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The Dear, Dead Face. An Inddfiit of War. a--Jo J The war 1 Tefl*r to was not one of those which we have lately had upon our own hynda, but that a low years ago raged so long, sofiereely.'be tweon the Nortlwro and ‘the Southern States of America. It was my fortune to serve on the medical stutf with a portion of the Northern army during most of that terrible struggle*, and* it is needless to say that many personul incidents came under my notice, which will never leave tny memory. Notone of them, however, made so painful an impression u[>on me as that which I am about to describe. • Toward noon on the day after one of the fiercest lights of all the war, a young soldier was brought in frem the battle-field, where, b}- some mischance, he had beei/overlooked and abandoned, while comrades of his, far less griev ously wounded than lie, had lieen shel tered and tend?d Ueforf flight full. The poor fellow had lain all night, and dur ing the long, scorching hours of the morning, amid heaps of dead, both men and froii the km of au arm, arid other wouuAs. Au army surgeon is not, as a rule, a man prone to undue sentiment or to soft ness at the sight of physical suffering; and I am not conscious of any weak ness that makes me an exception in this particular. There was, however, in this youth’s expression of cbnnten anee something which struck me irre sistibly, and with the strong glance of his large, bright eye fixed my attention and awakened my eager interest. lie was a slender youth, tall, yet graceful* ly made, with a head which, as the nov elists phrase it, would bring ecstacy to the soul of the sculptor, and every fea ture molded to the true type of manly beauty. A single glance gave me this summary outline of my patient before I had time to ascertain the nature or extent of his injuries. Avery brief examination soon told me that the life which for hours had been ebbing so painfully away was well-nigh spent; and lie must have read the awful truth in my face, for he whispered to me, faintly and sadlv, as I- rose : “ Is there, then, no hope ?” Alas ! there was no hope ; but I had not speech to tell him so, for something was rising into my throat and choking me, and a moisture in my eyes was blinding me ; and the only reply I could give him was a shake of my head. The brave spirit which had nerved him through the fight had kept him up till now ; but now, when the dismal truth had broken upon him, there passed over his pallid face a look of mingled disappointment and resignation which it was painful beyond expression to witness. I lost no time in giving him such surgical aid as his desperate con dition called for and his waning strength could bear. I had hardly done so when an unexpected voice address ed him : “My own dear boy ! my brave, he roic boy !” The tone vyas of cheery encourage ment, yet. feebly disguising the woe of a breaking heart; for it was his mo ther’s voice that spoke, and her lips that kissed his fevered brow. Gently she turned back his disordered and blood-stained locks, dissembling with evident effort the mother’s anguish, lest she should add another sorrow to the pangs of his dying hour. "My mother !” he cried, with almost frantic delight. “Is it you, mother ? How came you here ? Is it you, or am I dreaming ?” and as he spoke he threw his only remaining arm around jher neck and kissed her with all the rapture Oi *i child. ‘‘ Thank God . he continued in snatches, as his failing (strength allowed him; “thank God for this blessed joy—that I see your face once more, my mother. All last night, .ns I lay amid the dreadful sights arouud me, I prayed one prayer in all my pain, and only one. I prayed that I might £ook once nv>r<* upon your face, my sweetest mother—once more hear j our voice, f seemed to pray in v/vin, yet still I prayed/' “My poor, poor boy,” shs said ; f ‘ a curse, upon the hand that has brought you to this !” and her tears at leijgth broke from her control. To the amazement of all, there ap peared to be something in this exclam ation pf his mother that stimulated the dyjftg youth to’a final tffVjrt of speech and motion, H° half raised himself from his bed, and with that unaccount able energy which sometimes marks the closing moments of life, he said : “ No, no; don't saj T that! Don’t say accursed. Yog kn n T pot tjje words The Hartwell Bun. Bv BENSON & McGILL. VOL. IV—NO. 33. you are speaking. Oh !” he cried, af- I ter a moment’s pause, •• how shall I tell her the horrible tale ? How can I smite her down with suob a blow, at such an hour ?” and lie fell back exhausted upon his pillow. The effect and been too much for him, ami for some moments we doubted If the spirit had not fled. It was only a passing weakness, how ever, and before long he rallied again. Again he spoke, but with a kind of dreamy half consciousness—at oue mo ment gazing into his mother's eyes, at seemingly forgetful of her pres ence. Truly it was a bloody fight,” he said. “ I had been in several hard ibngbt fights before, but they were all Children’s pastime compared with that* of yesterday. No sooner had we come in sight of the enemy than the ringing voice of the general was'heard : “ ‘At them, my boys, and do your duty !’ *• What happened after that, I know not. Know not, do I say? Oh, would it were true that I know not! Begrim ed with dust, each man was confronted with his own individual foe, and if there be fighting among fiends, tlien surely did our fighting resemble theirs. I was myself wounded whcti a fair haired man bore down upon me from the opposing line—if line it could then be called—and L received his lieadiong onset with a terrific bayonet thrust, and as befell I thought of Cain, and of the deed which has made the name of Cain a’malediction Torcver. I know not why, but I felt myself compelled to halt in thg midst of the pielee to kneel beside that fair-haired mail and look at him. i turned him over and looked upon his face—his dear, dead face. Ah ! mother, it was—it was—it was my brother's face, and my own arm had sluin' him !” The scene at that moment it would not be easj' to describe. In an instafit the weeping mother's tears were dry, and her face became passionless as marble. My own emotion, which I have already acknowledged, I took no pains to conceal. Rough, hard-favored sol diers stan ling by listened with bated breath to this more than tragic narra. tive, while big tear-drops welled from their eyes unchecked and undisguised. “ Yes,” he continued, soliloquizing, “my own arm had slain him. Dear, darling brother Fred ! I laid niy face upon his, and it was cold—that face in our boyhood seemed but the mirror of my own ; ever near me—at home, at school, at meat, at play—which laughed when I was glad and wept when I was sorrowful. Oh, would we both had died in thpse fresh, bright days of in nocence ! I kissed bis pallid lips; I looked into liis eyes ; but in them was no responsive glance. He was dead. I had slain him ! The very thought was a burning madness in my brain. 1 heeded not the carnage around me. I thought not of my own wound. I even knew not when’my arm was gone. Oh, the arm that had done such a deed deserved to perish! Forgive me, O my brother ! How gladlj r would I give my life to bring back thine again! Staj’, friends; do not shut out the blessed light. Let in thediglit. I can not see mj r mother. Fred, sweet bro ther, put up your sword, and let us plav with flowers once more upon this pleasant grass.” And so he passed away—to join his brother, let us hope, in a land where blooms the flowers that never fade, where strifes and wars arc unknown, and where the mysteries and misunder- * standings of our present state are dis pelled by the light that never dies. Reverence for the childless mother’s j grief, as well as the manv-voiced call of duty, prevented my making at that mo ment the inquiries which thronged my mind, both as to the history of this strangely aorrow.smitten family and the oceans by which the poor mother had come to know her son’s condition and whereabouts. } have often since tried to trace her, but the search has always been fruitless. They certainly belonged to the better class of society, and I think it likewise oertatn that they were Southerners. The younger bro ther—which I took him to be—whose sad narrative is here given, had proba bly resided for some tfme in the North, and, becoming imbued with the eenti- ITARTWEU: ML, WEDNESDAY. APRIL 28, 1880. mint and fepiniaus wliirh chiuyed atmosphere around him, found himself eventually in the-ranks. In a word, 1 look upon the whole episode us one of thpse awful coincidences of fact which are gdnarally thonghßtm take phiro only in the pages of romance! but which a wide expedience link taught mo to be lieve arc by no means unfrequent among the*unrecorded realities of life. Predespernation. Little Jhiek (.1 rkantae) tlcurtte. An old time Baptist preacher in -this K city, who has retired from active "gospel work, but who still keeps his eye on the faith, has just had a little experience with a colored man that causes him to think very sfrkiuslyi Meeting the colored man, the preach er said : “ Dave, if you don’t bring that saddle home I’ll have you put in jail.” “ What saddle is you furren ter?” “ The one you stole from me.” “ Parson, fore de Lord, I nebber stole ver saddle.” | “ Yes you did. I saw you when you took it of!' the yard fence. I believe I’Jl have yon arrested, anyway.” i “ Look lu-ah, parson, you’se a old Baptist, isn’t for? ’ “ Yes, and I’ll have you put iu the 1 penitentiary.” “ Well, so is I, an’ now catch de pints ez I gin em ter ver. Dar is jes’ so many saddles iu dis worl’ what is ter be stole, an’ dar’s jes’ so many men wlmt is ter sp-al disc saddles. DU U predesptr nation. Now, if yer saddle happens to be one ob de predesposed saddles an’ I happen to be one ob de predisposed men kin 1 hyp it? i)ar was .Judas, for in stance. He couldn’t hep "trayin de Savior, kase de Savior sail!, ‘ Judas, sop iu dis dish an’ go an’ ’tray me.’ Hit wasn’t Judas’ fault, kase Le was one ob de predisposed, so ’tended from de foun dation ob de worl’.” “I don’t want a religious discussion, Dave. It isn’t the saddle 1 now care so much about; it is that you told me a lie in saying that you did not steal it.” “ Well, den parson, ’spose I takes back dc lie an’ keeps de saddle?” “A lie once told always stands. You have lied to me, you scoundrel, and I believe it is my duty to have you arrest ed.” “Parson, dar’s jes a certain amount ob lies ter be tole in dis worl’ an ef I is one ob de men what is predisposed to tell one ob desc lies, hit’s not my fault, an’ I can’t help hit.” “ Yog go on now and get that saddle or I'll swear out a warrant for your ar rest.” “ I’ll do de bes’ I kin, parson, but dar's jes’ a certain amount ob stole sad dles to be returned in dis worl’. Ef Ize one ob de predisposed men, an’ I b'lieves I is, you’ll find yer saddle hangin’ on de yard fence ’bout sundown tis ebeniu'.” —— A Converted Jew in the Pulpit. The Rev. A. J. Levy preached at the First Presbyterian church last night on the treatment of the Jews by Chris tians. Mr. Levy is a converted Jew, and it is stated that there are in the United States one thousand converted Jews, ninety-five of whom are now laboring as missionaries of their race, by preaching the gospel, and laboring with the Jews. Mr. Levy stated that he had been in this work about thirty years. lie was very much in earnest in his address, but his broken English made a large part of his remarks unin telligible to the audience. His plea for the Jews was based on what is well known to be true, that is, Jews are good citizens in nearly' every casp, and they were entitled to the confidence' and respect of the communit}\ Jews do not get drunk. They are never found in our poor houses ; none of them i are ever tramps; their children are not sent to orphan asylums, because they care for themselves ; Jews do not com mit murder. During the past one hun dred years in the United States only ; tnree Jews had taken human life. No estimate of the amount of murders for one hundred years could be made, but during last year 1,100 murders had been committed in the United States— not one by a Jew. Jews are rarely, if ever, seen in our prisons or peniten ! tiaries. In short, as a class they are exceptional citizens. —Atlanta Pont. * •? Devoted to Hart County. .. ■ i •W. *V'Beautiful Story. Coleridge relates a story to this eiroct: Alexaadcr, during his march into AJrk'a, cainu tw * po|4flwdbug in peaceful liuLA, VhQ khew neither war nor conquest. J UC SO J‘I3(T Y IJ | f rw • it, saving his sole object Was to learn the manners amj customs of the inhahi fanVr. t “blay 'witk ua,” said the chief, "us lona as it pleaaeth time." Inuring this interview with the Afri ciuiphief, t*vo offois stfltfedts brought a case before him for judgment. The dispute was this: The one had bought a piece or ■ground, which, after thu purchase, was found to cJntninf treasure, for which lie felt himself boftnd tri pay. ‘Whet refufed to revive anything, stating that?? he Sold tlie ground with what it might he found to contain, apparent or concealed. Said the chief, looking at the one, “Yop have a ? son and to the other, ‘•You have a daughter; let them be mntried, and tin' treasure .be given them as a dowry.” Alexander was astonished. “And what,” said the chief, “would have been the decision in your coun try?” We should have dismissed the par- ties and seized the treasure for the king’s w * - - l “And dot's the sun shine in your country; does the rain fall there ; are there cattle which feed upon the herbs and green grASa?” asked the chief. “Certainly,” said Alexander. “Ah,” said the chief, “it is for the sake of those innocent cattle that the Great Being periu itthe sun tq jjhinc, the rain to fall and the green grass to grow in your country.” Dying Together. 'At touching incident occurred in the death of two aged people, Mr. and Mrs. Dickson, at Osknioose, lowa, recently. For convenience in attendance during their illness, they were placed in sepa rate bed-rooms. The heads of the beds were placed against a thin partition, which, having an open door, permitted the old people to converse, though uot able to see each other. The night be fore the husband died his wife heard him groauing, and was very anxious to be with him, but was unable to arise. She soon was informed that he was dy ing. and in order to be near him, the beds were moved so as to bring them parallel with the partition, the beds op posite the door. Tins done, the fond wife reached out, grasj>e(i her husband by the hand, and held it during his last moments. Thus death found them as nearly or quite fifty-one years before the marriage ceremony had left them, hand in band. “Cast thj r bread upon the