purchasing elsewhere, promising
*e and all who may be disposed to extend us their patron
%ge, to eeit them genuine Drugs and Medicines, on as
liberal terms as any other house in the city, and to faith- I
fully exwst-e all orders entrusted to us promptly and with
dispatch. ‘One elf the proprietors being a regular physi
•nmn, affords ample guarantee of the genuine quality of
aJU wswJss sold ait their establishment. We especially
invite druggists airfi country merchants, who may wish
to become agents for Dr. Keeler’s Celebrated Family
Medicines, (standard and popular remedies,) to forward
their address. Soliciting the patronage of dealers, we
Tpectfnlly remain,
if. N. K EELER Sc BRO. Wholesale Druggists,
diet. 11, 1849. ly N0.294 Market-st. Phil’a.
County Surveyor.
THE undersigned informs his friends and the
Planters of Muscogee county, that he is pre
fared to make official surveys in Musrogee county.
setters addressed to Post Office, Columbus, will meet
with prompt attention. WM. F. SERRELL,
County Surveyor.
Office over E. Barnard & Co.’s store, Broad street.
Columbus, Jan. 31, 1850. 5 ly
SSO Reward.
ANA WAY from the subscriber, about the 15th
February last, a small mulatto woman, by the
name of FRANCES, she is about four feet ten or ele
ven inches high, speaks quick and laughs loud, with ra
ther a squeaking voice, her nose and mouth project ra
ther more than is common for mulattos ; she had rings
in her ears when she left, and always wears something
on her head. I will pay fifty dollars far the apprehen
sion and safe keeping of her so that I can get her. I
will also pay a liberal reward for proof sufficient to con
vict any person of harboring her, as l have reasons to be
lieve she is concealed by someone.
S. T. AUSTIN.
Noveniber I. 44tf
I>ancing Academy.
MR. R. POWELL, (late of New York,)
has the honor to announce to the Ladies j
and Gentlemen of Columbus, and its vicinity, that he ex- |
pectsto open a class sometime in January next, should :
he receive sufficient patronage, for the purpose of giving j
instruction in that polite art, in all its varieties. In ad- ;
dition to the plain style of Dancing and Waltzing, the fol- ;
lowing
Fashionable and Fancy Dances
will he taught during the season :
Cachucha, El Jaleo Xeres, La Sylphide, Cel
iarius Waltz, Cracovienne, Muscovienne, Re
gatta Hornpipe, Redowa Waltz, Yarsovienne,
Highland Fling, Wreath Waltz, Cing Temps,
Polka Waltz, &•..
Together with the fashionable Quadrilles of Polka
Mazurka, Ist and 2nd sets, and new Quadrilles of
Redowa, as danced in the principal cities and fash
ionable watering places in the United States.
Ladies who may wish to learn the more late and
fashionable styles, such as Polka. Mazurka, Redowa
and Cellarius Waltzing, or Polka. Mazurka, and
R°do\va Quadrilles, will be wailed on at their resi
dence,on day and hours to suit their convenience.
Parents and guardians entrusting their children
to my charge, may rely on the strictest attention
being paid to their ease, grace and general deport
ment.
Terms, and other details may be known on appli
cation to me.
Dec. 20,1849.- 61 ts
Bk North Carolina
L,ife Insurance Company.
LOCATED AT RALEIGH, N. C.
K Charier us this company gives important advan
laSßs 10 *^ e assure d. over most other companies.
husband can insure his own life for the sole use
benefit of his wife and children, free from anv othet
Persons who insure for life participate in the
which are declared annually, and when the pre
exceeds S3O, may pay one half in a note.
Slaves are insured at two thirds theirvalue for one or
years.
®'-H’ Applications for Risks mav be made to
V ‘ JOHN MU'NN, Agent,Columbus, Ga.
Office at Greenwood A Co.’s Warehouse.
SSvvember 15,1819. • -n
THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL.
Be Thou Ready !
Be thou ready, fellow mortal,
In thy pilgrimage of life,
Ever ready to uphold thee,
In the toil and in the strife ;
Lt no hope, however pleasant,
Lure thy footsteps from the right,
Nor the sunshine leave thee straying
Iu the sudden gloom of night.
