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PUBLISHED BY I
HANCOCK, GRAHAM & REILLY. [
Volume 17.
DBVOpj. 10 AN3 8SHEEAL HJOBHESS—INDEPENDENT IN ALL THINGS.
AMERICUS, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, OCTOBER 7.- 1870.
TERMS:
r Tl\ree Dollars a Year,
PAYABLE HI ADVANCE.
Number 33.
XIlK KATE OP A FIGHTING DOG.
\ m»n. be owned a terrier cIor—
\ bob-tai!c»l, oncry enas,
»ij.l that tlif-re pnrp got there man
An.l the itorg wa* on hia bite,
<o*to kirk that <lorg-gonod animile
^ „ jinan owned a Thomas cat,
That fit »t fifteen pound;
And other cat a got up and did
when that there cat waa ronnd.
TV man and his dorg came along one day,
Where the woman the did dwell
Ami the pnrphe growled ferociously,
Thm went for the cat right wclL
He tried to chaw the neck of the eat,
lint the cat, he wouldn’t l>e chawed,
s, ht lit on tho l»ack of that there dorg
Ami bit! and chawed 1 and clawed!
< >h: the hair it flew! and tbo purp he ynnled ?
As ti»e claws went into lua hide.
And chunks of flesh wore pealed from his back;
Then hn flnmmxed, and kicked, and died!
The man he ripped, and cursed, and awor
As ho gathered a big brickbat,
That he would be durned essential!v
If be didn’t kill that cat!
Hat tinwoman allowed aim’d lm I>!csho<1 if he
opposite, which sat with thoughtful eyes
looking out upon the scenes we were
passing. I endeavored to turn my
thoughts and eyes away, but they would
After a while ono little hand reached
forward and gathering np the clusters
of dying buds and withering leaves,
which rested upon the cushion in front
of her. A quiver passed over the coral
like lips, and a grieved look came into
the red-brown eyes, as she passed her
fingers caressingly over the dropping
The sunshine came drifting
1 up a
ired hit
mlow blind,
i up;
known to fight again,
lur purp.
p their iinouts at this rhyi
om for that!
how is, that fighting dorgs.
wrong Tern cat.
SWEET-BRIER.
The sweet odors of this delicate little
Liver stole uj>oii my senses, as I stood
wit:.in the door of the ‘‘Ladies’ Saloon”
A;’.itiug for the down train to bear me
onward to an important field of labor.
The perfume was exquisite, and bore my
thoughts into the past. When a bov I
h.ul gathered sprays filled with the deli-
eute pink buds aud carried them to my
mother. A thousand memories arose in
my heart as the gentle Juno breeze waft
ed the fragnnee about me. Presently I
heard a voice exclaim :
••0. I have lost one spray of my sweet-
brier. Cousin Hettie!”
Being u stranger in the place, I bad
given no attention to the inmates of the
Saloon—but as the.se words reached my
ears, I turned and saw the speaker.
A fair fragile litttle creature of neither
the blonde nor brunette type she was.
Her complexion was dazzling fair; her
hair—’twas neither light nor dark, but a
golden brown-hung in billowy waves
Mow her waist. Her eyes were dark
red brown; such beautiful eyes I had
never gazed into before.
A gray traveling suit of some summer
material graced the tiny figure; a little
gray hat rested upon the beautiful head.
<)ne small hand was ungloved, and the
fair lingers clasped several sprays of
sweet-brier. What a wee fairy she ap
peared beside “‘Cousin Hettie”—a tall,
stately dignified brunette—who looked
down with a smile upon the little figure
"Well, Mabel dear, what does that
signify? A on have such a passion for
sweet-brier. 1 see it so often that I
*!*y R row "eary of its dainty pink
buds,
‘its delicate
“He ! Cousin Hettie, if it were only
possible that I might, have a little home
ail my own, I should have a tiny bird-nest
affair with hunysuckle and sweet-brier
nestling about in every crivece and around
- very casement; in truth I should call it
“Sweet-Brier.”
And the beautiful little creature held
the duster of fragrant pink buds and
preen leaves to her dainty nose ; giving a
jump *° r W * mt ' ° H 8 ^ e ^aled ^e per-
"Hark, tho train!—I hear the whistle 1”
And one white hand was raised for a
moment, as Mabel “the beautiful” arose,
*!iook the soft folds of her traveling dress,
and settled her tiny bat more firmly upon
the pretty head.
“Xow Meb, dear, yon will write imme
diately, will yon not ? I shall be very
uinasy until I hear from you. I do not
kke to have yon go alone; indeed I think
yon scarcely well enough to go bock.”
, frtoinly, I shall write, dear old so
ar? not worth the worrying oyer. I have
. ? a Q l,let pleasant rest, darling; this
visit to yon has been a ray of sunshine in
l>o°r ‘Mob’s’ life, and I shall go back to
my labors with renewed energy. Then,
J*®’ . We , avft not much longer to work
-; only a month or six weeks before
tiic summer holidays.”
And so this fairy-like creature was
» School teacher! I looked at her in
tniazcmcnt. Not more than eighteen
^miners crowned that beautiful brow
with its waves of golden brown—and the
Ti* ll P 8 were 1X8 Voting as a child’s.
Tho train came thundering on-and
™ ,d lhc and Wife attend-
f . I ,uh the lwo Udiw
* ,J . e saloon while I was giving some
directions concerning my baggage* and I
saw thorn no moro until the bell sounded
e signal for departure—and as I sprang
upon ♦lie train I almost run over the
dignified “Cousin Hettie,” in whose dark
* , '. e8 “ iere lurked teardrops, and about
whose firm beautiful month a quiver
^I’lght to hide itself. Lifting my hat
au .“excuse, my lady!” I moved on
>at° the ladies’ car. and there, with her
, , Juried upon the seat in front of
her, sat my little school-teacher. Tak-
I 1 ? a seat a respectful distance I watched
hi? 3mall figure with no little anxiety;
‘ •‘“king that, woman-like, she was in-
h 1D 8 8°<xl cry. By-and-by the
ita.^ 1 ^ e ^» but the face bore no
T/* 8 A quiet sadness and
ev P P a r' or kad settled about the brown
e JC8 and beautiful mouth.
