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* a; JOHN H. SBALt, - Editor aid Proprietor. W. B. SEALS, • - Bailnraa M»ag»r. j HRS. HART B. BRYAN (*) Asaoclsto Editor. ATLANTA, GA.. SATURDAY, SEPT. 29. 1877. President Hayes in Atlnnta and the South.—We are very much gratified at the ova- tioos which hare been extended to the President and his suite all through the 8outh. He is emi nently worthy of erery demonstration of regard from the whole nation, and no portion of it is more ready to acknowledge and accord it than the South. Rising above party shackles and partisan preju dices, he has planted himself upon the Constitu tion of his country, and his highest ambition is to j be recognised as the President of all the States, and not of a section. In this he has so fhr sue- ceeded most wonderfully, and has won the esteem and reverential regard of all patriotic hearts eve rywhere. The capital of Georgia has not been behind other | cities in her demonstrations of gratitude and re spect. Her citizens have turned out in legions to greet him; her military displays have been upon the grandest ecale, and as we go to press, this whole city is in a feverish ferment of excitement— all bent on showing their respect to the honored President of the whole nation. Gen. Hampton in Atlanta.—No mm ever received a more enthusiastic aud hearty reception than did this noblest Roman of them all in this city on Friday evening last. We have never seen the spacious halls of the Capitol so thronged and packed with people, and his appearance under the leadership of Gen. Gordon aud Gov. Colquitt was greeted with an outburst of yells that threatened the safety of the Mansard roofs. After a brief but handsome introduction by Gen. Gordon, he made a short speech, uud expressed his astonishment at the magnitude of the ovaLion. Senator Hill was then loudly called for and spoke briefly, after which hundreds shook hands with Carolina’s most distinguished son. We are to be Taught “Manners.” Now, at last, we shall all know how to talk, walk and comport ourselves generally in “the best society. ” Morris Phillips & Co. are going to tell us in response to “numerous and con stant applications from all parts of the country." They are going to send forth all useful instruc tion in the shape of a series of copyrighted ar ticles to be put into a book—cream paper and gilt, of course—after they have appeared in the pages of that rose water organ of the Crtme de la creme, the Home Journal. This series of instructions in the niceties of etiquette, we are kindly told, are not wholly designed for New York petioners at the Paradise gate of “good society,” but are for the benefit of those “unfortunates, who have been reared- at remote distances from the centres of civilization, and for whom nothing is left but to make a care ful study of unquestionable authority in tfiose matters of etiquette which prevail among the most refined people." This is all right Push ahead with your se ries, Messrs Phillips A Co., and distribute your instructions to all the dark corners of this eti quette-benighted country. We acknowledge to a need of the soft amenities, especially, sinoe, the hard times has knocked us about with his re morseless digit Already, we see x the “Series” working a change: we see the Alabama “baok- woodser,” the Georgia “cracker,” the Lousiana ‘ ‘cagen, ” all walking, what the Home Journal po etically calls, -‘the white highroad of refined civ ilization.” We see the “grin” of our country cousins, a frank, joyous display of ivory, sub dued to a “prunes and prisms” ghost ofasmile; we see the grip of honest old Jack’s hard hand, exchanged for a well bred touch of the fingers, slipping away like an eel, or other cold-blooded thing ! We see the Texas stock drover tipping his coon skin with a Chesterfieldian (beg par don, a Phillipian) bow, instead of bringing up his mustang with a “Whoa!” and a “Hello stranger, got suoh a thing as a ohaw about yer?’’ We see the copperas-clad youth relinquishing the chimney corner seat next to his Sally with graceful alaorityto the grandmother who has pop ped in d« trop on his Saturday night courting, in stead of sheepishly remarking, “I’ll keep this here seat I reckon, if there’s nothing agen it; its handy to spit from.” On this class, “remote” from the New York central sun of civilization, we seem to see the etiquettical rays of the Home Journal brightly radiating. But what can be done with those other “unfortunates,” who are already social suns and spheres of perfection, in their own estima tion? How can the “Series” enlighten those who think they “know it all?” that class so large everywhere, extra large in railroad cities of mushroom growth, where springs up a Jonas- g ourd snobocracy, who, having amassed a little money, by ways that had best not be inquired into, cover their houses with ginger bread work, their backs with cheap broadcloth or slazy silks, their fingerswith paste diamonds and purple glass amethysts, mount a brass door-plate,,a gorgeous display of dollar store silver and imagine them selves “society,” leaders of hnutton, though un able to write a decent card of invitation, or a legi ble note of hand and incapable, from the shal low poverty of their natures, of treating ungild- 'ed genius or worth, other than sneeringly, or, (infinitely worse) patronizingly. Was it not one of these, who declared that he read no “literachure” that didn’t notice his “business? ” Was it not a shining light among these, who sent in hot-haste for a “pusson of cnlchure” to relieve her mind as to whether a picture her husband had bought,—a gorgeous green and red “Cleopatry”or “Beatrechy”—was truly the “Crowmore" that it was bought for, or a “common piece of hand work,” as an ac quaintance had insulted her by calling it, as if she would have “hand work hung on her parlor walls,”—that temple of taste being sacred to “Crowmores.” Small good will Mr. Morris Phillips do to this class with his copyrighted instructions. Igno rance mixed with conceit is un piercable as Achil les’ heel, and all the Home Journal's polished i arrows of golden etiquette will rebound from it /like birdshot from an alligator's hide. The Northern Tramp and Oar Southern Pest. A pyramid of Northern exchanges, and not a word in them in glorification of the negro—noth ing whatever save a few growls over his inability to distinguish mtum from team and his constitu tional laziness, and an energetic appeal from a Washingtonian—a patronizer of Don Piatt —to get rid of the colored brother as a nuisance. “Send him down South where he belongs,”! urges this correspondent. And this is all ? No more ! Not a pat upon tbe bead of the aforetime cherished pet; not a word of bullying over his wrongs! Alas for constancy ! “ Is Uncle Tom. whom thon didst bold so dear, 80 soon forgotten f Yankee love, then, lies, Not la the heart, but in the ” pooket—if Shakspeare will pardon the travesty. What a change a few years have brought forth ! Well do we remember, when we swayed the quill and scissors over the destiny of a little Leuisi- ana tri-weekly, and threw in our small oar to aid the gallant struggle that the Louisiana press was striving to make against overwhelming wrong and military tyranny—well do we remember how every Northern exchange, from the mam moth sixteen-paged to the provincial thumb- paper, teemed with praises of the Newly In vested; how the dusky hue stained through everything—poem and romance as well as para graph and leader; and writers lauded the vir tues, political fitness and superiority of the col ored citizen with such evident tears in their eyes, that we sympathetically felt for them be cause of their misfortune in having a white skin. But our restless Northern brother must have something to growl over. It is no longer the wrongs of the sons of Ham—it is strikers and tramps. That Tramp ! what vials of wrath they pour upon him! what an incubus of accusa tions they heap on his ragged back! He pounces upon the fat grunterand the frolicsome mutton. “ Little Mary had a lamb," but she has it no longer. He shakes the laden apple tree like an equinoctial storm, and fills his dirty wallet with the red fruit-rain that follows. He picnics on the turnip patch, and sups sumptuously on the milk of the unprotected cow, returning across the field to her bleating offspring and the wait ing milk-pail. He “ sasses ” the damsels, bul lies the housewife, and rises like Baaquo’s ghost at every banquet to beg or “ borrow’’-the pifik- ings. Truly, he is a nuisanoe; and we feel your trial, brother—but we can bear it, for have we not a similar pest in our midst, and one you have kindly entailed upon us ? Ask our farm ers. They too can tell of the fat pig suddenly non est and the hen roost despoiled of its glory. They too can point to the grabbled potato patch, the plot that yesterday knew the cabbage-head, but now knows it no more, and the collapsed milk-reservoirs < f Br n lie. The colored citizen, whose cabin-smoke rises up everywhere through the land—who goes “ halvers ” with the unfortunate white owners of the soil, or has his patch to himself—alas! he holds in his religion that his white neighbor is his legitimate prey, that he “ owes him a livin’," and that out of