Be thou ready when thy brother
Bows in dark affliction’s shade;
Be thou ready when thy sister
Needs thy kindness and thy aid ;
Let thy arm sustain and cheer them—
They have claims upon us all—
And thy deeds like morning sunlight,
On their weary hearts shall fall.
Be thou ready when the erring
List to sin’s enchanting strain ;
Ready with kind words to woo them
Back to virtue’s path again ;*
Be thou ready, in thy weakness,
To do good to friend and foe,
As thy Father sheddeth freely
Light on all that dwell below.
Be thou ready for the morrow,
When delight shall please no more ;
When the rose and lily fadeth,
And the song of charm is o’er;
When the voices of thy kindred
Faintly move thy dying ear—
Be thou ready for thy journey
To some higher, brighter sphere !
From the Model American Courier.
VIRGINIA ELLISON.
A Talc of Woman’s Love.
“Look not upon the wine when it is red.”—Puov.
“ ’Tis rich and red—bat grief and woe
Lie hid in its rosy depths below.”— Willis.
It was a dreary night ! The wind swept in
wild gusts around the house—now swelling in
to a fierce, whirling song, as if it triumphed
in its power to harm—now dying away into
low, mournful complainings, like the sobbings
o( a crushed heart. It was, indeed, a dreary
night! Trie rain fell in torrents, plashing
against the window-panes, and forcing its way
through every crevice in the old frame, and
gushing in under the door, where a vain effort
to stop it with a worn carpet had been made ;
and the old house shook and trembled with ev
ery blast of that terrible wind as if it would
rock from its crazy foundations.
Within a loom of the old crazy house a fire
burned brightly : and its flickering light fell
warmly on a little s‘ra\v cradle that stood near
the hearth, and quivered on the fair face of the
little babe that slept in it as quietlv as if the
wild moaning of the wind had been the soft lul
laby of its own gentle mother. It was a beau
tiful babe, with soft, scant curls of pale brown
clustering around the tiny face on which the
fire-light played ; and one white chubby arm
lay on the dark coverlet. The mother sat by
it, but she did not look at its beauty ; she did
not even put forth her hand to rock the cradle
as the little one turned uneasily, and once mur
mured in its sleep that low sound which will
find its way to a mother’s heart, though she be
wrapt in profound slumber. She sat on a low
stool, with her face buried in her hands, and at
intervals her form quivered as if a sudden
spasm had passed over. And who can tell the
thoughts of that lone watcher? She has gone
back, perchance, to the. time when she “dwelt
in marble halls,” where a happy childhood was
spent on the banks of the broad Rappahan
nock, when she sported like a glad, free thing,
over her father’s beautiful lands, when that fa
ther’s love and a gentle sister’s smiles were
the light of her life. She has gone back to the
time when she stood a bride before the altar,
leaning on that arm which she so fondly trust
ed would yield her the same support through
life—when she stood in all her early beauty
beside him in whom had centered all the light,
and love, and happiness of that young fond
heart. And how worthy had she thought him,
to receive all, and more than she could bestow !
Was he now the noble, the gifted, the good ?
Aye ! so he had been : but the tempter had
held the poisoned chalice to his lips—he had
tasted, and fallen, fallen, fallen ! And tho mus.
er awoke from her reverie to the poverty
stricken house of the inebriate, and her fearful
watching for his coming.
She raise* her head and listened for a mo
ment : it was only the wind soughing through
the ruinous entrance to the house ; and with
a suppressed sigh she left her scat, and pro
ceeded to arrange a scanty supper. The little
pine table was placed before the fire, the white
cloth spread, and the frugal meal arranged on
it. She stirred the fire, and a warm glare
spread over the miserable room, and lighted
■up the poor furniture with something like a
gleam of comfort; she drew back the faded
curtain, that the bright fire-light might shine
out into the dreary night, and serve as a bea
con to guide her wandering husband home.
There was a depth of sorrow in her large black
eyes, and the dark lashes swept her cheek as
heavily as if unseen weights were on them ;
and though she moved with a quiet grace
about the room as she pursued her womanly
occupation, her step was heavy and languid as
of one in whom hope was almost extinct. She
stood by the cradle ot her child, and bending
over it, kissed the tiny hand that lay on the
coverlet. When she raised her head, a tear
lay on the babe’s soft cheek, and its companion
glistened in the mother’s eye.
