The Cartersville express. (Cartersville, Ga.) 1867-1870, July 15, 1869, Image 1

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The Cartersville express., July 15, 1869, Image 1

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Newspaper Page TextTin: wnr.KT.v owms sitm f* published ever* THURSDAY MORNING: jn i:<utfT*vi!t*,'R« r t<’W C Ga., by IT. EDITOR and PJIOPRIBTOn. Kat<"« « r Subscriiilion: . , ~nv three months, . ft.*' P ~v »i.t months, • ?.Ai oip copy on * ye&r ' , - n ® ( Invariably in advance.) parties Mrertisirtc will be restricted in th>*lr ~, ir, thfir legitimate business; tnit is to say, j 3 v rtisement- Vhet do not ref-r to their regular will he chfrfwl for extra. ■»,r- Advertisement* Inserted at Interval* to be ,r\ a« nrvr each Insertion. £- The above rules will be strictly adhered to. professional cards. JOHN W. V/ OFFO RD , Attorney at Law, t viJsLk, ciTjnnrt. OFFICE OVER CI’RUY’H STORE. Oct. 17. 1868. Commercial Hotel, Cartersville, Ga. BY JOHN C. MARTIN TWO. STORY lIRICK BUILDING, comer of Depo . i ( p‘ iml Market Street, East Side ts Railroad. Rooms psod and comfortable. Fnmltnre and Redding new. office and spacious Dininp Room Tjh l r(! „ ,-li with the best that the market , r ,|, and charecs moderate. hr Proprietor hopes, by good attention to business, n ' lP rr liberal sliare of patronage. Dec. 1. ISGB. ItTw. MG HP HEY, ~ ATTORNEY at law, Cartersv Me, Ga. WTTX practice In the the Courts of Cherokee Cir cuit. Particular attention given to the collection of cUint*. Office With Col. Abffa Johnson. Oct. 1 OR. F. M. JOHNS ON, Dentist, r FSPECT FULLY olTers his Professional |\ « er vifes to the citizens of Cartersville »,nl vicinity, -'lei* prepared to do work <UJ f TTr „n the latest and most improved style. Teeth extracted without pain, fby means of narcotic ,-nntv 1 Work all warranted. Office over Stokeley’s -tore.CARTERSVILLE Ga. Feb. 20 1868.—w5m JERE A, HOWARD, ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW, CARTERSVILLE, GA. JOHN J. J O NES, Attorney at Law, Cartersville, Ga., VTTILL nUend promptly to all business on \\ trusted to his care. Will practice in the Courts of Law, and Equity in the Cherokee Circuit. Special attention given to the collec ti tn of claims. Jan. 1, 1866. lv - REAL ESTATE AGENT, CARTERSVILLE. GA. I am authorised to sell, and have on hand several Houses and Lots, and also numerous building lots in the town of Cartersville. Also several plantations of vari •ns sires in Bartow county. Parties desiring to buv or » II will do well to gvemo a call. All communications promptly answered. July 17, 1806. BLANGE & DODD, A T T 0 RNEYS A T L A W, CKDARTOWX, POLK COUNTY, GA. Will practice law irt the several Court* comprising tire Tallapoosa Circuit; dso, Bartow and Floyd Counties. Partic ular attention given to the collection of claims. jan i2,ly WARREN AKIN, Attorney at Law, CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA Will practice in ail (lie Courts of the State- Vis W. R. MOUSTCASTLE, Jeweller ami Watch and w Clock. Repairer, the Front of A. A. Skinner Ac Co’s store Partersvilte, Jan. 25’- JAMES MILNER,” Attorney atlaw, AND NOTARY PUBLIC. CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, xplU, practice tn the Courts of the Cherokee and ad " joining Circuits, also the Supreme and District fourt*. Piompt attention given to business entrusted i my care. August 21 8816.—wly J. C. C. Blackburn, ATTORNEY AT LAW. EUHARLEE, BARTOW COUNTY, GEORGIA. References : Industry, promptitnde and at (pntici march 22. w l 3 T VV Milner, O H Milner. MILNER & MILNER, Attorneys at Law, r ARTERSVILLE GEORGIA. Will attend promptly to business entrusted to their care. jan. 15. ly y&v CALEB TOMPKINS, well known for 20 years past, as a first class IfMTCff CLOCK, and JEWELLER REPAIRER, MANUFACTURER, has com menced work one door North of his former old stand,on the East side of the Railroad, Cak -lEBBYHJJB, Ga. Wili sell Clocks and Watches Warranted. Nov, 10. wly Two Dwelling Houses for sale, rent, lease, or to exchange for Atlanta property, together with everal residence and business lotss. S. H. PA TIL 1.0, ' FASHIONABLE TAILOR, \\[l\l attend promptly to the Cutting, Repair-. I* t T Ing and Making Boys' and Men’s Clothing. jjPS OaTce on the Second Floor of Stokely & Wll- \F.# Maras’ New Brick Building. Entrance from ..iLiA. Main Street, in rear of the building. Fab 17. JOHN F. HARWELL is still hammering away at his f *W ff~r9 trade, Repairing Guns and Pis tols, also GINS, THRESHERS, and MA CHINERY, of almost any kind; in fact, he is prepared, and can do, almost any kind of work in METALS, such as Iron, Steel, Zinc, Brass, Copper, Silver and Gold, Shop on Main Street near Gilreath’s Warehouse, on c ost side of the Railroad, Cartersville, Ga, JNO. COXE, J. H. WIKLE. Coxe Sc Wikle, Commercial Agents, NOTARIES PUBLIC AND attorneys at law, With Gen. W, T. Wofford, CARTERSVILLE, GA. Will attend promptly to the Collection of all Commercial Paper, Demands between Foreign *nd North Georgia Merchants, and also to Boling Protests of Commercial Paper for non payment, etc., etc., etc. Refer by Permission, to Gen W T Wofford, Hon Warren A kin, W H Gilbert 4" Cos, N Gil re.a'h <s• Son, Hon J R Parrott, Howard 4' Peacock, Cartersville, Ga. feb 21 wly S. O'SHIELiDS, Fashionable Tailor , CARTERSVILLE. BARTOW COUNTY. GEORGIA. Having just received