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About The Dawson weekly journal. (Dawson, Ga.) 1868-1878 | View Entire Issue (May 5, 1870)
THE DAWSON WEEKLY JOURNAL. r. Bestow. tas,» actcfliln iput-nal. * rcM rt»<o kvkxt thwmt. in Advance. TER'™' * 75 Thr«« ’ 1 25 (lit . 2 (X) 0" advertising rates . ONE MONTH. TWO MONTHS. | THREE m’tHS., I' 1 I | SIS MONTHS. I I | ONE TEAR. No. so'.f 5 00* 7 00 *l2 50 S2O - ' son 7 50 10 00 is 00 25 00 TWI). 0 u "| j 7 J 10 00 12 00 20 oo 30 00 1 « «ol 12 00 16 Oo 25 Oo 40 00 fOPR- j 7 l 0 on! 18 on 15 00 40 00 60 00 J7 o "| 15 00 00 35 ouj 60 00 110 00 TTal] 25 Ooj 40 00 60 OojllO OO 200 OO “—Tlie money for aJ- SifSSered due after first inser ” A4r*rti'emenU inerted at intervals to be . .»..A new each insertion. A,’.Witioual Charge of 10 per cent will b„ made on advertisements ordered to be in !« line for each subsequent insertion. Advertisements in the “ 1.0c.1 Column will be Inserted at 20 cents per line for the 6,it, end 15 cent- per line for each subse aiiant insertion. All communications 01 inters on business, landed far this office sheuld be addressed tw"Tin DawsuN Journal” rail-road guide. Ketil li ive*ierii Kail road Pas senger Trains. « Jf. HOLT, Pres. | VIRGIL POWER, Sup b ate Miron 8:00 *• M * Arrive «l Kufaula r M. Leare F. a. M. Auire at Mac*' ;^ ~F M o'ianect ng »i h Al-mny branch train a : iSnitlivi Ir, and *i h Port Gaines bi anuli t-ain j it Cl hbe'. It’SiCLA NIOIIT ANII ACC liIMOIIATI >N TRAINS . U»e .'/icon K "25 rM. ! Arriv: a' FufuU a M | b-iile Fll aa a 7:18 r. M. Arr'e eJ/ienn A - M - i Coniiret al S ii.thvll.' wi li Al any train nu j Jfmd.T, Tuesday, Tliu-sday ind Kiid.n | tigb'f.'Nu train i av.s ou Si'urd.y niglil- | C»I.OH»'JS PA.-SKMIKR TRAINS Lure Waco. 7:25 t m. | Arrive vt Colicbus 1:22 p bate Oolnintiu. 12:25 P m ' Arrive ai 2 con 6:05 P. M. ; CoirMBUS NlflUT TRAIN Lm» Ma«*on . 1-*') *- *»• 1 Arive »t Columbus. 5*.0.» t. m Ludfe Columbus 7:Hi r m j Arrive *' M* con 4:4-5 a. m. Huron nn«l Brniowirk gcr 'l'iiiiiis. GF.I). W IDZ".I.MIR3I\ Prescient. L'tit Mu nn •*; 15 A M AriT»*» !Hin-.ick ...Iu:/n P m. , Hiiins«ii:k .4-3 H A- M ! A rid ft M cm 7:HO r. m. j TRAINS Til >IA» KIXSVIU.K L-w M-c-w 3:00 r. m | Ariiv. «i 11 iwkinsvillr 8:30 r M IrATtf I! .wkiiovilie T:°o a M' Ar ivc at Maooii 8:15 A. M. Till)train iuiir daily, Sundays cxc.’ptpd Western it Atlantic Kaiirout!. FaSTI-il SLODGETT, Sup’f. HIOIIT PASSENGER TIIAIN Ut« Atlanta 7 00 P M ArrifT at OtlAHuiioofSH .3.80 A VI ItaTa Arrifa at Atlanta •. .4 14 A. M DAY PasSKNOER THAIS. Atlanta 5 A. V itrtaa at Chattanooga 4.2 i P. VI UireChattanooga ...7.H* A. VI Anita at Atlanta 8.17 I*. M lULT.TN ACCOMKNKATC N. Wa Atlanta 3.10 P M Arriaat at Dalton 11.85 P. M lette Dalton 2.00 A. W | Arriae at Atlanta 11 00 A J 1 j ?gwlfssi<mnl 6ar4*. R. F. SIMMONS, attorney at law, D.m’so.v, ciai. PROMPT a'ti>o:ion given to all btl*ine-8 -A tutruatud to hits care. augft 9:tf wootkn. l c> £ lo yi.K. WOOTEN & HOYLE, Attorneys at laaw, r w.davis, Attorney at Law, n ‘T »»SO.r. del. WO»ce over J. B. Perrj’a Store. , Dec 23rd, ’69. ts. G - W. WARWICK, liit y at Law and Solicitor in Equity, »»ithvillk, ga. ** circuit, 0 r,! n 00t b Western and Patau —»° ectious promptly remitted. *' J< Warren, ATt ornet at law •’—C- A* ■■ - Dawson Business Directory. Dry Goods Ulcrrhants, Y>ITR!MEY aV MEE SOT, Dealers in J ) Dry Goods, (iroceiiee and //aidware, .Vain street. f~ 5 R 1.71, A TUCKER, Dealers in all V Vkinds ot Dry Goode and Groceries. Main Street. rCTSEK, JACOB, Dealer Iq all I Vkinds of Drv Good*, Mam street. IO VLESS <fc GRIFFIN, Dealers J in Staple Dry Goods and Groceries, slso and Commission and/ rchants, .Wain Street, M« K EMIMEY * CROC C 11, Dealers in Drv Goods, Clo-hinjr, S'uple Oomls and Family Groceries, J/ain street. ORR, \\. F. Dealer in F .nev and sta ple Dry Goods, Main st., under “Jour nal” Printing Office. PEEPLES, MV. n., Dealer in aSaple and Fancy Dry Goods, Main street. Grocery Me reliant* ARTIKIK. 8. !>.. De .ler in Groceries and Family Supplies. J/ain Street. Commission Merchant, and Dealer in Ba con, Flour, Meal and Provisions generally, at Sharpe & Brown’s old stand, M lin st. PAItMHI, .