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A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c.
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Vaieoe xiaine a- Ol. X. WE DNESDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 30, 1874. A.-O T9 erms casb.
12- TheX Mawk denotes expiration of gab- IV l 9-G E T
6C.-Wton. I-WE N S A M R U
Of all the poor fooa who nhabit this earth
FOQk 1!de@n 001s from their birth
fools, and great fooL
ts drunk is the greatest o
thrift who revels in rioto us living
spending, or losing, or lending, or giving
Is foolish enough; but he has not yet sunk
Tothe level of him who is constantly drunk
The miser, eternally starving and slaving
For what he is earning, or stealing, or sav
.-May be reckoned a fool, but HE is not quit4
So foolish as he who will get on a "tight."
The man who will wager, and dicker, and lio
On e tos of a cent, or the cast of a die,
Teavrould think as foolish as foolish couk
But the drunkard is even more foolish that
Investments in "wildcat" are mostly a curse
fut investments in whiskey are sometbln
For stocks do not always their favors refuse
But whiskey investments are CERTAIN t
And so I'm convinced of the truth of m.
Thal of the aUl poor fools, for this world ant
The rich or the poor, the great or the small
The. man who gets drunk is the greatest o
IF WE WOULD.
If we would but check the speaker
When he spoils his neighbor's fame.
If we would but help the erring,
Ere we utter words of blame;
If we would, how many might we
Turn from paths of sin and shame?
A.h, the wrongs that might be righted
If we would but see the wa-?
Ab, the pains that might be i:ghtened
Every hour and every day,
If we would but hear the pleadings,
Of the hearts that go astray.
Let us step outside the stronghold
Of our selfishness and pride,
Let us lift our fainting brothers,
Let us strengthen, ere we chide;
Let us, ere we blame the fallen,
Hold a light to cheer and guide.
Ak, how blessed-ab, how blessed
Earth would be, if we'd thus try
Thus to aid and right the weaker,
Thus to eheck each other's sigh
Thus to talk of duty's pathway
To our better life on high.
In each life, however lowly,
There are seeds of mighty good;
Still, we shrink from souls appealing,
With a timid "if we could;"
But a God, who judges all things,
Knows the truth is, "if we would,"
Khad met her at the ball, and our feet
Had twinkled together in the busy maze
f- the waltz; I had wh irigigged aroundi
T3aarily in the "Boston," and
.Capered ni-nbly in front of her in the jig
square dances, until I was in love,
, loving, longed to taste the ambrosial
eets of her lips-yes, as a humming bird,
there manipulate honey w ithout
shadow of foul suspicion.
ht1e dewy stilness, I spied her fair
leaning languidly on her father's
I approached, and tenderly slipped
arm lovingly about he rwaist. She sighed
eet girls!-but spasmodically drop.
hacee upward, qa my shl34 .
those lips, and tQuchinlgWith spine, she
which blasted uty love and icnocked
. the_ :... -
into node a . had
INDIAN SUMIM ER.
}iothing stirs the stillness, save a leaf that
slowly rustles down;
]Nm through sunny mists the trees uplift
their branches bare and brown;
Winds are ha.Thed, and skies arc soft and
gray, and grassy slopes are scrc,
Caln ind swea: in4l siilT; ah, sure is this the
twilight of the year.
There is in this these Octcher days, the mes
sage that is sent
feacetindvying, Rest, and sjweet and mea5sur:
Life's wild fever over- !eep's soft mood en:
chanting, such as fills
Golden dreams of gods immortal, sits en
throued. ujpon these hills.
Off'erel in Day's golden chalice, deep and
dreamy peace is mine
All's forgotten, lying here and watchini
tides of day divine
Slowly sweep, along the bills, and vaguet.
thrilling to their sway
ill that Love h-ith lost, or Wrong bath won
O calm and Royal Day.
WA TCIIWolRDS OF LIEE.
While there's a hand to strike!
- hile tbere's a ygung heart brave I
Whi!e there's a task unrought!
While there's a God to save!
That there's a work for each !
That there's a strength in God!
That there's a crown reserved!
Tfhough 'neath cloud and red!
When there's a foe that wrongs!
When there's a brother's need!
When there'sa tempter near!
Both in word and deed!
Plato, having raised his hand ti
eorreot a servmnt when in angel
kept his arm fixed in that postur
for a considerable time. To
friend, coming in and inquirin
he reason of his singniar conduci
replied, "I am punishiug a pa
BY FANNIE FAIRFAX LEWIS.
