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THE CARTERSVILLE COURANT.
VOLUME 1.
For l ii k Cor RANT.
Reminiscences of the Ciierokees.
By H<>*. .1. W. 11. UXREUWOOD, of lU:ne,
Georjri i.
C H AFTER VI.
Copyrighted. All rights reserved.J
HON. A. It. WRIGHT.
Hon. Goo. D. Anderson, of Cobb, was
one of the best Judges the Cherokee Cir
cuit ever had. He was a man of popu
lar manners and address, arid had served
several terras In the Legislature, lie was
an excellent administrative officer, and
dispatched business with promptitude
when tin* court was in session. He lived
but a short time after he went on the
bench. While Murray County Court
was in session, he died st Vlenly one
morning, immediately after eaten
his breakfast. He was succeeded by
Hon. A. It. Wright.
Judge Wright is a man of ability, and
bis opinions as Judge were generally
correct, especially when a case was well
argued before him —but his particular
forte was the liar, and as a stump
speaker. In those roles lie was a most
success-ful debater. Ilis ability in that
line is high and unquestioned.
Richard W. Jones was elected Solici
tor General of the Cherokee Circuit in
18J8, arid was a very conscientious offi
cer. At the time of his election fie re
sided in Chattooga county—a county
formed out of Walker and Floyd—and
was again re-elected at the same time
that Hon Augusus It. Wright was elected
Judge.
During this administration, before the
organization of Fannin county, a man
by the name of Geo. W. Crawford was
Indicted for hog stealing. Crawford em
ployed the younger Underwood (J. W.
H.) to defend him. At the trial, defend
ant’s attorney moved to quash the bill of
indictment on account of some defect,
and after argument the motion was sus
tained. The prosecutor, Col. E. W.
Chastain, then of Gilmer county, was a
mail of great determination. He did not
intend to be defeated in that manner,
and caused another bill, for the same
oflense, to be prepared. The bill was
found true by the grand jury about the
time court was ready to adjourn, and
weutover till the next term without trial.
Chastain brought ids witnesses with him
from Gilmer county, and under the law
they were paid mileage and per diem,
and as there was a number of them, the
county was considerably taxed. At the
next term, Underwood not being will
ing to risk a trial oil the merits
of the case if it could be avoided,
excepted again to the new bill of indict
ment—and the defect was of such a char
acter as to leave no choice —the excep
tion was again sustained and the bill
quashed a second time. The same thing
happened the third time. Judge Wright
became greatly disgusted at these pro
ceedings.
About the dinner hour, the Judge said
to Solicitor Jones, “come to my room
and we will see if we can’t draw up one
that will stick.”
By this time Chastain had become fu
rious. lie used cuss words when he got
mad, and lie was now out of temper with
Judge, Solicitor and Underwood, de
pendant’s counsel. The latter bqgan to
feel that his client was in danger, as the
combination was pretty strong, for it was
doubtful in the first place whether his
client could ho successfully defended,
and next, he was.sure if the Judge drew
up a bill, he was bound to sustain it.
His inventive genius was put to a strain,
and feeling sure the course of the Judge
was unusual and extraordinary, he de
termined to hedge against the combina
tion of circumstances as best lie could.
His client was a poor, ignorant man,
without influence or friends, and there
fore the counsel was stimulated to do his
best.
Samuel T. Jamison, a man of quick
perception anil a true fiiend of Under
wood, was the foreman of the grand
jury, and as4he crowd passed out going
to dinner, Underwood halted Jamison
and said in solemn tone a*nd manner,
“Col. Jamison, I think this court Iras
been troubled enough with this case
against Crawford,” looking him straight
in the eye to watch the effect.
Col. Jamison looked pleased, replying,
[ think so, too;” and Underwood did
not dislike the situation.
The fourth bill of indictment was sent
with the witnesses before the grand
jury.
After the time allowed for dinner had
expired, all repaired to the Court House.
Judge Wright took iiis scat on the Bench.
The grand jury came into court as was
the custom. The Clerk called the names
and they answered in succession. The
Solicitor went over the usual formula
and received the bill. Looking on
the back ot it be held it a little
distance before him as it he w ere draw
ing a bead on tire words and letters.
Squinting up his eyes, ire proceeded to
f 4gad:
“The State vs. Geo. W. Crawford.
Simple larceny.” Looking around at
the Judge, with a sad intonation to his
voice, he continued: “it is uo bill,
please your Honor.”
