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•-.<*.•,v., J. AV. 11. Hamilton and T. K. Smith.
,r„ ■ rat' : r.- on the estate of Bailey Chandler,
i';l county, deceased, applies tor leave to
■ ; ;iads belonging to said estate—
-k to cite all concerned, kindred and cred
sii i .v cause, if any they can, at the rejru
the Court of Ordinary of said county,
•v irst Monday in October, 1880, why sa'id
b Id not be granted the applicants.
■ 1 r my official signature, August 22d,
), aug27 H. AV. BELL, Ord’y.
'KOSSWIFu.cE<som County,
-. as John F. Evans, Executor of the last
and testament of Daniel Evans dec’d rep
els to the court, by his petition duly tiled,
r!i has fully administered the estate of said
-id, and is intitlcd to a discharge—
,:s is to cite all concerned, kindred and
iwi's. u show cause, if any, on the tirst
•:y iu November. 1880 at the regular term
. se t of Ordinary of said county why the
• if Dismission should not be granted the
tail.
milder my official signature, this August
ISM). 11. W. BELL, Ord’v.
d<CS.j, Jsu'kNon County.
3'kreas, C. M. AVood, Administrator upon
to of Amanda M. Logging • late of said
.y, no •asod, applies for leave to sell the real
o . ! <uv.lt. Iv. Stock, belonging to said
• to cite all concerned, kindred and cred
s. :■> show - ause, if any, on the first Monday
v, '■■'.her next at the regular term of the
•ti '• tahnary of said county, why leave to
i real estate and Georgia K. R. Stock
'knot bo granted the applicant.
' '! under mv official signature, this August
‘ 11. AV. BELL. Ord’y.
' * v\i.uabl^truths.
m!."- >•!•-. froiu-- poor health, or iaagnisit*
!.' J ‘1 iiiekneui cLeer, for
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iftsoviagwtiy, y, .ti
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’f vo iro a nan of bus-Siucsß, weakened by t)id
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‘ "C tiilteix M’llly-StrciiGthcis You.
’ a ",rc young, andtjHuiTcring from any India*
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> ‘ l ' t it DR. PENDERGRASS. Drug %>ro
Tho Rain That is Born of the Cloud and
Rocked in the Cradle of the Wind.
Sermon by Dr. Talmage. Subject—The Rain.
Text — Job xxxviii., 28 ; “ Hath the
Rain a Father t ”
This book of Job has been the subject of
unbounded theological wrangle. Men have
made it the ring in which to display their
ecclesiastical pugilism. Some say that this
book of Job is a true history ; others that it is
an allegory ; others that it is an epic poem :
others that it is a drama. Some say that Job
lived 1800 years before Christ; others say that
ho never lived at all. Some say that the au
thor of tins book wa3 Job ; others David ;
others Solomon. The discussion has landed
some in blank infidelity. Now, I have no
(trouble with the books of Job or Revelation,
the roost mysterious books in the Bible, be
cause of a rule adopted some years ago. I
wade down into a Scripture passage as lonn
as I can touch bottom, and when I cannot, then
I wade out. I used to wade until it was over
my head, and then I drowned. I study a
passage of Scripture so long as it is a com
fort and help to my soul, but when it becomes
a perplexity and a spiritual upturning, I quit.
In other words, it is over our head. No man
should ever expect to wade across the great
ocean of Divine truth. Igo down into that
ocean as X go down into the Atlantic ocean at
East Hampton, Long Island—ju3t far enough
to bathe—then I come out. I never had any
idea that, with ray weak hand and foot, I could
strike my way clear over to Liverpool.
