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VOL. VI.
_ SAVANNAH CARDS.
MORN & I'UNNINGHAE
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL
GROCERS
AND DEALERS IN
U'ine Wines,
liquors & mm,
SAVANNAH, GA.
sepß-6m
R. J. Dttvant, Jr. W. D. Waples
Julian Myers.
DAVANT, WAPLES & CO.,
COTTON & RICE FACTORS,
AND—
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
Savannah, CJa.
Liberal advances made on Con
signments.
fifgjr Orders for Rice filled free of
''Commission, with cash in hand.
• "^~-S-6in
st .
~. , v *. xi. Xison. Wm. W. Gordon.
mm & GORDON,
COTTON FACTORS
AND—
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
SAAK SAVANNAH, BA.
Bagging and iron ties advan
ced ON CROPS
Liberal Cash Advances made on Consign
ments of Cotton.
Careful attention to all business and prompt
returns guarateed.
»epß-6tp
W. 11. STARK. H. P. RICHMOND.
W, H, STARK & CO.
WHOLESALE GROCERS,
COTTON FACTORS,
AND—
Gen’l Commission Merchants,
Savannah, Ga.
Careful attention given to
SALES OR SHIPMENT OF COTTON
And all kinds of Produce,
Liberal Advances on Consignmerts.
Arjojv and Eureka Ties
| j, LnWcst Agent's prices.
KeeJl constantly on band, a large Stok of
all kinds of BAGGING.
Agents for
£ F Coes Super Phosphate of Line.
H. H. JONES Agent
Sepl Rm ■ Cuthbertj ta
JOHN W. SUTLIVE,
WITH
BOIT & McKENZ 11,
COTTON FACTORS,
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
And General Agent- for the Sale of
SEA FOWL GUANO
Savannah, Ga.
GEORGIA 1101115
INSURANCE COIP WV,
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA
Capital. fsystem nr
) December set.
T 8 PCs change—tVieits
«ivsclves m-Qor .
is cheapJa
Nlotliers Rf have sis !
p, Ito adopt tJ
THE EUREBStiT”. ?ER
IS JUST THE ARTICLE object. , Ev .
EHY MOTHER WH'nestly urgLTS
THE HEALTH Alt favored Art
OF HER ‘h of coma
«e/ts—this aloft.
THE EUREB favors
Ib designed as a shield a S° o; -a ioig
fure the clothing and bete AT COST rev,. im )
also the clothing of those the are
of them. It is made thl / ,e j§l!>of,
there being no sewed “'thread 0 f
which rot when exposed ftA/ D ire.
THE EUREKA DIAPER P con3trt. e d
as to fasten below the stomar-ft? and to on
form to the shape of the child’s body ; | t, re .
fore it is not liable to tall off, and fre
quently securely retains the linen diaper jt„
place, "at the same time giving perfect age
and comfort to the child. One of the mati;uj
vantages of the Eureka Diaper is, tbathe
danger and trouble of using pins is avoid ;
another is, that It permits a free Ciida
tion of air. They are manufactured in out
different sizes, so as to snit the age and gr v th
of the child, No. 1 being the smallest andN o .
4 the largest*. * t"“\
This Diaper has^^L 0 * laud testin»ij a i 8
In its favor are/er of the all partsthe
country. ItisP • .- tended b/->di
cal men, and tpttOQ g*e children »ve
worn it. i the patier
For sale ypreecriptior >VELLi 11 M( ‘
‘ /infomatio- ~
D< probale gtfOORS !I
Wli when pullers,
preserwnon School Dictio.. ry)
\ poun»e» d «* B
jgM 1 .ey b Grammars,
\ . "Sauford’s Arithmetic,
J" * Connell’s Geogrfp] B
At T. 8. POWELL’B, Thu*;
'^g§E|jjS|g^
CUTHBERT |gj§f APPEAL.
THE APPEAL.
PUBLISHED EVERT FRIDAY,
By J. P. SAWTELL.
