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CUTHBERT
APPEAL.
Y J. P. SAWTELL.
CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1870.
VOL. IV—NO. 40
fcf Cufjlrwt Sjptl.
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From the N. Y. Observer.
The Mound.
BY RAY PAIJIER, D. D.
Tbon bast a charm, thou grassy mound,
That yraws my heart to tbee ;
And oft ray footsteps linger round
The spot so dear to me.
f Tis but of earth a simple pile,
With mossy turt o’ergrown,
Where Spring’s flrst-p^epiog violet* smile
When her soft winds have bown.
Tbs Simmer birds around it sing
Through all the glowing day,
A*d near it sit with folded wing
When twilight melts away.
Pale Autumn, with her pensive mien,
Strews o’er it withered leaves,
And seems on one that there uuscen,
In silent sorrow, grieves.
E’en wintry snows and storms seem kind,
When found that mound they sweep,
-As they, with fleecy robes, would bind
And shield what there may sleep.
The ever-wakeful stars, by night,
Watch o'er it from above,
-And cheer it as with glances bright
Of eyes that beam with love.
The sun, when the 6wcet morn awakes,
Each-day through changeful years,
Makes glad the spot that man forsakes,
And dries its dewy tears.
Full well—O, dearer thought—I know
That angels linger there,
And guard the slumbering dust below
With sleepless, faithful care :
I know, that e’en the Lord on high,
Whose word all worlds obey,
O’er that dear dust, with loving eyt,
Watch keepeth day by day.
•O, moments blest! when, lowly mound,
'I sit alone by tbee,
’■While genial Nature smiles around,
And breathes her peace o’er me.
Then, floating on the tranquil air,
1 gentle whispers hear,
Feel deep affections waken there,
And know that God is near.
Ah ! then swift thought far onward flies
To that bright, gladsome morn,
"When this, that mortal, mouldering lies,
Immortal shall be horn!
When He, of Life and Death the Lord,
Who holds of both the keys,
^Clives Death to death, and, with His word
The grave’s last captive frees!
Then—then shall Love its harvest reap,
From tears of sorrow sown,
And its rich treasures safely keep
Through ages all unknown.
The Storm—Listen to the howl
ing winds as it sweeps around the
corner, bearing pedestrians onward
■to their destination, blowing num-
'berless hats into the gutter, and
-whistling its fierce music through
thS leafless tree-tops. The large
wain-drops beat/ against the case
ment; each qrVstal drop, had it the
power of speech, could tell tales of
the cloud-land from whence it came.
.Doubly welcome is the cheerful
- fireside, surrounded by happy faces,
after a battle with the elements,
-and feappy are they who possess
-these blessings. The lonely wan-
-derer and outcast, the homeless or
phan thrown upon the world, and
seeking somewhere under the vast
.oandpy of heaven a shelter, often
Sails a victim to the chilling blast,
and sinks to rest on earth’s snowy
■ewpet. And who will gay it is not
djetterso?
Hark 1 was that a human voice
■calling in accents of the wildest
agony for succor, or was it the wind,
thowling and shrieking dowu the
chimney, and reminding one with
start ting force of a human being in
distress '? Methinks the leaden
clouds chasing each other through
the sky, and the failling rain, sleet
.and snow which is fast encasing
ithe earth in a snowy mantle, are fit
emblems of the noise and strife go
ing on in the world around os.
But see ! the clouds are break
ing, and the sun, in all his glory,
bursts upon the vision ; the storm
is over, and the trees, bending un
der their sparkling load present a
picture worthy tiie admiration of
every lover of Nature. Such are
the storms which we encounter
through life; severe and terrible
while they last, but they soon pass,
leaving us purified and strength
ened, and better able to bear those
(through which we may be called to
pass in future.
G. W, Cubtiss.
Margaret’s Mission.
“Agnes Gray says that every wo
man has a mission. What do you
suppose my mission is, mamma?”
“Mission, indeed !” laughed Mrs.
Alleyne, looking proudly at her
pretty daughter. “I suspect, my
dear Maggy, your mision is to flirt
and dance.”
Mrs. Alleyne was wealthy, and
Margaret was her only child. Her
whole life was spent in rendering
her daughter happy, so Miss Mar
garet was petted to the heart’s con
tent. To look as pretty and be
witching as possible, to be arrayed
like Solomon in his glory from
morning till night, to pass her time
in an endless succession of Belgra-
vian gayety, was her child’s mis
sion, according to Mrs. Alleyne’s
idea; so Margaret received all the
gifts fortuno showered upon her
quite as a matter of coarse, and en
joyed life as her mother expected
she would do.
