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mil QUITMAN BANNER,
PUIiUSHED EVERY FRIDAY.
rERMS OF SDBSCaifllO*
i.\ ADVANCE.
for one year $3 00
For aix months 200
For three months 1 00
For single copy, 10
CLUB RATES FOR SUBSCRIPTION.
For a club of live $ 12.30
For a club of ten $22.30
For e. dub of twenty $10.9(1
JOB I>K.INTIIVrO.
Wo have attached to mir newspaper establish
ment a complete Job Office. Hand-bills of all
kinds. Programmes. Cards. Blanks. Pamphlets,
A*., exeeuted in the best manner.
AFFLIITKD READ THIS.
Kay ton’s Oleum Vitae.
THIS Great Geriran Liuimeutis an almost
infallible cure for
Rheumatism. Nntrahfia, Rheumatic Pains in the
Rack. Breast. Sitles or Joints, Xervous
Headache. Toothache. Fait ache,
Sprains. Bruises. Sicettirujs,
Cats. Bites. Burns, dbc.
Tbia threat remedy should be in every house.—
Fur Horses this remedy has no equal.
Ask for Kayton’a Oleum Vita*. Take no other.
Sent by expresstfor SI,OO
Kay ton’s Magic Cure.
An Egyptian Remedy^
jFor the cure of sudden Coughs and Colds, Astli
**. Acid Stomach. ll.•auburn. Sore Throat. Sea
Sickweoa. Cholera. Uiarrheeo. Gnratps and IViun
l‘ti *.Ue Btquiach. Seqt by «xprt».s for sl.
Kaytoii’s Dyspeptic Pills,
Are a sure and pleasant cure for DYSPEPSIA.
15ILUOUS DISOUDEIiS, CONSTIPATION. and
all disorders of the liver, stomach and bowels,
and when taken regularly will cleanse the blood.
The#e are the greatest Anti-Pillions Pills ev»r
placed before the public. Sent by mail for 30
cents per box.
The above Medicines are prepared and sold by
PROF. 11. 11. k VVTOX,
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA,
* To whom all orders should be addressed ;or to
his Wholesale Agents, A. A. SOLOMONS A CO.,
Savannah. Ga.
liberal discount to parties selling again.
For sale in Quitman, at. Dr. J. 11. McCall’s drug
•tore.
February 2?, 1867. ly
SPRIMGr
—t —A N D
SuMMM
STOCK.
Culpeper, Creech & C.,
EESPECTFULLY notify their friends and the
public generally, that they have received
their
Spring and Summer
3m r B :■«. m>
Os Merchandize of ovfcry description, embracing
•all paterns, styles and qualities of
LADIES' DRESS MODS,
■BKIUDKIIIIH it
Ladies* and Gents’
lints ami Caps, Boots and Shoos,
»nd everything generally kept in a Dry Goods
Btore. Also a very complete stock of
FAMILY GROCERIES
HARDWARE, ETC.
<Bf*~ They tender their sincere thanks to their j
friends for the patronage *n liberally extended,
«nd solicit » con tin u ant e of the same.
We are prepared to sell at
Tlie Very Lowest Prices,
Quitman. April 19. 1867. 12-ts
JAMES B. FINCH,
QUITMAN, GA.,
HAS just received and opened a large and
complete assortment of
HIRING <fc SUMMER
GOODS*
REHDf MADE CLOTHING,
&OOTS AND SHOES,
Gents and Ladies Hats &c.
Also, a genera! stock of
Fnmih Grort- io*.
«, TOBACCO & COFFEE.
so has on hand a good supply of j
Crorl-mj,
Glassware,
Tinware,
Domestics,
Yarns,
Raddles,
Bridles, die.
Old customers and purchasers generally are
respectfnlly Invited to call and examine for them
selves. before purchasing elsewhere.
March 29th, 18S7. Iv
TO THE PUBLIC.
T. F. LAWSON,
Offers b’s services to the public as a
Manufacturer of Plain Tinware,
And Dealer in Japanned, Planished and Stamp
ed Tinware. House Furnishing Goods. Ac.; and
in connexion with the above, he has on hand a
fine lot of
Cooking Stoves, Ranges,
OFFICE STOVES, &.C.,"
which he offers lew to the ptiblic.
lie also flatters himserf that he can furnish to
merchants a better and neater article of Tin
ware, and as low or lower than they can pur
chase elsewhere, north of south. All I ask is a
chance, before buying elsewhere.
I will also manufacture, at short notice, any
thing yon may want, cut •’ i.... sheet-iron, cop
per or zinc. Guns and Gun Locks repaired.
has establish-1 himself in the two
story building south of Mrs. Mclntosh's Hotel.
Qintman, July 12, 1 23-fcf
Ute (Qiiifman
F. R. FILDES, Editor.
VOL. 11.
