Newspaper Page Text
Volume 3.
A. farmer'll
We envy not the princely man
In city or in town,
Who wonders whether pumpkin vines
Eun up the hill or down ;
We care not for his marble halls.
Nor yet his heaps of gold—
We would not own his sordid heart
For all his wealth thrice told.
We are the favored one’s of earth,
We breathe pure air each mom ;
We sow, we reap the golden grain,
We gather in,the corn:
We toil, we live on what we earn,
And more than this we do—
We hear of starving millions around,
And gladly feed them, too.
Thy lawyer lives on princely fees,
let drags a weary life;
He never knows a peaceful hour—
His atmosphere is strife.
The merchant thumbs liift jTtrd-stiek o’e-,
Gro s ragged at His toil ;
tie’s hot the mati Ut)d ttieant him ft)*—
Why don’t yoti till the sdil ?
The doc tot plods through storm ami Hold,
Plods at his patient's will;
When dead and gone he plods again
To get his lengthy bill.
The printer (bless his noble soul I)
He grasps the mighty earth,
And stamps it dil our daily sheet
To cheer the farmer’s Hearth.
We sing the honor of the plow,
And honor to the press—
Two noble instruments of toil,
With each a power to bless;
The bone, the nerve of this fast age,
True wealth of human kind—
One tills the eTer generous earth.
The other tills the mind.
A RACE WITH DEATH.
'■Sir, you're an ass !’
“Sir, Ihu not; I came here to sue for
your daughter's hand, and— ’
“And you expect me to give my
daughter to a man who, whatever may
be his other qualities, has not a copper
ip the world to bless himself with ?’
“I know I have no money at present,
sir, but I have hopes —’
“A pretty thing to begin house-keep
ing on ! Supposing you were married
to morrow, do .you wish to live or die
ihe day after ?’
“Live sir, of course.’
“Why of course! To live you want
food ; if you want food, you want mon
ey ; atnl as you have no money you would
get no food ; and no food means starva
lititi ! lh> you see that) sir ?'
“Yes, sir ; but— ’ ,
“But! There's no but in tlie Case.
Now take a bit of advltie from ute; Mdr
timer, as one of your father's oil ‘St
friends. Go and earn a livuig ; and when
you can show me that you can support
my daughter it I give her to you—mind
you, it —l shall be ready to ta kto you.
Good morning. Bah 1 and the testy
but good unturned o-d gentleman stump
ed out of the ro nil, leafing me sp Self
less sitting on the edge ot the chair With
my hat iii hand. AM irty hopes had bet tf
ruthlessly dashed tcf the ground. I had
expected to argue the poirtt with Mr.
Clavering as Bessie; his dilighter) had
assured me that it would be all fight if 1
tv.ly put the matter properly before him.
We had mutually agreed that he would
he sure to give his consent, and haid laid
iict end of plans for the future, in which
everything but the question ot money
had been exhaustively considered. The
abrupt manner in Which this had now
been brought disconcerted me not a
little, and I left the room' not quite so
certain that I did not resemble that
generally good natured b”t otherwise
unreliable quadruped to which Mr. Ola
vering had likened me in the course of
our conversation.
At the door I met Besie. with an ex
pression of mingled anxiety and curiosi
ty on her countenance.
“Well, Jack, what did papa Say V
“ That. I was an ass, Bessie!’
“Oh, I hope you did not quarrel. I
ivas afraid there was something wrong,
as I beard bira.ordering deviled kidneys
feff iHflch; ftnd! he never does that with
out he's in a passion.’
. “Bessie,- the Old gentleman asked me
ho’w tfg vfefe going to fife.-’
“Well, did you tell him in a little
cottage, with a garden in front, and a
piggery, and a kitchen garden, aud a
ffrtfl Ffcrcse Sttd a little dairy, and— ’
“Yes, yes; but that's not what he
meant. He wanted to know where all
the money were to come from to pay for
all tfeiSf’
“Why, yotl were to provide the mon*
ey, of course. You Wgfff t tf earn It.’