Charts of the latest styles of Gentlemens’ and Boys’ Clothing, European and American, announces that he IS prepared to execute all kinds Ti of work in the Fashionable Tail j-AS. oring line, with neatness and in -JtJ, ,J Nb!e style. Over J. Elsas & Co’s store, Cartersville mch ’gg THE CARTERSVILLE EXPRESS. VOL 8. Kennesaw House. (Localcit at railroad depot.) FFUIE undersigned having bought the entire l interest of Dix Fletcher, Trustee for Lmi m W - I letcher, in the Kennesaw House, and the business will lie conducted, in the tu turf'; under the name and firm of Augustine A. Fletcher .V Frever. Thankful for past fa vors and patronage, they will strive to give the utmost satisfaction to all pa*rons of the Ken nesaw House. AUGUSTINE A. FLETCHER, „ IP . PTT( . , F. L, FREYER. MA RIF.TTA, Jan. 12.’.19. K> T - J. M. Lyke*. American Hotel, ALABAMA STREET, ATLANTA. GEORGIA. AV II I x u L Y K E s Proprietors. E HHtAGE carried to and from Depot Irec of Charge. May 11. 1860 E. R. SABS EEN, R. D. MANnT" Georgia. Tennessee. THE OT.D TENN. AND GEORGIA ATLANTA, GEORGIA, S ASS EEN & MANN, Proprietor.l J. W. F. BRYSON, \ c/ , ISAAC N. MANN, j LlerKS ‘ January 1,1869. COME IN OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH! Hesitation and delay are nothing but another form of suicide when you have a remedy at jour hands to remove pain instantly. Dr* X&aggieFs Pills Are the tnie grains and essence of health,'and the latest giftthat Science has given to the world. From Mexico to Alaska The people know them! The people use them ! The people praise them! These pills grapple with Disease at its founlain-liead and root It out f the patient’s system, at once. Th y fortify the body against Disease in all forms of sudden attack and ep dem'o, and enablo all to brave the mias matic danger of swamps and forests. One of DK. MAGGIEL’B PILLS relieves the entire sj'stem of pain and aches, enhvens the spirits and sends new blood BOUNDING THROUGH THE VEINS. Call for these nestimabie medicines at your nearest druggist's, and if heigjoutof them send to the propri etor’s office for them. They are mailed safely all over the globe. One Minute to save your Life. Take Disease in time and you will suffer less and be saved many days of useless misery. What one hundred letters a day say from parties all over the habitable globe:— Dr. Maggiel, yotir pil's has ridpne of ail bllliousness No more noxious doses for me in five or ten pills ta ken atone time. One of your pills Cured me. Thanks, Doctor. My headache has left me. Send me a nother box to keep in the house. After Suffering torture from biilious cholic, two of your pills cu ed me, and I have no return of the mal ady. Our doctors treated me for Chronic Constipation, ss they called it, and at last said I was incurable.— Your Maggiel’s Pills cured me. 1 nad no appetite ; Maggiel’s Pills gave me a hearty one. Your pills are marvellous. I send for anothsr box. and keep them tn the house Dr. Maggiel has cured my headache that was chron ic. I gave half of one of your pills to my babe for Choi era Morbus. The dear young tiling got well in a day. My nauseau of a morning is now cured. Your box of Magglei's Salve cuied me of noises in the head. I rubbed some Salve behind my ear and the noises left. Send me two boxes ; X want one for a poor family. I enclose a dollar; your price is twenty five cents, but. the medicine to me is worth a dollar. Send me five boxes of your pills. Let me have three boxes of your Salve and Pills by return mail. Doctor, my burn has healed by your salve. FOR ALL THE DISEASES OF THE KID NEYS, RETENTION OF URINE, &C. Maggiel’s Pills are a perfect cure. One Pill will satisfy any one. FOR FEMALE DISEASES, Nervous Prostration. Weakness, General Las situde and Want of Appetite, Maggiebs Pills will be found an Effect ual Remedy. MASG/ELSPHIStc SAiV E Are almos t*universal in their effects, and a cure can be almost always guar anteed. EACH BOX CONTAINS TWELVE DOGES; One is a Dose. ‘ Counterfeits! Buy no Magg:lkl’s Pills or Salve with a little pamphlet inside the box: they are bogus. The genuine have the name of J. Haydock on box with name of J. Maggiel, M. D. The genuine have the Pill surrounded with white"powder.” All Orders for the United States must be Addressed to HERBET & CO. 474| Broadway New York. DR. MAGGIEL’S PILLS OR SALVE ARE 25 Cents Per Box. For sale in Cartersville, by W. L. KIRKPATRICK, dec. 1, 1868.w1y Druggist: TIRE AND LIFE JFttt ©omjanits : SO. MUTUAL FIRE INS. COMPANY, Athens, Ga. Policy Holders participate in profits. /ETNA FIRE INSURANCE COMPANY, Hartford, Conn. Assets over five millions. 