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About The gazette. (Elberton, Ga.) 1872-1881 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 15, 1876)
PROFESSIONAL, CARDS. R. 11. JONES, ATTORNEY AT RAW, ELBERT9N, GA* Special attention to the collection of claims, [ly SHANNON & WORLEY, ATTORNEYS AT RAW, ELBERTON, GA. WILL PRACTICE IN THE COURTS OF the Northern Circuit and Franklin county fi@”Special attention given to collections. J. S. BARNETT, attorne y at raw, ELBERTON, GA. ” JOHN T. OSBORN, ATTORNEY AND COUNSELOR AT LAW, elbekton, ga. "\T7 ILL PRACTICE IN SUPERIOR COURTS V V and Supreme Court. Prompt attention to the collection of claims. nevl7 ’ Iy A. E* HUNTER,*M. H. PRACTICING PHYSICIAN Office over the Drug Store, ELBERTON, GEORGIA. WILL ATTEND PROMPTLY' TO ALL cases. j>ng22,6m EIAkIrTON BUSINESS G’ARDS^ J. F. AULI) ANUFACT’R ELBERTON, GEORGIA. WITH GOOD WORKMEN! LOWEST PRICES! CLOSE PERSONAL ATTENTION TO BUSINESS, and an EXPERIENCE OF 27 YEARS, He hopes by honest and fair dealing to compete any other manufactory. Good Buggies, warranted, - $125 to $l6O REPAIRING ANDBLACKSMITHING. Work done in this line in t very best style. The Best Harness TERMS CASH. \ v22-l v THE REAR RIVE Fashionable Tailor, Up-Stairs, over Swift & Arnold’s Store, ELDER TON, GEORGIA. 8©”Call and See Him. T. M. SWIFT. J. K. SWIFT. THOS. M. SWIFT & CO., Dealers in GENERAL lEICIA ME At the old stand of Swift & Arnold, ELBERTON, GA. EESPECTFTLLY SOLICIT A CONTlNU ance of the patronage hitherto awarded he lions , piomising every effort on their part to merit the same. jan.s THE ERBERTON DRUG STORE fl. 0. EDMUNDS, Proprietor. Has always on hand a full line of Pure Drugs and Patent Medicines Makes a specialty of STATIONERY PERFUMERY Anew assortment of WRITING PAPER & ENVELOPES Plain and fancy- just received, including a sup ply ot LEGAL CAP. CIGARS AND TOBACCO of all varieties, constantly on hand. NEW STORE! NEW GOODS! I. Gr. SWIFT, Will keep on hand FLOUR, MEAT, LARD, SUGAR, COF FEE, HAMS, CHEESE, CAN NED GOODS, &c.&c. And other articles usually kept in a first-class Provision Store, which will be sold Cheap for CASH and Cash Only. F. W. JACOBS, HOUSE & SIGH PAINTER Glazier and Grainer, ELBERTON, GA. Orders Sclicited. Satisfaction Guaranteed. CENTRAL HOTEL MRS. W. M THOMAS, PROPRIEIRESS, AUGUSTA GA SEND 25c. to O.P. ROWELL & CO., New York for Pamphlet of 100 pages, containing lists of 3,000 newspapers and estimates showing cost of advertising. ly THE GAZETTE. New Series. IN EARLY AUTUMN. It was a fair day in August, and at a charming villa by the seaside upon the coast of Normandy, that two really excellent people were doing their little utmost to make themselves wretched for the rest of their lives. The one was a General Morrison, a gallant soldier who had won credit and renown in the wars of India ; the other was Mrs. Oldfield, his first love, a proud-faced hand* some lady, in all the latest ripeness and splendor of mature beauty. The gentleman was some what the elder of the two, but he was also the lightest-hearted, and there was even a sort of reckless flippancy in his manner which by no means sat well upon him. The expression of his features, like that of most men habituated to command, was perhaps usually a little over-stern and haughty when in repose; but to-day he seemed restless, flighty, and even trivial in hie behavior. The lady looked sorrowful and de jected, with an undercurrent of pique, mingled with resentment, flowing through her feelings and troubling them. Around them was everything which could make one of the pleasant holidays of existence delightful. The air was pure and soft, the scenery enchanting; they were in the midst of garders, and flowers, and tall trees, with the sea glittering like molten silver full in view of them. At the gates of the villa, on the old Norman road which led to Caen, were a pair of saddle horses, in charge of an English groom dressed within an inch of his life. One of the stately creatures was a spendid Arab from the stud of Notireldin Meerza, of Bagdad, which the general hud brought home with him from India ; the other a tboroughbied from one of the best sta bles in Newmarket—not fast enough for the turf, but a marvel of strength and symmetry. The groom sat stiff and upright in his saddle, a verymodel of patience, butthe Arab horse pawed the ground and stamped with all the wayward ness and capricious irritation of a spoiled child at being kept so long waiting. Now he tossed his mane over his eyes, as though making ready for a wild romp j now he lifted his arched neck upwards and snorted fractiously; then he stretched himself downwards, whinnied, and beat his two forefeet over each other as playfully as a young grayhound, while his coat of golden bay, trimmed with black points, shone in the the sun like satin. ‘‘You will have a sad old age,” said Mrs. Old field to General Morrison, as he tried for the third time to take letve of her, because, it the truth must be told, he had lately been fancying himself ia love with Lady Strange, a decided widow of a military turn of mind and a fortune quite vexations from its overgrown bulk and awkwardness. Itwas rumored that Lady Strange had tin-mines among other unintelligible pos sessions. Poor woman !