“I will hope on if only for your sake, my
precious babe,” she murmured. At that mo
ment, a slight noise drew her attention to the
door, which she opened hastily, when a man
fell heavily into the room, (as the support which
the door had ) ielded him was removed,) and lay
on the floor as if dead. A smothered shriek
from a woman’s stricken heart mingled with
the hoarse blast that rushed in through the
opened door, and the sound was borne off in
its whirling fury on the midnight air. One
moment, and she recollected herself —the door
was closed, locked, double-locked, and the
wife, (for it needed no second cry to tell the
relation she bore to this insensible form,) turn
ed towards the prostrate man. He lay just as
i he had fallen, with his arms bent under him,
and his head upon the bare planks, where his
hat had fallen off. She stood, for one dreadful
moment, over him in silent anguish. She knew
he was intemperate, she had seen him many a
time intoxicated —she knew that his ruiuous
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, MARCH 21, 1850,
habits of drinking had brought them to this
miserable poverty, and would bring them still
lower—but this was the first time she lmd ever
sepn him in such an extremity. What a sight
for a wife to see him whom she has sworn to
love, to honor, to obey. lying before her, help,
less and senseless, on a level with “the brutes
that peiish.” Poor wife! she clasped her
hands upon her heaving breast, and kneeling
down beside him, prayed for strength in this
sore trial. One moment spent in wild suppli
cation, and the tones of intense anguish subsi
ded into low, broken murmurs that told of the
subdued and patient spirit of the pleader. And
then she bent over the fallen man, and gently
and tenderly removed his wet clothes, untied
his cravat, and carefully rubbed and dried his
neck and wet hair- -and having with great diffi
culty taken off his coat, wrapped him in a com
fortable dressing-gown. ‘Phis took a long time,
for he lay as one dead, and it was taxing her
strength to the utmost to raise him, for he was
a large man and very heavy. She could not
move him from the floor, but she brought a pil
low and placed it gently beneath his head—
ihen, her labor of love finished, she resumed
her low seat by the cradle of her sleeping child ;
and the wife, nobly as she had acted her part,
gave way to the woman, and a wild burst of
sorrow again shook her frame. And thus she
sat through that long, dreary night—poor Vir
ginia Ellison !—keeping her sad watch over
her diunken husband and her innocent child.
Oh ! woman ! woman ! through what scenes
will not your love carry you ? Trouble, pov
erty, disgrace and age, still hope on.
The bright morning sun was streaming
through the little window of the same old house.
The slorm of the preceding night had left its
traces in the crushed shrubbery of the neighbor
ing yards, the torn limbs of trees, creaking
shutters hanging by one hinge, swinging door
signs, and all the sad tokens of a tempest. But
what were the marks of that inner tempest,
which shook the strong and bowed the slender ?
Alas! you might see its traces in the drooping
form, the pale, icy looking cheek and lustreless
eye, as the sorrow.stricken Mrs. Ellison leant
over an old harp, the sole relic of her former
affluence, and went over the tedious lesson with
a little girl whom she had gained as a pupil,
because she only charged two shillings a les
son. Over and over bad the dull exercise to
be played, over and over had the same monoto
nous 1 2 3 to be counted ; over and over again
had the cultivated ear and aching head, (ach
ing from want of sleep and excess of grief’) to
listen to the harsh, grating discord, played by
the small, inexperienced band ; and the tire
some lesson was finished. She swept her hand
mournfully across the instrument as her pupil
left the room, and sat studying (or several min
utes.
“Two pupils at two shillings 1” she said soft
ly, speaking to herself, as the miserable are
apt to do when they have no friend to whom
they may unbosom their cares. “Two lessons
a week, each, make eight shillings ; the cost
of this miserable house is six dollais per month,
I cannot do it! I can not. do it!” she repeated
in a louder key, and with such a mournful ca
dence of despair in the tones of that once rich
voice, it might have melted the heart of a sav
age.
“What is it my dear sister cannot do?” said
a gentle voice behind her, and a young girl,
who had entered unperceived, folded her arms
affectionately around the sad soliloquizer, and
kissed her cheek. “Tell me, dear Virginia,”
she urged, tenderly, as the large black eyes
replied to her loving gaze by filling with tears,
“what is it you cannot do ? If I cannot help
you I at least can weep with you.”
