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Rninefl Glasgow MercM. BY ,T. A. AN DEMON. A few years ago 1 had fever when 1 was in Biuyib* Ajyres, South America. After I was discharged from the infirm ary, I was very weak, and consequent ly was unfit to resume my usual occu pation. Fortunately l had #nved a lit tle money, and put up in Ui<? C’hevalde Blanco, a French hotel, well conducted and cheap. It was a dreary life, how- ever, being confined to my lied-rooyi, and when aide to be out I used to go to the margin of the river Rio t|e la Plata. and tfere fiijojr the cool and (Je freshing breezes; which put new life In me. , One Sabbath evening in the mofrtn of March (the autumn there), I quitted my hotel for my favorite seat under the trees of ParadUg which gfew tltf river. It waw IwWaVi tifnl evening The sun was about to sink in the deep wa ters. As I lay and watched it dipping bit by bit, my fancy conjured up beau tiful scene-. \ / ¥ ( At last-Jhe scene was enhanced. The moon was now far up, and sheriffs pife; figlifc on the throbbing bosom of the mighty river. I was -about to riVc—the air at last was getting to be chilly— when my attention was arresjed, in some object crawling to-Where I sht. “ What could it be I Unfiight. In a moment I had my revolver out and was prepared for it. At last it stood ujf erect. It was a man ! What an oV ject! Ilis trousers scarcely came ovlr his knees. His feet were baj'c,-apd I could see that he had got theffi cut on the sharp stones—ihey were covered with blood. Poor fellow, lie was shirt less ; an alpaca coat was the only cov ering he had on. His beard was mat ted and twisted ; his eyas, bloodshot ; his lips black and parched. His had was an old felt one, and the rim hung over his naked neck. Never in ffiy life had I seen such an object. Slowly he approached, and when about two yards from me he said, “ Do you speak Spanish, senor ?” “ Mtiy pdco,” I said, “ AY hat do you want ?” "I am an Englishman, and have not a single pesos. For ’ovc of God. help me!" ' * ' 4 / - I said to him in English, •* What has brought you to this pass ? \ou are a disgrace to youv country. Come tell honestly, and it I can help you I will do so.” “Oh, thanks! I have not tasted food for two days. Do you see yen boat on the beach ? It lias been ray home for the last four months. The covering of my bed has been the sky, and my bed itself the rotten planks. “ Come, tell me what has caused this ; have you been ill ?” “ Yes, yes, I have been ill. I have been mad, and am mad now. A thirst is choking, and I 11 die unless you help me. Is there a God? Is there no hand to help me ? Must I die ? ’ “ AA'hat is wrong with you ? ’ “ I want cana (white rum). My mouth is dry. I can’t speak. Give me two pesos (4ct), for the love of Qod. I was not a total abstainer; indeed, up to this time I did not look upon drink as an evil, and seeing the awful anxiety of the mttn, I gave him two pesos, when lie started for a cale in the Paseo de Julio. He was not long ab sent, for lie soon returned with a bottle full of cana. “Will you take a drop?” he said. I refused, when he applied the bottle to his parched lips and drank about the half of it ere he stopped. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “there’s life in the bottle. I feel the caua going through me. Now I can speak. What a love ly evening! See how the little waves are tipped with the pale rays of the moon. One would think they are sil ver !” The poor fellow in two minutes was a changed being. Prom his conversa tion I could easily see that he had been a o something,” so I at once determin ed to find out what lie had been. “ You are an Englishman, you say ; are you not a Scotchman ? ’ “When I said I was an Englishman, J only gave the usual answer to such a question. lam a Scotchman, and was born in Glasgow.” “ Indeed! I know Glasgow well. Your name ?” ” John R ” “ I knew a Mr. John K , a man ufacturer in Glasgow. Did you know him ?” “ Where was his place ?” “ Near the Exchange,” “ I am he !” The Hartwell Sun. ■ ~ Bv BEKSoiN & McGILL. VOL. IY-NO. 32. “ You r “ Yes; pray yonr name ?” I told him, when he at once knew me.. e sat for some £jmc in silence. No doitbt lie was busy thinking of the-past; Feast I was. JTha last time that I saw Mr. R he was standing on the stops of the Royal Exchange. He was tnen a smart young man. and consider ed “cute” by many. He was, how ever, known as being a " wet” hand, md too frequently treated buycra Aiul firirrh with them. • • When I looked at the miserable, idiotic person sitting by my side—for the drink had wonderfully improved his spirits—l could nob help putting fhe qqffction to mytself, “ Gun it be realty he ?" Alas, it was too true ! Once a merchant, now au outcast; once re spected, now a beggar ! What a change ! -VFv heart yearned for him ; indeed, as I thought on the way he