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0. WABP; Editor fa Proprietor, : f j The Ox-gaxx of the Itoanol77u" Albemarle Sections. JPBBOBIPIlfc, fa .f ' VOL II. i . -: MUKFREESBOllO, N. C., THURSDAY, MAY 3, 1877. J T NO. 27 Safe ? The battle-field f life Seldom know ft pause In strife,? Every path is set with snares, Every joy is crossed by cares, Brightest morn has darkest night, Fairest bloom has quickest blight, Hope has' but a transient gleam. Lore ia but a passing dream, iru9t is Folly's helpless waif ; Vho dare call their dearest safe ? ; But thou, though peril loom afar. What hast thou to do with war ? Let the wild stream flood its brink,! There's no bark of thine to sink, ; Let falsehood weave its subtle net, j Thou art done with rain regret, j Let Fortune, frown and friends grpw strange. Thou bast past the doom of change. We plan and struggle, mourn and chafe Safe, my darling, dead and safe I The Settler's Escape. There are many incidents (connected with the early settlement of Kentucky, that have not as yet been touched upon ry the sketch-writer or thej novelist, much as has been written of those days ; and the following adventure, Avhich we now give to the reader, lis one of those that have for so long ai time lain buried, and are now for the jfirst time brought before the gaze of jthe great public. "1 . . J Among those that regarded them selves as living within the confines of Boonesboro, though so far from the sta tion that bore the -name of fi:s founder in to be almost entirely unprotected by it, was a settler known by -the name of Dick Turner. He had built: (his cabin on the very outskirts of he settle ments, and with his wife and three children, had for tjwo years lived in piece And quietness, unmolested by the savages that were at all times in greater or less numbers abroad on the war-path. Their nearest neighbor was half a mile away down the river, o it'of sight and hearing; and, had it not been for the smoke that every morning curled above the tree-tops, one would not have known, standing in the doDr-way of Dick Turner's cabin, that thjis was the only settlement for miles around, for oh v very side was the forest, unbroken and solemn as in the days before Daniel Boone led the 'first 'party of hardy ad veuturers over the Cumberland Moun tains. One afternoon, the last of August, as Dick was at work in his "clearing," (and, as it chanced, -at a point as far 'from the cabin as was possible for him to be without being in the forest), he was startled by the sudden appearance of half a dozen Indians, hideous with war-paint, who surrounded him almost before-: he could spring .and err 'A n his the iitle. that he always carried into field when at work. Startled by their sudden ajppearance, he made a motion toward it: Out a heavy hand was placed upon' his shoul "iTer, and its owner said, in broken Eng lish, "White man go with usL" w "No," said Dick, looking nim full in the face. "Can't do that ; much work to do." And he pointed at what hje had been doing, and then he cast a wistful glance at his rifle, which was now iiji the hands of one of the savages. "Come," said the savage, ttie one who appeared to be the leader, as well us the onlv one who knew la--word of Knglish "White man must go. Dick glanced towards the cabin, and faw his wife standing in . the doorway, apparently in great alarm at his situa- tion. ' The savages saw herb and after a word or two between themselves, three of them started in thatj direction. . Unperceived by his captors, Dick made a sign that his wife fortunately understood, and she disappearad withint closing the door in such a manner tha, the savages failed to obtain admittance, as Dick saw, to his great joy, when, after trying it for a few moments, they hastily returned and joined jthe others. Evidently small in point cf numbers, they cared. not to waste thej time that would be necessary fop a siege; so they had desisted from their ettorts to make raptives of the woman and children. "Come," said the savage, laying ins hand on his captive's shoulder; and Dick, who had felt-his heart rise that his loved ones were left behind, went almost cheerfully into tliei forest, in which the shadows of night were al ready beginning to gather, ciasting only one backward glance at 'his home,-to w onder when he would see it again. Then he resolutely put his face for ward for the fate the future had irt store for him. The future might be a long