About The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 29, 1887)
THE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, QA^ 8ATUEDAY HORNING, JANUARY 29.1887. 3 KARL, THE MILL-BOY, The Story«(a Trial. BY la. B. E. CHAPTER V. The little village court room was crowded to its utmost capacity. It wa, not much of a room and had of late fallen into disuse, but on this occasion persons had come from far and near to attend a trial the like of which was not recorded in the annals of that part of the country. It was well known that Karl Bierman had returned home after an absence of eight months and that miller Brown had accused him of stealing money and burning a mill, two very grave offenses. Karl had firmly protested his innocence and had given a curious explana tion to account for his absence, the loss of the money and the burning of the mill, llis story was soi mprobahle that only his few friends believed him. (>n the day of his return when he met the miller in bis blacksmith shop he appeared so cool and posit.vs and truthful in the long statement that he gave, that the mil ler was both puzzled and exasperated and still believed firmly in Karl’s guilt. The miller had sworn and raged and accused, but lie did not make Karl fl nch one particle from his po sition, and it ended by the miller saying: “Well, Karl, you air the coolest liar I ever heerd tell on, but it aint coin’ to do you no good. I’ve swore I would have ycr before the courts and I am going to do it.” “Mr. Brown, I am not going to leave this place un'il it is settled to your satisfaction. I tried to save your property and 1 got myself into trouble by it. Now you can do as you please,” and Karl walked out of the shop. The miller, however, had him arrested that day by the town mar-dial and put into the county jail, where he had to stay for two months. A judge had been called froin a neighboring town and the day set for the trial. The issue in the case hail been the topic of con versation at every firctidc in the neighborhood for miles, and on the morning of the trial day the court room was so densely packed that there was danger of suffocation, what with the windows raised and the doors open hardly enough air could be obtained so closely was the crowd jammed in around the railing. At the appointed time the presiding judge marched in and mounted the wooden platform and sat down in the chair behind a pine table on which there was provided pens and paper. The sheriff st rod by his side and in stento rian tones called out: “oyez, oyez, the honor able court is now in session,” and some other words to the same effect, which made him feel very important as it attracted the eyes of the entire crowd towarl him. Having said this be put on his hat, took up his tall baton or staff and frowned upon the crowd as if he was going to keep order or arrest the last man of them. The jury was soon called and sworn and took their places on one side of the bar in front of the judge, in chairs provided for the pur pose. They all immediately began to look wise and solemn as if they were fully conscious of the weight of responsibility resting on them, especially as the crowd began now to look at them instead of at the sheriff. “Bring in the prisoner,” said the judge, whercupm the sheriff marched out in true military style, and in a few minutes re-ap peared, leading in Karl by the arm, and placed him in the prisoner’s chair in full view of both judge and jury. As Karl took his scat one could not help bu* observe the haggard and distressed look upon liis face and the affecting expression in his eye. He hail but little resemblance to a criminal, and his fair and frank manner excited at once a feeling of sympathy in the crowd of attend ants, and a murmur of regret passed over them as he looked up into their faces. As soon as lie had taken his seat a young girl of sixteen or seventeen years, with sad, loving eyes and dressed in black, came and sat near him. There was such a striking likeness between the two that the observers at once noticed it, and ter the house, but his room was empty an’ his bed had not been fetched soon. Mr. Thomp son came along and says ‘here’s Karls pistol I found it down by the mill, an’ here’s his hat I found it In the road, aid here’s his coat which wat nigh by.’ Mind gintlemen of the jury, I seed him with them very things the day be fore. “I had some money hid in the mill and I reckin Karl found it out, for I scratched all the next day looking for it, but nary a piece did I see, and I knowed that if it hac been lef ’ there I would er found it in some shape. Then Karl was run away, or leastwise he did not come back until nigh onter a year, and all them circumstances loik mighty curious, and strong agin him.” Here the old man rested and glared over at Karl with a frown upon his face as if he would like to annihilate him. The jury looked troubled and greatly in doubt- Circumstan tial evidence was strong that Karl was at the mill on the night of the burning. The money lieing gone an 1 Karl’s disappearance at the same time were suspicious coincidences. “One question miller,” said the lawyer, “how do you know the money was there on the night that the mill burnt?” “Jist cased put a new piece tliar that very day an’ I says to myself ‘one more new piece an’ it’ll be nougli to p iy what I owes on the house,’ ” came the satisfactory reply. John Thompson was the next witness called. He testified that he was at the fire during the night and until next morning. As he wand ered around in the vicinity of the lire he came across an old horse pistol from which the charge had been shot. It was lying in the bushes where it had been thrown and was not yet rusty. In fact the twigs it had broken in its fall were not yet withered, showing that only a few hours had elapsed since it fell, lie knew it was Karl’s pistol for he bad seen him with it. He picked it up and went up the road towards home. He found a hat in the road about 200 yards fr >m the mill and a coat about 100 yards further on. They belonged to Karl for they had his name written on them. He took the pistol and the coat and hat to Miller Brown and told him where they were found. As Thompson came down from the witness stand, things looked very gloomy for Karl, and the evidence was decidedly against him. Sev eral of the faces of the jury expressed satisfac tion of hi< guilt already, and the others looked towards him with a pitying glance. The crowd, though densely packed in, yet was per fectly quiet, hardly breathing, and as they saw that the case was going against Karl, they began to whisper among themselves, “How bad it is,” “What a pity,” and the like expres sions of conviction. John Miller was next loudly called for by the important sheriff, and soon was marched upon the stand. “John, tell what you saw on the night of , in the month of ,” said Mr. Hug gins. “I was a goin’ home in the moonlight fum er corn-shuckin’ down at Miss Gardner’s,” said John, in a drawling tone, “an’ was a crossin’ of the ole field down by the inill-’ousc, an’ I seed somebody cornin’ er creepin’ down the road. So I goes to the fence an’ ax, ‘Who’s thar?’ Wall, it was Karl, an’ he ’peared skeered-like, an’ I ax him where he was go;n’. He said he was just out fer er walk, since it ’us so hot in the mill all day; an’ he pass’ on down the road towards the mill. That’s all I knows;” and without more ado, John walked down from the witness stand quickly, for he evidently did not wish to tes tify against Karl. The jury smiled in a satisfied way, and sev eral of them yawned as if no further evidence could be more oonvincing and it was not pos sible to rebut what had been offered. The judge looked up from his paper where he hail been taking notes, and seeing that all the wit- the murmur was louder and more sympathetic, j ncsses were done, asked Karl if he desired to ' !“[; u ”'“ 1 caitu a an >m me mortis, aiivi „„pt.- n 7:ike a statement''am?~teul nnfi 11’.. cally of one kindly old man. “Poor, dear orphans. Ain’t they like? Don’t tell me lie’s ever done anything like they say. He don’t look it. A jury’d have a mean heart to convict him.” The Judge tapped on his desk for order and the Sheriff jumped up and frowned fearfully, as much as to say, “Let me just get at that man who was talking and it won’t be good for him.” To one side of the bar was another group, and the central figure was a man sixty years old, but strong and able-bodied. There was a gathering frown upon his face, which deepened and blackened as the murmurs and sympathies of the crowd saluted his ear, and he turned up on them impatiently and wratbfully just at the last outbreak in whi :h the judge had to rap for order on his desk. A lawyer sat near by bus ily looking over some old law books, every now and then taking the pen from behind his ear to make a note on the paper winch lay on a table in front of him. Mrs. Brown had a seat behind her husband, and looked like the silver lining to a thunder cloud as she cast assuring glances of sympathy over towaids Karl and his sister. Little Mary was there with wide-open ey-s, perplexed at all these strange proceedings, and could hardly be restrained to where Karl sat. When everything was in readiness the Judge said to the lawyer: “You may open your case against the pris oner at the bar, Mr. Huggins.” Mr. Huggins, who was the prosecuting law yer in the case, took his eyes off his law books, took the pen off his ear, took himself off the chair and stood in the presence of the jury, holding the indictment agaiiiHt Karl Bierman in his hand. He looked over towards the twelve men and began to address them in a slow, solemn way, explaining the nature of the case to be tried and designating the offence of which Karl Bierman stood before them accused. As he began to sjx>ak a silence set led ujion his audi ence, and everybody listened to the words he uttered and to the indictment against the young man. Then the lawyer read the paper containing the charges against the “aforesaid Karl Bier- man, in that he did enter the premises of the aforesaid Ephraim Brown and unlawful y car ry away the sum of one thousand dollars, more or less, in gold and silver coin,” etc. Again, that “Kan Bierman, the aforesaid, did, on such and such a night set fire to the mill- house (it being the property of Ephraim Brown) aid bum it to the ground, all against the good order and peace of the State.” Karl listened to the whole of this charge with a painful, yet indignant, expression plainly discernible on his features, and when the Judge turned to him and said “Guilty or not guilty?” he answered strong and clear: “I am not guilty.” Then the trial began in earnest, and from this time deepened into intense interest. Miller Brown took the stand, first one of the witnesses. He walked up boldly and kissed the Bible before he had heard half the oath he was to take. "Are you acquainted with the prisoner at the bar?” askec the lawyer. “Yes, sir, I am and have been for ever since he was born,” was the reply. “Where were you, Mr. Brown, on the night of the day of the month of ?” “I were asleep in iny bed some er the night and I were a fightin’ fire the rest.” “Now, .Mr. Brown, will you state to the jury all you know about this case before us. Make whatever statement vou know to be true and not what you think or what you have heard. We want only what you know to be true?” “ Well,” began the miller settling himself for a speech which we will ahreviate for the sake of the reader, “I went ter sleep on that 'ere night and ’bout two o’clock, I reckin, I hear! the dogs howl in the yard an’ I woke up an’ says to my wife, ‘wife somebody’s in the yard,’ and started to git up, but she hclt me back an’ I went ter sleep agin. I slep sorter uneasy like, and soon here come a big yellin' and knockin’ at the door and somebody said come down ter the mill that it was all afire. I jumped outer bed qiiicker'n a flash an’ jerked on my clothes and lit out fer my mill place. Well, sir, it was all afire and a burning jist like powder. I told my wife to wake up Karl and send him on, but bless yo’ soul he weren’t nowheres about. Well, the old mill burnt chan down to the ground an’ me an’ the neighbors tried to save something, but nary a grain of corn or wheat did we git. Nex’ morn ing I sat down on a rock feelin’ powerful sick, when I thinks ter myself that I aint seen Karl and I jumped up ter look fer him, I went back muse a statement? aiitf toiti inm u,iam ~:i lowed him to make one, though it put him un der no oath. The jury turned towards Karl in an expect ant manner and the eyes of the crowd were at once fastened upon him. Karl thereupon rose from his seat slowly and walked up to the wit ness stand and steadied himself by the railing. A deathlike silence fell upon the court-room, and in a trembling voice he began to make his statement. Karl began by stating to the jury how long lie had worked for the miller and. in what ca pacity, that he had tried to do his duty in every respect, though his wages were meagre and the work put upon him was heavy. He then related the incidents of the day preced ing the night of the robbery, and as he spoke of the three men and what they said of the in formation the miller’s son had given them of the presence of the money in the mill, a voice from the crowd cried out: “That’s so, by golly; case I heerd Bill say so, an’ I seed them very fellers.” The judge frowned, the jury looked around, the crowd fluttered and smiled, and the sheriff shook his stick and looked his fiercest. Karl