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POOR.
I;Y ran. PEMBKBTON JB.
, n dli.Ms tlit among the apple trees,
th pimpernel hum honey bees!
Matched them many a sunny hour,
|ii> ft. . before an adverse shower
\. and made mo want endure,
11wandering-—because so poor!
am - entwine their loving arms,
lis, but one another's charms ;
,'t friends, but sacrificed their smile
.dune ivreek'd me on a desert isle ;
,t u 11 how all was lost. I'm sure,
;iuti wanderer—for lam poor !
. ;; attire 1 view the passers by,
: .is | roud a mien, the same had I ;
a jiart this napless coat I wear,
...a a -tab is made by every stare,
. i. thing iu the wretched world can cure,
I'm a waudeiiu -1 am so poor!
music fills my ear, sweet as the bliss
._,!.t i* a dead sister's loving kiss :
1 m borne to days when 1 was young,
I- .us tunes li m out my harp strings sprung:
nutsic 1 my listless hands immure,
■ a ail of (a ymy m.ud forsakes,
• Kt.. nd or romance its dullness breaks,
- tropic fruits, nor llowi is can pleasure call
i who mourns so bitterly the loss of all
: . ist his happy -pint did allure,
lc was wondering not —and was not poor! j
- -un-ri.se, or sun-set at sea,
: .tract admiring words from me,
•mi if of the waters lashed by ti storm
in --t th of this deatl form,
a. :'ul skies my interest secure,
1 .a wanderer —and lam poor!
• ray church, close iu stliugby his side
lead- forth a trusting bride :
oi-d of Maud, a wife to mak<—
'
. ti I in affluence' wake :
rtv my love procure,
ing—for I was poor!
... I.'tlii alb the son my feet have trod,
11. n'.aiul s gloom to India's fertile sod ;
i a ion. pursued my track,
M . i J turned my footsteps back ;
• graces now my soul allure,
: r daily bread—but am not poor !
l anda, August 24, 1865.
kuUmumis,
BURIED ALIVE.
: loneiiing to be spending; the winter of;
- - car ut Gibralter, 1 one day, in the j
- ■ of my wanderings, found myself in
cemetery set apart for the burial of
angers, Protestants and the like, who
te not members of the Romish commun
f t was a bare and bleak spot enough,
- p.iatcd on very high ground, and there I
ir it much in the surrounding details I
picturesqueness of the graves, as j
: a t itiics is the case in foreign burial- j
c to interest a sight-seer, with one i
. ption. lit the extreme eastern corner, ,
.i on the most elevated ground, stood a
white cross of marble with the in- j
• - M. J.." on it, and the date of the per- j
death ; a wreath of flowers encircled i
. • it.iu--. and the grave was evidently!
v- iy • Hi fully tended and watched, pos- i
•- -- '. thereby a considerable contrast to j
in -- f tiic other strangers who liad found :
a ;■(.->!:ug place on the bleak rock.
" i-tt uck was I with the neatness of this j
iit :tl grave that, seeing an old work
ti u- ni' by, I asked him if there was any i
"ilar history attached to it, and if lie
wi the person was who was buried J
His answer did not give me much
mint! it, beyond the fact of its being the '
- iv- -1 an English lady who died there j
yi ars before, and whose husband paid
■ iud man) a small sum yearly for 1
p tii.it spot iu order, and supplying !
-- c,instantly with flowers.
' ■- :He incident had quite passed out
yt: cl as a matter too trivial to he -
.•uembering, till I was reminded of
•ip ; a startling manner a short time'
,r
' is staying at a country-house in
pp . the host and hostess being both
a i l and dear friends of mine, when
•• evening the conversation happened
i up ui the subject sufficiently cxcit
fiiiisu the most sleepy-inclined of the
• s into wakefulness. It was debated
••' t instances liad ever really occurred
i'ct having been buried alive —wheth-
■ any authenticat -d case could be
'■ a man who had fallen into a trance,
a in that condition buried, had af
'• - e tue to life for a brief interval,
had been suffocated in liis coffin,
as wen- pretty equally divided on
1 i- et, rite one party affinning that it
p ssilihg in the present state of
-eii ace, for anybody to meet with
• - n ible fate, and the other, though
. : tly unable to cite any examples,de
• g that they were sure such a thing
l.ajqj<-n, though tiny admitted at the
blue that cases of that nature would
~s bin ly to occur in England, where a
oil time elapsed before burial, than
' 1 -iitincnt, where the laws enforced
1 -t. tm.-nt of the body so soon after
• lUI - In the midst of the discussion the
:p v 4 the house, who had seemed to take
R'terest in one way or the other, sud
y surprised us all, by saying that if we
: : give In r our attention for a short
she would tell us a story on that
■ .pet, am] relate what had truly occurred
1 near relative of her own many years
K. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
VOLUME XXVI.
