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riOKSON CO. PUB. COM’Y, )
J Proprietors. (
VOLUME IV.
PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY.
ROBERT S. HOWARD, Editor and Publisher,
JEFFERSON , JvI CKSON CO ., (/J.
)K WCK, N. E. COR. PUBLIC SQUARE, UP-STAIRS.
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION.
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tra ropy °f the paper will be given.
RATES OF ADVERTISING
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for the first insertion, and SEVENTY-FIVE Cents
for each subsequent insertion.
A nquare is a space of one inch, measured
up and down the column.
Advertisements sent without specilica
tioiMiUlio number of insertions marked thereon,
be published TILL FORBID, ami charged
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or Professional Cards, of six lines
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they do not exceed ten lines. Ten Dollars.
Jlifflf Jutueftisfiueuts.
NOTICE TO ytTItAOTOUS~
tjU ||d. be let. to the lowest bidder, before tin
It Court House door iit .Jefferson, <ia.. on
Stur iav. t!ir ‘24 1 1 dav of March. IS7f. the contract
for building three doaMivr-rmn houses on t, ; :e
I'miper Vann of the county, according tn the f>l
l.nving specifications, to-wit: Said houses to be
built of sawed lumber, forty-four feet by twenty
feet, with stack chimney, built of good rock, in
centre, extending three feet above cone of roof;
MTft to ho 4 by S inches, heart, layoff on good
ro<,A pukiTs two feet high; sleepers, 2by 8 inches :
flooring. 7 by 1J inches, well ffrye'u, dressed,
tongue and grooved; corner, door and window
ports. 4by fi inches; all other studding 2 by 4
uidiesg joist, 2 by (> inches;*plates, 4 bj" ({inches;
hotly of houses to be planked in perpendicular
a ith inch plank, joints broke between plank with
5 inch strips; rafters 2by 4 inches, sheeted and
covered with 2 feet boards, showing 7 inches ; to
be two doors, with batten, shutters, and lock and
bolt, and one winnow to each room, said windows
to have sash 18 light, 10 by 12 glass. Doors and
windows to be weU cased and faced with timber
by friticheb. NVtuinber to be dressed except
doors, shutters amreasing. Girders, 2 by (i inches;
boxing to extend twelve inches over yach side;
(ire-place in each room. Flooring to be well
dried, and put ffifwn undressed. All work to
hr dentin- a wftrkyM&Mfc manner. The person
bidding off sain cofitrftecwill be required to give
bond, with ample security, in double the amount
of said bid. for a Faithful compliance of the con
tract. immediately alter the letting. Full and
complete speyijieHtions cau be seen at this oMice.
feb2l 11. W. BELL, Orff'y.
Jackson Sheriff’s Sale.
W ILb be sold, on the first Tuesday in April
next, before the Court House door, in the
town of Jefferson, Jackson county, Ga., within
■tiie legal hours of sale, the following property,
to-wit:
The dwelling house, lot and premises now oc
cupied by and m the possession of Peter .MChester,
in the town of Jefferson, in said county, hounded
■on the west or front side by Washington street jp
*&i<l town, on the east or back side by the back
street, on the sodth by the lot now occupied by
W. A. Worsham, and on the north by cross alley,
and containing one acre, more or less. Levied on
as the property of Peter Mcbester. defendant in
ti. fa., to satisfy two certain Justice Court fi. fas.,
issued by 8. McCarty, J. P. 245th District, (. M..
in favor of A. T. Yearwood vs. said Peter Mc
bester. Said dwelling is a good two-story frame
dwelling, newly finished and painted ; on said lot
in a good garden and small orchard, good well of
water, good kitchen, Ac. bevy made and return
ed to me b/W. F. Hunter, b. C. Written notice
given to Peter McLestcr, the party in possession.
Property pointed out bv plaintiff'.
fco2S T. A. \MeELH ANNON, Sh’ff.
| J HOIC<I A. Con lily.
Whereas, 11. C. Appleby, Executor of the es
tate of Elizabeth Buchanan, late of said county,
dcc'd. represents to the Court, in his petition duly
tiled, that he has fully and completely adminis
tered the estate of said deceased, and asks the
Court to pl ant him Lettvrs of Dismission from the
same—
This is to cite all persons concerned, kindred
ami creditors, to shove cause, if any they can, on
the first Monday in June, 1879. in the Court of
Ordinary for said county, why Letters of Dismis
sion from said estate should not be granted the
applicant.
