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A Vision’of Death. u A I'rnplK'llr lllrc-aiu that <*• •• • Atlivm i’ndmt | —•—: o Mr. John T. Graves, of the elites of ’75 yf t)nj State University, writes as below tin tbs. Angufefan Bveiiing Mews tahitA’liable klreafcx4tc hall during his college course. The lament able accident to which he refers and of which his dream appears indeed a hor rible prophecy, was one of the saddest occurences we have ever known, and the solemn gloom of the fatal day on which the deadly bullet sped on jts mission, still liahg*likc fc pMI PVer thi halo of luippy memories that linger about tTic historic College: In the spring of 1£74l was a-rather rollicking junior at the University of Georgia. © • . A. I was quartered at the ohl Rock Col lege building with the jolliest, brightest and most altogether irresistible set of fellows in the University. Gur homM life was quite* charming—the four la dies of the house were sprightly, agree able, and all musicians, and as a num ber of our set also atfected music, the parlors were ever day and joyous and' the lonely text books pined above. About the time of which I write I had formed an admiring friendship fyr one of these ladies, a handsome girl of thirteen, whose artlessness, parity and vivacious innocence made her a most delightful companion. In this narrative, she shall be knoVrh ns Mabel. My friend M. liked ber as well as 1 did and many a happy time we've had together. It was early in Jtlne that I had a most remarkable dream. I had retired rather early one night with my room mate Frank C., of Columbus, a high strung, impetuous fellow, warm-hearted, and excitable to thp last degree. We were quite tired with a very trying day’s work, and left the gay parlors lull when we went up-stairs. I soon dropped into a heavy sleep, and Frank was nearly asleep when we got in bed. And thus I dreamed. ****** Mabel was about to start on a long journey; she was to leave at midnight and I Was to be her sole escort to the depot. At the appointed time she was jAidy, and wc started out. When we the little side gate leading to the old common, over which we usually walked, we found no carriages waiting but instead, under the two oaks just across the road, our horrified gaze took in the outlines of two gigantic and ter rible figures. They were twice as tall as mortal men. They were clothed in robes like the old togas of Rome. As they stood there, they lifted their loug white fingers in earnest gesticula tion, carrying on a conversation we could not hear, but their blazing eyes, passionate gestures, supernatural size and appearance, literally rooted us to the spot with terror. At last they dis covered us standing there, and, with a quick look of haughty impatience in their fiery eyes they gazed at us one withering moment, cla'sped hands and glided—not walked—away from us across the moor. As they moved olf, the air around them seemed in motion as if by the fluttering of innumerable invisible wings. They grew longer as they vanished into distance; the path way behind them was illumined with a light that I have never seen before or since, and it was not until their swell ing forms were lost in the clouds of the summer sky, that we were able to stag ger back to the house. As we reached the door I awoke with the big drops of cold perspiration on my body. The voices still sounded in the parlor and the lights burned in the hall. I had slept about thirty minutes. My utter weariness overcame the ner vousness occasioned by my dream, and I slept again. Mabel hail recovered from her fright and the importance of her journey nerved her to start again. We reached the gate a second time, and our straining eyes beheld the same terrible figures. This time they were clothed hi black. The gestures were more passionate than before. Their eyes gleamed. Their "Teat white hands rose and fell. At J 5 length they stooped to the ground and as plainly as I see the page on which I write, I saw them draw the outlines of a grave, over the exact location they seemed to dispute, and that seemed the difference between them, where it shoifid lie. In this position they discovered us again. With a dignity and a wrath that was simply appalling they arose, turned their great burning eyes on us, and then, with one impulse, lifted their The Hartwell Bun. By BBNBQN til McGILL. VOL. fv—NO. 29. Urhg finger* and'pointerr wit 4 terriMo earnestness to the litnp figure which had fainted in my arms ; then moved as beforq. with the safje atfpAiHmtr light beltfmVtht'inv ftmlth!*SalTll r, hjg Wir.abyyff tliic'ni. jfift.fliis timb the fluttering above them seemed to voion itself in words, and the seemed to tremble with the tofies of an invisible voice tliht said or rrither breathed solemnly and slowly the waala-a. . ....... '"Ttlffse are thy fates T*" Thest* aiT thy fates! These tire ttiy trite* !” It was repeated three times, when the voidfe and the figures faded into the , x 3 r ■ a '' r 'n (distance. 