Newspaper Page Text
n
• :V /• A? ■ n • . . .
REID, Proprietors.
The Family Journal.—News-t-Politics—Literature—-Agriculture—Domestic Affairs
GEORGIA TELEGRAPH BUILDING.
[ABLISHED 1826.}
MACON, FRIDAY, JULY 17, 1868.
YOL XUL-SQ. 39.
IfjSDEEFIJL SHAKE STOBY.
WlnV/c Ranner.]
1 ' Triune, Tenn., July 5,1868.
,t surprising circumstance occur-
this ueigborliood last Friday,
T;,Cla8 created intense excitement.
K ;j r it may interest your readers, I
j^ieu the trouble to collect the
visit the locality, and in order
£jihe truth of the narrative beyond
[ Von will find appended thereto the
f of the gentlemen before Esquire
sound like the suppressed lowing of a
cow, and then thrusting his head into a
hole that was invisible to them, he slowly
drew himself into it.
Mr. Robinson now remained on guard
while Mr. Lisle, with the assistance of
Mr. Thomas Burke quickly aroused the
neighborhood, and coming to the place
each with a large rock in his arms, they
quickly stopped up the hole. It was
about two feet in diameter, and seemed
from the place being worn smooth
r.- , ,. T . - .. around to have been occupied for some
this place. I will premise the j ti me . Mr. Burke had noticed the hole
jjtnee with a short history of what j frequently, and supposed it to have been
am the community as the Big j occ l p i ed J hy groundhogs.
All yesterday was occupied by the
- twenty-five years ago as a Mr.
, t3 was returning from his workshop
jjajail’s Mill, on the Franklin ana
jeeslwro road, at the foot of a large
_’i; being one of the range known as
iSui'kc Hills, he saw the track of some
V E ;c serpent, leading toward a large
t on the hill-side. It measured
, t nineteen inches across, and seemed
ite3 into the dust as if a great weight
j raiietl over it. Mr. Vernon collected
Mieouie j>f the neighborhood the next
/uiiic', **<1 well armed, they made a
se search for the monster, but without
ccess. About ten years afterward his
noic was again seen by several men
hiuI a mue from the former place.
re years later, as a Mrs. Barnes
jia her garden gathering vegetables,
;.iw the monster lying along a cab-
■ row, but was so badly frightened that
us unable to form even a conjecture
his size. Her husband quickly ran
s garden when the alarm was given,
ae snake had disappeared, leaving,
wer, his immense trail.
:liie fall of the same year, as Mr. Al
ias cutting a pole in a thicket of Mr.
] Barnes’, with whom he was living,
aril in the thicket what he supposed
a cow or a horse, and the thicket
neighbors in constructing a long box, of
heavy two inch planks, one end of which
was thrust into the hole, and rocks piled
around, the other end crossed with iron
bars so as not to obstruct the light. A
sliding door next the hole, and a piece of
mutton at the far end attached to the
door by triggers, gives them hope the
monster may be caged. The box is fifty
feet long, and about eighteen inches square,
heavily bolted together. The gentlemen
think the serpent is fully thirty-five or
forty feet long, and about eight or ten in
ches in diameter.
Where he came from, or to what species
he belongs, can be only left to conjecture.
He was of a uniform dirty black color.
A close watqji will be kept on the box,
and if their expectations are realized, you
yourself may yet have a glimpse of this
extraordinary creature. I will report to
yoq what success they may meet with, and
only hope it may he captured’and car
ried to your city for the inspection of
your savans.
Respectfully,
J. L. Scales.
State of Tens., Williamson County, ^
July 4,1868.
Personally appeared before me, an act-
in his cornfield, he started in to run I ing Justice of the Peace for said county,
rcature out. What was his horror j Messrs. W. S. Robinson and J. W. Lisle,
iking a few steps, to see the head of who madfe oath that the circumstances re
lated in the communication of Mr. J. L.
Scales to the Republican Banner are
substantially true, as far as it relates to
t them, and I certify that I am personally
» he would take. A few men on I acquainted with the above named gentle-
back went to the place, but could i men, and know them to he gentlemen
dad by the broken bushes what route j of veracity. S- H. Pact.. J. P.
veritable big snake, reared about
i fat high, and gazing upon him in-
ir. Of course, he fled at the top of
Vtd, and did not turn to see what
S. H. Page, J. P.
iec broken circumstances, following | Triune, July 8,1868.
a .-a.-h other, trreatlv excited the i I hasten agreably to my promise to in-
;wrhood. and mothers became fear- ! form you of the success we met with in
leaving their little ones alone, lest [ our attempts to capture the “big snake.”