My own, kind sister,” said Mrs. Ellison, re
turning her embrace, “you have been ever
kind, though my father has cast me offi Yes,
cast me off, for clinging to the husband whom I
had his free consent to marry ; whom in my
marriage vow I swore to love through good and
ovil report, and forsaking all others to cleave
only unto him, and whom I will not desert in
an hour when he needs me most. No, Mar
garet, I will not complain, for I will labor as
long as I have life and strength, and when I
can do no more, we will die together, for nei.
ther by word nor complaint will I ever dare
again my father’s curse 1”
“Do not say so, dear Virginia,” eagerly in
terrupted her sister. “I am sure he will relent;
for even now I bear a message from him, that
his heart and home are open to receive you and
your child, when ” she paused, for her lis
tener’s dark eyes were flashing with indigna
tion.
“When I shall sec fit to desert my unfortu
nate husband 1 my poor, misg’ ided, erring
husband. God grant I shall never feel that my
duty. I do not attempt to defend his course,
Margaret; I can see that he has fallen very
low, but I have never asked my father to receive
us to his house ; to have his fair halls Sullied
by the presence of—alas ! I shudder to name
my husband—a drunkard 1 I have only asked
for a bare pittance, now’ and then, to preserve
my innocent babe, his only grand child, from
exposure to the sufferings his mother would en
dure without a murmur. He is unjust, Marga.
ret, though my father; and while I shall ever
bear him the affection of a child, shall ever
love and revere his name, I can but feel, and
bitterly too, his injustice. Nay, my sister, it
is useless,” she continued, as she saw the fair
girl about to interrupt her ; “he approved my
marriage ; he said Eugene was worthy to be
his son, and now he casts me off because 1
will not break the vows he sanctioned. I can
not defend Eugene’s course, but God knows my
heart would almost break with joy, to see him
reform, and while life lasts I shall never cease
to hope and pray that God in His mercy will
turn him from his evil ways ; I do hope it, I do
look forward to it. If I were to desert him
now, his end would be certain. He is my boy’s
father. I will not leave him 1”
And the gentle Margaret, whose soft blue
eyes were beaming with love and admiration
for her noble-minded sister, could not repeat
the cruel invitation from her father, which had
been offered already several times ; but she
clasped her iu her arms and wept upon her
j bosom.
“I could assist you from my private allow
. ance, for my father affords me a very liberal
supply for my own expenditure ; but ” and
the fair speaker again hesitated as another dis
agreeable truth must be spoken.
“I know, dear Margaret, though it grieves
your kipd heart to speak it,” said Mrs. Ellison,
interrupting her, “my father requires you to
render an account of your disbursements, lest
a penny of it should be given to your disobe
dient sister. Do not disobey him, dear girl;
for I would not accept the smallest sum with
out his approbation ; he is a fond lather to you.
and has been so to me, until now, and even
his uukindness, 1 doubt not, is through a mista
ken sense of duty. Bear him my love, and
tell him, if I could obey him and at the same
time fulfil my solemn obligations to my hus
band, I would return to him cheerfully. Mr.
Ellison’s forgetfulness of duty does not release
me from my vows. I see the path before me
very clearly—l cannot leave him!”
And with an affectionate embrace these
lovely women parted—the one to the halls of
wealth and luxury, the other to resume her
poorly-requited labor for the support of her
drunken husband and helpless child.
Eugene Ellison at twenty-five was one of
the most promising young men in the city of
II . Handsome, energetic, possessed in an
eminent degree of high intellectual attain
ments, and withal owning a heart ever ready
to melt at sorrow’s tale, or stretch forth the as
sisting hand to the suffering and oppressed—
what marvel that he should win the heart of
the beautiful Yirginia Warren. Her father, a
Virginia gentleman of the old school, owned a
fine farm on the banks of the Rappahannock,
and, possessing great wealth, lived like a na
bob. Young Ellison was poor, but bold and
enterprising ; and the old gentleman, complete
ly won by the'captivating manners of the young
lover, gave him most willingly his daughter’s
hand, and with it a handsome dower. Being
furnished by his wealthy father-in-law with a
liberal capital, he now moved to R , and
commenced business as a merchant, and for a
j while he seemed to have taken “the tide of for
tune at its flood.” Ilis business was prosper
ous, his success almost unprecedented ; his love
ly wife shining as a star of ihe first magnitude
in the brilliant circles of fashion, and shedding
a perfect halo of happiness over her own home :
his cup of felicity was full. But the brimming
goblet was offered at the festival ; he must
meet his gay companions after the fatigues ofj
business,-and their friendship must be pledged
[ in “generous wine.”
