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GALLAHERS INDEPENDENT,
PUBLISHED EVKBY BA.TOHDAY AT
QUITMAN, GA.,
by
J. C. GALLAHER.
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION i
TWO DOLLARS per Annum in Adrunc*.
TRUST OMR AMOTHEK,
Look into tout brother's ejran, mail,
And bid hiai read your own;
One-half the strife of htimau life
U horu of guile alone 1
Itoceit create* full half our hates.
And half our love it laya;
Look in each other'# eye*, men,
And meet each other*! gar.e.
Pardon your brother's faults, man,
And aak that he forgive.
Could human sin no pardon win,
No mortal aoul might live.
Ho need of Heaven were none forgiven.
For none would reach ita doom;
Pardon your brother'* faultn, man,
And bid him pardon your#.
Feel your brother’s grief, man.
No" heart i safe from woe,
Though lip# and eyo* frill oft deny.
The Borrowing weight below.
A gentle wife, a pitying smile,
May wote*t balm impart;
Feel vour lirother’* grief, man,
And you may win a heart.
Stand by war brother’* aide,
And hid hmtda*i> your hand.
To him He jnat. and yield the trust
That you from laimi demand.
Hoar simply wi*o. With aoul and eyoa,
To truat, and still he truo—
Do to thWHO we love, man,
What we would have them do.
BY THE FIRESIDE’S GLOW
BY CARRIE CARLETON.
The coals are glowiug and cracking
rnerrily in the grate, the kettle is dis
coursing delicious music upon the bob,
the old tortoise shell cat, quite a veteran
when compared with some of us, is pur
ring at our feet, aud without the winds
are holding high festival, dismantling
Imildiugs of their sigus, making free with
doors aud shutters, and whirling the suow
in drifts against the shivering window
}>AUes.
We were all gathered about the warm
fireside; Amy aud Alice, and Jesse aud
mother aud I. Mother had fallen fast
asleep, with the great llible upon her
knees, her unfailing resource and refuge
by day anil by night, and only oue figure
more was needed to complete the group.
It had been the unvarying custom of Er
ford Tremaine to sit down with his family
at the usual hour for supper, when grace
would be said and ample justice done to
the good tilings which Providence in its
bounty had set before them. Mr. Tre
maine hail reared his family, being of Pil
grim stock, with due regard to the obser
vauces, but he was a Christian in the full
est sense of the word, his church was the
world,- anil though West with but little
means, be was one who took so great a de
light in conferring, good, that according
to avow he had made on first abandon
ing himself to the waves of worldly adven
ture, a portion of all his profits was iuvu
ribly made to accrue to the benefit of the
poor. Mauy and frequent were the ex
cursions ho made as an unknown benefac
tor Biaiiiig the haunt* Of the lowly, drop
ping good seed alungwith bis benefactions
wherever lie went, aud it was probably
one of these errands of mercy which hud
detained him so long beyond his usual
time.
Meanwhile our little household group
chatted merrily on, unheeding the tickings
of the clock, which stood upon the mantle
witl mauy a story of Crusoe life and le
gend of the tropical scenes, blent with the
odors of the, spice islands, and mauy a tra
dition of the good old holiday times was
intermingled with the stream of discourse
which flowed so musically along between i
flower clad bsnk.s of thought. Surely the 1
Hreside fairy of German legeud must liave
been present that night.
But presently the animated conversation
ceases, for in the midst of the buzz and
the hum, a knock is heard at the door, at
which, being in the midst of a thrilling
story of adventure, all hold their breaths ■
and gaze in each others’ eyes with awe
and apprehension.
“Psha!” said Amy, the eldest, and, of j
course, the most self-possessed, “how ab
surdly you all behave. You have all
turned converts to Spiritualism, I verily
believe. Those are, human knnckles,
and the knuckles of some oue in distress,
if I have my senses, Run, Jesse, and ojien
the door.”
No one else stirring. Amy and Alice sit
ting there with their hands interlocked,
gazing in the direction from which the
sounds had proceeded, and myself stand
ing with my arm about the high back of
mother’s chair, awaiting the result in anx
ious expectancy, Jesse boldly descended
the staircase and presently returned, lead
ing by the hand a poor, trembling figure,
at sight of whom my eyes were filled with
tears. It was that of a lad of barely eigh
teen years, symmetrically formed and
handsome to a fault, with masses of rich
brown curls now wet and damp, over a
brow in which frankneas and sincerity
were strikingly depicted. But the worn
out shoes, the patched and tattered
clothes, the attenuated countenance, told
a story of privation and suffering which at
once inclined our hearts in bis favor.
Mother was by this time wide-awake,
and was regarding the scene with an inter
est which she always felt in the experience
of the poor and lowly.
“I bring a visitor, mother,” said Jesse,
leading the youthful stranger up by the
hand, which quivered like an aspen, while
the other sought to conver his unprotected
bosom; ‘‘and I think if I hadn't replied
to the knock as I did, in a few moments
more we should have had a real ghost to
torment us. ”
“Poor child 1” said my mother; “unclad
and without a shelter on such a night 1
You are cold and hungry. Sit you by the
fire and we will get you such as we can af
ford, while you relate your story. It is
the season of beneficence, and upon us
every fellow-Christian has a claim.
