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SAyLAHER'S INDEPENDENT,
PUBLISHED BVEItY SATUHDAT AT
GA.,
BY——-
J. C. GALLAHER.
tkruh op m nsCRiPTioN t
fIVO DOLLARSpr Annum in A'lf'tnee,
INSIDE AMD OITSIDK.
Rosy Mid Turin the firelight falls
In (bp nYh man's home to-night.
On th iiictun * banging ageiuat the walls,
Anil tlic children s faces bright.
They have parted the curtain's crimson fold
* A wav fioai the window high,
And tlicir eyes lisik out at the whirling snow
And thoir dull eud stormy skv.
■Their dainty garments arc rich and rare,
Tltiihr fuel.* are fair to see,
And the gulden gleam of their shining hair
Is bright as a i r iwu might lie.
And madv a stranger stops to smilo
At tliu picture warm and bright
The beautiful children looking out
Oa the dark and wintry night.
With tattered garments mid faces thin.
Abroad in the hitter cold.
The poor mans children are looking in
Through the curtain's crimson fold.
The bleak wind tosses their rags in acorn,
Their feet are aching and bare,'
While thoy gaze at the beauty and wartutb
within,
And the children's face* fair.
J think as I hasten along the street,
Of the beautiful home above,
Where the rich and the poor alike will moot,
And share in tile Father's love.
The Lord will open the chining door,
And gather Ills dear ojes in,
The rich with their soft and dainty robes,
And the poor with their garments thin.
A HEART’S REWARD.
Mabel Clifton sat before one of the,
windows of l,er fntUe.'i mognifiugnt* man- |
eion A servant stood in waiting.
Hha vs> making out a list of articles
wank’d for the next day. Coming foot
steps attracted he attention. Bbo raised
her eyes and look out. The crimson
flush deepened on her bright young face,
ns • Oh!" iu a tone of deep regret escaped
her l ips.
She turned round after an instant of
thought and said:
“John, lam not just, ready to finish I
this list, and ahull not send it for an houi .
yet. If you have anything to attend to in
the meantime you can do it.”
Mr. Clifton had been reading in a dis- j
taut part of the room. Hearing the door
close after John’s departure, he said:
"Yon huvo not forgotten to* send for
those wines I spoke of, my dear?”
“He Ims not gone yet, papa."
“An, well, do not make it late. They
■will he very busy to-night," her father (
said, turning again to his paper.
“Papa.”
••Willi?"
“A boon, papa. Promise to grant me,
this last day of the year, my boon?"
“What is it, my love?”
“Promise to grant it, first."
••Sot in ignorance, m.. child.”
“Trust mo, futln-r. ’
fcjho had an eager, earnest, noble look j
ju her eyes that her father did trust in,
Wud lie promised her.
"Well, you shall have year way.’
“Father, let us abstain from using wine,':
tii-morrow."
"Wiist! no, no; I cannot grant you that, j
Jio wines! Why, child, have you gone
crazy? For twenty-five years I have of- j
ferud my friends wipe oil Nuw Years day,
pod never have hit that I was doing ally - j
thing wrong. What has come over you?’
“Oh. father, I have never felt just right
whou offering meu wine, and just now as j
J was making out the order for John, 1
chanced to raise my ejes as Edgar Living-;
stou was passing. It needed hut a glance
to see that ho was very much under the j
influence of liquor. Father, his mother is
a widow; he is her only child, and all het
earthly hope* centre in him. Will they |
pot be wrecked, think yott, if lie indulges
in the wine cup? To-morrow he will make j
ujauy calls. Beautiful women will offei j
jiim wine, lie will not have the courage, j
possibly, to wish to decline. To-morrow |
night most likely, he will return home to
till his mother’s heart with sorrow. I don’t
wish to contribute one drop to that bitter j
-cup.
“Mv dear, whether we have wines or
not, with him it will he all the same, as
you say he will make many calls.”
“Father, if you had a son, would you
not talk differently? Think how many
Young meu of the brightest futures have
faib-d, nay worse, won disgvuce and early
graves, from love of wine. I. feed as if
jklgiir Livingston stood upon a brink of a
fearful precipice. Father, stretch forth
your strong arms to draw him if only
step by step. If we do not save him, it
will be a comfort to think that we urged
him not forward on his fatal course.
•‘Mabel, you are very much interested in
this young man. Am Ito conclude
“Nothing more than for his own and
jns mother’s sake. I would endeavor to
save him or any other young man in his
danger, father.”
“Here will Vie one of his first calls. Pos
sibly I can detaiu him long enough to
prevent him from visiting many places
where he would be exposed to great temp
tations. Oh, father, please grant me
this?”
“Really, dear, I feel disposed to grant
it, hut so many will be disappointed. Be
sides, I have not the courage to make this
great change, and set five hundred
tongues to work, speculating about the
cause of it. H line will declare lam about
to fail, others that I have grown penuri
pus. Ah 1 what is it, John?
Just then a servant entered and handed
him an envelope, saying:
“A telegram, sir.”