3Lt'Cc ©ompanitsT: SO. LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY. Atlanta, Ga. Gen. J. B. Gordon, President. CONN. MUTUAL LIFE INS. COM’Y, Organized 1846. Members $58,000. Assets 23 millions. Purely mutual. For Fire and Lifej'lnsurauce apply to JOHN T. NORRIS, General Insurance Agent, Apail 22,1869. CARTERSYILLE, GA. JAMES P. MASON, Book, binder and Paper Ruler, JjjQi^ ER LAWSHES BIJrLDGI Whitehall Street, ATLANTA - GEORGIA. May 1, 1869 CARTERSVILLE, BARTOW COUNTY, GA- JULY 15, 1809. DR. JOHN BOLL’S Great Remedies. SMITH’S TONIC SYRUP! FOR THE CURE OF AGUE AND FEVER OR CHIUS AND FEVER. The proprietor of (hi* celehraGd medicine justly claims for it a superiority over all remedies ever offer ed to the public tor the *uje. certain. »j,ee</u and Per manent care of Ajrur amt Fever .or Cl,ids and Fever entir.wr ol , gh&rl or »"** standing. He refers to the entire Western and Southwestern country to bear him testimony to the truth of the assertion, that in no case whatever will it fail to cure, ir the directions are strict ly followed and ca nett out. In a great many cases a sing e dose has been sufficient for a cure, and whole families have been cured by a single boitle with an-r --sect restoration of the general health. It is, however prudent, and in every case more certain to cure, if its ttse is con*inued in smaller doses for a week or two af ekl .. d,se ? Re has been Checked, more especially in difitcult. and long standing cases. Usually, this medi cine will not require any aid to keep the bowels in good order; should the patient, however, require a cathartic medicine, after having t-.ken three or four doses of the Tonic, a single dose of BULL’B VEGETA BLE E AM’LY PIi.LS will be sufficient. DR, JOHN DELIAS Principal Office No. -40 l iftli, CJross street. Louisville, Ky, Bull’s Worm Destroyer. To my United Stales and World-wide Read ers: I HAVE received many teslimorials from profe3- 8 onai and medical men, as my almanacs and vari * ous publications have shown, all of which are genuine. The foJowing from a highly educated and popular pnpsician in Georgia, is certainly one of the most sen sible uommunicationf I have ever received. Dr. Clem ent knows exactly what he speaks of, and his testimo ny deserves to be written in letters of gold Hear what the Doctor says of BulCs Worm Dertr, yer Villanovv, Walker co., Ga. ) June 29th, 1866 $ DR. JttllN BULL—Dear Sir:—l have recently giv en your “Worm Destroyer” several trials, and find it wonderfully efficacious. It has not failed in a single instance, to have the wislted-for effect, lam doing a pretty large country practice, and have daily use for some article of the kind. lam free to confess that I know of no remedy recommended by the ablest authors that is so certain and speedy in Its effects. On the con trary they are uncertain in the extreme. My object in writing you is to iind out upon what terms I can get the medicine directly from you. If I cau get it upon easy terms, I shall use a great deal of it. lam aware that the use of such articles is contrary to the teachings and practice of a great majority of the rea ular hue of M. D.’s, but I see no just cause or good sense in discarding a remedy which we know to be ef ficient, simply because w e may be ignorant of its com bination. For my part., I shall make It a rule to use all and any means to alleviate suffering humanity which I may be able to command—not hesitating because someone more ingenious than myself ntay have learn d its effects first, and secured the sole right to secure hat knowledge. However, lamby no rntans an ad vocate or supporter of the thousands of worthless nos trums that flood the country, that purport to cure all manner of disease to which hum in flesh is heir.— Please reply soon, and inform me of your best terms. I am,sir, most respectfully, JULIUS P. CLEMENT, M. D. Bull’s Sarsaparilla. A GODD REASON F°R THE CAPTAIN'S FAITH, READ THE CAPTAIN'S LETTER AND THE LET TER FROM IIIS MOTHER. Bentoa Barracks, Mo., April SO, 1866. Dr. John Bull-Dear Sir: Knowing the efficiency of your Sarsaparilla, and the healing and beneficia'l qualities it possesses, I send yon the foiiowinir state ment of my case: e I was wounded about two years ago—was taken prisouer and confined for sixteen months. Being moved so often, my wounds have not healed yet I have not sat up a moment since 1 was wounded! I am shot through the hips. My general health is im paired, and I need something to assist nature I have more faith in your Sarsaparilla than in any thing else I wish that that is genuine. Please express me half a dozen bottles, and oblige * Oapt. C. P. JOHNSON. St. Louis, Mo. P. S.—The following was written April 39, 1865 by Mrs. Jennie Johnson, mother of Oapt. Johnson. DR. BULL—Dear Sir: My husband, Dr. C. S. John son, was a skillful surgeon and physician in Central New York, where he died, leaving the above C. P. Johnson to my care. At thirteen years of age he had a chronic diarrhiea and scrofula, for which I wave him your Sarsaparilla. IT CURED HIM. I have for ten years recommended it to many in New York, Ohio, and lowa, for scrofula, fever gores, and general dehili-’ ty. Perfect success has attended it. The cures effect ed in some cases oj scrofula and fever sores were almost miraculous. lam very anxious for my son to again have recourse to your Sarsaparilla. He is fear ful of getting a spurious article, hence his writing to you for it. His wounds were terrible, but I believe he will recover. Respectfully, JENNIE JOHNSON. BULL’S CEDRON BITTERS. AUTHENTIC DOCUMENTS. ARKANSAS HEARD FROM, Testimony of Medical Men Stony Point, White Cos., Ark., May 28, '66. DR. JOHN BULL—Dear Sir: Last February I was in Louisville purchasing Drags, and I got aome of your Saraapparilla and Cedron Bitter*. My son-in-law, who was with me In the store, has been down with rheumatism for some time, commen ced on the Bitters, and soon found ins general health impro w }, o t, ee n j n bad health, tried them, and he also improved. . , , . Dr Coffee, who has been in bad health for several year* —stomach and liver affected—be improved very much by the use of your Bitters. Indeed the Cedron Bitters has given you great Popularity in this settle ment I think I could sell a great quantity of your medicines this fall-especially of your Cedron Bitters and Sarsaparilla. Ship me via Memphis, care of k„ p „,«i 6 walker All the above remedies for sale by L. H. BRADFIELD Druggist, WAITEHALL STREET, ATLANTA, GA. feb 20, 1869*01 v HOW I BECAME 4 H EH EDICT. BY EMMA GAB ISON* JONES. Yes, I’m a married man at last!