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VOLUME L
THE INDEPENDENT.
UTCROAY, DKI Y'.MHKH
—rr~ —•
J. C, QALLAIIER, Editor and Proprietor.
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MV LOVE OR If
BY A. F. K. B.
Which shall pro flmt to the shfcdowy land,
My love or I.?
WhoAc will it be in Kriof to stand.
And proHK the cold unanaworiun hand,
Wipe from the brow the dew of death,
And catch the softly fluttering - breath,
Breathe the loved name, nor hear reply
in anguish watch the glaring eye ;
His or mine?
Which shall bend over the wounded sod,
M? love or 1 ?
Commending the precious font to Ckxl
Till the doleful fall of the mPK>d clod,
Startles the miud to a cotim-iousness
Of its bitter anguish, and life distress,
J>rotpmg the i*all o’er the love-tit past
With a mournful murmur “the last, the last;* 1
My love or 1 ?
Which shall retnro tn my desolate home,
Mr love of l ?
And list for a step that shall never come,
And hark for avoiee that must still be dumb.
While the half-stunned senses stumble hack
To the cheerless life, and the thorny track.
Where the silent room, and the vacant chair.
Have memories sweet, hut hard tolmar ;
My love or 1 ?
Ah! then perchance to that mourner there 1
My love or I?
Wrestling with anguish and deep despair.
An Angel shall t onic through the gates of
prayer,
And the burning ev<** shall ••ease to weep.
And the sobs melt down in the sea of sleep,
While fancy freed from the chains of day.
Through the shadowy dreamland floats away;
My love or I ?
And then methinks on that boundary land,
My love and I,
The mourned and the mourner,together shall
stand.
Or walk by those Rivers of shining sand.
Till the dreamer awakening at the dawn of dnv
Finds the stone of the sepulchre rolled away,
And over the cold, dull waste of Death,
The warm bright sunlight of holy Faith,
My love or I ?
WHAT I DAHKI) TO DO.
IIT UIM MIDDLETON.
“We ilurf you to do it! We dare von
to do it
A the touch of u whip to a spirited
borne, are words like these to a mischiev
ous school girl; and with the cry ringing
in L.V ears, I glanced hastily up and down
the quiet street, and over at the closed
window-blinds of the old-fashioned man
sion—and then made a hasty descent
upon Miss Olyee's cherries.
Ascent, I should rather say; for, first, I
climbed the fence, and then I clambered
into the tree, where gleamed the beauti
ful, waxen uxliearts that had attracted our
covetous eyes.
“Fill your pocket !” shrieked tin eng r
bevy from the gate opposite. “And the
bosom of your dress—stuff in as many as
ever you can !”
I wore an “infant waist” to my pink
muslin, that would accommodate gener
ous r-upply of cherries; (though not at all
comfortably,; and having provided for my
companions, 1 proceeded to satisfy my
self. I icuf just about accomplished this,
when my ankles were firmly grasped
from below, and a stern voice called out:
“Now. yonug lady, will you have th.
goodness to get clown ?”
“Not until yon let go my feet," I re
plied, coolly; for one glance at the long
pah- face, with the three silver puffs on
each side, convinced me that the very
worst had happened, and that Miss Glyce
had come to defend her property.
• Stingy old thing 1” 1 thought, “with
those great bids of luscious red and white
straw berries left to decay on the vines,
and masses of Oxbearts, and Blackhearts,
and May hearts, that tantalized our School
girl eves, while nobody gathered them 1
X would just face it out and give her a
piece of my mind. ”
My ankles were Set at liberty, and in as
dignified a manner as it was possible to
slide backward down the gnarled trunk of
an old cherry tree, I effected my descent.
“Do you feel repaid for all the trouble
you have taken ?" asked Miss Glyce,
calmly.
“Yes, ma’am, I think I do,” said I, “I
have had as many cherries as I can cat,
and I have quite a nice supply to carry to
the girls. ”
“Ar’u’t you ashamed of yourself?" was
her next question.
“I don’t think I am,” rather amassed at
my audacity; “it’s wicked to waste things,
and your cherries and strawberries are
dreadfully wasted. We often wish we
had some.”
“Well, said Miss Glyce, drawing a
long breath, as though she had been de
prived of that luxury for a moment by my
impudence, “you are just the prettiest
and sauciest thing I have seen in some
lime—brown eyes, thick, wavy hair to
match, rose-leaf skin, dimples—”
I interrupted her in the midst of this
inventory by displaying my feet.
“Dou’t forget these, ma’am, they are
my strong point.”
“Yes,” slie said, after regarding them
attentively, “you could have worn the
glass slipper. And now what is your
name ?”
“Anise Goolburv. ”
“And why Good bury, in the, name of all
that’s reasonable ?” as though the fact of
such an adjective being attached to me in
any way were perfectly inexplicable.
“I suppose,” said I, demurely, “that it
is becanse my father’s name is Goodburv. ”
“But why Anise ? Aniseed —aniseed
cordial. Do you like aniseed cordial ?”
“Very much,” I replied promptly, with
ftlxmt as much knowledge of that beverage
as Dickens’s “Little Marchioness” had
of lemonade.