Mr. Clifton tore it quickly open, read it
and exclaimed:
“Really, this is too bad, but I must go.
John, here—”
And hastily writing a few words for a
retnrn dispatch, he handed it to the ser
vant, and turning to Mabel said:
“My old friend Harwell is dying, and
pg, that I will.hasten to him,. I.cannot
VOL. 11.
deny him. Bo yon will have to entertain
my friends to-morrow and explain to them
the x-eason of wy failing to see them this
first time for so many years. And—-well,
dear, you can do as you choose about the
bill of fare. As I shall not bo at home,
the people will not hold me responsible for
wlmt happened iu my absence."
“Oh, thank you, papa for permission to 1
do as 1 choose. I will willingly take all ;
unkind remarks any one feels like making,
But I feel confident that all who have sons
will give mo thejr kiuiftat wishes for w itli*j
holding temptation from their boys. And
to the youug men I shall try to muke my- j
self agreeable, and have our cook make
the coffee so very fine that they will go j
Ojvay quite as well pleased, anil with their
brains a good dual clearer, than if I had :
entertained them with wine.”
An hour after, Mr. Clifton was on his I
way to the side of his dying friend, and ,
Mabel sat down and wrote:
Beak Flout: —Come help me to receive
our friends to-morrow. Papa has been
called away, and I must have you with ;
me, as I am particularly anxious to have
my reception a success.
Lovingly yours,
Mabml.
“Edgar likes Flory, I can see j 1 duly, j
and I think she is not wholly indifferent!
to him. Together I think we. can manage j
to hold him here to-morrow, and thus
save his mother a great sorrow, nlo.it like
ly,” said Mabel.
Muliel Clifton was one of tlic loveliest
girls in 1’ . Friends wouilered that
her heart had not yielded to someone of
her many suitors. They did not kiow
that she hud no heart to yield to any of
those who sought it. The first season she
appeared iu the select rivele iu which her
father’s wealth and position placed her,
she met Ernest Addison. He was a fee
ble looking man, talented, with mind and j
heart alike tilled with true resolve. To
Mat.el ho had been very attentive, and she ■
grew to love him, fueling sure the time
was not far distant when he would come j
to tell her of his love. But months rolled j
by, and he spoke not. Gradually his vis-1
its grew less frequent, until tiny ceased.!
What it Was that had come between his 1
love and hers she could never think; but
she felt, perfectly cure that lie did lovelier. |
and so, hoping that time would solve the
mystery and bring a balm to her wounded
spirit, sha watched ami waited for the j
coming.
New Year’s day ccuie beautiful and
bright. M.tbel and her friend Flory, j
inner look lovelier, Mabel had explained
her wishes, and fully infused her spirit
into her friend. It win impossible for
any indiiftVout person not to feel their
|mwers of fascination. To Edgar Living
ston, one of the first guests, they were .
quite irresitible. He lingered on, notwith
standing the many efforts of a young friend I
who accompanied, to draw him away.
“Do stay and help ns,” said Mabel, and
when Flory’s beautiful eyes repeated the ;
wish, Edgar yielded.
j Few. if any, went away from the Clifton j
mansion dissatisfied. Everything heart j
! could desire or mind suggest, iu the way
1 of dellicaeies and luxuries of the season,
j Mabel offered her guests. But aslierfath
i er had said, many tongues were busy spec
ulating about it, anil in a few hours it was
i widely known that Miss Clifton was giving
a temperance reception. Eagerly Mabel
j eves sought the door on every new arrival
iof guests. Hhe had hoped for the coining
! one. But the hours passed on, ami when
it grew late in the day, the hope faded
and almost died out. She had seated
| herself wearily in an arm chair when the
j same greeting that had fallen on her ear:,
’ so many times that day.
“Happy New Year Miss Clifton,” catis
j ed the bright light to return to her eyes,
the beautiful flush to her face, as she rose
:to receive Ernest Addison. There was rare
expression in his eyes, w hen ho received
from her the greeting which seemed as if
I seeking an answer to the suspense of
I years. Her heart was pounding with new
hope. Edgar Livingston had drawn Flory
|to the window. They were looking out
:on the passers by. Reeling along the
; sidewalk, shouting and singing a drunken
I song, came Edgar’s friend of the morning.
Flory turned from the sickning sight.
! Edgar followed saying:
“But for you and Miss Clifton. I might
have beou one of the party.” And going
to Mabel, he said:
“Miss Clifton, your slumber to-night
j should be peaceful. You have not helped
: to cloud either brain or heart of any of
your friends to-day. Accept my wannest
thanks for having saved me from feeling
both.”
Edgar saw an expression in Ernest’s
I eyes that made him think it would be
quite as agri e ib’e to all parties if he would
' take Flory back to the recess of the win
; duty, to the piano, ox anywhere out; of
‘ hearing just then. A few moments after
: his flue voice was blended with hors iu a
well chosen duet. Then Ernest told Ma
| bel of the love that had boon h’ers ever
! since he knew her.