**• she, this beantifnl ereatnre,
mJl 8ya i° M? Was * he oae of *he
s, W r" el *f upon life’s broad
itp ’l. '' ere ^ere ao home-hearts await-
enir L COt V ag ' ° r musk 8he «Jone
r «pon her vanons duties ?
tnrM? a thousand other conjee-
curs throng^ my brain, while the
hoJLJ Te i mov l D 8 swiftly on—on—past
and httlo towns, bearing us
Memni • \° “y P lace of business,
^plus-aad ber-Where ? '
al,ont it • Was 80130e thing very interesting
aru-e yo, . ,n S girl;. her entire appear-
hair— . a8 un ‘T le - Even the floating
lijgi. ‘ o^ething so uncommon to the
V&n fa* E° m ] er ?? 5 ebignons worn now-
«aem*S* e fasllJonal l le Iftdie* Of sode-
'iffwS" 6105 ^ sobeauti-
•hSitaSS? pon w “ rer io
WM 1re - riD K »»»y.
Bull £ npon tho
bads.
through the blinds aud rented in ptfoWy
lines upon the gblded brown hair. H
The sunshine faded;-and the gray
twilight crept into the train aad my Kttte
figure seemed weired aud shadowy '
dim light.
By-and-by the lamps were lighted, and
a bright ray lingered lovingly upon the
pure sweet face. One small hand sup
ported the beautiful ln-ad; the other
clasped the wilted sweet brier.
Away and away through the darkness
we sped, the hoarse rumble of wheels and
the snort of the engine being (life only
sounds that filled the night. My thoughts
were away upon some Utopian dream;
the fairy form of Mabel was clasped to m
heart. I called her “pet” and “darling, 1
when—there came a maddening plunge,
0 roar like distant cannon, and I knew
no more.
When consciousness returned I found
1 held some object in my arms, aDd-by
the light of the June moon, which looked
down mournfully upon the wreck I found
that my little “sweet-brier” was resting
upon my bosom, her face as white as the
drifted snow, her long lashes veiling the
beautiful eyes. I pressed the filight form
closely to my heart, and wondered with
in myself as to how she came there.
Presently lights flickered hero and
there, borne in different directions by
those who lmd come to onr relief.—
What ascene of coufusiou was presented
ir, a crushed and broked mass,
lay heaped within a deep ravine.
These are not dead!” exclaimed a
e, and the conductor bout his kiudly
above ns. “ Hero, lend a hand, my
boys; the gentleman is not dead. '
>t so sure about the lady!”
Rough, but kind and willing hands
ise us, and bore ns gently to a small
bouse some distance from the wreck.—
My wounds were not very s
bruises that aught else, and a sprained
ankle.
For a long time our efforts seemed
lin with tho fair and lovely being
strangely thrown upon our care,
length a slight convulsion passed over
frame; a quiver played about the closed
ej’eleds aud around the pale compressed
mouth, and with a long shuddering sigh
she opened her beautiful eyes. She
gazed round wonderingly upon the
strange faces bending over her, and then,
with a weary mourn, pressed her small
hands convulsively together. As she did
so, her cherished sweet-brier sprays fell
from her clusp und rested upon the coun
terpane. I gathered them up with jeal
ous care and placed them within the
breast-pocket of my coat. I felt that
somehow we two were to bo moro than
strangers to each other.
All night I sat in a large chair at her
bed-side. In vain the physican urged
to retire. My little Mabel should not
be deserted, I thought within myself;
and I watched at her side, gently caress
ing the frail little hands or bathing the
fair brow.
At length the bright beams of a new
day began to find their way through the
curtains and to press loving kisses upon
the golden head on the pillow. The
dark eyes opened, gazed into mine grate
fully; and raised my hand, which was
holding hers, she carried it tq her lips,
while tears gathered in the great speak
ing eyes.
What, was it? What tie l»onnd our
hearts? Unable to resist ihe power
which held me captive to its will, I bent
forward and pressed my lips to the lily
fair brow. A beautiful blush for a mo
ment suffused the sweet face; then with
a sigh she turned upon the pillow. As
she did so, the lienutiful waves of hair
brushed aside, exposing a neck as
pure and white as marble,and something
more—a large ugly soar reaching from
behind the left ear to the back of her
beautiful neck. The mystery of the
floating hair was explained, and I tor-
ited ravself with a thousand ques-
s, as to how that great jagged scar
found a place upon one so fair and love-
iy-.
No word was exchanged between ns.
Holding ray hand tightly clasped within
her delicate Augers, she again slept. I
sat within the great “sIeepy|hollow” of a
chair, and pondered over the events of
the past twenty-fonr hours. Who was
she? And why was it that I felt such a
resistless, overpowering interest in a be
ing I had never spoken to—had never
met before? The day wore on; ’twas
passed at her bedside. She slumbered
fitfully; and I sat there and dreamed.
The physican came in several times, and
said if she remained perfectly quiet she
would be able to travel in several days.
The shock had deranged her nervous sys
tem, and she must have time io recover.
He asked me if I was a friend to the
lady; I told him I was.
As the twilight came on, I felt I must
take some rest, I was veek, nervous and
quite ill; and as Mabel was sleeping very
sweetly I left her with the nurse and
limpea into my room. Without disrob
ing I placed myself jupon the low cot-bed,
and in a few minutes was in a deep
troubled sleep. It seemed os if some
one, -a great tall man, with gleaming
blaek eyes, was striving to tear my dar
ling from my arms. She uttered no cry,
bat twined her white arms about my
ueck, and ber beantifnl eyes pleaded elo
quently for my love and protection.
