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VOLUME VI. THU SCHOOL TEACHEH. Twas Salimlay night, and a leacber sat Alone, her iask pursuing; Khe averaged Ibis and she averaged (bat ()1 all her cla s was doin ’,. She reckoned her per centage ho many b >ys, And so many gills i: 11 eemned, And marked all the lardy and absentees, And to what all the absence amounted, Names and residences wrote in full, Over many columns and pages; Canadian, Teutonic, Alrican, Celt, And averaged all their ages, Ike ditto of admission of eveiy one, And cases of flagellation, And prepared a list of the graduates For the county examination. Her weary bead sank low on her book, And her weary heart still lower, For some of her pupils bad little brain, Ami slept, she dreamed—it seemed sbe died, And her spirit went to Had. s; And they met her there with a question fair, “State what the per cent, of your glade is?” Ages had slowly rolled away, Leaving but partial (races, And the teacher’s spirit walked one day Iu the old familiar places. A mound of fossilized school reports Attracted her observation, As high as the State house dome, and as wide Ah boston since annexation. She came to the spot where they buried her bores, And the ground was well built over, But laborers threw out a skull, Once planted beneath the clover. A disciple of Galen wandering by, Paused to look at tire diggers, And plucking the skull up looked through the eye, And eaw it was lined with figures. “Just as I thought,” said the young M. D. “How ea v it is to kill 'em! Statistics ossified eveiv fold Of cerebrum and etrebellum.” “It’s ft great curiosity, sure,” said Pat, by the bones you can tell the creature?” “Oh, nothing strange,” said the doctor, “that Was a nineteenth century teacher.” MISCELLANY. THE END OF TWO FLIRTS BY IDA WILLIAMS. It was about a week before Th mks giving when two young ladies sat to get her before a bright tire in the study of a handsome country house. Miss Etta Laugdon was a sweet, laced blonde, looking like the content ed ‘Some body” that she was. Miss Beatrix Dayton was a tall and sfyli sh woman, with fascinating gray eyes, curling brown hair, and a beauty of the most bewitching type. ‘And you arc not even engage 1 yet? Etta said inquiringly. ‘Do tell mo, Beatrix, now, that we are alone to* getker/ ‘No, dear, not even engaged. Near ly 25 and I have not yet seen the man 1 would like to marry.’ ‘And you have had so many ad mirers \* Beatrix laughed a low, musical laugh, that was one cf her charms.— A fe w men have been fools enough to run after me but most of them are such bores V M believe you are quite spoiled bv adoration/ Etta sai 1, thoughtfully.— ‘But it would be dreadful if you never mairied, Beatrix ; you would miss the best happiness o' life.’ Etta was en gaged herself. ‘You think so, little housewife?’ Miss Dayton said with an amused smile. ‘I do indeed/replied Etta, earnestly. Mbit tell me, Beatrix, why do none of these men suit you ?’ ‘I doi/t know, dear unless perhaps it is because they are all such easy vie- j tuns. 1 have sometimes thought that if l could meet a man whom it cost some trouble to captivate, it might give me a little interest in him, but as it is, they all run after me with such abject ness of surrender, that it is sim wearisome, ’ and she made a little i gesture of disgust. ‘You are like my cousin, Frank Vin cent/ said Etta, ‘lie says women are such easy victims there is no fun in following one/ (’h, does he, indeed?’ exclaimed Beatrix, what a coxcomb he must be V ‘Oh, no, I don’t think he is / said Et - 11, quickly, ‘but he is very handsome and has a sort of merry way that at tracts every one/ She stopped abruptly : there was a ring at the door, and starting up, she bad only time to say : H)h, bore he comes now !