GEORGIA
STATE LOTTERY!
FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE
MASONIC
©iMMirasEii
Boyd, Wilson & Cos.,
Managers, Atlanta Ga.
6BSIT SCHEME.
One Dollar—Full Ticket.
CAPITAL PRIZE,
520,000.
EXTRA CLASS A.
Th s Great Lottery, for the benefit of the Mason
ic Orphans’ Home, will be drawn in public at
Atlanta (la., on Wednesday, the 4th day of Sep
tember next, 1867.
GREAT SCHEME.
1 Prize of $20,000 is $20,000
1 Prize of 5,000 is 5.000
1 Prize ot 2.000 is 2,000
1 Prize of 1,000 is 1.000
2 Prizes of . 500 are 1,000
4 Prizes of 250 are 1.000
100 Prizes of 100 are 10.000
200 Prizes of 50 arc 10,000
Prizes amounting to $50,000
50,000 in Prizes at $1 per Ticket
A Package of 10 Ticfotn may drat » $30,000
ALLTHE PRIZES WILL BE DRAWN.
Plan of these Great Lotteries and Explanation
of Drawings*
The numbers from 1 to 100,000, corresponding
with the numbers on the tickets, are printed on
separate slips of paper and encircled with small
tubes, and placed in a glass wheel—all of the
prizes in accordance with the scheme, are simi
larly printed and encircled, and placed in anoth
er glass wheel. The wheels are then revolved,
and two boys, blindfolded, draw the numbers
and prizes. One of the boys draws one number
from the wheel of numbers, and at the same time
the other boy draws out one prize from the wheel
of prizes. The number and prize drawn out are
exhibited to the amliancc, and whatever prize
comes out is registered and placed to the credit
of that number, ami this operation is repeawß
until all the prizes are drawn,
prizes are payable without discount,
and the official drawing sent to each purchaser.
liGY I). WILSON Jk CO.
Managers, Atlanta, Geo.
August 9, 1867. tdd
I SpARTIAL SUFFERINGS. Ni
J ther Wealth. Refinement, or Condition, are
exempt. The Piiilotokkn. or Females’ Friend is
expressly for the benefit of females who may be
suffering from Nervous Irritability, Distressing
Apprehensions, and all these troublesome com
plaints that invite premature old age, and render
lif e miserable The Philotoken acts like a charm
in relieving pain ; and by controlling the ner
vous svstevo. restores those feelings of confidence
and satisfaction that insure happiness. It is a
radical cure for Dyeinonorrhcea, and a treasure
that should be possessed by every female who i
desires to restore, improve, or preserve her 1
health, beauty and physical comfort. Descrip
tive pamphlets, containing valuable information
for invalids and heads of families, will be sent on
receipt of postage stamp. Price $1 per bottle ;
the usual discount to the trade.
If AURAL, RISLEY A CO.,
Wholesale Druggists, HI Chambers at.., N- Y.
Risleys extract btjchtt.
The most efficient Diuretic and Tonic for
the treatment of all complaints resulting from
weakness and darangement o'* the Kidneys fc and
Urinary Organs such as pains and weakness in
the back and loins, gravel, dropsy, stranguary.
incontinence, infiamation of the* mucus surfaces.
Ac. Riser y> Buuu cun be used in all cases, for
children as well as adults, with perfect safety.
Physicians are finding that Rislky’s is the most
uniform and reliable preparation, beside being
of greater strength and in larger bottles than
any others. Sold by the Druggists and Merchants
fer $1.50. IIAURAL, lUSLEY A CO.,
Proprietors.
N. 11. All officinal preparations of medicines
bearing our lab**l are made according to the U.
S. Pharmacopoeia. and*all goods sold by us arc
warranted to be as represented, or may be re
timed at our expense.
Determined to maintain the reputation which
«>ur houses have always enjoyed for dealing in
Reliable Medicines, and to merit the continued
confidence of our customers, we assure them
that the same attention will be paid to orders by
mail as when personally present.
HARRAL, RISLEY & CO.,
hVholrsalr Dvufjfjisls,
HI Chambers and 1 Hudson Sts., NEW YORK.
to Haviland, Keese & Cos.. 1830:
Huviland, Harral <fc Risley ; Harral, Risley &
Kitchen ; Harral. Risley A Tompkins.
August 2, 1867. 6m
" 11. 31. L vM-XPORT,
WITH
E. S. J AFFRAY & CO..
lEY GOODS*
1 350 Broadway, New York
! Flannels,
Gloves,
Collars & Ties,
Skirt Braids,
Dress Goods,
White Goods,
Linen Goods,
: Cloaks, Embroideries,
j English Crapes,
Hosiery,
Dress Shirts,
Ribbons,
Lace Articles,
Shawls,
Lace,
i Silks,
Yankee Notions, Ac,
! August 9. 1867. 6m
' « . r- rt ? ' * . I.