was living. the tears started to ujy eyes* I could not take him to a hotel; 1 *could not eveh take him to a cafe ; so I made up my mind to hear his story, which I now i/eiyh- in own wkinjl. ■ “|l aifc tart only son ami received , a fair-education. It was not my mother's fault if I ,did not get more pf the school. My father died when I was only l ten days old. I.fchink no man had ever such a mother. She Joveif me. She would have chcerfrflly'dred to have done me a service. Drunk or sober, I can see lier; even now I can see her calm, tnongmful face traced with sor row ami pain. I had, always lots of pocket money, which was my ruin. “It 1s the .old story* I frequented the theatre, the singing saloons, and night hotels, before I was out of my teens. I was considered clever; could a good song, tell a good story, and, iii short, was a jolly good fellow. My conduct was crushing my mother's I'norfc no heart tr* Time* passed on. of Louisvills about 2000 k, and I asked me -• me to commence business with. I said it would settle me in life. Poor soul, she freely gave her all. I commenced business, and did well for a time, but my companions led me to contract bad debts. I sent goods to Bueno3 A.yres, but I did not get any advance on them. “My mother died. Y*es, I believe ol a broken heart. This sobered me for a time, but only for a time. About a year after her death I married a lovely woman. I loved her; God knows I love her still. Shortly after our mar riage I had to call -a meeting of mv creditors. They sent me out to Bue nos Ayres to look after the consign ments there. I arrived in Buenos Ayres, sold the goods, and kept the proceeds. This i3 all that is left of me!” “ AYhat' about your wife ?” “My wife ! Ol), sir, when you men tion her it is like pouring boiling lead on my brain. I cannot think ot her; it would drive me mad to think about her. My wife, she is an angel. She is pure, ay, and beautiful as a summer's inorn. I hope slio thinks I'm dead. Why, sir, my brain reels as I think of the past. I must drink, drink, drink till I die.” We 9at together for some time ; and when 1 left him I gave him twenty pe-. sos (80c.) I said I would see him the following evening. The next day I was walking along C'alle San Martin, when I saw a crowd of people. I asked what was wrong. “ a man has been run over by the car. and they are taking him to the dead house.” I followed the crowd, and en tered the dead-house and viewed the body. To my horror and grief, it was the mangled remains of poor John R —. I never found out properly how he met his death, but it was a great relief to my mind when I was told he was sober, and a greater relief still when fifteen pesos were taken from his pocket. How to Deal With Hats. We clear our premises of these detes tible vermin, writes a correspondent of the Scientific American by making whitewash yellow with copperas and covering the stones and rafters in the cellar with it. In every crevice where a rat may tread we put the crystals of the copperas, and scatter the same in the corners of tie floor. The result was HARTWELL, GA„ WEDNESDAY, APRIL 7. 1880. a perfect stampede of rats and mice. Since that time not a footfall of either rats or mice has been heard pbout the house. Eyerv spring, a coat of yellow Avails is given the cellar, as a purifier, ns a. nit exteryninalor; and no typhoid, dysentery, or fever, attacks the family. Many persons deliberately attract all the rats in the neighborhood by leaving fruits and vegetables uncovered in the 'cellar, and sometimes even the sonp is ldLojicn for their regiment. Cover up Everything eatable iu the cellartindpan trv, nud you will soon tiave them out. These precautions joined to the service of a good cat, will prove as good a rat exterminator cl#mist can provided Wg never allow rats to hq poisoned in our dwelling; they are so liable to die between the walls aud produce much annoyance. • zh ■*-*—t— A STRANGE DREAM STORY. . Itipi/iyuUn There is air inexplicable story— which l believe has never been published— among the traditions of the fertile bill country of Western rfmusyßauia, the most unlikely quarter /n the World to ierve as fi breeding place of mystery: -It was settled almost wholly by well-to-do farmers from the North of Ireland, economical, hard-working folk—God- Fenring, too, after the exact nianffeT do- scribed by John Knox, and having little piticnce with any other manner. Not a likely people, assuredly, to give ’cre dence'to'any fanciful superstitions, and still less to originate them. This story indeed has a bold, matter-of-fact char acter in every detail which quite sets it apart -from relations of the supernatural. I have never heard it explained, and it is the best authenticated mystery in my knowledge. Ilel’t it is in brief: Among the Scotch- i Irish settlers i ■*- ■' **■ * , ,comfortable farm and