* sfie was really only a fit wife for a house-and-land agent, but the cav alry officer was in full ch se of her. Poor man! “Why so? Why shall I ever be a dreary old fellow ?” asked the general in a combative mood, though he knew well enough what she meant. “Because,” answered the lady, slowly, as she buttoned her left-hand glove with nervous, twitching fingers, “because you change old friends for new—acquaintances. This is a bad bargain,” she added; and there was anger in her eyes rather than in her voice, which had a bantering tone with subacid flavors. The general tapped his spurs pensively with the point of his riding-whip, and then-involun tarily cast a glance in the mirror opposite. It was an excellent glass, for the villa belong ed to Mrs Oldfield, and she had it fitted up by Duval under her own diiection,and for the pro motion of her own happiness. The glass, there fore, into which General Morrison looked was the best which good taste could select or money could buy. It was artistically hung, too, taking its lights through a rose-colored curtain, and it told truths as gracefully as the most accom plished courtier. The general saw his own figure and that of j Mrs. Oldfield reflected in it with extreme satis faction. He felt like a man who had awaited good news, but who had received even better tidings than he expected. The glass told him boldly that he was tall and still straight as a poplar-tree, and there was a certain cavalier grace about him that was very martial and win ning. His companion, too, was a miracle of loveliness seen through that glass, though her woman’s pride was sorely humbled, for she had been cruelly affronted. The fact is, these two had been quarreling for at least a week past, and had regularly teased each other every day m the way that people will do when they are secretly dissatisfied with them selves. After all, Lady Strange and her tin mines only vexed one side ot the question. There was a German poet, who appeared made up of all hair and eyes ; he was bothering on the other side, and the general had seen him at it. Indeed, for the matter of that, he might have seen the German poet iu full employment then, had be looked towards the seashore, for there stood that queerly-dressed individual on the lookout for what Providence might send him. Presently Providence sent him Lady Strange, with her chaperon, Miss Fawkes, mounted on donkeys and attended by their courier. The poet joined them. Mrs. Oldfield noted down ibis treasonable behavior inwardly, in her wo man’s way. She was not jealous. No, she did not love the German; possibly Lady Strange did or would. They were both of the same age, and Germans have a weakness for English wo men of property. What did it matter lo her? Nothing ? No—nothing ! David Morrison had loved Clara Beaton for thirty j-ears or thereabouts. He had loved her ever since they had both been children, gather ing blue-flowers amidst the heather, and maybe, amusing the unconscious grouse, till her father, a cantankerous nobleman with an eye-glass, who lived beyond his imans, came down ts blow the birds’ heads off, beyond the reach of his creditors, as soon as Parliament was up and he had no more votes 10 sell that year. They had loved each other all through their school-days, playing at blind-man’s-buft' together every Eas ter, and wondering at magic lanterns in company on Twelfth Nights. Miss had often made young David an apple-pie bed when they had both passed their holidays with Mrs !Morrison,an aged and hospitable kinswoman, who saved parents trouble and charmed tier own solitude in a Partashiro glen by the whims and prattle of pretty urchins. One glorious Summer they had played at story-bcoks.agame of theirown joyous invention in an inspired moment; he had called her “i.illy,” while sne nicknamed him “Orson,” | for she was a young lady of disposition rather domineering than complimentary. Then came a heavy Whitsuntide, which left its shadow on many weary years of their after-lives. Clara j had been