Newspaper Page Text
Jfetosoit caUrkln Journal,
Published Every Friday.
E. & J."~E. CHKISTIAN
EDITORS AND PUBLfSttfRS.
gjkUyjuu emuuu <juuuuu,
Published Every Friday.
E. & J. E. CHKISTIAN
EDITORS AND PUBLISHERS.
TE RAMS—Strictly in Advance.
Three monlhl ...:. f 1 00
Six months. .$2 00
Ono year..... .V.fß 00
Hates of *tii it ft i sing .-
One dollar per soil ire ol ten hues for the
first insertion, and Seventy-five Cents per
eqaare for each'subsequent insertion, not ex
ceeding three.
One square three months $ 8 00
One square fli : months 12 00
One square one year 20 00
Two squares three months 12 00
Two squares six months 18 00
Taro squ ires one yea' 8Q 00
fourth of a column three moths 30 00
Fourth of a column six mouths SO 00
Half column three moths 45 00
Half column six months 70 00
One column three months i. 70 00
One column six months 100 00
Job W'ork of every description exe
cutedwith neatness and dispatch, at moderate
rates.
HOYL & SIMMONS,
ATTORNEYS, AT LAW,
n.tn"sojr, - - Georgia.
u. c. non,. jm2sly. R. r. simmons.
C. B. WOOTEN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
21y Dawson, Ga.
DR. C. a. CHEATHAM,
DAWSON) GEwKGIA)
Office, South West corner Public equate.
CTONTIN'UKt} the practice of Medicine in
J all its branches.
He pave special attention to the treatment
of al! chronic affections of either spx; and
makes YVomb and Secret D seases a speciality.
He may be consumed by letter.
Charges moderate. Terms Cash.
Janl-18fi7.
J. p. ALLEN,
WATCH ANI>
REPAIRER JEWELER.
Dawson, G-a.,
JS prep\red to do any work in his Hue in
the verv best, style. fehs3 ts
J. <**. S. siITII,
gun SMITH and
Machinist,
ItAWSO.r, t t Grnfgtae
Rep.irs all kinds of Gun*, Pistols, Sewing
Nahioes, etc., etc. 2 Iy.
W. c. PARKS,
TAttornev at LaW.
Mu s i v »./ ir.s».r;fcvf.
C. W. WAR Wi C IC.
,1 torncy at Lave and Solicitor
i.-i Equity.
a.niTiif'tisE*' - - - gi:d.,
V t J ILL pnciice in I,ee, Sumter, Terrell
A v and Webster.
J/ a w is r o T K
II will practice in all the
1 • cuU' taos th<* South western, in Irwin
ot iln-Southern, Coffee and Appl of the
ji mi wick, ami most of the courts of the Pa
tattU Circuits
OjNce on Washington Street, opposite the
Hi ,*r» S9 office, Albany, Gi. may 11 ly
f,A \V CARD.
riniF. undersigned will attend to any legal
_£ business entrnsied to hisc're, in South
western Georgia. OriiCe at Ciitbert, Randolph
co., Ga. mayll.ly E. H. PLATT
' £O. Randolph HAh.rj,
Attorney nt Law,
jul,6m CVTHBERT, GA.
T. li STKWAIiT.
attounet at taw,
‘Culhbert, nilolph Co s., On.,
All (mainess entrusted to his care will be
Ya.iihf.tlly attended to. June 1
£.17 doucla ss,
All orney at Law,
June 1 C UTH ft E HT, GA.
j * E. HIGGINBOTHAM ,
ATTOBNGV ATI-A'V,
■Ntorgan, Calhoun Cos., Oa.,
Will practice in all the Courts of the South'*
western and Pataula Circuits, June 1
E. H. SHACKELFORD,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
CArotHuLiA, Milrliell Cos., Cia.,
Ad ENT fry; eurehatw ant sale, o
LAND. 1, 18G6.
Dr. sTcu ROIiKKSON,
SURGEON DENTIST
May 4 Cuthbcrt, Georgia.
J C 1.. MARTIN
GENERAL INSURANCE AGENT A\D
EXCHANGE DEALER,
EVEACLA : : Alabama
Represents a paid Capital in A No. 1
Companies, of Tuk»'S
Fire, Inland, River, Marine, Life, and Acci
dent risks. Losses promptly adjusted and
paid. apr27-ly.
. ANDERSON. W. WOODS. JOSEPH DAT,
* Special Part •
ANDERSON &. WOODS,
COMMISSION MERCHANTS
AND DEALERS IN
STAPLE DRY GOODS, GROCER
IES and COMMERCIAL FERTIL
- IZERS,
tuimidst, .n.tco.r, a.*'
oct2C 3m.
