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VOLUME XXI. ATHEISTS, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, SEEPR 2, 1874. NUMBER 22. by JOHN H. CHRISTY. DEVOTED TO NEWS, POLITICS, AGRICULTURE, EDUCATION AND GENERAL PROGRESS. the SOUTHERN WATCHMAN priiLlSUED EVERY WEDNESDAY. Oji er rorf.fr of ltroad am I Wall Strrrts, (up-itairt.) 'l’EHMS. TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM, INVARIABLY IS ADVANCE. ADVERTISING. Advertisements will be inserted at ONE DOLLAR AND FIFTY CENTS per square for tae first inser tion, sod SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS per square for iftoatoniiausnce. for soy time under one month. For l 0 ar«rperi<>Is. a* follows: 7^- A liberal le iuction on yearly advertisements. LEGAL ADVERTISING . Skeriff’* sales, perlevy of 10 lines .. $500 •• mortgage sales, 60 days... 5.00 Sales. 4i) tars, by Administrators, Executors, or ii'jariians 6.50 Citations of Administration or Guardianship 4.00 JCalic* to Debtors and Creditors- 5.00 fales Nisi, per square,each insertion.- 1.50 L#are to sell Real Estate— 4.00 Ctuthnfor dismission of Administrator 5.00 “ ** * 4 Guardian 5.25 To ascertain the number of squares in an advertise ment or obituary, count the words—one hundred being equal to teu lines. All fractions are counted as full iqa&res. PROFESSIONAL AND BDSINESS CARDS. LAKIR C'JiB. A. S. ERWIN. HOWELL COBB,JR. /HOBB, ERWIN Je COBB, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. ATHENS, GEORGIA Office in the Deupree Bailding. Dec21 B ANKRUPTCY.—Samuel P. Tlmnnond, Attorney-nt-!.aw. Athens, Ga. O'fireon Broad •irtet,occr ntort of Barry A Son. Wifi give special attention to cases in Bankruptcy. Al io. to the collection of all claims entrusted to his care. TAMES K. LYLE, 0 Attors*t at Law, WATKINSVILIE, GA. TIIH.V M. MATTHEWS. 0 Attorney at Law, Danielsviilc. Ga. Prompt mention will be ijiven to any business en- •estei :o his care. Marchl4. E ngland & our. Wholesale and Retail Dealers, and COMMISSION MERCHANTS, Dupree Hall.Broad St, Athens, Ga. We are now prepared to store Cotton at 25 cents per kale, and will advance cash when desired. Oct2S. TT'XGLISH A- CLASSICAL SCHOOL, For Boys. cor. Wray and Lumpkin sts., Ath ens. 0%. apS—3m LEE M. LYLE, Prin. T u. HUGGINS, fj • holesaleand Retail Dealer in DRY GOODS, GROCERIES, HARDWARE, de. F*bl6 Broad Street, Athens, Ga. TOHN II. CHRISTY, tl PUin and Fancy BOOK AND JOB PRINTER, Broad St., Athens, Ga. Office corner Broad and Wall streets, over thestore James D. Pittard. tf PAVILION HOTEL, -L CHARLESTON, S. C. This FIRST-CLASS Hotel is situated in the very leatre of the business part of the city, and all who Slop there will find every convenience and luxury that •aa t»e procured. Board, per day, $3.00. R. Hamilton, S*pt. Mrs. L. H. Butterfield, ) Dee22 tf Propriety**. I QUMMEY ic NEWTON, O Dealers in Foreign and Domestic HARDWARE, Jane# No. f>,Broad street. Athens, Ga. S C. DOBBS, • Wholesale and Retail Dealer in Staple and Fancy DRY GOODS. GROCERIES, Ac. Fab? No. 12 Broad Street, Athens, Ga. TpMORY SPEER, -LU . LAWYER. ATHENS, GA. As Solicitor General of Western Circuit, will attend tka Court# of Clarke, Walton. Gwinnett, Hall, Banks, Jackson, Habersham, Franklin, Rabun and White, and give attention to collecting and other claims it those conn ties. March 19, 1873. K ELIAS, Attorney at Law. . * FRANKLIN, X. C. Practices in all the Courts of Western North Caro- liaa, and in the Federal Courts. Claims collected in all parts of the State. ap!6—ly pDWARD R. HARDEN, -Hi (Late Judge U. S. Courts Nebraska and Utah, and now Judge of Brooks County Coart) Attorney at Law, juij23 ly Quitman, Brock* County, Ga. T F. O KELLEY’S O. PHOTOGRAPH GALLERY, 0t«r William*’Shoe store, Broad street, Athens, sep3. B f. camp, t Attorney at Law, CARNESVILLE, GA. Will give prompt attention to all basiness entrusted h»hiw. He will attend the Courts of Habersham, franklin and Hall. sepl7—ly. E. P. HOWELL. PEEPLES & HOWELL, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, 20 and 22, Kimlmll House, ATLANTA, GA. PRACTICE in the Stateand Federal Coarts, and A attsad regularly all theCouru in Atlanta, includ* *t ’!>• Supreme Court of th. State, and will argue easts upon briefs for absent parties, on reasonable term,. They also practice in the Coarts of the cost, tieieon- tlgao as oraseestible to Atlanta by Railroad, aepll M. W. HIDEN, ATTORNEY AT LAW. 0. S. Claim Agent and Notary Pale GAINESVILLE, GEORGIA. °*ce on Witsoa street, below Kins * Bro’s. ^February 1#, 1373. itstws BELL. *ew i. tsiti. Estes & bell, r .ATTORNEYS at law, ®A/A ESVILLE. GEORGIA. \V **d* Ptaetice in the counties composing the West- V? a«d Daw»on and Forsyth conn ties • Bine Ridge Circuit. They wUl also practice in Coart Pr Y* Court °* ®* or F**» *•! in CnitedSutn* mayld J AS. L. LONG, M. D. burgeon, Accoucheur and Physician, (Ofict al Mr. Thomas ShtaU" Star*,) Oood Hope District, Walton co., Ga. m”* P r °fessional serr ices to the citisene of the y^aBdiBg country. , ng 27 (, Feed & Sale Stable, . ATHENS, GEORGIA. 