— That’s my wife sitting over there in the great rocking-chair, that slender, delicate creature, with the soft, creamy face, and lustrous, golden hair; -and that queer little tiling in her lap, over which she coos so tenderly, is my son and heir, Chancellor Tovvbridge, Jr.— Heavens! what a degree of importance it gives a fellow to know that his name will live after his body is under the sods ! I never knew what it was to be a man before; I’m one now, ev ery inch of me, as Lear was every a king. A woman-hater! That’s what I’ve been called all my life, and the cogno men was not misapplied. T did hate women, and excluded myself from their society, and railed and sneered at their frailties until Well, until that little woman yonder glorified the whole feminine gender! I’m a chang ed man. I can t pass a bit of female apparel in a shop window, a water-fall, or a knot of ribbon, without a tender thrill at my heart. I’m a fool, that’s about the amount of it ! No matter, till up your meerschaum, my wife does not object to smoke—sensible women never do! [ Twenty years ago ! Bless my soul, what a long way to look back ! Such a misty, winding road, cut across at every turn by the grass green graves of dead friends and blighted hopes!— Ah, me! I would not go back and trend it all over again, if I could ! Twenty years ago 1 met with my first disappoitment, and it made me a mis anthrope, a woman hater! I was a young stripling, then, just sixteen, the sole idol and comfort of an overfond mother. We lived all alone in a little nest of a cottage, just put from the ci ty; and mother did the housework, and managed the small dairy, from which we derived our support, while I attended the academy. She was bent upon a great man of me, poor, fond mother! She confidently believed I possessed any amount of undeveloped talent, and denied herself a thousand little comforts, in order to secure for me the advantages necessary to bring it into action. Looking back upon those claps now, it offords me a kind of melancliolly satisfaction to know that she went to eternal rest, happily unconscious that all her unselfish la bor had been spent for naught; still fancying, in the egotism of her love, that “her boy,” as she called me, would one day cover himself with the lustre of great deeds.” i shared her belief, then; ar.d when my sixteenth year, and my academical course both culminated at once, and poor mother expended the hoardings of an entire year to purchase me a new cloth suit, I thought my fortune made. Asa matter of course, the next step to be taken was matrimony. By way of beginning, I set myself to work to get up a poem, to be dedicated to the fair one of my choice, Miss Jessie Weaver. The composition consumed a round week. Day after Day I shut myself in my bedchamber, and racked my brains over rhyming syllable, while poor mother drove the cows to and fro, and even brought the water to cool her milk pans. At last it was fin ished, and elaborately copied on scent ed, rose-colored paper. There were some two dozen verses, I think, con taining swashy sentiment, and mor bid melancholly, sufficient to stock a regiment of ordinary novels; but sit ting on the stone steps of the dairy, with her butter-paddle in her hand, mother listened while I read to her in a confident, declamatory style, her lov ing eyes full of subdued exultation. “I always thought so! I always thou ?ht you’d make a great man, my boy,” she said, proudly. I sent the poem to Jessie, with no doubt whatever in regard to its recep tion. I held too high an opinion, of her good sense to believe, for an in stant, that she would fail to appreciate it; and she didn’t, as her gay laugh and dancing eyes attested at our next meeting. “You’ll be famous by-and-by, Chan cy,” she called after me over the gar den-gate; “a second Byron.” I stroked my sprouting mustache with serene self-complacency, riming my eye over the rich medow-lancls, and alluvial fields, surrounding her father’s stately mansion. She was an only child, and would inherit all this wealth. I had made up my mind to propose to her on my next visit; and it wonld be the proper thing to make her a present on such an occasion. There was a gay, ruby-brooch on exhibition in one of the shop windows, and on this I had set my heart; but the price was twenty-five dollars.