THE DAWSON JOURNAL.
y oi. ii.
‘JOE ROBERTSON’S FOLEY.’ j
“Thou beest a fool, Joe—a right
fool, to take home the brats. Folly
Naggles won't Oomc to thee to find her-1
self mother to gals of ten and four.”
‘Let Polly wait till she's asked, moth-;
cr, 1 mean taking the children h. me.’ '
“I think you might do something bet
ter with your money than feed Jim’s
brats.’
‘What are they to do? He’s gono
for good St mo way—by foul play as 1
think.’
‘Foul play of not,-there’s the work- 1
house for the young uns‘if thou wero’nt
a fool. There’s thy father and me to
think on, and you go taking up with
strange brats.’
‘Don't say that, mother; you shan’t
have a fathiog loss through it; an ias
i for ‘strange,’ they’fc my own mite's; one
j that was almost a brother to uie.’
‘Brother to thee, Joe; Why, he’s
ten pounds in debt to thee now, if ho bo
a ha’penny.’
‘Well, mother, let it be ; he’s gone
now, and I don’: care about the ten
pounds.'
‘Well, well go thy w&y, Joe, and
keep the brats, and let all the parish
| laugh at thee. They’ll be saying that
thee loves Jiui’s children more than he
did. They’ll tell the that if thou beest
so much of a father to’em, perhaps
Kitty Katcliffc was kinder to thee after
she took to Jim than she was afore.’
‘Mother, for God’s sake, ston ! you
know its a lie. Kitty was as good as
an rng •!; I swear I’ll never speak to
yon again if you talk of her like that.’
‘There, there, boy ! don’t make such
a pother about nothing. Thou’st let
the cat out. Thee takest to the chil
dren because they’re Kitty’s—eh, lad ?
—not for Jim’s sake.
‘I take to them because I please
mother; and I warn you, if you want
my love and respect,don’t talk that way
j about Kitty.’
‘I didn’t say anything, except that
people would sny that, perhaps—•’
“For God’s sake, mother don’t sry it
1 again 1 There's father’s bacea, and your
I snuff, and the money, so now, good night
I’il look itl on Tuesday, when I’m up at
the traps in Chalk Fell llollow—good
night.
‘‘Well, good-night, lad; but thou
beest a tool, for all the bacea and snuff.
The son went out too soon to hear
the repetition of his mother’s first state
ment, that he was a fool, aad went qui
etly along the road to his homo ; a small
three roomed cottage outs'de the village,
and close to the preserves of which he
was the keeper.
On reaohing home he found the table
spread for sup; er, and, taking the cap
j from his gua, he put it in the rack, and
sat and .wn before the turf fire
‘Well, Ki tv, bast put little one to
bed V
‘Yes, Joe ; she sa ; d I was to kiss you
for her,’ said the girl Kitty ; a child < f
abqut nine yea s, as she came up t j him
aha kissed his cheek.
‘Aid uow c mo to supper, Joe.’
‘Why, lass, I’ve not seen such and
cloth for years, and such a nice plump’d
up bit of bacon.
*1 did it, J >e ; I washed the cloth, an 1
boiled the bacou. I used to help moth
er when she was sick, before she died,
\ou know , and, since then, I used 1 1 do
all for poor father, though be seldom
came home to supper, and often stayed
out all night, be was so often dowu at
the beer-house, after mother died.’
‘Y u’re as go n d as a wife, Kitty.’
‘Am I ? then I’ll be your little wife,
and look after everything for you till
father comes back.’
‘I want to tell you, Kitty, I don’t
think your f..ther will come back at all;
I am afraid ho,s gone.’
‘Gone Joe ! Where to?’
‘Whereto? —to haven, if the best
heart in the village would take him
there.’
‘Not dead J.,e ! Don’t say father’*
dead ! What shall we do?—no fa,her
—no mother 1 Whitehall we d•? Poor
little Meg, too !’ and tho child cried
bitterly.
‘Well, Kitty, when he left us I
thought he wa» coming back directly ;
then, when he never caihe all night, I
thought he’d come in the morning ; and
then when he didn’t conic for days, I
thought he’d bolted, and I shut his
jdace up, and brought yc;U down here ;
and now, he's not come back these three
weeks, and tney’ve found his hit and
tmock in the gravel pit pon*, 1 think
he wont come back at all, Kitty.’
•I’oor father I—drowned!’
‘i far that.’
“And where shall we go ntiw ? Oh
dear—”
‘Well, mother saysj ’Workhouse)’
Fqu're says, ‘Workhouse’; Parson says,
‘W rkhouse’; and Polly Naggles says,
•Workhouse.’
