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volume til ft f) I'# TE'¥, Written for the Eastman 1 imes. XO A DEW-DROP. BY MATJEICB HARLEY. At ning’s stilly hour you hie from your secret home in the azure sky ; ? the mossy dell and the roses’ bower, Merest 1 flight falls on the sleeping flower. p j] e fj ie eyes of all are in slumber sealed, loo SJ >riiikle your pearls o’er the grassy field ; And over the laden harvest plain, th diamonds deck the yellow grain. :: the fairy light of the moon yon sport, , n( j (he jasmine tiroath of the breezes court; | when the beuus of the morning fall, > u rest in the snade of the ivied wall. you play on the grass by the river s brink, And pe«pon the spot where tlio sunbeams drink! Ymi trip o’er the mead, and glance in the dell, Aud hide in the violet’s secret cell. Till the orb of day in his chariot rides Through llw orient gates, o’er the ocean tides, Wlien like silver sheen, an his golden ray, You hie to your ethur abodes away. JliY 22d, 1879. MISCELLANY. FOR THE FAIR SEX. The Cliarm of True Marriage. Our advanced theories of divorce sin] free love making the matrimonial merely a partnership to be ssolvod at pleasure, whatever else vj be said in their favor, strike a iadly blow at an element in it which HH8 meant perhaps to be supreme tWe all others. What is the sweet t>tcharm of all true marriage, what :>■ greatest advantage, what ttie most I prate happiness, take life through which it brings to the human heart? I ISoUkiksh and splendor of its early 1 re; !i .'lie richer development which itifesto the character; not even tie children who are gathered around tsdmiie. No but the intimacy and ^liability ot its c< mpanionship; the i t that it gives those who enter in it fad)in the other and through all •’■"Ms and changes,a near and blessed 8tand-l>y. Marriage in some of its aspects is doubtless the source of an *ense amount of unhappiness crime justice, blight and down dragging le °l the most perplexing institution ‘delyliaw to deal with; only the blin Wsentimentalist will deny that. On Mother hand however, and that is mere sentiment, but sober fact, ot Mhe evidence of God’s goodness to ^baud in this lower world, all the f r ° that He cares for us, not only T ' :!l the wisdom of a Creator but with ' interest a Father, there is none 1 leequal to his sending human be- 3 into the arena of life, no to fight ‘'battles, win its victories and endure ’ vl 'rrows alone, but giving them, as • %° fourth out of their child-hood's ■ !< \ \ relation in which each two of are hound together with the c s€st of all ties, live together under same roof, have their labors, their j'aay, their interests their parental 1 'ns all in common, and are mov stund by ( > a ch other hand to 4 ■ * an(1 heart to heart, in every sor L m fortune, trial and stormy day -at earth bring. It is ideal, is an l0 t a lira }'$ realized in full, which is evert now, amid all that is said \\\ in.u riago miseries, more widely uH l )s ^ ian a '‘y other happiness.— % Afternoon. ‘^ n ^wended Proposition# “'.cared in Bodie, that city of V, wealth and wickedness. A >vas 'a trial in the Justice's court a'g a recess one of the interest part >os approached a juror and t *.b hooss, if that suit goes agin , 4 high onto $2,000 loser in mins ‘i'city. Now, I'll give you an $500 tc hang that jury.’ n Corruptible scion of Amejican . v reflected a momen and replis P d bp a cussed onsartin job for “ a to tuk. in a rope and strangle that Y §’ I an d I'm afraid afore I got ~" niout dance a jig under it butif its all the same to you, i 'Ut wade in tliar with aix * a M ‘ an> W ’P6 the crowd. That 1 out niove to my hand than hang ~ job could be done quicker, dim factory, produce the con sr, e . ^ ll tf) w whc °fk. 1 I alius makes an VW ( Sev ,) " Pits a chance. ’ Seutinel. r> BG ^ A H M W II J * I ( r “MORNING-GLORY.” An Old-Fashioned Love Story in Prose. by “a counpry parson." I wish you might have seen her on that morning long ago. I don’t be¬ lieve Van Dyck himself ever put on canvas a more winsome court beauty io all his life than Morning-Glory The sturdy Vermont hills were all about her, and the river aud the val¬ ley were not far away. The day had hardly, begun, but the men were car¬ rying in the brimming pails of milk arid the cows were sauntering down the lane with that delightful air of reverie which a cow knows so well how to assume. White-Face and Star ry-Eye and Ruby and a dozen others leisurely wnisking their tails at the early fly, stopping a moment to snatch an inviting bunch of grass, crunching the appetizing morsel as they went on. The September morning was as