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file (fnilnwn j&tnncv.
F. R. FILDES, Editor.
YOL. VIII.
PHOFKSKIONAL.
1)R. E. A. JELKS,
Practicing Physician,
QUITMAN QA.
Orvicx: Brick building adjoining store of
Messrs. Brigga, Jclks A Cos., Screven street.
January 31, 1873. 5-tt
JAMES II HUNTER, ”
Jltornin anb Counsellor at fain,
QUITMAN. CA.
p&r Office. in tub Court
March 17, 1871.
W. B. Bexket 8. T. Kinusbkiikt
SENNET Si KINGSBERY,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Qn man. Brooks County, Georgia.
February 7, 1873 6
~ J. C. GALLAHEK,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
QUITMAN, OA.
WILE practice in the Superior Courts in all
the Counties ot the Southern Circuit; in
the Supreme Court of Georgia, and in the I)i.«
tritt Court of the United at Savannah.
And in special cases, in the Counties of Madison
aod Jefferson, Florida.
par Office : Mclntosh House. 37-3 in
EDWARD R HARDEN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
(QUITMAN, GEORGIA,
■test.- Office, in the Court House, second floor '
May 26. 1872. It
DR. J. S. SNOW,
DID IS TINT,
WILL be in QUITMAN about the 12tb,inst..
for the purpose of locating permanently
in the place.
He respectfully solicits the patronage of th*-
citizens of Brooks County and the public gener
ally, and will endeavor, by faithfully executing
all work entrusted to him, to merit their eonfi
4ence.
up stairs, overJ. Tillman’s store.
Nov. 8, 1872. 45 ts
Miscellaneous.
Silver-Ware and Jewelry,
WATCHES, An.
Vi. E. BARNES A C«,
Have just re
celved a New
Watch Chains, Jewelry, Pocket Cutlery, Table
Cutlery, Silver Forks , Spoons, Pistols,
Metalic Cartridges of all sizes ,
Game B(mjs, Shot Pouches,
Fine Kentucky Bifle
Powder, Gun Caps,
A seat assortment of WALKING CANES, and
an immense stock of the Celebrated
Diamond Spectacles.
Also, a very complete assortment of
NOTIONS,
Such as Brushes, Combs, Portemonnaies, Thim- |
bl»*s, Needles, Pins, Buttons, Ac.
pgr We will well these goods on as reasonable
terms as possible, and ask an inspection of the
aame by the public.
Weare.likewise prepared to REPAIR Watches,
Jewelry. Pistols and Guns with neatness and
dispatch. W. E. BARNES A CO.
Quitman, December 20, 1872. 51-3 m
QUITMAN DRUG STORE.
McCALL & GROOVER,
{Dealers is _
Drugs, Medicines,
Paints, Oils,
VARNISHES, Dye Stuff*, MMtfe
BRUSHES, Perfume
ry, Toilet Articles, &c.
Notify the public that they will ke**p 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. C. WILKINSON. DR. A. D. SMITH.
LARGE DRUG SIGN.
WILKINSON & SMITH,
KEEP on band a
of Fresh and Pure (jgk-.
WEDICfNES
And many of the best
Also, White Lead, Varnishes, Taints
Soaps, Tobacco, Segars, Toilet Articles, Ac*.
All of which w ill be sold on reasonable terms.
Prescriptions carefully compounded.
Quitman, Ga., Jan.*3l, 1873. 5 ly
ALL kinds of Toilet Soap and Perfumerv at
PAINE A HALL'S
factual
[Original.]
bPEAKKINOLY.
Speak kindly in the morning,
It lightens the cares of life,
It makes the sun seem brighter,
It quiets the bitter strife.
Speak kindly too at midday,
It bouys the soul depressed;
With toil, and Time’s depletion,
And gives it sweetest rest.
Speak kindly in the evening,
No gold can value make
To words of gentle meaning,
That from smiling lips doth break.
