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The Cherokee Georgian
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STATE GOVERNMENT.
James M. Smith, Governor.
N. C. Barnet, Secretary of State.
J. W. Goldsmith, Comptroller General.
J.»nn Jones, Treasurer.
Joel Branham, Librarian.
John T. Brown, Principal Keeper of the
Penitentiary.
Gustavus J. Orr, State School Commis
aionttr.
J. N. Janes, Commissioner of Agricul
ture.
Thomas D. Little, State Geologist.
JUDICIAL.
BLUE RIDGE CIRCUIT.
Noel B. Knight. Judge.
C. D. Phillips, Solicitor General.
lime of Holding Court.
Cherokee —Fourth Monday in Febru
ary, and first Monday in August.
Cobb—Second Monday in March and
November.
Dawmis-Third Monday in April and
ascond .Monday in September.
Fannin—Third M mday in May and Oc
tober.
Forsyth—First Monday in April and
f urth Monday in August.
Gilnkr—Second Monday in May and
October.
Lumpkin—Second Monday in April and
frat Monday in September.
Miltom—Fourth Monday in March and
third Monday in August.
Pickens— Fourth M >nd iy in April and
Bepteuibcr.)
Town*—Monday after fourth Monday in
M»v and October.
Union—Fourth Monday in May and Oc
tober.
COUNTY OFFICERS.
C. M. McClure, Ordinary. Rtjularcour
first Mou lav in each month.
J. W. Hudson, Cbrk Superior Court.
M. I* Morris, Sheriff.
K G. Gramling. Deputy Sheriff.
J -ha G Evans. Trca .urer.
Wu». N. Wilson, Tax Receiver.
Joseph G Dupree, Tax Collector.
Wm. W. Hawkins, Surveyor.
Wm. Rampley, Coroner.
JUSTICE COURT—CANTON DIS.
Joseph E. Hutson, J. P.
R. F. Daniel. N. P.
11. G. Daniel, L. C
TOWN GOVERNMENT.
W. *A. Toaseley, Mayor.
J. W Hudson, Recorder.
James II Kilbv, J»b»*z Galt. J. M. Har
din, J M McAfee, Theodore Turk, Alder-
M«n.
COUNTY' BOARD OF EDUCATION.
James O. Dovda, President.
James W. Hudson, County School Com
missioner.
Prof. James U. Vincent, Examiner.
Joseph M. McAfee, Allen Keith, Joseph
J. Maddox, John R. Moore.
Meetings quarterly, in the court-house.
□H.BBOKE9 TEACHERS’ ASSOCIA
TION.
James O. Dowds, President.
M. B. Tugglv, Vice-President.
C. M McClure, Secretary.
J. W. Attaway, Treasurer.
John D Attaway. Censor Monnn.
Prof. James U. Vincent, Association Cor
respondent
Regular meeting* every second Saturday
ia sack month, at 10 a. m.
RELIGIOUS.
Baptist Church, Canton Ga., time of
service fourth Sunday in each month.
Rrv. M. Ik Tuggle, Pastor.
M. E. Church, time of service, preachers
ia charge.
Rev. W. G. Hanson, first Sunday.
Rev. B. E. Lmlbotter, second.
Rev. J. M. Hardin, third.
MASONIC.
Canton Ixmdok. No. 77. meets first and
third Monday nights in each mouth.
James A. Stephens, W. M.
Joseph M. McAtee, Secretary,
Six kb Ixhmik. No. 282, meets first and
third Saturdays, 2 p. m.
U. M. McClure, W. M
o. W. Putman, Secretary.
GOOD TEMPLARS.
Canixjk Lodgk, No. Ill), meets every
liaturdav, 8 p m.
B. it Ledbetter, W. C. T.
Jaimes W. Iliulsou, Secretary.
GRANGE.
Canton Grange Na 225, Canton Ga.
J she* Galt, Master.
Joseph M. McAfee. Secretary.
SVUJQ d $ ♦
Ijc Cljeronee
THE PARADISE OF TEARS.
Beside the Rivet oi Tears, with branches
low,
And bitter leaves the weeping willows
grow;
The branches stream like the disheveled
uair
Os women iu the sadness of despair.
On rolls Jhe stream with a perpetual sigh ;
The rocks fooan Sadly as it passes by;
Hyssop and wormwood border all the
strand.
And not a flower adorns the dreary land.