Given under my hand officially, this Feb. 25th,
1879. feb2S H. W. BELL, Ord’y.
Q.EOKUIA, Jaeksoa County.
Whereas, John Brooks makes application to
me, in proper form, for Letters of Administration
on the estate of Lloyd Brooks, late of said county,
deceased—
TRi sis to cite all persons concerned, kindred
and creditors, to show cause, if any they can, on
the first Monday in April. 1879, at the regular
terra of the Court of Ordinary, to be held in said
county, why the applicant should not be granted
said letters’
Given under my official signature, Feb. 25th,
1879. feb-2S 11. W. BELL, Ord’y.
Jackwon County.
Whereas, \V. ]. Pike applies to me in proper
form for Letters of Administration on the estate
of John J. Flournoy, dec’d, late of said county —
This is to cite all persons concerned, kindred
ami creditors, to show cause, if any they can. on
the first Monday in April, 1879, at the regular
term of the Court of Ordinary to be held in said
•county, why the applicant shouM not lie granted
said letters’
•>iven under mv official signature, Feb. 25th.
1879. feb2B 11. W. BELL, Ord’y.
Martin Institute.
Great Reduction of Expenses!
SPRING TERM of 1879 will open on the
X 22d of January. Tuition, if paid half in ad
vance and balance at end of Term, will he reduced
at least TEN PER CENT.
With full dividends off, our rates are note less
than those of the country schools; being for pri
mary classes, the past year, less than .eighty
cents per month.
Board, with furnished rooms in an excellent
house, kept by Mr. Jerry Johnson, can now he
had for EIGHT DOLLARS PER MONTH. Other
houses will be, opened at greatly reduced rates.
For further information, apply to
JOHN W. GLENN. Principal,
Or J. E. RANDOLPH.
Sec’v Board of Trustees. janJ
The People their own Rulers; Advancement In Education. Science, Agriculture and Southern Manufactures.
SELECT MISCELLANY.
Don’t Stop My Paper.
Don’t stop my paper, printer,
Don’t strike iny name off yet;
"i ou know the times are stringent,
And dollars hard to get;
But tug a little harder,
Is what I mean to do,
And scrape the dimes together,
£nough for me and you.
I can’t afford to drop it;
1 find it doesn’t pay
To do without a paper.
However others may ;
I hate to ask my neighbors
To give me theirs on loan ;
They don’t just say, but mean it,
Wli} r dou’t you have your own?
\ on can't tell how we miss it,
If it, by any fate,
Should happen not to reach us,
Or come a little late ;
Then all is in a hubbub.
And things go all awry,
And, printer, if you’re married,
You know the reason why :
’flic* children want their stories,
The wife is anxious, too,
A t first to glance it over,
And then to read it through.
And 1 to read the leaders,
And eon the book reviews,
And scan the correspondence,
And every scrap of news.
•I cannot do without it.
It is no use to try,
For other people take it.
And. printer, so must ! :
I. too. must keep posted,
Aikl kih-tv what's going on,
Or icei and be accounted,
A fogy simpleton.
Then take it kin 11 v. printer.
If pay be somewhat slow,
For cash is not so plenty,
And wants not few, you know,
But I must have my paper.
Cost what it may to me,
I'd rather dock my sugar,
And do without my tea.
So, printer, don't you stop it,
Unless you want my frown.
For here’s the year’s subscription.
And credit it right down.
And send the paper promptly
And regularly on.
And let it bring us weekly
Its welcome benison.
— Exchange.
“JIM SHANKS."
The boys used to say that you couldn't un
derstand a man until you bad tented with
him at the front, and there was considerable
weight to the saying. A comrade might be
known as a jolly, good-hearted fellow at home,
but bis whole nature would change in a week
when you had him where the real manhood
and worth of a man came to the surface, or
where a miserably mean spirit took the place
of it and disgusted you with him. A com
rade who shared his last cracker, performed
hi- full share of camp and field work, stood
bv you in sickness and divided clothing with
you in health—sue!) a man was more to you
than all the brothers at home, and if lie lived
to come out of the war lie has not been for
gotten. The army is the place where a man
can be meaner than dirt and uglier than a
wolf, and yet retain his place in the ranks, or
he can be a white man all through and re
ceive no reward except the gratitude of his
tent-mate.