waters; for thou shalt find it after many days.” The historical editor of the Philadel phia Ledger has unearthed a striking illustration of the old text. In the year 1676 the condition of New Eng land was one of fearful desolation. One in eleven of the New England towns had been destroyed by the In dians, and the same proportion of men capable of bearing arms had fallen by massacre, or in open encounter with the Indians. The fields had to be abandoned and bread was at famine scarcity. During a period of the most acute distress in 1676 the Rev. Nathan iel Mather, resident in Dublin, proba bly upon advices received from the Rev. Increase Mather, residing in Bos ton, suggested the relief of the colo nists. Citizens of Dublin freighted the “good ship Catherine” with pro visions, which were duly received, thankfully acknowledged and equit ably distributed. The governor and the local magistrates superintended the distribution. In Boston 402 per sons were relieved, and in other towns tho recipients made up the total to 2,851. That Dublin food cast ui>on the waters in 1676 is once more return ing after many' years. One vast drift of it went back in 1846-7 and another goes now in 1880. “Is the doctor in?” asked an anxious looking young man. “ No, sir,” replied the person addressed: “ but you can $1.50 Per Annum. leave an order on the slate. Is it a very urgent ease?" “ Well, yet,*’ the young niau kuid, “ rather urgeut, I think. Justus 1 started away from homo my .youngwt brother was falling out of a ifour-tory window.”” A HOBBESHOE FOR GOOD LUCK. -***i *'•*-(■•*• Brli.-v.O *• AllflS lb* tinillng of Hentbn Herat,l The horseshoe, now all the rage as an ornament, and affected by men and wo men alike, has long been considered u token of good luck, especially by sail or*. Few sailors would start on a voy age iu.a ship on which the [agency of the horseshoe was trot acknowledged. It must he kept some conspicuous place as a sigu of good Juck. On West ern steamboats uot a deckhand could be induced to engage himself on a steamer that did ntt have a partly-worn horse shoe nailed over the companion way of thy how. Very often they are placed near the figure-head, at the stem of the bow. How long -rim superstition has prevailed it would he impossible to tell. It is by no means of recent origin. Horseshoes and conjurers have long been allies. To find a whole horseoluMi iu the road, that has hern cast from the ani mal and still retains five of the nail* in it, is considered a remarkable token of good luck. Ijat should anyone fiud a horseshoe with all tho nails in it, may consider himself wtidowed with won derful powerful magic. This conceit, no doubt, had its origin 111 the faqt that it is almost impossible for a horse to cant, a shoe while all the uuils are iataot. Then lived a man iu Bhenumioah coun ty, Va., whoelaimed to have found such a horseshoe. Ills name was Conrad Oerst: He was a German with little education, but was considerable of a knave. He professed to be able to work wonders, and was believed by many |>eo ple to posses* certain powerful conjtrrmg powers. Gerst was a shoemaker, and very poor, for he was too lazy to work, and had a large family yf children. He could heal the sick, recover stolen arti cles, cure diseased cattle, find under ground streams of running water, make the butter come for the dairy woman, and drive oil'witches. A woman churn ed all day over a churning of cream, but the butter would not come. She sent for Gerst. He told her to get an old horseshoe, heat it red hot uml cast it into the churn. Then, utter cleans ing the churn with boiling water, he guaranteed that the butter would come at the next effort And more, if she Would enquire carefully among her neighbors site would discover that some one of them (an enemy) would have a severe burn on some part of her body, there were plenty of people who believ ed in this. Another case” A widow lady, living two miles from Gerst, had a mini of money stolon from lier. in stead of giving the matter into the hands of the authorities, she wait for Gerst. He inquired into the Affair, and after performing a number of incanta tions with a' stick that he carried, and placing his horseshoe in the fire and cooling it in the sptiug, lie announced confidently that on the morning of the second day thereafter the money would be found at a certain place, with some other valuables that had been lost. This conclusion of the conjurer wus widely circulated, and on the morning indicated quite a number of people as sembled at the widow’s house to see the prediction verified. The money was found at the place indicated. The solu tion, was that the thief, whoever he was, believed in Gerst’s pretended power, and returned the money out ot fear. The superstition that imputes such vir tues to the horseshoe gave birth to the prevailing idea that makes it an emblem of good luck. A Western man, having lost his wife, was accosted by a sympathizing friend, who remarked upon his woe-be gone appearance. ‘‘Well, I guess you would look thin, too,” was the melan choly rejoinder, “if you had to get up before daylight, make the fires, draw water, split wood, and feed the cattle, all before breakfast. I just tell you what it is, if I don’t get somebody to fill poor, dear, sainted Maria’s place, I will be resting by her side before many weeks are past.” WHOLE NO. 191. A TOUGH FOX YARN. (hating .i<l Killing it Mi Wfton* l*#l( Kinjttnn IV 1 J mm* Finu. a vtlenul tot hunter* t)*> years obt, residing hi MarfelHN>wn.