The Cartersville express. (Cartersville, Ga.) 1867-1870, January 03, 1868, Image 1
YOL. 6.
TIIE WEEKLY
CARTEItSVIIXE EXPRESS.
Is published every
FRIDAY MORNING:
In C'irteruTille, Barton- Cos., Ga.. by
Samuel XX.
EDITOR and PROPRIETOR at the fol
lowing
Bates of Subscription :
0 ’!• c !■ • I>ree months
(Invariable in advance.)
CLUB R A T E S :
F i-ecop'.e*, one year ftS.OO
: ,it, o’ e year 25.00
T.. nty copies, one year 40.00
And a copy extra to the party getting up the
dub .
All papers -topped at the end oPthe time paid
for if not previously renewed.
Rates of Advertising:
Advertisements inserted at One Dollar per
enuare for the first insertion and Seventy fi-e
Ci i,;s fu each subsequent insertion. Liberal
<>, luefion made when un advertisemen. is in
sc.tcilgp e month or longer-
so.: jCaiiks. J 1 mo,|2 rno.j3mosj4 m08.|6 mos
77 ‘ 3.25' 6.00' 7.00 lO.OOj 15.00
-7,' 7.50 IS 00 *3,50 20.00 27.00
~ 0 ’ i I,Ob IG.OOj 18.00 28.(W 37.00
F : 114.00 20.00,24.00! 35.00! 45.00
i'.u th coiu’n 17.00 24.00 28 00: 41.00: 53.00
7 \ , n . ... '23.00 40.00j34.00; 50.00 67.00
jV'.i 26 00 33.00; 97.00 65 00 74.00
7m ' .. 20.00 36.00:40 00 60.00 80.00
Ten .... 32.00 39.0C43.00 65.00 86.00
j,'df-cu!untn.. -35.00 42.00,46.00 60.00; 92.00
38.06 45.00 ! 49,00 74.00 j frP.OO
T ‘; ..7, a 1 41.00 48.00 52.00 75.00 104.00
J’m'i,teen ! 14 CO 51 00 55.00 83.00i110.C0
j • 7,7 17.00j54.00 58.00 87.00 1 16.00
- 7 .'n'..'.! ... 50.00 57.00 6 1.00 92.00 122 00
v . at ,.,. a r>3.Oii;CO.OO 64.00 96.00 128.00
ii d,teen .. '56.00 63.00 67.00 100.00 134.00
77-teen 59.00 66.00 70.00 105.00,140.00
-p',’. lltT 1 62.00 69.00 73.(T0 110.00 146.00
'i'wrnt v-one.j C5.00j72.005 6.00; 115 001152.00
(joininn ' 68.00;75.U0 79.00 118.00:158.00
Parties Advertising will be restricted,
in their Contracts, to their legitimate business;
that is to sav, a l l Advertisements that do not
reic ■ to their regular business will be charged
for extra.
Advertisements inserted at intervals to be
charged as new each insertion.
The above ru/es will be strictly adheared to.
PROFESSION At CARDS.
JE3EI." HOWARD,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW,
carters ville, ga.
PRITCHETT 4* WOFFORD ,
Attorneys at Law
CARTERBVILLE, GA.
Office over elsas store,
Oct, 17, 1867,
THOMAS W, MILNER,
Attorney at Law,
C.MVTERSViLLE. • GEORGIA,
v.'iii a t 1 end promptly to business entrusted
to his care. Oct. 5 wly
J OHN J. J 0 STs
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Cartcrsvillc, da.
XTTILL attend promptly to all business cn
s trusted to his care. Will practice in
the Courts of law, and equity in the Cherokee
tbreuit. Special attention given to the collec
tion of claims. Jan. 1. 1866. ly
John J- Jones.
j 0 is nTjITnTs ,
REiL ESTATE AGEST,
CA.RTERSVILLE GA
I un authorized to sell, and have on band several
llouses and not-, -,nd al :o nutii- rous buibilnj? lots la the
tn.vQ of Cartergvll e. Also sever and plantations of vari
ons-is sin Ha .tow county. Parties desiring to bu« or
wifi and . well to g.ve moa call. Ad C'uunmicaUons
j.romp.ly answered. July IT. 1566.
ux* g eon an and
Mechanical Dentist.
rjIHE undersigned respectfully off r bispro
[ fcssional •vices to the citizens of Car
tersville and vicinity. is prepared
to do ail kinds of fjt. -.'-eyd work belonging
to his profession. bull setts of
teeth put in on gold plate. Work all war
ranted. F. M. JOHNSON.
Cortersville, Feb. 13, 6m°
DR. HUGHTbIAIR,
Plijsiciaa ami Siu-gpoa,
(JarlersviUe. Georgia.
TVF.SPECTFULLY tenders his professional services to
ll the public.
flfOaicc Lt his residence, on Main St., late resi
dence ol* Mr. P. M*rsh. June ‘2l.
DTI. O. Pfi.YBiERTON.
Carter.wille, Georgia.
I-lifers his professional sfvlces to the citizens of
arte, svlKe and surroundln« cou dry, and will att-e- and
-at all hou •». Office ap-stalrs in l»r. Samuel Clay-
O i 3 New Briek Building. May 10. 1367,iv1y
Lanier House,
marietta, ga.,
SY ELLISON As DO33S, Proprietors
F IAHIS House is located iu a few steps of the
g Railroad, where the cars stop. Passengers
1 ike three meals a day here. Meals prepared
a all hours. july 24.
