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Igwinnett herald.
|.. bU sh*d bT WEDSKSDAT ’ Bt
IpEEPLES & YARBROUGH.
l yLER M . rEEPLES, Editor.
I _, tF5 of 'subscription.
es;* *■»»
■ bribers wishing ibeir pancrs
I'"urimcnc post-office to another,
■fcite the name of the post-office
tbev wish it changed, as well
KsGAL ADVERTISEMENTS.
EcSctor’s “ “ “ •• •
iS?.»r.*" d cred "»' s -- l “
|ve sell land..
Be of laml. per S 00
■tersof dismission... *
plication for homestead 2 00
K iy notices d uu
U. ... oa of land, by administrators,
Ktore or guardians, are required by
■ be held on the first Tuesday in the
■ U between the hours of ten in the
■ noffl , and three in the afternoon, at
■Court-house in the county in which
is situated.
■otice of these sales must be given in
■blic gazette 40 days previous to the
■fice'to debtors and creditors of an
Be must also be published 40 days,
■oticc for the sale of personal proper
■ust be given in like manner, 10 days
■ioas to sale day.
■otice tint application will be nmde
■the Court of Ordinary for leave to
■ind must be published for four weeks,
■nations on letters of administration,
■dianship, &c., must be published 30
for dismission from administration,
three months; for dismission
, f or the foreclosure of mortgages
■ be published monthly, four months ;
lost papers, for tl.e full
]■ of three months; for compelling
■ from executors or administrators,
]■• bond has been given by the de-
full space of three months,
sales must be published for
notices, two weeks.
will always be continued
BBiling to these, the legal requirements,
■ otherwise ordered.
■IOFESSIONAL CARDS.
M. WINN. WM. K. SIMMONS.
■INN & SIMMONS,
■attorneys at law,
fNCKVIIXE, GkoKGIA.
ice in Gwinnett and the adjoining
, marl 5-1 y
Hi L HUTCHINS, GAKNKTT m’MIU.AN,
Ga. Clarksville, Ga.
Ur ciiins a- McMillan,
Mattouneys at law.
at Lawrcnceville and Clarksville.
in the counties of the Western
and in Milton and Forsyth of the
MSidge. mar 15-ly
»ER ,M. VLIPPLKS,
Bttorney at law,
iI*NCEVILI.E, GA.
■ ( in the counties of Gwinnett,
IHackson and Milton.
claims promptly attended to
»>-6m
Hj. N- GLENN,
'Sttorney AT LAW,
GA.
attend to all business
to his care, and also to Land,
-^■ an d Pension claims mar 15-6 m
|R Br.K.& G. A. MITCHELL,
■IWVRENCEVILLE, GA.,
a » tful >y tender n continuation of
services to the citizens
Keep constantly on hand a
drugs and chemicals,
carefully prepared.
■SHAFFER, M. I>,
jw IAN AND SURGEON,
Bjrenceville, ga.
» T. G. JACOBS,
■RGEON dentist,
B rfpffl] t 0 practice his proses
■ J l9 "ranches, informs the citi
aml viciui, y that he
88,/ . lcc ln Rawrenceville from
e f . ly th of eacli month. Isy
§■ I* l ? n ,0 business, ami reason-
LM lie “°pes to secure a liberal
1® warranted. mar‘22ly
eB *'• 11 0 11 E R T 8 ,
TT oux Er AT LaWj
GEORGIA,
Bthln, 3 " !*“* lness entrusted to
■ties r, 1 ", ' 6 circ '»R **«•
H, circuit U w ‘ nnett of
with Col. //. //. Walker
S’ J ‘" ul Warrants untl
the United States
June 14 ('uti
HOSUE,
JP reet - n <*r the Car Sited,
9
9 Tl *nta, ga.
I H» - Proprietor.
W' 0r Ljd m 50 Cents.
Weekly Gwinnett Herald.
T. M. PEEPLES, PROPRIETOR ]
Vol. 11.
OLD POEM.
