Newspaper Page Text
by THE JACKSON COUNTY )
PUBLISHING COMPANY. (
volume I.
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY,
By Ike Jackson County Publishing
Company.
JEFFERSON, JACKSON CO., GA.
OFFICE. N. W. COR. PUBLIC SQUARE. UP-STAIRS.
MALCOM STAFFORD,
MANAGING AND BUSINESS EDITOR.
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION.
One copy 12 months. $2.00
| “ * 6 “ 1.00
j “ 3 “ 50
| every Club of Ten subscribers, a l ' ex
tra copy of Ihe paper will be given.
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
One Dollar per square (of ten lines or less)
[for the first insertion, ami Seventy-five Cents
for each subsequent insertion.
fgyAll Advertisements sent without specifica
tion of the number of insertions marked thereon,
will be published till forbid, and charged
accordingly.
o@p*Business or Professional Cards, of six lines
or less, Seven Dollars per annum; and where
they do not exceed ten lines, Ten Dollars.
Contract Advertising.
The following will be the regular rates for con
tract advertising, and will be strictly adhered to
in all cases : j
Squa res. Iw. Im. 3m. in. 19 m.
One SI 00 *2 50 $0 00 $9 00 sl2 00
Two 200 550 11 00 17 00 22 00
Three 300 67' 10 00 21 00 30 00
Four 4 (HI 950 13 75 25 00 30 00
Five 5 (K) id 25 21 50 29 (X) 42 00
Six 0 (X) 12 00 24 25 33 00 43 00
Twelve 11 00 21 75 40 00 55 00 SI 00
Eighteen.... 15 00 30 50 54 50 75 50 109 00
Twentytwo 17 00 34 (HI GO 00 90 00 125 (X)
tST’A square is one inch, or about 100 words of
the type used in our advertising columns.
Marriage and obituary notices not exceeding ten
lines, will be published free; but for all over ten
lines, regular advertising rates will be charged.
Transient advertisements and announcing can
didates for otlice will be Cash.
Address all communications for publication and
all letters on business to
MALCOM STAFFORD,
Manayiity and Business Editor.
jltofessiniifll ic tfiusincss Kurils.
MISS. T. A. ADAMS,
Broad Street , one door aboie National Bank,
ATHENS,
constantly on hand an extensive stock
L of SEASONABLE MILLIN'Kin - GOODS,
comprising, in part, the latest styles and fashions
of I.uriif** 33:il>, ISonuels 3Citlons,
laces Flowers, Cloves, Ac., which will be
sold at reasonable prices. Orders from the coun
try promptly tilled. Give her a call.
July 31st—3m.
Dr. w. s. \3,s:\ANß>i;ie.
SURGEON DENTIST,
Harmony Grove, Jackson Cos., Ga.
July 10th. IST 5. Gm
E l. IVIUJAIINOA
. WATCHM AKER \ND JEWELER,
At Dr. Win. King’s Drug Store, Deupree Block,
Athene, Ga. All work done in a superior manner,
and warranted to give satisfaction. Terms, posi
tively CASH. JulylO-Gm.
JC. WBLBinS A t 0.,
• BROAD STREET, ATHENS, GA.,
DEALERS in
STOVES, ScG
( Opposite North-East Georgian Office.)
July 3d, 1875.
STANLEY & PINSON,
JEFFERSON, GA.,
Dealers iu Dry Goods and I'amily Groce
ries. New supplies constantly received.
Cheap for Cash. Call and examine their stock.
June 19 ly
]) 15 Wo3'Folt3), Attorney sit 3.avv.
■A>. lIOMER. BANKS CO., GA.,
A\ ill practice iu all the adjoining Counties, and
give prompt attention to all business entrusted to
nis care. Collecting claims a specialty'.
June 19th, 1575. ly
JOI3> u. OAKES
T HARNESS MAKER, JEFFERSON. GA.
