Newspaper Page Text
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Vol. LI.
MILLEDGEVILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, JUNE 21, 1870.
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R. OHME tSc S 0.3ST,
EDITORS AND PROPRIETORS.
T eriES —$ 3,00 per annum, in Advance.
liiTBRTlstNO—Persquare often lines, each
ton ♦ • ( *0. Merchants and others forall
l -- U jv er $ 25, twenty-live per cent.off
legal auvertisino.
. . • „ Pi tatioii sfor letters ot ad-
»l 0 nS
Application for letters of dism n of guard
Application for leave to sell Land
Notice to Debtors and Creditors
Skies of Laud, per square of ten lines....
baie of personal, per sq., ten days...
bW*-Each levy of <c« lines, or less..
Mortgage sales of ten lines or ess...... 5
T, x Collector’s sales, per sq. (2 months) 5
Clerks—Foreclosure of mortgage and oth- •
er monthly’s, per square 101)
E*tr*y notices, thirty days-............. 3 00
Tributes of Respect, Resolutions by Societies
Obituaries, &e., exceeding six lines, to be charged
, g transient advertising.
CS r Sales of Laud, by Administrators, Execu
tors or Guardians, are required by law, to be held
on the first Tuesday in the month, between the
boars often in the forenoon and three in the af-
ereoua, atthe Court-house in the county in which
e h „ property is situated.
Notice of these sales must be given in a public
(rssette 4.0 days previous to the day of sale.
Notice for the sale of personal property must be
riven iuliltemanner 10 days previous to sale day.
Notices to debtors and creditors of an estate
w tst also be published 40 days.
Notiee that application will be made to the
Ceartof Ordinary for leave to sell land, must bt
«»bU»hed for two months.
p Citation* for letters of Administration, Guar-
iiaiuhio, dfcc.,must be published 30days for dis-
Jl,.ion from Administration, monthly six months;
dismission from guardianship, 40 days.
Rale, for foreclosure of Mortgages must be
• abUshed monthly for four months-for estabhsh-
f * 0|l papers, for the fullspaceof three months-
i ,,,«„eUine titles from Executors or Aumtms-
‘ff. '»«” Si.en b, ,ha d„-
•Ved the full space of three months. Charge,
• 1 00 persquare of ten lines for each insertion.
Publication* will always be continued accord
„r o these, the legal requirements, unless oth
erwise ordered.
CHANGE OF SCHEDULE.
GBNERAL SUPERINTENDENT’S OFFICE, )
Atlantic a Gulf, r. r. company, s
Savannah, January 7, 1870. T
O N AND AFTER SUNDAY, the 9th instant,
‘ Passenger Trains ou this Road will run iw
&ll0W,: NIGHT EPXPRESS TRAIN.
Leave Savannah avery day at... 4.30 P M
Arrive at Jesup junction, M & D
R R 7 * JU r m
Arrive at Live Oak every day ...... -2-20 A M
Arrive at Jacksonville every day 7.02 A M
Arrive at Tallahassee every day 7.07 A M
Arrive at Quincy every day »•!>> A m.
Arrive at Bainbridge Mondays ex-
cep ted 6.15 A M
Leave Bainbridge, Sundays excepted.9 30 P M
Leave Quincy every day- £ M
Leave Tallahassee every day
Leave Jacksonville everyday 8.30 F A1
Leave Live Oak every day 1-28 A M
Leave Jesup every <fc.y a;: ’-7-50 A M
Arrive at Savannah everyday 10..)0 A M
^lACON & BRUNSWICK ACCOMMODATION
TRAIN.
Leave Savannah,Sundays except-
ed, at - 210 P M
Arrive at Jesups Sundays except-
£(3 At...... .. ..»••• .•••••••••• «).UU L M
Arrive at Brunswick daily at--- 8.20 P M
Leave Macon daily at 8.30 A M
Leave Jesup daily at... b.M) P M
Arrive at Savannah daily at. 0.30 r la
On Sunday this Train will leave Savannah at
7.15 A. M., connecting with Trains for Macon At
Brans wick, and connecting with trains from M&-
eon and Brunswick will arrive at Savannah at
9.80 P M.
DAY TRAIN.
Leave Savannah, Sundays except-
ed at 7.15 A M
Arrive at Jeeups, Sundays except-
edat 10.45 A M
Arrive at Live Oak, Sundays ex-
cepted at 7.00 P M
Arrive at Macon duly at 7.50 P M
Leave Live Oak, Sundays except-
edat---..... - 6.00 A M
Leave Jesups, Sundays except
ed at*.’ •- 2.16 PM
Arrive at Savaunah .Sundays ex-
eepted at 5.35 P M
ly* PaetengerB for Macon take 7.15 A M train
Aeae Savannah, leaving daily.
Passengers for Brunswick take 2.10 P M. train
Asm Savannah.
Passengers leaving Macon at 8.30 A M connect
at Jesup with express train for Florida and West-
era Division, and with train for Savannah, arriv
ing at 9.30 PM.
Passengers from Brunswick connect at Jesup with
train for Savannah, arriving at 5.35 P M except
on Sundays, when it arrives at 9 30 P. M at Jesup
with Express Train for Savaunah, arriving at
10 50 AM.
