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VOLUME T. THE INDEPENDENT. SATURDAY, SEPTRMIIEIi 13, Ml3. Published Weekly At $4 00 per Annum In Ydvnnce. Single Copies 3 cent*. BT TEE BHOEE OF THE BIVER. Through hir* gray willows the bleak winds are raving ■Here on the shore, with its drift-wood and Hands; Over the river the lillioN are waving. Bathed in the sunshine of Orient lauds; ' over the river, th.- wide, dark river, Springtime and Huiumor are blooming forever. H<*re, all alone on the rocks I am sitting. Sitting and waiting—my comrades all gone— Shadows vi myaterv drearily tiittiug Over the surf with sorrowful moan, Over the river, the nlruxige, cold liver, Ahl must I wait for the boatman forever ? Wtfe and children and friends are around me, Labor and rest were as wings to mv until; Honor and love were the laurels that crowned me: Little pt’hdkfd bow tin dark waters ron, But the deep river, the gray, misty river, All that I lived for has taken forever! Silently came a black boat o’or the billows; Stealthily grated the keel on the sand; Bustling foe {stop* were heard through the wil lows;' There the dark Boatman stood, waving bis hand. Whispering. “I come o’er the shadowy river, Sho who is dearest must leave time forever,” Suns that wore brightest and skies that were bluest Darkened and paled in the message he bore, Year after year went the fondest and truest, Following that beckoning hand to the shore. Down tie river, the cold, grim river, Over those waters they've vanished forever. Yet. not in visions of grief have I wandered; tftiil have 1 toiled, though my ardors have flown. Lai hit i* manhood; and life is but squandered Dreaming vague dreams of the future alone. Yet from the tides of the mystical river Voices rue whispering forever. XondfV and old, itt the dark I am waiting, Till the dark Boatman, with soft mufttod oar Glides o’er the wave*, and I hear the keel grat ing; See the dim, beckoning hand on the shore, Wafting me over that welcoming river To gardens and homes that are shining forever. THE BEWITCHING WIDOW. BY StrrTlE DYIUt BIiITIS. Just bjefore (lurk one evening, Tom Courteua came into the little office where Frank Worthington kept'his dusty law books, and helped himself to a chair and a cigar, with a quiet make-yourself-at home sort of coolness which show ed him no stranger to the premises. ■‘Well, Frank, ” said he, “wc got through the last case to-day, and I’m ready to be oil' home to-morrow. You promised to go j with me, remember.” “Xo need to remind mo of it, old fel low,” laughed Frank. “I’ve endured the horrors of a boarding-lttnme too long u< to jump at the chance of country living awhile,. ” “You can be ready by morning ?” “Oh, yes. It won’t take long to pack my kot. 1 haven’t any Saratoga trunk to fill with flounces and furbelows.” “All right, then. We shall have a cousin j of my mother's to go down with us.” “The deuce we shall! Tom, if it’s a girl I won’t go, by George! I got enough of traveling with girls last summer. ” “You will gol I will never forgive you if you don't.” “Is the cousin of the feminine per suasion ?” “Yes, but she is not a girL She is a sedate widow lady, who goes down to make an annual visit to us every Christmas." “Oh, that alters the case. One of those motherly, middle-aged ladies who make a i fellow look respectable, us if he was travel ing with his mother.” Tom repressed an inclination to laugh, ; and replied,'soberly: “Yes; no doubt Mrs. Cameron will up- ; pear like a mother to both of us.” “Mrs. Cameron; a good old respectable | name," repeated Frank. “Has she any j money, Tom?” “Well, yes, a fair little fortune.” “And you may stand a chance in her will?” “Possibly.” “Yes. Well, my boy, you are quite S right to be attentive to your mother’s elderly relative. No doubt Mrs. Cameron will be an addition to our journey.” “Decidedly,” said Tom, feeling it about time for him to get out of that office, j where he could indulge in a laugh, and rising as he spoke: “Meet us at the depot at seven in the morning. ” “I will.” “Sharp seven, remember.” “Yes. And time and railroad cars wait for no man or woman, either. Depend on me, Tom, and just look after that elderly cousin.” “I’ll do it.” “Good-night, then.” ‘ ‘Good-night, old fellow. ” And as Tom went out Frank arose and began to put Ids office in order, and make some preparations for his Christmas jour ney. He meant to be very early nest morn ing, but over-slept himself, and reached the depot only five minutes before train time. He went hastily into the ladies’ room, supposing