Soon his gentle wife had to spend her soli
tary evenings amid the loneliness of her mag
nificent home, for she would not go to mixed or
j social parties without him, and the elegancies
of wealth afford a poor substitute for the com-
I panionship of the beloved. And the fortune he
| seemed about io build on the magnificent foun-
I dation laid by Mr. Warren, melted. It soon
became public; bad speculations sunk his
\ large capita] ; his business was entirely neg
j leolcd, and bankruptcy followed.
And then came the rapid descent from a high
j position in life—from wealth, honor, and re
spectability, to poverty, ignominy, and wretch
! edness—from one house to another they contin
ued to move, as their means became more and
I more reduced, until they reached the miserable
i dwelling where the opening of our story found
them. In vain did his faithful wife procure for
him good clothing, it was all pawned for liquor
; —in vain did she withhold money from him,
j for all they had was the fruit of her industry;
lie would obtain it by some means ; and while
■ she labored at her needle to support herself and
j child, he spent his evenings in revellings and
his mornings in feverish slumbers. And thus
struggled on nobly that estimable woman, nev
er faltering, never shrinking, never giving up ;
or if for a moment she felt like sinking under
her hard fate, it was only to return with renew
ed purpose to her resolution of clinging, as long
as strength and life lasted, to the hope of sav
ing her husband. She suffered long—she was
rewarded.
One evening Ellison staggered into the
drinking house which he usually frequented to
meet some congenial spirits ; and as he sat
listlessly with the glass he had called for in his
hand—half raised to bis lips—it was arrested
by a query from one of his boon companions—
a single man, who thought, because he had no
wife and children dependent on him for sup
port, that he was perfectly justifiable in throw
ing himself away in any kind of dissipation he
pleased. This man was already half-intoxica
ted, and his eyes leered with a quee” expres
sion between stupidity and cunnti. j; as he
spoke.
“I say, Ellison, are you a man or a devil ?”
This was rather a startling question, and as
the listener was not quite so far gone as his
querist, he put the glass on the table—still re
tabling his hold on it, however—to ask him
what he meant.
“What I mean ?” hiccoughed the toper ;
“why I mean that if I had a beautiful young
wife who was working her fingers to the bone
to keep me from starving, I would not treat her
so villainously as you do—especially when she
might be living with her own father like a prin
cess, as she ought to be, and when the old
mail’s curse because she won’t leave you lisks
well nigh broken her heart. But you’ll lay
her in her grave and drink to her quiet.resting.
Ha 1 ha ! ha 1” and from the lips of the drunk
ard broke forth that hideous laugh—so sicken
ing, so disgusting.
“ ’'Pis false 1” stammered Ellison—thunder-*
struck by this unexpected rebuke, which quite
Verified the old proverb of Satan reproving sin ;
“her father never cursed her—he never offered
her a home—l never asked him for assistance
—I would starve first.”
“Ha! ha 1 ha!” again laughed his tormen
tor ; “so you might starve as to the eating—
but what would you do without the drinking?
eh 1 Ellison, my man ? But her father did
curse her because she wouldn’t leave you ; if
you don’t believe, go home and ask her.”
“I will go home and ask her,” he replied,
starting up violently and dashing the glass in
fragments o tf the floor ; “I will go now, and
ask her—and if it is false, look to yourself. I
will have satisfaction for this trifling.” And he
rushed from the house.
“Ha 1 ha 1 ha 1” shouted the reveller after
him ; “I’m as good a reformer as a temperance
lecturer.”