Connect at Macon with Trgjn for Atlanta, leav
ing at 9.00 P M.
SOUTH GEORGIA & FLORIDA 11. R. TRAIM.
Leave Thomasville Tuesdays, Thursdays and
Saturdays at 8.00 A M
Arrive at Pelham, Tuesdays Thursdays and Sat
urdays at.—............... 9.55 A M
Leave Pelham, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Satur-
dayeat '.345 P M
Arrive at Thomasville, 'Tuesdays, Thursdays and
Saturdays at ..6.00 P M
H. S. HAINES,
General Superintendent.
Jannnary 1 1870 3 tf
CHANGE OF SCHEDULE.
IfO CHAWOB or CABS BE
TCTEBW SAVANNAH, ATT
OUST A AND MONTOOM
ERY, ALABAMA
TRANSPORTATION OFFICE, CET. R. R.
Savannah, August 14, 1868.
O N AND AFTER SUNDAY, 16eh inst., Pas
senger Trains on the Georgia Central R. R
will run as follows :
UP DAY TRAIN.
LEAVE ARRIVE.
Savannah 8:00 A M
Macon 5:38 P M
Augusta 5:38 P M
Milledgeviile 8:58 P M
Eatontou 11.00 P M
Connecting with trains that leaves
Augusta 8:45 A M
IX)WN DAY TRAIN.
Macon ..7:00
Savannah 5:30 P M
Augusta 5:38 P M
Connecting with train that leaves
Augusta 8:45 A M
UP NIGHT TRAIN-
Savannah..; 7:20 P M
Macon 6:55 A M
Augusta.... ..’ 8:13 A M
Connecting with trains that leaves
Augusta 9:33 P M
DOWN NIGHT TRAIN.
Macon 6:25 P M
Savannah . ...i 5:10 A M
Augusta..— ........ . 9:13 A M
MiUedgevilie „4:30 P M
Eatonton 2:40 p M
Connecting with train that leaves
Augusta —...I 9:53 P M
A M Trains from Savannah and Augusta; a
P M Traiafrom Macon connect with Milledg 6
ville Train at Gordon daily* Sundays excepted.
P M. Train from Savannah connects with thro
mail train on South Caroling Bailroad, and P. M
train from Savannah and Augusta with trains on
South-Western and 'Muscogee Rkilroads.
WM. ROGERS,
Act’g Master of Transportation.
February 1,1870 5 tf
NOTICE*
Atlantic * Gulf Railroad Co.,
Savannah, December 15, 1869.
O N AND AFTER TIlllS DATE, BY AGREE
MENT, the .rate of Freight between Savau-
nan and Macon, by the Atlantia and Gulf and Ma
con and Brunswick Railroads, will be aa follows :
First class per pound. .....-.-$2 30
Second class per 100 pounds 1 40
Third class per 100 pounds.. .... 1 00
Fourth class per 100 pounds 80
Fifth class per 100 pounds... 70
Sixth class per 100 pounds 50
Seventh class per 100 pounds 45
Eighth class per 100 pounds......;....— 35
Ninth class per 100 pounds. .... 30
Cotton per 100 pounds -. 50
Salt per sack 3C
Guano per 100 pounds 15
Freight received for all Stations on Macon and
Western Railroad, Atlanta and points beyond.
H. S. HAINES,
General Superintendent.
February .1, 1879.,. r 11
E, )
AST, >
23,’69. )
CHANGE OF SCHEDULE.
S#utii-Wcstisrn Railroad Comi-any, •)
Office, Macon, Ga., Jan. 13th, 1870. y
Eufaula day Passenger and Mail Train.
Leave Macon................. 8.00 A.M.
Arrive atEufaula .........— . 5.30 P.M.
Leave Eufaula............ .... 7.20 A. M.
Arrive at Macon r 4.50 P.M.
Night Freight Accommodation Train.
Leave Macon 8:25 P M
Arrive at Eufaula./! 11:00 A M
Leave Eufaula.................... 7:18 P M
Arrive at Macon - 9:10 A M
Colimbus Mail Train.
Leave Macon..................... 7:25 A M
Arrive at Columbus.......•...... 1.22 A M
LeaveColembus. 12:25 P M
Arrive at Macon...... ............. 6:05 P M
Columbus Night Freight SfAc'om'n Train
Lea*e Macon 7:40 P M
Arrive at Columbus................ 5:05 A M
Leave Columbus ............... 7:00 P M
Arrive at Macon.... .... ... 4:43 A M
“Albany Train” connect* at Smithville with
Eufaula Trains and Arrive at Albany at 3:11 P M
*ad Leave* Albany at 9:35 A M—Regular Mail
Train.
Aeeemmedatien Train connects three times a
week.
“Pert Gainee Train,” connects at Cuthbert.
Leave Pert Gains* at 7:05 A M and Arrive at
Yfrt Gaiaes 3:40 P M.
Aeeemmedatiom Train connect* twice a week,
*' Tueedayi and Thursday*.
„ v W. S. BRANTLY, And.
Pehmary 1, 18T0 5 tf.
■ y ■■.■■■ f —
Blllfcs for Bale al litis Offioo-
Schedule of the Georgia .Railroad.