his poor belongings must be got “ that mule and fifty acres ” which ex press a broken promise that was none of his white neighbors' making. Then, too, our pest is pious. He is given to protracted meetings—distracted, he calls them with unconscious fitness—and when the noise and commotion of these are heard like a mighty cyclone through the land, then woe to the pig pen, the turkey roost, the melon or roasting-ear patch; for, unless the owners thereof mount nightly guard over them and freeze to their post, the contents of pen and patch will go to regale the alimentary organs of the slick shep herds, that are stirring up their sheep with such nightly lung exercise as drives sleep afar, and sets every hound and “cur of low degree” to howling in frantic emulation. * Cremation of Dr. Winslow—A Cheerful Ceremony.—It doesn’t seem that the new method of disposing of the dead is a very solemn ceremony. A gentleman who conducted the cremation of the late Dr. Charles Winslow at Salt Lake, speaks of the lively manner in which the corpse boiled before the moisture was expelled and it began to roast. A quarter of beef had previously been burnt in the fiirnace to try its cremating power, as it was a new contrivance invented by the friend of Dr. Winslow, who attended to the cremation. After two hours and a half of steady heat, the fires were drawn off, and the body was seen cousumed to ashes, the bones white and friable. Then the “ friend” gives us this cheerful description of the finale of the ceremony : “ We rubbed the bones in an iron mortar with a pestle, and sifted them through a common flour sieve, making in bulk about one quart, and in weight about four pounds.’ When we make our will (if a poor editor may be allowed such a luxury), we shall alter Shakspeare’s epitaph into a clause, reading, “Cursed be he who peetlee my bones.” * Hon. Wm. Archer Cocke, of Florida, on South ern Literature. We shall begin in next issue the publication of a series of able and deeply interesting sketches on “ Southern Writers and Southern Literature,” from the pen of Judge Cocke, of Florida, who is now one of the most distinguished citizens of the South. His able efforts as a member of the late “Returning Board ’’ of that State in behalf of justice have given him an enviable distinc tion all over the country, and he will now add to his already wide literary fame by his contri butions on “ Southern Literature. ” We invite public attention to the articles. A Wrong. President William Vanderbilt in his flying trip from Sohenectady to Syracuse on a light ning train of his own, whirled through the lat ter city at the rate of twenty-five miles per hour, thus violating a city ordinance which limits trains passing though the city precincts to eight miles per hour. The engineer was discharged; the President whose orders he had followed, was not even reprimanded. * Mrs. Hayes. We have not yet had a sight of this “power be hind the throne,” but she is winning all hearts everywhere, and the ladies of the whole land are honoring her for the bold stand which she has ta ken in behalf of temperance. Her visit to this city is a great social event, and all our ladies will have the pleasure of seeing her. The President Visits Atlanta. Having noticed on the streets a vigorous clean ing of sidewalks, a polishing of plate glass, a turning of apples rotten side downward, a fur bishing of the dummy show-figures that guard the front of clothing stores, and stare with sphinx-like gaze from their new cut-a-ways, swallow tails and uslters; having observed those notes of preparation, we are moved to make inquiry—Can it be that we are about to have another colored excursion? Another Con vention then? Is ex-Governor Bullock coming? Tweed? Train? Gail Hamillon ? Not so. The Pbeswbst will visit Atlanta tomorrow—Ruther ford B., himself. There will be a big day, a orowd, trade will wake up—people will rush about from store to store—and buy a paper of pins; the worthy gro cer and drygoods man as well as his minor com mercial brother of the peanut and apple stand will stand a chance to “do a little business.” So Atlanta is really to have the pleasure of a Presidential visit; for it is a pleasure to pay our respects to a President who has been just to us as far no doubt as he could; —a man who is sen sible, sober and capable of decent utteranoe-al beit a President. It was a long time that we could not say this. Every body should fling up his hat for the President of the United States— because he is not Grant - . - — “Grant us anybody but Grant,”—had long been the groaning prayer of the South—any body but that Ulysses, at