Now, I never saw a meaner private soldier
or a more sulky and morose tent-mate than
luck gave me in the year of 1864-5. lie came
down in the fall a recruit, having enlisted for
the big bounty, and at that time the old vets
who had faced shots and shells for several
years had an edgewise feeling against these
“ fresh fish" who had pocketed five or six hun
dred dollars and came down to spend the
winter in a warm hut. Some of the recruits
realized this, and by their good nature and
pleasant ways soon banished the feeling so
far as they were concerned. Others were net
tled and indignant, and were not inclined
that the old vets should get relieved of one
single camp duty because of the arrival of
new men.
Fate or luck sent, ine “Jim Shanks” for a
tent-mate, lie was Jim someone else, but
the nick name was very appropriate. He
was dogged and sullen from the first, and we
hadn’t known each other two hours before we
had a quarrel. Next day we fought again,
and after that we did not exchange a word
for four weeks. When I saw how mean he
was, and found that kind words, kind wishe**
and a frien fly interest would not touch him,
I let him alone as far as I could, and content
ed myself witli knowing that every other
member of company “E” hated him as much
as I did.
One night a band of twenty-five men moved
out of our camp for a scout across the Lou
don valley, then held by Mosby, and luck
placed Jim Shanks alongside of me. lie was
selected by accident, it being the intention to
take a better man, but he was there just the
same, silent, sullen, and ready to elbow or
bayonet any one who accidentally brushed
him. That night as we filed along the mud-
dy highway, speaking only in whispers, I saw
Jim in front of me and I whispered to my
self:
“Jim Shanks, if you don't get killed down
here you’ll be hung for murder before you ar.
out of the army a year !”
Just in the gray of morning, and wher
within a mile of Union Town, Jim Shanks
and myself were sent forward to reconnoiter
I would have sooner gone alone, and ten times
sooner had the company of any one else, but
luck decided it. We said not a word. I
watched Jim and saw that he was as cool as
JEFFERSON, JACKSON COUNTY, GA., FRIDAY, MARCH 7,1879.
an old soldier. He knew as well as I did
that we were advancing on Mosb3’’s headquar
ters, but be stepped out boldly and with no
change in his demeanor.
Wli*n we had nearly reached the church,
standing on the hill above the town and fac
ing the road leading awav to Leesburg, I
halted, knowing that a picket post must be
near. I had not exchanged a word vyith Jim
for days, but now I whispered to him that we
must proceed with caution.
“If you are tired, sit down in the mud,”
he growled, striding along, and after a min
ute I followed him, both of us walking on the
side of the highway. I knew be would soon
strike tlw picket, but it was either follow Jim
or turn back. Suddenly, and without a word,
five or six men rose up in our path. I bad
barely discerned them when one seized my
carbine and another tripped me down, while
a third growled out:
“If you make any fuss j’ou'll get a bullet
mighty quick.”
I didn't propose to make any fuss, hut Jim
Shanks did. The two men who grabbed at
him were brushed off like flies, and whirling
his carbine around his head, lie cleared a path
for himself and was lost in the darkness.—
More than a dozen shots were fired after him,
and being intercepted on his retreat down
the road he male for the church on the hill.
Before he reached it there were a score of en
‘inies about him, and Hie reports of the car
lines sounded more like a brisk skirmish
that, a conflict with a single soldier, and a raw
recruit at that, I think he meant to get inlo
the church, tlvough lie <on Id not have told
whether it was a church or other building in
the pitchy darkness. Failing to get in, he
found a retreat under the front steps, and in
the darkness the confederates believed he
had escaped altogether. They, however, threw
a line of videttes across the roads and fields,
and it would not have been possible for Jim
Shanks to regain the road by which we had
come.
Had the rest of the command moved upon
hearing the row, there might have been a
show to release both of us, but they did not
come. By the time the soldiers had given
up the search for Jim, our comrades were on
the back track for the Potomac.
