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THE PROMISE KEPT. BY STEPHEN HUNT. There *as a brilliant gathering at Sir John Kenneth’s. All the aristocra cy of Kstinoor seemed to have tamed out. It was the last ball given in honor of the 4th. In two more days they farewell to English soil and sail for India, there, possibly, to lay down their lives and sleep the dreamless sleep of death, in graves un marked by stick'or stone. Mr. Milford, the good old rector of Kstinoor, and his friend. Colonel Che ney, sat on the balcony talking. On a low cushioned seat at the rector’s side, sat his only child. Little crippled Bethel, the old man’s darling, placed in his arms by the gen tle mother who gave up her life for her child. It was an unusual thing to see the gray-haired rector at such a scene of gaiety, but Bethel wanted to come. She would never walk without a crutch, but that did not keep her from delight ing in the free, graceful movements of others. A tall figure passed them. “ Did you notice that man ?” said Colonel Cheney to the rector. “ Yes, why ?” “ He is a good illustration of the sub ject we were discussing the other day abowt boys being turned out on the world without anybody to care for them.” •“ Who is he ?” ‘•Maxwell Stuart, and one of the most reckless men I ever saw. He came-of a good family, but had little money, and his mother was a cold, heartless woman, without any true womanhood about her. Maxwell is the last of his race, and he seems bent on dragging down the proud old name so honorably borne by his ancestors.” “It is a sad thing to see a young man going down to ruin,” said the rec tor, gravely. “ Yes, and I never saw one go so fast as Stuart. Only to-day he insulted Colonel L—, and as the Colonel is very strict, I cannot tell where it will end.” Till now, Bethel had been silent, but lifting her head from her father's knee, she said: “ Couldn't yon save him from punish ment, Colonel Cheney ?” “Yes, possibly, but what is the use, child, he will do the same thing over again, if he gets angry enough.” “ Perhaps not; he might do better if he had a good true friend. I feel so sorry for him, alone and with no body to love or care for him. Please help him, won’t you ?” clasping her small hands and looking up entreatingly. “ Well, perhaps you are right, little woman, I will try.” The next afternoon, Bethel took her erutoh and went down into the garden. She was a slight girl of fourteen, but her thoughts and ideas were those of a woman. The fair child-like face was almost saint-like in its purity and sweetness, and such a look of perfect patience, surely few human faces ever wear. There was a touch of sadness in the clear gray eyes and about the soft cut childish mouth, but sometimes it would fade away in a look of intense peace. The rectory was a wilderness of bloom and sweetness. Roses, honey suckles and jessamines gave their fra grance to the summer air, aud over all shone the afternoon sun. To Bethel, this garden looked like a spot from liunyan's Land of Beulah, it was so calm, so peaceful, and unworld like in its dreamy stillness. Bethel sat down on a low rustic seat and fell to dreaming one of her vague dreams of the world and the many throbbing hearts in it, and longing, in her tender, womanly way, to help them. A step on the walk aroused her. Glancing up she saw a tall soldierly figure and dark face. She reached for her crutch to rise, when the stranger spoke : “ No, don’t rise. I shall not detain you but a few moments. I have only come to thank you for saving me from disgrace.” Bethel blushed deeply. It was Max well Stuart. “ Indeed I would rather you would not.” “ Mow can I help it, when they were the first kind words spoken of me since I was a child. You were right in say ing I had no one to care for me; if I did, I would not be the God-forsaken fellow I am to-day.” The role of comforter came to Bethel. There was not one of the poor in her father's parish, that could not testify to her powers for helping others. The pain and despair in Stuart’s dark, frank face made her heart ache. “ We are none of us God-forsaken,” she said gently, “ and why should you waste your life ?” ‘‘Because, if I were to die to-morrow, there is not one to care, or mourn my loss.” “ God would care, he does not want any of us lost. I had a brother once, a strong, noble brother, but he is gone pow. I cannot give you his place in piy heart, but,” speaking timidly, “if you .yvill promise not to be reckless any more, yoy can be my second brother.' “ Oh, child ! you do not know—yon cannot understand how unworthy I am, but I prQjnise never tq do a deed that will cause j'ou shame.” He knelt down apd took the little sbft hands iu his