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GALLAHER’S INDEPENDENT,
PUBLISHED EYEIiY SATCKDAY AT
QUITMAN, GA.,
BY
J. c. GALLAHER.
tkrhk or nmnurtlDti
TWO DOLLARS per Annum in Advance.
MONEY IN THE BANK.
BT HARRIET IRVIN(3 .
Our* was a quiet household, for there
Were most middle-aged, a settled man of
bunaera; John, just growing into man
hood, an attorney, and studying hard at
his porfessiou, and little I, who kept house
for them, and hud almost ever since I
could remember, for mother died when I
was very young.
We owned the house we lived in, all
except a mortgage, which William was to
pay off as his affairs permitted, and each
of ns had a small sum of money in the
bank, only five hundred dollars, just a
nice pest-egg or a dependence for a rainy
day.
There was a tacit agreement that we
were to end our days together there in
■ingle blessedness, not a solemu compact
to that effect, but in our talk we always
■poke of the family triol as an unalterable
fact, and of awtrrage for one of our num
ber as the most improbable of improbabili
ties.
Then came that day of days,' when
John brought Edward home with him.
All time seems divided into before and
after that. I was setting the table in the
buck parlor while the June roses nodded
in at the window all lighted up by the
■unset. He, Edward I mean, stood still
at the door, in hand, and our eyes met,
and, all at once, I knew something I hiwl
never known betore—a real happiness,
unlike a child’s careless gayety, a joy that
seemed to reach to the heights and depths
Of everything. He told me afterward what
that moment was to him.
It was all commonplace enough to the
others, no’ doubt. We sat at table, a party
of four, William quiet as usual but cheer
ful, and putting in a word or two now and
then: John overflowing with fun which
not oven the presence of a client remind
ing him of his grave responsibilities, could
restrain; Edward as I always knew him
afterward, ready for every pus’s mood,
bringing every one out at tneir best, yet
never conspicuous himself.
It felt proud of my pretty table, with its
snowy damask and white and gilt service
and shining silver when I saw his eyes
tall on it with such a sweet, rested look,
a look that told me he was a bachelor and a
lonely man. It seemed almost as if I had
seen him before, though I am and was quite
certain I never hud, bis broad white fore
head and big, soft hands and they tiny
spirals of golden hair, and even that dear
mtle bald sport on the dCwn all looked
so fatniliur.
That was the first time I saw him, but
not the last. Edward’s business with my
brother only brought him to our house
ouce more. Then, somehow, he met me
at the ferry one rainy day and would see
me home under his umbrella, for I had
been caught without one. Ho asked pre
mission to call again, and I thought I
could do no less than grant it though uiy
brothers viewed the matter in a different
light.
They called a family council, and beg
ged of me to discourage this strange
young man of whom we knew so little.
Though it was all over so long ago, my
cheeks burn when I think of it. John, to
whom everything was occasion for a jest,
be gnu his jokes at ouce, and was merciless
as funny people can be at times.
After that I would have forbidden Ed
ward the house for very shame, had I
dared to broach the Rubject, hut I asked
myself what he would think of me. It
Seemed so forward to take it for granted
that he meant to take advantage of his
privilege to come too often, or in any other
way than as an occasional caller.
Ho events drifted on, and Edward and I
were engaged to be married when circum-
Staoceashould pi riuit. I was twenty-one and
be five, and circumstances were anything
but propitious. Yet I was happier so than
I could have been parted from him. I
Used to think of that when William asked
me in his gruff way how long that fellow
intended to bang round, or John made
his witty speeches at my expense.
Poor Edward was miserably shabby as
to garments, and went through I know
not what privations and hardships, but it
all seemed very praisworthy to me. He
was a machinist, working hard at his trade,
and studying out of work hours lute- and
early, except when ho stole the time to
come and visit me,
I was quite contented to he the only
wpman Edward ever had loved or ever
would love, to wait for years for him if
need be. Some day his good luck would
shurely come, I thought, but it made me
very wretched to see my brothers growing
to dislike and despise him more and more
every day. They seemed eo prosperous
and spmee, and he, poor fellow, so unfor
tunate and seedy, my Jieurt yearned over
hits.
To add to my troubles, Edward, who
had been such a cheerful, light-hearted
follow, .grew melancholy. No one who
knows how wretched a poor little woman
can be and go about her daily work os
usual, and be quite herself as far as out
riders are concerned, except some little
woman who has been through just such
trouble as mine.
. It was growing too much for me at last,
and once, when Edward taken me out for
an evening walk, and we sat together on
a bench in the park, he staring speechlessly
before him, I chafing at the silence, im
plored him to tell me what had happened
to change him so.
fie tried to smile and put me off, but it
waS of no use. I would have an answer, and
the true one, and word by word it came at
last.
He was struggling to support his parents
who lived far away and were incapable of
of caring for themselves, having on miser- j
able wages, and nearly wearing his strength
out over those hateful books and pictures
of wheels and pulleys that always remind :
me of the racks in “Fox’s Martyrs.”
But all this he had been doing for years,
quilerince ’boyhood, indeed. His great
grievance was that a little money would
have helped him ont of the slough and set
him above want for ever, and the money
was. nowhere to be bad. He had vainly 1
tried to raise it by one means or another, ,
and . his chance of claiming me was still no
nearer.
