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®he Jtlenfgomars Jtlonltor*
J). C. SUTTON, Editor and Proprietor.
THE HI YE It OF TIME.
BY BEX,TAMIN' F. TAYLOR*
•Oh! a wonderful .stream is the river of Time
As it runs through the realm of tears,
"With a faultless rhythm ami a musical rhyme,
And a broader sweep and surge sublime,
As it blends iu the ocean of years!
How the winters are drifting like the flakes of
snow,
And the summers like birds between,
And the years in the sheaf, how they come and
Ro
On the river's breast with it's ebb and flow,
As it glides in the shadow and sheen!
There’s a magical isle up the river of Time,
Where the softest of airs are playing;
There a cloudless sky and a tropical clime,
And a song as sweet as a vesper chime.
And the Junes with the roses are straying.
And the name of the isle is the “Long Ago,"
And we bury our treasures there;
There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow,
There are heaps of dust —Oh! we loved them
so—
There are trinkets and tresses of hair.
There are fragments of songs that nobody
sings,
There arc parts of an infant’s prayer,
There’s a lute unswept and a harp without
strings,
There are broken vows and pieces of rings,
And the garments cur loved ones used to
wear.
There ure hands that arc waved when the fairy
shore
By the fitful mirage is lifted in air,
And we sometimes hear through the turbulent
roar
Sweet voices wo heard in I lie days gone before
When the wind down the fiver was fair.
Oh! remembered for aye be that blessed isle
All the day of our life until night;
And when evening glows with Us beautiful
smile,
And otir eyes are closing in slumbers awhile,
May the greenwood of tout be in sight.
► THE OLD SETTLER.
HE TELLS TIIE PLAIX, UNVARNISHED TALE
OP SIMON KILOAPS MULE.
“Ibcn n thinkin’,” said the Old Soil lor,
as he watched a lioop pole ranger from
'back of Clmektown tying his mules in
front of the tavern “I ben a thinkin’
fer it spell hack wither th’ can t he sonic
way thunk us oz'll make a mule uuder
ntan' tli’t w’en ye say ’< loot up !' ye want
him to go ahead, slid o’ him understand
in’ of the thing jist contrairv, ez lie aihiz
does an’alliiz has, ever sense the fust
mule were hatched. I says to M’riar
only this mornin’, ‘M’riar,’ 1 says, ‘it
seems to me tli’t wen a thing’s ez con
trairy ez a mule is,’ Isays, ‘th’ orter bo
some fashion or other o’ managin'of it
thftt’d make it know, h’gosh, tli't some
body else know’ll siunpin’ ’bout how
things orter ho run ez well ez it did,’ I
says; ‘don’t you think so, M’riar ?’ says T.
“‘Wall,’ says M’riar, tol’able sharp
like, ‘I should say I did,’ says she. ‘lf
til'd only come sicli a fashion, an’ I could
The Old SeUler.
git a holt on it,’ says she, ‘ye kin lie* yer
boots, Silas, tli’t til'd be a different goin’s
on ’round this ’tutor patch,’ says she, ‘or
I'd know the reason fer why !’
“M’rinr looked so consumed straight
at me, boys, tli't I took it ez mebby si e
were gittin' pers'nal, so me an’ my ol’
hat walked out.
“But speakin’ o’ nudes puts me in
mind o’ little Simon Kiloaf of Jjest C'iow
Barren; not tli’t th’ wore anything mul
ish’bout Simon, but lie bad on of tin
dotrottedest, ornari' st. peskiest pieces o’
mule flesh as ever tried to kick the tip
of a lightnin' rod oiTen a two-story burn.
Leastways, them was his best p'nts w’en
ittlo Simon got to bo his owner. That
mule had lien in the township a year un’
better w’en Simon got title to him, un’
he hadn’t only lien in the township, but
lie laid run the hull durn business of the
township over since he hung out his
shingle thar. Nobody ever knowVd
whar that mule first dropped from; but
late one night in the winter o’ ’lO Uncle
Pete Howy heard a pooty stiff rap at hi,
cabin door, an’ he got up an’ hollered
out;
“ ‘Who’s tliar ?’