At last Margaret met her fate, to
the great wonder of her friends, in
the person of John Graham, a weal
thy young merchant of Baltimore;
for Margaret Alleyne, with her ba
by face and coquettish manner, was
the last person in the world you
would imagine the grave business
man would fcve, and be the most
unlikely of all her suitors to carry
off the belle. But Margaret did
love ber lover; lie was so grave
and clever. So, amidst the con
gratulations of his friends and the
tears of her parents, John Graham
bore his fair bride off to bis home.
He was very much iu love with
pretty Margaret. The soft, rose
flushed face, the tender blue eyes,
the cringled golden hair, never lost
their charm for him. But he never
dreamed that This little fragile crea
ture could share the burdens with
him. No, that dimpled face was
only unde for smiles, so he indulged
and caressed ber, but bis cares he
bore alone.
The large fortune left by John’s
father had been doubled by his en
ergy; but now, by the simultane
ous failure of two or three firms
he had trusted, and the villainy of
a confidential clerk, the wealthy
merchant saw himself upon the
brink of ruin. Love rendered Mar-
garct keen sighted; she quickly
perceived that all was not right
with her husband; his wan, hag
gard lace frightened her. But,
dearly as she loved him, she was
too proud to* seek his confidence;
so both were wretched, thongli
each endeavored to conceal it from
the other. . .
When John saw that ruin was in
evitable, he wrote to Mrs. Alleyne,
frankly disclosing the state of af
fairs. The mother insisted that
her daughter should return to her;
her husband should claim her when
fortune agaiu smiled upon him
but in the meantime, Margaret was
better with her; to spare her anx
iety, it was better she should not
know of her husband's difficulties.
With a heavy heart, John agreed
to all Mrs. Alleyne’s demands.—
Margaret’s love was the only bright
ness left in his life ; but, of course,
if she could be happier with her
mother, he could sacrifice it. IBs
sterD, pale face, and constrained
manner affected Margaret painfully
when he told her he desired her to
accept her mother’s invitation.
“He no longer loves me—he wish
es me to leave him,” the poor child
cried afterwards, in a passion of
tears. But before him she present
ed a calm exterior, and John Gra
ham thought that his young wife,
like the rest of the world, was
ready to desert the ship.
So Margaret returned to the house
of her girlhood, calling all her
pride to her assistance to enable her
to appear indifferent; but her heart
was rent by bitter pangs, for she
had persuaded herself that her hus
baud no longer loved her. Whole
nights spent in tears leave traces;
pretty Margaret grew pale and thin,
and Mrs. Alleyne began to fear that,
after all, her tenderness could not
constitute her daughter’s happiness.
Still the girl never complained, but
bore her burden in proud silence.
One night Margaret was at a ball
given by an intimate fried. She
had dauced a great deal, and being
very tired, sat down near an open
window ; a heavy curtain entirely
concealed her. Two gentlemen
were standing near, and she heard
the conversation distinctly.
“So John Graham, of Baltimore,
is bankrupt ? I was very sorry to
hear it; lie is a most honorable fel
low,” said one.
“Yes,” answered the other; “I
saw him last week; be looks
wretchedly. You know ho married
Miss Alleyne, a pfetty little doll
without au idea, and, what is worse,
without a heart; now she has de
serted him in his adversity. It is
rather hard when a man’s own wife
will not aid him to bear his troub
les.”
Margaret’s heart gave a great
bound. How she had misjudged
him ! how true and tender he was !
He was alone and in trouble ; sure
ly her place was at bis side. Then
heedless of comments, she left her
hiding place.
The next day, John Graham’s
stately mansion was to be sold. He
had taken great pride in his home;
a thousand tender associations were
connected with every room. Now,
with a heavy heart, he wandered
through the deserted apartments.
Here was Margaret’s piano, which
he had given her; the pictures and
statues they had chosen together;
every article appeared like an old
desolation crept over him—he was
so ntteriy lonely. The strong
spirit was almost crushed. He
threw himself upon the bed, and
wept like a child. A quick step
upon the stairs, a rustle of silken
robes, a glad cry, then clinging
arms twined about his neck, a soft
cheek was pressed to his, tangled
golden curls mingled with his dark
locks. Was it a dream? He press
ed her close to make snre of the re
ality, and kissed her with such pals
sionate fervor that Margaret wept
for joy.
