• UNivtKiui u. ~ ‘•f - . **
flllje svfi’orqta [jfl'eittjjeraKcr §^wmbe4
JOHN 11. SEALS,
NEW SERIES, VOLUME 111.
Published every Thursday in the year, except two
lEH.uk: Two HnllurN per year, in advance.
JOHN 11. SEALS, Solb IVti'riMF.rOn.
I.ION El. 1,. \ K.VZKV, Mm run Litskaut Dbim KrvtKvr.
lIIIS M. K. BUY AN. Kuirßiw.
JOHN” A. J!KVNoIJs ) I’lbi.ishkk.
Clubs of Te Names, by sending the Cash,
will receive the paper at .... $J 50 r (^eoj>y.
Clubs of Five Names, at 180 “
Any person sending us Five new subscribers, inclo
sing the money, shall receive an extra copy one year
f rce of cost.
Kates of Advertising:
1 square, (twelve lines or les*,) first insertion, &1 00
“ Each continuance, 50
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding six
lines, per year, - r > ,)<J
Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 0®
Advertisements not marked with the number of
rinsertiona, will be continued until forbid, and charged
Druggists and others, may contract
for advertising by the year on reasonable terms.
Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Ex
ecutora and Guardians, per square, 5 00
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators, Ex
ecutora and Guavdians, per square, 3 25
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 3 25
Notice fur Leave to Sell, - ®9
Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 <o
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm’n, 500
Citation for Letters ol Dismission front Guard p, 325
Sales of Land and Negroes by Administrators, Exec
utors or Guardians, are required, by law, to be held on
the First Tuesday in the month, between the hours el
ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the
Court-house door of the county in which the property is
situate. Notices of these sales must be given in a pub
lic Gazette, forty dai/s previous to the day of sale.
Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be given
at least ten days previous to the day ol sale.
Notices to Debtors and Creditors of an estate, must
be published forty days.
Notice that application will be made to the Court oi
Ordinary, for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must be pub
lished weekly for two months.
Citations for Letters of Administration, must be pub
lished thirty days —for Dismission from Administration
monthly, six months— for Dismission from Guardianship,
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be published
monthly, for four months— lor compelling titles from Ex
ecutors or Administrators, where a bond has been issued
by the deceased, the full space of three months.
Publications will always be continued according
to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise or
Q//te Q&tmncy 4- CfJtiectciy,
KING A LiEWIS, Attorneys at Lean, Gueexes
boro, Ga. The undersigned, having associated
themselves together in the practice of law, will attend
to all business intrusted (o their care, with that prompt
ness and efficiency which long experience, united with
industry, can secure. Offices at Grecuesboro and live
miles west of White Plains, Greene county, Ga.
T. P. KING. July 1, 1858. 31. W. LEWIS.
WHIT G. JOHNSON, Attoi •ney at Law, j
Augusta, Ga. will prompjlf attend toall business
intrusted to his professional management in’ Richmond
and the adjoining counties. Office on Mclntosh street,
three doors below Constitutionalist office.
Reference —Thos. R. R. Cobb, Athens, Ga.
June 14 ly
DOGER L. WHIGIIAIVI, L< julsville, ,Jcf-
JhY forson county, Georgia, will give prompt attention
to any business intrusted to his care, in t he following
counties : Jefferson, Burke, Richmond, Columbia, \V ar
ren, Washington, Emanuel, Montgomery, Tatnall and
Scriven. April 20, 1850 if
T EONARD T. DOYAL, Attorney at Law,
J-J McDonough, Henry county, Ga. will practice Law
in the following counties: Henry, Spaulding, Hutl ß.
Newton, Fayette, Fulton, Dekalb, Pike and Monroe.
DII. SANDERS, Attorney at Law, Albany,
• Ga. will practise in the counties of Dougherty,
Sumter, Lee, Randolph, Calhoun, Early, Baker, Deca
tur and Worth. Jan 1 ly
HT. PERKINS, Attorney at Law, Greencs
• boro, Ga. will practice in the counties of Greene,
Morgan, Putnam, Oglethorpe, Taliaferro, Hancock,
Wilkes and Warren. Feb ly
DIIIEEIP IT ROBINSON, Attorney at
-17 Law, Greeneeboro, Ga. will practice in the conn
ties of Green© Morgan, Putnam, Oglethorpe, Taliafer
ro, Hancock. Wilkes and Warren. July 5, ’5(,-lv
JAMES BROWN, Attorney at Law, Fancy
Hill, Murray Cos. Ga. April 30, 1857.
SIBLEY, BOGGS & CO
—WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN—
Choice Family Groceries, Cigars, &c.