At length the hoarse shriek of the
midnight train—os it came tearing, into
the* little town—aroused me from my
sleep. I raised up, rrtbbdd my eves
and looked around me. The moon was
peeriug through the blinds, making
? ueer lines upon tbo white sanded floor.
struggled to my feet, and thrusting my
well foot into a slipper, grasped my cane
and tried to reach the door. Three
times I made the effort before I succeed
ed—the agony of my foot was intense.—
Just as I gained my door and was leaning
against it for support, I heard the train
lesviog the depot A long, wild, mad
dening shriek it gave as it rolled away
in the darkness. A shudder passed over
me, for the wildness of the long hoarse
whistle seemed like the wail, the sad
farewell, of a lone sad soul. I crossed
the hall with difficulty and softly opened
the door-of Mabel’s room. A shaded
lamp was burning upon the table; the
nurse slept in the easy-chaif'at the bed
side—but the. patient —teas not Uteri!
The bed was just M she had thrown the
cover aside; the pillow was yet wars and
bore the empress of her*b£aat&* head.
A tiny gray kid—^tpm ai the wrist and
witb a spray of sweet-brier dinging to
it—-was lying upon the bed. &he P had
left it in ahurry of departure. I examin
ed the apportmant closely; nothing was
left—yes, upon the table, near'the hunn.
was a tiny . white missive addressed
“My Unknown Friends” Opening
with trembling fingurcs, I read thi
“ Mabel cannot express to her nninwn
friend her thanks, her lasting gratitude,
for his kindness. She goes the way God
has appointed her—and prays that for
him may be given love, peace and hap
piness here; and a lasting peace 4 be
yond.’ ”
That was all. She was gone—my love,
my beautiful, and I knew not where.—
L sat for some moments stnpified cot
sowing wlrnt to do. At length I aroused
myself sufficiently to awake the nurse and
ask her concerning our patient. She
gazed around with a stare, of amazement
- and affirmed again and again that she
had not been asleep an hoar; that she
remembered hearing the clock stike
eleven; that her beautiful charge seemed
to be sleeping quietly; and being over
come with sleep she had yielded lierselj
to its influence. , * c"f
Gone, gone; and I posessed no elite
whatever by which to trace ray beautiful
litt;o “ sweet-brier ” not even her name.
I gathered the little glove in my cold
fingers and tottered from the room.—
That glove with its withered spray of
sw'-et-brier was all that was left of “Ma
bel” the “Unknown,” I must find her;
I would find her; but how ?
‘‘Cousin Hettie!” The name came
npon me like a ray of light. I would
leave on the morning train, return to the
place where wo had token passage togeth
er, and learnj all of “Cousin Hettie.”
Hettie who?
There again did I find myself in s
labyrinth of trouble. But I was not one
to yield to difficulties. Having ascer
tained at what hour the train would leave,
I made my preparations, and early the
next morning—with m.v little treasured
glove next my heart—I left the little
viliage, and in the afternoon again enter
ed the Saloon I had left such a short
time before. There was the settee npon
which little Mablo had rested; and there
upon the floor crushed and withered, was
the spray of sweet-brier she had lo3t the
day before. Poor little Meb ! Who was
she ? Where was she ? Carefully, ten
derly tho bruised yet fragrant brier was
pnt aside with my other treastiers. I
inquired of that agent if he remembered
seeing the two ladies the day before. Ye3,
but did not know them—didn’t think
he had ever seen them l>efore if lie
had forgotten.” I asked him if
he knew a young lady of the place called
“Hettie.” He did not.
I then requested him to direct
ic or two of the leading gentlemen of
the place. He did so, and to them I
applied. Tbo first knew no young
lady by that name ; the second, at first,
said he did not—then, after sitting for
several minutes in deep thought, he ex
claimed :
“It must be Miss Esther Ingraham,
old Colonel Ingraham’s daughter, of
Flower-Bale. They do not reside in the
city, but several miles from here, in a
most beantifnl place. But, my dear sir,
yon wiH not find them at home; they left
last night at ten for New York.”
Here was a dilemma. After studying
the case for some minutes I deemed it
advisable to acquaintSthis gentleman with
the facts. This I did. He said he re
membered seeing a young lady (agreeing
With my description) several times riding
with Miss Esther in tho pony pluetom,
but did not know who she was. Heard
that she was an invalid consin; that she
neither made nor leceived calls while
there. Perhaps Colonel Ingraham’s
family physician might throw some light
upon the subject. Ho gave me the
physician’s address, and I visited him im
mediately, and still no success. All he
could say was simply this; he was called
npon some weeks prior to the time of
my call to attend a young lady who had
been severely wounded with some sharp
instrument. The wound had been in
flicted some time, had partially healed,
and then broke ont afresh.
She was called “Mabel;” Colonel In
graham bad settled all bills; and he had
no farther information to give, exoept
that the young lady seemed very
fond of flowers, especially the delicate
little wild rose or sweet-brier, which she
always kept near her, or pressed between
her pretty fingers.
' I thanked him kindly and bowed my
self from his presence. What shall I do
next ? i* ind Mabel I most! That night
I took the ten o’clock train for New York.
Farther and farther was it bearing me
from her, yet I felt that it was the only
le ceil sur nos souhaits ne regie
pas les chases." My poor ankle, bruised
and sprained, grew so inflamed, aud my
body so weary with constant changing,
and the motion of the cars, that ere I
reached New York City I was tossing tip-
on a bed of pain both.physical and ment
al. As soon as I was able to sit up I
commenced my jonrneyings again, but
was foroed to go slowly, and when I ar
rived at New York and searched tho dif
ferent registers and made inquiry at the
principal hotels, I found they had left
for Saratoga the week before.