“Margaret, my wife—Margaret'.
he sobbed.
“Oh, John, how c-mel you were
to send me away 1 But I’ll never
leave you again, darling.”
When they had both regained
calmness, John Graham explained
to his wife that the next day the
house was to be sold—he could not
take her into lodgings—perhaps
she had better return to ber moth
er. But Margaret firmly refused.
“Any place that is good enough
for you, John, is good enough for
me. My place is with you. I can
assist you more than yon think,”
she said.
Then Margaret commenced the bat
tle of life in earnest. It is not easy
to turn from a life of pleasure and
luxury to one of comparative pov
erty. Margaret at first did not find
her patli strewed with roses; there
wore difficulties to be encountered
slights to be endured, ease to be
sacrificed; but she bad. a brave
heart, and love had changed the gay,
careless girl into the tender, self
sacrificing woman. She became
her husband’s closest friend, his best
adviser, the sympathizing confidant
of all his plans; ever ready to
cheer in moments of depression—
the first to rejoice in his success.
John Graham is a wealthy man
again now; success has crowned
his efforts; but he ever blesses the
adversity which taught him to
know the real value of his wife.
So Margaret found her mission as
a devoted wife and mother, much
to her mother’s amazement; and
John Graham found he had married
not a pretty butterfly of fashion,
but an earnest, loving woman.
Women in China.
The woman is regarded and treat-
ted as a creature radically despica
ble, and scarcely belonging to the
human race. She has no soul.—
She is treated by every body, and
especially by her brothers, as a creat
ure from whom they have a right to
demand the lowest and meanest
services. The amusements and
pleasures of her age are quite un
known to her, her whole education
consists in knowing how to use ber
needle. She neither learns how to
read nor write for there exists no
school nor honse of education for
her. The idea of nullity is carried
so far that consulting her in any
way or even informing her so much
as the name of her future husband
would be considered superfluous
and absurd. She is simply a traffic,
an article of merchandise to be sold
to the highest bidder. She has no
right to take her meals with her
husband ; nay not even with male
children. Her duty- is to serve them
at table and fill and light their pipes.
She must eat alone after they- have
done, and in a corner. Her food is
scanty and coarse, and she would
not dare to touch even what is left
by her own sons. Her husband can
strike her with impunity, starve her,
sell her,, or wbat is worse, let her
out for degrading purposes.
The number of women who com
mit suicide is very considerable.—
When this catastrophe occurs in a
family, the husband usually shows
a great deal of emotion, for in fact
he has suffered a great loss, and
will be under the necessity of buy
ing another wife.
In some parts of the0onntry- it is
so much the fashion to beat a wife,
that a man who shows himself neg
ligent on this point forfeits hismor-
ral dignity, and is regarded as a
simpleton who understands nothing
of his prerogative.
When women are treated with
gentleness and moderation, it is
usually on a principle of economy,
as one might spare a beast of bur
den because it cost money, and be
cause if it is killed one would have
to replace it.
A late writer states that more
than once has he seen a plow drawn
by a woman while her husband
walked behind and guided it. Pit
iable it was to see the poor little
things sticking their feet in the
ground as they went, drawing them
painfully- out again, and so hopping
from one end of the furrow to the
other.
frieud: then a
feeling
of intense
— A lady, a regular shopper,
who had made an unfortunate clerk
tumble over all the stockings in the
store, objected, as none were long
enough. “1 want the longest hose
that are made,” she said. Clerk's
reply—“Then, madam, yon had bet
ter make inquiries at the next en
gine honse.”
— ‘Mamma,’ said a Jitttle girl to
her mother, “do you know how I
et to lied quick ?’ ‘No,’ was the
reply. 4 Well’ said she, in great glee,
‘I step one foot over the crib, then
say- ‘rats’ and frighten myself
right in.”
Fair Plat.—An Irishman who
was engaged to cut ice from a pond,
when hauded a cross out saw to
commence operations with, pulled
out a penny, and turned to his
comrade, exclaimed, ‘Now, Pat,
fair plav; head or tail, who goes
below ?*
Rubber vs. Mule for Street Car Pro
pulsion.