'JJ** * SKAVES, PHOPBIETQB8, W H,..! £*•??, ** tk * ir oU «fcn<L rear Franklin •b band VhotaaB street. Keep alwayi Stock —n* Tern-oniB end carefal driven. Stock „ * , c *”' 1 for »hen entrusted to our cere. —mb on band for sale et ell times. deelS—tf WALTON HOTEL, T „ MONROE, GA. aad'^IT^ woold >a«PMtfaUy inform travelers »f tb« e , that hehaa taken charge 4ll ««mformb! H4t t ’* B,,wiU ■P* f * BO P**®* to aaake who "V hta »ltn tnelr patron- k * U1 *>• reaaonnble. janlS lm ‘R. B. ADAIR, D.D.S. 0*^“,. qai xbsville, ga. !*. B< xnbwt..r,. T P.blle Sqaare. martT . fAEDGE, Boot > Harness deleft ^liscrilang. S0N6 OF THE TYPES. Sages! who bend ’neath a bnrdon ripe, Yontbs! where tbe rose still lingers, Como list to the song of the rattling type, As it falls from the printer's fingers. In a dismal garret and dingy town, Where the Rhine's blue wares are flowing, Old Gnttenhurg conjured ray spirit down, And set my footsteps going. Bat I burst on tbe world like the morning’s sen, And lighted its midnight hoary. And though my long jonrney has jnst began, I bare flooded tbe globe with gtory. I have torn down the castles of crime and sin, 1 have opened the dungeons of sorrow, I have let the radiance of freedom in. And scattered the legions «f horror. I have broken the fetters that shackled tho mind. Restored its strength and beauty; And taught the prond princes that role man kind The lesson that power is duty. I have rescued from prison the human soul, And opened its inner portal. Till it spurns indignant all human control, And soars in its flight immortal. In the realm of science I scatter light, To tbe poor bear hope in its hovel; For never again shall the world in night, In darkness and slavery grovel. Let no scholar despair, no warrior qnail; Oblivion’s scythe is rotten ; For no more shall the words of wisdom fail, Nor tho hero's deeds be forgotten. The minstrel's strings shall not break again, And love shall ever be vernal. For the maiden's vow and the poet's strain Shall sound through the aisles eternal. The old world shakes 'neath my iron tread, And in vain tries to fetter my pinions. For my voice speaks doom and my arm bears dread To crumbling thrones and dominions. for freights and commissions, and then allow them to settle the price of tbe raw material and tbe manufactured articles between the producer, the manufacturer, and the oonsnmer, jnst so long wilt yon and yoor children remain “ hewers of wood and drawers of water.”— Well, now, my brother-farmers and Patrons, all this is clearly a wrong, and I think ths^e is a maxim of law somewhere which says, “ there than ever, as if the partial break in her retire- never was a wrong but what there was a remedy." In my next, I propose to show what that remedy is. Very respectfnlly. See., Johx I. Cheatham. Four hundred years their wails I've beard. And the cause of their alarm is. That the pen is mightier than the sword. And tbe Types than a thousand armies.' Thrice welcome to me is the Lord of the West, Where Franklin's simple story Proclaims in type how a king's behest Was eclipsed by a Printer’s glory. •Wtt-l, JL ... VTA'IEINSVILLE, GA. For the Southern Watchman. Direct Trade, Railroads, and Manufactories. Jacksox County, Ga., July, 1874. Col. Christt Before I proceed, permit mo to state two of my mottoes. Tho first is, it was said we fought our Northern brothers because they would not let ns alone, my motto now, is to let them alone. The next is, that in terest in some shape governs man under all circumstances, and in all conditions of life. I have, therefore, thought it not amiss, by your permission, and in tho absence of over-much political excitement, while oar people could take time to think, to call, through the columns of the Watchman, tho attention of the farmers and planters, and particularly the Patrons of Husbandry, throughout the whole of the South ern and Southwestern States, and especially Georgia, to what I think and believe, and what I shall attempt to show them is, at this rime, their greatest pecuniary interest. You, .hen, brother-farmers and Patrons, from the clcse of the Revolutionary war with Great Britain to the present time, have suffered yourselves to become the “hewers of wood and drawers of water” to our Northern brethren, while they, with an iron grip, have held the purse strings over your heads until you have become poorer and far greator slaves than those yon lately emancipated, and they, the moneyed kings and wonld-be lords of creation, have become rich er, until they now think that we, •* born for thbir use,” live only to work for them. Then, brothers and sisters, (for I hold that the ladies are as much interested as the gentlemen,) let us look this thing fall in the face, let ns view it calmly and with a little common sense.