Again I was constrained to give some
rest to the suffering body; though the
mind was in agony of unrest. As I lay
upon my bed witli aching limbs and
burning fever, the sweet pure face of my
“sweet-brier,” my Mabel, would come
before me; aud those great brown eyes,
fraught with love and pleading, would
gaze yearningly into mine. “Mabel,
Mabel 1 Who are you? Where are you?
Why have you cast tliis spell of enchant
ment upon me ?” Often did this mad
cry rise from my heart daring the silent
hour of night. And there did I vow, if
my life was granted me, to dedicate it
to finding and loving tho strange little
myth—that seeming ignisfatuus which
had lighted my path for a moment, and
then vanished.
Why make a data of my wondering* ?
I wrote to my agent to carry on my busi
ness during my absence, and continued
the search. It seemed as if Colonel In
graham and his daughter were likewise
wild fancies of my brain, for from place
to place I tranced them, always hearing
the same reply to my queries—“Left ten
days ago!” At last I heard the joyful
tiding*, ‘‘Left for home four days ago!”
““•tin with a'thrill of hope stirring my
weary heart I turned my face home
ward; hopiug, praying that the mystery
vrouhl soon be solved.
Springing np the broad marble steps
that led to the princely mansion, I rang
a sharp quick peal at the doorbell.
A few minutes later I was ushered
I sent up my card to Colonel orJSstb«r In
graham; and by-and-by I heard the sweep
of a woman’s drapery down the broad
stairway, then across the hall; and
“Cousin Hettie”—tall, dark and stately
os I had first seen her—stood within the
tfoornty.■'jA
over the ham
meetjier.
As briefly ‘os' possible I explained to
her the object of my visit; tqld ber the
whole story—not omitting my wdd- deep
tOrejHUMdHramrii; and at
the cmcO I gathered her hands in mino,
and gazing into her dark tear-filled eyes,
Plead with her to tell me where I might
find my Mabel!
“Poor little Meb! Poor boy!” And
withdrawing her hands from my clasp,
for one moment one beantifnl shapely
7“ P 1 ? 0 ®* U P°“ “y dark curls,
while the other coverde her eyes,
cealing the tears that would come.
“Why do you say moor little Meb, and
poor boy r’ I exclaimed, impetuously.
“Tell me—I must know all!”
“Yon shall know all Yes, her sad
story. Mabel is my cousin, my mnok
loved cousin—the child of my mother’
brother, and several years my junior.—
Her lather betrothed her when a child to
a man a dozen years her senior, and when
she was but fifteen years old. We were
at that time at school together. Her
father and her betrothed came to the
school where we were boarding, and
there, notwithstanding her prayers and
entreaties, she was forced to wed the tall,
dark, stern man she utterly loathed. Her
gentle nature could not cope with such a
wild passionate one as his., One glauce
of his dark gleaming eyes filled her with
wildest dread. Three months after her
father and mother both dfetl suddenly,
mysteriously, and since other facts have
been developed ’tis thought that they
were murdered. One night, six weeks
later, after sitting up until, midnight
waiting for her husband, the poor child
began to make preparations for retiring,
when bar husband suddenly entered the
room, his eyes gleaming, his lips pur-
jjIo and fleckled with foam. He caught
her by the waist and bolding her over
the open window vowed that she had
lived long enough, that he was going to
end her life. With a wild cry the poor
child closed her eyes and prepared for
death—for death would have inevitably
followed—but another freak seemed to
Mize upon the madman—for such he was.
He bound her in the window, her body
half suspended over the casting, and left
her there. Hanging in that position she
was soon insensible, and knew nothing
more until a late hour the next day she
awoke to consciousness, to learn that she
had been rescued from her perilons situa
tion _by friends, and that her husband
was in the hands of competent judges,
who decided that it was best for him to
be placed in an insane asylum. Poor
little Mabel! She could not remain ii
a place fraught with so much honor;*,
she determinod to return to school;and
once more in the bright and cheerful
hall Rhe tried to cast aside the dark pall
which enveloped her and bo again the
bright little Meb of old.
“I graduated and left school the sum-
-r she returned; and she, with a Spartan
like bravery battled through the course,
and one year ago received her reward.
But still she would not return to the old
place. She had decided to teach. ‘I
must do something, cousin Hettie. else
my heart will break 1’ moaned the strick
en one, os she buried her face upon mv
shoulder; so at last we consented, and
the little creature entered upon her du
ties as instructress in the same institu
tion wherein she had completed her
course.
“All this time her husband had been
closely confined, and guarded with the
strictest care. But this spring in March,
the madman, eluding all vigilance, made
his escape, and sought my cousin in her
home. Not finding her there, some cun
ning supernatural power—which over
controls tho maniac—led him to her
hiding-place, and entering her room at
night, he inflicted a severe wonnd npon
her neck, just behind the left ear, with a
poignard, aud then with a wild yell of
demonical glee sprang through the win
dow to be seized upon and borne off in
irons by his keepers, who, having dis
covered his escape, had instituted imme
diate search for him.
“For a while Mabel’s life l»ung in the
balance. I was sent for and went to her
immediately; and so soon as she was able
to travel l brought her home with me.
But the journey bad caused the wound
to inflame, and our physician was called
in. By the will of an all-meroiful God,
through his care and skill our loved
one was restored to her former self. She
would return to her school duties; and
well do I remember the day sho left me.
We were standing together upon the bal
cony, she was arranging a cluster of her
favorite sweet-brier, when with a slight
shiver, she raised her beautiful eyes to
mine such a pleading, startled look in
them that I asked, ‘what is it, Mabel—
are you ill ?’ *Consin Hettie, I feel ns
if something, I scarcely know what, is
about to happen to me. That my heart
which has never felt tho thrilling power
of love, will soon find its mate; yet we
can never love os others—I shnll never
speak to that kindred soul but once,
Cousin Hettie; then it will be no sin !’
Perhaps I am doing wrong in telling you
this; but I find in you Mabel's kindred
soul. God pity you both 1”
‘May I ask what she said to you ?”
