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VOLUME VII. MISCELLANY. THE BURGLAR’S BRAND. lii thedead of the night a sharp sound awakened Mrs. llaliiont. The room wjs d.nk, not even a gleam of moon or starlight fell through the curtains of the windows. It was a very strange sound, indeed, but she saw nothing, heard nothing more. She sat up, leaning on her dimpled left elbow, and put out her right hand and touched her husband's slmuN der. He lay still, upon his pillow, fast asleep, and did not awaken at her touch. ‘lt must have been a dream,’ said llahlont; and her young Inal—she was only the bride of a year—n< stled down again close to her husband’s arm aud slept again. Click! 1 his time the sound did not arouse Mrs llaliiont. It was her husband who awakened. He did not pause to but grasped the revolver be ceath lus pillow and jumped out ol bed at once. In an alcove of the next room stood a safe which contained valuables. It was not one 0 f those invincible safes which defy lire and burglars, but an old one that had been in the family for a long while. Mi\ Halifont knew on tlie instant that someone was opening the safe. A man of courage, a mau who nev ‘r h° sl tatcd in the face of danger , one too who had a warm regard lor his worldly possessions—Mr. llaliiont strode into the room where lie knew house-breakers were at work, and running in the dark against a powm * •ul man, tackled him at once. Ihe hght o( a lantern flashed across room. There were two more men. Tfrec against one. le of blows, struggling and re P° r t Bot a pistol, aroused the * ' u "“ u a t once. Amid her terror iL ( aJ the good sense to light the k us - It shone upon a spectacle of hor- Her husband weltering in ins own 0 Wre stliug with a gigantic man, V u,Be Mature* were concealed by a lu *k ot black crape ; a man, the up- T part of whose body was clothed °* i j in a knitted woollen shirt of some ar colwr, with sleeves that left his £ n arm bare. On the right one the ,ie which clutched Mr. Ilalilont’s rent was a red mark 01 brand, a scan inh-mark. would have been ini. I 'swible for Mrs. Hahfont, even in a ° . m,, hicnt to tell what it was ; but . 11 1 ellibly impressed itself upon her Ull d, as she bravely cast herself into e struggle and lought with all her b 1 to drag the horrible hand from w i> r ,' U^ au^6 throat, screaming all the w mle for aid, her a haye silenced that—h 10 * >ur^ar ®ust hav2 knowu tt there are uifmy very bad ftflje Eastman aimes, men who could not use violence to ward a woman to save their own lives. 1 This man could not. His companions 1 had flown with their booty ; help might [have arrived at any moment. With a great effort he wrenched himself from the clutch of his victim, and let go his throat and sped away. It was n"t too j soon. Assi*tauce arrived, now that it was too late, but Mr. Halifont did not live to tell the story. He was mortally [wounded. His young wie watched Iby his bedside until he breathed his [last, then dropped beside it utterly I senseless. For weeks she raved in wild deliri* lum of the murderous hand, of the [great muscular arm with the scar up |ou it, and called upon them all to save [her husband's life ; but she was young I and had a line constitution. After a I while her health returned, and at last [her mind regained its equipoise. She removed Irom the city and took | up her abode in a lonely country place, |wi*h a favorite sister for a companion. |She had resolved, as all widow* who | have loved tlieir husbands do at first, |to reman a widow forever. A-.d, in [deed, thongn many men wou'd gladly I , . . 1 . J •'CrtrtlWlUl I |i vi> - •> . I and wealthy to change her mind on this point, she s-emed to c ire less for any of them than tor the kitten which purred up >n her kn e, or the little black*and-tan which ran by her side I along the garden paths. Shi; was 19 when her husband was murdered; at 32 she was sti.l true to his mem* ory. Is any one forever utterly true to another’s memory out of romance—any one who does not die young? I tear not. In this, the lapsing summer of the , woman’s life, when she pretended to believe that autumn had actually come, temptation to inconstancy as saulted her. For many years a fine house on the neighboring estate had been empty, but now there came to take possession of it, a gentleman not yet 40. A widower with plenty of money and no children ; a handsome man, well built and stalwart, with magnificent black liar, and eyes that were like black diamonds. Spanish ; indeed, he called nimself a Spaniard, and his speech betrayed a foreign ac cent. The dark eyes and the bine ones met, a few ne ghborly words exchang ed, a cali followed soon. Mrs. Halt font felt anew emotion creeping into her heart. She felt pleased and flatter *d by this stranger's admiration. Then she knew she was loved, and rejoiced , and so discovered that she herself loved again. At first she was angry with herself ; then she wept over her inconstancy,! ut at last she yielded utterly. Alter all, it was the 1 ve that made her untrue Since she had she could never pride herself on being faithful again, and so she listened to the sweet words that, despite herself, made her happy, and promised to marry Colouel Hum** phries When