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CUTHBERT
APPEAL.
BY SAWTELL & JONES.
CUTHBERT, GEORGIA. &4.TURDA Y, JULY 23, 187ft,
•|u n
VOL. IV—NO. 36.
$!)c €utl)bcrt Appeal.
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erwise ordered.
The Doomed Man.
There is a time, we koow not when,
A point, we know not where.
That marks the dentin} of men,
To glory or despair.
There is a line by us unseen
That crossed every path ;
The hid len boundary between
Gods patience and his wrath.
To pass that limit is to die,
To die as it by stealth—
It does not quench the beaming eye,
Or pale the glow ol health.
The conscience may be still at ease,
Tbe spirits light and gay ;
That which is pleasing still may please,
And care be thrust awav.
But on that forehead God has set
Indellibiy a mark —
Unseen by man. for man as yet,
Is blind and in the dark.
Xn 1 yet the doom id man’s path below
Like E-leu m ty have bloomed—
He did nut, does not, will not know
Or feel that he is doomed.
He knows, he feels, that all ia well,
And every lear is calmed ;
He lives, he dies, he wakes in hell,
Not only doomed, but damned.
O ! where is this mysterious bourne,
By which our path is crossed.
Beyond which. God himself hath sworn
That he who goes is lost!
How far may we go on in sin !
How long will God forbear ?
Where dees hope cud. and where begin
The confines of despair !
An answer from the skies is sent—
Ye that from God depart
While it ia called “ to-day,’’ repent,
Aad haiden not your heart.
Eating VVrraocr Appbhus.—It
wrong to eat without appetite; for
18
it
shows there 18 no gastric juice in the
stomach, amTthat nature does not need
Tood, and not needing it, there heing no
fluid to receive and act njion it, it would
remain there only to puirify, the very
thought of which should be sufficient
to deter any man from eating without
an appetite f ir the remainder of his life.
If a ‘tonic’ is taken to whet the appe
tite, it is a mistaken course; fordts only
result is to caitse one to eat more, when
already an amount has been eaten be
yond what the gastric juice supplied is
able to prepare. , .
The object to be obtained is a larger
supply of gastric juice, not a larger sup-
*_■ of food, and whateVer fails to aecom
dish that essential object, fails to have
(ty efficiency towards the cure of dys
Identic disease; and as the formation of
gastric juice is directly proportioned to
the wear and waste of the system,
Which is to be the means of supplying,
Kti& this wear and waste cun only take
place as the result of exercise, the point
is reached again that toe efficient reme
dy for dyspepsia is work—outdoor
■work—beneficial and successful in di
rect proportion as it is agreeable, inter
esting and profitable.
'Such a bargain, aunt Fanny! Lay
aside your wors and express your ad
miration. Half-a dozen of these pretty
linen collars for one dollar. 8o nicely
scolloped and stitched; just tbe thing
for the morning, are they not ?’
‘Exactly, Jalia. They are a very de
sirable addition to your bridal ward
robe. But I cannot but regret that
they were not higher priced.’
‘Why, aunt Fanny! you astonish me.
I had no idea that you were one of
those ladies who think nothing worth
Jiaving unless it cost an extravagant
(price.’
F ‘And you are much in error if von
think so much, Julia. But in looking
at your cheap collars roy sympathy is
called forth for the pour seam
stress, whose weary fingers performed
the task which was to procure her a
wretched substance.’
‘Mercy, annt Fanny 1 How deep you
look into things. It is enough for me
that I got the cellars cheap. I shall
Dot trouble my head as to the maker of
them. I B sides,’ combined the lively
young lady, as she noticed a cloud upon
the brow of her auditor, ‘you have fur
gotten the sewing matches. They do
all the work now a-days.’
‘Not quite my young friend. I have
hud a peep behind the scenes. The
scolloped collars are not stitehsd by the
machines; weary fingers as I said be
fore, perform the task, for a compensa
tion wnich will hardly sustain life. You
must remember that when the collar
reaches your possession the wholesale
and retail dealer have Doth secured
their profits, and still you justly regard
them as cheap. Only think then what
a mere trifle must have been paid for
the making.’ ^ r a
‘O, it is very true, aunt Fannie; and
I am sure I pity the poor as much as
any one; but as long as this evil exists
I may as well reap the benefit of it.—
You know it is an ill wind that blows
nobody good.’
Aunt Fanny shook her bead gravely
us slit- replied.
‘You speak lightly, Julia. May yon
never have reason to snow the suffering
which springs from this want of uolon
of the interests of tbe employer and the
employed. But enough of this. Let
us speak of your approaching marriage,
ft is long since you have sought my
quiet room.’
‘Too long, aunt Fanny ; but my time
has bten so much occupied. My neg
pects were good—Julia had a few
thousands. Why not begin the world
at once ? So on the very day, when by
a peculiar coincidence, the bridegroom
was twenty-one and the bride eighteen,
they stood at the altar and plighted
those holy vows which bound them j^|-
gether for weal or for woe.
All was sunshine then. Tbe present
was delightful, and the future bore tbe
rainbow tints. Years passed ere the
dark clouds ot adversity gathered
round them, bnt alas I they did gather,
and the bright sunshine faded away
anti! scarcely one beam found its way
to those once happy hearts. Affection
for each other still remained—but even
this was chilled and repremed by their
earthly misfortunes. In some few in
stances the spirit may rise triumphant’
over the trials of the body, bin in far
the greater’ portion of mankind spirit
and matter are iodissoHjjj^e, and the
afflictions of irne .must unavoidably if
feet the other. " 7
We,wilTp:i.«8 over tlfe tram of mis
fortunes which had at length reduced
the youn couple toabgdu^JhA^'
and (rant.
living, failure in business, long and se
vere iliDess, were the produemg causes.
