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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.