continued his story and spoke of the turned up condition of the mill when the men left it and when Mr Simpkins arrived; at which Mr. Simpkins who was in court, said in an audible voice, “That’s so.” Karl then re lated as minutely as he could all the circum stances of the night of the robbery and of the fire, beginning from where he took the pistol out of his bureau drawer, then where he met John Miller, where he crouched in the bushes and saw the men come across the bridge, and one of them hurt his hand and bind it in a rag torn from his shirt, and then drop the rag near the mill. Mr. Simpkins started very perceptibly at this and shook his heal incredulously. Then Karl spoke of how the men entered the mill and how he fired at one of them at which they began to pursue him, how he dropped the pis tol in the bushes and fled throwing away his coat and bat. He told of his capture, of the struggle in the road and of his being bound and gagged, and of his distress when he observed the mi 1 to be set on fire. As Karl proceeded with his story the jury became more and more interested and the au dience was as still as if they were cut in stone. He then related the events of his kidnapping, of his incarceration and long six months ago ny and spoke of old Billy and of his means of escape. With such an air of candor and truthfulness did he speak that the jury were greatly per plexed again and wore a puzzled expression on their faces. The crowd was about satisfied that Karl was telling what really occurred that they became noisy in their sympathy. The speech or rather talk had lasted only 30 min utes but it troubled those who were to decide the case. Karl had scarcely taken his seat before Mr. Simpkins bustled out from the crowd and stood before the juiy and requested to be ex amined as a witness. The judge looked aston ished. “Mr. Simpkins do you know anything of value connected with this case?” sa d he. “Jedge, I reckon 1 does, an’ ye’d belter fum me too,” was the reply. “All right then, Mr. Lawyer, swear the witness,” whereupon Mr. Simpkins wassworn and began his testimony. He told in his own peculiar manner all the details of the conversation that he overheard from the three men on the road while he was concealed from view behind the rock at the spring. Mr. Huggins became nervous and ex- c ted and began to wipe the*perspiration from off his brow. Jumping up he inquired; “What did the men say, Mr. Simpkins?” “I heard them say that they was a goin’ to git that stuff that very night and that there weren’t nobody to pester ’em.” “How many were there, did you say?” “There were three on ’em, ’cause I seed ’em as they went uj> the road.” Mr. Huggins took his seat, somewhat con fused at the turn affairs were taking. “An’ more’ll that,” said Mr. Simpkins to the jury, “here’s the very rag with blood on it that Karl has just told ye of. I picked i t up nex’ morning to tie the mill keys on, an’ I found it not fur fum the bridge- I put ’em in my pocket to day thinkin’ that maybe I mout have need on ’em an’ sho’ ’nough 1 did.” Mr. Simpkins pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them to the jury who saw that the statement was correct. “Now, gintlemen, I’ll take er seat but sho’ as ye’re born that lad ain’t done nobody'any harm. I’ll lay my life on his being innocent. Mr. Simpkins sat down amid the subdued applause of the crowd. Scarcely had he resumed his seat before a commotion was heard aronnd the door and a squeaky voice from the crowd called out: “Stop, Mr. Jedge, I’se got a few words to say in this case.” , The court was upset again and as the crowd opened an aged, bent over, withered old man limped up and said: “My name’s Billy Patterson wot lives over in Cane Bottom, an’ I knows ’bout this ere boy, fer the Cap’n of the gang beat me an sont me ’way fer he’pin’ him ter git off, an 1 comes ter tell yer he’s spoke wots so.’’ The lawyer here objected to this irregular proceeding and the judge was about to order the sheriff to remove the old man but the crowd cried out: “No!” “Let’s hear him!” “Swear himl “We’re goin’ to git the truth now!” and other expressions which induced the judge to let old Billy go on the s and and be sworn as a wit ness. Old Billy swore to his name and residence and occupation. He told all the circumstances connected with the gang of robbers with whom he had been associated and related in what manner Karl had been brought there, confined and escaped. So exactly did his story corres pond with what Karl had said in spite of the cross-examination of the lawyer, that however incredulous it seemed, the crowd at once be lieved it and took no pains to conceal their opinion ot the case. Karl looked up at the old man with grateful eyes and Kate,who sa. behind him,could hard ly conceil her tears that such timely assist ance had arrived. Old Billy shuffled back to his place in the crowd and the judge leaned back and looked over his spectacles at the jury and the jury looked uji atthe judge. Both of them looked at Karl and from Karl to the miller, who sat a most stunned by this overwhelming evidence, and from thence to the impatient crowd be yond. The judge gave the law to the jury in as plain and simple a manner as he could, without many comments and the sheriff then led them out to the jury room to make up their verdict. Til* evidence was now strong in both ways and the crowd of bystanders waited impatient ly for the reappearance of the jury, all tne while indulging in cheering remarks to Karl, some of them not very complimentary to the miller. At the end of a half hour the sheriff announced the jury had made up their verdict, the judge resumed his place and the jurymen tiled in and took their seats. The crowd in stantly became breathless. “Gentemen have you agreed on a verdict?” asked the judge. “We have, sir,” said the foreman, at the same time handing a paper to the sheriff. The sheriff took the paper and read as follows: “We, the jury, find the defendant—not guilty.” Scarcely had the verdict been rendered be fore a deafening shout from the crowd rent j the air, as if it would lift the roof from the top of the house. The judge loudly rapped for or der and the sheriff stormed, but all in vain. The excited crowd of friends poured over the bars and taking Karl in their arms bore him up, and out of the court house and into the streets, shouting and throwing up their hats. It took but little time for the news to spread to those not in attendance and the jubilee be came general. The crowd bore Karl down to the tavern and there it drank a great bumper of one hun dred glasses and shouted his name so loud that the noise was heard a half mile away. Amid all the congratulations that poured in, there was the old miller himself who came up with tears in his eyes, and taking Kail by the hand said: “Well, Karl, I reckin Iv’e done ye lots er harm, and thought mighty hard agin ye, but I ain’t g>in’ ter do so no mo’. Ye’re innercent, an’ I guess I knows who done me ther harm, fer Bill, my son, has joined a gang like them yer spoke on. But Karl, we’ll burry old scores and build another mill, and start over agin.’ The tears came now in good fashion, for the hard heart was softened and the fierce nature came forth from the years struggle more gen tle than before. The mill was built and it jirospered and when, years after, the c Id mi 1- ler died, the Bierman mill became the pride of the country for many miles around. *»**•••* It was on the afternoon of the trial and Karl once more free to go where he would, was walking anil in arm with his sister towards the little bnrying ground where there was a mound that he had not yet seen. They talked but little and that little was sad and in a low tone and neither could venture to speak at Jam.' 1 ,!).: THE DEATH OP THE OLD YEAR. When the mound was reached they stood over it and talked f ir a long time about her who slept beneath and Karl put his arms about liis sister and sobbed aloud in his grief, and the tears fell upon the earth which covered the mother’s grave. Breaking out in liis sor row lie exclaimed: “Oh, that you, my mother, had not died but had lived to see tliis day, and to know that your son whom you had prayed over and cared for and loved so fondly had never done wrong to any man.” Kate drew near to him and putting her arms around his neck, said to him: “Dear Karl, the last message that mother sent to you was that up to the last she knew you were innocent. Come we will go and to gether live the rest of our lives in the old home.” And they went back in the gathering twi light. [tiik end.] Advice to Young Men. [Baltimore Sun.] Last evening at the First English Lutheran Church, Rev. Albert II. Studebaker began a series of sermons to young men, large numbers of whom were present. His theme was, “How City Life Tempts Young Men,” and his tex Jeremiah 4b, 15—“The choice of young men are gone down to the slaughter.” The young men of our cities, he said, are living in a time of promise and peril. Their way may be as radaint as the suu in its course, or it may be the first step toward dire disaster. For them we have the highest hopes and the gravest fears. Many a young man who comes to the city to imjirove his fortune is tempted and slain by its very novelty. Wily tempters with winning ap peals and plausible promises, plot and compass his ruin. He finds the liberty and irresponsi bility of boarding-house life a poor substitute for the restraint and support of a home. The barriers of vice are down in every direction, the familiar way-marks of virtuous life a thing of the past, and the early and pure white of life is covered with the courted crimson of guilt. Nor is the slaughter lessened by the estimate to day placed upon money. Y'oung men see smartness and shrewdness deified and wor shipped. Honesty is only policy. Custom and expediency must frequently supersede. it. Crookedness lives on a fashionable street, has golden livery, and scorns the censure of the true and vituous. This is a deadly peril In a city successful gin is seen only in its triumph, rarely in its disgrace. Thus is the dread of evil abated and confidence in God impaired. The young are fascinated; they envy, then imitate. And the varied temptations of a city leave no young man free from their varied and power ful incentive to vice. They assail him at every poin. of his many-sided life. They urge the ease with which a double life can be lead in a large city. He can be one thing in south or east Bal timore and another in west or north Baltimore. He is called green if he hasn’t seen all the city contains, and where he would not venture alone he goes with his crowd. He had far better be familiar with the municipal sewers. The alrger the city the more dangerous this peril. There is but one path of escape for yau lg men from the fearful soul slaughter of a great city, and that is the way that leads past the cross of Christ.” A PIOUS FRAUD MAKES A SCENE. Robert Henshaw Invokes the Ven geance of Heaven on His Accusers. [Chicago Mail.] Robert Henshaw, the religous young man convicted of picking the pockets of a South Water street commission man, was arraigned for sentence before Judge Anthony this morn ing. The prisoner was much excited, and when asked what he had to say, etc., he spran"for ward with the cry: “There is a greater judge than you, judge, and some day we will all meet at His tribual.” The judge approved of the tru’h of the statement, but looked annoyed while the bail iffs seized the excited man and drew him back. “Stop!” he cried, “I will not insult the judge. All I want to say is that on that great day of trial the man who falsely swore my body to the prison must prepare his soul for a commensu rate sentence. That is all; take me to prison.” The little episode created great excitement in the court-room, which was, however, prompt ly allayed by Judge Anthony’s strong and firm voice pronouncing the verdict of the jury: “Two years in the penitentiary.” CHAT. Another letter, all pathos and crying for an unfilled want, is before me. It’s author has tasted the sweets of life, lived in that dolcefar niente common to luxurious surroundings; one who lias circled the world, loved and plaj ed with love, thereby degenerating into the fash ionable cynic, so objectionahle to N. L. H.; one who lias lived beyond the heights, survey ed other mortals lets fortunate from a supreme Stanil-pnnt; had every desire gratified, and yet —cries “What cons itutes happiness?” Once, in a crowded city tenement reeking with filth and teeming with vice, I came across a girl—blind, a child of poverty and sin, with no rose-colored horizon tinting the black clouds of her life; and yet her beautiful life moral turned more than one stony, disobedient heart. In looking upon the brighter side and doing good for others she found happiness where tliis spoilt fortune’s darling has failed, and by her gentle, sweet submissiveness to His will, she inspired others with nobler aims, touched by the contrast she drew. As I remember her I think of Austin Dob- sou’s ballad of the thrush upon the city street. "Sing oo: what though thou hsat O i that dull bar, thy foe! Somewhere the green boughs meet 11 tyond the roofs a—row; Somewhere the blue skies show; S imewhere no black walls crush Poor h-arts with helpless woe— Slug on—ring on. O thrush!” Have I drifted from my subject—Honesty! which nothing can excel in purity? love, that God-given diadem to mankind; Bweet charity; virtue, that is ever bright; steadfast faith; blessed hope; these united in one mind, form