Tom would be there with Mrs. Comeron. There was, however, but one occupant, a bright-faced lady, in a stylish black and white traveling suit, with a long white plume drooping over a co quettish black hat. She turned a pair of saucy brown eyes upon him as he entered, glanced around, and beat a hasty retreat. “Whew! what a pretty girl! Glad I don’t have her to dangle after, and wait on, though,” thought he. “Where the dickens is Tom ?” He hunted through the crowd, and just as the train was about starting found Tom on tlm platform. THE INDEPENDENT. “Oh, hero you are I Be quick now!” hailed Tom. “I thought, you were about to give me the slip, after all.” “No danger; I slept late, that's all.” They went in the ear, and the ponder ous wheels rolled oft', and as they opened the door Flunk got a glympse of the pretty girl with tho white plume, seated inside. “Did your cousin come?” ho asked of Tom. “Yes; I'll introduce you." Tom marched straight down the narrow aisle to that very girl’s seat, as she arose with a bewitching smile, he introduced: “Mrs. Cameron, this is my friend, Mr. Worthington. My cousin, Kate Cameron, j Frank.” ; Poor Frank! you might have knocked I him down with a knitting-needle. But he ; was gentleman enough to stammer some I response to the beautiful lady’s courteous greeting, and try to recover from his con fusion as host ho might Half an hour later he and Tom stood to gether on tho car platform, and thou his wrath had vent; “Tom Courtena, I’ll never forgive you.” “You will. 1 had to deceive you so that you would not act like a fool, and disappoint me of your visit. But Kate will neither cat you uy nor fall in love with you, so you needn’t be scared. ” “Don’t expect me to pay attention to her.” “Hold on, there! She hasn’t given you a chance yet. Kate is quite a belle in city society, and awful particular in her com pany. Sad dogs like you and 1 wouldn't stand a ghost of a chance.” “Humph! I don’t know that she could do better!” growled Frank, instantly, with man’s usual contrariness, taking the op posite track. “She might think so. I'm going to the smoking car, Frank. Come along ?” “No; I don’t care about smoking now.” “All right. Just look after Kate till I come back, that's a good fellow. ” Now, Frank had not the least intention of looking after Kate, but when he ap proached her sent she looked up with such a frank, pleasant smile, and moved her shawl from the opposite seat to make room for him with such a cordial air, that he could not resist the temptation to sit down and enjoy her society. Not much of it ; did h" get, however, for, after the first pleasant reception, Mrs. Kate betook her self to her book again, and never even ! looked at him. By way of revenging him self, Frank looked at her, and the pret tier she grew. “She’s a widow,” he thought. “She’s mt day over one-aud-twouty, if she’s that. I wonder if she is Tom’s sweet j heart.” And strange to say, this reflection made Frank feel like grinding his teeth at the uuconcious Tom, who sat ealudy smoking ( his cigar in the smoking car. The journey passed off without any incident, and without Mrs. Kate troubling 1 Frank in the least for attention. At the station they found Black Boy : awaiting them with a big sleigh, and a few minutes’ breezy sleigh ride brought them I safely to the door of Tom's home. If Frank had fouud Kate Cameron pretty in --her hat and traveling wraps, when she took them off aud showed the slight form, with its graceful curves aud arches, he thought her bewitching. Of course, ho I didn't care anything about her; but, some way, it was a great relief to find a certain i pretty little Minnie Brown, who was one ]of the holiday party, unmistakably occu | pying the position of Tom’s sweetheart, I and putting Kate out of the question. Before they had been there three days ! Frank began to have an uncomfortable - sensation under the left side of his vest whenever Kate was near; and, Sunday morning, when she came down dressed in a bewildering suit of blue velvet, ready for church, he quite gave up, and owned to himself that he loved every inch of her, from the heels of her tiny boots to the I tips of her little blue gloves. Mrs. Kate was sharp enough very speedily to see how the land lay, but she never gave one sign that she eared a straw for him, and Frank tormented himself ■ daily with hopes and fears, after the usual ■ fashion of lovers. The holiday visit was to close with a grand party on New Year’s night, and all the young people in the neighborhood were invited in to assist in the