fresh and fair as the young girl walk¬ ing down the beaten path of the lane. 1 he sunlight only made the gold of her hair more dazzling; not “frizzed'' or “banged,' but in a single coil, like a Greek statute, it rested like a crown above the brown eyes; the carriage was free and graceful, the step elastic; the whole movement would have in¬ dicated perfect health if you had not seen the face. Sixteen summers like the present had drilted past her in her mountain home. No, not like the present, for Morning-Glory had sud¬ denly come into her birthright—she was a woman. A child last night, enjoying with a child’s zest her coun try life; to-day, with a woman's hopes and a woman's fears. How subtle the change and how quick it comes! Woe be to him who rudely stirs the sleeping waters. She lifted the bars to their place as in a dreaui, the fine contour of her shapely figure well ex¬ pressed in the act, and leaned upon them with bowed head a moment, and then watched the fog lazily climbing the valley. 'A penny for your thoughts, Morn¬ ing-Glory/ came from an adjoining lot, and a young man cleared the wall at a bound as she started at his voice, and joined her in the walk home. A summer-morning idyl, you say, of no interest to those who have g<>t beyond such nonsense. But soft, dear sir! I saw a gray head furtively wipe away a tear the other day, Chambers' Mis* cell any in his hand, and only a love story which touched his heart. The young man was spending his vacation at her father's farm. He had just graduated at college, and would en ter the seminary in the fall. Mean¬ while he held his own with the other hired men in the long day's work. ‘He'd wilt/ they said. ‘These college lamed chaps can't stand much.' But they were glad to cry quarter as he, with a quiet smile, struck out with what lie styled the Grecian curve, in the meadow, the first day of mowing. ‘If the gods mowed like that they must have been uncommon tough,' said one of the men, as he started at Ransom Sayle3 bowl away through the tall grass. That settled the men; they respected muscle, and Sayles had not dipped his oar in the river without toughening the arm that handled it They soon learned to respect the man Deacon John Raymond had morning ‘prayers/ even in the busiest season, and when on the second morning after his arrival, Sayles was invited to lead the devotion, Sam, one of the hired men, said ‘he prayed like Jehosopbat.’ Sam’s Bible knowledge was limited > and he doubtless got the names a lit tie mixed, but he told the men, when they were grinding the scythes in the shed,‘that he talked as if he was ac¬ quainted with the Almighty, and it was powerfully well done.' That was three months before. Ran som Sayles had done his day's work. Sometimes walking in the gloaming with Carrie Raymond—Miss Carrie, he hud called her at first, with stately courtesy, but now he had christened her ‘Morning-Glory'—they had talk ed of books, authors, art, morals—a thousand tilings that hover in the air before the eyes of youth-but never of love. Morning-Glory wanted noth ingofit. She was satisfied with tier present, and Ransom. AVell.it was the old story. He knew now what the grand passion was that stirred the old Greeks. This mountain flower, with the dew on its crimson petals, that had never felt the scc.rch.ng sun, twining about the old homestead, how he had EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1S79. watched it, wishing he might put out his hand and take it. But Sayles bad iron in his blood. He was penniless, with an aged mother looking to him for care. And she was only a child— this girl—in years. Ho had tiis future yet to make, and she^ womanly is she was, might not bear the strain of wait¬ ing; and then, too, frank as she was in all their talks, he could never pene trate beyond a certain maidenly re¬ serve. She would never give herself to any man unasked; he doubted what an answer would bo, for this country girl, in her sweet simplicity, was worthy of the best love the world con¬ tained. And so he went back to big work and made no sign. If the vision of a goldendiaired girl, with beseeching brown eyes,mixed itself up with Greek exegesis and Hebrew iciorns, lie dog¬ gedly applied himself to the work in hand and tried to forget. But ‘Morn* ing-Glory' had had the chrism laid upon her lips, which must become in woman’s lives heavenly manna or ap pies of Sodom. From no fault of Haus som Sayles, remember, for lie tiad ob^ served the strictest honor; he had not allowed himself a word, or touch, or look, that might mean love, and she thanked him in her heart tor it in the years that followed; but