“Bangvte-bungbang ' agin tie d<»or
were all the answer lm got. Uncle I’cte
couldn’t lookout luiwliar to eewhuweiv
knockin' ’cause th’ wa n i nary winder in
the cabin fer him to look out of. So he
hollers out;
“ ‘Well, if ye can't spit it out who ye
lx*, ye kin stay out an’ be dnr:m l to y> .'
“With that Unde l’i V bunk-d in agin.
The stranger ez were knockin' then give
three or four whacks th't ma in Undo
Pete think th't lmbhc th' w. re an e irfir
quake passing tli’t way, an’ the m min
ute k'slaui went th* door wide open.
The moon were dead full that night, an’
ez soon ez the door flew open tie cabin
was lit up like a pine kim'. L> di, an’ in
walked a mule not much big;;.-! n a lialf
grow'd fawn, but with e:>rs th'i d ha’
matched Uncle Pet* in r: ez t*> m/ ,
an’them moc'siu.s'il lief t*i i- shrink*-!
conside’able if ye Vp<-1 t*i puli ’em
over a No. 12 last. Uneie I’. n Aunt
Sairey sprung bolt up in i* -1 an' hol
lered; Aunt Sairey a yellin’ k.-, an’
murder, an’ Uncle Pete a gittin red o’
some Bcript'ral p’ints that’d La’ skeert a
Delaware River lumlierman often his
raft an’ made hint swim for Jersey. The
mule didn’t pay no more ’tontion to the
folks th n if they'd ha’ been a secnii' -han’
sot o’ double harness, but he jist flopped
down in front o’ the fireplace, ez much
ez to obsarvo th't oz for him, h’gosh, lnt
wore gointor sleep, an’ the rest o’ the
fant’ly could take their ch'ioe an’ holler
the rest o’ the night, if they wanted.
“Wall, bimeby Uncle Pete cooled
down, ez he were more’ll likely to do. ez
the moon want shoutin' much heat
through the open door inter the cabin.
Aunt Sairey quit hollerin’ an’ went to
fakin' it out in shiverin'.’
•“W v don’t ye git ttj> an’ h ist, the
pesky tiling out i’ says she, givin’ Undo
Pete a poke in the nits.
“So the ol’ man reckoned, li’gosh,
tli't he wa’n't goin’ter hov uo mule th’t
lie wn’n’t ’quaiiitod with a roostin’
on his h’arth.stuji, an’ lie gets up to h’ist
the cheeky little cuss oaten the cabin.
Aunt Sairey had put the clothes to soak
that night, ilex’ day bein’ washday, an’
they was in a tub that stud on a bench
’longside the fireplace, an’ not fer from
the sleepin’ mule’s heels. Unde Peti'
jum['s onion tlie bed an’ starts for the
mule, hollerin' fer him to git up an’ dig
out or he’d git his consumed neck
twisted. Unde Pete said artenv’ds that
the mule laid ez calm mi’ peaceful ez, a
new-burned babe what hadn’t shook
bans with the eolic yit, but the fus’
thing he luiow’d the mule’s hind parts
riz tip amazin’ quick, an’ the next se
cond that tub o’ clothes passed outen
the door ail’ went a slidin’ tip that streak
o’ moonlight ez if some one in the moon
wore yankin’it up there with a steam
derrick. l*'or a lectio spell the air out
side were full o’ liick'ry shirts an’ over
hauls an’a low caliker frocks, an’ then
the till) kim down in a snow bank
on t’other side the road. An’thar laid
the mule on the li'arlh, quiet an’ inner
cent like, an’ ez onconsarnod ez if the
weather w'au’t ez cold ez Grccnlaii’,
W'ich Uncle Pete wa’n't ’dzac’ly togged
out fer to inj’y.
‘.‘Seein’ the week’s wash a sailin’ ’rottn’
the clearin’ ez jiermise.’ttsez. ortum leaves
sot Aunt Sairey to squealin' agin like a
stuck pig, an’ tli‘ wa n t nothin' for Un
de l’ete to do but to haul on his moc’-
sins an’ things an’ edge outen the cabin
an’ gather up tlie wash. Then lie edged
back inter the cabin an’ sot the tub down
on t’other side, so’s to not ’slurb the
slumbers o’ the mule. Then hint an’
Aunt Sairey cot id tided th’t though the
mule wa'n’fc 'dzac’ly a feller critter, he
were a stranger in them parts, en’it’d be
kinder onlmmanlike to turn him out on
sicli a ter’blc cold night, with no place
to go to, an’ so they thorl they’d lot him
stay. Uncle Pete pushed the door shot
with the mop handle, an’ climbin’ inter
bed over the headboard, kiverod his.-"If
up, an’ him an’ Sairey went to sleep,
wonderin’ wuther the mule d take it in
ter his head to let ’em git up ail’git
breakfast in the mornin’, or wutlicr he
wouldn’t.