S. H. Fattillo,
FASHIONABLE TAILOR,
TsniV attend promptly to the Cultl'ff, Repute- .a®
M tiiid Banking Boy’s and Meu’s Clo hlng.
O'ce in bkw room of Blair & Bradshaw’s store. J
CartersviUe, Ga. —.LL.
Dress Tailor.
prepared to execute all kinds
of work in the Fashionable Tail
■JOL ingline, with neatness and in .In
rable style. Over J. Elsas & Co’s store.
CartersviUe. jan 25.
Tlie CartersviUe Hotel.
DR. THOMAS MILAM having ,
charge of this House, would be # innn
pie used to accommodate as s w Board-B * Ij j
ers with BOARD, with oi without - ■
Lodging. Call and see him at once for terms
CartersviUe, Jan 17.
9 W. R. MOUSfTCASm,
Jcwoller and Wateli and
Clock. Repairer,
I t the Front of A. A. Skinner <sc Co’s store’
CartersviUe jan 25
THE CARTERSVILLE EXPRESS: 8 '
JESUS OX TEIE WAVES.
The sumWsnt down on Salem’s towers,
faded from the sky,
And over holy Palestine,
Tile sudden night fell heavily.
ship was on the deep;
"Within were weary, anxious men,
WBjh doubted, though they utte.ed not,
• If they should see the land again.
They toiled in rowing almost spent;
Wildly, the wind against them blew,
And wilder yet as o’er the sea
A human form anear them drew.
A creeping horror Iroze their blood ;
Into each other’s eyes they gazed,
All mute and trembling, troubled soar—
Why were these voyagers amazed 7
©nly a few short lours before
They saw the miracle of bread,
Where one whose daily life they shars.d,
The hungry multitude had fed.
Surely, they rn ght have though', at once,
Who sought his own across the deep,
From the lone mountain’s top came down,
Where he hau turned to pray and weep-
What other foot could walk the flood 7
What other form be there upborne !
They should have hailed the blessed feiglTt,
Shame ! to be then afraid —forlorn.
Lightly he trod the leaping waves ;
Seen in the pa’e aiooa’s tender sheen,
But only when they heard his voice
Knew they the God-like Nuzanne.
“Be not afraid ; ’tis I!” he said,
And answered headlong Peter, “Come!
And taught a lesson to his church
There, ’mid the winds and on Ike foam
Oh ! “Gem of Beauty,” Lord of Life,
Gone up from sacred Olivet,
Bestow upon thy chosen ones
Such grace that they may not forget.
And when about our trembling souls.
The fierce winds howl ar.d billows rave,
Oh ! let us in our anguish see
And hear thee, Jesus, on the wave.
[From the New York World.
Labor Paitic isi i e%v I'oi‘k—
-56,690 Men Oat of ft urli.---
lttslilmiouthcOiilyPiuspecf.
The nation seems to have fallen upon
evil times, for a commercial panic,like
that which marked the meiuorable 4 ye»r
of 1857, hangs like a cloud over its
temporary destinies. In every leading
thoroughfare in this city may be eeen
numerous groups ol idle artizans ar.d
laborers, hoping, almost against hope,
that each successive day or week will
usher in a period of remunerative, or
even ill-paid labor.
They apply in vain everywhere for
work, and they are invariably met with
the common phrase, which has to them
a world of bitter meaning—“ There’s
nothing doing. 1 ’ Among llm number
who have seen epochs like the present
iii former years, often engage on the
highways in discussing the proportions
of each period when commerce was
suspended, and they agree in giving the
palm of this for the amount of suffering
which the cessation of all productive
industry has engendered.
It is not, however, in the business
streets alone that the unsuccessful ap
plicants for labor may be seen. A
great army of the number crowd the
docks along both rivers, fill the various
intelligence offices, and swell the host
of advertises for places, which must
be, lor the present, mythical. ’They
are virtually in each other’s way ; for
they cannot by any possible strategem,
device, or qualification, obtain employs
meet.
In order to present some accurate
idea of the number out of employment,
our reporters called on the representa
tives of the leading trades and other
occupations, and they obtained the
startling fact that there were over fifty
thousand persons now idle in this city.
I’lie suffering consequently must be
very great among this class ; and it will
probably be increased as the winter
advances.
Burns. —In regard to the treatment
of burns there is a great diversity of
opinion, scarcely any two surgeons
agreeing as to the remedies. All of
them are doubtless valuable, but there
is one which has great reputation,
carron oil, lime-water, and linseed oil.
The great objection to it is its offensive
ordor. rendering an entire ward disa
greeable. When the burn is very su
perficial, simply inflaming or vesicating
the pact, covering it up with flour, and
then placing a layer of cotton over it so
as to exclude the air, makes a very
comfortable dressing. Another method
consists in apply ing cold water, and
another warm water covered with oiled
silk and a bandage. Lard, deprived of
salt, and simple serate make pleasant
applications. The profession is in
debted*lo Professor Gross for the intro
duction of white lead and linseed oil in
the treatment of burns. It is one of the
very best applications that can be us
ed. effectually excluding tfie air, and
being always grateful to the patient.—
In a 1 ! cases, no matter wheter merely
the skin or the deeper structures • are
involved, whitelead rubbed up wi<h
linseed oil to the consistency of paste
nr paint, and placed on with a brush
will be found productive of great relief.
