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WALTER S. COLEMAN. Editor and Proprietor. VOL XII. ELLIJAY COURIER. PUBLISHED EYEBY —it— WALTER S. COLEMAN. ~~ GEWERAL DIRECTORY. Superior Court meets 3d Monday in May and 2nd Monday in October. COUNTT OFFICERS. J. C. Allen, Ordinary. T. W. Craigo, Clerk Superior Court. M. L. Cox, Sheriff. •T. R. Kinciad, Tax Collector. Locke Langley, Tax Receiver. .Tas. M. West, Surveyor. G. W. Rice, Coroner. Court of Ordinary meets Ist Monday in each month. TOWN COUNCIL. E. W. Coleman, Intendant. L. B. Greer, J.' ? cSSfjr. \ Commissioners. T. J. Long, J W. H, Foster, Marshal. IiELIGIOUS SERVICES. Methodist Episcopal Church South— Every 3d Sunday aud Saturday before. G. W. Griner. Baptist Church—Every 2nd and 4t Sunday, by Rev. E. B. Shope. Methoilist Episcopal Church—Every Ist Saturday and Sunday, by Rev. T. G. Chase. FRATERNAL RECORD. Oak Bowery Lodge, No. 81, F. A, M., meets Ist Friday iu each month. L. B. Greer, W. M. T. 11. Tabor, S. W. J. W. Hipp, J. W. R. Z. Roberts, Treasurer. I). Garicn.S ecretary. W. S. Coleman, S. D. W. C. Allen, J. D. S. Garrcii, Tyler. R. T. PICKENS, ATTORNEY AT LAW, ELLIJAY, GEORGIA. Will practice in all the conrts of Gil mer and adjoining counties. Estates and interest in land a specialty. Prompt attention given to all collections. . 10-21-85 DR. J. R. JOHNSON, Physician and Surgeon ELLIJAY, GEORGIA. Tenders his professional services to the people of Gilmer and surrounding coun ties and asks the support of his friends as heretofore. All calls promptly filled. E. W. COLEMAN, ATTORNEY AT LAW, ELLIJAY, GA. Will practice in B n-; Ridge Circuit., Conntj Court Justice Court or tijimer Conntj. Legal business solicited. ■Tronjptiisia" is our molio. DB. J. S. TANKERSLEY. Physician and Snrgeon, Tend'ra his professional services to the citi sens of Ellijay, Gilmer and surrounding conn ties. Ail calls promptly attend 'd to. Office rpstairs over the firm of Cobb A Son. IFE WALDO THORNTON, D.D.S. dentist, Calhoun, Ga. HI visit Ellijay and Morganton at both the Spring and Fall term of the Superior Court-—and oftener by special contract, whon sufficient work is guar anteed to justify me in making the visit. Address aa above. Tmav2l-li WHITE PATH SPRINGS! —THE— Favorite and Popular Resort oj NORTH GEORGIA! Is situated C miles north of Ellijay on the Marietta & North Georgia Railroad. Accommodations complete, facilities for ease and comfort unexcelled, and the magnificent Mineral Springs is its chief attraction. For other particular* on board, etc., address, Mrs. W. F. Robertson, Ellijay, Ga. $25,000.00 IN GOLD! Bill, BE PAID FOR ARBUCKLES’ COFFEE WRAPPERS, 1 Premium, • - $1,000.00 2 Premiums, • $500.00 each 0 Premiums, • $250.00 “ 25 Premiums, - SIOO.OO “ 100 Premiums, - $50.00 11 200 Premiums, - $20.00 11 1,000 Premiums, - SIO.OO *• Per full particulars and directions see Circu lnr in every pound of ArbuckTiES* Coffee. FOB GOOD JOB PRINTING -GO TO THB- ‘ ELIIJAY COURIER. THE ELLIJAY COURIER, THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN. IVrper than all sens' of seeing Lies the source of ss-ret being, And the soul with t ruth agreeing Learns to live in thoughts and deels For tile life is more than raiment, And the earth is pledged for payment Unto man for all his needs. Life is more than what man fancies Not a game of idle chances. But it steadily advanees Up the rujged heights of time. Till each complex web of trouble. Every good hope’s brokon bubble Hath a meaning most sublime. More of practice, less profession; More of firmness, less concession; More of freedom, loss oppression— In the Church and State; More of life and less of fashion, That will make us goo 1 Aud groat. When true hearts, divinely- gifted, • From the dross of error sifted. On their crosses are uplifted, Shall the world most clearly see That earth’s greatest time of trial Calls for holj’ self-denial; Calls on men to do and be. But, forever and forever, Let it be the soul’s endeavor, Love from hatred to dissever; And in whatso’er wo do, Won by truth's eternal beauty From our highest sens? of duty, Evermore be firm and true. — F. A. Hinckley. LIB. The first time I ever saw Elizabeth Dill, she was hanging to the boot of a stage coach in the Hocky Mountains, 1 was climbing up a narrow, rocky pass, and the coach was coming down. As it passed me, I caught the sight of a pale faced. scrawny little figure, in a dirty calico dress, holding the straps of the boot behind. Her tangled yellow hair was flying out in the breeze, and her bare feet just escaped the rocks in the road. I sat down on a rock, and watched the clumsy coach until it went