Jts Jrt (£iti^n.
fUBLlSQED EVERT SITCRDAT.
OPriCi— BURSA VISTA STRRRT.
Oar Job rrlatlax Drpurtmcal.
ir« litre eupplied oereelrse frith a food
tiierimeat of Priatiaf Material and arr
r,„jj to ereeute alt kiada af Jab Priatiaf.
en reasonable tarai.
\Te are prepared to priat Tanplilata, Cata
legue*. I'eftere, larf* or email. Carda. Ball
fickle. Bill Heade, Blank* of etary deecrip .
en. for Clerk*. Sheriff*, Jueticea of the
Pete*. Coneiablce. he.
POE & MATHEWS, Proprietors. [EST \ BUSHED SEPTE MBER. ISM ] $2 50 PER ANNUM—In Advance.
■rr:-----:: .— -■■■■J'—u.» .. 'r-.i -rr-r-z----—-- =---- ■ t—:-*■- n - —- ■—
VOLUME 3._DES ARC, ARKAN>AS, APKIL4, 1808. NUMBER 4.
turn or ioruTuttc.
o— ihrw *oia «h» finpi*
7§ Coble.
|
3
4
Advertieera bp tit year will be reetrieUd
li tboir buimi>
Personal communications charged doable.
Legal adrerUeaaeoala will be charged, hr
oae equart or loaa, first insertion $1, and 7b
cento per square for each additional insertion.
Advertisements net ordered for e specified
time, will be inserted WIT forblddeh, and
charged for accordingly.
All advertising due attar eeoebd insert tab.
PROFESSIONAL CARDS.
Z. P. H. FARR,
attorsts? at lat,
UTTLK ROCK, ARKANSAS.
ROUT. S ANDRKSON, WV. J. THOMPSON.
Jacksmport, Ark Augusta, Ark
Anderson A Thompson,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Jgcksonport and Augusta, Ark.
Witt attend the Court# of Jackson, Wood
ruff. and adjoining Count in*, and to special
ra*e« in anr section of the .State. Address
either office. roaylS-lj
H. 3?. Vauglian.
ATTORNEY AT LAW
AND
SOLICITORS IN CHANCERY,
DKS ARC, ARKANSAS.
WILL practice in the Courts of the counties
of l’rairie. White, Jackson, Woodruff and
Monroe. Particular attention given to the
collection of claims anj where in the State.
sepTtf.
A. C. PICK1TT. t. M. RAKSACR.
PICKKTT A IIAMHAUR
ATTORNEYS IT LAW,
AUGUSTA, ARKANSAS.
Win. practice in the counties of Woodruff.
Jackson, White end Craighead. Special at
tention given to collections of all claims en
trusted to their care nprti-ly
|. R. P. ALDRIDGE.
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Cotton Plant, Arkansas.
Wtt.t. practice in the Circuit Court* of
Woodruff county, and the Circuit Court* of
,h„ ,„T(.|,th Judicial District, and give prompt
attention to nil business entrusted to Its
cure. janI
«. UAXTT. »■ »■
GANTT A BRONAUGH,
ATTGR5EYS AsT LAsW.
Will practice in the counties of Prairie.
White, Woodruff. Monroe. Arkansas and 1 u
u,k: Prompt atttentiou t^ren to the • ..f.et
lion of claim* Taxes fill be P»»»
investigated for non-resident.. »prl4
GATEWOOD. J S. THOMAS,
GATEWOOD & THOMAS,
m yaw
DF.fl ABC, ABKAN8AB.
, x. uxnnr.rvTn. *■ ""T
HEDGEPETH & KW.
ATTORSRYS A.T LAW.
DES ARC, ARKANSAS.
Wnx practice in all of the court* of
Prairie couuty. an.i the circuit courts
• f the surrounding countie». mar1-l-fim
JAMES H. PATTERSON, LUCIAN C. OXVSK,
August., Ark. Jaeksonport, .ire
Patterson A Clause.
attorneys at law,
J*(k«iin|M>r( Mi Aaausta, Arkansas.
W ill practice in the Counties of Woodruff,
Jackson, Independence. While. Lawrence,
Randolph, Green. Craighead and Crocs and
attend to special cases in any part of the
State. Address either office wyl8-ly
W. HICKS. Formerly of the firm of Cypert k
Hicks.
U. R. FIELDING, Formerly of Athens, Ala.
HICKS A FIELDING.
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
firarry. While Co.. *rkaa«a«.
WILL practice in this and the adjacent
counties, in hie District Courts, and Su
preme Court of the State.