I suppose you understand your family ge
nealogy. You know something about your
parents, your grandparents, your great-grand
parents. Perhaps you know where they were
born or where they died. Have you ever
studied the parentage of the shower? Hath
the rain a father?” This question is not
asked by a poetaster or scientist, but by the
head of the universe. To humble and to save
Job, God asks him fourteen questions—about
the world’s architecture, about the refraction
of the sun’s rays, about the tides, about tho
snow crystal, about the lightnings, and then
lie arraigns him with the interrogation of the
text; “Hath the rain a father?” With the
scientific wonders of the rain I have nothing
to do. A minister gets through with that
kind of sermons within the first throe years,
and if he lias piety enough lie gets through
with it in the first three months. A sermon
has come to me to mean one word of four
letters : “ Help !” You all know that the rain
is not an orphan. You know it is not cast
out of the gates of Heaven a foundling. You
would answer the question of my text in the
affirmative. Safely housed during the storm,
you hear the rain beating against the window
pane, and you find it searching all the crevices
of the window sill. It first comes down in
solitary drops, pattering the dust, and then it
deluges the fields and angers the mountain
torrents, and makes the traveler implore
shelter. You know that the rain is not an
accident of the world’s economy. You know
it was born of the cloud. You know it was
rocked in the cradle of the wind. You know
it was sung to sleep by the storm. You know
that it is a flying evangel from Ilcavcn to
earth. You know it is tho gospel of the
weather. You know that God is its father.
If this be true, then how wicked is our
murmuring about climatic changes. The first
eleven Sabbaths after I entered the ministry
it stormed. Through the week it was clear
weather, but on the Sabbaths the old country
meeting-house looked like Noah’s Ark before
it landed. A few drenched people sat before
a drenched pastor ; but most of the farmers
stayed at home and thanked God that what
was bad for the church was good for the
crops. I committed a good deal of sin in
those days in
DENOUNCING TIIE WEATHER.
Ministers of the gospel sometimes fret
about stormy Sabbaths, or hot Sabbaths, or
inclement Sabbaths. They forget the fact
that the same God who ordained the Sabbath
and sent forth his ministers to announce sal
vation, also ordained trie weather. “Hath
the rain a father ?”
Merchants, also, with their stores filled
with new goods, and their clerks hanging idly
around the counters, commit the same trans
gression. There have been seasons when the
whole spring and fall trade has been ruined
by protracted wet weather. The merchants
then examined the “ weather probabilities”
with more interest than they read their Bibles.
Thev watched for a patch of blue sky. They
went complaining to the store, and came com
plaining home again. In all that season of
wet feet, and dripping garments, and impass
able streets, they never once asked theques-'
tion, “ Hath the rain a father ?”
So agriculturists commit this sin. There
is nothing more annoying than to have plant
ed corn rot in the ground because ot too much
moisture; or hay, all ready for the mow,
dashed of a shower ; or wheat, almost ready
for the sickle, spoiled with the rust. How
hard it is to agricultural disappoint
ments. God has infinite resources, but Ido
not think Ho has capacity to make weather
to please all the farmers. Sometimes it is
too hot, or it is too cold ; it is too wet, or it
iis too dry ; it is too early, or it is too late.
JEFFERSON, JACKSON COUNTY, GA., FRIDAY. SEPTEMBER 10, ISSO.
T hey forget that the God who promised seed
time and harvest, summer aud winter, cold
and heat, also ordained all the climatic
changes. There is one question that ought
to be written on every barn, on every fence,
on every hay-stack,, on every farm-house—
“ Hath the rain a father ?’’
If we only knew what a vast enterprise it
is to provide appropriate weather for this
world, we would not be so critical of the
Lord. Isaac Watts, at ten years of age, com
plained that he did not like the hymns that
were sung in the English chapel. “ Well,”
said his father, “Isaac, instead of your com
plaining about the hymns, go and make
hymns that are better.” And he did go and
mal':e hymns that were better. Now, I say
to you, if you do not like the Weather, get up
a weather company, and have a President,
and a Secretary, and a Treasurer, and a
Board of Directors, and ten million dollars
of stock, and then provide weather that will
suit all of us. There is a roan who has a
weak head, and he can not stand the glare
of the sun. You must have a cloud always
hovering over him. I like the sunshine, I
can not live without plenty of sunlight, so
you must always have enough light for roe.