! “X came one night to lay my heart be
! fore you. You had many guests and of
-1 fered them wine. X" u noticed uot that I
| placed my glass, untouched on the table,
j x left early. I dared not woo the heart of
i one who held such a fearful temptation
before me; why you will ■ know when X
'tell, you the terrible truth. My only
brother went down, to a drunkard s grave,
! the woman he loved urging him on. For
. a time mother and I won him from the fa
,tal passion. .Hu was doing well. be
QUITMAN, GrA., SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1875.
lioved he would fulfill the bright promise
of early youth. He grew to love a beauti
ful girl. She was wild ami thoughtless,
and one night, at a pai'ty in her father’s
house, she urged him to drink. ‘One
glass. Every one but you takes wine,'
said she. He resisted. She taunted him
about having to abstain entirely because
ho had not the self-control to use wine iu
moderation. He yielded, accepted the
fatal glass from her hand, and drunk, first
moderately, then on and on, in the old
fearful way, until the end caxne a ruined
life, and a mother’s broken heart. Do
you wonder that I fled from you? Every
hour since, yearning to return, yet daring
not. To-day I heard what you were do
ing. Earnestly thanking God that light
dawned upon you, I hastened here to lay
my heart before the only woman I ever
loved, will you be my wife Mabel?”
Her heart was too full of joy—she could
not tell him in words how happy she was.
hut her little hands lay still in his. She
raised her eyes a moment, and he saw the
love of years beaming there. He needed
no answer. Judging Coin the low tones
ju which the voices iu the other room had
fallen, I think some other hearts must
have found their unites. But the pairs
were separated, or rather rejoined, by the
return of Mr. Olitou, who entered calling
out:
“Mabel, dear, to me these rooms look
rather dark. Let’s have the gas turned on
if you please."
And when there was light enough for
Mr. Clifton to look into his daughter’s
eyes lie saw a bright light shilling there.
Another moment, when Flory came to
greet him, ho said with a smile:
“Ah? I see why you young folks know
nothing of the surrounding darkness—
guided by the light within. M ill, have
you had ti pleasant day?”
“A happy day, father, there are no re
grets to steal ill and imirr it,” Mubei said,
with a bright smile.
“I am glad of it—glad of your resolve,
Mabel. How glad, you will know, when
1 tell you this morning that I cloned tue
eyes of a father w hose only son was away
iu some drinking saloon, How my heart
ached for that father! And wlmt a balm
it was to think ut that time my daughter
was not holding the fatal glass to any
young man,” said Mr. Clifton, his voice
tiembling.
Before another New Year’s day, Mabel
and l’lory each presided over a home of
;mir own, and the happy remembruneu of
tlicir reception is never clouded by tin*
thought that they have added one drop to
the cup of bitterness which so many wives
and mothers, sisters and brothers, huvo to
Prink thu cup of sorrow which ih bo
often prepared for thorn by sister wo
men.
*
0! The "Wretch.
Hanging is too good for the execrable i
BC ump will) got lip till! following prescrip-j
ti m for 'Making a Fashionable Woman.’j
X'beladies should torture Inn, with ‘switch- j
hair-pins, and cambric needles, and i
then turn their armies of “mis” and
"mice” upon him. Here is what he
'"‘ Take ninety-nine pounds of flesh and
bones —but chiefly bones —wash clean,
bore holes iu the cars and cut. off the toes;
bend the book to conform to the 'Grecian
Bend.’ the ‘Boston Dip,’ the ‘Kangaroo
Droop,’ tin* ‘Saratoga Slope,' or the ‘Bull
frog Break,’ 'as the taste inclines; then
add three yards of ruffles and seventy-five
I yards of edging, eighteen yards of dimity,
i ~u o pair of silk or cotton nose with patent
S Hiii attachments, one [mu' of fidao calves,
| six yards of flannel embroidered, one pair
j bal in oral boots wrtli heels tiitee inches
j high, foqr pounds whale bone in strips,
: seventeen hundred und sixty yards of steel
1 w j rCt three-quarters of a mile of tape, ten
! pounds of raw cotton or two wire fiernia
| pheres, one wire basket to hold a bushel,
| four copies of the New York Herald (trip
| pie sheet), one hundred and fifty yards of
i silk or other dress goods, five hundred
j yards of point lace, fourteen hundred
I yards of fringe and other trimmings,
1 twelve gross buttons, one box pearl pow
-1 del-, one saucer carmine and an old hare’s
foot, one bushel of false hair frizzled and
| fretted a i,a mamgue, one bundle Japanese
j switches, With rats, mice, and other vur
| mints, line peck of hair-pins, one lace
I Handkerchief nine inches square, with
patent holder. Ferlume with ottur oi
I roses, or sprinkle with nine drops ot the
|'Blessed Baby, of’West End.’ Stuff' the
bead with fashionable novels, ball tickets,
play bills, and wedding cards, some scan
dal, a great deal of lost time, a very little
sage; add half a grain of common sense,
three scruples of religion, uud a modicum
of modesty. Season with vurnty, affec
tion and folly.— Garnish with cur-nugs,
breast-pins, chains, bracelets, leathers and
(lowers to suit the taste. Pearls and dia
-1 mond-s may be thrown iff if JV-U have
! them. If not, paste and pinchbeck from
i the dollar store will do.—Whirl all around
! in a fashionable circle, and stew by the
| gaslight for six hours.