Few would have recognized in the anx
ious, care worne looking husband, and
the feeble, desperated wife, the exulting
bridegroom and happy bride of former
days.
There were others also to share the
sufferings. Three lovely children had
been born to them. One had passed
to the spirit world, the others remained
to enduie the t[ials of earth. Sad was
the father's heart as he gazed upon
them, and the tears stood in the moth
er's eyes as she pressed them to her
bosom. The eldest, a sweet girl
lect lias not been from w aft of afft-c-fsary She be name irritable and morose,
Hard CoVtiiTioNs Mask a Man.—
Gibbon says ’Every persou has two
educations, one which fie receives from
othets, and one moro imporlant which
he gives himself.’ Hard conditions
dra-w aut a man, and yon and I ire bet
ter far such an education. A man
needs to he hackled and spun just as
much as raw coUua does. And the
best gin for him is, first, dxy-gen (gin)
for bodily health, and secondly the gib
of grinding eircumstarthw to make a
■mental man of him.
He needs to bo pulled through nar
row places, as much as the wire, before
ho will bn tit for bridging the great gor
ges and chasm of life which swallowed
up the bloated and the capon-lined.
If a man were offered ten times as
ruaDy gold eagles as he could carry, he
bad-better send them many miles frtiifl
borne aud swear tbat ho will never Use
one ol them except upou the condition
that he walks back and forth again for
each oueby one, before he speuds it. A
dollar is never worth a dollar to a man
until he has gi-eu a dollar’s worth of
ivork for it by hand or brain.
Let the falty of yesterday make
tfcg wise to day.
- - - • -
lion, lor you know that I love ydu is
well as you bad a right to the nettle by
which I love to calt you.’ ~Mf
•I know it, dear. I did'not mean to
complain. And bow tell me when, the
wedding is to take place,’aed aii nbout
it.’ ' '<■
‘In two short weeks. I am to be
married at my guardian's, of course.—
You know he does not quite approve of
the marriage; or, ■ at leitht, lie would
prefer that tve should wait unti^ Henry
is established m business; but -I have
coaxed him into good hiTtnor. You
know he might us well submit with £
good gruce, for 1 /nail lie’ eigfltetAi on
my wedding day, and my little property
comes into my own hands.’
‘lour guardian has been a fai'.hfnl
Iriend to you since the death of your
patents, my dear Julia I trust you
will be guided by bis advice ’
‘Not entirely, aunt Fanny. He would
pieter investing my money in some sale
and profitable way, for my futute bene
fit, but I intend to have the present
good of it. Let the future take care of
itself. Henry will be rich, I have no
doubt. So we shall begin life in the
style which we intend to keep up. A
handsome bouse, well furnished, and in
a pleasant part of the city. You shake
your head, but will sec that it will all
ead well.’
I hope so, my child, but it strikes me
as impudent. Commence in a moderate
way, live within your husband’s income,
let your own property be reserved for
the hour of n> ed.‘
‘My guardian’s exact words 1 But
you know I was always a wayward
girl, and must have my own way. And
now say—will you grunt the earnest re
quest of Hemy and myself, and mat
your future home with us 1 I shall need
an adviser, and you shall bo my second
mother.
My dear child 1 your kindness brings
the tears to my eyes. But I cannot ac
cept vour invitation—at least, not at
present. A few days ago I received an
urgent request from au aged re.stive in
Eugland to come to her and be her
companion and friend lor tbe remainder
of her life. She is wealthy, but lonely
in her riches, and being nearly blind, is
much dependent ttpon the kindness of
those around her. At present there
are none but servants to administer to
her wants. She was the sister of my
own dear mother, and I feel it my duty
to go to her and do what I can for her
comfort I sail in the next steamer.’
Before the wedding! Why, aunt
Fanny, yon will not ieave us so soon V
‘My prayers will be with you and
yours, dear Julia, but it is necessary
that I hasten my departure as much as
possi ble. Do not forget your old friend,
and in the midst of your happiness
sometimes remember the words of ad
vice which she has often spoken-'
With many tears the young maiden
bade adieu to odo who, though in reality
no relative, bad long bten a valued
fr.end.
Julia Howard had become an orphan
in early childhood. Her father’s dying
charge placed her under the eare of one
who in many respects was worthy of the
trust, and had well performed the duty
which devolved upon him, but he was
a bachelor, and could not supply a
mother’s place to bis orphan ward.—
The want of female influence was deep
ly fell. There was no one to watch
over each developing trait of character
—to cherish the good and gently and
carefully to remove the evil. Some
thing of this was done at times by aunt
Fanny; who had been au early Iriend
of Julia’s mother; but her opportuni
ties were limited, and the lovely girl
grew to womanhood a creature of im
pulse rather than fixed principles a
luxuriant arid beautiful but on unre
strained, iinwedded plant.
At seventeen she became attached to
Henry Lawrence, a yonDg man of good
family and unblemished character.—
Her guardian heartily approved the con
nexion, but as Julia stated to aunt
Famiy, preferred that the yuong couple
should wait until Henry w is well es-
i tablished in business, but this prudent
• jidyicu was not followed. Henry's proe-
aod thoughtlessly added many a drop
to-tbe bitter cup which her husband was
- ■'drinking.