Speak kindly too at night fall,
For fear that death’s ruthless hand
May waft a loving, darling one,
Up to that far off bnd.
Speak kindly to the broken hearted;
Perchance a smile—some tender word,
May point their mind in very truth,
To seek their Maker—God.
Speak kindly always to a Lined,
Perhaps be needs it more
To cheer his drooping spirit’s life
Thau all earth's boasted lore.
Speak kindly to the loved one,
’Twill make Ins burthen light,
’Twill be as roses o'er his path,
’Twill teach him love’s delight.
Speak kindly to the wayward,
’Twill rouse his dormant soul
From out the grasp of demons,
That hold him in their fold.
Speak kindly of ull Nature;
She’ll well repay the grace,
With bright and blooming flowers,
Which deck her lovely face.
Speak kindly of the lost ones,
Whose smile, you miss on earth;
They’ll watch about your pillow',
Ami ease tbe sting of Death.
Speak kindly to every one,
For “kind w’ords never die,”
But live as bright memorials,
With Jesus, in the sky.
Lionel.
March Ist, 1873.
1 LEIF FROM LIFE.
BYI.<CIB DORR.
Ti e simple facts recorded in this story,
occurred in a city many miles from here.
It would be impossible for such a case to
happen in Chicago. We are the per
sonification of Charity. We have no un
cared for poor among us. We are an
gels and this is Paradise! Therefore, I
wish it distinctly understood that I wrife
of a "pitiful case” (as the papers call it,)
which came under my notice in a dis
tant city years ago
Asa rule, physicians are the most
charitable of men. They may not give I
fortunes away; hut their time, which to
them is money, ig freely given to the j
Buffering, "without money and without
price.” It was upon a freezing cold
night that a young physician siepped in
fo the warm well lighted office of a mer
chant-prince. The doctor was poor
and needy, his coat was worn and thread
bare, and furnished hut little protection
againat the cold ol the season, because
he labored among the poor, and gave
his time to those who were unable to
pay foi it.
Tie merchant was wealthy, pious,
‘eminently respective’ member of socie
ty. He was the mainstay of the church,
tbe promoter of charitable schemes, and
a subscriber to all charities—which
were backed by influence, or conferred
distinction upou the giver. The world
at large honored his name; but the men
in his employ were wont to smite myste
j riouely when his charities were mention
: ed in their hearing, and one of them was
ouce heard to remark that he ‘never
| knowed a man so well named.’ Now,
! strange to say, this model man’s name
i w as Gantter.
| So, in Mr. Cantter’a office the young
I physician walked, with some trepidation;
: but, being one of the world at large, not
I confident that he would be heard, for he
was on a begging expedition. Not for
j b mself—he would rather have died than
beg, but for a poor boy who lay dying in
a tenement bouse in Dead Mau’s Row;
lay dying of starvation. It wag too late
to save his life; that the doctor knew,
but be Imped to raise sufticieut money
to make the hoy comfortable for
the remaindorof life left him. As he o
| pened the door of the counting room, he
I saw Mr. Canttcr standing before the
I glowing grale fire,declaiming nobly up
|on the beauties of true charity, to his
I book-keeper, who, being hard pushed to
| live upon the pittance paid him by his
| employer, would have had him.
‘ and has not charity, it profited
him nothing,’ said Mr. Gantter, in a loud
tone of voice, as the door opened, and
the thought flashed through his mind
that perhaps it was the pastor ol his
church. The doctor entered, and sud
denly the flush of eloquence which Mr.
Gantter was pouring out upon the unre
sisting clerk was bushed, for he knew
the doctor, and knew also that he was
about to ask for money, and bis bauds
HERE SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE’S EI3HTS MAINTAIN, ONAWED BT FEAR AND UNBRIBED BY GAIN.