“Geftainly • but your father wanted to
Know how.’
“Howl Well, you would—there tfoW.
you ought to know best, surely. Bon'l
you f
“No, I do Hot, flosSie,' and 1 think We
ought to have thought ot this before.
“Jack, I don't wonder papa got in a
passion with you,- you're so stupid. I
have a great mind to 1 get angry with you
fnyself.'
“But sweetheart,- don't you feally
think we ought to have considered
how we were going to buy what we
Wanted? 4
"That was your business, not mine ;
and Jfick,- if you look at me like that I ? ll
box your ears.’
. “No, you wonT! I think yon'ra all
la a very bad temper this morning.’
“Do you? Now I tell you what it is
Nr. Jack. Till you find out how we‘re
going to get money to live on I Won't
have anything more to say or to do with
you at all. Don't come near nflre now. I
don’t love you a bit And, Jack when
you have found out how, you'll come
and tell me fit st, won't you ?’ And away
dashed Bessie, leaving me at the garden
gate, to which we had walked daring our
conversation.
It was a lovely spring morning. All
feature seemed in ecstacy at the prospect
/^BI■ I 9 V BB v .W IB Bi * ~> m _ flfi Hfi |m ' h I
of approaching stirtlrrter; I alone was
sad. I could ndt help feeling that I had
made a miSiHke. and that t must have
lowered myelt considerably in the esti
mation df old Mr. Clavering by appear,
ing so thoughtless and inconsiderate.
Trtte; I Was but nineteen, and having
lost mv father early, had been brought
up and edildated by my mother alone,
and so perhaps had rather less knowedge
of the world thari I Should have acquired
had I been sent to a public school or to
the university. My position wits by no
means a bad one. The only sriri of A
difingiiinhod military officer wrl o was
not wealthy, but left what little he had
to his widow during her lifetime. I
might be said to have possessed a good
education, and what was perhaps better,
good prospects. I had been invited by
Mr. Clavering, who was and old military
comrade of my father's to spend a month
with him at his residence flf Mdfeddtttbe
Bajn During my stay 1 hid Ibarnbd
first to like and then to love his daught
er Bessie, and when my visit approached
its termination had not only declared my
love, but had asked permission to marry,
with what result is known. Having been
always tolerably well supplied witli
money, I had neVt'r yet beet! bl-o tight
face to face with the gl'edr edudatdf of
humanity—the necessity of earning one‘9
broad—and was, there fore; rather igno
rant of some of the principal duties of
life than Unmindful <4 them; Tile bluff 1 ,
ooitintOn sense of liessie's fatfief Lad
compelled me to consider rririttefs fldtti a
practical point of view) and I wHS ndw
perhaps ritobe diig>-y with nlyself than
with ahy oHe else. I walked on bdt fin.,
allyiesolved to fetu’-n to the cdttare
and saddle Mdro ft)r a ride. Moro had
been my father's charger, and had been
left me, with particular instructions as
to his care. lie was a splendid horse of
jet black color; of enormous strength.
By the kindhecs df tily Host I had been
allowed to bring him with trie) and many
a pleasant ride had I had oil hi3 back
with Bessie Clavering.
As I re-entered the pleasant garden
attached to the cottage I strove in vain
to catch a.glimpse of Bessie;'and reach
ed the stable without having met any
body but the old gardner, who saluted
me with] the usual “How ’de do, Stir?’