Two ships meet mid-Atlantic; the one is
going to Southampton, the other is going to
New York. Provide weather that, while it is
abaft for one ship, is net a head wind for the
other. There is alarm that is dried up for
lack of rain, and here is a pleasure party
going out for a field excursion. Provide
weather that will suit the dry farm and the
pleasure excursion. No, sirs, 1 will not take
one dollar of stock in your weather companj'.
There is only one Being in tho Universe who
knows enough to provide tho right kind of
weather for this world. “ Hath the rain a
.father ?”
My text also suggests God's minute super
visa!. You see the Divine Sonship in every
drop of rain. The jewels of. the shower are
not flung away by a spendthrift who knows
not how many he throws or where they fall.
They are all shining princes of heaven. They
all have an eternal lineage. They are all the
children of a king. “ Hath the rain a father ?”
Well, then, I sryy if God takes notice of ever}’
minute raindrop, lie will take notice of the
most insignificant affair of my life. It is the
astronomical view of things that bothers me.
We look up into the night heavens and wo
say: “Worlds! worlds!” and how insig
nificant wc foci! Wo stand at the foot of
Mount of Washington or Mount Blanc and
we feel that we are only insects, and then we
say to ourselves : “ Though the world is so
large, the sun is 1,400,000 times larger.”
“Oh,” we say, “it is no U3e, if God wheels
that great machinery through immensity, lie
will not take the trouble to look down at
me.” Infidel conclusion. Saturn, Mercury
and Jupiter are no more rounded and weighed
and swung by the hand of God than are the
globules on a lilac bush the morning after a
showef. God is no more in magnitude than
Lie is in miniature. If He has
SCALES TO WEIGH THE MOUNTAINS,
He has balances delicate enough to weigh the
infinitesimal. You can no more see Him
through the telescope than you can see Him
through the microscope ; no more when you
look up than when you look down. Are not
the hairs of your head all numbered ? And
if Himalava has a God, “ hath not the rain a
father ?” I take this doctrine of a particular
Providence and thrust it into the midst of
your everyday life. If God fathers a raindrop,
is there anything so insignificant in }’our af
fairs that God will not father that ? When
Druyse, the gunsmith, invented the needle
gun, which decided the battle of Sadowa, was
it a mere accident? When a farmer’s boy
showed liluchcr a short cut by which he could
bring his army up soon enough to decide
Waterloo for England, was it a mere acci
dent ? When Lord Byron took a piece of
money and tossed it up to decide whether or
not he should be affianced to Miss Millbank,
was it a mere accident which side of the mo
ney was up and which was down ? When
the Protestants were besieged at Dozers and
a drunken drummer came in at midnight and
rang the alarm-bells, not knowing what he
was doing, but waking up the hosts in time
to fight their enemies that moment arriving,
was it an accident ? When in the Irish re
bellion a starving mother, flying with her
starving child, sank down and fainted on the
rocks in the night and her hand fell on a warm
bottle of milk, did that just happen so ? God
is either in the affairs of men or our religion
is worth nothing at all, and you had better
take it away from us, and instead of this
which teaches the doctrine, give us a
secular book, and let us, as the famous Mr.
Fox, the member of Parliament, in his last
hour, cry out: “ Bead me the eighth book
of Virgil.” O, my friends, let us arouse up
to an appreciation of the fact that all the af
fairs of our life are under a King’s command
and under a Father’s watch. Alexander’s
war-horse, Bucephalus, would allow anybody
to mount him when he was unharnessed ; but
as soon as they put on that war-horse, Buce
phalus, the saddle, and the trappings of the
Conqueror, he would allow no one but Alex
ander to touch him. And if a soulless horse
FOR THE PEOPLE.
could have so much pride in his owner, shall
not we immortals exult iu the fact that we
are owned by a King P “ Hath the rain a
father ?”