— Why, then, should we, if we wish to ship our cotton or other produce from Savannah to Liverpool, or any other European market, bo forced to ship by the way of New York, and there be compelled to pay as much extra ex pense as would carry that same cotton or oth er produce directly from Savannah to Liver pool T And why is it that European goods for Southern and Southwestern consumption should be shipped by way of New York t The same may be said, only a little more so, of all South American or West India goods that are consumed in the Sonth and West, because they pass our ports both in going and returning, and land the goods at New York, where they are taxed for the privilege of re-shipping back to tbe Sonth, for all of wbiob delightful priv ileges tbe Southern planter and Southwestern farmer pays to Northern moneyed kings and shippers, in a very few years, millions open millions. What, let me ask, wonld be tbonght of a person that wonld ship goods, produce, or any other thing, from Savannah to New York by tbe way of Liverpool f His friends, if be bad any, would certainly place him in an Asylnm, jnst where he shenld be. Well, my friends, there is jnst as ranch common sense in ship ping cotton, or other things, from Savannah to New York by the way of Liverpool, as there is to ship from Savannah to Liverpool by the way of New York. And why has this thing been snbmitted to by onr people so krngf I know of but one answer, it is only because it has been the practice; we all know how bard it is to break np old habits. Previous to the Revolutionary war, England thought that tbe American Colonies belonged to her, and that of right abe was entitled to their labor. If w« made a surplus beyond our necessary wants, that surplus bad to be ship, ped to England at her own prioes, and what articles of eommeroe we took in exchange, bad to be shipped back tons lnher own ships and at her own prices. Now, my friends. If this was not an abject state of slavery, then I have forgotten the^meaning of tho word bondage. Bat the sequel showed that oar people acquiesced in this state of things so long that it took time, money and blood to break tho delusion.— Well, from that day to this. New England and New York have taken np the same idea, and ■along aa yoa will acquiesce qqd suffer these moneyed millionaires qf the North to act as middlemen and speculators between you, the manufacturers and consumers, and ship yonr cotton or other produce by the way of New York in their own ships, at their own prices LUCY HARGROYE. When Lacy Hargrove first came to Oakland there was a great stir in the rural population. The advent of a real city belle—one of the very ton—was too nnosnal an event to fail of producing a sensation, and so every gossipping tongue was set wagging, and the family history of all the Hargroves, from Adam down, was duly discussed. There was a gap in bis his tory, however. Two-and-twenty years ago, Gerald Hargrove, the last of his family, bad gone from Oakland to live in the great city, and his life was hidden from his old associ ates, save by occasional glimpses of his wealth and greatness, which seemed almost fabnlons to those who had once known him as the pale- faced student striving to ascend the ragged heights of knowledge. Rumor said be had married a city lady, but of his domestic life nothing was known. The Hargrove estate, consisting of an old dilapidated farm, had never passed from his bands. For a score of years, old Abram Law- horn bad tilled its sterile acres, and yearly had met its landlord’s lawyer to pay over a trivial sum, for the old farm barely paid tbe taxes and necessary repairs. So now, when the daughter of Gerald Ear- grove bad suddenly come to Oakland, un heralded and unattended, it is not strange that many wild rumors shouljl be set afloat con cerning the strange occurrence. Nor was the wonder lessened when the next Sunday, at the village church, a vision of dazzling beauty, ar rayed in the most costly fabrics, sailed up the aisle and took a seat directly in front of tho sacred desk ; and when the service was ended the vision departed, walking briskly, yet grace fully, away in the direction of Hargrove Farm. In vain did the good-natured gossips ques tion Abram Lawhorn and his wife. They knew only what Miss Lucy had seen fit to com municate, viz : that her mother was dead, that she was an only child—that her father had broken op his household, and that she was to remain at the Farm all Summer. Upou this meagre intelligence many a story was built, and many a dissimilar canse assigned as the reason for this step, but, as is generally the case, they were all quite far from the truth. Summer ripened into Aatumn, and the afiair was still a sealed book to those who sought to pry into Its closed lids. It was known that the weekly mail brought bulky packages to tbe secluded belle—those who had formed a speak ing acquaintance found her civil and respect ful, but surrounded with so much well-bred dignity and courteous reserve, as to utterly forbid all approach to the familiarities. To all invitations to pic-nics and merry-makings a de cided but courteous refusal was returned, till at last all attempts to draw her in tbe circle of Oakland society was abandoned in sheer despair. It was one day in early Aatumn that Felix Graham, ‘ awkward Felix,' he was called, was returning through the Hargrove Farm from an unsuccessful quest of small game. He walked carelessly along near tbe edge of a ravine, when a clumsy step threw him headlong over the brink. As he fell on tbe rocky bottom his piece was discharged, and the contents there of entered bis side, and tbe poor fellow, with a groan, fell back insensible. When he awoke from that death-like swoon, soft hands were adjusting a bandage about the wound in his side, and a radiantly lovely but tear-wet face was bent over him, as an angel of mercy might bend over the morally fallen man. He knew that face, for odco when be had performed a little favor for her he had received a smiling ‘ thank yon, sir,* from the sweet lips of Lucy Hargrove. He groaned with pain, and the girl looked into his face. ‘ Thank God!’ she aspirated, then hurriedly added— * Be qniet, pray, till I summon assistance.