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poetical
To Wliom Shall We Give Thanks!
A little boy had sought, the pump
From whence the sparkling water hurst,
And drank with eager joy the draught
That kindly quenched his raging thirst.
Then gracefully he touched his cap—
I thank you. Mr. Pump, he said,
For this nice drink you’ve given me!
(This little boy had been well bred.)
Then sakl the Pump, my little man,
Yoirve welcome to what 1 have done;
But I am not the one to thank—
-1 only help the water run.
Oh, then, the liK'.e fellow said.
(Polite be always meant to be.)
Cold water, phase accept rfty thanks,
You have been very kind to me.
Ah 1 *j»fd cold water, don't thank me;
Far up the hillside lives the sp in«;
That sends rne forth with generous hand
To gladden every living tiling.
I'll thank the spring, then, said the boy,
And gracefully lie bowed his head.
Oh. don't thank me, my little man,
The spring with silvery accents said#
Oh. don’t thank me - for what am I
W’tbont the dew and summer rain?
their aid I ne'er could quench
Your thirst, my little boy, again.
Oh. well. then, said the little boy.
I'll gladly thank the rain and dew.
Tray, don’t thank us—without the sun
We could not till one cup for you.
Then, Mr. Sun, ten thousand thanks
For all that you hare done for rne.
Stop! said the sun with blushing face,
My little fellow, don't thank me,
HVas from the ocean's nrghiy stores
I drew the draught I gave to thee.
Oh. ocean thanks! then said the boy—
It echoed back, Not unto me.
Not unto me, but unto Him
Who formed the depths In which I lie,
Go give thy thanks, my lLtlo boy.
To Him who will thy wants supply.
The boy took off his cap. and said,
In tones go gentle and subdued,
Oh. Gpd, I thank Tbre for this gift,
Tb6ti art the giver of all good.
KpstfUaitfous.
.1 FITII. Miff
There dwelt in California, some years
ogo,.three fellows, wild fellows enough,
who bad seemingly liked their fortunes
for better or for worse, and who, what
ever their luck, were constantly in each
other’s company.
These young men were Charles Ches
ter, Harry [Bray and Edward Warren.
They were more brotherly Ilian many
brothers, mere akn than many kinsmen.
True to each other, even when women
•nd money were between them. Damon
»nd Pythias, with a twin Pythias add< and.
For a hng while they had been very
•poor; at fast fortune favored them
.Each had a certain sure, by no means
•contemptible, stowed away in the leath
ern belt he wore about his waist, j
-£ach carried a gold watch, and each
■wore a suit of clothes supposed by him
«elf to be the latest style and choicest
fashion. Moreover, their revolvers were
perfect, silver-mounted and rejoicing in
a multiplicity of barrels; for without
these it ,would be quite impossible to
maintain a position in this quarierof the
world in any society.
How they enme by these possessions,
we will not inquire into too particularly.
They were naither burglars nor high
waymen, but dice and betting may have
helped them to the winning of their lit
tle Fortunes. They were not over scru
pulous; but ’they would have knocked
any man down who had neglected to
address them as gentlemen, and used
those wonderful revolvers promptly on
any “stranger,” who objected to drink
ing with them; and constquently, stood
rather high in the community. Certain
ly in tfieir conduct to eact) other tiny
were fluiltleesly houorable and niiracu-'
100.-ly g n rous.
Oue day soon after “luck” had come j
to its rest, a letter directed in a woman’s j
tremulous hand ,to “Charles Chester/’
was handed to that member of the trio, i
in the presence of the other two. Ttie
young fellow seiz'd it eagerly, read it
through, and tearing off his belt, spiead
its contents before him Jupon the tab'e,
and counted it over. Having done so
he hurst into (carp, and very unwisely
and profanely cursed himself for extrav
agance, and requested for himsel:' all
sorts of uncomfortable things, here and
hereafter, a proceeding which seen.- to
relieve Romo men extremely, though
why, it would puzzle the unenlightened
to declare.