"You may have otten heard me mention,''
she said, turning to me, " my two cousins,
Charles and Frank Livingston, though 1
don't much think you have ever had a per
sonal acquaintance with either of them. It
is just now twenty years ago that they fell
in love with two of the prettiest girls in
A orkshire, sisters and heiresses, whose
names were Alary and Florence Arden. As
the progress of their love affairs had not
much to do with the gist of my story, it is
enough for me to say that everything went
on very satisfactorily, and that in due
course, and on the same day, Mary and
Florence became'the wives of my two cous
ins, Charles and Frank respectively. Mary
was the eldest sister, though .it the time ol
their marriage she was barely nineteen,
and, to my mind, the most taking and love
able of the two. Of course, Frank thought
differently, and perhaps it was as well he
did so.
" I need scarcely tell you that the happy
couples passed their honeymoon very pleas
antly in visiting various spots in England
and Scotland, and afterwards settled down
a few miles from each other in close prox
imity to the city of York itself.
" The marriages happened in the spring
of the year, and in the following autumn,
much to the delight of the two brides, it
was determined that a yatch should be
chartered for a few months, and the winter
spent in cruising about from place to place.
Their ideas chiefly pointed towards the
Mediterranean, as they one and all had a
great desire to visit Malta and Gibralter,
and moreover, if possible, to land in Africa
—the latter, 1 believe, merely that they
might have the satisfaction of saying that
they had once been there. Gibralter was
to be the first place on the list, and accor
dingly, after experiencing a rather rough
voyage, which tested their capabilities as
sailors to a considerable extent, they found
themselves anchored off that huge rock.
They saw all that was t > be seen in the
shape of fortifications, &c., and among
other places that they were taken to visit
was the bnrying-ground set apart for stran
gers who were not Roman catholics. Mary
Livingstone, who had been, so they after
wards recollected, silent and apparently
preoccupied all that day, when she first
caught sight of the cemetery started, and
seemed surprised. After they had looked
about them and lamented the general unti
diness that prevailed, she suddenly aston
ished them all by walking to oue corner of
the ground more elevated than the rest,
where she stopped, and, planting her foot
on a certain spot, said that she was going
to relate a curious dream she had had the
previous night.
" She dreamed, she said, first that she
was lying in the cabin of the yacht sick al
i most unto death ; that her husband and
| sister, standing by, seemed, by their ac
tions and gestures to imagine that she was
dead ; but though she was all this time
; conscious of what was taking place, yet
! she was utterly unable to move hand or
! loot, or to make any sound to attract their
j attention. In the second part of her dream
j she seemed to be carried on men's sboul
l ders, still perfectly conscious, along the
j road they had just traveled, that she passed
i by their aid into the cemetery, and that the
] men deposited their burden on that very
! spot where she then stood. A grave had
j been dug, apparently for her, she supposed,
; and she was buried, so it seemed to her in
i her dream, alive, but motionless, and pow
-1 erless to help herself in any way. The
j horror of her situation, as she was being
| lowered into the earth seemed to give her
! strength, and in the act of triving to cry
' out she awoke. What seemed curious to
j her was that, though she had never seen
the burial-ground before, or the spot that
led to it, yet, when she came to visit them
| the day after her dream, she found that the
reality was exactly like the dream."
" Well, but," I interrupted, " you hav'nt
j told us anything yet that—"
" Excuse me," replied our hostess, " but
I if you will do me the favor of waiting till I
! have finished my story you will find you
will have no reason to complain."
' " Her husband and her friends laughed
• at Mary for her evident belief in her dream
and ascribed the whole circumstance to in
digestion ; they did not, however, stay
| much longer in the cemetery, but returned
: to the yacht.
" Two days afterwards, and on the even
ing before that on which they proposed
leaving Gibralter, Mary Livingston was
j suddenly taken ill. A doctor was at once
sent for, who pronounced her attack to be
a slight oue of the cholera, assuring her
friends at the same time that they need not
' be under any apprehension ol danger.
Next day, however, her symptoms changed
for the worse, and so rapidly that betore
; evening it was evident that she was sink
ing very fast, and that no hopes could be
retained of her recovery. She died during
the night. Her husband, as you may im
agine was overcome with grief, but he had
tu stillo liis feelings, and settle .all things
connected with her funeral, which was ob
liged to take place on the evening of the
: very day after she died.
" All, as I was told afterwards, happen
| ed according to that dream of hers ; she
was carried along that.steep road, and her
i grave had been dug on the very spot where
but a few days ago she stood before them
full of life and beauty. But, strange to
' say, and almost incredible, neither her hus
hand nor her sister remembered the circum
stance of her relating her dream to them ;
and it was not till some six or seven months
afterwards that one evening, in the twi
light of their Yorkshire home, the memory
of the stroll through the burial ground and
the event connected with it flashed across
j the mind of the widowed husband. Re
morse at the thought of its now being all
too late was his first feeling, and then an
irrepressible desire seized him—a longing
| to see if his darling's dream had come true,
and if she had, in reality been buried alive.