‘And what do you say, Joe ?’ said
the child eagerly, looking into his face,
a* he sat holding her between his knees
aid grasping her little hands in bis
brawny paiuas.
‘Wbat oo you say, Jie?’
‘What do I say ? Why. I say as I
said to him that night, ‘All right, I’ll
look after them.’
‘And you wi'l net let us go to the
workhouse, J >e ?’
‘Never, while I’ve a crust or jacket,
Kitty ’
‘O Joe, I’m so glad. ’ll work so
hard and keep all your nice houe so tidy
and elean, just like mother used to do
f r poor father. Mother’s name was
Kitty too, Joe.’
‘I kn>w, I know it lass. And there
is one thing, if you stay, you must nev
cr do, child.’
‘What’s that Joe? I never will, I
d’ lare, it is ’
•Then don’t thee talk to me about
tby dead mother, I can’t bear it; it
makes me feel, leant tell you how,
child. Thou’lt know some day though,
for all that. So den’t ta.k to me about
her.’
DAWSON, GA., FRIDAY, APRIL 5, 1867.
‘1 never will, though I like to talk
about her; I won’t except to Meggy, I
may talk to Meggy ?’
‘As mueh as you please, but not. to
tne. And now, Ins let’s eat, for I'm
hungry, and the bacon looks good.
And so it was settled tint the two
children of the late carter, Jim llateliffo
should live at the house of his friend
Joe, u» and at his cost; and it was also
set'led by the gossips of the imghhor
ho and, by his mother, aud by the arabi
[ tiojs Polly Nagglos, tint Joe the gamc
: keeper was a tool ; spite of which ver
dict he tbiived and seemed very happy
will) his charges, and none the poorer;
jtor, as ho said one day,
‘They save more than they cost, by
their washing and cooking, and garden
ing, to say nothing of the comfort of
some ono to-ee you when you come
| home of a night,’
I As time went on, Kitty grew up a
fine, fall active girl, and nothing iutcr-
Irupted their quiet happy life, until one
day as Joo was g>ing home about dusk,
! with bis d»ig at bis heels and his gun
on his shoulder, ho met au acquamt
arco.
‘Evening, Joe.’
‘Evening, Bill.’
“It’s going to rain a bi‘, eh !’
‘No.’
‘Nhort to-night, Joe?'
‘I always am with the like of you.’
‘Like of rue. What now V
‘Where were you last Wcdncsdy
about half-past eleven ?’
‘ln bed.’
‘Not a Lit, you were out with Bo<rp
py and the new ploughman.’
Well if I was there’s no harm in it,.’
‘No harm in going cat, but there was
in being in the Long Hollow netting
rabbi s Bill ’
‘Netting rabbets, Joe ?’
‘Yes, I saw you thee. I knew you,
and trade you cut arid leave your nets ’
O ! it was jOu, then, that sur.g out.’
0 1 you beard me, did you ? Weil
now, what it is, 8.11, I don't wish you
or any b->dy else harm, but il I catch
you again upon the ground I’ll have you
up before the -quire as sure as tny narn’B
J u; ami, If I was you, I’d not Ic so
itrek with S/sppy, he’s been inence or
twice for it, aud I don’t want to see you
following Lim, so don’t couie poaching
here.
‘Poaching, indeed; there's worsedonc
than poaching;.’
‘Dare say there is; ’taint my busi
ness, though.’
‘Bu‘. there’s wo»o dine than poach
ing by 'hern that’s paid to keep poor
men from trapping wild thimals
‘Meaning me?’
‘Yes meaning you. Do you kbow
! what they say in the village about the
| kids ?’
‘No, and I don’t care.’
I ‘Well, they say that ytu’re like a
j father to ’em.’
1 W( |t, I know if’
‘And they say nimmut else, Joe.’
‘What's that ?’
‘That you arc very fond of Kitty Rat
oliffc, and p- rhaps you are their lather.’
‘Aud who says that? 5
‘Your own mother and Folly, and I
-ay it ’
‘M dher and Polly 1 ie, vnd you lie
too ’
‘Dm’t get waxy, Joe, fir eveybody
knows Ki'ty ltatcliffe was t.o better
than she should be. Why, I’ve seen
you my el c me out rs J e’s garden at
two tie-lock in the morning. Snaring’-
ail very well, and so’s watching, but if 1
had a wife I’d like you to set jour
snares forth- r away from my place. I’ve
told lots of 'em about it.’
’Then it was y< u set the tale aging
about me aud Kitty, that broke her
heart ?’