.-could be swallowed by the terrible | The box was watched at various times
Mr. Allen described him to be during the day, but nothing was seen or
Kk as a large man’s thigh, and saidhis : heard of him until late Monday evening,
liras about the size of a frying pan, I 'when a Mr. Palmore, who lives near, vis-
tar! v flat i ited it, and as familiarity with danger
idling more was seen or heard 0 f' lessens fear—having been there so often
::ake before or during the war. Peo- seen nothing-cardessly threw him-
,,i>ed he had died fn liis den from ! selfbefore the open end, placed his face
But it remained for Messrs, i t0 ll aud looked - in ’- but ° nl r “3
ye.
i. Robinson and J. W. Lisle, of this !
to catch the next glimpse of him, j
i: occurred in this wise: Last Fri-!
Messrs. Robinson and Lisle were rid-
for there, within less than three feet
of his face was a pair of blazing eyes
like coals of fire, glaring at him. He did
not stop to see how large the head was,
wards Nashville on the pike, and as j J^ttlirew himself down hill with such
-, ! headlong speed as to catch a series of falls,
, wared the gap of the Burke Kmobs |. 0 f/ hich h ser iously injured
y f .uv what they supposed to be a large ; his ^ Had ifc n( / been fo / tlie J acci _
t stretching across the pike, not think-, of Mr. Palmore, he would
the improbability of a pole being taken tlie bait. But
3 *locality, as the pike has a larg I . fc he * a gcent of itj for> M the
(U either side. To t . "PP," i sequel shows he soon came back. This
v >aw the supposed pole, when they j J . Mn Thomas Burke got up when
urn, sixty or ff^ty pjc« of it, * } 1; ht d ^afpu&gon
■ ynusetts h«id above the top of; clothe£ Vheard the most singular
on fewest side of the pike, and bellowing quickly giv-
- «encc moving slowly over it. Al-1 d tben a c ^ hin so * n l He ran
f t 'e wo gendemen were badly ; > doQr and look * d out to £ee the
v-it-ned, they determined to see more of j _ ^ quickly revealed to him,
tremendous crash as of a
• k e aU( i ; Dreaxing tree in the direction of the trap,
ti r ; he saw the auful monster coming down
’.Uw p r rtTVif« 1 across the road about two hundred yards
of Mr,B u *o's, sweeping do™ the
L autU „ c Ca ,“ c ;l n “i j fences and other obstacles in his pathway.
iib j!'f woods - Here he stopp^l; But thig Mr Burke did not £ee , for
cu’tleniS ;er Y stl1 }. aad T 11 , e ^ 1 u “j J with the first glanee at the serpent, con-
emeu bemn^to think_he.had.pnt > gciousness left fe hhn, an d he remained for
J dii \‘ / 3ut they waited patient-, ^ . convulsions from the fright,
no, ready fora qmck retreat should cn w,n«
.'•ft toward them. He remained
It was late in the day before anyone
but at last
-I u«aiu i.iem. ae reummeu „ venture to the trap, but at last
nearly two hours, until midday, wuum vc “ “ Z’ j i v : n(T
-in he raised his head fully fifteen feet, j S0 F^ " cnt ?’ ^ , , but^the
around slowly, anAresumed the! ^ th ou . e w Lhtnin?
course through the woods, with head I otker a „ . i-- f 0 u nd
This positfon he did not change ! |r. e „°/ the ^
u-iarlv half a mile, when thev saw him • 5^7 ste P 3 1 0 ^ . • , ^ d
-uddcnlv forward with greit velocity ; failure, and the serpent ^ at large. and
■^arike toward the irround. When he tlic country excited to the lost degree,
aia raised his head he had a hare in Many speak of leaving the neighborhood
■ ilc halted^lerea fAj™, and serious fears are enter-
Q
tftecn or twenty minutes, he raised - ......ij
Ltad anil moved slowly forward. “ ens e cage prepared for him—it would
aim raoi ea sio y have held a lion. But we miscalculated
' v< ? 0,ls bere becoming open and free ^ and h(J ig frce .
^ hushes, they had a fine view of his . j, jj. Scales.
and length, and becoming cooler and —
;'c self-possessed, tliey were able to A PERILOUS ADVENTURE,
to some conclusion as to their course.
Ig lwtli of venturous spirit, they de- the danger of drinking too much
mined to watch him to lus den, and if before dinner.
siijle effect his capture. Their deter-'
nation being made, they, without a I was on my road to join for the first
deal of difficulty, kept in sight at a time my regiment, which was then quar*
• distance, until they passed what is . tered at Portsmouth. There was to be a
nii as the Moreton ’Graveyard Hill, general parade at ten a. m. on. Tuesday.