a widow does narry a secoud time she generally contrives to make a 100 l of herself. Mrs. Ilalifont had certainly not done as foolishly as some widows do. Site had neither chosen a little boy nor a titled Italian without money enough to keep himself in macaroni. Her luture husband, was older than herself, and too rich to be suspected of being a tor tune hunter ; but, after all no one knew him. He came into the neigh* borhood without letters of introduction to any one, and whether he won his fortune by trade or came to it byjn hcritanee r> mained to all a myst ry. There w< re those who siirugg and their shoulders, and declared that Mrs. Hali font would regret not having chosen someone of whom more was known-- some retired merchant, some gentle man ol fortune, whose father had been known to her friends. Nothing, to be sore, coul i be said against this Span iard or Cuban, with the English name; but who knew anything in bis favor ? However, no one said to Mrs. Hali fout, and if any one bad, w ords never changed a woman's fancy yet. Mrs. Halifont believed in Col. Humphries, and meant to marry him. Indeed, the trousseau was prepared aud the wedding day fixed ; all was ready, and Ida Hulifont oelieved her self to be a very happy woman. She once more built castles in the air. Her old sorrow seined to fade away in ihe distance. She was a girl again. At least twenty-four hours lay be tween her aud her wedding day. She was busy in her sewing room on this last day, finishing eome ruffles in lace and ribbon, and singing softly to herself, wh<*n suddenly the house was filled with cries. An old man servant while cutting grass u on the lawn, had wounded himself seriously. The doctor was sent for at once, but was not at hom<‘, and m an while Zebedee was bueding to death. Suddenly Ida Halifont remembered that Mr. Humphries had said that he understood wounds as though he had been a thoroughbred surgeon. With out this it would have been natural f>r her to call him herself, that there might be no del >y, and seizing her garden hat, she ran along a little path that led from her ground to that of Mr. Humphries, climbing the fence to save t.me which would have been lost in reaching a gate, and so gained the rear of tne dwelling of which to*m mow she would tie mistress. She thought herself terrified and dis tressed. She felt rather injured in that such an unpleasant thing as the wound ing of poor Zebedee should have hap* pen and on the eve of her wedding day. Ten minutes after she thought of her self at that moment utterly at ease— .. wußiy nappy —lor as she reached lho*e windows and peeped half timid* ly through the curtains, a thing hap pened that made all she had ever suf fered appear as nothing. The room, the window of which she approached, was one that opened out of a conservatory. She saw Col. Hum phries busy with some rare plants he had just set out to the warm sunshine that fell struggling through the gl iss. He had taken off bis coar and rolled up his sleeves. Now he t the conserv atory, and coming forward proceeded to wash his hands in a basin of water that had been sdr ady for him. lie was close to Ida Halifont. He did not see her, but she could have reached out her hand and touched him. Why did she not speak and call him byname? Why did she sink down upon her knees and tremble like an as pen Laf ? Alas ! the awful reason was this: Upon that arm to which she was about to grant the right t>> clasp her in tenderest embraces, she saw a terri. ble mark—a mark she had seen oric* before. She knew its shape and size and color. Her eyes had been rivited upon it as the sinewy hand at the wrist of which it ended, grasped her dying husband's throat. She had learned it off' by heart ; she could not be deceived. Though years had rolled away that horribly marked arm was not to be forgotten or mistaken by any other. Suddenly Col. Humphries felt him* self grasped by a band that, small as it was, had the fierce touch ol a tiger's claw. The fingers closed over that red mark—a white face came close to his. ‘You are my husband’s murderer !' hissed a voice in his ear. Then the two stood staring at each other. He made no denial; he only looked down at the red mark upon his arm and cursed it aloud. ‘How dared you to make love to me ?' she gasped. ‘You— ’ ‘Because I loved you,' lie sa'd.— ‘Woman, if I had not fallen in love with you that uight, I would have killed you also. Ii was riskit.g my life to spaie you, with your screams calling men to hunt m • down— 'Oh, if you had but killed me then !' she moaned. ‘Well, I am at your mercy now,’ he said. She answered : ‘You con kill I I wish you would. I pray do it. You killed my husband. The murderer of my husband must be brought to justice, and I—yesterday, nay an hour ago—l loved you ! Oh God pity me ! I have loved this man, this thief, why came in the night to rob my husband, and who murdered him. She remembered saying this. After waid a strange drow’sin *ss overcame her. She seemed to let go her hold on the w’orld. She faintly recognized the fact that Col. Humphries knelt at her feet and kissed her hands Then there were blank hours, and strange, wild dreams, and she uwi ken ed in the twilight and found hers. If bound fast to a great arm-chair, long cords about her arms tying her bauds and confining her feet. So her servants found her ; but she was the only living being in the great house. Col Humphries and his two black servants bad vanished, no one knew whither. The empty bottle of chloroform on the floor—tne fact he had always kept his money in a form that left him free EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 30, 1879. to leave the country at ahy time, all proved that detection had been pre pared for. And he was never traced —or had the means to bribe those who were set on bis track. Ida Halifont lived through it all.