‘I dare say it was, Joo ’
'i hen 1 teli vnu what, Bill, you’ve
told me what I wanted to know any
time this last seven year o . When I
saw Jim’s wife growing worse and worse
through that scandal, I said to myself,
if ever If Uud out who set those tongues
wagging I’ll give hi n a lesson, if it was
a man, to let hotest women’s names
alone I>t the future And now Pm go
ing to do i', Bid, this v ry nigh l , ihi-i
very miuu e. I havn’i waited all this
liinc for uoihing, so j :st, you come out
bchiud the haystack, arid I’il give you
the lesson.
What-, do yoa mean to shoot me, or
put the dog on me 7
Neither, but 1 mean *o give you the
soundest biding you have had this many
a day, so come on ; and if you wont
take it like a man and stand tip to mo
fair, I’il wah you with a hedgestake,
you woman fighter.
‘Gome, Joe, I’il sweat the peace agin
you I 11 swear the pe&Se
‘1 dont o.re. Will you come like a
uian, or shall 1 drag you like a cur !
No, 1 wont come, 1 11—
‘No, you won't for I’ve got you now,
and you shan’t run, and the sturdy keep
er dragged his unwilling antagonist
through the gate and placed him in a
corner of the field behind a haystack.
‘Now, Bill, will you Sjbt?
•No.
‘l’ i light you with odc hand.
‘No.
;Tben I’ll thrash you with this ram
nd.
•I’ll ew<-ar
It. was too late. Taking the ramrod
aud laying the gun against the stark,
(be keeper thrashed his writhing viciiui
till he swori he would neve mtmion
tbe uaiuo of Kitty Katoliffe again, and
then let him go.
VWching hi? opportunity, Bill rush
ed at the gun, and taking it up, pre
s. ntedit at '.he keeper.
‘Hi*W now, Joe ? Yuu,ve had your
turn, and now its mine. Do
you know what I am going to d6 7 I’in
goi ig to shoot.
•Doa’t have murder on your coward’s
soul.
‘lt’s no murder to kill a dog ; you’ve
killed hundreds.
‘Kill Growler ! for God‘s sake don't
do ’hat.
‘Kcop off! I’ll put the charga into
yon if you come a step nearer. Keep
off!
‘Put it io, then, but doa’tjkiil the dog
It was her deg,
‘Then here go's, 1 would have on
-1 ■ wingeq him if you liadwt s.id that.
Now I’il hit him full.
‘Heel, Growler, hal ! cried the keep
er, waving his hand behind him ; and
the dog who had been an intorresting
spectator of the combat, now came be
hind his master, and there, for some
few minutes, they stood, one waiting a
movement of the dog, that would give
him an opportunity for a shot, the oth
er a moment, when the slightest move
ment of the muzzle w uld permit him
to rush in without certain death.
It came at list. A largo rat came
out of the R*ack, rau a liit'e wav, stop
ped. snuff d,and caoght Growler's eye.
’1 he dog ruin id at the rat. There was
a r port; and when the r m ke cleared
off, a man was getting fiver the fltil,-
and running away, and the d'-g was
licking the hand and whin.tig pit nuo’y
over fno p s'rate firm of his bleedit g
and insensible mast- r.
The dog's return without hi? mas'er.
and his eager running to the door, at
length induced Ki'ty to call one of the
farm men to look for h m.
The dog l-’d the way s'raight to the
stack, where the discharged gun on the
the grouudtold the old -tory o r an af
fray with poachers.
He taken home, and after some
few weeks his arm grew well, and he
resumed his duties • but on the subject
of the cause of his wound he woutd not
say much. A poacher he supposed had
atiacked him, and in the struggle the
gun had gone off
Bill was equally prudent, and took
very gord care that, when Kitt>‘s name
was menti med, the subject of conveLa
tion was soon changed.
Kitty was a caieful and devoted
nurse, without a care in the world bu'
to please Joe ; but his few weeks of So
invalid's holpl-ss life taught them bath
that thcr. | tad grown up betwoi n them a
reserve that, until then, neither had
f -lt. The old affection between them
was breaking up, and Laving in i‘s
place a painful embarrassment, in each
other’s society that brothers and sisters
do Got experience. It wa9 not till s ome
time after that they quite knew what
:hi? strange emotion meant.
Oao evening they were interrupted
at supper by the arrival of the vicur.
‘l’ve c- m’, said he, when seated, ‘to
draw y ur attention to tbo fact that
your ucigabors are talking about your
being here along with that young wo
man who ha? just lift the room.
‘What, Kitty ?
“Yes, K tty.”
“Why, sir, she’s a child. She's on
ly soventttxn I'm old enough to be
her father. I've beet, like a Ether to
lio h.”