— How should I ever manage to get it ? I made known my desires and inten tions to mother on my return home. She looked serious and thoughtful for a moment, and then she arose, and going to the corner cupboard, took down the blue China-bowl, in which she always kept the proceeds of her butter-pats. I can see her now, with her slight figure, and pale, worn-face, as she stood in the glow of the firelight, over the heaps of silver pieces she poured upon the table. “Only twenty-five dollars she said, with a suppressed sigh, as she return ed the surplus two dollars to the bowl; “but take it, my boy, and welcome !” I took it, and bought the brooch for Jessie. “Isn’t it splendid mother ?” I said, a few eveni jgs after, as I was giving the finishing touch to my toilet, pre paratory to the all-important visit. — She’ll be sure to take it, won’t she V^ “To be sure she will, my boy,” she replied, fondly fluttering round rue, polishing the bright brass buttons on my blueeloath coat with the corner of her apron, and twisting my well-oil ed lock ; over bets thin, labor-worn fin gers; “and she ’ll take you, too, if she is not devoid of a,)} r a." turn,” My heart swelled with gratified vanity ns l put the glittering toy in my pocket, and started. She follow ed me out, and down to the garden gate. “Good -by, my lx>y,” she called, as I hurried through. Something in her voice made me look back, and I notic ed that her face had a strange, white look, and her eyes were running over with tears. “What is it, mother ?” I asked, j turning and taking her hand. “Nothing, nothing at all, my dear. ! Only this new joy won’t make you 1 (jiiite forget me, will it, Chancy?” “Oh! mother, no!” I cried, throw ing my arms round her neck, and kiss ing her white cheeks. “I shall never love any one else as I love you.” “My darling my pride,” she mur mured. “No other ever had such a son —you never caused me a moment’s sorrow, Chancy.” “I’m glad of it, mother. Good-by.” “Good-by, my boy !” I left her standing there in the au tumn dusk, and went up to Squire Weaver’s The fates were propitious; I found Jessie alone in the parlor singing to her guitar. “Tis you, Chancy ?” she said care lessly, as I entered. “There, sit down while I sing to you.” I obeyed reluctantly enough, for I was in a fever of impatience. To this day I have no idea of what she sang; but the instant she finished I was at her side. “Jessie,” I said, unfoldiug the scent ed paper that contained the brooch, “here's a present I’ve brought you, and Tut she cut short my declaration, which I had “cut and dried” weeks be fore hand, with a scream of delight. “For mo, Chancy ?” as the glittering toy flashed on her sight; ’tis the very tiling I wanted. You dear, darling boy—how shall I ever thank you ?” — and seizing me round the neck, she gave me a hearty kiss. The touch of her red lips fired my blood like wine, and t- et my brain in a whirl of excitement. In a breath I was on my knees before her, out my love, and the hopes I had cher ished, in frenzied accents. At first she stood amazed; then, as the full sense of what I was saying dawned upon her, she broke into a gay laugh. “Oh, Chancy ! you silly, silly boy !” she cried, “you are too amusing. I gave you credit for more sense than this. Get up, child, and stop this foolish nonsense. I’m to be married in two weeks to Mr. Dunbar.” What I said or did, how I got out of the house, I never knew. 1 found myself in the meadow's, making my way down to the river. A dull pain throbbed through both heart and brain, and one strong, irresistable impulse impelled me on. My mother’s loving watchfulness had hitherto kept my life from all care and sorrow; and I shrank from pain, and only thought of ridding myself of it. The great, au tumn moon was just up as 1 reached the brink, pouring dowrn her silver splendor on the turbid, foaming ivaters. 1 sat down benath the shadow of a drooping willow, listening to the mul titudinous gurgle of the waves, and the moaning rustle of the branches overhead.' tVI other’s cattle-bells tink led softly just below, and a solitary bird, a nightingale, perhaps, sang mournfully from a neighboring thick et. Ail these sights and sounds were as familiar as my own identity; and I felt an infinite pity for myself, looking upon and listening to them for the last time —for the last time it surely was; after the cruel blow I had received life was out of the question. One plunge into those dark waters would end all! And then, when Jessie heard of my sad fate, she would repent of what she had done, and love me when it was too late. I even fancied how my funeral would be conducted, after my body was found; and actually suffered a good deal from fear that there would not be an appropriate epitaph written for my tombstone. If I had only have had a scrap of paper and a pencil, I should have composed and left one myself; but not having these requisites, 1 "had to resign myself to my fate.— Divesting myself of the new, blue-cloth coat, and hanging it very carefully and conspicuously on the branch of a tree, I prepared to make the fatal plunge. Bub at that instant my mother’s face, wan and pallid, and full of beseeching love, seemed looking up from the moonlit waters. A keen pang shot through my heart. How would she bear my loss, she who had always lov ed me so ? I could not do this deed without even bidding her farewell—l could not break my mother’s heart! Snatching down my coat, I struck across tho meadows at a rapid pace. — At the cottage-gate I paused, chilled to the very soul by a feeling of awe and dread. The moonlight streamed down. There sat my mother in her low sewing-chair; I could see her wan, white face plainly. I opened the gate, and went up the gravel-walk with sup pressed steps. She might be asleep, I thought—and she was, that quiet, dreamless sleep that knows no waking. She was dead. 1 Two or three days after her funeral, our old pastor came down to see