275 Broad Sired, Augusta, Georgia.
Warehouse & Commission Merchant,
fAQNT INUMS t-lie business in all its
. m e> branches, in his large and commodi
ous Fire-Proof Warehouse, on Jackson
street. near the Globe Hotel.
Orders for Goods, &.c. promptly and carefully filled.
The usual cash facilities afforded customers.
July 22 lim®
muKia a Eiasastr#
Warehouse & Commission Merchants]
V— TT AVING entered into :i co-part-
S O -FJ-ship for the purpose of carrying on
the Storage and Commission Business in
all of its branches, respectfully solicit con
signmeuts nf Cotton and other produce; also orders for
Bagauig, Rope and family supplies. Their strict, per
sonal attention will be given to the business.
All the facilities due from factors to patrons shall be
granted with a liberal hand.
. 8 ISAAC T. HEARD,
WM. C. DERRY.
Fitly 22d, ISSB.
WILL continue the W A REHOUSE and COM
MISSION BUSINESS at their old stand on
Jackson street. Will devote their personal attention to
the Storage and sale of Cotton, Bacon, Grain, &c.
Liberal cash advances Blade when required ; and all
orders for Family Supplies, Bagging, Rope, &c. filled
at the lowest market price.
JOHN C. REES. [Aug 12] SAM L P. LINTON.
-mum, -JENNINGS & CO.
GROCERS AND COTTON FACTORS,
Opposite the Globe Hotel, Augusta, Georgia.
CONTINUE, as heretofore, in connection with
their Grocery Business, to attend to the sale of
COTTON and other produce.
They will be prepared in the Brick Fireproof Ware
house, now in process of erection in the front of their
•store, at the intersection of Jackson and Reynold streets,
H o receive on storage all consignments made them.
Liberal cash advances made on Produce in store,
•when requested-. ANTOINE POULLAIN, I
, THOMAS J. JENNINGS,
c Aug 19 —6m ISAIAH PURSE.
WAREHOUSE AND COMMISSION MERCHANT,
THE undersigned, thankful for the liberal pa- 1
tronaga extended to him for a series of years, would
inform his friends and the public that he will continue
at hi® aame well known Brick Warehouse on Campbell
street, near Boues, Brown &. Co’s. Hardware House,
where, by strict personal attention to alt business en
trusted to his care, he hopes he will receive a share of
ihe public patronage.
Cash Advances, Bagging, Rope and Family Supplies,
will be forwarded to customers as heretofore, when de
sired. [Augusta, Ga. Aug J9-6m
VI/’ANTED by a young lady, a graduate oi
” a Southern College, a situation as TEACHER
in a Primary and Preparatory School, or to tcsch Hair
Braiding, Oil, Pastille and Grecian Painting, dec. Re
ferences given it desired. Address L. G. H., White
Plains, Greene county, Ga. [Aug —l*
A Classical Teacher Wanted
’ > take charge of PI NE GROVE ACADEMY,
-A- near Double Wells, Warren county. Apply to
either of the-undersigned.
WILLIAM B. BARKSDAI.F*.
MANN AM JONES,
JOHN 11. HUBERT,
Aug 2i) M. H. HUBERT.
/agesl AE.S. MORGAN (L McGßEfrOb,
-A J Surgeon and Mechanical Dentists,
UJ.-HTXTPeI)tirId, Ga. would inform the citizens of
Greene and adjoining counties, that they arc prepnred
to perform anv operation pertaining to their profession,
with neatness and despatch.
They will insert from one to an entire set of teeth,
which,’ for beauty, durability, comfort and masticating,
will compare with any either iu this country 1 or m Eu
rope. It is their intention to please, and where perfect
satisfaction is not. given, they will make no charge.
Any call from the country that may be tendered them
will nicer with their prompt attention.
L. W. McGREGOR.
Tliev refer to Dr. John B. Murphcy, of Rome, Ga.
Dr. C. B. Lombard, Athens,
Sept 2, 1858.
BROOM & NORRELL,
AUGUSTA. OEOHGTA, j
ARE now purchasing one of the largest and
most, elegant stocks of
Full and Winter I) II Y (i 0 0 D S
that will be brought to this market this season, which
will be bought under circumstances that will guarantee
the purchase upon the very best terms, and will tlieie
fore enable us to sell them at such
Unprecedentedly Low Prices
that they cannot be undersold, and will
DEFY ALE COMPETITION.
fIUAUTY. STILE AM) I'll ICF„
And as our rule of business :s,
CBWE3 M m
no one will pay over market price, as the rule forces the
seller to ash the lowest marled price, and protects the buyer.
If you wish goods at low prices,
Go to BROOME & NORRELL’S.
If you like fair and open dealing,
Goto BROOME & NORRELL’S.
