and it was only by the opportune arrival of a detective with the most decided proof of his guilt, that he was condemned to death.  Awtry received the sentence of the court with haughty indifference, and was led back to prison, to await death by hanging.  On the morning of his execution, the courage and obstinacy which had sustained him from the day of his arrest, gave way, and to the minister who edited upon him, he made a full confession of his having been sent to Mississippi as a spy for Sherman, and that he had already supplied that yankee General with valuable information of the strength and capacity of Vicksburg for resistance.  He was very much humiliated at being condemned to death by hanging and made application for the sentence to be changed to shooting, but the military authorities declined acceding to his demand, and he was accordingly hanged on the branches of a tree near Jackson.  A small mound of earth in an obscure portion of the Confederacy is all that is left to mark the remains of Horace Awtry.  The libertine and prosecutor of Mrs. Wentworth is no more, and to God we leave him.  In His hands the soul of the dead will be treated as it deserves, and the many sins which stain and blacken it will be punished by the Almighty as they deserve.  Black as was his guilt, we have no word of reproach for the dead.  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.  There, kneeling before the grave, the broken hearted soldier would