Shall I, wasting in despair,
Die, because a woman’s fair ?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
’Cause another’s rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowry meads of May,
If she be not fair for me,
What care I bow fair she be?
Shall my foolish heart be pined,
’Cause I see a woman kind,
Or a well-disposed nature,
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtlee-dove or pelican.
1 f she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be ?
Shall a woman’s virtue move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her well-deserving known,
Make me quite forget my own ?
Be she with that goodness blest,
If she be not such to me.
What care 1 how good she be ?
’Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind,
Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would do,
That without them dare to woo ;
And unless that mind 1 see,
What care I how great she be?
Great or good, or kind, or fair,
I will ne’er the more despair,
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve!
If she slight me, when I woo,
1 can scorn and let her go ;
For if she be not for me,
\\ hat care 1 for whom she be?
[Theodore Wither —IC4G.
AN INDIAN’S REVENGE.
AN INCIDENT OF MISSOURI.
The lofty oaks swayed in the
fierce West wind like reeds, while
their moss-grown branches crack
ed and snapped w ith the tempest’s
might. The birds flew round in
circles, bewildered and tempest
driven, while no living thing else
was visible in tbe wild forest. Just
ahead was a little dealing, where
a log house showed its rough gray
sides, the lonely spot held. From
its rude chimney, built of clay and
sticks, thrown up against the
North side of the cabin, the smoke
poured forth in pitful [>utfs, as it
shared the general tumult.
Within its walls ate warmth
and cheer. A hardy old back
woodsman, o’er whose shoulders
the grey hair hung in a mass, was
polishing a rifle whose barrel
shown like silver, while a young
girl sat near the blazing fire place,
d ean ily watching him, and now
and again casting a longing look
towards the door.
“Father, the boys will say your
rifle is rather too bright to have
seen much service,” she ventured,
with a sly laugh at the old man’s
rising color.
“And there’s not one o’ them but
knows I can use it,” he replied,
starting up, as a loud rap sounded
on the stout oaken door.
“If ye are friends, enter.”
The door was pushed open, and
a young Indian of remarkable
presence entered, and crossed the
cabin with a haughty tread, and
placed his gun upright in a cor
ner, as he threw himself upon a
pile of skins which lay near by.
“The night has fallen, the storm
has driven the birds to their nests ;
darkness and danger are abroad,”
he said, in clear, low tones, as he
turned his stern, dark eyes upon
the young woman with a meaning
glance. She hud sprung up at his
entrance, and was at the foot of
the rough steps which led to the
low loft above, but the chiefs
words drew her back to her father’s
side.
“I know it, and tlie signs point
strong for an awful rough day fol
lowing this night’s work.” And
the trapper shook his head anx
iously as he looked at his daughter.
The Indian’s gaze, too, rested
on her pale features, and as the
fire-light shown on his proud
supple figure and handsome face,
it was lit by an expression one
might fancy portended revengeful
satisfaction; but for a moment
only. It faded away and left a
shade of scornful sadness on the
fine olive tinted features.
“I wish I knew where the boys
wore. They surely would not try
to ford the river in this storm.—
They know it’s a mighty treach
erous and uucertain stream.”
“Oh, father, is there danger ?
Why, the river where they are
camped is but a thread; and once
over on this shore they cannot lose
their way,” Janet responded,
eagerly.
“The waters are giants; the
strength of the young warriors
would ho as the doc when the hun
ter is upon her.”
Lawrenceville, Ga., Wednesday, April 17, 1872.
“Cheer np, Janet, girl,” said the
bluff old man, “Henry and Tom
arc not babes. They have seen
worse storms than this; ay, and
fought them, too.”
Not a word further escaped the
lips of Janet Turner. Whatever
her heart felt of dread and anxiety
for the absent, or impatience at
the presence of the red man. she
showed it not. She was proud as
the Indian himself, and would not
have him read her thoughts, and
deem her full of girlish fancies.
Her father returned tohisiifle
in gloomy silence, while the Indian
arose and approached Janet.