“Cone in and see me," said Miss Glyce,
“and I will give you some.”
“I can’t come now,” I replied, hesitat
ingly, to this tempting proposition, “for
intermission is nearly over.”
“But I wan’t yon now,” said the lady,
frowning impatiently, as though not ac
customed to Vie thwarted. “When can
yon come ? As soon as school is over ?”
“If Mißs Chord will let me,” I replied:
“and I think she will.”
“Don't these cherries feel nncomfort
sble in the bosom of your dress ?”
“Yes’m —very: but I promised the girls
to bring them some. ”
The mean things had all disappeared at
the first glimpse of Miss Glyce, leaving me
to fight it out alone; but I would not
break my promise for all that.
THE INDEPENDENT.
“Wait n moment, 1 ’ said she; and I
Obeyed, under the impression that obedi-;
eune in this ease would he good policy.
Piesently she appeared w ith a euri.aua
lookiug basket enpuhle of holding a gen
erous supply of cherries.
“Here,” she continued, “since you will
take my fruit, you may as well take it j
comfortably. Empty your dross, and get
enough more to till the basket.”
I climbed iuto the tree again like a squir
rel; and, having the graoe to blush as I
thanked Mia-. Glvee, 1 ran buck to the
sheltering fold of Miss Chord’s Seminary
for Young Ladies just as the bell gave its
hast warning note.
“Remember,” said my new acquaint
ance as we separated, "it is not adieu, but!
uu revoir."
“Truly," thought I, “if all detected
I thieves fared as well as this, vrime will
j multiply on the face of the earth.’ ”
My companions glanced at me with a
s<att of awed curiosity, as though I had
'escaped from an encounter with a dragon;'
i but my face told them nothing, and they
| were obliged to eongugato verbs, and
stumble through their Greek and German,
with what little mind was left them.
As St ton as school was over I was stir- !
rounded, and divided inv cherries ami
told my adventures; but I could see they !
rather thought 1 had drawn upon my i
imagination for my facts, and I began to
wonder myself if I hadn’t dreamed it.
The stately, forbidding Miss Glyce, who
had quarrelled with all her friends and
relatives, and remained in solitary gran
deur in the gloomy, old-fashioned man
sion year in and year out—the only change,
! her daily drive in that grand barouche,
with the cream-colored, long-tailed horses,
j on which occasions site, always wore a cash
| mere shawl in the warmest weather, ami
J never spoke to any one she met—to think
that this forbidding statue should descend
from her pedestal to solicit the society of
Ia chit of sixteen, who had been stealing
her cherries.
It, did sound preposterous; but, never
theless, I knew that, it was true, until
meant to follow up the adventure just to
see what would come of it.
1 laughed rather gleefully, as 1 thought
of the complacency with w hich the family
circle had consigned me to Miss Chord's
fostering care us the best expedient that
offered for “keeping me out of mischief.”
|Of course, I knew very well what keep
! ing me out of mischief meant, with three
j elder sisters and a hard-worked M. 1). for
a father especially since the evening!
when silly little Mr. I’urd (who had been
| looked upon us sister Em's property) i
; asked me to be his. and 1 laughed in his j
i face, as I told him that 1 had much rather
j be my own.
j I did not n ally care for such mischief 1
I —though, I had the comfortable eonvic-
I tiou that, with any material to work upon,
I I could accomplish considerable of it; and
i I thought that Miss Glyce promised to be
■ much more exciting. The inside of that
! house was quite as mysterious as Bltve
j beard’s hidden chamber; and 1 trembled
with eagerness as l unfolded iny prospect -
: to my one fellow-boarder, and (of course)
! bosom friend. Stacy Kellis.
Stacy’s chief characteristic was a chronic
| giggle; that “took” her, as a cough does ,
; other people, at tile most unfortunate 1
■moments, and often interfered seriously:
with her advancement. She giggled when
she was frightened, ‘ and giggled when
; she was pleased; and indulged in this;
amusement when no other human being
could possibly see anything to laugh at.
“How perfectly dreadful !” cried Miss |
Kellis, with a series of giggles, at that
I part of my narrative which I considered S
! most thrilling- the being seized by the :
ankles while 1 was innocently helping my
se!f to cherries. “I should have been !
frightened to death !” with another scries !
of cachinnations.
But when I got through, Stacy was
clamorous for lie. to leave the. gate ajar of
this earthly Paradise.
“Do get me in somehow,” she pleaded; 1
“I’m just erazy to go !” in a high state of
giggle. “Dearie,” with an overpowering I
j caress, “you won’t leave your own Stacy
. out, w ill you ?”
“You’d laugh,” said I, doubtful of the
: expediency of this proposition, “and then
M iss Glyce would have nothing more to ■
S do with either of us."
“Laugh ?” she repeated, in such aranze
-1 ment that she forgot to giggle. “What
in the world should I laugh at ?”
I was so taken aback at this evident un
! consciousness of her own weakness, that
I could make no reply; but promised to
ask permission to bring her as soon as my
i own footing were well established.
“I dare say she’ll give you lots of nice
i things to eat,” said Stacy, who hail a I
weakness in that direction; and at the bare !