Mr. Solomon Jones, of New Or
leans, has found out a new use for
India rubber, which he has paten
ted. He has mado numerous expe
riments, which prove the amazing
elasticity and durability- of that sub
stance. He soon came upon tlie
idea of using it as a motive power,
and then the next step was its ap
plication to the propulsion of street
cars. He decided that it would be
economical in in space, first cost
and running expenses; also, that
it was so simple that it could be
handled by the driver at the same
time he was on duty, and as readily
as the ordinary brake. Here are
some of the particulars from the
New Orleans Republican :
After a long series of experi
ments, he discovered that the Para
rubber was capable of stretching
ten feet for every oue'of its ordina
ry length, and that the retractile
power was enormous. lie made a
system of turnings, windings and
twists of this rubber power which
would enable him to place it under
any car without altering its present
build, and which would give him a
power capable of propelling that
car through the streets at a rate
always at the command of the man
in charge, and capable of wasting
the wear and tear of constant use
for years.
His machinery was very simple ;
the rubber was wound upon a drum,
and the drum once let loose, the
car commenced to move at a speed
more than could be desired, were it
not that it is under perfect com
mand from a simple system of cogs
working under the leverage power
in the hands of the conductor.
His model was sent to Washing
ton to the Patent Office, and al though
it was not all he could wish, as lie
was compelled to use a common
gas-pipe rubber in place of the
prepared material he proposes to
use, it passed the rigid scrutiny of
office, famous for the care and
strictness of its examination, and
a patent was issued to him, in con
nection with Mr. Bernard Terfloth,
one of our well-known merchants,
for this new invention.
For street cars, two bands of the
rubber, two and a half inches in di
ameter and fifty-six feet in length
each, will be used. Each piece
will be attached to a separate drum,
and as the stretch of the rubbe
will be ten feet for one, five hun
dred and sixty feet will run oft the
drum before it- becomes necessary
to use its fellow-drum. In run
ning off this five hundred and sixty
feet, a distance of fourteen thou
sand one hundred and seventy-two
feet, over two miles, will be tra
versed by the cars ; the other drum
is them called into requisition, and
while it is propelling the car, the
exhausted drum is wound up by
he same leverage which the con
ductor uses to stop and control the
car. The only trouble the conduc
tor has is to throw the lever off the
drum in motion, a simple operation,
which can be reversed in a minute
it becomes necessary- to stop the
cars. The present cost of running
a street railroad car is over $3,000
year, independent of the five
mules required for it, whose value
must be between six and eight or
nine hundred dollars.
With the new arrangement, the
cars are put in running order with
the rubber motive power at an ex
pense of about $550 a car, and
lave, while running only the §50 a
month to pay the driver or con
ductor whatever ho may be called.
The rubber will certainly last as
long as the car will run, and the
machinery it moves is not calcula
ted to wear out fast, as there can
be very little friction on cog wheels.
The heavy wear and tear must nec
essarily-, as at present, be upon the
journals of the axles. The fact
that the rubbery will last is amply-
illustrated by the wonderful endu
ring powers of the present rubber
springs used for cars. The cars
may wear . out, but the rubber
springs arc taken out of the old
ones and out in the new.
Dont Stay Too Late.
One of the advantages of being
“past thirty,” is that one now and
then can put in a word of good,
motherly advice to the other sex.
So I’ll begin at once, and say- to
any single gentleman reader who
chooses to listen—Don’t stay too
late.
At the store or office ? No. You
know very well I don’t mean that.
I am not fighting Imaginary dan
gers, but real ones ; I mean simply,
don’t stay too late when y-ou go to
spend a quiet evening with a young
lady. It is not fair ; it is short
sighted; and it is pretty sure to
wear out your welcome. Even if
the poor thing is eventually to al
low y-ou to stop until death doth
yon part, that is no reason why you
should bestow too much of your
tediousness upon her at the outset.
When she really wishes your visits
to be longer, you’ll know it; even
then be chary of the moments after
eleven. At any rate, don’t suffer
yourself to be misled by the usual
commonplace form of detention that,
in nine cases out of ten, arise from
a suudon consciousness on the la
dy’s part that she may have betray
ed her weariness rathortoo plainly.
It won’t hurt you to be longed for
after you are gone; but beware of
ever causing a girl to give a sigh
of relief when the hall door closes
after you. There is a sandman for
the parlor as well as for the nurse
ry, and after a certain hour, except
in special cases, whenever he finds
the eyes too well drilled to succumb
to his attacks, he sprinkles his
sand around the hearth. After that
your best efforts to pleaso are wasted.