New and good buggy and wagon harness always
on hand. Repairing same, bridles, saddles, &c.,
done on short notice, and cheap for cash.
junel2—ly
J> J - FLOYD, I J. B. STLMAN,
I Covington. Ga. | Jefferson, Ga.
(tOYto A 3B3JIAA,
ATTORN L VS-AT-LAW.
n ill practice together in the Superior Courts of
the counties of Jackson and Walton.
junel2—ly -
\\ UAA C. IBOWIKI),
T T ATT’Y & COUNSELLOR AT LAW,
Jefferson, Ga.
’’ 91 practice in all the Courts of Jackson coun
*"■ except the Court of Ordinary, and in the Su
>erior Courts of adjacent couuties, as well as the
supreme Court of the State. junel2-ly
A\ r PBKFi, Attornev at Law,
p T • . JEFFERSON, JACKSON CO., GA.
i radices in all the Courts, State and Federal.
rrompt and thorough attention given to all
Kinds of legal business in Jackson and adjoining
COUntl - June J 2, 1875
PENDERGRASS & HANCOCK^
\V r OILD respectfully call the attention of the
public to their elegant stock of
Dry Goods of all Kinds,
“EADI'.JBADE clotiiiag,
fine cassimeres, hats, caps,
'rr; Uta Shoes; Ladies’ Bonnets, Ilats and
Hardware, Hollow Ware, Earthen
. m h ° ol s°d k s, Paper, Pens, Inks, Envel-
Meal, Bacon, Lard, Sugar Coffee,
us,tiu c m< l ?teutMedicines, in fact everything
4i ♦ • ouil d in a General Store. Prices to suit
tdeLmcs. Jefferson, June 12, 1875. tf
DON’T GO BAREFOOT!
o°od Boots and Shoes, neat fits,
n adeof good stock. On ap, for Cask ?
and I JS} c ! on i er °/ M rs * Venable’s residence,
Bure " l J° better for you than anyone else,
U U!2 2m] N. B. STARK.
gggggg
The People their own Rulers; Advancement in Education, Science, Agriculture and Southern Manufactures.
Sommunicotions.
For the Forest News.
NOTES BY THE WAYSIDE.
The Road that Leads to John Smith’s.
Mr. Editor : —The awkwardness shown by
many persons in attempting to tell a stranger
how to find his way, is sometimes amusing,
even among persons of intelligence. Of the
many inquiries made by me during my
rambles, but few answers have been given
that 1 could well understand. I have, how
ever, been vain enough until recently, to lay
much of the blame on others, without once
thinking of my own dull powers of percep
tion. But the following dialogue between
myself and an elderly lady, of whom I in
quired the way to John Smith’s, has some
what dispelled the delusion, and henceforth
my rambles will be tempered with more
charity than I have been accustomed to give
myself credit:
“ Madam, will you be so kind as to tell me
how to go to John Smith’s ?”
“ Dear me alive ! It’s a long way to John’s
house—lie married my dawter Jane—poor
critter—the children’s got the mumps—an—
an the dogs suck the eggs, an—an I’ve not
been tbar in many a day.”
“ llow far is it, madam ?”
u More’n four mile.”
“ Does the road fork between here and his
house ?”
‘ Lots o’ times; but you must not take
none rill you git tu the one neerest tu his
house. You jest go on till you come tu broth
er Bill’s house; but don’t take the fork thar,
for ef you do, y'ou’ll go rong. So you’ll jest
keep a goiiT like thar was but one road thar
till you git tu old Harry’s fence, an’ thar
don't take the fork, or you’ll git rong agin,
an’ seem’ you’re a stranger in these parts,
you mout git. lost. So you'll jest keep a goin’
an’ a.goin’ fill you git tu a fork that you
must take, an’ then you'll not be fur from
John’s field. So you’ll jest take 'round anuth
er field an’ go straight tu his house.”