**No bill : ejaculated Judge Wright,
jerking his chin down to his collar.
“It seems to be no bill.” said Jones,
“and 1 suppose the grand jury has a
right to find no bill.”
Underwood • rose with great gravity
and solemnity, “Your honor is perfectly
correct. Some of the ablest Judges In
Bui ope and America have decided that a
grand jury has a right to find no bill.”
“Take your seat!” said the Judge with
powerful emphasis. He looked like lie
v as about to pouuce on the lawyer, like
a,luck oa a June bug.
c'liless my soul!” said the Judge,
I
“what a country. Mr. Sheriff, adjourn
this court until the court in course.”
Underwood fedt good. Chastain was
in a royal rage. The Judge and Solicitor
were solemn. Judge Wright went curl
ing out of the Court House in lofty dis
dain. Underwood, with a beaming face,
feeling as happy as Pickwick, kept close
by his side. As soon as they reached
the ground in the Court House square,
Underwood said to the Judge, in as
placable a tor e of voice as he could com
mand : “Judge, now you see how it was.
I hope you see that my client was inno
cent. I can see the finger of Providence
moving in a mysterious wav to effect hi
deliverance from this unjust persecu
tion.
“Yes,” replied he, “I say finger of
Providence —ah! I think 1 can see the
finger of John Underwood in this busi
ness, not Providence!”
So ended the prosecution against Geo.
VV. Crawford. He ever aftewards went
by the name of “Governor.”
Jamison and Underwood shook hands
and smiled. For thirty years this friend
ship remained intact, and each was
always ready to vie with the other in nets
of kindness and friendship.
Judge Wright was u man of genius.
Impulsive at times, erratic in some of
his notions, generally quick to act, but
oftentimes methodical and full of strate
gy. He was sometimes erratic in his de
cisions and charges when a Judge.
A man by the name of Jonas Ilix was
indicted in Union county for the offense
of simple larceny. He was charged with
theft —stealing a middling of bacon, of
the value of two dollars and fifty cents,
from the smokehouse of one Solomon
Chapman.
The evidence was mainly circumstan
tial, but the circumstances were cal
culated to make a very powerful im
pression on the minds of common peo
ple.
Solomon Chapman testified “that fie
had a quantity of bacon in ids smoke
house. Going to it one day he missed
tin; middling weighing about twenty-five
pounds. Hix bad been at his house a
day or two before, wanting to buy
some baepn. Chapman didn’t sell, say
ing lie had none to spare. Ilix went
home, and when he missed the bacon he
remembered his refusal to sell. He then
went to see Townsend, and they agreed
to notify the neighbors and institute a
search. Among the houses they visited
that of Ilix, and told him what had hap
pened. Hix looked wild and confused.
The neighbors then went to Chapman’s
meatliouse, where the meat was stolen,
and some discovered the track of some
one wearing a No. 8 shoe. The track
was followed across a field about a quar
ter of a mile when they met a fence.
On the fence they found grease marks
like a middling had been laid on the
rails. Ilix ganged along, mostly to him
self. Witness told John Southern to no
tice Ilix, in a whisper. Hix discovered
the whispering. At last the crowd
readied a hollow chestnut tree. Hix
lagged behind. One of the party cried
out, ‘Here is grease!’ Just then Ilix
broke into a run, and the bacon was
found inside the hollow tree. Witness
went home, got his horse and rode rap
idly to town for a warrant. Ilix was
already there. Chapman went, before
’Squire Ned Rogers, swore to the affida
vit and Rogers issued the warrant. Hix
was arrested and put in jail. Jacob Butt
went his security and took him out.”
This was the testimony.
While the witness was delivering his
testimony, the utmost silence prevailed.
Those nearest the prisoner seemed to
shrink from him as if from contagion.
Evidently he was set down as an arrant
tiiief.
Nobody but Underwood, his attorney,
appeared to desire to speak to him. The
attorney tried to bear himself as if he
was assured of his client’s perfect inno
cence.
He cross-questioned Chapman in the
fairest way, and made about this- state
ment to the court: “Hix is a very poor
man. He rents land on Chestatee creek
from John Ifcttt. He has a wife and
three little children. liis honesty was
never before questioned.”
The case closed with this testimony:
Chapman proved that the offense was
committed in Union county, and the ba
con was worth turn dollars and a half.
