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THE DAWSON WEEKLY JOURNAL.
BI S. R. WESTON.
S;iwsoa ciletklß loimul,
POULISUID EVERT TIICBBWT.
rrn Strictly hi Meant*.
Three *
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TWO MONTHS.
THREE m’tHS.
SIX MONTHS.
O\K YEAR.
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7 00 10 00 12 00 20 00 30 00
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10 00 18 00 415 00 40 OO 00 00
pd 15 00 25 00 35 OO 00 00 110 00
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lo Advcrlhers ;—The looney for ad
vortisiug considered due after first iuscr-
Alvertlseraents inserled at intervals to be
eharired as new each insertion.
An'additional charge of 10 per cent will
bsmade ou advertisements ordered to be in
wrwd on a particular page.
Advertisements under the head of Spe
cial Solices” will be inserted for 15 cents
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Advertisements in the “ Local Column,"
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first, aud 15 cent-per line for each subse
quent insertion.
All communications or letters on business
liWidrJ for this office should be addressed
" Tut DaxtsoS JoCRSaL ”
rail-road guide;.
Ksiilrwttd I*:»a
sesiger 'BTuiJi*.
fiOLT, I’rcs. | VIRGIL POWER, Sa p
LriT.rM.cnn R : r 'o *. M.
Arrive .tEufaula '2 l * I’ H.
Leave Euiaula 7:20 a. u.
Arrive at Mac*n 4:.i0 P. M
ConneeOng wi h Ai-nmv branch train al
.Ruithvi le, aiui with Kurt Caines biauch tiain
at 6'ut'nber.
aertULA NI OUT ASH ACC.IMMOIiATIOS TRAINS
Leave Jfaeon 8-25 p. M.
Arriv at Eufula 11 :<'« a m
Leave Eu'au'a. 7:IS P. M.
Arr.ve a.Vmon 9:ln a. u.
Connect at .S.nithv lie wiili \1 any ir.in oi j
jf„- a,v, Tuesday, Thu- “day ond K'idav |
iiirhis, So train I’hs.-s ou Sa urday nights. j
CoLtIMR'JK PaSSKNUKR TKAIKK.
Leave d/.co 7:25 a m. !
Arrive ai f.'yiii'nbus 1:22 P o.
Lnve Columbus i 2 25 P. M
Arrive ai M con tbt'.i P. 11.
CoLI'KBUS NIOHT PASSKNUr.P. TRAIN
Le.vt» Ma. cn 7:10 p. m
Arrive At Columbus 5:05 a. v :
L«.ve Gnlunihus 7:(»u p m. \
Arrive at J/.cou 4:43 a. m. i
natron and Rmurwirk l*sxi.s:':i
ger 'l'i'iiiiiv.
GEO. W lIAZELUCUdr, President.
Leave Macon .9:15 a. m
A-iive n> B'un.aick ln:2n p xi
l.v.ve firt:u.wick •....4'30 A* ai
Arrive at M con 7: jo F. M
TRAINS TO HA-KI.NSVII.LK
Leaves M icon 3:00 P. M
Arrivr a! Hawkinwille *3:3>l r M
L-aw ll.wkiusvillc 7: ,| ti a m
Anire »t M.con <3:15 a. xi
Thin train i mis daily, Sundays excepted
Western & Aiiaiatic liailniiid.
FOSTER BLODGETT, Sup’t.
VlflHT I’aSHKNUK.R THAI N
l.e.ve Atlarna ..7 OOP V
Arrive at Chattanooga 3.3 b A V
Lure Chattanooga 7 150 P. V
Arrive at Atlanta •..! 1-1 A. V.
I'AY I'ASSENtiEK TRAIN.
Reive Atlanta 5 A. V
Arrive at Chattanooga 4 2 1 P. V
Leave Chattanooga 7.10 A. M
Arrive at Atlanta 3.17 P. M
Dalton accomkndati "ti.
Guts Atlanta 3.10 P V
ArriTe at Dalton 11.35 I’. II
■*»*e Dalton 2.00 A. V
Arrive at Atlanta 11 00 A. M
mu Nt B iarywta
Uroffssiomil (Sard#.
K. F. SIMMONS,
attorney at law,
gj.
I )LOMPT attention given to all business
■*- intrusted to his care.
augf> 9:tf
*• B - "'OOTKN. L. C. UOTLR.
WOOTEN & HOYLE,
Attorneys at I.aw,
T AMIFSO.r,OJ.