J. C. JONSON, Office—West Point, Arkansas
JNO. M. MOORE, Office—Searcy, Arkansas
JOHSOK fc MOORE,
Attorney* at Law,
SOLICITORS IM 'CHANCERY,
—AND—
General Land and Collecting Agent*,
HKAItCY. ARKANSAS.
Will wire prompt attention to any hnsinrsi
in the counties of Independence, Jackson.
Woodruff. Monroe, Prairie, White, Conway
and Van Buren.
WX. T. JONM. *• c- TOTTEN.
JONES A TOTTEN.
4xxom»aTSAX*4w,
BROWNSVILLE. ARKANSAS.
WILL practice in the eonnties of Pulaski
Prairie, Monroe, Woodruff, Jackson an«
Whiu Prompt attention *i»en to the collee
. . V, of olein• aprl* ly
PROFESSIONAL CAROS.
iimox r. huohii *». w. mnt.
Ht'CUES ft SMITH,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW
—AM>—
URAL HSTATK AORNT8,
CLARENDON, ARK.
80L. F. CLARK. iAM W WILLIAMK.
JOK W. MARTIN.
CLARK WILLIAMS ft MARTIN,
Attorneys at Law,
LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS.
WILT, practice in all the Courts, prosecute
Claims of ail kinds, collect debts, and
act a* Heal Estate ann General 4gents.
Oftio»—Markham Street, near State House.
apnl2S“tf
JAMES J. GALLAGHER.
Attorney at Ln w,
COTTON PLANT, WOOPRVFFCO. ARK.
Will practice where called.
s*p28-tf.
SR. ALL SIT
Offers his services to the citizens of
Dee Arc and vicinity in the practice of
medicine. Thankful for past favors,
and bv attention to business he expects
to share a liberal prtronage.
Office—At his residence—late the
residence of IV. G. Frith. sep«!l
Dr. 13 13. Trezevant.
Tenders ids professional services to
the citizens of Gcs Arc and vicinity.
Office—At It. F. Johnson Drun Store.
sep21
Dr. R. B. SHELBY,
TENDERS hi* professions! service* to the
Citizens of Des Arc and surrounding
country, in the practice of Medicine and Ob
stetrics. He hopes from an experience of
over fifteen years in Southern practice, to
merit a share of public patronage.
Office one door East of Burney's Drug
Store. niarchliH 1868-ly
33. F. Johnson.
D RUGGI8 T,
DES ARC, ARKANSAS.
KEEP on hand a Urge assort men; of Drugs,
Medicine*. Paints. oils. Perfumery.
Patent Medicines, Wine*. Brandies. Whiskey,
f.*r medical purposes, which he will sell low
Prescriptions and order* filled promptly.
Terms cash. l*b 1808.
A WEI L SELECTED STOCK OF
FRESH DRUGS,
MEDICINES AND CHE.NICIS,
School Hook* and Stationery,
Paints, Oils, Dye-Stuffs, Window-Glasi. Per
fumery, Patent Medicines, Wines, Brandies,
Whiskey, for medicinal eurpn*es.
Pro in gor.l e’s celebrated St utlie^n Remedies,
invariably for cash, at small profits.
1..D11 W %' ■'
MRS. KATE IirVTSMANt
Will commence her SCHOOL the first Mon
day iu January. Tuition two and three
dollar* per month. Deduction* in caeca of
protracted iline**
De* Arc, Jan l*t. 1667.
I WM. B. COOPT. P. MC BAB
COODY & McRAE,
4TTOA»»Tt At SAW
KEARCT, WHITE COl'OTT,
AllKANXAH.
Will preeliee is ell the court* ef Arkaneai.
marlid
I
F. LEPTIEN,
Watchmaker and Jeweler,
DES ARC. ARKANSAS.
[AM NOW PREPARED TO DO ALL gk
kind, of work in my line. Mead
ing, drifting. Ac 4kmm
-Thankful for paet far nr,, I aolteit a
rentimione* of the petronage heretofore be
stowed on me fobUt-tf
ENTERTAINMENT!!
rnne undersigned having 44
1 opened a House of Eater* -*:B
tulniue-ut, on lluena Tieta Street, near
the Steamboat Landing, for the accommoda
tion of
TRAVELERS AND BOARDERS,
Ry the day. week, or month, solicits tha pat
ronage of thoar visiting Dea Are. The fere
will be a« good ee the market affords, sad
term, moderate.
Give me a trial, tad I will endeavor to give
satiefhetion.
BENJA IN HATLff.
Dec Are. Ark.. Mereh H. J**7—ISm
THE KNICUn LAST TILT.
#T W. W. W.
Aa *M Knight sat in his rastle hail
At the slots of a winter'* day ;
Boat woo hit form, one* tree! tad toll,
And hit hoir woe silvery grey.