1 aVye. f The house was .stilL-A— * I roused Frank and mailt? him talk to me for an hour; Ha cruel, but 1 would have sacrificed his friend ship rather than have stayed awake by myself that night. I did not tell him my dream however. •, At last wc talked otfrst'h'fs to sleep. **** . * * I was in my room now ; in bed, and half fsdeap. Iteard wAv down? the Stairi, p stealthy but very fycav$ r hot-' step slowly up. It stiobk the house, althougli it made no sound. Too I i frightened to move I lay perfectly still. The step approached my door. * THe lock turned Without a sound! The great head and burning eyes of one of the awful figures peered into the room. The eyes gave a long searching “look of inquiry to my iialf paralyzed form on the bed. (1 remember the look to this day.) 4 They seemed satisfied that I was asleep, and the figure stoop ed and entered. The fiery eyes lighted the room. The gigantic form dwarfed everything in it. In firsi -arras he car ried a something wrapped in a robe. With this he moved straight to a large trunk in the corner of the room. lie raised the lid, then stopped, turned and looked at me again, with a look of intense inquiry. As he turn ed, a fold of the robe fell away and the long auburn hair of my friend M. drop ped over his arm. The figure turned quickly, laid the burden in the trunk, closed the lid and then stood erect. Such a change ! If the hand of Christ had touched him he could hardly have looked more changed. Ills aspect softened, his features illum ined with a soft almost heavenly light. His eyes, those awful eyes, glowing witli a radiant, benificent joy, his tall form lofty, with a great yet gentle dig nity, he stood there for one moment the most divine, handsome, glorious being that my eye ever beheld, or my brain ever dreamed, and then passed out of the room and out of my sight forever. When I could go to the trunk I did so, and found there the rigid body of my friend M , stark and cold in death. I touched it, and awoke ! As I did so, tha string of a violin lying in the room snapped with a loud noise. It was M’s. violin and the string was the last one on it! I lit my lamp and tossed restlessly in bed till morning. ****** Two days afterward all Georgia thrilled witli sympathy a3 the electric wires flashed the news of poor M’s. death, and the accidental bullet that clipped the cord of life was sped by the innocent hand of poor unfortunate Mabel. The dream and the tragic event which fulfilled it actually occurred in ’74, at Athens. Of course I have made un important substitutions, where the mi nor incidents had passed from my memory, but the body of. the dream is substantially correct, and has been fre quently told the boys of my set at col lege, who will readily recall it when they read it in your columns, it crea ted quite an excitement the next night at the Rock College when I told it. My room-mate, Frank C., could not be hired afterwards to stay in the room by himself. It was his custom to sleep with a small arsenal under his pillow. The next night lie dreamed he saw one of the figures at the foot of the bed, and fired at it to the consternation of the house. The dream is the most remarkable I have ever had. It was dreamed in three stages. I awoke three times, and HAUTMeII. fcITWEMESDAY. MARCH 17, 1880. each UineSesirinod thf thread Kf Utie 1 dream connectedly. When M. was shot, two days afterward, he fell with *'ifU Ifykis JRanil, iiSf itnftio 'U'O-' tkm and sp*t l had occupied ainnuiout fvnwa. It. was (fhe old. old flto*? n piatnl behoved to be unlomkd j a bid den cartridge, a death wound. Taken in connection with this trsg -■ .r a / i . ? i edy, preceding it so closely, the inci dents of .this dream have a shade of prophecy that is interesting. **— s . John Tuwii^r: “ KILL THAT HOG.” lion l>ncket-l<k Win l.(wt mnl I'llllUll. ' Rarij rt rf|> / This ntory is toliL uf one of the wealthy residents of Wethersfield, and it is vouched foti as trurln every par ticular. Perhaps it might be a little too personal to give his real name, so for the purpose of our sketch, wc will call him Doctor. The. Doctor is is sblld man in more senses than one—he is solid iu money and means, and his avoirdupois cannot be surpasfcA by £tny on 4 man in to#n, lifcs weight being close three hun dred poQrflsx * i ■ - k - lie Invariably carrier ft well-stulfed pocket-book around with him, and he Ii blessed with the happy faculty of hbldTnsfbn to what he has got.' ITtf never heads a subscription list, tliough what he might do in this direction will never be known until some man with the requisite pluck can be found to iislt him. Almost any cautions man would prefer to let chit that job to some stran ger by the month, lie would not, when,at