If you dislike a dozen prices for the same article, and
prefer “ one price,”
If you don’t like to be 11 bailed” one article, and pay
doubly on another,
Go to BROOM E & NOR R ELL’S.
In fact, if you wish to buy cheap goods, get good value
for vour money, and trade where you like to deal, and
be pleased to see your friends,
Go to BR(XOLE & NORRELL’S
ONE PRICE STORE!
August 2, 1858
“SELLING .OFF AT CO A !
The subscriber, with a view to closing his busi
ness, is now offering his entire stock of mer
chandise at cost. Anyone in want of a bargain, ci
ther in Dry Goods, Diess Goods, Ready-made Cloth
ing, Hats, Caps, Boots, Shoes, Drugs, Medicines,Crock
ery, Hollow and Willow Wares, He., &c., will do well
• o call and examine mv Stock, before purchasing.
PcnGeld. Aug. 5 WM. B. SEALS.
BY the subscriber, on Saturday last, [l4th
insl.] between Shiloh and Bairdslown, a yellow
steel-rimmed Pocket Book of ordinary size, containing
S3lt anil a few cents. Any information respecting it wifi
l>c thankfully received, and the finder liberally rewarded.
Aug l’J if JOHN R. YOUNG.
Til E firm of COE A LATIMER is this day dis
solved by mutual consent. H. A. COE,
Grecnesboro, May Ist, 1858 J. S. LA'l I.VIER.
The practice w ill be continued by
who will visit
ol which due notice will lie given intlie Crusader and
Gazette. Permanent office in J. CUNNINGHAAFS
BLOCK. C, R E E N E S B O R O.
May 13, 1858 tjanl
THE ('OLD WATER WAV.
(A Ballad,by John G. Saxe.)
It was an honest fisherman—
L knew him passing well,
Ami ho lived by a little pond
Within a little dell.
A grave and quiet man was he,
Who loved his hook and rod ;
So oven ran his line of life,
His neighbors thought it odd.
For science and lor books he said
He never had a wish;
Xo school to him was worth a iig,
Except a school of fish.
He ne’er aspired to rank or wealth.
Nor cared about a name ;
• For though"much famed for fish was he,
He never fished for fame.
Let others bend their necks at sight
Os Fashion’s gilded wheels.
He ne’er had learned to “bob”
For anything but eels.
A cunning fisherman was he,
His angles all were right;
The smallest nibble at his bait
Was sure to prove bite !”
All day ttiis fisherman would sit
Upon an ancient log,
And gaze into the water, like
A sedentary frog,
With all the seeming innocence,
And that unconscious look,
That other people often wear
When they intend to “hook.”
To charm the fish he never spoke,
Although his voice was fine ;
He found the most convenient way
was just to drop a line.
And many a gudgeon of the pond,
If they could speak to-day,
Would own, with grief, this angler had
A mighty taking way.
Alas! ono day this fisherman
Had taken too much grog;
And being but a landsman, too,
lip couldn’t keep the log.
’Twas all in vain, with might and main,
He strove to reacli the shore;
Down—dpwn ho went to feed the fish
He’d baited oft before.
The jury gave their verdict that
Twas nothing else but gin
Had caused the fisherman to be
So badly taken in.
Though one stood ouLupon a whim,
And said the angler’s slaughter,
‘To be exact about the fact,
Was elqarly gin and water.
The moral of this mournful tale
To all is plain and clear:
That drinking habits bring a man
Tco often to his bier.
And lie who scorns to “take the pledge,”
And keep the promise fa9t.
May be. in spite of fate, a stiff
• Cold Water Man at last.
THE adopted organ of all the temperance organizations in the state.
PENFIELD, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 10. 185 B .
DrntfSs ; y\
BY MBS. M. E. BRYAN.
THE FATAL RING.
SV MALY E. BRYAN.
UIT7ITUER away, fair sister?” and Amiand
j W tossed his half-finished cigar into the grate
and arrested the flitting vision of crepe and lace,
j by catching the daintily gloved hand in his.
“ To see the Lady Alice Langley,” said Theodora
-—“our sister that is to be—Gerald’s betrothed.
He has told you of it, has he not?”
“Not a syllable. Gerald is net wont to be com
municative, and I cannot wonder at* his negli
gence, when even my favorite sister was so occu
pied with her balls and her beaux, that she came
very near forgetting the poor soldier, fighting for
the honor of his country beneath broiling skies,
and eating dog beef at Lucknow.”