the purest, sweetest, brightest and most stead fast happiness. It sems life is “one vast question without a reply”—a mystery, a contradiction! “Alas! There are so many questions of this kind that pass My perplexed comprehension, that were I to place them On record, no volume could encase them.” I would thank those who have come to my assistance, and stood by our ship, and voicing the requests, that have almost become a dirge in their intensity, of the many IlLusehold readers, entreat those who were subjects of*, matchless Kit, and brilliant Quien Sabe, to re turn. One time we were favored with the charm ing little repartees, sparkling witticisms, and amusing assumption of dignity pe:sonated by our inimitable Gate City Gifl. .Whn has benomapf Ij she such, a fa- „ u ;„,n„ ,i,„ t vorite wit l Aunt Judy and Tier leal kim-dom 1 i t* .’e_ > .i.” — that she has forgotten us? There is a prominently placed chair awaits ing her, and one of our poets suggests an “< >de to the vacant chair,” If she does not re turn and assume her title of fairy.” 1 was amused at the manner in which Ira Jones informed me as to his true name. I have long been acquainted with our An tiquary and would have known his address without the large card prefixed to his letter. [BY VERITAS.] The year eighteen hundred and eighty six fa taking t:§ Anal flight, While on the old clock our eyes we fix And hear It Heklng lta few laat ticks, A* d we mournfully abed the regretful tear And we bid our adieus to the dear old year, Which paaaes away to night. It la paaalng away and will aoon be gone, With all lta smiles and tears; lta daya are numb-red. Its work Is done; I'has looked it" last on the selling sun. And soon It will J lin the days which wait F *r It outside of time’s shut gate. And be hidden with by gone years. The storm clouds gather, the wild wind blows And the snow-drifts veil tho skv; Nor moon nor star Its soft light throws, T i cheer the eartn and toctiase the woes Which erowd aronnd in the bowling blast, Like noisy ghosts ol the murdered past, As the old year comes to die. But let us look back and review the reign Ol the year that has reached Its close; A year, to some, of pleasure and gain. To others, of trials, deep sorrow and pain. Losses aad crosses, bereavements ana tears, L ghts and shadows, and hopes and fears, Troubles, regrets and woes. Many a resolution and scheme Was formed when the year got birth. And thoughts were buoyed with the pleasing theme, . And the future was bright as a beautiful dream; But the rear passed by, and the castles fair Were never erected except to the air, Wtlcn now are laid low on the earth. The days down the stream of time moved on Like foam on a fl iwlng river. And maay a wore was In hope begun Which lies unflnlsbed, ts stint undone— rot eS and dererred from day to day. While the fugitive moments kept flitting away And were hidden and lost forever. A rear of months and weeks and days, O! What arlch treasure given! S i many 8 thoatbs for prayer and praise Ana gaming Instruction In wisdom’s ways; T me ts Improve both heart and mind. Time to do good to all mankind— Time to prepare for Heaven. The year Is entering dsath’s cold gate Amid the loud tempest’s wratn; The year 1s dead I Time gone—"too late.” Is this your cry? What Is your state? Is yours the walling of dark despah ? Or do hope’s gloamings Illume your prayer And brighten your future path? The year ts gone with Its great events. Its revo:ut1ons and wars. Its visitations and punishments; Bat who can reckon Its whole enutents— Tne earth’s upbeavels, the confl tgratlons, The scourge ol war, the distress of nations. On sea aud on land Ood's Judgments came, Volcanoes disgorged their floods of flame And the earth still shows Its scars. Tho great event# of the year that’s past Will add a new page to history; The changes effected were thrilling and vast, But the ominous gloom which the sky o’er east Is passing away and the new born year Is coming with treasures, our hearts to cheer; Bur wnetber a year of blessing* or woes, O! j »ys or of sorrows, God only knows, Wuo only ean solve tne m>story. Viva, Florida, Vaurien, Daisy, Veritas, Mu sa Dunn, Muda Hetnur, James E. Wray, Rambler, N. L. H., can I hope that my refor mation will gain me your approving glances? Nuf Ced for the present. Give Awat. P. S. Ha! ha! I had almost forgotten I have a good one for you Householders, learned and wise though you be. Pardon me, but not withstanding your erudite profoundness (?), I don’t think a one of you can see an inch be fore your noses. If so, then why have you not long ere this, caught on to the identity of Mother Hubbard? Is it that you have for gotten that peculiarly original style? or can it be possible that you are so much engrossed with your lugubrious discussions of life, love, private griefa, etc., that you fail to recognize her? Adieu, G. A. Where There’s a Will There’s a Way. If we could always have faith in the old ad age: “Where there’s a will there’s a way,” I think we would be more apt to have the will, anU hence find the way. Faith goes a long way towards helping the will. Take David for example when he slew Goliath. Had he not had faith he could not have brought his will to the point to do such a deed. We wish to accomplish an end. First, do we believe that it can be done? Yes, such has been done before and why not again? Then one step, and an important one, has been gained. Next, will we accomplish that end? Now let us leave out the “ifs.” We believe it is in our power, then if the adage is true, why not say we will? But is there not another will stronger than ours, whose consent we must get before pro ceeding? Yes, but the primary idea of faith that the thing can lie done rules out that diffi culty, hence as that first step is taken then our will must be consulted. Kay we have gained its consent now wliat—where’s the way? I once read a little book, I have forgotten the title and the author, but I remember that the thread of the whole was a golden wire which guided a little boy along his way. All ha had to do was only to keep hold of the wire. I was quite small when I read that lit tle Sunday-school book, but it made a lasting impression on my mind. Now I compare the will to that golden wire, and with my pnronse ever in view, I feel that Lite way is clear enough. To-night I wished to write but I had noth ing in partieu'ar to say. The paper was white before me. Several hours of quiet uninter rupted time was mine. A cheerful fire and a bright lamp, were possessed blessings. Then why not will to write? I am writing, but will it profit any one? I hope it may prove the time honored adage above quoted; doubtless it has been proven hundreds of times, but may my to-night’s experience prove it again. Mine is an