"Thank 1Heaven the crisis,
The danger is past
And thc lingering illness
I over at last;
And the fever called 'Living,'
Is conquered at last."
--E. A. POE.
It matters little how we met. I
knew and loved the lady Muriel.
Graceful and well formued was he.
Her face was bright and beautiful
and had a story to tell. The face
iras a proud one, too, and Mrs.
Moreton was said to be proud,
haughty, and self-possessed.
The villa in v hich she dwelt
stood at some distance outside the
village; my father's farni was still
1 had been born and reared on
the farm that had seen many gene
rations of my fathers b-fore me.
had been sent to college, cda.
cated, and hal traveled in forei -n
countries: had dreatmt bright and
glorious dreams beueath foreign
And now I had returned home
to settle down into a quiet firin
life. A life which in some re
spects Iwas totally unfit For. My
ambitious spirit could not brook
the calm quiet of the country.
Yet iL seemed my destiny, and I
tried to accept it.
Moreton Grange was continual
1 !v tilled with visitors, all of whom
delighted to pay homage to its
youthful nistress. She had brii
liant and wealthy suitors, and how
could I hope to win her. And yet
I was maly, (leeply, hopelessly
in love with the queenly Muriel.
I loved with a loe that was moro
than love- I ceased to love, be.
cause I began to adore.
I was an invited guest to all her
fetes and assemblies. She was
kind-nay, friendly in her demean
or to me, so she was to the tame
deerin her park. She admired my
humble verses and musical tastes.
So, too, did she love to look upon
thefountain that threw its silvery
spray high into the sunlight upon
the lawn, or listen to the musical
tinkle of its waters as they shiver
od and f'ell into the marble basin
I bad knowvn Miss Moreton a
year, and as the months sp)ed on
I was no nearer the goal of my
hopes than before. My hopes, if
I could call them such, were cloudy
bGcs, the sunlight scarcely broke
My lady wvas the same calm,n
kind and sweet spirit as at the
first. Oh, so calm and kind.
A rumor had gone fortih that
~he was betrothei. I gave it cred
ence, andi determiined to suffer andK
be still, to be silent and make no
sig~.n. The last beam of hope ha
departed. I had determined mae
~-ero~i-t be beautiful and
Iglorious face that I1 loved so.
It. was a beautiful day in autumn,
the sunt was high mn the heavens,
Iwreaths, of smoke curled up from
Ithe hill-sides, the leaves had be
~gun to turn into red splentior, the
Mbrill whistle of the partridge was
heard far and widQ. It w:ts adayK
fo.r dreams anid not for resolves
I had taken my gun and wander
ed forth. I had been walk"ig
somne distance, and was just cross
ing the road, when the sound ofj
approacbing ho2fs at no great
distance', told of the approach of
oquestr-ians. I turned andl beheld
two riders, it was Miss Moreton
and a gentleman on horseback.
He was a stranger, and I remem
ber how bitterly-may God for
give me-I felt toward him at that
*moment. Her lover, thought I.
It would have been awkward for
nae to have isept on, not tQ sayv un
courteous. I waite,l a moment
until they came up, intendIing to
speak and pass on.
"WV hy, good moi-ning, .
said the lady reining in her horse
"I am gh~d to meet you. Allowv
me to introduce nmy particular
friend, Mr. Baxter, from the city.
The gren tleman bowed hangh tily.
:1 stood uncovered and she con tin
"Mr. Baxter and nzyself have
just been talking about r,mture
our grand old mother. Now, I
have a capital conundrum for you
this moirning: when is tbe best
time to study the book of nature?
Come, sii, be quick, and tell mc,
and I'll give you this bunch of:
I began to stamgnzer qi, some
Sthing when she said:
""Why, when autumn is turning
the lear-es, to be sure. Y ou did
Snot know I was so clever, did you,
And she broke out into a fit of
Smutsical laughter. The biirds seem;
-to catch up the silvery ripples as
t hey fell from her lips.
"But you shall have the violets
vf you will promise me to honor
ats with your presence, this eve
luing at the krange. I expect a
i host of friends from the city, and
we arc to have some charades ;I
will walt you to assist."
I could not do otherwise than
)romise, and thuts it was written
.hat we should meet again. i
.urned aside and spoke to my dog,
xho had been waiting patiently
luring th conversation. He leap
:d up toward me, and his leg strik
ng the hammer of my fowling
)iece caused it to explode. The
xplosiori frigtitened the lady's
iorse, so that he reared up, and
)artly threw her off. Before lie
:ou!d run as he attempted to do, I
iad caught his bridle, and assisted
.he lady to the ground. She lean
d upon my shoulder all pale and
hite, and asked if I was hurt.