HERE SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE'S BIGHTS MAINTAIN, UNAWED BY FEAR AND UNBRiBED BY GAIN
miscellaneous JUabitig.
THi nmn Wmm.
In tin' year 119—, the village of A—,
lived Adolia Beaumont, •‘the Maiden of
the Green Mantle,” ns she was frequent
ly called ; the envy of her own sex and
the admiration of ours. [She well deserv
ed the high encomiums which her lovli
ness received. Possessing' a sprightly,
yet not superhuman form; a bright laugh
ing, oval lace, shaded with locks of the
deepest dye; a mild beautiful bewitching
black eye, in whose smile cupid played;
it was not singular that she had at one
time or other held all the young men in
the place subject to her power. But one
by one her admirers dropped off hopeless
of inspiring her with a passion equalling
theirs. Min ■ seemed to be the palm in
this as in every other contest in which i
had ever striven to excel my companions.
It was a general remark among them
that there was no use striving with Al
bert Mordaut to win the affections of
“the maiden, of the Green Mantle,” pos
sessing as 1 did wealth, talents and some
persona' beauty.
It was true I was more intimate and
familiar with Adolia than any of my
fellows had ever been able to become
with all their efforts. Whenever an at
tendant was required 1 was sure to bo
selected, and that was not so frequent
as might be supposed. She was wild as
the young fawn and fearless as the young
eagle. She might bo seen on a spring
day among the mountains leaping from
rock to rock with all the life of the an
telope. Still there were very few that
would have dared been rude with her,
thoughtless as she seemed-—as well
might they hatic provoked the lioness as
tempt her anger—and there were many
who would have rejoiced in resenting
her wrongs. Indeed she was one whom
all loved, and considered as a peculiar
being—privileged beyond her sex—no
otic supposed that her actions could be
Wi ong so much was she respected. There
was not a sick or a poor woman among
the kills whom she had not assisted—all
knew her, and k ew her but to bless her.
Had you seen her on an evening when
the bright moon walked among t hr stars
and shod its soft light over hill and dale,
you’d not have thought her such a being
as I have described—then, she seemed
calmed by the poetry that was abroad,
and her heart beat with all its pureness,
tenderness and beauty. Had you beheld
her as her eye wandered over nature, or
seen kindling in the light of heaven and
burning with inspiration—how hard so
ever your heart had been—whoever had
held you in their toils—you must have
admired—have worshipped this lovely—
this inexplicable girl.
It was a summer’s eve -I sat bosk!
Adelia on the margin of the gentle hill ;
behind ns were the setting sun, shedding
a rich radiance o’er the sky, as it tipped
the mellow clouds with splendor. A
slight breezo from the distant oeean
fanned the face of nature all looked
cheerful as an infant’s smile ! Far off
before its lay the tranquil sea, its un
ruffled depths thing back the beauty of
that heaven which seemed to charm it
into stillness.
Oh, it was an hour, a scene, a place
f w love ! and she who sat beside me
gazing in rapture on the calm beauty of
that view, young in hope, unsullied by
the vanities of life, pure as an angel’s
dream, innocent as the brightest seraph
that waits upon the throne above, was
she not a being fit at such a time to till
the heart with l ve— with tender, ardent
affection 1
Oh! that eve with its joys—its tender
ness—its deadening disappointments are
registered with « pen of steel upon my
h eirt 1 That was the birth day of my
infamy 1 The desolation of rny dreams j
of happiness! my hopes, my parents ex
expectations— rny thoughts of heaven !
But, I will relate how my all was blas
ted, whithered m the bud on that never
to be forgotted day! It seems as ’twere
but yesterday so vivid does the memory
of that hour live in my bosom 1
“How sweetly,” exclaimed Adclia, “the
sinking sun flings his rays across the
heavens ! See, Albert, that little bark
—how gracefully it cleaves the glassy
sea I—-as if loth to break the stillness, it
seems to kiss the waters as it moves—
and its white sails—how beautifully they
spread to catch the gentle breeze! Like
a bird of ocean it passes o’er the sea.”
“So bright and beautiful be thy course
Adelia I”
"Very fine, indeed! You’d compare me
with yonder boat ? I assure you I have
no desire to resemble it. It adds beauty
to out view, but who knows where the
morrows sun may find it-—l’d like my
way to be more sure and not rest on
such fickle things as wind and wave.”
“You forbid all sympathy with your
feelings tl/i), beautiful Adelia?”