“W’en they woke tip ’arly the next
mornin’ the mule stud lookin’ inter the
fireplace, with his head down an’ his
ears a droopin’, jist ez if tli’ wa’n't no
more life in him, h’gosh, tli’n th’ w ere in
a wet dishrag. Aunt Sairey an’ Uncle
Pete wspered together a spell, an’ then
the ol’ man crawled out over the head
board an’ tip-toed it over to the fur eend
o’ the cabin, an’ then edged his way
’long the wall to’ards the door. II the
mule lieerd him he never let on. Wen
Uncle Pete got to the door he grabbed
file latch an’ thing the door wide open.
Then he made two jumps an’landed in
bed. Pooty soon the mule turned his
head an’looked outen the door. Then
he shook hisself thinkin' w’at he’d do
with it. All this time Uneie Pete and
Aunt Sairey was peepin’ out from under
the bedclothes, frail to breathe ter tear
they’d rile their visitor, an’ wonderin’
whether he’d eunelude to take the farm
an’ let them hev the cabin, or turn them
out on the farm an’ take the cabin his
-t4I, itfM p yf V—
-pbiFl
-•pHt
"Mint by //,.,• mule sh'j’fied out of ho cabin.
K*-lf. Biuteliy the mule stepped out o’
iln cabin, give a heehaw til t'd lm’broke
ev’ry winder in the bttildin’ if thd ha
inn any in it, an’ then walked ’round
the corner. Uneie Pete bounced out o’
lied an’ slammed the door shot quicker’n
scat, an’ pea kin’ out through a chink
twixt the logs in the cabin lie see the
mule drivin’ the ol’ cow away from her
cornstalks an’ then go to chawin’ of ’em
hisself.
“Wall, sir, that ornary little cuss b’-
longc dto Uncle Pi-to an Aunt Sairey
from that on, spite o’ tlieirselfs; or,
ruther, they b’longed to him. They
spread it all over the country th’t some
tin’s mule was astray, an th t all the
longin’ owner had to do were to come to
Howy clearin’ an’ pit hi property, <•/,
th’d lie no charges an’ no questions art.
Oil th“ contrary, if it’d !» any object to
him, th' mowt lie a lectio suiupin’ con
tlibuted if lie’d tiike the mule back to
their own bailiwick. But nob- •1y did nt
seem t’ve lost no rmiL in them parts,
an’ so the ilominei riu’ little hee
hawer staid on the Howy farm.
Leaatways, thar he madi his headquar
ters, but, b’gosh, he run the hull town
ship. He nnly lived for two things an’
them was to kick an’ jump He had a
grudge agin - v’rvbodv. Wen he want
ed to cat li. 'il jump inter the fust turnip
lot or buckwhit field or ’taler patch tli’t
kim handy to him, <>r kick in ••*ly’ i
barn door to git inside fer fxtl r. Bime-
Ml'. VKUNON, MONTtiO.M HltY CO..(SA., WEDNESDAY, A lit JUST IKS7.
by la* got it inter liis head th’t edieation
w'a’n’t the proper thing, an' kieked the
schoolhouse door ofl’en its hinges, an’
dniv the schoohna'am an’ all the
sehnlars out ev’ry time they’d open
school, an’ so they had to dose up the
hull business. This were about a year
after the mule had took the title to Uncle
y y \ ] \\>
“Simon grabbed the mule's hind legs just abort
Ike hoofs."
Fete, Aunt Sairey, an’ the farm, an’
Uncle Pete an’ the ole, woman had
net’ally packed up all their things on the
slv, h’gosli, an’ was waitin’ lur some
dark niglit w hen the undo were away
friini hum, so’s they could give him the
slip an’ dig fer Jersey.
