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VOLUME L THE INDEPENDENT. UTCROAY, DKI Y'.MHKH —rr~ —• J. C, QALLAIIER, Editor and Proprietor. I HI PM. PnlilUhrd Wffkly at s*4 IM> per Annum \m Adtnncr. Mingle Copies A cents. 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