Then comes a child, whose face is like the
sun,
And dips the gloomy waters as they run,
And waters all the region, and behold 1
The ground is bright with blossoms mani
old
Where fall the tears of love, the rose ap
pears ;
And, where the ground is bright with
friendship’s tears,
Forget-me-nots and violets of heavenly
blue
Spring, glittering with the cheerful drops
like dew.
The souls of mourners, all whose tears are
dried.
Like swans come floating down the tide.
Walk up the golden sands by which it
flllWJ,
And in that Paradise of tears repose.
There every heart rejoins its kindred heart;
There, in a long embrace that in me may
part,
Fulfillment fiieUtSr desire; and that fair
shore
Beholds its dwellers happy evermore.
—-®*
Carroll’s Temptation.
BY 8. ANNIE FROST.
The greatest pleasure and the greatest
pain ol Carroll Farwell's life was going to
school—the greatest pleasure, because he
was fond of study, and his mother worked
hard to give him the time for it and to
clothe him decently ; the greatest pain, be
cause the l id was crippled, and the straight,
well-made boys ridiculed him and taunted
him with his crooked back, the result of a
fall in inl.ipcy.
No one in the large school of fifty schol
ars was so fond of the cruel amusement of
e.xi iting the rage of the poor hunchback by
taints and sneers as Weston Hall, the lead
er of hir olw, the handsomest and smartest
of all Mr. Gray's scholars. The studies that
Carroll conquered by patient, laborious ap
plication Weston le true 1 easily, and the
two were the first.and best of the large num
ber of st h’olaii
Weston II dl was the son of a rich man,
had been petted and indulged from his cra
dle, and was used to have his will a law
both at bomftnn.l amongst his schoolmates ;
and it angered him to have a boy who was
poor and crippled keep so close to him in
all his studies, that he had to study faith
fully to keep the head of his class. lie
missed n<> ixicasion to show his spiteful re
sentment to Carroll, taking unfair advan
tage of him whenever it was possible, and
leading the other boys on to many insults
upon the 1 id's aflLctiou they would not
have thought of alone.
Matters were in this state when Mr.
Grey, three weeks before the close of the
summer term, announced two prizes for the
competition of the school —one for the best
historical composition, and one for the best
Latin verses. It was really a race between
Carroll and Weston, :w they were far ahe id
of the other scholars in all the studies of
the class.
Faithfiijh; woj-ked upon his nnn
uscriptsfcopvwti*/revising, and improving
them iu every hour of leisure; while Weston
snccringly told him he rfofrld t< ss off a bet
ter composition in two hours than he could
write in six weeks.
"It is really between Weston II JI and
myself, mother,” Carroll said, as he rolled
up his neatly written papers on the morn
ing of eiamuiaUWn. ‘ The other boys in
the class wijl send in a comix>s!tion, but
the prize wiU lie between us two. It I lose,
Weston will have a new taunt to throw at
me; those on my deformity and poor
clones are getting eld. If I win, he will
find some new torments to show his anger.
“Mother,” Im* said, earnestly, his pale face
flushing. “If I were as strong and tall as
Weston Hall, I would as soon strike a baby
or a gitl as I would torment a boy as help
lew and feeble ag 1 am. He knows I would
lx* a mere child in bisgra-p.and be delights
in showing his strength against my weak
ness.”
"That is toe cowardice of a tyrant,” >iaiJ
Mrs Fairwzli. “Nq truly brave
boy is ever cruel or tyrannical. But are
you not starting for school too early my
son f’
“All the compositions must be handed in
before nine, tnotlirr. WisK me success.”
“With all my heart!”
There was lime for leisurely walking
when Carroll started, but, when nearly half
way to the Mhook he sa w W eston Hall and
a group of the other schoolboys wait
iug at Mr. Hall’s gate for him to pass. Sure
that they were planning some cruel sport,
be stepped bick, and, hiding behind a
hedge, xvnHc3 fn bis turn until the road was
clear. . It was a long lime before ‘die boys
wearied of standing there, and the school
bell ehwxrcd the qaaricr before nine, start
! liug them all.
Virtue and. Intelligence—The Safeguards of Liberty.
CANTOxV, CHEROKEE COUNTY, GA, WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1875.
With a shout, the whole group hurried
on, and when they were w< 11 on their way
Carroll came from his hidingplace. It
was late for him, for he could not walk fast
or run if he was late; but he hurried as
much as possible. Suddenly he saw in his
path a small roll tied with ribbon. He
knew the bold, clear writing upon it a> soon
as he saw it. It was Weston Hall’s com
pos’tions rolled together. Evidently he
had dropped them from his school-bag in
his haste.
