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VOL. 3. DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, FEBUARY 2,1881. NO. 31. MY RAYEN; OR, TWENTY YEARS A MYSTERY BY MARY HAZEN. Ours was a strange household- mother, Uncle Thomas, Ralph (my raven) and I, Mother was a little, timid woman, with pale bine eyes, always ready to fill with tears, whether at some mis- fortune or domestic mishap. l I dou’t remember that I ever saw my mothor manifest any great grief or fright., but looking back now from the van-, tage ground of thirty, and recalling, as I can, minutely, each petty detail of my sombre boyhood, T think mother’s tears flowed daily, and her timid starts of nervous fear were constant and habitual, though both were of such a* mild and quiet order as to affect one only as a foggy day might, producing a feeling of gen eral discomfort without giving cause for a serious inconvenience. Uncle .Thomas was tall, gaunt and solemn. His hair was snowy white, though he was by no means ah old man, not mmh past forty, I think, though he looked much older. His face wore an ashen hue, and hu eyes, black and restless, had a watchful expression. Not fearful, not guilty, but always watchful. The mouth was firm aun rigid. In all the years that lie lived with mpther and me, I think, I never saw it relax into a smile. Neither was Uncle Thomas given to many words. Watchful of all things, ho commented on few. Wlion he did speak his voice was soft and winning, but the routine of daily _-life.fit)Igd,19, intsn» fc him. i-Uss .8jen liim set for hours watching Ralph and me at; our play, silent, at lontive, like one who waits for some one or something which any moment may bring. Every day, wet. or dry, hot or cold. Uncle Thomas took a walk through some portion of the forest which stretched away for miles to the west of our homo. Often I begged to go with him, luit mother always shook her head in a mysterious Way, and Unqle Thomas would walk rapidly off, as though half fearing I might follow, in spite of mother’s prohibition. As a child, I was content to obey with out question, but ns I grew older, and was sent to the village Bcliool. thus mingling more with the boys of my own age, I soon become informed of the gossip current about Uncle Thomas. It was generally believed that lie was of an unsound mind, thoguH opinions differed as to the cause of his disease. One lad—high in authority, by right of the strong est pair of fists in the school—in formed me privately that Uncle Thomas lmd been married to a beau tiful young lady, who ran away and left him before his honeymoon was over, and his daily pilgrimage to the woods was to hide away money. “Wheii he gets enough,” continued my informanjt,“he is going to the West Indies and hunt her lip.” Another version of the story was that Unclc Thomas had been on the point of marrying a beautiful young lady wlio" became insane, and-now her faithful lover, more demented than she, daily roamed through the woods, caUinj lifer by name, unde the delusion that she had lost her wav therein while coming from her home in a neighboring town. At last, confused by the variety of stories 'that.I heard, and,determined to know the triith, I one day qnes tioned my mother. After some lies-’ itation, and with many tears, she told me the story of Uncle Thomas’ life. Many years before, when my fat her was living, and Uncle Thomas was a young and handsome man, they had all lived together in a town some twenty miles distant. Uncle Thomas was engaged to a lovely young girl, Mary Parsons by name, the daughter of their pastor. One week before the marriage was to have iaken place she sickened and died. Uncle Thomas was wild with grief; indeed, so violent was liis emotion that he refused to allow the coilin, containing all that was mortal of his hearts idol, to bo removed from the church to the grave, and it was only after a painful struggle that he was removed from the church to his own home. Only a few days had passed when another terrible blow fell upon him. Tho old sexton, preparing another, grave, noticed something not rigljjt in themppcarunco of Mtiry Parsons’. The authorities were notified and the grave opened. It was discovered that the grave had been robbed. The box,remained, but both coilin and body were gone. For a while fath er and mother kept the terrible news from my uncle, but tho whole town was so niuph cxeitod over tho