**3l AR PE A CO., 1 D alers in Dry Uoods, Groceries, and Plantation Supplies. / 1 REF.R A SIMMONS, Grocery " T and Provision Dealcis, South side Pub lic Square. HOOD, V. 11., Dealer in Groceries and Family supplies generally, 2nd door to ■Journal” Office, Main s‘. MIZELL, 11. A Cos. Grocery and /’revision dealers. Next door to the Ho tel MuinStieet, Dawson. Driigsists. /THEATnA 71, C A.. Diuggist and V J /*hy«iclan. Keep* a good supply of It- tigs and Medicines, Jml prescribes tor all Vlit* ill* that flash is heirto. At his old stand, the Red Dug Store, Main st TAME* A LOYLESS, Dealers in »l Dmes, Afi dicines, Oils, Paints, Dye S'lifl*, Gndeii Seed, ate. OAKERY. rl.. 501,073 OK, Baker, Confec • done*, and dealer in Family Groceries Fi-h and Ot stars, J/ain Street, next to J. W Roberts & 00. Fll» SIC I AMS, f TOD YE f T W. El. Practicing 7’hy- S A kieian, and Surgeon. Oflice at Chca'- haul’s Di ug S ore. DU'S, .i, W. (’..ICC A SOM, ill -n k tul lor past, patronage .by clo«c attention and moderate charges hope to re oeivp a con'laiiat.ce of the evme. Ofli.-e, Dr. Gilpin’s old s'and j »*» 18, 'f. Wntvli Rf|«iircr. 4 Li.EM, JOHN P., "ill -PP'" /\ Wa clit s, r|o. k«, J. welrv, J/u*ic Book*, A coo d'ons, Ac , always to he loutid at hi* old stand, on North side of .Public Square. Livery Sla Dies. AIR Ml - 71. & SHMRPE. Sal. A and F.-ed Stable. Horses und J/ttl s stir sale. Horses bo irded. North side Pub ic Square. |)RIMCF, M . <i. aV .1. K.. Sale, i Feed and Ltverv Stable, D- pot <S reel liitod hor-e* and vehicles for li re on reas.m thlc terms. April 14, ly. BAR ll<»0.71. ty VT WARD, Dealer 1, Fine Wines, l B-andi * Whiskies, l. per B> er, &• , West -id * pnMic St] lare, VI on s'rret. I>. It. ADAMS. II K. WApHBCBN, A A. ADAMS. Katotilon, Ga Savannah, Ga. Ainciicu«,G.i. ADAMS. WASBIRN i CO. FACT( ) HS AND— Commission Merchants, Xo. 3, dioddiiru’s Lt-wer Range, ay 1 i’B9,6n Savannah Ga At.r’:. U OoiQfiTT, Jamks Bacas. Uniter Oountv, Ti t. Newton, Ga. Huuh U. CoMIOITT, Suvaunah, Ga. COLQUITT & BACCB, COTTON FACTORS & GENERAL COM MISSTON M E RCIIA NTS. Bay slreel, Savannah, <«a. Special attention to the sale of Cotton, Lumber and Timber. Liberal advances on Consignments. may6;’f BROWN HOUSE. E. E, BROWN A SON, Fourth St., Opposite Passenger I>opot Jliacon, Georgia . rpni3 House having lately been refitted L and repaired, and is now one of the best Hotel* in the Sute, and the moat Conve nient in the city. The table if supplied wi h ] everything the market allurds. leblß 89 LYON, I)fC«AFFESSEII> A IRYL\» /TTOSfitY? AI MW, . Jlacon , ... Georgia. WILL give attention to Professional Busi ness in the Macon, .South-w< stern, and PatauU Circnits; in the 11. 8. Courts, in Sa vannah and Atlanta ; and by Special Con tract in anv part of the .State. Sept. 23,’69 ; ly. L COHE N <fc CO. IMPORTERS OF. Brandies, Wines, Gins, Segars, and dealers in RYE, BOURBON NOD MONONGAHELA WHISKY. Also, Manufacturers of the Celebrated @tone>vall Bitters, I Whitehall St,. Atlanta, Ga. * • .n. Jat m 13. DAWSON, GA., THURSDAY, MAY 5, 1870. SELEGTEDTPOETY. Love’s Relief. I believe If I aliouM die, Am! you should kiss my eyelids wlien I lie, Cold, dead and dumb to all the world contains, The folded orbs would open nt.thy breath, Ami from its exiles in the aisles of death; J-if# would eome gladly back along my veins. I believe If 1 were dead. And yon upon my lifeless heart should tread, Not knowing what the poor clod ohaliced to bo, It would find sudden pulse beneath the touch Os him it ever loved in lile so much, And throb again, warm, tender, true to thee. I believe if on my grave, f/idden m woody deeps, or by the wave, Your eyes should drop some warm tears of regret From every salty seed of your dear grief Some fair sweet blossoms would leap into leaf, To prove death could not make my love forget. I believe if / should fade Into those mystic realms where Htfht is made, And you should long once more my fate to see, 1 would come forth upon the hills of night, And gather stars like faggots till thy sight, Led by the beacon blaze, fell full on me. I believe my faith in thee, Strong as my life, so nobly placed It trould as soon expect to sec the sun /'all like u dead king from his liiglit sublime, llis glory stricken from the throne of time, As the unworthy worship thou hast won. I believe who hast not loved Hath half the treasure of his life unproved; Like oue who with the grape within his grasp, Drops it with all its crimson juice impressed, And all its luscious sweetness left unguessed, Out from Ills careless ami unheeding clasp. 