I “Great care should be taken that the
| thing is not overdone. If it does not rise
i sufficiently, add more copies of the Her
' aid.
I “This dish is highly ornamental; and
| will do to put at tho head of your table on
; grand occasions, tmt it is not suitable for
j everyday use ut borne, being very expen
sive and indigestible. It sometimes give
men the heart burn and causes them to
break, and is certain deatli to children.
“If you have* not the ingredients at
' hand, you can buy- the article ready mode
:iu any of our largo cities —if you have
j money enough. ”
“How much is your stick candy?” iu-
I quired a boy of a candy dealer. “Six
| slicks for five cents.” "Six sticks for live
| cents, eh? Now lem me see. Six sticks
for five cents, five for four cents, four foi
i three cents, three for two cents, two for
I one cent, one for nothin’. I'll take one.”
j And he walked out leaving thu candy man
I in a state of bewilderment.
I Pluck and patience are n strong firtn in
: transacting the daily.business of life.
OUT OF WORK.
“It’s no use, Maria, I have triod ovory
whzsra."
“Butyu are not going to give up, Pe
ter?"
"Give up! How can I help it? With
in four days I have been to every book
bindery in the city, and not a bit of work
can I got.”
“But lmve you tried anything else?"
“Yes, I have tried other things. I’ve
been to more than a dozen of my friends
and offered to help them if they would
hire me.”
•‘And what did you mean to do for
them?”
“I offered to either post their accounts,
make out their bills or attend to the coun
ter."
Mrs. Btun wood smiled as her husband
spoke thus.
“Wlmt makes yon smile?” be asked.
“To think that you should have imag
ine that you could find work in such a
place.”
“But how is Murk Leeds?”
“He is worse off than 1 uni."
“How so?"
“Hu has nothing iu his house to eat.”
A shudder orept over his wife's frame
now.
“Why do you tremble, wife?”
“Because when vu shall have eaten our
breakfast to-morrow morning, we shall
have untiling."
"What!” cried Peter Stnnwood, liulf
starting from liis chair. “Do you mean
that?”
“I do,”
“But onr flour?”
“All gone. I cooked the last this af
ternoon.."
“But we hnve pork?”
“You ate the last this noon."
“Then we must starve,” groaned the
stricken limn, starting across the room.
Peter Stan wood was a book-hinder by
trade, and hail now been out of work
about a mouth. 11c was one of those who
generally calculated to keep about square
ivirii the world; and who considered them
selves particular fortunate if they keep out
of debt.. Ho was now 80 years of uge, and
had three children to provide for, besides
himself and wife, and this, together with
house rent, was a heavy draught upon his
purse will'll work was plentiful, but uuw—
there was nothing.
“Maria,” said lie, stooping ami gazing
his wife ill the face, “wo must starve, i
have not a single penny in the world.”
“But do not despair, Peter. Try again
to-morrow for work. You may find some
thing to do. Anything that is holiest is
hoiioiabe. Should you but make a shill*
mg a day we would not starve.”
"But uur house rent?”
“Trust to me for that. The landlord
shall not turn us out. If you will engage
to find something to do, 1 will see thut we
have bouse room. ”
■'J'll make one more effort," muttered
Peter, despairingly.
“But you must go prepared to do any
thing.” .
"Anything reasonable, Mans.
“Wlmt do you call reasonable?”
“'vV'liv, anything decent.”
Hhe felt inclined to smilo, but the. mut
ter was too serious for that, und a cloud
passed over her face. She knew her hus
band’s disposition, and she felt sure he
would find work. She knew that he
would look for some kind of work which
would not lower lum iu the social scale as
ho had oneo or tw ice expressed it. How
ever, she knew that it would bo no use to
suy anything to him now, so she let the
matter drop.
On the following morning tho last bit of
food was put oil the table. Htauwood could
hardly realize that be wus penniless and
without food. For years ho hud beeu
gay, thoughtless and fortunate, making
the most of the present; forgetting tho
|iust, and letting the future take care of
itself, Yet thu truth was naked anil clear,
ami when he left the house he said some
thing must he done.
No sooner had her husband li ft than
Mrs. Htauwood put on her bonnet and
shawl. Her oldest child was a girl 11
years old, and her youngest four. She
asked her next door neighbor if she would
take care of her children until noon.
Those children were known to he good
and quiet, arid so they were taken cheer
fully. Then Mrs. Htauwood locked up
her house and went away. Hhe returned
at, ii ioii, bringing some dinner for her
children, and then went away aguiu. She
came home iu the evening, before tier
husband returned, bearing a liEivy basket
! an her arm.