LSSured her I was not.
"I am so thankful," said she
tLhat you are not injured, and that
oU have saved my life." Her
avalier assisted her to remount,
Lnd bowing to me, they rode away.
The evening passed off brilliant
y, the glar and dazzleof worldly
>auty and fashion was there.
ced I say that in spite of all I
vas restless and most miserable.
;e had seemingly forgotten the
LImost tragie event of the morn
n.;, and laughed and conversed
aily with all. When I looked
vith loving eves upon her glorious
>caulty and purity, and uponth
narked attendance bestowed upon
ior by her friend, Mr. B., I was
orry that I could not have died
a her feet in the morning. I
-ould bear the sight no more, and
topped out upon the dark vine
,vered piazza. The night breeze
'uned my heated brow, and I had
)yran to grow calm, when a cou
)!o came out of the drawing room
nd saurtered slowly up. I step-i
)>d back in the shade to let them
)tss. It was Muriel and a gen
leman. I can hear her voice
low, the low musical voice, she
poke calmly and deliberately:
"No, my friend. I cannot accept
our proposal, and since you press
ne, I must say that I do love one
>ther than yourself; one who is
uigh aud noble."
They passed on by me, and
we-e soon out of heaing. I
lenched my hands, and stood
"Another poor fool," I mutter
~d. "The chosen one is Baxter.
have heard from hecr own lips
ho wo:-ds that seal my fate. All
ope is now gone. I am glad to'
now the worst. I go out from
ecr presence, and will see her face
I returned home and passed an
~loost sleepless night. Toward
noruing I fell into a troubled
lc'ep, when I awoke the sun was
hiing in at my window, and I
vas hot and feverish. From day
I) day my fever- increased, such
asof dreary restlessness, of
osing to and fro, of times when
he mind seemed to wvander far
f, and then, like the prodigal
n, to return, of times a strange
hobbng of heart and brain, of
imes when the faces of friends
Lnd attendants would take strange
ud fastactic shapes, of times
ven the voices of loved ones
voldi sound far' away, seihar away.
ind then a strange calm feli upon
ne, the old physician shook his
ead, and my friends wept. I
vas dying. The grave with all
s friendly quiet was at hand.
'he last prayer was said, a friend
oelt down to catch my last
The earth was slipping fast
.way from beneath my feet. I
trggled for strength and mur
"Tell Muriel I loved her to thbe
Theo strange calm grew stranger
-it grew dark, the friendly
oices sounded miles and miles
uway. I fet that my eyes were
eing clsed, and then all was
till. Peace had come at last.
How long I had lain thus I
knew not-it seemed years. I
heard a sou nd--it was the melody
> heavenly music. It grew nearer
.nd nearer. I listened with rapt
.ttetion, with awe.
It wvas the solemn sound of the
2hurch organ, and voices singing
funeral dirge. The fact gradual
ly broke in on my bewildered
mind. I was lying in my coffin
in the church. M1y first impulse
was to endeavor to~ attract the at
cution of some one. I might
have quivered an eyelid, by a most
su)erhuman effort, and be saved,
for I felt that some one must be
at that moment looking at my
cold upturned face.
And then the thought came to
me of Mur-iel. I remembered her
mm.ds sh dn id not love me. Why
should I live? -No, the grave wa:
my waiting friend. I would di<
and make no sign. Death woul(
come in a very few minutes,
The solemn chant was ended
the perfume from the violCts lyin
on my coffin stole in upon my
senses, and a great and sweet
calm descended upon me, as the
well known voice of the village
pastor fell upon my ear. Tle
services were nearly ended, friendE
had taken their last look, the cof
tin lid was about to be replaced,
when a voice said:
"Make way for the lady ; she
desires to see the dead."
There was a rustling of gar.
ments, and a deeper silence. I
saw it was my loved Muriel, who
was now looking down upon my
poor, cold face. Something warm
fell upon my hollow check ; it wae
her tears ; flaster and faster they
fell, and then I could hear the
sound of sobs, some one seemed
to force her gently away, when
she broke out into a wail:
"Io is dead, and I loved him
so. Farewell, my own, my dear
It was the glorious voice I had
listened to so often, and loved so
well to hear. Something warm
tonched my lips, she had kissed
mIe. I opied my eyes.
I need not recount how, after
long lays of careful watching, I
was, by the blessing of God re
stored to health, and to my own
uriel-the one who had spoken
and saved my lite.