There does not appear to be any risk
from the constitutional influence of the
lead, though it ha3 been suggested, to
counteract any tendency of this kind,
that the patient should lake occasional
ly a little sulphate of magnesia—Medi
cal and Sergical Reporter.
A tin wedding was lately ob
served in Gloucester, Massachusetts,
after a rather unusual manner. The
wife eloped with a young fellow the
same night, taking with her all the ‘tin’
she had saved in ten years. ’The dis
covery of her adsence closed the festi
vities.
“LOVE STP.OHOEh THAN HATE."
-4c Cl iris, tr. ui» Story
“Christmas comes but once A year
and once a year the old hall is filled
from basement togarrett. Once a year
old scores are wiped out, old wounds
healed, brothers become boys again,
and the battle of life, with all its inev
itable shortcomings is forgotten. The
hearth round which we clustered at a
mother's knee is an alter upon which
every wordiy mistake is sacrificed ; and
if we miss some dear face from the
gathering, we feel that even on earth
we iiave a ioretaste ol the eternal home
to which we are hastening. So it is
that year by year the old house
stretches its sides, and the church
round which our forefathers #eep, finds
us kneeling even to the third and fourth
generations. Out, though we ntiss a
face sometimes, we also often welcome
anew one. Aud at the Christmas time
of which I am going to write, a
brother, after 20 years of exile, had
come hack to us, bringing wtili him his
only child. Ina was a half Spauiard,
and the prettiest girl I ever saw , her
uncommon beauty, for she was utterly
unlike any of our girls, and her quaint
ways took our hearts by storm at once,
and completely subdued that of Mark
Amberly. Now, though Mark was
not, strictly speaking, a relation, he
was a sister’s step-son, and admitted,
first for her sake, was speedily loved for
his own. A soldier, and the son of a
soldier; Mark had won honors which,
in our out of-the’world county, estab
lished him a hero at once, and I verily
believe the dear lad was halt ashamed
of his V. C., s«'*deep and earnest was
the worship with vvhch we favored it.
Mark was always at Ina’s side ; so
we all saw how it would be, and the
love-making gave anew charm to the
gathering. (Jhristmas-eve came; the
church bad been decorated, the “guis
era” feasted, the Christinas tree dis
mantled, and, tired of dancing “Sir
Roger,” we wore all grouped about in
the dining room waiting for midnight,
when, according to an old custom, tfie
“devil’s knell” was tolled at the
church, and the Squire dispensed cakes
and mulled ale to all those who came
to wish him and his a merry Christ
mas. My brother stood upon the
hear',!;, watch in hind; prestiy the
time-keeper was thrust into his pocket,
and he crossed the room. There was
a general hush. Laughing faces grew
grave. Lips quivered and eyes filled,
for in the silence memory woke up;
and the ghosts of th 3 past came troop
ing by, some laughing, some weeping,
until it was hard to know whether old
Christmas was a time for mirth or
sadness.
“Clang! clang! clang!” came the
bells, and a hundred voices smote the
frosty air, singing the old carol :
“God rest you merry, gentlemen, let nothing
you dismay;
Remember, Christ our Saviour, was born on
Christmas day.”
The children crowded to the bay
window, and turning to another I found
it already occupied. Mark and Ina
stood there; he was whispering in her
ear, and half hid by a shawl, I saw his
arm around her.
As I sat by my bedroom fire an hour
after, a light tap at the door woke me
from my dreaming. Ina came in, her
long light hair floated in golden ripples
over a blue dressing-gown,
“May I come and warm myself,
Aunty?” she said ; ‘the fire has gone
out in my room, and I am so cold.” —
She gave a pretty little shiver, as if to
verify the nrssertion, though the warm
.'ace she pressed to mine rather con
tradicted her wor.ds. Then nestling
down upon the hearth rug, she clasped
her hands around her knees. Pies
eiuly she said, but without turning
round, “you like Mark Amberly, Aun
ty ?” I acquiesced, and she went on—
‘so do I, and isn’t it funny, he says he
likes me, and— ’
Then suddenly she was kneeling by
me, and under a cloud of hair, and
amidst a shower of kisses, 1 was listen
ing to her secret, how Mark had asked
her to be his wife, but how he had first
settled it all with his father and hers;
that he was to go to India until he got
his promotion, when he might leave the
army and marry her.
Next day the party broke up. Some
to their own homes to receive guests,
some to join other parties. Mark went
to India in February ; and during the
year, although I heard constantly of or
from Ina, I did not meet her. So that
when Christmas came again, and l saw
her at the Hall, I was struck with an
alteration ; what I couid hardly tell.
She had grown handsomer. Every
one saw and said that, and yet no one
hinted at other change. Yet from the
moment she came up to me. and look-
CARTERSYILLE, GA., JANUARY 4, 18C8.
ed at me with her great, gray, wistful
eyes, my heart chilled, and a fear I
could not define came over me.