Carroll’s heart beat fast. Probably Wes
ton would not miss the roll until he was in
the school-room, and he would not, by the
rules of the school, be allowed to leave the
room after he had once entered. If there
was no composition from Weston Hall,
Carroll was sure of both prizes. There
was no active wrong to be committed. He
need not steal the papers nor destroy them.
He had only to walk past them, not touch
ing them. It was a slrong temptation 7
For nearly three years Carroll had been a
martyr to the tyranny of the rich, strong
lad, and here was an opportunity
stinging revenge lying directly in his p«*i.
He stood irresolute, pale with the struggle
in his mind. Then covering his face, he
whispered :
“O Lord, strengthen me. Let me re
member Christ's wmrds: ‘Love thine ene
my ; do goo 1 to them who despitefully use
you and persecute you.’ ”
Then he stooped and took up the papers.
It wanted but five minutes of nine when
Carroll Fairwell entered the school-room.
Mr. Grey was already in his seat, with piles
of neatly folded manuscript before him, and
Weston Hall sat at his desk, his face cloud
ed and angry. Hanging up his hat, Carroll
walked directly to Weston’s desk and put
the roll he had found in the road before
him
“Y<>u must have dropped this on your
way,” he said, quietly. “1 found it!”
In his utter amazement, Weston raised his
voice, and Mr. Grey looked up.
“What is the trouble?” he asked.
"Trouble!” cried Weston, all that was
noble and generous in his heart urging him
to sp< ak the truth, “there is no trouble, sir.
Carroll Fairwell has found the composi
tions I told you I had lost, and brought
them to me.”
Together the lads—the one tall, erect,
and strong, the other slight, dwarfed, and
deformed—advanced to the master’s desk
and placed there the compositions each had
written for the prize. But instead of re
turning to their seats, Weston Hall, bold
ing Carroll back, said :
“Mr. Grey, may I speak ?’’
“You may.”
“Then, Carroll Fairwell, before the
whole school, I ask you if you will take my
hand and forgive me for ail I have said and
done to pain you? You have shamed me
more than once by your Christian patience,
but never so deeply as you shame me to
day returning such good for so much evil.”
He held out his hand, and Carroll
grasped it w’afinly.
Mr. Grey made no comment as the box’s
took their places again. The prize for his
torical composition fell to Weston, while
Carroll’s Latin verses gained the other one.
But from the day the prizes were awarded
till the two boys left the school Carroll
heard no more insults; bore do more wan
tonly cruel pain. His firm friend and cham
pion was Weston Hall, an 1 the other boys,
following the lead, enthusiastically applaud
ed the cripple, who, ns they expressed it,
“might have been so mean and was so gen
erous.”—Methodiid.
How to Break Off Bad Habits—Un
derstand the reason, al! the reasons, why
the habit is ii jurious. Study the subject
until there is no lingering doubt iu your
mind. Avoid the places, the persons, and
the thoughts, that lead to the temptation.
Frequent the places, associate with the
persons, indulge iu thoughts, that lead away
from temptation. Keep busy ; idleness is
the strength of bad habits. Do not give up
the struggle when you have broken your
resolution once, twice —a thousand times.
That only shows how much there is for you
to strive. When you have broken your
resolutions, just think the matter over, and
endeavor to understand why it is you failed,
so that you may be on your guard against
a recurrence of the same circumstances.
Do not think it is an easy thing that you
have undertaken. It is folly to expect to
break off a bad habit in a day, which may
have been gathering long years.
When temptation appears, and we are
almost persuaded to do wrong, how often a
mother’s word of warning will call to mind
vows that are rarely broken. Y es, the
memory of a luoiher has saved many a
poor wretch from g‘>mg astray. Tall
may be growing over the hallowed spot
where all her earthly remains repose; the
dying leaves of autumn aiay be whirled
over it, ®r the white mantle of winter may
cover it from sight; yet her spirit, when he
walks iu the right path, appears ia glad
ness ; and, when be wanders off into the
ways of error, gently but mournfully calls
him back.
YVe can do more good by being good
than aay o her way.
What the War Cost the South.