THE LADY OFFICER OF THE RE1EI
ARMY-IlEt EXTRAORDINARY CA.
REER DURINO AND SINCE THE WAE
-SIIE IS WOUNDED THREE TDNIE
ON TIE BATTLE FIELD-HER EX
PLoITS AND 'MARRIAGE IN ATLAN
Wed nesday morning a represen
tative of the Constitution had th<
pleasure of an introduction to Mirs
E. W. Bonner, who is at preseni
in our city, and who claims to b4
the original Licut. Harry F. Bu
fort, ofthe Confederate army. Mrs
Bonner has such documentary
proof of the truth of her assertion!
in her possession as to leave
scarcely any room for doubt. lie:
career, taken altoget her, is proba
bly the most extraordinary of any
woman who ever lived in th4
Southern States, and it is of pecu
liar interest to the citizens of At
lanta, from the fact that she wai
here repeatedly during the war
and was married here to her sec
ond husband in 1864. It will bi
imp>ssible, in the scope of this ar
tile, to give more than a brief'al
lusion to the more prominen1
points in the life of this remark
able lady, for it would take a vol
ume to contain in detail her wal
record arnd travels since.
M1RS. RONNER's EARLY IsTORY.
Mr's. Bonner is a lady slightly
above the average height, thor
oghly educated, and very fluent
She is fine looking, and when ir
cnver'sationI her face lights up witl
interest. She has no hesitancy ir
talking about the strange eventi
of her life and answered readil'
all questians that were asked.
11er mnaideai name was Lorett:
Jeanett (lapp ; she was born ii
Havananrd is now :31 years of age
One of her nucles, a Mr. Trheodor<
Clapp, flourished for mrany yer ii
New Orleans as a Universalis
minister arnd was widely esteeme<
and known. Thre family move<
from Ilavana to thre United State:
wh' M rs. Bonner was quite young
11r chihilhoo)d days were sp)ent in
Mississippi, but after she grew ui
to gir-lhood her famuily remove<
The early part of Mrs. Bonner'i
life is entirely uneventfuT am<
about thresame as that of any othe:
young lady of the same year's.
Mrs. bonner has no brother's ol
sisters living. 11er father, Samue
S. Clapp, died a Conf'ederate pris
oner in Fort Hamilton, N. Y., ii
163. Ier mother died in Texas
in 1860. WVh!le the family wer
residing in Texas, Mrs. Bonne
made the acqaintance of Mr. Wil
lam E. Burnett, at the time a sta
dent in the military academy a
West Point, and whose famil:
were her father's neighbors. Al
attachment sprung up betweei
the young people and they wer
married in 185775Irs. Burnett be
ing at the time under fourtee1
years of age and her husband:
little older. The fact of this maz
riage was not allowed to becom
known beyond the families, asi
would have resulted in the expu
'sioni of young Burnett from th
his graduation, Mr. Burnett was
made a lieutenant, and ordered to
duty in Pennsylvania, where his
young wife followed him.
TRANSFORNED INTO A REBEL LIEU
The extraordinary part of our
heroine's career commences with
the war. She followed her husband
about previous to that time, from
post to post and became acquaint.
ed with a number of the old army
officers. In the early part of 1861,
at the inauguration of the war,
Lieutenant Burnett determined to t
follow the fortunes of his State.
le threw up his commission in t
the United States army, returned
to Texas, raised an independent
company, and was ordered to duty
at Pensacola, Fla.
This brought about a separation
between husband and wife, and
now Mrs. Burnett first concieved
the idea of entering army hersel'.
It was arranged between her hus
band and herself that she should
raise a company and join him in
Pensacola. Thus making him a 1
battalion commander. She ac
cordingly donned the
FULL UNIFORM OF A SECOND LIEU
in the regular Confederate army,
and went to Arkansas, where she
succeeded in raising a company I
of one hundred and thirty-six men.
She also assumed the name of
Licut. Harry F. Bufort. She
speaks even now with much pride
of l e r conipany. It was com.
posed of splendid material, and
vot one of the men knew that
the gallant young commander
was a woman.- The Lieutenant,
with her company, joined her hus
band in New Orleans, to which
place he had been ordered, and
the two companies were merged
into the "Louisiana Greys." In
the latter part of 1861 her husband
was killed, and the young Lieuten
ant was left a widow. She went
to Fort Pillow with her command,
and was promoted to be a first
Lieutenant by Gen. Pillow, then
commanding at that place. The
Lieutenant did not remain long
attached to any command. She
became what she called "an inde
pendent officer," and so remained
until 1864, being employed by the
Government most of the time in
carrying dispatches. It would
take a book to hold all of her trav
els from point to point while on
woUNDED THREE TIES.