Amy stirred the fire anew, while Alice,
with great alacrity arranged a chair and
Jesse and I hastened to prepare a supper
from such materials as we had at hand.
“A feeling o( interest that I can not re
press," said mother, “prompts me to in
quire your name and history.”
“If this is the home of ErforJ Tre
maine,” was the lad’s answer, “you should
know it well. lam young Wilford Aus
tin, with whose misfortunes at the com
mencement of a career so full of promise,
he has already made you familiar. Re
garding me as I am, it would hardly be
B ipposed that lam that same Wilford,
who Was but a short month since the fa
vored and trusted clerk of the firm which
he superintends. But even to such a pass
nas a singular fatality reduced me.”
I must confess we all edged a little away
at this discovery, for Wilford Anstin had
but a brief mouth before been dismissed
from employment under circumstances
which could hardly be considered favorable
l&alUilirr’s Inkptn&mt.
VOL. IT.
to a young man'# character or prospects in
life. During a temporary absence without
leave from the poet of doty, the office safe
had been plundered of a considerable
amount of mi racy and valuables, and, in
particular, of a gold watch which, as an
heirloom, the elder proprietor valued be
yond ita iutrinsio worth. When he re
turned he found the safe open, and the pro
prietor, with a detective officer who had
been hastily summoned, gathered iu earn
est conclave about the pillaged receptacle.
There, also, were Mr. Tremaine, the
i Kupreintedent, and Barker, the leading
| bookkeeper of-the concern—a youth of
great personal attractions, whose stylish
; mode of dress and fast habit of living had
i become a matter of gossip with the circle
among which ho moved and wa liy no
means a secret to his employers, who, be
ing high livers themselves, and, like him,
addicted to games of hazard, had no wool
:of reprobati >n to lies tow As Wilford had
| been in charge of the private room, the
! blame fell upon him, nud he was at once
! arrested upon suspicion, but no proof ap
pearing to inculpate him, anil his youth
and candor inspiring a sentiment iu his
| favor, he was allowed to go upon his
i parole. But iu a community where so
! much of the interest centres in self, an
' accusation is almost tantamount to a con-
I viction, and with the exception of being
j deprived of his liberty, the result was the
same, the youth wits everywhere regarded
with suspicion. The mother had disap
peared, it was said, havingilied ofaliroken
! heart; the father, the, only surviving par
ent, who should have protected him, dis
posed of his household goods and fled with
a female accomplice to parts unknown:
1 and Wilford, driven from pillar to pest aud
in want of bread, was obliged at last to re
; deem a promise made to Mr. Erford Tre
maine, thut if adversity should still pur
sue him, he w ould seek, his old friend for
advice and succor.
“I see” said Wilford, attempting to rise,
“the course is till upon me, and whatever
I might urge in my own behalf could not
but have the effect to complicate my j
troubles. 1 will relieve you at once from
the containilitioll of a presence that has
grown loathsome even to myself."
I endeavored to interpose, but. before
I could utter a sylsble, the hasty step of
papa was heard ascending the stairs.
Whew! what a blast was that which an-,
nouueed his coming. How the shutters
strained and creaked as if they would be
torn from their binges, and how the shrill
winter w.nd went whistling and shrieking
along the passages! What a night it was,
to lie sure.
1 laid my hand on the young fellow’s
shoulder, as Mr. Tremaine came into the 5
apartment, stumping and blowing anil :
shaking the snow from his cloak, and us;
red in face as a lobster, from over-excite
ment,
"Here—come—Amy—Alice—take off j
these wet duds and get me sumesupi>er as
quick as you can, for I’m cold as an icicle !
Itud hungry as a wolf, and could almost
devour your mother, if time hud not made j
her too tough to be palatable. What, |
Willy 1” he said, as, in drawing a chair, his j
eyes alighted upon the friendless visitor, j
“Y’ou are somwhat tardy, my lad; but bet- j
ter late than never. What lias kept you |
so long away ?”
"Shame, and the fear that I might |
bring disgrace upon my protectors,” an- t
swered the youth, sorrowfully.
“Then, look up once more, my lad,”
said Mr. Tremaine, “for your character is
as bright in my esteem as at any time be
fore. Your employers, the heads of the
hoi * which sought to degrade yon, have,
as a consequence of their extravagance,
been forced to make an assignment, and
and the concern is entirely in my hands.
Return to your former position, and in
the meantime I will see if can't ferret out
the secret attendant upon your downfall."
If angelic forms and beautiful faces
hovered that night about the conch of
Wilford, one, the fairest of which bore' a
striking resemblance to Alice Tremaine
the fact need not call for surprise, and if
Alice youug ami impressible anil laughing
ever at love, suw the face of Wilford Aus
tin her dreams, the circumstances need not
overtask the credulity of those who have
been or yet may bo placed in a similar
plight.
