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iff 2 was, I got to look upon Mary as a sort of sister, and lien had no cause for jealousy, although there were plenty of evil tongues to put him up to it. The contract was nearly up, when a lightning-conductor upon one of the high est chimneys sprang and the owner of the works offered our master the job. “It’s just the sort of the thing for you, Ilarry,” said Mr. M , when he told us of it. 1 accepted it off-hand, and then lien stepped up and said he’d volunteer to be the second man, two being required. “All right,” said the master, “you are the steadiest-headed fellows I have. The price is a good one, and every penny of it shall he divided between you. We’ll not fix a day for the work, but take the first calm morning, and get it done quietly.” So it was that, some four or five mornings after, wc found ourselves all ready for the start. The kite by which the line attached to the block was to be scut over the chimney, was flown, and diil its work well; the rope which was to haul up the cradle was ready, and step ping in, Ben and I began the ascent. There had been very 7 few people about when we went into the yard, but as we got higher, I saw that the news had spread, and that the streets where filling with sight-seers. “There’s plenty of star-gazers, Ben,’, I said, waving my cap to them, “I dare say they’d like to see us come down with a run.” “Cannot you keep quiet?” answered Ben, speaking in a strange tone, and turning to look; I saw he was deadly pale, and sat in the bottom of the cradle, huddled up together, with his eyes fast shut. “You’re not frightened, old chap?” I asked. “What’s that to you?” “Oh, nothing; only we are getting up pretty quickly, and you'd have a better head for work if you'd get gradually used to the height.” He said nothing, and never moved. Then looking up, 1 saw we were close to the top —a few yards more, and we would he there; yet those who were turning the windlass were winding with uuabated speed. A sudden chill ran through my blood, and set my flesh creeping. They had miscalculated the distance, and with the force they were winding at, the rope must, inevitably break when the cradle came in contact with the block. There was no time to attempt a signal, only an instant, to point out the danger to Ben, and then to get hold of the rope, and by going hand over hand, reach the coping before the cradle came up. This was done quicker than I can tell you, Ben following. The cradle came on; then as I anticipated, the rope gave a shrill, pinging sound, like a rifle-ball passing through the air, and snapped. Down went the cradle, and there we were left, nearly three hundred feet in the air, with nothing to rest upon but a coping bareley eighteen inches wide. Ben shrieked out that he was a dead man, and cried— “ Tell me where I can kneel, Harry; show me where I can pray to Almighty God, for I cannot die ttiis way!” “Hush! lad,” I said, “don’t lose heart, God can hear you just as well sittiug as kneeling; and if you try to get up you’ll tumble, to a moral certainty, Think of Mary, man, and keep up.” But he only shook and swayed more and more, groaning and crying out that he was lost; and I could see that if he did not mind he would overbalance. “Get hold of the rod,” 1 said, thinking that even sprung as it was, the touch of it would give him courage. “Where is it, boy?” he said hoarsely; and then looking into his face, which was turned to me, I saw that his eyes were drawn together, squinting and bloodshot, and knew that the fright had driven him blind. So pushing myself to him I placed my arms around his waist, and worked round to the rod, which I put in his hand; and then I looked below, to sec whether they were trying to help us; but there was no signs. The yard was full of people, all running hither and thither; and, as I afterwards knew, all in the greatest consternation; the cradle having fallen ou one of the overseers of the work, killing him on the spot, and so occuyping the attention of those near, that we unfor tunates were for the time forgotten. I was straining my eyes, in hope of seeing some effort made to help us, when I was startled by a horrible yell, and brought to a sense of anew danger, for looking round I saw Ben champing with his teeth, and foaming at the mouth, and gesticulating in an unearthly way. Fear had not only blinded him, but crazed his brain. Scarcely had I time to comprehend this, when he began edging his way toward me; and every hair on my head seemed to stand on end, as I moved away, keeping as far off as I could, and scarcely daring to breathe, lest he should hear me, for see me he could not—that was my only consolation. Once—twice— thrice—he followed me round the mouth of that horrible chimney; then, no doubt, thinking I had fallen over, he gave up the search, and began trying to get on to his feet. What cculd I now do to save his