Terms of SuEbscription:
One Year. ...$3 00 | Six Months....s2 00
INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
No attention paid to orders for the pa
per un’ess accompanied by the Cash.
Rates of Advertising :
One srpiare, (ten lines or less.) $1 00 for the
first and 75 cents for each subsequent inser
tion. A liberal deduction made to parties
who advertise by the year-
Persons sending advertisements should mark
the number of times they desire them inser
ted, or they wiil be continued until forbid and
'-barged accordingly.
Transient advertisements must be paid for
at the time of insertion. If not paid for before
the expiration of the time advertised, 25 per
ceßt. additional will be charged.
Announcing names of candidates for office,
$5.00. Cash, in all cases
Obituary notices over five lines, charged at
regular advertising ra*es.
All communications intended to promote the
private ends or interests of Corporations, So
cieties, or individuals, will be charged as ad
-vertisements.
Job Work, such as Pamphlets, Circulars,
Cards, Blanks, Handbills, etc., will he execu
ted in good style and at reasonable rates.
All letters addressed to the Proprietor will
be promptly attended to. .
Inventory or a Drunkard.
BY ALICE CAIIY.
A hut ol- logs without a door.
Minus a roof and ditto floor ;
A clapbord cupboard without crocks.
Nine children without shoes ory/rocks ;
A wife that has not any bonnet
With ribbon, bows and strings upon it,
Scolding and wishing to be deud,
Because she has not any bread.
A t-a-kettlc without a spout,
A meat-cask with the bottom out,
A “ comfort ” with the cotton gone.
And not a bead to put it on ;
A bardie without an axe ;
A hatched without wool or flax ;
A pot-lid ami a wagon bub,
And two years of a washing tub.
Three broken plates of different kinds,
Some mackerel tails and bacon-rinds;
A table without leaves or legs,
One chair and half-a-dozen pegs ;
One oaken keg with hoops of brass,
A fiddle without any strings ;
A gun-stock and two turkey wings.
O, reader of this invenioiy,
Take warning by its graphic story ;
For little any man expects,
Who wears good shirts with buttons in ’em
Ever to put on cotton checks,
And only have brass pins to pill ’em!
’1 is, remember. little stitches
Keep the rent froth growing gr at ;
When you can’t tell beds from diteff s.
Warning words will be too late.
llow to Cook a Husband. — As
Mrs. Glass said of the hare, you
must catch him. Having done so,
the mode of cooking him so ns to
make a good dish of him is as fol
lows : Many good husbands are
spoiled in the cooking; some women
go about it as if their husbands
were bladders, and blow them up ;
others keep them constantly in hot
water, while others freeze them by
conjugal coldness ; some smother
them in hatred, contention, and va
riance ; and some keep them in
pickle all their lives.
These women always serve them
up with tongue sauce. Now it can
not be supposed that husbands will
be tender and good if managed in
this way ; but they are, on the con
trary, very delicious when managed
as follows : Get a large jar, called
the jar of- carefulness (which all
good wives have on hand), place
your husband in it, and set him near
the fire of conjugal love; let the
fire be pretty hot, especially let it
be clear ; above all, let the heat be
constant; cover him ov~-r with af
fection, kindness and subjection;
garnish with modest, becoming fa
miliarity, and the spice of pleasan
try ; and if you add kisses and other
confectionaries, let them be accom
panied with a sufficient portion of
secrecy 7, mixed with prudence and
moderation. We should advise all
good wives to try this receipt, and
realize how admireable a dish a hus
band is when properly cooked.
“Are sister Sal anu Nance resour
ces, pa?” “No, my son, why do you
ask that question ?” “Because I
heard uncle Josh say if you would
only husband your resources you
would get along a great deal better
than you do, that’s all, pa.” Pa
plunges into a state of intense reflec
tion.
A dejected looing young man
who asked the editor of tho Dan
bury News what was the c.harg for
inserting an announcement of the
death of his wife, being told that it
would be done for nothing, bright
ened up considerably for one in his
affliction, and piously observed that
“death had been robbed of half of
its terrors.”