A year has passed, and Wilford is still
an inmate in the home of his benefactor,
and a trusted employe iu the house of
Tremaine & Cos. Still broods there above
his brow a sorrowful cloud, as though the
kindness of his w aim-hearted benefactor
ami exemplar had but had the effect to
heap additional coals of fire upon his
head. The fatal secret of his degradation
uusolved was rankling at his heart’s core,
and even the love of a gentle ami artless
girl could not drive the fell phantom
away. For sister Alice had lavished upon
him all the tenderness of her innocent,
guileless heart, and they had plighted
troths. It was at this point that the ser
pent entered their Garden of Eden, in the
person of Dick Milburn—s rival of glitter
ing pretensions, whose first object appears
to have been to work upon the jealousies
of Alice through the secret defamation of
his successful opponent.
“You little simpleton,” said he to Alice
one day, as she sat weaving garlands of
evergreens for Christmas and lamenting
the abstracted attention of her lover,
“can’t you fathom the mystery ? Your
spark has a second flame, and it is to her
that his visits now are paid and most of
his earnings go.”
“I will watch,” thought Alice inexpress
ibly grieved os the remembrance of the
old’ scandal recurred to her, “yet upon
nothing short of absolute conviction will I
uct. ”
The suggestion of Milbum, coupled with
her lover’s frequent absences at night,
had indeed excited her jealousy, and when
next he went forth on one of bis mysteri
ous errands availed and hooded figure
stole silently after him in the shadow of
the dwellings, by the side of whom
walked a taller, more upright form. It
was papa, Erford Tremaine, and pretty
sister Alice, whom a determination to
ferret out the mystery attendant upon the
employe’s disappearances liail led thus
far out of the sphere in which they usually
moved.
Through lanes and dark passages, in
spite of the wind and the drifting snow,
they wended their way until pausing
before the entrance to a blind alley be
tween two dilapidate tenement houses,
Wilford cast around him a hurried look,
and entered. He hastily ascended the
creabiDg steps, closely followed by Alice
and father, who saw him enter a wretched
apartment in which flickered and glim
mered the light of a single taper.
When, a few moments after, Alice and
papa entered the same room unchallenged
■ they found him bending iu tears above an
QUITMAN, GA., SATURDAY, MAY 0, 1874.
j attenuated fennde figure which ho held in
his arms, and in which Erford Tromniue,
who hail known her iu bettor days, at
once recognized the mother of Wilford
Austin !
And this was the secret of his mysteri
ous absences. Mrs. Austin went the wav
of all flesh. A day or two afterward,
while preparations were making to cele
brate the nuptials of Wilford and Alice,
papa strolled into a watch-making shop to
get his time-piece repaired, and there,
upon a rack, hung the identical watch
which hail been abstracted a few months
before from the safe, and which Barker,the
book-keejHir, had left there a few days
before for a similar purpose !
A SLIGHTKISTAKE.
BY A BATCHELOR.
Sackcloth and ashes wonld suit Dan,
just at the present, moment—and the
thicker the cloth and the deeper the bed
of ashes tlie better he will be pleased.
Dan is a bntehelor, you understand, and
bachelors have advantages which do not
fall to the lot of married men.
A bachelor who comes home at unholy
hours is not looked upon us a miserable
, ruffian—a vile, perfidious wretch, guilty
! of deadly crime—and a married man is.
| Besides, if he goes out with the boys, and
; hoists iu a little too much “pizeu," he
has the privilege of sneaking into his soli
tary couch, there to sleep off the effects of
; his "last night’s debauch.”
Dan had been out on a “tare,” and
i when he came to the hotel where he hangs
out, he was in that condition which is
aptly described as “how came you so ?”
An imbecile smile played over his classic
j face, and it needed but a single look from
that man among men, the clerk, to eon
i vinoo that worthy thut one drink more
‘ would have finished the business.
He did not stop to talk to the clerk, but
went on his sinuous way up the stairs,
thinking in his wooden mind that he
j needed a good night's lost more than any
thing else.
Dan slept in “45,” anil did not think of
making any mistake us he branched off
into the passage which led to his room.
The light in the passage was turned down,
and Dan was not foolisli enough to turn
it on, because he knew that if he raised
his hand above the shoulder, it would des
troy his equilibrium.
When he came to his room, the passage
was so dark that he could not see the num
ber,and be scratched a match on the wall.
The first one broke; the second ditto; the
third limned his fingers, and lie dropped
it. The fourth burned brightly, and he
saw the "4” and “5” over the door.
“AU right 1” muttered Dali; “knowed I
was right— knowed it all the time !”
The door was not locked, and Dan
pushed it, open and went in softly. His
first, thought was to drop* into a chair to
rest. He dropped, and lighted on some
peculiar oiibstuiico which felt like i, hair- i
cushion. Ho picked it up and felt it, and |
thought he was on the plains among the j
Apaches.
“Scalp, by thunder ! AVho’sbeen raisin'
hair ’round here, I’d like to know ? Sing’- j
lur—very sing’lar 1 I guess I’ll have a lit- j
tie light on the subject.”
He had a good deal of trouble in find- j
ing the gas-ji t, and when lie did find it, j
lie was surprised to see that it had been
moved.
That landlord was taking unwarrantable
liberties, and Dan decided to discharge
him in the morning, no matter w liat hap
pened. Ho turned on the, gas, looked
once, and liis brain went wild.
“What is this?”
