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VOLUME VI.
MISCELLANY'
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.
When Ma-y Middleton married John
Rutherford, she took him for better and
for worse, “until death did them part.”
She did not promise to cleave to him
in the sunshine only, and when the sea
of life was srn >oth and sparkling. She
took an oath and called God~-and
friends to witness that she would be
with him when the storms arose and
when the billows were rough and fof
sak ng all others, she would cleave to
him only.
It was an easy thing to say this, be
raise the m m to whom she thus bound
herself was young, handsome and rich,
'le was kind in disposition and domes
tic in h's tastes. lie had nothing against
him, and everything in his favor. He
loved her and she loved him, in her
Hellish fashion. That she would ever
!e called on to make any sacrifice < f
comfort or feeling for love’s sake, she
never dreamed. She fancied, if she
ever thought at all abcut the matter,
that her life would bo one long holiday,
1 oil o( love, and pleasure, and riches,
neb a life as her past had been, when
sheltered in her father's house, she
knew only the bright side of existence,
muing and petted, thus she married,
without a thought of the true meaning
of the solemn oath she took before the
altar, with her numerous friends ah
witnesses.
At first “all went merry as a mar
v age bell.” Tnere were no clouds in
the matrimonial skies—-nothing but
sunshine and serenity. She was loving
•uid happy ; she was pi icid and amia
-Ic, because there was no disturbing
element in her home to make her oth
rw ise. She could not be discontented
>r peevish amid the choice giits Hcav
vn had thrown around her. It is so ea
sy to be calm and gentle when our
1 atliway is lined with roses and the
sunshine sparkles overhead ; but when
: uv feet tread on the thorns and the
hick ness gathers around and the
‘ s ‘Orm mutters in full, then is the time
that tries onr soul, audit is hard to
smile and be happy amid the trials that
compass us.
A terrible storm swept over the
country, and many a rich argosy went
down amid the darkness. One raer
chant drew in another, and John Ru
therford found himself struggling in
the billows with no possible way of
escape. Go down he must and go
down be did lie “failed,” despite
his exertions to keep his business
afloat.
He sat m bis counting-room striving
to ic dize the extent of the disaster, his
thoughts naturally reverted to his
young wife. llow would he face her
with the story ? Of course she would
love him still, and evou love him better,
would cleave to him more fondly
and closely for the sorrows that had
overtaken him. For, he thought, what
is love worth if it flies when the storm
approaches, if it shrinks back in #dis
may when the way grows dark
and dreary, l'liis surely was not the
kind of love his w.fe pledged him one
year ago, “for better, for worse, until
death did them part.”
Seated in her luxurious home, John
Rutherford's wife looked up pleasantly
when her husband came into the room.
She said merrily :
‘I am so glad you have come ; sister
Annie and her husband are going to
Furope and they wish us to accom
pany them. Of course wc will <*o
John V ° ’
She had not noticed the sad eyes
that were then looking at her with
an^ anxious and troubled expression.
‘I have terrible news to tell you,
Mary,' was the answer.
She grew suddenly pale. She had
never had a sorrow in her life this
young petted child of fortune, m whose
gailand of lile there was not one with
ered bud.
‘Terrible news, John ?’
T am ruined, Mary ; I have failed.
I struggled against it, but it was no
use, and I like many others, have gone
down/
‘I don't understand you, John/ was
the reply in tremulous tones. 'Toil
don t mean that you have lust all your
money V
‘All, Mary/
‘Why, how are wo to live V
She was only thinking of this. There
was no sympathy expressed for the
man for whom she had left father and
mother and kindred and home. There
was not one word of loving
tion to fall like balm upon his troubled
[heart.
' Wc rnitst give up our luxury, Mary,
and live plainly. For my sake, you
will willingly to do this/and he put his
arm lovingly around her. 'All I have
now is your love/
She burst into a passionate flood Of
weeping. They were not tears of sym
pathy. but tears of keen regret for the
glittering showof wealth passiug from
her.