•Is there no hopo of your obtaining
tbe sitnatimi with Mr Markham which
you mentioned some days ago V she
suddenly asked, as her husband rose
from their frugal meal, oue cold morn
ing in tbj early part ot winter.
‘Ndbe at all,’ was the reply. ‘The
present clerk has decided to remain.’
’Thun we inurjr make up our minds to
starve,' was the desiixiring reply.
The gi-iillediwie Famiy drew nearer
to her. (pother, and clasped her bands
fondly,’ while the trustwnd -replied r.x*th
iy;
‘Not so bad as that, Julia. Even my
present situation is better than nothing.
Tree hundred will keep us from star-
seven years had a distinct rccollecliou
of a happier home ; and, although with
u prudence and sensibility beyond her
years, she never reverted to it—yet her
devoted affection, and her peculiarly
quiet and somewhat melancholy dispoai
lion evinced her sympathy with the trials
of her parents. The boy was much
younger, and knew of naught but pov.
erty.
Affliction should hare drawn tbe
husbuud and wife nearer together—
but, on the contrary, us we already said,
misfortune seemed to chill and repress
tbe love they had borne to each otner.
Unaccustomed to self control, or to
the denial of selfish gratification, Julia
was iii prepared .o bear the rigid sys
tem of economy which was now neres-
t*e
viog.’
«It were better to die, Henry, than
trt-live in this way Life has lost ail
its charms fur me, and I would gladly
be at reat.'
'But our children, Julia. Think of
them nod keep up your courage a little
longer. The day may yet dawn upou
us.’
‘Never, never. My own folly ha*
brought this upon me. My guardian
warntd me ugaiusl marrying one not
well established in the world, but I
slighted bis advice. Thank God, he is
not here to see how bitterly I have lived
to repent my rashness.’
‘And do you really regret it, «ulia?
We may regret the imprudence iu our
former syle ol living, and we may sor
row fur the misfortunes which have
come upon us, but we ueed uot repent
of our marriage.’
‘Was not that the cause of all ?” was
the bitter reply. ‘Tt is of no use to
disguise tne the truth.’
Deeply grieved the husband turned
Co leave the house. On the thresold a
gentle touch detained him.
‘Mamina is sick and sorry,’ whisper
ed the soft v.-ioe of Fanny, in its must
pleading accents
The appleal was not to be resisted,
and tbe lather stooped to kiss her white
forehead as he replied :
‘I know it, love. Do all you can to
comlort her.’ \
The cloud had passed from his brow
aud Fanny was satisfied, but it was
more difficult to quiet the self-reproach
of the mother. The day was a sad one
— and when an hour or two before the
usual time for his return, Henry was
borne into the house by two men, and
the unhappy little family were told that
an accidental fall on the ice had resulted
in a broken leg, the last-drop seem
to have been added to the already oriui-
ming cup.
From the night of agony which fob.
lowed, Julia was a different, and, in
some respects, a better woman. Hith
erto ih“- rH bad been a lingering feeling
of pride wnieh had prevented her from
coining forward at net" - husbanu 8 side
to struggle against the misfurtuu;.-
which had come upon them- Sue had
shrunk back despairing and powerless
Now she was roused into energy. Her
husband, her children would look to
her for bread. It would be long ere
Henry could resume his labors, and
their slender means would soon be ex
huueted. (Something must be done,
and with the consciousness of what de
volved ttpt n her, came an earnest prayer
for strength—a look upward which was
not ber wont.
Her education had been somewhat
showy, but far Irom thorough, and she
felt quite incompetent to teach any of
the various brandies to winch she
had attended. Nothing presen ed
to her mind but plain sewing, and this
she was well aware Would afford tnem
but a miserable pittance. Stili it would
be better than nothing,,sod application
was at once made to a kind neighbor,
and through her influence work was
speedily obtained.
it was soon evident that this exertion
wa* Sot uncalled lor.- The pain ot the
broken limb and tbe anxiety of mind
produced by his situation, brought ou a
fever, aud for many weeks Henry Law-
reoce hovered on the border of the
grave.
The grief of the wife was overwhelm
ing as she-watened over him and lis
tened to the wild ravings of his deliri
uin. He was again the lover of her
youth, the husband of happier years.
IJach hasty word, or unmerited re
proach came to ber ears with fearful
distinctness, and earnestly did she prav
for at least one look of recognition, one
word of forgiveness and love
But the hand of the destroyer war
stayed, and feeble as an infant, the Hus
band mid the father looked once more
upou his little fonily and bade them
bless God that life was spared, and that
re .-eon again resumed her throne
*, Almost exhausted in body and mind,
; iS^t ’With a heart filled with thankful
ness. Julia redoubled^Kr exertions for
their maintenance. /Vrery moment of
leisure during the day, sniLftany'weary
hours of the night iwtfSBployed in
finishing those gariiiedfHnr which the
compensation was go stital that it hard
ly sufficed to supply their absolute ne
cessity.
O'ten 'when. bar. araployers wouh
urge her to abate a few pennies on 'thj
usual price, and assured her thutrit was
for her interest to work cheap, she
would sigh deeply us she remembered
her own feelings in former days, and
the truth of aunt Fanny’s words forced
itsell upon her mind- The sufferings
proceeded from the want of union of
theemployeruud the employed were now
her own.
And where was aunt Fanny during
the lapse of years ? Fuithful'y and
unwearivdly had she performed the dn-
ties which she had taken npon herself
That task was now ended. That aged
relative, to whose wants she had so
ministered, had at length gone home.