me. “Well, Chancy, my lad,” he said, af ter a few moments’ comforting conver sation, “what do you purpose doing in i the way of making a living?” j “I am undecided, sir—l haven’t | thought much about it. I’ve beon writing a good of into, and I thought perhaps ” Bu t he cut me short by a gesture. “No, my lad, no! Give that up, it isn't your vocation. Follow in your good mother’s footsteps —stick to your dairy, and yoeiil make a man .of your* self.” I was cut to the heart, but, some how, his words stuck to me. Jhe more I thought of them, the more I was convinced of their sense; and * af ter awhile I made up my mind to take his advice. I threw away my pens and paper, and took to my mother’s old occupation, driving the cows, and making butter-pats for market. It was a solitary life, yet I soon grew to love it. Twenty years after I found myself a rich man, the proprietor of the great Pearl Valley Dairy, and owner of Wal nut Hill Farm. I had ample means, so I gratified my love for travel. I wandered all over Europe, launched my barque up on the raters of the Nile, and sat beneath the shadow of the pyramids; returning home agaiu, sun-burned, and foot-sore, with a weary, loveless heart. I shut myself up, having no intercourse with my fellow men, only in my busi ness relations, and regarding woman kind with a bitter feeling of hate and distrust. One sunny autumn afternoon—l have a vivid remembrance of it, even to this day: it was early in October, and the sunlight, streaming down up on the great Walnut trees in front of my dwelling and glinting through the tawny chesnut-leaves, seemed to have a peculiar warmth and brightness.— I lav on a little liill-side, just beyond the bouse, half buried in yellow broom sedge, listening to the distant roar of the pines, and watching, by turns, the blue smoke curling up from my meer schaum, and the busy village-folk down below me. There was a fair or something of the kind, on foot, and an unusual bustle prevailed. After awhile, I noticed a trim, girlish figure, wearing a brown robe, and a jaunty little hat, coming up from town in the direction of Walnut Hill I watched her with a feeling of interest, in spite of myself; and when she actu ally turned into the lane that led up to "my door, I felt my heart palpitating like a boy’s. Could it be possible that any woman would have the audacity to force herself into my house, to beard the lion in his den ? On she came, her brown veil and streaming ribbons flut tering in the wind, her little gaiter boots beating a brisk tattoo on the gravel. I lay quite still till she passed me, then rising on my elbow, I watch e l her covertly. On she went, straight up to my house, up the front steps and then, bang ! went the knocker. — I heard the door open, and knowing that she had been admitted, I arose, and sauntered up myself, thoroughly vexed at the tremulous eagerness I felt to know who and what she was. She rose from her seat as I entered, salut ing me with a pretty little bow. “Excuse me, sir,” she said; “but you are Mr. Chancellor Trowbridge, I be lieve, and I am Jessie Dunbar ” The silvery voice, the familiar face, the name, and some glittering orna ment in hex - bosom, all struck me at one and the same moment. I felt my head spinning round like a top; but I managed to ask her to be seated again, and as she complied, I satisfied myself in regard to the ornament she wore. It was my ruby-brooch, the one for which I had given the hard-earned proceeds of poor mother’s butter-pats —I could have sworn to that. W hat could it mean ? “We are holding a fair, Mr. Trow bridge,” she began, “for the benefit of the soldiers’ orphans; every one is giv ing tis something, and I’ve come up to see if you won’t help us. You will, I am sure.” “No, Miss,” I answered, assuming a stemess I did not ft el; “’tis a principle with me, never to encourage such insti tutions.” “Sir,” patting her dainty foot impa tiently against the carpet, “not encour age feeding the orphans of dead sol diers —do you mean that ?” Her clear, dove-like eyes embarrass ed me with their steady gaze. I arose and took out my pocket book. “How much shall I give you, Miss Dunbar ?” “What you can afford, sir.” I handed her a fifty dollar bill. Her eyes gladdened so, they fairly dazzled me. “Oh, Mr. Trowbridge!” she cried, “I did not expert this, llou are so g od, so generous!” She took out a delicate little purse, and crammed it in, then she turned to go. “Good-by, Mr. Trowbridge!” she said, pausing in the door-way, and hold ing out her hand. “I thank you very much, indeed; but won’t you come down to the fair to-morrow night ? Please do, Mr. Trowbridge.” I did not promise her, but I went, nevertheless; and after the fair was over, I attended Jessie home. My old sweetheart, grown into a buxom mat ron, met me in the hall. “At last, Chancy,” she said, grasping both my hands; “but you’ve been an unfriendly, old curmudgeon all these years, and we may thank Jessie for luring you out of your den, I suppose. She’s won her bet by it, too. \ou see the girls were all here, laying plans foi the fair, and they got to talking about you; and young Dr. Snyder offered to bet twenty-five dollars that none of them had the courage to go up to v\ Si nut Hill and ask you for ad 'nation. But Jessie made the venture, and now that von have come out of your seclus ion, do lie sociable, Chancy, for the sake of our old friendship.” I took her -t her w- rd Almost c**- NO. 4. erv evening fft -r th-1 found me at Mr Dunbar's pka-ant home. Anl on* spring night, when tl e air was sweet with l>. lm, and the moonlight s >?t and mellow, and the great apple-tree be neath which we sat, was white with fragrant bloom, I made the same prfc pos.il to Jessie that I had made to her mother twenty years before, not on my knees, however, but sitting by her side, with her little hand in mine. “I loved your mother years ago, Jessie,” I said; “but I was a silly boy then. I am a man now, and I love you as no man ever loves but once.