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JOURNAL AND MESSENGER THE FAMILY JOURNAL—NEWS—POLITICS- .LITERATURE—AGRICULTURE—DOMESTIC NEWS^Exc.—PRICE $2.00 PER ANNUM. GEORGIA TEL APH BUILDING ESTABLISHED 1826. MACON, FRIDAY. MARCH 17, 1882. - VOLUME LYI-NO H 31AGHAEKX. BY 13EX B. KEXFOBD. Lift her up, men, from her slumber, Ult her up gently. I pray: Onre she wu stainless snd loYely, Kiiilcw. and falra* the day, But in the ways of the erring, Karly her footsteps were led, . And her life’s pathway was downward- Now she's at rest with the dead. Turn the white (ace to the sunlight. Ah, what cold beauty Is there; Cold as a statue In marble, White and exquisitely fair! Who, If they looked at the features, Hiding the darkness within, 4)h, who could think of such beauty, Linked to such hideous sin. Bmnoth bock the hair from the forehead, Yellow and shining as gold; Kec, through its soft, silken meshes, Kunshine wore in with each fold. Somewhere I have seen, I remember, A face that was strangely like this; Ah, I know now—one sweet summer. Sweet with delirious bliss. How, when I look bock toward It— That sweetest summer of life - How my heart stirs with emotion, Tears and my pride are at strife. She that I knew was as sinless. Pure, and as good as a child— Is this hor life-wreck before roe. Kin-tarnished; scorned and defiled T Oh, what a story of sorrow. Clings to this wreck of a soul— Trial, temptation and struggles. 'Ciainst fate too stem to control I Is there a mist tier the morning? .Somehow my sight has grown dim. While 1 hare looked on this pale face, Sad as a burial liymn. Cover the face from the sunlight— Hide her away from the day— <lod, in his merciful pity. Grant her His pardon, I pray. Creat was her sin and her error— Clod lias more pity than men, He can forgive the sinning. Of even a poor Magdalen. THE HUT OH THE MOOR, BY E. LYNX LINTON. No one knew liow It could have hap pened, but there it was. Nature had made a blunder, tripped over her own boundaries, broken her own laws. The heir of the great Armstrong family of liolme Wood might have been a diange- ling for all the likeness to bis progenitors traceable In mind or features; and had he been born a couple of centuries ago bis want of direct resemblance would bave certainly coat more tban one life on the plea of witchcraft and diabolical trans position. JIugh Armstrong, his father and tho head of the family, was a tall, hearty, florid, magnificent looking fox hunter, with the frame of an athlete and the head of a prize-fighter; and Julia, Ills mother, as tall, as hearty, as florid and »s magnificent as her husband, was like a white-armed and deejWireasted Juno in hat and habit, with the flush of the north ern breeze on her comely checks and the gray of the northern skies in her calm, fixed eyes. They were the handsomest couple in the county, and tho most popular. He was master of the hunt, she was mistress of society and the foremost patroness of all the locsl charities; he set the ball agoing among men, and she kept it in the right line with the womeu; be was the ideal of an English country gentleman and she was the ideal of that English country gcntlcman’rf wife. They were people who enjoyed themselves, and did their dnties without stint or failure, and who had neither a donbt nor a care, neither a fear nor a pain outaido>lbat one irretrievable mistake of their son. And that was a mistake which no arguments would Justify, soften or explain. Imagine, as the sou and heir of such people as these, a pale, thin, enthusiastic •dreamer who abhorred fox bunting and would not kill even a pheasant—a student, siot an athlete—with black hair, dark, dreamy, melancholy eyes, a skin, not wholesome red and white after the English pattern, but olive-tinted in the shadow and cream-colored in high lights; a creature looking as much like a Spanish poet as it was possible for a Northman to be—locking, too, like one who had como from some far away place into a foreign land and a s.range clime whence he knew neither himself nor bis surroundings. Was it a wonder, then, that he was a cross to his parents, or that be had been a sorrow from the first? Nothing about him harmonized with their manner of being, and tho bricks out of which be built bis temple when set against theirs wero all crop-cornered and askew. The strong open-air life and generous physical enjoyments which were so necessary to them, were both barbarous and degrading to him; and the studies which made his happiness were to them foolishness or worse, lie had adopted all tho new views, while they were not only content with the old, but sure that everything of modern invention was diabolical when not insane. He was an advanced Liberal and an enthusiastic evolutionist—they were Tories oi the deepest dye and be lieved in the separate creation of moths and butterflies, and the absolute differ ence of man from all the lower animals. He looked on sport as cruelty and vivisec tion as a righteous necessity—they main tained that the very foxes enjoyed the run, and that the man who would torture a rabbit for the sake of science and hu manity was only fit to be strung up to the next tree. He stigmatized the game laws as an iniquity belonging to a primitive civilization—they held t poacher as woisa than a murderer. • He boldly proclaimed lus intention, when he came to the estate, of throwing open the preserves to all comers; of shutting Iris gates so that no hunt should pass through his land; of granting leases to his tenants which should make their farms virtually . their own for life—aud they looked on all •these things as Communism, high treason, and atheism. But what could be done with a young fellow who talked of “protoplasm” and “mind-stuff” as if he understood his own foolish words? Who doubted the philosobliy of Paley, and had a godd word to say for Hume? Who be lieved in universal brotherhood aud the further lusiou of classes? He made the blood ot liis handsome father—six loot, two in bis bedroom slippers—turn hot And colfwith horror at bis perversities, and his mother's calm gray eyes flame with indignation at his follies. Bui he stood by his iniquities manfully, and they had to accept them if they accepted him. He was a cross, and they did not deny that fact to themselves or to others. Nevertheless be was their son. And bad as he was, lie was not bad all through. Outside bis principles—heaven save the mark! they thought with contemptuous compassiou— be was a nice creature enough for his lost kind. They despised his kind from the bottom of their hearts, but thev could not hate him, nor yet ban ish him from their presence as Clarence Armstrong, Hugh’s younger brother, wished and advised. The next of kin and heir to the estate, failing Julian, was Clarence, who cher ished tho most profound dislike for this unworthy twig or the brave old tree. T et even with him it was not personal so much as social—less because of the boy as an individual than because of that family pride which he, Claience, wor shipped, and lie, Julian, discarded. The good management of the estate and the good name of the Armstrongs were the central point of existence to Clarence, and knowing as he did that both would he lost in Julian’s