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VOLUME YL
OmK- -SC
LET BYGONES BE BYGONES.
Lot bygones be bygones; if bygones were
clouded
By aught that occasioned a pang of regret,
Oh, let them in darkest oblivion be shrouded,
Tis wise, ’tia kind to forgive and forget.
Let bygones bo bygones, and good be ex
tracted
From ill over which it is lolly to fret;
The vuMst of mortals have foolishly acted—
The kindest are those who forgive and for
get.
Let bygones be bygones; oh, cherish no
longer
The thought that the sun of Affection has
set ;
Eclipsed for a moment, its rays will be
stronger,
If you, like a Christian, forgive and forget.
Let bygones be bygones; your heart will be
be lighter,
When kindness of yours with reception has
met;
The flame of your love will be purer find
blighter
If, Godlike, you strive to forgive aud forget.
Is?t bygones be bygones; oh, purge out the
leaven
•Of malice, and try au ex mpie to set
To others, who craving the mercy ot heaven,
Are sadly too slow to forgive and forget.
bet bygones be bygones ; remember how
deeply
To heaven’s forbearance wc all are in debt;
They value God’s infinite goodueas too cheaply
To heed not the precept, “Forgive and
forget.”
Uncle Zeke’s Conscience.
How Things Were Missed—His
“Terrible Sperences ” at the
Corn-Crib Door.
Some years ago there moved to the
neighborhood of Uncle Zeke's cabin a
gentleman from New York, whose
identity may be disguised under the
name of Smith. The new-comer <n
giged vigorously in fanning, and by
liberal employment and prompt pay
ment soon gained the good-will of all
the colored men around him. Uncle
Z,eke in particular was never weary of
chanting his praises, and many a bush
el of oysters did Ezekiel convert into
money at B Uevtie, as Smith's estate
was called. But all the good-will of
his humble neighbors did not sullice
to protect Mr. Smith from pilferiugs.
Shoats would disappear mysteriously
during the night, geese and turkeys
would take, wing for parts unknown,
and, in particular, the corn-crib would
show by unmistakable signs that its
sanctity had been violated. To the
story of these various losses would
Uncle Zeke incline a sympathetic ear,
and his ‘Well, now, who ever hear do
like o' dat ? 'elar to goodness these
vere boys is gittin' wusser an’ vvus
ser,’ evidenced alike his detestation of
the crime and his contempt for the
offender.
Smith’s patience was at last ex
hausted, and he determined upon vig
orous measures for the protection of
his property. His first experiment
was to place it large spring rut-trap
artistically concealed in a heap ot
shelled corn, close by the cat-hole in
the corn-crib door, expecting that the
unwary thief, plunging his hand reck
lessly through the hole into the heap,
would be caught and held until some
one caiue to set him free. But lo!
next morniog the trap was found
sprung and the heap of corn dimin
ished, but the thief had vanished aud
left no trape behind.
At last a good-sized box arrived
from New Yorjv, and thenext day the
local carpenter was ordered to fix
brass handles to the corn-crib; one to
be put alongside the door for conven
ience, as Mr. Smith publicly explained,
pf steadying one's self while turning
the other. The second handle had a
latch attached to it by which the door
was s< cured on the inside, and was set
in such a position that any one turn,
ibg it ou st hold on by the other knob
" ■ ■ 11 u ■-* ■*&,**. —■ . _
lo prevent being thrown backward by
the opening door. B ith handles were
profusely decorated with glass, and
elicited much admiration from t;e
hands, who submitted them to a crit
ical examination. The carpenter's
work being finished, Smith, in pres
ence of all his colored employes, s-d
--emuly repeated in front of the eom
crib the first two lines of the second
book of Virgil's ‘ASneid/ arid an
nouuct and that his corn was thence for
ward secure. A box, stated to con
tain seeds, was that afternoon deposi
ted in the crib, and during the early
part of the night the proprietor of
Bellevue secretly busied himself with
a coil of insulated wire.
Numerous and diverse were the
speculations among the darkies. Jim
Oakley ‘ 'lowed Miss Smif done witched
dat ar corn-house, sho uuff. Tell you,
genimen, you touch detn ere handles
evil sperit carry you 'way. No such
ting as evil sperit? How you know
dere is no such ting ? Hush, boy; go
see what de lLble say 'bout detn tinsr.’