1 believe love, pure and true, 7s to the soul a sweet immortal dew That gems life’s petals in its hours of dusk ; The waiting angels see and recognize The rich crown jewel, love of paradise. JFhen life falls from us like a withered husk. Merry May. BY MRS. ELLEN F. LATTIMOKB. I’m glad that Winter's gone at last, With blinding snow and raging blast. I’in glad, so glad, the bright-eyed Spring lias made all nature laugh and sing, I can’t help dancing all the day, ’Tis merry, merry, merry i/ay. I waked this morning, don’t you think, And heard a darling Hob-o'liuk; A Kobiu, too, sat on a tree, And looked as gay as gay could be. y’hcy’e both been singing all the day, ’Tis merry, merry, merry i/ay. 7o the woods 7 flew with eager feet, To seek for flowers, puie and sweet; 7 found them, too. 7n sunny spots, 7 spied the blue /’orget-me-nots— Their smiling laces seemed to say, ’Tis merry, merry, merry May. The fair Spring-beauties on the hill, Hepaticus more lovely still, The wind-flower aud arbutus sweet, Had all peeped up the light to greet; They can’t help blooiniug all the day, ’Tis merry, merry, merry i/ay. A little brook ran through the dell, And tinkled soft its fairy bell, So call the dewdrops in its glee, To join it as it sought the sea. 7t can’t help rippling all the day, ’Tis me. ry, merry, merry, May, MI3CELLANEOU cT. A Du: ! ia the Dark. BY JUDGE ARRINGTON*. The city of Vicksburg, Mississippi, has always been remarkable, even be fore the recent war gave her a pro found national interest. Many years ago slio supplied the class of writers who furnish the substratum for most of the circulating libraries with plots dark and dreadful enough to satisfy even the present craving for sensation. The place had been noted since its ear liest settlement for the belligerent character of its inhabitants and the number and atrocity of the violent deeds which stained its streets with the blood of human hearts. It is not our present purpose, how ever, to sketch any of these more cele brated brute battlos, but merely to se lect, for tlie sake of its mournful moral alone, a solitary tragedy, which was briefly chronicled by the press of the dav, and which then faded from the recollection of all, save one from who the writer received the story in all its particularity. IShe, of course, could never forget. To the latest hour of her existence the wife of tlie murdered hero wept at the reminiscence. In the year 1827, a young lawyer, John Thomas, emigrated from Wor cester, in Massachusetts, to the State of Mississippi. He was poor, had re cently married a beautiful, accomplish ed woman, who had renounced weal thy parents for his sake, and hence w as anxious to better his fortune in as little time as possible. This consider ation determined the legal adventurer to locate at Vicksburg, then consider ed through the West as the paradise of tho bar. In a very short time the new lawyer had ample reasons to congratulate himself on the choice of his position. His bland demeanor, studious habits, and more than all, his eloquence hi debate, won him patronage ; and he rose, almost at a single bound, to the first place in his profession. Ho was employed in all the land suits, and in most of the still more numorous and equally lucrative cases of homicide, so that iu tho period of two years after his advent he had cleared the round sum , of thirty thousand dollars. Let no sceptical disciple of Lord Coke deem this statement incredible S. S. Pren tiss, realized, cash in hnad, forty thou sand dollars by his opening speech in Vicksburg. During his career thus iar young Thomas was remarkable in one res pect. ne never went armed, and al though in the fierce and fiery alterca tions°of the forum he necessarily made some enemios, no attack had hitherto been ventured on his person. The athleticism of his noble form, and