hands, his one desire was to dispossess the recreant heir that | things should be administered with all I regard tc the fetish of old tradition. He • would keep up the honor of the house i which his nephew would destroy; he ' would root out all those pernicious doc trines which simply inflamed the masses, and which, if not cnecked, would send England to the deuce—and Julian would plant, foster and nourish them; he would teach the base scum the difference between them and the gentry—and Julian would mix up everything into one abominable hodge-podge, where Jack would be as good as his master and Joan would rank with her lady. Thus it came to be a matter of almost life and death to him that bis nephew should be prevented from ever entering on his rightful inherit ance. Clarence did not quite see how this was to be done, but time, a good cause and a strong will work marvels, and he trusted to these three as to the Fates who would put ail straight, aud somehow snap off the thread that was now sucli an innar- monlous strand running through the clear Armstrong web. But the father and mother, while always deeply deploring the strange twist that had been given to their boy, ever refused to send him abroad under surveillance and ia disgrace, as Clarence so constantly suggested. It was their own, their son, their heir, their rep resentative—a sorry one truly, but still their own. And though they did not love him as they would have done had be been more, congenial to their tastes, they did not quite want to lose him; and though young nugb, Clarence's eldest son, bore the family name and was an Armstrong every inch of him, still he was only a nephew—and Julian was the child of their ljve. Wherefore they kejrt him at home, and contented themselves with rating him soundly when things went worse tban usual with him, and bo was more than ordinarjte M.<£urd; but such as he him as well as they"couId—TSEtiI 1 that he was their cross. So tho time passed. Jubau went to college; took a fairly good degree, but in no wise one of such brilliancy as a’oned for his failure in caste-righteousness and family duty. Had he carried off all the honors they would have forgiven some of bis follies, but the truth was, the young fellow was mors of a dreamer tban a worker—an enthusiast for ideas rather than a seeker after facts—aud he cared more to spout at the debating club, and lay down tho law on all debatable social points, than sit in his own room aud master the difficulties of tiie Greek artist atid the differential calculus. Now all this was bad enough. An Armstrong, who held unsound views on the game laws, the laud laws and the rights of men, and who had not made a sky-rocket of himself at college, was an infliction almost past endu-ance; but worse remains behind—and that worse was almost im possible to bear. The game-keeper’s pretty daughter! Ah! what misery for the family at Holme Wood lay in the fact that Debby Scam- bier bad a face and figure more like the face and figure ot a classic Oread than of an ordinary English country girl; that she was good aud modest, virtuous and affectionate; that she was brave and pure, lovely and sincere! She was really a most rare and precious creature, counting her humanity as more valuable tban her social class. The most determined contemner of the people must have confessed that she was supreme in her own way; but to the Armstrong family site was as hateful as if she had been Caiibau’s twin sister and Hecate’s favorite daughter. And her name—Debby Scambler! What mattered her heautitul soft hair, like ripe nuts in the sunshine—her large, limpid, haze! eyes—her cheess with their peach-like bloom—her lips with their “Cupid’s bow” for outline, their flesh as soft and smooth and red as cherries; what mattered her sweet voice and her nymph-like form, when she was only a gaiue-keeper’s daughter aud was called Debby Scam- blei? Her very name was a disgrace, as Ler birth and parentage were social sins— made so by the fact that Julian Arm strong, of Holme Wood, was in love with her and meant to make her his wife. Had he been in love with her, without meaning to make her bis wife, even then the shame would have been sufficient; but as things were, bis love for the girl was the last drop in tho cup of bitterness and the parents refused to swallow it. There was no glossing over an unpleas ant truth, or diplomatically biding his time with Julian. What lie had to say he said at once, going straight to the point, without circumlocution or conceal ment. As soon as he had made it clear to himself and Debby that’ he loved her and had heard that she loved him in re turn, he made it clear also to his father and moliitr. In less tban half an hour after he bod taken her first kiss, and given bis own faith, he revealed this notable secret to bis parents, and he re vealed it with as much enthusiasm and pride and delight as if he had gained the love of a princess, and was to call a king bis father-in-law; instead of which he had only won the love of Debby Beam- bier, and his future father-in-law was the head game-keeper on bis own aucestral estate. But it was the right kind of thing altogether! be said, tossing back bis long black locks. This fusion of the classes was to be the true salvation of England— this leveling up the only righteous revolu tion. He was not only glad because he loved Debby and she lo7ed him, but be cause it was such an admirable occasion for carrying out his theories—testing the strength and worth of his Ideas. He was lisppy as a mao, a lover, an experimental ist, a philosopher; and he invited his father to congratulate him on his choice and his mother to be glad eveu as be was glad. “Ton are mad or worse,” cried Mr, Armstrong furiously “If you marry that girl you will break yonr mother’s heart!” “No, my mother will learn to love her!” said Juliau, with the heroism of infatua tion. -she will live to thank am tats giving her euch a daughter.” “Is this folly or lnsolyme?” asked bis father, looking at him cunbtuly. “Neither,” Julian answered, meeting that searching look with one as candid as a child’s. “It is truth aud love.” Hugh Armstrong turned away with au impatient exclamation. He had loved his wife—no man better, but then Julia was bis fit helpmate. She was bis equal in birth, fortune, education, condition. There were no loose timbers in the matri monial ship to threaten foundering or to creak unpleasantly. But this affair of Julian’s was a very different kind of thing. This was unsound throughout— net a timber that did not creak, not a square inch that did not portend founder ing. X ‘ “Troth and love!