captivity, or it might be : death ; yet, as he walked between his captorsand the shadows grew deeper about iim, a hope was in his heart that he might escape, perhaps before the sun should rise on the morrow. J J That night was a long and weary one to the settler. Evidently they feared pursuit, and .stopped not for rest or food until the sun jwas iau! hour high, the next day. Then, as ifj feeling se rure, they had a long halt; piade a fire, and lone of the number shooting a deer, they cooked and enjoyed a plentiful re past). I .:'.! - . r;; Thus far, the savages! had used him well, only taking the precaution! to bind his hands behind his backj in such a manner that he found it impossible to use them In the least. They had been very considerate of his cOmfOrt; and he determined, by apyfearing as cheerful as possible, ' to drive away Ifrom their minds any thoughts' the might have of auy unwillingness to accompany them, o that his chances of escape might be better; though their suspicions were constantly on the alert. 1 I M In this manner the day passed, and with the first shades of evening, they made preparations to encamp. Afire was made as they reemed to consider . themselves so far frpm the settlements, that they need fear no danger fom the 1 party soon broughtin-gamnough to afford them a generous surffier. This cooked and partaken of. ; thev all lay: down to rest, Dick with a savage uu turner suie oi.nim, so close that he could not stir without their being aware of the motion ; and, as an extra precaution they, had bound his feet to gether; as tightly as his wrists, and the prisoner s neart. began to sink within him as it had not done before; for he saw, while thus bound, no possible chance of escape offered to him. A couple of hours passed, and still Dick had not closed his eyes. One af ter another of the savages dropped off, as he knew bv their hard. reerular Dreatnin?. Utltll at last. IIP! WAS tll nnlV 1 T J . ' . ojicofthe group who was not asleep. Oh ! if his hands were only free, how soon he would be at liberty again ! He pulled upon the thongs with all his power, until they cut deep into the flesh, like the keen edge of a knife ; and at last, to his great joy, he found out that the knot that held his left hand had slipped a little. Another strain, and it; moved a little further; and with another, it was parted so far asunder that, with trifling exertion he pulled his hand through. The savage lying on the left side of him moved ; and he lay perfectly mo tionless, almost holding his breath, with his hands under him asj when con fined. But the Indian only stretched himself a little, and then .was off to sleep again, lick uuw we in u woikio iree nis t: i. j. r j j i other hand ;, but the knot w as drawn so hard that, even with the help of the other, he found it impossible to do so. He remembered his pocket-knife, that he had given to his boy to play with, upon ' going out to work, the af ternoon of his captivity. If he had it now, how quick he would be a free man !; The moon haftwsen, and was shin ing down througthef branches of the trees, and he sawJ rays glittering on the blade of a knife, ih. thej belt of the savage that had so recently moved. It was a desperate undertaking, but his situation required desjierate mea sures. With the utmost caution, he stretched out his liberated hand, and slowly drew the knife from its resting-place. The Indian never stirred, andr his deep breathing told Dick that he was sleep ing soundly.' A moment more, and he was lviner with the cords cut from his limbs, with none ot the for his motions. savages wiser Xovv came the most . difficult part of the operation to rise to his feet and get beyond the confines of the) camp-fire, without awakening any of Jrls captors'. But Diok proved &qual ti tho omer. gencyV Slowly arid with the utmost caution, he rose upon hisj hands and knees. The snapping of ja twig, .he knew, would betray hirn to the watch jul ears of those about him.i I On his feet at last, he stepped over the sleeping savage whose knife he held in his hand, and slowly approached the Indian bv whose side his rifle was 1 XT I t o". That he did not mean "to leave he would need it for his own protection, and to procure food with, before he would regain the settle ment. Stooping down, his hand was upon it, when the savage, awakened by the slight motion he made, essayed to spring to his feet. ' That action cost him his life, for Dick plunged the