I was retained at the picket-post because
Moshy’s Lieutenant was there, and because
he hoped to bribe or frighten me into giving
information of value. I was, therefore, in
position to see the result of Jim Shank's
work, single-handed and alone. When he
broke away lie disabled one man by a blow
from his carbine. In his flight he killed one
and wounded two others. Wounded and
dead were brought to the picket-post, and I
saw them. Mosby’s men were terribly in
censed, and but for the fear of an attack by
our force, whose strength they did not know,
I believe they would have hung me up in
their first rage.
It was the guerrilla chieftain’s last dash
into the beautiful valley, lie was gathering
forage and hurrying it back to Lee’s lines,
and many farmers were robbed of their last
horse and their last ear of corn. In three
days more they would have been out of the
valley entirely.
At the first signs of daylight, and when the
old church on the hill was visible through the
gray of morning, came a bullet which bored
a soldier through and through and dropped
him dead in bis tracks. It was from the car
bine of Jim Shanks. Hiding under the steps,
he had only waited for daylight to open the
fight anew—not waiting to be hunted out and
captured. All was excitement in an instant,
and as soon as Jim's location was betrayed
the guerrillas scattered and formed a skir
mish line. The fire of this line was concern
trated on the steps, and was as rapid as if
opposed to a line of battle. The firing had
just begun when one of the skirmishers fell
away from a stump with a bullet in his head.
In three minutes another was shot through
the chest. Jim Shanks had forty rounds of
ammunition, and he fired slowly and with pre
cision. I could see splinters fly from the’
steps every time a ball struck, and I ktew
that many of the bullets were driving right
through the boards. For a long twenty min
utes Jim held that skirmish line of twenty
five men at bay, killing three and wounding
two. I counted his shots, and he fired just
twenty-one times.
A reinforcement of about twenty mounted
men finally came up, and bitching their horses
under cover of the hill the men took the skir
mish line. Just as the firing began anew Jim.
Shanks suddenly left his cover and ran for
the horses down the road. Every skirmisher
rose up, and there must have been at least
dv, and sets up at night. Well, I think he
ought to lie rewarded, for Ream is a good
fellow any way.
Jim Codey cannot sleep at night. He
dreams of Hml. Iliis is not to be wondered
at, for she is very pretty.
Clinch says that Jim Spence and Amos
Whitehead have settled the ax scrape. Jim
takes the Jack. U. Know. !
mlf<iyJt M 1870.
There was a rush for the horses, and away
they galloped after the recruit, firing as they
rode.
The strange luck that bad stood by Jim
Shanks in this light might have aided him to
escape had.be selected a better horse. After
a gallop of half an hour he found his pursu
ers gaining, and ill trying to get into the
fields his horse fell, rolled over the poor fel
low, and the pursuers found him dead when
they rode up. His clothing was fairly rid
dled with bullets, and yet Liis flesh had not
been scratched. The church steps were as
full of holes as a colander, and about the
same distance apart, and yet Jim was not
wounded. Mean spirited, obstinate and dog
ged as a tent-mate, he had the courage of a
lion and the gallantry of a knight, and the
first and last grave ever dug for a Union sol
dier by Mosby’s meu was hollowed out for
a racruit who had never before been at the
front.
"All Kiss the Baby.”
Five ragged, unkempt and weeping chil
dren were left orphans the other day by the
death of their mother, a widow who lived on
Prospect street. The father was killed at one
of the depots about two }'ears ago, and since
then the mother has kept the family by hard
lay’s work. Lack of food, exposure and
worry brought on an illness which terminated
ratnily, and the children, huddled together in
a corner of the room, feeling awed and fright
ened, but yet unable to realize that death had
ma-de them waifs. When the remains had
<*e4i sent away to Potter's field, a dozen wo
ne'i*gathered and held a whispered consulta
tiOl^
I'll take one of the poor things, though
I’ve four of my own," said one of the women.
“And I'll take another.”
“ An 1 I'll take one.”
“And so will I.”
And there was the baby —a toddling boy
who had b ;en rooke 1 to sleep ever\ r night of
his life, an 1 whose big blue eyes were full of
tears as he shrank behind his sister to escape
observation.
“I coul 1 take him.” said one of the wo
men, “bu I'm quick-tempered, and the Lord
will never forgive the woman who strikes the
dead mother's child.”