— She lives to-day in the quiet house be side the river, but no one has seen her smile since that hour. No one will ever see her smi’e again ; and from her deepest slumbers she often starts in terror, fancying that she sees uplifted menacing above that cruel, terrible arm marked with the blood red stain. There is no hope of happiness tr her, for she can never forget that this arm has also embraced her. Natural History—The Baby. “What animal is this?" ‘This a baby. It is now about three years old, and at the wickedest point of his earthly career. 'What country does the baby most inhabit V ‘He can be found in every inhabited country oil the globe, the same as mos quitoes.' ‘Gan they be turned?' 'Yes, quite easily. After a little judicious discipline they ooase to stru gle, and become subservient to the will of man.' ‘Does the babv eat grass V 'Yes, or anything else. They swa 1 - low pocket-knives, thimbles, nickles, buttons, spools, or any other subject a little smaller than a tea-cup. If offer ed milk they seldom refuse it. ‘Do they graze during the day, or only at night V ‘They are always grazing, paying not the least heed to the hour. When not actually eating, they generally give utterance to a peculiar cry. Strong mum often jump out of l ed at midnight in the coldest weather when hearing that cry.’ ‘What meaning is attached to this cry V ‘Men of deepest thought have all agreed that it signifies to wake up the neighborhood and have some fun.' ‘Of what benefit to mankind is a do mesticated baby?’ ‘ I hey are of no earthly use for the first few years, but by and by they can slide down hill on a cellar door and carry articles out of the house and trade* them fora wooden sword, or Use them in the grass,' ‘Do you know of any instance where the baby has attacked the household and killed or injured any one ?’ J|‘Such instances have been related by such eminent naturalists as George Francis Train and Texas Jack, but we don't put much faith in them. How ever, it the baby was maliciously and persistently provoked, there's no know ing what it might do. 'Are they a healthy animal ?' ‘No ; on the contrary no druggist could make enough profit in a ye or t> buy him a pair ol Arctic overshoe*, but for the presence of the baby in every household. There is hardly an hour in the day that the baby does not de mand peppermint, paregoric, milk, su gar, cordial, cod liver emulsion, ipecac or something else costing money.' ‘What machinery is made use of to compel the baby to take a dose of cas* tor oil ?’ ‘There are several patent machines for the purpose, but most people fo low the old rule of knocking him senseless, an 1 getting the dose into his mouth before he recovers.’ ‘ls the baldheaded baby more do mestic than others V 'Not a bit. He kicks around after the same fashion, aud she has even a worse time fighting flies and mosqui toes/ ‘What music do they seem to pre fer */ 'A base drum is their first choice, but tney have a heavy leamug towards the sound of the stove-handle knock ing the uose off the pitcher with the emptyings in it/ Tins is all about the baby. Take anoth r look at aim, for n* xt week we shall write about some, other reptile. A beautiful girl in lowa named Je mima, recently committed suicide be cause she could find no diminutive for her nan e ending in ‘ie/ A few hours afterwards came a letter from a class male beginning, ‘Dear, darling Mimie/ but it was too late, aud she was borne to the grave by eight companions, named respectively, Abbie, Bessie,Car rie, Dollie, Ettie, Florrie, Georgie aud Hattie. The most bashful girl we ever heard of was the young lady who blushed, when she was asked if she had not been courting sleep. Old Maids and Old Bachelors. Old mails are useful. They can cook sew, take care of children, nurse sick people, and generally play the piano. Old bachelors are useless. They do not know how to drive nails or split wood. Old maids are amiable. If one wants anything done that requires patience and kindness ot heart, a single lady is sure to be the one to do it. Old bach* eh>rs are 11-natured. They desire to be as disobliging as possible. They •nub children, despise babies, hate young mothers, and ai e always so bus* ily employed in seeing that other peo ple take good care of them, that they have not a moment to give to anyone else. Old maids are nice-looking, and ‘young for their years.’ Old bachelors generally have red noses, rheumatism in their knee*, bald hea ls, and mouths that turn down at the corners. Old maids can make a home of one little room, and cook delicious meals for one over the gas jet, in cunning little tin kettles, besides making their own wardrobe. Old bachelors need an army of tailors, waiters, cooks, dis tant relatives and hotel landlords to keep them comfortable. When old maids are ill, they tic up their heads in pocket-handkerchiefs, take homoeo pathic pellets out of two bottles alter nately, and get well again. When old bachelors are ill, they go to bed and send for four doctors; have a consulta* tion, a mantlepiece full of black bottles, all the amiable married men who be long to the club to sit up with them at night, besides a hired nurse; they tel* egraph to their relations, and do their best to impress the world with the idea that they are dying. Win'ii an old maid travels, she takes a sandwich, a piece of pound cake and a bottle of lemonade in a hand-basket, and lunches comfortably in the carriage When an old bachelor travels,he orders a dinner in courses at the station, and raves because he has not time to eat it before the ‘filteen minutes for refresh ments' are over. Old maids dr nk weak tea, and it cures their headaches. Old bachelors drink strong liquors, which give them headaches Old maids are modest; they think their youth is over, and tlieir beauty gone. If, after awhile, some autumnal Live is given them, they lake it as a sort of miracle, and hope people will not laugh at them for ‘marrying so late in life.' Old bachelors believe that all women are in love with them, and that they must carefully guard themselves from traps laid to inveigle them into matrimony. Au Editor. An “editor/’ How high sounding and sublime to tbe unsophisticated and aspiring jmung man—an “editor l" a pack mule for the public—expected to labor day and night for nothing. An ‘‘editor P—a man who snatches at the air and gathers np his varied thoughts. An “editor"—a roan who gives ad vice upon all subjects, yet knows not what he talks about. An editor—a rnau whose mind trav erses tin* universe with lightning speed and tells all he saw on the route in a few words. An editor—a man who can draw up on his imagination and till his columns when nothing of importance is trans piring. An editor—a man who gives a town and city notoriety abroad, the mer chants’ business at home, and after wards goes unthanked for his ad vices. An editor—a man who is supposed to be public property, yet belongs to no one. An editor—an individual who com- ! mences a newsboy and masters the art of printing after years of study and toil, and then seats himse'f upon the editorial tripod thoroughly competent j to conduct every department of his business. Editing is a profession, requiring years of study a°d experience. Law is not so difficult to understand as a thorough knowledge of journalism. In four years a man can be a very fair lawyer, while a journalist, in the same time, has only graduated in the first principh s—the art of printing. We have not exaggerated in our re marks or tried to eulogize the profess siun, but portrayed facts which every printer and editor knows to be true.— Printer's Repository. A man's character is like a fence— you carrnot strengthen it by whitewash. Sick of His Bargain. In the old slaveholding days, Mr. Logare, of So ith Carolina (formerly Secretary of the U. S. Treasury) own* ed a “likely negro/* named Scipio.— Scip had heard about freedom, and thought he should like it, and he deter mined to buy himself. With some diffi culty he prevailed on his master to name a price—one thousand dollars— and having considerable money already saved np, he soon manage by the help of friends to raise the whole sum that was required. One morning became capering into Mr. L's study with cash in hand claim" i.ig his promise. ‘Better stay where you are, Scip, and let me take care of this money for you/ said L. But his advice was not hi eded, and he reluctantly took the money, and gave Mr. Scipio Afriesnus a bill of sale of himself. As it was, Scip left W’ith a tear in his eye, al though there was a broad grin on his face. It was not long before he found em ployment on a railroad. Things went pretty well with him for a while, until one day there was a collision between an express train and train of gravel cars. Wagons, engines, white folks and darkies, were tossed into the air generally, and some twenty of the lat ter were killed,while many were maim ed for life. Scip, however, was high and dry on a sandbank, and free from any injury. But his nerves had received a terrible shock, and he was so mortally afraid of another similar accident that he left his employment and obtained a situa tion on a river steamboat. But here, again, his luck was not ol long duration. Just as the boat was leaving the wharf, an explosion took place, which sent 40 or 50 colored la dies and gentlemen to the place where the good or bad darkies go. But our friend Scip merely went partly over the river and dropped into the stream in company with the smokestack. lie paddled himself ashore, and without waiting to change his clothes, traveled with wings lent him by fear, direct to the home nt his old master. ‘Look a-heah, Massa Legare,' In; ex claimed, as soon as he could catch his breath, ‘just you gib me dat money back, and take me. Dis yeah nigger property f s well enough for rich men, like you, but dreflle