J»a 6-lr.
R-w.davis,
Attorney at Law,
n«nwßo*f\ 6J.
kSSTOfBce over J. B. Perry’a Store.
Dec ‘23rd, ’69. ts.
c. W. WARWICK,
y at Law and Solicitor in Equity,
smith ville, aa.
la circufu Ct n* 5, " ,,h Western and Patau
s’ promptly remitted.
K ' J - wARR EN,
attorney at law,
. . . t,(.
Dawson Business Directory,
l»ry tMiodv Hcrclnml*.
.
DIIRSEY A Healers in
J J Dry Goods, Groceiics and yjardware,
-'/tin street.
( 111111, A TICKIIR, Dealers in all
Y dkiudsof Drv Goods mid Groceries. Main
Street.
KI T.UIR, .IVCOII, Dealer in all
kinds of Dry Good., Mam street.
IOYLIiSS A GKiri im, Dealers
J in Stuple Dry Goods and Groceries ulso
j and Commission .Verchants, J/iin Street,
\ | eKIINNEY Ai CROUCH,
|i v 1 Dealers in Urv Goods, Clo'hing, Staple
Goods and Family Groceries, A/ain street.
(YJiSt, \V. E. Dealer in Fancy andsta-
A pie Drv Goods, Maiigst., under ‘‘Jour
( nal” Pi luting Office.
5 )Ui;s*l.S>, w. H., Dealer in fliaplo
■ * and Fancy Dry Goods, Main street.
Grocery llcrcliiiiits
\ RTBSEHS, S. !>., Dealer in Groceries
iland Family Supplies. J/ain Street.
I.TO\, .1. A., Warehouse and
Commission Merchant, and Dealer in Ba
con, Flour, Meal and Provisions generally, at
Sharpe & Brown’s old stand, Main st.
PARSUU, FIMItPU A GO..
i Dealers in Dry Goods, Groceries, and
Plantation Supplies.
i 1 KEEK A M7IYIO\S, Giorery
V J and Provision Dealeiß, South side Pub
lic Square.
HOOD, If. SI., Dealer in Groceries and
Family supplies generally, 2ud door to
'Journal” Office, Main st.
\ I i'&V.l-lj, 81. C. A Go. Grocery and
avi /’rovisiou dealers. Next door to the Ho
tel Alain Street, Dawson.
i'Ari:iui*.!s.
S'X ?I 77 .ITU A 41, C. A., Druggist and
YL Physician. Keeps a good supply of
Drugs and Medicines, and prescribes for all
the ills that flesh is heir to. At his old stand,
the Red Drug Store, Main st
I AXES A EOVS.ESS, Dealers in
*} Drugs, Jfedicines, Oils, Paints, Dye
S:ufis, Go den Seed, &c., &c.
BA KERY.
I I. 50L.0.120.Y, B.ker, Confeo
e/ . lioucr, and dealer in Family Groceries
Fish and Ovsters, J/aiu Street, next to J. W.
Roberts & Cos.
i*M KStCIANS.
ff ODIGTT W. 18. I’.ac'ieing Phy
i I “ician. and Surgeon. Office at Cheat -
.a.i.’s Ring Sure.
? v! t*. .». W. IMK’E A 5,0^,
1/ ihinkmi for past, ptrironage bv do-c
.Mention and moderate charges hope to re
•••ive a conMiiuai.ee of the snnr. Office, D,.
Gilpin's old siand. j >u 13, <f.
V.olcli ai< p:tirfr.
V8.5.81M, ’."OSi'S F*., wiil , epair
Wa'cites. Clocks, Jewelry, .Vu«lc Books,
Acco dions, Ac , alw ,vs tube found at his
old stand, on North sije of Public Square.
Eivtfi'y SS!»J>sa:n.
In A 553 tSka*S7. Sale
1 and Feed So.ble. Horses and J/ul s
lor sale. Horses boarded. North side Pub
ic Square.
ISASt-EISfOJI.
!)1T \y V ts I), Dealer in Fine Wines,
1 Brand! s. Whiskies, L<ger Beer, Ac,
West side public Siniare, Main street.
O. 11. ADAMS, It. K. WASHnt'RN, A A. ADAMS.
Eatouton, Ga. Savannah, (*a. AmeiicuSjGa.
ADAMS. Wile JX& & CO.