* Like a flash she was gone, and Felix Gra ham wondered if it were not all a dream. No; that burning, deadening pain at his side was real; that pool of blood was real, and that wa ter in his hat was too welcome to be an illusion. Across his brow he felt something moist, and removing it he found a dainty handkerchief with the monogram ‘ L. H.’ in one corner. By tbe time the weakened and half wander ing mind bad realized all this, be heard voices coming near. In another minute Abram Law- horn, John, his son, and Peter Grimes, tbe hired man, led by Lncy Hargrove, came to the spot where be lay. Lncy bent over him, and tenderly inquired how he felt. * Better, I reckon,’ faltered he, ‘ bat what is the matter with me t’ * Yon have met with an accident, sir—have shot yourself. We will take you to the house, where, I think, we- will meet a Doctor.’ Tenderly they lifted him np, and alowly boro him away, though every irregular step of his bearers evoked a groan of pain. Lncy walked beside him, frequently moistening his lips with water, and twice she called a halt and admin istered a cordial. They reached the house at last, and the wounded man was placed on a bed. The surgeon soon came, and when he had examined the wound, congratulated mi— Hargrove on her nerve and skill. The iqjmy, be said, was severe, bat not necessarily fatal, and that be could confidently state that, with good care, tbe patient wonld soon bo welL Thus It came about that Lncy Hargrove be came better known to the Inhabitants of Oak land; for daring those weeks that Felix Gra ham lay wounded at the fcarm, she was con- sUntly at Us bedside, and those who watched his nurse at her self-appointed post of dnty, could not bat own that she was assiduity and tenderness combined and embodied in tbe pres ence of a lovely person, jij Yet of her own affaire she wa3 persistently reticent, and the two or three attempts ol the less scrupulous of the visitors to crass examine her respecting her fiunily, were so quietly, but so completely baffled, that the inquisitors were glad to leave tbe tabooed subject alone. By and by the wound of Felix Graham was well enough for his removal, and he was taken home. Then the old life seemed tojeome back to the strange, isolated girt at the Hargrove Farm. Bather, she seemed more secluded meat demanded a more vigorous shutting out of tbe world, and tbe gossips once more found themselves busy detailing and amending tbe numerous surmises they mutually held con cerning her. The statement that Felix Graham’s wound was partially well, bad reference only to his physical hart. Cupid, the invisible, and there fore more dangerous foe to the peace of young humanity, bad deeply planted a shaft in bis heart, and tbe great, awkward, country booby wonld gladly have laid down his life for the sake of the city belle. Yet the gate of Har grove Farm shut out no one more entirely than him. Perhaps she realized the state of his feelings, and recognizing the hopelessness of his love, wisely forebore feeding a passion that could possibly bring bat ill. One day, before he removed from the Har grove Farm, he had spoken with Lncy relative to the accident, and she had simply said— * I was reading in the woods, and saw yon pass by. Yen were past, when I was startled by a gunshot, and heard a groan. Fearing an accident, I ran down the ravine till I found you. I thought you were dead, bat 6oon as certained that yon were not; I tried to staunch the flow of blood, and—yon know the rest.’ * Which is, that I shall never be able to re pay the debt I owe you 1’ exclaimed he, asham ed and shocked at his temerity a moment af terward. * I have done nothing,’ wls the cool reply, * Eiore than a duty we all owe to one another. Do not mention it again.’ Poor Felix! Had he been more deeply versed in the ways of the world, he would not have pnt so liberal a construction upon the world; but considering himself guilty of an imprudence, and fearing that the whole sub ject was distasteful to her—that even tho care she bestowed on him was a disagreeable bur den, he essayed a deprecatory sentence. She stopped him at once, and, handing him a book, bade him keep it and endeavor to profit by its teachings. It was • Bunyan’s Pilgrim's Pro gress,’ but is was not until long afterward that he knew the dark stain on its cover was made by his own blood—that was the book she sat reading at the Black Ravine that, to him luck less day. So Felix Graham, loving with all the ear nestness of his rude soul, feared that his lovo was offensive to its object, and set the seal of silence upon it, choosing to sutler alone rather than to give pain to one so pare, and so far above him. It was a cold, cheerless morning in mid-win ter that Felix Graham sat reading in front of a cheerful fire in his father’s home, endeavor ing to exorcise a spirit of restlessness that was stealing over him of late. For awhile he had been content to lore th ■ girl at Hargrove Farm a3 ene might love a deity; but in all earthly love there is a desire for the possession of the object loTed, and this desire was growing strong in the soul of Felix Graham. He bad met Lucy once or twice since his recovery, and she had met him cordially; but he was too modest to hope that her kindness sprang from any other motive than a friendly interest in one to whom she bad done a favor—least of all, that it grew out of a personal interest in himself. He was, therefore, greatly surprised when the door opened and John Lawhorn walk ed in with a note from Lucy. It ran thus: * Afr. Felix Graham:—Please come to me at once, and confer a favor on Lucy Hargrove.’ He arose, donned his overcoat, and set off with John for the Hargrove farm. * Do you know what is the matter T’ he ask ed of his companion, as they walked along. * No,’ said John. * I had jnst brought in the mail, and was hardly warm when Miss Lney came with a white face and asked me to take a note to yon.’ Graham found Lncy in tears, bat habited for a walk, and waiting for him in the sitting room. She rose to meet him, and brokenly said: * I want yon to go with me to the Black Ravine.’ * To the Black Ravine t—why P be asked, in surprise, for neither of them bad been there since the day he was borne from thence with that ugly wound in his side. Read that !* And the trembling fingers held oat a crumpled note. He took it and read:' January 10th, 18—. Dear Lucy: This is the last lino yon will ever receive from yonr nnbapy father. The accompanying papers will show yon that ev ery thing is lost. To escape tbe degradation of poverty, and worse still, of exposure, I choose te end a life that for months has been nothing bat a burden of care. If yon find my body, and do not fear that the sleep of a sui cide will haunt your future life, bnry, it on the Hargrove form. The Farm is yours—yonr solo possession—it was settled on yonr moth er at onr marriage. Hay God shield and com fort yon, my darling, and may he have mercy on the soul of Gerald Hargrove. With blanching cheek Felix Graham read the note, then, standing above Lncy, said, in an unsteady voice— * Miss Hargrove, let me go alone.* ‘No, no!’she wailed. *1 moat go too, could hardly writ for yoo to come, bat I could not go rioae. Together we will ge and see him—my poor, poor father. Assuming a cheerfulness he did not foel, Graham essayed a word of hope. * Do not try to cheat me with a hope yon do not share,’said she. ‘I think he was on the way when he wrote, and I have often heard him speak of Black Ravine, even in my childhood. 1 know we will find him there.’ In silence he took her hand and they start ed. A light snow was on the ground, and as they entered the dreary woods Graham felt a shiver ran through bis companion's frame. With a reassuring clasp he led her on until they reached the head of t\je ravine. .‘ Will yon not wait heret’ he tenderly asked. , A dismal shake of the head was the only reply—the qoivering lips made bat a gasping I sound. They wont down the ravine till they | reached the point where Graham had follen. * It is there!’ whispered the girl, and with a rigid countenance and bloodless fingers she pointed to a white heap at the bottom. Together they descended, and reverently removed the snow from the form, and met the cold stare of a ghastly face. •My father! my poor lost fother!’ walled the girl; and she fell prone upon the corpse. Gently her companion raised her np, and find ing that she was in a swoon, he lifted her in his arms and conveyed her to the honse. Stating what he had seen, he sent at once to the coroner; then giving Mrs. Lawhorn strict chargos respecting the girl, and dispatching another messenger for bis mother, Felix Gra ham returned to the Black Ravine to keep watch over the body of the suicide till proper investigations were made. In a few hoars the inquest was held, and the verdict rendered that ‘ the deceased, Ger ald Hargrove came to his death by a pistol being fired by his own hand,’ Sce. Then they lifted np the body and conveyed it to the house and thence next day it was taken to its final resting place in the Hargrove burial ground. We often find seals, modest and unassuming in every day life, who, when the hour of trial comes, nnconsciocsly assume the leadership, and to whom all eyes are turned for help. So it was with Felix Graham in those dark days at Hargrove Farm. It was his voice that gave every command, his head that planned, and his purse paid for everything. It was his hand and his mother’s that supported the frame of the grief-broken orphan at the grave, and it was bis voice that essayed to speak words of cheer to the stricken heart. It