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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,"