W here was the womanly sympathy
the wifely tenderness to which John
Rutherford hud looked for sustaining:
help ? Where was the unsefish devo
tion which ciied out with the voice
of enduring love : “Whither thou go
esf, I will go ; thy people shall be my
people ; thy destiny my destiny ; thy
sorrows my sorrows, and thy God my
God?” Truly the delicate harp love
had t een struck, and instead of giving
forth the melody of trust and unchang
ing devotion, had sent out the harsh
tones of selfish coldness and unfeeling
ness.
Th°re was nothing in his wife's
character to sustain John Rutherford
in his trials, and he now fully realized
on how frail a staff he had leaned when
he took her love for comfort and help.
L’ke many wobigii, she was all loveli
ness and joy when she had nothing to
make her anything else. She never
complained, nor was she unhappy so
long as all her wants were gratified-
She was a creature for the sunshine
not for the storm, and when the storm
came she had no power to face it, for
she had never learned the meaning of
those sublime words, renunciation,
self-abnegation.
A sale in the house ! That was a
terrible thing for the proud young
wife..
‘Why, where arc we to go,
John V
Take lodgings, Mary/ was the an
swer. ‘I am sure that we can be hap
py anywhere, so long as we are to
gether/
‘lf you want to see me dead, to kill
me outright,' she exclaimed, petulant
ly-, ‘put me into the plain lodging
house. I‘d not survive a week. I did
not marry you for that,' and she be
gan to cry.
‘You married mo for better, for
worse. The worst has come now 7 are
you not willing to accept all that it
brings ?'
‘i'll return to my fathei's house/ she
replied.
John Rutherford looked stunned at
this declaration.
‘I cannot go to your father’s house,
and will you go and leave me in the
storm ?'
'Let me go there, John, and re
main until yon can recover yourself,
and— ’
Her husband interrupted her.
‘ln the meantime you doom me to
the solitude of my own sid life. Are
you not willing to endure poverty for
my sake ? Mary Mary !' he contin
ued in tones of tender reproach, ‘I do
not thus understand the solemn vows
vve pledged each other one year ago.
I believed that no earthly power nor
circumstances should part us—we who
took each other for better, tor worse.
Now, above all other times, when the
storms of life are gathering around us,
nothing should part '‘our footsteps up
on the wilds.” Together we might
strengthen and sustain each other ;
apart we must be miserable indeed.—
Let us not break the tie which should
last for all time/
‘Oh, John, I did not mean to sepa
rate forever ; only till the storm blew
over/
He looked at her sadly. Her love had
been tried iu the balance and found
wanting.
The handsome furniture was sold at
auction, and the house of the Ruther
fords passed into other hands. Mary
had sought the luxury of her father’s
house, and left her husband to meet
his destiny as best he could. In doing
so she did not realize that she had vio
lated any sacred duty, nor proved
recreant to any high trust. She had
never lived any other life but that of
luxurious self-indulgence, and she set
gold above love, and self-interest above
duly. She was willing to perform her
duties So long as they were pleasant,
but she did not recognize them as
duties when they ceased lo be agree
able.
A man once down in the world finds
it difficult to rise again. John Rut hers
fold had a resolute wi 11 and a stroii ,r
t t O
spirit, but somehow he did not suc
ceed—the shining goal was always
alar. lie lost, at length, hope and faith
in himself, and grew disspirited and
reckless. The powerful motive for ex
ertion was gone j his wife was com-'
fort ably housed in her fathei 's house,
anu he need not keep up a brave heart
for her. She gave him no sympathy
in his lonely life, for she felt none; en
grossed as she was by her own pleas
ures she never thought how tew lie
had, and she never dreamed of the ar
row she had planted in his heart, and
which was cruelly rankling there.—
“Her love had been weighed in the
balance and found wanting” was the
one sorrowful thought of his life. ‘How
much better we could have endured
our reverses/ he Said, ‘if we had en
dured them together. ‘ Together !*•—
Ah ! the. strength, the power of that
little worn !
The end came when death stepped
m and completed the work poverty
had begun.
When John Rutherford lay dying,
and pale and sorrowing, his wife stood
beside him. Remorse began its work,
lie uttered no reproaches. The time
was past for that—was over for re
grets—for sorrow. Eternity was nears
ing. A mysterious nature was aps
preaching over which the sorrows of
this life can cast no shadow.