“Beautiful Adelia ! —thank you for
your compliments--1 have a rniror at
home which never flatters me—that al
ways speaks the truth ; and if you do
not keep a strict guard upon your tongue
I shall leave you to compare me with
boats, se-gulls and as many other pretty
things as suits your fancy—so, unless
you'd drive me away, no flattery ; you
know I hate it arid can but despise the
flatterer—l have too good an opinion of
rny dear self to need any one for an in
former—as you love me, no more—”
“Love thee !” I replied—"open my
bosom and you will find your imago
traced upon my heart—l would not for
the world displease you”—l knelt before
her and poured forth the ardor of my love
—I laid my heart open to the gaze—l
told her my destiny was within her gui
dance—to be thrown off by her was to
he deprived of hope, and what my end
would be I knew not. But with her I
felt that my course must be glorious and
worthy of my affection. Alas ! my
words have proved too true—and she has
known the terrors of their fulfillment !
Her head rested on my arm—and, oh God,
I thought that I was blessed. Her dfr.‘k
eye moistened and the pure tear drop fell
on my throbbing brow. In a tone pit
! teously melancholy, yet chillingly firm,
1 she t<dd me that she loved me as a broth-
QUITMAN , GEO., AUGUST 30, 1867.
er—that she was another’s—and he to
i whom her plighted faith she’d given was
Philip Sydney. The only person whom
I had ever hated—since,ely hated was
my rival !
Sydney nud myself had grown up from
infancy in the same neighborhood, were
ol the same age and had been rivals
since we first knew the sweets of success.
Until this strife, I had always triumphed
over him. In school, in all our boyish
sp iris, he, though nearly my equal, could
never match me. By the time that we
had gained the stature of manhood our
enmity had grown into the most consu
mate hatred, lie was ambitious and it
was my greatest (pleasure to cross him
in his plans, and outstrip his course.
“But there wliero I hint garnered up my heart;
Where cither I must live or bear no ffl’e,
The (bunlaln from which my current vine,
Or else dries up ; to lie discarded thence !”
and thrown aside for him ! it was not
in tny soul to bear it calmly. 1 left Ade
lia rudely—rushed from her presence and
and saw her again but once before her
bridal hour 1 then I stood beside her—
then I triumphed !
Yet 1 will not anticipate the story of
my sufferings and my guilt, I left her,
and sought among the mountains conso
lation for my woo. The scene was chan
ged—a dark cloud which had suddenly
gathered in the south mantled the sky
with gloom. The torrent of the storm
eamd on 1 The thunders shook the deep
foundations of the cliff on which I stood
and in their strength, were like the peals
ot the last judgment ! The clouds shot
forth their lightnings like fiery serpents
twining in the air! I called on the fury
of tl c storm, the fierce lightning and the
frightful thunders to strike me to the
earth, and uttered blasphem es deep and
piercing ! The storm had spent its
strength ; the fiery flames had ceased
to glow ; snd the deep mouthed bollow
iugs had passed by 1
* * * *
Amid tbe mad ravings, which follow
ed that night’s disappointment —the des
olation of my hope—a mother's care
watched over me, ministered to each
want and smoothed the harsh pillow of
the maniac’s couch—oh there is no love
on earth can match the deep solicitude
which a mother feels us she hangs over
the fevered frame of Ip r offspring 1 So
pure, so unallo ed with self 1
How long I lay upon that bed of sick
ness I knew not. But as my reason
gradually returned a confused idea of
something terrible — Rome unknown evil
seemed to have befallen me. Suddenly
like the searing lightning the full mem
ory of that eve returned ! Years have
fled and though many and great have
been my crimes they all arc merged in
the recollection of this one.
What, a noiseless step hath time ?
But yesterday J stood forth in the pride
and strength of manhood I now, l am
whitened by the blossoms of the grave 1
The bright visions which youth pictu
red with an artists skill have passed a
way ! the fond hope I nourished with a
mother’s anxious care have fled forever !
The grim shadows of a coining world flit
round my brain, and with fiendish mal
ice whisper in my car the doom reserved
for mo, the unavoidable consequence of
my guilt 1
“Pale gliiling Ghost with Ungers dropping gore,
And him' (lames dance around thy dungeon's
door.”
And then wdien the storm is abroad
she too conies and points with her bony
fingers at me—and laughs in triumph
at my writhing agony.
* * * *
Feme weeks bad passed since 1 bad
recovered from the delirium under which
t bad suffuied when I met Adelia. Sbo
appeared also, to be anxious for my wel
fare. Flie yet loved me as a brother !
And could I blame her!- ’Tis sufficient
that 1 did—l felt anew spirit rise with
in me as rlig stood before me, my eyes
dilated, and the fury of my passion I urst
on that guiltless one—nay, start not 1 I
did not slay her there ! She begged to
know why my frame trembled so ? Why
Ig r zed so fiercely on her? She thought
the fever of my sickness had not left me
—and she pitied me. I swore, and
heaven knows that oath has been too
faithfully adherred to, that she should
never he the Bride of Philip Sydney. She
laughed at my threatening ; hut as she
looked again with pride and anger in her
eye, she qua led before me. “Beware,
beware,” said I ! “your bridal hour !
though my body is in tlio tomb my spirit
shall haunt you there !”