‘ when a She dustman S lines. tall and handsome rnan came into the room—a man whose features were not especially regular, but who had laugh ing blue ey< s, and a ruddy wholesome look that made him singularly attrac tive. He gave Etta a hearty, brotherly hug and kiss and then was presented in due form to Miss Dayton. Site re ceived him amiab'y, and yet there was a shade of defiance in her manner even at tliis first interview. D went on after this in old fashion between these two. There was no de nying that in a certain way they seem ed to attract each other, and vet, ca pricious as Beatrix was apt to be with men, her caprices toward Vincent were even more strange and unaccountable than toward any other of her admir ers. The town was very gay, All the Lingdoti's friends had visitors, and par'ies and merry-making succeeded each other in rapid succession. Beatrix as usual soon hud a staff of admirers about her, and was the acknowledged star of every while Vincent was a univ< rsal favoi ite. One evening at a party, he approached Beatrix as she sto >d by Ella and claimed her for a dance. She raised her brilliant eyes to his with a flu - h on her face and took one step forward, then suddenly drew back. ‘No, thank you; I will not dance/ she said. Vincent looked at her in surprise and said : ‘Will you promenade then/ offering her his arm. ‘No/ she petulantly, ‘I am tired/ ‘Them you will at least allow me to sit beside you,’ li * urged, with a snd don gravity overspreading his fea lures. ‘thunks, no/ said Beatrix, turns ing away ; T want to speak with Et ta/ Her manner was so pointed that there was no evading it. Vincen turns ed gravely and walked off. Etta, who had watched the co’loquy with paiti ed surprise, as Beatrix sank on to a sofa and took her pluc : beside her: ‘Why, Beatrix, were you so rude to Frank ?' ‘Was I rude?' asked Beatrix half averting her face ; and th n suddenly turning and showing eyes that were blazing with strange light and glowing cheeks, said : ‘Yes, it was rude of course but he can easily c nsole In ms If. He has been devoting himseif half ihc even ing to that Miss May—let him go back to her.’ ‘But you know he does not care for her/ urged Ed... ‘That may be but she is plainly in love with him, ..s I snp >os>e he thinks every woman M. Soe, ii *is with) her now !’ sh*‘ cried in sudden agitation, and at tin tnoui' ut as one of her lovers approached, Beatrix aec< pted his offer ed arm, and in another instant was waltzing with him, and smiling into his face, as if she cared for no one on earth but him. Now, in point of fact, poor Frank was himself rather the victim of Miss May, who was of the “button-hole" order of young ladies, a id had seized him as her prey early iii tlm evening. If Frank had a weakness it was his amiability, and thin it was which had made people declare that he was a liirt. Ilf proved the possession of tins gentle quality now bv meeting Miss Dayton with the most unchanged cour tesy when the hour came for their de parture, and awaiting upon her home in the most' friendly manner. ‘You see he does not care a particle,* sail Bea.rix, angrily, to Etta, as they parted for the night. ‘1 think, deer, he did care/ replied Etta, who had held a private chat with Frank, and who h id begun to cherish certain plans of her own. But you know he is very good-natured.’ ‘1 liate good'iiatured men / exclaim ed bitterly. ‘Good-night/ and she was gone bef re Etta could remonstrate. It was no U'-o, however ; it was p r fectly impossible for even such a spirit ed beauty as Bmitri: toholdoutagaius* Frank/s porsistent amiability, and the next morning she found herself chat ting with him beside the library tire, and feeling, as if she had from the first a singular pleasure in his compani ni sliip. This was only fora little time, how ever. By night, when the Landons gave a dinner party, Beatrix came down stab's iced towards p >or frank, who, without seeming to notice her ind (Terence, devoted himself to a iresh little girl who had just made her debut while Beatrix revenged herself by flirting desperately with her partner of the night before. The evening wore on, wretchedly enough, if tne truth was told, to these two rather foolish young people, and at last even Beatrix’s powers of c>- quetry seemed to flag, and she ende ! by snubbing her poor partner unmer cifully, while Frank, after he had -een the pretty girl to her carriage, came towards her with a strange, eager look in his eyes. ‘You are going up stairs V he asked meeting with her at the parlor door.. ‘Yes/ replied Beatrix, shortly. ‘Won't yoiqshake bauds ?' he asked earnestly. Beatrix half hesitated, then held out her hand. He took tin* slender fingers in his broad palm and endeavored to detain hen. For a moment she stood us if spell-bound by the warm, finn clasp, while his dark-blue eyes were fix< and on her beautiful fa e with a strange intensity. ‘Beatrix/ he s. id. But with a sudden effort she tore her hand away and rushed upstairs. On the landing she met Etta, who tried to detain her. ‘Your cousin is the most outrageous flirt I ever saw/ she said vehemently;; ‘I hate male flirts!’ and swept away to her room. The next day was Thanksgiving. A hglb snow had fallen during the night but the moaning was bright, though frosty The whole party walked io church, and somehow coming home Frank was by the side of Beatrix.— She was full of jest and merriment, and the sound of light Blighter wps very pleasant to hear Yet befoie they reached the house she permitted another of her admirers to join her and suddenly gave him all her atten tion, leaving .pour Frank out in the cold. As usual, however, his ami bilily did not flag, and at Mr Langdoi/s gate lie touched his hat and walk and off to say a few words to Miss May. That evening there was a tableaux party given by one of the Langdm/s friends. Beatrix appeared in several seen *B, and all went off well until the last picture was presented. In this the old story of Pygmalion and the statue was represented. Beatrix stood on a peder tal, her slen ler, graceful form draped in white doth, which fell in graceful folds from her shoulders and down to the floor. The effect was quite startling, her beautiful neck and bead rising above the vyl ite mas° as if indeed a living woman were emerging from the marble. In front of !ic r knelt Frank Vincent in the costume of *he Greek sculp' r*. and there was leal adoration iu li> dark-blue eyes as lie gazed on he beautiful creative above Idm, A murmur of applause ran through the room, and the curtain was dr *ppel for the last scene. In the first Beatrix's eyes had been closed, but in this they were to open, while her arms were to be extended toward the lover who had now risen to clasp her in his arms. At tliis moment someone said that a lamp had better lie changed, and one of the lights was removed nearer the pedestal. When the curtain was raised for a few seconds, these two gazed into each other's eyes with a long look that was a revelation, then there was a scream of terror. The draught which had followed the rising of the curtain had blown some of the light draperies too near the lamp and the flames went rushing the pedestal at the back. A girl standing at the rear had seen this, and it was she who had screamed. There was a slight confusion, and then Frank saw what had happen and and suddenly clasped Beatrix in lis arms and tore her from the pedestal.— It was tc late—her flowing robes were all on fire, and us she half fell to the floor the flames curled up to her shoulders, leaping from thence to Frank’s dress, which was of white lin en. Th ‘re was a wild scene as he fo al ly clasped her closer to Idm, striving with his hands to extinguish t 1 e fire. ‘My darling ! My beautiful curling 1 he cried passionately lie tore away her clinging dress, seized a heavy rug which lay there and then, though himself scorched and burnt,|coutrived, with the help of oth ers, to put out the flames. It was only a few moments till it was all over ; he carried her pale and fainting to a sofa, while he himself was taken away by b’s friends to have EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, NOVEMRER 28, IS7S. Fi ft ecu Pe ualt ie The ■ enah v >f opulavity is envy. T lie’ alty of thin shoes is c )I<l. The penalty of tight bonis is corns. T o penally of a baby is sleepless nights. The penalty of a public dinner is bad wine. The penalty of marrying is ; moth-. er-inßaw. The penalty of a pretty c >ok is aa empty larder. The penalty of a godfather is a sil ver knife, fork and spo n. Tne penalty of kissing a baby is ball a dollar—one dollar if you are liberal— to the nurse. The penalty of having a haunch of ve isor ; ein you is inviting a dozen friends to come and eat it. The penalty of interfering between mar. mid wife is abuse, frequently ac companied with blows from both. J lie penalty of remaining single is, having no one who cares a button for you, as will be abundantly proved by the state of your shirt. The penalty of buying very cheap clothes is the same as that of going to law—the certainty of losing your suit and having to pay for it. The penalty of a legacy, or a for tune is the sudden discovery of a host of poor relations you never dreamt of, and of a number of debts you had quite forgotten. Tne penalty of lending is—with a book oi umbrella, the certain loss of i ; with your name to a bill, the