The cause of all this, as his comrades
soon discovered, was that his mother
hud written to him from her little fa:in
iu a Southern State to tell him a doleful
state of sickness, death among thostock,
etc., and a final crash. A mortgage was
almo.-t due, and, as the old people would
j find it impossible to meet it, they would
be sold out and ltd"t homeless in their
I old age. "It will kill yotir father, ’ wrote j
tl e mother, “and I will die with him.”
I ‘I did it all/ said the young fellow, j
I sobbing openly. ‘My debts and my!
1 wild ways encumbered them at first, and
! now look.’
And he pointed to the gold upon the
table, and began his profane litany a
pain. The mortgage was three thou
sand dollars, and he had but two thou
sand.
‘ls that all?’ cried Ned Warren, haul
ing out bis belt.
‘Good heaven! What does be take us
for?’ cried Harry Eray, furiously. ‘Five
hundred apiece, and the expenses of the
j'.urney are about the figure. There, go
to the old folks We’ll see about your
horses while you pack your hag,’
This set the other at his oaths again;
but in joyful style this time. They
were trumps and bricks, and by every
thing he could think of he’d do for them
if there were any need of it.
‘He’d pay them back, if lie lived, and j
he’d—he’d—bless them/ and so choked j
off into sobs again, at which they left
hint to recover, returned with a In rse
and well filled pocket flask, and saw lorn
set forth upon his mission as though the
‘old to ks’ had been their old folks also.
They waited frr news from him, but
none came. They waited quietly at
first, then impatiently; at last they heard
this: He had never been seen at hots ,
or by any one who knew him since the
day on which they shook hands with
him. S..me terrible fate bad befallen
him in the lonely places over which lie
had to journey alone. To doubt h m
never entered their minds. That lie
was true to them as they to him they
well knew; and one thought filled each
mind. They must discover his late,
nnd if it were what they supposed,
avenge him.
So one bright morning, well mounted,
well armed, and followed by a favorite
dog, a hound which would by no means
be left I etiind, the two set forth in search
of H eir lost comrade. They took the
road lie must have taken, and asked at
every tavern and cabin for news of him.
One old man remembered him we’l; an
other pointed out the dangerous place
in the road leading past a precipice to
a man of bis lost friend’s description, but
at that point the clue was lost. After
much travel and many inquiries our
comrades began to fear that they should
have paused to examine the rocks and
ravines at the foot of the precipice allu
ded to ere they proceeded further, and j
determined to turn back and do so.!
They came to this resolution about night
fall, and just as they reached the borders
of a little farm, which bore evidence of
careful tillage. Upon this land also I
stood a farm house; from the crevices in j
the shutters of which streamed long bars |
of ruddy lamp-light, and whence the!
sound of music was plainly heard. It
was the only dwelling within sight.
‘We will stay here/ said one friend to
the other, * until dawn, and then return ■
That the house was not an tun did not
matter to either ot them. Hospitality
was never refused in the land to any
one at that day .
They rode boldly tip to the gate arid
gave a loud lialoo. In an instant the
door opened, and they could s o within
a sudden panic in a lively dance, us all
heads turned to see what had caused
this interruption.
‘Can you let us sleep here to night?’
inquired one of the friends, as one asks
who fears no refusal.
‘Certainly, gentlemen,’ said a pleasant
voice. ‘You’re welcome. You’ll find
a stable there, and corn fur your horses.
Our man Jack is on the floor tonight;
but here is a lantern if you'll tend to
yourself.’
‘Alt right, stranger,' said Harry, ‘and
thank you too.’
And the two men led their horses into |
a stable, already lull. Ned watered 1
them and secured them for the night,
and would have left the place at once;
but that one of the animals attracted
Harry’s attention lie turned back to;
look ot him; examined him from l ead to
foot, turned red and pale, and suddenly
clutched Ned’s arm.
‘You remember the horse we bought 1
for Charles Chester?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Ned.
‘Look at the follow, said Harry. ‘Yes,
the very one. The star on his forehead,
the scar on his foreleg, the color, the
height! Ned, it’s Charley’s horse!’