Fete Lee ‘d'dnt b'lieve in no sperits;
got a gun fiz somewhat- in dat house;
turn de handle and de gun go off.
Seen clem tings afore up the country
when I live in Goozleum.' Another
theorist averred that 4 while Miss
Smif saym dat ar Scripter ober deni
handles he seed a white pigeon come
a-sailin' roun’ an’ roan' an' round’ an'
done light on the peek :,b the corn
house roof. High! tell you, sur, sum
fin tip sho'
Unchi Zeke, like the rest, was
troubled in his mind but, uiil.ke his
fellows, be determined to waste no
time in speculation, but to seek bis in
formation direct from headquarters.
Prepared with half a bushel of oys
ters. as an excuse for conversation, be
sought an interview with Mr. Smith
and boldly propounded his questions.
‘Mr. Smith, what you bin doin' to
dat ar crib o' yourn V
‘Why, Uuncle Zeke, what do you
want to know for V
‘Oh, miffin, sar; sorter curtis like.
Ib arn all de boys talking 'bout it—
neber see miffin like dat afore.'
‘Well, uncle Zeke I can’t very well
! explain it to you; blit I just advise
you—don’t go near that crib after
dark, or you may see something you
wont like.’ And uncle Zeke departed,
revolving many things in his mind.
It was midnight—the hour when
church-yards are said to yawn, not
with exhaustion, but returning anima
tion. In Iront of the enchanted corn
house stood Brothel Ezekiel, a lengthy
j pole in his hand and a capacious, ineal
bag over li s shoukh r. In silent med
itation he stood for some minutes de
liberating on the best plan of attack.
The great Newfoundland dog bounded
toward him, evidently in rejoicing
welcome. Forth from his pocket the
, old man drew a savory bit of fried
I bacon, which the faithless BosVn ea
; goily devoured, The reflection ended,
the dog lay contentedly on the ground
and watched the subsequent proceed
ings with the air of a totally disinter
ested observer.
‘Clar to goodness, now,' muttered
uncle Zeke, ‘wish 1 understood ’bout
dis ting. Cant be no spring-trap like
: de las’ time, kas how he gwiue to
i spring froo de do’ ? Ko ! ke ! Done
bodder Mr. Smith sho nufl’ when he
I find dat ole rat-trap sprung and nuffin
! cotch. High! Can't fool dis yore
{child wid no traps. No, sir! Done
see too much for (Lit.*.
Uncle Zeke paused, scratched his
head meditatinglv. and then resumed
his soliloquy—
‘Well, I declur ef dis yeie dont
boat preaching ! Mus be a gun in
dar. Ef aint no gun, den dere aint
uuftiti dere—all foolishness. Anyway,
I\se gWme for to try him.‘
Uncle Zeke threw his bag to the
ground, stepped to one side of the
house, and with his pole struck a
sharp blow on the brass knob nearest
him. Noth ng followed. He pried
against it with a stick, but still with"
: out effect. He went to the other side
[ of the house and repeated his experi-
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY. FEBRUARY*I4, 1878.
ments on the second knob, but still all
remained quiet.
Uncle Zeke now drew from his
pocket a skeleton key, mounted the
Inkier, and iu a trice had opened the
padlock which held the door.
‘Dar, now, jus as i touglit. De boss
done humbug dem tool niggers, make
mn tink disyere house witched, Aint
uufldn dar, shu nuff.‘
The old darkey reached up and
cautiously turned the handle. Toe
door opened a nnd casting away
all fear, Uncle Zeke boldly reached for
the other knob to steady hinisell tvhile
he swung back the door.
t Literally Ike a flash of lightning
the electric discharge passed through
Him. The muscles of his fingers con
tracted, and he could not release his
hold oi the enchanted handles. At
last his feet slipped from the ladder,
and the weight of his body tore his
hands adrift. L.ke a log the old man
dropped to the ground and lay groan
ing, praying, and generally bewil
dered.
‘Oh, de Laws Gor A‘mity! Oh, my
Ileabenly Marster ? Who eber tot ob
dat! My conscience done wake up!
Hearn bout it often, and now I knows
it Oh, my Ileabenly Marster! ef you
lets up ou me ands time uncle Z"ke
neber touch nuflin no mo.‘ Clar to
goodness, l‘s a changed in tn from dis
day. B—r-r-r-r-r-r-r— ‘‘ And what
with the shock, the fright and the tall,
uncle Zeke's s< lists seemed leaving
him.