FACTOII3
—jl*d—
Commission Hcrcliants,
No. 3, Stoddard’s Lower Range,
ay13’69,8n Sin am ah, Ga
Alk’.a IT Cpi.qi’iTT, Jamks Baous,
Baker County, Ga. Newton, U*.
llLMlii 11. Col-QIIITT, SiVauliah, Ga.
COLQUITT & BACCS,
COTTON FACTORS & GENERAL
COM MISSION MERCH ANTS.
Bay fctreef, Savamiali, Ga.
Special a'tention to the sale of Colton,
Lumber and Timber. Liberal advances on
Consignments. maj6;tf
brown house.
E. E, BROW.Ii A SO.Y,
Fourth St., Opposite Passergrr Depot
.fI.TCOiI, GCOi'fjStt'
r pHI3 House having lately been refitted
L and repaired, and is now one of the best
Hotels iu the State, and the most conve
nient in the city. The table is supplied with
everything the market aflords. feblS t>9
LYON, DeGKAFFENSEU) & HO IN,
jlTTO&pty? JIT MW,
Jlacon, - - - Georgia .
YITILL give attention to Professional Iliiai-
VV ness in the Macon, .South-western, and
Pat aula Circuits; in the U. S. Courts in Sa
vannah and Atlanta; and by Special Con
tract in any p»rt of the State.
Sept. 83, ’6# ; ly-
X* COHEN So GO.
IMPORTERS OF.
Brandies, lines. Gins, Segars,
and dealers in
RYE, BO'JRBON ADD MONONGAHELA WHISKY,
Also Manufacturers of the Celebrated
StoncAvall IJitter^,
If 'hit,hall St,. •Manta, Ga.
DAWSON, GA., THURSDAY, APRIL 14, 1870.
SELEGTED POETRY.
Tin? Ut‘U4>r Part
BT ESSIE H. CHKKDSBOHOUGH.
“ irhat would I bo?” snid a beautiful
As she shojk the curls from her fuee;
‘lll toll you : I’d be the belle of the ball,
And move with imperial gr«oo,
! ‘l’d glory to see men ut my feet,
.ts 1 swept by iu satin and pearls ;
My eyes should be azure, aud golden tlie rays
Thrown out from my lustrous curls.”
“What would l be ?” said a maiden fair.
And thoughtful the light in her eyes ;
- “I’d write stirring words, I’d bring out the spell
| That in poesy’s sweet harmony lies,
j I’d rouse up the heart with my melody sweet,
*4ud nerve men by words true aud strong,
-4nd gather the tribute of piaiseand of fame
That ever tojenius belong.”
“ JHiat would 1 be ?” said ageulleone,
.-/nd she smiled with a heavenly grace ;
‘‘l’d biuu up the wounds, and wipe all the tears
From poverty’s thin, pallid face.
I’d scatter my gold iu the paths of the poor ;
None should hunger aud none should be sad ;
I'd throw precious gifts, like incense, around,
And make every heart young and glad’”
Ah the seraph stood by, he said, with a smile. .
As h(f krsfH*d the last speaker’s face,
“Thou hast chosen the mission w hich angels love
To perform it may God give thee grace.
For 7 J leasure is vain, and Beauty must die,
>4nd genius (lies never to rise;
But Charity shines the bright gem of the earth
-dud glows brighter when set in the skies.”
[From the Register. |
Shall We?
HX NELLY MARSHALL*
Shall we, wlieu we go to sleep,
In the quiet of the grave,
Cease to smile and cease to weep ?
Shall we care for anything,
That we loved and thought was sweet,
When we lived and breathed and moved i
Or will Oblivion be complete i
Will we sigh a»d feel and weep
All we feel aud weep for here i
Or will wc sleep, aud only sleep ?
And never know a smile nor tear i
Do the dead e’er talk together ?
Do they love ? .dud do they hate?
Or are they only lying there
In cold and silent state ?
Bliall we, when wego among them,
Know our dead < our “gone before” ? *
Or will we too lie desolate,
Aud breathe aud smile no more?
Shall we when the trump is sounding,
Smile to hear its echoes tell
“Judnient Day” is come at last?
Shall we feel with us ’tis well ?
Shall we ? Shall wc ? Uho can tell
MISCELLANEOUS.
From the Southern Home.
Just Before the Surrender
Sopliie aud 1 sat iu the break last
room ono bright balmy morning,
waiting the entrance of the gentlemen.
Sophie’s dainty slippered feet rested
upon the lender, before the glowing
lire ; for, although it was spring time,
the mornings were bracingly tool.