house.. . Ky., slam' ikU cliei, the daughter, was engaged to a young farmer of the neighborhood. On a Saturday evening in July, having fin ished her week’s work, she dressed her self tidily and started to visit her mar ried sister, who lived on a farm about five miles distant, intending to return Monday morning. She tied up her Sunday gown and hat in a checkered handkerchief, and carried her shoes and stockings in the other hand, meaning to walk in her bare feet and put them on j when she came in sight of her destina tion, after the canny Scotch fashion. ' She left home about seven o’clock in or- , der to have the cool evening for her walk. The road to the farm was lonely and unfrequented. The girl did not re turn home on Monday, hut no alarm was felt, as the family thonght her sister would probably detain her for a few days; and it was not until the latter part of the week that it was found that she had never been at her sister’s. Ibe country was scoured, but in vain ; the alarm spread, and excited a degree of terror in the peaceable, domestic, com munity, which would seem inexplicable to city people, to whom the newspaper has brought a budget of crime every morning since their childhood. Tocbil dren raised in lonely hamlets and hill farms murder was a far-off, unreal horror ; usually all they knew of it was from the doings ot Cain and Jael, set forth w ith hideous wood cuts in the f'am- ily Bible. The girl had left home on Saturday at 7 o’clock. That night long before 10 o’clock, (farmers go to bed with the chickens), a woman living in Green county, about forty miles from the Ply" mire farm, awoke her husband in great terror, declaring that she had just seen a murder clone, and went on to des cribe a place she had never seen before —a hill country with a wagon road run ning through it, and a girl witli a bun dle tied in a checkered handkerchief, her shoes and white stockings in the other hand, walking briskly down the grassy side of the road. She was met by a young man—the woman judged from their manner the meeting was by appointment; they sat down on a log and talked for some time. The man at last rose, stepped behind iier, and drawing out a hatchet struck her twice on the head. She fell back ward on the wet, rotten leaves dead. Present]'’ the man was joined by an- Demoted to Hart County. other, also young, who asked : •• Is it done? He nodded, and together they lilted the l)o1y and cirrie.f it a Way out ot her night. Alter a while Utcy cauie back, found the bum Hoof Sunday finery ami the Shoes and stockings, all of which were stained with blood. Thorerfras a /uined old mill near the road ; They wont into it, lifted a loose board In the flooring, put the bundle, shoes, with the hatchet, under ueatli. tuid replaced the board. Then they separated and went through the woodsju different directions. The far mer s wife told her dream to her hus band that night; the next day (Sunday) going to a little Country chirch she tv mained during the intermission be tween the morning and evening ser vices.! Ihe neighbors who had come from a circuit of twenty miles to church, gathered, according to their homely habit,fn the churchyard to pat their lunch > and exchange the news. Our dreamer told her story again and again, for she was impressed by it as if it had been reality. After the afternoon ser vice the congregation separated, going to their widely scattered homes. There were thus many witnesses ready to tes tify to the fact that the woman had told the dream the morning after the mur der was committed at u distance of 40 miles..when it was aiisobitPly impossi- ; Die that the news should have reached her. There were no telegraphs, we i must remember, and no railways in 'tho3e days, not even mail-carriers in , those Secluded districts. When the story of the girl’s disap pearance was told over the country at the end of the nest week, the peoplfe to wlwtn the dream had been repeated recalled it. Nowadays the matter would only serve as good material for tins he a iiint from him? The Kev. Charles AVheeler, a Baptist clergyman of Washington, well-known in \\ estern Pennsylvavia and Virginia a generation ago, and Ephriam Blaine, Esq., a mag istrate, father of the present Senator from Maine, and as popular a man in his narrower circle, drove over to sec the woman who had told the dream. Without stating their purposes, they took her and her husband, on pretense of business, to the Plymire farm. It was the first time in her life that she had left her own county, and she was greatly amused and interested. They drove over the whole of the road down which Rachel Plymire had gone. “ Have you ever seen this neighbor i hood?” one of them asked. “ Never,” she replied. That ended the matter, and they turned back-, taking a little used cross road to save time. Presently the wo man started up in great agitation, cry