I was soon by the side of Moro, who
gave a neigh of delight as I entered. It
did not take me long to put on his sad
dle, and as I left the yard I learned from
tile old groom that Miss Clavering had
lidderi Otlt alone about a quarter of an
hour before me. I was certainly much
chagrined :it this, and made several men
tal resolves to be fully revenged as soon
as I could get a -convenient Opportunity;
I turned down a lane that led to tile
biiil e path along the top of the cliff 1 ,
and letting the reins fall over Moro's
rteflk, abandoned myself to building cat
tles 111 tire ait‘; irt the erection of which
Bessie took a Very prominent part. The
spot was admirably adapted to medita
tion. Ttf my left if small Wood; tbfoiigh
the breaks in Which glimpses of the fisJ
ing Upland we'fe eaifght every no\V and
then? straight ahead a broad expanse ot
purple heather,- and to my right the rug
ged steep clifts, at the foot of which lay
a vast tract of sand; as life Sea; owing to
the flat shore; retires ;! distance of nearly
fotfi rffiiee : far away in the distance the
bright dancing waters, with a sail or two
in Sight; and oVer the whole a glorious
expanse of blue; across which the light
morning air blew a fetf white Scudding
Clouds;
Sotfte three rind rf biff fffiles from the
sheffe there extended right along the
coast a low sand-bank, which was at once
a sources of pleasure and danger to the
inhabitants and the fishermen. When
the tide flowed the sea beat against the
bank for some time; till ait last with an
angry roar, it Surmounted the obstacle
and come tearing dowrt the incline like a
very avalanche. Many accidents result
ing" in loss of life had taken place, owing
to the ignorance aud carelessness ot
tourists and others, who lulled into a
state of fancied security by the distauce
of the Sea, would wander about on the
sands till overtaken by the tide; wheff
they were placed; aS it were in an instant,
beyond human assistance, and Were inVa
riably lost. Danger signals aud notices
had been put up in every mominent
position by the authorities, who were
accustomed also at the turning ot the
tide to tire a signal gun ; but, with all
that; the sands were so tempting, and
the Very breeife that waited across them
so delicious, that a day seldom passed
Without Some party or other, generally
iiftfunted,- venturing upon them. As I
looked down I e’otfld see nothing but a
solitary speck in the distance; which I
Socrn after made but,- through a little
pocket-glass I always carried,- to be a
person cm horseback Cantering along; 1
paid no particular attention at the time
and eonlirtued my way; gathering un the
reins as Moro broke into a gentle trot.
I was now cm the edge Of the cliffs,
where a single false Stey would at once
have preciuitated me oh the sands’ below,
and consequently, although Moro was
wonderfully surefooted and well ac
quainted with the path, I moved ri!ong
with considerable caution; The beauty
of the scene and the exercise Soon dis
pelled the gloominess that had oppressed
me, and as my blood began to circulate
more quick y, my spirits tose and I com
menoed to siug right merrily. The path
t ow took at sitHden turn by a deep gorge,
and as 1 did not wish to go round it, a
distance of nearly a mile, I resolved to
put Moro across it ? so patting-him gent
ly on the necl{; for I never touched him
with spur or whip. I called to him ; the
noble old horse Understood me at once,
and increased his speed. On we went,
ibe pace getting faster and faster, till,
at the gorge, Moro roao with a splendid
CONYEtIS, GEORGIA.: THURSDAY, MAY 4, 1876.
bound and alighted safely oil the other
side. I noW gdt ti full view of the sands
again, and found Ihtlt t Wits Considerably
nearer’ the persoti on horseback below—
in fact, that we had been moving toward
one another. At that moment Moro
suddenly stopped, and tossing his head
in the air.gave aloud neigh. Somewhat
aston'shed at this proceeding, I looked
more careful y, and perceived by the
flutter of the dress that the person on
horseback was a ladv. I became more
interested, and taking out my glass,
discovered that it was no other than Bes
ale? who had berm* cantering along on
the fcttnds on a mare that her father had
lately bought her. Moro had no doubt
recognized his stable companion. I de.