rolling and swaying around a curve in the pass. Here the girl dropped lightly to the. ground, and came toward me, kicking up the dust as she quickly advanced. A hundred yards or more ahead of me there stood a rough log cabin, to the door of which, before the girl reached me, there came a slatternly woman, with a dirty baby in her arms, and called, in a sharp, rasping voice: “Lib! You Lib Dill! Whav on airtli are ye?’, The child was within ten feet of me when the woman called. In reply she cried out, in an injured and irritated tone: “Here I be!” “What ye been doin’? Oh, I know, hangm’ on to the stage, like tho tom boy ye air! Want another lickin’, eh?” “I don’t keer fer yer lickin’s!” cried the child, tossing her unkenipt hair de fiantly, while a frown came over her thin face. “Well, you better care, miss!” cried the woman angrily. The girl stood directly in front of me now, fearless and unbashed. With one swift, angry movement of her right hand, she stripped her thin white arm of the loose calico sleeve that covered it, and held it out before me. “Look there, and there, and there!” she cried, pointing her finger at three long, discolored marks on the upper part of her arm. “Do you think I keer fer any of her lie-kin’s after that ?” she asked, with an expression pitiful to see in the face of a girl of fourteen years. “What ye doin’, Lib Dill?” screamed the woman, “I see ye, an’ ye’d better look out!” “I said I was going to show them marks to everybody I could, long as they was there,” said Lib to me. “She give ’em to me fer breakin’ an old cracked teacup. It ain’t fair fer her to lick me like that for an old cup, is it, mister:” There came a wistful expression to the child’s far-c, a wistful and pathetic quaver in her thin voice, as she pointed with her bare arm toward the stage coach, which had appeared again on a distant part of the pass. “ Do you know, mister, that if I could only do it, I’d hang on to that old coach some time till it had carried me clean away from here?” “And leave your parents?” I asked. “Parrents!” she sneered. “Them aint my parrents; wouldn’t own ’em if they was. She ain’t no kin at all, an’ her man's only some forty-fifth cousin or other of my dead-an’-gonc mother; hut they’re much kin as I want ’em to be.” The words were uttered with scorn, and on Lib’s face was a malignant look that no young girl’s face should wear. Unmindful of the woman’s command to “Come right straight here!” Lib sat down on a rock near me, rested her chin in one of her thin hands, and asked; “Where you from?” “From New England,” I said. “Purty country, ain’t it?” “Very pretty indeed, at this time of the year.” It was then October. “Have you ever been East?” I asked. “Me!” Lib laughed that unpleasant laugh again. She stood on a bowlder, and pointed far away to the west, to where a long line of mountain peaks rose dark and unbroken in the distance. “Mister,” she said, “I ain’t never been beyond them mountings in all the days of my life. Crystal City lays at the foot o’ that range, an’ I was born there. That stage coach goin’ down this pass ’ll be further east by noon than I ever was. From this rock I can sec further north an’ south than I ever was. Me been East? Better ask if I ain’t been ter college too!” “I don’t suppose you have a school here,” I said, as gently as I could. “Mister, I’m the only boy or girl of school age or size in ten mile o’ here. Have you any children, mister?” “I have three,” I said. “Got a little girl, mebbe?” “Yes,” I said, “a little girl,” thankful that she was not ns this child was. “Mebbe she’s "bout my size, mister?” “She is,” I said. “Will, now, mister," said Lib. slowly and deliberately, “how would you like fer her to he like me? How would you like fer her to be licked fer nothin', like I am I shuddered at tin- mere suggestion of sueli dread contingencies. Lilt went on. “You wouldn't like It, hey? I reckon not. Vi 'ell, Ido hope that little girl of J’ourn'll never be like I am, nor what i'in Italy to bo when 1 grow up,” •a map of nrsr life—its flfctvatioks asp its vast conckhss:' ELLIJAY. GA.. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 2i. 1881. The pathos and hopelessness in her voice brought tears to my eyes. “And, mister. do ye know I'd wslk, I’d era tel. away from this place this day if it wasn’t for—fer.”