merry making. Late in the evening a silent figure sat by the library fire, having stolen away from the revellers below stairs to indulge jin a moment’s quiet re very. Presently | the door was softly opened, and the faint j light glitttered on Kate Cameron’s blue ! robes as she came forward and addressed i the figure in the chair: “Why, Tom, old fellow, what is the | matter ? Have you got a fit of the blues? Why, dear, dear, it is worse than I thought it was!” laughed Kate. “Have you been j quarrelling with Minnie Brown ? Tell Ime all about it ?” And with cousinly free dom she laid her hand on his head. The little hand w-as quickly imprisoned and carried to the bps of the silent figure, and then Kate stooped and looked into the face—not of her cousin Tom—but Frank Worthington. She gave vent to a low exclamation, and would have fled instantly, but Frank took good care to hold fast to ’ his little white prisoner, and detain her. “Itisn’tTom; but don’t go,” he pleaded. “Stay with me, Mrs. Cameron—dear Kate! Tom don’t love you half as well as I do!” “How do you know ?” whispered Kate, shyly. “Because Tom only loves you asa cousin. QUITMAN, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER l:f, 187:5. aud I—O, Kate, 1 love you better than my life!” “But you have known me sueli a little while.” “Yes; and might never have known you at ull if Tom, tho blessed old boy, hadn’t deceived me, and made me believe it was an old lady who was to come down with us. ” “I know—Tom told me all about it," laughed Kate. “Did he ? But you will forgive me, Katy darling, because 1 lovo you so, and learn to love me a little, won’t you ?" pleaded Frank, boldly throwing one arm around her, and drawing her down by his side. “I’m afraid I have learned that already,” whispered she, frankly. And then—but neither you nor I, deal reader, have any business listening to love secrets in the fire-lighted library, so I won't tell you what, then. But 1 will tell you, that when the next New Year’s came, Frank and the bewitching widow were visiting at Tom’s again; but she was a widow no longer, and they called her Mrs. Worthington. A Model Love Story. It appears that in .Sun Jose, California, there dwells a man,Orion Duboiso by name, who pursues the honest, if humble, voca tion of a tinner. By constant and dutiful application to his shiny work cm tin, he has acquired “tin,” thus turning his labors into the more shiny form of gold and silver. He has purchased in the en virons of his town a cottage and lot, and there has gathered around him his house hold gods. Fig trees bear him yearly tneir delicious burdens, and graceful acacias soothe his Wearied senses w itli de licious perfume. Honeysuckles and climb ing roses vie with each other in the en deavor to hide his cottage from the com mon gaze, and lift their lovely heads and twining arms to the very gables in their emulation. California violets, as largo as mushrooms, rear their velvety faces upon the lawn, and gorgeous geraniums grow to such a size that the very birds of tho air rest cm their branches. Brilliant wiuged strangers from the tropics flit in time to the sweet music of the Northern songsters in his garden. Vines that bear him splen did dusters of purple fruit lie languidly on the trestles, or spring from limb to limb upon the trees. And from these grapes, iu the mellow autumn, ho presses glorious red wine, that cheers his soul and washes the tin filings from his throat throughout the year—wine, “Pontifi um potolre coewi’s.” But Orien Duboisehas something better fur than all' these things sweeter than the fruits, more beautiful than the flowers, more musical than the birds, more per fumed than the violets, more cheering than the wine—a daughter. She, amid all the things near aud dear to his heart, reigns Biipreme. Her soft voice is to him the sweetest music, her beauty his great est joy. She is, as it were, the glorious consummation of his life, and he can look upon her as upon one of his own tin cups, and say with paternal pride: “Behold my handiwork embodied there.” To come to the mutton, it is not sur prising that, even among these described delights, there was a necessity for a cook. Of course the good tinner had to eat, and even his fair daughter needed sustenance. As the roses have their a-oots in the com mon soil, so she was compelled, in spite of tier music scud beauty and perfume, to fall back occasionally upon beef and potatoes. “Yon may live without wisdom, you may live without art; You may live without feeling, you may live with out heart; You