Once more Fanny’s heart turned to her
native land. Friends of her earlier
year* rose before her-, and she longed
to meet them again face to lace. The
few necessary arrang -meets were soon
made, and etc many weeks had pussed
she had o.tce inure crossed the broad
ocean, and was welcomed with kindly
greetings by many whom she bad known
so long.
Oue of her first inquiries was for Ju
lia, lor it was very long since she had
heard from her. News of the failure of
Mr Lawrence in business hud reached
her, and rumors of various undefined
misfortunes had from time to time come
t-i her knowledge, Ijtit n -t one word of
direct information. iiTlie mother of u-
lia had been a very dear friend, and
aunt Funny felt a yeitrningTbr her child.
At first it seemed difficult to trace
them, for invest of ^pSlr former ni-quain
tance had lost sight of them in the hum
ble sphere in which they were now mov
ing. But aunt Fanny was indefatiga
ble, and the difficulties of the task only
gave vigor to her resolution.
’Mrs. Alcolt must be able to give me
some information,’ she said to herself, as
she ascended the steps of a handsome
house in one of the m-ist fashioable
streets of the city. ‘I recollect that she
was a great friend of Julia’s. I will
take the liberty of calling up-ut her.’
’hfait at, bogie, madam.’ said the
spruce looking waiter who auswerel
her ring at the bell.
Au echo of the words met her ear as
she turned from the door.
‘Nut at home 1 I thought it was the
poor only who were not at home.’
Tho simplicity of tbe words caused
her to observe the speaker attentively.
A little girl of seven or eight years
stood gazing wishfu.Iy towards the ele
gant mansion Her large dark eyes,
flustering ringlets and delicate skin
Firmed a striving contrast to tho inisoi
able garments which served us a scanty
protection against tbe chilling breeze.
And yet there was an effort at neatness
and even gentility in her dress, which
could not escajie the observation of an
attentive observer, afid which gave evi
deuce of better days gone by.
Irresistibly drawn toward her, aunt
Fanny paused near where she stood
and said in a kind voice:
‘And why did you think that it was
the poor only who were Dot at bomb,
ntyvchild ?’
The little one hung her head, but an
swered mi.desly :
‘Because I never feel at home now
that w-e-are poor, and I know that moth
er never f.-els St Inane, nor fathe r .either.
It is like slaying in a strange place.—
But then if we are aH good we -ball go
to God’s home. Is not that a comfort?
As she a-ked tins question site raised
her eyes and looked with great earnest
ness in aunt Fan..y’s lace.
Tears dimmed the the eyes of the
kindnearted old lady as she replied :
‘It is indeed, my child. But tell me
your name and where you live, for I
should like to be a friend to you.'
'Oil, thank you, ma’am. And per.
haps you would lie a friend to my poor
father now he t* so sick, and my mother
works so bard. My name is Fannie
Lawrence, ma’am, and l will show yon
where I live if you will come with me.’
A few brief enquiries convinced aunt
Fanny that she had found the object of he
search, and giving her band t ~her littl-
guide, with a voice trembling with emu
turn she bade her lead her to her m -th
tumuLjnto joy. and twining her arm*
around aunt Fanny's neck she sobbed
like a child.
Composure was at length restored,
and tKen there was so much to tell and
to be told, that the good lady took oft
her bonnet, and said she would make
herself quite at home, aud pass the eve-
airig with them.
‘Ton 'itnnot be at borne here,’ said
Fanny, ‘because it is not pretty enough
f<4Lh"tne.’
aV jjfuii* sighed as her child spoke, but
aupt Fanny answered:
» whei
'torejfStTe on
what place we
hovae for the
as yoitjjiusbai
give,ice your,
you.- Mr thfi*y»
vjtua). Yoj see I retain iny
'Yon-are still the same au;
we find those we
matters little in
So this is my
f , *nd now, Julia,
Is attention, just
I will sew for
in my pocket as
"reply. ‘Here is my
oollars. Do you
iTStttioa tbe day
cheap collar*
aiJtAo my mityi. w«k
n—bult 0,_^aant
‘too have bad a peepf.lehind the
indeed, my poor child;
but n*r to your husband, and when he
is com r i>rtably arranged we will sit to
getbt r by bis bedside and have a quiet
chat.
The ifYents of the years were soon
tulkcj iver, and ere auot Fanny rose to
bid 1 ie n good night, she said:
‘At! now, my dear young friends, I
am Study to accept your former iovita-
ti-iD and become an inmate of your lam-
ily- ^
Oq aunt
Fanny,’ exclaimed Julia,
‘we*lave no longer a home to offer you.
This is the hardest trial oT all.’
‘Listen, my child. I arar becoming
infinb, and shall soon need tbe care
whiubtJiTiave bestowed upou others.—
There are Done who seem nearer to me
thap yourself. My means are ample,
for my generous relative has added
largely to my little fortune. We will
look for s suitable dwelling, and you
will be to me as affectionate children.’
Tears were her only answer, but
these were sufficient to speak the leei-
ings of- her heart
li after years neither party had
cause to regret this arrangement.—
Closer intimacy only served to endear
them still more to one aifother. In the
midst bf her happiness Julia forgot the
uses of affliction, and would often feel-
itYgly reter to her peep behind the scenes.
Thinking.—Thinking, not growth,
makes perfect manhood. There are
smite, who, thought they are done
growing, are only boys. The constitu
tion may be fixed, while the judgment is
immature; the limbs inay be strong,
while" tbe reasoning is feeble. Many
whn can run and jump, and bear any
fatigue, can not observe, can not exam
ine, ojp not reason or judge, contrive or
SacEbte—they do not think. Acc/ns-
ttn yourself, then, to thinking. Set
yniirself to understand whatever you
see or read. To run through a book is
noBjbdifficult task, nor is it a profitable
>nd a fit*v pages ot ■LA-
is far better than to read the whole,
where mere reading it is all. If the
work does not set you to thiuking, eith
er you or tbe author must be veiy defi
cient.