Oil lofty brow was furrowed o’er
By th* storms and struggles past;
His visage wan—tall and bold of yore—
Showed the life tide ebbing fast;
A relie was he of timee gone before—
Of Chivalry the last.
His servants, true end tried of old,
Knew his end was drawing near; •
Of hia deeds the greyeet in whiepere told.
Done in many a vanished year,
Of hia friends in youth there none re*
mained •
To smooth hia moistened brow;
After all the battles he had gained’
By time he is vanished now—
Forth* highest honors of tart h attained
Must yield to Death, I trow.
With a sudden eta t the Knight uprose
From the rhair in which he dreamed;
And, as if confronting a hundred foes,
His dark eyes fiercely gleamed
"What ho! My vassals I” h* cried in a
tone,
That mado the old hall ring;
"For thisehildith slumber I grill atone!
My casque and helinst bring;
And bring my steed, mr gallant roan.
Who fears no living thing.
“Bring me my banner, spur and plume,
All the emblems of warrior-bood ;
Tho' I cannot pierce the gathering gloom
I will die as n warrior should,
Prineo Death ia coming—I bear afar
His steed on the mountain's brim ;
| The hills and valleys a-darkcning are
With the frown on his visage grim.
But, quick! ray lance!—shine yet my
•tar—
I will have a tilt with him I"
The dying Knight to the saddle bounds.
And through the court-yard flies;
With rattling hoof the bridge resounds,
O’er the moat the echo dies.
Aud the watchers waited not long in
vain
In the court-yarn'* glaoiay lair.
For rearing and plunging wild amain.
With a scream on the frosty air,
A*foaming stead with a broken rein
Dashed up and halted there.
The foemen met in the valley’s gloom— 1
Prince Death and the Warrior old—
Waved in the hreexe a knightly plume j
Flashed a lance in the twilight cold.
Prince Death’a, as it swept in a circle
round
Ticrced his fos ere lances crossed;
Stretched stark and dead on the frozen
ground
I By the winds his plume up-tossad.
Without a blow or a bleeding wound.
The Knight’a Last Till was lost.
| A WOJIAVS ADVEMIRE,
BY ETTA W. riEKC*.
[CONCLUDED.]
The door of the chamber was stand
ing open. A faint light came through.
The person turned from the bed and '
Went out instantly. I heard a whisper- j
“Is she asleep ?’’
That was the voico of my dear Xui so j
fierty.
"Yes,” answered the man.
That was a voice with a inetaHe ring
and an accent. I recognised it at once.
“What is to be done with her?” was
the next query.
"Como down. I.ot us talk it over,” j
.was the brief reply.
The stairs creaked as they descended.
, They were carrying a candle with them.
iwi a own iMWVUlg n*'
’ wall. I rose tip in the bed nnd listened. !
They had paused somewhere on or at
the foot of the stair.
The house was still as a tomb. The
bed was removed but a few feet from
the door. Every movement below, ev
ery word, subdued as they were, rose i
up to my ears with startling distinct- >
ness. And this was what I heard;
“She belongs to me," said Roque,
scarcely above a whisper. “I’ll take
her for my share. Yon and Terese may
have the mouey and the jewels.”
“This is a fine watch—a beautiful
watch,’’ next said Nurse Gerty.
“Terese, you simpleton, take the
rings, and don't stand glowering on
him like that."
There was a movement on the creak
ing stair.
“I'll kill him I" hissed Terese.
“Gurdezl” answered the Canadian,
threateuingly.
“Do you think I’m afraid of you ?’’,
said Terese, with a frightful laugh.
“Bah
“Silence, you jade ! What ails you ?’’
“You're robbed the girl; now let i
I her go."
“Pardieu, I love her!" returned the
Canadian.
“Fool! She'd tell tales,’’ said Nurse
t Gerty.
An awful bush.
j “Kill her, then, and throw her down
j the well,” broke in the bitter voice of
I Terese.
Roque laughed uow, very softly,
j “Not I. She is too pretty.”
Terese struck her hands sharply to
gether. j
“You are a traitor, Jacques, and I
hate yon I *
“Tut, girl."
| “l hate you—I hate yout"
“I like your bat* better than yonr
love. I’m tired of you, Tore**." I
Another dreadful pen**.
“If you ef* tired, of me," said Terete,
never speaking above her breath, “well
and feed; but I’ll go up ami hill tbnt
jirl with toy own hand before you shall
harm her.”
“Softly, my beauty, softly 1'’
A foot on the stair—a sound of some
heavy, struggling weight dragged
down—flung to tiie floor. I had heard
enough—more than enough. What
passed in my heart nt that moment
words of mine can never tell. In a
breathing-space I was on iny feet, look
ing around me in that dreadiul cham
ber for some avenue of escape.
