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F. R. FILDES, Editor. VOL. VI. £hr (Quitman gamier. PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY. terms: T\VO DOLLARS A YEAH WHF.X RAID IN ADVANCE. ADVERTISING. One square. (10 lines, or less,) first insertion $2.011; each following insertion. SI.OO. When advertisements are continued for one m mib or longer, the charge will be as follov s : Xo. of S«(*» jl Month. ' 2 Months. ; Months. ! 4 Months. ,j 5 Months. Months. ‘ 7 Months. J.K Months. ‘jO Months. ; 12 Months. $ .‘■'l SII | *l2 ] i Js| 16 IT) 16) TO 21 g.ooj I I 15 18 21 241 26 26 3(1 3fl gailfl.Ofll IS| 20) 25 301 341 :6 36i 4n| 43 **12.00) 16 24 30 361 40 42 441 46| 531 5)11.00 25 33 36 4ij 40 46 50 52| 60! J, 16.00' 30 4 ,; | 45 50| 551 56 57 56, 65 72)30.001 50 C.'il 70 7T| 8()| 85 90 100 120 16145 00 65 75 60 85] 80 100 nil 1201150 24)60.004 75| 80| 90 100|llo|l20 liO'MO 200 LEGAL ADVERTISING. Sheriffs Sales, per levy of 5 lines * 2AO Sales by Administrators, Executors and Guardians, ner square 6.00 Citation of Administration or Guardian ship. per square 5 00 Notice to Debtors trod Creditors 6.00 < Ration for leave to .ell land 6.00 Citation of Dismission of Administrator. . 10 00 .. •• Guardian 6.00 Homestead Notice • 5-60 Est annniiiu inn candidates for office. SIO.OO Obituary notices. Tributes of Respect, and all a ielea of a personal character, charged for as advertisements. AMICUS’ JaETTER, No. IX, If l.y the death, (so called, theologi cally,) of Adam, sin came into the world, and Christ’s death was a vicarious atone-; meut, tl en sin was intercepted in its j devastations, and frantic career, and j the declaration of omnipotence, the seed ; < (-the woman shall bruise the serpent s j head, has lx en literally fulfilled. New, reader, admitting', for the sake. < f argument, hut denying its consistency J with principle and tttilh, that there was! a Satan who tempted Adam, in his ig- j norance, to do that which criminated him and his vast ptogeny, and that for that sin, an atonement was made. This is orthodox theology, and they preach tin- ct into, and the amplitude of the atonement. Now, my dear reasoning co-searcher alter troth, let us scrutinise and nnylize this theology. I must here r<state their premises, that 1 may im press you with the absurdity of then conclusions. Adam’s disobedience, they say, was a crime that brought his whole j race under cond< mna'ioti. Mark man condition at this point: lie is condem ns, must remain under condemnation, until that crime is rxpiatod. Again re n cml-cr, it is theologically alleged, that lie has committed a crime that he, in all j that ho is, is insufficient to expiate j And hence the inevitable necessity of a vicarious atonement; an innocent man must suffer for the crime of the guilty- Matk the beauty of the Iheolt gy: God made man capable cf committing a crime, but incapable of ntoneing for it; hence the inneer nt must die for the guil ty, and the guilty go ui punished. Tins is theological justice. Observe it clear ly. Again we are taught that the plan of salvation was completed, awl that the atonement was ample. Bui in their next sermon, they tell us that the atone ment was hypothetical, that it was gin eral; hut contingent —to wit: Christ atoned lor our sins, provided wo believe in him. (Murk this proviso.) Then they till us, that it was for the original sin alone, that Christ died, and that in his death, he bruised the serpent’s head. (Mark this point.) Then the preacher j tells us that unless our sins are wash, and away in the atooeing blood, that our i souls will be loot in 1011. (Mark this.) j lie didn't alone for our sins, but without , the efficacy of the atonement we can’t ; be saved. They tell ns we can do noth- i ing essential to our salvation that j grace is a free gift through Jesus, Christ; j but in their next sermon, tiny tell us j that our faith is known by our works— i that we are to be judged lor what we do, and rewarded for the deeds done in the body. llow blind with prejudice; mast be tire mind that cannot see thr so | glaring absurdities! Having already, i in my former letter, noticed tire fall, and j existence arid non-existence of a s.ttan, I don’t now propose to recapitulate; but will biit-fly call y-.ur attention to the theological construction ol tire atone ment. Just here I propose to make up the issue: Theology alleges that Adam JFas guilty of a crime, and that Christ, ffn innocent parly, had to and did suffer to ratisfy the ends oljistiee. 