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yOLUME VII. AFTEH CHRISTMAS. MBS. 8. M. WAIBH. 1 hare lately beard a Becret, Heard it, too. from truth!ul lip*; gnta Claus, the sly old fellow, Makes bis “after-Cbristmai” trips. I t* been told be bas discovered Many thiigs that cause him paiu, piacouteut aiul hatelul euvy— Tbougbtlul love bestowed iu vain. H? bas seen bis choicest present* Torn and broken and detsced; HntA Claus, tbougb rich and lavish, Frowns on willful, wicked waste. All unseen be wat:be<l some children In their pleasant home at play With the very toys he gave them On the Merry Christmas Day, Johuuy's rocking-horse was splendid! (iayly decked in red and gold; Katy'n doll, as lair a creature A* a child could v ish to hold. Johnny's horse was kicked and buttered, Just because it couldn't neigh; Thought bis papa might have bought him Two live horses and a sleigh! Kitty wished her doll was larger; Wished its eyes were black not blue; Finally grew vexed aud threw it— broke its lovely head iu two! Santa Claus looked grave and troubled, Shook his head and went away; "I'll remember this,” he muttered, "On another Christmas Day!" Then he peered in dismal places, Where he was not wont to go; Where the hungry, shivering children Never any Christmas know. And his heart was sad and sorry That he could not help them all; And he thought iu grief and anger Of the broken hotse and doll. As he took hi* onward journey, He was seen to drop a tear, And I’m certain that he whispered, •‘l’ll remcmlxr this next year." lint he has so much to think of, And so many things to get, Can't the Johnnies aud the Katies Thiuk of il, it he forget? MISCELLANY. THE AUCTION. It wan a tempestuous night ; the winds whistled fearfully, and hailstones whose size threatened to demolish the windows of the houses, rattled against them with determined pertinacity as if to test their strength. In the parlor M a fine old-fashioned house, beside | rather a comfortless (ire on such a night n '"'ere seated the family of Mrs. Sunder* land,consisting ol himself, wife,daugh ter and a faithful maid.servant, A '' ear y gloom, more of sorrow than an ger rented on each brow, not even ex cepting that of the maid-servant, al luded to, from whose eager glances, , ever a, “l anon cast toward the family s'oup, the close observer would have | 11 ted the deep interest she took in the f cause of their grief. The picture was a melancholy one ; I r 'irtue in distress has no light shade to relieve it, all around and about it is ■ * r * and sombre. The sensitive artist w >u!J have thrown aside his pencil, if the subject had been presented to his '’ w as we hare described it, and his eart would have received an impres -1,1011 *’htch could not have been trans ferred to the canvas. | 10-morrow,’ observed Mr. Sunder** ! ani l t ‘is the anniversary of the death j °f °ur dear Henry ; to-morrow will be ‘ Cir * B * ncc the vessel in which he sail * * as lost, ami all on board perished -all, ah j' A!*B / exclaimed his wife, as tears cursed their way down her to-morrow will be a melancholy day/ j *ill ; foi to-morrow this , )18e > belonged to my father, llril ‘ture, which time has made, as Were - * part of ourselves, and asso b i>e8 > 18 to he sold ; torn from ns itor ? J lnre * ent ' ,l g hands of our cred tut) 8 * Ut Providence, raisfor e, n t crime, has reduced us to this povcrty , L ? they SeM ever^thin s. pa ; can IL r 10 n °thing?’ asked the daugh- C, ‘ iW u,^oßs w ith what lit fed 4 as generously loan Put L ' ' ar > take your pencil and niture }T- a ’ C * la,rß an< l kitchen fur- ItAl’-J* lt belonged to my mother, ‘But not P art w 'Pb it/ niy llfct ' 0 1 P a must it go J* fpje ga^tnum The wife sighed, the father cast his eyes toward the flickering fire, and the daughter was silent. The fate of the piano was decided upon. A choly pause iu the conversation plain ly told how severe wag the alternative; for the law never studies the feelings of its victir; s when exacting the pen alty of a bond. ‘Go, Mary/ said Mr. Sunderland, ad dressing the servant, *go and request the sheriff's officer, who is watching the property, to walk into the parlor ; he is only doing his duty. No doubt it is aspainful to him as it is ing to us. Let him have a seat by our fire, and a glass of witie, for it is a se vere night.’ . It is indeed a fearful night,’ replied Mrs. Sunderland,‘and we have behaved rude to this man/ ‘Mother, I made a fire in the room wh ‘re he is, but — 9 ‘Speak out, child —it was with the last stick/ ‘Father, it wa— ’ Mary returned w;th the officer, a po lite, gentlemanly man ; for such should be the character of nu*n who have to perform a part in the drama of life not unlike that of tha visitor of old, whose province it was to torture by the rack, with this difference 'however : theirs was physical torture ; ours a mental one, administered with all the nicety . and precision uf legal justice ! The officer politely accepted the invitation, tasted the wine, and endeavored to cheer his victims by enumerating many cases of similar kind, equally poignant and distressing. jThns the evening passed heavily and cheerlessly away. On the morning of the contemplated sale, there was to be seen a crowd of people flocking to the house of Mr. Sunderland. Some out of sheer heart less curiosity, friends of the family’ who came with mockers on their lips ---and empty purses. Others with an intent to purchase ; but no one in the crowd showed the least desire to aid, assist or sympathise with the distress of the family. Th : s is the world ; we laugh at the mis'orlunes of our fellow creatures, ami even m >ck their distress by witnessing iu silence their suffering. The auctioneer was now making his arrangements, by flourishing his ham mer, rolling his eyes, and using his tongue. The motley crowd gathered around him The house was put up first; free fiom all incumbrances, and subject to but a very small ground rent. It was started at five thousand dollars. There was several bidders all of whom seemed anxious to pur chase it. Seven thousand five hundred dollars was the last bid, upon which the auctioneer dwelt for a moment. — Mr. Sunderland compressed his lips together, and muttered to himself, “it cost my father fifteen thousand dollars. Seven thousand five handled dollars— go’ng—once —twice —three times—for the last time going—“eight thousand dollars"—thank you, sir—going at eight thousand once—eight thousand twice—eight thousand three times— going—going. What name ? 'Clifford/ was the reply, and all eyes rested on a tall, noble looking man, who had remained silent during the rapid bidding of the spectators, and who, as the whisper went round, was a total stranger. Mt is gone/ whispered Mr. Sunder land to his wife, as he pressed her hand in silent grief, 'We have no home now/ 'Now, gentlemen/ cried the auction eer, 'we will sell this sideboard, in regard to which l am requested by the creditor to say that it is an old family piece, and it is the wish of the owner to retain it if possible. I merely men tioned this, as it is known to you un der what peculiar circumstances things are sold This had the desired eflect, no one seemed willing to bid against the nn fortunate man, who started it at ten dollars. Twenty was bid by Mr. Clif ford ; twenty-five from Mr. Sunderland; fifty from Mr. Clifford silenced the anx. ious parent, and the family piece of furniture was knocked down to the new owner of the house. A gentleman who stood by remarked tnat the act was a cold, heartless one. ‘Was it V sarcastically asked Mr. Clifford ; /then, sir, why did you not buy it for him ?’ Mr. Sunderland was ~ranch affected at this little incident. ‘He little knows how much he has Ucerated this heart. But I will purchase the piano for my daughter/ He stepped up to Mr. Off. ford and told him the desire he had to purchase the piano for Ids and hoped he would not bid against him. . ‘Sir/ said the stranger, T will uot deceive yon, as much as I respect your feeling and the sympathy of the good company; I cannot, nay, will not alter the determination made when I first entered this house.* ‘An pray, sir, what might that be?’ ‘To purchase everything in it, and by heaven I'll do it, though I pay dou-. Ole price/ ‘Strange/ muttered Mr. Sunderland as hr found his family in another part of the room. The stranger fulfilled his promise, and actually bo lght everything, from the house itself down to the a ;e in the cellar. After the sale was over, and the company had retired, Mr. Clifford re quested the auctioneer to walk with him into an adjoining room. After the lapse of a few moments they both re turned to the parlor, where the family still remained. The auctioneer looked around, gave a knowing smile—wish ed them all a good day, and as he left the room was heard to say, ‘I never heard of such a thing—a perfect Ro mance—ha ! ha ! ha 1' ‘You are now/observed Mr. Sunder, land to Mr. Clifford, ‘the owner of this house and furniture—they were once mine—let that pass/ *1 am sir, for the time being, your andlord.’ ‘I understand you, sir, but will not long remain your tenant. I was going to observe however, that there are two or three art cles which I am anxious to purchase —that sideboard for instance —it is a family relic—l will give you the fifty dollais, the price you paid> and I feel assured, under the circum stances, you will not refuse me this favor/ ‘I cannot take it, sir/ ‘Obdurate, ungiateful man !’ ‘Will you not let pa buy my piano, sir V humbly asked Ellen; 'he will give you the price at which it was sold., ‘lt is painful to me, young lady, to refuse even this ; I will sell nothing —not even th/ w r ood saw in the ceU lar/ ‘Then Mr. Clifford/ exclaimed Mr. Sunderland, ‘we have no further busi nee.*; come, my dear Ellen, get your hat—that’s your hand-bux ; let us quit tiiis house, we are not even free from insult. Where is Mary ?' '1 am here, sir, the key of my trunk is lost and I am fastening it with a rope. ‘Stop, my girl, but methinks I pur chased that trunk/ coolly observed tho stranger. ‘Mr. C:iflord, lam not so old, but that I can result an insult ; nay will if you carry this arrogant, and to me, strange conduct much further. That poor girl has been to me and mine the best, and I may say, the only friend— she has remained with us in poverty, assisted us in our distress, not only with her purse, but her hands ; she is to me not as a servant, but one of my family. For there is, thank Heaven, no such base distinctions in poverty that exist in a state of bloated wealth. Here, with nothing but what we have upon our backs, the master and servant are equal. She is part of my family, and I will protect her from insult, — That trunk is her*, and who dare take it from her ? Not you, sir/ Mr. Clifford cast his eyes upon Mary, who, at that moment arose from the floor; for a moment they gazed upon each other in silence. ‘And she, you say, has been to you a friend V ‘lndeed she has ; a kind, noble one/ ‘Mr. Sunderland, stay; one moment, rny good girl, put down that trunk ; take a seat madame; permit me, Miss, to hand you a chair. Mr. Sunderland, will you be seated? I have something more to say. When you requested me to yield up the wish I had to pur-* chase this sideboard, I told you that it was niy determination to buy it, and I tell you now that I will not sell it. ‘This, Mr. Clifford, needs no repeti tion. ‘Ay, but it does; and when this young lady made the same request for her piano, my answer was the same- Stop, sir, hear me out ; no man would so act without a motive ; no one, par ticularly a stranger, would eourt the displeasure of a crowded room, and bear up against the frowns of the many without an object. Now, I had an object, and that was—be seated, sir— tnadame, your attention—that object was to buy this house and furniture for the sole purpose of restoring them to you and yours again/ 'Sir, is this not a cruel jest V 'ls it possible !* exclaimed mother and daughter. Amazement took possession of Mary EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 9, 1579. and her trnnk fell to the floor with a crash, causing her small stock of cloth ing to roll out, which she eagerly gath ered up and thrust back, without any regard as the manner in which it was done. ‘The auctioneer/ continued Mr. Clif ford, ‘has my instructions to have mat ters arranged by to-morrow. In the meantime you are at home. Mr. Sun derland, you are in your own house, and I the intruder. 'lntruder, sir ! Oh, say not that ; I will not tell you what a relief this is to me ; but I have yet to learn how to repay you all thi<, and what could have induced you, a total stranger, thus to step forward. Ah ! a thought strikes me! Gracious heavens! Can it be ? Look on me, Mr. Cliflord ; nay, start not/ The stranger actually recoded from the glance of Mr. Sunderland's eye.— 'Look on me, sir, has that innocent girl who stands trembling there, any interest iu this generous act of yours? —speak, sir, and let me know at once that I may scorn your offer and resent the insult !' ‘I will not deny sir, but that she has/ ‘My father—dear father ! I never before the gentleman's fuce 1' 'Say not so, Miss—’ ‘Sir—l—l—indeed, father, 1— * 'Remember teu years hack—call to mind a light-haired boy whom you called— * ‘Brother !' 'Gracious heaven ! Henry—my boy!’ ‘ls here—l am your long lost son!’ Need we ad 1 more ? Our.reader g can readily imagine thi*t a more cheer ful fire blazed upon the hearth, and that Mary, the faithful servant, wasn't forgotten iu the general joy which pro. vailed on this occasion The Best Friend. Honor the dear old mother. Time has scattered the snowflakes ori her brow, and ploughed deep furrows in her cheek; but isn’t she sweetly beau tiful now>? Th® lips are. thin and shrunkened; but those are the Lp* which have kissed manf a hot tear from the childish cheek, and they are the sweetest Bps in the world. The eye is dim, yet it glows with the soft radiance of holy love which never can fade. Ah, yes, she is a dear old moth er. The sands of life are nearly run out, but feeble as she is, she will go further and reach down lower for you, boy, than any other upon earth. You can not walk into a midnight in which she cannot see you; can never enter a prison whose bars will keep her out; can never mount a scaffold too high for her to reach, and she may kiss and bless you in eviiencc of her deathless love. When the world shall despise and forsake you, when it leaves you by the wayside to die unnoticed, the dear old mother will gather yon in her feeble arms and carry you home, and tell you of your virtues, until you al most forget that your soul is disfigured by vice. Love her tenderly and cheer her declining years with holy devotion. Good Maimers at Home. Shut after door after you without slamming it. Never stamp, jump or run in the house. Never call to per sons up-stairs or in tho next room; if you wish to speak to them go quietly to where they are. Always speak kindly and politely to the servants, if you would have them do the same to you. When told to do or not to do a thing by either parent, never ask why you should or should not do it. Tell of your own faults, but not those of your brothers or sisters. Carefully clean the mud and snow from your boots or shoes before entering the house. Be prompt at every meal. Nev er sit down at the table or in the par lor with dirty hands or tumbled hair. Never interrupt any conversation, but wait patiently fur your turn to speak. Never reserve go >d manners ful stran gers, but be equally polite at home and abroad. The other day a ragged, red-eyed man, stopped a Detroiter on the street and asked: •Say, mister, lend a fellow a dollar will you ? ‘No sir, was the emphatic reply. ‘Why won't you ? 'Because I dont know yon, was the reply of the citizen. ‘Well, you wouldn't let me have it if you did, so hand it out/ was the re ply. ‘Where do sponges come from ?'— No matter about tnat. Let us devise some means to get rid of them. Economy. We have but a faint notion of econ omy in this country, ami there are few persons who seem t be able to exer cise its spirit in their mode of living. Asa general thing, yonr.g people, clerks and the like, calculate to live fully up to the amount of their income, if indeed they do not outrun its l : rait and become involved in debt. So with married men of humble means ; thry calculate to spend as much as they get, and often become involved in debts he cannot liquidate. Now, there is a simple rule which if adopted would make people quite independ ent. In the first place, let a man's in. come be ever so small, he shou'd cal culate to save a little, and to lay it by> if only $5 or $lO a year. This will be sure to keep him from running in debt, and as soon as lie finds that he has a sum of money saved, there is a natural incentive to add to that amount, and thus, unwittingly, as it were, he be gins to accumulate. This operation once commenc’d, lie will be surprised to see how fast his means improve ; and then the slow but sure increase of principal by the accu mulation of interest is a matter of clear gain. Never purchase any article ot dress and luxury until you can pay for it ; this is a most important rule to ob serve, and the credit system, iu fact, has done quite as much to ruin debtors as creditors. As vast number of lit> tie expenses, but large in the aggre*. gate, would be saved if one always paid the money foi the same at the time of purchase, in place of having it charged. Pay as you go, is a golden rule, and it is true economy. Many a poot man could build a house over his head, and own it, with the price of the cigars and tobacco he has used, to say nothing of the worse than useless drinks of beer and spir ts, in which from time to time he has allowed himself to indulge. Avoid any habit, however simple it may be at the out set, in which is involved unnecessary expense ; one leads to another, and all together will empty your purse, and sap the marrow of your physical man*, hood. It is not so much what a man’s income may be, as it is what he spends that graduates his means. Strive, then, to adopt the true principle of economy, and you haye the secret of independence. Pretty Cotton Picker. Not unfrequently young ladies whose fathers and brothers or their laborers happen to be hard pressed with work, go into the field and lend a helping hand. Among the latter class is a young lady, the fifteen year old daugh* ter of one of the oldest and most res-, pected families along the Brazo3— whom the correspondent met at the mansion of her father near Pattison.