Near Manchester the following is
posted on a fence;—“Nottis.—
Know kows is alluud in these
medders, eny mTtn ore woman letten
thare kows run the rode wot gits
inter my medders aforsed shall hav
his tale cutorf by me,Obediah Rog
ers.”
CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1872.
My Wife’s Correspondent.
BY H. CAMILLUS BAKER.
“ Here, Emma, is another note
from y r our unknown friend,” hand
ing my wife a letter I had taken
from the post office on my way
home to dinner. She opened it ea
gerly and at once began to peruse
its contents. I closely watched her
countenance while she read, l’he
placid expression her face usually 7
wore was unchanged ; only a slight
flush, hardly perceptible, tinged
her brow as she looked up and found
my gaze on her.
“ Come, dear, dinner is waiting.
I have been expecting you more
than an hour,” she said, slipping
the letter into her work basket and
leading the way to the basement
dining room.
Going down the steps, she said :
“ Albert, there has never been a
secret between us, but you must al
low mo to have one now. I have
found out the writer of these Tet
ters—it is a w’ornan—a poor, dis
tressed creature, who, with all her
poverty is too proud to let her name
be known. She begs me to let her
have some plain sewing to do. I
think I shall get her to make up
two or three school dresses for
Minnie.” Minnie was our only
child.
It did not strike me at the time,
but I thought of it afterward, that,
contrary to her usual confidential
way, my wife did not turn and look
me full in the eyes while she was
speaking.
“ Have you been to see her ?” I
asked.
“ No—not yet,” site replied ; “I
think of going to-morrow.”
Here the subject was dropped.—
The cook had let the roast burn —a
thing which always did provoke me.
I spoke my 7 mind rather sharply, as
the best tempered men in the world
sometimes wdll under sufficient prov
ocation, and Emma tried to apolo
gize for the servant’s carelessness ;
so for the time I forgot all about
the letter. .
It may have been three weeks af
ter this, probably longer, that I
saw it letter for iny wife in the ad
vertised list. I called at the post of
fice and got it. Walking home
with it in iny pocket some demon
whispered to me to break the seal.
That morning’s papers had report
ed a dreadful case of murder—the
short yet, most shocking history of
a deceived and w ronged husband,
who, w ith all the blind fatuity of
confiding love, had pillowed his
head on the bosom ot a treacherous
mate, till suddenly, by the merest
accident, awakened to the certainty j
of her guilt, he had in the coolest
and most merciless manner butch
ered both her and her paramour.
I can conscientiously say that
from the day I first saw and loved
Emma,down to that hour of tempta
tion no shadow of suspicion in re
gard to her had ever crossed my
mind. llow I longed to see the in
side of that letter. There w’ould
have been a good excuse for my
opening it, too. It was directed to
“ Mrs. Albert Jones.” How easy
to say I had mistaken the Mrs. for
Mr. In fact the “s ” was rather
indistinct. But for my familiarty
with w r ritmg of every description,
I might have really been in doubt
about that“ s-”
Honor and self respect triumph
ed. I delivered the letter to my
wife with the seal unbroken. For
a moment my conscience smote me.
for harboring unjust suspicions, as
I saw the open honest look of sur
prise with which she made out the
date of the post mark, and heard
that the letter had been in the ad
tertised list. But distrust once in
dulged in is not so easily banished.
As my w 7 ife was re-folding the note,
I remarked, almost too pointedly :
“ Your seamstress appears to be
of a literary turn, Emma ; at least
she is very ready to write long let
ters on trivial occasions.”
“ The poor woman needs sympa
thy, Albert,” replied my wife, in a
tone slightly reproachful.