1 deny it. That’s the issue. I have insisted that Adam did no’, sin in that act which he did—that he was doli inccpix. Ttn y insist that he violated the law and suf- fi red the penalty, io wit, that he died for his transgression. Was it just that he should die? If so, wly? Because, you sry, il was the penalty prescribed. Was the penalty sufficient? You answer yen. Then in Adam’s death the crime was expiated, for l.e had suffered the penally. Now I inquire, where, in the principle of justice, do. you find the re quisition for the sacrifice of innocent blood—the crucifixion of Heaven's Prince to atone for man’s crime, that had al ready been expiated by the offender, by enduring the prescribed penalty? Now, reader, mark my position: II Adam vi olated the law and the penalty was ex ecuted, that crime was ended; justice was satisfied; and Christ’s death could not have been to atone for that. But upon the hypothesis that he did atone for the original siu—that sin, upon your theory, extending to all mankind, the atonement to he ample must he co extensive with the crime, To he effec tive, il must obliterate il from the cr:m ina! record and restore man to the Adam ic perfection. Right here, noon your theory, we are clear of the original sin, and man is possessed of the same char acter of existence lhat Adam possessed before his disobedience. The death \ sentence of Adam most have been re i voked by the atonement, or the atone- ! ment was not adequate to the emergen cy. To be brief, your argument is that Christ, in his death, undone what Adam done in his disobedience. Your exten sive theory embraces another question so intimately and inseparately conncc- j ted with this, that I propose to yon \ to it. You say thut the serpent was j Satan, and that ho was the enemy ol God arid man, arid the cause of Adam's transgression. You also say that Christ was the seed of the woman, and ; that he bruised the serpent's head [ Here is your theoiy. What is the Ingi- j eal sequence? Why, that Adam was j once perfect—that there was a devil j that tempted him to disobedience—that j Christ took upon himself the harden of mao's sins, sail led in his stead, expi ated his crime, bruised the serpent's | head, killed the devil, di strayed man's j great enemy, removed the tempter, the j cause of man's transgression, ami re stori and man to his original perfection.- I have given your theory and the only \ legitimate conclusions that can be tie - I duced from it. If that theory is“coriect, that Ct.rist suffered the penalty due to our sins, ami ! released ns and destroyed the serpent, which was the original cause of sin com { ing into the world, since the death of! Chr'st there can I e no sinners, and why? j Because serving the devil is sin against j God. Christ washed a way the original ! sin, and destroyed tile first cause; time- I fore we can’t sit by serving a devil iliatyour theoretical, vicarious atone ment destroyed. This theory destroys itself. There is no such thing as a vi— j carious atom mi nt to be tound in the j principle of justice. What is the prin ciple of justice in reference to criminal law? Why, that the offender shall suf fer the penalty of his own wrong. Is It uuscriptural to say that man suffered that penalty? Gen iii. 17, 18, 19: "And unto Adam he said: Because thon hast hearkened unto the voice of thy wife (not the ferpeul) and hast eaten of the tree of which I commanded thee, saying, thou shah not eat of it: ctnsed is th j ground for thy sake; in sorrow siralt thou eat of it a I the days of thy , life.” ‘‘Thorns and thistles shall it bring