■*0 the serpent passed through the gap At two p. m. the regiment was to embark
Toad ihat, and directed bis course in a for foreign parts. I ought to have been
*triy direction, along the north face present at the parade; but my kind-heart-
itie hills. He was often hidden from ed colonel, who was indirectly acquainted
3r view by intervening thickets, but with our family, wrote to me and said,
'"ing of liis previous appearance, they that as I might possibly be up rather
i?«ea he was going to his den in that late on my last night in England, and as,
'"■lion, and thus, Tjv getting a clear moreover, I could be of no use sit the
vy.,iul the place where lie was hid- parade, he would excuse my attendance
tthey soon would be able to see him there; but he added,'in somewhat per-
^ge. emptory language, that no possible al-
Wi *n the ground was clear of obstruc- lowance could be made if 1 “
3te traveled with his head near the Portsmouth later than the one p- mAmm
raising it as he approached a fence that I must report myself at half-past one,
“Thus they followed him up and embark with the re ? iment
and one-half miles, until he came . o’clock. He also, I remember, said some-
1 large hill that overhangs the resi- thing about the regiment soon going into
of M r . Burke. The hill is very action abroad, and hinted at commissions
? and precipitous, and has numerous having been lost by circumstances so mv-
in its sides. ‘W hen about half ial as unpunctuality on the eve Of real
I had made a very heavy lunch at New
College, Oxford. The days then- were
those in which probably more strong and
XXX ale were drank in a week at that
college than are now consumed in a
month. Strong and XXX had figured at
our lunch, likewise sherry and cham
pagne. I was very jolly:when I left Ox
ford on my road for London via Bletch-
ley. From Oxford to Bletchley Junc
tion, I slept a little. When I arrived at
the last named place, I was obliged to
change trains, and wait for the express,
due in ten minute’s time. I had not cop
pers (beg pardon, ladies; I mean a some
what parched mouth) after the cham
pagne, XXX, and my sleep, so I went in
to the refreshment room, and had some
beer. I have no doubt it was nasty,
heady stuff, hut it cooled my feverish
mouth. Excited a little with my mid
day meal, and by nature inclined to ar
gue, I got into some debate, I forget
what, but I believe a political one, with
some, gentleman, who was, like me, re
freshing himself. Distinctly do I re
member a bell rung as a departing sig
nal ; distinctly do I recollect the gaurd’s
voice sounding through the refreshment
room doors; "“Anymore for the up-ex
press?” hut the words fell on my hazy
ears slightly like brother Ned’s words
when, in solemn language, he is laying
down self-evident truths in his pulpit. I
beg pardon, Ned; the sequel will prove
that you and guard were right, I wrong
for my inattention.
Something, I know not what, suddenly
made me think that my train, the express,
was starting—was off. I rushed on to the
platform. The express had started. The
gaurd’s box, the last in the train, had
just cleared the station. I ran hard, and
could easily and safely have jumped into
the guard’s van—not a second class car
riage, as on some other lines, hut a spa
cious affair, opened behind, into which
any tolerably active person could easily
spring and find safety. A wretched por
ter or pointsman tried to stop me; swiftly
dodging him, I got ahead, and jumped on
to the foot hoard of the carriage, just in
front of the guard’s van. .Now, in those
days there was no communication between
guard and engine driver. In those days,
too, ;no one carried, as most of you I
daresay now do, a railway key. The
doors of the carriage on to the step of
which I had jumped were locked. The
train, an up-express, had pulled up at the
down platform, possibly because there
was a refreshment room there.
And so my fix was this. I was stand
ing on the foot board of an already very
much swinging carriage. The speed was
rapidly increasing, and I could not get
into it. There was not much chance of
the engine driver stopping to save me,
because, as I was on the off side, it was
not likely I should be noticed as we came
through the stations. The guard crept
along, not exactly his foot board, for the
guard’s van was not made like the ether
carriages, but he stepped from point 'to
point, and urged me in every way he
could, to move from my platform to his
carriage. I could not; my nerves failed
me. The train was getting into full
swing—thirty, forty, sixty miles an hour
—before I could make up my mind. The
guard, entreating me to hold tight, re
treated to his den. From time to time, I
saw his kind face looking at me, with
outstretched neck, and his mouth speak
ing words of encouragement and caution.
They never reached me, hut were borne
back by the wind Bletchley way. Hold
on I did, with the grim clutch of a worse
than drowning man. One, and one only
male passenger was in the carriage on the
foot-board of which I was riding. He
did everything he could for me; tried to
get me through the window—a great fail
ure; gave me brandy; passed a sash
round my body, and held the two ends
himself. On we sped. My head was diz
zy and turning; my hands were cramped
and getting tired; my legs almost blown
off; my hat quite so. I well remember
the icy feel of. the tunnels; the horrible
earthly smell, mixed with a flavor of
compressed steam; the drops of water
falling from the roof on my uncovered
head; and oh! the passing of trains! The
first I met was in a tunnel: I glued my
self to the side of my carriage. The sec
ond was a luggage train in the open.