The Solicitor-General and the defend
ant’s counsel argued the case to the jury,
and after properly defining the case, and
with a side remark saying, “the offense
was becoming very frequent,” the Judge
added:
“It is argued that this is a case of cir
cumstantial evidence entirely. The law
is, such evidence ‘must be sufficient to
prove the defendant’s guilt to the exclu
sion of any other reasonable hypothesis
or supposition,’ and 1 charge gentlemen
that this a correct statement of law, but
you must bear in mind that it must be a
reasonable hypothesis or supposition, not
an unreasonable one, and you are to look
to the proof and say, if you can, ‘what
made him scoot, if he didn’t steal it?
Why didn’t he go to the hollow tree, if
he was not guilty V You can retire, gen
tlemen, and make up your verdict.”
Underwood felt sure that Hix’s fate j
was sealed. The jury was out only a ]
few minutes and found him guilty.
Having some experience with defective
bills of indictment, he examined this
one, and sure enough found a fatal de
fect. Thereupon he moved an arrest of
! judgment, which motion was granted
and his client was saved.
During the time of the argument of
i the motion in arrest of the judgment,
I Underwood having.made his ppints, and
! being feeble and unwell, he rested him
! self across his client’* legs. As the So
li itor replied, Ilix begun to shake with
j laughter.
j Underwood in an undertone,
‘ ‘What are you about? You need not
CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 1885.
laugh. Don’t you know that yon are in
i foot of the penitentiary?” Hix re
plied, “’Squire, 1 can’t help it. Look at
him, how bothered he is?” The poor
fellow accepted the hesitation and tother
as a good sign for him. Ilix always pro
tested lie was innocent, before and after
(he trial.
Chapman, on his death-bed, sent lor
Hix, begged his pardon, and acknowl
edged that he put the bacon in the trie
himself. That he made all the arrange
ments, and whispered to Southern to in
timidate Ilix. When Hix was ques
tioned as to the running, lie said
lie saw into Chapman’s maneuvre, that
lie was going to lay the stealing on him,
and he ran to town to get him a lawyer,
and he saw lawyer Fain and didn’t go
any further.
Judge Wright generally got up scenes
when holding court in the mountains.
In one term of Union court, a man by
the name of Murray was indicted for
stealing fodder. An old man named
Nicholson was the prosecutor. The tes
timony was rather weak and flimsy.
The argument of attorney Underwood,
defendant’s counsel, showed clearly that
the defendant could not be legally con
victed, and the statement of the law
strengthened the position.
Nicholson evidently despaired of a
conviction. Underwood concluded to
draw a picture for his benefit to see if he
could not get him ready to run.
The jail was in full view with the long,
steps running up to the second story, on
the side next to the north door of the
Court House. Nicholson wa3 sitting
where lie could see them. Underwood
then began the following oration :
“Now, gentlemen, in a- few minutes
the Judge will charge the jury, with thS
law in the case. He will say to this
highly intelligent and upright jury, ‘it
from a consideration of all the proofs in
the case you come to the conclusion that
the defendant is not guilty, and that the
prosecution is unfounded and malicious,
your verdict will be, ‘we, the jury, find
the defendant not guilty, and a malicious
prosecution.’ The jury will then retire
to their room, and as soon as they take a
vote they will agree oil that verdict an 1
will come into court again, the foreman
having signed tiie verdict.”
(Underwood here straightened himself
and turned to look full at Nicholson.)
“The gentleman who sits at that table,
Mr. Thos. M. Hughes, will call in a clear
voice, the names of the jurors, and they
will severally answer. The Sheriff will
count until he counts twelve. The Judge
will say, ‘Mr. Solicitor, receive that ver
dict.’ Silence will reign. The Solicitor-
General, who you regard as your lawyer,
will read, ‘we, the jury, find the defend
ant not guilty, and malicious prosecu
tion.”
(Nicholson turned pale and looked un
eiisy.) Underwood continued: “When
that verdict is read the Solicitor will turn
against you, and say, ‘Mr. Sheriff, take
Mr. Nicholson into your custody until
he pays the cost.’ Now, you have not
come here prepared to pay the cost, have
you?” (Nicholson shuddered visibly.)
“You know you haven’t a dollar in your
pocket, and that Sheriff will pull out of
his coat pocket those large shining keys,
and with a solemn voice, will sav, ‘Come
with me Mr. Nicholson.’ He will take
you by the arm (everybody as still as
death in the Court House and poor Nich
olson shivering,) and carry you out of
this Court House, lead you up those
steps, (pointing to the jail) do you see
them? When he gets there he will
thrust in one big key, with a powerful
wrench he will turn the lock, and that
great, ponderous door will open to taks
you in.”