I ran to the window. It was vain to
think of the door, lor it. opened direct
ly on the stairs. I strove with all my
might to raise the sasii. It was swol
len in its frame, and it resisted me.
“What is that?' said Nurse Gerty,
distinctly, from bciow. I leaned
against the wall, holding my very
breath.
“Get me a rope," answered lloque,
with an oath, “and I II tie this cursed
girl, hand and foot.”
1 tried the sash again. It would not
move. 1 caught up the one chair in
tlie room to dash it out, then thought
better of the matter, and strove at it
again with my desperate, Irantic hands.
Up glided the wiudow, and a gust of
night-w ind struck me damp and chill.
"Hark 1 ’ cried some one from the
stair.
With a frightful precision that was
never mine in cooler moments, I mens
urea my cnance. i lie aperture uoioru
me was not wide enough to admit ot a
leap. I drew the chair forward, and
stepping upon it, crawled over the
sill.
Below was the door of the house, and
it stood ajar. I remember a streak of
red light silting though the opening
and falling along the .mossy sweep ol
the old well just beyond. I remember
the long gray shadows moving on the
threshold—the black sky lowering
overhead. I hung there by my two
hands for an instant. Then I shut my
eyes, and. with a shudder, tell.
It was a distance of ten or twelve
feet, perhaps. The shock stunned me,
but only tor a moment. I sprang up
from the wet. green grass, and ns 1 did
so, felt a hand clutching at the 1'oids of
my dress. I turned and saw at ray
snouldcr the face ot ltoquc.
“Stop!" lie paid softly.
One cry of mortal terror escaped me,
then some one had come between us.
The wild, dark face of the girl Tercse
Hashed in the light from li e doorway,
'■lie caught niv dress and wrenched it
from his hand.
••Fly, girl!” she shrieked; ‘‘fly for
your iil'e 1"
1 cast one look backward. God keep
me from the memory of what i saw!
The girl was on her knees with both
arms cast about him. He struck her,
again and again, tierce, merciless blows,
but she held him fast. For a yard or
more he dragged her forward, a dead
weight across the grass; then there
was a glimmer of steel in the candle
light, a swift descent, a cry, and with
a dreadful oatii lie struck her down.
I fled into the Corn. I was already
in it when the girl fell, with her bloody
face downward. Upon the grass. The
green stalks parted to receive me: ihe
little hillocks spr ead out under my feet.
I tied tor my life—for more than ray
life.
Oh merciful night, hide me and shel
ter me'. Oh, pipe-wood, thick with
darkness, take me into your heart! lie
is behind me, with that girl's blood up
on his hand-. lie i' (la-hiiig down the
corn in full pursuit!
I passed the divining line dciwixi
the field and wood. There wasueitlier
fenee nor wall to impede me. Then
the wilt.ernes* opened and took mo in
to its urins.
Nover did limited wild creature run
as I ran then 1 It seemed that niv spir
it t.ad put forth tangible wings in aid
of the weak, agonized flesh thut held
it. I was wtW for th* time.
The green things of the woods thrust
out long, sinuous fingers, and caught
at my dress as 1 passed; the greut
black tree-boles hedged my way like
paralysed giants; far, far abovo my
head their plumy tops whispered and
sang. I had no conception of my own
speed, nor of the ground over which 1
was going, but afterward I knew that
I ran on thus for miles.
It. was a sudden inward shock, as of
something giving way, which first ar
rested my flight. My first instinct was
to pause and listen. All was quite
still; no sound anywhere in the great
wilderness but the soft murmur of
leaves, and now and then the fitful
splash of a rain-drop from above. I
sank down where I stood, just at the
foot of a pine-treo. and laid my face
against the damp, sweet earth.
All the unnatural strength that had
sustained me thus far was over and
gone. I was only a poor human atom
now, l»«t in a tragi of pathless mid
night forest. 1 put out my arms and
clasped them about the rough latrk of
the tree; it sighed above me iu the
darkness like a friend. A little flower,
growing iu the moss at its roots, and
full of summer fragrance, brushed
against my cheek. Overhead I heard
the flutter of a bird, startled out ot bis
sleep.
I lay m-Vlonlessand half unconscious
for a while. Then, tba awful solemn
tllenoe and the splltudeot the time and
place began to per** upon me like a
nightmare IIow w.-n t ever to make
my way out ofthat wilderness? What
was fo heroine ot me? Who would
•
ever know my fate If I died there
alone ?
Face to face with this new horror, I
quite forgot the old one—forgot it, un
til a sudden rustle in the thickets near
by recalled it to me with renewed force.
