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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.