“ Fie 1” said the lady, putting her little hand
on his mouth. “I told you, sir, you must not
talk of such horrid things. I protest I have not
had the least appetite since you came back,
though, of course,*l don't believe the half of your
fine stories. But about Lady Alice: Surely you
have heard the name. The London papers men
tioned it often enough, I should think. .She was
the star of the season for two winters past, and
set the Iteo.", mdmk wild with her magnificent eyes.
She is Sir Philip Langley’s grand ncice, and her
history has quite a dash of romance in it, Her
father was an odd, half crazed creature, who lived
the life of a hermit in a dreary, old, castle-like
mansion half a hundred leagues from London,
in some shire or other—l can’t recall the name.
Well; ho had not lived happily with his wife,
and they were divorced when she died, and the
strange old lord determined that Alice should
never know the evils of matrimony. So, he made
a perfect nun of her, shutting her up in that con
vent of a castle, and making her read queer books
and study strange sciences, with no companion
ship except that of an old Gypsey nurse, who had
lived in the castle ever since Alice’s birth, and
who, from all I can learn, was a woman of great
strength of will, and made good use of her power
over the child. And so she lived in perfect seclu
sion until she had reached her twentieth year,
when the misanthrope lord died, and left his only
daughter to his uncle’s guardianship. Sir Fhilip
unbarred the cage of the long prisoned bird, and
set her free among all the pleasures of London
life. What a delightfully naive creature she was,
and how refreshing was her charming ignorance
of the world’s ways and vices!
Os course, such a ram avis was admired. Sir
Philip offered her hand to Gerald, who was not
at all reluctant to accept it, and so they are for
mally betrothed. I assure you our quiet brother
is really enthusiastic about her charming fresh
ness of feeling and simplicity of heart: ami be
sides, you know he is a little romantic, and al
ways said that he must have the first love of the
woman he married, and now he has his wish -
“ Best stop now, Then,” interposed her brother,
“for your story is growing bibulous. Nineteen
years of age, and never fallen in love! The tale
is past all credence. Vardonnc but I know
your sex too well to imagine that any damsel
could reach an age which you maidens fancy so
mature, without having made the acquaintance
of Cupid. If the old ogre that so jealously guar
ded the prison of your charming paragon had
suffered no other masculine to enter its precincts,
she would indubitably have had a sentimental
love affair with the gardener, the gardener’s son
or the butler—eh, Theo?”
“You are just as absurd as ever, Amiand.
Your epaulets have not improved your habits in
the least. The idea of a girl of refined feelings,
like Alice Langley, falling in love with a fat but
ler or a dirty gardoner! and I am sure she had
seen no one else —unless—unless—”
“Well go on ; why do you hesitate?”
“Because lam afraid of your teasing laugh,
that 1 very well remember; and after all, it is
nothing, though I confess it troubled me a little.
Well, I believe I will tell you: Somehow, Amiand,
spite of your nonsense and your ridicule, you al
ways manage to make me confide everything to
you. It was so when we were children, you re
“Perfectly ; but go on with your story.”
“It is not much, but you shall hear it; and
first, you must know that the marriage of Lady
Alice and our brother takes place the last of the
present month. Alice is subject to tits of melan
choly, which increase as her bridal draws nearer.”
“Melancholy ? I thought you said she loved
“Os course she does. Is she not affianced to j
him, and could any one help loving Gerald?
Though she is very quiet about it, as a lady of
delicate feelings should be; but it is not this that
occasions her melancholy. It was long before
she would confess to me, that it was because of j
the prediction of her Gypsey nurse, that the day
of her bridal should be also the day of her death.”
“ And why should she cave for the prediction
of a silly old woman ? Os course the prejudice of
the master influenced the nurse.”
“ I told this to Alice, but it failed to remove
the impression from her mind. I think that old
nurse acquired most absolute control over Alice’s
will. Sir Philip dismissed her immediately after
bringing home his neico, but I have reason to
think that she still finds means of communicating ,
with Alice. But 1 have mentioned this only as
a preface to what I intended saying.
Since I knew of this morbid melancholy ol
Lady Alice, I have been with her a great deal, ,
and endeavored to draw her mind away from
such gloomy thoughts. One evening last week,
on knocking at the door of her boudoir and receiv
ing no answer, I opened it and entered without
ceremony. She was lying upon the faufeuil, her
face buried in the cushions. She sprang quickly
to her feet on becoming aware of my presence,
and thrust something beneath the pillows so has
tily that I could not discern what it was. She
laughed and talked hysterically, and finally her
restless movements disarranged the cushions, and
a miniature case fell from beneath them to the
floor. I picked it up before she had time to do
so, and as the jar of falling had unfastened the
spring, it lay open in my hand. As I live, Ar
mand, it was the handsomest lace I ever looked
upon, but so dark and fierce and sinister in its
expression, that I felt repelled, rather than at
tracted, by its basilisk beauty. 1 had opportunity
only for a brief glance, for'Alice snatched it from
my hand, and throwing it into an open draw,
said that it was the son of her nurse, who had
been killed iu Spain years ago—she could not tell
how many. But she turned red and pale as she
spoke, and talked on incoherently. I thought it
singular at the time, but should hardly have re
cSlled it aarain, had it not been for your remark.