Every word will grate, every win-
ning attempt of yours be met only
with the silicate of emotion at best.
I know all about it. I’ve received
young gentlemen callers in my day;
yes, and enjoyed receiving them, if
ever a girl did. I’d think all day
that perhaps John, for instance,
might come in the evening, and on
these occasions I’ve come down to
tea with a rosebud in my hair, and
a happy matter in my heart. Yes
and I’ve started at the ring of the
door-bell, and when at last ne came
in, smiling and bowing, I’ve looked
just as it I didn’t care a single bit.
There were others, too—not Johns
by any means, but friends who were
always welcome, and whom it was
light good and pleasant to see.—
But that fact did not make null and
void all somnific law; it didn’t
make father and mother' willing
that the house should l>e open till
midnight; it didn’t make it desira
ble that I should feel a rebuke in
“Good moruing
Take my Hand, Papa.—In the
dead of night, 1 am frequently
wakened by alittle hand stealing out
from the crib by my side, with the
pleading cry. “Please take my
liand, papa !”
Instantly the little boy’s hand is
grasped, his fears vanish, and
soothed by the consciousness of his
father’s presence he falls into sweet
sleep again.
We commend this lesson ot sim
ple, filial faith and trust to the anx
ious, sorrowing ones, that are found
in almost every household. Stretch
fotrh your hand, stricken mourner,
although you may be in the deep
est darkness and gloom, and fear
and anxious suspense may cloud
your weary- pathway, and that very
act will reveal the presence of a
loving, compassionate Father, and
give you the peace that passeth all
understanding.
The darkness may not pass away
at once, night may still enfold you
in its embrace, but its terrors will
be dissipated, its gloom and sad
ness flee away, and in the simple
grasp of the Father’s hand sweet
peace will Ihj given, and you will
rest securely, knowing that the
“morning coineth.”—Congrega-
lionalist.
— Mrs. Partington lias been read
ing the health officers’ weekly re
ports, and thinks “total” must be
an awful malignant disease, since as
many die of it as of all the rest put
together.
everybody’s
when, with throbbing head and
weary eyes, I came down late to
breakfast. No, you may be sure
it didn’t.
Therefore, I learned soon to hon
or those who knew enough to go
when half past ten came; while
those who didn’t know were the
bane of my existence. Ilow they
would linger and skirmish, and
stand up and sit down, and move
about, and look at the clock, and in
a thousand torturing tfays say
“Good-by” without going, forget
ting that I could not turn them out
of the room, yet judging by that
token that their presence was nectar
and balm for all weariness.
Now, never think that tiiese
friends stayed from kindliness to
their weary hostess—not at all.—
They stayed because they didn’t
know enough to go. They liked
the warm room perhaps, and dread
ed the colil street, but beyond that
they lacked the simple grace of tak
ing themselves oft’ promptly and
handsomely. Ah ! what a gift that
is in a mau or woman, to know
when to go, and knowing it, to
stand not upon the order of going
but go at once. I know a few such
persons. They radiate jieace and
restfuluess, or they sparkle and
scintillate, or they arouse and in
spire you, as the case may be. An
hour glides away, then another, and
the midst of another, yon are con
scious only of a gentle “Good-by”
flash, an-1 they are gone. Then a
hundred things rush upon you—
you wish you had asked them this,
or told them that, you think how
pleasant it was to meet them and
you long to see them again.
‘So dear single gentlemen, whoev
ever and wherever you are, the
next time you go out to spend a
quiet evening with a lady, remem
ber my words. Young girls are
human; they require rest and
sleep; they are amenable to the
benefits of domestic system and or
der ; they have a precious heritage
of strength, health and good looks
to guard. Above all, if they are
true, sensible girls, they secretly
respect a man who don’t yield to
the temptation to linger past a rea
sonable hour. In a word, though
they may be glad to see y-ou, an
evening visit is not a species of
eternity.
. Don’t go too late, and don’t go
by inches. “Good-by” is tlie flow
er of a welcome. II you wish it to
retaiu its aroma, the fewer leaves
it sheds the 1 letter.
— At the age of twenty Daniel
Webster, writing to his brother
Ezekiel, said: “I have now two
cents in lawful currency; next
week 1 will send them, if they be
all; they wiH buy a pipe; with a
pipe you can smoke; smoking in-
s|>ire.s wisdom ; wisdom is allied to
fortitude; from fortitude it is but
otic step to stoicism • and stoicism
never joints for this world’s goods;
so perhaps my two cents, by this
process, may put you .quite ill ease
about cash.”