j birth,’’Ac. "In the sweat of thy (ace ■ sbalt lima eat bread, til! thou return unto trie ground." Ac. Was not this the penalty? Has not -the curse extended to the whole race of man? Are we not still suffering it? Was not lhat the en tire penalty? If not, who dare to in crease il? Did God? Where is the proof? But you say the serpent still exists, aud will exist to all eternity, and ttint Iris office is to destroy men. That he was a fallen angel and for bis insub ordination in Heaven he was cast into the lakeoffire that will hum to all eter nity. If that is true, God has changed his decree, fur he has taken him out ol the fire and brimstone, and located him ou this earth, prescribed Iris mode of ti ansportation, gave him an existence that must end, and specified the food that he should eat all the days of his life. Now. if your serpr nt is a devil, he is a temporal devil; for he has to eat to live; be has to ( |yjt dust all the days of his l.f'.S ipiirstAbe lives as long ar ihe earth stands? Your theory is that the earth is to pass away. Il that's true, HE3E SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE'S RI3KTS MAINTAIN, UN AWED BY FEAR AND UNBRIBED BY GAIN. QUITMAN, GEO., OCTOBER 7, 1871. the old fellow will starve for the want of dust, and there wi 1 be no days f r him to live. Gen. iii, 14: “And the Lord God said unto the serpent, Because thou hast done this, thou art cursed above all cattle, and above every beast lof tbe field; upon thy belly siralt thou | go, and dust siralt thou eat all the days jof thy life.” Is your serpent omnipres ent? You say not. Well, please an swer this question: How can ho he in hell, superintending that vast boarding establishment, and be in this world, a guest at every hotel, a hoarder at every private house, an attendant at every church, a gambler in every gambling saloon, a passenger ou every ear, and every steam boat and stagecoach, all at 1 the same time, draining for his everlas ting hot house; and at the same time suffering the penalty of God's vengeance by crawling on his belly, eating duut for a living. That is the theological story of the seipent, that they say is the fallen angel that John saw. propheti cally, in the vision, four thousand years after the serpent appeared on earth. II ho is not omnipresent, how is it that he is a dragon chained in the bottomless pit, (which you say is another world) and nt the same time be hr this world in j the person of a serpent, conversing with a woman. And while assuming these | I w.r persona'itics, and inhabiting these | two separate and distinct worlds, arid at I the same time a bright angel, the asso ciate of cherubs ami seraphs, in the im mediate presence of God, in the heaven of heavens. With these obvious incon ! sistencies and absurdities, isn’t i! I Strange that an intclligeiifponplo rtlll’l I see. wont see, that it is an evil prin ciple within themselves—and not an ! evil personality that they have to con [ tend with. The word Satan is used only four times as a piVper name in the Old Testament with the article: John, it, 12—ii, 1 Zaeh. iii, I, I Olrron. xxi, 1 New ex amine closely this chapter and you will find that Satan is not and nominated an evil spirit. In the 6:h verse we find bin among the sons of God, where they had assembled to pre sent themselves before the Lord, and it. several of the succeeding verses, we find the Lord conversing with him on terms of not only peace but perfect ami ty. And in the 12th verse you find that the Lord delegated to Satan a pow er and authority over that which Job posst s oil, to test his piety ami his pa tience; and in the second cl aplor, you find the same authority; and by this agency did he not lose his properly, anil was he not afflicted in person by the same ? \V“ie all tlic-so afflictions brought upon Job by any poison rxrr cisiug an independent authority and power, other than the God who did it through his own chosen iinslniiiieniali - t : c S? H so, why was it tl at Job was not appi is <1 of that lad? lie knew no Satan in his u 111 ct