earnest life. I am living for a purpose. My motto is: “Live and do good.” I have many plans tr carry out. I believe they can be executed and I will, by the help of God, do my work faithfully. I am only a weak woman, but the name woman is an hon ored name, I do not despise it. I wish to add fresh laurels to its crown. I wish to do so modestly as becometh a woman. I want no privileges that a woman should not enjoy. Let the men be politicians, the tiriffs possess no charms for me. Let the men speak in burn ing and thrilling eloquence on the stage and in the pulpit, I envy them not. Let the men pro vide fer the larder and for the home, I want none of that responsibility. But I want to be a bright angel of love and mercy; a loving sister and daughter; a sympathetic friend; a worker in God’s vineyard; a true and noble woman. I have ambition. I am not content to be the same ail my life without any improvement; but as my mind is enlightened from reading and studying useful books, i wish to contrib ute my mite to the tide of literature, not for the sake of empty fame, for I would not be famous unless I could merit it. If I knew that my efforts were worthless and ridiculous, I would be tempted to pour out my ink and throw away my pen, but with an ardent de sire to accomplish my end to “Live to do good,” I expect to persevere till I prove to my own satisfaction that “Where there’s a will there’s a way.” Muda Hetnur. Qu bee, Midnight 1886.7 A Baby’s Prayer, Dear Mother Hubbard: Softly the evening shadows have lain tlicir fable curtains about Irpttlp is .sinx^nit; among the The matrimonial market seems to be on as great a boom as Alabama real estate just now, but we are happy t> announce that our supply is equal to the demand. For a life-long in vestment you couldn't do better than chooee from the following list of advertisers, or adver tise yourself for bids. You will surely get them. We are daily receiving letters from parties who are on the high road to happiness through this column. We must beg our advertisers to acknowledge the receipt of all letters we for ward that their correspondents may know we have done our duty. It is impossible for us to notify them that their letters have been for warded. Don’t fail to put in blank stamped envelopes with your letters to be forwarded. They can not be re-addressed if written upon. Be sure to send the fee with your advertisement. It is only ten cents j>er line, eight words counted a line. Address all communications for this col umn to Madge Melvale, Sunny South Office. Y'oung ladies of Hi write to “Harry C.” Fun! Young ladies write to Lone Star, No. 2. lie is a good one. Ewell wants a correspondent. Object mutu al improvement. YVanted—an amiable lady correspondent, age between 10 and IS. Lone Jack, No. 2. Will some young ladies of 17 to 22 please write to a merchant of 27 o: some means. “Y'um Yum.” Would be pleased to have several young lady correspondents. I am 20 years old. Write please, to Will, in Texas. A young merchant, well off, desires corres pondents between 10 and 20. Ooject few and matrimony. “M. D. T.” A prosperous young lawyer desires to cor respond with a few accomplished brunettes. Address care of Sunny South, Maurice. Virginia can give a blonde, a city home near the ocean. Age 21, dark and wants a wife. Address, eareSu.Nxr South. Earnest A. Mother IIuiiuard. Veritas Greets Mother Hubbard and Tells of the Death of the Old Year. Dear Mother Hubbard: This is the last day of the year 1880. What crowding memories keep passing before iny mental vision I Only a few hours more ana this year will be num bered with the past. I hear the church bells and I hear the mournful howling of the snow- storm. I sit here alone haunted by the ghosts of murdered hours. An accusing conscience asks the questions, “What progress have you made during the past year? Are you holier and happier than you were twelve months ago? What work have you done? What good have you effected?” I bow my head and say I have been too remiss in my duties. I am an unpro fitable servant. And yet 1 must acknowledge God and say, “By His grace I am what I am. And I can also say, “My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed; I will sing aud give praise.” “It is greatly wise to talk with our past hours And ask them what report they bore to Hea ven.” May (Kid “so teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” It would be too much for me to go over the events of the past year. It has been a year of sunshine and shadows, joys and sorrows. I suppose we all have had our bitters and our sweets, bereavements, losses and sad trials, aud have also had, at other times, our cup of joy filled to overflowing. Let us be grateful for past and present mercies. The old year is gone—numbered with the past. Its death throes were terrible. The tempest raged and the thick drift formed mounds on the streets. And in the bowling blast tbe old year and the new one came squalling—a very noisy baby—giving little hope of a calm year of sweet enjoyments. Its strong lungs and chilling breath give indica tions of it being a hardy, healthy young year. Well, whatever it may be, I wish the House hold family all the enriching blessings there may be in it. This is New Year’s day, and a more dismal looking day I have seldom seen. Deep snow, a blinding snow-drift and bitterly cold. But cold as it is I can seethe people, like white statues, passing and repassing on their rounds of visiting their friends. The French sjieaking Canadians continue their visitings fur several days after tbe first. The men gen erally make their visits on the first, then after that the women and children go their rounds —on foot or on sleighs. I believe that men, women and children continue their visitations until every relative and every acquaintance be visited and saluted. Some of the young men are not so temperate as they ought to be, but I am glad to learn that strong drink is not now dealt out so lavishly as formerly. Mother Hubbard I thank you for your en couraging words in your chat. I am grateful to every one who recognizes me in the House hold. 1 bad a letter from a lady in the South giving me a sketch of one of our brightest wri ters in the Household. I like to get good news, but I don’t wish to receive from any one a confession of her neighbors sins. Have any of the household read tbe new po etical effusions of our friend, Mr. J. E. May? lie is certainly a young Byron, and I think his iirst produc ions would compare with the boy ish writings of Byron. Should he be spared to riper years his fame will be universally known. Some people don’t care for love sigh ing and sentimental yearnings after the unat tainable. Mr. May tho’ young in years has had some sad experiences which will help him in his