knife he still held in his hand into his breast, amd he fell back with a deep groan. All . caution was now needless, for every sav&ge was'a wakened, and snatch ing up his rifle, .Dick sprang out into the forest, followed by a war-whoop from the lips of every redskin. A moment only was required to show them the situation, and to shake off the sleep that hung heavily oh their eye lids, j They saw their dead comrade on the ground, and caught a glimpse of their prisoner, as he sprang away.' Then, with another , fierce war-whoop breaking from their throats, they started in pursuit. ' ' i , Dick's blood ran cold, as he heard the shouts that ran through the forest; and well he knew that, if he again fell into their hands,, he need expect no mercy, for they would avenge the death of their comrade by the most fiendish of. tortures. With only a few- paces the start, he knew he had not much ; chance of esrape ; but, slim as the chance was, he determined to make the best possible use of it. For half a mile, about the same dis tance was kept between ! them ; amd then, in spite of all his efforts, they gained upon him, and he knew that in a few minutes more he would be in their power, unless he could manage to deceive them in some manner, and get them on another track. The part of the forest he was now in was j very dense, so that only a few straggling moonbeams found their way here and there through the tree-tops. Xo Indian Avas yet in sight; though they, were scattered on ) every side throughout the forest, trusting more to the sense of hearing than to the trail made. A large tree lay on the ground before him, and as he passed the trunk, he saw there was a cavity - sufficiently large for him to force his body into it. I :' ' " :i';!i' ' This was the hiding-place he sought, and he at once availed himself or it. Placing his rifle in before him, f he forced his way in for a distance of per haps twenty feet, where he lay per fectly 'quiet, though almost afraid the beating of his heart w ould" betray him to his enemies. Ilardly was he safely ensconced, when he heard the footsteps of the Indians, as they hurried by. In a few moments, theyjhad died away; and for the first time since he had plunged the knife in the breast of the savage, he experienced a sensation of relief. ; Still, he knew that he could not re main where he was but a few moments, until assured that they had all passed by for ere long they would discover J whites and a couple of T the . ,1 F ' -JS J . I I l i . : - - -"" ' 1 ii .i in - their mistake, and return to look for his trail. He must emerge ; and, by striking out in an opposite direction from that which he had been pursuing, he hoped to elude pursuit. j Five, ten minutes passed, and Dick was on the" point of emergiiig fromihis hiding-place, when he was startled by the sound of a footstep above his head. An Indian was walking along the trunk, and he could hardly fail to see the cavity and the signs he had made in : torcing an entrance to his place. hidingr- The settler again gave way to despair, which was augmented a moment after, as the savage gave a shrill whoop,! to call his companions. i hen he knewjtoo W'Pll that Ilia rptrnaf U'QS rlcnravail -ttm..m . . ' Dut ne lay .periectly quiet, hoping, that he against his better judgment, might yet succeed in escaping. In a few momenfs he knew, by! the sound qf feet, that the savages were all t6gether, and he heard a consultation, not one worl of which he could under stand ; but he was not long left in fiiisnpnsfi as tn wVmt. itVinir had asrreed upon. He heard some at work at the entrance of the trunk, while others were heaping brushwood above him; tmd he knew, by this, that his "hiding place was discovered, and that the sav ages intended to burn him alive inside the tree. To describe the terrible agony that convulsed the heart of the settler, as he became aware of the object of his enemies, is more than our pen can do. He was not afraid to die ; but a death by fire is one from which the bravest would shrink. There was no chance of dying by suffocation, for the tree was full of seams that admitted the air. Xo, death would not come to his relief, until the red flames should wrap his body like a winding-sheet. And this would not be quickly done. Hours must elapse before the flames would reach him. The tree Was a resinous pine, and would burn briskly ! for awhile on the outside; but the interior of the trunk was danip, ! and