sure payment of it, and with a horse, the lamest chance of ever seeing it back again sound. An old traveler tells a pretty tough st3iyabo.it being lost in the woods with his dog, where he could And nothing to eat. and had to cut oft his dog’s tail, which he boiled fur himself, and afterward gave the dog the bone ! We would rather borrow one hundred dollars than believe that story The dollar of ‘our daddies’ is papa’s money. his wounds dressed. Ho had protect ed Beatrix by his clinging embrace so that she was absolutely unhurt, but it had been done at the cost of terrible burns on his hands and wrists. Etta, with hei parents, took Beatrix home as soon as she was sufficiently recovered. She did not say miic l r the cairidge, but when they reached the house, instead of going up stairs slv* drew Etta into the library. ‘I must see Frank before T can sleep/ she cried. She was very pale and half trem bling. ‘Yes dear ; yes, of course you shall/ replied Etta. ‘Come and lie down on the sofa here, he shall come in the mo ment he return/ ‘Do you think he is much hurt V ask<* 1 Beatrix anxiously. Not seriously, of course, t! ougd. ;* “oo ilea l burnt, I fear. If.irk ! there is the carriage : lie must h tve surely come.’ She went out, leaving Beatrix alone, who lay on the sofa pale and lovely with her eyes half closed, until there was a sound beside her, and she look ed up. Frank had come in. He too, was very pale, and then* was an expression '.fsufforine on hi face ; both ! is hand were r.mfij and in linen cloths, s;> that lie seemed quite helpless. ..is Beatrix saw hi n her eyes filled with tears and she tried to speak. — en Frank came and knelt beside her. ‘Jig Mr Vincent/ sh faltered, ‘how can 1 thank you ? You saved my life. And your poor linn.ls ! Are you muc’ hurt ?' e S mcv’hat burned, but what of that since y u ar safe / ‘You have been too good t > me,’sbe said, brokenly ; ‘what can .0 to show my gi atitude ?' ‘Can you not guess, darling V ho said, bending nearer to tier : ml laving one in limed hand on her Mi** lder : ‘you know that < love you. Toll me that I may em ote my life to you, and i shall ha.e. all the reward lean as' / uit’i a sullen sob of tendenv* s BeaJ-lr cla pal her ar m ..bo t his neck as her !i| s met his, an 1 fol tliai at lea t s ie had found her life’s !; ppi lle iS. When Etta came in, ten mi iuh*3 la ter, she was delighted at the result she had long wished for. ‘I am so glad, dear Beatri / he said, as she kissed her. ‘And so you too are caught, Mr. Frank/ giving ! im her hand : ‘and this is the end of two flirts/ A Paper Bag Story. Here is a store! And here is a win dow in the store! But what do you think is in the window? Why, rabbits! All as alive as can be! Anud ho v ing about, in and out! Rabbits of all sizes and colors. T wish a little girl ± knew were here to see them. Ha! 1 have an idea! I'll ask the man to sell me one, and take it home to her, to surprise her. In I go. ‘Mr. Man, for how much will you s* 11 me one of your rabbits? ‘A quarter apiece for the smallest ones.' ‘Put me up one of the oretty little white ones, with pink eyes/ say, and am going to add, ‘and that gray one too/ but forget to say it, because I am astonished to see Mr Alan pick up 1 ttle Bunny by his long ears and drop him, plump, into a square pane. bag! ‘Can he breathe?' x. inqnivi, for the top of the bag is twisted together, and tied with twine. ‘PI! fix that/ Mr. Man says, and quickly he dabs two small holes near the top to let in the air. ‘VVeIl # well ’ I think; ‘this is indeed ’he age of paper! Paper collars, paper cuffs paper hags, and even pa tier haad kerchie s! And now they have got so bad that they do live things up in paper for you to carry home —just like any other parcel/ T wonder if, when a farmer buys a cow, now-a-davs, he carries if home tied up in a paper bag; or, when Bar num buys an elephant, he lakes it io his menagerie in a huge paper contri vance—like Go's, only bigger. T walk along, and forget Bum>y, I am so busy vith these great thoughts, unti: he begins to bump .nd thump . round, and makes me think iha' 1 bough ;* small earthquake "instead of a rabbit! .'aybe he is Jr and. "or oes : ; o' like ids narrow quarters. a glad to gck ! Dim*. ‘Cotir here, little girl ! gu \ss what have for you iu this paper bag/ How she hops ! .s* on one foot and hen on the ot’ er ! But cannot guess alter all. 1 do not tell her, b cr; isj I want to surprise her; bn: ] untie the string, and untwist the top, and turn th nag up, and gently shake, shake, shake. Hu< 1 am 'nor- surprised than she, or nothing cones, i peep in, and she peeps in. There be is, clinging tight ly aid determined not to let go.