strong clasp. “ I know ypu will keep your promise, Mr. Stuart, and when you are away in India, remember that there is a little cripple sister at home, who thinks of you each day.” VOL. Ill—NO. 5, “ I will remember.” The fierce, dark eyes are soft and tender. lie kissed the child hands tenderly, reverently, then rose to his feet and broke off a half-open white rose, bloom ing above Bethel’s gdlden head. “If I die I will send it hack to you, 1 little sister. May heaven bless and keep your pure life to its end,” and he was gone.” Only once did Maxwell stop and look : back, and through all the after years he remembered the scene. Many times, lying watching the brilliant stars of the eastern world, that old English garden rose before him in its peaceful beauty, and he could see Bethel, with her pure, sweet face and tender e3 r es. The strange child woman, who had spoken the kindliest words that had ever been uttered to him—the reckless fellow who had never cared for God or man. To Estmoor the years brought no changes. Other companies came and went, and other balls were given in their honor, but those men fighting on the hot plains of India seemed to have been forgotten ; only Colonel Cheney wrote long letters to Mr. Milford, filled with the praises of Maxwell Stuart. Bethel Milford, who never thought or hoped to live long, grew stronger, and the pale child changed into a self-reli ant woman. Shut iu the valley, away from the world she lived her beautiful, Christian life. Some would have called it dull, and it was. Often in Bethel’s soul there would rise a great longing to go out into the world, but she would look at her crutch, then at her white haired father* and say, “ Thy will, not mine be done.” No thought of marriage ever entered her mind. She had otters, hut turned from all, thinking to live her quiet life alone, to its end. Bethel gave a great many thoughts to her brother, her soldier as she called Stuart, and each night and morning she would kneel by the eastern window and pray earnestly for him. So the years slipped quietly away with no event to break their changeless calm ; until one quiet summer evening the gray twilight came down, wrapping the earth in a misty veil, Bethel went into her father’s study, and found him sitting in his easy chair with folded hands, and peace crowned brow—dead. It was a cruel blow to the loving girl, who had clung to her father with an in tense passionate love. She was utterly alone now, and for a time the thought was almost more than she could bear. The new rector and his wife were old and childish, and they begged the sad lonely girl to stay with them, and Bethel, loving the old place better than any other on earth, consented. Bethel was twenty-five. It had been four years since her father’s death, and the first keen bitterness of her grief had worn off. She stood by the win dow watching the purple shadows creep up the hillsides, while the crimson sun set glow still lingered in the west. A servant entered, and said there was a gentleman in the drawing room to see Miss Milford. Bethel passed down the stairs, and walked slowly across the hall, her soft white draperies trailing over the carpet and her soft loose hair looking like a | nimbus of gold round the head of a saint. She had just reached the door, when it opened and she came face to face with Maxwell Stuart. She did not scream or faint, but by the sudden stream of brightness, that seemed to shine over all her life, she knew what her woman’s heart had been waiting for. Their greetings were quiet, and I soon they were talking in a calm natu ral manner. I Eleven years had wrought a great I change in Maxwell, now Colonel Stuart. | lie was thinner and darker; the old hard recklessness was gone, and silver threads gleamed among the dark wav ing hair. That was not Colonel Stuart’s last visit to the old rectory. He came again, and again, and again, and one evening down in the beautiful old gar den he showed Bethel the rose lying withered, and dead in a tiny sandel wood case. In a grave, earnest voice he said : “ It has gone with me through all the long years, the sweetest memory of my life clinging around it. Bethel my darling I have kept my promise, and will you trust me now ? Dearest I love you, I have loved you ever since that evening eleven years ago, when you, with your sweet face full of tender com passion allowed me to call you sister. Give me a dearer right; Bethel, be my wife.” And Bethel, wishing for no higher earthly gift than the love of Maxwell Stuart, turned and for once dropped her crutch, and laid her hands in his. “ I think I have always loved yoifc Maxwell,” she said simply. He drew her to his heart, kissing the wide white brow