“ Oh, that is all right—that is all
right,” I responded. “ I do not
wish to check your benevolent im
pulses—you must be careful, how
ever, that you are not imposed ou
by worthless people ”
Here my worry and anxiety about
the matter might have ended, but
for an unlucky circumstance. The
devil is never idle, and this was an
uncommonly good opportunity for
him to stir up trouble. I went to
bed that night and slept as quietly
and soundly as ever I did in my
life. The following morning I
awoke much later than usual. Find
ing the sun was up and that I was
at least an hour behind an impor
tant engagement with one of my
best customers, I leaped out of bed
and hurried on my clothes as fast
as possible. I was just telling my
wife that I could not wait for break
fast, and at the same time stooping
over and tugging with might and
main at the straps of anew boot a
size too small for me, when my
fell on the letter that had tempted
my curiosity the evening before,
lying wide open on the floor at my
feet. Involuntarily I looked and
read. There were not more than
two or ttn‘ee lines of it at most, and
even had there been time for a mo
ment’s reflection, I could scarcely
have helped comprehending their
signficance at a single glance. Thus
it read :
“ Dear Emma, come—come at once. All
is lost. lam in tbe depths of dispair. Do
not for the world let your husband have a
suspicion of all this. Yours ever,
Jennie.”
“ Jennie the devil ?” I muttered
to myself, snatching up the note.—
“ What sort of dealing is this with
a sewing woman ! ‘Dear Emma,’
too ! By thunder this is rather too
affectionate and familiar for a seam
stress 1”
Thrusting the fatal missive down
into a side pocket of my coat I
rushed out of the house and down
town to meet my engagement in a
state of mind little removed from
lunacy. After hastily dispatching
the business which required my im
mediate personal attention, I flow
back toward home as fast iny feet
would carry me. Determined to
sift the matter thoroughly, to leave
no means of learning the whole
truth untrid, I revolved a thousand
schemes for entrapping my wife in
the net of her own weaving. It
was the natural suggestion of a
jealous mind that my best plan, af
ter all, would be to play the spy on
my faithless spouse while she sup
posed me to be attending to my dai
ly business affairs in lite city. Full
of this design, I stole down an un
frequented street and thence up a
private alley leading to the rear of
a restaurant, whose gaudy stained
glass windows and green baize door
were directly opposite my house.—
Here seating myself at a table
where I could command a lull view 7
of my front steps and ball door, I
called for something to eat and
drink.
VVliat need to dwell 100 minutely
on the trials of that wretched day ?
For at least three hours —greater
part of the morning in sact —I sat
keeping watch on my own house,
while, in order to avoid suspicion, I
continued to drink beer and cram
oysters until I was ready to burst.
The keeper of the restaurant was
known to me only by sight, but I
found him extremely polite and at
tentive. He served me with oys
ters in every style —raw, fried,
roasted, broiled, steamed, and last,
not least, half a dozen extra “done
up in the shell,” lie said by 7 a pro
cess exclusively his own, which he
highly recommended —and jn one
way or the other I managed to dis
pose of all he set before me.
About twelve o’clock, seeing from
the manner, not the looks, of the
pop eyed restaurateur that he was
beginning to think my conduct rath
er strange, I pretended to be a lit
tle drunk, and got up a noisy 7 dis
cussion with the barkeeper as to the
intoxicating properties of lager
beer, which as the mildest drink I
could think of, I had imbibed more
freely than was prudent for one so
little accustomed to the use of alco
hol beverages. Here a flashily
dressed individual, with a very red
nose, stepped up and proposed a
small wager that 1 could not drink
a certain quantity which he men
tioned, without feeling it.
“ Capital!” said I to myself,
“this is just into my hands. I
could have no better excuse for re
maining here all the afternoon, if
needs be. When I think proper to
leave off" drinking, what is easier
than to pay the forfeit and walk
off? ”
I was certain the beer was drug
ged. The flashy individual who
had proposed the wager, volunteer
ed to carry- my glass to the bar and
have it replenished as often as it be
came empty 7 , a service I accepted
because I did not wish to leave my
post of observation. He must have
tampered with the liquor so as to
make a sure thing of winning my
money 7 . Once, indeed, my tongue
detected the taste of something
strange in the dregs left at the bot
tom of the tumble!*; but just at
that moment a small ragged boy
rang the door bell of my house, and
delivered a letter to the servant
who answered the summons, so that
I entirely forgot to mention the un-
usual taste of the beer to the atten
tive gentleman who was waiting for
my money.
