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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.