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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.