‘lt is the hors-/ said Ned, slowly.
‘Harry, if Charley- had lived to go, and
his I or e would have gone witii him.’
‘The owner of this animal may know
all we need to bear,’ said Harry. ‘lt
won’t be good news, Ned.’
Ned ebook Lis bead, aud sadly and
HEBE SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE’S RIGHTS MAINTAIN, UNAWED BY PEAR AND UNBRIBED BY GAIN.
QUITMAN, GEO., APRIL 28, 1871.
s'owly tlie men went toward tbe house.
I They found the dancing at its height,
and that this was tho home-coming ol
the farmer’s bride—a pretty young wo
man, with rosy cheeks and sparkling
; eyes, of whom the stalwart bridegroom
steiiicd very fond nml proud.
[ ‘Sit down, strangers/ said the old
| man near the door. ‘You’ve come at a
merry time, and don’t get much atten
tion. My son is just the happiest fel
low out, 1 believe—got no ey r s fur no
body but that gal. You see they’ve
been wailin quite a spell, and be bad no
luck, none at all, and it seemed he’d got
to give it up; but six months back lie
had a streak. Wonderful? Explained
it, but I don’t remember; so bo sends for
her and me from Connecticut.
She’s an orphan gal, and soon as the
school term was over—she was teacli
ing, ye know—she come. This is their
warming, and them’s the neighbors.
They all like Ike. Ike’s a good fellow—
a real good fellow, though I say it.
Take a nip stranger—don’t be afraid of
the jug. I’ll fill it again. Why, what
ails your dog?’
The dog left outside was howling
rather fearfully.
‘Wants to come in perhaps/said Ned;
‘but it mightn’t be agreeable to tho la
dies.’
‘Bring him in/said the old man; but
tbe dog would not come in.
He stood beside a patch of grass in
the garden, howling wo< fully, and
scratching and tearing with all bis
might. 1. ave the spot he would not,
and the f ierids as, they saw him, and
reinembci ed tho horse in the stable, felt
the blood curdle in their veins.
‘Whose horse is that with a while
[ star on the forehead and a scar on the
fore leg—a handsome brown horse, with
| wonderful eyes?’ whispeied Harry to
I the old man.
| ‘That’s my sou’s horse/ said the old
i man.
‘Where did ho buy it?’ asket tie oth
er.
‘Don’t know/said the old man, laugh
ing childishly. ’Come to him with the
rest of good luck, six months ago.’
Again tl'.c do" OBtbi/o uegan !;o'.v!.
-igain the friends felt cold chills creep
over them.
‘Where are we to sleep?’ asked Ed
ward of the old man. ‘We don’t want
slipper —we need rest.’
‘l’ll show you/ said the old man.
‘The bouse will be full to night, but
you’ll not mind roughing it/
And he led (lie way to nil upper room
w here a rude bed was already spread.
‘Just lie duwu here, strangers,’ lie
r aid. There’s a blanket, if you are cold,
and there’s a candle. Good-night.’
The two men had sought solitude,
that they might commune with each
otl er. Yet now they could only say,
‘What does this mean?’ They bad said
it as many ways a dozen times, when
Ilarry, by accident, lifted ins eyes to a
peg in the rough wall. On it hung
something which riveted his gaze with
horror. Yet it was an object quite com
mon aud innocent in itself—only a pair
of brown saddle-bugs, rather new in ap
pearance, and with the letters ‘C, C. on
tbe sido.
‘Look!’ be cried. ‘Look, Edward!’
"The other, in turn, stood mute for a
time, then gave aspring toward the peg,
tore the bags down and opened them.
Within they found garments they knew
tlieir fiiend bad worn, an empty belt,
and the dnguci reotype of a young girl ol
whom they had known him lo be very
fond.
‘His horse in tbe stable, bis saddle
bags and t elt here, the dog bowling on
the turf without—what docs it ail mean?’
cried Harry again.