the look of invincible .determination in his keen blue eyes, had doubtless warned the desperadoes that “the Yankee or ator,” as he was generally termed, c °uld hit as hard I lift .i n tno court yard as he did in the court itself. — However this may be, two years elaps ed, years too of ominent success, before the peaceable attorney was even insul ted. Alas ! this halcyon period was doomed to a chango alike sudden and terrible. There resided at that time in the town a notorious duelist by tlie name of Johnson, whose matchless prowess inspired universal fear. Ho had slain half a dozen foes on the public “field of honor,” aud as many in private and irregular encounters. All the mem bers of “the bloody fancy club” spoke of Mike Johnson’s feats with rapturous enthusiasm. But all good men, all lovers of peace,. when the “brave wretch” passod, turned pale, and were silent. fcx At the May tcniti of tlie District Court, 1820, the grand jury, muster ing extraordinary courage, returned a bill against Johnson for the murder of William Lee, an inoffensive youth, whom lie had shot down in a drunken frolic, of peculiar aggravation. Thom as was retained by a friend of the de ceased to aid in tlie prosecution, and, notwithstanding the earnest advice of his well-wishers to the contrary, ap peared on the trial of the cause one of the most exciting ever argued at the bar of Vicksburg. On the last even ing of the session, after adjournment, Thomas rushed into the presence of his wife, with looks of such evident agitation as to fiH her soul with over powering alarm. “My love, tell mo, in the name of heaven, what has happened ?” she cried, pale as a corpse, and shaking like a leaf in the wind. “Nothing,” answered the husband, thinking to conceal the most fearful part of the intelligence. “Nothing, only tlio murderer, Mike Johnson, af ter his acquittal, grossly insulted me in the courtyard, and I knocked him down.” “And ho challenged you to fight him with pistols I” almost shrieked the wife, anticipating the lest, with the quickness of woman’s keen com mon»ense. “It is even so,” replied tlie lawyer, mournfully. “Oh ! say that you will not meet him, Oh 1 swear that you will not turn duelist in this Sodom of the South !” implored the wife, throwing her arras around his neck, and sobbing like a child on his bosom, “There, do not weep now. I will not turn duelist, dear Emma, although I much fear that the consequence will be my ruin.” “God will protect you from the bold, bad man.” The next morning it was known in Vicksburg that “the Yankee orator” had been challenged and refused to light. Accordingly, he was generally denounced as a coward —a word which, at that day might be considered as ex pressing far deeper scorn than either robber or assassin. As he passed through tlie streets, ho was antonished to witness the coldness liianitested by his old acquaintances, and even pro fessed friends, while the groat mass of the people seemed to regard him with inetiablo contempt. “Yankee white liver,” “boaster,” “poltroon,” were the sounds most frequently rung in his ears, especially when near the grocer ies, and there was one then on every terrace of tlio broken hills. The matter grew worse. About a wreck afterwards, Johnson met his vic tim in the public square, presented a cocked pistol at Ins heart with one hand, and belabored him unmercifully with a cowhide which ho grasped in tlie other. Kesistance at that moment was altogether out of the question, for tho slightest motion would have been the signal for immediate death. He thought of Emma aud her sweet babe, and bore the castigation in silence. Alter this, clients lesorted his office, gentlemen refused to recognise him or return his salute in the thoroughfares of business, or during his morning strolls over the hills. Had his touch been contagion, or his breath pesti lence, lie could not have been more carefully shunned. Another week passed, and the de graded lawyer was in a state of mind bordering on insanity ; and yet all the while he concealed tho mental torture from his affectionate wife. One eve ning, in a more than common bitter and gloomy mood, as he wulkod through tho public square, he was a