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About Rockdale register. (Conyers, Ga.) 1874-1877 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 1, 1877)
VOL. 3. John Jenkin’s Sermon. TV minister said lest night, says he, -Don’t be afraid o’ givin’; If yonr life ain’t worth nothin to other fo ke, Why what the use of livin’ P” And that’s what I say to wife, says I, There's Brown the miserable sinner, He’d sooner a beggar would starve than giro A cent toward buyiu’ a dinnor. I tell you our minister’s prime, ho is, But I couldn’t quite determine, When I heard him a givin’ it right and left, just who he has hit by his sermon. Of course there couldn’t be no mistake When he talked of long winded prayin’, For Peters and Johnson they sot and scowled At every word he was sayin . And the minister he went on to say,^ “There’s various kinds o elieatin And religion’s as good for every day As it is to bring to meetin’. I don't think much of a man that gives The Lord amen at my preaching’, And spends his time the following week In cheatin’ and over reachin’." I guess that dose was bitter enough For a man like Jones to swallsr; But I notice he didn't open his month. Not once, after that, holler. Hurrah, says I, for the miniater— Of course I said it quiet— Give n some more of this open talk. It’s very refreshin’ diet. Just then the minister says, says he,' “And now I’re come to the fellers Who’re lost their shower by usin’ their friends As sort 0’ moral umbrellas. Go home,” says he, “end find yonr fault Instead of huntin’ yonr brothers’; Go home,” says he, “and wear the coats | (You’re tried to fit for others,” My wife she nudged and Brown he winked, Aad there was lot’s o' smilin’, And lots o’ lookin’ at our pew; It sot my blood a bilin’. Ssys I to myself, our minister Is gettin’ a little bitter; ’’ll tell him when meetin’s out, that I Ain’t at all that kind of a critter. The Little Cash-Boy—-A Story Founded on Fact. Willie Allen was about eleven or twelve years of age. ’ He and his two siters —both older than himself—were left orphans when very young. The pa rents, during their lives, had been suend ing their money at watering places in the summer, in amusements in the win ter, and in extravagant dress for them selves and their future well-being,—so that they were left almost wholly with out resources. The sisters found homes in two benev oh nt families—one in New York, the other in New England; while Willie, with a brave little heart within bis breast, obtnned a situation as cash boy in a dry poods store, where be received only two dolars a wt ek. Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, who bad known tie parents of these young orphans, re ceived Willie into their family at the low board of seventy-five cents a week. They were very kind to him, and he en deavored to aid them as far as possible to the few leisure hours which could be spared from his occupation. Willie had many estimable qualities. He had honesty of thought, as well as of deed; truthfulness and gentleness *ith a sweetness of disposition which secured the affection of all with whom he came in contact. The pupils of the school, especially, became much attached to him, aud one—the son of a rich mer chant tailor—was his warm friend. The poor M ttle boy made no com— plaint; but the one dollar and a quarter ■ a which remained alter paying his could scarcely supply the shoes he ■■ceded, wit h a few minor articles of ■lotting, to make him look lespeetable ■ n ough for his position. ■ now winter was approaching B“ e Was booking very shabby, and was ■'ortified to be so; tor he had the feeling ■- a little gentleman, and wou.d have ‘ e 1° look like one, among his com ■anious. day his clothes were nicely ■tasked ; but they grew thinner and Banner. He had no overcoat and would ■®oa find himself suffering from the cold. B nsinias not far distant, when the boys pupils ot the school—would go 10 pond the holidays and have a time with parents and brothers ■‘'pre. He bad no home, and, at timer, ■wn alone, Willie was a little tearful ■ Uu despondent. ■ This was observed by his friend, Janie** r amson-.the son of the Merchant K r jT] ,bo noticed also the almost "Audition of his clothing.- ■ looked at his own warm and comfort KL, W ‘ Dt * r Buit and > contrasting it with K .Jf® or ph'n boy, he said to him- Keii,, f**' 1 wonld lik see him as Atd deserves it, be 18 a Sooi boy, an d he never complains, as I should, if I were so poor.’ He was one of the day scholars, and on his return home at night, he told his mother the story of Willie Allen, and excited her interest m behalf ot the motherless boy. The time passed on ; and just three days before Christmas, while Willie was attending to his duties in the store, a a lady came in and inquired for him. He had never seen her before, and n as much surprised when, after asking per mission of bis employer, she requested him to come with her. She took him to her husband’s establishment, which was only a lew blocks distant, and fitted him out with a lull suit of nice winter cloth ing, together with nice under-garments. Willie’s heart was sc full that he could with and iffiulty thank his benefactress His gratitude was awakened not only to wards her and her son, but to Cod also; for he felt sure that He had put it into their hearts to come to his relief. He had learned from his Sunday school teacher, long ago, and had never forgotten it, that if he endeavored to obey God and keep his Commandments, and trust to him, God would care for him - She said : ‘He had promised to be a Father to the fatherless. Not 2 sparrow falls to the ground without his knowledge; and every little orphan boy who looks up to Him with love and trust, believing in His fatherly care, will be al ways under His special protection. Willie believed this firmly. And he had often said to himself: ‘I am only a boy and cannot do much.; but I do not ihinkGod will forget me. If He sees hat I am trying to be good and to do mv best, He will take care of m6!’ And Willie's faith was strengthened by the circumstances which had just occurred to him. As well as he could, he returned his thanks, and the lady was perfectly satis fied ; for a thankful heart will often man ifest itself without the aid of words. But tlrs was not all that happened to make Christmas a day of joy to Willie. When he went to his boaidiug-houf e, on the evening of the day he received his gifts from Mrs. Wilkinson—carrying bis new clothing in a large buudle under bis arm—Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell were de lighted with the account ho had to give and the beautiful pvesent he had to dis play. They had wished to do something tor the boy who had wen their hearts by his purity of character, his goodness and the gratitude he manifested for every little act of kindness they had shown him. But their school had been expen sive the past year , the ‘haid times’ had induced many of the parents to take their sous home from the establishment; so that they were rejoiced when another hand was opened to administer to then young favorite ; and they knew his needs were great. As they were examining and com mending the separate articles in Willie’s parcel, he noticed an exchange of g'anee between the teacher and his wife, as it they had some pleasant secret, not to be revealed at present. But it all came out in due time, and was a joytul surprise to him, as they intended it should be. He went home the night before Christ mas with joyful anticipations for the morrow, for he had been invited to dine with his eldest sister, by the family into which’she had been adopted. He was glad now that he could go without mor tification in regard to his dress; and his sister would not feel ashamed of his ap- pearance. When he arose in the morning, he did not forget that it was the day on which Christ was born ; nor did be forget to say bis prayers and to tbank God, in bis simple way, lor all bis goodness to him. Then he brushed his handsome auburn hair, and dressed himself very neatly in bis new suit. It fitted him perfectly ; and with a glow of pride and satisfaction, L well as gratitude, be opened bis bed room door, to go down to breaklast. Just as he did so, he saw upon tbe thes hold a large and neatly done up parcel, 1 addressed to ‘Master Willie Allen,’ with ‘A Meiry Christmas” on the outside. lie untied the package with trembling fingers. To his amazement, it contained a nice warm overcoa', a pair of boots, and a pair ot thick gloves. ‘Weill’ he exclaimed, ‘I declare I have everything, now, that I want in this world 1 But, now, who did these come from 1’ He stood meditating a moment, and then, examining the coat, he thrust his hand into the breast-pocket. There was a note, containing a few lines from Mr. Maxwell, which explained the whole matter. One of the older pupils, a resident of St Lonis, bad gone to his home, to spend he holidays, and after they were over, CONYERS, GA.„ THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1877. he was to be prej ared for college by a teacher in his native city. After he left, Mrs, Maxwell had found these articles in his room. Supposing them left by acci dent, she had written to inform him of the oversight. A return letter, after thanking her cordially, said : ‘I did not leave them by accident, at all. My mother sent them just before I left, for me to wear on my journey home. She did not know how much I lmd grown since she saw me, and I found them en tirely too small. They are perfectly n* \v, and may be uselul to that good lit tle fellow, Willie Allen. Please ask him •accept them, w ith a five dollar bill which he will find fastened far down in the breast pocket.'—This last Willie had not discovered.—‘l intended to have spoken to you about this befo.e I left, and to ask you to give them to him at Christmas ; but I am a careless, good for nothing fellow, as you very well know, and 1 for got all about it.’ This, then, was the history of Willie’a timely present ; and it was so precisely what he required, he was sure that God had ordained it. When Christmas was over which was a very happy day for him—he wrote to his friend in St. Louis, to thank him for his kindness and thoughtfulness, and to offer in return all he had to give—his best wishes for his happiness. After this, with the conviction that God must be very near to him, because He knew all his wants, and had heard his prayers ; and that he would always be a father to the orphan, and to all who trusted in Him ; he strove harder than ever to obey HU Commandments and to do everything acceptable to Him. Then he wrote to his sister in New England, telling her of all his good fort une ; begging her to ‘be very good, to do all in her power for those who had been kind to her, and to love God with all her heart.’ A few years have passed since then ; and anew situation has opened lor Wil lie. He writes a remarkably clear and distinct hand, and his present employ ment consists in writing in an office from nine in the morning till four in the after noon. This arrangement gives him— with wliajt lie considers very good pay— many hours for study, which he does not fail to improve ; aud the teacher, Mr. Maxwell—with whom he still boaros —is always ready to assist him in obtaining his education. So we present our young friend, Willie Allen as an example to all young boys, of punctuality and faithfulness. His employers appieciate him highly, and they have promised him that, as soon as he shall be competent, he shall become the bookkeeper in their establishment, with an adequate salary. With this sit uation in view, he’works hard to prepare himself, and always with trust aud faith in God- Little friends ! go and do like wise.—[New York Observer. E. Jtsh Billings on Prayer. From tu many friends and from things at luce ends, good Lord deliver us. From a wife who don’t luv us, and from children who don’t like us, good Lord deliver us. From snaix in the grass, and from snaix in boots, from torch lite processions, and all new rum, good Lord deliver us. From pack peddlers young folks in luv from old aunts without money, from koleramorhus, good Lord deliver us. From wealth without charitee, from pride without sense, from pedigree worn out, and from all rick relations, good Load deliver us. From virture without fragrance, from butter that smells, and from kats that are courting good Lord deliver us. From old folks secrets, and from our own, from megiumsand wimraen korn* mitteee, good Lord deliver us. From polvticians who pra, end from ri koffi, red henen, aud all grass good Lord deliver us. From folks wont laff, and from them wbogiggls, tile butes, easy virtu, and and rnutteD, good Lord deliver us. The Virgiuia City (Nev.) Bord of Alderman have passed an ordinance for bidding all boys under sixteen yean old being on the streets afier 8 o’clock at night, unless accomanyeid by their patents geardians, employers, or adult friend:, ‘Mother, what kind of a bear is a con secrated, cross-eyed bear?’ ‘Why?* ‘Because we sing about it in Sunday School.’ ‘No, my child, you sing,, ■A consecrated cross I bear,’ A SLIP ON SLIPPERS. The Story of a Broker's Chicago Romance. O Illustrating at the Same Time the Size of the Chicago Foot [From the Chicago Times.] Augustus Harrison is one of tho gay society young nun of the West side. Ho is hansome, he dances well, he waltzes beautifully, says witty tilings which makes everybody laugh, and parts his hair exactly in the middle. His graco ful figure is one of the most familiar at all the club dances and private parties in that part of the city, Augustus a day or lwo or ago was in love—deeply, madly in love with Evange line Jerome, a pretty blonde, who lives on West Monroe street. He first met Evangeline Jerome at one of the club parties given at Martin’s last season. He loved her at first sight. Once, while looking over a volume of poetical quota tions, preparatory to going to Brown party, which everybody remembers, he came across the line. He only loves who loves st first sight, And exlaimed, ‘That’s the gospel truth.’ He lavished chocolate caromels on that girl, and the coarse though* that she was the champion carotnel-chewer of the West side never flashed upon his intel lect. When his sister confidentially told him that Evangeline ‘toed in,' his love was not shaken in the least. Had she told him that his Evangeline had a big mole on her hack, lie would still have loved that girl. One night this Winter he froze his nose whi'e taking her sleigh riding. Yet he murmured not, though the skin peeled ofl and made ii look like a piece of raw veal cutlet. Oil, lie mad ly loved his Evangeline, and thought she adored the ground—the considerably area of ground—that he stood on. Wednesday evening he rung the front door hell of the Jerome lainily mansion. The servant girl came to the door. ‘ls Miis. Jerome in T’ ‘Yes, Walk into the parlor, Mr. liar rison. She is dresing. I will tell her you are heie.’ lie Walked into the parlor and set familiarly down in the large