— Her ragged sleeve went up to her eyes, her head, held high in defiance until now, dropped low; her voice faltered ;is she wont on; “If it wasn't for Laty.” '’ ’ ' ' “And who is Laty “The baby that that there woman held in her arms when she come to the door. Her baby, it is. He's the cunnin'est lit tle thing! an’ he loves me, he does. He pujs his arm round my neck an’ says so, plain as anything. Don’t you want to see him? He ain’t a bit afraid of strangers, and he likes men folks. She thinks a sight of Laty, she does; so does Laty’s pa.” The woman here came out to the cabin, with the adored Laty in her arms. Lib and I went forward to meet them. The woman's face was harsh and forbid ding. “What’s she ben tellin’ you, mister?” she asked. “A pack of lies, I’ll be bound. The truth ain’t iu her; no, it ain’t. Norv you git up to the cabin,miss, an’ mind Laty. I’m goin’ to tell ycr pa on ye, an’ you’ll see what you'll git then.” “My paw!” cried Lib. “Jack Lane ain’t my pap, an’ you know’ it.” “Sass-box!” was all the answ’er the woman vouchsafed to this outburst from Lib. I stayed three weeks in Jack Lane’s cabin, for it was the only habitation within two miles of the place, and in those three weeks I saw enough to con vince me that Poor Lib had not told “a pack of lies” in describing her sufferings. Her life with the Lanes was a hard one. They were maliciously and wilfully cruol to her. More than once did I intercede to save her from the cruelty of Jack and ’Mandy Lane. Her devotion to baby Lathan did not win from his parents any corresponding kindness for Lib, his willing slave. I often met her carrying the heavy baby around in her weak arms on the moun tain trails. ■When the time came for me to go away, Lib follow’cd me far down the dusty road, unmindful of ’Mandy’s shrilly uttered commands to “come right straight back 1” “You had better not go too far, Lib,” I said, when we had walked about half a mile; “ ’Mandy will be so severe with you.” “Oh, well, w'hat if she is?” asked Lib, wearily; but her voice had none of its old defiant ring, and her bright eyes were red and downcast. “I should be sorry to have you suffer on my account,” I said. “Oh, I don’t mind it, hut I reckon I’ll go back now; Laty might need me. I jest thought I’d like to go a piece with you. I been thinkin’ ’bout that little girl o’ yourn to-day, an’ I thought I’d kind ’o like to send her somethin’. I’ve got it in this little box. It ain’t much of anything, but mebbe she’ll like it, coinin’ so fer like.” Lib held out a small, flat pasteboard box. In it wak a bunch of pressed mountain flowers, tied together with a hit of faded green ribbon—Lib’s one treasured bit of feminine finery. “Well, good-by, mister!” she said. ] “Y’ou’ve took more notice of. me than j most folks takes, an’ I won't fergit ye; j an’ I’ll try to remember some o’ the things you’ve said ’bout me bein’ patient an’ good, an.’ all that., They’D do to tell Laty some day. I reckon I’m ’bout as good as I’ll ever he. This ain’t much of a place fer folks to grow decent in. If anything should ever happen to Laty I’d run away from here.” My heart ached for the forlorn little creature, as I watched her climbing the mountains in her rags, while I held in my hand the one poor possession she valued most. My business took me to a small mining camp, five miles distant, where I was to remain for a month. It was the first of December before I could set a day for my departure. I intended starting on the third. On the afternoon of the second, signs of a storm were seen in the low hanging clouds that hid thesnow covered mountain peaks. The snow lay smooth and white on all the mountain sides, and it was feared that another fall would make the mountain roads impassably I watched with dismay that gathering storm on the afternoon of the third. By three o’clock it was snowing fast; the short day was nearly done; it was grow ing dark in the narrow gulch; the wind moaned up and down the long, black canyons; the stunted pines bent low; the mountain seemed frowning down on the helpless little mining camp, and thesnow | fed faster and faster, j I sat by the window of the office in the littie mountain hotel and watched tho daylight disappear. By four o’clock it was gone and the storm had increased. ‘ ‘lt’s darker’n a stack o’ black -eats, an’ the wind’s blowiu’ a regular cyclone,” said the landlord, at nine o'cjpck. At ten o’clock he and I sat alone by the office stove. The wind had gone down a little, and it had stopped snow ing. I was waiting to hear the conclu sion of a “yarn” the garrulous landlord was telling me. “An’ sir,” he was saying, “if you’ll b’leeve me, that thar ole cattymoinit list natchelly riz up an’—great Scotland! did ye hear that?” He jumped to his feet and stood still, in a listening attitude. “What is it!” I asked, eagerly. “I did not —” “Sh-sh-sh!” he held his red and cal loused hand up as a sign of silence, anil tip-toed gently toward the door. Sharp and