“Well, I’etcr what luck?” she asked
after her husband bad entered uud nut
down.
“Nothing, nothing,” he groaned, “I
made out to get dinner with uu old chum
but could tiud no work.”
"And where have you looked to-day?”
i'b, everywhere. I’ve been to a hun
dred places, but it is the same story in
every place It’s nothing but one eter
nal no—no— no! I’m sick und tired of
it!”
"What have you offered to do?
“Why, I even went so fur as to offer to
tend a liquor store down town,”
The wife smiled.
“Now, wliat shall wo do?” muttered
Peter spasmodically.
“Why, we will eat omr supper first and
then talk the matter over.” ,
“Supperl have you got any?”
“Yes—plenty of it.”
“But you told me you had none.”
“Neither had we this morning, but I’ve
been after work to-day and found some.”
“You beeu after work?” uttered tire
husband iu sui'priser.
“Yes.”
“But how—where —wlmt?”
‘ Why first I went to Mrs. Snow’s, I
knew her girl was siek, and I hoped she
might have work to. be done. X went to
her and told her my story, and she set me
at work on her washing. She gave me
some food to bring home to my children,
and paid me three shillings when I was
through.”
“What! you have been washing for our
j butcher’s wife?” said Fetor, looking very
much surprised.
“Of course I have, and thereby earned
| enough to keep us in food to-morrow, at
j any rate, so to-morrow you may come
[ home to dinner.”
| “But how about, the rent?”
1 “O, I’ve seen Mr. Simpson, told him
I just how we were situated and offered him
imy watch as a pledge for the payment
jot onr lent within two months, with iuter
j cat ou all anvariigcs. •
“So lie's got your gold watch?”
“No, ho wouldn’t take it. He said if I
would become responsible for the rent he
would let it rest. ”
"Then wo've got a roof to cover us, and
food for to-morrow.”
“Don’t despair, Peter, for wo shall not
starve. I’ve got work enough to keep us
alive."
“Wliat’s that?”
“Mr. Hieiw has engaged mo to carry
small packages, baskets, bundles and such
to his customers.
“Well, this is a pretty go. My wife
turned butcher's hoy. You shall do no
such thing.”
“Why not?”
■ ‘Because—because—"
“Hay because it will lower mo in the
social scale.”
"Well, so it will.”
"Then it is more honorable to lie still
und starve, und see one's children starve,
than to work? I tell you, Peter, if you
can’t find work I must. Wc should have
been without bread to-night if I had not
found work to-day. At such a time as
this it is not for us to consider what kind
of work we will do, so long as it is hon
est."
“But only think—you carrying our
butcher's stuff! Why, I would sooner go
myself.”
"If you’ll go,” said the wife, “I vill stay
at home and take care of tlic children.”
Before he went to bed he promised to
go to the butcher's next morning.
And Peter Htauwood went upon liis
new business. Mr. Huow greeted him
warmly, praised his uolilo wile, and then
sent him off with two baskets, one to a
Mrs. Hniith and the other to a Mrs. Dix
ali.
One evening lie mot Mark Leeds, an
other hinder who had been discharged
with himself. Leeds looked careworn
and rusty."
“How goes it?” asked Peter.
"Don’t ask me,” said Murk. “My fam
ily is half starved.'’
“But can’t you find something to do?”
‘•Nothing.”
“Have you tried?”
‘•Everywhere, but it’s no use. I luive
pawned all my clothes I have but these 1
nave on. I’ve been to the bindery to- j
day, and wliat do you suppose bo offered
me.”
“Wliat was it?”
“Why be offered to let me do bis cart
ing! lie lmd just turned off liis negro for
drunkenness, and offered me bis plucc.
The old curmudgeon! i hud u great mind
to pitch bun mto the hundourt and run
him to the ”
“Well,” said Peter, “if I had been iu
your piace.l would have taken lip the ol
fuf.”
Mark mention the numo of the same in
dividual uguiu.
“Why,” resumed Peter, I have been
doing the worn ol a butcher's boy tho
whole week,
Mark was incredulous, but his compan
ion convinced him, and so they separa
ted.
One day Peter had a basket to carry to
Mr. W , his former employer. He
took the load upon his arm, and just us
be was entering tho yard lie met Mr. W.
earning out.
“Ah, Htauwood, is this you? asked lus
old employer kindly.
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you up to now?”
“I'm a butoner’s boy, sir. ’
“A wlmt?”
“You see I’ve brought prviaious for you;
Pm a regular butcher's boy sir."
“And bow long have you beeu at work
thus?”
••This is the tenth day.
“But don’t it come hard?”
“Nothing comes hard us long as it is
honest and will furnish bread for my fum
iJ y. ”
“And bow much a day cun you make at
this?”
Sometimes over a dollar, and sometimes
uot over fifty cents.”