Lieutenant Bufort has seen con
siderable service in front of the
enemy. She wvas in the first bat
tie of Manassas, with Col. Chiarley
Drew's battalion, and was near
Drew when he was killed. She
wvent into the battle of Malvern
Hill in the 12th Mississippi, under
Col. Taylor, and was here wound
ed in the right foot, She was
in the battle of Shiloh, and on the
Monday evening after the fight,
was wounded badly in the right
shoulder and hand by the burst
ing of a shell..
HER CAREER IN ATLANTA.
The lieutenant was in Atlanta a
number of times, from 1861 to
1864 and was married here in 1864
to her second husband, Capt. By
ron De Camp of Van Dorn's cavel
1ry. She knew Capt. DeCamp be
Sfore the war, he being a regular
army officer. After the death of
her husband he courted her by
Sletter, and the correspondence was
Ikept up for some time. After the
battle of Franklin, Tennessee, she
met the captain on the batJle field,
atnd wa introduced to him. She
bad recognized him and had a bun.
dle of his letters in her pocket,
but he did not for an instant sus
pect that the young officer by his
side was his sweetheart. On her
trip through this city in 1864 she
found the captain sick in the hos
Ipital here, when she made herself
known to him and at his earnest
solicitation married him. T be cere
Imony took place at the old Atlan
ta hotel, and was performed by a
-resident Methodist minister. Af
ter a brief stay here with her see
o nd husband they were forced to
-separate. She had dispatches t
carry to a distant place, and he r
"turned ',o his command in Missis
sippi. Before she could join him,I
rshe received news of his death,
and did not reach Corinth, where
-he died, until after his funeral.
RUNNING THE BLOCKADE, ETC.
SAfter the death of her second,
1 and, at her request, she was employ-.
ed by the Government on a differ
ent kind of service. She made
several trips to and from Havana
*to bring supplies. She was also re
peatedly in the northern lines and
smuggled through supplies as well
tas much valuable information.
She, at this time, devoted much of
eher attention to alleviating the
ranffrings of southern prisoners.
TRAVELS SINCE THE WAR.
After the war and in 1866 she
vas married to Mr. John W. Was.
on, of Kentucky, and with him
vent into South America with the
xpedition o:ganized by Dr. Henry
. Price, of Virginia. The emi
Prants went out under charge of
fr. Fred Johnson to Venezuela,
nd found that they had been gross.
y deceived, as to lands and assist
nee from the Government. Here
ier husband ded. After remain
ng in Sout h America for a short
ime our heroine returned to New
Cork. From this place she went
o Austin, Nevada, and there, and
m the 29th of January, 1868, was
narried to her present husband,
Ir. E. H. Bonner. le is in the
nining business, and is at present
vith a mining expedition in New
MRs. BONNER'q MISSION HERE.
Mrs. Bonner has come East to
ce about a book she contemplates
)ublishing, coutaining a history of
er life. The book is to be writ
en by Mark Twaiu, and will sell
veil. She is now on her way to
cw York, to see the celebrated
The reporter has seen a number
f people here who remembered
Jieut. Bufort, and several who
vere at her marriage. She was
requently seen upon the streets
Jnd at the depot, in her full lieu
enant's uniform, and a lovely in
)erial. S h e certainly made a
iandsome officer, and was as gal
ant as good looking. Not the
east interesting among ber col
cetion of papers is a number of
ove letters from young ladies bere
ind elsewhere, whom the lieuten.
int visited while in the army.
She says that her sex was onIy
liscovered after she had been
ounded, and that she passed for
i man here until her marriage.
Jonsiderable interest has been
aken in Mrs. Bonner by a num
)er of our cityofficials and citizens.
Bhe has been an object of great cu
iosity during her few days visit
aere, and her army acquaintances,
is Lieut. Bufort, with several ex
.onfederate officers is well remem
She yesterday removed for New
ork, but she will return to the
3ctober fair. During the fair she
bas, by invitation, consented to en
er the riding con test, and arrange
nents are on foot to have her de
iver several lectures. Mrs. Bon
2er has one child-a boy five
rears old-at present in New Or.
eans, and has lost two.