Again, my subject teaches me that God’s
dealings with ns are inexplicable. That was
the original force of my text. The rain was
a great mystery to the ancients. They could
not understand how the water should get into
the cloud, and getting there, how it should
be suspended, or falling, why it should come
down in drops. Modern science comes along
and says there are two portions of air of dif
ferent temperature, and they are charged
with moisture, and the one portion of air de
creases in temperature so the water may no
!oi\ger be held in vapor, and it falls. And
they tell us that some of the clouds that look
to be no larger than a man’s hand, and to be
i almost quite in the heavens, arc great moun
tains of mist, 4,000 feet from base to top, and
that they rush miles a minute. But after all
these brilliant experiments of Dr. Jas. Hut
ton, and Lansurre, and other scientists, there
is an infinite mystery about the rain. There
is an ocean of the unfathomable in every rain
drop, and God says to-day as lie said in the
time of Job : “If you can not understand
one drop of rain, do not be surprised if ray
dealings with you are inexplicable.” Why
does that aged man, decrepit, beggared, vici
ous, sick of the world, and the world sick of
him, live on, while here is a man in mid life,
consecrated to God, hard-working, useful in
every respect, who dies ? Why does that old
gossip, gadding along the street about every
body’s business but her own, have such good
health, while the Christian mother, with a
flock of little ones about her, whom she is
preparing for usefulness and for heaven—the
mot her who you think could not be spared an
hour from that household*—why does she lie
down and die with a cancer ? Why does that
man, selfish to the core, go on adding fortune
to fortune, consuming everything on himself,
continue to prosper, while that man who has
been giving ten per cent, of all his income to
God and the church goes into bankruptcy ?
Before we make stark fools of ourselves, let
us stop pressing this everlasting “ why.”
Let us worship whore we can not understand.
Let a man take that one question “ why” and
pursue it far enough, and push it, and lie will
land in wretchedness and perdition. We
want in our theology fewer interrogation
marks and more exclam: tion points. Heaven
is the place for explanation. Earth is the
place for trust. If you can not understand
so minute a thing as a rain drop, how can
you expect to understand God's dealings ?
“ Hath the rain a father ?”
Again, my text makes me think that the
rain c.f tears is of divine origin. Great clouds
of trouble sometimes hover over us. They
are black, and they are gorged, and they are
thunderous. They arc more portentious than
Salvator or Claude ever painted—clouds of
poverty, of persecution or bereavement. Tlioy
hover over us, and they
GET DARKER AND BLACKER,
And after a while a tear starts, and we think
by a heavy pressure of the eyelid to stop that
tear, but wc can not stop it. Others folio>v,
and after a while there is a shower of tearful
amotion. Yes, there is a rain of tears.
“ Hath the rain a father ?”
“ Oh!” you say, “ a tear is nothing but &
drop of limpid fluid secreted by the lachry
mal gland—-,it is only a sigh of weak eyes.”
Great mistake. It is one of the Lord’s rich
est benedictions to the world. There are
people in Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum
and at Utica, and at all the asylums of this
land, who are demented by the face that they
could not cry at the right time. Said a ma
niac in one of our public institutions, under
a gospel sermon that started tiie tears : “ Do
you see tuat tear? That is the first tear that
1 have wept for twelve years. I think it
will help my brain.” There arc a great,
many in the grave who could not stand, any
longer under the glacier of trouble. If that
glacier had only melted into weeping, they
could have endured it. There have been
times in your life when you would have given
the world, if yon had possessed it, for one
tear. You could shriek, you could bias
pheme, but you could not cry. Have you
never seen a man holding the hand of a dead
wife, who had been all the world to him?
The temples livid with excitement, the eye
dry and frantic, no moisture on the upper or
lower lid. You saw there were bolts of an
ger in the clouds, but no rain. To j’our
Christian comfort, ho said : “ Don’t talk io
me about God ; there is no God, or if there
is I hate him ; don’t talk to me about God :
Would he have left me and these motherless
children?” But a few hours or days after, com
ing across some pencil she owned in life, or
some letter which she wrote when lie was
away from home, with an outcry that appails,
there burst the fountain of tears, and as the
sunlight of God's consolation strikes that
fountain of tears, you find out that it is a
tender-hearted, merciful, pitiful and all-coin
passionate God who is the father of that rain.