It is only by thinking that a man can
kow himself Yet all other knowledge
without this is spfcbriid ignorance.—
Not a glance merely, but much close
examination will be requisite for the for-
miug ol a true opiriiou of ynur own pow
er*. Ignorance and self conceit always
tend to make you overrate your person
al ability; as a slight degree of knowl
edge may make a timid mind pass upon
himself too bumble a judgment. It is
only by thinking, and much impartial
observation, that a man can discover
his real disposition A hasty temper
only supposes itself properly alive; an
indolent indulger imagines be is as act
ive as any one ; but by close and severe
each may discover some
arer the troth. Thinking is, in-
the very germ of ssi^eultivation
e source from which all vital influ-
a springs. Thinking will do much tor
act-ve mind, even in the absence of
b-nks, or living instructors. The rea-
siring faculty grows firm, expands, dis
earns its own powers, acta with increas
ing- facility, precision and extent, under
al its privatiOMT Where there is no
privation, bu^very help from former
tinkers, how much may we not expect
fum it 1 Thus great characters rise.—
'Vy’hile he who thinks little, though much
re** or much he sees, can hardly
ct 11 anything be has bis own. He
nudes with borrowed capital, and is in
tbe high road to literary or rather to
tqerital bankruptcy.^.
ex»B
ijje
1 m v
The day lisd been a disc-^raging one
for J iilia, even more so than usual. A
little exertion had brought on Henry’s
fever again, and the physician who was
summoned to attend him had spoken in
etrnr.£ terms of the absolute necessity
fur perfect rest aud freedom from ex
citeinent. How was this possible when
hour after hour be must lie u|kid his
back and see bis wife toiling beyond her
strength for their maintenance ? And
then it was something difficult to pro
care work^^wd Julia absolutely trem
bled as she thought of the sufferings
they must n Mli-rA should this means of
-upport bo cut off Some kind neigh
bur hud advised her to apply at a co'lar
manufactory near by, where iuany wo
men and young girls found constaitl em
ployment. She uad done so with sue
cess, and at the moment her old friend
entered she was gazing mournfully
upon a dozen collars which she had.
lak“ti on trial They were nicely aliti-h
ed by a sewing machine, and sheJtud
engaged to bind them and make three
button holes in each for the small sum
of cent a piece. ’A starving price,’
she murmured to herself, and Brie orient
od lost in>. arfdfrcverie, from which she
was arousqA by theysoft voice of FauOV.
‘ Matritita i tnim brought a My w oee
you. _ She will fee our friend.
Julia looked" up iu suprise as Fanny
spoke, but in au instant ber wonder was
, The other day, in Paris, a lady
riturned from promenade at dijner time
tt her house She *#ent to the kitchen
to see if everything was all right there,
and as the insptcTfbn did Jnot have
the wished for result, she sent Justine,
1 n.serv.int^girl, to buy some more pro-
>n. Suddenly the doorbell tang,
when the lady opened the door, a
man rushed in and menacingly brand-
isited a knife, uttering the words, “your
plate or your life 1” Perfectly dumb
founded, the lady pointed to a large
clmheS-press standing in the kitchen ;
perhaps her intention was only to gain
time; for the plate was not there at all
The robber hastened to the clothes-press
and opened it; but to his terror, and to
rfie great surprise of the lady, there
stepped fiom it a tail granadier, who
disarmed the robber and took bim to
the jBtation house ; previously sayiog to
tile" lady, ‘excuse me mudaniei I was
waiting there for Justine.”
From the Eufaulu News,
Combat with A Battle-Snake—
Death from its Bite.
Mb. Editor.—Last Saturday morniDg
I was the witness of such a scene as I
pray God I may never see again. I be
held a coniiiat between a young man
and a rattle snake, in which the former
was bitten and died in ten minutes
thereafter The particulars of the ter
rible affair, are us follows:
On Friday last, a young man named
Gray nor, asked me to spend tbe ui^ht
with him and go coon hunting the next
morning, to which request I readily as
sented. We started out about 3 o’clock,
A. M., and near day tbe dogs opened ou
a trail in the swamp of Bear Creek.—
Jest after sun-rise, the deep baying of
tbe dogs iuformed us that the game
bad taken a tree. We proceeded to
make oar way through the bogs and
tangled brush and vines in the direo-
liou ol tbe dogs, until we came to
^mall space of firm ground, which was
Covered with a low growth of oak bush
Here wc baited a moment tolisteo
far the dogs. i »
'j "Wg had barely ^paused, w€en we were
startled Gy a loud^ strangM0£Ulling
sound issuing from beneath a low, thick
trash within a lew feet of its. Though
I bad never beard that peculiar noise
before. I knew instinctively that it was
a rattleisuake, and I sprang back iu ter
ror, remarking, ‘Greynor, let’s leave
here.’
‘What, 8 said he, ‘are you
afraid ?’
‘Yes,’ said L ‘Im a afraid.’
'Well, 8 ,’ he coolly remarked, ‘I
am going to kill the snake; it would be
a pity to leave such a fine fellow here.
So, here goes.’