‘Ezekiel, 4 said a solemn voic n In
stinctively uncle Zeke answered, ‘Here
me/ and looked in the direction of the
sound. Qh, horror* B figure clad in
white was near ng him wuh slow ami
solemn steps. As he tnysforio is vis
itor approached it seemed to rise un
til it towered to the height of at least
ten feet. The wretched Ezekiel, on
his hands and knees his eyes protrud
ing, and his jaw dropped, remained
paralyzed.
Suddenly the phantom bowed itself,
and its head descending with incredi
ble swiftness, smote the unfortunate
uncle Zeke senseli ss to the earth.
Three days later, as poor uncle
Zake lay, racked with rheumatism ami
tormented with spiritual fear upon
his bed in the single room at his cal _
in, the door opened and in walke l Mr,
Smith, of Bellevue.
‘Good morning, uncle Zeke. Why,
wiia‘t the matter with you, old man ?*
‘Oli, Mr. Smith! oh, Mr. Smith, I
done ha l s >me terrible sperences late
ly. De angel ob de Lord done wres
tle wid me, and my conscience done
woke, and, oh, my Ileabenly Marster!
I‘s one suffering sinner, Mr. Smith,
is bu bin*—is you done- 4 —is you m-miss
any ting wid dat ar c corn house ob
yourn ?‘
No, indeed, uncle Zeke; nobody
been near it. Everything all right
now 7 . 4
‘ And nobody 7 done touch the lock ?
Done look ebery m Tiling? 4
‘\es, indeed. VYhy, who do you
think would touch it, old man? 4
Uncle Zeke answered not, but ins
lies moved convulsively, as he mut
tered, ‘Knock me down fus, and den
lock de door and took de key. Now 7
I knows it was de angel ob de Lord.*
The following recipe for doing up
shirts will be lound ot use by many
housewives: Take two ounces of fine
white gum arabic powder, put it in a
pitcher and pour ou it a pint or more
of water, and then, having covered it,
let it stand all night. In the morning
pour it carefully from the dregs into
a clean bottle and cork it, and keep it
for use. A tablespoontul of gum wa
ter stirred into a pint of starch made
in the usual manner will give to lawns,
either white or printed, a look ot
newness.when nothing else can restoie
them after they have been w 7 asled.
♦♦♦
‘YVbat is Life Insurance?* exclaim
ed a bold agent iu a street car "to a
victim of a busted copipany. ‘I can
answer that,* replied the victim. ‘lt
is the*art of keep ng a man poor all
through life in order that he may die
rich.*
Ben Holladay’s Nose.
‘One night/ said Ben Ilolladay,
dong bef >re the Pacific railroad was
built, I was bouncing over the plains
iu one of my overland coaches,
wife was w ith me, !Bhe was sieK, and
lay asleep on the bottom of the stage
on a bed of buffalo skins. The night
was fearfully dark, and a drizzling
rain was falling. Airs. IloPaday and
myself were the only passengers.
Several stages had been rubbed with
in two months and the driver was
ripping along as though a gang of
prairie wolves were after him. Sud
denly the horses were thrown on their
haunches, and the stage stopped. I
was heaved forward but quickly re
covered, and found myself gazing at
the muzzles of a double-barreled shot
gun. By the dim light of the stage
lamps the barrels looked as big as nail
kegs. ‘Throw up your hands and
don't stir/ shouted the owner in a
gruff’ voice.
‘Up went my hands and I began to
commune with myself. The fellow
damned my soul, and then coHy
for my money. Isaw 7 that lie
did n >t know who I was, and I was
afraid that my sick wife might awake
and call mi by name. My coat was
buttoned over my bosom, but hardly
high enough to hide a magnificent
emerald that cost me over $8 000 a
few 7 weeks before in San Fnneisco. I
hardly breathed through fear that the
light might strike the stone and its
sparkling brilliancy attract the atten
tion of the robber. I had about $40,-
000 in a money belt close to the skin,
and several hundred, dollars in my
pocket.