As fast as it was possible for him to do so,
lie hurried to Gibralter ; it was with some
difficulty that he obtained permission to
have the grave opened, and when he had
succeeded he found that his worst fears
had been realized. There was no doubt
■ left in his mind that his wife had recovered
consciousness after she had been supposed
• by all to be dead, for the body was turned
■ i partly on one side, as if with the effort to
l free itself from the icy grasp of the tomb.
I From the date of that discovery he has
1 j never ceased to reproach himself for being
3 i in some part the cause of her death ; but
. lie has never ceased to wonder how it was
TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, FA., SEPTEMBER 7, 1865.
that the recollection of that dream of hers
passed so quickly from his mind, and was
not revived till so long afterwards.
" Her grave, he told me, is marked by a
white cross of marble, with the initials M.
L. on it, and the date of her death."
The tale of our hostess was finished; and
as she ended, the memory of that grave
with its wreath of flowers and the bleak
grave-yard came into my mind, and the
probability of the story more apparent to
me. I have told the tale as it was told to
me ; for myself I believe it to be true ; for
my readers, they must decide for them
selves.
The names, of course, have been altered,
as for aught I know to the contrary, some
of the actors in that curious dream are still
alive.
TIIK SHADOW I* THE VALLEY.
There's a mossy, shady valley,
Where the waters wind and flow,
And the daisies sleep in winter,
'Neath a coverlet of snow ;
And violets, blue-eyed violets,
Bloom in beauty in the spring,
And the sunbeams kiss the wavelet,
Till they seem to laugh and sing.
But in autumn, when the sunlight
Crowns the cedar covered hill,
Shadows darken in the valley,
Shadows ominous and still ;
And the yellow leaves, like banners
Of an elfin host that fled,
Tinged with gold and royal purple,
Flutter sadly overhead.
And those shadows, gloomy shadows,
Like dim phantoms on the ground,
Stretch then- dreary length for ever,
On a daisy-covered mound ;
And I loved her, yes, I loved her,
But the angels loved her too ;
So she's sleeping in the valley
'Neath the sky so bright and blue.
And no slab of pallid marble
Bears its white and ghastly head,
Telling wanderers in the valley
Of the virtues of the dead ;
But a lily is her tombstone,
And a dew-drop pure and bright
Is an epitaph an angel
Wrote in stillness of the night.
And I'm mournful, ever mournful,
For my soul doth ever crave
For the biding of the shadows
From that little woodland grave ;
For the memory of the loved one
From my soul will never part,
And those shadows in the valley
Dim the sunshine ol my heart.
HORRIBLE INHUMANITY.
Tin- Story of u Free Xegro in TenneMiee*
Every reader has shuddered on reading
of the awful murder of the aged Cappado
cian king by tiie victorious Herdieeas ; liis
whole being has th tilled with horror at the
recital of Nero's cruelties and Domitian's
crimes, and he has thanked the God of
Mercy that the light of civilization now
shines where the cloud of ignorance once
lowered. His heart has bled when the at
rocities of Florid and Caligula were storied
forth to him in all their damning fiendish
ness, but he lias said again, "Thank God,
this was ages ago, when might was right,
when men were blind and drunken, when
the weak were slaves, when the strong
held power by the " livery of seizin," when,
indeed, the earth was covered with a pall
of moral gloom and death. But a new era
has dawned ; the veil is lifted, and the full
light of reason and justice illumines a
world once enveloped in the mists and
shadows of supcrstitition and wrong. —
When wars come, and whole continents
tremble under the thundering tramp of
armed men, and the clash of steel, the an
gry shout, the yell of pain, and the dying
moan made the air hideous with discordant
sounds, he wept to see the ruin strife was
making ; but he said, " This is one of the
inevitable results of the exercise of reason
—it is through blood that truth is reached
when men differ. Peace comes —one
thought, one hope animates the hosts lately
arrayed the one against the other, and this
is the end of strife."
Thus men reasoned, until the great Am
erican Rebellion jarred the world. Cities
fell, fields were laid waste, homes desola
ted. Then came rumors of barbarous
deeds ; then, little by little, proof. At last
came the evidence of the prisoner at Ander
sonville, and the poor emaciated wretch
confined at Libby, The shrunken form,the
leaden eye, of the living told a truthful tale j
of suffering; and the myriad graves that j
marked the spot where tortured men were !