baled with triyfielf whether .1 should re
turn, arid by taking a short cut, meet her
on Bef Way Bonlcj itt order to upbraid
hel 1 With her iliisoonditct in going out
alorie. While I was oogitatin s, Moro
uttered a snort of alaml. I looked and
beheld ill sight that for the moment took
aWdy riiy breritli. lYdut sdirie cause or
other Bessie’s hdrse appeared to have
taker! fright and become unmanageable i
all at oritie it tore away like the wind in
the diretiliflri of the sea. At the same
rriottlerit l heard tire distant bomb of the
signal-gun Which announced that the
tide Wris jitst about to turn. The frill
horror of # tlie situation now flashed
across me i Unices the triare riorild be
stopped in time) iriy loVe would he over
taken by the sea and lost before my
eyes. A cold chill taken possession Ot
rite; and fc/r it iriOntent 1 sat niotidnless;
Bessie's fl ;tlre WMS d-fetid y becoming
snr ider as she Wits bohie rapidly oiiwardi
“Now or never; Moro!” I said, as 1 rose
in the stirrups; and the gallant od
horse seemed to understand me, for he
impatiently pawed the air with liis fore
feet. The next thing was how to get
upon the sands. “The gorge ! oh, the
gorge !” I touched Mot-o, mid in a teu
seconds we had reached it; It was a
frightful declivity; and the descent seem
ed impossible ? tek it was my only
chance; and I ’determined to make the
attempt. Carefully; and with the g'rea -
cst Caution, I gitided Moro ; and after a
few rtidirteuts of agonised suspense gain
ed the Sand. I knew I had only one
course before rue—to ptlrSue the mare
and theft attempt to'race the tide. 'Mo
ro !’ I shout-d, “Moro! we ride to save
my love !’ Moro shock himself as if he
knew what a irenleiidoitS eftbrt wris de
manded of him, and seifled Sown xo Ids
work. By this time Bessie was rjime
, h-tll the distance toward the sea. Would
I reach Iter in time? In order to lighten
the weight, 1 threw away my overcoat,
my hat, coat and waistcoat. I tabled
Upon Moro ;he seemed to fly. We were
gaining upon the mare evidently; but
Still the rfWtitl question rose to illy lips :
child it be tit time?’ I could already
he.fr the roar and surge of the waters,
shid the rising wind warned tile that the
tide woifld that morning propably exceed
its usual height. My b ood was up. I
determined to either save my love or to
perish with her; We were now but
half a utile apart. I shouted till I was
hoarse; but a.l to no effect, for the wind
was dead in our faces. Moro geemed to
pftrtifiipftte in irty excitement; and strains
etf etfcfy ffeffre to overtake the mare.
Wd dere not moro than two hundred
yards di3tant from the sand hank against
which tHe tVavefl were dashing with un
woffted fbl’fle; Another second and the
mate woffld hafe paSsed the bank, be
overwhelmed by the raging waters, and
till Woifld be lost. I screamed in my ag
ohfy. I thought I heard a low waft, in
res’pon'Se; f shut my eyes as I could not
bear to look, but opened then! immedi
ately, as Moro gave a whinny of pleas
ure.
“Ah ! what is that ?’ The marc hrfn
Stumbled and thrown Bessie, and then
plunged tfrildly,* irt her terror and faty
into the waves. In an i I was
alongside rtn loVe, had dismounted and
was kneeling by her. ‘‘Bessie l Bessie !
oh my darling) are you dead ? Oh,
speak id me }’ speak to me f' Alter a
few moments, which seemed to me an
age ol t6Vture, she opened her eyes and
said faintly: “Jack, my best belovvd,
save yourself,' the tide will be ©Ver the
bank in a second or two. Give my Ibte
to dear papa.’ Then exhausted She fell
back in a dead faint; 1 tore my hair in
despair y I raved like a madman; What
Could I do 1 Al last I became calmer,- for
a deSpeffife resolVe had taken possession
of me. Moro should have a double bUr
den, and we would try and outstrip the
tide ; we would race with death. I soon
placed my darling across the saddle,- and
leaped up behind her as the first spray
came flashing over the bank. I krtew
not an instant was to be lost.- We star
ted tor the shefre. I patted Moro* I
said to him' “Moro, you bore my lather
through the ranks of death at BalaklaVa.
Ob, save his son 1’ To add to my agony
I now perceived that a storm was im
pending. The sky was overcast ; heavy
drops of rain began to fall,- and every
now and then a lurid flash lit up the
darkening air. We were now but two
rm eff from the shore, and if I could only
rea’C'h' the gorge in tithe I knew we were
Shved. I called again upon Moro. The
noble horse lot the first time uttered
sighs of distress; Anew terror uo.w
Se’ifed me—"would Mora's strength last f
1 turned and looked, ar.d through the
Winding rain Saw,* to my horror that the
sea’ was already breaking over the bfitrk.