‘Suddenly my friend shouted,‘Come,
shell out, d—d quick, or l’il send the
devil a free lunch/
‘I passed out the few hundreds
loose iu my pockets, and banded him
my gold watch and chain. T.ey were
hefty. 1 think the chain alone would
weigh five pounds at leas*.
Tht re,' said I, ’there's every cent
I've got. Take it, and let me go on.
My w 7 ife is very sick, and I don't
know 7 what would happen to her if
she know what was going on.'
‘Keep your hau ls ip / was the re
ply, while a second robber received
the watch and money. Then a search
was made for the express company's
box, but the double-barreled shot
gun did not move. Its muzzles were
within a foot of my nose. For my
life I did not dare to stir. My n >se
began to itch. The stiff hairs of my
moustache got up, one after another,
and tickled it until the sensation was
intolerable. I could stand it no lon
ger
‘Stranger/ I cried, ‘I must scratch
my nose. It itches so that I am al
most crazy/
‘Move your hands,’ lie shouted, ‘and
I'il blow a hole through your head big
enough for a jack rabbit to jump
through/ I appealed once more.
‘Well/ he answered, ‘keep your hands
still and I’ll scratch it lor you, I hate
to see a partner suffer/
‘Did he scratch it?' asked one ol
Ben's interested listeners.
‘Sure/ said Mr. Hoi lad ay.
‘How ?’ asked the breathless lLten*
ers.
‘With the muzzle of the cocked
gun/ said trie great overlander. ‘He
rubbed the muzzle around my mous
tache and raked it over the end of my
nose until I thanked him and said it
itched no longer.'
A crocodile watched a small boy
who sat injudiciously near him ou the
bank of the river. The sm.ili boy
was eating a piece of bread. He was
hungry. The crocodile was also hun
gry. Ou perceiving this sympathetic
bond between their natures, the croc
odile was moved to tears. ‘Four boy,’
he said, ‘ you want your breakfast.
So do I. Yet why should I deprive
you of your bread, which you eat
with so much relish. I will not. But
your legs—you cannot eat them. I
iv.ll eat than for you.
A Drunken Farm.
Often and often,while r ding through
the country, have we passed farms
whose history we could read at a
glance. Tije door-yard fence ha 1 dis
appeared—burnt np in tho shiftless
ness ol drink. The house was un
painted and battered; br ken panes
of glass were stopped with rags and
old hats; the chimney stood in a totter
ing attitude; the doors swung in a
creaking fashion or on one hinge; the
steps were unsteady like its owner;
everything was dilapidated, decaying,
untidy, cheerless. A single look show
ed that its owner traded too much at
one shop—the rum-shop. The spirit
of thrift had been killed by the spirit
ol the still. Fresh paint, repairs, im
provement,good cheer and beauty
for the .home, —all had gone down the
farmer’s throat. Outside matters were
the same. The barnyards were wretch
ed styes; the doors were off, the roofs
leaky, the gates down, the carts cra
zy f the tools broken, the fodder scarce
and the stock poor and wretched.
Neglect, cruelty, wastefulness, ruin.
All had come from drink. The farm
showed the trail ol the same seipent.
The straggling and stumbling stone
walls, the rickety fences, the weed
grown fields, the sparse and haft-head*
ed crops, the dying orchard, all said
to the passer-by: “Whisky did it.”
Drink lias giyun a plaster of a mori
gage instead of a coating of fertilisers,
si th instead of labor, nnthrift in the
place of care, and demoralization in
lieu of system. The farm was drink
blighted, and advertised iU sondition
us plainly as its owner did when he
came reeling from town. One ol the
most impressive tempi ranee lectures,
for young.farmers especially, is a good
look at a drunken i'ann.[Golden Hale,
An Alphabet of Good Counsel.
Attend carefully to the details of
your business.
Be prompt in a'l things.
Consider well, then decide positive
Dare to do right; fear to do wrong.
Endure your trials patiently.
Fight life’s battle bravely manful.
!y.
Go not in the society of the vicious.
Hold your integrity sacred.
Injure not another’s reputation or
business.
Join hands only with the virtuous.
Keep your mind from evil thoughts.
L e not for any consideration.
Make few acquaintance*.
Never try to appear what you are
not.
Observe the Sabbath day.
Fay your honest debts promptly,
Question not the verac ty of a friend
Respect the counsel of your parents.
Sacrifice moucy rather thuu pripc : -
pie.
