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VOL. X. THE NINTH OF APRIL, 18G5. tendon Spectator. It is a nation’s death cry? Yes, the agony is pnst; The stoutest race tliat. ever fought, to-day has fought its lust. Ay, start and shudder, well thou mayest! Well veil thy weeping eyes. England, may God forgive thy past—man can not but despise. Yes, shudder at that erv that speaks the South’s supreme despair, Thou that could’st. save and snved’st not— that could’st and did’st not dare. Thou that Tiad’st might to aid the right and heart to brook the wrong; Weak words of comfort for the weak, strong hands to help the strong / That land, the garden of thy wealth, one haggard waste appears, The ashes of her sunny homes arc slaked with patient tears ; Tenrs for the slain who died in. vain for freedom on the field, Tenrs, tears of bitter anguish still for those that lived to yield. The cannon of his country pealed Stuarl’s funeral knell; Her soldiers’ cheers rang in his ears ns Stonewall Jackson fell. Onward o’er gallant Ashby’s grave swept war’s triumphant tide, And southern homes were living yet when Polk and Morgan died. But he, the leader on whose word those captains loved to wait. Tile noblest , bravest, best of all hath found a harder fate ; Unscathed by shot and steel lins passed through many a desperate Held; • % Oil ! God, that he hath lived so long and only lived—to yield. Along the war-worn, wasted ranks that loved him to the last With saddened face and weary pace the vanquished chieftain passed. Their own hard lot the men forgot they felt what (his) must be; What thoughts in that dark hour must ring the heart of General Lee. The manly cheek with tenrs were wet, tlje * , stately head was bowed, As breaking front their scattered ranks around his horse they cpwd. • f I did my best for you,” 'twas all those quivering lips could say; Ah. happy those whom death has spared the anguish of this day. Weep on, Yirginia / Weep the lives given to thy cause in vain, ' # The sous who live once more to wear the Union’s galling chains; The homes whose light is quenched for aye, the graves without a stone, The folded Hag, the broken sword, the hope forever flown. Yet raise thy head, fair land, tliy dead died bravely for the right, Thy folded flag is stainless still, the broken sword is bright, No blot is on thy record found, no treason soils thy fume Weep thou thy dead—with covered head we mourn our England’s shame. A STORY TOW) BY TWI LIGHT. “It is provoking,” M^p. Gaylord said, looking up from a letter to ad dress Miss Whitman, who sat near her, knitting as placidly as if earth had no disturbing element to trouble her serenitv. ** “What is provoking?” she asked quietly. “I have a letter here asking me to provide a suitable governess for two young ladies, of fourteen and sixteen 99 * “Provoking!” said Miss Whitman, “when you are wishing so much for a situation for Agnes ?” “Hear me out. The situation is charming; my correspondent writes that the home, on the Hudson, is all the heart can des'.re, the pupils am iable, the house under control of a housekeeper, and the father, a wid ower, ubsont in Europe. The last •governess, however, married the music teacher of a New York semi nary, and a condition most impera tive is that the governess must be middle-aged.” “And Agnes is twenty,” “So you soe Agnc-s will not do.* Mr. Giles is the lawyer of the family and Mr. Wainright leaves all to him, and he in turn hands the responsi bility over to me.” As Mrs. Gaylord looked up after these last words, she was amazed to see the placid face of her companion flushed, eager, and with quivering lips scarcely able to say: “Suppose I go ?” To speak of Mrs. Gaylord’s aston ishment would be a vain task. For twelve years Ella Whitman had been her assistant in the management of a popular seminary for young ladies, and it was like asking her to lose her right hand to propose a separa tion. “You !” said Mrs. Gaylord. “Yes. I know I am competent, and I am thirty-five and look forty- five.” “But what will become of me?” “Give my place to Miss Keyse; and advance the other teachers, giv ing the last place to Agnes.” “But--” “I will not hear objections. I want a change, and when these young ladies cease to require a governess, if yon want me, I will return to you.” “I thought you were happy here, Ella,” Mrs. Gaylord said, reproach fully. “Iam. I always have been. But. I want to see a glimpse of life else where. I can never forget all your kindness to me ; and yet I want a change. Write and recommend me to Mr. Giles.” “If I must, I must. But promise to return here if you are not happy at Mr. Wainright’s.” . “I promise.” * * * * “I wonder what she will look like,” Nell Wainright said to her sister Lily, as the two stood upon a vine- wreatod porch, on a lovely day late in June. 1 . “We shall know very soon,” said Lily, gently, “tor the carriage is turning the bend in the road.” “I hope she won’t bo cross,” Nell said, half pouting. “Here she is.” It was natural that the girls should Jppk eager at the lady who alighted from the carriage, which had been to meet the afternoon train from New York. She was tall, wth a full’ commanding figure, a noble face, fiill of intellect and refinement, and with brown