He reproached himself bitterly for hav
ing won ray affections, and begged me, if
I could be happy without him, to let him
go his way alone.
I heard him through. Even when his
voice broke down in a sob, I waited for
him to finish. Then T told him my heart
told him r belonged to him, for better or’
wonts, as long as he wished it; that I
■would wait for him, for years if need be,
fir fonwer.
fiallnlKf’s 3mVpcmVnt.
VOL. IT.
I inwardly quaked, although I managed
to find some words of comfort and encour
agement for him, for his last confession
was that his hope lay in an invention. I
did not understand it then, and do not
now. Something about a steam engine,
some grand improvement which was to
save so much per cent, expense, atut add
to safety and convenience as well.
I told him how glad 1 would lie to help
him if he would let me. Five hundred
dollars was a little sum. I thought to my
self what a help it would have been if we
lmd been going to housekeeping in a plain
way, and how very little likelihood there
was of anything coming of Edward’s grand
. scheme.
I had heard tales enough of inventors
and their miserable livos, and the very idea
of my darling entering their ranks was
terrible to me, but I told him cheerfully we
would call it our venture, for 1 was sure
to profit by it if he succeeded. Yet while
I talked so hopefully visionsjof Goodyear’s
time-stained coat and Falissey’s broken
pottery uud a bandied other mishaps of
artisan inventors came trooping through
my mind.
Ho sat in thought a long time. Then
he raised his head and 1 saw the first
brightness I lied seen in his face for days,
it was well worth my sacrifice, if sacrifice
it were, and I added entreaties to my offer.
“Hetty,*’ he said, "I know what other
people would say. I know what they
would think of me, but I accept your kind
ness without hesitation, although hud I
known your power to help me, l would
never have told you of my misfortunes.
But Ido know tin t you feel all you suy.
I am so sure of my power, so encouraged
by your confidence in me, that I can go on
without fear.”
The we fell to talking of what we would
do with the fortune that was coming to
us, and and grew so merry over the pros
pect that hours had passed before we were
aware.
In our hurried, homeward walk, the
hesitation fell from Edward’s lips.
“What will your brothers say ?”
Then question did not startle mo. I
had antiopatvd it with the first hold resolu
tion of my life.
’ Nothing, Edward. They shall not know
it at present. The money is mine, and
I have a right to use it aH I will. In any
other case 1 might enter into explanations,
n this i will not.”
•‘lt makes me feel like a coward to coun
sel yon to concealment, anil yet—aud—yet
I hope I am not acting meanly."
“Do not fret about the concealmeut,
Edward; It will not trouble mo in the
least.”
When I said that I lied for love’s sake,
and I hope it will he pardoned It did
trouble me even as I spoke. My first con
cealment; my first independent step.
I did not draw my five hundred dollars
ut once. It was some six months before
the lust went. Only fifty at first., then a
cessation of hopeful talk on Edward’s
part, a relapse into melancholy, and fi
nally a confession that lie had underrated
his wants.
It was only what I had expected, nud 1
drew the last fifty, when it came to that,
without a pang.
I noticed, too, that there was no stug
gleou Edward's part, protestations, asthcre
j had been at first . I even must confess to
! having been a little hurt at the difference.
Well, that was over, sacrifice, anil lin
gering hope, and all. I said to myself
and him that I should never miss the
, money.
How little I knew of tho sword that was
j hanging over my head 1
We went on in the old way. I felt that
Edward’s dream was dissipated, and had
the satisfaction of knowing that, 1 at least,
1 hail not failed in devotion.
fn spite of the growing hopelessness of
j our ease, aud some doubts of his jndg
■ merit which would creep in at times, I
l loved my darling more and more every
, day.
It was early one evening when John
came to the door of the room where I sat
waiting for Edward. He beckoned to me
without speaking, and 1 hurried to his
■ ride.
“WilHnm wants you.” he whispered;
and I followed him, my limbs trembling
; under me. I drew a breath of relief when
I saw William seated at the table in the
hack parlor, with memoranda and sciaps
iof paper before him, looking quite him
' self, though very grave. Whatever had
happened was John's tiouble much more
1 than his, that was plainly to be seen.
I stood still suddenly, and as if by in
| spiration, my thoughts lightlied on the
. five hundred dollars. Stolen money it
j almost seemed to mo. I felt that my secret
was destined to be a secret no longer. My
face flushed. My heart like a sledge ham
mer.
“O, Edward, Edward,” I almost cried
aloud: “what a foolish pair we have
been!”
Then William entered into a business
discussion. He might have spoken Chal
daic, for all the moaning his words had to
me. Only at lust I comprehended by
some final sentences that our house was in
danger: that William, bent on various
speculations, had neglected his purposed
payments, that the mortgage hail fallen
into new hands nnd was in danger of fore
closure. “I am sure of recovering every
thing in time beyond a doubt.” William
went on to Hav; “but this emergency must
be promptly met. To draw from my own
resources would cripple roe just as I am in
fair training. And now Hetty, I expect
you to come to the rescue. Five hundred
dollars at this juncture will just save us
with what I think I can raise. It will
be hard work and hazardous to my busi- !
ness, but I am, convinced I shall weather
the storm.”