Would it never come to an end? thought
I; and yet I suppose we were only a few
seconds passing it. The third seemed to
be a brother-express. Phhsshtt! I thought
I had been carried off in its violent whirl
wind, hut awoke to a sense of what was
by comparison safety, clinging, yet more
closely, with fast-dying grasp, to the door
handle; supported yet more firmly by
the inside passenger and his scarf;. rush
ing through vacant windy space in the
shape of cornfields and laborers; now, a
mill or two, and a man; now, a station,
where everybody’s arms seemed to be
raised on high in horror; now—ugh!—
another luggage-train. “ More brandy ?”
said my kind preserver. I drank it
Hurrah! we are slackening speed—we
have pulled up! I half swoon; I find
myselfin the custody of railway officials.
I am accused of riding without a. ticket
—of getting into the train when in mo
tion ; I am threatened with being given
in charge: My head is. young, and not
oversteady after its railway gallop.
Brandy, XXX and sherry—good servants,
but bad masters—assert their sway. I
expected kindness; I meet with coarse
roughness. I expected congratulations;
I meet with threats. Is it any wonder
that I get into a rage ? I believe I use
( 'i u P this hill, the snake stopped in a warfare.
open place, aud liking all Well, it was about three Pym.ojMo»-
•"‘■1 he gave forth a low bellowing day before the Tuesday I have alluded < ,
looking eye. I called for and saw the
Inspector, or head man at the station.
He was very kind, but very firm. He
would not hear of a bribe. Or good,
substantial hail, he would let me putj but
before the Police Magistrate I nust .ap
pear at ten o’clock that morning} Where
could I, a young, unknown man, get hail
at that time of night ? I sat d>wn, el
bows on my knees, head in my hinds, and
thought over matters.
No doubt I took a somewhd; gloomy
view of things. My impressions were:
Appearance as a criminal in ihe police
court—shame of the thing—heivy fine—
perhaps imprisonment—commission lost
—report in the regiment thrt I was a
coward, backing out when tbs time for
active service had arrived—character
What could I do? Two o'clock;
gone.
tion-house, in charge of the police. W ea-
ried, worried, not drunk, but having been
over-excited, and being over-exhausted
with my ride of death and its consequen
ces, I fall asleep.
' It was about one o’clock a. m. when I
awoke. I recollected everything. I was
in a room with two or three dirty fellows,
half drunk, half asleep, who had been
taken up in some row. There was one
better-looking gentlemanly-dressed man,
who was drunk as possible, lying on a
form, and calmly and quite, hopelessly
surveying me with a very -glassy, ffishy-
three, four, five; the well-drcsstd 1 drunk
ard opposite awoke from his intoxicated
slumber. He was clothed in a grey suit
—I in dark brown; he had a greatcoat—
I had none; he had a hat—mine had
doubtless been picked up long ago near
Bletchley, and was laid by as the gala
head-dress of some navy. *
“ Hallo,” said I to the man opposite;
“who are you? What are you doing
here?”
“ I’ll be hung if I can tell.” said he, on
the spur of the moment. “ But wait a
moment—let me collect my scattered
thoughts. Yesterday I was a medical stu
dent of hospital, as no doubt I still
am. Last evening I attended a supper
party of a friend who had just passed his
examination. I do no not recollect get
ting into any row, but no doubt I was
picked up by the police, drunk and in
sensible. I shall most likely be fined five
or ten boh by the beak, and get a lecture
from him. About one o’clock my. stom
ach will recover its tone, and Richard
will be himself again. There is my case;
now why are you here?” he said.
“I hardly know,” I replied. “But
wait a bit; let me think.” I asked him
if the police knew him, and what name
he gave.
“ I have no more idea than you,” he
replied “ whether the Bobbies have the
honor of being acquainted with me; I
can’t tell whether I gave any name. If
I was able to utter any articulate sound,
I am pretty sure to have informed them
that my name was Air. John Smith.” t
I thought.
“ Mr. John Smith,” said I, “ we shall
never meet again. . I neither mean nor
wish to insult you. I have done nothing
criminal, and yet I am in a bigger mess
than can he probably be atoned for by a
few shillings fine. Pardon me, if I insult
you by my proposal. If you will ex
change clothes with me, and names and
crimes, neither of us giving our real
names, I will give you twenty pounds
down, and run my chance of being first
placed at the bar.” ^
“ All very well,” said he; “ but suppos
ing your offence is one likely to be pun
ished heavily, and I am called upon first
■I should be in a mess.”
