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VOLU3IK VII. Turning Over the New Leaf. rbr yu logins I torn a loaf, All C’Pf wtt with Rootl resolve*; Each to fulfill will be in chief M\ dm while earth its round revolves. How many a leaf I’ve turned before, Auvl tried to make the record true; }'u'b rear a wreck on Time’s dull shore Proved much I dared but little knew. Ab, bright resolve! How high you bear The future’s hopeful standard on; How brave you start; how bright you wear; flow soon are hope and courage gone! Von paint to deeds of sacrifice, You shun the path of Careless ease; L utils and wooden shoes? Is this The tine a human soul to please. AVI..t wonder, then, if men do fall, Where good is ever all austere ( While vice is fair and pleasant all, A i,i| turns the loal to lead the year? k>t still once more 1 turn the leaf And hi can to walk tUe better way; Htru:".;l ou with old unbelief, And strive to r. ach the per ect clay. iVhv should the road that leads to heaven 15c af one roach of sterile sand? iVliy not, just here and there be given A rose to deck the weary land? jut why repine? Others have trod, Vitb sorer feet and In avier sins, Their painful pathway toward their God— My pilgrimage anew begins. 'iiilnre ami failure, hitherto, flits time inscribed npoi my leaves; Ve wiunlered many a harvest through, And never yet have gathered sheaves. Tet once again the leaf I turn, Hope against hope for oue success; )ne merit mark at least to earn, One sunbeam in the wilderness. MISCELLANY. WHOM GOO HATH JOINED, ‘Nellie, my darling, I love you V ’llnsli, for God's s dec, Inish ! George i-Mr. Edwards—this must cud now ti I forever/ ‘Nellie, you cannot mean it. You an* jnrturiiig me cruelly ; tell me that—in ime—l may speak to you again. Say hat you will be my wile/ Ihe titan is a buriv, honest-faoed 'h'v ol foiir nml thirty ; tin* woman I thin, graceful creature that an Ital painter might have given h s Ma |oima. 1 lie Turn is kneeling at her feet fnd has her hands clasped in his. His luge frame quivers with e vehement, -ove is a passion, an 1 it has burst in i’ bis heart and swept till other feelings I" iy. lie lias loved this Woman si fatly and seeieily for months. 10-nig it some mighty impulse has >i f, ni‘d his lip-, and his confession is [i nned forth in a torrent of frenzied k‘>ids. I his is no love-sick lad woo** "£ a coy maiden with so't syllibles |nd childish compliments. This is a prong man bent and swayed with love, I s the huge oak is bent and swayed |- th 1 tempest. This is a descendant r bio old heroes who wooed with rough r rce dash of steel, who wound [ ,u 1 ar,UB •*bout their mistresses, and unshed their tender limbs in the mad r' uz y of hungering worship. The r 1 "o man kneels to this weak woman pt'l [nays to her as to something di puu As she struggles with him and 1° tear herself away from his l Mp h ' B fiogcis tighten round her Irtsts and crush them till she shrieks |ith pain. I Mr. Edwards, you hurt me. Pray It Hu go be calm and I will tell you 111/ J I Hie man's grasp is relaxed, and the g ttened woman falls weeping into a Z* 11, e orge Edwaidssprings to his ee ( l anc * bends over her. ‘Mrs. Auckland—Nellie,' he says, ° rs,ve Ilie * lam mad with love for '• tn\ darling. I have worshiped ‘om the diy we met. To-night 1 L V * Sp ° kt ' n f,,r wyaeir. My passion L e r Umed m * v breast and burns its V j “'! n S h * M I have been rude an 1 L / ’ lf 1 l,ave wooed you like a brute, f m °l'rom this moment you | J h*e in your hands. Be mine, I m: ‘ ke ea > t. heaven to me-refuse L ,1 MU " ,ne > a,, and hell has lost its ter- I 'Hush P fc UCI ' m ' L e ,r'"' MWch “- t ,oe " turn(, l ■tl\l.r Jrn l ,,m,bUtnoWßhe lo ” k8 t L'di/i'T und placeß ber i darli,°! lU, “ l,e *O, ■L say yon l ove me > I ,c ““wcr come, like heavenly mu. 2!k Eastman p mt§. nio caught between the wild crashes of Vengeful thunder. ‘I love you, but— ’ He will not stop to heat* another word ; lie catches her frail form in It is huge arms and presses her to bis breast. His eyes are aflame, and h s breath stings her cheeks. His burning kiss s art* rained down upon her pallid face So fiercely that a red rash m irks their fall. ‘Thank God for that, Nell. If you had sent me away I should have killed rajßelf/ The woman smuggles to free herself and speak, but he clutches her still and continues : ‘I should have died, my lass, I fell you. I never loved before in all my I fcv I e< Uld almost pray God to let me down now, havii gyou in my arms, lest I aw dee to life to find it all some mocking dream. At last Nellie* An *kl n 1 Ins strug gled from her lover’s grasp. The room whirls round with her, and she falls into a chair. Alarmed