“I could take lum, but I’m old and will
soon die,” said another. “ When lie had
learned to love me, and I bad learned to love
him as a son, death would separate us.”
. not over ten years old, dressed a
little better than other children there, crept
into tiie group and heard what was said.
While the women were looking into each
other’s faces in silence, the child reached out
for the babe ; patted liis white head, kissed
him and said :
'* I will take this one! I have no brother,
and ma and pa will let me keep him. He can
sleep in ray trundle bed, play with mv doll,
and then they may put all the Christmas
presents in his stocking.”
The women protested even as they wept,
and the girl ran around the corner and re
turned with her mother, who sanctioned all
she had said.
“Come, bubby, you’re mine now,” called
the girl, and be laughed, and she put her arms
around him and tried to lift him up.
By and by a woman said : “Children, you
have neither father, mother, nor home. You
must be divided or go to the poor-home.
Kiss the baby.”
They put their arms around him, as they
went out from the old house to go in differ
ent directions and, perhaps, never again to
meet altogether.
“Good-bye, Johnnie!” each one gasped
as they turned for the last look at bahy, and
the little girl called to each one in turn :
“ Don’t feel bad ! I’ll give him lots to eat,
learn him his prayers, and when he’s a big
man lie’ll buy you all back.” —California
Christian Adoocate.
An Ingenious Ruse.
THE STORY OF A LADY’S WONDERFUL NERVE.
A correspondent of the Hartford Times
says: “Mrs. Isadore Middleton, a very
beautiful woman, and one of the acknowledged
leaders of fashion in Mobile, can certainly
boast of the possession of as much nerve and
true moral courage as are often vouchsafed
to anv of her sex.
• “ One evening she was in her boudoir put
ting away some articles of jewelry, when she
noticed that the peculiar position of a library
lamp that was burning upon a chair in the
back part of the room had thrown upon the
floor, almost directly at her feet, the shadow
of a man who was crouching under a broad
topped ornamental table in the centre of the
room.
\/ ” She also remarked that the open hand of
the shadow had but two fingers, and remem.
be red that several desperate burglaries had
recently been committed in the neighbor
hood, supposititiously by a negro desperado*
who was notorious as having lost two fingers
of his right hand.
“Mr. Middleton was absent from the city,
and, besides herself in the house, there was
but a single maid servant. Instead of faint
ing with fear, or shrieking for help, the brave
lady seated herself at the very table under
neath which the miscreant was concealed and
rang for the servant.
“ Hand me writing materials, Bridget,” said
she. with perfect calmness, I want you to
take a note this instant to Mr. Forfair, the
jeweler, and have him send you back with
my diamond necklace and eardrops which I
left there for repairs several days ago. Bring
them with you. no matter if fully repaired or
not. They are by twenty-fold the most valua
ble articles of jewelry that I possess, and I
do not wish to pass another night without
having them in a bureau drawer.
“ The note was at once written and dis
patched, but instead of being in the tenor that
she had signified (on purpose for the concealed
robber to overhear, for she had no jewelry
under repair), it was a hasty note to the
jeweler, an intimate friend, in which she
succinctly stated her terrible position, and
urged him to hasten to her relief, with the re
quisite pediee assistance, immediately on
receipt of the missive.
“The agonies which that refined and deli
cate woman underwent when left alone in
the house, with the consciousness of the
presence of that desperate robber, perhaps
assassin as well, crouched under the very
table upon which site leaned, and perhaps
tbuohed by her skirts, can 011I3' be left to the
reader’s imagination; but her iron nerve
sustained her through the ordeal. She yawn
ed, hummed an operatic air, turned over the
leaves of a novel, and in other wa3’s lulled
the linker into a sense of perfect security
and expectancy’, and waited, waited with a
wildl3 r beating hart, and her C3’es fastened
upon the hands of her little ormulu clock
with a greedy, feverish gaze.
“At last, however, came the prayed for
relief. There was a ring at the door bell,
and she strolled carelessly into the hall and
lown stairs to open it. The ruse had been
•1 success. She not only admitted Bridget,
>ut also Mr. Forfair and three stalwart police
men. The 1 liter passed stealthily up stairs
n the boudoir, where the\’ suddenly pounced
upon the concealed burglar so unexpectedly
is to secure him with hard!}' a struggle.