I sat as turned to stone. Only my brain
was alive. Hhould I break into open
revolt, and boldly come out with truth at
once ? Should I hold an obstinate si
lence ? Even a wild thought of disclaim
ing all knowledge of the drawing of the
mosey flitted through my brain. I felt
as if I would gladly be torn limb from |
limb before I would give Edward’s name
to the contumely that would surely fall
upon it.
Only one hope was left.
“Where is John’s money ?” If 'fared, i
John put his head down in his hand.
William laughed a short, harsh laugh. ]
“Why, Hetty,” he said, are you afraid ? ,
Yon may depend upon my assurance. 11
would let everything go to rack and ruin 1
before I would deprive you of our father’s !
bequest. Iu less than six months’ time it
shall be yours again whether I live or 1
die. ’
I fell to trembliug then, and out came !
tlio truth. I may have thought lies in!
my life —I never told but one.
My money is gone, *
QUITMAN, ft A., SATURDAY, MAY 2:1, 1574.
William broke out with an oath, aud his
fist came down on the table fiercely.
“What other folly is this?” he cried
out in a fury. Then, meditatively—-for I
gave him no answer—" Lottery I Specula
tion 1 Hetty, don’t tell nie you have given
it to that rascal I”
The tears came pouring down my cheeks
in a flood, and I faltered ont between my
soils:
“Not a rascal—only—unfortunate.”
“Door Hetty 1" said John, lifting his
head with a sigh. “Don’t scold her,
William. 0, the villain!”
“I’m ashamed of yon both," said Wil
liam, falling back iuhis chair. “I thought
Hetty at least had move sense. 1 might
have expected you to throw yours away on
idle folly, just as you have. You wore al
ways a spendthrift. But Hetty, what
possessed you to allow yourself to he im
posed upon by a miserable scoundrel ?
Wlmt sort of a plausible story did he
cheat you with ?”
I wished then that I had out off my
tongue before I had told him how matters
stood. I made no manner of answer. 1
was oh.- tinutcly dumb. A bitter hate pos
sessed me for the time being toward the
brothers whom I had loved all my life and
played with in childhood. Thoughts of
esonping from their thraldom and living
in miserable solitude thenceforth ruslicA
through my mind. The end of all tilings
sweet in life had come.
“Well,” said William, “the house is as well
as gone. We may as well say good-bye to it.
So ends our poor father’s prudence. ”
“You make a great distinction,” John
blurted out, “between your speculations
and mine, I can’t see the great difference
between foolish business speculations aud
foolish gambling.”
It was the first time I had ever seen him
mad with William. William made no an
s.ver hut a sort of sardonic smile. We sat
looking blankly at each other, and in the
midst of our distress came a knock ut the
door—Edward’s I knew ill a moment. O,
to warn him away ! to avoid by any strata
gem the meeting that might end in some
dreadful way!
“Come in,” called William.
I started up with my hands outstretched,
and there stood Edward smiling iu his easy
way, as if the world was a happy place.
When I saw him there, so shabby, almost
careless in his dress, and John and W illiam
looking so well-to-do, though they were in
trouble enough just then, I longed to go
to him and put my arms around his neck
and draw down his sweet mouth to mine
right before them. I dul nothing, of
course, but tremble a little, anil he came
forward iu his easy way, looking from one
to the other and playing with a bit of hay
straw he had somewhere picked up.
“I hope I am not intruding,” he said
courteously. 1 saw William’s face turn
purple, and his teeth set, and a fine scorn
on John’s mouth and eyebrows, and still
all I did was to wait.
He had come mound close to mo and put
his Land around my waist right before
them both. T dare suy I looked as though
1 were about to faint. Then ho stooped
and kissed my forheud quickly, warmly.
“My good news cannot wait, Hettie,”
he cried out, and I fell sobbing on his
shoulder.
“I can claim my little wife soon,” lie said
in a voice full of mingled tears and laugh
ter. “I have been successful, aud all
through lmr means.”
Then followed explanations, and I was
very glad that Williams’ wrath had kept
him quiet just fora moment.
I believe Edward’s heinous crim-i was
forgotten before the evening was over,
and never referred to again.
He was generous to ns in our embar
rassment, and we are still a united family,
living all together in the dear old home.
John with his girlish wife, 1 with my Ed
ward, William still a bachelor, and de
stined, it seems, to remain so. He is on
excellent terms with Edward, and cer
tainly admits that I have a remnant of
sense.
Our household is a happy one, and our
prosperity on a surer footing than when
we depended so securely on our “Money
in the Bank.”
A Conn Place. —The dreary winter
blockade on top of Pike’s Peak is over,
and one of the men who has been doing duty
on that elevated weather post has come
down to tell his experience. At times the
| thermometer was over thirty degrees below
zero, the wind blowing so strongly that
i exposure to it was dangerous, and the
| snow driving in blinding clouds. The
I signal service men, in their substantial
[ stone houses, with plenty of wood and
j provisions, were secure from hunger or
j frosjb and came out* of their seclusion in
i goo# health. The new trail is so easy of
j ascent, that a man enn ride a mule to the
to,) of the peak.