I idea, she giggled so uncontrollably, that
it would appear as though she had been
suddenly choked with this Barmecide
I feast..
Miss Chord was an excellent good
woman, but her dinners were on the
boiled mutton and rice-pudding plan; and
aniseed cordial, with its concomitants, was
an attractive bill of fare to the school-girl
i imagination. *1
I trembled a little whom the time came
to ask permission to make my visit; but j
there was really nothing to fear. Miss
Chord was naturally surprised, but she
| was neither jealous nor severe; and after
! eyeing me for a few moments in mild as
tonishment. she said, with a opiiet smile:
I “Well, my dear, you are about the last
| one of the Hock whom I would expect
Miss Glyce to favor with her notice; but
she always does unexpected things—and
since she desires it,, I can see no impro
priety in yonr paying her a visit. If there
is a safe place on earth for a school girl, it
must be with u quiet old lady like tl at.”
Why did the story, in the “Arabian
Nights,” of the young prince who was
placed by his father in a sort of under
ground palace for safe keeping, until he
had passed a certain year of his age, and
there met the violent death prophesied
for him, from the very fact of his being j
where he was, rush suddenly into my
mind ?
I put on my best things, and went over
I to Miss Glyce.
“You don’t look half so pretty as you
; did this morning,” observed that dragon.
”1 like you barter when you are not
! dressed up; and in future, I want you to ;
! come to me in your pink jaconet and white
| sun-bonnet.”
The old lady sat in state in a grand, but
! rather gloomy, parlor, dressed in the
! richest of silks, and with a magnificent fan 1
in her hand. I thought her a perfect pic- ;
tare, unlike anything I had seen before,
md I gazed upon her with admiring eyes,
j “Now, I don't want you to imagine,”
j she continued, “that I am going to leave ;
| yon my fortune because I have taken a!
QUITMAN, GA„ SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20. 1873.
fancy to you —for I have no such idea
whatever —"’
“If you please, ma’am,” said I, indig- J
nantly interrupting her, “I will bid you
good-afternoon. ”
“But I don’t ‘please ma'am, 1 " replied
M iss Glyce, as she cut off my retreat, i
“and you will not ‘bid me good-afternoon'
for some hours yet. 1 flatter myself that
J shall lie able to entertain you for that
time -you ate to have some aniseed cor
dial, you know.”
"You found me stealing your cherries,”
I said, with a hot face; “hut it doesn't
follow that I have designs on your prop
erty. My father is not a pauper. ”
“Tut! tut !” exclaimed the old lady, 1
with a smile; “you had a right to the
cherries, child, for they w ere being shame
fully w asted. Let us hear no more about
them. lam lonely, and vouf bright ways
please me. Are you willing to pour a
little sunshine into ah old woman’s life ?”
“1 will do what I can,” 1 replied, as 1
gazed up into the earnest eyes that wove i
bent upon me—tile old lady had fairly
taken me in her arms—“hut I am afraid
you will get tired of me, ma’am; I'm not
a hit good. ”
“X never fancied good children,’’ said
Miss Glyce, dryly.
“Children !” I repeated to myself, as 1
made the most of my live feet—nothing.
“Yes, 1 know you are old, m* dear,”
she continued, patting my cheek, “and
wise; Imt I want you to forget that now
and enjoy yourself like a chiid.”
And I really did enjoy myself. Miss
Glyce took me over the house, which
seemed to me a perfect curiosity-shop; and
1 was never tired of admiring the heavy
old-fashioned furniture, the rich silk hang
ings, and the wonderful pictures aiid gelus
of art that were collected in the ancient
mansion.
The aniseed cordial was forthcoming,
too, and rich foreign sweetmeats and cakes
and confections that I had never heard of
before. I felt, that J had been treated like,
c queen, instead of the criminal that I was,
and I parted from Miss Glyce with a very
friendly feeling for her, and a most sin
; cere promise to come very soon again.
Stacy gave me very little pence that
night, and I was awakened from many a
nap to answer questions about my visit.
A description of the collation was received
with a groan of regret, and I devoutly
wished that my companion had shared the
feast with me, and been made as uncom
fortable by it as 1 was.
For that, nuil the cherries, and the ex
citement proved quite too much for me,
and 1 was on the sick list for several days.
1 could scarcely believe my eyes when
Miss Glvee, in all her splendor ofcamel’s
bnir shawl and leghorn bonnet, glided
into my room and took a seat beside my
couch. But it was even so; and flowers,
and fruit, and invitations to drive, followed
the visit, until my companions began to
laugh at wlmt they called "my old maid
lover.”
Before long I was in Miss Glyce’s par
lor again. She looked ] when I came
in, and was studying uiiiinialulr.
“How do you like this face V” she asked
mi‘ quite abruptly.
1 replied that l thought it very hand
some.
“There is a boy who disappointed me
sadly,” she said, as she gazed upon the
picture; “my only brother’s only child—
an orphan almost from his birth. I edu
cated him, and eared for him, and loved
him; and then, when he might have been
a comfort to me, he disgraced himself and
me, and run away.”
“Where is he now ?” I asked, softly.