QUITMAN, GEO., MAKCH 14, 1873.
came from behind bis back, went info
his pockets, and icmnincd there. The
doctor, by way of beginning, remarked
upon the severity of the weather.
Yes,’ said Mr. Cantter, ‘God help the
poor!’
The book keeper, bending over the leg
er, smiled to himself, but said nothing.
The doctor hardly liked the expression
of the merchant’s face, and tbe oily unc
tion with which these words rolled from
his month, but resolutely dashed at his
subject. He depicted the sufferings of
the dwellers in Dead Man's Row; the
tumbled down houses, admitting the
wind and snow nt every corner; the fam
ine which reigned in them; and then,
excited by the trouble he had witnessed,
he appealed to the merchant to help
those who were unable to help them
selves.
Warmth usually begets warmth, and
it is therefore more siugnlur, but not
less true, that, as the doctor warmed,
Mr. Gantter cooled, and when he had
finished speaking, the gentleman said:
‘lean do nothing for you. lama
subscriber to Magdalen's Home, the
Aesculapius Hospital, the Seamens Ref
uge, the North I’ole Missions, the—
‘But this is—’
‘Tract Societies,' continued Mr. Cant
ter, calmly ignoring the doctor, and ma
ny other charities. I find my time en
tirely taken tip, 1 can neither spare time
nor money, to aid a vagabond who may
be deceiving you.’
‘Time can be no deception in starva
tion.’
‘Well, may be not; but I might be
placing a premium on dishonesty, and I
iiope to alii worthy objects.’
‘AH worthy no doubt; but this is a
case of such utter wretchedness. A
boy, a little morsel of a child, dying for
want of food,’ pleaded the doctor.
‘1 dare say,’said Mr. Gantter, ‘but
charity, to be effective, must bo well di
rected. You must, come to our Church
next Sunday. Wc have the finest
preacher in the city, and, as his sermon
is upon charity, you will, no doubt, be
able to profit by his suggestions,’
‘But about the boy? said tbe doctor,
(earful that the conversation would wan
der away from the subject which inter
ested him more than the sermon which
was in prospect.
‘I can’t squander money on such ob
jects,'said the merchant, again sudden
ly dropping from warmth to cold. ‘1
can give you a letter from the Directors
of the pool Children’s home, and then at
the next meeting of the Board— ’
‘D —n the Board 1’ said the Doctor,
now thoroughly indignat.
‘Prolanityl And in my presencel’ex
claimed the merchant. Yoa shock me,
sir.’
‘Shock yon? said tlio doctor. ‘Shock
you! Haw have you shock me with
your lying talk of charily? Is it charity
to go to a fine church, —listen to a sen
sational preacher? Is it charity to go
to a luxurious home, to eat a grand din
ner, and talk over the sermon? Is it
charity to sit on a velvet sofa before a
blazing fire; to look at the homeless,
hungry, poor, as they hurry by, and say
‘God help the poor?’ Shame upon such
charity—’
‘Sill’said Mr. Canttcr. The book
keeper smiled encouragingly upon the
speaker.
‘Shame upon such charity, I say,’con
tinued be, borne on by the flood of indig
nation. ‘A true noble charity is t lie
best thing upou earth; but a hypocritical
charity should be a weight sufficient to
damn a soul.’ And slamming the door
to, tbe doctor strode out.
‘I am truly shocked at that young
man’s reckless use of strong terms,’ said
Mr. Gantter;‘but’ he added reflectively,
‘lot us hope that he will see the error of
his way and repent before it is too late,
I hope Mr, Strong, that you will take
warning from him, and he more regular
in your attendance at church. By the
way, to-rooirow is Sunday, and you
must come to our church and hear Mr.
Highfalutin on Charity.’