While Graynnr was speaking, I
caught a glimpse of the snake, which, as
nearly as I could judge, appeared to be
about eight fe. t in leng'h, and three
inches in diameter in his larger part —
He was tying coiled up in perfect cir
cles, with his bead drawn back in a ter
ribly graceful curve, his small black
eyes sparkling, his slender forked tongue
darting swiftly back nod forth, and his
brown neck swollen with fatal wrath
wbiie ever and anon he twirled tbe
warning rattles in the air, with a harsh,
blood~curdling sound. *
‘For God’s sake, let’s go,’ said I,
shuddering at tbe terrible sight.
‘Don’t get scared,’ said G. ; ‘just
climb a tree, and he won’t bite you. It
ain’t every day that a fellow meets with
such a fine, large snake as this, and it
wouldn’t do to lose him.’
He had picked up a small stick about
a yard long, and while speaking, was
drawing back the bashes from above the
snake so as to get a sight of him. He
threw his foot around over the bushes,
aud tramped them down in such a man
ner that the monster was fairly exposed
to view; but just as lie did so, and be.
fore he had time to strike, the snake
made a sudden spring at him, and I
turned away my face in horror. The
next instant, Graynnr exclaimed, ‘I’ve
got him, by George !’
I turned to look, ar.d with his right
hand he was grasping the snake by tbe
neck,in such, a manqer that he ccnild o t
bite, while the monster was knushfng
his teeth most, furiously, and twisting
and writhing in huge folds around G.’s
arms. All of a sudden in some unac
countable manner, tbe snake lreed bis
head, and quick as lightning plunged
bis deadly fangs into G.’s right cheek :
when, dropping on the ground, lie gli
ded a few paces and again coiled him
self up, keeping his head erect and ring
ing liis fearful rattles. G. turned death
ly pule, paused a moment, and then
with a little st ; ck advanced toward the
snake. As he did so the snake made a
spring at him, but G. struck him with
the stick and knocked him back. A
second time tbe snake sprung at bim ;
and he again knocked biin off with the
stick; before he could strike a third
blow, the snake had made another
spring and inflicted another wound in
Graylor’s arm. This time Graylor
aqfain managed to seize the monster by
the neek; and, dropping the stick, be
drew forth his knife with one band,
opened it with his teeth, and then de
liberately ent off the snake’s head.—
Blood spurted from the trukn, and G.
still grasping the snake whose huge
folds flapped and writhed around him,
turned towards me, staggered and fell.
I rushed up to him and asked him,
‘What in the name of God can I do
for you ?’
‘Nothing’ said he calmly, ‘I am dying.
Tell them good ’ an! his features
became frightfully contorted, his eyes
rolled over as if starting from their
sockets, and his black swollen tongue
protruded Rom his mouth. Then he
fixed bis red, wild, staring eyes npon
AScvle by Whicu to Msxsube Crime.
— lie who steals a million is a shrewd
financier.
He who steals a half a million is a de
faulter.
He who steals a quarter of a million
is an ‘irregular financier.’
He who steals a hundred thousand ts
a r-igue.
He who steals fifty thousand is a
knave
But he who steals a pair irf- hoots or
a loaf of bread ia a scouo^yel of tbe
Jet-pest dye, and deeervea incarceration
iu prison’.
89- 0 Tommy 1 that was abominable
in you to eat your little.si*'.er’a share of
the cake i” “ Why,”/aid Tnrqniy, “didn’t
you tell ms, ma, that l was always to
take her part?*
me, aDd heaved a deep piercing groan;
a shiver passed over his frame, and
then all was still. I was alone with the
dead.
Marking the place as well as I could,
I hastened to a house we bad passed on
the road, some half a mile distant from
the fatal tragedy. Runners were sent
thro’ the neighborhood, and in the
course of two hours, some twenty of the
neighbors had gathered. We pro
ceeded to the place which I found ou
difficulty in pointing out.
Good heaveus 1 what a sight met oor
view. The face and body had turned
to a deep purple, aud were swollen to
three times tbe natural size, presenting
the most horrible appearance I had ev
er witnessed. The snake lay where he
had been thrown, aud was still writhing
A litter of boughs wus hastily con
structed. and with heavy hearts we took
our way to the residence of his parents.
I will not attempt to describe the heart
rending scene, when they saw the body
Grief like theirs cannot be portrayed.
This was my firfl encounter with a
Rattle Snake, aud I pray God it may be
my last. L A. 8.
Clopum, Ala., 1870.
they
A Brave Girl*
Our heroine lived in Bartlett, N. H .
and was a descendant of the old Craw
fords. Her father was a Crawford, and
followed (he-profession of guide among
the mountains. Her name was Bessie,
and she was the onty daughter remain
tDg at home—a dark-eyed, brown-haired
girl; of slight, but compact frame; just
entering her nineteenth year. He-
mother had been dead several years, and
upon her devolved tbe whole care of tbe
household.
One day, late in the summer, Mr.
Crawford went, with a party of travel
ers, away to the head-waters of one of
the many mountain streams that empty
into the Haco, and Bessie was left alone.
Even the dogs had all gone with the
pleasure seekers. Near the middle of
the afternoon, while the girl was sitting
by an open window of the front room,
engaged in sewing, a man came up from
the road, and asked het if she would
give bim a drink of water. Bessie had
seen this man before, and bad not liked
his looks. He was a stout, broad-
shouldered, ill-favored fellow, and the
bits of rinoss and spikes of the pines,
u;**D fya clothes, indicated tb^Jje halt
slept in the woods.
