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VOLUME XV.
SANDERSVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, MAY 29, 1861.
NUMBER 22.
J. M G. KEDLOCK,
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR-.
Ugp” The Central Georuiax is published
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Sales of Land and Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, or Guardians, are required bylaw to be
held on the first Tuesday in the month, be
tween tho hours of ten in the forenoon and three
in the afternoon, at the Court-house in the county
in which the property is situate. Notices of these
saies must bo given in a public gazette forty day's
previous to the day of sale.
Notices for tho sale of Personal Property must
ho given at least ten days previous toihe day of
^Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate
mu3t be published forty days.
‘Notice that application will be made to the Court
■ofOrdinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must
be published weekly for twomontiis.
Citations for Letters of Administration must be
published thirty days—for Dismission from xVd-
ministration, monthly six months—lor Dismis
sion from Guardianship, forty days.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub
lished monthly for four months—for establishing
iost papers, for the full space of threemontlis for
compelling titles from Executors or Administrators
where a bond has been given by the deceased, the
Full space of three months.
Publication will always be continued according
to these, tho legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered
UtolIan eons.
SOBER SECOND THOUGHT
A STORY FOR THE TIMES.
‘I must have it Charles,’ said the
handsome little wife of Mr. Whitman.
‘So don’t put on that sober laee.
‘Did I put on a sober face ?’ asked
the husband, with an attempt to smile
that was anything but a success.^
‘Yes sober as a man on trial for his
life. Why it’s as long as the moral
law. There, dear, clear it up, and
look at least as if you had one friend
in the world. What money-lovers you
men are!’ ...
‘How much will it cost?’ inquired
Mr. Whitman. There was another
effort to look cheerful and acquies
cent.
‘About forty dollars.’
‘Forty dollars! Why, Ada a you j
think I am made of money?’ Mr. j
Whitman’s couutcnance underwent a j
remarkable change of expression.
‘I declare, Charles,’ said his wife, a
little impatiently, .‘you look at me as if i
I were an object of affection. I don't i
think this is kind of jou. I’ve only j
had three silk dresses since we were
married, while Amy Blight has had
six or seven during the same .period,
and every one of her’s cost more than
mine. I know you think me extrava
gant, hut I wish you had a wife like
women I could name. I rather think
you would find out the difference be
fore long.’
‘There, there, don’t talk to me after
this fashion ! I’ll bring you the money
at dinnertime, that is, if—’
‘No ifs nor huts if you please. The
sentence is complete without them.
Thank you, dear! I’ll go this after
noon and buy my silk. So don't fail
to bring the money. I was in at Silk-
sins yesterday, and saw one of the
sweetest patterns I ever laid my eyes
on. Just suits my style and complex
ion. I shall be inconsolable if it’s gone.
You won’t disappoint me ?’
And Mrs. Whitman laid her soft,
white hand on the arm of her husband,
and smiled with sweet persuasiou in
her face.
‘0, no. You shall have the money,’
said Mr. Whitman, turning off from
his wife, as she thought, a little ab
ruptly, and hurrying from her pres-
- ence. In his precipitation, he had for
gotten the usual parting kiss.
‘That’s the way it is always!’ said
Mrs. Whitman, as the sound of the
closing street door came jarring on her
ears. ‘Jast say money to Charles,
and at once there is a cloud in the
sky.,
She sat down, pouting and half
angry.
‘Forty dollars for a new dress!’—
menially ejaculated the husband of
vain, pretty thoughtless Mrs. Whit
man, as he shut the door after him. ‘I
promised to settle Thompson’s'coal bill
■to-day—thirty-three dollars—but don't
(know where the money is to come
from. The coal is burnt up, and more
must be ordered. O dear! I’m dis
couraged. Every j r ear I fall behind
hand. This winter, I did hope to get
a little in advance, but if forty dollar
silk dresses are to be the order of the
day, there’s an end to that devoutly-
to-be-wished-for circumstance. Debt,
debt! How 1 have always shrunk
from it; but steadily, now, it is closing
;its Briarean arms around me and my
constricting chest labours in respira
tion. Oh, if I could but disentangle
myself now, while I have the strength
of my early manhood, and the bonds
that hold me are weak. If Ada could
see as I see—if 1 could only make her
understand rightly my position. Alas 1
that is hopeless, I fear.’
And Mr. Whitman hurried his steps
because his heart beat quicker, and his
thought was unduly excited.
Not a long time after Mr. Whitman
left home, the city postmaster deliver
ed letter to his address, His wife
examined the writing on the envelope,
which was in a bold masculine band,
and said to herself, as she did so—
‘I wonder who this can be from?’
Something more than curiosity
moved her. There intruded on her
mind a vague feeling of disquietude,
as if the missive bore unpleasant news
for her husband. The stamp showed
it to be a city letter. A few times of
late such letters had come to his ad
dress, and she had noticed that he read
them hurriedly, thrust them without
remark into his pocket, and became
silent and sober-faced.
Mrs. Whitman turned the letter
over and over again in her hand in a
thoughtful way, and as she did so, the
image of her husband, sober-faced and
silent, as he had become for most of
the time of late, presented itself with
unusual vividness. Sympathy stole into
her heart.