And Ned answered, ‘We shall soon
see/ and strode into the great room
where the dancing was going on, and up
to the bridegroom, standing at the head
of a Virgiuia reel, with bis bride’s band
in bis own.
‘Stop a bit/ cried Ned furiously. ‘We
have a question lo ask. Whose horse is I
that in the stable —the brown one, with
a star on the forehead?’
‘Mine,’ said the farmer turning,
deadly white.
‘And the saddle bags up stairs marked
c -. , ,
The farmer turned paler.
‘Gentlemon,’ he said wait until morn
i: g an J I will explain everything.’
‘Wo chouse to learn the truth for our
selves/said the young man fiercely.
“You had a mysterious streak of luck
six months ago, I understand from the
old man there/ said Ilarry Bray.
‘Not very mysterious/said the farmer
i ‘I went to the diggings nnd foil in with
a nugget. As for the horse, I found him
i and Hie saddle bags too. If you know
| to whom they belong, lie’s welcome to
j them.’
i 'They belong to the man yutt mtirder
!ed for bis money, and buried in the
ground yonder where the dog is h iwl
j ing/ cried Harry Bray. ‘We are going
Ito dig there, and Heaven help any man i
who binders us.’
i ‘Dig where you choose/ said the far
: mer. ‘I am too well known here lo be t
affraid of two madmen. I murdered aj
man—l? There, I’m a fool to care for;
such words! Dig, confound you! Many |
a horse strays iu the woods; many a man
I has found one, as well as ]. Come,
neighbors set the fiddlers going, and let
these madmen dig.’
And the spades sank into the turf, and i
! the t< rrTied guests gathered ar.mud, arid j
tbe bride clung to her husband’s arm,
and the music was dumb, and the dog’s
long, melancholly wail filled the air, and
at last, just as the rising moon thing her
yellow beams upon the newly dug earth,
Ned Warren cried in an awful voice, ‘be
is here!’ And the two friends lifted from
the gi ave that which had been a man,
J with long death-grown black hair falling
down over his shoulders.
I lie had been shot in the head nnd
j ttirougli the heart, and there was no doubt
j in either mind that it rvns the body of
J their lost friend. The farmer seemed
j petrified with I orror; the bride fell into
a dcatli-like swoon; tho guests tell a
way from their host and looked at him
askance. The old father tore his hair
and pleaded lor mercy. But there was
no mercy in any heart there. The aven
gers were all powerful. The great
room, adorned for festival and mirth,
wan turned into a court room. The wo
men were thrust from it; the men remain
ed. On tho raised stand where the fid
dler had been seated, Harry Bray now
took his seat in the character of Judge
I Lynch. The jury was named, tho mock
trial hurrird on, and tho accused
called upon to answer, lie pleaded not
guilty. He denied any knowledge of the
fact that a grave lay si' near his house.
He persisted in tho repetition of the
stalement that he had fulled the horse
and saddle bags, but be admitted there
had been money in tbe hitt'-r.
He stood before them looking very un
like a murderer, calling on them for jus
tice—calling on God to witness the truth
of his words; speaking of his young wife
and tiis old father; bidding bis neighbors
remember that he had never done them
any wrong.
But Judge Lynch lias no mercy, no
compassion, no belief in the possibility
of false accusation; and this Judge Lynch
was an avenger of bl (id. The end was
what the end of such a trial generally is;
the sentence the awful one of death; and
in less than three hours from the moment
on which they first saw the bridcgio >m
j happy and blithe, standing with his
J bride at tbe head of tho gay country
j dance, his body dangled, a horrible sight
| to look upon, from the bin neb of the trees
; that sliaduwed wio.i, all uudcVCt! t! b”
■ his victim’s grave!
When all was over they found the old
| father dead in his chair, beside the fire
place, and found i mong the women a
hopeless, gibbering maniac, whom they
would hardly have known for the rosy
cheeked young bride.
They were revenged, but at what cost I
The two men returned to their homes,
saddened and altered, yet not remorseful,
I for they bad but revenged their comrade;
and this to them seemed common justice.