‘But madam, how will I know when I am
at you; brother's house, or at old Harry’s
fence, either?’
‘ Mercy, me ! Everybody knows ’em ; an’
cf you don’t know that much, you’d better go
lack home an' git somebody that’s got some
sense tu show you the way,’ she replied,
snappishly.
4 Excuse me, madam, I—l meant no of
fence,’ said I, apologetically.
4 Yes, y'ou did mean old Harry’s fence.’
4 No, madam; I only wished to know
which turn in the road will lead me to Mr.
Smith's house, the right or the left ? Houses,
fences and fields have nothing to do with it.’
4 1 know better. There is no fork till you
come to brother Bill's house ; an' I’ve alredy
told you not to take it, but to keep— ’
4 Yes, madam, I understand you as far as
to your brother's residence ; but I can go no
farther unless I know whether to take the
right or the left hand road.’
4 Thar ain’t no right and left tu it. Both
roads go near the same direction, an’ tha ar
both on the right ban’ side of liis house, an’
it it is on tlie left ov ’em. One leads to John
Smith’s an* the utlier tu Bill’s boss lot, an’ it
looks like any fool would know not tu take
that un.’
‘ O yes, madam; now I understand you ;
and ’
4 AVell, it looks like ynu’ve been a long
time about it; an’ ef y r ou’re as hard to git
started on the utlier forks, you’ll shew !
shew—o—o ! lender's that ole hen in the
gardin agin, a’ seratchin’ eYry thing tu
smashes ! Here Lion ! here Lion ! sick ’um
Lion ! shoo—oo—shoo—oo !’
Away went the old lady in a flutter, to the
garden, and amid her discordant screams, the
barking of the dog, and the squalling of the
hen, I was glad to make my escape without
further inquiries.
The foregoing colloquy forcibly reminds
me of another set-to which took place not
more than a thousand miles distant, between
myself and a well meaning lady, who gave me
A NEW READING OF TIIE SCRIPTURES,
and caused me to think as seriously' upon my
faulty pronunciation as the other did my dull
powers of perception ; though I am at a loss
to know which incident gives me most credit
for sagacity.
AVe ary- and dull and all forlorn, to a mid
dle aged lady, who was sitting in the front
yard puffing a cloud of smoke from a well
filled pipe, I thus addressed uryself:
4 Madam, may' I water my horse at your
well ?’
4 Don’t let him drink out of the well-buck
et.’
‘Can I use the trough I see at the well?’
4 No ! I'm soakin’ hominy' in that.’
‘ Have you a watering bucket ?’
‘No; take yer hoss tu the branch like my
ole man does; but I ’spect y r ou’re one ov
these agints agwine ’bout tu sell some fool
thing at about ten prices, an’ ar too lazy tu
work fur y r er livin’!’
4 Excuse me madam, I am no agent for the
sale of any'thing. Will you be so obliging as
to tell me the way from here to the public
road ?’
JEFFERSON, JACKSON COUNTY, GA., SATURDAY,' AUG. 21, 1875.
4 It’s bin a long time sence I went olf from
home much, an’ I’ve a most forgot the way;
but my son, Jeny-biz-lum, knows the way,
an’ I'll call him tu tell you.’
The good lady, softening down at the pros
pect of soon being rid of my company, walk
ed pertly to the back yard and lohdly called
out, 4 Jerrybizlum ! O, Jerrybizlum !’
She was answered by a young whoop-pee ,
that came from the woods near by, and soon
a little boy about ten years of age appeared
upon the scene, to whom the mother thus
addressed herself:
4 Jerrybizlum, you ken tell this here man
how tu go tu the big road. Show him. how tu
git through the cow-pen yonder, an’ tell him
the balance; fer I’d a ruther you’d not go fur
with these agint-lookin’ fellers.’
‘ I thank you for your kindness, madam ;
and will you please extend it by informing
me where you found such a strange name for
your son.’