—rubbish!” said Hugh contemptuously. “Understand me,” lie then continued, turning back and speak ing to bis son with hardness, anger, de cision and impatience all m one. “If you marry that girl you may live as you will or as you can. I cannot prevent your coming Into the estate, but while I am alive not one sixpence shall find its way from my pocket into yonrs.” “That will be so much to the good of my moral nature,” was the answer of the incorrigible. “I shall learn a man’s duties before me, and assume a husband’s responsibilities.” “Julian! how can you be so insane, so wicked,” cried bis mother. If auylhing she was even more disgusted tban his father, and took the disgrace and shame of the whole thing more to heart. “I am not insane, and I am not wicked in my love for Deborah,” said Julian, sacrificing so much to the genios of the moment as to givo his beloved’s whole sonorous name. “She is noble, slie is magnificent, and human worth is a higher thing than mere caste aud fashion.” “Hugh! be must be mad!” repeated his mother, looking at her son with a com passionate kind of suspicion breaking through her iudignation. “Mai cr not, if this thing goes on lie must be banished from home,” said his father sternly. “I shall be grieved,” returned Julian, “but I must wait In hope, and possess my soul in patience. You will do me and her justice in the end.” “Leave the room, sir,” thundered bis father. “Your insolence, your pedantry arc Intolerable. Leave this room now—I give you till to-morrow morning to know whether you will have to leave the house as well.” “Father, you will be sorry for your hardness. You do not know what an angel of goodness you are rejecting,” said Julian gently; but he obeyed the com mand aud withdrew, leaving his two handsome and unhappy parents in despair at this untoward event, and without much hope that their wrong-headed son would see the errors of his ways—aud, seeing, would amend them. If they were outraged, what was Clar ence? His indignation against hts nephew went at far beyond theirs as his love fell short, and had there not been the gallows in the distance he would have put a pistol to that disturbed and disturbing head with no mare compunction than he would have killed a weasel in the hen-roost, or a canker-worm at the root of a sapling oak. s “He is insane, and be must be put into a lunatic asylum,” said Clarence. “You owe it to yourselves, to our family, and our past, not to allow stteo a disgrace as this to tultifv our Whole history. He must be confined close—we have Case enough for a aertificate.” , But the father and mother, though they did not reject, did not quite indorse, the suggestion. A badly married son was an awful infliction to their family pride, tru ly, but a mad sou was almost worse. Between the two what comfort was left them? And there was no chance of Ju lian’s submission. The next day found him as firm and fixed as be bad beeu the day before. He loved Debby Scambler and he meant to marry her at ail costs; and neither tears nor reproaches, neither p*ayers nor threats moved him from ids resolution. So that nothing was left to Hugh Arm strong and his wife Julia, save the carry ing out of their ultimatum, and the ban ishment from home of the son who did not respect the traditions of that home. They could not keep him out of the estate, hut during their lifetime they determined that ho should enjoy liolliihg which should uphold him in his wicked ness, or make Jiis crooked path mure straight or smooth. “I do not know what I can do to earn my daily bread,” said Julian with quiet, halt melancholy philosophy; “but 1 will do something. When you want me yop can send for me; but until I am sent for I shall not trouble you with my presence again.” And with this he left the old home, and went up to London—that maelslorm of youthful hope and energy and Incapacity and despair—to see how best lie ciuld make bis bread with never a trade nor a profession at his fingers’ ends, and in a world where competition is so fierce, aud workers so much in need of work. It had to be done. If he were worth any thing be must show that he was able for his life’s work—that he had strength and energy enough to carry out ins plan, and to justify his action of ability by his maintaining his ground. He told Debo rah to keep up both heart and faith; to believe in him and to love him; to resist all temptations that would he offered her —temptations of wealth if she would abandon him, of doubt in bis sincerity, of belief in his death. She was to be stead fast through everything, and in the end all would be well. Ho would be faithful and she must be firm, and together they would conquer love and the world. To all of which pretty Deborah said “Yes,” weeping in her lover’s arras, and feeling that her heart must break—it could not bear so much despair aud not give way. But hearts do not break, fn spite of all that poets say and lovers feel; and the two poor young people parted, and went on living and eating and sleeping much the same as usual, only very unhappy and feeling very desolate. * Of course James Scambler, Deborah’s father, was againsttbe match. He was a fine, sensible, faithful, kind of man, who bad no false ideas in any direction. “Like to like,” he said when Julian spoke to him on tho matter; “he was dead against all unequal pairings in manor beast. Joe Williams, the senior game- keeper, was the man to bis mind forDeby; and she would bo better off iu everything but money if she took him rather tlnn the young squire for whom she was not fit.” He set bis face like a rock against the match, but what could he do ? Debby was of age, and must marry with whom she bad a mind. He would only forbid all intercourse with the young squire, by letter or by word of mouth alike, while she was under bis roof; and for the rest he was as powerless as the great folks at the Hall itself. All this he said to Juliau himself and repeated to the squire aud his lady; and as they wero fair minded people they con fessed thalthey had no cose against him, and that he was as little to be blamed and as much to be pitied as themselves. They took his word for ft that they would keep Debby close; and they did not dismiss him from their service, as at Inkthaarthought they would have done. When they thought more calmly considered it would be better policy to keep him on. They would have him more under their own eye, as it were, and would know Debby’s mode of life and movements. To all of which Clarence gave his as sent. Ever revolving his plan in his own mind, but taking no one at the Hall into his confidence as to what that plan was. One day, not long after Julian’s depar ture, James Scambler received a letter, telling him that an old uncle of his, who lived at an unpronounceable place some where in the heart ot the Welsh moun- ta’ns, had died aud left him his farm, ^id that be was to go down at ouce and take possession. Surely it was Providence, he said to himself with thankfulnoss and joy. It was the way marked out for him by Heaven itself to take him and his out ot danger and a position that had become almost Intolerably irksome to him. Proud ana upright, it was a terrible thing for him to be the father of the girl whom the young squire fancied, and to feel in some measure responsible for all the grief and perplexity that had come on his masters at the Hall through that fancy for his girl. He was glad of this Order of Release; and bidding Deborah mind the house and keep indoors during his absence, he setoff for this place with the unpronounceable name to take up bis inheritance and prepare for a new life which would, ho hoped, set all difficulties at rest. it was a wild autumn night when James Scambler left bis borne, and Debby, for the first time in her life felt afraid to be alone. The wind raved among the trees, aud