Dresses, skirts, skeletons, false hair,
chignons, stockings and and etcetera,
were hurled about the room in wild con
fusion, and as Dim looked toward the bed,
a fueilade of screams assailed him.
“Murder!” was the lightest word which
was hurled at his guilty head.
Two female caputs appeared above the
bedclothes, and two months pealed out
their loud alarms.
Dan, with his hair literally standing on
end, surveyed the scene in wild confusion.
He started for the door with the design of
escaping, when they hurled at his devoted
head a brace of screams so vindictive that
he fell back.
“Shut your yawp I” he howled, getting
angry. “Wliat business have you in roy
room? I’ll give it up, but it’s invroom.”
“Murder! fire! thieves! burglars 1”
was the burden of their song.
The house was in confusion; hasty steps
were heard coming from all directions, and
there burst into the room a score of men,
not too heavily clothed, some of them
armed to the teeth.
Dan buried himself in a clothes press,
and threatened death to tho man who
dared approach him.
'“A mail’s house is liis castle; I read it
in a book, and it must he so; und if a
man’s house is his castle, this room ought
to be.”
“Wait a moment gentlemen,” said the
clerk. “I think I understand this. Dan,
will you come out ?”
“I’d look like it when that fellow lias
got a gun 1 This is my room. Turn’em
out, girls and all 1”
“You sublime idiot! this is not your
room.”
“If this ain’t room ‘4s’ I’ll eat my
hat !”
“It’s all right, gentlemen; he has made
a mistake. Come out and prove that this
this is room ‘45.’ Nobody shall hart
you.”
Dan marshaled them into the hall, and
tlie clerk turned on the gas. Dun pointed
triumphantly to the figures on the door.
“Ain’t that ‘4s’—say ?”
“It looks to me like ‘54.’ Y r ou are
reading it backward my dear fellow,”
replied the clerk.
It was true. Dan bad branched off into
the left hand passage instead of the right
and had read the figures from right to
left.
“I’ll ’pologize in the morning,” said
Dan, in heart broken tones. “Gentlemen
good-night 1”
And in the midst of wild laughter, in
which the young ladies joined, Dan
sought his own couch.
It is not safe for any one to ask him the
number of his room.
A Danbury couple of color, affectionate
ly interested in each other with a view to
matrimony, and unable to read or write,
have been corresponding through “third”
parties, The other day Romeo was listen
ing to a letter from his Juliet, in which
happened the expression, “reclining in the
arms of Morpheus.” “What’s dat’s? In
de arms ob anudder niggali ? Dat gal kin
go to de debbil—l dun lub dat secou’ hau’
darkey—no, sail !”
RIGHTED AT EAST.
BY ADA GOEHOE.
Dusky shadows drifted npon the world,
hauging over the sea, stealing upon the
land; settling among the trees, and grow
ing deeper as they brooded, with hiuts of
a darker night yet to come.
Two ladies sat in the gathering dusk
, which betrayed nothing of their youth
and fairness, and looking out upon the
i shadowy world; listened to the hollow
j monotone of the ocean waves as they
broke upon the beach, anil miked or were
silent at their own free will. The long
w indow of their room opened on the pi
| azza, for this ocean hotel was provided
with pizzas to the hist story, and even now
the tread of nitinv feet could be heard
I upon the floor below, and at last from the
hull two wen passed .st and oanv* by the
window where they rr. Someone came
to light their room, but they sent him
away, loth to disturb the lazy calm they
were enjoying by tlie glare of gaslight.
“Aud who may Mrs. Eversman be ?”
said the voice of one of the men outside.
; They were now promenading up and down
i past the window, the tips of tlieir cigars
i glowing red in the dusk.
“A widow well provided ns to this
world’s goods, young and fair, if report I
speak true, tarrying at the sea-side for her I
sister’s health, and—”
“To snare number two,” finished the
second voice quietly. "1 am glad I’m off
to-morrow. Above all created beings I
detest a widow, ‘young and fair. ’ There
is something venerable about n genuine
widow, oue of those the apostle culls
‘widows indeed,’ who go about doing
good and rearing tlieir families; but de
liver me from the young, childless
creators who has worn her bonds just long
enough to have man’s nature and internal
mechanism turned inside out for her in
spection, aud then is tossed npon society
with money, knowledge, youth and good
looks, just enough to make her artful,
designing and over fastidious.”
“If such are your opinions, Pliil. yon
might as well stay, she can do you no
harm; anil then there is the sister—or hus
band's sister, rather—she is not a widow,
and may be an attraction. At least, you
will come to the ball to-night.”
“Listeners never hour any good of
themselves,” muttered one of the ladies
by the window to her companion. “Did
you ever before hear yourself so coolly
canvassed, Sadie ?”
Before the i (her replied, the deep voice
of the second mail responded;
“I will go to-night, of course, for I have
some friends of whom I wish to take leave.
But there can be no attraction for me iu
either lady; I. ns you know, met my fate
years ago, and lost her.”
“You were too proud, Phil; too wretched
proud.”
“Well, well, it maybe. At least, I shall
never love again. ”
“And you never know what became of
her ?”
“O, yes Like tho rest of her kind, she
married, wisely and well, I believe. The
man’s name 1 do not know; I only know I
lost her. Let us go iu.”