— Do you think you can be my wife?” “I think I can, Mr. Towbvidge,” she answered, simply j “and I’ll do my best to make you a good one. I’ve thought of you a great deal all my life, and loved you, I believe, even before I ever knew you. Mother used to tell me abcut you when I was a little girl; and I always thought it was wrong in her to takeyour poem andyour brooch, and then laugh at you; though, of course, it was right for her to like pa pa. But I’ve always felt very sorry for yon; it must have been terrible when you went home and found your mother dead. I’ve got the poem and the ruby-brooch you gave mother; and I am very glad you love me so much, Mr. Towbmlge. Yes, I’ll bo your wife, and I’ll try to make your life so happy, that you’ll never remember the sorrowful past. So I married the daughter of ray old sweet-heart; and there sho sits in the great rocking chair, before the blazing wood tire; and that little thing on her lap is my son and heir, Chan cellor Tovs bridge. Jr. And regard to myself, Chancellor Towbridge, Sr., I am the happiest man that ever the sun shines on. From the Southern Watchman. JEWWIE CILE. As everydody else left the city, I de termined to spend a few weeks in a tovvn I shall call tiozzleville, in one of the Southern States. Being a healthy location, it was a place of consderabie resort during the summer months. — Having a college, many private schools, four churches and two or three print ing offices, with between three and four thousand inhabitants, most of them wealthy —having settled there to edu cate and show oh their sons and daugh ters. Having no business to attend to, the streets were constantly crowded; gentlemen, old and young, lounging, and the ladies, particularly the young ones, all the time on the street, in the morning on foot and in the evening driving; for I believe almost every one owned a vehicle of some kind. My room being on the corner, I could see everything that passed on the two prin cipal streets. As e\ery one was out every day, I soon knew everybody in town, i had been there about ten days, when, one morning, the street being crowded as usual, a pale, delicate looking country woman came walking up the street and asked, “Where is Col. Harris “What Col. Harris V” “The editor of the weekly Journal. I’m Jennie (dale, and I want to see Col. t! arm.” “He’s in his office, madam,” (point ing to his office) rihoAvent up, (the office being on the second floor) and asked of a gentle man who was sitting there, “Are you CoL Harris?” “No, madam; Col. Harris is not in.” By the time he answered her, she drew out a pistol and shot at him.— He, being frightened, ran down into the street, his coat on fire from the powder, a dozen men running after Him to extinguish the fire, all asking, “What’s the matter? wliat’s the mat ter ?” “That woman shot me and she wants Col. Harris; that woman shot me, I tell you.” Col. Harris hearing him, left and ran up the street at full speed. By this time she came down, asking, “Where is Col. Hariri ? where’s the ed itor of the Journal ?” By this time every one on the street was running in every direction, not kilowing what w r as the matter or wheie to run. VValking up the street with the pistol in her hand, and meeting a man, asked, “Are you an editor?” “No, madam, I’m a stage-driver, (waving and cracking his whip,) I know nothing about the editor.” Meeting another, “Are you an ed itor ?” “No, madam, I’m a professor—a J teacher— (showing his books,) I know nothing about a newspaper.” Bv this time every editor, sub-editor ! and plinter’s “devil” had disappeared and every printing office shut. She, going on down the sti'eet asking for the editor, the merchants and clerks all run and hid, some leaving the street, some shutting themselves in, and some hiding under the counters. The loun gers and ladies, running at full speed in every direction, dropping their hats, walking sticks, parasols and fans—all scampering and getting out of the way. Meetiug three or four old men, wllo could not keep up with the crowd, she asked, “Do you know anything of the editor ?” “No, madam, we know nothing of the editor—we have no business —do n’t do anything at all!” In live minutes not a soul was on the street but Jennie. The printers had sent word to the Marshrl that a woman was in town intending to kill even' editor in the place, and was shoot ing everybody she met. Soon here came the Marshal, with half-a-dozen deputies and as many friends. Meet ing her, she asked, ‘‘Are you editors i "No, madam— .no; we are peaceable riflVrr; kmw nothing about the edit- ora, and have nothing to do with news papers.” “ \\\\\ I want to see Col.' Ha i is. Ile put a pitco in the jwipor about me* and 1 must see him.” * Wk know not hing