“The priso icr proved to be a negro crirni
ml named Clapman, but mostly known as
Fwo-Fingered Jeff." who was in great re
pies* about that time for several robberies
•ommit.Led in the neiglmrhood a short time
before, and lie is now serving a twenty’ years
sentence in the Alabama State prison.”
The Bashful Bridegroom.
The wedding guests were gathered all, the
minister was in the parlor, the marriage feast
was piping hot. and the bride was peeping
out of her window and blushing the while,
but the bridegroom was missing. They wait
ed two hours and then dispatched a brother
of the bride to find the bridegroom; and
meanwhile, lost the victuals should spoil, they
all sat down to dinner. Now. the bridegroom
was the most bashful man in Goshen town
ship. and possibly in Ohio. He was discover
ed in his room with his everyday clothes on
and with one side of his face shaved. When
asked why he remained away, he replied that
he had attempted to shave himself but was
so scared and nervous that he couid not ac
complish it. IT' finally told the brother that
if he would finis’) shaving him, and help to
trim him up, hi would go and report for
duty. The bro'hor kindly assisted, ami the
two then starte i lor the home of his anxious
bride. When within a short distance of the
house, the young man's heart again failed
him. He declared that he could not face the
crowd, and reluctantly retraced his steps.
Iha brother went home and reported the re
sult of his investigation, and the preacher,
turning to the lady, said, -I’ll never tie you
to such a man.” On the following Saturday
the father of the young lady was met with
the same plea, - I can't stand to face such a
crowd, but if you will get a ’squire, and let
us get married after night. I will try it again.”
The old gentleman declared that the cere
mony must be performed in the day-time.
Finally, the bashful young man was led into
the parlor by the arm, cooped up in a corner,
and brought face to face with minister and
maiden.
Threatenings of Disease.
All serious diseases give their far off warn
ings. Intelligence ami careful observation
would make a doctor's calling almost a sine
cure. A gradual failure of the memory is
sure indication of approaching bodily in
firmity or decay. Another important fact is.
if any set of muscles are unduly exercised,
they will lose their power; so. also, if any
function of the mind or brain is unduly stiinu
luted, the result is temporary prostration or
permanent destruction, according to intensity
and duration of that stimulus. Thus it is.
that the voting become precocious, and either
die early, or disappoint the expectation of
their friends by settling down into mortify
ing mediocrity. Hence.
1. Let the j'oung learn slowly.
2. Uuder intense bodily or mental applica
tion, if you find your memory failing you.
as you value bodily health, and the" mind
itself break away at once from all your en
gagements, and spend weeks together in out
door recreations.
“What does your husband do?” asked the
census man. “He ain't doin’ nothing at this
time of the year, replied the young wife.
“Is he a pauper ?" asked the census inan.
She blushed scarlet to the ears. •* Law. no!*’
she exclaimed, somewhat indignantly. “We
ain’t been married more'n six weeks.” Then
the census man threw down his book and
rushed out into the depths of the gloomv for
est, and caught hold of a white oak tree three
teet through to hold himself up by.—Burling
ton Il'fwln’.yc.
\ TERMS, $1.50 PER ANNUM.
) SI.OO For Six Months.
A Dead Shot.
A lIUNTBIt’S ADVENTURE.