I file legal code of bordered life bad hern
; adhered to; but for tho last look at the
j mad hrtde they could scarce have recog
| sized how awful all this had been. They
lived on together friends, still speaking
often of poor Charley, and fancying that
in some other world he might even know
how well they had revenged themselves
upon his murderer.
And so five years passed; and one day
the two went together in a coffee room
kept by an old Frenchman in the city of
nan Francisco, and being in low spirits,
out of luck, and with slender purses,
were silting disconsolate over tlieir meat,
when a hand came down on each shoot
der, and a voice cried, “Found at hist!
I’ve searched the city fur you. Heaven
bless yon, dear boys!’
It was Charley Chester, handsome and
cheerful, well dressed, and well-to-do
looking; Charley Chester, whose murder
er they bolived themselves to have lynch-!
ed years before.
And this was li e story he told them, j
wandering at their pallid h oks and awe
struck silence tl e while.
The money ho had with him being in
gold, and heavy for his belt he placed it |
in his s 'ddlc-bugs, and had completed
many miles of his j oorney, when, near a
new but apparently degcited dwelling,
he saw a traveler who had been sot upon
by ruffians and robbed and wounded. He ;
had crawled to this house for assistance,
but found it empty, and now lay dying
on the road. Charles Chester had done
irs best for the poor tcllow, hut '{without
avail. He died in his arms just as the j
s'in went down; and, by the fading light,
he had dug a grave on the turf before i
the empty house, and there buried him. !
There was no ado within sight, and his j
fears of attack upon himself warned him I
to burry on; but when the hast sad rites
were ov r, and ho turned to mount his
horse, it was gone. The animal had cr
caped in tho woods, and, with night
coming on, all search seemed hopeless.
The money in tho saddle-bags rendered
the loss a maddening one. He threaded
his way through the underbrush, calling
his steed by name, until total darkness j
hid all objects; and, at last, striking his j
head violently agrinst a tree, he fell to j
the ground insensible. When lie come j
to ho found himself lying in a wagon, to j
which he had been conveyed by a kindly
‘German, he had broken his arm, and;
was very weak and ill. Before he was
able to communicate his story to anyone,! l
all hope of recovering either horse or I
money had deserted him. He was in ;•
despair. He could not assist his parents j !
To return to his friends would he to i
throw himself upon their bitinty. This/
he would not do; and his struggles had '
been great at first, but they were over i
now. Ho bad done well by ‘the old j I
folks’, and bad returned to pay bis debts I
and lesumc his friendship with his old i
fricuda.’ 1 i
He was with them; lie lived. The far
mer had doubtless told tbe truth, lfe
did not even know why tbe turf had
grown so green in the little yard, and bo
had found the horse at largcjn the woods,
and knew nothing of the rider; hut the
thing had been dune, and could not bo
undone—the dead brought to life, nr tho
maniac's mind restored, or tho hlood
washed from the murderers’ hands. j
Os course they told tlieir story, and of
course they believed their friendship as
warm as ever; but it was not so. They
never meet each other as yore. The two
could not forget the man they had lynch i
ed to avenge their friend, and doubted ;
the propriety of bis returning alive and !
merry to trouble tlieir consciences, which |
were quite enough as long as lie seemed
dead. As for Charles Chester, he clear
ed the murdered man’s memory among
his neighbors, and saw the wild-eyed,
'white-faced woman, who only moaned
at.d muttered and shook her head when
ho spoke to her; anl then he, too, was
content to say goodbye to those who had
done the deed—albeit for bis sake.
So the three parted each going his
own way; fin- thus it seemed easier to
forget the deed done by Judge Lynch
and Ids court on the day of the bride’s
coming homo.
Is Futher on Deck?