It might have been but the wind, or
perhaps some wild creature, homeless
jind lost like myself; but all the old
terror awoke with the sound, and came
rushing hack upon me. I sprang up
Irom the muss and fled again before
it.
Deeper and deeper yet into that aw
tu 1 solitude, vainly trying as 1 went to
shut my eyes on its pitiless gloom. I
kept repeating to myself, “I shall die
here. 1 shall not live till morning. I
shall never sec any of my dear ones
more.”
Hark! There is a sudden sound in
inv cars like the murmuring of water
as it washes placid hanks. Are my I
senses already reeling? There is a|
strange red light glimmering low down I
through the trunks of the trees straight
before me. For a moment 1 stand,
breathless, uncertain. The water still
calls—the musical river water, laving
the roots of the pines. I part the uii
'derbrush with my hands ; I run toward
tlie lira, crying aloud. It brightens be
fore me—the red, unsteady flame turns
the darkness away in circles from my
feet—it tails upon me—a poor little
lost elf of the woods. Then there is;
nn iinn east about me. 1 bear my mime
called. “My God I Miss Stacey !”
A face, v brave, brown taro beiuls
over me., alter which all tilings above;
and below clash and reel together, and
it is night!
*******
When 1 opened my eves again I was
lying on a couch of hemlock houghs
with a blanket folded beneath my head.
A gray licheued rock towered above
me, and a wall of swaying canvass, on
which the ruddy camp-tire danced and i
shimmered. * At my side some one
knelt, chafing my hands. A pair of
grave, pitying brown eyes looked into,
mine.
“Do not try to speak," said Captain!
John Rayburn, gently; "do not move,
only drink this brandy.”
lie held a tin cup to my lips. I
obeyed him mechanically, the fiery li
quor burning my throat as it went
down.
"My poor child! My poor little
girl I" lie said.
With an effort I gathered myself npj
pushing back the torrent of hair loose
about my face. He was looking at me
with grave solicitude.
“Where—where mn I ? ’ I said.
“SatV—here in my camp."
“Oh, thank God!"
Those brave, brown fyos grew dim j
as a woman's.
• “Are you better?" he asked.
“Yes."
“Can you tell me what hn« happen
ed ?"
“I will try."
So I told him a miserable, broken
story, full of abrupt pauses, for the sobs |
lose up in my throat and choked me,!
and 1 was fighting hard to keep them
dow n. Captain Rayburn's gaze never j
wavered from my face till 1 was done.
Then he walked hurriedly offa few
paces, and stood with his back toward
me. I believe he was swearing dread- j
fully under his breath. Presently he
came hack.
“We will attend to this Monsieur
Roque and his little nftair to-morrow.
For the present, Miss Stacey, 1 regret
tha* I have no better accommodations
to offer yon. It is an hour past mid
night; the rain has begun to fall, and
vou are quite worn out. You must ac
cepl my hospitality, poor ns it is, until
daybreak.”
This whs the Inst leather that broke
tiie camels back. I had, somehow, a
contused idea of starting straight for
I'assnquod. 1 laid my head down «u
the gray, lichcned rock, and cried.
“My dear Miss Stacey ! Don’t ! I be
seech of you,” cried Captain Rayburn.
| "1 am terribly to biaiuu in this matter.
Why—why did 1 allow you to go on
to tlmt place all alone? I shall never
forgive myself! Heaven be praised
that 1 was belated on my upward trip
here, and did uot reach camp tiil an
hour ago; otherwise my lire might
j have been out.”
“How shall I get back to 1'assa
quod ?" said 1.
“Easily answered. I have a boat
here. L will row you down the river
at day-dawn ; you need apprehend no
lurtlier trouble. Oblige me now by
I drinking this cup of coffee, Miss Stacey,
; and going to sleep. 1 shall watch lor
, the remainder of the night.”
He brought the tin cup Hgaiu from
| the crackling wood tire. The coffee
was very hot, and very, very strong;
it was unreasonably sweet, and with
out milk. 1 think 1 never tasted a
more detestable beverage.
After that, Captain Rayburn heaped
more wood upon the lire, and moving
off to the door of the camp, stood un
der the flapping canvas, with his lace
lurnetl silently out toward the night.
With a vtigiic sense of security and
rest I sat looking idly about the place,
at a portfolio of sketches here and a
camp chest there; at a burnished rifle j
leaning against the rock besi te tuc ; at
fishing rods and deer’s antlers, and
books flung down together ; aud. above .
all, at that long shadow in tliu-doorway,
moving fitfully to the flutter of canvns
and the wavering of flame betwixt me
and tiie night.
After v tmie, »lt tntngs began’to tnd.o”
and blend together before my eight. I
slept.