gain accosted by Mike Johnson, with his cocked pistol in one hand and up lifted cowhide in the other. The as sault was the more aggravating as the placo was thronged with spectators. “Coward aud villain !” exclaimed Johnson, “did I not tell you that 1 would cowhide you every week, until I whipped the courage of a man and a gentleman into your Yankee hide ?” “I am not a coward,” retorted Thom as, in a hollow tone, so unearthly fierce and' wild that it caused every hearer to start. At the instant, his lips wore livid, and clenched between his teeth till the blood ran. His eyes were red as a mad dog’s, and the mus cles of his luce quivered ; but his body and limbs seemed to have tho rigidity of marble. j “He will fight now,” rung in an ea ger whisper through the excited crowd, ! as they saw tho terrible tokens of the fiend aroused—the fiend which lurks, at different depths, in all human nn , tures. j “If you are not a coward, why will you not fight ?’ asked the duelist, somewhat struck, in spite of his thor ough desperation, hardened in the hot ' gore of a dozen murders, i “I will fight, if you wish it,” was • the. loud ringing answer. • “Then you accept my challenge i “I do. Will any one present be so good os to act a» my second ? H inquir ed tho lawyer, addressing the specta . tors. For a minute or two no one "spoke, sogroat was the dread of tho aroh-duel ist, Mike Johnson. “Will no one in such a mass of gon orous men be my second ?” .repeated tlie lawyer, in a louder tone. “I will,” said a shrill, trurapot-liko voice, on tho outskirts of the orowd, ’ and a tall, commanding form, with bravery written on his brow, eagle’s eye beneath it, made his way to tho scene of contention, and stood close fronting Johnson, with a smiling glance, before which the latter, for an instant, quailed. The question “Who is he ? who is he ?” circulated among the lookers on. But no one oould answer; no one had over seen him before, aud yet evoiy body would have sworn to hut courage, so bold yet tranquil was his bearing. “Who are you f” inquired the duel ist, recovering his presence of mind. “A stranger from Texas.” “But who will Vouch for your res pectability ?” “I can give yotl Votlchors sufficient,” ropliod tho stranger, frowning till his brows looked frightful; and then stooping forward he whispered some thing in Johnson’s ear, audible alone to him. “I am satisfied,” said the duelist a loud, and trembling perceptibly. “Col onel Morton, will you serve as my friend ?” The individual last addressed gave his assent. “Now, let us adjourn to some pri vate room to arrange the prelimina ries,” remarked the stranger; and the principals and seconds lett the crowd, then increasing every minute, and ex cited nearly to madness by the thick crowding events of the hour. The meeting took place tho follow ing night, in a dark room, with the door locked, and the two seconds on on the outside. Tlio principals were placed in opposite comers of the apart ment, which was twenty feet square, and each was armed with a large bow ie-knife—no more. It was midnight —a night without moon or stars. Black pitchy clouds enveloped the sky, and a slight sifting mist rendered the shadows of the earth more intense.— Hence, the room where tlie duel was about to begin was wrapped in rayless darkness. The combatants could not even see tho blades of their own knives. At first, they both stooped and stealthily untied and took off their shoes, so as to make the least possible noise in walking over the floor. The same thought had struck them both at the same time—to manccvro for tho vantage ground. Thomas moved in a circle, softly as a cat, around the apartment, till he got within a few feet of the corner where his enemy had first been placed, and then paused to listen. For four or five seconds he could hoar nothing in the grave-like silence but the quick beats of his own busy heart Pres ently, however, there crept into his ear a scarcely audible sound, as of sup pressed breathing, iu the corner of the room which he had previously left; and thou lie knew that his foe was trying the same stratagem. The ruse was repeated thrice, with a like result. At length Thomas concluded to stand