“In South America, if he is living,” was
the reply, “But tell me something of
yourself, Anise—you shall be my child
now. ”
I tried to cheer her, for I could see the
tears in her eyes; and presently she was
laughing at some of my school scrapes, anil
questioning me as eagerly as though she
had been my own age.
Miss Glyce left the room for a few mo
ments, and I took up the miniature that
lay upon a table. It was not only a hand
some face, it was a noble one; and I felt,
sure that the young man who had such a
head and brow as that could not stoop to
anything disgraceful there must be a mis
take somewhere.
“It is a good face,” said Miss Glyce, as
if answering my thoughts.
1 started 1; a guilty thing, and the old
lady continued: “Don’t get interested in
it, Anise; it’s of no use. Were he only
here now, as I expected him to he, I should
build up a pretty dream about you two.
It is not worth while to blush, child—it’s
all thrown away on me; and Arthur, very
likely, is dead and buried by this time.
‘Dead and buried !’ ” she rep< a ted, almost
fiercely. “Well, what then 1 The only
choice in this world appears to he between
a living trouble and a dead one.”
“What were you saying, Anise ?” asked
my new friend, starting from a long re
verie. “Bri- g one of your friends to see
me ? Oh, yes, child, bring iih many as
you like—it must be dull enough for you
here. ”
“But it isn’t dull a bit, Miss Glvee,“ J
said; “and i don’t, want to tiring her here
for myself at all. She is quite erazy to
come, and you seem to like young girls—”
“I don’t like young girls,” she inter
rupted, “1 have no such wholesale feel
ings. I like a young girl. But bring
your friend Stacy, my dear, and welcome. ”
And Stacy was brought, with the ec
static feelings of being on the threshold of
Paradise. But, unfortunately, like her
fair progenitor, she was driven out in
disgrace.
I hail committed the error of schooling
mv giggling friend too much beforehand,
impressing tier with a dreadful sense of
awe, in regard to Miss Glyce; and then,
with a serious and rather frightened face,
she was introduced into the august
presence.
Not a word escaped her for some mo
ments; and then there was a sudden and
dreadful explosion of pent-up laughter,
that sounded little short of sacrilege. Miss
Glyce bent her heavy brows severely upon
the offender, and I gave her an imploring
look; w hile Stacy, with a powerful effort, !
stopped as suddenly as she had begun, '
and looked quite innocent of any such
proceeding.
But the least thing set her off again,
nntil refreshments were served; when she
devoted all her energies to the work be
fore her. Miss Glyce surveyed her f, r a
few moments in silence; then, making up
a large parcel of dainties, she presented it
to her astonished gnost -saying quite!
calmly: “Now, my dear, you can go if you !
please T do not care for any company in
futule btlt Anise.”
tStaey took the package of confectionery,
and did as she was ordered; hut this rebuff
had the elect of making her very spiteful
toward me. She declared that Miss Glyce
was crazy; and "wondered how 1 dared go
there.”
1 had been invited to spend the night
over the way, and Miss Chord had con
sented. But Stacy exclaimed, with a true
"fox-and-grapea" feeling: “You couldn’t
hire me to do it, Anise 1 Every otic says
the house is haunted. Hope you'll have a
pleasant night among the ghosts !”
“We dare you to da it!” cried half a
dozen of luy companions; and this was
enough for me. They had darial me to
go for the cherries, and I went; and now
they dared me to sleep at Miss Glyce's,
and 1 was going.
I must confess, though, that I felt a
little shaky when my kind friend left me
for the night.
“This is, or rather was, Arthur’s room,”
said she, looking about with a sort of wist
ful tenderness, “and 1 put you in it, Anise,
because, somehow, it seems to me a suit
able thing to do. Now, good night, child
\ —you’re sure you are not afraid V”
“Oh, no, not at all 1" and yet my teeth
were fairly chattering in my head.
All the unpleasant things that Stacy had
said came up to me while 1 wasnndressiug;
and I got into bed in a spasm of fright,
and covered my head with the clothes.
The room was a very handsome one, and it
was beautifully furnished; but to me it
was splendid misery, and 1 wished myself
I hack in my humble quarters at the semi
nary.
Finally I fell asleep; but an hour or two
afterward, I was awakened by the eon
■ seriousness of a fixed gaze. My curls
seemed standing on end w ith terror, and 1
i dared not open my eyes. One of Stacy's
ghosts had arrived, sure enough; and 1
felt impelled to see wliat it was like.
it was bright moonlight; and close be
side the bed stood a man, with his eyes
fixed upon me. lie was altogether too
substantial for an apparition; and, quick
las thought, it fiashed into my mind that
| he was a burglar, and was then probably
considering how host to despatch me.
; The w indows of the room opened on a
veranda, anil lie hml entered noiselessly
while 1 was sleeping.
In that one terrible second, my whole
nature seemed to change; 1 felt us strong
as u lion —and, with one bound, I seized
the man by the throat, and screamed
j “Murder!" with all the strength of my
I lungs.
TUG burglar was a powerful-looking
fellow, with heavy heard and whiskers;but
tlic suddenness of the attack seemed to
paralyze him, for he remained passive in
my grasp, (I had only clutched his cravat,)
and offered no word of remonstrance.