Ten or fifteen minutes later my
wife came up the street, and open
ing the door with a night key, w r ent
into the house. She had been out
then. She had met Jennie! She
had had a prolonged interview with
him, while I had been sitting there
like a fool guzzling lager beer by
the gallon ! Instantly I sprang to
my feet and made a rush for the
door of the restaurant.
“No you don’t!” cried my new
acquaintance of the gaudy vest and
flashy watch chain, seizing me by
the tail of my coat as I ran. “No
you don’t ! I’ve won the bet, my
friend and fellow 7 -citizeu, and you’ll
please fork over before you leave.”
I recollect turning suddenly and
knocking the fellow dow r n. I have
also a confused remembrance of be
ing afterward taken hold of by the
landlord. Everything went spin>
tting around before my dizzy eye
sight. The room, the bar, the
chairs, the tables, the waiter, the
landlord, and in the midst of all,
the flashy gentleman, held back by
the barkeeper, flew round in one
wild whirl, as if my body had sud
denly become the axis of the revolv
ing universe.
The affair cost me twenty dollars.
It might have cost me much more
with the added mortification of an
arrest, had not my new made friend,
the portly restaurant man, stood
up stoutly in m3 7 defence, and I53 7 a
forcible harangue, delivered in
mixed Dutch English, convinced
m3 7 irate antagonist, the red nosed
gentleman, that it would be best
for him to accept this sum as a
plaster for his battered visage, and
a satisfactory settlement of the dif
ficulty. Having thus extricated
me from my unpleasant situation,
and partly quelled the disturbance,
he prudently drew 7 m3 7 arm through
his and assisted me across the street
to my. own door.
By the time I got up the steps
and into the hall I was too drunk
to stand, Emma came running
down stairs with a look of palid
horror on her countenance. As
soon as she could get rid of the
florid retailer of strong potations,
who with commendable anxiety for
m3 7 welfare, still stood lingering
with the door knob iD his hand,
making profuse apologies for ray
being, as ho said, “ a leetle bit over
taken,” she helped me up to our
bedroom, and taking off my boots
with her own hands, persuaded me
to lie dow 7 n. She had never before
seen me the least intoxicated ; but
in the days of her girlhood she bad
had a terrible experience of the ef
fects of alcohol in the ruin of her
only brother by drink. In the full
strength and glory of manhood,
highly intellectual and accomplish
ed, the admiration of his friends,
the pride and hope of his family ;
he had fallen into this accursed
habit and lost name, fame, honor,
all indeed, but his worthless life
She knew, therefore, precisely how
to treat me. She first ordered a
strong cup of tea to be sent up
from the kitehen ; then sitting
down beside me she gently stroked
my brow and talked to me in quiet,
soothing tones, thinking thus to al
lay the excitement of my brain.—
But I answered never a word to all
her affectionate inquiries. In grum
silence, nursing my sense of terri
ble wrong, I lay cursing her in my
heart and wishing for death. Very
soon I fell into a state of stupefac
tion which rendered me alike ob
livious of my wife’s tender atten
tions and the anguish caused by my
suspicions of her fidelity.
It is ‘ impossible for me to de
scribe the agony of mind I suffered
on awaking to sober reflection on
m3 7 unsuccessful attempt to play
sp3 r on my wife’s movements
Doubts, suspicions, a thousand
dark imaginings of deception and
cunning betrayed tortured my soul.
As to attending to business it was
simply out of the question. I did
not attempt it, but spent the great
er pari of ten days standing on a
corner of the street several squares
from my bouse, impatiently watch
ing for Emma to come out on her
way to another assig—I cannot ut
ter the hateful word !—on her way
to another appointment with ‘‘Jen
nie.”