at first mighty prim and grand, as ! though she had grown out of sight and ken of S David. Then all at once she had become very , soft and tearful, so that she had cried a whole evening on his shoulder, beneath anew moon, while the lilac-3 and violets only pitied them. Nobody ever knew what had passed between the young things, as their young hearts were torn ESTABLISHED 1859. ELBGRTON, ft A., WOV’K 15,1876. assunder; but Clara got a fearful scolding trom Mrs. Morrison, and three weeks afterwards she drifted clean away from David to marry Mr. Old field, an elderly roan who took snuff and kept money He had not a large fortune, but it was something well worth having, as Lord Beaton remarked when he gave his daughter away with his blessing, after having negotiated, ot course, for the usual pecuniary assistance which was the price of his lordship’s good-will in every transaction of life It is only justice to the frec harded noble to add that he very handsomely offered his bond to Mr. Oldfield for the money he borrowed; but “What, is the use of that, my lord ?” answered the latter gentleman, who had been a solicitor and knew the value of a peel’s sign.raanual by hear3ey or by experience. Mr. Oldfield had died, a ter an extremely mod erate enjoyment of matrimony, possibly from a generous consideration of his wile’s prospects, possibly because he could not help dying. Cer tain it is that he really had been so good as to obligingly depart from a scene where he was not wanted, so that his wife and her former sweet heart had been judiciously-enabled to meet ag-vin with the perfect approbatian ot good society. Some flirtation had thereupon most promptly ensued between them, and that was followed by events which had greatly annoyed the German poet. Nvertbeless, on mature reflection, Gen • eral Morrison had deluded himself into a bad belief that he could take his well-advertised uame and the remainder of his attractions to a better market than the seaside villa, which Mrs. Oldfield had bought out of her dower on the coast of Normandy, when she r asonably elected to settle in France after her husband’s demise. In pursuit of his object to dispose of himself on the most advantageous terms, the general had cast his eyes on this Lady Stiange, the young widow of a highly respected permanent person who bad amassed a stupendous fortune on a small salary in Downing Street. General Morrison smiled as he looked compla cently on his stalwart figure and well-formed features in the locking-glass ; but presently Mrs. Oldfield, who seemed to have divined his thought, drew the window-curtain suddenly aside, and the pitless cross-light of an Augest afternoon pouring into the apartment showed at o glance that the general’s hair was not only becoming thin and contrary, but that there were some abominable crow’s-feet round the coiners of his eyes. David Morrison had a coneientious vaht, but these truths were plain in spite ot Atkinson, Truffit, and Poole, who had done their best for him and more. “Age,” then observed the lady, with much blandness, as she plucked a flower from her fresh est nosegay, which overhung a toy-fountain of perfumes in the centre of her boudoir table, “never becomes ridiculous till we forget it. I shall take to caps soon.” “I protest against your theory,” answered General Morrison, turning his eyes away from the dazzling cross-light, while much of that conquering hero aspect he had hitherto worn passed away from his deportment. “I like rath er to fancy it is a duty we owe to society to con ceal the impertinences ot time, and to remain young as long as possible. Old age is as unat tractive as youth is captivating.” “Youth, yes. Not the mimicry of youth. Age should not need to charm by false pretenses, but should have won love enough already to make friends pardon his deformities. Still, as you say, ‘fancy’ is a gayer guide than truth ; and women should never moralize.” “I do not see why age should be ugly,” re marked the soldier, uneasily shifting his posi tion, and speaking as though he had swallowed an almond with the shell on it. “Nor why middle-age should be sometime ab surd,” replied the lady. “Perhaps not; but the world is very unkind to wrinkles, and the fewer conquests we try to make when the heyday of youth is past the better it wi'l be for us.” “I remember my father telling me that Tom Greenville was the only man who dresseil for dinner at his country house alter a hard election day; and that a lady wanted to marry him when he was oldyis ” “General Morrison ?” interrupted the lady, laughing. “Ob, dear, no ; much older tli .n I am,” pur sued that officer growing