about it, madam; we don't read the papers." They talked to her some time—ask ing who sho was, where she came from, Ac., until they could surround her, mid while some of them drew her attention m front, the Marshal, a man weighing two hundred \ ounds, crept up behind, nid taking liei elbows, held her firmly until those in *ront could venture up and take the pistol. She turned round and looking at the Marshal, said: “Ain’t you a nice set of men, to tlfff o ten or twelve great big men to anest one little woman; and had to creep up behind. Why didn’t you come up in front and take the pistol ?” They then searched her to see if sho had any other weapon—still being afraid of her. It took several stout men to guard her to jail, a few miles off. Not a lmniau being was seen on the street, not a store opened, until Jennie was on the road to jail; thou had to drag some of the clerks out from under the counters —many persons coming out of the cellars. Not a lady was seen on the street that day, and the editors did not make their appear ance till next day, when, he:* ring she was safe in jab, they came out an 1 opened their offices. It was several days before the town wore its usuf.l appearance -the profes sor and students, and even the preach ers, being afraid to venture on the street. Nothing was talked of for sev eral days but Jennie Gale. About the time everything becamo quiet and was moving on as usual, a country woman going into a store, someone thought they saw a pistol in her pocket. Every clerk left her alone in the store; the other merchants, hear ing another woman was in town with a pistol, shut their doors; the editors slammed heir doors and locked them; the hotels closed their doors. The news getting to the Marshal that there was another woman in town with a pistol, he gathered up his deputies and came to the only open door on the street, just as the woman, amazed at the excitement and being left alone, turned to teave. Seeing them sho in quired, “Where’s the clerks all gono to ?” Do you want the editors, ma lai ?’’ “No, I want some sugar and coffee.” “What are you doing with a pistol in your pocket?” “A pistol ? I’ve got a twist of tobac co in my pocket,” (producing it.) The deputies soou spread the news, and every door was opened as hastily as they had been shut, and the clerks waiting on her very politely, occasionly eyeing the plug of tobacco. This caus ed such a laugh over town that all seemed ashamed of being frightened at a plug of toboceo. A few days after this the Marshal received a “bucket,” informing him that. Jennie’s friends in another State were determined to release her and punish him for arresting her; that some half-dozen women had already left her neighborhood, on their way to Sozzie villo, This caused great excitement. Spies were out and guards sot on every street and road leading to the town.— The news soon spread that Jennie’s friends had arrived, when the whole town was again excited. No one dared to move until the spies and guards saw them safely housed with their friends. Tha t again caused a laugh, particular ly among the young men and students —they asking, every day, “Has Jeunio Gale arrived t" All determined now to be quiot and not notice such things. But the next week, a man and his family moving, with his wagons and stock having a shot-gun on his shoulder and having some business to attend to, handed the gun to his wife. She, laying it on her shoulder, came walking up the street. The news soon spread, that a woman was coming with a gun. “A gun ?” was asked by many. “Yes it’s agun thU time.’, no pistol; it’s a gun; Isa v it myself, and I tell you it’s a guu!” Every one hast n: and into the stores, peeping through the windows and doors and the boys and negroes following her, saying, “It’sa guu; it’s a gun!” The woman, looking amazed to see such a stir raised, walked on through the streets without halting. The Marshal and liis guards coming up, puffing and blowing, asked, “Where’s the woman with the gun ? where’s the woman with the gun ?” I never, in my life, saw so much ex citement about a woman. I verily be lieve,, if two wommen had marched up Broad street, exposing pistols, they could have taken the town. Every man, woman and child would have sur rendered. They kept Jennie in jail till Court, when she was tried and sent to the Penitentiary for 12 months, for shoot ing a pistol in the town of Sozzlevillo. When her time expired, the citizens, being afraid she would return and be 1 revenged, had it to appear she was cra zy; for no mna woman would dare shoot at an editor; at any rate, she was sent to the asylum. What ever I became of her I cau’t tell, and have | never been able to decide whether it was Jennie Gale that was crazy, or the citizens of Sozzlevillo. A Georgia. Tkavelek. Tho following inscription is from Greyfriar’s church-yard: “Our life is but nwintei’s day, Some only breakfast and away, Others to dinner stay And are full fed. The oldest man but sups And goes to bed. Large is his debt That lingers out the day. Tie that goes soonest Has the least to pay.” ‘Do you think, Doctor,’ asked an anxious" mother, ‘that it would improve little Johny’s health to take him to the springs and let him try the writer t ‘X havn’t a doubt of it madam,’ ‘What springs would you recommend, Doc tor?’ ‘Any spring, madam, where you fv> -i Wlority ssfvuv...