‘Poor Charlesl’ she said, as the feel
ing increased; ‘I’m afraid something is
going wrong with him.’
Placing the Jetter on the mantel
piece where he could see it when he
came in, Mrs. Whitman entered upon
some household duties, but a strange
impression, of a weight, lay upon her
; heart—a sense of impending evil—a
vague, troubled, disturbance of her
usual inward self satisfaction.
If the thought of Mrs. Whitman re
curred, as was natural, to the elegant
silk dress of which she was to become
the owner on that day, she did not feel
the proud satisfaction her vain heart
experienced a little while before-.
Something of its beauty had faded.
‘11 I oa y knew what that letter con
tained,’she said, half an hour after it j
had conic in, her mind still feeling the
pressure which had come down upon
it so strangely, as it seemed to her.
She went to the mantel-piece, took
up the letter, and examined the super
scription. It gave her no light. Stea
dily it kept growing upon her that its
contents were of a nature to trouble
herhusbaud.
‘lie’s been a little mysterious of late,’
she said to herself. This idea affected
her very unpleasantly. ‘He grows
more silent and reserved,’ she added,
as thought, under a kind of feverish
excitement, became active iu a new di
rection. ‘More indrawn, as it were,
and less interested in what goes on
around him. Jlis coldness chills me
at times and his irritation hurts me.’
She drew a long, deep sigh. Then,
with an almost startling vividness came
before her mind in contrast her tender
loving, cheerful husband of three years
before, and her quiet, silent, sober
faced husband ol to-day.
‘Something has gone wrong with
him 1’ she said aloud, as feeling grew
stronger. ‘ vVhat can it be ?’
The letter was in her hand.
‘This may give me light.’ And with
careful fingers, she opened the envel
ope, not breaking the paper, so that
she could seal it again if she desired so
to do. There was a bill for sixty dol
lars, and a communication from the
person sending the bill. He was a
jeweller.
‘If this is not settled at once,’ lie
wrote, ‘I shall put tiie account in suit.
It has been standing for over a year ;
and I am tired of getting encuses in
stead of money.’
The bill was for a lady’s watch
which Mrs. Whitman had almost com
pelled her husband to purchase.
‘Not paid for! Is it possible?’ex
claimed the little woman in blank as
tonishment, while the blood mounted
to her forehead.
Then she sat down to think. Light
began to come into her mind. As she
sat thus thinking; a second letter for
her husband came in from the penny-
post man. She opened it without hes
itation. Another bill, and another
dunning letter.
‘Not paid! Is it possible?’ She
repeated the ejaculation. It was a bill
of twenty-five dollars, for gaiters and
slippers, which had been standing for
three or four months.
‘This will never do!’ said the awake
ning wife—‘never, no, never!’ And
she thrust the two letters into her pock
et in a resolute way. From that hour
until the return of her husband at din
ner time, Mrs. Whitman did an unu
sual amount of thinking for her little
brain. She saw, the moment he en
tered, that the morning cloud had not
passed from his brow.
‘Here is the money for that new-
dress,’ he said, taking a small roll of
bills from his vest pocket, and handing
them to Ada, as he came in. He did
not kiss her, nor smile in the old bright
wav. But his voice was calm, if not
cheerful. A kiss and a smile just then
would have been more precious to the
young wife than a hundred sfik dress
es. She took thB money, saying^-
‘Thank you, dear! It is kind of you
to rpgard my wishes.’
Something in Ada’s voice a.nd man
ner caused Mr. Whitman to lift his
eyes, with a look of inquiry lo her face.
But she turned away, so that he could
uot read its expression.
lie was graver and more silent than
usual, and eat with scarcely an appear
ance of appetite.
‘Come home early, dear,’ said Mrs.
Whitman, as she walked to the door
with her husband after dinner.
‘Are you anxious to have me admire
your new silk dress ?' he replied, with
a faint effort to smile. _
‘Yes. It will be something splendid,
she answered.
He turned off from her quickly, and
left the house. A few moments she
stood, with a thoughtful face, her mind
indrawn, and her whole manner com
pletely changed. She went to her
room and commenced dressing to go
out.
Two hours later, and we find her in
a jewelry store on Broadway.
‘Can I say a word to you ?’ She ad
dressed the owner of the store, who
knew her very well.
‘Certainly,’ he replied, and they
moved to the lower end of one of the
long show cases. .
Mrs. Whitman drew from her pock
et a lady’s watch and chain, and laying
them on the show case, said, at the
8ime time holding out the bill she had
taken from the envelope addressed to
her husband,
‘I cannot afford to wear this watch ;
my husband’s circumstances are too
limited. I tell you so frankly. It
should never have been purchased but
a too indulgent husband yielded to the
importunities of a foolish young wife.
I say this to take the blame from him.
Now, sir, meet the case, if you can do
so in fairness to yourself. Take back
the watch, and say how much I shall
pay you besides.’