life? To touch him was certain death to myself as well as to him, for he would inevitably seize me, and wc should both go over to together. To let him stand was to witness his equally certain destruction. I thought of poor Mary, and thought that if he fell she might get to care for me. The devil put that thought into my mind, I suppose; but, thank God, there was a stronger than Satan near, and at the risk of my life, I roarod out— “ Sit still, or you will fall, Ben Lord!” lie crouched down and held on with clenched teeth, shivering and shaking. In after-days he told me that he thought that it was my spirit sent to warm and save him. “Sit still,” I repeated from time to time watching with aching eyes and brain for some sign of aid. Each minute seemed to be an hour. My lips grew dry, my tongue literally clave to my mouth, and the perspiration running down blinded me. At last—at last—hope came. The crowd began to gather in the yard, people were running in from distant lanes, and a sea of faces were turned upward; then someone who had got a speaking trumpted shouted, “Keep heart, boys: we’ll save you!” A few minutes more and the kite began to fly; higher and higher it comes; on and on. How I watched the white-winged messenger, comparing it in my heart to an augel; and surely, as an angel was it permitted to come to us poor sinners hanging on to the verge of eternity. Up it came, nearer and nearer, guided by the skilful flier. The slack rope crossed the chimney, and wc were saved. I could not shout hurrah, even had I dared; but in every beat of my heart, was a thanksgiving to the God I had never truly known till that hour, and whose merciful providence I can never doubt again. The block was fixed, the cradle came up again, and Ben obcyiug my order, got in. 1 followed; but no sooner did I touch him than he began trying to get out. I got hold of him, and taking it in his head that I was attempting to throw him over, he struggled and fought like the madman he was—grappling, tearing witli his teeth, shouting and shrickng, and praying all the way down, while the cradle strained and cracked, swinging to and fro like the pendulum of a clock. As we came near the ground I could hear the roar of voices, and an occasional cheer; then suddenly ail was silent, for they heard Ben’s cries; and when the cradle touched the ground, scarcely a man dare look in. The first who did, saw a horrible sight, for, exhausted by the struggle and excitement, so soon as the cradle stopped I had fainted, and Ben, feeling my hands relax, had fastened his teeth into my ueek! No wonder the men fell back with blanched faces; they saw that Ben was crazed; but they thought that he had killed me, for as they said he was actually worrying me like a dog. At last the master got to us, and pulled Ben off’me. I soon came round, but it was a long time before he got well, poor fellow; and when he did come out of the asylum, he was never fit for his old trade again. I gave up the trade, too, soon after, finding that 1 got queer in the head when 1 tried to face height. So, you see, that morning’s work changed two men’s lives. The language of’ nature and experience demonstrates that whoever would enjoy the pleasures of food, the beauties of landscape, the joy* of companionship, the riches of literature, or the honors of station and renown, must preserve their health. The effect of foul, injurious food, entering the stomach, is to derange the digestive organs, and produce head ache, loss of appetite, unrefreshing sleep, low spirits, feverish burnings, etc., which are the symptoms of that horrid disease, Dyspepsia, which assumes a thousand shapes, and points toward a miserable life and premature decay. Plantation Bitters will prevent, overcome and coun teract all of these effects. 1 hey act with unerring power, and arc taken with the pleasure of a beverage. Magnolia Water.— Superior to the best imported German Cologne, and sold at half the price. The Dundee Courier says: “We un derstand that an Elder in one of the largest congregations in town, connected with the Established Church, has gone over to the Church of Rome.” M iso man that. Min® m fsi i©fm Highway for Freedom. BY 3. C MAN GAN. ‘•My suffering country shall be freed, And shine with tenfold glory !” So spake the gallant Winkelreld, Renowned in German story. “No tyrant, even of kingly grade, Shall cross or darken my way l” Out flashed his blade, and so he made For Freedom’s course a highway! We want a man like this, with power To rouse the world by one word; We want a cfcief to meet the hour, Ami march the masses onward. But chief or none, through blood and fire, My Fatherland, lies thy way! The men must fight who dare desire For Freedom’s course a highway ! Alas! I can but idly gaze Around in grief and wonder; The People's will alone can raise The People’s shout of thunder. Too long, my friends, you faint for fear, In secret crypt and