The doctor, dislieaitcned at his re
buff, and thoroughly indignant at the
hypocraey of which he had been a wit
ness, paused irresolutely upon the cor
ner, and, as he stood there, ho heard a
quick step behind him; then a hand hur
riedly thrust a small roll of money into
his; and turning lie was just in time to
see the form of Mr. Cautter’a book-keep
er disappearing in the gloom. The sum
was small, but it was sufficient fur the
purpose, and with a lighter heart, the
doctor went his way to Dead Man's Row.
A narrow, filthy passage way between
two Ik uses leads from tbe fiae thorough
fare into a narrow, filthy court, and at
the end of the court stands Dead Man’s
Row, immediately in the rear of a fine
church—Mr. Gautier’s church. Why
this name was ever conferred upon theso
tumbledown old rookeries, I am not able
to state. Suffice it say, that they wore
HO called, and, at first glauce, one was
apt to acknowledge ils suitableness.
As the doctor passed down the wretch
ed-looking court, be stopped one minute
I to shake las fist at the church looming
up so grandly before him; then opened
the door of one of the most miserable
I looking houses in the block. Up lour
pairs of creaking swaying stairs he went,
and then, having arrived at the garret,
stooped to avoid the sloping roof, aud:
eutered a squalid, comfortless room.
There was no furniture ol any kind to be
seen, and no fire. Tbe wind blew in at j
the wiudows, aud the door, aud suow
bad drilted in at the same places, aud :
iay in little piles upon the floor.
A woman clothed in rags, sitting by
a straw pallet in one corner of the room,
arose as he entered, and looked up at
him inquiringly.
•Yis,' said the doctor, ‘after some
trouble.’
‘Thank the Lord for that! she answer
ed fervently. ‘The poor boy can die in
peace, at last.’
‘I ordered the things sent up. Is be
asleep?'
‘Unconscious like,’ answered the wo
man. ‘His brain wanders a little at
limes.’
A little morsel of a boy lay upon tho
lied, —the unmistakable mark of famine
in his face.
The doctor bent over him, and looking
into his face a moment, said to the wo
man, who was standing silent at his side:
‘llis pain is over. He will probably
live until morning, but he will never be
conscious again.’
‘The long night passed, day dawned,
and the boy still lived. The rooming
wore on and church time came. Car
riages rattled up to the door of the
church and discharged their loads of
silks, satins and broadcloths. The bow
ing u-hei h opened the doors of crimson
lined, luxurious pews, and the congrega
tion slowly assembled.
‘What and« you know of charity?’
thoughtjthe doctor. ‘Here, not more
than twenty feet from the pulpit of your
church, poverty reigns supreme; yet not
one of you all ever took the trouble to
look here for a field of usefulness. You
give me a little from your abundance,
and plume yourselves upon your char
itable hearts; and from that poor wo
man by the bed,yon might learn much.
She cheerfully gives what she can—tier
litne—iri behalf of a hoy she never saw
before and—’
The organist of the church commenced
the voluntary, and an exclamation from
the sufferer brought the woman to the
bed. The little sufferer moved uneasily;
then a smile came upon his wan face, a
far-away look in his eyes.
T hear music,’ he murmured. YY T as it
the songs of angels, or the strains of the
grand orgau, that ho heard? Who can
tell?
‘lie is going fast,’ whispered the doc
tor. The woman was silently weeping,
and covered her face with her hands.
And the first note of'Corne, ye discon
solate,’ came to them from the church.
Again, the far away look came into the
hoy’s eyes, the smile upon his lips; the
thin, while hand stiired upon tlio bed,
and, while the last strains still lingered
upon the air, he turned his face to the
wall, and so—died.
And, as the man in a threadbare coat,
aud the woman in rags, knelt by his
s'de and prayed silently, in the church
the preacher, clothed in his line broad
cloth, arose aud gave out his text:—
'Charity coven tb a multitude of sins.
Silk and satins rustled as their wear
ers seated themselves to listen, and the
sermon went on. The sermon went on,
and in glowing language, depicted the
want and wretchedness of tho poor; the
vast congregation listened In rapt atten
tion. Upon the speaker, too, the subject
took a hold, and, by degrees, his gest
ures became more natural and less stud
ied, bis phrases more earnest and less
glittering.