“ Oh, no,” I replied; if you are called
first, I loose my game, and you keep the
money I gave you, and take your own
offence and your own punishment. If I
am called up first, I give your name, and
pay your fine; and you, when you are
called, will have no* great difficulty in
proving that you are not I, and were not
where I was yesterday.”
“All right; done, along with you,”
said he; but I hope you are not in for
murder.”
We changed clothes while our compan
ions were snoring. We were duly con
veyed in the prison-van about half-past
nine, to the police-court. I managed to
get hold of an official, to give him a
pound, and to get him to use his influence
to have the case of John Smith, the
drunken medical student, called first, or
very early. My bribe answered. For
the first, and last time, I trust, in my
life, I stood in the dock.
No sooner had I been placed there,
than I at once stated that I wished to
plead guilty; that I was very sorry for
what f bad done, (I inwardly wondered
what it was,) that I had been overtaken
by drink on a festive occasion, and so
forth. The magistrate cut me short by
saying he was glad to see me so penitent
—at the same time my offence must be
punished; that it was disgraceful for a
gentleman of my position to be found
drunk and incapable in the streets; that
I must pay a fine of ten shillings, or go
to prison for seven days.
I need hardly add that I paid the fine
at once, left the court, and as fast as a
hansome could carry me, hurried off to
the south-western terminus. My ruse at
the police-court must, I knew, he soon
discovered, and though there was not
much chance of my being found and tak
en up, yet I was anxious to put as great
a distance as I could between myself and
the worthy magistrate and his subordi
nates. By some clever managemement,
the case was kept out of the newspapers/
I remember I anxiously scanned the
police reports, to see what had become of
my prison acquaintance, Air. John Smith,
who dressed in my clothes, was to stand
in my shoes and take on himself my of
fence,-hut I could learn nothing. It was
not till a few years after, on my return to
England, that I heard what had been the
end of the matter. Feeling confident
that I .should not be recognized, I went
to the same police-court, got into conver
sation with one of the officials, treated
him to a drink, and, at length, without
showing any unusual interest in the story,
led him on to tell me how, some years
back, there had been the rummiest go he
ever knew in that court; how the wrong
man had been, fined for being what he
had not been, namely, drunk and incapa
ble; how Air. John Smith, when he was
put in the dock and charged with getting
on a train in- motion at Bletchley, and
then assaulting the police at Euston-square
station, not only denied the fact, but
forced the witnesses to confess that he
was not the man, and then, in the most
impertinent manner, threatened to sum
mon the police, the witnesses, nay, even
the magistrate himself, if he was not dis
missed with a . gracious apology from all
of them; how the police were not a little
put out, &c. In fact, sir,” he added,
“it was the very rummiest go.”
But to return to my story. I left town
by the first train I could, and, as I was
rushing down to Portsmouth, began to
think over matters. I had certainly
got partly out of my fix. I had escaped
going to prison, and had been preserved
from the shame of loosing my commission
because I had disgraced Her Majesty’s
service, and had been saved all the worse
than annoyance of public exposure, and
so forth. But, even now, my position
was not an enviable one. It was nearly
three o’clock. Aly regiment had em
barked at two o’clock, and the unpleas
ant words of my Colonel, as from time.to
time I again and, again read his letter,
made me feel very uncomfortable. My
commission seemed to be anything but
safe. However, after much calculation,
I arrived at the conclusion that though
the regiment might have embarked, the
vessel could hardly have sailed, and that I
should be in time. Alas! two or three
hours later, I stood on the pier at Ports
mouth, and saw the troop-ship Hiawatha,
with every sail set and a fair wind, miles
away from land.
With a heavy heart, I turned away.
What could I do? As I walked along,
with down cast head, I suddenly received
a vollev of abuse, and became conscious
that I had trodden on the gouty toes of
some old naval captain. He did not
speak mildly to me. He was not one of
the new school, and he rated me with
coarse language as soundly as if he had
been on his own quarter-deck, and I had
committed the mosthenious offence imag
inable. So rough was his tongue, that*
under any other circumstances, I should
have teen fairly angry. As it was, it
was a perfect chance whether I abused
him or apologized. Aly good fortune
prevailed.
“Ibeg your pardon,” I said; “I was
too much occupied by my own miserable
thoughts to see where I was going. Don’t
be too hard on a man that is down.”
And I walked away.
“Come here, youngster,” he roared.
“ ‘AEserable thoughts,’ ‘man that is
down’—what do you mean by that non
sense at your time of life?” And then,
reading in my distressed countenance how
really upset my mind was, he spoke most
kindly to me, and said: “I suppose you
have got into some scrape. I have a boy
about your age; I should he most thank
ful if anyone helped him in a difficulty;
tell me all about it.”