eyes so full of tenderness, a smile so winning that her pupils advanced to meet her with hearts air ready e^ger to give her loving wel come. “We are Lily and Ella Wainright,” Nell said, with a girlish courtesy. “This is Lilly and I am Ella—hut everybody calls me Nell.” Miss Whitman replied pleasantly, kissing her pupils with affection, and seeming decpjy moved by their cor dial welcome. The old housekeeper, Mrs. Short, was in the hall, and a cry rose to her lips as she came for ward. But Miss Whitman greeted her as a stranger, and she drawback, muttering: “.Well! well/ If that aint a cu rious thing! I never saw two peo ple so alike!” It would make my story too long to tell of the life that filled the next three years. Walter Wainright re mained abroad, and Ella was mis tress of his splendid home, instruct ress of his daughters, who gave her almost worshiping love. It was marvelous to sco how she seemed to grow younger in her now home. Her great beauty was of the type that does not fade early, and in pure air her color brightened, her eyes grew luminous, and she had ever a happy light in them, more beautiful than tlfeir old seren’ty. For many years there had lurked under the peaceful expression the traces of sorrow overcome, of a life- battle where the victory was won by fierce struggle; but all sadness left the noble face at Moss Hill, as Mr. Wainright called his place, and the peace brightened to happiness. Three years after the June day when the sisters hatched for the ar rival of their governess, tho happy trio were assembled on the same porch, after tea, chatting in the twilight. In October Ella was to lose one of her pupils. Lily was to go to her aunt in New York, to en ter society, and Nell would remain still two years at Moss Hill. “Tell us a story?” Nell said, sit ting on the porch step, and leaning against a pillar; “a love story please, Miss Ella.” “A love storv ! Let me think! Once upon a time—” Lily laughed musically. “It ought to bo a fairy story, if it opens so,” she said. “No/ it is a love story,” said Ella, but she did not smile. “Once upon a time there was a very rich man who owned a magnificent estate near a large city. He had married late m lifo and lost his wife, whom lie idolized, soon after their mar riage, by an accident. She was thrown from her horse and killed before his eyes. For years ho shut himself up in his splendid home, soeing no ono, living tho life of a hermit. But his sister died and loft him the care of a noble boy of thir teen, while almost at the samo time tho sister of the wife lie loved so dearly, oven in memory, also died, leaving a little girl of ten, utterly friendless and penniless. Tho two children went to their now home on the sume day, and as their kind friend and relative did nothing with half a heart, he threw off in a great measure his reserve and melancholy, to make their home pleasant to them.” “What wore their uamris ?’.’ asked Nell. “You may christen them.” “Well, papa has the prettiest name in the world—Walter! Lily, you may name the girl. I call tho boy Walter.” “I will name the girl for yon,” said Lily. “So they arc Walter and Ella/”. . Had the light beeii stronger the girls might have noticed a sudden pallor on the face of their governess, but her voice was steady as she con tinued. Not one of tho three had seen a tall figure cross the lawn at some distance from them, and enter tho house by the low French win dows at the back of the drawing room. Neither did they see him cross tho room and seat himself be hind tho lace curtains in the dark ness, so near the group he could have touched any of the trio by stretching out his arm. , “Walter and Ella, then, since you so name thorn,” said Miss Whitman, “lived a life of complete happiness in their luxurious home. Their undo loved them, they loved each other and their only sorrow was the sepa- t-ion of school life, as they passed from home instruction to college and seminary. “It was after their final return home that thefr uncle told them of his wish that they should marry, and inherit his fortune and home, to gether. Now my darlings, yon may take an old maid’s word for one fact, that love will not come to order. Ella asked no greater happiness than to become Walter’s wife, and for a time she believeu he loved her. But as she grew older she beeamo con vinced that she did not hold Walter’s heart as he held hers. She was jeal ous of tho daughter ot an old friend, who came often to visit them. As wo are confining our names to those near at hand, will call her for you, Lily. She was very beautiful—-not tall as Ella was, not quite so fond of music and books, but a fairy-like blonde, winsome, and tender—the very woman to win a man’s heart and hold it in silken bonds stronger than iron. Walter loved her.” “And Ella loved him,” sighed Lily. “Oh, dear!” “What did the uncle do ?” asked Nell. “Before the uncle know of any cross to his plans he died. But in his will he left his property to Ills nephew and his ward only upon the condition of their marriage. If eith er refused the marriage, tho money went to u'public charity, the house to be sold, and tho proceeds added to the sum. But if either died the other inherited all. It was a oruel will, for every day it became more