So the sermon went on, and at last
after a thrilling appeal, the preacher
raised his jeweled hands, cast up his
eyes, and cried, as though in agony:—
‘God help the poor!’ aud the vast con
gregation bowed, and softly murmured,
'God help the poor!’
And then—well, then the service was
ended, and preacher Jiud congregation
went home to their dinners, and left
Charity—entirely in the hands of the
Almighty. Chicago Tribune.
ICducatton of Hie Young.
More children die yearly, vicliins of
the process of brain cramming now per
mitted in our schools, than we would
care to count. No sooner does the first
gleam of {intelligence dawn, than the
New England baby is put upon a pain
ful course of all-absorbing, and, neces
sarily, undigested study. His little
brain is thus crammed with a mass of
information which at a later period, and
in lime for practical use, c mid he ac
quired and comprehended with perfect
ease. The embarrassing problems which
now perplex instructors wou'd mainly
vanish, if they would but wait (or the
help cf ripening time Tho waste of
time and labor involved in our present
system is enormous. Tbe expenditure
of ten years in teaching simple studies,
which, with advanced maturity, the
child could master in two or three, is
hardly in keeping with the reputation of
England for foresight aud prudence.
The tender years which are now doomed
to Syiipheau toil aie all needed for play
ing and romping, and for light work in
the open air and sunlight. I hey are
the years for storing up a capital ol
mental and bodily vigor; and much of
the physical inactivity, aod alas! also of
the mental disease among us, is the di
rect work of changing them from God’s
purpose to our own. It is to he feared
that as much mental aud social evil has
ccme in the best educated distiicts Irorn
over study in youth, as in illiterate dis
tricts from iguorauce. And this is be
ginning to he realized by many of the
otherwise wise and excellent men who
have helped to mature aud ts carry out
our present bigb-nressuie system.
THE REASON W ill'.
BY BERTHA DEANE.
‘Mattie,’said Mr. Graham to his wile,
as tho door closed upon their visitor, H
do wish you would bo moro cheerful.
You hardly spoke while Cousin Frank
was here, and looked for all the world,
as though some dreadful ealamnity was
about to befall you. If you have any
regard for my feelings, do try to be more
like folks.’
Mrs. Graham's head bent lower over
tho little half finished dress upon which
she wan working; but she made no re
ply. She was evidently accustomed to
such remarks. Presently, bursting into
tears, she rose and left the room.
’Pshaw 1’ said her husband, as with a
contemptuous smile bo looked ufler her;
‘that’s always the way. Y’ou mnst speak
to a woman just so, or she'll begin to
snivel. 1 say, Kate,’ addressing his sis
ter, a bright-eyed, wido-awaka-looking
woman of some thirty years, ‘I used to
think that women were almost angels;
but I’ve come to the conclusion that they
are about as full of faults as we poor
devils are.'
An amused cxpress'on on Mrs. Ly
man’s face was tier only answer.
Mr. Graham sat for some minutes in
moody silence, and then said, reaching
for his hat ns ho spoke: ‘Come sis, let’s
go over to Uncle John's. We’ll be sure
to find smiling faces there, aud can man
ago, perhaps, to pass an evening very
pleasantly. It's a pity a fellow can’t
lake some comfort at home.’
It was after considerable hesitation
that Mrs. Lyman replied.
‘Well, Charley, just wait until Bertie’s
jacket is done, for he is very anxious to
wear it to school to-morrow, and then,
if Nellie is asleep'—glancing at the cra
dle where lay the six-months-old baby—
‘l’ll go with you. ’
As the clock struck seven the little
garment was pronounced finished, and
was placed by the kind aunt where Ber
tie could not fail to see it when ho first
awoke in the morning. Baby was now
soundly sleeping, and Mrs. Lyman, after
putting on bet hat aud shawl, stepped
to the door of her sister’s room and said,
‘Mattie, we are going to Uncle John’s.