But Bessia did nmt hesitate. She
laid aside her work and went to get the
water. When she came back the man
had entered the room. She did not
like this, lor she was sure he had come
by the window ; but she handed him the
tin dipper without remark. Tho man
drank, and then set the dipper down
upon tbe table Then lie turned upon
the girl, and drew a broad-bladed knife
from his pocket.
‘Look ye, my young lady,’ he sat’d, T
know there’s money in this house;
and I know that you are alone. Show
me where the money is I If you don’t,
I shall kill you and then hunt it tip my
self I I’m in earnest, and there ain’t no
time to waste. Don’t make a inss, or
if you do you it feel this knife quick !’
Bessie shrank back, and looked into
the man's fui r, and she could see Uiat
be meant whut be had said.
‘If 1 show you where the money is
will you prom se not to do me buritt ?'
‘Show me, honest, and I won’t harm
you.’
‘Then come with me. But you will
take only the,—you won’t take father’s
papers ?’
‘Only the money girl.’
Bessie led the way to a small bed
room on the ground floor, where there
was an old mahogany bureau, the up
per drawer of which she unlocked.—
The man, when he saw this, thinking,
doubtless, that Crawford's gold was
within his grasp, shut up liis knife and
put it into Ins pocket. The girl opened
the drawer, aud quick as thought, drew
forth a large navy revolver—one which
she herself had kilted a trapped bear—
aud cocked it.
‘Villain 1’ she exclaimed, planting ber
back against the wall, and aiming the
weapon at his bosom, ‘many a wild
beast have I shot with this good pistol,
Bad I'll uow shoot yon if you do not
iustuntly leave this house ! tewiil give
you cot even a second 1 SalOBri.. I
fire I’
T'he-ruffian cuuVi readsjtuman
as well as could the maiden, and.Jiie
could read very plaintaiB the fum-set
lips, aDd in tbe flusnmg eyes—but more
clearly in tbe steady hand tbat held tbe
pistol—that she wauld not only fire, as
she had promised, but that her aim
would be a sure and ‘atul one.
AdJ he backed out front the bed
room—backed into the sitting room—
then leaped from the open window, and
disappeared,
Bessie kept her pistol by her side un
til her father and liis guests came home
and when she had told her stoty, search
was made for tbe ruffian. But he was
not found. Our heroine had so thor
oughly frightened him that be never
came that way again.
A Quill Driver Essays to Drive
a Mule.
Major Napier Bartlett, of tbe New
Oilcans Times, gives to tbe readers of
that journal his experience in an attempt
to plow a mule, near tbat city :
Becoming enamored, along with every
body through this country, iu the culti
vation -rtf cotton, I occupied my laet dad
in Columbus in guiding Ibe plow and in
urging through the furrows a long eared
and stubborn mule. A dozen men, wo
men and children were in the field to
keep mo company, and throwing the
whole of my weight upon the bandies,
spradliug over newly-turned ground and
whooping and halloing at my slow paced
team in the manner pnrsned by tbe. L
brothers, I wa3 soon up to my knees Hfw®
work. Still tbe faithful animal that
acted as principal in the experiment had
his theories about the matter, which
were not thoso laid down by Virgil,
and from time to time gave Utterance to
his dissent in discouraging cristfr .Prac‘
tical experience soon began to grove
that it wus just as difficnifc.-. for. jqqtbes
to keep from working crdaknll furrows,-
as it was with straight sentences, and ^
tbit a new -pair of hoots might be on- ~
closed in tbe success 6Fthoexp(|9atmt,
not to speak of occasionally puH|9 up
small stumps with the bottom of yopr
pants I found it was annoying to>be
bit by tbe flies and to melt with perspi-
ratioD under a sweltering sun. Lastly,
the mule became goaded to rn^dMMTriM^"
the sight of a sassafras-bush^Wirch I '
cut with the object of explaining ray
opinion to bim. Without waiting for
the conclusion of the explanation, he
set off at full speed for the stable, and
I have had no curiosity to see him sincei.
Young Men.—An exchange truly
says : ‘Thousands of young men are
to-day drifting helplessly about on the
ocean of life, vainly hoping that ere
long some favorable breeze will spring
up and drive their vessels into some safe
harbor. vVhere that safe harbor is they
have no idea ; because they have no def
inite object in view. They have never
decided upon any course of life; but
permit their actions to be shaped and
moulded by the circumstances of the
hour. Is it any wonder that disasters
follow each other ? More men are ruined
through indecision than from a wrong
decision. Few men will deliberately
lay out and pursue a plan of l'fe that
will ultimately work their ruin. Most
young men of the present day enter
the bult'e ol life without any well de
fined sysiem of warfare, and consequent
ly spend their best days in aimless 'pbf." ]'
suits. Indecision is the bane of our
existence. Could we look into the
world of spirits we would find but few
souls in the dark region of woe that
had resolved to reach that goal; nearly
all who are there, and those who are
hastening the e, are in their present con
ditions because never decided wbitber
they yootfefcifc'b.tuid their.indecision has
bee.r
PniiPjAk—God bless the
wteerlul penple^.tEi!mpSjoman or child,
oltf'nr young," ilUferaleor educated,
above
j9~ Loafers toil uot, ueither do
spin, yet they inacago to keep soul and
body together without working, which
is a very fine art.
19- A woman’s life has two eventful
periods. One when she wonders who
she will have, tbe other when she won
der* who wi’l have her.
“What ia the difference ’twixt a
watch and a ledder bed, Bam ?’’ ‘‘Dun-
bo, gin it up.’’ “Because de tic-ken o(>
de watch is on de inside, and de tickea
ob de bed j* on de out*ide,”_ *•
't'by friend hat a friend, and thy
fritud’e friend Urn afrisod—b? di«reet.