clear rose a prolonged cry as of one in pain. “Somebody’s in trouble!” cried the landlord, as lie hurriedly thrust a lighted candle into his lantern, threw on his great coat of buffalo skins and started for the door. I followed him, puliingon n.y overcoat and mittens as I went. We had taken hut a few steps from the door when the cry was repeated. I could not tell from whence it came, but my companion’s sense of hearing was more acute and bet ter trained than mine. “It's from the Bed Mountain trail,” he said, “mi’ the person thut'a doin’ the yellin’ is git tin’ mighty weak.” Very weak, indeed, was the person whose pitiful cry we hid heard. We found her half-buried iu a great drift of snow far up the mountain side. As we licnt over her the ray* of the lantern fell in rot* tli* thin, pale face of Elizabeth Dill—thinner than ever, and jailer freon the suffering she had endured that night. She had fallen proatratr and was too much exhausted to rise. A ragged old cloak was wrapped around her and a thin shawl hail fallen from her tangled yellow hair. A lantern lay by her side, hut its light was out. She conld not speak until we had car ried her down to the little hotel and chafed her chilled form for a long time. Her first words were, “Jock lame—’Man dy ! Git n doctor an’ go for them. Let me lie. Go to them an’ to Laty. He’s all alone. Poor little feltor! Poor Jack! Poor ’Mandy ?” A dozen men were soon fighting their way through the drifts to the Lane cabin, five miles distant. It midnight lie fore Lib could tell story; and then it was told and tears. “It was only nlit!li after dark,” she said. “We were all si tin’ in the front room. Laty was in my lap an’, some way or other I let the little fellow fall. Of course Jack an’ ’Mandy was mad. I don’t blame ’em; an’ I didn’t mind it much when Jack whipped me with the ramrod of his gun. I'd ought to ’ave been kecrful. ’Mandy was so mad she driv me out into the shed-room. You know’how that is, mister,” Lib said, turn ing to me. “It runs back right up the mountain, an’ there’s a cave off .the end of it where .Jack keeps his taters an’ turnips in the winter. It was real snug in the cave, an’ old Tobe, Jack’s dog, was in there. I snuggled up to him, an’ cried ’cause I’d hurt Laty. “Purty soon the front door opened a little an’ Laty came toddlin’ into the shed-room. I could see Jack an’ ’Mandy playin’ checkers by the fire, an’ they didn’t notice Laty. I slipped out an’ ketclied the little fellow up in my arms. ‘You poor little feller,’ I says, ‘Lib didn't go to hurt you; Lib loves you better ’n anything clse'on earth!’ “Then he coo-coocd in his cuunin’ little way, an’ laid his wet little cheeks on mine in n-svay that like to ’ave broke my heart. I was standin’ in the cave door, holdin’ him so, when there come an awful roar. I savv Jack an’ ’Mandy jump up, scared like, ail’ I stepped back into the cave with Lntv an’ then”— Here Lib quite broke down, nnd cried for a long time before she said: “Well, the next minute everything was pitch dark. Jack nor ’.Mandy, nor the cabin nor nothin’ was to be seen. There was the awfullest roarin’an’ crash in’ ever I liccrd. Me an’ Laty an’ Tobe all cuddled up in a corner of the cave, scared out of our seven senses. “After awhile I crawled to the cave door. The snow an, wind was blowin’ in. The cabin was gone; there wasn’t a sign of it. Then I kn> wed thcre’d been a snow-slide. “I yelled an’ yup/d- h.-- 'Mandy an* Jack, hut there wahPt nad.-Axi at firel. By-and-l>y I heeril someone cryin'. Jack’s lantern was' in the cave. He’d jest been in there, coverin’ tip the things with old rags an’ straw, an’ we always kept matches on a shelf in there. I got the lantern an’ lighted it; then I covered Lntv all up good with the rags an’ straw, an’ made Tobe lay down by him. “Then I started out, an’ I found ’Mandy wedged in ’mong some rocks ’bout a hundred yards down the moun tain. She was cryin’ an’ goin’ on awful, lioor woman 1 The way she tuk on ’bout ,aty was awful. She couldn’t stand, an’ • I couldn't get her up to the cave. “’Mandy,’says I, at 1:.. ‘l’m goin’ down to Crystal Camp for help.’ “ ‘You can't,’ says she, awful feeble like. “‘I kin,’ says I, ‘an’ I’m goin’, too. An’ now, ’Mandy,’ says I, ‘you jest brace up till I git hack; you jest think o’ Laty. You’re his ma an’ he needs you; think o’ that. An’, ’Mandy,’ sajs I, ‘if I don’t git back, an’ you git out o’ here all right, you remember that Lib Dill ain’t, no hard feelin’s agin you nor Jack; an’ if Ido git back, an’ you don’t git out o’ here, you remember to your la-t breath that Lib Dill will he a mother to your baby.’ “Then I brought straw an’ rags an’ covered her up the best I could. She lay still, cryin’ an’ goin’ on fit to break one’s heart. I bent over her an’ said: ‘Good liy, ’Mandy; I’m goin’.’ “She never said a word, but she flung her one free arm round my neck an’ kissed me, an’ that made it all right ’tween me an’ ’Mandy Lane. Livin’ or dead, I ain’t nothin’agin her. “I went hack to the cave, and made Tobe lay down by Laty. ‘Don’t you move,’ says I to the dog, and he won’t. They’ll find him an’ Laty all covered up under straw an’ rags behind a tater box in a corner of the cave where Laty can’t get out, I ain’t worried none ’bout him, but, O Jack! O ’Mandy! “Yes,” said Lib, wearily, a little lat ter, “I did have an awful pull to git here; but I knowed cv’ry foot of the wi>y. It was lucky I snatched my old cloak and shawl when ’Mandy drove me out, or I’d froze.” Before noon the next day Silas Ray, the landlord, came down from the moun tain carrying baby Laty tenderly in his strong arms. The child was asleep with the tears on his pretty face. Lib reached up her arms for the baby. Silas laid him gently down by her side and said: “I reckon you’ve as good a right to him as anybody now. They’re bringin’ his fa ther an’ mother down —dead.” My interest in the brave girl and her forlorn charge led me to take- them with me when I left Crystal Camp, and I finally turned them over to some wealthy friends of mine in tlie East, who were both willing and able to provide for them. This was ten years ago. A few days since I received a letter from Lib Dill, who is now a school teacher in anew town of one of our Western States, in which she says that Laty has grown to lie a bright and goial hoy, and that she hopes to make a good man of him yet. She also alludes to a certain young farmer, between whom and herself there appears to have sprung up a mutual in terest. which lias led to plans which, if carried out, will result in her having a home of her own. “We are all—l,aty and the farmer and I - '—she says, “very happy in planning for the future that promises so fair.” J. A, Harbour, in Youth'e Companion. A San Francisco concern is making pressed brick out of coal ashes and cinders. These bricks have stood the severest toils for strength, and are made without baking nnd burning. BrnO.ET OF FUN. HUMOROUS SKETCHES from VARIOUS SOURCES. An Inf’allthtc Sign Feeding Tramps- i No Occasion to be AfYald—A Rail Standing—PracOslnj Economy, Etc., Etc. “ That peddler must have very good bananas," remarked Merritt. “I guess: I’ll go over and get some.” “ What makes you think they are good?” asked Cobwigger. “Because,” returned Merritt, '‘l see the policeman samples them every time ho passes.— Judge. Feeding Tramps. “I don’t believe in feeding tramps at the door,” said Mrs. Criinsonbcak. “You feed them once and they arc sure to conic back. ” “Well, I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Yeast; “I always give them bread when they come to my door, and I can’t say that I ever knew a tramp to come the second time.” “Oh, well, Mrs. Y’cast, you make your own bread, do you not?” This was all that was said, and yet Mrs. Yeast went down the street like a straw hat on a windy day.— Statesman. No Occasion to lie Afraid. “Why don’t you propose to her, Joe?” “Well, I’m half afraid.” “She loves you, don’t she?” “Oh, awfully." “You agree with her father in politics?” “Yes,” “And with her mother in religion?” “Yes.” “And with her brother as to who is the best pitcher?” “Yes.” “Then blow me if lean sec what you’re afraid of— Harper's Bazar. A Bad Standing. “Do you know any hing about the defendent’s character,” asked thecouusel of a colored witness. “I reckon he got one, boss.” “You don’t understand me. Do you know anything about his standing with the peoplo utnong whom he movss.” “His stun’in’, salt?” “Worry bad, sail.” “Bad!” “Yessali. Yoh see he hob a wooden leg an’ imtirnlly takes ter settin’ down.” — Merchant- Traveler. Practising Economy. Omaha Girl—“My dear, now that wo arc engaged, we should begin to take practical views of life. “Accepted Lover—“So I have been thinking.” “I feel very much like having some Ice cream, but first I want you to tell me frankly how much money you have in your pocket.” ‘‘Just twenty-five cents, and no more coming until pay day.” “It’s so nice to begin figuring on ex-! ponses of living; seems as if we were * married. Have you only twenty'fivc cents left, dear?” “That’s all.” “Well, we will get along with two plates to-night, and you save the other five cents for a nest egg, you know.” Omaha World. A Foiul Father. An over-indulgent and recklessly ex trvagant fattier was lately heard to say to liis