buried discoursed, oh ! eloquently, of cruel j
death. Men raised their hands to heaven
arid begged for mercy. Women wailed,and
children moaned, because the husband,
father, brother, son, lacked but the scrap
of meat, the pure cold draught,to make life
sweet while hope remained. But this poor
boon, the gift a pampered dog refuses, was
denied. Brave men died for want of food
where food was plenty; died of thirst where
rivers fiowed. Ever and anon came tales
ot cruelty too horrible to name, too fiendish
to believe ; but some were true, and one
which we have listened to until we thought
we were hearkening to a nurse's tale of de
mon wrath we give below. It is a simple
story from a poor and crippled son of Ham:
"My name is Richard Thomas Griffin ; 1
am 33 years old. I was bought by my
father, Thomas Griffin, from Mr Caldwell,
of Washington, who owned me until I was
quite a boy. In 1858, I think, Dr. Richard
Lee, who owned a farm on the Eastern
Branch, hired me as a body servant, under
the following conditions : I was to remain
with him ten years, to go where he did,and
to obey his orders. I was to receive at the
end of my term of service five hundred dol
lars, a horse, a saddle and bridle, and a
suit of clothes, and was to be taught read
ing and writing. When the bargain was
made, my father took me to the City Hall
in Washington, where I was recorded as a
free man of color. Mr. Naylor can show
the record. We (Dr. Lee and I) went from
Washington to Athens, Georgia, where the
Doctor held a farm of 350 acres. Here he
bought a family of slaves. He was en
gaged in business in Augusta, Georgia,
where he spent much of his time.
" Just after the war broke out, Dr. Lee
moved to Knoxville, Tennessee, where he
sold all his slaves, attempted to sell me,
RF.OARDI.ESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
and bought the Tennessee Hotel. The gen
tleman to whom he wished to sell me was
a Captain Arnold, of the rebel army, who
was shortly after captured by the Yankees
iu Kentucky. The owner of the hotel at
the time of the sale of the property was
made had a difficulty with Dr. Lee. Cap
tain Arnold told him of the attempt to sell
me to hiui ; and the inn-keeper, out of
spite to Dr. Lee, told me all about it. Af
ter working about the hotel, doing a little
of everything, I was hired by Captain W.
G. Gammon, a quartermaster in the rebel
army. He was under Major Glover ; was
a hard drinker, very profane, and very
rough. My duty was to haul forage from
Knoxville to the cavalry camps around the
town. In a few months the quartermaster
moved to Jonesboro, where his family re
sided, taking me with him. About a month
afterward the Yankees occupied Knoxville,
when we moved to Bristol, then to Seven-
Mile Ford, Virginia, where we remained
during the summer feeding the stock, in the
fall we went back to Jonesboro, afterward
to Marion, Virginia, where 1 was working
in the Confederate shops making horse
shoes. YVe returned to Bristol (on the line
between Virginia and Tennessee), and
during that summer I was employed as he
fore in the smithy. In the fall I was again
made teamster, and continued to drive a
wagon until we got to Jonesboro again,
when, becoming dissatisfied, and wishing
to see Dr. Lee at Knoxville, I made an at
tempt to escape through the rebel picket
lines. 1 traveled about twenty miles when
1 met two rebel cavalrymen, who arrested
me and took me back to Jonesboro. I was
carried to Captain Gainnton, who dismissed
the guards and sent me to my quarters. A
short time after, some of the hired men
came to me and took me to the post hospi
tal, where I slept that night. The next
morning, Dr. Williams came to me and
said, ' Griffin, you shan't run away again;
I'm going to cut your feet off.' He made
me drink something front a black bottle—
it was not laudanum, for 1 know the taste
of that—and I fell asleep. I awoke in the
night, and found that both my feet were
cut oil'. In the morning 1 began to feel
pain. Dr. Williams came in and looked at
me. He said, ' Dick, 1 tried to kill you—
you are a d —d hard niggar to kill—now,
I'll try to cure you.' lie dressed my legs,
and continued to do so until the Yankees
began to raid around Jonesboro, when they
moved the hospital, leaving me in charge
of a negro woman, who took care of me till
the Federals came in. When I was able to
move about on my knees, 1 was passed to
Knoxville ; then to Nashville to the Sol
diers' Home. I was advised to stay here
till Governor Brownlow came home. Some
body saw Governor Brownlow, and told
hiui of my case. He said he knew Captain
Gammon, and would try to hunt him up.
At Nashville the officers refused to give
me transportation to the North, as they
said it was against orders ; but two gen
tleman in the transportation office, Mr.
Birch and Mr. Gilson, a one legged man,
paid my passage to Louisville, and from
that place 1 was sent to Washington on a
Government pass."
This is the plain, unvarnished story of a
poor, mutilated colored man. His lan
guage we have followed as nearly as pos
sible. We have seen him. heard his story,
and cross-questioned him, but bis answers
are plain and unvaried His two feet have
i been amputated at the ankle, evidently by
some one skilled in surgery. He cannot
I walk, but is obliged to creep. For no
i crime but that oi an attempt to seek a bet
! ter home, a right which even in the South
I a free negro possesses, he has been made a
' cripple for life. It was not the ball of a
[ soldier's pistol, fired in anger, that made
this man a mere hobbling animal ; it was
j the skilful knife of an educated surgeon,
! applied in cold blood, at the suggestion of
a servant of the rebellion, no more culpa
ble, no more demoniac, than the operator
himself.