whose departure for foreign parts we shed tears because we knew that unlike his illustrious namesake, he would not stay away twenty years. QUEEN AND WIFE. BY MABX E. BBYAN. (See engraving on front page.) She is beautiful as an icicle is, But who would dare to dream that those lips Could melt on his in a womanly kiss Or that love could hide in those eyes dark crypt* ? So thought I of queenly Isabel, As l watched her float o'er the ball-room floor, And the thought was pain, for I loved her well, Though I vowed to seek her never more. No heart has she; she is cold and fair As the Lnrlie thit combs her golden hair. And siags till the flsher finds a grave, Lured by her song, in the rock filled wave. A tender mother had once been mine, Her memory etill was a sacred shrine. And the wife I took to my heart must be Ueutle and womaniy-kind as she, Full of sweet ministering, made to bless, To love, to comfort, and to caress. Such can never be Isabel, Though in h»r dark eye witcheries dwell; I will free myself from her wildering spell, I said, though I loved her passing well. But one eve when a storm had swept the land, I wandered cut in a restless mood, And saw the sky with a rainbow spanned, And the scattered boughs in the wet, green wood. And near fair Isabel's stately hall, I spied in the ground a broken nest And three young birring*, featherless all, Save for the down oL each tiny breaat. Hovering together, ccid and scared, They chiiped their^rlefs fa a piteous strain. Ill no doubt had the mother fared In the storm that had blown from the angry main. Poor callow nestlings 1—some claw or.beak. Less cruel than hunger, will end your woes. I Baid, as passed them by to seek The strand where the waves in their unrepose, Still murmured hoarse and broke at my feet, In sullen foam as I stood there long Till I turned at last from their gloomy beat, And their voice that echoed my heart’s sad song. And back I strayed o’er the storm-lashed ground. Till I stopped transfixed as I neared the spot Where the storm-blown nest had atrewn the ground On the chill, wet ground the nest lay not; White hands had gathered it tenderly ; Soft fingers cherished each motherless bird ; Low tones were murmuring pityingly— So sweet and dove-like my heart was stirred. Wide open the hungry bird-mouths flew. And she fed them there with a loving art. Her sweet eyes full of the pitying dew That could only come from a tender heart. Like the mother-heart of Mary the Blessed- Dearest of gifts—a dower divine It seems to man, who in woman's breast Finds his sacredest earthly shrine. So I knew that my darling was no frost-queen. But a human woman, warm and sweet; And unchilled by her stately, maiden mien, I laid my heart at her little feet. The laint flush staining her oval cheek— Her hand, that thrilled like a frightened dove, Told more than another maid could speak, And 1 kuew that my queen was at last my love. A Lover’s Fatal Quarrel. A tragedy, involving the death of one person and the probable death of the other, was enact ed Wednesday night at No. 44 Governeor street, a short time before midnight. Catharine Hays, a handsome yonng womanof twenty-two years, was stabbed and killed by Edward Newman, her lover, who immediately plnnged the weapon— an oyster knife—into his own breast, inflicting a probably fatal wonnd. Newman and Miss Hayes were lovers, and were visiting last night at the house of Mrs. Ven- dover in Governenr street. They passed a pleas ant evening in the rooms of Mrs. Turner, a mutual friend, on the third floor, bidding her good night at half-past ten o'clock. What hap pened between that time and a quarter past eleven, when the stabbing was done, will prob ably never be known, unless Newman should survive his injuries long enough to make a state ment. It seems, however, that they remained talking on the doorstep until about eleven o’clook. Mrs. Yendover, the landlady, had gone to her room on the second-floor, but recol lecting that tbe milk pail had not been left at the door, took it and started down stairs. Before she reached the bottom, Miss Hayes uttered a piercing scream and rnshed up stairs past the landlady crying, “Jahe, I’m dying; he's killed me." Mrs. Vendover turned and followed the girl up the stairway, and Newman bounded up after them. At the first landing Miss Hayes fell fainting to the floor and expired almost immedi ately. Newman fell over her prostrate form, and, before he coaid be prevented by the now terrified Mrs. Yendover, again raised th9 knife and stabbed himself in the left breast about an inch below the heart He simply exclaimed, “ I’ve killed myself, too,” and then became un conscious. He was removed to Bellevue Hos pital, and at a very late hour was reported to be in a very critical condition. The body of Miss Hayes was conveyed to the the Seventh Precinct Station.