SUPERINTENDENTS OFFICE,
Georgia Railroad Compakv
Augusta, Ga., December
O N AND AFTER SUNDAY, 26th inst., the
Passenger Trains on the Georgia Railroad
will run as follows:
DAY PASSENGER TRAIN.
Leave Augusta at- .7.00 AM.
“ Atlanta at 5.00 AM.
Arrive at August at 3.45 P M.
“ at Atlanta.... — ......5.30 P M.
NIGHT PASSENGER TRAIN.
Leave Augusta at< r .. 10.00 P M.
“ Atlanta at — 5.45 PM.
Arrive at Augusta...... — 3.45 A M.
“ Atlanta 8.00 A.M.
S. K. JOHNSON,
Superintendent.
January, 18 1870 3 tf
Schedule Maeon & Brunswick R. R-
January, 7tli, 1870
R egular thro’ passenger trains
will commence running ou this Road on
Sunday, the 9th inst., as follows :
Leave Macon at * 9.15 A M.
Arrive at Brunswick at 10.90 P M.
Arrive at Savannah at —.... .....10,00 P M.
Leave Brunswick ............4.30 A. M.
Arrive at Macon .... — .6.15 A. M.
TRAINS TO IIAWKINSVILLE.
Leave Macon — -• - 3.00 P M.
Arrive at Hawkinsville .6.30 A M.
Leave Hawkinsville —.'. —.'—- -7.00 A M. •
Arriveat Macon — -j..... —-.... .10.25 A M.
This train runs daily Sundays excepted.
RETURNING :
Leave Brunswick at...... 8.00 A M.
Leave Savannah at...... .... 7.15 A M.
Arrive at Macon at«»— 7.50 P M.
Trains make direct connections at Jesap,
both ways, with trains for Bainbridge, Thomas-
the crossing of the Atlantic and Gulf Road,
ville, ana all points on 4liat Road, as well^as with
those for Jacksonville, Tallahassee, and all sta
tions on the Florida Roads,
Fare to Savannah and Brunswick $ 8 00
Fare to Jacksonville..’—....j. 12 00
Fare to Tallahassee 17 00
Fare to Bainbridge ............. 15 00
Fare to New York, Philadelphia or
Baltimore, by steamers **** 27 00
Under recent arrangements made with the At
lantic & Gulf Road,.freights to and from Savan
nahandNew York have increased dispatch.
The Southern Express Company will operate.on
this line to Brunswick, points in Southern Geor
gia and in Floiida, commencing on Monday, the
10th instant. _
ROBERT SCHMIDT.
Master transportation.
! January 18,1670 3 tf
From She “Souther* Field and Fireside" (James
Gardner's paper) of Saturday, September 21,’61.
OCONBS.
From the Portfolioof Kaluptonoma oj Augusta, Ga.
[Written in 1849 (never published before giv
ing it to the Field & Fireiide) but now offered for
republieation, to the “Recorder” for the good pur
pose of resuscitating old loves, for dear old Mil-
iedgeville, and the beloved, and venerated editor,
R. M. Orme, sr„ whose heart pulsated for fifty
years in her service, with a love, and loftiness of
character undying. Again shall old Georgia’s
Capitol resound with true voices, and a loDg line
of invisibles greet their glad coming ! Ged be
praised! “Ho will not chide always !”J
“Et me facere poetam pierides : sunt et mihi car
mina : neque est igMobile carmen."
Where wild Oconee, in magcstic grace,
Bounds o'er dark rocksAnd whirling eddies trace
Through green leaved banks, where willows weep
o’er waves,
As mourning mothers, over dancing babes—
Swift watery hillocks upward ceasless spring,
And vivid rays from every apex flings.
Declining Phoebus the waving tree-tops gild—
With yeflow tinge the charming landscape fills—
Prismatic clouds in vault cerulean run
Reflecting glories of a setting sun,
And parted hills by waters rolling down,
Disclose the spires of a distant town,*
Here be my bed, beneath these light-tipt trees,
On verdant sward, for loveliest objects these;
Here on declining hill-side sweet repose.
And drink in fragrant air at evenings close !
How art defamed, thou chosen spot of earth .'
And tPoet gave thy defamations birth—
Who had not viewed thy dear .beguiling sheen,
Descending ’twixt thy garnished banks of green!
Ah. censors gifted mind h still’d in death—
"While I delighted breath thy fragrant breath,
And listen to thy murmuring music sweet,
As leaping down. JAltama’s tide to greet.
“Here birds of Varied note, and plumage sing,’
And clustering jessamine to wreathed elms cling
With yellow, purple, red, and violet crowned,
Shedding delicious scents of oder ’round
I hear no ‘‘rat’liugs of the vengeful snake !”
No “crouching tigers fear I to wake—
Nor “savage men more murderous still than
they”—
Delicious stillness crowns the closing day !
Athwart thy waves one melancholy sight
Alone, looms up my placid joy to blight—
|| Yon Mill, though silent, hath a plaintive taie !
Say ! did Oconee's rushing waters fail ?
Then why thy mournful, miserable lot,
As one by one, thy tailing timbers rot;
Passing away—away—the lesson learn—
Like these swiit waters, never to return !
But where thy inmates ! Where the laughing
throng!