‘All! John ! for better, for worse.—
Why did I not sooner understand the
meaning of those words ?' sobbed his
wife.
‘Until death did ns part/ he gasped
out, as clasping her hand, his spirit
passed away.
The Family Hammer
Tme to life is the following from one
of tiie American humorists, upon that
exasperating subject, “The family
hammer
No well-regulated family pretends
to be without a hammer. And yet
there is nothing that goes to make up
the equipment of a domestic estab
lishment that causes one-half as much
agony and profanity as a hammer. It
is always an old hammer, with ban*,
die that is inclined to sliver, and always
bound to slip. The face is always as
a full moon and as smooth as glass.—
When it glides oft'a nail and smashes
a finger, we unhesitatingly deposit it
in the back yard, and observe that wo
will never use it again But the blood
has hardly dried on the rag before we
were in search of the same hammer
agaiiij and ready to make another trial.
The result rarely varies, but we never
profit by it. The awful weapon goes
on knocking off our nails and smash
ing whole joints, and slipping oft the
handle to the confusion of mantle or
naments, and breaking the commands
ments. Yet we put up with it, and put
the handle on again and lay it away
where it Won’t get lost, and do up our
smarting and mutilated fingers ; and
after all, if tne outrageous thing should
disappear, wc kick up a terrible hul
laballoo until it is found again. Talk
about the tyrannizing influence of a
bad habit. It is not to be compared
with the family hammer.
A recent advertisement contains the
following: ‘lf the gentleman who keeps
the shoe shop with the red head will
return the umbrella of a young lady
with whalebone ribs and an iron han
dle to the slate-roofed grocer's shop*
he will hear of something to his ad
vantage, as the same is the gift of a
deceased mother now no more with
the name engraved upon it/
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, AUGUST 15, IS7S.
ICED TEA.
The Perils that Linger in the
Distances Around the Cool
ing Deverage !
From the Burlington Hawkeye.
Singular enough, science has not yet
assailed iced tea. But it will not do
to permit people to enjoy this cool,
delightful beverage, simply because
its taste is grateful to the wearied sys
tern during this scorchiug weather.—
We must do our duty, though science
may shrink from it and people cry out
against us. There is dauger iu iced
tea, and if you would live long and do
well, shun the cooling cup. We have
not the space to devote to au extended
discussion of the matter, and can only
cite a few instances from a long series
of carefully made experiments, which
cannot fail to carry conviction to the
most incredulous mind.
On July 10, of this year, John C.
II empstcad, of \\ est Hill, began to
drink iced tea at dinner and supper.—
lie kept up this practice for nearly
three weeks, and then one day going
down Di vision street steps, he slipped
and fell, abraiding skin on both legs,
and running a sliver into the ball of
his thumb so far that it made his teeth
ache when he pulled it out. His clothes
were also considerably torn. When he
got home that evening he learned that
his eldest boy had been whipped at
school for sticking a pin as far through
another boy as the head would let it
go. He was warned to quit drinking
iced tea, but he persisted in the prac
tice, and is now sleeping in the valley
between West and North hill, where
he lives, and says lie never felt so well
in his life. But may he he lies about
it.
Henry Esterfddt, of Eighth street,
drank iced tea regularly every sum
mer for three years. He noticed that
a ter drinking it about two months,
his boo s began to run over at the
heel, lie persisted, and one Sunday
afternoon, while be was out driving,
his horse ran away and Smashed sl7
out of a borrowed buggy. Ho paid
the money but neglected the warning,
lie went on drinking iced tea, and in
less than six months somebody poison
ed his dog. These statements can all
bo veiified by writing to Mr. Estei
feldt, who is now living in Kansas
City, the father of eleven children,
all of whom inherit their father's
vice,
A young woman who did plain sew.
ing in this city, while employed in the
family of Ralph Henderson of Maple
street, became addicted during the
summerto the use of iced tea. Sh e
soon ran a sewing machine needle into
her thumb, and for many days when
ever she picked up a cup of iced tea a
sharp pain ran through her thumb.—
She refused to obey the warning, how
ever, and in six weeks she was carried
away. The man who carried her away
married her first, and they arc living
now in Sagetown.