“Well, look here, Htauwood, there has
been a dozen of my old bands bunging
around my counting room for a fortmte
whining tor work. least Saturday I took
pity on Heeds und offered turn tlm job of
doing my hundeurtiug, but he turned
up liis nose and asked me not to insult
him.”
••But do you dune to my place to-mor
row morning and you shall have something
to do, I admire your independence.”
Peter grasped the old mans hand with
a joyful grip, und blessed him fervereut
ly.
That night he gave Mr. Snow notice
that he must quit, and on tho following
morning be went to the bindery. lor two
days be bad little to do; but on the tbild
a heavy job came iu, and Peter Htauwood
bad steady work.
*■•.
John. Blown,
Called tho janitor, and John Brown came
out with measured tread, while one ot the
boys bummed:
"John Brown’s body
Is strapped upon bis back. ”
“John Brown, do you think it is the
correct thing for a man to go whooping
up and down the street, kicking at doors, j
calling to pedestrians and declaring that
be can lick any four men in Detroit?”
“Not hardly,” admitted Brown.
“No sir, it isn’t. Xu the first place you
couldn’t lick one side of one full-grown
man, tmd in the next place you’ve no bus
iness getting drunk and bowling around.
Wliat would this country have beeu to
day, John Brown, if sueli men as Wash
ington, Morse and Fulton bad jamboreed
around?”
“I won’t do it again-”
“I know you won't—not for thirty days.
You’ll go to bed ttt candle-light up there,
rise with the lark, uud the nearest thing
you’ll get to whisky will be beef soup and
baric varnish. ” — Detroit Free Preen.
4*4
During tiie crush in the Brooklyn court
room a few days ago an easily exacerbated
spectator kept grinding liis heel for about
fifteen minutes against the shirt ut the
party behind him before he iltscovei'i-ii
that this party had a wooden leg;
A lady in the West End fearing Unit her
washerwoman would suffer from the in
tense cold, dispatched a member of tbe
family to pay a little back bill of fifty
cents. The m. of f. found the washer
woman broiling quails for unpywr, and the
wbplo colored colony in high leather. •
They have just caught a 1 - rag-picker in
Paris, whom the butchers found unprofita
ble. He bad trained liis dog to steal at the
butcher doors the choicest small cuts of
meat which the faithful animal brought to
hie master around the corner, ■
Madame Fortmeyer.
THE UT. LOUIS rlm,U MDIU>KBI:sS CONVICTED
—-A FIUUHTI’OI, lUSOOlU) OF 01UM1S.
Tho trial of Madame Julia Etta Fort
meyur, abortionist, which lias been iu pro
gress hero during the week, exciting a
great deal of attention, came to a termi
nation to-day, the jury returning a verdict
of manslaughter in the second degree, and
fixing the term of imprisonment at five
years. Since her imprisonment she lias
bid open deflaueo to everybody, and dared
i conviction while boldly confessing her
crimes. She says she has been plying the
profession of an abortionist, for the past
fifteen years in various Western cities un
der the guise of midwifery.
To the World correspondent she con
fessed that she had committed several
hundred of these infantile murders iu St.
Louis during the past seven years. More
recently she hud adopted cremation as the
best means of getting rid of the remains,
and, without a shadow of a blush or a
remnant of feeling, cltimly stated that she
had burned the bodies of more than a
hundred babies.
Mine. Fortmeyer is n large, portly wo
man, with cold gray eyes, capable and in
the habit of working herself into a fury of
rage upon slight provocation, when her
language reaches a degree of profanity
startling to the most callous.
Her practice, she says, Ims been con
fined almost entirely to people iu the high
er classes of society.
It was stooping to care for two gills
from humble life flint led to her discovery.
For six years she had piled her profession
unmolested by the police, moving about,
from one neighborhood to another, so as
not to attract attention by a long residence
iu any one place. Last August she was
living at No. 1817 Morgan street, and had
under treatment a German Girl, named
Louisa Balder, who hud como here sim
ple and houtst from tho quiet town of St.
Genevieve, anil had entered domestic ser
vice. The ways of the city lmd bewildered
her, and she had been seduced by a young
grocery clerk. A negro huckster had de
tected her condition, and had persuaded
her to go to Mine. Fortmeyer. Once un
der the influence of the doctress, she had
yielded to tho hitter’s representations, and
had submitted to have an operation per
formed. This was her own story, as she
told it in court yesterday.
On Saturday, August 8, while this girl,
Louisa, was under treatment, Lena Miller,
a fair looking mulatto girl, applied for
treatment, uud was taken in. At mid
night tho work had been done, and an
hour later t his girl was dead. (Suddenly,
Mine. Fortmeyer coolly notified the po
liceman on the beat that the girl had been
sick in her house and had died in a spasm,
and she wished the body removed. The
request awakened the suspicions of the of
ficer, and he insisted upoh an immediate
inspection of the premises. A hasty glance
revealed the presence of a collection of
suggestive instruments, and the woman
was promptly arrested. Louisa Bidder
lay sick in the house, but insisted that she
hud beeu suffering from an attack of chol
era morbus. As tilt! doctress sat in her
cell at the station house muttering to her
self, she was overheard lo say, “Ashes tell
no tales, ”
Another hasty search was made, and in
the stove were found the calcined bones of
a child. Iu an out of the way place was
found an infant corpse wrapped in paper,
and evidently waiting cremation. In the
ash heap were found still other human
bones. Confronted with these facts,
Louisa Buliler confessed wlmt she had un
dergone. The doctress had an accomplice
in the person of a young Human named
Sarah Fay, whom she was initiating into
the mysteries of bur cruft. This woman
had find ut tho first indication of trouble,
but was found, uud she turned State’s evi
dence.