Just at this moment Nicholson broke,
With one bound he cleared the window,
and out he went into the open air.
Hackett, the Solicitor, cried “Stop him!”
Judge Wright roared, “Stop him!”
Spectators crowded the doors and win
dows. The two sherifls and the bailiffs
took after him in a “double-quick,” but
Nicholson kept ahead. The race could
be seen for a quarter of a mile, then the
woods intervened. The open space was
however thickly studded with little
bushes. Nicholson leaped over them
like an old buck, and got aw'ay. Soon
the officers returned out of breath. .
Judge Wright, whose state of mind
was indescribable, ejaculated, “Bless my
soul, what a country!” and down went
his chin into his cravat and collar.
Turning to the Sheriff, he cried, “Get a
couple of shotguns and put one at each
of these gates, and when another man
runs order your bailiffs to shoot him
down on the spot.”
The order was literally obeyed. At
each gate stood a constable armed with a
double-barreled shotgun.
That term long w r ent by the name of
the “shotgun court.”
The readers of these papers will think
Union county was prolific of curious law'
cases. At the same term of court Sam
Lance was being examined as a witness
in an ejectment case, where the defend
ant relied on the statute of limitation
and sought to prove seven years posses
sion. Lance said to the best of his
recollection, the defendant before suit
had been in in possession six, seven or
eight years. The counsel was trying
hard to fix the time and plied him with
questions, until Judge Wright got rest
less and concluded he w r ould also put a
question.
Lance had said it was in January the
defendant took possession, but could not
fix tlit year. Judge Wright asked, “Mr.
Lance is there no event by which you
j can fix the date? Think awhile —think
: upon some event, some Congressional or
Presidential or Governor’s election —
[ something of the kind by which we can
•! help you fix the date.”
After a brown study of some minutes
| Lance’s face lit up with a gleam of de
‘ light. “Yes, ves, I can. (The Judge
-sealed much pleased.) Ye3, I have got
t. (Judge Wright looked about as if he
had struck the nail on the head.) O,
ye®, it was Jinuawary of the same year
that John Butt wintered March Adding
ton’s bull!”
One more anecdote and we will close
this chapter.
In early life Judge Wright joined the
Methodist Episcopal Church, and became
an ordained minister of that denomina
tion. After preaching for several year®,
he united with the Baptist church, and
became an ordained minister of that dt
nomination, and has been preaching for
mor%than thirty years as a Baptist.
During the time he presided as Judge
fie was holding court at Old Cassville.
A witness was put on the stand who was
anl risb Roman Catholic. To weaken
iiis evidence, the counsel on cross-ex
amination inquired what were his re
ligious views? —putting the question
plainly, “Are you a Roman Catholic? ’
The Irishman hesitated, halted, and
evaded a direct reply. ,
The lawyer pressed him, commanding
him in positive language to answer that
question.
The Irishman, looking imploring at
the Judge, said: ‘Faith, sir, and that is
an unfair question.”
The lawyer continued to press, and
the Judge mildly interfered.
Turning to the witness he said, “The
witness will answer the question.”
With a most lugubrious face, the wit
ness replied, “Oh; and but Judge, one
gortof religion is just as good as another,
ain’t it?”
The Court House was filled with peo
ple who were well acquainted with the
Judge, and with nis vacillation in reli
gious notions, the change then being
quite fresli in their minds, and the crowd
roared. The court joined in also, and
turning to the witness remarked, “I
suppose so, if you are sincere.”
[continued next week.]
QUEEN AND PIUXCESS OF WALES.
BY OI.IVE LOGAN.
London, March 21, 1885.