out rage that if was impossible to keep him long in’ignorance of the shock ing truth. “i thought,” continued my moth er, while the tears rolled quietly down her cheeks, “your uncle had suffered as much as possible before, but when he heard this last awful news, he grew queer and dazed-like, lie began to take long, solitary walks; seemed to love the woods, and at last proposed we should leave our home and-conic here to live, where tho forest would be nearer. “Your father died about this time, and all places were alike, to me after lie was gone. I left my old home and friends and camo here with brother Thomas. So, Dick,” con cluded she, “vour undo is only a poor, broken hearted man, w.ith a sad history. T thiftif J»o .lym never been quite clear in . his mind since that dreadful day, but there is noth ing mysterious about him. You should do all in your power to please him and not let tho idle talk of the boys set you against him.” Pleased as I was to hear tho story of iny uncle’s life, I was for all that bitterly disappointed. A boy four teen years old has but little sontir meat in his composition. The sad fate of my uncle’s early lovo failed to awaken fli me more thin a momentary compassion. 1 had secretly fostered the hope that he would turn out to be a miser with Untold wealth hidden away in the trunk of some old tree, or a man treasuring deep and lusting hatred against that other man who had' in jured him, who had daily retired into the depths of the silent forest to practice a sure and deadly aim, which at some time, at come place, would curry unerring death to the heart of his enemy. In either case I had resolved to fol low him, and when discovered throw myself upon my knoesand cry: “Let me avenge your wrongs!” * I lmd pictured myself my uncle’s envoy, standing upon the defek of some outgoing steamer, with set. teeth and gloomy brow, following fast and following far the black hearted villian who had robbed him of his young wife. I had oven imagined the tragical meeting, the scorn that I had hurled into his teeth, and the fiendish de light with which I had steeped a lock of his hair in the blood which flowed from a gaping wound as I listened to his gasping prayer for mercy, while 1 whispered thrillinglv in his ear:. “Ah, ha! Uncle Thomas is avenged, and I will bear him this gory token of your fate!” Time went on; vacation came. Ralph and I were once more reduced to our own society, for mother dis countenanced many visits from the village boys, and forbade mo to visit them. I spent most of my 1 ensure time teaching Ralph new tricks, at which he wa8 extremely clever. One day a strango event occurred, which got Ralph into dire disgrace ( and robbed me of my last- play-fel low. I had for sometime been teaching him to pli»y“hunt the handkerchief,” at which ,ho r had become quite ex pert. Uncle Thomas ciihi’ein and I beg ged him to watch om-sporti t cov ered Ralph’s head, sebreied my hand- korchiof;bohi nd UtieleThomna’ olini »*, callbd “Ralph! Ralph!” and waited to see him find it. Across the room he worit'V peeking herd and there with Hia sharp;, bendy eyes and Iris saucy • head bit •one side. Presenfly lie hopped• up- on thy uncle’s chair, thrust his head into his pocket and drew fbtyly a •bit ribbon to, which was attached a sily key. An oath; qwftil us it- wits un usual, broke from my? uncle’s lips; his face grew livid, and his eyes fair ly started, from their sockets; he seized the bird, tor© from liis beak the key, hiding it quickly in his pocket, and with all his force threw poor Ralph.from him. “Dick!” he shouted hoarsely, “never let that' bird of the devil come in these doors again; if you do I’ll surely wring his neck.” Confounded at my uncie’s most tin heard of, burst of, anger I stood and stared dumbly at Imp, and only recovered my senses when the dooi closed with a slain bclijnd him. I told mother. She looked sur prised, but said nothing except, “Whitt key was it? I did not know he ever took the trouble to lock any thing.” One, night, about. a week after this, Uncle Thomas, who had dur ing this time been unusually silent and depressed, failed to return home. Tho next day passed, and tho next, still no tidings of him. Mother grew alarmed and insisted Upon a search being made. The village was aroused, and we looked ; for i tint fbV Atrd iieVn-j buV iio Uncle Thomas cmild be found. Ju’fit, atTwilight of"n»e'¥dartW day. as I