Last week, at the beginning of the
heated terra, two eminent scientific
gentlemen of Burlington took a strong’
and healthy black-and-tan dog and
immersed Inm in a tub of pure cistern
water, into which a weak solution of
iced tea had been poured. They held
the dog's head under the water fifteen
minutes, although he struggled vio s >
lently, thus showing the natural and
instinctive aversion to a substance
which intelligent human beings blind
ly and eagerly drink, and when the
gentleman took him out of the tub he
was quite dead. If a teaeupfull of iced
tea In a tub full of water will kill a dog
think for yourselves what must be the
effect of a strong, undiluted cup of this
decoction upon the system of a weak
woman.
Last summer a lumber-puller in the
employ of F. T. Parsons & Cos., of this
city 7, declared that he could live on
iced tea. Before he had time to go up
to his boarding house, however, he fell
oft the raft upon which he was at work
aud drowned.
A single drop of iced tea poured up
on the tongue of a living rattlesnake
will produce the most startling effect
causing the man who administers it to
fly for his life, and his life svill be in im_
rninent danger, unless he distances
the snake before the first turn.
Eleven grains of strychnine mixed in
a teaspoonful of iced tea will kill the
oldest man in America.
Ihese instances and facts might be
multiplied by scores. Wo have said
enough, however, to warn every per
son of the danger that lies in the
tempting glass of iced tea. If suffer
ing and death ensue from its continued
use, the Hawlceye feels that it has done
its duty, and washes its hands of *ll
responsibility in the matter.
Genteel Work.
A prodigious amount of laziness*
take piide and greed are concealed
under this phrase. Many thousand
hands are idlo to-day, waiting for
something to do. And in spite of coni'
merciul depression the country has
work waiting, enough for a million
hands. The farmers are calling for
help; the trades are deficient in first'
class workmen; our kitchens are poor
ly supplied with domestic service, and
yet the market-place is full of the un
employed. Why?
If a merchant adyertises for a book'
keeper, a hundred competent persons
step forward at once. If an author
seeks for a amanuensis, he must choose
between us many eager applicants.
Every Government officer who controls
the appointment of clerks has more
names on his list than there are details
in a month’s work. The demand is
for something that will not soil the
hands, that will start perspiration, that
will secure a livelihood without invols
ving much exertion.
Genuine hard work is regarded as
semi-respectable.- Men do not seek
work; they look for a ‘situation/ in
which they may avoid work. They do
their best to maintain tho appearance
of enjoying elegant leisure. But, if
an absolute sinecure cannot be found,
they endeavor to give their employ
ments an air of dignity, of repose, of
freedom from homely fatigues. In a
word, they seek a ‘light 7 business.
This false standard of respectability
indicated by the word ‘genteel’ de
grades manhood. Young men are
ashamed of that which should be their
glory. It is not be who does the least
fur the most money, who can wear the
best clothes while at la’s daily avoca'
lion, whose business involves the least
display of strenous effort; it is not he
that is to be most respected The sal
ary without real labor is a disgrace.
Partial idleness, however, concealed
under a show of business, is a mistor'
tune, and, if purposely indulged in, a
shame not to countenanced. Clean
hands that will not engage in genuine
labor are already covered with a stain
that water will not wash out.
The refinement that draws back from
manual employment, and prefers men
tal dawdling, is a sham, and should
not have social recognition. Better
be h grimy blacksmith, doing thorough
work, than a titled officer enjoying a
large income as a return for nominal
services, Better be a day laborer than
a pensioned loafer. Better be earning
a comfortable livelihood by the sweat
of one’s face upon a farm* or in the
kitchen than depending on the uncei 1 '
tainties of desk-work in an overcrowd
ed city. Better be a simple carpenter
than a hair-splitting scribe or pharisee.
We wish this evil spirit of ‘genteel’
laziness might be exorcised, driven out
of common conversation, expelled from
popular thought, and cast down from
its shameful throne of power. Its
sway is anti-Christian, and its erv is
the old one, ‘What have we to do with
thee, thou Jesus of Nazareth? 7 There
is not a ‘genteel 7 idler in the land who
docs not wish to be let alone. They
ought to be stirred up,
An Answer Worthy a Diplomat.
The old man Smith of Richfield is a
self-sufficient sort of old fellow, and
prides himself on his riding abilities.