the rain poured in torrents ou the roof; but she fastened the door as well as she was able—they were honest folks in those parts, aud fastenings were not very secure—and then she went upstairs, and, all dressed as she was, laid herself on her ’ bed, feeling somehow more at home in her own little room than she did down in the larger, darker kitchen below. She could not sleep. How the wind howled and roared! It was like a heavy weight pressing against the walls, and seemed as if it wonla have carried the little house clean away. She felt as if everything must be swept off like So much dust and chaff, while the rain threatened to swamp all that the wind left stauding- Between the two, with the sense of lone liness and her sorrow in addition, she was wretched enough, poor, sweet Debby Scambler, whose only sin was in her beauty! and tears, of which she was ashamed but which she could not repress, flowed over her fair checks on to the pil low below. How lonely ft alt was I What a terrifying night! Howjtnucl: she wished that father bad not gone away, and* that be was there iu hu own room. rHh just the little passage between his strength and her desire for protection? Hark 1 what is that ? Through the howling ot the wind and the splashing of tho rain Debby heard tho garden gate clink and swing; and then a heavy step came up the little paved In closure that led from the gate to the front door; and then she heard that front door tried, soon to be burst in with a sounding crash of broken !ron aud shattered timber, while tho wind tore in like a troop of demons, and shook tho whole place to its foundations. And then she heard that same alow, heavy step como up the stairs— nearer, nearer, step by step—till it halted at her room door. And then tho room door opened; and a man came in. He was a tall, broadly-built man, dressed in a kind of loose overcoat which liid all details of Ids figure, and with a black mask coveripgtbe whole of bis-face. He was as completely disguised as it he had been one of tho Misericordia of Italy; bat he was evidently a powerful, »ad quo would have instinctive’* said a brutal man as well, more than a match for a slight young creature like Debby—paralyzed by terror as she was, unable to scream, or make even the weakest attempt at de fending herself. The masked man came up to the side of the bed, grim, terrible, silent os the grave. Before she had fully realized her fearful fate he bad bound a handkerchief round her mouth so that she could not cry out, anil had pinioned her anus behind her back so that she could not strike. He took her ont of the bed, dressed as she was, and wrapped tier carefully in a cloak and blanket, in which he secured her like a bundle; then he slang her over his shoulders; carried her down stairs; and so through the house and little garden; and along the close lane, at the entrance to which stood a cart. He lifted her into the cart almost as if she had been a farm-beast which he was taking to market; but ho covered her up in sackiug so that she should not get wet, and thus drove out into the open and the wild moor beyond the villAge. The Journey took a good three hours; and at the end of that time the cart drew up before the door of a small cottage that stood in the bleakest part of the moor—a kind of shelter-place for shooting parties and the gamekeepers, when the former came for sport and the latter looked after the eggs and the young broods, and tried conclusions with such poachers as might be about. Here the man, always masked and always silent, carried poor Debby again stung over bis shoulder like a huge bundle or lifeless sack; putting her down in the middle of the floor, while he set to work to make a fire and to boil some water thatstood there, handy in a kettle. AU that he did was done in a stolid, me chanical kind ot way, with no unnecessary haste, no stirring of feeling anyhow, but as a task that bad to be got through no matter what the cost or what the result. Th i girl had to be trapped and secured; not killed outright—only kept from the mischievousness of freedom: and if she died in the process that would not be his fault; but neither would he hasten nor cause that death by uudue neglect or gra tuitous brutality. Therefore he boiled the water iu the kettle; made some hot tea, into which he put a few spoonfuls of bounty, then going up to where poor Debby lay; stunned, dazed, helpless, he took the kerchief from her mouth and made a sign that sho was to drink what he provided. When, shuddering, she turned away her head and said: “No,I cannot 1” he 'ripped her arm savagely that for very ear she obeyed him and took the stimu lant which was to savoTier from cold and ague. By this time the storm had abated, and the flying clouds gave glimses of tho moon and stars overhead. Still tho masked man neither spoke uor removed his dis guise, but went about the little hut arranging this aud that for tho better comfort of his prisoner. Food and fuel were put within her reach enough to last her for some days, and a bed was ar ranged in the corner near tho chimney. She was not then to be left to starve, and stie was not to he tortured. No, she was only to be secured—and left. In truth it was a very safe security that was enforced. The windows and shutters of tho little hut were fastened so that no light came through them, save in narrow slits and chinks. Fixed in the wall was a huge staple, aud iastened to the staple was an iron chain. The man who had poor Debby in captivity buckled a strong leather belt round her waist, then fastened this to the Iron chain, leaving her tether enongh to move about the fireplace so that she couid prepare her food and keep up the fire, but not allowing her to reach either the window or tho door. She was chained up to the wall like a wild ani mal, and she might shriek till she died, no living thing, save the birds and the moorland beasts, would hear her. It was a bold game to play, but it was an effect ual one, and it accomplished with the nicest precision ail that it was intended to do. With the first streaks of dawn the masked man, giving one last-look round to see that all was as it should be—taking a final survey of the staple—giving a final pull at the chain—nodded his head to Debby in token of idieu, then iefttbe hut, pulling the door behind him and locking it from the outside. “Trapped cleverly—and effectually,” he said aloud to himself with a grim smile, as he took off his mask and turned his cold, crusl face to tho light, “Now the family honor Is saved and no crime com mitted.” • Naturally there was a terrible commo tion when the girl’s losS|Was discovered. Tho under game-keeper, Jos Wilson, passing the house the next morning, saw the gate and the door both open, abd went in to find tho bird flown and tbe nest cold. No one bad a doubt but that sho had gone to join Julian In London, and the most positive of ail was Clarence. To hear him one might have believed that lie had taken her ticket at the rail way station and beard of her arrival at the terminus, he was so sure of the whole matter. The thing was as plain as tbe traditional pikestaff according to him, and no other solution of tbe mystery was possible. Hugh Armstrong and his wife