was sitt ing by my wiiulow,W(5urv and discouraged, I saw Ralph come flying from the forest ami settle in a tree close to my room, I tUen remembered that twice be fore I bad seen him fly frb'm the! same direction, and a horrible suspicion camo upon me that pos sibly he might lead me, to tiny uncle’s resting place. I resolved tp watch him in. the morning when Ire would no doubt again take flight. Before 1 slept I had told my dis covery and suspicion to two of our most reliable neighbors, and received the promise of their assistance. Both were on hand early in the morning, and from my window wo watched and waited for the raven’s depart ure. At lust a rustling in the tree-top. and immediately up rose Ralph and flew straight- towards the wood, high and clear. Then, with a sufidei dart down, he disuppeard.from our sight. Noting as well as we were able the tree by which he 'sank, an hour or more we searched, when suddenly we came upon liis trucks in the moist earth, close to the trunk of a fallen tree which lay at the base of a large cliff.. Hero the tracks ended. Breath lessly wo pushed aside ,tho bushes, half expecting to see-some terrible spectacle. An oxclamation of sur prise and wonder escaped ;is we dis covered that.the bushes concealed an opening in the rock—a sort of nat ural cave. Here again we saw tho print of Ralph’s feet leading away into the darkness. . One of my friends went tp the village jo pro cure a light and more assistance, while I and my companions remain ed on guard. Never shall t forgot that half honr of suspense, and tho feeling of re lief with which we greeted par re turning friends. Ouo man, more, courageous than t|)c rest, took the lantern and enrerod the cave, which ran in about tea feet, and thou, witli ati abrupt turn, opened into a room of arch way about twelve feet square. A shout announced that my nncle was found. One by one wo entered the cave, myself among tho number. What a sight met our horrified gazel The mysjtcryof years was solved. Upon rude trestles rested a coffin continu ing tho skeleton of n young woman. Over it—his face .resting against the glass, ithat covered her bopes—lay Uncle Thomas. He must hayc boon | deud for several dliys, His face was calm aud a smile, tho first- I had over seen, was on his lips. One j ehefek was pressed against the coffin. The other—alas ! the ruvon, had left | his disfigUring marks Upon the luce of his enemy | In the coffin lock was the silver key with the blue rib bon! ■-■'• Many hands lifted my uticle up and curHed him gently out, while others bore after him the. treasure lie had so long guarded. Once out in the fresh, clear air, I ptqoped and read upon th? tarnished coffin plate: Shaky parsons* ? Aged 20 J They were buried side by side tho girl who 1/ad been dead for twen ty years, and the white haired man, who, in his. rtmdnfess, had defied tficj grave to separate him from her. .—i— |— • ■ NnturarillHtoyy of n« Editor. “What ferocioiis looking animal U that?” ; - f‘Thnt is! the editor.” “■IndeedI* ( Aro they very danger ous?” | “Sometimes.' When cornered up they have lieen known to be quite combative, jiiid again they have beer, known to gp through' a convenient hack window. Generally they are mild and passive.’’ “When are they most dangerous?” i. “When intruded upon by a book agent who \vahtsafie verity-fiVc liuc, When, I intruded itpoiriby :i poot wilira poem iaboutgentle spring.” ' s ’ 1 ‘‘Are editora'crbss to each other?’’ “Only when separated by several blocks of ’buildings!*-’ 'Do they often have fearful com bats with each other?” i“0ccasiotudly-they go out, in op. positedirection and moot by chance.” *fAro editors over cowhidod?” ‘Sometimes the little ones are,hut tho big ones arc’mroly molested.” “Do editors eat?” . “They do. ft was formerly sup posed that they iito at long intervals, but it. is an atillienticHtcd fact that they can eat- a great deal when they can get it.”. ‘.‘What kind of food do they like most?” “They aro not very particular. While they .won’t refnSo quail oh toast, fried crab or roast turkey about ChristifiiS time, they have been known to nrnke a hearty repast off a dishof cold tufiiips and a consump tive herring.” “Can they eat concert tickets?” Wo believe not. Some people have fhis rrronebuS impression from false teachings in early life, but rio authenticated installed -of such a tiling is on record.” “Do editors go free into shows?”' “They do when they give a-dollar and a half local for a twenty-lTTe cent ticket.” [ fetlitors bald?” “No, only married 'ones aro bnid, but let ns pass on, tho editor does not like to be stared at.