Newspaper Page Text
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.