Bon, a tender youth of twenty-five, six feet three in height : “Now, Bub, if you’ll lick in like the smart youngster you kin be when ycr a min’ to, nil’ hoe them five acres o’ taters, an’ hill-up that ten acre lot o’ corn, an’ weed out that acre o’ oniona, an’ grub out that hack lot, an’ cut yer ma her win ter’s stove wood, an’ split a thousand rails, an’ weed the turnip patch, and do a few other little chores, I’m blamed if I won’t give you fifty cents to go to tho circus with 1 Yes, I will! An’if you’ll hoe down the jimson weeds in that ten acre lot o’ seed corn I’ll throw in ten cents extry that you kin lay out in leinmy-nade an’ peanTits! Blamed if I don’t bleeve in payrcntslcttin’ their chil dren have some enjiyinent in this world.” l'id-Bits. Stic Was Ready to Lend. Borrowing Neighbor—“ Have you a drawing of lea to lend me this morning, Mrs. Greene?” Mrs. Greene—“lndeed I have not, Mrs. Maloney.” Mrs. Maloney—“Then have you a cup ful of sugar against next Saturday night, sure?” Mrs. Greene—“ Not a drop of sugar have I in me house, Mrs. Maloney.” Mrs. Maloney—“And could you spare the children two or three slices of bread till me old man gets his pay?” Mrs. Greene—“We haven’t so much as a crust of bread in the house, ashamed am I to say it.” • Mrs. Maloney—“Then in heaven’s blessed name, what have you at all at all?” Mrs. Greene—“Weve a house full of measles and mumps and scarlet fever and plenty to spare. Whic-h will you have?” The borrowing neiglilior quietly sub sided.— Chicago National. A Stem Winder. Stiggins was passing a watchmaker’s establishment, and looking into the win dow he noticed a very pretty girl at the counter. “Ha!”he soliloquized, “I’ll go in and take a look at her under some pretext or other.” He entered, and was waited on by the young lady’s father. “What can I do for you?” “I want to get a key for my watch,” he stammered, feasting his eyes on the young lady. “U-t me see your watch,” said the watchmaker. As if in a dream he took out his watch. Tlie watchmaker examined it, and said with surprise: “Why, your watch is a stein-winder.” Stiggins don’t remember how he got out, but he does remember thut the young lady smiled audibly at his diaeonititure. — Jewelers' Weekly, Driving Homo tlie f'rn< kers. It was uu amusing sight, a few weeks lines, to ms ons of thoM stiff, upright, imitation English coachmen sitting on hi box in front of a grocery store, whip well poised, rein* properly grs*|ie<l in white gloved hands, gaze .lireetisl straight forward between the cars of the well groomed horses. Anon out comes a clerk from the store with a well fiillcd pajicr hug, ojiens the carriage door, places tin- hag within up on tlm scat, amt recloses the door with a slam. Scarce had lie turned away when the coachman started off his team witli a stately trot, nor halted till he arrived at the mansion of a wealthy resident in an aristocratic quarter, before which ho halted and solemnly waited. In a few minutes a maid servant rushed out. “Why, what is the matter JoIi? Where are the ladies?” “Eh? Ilinside, I suppose. Carn’tyou hopen the door?” “Open the door! Why, there no one in the carriage. Where did you drive from?” “Bless my ’art! no one there? Why, I just drove from the grocery store ami ’card the coach door shut when they got in.” “Got in! Why, they did not get in, and you have given a ling of soda crackers a ride home and left the ladies behind.” Such was the case, and the solemn John went hack at a brisker pace, resol v ing to trust to eyes rather than eats for the future. —Boston Bulletin. How Stonewall Jackson Fell. After night fell, Stonewall Jackson rode out with his stuff to reconnoitre in front of the line lie imd gained, it was his idea to stretch completely around the rear of Hooker and cut him oil' from the river. The night was dark and Jackson soon came upon the Union lines. Their in fantry drove him back, and as lie re turned in the darkness his own soldiers began firing at their commander, of course mistaking his party for the enemy. Jackson was shot in the hand and wrist, and in the upper arm at the same time. His horse turned, and the General lost his hold of the bridle rein; his cap was brushed front his head by the branches; he reeled anil was caught in the arms of an officer. After a moment lie was as sisted to dismount, his wound was ex amined, and a litter was brought. Just then the Union artillery opened again and a murderous fire came down upon the party through the woods and the darkness. One of the litter hearers stumbled and fell, ami the others were frightened; they laid the litter on the ground, the furious storm of shot