— Sew York Tribune- Snoring and How to Slop It. The Popular Science for October has a short article, illustrated by two queer looking cuts, about “snoring and how to stop it.” To snore it seem* the month and nose must both be open 1 and the two air currents entering by those aper tures, pass along the separate little galleries, and passing oach other at the foot of the palate, catch the little loose elastic palate-flap or curtain and throw it into the sonorous vibration that is j called snoring This is the simple cause of the fearful commo tion that so often makes night hideous; the re medy is even simpler, it consists in keeping the mouth shut -a remedy by the way for a good many evils beside suoring. To ensure this, Dr. Wyeth—the writer of the article, describes a contrivance of his own, which as seen in an illustration- cut, bears a strong likeness to a headstall, but evidently clamps the jaw firmly enough aid keeps any ! counter air currents from slipping in, and turn- ! ing the palate flap into a trombone or a Chinese gong. Married ladies and young ladies con templating matrimony should not neglect to aupply themselves with one of these machines, by which they may elap the extinguisher on their husband’s performances in the snoring line. If one may judge from the noises that greet the ear in a sleeping car, the most of Adam's descendants perform on the sonorous palate with more or less ability. Why women do not whistle or snore well i» one of the con undrums for science to solve. But meantime the apparatns for preventing snoring need not be valueless to the masculine head of the family. It might be useful to keep around for other contingencies beside snoring. We can all think of other oases in which a jaw-bolding machine would subserve a useful purpose. Dr. Wyeth’s contrivance is destined to be popular. * . Virginia’s Method of Paying Her Debt. While Minnesota repudiates it is gratifying to observe that Virginia is taking very emphatio steps te seoure the payment of her indebtedness as fast as it matures. Most of the steps lead in the direction of the dram shop; and it must be a sight to inspire a tax-gatherer with heart-felt pleasure to see the entire population of the State so enthusiastic in maintaining the public credit. Under the beneficent operation of tbe “ Moffett Register,” so-called, an account is kept of every spiritnous and malt drink taken in the State; and notwithstanding the fact that the former speoies of drink has advanced fifty per cent., the latter nearly seventy-fiye per cent., there is no appearance of any serious falling off in the daily average of drinks. One class, it is true, has been ruthlessly cut off from friendly communication with the barkeeper—the class that asks credit. As the State demands its tax in cash, the dealer is inexorable, and the days of “chalking-up” are no more. But aa the credit drinkers belong as a rule to tbe class which needs reform, if possible, more than any other, the State even in this will reap a benefit. Twenty Fifth Session of Roanake College. Salem. Va. We are pleased to know that the twenty-fifth session of Roanoke College has opened quite favorably, the attendance of students being large and daily increasing. Nearly every Southern State is represented already, Texas and West Virginia coming next in representation to Virgin ia, as was tbe case last year. President Dosb has entered upon bis duties under encouraging auspices, and, we learn is making a highly favorable impression in tbe College, as be has already done upon tbe citizens of Salem. If the authorities carry out their aim to make Roanoke distinguished for thorough scholarship, whole some discipline, good morals and a wise econo my, the College will meet the demand of the times and march on to a grand and permanent successs.