A correspondent of the Nev\’ Yoik Even
ing Post, who has a turn for statistics, gives
some highly interesting facts and figures
connected with the losses the South sus
tained by the war, showing the diminution
of assessed personal property lieiween 1860
tlnd 1870 by reason of the emancipation of
>he blacks.
Alabama, with two hundred and seventy
seven millions of personal estate in 1860,
returns but thirty eight millions in 1870—
a dearease of two hundred and thirty-nine
millions Arkansas is reduced from one
hundred and sixteen to thirty-one millions
in this respect. Mississippi rc'urncd three
hundred and fifty-one millions in 1860,
against only fifty-nine millions in 1870 —
a decrease of two hundred and ninety-two
millions. Sou'h Carolina presents even a
greater difference, returning three hundred
and flfly-nine millions of assessed person
ally in 1860, and sixty-four millions in 1870,
being a loss of two hundred and ninety-five
millions. Georgia, in 1860, returned a
larger amount of assessed personal estate
than any other State in the Union, namely,
four hundred and thirty-eight millions. Iu
1870 this total was changed to eighty-three
millions, a loss of three hundred and forty
five millions. Missouri, though a slave
State, has suffered comparatively little.
Her personalty, as assessed in 1860, was
one hundred and thirteen millions. In
1870 it was increased to one hundred and
thirty-seven millions.
Taking the aggregate estimated true
wealth of all the slaveholding States in
1860, it presents a total of six thousand
seven hundred and forty-six millions of
dollars. In 1870, the same aggregate falls
to five thousand four hundred and sixty
two millions, showing a loss of twelve
hundred and e:ghty-four millions. The non
slaveholding States, on the contrary, show
art immense increase during the same pe
riod. In 1860 their aggregate estimated
trtie wealth was nine thousand three hundred
aitd ty millions, and, in 1870, twenty
four thousand three hundred and sixty
millions; being an increase of fifteen thou
sand and twenty millions.
If we look at the wealth of the late
slave Stales in 1850, there appears a great
increase from that period to 1860. The
total in 1850 was twenly-nine hundred and
forty seven millions, and, in 1860, six thou
sand seven hundred and forty-six millions
—showing an increase of thirty-seven hun
dred and ninety-nine millions, or one hun
dred and twenty eight per cent. Had the
war not taken place, the same ratio of in
crease would have fixed the wealth of the
Southern States in 1870 at fifteen thousand
three hundred and eighty-one millions, or
more than two and a quarter limes what it
actually proved to be. And yet, with even
all these enormous losses, the South would
now be happier and more prosperous than
at any time in her history but for the cor
rupt and tyrannous rule with which she
has been cursed since the war. But peace
has come at last, and the next decade will
show a glorious outcome.
Washington Allston, who stood at
the head of American artists a half-century
ago, was at one time so reduced by poverty
that be locked his studio in London one
day, threw himself on his knees, and prayed
for a loaf ot bread for himself and wife.
While thus engaged, a knock was heard at
the door, which the artist hastened to open.
A stranger inquired for Mr. Allston, and
was anxious to learn who was the fortunate
purchaser of the painting, “Angel Uriel,”
which bad won the prize at the exhibition
of the Royal Academy. He was told that
it was not sold. “Where is it to be found ?”
“In this very room,” said Allston, produc
ing the painting from a corner and wiping
off the dust. “It is for sale, but its value
has never been adequately appreciated,
and I would not part with it.” “What is
the price?” “I have done fixing any nom
inal sum. I have always, so far, exceeded
any offers. I leave it to you to name the
j price.” “Will four hundred pounds be an
i adequate recompense?” “It is more than
I I ever asked for it.” “Then the painting is
I mine,” said the stranger, who introduced
himself as the Marquis of Stafford, and
from that time became one of Mr. Allston’s
warmest friends and patrons.
“The more I consider the Gospel,” con
fessed Napoleon the First, “the morel am
assured that there is nothing there which
lis not beyond the march of events and
I above the human mind. Even the impious
themselves have never d.tred to deny the
. sublimity of the Gospel, which inspires
; them with a sort of compulsory vecer .tion.
i Wn>»t happiness lhat book procui .s for
i those who lielieve it! What marvels those
! admire there who reflect upon it!'
The shortest surest way to live with hon
i or in the world, is to be in reality what you
| would appear to be; and if we observe, we
we shall find that all human virtues in
crease and strengthen themselves.
! Next to the sweetness of having a friend
! whom you can trust is the convenience of
pi*s*»«sing a friend who will occasionally
• Hast you.