—♦
A Lady Refused Admission to the Bah.
| —The Court of Claims has rendered a de
j cision on the application of Mrs. Belva
■ Lockwood for admission to the bar of that
tribunal, that common law and precedent
| are ull against the appointment of a woman
to the office of an attorney, hut that the
question how far statutes and recent prac
tice has modified the subject is beyond
j the jurisdiction of the court, which int:-
■ mated that its action was final, but Could
|be reviewed by tho Hupreme Court on
! writ of error, if Mrs. Lockwood desired it.
| Congress will probably be applied to for a
declaratory law or resolution removing
the legal obstacles to the admission of wo
men.
The latest reports from Louisiana show
thut the cotton and sugar crops in large
sections of Louisiana have been irremedi
ably injured by the crevasse. The sugar
cane is reported a total loss for the next
two years iu from ten to fourteen parishes.
Ten cotton parishes have been inundated,
and replanting can not he made until
next June. The reports from Yazoo Val
ley are less discouraging. The river is
falling, and an average crop may yet be
made.
A lad rushing into the house of a neigh
bor a few days ago said: Mammy sent me
to borry ahead of cabbage and a little
piece of meat to bile witu it; we are goin’
to have a mighty cuttin’ aud slashin’ to
our house to-day; goin’ to make Bill a
new coat out’n dad’s old’un and dad a
new one out,n an old blanket.”
While a youthful couple were being
joined iu wedlock iu a justice’s court, in
New York, recently, the damsel rather
astonished a number of spectator* by sud.
denly breaking ont, “I want to know |
whether we are going to keep house or
hoard, before going into this thing.’ The
judge r led tlm question out of order,
and tUc ceremony proceeded.
JM It S.IVHI T A K Ell'S S Iv K L ETON.
by i. j. s.
It was a cold, disagreeable March day,
and Mrs. Whitaker’s sitting room looked
particularly oozy and inviting, with its
bright sea coal fires lighting up the pretty
i eliromos on tiie wall, und showing the well
filled hook case, and comfortable easy
chairs, in one of whioh sat the misttess
of the boose. Yes. it was a pretty room,
and so that lady thought, us her eyes roved
from picture to bracket, from bracket to
hanging basket, until ut last they rested
' on the work basket on the table before
I her.
It was mending day, as the heaped up
| basket testified. There was the pile of
hoisery from Mr. Whittaker’s sucks down
! to the tidy one of baby Bello; shirts with
buttonless wristbands; rt handkerchief
\ which needed a lew delicate stitches,
j such ns Mrs. Whittaker knew well how to
! take.
In and put went the needle steadily nud
quickly diminishing the stock in (lie lias
i kot, while (lie lady’s thoughts were busy
with a subject she had often laughing dis-
I cussed, hut which troubled her solely,
i Her hushaud’s second wife Was Mrs. Whit
taker’s skeleton. Perhaps her delicate
i health had given birth to the fears whioh
had beset her for nearly two years. How
. well she remembered When this shadowy
! woman commence to haunt h. r. It was
i while she was at the spring; she could ul
! most feel the gentle breeze kiss her ftuie
| now, as it did that afternoon when she had
[ drawn her chair to the* cool side of the pi
| azza ifhere the roses wafted their perfume
!to her. How delightful it all was as she
j gave herself up to the soothing influence
around her. Presently a couple of young
ladies, who were promenading after tile
fashion of girls, with their arms around
each other’s waists, drew near her chair,’
talking so loudly thut she could not help
Rearing them.
“Mr. Hoyt married again,” exclaimed
one iu surprise.
“Yes, and you ought to see them to
gether, he can hardly keep his eyes off
her. Ma says men always love their
second is ives best. Have a caramel,
Minnie ?” fishing a somew hat sticky paper
parcel from her pocket, and passing on
uuooucious of the pain she had inflicted.
Alas ! for Mrs. Whittaker, there was no
more enjoyment that day. The flowers
had loot thoir fragrance; tlio air was
stifling. Was it so ? Did men love sec
ond wives host ?
The sewing dopped from her hand ns
she went, iu thought, buck to that time
fraught with so many new fears aud ideas.
How hal'd she had tried, iu tlio first
years of her married life to be econom
ical, until now economy was habit. Was
not this comfortable home as much her
own by the right of working for it, us her
husbands ? Would a second wife make
over Mr. Whittaker’s cqkts for Johnny?
No, by diligent inquiry she lmd ascer
tained that second wives generally take
i especial delight in spending the money
1 the first wife had saved. And the chif
| dren. all, me! That was what troubled
I the inotlieiheart of this tormented woman,
j Poor baby Belle ! Would Mrs. Whitta
ker number two have patience with her
with her little fits of temper ? 'Would she
take the sensitive little thing on her lap
aud wipe tho pearly drops from the
flushed cheeks ? Would she help Johnny
make kites and not complain that “boys
are so noisy.” Perhaps site would pur
suade Mr. Whittaker to send the hoy a
long way off to shool, and lie might get
wild and —oh, dear ! wasn’t it dreadful V
To-be-sure Ned always said she came of
a long lived stock aud lie had no doubt
| she would live to many her second hus
j baud. Hhc marry again ! Not while her
, senses were left her.