The first day of our estrangement
I persistently repelled every ad
vance she made. This contented
me then. The second day when
she had given over her endeavors to
soften me, I glowered on her, and
savagely muttered between my
teeth bitter words against the de
ceitfulness of women in general. —
The third day 7 my rage culminated
I raved like a madman. Rushing
frantically up stairs I seized and
tore all my old clothes in shreds,
and pitched them all, old coats, old
pants, old vests, old ueekties, old
liats, and old boots altogether out
of the third story to pie utter as
tonishment and dismay of a specta
cled old lady whose back windows
overlooked my yard. After denu
ding my wardrobe, I took the bet
ter portion of my wearing apparel
and packed it in my traveling
trunk. Emma broke drown here.
She threw her arms round m3 7 neck
and with streaming tears begged
me to tell her what was the matter
with me. Grim as if made of cast
iron, I resisted her entreaties. —
Without vouchsafing a word of ex
planation I cast her off and ran out
of the house, stopping only a mo
ment in the hall to tell one of the
servants that I was going to the
far West on important business. —
An hour after I sent a liackman for
my trunk. Emma refused to let
him have it. “No matter, she will
think I am off, any how,” said I to
myself. “So, now, Mr. Jennie,
look sharp, if you want to keep out
of m3 7 trap.”
It was about four o’clock in the
afternoon when I left the house.—
For an hour or more I stood on the
watch at my former stand on the
corner up the street. I then dis
covered from certain consultations
held at intervals between sundry
small shopkeepers, who lacked a
sufficient supply of customers to
keep them attentive to their own
business, as well as from the curi
ous regards of a respectablo old
gentleman seated at an upper story
of one of the houses opposite, that
mv movements were attracting the
especial notice of the neighborhood.
It was evident they took me for
some dangerous character, whoso
appearance in their vicinity for
three consecutive day’s boded harm
in body or goods to someone.
The situation was becoming crit
ical. Suddenly a bright idea struck
me. I ran round the square and
up the alley leading to the premises
of n.y' disinterested friend, the res
tauranteur. Prompted by my new
ly acquired interest in him, I
had, after much hard spelling suc
ceeded in deciphering the German
letters on his sign, and found his
name was Gotlcib Huntzkutchler
putehner.
Entering the back door of the sa
loon, I found the landlord sitting
with a lew select friends around a
newly broached keg of lager.
“ Mr. Huntzkutchlcrputchner,”
said I, drawing him aside, “ I have
a great favor to ask of you.”
“Yell, vot you vant?” he asked,
turning his great fishy, pop eyes
fully upon mine.
“ I have reason to believe, sir,
that I am in danger of being robbed
(of my w-ife’s affection, was the
mental reservation,) and I want yon
to let me have the use of your up
per front room for tbe purpose of
watching my house, so that should
my suspicions prove true, and
should the robbers (of my wife’s
affections, understood —though I
believe I said burglars, which made
nonsense) come along to g3t the
pattern of my night latch, or any
thing of that sort, you see I can fol
low them and notify the police, you
see.”
‘“Yah, I sees it. I sees vat you
vants. You vants some lager and
some pretzels, and you sets down
py te windows, and } 7 ou beeps out
drou der blinds. Yah, I sees it. —
I oblige you very mooch. You go
up right avay now, Mr. Jones.”
Up I went at Mr. Huntzkuteh
lerputchner’s bidding. I had not
finished my first pretzel and glass
of lager, before I saw the same rag
ged pale faced boy who had deliv
ered the former letter, ring the bell
at my door, and hand another let
ter to the servant. At the same
moment I caught a glimpse of Em
ma looking out of a second story
window. She had her head bound
up, and her eyes were red from
weeping.
“ Oh, you Jezebel! Oh, you
vile, hypocritical wretch !” I growl
ed between my clenched teeth.
The boy went down tbe street. —
I watched patiently for an hour
longer. Twilight came on. Just
as the lamplighter lighted the gas
at the corner of the street above,
the front door of my house opened,
and my wife came out ready for a
walk.
“Mine Gott in Himmel! Mr.