A Tough Story.—A Philadelphia pa
per says: There is a doctor in the
northwestern part of this consolidated
city who is especially remaraable lor
being, as the women term it, ‘abort and
crusty.’
A week or two since he was called to
visit a patient who was laboring under
a severe attack of cheap wbskey.
‘Well, doctor, I’m down, you se«
completely floored. I’ve got thtf tre
mendous delirium, you know 1’
‘Tremens, you fooi 1 Whor’d you get
your rum ?’
‘All over in spots ; broke out promis
cuously, doctor.’
‘Served you right.’
‘Father died of the same disease; it
took him under the short ribs and car
ried him off bodily.’
‘Well, you’ve got to take something
immediately.’
‘Your’re a trump, Doc 1 Here, wife,
I’ll take a nip of old rye.’
‘Lie still, you blockhead ! Mrs. B. if
your husband should get worse before
I return, which will be in an hour, give
him a dose of that trunk strap, may be
that will fetch him to a sense of his fol
ly.’
Tbe doctor sailed out grandly, and
within an hour sailed in again, and
fuund bis friend of the ‘tremendous de
lirtutu’ in a terrible condition, writbiDg
aDd straggling with pain. His wife, a
female of the kind, bnt ignorant school,
came up, and laying her hand on tbe
doctor’s arm, said :
‘Doctor, I gave him the strap, as you
directed.’
‘Did yon thrash him well ?’
‘Thrash him ?’ exclaimed (he aston
ished woman, ‘no I I put the strap into
hash and made biro swallow it I’
‘Oh, Lord, d- ctor 1’ roared the vic
tim,‘I swallowed tbe leather, but—but’
‘But—what ?’
‘I swallowed the whole strap, but I’m
darned it I could go the buckle I’
Tbe doctor administered two bread
pill* and evaporated.
I&, The loss of tastes for what is
right, is the loss of all right tus'e.
or young, ilU
ly.tBfgf and»
■y otner su in’-WHrstandsxbecr-.
fltlness What the sun is to nature—
what God is to tha stricken heart which
knows how to lean upoff Him—are
cheerful persons in the house and by
tbe wttyaiije^Tliey go unobtrusively, un-
coiiMhjusijpjji^bai&Iheir silent mission,
inighteiiiirS up society around them
with th* happiness beaming from Iheir
faces. We love to sit near them ; we
love the nature of their eye, tbe tone of
their voice. Little children find them
out, oh 1 so quickly, amid the densest
crowd, aDd passing by the knitted and
compressed lip, glide near, and laying a
confiding little hand on their knee, Tift
their clear young eyes to those loving
faces.
Lean on Yoceselic—Half at least of
the disc pixilated men one meets are vic
tims of ill-grounded hopes and expecta*
tions, pei sons who h ive tried to lean
upon others, instead of relying upon
themselves. This leaning is poor busi
ness. It seldom pays. Energetic men
(and they are tbe classes generally look
ed to for aid), do not like to be leaned
upon. If you are travelling in a rail
road car, and a great hulking fellow
lays liis head against yonr shoulders tytd
goes to sleep, you indignantly shake him
off. It is tbe same in Lusinuss. ?The
man who does not at least at\pmpt"to
hoe hie own row, need not expect a^y*
one to hoe it for him It is noqsctfstt
for any man to pretend to the digoifnof
being UDfortunite, who has depended
upon others w en he might have cIomA
iuiself. ’ *
J*'
a way to fortune for bitnseli
B@- “Whut do you mean by\cat*aod
dog life ?” said a husband to bis angry
wife, “Look at Carlo and KittjArftbo
rag asleep ; I wish men lived half a.
peacefully with their wives.”
said the lady ; “tie them togclhSr, and
sec how they will agree.”
. E3T An old lady lately refused to
let her niece dance with a young grad
uate, brcauee she bad heard tbat be was
a bachelor of arts, whereby she Under
stood him to be an artful bachelor.
Youth repentant, but incoherent,
over his dissipation, signed the fblloteittg
fledge: “I solemnly promise Io abstain
rout the use of all idtoxicuting bevera
ges, otherwise than as a drink) anil pro-,
fanity, unless subsetIbod by a physician,
at four times a day, excepting cider."
•9* The credit that is got by a lie
only lasts until the truth comes out.
■&> Silence is more significant
tile most expressive eloquence.
titan
I&. If you would know a bad bus
band, look at It is wife's countenance.
iar The greatest glory is not in nevi r
falling but in rising eVery time we fall
19- Wot-k is the weapon of honor;
and he who ladka the weapou will nev
er triumph.
X3C An old hotel.keeper, in \Vasli-
ington, once posted on his dining-rdom
door the following notice: ‘Members of
Congress will go to tbe table first; and
then the gentlemen. Rowdjee and
blackguards must not inix with tbe Con
gressmen, as it is bad to tell them%r°%”
the other.’ ^
*9- An old lady bougtt a shrouafof
her husband the other day, remarking,
that he wasn t dead yet, or particularly
ailing; but she ditjri’i. .i.Hidfe that shin
should ever bo able to buy it so cheap
again.
£3TAlady who Had been a widow
but three mouths recently carried to a
jeweller's shoo in New York, the gold
ph te ol the fulsc teeth of ber late hus
band ordering It to be made into rings
to be used Upon the occasion of her
marriage with the foreman of the coach
factory of Iter deceased husband.
A critic says of a famous singer
that ‘she sings a few airs and puts ou «
great many.’