‘Nothing!” I replied. “She never
spoke one word to me—nor I to her, dur
ing tho night aud day I watched beside
her bed. Here is the note she left for
e; she has got to speak to m&”
Speaking thus I draw the precious lit
tle treasure from its hiding-place and
put it in her hand.
“ Yes, this is Mabel’s delicate chirogra-
phy. She know it was best that she
should leave; she is now quite, well and
seemingly contented. I hear from her
regularly; she has never once mentioned
the meeting between you two ”
“I shnll not ask where she is; but I
pray you guard my darling tenderly.—
God pity and help me—my life is now a
blank.”
After further conversation, and an
earnest solicitation from the lady to make
her father’s house my home while in the
city, and a request that I would keep her
apprised of my place of abode, I bade
Esther Ingraham good-by.
Days glided into weeks, weeks took up-
i themselves the form of months, and
months added themselves to the great ad
dition table of time, until three long, sod
and weary years stood out dark and grim
upon the tablets of Father Time. I wan
dered—knowing not. caring not where
my journeying might lead me. My busi
ness was so arranged that it did not suff
er during my absence; but what cared I
for that ? Nervous, wretched, expectant
—awaiting what? For the voice of my
Mabel, my delicate rose, to address me
once. At last the summons came—only
these words;
Como to Flower-Bale immediately.
“Esther.”
Again was it June, that queen mouth
of the vear! .Again was the air redolent
with the delicate aroma of a thousand
flowers; again did the arrow lines of gol
den sunshine math hill and dell, and rest
with lingering touches upon the many
beauties of Flower-Bale, as with tremb
ling handltouchad tho bell, Scarcely had
the faint echo died along the hall when
"Cousin Hattie”—wearing a look of
sadness about the dark eyes and-a sus
picious trembling about the usually
month—appeared at the dooj-, units
iqy hand jn hers, whispered gently:
*• Cornel*’ " . ’
TJp the broad stairs she led me, teach
ing a door to the right she opened it, and
in a few trembling words bade me enter.
“Be firm 1” she whispered, as she left
fn a large casy-cliair near the window,
where tho fragrant June breeze found its
wa? in gentle breath, and tho goldeo
sfftingsof a June sunset glinted the
bright billows of hair, with snow fingers
clasping a cluster of pink sweet-brier,
and brown eyes gazing eagerly towards
the door, sat my Mabel—more beautiful
than any dream of tho imaginatton.—-
With noiseless steps I reached the chair
and knelt at her feet. Two white arms
were _ folded about my neck, and her
beautiful head fell upon my shoulder.—
No word whs spoken. What need for
words? Weak, expressionless words.
Our hearts were speaking to each other.
Half an hour passeithus. Then, far off,
gentle and flutelike, came the words:
‘/In heaven, darling, where there is
neither marking nor giving in marriage!”
-—and her lips sought mine.
“Yes; my Mabel, in heaven!” And.
our lips sealed the pledge with our first
and last kiss—for the beautiful casket
was tenantless—% soul had become a-
priceless gem in the Saviour’s crown. 1
In a secluded spot in the vast garden of
Flower Balo is a small enclosure; a deli-
itate iron trellis wTJrk with clin’oing sweet-
brier. A marblaTlipss, pure, spotless,
bearing the ai0jEinkcription, “Mabel,”
stands within: When day B marrying
itself into night, I enter the grounds, and
gathering delicate sprays of her loved
flower weave them into a garland and
place it upon thecross. “ No cross with
out a crown!” And my Mabel’s is re
splendent with the amaranth ino flowers of
eternity; while I, in the silent twilight
hour, with her dear eyes of beautiful
brown keeping watch upon me through
the heavenly gates ajar, weave this sim
ple token of my love from her favorite
flower—“ Sweet-brier. ”
Tl»e Cathedral of Strasbourg.
Casting out a Dog-Devil—The
voice of a Donkey in the Church.
A preacher signing himself “ Hannes’
communicates to the Froehliche Boschaf-
ter a German Methodist journal pub
lished in, Bayton, Ohio, the following
amusing stray from his own experience:
“Once I was pastor in a congregation
which there was a family who owned
a dog that used to run on three legs
only. Although tho owner disliked
it exceedingly, tho dog would accom
pany him into church. In fact he seem
ed to know instinctively when Sunday
had come, for early in the morning he
would get ready, at some distance from
tho house, to go to church with the fami
ly, and each time he managed to get
“ One Sunday morning he was there,
usual, promenading on his three legs
up and down the aisles of the church,
causing a good deal of disturbance to
myself as well as to the congregation.—
Getting a little oat of humor, I said,
somewhat angrily. Open the door and
drive out the dog, for I believe the devil
is in the dog, and tries to disturb the
congregation. Tho dog cast a sharp
glance at me, but decampered as soon
the door had been opened—never to
return.
“Many times the attempt had been
previously made to expel the dog with
out success, but this casting out of the
dog-devil was a triumph.
“Now for another story. Out in tho
bush, where meeting houses are not
fenced in, congregations are frequently
disturbed with cattle browsing in the
neighborhood. Iu the summer, they
seek tho shade of the house, and in the
Winter protection from the cold winds.
Now, it so happened that a certain j
minister was preaching to a large and 1 The eclipse of the
attractive audience. It being very warm i weekly motions of the planets
tho windows were open, and outside a
good many of those animals had con
gregated, whose peculiar voice is familiar
to all. One of them seemed to be
particularly curious to see what was going
inside, and would repeatedly look iu at
tho window.