What do you think of it, father confessor?”
11 That it might be made the nucleus of a very
pretty, though not a very original, romance in the
hands of one of the numerous family of scribelri.
And apropos of these caterers to morbid appetites,
I strongly suspect that they arc the prime source
of Lady Alice’s nnlancholy. Pray see il Messrs.
Sue and Dumas are not at home <>n the. table of
her boudoir, and advise her to introduce them to
the acquaintance of the grate. Aon are not [tout
ing, are yon
“Yes: and I shall leave you this moment 1
will not stay to listen to your would-be brilliant
remarks. You have missed a great deal, I can as
sure you; for 1 shall not tell you a word of my
own love affairs now. Good morning, sir, and if
I am not btrek these three hours, you may thank
yourself for it.”
A room redolent of rare perfumes, and soft with
the mellow light streaming through curtains of
rose-colored damask ; ornaments of silver, of ala
baster and of marble; pictures flushing the walls
with their rich tintings ; carpets of glowing roses
strewn over a creamy ground : jasmines, helio
trope, magnolias and tuberoses stifling together
in crystal vasts; bridal gifts of chased silver, of
pearl, of porcelain and of gold scattered around
on tables and couches; and in the centre of all
this luxury, a pale girl with a face of marvelous
beauty and a sad, weary look in her dark eyes,
out of place among the brilliant appurtenances of
It was the evening before the marriage, and
this was Alice Langley, the envied Bride. Ah !
it was more than the girlish sentimentalism—to
which Armand had ascribed it —that darkened
her eyes with its shadow. Alice Langley had
lived too long in the mouldy old castle of her
father’s. She had dwelt too long beneath the
baleful shadow of an evil influence, and bent to
the strong will of one more loved than feared,
and the memories of that time hung about her
still, as the stain of mildew clings to the vine af
ter it has been transplanted into the sunshine.
The old nurse, Barbara, bad still a claim upon
her—by the right of the strongest spirit—and it
may be, too, that there were other memories con
nected with her early girlhood; but of these,
Lady Alice never spoke.
There was a light tap at the closed door. It
was only a servant bringing in some new addition
to the bridal presents. They had been coming iiu
all day, and the indifferent Alice scarcely looked
up as her maid placed this among the rest —a sil
ver waiter, with a bouquet of rare camellias upon
it. She took it up mechanically, and as she did
so, a slip of closely folded paper fell from the
flowers, in which it hud been concealed. There
was only a single line written upon it, but Alice
read it slowly over again and again, with com
pressed lips and rigid features: “ lh not 1 fonieL the
Forget it! Was not every word of the predic
tion soared upon her brain? Was it not an ever
present curse ? Did she not hear it in her dreams,
and did it not sound through all merriment and
“ If you irjtli to another, you Break ere,you wed—-
The tiiglu ol your bridal, you’ll dance with the dead.” ‘
■She had suppressed that first line in her con
fession to Theodora Lysle, but she repeated it
slowly to herself, its taking the miniature from
its hiding place, she looked long anti earnestly
into the dark eyes, so like in their haughty fierce
ness io those whose magnetic power had con
trolled her past life, and bid lair to influence all
And the marriage of Alice Langley, so long au
; engrossing topic, was over—the quiet ceremony
! at ,St. John’s Church —the stately dinner at the
! mansion of the bridegroom’s father, and now a
bid masque in Sir Philip’s spacious salons to com
plete the festivities of the day. There are lights
and music, glitter and display, as usual, and the
! bride is the gayest of all. Such a flush as burns
upon her check, and sucli a light, half reckless,
but very brilliant, as Hashes in her splendid eyes.
She flits about in her jewels ami her cloud-like
lace, and has a smile and a light word for all.
She dances, too, and the very music seems to
keep time to the tread of her tiny feet. Has she
quite forgotten the Gypsey’s warning, or does she
seek to defy the shadow and stifle its haunting
voice ? There is a tall, graceful masque, in the
dress of an Armenian, that approaches her and
solicits the honor of her hand for a waltz. It is
granted, but with a reluctance which increases,
when he takes her hand and the blaze of the
.! chandelier falls upon a massive ring—the device
i a serpent’s head—the flattened mouth perfect
f iu representation, and the eyes of flashing ruby.