Miss Glyce speedily appeared, and two
or three servants at her heels. Seeing
help at hand, my overstrung nerves gave
way, and i was only conscious of being
lifted very tenderly on the bed, when
cvi—vthing grew (lar!;. and 1 tainted.
W hen 1 runic to my senses again, Miss
Glvee was the only person visible.
“Where is the Imrglar '!" I asked. “He
didn’t get off, did he ?”
The reply was first a smile, and then a
burst of tears. My friend was getting
hysterical.
"There 1 don’t look so frightened,
child- the old lady has done making a fool
iff herself, now. My boy has come back,
Anise ! ■ the burglar was Arthur.”
“Oh!” I ejaculated, while a hot hlusli ’
of shame fairly burned me. "What must
lie think of me ? I half strangled him 1”
“He thinks you are a brave little girl,
ns I do,” was the kind reply; “but he won
ders w hat yon think of him. He laid no
business to'enter the house as he did; but
he says he wanted just to take one look at
his old room before he left it, forever. He
took such a long look, however, at the
sleeping beauty he found there, that he
failed to get away again. And, oh ! Anise,
1 cannot tell you how thankful I am that
you seized him. I would never have seen
him, else. And I am quite sure now that
he is innocent—he has been the victim of
others. But go to sleep child, if you can,
I must go back to Arthur.”
I lay awake in the moonlight, and
thought it all over; it seemed like a strange,
troubled dream. Anil that was “Arthur,”
was it ? Well, he didn’t look a bit like
his picture; but, perhaps, he might, if all
tlmt hair wi re shaved off. I had got to
meet him at the breakfast-table, I sup
posed; and I couldn’t help wishing that
our introduction had been a different one.
However, I was only a school-girl; and in
all probability, he would never think of
me again.
Arthur Glyce came forward frankly and
pleasantly, when his aunt presented him,
and extended bin bund.
“Have you forgiven me?” bo asked,
with a comical look in his eyes.
J blushed and stammered: “I am very
sorry; I am afraid I nearly choked you,”
“The cravat in a little tumbled,” Raid
he, evidently enjoying my confusion; “but
] did not mind it in tbeleust. How could
you dare to be so brave, when you took
me for a burglar V”
“1 didn’t stop to think about it,” I re
plied, “I only felt angry because yon tiarnl
to get into Miss Glyce’s house.”
“Good child !” said my friend, with a
caress, “I owe you more than X can toil
you, Anise. ”
Arthur told his story very satisfactorily,
and his aunt began to see tlmt she hud
been very easily duped. Jt was a case of
pride and misunderstanding on both sides;
a false friend had perpetrated the dishonest
act that roused all the bitterness of Miss
Glyce’s nature, and then contrived to throw
the odium of it upon Arthur; who, when
he found that his aunt was turned against
him, scorned to make any overtures to her,
for fear of being suspected of interested
motives.
All the jealous relatives had helped to
widen the breach; and a letter from Miss
Glvee to her nephew, in which she called
upon him to dear himself if he could, had
! never reached him. Arthur accepted the
' offer of a friend to go with him to South
America, and there he soon made a for
tune; but, tiring of the place, he left it
with the intention of starting on an indefi
nite tour in Europe.
But first, he yearned to take a surrep
titious look at the old mansion, and the
room where he had spent many happy
hours. He has declared since that he was
looted to the spot by what he found there
—so thoroughly overcome, that he be
came an easy prey to my virugoiah pro
pensities.
My visits to Miss Glyce came to an end,
now that a gentleman had appeared on the
premises; and J think Htacy was quite re
lieved. My dear did lady friend wrote a.
letter to pupa, which brought him on quite j
unexpectedly; and he, and Miss Glyce, and j
Arthur, had a grand imiw-wow in the parlor.
Then, afterward, Arthur and 1 hail some
thing to say to each other, though 1 really
don’t think 1 said anything after all. But
he had shaved himself, like a civilized
| being, and looked exactly like bis portrait,
only a little older; and since he w aided
such a little fury, why I felt that 1 ought
I to promise to go to Europe with him.
At homo, they all thought it very nice
and very funny; and the beauty of it was i
I that 1 had met him while lit boarding
| school, where 1 had been sent for safe j
! keeping. It was quite sad to think of j
that, unfortunate young prince.
But Stacy Beilis was not one of my j
bridesmaids.
How ho Sat Up with Her in the Olden
Time.
She was expecting him Sunday night;
the parlor curtains were down,the old folks
notified that it was healthy to go to bed at
eight o’clock, and wolmuy bribed with a
cent to permit himself to be tucked away
at sundown. He sneaked up the path, one
eye oil the dog and the otiiei watching for
! t-liii “old man,” who didn’t liko him any
j too well, gave a faint knock at the door,
1 and it was opened, and lie was escorted
into the parlor. He said he couldn’t stay
I but u minute, though he didn’t mean to go
! home for hours. She wanted to know how
liia mother was; if his father had returned
j from York State; if his brother Bill’s rheu
matism was any better; and he went over
j and sat on the sofa so as not to strain his
j voice. Then conversation flagged, and he
! played with his hat, and she nibbled at the
sofa tidy. He finally said it was a lienuti
| fill evening, and she replied that, her
i grandfather predicted a snow storm. He
| said he guessed it wouldn’t snow, as the
moon wasn’t crooked enough to hang a
powder-horn on the end; she said she
didn’t believe it would, either.