‘ Thar it is ! Your true karacter has leekt
out at last. Ef you’d a ever read yer Bible
you’d a know’d whar I found the purty name.
Massy me ! how green some folks is !’
‘I must acknowledge, madam, that my
knowledge of the Bible much too limited
for me to be acquainted with that name.’
‘Then tu keep the*Cows from eatin’ you fer
grass, Dll show it tu you—but I’d forgot—
kin you read at all V
4 Only tolerably well, madam,’ (bowing.)
‘That’s better nor I expected.’
Saying this, the kind-hearted soul disap
peared in the house, but soon came forth wit h
a well worn family Bible in her hands. After
a long search she succeeded in finding a pas
sage containing (as she declared) her son’s
name. It was the 37th verse of the 23d
chapter of Mathew, and was read by her as
follows:
44 O Jerry-hiz-lum, Jerry-biz-lum, thou that
skinest the prophets, an thrqvjest stones at 'em
which ar sent unto thee, how often would I
have gethered yer children tergether, even as
a old hen hovers her chick ins under her
wings, an' yer would not let , me."
4 Thar!’ said she, closing the book witli a
triumphant slap, “thar is my little Rizlum's
name two times in one place, and yer was
too green tu know it.”
I acknowledged the corn, and by the as
sistance of Jerrybizlum, managed to keep
clear of the cows. Rambler.
For the Forest News.
LeHers to a Young Lady.—No. 4.
BY UNCLE JUDSON.
My Dear Niece: —ln view of marriage,
let us now consider what kind of an oppor
tunity to accept. Do not reject a young gen
tleman because he is poor. INI any have arisen
from the vail of poverty to envious respect
ability. While some, starting under similar
circumstances, have arisen to eminence—
commanding an influence as extensive as it
was gratifying—filling the most honored sta
tion in the gift of the people.
Every young man should stand or fall upon
his own merits. If he merits disapproval, no
parental or family distinction, and no amount
of wealth, either in his own hands or likely
to fall to him, should commend him to your
favorable notice. If a man can keep wealth
and properly use it, he is able also to make
it; but if he is unable to make it, he could
not keep it, though he should inherit a large
fortune. Wealtli is no objection—other things
being equal—but to allow it to atone for faults
of a grievous kind, is a blunder, under the
evil' effects of which many have smarted, and
ought to. Do not marry family influence, or
reputation, or wealth, but marry the man.
Having said that you ought not to object
to one simply because he is poor, I will now
say, with like earnestness, that you ought to
reject the proposal of any one who is addicted
to intoxication. This is not the only evil of
these times, but it is one of the greatest, hav
ing done more, perhaps, to brutalize the hu
man family than any thing else.
The wretchedness and disgrace of the
drunkard’s family lias not been adequately
considered by the world at large. The pub
lic see the inebriate as he passes around the
bar-room and about the streets during the
day, apparently enjoying himself in the com
pany of his kind. And if he be able to keep
up and pass out of town, they think no more
about him. But when the thoughts of the
public die awa}', the trouble and disgrace of
the family begin. The wife goes through her
round of duties during the day, with alternate
hopes and fears as to what will be the condi
tion of her husband when he returns in the
evening. Night approaches. The rose-tint
ed Western cloud and the faint sun-light on
the neighboring hill-top, admonish her that
darkness will soon settle down on the earth.
She turns her anxious eyes far down the wind
ing path, along which she hopes to see him
come. Here she gazes until darkness silent
ly steals oyer the landscape and drives her
within doors. His late absence forces con
viction upon her that he is probably intoxi
cated, and that when he returns, it will be
only to abuse and disgrace her and her chil
dren. She alone keeps watch while the hours
pass slowly awaj-. To beguile the slow mov
ing hours, she thinks of childhood’s inno
cence, of joyous youth, of happy home circle
and school days, and sighs, 44 shall I ever be
happy again.” But suddenly her thoughts
are interrupted. The real condition of her
husband is no longer a subject of doubt, as
she hears the sound of his irregular footsteps
falling upon her ear, accompanied by profane
language and threats against her and her
children. He demands admission, and is
displeased with himself and things generally.
