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F. R i* ILDES, Editor, VOL. VIII. PROFESSIONAL. DR. E. A.JELKS, Practicing P ii ys i c iax, QUITMAN QA. Opfick : Brick building adjoining store of Me**rs. Briggs. Ji*lks Cos., Screven street. January 31. 1873. 5-tt JAMES iTTHUNTER7 Jtfornni anb (STouusrllor at fata, QUITMAN. CA. p&- Omen, ix tub Cocrt llot'SK.'®^ March 17, 1871 W. B. Bkxxkt S. T. Kixosbkkry RENNET & KINGSBURY. ATTORNEYS AT LAW, Quitman. Brooks Coi nty, Georgia. February 7, 1873 f> #. €. OAIiLAHEIt, ATTORNEY AT LAV, QUITMAN , OA. WILL practice in the Superior Courts iu all the Counties of the Southern Circuit; in the Supreme Court of Georgia, and in the Pis trict Court of the United States, ai Savannah And in special cases, in the Counties of Madison and Jefferson, Florida. ,JHlf* Office : Mclntosh House. 37-3ui EDWARD It HARDEN, ATTORNEY AT LAW,! QUITMAN, GEORGIA, tea. Office, in the Court House, second floor j Mar 26, 1872. It DR. J. S. SNOW, DENTIST, WILL be in QUITMAN about the 12th inst.. for the purpose of locating pernninently in the place. He respectfully solicits the patronage of the citizens of Brooks County and the public gener ally, and will endeavor, by faithfully executing all work entrusted to him, to merit their confi dence. up stairs, overJ. Tillman-s stoic. Nov. 8, 1872. 4:> if Miscellaneous. Silver-Ware and Jewelry, WATCIIES, &<>. V. li. BARNES A 10.. Have just re ceived u New >' and Elegant auppl> -0'» Silver Ware - Watches * clocks, Watch Chain*. Jncelry , Pvcket Cutlery. Table ! Cutlery. Siher Forks, Sjmns. Pistols, Metalic Cartridges of all sizes , Game Hays. Fhot P< meins, Fine Kentucky Rifle Powder , Gun Caps, A neat assortment of WALKING CANES, and au immense stock of the Celebrated Diamond Spectacles, j Also, a very complete assortment of xot xoixns, Such as Brushes, Combs, PortemonnaicH, Thitn- j Idea, Needles, Pins, Buttons, Ac. pSPVf* will sell these goods on as reasonable rterms as possible, and ask an inspection of the jame by the public We are likewise prepared to REPAIR Watches, Jewelry. Pistols and Guns with neatness and dispatch. W. E. BARNES & CO. Quitman. December 20. 1872. 51-3 m QUITMAN DRUG STORE. McCALI, & GROOVER, | Dealers in Drugs, Mcdicines.«teaste> Paint*, Oils, VARSJSIfES. l>ye Stuff*, BRUSHES Perfume ry, loiiet Articles, etc. Notify the public that they will keep on hand ccmplete and fresh stocks, and sell the same at a reasonable profit. This is Exclusively a Drug Store, and the en tire attention of the junior member of the firm will be given to the business. We respectfully solicit the patronage of the public. Quitman, Feb. 2, 1873. ly DR. M. r. WTLKINSOX. I)K. A. D. SMITH. URGE DRUG SIGN. WILKINSON! SMITH, KEEP on hand a Complete Stock of Fresh and Pure drugs KIOUQINES And many of the best i«,JL Also, White Lead. Varnishes. Paints and Oils, Soaps, Tobacco, Sugars, Toilet Articles, Ac. All of which will be sold on reasonable terms. Prescriptions carefully compounded. Quitman, Ga., Jan. 31, 1873. 5 ly ALL kinds of Toilet Soap and Penumerv at PAINE A HALL’S poetical. Tli«* Land of Long Ago* Mu've trodden rugged ways, old friend, Since childhood’s bouyant years. Our paths now brightly arched with hope, Now dark with clouds and tears; But looking back o’er time and change, The fairest land we know Lies bathed in morning’s rosy light— The Land of Long Ago. W hen there how distant far appeared To us the glow of noon; What eager, earnest glances turned To days that came too soon— Aye. came too soon, with earnestness, W ii Ii grave, calm looks and thoughtful word. The ghosts of Long ago. hiit dreams we dreamed in olden times, W hat castles proud Mid fair, Arose to bless our hopeful sight They arose too high in air. Their great hails rang with merry throngs That n >w lie still and low; They dropped aud faded since we left The land of Long Ago Our friends, dear friends of vanished years ! Their menvry haunts us yet, Like fragments of some sweet old song The heart can ne’er forget. Their kindly words were music’s tones, Their eyes had friendship's gkw; But. ah ! their smiles beam faintly uow From far off Long Ago. <*’reclimb’d life’s hard, rough hill, old friend e re passing down its slope; Behind us lays a weary road, Before the land of Hope That weary road is lined with graves, The vale is glad below. Their children play as once wo played In happy Long Ago. For aye may childhood’s sunny sky Be free from gloom and tears. That stores of joy may treasured be For dieury after years; For. viewing now the day of life Through night’s descending snow. The fairest, dearest pictures gleam From bright old Long Ago. SWIFT JUSTICE. A merchant left St. Petersburg to | travel across Europe. In the course ol j liisj urney he arrived at Warsaw. Bo- I ing furnished with a letter of introdue | lion, he repaired to the house of one of I tile ct i< f citizens there, and was most | courteously iiceived. lie staid at War saw for a week, and his host spairt and no pains to make the visit agreeable, and ! showed him everything worth seeing- in the town. Indeed, tin* visitor wag quite overwhelmed by an amount of kindness | rarely shown to any one hut a friend ol | long standing. At length Itlie pleasant visit drew to i its clo-e, and after breakfast the guest j expressed his wish to see some poor i parts of (lie town, of which he had heard. ! 