took the same line and agreed with their brother; but when James Scambler came borne he shook his head, and said he could scarce credit it of his girl. There was something in it all so unlike her—she who had never been other than careful and thoughtful, obedient and sincere— that he was forced to think twice, he said, before be condemned once; but as he had no other hypothesis to offer, his mere negation went for nothing. Moreover, the circumstances ol his own absence tola against Julian and Debby; for when he got down to that oddly spelt place in the heart of tbe Welsh muuntatns ho found his uncle alive and hearty, with no inten tion of bequeathing farm or fold for twenty years to come, while no neighbor had written any letter whatever summon ing him to those parts, and tbe name at the foot of that which had brought him was unknown hereaway. And if that did not look like"a planned thing to get him out of tho way, what was ft like? No, the whole affair was a plan from begin ning to end—a stratagem of the young squire’s to get Debby’s lather off tho board so that fie might carry off Debby herself in safety. . s But this fell to tho ground sooner or later, and by means of tbe family lawyer the Armstrongs found in time that Julian was innocent of the girl’s disappearance, and that wherever she was sho was not with him. By means, too, of the same lawyer Julian heard what had happened at Holme Wood, and how one wild, stormy night James Scambler had been lured away to Wales on a false scent, and Debby had disappeared without leaving a trace behind her. No one could say what had become of her, and if Julian himself did not kcow, all the world beside was at fault. More mad than sane, tho young iellow put iu motion all the resources at tho dis posal of an English citizen. The police were stirred up to look lor the lost girl in every town in England; rivers were dragged, lunatic asylums were overhauled, work-houses and refuges, and even prisons wero visited, but tiie little hut on ilia moor was left untouched; and no search revealed tbe whereabouts of poor, pretty Debby Scambler. So tho time passed, and the trap which hold its prey was yet secure, One day Julian, who had come dowil to tbe neighborhood of Holme Wood, out who was not a. his own home, scarcely knowing where he was nor how ho got there, found himself in the mlddlo of Ike moor, within a stone’s throw of the little hai where the shooting parties were wont to take shelter, and whence the keepers made their lookout. The door was close shut; tho window and shutters wero fas tened; all was as still aud deserted-looking os the grave; but a faint wreath of smoke rose from the chimney, aud surely thero was a slight noise, as of some one stirring within. Young and brave as Julian was—too despairing for fear, too wise for super stition—he stood there and trembled. He did not kuow what he expected nor what he dreaded; ho only knew that ho Was seized with some mortal terror, and that lie stood by tiie door eager as a bound in leash when the scent is warm, yet quiver ing with the nervous anguish of a school girl. -V A light sigh broke through the stillness, aud he heard the rustle of a woman’s gar ments and the tread ct a woman’s feet. He tried the door; it was fastened, and he knocked with a sharp, quick knock that meant as much dread as impatience. “Who is there?” said a voice from within. He know the voice—as love ever does. It was what be unconsciously expected— what he dumbly hoped yet dreaded. “Debby! my love! my darling! It is I, Julian. God be thanked that I have found youl” was his answer. “Debby, S ulck, open tho door! Let me in! My arling! my beloved! I have found you once more!” But no glad footsteps came rnshing to the door to open the mouth of the tomb and let in life and the sunlight; only a walling cry and a burst of despair an swered his prayer, his joy. “I cannot open the door to you—it is barred and lam chained. Oh, J ulian, do not leave me. Save me, save me. Force your way in and set me free.” Whence came the strength Julian never knew, but iu a moment, as ft seemed to him, he had burst.tho door open, and was there in the heart of tho hut holding his rescued love in his arms. Had she been what she looked, a dead creature still unburied, it would have been scarcely more pain to Julian than it was to find her in this terrible condition of degradation and suffering. And it would have been small wonder had she gone mad. But life is strong in youth, and hope never abandons those who love. She bad not known how, but she had known that it would come. She had dreamed of it, prayed for it, pictured it, believed in it; and now ber hope bad justified itself, and she was safe and with him. “The tigers I” he said as he held her to him; “the cruel, bloodthirsty tigers!” “It will be all right now,” was Debby’s patient answer as she turned her face to her lover’s breast, and sobbed with joy and weakness together. All for her! Ho gave up sverytlfing. He threw away his name, his inheritance, his family, his wealth, his estate, his so cial standing. He would havo none of theso things, tainted as they were with the cruelty of old-world superstition—with the blindness of an effete civilization, to which appearances and names are more va.uablo than things and lacts. He aban doned all for her, aud love and freedom; aud in his peaceful Australian home, where ho had the dignity of labor and the light of her love, he was happier than he would have been in the old home, bound to the car of conventionality and without her love, or with her love, and at odds with all the powers that rule. * His father and mother never knew his fate. This was his revenge. As they had dealt by.bim so ho did by them;forbe believed that they bad known of the whole plot, anil been themselves the prime movers in it; just as thoy believed the same of him. He said bitterly enough that it would not break their hearts to imagine him dead; nor in truth did it. They kept bis place open for a reasonable time; aud when Julian saw by the papers that he had been made dead and that Clarence and young Hugh were held as heirs to the estate, he only smiled as he turned to Debby and said: - “It is better so, m7 wife. We will never tell our boys of the inheritance they have lost. Yet betweeu this and their mother they would hesitate no more tban I—and between love and riches they would choose as did I.” “Never to regret your choice, hus band?” “Never!” sho said, firmly. “On the contrary, each year that I live I am more and more thankful for the good gift made me by heaven wlieirl found you, aud with you all that makes life worth having.” —Editor's Box. WILLIAU 31. IFJPIifir. Maine Hewn. Hop Bitters, which arc advertised in our columns, are a sure cure fpr ague, bilious ness and kidney complaints. Those who use them say they cannot be too highly recommended. Those afflicted should give them a fair trial, and will become enthusiastic in praise of their curative qualities.