He threatens to destroy every thing but the
jug in his hand. The toys, purchased in the
early' part of the day, for the children, are
soiled or broken. The wife trembles for the
safety of herself and children. He boggles
about and lies down by his jug, to arise, it
may be, with renewed strength and determi
nation to do greater mischief. Every hope
for the better is quickly blighted by the re
petition of the same brutal conduct, at short
intervals. Who can properly estimate the
horrors of that poor woman, and of her chil
dren, as soon as they get large enough to
comprehend their situation ?
And this is no over-drawn sketch of fancy.
In many instances, it falls far short of reali
ty. Hundreds of the most worthy daughters
of honored parents have been sacrifices, in a
sense, in the chambers of drunkenness. The
hundreds of thousands of women in this coun
try with drunken husbands, assures me that
it is no mere figment of imagination against
which I ypam you. Intemperance is an in
sidious foe—creeping into the houses and
disturbing the peace alike of the ignorant and
the wise, the male and the female.
But few women marry drunkards; yet,
nearly one-tenth of all the married women in
this country have drunken husbands. I there
fore advise you. to beware of the habitual
dram-drinker. A few pass along through life
doing nothing worse than to exert a bad in
fluence on society and their families, but
the usual course is, the moderate drinker fills
a drunkard’s grave. Beware !
[to be continued.]
FACTS AND FANCIES.
Roll-call—the baker’s visit.
A bootless task—Putting on one’s socks.
Sweets in adversity—A sugar-house failure.
Drinking glass after glass must produce
panes in your inside.
When does a' man have to keep his word?
When no one will take it.
What is the strongest light in Brooklyn?—
Beecker('s) caudal.
The New York Tribune's tower seems to
east a shadow on the Sun.
Proverty is the test of civility and the
touchstone of friendship.—llazlitt.
M hat are the}' which, though always drunk,
are never intoxicated?—Toast.
Why is a compositor like a cripple? Be
cause he can't get on without a stick.
An Alabama man has been trying to lead
a church and manufacture lead nickels at the
same time.
Sir*Wilfrid Lawson recently spoke of Mars
and Bacchus “as the god of battles and the
gocTof bottles.”
The hair from a ladies’ braid should never
be worn on the lapel of gentleman’s coat,
unless the parties are engaged.
A celebrated wit once said of his debts
that it was neither his interest to pay tlie
principal nor liis principal to pay the inte
rest.
•
“John, I came near selling my shoes the
other day,” said one man. tq another. “llow
was that?” “Why, I had them half-soled.”
i *
“I say, Pat, what are you about—sweep
ing out tlie room?” “No,” answered Pat’; “I
am sweeping out the dirt and leaving the
room.”
The Columbus Journal, describing an
Ohio politician, says: “He is an honest
man by profession, and lie earns his bread
by the sweat of his jaw.”
Advertising pays. A Toledo man adver
tised for a servant girl, and one of his three
wives knocked at the door in less than five
hours after tlie paper was out.
A newspaper biographer, trying to say liis
subject “was hardly able to bear the demise
of his wife,” was made by the inexorable
printer to say, “wear the chemise of his wife.”
The boy with the bare foot, tesselated
pants, father's coat, and a gaudy base ball
cap on his head, appears to have gained a
permanent s' and in the community.—Dan
bury News.
“I would advise you to put 3 r our head into
a dye-tub, it’s rather red,” said a joker to a
sandy-haired gjij. “I would advise you to
put yours into an oven, it is rather soft,”
said Nancy.
A young manufacturer of our acquaintance
is making money fast on this motto, paro
died from “Poor Richard” : “Early to bed,
and early to rise; never get tight, and ad
vertise.”