was his helpful presence that first brought a ray of comfort to the suffering one and it was his clear head that unravelled the tangled com plications of the suicide’s business, and saved a smali sum for tho portionless daughter. Perhaps he wrought with a hope of reward, bat it was a distant hope. His was an unself ish natnre, and he realized that the best part of love is in bestowing favors upon the belov ed object. Yet ho did not go unrewarded, for twelve months after the tragedy in the Black Ravine there was a wedding at Har grove farm, and a new master thereof was in stalled. Nor wa3 this all, for one day, two years af terward, when in the Black Ravine, an idea struck its owner that tbe black walls might be other than common clay. He collected some lumps, tested it, and found it to be superior coal. Subsequent experiments showed that the farm rested on a coal bed, and measures were taking to turn it to account, A branch railroad is now built, and shafts are souk all over tbe farm. Felix Gaafiam for years has been Mayor of tbe thriving city of Oakland, and his wife now a middle -aged matron, is deemed one of the most blessed of women. Ze Name of ze Street. A Frenchman, a stranger in New York, stop ped a lad in the street, and politely asked: * Mon fren, what’s ze name of zis ’ere street V ‘ Well, who said it wasn’t V replied the boy. 4 What you call zis street t’ ‘ Of course, we do.’ * Pardonnez! I have not ze name; what yon call himf * Yes. Watts, we call it.’ * Zis street t’ ‘ Watts street, old fellow; and don't yon go to make game of me.* ‘ Sacre mon de Dien! I ask yon one, two, dree, several times, often, will yon tell me ze name of ze street, eh f ’ * Wa’ts street, I told yon. You’re drunk, aint you t’ * Mon leetle fren, vere yon live, eh T’ ‘ In Yandam street.’ * Ee bien! Yon live in von dam street, and yon is von d—d fool!’ And they parted, entertaining a mutual dis like. The Death of a Wife! The reply was: ‘ Yaas; yonr money’s jlstas good as any other money, bat then yon ain’t got ennff eh it to git dis niggab to lose de custom ob gen tlemen. Go ’way, now! Git right oat ob here! You’se got the money, now go buy a razor and shave y’self 1’ Didn’t Like It. Who can help admiring the Roman stocism of the Arkansas judge who said, after one law yer had shot auother dead in the court room, Look yeer, if you keep on foolin’ around in this yeer way. I’ll commit some of you for con tempt.’ Eqaal to thi3 in patient suffering wa3 the gentleman who lives in Coates street, who hen he entered the basement dining-room tbe other evening, fonnd no one there and discovered no preparations for tbe evening meal. Ho went up to the parlor, and there he fonnd his wife sitting on tbe sofa with a young man by her side, and that young man’s arm about her waist. ’ See hero,’ said the mild husband, ‘ I don’t like this kind of a thing. Why isn’t my sap per ready t’ * Becauso I don’t like to make it,’ said tbe loving wife. * What are yon sitting there a letting that fellow hug you for t’ Because I do like it.’ I tell you what it is, Annie,’ and his face assumed a fierce glow of passion, ‘ if this state of things continue much longer. I’ll get mad, yon bet your life.’ We don’t think that man will be arrested for making an unprovoked assaalt on any one. In comparison with the loss of a beloved wife, what are other beroavemeots T The wife! she who fills so large a space in the domestic heavens, she who is so busied, so unwearied— bitter, bitter is the tear that foils upon her grave. Yon stand beside her tomb, and think of the past; fain would the sonl linger there. No thorns are remembered above that sweet clay, save that yonr own hand may have un willingly or unkindly planted. Her noble, tender heart lies open to yonr inmost sight. Yon think of her as all goodness, all parity, and truth. , Bat she is dead. Tbe dear head so often laid upon your bosom, now rests upon a pillow of clay. The hands that ministered so untir ingly are folded, white and cold, beneath the gloomy portals. Tbe heart whoee every beat measured an eternity of love, lies under yonr feet. And there is no white arm over yonr shoulder now—no speaking face to look np in to the eye of love—no trembling lips to mar- mar * Ob, it is so sad !* There is so strange a hash in every room! No smile to greet yon at nightfall—and the clock strikes and ticks and strikes. It was sweet music when yon could count the hoars with her—when she coaid hear It! Now it seems only the hours throagh which you watch the shadows of death gather upon her dear foes. Bat many a trie it tells of joys past, sorrows shared, and beautiful words and deeds registered above. Yon feel that the grave cannot keep her. Yon know that she is in a happier world, bat still yoa feel that she is often by yonr side—an angel presence. Cherish these emotions. They will make yoa happier. Let her holy presence be as charm to keep yoa from evfl. In all new and pleasant connections give her a place in yonr heart. Never forget what she has done for yoa—that she has loved yon. Be tender of her memory. To how many bereaved hearts will these eootences come, who