One night baby Belle had been umisu-
I ally fretful pccu.ssioued by uu eye tooth
i trying to get through the swollen gum,
and when at last she fell asleep, the tried,
nervous mother was unable to sleep her
: self. Tho skeleton presented itself before
j her, and with singular fascination, kept
j the little woman’s thoughts busy. The
! bed might as Woll have been u lock for
] aH the rest she felt from, lying on it; so
too nervous to keep quiet, she rapped a
| shawl around her, and curling herself up
lin the arm chair tried to read. The
j bright lamp light awoke Mr. Whittaker,
who lmd snored through all liahy Belle’s
; fretting.
“What are you up for, clear ?”
“I was too nervous to sleep.”
“What made you nervous, child?”
| W% would he ask such questions ?
j W all, baby kept me awake; then when
J she went to sleep I got to thinking and it
I made me-nervous and sleepless.”
“What wete you thinking of that should
j make you think s6 ?”, ,
“Go to sleep, Ned, and don’t trouble
‘ me with such questions.”
“But, my dear, I want to know. Were
! yon thinking about me ?”
“Yes, some. If yon must know, Ned,
II was thinking of your second wife.”
The laugh that greeted his answer
j threatened to awaken baby Belle, but soon
! ceased, for the little woman was sobbing
on her husband’s shoulder.
I “My darling, I have noticed that some
thing troubled you lately, but had no idea
it was my second spouse. You are not
strong, and baby has taxed your strength
until your nerves are idl uustruug, else
you would not have such ridiculous fan
cies.”
“But they arc not ridiculous, Ned. Do
you mean to say that you would marry
again if I should die ?”
“I mean to say that I am going to sleep,
and you must, too; come, kiss me good
night again;”
“Ah, Ned, yon evade an answer, I be
lieve yon would many in less then a year ;
aurl love number two better than you do i
me. Mrs. Hodges says men always love j
their second wives better than the first.”
“Mrs. Hodges, go to grass.”
“Now you are angry, Ned.”
“No, but seriously, my little wife, it is
absolutely wicked to borrow trouble like ]
this. I don’t know, of course, even if I!
should out live you, but I hardly think I j
could find a wife who would suit mo ns ;
well as you do. Will that make you feel j
any better?” Arid so the matter rested, j
“If I could only select the woman,”
thought Mrs. Whit taker, as she resumed j
her mending, and tried to think who j
among her acquaintances and friends
would be the right one, not owning to her
self that she passed by the pretty ones.
Mrs. Whittaker was in her bed, anxious
fuces surrounding her. Her husband was
there with agony depicted on his coun
tenance, and Johnny s face had a startled !
and awe stricken look upon it; her mother
was holding baby Bello in her armrs.
i What did it ull mean ? Hark I the doctor
jis speaking: The struggle will soon be
lover, Mr. Whittaker, I have done all that
|1 can.’ Ah, yes, she understood it now
; she was dying. If she could only speak
:to them all, but the tongue refused to do
| its office. Was she to leave all her dear
ones without a parting word ? What
would haliy do without her? Mrs. Whit
taker put out her trembling hand toward
her baby,and her mother laid it beside her.
It was agony to think that, the bright
head would never more bo pillowed on her
breast.
How faint she felt ! It would indeed
soon bo over. Ned, her dear, patient Nod,
has buried his face in his hands, und the
groat sobs shaking his frame are heart
rending.
“Sire is gone." Is that what they are
flaying. She can hear them walking softly
about. Nod lavs left the room with his
little girl elasped tightly in his arms, the
tears raining down on her golden hair.
This is fearful ! Will they bury her uliv£?
And she thought Of all she had ever read
or heard of living persons being entombed;
yet,- not a muscle could she moved to
warm them. Now, all is still; how tightly
they have hound the hunkerohief around
tier l'aee. Would that she had never been
horn, rather than sutler like this.
.Someone is coming. She knows the
step, for often had slio listened for it in
the days of yore.
Would someone else listen as she had,
before long and take her place in the
household ?
“My darling, oh my darling, would
that 1 lmd died with you; the light of my
life is gone, and ull is darkness before me.
Your poor cold lips cannot tell me that
you lorgive all my unkind words and
thughtless actions. Dear one, if you
could only come back to me my wife, my
wife,”
He unkind ? never! It was she who had
so often worried him when ho needed sym
pathy instead. How every hasty word
aud ungracious notion of her own came
buck to her. Dear, unselfish Ned. If
this terrible nightmare could be removed,
every day of her life should be devoted to
his happiness. The lost opportunities
seemed to form a barrier almost to
Heaven.
Nod's trembling hand is on her fore
head, he is smoothing her hair as he used
to do. Used to do 1 It seemed a year
since she had been with the living.
Home one is in the hall speaking in sup
pressed voices. Sirs. Hodges and her !
sister. Ned has gone aud they approach
the bed.
“How natural she looks” said Mrs.
Hodges in that hissing tone bo exasperat
ing to nervous persons.
“She is awfully freckled,” remarked
Mrs. Hodges’ sister.
“Yes, poor soul she never was hand
some, but Mr. Whittaker worshiped the
ground she walked on. He’ll make an
excellent husband for someone. Mrs. j
Wh t alier stayid in the house so much j
slaving her life away for those children;
if she had taken better cure of bersutf she
might he living now; a step-mother will
make that Johnny stand around. I
shouldn’t wonder if he married Mary
Goodman. She used to be a sweetheart
of his before ho married and she is single
yet. Wlmt did yon say about the cur
tains ? Yes, they are handsome, a pres
ent from her mother; her folks are pretty
well oil. We had better go, Sis. Wait
until T see if he has taken her wedding
ring off. No, he hasn't, I tell Mr.