—Portland Argus. Hunt’s Bell Cologne.; The best cologne which it has been onr good fortune to get hold of is the Hunt’s Bell Cologne, made and sold just across the way iron as. It has a delicate, de licious and lasting odor—such an odor aa it takes years oi bard work and study to combine and one that will suit the masses. Call and get a bottle and try it. They have it from 35c. up to $1.50 per bottle. From tbe Anvil to the President's Chair—Sketch of a Grant Career. It is currently rumored,And positively believed by a great number, that Mr. W. M. Wadley will this year retire from the presidential chair of the Central railroad of Georgia, and its numerous branches, whose rails cover more than thirteen hun dred miles. As this great corporation Georgia’s pride, and as Mr. Wadle; management has been criticised in au unjust [manner, I desire, throng! columns of your valuable paper, to gWe a brief historical sketch of the life of this eminent man, which shows what he has done for Georgia. William M. Wadley is from Massachu setts. While yet iu his teens he came south and settled in Savannah. On board the same boat which brought him to the South he met a youuMaJy, and becoming enamored of lier,*’-Jfooed and won her. Upon his arrivjrau Savannah, lie began immediately ky search for employment. Finding it a mfficult matter to secure a good situation, he took a position as strik er in a blacksmith shop. He retained this position tome time—always on the lookout for something better. One day he saw an advertisement requesting bids for the building of a bridge over tbe Oco nee river. He immediately entered a bid, and when all the bids were opened, ft was found that Colonel Wadley’s was the best, and the contraot was awarded toliim. He began the work immediately, and right there, while building that bridge, he displayed a sample of that indomitable energy and nerve which is so characteris tic of him. The river passed through Mlsmal swamp just where the bridge was being erected,and the miasma arising therefrom was terrlbiflfc While at work in the water waist deop Col. Wad ley would be taken with a chill. He would leave the water and lie down on tbe banks of the river, where he sun could warm bis shivering form, aud as soon as the Chill would pass off he would re-enter the water and resume his'duttes. The attention of the directors of the road was attracted by this wonderful display of energy, aud as scon as tbe bridge was completed and its affairs settled, Col. Wadley was offered a section of six miles of the track to attend to aud keep in order. He accepted the position and bis work was attended to with tbe same de gree of energy and tact which he had dis played in his former position. This was Col. Wadley’s first railroading, anil it was what is termed the bottom round of the ladder. I think it wa3 in the year 1845 Col. Wadley was chosen superintendent of the Central Railroad of Georgia, which runs from Macon to Savannah, a distance of 100 miles. The road wa3 in a weak condition at the time, but uuder his skillful management it soon became the best road in Georgia. He was getting a salary oft two thousand dollars a year, in 1848, Howell Cobb, who was then governor of Geoigla, wish ed some man who was not a politician, to take the superintendency of the West ern and Atlantic railroad from Atlanta, Ga, to Chattanooga, Teun., at a salary of tnree thousand dollars. Colonel Wadley, without his knowledge, was recommend ed for the position. Governor Cobb offer ed him the appointment and he took it. When be took charge of the road it had small flat Iron rails, and it was not a great while before they were removed and good “T” rail, the best in use at that time, was put in its place. The directors oftlie Central road 1 seeing tbe great abili ty displayed by Col. Wadley in his man agement ol the State road, agreed to en deavor to regain his services, and offered him a salary of five thousand dollars. Tho Central being like home to him he accepted and returned to the road upon whose track he had begun bis railroad career. Col. Wadley’s reputation as a railroad manager had by this time spread over tiie entire country, owing to the fact of the exceedingly rapid strides he had made in such a short time. Shortly after his return to tbe Central he received an offer from the New Orleans, Jackson and Great Southern railroad at a salary cf $12,000, which was enormous at that date. He was, at that time, getting $7,000 from the Central. He concluded to accept tbe offer of the New Orleans, Jackson and Great Southern railroad, and for the second time left his old home, “the Cen tral,” and moved to New Orleans, La. A short time after taking possession of tbe New Orleans, Jackson and Great South ern he discovered that the road was in tbe hands of manipulators, and, being a scru pulously honest man, he went to work immediately to relievo the road of that discordant element, and succeeded. After serving for some timo, he, with a party of other gentlemen, bought a road in Louis iana, and was there when the war broke out- Like a true patriot who never shrinks from any duty, be saw at a glance that the great interests of tbe country wblcb had smiled and bestowed upon him a great portion of ber blessings needed bis aid. He immediately offered his ser vices to the Confederacy. President Davis commissioned him superintendent of transportation over all the roads in tbe Confederacy, with the rank of colonel and headquarters at Richmond. Ya. With what skill and promptness he filled this all-important position let tbe thou sands of surviving soldiers of tbe lost Yfcuse bear witness. In all that gigantic confusion, at a time when the coolest of all cool men almost lost their wits, YV. M Wadley stood like the immovable oak of tbe forest, and without even a single tre mor braved the onslaught of a gale which tbe country had never felt before, and God grant may never see again. After returning home from the war he found his railroad in ruins and his friends, all or a great majority of them, gone. He took his little family and went to a secluded country spot and opened a blacksmith shop, and there, where the sweet and always welcome music of tbe anvil drowued the chirping mel odies of the birds, he went to work to patch up his broken for tune. It was here that Mr. Courvoisie, the treasurer of the Central railroad at that time, who bad been dep utized by tbe directors of the .Central to search for Col. ^Wadley, found bun. Mr. Conrvoisie’s business was to request Col. Wadley to return to Georgia and take cbqge of the Central railroad. Col. Wadley oonsented to return. After straightening up his affairs they both started for Savannah, but Mr. Courvoisie never reached home alive; be died on tbe way aud was buried by bis friend, Col. Wadley. After returning to Savan nah Col. Wadley met tbe directors of tbe Central and there was a disposition among some of them to make Col. Wad ley superintendent, and some favored him for president. At this time Col. Wadley received an offer from the Georgia railroad from Atiauta to Augusta. The directors of that road wanted him for president of their corporation. Having a preference for the Central, Colonel Wadley informed the directors that if thev wished his ser vices, he would acceit tbe pofiiUm of president of their road; If not, he would go to tbe Georgia road. He was chosen president of tbe Central by a unanimous vote of the directors. He bad almost to rebuild tbe road. In