“Arter the mule had put his veto on
edieation in the township, the popula
tion see th’t sumpiii’ had to be did, so
they held a secret mootin’ one night, an’
passed a resolution tli’t three or four of
the best shots in the township should lay
fer the mule an’ try to kill him. The
next day arter this resolution were took,
little Simon Kiloaf kim h> the oloarin.
Simon worn scant li\o foot in his moc’-
sins, an’ were ’boat ez fat ez an ax han
dle. The shudder of a fence post an’
Simon’s shudder ye’d ha’ took for twins.
But lie had p’ints. Simon b'longod to
to the clearin’, hut had gone West three
or four vear afore, speetiu’ to make his
fortun’, but, not pickin' one up, lie done
the ilex’ lies’ tiling an’ lari it to lie a boss
doctor. He got hack to the clearin’ jist.
cz the conspyracy agin the mule were
hatched, an’ tlic’fusi thing ez. Simon see
ez ho draw’d nigh to his ol’ stampin'
groan’were little Blue Lightnin’- that
were the name the mule were know’ll by
—a kickin’ in the back door at Si Mor
gan’s, w’ilc Si an’ his woman was coinin’
outen the winder an’ makin fer the cel
lar. Simon pulled up all astatidin’.
“‘By gum!’ says he. ‘Thar’s the
makin’ of a bully good mule,’ says lie.
“Simon jumped often his buck board
ail’ walked over to whar Blue Lightnin’
were sea tierin’ hemlock splinters outen
Si Morgan’s door. 1 don t spo.se Ihe
mule had ever see anything jist, like
Simon afore, an' tv’en he sot his eyes on
him, b’gosh, he jist quit kiokin’au’ look
ed skeert. Simon wa’n’t much higher’ll
the rani*!, an’ not sech a durn sight
thicker through tli’n one o’ Blue Liglit
nin’s legs.
“‘W’oa-a-a, boy!’ says Simon,
an’ talcin' liolt o’ one o’ the
mule’s big ears, tol’ him to come
on. The mule didn’t, seetn to think he’d
go fust along, but bimeby he got, Simon
sized 111 >, an’ milkin' up his mind that lie
had found sumpiii’ that'll pan out a heap
o’ new l’uii fer him, lie went along,
laughin’ to hisself like all possessed,
’cordin’ to Si Morgan, who was fakin’ ill
the p’formaucc by peekin’ outen the
cellar.
“Simon told the committee th’t was to
gun fer Blue Lightnin’ tli’t he’d take
the mule often the township's hall’s, but
everybody said th't the lis’ thing they
know’ll they’d find Simon dead, an’ then
the mule <1 be back outer ’em wusn
ever. Simon said no; nil tlie mule
wanted were to lie broke, an’ th’t ho in
tended to break the mule if he had to
climb a tree with him an’ drop him on a
roe!;. The fust week th’t Simon an’ the
mule were scrapin’ an acquaintance with
one another the undo kicked seven sets
o’ harness oll'en himself, knocked four
wagons into splinters, an’ broke Simon’s
arm. The mule liked the new fun liet
tcr’n anything he'd struck since lie took
charge o’ the township, an’ Jic kinder
moped an’ pined w’ilo Simon’s arm were
gettin’ in slxape to keep the hull a rollin’.
“One day, arter Simon's arm got all
right agin a feller kim through the clear
in’ buyin’tip sheep. He had one o’ them
high wagons with a cage on it for carry
in’ sheep in. It were good and heavy,
and had a slopin’ dash. Simon got his
eye on this sheep wagon.
“‘Here, b'gosfi,’ says he, ‘is the very
thing to exercise that mule with.’
“ Th’ were a hill two miles long in the
road hack thar, an’ th’ wa’n't a break in
it the hull distance till it struck the
clearin’. It were a steep nil, too, an’
arter the read went a hundred yards or
so through the clearin’ at the bottom o’
the hill, it. struck inter another long hill,
un’ then fullered a level for a piece, w’en
it kim to another long hill, the hull
makin’ a good live mile o’ stiff grade.