future efforts. Farmer, I wish to meet you again in the Household. Thistledown. I would like to read that book that so charmed you. Pandora, I love to get the last gift in your box. Leal Kimmer, in the Household or by mail I love to meet you. With best wishes to all, I am, Veritas. Box 74, P. O. St. Rochs, Quebec. leal kingdom upon the hearth ere it bubbles over with good humor witli its friend, tbe fire, while, be fore I know it, my thoughts have drifted far in to the past as dreamily I watch tile flames curl in and out among the loose bricks of the grate and are lost to view in the dark-mouthed chimney. “Auntie,” comes a soft, pleading voice, “Take me, me is so seepy and tired.” Gently I draw llie little white form into my lap amt rest tbe weary head on iny arm. “Now, dar ling,” I whisper, “some little girl must not for get to say her prayers ” Soltly the brown eyes close, dimpled bands rest quietly an the snow-white gown, while coral lips murmur in baby tones after me, “Now I lay me down to sleep.” “I pray tbe Lord,” I repeat, but no little voice takes up the refrain, only a sigh falls upon my car as she whispers desponding- ly, “Oh! Auntie, my prayer is so long.” “Hush, darling, you will soon be through, and you know Maggie must not think of that when she is talking to God.” Over again we begin, and the soft voice whis pers against my cheek, “I pray the Lord my soul to keep.” Is it all fancy? I wonder when there floats before me dreamy pictures of that loving Father giving His angels charge over this “wee sma’ iamb.” More gently the next Art Matters. I have spent two weeks among the art treas ures of New Y'ork. I Iirst went to see the Ru bens Gallery, loaned by Mr. Charles Seidel- meyer, of Paris, and brought over here by Mr. Henry G. Marquand. Those pictures of Ru bens are marvels of fine coloring “Melea ger and Atalanta,” is tbe finest 1 think. Then there is a “Holy Family,” by the same mas ter. There is in this room also a solendid “Magdalen Praying,” by Murillo, and “fa ^ toilet,' 1 by Rembrandt, and two’ pictures of | will''write to" £“ A printer by trade, candidate for matrimo ny, wishes to correspond with a number of young ladies who are matrimonially inclined. All letters answered. “A cage but no bird” is owned by a Texas ranchman. I want intelligent and moral lady correspondents; brunettes preferred. Am 21 years old—blonie. My object is matrimony. Will answer you all. “H. N.” My object is matrimony and improvement. 1 hope some intelligent young men will answer me right away. References can be exchanged if desired. I will state that my father is a banker, and 1 am just frmi college. Address, care Sunny South, . Flora. I am a young lady, eighteen years old, with blue eyes, brown hair, and fair complexion. I will be glad to correspond with a gentleman between twenty and thirty. hates are begun; but alas! mother Nature’s tabes are something like her children of older growth, strong contradictions, for out from their curtained lashes those brown eyes steal forth—eyes that soon spy a member of the family busily engaged in work that does not suit her. In a second more her prayer is for gotten, and the sweet, pleading tones change as this child of nature declares, “Nina, that ain’t the way to do it.” Sm les creep over my brother’s and Nina’s fat es, but still the latter continues her work, and after a little persuasion the truant eyes are induced to close, while the little three- year-old pleads for blessings on “papa, little sister, a 1 my relatioi s and friends;” “and maxe me a good girl,” I say, but she has not heard me. Two little arms have stolen around my neck, and with a beaming face she whis pers: “Auntie, me didn’t leave old Santa Claus’ book over at Auntie D.’s, this evening, did I!” At last the prayer is ended. A few minutes later I softly tuck her in bed, thinking per haps she is asleep. Soon that thought is dis pelled. ‘Auntie,” comes from under the folds of the cover, “who made leefies?’’ “God,” I reply. “Out uf whut?” “Dust of the ground,” I reply. “Whut did he malte hair out uf?” “Out of the ground, too, darling.” “Well, auntie,” continues this little incorri gible, “whut did he make the ground out uf?” To this weighty question auntie remains silent, hoping the little questioner's thonghis have drifted to the land of Nod; bat, no, in rather sleepy tones she say: “Sing-Je-sus-luves chn me.” I begin, she, too, joii ing in with “so glad that Jesus luves ebon mee,” but slower comes tbe refrain, and lower droop the silken lashes o’er peachy cheeks, and before the last verse is finished baby’s voice is hushed and she is roaming in the sunlit fields of dreamland. Quietly she sleeps, lovingly the dark-brown hair rests against the smooth brow, the little lips that can ask such questions are still, and with a kiss upon them and a prayer that the loving Father will watch over and guide this little one, I leave her for the night. Clio. Montgomery, Ala. very* pretty little girls, by G reuze, the great French master who painted “Le Crucbe Cassee,” the Broken I’itcher, now in the Louvre, Paris. These pictures are all very large and are well preserved. Here is a pic ture of “Rembrant’s Cook," a solid looking Dutch woman looking out of a kitchen win dow, holding a carving knife in her right hand. Among the paintings in the Modern Gallery of the Metropolitan Art Museum, the great painting of “Columbus at the Court of Queen Isabella,” stands pre-eminent. The queen leans forward in an attitude of attention. She is seated on her throne, surrounded by gallant cavaliers, court ladies and churchmen. < >n a table near by are piled her costly jewels, while a court messenger bears a jewel box in his hands, about to lay it on the table. Columbus stands at the other end of the table, liis left hand upon a map, while lie points toward the west with his right; a cardinal is seated near Columbus; he is converting with an old man in a court dress. A lady is seated at the left of the queen’s throne, holding a book between her hands. The queen is robed in a gorgeous white silk dress and a purple mantle, with an ermine cape, is laid eracefully on her shoul ders. The artist is Brozix, a Bohemian. Mr. Morris K. Jessup purchased the painting and presented it to the museum. The figures arc full life size. Ira Jones. Elizabeth, N. J. PATIENT PRISONERS. She Called Me a Clown. The Princess is off on a trip to South Geor gia. The coast is clear, therefore I have step ped in a moment to say to the Householders that I have been completely broken up ever since Nixy called me a “clown.” That was the “most unki idi-st cat of all,” and the fact is, I am just now recovering from it. I have been able to completely ignore the reproach ful et tu brute look cast upon me by the Prin cess; ditto, the wrathful glances of the unfor giving Monk, but ye gods! when Nixy called me a “clown,” it awoke my slumbering con • science. Friends, I have decided to reform and become a respectable member of the Household. Nary nother give away. As for that little trick, Maid of Athens, I know her. She’s my relative—a chint of a schoolgirl who very often contradicts the most solemn statement of her big cousin. Give Away. Never mind, little girl, when you come to At lanta again I’ll—I’ll be unaware of the fact that yon are particularly partial to caramels and chewing gum. A little bird fast In Its cage, dear. Teat will never he free again, Hugs on just tbe same as of old, dear— But ids song Is far sweeter than then Would you dream, as you bear the sweet strains, Tnat they quiver wltb saddest heart-thrills?