warm, for he neither liked nor understood a joke. “Y'es; my mother knew Mr. Thomas Green ville when she was quite a girl,” again inter rupted the lady more soothingly. “The art of self perservation, which I understand he carried into great perfection, consisted, Ibelii ve, in this —that he always dressed in sober colors, beyond his age rather then below it. He especially avoided all artifices of custume, and it was therefore said that he taught every one how to grow old. He did not try to make age young again. Heigho !it is getting very la 1 e Don’t you think so?” “Good looks in men or women are always good looks,” remarked the general, struggling against defeat as sturdily as lie could, and tak ing no notice of Mrs. Oldfield’s implied dismissal. “\Ve are the age we f-eem, the age we feel, the age we look.” He pointed his left mustache as he finished speaking, and tapped with the handle of his whip upon his front teeth, which were strong and white. The lady sighed, and picked the flower sh had culled slowly to pieces, till all its leaves had fallen to the ground. Then she looked wistfully at the bare stalk. ‘ Do you think,” she said, “that any device could reproduce this rose?” “Perhaps,” he said, growing weakerand weak er in his defense ; “I have seen an artificial flower quite as pretty as a real one." “Without the grace or the.perfume of ill Prob able. The only difference between the real flow er and the other being that the one was lovely and the other was not.” “Tush, tush, my dear Lilly!—l mean Mrs. Oldfield ; upon my word I beg your pardon,” said the general, with affected bluff'ness and red denuing as he spoke. When our own youth is gone, we can rejoice and iclresh ourselves in the youth of others. It makes us young to live with the young.” “I think,” answered the lady, as she still looked, and now with a half-smile, on the fallen rose, “that there is a time in life when we are only happy in the past, in recalling our own youth rather in trying to share the youth of others. There is a period when we have better cheer with memory than with hope.” The old soldier sat down again. He glanced remorsefully at the lady as she turned away from him and gazed upon the common wonders of her garden, and with such thoughts as women think when they wander sorrowfully among the ruins of their existence, and ask themselves what might have been but for the earthquake or the thunderstorm which overthrew the temple Nature had built them tor a sanctuary. So the twilight slowly deepened into night. “Farewell,” said the general at length; and his voice was very grave. “Good-bye,” replied his old love from the gar den; and her words came clear and cold at the spray from that toy fountain beneath the nose gay- Then she heard the quick patter of the Arab horse's feet as he pawed ihe ground faster and faster, till he went capering away down the road. Afterwards all was still, and the deserted woman sobbed as though her very lunirt would break, murmuring: “Gone, gone 1 Oh, my love ! Oh, my life ! Oh, my life's one love 1 Goue! gone 1” Her proud head was bowed to the dust, as she moaned with that exceeding bitter cry. “Lilly !” presently said a shy and penitent voice which sounded close beside her. And she started to see that David Morrison had returned with the old loyal worship of her filling his soul. “Orson,” she answered, laughing through her tears. And their eyes met at last in love and trust again. Before General Morrison bad left the villa that night, their wedding was a settled thing. And this writer thinks it would have happened in any case, for Lady Strange ran away the nest morn ing with a French cornet of dragoons, aged twenty-one, with whom she had danced the nightbefore at Trouville; and besides the weath er is very fine this year on the French coast, so that il.-assorted marriages are not in fashion. BOTTLED BUMBLE BEES. No man can tell when a boy of nine or ten years is going to break out in a new spot. A Cass farm lad, who has been noted for his quiet demeanor and steady ways, all at once took a notion to hunt bumble bees. He armed himself with a wide mouth bottle and tramped over lots and fields and entrapped many a luckless stinger. After securing them he had no further pleasure except to see them crawl up and down the sides of the bottle and whack their stringers into each other. He was out early one morn ing, gathering in the bees while they were benumbed, and when he entered the house for breakfast he had about thirty great overgrown, wicked looking bumble bees. They were pabked into the bottle, heads and tails and other ways, and the father, catching sight