Nor was my anxiety lessened when,
as we were talking of Mark, Ina began
to cry passionately, ami rushed out of
the room. There was some! Li eg wrong,
ar.d missing her that evening from the
drawing room, I went to look for her.
Opening the morning-room door I saw
Ina. She was sitting at the window
but not alone ; a man was beside her,
bending fondly over her. There was
no light save that of the moon, so I did
not recognize him ; nor diJ I tarry to
make the attempt ; to tell the truth, I
was indignant with her; and closing
the door with a bang, I marched off to
the drawing-room. People were seat
ed here, there, ar.d every where, so 1
could not make out who it was that
was with Ina. though 1 tried iiaru that,
night and the next day to discover who
had made my pet so miserable. We
were all busy that day, Ina as hard at
work as any of us ; but when midnight
came, with its beli ringing and carol
singing, 1 missed her, and with a feel
ing 1 could neither withstand nor ex
plain, I went to the little room. There
she was. This time the window was
open, and the man, for he was there
too, w-as standing by her, IBs aim
round her. I heard her murmur some
thing in a sobbing voice, and saw her
lilt her hands above her head and
wring them. Then, traitor as she was,
I could play the eavesdropper no long
er, but hurried away, and when. 1 got
to my bedroom a little later I sat down
and cried ; of course it was foolish ;
what had I, an old maiden aunt, to do
with the purjured faith of a heartless
girl, or the broken heart of a too easily
duped lover l As I sat there before
the dying fire, with the tears still wet
upon my face, I became conscious of a
sound resembling waves breaking ; 1
listened, the waves' beat grew louder, 1
could hear them distinctly, and so too
could I hear the wind and storm howl
ing louder ami louder ; it broke against
the windows of my room, nay, in the
very- room itself. I shuddered as the
blast passed over me; 1 felt the cold
spray dashing in my face, and grasped
the chair as I tried to shriek, to cover
mv ears, and hide my eves in the .pil
low, but in vain. 1 had no choice bin
to look upon the stormy sea where a
ship lay tossing helplessly. I saw the
spars washed overboard. I saw men
struggling in t!'i # e pitiless waves, the
laces and streaming hair of women, and
once the w hite lace of a little child. —
Then the darkness became so intense
that only when the lightning flashed
could I distinguish the Tv reck, although
1 he thunder of the tempest was curdling
Imy blood. Suddenly the winds and
waters ceased their war, and there came
a calm so deep that I heard every throb
of my heart, and as I sat wor.Jeting
what was coming, a gentle wind rust
led past n.e, a hand touched my face,
and Mark Amberly’s voice cried, “com
fort, Ina.”
After that I seemed to faint, for when
I recovered consciousness the fire and
candles were out, and the dull, gray
morning was shining, into the room. —
Gradually I began to collect my
thoughts, and as I undressed and crept
into bed. a feeling of horror settled
down upon me. 1 had never been a
believer in the supernatural, and inw
tried hard to convince my seif that I
had been dreaming. I was deter mir ed
to treat it as a drearn, and laughing at
my folly, persistently kept down mv
fears, leaving next day, without saying
a word to Ina. Our parting was a cold
one, for my heart was lull, and 1 knew
that the slightest demonstration on my
nart would overturn mv seif'coutroi,
and give my sensible resolutions to the
winds. 4’C. With a cold kiss and mut
tered “You’ll write, of course,” —we
parted*
A fortnight after I saw Mark's pro
motion in the Gazette, and the follow
ing post brought me a letter from Ina.
‘Mark,’ she said.-had left India,coming
home round the Cape to shake oil the
effects ol a slight attack of fever.”
The letter fell from my hand. I saw
it all now, and the cold drops stood up
on my forehead, as I seemed to hear
the sad voice crying. ‘Comfort Ina.’—
M„rk was drowned. By some myste
rious power, 1 had seen the wreck, and
iove, stronger than death, had brought
the dying man with his message of love,
tlis last thought had been of Ina ; and
Ina, what of her ? What would siie
feet when she knew at the very time
she was false to him, Mark was in the
jaws of death—and such a death!
1 was wretched. I could not write.
I dared not see her. I went away bv
myself where none of my people could
get at me, and compel me to tell*(as 1
felt I must) my terrible secret. Weeks
past; I grew ill with anxiety, anil at
last went !o London to consult the
s lipping ar<rents, hoping against hope.
They told me the ship was duet!.send
of the month, but that there having
been weather, she might be delayed. —
So, leaving ordeis to telegraph ltie first
intelligence, I went back to the viilge,
where 1 had pitched my lent.
‘ A month overdue now, and people
at the office getting anxious.” so wiote
my sister, and 1 put her letter away
and still waited.
“Two months overdue and hope dy
ing ; fit a is in a strange way, and
keeps talking of you. May she come?”
so wrote my brother, Inn’s fattier, and
before I could answer yes or no, Ina
came. She rushed into my room one
afternoon at sunset, and stood before
me, crying.
“What lias happened, aunty. Why
will you not teil me; he has come twice
, and bid me go to you for comfort. —
What is it ?”
“.Poor child,” I said, how can I
kn w?”
“Then why did he tell me to come?
Vt iv look at me as you did at the hall,
nearly driving me mad ?”
I told her, and was frightened, for
she sprang' up from her knees with a
cry 1 ik«- a mad woman, and then fell,
sighing and shivering upon the ground.