“Wall, Simon hired tlie sheep man to
drive Ins wagon lip to (la top o’ the two
miled hill back o’ the clearin’, take his
boss outen the shafts, and then lon’ the
wagon to him. He put a harness on
Blue Lightnin', who, sniffin' a bam
full o’ fun ahead, fullered little Simon
ez meek ez a larnh an’ ez willin'
ez a dog. Wen they reached the
top o’ the hill an’ the mule see
the wagon, his eyes act ally snappish
It was plain enough to see tli’t he tliort
la; were in fer the boss time o’ the sea
son. Simon hitched the mule to the
wagon, dim up to the seat, grabtsi] the
lines, gave the mule a. whack with the
whip, an’ away they went like a quarter
racer on the humstretch. The mule
started oil a dead jump. They got a
hundred .yards or so down the hill, an’
then Blue Lighten’ thort it were time to
open the picnic, an’ he slung his heels
to'ward the sky. They struck the dash
lioard like a thunder clap, ail’ they not
only struck it, but they went chan !
through it an lapped over on the side
next to Simon six inches or more, 1
Miinon dropped the lines ez if they wero
“SUB DEO FACIO FORTITER.”
red hot, mul grabbed the mule’s hind
legs jist. ’hove the hoofs. On went the
mule on his two fore feet. He had to go
w uther lie wanted to or not, for the
heavy sheep wagon kop’ pushin’ of him,
an’ lie wore going so fast as he couldn’t
fall. Lickv to split doun the hill they
tore, Sinum a yellin’like a wild Injun,
nn’tne wagon a bangin’ an’swingin’ along
over the stuns an’ thank ye mums, an’
makin’more noise, h’gosli, th’n a thun
der storm. They struck the level at the
clearin’, like a hurryciine, an’ thar the
mule tried to stop an’ rest, but t'wmi’t
no use. They tore across that level like
a flash, Simon haiigin’ onto the mule's
heelslikegrim death, an' Blue Lightniii's
fore legs a playin’ as fast you couldn’t
see 'em. Wliizzy te flush dow.ii the next
hill they went, a bangin’, an' on down all
tho rest o’ the hills for live mile; an’
w en they got to the bottom o' the last,
hill they was goin’ so fast th’t 'fore they
could stop they went clean to the top o’
big Washout hill tli't raises from the
foot o’ five-mile hill, an’ez mom than a
half mill'long an' ez. steep as a roof.
On tlie top o' big Washout they fetched
to. Million let go o’ Blue Liglitu's heels
an’ he pulled them outen thorn holes in
the dashboard an’ sot the feet on the
ground. Then lie turned round an' givo
one sad au'sorrowin’look at Simon an’
keeled over. When Million fetched him
to, Blue Light nin’ were a changed mule.
He see, h’gosh, th’t. lie'll met somebody
with mole p ints Ill'll he had, an’ ho
know’d tli’t the liaydoy o’ life for
him were past, an’ gone. Mo he got up
ail’fullered Simon back to the clearin’,
an’ wont to work ploughin’ corn ez if ho
hadn't never done nothin’ else from tlio
day lit) were born, an' the township
wunst more hold tlio title to itself, an’
Undo I’ote and Aunt Sairey got to
foolin' th't they wn’ut trespassin’ on their
own farm w’en then went out to dig a
'tutor. Kn Mott.
A IIKART-imOKEN FATHER.
An Exciting Scene In a Chicago Po
lice < 'ourt.
There was tin exciting scene in Justice
Meech’H court, in Chicago, when Frank
Mumford, a policy man, was arraigned
on the charge of leading astray Julia
Ucrnliurdt, a little girl only IS years old,
who was crying bitterly.
“Yon arc charged with seduction,”
said Justice Meccli, as lie glanced at the
weeping girl standing near the prisoner.
“I understand such is the charge, Sir,
hut I wish a change of venue,” answered
tin* prisoner.
“Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?”
moaned a deep voice at his side, and as
he turned to sec the speaker lie received
a terrific backhand blow full in the
mouth, which stretched him almost
senseless on the floor. Instantly several
officers jumped into the dock, and after
a struggle overcame the man who had
felled the prisoner.
“Order! order!” shouted the iiiagis
(rate. “Oilicers, take charge of that
man. You are lined $25 for contempt of
court, sir.”
“Oh, my God ! I could not help it,
your Honor. This miserable man has
mined my child this girl,” and the
man, an old gmy-heuded gentleman,
wept us though liis heart was broken.
