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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. Dress goods—new styles Ciiambray’s 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,