would not catch so readily. The torture would only be the more prolonged. jDeath Would come at last; but not umtil it had been experienced; as it were, a dozen times by the unhappy man within. Higher and higher the red flames rose, as the dry brushwood was heaped upon the glowing pile. I Like so many spirits of evil, the red demons worked at their terrible task. To avenge their comrade was grimly in their minds; and as the minutes went on, they list ened for some shriek to come from the flames, to delight their savage hearts. And our friend in his fiery prison, lhw hore hp. the terrible ordeal ? Already he could feel the heat, and i moments more it would be insupport able. Oncehe had tried to escape from his shell, but found that thel aperture had been so securely closed, up that it was impossible. Death by their arrows would, he thought, have been better than by the flames; but this was denied him. i Hotter and hotter it became, until he felt a stinging on his; leg, as liel lay upon his side. ! A place had burnt through, and the terrible torture had begun. now The end was not now far away; and, with thoughts of his wife and children up permost in his breast, he waited for death. j Higher and higher rose the red flames, as the savages ! worked steadily for the death of their victim; but it was fated that theirs was to be accomp lished first. ! A loud report and a volley of bullets came ringing through the leaves, and the five savages fell to rise no more. ! The next moment, a hdozen of Dick's neighbors from the settlement, j who had been in pursuit all the past day and night, rushed forward, and an ex- ciamauou oi uisappoiimiieui. icu;iiuiu their lips, as they saw nothing of the object of their search. ! At that instant, the report of a rifle rabg out, as if from the centre of the fire, startling them back again; but the next moment, the one j)t them who nad been examining thefjend of the tree, that as yet was untouched by. the fire, exclaimed, "Quick, boys ! tear j away the fire. He is in this trunk, and the redskins were roasting him alive." I With a will, the brands were scat tered in the forest, and in a few mo ments Dick was hauled out, more dead than alive, though not much burnt; and afterwards, whenever he told his story, he always said that his rifle saved his life, the heat causing it to be discharged just at the right moment. The Alpine Horn. The Alpine horn is an instrument made of the bark of a cherry tree, and like a speaking trumpet', is used to con vey sounds to a great distance. When the last rays of the sun gild the summit of the Alps, the shepherd who inhabits the highest peak of these mountains, takes his horn, and cries, with a loud voice, "Praised be the .Lord." As soon as the neighboring shepherds hear him they leave their huts and repeat these words. The sounds are prolonged many minutes, while the echoes of the rocks repeat the name of God. Imagination cannot picture anything more solemn or sublime than such a scene. During the silence that succeeds, the shepherds bend their kuees and pray in the open air, then repair to their huts to rest. The sunlight gilding the tops of these stupendous mountains, upon which tbe vault of heaven seems to rest, the mag nificent scenery around, and the voices shepherds sounding from rock to rock the praises of the Almighty, fill the mind of every traveler with enthusiasm and awe. 1 f . ' 1 - i - I i - I I t I " i A Romantic Relic. once had pointed out to had me, at Pealo's old museum in Philadelphia, a bowf and quiver which had a history. What became of the articles when the curositie8 of that museum were divided I do not know. ! An African prince, captured in bat tle, begged so hard that his bow and quljrer, jvhlch had' been his father's might be left In his possession, that his request was granted. Captivity; of cOupse, meant slavery. For a beggarly sum he was sold by his black captor to a slaver, and In time found his way to South, Carolina, where he 'became the property of Colonel Motte. He brought his jbbw and quiver with him, and in his new home, with arrows fashioned by his own band, he brought down many a c hoice bit of game for his master's tabl e. The slave was strong and re markably intelligent, as well as willing, and as tbje master was kind and humane, thej life of the dusky prince was ! far from unhappy or irksome. The whole family prized him, and he, In turn, be came strongly attached to them. At length