arm-chair, which he often convinced EvangeliHe was Ivg enough to hold them both, and bright expectant smiles agitated the waxed, needle like ends of his small mustache—the mustache which Evange line, the flatterer, always tickled so. Five minutes dragged slowly away. Five more minutes successfully accomplished a similar proceeding. Augustus yawned and wondered why she didn’t come, while as a matter ot fact, Mis®. Jerome had but just put the finishing touch unon the first soap curl. Then he sauntered to the centre table and looked at the photo graph album, although he remembered very well that Evangeline had showed them to him the first time he called upon her. Then he sauntered to the little what-not in one ot the hack corners ot the room. A paper parcel, loosely done up, lay on one ot the| shelves. Angus tus picked it up. A pair of slippers drop ped out of the paper. ‘My Christmas present,’ he mured soilly as he picked them up. ‘Darling giral. Oh ? how I love her,’ and he fell to admiring the embroidery and the pleas ing pattern. On the side of each slipper was a dog with a cardinal read head, a black body, and a pink tail, chasing a green deer with solferino antlers and a rnauve tail around each heel. On the other side of each slipper was a magenta take, into which these singular deer no doubt intended to plunge to escape these peculiar dogs. ‘Oh ? how beautiful 1 exlaimed Augustus. ‘Dear girl, I knew she would remember me.’ At this in stant he glanced at the sole, and an ex pression of acute pain, which would have been less inexplicable had it been the green apple season, passed across his face, and he groaned, ‘Srancious heavens! num ber nines. ‘lmpossible;’ and held them to the light and looked again. ‘Yes number nines. Ob! Evangeline 1 Evan geline 1 is it possible? Chin it be? Is there another ? Oh ? cruel, false heart, lees, fickle Evangeline. She loves an. other because he has small feet. The deceitful jtdo. Oh 1 bow I loved her- Loved her 1 aye, worshiped her, adored he. Heaven help me to bear this. She has broken my heart,’ and be mossed up bis heir which be had so carefully oiled end slioked, and threw bis arms wildly about and paced the room in greet ex oitement, looking, extremely wild and haggard, indeed, ‘Oh ! tbe peifidioue wretob 1 Ob, tbe deceitfulneee of wo man *’ he groaned as he knocked over a 1 chair which stood in his way. ‘The heartless monster. Only to thi"k how I loved that girl; how I brought her chnroolato drops ami froze my nose for her. Cuss it!’ The last two words re ferred to a foot rest which In kicked over in his mad career. ‘On'y to think falling in love with a man just because he has small feet. How shallow Oh, Evangeliene, I fondly thought you were a woman of mind, of soul.’ ‘Why, what’s the matter, Gus.' said Evangeline in great surprise, as she enter ed the room at this juncture. ‘Can you ask mo wlnt’s the matter t Oh, Evange’ine, how could you ?’ ‘How could I T How could I what t ‘Do not try to deceive me, Evange" lino.’ ‘ tVhat do you mean V ‘Those slippers.’ •Well?’ ‘They are not for me. They arj for auolher,| a hateful rival,' ‘How do you know they not lot yon 1' ‘Tney fire number nines. Yon know, Evangeline. I wear elevens.’ ‘Oh, you stupied I They are for Uuole George.' 'You never had an Uncle George. You are deeeiving me.’ ‘I am not.’ ,You are.* •Can’t you believe ine Y ‘No,’ ‘You are no gentleman.’ ‘You aae a deceiilul hussy.’ I hate and despise you.’ *■l don’t doubt it.’ ‘I shall call papa.’ ‘Y’ou tnav, for all I care.’ ‘Papa 1 Papal’ called the lovely Evangeline. Papa immediately entered the parlor and asked excitedly. ‘What is the matter, my child ?’ ‘This xian has insulted me.’ ‘lnsuted you, my daughter I Get of my bouse, sir ." ‘I will go when I get ready, you bald headed old fool, you.’ ‘You internal rascal, you’ll go now,’ and Mr. Jerome planted a kick in the neighborhood hut s’iglilly protected by Augustus Harriscu’s broadcloth coat tails. Augustus then thrfw n fan ay glass paper weight at Mr. Jeromo, which struck that elderly gentleman in the head, and glancing therefrom, smashing a Sevres vase whhich stood on the mantle piece ; and young Jerome rushed out of the house and bawled ‘P’lice 1 P lice 1’ and Augustus was in the hands of an officer by the time he could slip into his cvercoat and put on his hat. Evil doers on the West side eventu ally find their way to Justice Scully, and that grave man of the law frowned upon Augustus Harrison on yesterday morn ing. and after hearing the evidence from the several witnesses, fined him $lO and rebuked with a severe repri mand. Sunday School Recitation. ‘Who led out the Iraeliles?’ ‘Moses,’ was the prompt reply. ‘And where did he lead them 1’ ‘To the Promised Land.’ ‘That’s right, my little dears. Now what did the land flow with ?’ ‘With honey,’ answered three or four. ‘A nd what else ?’ (Here was a stick no reply.) ‘Como children, some of you surely remember. When you were babies what did your mothers give you ? What else did the promised Land flow with besides honey ?’ ‘I know,’ said a little five year old springing to bis feet and elevating his hand. ‘I know what it wath, tbir ; I know thir.’ ‘I was sure some of you would give the correct answer,’ said the teacher. ‘What was it, my dear ?’ ‘Why, it wath litty thir 1’ The Superintendent proceeded to obange the subject by singing the hymn beginning: •Children of the Heavenly King As we journey sweetly sing-’ A Yankee poet thus breaks forth: Oh! the enore, the butiful snore, filling the chamber from ceiling to floor 1 Over the coverlet, under ibe sheet, from her woe dimpled chin to bei pretty feet 1 Mow rising aloft like a bee ip June; now inrttfr to the wail of craoked bassoon ! Now flute like, subsiding, then rising again, in the beautiful snore of Eliza, betb Jens.’ _ 'The King of Portugal, Dum piiz J-, is engaged upo* Porfagese trarsfation of j I C I Shaker peaf'-. 1 Ons Way to Marry Off Girlr. ‘Brown, I don’t know how it is that your girls a’l marry off ns soon as they get old enough, w bile none of mino can marry.’ ‘Oh, that’s simple enough. I marry my girls off on the buckwheat straw principle.’ ‘But what is thut principle T 1 never heard of it before.’ ‘Well I used to raise a good deal of buckwheat, and it puzzled mo to know how to get rid of the si raw. Nothing would eat it, and it was a great butter to me. At last 1 1 bought of a plan. I stacked my buckwheat straw nicely end built a high rail fence around it. My cattle, of course, concluded that it was something good, and at once tore down the fence and began to eat the atruw. I dogged them away and put up the fence a few times, but the more I drove them away the more anxious they became to eat the straw, and eat it they did, every bit of it. As I said, I marry my girls off on the same principle. When a young tuao that I don’t like begins calliug cn my girls I encourage him in every way I can. I tell him to come often and stay as late as he pleases, and I take pains to hint to the girls that I think they’d better set their cap for him. It works first rote. He don’t make many sails fer the girls treat him ns coolly as they can. But when a young fellow that I like comes around, u man that I think would suit me for a son-in law, 1 don’t let bun make many vails before I give him to understand that he isn’t wantui around iny house. I tell the girls, too that they shall not have anything to do with him, and give them orders never to speak to him again. The plan always works first rate. The young folks begin to pity each other, and the next t* mg I know they are engaged to be married. When I see (hat they are determined "o marry I always give in and pretend to make the best ol it. That’s tho way I manage it.’—[Dubuque Telegraph. The S olen Pig. A Yorkshireman having killed a pig aud not wishing to divide with his neigh bors, as was the custom, said to his man (who by the way, was a son of the Em erald Isle:) ‘Pat, if I give the neighbors, who have given to me, a piece if pork, I’ll have none for myself. Can you tell me what I am to do ?’ ‘Bedad, sir,’ said Pat, ‘lt’s myself that oan do that same thing.’ ‘Good 1’ said the Yorkshireman, rub bing his hands and looking at Pat; ‘now tell me what I am to do.’ ‘Faith, sir,’ said Pat, ‘sure and when die crathur is claned, just beaflher hang ing it against the door, where ivery mother’s son of them will see it, and early in the illuming, beloro anj one is about, get up and take your pig and hido it away. Then when your neighbors come, just he afther tolling them that the pig was stole.’ ‘Capital idea, Pat f exclaimed the Yorkshireman. I’ll do it.’ So when the pig was cleaned, it was hung up outside, so that the neighbors might sec it. The countryman anxiously awaited tho approaching night, and at last retired to bed, but not to sleep.—. Pat, under the cover of tho darkness of the night, crept round the house and stole tbe pig. What was the astonishment of the Yorkshirern; n, when at early dawn, he arose to hide away his pip, but found bo pig there, can be better imagined that described. Pat came in with his‘Top o’ the mom u’ to ye, sir,’ and giving him a knowing wink, said: ‘Master, how about tho pig?’ ‘Well, l’ai, the pig was stolen in reali ty-’ ‘Faith, and that sound# just as natural as if you had lost your pig,’ said Pat, with another knowing wipk. ‘But, you blockhead, I tell you the pig was stolen.’ ‘Faith, and the sorra a bit o’ me thought you could act so veil. Ju6t stick to that; it is as natural as life.’ ‘But,’ roared the now ira‘e Yorkshire man, *1 tell you the pig was stolen V ‘Och!’ said Pat, ‘stick to it, and ye neighbors will belave you, and sorra a bit of it they’ll get. Fu th, J didn’t thiuk.tbat ye con’d Jo it so well I Something to look forward to. Every plain girl ha- one conaolation—though not a pretty youDg lady, she will (if she lives), be a pretty old oigj Prosperity is redorbled to,a good man by bis generous use of it. It is reflected back upon him from e vvry ooi-whi mho makes happy.. NO.