— The conversation naturally turned on cotton-picking. The young Texan girl, blooming with youth, her dark hair floating over her fair forehead, match ing her dark eyes, that flashed at in tervals, proceeded iu her girlish way to give him all the information about cotton picking desired. ‘The most of my father's hands pick 150 to 200 pounds ad y. ‘That seems excellent work,’ replied the correspondent. ‘Oh, not very/ ‘I think s ).* She laughed, and her eyes flashed again, ‘Why, I can do almost that well myself, and I am n>t used to it.’ ‘You/ •Yea/ ‘I must doubt—' ‘I have gone out into pa's field and picked one hundred and fifty pounds in one day. ‘Didn't the sun burn your face to a crackling ?’ ‘Why no ?’ ‘llow then did you manage to avoid getting burned, my little Southern girl ?‘ ‘Oh, I just put on this long sunhon net and a pair of glnvesj with my fin* ger tips out the end.’ ■ 11 ♦ < A Scotch farmer had determined, in spite of the bad limes, to pay his rent, if it were his last shilling, and, saying to the factor who received it, ‘lt is my last shilling, 4 threw down a roll of notes. The factor counted them and said, ‘There is too much4 ‘Odds, nun/ said the farmer, ‘I put ray hand in the wrong pouch/ Mrs. Partington says the only way to prevent steamboat exolosions is to make the engineers bile the water on shore, Value ot Kind Words. A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver, said the wise Solomon. Do we realize its full sig nificance? We arc sailing upon the vast ocean of time, gliding on toward death's portals, through which we must pass to the bourne whence no traveler returns. We are all probationists. Each day brings us nearer the end of our life journey. To some the journey is at-* tended with pleasure—not a ripple to mar the tranquility of their lives as they glide along s > quietly under the blue dome of heaven. By their side in close proximity, are others. Over the horizon of their lives sorrow broods like a funeral pall. Their sky seems o'orcast with dark clouds. Not a star illumines their solitary pathway. Rough storms and surging waves beat around them until they are ready to cry cut in their loneliness. How their sad hearts yearn lor human happiness ! A kind word costs nothing, yet has power to heal many a wound that indifference and neglect many have made. A little woril m kindness spoken— A motion or a tear — Has often healed the heart that broken And made a frind sincere. . A word—a look—has crashed to earth Full many a budding flower Which, had a smile but owned its birth, Would bless life’s darkest hour. Then let us strive, by every moans in our power, to lighten the burdens of others. A word of encouragement gives new impetus to many a weafy toiler along life's rugged pathway, and rests, like a halo of glory upon them as they journey to the end. Weeping Willow. The Apple in the Bottle. On the mantlepieco of my grand mother’s best parlor, among other mar vels, was an apple in a vial. It quite filled up the bottle. Childish wonder ment constantly was, '‘How could it have got there?" By stealth I climbed u chair to see if the bottle would nn sorew, or if there had been a joint in the glass throughout the length of the vial. I was satisfied by careful ob servation that neither of these theories could be supported, and the apple re mained to me an enigma and a mys tery. One day, walking in a garden, 1 saw it all. Tnere, on a tree, was a vial tied, and within it a tiny apple, which was growing within the crystal. The apple was put in the bottle while it was little, and it grew there. More than thirty years ago we tried this experiment with a cucumber. We laid a bottle upon the ground by a hill of cucumbers, and placed a tiny cu cumber in the bottle to see what would be the result. It grew till it filled the bottle, when we cut it off from the stem, and then filled the bottle with alcohol and corked it up tight. We have it now, all as fresh, with the little prickers on it, as it was when first corked up.— Exchange. How to Raise Large Corn. I have made a great many experi ments with corn within the last fifteen yearg. 