and sweet quivering lips softly and tendorly, Through all the peaceful after years, Bethel learned each day how truly the promise had been kept. HARTWELL, GA., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1878. No Encouragement. Detroit Free Press. A brisk fight between two boys at the foot of Griswold street yesterday was interrupted by a citizen, who, after re leasing one of them, made the other sit down on a sail-barrel and be talked to. “ Now, then,” he bogau, “it is a ter rible thing for a boy like you to be con ducting in this manner.” “ I’d a licked him if you hadn’t come up!” wailed the boy as he carefully wiped his scratched nose. “ Suppose you had. Do you want to be a dog? Why dou't you try and be a good boy and get aloug peacefully with everybody? Suppose you had rolled up the wharf and |xieii (frowned?” “ Suppose’n.L hadn’t, too! It's the good boys who get drowned !” “What r “ It's so, and I kin prove it! I'll bet a dollar agin a cent that more Sunday school boys have been drowned this year than bad ’uns!” The man reflected and did not dispute the assertion. “And more run over by the cars,” continued the boy. No answer again. “ And more of ’em got sick and died, and I’ll bet I’ve got more money and have more fun and peauuts than any good boy in Detroit!” “ But the good arc rewarded,” quietly observed the man. “So are the bad,” replied the boy. I’ll bet I make fifty cents before dark!” “ But the good are respected.” “Soam I. I kin go up to the post office and borry three dollars ’thout any security, and I’ll bet ten to five you can’t! Come, uow—put up the lucre!” “My boy,” sadly observed the man, “ you must think of the future. Don’t you want to be looked up to and respect ed when you are a man?” “ That’s too far ahead,” was the lone some reply. “If anybody thinks I’m going to be called a clothes-pin and a wheelbarrow and a hair brush by all the boys and not go for ’em, jist for the sake of lookin’ like an angel when I git to be a man, they is mistaken in the house, and you dasn’t say they ain’t!” And he “ dasn't.” Legends of the Ass and Mule. The legends respecting the Ass are as quaint as they 1 are innumerable. According to an old Rabbinical legend, no being could enter the ark unless Noah tendered a special invitation. When the flood overwhelmed the world, the devil, who was at the time wander ing on the earth, saw that he was about to be cut off from contact with man kind, and that his dominion would be lost forever. The ark being completed, and the beasts called to enter it in their proper order, the Ass’ turn came in due course. Sadly enough for us humans, the Ass was taken with a fit of obsti nacy, and refused to enter the vessel according to orders. Noah finally lost patience, and struck the animal sharply, crying at the same time to the head strong beast: “ Enter, thou devil!” Rash and fateful words ! the invitation was of course, at once accepted, the devil entered the ark. We may be sure he gave the patriarch and his family much trouble during the voyage, and he was on hand to begin operations again on dry land as soon as the diseinbark ment should take place. Concerning the Mule we find the fol lowing legend : When the Holy Family was about to travel into Egypt, St. Jo seph chose a mule to carry them. He was in the act of saddling the animal when it kicked him, after the fashion of Mules. Angry with it for such miscon duct, St. Joseph substituted an ass for a Mule, thus giving the former the honor of conveying the family into Egypt, and laid a curse upon it that it should never have parents nor descendants of its own kind, and that it should be so disliked as never to be admitted into its master’s house, as is the case with the horse and other domesticated ani mals. Although there is no mention in the Scriptures of tha. fact that the Holy Family rodo upon an Ass, such a mode of travel is certainly the one they would adopt. Oglethorpe Echo: A few weeks since someone picked up what he thought to be a green rock, on the plantation of Mrs. Arnold, in the Flat Woods. It was turned over to Mr. W. B. Bright well, who sent the same to an experi enced mineralogist, who wrote him pro nouncing it the purest and finest speci men of copper ore he ever saw south of Lake Superior, and says there must be a very valuable mine near where it was found. He intends to visit the spot and try and discover the mine. Oglethorpe is very rich in minerals of all kinds. A farmer once hired a Vermonter to assist in drawing logs. The Yankee, when there was a log to lift generally contrived to secure the smallest end, for w hich the farmer rebuked him, and told him always to take the butt end. Din ner came and with it a sugar