One day lie espied his young hopeful
leading a colt to water rather gingerly,
and remarked :
‘Why on earth don't you ride that
beast ?‘
‘I am afraid to—afraid he'll throw
me. 7
‘Bring that boss here, 7 snapped the
old man.
The colt was urged up to the fence
and braced on one side by the boy
while the old man climbed up on the
rails and stocked himself on the colt's
back. Then he was let go and the old
man rode proudly off. Paralyzed with j
fear the colt went slowly for about 20 1
rods without a demonstration. Then
like lightning his four legs bunched!
together, his back bowed like a via
duct arch, and the old man shot up in
the air, turned several separate and
distinct somersaults and lit on the small
of his back in the middle of the road
with both legs twisted around bis
neck. Hastening to him tiie young
hopeful anxiously inquired :
‘Didn't it hurt you, pa V
The old man rose slowly, shook out j
the knots in his legs, brushed out the
dust from his ears and hair, and rub'
bing his bruised elbows, growled:
‘\\ ell, it didn't do me a dumb bit of
good. You go home.'
DEAN SWIFT.
llow He Had His Revenge Upon
a Dilatory Bootmaker.
A friend having told Dean Swift that
an excellent Dublin bootmaker, Bame
rick, was very desirous of the honor
of his custom, the dean ordered a pair
of boots of him, and asked when they
would be ready. Bamerick named a
day, and his new customer told him
that he didn’t want to hurry him but
that he must not fail to send them on
the day named. Bamerick assured
him this should be done. The day ar'
rived, but no boots. Swift went to
the shop, and received ample apolo'
gies from Bamerick, with the assiu-'
ance that it was one of his men who
was to blame.
‘Well, 7 the dean rejoined, 'I was to
have been at Sir A. Achesou 7 s in the
North, to-day, but this has prevented
me. They will be done on Monday,
you say, bring them up in the after
noon yourself, and 1 7 1! pay the bill.’ 7
Bamerick duly arrived with the
boots, and found tho dean very affable.
‘By the way, Mr. Bamerick/ he pres
ently said, ‘I don’t think you have
overseen my garden; come along.*
After the dean had walked the boot
maker round a bit, he excused himself
and returned to the house, locking the
door behind him. Bamerick waited
and waited, the sun went down, and
the evening closed in dark and chill.
The garden was surrounded by a high
wall, and there was no way of getting
out. At length the dean rose from
his writing table, took a pistol and
drew out the bullets, and then called
up his butler.
‘Robert,’ he said, ‘I am sure there
is some fellow, probably a thief, in the
garden; call up the other men and
come with me.’
With that the dean went to the gar*
den gate, and opened it stealthily.
Poor Bamerick rushed forward.
‘Tiic e’s the vidian, seize him/ said
the dean, firing off the powder.
The unhappy Bamerick shrieked out,
‘For God 7 s sake don 7 t shoot; it’s only
me, Bamerick.’
‘Mr. Bamerick! 7 exclaimed Swift, in
tones of the utmost astonishment;
‘what is the meaning of this?'
'Why, sir, you've left me here since
5 o 7 clock. You must have forgotten
all about me.’
‘Ah, dear me, to be sure, 7 said the
dean, r just as you did about the boots.’
Then lie told the butler to give Ba
rnerick some hot wine, and see him
safe home.
A Mighty Mean Man.
“Speaking of gall, 7 ’ remarked an
eastern printer last evening in a C
street beer saloon, “ talking of solid
cheek, I never saw a man who had
more of it than Pete Blivens of Kansas
City. Three of us used to room to'
gether there in 1811, Ope night in
Juiy—it was so hot that if you'd chuck
water on the side of a house it would
sizz like so much hot iron—we con'
eluded to go down and sleep on one
of the timber rafts on the river. Well,
we got on the raft with our blankets.
Just before turning in Pete Blivens
said he guessed ho 7 d cool off by tak'
ing a swim. I knew the current would
snatch him right under, but I didn't
want to give him any advice, and he
dived oft the end of the raft. The
under-tow caught and sent him out of
sight in about thico seconds. As soon
as we saw that he was drowned, me
and the oilier chap went for his effects.