She shrinks from his touch and would draw hack,
but it is a firm clasp that holds her, and a voice
j accustomed to be obeyed, whispers:
“Would you betray yourself, Lady Alice? 1
thought your worldly experience had taught you
more self-possession, if not more pride.”
His arm is aroundher Waist, and the music bc-
I gins. It is a Spanish waltz, at once lively and
voluptuous. It is new to the dancers, but they
move in perfect time, round and round, in bewil
| dering evolutions, like garlands thrown into the
wlurling eddy of a stream.
“We will stop, iT you please,” murmurs. Lady
| Alice. “1 am dizzy with the motion. lam sick,
very sick,” she continued, as her partner evinces
no intention of complying with her request.
| “ Dizzy 1” exclaims the mask, with a low, sinis
ter laugh. “The Lady Alice, heroine of two sea
sons ol belledom, who has danced a hundred
nights since her last bifth-day, plead dizziness at
the outset of a waltz!”
The seene is bewildering—the floating dancers,
the long array of colored lamps, the garlanded
walls, the aromatic fragrance, and above all, that
passionate, bewitching music, with all the warmth
of southern skies, and all the sweetness of south
ern -tongues in its cadence. The eyes of the hi i c
groom follow tlio bride admiringly. Whoever >e
her masked partner, lie has all the stately gtace
of it Spanish mtyllcro, and his liguve is superb.
How he bench to listen to the words of his fan
partner ! Ah! it h well Gerald bears them not.
“Stop, in the name of mercy!” utters Alice,
beseechingly. “I am in pain- Something—the
point of a pin—is piercing my side, and L can
bear it no longer 1 shall shriek aloud
“It is nothing—a transparent subterfuge, my
sweet partner — the point of a pin forsooth. Re
collect yourself, Lady Alice. AU eyes are upon
you. They will think your conduct excessively
silly. See how adoringly the eyes of your bride
groom follow your graceful movements. Ah, wliat
a loving spouse! What a blessed and happy
bride you are, Lady Alice, and how devoutly 1
rejoice in your prosperity! You shrink from
me,” he continues, as she makes a faint oftbrt to
release herself. “You were not wont, fair Alice,
to evince such coldness to so old a friend. If my
memory fails me not, it is not, of a surety, the
first time that my arm enfolded this slender waist:
but the moon changes, and hearts do the same, I
suppose. What elegant bridal gifts you displayed
to us to-night, Lady Alice ; but there was one you
did not care to place among the rest. Ah well!
I cannot wonder at it. It is the vv.iy of the sash
ionable world. It was natural that the proud
heiress and bride should de3pi.se tho gift of her
humble nurse. But the flowers had x motto, had
they not? What was it. Lady?”
“Mercy!” whispers the suppressed voice of
Alice, full of concentrated agony. “The pin—it
is piercing deeper; my suffering is insupportable,
and your arm is like a band of iron about me. J
shall cry aloud for help.”
But she is under the influence of a will stron
ger than her own.
“ Do so,” says the Armenian, with a bend of
his graceful head. “Shriek aloud, if you wish;
draw the attention of the company. Avery dig
nified procedure it would be, for a lady so pro
verbially proud; but scream, T beseech you;
gather a crowd around you, and I will explain
the cause of your emotion by the utterance of a
few facts in my possession. Quite a little ro
mance it would be, when embellished, and very
pretty it would sound in the mouths of the Lon
don gossip pers!”
And his arm tightens around her waist ’til he
carries her onward, By his own strength of mus
cle, against her feeble volition. Round and
round, yet faster they whirl, and tlm curls sweep
over her face and conceal its agonized expres
“I am suffering,”she says, feebly. “Have pity
“Pity!” replies the voice, hissed forth from
between the set teeth. “ Yes. such pity as you
have taught me, Lady Alice. Do you remember
of wliat this night is anniversary? Have you
forgotten the scene in the old vault, and the dead
that slept around us, invoked to witness an oath
sworn upon this ring? Ah, this ring! how its
strange form puzzled you; how you pleaded to
know its use, and how instinctively you hated
the glitter of its blood-red eyes. But you never
solved the mystery. All! Lady Alice, there are
more things in Gypsey lore than are dreamed of
in your philosophy.”