church, consider it an unpar donable sin if the deacon should go right by him-with the contribution box and lie would not be mean enough tq call it back attain. Hut this talk is superfluous, as the good deacon never forgets him. Hut when the contribu tion box is shoved into the Doctor’s face, he gives a sleepy yawn and don’t give anything else. In fact, the Doc tor may be called a little close. Hut on one occasion he astonished an old resident of the town by an unex pected streak of liberality, which we will now relate. One day his plethoric calf-skin was missing and with it $1,300 in bank notes. If an electric battery had poured a broadside down the doctor’s spinal column he could scarcely have felt a greater shock, llis hands flew from pocket to pocket and his face lengthened and took on a lugubrious and sorrowful air. If he had been a “ poor lone widow ” and the little all taken wings, the consternation could not have been greater. He lost his mental equilibrium and was dancing round on the ragged edge of despair. Finally he bethought himself of a visit he made that morning to Hill Well’s, on Walcott Hill, where he went to look at a sow of large size in that interesting condition where a litter of pigs was liable to gladden the old sow’s eyes at almost any hour. The Doctor reasoned that his lost pocket book was in the pen against which he leaned. He assumed that it would be an easy matter for it to drop out of bis pocket with his body thrown forward in the manner he remembered it had been. It was think and go with him. He clambered into his old lumber box wagon and headed his untamed Bucep halus towards Bill Wells’. He only thought of that well stuffed pocket book at the bottom of the hog pen, and in his mind's eye he saw that big old sow grunting with satisfaction as she poked and rooted his bank notes about. Ho lashed his Horse into a run, and the good people of Wethersfield wondered what the matter as was the old farmer thundered along at a John Gilpin gait. The Doctor lost his hat when opposite the post office, but he did not stop to pick it up. From this point he went bareheaded, and the old horse did credit to the breed, lie must have been a descendendant of Eclipse; at all events, the record he made in that old lumber box, with a 300 pound dri ver, eclipsed by far anything he ever attempted before. On reaching his destination he rush ed to the pen expecting to see the Deyoted tio Hafrt County. wreck ©f his pooketliook scattered around the pen. But he was disap pointed. Not a sign was there. •J “ |}fHlodj>c)r, r ’ the Doctor cxoluim •cFfthnold sow lias swalkiwed it whole.” TlieSf Mr. Weds appeared on the scene, *1 in u moment the excited Doctor cried out, “ What’ll you take for tlict sow ?** “Oh, 1 don’t know,” moderately re sponded the other. “I don’t want any ‘don’t knows’ about it,’* roared the Doctor. “\Y hat’ll you taW for that sow, I say ?” t‘ I ilon't know as I want to sell it,” replied Mr. Wells, who etWeafly didn't understand the situation. “To n must sell it. Sot your own price but I must have that old , eow, w pleadingly urged the old farmer. At th|s Mr. Wells thought the Doc tor had gone crazy and tried to soothe him. But this only made the old fel low giore angry and excited, and he almost danced over the quiet manner of thfrodier. “ Set the price,” he shouted, “ sot the price, I say.” “ But I don’t want to sell it—.” “And I say you must. I’ll give you any prico for it/* Well, then say $75,” and Wells’ eyes twinkned merrily as he named it, Hiipjiosing tins price would cool the Doctor’s ardor. And he was astonish ed at the reply: “ I’ll take it. Now kill that hog," was the prompt reply. Mr. Wells now knew he was crazy, mid again tried to curb his excitement. Hut this only added fuel to the flames. The Doctor now fairly foamed with ex citement and it seemed like the froth of a lunatic. “ Kill that hog, I say !” again thun dered the Doctor. “She’ll digest it if you don’t.” “ Oh, come, get into your wagon and ride home* with me,” soothingly sug gested Wells. “ Great God, Hill Wells, do you think I ttm crazy? I tell you that sow has swallowed my pocketbook, with $1,300 in it, and if you don’t hur ry up and have her killed she’ll digest it, and I'll lose every dollar.” Mr. Wells still looked on in silent astonishment. “My Christian friend, will you kill that hog?” and lie rammed his hands down in Iris overcoat pockets with such force that he discovered a hole in one of the pockets, and as he drove deeper down his excitement gave place to a feeling of satisfaction, between the lining and the cloth of his coat lie found the lost pocketbook, witli its contents undisturbed. Not a dollar had been digested by the innocent old sow. lie oirered his neighbor Wells a $lO bill not to say anything about it, but the of fer was declined with thanks. It was too good