The people of Iceland for a
ihousand years have been famed
~or their simple virtues and a civ
lization and learning strangely in
3ontrast with the bleak desolation
>f their rugged island. Thbe nation
il character was strikingly dis.
played in their celebration of their
millennial anniversary, which be
gan on the 2d ultimo, continuing
several days. The Republic of
[celand wvas first organized in 874,
s that this year completes the
millennium of its national exist
ance. The ancient Repubile was
betrayed to Norway in 1241, and
passed under its rule in 1264. By
he union of Denmark and Nor
way in 1380, its sovereignty pass.
d to Denmark, where it has since
continued, and the feeling of loyal
ty is very strong among the Ice
landers, although they detest the
Danes. The millennial anniversa
ry was signalized by a visit of
ing Christian, of Denmark, and
the promulgation of a new con
stitution, by which Iceland secures
local independence and released
from the taxation of Denmark.
The first day's celebration consist
ed of a visit by the King to the
cathedral in Reikiavik, where af
er a sermon, a noble anthem,
both music and words composed
by Ielanders in honor of the day,
was sung with r-emarkable powe!
and sweetness, the emotions of
the audience responding to the
words, so that tears of joy fiowed
down their cheeks. Later in the
day a banquet to the King wa
givea, in which he gave the firs1
toast to the honor of old Iceland
in the true Norse style. As he
touched the goblet to his lipS the
cannon boomed and the peopl<
cheered. In the evening the peo
pie of the to.vn gathered at a hil
near by, and songs and speeche
closed the day. Bayard Tayloi
contributed a fine ode, "Americt
to Iceland," which was rendere(
into Icelandic by one of their poets
and sung on the occasion. Fo:
several days the celebration con
tinned, marked throughout by
dignity and simplicity surroundi n
it with more true grandeur tha
could have been conveyed by th
greatest pomp or elaboration c
THE DEACO'NS STORY.
It was coUrt Ltime in W., and the
place was crowded to its utmost
capacity. The jolly host of the
Black Bear rubbed his hanr1ds and
stroked his well developed waist
coat, as room after room in the
tavern was filled. The bar.room
was, as usual, well stocked with'
customers, and frequent were the
calls made on "mine host's" sup.
ply of liquors. A crowd was con
gregated in the iminediate vicini
ty of the fire and seemed in a hap
py state of mind cullectively. Jesis
and repartee were bandied from'!
one to another, and inirth-pro
voking stories were told.
The chief talker, however, was
a smart, dapper little lawyer, who
had gained a case that day, and
therefbre seemed to consider him
self as "something considerable."
le had a smart saying for every
one,and but few escaped his jest.
His principal victim, however,
was Deacon Jones. Many stories
be told about deacons, and inquir
ed if Jones was the Deacon who,
when he was elected to that high
position, was so overjoyed tiat,
on his arrival home, happening to
meet his cow, he threw his arms
on her neck, exclaiming, "O, Nun
ny! you are no common cow now;
you're a deacon's cow," and many
other questions of like import.
The deacon stood it pretty well,
and bore the laugh like a martyr.
At length, he said he had a story
to tell, and demanded a hearing.
Silence was obtained through the
exertion of the little lawyer, who
was overjoyed at the thought of
getting a story from the deacon.
"Ye see, Mr. Lawyer," began
Jones, "last summer when the chol
era was around, I cetched it. It
went mighty bad with me, I tell
ye, so that they gave Ie up, and I
bid my family good-by, and made
up my mind to die as only a Unris
tian -an ; I hope when your time
comes you can do the same, but
I'm afraid ;" and the deacon shook
his head salemnly. "Well, ye see,
I didn't 'zactlv die. but I came
pretty near it. I wet off in a
"In a trance !" exclaimed the
"Yes, in a trance?"
"What were your sensations ?"
"T hat was jest whbat I was comn
ing to. I thought that the angel
Gabriel came to my bedside and
raised me up and carried me
through the sky, until we stood
before the gates of heaven.
"I thought that the angel turned
to me and said, 'Mortal, you are
brought here to see some of the
glories of heaven and the miseries
of hell; then you will return and
rejoin your friends on earth, to
abide there a short season, after
which you will return to heaven,
and p)artake of the happiness of
"Then we entered the gates, an d
my ears were saluted with sounds
of melody and praise. But Iwill not
attempt to describe all I saw and
beard. The angel was very com
municative, and readily answered
all my questions. Wishing to
know about a few of my friends,
who had gone before me, I ques
tioned him concerning them.
Some he called to his presence,
but at the name of some he signi
ficantly shook his head. I inquir
ed for 'Squire Grasper.' The shake
was repeated. Supposing he mis
understood me, I again inquired.
"'lile was a member of our
church in good stanrding,' said I.
"'He was a lawyer,' said the
angel, 'was he not ?'