ions lie kfnw the evils when they came upon him—but bo recognised them as coining born G <l, as you will perceive by reading Job’s answer to his wife in the tenth verse of the second chapter: ‘'What? shall wo receive good, at the band of God, and shall we not receive e vil? What did iie mean? Why, that these afflictions came from God and from no oilier source. The Vagabond Sage. An old man of very active physiogno my, answering to the name of Jao b W ilmot, was brought to the police court. Ills clothes looked as though they might have been bought second band in Ins yonthfu’ prime, for they had suffered more from the rubs of the world than j the proprietor himself. ‘What bom nous? * ; ‘None; I’rn a traveler.’ ‘A v igabond perhaps?’ , ‘You are not far wrong. Travelers i and vagabonds are about the same tiling. The difference is that the latter travels 1 without money, and the former without brains.’ j ‘Where have you traveled?’ | ‘All over the continent.’ ‘For what purpose?’ j ‘Observation.’ ! ‘What have you observed?, | 'A little to commend, much to censure,! | and a great deal to laugh at.’ I ‘Humph! what do you commend?’ ■A handsome woman who will stay at | home; an eloquent preacher that will preach short sermons; a good writer j that will not write 100 much, and a fool that lias sense enough to bold bis tongue.’ 1 ‘What do you censure?’ “A man that marries a g rl for her fine ! clothing; a youth who studies rned.- cinc vi like he has the use of lis two , hands; and the peoj 'o who el.et a 1 and. uiikard l r office.’ What do yon laugh at?’ ‘‘l laugh at a man who expects his po- j sition to command that respect which ‘ his personal qualifications and qualities do not merit. ’ He was dismissed. SUSAN 1.11*1*K; OH, THE LAW sui r. ‘I tell you what it is, gal,’ said o’d j Mr. Lippu to his daughter Susan, ‘l'm determined never to Lev a edicaled fel low for my son-in-law; that's a fix:d fact.’ 'But, father,’ said Susan, ‘education don’t make or unmake a man any more than riches do. It's the soul, the prin cip’o, that constitutes a man.’ ‘Wery true, Susan,’ rejoined daddy Lippe, ‘at and I've found precious little principle in college bred fellers. 1 tell you that I’ve got along well enough, and alius made my mark.’ As the old rnan said this, his eye roved out of the window, over his broad and well im]m..viA homestead with n gL*d of self satisfneti >n. Susan’s father was no exc ption to j men of his class, who, when they imbibe an idea, are pig-headed in their adhe rence to it, Susan uncierst md this trait of her father, and letting the argument drop, relapsed into silence. While old Mr. L’ppe entertained such notions of letters, and by the way, was always taking pains to inform everybody concerning them, lie bad deviated sorno wiiat with reap el to his only child, Su san, who had improved the advantages oestowed by an excellent public school, situated at Stanhope, a small village ad joining her lathe.’s farm. Her mind, too, being naturally ol a studious cast, she had stored it with an unusually large, amount of information, which dis played itself in a refined conversation and a well bred vivacity of manners. To these graces of inb Heel, was added a beautiful person, a nl, as a matter ol consequence, her hand was the coveted pr 2 ■ of more than one young man in tire neighborhood. To the blandishments of the si earner sex, however. Susan turned a deaf ear. The young Stanhopers loved her father’s broad acres full as well as limy did bis daughter, who, with the quick instinct ol a woman, penetrated the shallowness of their proiestaii'us ol love. Bi sides, there was a yuiing lawyer who bad en tered suit for her heart, and won bis ease, while teaclrug' school a short time previous to hi.- adm'ssiou to the bar. li would have been singular i! the daugh ter ol ob-tinuto Lippe bad not been equally obst mile in Fie constancy ol her all'elion fir 11 urv Coverdale, her litigatious lover. 01 this allaehrnent, however, daddy Lippe was blissfully ignorant. I! • had never seen young eoverdule, and that young gentleman, being well aware ol the antipathies of his contemplated fallicr.