ing : “ This is the place 1 dreamed of!” They assured her that Rachel Plymire | had not been upon that road at all. “I j ! know nothing about her,” she said, ! j “ but the girl I saw in rny dream came along tiiere ; there is the path through which the man came, and beyond that turning you will find the log, and on the ground the stains of blood. The woman, walking swiftly, led him to the old mill and to the board under which j lay the stained clothes and hatchet. The girl’s body was found afterward, buried by a creek near at hand. Ra chel’s lover had already been arrested on suspicion. It was hinted that he had grown tired of the girl, and for many reasons found her hard to shake off. The woman recognized him in a crowd of other men, and startled her companions still more by pointing out another young fellow from the West as his companion in her dream. The j’oung man was tried in the town of Washington for murder. The dreamer was brought into court, an effort was actually made to put her on the stand, but even then men could not be hung on the evidence of a dream. Without. it there was not proof enough for con viction, and the jury unwillingly enough we may be sure, allowed the prisoner to escape. It was held as positive proof of .his guilt that he immediately mar ried the sister of the other accursed man and removed to Ohio, then the wil ) derness of the West. Ik sure you right—then go ahead 81.50 Per .Annum 4 Miraculous Cere. Miss Jennie Smith, of Dayton. Ohio, told a Methodist congregation in Cinrin nnti a weeks ago, how she had boon mi raculously relieved of diseases which had afflicted her all her life and pre cluded her walking and using her arms, except front elbow to fingers. She at first thought that an unusual exertion of her own force of will would effect a cun', and she endeavored to concentrate her mind in this way, hut the effect only reduced her strength. Her mind was. at this time, not clear as to God’s purpose iu respect to her. She felt of ten that she was not really submissive to the divine will, but was too earnest in her desire to he well. She prayed earnestly for wisdom and a more humble spirit, and her petitions were at last granted. Sho fell that, w bile earnestly desiring to lie cured, she could submit cheerlully to whatever Providence might have in store for her. Finally, one eve ning in April, she became convinced that the time had come when she must either aiisc from her bed, or be reconcil ed to continue a helpless invalid. This conviction fu'cms to have been a a defi nite impression belonging rather to the feelings than to the reason. She had been for some time in an eastern city under the care of the physicians. Her room was the place of frequent meetings for prayer and social conversation. On the evening in question a number of friends announced that it was their pur pose to vi.-it her. She asked them if they were willing to pray and wait with her until daybreak if need he. Hhe never, she remarked, understood the phrase “waiting upon the Lord,” as she understood it that night. The time was consumed in earnest prayer, or in the reading of some fitting quotation from siwktffifflg Bhe . saw. as a she, with a mental effort, she could not explain or even describe, strove to exert a similar faith. At that instant she felt anew strength as sudden ns a shock of electricity, and those about her exclaim ed at the change in her appearance. She rose up in her reeling chair w ithout as sistance, and when her feet were placed upon the floor found that she could walk with ease several steps, and was able to kneel down and rise without as sistance. From that moment she stead ily recovered the use of all her senses that had been impaired. Qualifications. An old lady walked into a lawyer’s office in Detroit lately, when the fol lowing conversation took place : Lady—Squire, I called to see if you would like to take this boy and make a lawyer of him. Lawyer—The hoy appears to be rather young, madam ; how old is he ? Lady—Seven years, sir. Lawyer —He is too young, decidedly too young, have you no older boys ? Lady—Oh ! yes ; I have several, but we have concluded to make farmers of the otliers. I told the old man I thought this little fellow would make a firstrate lawyer, sol called to see if you would take him. Lawyer—No, madam; he is too young yet to commence the study of the profession. But why do you think this hoy is better calculated for a law yer than your other sons ? Lady—Why you see, sir, he is just seven years old to-day. When he was only five he’d lie like all nature; when he got to be six he was saucy and im pudent as any critter could be, and now lie’ll steal anything he can lay his hands on. A lady residing at Cow Island, in Lou isiana, and wishing to "set” a lien, went into the field adjoining her residence, where some of her chickens had been “laying,” and procured some seventeen eggs and placed them under the hen. When, in the course of “ human events” the chickens were hatched, 10, and be hold, there came forth four small sized alligators. It is supposed alligators from an adjoining marsh had deposited their eggs in the field, and she, not know ing the difference, placed them under the hen. And, what is more strange, the young alligators follow the motlur I hen around the premises, as happy as a ■ Colorado beetle in a potato patch. WHOLE NO. 188. • OLD JEN’B FAITH. Artfoif Ftrr No matter to you who old Jen was, fort her than that site was old and poor, and that the boy sometimes hooted tier on the streets for s hag, and ppopla passed her by without a second glance. If she had lieen a heathen in far otf Africa every effort would nave been made to awve her son!, bat ns she was a washerwoman and beggar at home she had no soul to save. At least no one seemed to think so. Wasn't it curious that never mao or woman had a kindly word for that lone old woman until an hourbefbro her death? Think of the number of churches and clergymen nod Christian people in Detroit, and then wonder that no one ever stopp'd this lonely exile on the street as sbe hob bled along and took her trembling hand and said: “ I‘oor old woman, how fares it with thee? Have you any sunshine in your last days, or bus the world giveu you burdens and shadows and tears and heartaches ?” Rut no one ever halted her—tio one looked into her eyes to rend her sorrows —no one cared more for her than for the dogs which trotted past them on the street. The other day as night was coming down mere accident brooglK, strangers into a room so full of dreari ness and so lonely with shadows ns to make the heart ache. In Hint, drear room ohl Jen had been dying by inches for days, and now death sat beside her on her wretched bed. It was little that human effort could do for iter, but when words of sympathy fell upon her ears —when she felt the pressure of a hand and knew that someone pitied her—all that wild, haggnrd look went out of her face in a moment, and was replaced by soft lines and eyes full of tears. ‘‘l—l didn't believe there was any one in nil this big world who cans! for me!” she gasped, as her tears came afresh and she wiped them away to look in wonder at the sad faces around tier. “I know that I am in the shadow of death,” she said, as the silence grew long, “ hut I am not afraid. For a dozen years I have starved and shiver ed and been an object of scoru and " poi . w,< fff,^ .HiAfVmft'Afc Tmi r o,uuoi3 “And shall we Tiring someone to pray with you?" “It would be mockery!” she whis pered. “ Churches have not been for me. l’rayer-meetings are not for beg gars. I have cursed the hoys when they hooted at me. I have hated peo ple who had more than J had. Lying here on this old bed, hungry and cold, I have sometimes doubted that there was a God ora Heaven. I have been very wicked, but—but I was old and poor and weak, and all the world seemed to hate me!” Tears came again, and after a while she said : “ But there is a God and a heaven. I have faith in both. Years ago my first-born was taken from me by death, lie was lint a child, knowing no sin, and lie is there among the angels. He will ask God to forgive me. When I crossover the dark river he will be first to meet me on tlie Heaven-lit shore. Oh ! I know lie will, for I was his mother and I know that God will forgive me, for the life He gave me has been drear with sorrows.” As tfic minutes ticked away her face grew white and had a tender, womanly look. Her eyes no longer had that story of life’s sorrow in them, but instead was a gleam of triumph. It was the triumph of a lone old woman's faith over the contempt of the world. She seemed to have fallen asleep, and when the watchers were won dering if she would awake again on earth, she suddenly threw up her arms, clasped her hands, and gasped out: “My Jamie has pleaded for me, and I will not he kept out of Heaven ! I have sinned, but all the world was against me.” On her face, when she lay dead on her bed of rags, was such a smile of peace and joy and contentment as seldom comes to mortals. Within that poor old body w as a soul after all, though the world had denied it, and when it passed through the valley of the shadow it had not one sin to answer for. In the British Museum is an old vol ume of bound pamphlets presented by King George 111, in which is the follow ing passage: “A drunkard is the an noyance of modesty; the trouble of civility ; the spoil of wealth ; the dis traction of reason. lie is the brewer’s agent; the tavern and ale-house bene factor ; the beggar’s companion; the constable's trouble. He is his wile’s woe ; his children’s sorrow ; his neigh bor’s scoir; his own shame. In sum mer he is a tub of swill, a spirit of sleep, a picture of a beast.”