“No, not her father, for you're only
thirty four, if I remember, Joseph ?”
‘•Thai’s so, sir.’ 4
“Well, you see, while they were
children, it was nil v ry well, but now
she s a young woman of seventeen it's
not quite the diing.”
“Whoever has said anything sir T’
“Nobody exactly; but, you see, it”s
not pleasant to have 1 tiers of ttiis
k nd sent to mo about my parishion
ers ”
lie read, —
‘ Rev. Bir —There’s a game a go
ing on in ymir paiisb as [ don't like,
a- a ros|*s-jtable in n, fair to sue Joe
Robertson and young Kitty’s all by
tlie.rselves in tuat there cottage of his
I asks you if i.’s r tie’s as toad
of the gui as ho was of tar mother
afore her, arid 1 hope you’ll teach him
he and better not blow on her name as
lie dd on her mother's —1 am, lii-v.
Sir, yours obedie t * * *
■•You see.” said the vicar, “I heard
some time ago of the s. undid about
Mrs. Ratebchfi'e, and what was said
by people then.”
“IVople then, sir, lied, as this scoun
dr el’s done now. I’d like to push bis
letter d-.iw o Ins thf at.”
“You know who wro’e it?”
“Y’ej. There's only one mi|n in
tbo place bad enough.”
“ \Y ho is he ?”
‘ Well, I’d rather not tell, sir, but
you’ll know -f it.”
“How'about the gir'? You really
trust have someone here, or send her
away. I don’t say there’s any harm ;
but people will bilk. So contrive some
plan to SilcaCt? them.” Aad the vicar
left him.
AY hat a change i‘ made w hen Kilty
came in again and sad, “Oh, Joe
dear! must Igo away. I’ve heard
everything, he talked so loud. Must
we have some ono here? We wert
*o happy, and now I must go.”
“No, la-s ; not go. I’ll get Some
old woman to cone and live with us.”
Ho did so, and then found there was
a change indeed : he had been so long
accu-tqmed to tne gi Is, that he felt
for them like a father j but when the
vicar pointed out how alight the and ffer
ence of nag really was, he opened a
new fountain of thought and feeling,
arid the brother and father faded—
died in the lovfta
Yes, the presence of an old woman
showed them that brother and sister,
the father and child rela ionship might
exist lor Meggie, but for lvitty there
wa? but one kind of aide lion, tenderer
than litiier of these, and this was the
strange emotion ttiat had disturbed
their peace for month?.
On the last evening of the old year
they were sitting up over the fire to
wel onie me in the new year, and drift
ed into talk about her father.
“Do you mind, Kitty, it was just
such a day as this, seven years ago,
that your father went away.”
“I do mind It well, that sad after
noon. Aye as well as if it was yes
terday. I remember going with fath
er pufl of the way down to the park
with the team, and stopping gathering
some holly till he hud loaded and
came back. I remember, too, meet
ing you just at the top of the hill be
youd the (jhunsh, with the dogs and
some hares and birds you sail the
' quire had just shot. I r m onher
futhei talking to yon for a while, and
wanting to go down to the beer Ini use
while the liorees rested, and you to'd
him you'd see to them if he’d put on
old Conqueror’s nosebag, and then his
g ing away down the hill with his
whip over his shoulder, and shouting
out hs ho went, ‘Look after the girls
till I come back,’ and your saying,
‘All right,’ and then the waiting by
you. You sat on the tree for such
a long weary time, while Jack Nor
ton tried to amuse us by setting Grow
ler to get a rat under the brunches.—
1 cin ri-rin ii'b rit ul so well that
•when 1 shut tny eyes [ own see every
thing ; the old tree, and the church,
and the white fields, and the two o.d
ptunteri. I shall never forget it, how
we sat there till almost dark, and then
yon took the learn homo and took us
to our own cottage. I sometimes lay
awake af n uight, and Joe, I urn hear
you saying, ‘All right, I’ll see to them,’
as dearly as I did then.’
“Well, Ki.ty, and I’ve done il ; T
said I would, and I've done it, and I’ll
do it as long as I live, or till your lath
cr comes back out of his grave.”
“1 ve often been going to ask, Joe,
is there any doubt about father’s be
ing dead ? I often feel as if I should
not he utterly surprised if father were
to come back.’
“Bless your heart, Kitty; what
makes you think that ? I wish more
than anyth ng I can wish that it might
be so, for then ’
‘ W hat Joe ? ’
“I’d ask your father to give me his
daughter as my wife.’
‘Ob, Joe. Do you nman it? Do
you love me so? Like that, l mean.”