S'Yes,' said I.
"'We have no lawyers here,'
was the reply.
A burst of laughter went up from
the entire company, and the law
yer's themselves participated there
in. The deacon continued:
"'We then left hearen, and pass
ed through a dark cloud, entered
the confines of hell. We paused at
the gate an-d knocked. The door
swung slowly back, ar'd we enter
ed. For a short space 1 could see
nothing but a confused mass roll.
ing here arnd there ; but my eyes
soon became accustomed to the
sight and I perceived spirits dart
ing now here, now there, and seem
ing as if trying to escape some
terrific fate. The Prince of Dark
ness himself did the honor-s, and
showed us round. Still wishing to
see the Squire, I ing:gired for him.
Satan clasped his fingers to his head,
Ias if' in a study, and slowly cx
r"'He is not here.'
"'Not here! Ireplied. Why he
must be here ; be is not in heav.
"'He was a lawyer, I believe ?
"'Yes,' I a' red.
"'Ah hae snot- here. We had
zo many lawyers sent lere that
ivith their demiriurrers. their mo
Jons, atfidavits, indictments, etc.,
fny prerogatives were in dauger. so
Ahat I was obliged, in selfdeleense.
o banish them fi-on mv king
"Thanking his highness for his
-ourtesy, we left. I retiurned to
'arth and clonscionsuess, and ever
;ince then have been pondering on
he question, WheIre do !awyers
Peal after peal of laughter greet
,d the conclusion of the deacons
lar-rative,and the little lawyer was
lumb. Ne.t morning he left, as
ic could not answer the question
o often proposed to him of
-Where do lawvers go to ?"
A STORY FOR YOUNG MEN.
Several years ago, a youth of
;ixteen years of age, of good sense.
,nd a fair English education, not
[aving profitable employment at
bis father's home in Kentucky.
iought for employment among his
anterprising neighbors a few miles
distant, and aiLthough wages were
ow in those days of gold and sil
ver currency, he saved from his
first year's wages seventy dollals.
lie was then seventeen years of
age, healthy, lively-looking. aspi.
ring and ambitious to become use
Cul, noble, and perhaps great. He
had already learned that money
loaned at high rates of inrerest
was oppressive to the borrower,
and reacted on the loaner, and in
the faliing of prices of nearly all
the articles in the commercial
world; that men sought justifica
tion for their delinquency and
bankruptcy in the fact that they
had paid large rates of interest.
Feeling. therefore,that liberality
as well as justice was necessary in
every man's dealings with his fel
lowmen, this youth loaned his
severity dollars to an exemplary,
enterprising and prosperous trad
ing man in his neighborhood, at
the lowest rate of interest known
in business in that State, viz.:
six per cent. per annum. ie work
ed another year,clothed himself in
Kentucky jeans and other cheap
but neat articles of apparel, and
went to a country .school three
months in the winter of that year,
and learned the rudiments of' Lat
in, and something of the higher
branches of' mathematies, working
for a pr-osperous and li ber'al fatrmer-.
evenings andl mornings, to pay
the board, andl at the end of the
second year, or when he was cigh
teen years of' ag'e, he had saved
ninety-six dollars more.
The young man's character for
industry and integrity began to
be better known in the neighbor
1h00d, and his services were sought
for. le wvorked on a farm, and
i-ode as collector for tr-ading men
and the sher-iff of his county;
and at the end of his nineteenth
year he had saved one hundred
and ten dollar's more.
With the interest accumulated
on his other two years' wages, he
had now threce hundr-ed dollars.
was comfortably elathcd, and had
a good business edncation, which
he imiproved fr'om one winter to
another-, till he became a scholar.
both literary and scientifically.
His influence and usefulness in
creasing, he had at the age of
twenty years, fonr hundred and
At the ago of twenty-one, this
young man had accumulated six
hundred and fifty dollars, and1 was
well known foi- his activity of life,
as a young man of' inteliigence,vir
tue and usefulness, as well as being
a young man of very~ attractive
wanys. HIe moved to a Western
State where !and was cheap, and
entered one hundred and sixty
acres by land warrant, which he
put-chased with one hundred and
fifty dollars of his money. lIe
made a good selection of land, in
a good r-egionl of conn try, and used
a por-tion of the balance of his
money in impr-ovinig his land, buy
ing~ a little stock and a few imple
ments for farming. and the second
year he raised a small crop.
After he had gone to his new
neighborbood with about four
hundr-ed dollars in money, and
used it cautiously, he, by degrees,
gained the name of a responsible
citizen and a good paymaster, and
his influence rose gradually from
his appearance among his new
and scattered neighbors.