Thin, as a matter of course, greatly
disturbed tho congregation, especially
those sitting .near tho window. But
when the worthy pastor solemnly ap
pealed to his auditors to heed tho words
of the Gospel preached to them, aud,
after pausing a little wliile, asked them,
'Well, my dear beloved friends in Christ,
do you believe iu the Word of God? ono
of {he said animals thrust his head iu at
the window, and aimed the solemn silence
that had succeeded the words of the pas
tor, uttered twice a significant ee-ab,
!-ah!' At first tho whole congregation
ere stupefied, but soon they all bnrst
out into loud laughter. And so the affect
of the Word of God I had preached to
them was gone—it had been destroyed
by the donkey’s voice.. We believe that
the devil mokes use of various means to
carry out his plan and to drive the Word
of God from the hearts of the people:
This disturbance could have been
avoided had the people fenced in the
meeting honse, und thereby pnt up a
fence against the devil, which would be
good if it were done oftener.”
The cable has. from time to time
brought intelligence of the partial
destruction of the Cathedral at Stras
bourg. This is one of the most distress
ing fortuities of the war, for a world of
history and a world of art is centered in
that building, and it is very like sacri
lege to suffer it to be destroyed even os c
necessity of war.
Wo find in a recent issue of the New
York Herald an article which recalls the
glory and worth of this ancient and
treasured Cathedral, a portion of which
we copy. It says: Strasbourg itself—the
ancient city—was an incipient seat of
Teutonic civilization before the period of
conquest by the Romans. Tho latter
made it a city iu the time of Augustus
and called it their Argcntoratum. Tho
Huns under Attila, the Franks and the
Gauls successively gave ic a history un
til during the Middle-Ages, it emerged
into a Christian life, and the ecclesiastical
spirit began to enrich it with monuments
of imperishable beauty. The chief of
these was and is its Bomkirclie, or Cathe
dral Chttrch, of which the spire is the
noblest and most beautiful on earth.
This pinnacle, rising four hundred »nd
seventy-nine feet into the air above the
level of the city, is twenty-five feethighi
than the loftiest Pyramid, and the tracery
of its open carving is so exquisite that ir
the distance it looks like a web of som
bre lace work suspended midway iu the
Four aud a quarter centuries, with
all their wonderous annals of wrak had,
rolled away after the commencement of
building of the church ere this grand
construction was completed in 1849—a
date of 1G2 years later than that which
marked tho beginning of the building of
the spire by Erwin Von Stainbach, its
gifted architect. Even‘to-day the whole
edifico is not complete, for tho tow<
should have been of the same height.—
In tho lapse of tho 593 years during
which the majestic fane, and of the 330
since the termination of its spire, the
tomb os Conrad; the pulpit erected and
carved by Jean Hammerer; the cluster
of pillars wrought like jewel work; the
stained windows and the figured floors ;
the matchless pictures of saints and kings;
the tombs of warriors aud of sages, con-
tintally increasing in number and beauty
have re-echoed to the footsteps of the
great thunders of war, all chiming in,
at last, in the later day, with the
sublime organ melodies of Silberman.
But of all the grand mementoes and im
posing adornments which impress tho
minds of even Martin Luther and ascetic
Calvin, when they trod the streets of the
famous ecclesiastical city, none was more
engaging than the wonderful astronomo-
nical clock.
This piece of mechanism which has
been destroyed in whole or in part by the
Prussian bombardment of Strasbourg
was constructed about the year 1370. It
represented the motions of the globe,
the sun and the moon, in their regular
circuit. The day of the week, the circle
of the sun, tho year of the world, and of
Lord, the equinoctials, the Leap
year, tho movable feasts and dominical
all clearly exhibited by this clock.
and moon aud the
also
GEORGIA LEGISLATURE.
displayed. Thus on Sunday the snu was
drawn about in a charriot and so drawn
into another place that before he was
quite hidden you bad Monday—that is,
the moon appeared full, and the horses of
the charriot of Mare emerged—aad the
scene was thus varied on everyday of the
week. There was also a dial for the
minntes of the hoar, so that you could
see every minute pass. Two images of
children appeared ou each side, one
with a sceptre counting the hours. Two
motious of the planets, the moon’s rising
and falling and several astronomical
movements were exhibited in this clock.
Death and Christ were also personified;
and at the top of the tower was an ex
cellent chime, which played various
tunes, anil, says an old German Chroni
cle, “at Christmas, Easter and Whitsun
tide they sounded a thanksgiving unto
Christ; aud when this chime has done,
the cock wliioh stands oil the top of tho
tower, on the north side of the main
work, having stretched out his neck
shakes his comb and claps bis wings
twice; and this lie does so shrilly and
naturally as would make any man won
der.” This celebrated clock was con
structed by Dassipodiusaud Wolkinsten-
ias, two famous working mathematicians
of the time.
The mourning dealers are having a
good time of it in Europe. English
houses have received from Germany very
heavy orders, and France, too, is a sadly
good enstermor in the same way. No
donbt absolute fortunes are being made
by the purveyors of trappings of
war. It was by a lucky coup in cr
that Mr. Morrison, of the famous firm of
Morrison, Billon tc Co., who left behind
him the greatest estate ever known in
England, made the germ of liis colossal
fortunes. He speculated on the proba
ble demise of tho Princess Charlotte of
Wales—first wife of the late King of the
Belgians—who died in childbirth. No
royal death, not even that of the late
Prince Consort, ever caused such univer
sal lamentation in England, and the
whole nation went into mourning.
Every one was demanding crape,- and
Momsonjound himself in the same • en
viable condition with that commodity as
Joseph with the grain in EgypU-r[ WoHd.
In the battle of Metz some of the Ger
man soldiers, .as a protection against the
continual showery of bullet that the ene
my poured upon them, fastened f
knansacks across their chests. After
battle many were convinced that these
tactios had saved their lites. In them
they found no small number of bullets,
which instead of striking them in the
breast, had only entered their calfskin
cuirasses.