‘ I do, Kitty. I loved your mother
like a boy, and I love her daughter
like a man.’
“But, Joe, if we lovo each other,
why can't Ibe your wife ? You u-ed
to call me so years age, and I always
felt that I should die if we were to
part; but lately I thought you didn’t
care about tne so much us you used ”
“Why, Kitty, you’re seventeen and
I’m thirty-!--ur; seventeen years, that’s
a great differ nee. 1 am an old man to
thee. If I were to marry thee, folks
would say I’d taken advantage of
what I'd done for thee. No lass, I
love thee better than life, but thy good
name and futu-o Won’t let me take
theo,’
‘ Well, Joe dear, they wo i’t keep
me from loving you, though they may
keep us tipait for a time.*
No, lass, we won’t part this spo of
the grave. There, don’t ’ee cry, Kit
ty ; we ll be all the better for this talk
—l’ve been longing for it for mouths.”
“And I, too, -Joe, dear,” aud with a
k'ss they parted.
Joe went to the door to look ik the
state of tbo weather, when be was sur
prised by Growler rushing out and
tearing down the ga den-path to the
road, barking 1 udly.
He soon saw the cause. A man
was coining heavily along in the SU"W,
arid soon came tip to th door
‘ Can you tc.l me btnv far I am fr m
the ‘Bun ?’
•‘.!a ter of two miles.’
“Ah ! |’m us tired as a dog The
drifted snow is two loot deep in the
roads ’
•‘lf you don’t mini, you can stop
here till the morning.’
‘ D’ye mean it ?’
“Cettaioly. Come in.’
The stranger came in. A tall, weath
er beaten man, with a bushy beard
anu moustache that covered half his
face.
“Can you give me someth’ng to Hat
and drink ? I’m perished ”
“Kitty, lass, art gone to b and ?’
‘ No, Joe ”
“Then come arid get something so
eat and drink for a gentleman here.’’
Kitty came, and af er lay ng the
cloth busied hers If edoking some eggs
nnd bacon, while the stranger sa(
w atching her in silence, stroking the
dog’s li ad, v bieh lay upon his knees.
“Now, Sit) will you come to the la
b’e ?”
“Thank you.”
Kitty turned at the fiirst sound of
bis voice, and looked at him, und in ti
tnomeut was in uis arms, Sobbing and
cry ng. ll Uh lather 1 father 1 you have
ct trie back ! —you have come back a!
ter all th su years ”
“Yes K te, I have. As for Joe here,
be didn’t know me, though old Grow
ler did. Yes, Ka'e, Fin your father,
safe enough ”
Meggie was called down, as well as
the old w-mnn, and when supper was
cleared away he to’d bis story.
“You see, Joe, I went down to get
a drop, for I’d got to that pitch since
poor Kitty had gone that I wasn’t
quite myself without it And that
w asn’t the worst es it, Joe, for I used
to go out of a uight with some of ’em,
trapping, and snaring, and netting,
and th< rest of it.”
‘I know it, Jim ; I never went out
at riigi t without a Gar that 1 and run
across you aud have to take Kitty's
husband.’
‘No fear, Jco. I liked the sport as
much as any of your gentleman born
—mope, piet’najw-, for it’s a fine thing,
j that cautions stealin p through the
wood of a night, vtith your senses wid j
•awake to get tne game and warn you
jof the keepers. On my soul, Joe, I
! liked it belter than anything I iver
j did; but, much as 1 liked it, I made
tt era agree never to want me on your
No. «.
grounds No, and 1 never wont near
y.mr place at all.
“Will, I went down to the beer
house, and there 1 met Soappy, and
he began to talk to me nb ut a big us
fair that was com'ng off near the town
There was to bo six of us, with guns,
to do a good stroke, and show fight if
need be. Well, I didn’t lilt it, and 1
told him so. 1 didn’t want any man’s
b’oud on my hands Game and sticks
are all well enough, but rio guns. He
tried h rd to get mo to go, but I
wouldn’t; so then he told me be
thought I was sneaking cut.
‘No’ I said’ ‘not sneaking ; but won't
go with guns ’
‘lie told me again T was eneaking
out, and going to split on the gang
‘But,’ says he, ‘l’ve a bit of news for
you. You remember last Sunday in
the gravel pit ?’
‘Where we had the fight xith those
throe keepers?' said I.
‘Yefi,’ said hes ‘and you remember
the man you hit y the head ?'
‘I didn’t hit sny one on the nead ’
‘Yon did, and we >an swear to it
Well; he's dead.’