she knew now lie had her heart unasked, and he henceforth should be the precious se¬ cret of her life. Many a woman has lived and died unwedded, the perfume of her life the only evidence of a h’d den sacrifice. Morning-Glory’ round¬ ed into womanhood, the bloom grew brighter; culture added to simplicity, self-possession to grace; her character shaping itself into womanliness as she thought what he would admire and honor; expecting nothing,hoping noth¬ ing, but having one summer among her choicest memories. Three years had passed. Sayles had graduated ; declining larger fields, he had accepted the charge of a small country church. Thu mother who had cheered him on saw him a minister the gospel, aud thou the Lord called her home. But Ransom was in debt for Ids ed¬ ucation, and his sturdy independence would not allow him any luxury of life unt.il that obligation pvas met. If he grew weary at times, he only inter¬ ested himself more nearly in his peo¬ ple ; but sometimes a September morn¬ ing on a hillside farm would rise up in memory before him, and a fair face with a strange witchery in the brown eyes would cause almost a sob to break from his lips. But all sacrifices have an end. Ran¬ som Sayles would not be hampered by a debt. He had waited until the child had blossomed into the woman. The last payment on his debt had been made,his vacation had come; he would try his fate, for be was not over-con¬ fident of his power of inspiring love in the heart of any woman. The farm house was in sight as dusk came on at the close of an August day. ‘Sam’ was carrying the la-t pail of milk as Sayles came up. ‘Ah, Mr. Sayles,' said Sam, ‘I am right glad to see you.’ 'How is Deacon Raymond?' asked Ransom; he had almost said ‘Morning-Glory/ for it seemed but a day since he went away. ‘The dea con is well/ said Sam, hesitatingly looking askance at Sayles; ‘but Miss Carrie met with an accident. Old Tom’—and Sam grumbled out some thing almost profane—‘ran away.’ Ransom Sayles turned and entered the house; nothing was changed; the fam ily were at tea, but Morning-Glory was in a great arm chair in the front room, before you reach the kitchen at the end of the long hall. Ransom shuddered as lie stood on the threshold, he knew not why, for he was not a superstitious man, then opened the door; she was facing the west and ev_ idently thought it some of the family, The setting sun lighted up the room and fell upon her hair. There flashed tljrou ^ h his niind the figure of the crown which Revelation speaks of, and theu lje stood b N her side; she turned her head, the eyes softened by sorae tender memory; her face flush ed in a moment, and she put out her som.' hand. What 1^ was about thinking me?' of you, asked, Ran he as » ll,e y bad m( 't the day before. ‘M hy, don t you know you said once,' and she laughed softly, that you would be true to your conviction of duty, ■ even though it cost the sacrifice of a lifetime?' She had never called him Ransom before, and they bad not met for three years, lie had become much more ot a man, and she, as she half re-; clined there, into what a ripe, beautN ful woman she had developed! lie had done well to wait, and what a ten¬ der, trusting air she had. ‘But what about the accident?' he asked anxious¬ ly. She grew a little sober, said the doctor would be in again to-morrow, and changed the subject. That evening was one to be remenis bered long after. lie told his love, and she, with shy reserve, revealed her heart; but there were strange pauses on her part all the evening through, and when he bid her good¬ night he thought, as lie kissed her, there were tears on her face. The morning brought the family physician while Ransom was out on tie hill refreshing his memory with familiar scenes. When he returned the doctor had gone. ‘What did he say?' 'Shall I tell you V she replied to his question, as she turned Her face away. ‘The accident was severer than you know; there is no hope; it is only a question ot time.’ ‘But you are so fresh and blDoming/ he gasped. ‘I was in perfect health when it occurred. It is internal, but there is no help/ Perhaps this old-fashioned tale might end here, as what we call poetiejus tice is violated in the sequel, but real life takes littie account of poetic jus¬ tice in her reckoning. Ransom Sayles had studied belles lettres and divinity in preparation for his work of saving men; but as he waited in those autumn days, knowing that only the remembrance of the days that were dead would soon be his, he learned obedience by the tilings which he suffered. He saw the rich, rare lite fade away, an argosy of priceless wealth sail into the mist; saw how rich it was freighted for years of work, and that it was his very own, and then roust needs say farewell ! There was no weak sentiment about these two souls as they stood at the parting of a final voyage for one. I have done my work ill in sketching this man, if you think he gave up or only half lived after this. So fast he grew in these few weeks that when ‘Morning-Glory' was laid under the daisies he comfort ed the people an I read the simple S»T vice. The stricken parents found in him a son of consolation. And he went forth to rare achievements in helpfulness to men, inspired by h : s love for the Morning-Glory which bloomed on high. A Beautiful Picture. The man who stands upon bis own soil, who feels that by the laws of the land in which he lives —by the laws of civilized nations—he is the rightful and exclusive owner of the land which he tills is by the constitution of our nature under a wholesome influence not easily Imbibed from any other source. He feels—other things being equal—more ’strongly that another, the charactor of a man as lord of the inanimate world. Of this great and wonderful sphere winch fashioned by the hand of God and upheld by his power, is rolling through the heavens a part is his—his from the central sky. It is the space in which the generation before moved in its round of duties, and he feels himself connected by a visible link with those who follow lnm and to whom he is to transmit a home Perhaps his farm has come down to him from his lathers. They have gone to their last home! But he can trace there foodtsteps over the sc.nes of his daily labors. The roof that shelters him was raised by those to whom he owes his being. Some interesting do¬ mestic tradition is connected with every inclosure. The favorite fruit tree was planted by his father's hand, He sported in childhood beside the brook which still winds through the meadow, The path to the vilDge schools of earlier days lies through the field. He still hears from his window the voice of the Sabbath boil which called bis father to the house of God. and n ar at hand is the spot where his parents lay down to rest, and where, when his time has come he shall be laid by his children. These are the feelings of the owners of the soil. Word cannot paint them—gold cannot buy them. They flow out ol the deepest fountains of the heart; they are the lifesprings of a fresh, healthy and generous national charac ter. -----— A Kansas fanner purchased a re vulver for his wife and insisted on tar get practice, so that she could defend the house in case of his absence. After the ballot lmd been dag out of his leg and the cow buried, he said he gues~ a*. sed that she’d better shoot with an J i Going Courting. One of the chief compensations of woman's life is found in the fact that she doesn’t have to ‘go a courting.’ It must be eoufessed that in these days the modern belle does her share of the wooing, but she does not have to dress up in a stifl collar and a pair of boots a size too small for her, and walk up to the cannon's mouth of her inamora¬ ta's family, a maiden aunt and perhaps a dozen brothers aud sisters, and in¬ quire, in a trembling voice, ‘Is Miss Arabella at home?' Whenever a man goes courting everybody seems to know all about it. His demeanor tells the observant spec¬ tator the business he is intent upon. He might as well placard himself, ‘I'm going a courting/ Everybody is cognizant of it, and looks knowing¬ ly, and asks if the ‘Northern lights were bright about one o'clock, and how the market is for kerosene up at Daddy Browns' and a score of other questions out of place. We know a young man who is deeply, and we trust successfully en.. gaged in courting, and our warmest sirapathies have been extended toward him. When Sunday afternoon arrives it is plain that something is about to happen. He is fidgety and non-cotn muniextive, aud cannot sit in one place a half minute at a time. He is con¬ tinually interviewing his watch, and comparing it with the old eight-day coffin-shaped clock in the corner. He looks in the glass frequently and draws his forehead locks back and then for ward, and combs them up and pats them down, and is unsatisfied with the effect throughout. The smell of bay rum and bergamot is painfully apparent. When ho shakes his handkerchief musk is perceptible. His boots shine like mirrors, and there is a faint smell of cardamon seeds in his breath when he yawns. He smooths his budding moustache with affectionate pats, and feels his invisi , ble side-whiskers continually to make 1 sure they are there, a fact which is not established to