I left the place of my birth—l sought
the nearest port, and found a vessel was
about sailing for . I engaged my
passage in her and wrote to my parents
to inform them of an eternal farewell.
By some accident I was left behind.
News came that the ship in which I in
tended sailing was wrecked on the Baha
mas aud that all lives w re lost. The
failure of my intentions was of course
unknown to rr.y friends ; they supposed
me among the dead aad mourned me as
such They would have wished me in
the grave had they known their son and
friend was the mad Bandit of the moun
tains—tlio terror of the peaceful villa
gers 1
* * * *
Nea" the end of the second year, after
the events I have previously related, as
I wandered in the disguise I frequently
took when in towns and villages, I learn
ed from an old peasant that the nuptials
of Adelia were to take place on the sue
ceeding day. My course was fixed—l
was to he an unwelcome guest at that
festival !
On a bright June morning, the bell of
our village church rung forth its merriest
peals to call the villagers to witness the
j bridals of Adelia Beaumont, ‘(The maid of
j the Green Mantle.” and Phillip Sydney.
The peasantry from The mountains .came
in crowds to behold their benefactress
wedded to the man she loved. There
was merry makings that day and many
a heart heat with joy, .33 they saw the
old carriage of Major Beauine.et wheel
up the street as it wound its.V/ay to the
1 antique chapel which my ancestors, in
| days long goue by had founded. Then
i came a long procession of friends and
1 relatives. Adelia shining in all her beau-
ty descended from the carriage and vyjth
her maids entered the etiureh. She was
m re beautiful tliap when I last saw her
—I lef t her a bud just blossoming, ;ipd
now beheld her full blown; like rtßllnitnel'
flower rich and fragant,
With the crowd of peasdhlry a he] ser
vants that had assembled to witness the
bridals of their adored mistress and
friend, I readily gained admittance. As
Adelia walked up the long Isle of that
eluipel, I thought I saw a melancholy
shadow pass over her lace ; and that
her color came and went.
Not discovering the person, whom,
though she deemed him dead, she yet
feared she would behold, the calmness
of her counteance was restored, and a
sweet iinearlh'y beauty settled on her
features. Then, yes, even then 1 adored
her, I loved her so deeply and so ardent
ly 1 would not for nil eternity of bliss,
that she had been another's bride !
The bridegroom with his smiles soon
came. The bridal pair stood by the al
tar of their religion. The aged father
was beside his y< ung and angelic daugh
ter; he seemed like an aged oak, she his
pride and hope, the young sapling nour
ished ai his feet, o’er whom his branches
hung and protected flow the wild win
ter’s Blast.
The Holy man lifted the book—Adelia
raised her eyes and
“a moment o'er tier face,
A tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced and then laded as it came.”
and her soft eyes beaming with love and
tenderness, rested on him whom she gl -
tied.
‘ Adelia, thy bridal hour has come !” I
whispered in her ear.
A piercing shriek—a fiendish laugh
echoed among the deep arches ol that
venerable pile.
"Oh, Albert! not now !”■—a dagger
glistened in the nir—“help my husband
—father—l am murdered,” the victim of
my love and vengeance sank, her life
blood flowing at that altar’s foot. “Oh,
cruel obdurate Mordauut i But 1 forgive
thee my death, as I pray heaven may.”
“Sidney, thy bride is dead 1 Remem
ber Albert Mordannt to thy grave.” The
menials that should have stopped me
stood back aghast, as they beheld the
bloody weapon and my countenance
gleamed with hellish malice. Some few
attempted to stay my flight, as well might
they have stemmed the mountain torrent
in its wrath—l hurled them from my
grasp arid casting them on that floor,
now consecrated by a pure and noble
victim; another cold laugh of triumph
burst from me, which made each listener
pale with fright, as I turned upon them
from the portals.
The courage which all in that assem
bly for a moment lost, 1 knew would
soon return and seek the murderer of their
joy—the dcsolator of that old man’s
hearth—the rival of that bridegroom.
I joined my brave band on the hills
and found them ready for their labor.
And a fit welcome did they give the mis
tress of justice ! My pursuers came
and at their head was Sydney 1 raging
like a wild boar and swearing venge
ance on my head. •
The hands of persanli v who had hurried
to tl OiO mountains in their zeal to avenge
the death of their mistress were but ill
prepared tor tbe task they’d undertaken
—my brave fellows scattered them with a
breath 1 I leaped upon a rock to watch
their flying hands; beneath me 1 heard
the clash of arms and beheld my deadliest
foe fighting like a fury with two of my
freebooters. An instant and 1 was at his
side.