I did tell him all ahout.it, merely sup
pressing what had happened in London.
“Yes,” he said, “you will lose your
commission, to a dead certainty, if you do
not catch that ship; and, even if you do
catch her, you will probably be at once
put under arrest. But cheer up; I will
see what I can do for you. The vast
probabilities are, that, before twenty-four
hours are over, we shall have an extreme-
severe south-west gale. Very likely
you did that which might have cost you
what you value probably moire than life
—I mean your good name.. Now, my
very strong advice to you, Mr. Temple, is
this: Do not let any circumstances what
ever lead you to drink anything strong
before your' dinner, I do not mean to
imply that you are likely to get drunk;
but the silly habit of’drinking on an
empty stomach merely for drinking’s
sake; the silly habit of making two dinners
a day, when beer, sherry, and champagne
are drunk at lunch, may or may not in
jure others, but will probably lead a per
son of your temperament to do, in some
moment of excitement, that which you will
all your life regret.”
“ I promise, sir, to ”—
“No, don’t promise, Mr. Temple. You
little know the temptations which as a
young officer, you will encounter. Don’t
promise, hut ever remember my advice.”
Colonel sleeps in the Crimea; he
died in my arms. Admiral and
Captain——are also both dead. Of
John Smith, the medical student, I know
nothing; perhaps, when he reads this, he
inay claim my acquaintance. Most re
ligiously have I kept my dear old colonel’s
advice. I can safely say, that in health,
in pocket, in happiness,' in every way, I
have prospered, save as regards my
wounds—Harry glanced at his shattered,
useless arm—and to the last hour of my
life, remembering myjjown early days and
narrow escape, never, unless I am fully
persuaded that he deserves it, will I be
hard upon a youngster.
ENGLISH LAWYERS.
the Hiawatha will be'forced to put in at
Plymouth. It so happens, that, at Ply
mouth I have great influence—much
more than I have here. I am most in
timately acquainted with the Port-Admi
ral at Plymouth. You must get down to
that town as fast as you can by posting
jnd rail; go at once to tbe Port-Admiral
and give him a letter I will now write.
In the letter he begged his friend to
have a lookout kept for the Hiawatha,
and if within so many hours she did not
put into Plymouth, to send a steamer
and see if by any means she could meet
with the troop-ship and put me on board.
The predicted gale came on in the
course of a few hours. The Port-Admi
ral at Plymouth not only received me
most kindly, but gave me a letter to Col.
, which he said might do me good.
To my great delight the Hiawatha was
driven into Plymouth by stress of weath
er. I need hardly say I lost no time in
getting on board. I did not report my
self as Ensign Temple, but asking for Col.
said: “ Admiral begged me to
give you this letter.” He read it.
“Come down to my cabin, Air. Temple;
and when there, he continued:—“The
letter you have given me from Admiral
is one in which he begs, as a person
al favor to himself, I will not put you
under arrest, but receive you favorably
in every way, if I can do so consistently
with my duty. You do not appear to me
to deserve my kindness. I treated you
with unusual favor in allowing you leave
of absence up to the very last moment.
In my letter to you I told you in plain
language what would he the consequence
A correspondent of the Boston Adver
tiser gives the following information in
relation to English lawyers:
“The present number of barristers in
England is rather less than 5000. Of
these a few gain enormous incomes, some
times reaching £15,000, or even £20,000
a year, and many of them acquire hand
some competences. Barristers have a
position in society which no trade in the
country obtains, and have the advantage
also of being eligible to many offices and
dignities of state from which everyohe
outside the profession is excluded. How
often do I hear literary men exclaim, after
middle life is reached, “What things I
might have had if I had gone to the bar?”
While their are hundreds who never see
a brief, or have their professional train
ing brought in play, hut either go into
literature, marry some one with money,
or live in chambers oh some small family
property—there is at the same time the
fact that half the House of Peers is filled
with legal lords of the present day, or
the descendants of those of_former days,
showing what prizes lie within their reach-.
Four “Inns of Court” have the exclusive
right of admitting outsiders to the ranks
of the profession. Each inn is governed
by “benchers” who have the control of
ail the funds and the call of men to “the
bar.” One inn has an annual income of
about £21,000; a second has about £13,-
000; a third £18,000, and a fourth has
about £8,300. Some half of this income
is paid by the students and barristers.