A Columbia professor, reproving a youth
for the exercise of his fists, said : “A\ r e fight
with our heads here.” The youth re
flected, and replied that butting wasn’t con
sidered fair at his last school.
Does the court understand you to say that
you saw the editor intoxicated? “Not at all,
sir, only I’ve seen him in such a—a—a—
flurry as to attempt to cut out copy with the
snuffers ; that’s all.”
Mark Twain, apropos of anew portable
mosquito net, writes that the day is coming
“ when we shall sit under our nets in church
and slumber peacefully, while the. discomfited
flies club together and take it out of the min
ister.”
itfeccffimcoiis JHeiH’ey.
MODERN MEETIN’ HOUSE.
Howdy'. Davy ! and hitch; there's no one
home hut me;
Thar aint a man livin', sir. I’d sooner like ter see;
1 or Nance anu Liddy’s gone ter see a sick man on
*‘ the hill.
An’ Ilirain’s gone to get his grist at Jason Tur
ner’s mill.
1 was in town las’ Sunday, an’ my heart an* me
agreed
To go to meetin'—ef you’ll wait I’ll tell you what
I seed.
The bell’s wor tollin' lively' on the balmy mornin’
air.
An’ folks wor iu a hurry, like the rushiu’ to a fair.
The meetin’ house was built ov stone, the steeple
pinted high,
The winders they' wor painted all the colors of the
. sky:
An’ runniu’ up the steeple was a great long light
nin’ rod—
T kinder thought the members lacked confidence
in God.
The big bell sorter hushed hitself, and then hit
rung some more,
An’ people cum in carriages an’ got out at the
door;
The wimnajn fixed their dresses like they meant
to make a call,
'I bar faces showed they warn’t a thinkin’ ov their
souls at all.
A\ ell, Davy, thar I stood an’ thought—"twas wick
ed I suppose—
Some go to church to close thar eyes, ’an some to
eye thar close;
I overheard ole Misses Swell to Misses Stebb ins
say,
“My darter Becky’s dress warn’t done—she
won’t be here to-day.”
I stood thar hesitatin’ like what sort ov move to
make ;
I felt that I should go inside for my salvation's
sake;
1 started meekly in the house; I knew it warn’t
no harm,
\\ ith my old broad-brim hat in ban’ an’ jeans coat
on my arm.
I went along ’bout half-way up the velvet-carpet
ile,
The men and wimmen shut thar gales, an’ they
begin to smile;
I seed one open just a bit; went in an’ pulled it
to,
When Brown, the banker, riz and said, “This
ore’s a rented pew.”
1 got out ov liis “ rented pew” an’ sot down near
the door,
Expectin’ for some man ter say, “ This ore’s a
rented iloqr.”
A fine-dressed stranger— he cum in—the members
didn’t wait,
But every feller jumped at him an’ opened wide
his gate.
They all sot down an' stared about; then at the
parson’s face,
While he put on bis specs an’ said, “ Let’s sing
. Amazin’ Grace.”
An organ busted loose up stairs—the music hit
. . as gay,
Hit tickled them as couldn’t sing, an’ them wot
had to pay.
The music quit, the parson riz—they passed the
hats rovin’ next, ,
An’ when the deekins sot them down—the parson
tuk liis tekt.
He preached near two hours ’bout the Faith in
God to keep ;
This wimmin folks wor noddiir while thar hus
bands wor asleep.
One gal sed to another, “ Have you seen my beau
to-flay?”
She'd nod her head an’ then say back, “ The par
ty hit was gay J”
One whispered loud enough behind her fan for me
to hear,
That bonnet Sofy Tag’s got on is one she had
last year.”
The parson quit and then sq{; down—the organ
played agin,
I thought that ef that was servin’ God the tunes
they played was thin ;
1 have heard the band at circusses jest play the
self-same air,
The parson, when the organ quit, dismissed them
all with prayer.