“I Wish I Had Capital,,”
So we heard a great strapping young
man exclaim the other day in an office
We did want to tell him a piece of our mind
so bad, and we’ll just write to him. You
want capital, do you ? And suppose you
had what you call capital, what would von
do with it? You want capital? Haven’t
you got hands, and feet, and njuiscle, and
bones., and brains, and don’t you call them
capital? What more did God give to any
body ? “Oh, they are not money,” say you.
But they are more tljan money, and no
body can take them from you. Don’t you
know* how to use them ?’ If you don’t, it is
time you •were learning. Take hold of the
first plow, or hoe, or jack planar'or broad
axe that you can find |nd go to work.
Your capital will soon j’pu a large in
terest Aye, but there’s the itnb. You
don’t want to work; you want money or
credit, that you may play the gentleman
and speculate, and end by playing the vag
abond. Or you want a plantation and ne
groes, lhat you may hire an overseer to at
tend to them, while you run over the coun
try and dissipate; or want to marrVsome rich
girl who may be foolish enough so take you
for your good looks, that she may support
you.
Shame upon you, young man! Go to
xvork with tfic capital you anti you’ll
soon make interest enough Won it, and
with it to give you as much rnQney as you
want, and make you feel like artnan. If you
can’t make money upon what capital you
have, you couldn’t make it if you had a mil
lion dollars in money. It you don’t know
how to use bones and muscles and brains
you would not know how to use gold. If
you let the capital you have lie idle and
waste and rust out, it would be the same
thing with you it you hdd gold; you would
only know how to waste.
Then don’t stand about like a great h< lp
less child waiting for somebody to come
and feed you, but go to work. Take the
first work you can find, no matter what it
is, so that you may be sure to do like Bil
ly Gray did his drumming—well. Yes,
what you undertake, do it well; always do
your best. If you properly manage the
capital you already have, you will soon
have ph nty more to manage; but ifyou can’t
or won’t manage the capital God has given
you, you will never have any more to man
age.
Advertising.
An editor of great experience and close
observation says that a page of solid, terse
trade advertisements is generally a map of
a hundred men’s capabilities in life. When
wc contemplate doing business in a distant
town, we take up the paper of that town,
and from its local advertising columns we
get a true picture of the men we have to
deal with ; there wc find a complete record
of the town, its commerce, its home trade,
the facilities of its storekeepers, its banks,
and in almost every case we can estimate
the character and feelings of the men who
are solici ing public trade. The advertis
ing page is a map of the town, a record of
its municipal character, a business confes
sion of the citizens, and, instead of being
the opinionated production of one man, it
is freighted with the life-thoughts of a hun
dred men. Every family is, to a certain
extent, a mercantile establishment, and, so
far as the business of selling labor in re
turn for money is concerned, it should be
conducted on the same basis. A family is
a social business firm of itself, and the
head of the family requires all the commer
cial sagacity of a New York merchant,
as far as the circumstances go. A wise
man goes to the best market. Speaking of
these things, we must trace the true cause
of individual and genera’, prosperity to the
advertising columns of the inevitable news
paper.
The First Finger ring.—An amusing
myth is told of the origin of the finger
ring. When Jove released Prometheus
from the bonds by which he had been con
fined, he condemned him to wear upon his
finger, as a sort of penance, a ring made of
a link of tlie iron chain that had bound
him to the Caucasian rock itself. In this
way—so the fable goes—the custom of
wearing the finger originated. There
is every reason to believe that this use of
the engraved stone began with the Greeks,
and from them was copied by their servile
imitators, the Romans. It is a convenient
and natural practice. The custom of our
grandfathers, of wearing ails at their fob
or hanging from the aide pocket, was a re
currence to old Assyrian usages, which
long held its ground.
“Sir,” said a blustering man to a religious
opponent, “to what sect do you suppose I
belong?” “Well, I don’t exactly know,” re
plied his opponent, “but to judge from your
size, appearance, and constant buzzing, I
should think you belonged to the class gen
erally called insect.”
It is not so much poverty that makes
men drunkards, as drunkenness that makes
men poor. No scriptural truth was ex er
more apparent than Mie proverb that the
drunkard shall come to poverty.
VOLUME 1.-NUMBER 13:.
Laughter as a Medicine..