This mutual understanding seemed to
j give each other courage, and lie wanted to
know if she had seen Rill Jones lately.
She hadn’t she said, and she didn’t want
I to. Then she went to talking about the
donation visit which was to be given El
der Berry, aud he carelessly dropped his
1 hand on hor’s—his right hand, w hile his left
| sneaked along the soi’a to get behind her
shoulders. She pretended not to notice it
and ho looked down at his boots, and
wanted to know if she thought mutton tal
low rotted out boots faster than lard and
lampblack. She couldn’t say, but she had
an idea that it did. He had just com
menced to lock fingers with lier, when she
discovered something ailed the lamp. She
rose up and turned the light down half,
making the room look dim. It took him
five minutes to get hold of her fingers
again, and she protended to want to draw
her hand away all the time. After a long
pause lie lowered his voice to a whisper,
and he said he didn’t see what made folks
love each st her. She bit her liaiikereliief
and admitted her ignorance. He said that
he c,add name a dozen young men who
were going to get tunrrifd right away, and
his left arm fell down and gave her a ling.
Then lie went over and looked out of the
w indow to make sure that it was not going
to snow, and, coming buck, lie turned the
light down a little more, and then sat
down and wanted to know if she didn’t
want to rest herself by leaning her head on
his shoulder.
Ah, me ! we have all been there, and who
of iih cared a cent when the old clock
struck twelve, and we five miles from
home ? The old man was fast asleep, the
watchdog gone a visiting, and the hand
somest girl in the country didn’t see why
we need be in a hurry.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have written of this,
but. as L was going by Banders’ the other
day, thinking of the night I heard him
whisper in her ear at spelling school that
lieVl love her very shadow as long as he
lived, lie raised the window and called to
her as she was picking up chips in the
road:
“Sue Sanders, come in here anil find
the b’ar’s grease for my sore heel, or I’ll
break every bone in your body 1”
A Black-and-Tan Dog Tackles a Turtle.
If anybody has seen a bluck-und-taudog,
answering to the name of “Judge,” going
down street in company with a hard-shell
turtle that won’t answer to anything, and
certainly won’t answer to tackle, ns the
dog can tell you if you can get, him to stop
long enough, please halt the eloping pair,
as they are the porperty of the editor of
this paper. We are fondly attached to the
dog on account of his vaga londisli, Bolie
mianish habits. He knows every dog in
Pepria by name, and is on speaking terms
with nine-tenths of the dogs that come in
under wagons, and he knows more of the
inhabitants of this city than the tax collec
tor does. The turtle is a more recent ac
quisition. It was placed in the back yard
yesterday, and the dog spent an hour and
a half trying to entice it to come out of its
shell and be sociable.
The old iron-clad maintained bis reserve
however, until the dog crammed his nose
against the forward part and begun to sniff.
The pair seemed to come to some sort of
understanding at once, for the dog mode
an impetuous remark on a very high hey,
and they both started on a trip. The dog
was last seen sauntering along like a whirl
wind, the turtle staying right by him.
We should lie very sorrv to lose, the dog
now, as he has acquired another impor
tant and valuable quality. He knows more
about turtles than any other dog in the
country, and it is mighty hard to find a
real good turtle dog. -Peoria lire{ew.
Somethin!* fob theGbanoehs to think
of. There is a custom-house at French
man's Bay, in the State of Maine. Dur
ing the last fiscal year the receipts at that
seat of custom were thirty-six dollars and
forty-five cents. The expenses of collect
ing that sum were six thousand seven hun
dred and eighty-three dollars. The Cas
tilla custom-house collected three hundred
and seventy-six dollars and fifty-four cents,
at an expense of only eight thousand five
hundred and sixty-two dollars and tweu
tv-five cents. Kennebunk collected six
dollars and twenty-nine cents, at a cost of
twelve hundred and seventy-nine dollars;
while York, in the same State, collected
nothing, at an expense of three hundred
and sixty-eight dollars and thirty-nine
cents. St. Augustine in Florida collected
the same amount, but at a cost of six
thousand seven hundred and forty-one
dollars ami three cents. Indeed, in sixty
eight of the smaller custom-houses there
were eleven which collected nothing what
ever, and the cost of collection was twen
ty-seven thousand nine hundred and nine
teen dollars and ninety-five cents.
[Freni tin- Courier-Journal]
MURDER WILL OUT.
An titalrnoisllnary Story of Crime and
Kctrlliullnn, VuVl Flint Pnhilnlkcl
A Lcaffruiu h liiwycr's Diary.
The following graphic and remarkable
narrative lias been obtained by us from a
prominent lawyer in one of the Eastern
Kentucky counties. The facts in it have
not before been published, hut for their
entire accuracy the reputation of the wri
ter will vouch :
In 1856 T was the State’s attorney in
the———-judicial district iu the State of
Kentucky.