The coroner’s inquest resulted in the
holding of Mmo. Fortmeyer responsible for
the deaths of the two babes of Lena Mil
ter and Louisa Rubier und for the death
of Lena Miller. The grand jury found
two counts against the doctress for murder
in the first degree. During the trial just
closed all the horrible mysteries ol the
abortionist's profession were laid bare, and
the details of tho monstrous deeds told
with sickening minuteness. Sarah Fay
testified that three times she had seen
Mrs. Fortmeyer wrap an iufunt in paper,
saturate it with coal oil and place it upon
kindling wood in the stove, and set fire!
even while the cries of the living child
could be beard. The details of this testi
mony will-not boar repetition.
Public opinion brands this woman as the
greatest criminal the West has ever known,
out-doing the Benders, and tho only re
gret felt at the sentence imputed is that it
was not made heavier.
Household Receipts.
Watehi’Kooeinc! Boots. —-Coat the sole
with tallow and coal tar, and dress the
uppers with castor oil, repeating tlic dress
ing occasionally according to wear.
To Choose Paktiudgeh. —They are in
season in autumn. If young, the bill is of
a dark color, anil the legs yellowish; if
they are old, the bill will bo white and the
legs blue; if stale, the skin will peel when
touched with tlm band.
Beefsteak and Oskteb Pie.— Take
beefsteaks that have been well hung; beat
them gently with a circular steak-beater;
season with pepper, salt, uud a little slia
lot minced very fine, then put layers of
teak,s aud of oysters. Sew the liquor
and beards oi the latter with a bit of
lemon peel, inaci, uud a sprig of parsley.
When tho pie is baked, boil with the
above three spoonsful of cream and an
ounce of butter rubbed in flour. Strain
it, and jait into the dish.
To Pgzi’AitE Bcrr eh fob Winter. —
Take two parts of tho best common salt,
one [.art of good loaf sugar, and one part
of saltpetre, beaten and blended well to
gether. Of this composition put one
ounce to sixteen ounces of butter, and
work it well together in a mass. Press it
I into parts after the butter has become
! cool; for friction, though it be not touched
iby tiie hands, will soften it. The pans
j should hold ten or twelve pounds each.
l Ou the top put some Salt; ’and when that
! is turned to brine, if not enough to cover
1 the butter entirely, add some strong salt
aud water. It requires only theh to bo
covet'd from "the dust.
x |
“Bar’s de man, Mister Speaker—darks i
de man wot done it,” shouted a colored
member, rising suddenly from liis scat in !
the Arkansas Legislature, one ham] point
-1 ing to a -white unoi in tho galltfty, and
' with the other rubbing tbe summit of l.is
cranium, "Dut nr cussed white men ies
\ ilor.s spit down on tj, top o’ my h id.’ J
Miscellaneous items*.
•Ti that cheese rich?" “Yes,” was flip
grocer’s cundid reply, “there’s millions iu
i it.”
I Home of tho old Congressmen sat it out
! better then tho young ones, 'being used to
dead locks—wigs.
All women are nnge’s before marriage,
and tlmt is tho reason why huplwqwls so
soon wish them iu heaven afterward.
Bain bridge raises oranges. Bnuluosa is
terribly dull. Our merchant* in conse
quence don’t look as cheerful ua wo huvo
seen them.
Will the you'!-, man of the period lie
good? Will he cut oil' several yards of
Ins new overcoat and give them to the
poor?
An uncle left eleven silver spoons to his
nephew iu his will, adding. "Ho knows
the reason I have not left him thu wholo
dozen.” .
Tho best way to play billiards is to sit in
a high chair mid make remarks, because
then you are certain to win, however tho
bulla may circulate.
“1 allow Unit Job was patient," re
marked a farmer, “Imt he never see a de
termined Shanghai hen sitting on a nest
full of biledeggs.”
An unsuccessful lover was asked by
wlmt means be lust liis divinity. “Alas!”
cried lie, “I flattered her until she got too
proud to speak to mo.”
Since the high hats for the ladies came
into fashion a trapeze performance, is tho
only thing that can be seen at a theatre
without, hindrance.
The old gentleman who spert a fortune
in endeavoring to hatch colts from horse
chestnuts, is now cultivating egg plants
with a view of raising chickens froni
them. ,
Passenger—“ Sir, this is intolerable; it
is hot enough in this car to roust the dev
il.” Conductor—-“ Oil, no; you’re not
roasted yet.” Passenger subsides, but lie
can't sec exactly what there is to laugh at.