‘What, Williams ?*
‘Yes; and if-you and ri't go with the
rest, I’ll be before you, und we’ll
peach and swear you hit him. So,
take your choice. It’s fourteen years
for you at the least, Jim, my lad I .’
I didn’t know what to do Soappy
would have done it, I knew, so 1
drunk some more beer, nnd when- he
went Id terminod to cut and run f r
it, leave the kid? to you, as you’d
promised to take care of their, and 1
went right off ut on’c, lor I thought
they’d be safer and b tter with you
than they would be if I got fourteen
years.
So to cross the scent I threw my
hat and smock into the gravel-pit
pond, and ott I went Perhaps ]
oughtn't to have done i‘, but I was
that frightened and half drunk that I
didn't know what elso to do.
I went to London, nnd get a berth
to Australia in charge of soma horses,
and meant to write a 1 about it to you,
Joo; but a chap I met with out there
told me not to, f r the police might
get ho’d of in a nnd send me home, und
so I staved out the-e.
‘Well, last year who should I meet
mu there but Williams himself. (Said
I—
‘l thought y u was dead through
that knock ’
‘Dead ! not a bit of it. I was bad.
and pretty near it.’
‘And will you tell me, said I, when
I’d to'd him about my being there on
account of his death, ‘who hit you the
crack ?’
fSi.uppy himself,’ says ho.
‘I asked him after you gals nnd Joe
and be to'd tne y u wore all right, ami
you'd grown a fine young woman
Kitty. Bo 1 and tennined to come and
t ee for myself, and hero 1 am, you
see.
‘Bo now, Kitty, I’m ready to take
you hack s soon as you Ike. ‘As for
Joe lr*ro, l m reckoning to pay him for
all his trouble and take you ott his
hands. So say, Joe, how much these
girls cost you, do you think 7 Don’t
lie ihodest, man. Ask for what you
think will pay for their keep aid lodg
ing and all the trouble you ve been at.
You need not be particular to a pouu 1
or two. l m rich enough. 1
‘Yes 1 know it, Jim. You're rich
enough, l ilt —•
‘What, stingy, eh ? Look here, hereV
mv cheque-book. Say, what shall it
be ?‘
‘Not a penny, —not a fat thing !
‘No money ? Why man. wo don’t
act that way tllb other side We’re
rather keener alter mohey than y u
seem to bo. You’re afraid to name too
mufti. Don’t be I'm rich.
•1 krinw it, 1 tel! yoti, bti f— Will
yoti give me what 1 wurP much mb're
than money ?
‘More tlian money. What’s Hint ?
‘Joe means to say, futher, that you
told him 1 1 take care of us till you
rathe buck, ai dha and and it; and now h’
wants to know if you’re i ich enough to
give him what you came back foi.
‘ That's you, Kitty.
‘Yes; me, father.
‘ls i , Joe ?
‘Yes. 1 don’t want your money. 1
do want Kitty We’ve lived together
till 1 can’t part with her nnd live, und
if you take her away from me 1 shall
wish you In your grave every day of
tny life.
Well, you shall have her ori one con
dition
‘On any.
‘And that is, that you both go back
with u:o to my new country,
‘l\l go anywhere in earth.
‘Aud I’d go with him, futher.
‘Well, my dear, as I’m going to
London to morrow, l can only say to
Joe what 1 add to him this day seven
years ago, ‘Taka care of the girls till
1 come back.
‘And you won’t be gcco quite so
long this t me, fa her ?
‘No quite, Kitty I'll come bark
on Tuesday, and bring the license for
the wedd ng uext Sunday.
Sunday came and went; ant after
a few weeks, during which the rich
Melbourne hor-e dealer, after buying
some of the squ’re’s best cattle, shot
by day over the ground on which Jim
the carter had poached by night, a
happy g oup le't the village for the
new laud ; and Joe, with his pretty
young wife on his arm, was consoled
tor niu.-h previous abuse, on parting
with h s iii'other, to hear her say,
‘ 1 hee beesu’t such a fool after all,
Joe.’
‘lt is vo-y s’- kty here, said one of the
sons of iha Em raid lde, the other day,
to another ‘Yo«, Slid his companion,
‘a great many hxve ditd this ytar, who
never died bcfcrc, *■
(tileries-
IT a person feels a person treading on hiatoes,
Koed a person ask a peraon bow a peraon
[know* F
fs It anybody's business
If a gentleman should choose
To wai, upon a lade,
ft the lady don’t refuse T
Or to speak a l tt'e plainer,
That the meaning all may know,-
la it anybody's bnslness
If a lady baa a beau t
la it auybody's business
When the gentleman does callj
. Or when he leaves the lady,
Or if he leaves at all 1
Or is it necessary
That the curtain should be drawn,,
To *ave from furtl er troubl.