“My beautiful child,” lie sol>l mil, “my
Julia, the victim of this miserable scoun
drel.”
By this time the excitement was in
tense. The mother, who was silently
weeping in the background, the (laugh
ter leaning against her old father, and
lie, holding his head in his hands mid
shaking with uncontrollable grief, was a
strange contrast to the moaning villain,
who was crying with pain, the blood
flowing from bis mouth and beseeching
the police to protect him from the in
censed old iiian.
“I’m willing to allow such man as you
are to 1x! knocked down,” said Justice
Meccli to Mumford, as lie lixeil the fcl
low’s bail at $1,200. Then the Justice
suspended the tine lie had imposed on
the father. Bernhardt is a respectable
old mail, a miller by trade, whom ill
health forced into the office of Mumford
as a bookkeeper. Tlio little girl fre
quently went to si e him, and there met
Mumford.
More Effective Persuasion.
The Mun Francisco (Ihruniib: says:
Which brings to me the little parallel
which happened at Sacramento. Ihe
child is only ten years old, and it there,
isn t going to be trouble utxiiit her when
she grows up I shall he surprised. She
was apparently progressing very nicely
lit school. At first she laal a good ileal
to say when she got home every day,
but of late she has made but few u
marks, and Ims been distinguished by
an air of self satisfaction which has
much disturbed her good mother. The
other morning as she was going oil to
school, she said :
“ Mamma, I waul, a bottle of water.
“ W'liat for ?”
“To take to school with rue. ’
“What do you want to do with it; ’
“To put the flowers the boys bring
rne in.” __
“ Flowers ! Well, I never ! \ .'U doll t
mean to say you ask the boys t-s bring
you flowers i"
‘No, of course not!” very ot.ii turn p
nuuisiy.
‘•’Veil, bow do you get them ?"
“There is only one b«*y who brings
lieni. Jimmy Smith brines flowers
every day.”
“Lor you?”
“No; all the gills tease him all the
t'Xrn for them.”
“ I hojM! you don’t ?”
“No, again very contemptuously, “of
Course j don’t. 1 jO:-t look at him and
he gives them to rile."
Ju 1 cculd have my way I would per
suade the young to read an hour and
think a day.
STKWiiKi: THAN FICTION.
A HOMANCK OF TIIIO HAYS OF
SLAV Kit Y.
Ilitl Sin- Have \cgro lllooil in Her
Veins.
| From die Memphis Avahuiclu’.l
“Tlio story which I am going to re
lab' had real men and women for actors,
iiml is known to all the old-time resi
dents in and around Louisville. It pre
sents one of the most remarkable com
plications of old slavery times that, ever
came within my knowledge, and 1 am
not over young.
“Fifteen or twenty years before the
breaking out of the late civil war, a
young girl in her locus eatno up from
Louisiana and settled in Louisville, giv
ilig the name of Lizzie Carlton. Noth
ing more was known of her than that
she was accompanied by a young mun
who was, or who pretended tube, deaf
and dumb, and who, after aiding her to
secure a situation with Mis. Williams, a
milliner and dressmaker on Fourth
street, relumed at once southward by
river. Lizzie was a handsome brunet te,
with a wealth of raven hair which swept
almost to the floor, bright, expressive
eves, and allogelher genteel and iligni
tied tn her general appearance. Her
ladylike deportment and strict attention
to tlio interests of her employer, soon
made her superintendent of the estab
lishment.
“Social barriers were not so stubborn
then as now, and lienee the young ami
beautiful stranger was soon received
into the best society, forming a number
gs friends outside her regular business
patrons, among others a Mrs. H., a
prominent member of the Baptist
Church, at whose house the darkeyed
beauty was a frequent visitor. She in
time attached herself lo that church, be
coming a mostexcmplarv member. I)ur
ing her \isils to Mrs. J'*. our heroine
met PhilipS., himself one of the pillars
of the church, who, after living in single
blessedness for years, en joying all alone
his wealth and family station, soon con
ceived a tender sentiment for the young
and beautiful sister. It, was not long
after the inatehmakers got their heals
together till J’liilip and Lizzie were
made one. The marriage ceremony
took place al the Baptist (/'liurcli, then
standing on the southwest tinnier of
Fifth and Green streets, the llev. Mr.