“The dove likes not to hear the.
tounge of the red brother plead
with her. llei heart is as the ice
on the river’s bosom. The horns
of the deer hang up in the wigwam,
but lie goes no more to the chase.
Ilis heart’s heavy’, for the dove
flutters away.”
“Lataki knows the Dove loves
him not. Her heart has gone forth
to another,” Janet murmured, as
her head drooped low over her
work.
The old trapper was oblivious
of anything passing, as, having
finished his task, he walked hack
and forth through the apartment,
pausing now and then to brighten
up the log fire wliieli glowed rud
dily on the rude hearth, sending a
sudden shower of sparks into the
room, which fell and turned b ack
where they lay.
Janet started up in eager haste,
as she heard the sharp hoofs of an
approaching horse, and long ere
the echo of his steps had ceased,
she had flung the door open, and
stood in trembling anticipation on
the threshhold.
A stranger dismounted, and the
light front the cabin played over
his drenched figure, as lie asked
permission to enter.
“Come in, and welcome. Old
Jamie Turner would turn no man
away in such a storm. Tie your
horse under yonder shed. ’Tis a
sore night for the beast, but we
have no better quarter for him,
and he’ll be out of the driving
rain.”
The new comer was a man about
fifty—a stranger in those parts.
He looked careworn, and bore
marks of toil.
“Come girl, let’s see w hat we
can find in our hut for supper,”
said her father.
Janet sprang blithely up, forget
ting for the nonce her disappoint
ment that the new arrival had
proved a stranger. Soon the yel
low corn cake steamed on the
table, and rashers of bacon, bank
ed by yellow eggs, followed. As
they gathered around the homily
fare, tho» stranger, under the fra
grant tea, grew quite sociable.
He told them he was front the
East. His name lie gave as Eden.
“I lost my road, and but for your
friendly* light, might have made a
repast" for the wolves or a target
for the redskins before morning.
I have come to these wilds to look
for a brother who was always of a
roaming turn. He got the Western
fever when a boy, and we’ve never
seen him since, though we heard
some trappers who took a trip
down to New York, say that he
was in high favor with the Indians
—had married a young squaw—
Oramcl, they called her—-one of
the Chippewas.”
Lataki turned his gaze upon the
speaker.
An Indian never allows his feel
ings to be reflected in his lace,
which is as impassable as marble.
“The pale face would know of j
Oramel and her ehiet ?”
“Yes; can you tell me anything I
about her ?”
“Oramel sleeps with her fathers.:
The pale faced chief who bore her j
to his wigwam, went to the happy
hunting grounds many moons
since. Oramel, the pride ot the
forest, lies beside him. She was
nty mother.”
“Then you are my nephew, and
an Indian !” he exclaimed, in which
pleasure aud disappointment strug
gled for the supremacy.
The fire flushed into Lataki's
eyes as he drew up his form in
haughty anger.
“The white man despises that
race which once was more than
the stars in the sky; its chiefs
have hunted the elk and the deer
for ages In these forests, ere the
white man came with poisoned
breath to wither his red brother.
The Indian asked only to dwell
where his fathers went to the
chase, and when his eye grows
dim, and his arm weak, he will
fade away like the autumn leaf
aud fall alone.”
“ COMING EVENTS CAST TIIEIII SHADOWS BEFORE! ”
Like a king he stood there, with
his lofty bearing, his head thrown
back, and the expression of out
raged pride shining through his
features. So felt Mr. Eden, who
advanced toward him, saying:
“Y’ou are right. lam proud of
you; let us be friends.”
Lataki waved his extended hand
aside with gentle dignity, as he
answered: “It is well so.”
The wind suddenly veered round,
and with a fearful shriek died
away in the paths of the dim for
est. With the shriek a sound of
human woe mingled, a sound
which brought all to their feet iu
wonder, save the Indian, who,
with the stolidity of his race, re
mained silent and unmoved.
“Father, it is Henry’s voice!
The boys are in danger!” cried the
(Tightened girl, as she attempted
to rush from the cabin.