loaf In dian pudding. Jonathan sliced off a generous portion of the largest part, and giving the farmer a wink, exclaim ed : “ Alicoys take the bv.tt end /” Mr. litUklns Takes a Mean Advantage. Breakfast Table. The other night Billkins had an in curable attack of the popular mania, and going into a barber shop had the lawn mower driven over his Head ns long as it could find anything to catch hold of. He crawled out of the chair with the look of an escaped convict, and felt as ashamed of his appearencc as he sur veyed his cropped pate in the glass that he couldn’t muster up courage to go home and receive the blessing beseemed confident his wife would have ready for him. and so he wandered around the pool-rooms posting up in base-hall news, and storing away lager until quite late. He walked up the steps softly, so as not to disturb his wife, who had been snor ing two or three hours, he thought, and began fumbling in his pocket for his uight-key. He searched every pocket, and then turned down his socks and felt around in his shoes, but the key could uot be found. ‘A nice go, this is,’ he muttered to himself, as he took off his hat and felt around on the inside of the lining. ‘Dad sink the luck, anyhow. I’ve lost that key, sure, and Martha Ann will have to be wakened up, and then look I oat for music! She’s a warbler when she's raised up out of -a sound uap, and the way she’ll keep the melody going I till daylight won't be slow. But there’s no help for it—l’ve got to rouse her— wouldn’t do to bunk out here on the stoop, or I’d get it all with compound in terest in the morning. No use trying to stave off what is bound to come —so here goes —the matinee will now com mence.’ And he gave a timid knock and held his breath, as he awaited de velopments. * Who’s there ?’ came from the inside in a voice that made his ears tremble. ‘lt’s me, my dear. I’ve lost my key. Open the door, please,’ said Billkins, with a quivering voice and chattering teeth. ‘Oh, it’s you, is it? Well, I’ll you you ! Walk right in, and give an ac count of yourself, and tell me what you ! mean by loafing around till this time of night? Oh, you monster ! Wait till I get my bauds on you !’ and the twin of his soul threw open the door and gave him a pull into the house. ‘Oh, you i wretch ! Don’t stop to patch up a mess of lies—you needn’t tell me anything about it. You’ve becu drinking again —I know it—you needn’t say a word — can’t I smell it? Oh, you beast I You smell like a grog shop. What do you mean, Josiah? Where will this end? I Are you bound and determined to keep on till you fetch up in the gutter and kill me with trouble and shame? I say you arc a wild profligate, shameless, horrid wretch, and for two cents I’d tear every hair out of your head ! Oh, you —you—.’ And the frenzied woman set her teeth, stamped her foot and made a spring at his hair—the flowing ringlets that had so often given her tempest tossed fingers a heaven of rest in moments of storm. For the merest fraction of a fleeting instant the snowy fingers clawed his polished scalp, and then came a shriek that tore the mos quito bar—. ‘ Thieves ! Murder! Robbers ! Help ! Help! Save me!’and down she tum bled all in a heap, in the middle of the floor, leaving Billkins more scared than before. ‘Trump me, if 1 don’t believe the woman has gone dead square crazy,’ : said Billkins, as he groped about in the dark for a match to strike a light. 1 What could a’ come over her all so sud ! den, I wonder?’ After a little difficulty and thorough ducking, the woman was restored to consciousness, but as she opened her ! eyes timidly and saw her husband's barren poll glistening in the gas-light just above her face, she shuddered with fright, clasped her hands over her face and moaned— ‘ Put him out, Josiah ; put him out!’ ‘Who, my darling? l/xik up—your mind wanders. Wake up and look around—you'll be all right presently.’ ‘No—no ! Drive out the horrid, ug ly, bald-headed man. I can’t bear the sight of him—he looks so much like an ape. Put him out, please, Josiah, do? He must have slipped in behind you in the dark.’ Mr. Billkins ha-haed till lie felt sore in the ribs, and pulled down his wife’s hands. ‘ It’s only me, Martha Ann, lla-ha fia! Just take a good look at me. I've been getting my hair cut—don’t you see? Don’t it look cool and nice?’ Mrs. Billkins jumped up and gave him a look that would have been death to house plants. ‘Oh, you old fool!’ she said. ‘ Well, now, yon are a l*eauty, ain't you?—nice and cool! Fudge ! Don’t tell me, Jo siah Billkins ! You didn’t get it shaved for that, at all. I know you. You wanted to spite me—that’s just what you did ! But I’ll get even with you some way. Just wait till that hair gets out again, and see if I don’t make up for lost time! Oh, Josiah! How could you? 800 hoo-hoo ’.’ As poor Billkins tried in vain to WHOLE NO. 109. soothe the sobbing woman, he actually did feel as though he bad taken a mean advantage. Stubbs Seeks Revenge. “ l’appy, old Mr. Smith's gray colt has broken into our cabbage patch again.” “Helms, Ims he? Well, just load my rifle, my son, and we will see if an ounce of load will not lead Mr. Smith's colt to reform his habits.” This colloquy passed between Mr. and Master Stubbs, just after tea. As soon as it was dark, Mr. Stubbs takes his rifle, marches over towards old Mr. Smith’s farm, and when within about thirty rods of old Mr. Smith’s barn, he raised the deadly tube, pulled tho trig ger. and dropped one of the very best looking gray colts in the country. Stubbs having fulfilled his mission, re turned home, went to bed, and slept with a lighter conscience tliap he had enjoyed for the last eight months. The next morning while seated at breakfast, who should be seen striding towards the dom icil of Mr. Stubbs, but old Mr. Smith. Smith entered the house—Smith was ex cited, and for a moment lacked words to express himself. “Mr. Stubbs, I’ve come over to tell you that a horse was shot near my barn last night.” “ Sorry to hear it, Mr. Smith, although not much surprised, for that gruy colt of yours was not calculated to make many friends.” “ But it was not my colt that got shot.” “Wasn’t your gray colt? Well, which horse was it?” “ That gray colt you purchased last week of Widow Dubois. He broke in to my pnsture last evening ; I intended to send him over, this morning, hut it's no use now —his brains lay scattered around the barn-yard.” Mr. Stubbs was thunderstruck. The idea that he killed the wrong horse drove him to desperation, and caused him to seek relief in a direction that rather astonished his household. The lust seen of Stubbs, ho was chasing his eldest son Jim down the turnpike with an eight foot sapling. Wholesale Cremation at Memphis. St. Loiiin Republican. Notwithstanding all that has been written and done within the last fcw years to overcome the almost universal repugnance to cremation as a means of disposing of the bodies of the dead, a thrill of horror will go through the world at the announcement that the people of Memphis have almost come to regard it as the oqly means of relief from the accumulation of corpses in that city. Repugnant as cremation is to most people, it is easy to see that Memphis may be driven to it by its necessities, for the terrors of the plague must surely be greatly intensified if the present condition of affairs continues. Sixty dead bodies, of which the public undertakers were notified, remained un buried Wednesday night, simply be cause of the inability to bury people as fast as they die. Those that are bur ied are tumbled into linstity-made graves, witli but a few inches of earth to cover them, so that the cemeteries can but add to the dreadful stench that fills the air. Better cremation than that the city should remain a vast char nel house, given over to death-breeding corruption, without the terrible fever to increase the horrors. True (jiclitlcmcn. “I beg your pardon,” and with a smile and a touch of his hat Hurry Ed mond handed to an old man, against w hom he hud accidentally stumbled, the cane which lie had knocked from his hand. “ I hope I did not hurt you. Wc were playing too roughly.” “Not a bit! not a bit!” said the old man, cheerfully. “ Boys w ill be boys, and it’s best they should be. You didn’t harm me.” “I’m glad to hear it;” and, lifting his hat again, Harry turned tojoin the play mate with whom he had been frolicking at the time of the accident. “ What do you raise your hat to that old fellow for?” asked his companion, Charley Gray. “ He’s old Giles, the huckster.” “That makes no difference,” said Harry. “ The question is not whether he is a gentleman, but whether I am one; aud no true gentleman will be less polite to a man because he wears a •shabby coat, or hawks vegetables through the streets, instead of sitting in a count ing-house.” Which was right? Eastman Times*; We learn from Al len Evers that a little boy of John Horn, of Pulaska county, had bis head crushed aod was instantly killed on Fri day last by the falling of a cart body upon him. The cart body was standing upon one end and resting slightly against the fence, when the weight of the child, who was about six years of age, in at tempting to climb the body, overturned it, and it fell striking the little one ou the head w itb the above result. THOSE STRIPEO STOOKINUS. Detroit Free Press. A youug man whose age might bavo been 2J, and whose red. checks, saffron colored neck-tie and innocent look proved the innocence of his heart and good bringing up, yesterday made three different attemps to enter a Woodward avenue dry goods store before he got in to stay, although forastrnight half hour he ball been looking longingly at the ar ray of strijH'd and embroidered stock ' ings in the window. When asked what lie desired to look at he blushed like a girl and skulked toward a pile of l>ed ticking. Tho clerk asked him what price ho desired to pay, and was going on to say that the Governor ol Michi gan always bought his ticking there, when the young man asked : “Do women wear them ere striped stockings in the winder?” “ Yes, of course.’ 