may live without learning, you may live without books, But civilized man cannot live without cooks." Bo Orien Duboise, casting about him for a cook, fell upon a certain Chinaman, yclept John, tho hero of this story. John was recommended as honest, faithful and imitative. As cooking is an old science, and as there is not much room in it for creative genius, this imitative faculty of John’s was considered a great quality. Make a dish right but once before him, and it would be produced always thereafter in perfection. Bo John was installed the oook. Alack! the day that poor John entered that house. He saw Alice, for that was the daughter’s name, and was gone! Is it strange that he saw iu her liquid blue eyes possible lights that might discover for his footsteps happy pathways forever? Is it strange that he was enraptured with her soft, wavy hair, so like the sunlight iu his celestial home? Is it surprising that he saw iu her heaving bosom glorious possi bilities? Do you wonder that he was overcome with the soft undulations of her pink and white face? It is true, her foot was rather largo for' John’s taste, but he saw she was young and tender, just seven teen, and he felt this might be corrected by a little pressure. Besides, lie was con soled by observing, when she tripped through the grass and lifted her skirts to keep them from tho dew, that her ankle was absolutely perfect. It was tho old, old story—John was madly iu love; and, being a man of spirit, he told her so. He spoke in burning elo quence of his love, of his ambition, and of the possibilities of his profession. Without her he was nothing—with her he would dare all things. He would strive until he became the chief cook in the country, and never, he swore, never would he be a bottle-washer. And when at last they had attained fame and fortune they would go together to his celestial home, live out their old days, and in the end mingle their ashes with those of his fath ers. But Alice was inexorable. Bhe re- ciprocated not one bit of bis sentiment, and, indeed, turned from him coldly aud with scorn. John .vos heartbroken. The light of his life was extinguished. He had failed In obtaining his heart’s great wish, so he de termined to take the next best thing, her image. He extracted her photograph from the parlor album. Ho would press this to his heart und weep in silence. He would bow to the inevitable, as Cpiifucious taught all good men to do. But Alice discovered the loss of her picture aud demanded it of j him. She flew at him, seizild his cue, and, [ carving-knife in hand, threatened to trim it close to his devoted heal if he didn't produce that, picture. Tln 'ii-on (not the carving-knife) entered John's soul. He consented to get the picture. He retired to the recess where it was hid, and re turned, the picture iu one hand aud a pis tol hid in the ample folds of his hunting shirt. He had determined .o die, but his love should die with him. He gave Alice | the picture, and, presenting tho pistol, fired three times. Each time the bullet l;it h<u- devoted waist. She fled, und John, turning the pistol to his head, blew out his brains, dying n martyr to despised love. Alice was saved by the steel stays in her corset, thanks to the wonderful pro visions of modern science. John has gone where all good China men go —by express to China. — A Favorite Drink. There lived, not many years ago, in the good State of Tennessee, rather an eccen tric gentlemen, who occupied the judge’s seat in one of the wealthiest circuits of the State. Upon one occasion, there were two men arraigned before the judge; charged with disturbing the peace, etc. No. 1, upon the usual question of “guilty or not guilty,” pleaded “guilty to drunkenness.” “You were drunk, wero you, sir?” asked the judge. “Yes, sir,” replied the piisioner. “What did you get drunk on, sir?” “Whisky, sir.” “Wliat sort of whisky, sir?” “New whisky, sir?” “What, right new whisky, sir?” “Yes, sir, just from the still.” “So you got drunk on new whisky, right warm from the still, did you?” “Yea, sir.” “Mr. Clerk, line that mau ten dollars, and imprisonment in the county jail ono ! month.” I No. 2, upon being arraigned, pleaded j guilty also. “You were drunk, wero you, sir?" said ; the judjp . “Yes, sir,” answered the prisoner. “What did you get drunk on, sir?” “Brandy, sir.” “What sort of brandy “Peach brandy, sir.” “How did you drink it, sir.” “With n littlu hooey, siv?” “What sort of honey, sir?”