evident, to Ella that her heart was given to ono who found the gift a heavy burden. The soul of chivalry, Walter tried to conceal his avorsion to the woman lie must marry, unless they both became boggars. She lov ed him so well that his grief became hors, arid she tried to imagine somo way to free him. Only her death could release him. so she resolved to dio.” ; “Oh,” gasped Nell “She ’wrote a loiter bidding him farewell, rind left the house. There was a small row boat which she often rowed upon the river alone. This was found turned upside down, and her hat floating near it. Walter ad vert.isodf for tho body, for any news of her, but none oamo, aud after a year tho law gave him solo control of his uncle’s property. It ought to bo his, for Ella was not related to the old man, although she called him uncle and loved him tenderly.” “Did ho marry Lily ?” “Oh, yes, they were married.” “But poor Ella,” sighed Lily, “Bitt she did not dio,” said Miss Whitman. “She shrank from the crime of suicide. So. while they were hunting for her body, she wits in another place, a large city, earn ing a comfortable living in a conge nial pursuit. Do not sigh for lier Lily. She conquered her lover years ago, and her life is a tranquil, happy and usoful one.” There was somo further conversa tion, and the sisters wont to thrill own room, while tho govorncss went into the drawing room to get a hook she had loft there. As she Jit the gas, a tall figuro rose from a seat near the window, and came forward. Ho spoke ono word only: “Ella!” And sho staggerod back, and would have fallen if his strong arm had not caught her. “Elia!” lie said again, “my love! my d.arling! I- heard your story, hid den hero, to see my children unseen, before tliov knew of my return home. Oh, my darling, you wero wrong. Pal ways- loved you, but your own doubt made me so cold that I thought you would marry me only in obedi ence to my nnelc’s will.” “ You did not love Lijy?” she said. “Only in a friendly way. I loved yon—yon only. But when I believed yon dead, her sweet consolation won what was left of my sore licort. We were happy, and she never knew she’ was not my first love; but how—I will nevor let you go again, Ella !” There was rapturous give ring for “pupa” tho next morning, but the delight of the girls was increased when ho said to them, very gravely : “I will finish the story, your gov erness began last.evening: Walter's wife died, but ho found Ella, and loved her. Sho is here, and you must give her a place in your hearts, as my wife, and your mother.” When a woman spends three hours in a. hot kitchen and roasts her brains out almost in preparing a tempting and rippetizing dinner for hor hus band, to which ho sits down without a word of commendation, and replies when asked how he likes his dinner, Oh, it will do,’ tho tired-out wife doesn’t feel encouraged to waste much time on his suppor. When the Confederate army was on tho shortest rations General Leo remonstrated with a straggler for eating green persimons, and asked him if he did not know they were unfit for food. 'I’m not eating them for food, General,’ replied the man, but for tho sake of drawing my stomach up to fit my rations.’ Sinco the 5th of March 2,709 ne groes have left Louisiana and Missis- rppi for Kansas. Stern poverty may compel, but it can never reconcile a hoy to wearing a yellow patch on a black pair of pants. AMONG THE ARPS. A Double Fire In the Family. Atlanta Constitution. It was my timo to go. Mrs. Arp said it was for I looked puny and she thought a small excursion would do mo good. A rollin stone gathers no moss aud as I drink like moss I con cluded to roll. Whotv'sho went away the motto was aauttin hen riovcr.gots fal. For six months I have stayed right close at home and 1 felt like my feel- ftigs was a feeling stagnant. A man can keep on doing a tiling nritcll he settles down in a bed of inertia and dont want to got out of it. By and bv ho gets deeper*and deoper and has to ho prised out, or else lie becomes fossiliforbns. Somo men get fossil- iferous runnin after money and Keep on arid keep on q long time after they have got, onuf. Some get fos- siliferons in hankorin after office and keep on and keep on long after they have played out. My good wife was a thoughtful observer of my brief preparations. Sho carefully repaired tho shuttered linen, got mo a fresh handkerchief out of that samo old trunk, ironed out, the wrinkles in my black cravat, and brought forth a now pair of socks which she knit more than a year ago. When I Was all fixed up she pornsod me with unusual interest and said .* “Now, William, dont forgot, how to behave yourself for what—with your foolishness in tho newspapers and your likt-lo slandors of mo arid the children—you have gotten somewhat notorious and tho people will he watching you. *Dont you give them any chance to talk about yon. Dont gas around. Dont try to show off, ami above all, thiiigirddnt go to living around ( lie women.” (I knowod that wuh a coming.) “If tlieros anything in the world I do despise if, is to see a man with a wife and children mak ing a fool of hiniaolf about othor wo men. You wont, will you P” “I will not, my dear,” said I. “I nevor do. Your sweet and patient face is always before me.