— / .tying in tha< paper bag so long has made him eel quite at home in f. At last, out he comes. And while iie draws I imself up in a frightened, fun a v yballj bis new mistress, with tiup y squeals and skips of u: s ior a basket and pops him in to it, and shutting down the cover, stampers off to show her new treas ure to every one in the house. Sauce Fit For Both. A friend of ours has a little boy, who, on account of his mother being an invalid, has been under the especial care of Ids nurse. During the sum mer, however, his mother went away for the taking the little boy and Ids grandmother. Being unused to receiving orders from his mother he atone time rebelled, and she was obliged to punish him. To this he de mnried, affirming that only the nurse had a right to punish him, and going to his grandmother he complained that his mother struck him. •That was right/ said she, *if you were naughty ; she is your mother, and has a right to whip you if you do not behave ’ The little fellow sobbing, asked : ‘Have mothers a right to strike their children V ‘Certainly/ she repli and. ‘Are you her mother?* he asked. *lY> be sure I am/ ‘Well ? then/ cried he, “hit her/ Married at Last. Mrs. M. is rich and fash ionabie, but unfortunately, very igno rant. Even our little alphabet is, as yet, to her, a mystery. One day while calling upon her friend, Mrs. 8., she perceived e richly bound c >py of the Holy Bible, and smilingly she inquired if she might take it home and read it. Wondering much Mrs. B. assented And one week later the bo- k was returned. ‘Were you pleased with it V asked Mrs. B. drily. The sweet, blue eyes of Mrs. M. fairly sparkled with pleasure. ‘Oh, my dear triend, it was a charming ?wv el. They got married at last / A fact. Father Mathew’s Resolution. Few reformers have done more real good in the world than the sincere and earnest temperance worker,the famous Father Mathew. The account of how he was called to be the ‘Apostle* his countrymen have named him is thus given in the Lot*, don (Ontario) Ad vertiser ; Mr. Martin, a Quaker and a staunch temperance man, and Father Mathew, a young Capuchin monk, were one morning visiting the hospital at Cork. ' : Tiere they witnessed the miseries which drink constantly brought on the people, and they talked seriously about it. Mr. Martin, in a burst of passionate grief or invective, suddenly exclaimed, — ‘Oh, Theobald Mathew, Theobald Mathew, what thou couldat do if thou wonldst only take up Ihis work of banishing the fiend that desolates the houses of thy people so 1' The voting Capuchin seemed as if struck by some mysterious power.— lie remained silent, walked moodily on till he parted from his Quaker com panion, then went home, pondering words which all that day and all • ■rough the night seemed to ring in his ears. If there was one man in Cork City who had tried nearly every way of rescuing and uplifting the people, it was he. What had he not tried ? and yet he drink-fiend baffled and defeat ed him ! But was not Martin's scheme impracticable ? Did not every one laugh it to scorn ? Could he do what Martin suggested ? One morning, as he rose from his knees in his little oratory, he exclaimed, aloud, — ‘Here goes, in the name of God !' An hour afterwards he was in the office of William Martin. ‘Friend William/ he said, ‘I have come to tell you a piece of news. I mean to join your temperance society to-night.’— The honest-souled Quaker rushed over, flung his arms round the neck of that young Popish friar, kissed him like a and cried out, ‘Thank God ! ill mk God !' Thus entered Father Mathew on that work in which lie achieved a wonder** ful moral revolution that startled the kingdom. The news that the popular Capuchin had taken up with ‘the teetotal men' soon spread in Cork. Crowds came to hear him, for he had always had the repute of being emi nently practical and soon thousands flocked to his 'standard.’ Rules of Conduct. Never associate with bad company. Have good company or none. Never look over the shoulder of an other ho is reading or writing. Never appear to notice a scar, de foimity or defect of any one present. Never arrest the attention of an ac quaintance by a touch. Speak to him. Never punish your child for a fault to which you are addicted yourself. Never answer questions, in general company, that have been put to others. Never, when traveling abroad, be over-boastful in praise of your own country. Never call anew acquaintance by the Christian name unless requested to do so. Never lend’a borrowed Article un less you have permission to do so. Never attempt to draw the atteir tion ol the company constantly upon yourself. Never exhibit anger, impatience or excitement wl.en an accident happens. Never pass between two persons who are talking together, without an apology. Never should the lady ac cept of expensive gilts at the ha is of a gentleman not related or engaged to her. Gifts of flowers, books, music or confectionery may ue accepted. Never insult ano'her by harsh w r ords when applied to for a favor. Kind words do not cost much, and yet they may carry untold happiness to the one to whom they are* spoken. Never attempt to convey the im pression that you are a genius, by imi tating the faults of distinguished men. Because certain great men were poor penmen, wore long hair, or had other peculiarities, it does not follow that you will become great by imitating their eccentricities. Avery light but dangerous young lady, Carrie Seen.—Whitehall 'times. She is a sister of Ben Seen.—Wheel ing Leader. And a cousiu to Ann Thracite, who is so grateful.—Hack ensack Republican. The first two are directly rcLteded w.th Pete Roleum, although a more refined branch of the family.—Galveston News, On the rail—a sc tiding woman. Oft in the stilly night—somebody snores. Did von ever see an Indian Pawnees overcoat? 4 Uneasy sits the youth astride the first saddle. In driving a hen a woman is slow but shoo-tier, The eel is right in fashion, with his eelskin coat. The song of the soprano—the the C, the upper C. Every dog has his pay ,bitt the nights belong to the cats. Throw physic to the dogs; ile none of it. And we castor away. • A dromedary is a camel that has ‘got his back up twice.’ . Do you know what a man got who took a car? He got aboard. Sound advice is that which you re ceive through a telephone. How did Job Baxter get his pretty wife? Why, Job Baxter, cf course. Tne ‘sweet bye and bye’ is now spoken of as the 'saccharine future/ '' Some ’young men ought to carry pedometers to see how far they are in debt An English magistrate decides that steel spurs on a game cock ane super** fluous. Mending blue stockings with white yarn makes them a darned, sight too conspicuous. Boggs says the times- are so dull' that it is difficult for him> to collect his ideas. Gen. Nepokoltschitsky, of Russia complains that newspapers will persist in spelling his name wrong. It is said of a successful writer,whose verbal promises are very poor, ‘His penis mightier than his word/ —• ‘Where can I get good, cheap, plain boaid?' asked the traveler. And the boy sent him to the planing mill. ‘Know him V sai l Pat, speaking of an acquaintance. f ßedad, I knew him when his father was a small boy/ One of the easiest ways to get a ‘greenback’ is to lean against a door that has just boen painted that color # In a Danbury clothing store is a card announcing, ‘Perfect fitting gar ments, every article sets as good as a hen / A Cincinnati gambler accidently swallowed a diamond which he was w etting with his lips. His is only anoth er case of diamond in the rough. An Irishman, who stopped at a liute 1 in Chicago where placards announced breakfast from 7 to 8, reports that hia experience with every m >al was noth ing to 8. When a man reaches the top of u stairway and attempts to make one step sensation is as perplex ing as if he had attempted to kick a dog that . asi/t there. ‘A Woman's Mistake’is a ncwFrench novel. We haven't read it, but are willing to stake a week’s saliry that her mistake wasn’t in getting her boots a size too large for her. ‘Please g ve me the definiti >n of a cautious man. Abet is pending. John/ A cautious man, John, is one who will tell a red-headed woman tl at I er hail is auburn. If you win send the cigars along. O M lien he came home from the offioe shivering and complaining of the cold, she significantly pointed to a pile of stovepipe, with cracked joints and dislocated elbows, and toldh m to pus Up or shut up. NO. 48.