.” “Nice strained honey, sir.” “So you got drunk on old peach brandy anil nice strained honey, did you, sir?” “Ales, sir.” “Air. Clerk fine that mull one dime; the | Court would like a few of that itself.” The, same judge S llad a very wild | son named Bob, who was constantly on a spree, and upon being brought up once before the court for drunkenness,the judge cried out: “Is that our Bob?” “Y’es, sir,” answered the clerk. “Fine the rascal tw'o dollars and costs; I’d make it ten dollars, if I didn’t know it would come out of my pocket.” The Baffled Lawyer. At a late sitting of the Cork Assizes, a case was brought before the court, in which the principal witness for the defence was a tanner, well-known in the surround ing country by the soubriquet of “Crazy Pat.” Upon Crazy Pat being called for his evi dence, the attorney for the prosecution excited to the utmost extejnt his knowledge of legal chicanery, iu the endeavor to force the witness into some slight inconsistency, upon which he might build a point; but he was excessively annoyed to find that Crazy Put’s evidence was consistent throughout. Perceiving that acute viestiouiug failed , to answer his purpose, the disciple of Coke and Blackstone betook himself to that oft | times s .coessful resource of lawyers—ridi cule. “What did you say your name was?” he inquired flippantly. “Folks call me Crazy Pat, but—" “Crazy Pat, eh ? Avery euphonious title; quite romantic, oh?” “Romantic or not, sur, it wudn’t be a bad idea if the Parliament wud give it to yourself, an’ leave me to ehuse another.” This caused a slight laugh in tho court room, and tho presiding Judge peeped over his spectacles at the attorney, us much as to say-, “You have your match now.” “And u'hat did you say your trade was?” continued tho disconcerted barrister, with an angry look at the witness. “I’m a tanner, sur.” “ A tanner, eh! And how long do you think it would take to tap an ox hide?” “Well, sur, that’s entirely owin’to cir cumstances.” “Did you ever tan the hide of an ass ?” “An ass? No, snr; but if you’ll just step I down the lane, ufther the eoort, I’ll show Iye I cud tan the hide of an ass in the : shortest end of three minutes.” — •*•.* Many young men are so improvident that they can’t keep anything but late fhours. Wliat Men Need Wives for, It is not to sweep tho house, aud make the bed, and darn the socks, and cook the meals, chiefly that a man wants a wife. If this is all he needs, hired help call do it cheaper than a wife. If this is all, when a young mau calls to see a ludy, send him into the pantry to taste tho bread and cukes she has made; send him to inspect the needlework and bed-making; or put a broom into her hands and send him to wit ness its use. Such things are important, and tho wise young man will look after them. But what the true man most wants of a wife is her companionship, sympathy, courage and love. The way of life has many dreary places in it, aud man needs n companion to go with him. A man is sometimes overtaken with misfortunes; lie meets with failure and defeat; trials and temptations beset him; and he needs ono to stand by aud sympathize. He has some stern battles to tight with poverty, with enemies and with sin; aud he needs a woman that, while ho puts his arms around her aud feels that he has some thing to fight for, will help him tight; that will put her lips to his ear aud whisper wordß of counsel, and her hand to his heart and impart now inspirations. All through life—through storm and through sunshine, conflict and victory, through ad verse aud favoring winds, man needs a wo man’s love. Tho heart yearns for it. A sister’s or u mother’s love will hardly sup ply the need. Yet many seek for nothing further than success in housework. Justly cuough, half of these get nothing more; the other half, surprised above measure, have got ten more than they sought. Their wives sui prise them by bringing a nobler idea of marriage, and disclosing a treasury of courage, sympathy and lovo. A Mother's Home. The most perfect home I ever saw was iu a little house into tho sweet incense of whose fires went no costly things. A thousand dollars served for a living of father, mother and three children. But the mother was a creator of home, and her relations with her children were the most beautiful I have ever seen. Even a dull and commonplace man was lifted up and enabled to do work for souls, by tho at mosphere which this woman created; eve ry inmute of her house involuntarily looked into the key-note of the day; and it al ways rang clear. From the rosebud or clover loaf which, in spite of her hard housework, she always found