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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.