I had gone to the enmity of O , one
of the counties in the district—for the
purpose of hiring present iu the prosecu
tion of tin- criminals. There had been no
court lurid in that county since 18(51, ow
ing to the civil war. I found everything
in the worst confusion possible. Men had
been murdered in cold blood, and nothing
was (hum to them. Murder, arson, rob
bery and all the crimes in the catalogue,
had been committed with impunity, and
the malefactors had gone umvhipped of
justice, owing to the absence of law. Dir
ing the war everything vvos in anarchy ;
there was neither safety to women nor in
nocent children—all suffered alike. When
it was known that there would be a Circuit
Court lurid in that county the news at
tracted a very large crowd.
On Monday morning, Novembers, 1805.
I found a large crowd in B , the
county seat of O . Men, women and
children came, some the distance of thirty
miles, hienlias and bushwhackers came
with their guns aiql pistols, as though
they intended to overawe the conrt, and
j determined that none of theif gang should
be indicted for the numerous murders of
which they had been guilty. Court opened
| and the sheriff returned his list of a grand
jury. The court instructed them as to
their duty ; they were sworn and sent to
their rooms. I had determined in my
j own mind that every person that had been
! guilty of a felony or misdemeanor in O
j county should be regularly indicted, if 1
! could in any way obtain the evidence
against them.
There was a case that was shrouded in
mystery. A young man, who was the
pride ofa w idowed mother, lmd suddenly
disappeared from the county about two
years before, and had never been hoard
from. His name was Ohas. Belknap ; lie
was an only child ; handsome, finely ed
ucated, and as brave ns a lion. I made
diligent inquiry. I had about one hun
dred witnesses summoned. I examined
them closely, and when 1 dismissed them I
warned them to bill no one what transpired
in the grand jury room. In that way I hoped
to keep the real murderers in the dark as
to what I was doing.
I could only gather the follow ing circum
stances in the ease:
That young Belknap had left his home in
June, ltMft.nnd wdh riding a very fine horse,
with $1,500 in his possession. He failed
hi return at night, and his mother lu eame
very uneasy about him, and the next morn
ing set out to make inquiries concerning
him. Bhe went to the house of ’Squire
Mosely, who lived about five miles from
her, a leading man in the county, anil told
her story and made inquiries concerning
her son. The ’Squire told her tlmt her
son was at his house the day before, and
left in the direction of the town of B. ;
that he left about 10 o’clock in the morn
ing. This was all she could hear of him.
No one had seen him, and she returned
home a broken-hearted mother. She
made inquiries of every person ; every
stranger that passed was interrogated, but
ali in vain. She still kept up her search for
her missing boy, and about twelve months
after he had so mysteriously disappeared
she was returning home from one of her
searches and met ’Squire Mosely. The
’Squire told her he had heard from bar
boy; that he was in lowa, He )id receiv
ed a letter from him, and that he would be
at home soon; that he had left the letter
at home, etc. Mrs. Belknap went directly
to the ’Squire’s house, without communi
cating her intention to him, and inquired
of the family for the letter that the ’Squire
had received from her long lost boy. The
family seemed surprised, and knew noth
ing about such a letter having been re
ceived.
This was all the evidence I could get
as to the probable fate of her son. What
was Itodo ? 1 went to my room and
studied over the matter. How could I
say that young Belknap bad been mur
dered ? His body bad not been found:
and who would dare to accuse 'Squire
Moseley of such a crime ? I lay in my
bed that night thinking over the circum
stances, and it was near four o’clock in the
morning when I fell asleep. I slept until
eight o’clock. I got up, washed and
dressed myself, fully determined to indict
’Squire Moseley for the crime of murder.
I went to the grand jury room, directly
after eating a hearty breakfast. I told the
foreman what my intentions were. 1 drew
up the indictment, accusing ’Squire Mose
ley of the crime of murder, committed as
follows, viz: The said ’Squire Moseley,
on the day of August, lbtifi, in the
county of O , did icloiiously, and with
malice aforethought, kiiJ and murder
Charles Belknap, by shooting him with a
gun loaded with a leaden bullet, against
the peace and dignity of the Common
wealth of Kentucky. I presented the in
dictment to the grand jury, and they in
dorsed it a true bill. I cautioned the
members of the jury to say nothing about
what we had done, but to keep the whole
thing secret, and if before the Court ad
journed, nothing turned up to fix the
crime on the ’Squire, that we could des
troy the indictment. The grand jury
found indictments against eighteen per
sons for murder, and so secretly was it
managed that the Sheriff had them all in
jail at once.
The indicting of so many persons natur
ally produced great excitement among the
citizens. I went to my room that night
and double-locked my door, examined my
pistol, and put it under tlie bead of my
bed. About twelve o’clock 1 heard a
knock at my door; 1 demanded to know
who was there; a person answered, “a
friend.” I got up, lit a lamp, took my
pistol in my hand, and oj-ued the door.