time to put by our plates at breakfast, down to the es say or story' aim luul on hand to be read or discussed in tho evening, there wns no in termission of her influence. She has al ways been and always will be my ideal of a mother, wife, home-maker. If to her quick brain, loving heart, and exquisite tact lmd been added the nppoarauco of wealth and the enlargements of wider cul ture, hers would have been absolutely the ideal home. As it was, it is the best I have ever soon. It is moro than twenty years since I crossed its threshliold. I do not know whether sin: is living or not. But as I see house after house in which fathers and mothers and children are draging out then lives in a bap-hazard alternation of listless routine and unpleasant collision, I always think with a sigh of that poor little cot tage by the sea shore, and the woman who was the “light thereof;” aud I find in the faces of many men and children, as plainly written and as sad to see, as iu the news paper columns of “Personals," “Wanted —a home.” The Song of Birds. The purpose which the song of birds answers iu the economy of nature is one of those mysteries which, like the differ ences of tint in their plumage, human in genuity has not as yet been able to ex plain. It is not, however, a mere pairing cry, because it is continued until the birds break the shell, and in some instances un til they are able to tiy. We may be sure, however, that it has its use; and as we can observe that the females of tdl birds which have that cry, w hether it be what we call song or not, are excited when it is uttered by the male, it may be that it produces in the female that heat which is necessary for hatching tho eggs. Iu ourselves there arc many sounds which make the heart beat, the blood dance, and tho whole body glow —we know not why; thus we have no ground for denying, without proof that other animals may bo affected in a similar manner. Perhaps the move philosophical way of considering it is to suppose that it produces general excitement and a power of more energetic performance iu all the labor w hich the birds can undertake. The connection between the song aud the plumage, and the silence and the moult, is also a curious matter, and shows that the whole bird is subject to some general law, which, though it lies beyond the power of divination, governs even tho minutest cir cumstance, the production of anew spot or gloss in a feather, tho reddening of a comb or a wattle, or tho inspiration of courage into birds naturally timid. “Do you think I am a fool?” u violent mau once asked of tho ltev. Dr. Bethnne. “Really,” replied the doctor, “I would not venture tho assertion, but now that you ask my opinion I must say that I am not prepared to deny it.” An Irish advertisement—Lost, on Satur day, but the loser does not know where, an empty sack with a cheese in it. On the sack the letters G. I’, are marked, but so completely worn out as not to bo legible. Work. Young men sometimes think that it is not respectable to bo at work. They im agine that there is some character of dis grace or degradation belonging to toil. No greater mistake could be made. Instead of being disgraceful to engage iu work, it is especially honorable. It is tho useless, not tho useful man who docs nothing; who eats the bread he does not earn; who relies upon others to support his life. It is lie who is not. respectable, because he is doing nothing to command respect. It is surprising to seo how many young men there are at the present day who are growing up to habits of idleness. Having nothing else to do, their nights and often their days are spent ill places of ill repute. Graving excitement, they seek the gaming table. They find a stimulant in intoxicat ing drink. They look upon labor with aversion, if not with absolute repugnance, aud follow courses which end only in shame. How many uion now in middle life look back with regret upon the many lost mo ments spent by them in idleness, und la ment that their livt* are now beyond re trieval. Prepare, young man, while yet you have a chance, against such a sorrow ful period. Do not allow yourselves to grow up without anything to do. Believe that any labor that will furnish occupa tion for your minds and hands iH better than a life which accomplishes nothing, and which will by aud by be full of mis ery. Put Flowers on Your Table. Put flowers on your table, a whole nose gay if you can get it, or put two or three, or a single flower, a rose, a pink, or a daisy. Bring a few- daisies or buttercups from your last