by-way; At last be Men! Stand forth and clear For Freedom’s course a highway ! You iuterseet wood, lea, and lawn, With roads for monster wagons Wherein you speed like lightning, drawn By fiery iron dragons. So do! Such work is good, no doubt: But why not seek some nigh way For Mind as well ? Path also out For Freedom’s course a highway ! Yes ! up! and let your weapons be Sharp steel and self-reliance! Why waste your burning energy In void and vain defiance, And phrases fierce and fugitive ? ’Tis deeds, not words, that I weigh— Your swords aud gnus alone can give To Freedom’s course a highway. From Packard’s Monthly, January. THE FLIGHT AND CAPTURE OF JEF FERSON DAVIS. BY EDWARD A. POLLARD. While Grant and Lee thundered be fore Petersburg, Jefferson Davis fled from Richmond, without a word of public explanation, with none of that benediction or encouragement which a great leader is expected to impart to his people in such a catastrophe—escaping with the igno miny of an obscure, mean fugitive, if not positively in the character of a deserter. Some explanation has been offered of his singular neglect on this occasion of those whom, in his day of power, he was ac customed, after the affectation of a fond and paternal ruler, to call “his people,” in the statement that the Government at Richmond had no expectation of Lee’s disaster, and was thus painfully hurried in its evacuation of the capital. The statement is untrue, and the ex cuse is unavailing. The writer well knows, what has not heretofore been im parted to public curiosity, that Jefferson Davis had, many weeks before Lee’s ca tastrophe, made the most careful and ex acting preparations for his escape. The matter had been fully consulted with his Cabinet, in profound secresy; anil it had beeu agreed that, to secure the escape of the President and his principal officers, the Shenandoah should be ordered to cruise off the coast of Florida, to take the distinguished fugitives on board, who had selected the coast for their exit from the Confederacy, and their extrication from its falling fortuues. These orders had been sent to the Confederate cruiser many days before Lee’s lines were broken. It was calculated that the President’s party might make an easy and deliberate escape in the way agreed upon, as the communications with the Florida coast were then scarcely doubtful, and once on the Shenandoah, a fast sailer, the most valuable remnant of the Confederate navy, they might soon obtain an asylum on a foreign shore. Other preparations were made for the flight; all the papers of the Government were revised, and marked for destruction, abandonment or preservation, according to their eoutents; and even Mr. Davis’ private baggage was put in order for transportation. Os course the public knew nothing of these preparations, and it did not even suspect them. Mr. Daniel, of the Richmond Examiner, had repeatedly said, with bitterness, that whatever the event of the war, whatever its misfortune, Mr. Davis would be certain to provide for his personal safety, above that of all others; and indeed this journal had sug gested that, for this mean reason, the President had invariably blanched at any retaliation upon the enemy involving the penalty of death. But many people re sented this thought of the Examiner; they persisted in believing that President Davis would stand witli the army when the Confederate Hag was lowered, and accept a common lot with them and the people; and they called to mind his heroic words, spoken to the troops in \ irginia in 1861, at the beginning of the war: “ When the last line of bayonets is levelled 1 will be with you.” By the way, it is remarkable that so little has been obtained, by the capture or discovery of documents, of the secret history of the Confederacy. True, there have been collected at Washington some documentary relics, under the title of “ Rebel Archives;” and the pretentious construction of a Bureau to take care of them, and certain foolish provisions against the access to them of public curiosity, have given the idea of some value and mystery attached to them. But they are historically worthless, scarcely anything more than the official platitudes, dry and barren amplifications of stories which have been told a hundred times in the newspapers. There was captured in Richmond only the refuse of the Con federate archives. It is a curious and romantic fact, not generally known, that the bulk of the valuable papers of the Confederate Government, including the correspondence of Jefferson Davis, exists to-day in concealment; that many days before the fall of Richmond there was a careful select ion of important pa pers, especially those in the office of the President, and letters which involved confidences in the North and in Europe, and that these were secretly conveyed out of Richmond, and deposited in a place where they remain concealed to this time, and will probably not