“ Oh,” you say, “it is absurd to think that
God is going to watch over tears.” No, my
friends, there are three or four kinds of them
that God counts, bottles and eternizes.
First, there arc all parental tears, asd there
are more of these than of an}’ other kind be
cause the most of the race die in infancy and
that keeps parents mourning all around the
world. They never get over it. They may
live to shout and sing afterwards, but there
is always a corridor in the soul that is silent
though it once resounded. My parents
never mentioned the death of a child, who
died fifty years before, without a tremor in
the voice and a sigh, oh ! how deep-fetched.
It was better she should die. It was a mer
cy she should die. She would have been a
life-long invalid. But you can not argue
away a parent’s grief. How often you hear
the moan, “Oh, my child !” Then there are
the filial tears. Little children soon get over
the ioss of parents. They are easily" divert
!ed with anew toy. But where is the man
j who has come to thirty or forty or fifty years
'of age who can think of the old people with
i out having all the fountains of his soul stir
i red up? You ma} r have had to take care of
i her a good many years, but you can never
; forget how she used to take care of you.
, Have you never heard an old man in the
delirium of some sickness call for his mother?
The fact is we get so U9od to caling for her
i the first ten years of our life we never get
over it, and when she goes a way from us it
makes deep sorrow. You sometimes, per
haps, in days of trouble and darkness, when
the world would say ; “ You ought to be able
to take care of yourself,” wake up from your
dreams saying, “Oh, mother! mother!”
i Have these tears no divine origin? Why,
! take all the warm hearts that ever beat in all
| lands, and in all ages, and put them together
and their united throb would be weak com
| pared with the throb of God’s eternal sym
pathy. Yes, God also is the father of all
j that rain of repentance. Did you ever see a
man repent? I see people
GOING AROUND TRYING TO REPENT.
These cannot repent. How do you know?
By this passage: “ Him hath God exalted to
be a prince and a savior to give repentance.”
Oh ! it is a tremendous hour when one wakes
up and says : “I am a bad man. I have not
sinned against the ’laws of the land, but I
have wasted my life; God asked me for my
services, but I haven't given those services.
Oh, my sine, God forgive me.” When that
tear starts it thrills all Heaven. An angel
j cannot keep his eyes olf it, and the Church
|of God assembled around, and there is a
j commingling of tears ; there i3 a rain of tears,
and God is the father of that rain. The
Lord, long suffering, merciful and gracious.
In a religious assemblage a man arose and
said : “ I have been a very wicked man ; I
broke my mother’s iieart; I became an infi
del, lmt I have seen my evil way, and 1 have
surrendered my heart to God ; but it is a
grief I can never get over that my parents
should never have heard of my salvation ; I
'don't know whether they are living or dead.”
While yet he was standing in the audience a
voice from the gallery said : “ Oil, my son,
my son 1” lie looked up, and recognized
her. It was his old mother. She had been
praying for him a great many years, and
when, at tiic foot of the cross, the prodigal
son and the praying mother embraced each
other, there was a rain, a tremendous rain, of
tears, and God was the father of those tears.
Ob ! if God would break us down with the
| sense of our sin, and then lift us with the
appreciation of llis mercy. Tears over our
wasted life. Tears over a grieved spirit.
Tears over an injured father. Repent! Re
pent ! The King of Cartilage was dethroned.