* You are the bright particular star that—” “Well, never mind the stars.” said she, “I havont got up thore yet. Kids the children a good-by and go along, and I hope you will have a good time.” Sol departod those lovely coasts amid the fond embraces of my nu merous wife and offspring, and now find myself in tho midst of tho cen tral city, where I’m having such an elegant timo I dent, want to go back riiot yet, I’m sorter like tho old cow who had to bo pulled by the horns up to the slop pail and pulled by the tail away. I’m delighted w.ith Macon and her refined and intelligent pco- plo. Thore is nothing crowded here and nobodv in a harry. Whon a horse Vims away there is plenty of dodgin room. The heights that surround the city look like Arling ton, and arc adorned with grand and bountiful residences, where the na bobs live in elogant luxury. Most everybody is rich. The business then wait for trade but dont run after it. When a friend comes to sco om they order a carriage, and shut up tho store, and ride him to Vinoville and Arlington and tho Central park, and if some othor feller gets the trude while tjioy are gone tlioy tjont cure a darn. Colonel Hardeman came to see mo, and was the same genial gentleman ho always, was. He said there wore four important things about Macon that needed the foster ing care of tho people, und must be protected at all hazards, which was the blind asylum, the femalo college, the agricultural society, and Hurdo- mail’s warehouse lie went off last night to make a speech for tho ladies of Thomuston, which his privutc secretary told mo, upon honor, was tho 297th since tho war. tl tho ladies could only voto ho would ho elected govornor as long as he lived. I aiui snre hut what lie’s the coining man, anyhow, for if our good gov ernor wont run tho noxt time I dont know of anybody who has . got. more friends. His apple is about ripe. He thought it was several years ago, but I reckon ho was mistaken. But its ripe now. Tlunvs a heap of apples on I ho gubernatorial t ree. Some of thorn are green and sour- some are half rollon. Tho yaller jackets have bored into some like a slander gimlet ; some look mighty smooth and pretty on one side, but have got an ugly flaw on the other, arid some are rotten at tho core. But tho colonel is like a big ripe red round, snioothakin apple that, hasn’t a speck or pimple ami smells us sweet as a juicy girl. Some of his friends told me that we must make him governor-that, it was a mattor of imminent necessity, for the pressure was so grout upon him tho fear was that ho might speak himself to doth. They said that it was impossible for him to dodge it, that lie tried vari ous little wliito lies und prevarications saying that “other previous engage ments,” etc., but now they wrote him six months, and twelve months, and two years in advanco, so as to be in time. Well, we will all see about it, col onel, and do tho very host wo can. Bii.l Am*. Wlint In In the Bedroom? If two persons nro to occupy a bedroom during a night, lot them stop upoir weighing scales as they retire and thc;i again in the morning and (hoy will liml thoir actual weight is at least a pound loss in the morn ing. Froquoutty there will lie a loss of two or more pounds, and tho av- orago loss throughout the year will be more than one pound—that is, during the night there is a loss of a pound.of matter wjiicli has gone off from their bmlios, partly from tho lungs and partly through tho pores of tho skin. ’I’jio escaped material is carbonic acid, and decayed animal matter or poisonous exhalations. Tills is diffused through tho a:r in part and in part absorbed by tho hod clothes. If a single ounce of wool or cotton bo burned in a room, it will so completely saturate tho air with smoko that ono can hardly breathe, though there can only ho un ounce of foreign mattor in tho air. If an ounce of cotton bo burned every half hour during the night, tho air will ho kept continually saturated with tho smoko unless there bo an open door or window for it to escape. Now tho sixteen ounces of smoko thus formed is far less poisonous than the sixteen ounces of exhalations from tho lungs and bodies of tho two poisons who havo lost a pound in weight during tho eight honysof sleeping, for while the dry smoke is mainly taken into tho lungs, tho damp odors from the body are ab sorbed into the lungs and into tho pores of tho wliolo body. Need more bo said to show tho importance of having bodrooma woll vontUntcd, and thoroughly airing the shoots, cover- lots and mattresses in the morning, before packing thorn up in the form of a neatly made bed. Owing to hard times there is a good deal of suffering in Oil City. A poor man there offered to pawn a dozen eggs, a pound of mgar, a quart of molasses and a half pock of pota toes for a glass of whisky. A sour old bachelor, who hod oneo had thoughts of matrimony, said lie changed his.mind when ho found that the girl and all her people were opposed lo it. When a girl gets mad and rises from a follow’s knee, but thinks bet tor of it and. gets back uguin, is what they call a relapse.—[American Punch. . ‘Sam, why am lawyers like do fishes?’ ‘I don’t meddle with that -ubjtei, I’omp.’ ‘Whv, don’t you see, niggu, kuze dey am so fond of de-butc.’