be unearthed in this generation. Where is this re pository of the secrets of the Confederate Government the writer is not prepared to say. Indeed, he has never been able to obtain other than very general informa tion of the present pk.ee of these papers, and even as to the limits of the locality he was bound by obligations of private confidence, which it is impossible to vio la c Yet the world may know, and it is at least some historical satisfaction, that the most valuable papers of the Southern Confederacy, including the correspon dence of Jefferson Davis, reported to have been held with important parties in the North aud in Europe, and which might yet involve the personal safety of some of them, and possibly found prosecutions, did not perish in the catastrophe of Rich mond ; that, they are yet preserved in a manner and place to defy discovery, and secure against loss and mutilation—dedi cated, perhaps, to the curiosity of a distant generation.* After having safely bestowed his im portant papers, and by this measure con sulted to some degree his personal safety, it might be supposed that Mr. Davis would be prepared to leave Richmond with some appearance of self possession and dignity. But after all the provisions for his flight, the signal for it was so sudden aud dramatic—announced to him in the shape of Lee’s dread telegram, while he sat in St. Paul’s Church, with the sunshine of a calm aud beautiful day pulsing through the windows—as to have some effect of surprise at least, breaking down his equanimity, and reducing him to that condition of fluster and tremu lousness with which the weak man re ceives the news of misfortune, no matter how long he has vaguely expected it, and practised against the moment of its announcement. He nervously prepared at his house his private baggage, assisted by Mrs. Davis, and he never ventured in the streets until, under cover of the night, he got unobserved on the train that was to con vey him from Richmond. He did not forget the gold in the Treasury; that, amount ing to less than forty thousand dollars, it had been proposed some days before, in Congress, to distribute as largesses to the discontented soldiers; but Mr. Davis had insisted upon reserving it for exigencies, and it was now secured iu his baggage, lie did forget his sword. That, a costly present from some of his admirers in England, had been sent to tlie Richmond Armory 7 for some repairs; it was aban doned to the fire there. The last seen of this relic of the Southern Confederacy, was a twisted and gnarled stem of steel, on private exhibition in a lager beer saloon in Richmond, garnished with a certificate that it was what re mained of Jeff Davis’ sword, and that the curiosity might be purchased for *The writer sincerely regrets that he cannot more amply satisfy curiosity as to these concealed papers of the Southern Confederacy, lie can only assure the reader of three tacts : that they still exist; that there are living persons who know of their concealment, aud that they contain important evidences of the secret history ot Mr. Davis’ Government. He has repeated ly sought access to them out of historical curiosity, but he has beeu invariably met with the explanation that, while this indulgence might be allowed him, for such legitimate purpose, it would be unsafe, for pri vate reasons, and the information ii published might be diverted to serious consequences to persons of importance yet living, and within the jurisdiction of the Government. It has beeu impossible to surmount this objection, and there is no doubt that many of these papers do really involve discoveries of some cu rious negotiations in the war, the parties to which might astound the public. During the war it was well known, in some circles of confidence in Rich mond, that Mr. Davis entertained a large secret cor respondence in the North; that he had sources of comfort, information and advice there; aud indeed it would have been strange, considering the volume of disaffection in the North—a remarkable peculiarity of the late war—if it had not found some expression in secret negotiations, or some sort of surreptitious com munication with the Confederate authorities. Os the extent of such correspondence the popular imagina tion has probably fallen short. As an instance of the volume of “disloyalty’’ and venality iu the North, the writer may mention the case of a single secret docu ment which he was once permitted to see in Rich mond, wherein certain parties offered to assist the Confederacy, by supplying its Western armies for a whole year from the granaries and magazines of the North. Such important letters anil other secret pa pers were kept in what was called “the Presidential Archives.” These, we repeat, still exist, were pre served from the wreck and fire of Richmond, ami at this moment are under the seal of a personal confi dence with Mr. Davis; while the Federal