Ellison waa now in the street —rushing like
a madman in the direction of his wretched
home—but the unexpected charge of his fiend
like companion and the refreshing influence of
the cool night air, had completely sobered him,
and as remorseful thoughts came crowding in
his mind, he unconsciously slackened his pace,
fie thought of his wife—of her brilliant fortune,
and sunny beauty, before their marriage, and
there arose before his excited imagination the
spectre of a tall, attenuated form, with faded
cheek and glassy eye —he thought of all her
love and gentleness, and the brow of the spec
tre wrinkled with sorrow and toil—he thought
of her light-hearted sprightliness, and recalled
the silver tones of her happy voice, and the
spectre echoed the sweet, dream-like sounds
with a faint sigh and a hollow cough. Roused
to reflection by the gibes of the wretch who
had no thought of reforming him, Ellison
thought as he had never thought before. He
had all the time been perfectly awake to the
condition of his affairs (It hough lately he could
not account for the way they were supported.)
and realized all its discomforts : but be bad al
ways cursed bis ill-luck for it all, and consider
ed himself the most unfortunate man in the
W'orid—then he would take another drink to
drown his trouble, without a thought that the
origin of all the trouble was within himself.
Now a light had dawned on his mind and he
saw with other eyes—for conscience pricked
him sorely and held her truthful glass before
him. While busy memory held him convicted,
as the destroyer of his fortune—the almost mur
derer of his once beloved wife—his faltering
steps drew nearer to the miserable quarter of
the city where his present dwelling stood* A
stylish-looking carriage with silver mountings
stood before the door (strange place for any
thing so elegant,) a consequential coachman
seemed vainly endeavoring to keep the pranc
ing, spirited bays quiet—while a dandified
footman sat on the carriage-step, twirling the
tassel cf his cap, and rubbing the band of silver
lace that surrounded it.
It was nearly ten o’clock, but the bright
moonlight falling in a sheet of silver across the
street, showed the stately appointments of the
handsome equipage as plainly as daylight, and
drew several idlers, (unused to such sights in
such a place,) loitering arolind. Ellison knew at
a glance it could be no other than his father-in
law, and not feeling quite equal to meeting his
reproaches, he passed around the house, and en
tering a back door, stood within its shadow.
“Father, I have decided for the last time,”
were the first words that met his car in low, tremu
lous tones. “I thank you for your-olTers to myself
and my poor boy, though they are not made on
generous terms, but I cannot leave my husband—
be has no other friend.”
“Then take my curse,” thundered Mr. War
ren, in a voice choked by passion ; “for I would
rather follow’ you to your grave—aye ! even if
you died of starvation—than squander one cent
of the money I have labored for, on that un
principled villain. I will never see your face
again, ungrateful g : rl!” and the old man rushed,
in a rage, from the house, reiterating curses and
disowning his unfortunate child, heedless of the
wi Id, supplicating cry of “Father, take back
your curse ! Oh ! Father, do not curse me j
again !” She ran to the door with clasped hands
and streaming eyes, but in a moment the car
riage door was closed, the footman sprang to his
place, the driver cracked his whip, and the
prancing horses dashed off in a rapid trot down
the street.
Ellison could boar no more—all this liad trans
pired so quickly thateven if horror had not held
him rooted to ihe floor, he would have scarcely
had time to have entered as an actor in the
scene. Now’ he entered hastily,- and just in time
to receive the fainting form of liis wife in his
arms. Poor, overtasked heart !--it had borne
poverty and suffering, neglect and scorn, without
a murmur ; but the father’s curse sent the chill
ed blood back to her heart, and she lay like a
drooping lily, on the breast that had for some
time past ceased to offer its support—and, as the
conscience-stricken man looked on the cold j
face, and marked the deep lines sorrow had ■
made in its beauty— bitterly, bitterly did his heart j
smite him for it all. But he had no time for re
pentant thoughts or good resolutions, for the un
usual noise in the room had waked the sleeping
child, who now began to scream piteously at the
sight of his mother’s pale face and closed eyes.