The dance is nearly over. Novel’ have waltzers
sustained themselves so well; but there is magic
in the music. Now, however, they falter, and
Gerald can - see that Lady Alice, is very pale, and
that her drooping form is more than half suppor
ted by her partner. As lie starts forward, her
head sinks heavily upon the Armenian’s shoul
“She has tainted,” says the mask,’calmly, to
the frightened bridegroom. “ A little water will
revive her, sir. 1 was fearful she would be fa
tigued, but site insisted on remaining as long as
the rest.” #
But neither water, wine nor yet more powerful
restoratives were of any avail. In vain tlie hor
ror-struck guests gathered around her. A few
shuddering spasms convulsed her frame, and the
pulse ceased to beat forever. When life was ex
tinct, spots of purplish Blackness appeared on
cheek and brow, marring the purity of that beau
tiful face, and an old physician who had been
with the army in southern countries was heard to
mutter, as he turned away, that had this singular
death occurred in India, he would have sworn
that it was caused by the poison of the cobra di
The lamp burned dimly in the gloomy cell, but
the solitary inmate eared not for this. lie sat
with his brow bowed upon his hands, but he nei
ther prayed nor slept. The ke/ turned gratingly
in the door; it opened, closed again and a priest
stood before t he convict.
“My son,” called the holy man, gently.
lie repeated the words before they seemed to
reach the ear of’the prisoner.
“ Who calls me?” lie asked at length, raising
his head and glaring at the intruder with his
fierce, dark eyc3.
“Itis I; I have come for the last time to pray
you to confess and receive absolution for yom
sins. You have but a few hours to li\e. rime
for you is dwindling to a span; for to-morrow
your life pays the penalty ol your crimes.
“And for this reason I am to be tormented with
the prating cant of a dotard. Go, leave me old
man ; your prayers and ceremonies can avail me
nothing.” , , ...
“My son,” said the priest, “our holy religion
offers pardon to all who confess and are absolved.
\t least, you will unburden your soul of its con
cealed sins: kiss the cross and receive the holy
“ Father,” said the prisoner, “my crimes are
legion. More days than I may hope for hours of
life would not suffice for their enumeration.”
“ But only the one for which you are condemned
bears the red stain of murder, my son. Is it not
The prisoner laughed a low, sardonic sound,
like the mirth ol ft demon.
“ Holv father,” ho said. “ this hand has sent
more souls to purgatory than your prayers and
masses ever extricated from its torments.”
The friar involuntarily recoiled a step. “Santa
Mafia!'’ he ejaculated, aghast with horror; “and
vet,” he added, after a pause, “even for such
crimes our Holy Virgin has absolution.”
But the prisoner neither heard nor heeded him.
“It was of one ol these crimes—the most dark
and damning of the long account—that T was
thinking when your entrance disturbed me. If
that were blotted from tho list —but I am a fool to
think of it.”
“ Go on, my son,” said the friar, encouragingly.
“ Begin with the crime that weighs most heavily
on your conscience. Our holy confessional
“Tush!” said the convict, contemptuously.
“ I told you that confession was useless. Did’st
ever know the sweetness of revenge, old man ?
“God forbid!” exclaimed the friar, crossing
himself as he spoke. ’Tis a most heinous pas
sion !” •
“ Then my story is not ior you. Aou could not
understand the malignant joy that mingles with
tho memories of that crime. Dost sec this ling
upon my finger? Is it not a curious and massive
one ? Look at it well. It has done me good
service in my lifetime.”
I “It is admirably designed,” said the priest
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
VOL, XXIV, NUMBER 16
■ Tlio eyes have a real, snako-like glitter in their
rca light, and the mouth i.s perfect.”
•‘And is not without its fang,” returned the
convict, “See!” and pressing upon a hidden
■ W*B ltt lllc sideof the ring, a small, sharp blade
j J! 1 linest steol > inch in length, leaped out,
like a barbed tongue, from the mouth of the sr
ui ! ** J ”■ 100 asp, resumed the prisoner,
holds not a more deadly poison than covers
tlm tiny blade. Tl.o .lighten gnw „f it , lanMt .
like jioint would cause immediate death. You
are amazed, good father. Ah! we Gypsies ar®
strange people, and know strange things. I think
of bequeathing this ring to you, as you are my
only friend, and I have no other way of proving
“Nay,” said the priest, drawing back and ey
ing the gift suspiciously.
“And why not? As I said, it is a very useful
companion, and it tells no tales. Suppose, now,
that there is a man who has once professed r®-
gard for you, and who has done you a wrong for
which you hate him with a hatred strong as death ;
yet, you call him‘friend,’and speak and smil®
when you meet him, as many in the world ar®
wont to do. But still, your soul thirsts for ven
geance, and your hand clenches involuntarily
when you think of him. Well; you meet him
some day in the public street; you smilingly ac
cost him, slip your hand—the hand with the ring
upon it—familiarly through his arm and walk on,
chatting pleasantly of indifferent things. Sud
denly you press upon the spring—as Ido now—
and the poisoned blade darts out and pierces his
arm. lie starts; but the pain was only momen
tary—a slight pricking— nothing more—and he
smiles and walks on again; but he is your victim.