The Marriage Outfit
Old deacon Brown started in life
very poor. He married his wife.
Susan, before the days of hoops,
pads, etc. They bad been happy
in their married life, and unto them
was bom a beautiful girl, whom
they named Kate, who, of course,
when she grew up, fell in love.
Her choice was a poor, but noble
young man. The deacon and his
wife had taught their child to
choose for herself, but to do it wise
ly, and they were glad to see that
she made choice of an estimable
young man, their neighbor’s son.
Now, Kate took up a notion that
she must have a great many arti
cles for her marriage, and to make
a fashionable show of dress during
the honeymoon, and as they lived
at only a town, she wrote her fath
er a note requesting him to furnish
her a considerable amount to buy
her outfit, and stated in it that she
expected she would have to send to
the city to get all she needed,
whereupon the old man made the
following reply:
Dearest Daughter ; As you are
my only daughter, I may call you
dearest, truly, for I love you very
much. I have considered your
note, aod this is my- reply : I am
sorry to find you possessing a
weakness of most of your sex, viz:
that you think you should have a
large outfit for your wedding and
honeymoon. When I married yoar
dear mother she had but two calioo
dresses and other things to fit, and
she thought herself well off with
them, and I really thought her, as
I took her in her calico dress, the
prettiest, sweetest girl in the land,
and I have never thought otherwise.
She has made me a dear, precious
wife, and has been to me a help
mate, indeed. Now, my dear child,
I will not refuse you what you ask,
but my observation in life has con
vinced me that those girls who
spend a heap of money to provide
tiieir outfits for marriage are gen
erally sure to spend heaps of it af
terward, and that often they keep
their husbands’ noses to the grind
stone of misfortune and toil all their
lives.
A great many fine things for
your wedding and its after inci
dents will make you no sweeter or
prettier to your husband, and may
make you a great deal dearer as to
his pocket. If tlie man of your
choice really loves you, as no doubt
he does, it is not for what you have
on, but for the qualities of your
person, head ami heart, and as he is
a man of sense, I have no doubt, lie
will think more of you when he
finds that you have not made any
great preparations for your mar
riage. There are many gentlemen
in this country, now worth millions
whose wives, when they married,
had no more than your mother.—
By this I do not mean that you
should have no more, but your
mother tells me that you now have
five neat every-day dresses and four
Sunday ones, and really they are a
larger, finer and better outfit than
many millions of your sex are able
to obtain.
I make these suggestions for your
consideration, but leave you to fol
low them or not, as your judgment
may dictate, and to show you that
is the fact, I enclose you a draft for
a thousand dollars on my cashier,
which you can use at your pleasure.
Affectionately Yours,
John Brown’.
Kate did not long hesitate as to
her course of action. Iler mother
gave her a few dollars of her pock
et- money, and she bought only a
simple, plain, white dress, and ap
peared in it at the altar, with natu
ral flowers and tier own loveliness
for adornment.
She drew tlie amount of the draft
in gold, and one month to a day af
ter her marriage handed the amount
to her husband and accompanied
the gift with these words:
“Dearest—I applied to my fath
er for money to purchase what I
supposed I needed for my marriage,
and lie wrote me this letter (hand
ing it to her husband,) and inclosed
in it the draft upon which I drew
this thousand gold dollars, which I
now present to yon as the money
saved by a victory over a foolish
fashion. Have I done wisely ?”
“You have, my blessed wife, and
are a thousand times dearer to me
by your better judgment.”
It is needless to add that thehus-
band of Kate is now worth many
millions of dollars, a ml in a delight
ful old ago they often tell th^ir
friends and children of the thousand
dollars as the foundation of it .11.
Suppose.
ET rniXES CART.
Suppose, my little lady,
Your doll should break her head,
Could you make it whole by crying,
Till your eyes and uose are red ?
And wouldn't it be pleasanter
To treat it as a juke,
And say you’re glad ’twas Dolly’s,
And Out yottr head that broke ! *
Suppose you’re dressed for walking,
And the rain comes pouring dowu,
Will it clear off any sooner
Because von scold aod frown ?
And wonldn’t it be nicer
For yon to smile than pout,
And so make sunshine in the house,
When there is none without!
Suppose yonr task, my little man,
la very hard to get,
Will it make it any easier
For yon to sit and (ret!