Her little hands lay idly in her lap,
and site was gazing into the lire with
a dreamy look, as though indulging in
a pleasant reverie. 1 was reading the
morning paper, and Seip stood with
his salver, beside the hissing urn, as
motionless as Calhoun’s bust on the
bracket shelf behind him. But here
come the gentlemen, with cherry
voices aud ijuick steps, along the ech
oing hall. Two of them are our
guests, Gen. Enron and Major Tal
ford, and the other my father, Col.
Cliesney. The usual gay greetings
were exchanged and Maj. Tailor;,L
managed, with his accustomed adroit
ness, to secure a seat beside Sophie.
I had not seen papa before that
morning, and I went up for my morn
ing kiss. Although smiling, ho was
paler than usual, and there wajfca fixed
pre-i c. upiod look in his ej’es, which
convinced me that there was some
trouble on hand. My love for my
father was like that of Madame de
Staid for the good old Necker, and
my patriotism, too, like hers, was one
of the ruling principles of my life;
and therefore I thought 1 understood
the feelings of that gifted woman,
when she exclaimed, in her dying
hour, “I have loved my God, my fa
ther and my country 1” So I forgot
tho usual pleasure altordod me by the
racy conversation of Gen Huron : for
got the pretty love-making going on
between Maj Talford and Sophie,
and racked my brain to find out what
was the trouble with my dear father.
Breakfast over, 1 followed papa to
the library. 1 looked mutely into his
face, fori disliked to ask a direct
question.
“Yes, my child,” said lie, drawing
me towards him, “you must call up all j
your courage and fortitude ; for I am ,
obliged to leave you. I am ordered j
to defend the ford at D. Sherman’s 1
army burned Columbia last night, and
are advancing in this direction.” I was
cold as 1 listened. “You must con- |
ceal all your valuables, and if possi- ;
hie some provisions. The house will
probably bo burned, and you and So-1
phie must try, if possible, to reach
vour grandmother’s before to-morrow
night. Their place is so se.luded
that I think it is scarcely possible that
the Yankees will reach it.”
“When will you leave, papa?” I
asked, for this news of his departure
was the most terrible of all to me.
“This morning, on the eleven o’clock
train ; so there is no time for me to
lose. Scip has promised me to drive
the ca-riage for you to your grand
mother’s, and I think he will be faith
fid, My valuable papers I have
placed in a tin box, which you will
find upon my dressing table. Take it
with you, and got your uncle Herbert
to place it in some secure position.”
I listened to all those instructions
with a weight upon my heart But
the carriage was now at the door to
take papa and the other gentlemen to
“Get your cloak aud hat, tny darl
ing, and ride with me to tho station.”
I gladly obeyed, for ovory moment
with him was precious. On reaching
the station, a confused scone presoutod
itself. A crowd of ladies wore on tho
platform, bidding adieu —-perhaps a
last adieu—to their nearest and dear
est. My Aunt Edith was there to say
farewell to my father. Her husband
had been killed in battle a year pre
vious, and she held tho hand of her
orphan boy, Charlie, as she joined us.
Her eldest son was in the army.
“1 will stay with Bessie and So
phie,” weru tho first words she spoke,
as she clasped her arms around her
biother’s neck.
“God bless you, Edith,” lie an
swered, with broken voice. “I know
you would.”
A shout from tho soldiers attracted
our attention—a,‘mraloade yf Confed
erate oiucors wore approaching on
horseback.
“Look! look !” exclaimed little
Charlie, with all a child’s enthusiasm,
“It is Gen.—, and Gen.—, aud Col. ;
aud oh, mamma, there is Harry !” It
was, indeed, my cousin Harry, Aunt
Edith’s eldfst son. He was riding
the splendid horse which we all knew
and loved as a member of the family.
Upon tho buck of this noble animal,
Harry’s lather had been shot and had
fallen dead from the saddle.
The horse’s name was Loon, and as
Harry rode up to the platform, Iris
mother stopped to kiss him, while
Charlie threw his little arms around
Leon’s head.
“Oh Harry,” said I, “what nows do
you bring ?”
“Nothing good, dear Bessie,” said
he, shaking his head—what a sad,
yearning look was in his largo blue
eyes—despair was written tlioro Os
all the sad things in the war, this
breaking down of youthful hope and
enthusiasm was tho saddest. My fa
thcr’s stem fortitude looked death and
defeat calmly in the face, for tho vi
cissitudes of life had tuught him to
prepare for the worst; but Harry and
all the noble, chivalrous boys at the
South counted upon ultimate victory
as n certainty. Surely, they thought,
Christians liko Jackson and Lee,
could not make the mistake of light
ing in an unholy cause and surely
God would be with the right.