Who eamo with wheat, and corn, and mirth,
and song!
When' thy great wheel did fright the figb away .'
With brawling noise! and foaming, splashing
spray!
TheivH-oice, and thine, art hushed f thy wheel
forlorn,
Will tom no more ! to grind the yellow corn !
Painful thy silence ! yet eloquent the scene—
Deserted fields, luxuriently green
With weeds, proclaim how charms with reck*
less haste,
Were thrust aside, and left to utter waste,
In hope of finding toward the setting sun,
Brill better lands to spend their strength upon !
Thus they’ve abused Oconee’s virgin soil,
Then sought—vain eare—for lands which need
no toil!
So richest coffers shon are empty made,
If spendthrift’s lavish hands are never stayed !
Oconee’s waters e'en exhausted be.
If mountain rills refused to ehei ish thee !
1 To build their altars to the King of All!
Aid on their knees, in holy audience fall!
O yes, from heighth, and vale, let incense rise!
To Him who robes in Glory, earth and skies!
Hit works are perfect, we alone do stray,
Alas! from tenderest wooings turn away !
O Lord, my tribute take ! my brimfull heart
O'erwhelmed with sacred joy’s, the tear-drops
start,
I feel thy presence ! on this grassy sward—
A Holy sphere from Thee ! Jehovah ! Lord !
Creative power ! Omnipotent! Divine!
From Heaven's Sun, Tby Love and Wisdom
Shine
Down into our hearts, with an eternal youth,
To bless all those, who love Thy Good and Truth !
Me teach, dear Lord, to love the good aud true,
With Heavenly wisdom Lord, my soul embue-'
Down oh my knees, in holy joy I pray—
As Thou by Kedron—at the close of day !
Father of Love! and Light! and Sphere Di
vine !
Make Thou me wholly, truly, solely thine !
’Tis darkness—night—I have my sins confessed—
All nature sleeps, in quiet, holy rest!
Pillow me Lord upon Thy loving breast.
•Milledgeviile.
t“Go!dsmitb’s deserted village.
fThe Altamaha.
|| An old decaying mill of the late Farish Carter.
This neighborhood was once very thickly settled
but is now comparatively a waste.
f -*The residence in life of Ex Gov. David Bry-
die Mitchell, a genial Scotch gentleman. The lof
ty hill which his residence crowned, was named
by him Mount Nebo—[vide Dent. 34, i—6.]—
There is, perhaps, no elevation about Milledge
ville, more grandly beautiful, from which so ex
cellentaview of Milledgeviile can be obtained
The Oconee flows directly by, through a deep
gorge cut by the nver between hills. An
incident of interest I will relate. The wife
of the Governor was a very lovely lady, and
survived him very many years. The mansion
had long ago been sold, and she resided in town
In a friendly visit to the venerable lady, I re
marked that I had, a few days bgfore, enjoyed a
delightsome ramble over that quiet locality. In
stantly her aged' eyes were lit up with light and
suffused with tears ! With upraised hands, as the
dear memories of other days loomed before her
mental vision, she exclaimed : O, dearest Mt
Nebo! how many happy—happy—happy days
I’ve spent upon that loved spot! I had heard of
“old men eloquent,” but never before, or since
realized the force of that expression, until I felt
the overpowering sphere of her sublime apostrophe
I had thoughtlessly touched the most tender chord
of her happiest days, which instantly reverbrated
dowu the long corridors of her soul,away down—
down into the dreamy caverns of the misty past
and the echoes came back upon me in deep and
solehiu (ones ! Ah ! the memories of the past!
their joys! their sorrows! God grant to each and
all happy memories, of happy days ! But what a
startling truth ! that much of these depend upon
ourselves! in keeping close to the Lord all the
days of our lives ! Good Lord ! Help us !
T. W. WHITE,
'ft±Lat L rLei£-at-j£aui,
MILLEDGEVILLE, GA
Will practice in this and the ad]oining counties.
Id?" Applications for Homestead Exemptions
under the new law, and other business before the
Court of Ordinary, will receive proper attention.
October 13,1868 41 tf
W ANTED.—A Northern man—friendly to the
South, and a believer in the old Jefferso
nian idea of government—a College graduate, de
sires a situation as Teacher in some Southern
State. Satisfactory references furnished if desired.
Address, stating terms, “CLASSICS,”
Fublishars’ Box Nb. 7, Dayton, Ohio
or lbneimler Office.
October 19, 1M9 42 tf
I own thy charms !—yes, on yon distant hill,
Where **Mitchell had a Paradise to till !
More beautious far than Scotia’s highland homes
And health—so much preferred to western loams !
Here be my cot—e’en here my quiet'grave
In view of dear Oconee’s dancing waves !—
Lovely Mount Nebo ! Where ou earth beside,
Aught lovlier spot for poet to reside !
See in far distance, yet distinct in view
The loveliest scene arts pencil 'e’er drew !
Old Georgia’s Capital, queen tike arrayed f
Like Mosaic work in E pi era Id laid ! \
Her red hills in distauce, mellowed in tint,
Shine like bright gold, as it comes from the mint!
Theta! on all having nothing to lose t'
Oconee would spurn ! e’en Ocmulgeeto chooso !
sing Oconee! though Atlanta lithe !