field work, and keep them alive in a little water; preserve but a bunch of clover or a handrail of flowering grass, one of the most elegant of Nature’s productions, and you have something on your table that reminds you of God's creation, aiidgives you a link with the poets that have done it most honor. Put a rose or a lily or a violet on your table, aud you and Lord Bacon have a custom in common, for this great aud wise mail was in the habit of having flowers in season set upon his table, we believe, morning, noon, and night; that is to say, at all meals, seeing that they were growing all day. Now here is a fashion that will last you forever, if you please —will never change with silks and velvets and silver forks, nor be dependent on capriee and changes to givo them im portance and a sensation. Flowers on the morning table are espe cially suited to them. They look like the happy wakening of tho creation; they bring the perfume of tho breath of nature into your room; they seem the very repre sentative and embodiment of the smile .of your home, the graces of good morrow; proofs that some intellectual beauties are in ourselves or those about us, some Aurora (if wo are so lucky as to have such a com panion) helping to strew our lives with sweetness, or in ourselves some masculine wilderness not unworthy to possess such a companion or unlikely to gain her. I NTELPIi ETATTON OF A WILL. —A Very rich merchant who had an only son, made his will, by which he left all his property, amounting to three hundred thousand francs, to some monks, who were to give his Bon sneli a sum as they wished. After the death of the merchant, the monks took possession of all the money without offering any of it to the son, who, being displeased at this, brought the monks be fore the Viceroy. Having road the will, he asked them what sum of money they wished to give the son. They answered; “Six thousand francs.” “And what, then, do you wish to do with what remains?” asked the Viceroy. “We wish to keep that,” they said, “be causo it is ours by light.” “But you do not understand the w ill properly,” said tho Viceroy, “for it says you are to give the sou the sum you wish to have. The six thousand francs are therefore yours, and the rest belongs to the son.” With this decision the monks had to be satisfied; for, in trying to get all, they lost nearly all. There was no release from the Viceroy’s decision. Crying was of no use; they had to submit. A man stopped a North Carolina woman who was driving her family through the streets, en route for the West, and tried to buy her “rig,” getting this reply: “Stran ger, yer’er ova wastin of yer breath talk in’ to me about Hellin’ that crceter. He’s too noble a animal, and he comes down from ancestors datin’ back to ther time when I can’t remember. Aloney can’t lmy that there donkey, and yer might as well quit chatterin’ yer mouth about tradin; besides, when I trades I trades, and I ain’t a bit of tradin’ humor jist now, So, stranger, yor might as well close up yer fly-trap.” “Well, Snow, does you still pay yer dis tresses to Aliss Alorninglory ?” “No, I dusn’t; I’se sacked her!” “What for, Snow ?” “ ’Cause when I asked her to docept j my hart an’ liau’, she said she would rather be excused.” “What did ye do ?" ■ O, jest liko an iguimous uigger dat I j wus, I 'sensed her,” A clergyman who preached a sermon in ! a prison, a few Sundays siuce, began the | discourse in his traditional way by saying: j “I am glad, my friends, to see so many of you here this morning. ” It is useless for physicians to argue against short-sleeved dresses. The consti tution of the United States says that “the right to boar arms shall not be interfered with. What we can’t see through—a high' crowned lad at a concert. NUMBER 19. [From tho Atlanta Hsralil. J “TO THE DEATH?" A Double Homicide--.! Teaeleer and Du jilt In Baukt County Stab Mark Other to Death —! llloody Affair. It becomes our duty to chronicle ono of tho saddest occurrences that has taken place In Georgia for many days. It wus a difficulty between a teacher and one of his students, a young man, which resulted iu the SUDDEN DEATH OF lIDTH THE PARTIES. The horrible tragedy was enacted in Banks county, near Homer, the county site, on Friday, the 29th of August. Tho teacher of the school was Mr. Alfred Alex ander, aged forty years, and the student, Mr. John H. Moss, a young mau aged about twenty-one years. It appears that oneo again A WOMAN WAS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE AF FAIR. Airs. Alexander, wife of the