A stranger stepped in. I closed the door
and demanded his business. He seemed
very much frightened, and casting a hasty
ghe e iro nd the room to satisfy h mself
that there w as no other person in the room
except myself, ho told me that his name
was Colby, and stated that he wanted to
communicate a very important fact to me
concerning the fate of of voting Belknap. 1
told him to proceed. He wanted to know
NUMBER 33.
whether he could turn State’s evidence rtf
not, and save himself. I replied in the
affirmative. He then told mo that he
knew where young Belknap was buried,
that ’Squire Moseley had killed him, had
got 81,500 from his person, and had run
Belknap’s horse off and sold it to some Con
federate soldiers, and that lie had assisted
Mosely in burying Belknap. I told Colby
to keep his seat in my room,that he should
not he hurt; and I went out, hunted up
the Sheriff and told him to get eight or
ten reliable men and bring them to mV
room. He did so. I then took the She/*
iff and Colby into a room, anil made Colby
repeat his story to that officer. I then direc
ted the Sheriff to procure a sack and take
Colby aud the men lie had brought with
i him and go and get the bonesof young Bel
knap and bring them to inv room that
night. The Sheriff did as I directed him.
When court convened the next mottl
ing, and as 1 stepped into the courtroom,
j ’Squire Mosely was the first man I saw.
1 1 had the grand jury called, and they pre
sented the indictment against ’Squire
Mosel y for murder. People looked ae
one another in blank amazement, itad
looked incredulous. ’Squire Mosely
marched up to the bar and demanded a
trial then, that the charge was a base fab
rication and false, 1 whispered to the
Sheriff to bring in the suck. He did so".
I told him to empty the contents on a
bench in front of ’Squire Moseley, and as
the holies of the murdered man fell out
upon the bench, they teemed to sound the
denthknell of the accused man. lb-looked
the picture of despair, aud dropped in ins
seat and covered his face with his hands.
I announced to the court that all that was
mortal of Charles Belknap was then in
court, and I was reuily to proceed Aith
the trial.
Excitement ran high; the fiach shrieked
and howled, “Hang him 1 Hang him 1” and
the court was powerless to protect the mis
erable mini. The mob, with the mother
of young Charles Belknap at their head
forcibly took the trembling culprit out of
the custody of the Sheriff, aud hung him
to a limb of the nearest tree. Before he
swung off he acknowledged his guilt. And
a# I passed by his lifeless form sWitrgftig'
from the limb of that tree, I was forcibly
reminded of the legal phrase, “Murder
will out.”
How the French Interfered and
Saved a Confederate Regiment. —ln tW
Brownsville Ha richer a of the Kith ult. is si
i leader upon the candidacy of general Cor
! tiiin for the Presidency of the Ayuntami
! onto of the heroic city of Matamoras.
Treating of the subject, the Rnnchern recall#
the following incident of the late civil
war, iu which Cortina (Cheno) bore u
: part:
There is one incident of Cheno's career
which may be mentioned to his credit.
During the rebellion he was the firm friend
of the Union cause. One of the lust scrim-’
mages of the war took place on the Rio
Grande, near the mouth of the river.
Cortina had agreed with the Federal com
mander at Brazos to capture the regiment
of Colonel Kip Ford, then garrisoning
j Brow nsville.
The Federnls advanced up the river and
| the Confederates sailed out to meet them.
Cortina had crossed about three hundred
! men to attack the Confederates in the rear
j and cut off their retreat. The plan would
! have succeeded but for the intervention of
j some French gunboats, which shelled Oor
i film’s force and compelled their retreat.
Wo have never seen this interference of the
French in our little family quarrel ventil
ated. It hurst a very well laid plan, any
way.
Most American travelers throw away
much of their reading matter at their jour
ney’s end. But in England at each station
call bo found a box fastened up, very simi
lar to our letter boxes, but sometimes
larger, into which the traveler puts hi*
papers, hooks, etc. Those are in Hunt
collected by men who curry them to hos
pitals, homes for old men and women, and
similar institutions, where they are gladly
received.
BUSINESS CARDS.
JAS. H. HUNTER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
QUITMAN,
BROOKS COUNTY , GEORGIA.
Will practice in the Counties of the tfoutbera
Circuit. Echols ami Clinch of the Brunswick, and
Mitchell of the Albany. Office at the Court
House. ’ _ jue2H-tf
W. B. BKNVETt. . T. KINOHUKBKY
BENNETT & KINGSBERRY,
Attorneys at Law
QUITMAN,
Brooks Caimti’, • Geo- ;iu.
juue2B-tf
EDWARD R. HARDEN.
Attorney at Law,
U I r M A N x
BROOKS COUNTY, - * GEORGIA.
Late an Associate Justice Supreme Court V*
S. for Utah and Nebraska Territories; now Judg-:
County Court, Brooks County, Ga.
nmy24-12mo
J. S. N. S N 0 W,
DENTIST,
Quitman, - - - - - Georgia,
Office Up Stairs, Finch’s Comer.
DR. E. A. JELKS,
PRACTISING PHYSICIAN,
Quitinan, Ga.
OFFICE—Brick building adjoining the storo ot
Messrs. Briggs, .Jtlks i Cos., Screven street.
nmylOtf
CLOTH I N G .
C. ®. BROWN, of Florida,
—WITH—
\VKILLER & BRO.,
274 W. Baltimore St., Baltimore, Md.
auftftl lm