Terrified at the boy's screams, and the prolonged
insensibility of his wife, the miserable man
knew not w’hat to do. There were no restofa- .
tives in that house of poverty, and lie could only !
press her to his heart and repeat her name in i
the endearing tones once so familiar to her. He
thought at last of w ater, and bearing her gently
to the bed, he procured some, and bathed her ;
face, and forced a little into the purple lips, |
trembling all the while from terror like a fright
ened child. The cool water and the voice of j
affection, lately so strange to her ear, recalled
the fainting woman to life. A faint color began to
tinge her corpse-like face, her eye-lids quivered,
and w ith a slight shudder, she awoke to conscious*
ness. One glance, and w’ith the intuition of her
sex, she saw that some unusual emotion besides
alaim at her swooning shook her’ husband’s j
frame—her eyes met his in a prolonged and |
searching gaze—his thoughts seemed written in i
his face, while repentance and remorse were al
most legible on his brow—and the wife needed
no interpreter to read her husband’s heart,
Oh 1 how her heart thrilled with sudden hopes
of happiness! Neither had spoken since she
revived, but he had pressed her to his heart with
the warm affection of their early married life,
and words would hate been too poor to have
conveyed the feelings of that blissful moment.
“Eugene,” she said at last in a low, murmur
ing voice, “you will never again —”
“Never, Virginia, With God’s help,” he re
plied instantly. “I have been rudely awakened
this night to a sense of my guilt—but I bless the
rude shock that has shown me w hat I am. I
will never, never agairusadden your fond heart
by my folly and dissipation, and there may be
some happiness in store for us yet. We will
have poverty to content! with—aye ! bitter,
grinding poverty, brought on, too, by himself—
I deserve it, and should bear: but that you, my
precious, and self sacrificing one, should have
endured so much, ftnd by so faithfully clinging to
your unworthy husband, have so much suffering
still before you, creates a heart-Wringing pang.
Oh! Virginia, what do I not owe you ! You
have saved me from myself.” And the tears
of the grateful wife flowed in torrents as he told
her of the scene at the drinking house, and the
conversation he had overheard between herself
and father. “He that goeth forth and weepeth, ;
bearing precious seed, shall return rejoicing, ,
bringing his sheaves with him.
Why need we ‘prolong mir Story ? The Ro:
bicon was crossed, and now the upward
was comparatively easy. Struggling bravely
w’ith adversity, Eugene Ellison again took his
place among men of business. He had much
to contend with, bill no foe so strong as the onti
he conquered oti that eventful night. Declining
all assistance from his father-in-law, with
whom, hdWeVer, a reconciliation look place as
soon.as his reformation became known, he bold
ly fought his way up in the world, and ere many
years had elapsed, occupied a position almost
as high as before his fall. His beloved Virginia
regained her health and loveliness, Und her face
was reflected in a host of liltlfe beauties, nonfe of
whom, however, were dearer than their eldest
boyj Eugene, the child of his adversity.
Old Long John’s Bear Ilunti
A TKUTII RELATED BY HlMSfiliPi
One mornin’ in May, in the year 1880—least
ways it was blackberry time—l took Old Death
in the Path (the name of his rifle) on my shoul
der, and belted Old Butcher (his knife) around my
waist, and off I started, to look for a deer, up
Boggy Gott. After I walked two or fhrCC miles*
and seein’ no deer, I began to look for signs of
other varmints. Now’ mind you, sirs, this is thei
truth I rtm tell in’, and I want you all tolistin. I
know that it is a matter long ago given up, that
old hunters will lie, and I must acknowledge that
I will lie a little, too, if you corner me too closd
about a bar fight—that is, if I have to shoot more
than one time at it; it always discombobe rates
me to fight a bar in a cane-brake with an empty
gun, onless my dogs is mighty good—then f dofi’t
kere a fig; l jist walk right into ’em with old
butcher (his knife;) but if the dogs aint true I
always git mad, and then I am jist as apt td gd”
right ofi'from it as any other way. And, as 1
was sayin’, I was a lookin’ for sign ; and sure
enough I found plenty, right fresh and soft bar
sign. I followed it up till it come to a big bt>H
defended holler stump of a tree that had beeii
broke off about fifteen foot above the ground ; I
examined it well; I saw scratches and nail
marks plenty on the stump; so I leant “Old
Death” again a tree, and laid old butcher down by
her. I thot I hearn somethin’ nestlin’ insidd