— Tnat they tell of a sorrow that reigns?— Tbe little bird longs to be free, And sometimes a poor lPtle heart, dear, Gets caught In the same cruel way. And never a murmur m ikes, dear, Bnt thri bs on In the olden way. Would you dream tnat tho.e sort even throbs Were telling of wildest dospalr ?— Tnat they are but the saddest of sabs?— The little heart longs to be free. The Princess. Jesup, Ga. General Sherman and the Union Man When General Sherman entered Goldsbor ough, N. C., after his march to the sea, on his way to join Grant before Richmond, there dwelt in that town a certain Colonel X., who was one of the most rabid secessionists that could be found. His house was situated in the north end of the city, and at the end of a street,* so that any one coming into the town from the south would see his residence as soon as he would enter the south end of the same street. When General Sherman and staff came into tbe town they came up this street aud stepped just in front of Colonel X.’s residence. The Colonel, who was out on the porch, greeted them, and an officer, saluting him, asked what his senti ments were in regard to the war. “I am a strong Union man,” answered the colonel, with a dry smile. “Ah indeed,” said the officer, rather sarcas tically, “and how long have you been a Union man?” I have been a Union man,” said the colonel, slowly, and as if considering his words, “ever since I saw you and your staff come into the end of that street, about fifteen minutes ago.” The candor in the colonel’s reply pleased Gen. eral Sherman, and he ordered a guard placed around Col Kiel X.’s property, and during the entire stay of the army in Goldsborough not a thing was molested in or around liis premises, although a great many of the fine private as well as public buildings were burned and pil laged. Tbe Only Way So S'onqner Dyspepsia. It is Jitrlertly preposterous to introduce pepsin nnil other artilieial solvents into the stomach, in the expectation that they will as sist digestion by acting on the food itself. They will not. Nor is it possible thus to overcome dyspepsia. The only way to con quer thatilisorder. ami prevent the numerous diseases and disabilities which it assuredly provokes, is to renew the activity of gastrio action by strengthening the stomach. Hos tetler’s Stomach Billers eradicates the most inveterate forms of indigestion by restoring vitality to the alimentary organs, and those which are tributary to tlirm. The liver, the bowels, the kidneys and the nerves, no less than the stomach, experience the invigora tive effects of that standard tonic, which pos sesses ulterativc properties that greatly en hance its beneficial influence, and gfive a permanence to its effects which they would not otherwise possess. ‘ < >ne little maid from school am I, ‘Mashing,’ flirting on the sly.” Who will write to me. -My eyes and hair are dark brown, complexion fair, but oh! so sad, I am very ugly. If a nice young gentle man would des re my photo, I would gladly send him one, provided he answers this. Yuri Yum. A young man would like to have a lively, lovely, young lady of good education to cor respond with : My age 27, years, height 5 ft. 10 in., weight 1«5, complexion fair, eyes and hair dark. Ad dress, care Sunny South. Lone Wanderer Have a great big heart for some dear, sweet tempered little lady. Won’t some of you bru- netts come to my rescue? Am 25, dark eyes, brown wavy hair, medium size. Am not handsome as Appolo, but kinder than the kindest to friends and those I love. Object a good friend, a good wife or a good time. Now some of you dear pretty little brunetts write me, and I will be honest with you. Address, care Sunny South, Renco. I, as other girls, have an ideal, he inu3t be true, grod and intelligent. Age between 25 ami .30. Tall, manly looking, and energetic. Would prefer brunette, as 1 am a blonde, have a good education and am proficient in house keeping. WiH leave this an open question: can I find my ideal through the Sunny South? Mona. Dr. Moffett’s Indian Weed Female Medicine gives bloom to the cheek, elasticity to the muscles, mental vigor to the brain, and joy ous, happy smiles where all was despondent gloom, sadness and depress. ^TLANTA & NEW ORLEANS SHORT LINK. VICKSBURG AND SHREVEPORT, VIA MONTGOMERY. i) jl v line operating double dally trains and Pull man Buffet Sleeping Cars between Atlanta and New Orleans wl'hont change Takes * II *ct Sunday, I)**c. 56. 1886 Dally. Leave Atlanta l 20 pui Arrive Falrburn 2 08 pm Palmetto 2 20 pm Newnan 2 47 pm Gramville 3 13 pm LaGrange 352pm West Point 4 20 pm Opelika 5 in pm Ar. Cviumbus, Ga.6 34 pm Ar. Montgomery 7 15 pm Ar. Penaaecia 5 no am Ar. Mobile 2 15 am Ar. New Orleans 7 12 am DUly. 12 20 am 1 05 am 117 am 1 40 am 2 17 am 3 oo am 3 32 »m 4 21 am 11 ol am 6 45 am 200 pm No. *. DUly. 5 05 pm 6 14 pm 6 26 pm 653 pm NORTH HOUND . Lv. New Orleans Mobile Pensacola Selma Montgomery Ar. Columbus Lv. Cpellka A r. West Point La Grange Hogan (mile Grantrllle Newnan Palmetto Kolrbnrn Alania Nt> 61. Lsllj. Dxtly. 8 05 pm 7 55 am 12 55 am l 20 pm 10 20 pm 7 05 -m 4 00 am io 20 am 7 35 am 11 oi am 15 pm o 46 am 10 29 pm 10 27 am n 12 pm io 58 am 11 44 pm 11 23 am ll 37 am 12 25 am 12 03 pm 12 52 am 12 20 pm i !8am 12 41 pm 1 31 am 1 25 pm 2 15 4m TO SELMA, Dally. 7 331 7 501 8 23 a 8 561 »il a in oo i No s 8 30 pm 11 30 pm Greensboro Akron Meridian Vleksburz Shreveport No 51. 330 pm 5 50 pm 5 50 pm 6 20 pm oio pm 12 30 am 7 30 am 6 45 Dm THROUGH CAR SEKVACn. Newti?iea P ns.'" anBU “ et S e8p " ,g *«■>“» to No. 52. Pullman Buffet Sleeping ear, Waihlnvt™ Sy > ».T« FUU ““ uto°TeiL a ;!aMSg c e" free 01 «*■«■<. te^AUanUL a'tSsS No. 53 Pullman Parlor ear. NewOrloana to Wna. gomory and Pullman Buffei 81eepln2“aTMc£t: gomery to Washington. F * mom- *au“ F “* Ul Steeping ear tree of charge Toxaa CHAS. H CROMWELL. to Atlanta. CECIL QABBBTT, U “ 6 “ l Gja ~ Agnot. A J. OKME, Goo. Agt. *M. CJIHABP, Par*. A(t- Atianta, Georgia.