“Stay,” said Mr. Eden, “your
life must not be perilled. We will
go out and see who needs our
hel p."
The father said nothing, hut
quickly fastening on a hunting
knife, and grasping his ti usty rifle,
he plunged into the woods, fol
lowed by the Indian and the »ti»n
ger. The darkness was intense,
but their knowledge of woodcraft
stood them in the place of light.
They followed the river bank until
they came to where the camp of
the hunters should be on the op
posite shore. They knew the hail
came from the brother and lover
of this young girl, who alone in
the log house, listened with a
beating heart for a sound to tell
her whence came the danger which
threatened her loved ones.
The three men hurried on. As
they came upon the bank, they
saw two figures struggling in the
swollen current, while their horses
were fast borne down the stream
which dashed them hither and
thither on to the great river be
yond. Death stared the strug
gling men in the lace, for the little
tributary, which a boj could wade
across in pleasant weather, had
become a mighty torrent, and they
wcie exhausted by their efforts
and were sinking.
A host of emotions swept through
the young chief’s soul at the view.
His white rival was drowning.
Should he try to rebette him, or
should he let him perish? Per
liaps, were the white brave gone,
the Dove would smile on him. A
storm of passions raged in the
breast of this wild sun of nature.
He made no pretense to goodness;
undisciplined, the revengeful in
stincts of the savage breast were
all awake.
But a short time only did lie
hesitate. Nobler impulses tri
umphed. Springing into the tur
bid waters, with a strength born
■ only of a free, wild life, he fought
the current, and pushed on to
where the worn men feebly sought
to keep their heads above it. Not
too soon, for they had ceased to
strive, aud were yielding to the
cruel waves, lie seized one by
the hair, and snatched the belt
from his waist and made a lasso,
which he flung over the shoulders
of the other.
The stranger and old Jamie had
found an old dug-out, which they
shoved overboard and paddled
with super human strength against
the tide to where the three men
were. They were helped in and
then the three men put for shore.
Torn and Henry were loud in
their grateful thanks for Lataki’s
aid, while Mr. Eden could not
praise his heroism enough. As
they turned to retrace their steps
to the cabin, the chief stood mo
tionless.
“Lataki cares not to go to the
tent of the white man. He will
go far away and hunt the buffalo.”
“But you go back with us now,”
protested the young men. “Gome
and smoke the pipe of friendship
with us.”
“The red man’s heart feels warm
towards you, but his steps go not
that way again.”
“Como with me then, to the
great cities of the East. Come
and share my home,” implored the
stranger.
A fain smile stole over his face,
but he shook his head in denial.
“Lataki cannot forsake the tents
of his tribe; he will go back to |
them. The white man will see
him no more.”
Vainly they urged him. None
save the old trapper knew that he
would not go back to see Janet
! the bride of another; so lie en
| treated him not, but held his hand
; in one prolonged iron grasp, aud
1 turned away.
Mr. Eden was especially griev
ed. He had come to the West to
find some trace of his brother,
only to learn that he was dead,
and his child, an al'en to the ties
of blood, caring naught for him,
but refusing to go to his home, to
share his love.
The others knew it was useless
to seek to shake his resolve, so
they uttered no word save of
farewell.
Sadly they looked after him, as
they moved onward.
A moment lie stood, and' then
bounded away into the forest.—
They never saw him more.
They Tell Me Thou Art False.
They tell me thou art faithless,
That thou’rt false to every vow ;
That those lovely eyes are watching
For another’s coining now ;
That the gentle heart you gave me
In the sunny days of yore,
Throbs uo longer for the alisent—
It is mine—they say no more.
Oh, how fondly I've been dreaming,
All these lonely hours of you,
Of the time when homeward turirng
I would find thee pure ami true.
Oh, how vivid comes the metn'ry
Of the spot beneath the hill,
Where so oft we’ve stood together
In the ev’ning culm and still;
Oh, how painful is remembrance
In an anguished hour like this,
And 1 start as fancy presses
On my brow again thy kiss ;
Yet be gay, be bright, unheeding,
Joys and splendor are thine own,
M hi Ist a wreck’d heart so sadly gropeth
In the darkness, drear and lone;
Yet when shadows shroud thy pathway,
And thy glorious dream has fled,
Tho’ thou'rt false lo me while living,
Thou wilt weep when I am dead.