A deep, dead, dreamless sleep, born
of titter exhaustion. Once only I was
dimly conscious that some one had lift
ed my head from the hard, gray rock,
mid placed beneath it a thick, pillowy
substance. Like things far off I heard
a patter of rain-drops, the soft splash
of the river; then a blanket was gath
ered, lightly and cautiously, above me,
and that was all. I slept on there
against the lichcned stone till morning.
When I opened my eyes there was
daylight all about me, but no Captain
Itnyburn. A venison steak broiled
over the fire, and a strong odor of cof
fee filled the place. I arose, very much
surprised to find that I iiad been sleep
ing. There was a little path leading
down to the river-side, and I followed
it. 1 knelt down there on the moss
snil looked at my pale, pale face in the
droning water, and bathed my heavy
eyes and braided up my long, thick
hair.
Overhead the sun was coming up in
a cloudless sky; the river glanced
away through the pines, murmurous
and beautiful. Birds chirped and call
ed from the rain-wet branches. Sure
ly the terrors of the past night had not
been real; surely I had dreamed some
hideous dream I Then I turned and
saw Captain liayburn comiug toward
me.
“Good-morning," ho said, lifting his
hat.
‘•Good-morning," I faltered, seized
with a sudden and unaccountable etn
barreSsinent and flushing to the tem
ples.
"Miss Stacey, I come to summon you
to breakfast. After that I am entirely
at vour service. We will start at once
for Passaquod.”
I shall never forget that meal, eaten
with him in that lonely camp by the
river-side. It was not particularly
sumptuous, for it consisted only of ven
ison and notfee and » few potatoes
ha-ed in tho ashes of the tire. Never
theless, I was served like a princess,
sitting in state on a camp stool, and
gravely receiving mv share of the feast
from handsome hands of John Ray
burn. As lie was pouring out the cof
fee l ventured to remark :
"If you please, I do not care for but
one spoonful of sugar.”
lie looked at me in mock ninazc.
"Alt, and how was the cup which I
gave you last night—do you remem
ber?”
“It was made sweet—quite sweet,”
said I.
Then, of a sudden, tlie absurd figure !
he made, standing so stately and tall
over the ashes, with the battered tin
eoll'ee-pot in hand, struck me with full
torce. I laughed aloud. Iiis brown
eyes danced.
"I am glad to hear that, Miss Stacey.
You have got such a pale, sad face this
morning, I began to fear you would
never even smile again. Do you feel
quite equal to a jouruey of fifteen
miles ?"
"Yes—oh yes."
-We shall go more than half the dis
tance bv the river. I will then procure
a conveyance at the nearest farmhouse,
also whatever outer garments you may
need, and drive straight to Passaquod."
"Captain Rayburn, you are very
kind,” l faltered; “how shall I ever
thank you?’
"Miss Stacey, pray do not mention
it.”
Afier that we set forth. The sun was
mil linn) in me sky. viur nay n as a
strange, tiriglit way of rippling water.
Then, out of the green, dripping gloom
■of the wilderness, wc went Jogging
along a pleasant country, back—back j
again to the unpainted kitchen at Pas
saquod. My singular adventure was ]
over and done.
A few days after this Captain Ray-1
burn came into the porch one twilight, ,
where 1 was sittiug with Ann Maria
Peters, and laid into my hand a sealed j
package.
"Allow me to restore to you that
which was lost,” said he.
I opened it and saw my purse and }
rings, tnv watch and chain.
"Monsieur Roque,” continued R&y
burn, tossing his cigar into Ann Ma- j
ria's marigold bed, “is in jail, awaiting ■
his trial for the murder of the girl Ter-1
ese. I regret to inform you, Miss Belle,
that your friend, Mrs. lierty, died, and
was buried at her little farm, at Sun
down, more than six months ago. The
house to which you were carried is
some tive miles distant from hers; the
Img who personated her tiiat night is
merely a confederate of Roque's.”
Thus was the whole affair made clear
to me.
Papa came in great haste to take me
home. The last evening of my stay at
Passaquod. I was out on the weather
beaten stoop, witli the warm, moon
lighted night all around, snuffing the
scent of the marigolds, and listening to
the katydids droning in the wet
green grass. lusido the porch Ann
Maria Peters stood folding clothes for ,
ironing. In a willow basket.
By-and-by a familiar step came up
through the crooked apple trees and
stopped at the stoop.
“I am going home to-morrow,” said
I
“And I have broken camp up the riv
er,” he answered.
Then a warm hand came somehow
through the shadow and clasped mine
fervently. •* '
' "Bqllr'r
After which there was a few hurried
words; then silence.