“Uh Harry,” said Charlie, you
must not ride Leon, where the Yan
kees will shoot him.”
“Leon’s life is a small considera
tion, Charlie,” said Aunt Edith, her
lips trembling as she thought of her
darling Harry’s being exposed to tho
same deadly missiles. And now too,
when all knew that they were fight
ing without hope ! Nothing I noth
ing 1 to gain, and life only to lose !
Jiut the moment of parting comes j
—my lather clasps me silently in his .
arms—lie cannot speak.
Harry says, “I will see you again,
mamma and Bessie—l am not to
leave until next train,” and gallops oil
to his place at Uen. s side.
“Now Bessie, to the church,” says •
Aunt Edith, drawing my arms within
hors, “prayer is our only hope.”
Again we encounter a crowd of j
pale, tearful women at the church
door. Ah, I fear there was rebellion
in our prayers that day. \\ o felt as
if wo could not bear the storm that
was approaching. Sureiy (io.i would
hear tiie agonized supplications ot his !
people. 1 verily behove that He did
hear and answer, hut not in the .way :
we expected
When Aunt Edith and 1 reached
home, we found Sophie playing an
air of Meiideisohn’s, softly and sweet- j
ly, as though putting her own happy
thoughts in the uotes, and as uncoil
scums of impending danger as the eat 1
which purred at her leet.
“We need not tell her, ’ said Aunt
Edith, “troubles come to all soon
enough. You and 1 will be able to j
make all the necessary arrangements
for our journey to-morrow.” Wo
dared not trust any of our servants
everything must be done secretly.
But I called Aunt Dinah to my room,
and gave everything which we were
obliged to leave into her care. Her
husband and six stout grown sons ■
could do much towards protecting my
father’s property if they were so dis
posed.
“You may depend upon mo, Miss
Bessie,” said Aunt Dinali. “1 won t
deceive you, ma’m —my sons want to
he free, but we love our master too,
for he has been kind to us, and his
forefathers to our forefathers, and wo
will he faithful to you; but if God
gives us our freedom, we will take it
and be thankful. But it is not for the
want of love to you, Miss Bessie,
continued she, bursting into sobs, “lor
you hhvc been as dear to me as one of
my own children, ever since 1 nursed
! you at my breast, when your dear
mother died.”
That night was a sleepless one to
mo and Aunt Edith. We walked
through all the rooms, thinking we
would never see the dear old house
again, for the torch was Sherman’s
principal weapon—burn the houses,
turn out the women and children, to
perish with cold and hunger—con
quer the men by destroying all they
have to live for.
Scip had the carriage at the door
by dawn, and we set out for my
grand-mother’s. We were heavily
loaded—Aunt Edith and I, Sophie
and Charlie and Scip, besides a large
trunk and any number of valiees.
Just as wo were starting, our neigh
bor, Mr. C. rode up to us and said he
feared the Yankee troops would cross
the river at the ford, nnd in
that case we would meet them. -
With this fear filling our hearts we
traveled all lay Even *•’ phiv j. and
1 t'd anxiously forward. But we trav
[ eled all day without encountering any
, danger. Night came on, and still wo
j wore ten miles from my grandmoth
! er’s. Our poor horses were almost
exhausted, and Scrip advised us to try
to procure others at some of the plan
tations we passed.
“Here is Mr. Toomor's ma’am,” said
lie, “1 am sure lie will let you have a
pair of horses to take us over to old
missus’s. It is only ten utiles, and 1
can bring ’em back in the morning.”
We stopped at the gato, and Airs.
Toomer, on hearing Snip’s request,
came out to the gate with a lamp iu
her Ittunl, and her young daughter,
Lucy, with her. l’ale, tearful faces
again !
“My dear Miss Chesney,” said she,
‘there is not a horse on our place.
Mr. Toomer lias removed them all to
a safer place, aud he himself is at the
ford with your father. Wo are ex
pecting the Yankees every moment —
a detachment of them were at AI. this
morning, and are expected to take
this road to . Tlmre is no one
here but Lucy and myselfj and the
servants, she added, as her voice fail
ed otnirely.