\Y e call upon Governor Brownlow to re
deem his pledge. We demand ol General
Fiske the fulfilment of his promise to find
the perpetrator of this fiendish act of cruel
ty. We call upon the Hon. Secretary of
War, in the name of justice and for the
sake of outraged humanity, to have the
parties to this hellish deed unearthed and
punished.
The victim of this terrible act of cruelty
lives at 212 K street, between Seventeenth
and Eighteenth, and is without the means
of support. Will the charitable make a
note of this? — Washington ChronirJe.
TITK SIMPLE SECRET. —Twenty clerks in a
store—twenty hands in a printing office—
twenty young men in a village. All want
to get along in the world, and expect to do
so. One of the clerks will rise to be a part
ner and make a fortune. One of the print
ers will own a newspaper and become an
influential and prosperous citizen. One of
the villagers will get a haudsome farm and
live like a patriarch.
But which is destined to become the lucky?
There is no luck about it. The thing is al
most as sure as the Rule of Three. The
young fellow who will distance his compet
itors is he who masters his business, who
preserves his integrity, who lives cleanly
and purely, who never gets in debt, who
gains friends by deserving them. There
are some ways to fortune that look shorter
than this old dusty highway. But the
staunch men of the community, the men
who achieve something really worth having
—good fortune, good name, and a serene
old age—all go this way.
THE youth that has the moral courage to
say I will not do it, because it is wrong, is
brave enough for a general. If he can,
even though taunted, rebuke his fellows
for evil acts, he is truly brave. Such a
character always moulds the elemeut of
minds around him, carrying almost unlimit
ed sway, and is respected by even the
worst of his playmates. It requires an
effort to stand for the right at times, but,
if it is successfully done, the road to honor
and truth is easy to travel, and by his ex
ample many are induced to walk in it.
This kind of bravery gives every boy a
conscience that stamps in bold characters,
purity of thought, highness of purpose, and
integrity of heart, upon his open brow.
PLEASURE is but a ball that a child ruus
after so long as it keeps rolling, but which
he kicks away from him the moment it
stops.
! THE ANDERSONVILLE JAILOR'S TRIAL.
PEN PICT CUES OF PLLISONEIL, COUNSEL AND COURT.
WASHINGTON, Aug. 21, 1865.
Scorned, loathed, despised, hated ol all
men and women, Henry Wit/., lute captain
in the armies of the so-called Confederate
States, sat in the midst of a strong guard
of soldiers, came down through the crowd
of citizens, soldiers and sailors gathered in
the halls of the basement floor of the Capi
tol this afternoon, to the rooms of the Court
of Claims, to be tried for his inhumanities
while in command of Andersonville prison.
One almost wondered that there was no
outraged soldier to take the law into his
own hands and shoot the miserable creat
ure as he walked with his guard, or sat on
the luxuriously cushioned lounge between
his counsel. That he was safe as any man
in the crowd is new evidence to the inher
ent worth of our humanity.
The rooms of the Court of Claims a large,
airy and pleasant, handsomely carpeted,
and furnished with plush-covered and easy
seats. The contrast with the horror of An
dersonville could not be greater. One end
of the room is occupied with a long table,
at which sit the members of the military
commission, with the tables for the counsel
and the reporters at the right of the Presi
dent court ; while in the other end of the
room are a dozen of these handsome lounge
seats. The room looks out through two
large windows into the leafy and pleasant
park west of the Capitol.
At the head of the long table sits Major-
Geueral Lew Wallace, president of the'
commission—small and dark, thin and lithe,
cold and bloodless in face, with the black
est of hair and the sternest of countenan
ces, with very long black moustache and
slight chin whiskers, and, chiefly, eyes that
seem never to sleep and never to see, and
yet whose observation nothing escapes.
Next him, on the right, is Brevet Maj.-Gen.
Gershom Mott—tall and straight as an ar
row, with the air and appearance of a first
class business man, or say a man who, hav
ing long been at the head of a leading re
tail store, has recently become a wholesale
merchant down town. Next to Gen. Mott
sits Brevet Maj.-Gen. Lorenzo Thomas, Ad
jutant-General of the armies of the United
•States—-a thorough soldier, yet easy,affable,
and pleasant ot face, with thin side-whis
kers and abundant white hair—an old man
who seems so carry a young man's heart.
Still lower down on the right sits Brigadier-
General E. L. Bragg, a black-haired and
dark-skinned officer of apparently 32 years
and 140 pounds, with full whiskers and
moustache,and a sort ofsquarishly cut face.
Last on that side of the table is Brevet
Colonel Thomas Allcock, of the 4th New
York Artillery—of complexion sandy ; of
face, wrinkled; of moustache and chin
whisker, reddish brown ; of hair, light and
curly ; of manner, earnest and cordial.