We shall not be absent long; but do not
sit no lor us unless you choose to.’
‘Very well,’ was the reply, hut the
tone in which the words were uttered,
told plainly that tho speaker took but
little interest in what was going on
about her.
‘Now, Charley,’ said Mrs. Lyman, as
soon as they were fairly iu the street, ‘I
shouldn’t have consented to come with
you to-night, were it not that 1 wanted,
as Aunt Hannah used to say, to give
you a ‘good big piece ot my mind.”
‘Why, what fur, Kate? What great
crime am I guilty of?’
‘The crime of destroying your own
happiness, and the happiness of those
dearest to you.’
‘What do you mean ? What can you
mean ?’
‘I think, Charley, you spoke very
harshly to poor Mattie to-night. I could
almost havo cried with her.’
'Perhaps I was rather cross; but,
Kate, that woman tries my patience
dreadfully. She goes moping around,
looking as forlorn and disconsolate as
though she had not a fiiendintbe world.’
'There must be a cause for it.’
‘Yes, I suppose; but I think it would
puzzle a lawyer to find out the cause ’
'Don’t yon remember when she was
otherwise ?'
‘Don't I remember ? I think I do.
There wasn’t as pretty a girl for miles
around as Mattie Staudish was. I was
proud of Her in my courting days.’
‘Yes: I well remember what a devoted
lover you were. Our gard.-n was rob
bed of its choicest flowers to be made
into Louquets lor Mattie. If fruit oi
coufectionery was scut from the city,
the very nicest was selected for that
same Mattie. The latest magazines aud
papers were found on tier table, placed
there by my brother Charley. In short,
nothing was too good for her.’
‘That’s so, Kate; and those were jolly
times. I wonder if Mattie has forgotten
them?’
Without heeding his last remark, Mrs.
Lyman continued: ‘1 had a beautiful
rose-tree, at home, Charley, that was
given me by a dear friend. As long as
I watered it and tended it carefully it
repaid me with many fragrant, beauti
ful blossoms; but after it had been in my
possession a few months, I am sorry to
say, 1 shamefully neglected it. Some
times, fur days together, I did not go
near it. It faded and drooped. I re
newed my care of it—hut it was too late.
My rose-tree died, and 1 learned a les
son. Take care, Charley, that your Mat
tie does not share the fate of my rose.
Sho has a peculiarly sensativo nature,
and wi 1 not hear neglect any more than
a tend* l plant will.’
‘But, Kate, Mattie knows that I love
her as well as I ever did.’
'What reason has she to think so ? I
was reading, nos loug siucc, of a gen- j
tletoan who had visited in a great many I
families; and, among them all, he had
found but very tew really happy ones.
Ti e cause ot the unhappiness, he said,
was not so much the want of love as the
want of care lo manifest it. That is jnst
where the trouble lies. It a man should
tell you that you did not love your wile
and children, you would be tempted to
knock him down —you would, at least,
[52.00 per Annum
NO. 11
call him a liar. But, Charley, what is
love worth that is expressed in
words or actions. Play the lover again,
my dear brother, and, take my word lor
it, you will have uo cause to complain of
Mattie.’
By this time the door of Uncle John’s
house was reached, and there was no
time tor further conversation. They
were met, as had beeu predicted, by
smiling facts; and the evening might,
indeed, have passed very ; pleasantly, if
Mr. Graham had been in a mood to enjoy
it. His sister’s words had made a deep
Impression on his mind; and, though
vexed at her plain talk, he could bat
acknowledge that she was right.