perfectly still and await Johnson’s ap proach. Motionless now himself, and all ear, soon he .could distinguish a soft rustling noise, like the dropping of flakes of wool, circling around the floor and gradually advancing toward him. At last, when the sound appeared within about throe feet of the lawyer’s position, he suddenly made a bound ing plunge with his knife, aimed in the dark air, where he supposed the bosom of his foe to be. His blade struck against that ol the other, aud a few sparks of fire roUed at the fierce collision, and fell expiring on the floor. And thou, for an instant, the sec onds without the door heard a sharp ringing of steel, a groan, a fall, and all again was silent as the tomb ! The*du el at midnight had ended ; but how ? They were appalled at the horrible question. Waiting somo minutes, and hearing nothing more, Col. Morton and tho stranger prepared a light, unlocked tho door, and entered. The spectacle was most affecting. There lay the bloody corpse of the duelist Johnson, mangled dreadfully, and above it stood the erect and imposing form of tho lawyer, Thomas—unhurt, not a cut on liis skin or a rent in his clothing, but weeping as if his heart were broken. He started bock as the flashing light dazzled his eyes, and, growing pale as the dead at liis feet, exclaimed, in accents of immeasurable anguish— “Oh, God! how shall I endure to meet my dear wife, with this murder ous gore on my hands ! Such stains would defile the very gates of heaven, and blacken tho floor of hell itself!” j He did, however, afterwards meet j Emma and her babo ; but we shall not j attempt to paint the scene. A week I subsequently, he was shot to pieces iu : his own office, while emplryed in writ ing after night. The assassin was not! known, hut supposed to be a younger ! brother of tho duelist, Johnson. The stranger who acted in the com bat as the second of Thomas was in- ! deed, as he said, from Texas, and then traveling through Mississippi, and was the bravest man, perhaps, that over drew the breath of life—James Bowie, who fell only with the fall of the Ala mo, when his red knife was drunk with tho blood of Mexicans. Sidney Smith used to object to. i written sermons, on tke ground that 1 indignation a week old had no effect Ilea veil ward. in FaTiE.VUK watie. There was once a little child who wanted to touch tho sky. Day by day she looked with longing at its soft . bluo depths, and watched the white clouds couie forth and play and frolic there. Morning and evening she saw the glory of tho sunrise and sunset {minted there. Night by night tho stars came out anil danced and twin kled, aud the moon rode in a car of silver and pearl upon its bluo arches. So tho little child looked and longed. “O, that I might lay ray hand on the sky, and wrap its soft folds around mo as they floated by.” And tlie child looked with longing at the fur-off line where earth and sky kissed each otkc < “If I wero only standing on the tops of the trees ia the pine forest over there,” she said, “or if I were on the Mop of yonder hill, 1 could reach it.” So she set forth to go the jilaco. Tattle feet they were that puttered softly along tho dusty road. A sweet, little, eager face, with eyes lull ol long ing, that looked over to tho lur-off lino. On an on she went, over tho valley and up the distant hill slope. Tho path was steep and rough, hut she stood on the brow at last. Hurely, this was the place she had boon seeking. Hero was the old house und the woods, and the broad green field, whore tlie sky bent down to tho earth. But, alas ! the sky was as far away as before. This could not be the place; so the tired little feet pattered on again ; ah ! it was a great way off and it came no nearer. Then the light of hope fadod from tho young face, tlie steps of the little feet became weary and slow, and at last, the child, tired and sad, lay down aud sobbed herself to sleep. Tho frightened parents missed the child from their home ; they wore fiUed with sorrow and fear; they' looked long and anxiously for the lit tle wanderer. They found hor at last, as the twilight shades were closing in, asleep by the roadside, remote front home. Her clothes were soiled