“•It was Mark, Aunty. I felt him
near me, and you only saw him. I
was sure something had happened,
though I never dare sav so ; and he
always told me to come to you lor
corn fort,”
Lying in my arms, Ina listened to my
version of the story of the wreck, which
time, alas ! proved only too true, for
when a year had passed! a sailor came
10 the agent’s and reported himself as
the sole survivor of the Halberd’s crew.
The gale that wrecked her had come on
upor the morning of die 22d of De
cember, and she foundered at midnight
upon Christmas eve.
-
NASBg.
The Alabama Convention — The Tf’ocs
oj John Guttle, Jr.
Montgomery, Ala., Dec. 1,1857.
Is it possible that this world may
continyoo to exist—that the heavenly
orbs may continyoo to roll about on
each otiier’s axises, and move in har
monious cycles into their respective
spheres—that c«inits may continyoo to
wheel and turn in regler orbits thro the
speer as signed em in the grand econ
omy in eelestvai space, but I doubt it.
Il sieh a disorganizashen ez 1 am now
u inessm doesn’t overturn that order
v ;ch is Heaven’s first law, all I km say
is, nacher is so constituted ez to stand
stunners uv no ordinary magnitood. I
am in Montgomery, in attendance, ez a
looker on in Venis, uv the constooslr
enel eonvenshen, ez it is called, now in
.session in this accusscd town. It svuz
curiosity wich brut me hither. I bed
herd of this piebald body—of this black
and tan getiierin, in which naggers and
white men—naggers in wich the white
blood predominated, and white men in
wich the nagger-blood predominated—
wnz gethered and settin side by side,
the same ez thow Noer bed never oust
Ham, and as thow the nagger vvuz not a
beast, and not our inferior at all. Ez 1
gazed, I sed to myself,
“Tne time is out ov joint, O cussed spite;
That I wuz ever born to set cm rite.”
I entered the hall with the sun uv my
old friend, John Guttle. John Jr. is a
chip uv the old Guttle block. When L
; arrived I found him a leanin upon the
bar uv a small groser.y a stnokin a su
gar and a lookin ez discorsi late cz
mortal cud. Shakiu hands with him, a
momentary gleam ov joy shot athwart
his ci.re.worn face ez he invited hiin
sdt to drink with mo. Nut fee!in it
rite to deprive him tiv one little ray uv
contentment, I stood drinks not only
for him but for a dozen more wich 1
found leanin on their elbows on the
bar, all ov ein with a cegar atweeu
their teeth, uv which the life bed gone
out in consekince uv tber bein too
much discouraged to draw em. I
knowd the most uv thos vung men in
the happy days uv yore. Tha wuzali
the sons uv planters in the vicinity—
all uv «m uv the first fami’ies of Ala
bama, wlios fathers lied wum:t owned
their thousand akers apeecr, and bed
brqt em up as the tru shivelry of the
South was alius brot up. Thar warm
wun of em but lied worn the most
magnificent brodclotb, and, in bis day,
wen and lost his thousands at faro.—
Ther warm one of em but wnt was up
in all theennoblin sports wieh was the
delight of the shivelrv of the South,
»eh as pitch in dollars, draw poker and
horse-raeiu, and scarcely wun of em
but who lied fought dooels in his lime,
and every man of em lied slaughtered
his hecatoms of Yankys in the late
war/ Yet here they stood, out at el
bows, with naplis hats, and all in the
last stage of seedinis.
“Cheer up !” sed I, as we sot down
the tumblers. I turned and told the
barkeeper that as soon as l drawd my
pay and mileage I wod call and settle
for the drinks.
“W-a-t ?” sed he.
“I’m a member of the Constooshnel
Convention,” sed I, “and when J get
my pay and mileage I'll call—
“No you don’t.” sed lie, sezin me
by the collar. “No you don’t. Thar
liaint bin a member of a convensinin
or legislacher in these doors since
Pope’s bin here. Pay now, or—”
Serin that my little strategy wodn’f
work I reluctently forkt over.
The young men was in a dredful
state of dilapidashun, and their mur
ipurin was more like the lanientashuns
of Job than anything I had herd lor a
long time.
“Why,” said John Guttle, Jr, “the
old man, when he departed this life,
left me a thousand akers of land, but
what was it good for? I hod no nag
gers! The accursed whelps refoosed
to work without wagis, and that I wod
ent pay em on prinsiple. Finally tha
commenst niakin offers for the land, in
patches of from ten to tilly akers,'and
erooel necessity compel.! me to accept
it. The mooy I reseved I was com
peld to live cn. ontil my paternal akers
was redoost to a scant hundred. The
produx of a hundred akers wood sup
port me, but it won’t perdoos. I bav
no labor—yvlier kan I git tiiu labor?”
“Yes,” exclamed ail of the ’■dozen
young men, rollin over onto tother
elbow, “Cuttle’s case is our own, We
all liav land, but where’s the labor? ’
I was about to commisserate cm,
when the bar keener struck in. He
wood sejebt, he reuvakt, that possibly,
under the circumstances, it would be
better-if, instid of layin on ther elbows,
1 askin “wher’s the labor?” tha shud go
and do a little of it themselves. Troo,
if they shud do it, he woodent see as
much of em. but they wud be able to
pay sumthin for the licke'r they con
soomed.