Some years ago, Captain I) Com
manded a fino ship that sailed from Liv
erpool to New York. During one of his
voyages he had all l.is family on board
the sliip with him. One night, while all
were quietly asleep, a sudden squall of
wind arose. It struck the vessel with
great force, and threw her over on her
beam ends. There was a great tumblmg
and crashing of things on board The
passengers awoke in a great fright.—
They were in much danger. Everyone
on board was alarmed. Some jumped
out of their berths and began to dress
themselves in a harry,not knowing hut
that the vessel would soon sink.
The captain had a little girl on board,
about eight yenrs old. She avv »ko with
the rest if the passengers.
'Wlmt’s the matter?' asked the fright
ened child. Tbev told her that a squall
of wind had struck the ship, and thrown
her over on her side.
'ls father on deck?’ she asked.
‘Yes, father’s on deck.’
'Then it’ll fee all right,’she said, and
quietly sunk back on her pillow and
went to sleep again.
Like as a father pith th his children
so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.
The Secret «»l' Youth.
There are women who without any
special effort, remain always young and
always attractive. Their number is
smaller than it should he, but there is a
sufficient number to mark the wide dif
ference between the class and the other.
The secret of this perpetual youth lies
not in beauty, for some women possess
it. who are not at all handsome; nor in
dress, for they are frequently barely in
that respect, so I ■ r ns the mere arbitra
ry dictates of fashion are concerned;
nor in having nothing to do for these
cvcr-young women are always as busy
as bees, and it is very well known that
idleness will fret people into old age
and ugliness quicker than over-work.—
The charm, we imagine, lies in tho sun
ny temper—neither more nor less—the
blessed gift of always looking on the
bright side of life, and of stretching the
mantle of charity over every one’s faults
and failings. It is not much of a secret
hut it is all that wo have seen, and we
have watched such with great interest,
and a determination to report truthfully
for the benefit of the sex. It is very
provoking that it is something which
cannot he corked up and sold for fifty
cents a bottle. Hut this is impossible,
arid is why the most of us will have to
keep on growing old and ugly and disa
greeable as usual.
Woman. —Perhaps a more just anp
beautiful compliment was never paid to
woman than the following by Judge
Story:
To the eternal honor of the sex, be it
said, that in the path of duty, no s renti
er s with them are too high or too dear.
Nothing is with them impossible, hut to
shrink from what love, honor, innocence
and rel gon require. The voice
of pleasure or of power may pass by un
heeded 1 >ut the vq'co of aff-clion never
The chamber of the sick, tho eillow of
the dying, the vigils of tiro dead, the al
tar of religion never misses the pres
ence or sympathies of woman! Timid
though she he, and so delicate that the
winds* of heaven may not too roughly
visit her, on such occasions she loses all
sense of danger, and assumes a preter
natural courage, which knows not and
tears not consequences. Then she dis
plays that undaunted spirit which noi- :
liter murmurs nor regrets: and that pa- j
nonce in suffering which seems victo- i
rious over death itself.
On cm Latino. —Tho subject is again I
revived of opium eating in the United
States, particularly in New Yi rk City,
and the developments arc startling. It
is said that physicians arc called upon
not to prescribe it in any shape unless
necessity. It is estimated that many!
millions of dollars arc annually spent ini
that city alone for the drug which is ta
ken in the form of pills. Women are
known to use six and eight ounces oi it.
in a single day, and the pernicious evil
is on the increase i 1
[52.00 per Annum
NO. 17
| N amt,eon's Flower. —The violet is
the emblematic fl >wcr of tho Bonaparlcs,
as the lily is of tho Bourbons. When
Eugenie agreed to accept Napoleon's of
j fer of marriage, she expressed it only by
appearing one evening dressed in an ex
quisite violets toilet—violets in her hair,
and dress, even to a hunch in her hand.
Louis Napoleon understood. Naprleou
| the first, while consul selected this as
his flower. It was through Josephine
I asking him to bring her a bouquet of
| them on her birthday'—a desire ho was
I only able to save after great difficulty.
| He cultivated them while a prisoner at
St. Helena; and they wore profusely
[planted over the grave of Josephine.
After his death, his Collin was covered
with humble flowers ho loved. It iseven
said that in the earlier days of Lou's
Napoleon ho was silently told who his
friends were by a eaucious display of
violets.