“But take tills lamp, Alias Ches
ney,” said Lucy, with her sweet bird
like voice, “there is no moon to-night
and the road is bad in places.”
“Will you not stay with us to
night 7” said Air. Toomer, “you can
go on in the morning to your grand
mother’s.”
“Oh no,” said Sophie with a half
smile, “thank you, dear Airs Toomer.
hut wo are too much afraid of the
Yankees.”
4 Y r es,” said Airs. Tuonror, smiling
also, but tho smile was accompanied
by a long tremulous sigh, “you are
right; your granilmother’s place is
much safer.”
Seip placed tho lamp so as to throw
the light on the track below, and wo
journeyed on in the darkness. But
we had not gone two miles when a
terrible crash and jolt brought us to
a stand still—one wheel xvas com
pletely crushed. There was nothing
now for it, but to walk the remaining
eight miles, wearied as wo were with
the long day’s journey. We had
bee'n told that the woods wore tilled
with deserters from both armies.
Seip was obliged to remain with the
carriage to protect our property, for
our trunk aud valises were tilled with
jewels and other precious commodi
ties. Many of our friends had begged
us to hike charge of their valuables,
and our being so heavily loaded was
the cause of our breakdown. It was
the darkest night I ever remember to
have seen, hut wc were all familiar
with tlie road, and tho lamp gave suf
ficient light to enable us to find it.
We readied my grandmother’s by
twelve o’clock mid found lny grand
mother and uncle Herbert were Loth
watching fyr us—wo had written them
that we were coming. Aly Uncle
Herbert was a disabled soldier, hav- I
ing lost his leg during the first year
ot the war. Nothing but his utter
inability to mount a horse could have
kept him out of the service.
Nut being able to fight, lie said his
next duty was to raise provisions for
those xvlio could, an 1 nobly ho strug
gled through xviud and storm, rain
and snoxx' —and from daxxm until dark, !
to carry out his purpose. No planta- !
tion sent larger supplies to the army I
in proportion to its force than did j
Chesney Wold.
We found the coffee xvaiting for us :
hot and strong, and a delicious supper |
for Aunt l’atsy xvas not yet free, and
then did her duty in her place in this
xvork-a-dny xvorltl. We xvere so tired,
and slept so soundly that the Yankees
might have almost hurdl'd the house
down over our heads, xvithont xvaking :
us. A xvagon was sent to Slip’s re
lief.
Wo rose early the next morning,
lioxvever, for much xvas to bo done in
anticipation of a possible visit from
the Yankees Everything valuable
xvas to be concealed The negroes |
themselves were to conceal and take
care of the provisions, hut everything ,
in the house, plate, jewels, money, i
Ac., xvas to be secreted by ourselves. 1
Long xvere our xvhi-pered consultations 1
about the best hiding places. The 1
plate xvas buried one dark rainy night j
by uncle Herbert lyul myself—he hav- I
ing (lug the hole previously and con- |
vexed away the earth, throwing it by
basketfuls into a stream near by. Vv e
placed the articles in, one by one, in
silence, each endeared to nie by long
familiarity and numberless childish:
and youthful associations.
Uncle Herbert then covered them
until earth, and 1 felt as if 1 were |
standing by a grave. Aunt Edith
concealed her diamonds, by making
them into a package and winding yarn
around them, until it looked like a
simple hull of yarn from which she
was knitting a sock. Sophie thought
herself very canning, when she con- ;
coaled her tiny, enameled, gem-one- j
rusted watch, with its chain and trin
kets, in her hack hair, winding the
glossy coil above it and seeming it
firmly with hair pins. Various were
the squirrel nests, in hollow trees,
filled with sets of pearl, ruby, cameo,
and coral, and the little fairy denizens
of the woods must have wondered
much at the morocco and velvet cases
around which they capered in the
knavled old trunks.
When everything was done, we
waited and watched anxiously for ti
diivs—looking with wistful eyes, out
of doors and windows, expecting, ho
ping, fearing, praying.
' One evening just at dark, a party of
ers and sons. Tt proved to be Maj.
Talford, Maj. Herndon and < 'apt St.
John. Sophie hung back, behind us
nil, hut her sweet face was rosy with
pleasure. But 1 supjioso in my grave,
anxious eyes, Maj. Talford saw the
question “What doost thou here, Eli
jah'! 1 ” and lie hastened to dtiplain that
Gen. ’s command was encamped
ut Comer Hill, two miles oft', and ho
and his friends had obtained permis
sion to come over and spend the even
ing with us. They brought hut little
news—rumors tlmre were iu plenty,
hut so various and conllicting, that no
reliance could he placed upon them.