And wouldn't it be wiser.
Than waiting like a dunce,
To go to work in earnest
And learn the thing at once ?
And sn ppose the world don’t p lease you.
Nor the way some people do,
Do yon think the whole creation
Will bo altered just for you ?
And isn't it, my boy and girl,
The wisest, bravest plan,
Whatever comes or doseu’t come,
To do Ihe best you can !
Too Poor. 1
Brother Moore, of the Rural
New Yorker, was sitting in his of
fice one afternoon, some yoars ago,
when a farmer friend came in and
said :
‘Friend Moore, I like your paper,
but times are so hard I cannot pay
for it.’
Is that so, friend Jones? I’m
very sorry to hear that you are so
poor, and if yon are really so hard
run, I will give you my paper.’
‘Oh, no, I can’t take it as a gift.’
‘Well, then, let’s sec how we can
fix it. You raise chickens, I be
lieve ?’
‘Yes, a few, but they don’t bring
anything hardly.’
‘Don’t they? Neither does my
>aper cost anything hardly. Now,
have a proposition to make to
you : I will continue your paper,
and when you go home you may
select from your lot one hen and
bring me the procoeds, whether in
eggs or chickens, and we will call
it square.’
‘All right, brother Moore,’ and the
old fellow chuckled at what he
thought a capital bargain. He kept
the contract strictly, and at the end
of the year he found that he had
paid about four prices for his pa
per.
He often tells the joke on him
self, and says he never has had the
face to gay lie was too poor to take
a paper since that day.—Farmer &
Planter.
A Handsome Thought.—That
was a timely and a beautiful
thought expressed by a clergyman
at the grave of a lovely little child
ol' four summers, from the garden
of whose parents, as they all went
through to the churchyard, he had
plucked a little “Forget-me-not.”—
When the little coffin was lowered
into the grave, the clergyman, hold
ing up the sweet flower iu his hand,
said :—
“I hold in my hand a beautiful
flower, which I plucked from the
garden we have just left. By tak
ing it from its present home i» has
withered ; but I here plant it at the
head of this grave, and it will soon
revive and flourish. So it is with
the little flower we have just plan
ted in the grave. It has been
plucked from its native garden, and
has wilted ; but it is now transplan
ted into the garden of immortality,
where it shall revive and flourish in
immortal glory aud beauty.”
A Practical Joke.
Tlie San Francisco “Golden City”
relates an adventure which recently
befell a resident of that city, who
for convenience sake they call Jones,
lie was an eccentric individual, and
his fellow-workmen in the manufac
tory where he was enployed sought
to indulge in a little fun at his ex
pense, and succeeded in getting a
letter mailed at New York addressed
to him, stating that by the death
of a distant relative in England he
had fallen heir to the sum of fifty
thousand dollars, and that a solici
tor had come over to New York to
hunt him up. Jones rccieved the
letter, and spoke of it in good faith
to his fun-loving companions, who
gravely urged him to write to a
prominent lawyer in New York,
stating his case and asking the le
gal gentleman to see about it.—
Jones was foolish enough to take
this advice. In due time—much to
the astonishment of his associates
—he received a letter from his law
yer, who, by one of the prettiest
coincidences in the world, chance 1
to be at that time engaged in look
ing up a person of exactly the same
name as Mr. Jones, who was enti
tled, by the will of the English gen
tleman who died a few years ago,
to the sum of not fifty’ thousand
dollars, exactly, but the sum of
four thousand live linn ired pounds
sterling, or about twenty thousand
dollars. Jones happened to be the
very man himself, and he immedi
ately left his work in a state of
high excitement, took a trip to
New York, ar.djiad no difficulty in
proving his elaim. lie returned to
San Fracisco a few days since with
funds amounting to eighteen thou
sand dollars, expenses having been
deducted from the original snm,
which might never have found him
but for the disposition of his com
rades to practical joking.
— “Don’t put too much confi
dence in a lover’s sighs and vows,”
said Mrs. Partington to her niece.
“Lot them tell you that you have
lips like strawberries and cream,
cheeks like carnation, and an eye
like an asterisk; but such things
oftener come from a tender head
than a tender heart.” •
— A farmer was. dividing his
property among his four sons. In
return one was to board him, an
other to lodge him, a third to
clothe him, and the tburth at his
death was to bear the funeral ex
penses. After some little consider
ation, each seemed satisfied with
his lot, except tire fourth, who kept
silent. “Are you not content ?”
asked the lawyer. “I don’t know,”
plied tlie hopeful, “I was think-
ing how much if would eoat to plant
the old mail.”