“Papa has come for mo,” (aid I, at
last.
“You are papa’s no longer, you are
mine now,” aald Captain John Ray*
burn.
And there, in the friendly shadow, I
was gathered up to Ills heart.
“See, I have brought you another
ring,” he said, slipping the golden seal
of bondage in my hand, and hiding
both against his breast. “It was my
mother’s, Belle. I have kept it for my
wile.”
I could not see him for my happy
tears.
“Lift your shy eyes,” he pleaded;
“look at me once, my beloved. ’
If I did not look at him another was
there who did. Ann Maria Peters, tall
and surprised, stood in the door-wav,
with ghosty folds of rumpled linen
trailing from either hand.
“La, now, Captain Rayburn,” said
she, placidly, “I always Spjught you
was alter me.”
• • * * * * *
•f f
I am his wife now. Nevertheless, as
I sit here and write, miles and miles
away from the spot, my heart grows
faint and sick within me, remembering,
as if it were but yesterday, all the
horror and misery of the night in that
old house in the cornfield, and the black
pine wilderness beyond.
Romance
Thursday evening a bit of romance
occurred in our city, that to the parties
concerned in it, will always be remem
bered. A young man made the acquain
tance of a young lady at an evening so
cial last season. We will give no names,
as the position of the lady forbids it.
The young man we shall call Smith.
Smith, being a guitar player and pos
sessing a good voice, soon won the af
fections of his fair acquaintance. They
met; they loved; and the post office
did its duty, as it always does on such
occasions. Smith proposed. “Ask
papa,” was the quick reply. That was
a bombshell in the camp. Papa had
seen the dissipated freaks of Smith,
and he dare not ask for the hand of the
fair one. Papa smelled a good sized
rat, upon taking a note from the post
office directed to his daughter. “Pa
had to go to a neighboring town that
evening.” Papa was to take that even
ing's train at night. All the family had
retired except the daughter.
Footsteps were recognized, and in a
few seconds the maiden, with a lamp
in her hand, came softly in the parlor.
Then going to the window, she raised
it silently, and threw a rope down, tied
it to the leg of the sofa, and sat upon
the sofa. In a few minutes a coat and
pants, containing the carcassof ye lover,
came in the window. O! the embrace,
niondia, with all his feats never had
shown sucli bravery. “Sit down, Imo
gene while a talc I unfold.” And they
sat. Bvron was butchered. Tableau
scene— V well fitted parlor; lamp part
ly extinguished a loving couple; the
dial of the clock points to 10. Enter
father, with candle in hand, looking
after a cat; “Pussy! pussy! pussy ! jjal
lo! really, quite a suprised party, said
the old man. “Truly I am not dream
ing.’ “Uh, Papa, forgive me !” and she
fell and fainted. Enter oldest sou. John
bring me my revolver; I will shoot this
Thomas cal.” John flew to execute the
order, and returned with an empty re
volver. Young man on his kuee. “Oh,
give me, I meant no harm!” Papa—
“Smith, look here; listen;! will not
shoot you ; you are not worth the pow
der. I opened your note to my daugh
ter last week. 1 wrote to friends liv
ing where you were raised, and I And
you to be a married man, with an un
fortunate woman and three children
left to their fate. If I acted like a man
I would shoot you like a dog ; by only
one wt^j' you can ever get out of this
house alive.” Here the eon entered
with a largo cheese knife. ‘‘It is this;
that you repeat an oath that you go and
support them hereafter.” The young
man consented, and an oath far ahead
of the iron clad oath, was administered
to him. He was told to leave by the
same way he came, and in a few minutes
Smith was upon patent ladder; and
when about halfway down the son let
the cheese knife fall. And the rope
parted. A groan a splash of water, and
hasty footsteps was all the sound left to
the ears.
Litti.r Tiiixos.—Little things and
little people, ggys Dr. Chalmers, havt
often brought great things to pass
The large world in which wo exist is
made up of little particles as small a,
sand ou the sea-shore. The vast sea h
composed of small drops of water
The little busy bees, how much honey
they gather! Do not be discouraged
because you are little. A little stai
shines tp-ightlv in the sky on a dark
night, aud may be the means of saving
many a poor sailor from shipwreck;
and a little Christian may do a great
deal of good, if he or she will try.
There is nothing like trying.
Cuahactsr.—We may judge a man's
character by what he loves—what
pleases him. If a person manifests de
light in low, sordid objects—the vulgar
song aud debasing language in the mis
fortune of his fellows, in cruelty to an
imals, we may at once determine the
complexion of his character. On the
contrary, if he loves purity, modesty,
truth—if virtuous pursuits engage hii
heart aud draw out his affect ions—wc
ere satisfied that he u an upright man.