Aly Father was still at tlie Ford, aud
the Yankees had not attempted to
cross. There was a strange mixture
of trouble and happiness in Aluj. Tal
ford’s fine face—happiness when his
eyes rested upon the gentle girl at his
side, who so tally returned his love for
her, and trouble when thinking of the
gathering clouds which were so surely
to burst over our devoted heads. Maj.
Herndon and Cupt St. John were
thorough men of the world, both
raised in Northern cities, although
faithful citizens of the South ut pres
ent. If the solid earth had been
quaking under their feet they would
have bowed and smiled with their
wonted grace, and conducted them
selves with their accustomed savoir
faire 1 had no heart to listen to their
elegant nonsenco —my father’s life
was poossibly in danger, and my coun
try was more than probably in the
last throes of a nation’s dissolution.
I withdrew as soon as I could do so
with propriety, and spent the night in
tears and prayer. Ah how many
heart-stricken Southern women wore
similarly engaged ! But there was two
much self-will in our supplications.
\V r e did not realizo that our national
iniquity, like that of tho Amorites,
was now full, and that the hour of re
tribution had come. Not that tlioso
chosen to inflict our punishment wore
less guilty than we : —tho Philistines
were sent by God to scourge Ids cho
sen people. Our sins were “pride,
fulness of bread and abundance of
idleness.”
Yes, tho hour of retribution had
com;', because “Thou servodst not the
Lord thy God with joyl'ulnoss and
gladness of heart, for the abundance of
all thintjs.” What people had been
blessed with such abundance as we,
had forgotteu the hand from whence
it came. And now, xvo rebelled
against the chasting hand of God, ut
terly unconscious of pur sins. Many
even impiously in their hearts charged
God with injustice.
But time passed and the war was
over; our dear ones, my father, Har
ry and Maj. Talford, returned to us,
and we had still much to live for.
Aunt Edith aud her two sons have
lived with us since Sophie's marriage,
and she aiul my father arc traveling
down tho vale of life, peacefully and
calmly—trusting that tho troubles
which still environ us, may, in God’s
own good time he removed, and we
will become again a lmppy and pros
perous and a better people.
—
Tlie Golden Test.
The minister of Is!y sat in h:s study
lato on Saturday night, a weary, dis
heartened man ; he had just finished
a week of arduous duties, and harass
ing cares, and he had not expected to
preach the next day, as he was suffer
ing from a severe cold; but Ins antici
pated help had not come, and his ser
mon nas unwritten, and himself in
anything but a devotional frame oi
mind—for ministers, after all, il they
are ambassadors of Christ, are human
Their physical natures are often weak,
and their spiritual condition is not al
ways perfect, even with the divine
help they constantly implore.
On this night Mr. 1 ieduiond loaned
his aching head on his study table,
and almost wished that he M erc not a
minister, that he might at least provide
his family with the comforts they so
much need, that so much would be ex
: pected of him, and so little given in
return. He was not e ven sure That he
i had the prayers of his people, they
i were so distant towards him, and he
1 felt strongly tempted to have no ser
-1 \ ice on tho next day in the church, and
1 so excuse himself altogether.
; But was that doing his Master’s
j work ? No. Ho could not prepare a
i written sermon at that Into hour in his
present depression ot spirits, hut lie
could talk to the people affectionately
from the pulpit, as u lather to his chil
dren.
He opened a Bible to select a text,
! and chose the first his eye rested on :
“Bear ye one another’s burden’s.”
Never had he spoken so impressive
ly as he did on that day; never had
the relation of pastor and people
seemed nearer to him, or his sacred
office of more endearing beauty. He
spoke of tho saintly fellowship of
, Christians upon earth, and his heart
! was in what he said.
I Ilis people had only respected him
before; that day they loved him.—
There were some narrow-minded men
in the congregation ; one of these sat
the next day in his comfortable home
and talking with his wife and children
over yesterday’s sermon.
“It seems to mo Mr. liedmond felt
badly,” he said.
“I thought so too,” said his wife.
“Kitty, 1 have been thinking over
that text, and have about concluded
to bear his bunion a little.”
“lion* can you ilo*it,” she asked.
“I’ve got a: ight more of that smooth
1 thanl
VOL V. —NO. .9
; snug ham and sausage meat ahookl
j find its way to tlie parsonage.