— Our neighbors’ children are
always the worst.
— The difference between a bride
and a bridegroom is this—One is
given away, and the other sold.
— What kind of sweetmeats did
they have in the ark ? Preserved
pairs.
—What verb is that, in the lan
guage of flowers which few can
conjugate? The Yerb-ena.
— A widower was recently re
jected by a damsel who didn’t want
affections that had been “warmed
over.”
— It was woman who first
prompted man to eat, but he took
to drink on his own account after
ward.
—Experimental philosophy—
Trying to borrow an umbrella —
Moral philosophy—Refusing to lend
it.
— What’s the difference between
a chilly man and hot dog? One
wears a great coat, and the other
pants.
— An urchin on being rebuked
for wearing out liis stockings at the
toes, replied it couldn’t be helped,
“toes wiggled and heels did not."
Thin Man—“Boy, what’s that
hungry dog foiling me for?”
Boy—“He think* you’re a bona,
I reckon.’*
— “Young man, do yon boWev*
in the future state ?” “In ooureu
I duz, and what’s more, I mean to
enter it as soon as Betsy gits her
things ready.”
— Little four-year old the otner
day nonplussed its mother by mak
ing the following inquiry: ‘Moth
er, if a man is a Mister, ain’t a wo
man a Mistery ?’
— A book-keeper in a leading
merchantile house lias been dis
charged on account of short-sight
edness. He rubbed out with his
nose what he wrote with his pen.
— Josh Billings says that the ne
gro waiters at the hotels at Long
Branch have resided among the
whites so long that they have begun
to adopt our color.
— A lady who had repeatedly
called a little boy to come in and
say his prayers, was somewhat ta
ken back by his asking her if “God
was in much of a hurry ?”
— At a recent lecture Professor
X stated that Saturn had a ring
six thousand miles broad. “Jabers,”
exclaimed an Irishman who was
present, “what a finger he must
have.”
— A Minnesota census taker is
said to have been accommodating
enough to wait in a house four
hours for a lady who wished to re
port twins before they are ten years
of age.
— “Well, wife, I don’t see for my
part, how they send letters on them
’ere wires without tearing them all
to bits.” “La, me! they don’t send
the paper; they just send the wri
ting in a fluid state.
— A young lady at Long Branch
says she always takes a piece of
soap into the water with her, so
that if the undertow should be too
strong, she would be able to wash
herself ashore.
— The only way for a man to
escape being found out is to pass
for what he is. The only way to
maintain a good character is to de-
seve it It is easier to correct our
faults than to conceal them.
— A little boy having broken his
rocking-horse the day it wa9
bought., his mamma began to scold,
when he silenced her by inquiring,
—“What is the good of a hoss till
it’s broke ?”
. — A negro who had learned to
read at Hilton Head wished to give
some of his acquaintances, who
had never seen a book, an idea of
it, said, “Reading is the power of
hearing with the eyes instead of
the ears.”
— A couple of fellows who wero
pretty thorongbly soaked with bad
whiskey got into the gutter. After
floundering about for a few min
utes, one of them said, “Jim, let’s
go to another house—this hotel
leaks.”
— Every parent is like a looking-
glass for his children to dress them
selves by. Therefore, parent*
should take care to keep the glass
bright and clear, not dull and spo^
ted, as their good example is a rieh
inheritance for tho rising gen*r»
tion.
— “There is two ways of doing
it,” said I’at, to himself, as he stood
musing and waiting for a job, on
the street comer. “If I save 84,-
000, I must lay up $200 a year for
twenty years, or I can pat away
$20 a year for two hundred years.
Now, which way will I do it?”
What ue Learned.—A little
boy, in the infant class of a Sunday
school ‘oat West,’ was asked by
bis teacher if he had learned any
thing during the past week. “Oh,
yes,’ said no. ‘What have yott
learned?’ “Never to trump your
partner’s trick” was the reply.
— A conntryman who had never
paid more thau twenty-five rants to
see an exhibition, went to see the
“Forty Thieves.” Tho ticket s Her
charged him seventv-fivo cents lor
a ticket. Passing the pasteixtird
back, he quietly remarked : “Kee ; >
it mister, I don’t want to see the oili
er thirty-nine,'' and out he marched.