John Guttle and I wended our \va
to the hall into which the Convenshun
was a sittiu. In the hall wnt a s : te !
On the rite was a nagger 00 the floor
and mak'.n a speech ; cn the left was a
nagger ol majestic presence, with his
feet onto the desk in front of him, ab
slootly rcadin a newspaper! and anoth
er was jist a cumin in towards his seat
a pickm his teeth with a composure as
tho he bed never did ennything in his
life but he a member of constitushenal
conveitshens. All about the hall, in
varuis atlitods, sot naggers of differnt
shades, and all of em well drest, self
possest, an without a particai of that
healthy hoomiUtv which the race had
alles displayed wen in the presence of
ther superiers.
“Good Gad !” sed i to Guttle, after i
hed reeoverd from mv astonishment.
“Am I awake, er am i oreamen ? Tell
me, pleas, who ar the naggers ? ”
“Dos yu se that nerly white nagger
on the fior offerin’ a resolushen ?” sed
Guttle, hoarse with emoshen. That
ar nagger is my property. His mother
was sold to Orleans 20 vers ago, on
account of a resemhlenc which my
mother fansid she saw in him to' my
lamented father, i kep him as my ser
vant, an the yallow whelp somehow
lamed to read. He. owns part of a
place the ole man hed in the north pari
of the stait. That ar 1 to the rite who
is bissy vvritin, is another 1 of mine—a
blacksmith, that the ole man hot on
perpos to do his reparin, beeos the
white blacksmith who was located nor
us cost 2 mutch. He was cheep at
82500, becas of bis bein a gud work
man, an i am told that the fool bein has
a shop uv ins own, and has a p’il ol
monny in the savins bank, while 1, his
natral soperier—lias to depend on the
chance liberally ol a comparutiv string
er like yu for the very lickei i am now
famished for want ol.”
“Then the oniorum yong man busted
into ters, which we went out an slop
ed : returning lie resutnd,
“That ar melattcr on the left ban, by
the dubble winder, is a carpinter At
wonst mi nigger. He bort from me 50
acers ct land for a mar song, and wen
delegats was to be elected to this ere
eonvenshen he ran agir.st me and beet
me 4 tr 1, the ungratfel naggers who we
—yes we —had woikl a! our lives ab
solutiy perferrin him to me to legislate
tor em,” an more teers, Seein the ex
citiueul was too much for him i gently
led him out of the hall.
‘What,’ sed i, *is to be the eond of al
this ?’ ‘God otfly tioff,” sed he, *i dout.
Thar is miihiug but rooiu before an
bn each sid of us; thes niggars an ther
crassy white people in leag with em
hav now got sol control of aiabama, roi
tha ar mashing down the onerbel ole
barriers who keep the races in their
place'. "I’lla are .pa.ssin all sorts of or
dinances pervidin for sco.ds ; tha hav
given themself’s the ballot and disfran
chised us who served the eonfedeicy,
so that the power will be tharn an! the
tim ; the result is now 4sluulowd in tv at
tha have don; out ueare my place, jist
west of mobeel tha have a vilageaud a
scooihouse in which tha are taut redin,
arithmetic* writing and other sorts ol
devclmint, bi a nigger scoolinartn, what
is sent bi a freedrnen’s commission up
North. Tha refoose to work for enny
of vveons onless we pa before tha start
to work and consequently as we can’t
git laber our farms is rurinin too weeds.
An too make matters a great deil wos
the eonvenshen is a makin laber a lien
onto ther craps and so hamprin us that
it does see me to me that tha intended to
deliberate!v room we. Tha are estah
lisliin scoots and meetinghouses an vil
ages at all places : an wat is periici lt-r”
ly oppressive we haint got the; power
ter sloop ther beasts in their wild and
mad carear: Perliiical power we have
none, air when it comes too force ther
beast pope stands here seecoor behind
the banks what he controls; good Lord
I—butt Id’s drink.” Which we done,
i paving for it. lam goiu to leave here
to rnorrar : i can't neare bar to se lug
gers pas by me clothed in brodeloth and
papers slickin’ out of thare pokets. 1
cud not ncr bar the depredation of eein
naggers pass hi me .without faking off
their hats an sieping respedfuly off ov
the sidewalk ; thank God that the .-tail
ol Canetucky did not optngly rebel.—
Thare, at least we can keep him in his
normel speer.
Pktrolkum V Nasbv. P M
(that meant 11 postmaster.)
The Sight Persuasion. —In terrible
agony a soUlier dying in the hospital.
A. visitor asked him :
‘What Church are you of?’
•Os the Church ol Christ,' he replied.
•I mean of what persuasion are you?
then inquired the visitor.
‘Persuasion.’ asked the man, as his
eves lookeddieaven ward, beaming with
love to tire Saviour, ‘! am persuaded
that neither death nor life, nor angels,
nor principalities, nor powers, nor
things to-come, nor heigbth, nor depth,
nor any shall separate me
from the love oi God whicU is in
Christ.’
true felicity of life is to be
free from perturbations, to understand
our dailies towards God and man, to
enjoy the present without any anxious
dependence upon the future, not to
amuse ourselvys with either hopes or
fears, but to rest satisfied with what we
have, which is abundantly sufficient;
for iie that is so, wants nothing.
how much more vqu
often suffer from your anger and grief,
than from those very things for which
you are angry and grieved.