Each bencher pays £250, or £350 to his
society on his appointment, and gets in
return only an excellent daily dinner dur
ing his term-time for a mere trifle, and a
probability amounting nearly to a certain
ty of obtaining a good set of chambers for
life. Just now some complaints are rais
ed against the benchers. It is contended
that they fix the rent too high for the
chambers; that luncheon should be serv
ed as well as dinner. Each inn possesses
noble dining halls, excellent kitchens, and
a large staff of servants. The student
pays three shillings, and the barristers
three shillings ana sixpence for a plain
dinner and a half a pint of wine; but as
you may suppose this dinner does not pay
its own expenses. At one of the inns be
tween two and three thousand pounds are
paid away in allowance and'salaries to
servants. But a more serious grievance
is the insufficient educational opportuni
ties afforded to the students. The Inns of
Court have four noble libraries at the
disposal, of their students, but the latter
find great inconvenience in using them.
If a student goes to the library of his inn
for a morning’s reading of some text book,
he finds his study interrupted every few
minutes by an application for the book
from a barrister who has run in from
chambers to look up some small point
which has arisen in the practice; in the
evening the library is closed, and no book
can be taken away save by a bencher.
Again, he must first obtain an order from
encher. from the other inn, before he
appointed hour. With plenty of time be
fore you and with certain results staring
you in the face, you chose to absent your
self from your regiment fora longer pe
riod than you were allowed; and, indeed,
it is only by a mere chapter of accidents
that you were able to join your regiment
at alj. Now, before I make up my mind
what to do, tell me plainly and truthfully
everything connected with your absence.
Do not attempt to make excuses.”
I told him everything, merely respect
fully requesting him that he would keep
my escapade quite secret. > Hie attended
to my tale, grew interested in my outside
railway journey, and all but laughed at
my police adventure. To cut my story
short, I will give his parting words .to
“Air, Temple, I had thought that
probably dissipation or carelessness had
detained you in town. For many rea
sons I will take no notice whatever of
what has happened. If I took anynotice
at all, it must be in a very serious way.
Report yourself to the Adjutant; or per
haps I had better take you to him my
self, and introduce you. Alake what ex
cuse you like to your brother officers for
your non-appearance; and I will not exact a
promise from you, but remember you have
got into this scrape through drinking”—
“I was not at all drunk; sir,” said I.
• “No, I never said you were, Mr. Tem
ple; but being by nature of an excitable
temperament, you did that which you
would hot have done had’you taken ho
beer, champagne or sherry for lunch; and
1 putting aside the bodily risk you ran.
nice. The word was privilege. “P-r-i-v :
priv—i, privi—lege, privilege,” spelled
Eunice. JBut the teacher, vexed with the
mistake at the other end of the class, mis
understood her, and passed it. The lit
tle girl looked amazed; the bright color
came into her cheeks,' and she listened,
eagerly to the next person, who spelled it
as she had dona.
“Right,” said the teacher; “take your
place.” . ’ ’
“I spelled it so,” whispered Eunice to
herself} tears springing to her eyes as she
passed down. But, too timid to speak .to
the master, she remained in her place, in
wardly determined to get up again.
, But her trials were not over. Many
expedients were tried in the school- to
keep out the arch enemy of all schools—
whispering. At lengthy the following was
adopted: The first whoperer was stood
upon the floor in front of the teacher’s
desk. Here he acted as a monitor; as he
detected another he took his seat, and the
next offender kept a sharp look-out to
find some one to take his place; for at
the close of the school, the scholar who
had the whisperer’s place was punished
very severely—as the school phrase was,
“tooka feruling!” This plan'appeared
to operate very well, every one dreading
being found the last on the floor; but
though it secured an orderly school, ma
ny of the parents and scholars doubted
its justice.
The hoy who was on the floor when Eu
nice lost her place, was an unruly, surly
fellow, who had smarted for his faults ot-
ten before; and as school drew near its
close he began to tremble.. The instant
Eunice’s whispered complaint reached his
ear, his face brightened up; he was. safe
now. And when the class was dismissed,
he said, “Eunice whispered, sir.’
Eunice rose, and in & trembling voice
related what she had said; but the teach
er saw no excuse in it, and she was called
to take the place of the ungenerous boy
who told on her.
Books had been put away, and the
waiting school looked on in sorrowfulness
as Eunice left her seat to take the dreaded
punishment. She was one of the best
scholars, bright, faithful, sweet tempered,
a general favorite. Everyone felt that it
was unjust, and many angry glances were
at the boy who was mean enough to get a
little girl whipped. Overcome with shame
and fear, she stood up by the desk, crying
bitterly, while the teacher was preparing
to inflict the punishment..
At this moment a tall boy stepped out
of his seat, and going to the desk, said:
“ Are you going to whip Eunice, sir ?”
“Yes, I never break my rules,” tho
teacher said. . m
“We will not see her whipped!” said
thd boy in an excited tone. “ There is
not a boy here, hut one, that would see
her whipped. Whip me, sir, and keep
your rule if you must, hut dpn’t touch
that little girl.”