1 “l*ut'em on just the same as other stockings?” “Of course. All the ladies have worn them for tho lust two or tlirecyears. Would you like to look at the styles?” Y-c-s!” whispered the stranger as lie glanced furtively around. A dozen pairs was thrown down, and lie reached out carefully, lifted each oue, and carefully laid aside a pair of hose with red stripes chasing each other over a brown ground work. “Is that more’n live dollars?” ho whispered as he looked up. “ That pair of stockings will cost you only eighty cents, sir. They are tho best bargain in Detroit." “ Eighty cents! Why, I'll take’em in a second! I was afraid you'd say seven dollars. How many pairs can a feller's —feller's —mother wear out in six months?” “Oh, I’d take about four pairs,” re plied the clerk. “ Here arc four differ ent colors of the same size.” “ I’ll lake ’em. I hnin’t seen one of 'em in our town yet, and I’ll bet they’ll raise more excitement than a circus.” “ Is there anything more ?” asked the clerk as he laid the stockings aside. The young man suddenly grew red, then pale, and in an entreating voice he asked : “ Kin I trust you with a great secret ?” “ Why, yes,” replied the wondering clerk. “ You won’t go back on me?” “ No.” “Honest Injun—hope to be struck dead if you do?” “ I hope.” “ Well, them are for my girl—out here in the country —engaged to be married—going to Canada to bor ry some money. I want to send ’em to her by mail, and I want it done so she wont know it was me. Some fellows would get a harmonicon, or some jewel ry, or a bunch of pink envelopes, but I know them stockings will scoot her right up to the head of society, and she’ll have more bang up invitations to cull on the high-toned than she ever drerapt of." “Shall I send ’em by mail?” “ Yes, but wrap ’em up in about four papers, so the postoffice fellers can’t spill ink on ’em.” “Shall I enclose any writing?” “ Well, you see I kinder want her to know I'm the person who sent ’em, and I kinder don’t. I don’t want her to think some of the other fellers iu town is this sweet on her, and yet it won’t hardly do to send my name.” “ How would it do to say they were from a friend ?” . “That's kinder good, but it would leave her too much in doubt.” “You might sign your first name, then.” “That would be too much,” replied the young man, ns he leaned over the bed-ticking, to reflect. There was an awful silence for a min ute and a half, and then he suddenly remarked; “I'll sign my plump full name hanged if 1 don’t! I’ve been thinking it over, and 1 don't believe no sensible girl will go buck on a feller for present ing her with four pairs of striped stock ings—do you ?” “I shouldn’t think so.” “ Then I’ll write it right out and sign it same as iu my letters : ‘ Deth can’t stop my luv, and 1 reached Detroit slick as grease.’ Gimme that pencil.” He wrote as be said, the package was made ready for mailing, and after be ing thrice assured that it wonld go out by first mail he left the store, saying : “ I’d like to see her sailing into the meeting house Sunday morning with them stockings on ! Whew! but wont she promenade right up the middle aisle to the very highest pew !” The Want of the World. It was not enticing words, it was not eloquence that Paul had. Why, he said his speech was contemptible ! He did not profess to be an orator; but, ho preached Christ, the power of God and the wisdom of God, Christ and Him cru cified. And this is what the world wants —Christ and Him crucified. And the world will perish for want of Christ. Let every man and woman who loves the Ixird Jesus begin to publish the tidings of salvation. Talk to your neighbors and friends. Run and speak to that young man ! Talk to him of heaven and the love of Christ; tell him that you want to see him saved ; and bear in mind this, that God is far more willing to bless us than we are to have Him. Let us, then, keep close to Christ. There is no better preservation of eggs than linseed oil smeared over thf. shells or immersing them thoroughly ip the oil of lime.