We found $8.50 in his pants pocket
and an old watch. We took 'em up
town and soaked the clothes for $9
and sold the watch for sl2. Then we
went ’round town on a sort of jambo
ree and spent the money. About 5
o'clock in the morning we were drink'
ing up the last dollar with some of
the boys at the Blue Corner, when
who should walk in but Pete himself,
iu an old suit of clothes that ho‘d bor
rowed of a man three miles down the
liver. And bang me if he didn’t de
mand his clothes, and tho next day
he was Yound dunning us for the $8.50.
The gall of some rneiJs enough to par'
alyze a Louisiana alligator.— Virginia
City Chronicle.
** •
Gen. T. J. Jackson received his so.
briquet of “Stone wall” from an incident
that occurred during the late rebellion.
As the rebel forces were forming to
meet the advancing Union troops,Jack
son was asked, respecting a certain
corps, if he was not afraid his men
would run. “Ruu? No/ 7 he said
‘ they will stand like a at me wall, 77
Woman's sphere —that she won’t
get a rich husband.
Why is a lady’s foot like a locomo>
tivc? Because it moves in advance
of a train.
The hand of a lady is a thing of
beauty, and yet fashion covers it with
the skin of a goat.
What riles country postmistress is
to have a postal card come to the of>
fice written in French.
When a tooth begins to feel as if
there was a chicken scratching at its
root, it is time to pullet out.
A lady joking about her nose, said,
‘I had nothing to do in shaping it. It
was a birthday present.’
The Philadelphia Bulletin suggests
that graduates of female colleges be
given the title of ‘Spinster of arts, 7
♦ ♦
It is very depressing to a summer
congregation to see the minister, in
the most eloquent and impassioned
passage of his sermon, gesture with
one hand and fight flies with the other.
—
Do not trifle with the affections of
an innocent city girl; do not try to
make friends with a mule by squeeziug
liis bind foot. If you aspire either
way you will find that life is a miser
able fai'ure,
It has just been found out that a
Western man gained a lig reputation
lor patriotism on the Fourth by back'
ing his mule against a high board
fence and letting it kick. Even his
next dour neighbor mistook the sound
fur artillery filing.
A woman was sitting at the break'
fast table the other morning when an
almost breathless neighbor came in
and informed her that her husband
was dead. She calmly remarked:
‘W ait until I’m through breakfast and
then you’ll hear howling. 7
We have done some awful mean
things in our life, but we never were
mean enough to hurt the feelings ot
three women walking abreast on the
crossing, by stepping off in the mud.
There is something human left about
us, it we are in the newspaper busis
ness.— [Exchange.
A green sportsman, after a fruitless
tramp, met a boy with tears in his
eyes, and said: ‘I say, youngster, is
there anything to shoot around here?’
The boy answered: ‘Nothin 7 just 7 bout
here, but there 7 s schoolmaster Pother
side the hill. I wish you'd shoot him. 7
Shortly after Waterloo some chans
ges in the uniform of the Guards were
proposed, and George IV ordered a
guardsman to be sent for who was re
ported to have cut down six officers at
W aterloo. ‘Now,’ said the king, after
a few questions had been pat to the
man, ‘if you were going to have such
another day’s work, how would you
like to be dressed?’ ‘ln my shirt
sleeves,’ was the prompt reply. The
Biitish troops, until twenty-five years
ago, wore the same texture in India
as in Canada.
A* party of screnadcrs halted on
Boundary street the other night, touch
ed the light guitar and struck up, with
great feeling, ‘Come where my lovo
lies dreaming/ and then a great bush
headed wretch, 48 years old, with a
beard like a thicket, leaned out of the
window and said, in a loud, coarse,
unfeeling manner, ‘Young gentlemen,
you mistake; she isn’t dreaming. Far
fiom her be it to dream, or even to
sleep. fehe is sitting on the back
porch, with her feet in a tub ot cistern
Avater, drinking iced lemonade and
fighting mosquitoes with a palm leaf
fan, and she isn t dressed for company'.
Sing something true.' But ere long
he ceased to speak, the summer night
was still, the front yard was empty,
and the voice of the harp no more
awoke the night iu melody.
SO. 33.