The master paused; the school looked
on tearfully.
“Do you mean to say that you will take
the punishment?” asked the teacher.
“I do air,” was the bold reply.
The sobbing little girl was sent to her
seat, and .without flinching, her friend
stood and received the punishment that
was to have fallen on her. The school
was dismissed, and the boys paid him in
admiration and praise for-all he had suf
fered, while the grateful little girl blessed
him from her heart for a noble and gen
erous hoy, who had saved her from the
greatest shame and suffering.
• I said the little school had its heroes,
and this was one of them. Do you think
this conduct admirable?
Now for the moral. . "*
The punishment received by this noble
boy was Christ-like; it was one of suffer
ing from his own free will the punishment
that was to have been borne by another.
You see—do you not—that this is just
what Christ did, who bore our sin in His
own body, on the tree—the Saviour of
men. How great the gratitude , each of
us owe such a friend.
Wade Hampton.
if you did not reach. Portsmouth .at the can se t f 00 t in a ny library save his own,
There is no reason whatever why the li
braries should not he opened in the even
ings. The attorneys have an excellent
library which is open up to, ten o’clock at
night. A separate library should be es
tablished for the students. The body is
more than the mind with the benchers.
At the Inner Temple about £500 are Bpent
on the library and £2000 on eating and
drinking.
A BEAUTIFUL STORY,
“A cheerful word of sympathy
May scatter clbuds away. ,
One little aet performed in life
Tama darkness into day."
On a warm summer afternoon a lazy
breeze stole through the windows of a lit
tle hot district school house, lifting the
white curtains, and rustling the leaves of
the copy hooks that lay open on the desks.
Thirty or forty scholars of all ages were
bending over their writing, quiet and bu
sy ; the voice, of the master, as he passed
about among the writers, was the only
sound. But though silent, this little hot
school room had its heroes add heroines
as certainly as the wider sphere pf life.
The bell rings for the writing to belayed
by; and now comes the last exercise of
the day, the spelling, in which nearly all
the school joined. At the head of the
class is a delicate little girl, in a blue
dress, whose bright eyes and attentive
air shows that she prizes’ her place, and
means to. keep it.
Presently a word which has passed all
the lower end of the class, came to Eu-
The New York World, under the caption
of “Notable Men,” pays the following com-
E limeht to General Wade Hampton, one of
oath Carolina’s gallant sons, whom the peo
ple always delight in honoring:
Waue Hampton.—The Marat of the South.
Rubens would have delighted to paint this
man’s face. A strongly marked face. The
face of a hero and leader of inen. Standing
over six feet, the figure athletic and full, the
shoulders ample and worthy to carry a head
which gives promise of firm but quiet deter
mination. In brief tbe head of a man who
has best represented the strength and intel
lect of South Carolina in all the tiring years
of her checkered history^Hia face is bronzed
with the smoke and dust of many a hard
fight. Snch a face as might be deemed the
incarnation of war when once aroused. The
eyes black and piercing, the chin' solid, the
jaws of iron mould, and surmounted by whis
kers of the English Guardsman fashion.
This man’s history iB S poem in itself. We
can call to mind one man like him in the
chronicles of tbe Anglo Saxon. That man
was James Grahame, Viscount Dundee.—
Both wore sabreurs. Both alike fought gal
lantly for a like cause, the cause of blood and
birth, and both lost the great stakes which
they had cast headlong in the fight. South
Carolinians will tell you with pride of his
histPry, of his thirteen acres of rose gardens,
of his stable of-magnificent blooded horses,
the finest stable in all the sunny lands of the
South, of his genius, hia.pride of race, hia
heroism and self-sacrifice for the lost cause,
of tbe struggle which he made, and of his
manly and dignified silence when the South
was overthrown, horse, foot and artillery, by
the armed might of tbe .North, .and of hia
wise counsel to his people since then. Hamp
ton has, like most of tbe Southern delegates
in the Convention, but little to say. He
abides the will of the people of the North
quietly, and as he said yesterday, will be
content and satisfied with their choice. Mr.
Hampton wears grey pantaloons, a dark
frock coat, is retiring in his necktie, and is
slightly inclined to corpulence.
Cholbba at Havana.—The United States
Vice-Consul General at Havana, under data
of July 8, writes that “with reference to the
health of the city, it can be said to be good
for this season of the year, but I regret to in
form you that -quite a number oi cases of
cholerine, here generally thought to bechole-
raj were reported.. To-day the number of
case*, I am informed, i* greatly diminished.”
Vj f , et »>*:-
■ Wr-j
rittMmstt
afeaiiittatai