outside observers by a j sense neekt of without |siglit. finding He tries just on the all thing his ; es he wants. Then he lias spasms of brushing his coat, that commences with violence and lasts until one grows nervous for fear the broad cloth will not be able to stand the friction. He declines soup that day for din tier. lle says it is because he is not hungry, but we know it is because there are onions in it, and onions, as every one knows, do not sweeten one s breath to any great extent. If spoken to suddenly, he starts and blushes, and looks as guilty as if he was stealing something, and directly, if one does not speak to him, he goes back to the delightful occupation ol staring at nothing and waiting for ihe hour hand to creep around to seven. Curving Drunkenness. Dr.d'Ungcr says: ‘I take a pound of the fresh-quill red Peruvian barl, and soak it in a pint of diluted alcohol. Then I strain it and evaporate it down to half a pint. I gave the drunken man a teaspoonful every three hours, and occasioidly moisten his together between the doses the first and second days. It acts like quinine. The pa¬ tient can tell if he is getting too much The third day I generally reduce the dose to half a teaspoonful, then down fi ,tcon ^ ro ps» ten and five drops. The medicine is continued from five to I fifteen days; in extreme cases thirty days. Seven is about the average.' The bark is known among druggists aS Cinchona Rubra - The <Ii«coverer tlie rerae, b’ s*ys that ot the many 5uin( ^ reJ ca s^s treated by him he has n 0t known an ent ’ re fail are. He con. s ^ . ers {orm of drunkness that r£ J 8u1ts fr° m an insatiable appetite a dlsease > and treats it as such. When tl ‘ c a PP etlt e !>as been wholly destroy ed ho cousnlers that the patient is rad lcal! ^ cured * He will not drink if he h{ *s no desire, or if he has a strong rP I mgnance to liquor .—San Francisco BvUetm - --*•— A married gentleman every time he met the father of his wife complained of the ugly temper and disposition of bis daughter. At last upon one o. casiou the old gentleman vvearv ot the grumbling of his son-in¬ ' law and exclaimed- ‘loa ” are right, gbota an impertinent jade, and if I here any more complaints of her I will disiohei it her.' The husband made no more complaints. j Equality of Mail ami Woman. There ’ as lately been a great deal of talk respecting the equality of the man and the woman, and even of the wo¬ man’s superiority over the man. The reader is, perhaps, acquainted with Tuussemal’s masterpiece. ‘The Pas¬ sional Physologh of Birds; or, the Theory of the Ger-falcon,’ in which he tries hard to establish the female’s per eminenoe over the male, in every spec¬ ies of species, humanity included, not withstanded its default of plumage. But the equality of men and women is a question which it is absured to dis cuss, because it is insoluble. If the Creator had made of rnau and woman one single and identical being, accord¬ ing to Plato's dream, there would exist between them a perfect equality* and the world would be wearried out of its life. But the Creator made man aud wo¬ man two and not one; two in body and two in mind; and, at the same time, He ordained them to live together. It is precisely the diversities of men and woman which constitute the at¬ traction they have for each other, and pleasure they experience in each other society. Change a woman into a man and you murder love; there remains nothing but friendship, and you have destroyed the romance of life. The question, then consists in see¬ ing woman's special vocation in the collaboration of the common household and in elevating her in the directiou of her destiny. And by woman is not meant the hard-working serf wiiose intellect is merely in the way of formation, but woman in her complete development and in full possession of all her facul¬ ties. Now, to put the man and the woman each in their place, it suffices to perform the comparative antomy of their mental powers. With man the judicial faculties predominate; with woman, the sensive. Man reasons, woman feels; he generalizes, she ana¬ lyzes; he discovers, she observes. Providence has created man and wo¬ man at the same time like and unlike, like, for the maintenance, through the agency of both, of the unity and, con¬ sequently the equality of the human race; and unlike, for the accomplish¬ ment, by their differences of organiza¬ tion, of the different tasks required .by the complications of society. It is thus that among the male sex itself, Providence has weighed out the different portions of imagination and intelligence with a different balance; that she has inscribed upon the fore¬ head of one the stamp of ‘artist;’ aud on that of another the title ol ‘savant.’ But poet or engineer, each marches side by side with the other; for each without distinction renders service to society. In fact, what general meas¬ ure could be invoked to set art over science or science about manufacturing industry? What is true between men and men is also true between men and women. One assuredly diffors from the other in the intellectual chemistry of the soul, as mucli as in the geometrical curves of the bod 3 T ; but this diversity of na¬ ture implies, for either of the parties concerned nothing more than a diver¬ sity of functions. It is the principle of the division of labor. Let man, who has the tougher sin¬ ews. expose himself to wind and sun¬ shine. Let woman, whose frame is less robust, keep house, and poeticise it by her presence. Thus, with unity of destiny and diversity of duties, we have man aud woman in their myster¬ ious harmony. An Irishman, being on trial for some offense, pleaded ‘Not guilty,’ aim the jury’ being in the box, the district at¬ torney proceeded to call Mr. Furk irsou as a witness. With the most ut¬ most iunocence, Patrick turned bis face to the judge and said: 'Do I understand your honor that j Mr. Furkirsou is to be a witness j again8t me again , The judge said dryly, 'ft seems so <\y ell> then if^yer' yer' honor, I plade guilty sure, honor plase; not because I am guilty, for I’m as inno cent as yer honor’s babe, but jtat on account of savin' Mr. Furkirson's sow!.' Hie most intoxicating- watering place in the United States is undoubt* edly ciai Advertiser' Old Rye Beacb Illint Y Commer. ’-Philadelphia' How Marth's Vineyard Bulletin - Newport lias claims. NO. 37, WIT AND HUMOR . The man w1k> chased a sailor said he was making a tar-get. Leading strings —Those of the first fiddle. Sweeping conclusion—The train of a ladies'dress. Married life ofton begins with rose wood and mahogauv aud ends with pine. Blessed is the bee-holder, for it cells its owu honey and saves the commis¬ sion. The man who frequently makes the remark that he is a gentleman is fear* ful tnat people will not otherwise find it out. It is one of the curious things of the woi id that a male hair—-dresser often dyes an old maid.j If you don't want to shuffle off this mortal coil in a hurry, avoid playing with a pack of mules. When is a Chinese the most like a vegetable? Why, wkeu a que cum¬ bers his head, of course. It doesn't take a schoolboy long t-o evince a love for a division, provided another boy owns the apple. A little girl after profound reflection sitting in her little chair by the fire, asked: “Mamma, how does a step¬ mother walk ?' There are striking occasions when you can easily imagine that a man much bigger than you are is beneath your notice. We love to lie beneath the shade and quaff the cooling lemonade, and also feel the cheerful ants crawl slow¬ ly up your summer pauts. The Yonkers Gazette has an article entitled, “What do wo eat ? H That depends. If you live in a boarding house uo one can tell. One of the gunners returning from the marshes was asked if he had shot anything*. He said—-*‘No, but 1 gave the birds a good serenading/* Tney were riding in the grove. She said, “Of all the trees the elm is my favorite ; what is yours V* Said he, •T like yew the best/' No cards. A Boston child remarked, after gaz¬ ing earnestly at a man who was bald, but had heavy whiskers, *‘His was put on upside down, wasn’t it?' %. A The earth miking but three hun¬ dred and sixty-five revolutions a year, the Ol City Derrick says that it is away behind Mexico in that sort of business. W hy is a ton of coal like a popular actor who delays appearing before an impatient audience of 2,000 persons ? Because it makes twenty hundred weight. A German poet says that a young girl is a fishing-rod ; the eyes are the hook, the smile the bait, the lover the fish, and marriage the butter in which he is fried. “That's what I call tripping the light fantastic tow," said the boy, as his blonde-haired sister fell over the rope he had stretched across the gar¬ den walk. A Pulaski boy recently swallowed a penknife. Although not quite out of danger, fie finds some consolation in hte fact that the knife belonged to an¬ other boy. When a woman finds she cannot afford a uew dress she economizes by spending as much as it would have cost in buyinu libbon to cover the old one up with bows. A barber is a groat one to razor row, —Philadelphia Item. He's always in a scrape.—Oswego Record. And generally gets well lathered.—Water¬ loo Obseiver. Well, that's hia bone f iult.