-inJaw towards school masters and their like, prudently refrained from visit ing Susan at her home, l'liu accom modations of the lioirsc nl a maternal aunt of Susan's in Stanhope were vouch .sated tin m; her uncle, the harness naker, rather liking, than otherwise, their clan destine visits. In this way the lovers manag' and to keep the lire on the altar ol tl cir hearts fanned to a bright (1 into T’l.e impatient Coverdale desired to bring his -nit to an issue, but the dutiful Susan would not consent to an elopement.— With tlm ivopo of mollifying her sire's views on the subject oi education, she bad introduced the theme, with what success is recorded above. That night, after family prayer, quite t'i animate colloquy took place between Susan's parents. The door of Susan’s chamber being ajar, she became an inn > cent listener to the conversation, which, as it concerned liciself alone, proved rather interesting. Mother loupe was in Susan’s sneret, and favored it with all her m’ght. ‘Now, old man,’ said she, as that functionary was covering up the fire, the last thing before going to bed, ‘it’s downright mean in yon to oppose Su san’s ijoi'i about Jaruing. I’m set not to Lev any ignorant scalawag rooting round artei my daughter.’ ‘I :u!o this rood,’ responded daddy L'pppe. ‘And I’ll make the ro st hot for you, rejoined the dame. ‘Times ain’t now what they was when we was youngsters. Just think of mating Susan to Mat. Awl; or yet to Chris. Gabby, the shoemaker, who has about as much of an ijee ol books as a ling has of meeting.’ There’s no might of use of argufying about it, old woman; I’m sat.’ ‘And so am I,’replied the irate dame; ‘and we’ll see who can sit to the most purpose. It Susan can’t marry the kind cfman she wants to, she can stay : at home, aud tbit's the end of it.’ With this clincher, mother Lippe i turned her face ti the wall, aud refused I tc say another word. In the meantime, Henry Coverdale i was gradually winning his way to ein ! ineuce. Asa speaker, he stood head ! and shoulder above any of the young i n en, his associates at the bar. Che re sult of bis iff-I ts al.-o began to flow in upon him in a golden stream. 4 et, be still remained a l.acl.el -r tbrciigli many j wonders. Still there was no signs of ! ~|d Mr. L'ppo relaxing in the least from h 8 views ou ‘edacatlOU. | However, things were destined to shape themsolv's entirely diffueiit to ! what a mere observer might reasonably b'pc to expect. I This grew out of Coverdulc’u love for I Susan, which now assumed the cart ol ! impatience. One day a young man, in homespun garb, presented himself at the house ol old Mr. Lippe, and inquired if he want ed to (lire a hand on tho farm. The old farmer eyed him for Rome moments, and finding him remarkably well favored and knit together, said: ] 'Where are you from?' T live at Monroe, when at home,' re plied the young man. ‘Raised on a farm?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘About how much do you want a month?’ “Whatever you think is right.’ 'You’ll never got along in the world unless you drive a better bargain than that,'said Mr. L'ppe. ‘But I’ll tell yon what I’ll do. You shull work a month fur twenty dollars, and after that, if we suit each other, we’ll bargain for a year.’ ‘Agreed,’ said the young man, and was installed fnrtlin»lii> .. i,,.,.,!. As the reader guesses, the band was none other than Henry Coverdale, who had commenced to put into operation a plan to gain the old man’s consent to his union with Sus n. Time wagged along. Old Lippe was mightily phased with his hired hand, and often praised him to the women folks. Indeed, lip lo iked with a degree of complacency ou his attention to Sir nan, wl ich began to he marked—and Cnvcrdale was on the point of popping the question, when a circumstance oc enrrt'd which induced him to postpone it for a short lime. The circumstance was as follows; The farm of Mr Lippe was a part ol a tract, the title of which had formerly been in dispute, though it was indeed and in equi'y his. Just at this time one of those land sharks that infest the country raked np a worthless claim, aud entered suit for po»»v«»i*>n. This proceeding was so obviously ah surd and rascally, that Mr. Lippe mere ly laughed at it, :> Ith ugh at the advice of Ids hired hand, he appealed at court to refute the claim, supposing, liowi ver, that his bare word would be sufficient' to dispose of tho scoundrel of a land shark. Ilis hired hand also concluded to lose the day and go with him, in or ih r, lie said, ‘to sen what a judge and court were like.’ Old Mrs. L'ppe and Susan accompan - ied them I r the pin pose of making some purchases, as they could get better hai-gains in the county town than in Stanhope. The conversation ol (lie family had placed Henry Coverdale in full posses sion of the facts in the ease, and he had manifi sled such an interest in the affair, and appeared to be so anxious as to the result, that the old man Was not aston ished to see him enter the bar and take a chair by Ilis sid-. lie noticed also that his dame and Susan wero among the spectators in the court room. The case was called, and the lawyer for the plaintiff arose and ma le out so plausible astatemoiit, that it enraged the old man dreadfully, ho much so that he could scarcely content himself until tho lawyer concluded. The moment he sal down the old man sprang to his feet. 'Sue In "‘o,’ exclaimed he, 'here are the deeds, and ev ry man in the court room knows me well enough to know that 1 never got them by rascality, or claimed more than what was justly mine.’ 'All that may ho t:ue,’ replied the judge, ‘but tho court demands legal proof relative to the point at issue. 1 presume you have an attorney, Mr. Lip pe?’ ’Never s lid a s’ngle word to a single one. I never thought it worth while,’ said the old man, perfectly aghast at tiro turn matters were taking. At this stage, Lippe’s hired hand rose to his feet. ‘May it pleaßC the court, I will under take the ease for Mr. L'ppe,’ said ho. 'A pretty case you’ll make of it,’ said the old man. ‘You can plow a wonder ful sight b tier.’ T assure you, Mr. Lippe, that Mr.Cov crdale is perfectly c unpeteut to the task,’ said tbe judge, who was well ac quaint'tl with'the young lawyer, and who, though ignorant of his present re iat'oim, fancied he smelt a joke in the actions of the patties. 'Mcbbc your honor is right,’ said Mr. Lippe; ‘but a plague take me, if you don’t find him a like'y sight better farm hand than lawyer.’ A general titter ran around the bar. Tho suit proceeded. The young at torney having previously mastered tho whole ground, entered into its m -rits with sqi h torce and clearness as aston ished even t'ie court. But how shall we j paint tliesurprise of old Mr. Lippe? It took him bv storm. At every word of I the young lawyer t o seemed to distend ! with astonishment, until his amazement 1 was something si ridiculously appalling as to convulse th ; entire audience with | laughter. Peal after peal resounded, ami even tio fat sides of the judge, lor : getting the r gravity, seemed ready to 1 -hake to pieces with merriment. •Who—who —who are you?’ at last I gasped the old man. •Sit down, Mr. L'ppe,' said Covet'd ile. ‘I am attending to tin's ease.’ Teen stooping, lie whispered in his ‘I am trying to earn Susan.’ i 'She’s yo ir-,’ shouted ttie oid man. regardless of tbe bystanderser tucCourt, ('52.00 per Annum NO. 40 which, having now an inkling 1 of tho mat tor, gave a loose rein to their jubi lant, toolings. How Susan felt, howev er, can bo better imagined than describ ed. She blushed like one of her mother’s peonies, and hastily bid her face in her veil. When the merriment had subsided, and old Mr. Lippe had secured his equa nimity, the happy attorney proceeded, and finally made so clear a case for his involuntary client, as caused the judge to dismiss the suit. The old man left the court in triumph, and with his hired hand, proceeded forthwith to the clerk’s * fiice, where a licence was procured. The judge gave the coo it a short recess and united the ha) py pair in the bonds of matrimony. Since this event, Mr. Lippe has chang ed Ids views on cducati mal matters. The other day, as Judge Ooverdalo was leaving home (or Congress, he said to his son: ..