Jones, does you see dc burglars ?”
Mr. Huntzkutchlerputchner -shout
ed after me, as I rushed frantically
down stairs out of the restaurant. —
I paused not to reply 7 . By the time
I reached the street Emma had dis
appeared round the corner below.—
In terrible perturbation of soul I
followed her hurried footsteps.—
Now stealing along from one hi
ding place to another, now taking
advantage of some pressing throng
of people to keep as near to her as
possible, I pressed on, anxious to
have my suspicions ended, yet
dreading to find my worst suspicions
were realized.
After walking rapidly for six or
eight squares, my wife turned down
a narrow, ill-lighted street, toward
a quarter of the city inhabited only
by people of the lowest class. It
had now grown so dark that I seve
ral times lost sight of her in the
shadow of the houses. On she
wen down the rows of dilapidated
tenements. On I followed, step by
step, close behind her. Suddenly
she turned in the dark, foul-smell
ing alley. She was scarcely twenty
steps ahead of me, yet when I reach
ed the entrance of the alley she was
nowhere to be seen. In a moment,
however, a loud knocking resounded
from the door of a house a short
distance below. Advancing cau
tiously along the filthy and uneven
sidewalk, I crept down the base
ment steps of a dwelling close by>
and strained my sight in the direc
tion from whence the sound proceed,
ed, till my eyes, gradually becoming
accustomed to the darkness, could
dimly discern the outline of a female
form standing on the porch of a
house nearly- opposite my place of
concealment.
How my heart beat with excite
ment ! llow strange it seemed for
me, only a few day’s before a happy
husband and father, to be standing
in that foul area watching her, the
chosen wife of my youth, my whole,
sole stay 7 and hope in life, the moth
er of my daughter, my darling
Minie. How strange and unreal it
seemed for me to be standing there,
watching her waiting for admission
to that mean den of misery 7.
The door opened. A tall, frowzy
woman, holding in her hand a bro
ken candle, stuck in a bottle, ap
peared at the entrance. She who
sought admission was no other than
Emma, my wife. The full glare of
the light fell upon her face as she
stepped inside the door arid closed
it after her.
The instant the two women dis
appeared, I darted from my hiding
place, and running across the street
and up the steps of the house, ap
plied my eye to the keyhole. Tbe
frozy female carrying the candle
was ascending thericketty stairs at
the further end of the passage, fol
lowed by my wife. W hen they
turned the landing, I noiselessly
opened the door and entered. As
I did so, the light of the candle van
ished. Cautiously groping along,
step by step, in the dark, I felt my
way up the stairway to the story
above . Here I found myself in a
long passage, dimly lighted by a
window at the end opening on the
street. On either hand were doors
leading to seperate chambers. Un
der one of these —the one nearest
the window —a faint band of light
was shining, and into this room I
concluded my wife had gone.
Gliding along on tiptoe as lightly
as possible, I stooped down and put
my eye to the keyhole. Within
everything w/s still as the grave.
The key was in the.lock, and in
such a position that nothing could
be see.i of the interior of the room
except the bare white wall opposite,
against which stood a backless chair,
supporting the black bottle with its
broken candle, running away in a
guttery stream down its greasy side.
One single, hasty glance I-took of
these things, and then, with a heart
full of despair, but resolve as fate,
placed my hand on the knob and
opened the door.
The scene that appeared before
me I shall never foiget. On a mis
erable pallet of straw lay the ema
ciated form of a man who had just
breathed his last. Beside the corpse,
his face buried in the coverlets,
knelt the ragged boy who had that
afternoon brought tbe note to my
door. Near one of the windows
was the female who had let my wife
in, supporting in her arms the faint
ing form of a pale, sickly-looking
woman; in whose worn and haggard
features I instantly recognized Jen
nie, the wife of Emma’s drunken
and dishonored brother, who till
that moment I had believed to be in
Texas. Emma herself was bending
Over her dead brother, and did not
see me as I entered. I was by her
side and had her hand in mine be
fore she was aware of my preseuce
in the room. Tbe mingled surprise
NO. 6
and anguish and piteous appeal
that spoke in her eyes as she turned
and saw me, pierced my very soul.