authorities, congratulating themselves that they seized the archives of-the-Southern Confederacy, had only captured waste paper. two hundred dollars. Whether the re tailer of lager has yet disposed of his trea sure, we do not know. lie Davis was accompanied at the stage of his flight by his family, some 0 | his personal staff and three members 0 f his Cabinet; Gen. Breckinridge, Secre tary of War; Mr. Benjamin, Secretary of State, and Mr. Reagan, Postmaster General. The party journeyed without accident or venture to Danville, siftinj? mostly iu moody silence, as the train shrieked through the night that a few miles further was being torn by explo sions, through whose fitful chasms ofliidg Lee’s army marched as to impenetrable darkness. Arrived at Danville, Mr. I) a . vis issued a proclamation ; out of pl ace there, inaccessible to the army, and which would have been much more fitly made before he had abandoned the post of dan ger iu Richmond. But the exaltation »f spirits he obtained after having passed the boundary of danger, aud got on the side of supposed personal safety, did not long survive. In a few days afterward came the news of Lee’s surrender: and the President and his party again sadly turned their faces to the South; Geii Breckenridge being despatched to Gen. Johnston’s lines only to bring back to the party on their route the sorrowful news of bis surrender, and to increase the dismay of their flight. Mr. Davis was the first to rally from this dismay. When he and his compan ions lmd left Richmond it was in the be lief that Lee could avoid surrender but a few days longer, and with the iutention, as we have already said, of making their way to the Florida coast and embarking there for a foreign land In the medi tations of his journey, however, through North Carolina, the fugitive President appears to have conceived the alterna tive of venturing to the southwest, within reach of the forces of Taylor and Forrest, in the hope of reviving the fortunes of the Confederacy within a limited territory. He suggested the alternative to Gen. Breckinridge, as they travelled together, after the news of Johnston’s surrender, but received only an evasive reply; the latter not sharing his hopes, but unwilling to mortify them by a candid declaration of opinion. Mr. Davis was remarkable for a san guine terperament, but it was that which we observe in weak characters, “hoping against hope,” fickle, flaring, extrava gant rather than that practical energy which renews itselt on disaster and conquers fortune. The vision he had conjured up of a limited Confederacy around the mouth of the Mississippi might have looked plausible upon paper, but it was totally defective in omitting the moral condition of the South. The unhappy President had not yet per ceived that he had lost the faculty of inspiration, that the Southern people were in despair, and that, wherever he might go, he would find their counte nances averted, their hopes abandoned, and their thoughts already committed to submission. But he was to realize very 7 shortly how morally deserted aid practically helpless he was. His first discovery of it was at Abbeville, South Carolina, where occurred one of the most pathetic scenes in history, over which the tenderness and charity of some of the actors have been disposed to draw the curtain committing its sor rows to secresy. Mr. Davis reached Abbeville on the first of May. So far he had been ac companied by the fragments of five bri gades, amounting in number to less than one thousand men, aud reorganized into two battalions, at th<’ front and m rear of the long train which signalled his I flight and foolishly obstructed his efiort |at escape. There were already pciniu; I evidences of the demoralization ot tir escort, and the story told almost at every mile, by stragglers from Johnston’s com mand, was not calculated to inspire them, j At Abbeville Mr. Davis resolved upon ' a council of war. It was composed c>i the five brigade commanders, and Gem Braxton Bragg (for the year past the “military adviser’’ of the President.) m | admitted to this last scene of the did b - | rations of the Lost Cause. Iu the council Mr. Davis spoke vim ! more than his accustomed facility mm i earnestness, inspired by hope, but vmm ! out volubility or extravagance. j*. 1 j made a statement of surpassing plausU ao | ty. The South he deelaied was sudmmi from a panic; it yet had resources to cm. tirme the war; it was for those wno lC mained with arms in their hands to a'.m an example to reanimate others; “ j an act of devotion, besides being tie 111,1 j sublime thing in history, might yet sau | the country', and erect again its dmffim I resolution. ‘lt is but necessary, I * that the brave men yet with me, u I renew their determination to j 1 the war; they will be a nucleus tor rap-; I reinforcements, and will raise tm ‘ "! v of reaninmtion for the wuom No one of the council answered him