Arise in a night e?en ever so blithe !
And year after year more importunate grow,
To give dear Oconee, a death-dealing blow !
Fie ! on you Macon! But you trading mart ’
You’ll pluck out all honor from dear Georgia’s
Heart!
Her faith hath been plighted, on every lot! ,
You’ve honored your Milledge! then cherish
that spot!
Woo the assistance of Sculpture ani Art!
To decorate nature! Adorn Georgia’s,Heait!
The symbol of Beauty aud Power elate!
Whence issue good laws to govern Great States ’
*###*#•#,
Se^! ’neath yon distant venerable-oak !
The cattle have forgot both home and yoke !
And listless standing in the cooling stream,
Beneath those m^-grown limbs,appear to dream!
So doth my §onl go out in love and Song!
Like joyous waters as they bound along!
Forgetful I of all fife’s tronb’lous cares,
I dream, and dream, bereft of every fear !
Surely where Gnd hath thus put forth His
Hand !
Mingling in beauty, the Waters and the Land.’
’Tis meet that I, in Music’s pensive strains !
Wake up the-wild-wood, as the evening waves !
Here then my soft guitar, m Shepherds, sang,
In dayp of yore, when rural pastures rang.
With notes of lute’s and reed’s sonorous sonmf-i-
We’ll wake the stillness of the woods around !
And thou Oconee, with thy murmuring bass
Must make thy wavelets dance with artless
grace,
As to, and fro, the moas on every tree,
iEolus s ways ,in sweetest harmony !—
O hlest abode! away from city’s din
In rural pastures, least there is of sin !
The peaceful quiet of the country’s calm.
Efills our passions ! yea like Gilead’s balm
Bonds healthful healing through the stream cf
life—
Moves adoration—antidote of strife!
O would that I were blessed in fortunes lot!
I’d rear no palace, but a cozy cot,
Away, with few, in some sequestered dale—
Just here Oconee, in thy lovely vale, ‘
Beside thy waters where they glidese atilly
Or there ! upon dear Nebo’s lofty bill! ( ,
Perhaps ’twere nearer heaven! for wise men
Such heights were chosen, at the dawn of day,
Tlw following we clip from the Eu
laula News, and the story as told by
Miss Betsy on herself, is an actual fact
MISS BETSY GRIMES’ RIDE TO
COLUMBUS.
Mists Betsy resides in the “Alabarri.”
She gives the following account of her
first and last rule on the cars, during
rbe late war. “Joe,” her brother, was
a soldier in Lhe Confederate service :
“Ypu see ipy brother Joe, he was
took 1nr a soldier and alterawhile he
look - sick and they put him in the hos-
piltle, up to Cullumbus. I heern tell
they didn’t have much to eat up thar;
leestwise, seech as sick folks hankers
alter, and I fell powerful sorry for Joe.
1 wanted to carry him somethin nice,
and I knowed he loved aigs abundance.
So I thought I’d git him a baskit o’
aigs. But ihey was roily skeerce
them times, and hard to gitr”' , ^iuL
howsomever, by raking around, under
the clay roots and bresh beeps, and
beggin and borrowin and buyin, I did
manidge at last, to git a baskit full—
seven dozen. The next was to git to
him with ’urn. I dassenl send urn.
Thare was so much steelin and pitfer-
in gwin oil,' you couldn’t keep a pig
until the ole sow had got through wean-
in of him, people was so hungry, and
limes so hard. Then the Govummint,
bit was a taken everything hit could
lay hits hands on. I heern tell if the
war had a hung on a little longer the
Government hit was agwinelo take all
the steel hoops outen lhe women’s
crinnt’rrynes to make swords outen ;
but it didn’t qui’e come to that as it
happened. Well—as I was a sayin, I
knowed hit wdnt no use to send them
aigs to Joe—not while things was as
they was then. He’d never a got ’urn
the quarter masters, the tax assess-
mints, or some o’ that breed would ha*
confiscated urn belore they got asfur
as Silver Ron. At last I got afeerd
the aigs would spile keepin ’urn on
hand so long ; and so, after thinkin
over it a good- dec!, ' and right smart
prar, .[prayerj] I at last got my consent
to ride, up to Cullumbus on the critter
—cars. 1 never had rid the critter,
and bit squeled and snorted so, when
ever I seen hit, and spit, and spewed
and smoked so, I was powerful skeerd
on it.’ But I made up my mied, kill or
no kill let the critter do what hit
would to me Joe,he had to have them
aigs. So after all was ready, I jist
happened to remember I didn’t have
nary bonnit. But I went over to
cousin Sally Grimeses lahe’s one o’
my double cousins—^enmost a sister,
like] and borried hern to go to see
Joe id.