and shell sweeping over them like hail. Jackson attempted to rise, hut his aid-de-camp held him down till the tempest of fire was lulled. Then the woupded GftUfilflJ was luilpejl to rise and walked a few steps in the forest; but he became faint and was laid again in his litter. Once lie rolled to the ground when an assistant was shot, and the Utter fell. Just then General Fender, one of his subordinates passed. He stopped anil said ; “I hope you are not seriously hurt, General. I fear I shall have to retire my troops they are so much broken.” Hut Jackson looked up at once and ex claimed : “You must hold your ground, General Pender, you must hold your ground, sir!” This was the last, order lie ever gnve. He was borne some distance to the near est house and examined by the surgeon, and after midnight his left arm was am putated at the shoulder. When Lee was told that his most trusted Lieutenant had been wounded, he was greatly distressed, for the rela tions between them were almost tender. “Jackson has lost his left, arm,” said Lee, “but I have io t my right arm.”— St. Nicholas. Pigeon-Toed Men and Women. According to tho New York corre spondent of the Albany Argus, nine men out of every ten are pigeon-toed. 1 have made the same remark before, but I was the other day impressed anew with its truth. Something prompted me to keep tally of a few pedestrians on idv mental abacus. I was walking up Broadway, and quite a bustle and rush of people contributed to the success of my observa tion. Out of the first twelve of whom I took notice seven toed out at varying angles from forty-five degrees to about five. Two toed out witli the right foot alone. Two more kept their pedals ad vancing on parallel lines, and one person was flatly and unequivocally “pigeon-toed.” 1 took no further obser vation at the time, feeling that the test lmd been a fair, average one, and that it would be safe to lay down'the axiom that nine men out of every ten, as I said, are pigeon-toed, menning in a qualified sense that the nine turn their feet at any other angle than the right one. I have spoken of men all along, as no one ought to suppose that I would be so ungallant ns to scrutinize the attitudes of feminine shoe leather for the ungenerous purpose of publishing the results to the public. But I have reliable information on which to affirm that ladies do not walk correctly in respect to toeing-out any more than xnen, and moreover, that in childhood this fault might easily be corrected. To a person giving due attention to the mat ter, the result will soon be jiereeived in a better carriage and more elasticity and freedom in step. A Soldier’s Great Endurance. C. B. Tower, tlie private in Company K, of the old Pennsylvania “Buoktails,” who lias just been granted a medal l>y President Cleveland, must have been a man of wonderfully vigorous constitution. The special acts for which tlie medal was granted were for continuing in the battle of the Wilderaess after being wounded: for participation in tlie battles of Spottsyl vauia, North Anna River and Bethesdn Church while suffering from his wound, and for escaping from the Confederates while being transported from Libby prison to Andcrsonville by jumping from a train and making his way across the mountains into West Virginia and thence back to his command. —Nne York Com mercial. Northern California has a character nicknamed “.Strychnine Jack,” through his capacity for taking that drug, of which he consumes a sjioonfiil at a dose. If he cuts bis flesh aud let* a dog lick tbe wound tbe anlaaldies, •Urn Per Abbihb. la Mtuni, NO. 27. TO-MORROW'S FORTUNES. II v <treams, like ship* that w*t teas*. , And becalmed In sunnier < llntes. No more returned, are lost to me. Faint oeWs of tbinehopeful times; Ami I hsve learned, with doubt nppmnd— There are no Isrds In next year's mat. Tlio sent is sowed in balmy spring. The summer's sun hi vivify, W it-li his worm Ititas rqiemug To golden harvest by and by. Hot caught by drought, like all the real— Tlien> are no birds in next year’s neat. The stock I bought at eighty-nine Broke down at once to twenty-eight; Pome squatters jumped my silver mine. My own convention smashed my slate; No more in futures I’ll invest— There are no birds in nexbyMtr s nest. — Burdette, i lirooMyn Bugle. PITH ANl[ POINT. Where’s the impropriety in railing a Boston boy a regular Hub-bub?