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The Cartersville express. (Cartersville, Ga.) 1867-1870, January 03, 1868, Image 1

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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 moa call. Ad C'uunmicaUons 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 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 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 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.