They stepped from the piazza to the j
hull, passed the half open door, lints off,
both cigars finished and thrown aw ay by |
this time, and disappeared.
“Hadie !”
“Well, Laura!”
“1 know the one culled ‘Pliil’-—O, Hadie,
if you would help me."
“You know I will”—then ensued a long
conversation- -the ladies were Mrs. and
Miss Eversman, and it nisy be that the
“pretty" widow had planned already the
destruction of the cynical “Phil.” At any
rate, that conversation was mighty in its
results.
Such a blaze of light, such an array of
faultless toilets, sheeny silks, floating tulle,
flowers, diamonds, in truth a glittering ar
ray ! for was it not the ball of the season ?
Introductions, flirtations, farewells, who
would think that life hail any serious busi
ness for that gay throng ?
Mr. Phillip Lang had been presented in
due form to Mrs. and Miss Eversman, and
tme to his colors —or was it from some
other motive that Ik 1 had attached himself
to the one named Miss—for he had started
when liis eye rested on her, yes, and grown j
pale even, though she was a fair creature ]
to look upon, plump, dimpled, and blue-j
eyed with waves of yellow hair, creeping
to her temples in rebellious curls that one
knew at once wore triumphs of nature,
not art. Her white dress was simply
lovely, her manner charmingly, sweetly
sly; such a lovely, lovely foil she was for
the widow, a tall, pale creature, in black
grenadine, whom Mr. Philip Lang
thought, as he glanced at her, a “widow
indeed,” if looks wereanv indication. He
had asked Mias Eversman to waltz, and j
she had answered that she never waltzed, I
and had looked down, vwitli a smile that j
dimpled her pretty cheek. He essayed to |
speak; failed; again looked at her; again!
began suggesting some other dance; but
Miss Eversman did not dance at all!
“Strange I Why was Bhe there, then ?" j
“O, only to please Sadie. Sadie likes a
gay crowd anil lights and music, anil she
had so few pleasures, poor creature !”
Yes, she would promenade; she rather
liked that, anil on Lang’s arm she swept
up and down the room.
How dirl it happen ?how do such things
ever happen ? for Mr. Lang and his com
panion were out on the piazza alone gaz
ing into tile night, listening to the boom
of the sea murmuring bits of poetry.
“You look so like one whom I knew
long ago,” said Phil at last. “Sweet
Laura Graham, f could almost swear she
stood before when I was presented to you
to-night.”
“An old friend ?” qnerried she.
“One whom I loved long ago,” he cried,
“and for whose sake I have never loved
since—perhaps never will”-—he finished
in a dreamily, sad tone.
“She is dead then ?”
“No; but married. I was poor and she
was rich. I never told my love—•”
“It may be you wronged her in that—”
“No danger,” he said bitterly. “I do
not dream that she ever thought of the
poorest and humblest of her train.”
“Yet she might; at least, you should
have given liet a chance, Mr. Lang.”
“Miss Eversman—”
“Hold !” she said in an agitated voice,
“I am Mrs. Eversman.”
“You—you—-I thought-^-”
“Frankly, Mr. Lang, I intended to de
ceive you, but I will carry the deception
no farther. I heard your bitter words
about widows this evening,and determined
to punish you before Isaw your face iu the
hall.”
“Miss Eversman," he said haughtily,
“this is unpardonable—”
"Wait—hear me out. I can tell you all
in a few words. lam Laura Graham, and
lest pride should separate us, 1 will tell
you that iu those days I loved you, even
us yon loved me. How could you be so
cruel ?—”
“But I could not hoar the imputation of
fortune-hunting,l was so wretchedly poor,
and von an heiress. ”
“It is true I was an only child, but my
i father failed—he left me nothing,” she
hesitated, went on again quickly and said;
j “As for Mr. Eversmun’s property, it was
| immense, but in event of my second ninr
j riage it all goes to his sister Sadie, poor
i creature. ”
What did he say ? What did he do ? He
cried: “Laura, Laura, my love, my idol !
I am rich now,” and he took her to his
heart, and love was crowned for once iu
this sail world 1 therefore, let us rejoice.
And though the widow's fortune passed
to Sadie Eversman, Sadie passed it back
again at her death, which happened n few
years after tluu marriage of Mr. Phillip
Lang and the widow.
The Widows of Two Presidents.
The widow of Mr. Lincoln, it is admit
ted was a vain silly little woman who j
made her husband ashamed of her foibles
and afraid of her tongue. It is said of her
that she made free with the furniture of
the Presidential mansion, aud kept such I
company during the official term of her j
husband us to bring reproach aud scandal j
upon his administration. Yet when she
was widowed and in possession of more
clothes,money,jewelry and finery than she j
had ever dreamed of before the accident;
that elevated her husband Congress voted
her a pension out of the people’s money
for life. And she berated Congress for no
giving her more.
The widow of James K. Polk, it is ad
mitted, is one of the noblest specimens of
American women both in person and char
acter. She, w ent to the White House the
wife of an elegant and refined gentleman.
She had been bred in refinement, and she
presided over the Presidential household
with a grace and dignity not equaled since
the courtly days when Mrs. Madison was
Queen of American society.