Sad • Bereavement.—Our excellent
brother, tho Rev. Charles R. Jewett is
again called to suffer. He was very sick
last week in Macon, and while soaroe able
to sit up. was called to meet the corpse of
his fourth son, Guyton, on its way to bu-
TiaL “ Guy ” was aft his grandfather’s,
in Meriwether oo., and attempting to get
out of a wagon with a gun in hia b»nd^
he dropped it to save himself from falling,
and ^the load was discharged into his bow
els, which resulted in hia death the same
day. The poor boy was calm, self-col-
leeted, knew that he would die, and di*
vided out his little poses ■io ns among his
brothers and sisters. His afflicted father
has many loving friends. Left them not
forget to pray for him.—Chris. Advocate.
A Paris letter says: Among the many
proposals to arrest the march of the
Prussians, the moftt remarkable is one
which appeored this morning signed • A
Frenchwoman/ The Frenchwoman begs
20,000 of her sisters in Germany to come
at once to^ Pari*,when with 20,000 French
women. they will throw themselves be
oontending armies. ‘ This,’
the- Frenchwoman, ■with some hia-
tonoal accuracy,- -prevented tha Greets
and the Romans from killing each other.
Another gentleman requests some pa
triot of wealth to hand hrm over 100,000
francs, in order to enable him to make, a
machine capable of destroying the whole
Prussian army.
Mary Krumpasitizky, of Jeffer
sonville, Illinois, has l>eeri divorced from
Hermann Krumpasitizky, !and finds re
lief in her maiden name,Ponvintainato-
SBNATE
Wednesday, September 28, 1870.
The Senate met at. 10 o’clock.
Mr. Nannuity moved to suspend the
rules ia order to take up the Houfte reso
lution iu regard to tho final adjournment,
which motion was lost.
In the regular order of business the
relief bill was taken np by sections, and
adopted as follows:
Sec. 1. In all suits pending, or here
after brought before any court of this
State, founded npon any debt or con
tract made or implied before the first
day of June, 1865, or upon any debt
contract in renewal thereof, it shall not
be lawful for the plaintiff to have a ver
dict or judgment in his favor until he has
made it- clearly appear to the tribunal
trying the same, that all legal taxes,
chargable by-Jaw upon the same, have
been duly paid for each year since the
making or implying of said debt or con
tract
Sec. 2. In any suits now pending, or
hereafter brought, it shall bo the duty of
the plaintiff, within six months after the
passage of this act, if the suit be pend
ing, and at the filing of the writ, if the
suit bo hereafter brought, to file with
the clerk of the court, or justice, an affi
davit, if tho suit is founded on auy debt
or contract, as described in' section 1,
that all legal taxes, chargeable by law,
upon such debts or contracts, have been
duly paid, or the income thereon, for
each year since the makiug of the some,
and that ho expects to prove the same
upon trial. And on failure to file such
affidavit as hereiu required, said suit
shall, on motion, be dismissed.
Sec. 3. In suits upon such contracts,
in every case the burdeu of proof, show
ing that the taxes have been duly paid,
shall be ttpou the party plaintiff, without
plea by the defendant; and tlie defendant
may upon this point, cross examine wit
nesses, introduce proof in denial and re
buttal to the plaintiff’s proof, without
plea.
Sec. 4. In every trial upon a suit
founded upou auy such debt or contract
ns described in this act, provided that
said debt has been regularly given in fra
taxes, and that the taxes paid, shall be a
condition precedent to recovery on the
same; and in every such case if the tri
bunal trying is not clearly satisfied that
said taxes have been duty given in and-
paid, it shall so find, and said suit shall
be dismissed.
Sec. 5. No. execution founded on any
debt or contract, shall proceed to levy or
sale until the plaintiff, or owner thereof,
shall attach thereto his affidavit that all
legal taxes chargeable by law by him
said debt, have been paid from the time
of making or implying of said contract
until the day of such attaching of said
affidavit; and any defendant, or claimant
of property levied on by said execution,
may stop the same, as in cose of affidavit
of illegality, by filing his affidavit de
nying that said taxes have been paid
and said affidavit shall be returned and
tried, and have effect as in other cases of
illegality.
Sec. 6. In all suits now pending, or
hereinafter to bo brought into any court
in this State, founded ou auy such ’ con
tract, or upon any debt in renewal there
of, it shall be lawful for the defendant to
plead aad prove in defense, and os an
off-set to tho same, any losses the said de
fendant may have suffered by, or iu cju-
sequeneo of the late war against the Uni
ted States, by the people of this and other
States, whether said losses be from the
destruction or depreciation of property,
or in any other way be fairly caused by
said war and the result thereof.
Sec. 7. No plea or proof under this
act, of damage or loss, as aforesaid, shall
bo had as setting up damages too remote
for speculative, if it appeared that it was
fairly or legitimately produced, directly
or indirectly, by said war, or the result
thereof.
Sec. 8. No set-off pleaded under, this
Act shall entitle the defendant to any
judgment in his favor for any such dama
ges, only so far as to set-off the same
against the plaintiff's claims
Sec. 9. In all cases whereany debt, as
described in the first section of tliis Act,
has been reduced to judgment, and is
still unsatisfied, it shall be lawful for the
defendant to set-off against the said
judgment said loss or damage against the
nr credit on the same, in the
same terms as is provided in this Act,
when the debt has not been redneed to
judgment as follows; in term time the de
fendant may move in open court to have
said credit made, sotting forth in the
grounds of the same; upon this motion
the plaintiff may join issne, and the issue
may be tried by a jury, whose verdict
shall be final or the facts.
Sec. Id If execution has issned and
be proceeding, the defendant may file an
affidavit setting forth his claim and the
ground thereof, which shall be returned
and tried, and shall operate as ia provided
by law in case of other illegalities: Pro
vided, That said affidavit shall set forth
that snch credit was not plead or allowed
in the original trial; the fact that said
credit or set-off' existed at the date of
tho judgment, shall bo no objection
thereto i And provided further, That if
the defendant in said judgment has al
ready Lad the said debt reduced under
.the .Belief Act of 1868, the set-off or cred
it under this Act shall ' not be indorsed
on the same.