IALHAGDRMi
-Ben. Wade ha* set the 7th of May
to take the Presidential chair.
-The theater at Little Rock ie do
ing a good business.
-The spring elections ail through
Pennsylvania have resulted in the
greatest* Democratic triumphs. .
-A wife who loses her patience,
must not expect to keep her husband’s
heart.
—A mtld-tempered woman is at a
balsam that heals matrimonial sor
rows.
-True goodness is like the glow
worm ; it shines most when no eyes ex
cept those of Heaven are npon it.
-Industry is an excellent gnard
for virtue; the more ac'ive yonr life,
the less opportunity have the paasione
to corrupt you.
—The road ambition travels is too
narrow for friendship, too crooked for
love, too rugged for honesty, and too
dark for science.
-A hypocrite may spin so fair a
thread as to deceive his own eyes.—He
may admire the cobweb, and not know
himself to be the spider.
—When men fall, they love compa
ny, but when they rise, they love to
stand alone, and see other* prostrate
below them.
_ITlAnatnolr utwrravml An fhf> flfrtTfl
of his wife two sheaves of wheel,
thrown, as it were, carelessly together,
with the words: “We shall ripeu iu
heaven.’’
-A German Writer says a young
girl is a fishing rod. The eyes are the
hook, the smile the bait, the lover the
gudgeon, and the marriage the butter
in which he ie fried.
——But one falso etep, one Wrong
habit, one corrupt companion, one
loose principle, may wreck all your
prospects, and all the hopes of those
who 1c e you.
-is not until the flowers have
falle f that the fruit begins to ripen.
So j life it is when the romance is
past ha' the practical usefulness begins.
-A man noted for truth is a bul
wark iu society. You can depend up
on him. He is a sort of power of na
ture—of God. There is that about him
which awes you, aud, unless you aru
like him, troubles you.
-A pnrty of Parisians were made
deathly sick by eating a couple of cats,
which, were served up as rabbits.
Their stomach had been probably ren
dered delicate by eating horse.
-Captain James P. Brownlow, the
only respectable member of »ne family,
has resigned his position in the Eighth
cavalry, now fighting Indians in
Arizona, and is expected home shortly.
-The woman who fails to reform
the man of the habit of drinking while
I engaged to him, will have a mighty
j task to do so after marriage. Think of
this, \ outig women. Better remain
single then marry a man who loves
liquor or tobacco either.
-“You ought to acquire the
faculty of being at home iu the best
society," said a fashionable aunt to an
honest nephew. “I manage that easy
' enough," responded the nephew, “by
staying at home with my wife and
children.’’
-Kind words are brightest flower*
r>r* (tart Ti stenco : thev make a para
dine of the humblest home the world
can show. Use them, and especially
around fireside circles. They ere
jewels beyond price and more precious
to heal the wounded heart, and make
the weighed down spirit gladder than
all other blessings the world can hare.
-“She died," said Tolly, “and
never was scon again, tor she was
buried in the ground where the trees
grow.” “The cold ground," said the
child, shuddering. “No, the warm
ground,” returned Polly, “where the
ugly seeds are turned into beau'ifhl
flowers, aud whore good people turn
into angels and fly away to heaven.—
David Copperfield.
-Two men named respectively
Matthews and Gibson, became involved
in a difficulty at Huntingdon, on the
1 Nashville and Northwestern Railroad,
j la-t week, when Matthews struck bis
; antagonist a violent blow upon the
| head with the barrel of a large navy
revolver, breaking the skull and inflict
| ing a wound, of which Gibsou subse
quently i ed. Both parties are said to
have be< intoxicated at the time, and
Gibson reported to have declared
himsel*' " member of the Ku-IU ux K!an,
duritu ie quarrel which preceded the
I tragic -flair.
--
A CHttDS Ki.oqtmircx—Not long
i since, a little child, the only offspring
of her parents, looked up in her fath
er's face, and. with marked pathos and
f interest, asked : “Papa, will vou pray
for us to-night?” The father had beeu
absent from home, and from other
causes had too often neglected family
prayer. But these tender, eloquent lit
tle words of the little child stirred his
i heart, and tie promised the innocent
t prattler that ho would comply with her
request; which assurance seemed to be
received with grateful satisfaction. In
deed. how could he sav no ? How could
: he refuse to invoke Heaven’s blessing
upon his tender offspring?
Reader, do yon pray in your fhmily?
Do you allow any trivial excuse to pre
! vent you from offering praverregularly
I in your family ? Have not your chil
dren the right to expect—to demand
that you pray for them ? What a happy
influ’euco tnav such an example •cg.crt. .
1 upon yonr offspring. ■;