Next to the president of the commission on
the left of the table is Brevet Major-Gener
al John 11. Geary, of national reputation
even before the war began— a tall and
large man with wrinkled and genial face,
having the hearty and companionable ways
•of a Westerner, head slightly bald in front,
whiskers and moustache full and long, and
dark brown in color. Below him is Briga
dier-General Francis Fessenden—with linc
ly cut classical face, head prematurely bald
in front, eyes grayish brown and kindly,
moustache reddish and equal to General
Wallace's in length. Still lower sits Brevet
Brigadier-General John F. Ballier, Colonel
of the 148 th Pennsylvania—a man of Ger
man descent, probably, whose face is as
much like an Indian's in its general contour
as is that of the Indian chief on General
Grant's stall, whose eyes are small and
sunken and whose hair is just beginning to
show the gray. Last on this side is Lieut.-
Colonel J. H. Stibbs, of the 12th lowa—a
young officer of good-humored face and
easy Western manners. At the foot of the
table, and facing General Wallace, is Col.
X. P. Chipman, judge advocate, —tall,
straight, honest of face and pleasant of
voice, with light-brown hair and very long
and flowing sandy whiskers—a most cour
teous gentleman, and a clour-headed and
able lawyer.
Yet the central figure in the room is. af
ter all, this Swiss-American, Henry Wirz,
whom God probably made, and yet whom
no man thinks of as a brother. Is there
j family relationship among fiends ? Lotus
be thankful that this one cannot claim cith
er American birth or education- let us
mourn that the sister republic of Switzer
land must own his parentage. Wirz came
in with a quick step and a slight ly embar
rassed manner, lie is about free feet eight
in height, and of about 12b pounds weight.
He wears a black coat, dark vest, dark
brown pants with reddish tinge, and white
shirt. His appearance is slovenly, and he
is round-shouldered and stooping. His
head is high over the ears, wanting in the
rear, and deficient in the upper forehead.
His hair is dark brown, and he begins to
be bald in front. He has full whisker and
moustache, cut to about half an inch in
length. He is thin of face, dark of skin,
bloodless of lips, dark and very keen of
eye. His nose is thin and sharp, his mouth
straight and inelegant. There isn't much
of the original villain in his appearance,
though he looks like a man utterly without
conscience and ready to do, for a consider
ation, almost any infernal deed set for him
by a superior. He set with his legs cross
ed most of the time during the reading of
the charges and specifications, with his
right hand against his cheek in a precise
sort of way--—speaking a word now and
then with his counsel, and looking up occa
sionally to the soldiers who stood, with
bayonets fixed, on either side. He looks
like a man of 40 years,but has one of those
faces always deceptive about age. He an
swered "yes" and "no" two ot three times,
but it was not enough to show how well he
speaks English.
Messrs Huirhcs,Denver, Peck and Schade
are his counsel, of whom the first three
constitute oue law firm. Judge Hughes
was formerly on the bench of the Court of
Claims, was third counsel in the recent
Mary Harris "temporary insanity" case,
and is the leading counsel now. Tie is
short and square, smooth and florid of face
and bald of head, liis manner is colloquial
and prosy. Gen. Denver is ponderous in
body and in manner,and is reported a ready
and able lawyer. His hair is brown and
tunib'cd, his face leathery and wrinkled,his
; chin solid and double. Mr. Peck is a young
er man, and seems to have charge of the
$43 per Annum, 111 Advance.
papers in the case. lie is noticeable for
iiis broad forehead, large and sleepy eyes,
and a curl in the upper lip which may be a
sneer, and may be the result of a peculiar
conformation of the jaw. Mr. Sehade is a
foreigner, though probably not a German,
as many seem to suppose, lie is very stout,
very full in the face, very florid in complex
ion, very bald ofhead. Against this array
of counsel Judge Advocate Chipman ap
peared alone to-day. There need be no
fear on his account —though it is under
stood that lie will have assistance before
the week is over. DIXON.
THE SOUTHERN PEOPLE-
Gen. J. C. Baker, Special i'rovost Mar
shal of the war Department, who has re
cently returned from a trip through a por
tion of the Southern States, whither he
went on official business, confirms the re
ports of the utter destitution of the South
ern people, and of the desire to cheerfully
submit to the wishes of the Government.
The sufferings of these unfortunate beings
are almost indescribable. With a few ex
ceptions—all of which will come within the
$20,000 clause of President Johnson's proc
lamation—the people are actually starving.
In crowds they coma to the lines of the
railroads in the hope of picking up some
thing from the passing trains, with which
to hold body and soul together. There
they live in tents, huts, and mud-houses,
and even in many cases in the woods, with
out shelter of any kind. They have no
money.
A planter who lived near Andersonvile,and
owned before the war, two plantations and
forty seven negroes, declared that he could
no langer make a living in the South.—
When the rebellion commenced he yielded
to the pursuasions of his wife, and sold his
negroes and mules. But he invested the
proceeds in Confederate bonds, bearing
eight per cent, interest. lie felt perfectly
comfortable ; nad nothing to do ; and, be
ing beyond the age when lie could be con
scripted, reposed on his laurels, and took
life easy. Une day lie heard that " Mr.