Buck officiating, and many old timers
living to this good day will recall tlio
facts exactly ns 1 give them. After the
ceremony tiic bride and groom and tln ir
friends repaired to Mr. S's residence,
about ten miles from Louisville, on the
ltardstou n piko, where the usual wed
ding festivities were en joyed.
“The honeymoon, with other moons,
dripping with honey‘sweeter Ilian 1 lie
honeycomb,’ waxed and waned. The
old ‘bachelor,’ happy in the new world
that dawned before him; the young wife,
with her hack upon the past and its
liicinories, was even forgetting that she
laid been a hard-worked milliner in the
struggle for bread.
“Alas! that ever mail's avarice and
brutality should break in to mar and
destroy a scene of happiness like this.
About sunset one ufleruoon thedoor bell
rang. Lizzie , now Mrs. 8., left
her Imsbalid’s bedside (he was confined
to bis room with a slight illness as the
time), arranged her toilet, and descended
to the parlor.
“One piercing scream that startled
the echoes aroused Mr. S., who rushed
down stairs. What was his astonish
incut and dismay to lind his bride faint,
ing on the floor, and a strange gentle
man, attended by a uniformed police
man, standing over her.
“ ‘Sir,’ said the stranger, ‘this woman
is my slave. Her name is Midi ile Lass.
I am a lamisitia planter; In re is the bill
of sale. 1 bought her a few months be
fore she escaped from my home, and T
have been on her track ever since, and
now she must return with me.’
“The distress of the un fortunate eon
pie drew about them at once a large
concourse of friends, who wero as much
at a loss what to advise in the midst of
these f,(range revelations us wore the
two most deeply concerned. The hits
hand, after the first, paroxysms of Ids
grief and mortification, vowed eternal
lidelity to his wife, bond or free, and
with the assistance of Deacon Is., Rev.
Mr. Buck and others, il was arranged
that, in order to quiet matters, tin Lou
isina planter should be, indemnified tor
tin ■ loss of his slave, and a little party
of friends met together at the Gait
house, where the Louisian was paid
S7OO tor compensation, and returned
home.”
“And this end!) this strange, eventful
history ?” a: ked the reporter.
“By no means. The worst is to come.
Mr. S. being a. man easily influenced by
his stronger minded relatives, was so
beset by his uiieles, his cousins, Ids sis
t.ers and Ids aunts, that, ho turned his
young bride out of doors. They could
not tolerate even a single drop of negro
blood, however concealed by a fair ex
tcrior. The poor deserted wife went
hearl. broken from place to place in the
capacity of a seamstress, and soon gave
birth to a son. She managed to sup
port herself and child, anil bear up
bravely under all her misfortunes, until
Mr. M. married another. This was more
than she could withstand, and, taking
to her beil, she was kindly attended by
tlie Mi b in of Charity ami a few Baptist
sister in Louisville, until she died of a
broken heart.”
“Did she really have negro blood in
her veins ?”
“That is tlie < lll* ■ ‘ion. Mr. E. went
Mouth to gel ii true statement of her his
tory, but the reports there were as con
flicting as elsewhere. Lizzie < arlton
pi rsisted with her dying breath that she
was of pure Caucasian blood, a free wo
man by birth. She related that her
mother, a I’ortugiie -e, on reaching this
country, being a dark brunette, formed
VOL. 11. NO. 22.
Ihr aoquainlaiice nf n wealthy planter
in New Orleans, who lieeutne so infatn
ute<l (hat he took her to his home, and
to conceal liis purpose from his wife,
passed the woman off as a slave—her
complexion enabling her to pass for a
light mnUntto.
"Lizzie was the oll'sring of this illicit
strategy, and the planter, dying sud
denly and without disclosing the true
character of his mistress, who also died
soon after, I lizzie, quite a child, descend
ed to the heirs with the other ‘property.’
The estate was left, involved, and liiz/.ie
aim sold on the block to the planter who
afterward pursued her to Louisville.
She further explained that the young
man who tied with her to Louisville was
her half-brother -the son of her moth
er's betrayer and that she fled to es
cape the persecutions of her new mas
ter, who persisted in soliciting favors
she would not eoueede.