'Hut,’ said he, T have with me a small i box of great value that I do not like to i *sk ms ch places II it wi re my own I sl-ouhl ii.t he so particular; but it was '-trusted to me by a friend, who request and me to deliver it to a person in anoth er town. It cintains diamonds and other valuables Wou and you do me the great lav r of taking charge of it for ti e day?" Tlie host, with his usua l in bald ly, willingly agreed to lids prop sal, and the in- reliant started out witli a I gat heart on his tom* of inspection, I forgot the name, but let us say in the ‘S ve D ais,’or‘Five Points,’of War saw. Next rm ruing alter breakfast he cor diaPy thanked hire entertainers f r their z- a unis In sp.tdlity, and added that as lie was about to depart, tie would now re -lime his chaige of the box, which bad never before quitted his person since he iliad received it from its owner. The host and hostess started at him in well • acted amazement. 'What box?’ asked | the Is at. ‘I remember no box, do you, ;my dear?’ turning to his wife. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I have no recollection of any ' b xw h lever' What was it iike?’ ask !<d the host; perhaps yon Irft it in your j room.’ Hut oil the merchant insisting j toat it was with the host himself lie had i left it, mi his turning to his hostess and | living to make her recollect the circurn i stance, both fafter appealing to each , other several limes, and fortifying each other in their denial) became c rid and distant, and began hinting that sorne tiiing must have happened to t"C iner chant, to induce him to persist in so i strange a delusion. As the host touch ed his forehead with a significant glance, j the poor man renumbered he was in a strange city; the ground seemed to be | slipping from under his feet; danger to himself loomed in ttie distance, arid he ; hastened from the house in alarm. | Straight to the police he went and stated hia case. The official listened impertur j bably to the whole story, and then asK ed, ‘You give op this valuable box to au acquaintance of a week's standing i without any witness or written acknowl edgment?’ ‘He had been so very kind, a man in j his position— ’ I ‘Balt! you a man of business! But ! have you no proof that the box belongs to you?’ 'None whatever, except the key. It is locked, and I have the key; here it is,’and he produced a small key from an inner pocket. The official remained lost in thought for some time, and then said, ‘Well, I wil! do the only 'thing I can for you. The Archduke Gonstantaine (the Gov ;ernor of I’olaud) is a nleru, harsh man, but be is known for bis rigorous justice, and if be believes yom story be wilt do bis best for you. I will take you to him at once.’ HERE SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE’S RIGHTS MAINTAIN, UN AWED BY PEAR AND UNBRIBED BY GAIN QUITMAN, GEO., FEBRUARY 28. 1873. No time was lost, and the merchant soon found himself in the Aichdukc’s presence, and was permitted to relate his story. When it was concluded, tlie archduke, alter a few moments’ reflec tion, rang a bell. An official appeared, ‘Send for M—,’ naming the treacherous tost It was quickly done, and the Arct duke, without preamble or question, j said to the guiliy man,‘Sit down at t‘ at writing table and write ns I shall j dictate to yon.’ The man took his seat j and took up the pen; the Archduke he- | gall dictating : 'My dear wife: AM is found out—’ No,’said the man, springing from his seal; ‘I won't write that.' ‘Then you are guilty,’ was the prompt j answer. Puzzled and foiled, he resumed his j sea: a'd wrote as lie was desired: '.My dear wife : All is found out. | Send the box by the bearer.’ Then he signed it with hia w.i name, j by the Archduke's ordei, and a rnesson j ger wa- dispatched with it. The mes- I songer found tne lady at her loiiet; when she read the missive she turned ashy I pale. In mhling violenPy. Then leaning forward, she drew the box from tin re- j cess in her toilet-table, and handed it to j the bearer, who, swiftly returning, placed ' It in the hands of tho Archduke. He immediately handed it to the merchant, desiring him to unlock it; that being done, Ini asked whether the diamonds were all there. YM s, the box had not been opened; they wre exactly as the merchant had left them. Again the Archduke rang the bell, and to the attendant who entered, he , said, designating the guilty man, ‘Take him to Siberia; he is not to go to his i own house again.’ , “Eating Crow.” Near the camp of tho old Pennsylva n a Bncktail Regiment in Virginia, early in the war, lived an old,-aristocratic, ex clusive and pompons Virginian, in true baronial style. His mansion, of very old age, was made ol imported brick, his cbimnien were tall and massive, and the rooms were large and pleasant. The chief attraction of the old place, howev er, were the grounds that surrounded the mansion. They were very extensive and inviting. Large trees gave luxuri ant shade and the underbrush in po tions of the grounds afforded shelter for rabbits and other small game. There were walks, and orchards, ael arbors, and the whole bore such a scene of gen eral peacefulness and repose that it was no wonder that the wild Biicktails were charmed with the prospect and anxious to penetrate into a spot which gave such promise of enjoyment. The Biicktails were not the most true table soldiers. They came from the stepping-off place—the wildorrnss of Pennsylvania—McKean, Potter, Purest and Tioga counties —they obtained their name, whichdung to them during the entire war, through a fancy of Col. Kane, brother ol the Arctic explorer, who be came their commander. lie recruits the regiment in the early days of 1851 (be ginning on ttie day of the arrival of the news of the fall of Foit Sumpter) from the backwoodsmen, who were famous marksm n. They were, ollNti ri hunters, and as a designal'onTciich man was fur nished wita a tail of a buck by Col. Kane and when they marched from camp Curtail with the biicktails in their hats, it was a m-vel sight. Col. Cbailes J. Biddle, of Philadelphia, was made tho Colonel, and Col. Kane, the Lieutei ant Colonel of the regiment—both men noted tor their short attenuated forms. Neith er was scarcely more tlisn five font high, and ibeir combined weights was that ol 220 pounds. It may readily be guess' and that these soldiers had liitle respect for Virginia aristocracy, and the tent poles had hard ly got settled in the ground before a noted raider nam'd well Smith— shouldered ids doer kil'er and started on a little expedition. He was a Sergeant ami of immense size, aid went by the name of Big Sergeant. He made a straight march for the old Virginian’s manor. Now, ttie old man had many pets about his grounds, and among them was a tame crow which tie valued very highly He also had lame rabbits, doves, See. Ttie sergeant climbed the wall and cropped himself and his gnn on the inside of the grounds. The first thing his eye caught was the tame crow, which unconcernedly flew near him, aud lighted on a limb and be gan to caw at him. The Sergeant put his rifle to his shoulder and I anged away, and Mr. Crow came fluttering to the ground. The soldier reloaded his gun, and leaned it against the wall, aud went to get his crow. Instantly there came running from the house, in a high state of excitement, the old Virginian, and when he saw his pet crow was killed his rage had no bounds. He rushed for the Sergeaut’s gun, and swearing that he wouldn’t have giveu the crow for the whole Yankee army, vowed that he would blow the soldier’s brains out. With this lie brought the piece to a cock aud glanced along the barrel. The Sergeant begged for his life, and the Virginian swore he would take it. The Virginian Jfiualiy thought of a compromise, witti a look half between amazement and rage, told the Sergeant that ne must eat tbat crow raw In ram the other protested, the Virginian in sisted on the price of his adversary’s iife. So the Sergeant pulled off some feathers and began to gag and eat. “How do yon like crow?’’ hissed the Virginian through his teeth. The only answer tho other gave was a request to bo let off Ho was sorry lie had shot the crow; didn’t know that it was tame and ho wouldn’t do such a j thing again Finally the old man took j the gun from its aim and told, him ho needn’t oat any more His heart full of joy the Sergeant droped tho bird upon : the glolled and Bald: ‘Well, 1 kin eat crow, but I dou’t like it.’ ! The story might stop Imre if it was : only to show tho origin of the phrase hut ! the re«t of it is the best The old Virginian after surveying Ids dead pet for an instant in a sorrowful manner, returned the gun and started tor his mansion. The other quickly brought his piece to Ids shoulder, and Called out: ‘lf "Id on, tlmre, mister.’ ‘What do you want?’ asked the other, as ho turned and beheld a ‘head’ drawn on him. ’l’d like to have you cat the rest ol tl is crow.’ j Then tho old man stormed and swore, j and tore about in a frantic manner, say ! ing he’d he and and if ho would, and lie didn't want any of the young mail’s jokes. Tne cocking of the gun, and as surance on the part of the soldier that tie would certainly put a ball through the old man’s shoulder unless he com plied with the demand, induced tho Vir ginian to retrace his steps. ‘Now,’said the Sergeant, ‘I want you to eat the rest of that, crow and no nonsense.’ A punch ol ttie rifle on tho shoulder of the old man roused him to a quick sense of his position, and picking up the crow, lie endeavored to bite it, II ■ grow pale, the perspiration stood on hia face, lie trembled like a terrier, his month water ed, his eyes filled, he gagged, and it seemed a physical impossibility for hint to touch the crow The Sergeant, how ever, compelled him to take a bite, and it was the only one he did take, for his breakfast came tip so rapidly to protest against crow that the soldier relented, and told him to ‘git,’ and never trouble a Bncktail again. Here would suein another proper place to end the story, but there is another paragraph. | Ttie next day, thn old Virginian, smart ing under tho indignities he had suffered, in not only having his pet crow killed, but being compelled to cat a portion of it, went to the headquarters of the Buck tails and made complaint to the Colonel against l e Big Sergeant. Ttie Colonel at once sent an orderly ter Sergeant jS-nrtli, rightly supposing he must be the I person referred to He obeyed the sum | mens at once. He pushed the door of j the tent, aside, and entered the presence •Snapping his heels together and stand- I ing erect in tbc position of ‘attention,’ he ! brought the right band quickly to the visor of his military cap, and gave the customary salute to his Oo'otiel. ‘Sergeant, ’ said Ii is commander, very gravely, ‘do you knojv that gentleman?’ pointing to the old Virginian. ‘Yes, sir,’ promptly answered the oth er. ‘How did you become acquainted with him. Sergeant?’ ‘We dined together yesterday, sir,’ promptly answered the culprit. The roar of laughter w hich followed this reply need not be described, nor the manner in which the o'd Virginian join ed. The Sergeant was sent back to his quarters, and the interview between the old aristocrat and the Colonel was ended liy an invitation to tho latter to dine tho next day at the old mansion. How Ben Butler Earned a Fee. Ben. Butler was a Down-East lawyer before he got to be a Major-General and Representative of his District in Con gress. Like all lawyers, Ben. had a hard pull of it at the start, and perhaps tlia sharpness and acumen for which he is so universally celebrated were ac quired at this early period of Ids life, when he was striving for a practice, and | the odds were biains or starvation. | One day, while sitting in tns office, | there entered a long-legged, gaunt, j hatchet-faced specimen of the genus yan kee, who looked sharp enough to make | his meals off pins and needles, and who ' thus accosted the future C 'egressman: j ‘Mr. Lawyer, lam going into a little | hit of law business, and as you seem like | a right smart, plucky sort of a chap, I j thought I might as well give tho job to you.’ ‘All right,' says the lawyer, ‘you can’t trust your case in better hands.' ‘Well, then, I had a ham hanging in an out shed, and a neighbor’s dog came along and ate it. VVliat would you do?’ ‘Why prosecute the owner of the dog, of course. Make the fellow pay dam ages.’ ‘That’s tho talk, Mr. Lawyer,’ said the yaukee, with a sly smile''beginning to j work aronnd the corners of his eyes and mouth. ‘But you see—l don’t know as it makes any difference—the dog was yourn. Butler opened In's eyes a little at this i onslaught, but lie wasn’t going to be taken aback io this matter, even iu a i brother yankee. ! ‘What do you value your ham at?’ asked Butler, drawing out his wallet. ‘Well, I guess five dollars would he ' letting you off cheap,’ said the yaukee; ‘for it was au all-fired good hum.’ ' Without entering a word of protest Butler paid the money and said: ‘There is the damage for your ham. Now fork over ten dollars.’ 'What for?’ inquired the yankee, in his turn astonished. ’For my legal advice!’ said Butler. You don’t suppose 1 can work without a fee, do yon?’ Mr. Yankee was hit; so drawing his face as long as his legs, ho slowly count ed out his money, and inwardly vowed j he would bring no more law business before tho youthful but razor-!ike dis penser of Goke and Bluckstone. Why Aunt Sully Never .Married. ‘Now, Aunt Sallie, do please tell us why you never got married. You re- | mem her you said once that when you j were a girl you were engaged to a min- ! ister, and promised you won Id tell us about it sometime. Now, Aunt, please tell us.’ ‘Well, you see, when I was about seventeen years old I was living in Uti ca, in the State of New York, though I say it myself, I was quite a good-look ing girl then, and had several beaux. 1 lie on« that took my fancy was a young minister, a very promising young man, and remarkably pious and steady Tie thought a good deal of me, and I kind ol took a fancy to him, and tilings went on until we were engaged. One evening hejeamo to me and put his arms around me, and kind of hugged mo, when I got excited and some (lustrated. It was a longtime ago, and I don’t know but what I might have hugged back a little. I was like any oilier girl, and pretty soon I pretended to bo mad about it, and pushed him away, though I wasn’t mad a bit. You must know that the house where 1 lived was on one of tho hack streets of the town. There were glass doors in the parlor, wb’ch opened over the street. Those doors were drawn to. I stepped back a little from him, and when he came up close I pushed him tiaek again. I pushed him harder than I intended to; and don't you think,girls, the poor fellow lost his balance’ and fell Enough one of the doors into the street.’ ‘Oh, Aunty 1 Was he killed?’ ‘No. Ho fell head first, and as ho was going I caught him tiy iho logs of his itronsers. I held on fur a minute and tried to pull him buck; but his sus penders gave way, and the poor young man fell clear out of his pantaloons into a parcel of ladies and gentlemen along the street.’ ‘On! Aun ly I Aui.fy I Lordyl’ ‘There, that’s right, squall and giggle as much as you want to. Girls that can't hear a little tiling like that without tearing around the room and lie -lie-ing in such a way, don’t know enough to come in wlifii it rains. A nice time the man will have who marries one of you, won’t lie. Catch me telling you any thing again.’ ‘But, Aunt S illy what became of him? Did you ever see him again?’ 'No; the moment he touched the ground lie got up and left that (dace in a hurry. I tell yon it was a sight to bo remem bered How that man did run! Ho went out West, and I believe ho is preaching nut in Illinois. But he never j married. lie was very modest, and I j suppose lie was so badly frightened that | time, that he never dared trust himself near a woman again. That, girls, is the reason why 1 never married. I felt very had about it fi r a long time—for ho was a real good man, and 1 have of ten thought to nivsetf that we would have been very happy if his suspenders hadn’t-given away.’ THE BAR-ROOM. Young- man! have not your eyes been frequently attracted to a sign having tlio following ominous word on it : ••B A R 7” Avoid the place; it is no misnomer. The experience of thousands has proved it to be A bar to respectability, A bar to honor, A bar to happiness, A bar to heaven, Every day proves it to bo The road to degradation, The road to vice. The road to the gambler’s hell, The load to the brutal, The road to poverty, The road to wretchedness, The road to robbery, The road to murder, The road to poison, The road to the drunkard's grave, The road to hell. Some, it is true, do not pass t! rough all the stages; but intemperance persist ed in always ends in the drunkard's grave, and we have too much reason to fear hell. The bar room is truly The curse ot the drunkard’s wife, The curse of the drunkard’s child, The curse of the drunkard’s home. Those only who have known the bit terness of a drunkard’s wife or child, can know the misery and horror of a drunkard’s homo. Yeung man! before you enter the bar room, stop! Ponder the paths of your feet ere it be forever 100 late ! Man of family! flee from the bar-roi m aR you would iu honor fulfill the pledge of love made to her who is the compan ion ot your joys and success. ‘Put, you are wearing your stockings wrong hilfo uulMrualn, 1 ‘Och, and don’t I know it, to be sure! There’s a hole ou the otUerside, there is.’ ($2.00 ncr Annum A STIFF UPPER LIP. The world courts a man for his money; fawns upon him if there is power in his hand to turn the scales wheu the fates are iu the balances; defers to him if he has great meutal gifts; admires him for personal beauty and grace; hives him for large heartedness; but it never thoroughly respects him, unless he knows how aud wheu to keep a atifl up per lip. "Keep a stiff upper lip, old fallow)” la the parting counael of the friend te an other, who is standing in the shadow of some great tiouble of that sort which causes all men to turn their eyes on the sufferer to see how lie bears it. Under these circumstances there is not a man hut instinctively knows that, if he can only perform that little facial feat suc cessfully, his battle is more than half won Seine men can never do it at all, Some try; only to break down lament ably. There are mouths and mouths With some months the keeping of a stifl upper lip is a physiological impossibili ty- 11 you want to see the most perfect failure of such an attempt, watch an ini pulsive, sensitive child whose feelings have been wounded, but whose natural pride instinctively suggests conceal ment of the trouble. Tile lips begin to quivei ominously; then the eyes in turn, show signs of rebelling against the dis cipline which is sought to be enforced upon a countenance accustomed to be made an index of al! tfiat goes on with in- Next, a sob forces itself up from the throat, and brings the ready tears witli it, and the tears are a signal for an . unconditional capitulation. Down goes I the treacherous under lip, and up goes j the forsaken upper lip, which cannot possibly preserve their equilibrium after the defection of its twin brother and nearest ally. 'I tio control over the mus cles of the mouth which is necessary to the preservation of a stifl upper Up, and which typifies firmness is only gained after long and repeated struggles. It is an important part in that uncon. scions self—education which begins so early ttiat no one can ever exactly know when he took his first lesson in it. U licre thcSiiu Does Not Set. A scene witnessed by some travelers mi the north of Norway, from a cliff one thousand lbet above the sea, is thus de scribed : “The ocean stretched away in silent easiness at our feet; the sound of waves scarcely reached our airy lookout; away in the north the huge old sun swung low along (he horizon,like the slow beat of the pendulum in the tall clock of our grandfather’s parlor corner. We all stood silent, looking at our watches. When both hands came together at twelve, midnight, the full round orb hung triumphantly above the waves, a biidgoof gold running duo North—. spanning the water between us and him. Thou he shone in silent majesty, which knew no setting. We involunta rily took off our hats; no word was said. Combine, if you can, the most brilliant sunrise and sunset you ever saw and the beauties will pale before the gor ge jus coloring which now lit up ocean, heaven and mountain. In half an hour the sun had swung up perceptibly on his beat, the colors changed to those ol morning, a fresh breeze rippled over the flood, one songster after another pipp-d up in the grove behind us—we hud slid another day.” The Pi evidence Journal tells the fol lowing : As the mid-day Worcester train was about leaving the depot, a man of the Johnstonian type of manners entered the car and gruffly requested that two young ladies occupying separate seats should sit together, that he aud his friend might enjoy a social tete-a-tete on the othef seat. ‘But,’ said one one of the damsels, blushing, ‘this seat is engaged.’ ‘Engaged, is it,’ brusquely responded the man. ‘Who engaged it?’ ‘A young man, sir,’ replied Ibo con scious maiden. ‘A young man, eh! Where’s his bag gage?’ persisted the. Ursa Major. ‘l’m his baggage, old Hateful,’ replied the demure damsel, pursing her rosy lips into the nreftiesl pout. A Fact. —Every publisher, no matter what his political tenets may be, will agree with Horace Greeley in the follow ing sensible remarks : “It is strange how c’osely men rend the papers. Wo never say anything that anybody don’t like but we soon*hear of it, and everybody tells us about it. If, however, we once iu a while happen to any a good tiling, we never tear ot that; nobody seems to notice that. We may pay some man a hundred compli ments and give him a dozen p' ffs, aud he takes it as a tribute to his greatness, and never thinks of it; never thinks it does him any good. But if we bappru to say something this man don’t like, or something lie imagines a refl cion oh him or his character, see how quick he flares up and gets mad about it. ’ A worthy deacon iu some town or other, gave notice at a prayer meeting, the other night, of a church meeting that was to lie held immediately after, arid unconsciously added : ‘‘There is nu | objection to the female brethren remain ing.” This reminds ns of a clergyma who told in his sermon of a very affect ing scene, where “there wasn’t a dry tear in the bouse.” NO. 9