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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?