At an early hour they were on the
way home, hut more than hulf the dis
tance was passed over before a word
was spoken by either. Mrs. Lyman was
beginning lo fear that she had seriously
offended her brother, when bo said :
‘Kate, 1 was almost angry with you, hut
I've come to the conclusion that you are
more than half right. I’ve acted like a
fool—blaming Mattie for what I alone
was to blame lor. I'll turn over anew
leaf, and see if I can wiu the roses hack
to Mattie's cheeks.’
'Spoken like yourself, my dear broth*
er. Only live your courtiug-daya over
again, and you will ngaiu have reason
(o he proud of Mattie. Now, Charley,'
contiued his sister, ‘just stop at War
ner’s on the way home, and buy a bask
et of those nice oranges; then call at
Osgood’s and get ithe latest magazine.
Take them as a present to Mattie, and
see how she will receive them.’
Mrs. Lyman went directly home and
finding Mrs. Graham still busily sowing,
gave her a good night kiss and went
immediately to ber-room. Mr. Graham
came in soon afterward and placing the
oranges, with the hook, in his wile’s lap,
said, ‘Here, Mattie, is a present I got
on purpose for you—lay aside your sew*
iog, and enjoy these good things.’
Mrs. Graham gave her husband one
quick, surprised look, and, as she had
done once before that evening, burst ldto'
tears.
‘Why, Mattie,’ said Mr, Graham, ‘have
I been so neglectful of yon, that a little
act of kindness like this affects you
thus ?’
‘Oh, Charley!’ said she, as soon as she
could command her voice sufficiently to
reply, ‘I thought you had ceased to love
me, and was just grieving myself to’
death over it.’
‘No, Mattie, I had grown careless of
my vow ‘to love, honor and
hut God helping me, I promise anew to
love and cheerisb you tenderly 'till death
do us part.’
It was all that was needed to make
Mattie the cheerful, loving Mattie ol old.
Mrs. Lyman was awakened the next
morning by Charley’s clear, ringing
voice, as he sang the words of that moat
beautiful of Scotch songs—
“ Her voice is low and sweet.
She’s all the world to me—
And for bonnio Annie Laurie,
I’d lay me down and die.”
•Ah!’ said she, with a smile, 'it didn't
take a lawyer to find the reason why
Mattie ‘wont moping about the bouse.'
‘Husbands, love yom wives, aud be
not bitter against them.’
Enjoying Eire.
It Is singular to what an extent people
believe happiness depends on not being
obliged to work.' Girls are considered
well married if their husbands are weal
thy, aud boys considered provided for if
enough can be left them for support, nnd
enough surplus to play “business’’ with.
Bosh 1 Honest, hearty, contented labor
is the only source of happiness, as well
as the (>nly guarantee of life. The
gloom of misanthropy is not only a great
destroyer of happiness we might have,
but tends to destroy life itself. Idle
ness and luxury induce premature decay
much faster than many trades regarded
as the most exhaustive and fatal to lon
gevity. Labor, in general, instead of
shortening the term of life actually in
creases it. It is the lack of occupation
that actually destroys so many of the'
wealthy, who have nothing to d<*, play
the part of drones, and, like them, make
a speedy exit, while the busy bee dlls
out its day in usefulness and honor.
History ix Rhyme —Commit the foL
K wing to memory, and you will have at
your “tongue’s end” the names of tins
Monarchs of England from the time of
the conquest to the present date :
First William the Norman, then WIP*
liam his son. j .
Henry, Stephen and Henry, then Rich
ard aud John.
Next Henry the third, Edward, one
two and three.
And again after Richard, three Hen*
rys we see.
Two Edwards, third Richard, if right*
ly [ guess.
Two Hcnrys, sixth Edward, Queens'
Mary and lies-*.
Then Jamie the Scott, then Charles
whom they slew.
Then followed Cromwell, another
Charles, too.
Next J unes, called the second, as*-
cended the throne.
Then William aud Mary together came
jB.
Till Anne, Georges four, aud fourth'
William all past.
God sent them Victoria, the yoongest*
and last.