will look back upon the past with mingled recollections of sorrow and joy—perhaps penitence. * So should live hus bands and wives,* says an old English worthy, * that when either dins, the spirits of both may mingle.” —A negro barber in Cincinnati refused to shave a darkey, who indignantly asked: * Now, look a-yeah—hain't my money jist as good as any body elso’s money V ANTIQUITIES. There is no song like an old song. That wo have not beard for years; Each simple note appears to throng With shapes that swim in tears. It may have been a cheerful strain, Bat ’twas so long ago; That glee, grown old, bas turned to pain, And mirth has turned to woe. There is no friend like an old friend, Whose life-path mates onr own. Whose dawn and noon, whose eve and end, Have known what we have known. It may be when we read his face. We note a trace of care; *Tis well that friends in life’s last grace Share sighs as smiles they share. There is no love like an old love, A lost, may be, or dead; Whose place, since she bas gone above, No other fills Instead. It is not we’ll ne’er love anew. For life were drear if so, Bat that first love had roots that grew Where others cannot grow. There are no days like the old days. When wo. not they, were yoang; When all life’s rays were golden rays And wrong had never atnng. Dear heart! If now oar steps could pass Throngh paths of childhood's morn. And the dew of yonth lie on the grass Which Time’s fell scythe bas shorn! * I will,’ said B. with equal earnestness. * Then shake hands,’ said tbe judge, and as the softened brothers grasped each other’s hands the spectators and members of the bar riready thrilled by the words they had heard, felt their eyes moisten and their hearts swell. Jndge ’Foster himself was deeply affected when the offenders both audibly invoked God’s blessing on tbeir reconciliation; and bis voice trembled as be said to the convicted one .- 1 Then I impose on you the lightest sentence of the law, a fine of one dollar, and I discharge yonr bond.’ John’s Share. * Dad,’ said a hopeful sprig, ‘ how many fowls are there on the table t* * Why,' said the old gentleman as be looked complacently on a pair of finely loasted chick* ens, that were smoking on the dinner table, ‘ why, my son, there are two.’ ‘ Two!’ replied smartness, there are three, sir, and I will prove it.’ .* Three,’ replied the old gentleman, who was a plain matter cf fact man, and understood things as he saw them. ‘ I’d like to see yon prove that.’ ‘ Easily done, sir, easily done. Ain’t that ene V laying his knife on the first. ‘ Yes, that's certain,’ said dad. * And ain't that two!’ pointing to the sec ond, ’ and don’t ono and two make three U * Really,’ said the father turning to the old lady, who was in amazement at the immense learning of her son, * really, wife, this boy is a genius and deserves to bo encouraged for it. Here, old lady, do you take one fowl, and I’ll take the second, and John may have the third for his learning.’ How to Pat Children to Bed. Not with a reproof for any of that day’s sins of omission or commission. Take any other time but bed time for that. If you ever heard a little creature sighing or sobbing in its sleep, yon could never do this. Seal their closing eyelids/with a kiss and a blessing. Tbe time will come, too soon, wben they will lie on tbeir pillows, lacking both. Let them, then, at least have this sweet memory of a happy child hood, of which no future sorrow can rob them. Give them their rosy youth. Nor need thi s involve wild license. The judicious parent ill not so mistake my meaning. If yon have ever met the man, or the woman, whose eyes have suddenly filled when a little child has crept trustingly to its mother’s breast, you may have seeu one in whoso childhood's home Dig nity and Severity stood where Love and Pity should have been. Too mnch indulgence has ruined thousands of children; too mnch Love not one.—Fanny Fern. “I Don’t Care If I Do.” In olden time before tho Maine law was in vented, Wing kept the hotel at Middle Gran ville, and from bis well-stocked bar furnished accommodations to man and beast.’ He as a good landlord, but terribly deaf. Fish, the village painter, was afflicted in the same way. One day they were sitting by themselves in tbe bar room. Wing was behind the counter, waiting for the next customer, while Fish was lounging before tbe fire, with a thirsty look, wishing that some oue would come in and treat. A traveler from tho South oa his way to Brandon stepped iu to inquire tho distance. Going up to tbe counter, he said: * Can yon tell me, sir, how far it is to Bran don t’ ' * Brandy V said the ready landlord, jump ing np ; ‘ yes, sir, I have some,’ at tbe same time handing down a decanter of tho precious liquor. You misunderstand me,’ said the stran ger ; * I asked how far it was to Brandon.’ * They call it pretty good brandy,’ says Wing. • Will you take sugar wi;h it f reach ing. as he spoko, for tho bowl and tbe toddy- stick. Tbe despairing traveler turned to Fish. * The landlord,' said he, ‘ seems to bo deaf; will you tell me how far it is to Brandon V ‘ Thank you,’ said Fish, * I don’t care if I do take a drink with yon.’ Tho stranger treated and fled. A Strange Scene in a Court of Justice. Many remember the story told by Prof. Wil son, in bi9 own tender and vivid way, of the hostile highland brothers, William and Steph en reconciled at tbeir father’s grave. In a city no farther than Bridgeport, Conn., a re cent trial for assault and battery was made memorable by an incident almosteqnally wor thy Wilson’s pen, and we wish wo could see it described as be wonld deecribe it. Two brothers, named Adams, residents of Westport who had lited on bad terms with each other several years, finally came to blows. Both made complaint before a trial justice and both were convicted of breach of the peace. Dissatisfied with this they appealed at the next session of the Superior Court, the jury foil ed to agree in the ease of one, hot found the oth er gnilty. Jndge Foster, grieved, as a mao, at the spectacle of two yoang warring brothers and humanely anxious to stop farther litiga tion in the fntnre between them, called tho men before him and talked totbqm in a strain of serious bat kind reproof. He briefly re viewed their difficulty and showed tbeabeard- ity of this quarrel, and then appealed to tbeir self-respect, their relationship and their sense of moral responsibility to let this unnatural enmity go on no longer. M-, yon have always used yoor brother well V questioned the Jndge. * Jee. sir.’ * And be has always abased you. P * Yes, sir.’ * B., yon claim that yon have always need yoor brother well f * Yes, sir.’ * And he has always abused you V * Yes, sir.’ * See,’ continued the Judge, * yon are both to blame and no jury can decide which of yoa is the worse.’ Then he warned them solemnly, and even tenderly, of tho folly of doing as they had done, and charged them by all they held sa cred never to go to law on difference again. He pointed ont to them tho beanty of harmo ny and peace and urged them then and there to pledge friendship and brotherly kindness for all coming time. Gravely, as if reading a printed covenant, he pronounced the words: * Yon, ,11. Adams, do yon promise on your part that yoa will bi friends in the future with your brother I’ * I will,’ said M. earnestly. * Yoa, B. Adams, do you promise on yonr part that you will be friends in tbe fntnre with your brother!’ “Somebody Host Be In It.” Here is a little story which tells better than a dictionary can, the meaning of the word disinterestedness.” The late Archdeacon Haro was once, when tutor of Trinity College, Cambridge, giving a lecture, when a cry of “ Fire !” was raised. Away rushed his pupils, and forming them selves into a line between the building—which was close to band—and the river, passed bnckets from one to another. Tbe tutor quickly following, found them thus engaged; at the end of the line a youth was standing np to his waist in the river ; ha was delicate and looked consumptive. What!’cried Mr. Hare, ‘you iu the wa ter, Sterling f you, so liable to take cold !* * Somebody must be in it,’ tbe yonth an swered ; * why not I as well aa another V The spirit of the answer is that of all great and generous doings. Cowardice and cold ness, too, say, “ Oh somebody will do it!” and the speaker sits still; be is not tbe ono to do what needs doing. But nobility of char acter, looking at necessary tbiags, says : • Somebody mast do it, why not 1 f and the deed is done. ..A Sacramento lawyer remarked to the conrt: * It is my candid opinion, judge, you are an odd fool.’ Tbe jndge allowed his mild beaming eye to fall npon the lawyer a brief moment, then, In a voice bosky with suppressed tobacco juice and emotion, said: ‘ It is my candid opinion that yon are fined one hundred dollars.’ Fate of the Abolition Leaders. The St. Louis Republican thus refers to the tragic fate of some of the abolition leaders: # " On the other hand, the leaders oa tbe other side are either still living, honored and respect ed, or have died peaceful deaths, with a foil consciousness of having done life's work nobly and welL John Brown was hanged on the soil of the State where be struck tbe first blow for free dom. Mr. Lincoln, the first anti-slavety Pre sident, died by an assassin’s bullet, which, yet, as scarcely more pitiless than the biography that afterwards tore bis good name to tatters. Preston King, it is said, committed suicide. Gerritt Smith is said to have lost bis reason. Jim Lane died by his own band, the victim «f a remorse which even bis fierce, iron natnre coaid not endure. Horace Greeley died in defeat and delirium, amidst the exosrationa of the party which be had buildod. Mr. Beecher still lives, bat to look upon tbs ghastly * frag ments of a reputation which was the greatest of aU—torn to pieces by his own friend, whom, in torn, he ha3 groand to cfast under his heavy heel. Mr. Sumner died .under Coodemihatiou of his party, having lived the last two years of his life under the condemnation of his own State. Fremont live3 under the ban of outla w ry of a French court, before w'uie'i he refuses to appear to answer charges ui' fraud. So much for the tragic fate of tbe antt-s'.avery lers.”