“Leave him to me, my brave hoys !
this is my task ; he fights for a lost
mate and must have tho boar that
wrenched it from him.” “Come Sydney,
thou shaft he wedded to thy bride to-day
and 1 will he thy Priest 1”
"Thou fiend in human shape 1” lie ex
claimed, and rushed like a madman on
my weapon’s point. The strife was nei
ther long nor difficult—my arm had
strengthend in the wild life I’d lately
led, and my passion lay cool and power
less under my will His frame, though
invigorated hy the deadliness of his re
venge, quailed before the stout,mountain
eer and the deep bitterness of my ha
tred. lfis blood and hers were wedded
on that blade. The bride and bride
groom fell hy the same hand, on the same
day, and the same weapon drank their
blood 1
* * * *
How I found this dungeon thou know
est and the fate which awaits me.—-
When my life shall have sped, which
now lingers on my lips, and perchance
will not wait the executioner—convey
my body to that place and let me rest in
the same graveyard with my victims
Thou wast once my friend and this is my
last request.
The dying prisoner ended his days
within his dungeon walls—his bones
sleep in the churchyard of A , near
the tombs of the victims of his hatred aud
of his love. 11.
The Most Beautiful Hand. —Two char
ming women were discussing one day
what it is which constitutes beauty in
the hand, —They differed in opinion as
much as the shape of tho beautiful mem
ber whose merits they were discussing.
A gentleman friend presented himself,
and hy common consent the question was
referred to him. It was a delicate mat
ter. He thought of Parts and the three
goddesses. Glancing from one to tho
other of the beautiful white hands pre
sented for Ids examination, he replied at
last: “I give it up, the question is too
hard for me: but ask the poor, and they
will tell you the most beautiful hand in
! the world, is the hand t.hat gives.”
She Always M/tTE Hows Happy.—Such
j was the brief but impressive sentiment
which a friend wished, to add to an obit
inary notice of “one who had gone, bc
! fore.” What bctter tnbiite could he of
fered to the memory of. the lost? Elo
quence, with her loftiest eulogy; poetry,
with her utmost thrilling dirge, could af
i ford nothing eo s'.vcet, so touching, so.
! suggestive of the virtues of the dead, as
i those simple words:
“She always made home happy.”
[53.00 per Annum.
NO. 30.
Joan of Alt-;
Joan of Arc, culled the Maid of Or
leans, was the daughter of a peasant V,t
Dotntunii;, ill Utu jiki.Vihke bf LiH'Uipj,
Fldlitlb; Wheli) slip, Vrfta both in 1402.
lYhefl, she was quite young she was em
ployed as a servant, at a little inn, ns
well as groom in the stable, and she liked
looking after tbe horses better than wait
ing on the guests. The misfortune of
the Dauphin of France was all the talk
of her master’s customers, and being a
religions enthusiast, she fancied that
Heaven had inspired her in his cause.
In 1428 she had an interview ivitli the
governor of Toneouleiirs who sent her to
the French Court; and she there told
them that God had ordered her to raise
tlm siege of Orleans, to conduct the Dau
phin of Rheims, and there annoiiit him
King. Her services were accepted.
Armed cap-a pie, the beauty of her per
son, the grace with which she rode her
milk-white steed, and the holy banner
carried before her, convinced the people
that she was fighting by the command
of God.
Prodigies of valor were performed by
Joan, and when wounded in tbe neck by
an arrow, she drew it. out, saying, “it is
glory, not blood which flows from tbe
wound;’’ the English lied Lief no her,
and she was hailed as the saviour of
Franco.
Having raised the siege iff Orleans,
insisted upon crowning Charles at Rheim,
and the maid clothed in armour, and dis
playing her victorious haulier, took her
place by the king’s side amid the shouts
of the people. A medal was struck in
her honor, bearing on one side her por
trait, and on the other the motto “sustain
ed by the aid of Godl” and Charles enno
bled her family by the name of Du Eys,
from the lillics on her banner, and gave
them an estate.
Our heroine next went to the relief of
Conipiegne, besieged by the Duke ol
Burgundy and the English, but on mak
ing a sally she was captured by the Bur
gundians, who basely sold her to the
English for ten thousand livres. The
Duke of Bedford commenced a prosecu
tion against her, and accused her of sor
cery and impiety, the clergy and the
University of Paris, to their eternal dis
grace, joined in the accusation.
She was brought in irons before a
priestly tribunal at Rouen, and being
asked why she assisted at the coronation
of Charles, replied “Because the person
who shared in the danger might share in
the glory.” Charged with heresy, she
appealed to t..e Pope, but her appeal
was disallowed, and she was condemned
to death as a sorceress.