Sac.^11,/WUen a judgment is proceed
ing against property which the defen
dant has sold, the owner thereof may set
off against the same his losses of ‘ diuna
ges by said war, at the same term as are
provided in tliis act for the defendant.
Sec. 12. In all .suits now pending,
founded on any such T contract as de
scribed in the first. section of this act,
the cause shall not be ready for trial un.
til-the affidavit of the plaintiff, required
by the soveral 'seclions of this act, shall
have been duly filed in Clerk's office, or
notice thereof given to the defendant at
least throe month ; before the trial.
Sec 13. And bo it farther enacted,
That nothing contained in this act shall
be construed as to apply to effect or hin
der any judgment or execution issued
from any of the courts of this State, when
on tho trial thereof, the relief plea
allowed under the act of 1868, was filed
dud Sustained by the court, the facts
submitted aud passed upon by the jury,
nor any note given in renewal of a note
given prior to June, 1865.
Mr. Sfeeu offered an amendment,
provided that nothing in this act shall bo
so construed as to effect any claim due
auy widow or minor contracted prior to
June 1st, 1865, but shall be settled upon
t-lie principles of equity and justice.”
This amendment was adopted.
Mr.. C anpleu offered an amendment to
the effect that the'provisions of this act
shall not apply to admin istrator?; execu
tors, etc., who mismanage the estate or
property entrusted to them. Adopted,
and tho section passed.
Sec. 14. Repleas conflicting laws.
TELEGR A FHIC.
GREAT FLOOD IN THE POTQMAO RIVER.
GREAT BATTLE ON THE 27TH, SETT.
FRENCH CLAIM A GREAT VICTORY.
Special to the Daily Journal
Washington, D. 0., Oct. 1st—There
has been a great flood in the Potomac riv
er, which has caused a great loss of prop
erty in Georgetown and Washington.—
The Chain Bridge has been swept away,
and the Long bridge, and Chesapeake and
Ohio Canal, badly damaged. Houses,
animals, lock gates and parts of bridges
aro floating down tho river. Several
lives aro lost All the lower portions of
Washington and Georgetown are sub
merged. The river is still rising, and a
heavier rise is expected to-night.-
London, Oct 1st—Great battle near
Paris on 27th Sept, which resulted in a
complete victory for the French.. The
army of the Crown Prince was thorough
ly routed, and retreated north of Paris.
The French captured over five thousand
prisoners and fifty cannon. Several regi
ments of Baden troops mutined on tho
field of bafttle, and nearly a hundred of
them were shot, many threw down their
arms and dispersed through the forest,
taking the roads to Orleans and Tours,
which are now open. ' -•
BEBLDij Oct, 1st—Official dispatch
es from the Prussian Head Q aartere, near
Paris state that in the battle of the 27th
the French mode furious and determined
ts on the Prussian lines, but were
repulsed with great loss.
A Sedan letter of the 8th says: McMa
hon is here, very badly bnt not mortally
wounded, and a prisoner. He - is one of
those who would not give their parole not
to serve against Prussia during the pres
ent war. Hia wife, the Bdchess of Ma
genta, arrived here two days, bringing
w th her a surgeon from Paris and a well-
known Sister orOharity to help nurso
h«»r husband. She fa* qt tbo Marshal’s
estate, near Nismee, and would have
cc me to berhusband in twenty-fonr hours,
bnt the Prussians would not allow her to
ptss their J‘
around by t
reach Paris;'t _ _
way to Brussels, •'and'’ so comb 1
Bouillon to Sedan over^ho Belgian fi
tier. From all I hear, McMahon .wi_
be likely to recover quickly from t
wound were it not that he frets and fames
at the past and worries Himself very much
about the future. He blames the Empb-
ror very much, indeed,' for having'sur
rendered, the place, and declares that
General do Wimpffen ought to have tried
to cut his way through the enemy, even
if out of 80,1000 men he had lost 40,000 in
attempting to do so.”
What fearful gaps in humanity this
war must have made. A-Prussian offi
cer of rank to-day assured me that the
losses in Julled-and wounded in their ar
my amount, at the present moment, to
something very little shortof 200,00 men,
aud I have reason, to believe that the
Freuch haye lost about half os many.—
Faticy 300,000 men less than there was a
month ago in the ranks, and of whom
200,000*taaY be fairly supposed, to have
been killed since the commencement of
Angust.—[Herald cor.
S®- Wo are pained to have to chroni-’ .
de the death of Mrs. Jane T. H. Cross,
wife ol Br. Joseph Cross, rector ofSt.
Stephens’church in this city. .The doc- .
tor was summoned on Monday to go to
her bedside in Kentucky, and. arrived
only in time to be with her during her
last hours. Sho died Thursday night.
Mrs. Cross waa a lady o( eminent talent,
ono who, as n writer, waa well known
throughout the South, and her death will
be lamented by all whoknew her person
ally. or were acquainted with her writings-
Attanta Sun Oct. 1st. _ ,
The New York World has a special
dispatch dated Ostend 30th that rays,
intense excitement was caused by thear-
rivffi of a messenger from Valenciennes
with news ol a great battle, fought oh the
Seine, Tuesday 27th, which resulted in
the complete defeat of tho Crown Princo
of Prussia, under the guns ol |Vona and
•MW Valerian. The victory was follow
ed by the evacuation of Versailles ynd
Rambouilet and the fracture of tho Prus
sian lino of investment, tho Crown Princo
retreating rapidly northward, upon tho
army of King William at Meaux and
A special to the N. Y. Sun says: There
are 600,000 persons under arms in'Paris.
Everywhere the people are anxious to
fight. Two new armies ore in process of
formation On the flank of tht> enemy, and
there is a determination on the part'of
the people to treat os traitors all who
dare to spenkr pf compromising with
Prussia. ' v ' • J »* / * - V ’ T , ,
-8@r** Benzine and darkies mixed consid
erably, on Saturday evening last, bnt
kept quiet and peaceable.