a few years he had it in fine trim. Then it was that, in or der to enhance the value of the stock ot the Central, he went to work and bought or leased several roads, the first being the Southwestern from Macon, Ga., to Eufauia, Ala., which gave him all the anthweslern Georgia aud lower Alabama usiuess. Next, lia obtained possession of the Macon and Western railroad from Atlanta to Macon, which is known as tbe neck of the bottle, as all matter for south west, middle Georgia and Florida from the West has to come over this line. Next was the Muscogee road from Macon to Columbus. Then he ob tained possession of tbe Western road of Alabama, from West Point, Ga., to Selma, Ala, via Montgomery, Ala. With that he also got the Opelika, Ala., aud Columbus, Ga, road, which is a branch of tho Western, thereby opening a direct route from Macou and Savannah to New Orleans, La, and the fewer part of Texas. His next move was the baying of tbe Montgomery and Eufauia, Ala, road, which runs from Montgomery to Eufauia and cmnects at Eufauia with th? South western roa£ This was considered one of tho biggest cards that Col. Wadley ever played. By this purchase he ent tbe Louisville and Nasbvi'le railroad, which was a dangerous adversary, entirely off. When Col. wadley came into possession of the UYestern Road of Alabama he made Gen. Alexander, who is now gen eral manager of the Louisville and Nash ville, superintendent, thereby starting his (Alexander’s) railroad career. Col. Wad ley’s next move was to obtain control of the Georgia road from Atlanta to Au- X uta, and with it the Macon and ugusta read, from Macon to r»~- ack, connecting ^ CaaUck "day » _ day aud night vrliL on Georgia road for Atlanta and Ailgitfta. Also (he Athens branch from Union Point to Athens, trains making same connections at Union Point as the trains outlie Macon and Augusta road. Hero Gen. Alexander obtained an other lift toward the peak of railroad fame, aud that too by tbe hand of his friend, Col. Wadley. He (Alexander) was made president of the Georgia rail road. Then Col. Wadley got control of the Port Royal road from Augusta, Ga, to Port Royal S. C., connecting at Port Royal with boats. This was tiie last gem gathered about the more brilliant jewel (the Central) that shines iu the beloved coronet which crowns Georgia the lead ing progressive State of the South. From tbe auvil to the president’s chair. That was Col. Wadley’s route, and on his way be ascertained what a man’s labor was worth, and when be reached tho end, which was the president’s chair, he saw that a laborer was properly compen sated for bis work. To-day William M. Wadley pays the highest salaries that are paid by any corporation to my knowledge in the United States, thereby not only greatly benefit ing tho poor, but giving encouragement to the laboring class under him, who leel a pleasure, as well as a necessity, in per forming their duties with care and dis patch. Col. Wadley is abused on all s'.dcs, ana for what ? I reply for the strict compliance with a solemn duty that any person is compelled by honor to perform in obedience to an agreement between employe and employer. I dely any per son to endeavor to show where Col, Wadley ever committed an act of any description in his official life that did not tend to benefit the corporation ho repre sented. If they should I submit tbe assertion that they will regret the effort. At times he has inflicted wounds, and no one felt it more sensitively than he. They were only commuted when his choico lay between wounding and unfaithfulness to trust. In that' case, as the great man that he is, who guards bis honor as be does bis life, bis duty was plain. I trust tbe rumor is not true, and that Col. Wadley will remain in bis present position until he is called upon to ex- sooncr or of which will go the unlimited prayers of thousands, en treating that his tripjnav not be encoun tered by any “hot bsxes” or “broken links” or “misplaced switches,” but when be reaches tbe great depot beyond tbe stars and comes face to face with the superintendent of all superintendents, that bis report shall be, “On time with a full connection.” “Cat»” Pen Picture of Gen. Skobeleff.— In connection with General Skobeleff the Pail Mall Gazette reproduces some inter esting reminiscences of his career. The story of bis exploits in the Bulgarian campaign includes all that was most ex citing in the war which brought tbe Rus sian army within sight of the minarets of Stambonl. From the day when, “to show the stuff he was made of," he swam his horse acrors the Danube while Gener al Dragommoff was forcing the passage at Simnilza to the time when he could with difficulty be restrained from marching into Constantinople as soon-as the British fleet entered the Sea oi Marmora, be was tbo most prominent actor in the drama. He became tbe legendary hero of the campaign, and in the minds of the common piople he almost monopo- llzsd its glories. He was always in tbe forefront of the hottest battle; four 1 horses were shot uuder him in ten days, but lie was once wounded and after being iu constant expectation of death for monlbs, he returned home safe and sound. His while uniform was lo his soldier* as the plume of Henry Qnartz at the bailie of Ivry. “I have heard tbe soldiers speak of him,” says Lieutenant Greene, “as a gen eral under whom they had rather fight and die than fight and iva under another. They had often to die—sometimes fifty per cent, of his com mand perished; but he spared no exertion to minister to their wants and to supply their needs. His division was the best fed and best clothed and best armed in tbe army. He was always with them in tbe most exposed positions of the fight, sleeping with them in the trenches and looking after sll their nececssities iu the camp. In short,” ssys Lieutenant Greene, “he succeeded so thoroughly in making himself one with the division that tbe men responded to his thoughts as readily as the muscles obey the wilt. I doubt it a more thoroughly ideal relation iietween a gen eral and bis men has existed since the days of Cromwell.” Ills custom of wearing white, as if to court the bullets of bis enemies, his reck less personal bravery aud the strange cus tom of his of always “ going into battle m bis cieangst uniform aud fresh under clothing, covered with perfume and wear ing a diamond-hilted sword, in order that, as he said, he might die with his brat clothes on,” gained him tbo reputation of a wild daredevil, which somewhat ob scured hif real capacity »s a general. In reality they only show how thoroughly he bad divined that secret ol power which lies in fascinating the imagination as well ot appealing to tne reason of men. Attendants an the Sick should frequently rub a few crops of Dar by’s Prophylactic Fuid on their fscc and bands, especially when nursing tlioae sick with infectious dUeasss. Articles used on or about tbe sick should be disinfected and the atmosphere ot tbe sick room puri fied and vitalized by using the Fluid. Its effect it marTeioos in checking tbe spread of contagious diseases. The Tims* of India. -Veto Tori Timet Allahabad Letter. Having finished my inspection of the indus’rial school. I cross over to the Thug colony, still