of them, spoke up: “See here, boy, I don't want any more of this fooling around after bees. After breakfast you heave that bottle out doors, and don’t bring another bee around this house.’' The boy placed the bottle behind the dining-room stove. There was a gentle fire, and the bottle had no cork The family had got through with the first cup of coffee, when they heard something going— “Jing—ring—ding—ong—long—rong gg-g" The fire warmed the bees up, and they leff the bottle to warm the family up. It was a business affair, and the bees, went iu to do their best. The boy slid out at the first alarm, but the old folks flourished their napkias until slid ingout would have done no good. The old gent got a sting on his ear and an other on his head at the same second wliiro the old lady was punctured in the shoulder and yelled “Murder!” with all her might. “Maul—maul ’em !” shouted the old gent, waving the butter dish around and getting another needle in his neck. “Police ! Police!” squealed the old la dy, diving under the table as a big bee settled on the lobe of Her ear. It was a very even fight for a while, but then the man got down cellar and the woman flew for a bedroom, the ones deep bass voice shouting, “Gimme the camphor, BetsyJ” and the other squeak out, “If y r ou love me go for a doctor!” No one knows what became of the boy. He is reported as missing. Seated un der the swaying head of some stunted thorn tree on the commons, he looks longingly toward home, but he realizes that his reception will be red-hot. Detroit Free Press. ENTERTAINING A TRAMP. Elias Schweitzer, a farmer living near Beartown, Pa., agreed to entertain a gentlemanly looking tramp who pro i’essed willingness to pay for his lodg ing. After having partaken of supper the tramp took a cigar and handed one to his host. They smoked and talked on different topics until ten o’clock, when Mrs Schweitzer told the two boys to go to bed. At this point the strang er said he would amuse the boys before they retired. He performed several tricks which very much amused all. He said he could take a ball, which he held in his hand, and place it in the barn without leaving the room. This aston isbed them all. He said that if the fam ily would permit him he would go into a room up stairs to arrange the bail, which would not require more than twenty minutes, and when he stamped on the floor they were [to go into the barn, where they would find the ball be hind a horse, where they kept a curry comb, wrapped in a piece of silk. The family being anxious to see the perform ance, showed the stranger into the best room and then waited for the signal to go out. In about twenty minutes the stamping was heard and the party left for the [barn and examined the curry comb box and on the ground, but could not find the ball, and iu about ten min utes returned, when Mr. Schweitzer went up to the room and found it empty and S7B taken from a drawer. THE KEYNOTE OP MARRIED LIFE. Forbearance is the keynote of mar ried life. There can be no' great dis cord, there can be no large divergences from tunefulness, so long as the husband forbears and the wife forbeai’3. Now this cannot be attained without some labor . Results are approached gradu ally in character, as they are in making a sand hill. It is grain upon grain, shovelful upon shovelful, and load upon load that makes the mound to rise. So results of character come gradually. An act at this time, a deed yesterday, a word this morning, a word to morrow morning, a cross answer to day, repeated a month hence, and so on, till at last you find there is a ridke between you and your wife’s or husband’s affection. Vol. Y.-No. 29. For The Gazette ] i ORGAN GRINDING XN CHURCff, Mr. Editor : I noticed some time since a communication in your excellent paper on organ grinding in church by “Stinch comland what seemed to be a reply fiom “Thinker.” By close examination any one can, by comparison, see very plainly that these articles were from the same pen—that is,“Thinker” and “Stinch comb ’ were one and the same person. Now, the Scriptures say, “He that is first in his own cause seemeth just, but his neighbor cometh a.:d searcheth him >” and, “Let another man praise thee and not thine own mouth ; a stranger and not thine own lips.”