Hodges I’ll haunt him if he takes mine
off,” and the woman took her hateful
presence from the solemn room.
Mrs. Hodges Was a rather coarse wo
man, she had kffown that, but how could
I she be so cruel and wicked. Mary ftood
: man; she had never thought of her when
j speculating on the probability of her lius-
I band marrying again. Would his second
courtship belike his first? It was so
hard to think that Ned would tell some
other woman the same sweet things he had
said to her. Would his eyes light up for
the second as they did at the first, when
she suid “yes” to the important question ?
Aud worse than all, if, after he married,
his wife should ask, “Do you love me as
well as you ever loved any one else?”
| would he say “Yes ?” This was equal to
i the tortures of tile inquisition. To be
! sure she would never know it if he did,
blit now it was so flitter to think that,
while living you arc the one woman in the
I world to your husband; hut by-aud-bye
| another may be just as much so.
i Hhc hears her little darling’s voice call
ing, “Mamma, where is my mamma ?”
“Put tiie flowers in mamma’s hand,
; baby Belle.” The scent of violets reach
j her nostrils; her favorite flowers. Ned
used to bring a tiny bunch of them when
'he came homo at night, as long as they
bloomed, and baby always handed them
!to mamma, getting a kiss in return. Oh,
i could she die, when there was so much to
j live for V Hhe would try once more to
: burst these frightful bonds, jnd gathering
j all her strength with one mighty efforts
she awoke !
It was afternoon yet, and her terrible
dpeam had lasted but one hour. Thank
heaven it was only a dream, which per
haps had been sent for her good.
When Mrs. Whittuker made up her
mind to do anything she generally suc
ceeded iu doing it, anil what she resolved
to do was tiiis; Take plenty of fresh air,
avoid thinking of that disagreeable subject,
and try to live as long as possible.
That night Mr. Whittaker’s first wife
met him witli a brighter face than lie had
seen for a long time. Putting his arm
around her, lie drew her to the oentor of
the room, where the light from the clian
derlier fell upon her upturned face.
“What is it, dear heart ? What has
happened to you ?"
“I have had a dream, Ned, and am so
thankful it is not true. Don’t ask me any
more questions, Mr. Inquisitive.”
“Please have one every day, little wife,
if it affects you like this.”
Mr. Whittaker dose not understand
the sudden dislike his wife has taken to
Mrs. Hodge’s society, and one day when
she was examining her face in tho mirror,
very particularly, she to'd him she was
trying to discover some freckles.” >
“Who put that notion iu your head?”
“Mrs. Hodge’s sister. ”
“Mrs. Hodges has no sistor; I thought
yon knew that.”
"Oh, hasu's she ?”
Mr. Whittuker thinks women say such
queer things sometimes, for he does not
understand his wife always.
+•-** —.
A petition has been sent to the French Na
tional Assembly, asking for the puaaage of a law
providing that every child shall have its name
ami the date of its birth tattooed on its arm.
The object is to facilitate identification. Parents
ncglectintc to haw their children l hi.- tattooed
sre to be punished by a heavi lim .
Dreams.
Reverting to the question Wort* us
what are the materials out of which
dreams are formed ? The obvious and
solo answer is—from the sensations, ideas
emotions, nets and events of antecedent
lifo. Putting aside all notions, ancient or
modoru, of supernatural intervention, the
phenomena of waking existence are those
alone to which we <yau look for tlmir inter
pretation. The passage quoted from
Cicero, while well expressing this fact
denotes also those strange portubutions
which form the distinctive character of
dreams and the great mystery of their
nature. We can understand (or fancy we
understand) the memories of past images
lor events impressed upon the brain. But.
1 the manner of their grouping iu the mind
| during sleep is the marvel with which we
! are here concerned. Loosening from all
fetters of time and place and freed from
control of the will, the dream makes a lit
l tie world of its own bringing into
| strangely 'broken succession scenes whioh
I have no counterpart in actual life; con
| j notions of persons, places, times and inci
dents, which never did or could have
' oceured in such combination. The com
plete dream disregards all realities. It
brings the dead bach among the living j
I without surprise to the dreamer, and cm- j
i bodies them in the entangled story which j
i have no reeol eeted beginning or end;
j which run abruptly into one another; con I
i fuse personal identities, and blend impos
sibilities with the most common incidents
of life. Hhakespear lms well called dreams
“the children of an idle brain.” That j
power in fact, is dormant which gives se-!
quenee and oongmity to the acts of the
waking mind. But still, even here nnal
ogies, press closely upon ns. The images
of sensible objects occurring in dreams
would seem to he closely akin to those
which the memory furnishes to the mind
awake, either by effort of will or by mere
automatic connections of thought. In
this ease, as in the other, they are vague
and fleeting. No effort of will cun long
j detain them before the waking conscious
ness; and iu dreams unaided by will, they
are still more transient and disjointed. In
Roth cases objects of vision minister
chiefly to this subjective notion, while the
waking mind can create by will, or receive
unbidden, a sensorial memory of rhythmi
cal sounds, clothing itself often iu actual
melodies, the reflex music of tlio brain.