The outside lookers-on?-
Is it anybody’s business
But the 'ady's, if her bean l
Rides with other ladies,
And doesn’t let her know ?
Is it anybody’s business
But tiie geulleiiiau’i if she
Should ucccpt another escort,
Where he doesn’t chance to bes
Is a person on a'fcidewailo,
Whether great or whether small—
Is it anybody’s business
Whether that persons mean to call?
Or if you sec a person
As he’s cuflkig anywhere,
Is it anybody’s business
What his business may be there T
■SjS- ! 1 p I,
The substance of our query,
Simply stated, would betbi-*
Ii it anybody’s business
What another’s business is?
If it is, Sr if it istv’f,
VVe would really like to know,
For we’re certain if it isn’t,
There are some who make It so.
If it is, we’ll join the rabble,
And act the nobler part
OT the tattlers and defame?*'
Who throng the public mart;
But. if not, we’ll act the teacher,
TTutil each medlar learns,
It were het'er in the ftrnre
To mind bis own conce ns.
To Pahknts.—The following hag'
been published b,fire, but it is seldom
wo meet with so mueh truth and good*
sens,! comprised in so small a space, it
will do no harm to duplicate it:
A child bepinu'ng ttj read beontnrf?
delighted with a newpaper, because be
'ca ls of names and things wLLh are
very funilliar, and he will make pro
gress accordingly. A newspaper io rnor
year (says Mr. Weeks) is worh u
quarti r-’s schooling to a child, aud eve
ry father nails’ consider that subgt&n-'
tial information is connected wi'.h tb : s
advancement. The mother of a fami
ly, being ono of its h ad, aud h»ving
a more immediate charge of children
should herself be ini ructed. A mind
occupied beer mes fortified agaiust the
ills of life, and is bred for any emer
gency. Cbildren amused by reading
or study are, of eonrse, considerate aud
ra-re easily governed. How many
thoughtless young mop have spent thefr
earnings io a tavern or grog shop, who
ought to have been rcadiug ! Ilow ma
ny paren's, who have not spoilt twenty
doll ays for books f r th' lr families,
wbo would have gladly given thousand*
to reclaim a son or daughter, who had
igo'rintly and thoughtLssly fallen in o
tern p.'.oa.
Full, Fact aud Iniicy.
A colored woman him just del in
Richmond, leating 35 chi’dren tu
mourn her death. Bhe was only oncer
married.
Ari eSo.hnnge says Punday in Nedi
Y‘ rk is devoted to devotion and dog
fights.
When have married people passed
through the alphabet of loVe 7 When
they tench the babe. " •
Flnpements are so common at
Springfield that there is talk of
l'shing ‘A Home tor Deserted Hus*-
bands.’ o-i-
Not Bad For SamßO.—A Bcihmond
cotemporary t elates :
At the Opera House the other
night, the following Beene occurred j
Tim —Now, look here, nigger, can
you tell me the diff-.renee between £
man’s < ceupnt'on and his business ?
Josh— WLy 'tent no difference. A
man’s occupation is hi-* busin ss, aad
Lis business is his occupation.
Tim—Now, nigger, is you a fool ?
Aint Jeff. Davis in occupation of For?
j tres? Mor.foe, and is be got any busi
ness diir? ‘
Josh—Dat nigger always was
Piikcocious.—A sharp promising
litt|o b y just learning to talk well.
Futher are vou going to see the
race to-day? Father brightening up,
What race, my son ? liie* brimad
race, was the astoni hed response. '**
Husband to wife—Mary Ann, that
bov will be an editor’s pet.
Wile—God forbid.
An Indian paper say* that ‘Old
Grimes’ is not dead, but still lives and
continues to wear Lie ‘old gray ccat
| buttoned down before ’
A citizen of Chicago who had net leeil
;in the cauntiy for soma years, fainted
on smelling fresh air. Ho revived on
inhaling the odof of a dead fl»h placed
under his nose, exclaiming, ‘Ah, that’s
good it smells el home.
‘lt is well to leave something for those
who come after us,‘as the gentlemen
said who threw a barrel in the way of a
con table, who was chasing him.
‘You look said an liishman to a poly,
haggard smoker, ‘as if you had got. obt
of your grave to light your cigar, and
could not find your way back again
‘lf you bad avoided rum, said a rum*
seller to a customer, ‘you could ride in
your carriage. ‘And if you had never
sold turn, Said tbo baehanal, ‘you Would
have beeu tny driver.
An Irishman’s idea of the maoufactoNt
us ice cream that it is usually baked la
a r. markable cold oven.