Sherman," as all negroes called that dash
ing general, was coming, and he tried to
sell his Confederate bonds. To his utter
dismay, nobody would buy them at any
price, and, ju an hour, he found himself pen
niless. lie had, however, a patch of corn
and a few lings. He thought lie would try
to raise a little pork ; "But," said he. " I
fed them just as I did before the war, and
I'm if I could fatten them. They
were bound to keep lean. 1 can't fatten a
hog any lunger in this southern country,
and if anybody will buy my two plantations
1 will go north, and try to make a living
there."
Gen. Baker stopped at a log cabin to get
something to eat, The inmates were just
upon the verge of actual starvation. There
was a young woman of about thirty years
of age—she looked fifty—her mother, and
two children. The mother was slowly dy
ing of consumption. The daughter was
scarcely clad enough to hide her nakedness.
Her dress consisted of gunny bags sewed
together, fastened around her neck and
reaching to her knees, and even this miser
able apology for raiment was frayed and
tattered to rags. Two little children were
running about as naked as they were born.
The young woman said : "We were always
poor folks, but we could always get enough
io eat. Now we have nothing, and do not
know how we tire to live from day to day.
But we are as well oil' as the rest." A
good many of the people about there had
died, and the only cause was absolute star
vation.
The whole country was desolated. Gen.
Baker gave this poor woman five dollars,
and she begged that he would allow her
"old man" to go on his train up to Atlanta
to buy something to eat. The old man, on
being produced, was found hardly able to
drag one leg after the other—lie was weak
from hunger, lie went to Atlanta, was
furnished with transportation back, and
gained for himself and his family a week's
respite from famine.
In contrast to this misery of the poor
whites was the gorgeous and ostentatious
display of some of the uoueeaux riches of
the Confederacy—those who had been en
gaged in cotton stealing, smuggling, Inly
ing and selling Confederate bonds, and
dealing in the 'secret service' fund. It is
said that the mansions of these favorites of
the Confederate Government are most mag
nificent. The furniture is costly, and as
fine as can be procured in the world. Paint
ing's of rare value adorn the walls, and all
the appointments are of the most luxurious
and elegant description. The blockade
runners and tiie exchange brokers, who
have made great fortunes, but their gold
will eventually blister their hands
Gen. Baker questioned almost every per
son lie met as to his feeling in regard to
Jell' Davis. The feeling of bitterness
against him and all the leaders of the rebel
lion, was universal During the whole trip
he fouvrf butane man who was friendly to
the /'resident of the tale Confederacy. Every
body was either indifferent to his fate, or ho/e
cd he would be executed. The evidence ac
cumulates rapidly to show, that during the
last two years of the rebellion, Davis exer
cised a despotic sway over a people who
were ready to give up the fight and aban
don the confederacy. It is known that
many who are now considered to have been
among the leaders of the rebellion were op
posed to the obstinate and the persistent
course of Jeff. Davis. After Gettysburg,
Vicksburg and Chattanooga, they recog
nized their failure to establish a nation on
the foundation of human slavery. They
considered the fight hopeless, and were
anxious to stop the further effusion of blood
and prevent the inevitable impoverishment
of the country. The South, as well as the
North, recognize in Jefferson Davis the
prime mover of the rebellion, and the re
sponsible head of the cabal which ruled the
unfortunate destinies of the Confederacy.
Ax old Quaker lady was standing at her
counter one day, when a gay young girl
came in to engage a hair dresser for the
evening. She gave her order hurriedly
saying that she wanted a half dozen "rolls"
and butterfly on top, a " Grecian " or " wa
terfall " at the back, with plenty of "pull's"
and " curs," and ended with an injunction
to send along any quantity of " rats,"
" mice " and " cataracts."
" Poor child," said the dear old lady,com
passionately, looking after her as she de
parted-—" What a pity she has lost her
mind !"
LINCOLN'S FIRST DOLLAR-
One evening in the Executive Chamber
there were present a number of gentlemen,
among them Mr. Seward.
A point in the conversation suggesting
the thought, Mr. Lincoln said, "Seward,
you never heard, did you, how I earned rny
first dollar ?" " No," said Seward. "Well,"
replied he, " 1 was about 18 years of age.
I belonged, you know, to what they call
down South the "scrubs people who do
not own land and slaves, are nobody there.
Cut we had succeeded in raising, chiefly by
my labor, sufficient produce, as 1 thought,
to justify me in taking it down the rivei to
sell.
NUMBER 15.
After much persuasion I got the consent
of mv mother to go, and constiucted a lit
tle flat boat large enough to take the bar
rel or two of things that we had gathered,
with myself and little bundle down to New
Orleans. - A steamer was coming down the
river. We have, you know, no wharves on
the Western streams, and the custom was,
if passengers were at any of the landings,
for them to go out in a boat, the steamer
stopping and taking them on board.