In spite of “wars and rumors of wars,”
this great metropolis is in a very gay
and festive condition, and every day
brings some new pageant. It has long
been an aphorism that “where monarchy
is, there is splendor,” and certainly
there is no li ck of gorgeousness in Lon
don on special occasions, although “in
the long run” the court prides itself on
its * i uplicity, its home attachments,
and its great sympathy with all that is
best and sweetest in the ordinary life of
the English-speaking family. Neverthe
less, there is a time for everything, and
A DRAWING-ROOM AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE
is still a sight to be seen, and once seen
cannot he forgotten. What gave espe
cial brilliancy to the last drawing-room
was the fact that it was held by the
queen. The grand and aged sovereign
is now so seldom seen by her loyal lieges
that it is no wonder the Londoners turn
ed out in their hundreds of thousands to
get a sight of that mysterious entity
whose lighest wish partakes of the na
ture of a sacred command to them, and
yet who is to the great majority of the
population, even of London, almost as
intangible as Jehovah Himself. For
some time past the queen ha3 been in t e •
residence at Windsor Castle, and the day
before that fixed for the drawing-room
she came to town. Her progress through
London is always by the same route, and
therefore it is easy enough for those who
have time to spare and care to brave the
crowd to select a point of vantage, and
WAIT UNTIL THE QUEEN ROLLS BY.
My residence is in South Kensington
district, and a young lady friend, drop
ping in to lunch with me on that day, we
resolved to go to Hyde Fark, there to be
hold the majesty of Great Britain on her
road to Buckingham Palace. En route
my friend stepped into her bank and
drew some money, of which she had
need. She put the glitteiing golden
sovereigns in her purse, and her purse
in her hand-bag, and on we started to
the park. The crowd was enormous,
and vyhat a lovely sight was that which
met our gaze! Certainly there cannot
be in all the world a more enchanting
public pleasure ground than this Park of
Hyde. Even thus early in the spring
the trees are bursting into leaf, the grass
is thick and gteen, and the air is odorous
with the subtle sweetness of nature at
her gracious work of renewal. The
hand of man constantly supplements this
activity, for in Hyde Park the roads are
as smooth as a dancing floor, not the lit
ter of a handful of leaves is allowed to
obstruct the pathways, while Eotton Kow
is the model for a riding allee the world
over. Even the statuary which adorn*
the park is carefully watched, and put
into repair the moment signs of deterio
ration bpgin to show themselves. At
present the colossal Achilles in bronze,
which was the result of a subscription
raised by the ladies of England to com
memorate the achievements of the great
Duke ot Wellington, is shrouded from
top to bottom in the repairer’s draperies.
Opposite is tfle interesting statue of By
ron, which was refused admission at
Westminister Abbey, in which sacred
edifice, however, lies the dust of many a
more licentious man. The spirit of reli
gious intolerance is still so powerful in
England that not even Hyde Park was
open to a souvenir of the atheistic Byron.
It will be noticed by the passer through
Hyde Park that Byron’s statue stands
behind some railings, which inclose a
plot of laud called Hamilton Gardens.
This is private property, I believe, be
longing to the queen, and here the
sculptured image is allow'ed a foothold.
Now here comes the queen ! The cry
j is raised afar off, and at a rapid pace on
| comes the imposing calvacade, through
the loud buzzing of a multitude of lips,
“THE QUEEN ! THE QUEEN !”
As usual, there is a small military escort,
cavalry, with pistols in their hands, and
still others with drawn swords. Then
come the outriders, jockeys on horse
back, riding rapidly and dad in the
deepest mourning livery. The queen’s
carriage is drawn by four splendid horses
conducted by a postilion, who mounts
one of them. Two highlanders now oc
cupy the seat once held so proudly by
John Brown. At sight of the aged sov
ereign every hat is raised. The great
lady shows the traces of .years and sor
row# Her hair is white, and her face
careworn. She is dressed in the vert*
deepest mourning, with heavy crape veil
and the widow’s cap. Beside her sit.
the Princess Beatrice, clad in what is
Called half-mourning, with a purple vel
vet bonnet, and a mantle enlivened with
the same color. On the front seat of the
carriage is Prince Henry of Battenburg,
the Princess Beatrice’s affianced hus
band. lie is a fine looking young man,
with what I should call an American cits
of face; that is, features rather square
cut. One can well understand that on
both sides this may be a love match. To
the raising of hats the queen bows occa
sionally, and is soon out of sight, pass
ing out of the park under the beautiful
marble archway, adorned with the in
comparable Elgin marbles as a frieze.
The carriage which follows is filled by
ladies in waiting, Duchesses and other
women of rank, and in the third and last
carriage are seen the children of the
Duke and Duchess of Connaught, who
have *been staying with their royal
grandmamma ever since the departure of
their parents for India. 1 have said that
the crowd was enormous, and the police
force was almost unable to direct the
streams of pedestrians and carriages.
