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THE DAWSON WEEKLY JOURNAL.
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aiiant insertion.
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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.