1 had fourteen different kinds, and this year T got some of the largest I ever raised. I always select my seed corn in the fall, at husking time, and in the spring I took no ears that were less than twelve inches long ; then I took off three inches at the tip end and two inches at the butt end, and from these central grains I get ears fifteen inches long, and from fourteen to six teen rows. Several years ago I selec ted ears from stalks that had two ears, but the result was not nearly so satis factory as from planting only central grains. My opinion is, if farmers would be a little more careful in select ing their seed c >ru they could raise from five to ten bushels more per acre than they do when they pick it out of the crib in the spring.—A Leigh co., (Pa.) Farmer. Avery rich old man, who married a young wife, died suddenly, upon which the widow raved like a maniac, and exclaimed to the doctor, who stood by the bedside of the departed: “Oh! I'll not belirve that my dear partner is dead; he could not die and leave me! No, no, he’s alive; I’m sure he’s alive. Tell me, doctor, don't you think so?' ‘Madam/ replied the medical man, with ranch gravity, *I confess that I have the means by which he may be revived. I will apply the galvanic battei y/ # Oh, no, no,' cried the grief-stricken widow. ‘Hard as it is to bear my fate, I will have no experiments against the law of nature. Let him rest in peace!’ Made in vein—Gold. A drawing room—The dentist’s. At dinner a fowl is very got>d fare. An affeting sight— A barrel in tiers. The only suits that last too long are law suits. Cheap drapery—The curtains of the night. How much does a fool usually weigh? A simple-ton It seems rather odd to see two m m playing seven-up for a dinner to be eight up. Jones says In.* has no mother-in-law hut he has a father in jail, and it is about the same thing. Henry Clay described a mule as an animal that uas no pride of ancestry and no hope of posterity. Why is a hen sitting on a fence like a penny? Because it has a head on one side and a tail on the other. When you wake up at night and hear the baby crying, look out far danger—for there's a rook ahead. • . It is said that eating onions will keep the lips from chapping. It will certainly .keep the chaps from the lips. A dentist, who just pulled a tooth for a doctor, announced that lie had been snatching something from the jaws of death. How the hearts of the crowd sw'ell and throb in undying, pitiless hatred against the man who raises his umbreU la at a mass meeting. ‘I am inclined to believe,' said a fop to a lady who had refused to sing,'you are fishing for compliments' ‘Oh, no!' replied she, *1 never fish in so shallow a stream/ I'd offer thee this sand of mine/ is what the grocer sang to the customer who wanted sugar. lie was advised to keep his sand in his crop, but not to deal it out. A hen is not joking when she is in ’er nest. She isn't lying when she is laying either. She raises her brood as George Washington’s father did—-on the hatch it plan. Seth Green has received a gold medal from France. It is labelled “Paris, Green, Poissonier/ But why they spell a Paris green poisoner with two s's deponent Seth not. A shrewd old gentleman once said to his daughter : “Be sure, my dear, you never marry a poor man. But re member the poorest man in the world is the one that has money and nothing else/ She was a noodle, and he was a noo dle, and when their marriage wag an-* nounoed, Simmons, who knew and ap preciated both, exclaimed, with tears in his evs: Two souls without a single thought A painter’s apprentice tell off a scaf fold with a pot or paint in each hand. He was taken up insensible, but as soon as he was restored to consciousness, h ; murmured,‘l went down with flying colors, anyhow/ It is said that the left foot of a left handed man is always longer than the right one, but when the old man reach es after Adolphus from the top step he always sends the right foot, and in most cases it is long enough. Whenever a man begins to feel that he is so great that the country is stand* ing in the midd’e of the road waiting for him to come by, it is about time for his friends to look up some soft place in a lunatic asylum to lay him down in Wc would like tor some double-sto ried modern statesman to tell us why it is that there are certain seasons when a politician can see a homy* handed son of toil clear across the street, and at other seasons cannot see him a foot and a half away. A negro, being asked for hisdefini* tion of a gentleman, gave the follow* ing: Massa make de blaek man work —make de ox work—make eberyting work—only de hog—he no work; he eat, he drink, he walk T bout, he go to sleep when he please, he libs like gcro'lam. SO. 2.