Fancy my surprise when, in trying to
prevent my toes from forming an undue
acquaintance with the wheels of a low
hung barouche, I found myself within
shaking-hands distance of
THE PRINCESS OF WALKS AND HER DAUGH
TER.
The dear, sweet-faced princess looked
even more kissable at a near view than
when she wheels it rapidly along, with
an admiring crowd on each side of her,
at some distance removed. She is the
perfect embodiment of the fashionable
ideal of our day, and whatever she wears
seems to become her better than the last
costume. Her driving dresses are always
remaikably quiet in color and cut. There
is none of that dangerous approach to
demi-monde loudness which is exhibited
sometimes in Central Park by ladies who
consider themselves the very leaders of
the ton. So far as I have observed (and
I have seen the princess driving many
times this season), her carriage dresses
seem confined to two. One is a blue
serge costume, with small hat to match,
its sole adornment a bright red feather;
and the other is a black dress, with black
yelvet tight-fitting casaeque, trimmed
with sable, and tiny black velvet bonnet.
Her three daughters are always dressed
alike, and the keen observer of things
which suggest a sensible economy cannot
fail to remark that cuffs, collars and va
rious little knots and bows are frequently
changed in the young princesses’ toilets,
W'hile the dress and jacket are the same.
And such a crowd as there was! All
of a sudden I heard my friend exclaim :
“Oh, that man! Why—” “Why, what?”
I querried. “How pale you look!”
“Why, he’s stolen my purse!” “Stolen
purse! Come, let’s go back and try to
find him.” “Impossible! How could
I find hi3 back out of twenty thousand
others?”
Yes, she had been the yictim of what,
I think, must be
AX ENTIRELY NEW DEPARTURE
In the art in ™ inch Mr. Fagan so strenu
ously endeavored to initiate young Oli
ver Twist. The man was in appearance
—so she described him —a perfect gentle
man. Elegantly dressed, with shining
new high hat, Albert coat, buttoned
across his breast, the freshest of neckties,
the fairest of linen. She felt a pressure
on her arm, and was rather indignant at
any one presuming to take such a liberty.
She looked up hastily, saw a handsome,
smiling male face; thought, like a Hash,
“An, this is some one I know—where
hive 1 met him?” smiled at him in re
turn, when, flick, flick! she felt the
knobs of her bag being untwistdfl, and
positively saw the hand of this “gentle
man pickpocket” hurriedly withdrawn
from it, the purse between his strong
white fingers. Instantly he was gone;
lost, as she said, in the wilderness of
twenty thousand similar backs.
If I have devoted this space to a story
which may seem to have but a purely
personal interest, and that only to the
unfortunate heroine of the adventure, it
is because I wish to enforce on my lady
readers the lesson of her folly that they
may benefit by her very bitter expe
rience. Carrying purses in the hand, a
rooted custom with American women, is
a simple invitation to thieves, and carry
ing anything of value in those little
hand-bags, now so generally used, is
nothing short of a challenge to the light
flugered gentry to show that it is won
derful how they do it, but they do.
The next day the queen held her
drawing-room amid a serried throng of
ladies. Popular as is the Princess of
Wales, the female nobility greatly prefer
to go to drawing-rooms held by
HER MAJESTY IX PERSON.
Every year the privilege is deemed
more and more precious, for who can say
which may prove to be the very last time
on which the great and virtuous Victoria
shall appear? This year the eldest
daughter of the Princess of Wales was
i presented formally to the queen; and
oharming, indeed, did this royal debut
j ante look in her superb but girlish pre
sentation dress of the hue of the lily and
| the snowdrop. The queen wore the
deepest of mourning; uo diamonds even,
but a tiara and necklace of jet, and an
immense train of black silk trimmed
with crape folds. The Princess of Wales
wore black tulle and bunches of variega
ted lilacs; but jewels in plenty,and orders
of sovereign dignity sparkling on her
breast. In point of diamonds, outside
the royalties,
THE BARONESS BURDET I'-COUTTS
Out-blazed everyone else. I saw the
dear lady, a bundle of silken splendor,
making her way through the crowd after
the function was over. The queen’s
drawing-rooms take longer than the
Princess of Wales’, because one must
kiss the hand of her majesty, while one
only courtesies to the princess.
TSOYS’ AND GIRLS'%
BE FIRM.
When you make a promise
Keep it like a rock;
Never swerve from duty,
Let the cowards mock.
When you answer “No!" be strong,
Truth will drive away the wrong.