Now, T)a*vy, ef the angels seed what I did, I be
lieve
Thar warn’t a one among ’em all but what laded
in thar sleeve;
For .G(t<l don’t smile on Christians who his bles
. sin's will abuse ;
He hainK ijo use for orgins, an’ he don't like rent
ed p.qw^V"
Hexing&n#{|[clls to tell 'em that the Sabbath’s
conic once more;
The angels have no carriages to drive up to His
door.
Such Christians might as well look up to God, an’
sweetly smile
An’ say, “ I send my soul, dear Lord ; I’m coin
in' arter a while.”.
Our Master up in Heaven, Davy, secs—hears eve
rything,
He likes to see his children pray—and loves to
hear 'em sing;
For whar He lives the angels sing an’ Christians
get their dues,
His music costs Him nothin' and he has no rented
pews.
Thar ain’t no use o’ foolin’ long the road down to
the grave;
Thar is no way o’ dodgin’ when you’ve got yer
soul to save.
Fine churches, orgins, carriages, clothes, rented
pews an’ “pelf,”
Don't count that day—it lays between yer Maker
and yer self.
HP The other clay, sa} r s the Press, a De
troit mother poured some ink on the pantry'
shelf, near the sugar box, and went up stairs,
leaving her small son playing with the cat.
When she came down the boy sat by the win
dow wearing a placid, innocent look, but
there were ink stains on his fingers. “There!
you’ve been at the sugar !” she exclaimed as
she seized him by the collar. “Mother, do
you think I’d steal sugar ?” “What made
’em ?” “These stains, mother?” Yes, those
stains.” “Well, I cannot tell a bold lie
mother. I think I've commenced to mortify.”
She wasn't quite sure, and he was allowed to
go out and play circus.
“Fellow-travelers,” said a colored preach
er, “ef I had been eatin’ dried apples for a
week, and den took to drinking for a monf, I
couldn't feel more swelled lip dan I am dis
minuit wit pride and vanity at seein’ such
full ’tendance liar.”
If a young man sits up too late with his
sweetheart out at Haddonfield, the old folks
come into the parlor, and, with a refinement
of sarcasm, invite him to wait a few minutes
longer, breakfast will be ready.
S TERMS, $2.00 PER ANNUM.
} SI.OO FOR SIX MONTHS.
A Utile Hero.
I have a story to tell my little readers, of
a little hem, which is every word of it true.
A hem is a brave man—a man full of spirit,
zeal and courage. Any man who has courage
and spirit to do right, to tell the truth even if
it is against himself to be honest when ho
could make money by cheating ; to be true
when he is tempted to be false, is a hero. A
little hero is a boy of just this character.
The story I have to tell is about just such a
boy. About siv years ago I knew him first,
lie was a small boy from some country in
Europe, lie had come to this country and
was left alone, or nearly alone, in St. Louis,
He had no money, and only the dirtiest and
raggedest clothes, lie walked the streets ill
search of something to do. At length a kind
hearted grocery man took him in. It was
here l first saw him. He was studying atr
English spelling-book at every odd moment
he could get from his work. A few months
afterwards he came to my house to recite les
sons in the evening, which he would get
through the night and day at snatched mo
ments, all the while saving every cent he
could from his small earnings, to go to a com
mercial college as soon as lie was old enough.
When he had saved sixty dollars he applied,
and was admitted to the college, and went
through the course. As soon as out, he got
a good situation in an insurance office. To
this w r as soon added the treasurer’s duties,
wHh a handsome increase of salary. His
faithfulness and ability soon won him a place
in a bank, at a salary of fifteen hundred dol
lars a year. In a bank lie still is—a boy yet,
1 should think, not twenty years old.