poor‘vestment for dis chile. Taint safe; dasu‘t risk ew no longer. $5,000 Found in a Tree. A treasure up a tree was seen in the watches of the night by a peddler,who was sleeping in a farm house iu the Shenandoah Valley. He told his dream to the farmer next morning, and on the three successive nights he had the same vision. Then he prevailed on the farmer to accompany him to the forest where he pointed out a large oak tree as the one he had seen in his dieam It was apparently sound at the butt, but about twenty feet up a limb had been broken off. The farmer did no t feel humoring what he supposed to be a superstitious whim, but the old fellow seemed to have confidence in his vis ion, and offered him one-half the spoils if he would help him cut the tree down. When the tree fell there was a rat tle of coin near where the limb had been broken off, and a small hollow was found there. By a little chopping a large cavity was found, and within was a mass of silver. Both seemed wild with delight,and on counting up found that the pile amounted to $5,000. The peddler expressed an unwillingness to carry around so much silver in his pocket, and inquired where he would likelyjget greenbacks for his share,— The farmer, having considerable mon ey in his house immediately transferred to the peddler $2,500 in paper money and took charge of the entire pile of silver. The peddler disappeared, and when his partner attempted to pass some of the silver, lo ! it was counterfeit. He was the victim of a gang of coiners. m Satin is again a fashionable fabric, and as the traditional fabric for wed ding dresses it is once more in favor in its creamy white tints, especially i on ly one material is used in the toilette ; il a second fabric is added it is brocad ed satin, or perhaps striped or spotted satin. Th>s is the season when fellows be gin courting their girls on the door steps. The old ’uns should see to it that the front gate is strengthened, and hinges got iu effective condition for heavy work. The reigning prints—The latest fashion in calico. Skating with the girls is an ice thing if it is naughty. A paper that is always full of good points—a paper of needles. The man who was bent on matrimo ny, straightened up afterwards. ‘Cultured oysters’ are announced for sale at a Washington restaurant. When does a man smoke a cigar too long? When he smokes it too short. Garlic is said to be a sovereign rem edy for g >ut. There is no remedy tor garlic. If it is necessary to use the hand kerchief sonorously, leave the room quietly. Scientists should rise and explain what motive a locomotive boiler has for exploding. — She returned his love, but even then he wasn't satisfied. She said she did not want it. See here, girls—why not call a spoon ney young man ‘‘Rainwater?" Rain water is soft, you know. From age to age cheese has skipped on, one of the mightiest forces of the press, winning its whey. So foul, and yet so fair!—A car-load of chickens on which the freight has been paid in advance. Regimental quartermasters cannot cook their accounts They are held in check by the rooster. In Shakespeare’s time there was a ‘tide in the affairs of men/now the tide is in the affairs of women. The bashful man who asked his girl if her favorite beverage wasn’t ‘pop/ was referred to her popper. A girl at school would like to have two birth days every year. When she grows up a woman she objects to hav* ing one. Every man’s room covers a little corner of Paradise, unless he has a scoldiug wife, in which case the climate changes. The times are so bad and payments are so rare, that the girls complain that young men cannot pay their ad. dresses. When a lady stands at the hymene al altar with her intended, you may know she is about to draw her beau into a knot. A romantic young man says that a young woman’s heart is like the moon —it changes continually, but always has a man in it. The young man who wrote and asked his girl to accept a ‘bucket’ of flowers, became a little pale wheu she said she wooden ware it. ‘‘A hog‘s head," he began. But she interrupted him. Said she, “No mat ter what a hog said/’ She thought he was speaking of his neighbor. ‘‘Aunt Julia,’ said a blooming girl of 17, 'wdiat is necessary in order to write a good love-letter?' ‘Well/ replied the aunt, you must begin with out knowing what you mean to say, and finish without kuowing what you have written. ‘Put out your tongue a little further said a physician to a fair invalid. ‘A little further if you please.* '\Vby> doctor, do you think a woman's tonguo has no end ?‘ asked the gentle suffer er. ‘An end, perhaps, madam, but no cessation/ replied the doctor. A Norristown young lady, who en tered Yassar college only a week ago, writes home to a friend that she is muki g wonderful progress in her stu dies, being already able to chew gum in four languages, and slide down the banisters is calculus and conic sections. A little Portlaud girl recently testi fied innocently to the life ot drudgery, experienced by the average “queen of the household* 4 who does her own w ork. Somebody asked the child if her mothers hair was gray. *1 don't know, 4 she said, 4 >tie is too tallibr me to see the top of her head, and she nev er sits down.* NO. S.