the slave died, and after be had gonei, his bow and quiver, tble story f which! he had often told in eloquent language, were preserved as relics of the faithful servitor in the colonel's fam ily,) for the family could not but grate fully remember the services, the forti tude and the unswerving fidelity of the strong and gentle Iambo. During' the Revolution, Colonel Motte tell while fighting for liberty. In the campaign of 1781 his widow was driven from herj house on the Congarees river, and the place was turned into a British garrison and strongly fortified. In time this'gairison was besieged by a detach ment of the American army, but its de fenses were so strong that the force was not' sufficient to take it by assault. The American commander, who was a South Carolinian, and an old time friend of thej Motte family, went to the widow, now living in a poor hut within sight of her stately mansion, and told her that the preservation of her house and property was the only Impediment to the capture of the British. Whaifc would you do?" asked Mrs. Motte. , 'fSet he mansion on fire and burn them ou" was the officer's reply. 'And how will you set it on tire?" I have not yet thought, Madam. I had regard for your wishes in the mat ter, and wished first to consult you." The widow reflected awhile and then asked : "When would be a favorable moment for applying the torch?" This very night, after the sentinels ar posted, and the rest of the garrison asleep." ' Make your arrangements," said the patriotic woman, "and at your signal I will set the house on fire for you." You?" "Yes. ; I will do it." Tb& officer saw that she was in earnest and he went his way to make prepara tions. And then the widow went at her work. One of the children had brought avay with them from the house lambo's bow and q,ui ver of arrows. The arrows were long and finely made, with steel heads and delicately feathered shafts. With a lot of loose tow she made torches of jthe arrows, the prepared heads of which she set in a pail filled with spirits of j turpentine. jA.t eleven o'clock that night the Amer ican commander came and told Mrs. Motte that all was ready. Taking the pail, with the soaking arrows in her hand, she called upon her stout servant to attend her. He was a powerful fel low, and nsed to the bow. Arrived at a favorable locality, she opened her lantern, and lighted a pitchwood splin ter. Then the servant fixed an arrow toj-ch to the bow string, and the widow set the inflammable tow on fire. In an other instant the fiery messenger was sped on its way, and it alighted upon ihe roof of the mansion, far from the immediate reach of the garrison. Py the time five of these ignited torches had been surely landed upon different parts of the roof, the mansion was in names beyond the power of the aroused inmates to subdue them. jA.nd yet the brave, noble woman did not lose much of her property. The British, fearing a horrible death by fire, laid down their arms and surren dered, and joined with their captors In extinguishing the flames, which was accomplished before the fire had ex tended below the garrets. r Turning Into Cats.. Once there was a law that, on a cer tain day, when the meeting house bell rang for noon, j everybody should turn into a cat. . r Some people don't believe this is true j but you ask the ; children and the barn 8 wallows.! Well, and so you may be sure It was great fun to sit upon the big granite rock on the side of Deer Hill and see them turn, just where they , were and whatever they were doing, at that very minute! - The minister's son had come into the study, with his hat in his hand, and said:- j ' . : J "Shall Cornelius and I, sir, take our scythes, sir, and go out and mow a little while, sir?" And then Mr. Fadyon's fool caught hold of the bell-rope. Mr. Fadyon's fool knew some things as well as anybody; and he knew how to ring the bell exactly when the sun dial apd the noon-mark and his grand mother's eight-day clock said it was noon. j So Ming, dong!" went the bell, and it was only a .Maltese kitten that had hold of the rope! Jus; at that hour, Aunt Patty was out in her gafden hoeing weeds, with an old hat of Uncle Rodney's tied on her head; and she began to turn, first her nose and then her chin. They were very long and sharp when she was Aunt Patty, and they grew short and.snubby, and whiskers began to start, and her ears pricked up as though she heard something,' and then, quicker than