the stump ; so l took off my shoes and up it I
w’ent; when I come to the top, I looked in, I
did ; and what do you think I seed ? Why tod
cub bar, sirs, rollin’ and playin’ down thar jist
like two little niggers. Well, says I, your jist
the critters I have been wantin’ for a longtime,
for pets for the children. So I jist lumbered
light clown among them, I did. Then if yott
could bin thar to a hearn the fuss they kept up
—sich hollerin’ and screamin’! Oh! it beat
any baby cryin’ 1 ever heard, all holler. I got
mad at last, and begin to slap, first one, then
lother, to try to make urn hush, but instead of
that, it made um ten times wors. I luckily kept
my belt on ; I let it out a few holes bigger, and
slipped one under it on each si.de, 1 did. Then,
for the first time, I seed my sitivatien. Now the
boiler of the stump was a heep bigger at bottom
nor it was at top, and 1 could get no foothold td
climb out by—Man ! I tell you, 1 begin to feel
mad then ! —and them critters keepin’ such a
fuss, I could hear nothin’ else while they kept
squallin’. I jist sot down, I did, and studied, and
studied, what on yearth I should do to git outeri
this holler stump; wy you might jist as well try
to climb out of a forty foot well, that vvarn’t curb
ed. I begin to think maybe the Old She might
come along arter a while, to suckle her young
—and then I thought to myself, says 1,1 fifn in &
nice fix here, a mile from home, in a holler 1 trfid
and no gun norknife, and every prospect of a fight
with an Old She !—Man ! I tell you, I vt’tts mad
then ! All at once, while I was a studyin’ about
it, I heard the allfiredist rippet, outside, yoti ever
heard ; the Old She had come sure enough,-
Oh! 1 was mad then, I was; all at onc6 8f
thought struck me ; I knowed that an Old She?,
(nor a bat of any kind,) could not bare to be pull
ed behind much, so I intended to act accordin’*
When she entered the top of the stump, she’
made all look dark below, I tell you she did! If
got on my feet and waited till I could jist clever--
ly reach her, 1 did ; you know they all coriie’
down tail foremost. As soon as l could reach’
her, I grabbed her behind wfith both hands, atHcE
gave her the whoop, I did; if ever you saw a
skeered bar—and I was mad, by thundery I*was.
Site took me faster than any railroad car, twell
she landed me about ten foot-from the root of the
stump, flat on my belly, she did. Oh’maa 1- I
was mad! but sort a stuntified like by ffee-lalß-
Before I could get Old Death, she was clean
outeri sight, and a running. Now this is th'&-
truth ; and I carried them two cubs home, I did..
[New Orleans Delta.
03” The best friend you can use in courting
is a flute. There is an amorousness aboutthe
advice of this little instrument that calico finds’
irresistible. With the exception of doubloons
and epauletls, we know of nothing that sooner
takes the sex down.— Albany Dutchmani
O* There is only one thing worse than ignorance,,
and that is conceit. Os all intractable fools, an over
wise man is the worst- You may cause idiots to phi
losophize—you may coax donkeys to forego thistles—
but don’t ever think of driving common sense into the
head of a conceited person. They are as impregna-’
hie to arguments as Gibraltar is to apple dumplings.-
Jj” The reading of a good and well-conducted
newspaper, even for the short space of one quarter of
a year, brings more sound leaves a 1
deeper impression, than would be acquired, probably,
at the best school in twelve months. Taik to the
members of a family who read the papers, and
pare their information and intrlligence with those’
who do not. The difference is beyond comparison.
Examining a Witness. —‘Sir,’ enquired the
a burly Dutchman, ‘what color was
this hog when you first knew him V
‘Veil, ven 1 first became acquainted wid de’
hog, he was a very leetle pig, and he was den a
vite hog. but ven he got to be older, he got to be
kind of sandy like, and I should den call him, on
de whole, a sandy hog.’
‘What ea # r marks had he?’
‘Veil, ven I first became acquainted wid de’
hog, he had no very particular ear mark, except
a very short tail.’
‘Take votir seat, sir,’ said the Attorney, ‘we’ll
call the next witness.’
(Kr A prisoner being brought up in Court, thef
following dialogue passed between him and the
magistrate :
“How do you live ?”
“Pretty well, sir; generally a joint and pud
ding at dinner.”
“I mean, sir, how do you get yotfr bread!”
“I beg your worship’s pardon ; some times at
the baker’s and sometimes at the grocer’s.”
“Y ou may be as witty as you please, sir ; but
I mean simply to ask you, how do you do ?”
“Tolerably well, I thank your worship; I
hope your worship is well.”
NO. 12.