The fortitude of the Maid of Orleans
now forsook her, and to avoid punish
ment. she Confessed that she had been
misled by illusii n; her sentence was then
altered to imprisonment for life, but her
enemies placed in her dungeon a suit of
men’s olotnes, and because, tempted by
the view of a dress in which she had
gained so much glory, she put it on, she
was condemned to be burnt alive at the
stake.
In 1432 she was burned by her brutal
persecutors in the market place of Rouen,
.'■'ho met her fate with resolution, ascend
ing t e funeral pile amid the insults of
the mob. “Blessed be God!’’ were the
last words she littered. Her ashes were
scattered to the wind, and thus treacher
ously died in the thirtieth year of her
age, the woman to whose memory altars |
ought to have been erected as a martyr
to her religion, her country and her i
king.
•Since her death she has been celebrat- j
ed by historians, poets, painters Mid
sciiptors of various countries; and most
of our readers have no doubt seen copies
of the beautiful statute by one of the
daughters of Louis Phillippe, the late
King of France, in which she appears
clad in armour, her sword by her side,
her head bare, and her hands crossed on
her bosom—a graceful tribute to the
memory of Joan of Are, the heroic amt
ill-fated Maid of Orleans.
The Immortal Philosopher “.I. IV V
Theory Illustrated.
Most of our readers remember the ec
centric individual who styles himself “J.
N.,” the great philosopher, who attempt
ed at one time to lift the pressure here,
and was lifted from the Custom-house
steps by a policeman. The “immortal
philosopher” illustrates his theory, so
says the Richmond Dispatch, by the fol
lowing story. Wo hope the minds
of our people will now he relieved on the
subject. As the anuecdotc is a good one
we give it:
Being at dinner Johnny passed his
plate for turnip.
“Spell turnip, Johnny, and I will serve
yon.”
“T u r n o p,” shouted die youngster
hope! ul.
“0, fy! my son, that is not right; ’old
up your head and hear how 1 spell it,
t u r ii a p” (turnip.)
“Sakcs alive!” ejaculated madam from
the head of the table. “I should like to
know if I am married to a man that can’t
spell his own vegetables!”
Mr. Smith’s dignity was wounded.—
He had been a scholar down-East, apd he
thougW he knew how to spell turi ip.
“Spell it yourself, iny dear,” cried Mr.
j Smith, wiping his moustache with uiiu -
, ual care, while ho glanced knowingly j
around the table
j “Well, I gues lam able to,” jerked !
i out Mrs. Smith, with a subline toss of
i her cap border—t nrn e p (turnip.) —
Words are generally spelt as they are
pronounced.”
“1 say it’s pronounced lornop,” shouted
Johnny.
“It is pronounced turn-ep,” reiterated
i madam.
j After much wrangling, the: family re
membered that there was a dictionary in
, the house, which was called for, and as
we left we, had the pleasure of hearing
them spell it in concert with evident sur
prise—t nrn ip.
“That is,” said J N. “an illustration
of my theory of the late war. Both
were attempting to solve the mystery;
TERMS FOR ROVER
LvVAUIAULjr l.\ aDVANCK. *1
One Uriel or leo*.) first inserttea
$2.00 ; ouch follovv'lng innertiou, $1 00.
When adVerttonenti are coirtlnutl for oft*
month or longer, thq rharyc be ftg follor*
li Months. !
6 Kwthi.
3 Months.
Number
N Os
Sqnprem.
1 $ 5 IHI $lO 00 1$ 15 (JO S2C 00
2 -8 00 13 00 ! 26 00 $6 00
31! 00 18 00 35 00 46 00
I lil 00 24 00 1 40 00 63 00
6 20 00 3fi 00 I 45 BO 60 00
IColnill 33 00 66 00 I 30 00 12 0 00
l “ nn no fn oo | iso oo 200 oo 1
OUltmii.v !■ ni v;. Tvilmteunf It fHpeet,WMHMI
Ki-tieles nla personal character, charged for M
ailvertim+.ieutn.
For mmouncmg cr ntHdutti* for office, SIO.OO -
'.'■".'■Mill
both claiming to be right, {lucli front
their nvu view wua.pa riotn./l’lie North,
Iron) the Southern r.titb'dpcini, were in*
vntfoni. fibe South, from tbe Northern,
rebeUt. When truly there was no rebel*
lion nor invasion, only an isapprohen*
sion, which, if corrected, will ’lift tlio
veil'that now eißshromls the nation, dot
ing justice to tin wounded, living amt
gallant dead of both aides—thus rcliev*
ingall.” ...... ■
This is about us clear ae mud.
1 have mo time to rend. i
The idea about the want of tiino is a
mere phantom.' Franklin found time in
the midst of all his labors to dive intiA
the hidden recesses -of philosophy, and to
explore the untrodden paths of science.