This is what I call being a hero. For a
little boy in a strange city,.with all kinds of
wickedness around him, io clothe, .educate,
and keep himself; tA resist idleness, play
games, drink, foll}% sight-seeing, rudeness,
vice and wickedness which lead thousands to
ruin ; without advisers, friends or help ; and
so grow up in purity, virtue, and nobleness
of soul, to be an honorable, intelligent, and
useful man, is a degree of heroism seldom
found. If lie is not a hero, w here can one be
found ? If his boyhoQd is so noble, what
wilt his manhood be ?
Getting Rid of her Daughter’s Beau.
fehe live3 down on Laker street, and she
has a daughter about eighteen years old.
fThe old lady retains all her simplicity and
innocence, and she doesn't go two cents oil
stylo. The other evening mien a splendid
catch called to escort the daughter to the
opera the mother wouldn't take the hint to
keep still. While helping her daughter get
ready she asked :
“Mary, are you going to wear the shoes with
one heel off, or the pair with holes in ’em?”
Mary didn’t seem to hear, and the mother
inquired :
‘•Are you going to wear that dollar gold
chain and that washed locket, or will you
wear the diamond father bought at the hard
ware store ?”
Mary winked at her, and the young man
blushed, but, the old lady went on :
“Are you going to borrow Airs. Brown's
shawl, or will you wear mine ?”
Mary bustled around the room and the
mother said:
“Be careful of your dress, Mary ; you know
it s the only one you've got, and you can’t
have another until the mortgage of this place
is lifted.”
Alary remarked to her escort that it pro
mised to be a beautiful evening, and as she
buttoned her gloves her mother asked :
“Those are Airs. Hardy’s gloves, ain't they?
She’s been a good neighbor to us, and I don’t
know how you and manage to go anywhere if
she didn’t live near us.”
Alary was hurrying to get out of the room,
when the mother raised her voice once more
and asked :
“Did you run into Airs. Jewett’s and bor
row her bracelet and fan? Yes, I see you
did. Well, now, you look real stylish, and
I hope you’ll have a good time.” I
Alary sits by her window in the pale moon
light and sighs for the splendid young man to
come and beau her around some more, but he
hasn’t been seen up that way since that night.
The old lady, too, says that he seemed like a
nice young man, and she hopes that lie'hasn’t
been killed by the street cars. —Detroit Free
Press.
Startling Depreciation in Value.
Avery intelligent old darkey was met
an ante-bellum Iriend the other day for the
first time since the war, and the old man’s
delight in seeing one of Massa’s tickler friends
in old times was unbounded. After a hearty
hand shaking and a protracted laugh, pecu
liar to the Southern darkey, the gentleman
asked:
“Well, Uncle Joe, how are you getting
along in this world?.’
“Sorter slow, Marsc . Been had rlicu
matiz right smart lately, and things aint gone
'xactly right no how,” replied the darkey.
“A great many changes have taken place
since I last saw you, Uncle Joe. Death has
taken your old master away, the family tre
scattered about the four quarters of the globe,
the farm is divided up, and strangers occu
py the old house. It makes one feel right
sad, Uncle Joe, to think of the changes that
have been wrought by old Father Time.”
“Yaas,” replied Uncle Joe. “You ’member
when I was a slave I worked hard at odd
times, and made money 'miff to buy myself.
I paid old massa SI,OOO for my freedom.”
“Yes,” said Mr. , “I remember it.”
”\\ ish I had dat money now,” mused the
old darkey.
‘‘Well, yes,” replied Mr. ; “it would be
quite a fortune for you.”
“Lots ’o fortune, sar,” said the old man
mournfully; “and every time I think about
it I kinder rue de bargain. Nigger was wuff
a thousand dollars then, but now he ain’t wuff
a cuss. Mighty changes in dis world, massa.”
“Ma, will Fa go to Heaven ?” “Yes, my
daughter, I reckon so; but why do you ask
such a question ?” “Because I thought he
couldn't leave his store.”
lie thought it was a jun e-bug,
But found it was a bee ;
And the wav be did cry out;
“Oh ! Lord—dee !”
NUMBER 11.