So early Monday njornin, alter a
sleepliss night—you see I couldn’t
sleep on the account o’ studyin’ about
the critter, and wonderin, what hit
was agwine to do to me—I got on the
flitter with feer and Irirnblin ; and
(bar I sot on one of them sofys [seals]
wailin’ to see how hit would be. I tell
you, I was skeerd ! I eenymost had
ur ager—I trimbled so. Presently, the
critter, bit squeeled, and blowed, and
^iye a jerk and a jump ; and then hit
Ooliered, and off’iiit went !—my Lord
ihrowed
The jetk, hil ihrowed the basket o’
tigs out o’ my lap ; but the basket lit
•handle side up, on to - the ttoor, and ' outen the winder. And then Joegiit he
thar hit sot jist like’s if I had ur put it
thar, ur purpus. And then the crit
ter, hit jist runned away, I looked
around for Bob Coleman. I had
heern leil that the critter won d mind
him, and he could stop it. But Bob
was no whars to be found ; Seein I
had to help myself thar bein no other
refuge. I jest stretched out both ways
as fur as 1 could retch, and cot hold o’
the top o’ the sofy in front o’ me with
one hand the top of the sofy behind
me with the other hand, and thar I sot
and hilt on with all my might. I tell
you, sir, I hilt my holt that lime, you
be bound ; And the critter, hit jest
kep agwine, faster, and faster, and fas
ter ! Hit looked like, the harder I
hilt my holt, the faster hit would go,
tryin’ to make me break my holt.
Faster-and faster hit went, ’twei it
eenymost tuck my breth ; and the fen
ces, and the trees, they would dash up
to the winders, like mad ; and I spec-
ted every minit the’d come in ; and I
leent over, fur as I could retch outer
the way ; and I don’t see ’twal yit,
how they could come up so closte, and
so velocious, and stop, ’thout cornin’ in
But, sir ! I hilt uiy holt !
Alterwhile the wind, hit was so
strong through the winder, my Cousin
Sal’s bonnir, [she’es one o’ my double
cousins, you know—eenymost a sister
like]—my Cousin Sal’s bonnit, hit be
gin to git restless ; and at lass, hit
couldn’t stand it no longer, and hit jest
broke loose from round my neck, and
tore out o’ the winder ! El l could ur
seen Bob Coleman, I would ur got Bob
to stop the critter long enough to Tir
got the bonnit; fur it was Cousin Sa’ls
oniiest one she had to go to church in
down to Ebenezer. [[ reckin you’ve
bin to Ebenezer Church, haint you?
It’s got glass winders into it, eight of
’em—with green shelters to ’em.
Well, as I was a sayin, I looked all
around for Bob, to git him to speak to
the critter and make it wo ; but lie was
no whars to lie found ! But 1 want
agwine to break my holt, not for all
lhe bonnits in the Alabam ; no sir,
I hilt my holt ! Alterwhile the critter
hit commenced to jump and bump up
and down so the aigs begin to roll and
rattle about in the basket, like is if
they was in a pot, and hit on a hard
bile ; and presently over went the
baskit; and the critter hit rolled the
aigs all over the floor, and under the
people’s feet, and they alia laffin fit to
kill thayselves But I didn’t keer—I
want ur studying bout them. Nor I
want studyin bout aigs, nulher—not
then. For the critter hit appeared
like hit was jist on the pint o’doin
somethin oncoramon, hit cut up and
carried on so, a squealin and fizzin
ike mad. But, sir, [ hilt my bolt.—
There was one good man on the critter
—he didn’t lafl like the rest on um.
He got up and picked up the aigs, the
whole seven dozen, had put um back
in the baskit ; and tuck my handker-
cher from roqnd my neck [lor I
wouldn’t break my holt, come what
would) and tied the baskit down on
the sofy, by me, so hit couldn’t tumble
off no more. He was a good man—J
iked him. I wanted to tell him than
kee, but the critter hit squealed so
’bout that time, 1 knowed he couldn’t-
hear me, so Ijest looked up m his face
and smilt (smiled). But, sir I hilt my
holt ! Atterawhile we got to the river;
arid Iliad heern tell when the critter
got thar hit would fly over and hit did!
Jest as I seen hit was about to rise up
al the water’s aidge, 1 shut my eyes
and went to prar, and presently the
critter lit and squealed, and thar we
was in Cullumbus ; and then hit stop-
ped^JBui, sir, I never broke my holt
the tt-hoT<Hr>ity mile. Soon as l star
ted up Broad street, almost, who
should I meei but Joe hisself! He
was a little better that day, and they
had unlocked the hospittle and let him
out on a furlow to take a little walk.
Soon’s ever he seen me, “Why!
Lord ! Bets,” sen he, “is that you !
Why gal ! I’m glad to see yer !”—and
the tears sprung outen his eyes, and
outen mine too—I couldn’t hope it.
‘Howdy, Joe!’ sez I—“apd I’m glait to
see you too, Joe,” sez I. ‘Lord Gal!’
sez he, ‘don’t holler so ! Youse in Cul
lumbus now, gal’ ‘Is I a hollerin ?’
sez l, ‘J thout I was jest awhisperin.’
You see the critter hit kep such an al-
mity fuss, it made me rite deef; and I
didn’t know I was talkin loud a bit—
not more than ornary. And then sez
I, ‘Joe, here’s some aigs I’ve fetched
you, boy ; but I expeek every last one
of urn’s broke—the critter hit rolled um
about so.” And Joe, he was powerful
proud to git the aigs, for sez lie, ‘1
tell you Bets, I’m pretty nigh starved,
gal, and my teeth’s all outen order,
tryin to chaw the bull beef they has
up here ; and as to the water—Old
Dives wouldn’t drink it, ef it was of
fered to him ; and you know he was
middlin thirsty when last heern from.