Txvo individuals xvere lying in one room;,
very sick, one with the brain fever, and the •
other with an aggravated case oft the
mumps. They xvere so low that watchers
were needed every night, and it was com
siderad doubtful if the one sick of fever
could recover. A gentleman was engaged
to watch over night, bis duty being to •
wake the nurse whenever it became neces
sary to administer medicine. In the course -
of the night both watcher and nurse fell
asleep. The man with the inumpst lay.
watching the clock, and saw that it was*
time to give the fever patient his potion.
He was unable to speak aloud, or to move
any portion of his body except his arms,,
but, seizing a pillow, he managed to strike
the watcher in the lace with it. Thus sud
denly awakened, the watcher sprang froirn
his seat, falling to the floor, and awakened!
both the nurse and the fever patient. The
incident struck the sick men as very ludi
crous, and they laughed heartily at it for
some fifteen or twenty minutes. When the
doctor came in the morning, he found his<
patients vastly improved, and said he never
knew so sudden a turn for the better; andi
noxv both are up and well. Who saye
laughter is not the best of medicine ? Andi
this reminds the writer of another case.-.
A gentleman was suffering from an ulcera
tion in the throat, which at length b<*came
so swollen that his life was despaired of.*.
ITis household came tb his bedside to bid
him farewell. Each individual shook
hands with the dying man, and then went,
away weeping. Last of all came a pal’
ape, nnd, shaking the man’s hand, went*
away also with iis hands over its eyes. It*
was so ludicrous a sight that the patient
was forced to laugh, and laughed so hearti
ly that the ulcer broke, and his life vrass
saved.—[Sanitarian.
A Touching Story.—A drunkard, who*
had spent his fortune, returned one night to
his unfurnished home. He entered his empty*
hall. Anguish was gnawing at his heart*
strings, and language was inadequate to ex
press his agony xvben he entered his wife’s
apartment, and there beheld the victims of
his appetite, a loving wife and darling child..
Morose and sullen, seated himself withouta
xvord, he could not speak, he could not look
upon them. The mother said to the little
girl by her side:
“Come, my dear, it is time to go to bed;”’
and that little baby, as usual, knelt by bur
lap. and gazing wistfully into the face ofher
suffering parent like piece of chiseled statu
ry, slowly repeated her prayer.
When she had finished, (and the child is
but four years old,) she said to her mother :■
“Dear mother, may I offer one more pray
er?”
“Y’ts, my sweet pet, pray.”
And she lifted upward her tiny hands,,
closed her eyes and said:
“Oh God, spare, oh spare, my dear papa!”
That prayer xvas lifted with electric ra
pidity to the throne of God. It w*as heard
on high—it was heard on earth. The re
sponse, “Amen I” burst from the father's
lips and his heart of stone became aheartof.
flesh. Wife and child were both clasped;
to his bosom, and m penitence he said:
“My child, you have saved your father
from a drunkard’s grave; I’ll sign the
pledge.”
Not Used to Kindness.—“ls thite, the
post office ?” inquired a stranger the other
day as he approached the stamp clerk’s
window. “It is,” was the reply. “And
you have stamps here?” “Yessir.” “Wllh
you please be so kind as to sell me one!”'
“I will.” “I’m very sorry to have to both
er you,” continued the stranger while tho
clerk was tearing off the samp, “but I want
to send a letter and I hope you will excuse
me.” “That’s all right,” replied the clerk-.
“Yes, I believe it is all right,” said the
stranger. “I’m a thousand times obliged
for your courtesy, and now I want to beg
one more favor. Can I mail this letter
here?” “Why of course.” “Can I? Here,,
give me your hand, young man I I’ve lived
around and about for forty years, and I’ve
seen hard times. I ain’t used to this sort
o’ kindness, and it goes right to my heart 1”'
And it couldn’t be said that he was drunk.
A believer in ventilation, down East,
being put in a room at a hotel with another
guest, asked the latter to raise the window,
as the air xvas close. “1 can’t raise it,” said
he, after working at the window awhile.
“Then knock a pane of glass out,” which
was done. After awhile the man w-ho
wanted air got up and knocked out another
pane and then he was able to sleep. In
the morning he discovered that he had
broken into a book-case.
There is no man, but for his own inter
est, hath an obligation to be honest. There
may be sometimes temptations to be other
wise, but, all things considered, he shall
find it the greatest ease, the highest profit,
the best pleasure, the most safety, and the
noblest fame, to be honest..
The youth becomes a man the very any
he begins to feel uneasy at the idea of being
dependent on another.