principal, was, we learn, present of her own volition, but not in tho discharge of any regular duty as teacher in any other capamfcy. Her custom, however, has been to observe the conduct and deportment of the pupils, and when she considered them guilty of any breach of decorum, to report them to her husband for reproof or other punish ment. On this occasion tho subject of her KEPOKTORIAI, CAPACITY was the young man referred to, Mr. Aloss. When his attention wns ealled to the mat ter in question ho denied the charge made by Airs. Alexander, which led to an ani mated and angry dispute. Alexander be came enraged at the young man for the part taken in the controversy by him, and advancing toward Air. Aloss, drew his knife and STABBED HIM IN TjlE BREAST. Aloss in turn advanced with a dagger and PLUNGED IT INTO ALEXANDER’S HEART. This was a fatal wound, and the man fell. Just then Aloss turned to leave, but Airs. Alexander, who was at the side of her husband, wmug the knife from hist hand and administered one or two severe cuts to Aloss in the hack, near the region of the spine. Tho result was that both lay mortally wounded on the scene of the conflict, and both expired iu a short time, the one within three minutes of the other. It is not definitely known whether Moss died from the wounds received from tho wife or husband, as all were severe and reasonably sufficient to produce death. The whole school and entire community wero thrown into tho deepest consterna tion ami excitement over the horrible af fair, which, though short, wus s< wdefiiaix; aud terrible. By a steamboat explosion on a Western river, a passenger wus thrown unhurt into the water, and at once struck out lustily for the shore, blowing like u porpoise all the while. He reached the hank almost exhausted, and was caught by a bystander and drawn out panting. “Well, old fellow," said his friend, “had a hard time, eh ?” “Ye-yes, pre-pretty hard, considerin’. Wasn't doin' it for myself, though; wus working for one of them insurance offices in Now York. Got a policy on my life, and wanted to savo them. I didn’t cure. ” The most hardened criminal is sup pi sd lo he iu Chicago, ’ill ' o'l or day lie was arraigned for an attempt to shoot a police officer, success beiug prevented by the failure of tho cup to explode, \Uhile the officer was explaining how the rascal pointed the pistol at him the man was so tickled that he burst into a hearty laugh. Tho judge playfully remarked that tho mirthful smile of the young vil lain, in days to come, would take a per manent seat on the other side of his ca pacious mouth. The Rev. John Aloore, who was reported by telegraph as having been arrested for horse-steuling at Greenwich, Conn., and discharged the next day, is a Presbyterian clergyman in good standing. It appeara that while on his way to the ruilrond station he was fired upon by a party of men who were watching for a burglar. He took them for robbers and ran; wim pursued, shot at again and overtaken, and was detained until morning, when he proved his identity. Charles Van Dinter, a dissipated young man of Detroit, got drunk last Tuesday and went home, where he threatened to kill everybody in tho house. His father put him out. The drunken man seized a piece of board and started to return towards the house und ran against a frame-work of, a picket fence. He struck his breast against the top rail and fell backwards, striking his head in such a manner on tho edge of tho sidewalk as to dislocate his neck. He ex pired almost immediately. What Beecher Thinks of ’em. —A cor respondent recently asked the ltev. Henry Ward Beecher if' he approves of wives spending their time at watering places and leaving their husbands to the merev of servant girls, and received this charac teristic reply: “No woman who values her domestic happiness as she should, will leave her husband thus unprotected. ” Ex-Governor Foote, in his “Reminis enee,” is exhibiting too much spleen against Air. Jefferson Davis. Air. Davis’ friends may have forgiven Mississippi for her repudia tion, and all that sort of thing, but they can never forgive her the wrong she did the upper house of Congress, when, in electing a United States Senator, she put her Footo in it. A conntry boy who went to Louisville for an education was asked by his teacher iu geography, “What is a strait?” and horrified her by replying, “It bouts two pair./’ lln Ceylon the marriage eeremony is per formed by tying the couple together by the thumbs. Iu this country they are more frequently put together by the ears.