President Munkob and the Waf
fles. —If Mr. Munrooditl not share
the peculiar tastes of Marshall, Henry
and Tyler, it is presumable that he
was more than suspected of the love
of good eating which characterizes
every true Virginian, as may he in
ferred from the following remarkable
occurrence: On his return from
abroad with his beautiful bride, be
tarried for a number of days in the
I capital of his native State, and while
! there was entertained magnificently
j by the hospitable citizens of that
place. l»y far the finest entertain
ment given him was at the house of
a very wealthy, highly-connected,
and excentric lady. The fashion, the
intelligence, the refinement, the
beauty,and the chivalry of Richmond,
then in her palmiest days, were
gathered in the ample parlors. Un
der the blazing wax-iights in the
candelabras moved a throng ol
dames and demoiselles resplendent
in diamonds, laces, silks and feathers.
In duo time cam* the hour for sup
per, and presently a number of ser
vants entered, bringing with them
a quantity of small tables, which
were distributed about the rooms.
Chairs also were not wanting,
with plates, etc. This proceed
| ing excited some comment. But
what was the amazement of tho whole
company, when the fat negro cook
belonging to the encentric lady
walked in, holding before her an im
mense Hay of batter, while behind
her came a negro boy w ith two or
three pair of old fashioned, long han
dled icaffie irons! Nothing abashed
by that goodly company, the old
cook walked straight up to the
fireplace, in which a fine wood fire
was burning, and then and there
proceeded to make her waffles with a
dexterity, quickness and perfection
which some other Virginia cooks
might have equaled hut none could
ever hop* to surpass. They were
served “hot and hot,” with superb
butter and other appropriate accom
paniments, and enjoyed intensely by
all present, but by no one more
than Mr. Munroe. The lady of the
house confessed that the proceed
ing was rather odd. “But,” said she,
“1 knew Mr. Munroe—poor man!—
hadn’t had any waffles fit to eat
since he left Virginia, and I was de
termined he should have some.
And what account are waffles if they
are not hot? and what’s the use of
eating if you can’t sit down and cat
comfortably like a Christian.” — Lip
pincott's Magazine.
Sweetheart.
When morning dawns with gladsome light
And night's dark hours lie*,
With every pulsing of my heart,
Sweetheart, I think of thee.
When evening’s shadows gloom on earth
And day sinks soft to sleep,
Then at its close, as at its b rth,
Sweetheart, I'll thiuk of thee.
Politicians who have got into “bad
odor," need only apply to Darby’s Proph
ylactic Fluid (or help. It will disinfect
their political record if anything can.
A colored sy Iph in North Carolina
measures seven feet around the waist.
[s2 A YEAH, IN ADVANCE.
“Go-Morrow.”
Lot and his Wise —A New Version.
[From Lippincott for March.]
A correspondent in Virginia sends
llie following:
As I approached a pond a few days
ago where some negroes were cut
ting some ice, I chanced to hear the
conclusion of a conversation between
two of the hands on the subject of
religion.
“What you know ’bout ’ligion?
You don’t know nothin’ ’tall ’bout
’ligion.’’
“I know heap ’bout ’ligion; ain't
I bin done read de Bible!”
“What you read in de Bible? I
lay you can’t tell mo nothin’ what
yon read in de Bible.”
“But I kin, dough (thonglj), I read
’bout ’Morro.”
What sort o’ ’Morrow—to mor
row?"
“No, Go Morrow.”
“Well, whar he go. nnd what lie
go fur?"
“Shoh, tnan! he didn* go nowhar,
'cor. he was a town,”
“Dari didn’ 1 tell you didn’ know
nuthin’ ’bout nothin’? You read the
Bible! lloc-cum( how come) ds town
name 'Morro, and how de town gwino
go anywliar? Town ain’t got no
legs."