—(Prov.) It seems to me that someone else should reply to “Stinchcomb,” and not himself. As for the organ in church, I am sure that “Stinchcomb’’ was as well pleased as any one, for while Mr. Vickery taught that school at Stinchcomb that so much has been said and read about, “Stinch comb” himself was teaching a day school in two miles of the church, and “Stinch comb” left his school to attend Mr. Y.’s organ school, and was as much delighted with the music as you ever saw any one in your life. I can’t tell how much he did enjoy it; I never saw anything so completely take a fellow away as did that music. Had it been the spelling book or growing gourds I would have understood it very well, for these are his favorite occupations. I have seen a young Caesar or Sambo with his banjo sing and pick himself away, or his soul seemed to go out or up with his music ; but it did “Stinchcomb” more good than that, for he says it does affect him “powerfully!” and “religiously,” too, for, he remarks, if he was going to fight a deadly combat with an enemy and was to hear a good tune played on the organ, he would shake hands and say he had enough ; and to give an idea how it affects one, he re lates that he traveled in the mountains once, and that a big meeting was going on near the place where he stayed. He saw a woman who had been to the meet ing sitting in the chimney corner at home, barefooted, with her elbows on her knees and chin on her hands, patting her foot and singing— “ Fire in the mountains, run, boys, run 1 Oh, glory hallelujah 1” He said the ashes would fly up between her toes nicely as she kept time with her foot in the ashes. So you see how earnestly Mr. S. or T. is in favor of organ music in church, and you may look for him to be around soon with a subscription list to buy an organ for the new church he speaks of build ing. Critic. WHY HIS LIFE WAS A BURDEN. Some time ago Cooley caught a young man who was about to jump into the river. As he seized him, he saw it was Jim Kelly, and he said: “Why, Jim, what are you trying to do?” “I reckon it’s for the best”’ said Jim. “Perhaps, I’d better not do it, after all. Why, I was about to commit suicide!” “Why, what on earth’s the matter with you ? Are you crazy, or drunk ?” “No” “In love may be, and disappointed?” “No.” “Well, what’s troubling you?” “I’ll tell you. It don't seem so much now; but it bothered me awful awhile ago. Why, you see I was sitting in my room and I got to thinking. I thought if I was to fall in love some time with a red haired girl, and was to marry her, and she should give birth to twins with the same kind of hair. And s’pose those twins should grow up one named Jacob and the other Isaac, and s’pose Jacob should want to go to sea, and we let him go, and he should get wrecked cn the Can nibal Islands, and the Cannibals should take a liking to him, and adopt him as an idol. “And s'pose after a while lie should become a cannibal himself. And s’pose Isaac he should marry and raise a family of children, and one of his boys should go to sea and should be cast ashore on the Island where his Uncle Jacob was acting as an idol, and those Cannibals should kill him, and cook him, and offer some of him to Jacob, and Jacob should eat him and want more. And then s’pose the government should rout out those savages, and send Jacob home, and he should have have acquired sucb a taste for Isaac’s children that he should get to nibbling the rest of them, and then start out to clean up the rest of the family. “It was so awful that I couldn’t bear to think of it, and so I thought I would just block that heathen's game by drown ing myself before the thing went any further.” “But why didn’t you resolve to marry another woman,” “That’s so,” replied he. But he seemed bent on courting an awful doom, and proposed to Butter wick’s eldest daughter, who has red hair. She refused him. And he told Cooley the next day that lie was cleared up on the Isaac and Jacob calamity. [Max Adeler. GIVE AS A LITTLE OHILD-A POOR WIDOW’S CONTRIBUTION. Not long since, a poor widow came into my study. She is over sixty years of age. Her home is one little room, about ten feet by twelve ; she supports herself by her needle, which in these days of sewing machines, means the most miserable support. Imagine my surprise when she put into my Lauds three dollars, and said: “There is my contribution to the church fund.” “But you are not able to give so much 1” “0, yes!” she exclaimed. “I have learned how to give now.” “How is that ?” I asked. “Do you remember,” she answered* “that sermon of yours three months ago, when you told us that you did fiof, believe one of your people was so poor, that if he loved Christ, he could not find some way of showing that love by gifts?” “I do.” “Well I went home find cried all night over that sermon. I said to my self, ‘My minister don’t know how poor I am, or he wottld never have said that.’ But from crying I got to pray ing ; and when I told Jesus all about it, I seemed to get an answer in my heart that dried up my tears.” “What was the answer?” I asked* deeply moved by her recital. “Only this : ‘lf you cannot give as other people do, give like a little child.’ And I have been doing it ever since. When I have a penny change over from my sugar, or loaf of bread, I lay it aside for Jesus, and so I have gathered this money all in pennies.” “But has it not embarrassed you to lay aside so much ?” “O, no !” she responded eagerly, with beaming face. “Since I began to give to the Lord I have always had money in the house for myself; and it is wonder ful how the work comes pouring in. So many are coming to see me that I never knew before.” “But didn’t you always have money in the house?” “O, r.o! Often when my rent came due, I had to go and borrow it, not knowing how I should find means to re pay it. But I don’t have to do it any more, the dear Lord is so kind.” Of course, I could not refuse such money. Three months later she came with threo dollars and eighty five cents saved in the same way. Then came tho effort of our church in connection with the memorial fund ; and in some five months she brought fifteen dollars, all saved in the little mite box I had given her. — This makes a total of twenty-one dollars and eighty-five cents from a poor widow in a single twelve months. I need hard ly add, that she apparently grew more in Christian character in that one year than in all tlie previous yeais of her connection with the church. Who can doubt that if, iu giving, as we’l as other graces, we could thus become as little children, there would result such an in crease in our gifts that thero would not be room to contain them.—Presbyterian. AN INDIAN ROMANCE. In tbe early days of Pike county, Mis souri, when the cat like panther roamed the hills and the fleet footed deer bound ed through tho forests, there lived near Bowling Green a man named Noah Ad kins. Realizing the truth of the adage that “it is not good for man to be alone,” he took unto himself a wife. This lady was named Allison, who had a son Wil liam by a former husband. This son William was a fine physical man, and not inferior in intellect. In 1846 he joined Colonel Ralls’ regiment, in Sterling Price’s brigade, and marched to the wars in California, where he took part in the conflict at Santa Cruz and other battles. After his return he got into a quarrel with his stepfather. They ad journed to Crane's tanyard to fight it out, and by singular* fatality each shot the other’s arm off. This affair brought on a separation between Noah and his wife, and the latter went with her son William and her son-in-law, James Rob bins (dnee a candidate for sheriff of Pike county), to Independence, Mo.— Some time previous to this a son John had been born to Mrs. Adkins, and he concluded to follow the fortunes or mis fortunes of his mother. After living in Independence some time William Alli son got the contract for carrying the mails between Independence and old Santa Fe. While acting in this capaci ty he was killed by the Indians. The boy (John) wandered away, and was captured by the Sioux Indians. It is rarely that ever a prisoner escapes tor ture and death at the hands of the sav ages, but Adkins seemed reserved by some unaccountable stroke of fate for another destiny. He became acquainted with the ways of tho red skins, settled down to live among them, and finally became one of their chiefs, and was in command of one of the detachments at the Little Big Horn massacre, where the gallant Custer and his heroic little army rode into tho jaws of death.— These facts were related by an old scout named Cook, who told them in Bowling Green. <• DULL BOYS. Don’t be discouraged. Slow growth is often sure growth. Some minds are like Norwegian pines. They are slow in growth, but they are striking the roots deep. Some of the greatest men have been dull boys. Dryden and Swift were dull as boys. So was Goldsmith. So was Gibbon. So was Sir Walter Scott. Napoleon at school had so much difficulty in learning his Latin that the master said it would need a gimlet to get a word into his head. Douglas Jerrold was so backward in bis boyhood that at nine ho was scarcely able to read. Isaac Barrow, one of the greatest divines the Church has ever produced, was so impenetrably stupid in his early years that his father more than once said that if God took away any of his children, he hoped it would be Isaac, as he feared be would never be fit for anything in the world. Yet that boy,‘,was the genius of the family. If you owe for your paper this is a seasonable time to pay for it, as we stand seriously in need of pecuniary assist ance.