I His people rebelled against him. He was
driven into banishment. Ilis wife and
! children were outrageously abused. Years
; went by, and the King of Carthage inado
* many friends. He gathered up a great army.
|He marched again toward Carthage. Reach
i ing the gates of Carthage, the best men of
j the place came out bare-footod and bare
headed, and with ropes around their necks,
crying for mercy. They said : “We abused
you and abused your family, but we cry for
mercy.” Tho King of Carthage looked
down upon the people from his chariot, and
said: “I came here to bless, I didn’t come
to destroy ; you drove me out, but this day J
pronounce pardon for all the people. Open
the gate and let the army come in.” The
King marched in and took the throne, and
the people all shouted: “ Long live the
King!” My friends, you have driven the
Lord Jesus Christ, the King of the Church,
away from your heart; you have been mal
treating Him all these years ; but He comes
back to-day ; He stands in front of tho gates
of your soul. Ifj’ou will only pray for his
pardon He will meet you with His gracious
spirit and lie will say: “Thy sins and thine
iniquities I will remember no more. Open
wide the gate. I will take the throne. My
peace I give unto you.” And then from the
young and from the old there will be a rain
of tears, and God will be the father of that
rain !
Lively Newspaper Items
Somo supposed friends of a newspaper
have peculiar ideas as to what kind of items
a paper really requires. Not long since a
gentleman eamo into the Galveston News
sanctum and said : “ Look here? you mis3 a
heap of live items. • I’m on the streets all
day ; I’ll come up every once in a while
and post you.”
“ All right; fetch on your items ; but re
member, we want news.”
Next day he came up, beaming all over.
“ I’ve got a live item for you. You know
that infernal bow-legged gorilla of a brother
in-law of mine who was in business here
with roe?”
*• 1 believe I remember such a person,”
said the editor, wearily.
“Well, I've just got news from Nebraska,
| where he is living, that he is going to run
| for the Legislature. Now, just give him a
i blast. Lift him out of his boots. Don’t
spare him on my account.”
Next day he came up again. “My little
item was crowded out. I brought you some
news,” and he hands in an item about his j
cat as follow 3 : ¥
“ A Remarkable Animal.—The family
cat of our worthy and distinguished fellow
townsman. Smith, who keeps the boss gro
cery store of Ward No. 13 (Beer always on
tap), yesterday became the mother of five
singularly marked kittens. This is not the
first time this unheard of event has taken
place. We understand that Mr. Smith is
being favorably spoken of as a candidate for
alderman.”
The editor groans in his spirit as he lights
a cigar with the effort. It is not long before
he hears that Smith is going around saying
that he has made the paper what it is, but
it is not independent enough for a place
like Galveston.
Many readers will say this sketch is over
drawn, but thousands of editors all over the
country will lift up their right hands to tes
tify that they are personally acquainted with
the gniM v party.
\ TERMS, $1.50 PER ANNUM.
) SI.OO For Six Months.
Farmers Do Not Read Inough.
During the discussion of the MTnrnl sub
jects before ths co®Tet : .3n, we ir;n mias
nllj impressed wits ;btl rmwm
as a class—do not p u !;d on ctrrnt
agricultural topics, as they night easily do,
if they would subscribe for one or more ag
ricultural journals. Many of the facts
brought out, and the suggestions made, were
evidently new to a large number of tho dele
gates present; and yet scarcely one idea was
advanced, or fact stated, that had not been
before promulgated by the speakers, or some
one else, in the agricultural papers of the
State and county.
Of course the fact of recent personal ex
perience formed exceptions to the rule, os
pecially those recited by Mr. Creighton. At
the so-called “ experience” meetings of the
convention, which have, in the past, been a
most popular feature, too much valuable time
is consumed in re-questioning and giving in
formation that may be found in any agricul
tural paper, and ought to be known to every
farmer of ordinary intelligence. These meet
ings, while often highly interesting and prof
itable, seem at times to be converted into m
primary school for novices in farming, in
stead of a high school or normal college, from
which the members may go forth to teach
and to practice advauced and progressivo
agriculture. This is largely due to the pres
ence and active participation of some few
gentlemen who may be said to have “zeal,
not according to knowledge,” and who can
talk by the hour, but not to edification. A
wise and firm presiding officer is indispensa
ble at such times.— Exchange.