at her deadly pallor and tier closed eyes, lie trembles like a child, and becomes suddenly helpless, lie runs to LI e bell in his tenor to ring lor assistance. She* bounds rapidly to ward him in an instant, and stays his hand. ‘No/she cries, in little gasps, ‘let no on'* enter. Sit down, lam better now. You must hsteu to me. You have forced a confession from me—-it is true 1 love y.o , but you must go away and uevt r see me anv more J lam a married woman. ‘Nel'ie, you lie V I lie word was brutal ; to understand it you must see t..is madman wiih his s oil in !.is face as h reels back from the blow. ‘Spare me, George ! It is true. I have passed for y< ars as a widow You force the truth from me, shameful and hi mb ing as it is. My husband is alive. Your love for me is wrong and mine for you a deadly sin. For God's s ike go!* The ma i is sobered and culm now ; he gradually begins to realize the meaning of his words. Sitting the picture of mute agitation, he listens to the story which tii * woman he loves falters out —each word falling like a death blow on his heart. It i> a simple tale, and comm >n enough. This is, in aft w words,the listery ot Nellie Aueks land s past, which, with weeping eyes and htf iving bosom, sin; tells to the man whose love has been surpns and. Five years ago, an innocent, c mlid ing girl, she was wooe 1 by a scoun drel and induced to run away from her borne and r. airy him. Tin* man was a good-'ooking, smooth-tongued swin • I'or, and he married the orphan girl partly because it was his whim, and paitly to obtain her little fortune of seven hundred pounds, which her un cle had hitherto taken cue of for her. The mariiage av is legal enough, t' e girl was ot age, and the money came into In r husband’s hands. A week after her marriage, the poor child dis covered that she had linke 1 herself lor life with a criminal. John Auckland was simply a swindler and connected with one of the worst gangs in all the country. Terrified at a discovery she made the unhappy creature fled one night from her husband's lodgings, taking with her the few things she had on, and returned toiler uncle's house. Tiie uncle, heart-broken at tile tnisfor tune of a niece he dearly loved, took her l ack and advised her to write at once to her husband, warning him that if ho claimed her or i ndeavored to force her to refill to him, that moment she Would communicate to the authorities the step she had made. It was a hold step, but it answered its purpose.— George Auckland wiot* tier word that lie had got her monev. which was all In* wante 1, and she might go to the devil. A few days afterwards tne whole g uig were arrested, and such crimes proved against Auckland that he was sentenced to penal servitude for life. Then for the first time the full me til ing ol her awful pos tion burst upon the unhappy girl. Young, beautitul and amiable, she was the wedded wile of a convicted felon, from whom death alone would divorce her. And the law had mercifully taken him in hand on account of his sins, and condemned him to a life of healthy labor and a frugal diet, which would probably lengthen his days iu the laud which the goveimnent sets uparts for evil doers. A week a wife—widowed and yet no widow—Nellie Auckland, in the piidc and flower of her gentle youtn, was condemned to feelings (ji hei Imart, to crush out the dictates of nature, and to look forward to a lonely life, ti"blessed by any thought of a husband’s love ora ch'ld/s tender affec tion and companionship. For the wo men whose husha ids are for dastardly crimes or man violence buried alive in jails or lunatic asylums the law allow no relief. They may pine on in their loneliness for years, the great wealth o f love in woman’s nature w asted, the honest uff-ct on of the s-xes hence forward to them only a deadly sin. The man or w >mau who is unfaithful and cruel one**, the suffering spouse can put away and choose again ; the man or woman who is a convict or respited murderer ora hapless lunatic, can reflect in the loneliness of his oi lier ce l that-, though they may never see the world again, the spouse they left is, by the hideous mockery of the law, their sole and absolute property still—property they can never see or touch or enjoy, but still (heirs and theirs alone. ***** * Nellie Auckland’s story is told.— Every Word h<s carried its bitter i.