aud torn, tho tears were wet on her burn ing cheeks, and she sobbed and moan ed in her sleep. Ah ' but they took her up tenderly, and folded her close in their loving arms, and carried her back to her homo O, poor child, dear child, how many of us, like you, are lpok.ng toward God’s distant bights, and longing for them. “Ah! if we were standing here, or there, in this place or that, then we could- reach up our hands and touch the heavens ; the breath ol' God’s spirit would be upon us, and wo should be good and holy.” Wo forgot that the Kingdom of Heaven, if it is ours, indeed, is round about us, near to us, in our own hearts, inspiring even the plainest, lowliest duties of our daily life. —The Little Corporal. Mark Twain’s Nag. — l have got a horse by the name of Jericho. He is a mare. I have seen remarkable horses before, but none so remarkable as this. I wanted a horse that would shy, and this fills the bill. I had an idea that shying indicated spirit. If it was correct 1 have the most spirited horse ou earth. He shies at every thing lie comes to with the utmost partiality. Tie appears to have a mor tal dread of telepraph piles especial ly ; and it is fortunate that these are ou both sides of the road, because, as it is now, I never fall off twice in suc cession oil the same side. If I fell on t**e same sido always, it would get monotonous after awhile. The crea ture shies at everything ho has seen to-day except a hay-stack. He walked up to that with an intrepidity ami recklessness that was astonishing. And it would fill any one with admi ration to see how he preserved his self-possession in the presence of a barley sack. This dare devil bravery will be the death of this liorso some day. He is not particularly fast, hut think he will get me through the Ho ly Land. lie-has only one fault. Ilia tail has been chopp'd off, or else ho has set down on it too hard, some time or other, and has to fight flies with his lieels. This is all very well—but when lie tries to kick a fly off the top of his head with his hind foot, it is I too much of a variety. He is going to get himself into trouble that way some day. He reaches around and bites my legs, too. Ido not earo par ticularly about this—only I do not like to see a horse too sociable.— The Innocent* Abroad. Business is the salt of life. Dependence is a poor trade. A full purse never lacks friends. Silent contempt is the sharpest re proof. The time to arrest expeueos—when prices are high. How many apples did our first pa rents eat in the garden of Eden ? Eve | 8 and Adam ‘2. A bacholor—- a man who neglects 1 his opportunity to make a woman 1 miserable. ! A critic, says of a famous singer that “she sings a few airs and puts on a grout many.” “Door, denr man,” said a woman at the funeral of her fourth husband, he’s past trouble now.” A Phrenologist being asked what he conceived to be the organ of drun kenness, replied, “the barrel o rgaut” To remove stai vs from character— get rich. VOL. V.—NO. 12. Tin* Story of a Scfionl-Girl who .Tltxrric J (lit* Wrong Mau, As the authority for the following story is a clergyman of this city, no less noted for his eloquence as a the ological moralist than for his manifold literary attainments, it may be Accept ed as something wholly without alloy of either exaggerated fact or sensa tional fiction. >Somo years ago the ar duous duties of a volunteer city mis sionary, discovered, in the family of A poor laborer, !n one of the most mise rable tenement houses of New York, two youtliful sisters, whose appearance and natural abilitios were ; apparently, much above their squalid lot in life. By liis agency they were placed in a school, their home rendered more com fortable, and their desire for a future of better surrouudings made practica ble to them. Alt went well until the period of schooling was over, when the elder and more interesting of tho two, in an hour of blind, girlish foUy, became tlio wife of a young man greatly her inferior in intolligenoo and general worth. To hor tho story now belongs, and the romance of 1 er life began with tho mad act by which she throw away every opportunity to ripen her existence into a better real ity. Love’s