This latter point, in its various physio
logical connections, has scarcely had its
due share of attention.
Regarding then the images of dreams,
however perturbed in order, as derived
from those of daily life, we still have to
ask the question, whether this mimic
imagery ever goes beyond, with inven
tions new to the senses ? We think net
We may dream of the Centaurs or the
winged Assyrian bulls, as we have seen
them in the British Museum, but we do
! not iu our sleep create monstrosities of
j tiiis kind. Under the most fantastic!
| grouping of persons and incidents, indi
-1 vidnal images are not unnatural or distor- \
ted. Yve believe this to he so; hut here I
:as often elsewhere on this subject, we |
\ must ask our readers to consult their own j
j experience. —The Edinburgh 'Review,
Marriage by Telegraph Is it Legal?
On Thursday, April 16, a minister in
the Keokuk (Iowa) office of the Western
Union Telegraph Company married a
couple at Bonaparte, lowa, he performing
the ceremony, and they pronouncing the
marriage vow over the wire. Five o’clock
was the hour fixed for the ceremony, and
precisely at that time a dispatch was sent
to Keokuk to the effect that the candidates
were at die telegraph office in Bonaparte,
and ready to proceed. The following was
then sent:
John Sullivan and Frances -Hodmen, Bona
parte, Iowa:
Please join hands and take the pledge.
William C. Pkatt.
The following is a copy of the pledge
which had been left with them;
You mutually and solemnly promise be
fore God and tiie witnesses present, that
you each will take the one you hold by
tiie hand to be your lawful and wedded
companion; that, forsaking tdl others, yon
will cleave to each other in sickness and
in health, and perform all the duties of a
faithful companion until you are separa
ted by death. If to this you agree, send
me a message to this effect ?
Then.came the response;
Bonaparte, April 16, 1874.
William C. /’rati, Keokuk:
W e take the pledge.
John Sullivan.
Fit AN! ns Godown.
The concluding dispatch was then sent,
as follows:
Keokuk, lowa, April 16, 1874.
John Sullivan und Frances Godown, Bona
jnjrle, Iowa:
By authority I pronounce yon husband
and wife, aud may God bless you.
Wm. 0. PItATT.
The operators all along tho line then
tendered tiled'congratulations to the happy
couple upon their marriage by tiie light
ning process. We believe this is the first
authenticated marriage ceremony per
formed through the medium of the tele
graph. Managers Dolbear, of Keokuk,
nud Detwiler, of Bonaparte, were the of
ficiating telegraphists. —Journal of the
Telegraph.
The New York Herald makes a centre
shot. Referring to the Gubernatorial clash
in Arkansas, that journal says: “The bolicy
of the Federal ailroinistration in regard to
tl>b chaotic governments of tiie South has
been so remarkable that it is not easy to
predict what course will be pursued; but if
Governors of States eoutinue to be ejected
by Federal courts, there will soon be an
end to Republican government in every
bart of tho oountiy."
-
Colored Men in the Army.— Mr. Sar
gent has introduced in the Senate a bill
which repeals the present law providing
for colored regiments, aud directs that all
branches of the military service shall be
opened alike to all American citizens with
out regard to race or color. The bill pro.
vides that tho number of colored men in
the armv shall st mi time be less than the
proportion of tiie colored population to
the entire population.
■ ————
Thirteen hundred Chinamen h-o been set to
work on a narrow (outgo railroad in California.
Their homes nay that they do more work and
lens lighting in a given period than the average
railroad laborer,
r~ -* — -
At a Dubuque wedding, amoii" the prewtmtH
oHtentfttiouHly displayed wan n on -hundred dollar
bill, u prenent from the doting father to hig
darling (laughter. After tl.e gnu* k had departed,
lh*'- <ld mnn quietly rolled up the bill and put it
ui hU vent povk' t, and that wr. me hut of it.
[Worn tho Macon Telegraph A Mobauigor. J
THE ANDERSON VILLE PRISON.
Uh ItsUi and lolli. Counter Sir tMo TttoJM*
audit! Tint.,
Mr. L. Ut; Hark, an intelligent, woll-oott-'
nected, and perfectly reliable gentleman,
In the May number (If the Southern Muga
eiue. contributes a well-written article in
refutation of the alleged cruel treatment
of the Federal prisoners ut AndersonvjUe.
His statements were elicited iu reply to a
most mendacious and exaggerated paper,
published in tho September number of
Appleton's Journal, whioh lias furnished
many a text for Houtherti villificatiou at
the North.
It is proper, also, to add that Mr. Hark
first tendered His rejoinder to the editors
of that magazine, hut it mm refused “on
the ground of personal regard for tbo au
thor of n ‘Jurintin the South’ who is a regu
lar contributor,”
Mr. Park was stationed with tbto guard
at Andersonville from the building of thti
stockade, to the removal of prisoners trt
(lamp Lawton, at Millon, Ga. He pro
ceeds to answev seriatim, und in terms
whioh earry conviction to the Cnildlcl
reader, each canard whioh has been pa
raded so often uud effectually before the
Northern masse:. It is impossible to follow
the deponent in detail, and we can barely
state his argument. In brief, he testifies
most positively to the following facts, “A
Jaunt in the South” to the contrary: The
water of the prisoners was no impregnated
“with the offal of tho camps and two
large bakeries,” but was poreurod from
a large steam flowing through tli • Blockade,
which was sedulously protected from nil
defilement, the sinks being placed “fur
off in the rear. ” In addition, the prison
ers themselves dug 200 wells of pure,
sweet, and cold water.