—Salem (la.,) Conservative, Sep. 13th. ‘‘Needn’t Come. Taint Nothing;” A certain handsome, yonng artist, who wears his hair long but not parted in the middle, has been making sketches this Summer in the King ston valley and among the Catskills and the “rooral deestricts” there abonts. At Sbandakin, he hoisted his umbrella and his camp stool in front of a magnificent tree covered by a luxuriant vine, and proceeded to make a study sketch of it. He had been intent on bis work for some time, when he noticed that a man with a yoke of oxen bad entered the field and was plowing seemingly unconcerned as to him, while the people at the house seemed mnch concerned at the sight of a man under an umbrella working away at some mysterious labor. After the plow man had made a circuit of the field several times his curiosity became excited, and he walked up to him, and, without a word, looked over the ar tist’s shoulder for a time, then raised his head and voice and called to his “wimmen folks,” who were streaming across the field to learn what was going on: “Needn't come; t’aint nothin’,” and then walked back to his plow and resumed his work, while the females returned to the house with their curiosity allayed. Such waa the honest farmer's opinion of art, but he was not far behind the city dame and her “crowmore." * A Breath from the Blue Kldge--Crisp Breezes--Encbanting Views-* “ Thirty-Four Years,” “Baby.” A good audience greeted this play in the Opera House on Thursday eveniug, and while all enjoyed the really excellent acting of the entire caste, all condemned the morale of the piece. It is entirely too broad. Its only tendency is to demoralize and it should not be sustained. The Smiths Have a Reunion.--The Chief They Should Have Chosen. The great Smith family had a reunion in New Jersey lately. Nobody, not even a reporter ad mitted on the grounds unless his name was Smith. A neighboring city paper remarked that it looked lonesome in town that day; the Smiths had all gone to the reunion. The female Smiths should have organized a clan and selected as their chief, Judge Smith of New Orleans, in re turn for his gallant decision, lately, in the case of Maggie Kern, who had knocked down and punished a gay Lothario that had under a false name, passed himself off as a single man to Mag gie’s young sister, and won her affections and her promise to marry him. When the elder sister discovered that the deciever had a wife and children, she met him as he came to the door and floored him in the warmth of her sis terly indignation. He had her arrested and Judge Smith, when ordering her discharge, added tnese words: “You have done just what you should do. As for this man, I have seen much of human nature, but never in my life have I seen so much mean ness in so little of God’s make. There is a man who assumes a name and represents himself as a single man, to make love to an unprotected young lady, when her sister discovers that he is a fraud, she punisues him herself because she has no one to do it for her. Ha has the impu dence to call in a court of justice aud ask for redress. I am sorry that the law does not per mit me to punish him as he ought to be. If you had beat him more severely, he would have got just what he deserved.” Now Smith ladies, married aud single, doesn't the Judge deserve to be chief of your clan. Will a breeze from the mountains be too chil ly this weather ? Not to my fanoy. The air is crisp here, even in sweltering August, and a fire pleasant in the morning and a blanket indispen sable at night. It is a little more frosty now, but exhilarating as champagne, bracing the nerves and quickeniag the pulses. Moreover, this autumn time is loveliest of all among the mountains, and if you wish to drink deep of nature's beauty just get on the “Air Line,’ and go to Charlotte. Then via Stateville to Hickory; there take a hack, ride leisurely through the pretty little village of Lenoir, across the moun tain gap, through the upper part of that gem of nature, known as Happy Valley, on to Morris, or Sherrill's on the very top of the Blue Ridge. Vain to attempt a description of the many grand and picturesque views, to tell of “Blow ing Rock,” where nature ia so obstinately honest she refuses to accept any light article thrown over the rook (such as a veil or handkerchief) and watts them back to one's feet—nor of “ Fair View,” where one can look upon fifteen well- known mountains, including King’s Mountain in South Carolina. Diversions we have in plenty: hunting for gentlemen, trout fishing, croquet, fancy work, and confidential obats for ladies. Besides we have a daily mail, a perfect lnxury, is it not? And are you not flattered to hear that some of your admirers have the “Sunny South ” forward ed regularly? There was a long sigh when the “ Mystery of Cedar Bay" was finished, and the words: “Oh 11 am sorry that charming story is ended. I wonder when Mrs. Bryan will begin another!” The latest sensation in book form is "Thirty- Four Years," by John Marchmont Any one who has travelled in upper South Carolina will be greatly interested in it. But its interest is not looal merely. It describes an ante-bellum Christmas most thoroughly, touches lightly— but forcibly—on our war, then gives an account of the’oppression, the outrages, which foroed Kuklux Khans into existence. The writer cer tainly “sets down nonght in malice," the pic ture was not so black as it might truthfully have been painted, as it existed in more regions than in upper Carolina. One gentleman remarked: “By George! this Marcbmont tells many truths, but has made several mistakes about the Khans.” 