Funding for the digitization of this title was provided by R.J. Taylor, Jr. Foundation.
About The Dawson journal. (Dawson, Ga.) 1866-1868 | View Entire Issue (April 5, 1867)
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.