Tho following estimate of woman’s
love appears in an English contempora
ry: “A Frenchwoman will love her hus
band if he is either witty or chivalrous;
a German woman, if he is constant and
faithful; a Dutch woman, if ho does riot
disturb her ease and comfort too much;
a Spanish woman, if he wreaks ven
geance on those who incur his displeas
ure; an Italian woman, if ho is dreamy
and poetical; a Danish woman, if ho
thinks that her native country is tiro
brightest and happiest on earth; a Rus
sian woman, if lie despises all Western
ers and miserable barbarians; an Eng
lish woman, if he succeeds in ingratia
ting himself with the court and aristoc
racy; an American woman; if he has got
plenty ul money.”
Beautiful True. —Tho late eminent
judge, Sir Allan Park, once said, at a
public meeting in London: We lire in
the moist of blessings till wo are utterly
insensible to their greatness, and of tho
source from whence they flow.
Wo speak of our civilization, ottr arts,
cur freedom, our laws, and forget entire
ly how large a portion is duo to Christ!—
anily. Blot Christianity out of the page
of man’s history, and, what would his
his civilization?
Christianity is iiiTYod up with our very
being and daily life; there is not a fami
liar object around us which does not
wear a different aspect because the light
of Christian love is on it, not a law
which does n't owe its truth and gentle
ness to Christianity, not a custom which
cannot he trac 'd, in all its holy, health
ful parts to the gospel.
The lives of Horses.
To lest a horse’s eye, look at the eye
carefully, when tho horse is in rather a
dark stable. Note tho size and shape
of tho pupil, carry this carefully in your
mind while you turn the horse about to
a strong light. If the pupil contracts
and appears much smaller than in tlnj
first instance, you may infer that tho
horse lias a good strong eye, l>nt if tho
pupil remains neai ly the same size in
both cases, his eyes arc weak, and you
had hotter have nothing to do with him.
Marriage. —Leigh Hunt concludes an
essay on marriage as follows:
There is no one tiling more lovely in
this life, more lull of divinest courage
than a young ’uaidon, f.iotn her past life
Irorn her jjinppy childhood, when she
rambled over every field and moor
around her home; when her mother an—
licipaterl her wants and soothed her
little cares, when brothers arid sisters
grew from merry play mates, to loving,
trusting friends; from Christmas gather
iegs and romps, the summer festivals i t
bower or garden; from the rooms sancti
fied by tho death of relatives; from the
secure back-grounds of her childhood
and girlhood, and maidenhood, looks
out into the unilliiminated future, away
from all that, and yet unterrili and, un
daunted, leans her fait cheek upon her
lover’s breast, arid whispers, ‘Dear
heart! I cannot see, hut I believe. The
past was beautiful, and the future I can
trust —with UioeP
A trav filer once visiting the light
house at (’alias said to the keeper, "But
what if one of your lights should go out
at night?” ‘Never—•impossible!' ho
cried. ‘Sir, yonder arc ships sailing to
all parts of the world. If to-night oner
of my burners were out, in six months I
should hear from Am irica oi India, say.
mg that on such a fnight tho lights at
Caiin light-house gave no warning and
some vessel had been wrecked. Ah, sir!
sometimes 1 feel when I look upon my
lights as if the eyes of the whole world
were upon ine. No one knows how
much sorrow and suffering may ensue
from a single neglect of duty.
A Dutch bootmaker in Belfast, Maine,
recently sold a man a pair of high bools
which lie recommended to be welt made.
A few days aftei wards the man return
ed with them, and said that lie went out
into the barnyard to work, where it was
a little wet-, and tiro soles camo off.
‘‘Mine Got, mine friend, you didn’t ought
to vuik round nit dein. Doy ish caval
ry boots, made to ride mit.’
The less man knows (he wider
he wears his mouth open. It is as im
possible for a fool to keep Iris jaws shut
ns it is for a sick oyster to keep his shell
c’oscl.