1 was contemplating my new flat boat,
wondering whether 1 could make it strong
er or improve it in any particular, heu
two men came down to the shore in carri
ages with trunks, and looking at the differ
ent boats singled out mine, and asked,
' Who owns this?' 1 answered somewhat
modestly, ' I do.' ' Will you,' said one of
them, ' take us and our trunks out to the
steamer?' ' Certainly,' said I. I was very
glad to have the chance of earning some
thing. I supposed that each would give
me two or three bits. The trunks were put
en my boat, the passengers seated them
selves on the trunks,and I sculled them out
to the steamboat.
They got on board, and I lifted up their
heavy trunks, and put them on deck. The
steamer was about to put on steam again,
when I called out that they had forgotten
to pay me. Each of them took from his
pocket a silver half dollar, and threw it on
the floor of niy boat. 1 could scarcely be
lieve my eyes as I picked up the money.
Gentlemen, you may think it is a very little
thing, and in these days it seems like a tri
fle ; but it was a most important incident in
my life. I could scarcely credit that I, a
poor boy, had earned a dollar in less than
a day—that by honest work I had earned a
dollar. The world seemed wider and fairer
before me. I was a more hopelul and con
fident being from that time.— IV. D. Kelly.
PERIL OF A REVIVALIST. —An ancedote is
told of Fenny the revivalist, and a canaler,
to the following effect:
lie was holding forth in Rochester, and
in walking along the canal one day, come
across a boatman who was swearing turi
ously. Marching up, he confronted him
and abruptly asked :
" Sir, do you know where you are going
to ?"
The unsuspecting man innocently replied
that he was going up the canal on the
Johnny Sands.
" No, sir, you are not," continued Fenny;
" you are going to hell faster than a canal
boat can convey you."
Tite boatman looked at him in astonish
ment for a minute, and then returned the
same question :
" Sir, do you know where you are going
to ?"
" I expect to go to heaven."
" No, sir, you are going into the canal 1"
And suiting the action to the word lie
took Fenny in his arms and tossed him into
the murky waters, where he would have
drowned had not the boatman relented and
fished him out.
ONE DROP AT A TlME. —Have you ever
watched an icicle as it formed? You
noticed how it froze <>ne drop at a time un
til it was a foot long or more. If the wa
ter was clean, the icicle remained clear,
and sparkled brightly in the sun ; but if
the water was but slightly muddy, the
icicle looked foul,and its beauty wasspoiled.
Just so our characters arc forming, one
little thought or feling at a time adds its
influence. If each thought be pure and
right, the soul will be lovely, and will
sparkle with happiness; but if impure and
wrong, there will be iinal deformity and
wretchedness.
THE MEMORY OF A MOTHER. —When temp
tation appears, and we are almost persuad
ed to wrung, how often a mother's word of
warning will call to mind vows that are
rarely broken. Yes, the memory of a moth
er has kept many a poor wrech from going
astray. Tall grass may be growing over
the hallowed spot where all her earthly re
mains repose : the dying leaves of autumn
may be whirled over it, or the white man
tle of winter may cover it from sight ; yet
tiie spirit of her, when he walks in the l ight
path, appears, and gently, softly, mourn
fully calls to him, when wandering oft' into
the ways of error.
THREE IMPORTANT THINGS. —Three things
to love : courage, gentleness and affection.
Three things to admire ; intellectual pow
er,dignity and graeefullness. Three things
to hate ; cruelty, arrogance and ingrati
tude. Three tilings to delight in : beauty,
frankness and freedom. Three things to
wish for ; health, friends and a cheerful
spirit. Three tilings to pray for ; faith,
peace anu purity oi heart.
A JF.RSEY.UA x was very sick, and was not
expected to recover. His friends got ar
ound his bed and one of them says ;
" John, do you feel willing to die ?"
Jolm made no effort to give iiis views on
the subject, and answered with his feeble
A-oice " I think I'd rather stay
win re I'm better acquainted."
A CONTRAST. —Two centuries ago, says an
exchange, not one in a hundred wore stock
ings. Fifty years ago not ong boy in a
thousand was allowed to run at large at
night. Fifty years ago not one girl in a
thousand made a waiting maid of her moth
er. Wonderful improvements in this won
derful age.
A PHYSICIAN prescribing syrup of buck
thorn for an okl lady, wrote his prescrip
tion according to the usual abbreviation of
Ramus Cathartic us —"Syr. Ram. Cat." On
asking her if she had taken the medicine,
i she replied, in a great rage :
i " No, I ain'i: going to take syrnp of ram
cats for anybody under heaven."
A METHODIST and a Quaker having stop
ped at a public house agreed to sleep in
the same bed. Ihe Methodist knelt dow 11,
1 prayed fervently and confessed a long cat
alogue of sins. After he rose the Quaker
iobserved :
" Really, friend, if thou art as bad as
thou sayest thou art, I think 1 dare not
sleep with thee."
A GENTLEMAN had a bad memory ; a friend
knowing this, lent him the same book sev
en times over ; and, being asked after
wards how he liked it replied : " I think
it an admirable production, but the author
| sometimes repeats the same things,"