Josh Billings’ Sayings.
The man who iz fit for solitude ought bi
all means to staj' thare ; he ain’t fit for enny
thing else.
Thare are thoze who are too lazy to evon
be knaves.
The grate plezznre in welth iz in the making
ov it. After yu hav got it the fun iz over
and trubble begins.
Whenever i see a yung man or a 3 T nng
woman who kan’t cum down to breakfast in
the morning or attend a sociable in the evening
without a book under their arm, i feel that
the country iz safe at last.
Whenever i cum akrost au old phellow who
remembers everything that haz happened
since 1812, and insists upon telling it, i feel
glad on his ackount, but sorry upon mi owu.
Money only makes a spendthrift poorer.
Asa general thing, obstinacy iz the growth
ov ignorance, but i have seen obstinacy that
was backed bi wisdum ; then it adds power
to wisdum.
Order iz the very fust law ov bizznesss
then dispatch cuius next; suckcess iz allinosi
sure to follow.
A conservative person iz most generally
one who iz willing to sell out enny time, whoa
the ockashun and price iz right.
Thoze who understand how to administer
consolashun aro allwuss the most caushua.
about doing it.
Thare iz a grate deal ov kontentment in
this world that iz simply satisfied with what
it kan't git.
With kontentment all things are comfort
able (even the toothake); without it nothing
iz.
Truth iz never so holy as whsn it is an
adulterated; but It iz possible to make it.
more attraktive bi flavoring it with nonsense*
Yu kan pik up a lie on the surface ennjr
whare, but the truth yu hav got to dig for.
The man who don’t believe in enny here
after haz got a drodphull mean opinyun ov
himself and his chances.
About the Magnetic Needle-
Why the magnetic needle points to the
north is thus explained by Prof. C. T. Patter
son, of the United States Coast Survey. The
earth is itself a magnet, and attracts the
needle just as ordinary magnets do, and it is
found to be affected by the action of the sun
in a manner not yet fully understood. Tho
magnetic poles of the earth are not in lino
with the geographical poles, but make an
angle with them of nearLy twenty-three
degrees. At the present time the northern
magnetic pole is near the Arctic circle, on
the meridian of Omaha, and, from the nature
of the case, the pole may better be described
as a region rather than a fixed point. The
needle does not every where point to the true
astronomical north, but varies within certain
limits. At San Francisco it points seven
teen degrees east of north, and at Calais,.
Me., as much to the west. At the northern
magnetic polo a balanced needle points with,
its north end downward in a plumb line; at.
San Francisco it dips about sixty-throo
degrees, and at the southern magnetic polo
the south end points directly down. The
action of the earth upon a magnetic needle
at its surface is of about the same force as,
that of a hard steel magnet forty inches long,
strongly magnetized, at a distance of one #
foot. It is very probable that a study of
dynamo-electric machines, now so much used
in the electric illuminations, will reveal soon
some far-reaching truths regarding magnetism
in general.
A large monument has been erected at
Ivahoka, Mo., with the following inscription 5
“The Spencer Family.—We are all here*
murdered with an ax, night of August 3,
1877, at their home. Their bodies lie be
neath this tomb, their virtues about it.” It,
marks the spot where the five members of
the Spencer family were slain, and its dedL
cation, witii elaborate ceremonies, drew to-,
gether fifty thousand persons, so great had
been the excitement over the crime. The
deed was palpably committed by one man,
who killed his victims one after another aa
lie came upon them; but who he was has
never been ascertained. Bill Young was
hanged by a mob, hut a jury had acquitted
him. and there was nothing at all proven
against him except his bad character. Hi*
last words were : “ I am as innocent of thia
thing as the angelsbut the leaders of the
lynchers replied : “ You’re a good man to
hang, anyhow.” Ilia wife h&jS now sued the
county for SIO,OOO damages.
The last man to correct a mistake is the
: man who commits it.
NUMBER 14.