Ko Ttiuc Like tkii* Present,
If you art* told to do a thing',
And mean to do it really,
Never let it lie bv halves ;
Do it fully, freely \
Do not make poor excuse.
Waiting, weak, unsteady
All chetiience worth the n-mr
Must be prompt ami ready.
When father calls, though pleasant be
The play you are pursuing.
Do not say, “I’ll come when I
Have finish and what I'm doing.”
When ’tis said. “You’ve eat enough,”
D >n’t rtp'y, “0 mother.
Let me have just one cabc more,
I won’t ask another !”
If you’re told to learn a task,
And you should begin it.
Do not tell your teacher “Yes,
I’m co-niug in a initiate.”
Something waits, and you sliou’d now,
Begin and go right through it;
Dot/t think, if put off a day,
You’ll not mind to do it.
Waste not tno ents, nor your words,
In telling what you could do
Some ether time ; the present is
For doing what you should do.
Don’t do right unwillingly,
And stop to plan and measure ;
’Tis working with the heart and soul
That makes-our duty pleasure.
Vhctbt Cary.
ISow Peebles Atikeil Hie Old
31 nu,
BV JOHN QUILL.
Feeble bad jest asked Mr. Merri
wether's daughter if she would give hint
a lilt out ol bilf’lteiordotn an she hed sod
\ es. It tharfore became absolutly ne
cessary to git the ole man’s pretnission
so, as”Peebles sed that argimenls mite
be made iVr hopping the conjugel twig.
Peebles sed he’d ruther pop the inl
errogatory to anl of ole Merriweather s
daughters, an’ his sisters an his female
ensin an’ his ant Hannah in the contrv
an’ the whole of his telltale relashons,
than ax old Merrtwealhor. But it had
to be den an’ so he set down an stiuled
out a speech which he was agoing too
disgorge to ole Merri weather the very
lust, chnnc he got to slii it at him. bo
Peebles drops in on him I sundy, when
all the family had meandered round to
cias ineetin, and found !ti.n doin’ a sum
measure, trying to ealculnt the exact
number of quarts his interior could hold
without blowing the head oil of him.
‘How are you, Peel)?’ said old Mer
riweather, as Peebles walked in as
white as a chunk of chalk, and tremb
ling as if he had swallowed a condens
ed earthquake. Peebles was aft aid to
answer, because he wasn’t sure about
that speech, lie knew he had to keep
his grip on it while he had It there, or
it would slip away from him quicker
than oiled cel through an auger hole;
so he blurted right out :
‘Mr. M<iri weather, sir; Perhaps it
may not be unknown to you, sir, that
during an extended period of some live
years, 1 have been busily engaged in
the prosecution of a commercial enter'
prise—i#> *
‘ls that so, and keenin’ it a secret all
the time, while 1 ihotnrhl yon was Send
in’ store. Well, by George you’re one
of * m, now aint yon ?’
Peebles had to begin all over again
to get the run of it.
‘Mr. Merri weather, sir ; Perhaps it
may not be unknown to you that dur
ing an extended period of some five
years, I have been engaged in tfwe pros
oeution of a commercial enterprise,
with a determination to procure a suf
ficient maintenance— ’
‘Sit down, Peeb, and help yourself
to beer. Don’t stand there holding
your hat like a blind beggar with the
paralysis. What’s tiie matter with
you anvway? I never see you behave
vourself so in all my horn days.’
Peebles was knocked out of time
I again and had to wander back and lake
a fresh start.
‘Mr, Merriweather, sir ; It may not
be unknown to you that during ail ex
tended period of some five years, I
have been engaged in tiie prosecution
Df a commercial enterprise, with the
determination to procure a sufficient
maintenance ’
*A which-aiice’ asked old Mei{>
weather; but Peebles held on to tnr
last word like iv was his only chance,
and went on :
‘ln the hope that some day I might
enter wedlock, and bestow my earthly
possessions upon one whom I could
call my own. 1 have been a lonely
man, sir, and have fell that it is not
good for a man to be alone, therefore
9
‘Neither is it Peeples, and I’m *ll
fired glad you dropped in. Ilow’s the
old man ?’
‘Mr. Merriweether, sir,” said Peeb
les in despairing confusion, raising Ins
vyic'j to 'a yell ; ‘it may not he un
known to you that during an extended
period of lonely man, l have been
engaged to enter wedlock, and bestow
all my commercial enterprise upon one
whom l could procure to be a < curmi
natioft to be good for a sufficient pos
session— no, 1 mean—that is—that—
Mr. Merriweather, sir ; it may not be
unknown 1
•And then again it may. Lfiolt Imre.
Peebles, you better lay down and take
snmcling warm, you ain’t well. 5
Peeblc. sweating l.ke afour*yeaj old ,
colt, went in again.
sir ; It may not
be lonely for you to prosecute me who
you can call a friend for commercial
maintenance, hut—but—oh, dang it—
Mr. Merri weather ; sir—it—
‘Ob, Peebles, you talk as wild as a
jackass. I never see a more first*class
WRIGHT $c CARR.
idiot in the whole course of my life.
What’s ihe matter with you, anyhow!’