1 look at his keen eyes and firm mouth, and say quietly: “I’ve no doubt you know." He smiles significantly, then adds: “The statement about Shotwell conveys a wrong impression. He was innocent of the offense for which he was sent to the penitentiary, but he never, even during his trial, denied that he was a Kuklux.” “Yes,” said a bright-eyed little lady, “and if I had been a man, I should have been a Kuklux too. There was nothing else left for ns to do, and I dont like that sweet Agnes being shocked because Guy was a Kuklux.’’ I must confess I agreed with Mile Bright- Eyes, much as I like the book. Its influence will be for good —and then it is written by a Southerner, and ought to have a place in South ern hearts and homes. What does our Mrs. Bryan think of it? I wish she would give us one of her piquant editorials on the subject. Or will Paul Hayne notice it? (Our Paul Hayne —for Georgia must not claim him altogether.) Ugh! how chilly ii is growing. I fear we here “on the heights,” will not be enviable much longer. I begin already to “ sigh tof the land of the cypress and pine,” for the “ Sunny South,” literally and metaphorically. Now, as always, you have the good wishes and congratulation. ■ of Elise. Blue Ridge Hotel, September 1877. Burning a Faithless Wife at the Stake. About three weeks ago an Indian known as Sam lost his squaw Mary, through th* blandishments of an Indian named Jim, with whom she eloped, taking some of his household goods. The loss of these goods added much to the wrath of Sam, and he raised such a commotion among the Piute braves that they determined to teach the frail Mary, and by her example, the rest of the women of the tribe, a lasting lesson. Jim tried to screen her from the gathering storm by hiding her, but they soon found her, and about fifty of the tribe, including Jim and several squaws, escorted her to the hills, just back of Washoe Lake, on Saturday evening last, and there, safe from Caucasian intrusion, they made a great pile of sage brush, and after tieing her firmly in the middle of it, set it on fire. Then they began a war dance around the scene of cremation,in which all joined, Sam being very fierce in his leaps and yells. The screams of Mary added to the zest of the dance. Jim, meantime* sat quietly by, and seemed an indifferent spectator. After the body of the unfortunate Mary had been reduced to ashes Sam expressed his satisfaction, and they dispersed. A Mormon Matrimonial Row. New York, Sept. 16—The Herald’s Salt Lake special, reports that the ApoBtle John W, Young has gone to St. George to marry Miss Cobb, step- daughter of the late Brigham Young, and that Lib by his wife, hearing of his intention has left her husband and returned home to her father, Mr. Can- field, an old railroad engineer living in Philadel phia. Thibtt Chinese merchants in San Francisco have united in an appeal to the Board of Education to have public schools opened for the instruction of Chinese youth. Gen. John Freeman, of Mississippi, on ‘‘Geor gia and the Georgians.” On the 6th page of this issue will be found an able article from Gen., John D. Freeman, a dis tinguished Mississippian and ex-member of Congress, on “Georgia and the Georgians,” to which we invite special attention. The General informs us he has been admitted to all the courts of Georgia, and his legal card will appear in our next issue. M. Cole & Co., whose Atlanta Nurseries are the best and cheapest in the South, have just received direct from Holland an assortment of the choicest and rarest Bulbs. Many of these are altogether new, and bloom in superb colors and sizes. Send for a Catalogue (free of cost) descriptive of the Atlanta Nurseries, and read the list of choice fruit aud ornamental trees, flowers, blooming shrubs beautiful vines and potted window plants which Cole & Co. keep constantly for sale at prices with in the reach of all. * Bring Along Your Subscriptions when You Come to the State Fair. —As everybody and “the balance of man kind ” are expected here during the ap proaching Fair, it will be a good plan to bring along your subscriptions to The Sunny South. We hope to receive ten thousand new names on that occasion JS^Don’t forget this. INSTINCT PRINT