—-Ex. Queen Victoria nnide $4,000 from tier stock farm last year. It is no disgrace to le poor, but poverty effectually bars any man from buying a scat in the United States Semite. Tho Boston Globe says “tho liens are in perihohon and eggs arc forty- eight cents a dozen. It’s about time Macduff began' to lay on again.” A “Young Naturalist” Writes ns to learn “how to catch a live wasp for scietific purposes, without injur ing it?” Right bv tho tip end of the tail. Squeeze it hard,the wasp won’t mipd it a particle and if it seems to be injured ntiy that you can see, send up tlto bill aud we will pay for the wasp# , # V _ • WASHINGTON LETTER* [Prom our regular Correspondent'j Washington, Ja n. 510 1881. > For tho present the funding bill is srtfcly out of its troubles in tho House, and "the debate, already more protracted tlmh was over antic ipated, is transferred to tho Senate. But there ia not ! much hope that it can pass ilto latter body without im portant amendments,sending'it buck to the House; and, in that criso, the prevailing opinion to that a filial noiricbnbnrrerico ivfld the failure of -the measure will result. The bill,as it passed tho House, provides for a three per cent, bond to tho^ amount pf not exceeding $400,000,000, to run H v« yours and bo made payable in ten yours, with $300,000,000 cer tificates, bearing three per cent, interest likewise, and redeeiriablo at the pleasure of tho United StateB in | one or ton years. It • prtividfea also that inno of these securities lire to bo issued until after the Treasury shall have paid out all its standard silvfer dollars and all its gold, saving a reserve of $50,000,000,in redemp tion of the. bonds die maturity of which ia now accruing, and that the interest on the bonds!to mature shall cease after forty days, notice by tho | Treasury Department* The new three per cent. .bonds authorized by this not are to be the oilly Securities, lifter May 1,1881, receivable as secu rity for national bunk circulation,, but provision is made for the Sitbsti tution of the issues Of United States bonds by the banks- when-die bonds of this series have.been called tin for redemption. Tho bankiug interest is against t binm ciih uro- and aa-nearly as can bo ascertained,the Somite will eithnrextend the time on these bonds to twenty years or inorease the rate | ofjiitfercst. A curious example Of our rcluc- Vttnco to copy after Eu ropeiui models in financial.and other matters is the fact that no proposition Ima-boon made to adopt tho form of the Eng lish consols. They are, technically, interminable and may ho hold by their owners M'om generation to generation, biit praelicaliy they are far more within the control of the Govern- mopt than any bonded debt, redeeim able or payable within certain peri ods; can bo. Their, prico in die niaiket is governed by the aspect 61 national and buisrioss affairs, and any surplus revenue that tlie Govern ment may have tm -hand from time to time can bo used in their redemp tion and cancellation, while on the other hand, the principle of contin uity which they embrace makes thoni adosirablo investment for thodo who look for permanency ruthor than for a high ruteof interest. Mr, Hawley, of Connecticut, in the course of tl|c disfeussioii, signified liis preference for jmeli a form of the public debt, but Intimated that the popular feel ing was against tho .idea of a perriiu- nent national debt in any form, and hence he did not offer any amend niOllt.in that sense. Strangers from all parts of tho country who have visited Wa.shlngion within n nuniber of yenpast will romemtyer tho old gentleman who kept a picturorstund in the dome of the capitol. His venerable appear ance and kindly manner, as well as his chatty talk about tjie interesting fcatijresof die building, often de tained visitors jto that lofty lieight and repaid them for the wearisome climb, Baninel Douglass Wyeth was his’name. But liis pleasant face and quiet greeting will he missed from tho great dome, for the tired old man has “gone up luglier.” Mr. Wye|h was an educated and pnlishod gentleman,; with a taste for old pic tores,rare books, and articles of brie a-brac winch amounted almost to a passion. * His rooms were a treasury of these art-gathpriugs, and here ho lived a quiet, nearly secluded life, excepting only an occasional rccep don to a few friends of cultivated taste, to whom tlieso visits were rare tmits. JIc was a native of Harris burg, Pa., where his father taught Simon Cameron “tho art} pveserva-* tivc.” Onco the poasoasor of wea]th, whicii took wings, lie also lmd a trugic doi'ncstlc history which respi ted ill the almost hermit, career ol his latter years and left the sad im press of grief aud loneliuess on a hmrtns teudor as a woriiup's.. He seemed to striigglo against being wmiped by tiio rough usage of t io world, and tb the last was cheerful, “#!