•Mr. Merri weather, sir,’ said Peebles
in an agony of bewilderment, ‘it may
not be unknown that you prosecuted a
lonely man who is not good for a com
mercial period of wedlock felt for some
five years—but —’
•See here, Mr. Peebles, you’re drunk,
and il you can’t behave better than that
yon’u better leave; it you don’t, I’ll
chuck you out, if 1 don’t I’m a Dutch
man.’
‘Mr. Mcrriweather, sir,’ said Peebles
frantic with despair,‘it may not he un
known to you that my earthly posses
sions are engaged to enter wedlock five
years with a suiiiciently lonely man
who is not good for commercial main
tenance —’
•The bloody deuce he isn’t. Now
you just git up and git, old boss, o; I’ll
knock what little brains out of you,
you’ve got lull,*
With that old Merri weather took
Peebles by the shirt collar and the part
of his pants that wears out first, if ho
sits down much, and shot him into the
street, as il he had just run against a
locomotive going at 20 miles an hour.
Before old .Merriweather had a chance
to shut the front door Peebles collected
his legs and one tiling and another that
were lying around on the pavement,
and arranged himself in a vertical posi
tion, and yelled out:
‘Mr. Mernweather, sir, it may not he
unknown to you— ’ which made the
old man so wretched mad that he went
out and set a bull terrier on Peebles be
fore he had a chance to lilt a brogan,
and there was a scientific dog fight,
with odds in favor of the dog,.until
they got to the lence, and even then
Peebles would have carried hull terrier
home, gripped like a clamp on to his
leg, it it hadn't been that the meat was
too tender, and the dog, feeling certain
that something or other must eventual
ly give way, held on untill he got his
chop off of Peebles’ calf, apd Peebles
went borne, half a pound lighter, while
Merri weather asserts to this day that
they had to draw all the dog’s teeth to
get the flesh out of his mouth, ‘for ho
had an awful holt lor such a small an
imal.’
Os course Merriweather’s daughter
heard about it, and she was so mad
that she never gave ihe old man any
peace until he went around the next
day to see Peebles about it. Peebles
looked pale as a ghost from loos of
blood and beef, and he had a whole
piece of muslin wrapped around his oil’
ieg. Mcrriweather said :
•Peeb, l’tn sorry about that muss last
night, but if you didn’t behave like a
ravin<r maniac, I’m a loafer. I never
see such a deliberate ass since I was
born. What's the meaning ol it, any
way V
•1 wrs only try in’ to ask you to let
me marry your daughter,’ groaned
Peebles.
‘Graft—what! —you didn’t mean to
sav —well. I hope 1 may be shot; well,
if you ain’t a regular old wooden-head
ed uliot—l thought your tniud was
wandering Why didn’t you say it
right out! Why, of course you can
have her. I’m glad to get rid of Iter;
take her, my boy ; go it, go it, and I'll
throw a lot of first class blessings into
the bargain.’
Ami Peebles looked ruefully at hiJ
defective leg and wished he hadn’t been
such a fool, but he went on*, and marri
ed the girl and lived happily with her
for about two months, and at the end of
that time he told a conffc ential friend
that lie would willingly take more trou
ble and undergo a million- more dog
bites to get rid of her.
Haw Mr. Goi iicr Rrohc Ci!s
i’ouy.
“Shotl, you reekcrr.jember (hit lectio
pluck honey 1 pyed mil de bedlor next
veek ?”
“Yah, vot of him ?”
‘•Nothing-* only 1 gets shcated hurdy
pad.”
“So.”
“Yah. You see in vusf place lm ish
pilot mil bit legs, and very lame m
one eye. Den ven you gets on him to
rite he rears up pclund and kecks up
before so verser as a shack nude. I
dinks 1 (lake him a leedie rite yester'*
day, and so sooner as sthraddle his
pack he gornmence dat vay, shoots so
like a valkin beam on a sjheainpoat, an
run lie gits done, 1 vas so mixed ub mil
evervs dings, l tints miiieself Sifting
around backyards mil his dail in mine
bants for be pridle.,’
“Veil, vot you going to do not him?”
“Oh, I vixed him petler as a sham
up. 1 hitched him in de cart mit his
head vere his tail ought to pc—den I
give him apout so a dozen cuts mit a
cowhide; lie slharts to go, put so soon
he see de cart pefore him lie makes,
packvards. Burtv soon he slium ps
pehint, and sits down on his haunches,
and looks like he veels burly shamed
mit himself. Den I (lakes htra out and
hitch him de right way and he goes
right oli shoost so good as anybody’s
pony. j
jfiaTO, girls (said jnnt Ilcttv) set
your affection* on cats, poodles, parrots
or Lap dogs—but let matrimony alone.
It’s tiie hardest way on earth of getting
a living—you never know when your
work is done up. Think of Wanting
eight or nine children through the
measels, chicken pox. thrash and scar
let fever, twieh over; it makes my sides
ache to think of it. Oh, you may
scrimp, and save, and twist, and turn,
and dig, and delve, and economise, and
die, ami your husband will marry again,
take wint you have saved and dress his
second wife with, and she will take your
portrait for a fine board, and—but
what’s tiie use of talking? i warrant
every one of you’ll try it the first
chance you get—there is a sort of be-*
wichment about it, somehow.
NO. 20.