Society notes: It is our painful duly to
record the death of the distinguished
Dutchess of Oneida. She was purchased
in 1878 for $’25,000, and leaves a tine bull
calf three months old to mourn her loss.
We bear of a pai'ty who can see tho
Brooklyn court house from the roof of liis
residence, and i ver sinco the tfiul began
he liuh been sitting on that roof, watching
tho proceedings with intense nnziety.
It is said that if a gun is fired over a re
cently caught lobster both his claws will
drop oil’. We imagine, however, that tlitj
accuracy of the aim has something to do
with the success of the experiment.
NO. 40.
An Old-Fasliioned Ghost Story.
A few evenings ago a couple of children
were going from Eli Stiver’s to the Reeil
farm, a couple of miles north of German
town, near Dayton, 0., when they heard a
little child crying. They went .to the
place whence the wailing came, but did'
not sec anything human, or anything that
could make a human sound. When the
children resumed their walk theories ware
repeated, and they returned and made the
second search, with the same result.
When tin St.ver children got home they
reported what they had heard, and ex
press* and themselves as positive that a little
baby was lust out in the woods, where
they heard its cry. Several members of
the Stiver family that night walked over
to the mysterious ground, and they dis
tinctly heard the whining of a little child;'
yet, alter the most thorough search, they
were unable to Cud any living thing, and'
they returned home filled with supersti
tious fear. The next uay the rumor o| a
crying child in the Reed woods, which
could not be found, was pretty widely cir
culated, and in the evening a considera
ble number of persons repaired to tlie
woods and they were rewarded by hearing
tliu crying of a child, but they could not
lind •'hide or hair of one.” At length a
nervous woman declared that the sound
proceeded from the earth under her fe< t,
and thereupon messengers were despatch-,
eil for picks and spades, and when they
returned w itii the ti ols th ■ work of excava
tion was begun in earieit. While the
digging was being prosecuted with the
vigor of men who were after gnat treas
ure, the crying child was heard scviral
rods away from the scene of action! And'
then a rush v,as made for the spot, but
the crowd were again doomed to disap
pointment, for nothing could he seen that
could even suggest the presence of a baby.
Persons affirm that they distinctly heard
the cries of a child in the woods, near the
line between thu Reed and Stiver farms;'
that the cries are heard at intervals of u
few minutes, and that when the span
whence the cries proceed is approached'
they suddenly cease, and are resumed
when persons leave the place. At tildes
when people stand near the spot where
theories are made, suppressed wailing, as
though under the sod, call be heard. The
I people in the neighborhood are really
alarmed oil tlie subject, and some of thcuT
| are so uervous that they can scarcely get'
i to sleep at night. —Cincinnati Gazzette.
"Sold, by Thunder."
Ouo night, recently, a Whitehall gen
tleman was on the Troy train returning
home. At Saratoga a gentleman lroiu
Kutluud took a mat behind the Wliite
huller. In a few liiiimtea u convi tuition
waß opened between the two. Ascertain
ing that our liieiul was from Whitehall,'
the Kotlaml gentleman asked hint if ho
knew Wilkins, the editor, of the Timm.
••Know'him! 1 ought to know him, for
lie is very intimate with my wile.’’
••you don’t say?" replied the. Holland
man, in astonishment.
‘■Yes sir, I don’t want it repeated, bnt I
have indisputable evidence that he lias
been on terms of the closest intimacy
with her.” <
“But, my friend, you don’t live with'
the woman.”
“Yes sir; stnn ge as it may seem, I do,
O sir, you iittio know what a man will put
up with from the woman he loves. This
intimacy lias been carried on for years
right under my very nose, and yet by tho
luvo 1 bear the woman 1 have ne\or yi t
broken with my wife."
“But you cannot possibly put tip with
such conduct on the part of your wild !
If she is intimate with Wilkins, I should'
think you would brand the \ithuu hefdio
the win Id. I would not submit. No Bill’
I would not, never!”
The But laud man hail worked himself
up to a pitch of ej.c;temi.ut, when the
train stopped at Whitehall'.
“Good night, sill” said the Whitehall
gentloinap. “I hope we will meet again.
1 thunk you forme interest you have
taken in my affairs;” and the two gentle
men shook hands and parted.
Jlmt then the conductor (filtered the car,;
and the Bntliind man stepped np alid'
1 asked him who the geiitleulan' w'ak u'i 'iM
! just conversing with.
, “Ttiat man,” said Coin!uctor Holcomb;/
! “don’t you know liim? That is Wilkins,/
'editor 1 of the Whitehall 'Times.”
“Bold, bv thunder!” said tlra KuHalut
man, putting his lingers in bis ; ocket and
taking out something. “Mr. Coiidtuior,, (
will you please give l.im this card alar
iiceoinrniiying So,’ and tell him to send me
h’ paper m long as thl' amni’v lukui?