“Man, yon’s a born fool, sbo.’ De
town named Go-Morro, but dey call
it ’Morro coz dey didn’ have no time
to stay dar talkin’ long talk."
“Debbil dey didn ! Es dey stay
dar to day, why can’t they stay dar
to-morrow? ’Splain me dat.’’
“But dey all gone, and de town
too. All done bu’n up."
“Es dar ain’t no pepul, and dere
ain’t no town, how do town name
Morro? G’long, nigger! Didn’t 1 know
you didn’t know nuthin’ ’tel! ’bout ’li
gion? But (sarcastically) tole me some
mo’ what you read in de Bible."
“Well,’Morrow wasabig town —
’bout migtliy nigh’s big as Washing
ton City—and de pepul wai lire dar
was de meanes’ pepul in de whole worl’
Dey was dat mean dat de Lord ho
couldn’t abear’em, and be make up
his min’ dat he gwine bu’n de town
clean up. But dar was one good
man dar—member uv de church, a
p’sidin elder—name Lot."
Yaas, I know’d him.”
“Whar you know’d him ?”
“On decannell (canal). He owned
a batto and dror’ it hisse’f.”
“Heist, man ! 1 talk’ sense, now.
Den de Lord he come to Lot, and
he say, ‘Lot, I gwine to bu’n dis
town. You and you wife git up and
gether yon little all, and put out ’to’
de crack o’ day, coz i cert’n’y gwino
bu'n dis town and depepul, to morrow
Den Lot lie and his wife riz, and
snatched up der little alls and travel
soon in de mortiin’. And the Lord
ho tuck two Hgbt’ud (liglitwood)
knots and some sharins, and he sot
fire to dat ar town uv ’Morro, and lie
bu’n it spang up, clear down to de
groun’ like he did Chicago.”
“What come o’ Lot?"
“lie and bis wife, dev went, and dey
went, and dey went, twcM pres’n’ly
be wife say, ’Lor! efl ain’t gone and
lof de meal-sifter and de rollin’ pin,
I wislit 1 may die!' and sbe turn
roun’ to go fetch ’em, and sbe turn
roun’, and—and —she dar now!"
“Wbat sbe doin’ dar?”
“Nothin'.”
“Must be inont’ue lazy ’ooman.”
“No, sbe ain’t. De Lord be tu'n
her into pillow uv salt, ’coz she too
much after sellin’pins and sicb lings.”
“Dar! ov’rybody know ’bout sack
o’ salt; who ever bear 'bout pillow o’
salt? But wbat 'come o’ Lot?”
“Lot, lie weren’t keerin ’tall ’bout
no rollin’ pin and no meal-sifter, so
be kep’ straight ’long, tliouo turnin’
uv be bead neider to de right, neidcr
to the leP.”
“And lef do ole’ ’ooman dar?’’
“Yaas.”
“In de middle of de road!”
“Yaas.”
“Mustkeer’d mighty little fur her
want to git married to seck’n wife,
I spec’. But de fus’ man come ’long
arid want to git some salt to bake
ashcake, lie gwina bust a piece out’n
Lot’s wife, and ’stroy her; and wbat
you link o’ dal? Call dat ’ligion?
And de ole man lef her! and you
read dat—” »
Here a peremptory order from the
foreman to “go to work” broke short
the conversation.
— ■—
A clergyman down East oppos
ed to the introduction of instru
mental music in the church, but
overruled by the congregation,
gave out the next Sunday morn
ing, at the commencement of the
service, “We will now fiddle and
sing the following hymn.”
Woman's rights in Leap Year—The
rites of matrimony.
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
spac* 3 mo’s. C mo’s. 12 mo’s.
isquare $ 4 oo $ 0 00 310 00
2 sq'rs COO 10 00 15 0 0
3 sqr's 8 00 14 00 20 00
<4 col. 12 00 20 00 30 00
&coi. 20 00 35 00 60 00
one col. 40 0.0 75 00 100 00
The money for advertisements is due
on »hc first insertion.