— Soeietg Journal. The base-lmll player is the only em ploye whose right to’strike is acknowl edged and even approved by tftoac ha works for. —Merchant Traveler. There is a gentleman living on Staten Island so infatuated with the view (bathe gels from his house that he walks up the hill every day backward. —The Kpoeh. Turn, pilgrim, turn; thy cares forego Ami drink thy fill of mirth; Mnn wants but. little here belpw. He only wants the earth. Washington Hatchet. After running a lawn-mower for an hour, this morning, he remarked that if ever he had said anything derogatory or unkind of the snow-shovel, lie would most willingly take it back. —Springfield Bepuhlicun. “Mb,” said Bertie, “should I say ‘pants,’ or ‘trousers?’ ” “Trousers, my dear,” said the mother. “Well, then," said Bertie, “I think Bridget had better give Fidosomc water; ho trousers awful ly.”— Tid-Biis. After the clouds, the lilne, After the drought, the dew; And after you’ve taken your summer vaca tion The bills will shower on you. -Burdette. The Iceman smiles as he counts the gains Derived from the trade of summer, And as he walks the streets disdains The greeting of the plumber. But the plumber will iwss the iceman by Anil lie himself the hero, When the storm cloud floats intho winter sky, And the mercury’s down to zero. —Boston Courier. “Let's go now, Amy," said Mildred to the high school girl wlten the game was only half over. “No,” rctilied Amy; “I want to go the whole hog." _ “Amy dear,” protested Mildred, “that, is repre lidWtible slang. You sliouM say, •traverse the unabbreviated swine,’ "—Pittehurg Chronicle. There is a good deal of food for con templation in tlie remark attributed to a Pacific Const Chinaman. He was taken to sco one of the booming new towns, where all the outlying country wan laid out in city lots, and he took it all in. When he returned home he whs asked what lie thought of it, and he answered: “Too niuchce liy and by." —Hartford Courant. O merchant in thine hour of e e e, If on this paiior you should c c o, And look for something to an p p p, Your yearning for greenback v v v, Take our advice and be y y y, Go straightway out and advert ii I. You’ll find the project of some u u u, Neglect can offer no x q q q q, Be wise at once, prolong your and a a a A silent business soon and k k k k. North Carolina Mines. Despite the talk about diamond fields in Kentucky, hut few gems of any sort lmvo been found in the limits of the Uni ted States. The most celebrated diamond beds are in India, Brazil and South Afri ca, although single stones have occasion ally been picked up in Virginia and North Carolina. Mexico furnishes many perns,particularly opals,but North Amer ica, wnile rich in gold nnd silver,appears to he poor in precious stones. North Carolina has furnished some interesting stones,particularly the hiddenite, ngrass green gem, allied in chemical character to the topaz, hut of a color previously unknown. Itoccurain Alexander Coun ty, in the foot bills east of tho Blue Ridge, and was nqmed for its discoverer, Hidden. In the same region in McDowell Coun ty, where there arc gold mines, are also found in great variety stones of more or less value. The mining is carried on chiefly for gold by the hydraulic sluicing system, in which the mountain streams are employed to wnshdown the hillsides. The earth is sluiced down for gold, and all the stones which remain in the aluicea arc carefully examined. A correspondent from the mines states that valuable rich specimens arc often found, and aa much as the value of $4,000 in opals, topazes and other fine atones has been found in i one day, and on one occasion a diamond worth SI,OOO was taken out. There are other localities in that region that are, without doubt,equally rich.— The Trades man. —- . A .Horn From a Human Head. An interesting addition has just been made to the museum of the Hospital Saint Louis, in Paris, in the shape of a j strdng and solid horn, which has been surgically removed from the head of * woman residing at Hyeres, in the Riviera This appendage grew from the scalp, w js tweuty-one centimeters (eight inch®) long and in appearance and consistency resembling the horn of a goat. This deformity is rare, but not so much m as is generally imagined. Cloquet, I the eminent anatomist, records a case and Bemarquay has collected fifty-nine ftses. —DuUin Medical Journal. Rennnciation of tbe World. An attorney told me the othpi day that a iaily (who does not care, bawever, to iiave her name made public) came to his office recently and deeded over to her husband property to the value of $20,000, aud he was given power of attorney for $30,000 more. The lady signified Hint ahe had concluded to join the Salvation army, und so had re nounced the world entirely dnd given up nil care of money matters, in older that site might devote herself absolutely to the eonesrna of tbe Lord.— (K, Pmetr Preee,