‘Lippe Coverdale, get your lessons wi antr-woo Knows out wliat you'll jgo to C ingress, too.’ 'Who knows!’ exclaimed the happy Susan. Tlie Noble Revenge. The coffin was a plain one—a poor miserable white pine coffin. No flow--' era on the top; no lining of white satin' for the pale brow; no smooth ribbons about the coarse shroud. The brown’ hair was laid decently back, but there was no crimped cap with neat tie be neath the chin. The sufferer from cruel poverty smiled in her sleep; she had l found bread, rest and health. ’! want to see mother,” sobbed a poor little child, as the undertaker screwed down the top. ‘You cannot; get out ot the Way, hoy' —why don’t somebody take the brat?’ ‘Only lot me see her one minute!* cried tiro helpless orphan, clutching tho side of the charily box, and as he gazed into the rough box agonized tears streamed' down the'cheek on which no childish' bloom ever lingered. Oh, it was pain ful to hear him cry the words: ‘‘Only once; let me s o mother, only once!’ Quickly and brutally the heartless’ monster struck the boy away, so that lie reeled with tho blow. For a moment the boy stood panting with grief and' rage—his bine eyes distended, his lips sprang apart, fire glittering through his eyes as he raised his little arm, with most nnohildish assent, and screamed. 'When I'm a man I’ll kill you' for Hint!’ There was a coffin and a heap of earth between the mother and the poor forsaken child—a monument much stronger Ilian granite built np in tho boy’s heart to the memory of the heart less deed. * * * * * * * Tho Court house was crowded to suffer-' cation. 'Does any one appear as this man's counsel? 1 asked the Judge. There was a silence when lie had fin ished, until, with lips tivluly pressed together, a look of strange intelligence' blended with haughty reserve upon his handsome features, a young man step ped forward with a firm tread and kind ly eye to plead for the erring and friend b ss. He was a stranger, but at the first sentence there was silence. Tho' • splendor of bis genius entranced—con vinced. The man who COTlld .not find a friend was acquitted. ‘May God bless you, sir, I cannot,’ said lie. 'I want no thank-,’ replied tlu /stran ger. *l—l—l be'ieve you are unknown to me.’ ‘Man, T will refresh yottr memory. Twenty years ago this day, you struck a broken hearted liule l-y away from his dear mother's coffin. 1 was that boy I’ The man turno I livid. ‘Have you rescued me, then, to taka my lif V ‘No I have a sweeter revenge, t have saved the life of a Win whose bru tal deed has rankled in my breast for the last twenty years. O•, then, and remember the tears of a friendless child.’ The man bowed his head in shame and wei t fnmi the presence of magnanimity, as grand to him as incotnprehcnsil le. Tho Phil .dolphin Press says:' The coming woman has made lief ap perauce in the Fifteenth ward, in tho person of Doctor Kllcn I. Mellon. This lady is unmarried, and therefore having lost none of her rights even under tho old common law ideas, will apply for registry as a voter under the amend ments to the National oinstitution. A - XIV. of the amendments declares that all persons born, & shall br C ti zens of tho United States and ol tin gtu’e’s wherein, they reside. The w! olu | question, therefore, turns on the “per- Honality of woman,” which will bo the ! real point in issue to he deeidgi^ Interesting Letter.— Newspaper re j porters and editors will ropy the fot lowing, and it ns fin j true talc." The Sleolvilla (Mo.) Ex \ pens has a corn spoiideot in the St-i 1- villc jail. He write-: “Sept, the 9 18 7 1 Mr R belts i want you to no that it i jam a prienar that i hope i wdl not all I ways bee then i will Call and see you and i tl.inh von w ill wish that pcaoo j that you put in the p .per Was out. G .J Daui you. _ _ J, 11. Gillem. '