The grout Frederick, with an empire at
his direction, in the midst of war, on tlid
eve of the battles which were to decidu
the fate of his kingdom, fotfnd time to
revel in the charms of philosophy and ini
tellectual pleasdrcß. Bonaparte, with all
Europe at his disposal/ with kings in hiq
niit - diamber begging f r vacant thrones,
with thousands ol men whose destinies
were suspended by tbe brittle thread of
his arbitrary pleasure, bad time to con
vulse with books, (,'sesar, when be bad
curbed the spirit of the Roman people,
and was thro: gea with visitors from the
remotest kingdoms, fl und time for intel
lectual conversation. Every man has
time; if he is careful to improvei it ad
well as lie might, he can reap a threefold
reward. I.ct'all make use of the hours
at their disposal, if they want to obtain,
a proper influence in society, They cany
if they please, hold in their hands the
destinies of our Republic.
Itatlier Eiiitmi'rassltig.
The Mobile Tribune tells the following;
A few days since .Smith gut in tho
street ear, which was very much crowded,
and seeing no immediate prospect to ol*.
tain a seat, he pushed on tip the ear to
the front, and caught hold if a strap,
and commenced an inspection of the pas-,
sengers, a majority ol whom were ladies)
One young lady, whose countenance and
dress plainly indicated that she was
some rustic beauty, upon her first visit
to the grand city of Mobile, attracted his
special attention, lie was gazing hi ad
miration at bor rosy cheeks, and Wonder
ing how she would manage to get her
barrel hoop in its proper shape alter sue):
a jam, when the conductor,started thro’
the car to collect the fare. Hr at last
reached the rustic beauty, who was
decked out in a gorgeous manner with
fantastically arranged red rihlmns, and
who seemed to he attempting to reach
down as if to get something she had
dropped ort the ffoor, and in a polite torn*
requested her to, lay In his palm a dime
note. What was his- surprise w lien tlio
following words issued from her rosy
lips: “Look a here, mistei, 1 allers,
when I travels, carries my money in my
stocking, for you secs nothing can get
at it thar; and I'd thank yon jist (o reach
it for mo as I’m so jammed 1 can’t at
it.” Tlio conductor who is a young niaii
and quite modest withal, looked at the
other passengers, some if whom were.
laughing at Ids predicament; two young
ladies blushed scarlet, put'the r hands t<»
their faces, peeped through their fingers
and commenced giggling. The young
man stood still 1 ut, a moment and rushed
to the rear platform, muttering some
thing about a passenger wanting to get
on. lie concludeiijto stand the loss rath
er than to iE. it ’h that manner—-before
so many people.
Piuttoiuiai'liv. - The London Intellec
tual Observer says:
“No place is now free from the, incur
sion of photographers. Who would have
supposed that they could carry on their
oppefations under water? Yet such is
the case, as M Biixiq lias proved. His
photographic/stttdio consists of a sheet;
iron chest, perfectly water-tight, with
water-tight windows that (Ire in the form,
of lenses The electric- light is used,
and renders distinctly vissilde any oh
jocf lying at the bottom of the set),. so
that they may be photographed, and
thus their pontine may he accurately
marked. M Baxin has tegutined nt tins
depths pf three hundred feet for about
ten minutes., This application of photo
graphy promises to facilitate the recov
ery of lost objects and the raising of sun
ken ships.
The Iri>:t Bab. —Here is a good lesson
from an iron.bjtn Rend it hoys:
A bur of iron worth five dollars, work**
ed ir.fo horse-slincs, is worlli $lO sQ;tnnde
into needles, it is worth 3,285; made into
balance springs of watches, it is worth
$25000. ’ , ■ i
Wh at a drilling the poor bar must un4
dergo to reach all this; let hammered
and beaten and pounded and rolled and
polished, ho;v has its value increased?
It might well have quivered and com
plained tinder the haul knocks it got; hut
were they, not all necessary to draw out
its fine qualities, and fit it for higher
offices? ■ ’ . i
And so, my children, all tl o drilling"
and training; which yon ate subject to in
youth, and which often seem so hard to
you, serve to bring oat yotir nobler qual
ities, and tit you for more responsible
posts and greater usefulness in the
world.
A Dutchman who in a fit of passion,
. was swearing, terribly, was p proved by
; a church deacon, who chanced to over
hear him.
1 “Why do you swear so, nars?” said
the deacon, “don’t you know that it is
very wicked?”
“Yaw, I know it peso wicked.”
“Do yon know,” said the deacon, »«*♦.
i ms io sound the depth of his r'clip out*
teaching, “do you know who died to
save sinners!”
“Yaw,” said Ilans, "Cot died to save
’ ’em.” ... Li
"Not. God, exactly, Ilans, but the son
j of God.” ... ;
”So!” exclaimed Hans, anew light
| breaking in upon him, “vos it one ot dc
( poys? 1 tinks all do vile it *'o6 do old
: maii.”