you could say "scat I" she was a spotted cat chasing Deacon Davis's hens, that were trying to -sneak through the garden fence with the old rooster's spurs on. After scaring them half out of their feathers, she kept on through Mrs. Dea con Davis's cat hole, and up in the back chamber, where she prowled about and sniffed in all the dark corners and be hind! the old tea-chests and barrels. When she j was Aunt Patty she always had mistrusted whether or no Mrs. Dea con Davis hadn't some cobwebs and poke-holes out of sight, for all that she kept! everything looking neat as wax on the outside. And then the minister's son jumped with one spring on the minister's hair and clawed off' his glasses, for he liked rough ways and mischief as well as any boy,! only he had to be proper because he was the minister's son. The minister looked around solemn andtdignified, a good deal astonished; and then his glasses grew rounder and rounder, and his arms grew slenderer and slenderer ; and then he seemed to wink all over; and then there was .a great black cat, with a white spot on his throat and a. white face and four white feett, sitting in the study-chair, snap ping at the flies, with one paw on a vol ume of Jonathan .Edwards' sermons. It was a great change for the minis ter! But as for Mrs. Deacon Davis, she didn't seem to need to alter hardly a biti Hi r eyes were the mildest skim milk before, much more faded 'than an old cat's eyes ; and her hair was pale buff and sort of furry. Aud she had a way of rubbing herself against the side of her chair as she talked along In a kind of purr-purring tone. Sjie stopped work for the first time in her life, though, and taking her yellow ipaws out of the wash-tub, went to chasing dandelion down. But as soon as ten clocks anywhere in town struck one at the same second, all the cats turned back to people again ; and you ought to have seen how sur prised they were to catch themselves doing such odd things.' Aunt Patty was rummaging through the minister's wife's! bureau-drawer among her ! best clothes; andj bad as that looked in a cat, it looked a thousand times worse In Aunt Patty, with Uncle Rodney's hat still on her head and a hoe under her arm. . Mrs. Deacon Davis was curled up asleep In the rocking-chair, and sue rubbed her eyes and put her hands In ttie wash-tub again, and didn't know anything had happened. She wouldn't bliev It now If you should tell her. Only," when her clock struck one (it was always a little slow), she felt grieved to see a few cat's hairs on her chair -cushion, and to find she had lost so much good time right out of the heart of the day. "But then," she ttiought, "my nap has rested me up completely, and with such poor health as I enjoy, I do suppose I needed it. And, all is,; I must work the smarter to make up." I The minister looked most astonished to find himself playing with a large brown, limp rat. "It Is very extraor dinary! I Most remarkable!" said he. "teloriana! he continued, turning to the black serving-maid, who was swing ing herself jdown from the cherry-tree, where, a moment before, she had been a black kitten, chasing a squirrel. VtHorianallyou may take this dead ani mal and bury the creature in the gar den. It will act as a fertilizer." -I And then he began to walk up and down the footpath, from the door to the gate, with tils hands behind him, and to think over the heads of his next ser-; mon., - i jOn the whole, it was funnier when the cats became people than when the people became cats ; they were so sur prised and shocked to find where they were and what they were doing: St. Nicholas, .-j ' ; :' . We are what we must, 'and not what we would be. One hour assures not another. The will and the power are diverse ' FOOD FOR THOUGHT. As we are, so we view the world. Air of itnnortance On'a first brfttli Children are the to-morrow of so- ciepy.V: L Pity Yalden, the tenderest part Of love. Order gave each thing view. Shales- pe-are. j 1 , Friendahiri pere.. 1 : ... Is full of dregs. Shakes- 1 We caiino ; do evil to others without doing It to o irselves. -"' Few men s re raised In our estimation by being too closely examined. )'.' v No gift, however divine, profit those who neglfect Kb cultivate them. ; ! Amdngjall forms of mistake, prophecy is the moac gratuitous. George Eliot . "jYhat we know1 here is very little, but what we are ignorant of is immense. A; grain weight of sincerity and pracv is worth a talent of