But that was not all tlie good that
text did.
j John Collins was a night watchfnart
at tho warehouse of Bakor &c. He
! was a poor man and his wife sick, and
do what lie would ho could not make'
both ends meet.
1 hero xvas a trifle of monoy coming
to him from a first employer, but it
would not be due till three months.—
1 1 he could borrow that, it would mako
him straight again. But where could
he borrow it ? His companions xvero
us poor irs he. Tho minister might
lend it, for he had been a good friend
to John, hut he somehow though Mr.
Redmond needed all the money he got.
Mr. Baker, his employer, was rich, and
he would never need it, hut he was
very close. John know that. How
ever, i\/r tlie sake of his little Nellie
ut home, sick, and his wifo a pale snf* r
serer, lie made bold to ask, stalrding
by tho .rich man’s desk, and twirling
his rimless hat, and telling lus story
plainly and emphatically. Mr. Baker
heard him through, and then looked
at him from head to foot.
“I cannot help you,” xvas on his lips,'
xvhen like an inspiration camoSunday’s l
text to tho mind.
“Bear ye ono another's burdens/*
And lie countod out tho money and
gave it to tho man.
“You have been honost and faithful
in the past, John,” xvas all he said.
Airs. Wilbur had never thought to
inquire into the circumstances of tho
woman xvlio did her xvasliing, standing
all day at tho weary xvork. But that
Monday morning, when she wont inter
tlie kitchen, and saxv that bent form
swaging to and fro over tlie steaming
suds, she thought of her as a woman
and a sistor, arul by a fexv questions
learned her xvhole history, a very com
mon ono—a xx idoxv xvith four children.
Airs. W. gax'o her some warm clothes
for her children, and promised to call
and see her, and encouragod her by
kind words.
And Airs. W. resolved to never be
guilty of such thoughtlessness again.
“Boar ye ono another's burden’s,”
yet sang iu her ears and softened her
heart.
It had been a great xvonder to the
people of Air. liedmond’s church to see
tho old miser, Thomas Fulton, come
up the aisle upon tho Sabbath. It
was still a greater xvonder when they
lie had sent to tho alms-house for liis
daughter Mary anil her crippled hoy.
1 lad tho pastor’s sermon touched that
flinty heart ?
Under God’s graco it liad.
“Can I over lie discouraged again ?
thought Air. ltodmoud, when ho boOrtl
of its influence.”
“Surely the angel of deliverance
xvas near on that night.”
There are other parishes in which
that text could bo preached xvith good
effect.
There aro other hoarta for it to roach
ami touch.
It has a universal meaning; for
xvlierover toiling, xveary humanity is,
there should bo learned tho golden
text—
“Boar.ye ono another’s burdens.”
liciliilifiih
A mother in the habit of asking
her children, before they went to
al night, what they had done to make
others happy, found her tn*o twin
daughters silent. The question was
repeated :
'I can remember nothing good all
(his day, dear mother, only one of my
schoolmates was happy because sho
had gained the head of hor class, and
I smiled on hor and ran to kiss her, so
sho said I was good. That’s all, dear
mother.”
The other spoke more timidly :
‘A little girl, who sat with me on
tho beach at school, has lost a broth
er. 1 saw that, while she studied hor
lesson, she hid her face in her bosom
and wept. 1 felt sorry, and laid my
laeo on the same book and wept with
her. Then she looked up and was
comforted, and put her arms around
my neck ; but 1 do not know why sho
said 1 had done her good.’-
‘(Jotne to my arms, my darlings,'
said the mother: “to rejoieo with
those that rejoice, and weep u*ith those
that weep, is to obey our blessed Ite-'
deerner.
I.ife Thoughts.
Blessed is tho man who, when the'
tempest has spent its fury, recognizes
his Bather’s voice in its undertone*
and bears his head and bows his kuoo*
as Elijah did.
Three things to govern—-Temper*
Tongue and conduct.
Three things to think about—Lifer
Death and Eternity.
Three things to pray for—Faith,
Peace and Purity of heart
Three things to wish for—Health*
Friends and a cheerful spirit.
| Three things to avoid—ldleness, lo
quacity and flippant jesting.
i Three things to contend for—Honor*
country and irionds.
j Go slowly to the entertainments of
your friends, but quickly to their mis-
I fortunes.-
Three are about 2,000,000 horses
in Great Britain.
I Tie movement of emigrants to the'
United States has largely increased.