It Would be Upon us almost directly. I
urged Moro otf afresh, but the poor ani
mal appeared unable to increase his
speed. Boom l boom f Ah ! what is
that ? Thiitrk God, W3 have been ob
served, and they fire hastening to our
helo! Tne signal-gun l “Moro, my Mo-,
ro, but a lew seconds longer!’ We tore
along. Bessie still lay insensible in my
arms. The cliffs now rose frowriing be
fo-e ns. Another Htindrod yards and we
are saved. “On, Moro, on 1 I near the
roar of the descending tide.’ Once
Store I turned, and nS the lightning
dshod: I saw the wafers racing rind
surging almost at the horse's heels. At.
that moment Moro staggered. ’The sea
was upon us and over us. I heard a
ringing in my ears. I gave one Inst, one
agonized shriek, and remembered no
more.
I awoke and found myself in a warm
b<*d, surrounded by compassionate faces;
Mr. Clavering came forward. *'.i od
must not excite yourself, my boy,’ be
said: “IJe sie is well.'
“And Moro 1’ 1 asked.
“Is well too,’ lie said.
Bo you want to know whether I mar
ried Bessie ? It yon do go to Morcombe
Bay, ask for the Hawthorne's and maybe
you'll see an old b'aek military charger,
almost b'ind, with two or three eurly
headod little urchins on his back, all
laughing and clapping their hands as he
car: ies them daintily up aud down the
path.
Angry Words.
Angry words are lightly spoken.
In a rush and thoughtless hour ;
flrighest links of life are broken
By their deep insidious power,
itearts inspired by warmest feeling,
Ne’er before by anger Btirred,
Oft are passed all hun au healing
By a single angry word.
•
Poison drops of care and sorrow,'
Bitter poison drops are they—
Weaving for the coming morrow
Saddest memories of to-day.
Angry words ! oh, let them never
From the tongue unbridled slij> ;
May the heart’s best impulse ever
Check them e’er they soil the lip.
Love is much too pure and holy.
Friendship is too sacred far,
For a moments reckless lolly
Thus to desolate and mar.
Angry words are lightly spoken -.
Bitterest thoughts are rashly stirred;
Brightest links of life are broken
By a single angry word. *
The Voting Lawyer.
The tie which bound a certain Detroit
youth to a lawyer's office was severed
the other day, and itis parents were hap
py They wanted the boy to make a
great, lawyer, but he was getting along
info fast, lie pursued his studies will)
an afdor which cast a judicial shadow
o'er the household and created consider
able neighborhood talk. He got trusted
for candy and repudiated the bill on the
ground that he was a minor. He bought
a dog and went into bankruptcy'. He
borfVf’ved a pair of skat sand defied the
ownef to get out a w rit of replevin. He
borrow* and tit v cenis and then made the
Under his assignee.
But the worst of it was in the family,
lie had a legal name for almost every
thing, and his desire was to prove to his
pare 1 to? that he was just absorbing dead
loads of law. II he wanted a potal iat
the dinner table he would remark:
“Father, tile tny claim against that
baked potato ana I'll prove the indebted
neSfl this afterttdon.’
If he wanted bread he said ! “Motli
ef- get me out a writ of attachment far a
piece ot bread.’
It Was expected of Hiiti that he would
build the rtiornir.g tires; blit no sooner
bad be gained an insight into ldw than
he said to his father 1
“I'm gCfuig to move for a change of
venue unless Sonic other arrangement is
made.’
He moVed fof ft Stay Of proceedings
when asked to go to the grocery; and it
chided for being cut nights he replied :
“File your declaration and give me a
chance for a jury trial ’
VTnen he was in good humor he would
sit aud regale his mother with stories
about how Old Chancery was going tip
to'wn one night and met Old Equity and
Usked him how Decree was getting along.