Those who iirst despise you,
By-and-by will praise,
When they And you honest
In your words and ways.
Though your path be often crossed
Keep your word at any cost.
What Shall I Writ© About.
I wonder if all the little girls have as
much trouble trying to decide about a
subject to write on as I do.
Sometimes my teacher gives me a sub
ject, and then I am at a loss to know just
what to say about it. She won’t let us
have any help, and I know that is just
too bad.
1 have heard old people say, “If you
have nothing to say, don’t say any
thing;” but my teacher does not talk
that way. She makes us write whether
we have anything to say or not.
When I go to my oldest sister and ask
her what to write on, she always says,
“Why, write on paper, of course,” and
that makes me angry, because I didn’t
mean that, I meant for her to give me a
subject. I think if I were grown and
had little sisters, and they were to ask
me to help them, I would do so, with
pleasure.
[Written by a little girl twelve years
of age, of the school at Ironville.]
INDOLENCE.
COMPOSITION FROM PROF. SMITH’S SCHOOL
This is, perhaps, the mast noxious of
all the curses to which the human race
is heir. From the nature of mankind, it
is impossible for any one to remain whol
ly idle for any length of time. lie must
always be engaged in something, either
useful or useless, beneficial or hurtful.
It may, perhaps, be something that is,
ItscLT, of no consequence, but is, never
theless, always the forerunner of some
thing worse or something better. Doubt
less it was the consideration of this fea
ture of the human mind that gave rise to
the thought, “Satan finds some mischief
still for idle hands to do.” Idleness in
itself may be of no injury, except the
prevention of usefulness; but supposing
this to be true, it car.not be denied that it
is an impossibility to be idle and occu
pied at the same time. And that “Labor
is the key to success,” no one will doubt
who will examine the pages of history.
Almost without exception it is labor that
has made the names which adorn them.
It is unremitting toil that ha3 brought
forth the works of a Reubens, a Mozart
and a Dickens. Even in Nature this
thought is impressed on our minds. It
is the ceaseless flowing that wears
smooth the river’s bed in the rock, and
the unceasing motion of the earth that
gives life and health to its inhabitants.
Idleness is the viper that is, day by
day, gnawing at the vitals of society,
each day gaining new hold and driving
its fangs deeper into the heart, carrying
misery and crime in its train, and leaving
the person on whom it has gained a hold,
like the grasshopper in the fable, deso
late when winter comes. Well has Ad
dison styled such persons dead.
“Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.”
C. B. CONYERS.
IN THE STORM.
Sunday-School Geni.j
“You’ll lose vour kites, boys, if you
don’t pull them in.”
“Why, Rob?” asked the two small
boys in a breath. “There isn’t a speck of
wind here.”
“But there’s plenty up there. Do you
see those eloud3 flying? There’s a storm
not far off, or I’m mistaken.”
The kites were flying so beautifully
and they had set them so high that they
could not make up their mind* to bring
them down at once, although ominous
jerks at the long strings ought to have
warned them that Rob was right.
Presently Harry’s string was sudden
ly pulled to its utmost tension, and then
with a snap the kite was gone, sailing
quickly ouf of sight in the cloudy sky.
The same gust turned Jack’s over, dart
ing about in a very crazy manner, final
ly landing in a far-away tree.
“Too bad!” whimpered the boys.
“Don’t stop to fret over kites,” said
Rob, “I don’t like the looks of those
clouds; they are getting darker, and I’m
afraid we’re going to have a blow.
Jack, you’d better run to the house and
help mother get things fixed up tight.
Harry, come with me and we’ll see about
the stock and the stables with father.”
The blow came in good earnest, tear
ing down fences, twisting huge branches
off of trees and leveling the standing
■ grain. For an anxious twenty minutes
a 1 waited in fear of still more serious
j mischief, but then the w ind swept on.
“I’m afraid we’ve only had the out-
NUMBER 11.
si le edge of something worse,” saiH the
father, as he looked around out of doors
and saw a few fragments of boards which
looked us if they might be from a build
ing a long distance away. And so it
proved. Before night, chance passers-by
brought sad news of ruin and desolation
wrought by the cyclone, the center of
whose terrible track had been a number
of miles to the JSouth of them, and whose
chief force seemed to have been spent on
a little prairie village about thirty tpiles
distant.
“It’s where Cousin Annie lives,” said
the boys.
Cousin Annie had lived with them as a
sister, and even Harry could remember
when she had left them to go to a' snug
little home of her own in Roseville.