Touch not, taste not, handle not in
toxicating drinks.
Use your leisuie time fur improve
ment.
Venture not upon the threshold of
sin.
Watch carefully over your passions.
’XtenJ to every one a.kindly salu
tation.
Yield not to discouragements.
Zealously ltbor fi r the righ.
& success is certain.
Education.
Accustom a child as soon as he can
speak to narrate his little experiences,
chapter of accidents, hi* fears, his
hopes; to communicate what he has
noticed in the world within. Anxious
to have something to narrate he will
be induced to give attention to objects
around him, and what is passing in
the sphere of li's observatiqn, and to
observe and u *te events will become
one of his first pleasures; ami tins is
the ground work of the th ug'it.'u'
char teter.
Rowland Hill said, when he once
saw a boy on a rocking horse, “Like
some Christians; motion enough, but j
nn progress.” ,
A little b >y not a great way from
this city, inquired concerning the stars:
‘Fa, what an? those things up there —
are they litt’e drops of sun ?*
‘The proprietor of a fbrgo, n >t re
markable lor lbs correctness of lan
guage, but who by honest industry
had realized a condo, table indepen
dence, being called on at a social meet
ing for a toast, gave ‘Success to lor-
Wf
‘ldle times are my dear, 4 said
a man to his better half, ‘and I find it
difficult to keep my nose above water/
‘You could easily keep it above water.*
returned the lady, ‘if you didn’t keep
it so often above brandy.*
On a recent trial a wilmsswas ask
ed as the common sense of Joseph
Buckley. ‘When Buckley was sober, 4
he said, ‘he was very sensitive —as
sensitive as any other man; but when
drunk he was very much exaggerated ‘
Theology gots a little mixed in the
youthful mind. ‘Who made you? 4
asked a teacher of a little girl. She
answered, ‘God made me that length, 4
putting hen* hands about twelve inches
apart, ‘and 1 growed the test myself. 4
——
*S theie‘s another rupture on Mt.
Vociferous^ 4 rad Mr&. Partington, as
she put down the paper and put up
her specs ; ft he papers tel hs about tho
bursting lather running down tho
mountain, but it dui‘t led how it got
fire. 4
NeFie has a four-year-old sister
Mary, who e< mphiined to her mama
that her ‘button shoes were hurting.*
‘W hy, Mattie, yotftve put tin m on the
wrong feet 4 Fuzzled and ready to
cry, she made answer, ‘What‘ll 1 do,
mama? They's alt the feet I've got. 4
fts your master at home ? ‘ inquired
a gentleman of the servant of tho
house at which lie was calling. 4 No.
• . , in*
sir, 4 repii and the man. ‘When will ho
be Lack ? 4 asked the visitor. ‘Can't
say, sir,‘ said the man ; ‘when lie sends
me and hvii to say ho‘s out, I caii never
be sure. 4
A gentleman called at ihe Logan
House early one forenoon, wishing to
see the laird. ‘Olq sir, 4 said the ser
vant, ‘he has company wi‘ him. 4 4 1
an afraid 1 have called too soon; they
have not done with breakfast/ ‘ ‘Deed
it's yestciday‘B dinner they're not
done \yi‘.‘
Tne color of a girl's hajr h legula
teu by the sbse of her fat In r‘s pueket
Uouk, If the latter be plethoric the
girl's tress are golden or auburn; if
the oid man's wallet is lean, we hear
the daughter sp< kou of as only ‘that
red-headed g 4 ‘ You never saw a
rich gii 1 \\ith red hair.
‘Winn a girl gets mad and rises
f. oin a follow’s knee/ says an ex
ihangi , “t ut tjiinks better of it and
goes back again, that’s what they call
* relapse.’ And li re we have been
working for dear 1 ile to keep off a
relapse under the impression that it
way someway related to cholera mor*
bus,
‘I wan't to g<* and sto the base ball
match/ sid the suUcdilor. ‘Well/
a-k ( and the chief, ‘are you through your
work for the day ? Have 3011 resigued
Sehurz?’ ‘Yes/ ‘Have you identic
tied Osman Pasha r’ ‘Yes/ ‘And
killed oft some more Russians V ‘Yes/
4 A lid located Silting Bull?’ 4 Yea.*
T do. .ft s e that then’s anything more
to do. You can go.’
NO. 7.