NO.
Tim “Providential Spring,” also, which
burst out suddenly in answer to prayer,
“is an impious myth.” Tho spring was
always there, together with three others
which were opened (that is, burst out in
the same manner) in the qnarters of tho
guards. In the miracle aspect of tho
question, the writer correctly asks does
the water still gush from the rook of Ho
tel), which was smitten by Moses to quench
the thirst of tho children of Israel ? Tho
entire story is a fabrication ont of whole
cloth. There were no barracks, for the lack
of mills to saw the lumber, or means tu
transport it. Even the store houses wore
all constructed of logs und ehapbufirdn
fastened without nails.
The stockade was the work of relays
of negroes liiroil or voluuteurod for tho
purpose, and was built with pine logs
cut on the spot, which is the cause of th
absence of trees iu the camp. Anderson
ville was selected as the site of the prisou
depot because of its security, the abund
ance of wood und water, arid near proxi
mity to tho great ooru-growing region of
the State.
The rations to gnrads and prisoner*!
were identically the mime. This Mr. l’ark,
who was on the staff of Captain YV’irz af
firms as follows: “I aolemenly assert)
that the prisoners got ounce for ounce nnd
pound for pound, of just the same quality
of food as did the guards.” The bread the
prisoners ate also, was baked by regular
bakers from their own ranks, paroled and
detailed for the purpose, while the guards
did their own cooking. That corn should
have been used almost exclusively, was
unavoidable ns wheat could not be had.
The dead line of which so much talk has
baton made was "clearly defined, aud con
sisted of stakes driven into the ground
twenty feet from the stockade walls, aud
on these stakes was a three inch plank
nailed all around the inside of the prison,
They were all notified that a step beyond
this line was not prudent, imd they weru
not so unwise as to venture beyond that)
limit.” Without this precaution how
could 1,600 men guard 40,000 securely ?
In regard to the burial of the dead, it
is sufficient only to state thut the inter
ments were all made by the comrades of
the deceased, who had every facility af
forded for the record and perpetuation
of their names. These burying detach
ments were regularly pnrolled, and re- 1
ceived double rations for their services
and the largest liberty possible.
Mr. Park also asserts that tl.o surgeon’s
reports on file, will show that the per ecu
tage of mortality in the guards was fully
as great as that among the prisoners.
As to the scant clothing of the prison
ers, the South could do no hotter, as aha
was unable to supply her own troops ade
quately. Howard was applied to in their
behalf, however, but the cruel reply was.
“tlio Federal government did not supply
clothing to prisoners of war.” It Rhouhl
be remembered, also, that, contrary to ev
ery instinct of humanity, the exchange of
prisoners was prohibited by the Washing
ton authorities, the lives of the Union sol
diers weighing for nothing in comparison
witli the subjugation iff the South. Mi.
Park indignantly denies the use of blood
hounds, as charged by this writer, for the
purpose of hunting aud worrying the pris
oners. Jt was reserved for his own gov
ernment alone to have been guilty of such
an act, in the conduct of the Seminole war.
But we can not prolong our notice tvf
this moKt triumphant and gracefully writ
ten vindication of the Houtli from the al
leged Andersonville cruelties. Mr. Park
is entitled to the gratitude of our people ,
and he lias also completely demolished
the penuy-a-linrr who ho wantonly tra
duced the gallant Confederates.
__— ♦ ♦ i 1.1
A Race of Dwarfs Discovered in Africa,
Bavnnl Taylor in a lute letter from
Egypt to the New York Tribune, gives
an account of the recent discovery of a
race of pigmies in Central Africa. Speak
ing of two in the care of the Khedive ho’
says:
“The little fellows looked at me witlt
bright, questioning, steady eyes while C
examined aud measured them. Tubbnl
was forty-six inches in height, the legs
being twenty-two inches and the body,,
with the head twenty-four, which is some*
what better proportioned than is usual in
savage tribes. The head and arms wero
quite symmetrical lint the spine was cur
ved in remarkably from the shoulders Ur
the hip joint, throwing out the abdomen,
which was already much distended, proba
bly from their diet of beans and banaiflPT
Yet the head was erect, the shoulders on
the line of gravitation, and there was no
stoop in the posture of the body, as in
Houtli Africa Tubhul measured twenty-six
inches aiouud the breast and twentv-eighb
around the abdomen; his hands nnd fei t
were coarsely formed, but not large only
tlio knee joints being disproportionately
thick aud clumsy. The facial angle was
fully up to the average. There was a
good developemeut of brain, fine iuteii
gent eyes, aud a nose so flattened that iu
looking down the fo el fuel from above one
saw only the lips projecting beyond u.
The nostrils were astonishingly wide ami
square. The complexion wits thut of a
dark mulatto.”
The average Burmigton, 46wa, saloon
keeper must be bad indeed. A learned
divine in that eitv recently addressed oho
of them as follows: ‘'Wretched man 1
If the bed of that liver was bank high
with the suds of salvation nud a June rise
of piety coining down from the mountain.*
there would not he ailougk to Basil you#
feet,"