Lord, gal ! efyou had jist ur brought
me a little water from the old spring;
i’d eenymost rulher to ur had it than
the aigs.’ And then Joe, he luck me
around to a store close by where Tom
Chapman used to keep—I reckon you
know him, don’t you ? Him and Pea
cock’s in cahoot now ; powerful clever
men—square as a dry good’s box ; 1
likes um. Joe he took me aroun thar,
and bought me some things, and a bon
nit for cousin Sal (she’s one o’ my doub
le cousins—eenymost a sister like) and
another one for myself. But Bob
Coleman he sent her other bonnit home
in a bout a week—the one whar tore
, me the money to go back home on the
critter ; but “No!” sez I, “Hossfly,
ain’t agwine home on the critter,
wouldn’t ha como on the critter, hadn’t
ur bin for gittin them aigs to you, and
keepin the quarter marsters outen the
baskit. I’d ruther to foot it home,
than have to hole my holt agin like I
did this mornin. My arms- feels like
they was eenymost broke off- and I’ve
got a crick in the neck, whar I leent
over so fur, a dodgin them trees and
fence-corners ; and Joe, I’m the tire-
dest thing ever you seen. No ; Joe,
I’m agwine to foot hit back home,”—
foot hit I did, and you’ll never ketch
me a ridin the critter again; thout I’m
dead and laid out 4 ; for then hit won’t
matter whether your holt is hilt or not.
ASA TIBBS.
From New York Sunday Times.
THE STOLEN PORTRAIT.
There was once a poor peasant,
named Pierre Arnot, who dwelt near
Arles, in the south of France, together
with his wife and little daughter called
Pauline. This little girl at ten years
of age was not only exceedingly lovely
in person but was gifted .»ith a voice
which was the delight of all who heard
it—so sweet, so clear and so powerful
were its tones. And when the good
priest took her fnto the village choir,
persons from the neighboring hamlets
and even from Arles, would come pur
posely to hear her sing. Yet no per
suasion or representation could induce
Pierre to part with his little grand
daughter, for the pui pose of having her
educated for the opera. Pierre, tho’
practically knowing nothing of the
world beyond his own neighborhood,
knew something of the trials and temp
tations that be set stage singers and ac
tresses, and not for all the riches or
fame that might thereby be brought,
would he have subjected his little
Pauline-his pretty treasure, his home’s
sunshine—to such an ordeal.
One day there came two strangers—
very fine and polite gentlemen, they
seemed to Pierre and his wife—to ne
gotiate for the little girl. They would
educate her and treat her like a lady;
they would guard her as though she
were a princess ; they would pour in
to Pierre’s hands uncounted gold if he
would only consent to let them take
Pauline and educate her as a public
singer, But Pierre was deaf to all
entreaties, and the little girl herself
was sorely frightened at lhe idea of
leaving her dear grand parents and the
humble vine-wreathed hut in which
she had dwelt since her birth. So the
negotiators for the Theatre Royale
went away disappointed and angry.
But some weeks alter, as little Paul
ine stood leaning upon the crazy wick
er gate, gazing dreamily at the rose-
tinted clouds which the sunset had
left, (for the little child loved all beau
tiful sights and sounds) softly and low
ly from the meadows below came the
found of music and the sweetest and
most fairy-like music that she had ev
er heard. At first she fancied it must
come from the clouds, so fferaphically
soft and dreamy was it ;. and then she
advanced a few steps and then listen
ed, and advanced again, and finally her
little bare feet went tripping through
the grass and daisies in quest of the
mysterious sounds. And this sight—
the sight of the little fairy figure in its
white peasant’s dress, at up in the rosy
halo of a summer sunset—was the last
glimpse that the good old grandmother
calling alter her from the cottage fence
ever had of her little Pauline.
constantly in the bosom of Coal. He now
drew it forth and showed -it to the
sympathizing hostess. it was, he
said, a good likeness of Pauline’s moth
er, but far more resembled the little
girl herself at the time 9he was stolen
by the fairies.
The kind heart of the \Vdman was
touched. :
“I can get you a good Job, friend,”
she said, ‘if yon will rema'm bei4 until
to morrow night. Sir John Bolton’s
second son Arthur, Captain Bolton, of
the dragoons, was married last week,
and to-morrow they and their guests
go to a grand entertainment given
them at Skidmore Park ; and the ser
vants of Sir John’s (that’s 1 his place,
Moorlands, that }ou see away yonder)
are to have a ball of their own tomor
row night in celebration of the mar
riage, and it was only to-day' that
Pierre, the captain’s own man Was
down to the village, inquiring for old
Luke Dexter the fiddler. Now Luke’s
got n. -fit of"the rheumatism, and they’ll
be glad to have you in his place, if
)ou’re a good hand at your instrument:
and they’ll pay you well for the job.
What say you ? I’ll gcrover at once,
and speak to neighbor Brown who
will let them know.’
Pierre had no objection, and having
made an exhibition of bis drill in the
presence of neighbor Brown, to the en
tire satisfaction of that lady, the »vport
was made and the bargain was com
pleted.