knowledge. Prayer as a shield to the soul, a sacrl fleets to God, and a scourge to Satan. Bufijah. fl You cannot prove a thing to be good or I beautiful to a man who has no idea of Its excellence. Many persons are mOre desirous to know what! thev should do. than to do wliit theji k ow. r There ajre any who talk on frpm Ig- nofance rat er than from knowledge, d in the former an luex- and, who fi haustible uilid of conversation. ' To negl fori death ct at any time, preparation to sleep at our post at a is siege ; to dm t it in old age is to sleep at an attack. ' Fair ( SOMIJ1 In your fine frame hath love no qua Uv? If the quick .fire of youth light not your mind, ybu are no maiden, but a monument. Shakespeare. The persOri who has a firm trust in the Supreme BHng is powerful in His power, wise py liis wisdom, happy by His! happiness. . I 1" ' ' : - ' . Then you feel as If vou have violated a riule of propriety, you feel ashamed ; wtjen of pjruclence, regret; when a rule of right, you feel remorse. I look upon an able statesman out of business like a huge whale, that will emleavor to overturn theship unless he hasjan empty eask to play with. Steele. ; i is thefamends of a short and trou blesome life that doing good and suffer ing; ill entitle man to one longer ' and better.- William Penn. 1 1 God is Ihe only being who has time enough ; tiut a prudent man who knows make shift to find as much as he needs. ;,owell. j 1 1 i'he difference between a fashionable hat and a fashionable bonnet is very simple! One is worn over the ear and thb otherf ii worn on the nape of the nelck. ;.t 1 1 ' . ; i ' firbitraf-y power is the natural object temptation to a prince, as wine or 1 woman toa young fellow, or a bribe to a judge, or; avarice to old age, or vanity ,to a womajn .-. j f- No man is poor who does hot think himself so. But if in a full fortune, wjth i impatience he desires more, s he proclaimsihls wants, and his beggardly condition j -; j j The Chief secret of comfort lies In dot suffering trifles to vex us, and in pru dently cultivating our undergrowth of small pleasures since very few great ones, alasi are let on long leases. ' i i f i It is never too late with us so long as wa are still aware of our faults, and bear tneni Impatiently ; so long as aspi rations,! oa;er for conquest stir within us -Jacdtii. i ' ' feo great is the effect of cleanliness upon man 'hat it extends even to his moral character. Virtue never dwelt long with filth; nor do I believe there ever was a person scrupulously atten tive to cleanliness who was a 'consum mate villain, ; The! custom in Eastern Turkey la to remove the boots and shoes on entering church. An American saw at Anital, Turkey, i,200 boots and shoes at the door of a eliurch presenting a very curl ous sight, j The men go in barefoot, but keep their: ,tiats on. , Envy cannot be hid. It accuses and judges w thout proofs ; it exaggerates j defects; its conversation is filled with gUl, exaggeration and injury. It stands out with obstinacy and with fury against striking rnerit. It is hasty, insensible arid brutal, j. , , . j Botanis ts have a class of plants which tney name incompletes; we might ln; sime senp speak of incomplete, imper fect menf those, namely, whose long ing ar)d struggling, are not in propor tion to trieir doing and performing. QoethL I - - j I 'I 1 ' i j The: faithful devoted Christian la all hearted ness. While others do things cpldly and without interest, he puts his whole soul into his labor, and does it with hearty good will and with a vigor ous healthy zeal, because he loves to do lii Murray. If 'Storml king," the highest of the Illglilandfpeaks, is 1,529 feet above tide watjer. i The chain which was stretched across the river at West Point in war time waif 1,350 feet long, and was manufactured from ore obtained near Bear mountain, which is 1,350 feet high singular coincidence. Two persons were once disputing so lAiidlv on the subiect of religion that they awoke a big dog, which had been sleeping on the hearth before them, and he forthwith barked most furiously, An olid dl vinejpresent, who1 had been quietly -sipping his tea while the disputant Were talking, gave the dog a kick, and exclaimed, "Hold your tongue; you sllly brute I You know no more about At than hey do.
The Albemarle Enquirer (Murfreesboro, N.C.)
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May 3, 1877, edition 1
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