Old Hleadifig and Expectations came
and ong just 'hen, and there was a big
tight, and the young lawyer wotlld Slap
bis leg and add:
“It Indictment had only been there
be'ed haVe whaled the dhole crowd !’
The other day the long suffering fa'h.
et severed the tie. He was trying to
bciit tip; hoping for reform, but as he sat
down to the tea table his son biightened
up and remarked i
“The defendant will rto'W take the
Stand and be sworn. Now, sir, did you
or (fid you not come out of Griswold
stieet saloon at eleven o’clock this morn
ing; wining your mouth on the back of
ycur hand 1 Tell the jury about it,
sir f
It was a little too much, and the ooy
doesn't study law any more. He olays
with a woodpile in the back yard.
Tying the Mnot,
A young fellow was taking a sleigh
ride with a pretty girl, when he met a
minister who was somewhat celebr ited
for tying the matrimonial knot at short
notice. He stopped him and asked bur
riedly r
“Can you tie a knot for me ?’
“Yes; said Brother B 1 , “I guess
so. Whren do you want it dono ?’
“■Well, right away,’ was the reply
“Is it lawful, though, here in the high
way ?’
“Ob, yes ; this is as good a place as
any—-as sate as the elittrclr itself,’
“Well, then, I wrihf a Knot tied in <¥iy
horse’s tail to keep it out of the snow.’
The minister strangely, displayed pro
fane wrath.
The extreme height of misery a small
boy with anew pair of boots and' no
mud paddle.
Pyspcpsfd—lt* Cause and Cure.
The most universal cause for dyspep..
sia is catling too oltcn; too last, mil too
tntfuh. , The general rules should be :
1— Ear thrice a day.
2 Not eat an atom between meals.
3 Nothing after 2 o’clock but a slice
of told bread and butter and one cup of
hot drink.
4 Spend half an hour at leriSt in taka
ing cacli meah
5 Cut up all meats and li&ffl food in
pea-sized pieces.
O—Nevcr eat enough to cause the
slightest uncomfortable sensation aftel
watds.
7—Never work or s:ndy hard within
hall an hour ot eating.
The most universal and infahiahle in
dication that a person is becoming dys
peptic is some uncomfortable sensation
coining on uniformity after each meal,
i whether that be in the stomach, throat
or any where else. The formation of
wind in the stomach, indicated by et no
tation, belching; or otherwise, demon
strates that dyspepsia-'s fixing itself in
the system. Then there is only one
course to puisne, and that is in fall IftHle i
eat less and less at each meal, Uiitll flo
wind is generated and no uncomfortable
sensation experienced in any part ol the
body. No medicine evef cured confirm
ed dyspepsia j eating pliiltl food regularly
and living otlt df doors industriously
s ill cure most cases.—[Hill s Journal of
Health.
Social Wine Drinking;
At nil Episcopal convention, a dis
cussion on temperance brought tip the
“ wine question.” A part of the clergy
advocated its eritire disuse, and a part
took the other side. At length an influ
ential eletgytrian made a Vehement
argument ill favor of wine, denouncing
the radical reformers for attempting to
banish this token 01. hospitality i'rbni
use. When he had f-esttmed Ids seat, a
layman trembling with emotioft rose, and
asked it it waS allowable for him to
speak. Tile chair having signified that
he would be heard, he said
“Ml* Moderator; it is not my purpose
in rising to answer the learned df-griment
you have just listened "to: My object is
more humble, and I hope more praci
cal. I onee knew a father in nrodef-ate
circumstances who was tit much iiitbu
venience to educate haiuwd son n.
college. Here this son becarfle dissi
pated; but after he bad gtadiiated and
returned to his father, the influence ot
home, acting upon a generous nature,
actually reformed hint. The father was
overjoyed at the prospects that his
cherished hopes of (After days were fl'.i'l
to be realised:
“Several year# paSfbtl when; ifie
young man having completed his study
and being about to leave his father for
the purpose fit establishing in business,
lie was invited to dine with a neighbor
ing clergyman distinguished tor his hos
pitality and social qualities. At this
dinner wifte was introduced and offered
to this Noting man, and refused; pressed
upon him and again firmly refused. This
was repeated, and the young man was
ridiculed for his singular abstinence. He
was strong to overcome appetite, but
couldn't Hot fesist ridicule ; he drank, mid
fell ; and from that moment became a
confirmed dtunkard, mid long sittco has
found a drunkard's grave.