‘lnA killed this wjqtyr JqUfteyii y§d foxes, '01143 cross-bar and oue gray for. He u probably the last fits, hunter in th county. He has two dogs, and hunts over long stretches of country, ranging all over the hills of Marhletitwn, across .the country to High Fulls, and tip ShuwaugUnk Mountain us lar as Luko Miuuewaaki; iu fact he shot the cross i intv fox near Plats Point, on that moun tain. Mr. Pina lias hunted tor forty years, n portion of the time hi Greene county, and for twenty-three seasons he bus hunted iu this county., The first year lie cuuac up ty Filter cuuuty hu killed forty-three fixer., though at that time, of course, this kind of annual was more nnmmms that nt'plwnt. Last New Year’s Day he killed three fbxes. Mr. Pine hunts for plqapi^idni recrea tion, iu he owns a uice little fu/41 in Mai hit-town, but be sylU his lox skins, j and in that way pays lor his powder aud j and shot. Pine snvs, ami he adirins with both hands that it i* true, that one diiy while be was out hunting ho shot a liuo fox, atitl as he supposed the annual dropped dead. Ho went to him ami taking out his jack-knife commenced to take oil' the pelt, so he wouldn’t have to carry tho carcass Lome with Idm. lie skinned it down ami then pulled it over and gave it a yank iu ordbr to free it from tho body, when the skill eaiue off, and to the groat and inexpressible astonishment of the hunter, the fox jumped up and rati off at full speed, the hunter being unable in his surprise to to raise his gun iu tilpe to shoot him. Thu dogs, however, w'eru alter him in yiffy, and the remarkable sight of u fox •without its pelt; scooting ulmig over the crust with three hounds yelping on his traekj was then seen. The fox being in light marching yrdcr soon distanced the dugsutnl imp u minutes was out of right. A lew days after the mau was out huut iug again for foxn*. The hounds rau pretty sharply and he passed through a ravine, and it being a peculiarity of the fox that when lie goes through a ravine he will come buck to it again, 110 matter how wide the circuit maybe, the hunter posted himself at [date and waited until he heard the bay of the hound* following the truck up to near where he stood. He was ou the qui vivo and got a glimpse of au animal run ning with great speed that hud all the resemblance of a fox, only its coat seem ed a glossy white. The hunter never thought of the skinned fox that ran awuy the day before, but supposed tli white fur would be a great rarity in the market, so he fired, killing the animal, and with great expectations hurried up to where he lay, and there, lo! and be hold, found instead of a white furred fox the one that he had ski rifled the day be fore, the white flesh looking like white fur in the sunlight. Seemingly the fox had not minded the lack of his skin very much, and the flesh had become by ex posure in the air almost of the con si s tuncy of leather. Two loys, surrounded by five or six others sit on the grass and played cards. A citizen, who knows that card playing leads into the broad road to wickedness, halted and said to'one of the (flayers : “Ah! my boy, don’t you know that you are in a fair way to be ruined?" “I am, eh!” replied the youngster as he,, held up his hand of cards and showed four trumps and an noo; “ You just hold on here a min ute, and if I don’t show you that the other boy is all, wrenched to pieces and ruined to death I’ll eat the jack of spades and cut my throat with the jack of clubs!” He was taking every trick Ss the citizen passed on. If an editor omits anything lie is lazy, if he speaks of anything as it is, peo ple are mad. If he smooths down the rough points, lie is bribed. If he calls tilings by their proper names, he is un fit for the position of an editor. If he does not furnish liis readers with jokes, he is a mullet. If he does, he is a rat tle-head—lacking stability. If he con-' demns the wrong, he is a good fellow, but lacks discretion. If he lets wrongs and injuries go unmentiOned, he is a coward. If he indulges in personali ties, ho is a blackguard ; if he does not, his paper is dull and insipid. Youth: “ ifes, it is curious I have no beard ; I can't think who I take after— mv grandfather had a splendid one.” Hair-cutter: “Oh! perhaps you take' after your grandmother.” He took after the barber with little knife. A half crop of plums is the prospect-.