A square is Ihe space of one inch in
depth of the column, irrespective of the
numlier of lines.
Marriages and deaths, not exceeding
six lines, published free. For a man ad
vertising his wife, and all otler personal
matter, donhlo rates will be charged.
No. 5.
MISCELLANEOUS.
A widower was recently rejected
by a damsel wl.o didn’t want a
“warmed over" man.
“Como here, and I’ll lick the
whole of you!’’ shouted a school
boy to a pyramid of candy-sticks.
Ladies who wear corsets and
tliin shoes ought to be arrested
for breaking the constitution.
A young man at Portsmouth,
N. 11., recently won a bet by eat
ing two pounds of raw beefsteak.
An Italian nun died of grief at
being compelled to vacate a cell
she had occupied for fifty years.
Josh Billings says: “When yon
strike ile, stop borin’; inenny a
man haz bored clean thru and let
it all run out at the bottom.”
Josh Billings says : “If a man
haz not aty thousand dollars at
interest and owns I lie house he
lives in, it ain’t much trouble A
be a philosopher.
The Smith* had a dinner at
Pittsburg on New Year’s day.—
The first toast was, “Pucahontss—
Heaven bless I»cr for saving the
Smiths to this country'."
A writer describing the exodus
of Eden, says: “The devil drove
woman out of Paradise, but he
could not drive Paradise out of
woman.”
When a man and a woman are
made one, the question is, which
one ? Sometimes there is a long
struggle between them before the
matter is settled.
An Indianapolis newspaper says
a banquet in that city was opened
with prayer by the Rev. Emsley
Hamilton, “whisky gauger for the
sixteenth disti ict.”
An Indiana cooper put bin son
inside a cask he was finishing, to
hold the head up. At last ac
counts he was trying to find some
way to get him out through the
bung hole.
A young lady writing on the
subject of kissing, says : * I should
quite as lief have a good kiss as
a new cashmere " And we wonld
quite as lief —if not “liefer” give
it to her.
Ar independent old lady, speak
ing of Adum naming all the ani
mals, said she didn’t think he de
served any credit for naming tho
pig—any one would know what to
call him.
“Which of the Fejcc Islands are
you from V" asked a visitor of one
of Barnum’e cannibals the other
day, “Tipperary, bedad.” was the
reply of the lavinous antlnopopii
aginian.
Poisoning appears to be tho
favorite means of suicide in New
York, ns thirty eight of one hun
dred and eight who made awqy
with themselves last year did it
a la Villikeiis.
A Pennsylvanian has a wen on
the side of his head so near the
size of bis noddle that be fre
quently puts bis hat on it by mis
take and walks with bis hotly at
angle of forty-live degrees.
Some blood thirsty person, nam
ed Gray, lias introduced a bill into
the California Legislature which
contains in it a provision directing
the city, at its own expense, to
bury the indigent sick.
A young man is awaiting trial
for forgery in New York, who fell
heir to $3,000 five years ago, mar
ried, and in a short ti ne, by high
living, reduced himself to the pov
erty which led to his crime.
An lowa city man who owns
extensive timber tracts in tbe
State has among his choppers an
American woman who nuts and
“ranks up” more wood in a day
than any oilier workman in the
timber.
A good story is told of a railway
station agent in New Hampshire,
wlio on being reprimanded for
allowing a car to be so heavily
loaded that it broke down, replied,
“Mr. G., wliat do you expect a
man to know for S2O a mouth !”
An lowa woman lost her thim
ble last November, and on Palm
Sunday found it in her stocking.
Site would not have lound it then
had i-lie not mistaken the day,
and, under the impression it was
Easter, made her annual change of
hose.
A curiously indorsed letter was
received at the Chelmsford, Eng
land post-office the other day. It
is addressed “To the handsomest
unmarried blonde lady, not twen
ty-five years of age, in Chelms
ford : Postmaster to lie umpire.”
and bears the Boston (li. S ) post
mark.