Our maledictions are for the living alone, and then we give them only when stern necessity demands it, and when we do, our work of duty is blended with regret, and would be recalled were it possible, and did not the outraged imperatively demand it.

To our Savior, we leave Awtry Before the Judge of mankind he will be arraigned for his guilty acts on earth, and the just voice of the Father, will pronounce on him the punishment he merits.
But one more character remains for us to notice.

Three or four times in the last twelve months a man dressed in the uniform of a Lieutenant of the Staff, and wearing a black crape around his arm, may have been seen with a little boy kneeling by the side of a grave in the cemetery of Jackson, Mississippi.

The grave contains two remains, but is covered over with one large brick foundation from which ascends a pure and stainless shaft of marble, with the following inscription on its snowy front: SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MY WIFE AND CHILD, EVA AND ELLA WENTWORTH.
"Their troubles o'er, they rest in peace." 1863.
A.W.
As our readers must perceive, the stranger and child, are Alfred Wentworth and his little boy.

About four months after the death of his wife, he was appointed Inspector General of a Louisiana brigade with the rank of first Lieutenant, and being stationed for awhile near Jackson, paid frequent visits to the city, and never failed on such occasions to take his son to the grave of his wife and child.