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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.