“ Mr; Moderator,” continued the old
man With steaming eyes, “ I am that
father; and it was at the table of the
Clergyman who has just taken his scat,
that this token of hospitality ruined the
SOh I shad never oeatfe to mourn.
t*retty or Not ?
'1 0 he pretty is the great object of al
most every living woman—even of those
whb hav’ “a mission f” and who, if
truth wero told, dress themselves as
becomingly as possible, even while limy
lecture upon the impropriety of doing
so.
Boauliffil women spend a great deal
of thbught fipon their own charms, unci
liottiel/ women grow homelier through
frettihg because they are not hand
some;
Men, at least while they are young,
are verv much like women m this re
spect, though they hid-*, their feelings
belter.
There is one comfort to the homely
ones, however. After you come ‘.o know
people very intimately, you do not know
whether they are pretty or not, Their
“ ways’’ make un impression on you, but
not their noses, and ears; their eyes and
months. In time; the soul expresses
itself to you, and it is that which you
see.
A man who has been married twenty
years scarcely knows what his wife looks
like. He may declare 1 hat he Joes, and
tell you that she is a bewitching little
blonde, v ilh soft blue eyes, long after
she is fat, and red, and fo 1 ty ; because
the image of his early love is in his
heart, and he doesn't see her ns she is
to day, but as she was when he courted
her. Or, being an indiff rent husband,
he may not, know that she is the fine
woman that other people think her.
You have known men who have mar
ried the plainest viloirten, and think
them beauties ? aud yOU know beauties
who are quite thrown ft way on men who
value a wife for lief Rffccess rs a cook.
As far as' one's effect on strangers is
to be taken into consideration, heaiAy i.-
valuable, and Very valuable. So; if you
have it, rejoice; but if you have it not,-
be content.
Take care of your heart, your soul,
your mind, and your manners, and you
will make lor yourself that beauty which
will render you lovely to those who are
nearest and dearest to you.
timber 4:l*
A \\ underfill flock.
A German ol ( inc’imati has invented
a dock which, tlioiigli much, Sinai Ini
titan the celehra-ed one at Strusbiirg. is,
from its description, much trleiv (,’bthpli,
dried: It ijf now bn exhibition In one
ol the windows of a jewelry fttofle And
attracts mite p nltentioff The inventor
t calls it “ Die Lahenstihr”—(he clonk of
lire; The elaborateness of ils inecnnn
ijtii limy he imagined from the following
description ot tire wonder;
We see, m a glass ease, a thvee-etoi'v
steeple-sh; ped olof-K, Jbbi- febt wide at
the fliht Story ami hihe feet high. T’hej
movements are placed iii the first story,
on four delicate columns, which is in the'
insignificant form of a bee hive. Be-1
hind the pendulum there is a picture
representing mature manhood— a coun
tryman behind his plough. ’■ he corners
are carved and represent four periods of
life—infancy, youth, manhood and old
age. The spaces 'o the right and left
of the dock are ornamented with \w9l
oil paintings, representing {tie spring
time of life, (cnildf-eti jilaying in the
garden), and tbd nfftttmnor the end of
life (grave diggbi-8 in the cemetery.) i"
The second #tbt y consists ot two tow- r
er-iike pieces, on the doors of which
represent boyhood and early manhood:
In the one and hoy is just pushing his
little hark nwa'y from tho shore. Ho
Stands upright in his boat and points to
the distance ; he is about to begin life
—to paddle his “ own cauoe.” In the
Other a young man who lias already
rtrnde some' progress fn the journey of
life) enters it rOom ifl fbhifih there is an
hour glass, which reminds him of tire
fleet ness of time. On this story ther e
are three guardian angels.
