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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.