Year after year he raised a crop,
read the best newspapers, periodi
cals and books, which still furthei
improved his mind, till cattle
sheep, and other stock grew u;
in flocks around him, more land
adjoining him being purchasec
from time to time, till now h
finds him,self, when scarcely ar
rived at the age of twenty-sever
years.jthe fortunate possessor o
anapefortunc and an enviabb
While certain forms of the table
etiquette may seem altogether con
ventional, even fanastic. the forms
usual1v observed are founded on
good seLlse, and adapted to gene
ral convenience. Table etiquette
is not, as is often alleged, merely
a matter offashion. altLough sonic
things that were in vogne, a gene
ration or two ago, are no longer
deemed polite. The reason is tbat
mauners and table furniture have
undergone so many changes; have
really so much improved, as to re
quire a mutual re-adjustment. For
exam ple, everybody was accustom -
ed twenty or thirty years since, to
ue the knife to carry food to the
mouth because the fork of the day
was not adapted to the purpose.
Since the introduction of the four
tined silver fork, it has so entire
ly supplanted the knife that the
usage of the latter, in that way,
is not only superfluous. bat is re
garded as a vulgarism.
Another example is the discon
ti.nuance of the custom of turning
tea or coffee from the cup into the
saucer. Although small plates
were frequently employed to set
the cup in, they were not at all in
general use; and even when they
were used the teaor coffee was like
ly to be spilled upon the cloth.
The habit, likewise, of putting
one's knif3 into the butter arose
from the fact that the butter knife
proper had not then been thought
of. Such customs as these, once
necessitated by circumstances, are
now obliviously inappropriate.
Certain habits, however, are re
gulated by good taste and delicacy
of feeling, and the failure to adopt
them argues a lack of fine percep
tion or social insight. One of these
is eating. or drinking andiblv. No
sensitive person can hear any one
Laking his soup, coffee or other
liquid without positive annoyance.
Yet, those who would be very un
willing to consider themselves ill
bred are constantly guilty of such
breach of politeness. The defect
is that they are not so sensitive as
those with whom they come in
contact. They would not be CIs
turbed by the offense ; they never
imagine, therefore, that any one
else can be. It is for them that
rules of etiquette are particularly
designed. Were their instinct
correct, ther would not need the
rule, which, from the absence of
instinct, appears to them irration -
al, p)urely arbitrary.
To rest one's elbow on the ta
ble is more than a transgression of
courtesy, it is an obsolute incon
venience to one's neighbors. All
awk wardness of position, such as
sitting too far back from, or lean
ing over the table. arc reckoned as
rudeness, because they put others
ill at ease through fear of such ac
cidents as are liable to happen
from any. uncouthness.
Biting bread or cake, instead of
utting or breaking it into mouth
fuls. is unpleasant, since it offends
our sense of form or fitness.
These and kindred matters are
trifles; but social life is so largely
composed of t? ifies that to disre
gard them wholly is a serious af
front. We can hardly realize to
what extent our satisfaction or
dissatisfaction is made upof things
in themselves insignificant, until
their obser-vance or non-observ
ance is brought dir~ctly home to
us.- Scribner's Monthly.
In the northwestern corner of the
territory of Wyoming is located one
of the most beautiful lakes on this
contcinent, if not in the world. Ad
jacent to it are four majestic rivers,
the Yellowstone. flowing into the Mis
sissippi at a distance of 1,300 miles;
th issippi itself, which finds its
way to the Gulf through the fa.thers
of waters; the Columbia, which leads
to the Pacific, and the Colorado, which,
passing through the most remarkable
canon in the world, discharges its wa
ters in the Gulf of California. Group
ed around this lake and in the inidst
of this water-shed is perhaps the
grandest display of cataracts, hot
springs, geysers, mud volcanoes, and
natural architectural beauties to be
found on the face of the globe.
At a meeting in London to receive
a report from the missionaries sent to
discover the tribes of Israel Lord H
was asked to take the chair. "I take,"
he said "a great interest in your re
searches, gentlemen. The fact is, I
have borrowed money from all the Jews
now known, and if you can find a new
set I shall be very much obh?zed."
A Western Postmaster writes to the
Postmaster-General "that hell will be
full of country Postmasters before long
if they dont get more pay than allow
ed this offiee."
"I should have no objection,"
said a hen-pecked husband, "to
my wife's having the last word, if
I could only be assured that it
would be the last."
Why is the letter K like a pig's
. tail ?-Because it's the latter end