attended by tbe oblig ing custodians. Here agsiu the contrast between the outward appearance aud real character of the place is absolutely startling. Third-rate novelists,when crea ting villains of tbo deepest dye, Kindly offer their victims a chance of escape by labeling every miscreant with a “MepbU- topheles eye’’ and sinister expression which say plainer lhau any words, “I am a villain.” But Iu real life sach conven ient dancer signals are tar less fre quent. Nero’s cast of feature was mild and somewhat pleasant. The fresh, cliild-llke face of Marie de Brin- villiers might bave suited one of Ra phael’s cherubim. ItfcNaua Sahib's hand some, Indolent, somewhat sensual counte nance, tbe men who trusted 1dm could read no warning of tbo nameless borrora of Cawnporc. One of the brightest and most attractive young fellows that I have ever met was a Circassian murderer, in whose company I crossed the Caspian sea, aud who was thou on his way to life-king exile iu Siberia for a crime too hideous to bear description. So, too, with the Thug village and its people. Men are cooking their food, women washing their clothes, children playing iu front of the lmls.fcoats aud bullocks grazing quietly arouud them, just as yon may see them in any Hindu village from the Himalayas to Cape Como rin. Who cau realize in such a scene or peaceful and harmless domes ticity that lie is standing among tbe priests of a religion of cold blooded murder, men who prayed daily in ail sin cerity for success iu their work of blood, took Ibeir allotted parts in tbe strangling of some helpless victim as gravel 1 ' methodically as “ engaged in a rehglous service, made an equitablo division of the plunder, and went home fresh from this sacrament of hell to embrace their wives, fondle their children, and eujoy their evening meal with just the same feeling of honest satisfaction with which a man of busiuess returns to his home circle after a good day’s work. Suddeuly three tall, gaunt, gray-haired men come slowly forward from the huts on our left, and my guide whispers that these are veteran Thugs, the last survivors of the original colony. I look at the nearest of the three, and recognize 9 the living likeness of Juma the Strangler, in Lord Lyiton’s “Strauge Story.” Tiie spare, elastic figure, the white robe, the blank, expressionless face, the sharp, fleshless, vulture-like profile, are all there. 9 To the custodian’s question of how many men he has murdered, he answers, with the nearest approach to a laugh which a Hindu can make, that lie caunoi tell, having long sinco lost count of them. 1 bare my wrist and, giving him a handker chief, tell him to show me how the* fatal twist was given. The fierce joy that ln- stautly lights np the old savage’s lean, wulfish face and those of his two com rades is hideous to see. He clutches eagerly at the handkerchief, aud, making a knot m ft to givo him a belter hold, twists it around my arm with a sudden wrench that seems to snap tbe very bone. Then, for tho first timo with the feeling of that murderous grip, comes upon me full horror of this ministry of death, which has hovered for ages in the background of the glorious Indian scenery, invisible, but all-pervading, and r3ady at any moment to' swoop on Us unsuspecting vic- iinj. £veq here, amps; friends and in pel fed safety, the visiou of such. * death far in the depths of the lone jungle,' with those merciless faces bent over him, and tbe throttling grasp at his throat, might well make the boldest man quail. As I tarn away in disgust my guide points to the half-effaced foundations of several mud walls, and tells me, as easli Thug dies, the hut in which he lived is destroy ed. A fit end, indeed, to such a colony; but there is a kind of grim poetry iu the idea oi making the village itself waste with tbs wasting numbers of inhabitants, as if lo blot from tbe face of the earth all vestige of a creed in which even tbe ber- ror-bicediug East bas fairly surpassed it self. • FIuKUaF* Fcaermt, Chicago Special Batten Herald. Five minutes before tbe funeral started, tbe dead Celestial was exhibited in tbe undertaker’s wareroems. The coffin was of fine rosewood. Within lay Ping Ling, dressed precisely as he died, in his hands a passport to Celestial eternity,and on the lid were laid three wreaths of red flowers. When all was ready a crimson damask cloth was wrapped about tbe whole and in that way the body was placed in tbe hearse. The important moment was at hand. Tbe band struck up a joyful air, the hearse horses prancea gayiy, and the funeral started. In the first carriage were four members of the Buddhist order, ho'ding a basketful of small brown papers, on which were written, in Chinese char acters, full and explicit directions to the dead how to reach tbe Celettial heav en, should' he happen to stray during the journey. These papers were distributed at every street intersection, so that there could be no possibility ol Ping Ling losing Ills way. The procession was made up, tiie bani, hearse and twenty- eight carriages, into which were loaded 150 Chinamen, with a wagon following bearing tbe bedding, extra clothing, etc., of tho deceased. On to Rose UiU sped the funeral, tbe “mourners” laughing and dialling merrily. Arriving at the grave, the imposing Buddhist rites were held. The coffin, wrapped in crimson, was placed in the box, and .hen lowered care fully into the bottom of the pit. Then assembled the Celestials in line, each iu turn kneeling at the grave with head lifted to the sun, hands clasped over the knees and faces fixed and solemn. When ai! had paid tiie last tribute of life to dea.h, incense was burned about the grave and rice water sprinkled on the earth with chop sticks. Then a pile was built of Ping Ling's old dolhes, his bedding, hats, shoes, um brella, satchel, basket and comb, aud all was burned to cinders. At tbe toot of the grave another fire was built ou whisk tbo living heaped chickens, pork aud rice, that it might be cooked and provide feed tor Ping Ling during bis journey of many suns. That he might have extra clothing . and bedding on the journey, bis effects were burned, according to the Chinese idea that these things were transformed by fice into the spiritual form, and thus be iu a state for use by the spirit. The smoke of tbe tires bad hardly faded away when the earth was noisily shovelled in, the gra.e filled, and tiie Celestials regain ed the carriagea and departed, then tbe procession turned home, for each Ce lestial must go to bis laundry, kneel at the fire place and bow his head cloae to the floor that he may see Ping Ling as be passes on, and, it need be, give hint a cheery word to make glad his uncertain, tortuous way from the sintul earth to tbe everlasting sreadia of the scented islands and spiced groves beyond life’s river. On the passport, pi seed in Ping LiDg’s folded 1 lands, were no written characters, for they were cut out of tbe paper, that they might be distinct and unmistakable wbut presented along tbe routes hud tbe crim son cloth wrapped about the coffin was to be a sign from earth to heaven that Pin* Ling died in the faith, and was worthy <* ‘ a reception to citizenship .to tad Uod ’ where blba is never-fadis®.