first fitful fever being over, she became aware pi hor great mistake, and, after a brief, inharmo nious experience of matrimony, with drew from her mismatched husband, disappeared from the city. Her fam ily and their good friend, the clergy man, were in great distross thereat, fearing Jiat the unhappy young w ifo had been driven to some desperate re source ; but, at the end of some wooks there came to the minister a letter from the missing one. After confid ing to him tho story of her intolerable mutrial sorrows, nnd declaring that she had renounced her unfit husband forever, tho writer confessed that she had become ail actress iu a theatre of Memphis, Tennessee, under an as sumed name. In this now capacity she was gaining much success, and begged her old friend to keep hor se cret, nnd act as her agent in a friendly watch over the husband slio could no longer live with. She promised to send money, from time to time, which the clergyman was to apply, as from himself, to such aid as the husband might absolutely require ; but begged that 'to effort should be made to per suade her hack to the life never to be hers again. Convinced that such per suasions must be useless, the recipi ent of the extraordinary letter sadly yielded to the inevitable, and wrote to the actress that he Wiuld act as slio desired. Consequently, while tho de tached wi‘e led the life of a player in Tennessee, she was still able to keep an eye, through her friend, upon her husband in New York, aud see that lie did not fall irtfo abject want. One day, a few weeks ago, a letter from the clergyman told her that the man whom she lmd vowed to love, honor and obey, was lying sick of a fever, in a wretched garret t> which lie had retreated. On the day after the arri val of this news she abruptly closed her engagement at the Southern The atre, aud disappeared from Memphis. Two days thereafter, a nice, benig nant old lady appeared in tho New York tenement house in which lay tho fever patient, distributing tracts and inquiring for sick persons to visit. Tho people of the lower floor told her about the dying man in tlie garret, and, with basket on her ana, slio went up to see him. There ho was, tossing and delirious in a bnring fever, with naught to smooth his pathway to tho grave or cool its scorching air. She tilled his room with comforts, employ ed a poysii ian and a nurse, and made daily visits to tho place thereafter. No one knew who she was, nor where she came from ; but the rough men of the rookery raised their shabby* hats to her aud the slantornly women blessed her when slio passed. Noth ing could save the sick man ( he grew worse, and in liis delirium often called for his wife. Just before death the old lady disappeared from the bedside and in her {dace sat a richly dressed young woman. The sufferer was too far gone to recognize hor, but she was liis wife. In the disguise of tho old woman she had relieved his last wants and in tlio end she gave him Chris tian burial. The last act of her mar riage life being finished, tho drama tized women revealed herself to her sister and their friend, the clergyman, but only to say good-by before return iug to tlie South. Her last words as she started for Memphis were: “I hope I shall not die in a theatre as poor president Tancoln did.” It was a pre sentiment. On the very night of her reap{Kjarance as an actress she fell violently ill in the theater, and before morning dawned had gone to join her husband in another world. —New York WorMi The Drunk ard's Will.—l leave so ciety a ruined character, a bad exam ple, and a memory that will, soon rot. I leave my parents during the rest of their lives, as much sorrow as hu manity, in a feeble and docrepid state, can beat. 1 leave to my brothers and sisters as much mortification as I could bring upon them. I leave to my wif- a broken heart, a life of wretchedness and shame to weep over my premature death. I give to each of my children igno rance and low character, and the re membrance that their father was a brute. Pleading at the bar-—begging for a drink. A social glass to which ladies are [ addicted—the mirror. i i Be content with your lot— especially if it is on a corner.