One day, seven years ago last spring, after
tending my traps in the morning. I started
out through the mountains of Northern Cali
fornia on a hunt. About noon I killed a big
horn, and. while I was cooking my dinner, I
happened to discover a small opening in a
rocky place up the side of the mountaiu,
which I was certahi led to a cave. The en
trance for a little distance Was only large
enough to allow a man to crawl in. I went
after my rifle, and returned to the place, de*
termined to see what sort of cave it was.—
W hen I came to examine the opening, X
found a beaten path running into it., and I
knew it must bo the home of some wild anb
mal. This made me a little cautious. I pat
my head into the oponing, keeping my gun
ready to crack at the first live thing I could
see. The cave was very dark, and I could
see but a few feet ahead ; but presently X
heard a noise that seemed to come from the
interior, and I stopped and listened. It was
a faint, moaning sound, and when it was re
peated I knew that it came from ayounsi pan
ther. Had I known as much then as Ido
now, I should have got out of that place as
fast as tny legs would let me. But I was in
experienced then, and had more curiosity
than caution, and more courage than wisdom,
and I took it into my head to capture the
young panther. My rifle had heretofore
proven equal to any emergency, and there is
a certain love of adventure that leads a liurt
ter on from one peril to another, from one
hard exploit, to a greater, until he meets with
a check. I began to crawl down into the
cave, through a narrow, crooked passage, that
must, have been fifteen feet long. One ofthe
panthers—!6r I soon found that there was
more than one cub in the cave—kept up erv*
ing, which grew louder and louder as I ap
proached. At last I came to where tlie cave
widened into quite a large room. 1 could
stand up. hut it was so dark that at first I
could not distinguish one object from anoth
er. I Tit. around with my gun, and, led by
the sound, soon found the nest ofyoung pan*
tliers. There were two of them in a nice lit
tle bod of leaves, made up in one corner of
the cave. They made a great noise when I
stirred up the nest. They were quite young,
and I put them into my hunting cap, ami
started to go back. I had taken good care to
remember my bearings, and felt sure that I
would have no trouble in making tny way out.
1 crawled along, careless as usual, congratu
lating myself on my courage and good luck
and thinking what nice pets I would make
of the young panthers, and how proud I would
he to show them and tell how I got them.
when all at once I came to the mouth of the
cave. What do you think I saw ? The old
panther was coming In.
She had smelt my tracks, and I could see
by the light on eaclT side of her, as she ap
proached through the entrance, that every
hair on her body was sticking towards her
head. She meant mischief. I dropped the
cubs. A9 I did so they set up a veil. The
old panther seemed to comprehend the situ
ation. and gave a growl so merciless and sav
age that it made my hair creep and my blood
chill. I raised my gun. I used to think that
I was tall timber at rifle-shooting, but, al
though the panther was not more than thirty
feet from me. I was almost afraid to risk a
shot. I had little time, however, for deliber
ation, and I discharged my piece expecting
that, the next minute the old panther would
he upon me. But,, when the smoke cleared
away, I saw that the animal had dropped on
the very spot where she had received the bul
let. 1 went to her cautiously, but she was
dead. I have been in tight places since, but
that was the best shot I ever made.
Vegetable Milk.
Among the exhibits at the French exhibi
tion were several flasks of vegetable milk,
sent there by the Venezuelan Government.
These have been carefully analyzed by M.
Boussingaub. and in a paper descriptive of
his labors which lie sent to the Academy of
France, the astonishing statement is made
that this fluid, in its constituent parts, is not
only like cows milk, but in some respects is
a decided improvement on that article. It
contains fatty matter, sugar, caseine, and
phosphates; but the relative propotions
of these substances are such that the fluid
has all the richness and nutritive qualitiesof
cream. M. Boussingault sajvs that this veg
etable milk was spoken of by Humboldt, who,
in his travels in South America, had several
opportunities of tasting it and of witnessing
the methods adopted by the natives for col
lecting it. The trees of which t his is the sap
grow upon the sides <>f mountain chains in
\ enezuela. The Indians go each morning to
the trees nearest to their settlements ami cut
in them deep incisions, from which the milk
pours out in such quantities that in an hour
or two quite a large vessel is filled with the
fluid. This is taken back to the village, and
forms a staple article of food for both old and
young.
The latest prison romance comes from
Connecticut. Fourteen years ago Charles
Gilbert was sentenced to prison for life for
the murder of Henry Cadwell, in New Britain.
He was convicted on circumstantial evidence ;
and. although he could have taken advantage
of evidence tending to prove an alibi, lie did
not, and his strange conduct had some in
fluence in securing his conviction. Gilbert’s
father died last October, and it has lately
come to light, that the prisoner had declared
that the death of his father has removed an
obligation of secrecy that he put upon him
self at the time of his trial, ami that his
father was really guilty of the crime for which
he, the son, has been convicted. Neither at
the trial, nor since, he says, could he tell the
truth without disclosing facts that would put
the rope around his father’s neck. His story
of the murder committed by his father is
believed by those familiar with the case,
and the prisoner's statement is now before
the Legislative Committee on Pardons.
-—*——
—There were at legist three hundred men
murdered in Texas last year and twelve ex
ecuted.
NUMBER 39.