A rnnjestic tower cf-oWn9, as third
story, tlie ingenious structure. A cock,-
as a symbol of watchfulness, stands on
the top, flireotly over the portal, which
opens the lower itl fj-ont. On this porN
ta' there is a painting vbhieh represents u
tire perishableness ot earthly tilings.
The entire structure iS; itt appearance,- 1
very much like ati blf} Gothic Cafltle:
Now, let us flee it we Can describe the
meohftrtic’fll action ot the clock. When
it rffrirfes the first quarter, the door of
ihc left piece of the'second story opens,
and we see a child issue from the back
ground, cone forward to a little bell,
give it a blow, then disappear. At \ho
second quarter a yotltli 3;>p u aiS, strikes
flic bell twice, anti men tlleappeuio. Al.
the third cotnes a man in prime,
at the fourth we have a tottering old
man, leaning on a staff, who strikes the
bell four times. Each, lime the door
closes itself. When the hortrfl are ftfll
the door of the fight peafce of the sec
ond story opens, and Death; as a skelcn
loft; sfiythe in hand; appears and maiks
the hour tfv stfikii/g a bell. But is at
the twelfth hoffrthat we have the grand!
spectacle In the representation of thd
day of judgment. Then, when death
hits Stfuek thfee blows on the little bell,
the bock oft the top of the tower sud
denly flaps his wings, and crows in a
shrill tone; and after Death has marked
the twelfth.hoer With hi# hammer, ne
crows again twice. Immediately the
angels, who stand as guardians in a cen7
tral position, raise their trumpets with
their right hands (in their lelt they Ji’old
Swords), and blow a blast toward each
of the four quarters of the earth; at the
last blast the door ot the tower opens,
aud the resurrected children of earth
appear, while the destroying angels sink
out ot sight.
The multitude stand fftf .fl rtfottefit full
ot awe and wonder, when suddenly,
Christ, in all his majesty descends, surJ
ftfttnded by angels. On his left there is
tin dttgbl who holds the scales of justice ;
on his right another harries the Book of
Life, which opens to show the alpha rind
omega—the beginning and the end.
Christ waves his hand, and immediately
the good among the resurrected are
separated from the wicked, the former
going to the right and the latter to the
left. The Arch Angel Michael salutes
the good, while on the other side stands
the devil, radient with fiendish delight;
The figure of Christ taises its hand
again; dilh a Ihreatbning mien, and the
accursed sink down to the realms of hjtr
Satanic majesty. Then Christ blesses the
chosen few who draw near to him. Ei
ually, we hear a cheerful chime of bells,
during which Christ rises, surrounded
by his angels until he disappears/ and
the pb’flal clostfs.
We look with amazement o’ri Inisf ex
hibition of the mechanic’s ingenuity ; a
complete drama is here represented,
withotff life aid ot human hand. And
what eXckes our admiration still more is
the perfection of all the movenfents;
they are steady, calm arrd noiseless; witn
the exception of tho threatening gest
ures of .the figure of Christ and the
movements ot Lucifer who darts across
the scene with lightning rapidity. The
peculiar action ot these two figures is
intentional on the part of the artist and
adds greatly to the effect.
I Gills talk and burgh about marriage as
though it tfas a jubilee, a gladsome
thing, a rose without a thorn. And s a
it is, if it is all right—if they go üboui
it as rational beings instead of merry
making children. It is a serious thing
to marry. It is ft life business. There
fore; neve'f do it in haste; never run
away to get married ; never marry for
wealth or standing,- or fine person, or
manners, biri for character, for worth,
for the qualities of mind and heart which
make an honoinb.e man. Take tftffe ;
think long aud well before you? acoept
any proposal ; consult yonf patents, then
some judicious friend, then your own
judgment. Learn alHhat is possible for
you to learn of -your proposed husband.
\Vhen all doubts havo been removed/ i
and not trll tlreir, a evpt;