• M WKlf* to say n hinq word mid do a tlioiight- f ill deed, So bore, its else whore, Wo note the chnrgos of t|mo fttid the dis appearance of old landmiuhs and noted cliuraatei's. It seoiiis but it shoj’t time sinco the o|q fresco-pain ter iBruniidi, who hiborod ' for years upon tho capitol decorations, passed away, leaving his work unfinished. Tlioro has been, at difforeut times during tho-paafc ton yonra 1 iiiorc or less talk of a government telegraph- line, or of placing lines of telegroph under govoinpiont control for Uio benefit pf the public, but nothing • ever ciinie of it, earnestly as tlio pro position isadvooatod. Binco thocon- soliLliition o# the Amorican Union- Jay GouldVline—with the Wosteru Union, a very decided sontiment hus boon awukcnod on the subject. It is appurent that Gould’s purpose from tho start wivs stockjobbing,mid iiow, with tho entire buisness in tho hands of one com puny, fo havo.a mprp gi gantic monopoly than ever before, whose earnings must be doubled by higher charges in pyder to pay. largo d videnda upon its increased stook. It in the public who must suffer from the new order of things unless Gov- ernment OPU^a tp their• •'relief.; But ( thero is soirio prospect of speedy ap-. tioii in tliat direction. Wlieroeon- grossinen wore before indifferent to the subject, they pro, ri o w aroused .and,., the Cpmmiticeon 'Post-Offices ami Post-Roads is considering the ques- tion of an expori m op till pos tal tele- grnph in (ioikd earpfest. Pnoxo. All UlIlViNli PIlVHlcliin. Tlioro have- boon ho.nobler instan ces of self-sacrifico tlian those recor ded of Physicians who, to savo a Ul l/UUIt XIIWIU in, IIWIUIIWM » reasonable limit to such oxpei iincut s, and no physician is warn}nted in Hllhjectillg himself to Imz- ards. If the object aimed itf mi ho. gained without incurring any special risk it is obviously the part of wis dom to choose tho safer wav. The spirit wiPch impolied yoting Mr. San ford, to choose the more dangerous way, and so lose his life, at Green- point tho other day;, was beyond fiiqstioii commondable; but liis act Wits the rovorsc of justifiable. As the case is. edported,Dr. ban- ford lmd boon uti ending a child afllie- tod with rriiiligiiant diphtheria. Watching the patient day, and nigiit. At hist Uie nir passages became b|oek- od. tind' oponiivg in tho windpipe, inserted a small rubber tube, and* with liis mouth drew'out fche’poispri- oiis fluid. By this act ho prolonged the child’s life sovral hours, lnit put tin end to his own life. This is nfet the first fatal instance of the sort which, has occurred itU-v this country, iind two oi; threo cases of thc.same rature.lmvo bccn.repor,tc<l in France. Tho infeotious elmrueter of ihoAliplithoritio excretion is well* i known, and Dr. Sanford knew that hisdjfe would possibly! if not proba-, lily, pay the forfqit for his profcssion- ul zeal, ' 1; *' " Ought he to have taken the > risk? More specifically; cun wc justify his taking the risk? . ; ; We have no hesitation in an«wer- ing, “Ortainlv not!” For the simple reason that the deadly matter could have been as promply and a* surely drawn off by purely mechanical means. The emergency was not a sudden one, or ono that could not lmvo> been, provided for beforehand; In any apothecary shop the dpct*n\. ; might have bought for a few cents a rubber bulb tluil would have served the purpose of an aspirator ms well us ms own mouth, and it Would not lisve suffered infection from the pois- oiioiisnmtterdrawuintq.it. Our natural admiration for devo tion curried to the point of sclf-saeri-' flee is apt to niuke os forget to ask wiietiier Gw devotion might hot better bceu manifested in a more rational and equally effective w;iv. In Dr. Sanford'; case w« think it might.