- press o! truth io t> racked hcari of George Edwards. He has poured out the hot lava of his love in stream of burning words, and the ground around is scorched and seared, but there lies no green valley beyond Such love as hi> is the love of a lifetime. It lias eaten into and perm at el his whole being. Men who haven mrished and fe l such a love as this omnot crush it and tiid it depart—never. They in* their l ive and iheir love is them It is their iif*, their health, their being. Nellie Auckland has confessed that she loves this inm in return. It is true, Love is a passi m. It comes un bidden. Love has come to George Edwards and Nellie Auckland, But it must remain a barren flam#*. As hun ger comes to the penniless beggar, as thirst comes to the deseit-b niguted traveler, so has love conn* to them.— Preach to them, cant to them. Say to this strong, vigorous gi *nt, say to t!is sensitive, tender, gentle woma ■ tbat they must crush It out because it is sin ful. Passion will pass away, Inst will languish, but Love can never die. It is tin* pass on of tin* gods which the gods have given to men. It is a hu man whirlwind which only II; who rides the storms can stay George Edwards go s li 3 wav a broken-hearted man, consumed with a love whose accomplis uneut is out rage on the woman he loves. Nellie Auckland lives on the old monotonous way, managing her uncle’s house, smiling before the world, and weeping in the silence of her cnamber over the cruel fate that fills her heart with ten der love for the man whose kiss is shame. And out in a far away place a convict toils on an I eats his daily bread with the gusto of strong healthy never giving a thought to the woman who was his wife for a week, and whose life is now a hell because of him. So the years pass on. and once again the lovers meet. Ten years has made changes in them both. The man of flirty-four and the woman of thirty-six have suffered, and suffering ages more than time. They* meet at a neighbor's house, shake h ands and look into each other's eyes. Tln ireyes arc barren of hope, but the i Id love lives. “G >d bless you, Nellie,’’ whispers the strong man as they part, and bis voice is broken by a sob, and the old pain is heavy at the woman’s heart, and the darkness ahead looms blacker still. And he whom God hath joined with her, and which no man will put asunder, h iminm a warder's skull in with a bru:k # and lo.ses his la,*t chance of a pardon. Over the 1 ng agony of the lives that run their divided course through the flowerless and arid banks of despair, why need I dwell? Let me hasten to the end. In God’s meioy to one of them it has come at las;. Slowly and insiduously a fell com** plaint lias shattered thee institution of the once bonuie Nellie Auckland. In her five and fortieth year she died ot a disease to which the doctors gave a Latin name 1 hey may call it what they like, but it was a worn-out heart. In her last moments there came a gray headed, haggard man to her bed-siJe, and he took tx r thin, wasted hand in his. The angels’ songs wore in his ears, the dim eyes op ned wide as though gazing on the gates ajar, and in that supreme moment the e came, as it were on the threshold oi Heav en, the long cherished earthly thought once more. The dying woman laised her head and murmured, “Kiss me, Gtorge/ and iu sweet pressure of EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 16, 1579. her lover’s lips her la-t brea*h passed. The cold chill air of a November afternoon wraps the Gity of the Silent in a thin haze The service of the burial of the dead is just over the round of an open grave, a, M the little crowd moves slowly and sadly away. But behind it there lingers a gray haired, burly man. IPs eyes are red with tears, and he bends and takes one long, agonized look at the coffin newly lowered into the damp, deep pit. “God bless you and keep you ever, my dear, dead love,’ no murmurs, “till we meet again/’ The last gleam of a Novem ber sun falls on tin* coffin-lid as he turns to go, and lie sees on the plate the name of the felon whose wife for one week this woman was Even in the grave lie claims her. Opposed to Razors. The Gleveland physician who main tans that shaving is a crime against health and good looks has been ran sacking bis Bible for texts. He finds in Levit cus the i junction • “Neither shall thou mar the corners of thy beard.” He infers that the children of Israel, while in bondage to the Egyp tians, mutated many of their heathen* ish customs, and the shaving of the beard w*s one of them. Hence, the great Lawgiver condemned it most emph atira’ly, and a careful study of h stoiy shows that the Hebrews gon er .illy riiscirded the use of the razor, an i ibe pr mitivo Christians generally in hating their example wore their he rds long Tuitudi.iii, an eminent Christian writ v and father in t ! e church says : ‘'T e pra- t ic<- of shav ing the beard is a lie against our lace and an impious ittempt to improve the works of the creator.' The doctor wish s to