Her brother had deceived and
almost ruined me. Knowing how
bitter were my-feelings toward him,
she had not dared to tell me he had
never left the city; that the money
I had advanced to carry him and
his family to Texas had been spent
in riot and drunkenness, and that
for a month or more she had beea
supporting him off her savings from
our family expenses. Yet he was
her brother, and he lay dead before
us. How I bad wronged her. But
my repentance was sincere. As I
passed my- arm around her and felt
her head again reclining on my
shoulder, m3 7 tears were mingled
with hers; and there in that silent
chamber of death I vowed a solemn
vow that thenceforth she and her 6
should be held by me nearer and
dearer than ever ; that vow I have
kept.
A Western Lothario thus
“pours out a soul in song” to the
mistress of his affections. It isn’t
every day one comes across such
heart-rending and pathetic verses :
Methought my heart a roasting lay
On Cupid’s kitchen spit;
Methougbt Its stole my heart away,
And stuck it next to it!
Metbought my heart began to melt,
And thine to fat and gravy run,
Till both a glow congenial felt,
And melted into one !
Then melted into grease we spread,
All into gravy ran,
And Cupid ate us both with bread,
Sopped up within the pan !
Business and Duty Com
bined.
A disconsolate editor thus be
moans his departed spouse:
“Thus my wife died. No more
will those loving hands pull off my
boots and part my back hair as on
ly a true wife can. Nor will ever
those willing feet replenish the coal
hod or water-pail. No more will
she arise amidst the tempestuous
storms of winter, and hie herself
away to build the fire without dis
turbing the slumbers of the man
who doted on her so artlessly. Her
memory is embalmed in my heart
of hearts. 1 wanted to embalm her
body, but I found I could embalm
her memory cheaper.
I procured of Eli Mudget, a neigh
bor of mine, a very pretty grave
stone. His wife was consumptive
and he kept it on hand several years
in anticipation ot her death. But
she rallied last spring, and his hopes
were blasted. Never shall I forget
the old man’s grief when I asked
him to part with it. “ Take it
Skinner, and may you never know
what it is to have your soul racked
with disappointment as mine has
been !” and he burst iuto a flood of
tears. His spirit was, indeed, utter
ly broken.
I had the following epistle en
graved upon her tombstone: “To
the memory of Tabitha, wife of
Moses Skinner, Esq., gentlemanly
editor of the Trombone. Terms,
$3 a year, invariably in advance.—
A kind mother and exemplary wife.
Office over Coleman’s grocery, up
two flights of stairs. Knock hard.
We shall miss thee, mother, we
shall miss thee. Job printing so
licited.” Thus did my lacerated
spirit cry out in agony, even as Ba
chel weeping for her children. But
one ray of light penetrated the des
pair of my soul. The undertaker
took his pay in job printing, and
the sexton owed me a little account
I should not have got any other way.
Why should we pine at the myste
rions ways of Providence and vicin
ity ? (Not a conundrum.) —San
Francisco Call.
Bending a Tree.-Some years ago,
a gentleman in one of our Southern
States had a wild reckless son. He
had long passed the age when the
rod is deemed necessary to insure
obedience: but one day, after some
great offence, the father resolved to
whip him. The youth submitted but
after receiving the chastisement,
quietly turned to the parent, and,
pointing to a small tree near the
door, said,“Father, I wish you would
bend that tree for me.” Surprised,
the father answered/'Why, what
do you mean ?” “Can you do it?”
“No, of course not.” “ You could
have done it once —and so it is with
me; there has been a time when you
could have bent me to your will; it
is too late now.”
An enthusiastic African, who had
“spent de winter iu jamaky, ’’found
it an earthly paradise. He said he
could “lie abed and puttioghis arms
out dc window, pick oranges, pine
apples and Jamaica rum right off de
trees.”