to keep, and the whole town knew the story before sundown. Celestial Sorrow. Han Francisco Chronicle. Commercial street was the scene of strange ceremonials recently, the occa sion being the funeral rites of Wong 11 ip On, the senior member of the firm of Low Bing & Cos., doing business in Sacramento street. Owing to the wealth of the deceased, the full ceremonies at tending the Chinese mode of burial was indulged in by the sorrowing relatives and friends. Early in the morning an awning about twenty feet long was erected on the open street, and under it was placed a rude table covered with a gay red cloth. Upon it stood an ele gant brazier filled with incense. Around the edge of the table half a dozen fancy ; candles were burning. Occasionally an attendant threw incense into the flames of the candles, thus making the air around fragrant with the burning leaves. Near the table were the remains, en closed in a metal coffin, which was cov ered by a scarlet pall richly embroider ed. Yellow streamers fluttered in the ; wind, on them being written in Chinese figures various lines from Confucius’ writings. Yellow being one of the 1 mourning colors the Chinese, the j body was clothed in a rich yellow silk robe. On the head was placed a gilt crown. The queue was wound round the neck, and the face was well painted. Twelve attendants, with white robes. $1.50 Per Annum. aud whife stre*iM wound around their lints, kept tlMtowd from upsetting the table and ami. On the sidewalk, bent double and hound in sucks and white cloth, were the wife, sister and daughter of the dccoupii moaning and crying. Around them stood a number of old women, stolctflty eating sweetmeats handed around in a box by a young girl, and taking no heed of the women at their feet, but instead talking to themselves and allowing no male to come within their circle. The reason for performing the ceremony in the open air was to allow all Chinamen who desired to gaze for the last time u|>on the features of the departed, and, since the relentless Joss hovers over the de ceased, the open air is chosen to give the god more room. Chinamen do not be lieve their souls enter the Celestial Kingdom until their bones are buried in the land of their birth. The soul re mains around the body until it lias been buried in native soil. Then, if Joss is willing, and proper atonement has been made by the deceased's friends in the shape of bogus money, presents, food, <{t., to Conciliate the irate god, the soul is allowed to enter the celestial gates. The Chiueae worship Joss, who is really the evil god, which they account for by saying that the fame God is too merciful to hurt his children,<but he hns placed j over them the wiektirt Joss, who cannot harm them unless thttif have done evil. The priest officiating*was dressed in a black stole and cap somewhat resem bling the garments worn by Catholic priests on funernl occasions. A hoarse with four horses, followed by twenty carriages, with the usual ac companiment of tom-toms and fiddles, conveyed the remains to the Chinese cemetery, where they will be kept un til the bones are bleached and ready to he shipped to Chinn. The last cere mony was that of placing eggs and bis cuit in the vault, where ffio <TeUn nr? kept. The friends then returned to the house of the deceased, feasted on rice ; and confections aud returned to their va rious homes. “ Do Land’s Voln’a.** Detroit t'rse J’rett. This wns the picture in front of “Old Daddy Turner’s” cabin in the “Kain tuek” quarter the other afternoon : Two colored men sitting on a wash bench, silent and sorrowful ; an old dog sleeping in the sun at their feet, and a i colored woman calling to a hoy who was on the fence: “Now, Jeems Henry, you git right down from dat! Doan yer know dat Daddy Turner am jist on do pint oh dyin’ and gwiue up to hebben 1" Hero was the picture inside: The poor old white-headed man lying on his dying bed, flesh wasted away and his strength departed. Near him sat his faithful old wife, rocking to and fro and moaning and grieving. Further away was a colored man and woman, solemn faced and sad hearted, and shaking their heads ns they cast glances towards the bed. For a long time the old man lay quiet and speechless, but at length he signed to be propped up. A sun as warm as spritigtimo poured into the room. He took notice of*it, and a change came to the face as his eyes rest ed upon ins grieving wife. “ Ize been gtvino back in my mind!” he whispered, as lie reached out his thin hand for her to clasp ; “ for ober forty years we’s trabbled ’long de same path. We sarved de same master as slaves ’way back in de dim past. We sang de same songs—we prayed de same prayers —we had hold of ban's when we listed de gospel ranks an’ sot our faces to’rds de golden gates ob hebben. Ole woman, I’zc gwiue to part wid you ! Yes, I’ze gwine ter