The old violinist found the -evening
at the Moorlands a very pleasant one.
His performance was greatly applaud
ed ; the butler the steward,- and other
great distinguished personages, were
condescending, antk the rest gracious
and attentive to his wants. Captain
Bolton’s own mau took him up stairs
with one or two other favored jierson-
ages, iu order that "he might have a
sight of the splendidly furnished suit
of rooms that had been prepared for
the newly-married pair, and so be en
abled ‘to tell in France ’ow such things .
were done in Hingland.’
“It’s fit for a brjde, even if she wws
the Princess Royal herself,” observed
one of the favored admiring!}'.
“And hi’ra sure that blessit Princess
couldn’t be moie deservin’ of hit than
my lady.” said the captain’s man lofti
ly,” ‘She’s the beautifulesl lady hi
hever set heyes hon. She hto ought
been a born Princess hmstead of a
foteign lady o’ good family, half which
his deceased.”
And with the utterance of this opin
ion, the group descended, and in due
time the company broke up.
On the day following, Pieire was
about again setting forth on hi§ wan- *
derings, when he was surprised by a
visit from Sir John Bolton’s baliflf, in
company with two personages, armed
with veiy official-looking clubs. Their
business was soon told.
Thby had come to arrest the French
violinist on suspicion ot having appro
priated the miniature of Mrs. Bolton,
the bride of Captain Arthur, which
the latter had caused to be taken and
richly set in diamonds. It had been
left by the captain on his dressing-ta
ble, and being missed upon their re
turn from Skidmore Park, and the
captain’s man questioned thereupon,
the latter had -been forced to confess
as to his introduction of the visitors
into his master’s apartments. Where
upon ench of these has been arrested,
the violinist among them, and were
now taken to Moorlands for examina
tion before Sir John and a magislrate.
Pierre was the last called upon and
Some people who had also heard
that heavenly music, said that the as he betrayed some unwillingness to
j i having bis pockets and wallet search-
little girl had been enticed away by
fairies. And this belief grew into pop
ular tradition as year alter year pass
ed, and nothing more was- seen or
heard of Pauline Arnot.
These years had brought sad chan
ges to good Pierre. His wife was
dead. He was alone in the world,
infirm and unable to work, or indeed
to do anything but play on his vi£n,
which he did with marvellous skil^Tor
a talent for music was inherent in the
family. He had to sell his little cot
tage ; and then without a house to
shelter him, aud too proud to accept
unrequited charity, he took his violin
in hand, and set forth in his old age to
earn a precarious livelihood by playing
fiom town to town. And at lenglljjie
came to England and, after vainly try
ing his fortune in the streets of London
proceeded to the country among whose
green fields anil shadowy lanes the
country-bred old man ielt more at
home.
One day he stopped at a small vil
lage called Upsharn. Observing a
shop where bread and cheese and beer
were sold he entered and humbly, in
bis broken English requested to be ‘fa
vored’ with some of them. The keep
er of the shop, a good looking, kind-
hearted dame, set before him the de
sired refreshment, and as he ate halt
fimished, she marked -his poor cloth
ing, and infirm appearance and the
carewrorn look of his face, and gradual
ly drew out his whole history. It was
with bitter sorrow tliat lie dwelt upon
the disappearance of his little Pauline.
He had but one memorial of her, he
said—a portrait of her mother, taken
when the latter was a girl of eighteen,
by a young travelling artist whom she
cottagers bad nursed through a dan
gerous illness.
The miniature the young man had
painted and left, with a token of his
gratitude; and this poor Pierre had
brought with him from home, and worfe
ed, the constable proceded to do it, and
drew forth a dingy and worn leather
case, which he first glanced at and
then held up triumphantly before Sir
Johu. . :
“It’s the picture of Mrs. Captain
Bolton, as you see, your honor,” be
said ; “only the dirnants has been
picked oot by this ’ere old rogue,
who’s no doubt bid em souiewheres,
and the painting been put in this old
frame.”
Sir John examined it attentively.
“It is doubtless the portrait of Mrs.
Arthur Bolton, my daughter-in-law,”
he said, in his formal way ; “yet can
not be the same that wa3 lost, judging
from the style of painting.”
And he handed the picture to his
soil.
The latter examined it, at first with
surprise, and then with sin expression
of curiosity and bewilderment.
‘It is surely the portrait of my wife,’
he remarked ; ‘yet, as you say, sir, it
is not the one that has been lost. The
painting is much inferior, the dress
different, and even lhe expression is
not the same. Where did you get
this picture, my good man ?’ he con
tinued, turning to Pierre, and speak
ing in F rench.
‘it is the portrait of my daughter,
Monsieur,’ replied the violinist, “and
was taken more than twenty yea is
ago.’
Captain Bolloti to his- father. “Yet
how woaderousiy like.”
‘Pauline ?’ repeated Pierre, turning
suddenly to the speaker ; and then
adding dreamily, as if to himself, ‘Ah,
it was like Pauline—my little Paul
ine.’
Hurried and eager questioning fol
lowed on both sides.
’There is no doubt of it,” said Cap
tain Bolton, at length, grasping the
old musician’s hand. “You are Pierre
Artjot, my wife’s grandfather, of whom