The poison will do its work quickly, and the thirst
of your hatred will be satisfied.”
“Wretch!” cried the friar. “llow dare you,
whose hours are numbered, talk so coolly of trea
chery and murder?”
“ 1 dare everything,” was the rejoinder. “ But
this is not all; you should not have interrupted
me, good prr<\ ]am in the mood for talking to
night, and a doomed man must be humored. fif#
we will, it you please, suppose another case wher®
my ring would be serviceable: Imagine yourself
in a spacious saloon, holy father, where music and
wine, beautiful women and flowers, fainting with
their own excess of fragrance, combine to wear®
a spell of enchantment. Fancy that in that vol
uptuous dance—of which you anchorites know
nothing—your arm is around the waist of a wo
man more beautiful than you dare imagine; a
bride adored by her young husband—rich and
noble; a patrician both in birth and in beauty.
But you have cause to curse that fair face for
ever. The jeweled hand that rests upon your
shoulder has poisoned your happiness for eter
nity ; lias written the pages of your life history
in blood, and the fiend in your heart whispers
that revenge is in your power. Shall she, whoa®
treachery made you a miserable outcast, lire and
l>e happy? The ring is upon your hand, it# ser
pent head turned inward, with its hidden fang.
A slight touch of the thumb on the spring, and
the keen blade pierces the silken boddice : a,
gradual pressure, and it pierces deeper and deeper,
until it dips in the red life blood, and taints it
with its venom—and then—why your vengeance •
is appeased, and you are secure from detection.
You see how easy it is, father.”
“Hardened monster 1” exclaimed the horrified
priest. “ This passes the bounds of humanity.
It is diabolical: it is—it is--”
“ Past all forgiveness, father; but stay, I hat*
not said that this was more thaii a fancy sketch,
have I ? And what if you had loved the woman
with an intensity that was akin ho madness!
What if her falsehood had made you a villain
and an outcast! What—”
A sudden shudder, as of strong pain, passed
over his frame, and his pale countenance grew
yet more livid.
“11 is well,” he muttered. “ The poison ha*
not lost its strength.” An l then turning to th®
priest, he said:
“.lust now, when f was explaining to you the
use of my ring, i suited tho action to the word.
Sec!” and lie rolled back his sleeve to.the elbow,
and pointing to a small, red mark, scarcely’ larger
than tho wound of a pin, but which was encir
cled by u ring of livid purple.
“ Holy mother of Jesus!” cried the friar; 44 you
are poisoned. The blade has pierced deeper than
“It was my purpose,” said the convict, regard
ing the wound with a smile of ghastly triumph.
“It will only cheat the gallows of its due, and
disappoint the gaping mob that to-mofrow will
crowd around the scaffold to feast their eyes upon
the amusing spectacle. Fools! Did they’ think
that they should gloat over my death throes? that
my body should swing for their vulgar eyes to gaze
upon? Xo; the swollen veins tighten and coil,
like dying serpents, - around my heart; my sight
fails: the cell swims around me. Take the ring,
father, and tell them that I died as I lived—des
pising man, defying devils and— ’
A spasm of intense agony convulsed his frathe
as he spoke. It was succeeded by another, and
then the features gradually relaxed, the head f®ll
heavily back and the convict was dead.
HOME AND WIFE ON SATURDAY.
Happy is the man who has a little home and a
little atigel in it, of a Saturday night. A hous®,
no matter how little, provided it will hold two or
S o—no matter how furnished, provided there i*
hope in it ; let the wind blow— close the curtains!
What if they are calico or plain, without bor
der or titssel, or any such thing? Let the rain
come down— heap up the fire. No matter if you
have not a candle to bless yourself with, for what
a beautiful light glowing coals make, reddening,
clouding, shedding sunset radiance through th®
little, room—just enough to talk by: not loud, as
in the highways ; not rapid, as in the hurrying
world—but softly, slo.vly, wliisperingly, with
pauses between them, for the storm without, and
the thoughts within, (o fill up.
Then wheel the sofa round before the fire; no
matter if the sofa is a settee, uncushioned at that;
if so, may be it is just long enough for two, or
say two and a-lialf, with two or two and a-lialf in
it. How sweetly the music of silver bells, from
time to time, falls on the listening ear thep.
How mournfully swell the chimes of the “days
that are no more.”
Under such circumstanees, and such a time-,
oue can get at least sixty-nine and a-half statute
miles nearer “kingdom come,” than any other
point in this world laid down in 44 Malte Bean!”
May be you smile at this pioture; but there is
a secret between us, viz: it is a copy of a pietuV*
rudely drawn, but as true as the PentatetiSh of
an original in every human heart,