leave you all alone!” “Oh, Daddy! Daddy!" she wailed as she leaned over him. “ Doan take on so, chile! It’s de Lawd's doin’s, not mine. To-morrow de sun may be as bright an’ warm, but de 010 man won’t be heah. All de arter uoon Ize had glimpses of a shady path leadin’down to de shor’ of a big ribber. Ize seen people gwiue down to cross ober, an’ in a leetle time I’ll be wid ’em.” Bheput her wrinkled face on the pil low beside his and sobbed, and ho placed his hand on her head and said : “It’s de Lawd, chile—de blessed Lawd ! Chile, Ize tried to be good to WHOLE NO. 185. (yer. Ymi has been good to moo We I am nnffln but- ole efiil’n folks, po? iu eb i erything, lut try in’ to do right by ©b cry body. When mo I’d got to die, I wasn’t certain if de Lawd want ed u po’ ole black man like me np> dar in bis golden liebben 'inong de angels, but He’ll take mo—yoa, chile, He will! Dis mawnln* I heard de harps playin’, de rustle ob wings an’ a clrnid sorter lifted up an’ I got a cl'nr view right frew dc pearly gates. I saw old slaves an’ naybors dar, an’ dey was white aa Anybody, an' a hundred ban's bockunud me to come right up dar •nmnfc 'em." , “ db; daddy ! I’M be nil alone—all alone !’* wailed. j “lluah, chile! I/.e gwiws to be looking down on ye! I/.o gwine to put my ban’on yer head an’kiss ye wired yer heart am big wid sorrow, an* whrti night shets down, an’ j-on prey to de T.awd, I’ll bo kneelin’ ’long side of ye. Ye wou’t see mo, but I’ll bo wid ye. You’s old an gray. It won’t be long befo' ye’ll git de summons. In a little time de cloud will lif fur ye. an’ I’ll be right dar by de pearly gates to take yo in my anna.” “ But I can’t let von go- -I will hold you down heali wid mo.” “Chile! Ize sorry foryc, but Izo drawin nigh dat shady path ! Hark! I kin h'ar de footsteps of dc mighty parade of speerits marehin' down to do broad ribberl Dey will digs grave an* lay my ole bones dar. an' in a week all de world bnt yon will forgit me. But doftn grieve, chile. De Lawd isn’t gwine to shut de gates on mo cause I’m old an’ po’ an’ black. I kin see dem shinin' way up dar—sec our boy at de gate—fl’car de sweetest music dat de angels can play !—Light de lamp, chile ’cause <lc night has come J” “ Oh ! lie’s gwine—he's gwino!” she wailed, as her tears fell upon his face. “ Chile ! hold iny ban' 1 Ober heali am dc path ! I kin see men an’ women an’ chil’cn marehin* ’long! Fudder i down am cle sunlight. It, shines on de groat ribber ! Obor dc ribber am—tie -r-gates—of——." Of Heaven ! On earth old and poor and low—beyond the gates an tino& with the rejt. , , fi I , j JrmM BNI * ‘‘ \yiirp that theenemy has given in?’’ nikeefa lad, a tailor’s ap prentice, who had run away from his master and entered the British navy as a common boy about the year 1(580. “ When that flag is hauled down,” nn swcrcJ the sailor addressed, ‘‘the ship will hi ours.” “Oh, if that’s nil, I’ll seo what f can do.” Now this tailor’s boy, when lie ran away from his master, joined a ship which hud the good fortune, a few hours after lie eutered the service, to fall in with a French squadron, and a warm action, bravely fought on both sides, was maintained. After fighting for a short time, the boy was impatient for the re sult, and addressed the above question to a sailor. No sooner had he been told that the withdrawal of the flag from the enemy’s masthead would be (he sig nal that the action had been decided, than he determined to “see what he could do.” At that moment the vessels were en. gaged yard-arm to yard-arm, and were obscured in the smoko of the guns. In an instant the hoy mounted the shrouds, passed from the yard of his own ship to that of the enemy, ascended with agility to the inaiutopguilunt masthead, struck and carried off the French Hag unper ceived, and got hack to the yard-arin of his own ship in safety. Before he could get down to the deck, the British saw that the flag had disappeared, and shout ed, “ Victory, Victory !” The French crew, seeing also that the flag had gone, and thinking it lmd been struck by or order of the Admiral, fled from their guns; and although the officers attempt ed to rully them, the confusion was hopeless. Then the British, availing themselves of the opportunity, boarded the French vessel and captured it. In the midst of the excitement the new boy came down from the shrouds with the French flag wrapped round his body, and displayed it with no little gleo to the astonished tars. The news spread quickly to the quarter deck, and the blushing boy was led into the presence of the Admiral, who praised him for his gallantry and rated him there and then as midshipman ; and it was uot long be fore promotion followed ; and the tailor’s apprentice was known as one of Eng land's most gallant sailors. Strikes at the North have made cap italists timid, and put a check on build ing enterprises.