know if David’s men, who were shaved only half shaved, by the order of Hanum, looked any better? Not in their own eyes, nor in the eyes ol King David mu* in the eyes of all the Jews an ! G utiles of their time, lor one reads that., “the men were greatly a-hani“(i, and the King said tarry at Jerich > until your beards be grown, and then return/' The doctor's argu nents is based upon natural his tory as well as icripture. The lion has flowing beard which distinguishes him from the weaker compa-.ion ; and likewise in man the beard matks most and stin- tly the chief peculiarity of the countenances <u two sexes. When a man shaves off his heard his face ap proximates that of a woman more nearly than nature designed. Accord' ingly In; argues that if men wish to preserve their ascendency as the lords of the creation they must put away their razois. How a Lecturer was Introduced. An Evansville (Ind.) paper has this story of Eli Perkins, the lecturer and writer: Eli has a habit of getting some one to introduce him. Down in Ken tucky a stranger was solicited to do this service. The stranger rose at the proper tints, and said: ‘Ladies and gentlemen: —At the re quest of prominent citizens, I have consented to introduce the lectuier of the evening.' Here Eli rose, but the gentleman sir ved him back into his chair, and continued: ‘This reminds me of an experience I one.- had at a coun try dance in Indiana. I was a Stran ger to nearly all present, as I am here. I met another young Ilia >, equally a stranger He wanted a paitner, so did I. I agreed to introduce him to a lady it he would do the earn*; service fl*t me, and oini and out my part of the program in*. 1 knew his name hut I did not know the name of a young la •*y b‘ the house, so I determined to overcome that difficulty by strategy I walked him up in front ot a young lady and sail: Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Montgomery. Tne young lady bowed to bin, th**n turned her eyes on me and said: I’ll just allo-v von to get someone to introduce you first It tin* lecturer doesn’t prove to be all you expect, I don’t want you to blame me, for he is as great a stranger to me as I am t . y u, and I don't want you to throw me out the window, as that crowd in Indiana did, for intro ducing a man without being introduc ed myself. Ladies ana gentlem n, allow me to introduce Eli Perkins.’ Eli rose amid laughter and applause and began his lecture. A recent French paragraphist says that if y -n desire to render the flame of your lamp more brilliant, without increasing the consumption, whether yon burn oil, fluid, or any ot the pro ducts of petroleum, soak your wicks iu vinegar and dry before using. “The Wust Boy." All the old women f>r blocks up and down Sixth street called him ‘the wust bov/ and Jim did much to win the ti tle and keep it. He fought everything ad everybody, harassed cats and abused dogs, and various attempts have been made during the last year to get him settl ’d in the reform school. The ‘wust bov' has made anew de parture, ami though it may not be lasting, as it is for the better, it will probably furnish opportunity for some other boy to step in ami claim the un enviable title. ‘The wust boy’ cared nothing for the sight of crape on tin* knob, and a funeral procession was as good as a parade to him. Surprise was there fore manifest on every contenance when he softly knocked at the door the other day and sai 1: ‘I haiu't got no good clothes to go to the funeral, but I'd like to see the old lady's face again afore she's cov ered up in tin* gn und.’ A motherly old 1 idy in his neigh borhood had passed away. So far as th * public knew he hated her, as he seemed to hate all the rest, but the public didn't knolf Jim Ltd con descended to explain lie would have s iid: ‘Well, yor see, one night when that big Tom Skip laid fur me and had me as good ;>s mashed this ’ere woman rushed out and pulled him oft’ and slammed him ngin tie; fence till his el bows echoed. I lien agin she let me play with the children, and axed me in to dinner, and tnore'u once she : s to >k up fur me and said the neighbors didn’t give me a fair show.’ They let him in to see her dead face, halfexpecting t* see some ghastly trick on Ins part, and never dreaming that he would lean ove.v and kiss the cold 1 cheek, and that tears would come to his eyes. ‘Where's the children?’ he asked as he turned from the coffin. ’Upstairs, poor things/ ‘lt's going to be tough on ’em, isn't it?* 'Yes; they will see hard times, poor darlings ‘ ‘There's a leetle bit of a feller ’mongst ’em what's named Pete,'continued tin* gust boy; 'what'll cost a week to pay His wav?’ The women smiled at the idea, but seeing how earnest Jim was, one of the women relied: ‘Oh, about fifty cents, I guess/ The boy w nt out without a word, and in the course of half an hour an other lad handed in a piece of wrap ping paper in which was inclosed a silver quarter. On the paper was scrawled the words (the work of three or four boys): ‘I hoap she’s gon to hevvins, an' I’ll taik cair of little peter at fifty sents a week. Heat's the fust’stalrnent. Gim.' The next day he sent iu the balance, an 1 last week the 'instalment' was promptly forthcoming. Jim has a bootblack’s kit and has gon<* to work, and the old women who called him the ‘wust, boy,’ now look after him and exclaim; 'Well, now; but who'd a thought that boy nad a s <ul in him!' A leligious exchange well says to young men : “Have you confidence in yourself? It is the gr?nd stepping-stone to suc cess. Don't cast yur burdens on oth er peoples s’ oulders. The; have enough of their own to carry. Do the hard things yourself and not cal! on * th<*rs to help you Never say “I can't" un less you are a shod do wrong, an 1 then say it in a voice of thunder, too, if you like. When anything right and necessary is to be done, the man wl o shirks tbe responsibility with a weak ‘I can’t,’ is a coward. No matter though may have marchel up the can non's month, a"d have been the hero of a hundred battles! lie who do s not feel within himself the power to conquer fate, is not a man in the true sense o* the word—hi* is a puny apolo gv for God's noblest work, aod nis mother would have been better em ployed in m iking shirts for a shilling: than in rearing him Of course it is a misfortune for him, since he can never beany benefit to himself or anybody else. Heaven help the woman who marries him. The New York Herald may have meant something when it said : “No blame should attach to medical students who provide themselves with bodies for dis-ection. They will more than replace them wherf they begin to prac tice. • • Tall Stories. A fflefir! >f the “Drawer'’ was a so journer ro during tlie past summer, and of course visit< and the lakes <f Killarney. lit* set cnit for I lie Gap ol Dunlof, which is a wiki mountain pass, intending 10 walk through it to the upper lake # which Is the Usual mode of approach to the tnttrisf, While thus proceeding, the little hnt or cabin occupied by a descendant of the far* famed Kate Kearney, that dangerous beauty of long ago, and situated at the base of the mountain, was passed. As our friend approached it # tin; guide —a genuine specimen of that rncc which springs green and vigorous from the “first flowers of the earth and first gem ot the sea"—began his legends about the locality. 'Do ye see that mountain/ sdd he, ‘behind the cabin there?—l mane Kate Kearney's descindunts' cabin. Welb it's no less than two thousand five hundred feet high, and it is well known that whin Kale Kearney from the o*p of it unloosed her h • ir. it touched de base there fm nint y u/ ‘ls it possible?’ said our friend. * Indude, thin, it is, sir; I ut shine I see that you're from America; and as for stories, it's not worth while to he teilmg thim to one of your people. Didn't I come wid some uintlemin from the States t* * this place a short time ago, and such stories I never heard in my life as they gave me. 1 w ndlier if they could he thrue? Ami wondhering I have been ever -ince I heard thim, what wondhe. ful places and things ye must have there. I wondher il the stories were thrue?* again said the guide as if carried to the depths of doubt and reflection. ‘What are the stories?’ said our friend. 'Slime/ said the guide, ‘I couldn’t l><* telling all the stories in a short ride like this; hut one of thim has struck my heart ands ml, and I'll niver for get it—niver niver! I wondher if it c m he thru o !* ‘Well, let us hear it,' said our friend, ‘and we will decide/ ‘Well/ the guide, ‘afther I told them some of ray tales, shure they be gan to give me back the wondhers, and one of thim—a very and ioent looking man he was, and not given, I should think, to lying—began to tell of the splendid hotels yez have in America and—l'M never torget it—told me that there was one in New York cabled the Fifth Avenue hotel, and that it was three miles and a hal f long; not only that, hut that the vvaithms rode round on ponies sarving the guests! I wondher if that was iht ue?' —Harpers Magazine. ♦Just AVliat You Might Expect. About two weeks ago as the over'- land tram was passing Cheyenne, he attention of the passengers was attrae. ted hy the lamentations of a poor Irish immigrant whoso forth had been rob bed during the night and every penny of his scanty savings stolen, and whose family therefor** arrive beg_ gars in a strange land. The charita ble passengers at once began a sub scription which fin *lly amounted to something ovet $250. When the mon ey had been handed to the sufferer, a pious, plans:uh* looking man dressed in Mack and adorned w tli a white era var # drew him aside at one of the sleeping places und said: ‘My dear man, I am truly sorry for yon. Your sad case touches me deep !v. lam myself well provided with this world’s goods, however, and so I will give you $250 more. Here is a SSOO go'd note. Give me the $250 you have and k*'ep the rest. May heaven bless you!’ The poor Irishman did as requested, with many blessings on the generous stranger, who insisted that his gift should not he made known. When the passengers reached this side of the bay the pious looking philanthropist was nowhere to be found, he having evident'y gotten off at Oakland for reasons of his own. The next morning the immigrant repaired to a bank to get his note changed. Tue teller picked up the bill and began narrowly examining it. ‘ There—there is nothing wrong with the billj is there?’ gasped the poor fellow. (Now the clever reader has seen all along what was going t > happen. He lias read lots of such incidents as this* It is the old, old story. Well—we*!! see about it.) ‘Nothing in the world is th' 1 matter with it/ said the teller quietly, and he hauded the man fifty tens, A cure for sleeplessness is to* imttg-- ihat yon have to get up. There are three sorts of pies—cross barred, open-tapped and kivered. By dodging down a back street many a culprit has proved an alley by,. A typographical error—an ignorant youth trying to learn the art of prints ing ‘Raising the wind/ is now denomU nated more classically, ‘Exsuscitating the financial JEolus' It is a blessed privilege to be able to get up and lick the inan who wroto your obituary notice. Gelling up paragraphs is like getting up in the morning when you would rather lie still than not. I lie man who unexpectedly sat down in s one warm glue, thinks there is more than one way of getting badly stuck. We trust the undermost man in the fight will not forget that the proverb says the anvil lasts longer than the hammer. But then, if Edison's electric light is generally introduced into our houses what is Bridget going to light the kitchen fire with? 'Will you settlo that old account of yours tins morning?' said a saloonist* sir; you are mistaken in the man; I am not one of the old settlers.’ Bob Ingersoll is said to have made $f)0,000 out of his lectures on hell. Hell lias not ytt commenced on Boh, hat will get in its work later. A young lady, gazing on her por trait just finished by a rising young remarked, ‘I look like a canvas* hack duck.’ He felt like eating her. ‘What does ‘Good Friday' mean?’ asked one schoolboy of another. 'You had better go home and. .read your 'Robinson Crusoe/ was the withering reply. Josh Billings says that he has no ohjeckshun to a man parting his hair in the middle. I alwuz insist upon biz finishing up the job by wearing a. short gown and petticoat. A girl who has been very observant, of her parents' mode of exhibiting ohae i y, when asked what generosity replied: 'lt is giving to the poor all the o l stuff you don't want yourself/ ‘The subjective order of your thought does n>t correspond with the objectivo order of the phenomena/ This is the latest way of telling a person that he wanders from the straight path of truth. ‘Do eagles give milk, mother?' asked the boy. ‘No, my son; what made you think so?’ 'Because I have heard of the eagle’s scream. * The mother reached tor her slipper, but the em% bryo parugraphist had vanished. Solitaire di tinonds are still in high i ° j favor for engagement rings. That's what makes an oi l married mm smile |so often ands > pityingly as he gazes at the young men who come to take his seven daughters to the sooiabl■*. Little Freddie was talking to hi* grandma, who was something of a skeptic. ‘Graudm do you belong to the Presbyterian church?' 'No.' ‘To the Baptist?' ‘No.' ‘To any church:' ‘No.' 'Well, grunlma, don’t you think it’s about time to get in somewhere?' At a political meeting, recently, the, waxing eloquent, said: ‘What shall we do iu this emergency! 4 ‘Tell her to whoa, 4 shouted somebody in the audienc-*. A great weight of whoa rested upon a'l until the orator re marked: ‘That man had better Emma grate. 4 Andrew Jackson was accused of bad spelling, but John Randolph defended him by declaring that ‘a man must bo a fool who could n >t spell wards more ways than one.’ A when rebuked for spelling needle, n-e said that every good needle should have an eye in it. ‘.Sow it should,’ responded teach©-. SO, 3.