Since her widowhood she has lived in
quiet and ease at Nashville, and her home
has always been hospitably opened for the
entertainment of guests from every section
of country. Her station should have pro
tected her from robbery and insult, but
Federal vandals despoiled her elegant
mansion. For this she has asked of Con
gress a moderate remuneration for her
losses. With what result tho following
Wushinton dispatch tells:
Mrs. Sarah Polk widow of President
James K. Polk, in her applications to
Congress for S2,(MX) to reinlinrse her for
property fallen during tho late war, says
that at the beginiug of the rebellion her
whole sympathies anil feelings were for
the government, and she thought secession
aud rebellion were wrong and talked
against it. After the war began her sym
pathies were the Southern people ns rel
atives and cjtizens; lint she never sympa
thized with efforts to break up the govern
ment, and in her actions and sympathies
she adhered to the government through
out the war. The Court of Claims, how
ever, wsh not satisfied with the evidence.—
Advert inter Republican.
Superstition in Turkey.
Tho following incidents ore connected
with a total eclipse of the moon, w hich oc
curred in Western Turkey, November 4,
18711:
As the unfortunate moon grew darker
and darker, deep concern took possession
of men’s minds, and tlie muezzins began
to cry from the minarets iu prayers for
her deliverance. When she became to
tally engulfed in the portontions shade,
they began to fire guns anil bent drums all
about us. Now two or three men asceud
ed the minarets to add emphasis to the
prayers. They redouble their cries, they
entreat,, they howl in Arabic, and ap
parently Allah does not hear. Solemnity
and terror settles over tho city; it grows
oppressive; I myself can not escape from
the burden of universal concern, so strong
is the influence of sympathy. Quarter hours
seem hours, and yet the darkness grows
j more deep and hopeless. The dogs begin to
| howl, and little children cry with fear.
The cries and prayers continue; all other
sounds are hushed; sometimes they, too,
cease for a few moments, and then there
is a dreadful silence, such os might betoken
Alio end of the world.
You will see from the above to what dc,
gree the Mohammedan mind is in eolipse
that they should use such means to deliver
the moon from the power of Satan 1 True,
some of the more intelligent have an ink
ling of the ridiculousness of these perform
ances, and aver that tlieir motive in howl
ing and discharging firearms is not su
perstitious fear, hut only to call attention
to the eclipse—an explanation which is lit
tle enough likely to be believed. The
truth is, they are very much engulfed in
supersitition.
Not long since, the German and French
colonists in Amasia were in jeopardy be
cause the Turks got up a story that M.
Amber had buried a pig’s head, inscribing
some magic words over it, whereby when
clouds gathered, the head would squeal
from the gronud and scare the rain away.
All this the wicked Frenchman was sup
posed to have done that he might create
a famine and sell his flour at a high price.
The telegraph was the means of delivering
him and turning out the resident pasha,
who was about investigating to ascertain
whether or not the gentleman had been
guilty of alleged witchcraft.
Cotton in Greece.
The production of cotton is becoming
an important, interest in Greece. Previ
ous to our lute war, but little was raised;
but the blockade of our Southern ports,
and the consequent cotton famine abroad,
stimulated the production of the fibre in
Greece, so that now the average crop of
the country amounts to. 5,500,000 pounds.
The principal cotton-producing district in
Greece is that included in the fertile pro
vinces of Lebadea, Boctia, and Locris.
Formerly, the cotton was all exported;
now, a large proportion of it is manufac
tured into cotton yarn, no less than six
teen factories having been established for
this purpose, employing 25,400 spindles,
the yearly maufacture of which amounts
to 2,200,000 pounds of yarn of different
Qualities. This Greek yarn is largely dis
placing the English article in many of the
Levant markets. Large works for the
weaving of cotton cloth, the first in Greece,
arc now in process of construction at the
Pin Hue. I tom. ./. M. Frnnnis.
our Washington letter.
Washington, I). 0., May 1, 1874.—The
i President has boon kept closely confined,
to bis office during the present iekslWi of
Congress, iu attending to public business.
From nine . ra. to noon, daily, ho is be
set with Senators and
some of whom bring delegations with
them, and all of whom have some partic
ular favor to ask. Tho visits of Cabinet
ministers, and the soveieign people from
all sections of the tho Union, and the
preparation of executive documents occupy
the remainder of the day; and it is not uu
til four or five o’clock in tho afternoon
that the President finds timtf to take a
drive, or a stroll on tho avenue. He can j
frequently bo seen on the streets, at about j
five p. m., walking with a short, quick |
step, and puffing the inevitable cigar, j
His demean'>r on Nie street is quint anil!
modest; itnd no one who did not know
him bv sight would suspect him to bethe
head of forty millions of people. He
keeps “eyes front” at all times, looking
neither to the right nor tho left, but is
always careful to respond to any salutation
which tuny bo offered by those who recog- j
nizo him. Ho intends to leave fur his
“Cottage by the Sea," at Long Branch |
when Congress adjourns.
OUIt PUBLIC HUrLWNCIH.