Father had enough to do to look after
fences, but early the next morning Rob
and Jack drove over in the spring-wagon
to see how Cousin Annie had fared in
the storm. They had.not gone many
miles before its traces lay thick about as
they drove, and Rob’s anxiety grew to
grave fear as lie saw more and more of
its fearful effects.
“The bridge is gone,” cried Jack, as
they approached a stream which they
must cross.
Rob saw it with dismay. In ordinary
summer weather they could have forded,
but the stream was so swollen by the
rain which had accompanied the storm
that this was now impossible, and, much
discouraged, they turned to take a long
round which would bring them to anoth
er bridge.
As they entered the real storm track
their way became very difficult. Fallen
trees were entangled in the brushwood,
and in many places the roadway was par
tially filled with broken branches and
the wreck of far-off ruined homes. Turn
ing from- it to drive across the prairie
they tried to pass through a bit of tim
ber, but found it almost impossible to go *
on.
“We can never goto Roseville,” said
Jack, in despair, “and if we do every
thing will be blown away.”
“We must go on,” said Rob. “Hark !
What was that?”
A loud wailing cry came to them, and
they held their breath to listen.
“I do believe its a wildcat,” said Jack,
turning pale. “Old Jim says he seen
wildcats in the timber.”
“Nonsense; listen!” Again the cry
came, and Rob got out of the wagon and
made his way among the bushes in the
direction from which the sound came,
calling as lie went. Jack followed at a
safe distance, but hurried up as he heard
Rob say:
“Oh, you poor little thing!”
He was pulling apart a tangle of bush
es, under which, looking at them with
wistful eyes and pitiful little sobs, was a
pretty little boy two or three years old.
In great excitement Rob raised him in
his arms, greatly touched at seeing how
the little fellow clung to him. His cloth
ing was almost torn off, and he seemed
badly scratched and bruised.
“Brought here by the storm!” said
Rob. “Whose can lie he, and how can
we find his parents?”
They gave him something to eat, pleas
ed at seeing how eagerly he drank some
milk mother had put into a bottle for
their lunch. And then he sank content
edly to sleep on Jack’s arm, while Rob
tried his best to get free of the obstruc
tions which surrounded him; and at last,
a3 twilight was falling, made his way to
what was left of the pretty village he had
visited the previous summer.
What a sad scene of devastation it was!
Very few houses were left standing, and
a lew of the people were wandering aim
lessly about.
“We must find Cousin Annie,” said
Rob. “She can take care of this poor
little chap till we find His mother.”
“She’s over there,” said a man, point
ing to a house, in answer to their inqui
ries, “but she’s in dreadtul trouble.”
“No wonder,” said Jack, “when her
pretty house is all blown away.”
“Yes, but she has lost her baby, too.”
“Dear me! Poor little Archie dead !”
Rob telt quite overcome wiih the sorrow
all around him as he went over to find
his cousin, “Hold the boy, Jack, while
I go and speak to her .”
She w f as seated in a shaded room. Rob
went and spoke gently to her.
“Oh, my dear boy ! The hand of the
Lord is heavy upon us.” She began
telling him how her husband was out
with others, searching for some who had
been io3t.
Meantime Jack had come near the
w indow of the room, rather tired of hold
ing the restless little boy, wdio at the
sound of voices within had struggled to
get away from him, and at length with a
loud cry of “Mamma, mamma!” was
toddling toward the door. Cousin An
nie sprang from her seat, and in a mo
ment the poor little storm waif was in
her arms.
“And you didn’t know him?” said
Cousin Annie, laughing and crying all
at once. “Of course you didn’t —he is so
changed since last summer.”
The two went home with the boys
next day to stay until some kind of a
house could be got ready for them. As
they passed the broken bridge Jack said :
“Cousin Annie, if that bridge hadn’t
been gone we shouldn’t have gone round
where we found Archie, and he might
haye been there yet.”
And Cousin Annie, hugging the dar
ling close, thought she had plenty to be
1 thankful Y>r, although all they had had
j been swept away by the angry wind.
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Ginghams and Albatros, all shades.
Hamburg?, Torchon and Oriental laces,
the prettiest you ever saw, at Satter
field’s. Gents’ and childrens’ clothing,
Ivohn and Schloss clothing. Gents’ fur
nishing goods a specialty. Come one,
come all, to R. V. Satterfield,