“A few pitied, while more blamed the
unfortunate woman for having imposed
herself, as they call it, on the commit
nity and for having married into one of
the ‘best families.’ Hut time soon mel
lowed the harshness of the judgment,
and many believe her story to have been
true in all respects. Many of our oldest
inhabitants holieve she was indeed the
daughter of a Portugese woman, and was
the innocent victim ot the unholy love
w hio.h drove her parents to the base sub
terfuge, Their sudden death was ilio
cause of all her woes, liven her ostensi
ble ‘master’ may have been lit. of
her true history. How terrible were the
sins of the parents visited on the child!"
“And I azzie Carlton’s son, the off
spring of her marriage with Mr. S., is
lie still li\ ing?”
“11 is life is shrouded in mystery. Soon
lifter the death of l’hilip S, the relatives
of the latter sent, (lie hoy to Hawesville,
Ky., to he reared and educated under
an assumed name, and since that time
nothing has been known of his late uu
less to the relatives of Mr. H. alone.
They, you can understand, may have
selfish reasons for wishing him to remain
in ignorance of his own origin, for there
was, ami may yet be, considerable prop
erty at stake.”
“And the story is a true ono in all re
spects ?”
“Trim in every word, syllable and let
hr. I withhold names for prudent lea
sons, hut I here are many men mjd women
in lioiiisvillo today who ran ryad the
record and till up the blanks without
hesitation. Lizzio Carlton lills an hum
ble grave in the Western Cemetery at
Louisville, enjoying that peaceful rest
which man’s inhumanity denies to tho
living.”
THE FI ITU ItE OF OIJK HOYS.
U li.tt Is in tie Done with llie Ameri
can Youngsters?
• Mr. Noah Brooks, whom all Isiys will
recognize as one of their bent friends,
and as one of the most iutojentirig writ
ers for the young people of this coun
try, comments in a forcible way on a
question of ever pressing importance.
It is, “What shall he done with our
hoys?” He liisls the learned profes
sions full, and many avenues of work
cither crowded or closed. The sea,
w hich formerly gave occupation to thou
sands of brave American hoys, is now
sailed by vessels manned by foreigners.
The employments once wholly filled by
male youth ale now largely occupied by
women. These include clerical posi
tions, private secretaryships, and tho
like. It is true that the new order of
tilings makes competition sharper, and
gives hoys fewer ehaiie.es; hut this coun
try is so large, and its interests and de
mands so multifarious, that tlmre is al
ways something for every one to do. It
stands to reason that all boys cannot,
achieve wealth and fame; but as the
years go by, the proportion of the for
tunate ones will constantly grow larger.
What is needed more than anything
else to add to the usefulness and honor
of coming generations, is a higher and
fuller appreciation of the dignity of la
bor.
We have in mind the experience of a
Maryland hoy who was left several thou
sand dollars by his father. He did not
squander it, ns many hoys would have
done, hut lie determined to spend it all,
and he did it in such away that it 1*;-
ciune the very best investment that he
could have made. He went into one of
the railway shop of the city at nominal
wages, and paid the rest of his expenses
out of his little fortune. Ho learned all
he could in a practical way there, and
then entered a first class school of tech
nology. By the time he graduated his
money was all gone, blit, he was able to
earn his way. fl< kept on learning,
and I lie consequence was that he soon
rose to an excellent position, and to-day
he is in receipt of a splendid salary, and
is eotisideied on*' of till* liest men in
his profession in the country.
Mr. Koberts, tho wonderfully able
and astute president of the great Penn
sylvania Kailro.id, started out as a chain
carrier in a surveying party. Mr. Frank
Thomson, the vice president of the same
load, was an apprentice in the Altoona
shops. Mr. Samuel Spencer, <>f the 15.
«V <>., and one of the h‘*st railroad men
in tile country, was a clerk not many
Veal's ago at Camden Station. Instances
innumerable could tie cited, and the
moral of them all would be to learn a
trade, and to trust to industry and ap
plication for promotion. The future of
our hoys is the future of our country.
We have not tin slightest doubt that it
w ill he hi illiaut and substantial; but the
individual eases of mark' d success must
always depend upon the capacity tuid
industry of the individuals. Boys who
look ti;ion life as a serious problem, that
must lie worked out and not played out,
lire able to take euro of themselves. Tho
iilh rs, who exjicct to live on money
which they do not earn, are the drones
in the great national hive of industry.