Tlie main fault of the different depart j
mental buildings in Washington is their
lowness. They are squatty edifices, cov
ering a large surface of ground, hut are
neither elegant nor imposing. They are
overtopped by hundreds of private* resi
dences. The new building for tho State,
War and Navy Departments, now in pro- 1
cess of ereotion, promise to be of the same '•
pharacter. The large picture of the !
building, ns it will appear when completed, j
gives one the idea of a rnugnift'oeut strife' |
ture; but, judging from the South wing, |
now approaching completion, the reality j
will fall far below popular expectation, ;
The roof is now being placed upon the |
South wing; and, when the latter is fin- |
idled it will be but a trifle higher than tlie
disgraceful old Navy Department building
adjoining it. It is true that the usual
heavy appearance of our public buildings
will be relieved, in this particular instance,
by various architectural devices, such as
short ornamental columns, elaborate
moldings, Arc.; but the structure, as a
whole, will lie scarcely worthy of our pro
gress as a nation. Apropos of this, we
need a flow Post Office Department build
ing. The present one is too small for the
proper transaction of public business; but
the Postmaster General, despairing of se
eming any action from the present Con
gress, looking to the erection of anew
and a larger building, asks for an appro
priation of #500,000 toward enlarging the
present edifice by raising it, and placing
an extra story underneath. This would
be a mere makeshift, however; for, in a
few years, t\ie building would again be
found too small. The true policy would j
be to build anew structure ns large as the I
Patent Office building, and to turn over!
the old one to the Interior Department, j
which now pays at least $25,000, yearly,
for tlie rent of additional buildings; aud !
which could easily utilize every foot of
space in the present Post Office building. |
In tho present economical temper of Con
gress. however, it would be quite useless
to propose such a scheme.
WHO SHALL MAKE OUR MONEY ?
Quite a struggle is going on before the
Committee on Banking and Currency, be
tween the New York bank note companies
nud the engraving and. printing bureau of
the Treasury department, as to which
shall do the engraving and printing of the
National Currency. Most of the work is
now done by the bureau of engraving and
printing of the Treasury department, and
the New York companies claim that they
can do it as well as, and considerably
cheaper than, it is done at present. The j
Committee will soon come to a conclusion j
in the matter. The people of the District I
are very naturally desirous of having all j
the work done here, as the bureau gives
employment to hundreds of poor and de- 1
serving females. It is not probable that j
the present arrangement will be materially j
changed.
GEORGE ALFRED TOWNSEND
is one of our most fecund literary men. j
He turns out an enormous amount of j
work; but, of late, much of it is very far!
from creditable, George is a genius. Of
that there can not be a doubt. But he j
writes too ranch and too carelessly. |
Closely engaged, night and day, in writ- j
ing for half a score of newspapers, and in I
the preparation of several volumes for'
publication, lie has become inexcusably
slovenly in style and expression. Take, ;
for instance, liis weekly contributions to |
the Evening Star, of this city, over the j
signature of “Arctuons Gadabout.” Only :
a small portion of them are really reada
ble; most of them being slovenly in style, j
and evidently prepared in great haste.
The worst feature of the performance,
however is the original “poetry” with
which he intersperses his alia podrida. It
is usually of the most execrable character,
ami possesses scarcely a redeeming feature.
Take tlie following, for instance, clipped
from one of his late contributions to the
Star:
“I'm crawlin’ down the sink, Mary,
For document# morn we;
For I’m used to standing stink, Mary,
And discover by my nose,
Mv *oad is tad of code, Mary,
Exposing so myself;
It s a sort "f crawling load, Mary,
To do ail this for pelf.
The above is a sample of one of his
wretched efforts to be comic. Very many
of liis sentimental productions in rhyme
are equally beneath criticism.
THE SOCIAL EVIL IN WASHINGTON.
It will be gratifying to all who feel a
laudable pride iu the Capital to know that
there are but ten disreputable houses in
Washington —according to a recent state
ment publicly made by Major Richards,
our Snperintendant of Police, to the
House Committee on the District of Co
lumbia. Exactly what his idea was, in
making a statement so wide of the truth,
it is hard to discern; especially when ev
ery one familiar with this city, as Major
Richards ought to be, knows that a rea
sonably expert juvenile stone slinger can
stand at a certain point on Pennsylvania
Avenue, and hit at least fifty such houses,
without moving out of his tracks. Wash
ington is no better and no worse than any
other city of its size; but the fact can not
be disguised that it has its full complement
of “soiled doves.” A. F. 11.
Starving Negroes.
i Tlie Memphis Aralanche says a niff*
chant of that city, who lias been down the
river throe hundred miles, returned yester
day and states that, the condition of the
people in tho overflowed sections is ton
fold worse than is generally believed.
The whole coast country is under water,
and the inhabitants have been compelled
to leave their homes mid floe for safety to
the higher lands. The negroes have left
the plantations along the river bottoms
and congregated in great numbers nronnd
the towns and country .stores. These
i people have no money, and not only nro
! in rags but almost on the eve of starvation.
In the early part of the year the merchants
and storekeepers advanced supplies and
provisions to the negroes who would gitu
them a luortgugo or lien upon the incom
ing crop.
Iu this way the negroes were enabled to
procure clothing, food and groceries to
suit their wants, and the merchants were
guaranteed payment for the same becausu
of the mortgage. As the flood prevents
planting, and will deny many negroes the
means of making any crop, the merchants
can not continue to advance provisions and
clothing, as they have beotl accustomed to
do. The negroes, therefore, have nothing
upon which to rely for subsistence, und
their condition is truly pitiable. At
many places they have been driven al
most to desperation by hunger, and threat
en to mob storehouses so os to gget Some*
[ thing to eat and wonr.
At some places the Merchants and citi
zens are issuing four pounds of meat and
a peck of meal per rapid a week to these
unfortunate persons, allowing nothing for
children. The gentleman informs us that
many places are so densely packed with
refugee negroes that the citizens are in
great danger of having their houses in
vaded and property destroyed by these
half-famished creatures. All who have
enough money to pay tlieir fare lose uo
time in boarding steamers in order to
leave the stricken country. Stock of all
kind lias been drowned in the bottoms/
aud, should famine be averted for the
present, the great loss in the future will be
unprecedented from such a source.
The above state of affairs exists from
here to the gulf, and no one can contem
plate the hardships and miseries of the
people along the river without feeling a
desire to do something for their allevia
tion.
Depredations on Public LanCs.
NO. 1.
The depredations of timber cutters upon
the public lands within reach of the Suwan
nee river during the past year are fearful
to look upon. Large tracts of lands have
become the property of tlio counties in
which they chance so he situated, and to
the county of Suwannee, if they are pro
perly taken care of will prove a source of
wealth. There are men, though, who
think they have right to appropriate this
timber to their own use without regard to
the rights of the county or State, and ap
pear to act upon that idea, if we may judge
from their conduct.
We are at a loss to aeconnt for tho
apathy exhibited by our county olfieors
upon this subject, for the timber has been
cut and rolled into the Suwannee and
floated oft'at a fearful rate while these gen
tlemen have displayed ns much indiffer
ence to the damage being done as though
they had nothing ut nil to do with tho
preservation of the public properly. Wo
think the Grand Jury Would do well to
examine into these depredations nnd sco
if tho prfepetrators of these outrages can
not tie prevented from continuing them,
and bring the parties to justice for what
they have already done. One entire sec
tion of school land lias been swept clear
of tho timber on it. This section was
among the most vuluablein the county,
anil yot the Borud of Public Instruction,
not one of them, bus said a word or lifted
a hand against the outrage. When will
these things cease in Florida, ever ? —Lire
Oak: Times.
Mark Twain on the Whiskey War in
America. —Mark Twain writes to the
Lotttlon Standard : —“l cannot help glory
ing in the pluck of those womeii, sad as it
is to see them displaying themselves iu
these unwomanly ways, sail os it is to see
them carrying their grace and their purity
into places which should never know their
presence; and sadder still it is to see them
trying to save a set of men whom, it seems
to me, there can bo no reasonable object
in saving. It does not become us to scoff
ut tlie Crusaders, remembering what it
they Lave borne all these years; but it does
become ns to admiro tlieir heroism—it
heroism that faces tlie jeers, curses, ribald
language, obloquy of every kind and de
gree—in a word, every manner of thing
thut pure —hearted, pure —minded women,
such ns these are, naturally dread and
shrink from, and remain steadfast through
it all, undismayed, patient., hopeful, giv
ing no quarter, asking none, determined
to conquer, and succeeding. It is tlie same
old superb spirit that animated that other
devoted, magnificent, mistaken crusade of
six hundred years ago. The sons of such
women as these must surely be worth sav
ing from the destroying power of rufli. I
dearly want the women to be raised to the
political altitude of the negro, the imported
savage, and the pardoned thief, and allowed
to vote. It is our last chance, I think.”
Another Donation From Vandeb
nir.T. —The Nashville Union of Thursday
announces another donation of 8100,000
from Commodore Vuuderbilt to the Van
derbilt University, “to be used ns a buil
ding found, in order that the University
buildings may be completed ill accordance
with the plans nud specifications for said
buildings which have heretofore been ap
proved by him.” The gift is made on
condition that no portion of the money is
to be used in getting the University under
way. but is to be expended exclusively ou
the buildings, adding materially to their
architectural beauty and attractiveness
which fact will be doubly appreciated by
the citizens of Nashville especially, and
the Vanderbilt University will thus be
made one of the handsomest and most
complete educational institutions on the
continent,
According to a Sacramento paper, a
young woman residing mountaiuward re
cently became applicant for a teacher s
certificate. She hud undergone nil exsin
ination and felt despondent, and informed
her mother that she feared she would not
obtain authority to teach. And her moth
er, for the purpose of soothing lier nerv
ous and troubled condition, suggested that
she sit down nnd sketch her feelings with
the pen. Acting on this advice, the girl
drew a tombstone bearing this inscription.
“Dedicated to the memory of my ambition;
which departed this life March 17 1N74.”
The fact came to the ears of the examiners,
and they thought it a pity not to strain a
point, and they did let her puss wi
much strain cither.
o
A warngling couple were discussing the
subject of epitaphs and tomb-stones, and
the husband said; “My dear, what kind
: of a stone do you suppose they will give me,
| when I die ? r ’ “Brimstone, my love," was
' the affectionate reply.
o
Moonlight is merely the beautiful old
1 age of day.