The jeweller dropped his eyes to
think. The case took him a little by
surprise. He stood for nearly a min
ute; then taking the bill and watch, he
said:
‘Wait a moment,’ and went to a
desk near by.'
‘Will that do?’
He had come forward again, and
now presented her with the receipted
bill. His face wore a pleased expres
sion.
‘How much shall I pay you ?’ asked
Mrs. Whitman, drawing out her pocket
book.
‘Nothing. The watch is not de
faced.’
‘You have done a kind act, sir, 1 said
Mrs. Whitman, with feeling trembling
along her voice. T hope you will not
think unfavorably of my husband. It’s
no fault of his that the deb„t has not
been paid. Good morning, sir.’
Mrs. Whitman drew her veil over
her face, and went, with light steps
and a light heart, from the store. The
pleasure she had experienced on re
ceiving her watch was not to be com
pared with that now felt in parting
with it. From the jeweller’s she went
to the bootmakers and paid the bill of
twenty five dollars; from thence to her
milliner’s, and settled up for her last
bonnet.
‘I know you’re dying to see my new
dress,’ said Mrs. Whitman, gaily, as
she drew her arm within that of her
husband, on bis appearance that eve
ning. Come over to our bed-room,
and let me show it. Come along! Don’t
hang back, Charles, as if you were
afraid.’
Charles Whitman went with his
wife passively, looking more like a
man on his way to receive .sentence
than in expectation of a pleasant sight.
His thoughts were bitter.
‘Shall my Ada become lost to me,’
he said in his heart—‘lost to me in a
world of folly, fashion, and extrava
gance ?’
‘S t down, Charles.’ She led him to
a large, cushioned chair. Her manner
had undergane a change. Thebright-
ness of her countenance had departed.
She took something, in a hurried way,
from the drawer, and catching up a
footstool, placed it on the floor near
him, and looked tenderly and loving
ly in his face.- Then she handed him
the jeweller’s bill.
‘It is receipted, you see.’ Her voice
fluttered a little.
‘Ada! how is this? What does it
mean?’ He flushed and grew eager.
‘I returned the watch, and Mr. R.
receipted the bill. I would have paid
for damages, but he said it was unin
jured, and asked nothing.’
‘Oh, Ada !’
‘And this is receipted also—and
this,’ handing the other bills she had
paid. ‘And now, dear,’ she added,
quickly, ‘how do you like my dress?
Isn’t it beautiful ?’
We leave the explanation and scene
that followed to the reader’s imagina
tion. If any»fair lady, however, who,
like Ada, has been drawing too heavi-
lv upon her husband’s slender income,
for silks acd jewels, is at a loss to re
alize the scene, let her try Ada’s ex
periment. Our word for it, she will
find a new and glad experience in life.
Costlv silks and jewels may be very
pleasant things, but they are too dearly
bought when they come at the cost of
a husband’s embarrassment, mental
disquietude, or alienation. Too ofteu
the miv young wife wears them as the
si°-n° of these unhappy conditions.
Tranquil hearts aud sunny homes are
precious things—too precious to be
burdened and clouded by weak vanity
and love of show. Keep, this in mind,
O ve fair ones, who have husbands in
moderate circumstances. Do not let
your pride and pleasure oppress them.
Rich clothing, costly laces and gems,
are poor substitutes for smiling faces-
and hearts unshadowed by care. Take
the lessoD and live by it, rather than
offer another illustration, in your own
experience, of the folly we have been
trying to expose and rebuke.
‘When I goes shopping,’ said an old
lady, ‘I allers asks for what I wants,
and if they have it, and it is suitable,
and I feel inclined to buy it, and its
cheay, and can’t be got at any other
place for less, I most allers takes it
without chappering about it all day as
most people does.’
.It is a bad sign to see a man with
his hat off at midnight explaining the
theory and principles of true democra-
| cy to a lamp-post.
The Police System in Paris-
The Paris correspondent of the New
Orleans Delta relates the following :
A few days since an individual neat
ly dressed, but abrupt iu manner as if
conscious of exercising an authority
impossible to conceal, presented him
self at the mansion of the Countess de
S-, a widow of large fortune, and asked
to speak to her immediately. The ser
vant who answered the summons in
formed the strauger that her mistress
was at breakfast, and did not receive
visitors in the morning. If he would
return at four o’clock he might be ad
mitted.
‘Four o’clock will not do,’ said the
stranger, ‘have the goodness to tell her
my business is urgent.’
Thus pressed, the girl left the visi
tor in the ante-chamber, and entered
the dining room, to ask madame’s
further erders. The door being left
ajar, the unknown heard the Countess
sharply reprimand her servant for
bringing any such impertinent mes
sage, whereupon without further cere
mony, he walked into the room and
presented himself before the ai istocrat-
ic lady, who was greatly amazed and
irritated at so audacipus a proceeding.
‘It is very strange, sir,’ said she
haughtily, ‘that contrary to my orders
and wishes, you should so far forget
the common impulses of decency as to
present yourself here. I really cannot
find terms in which to characterize
your conduct. Nevertheless, as you
thus forced your way into my house,
the readiest mode of inducing you to
leave it peaceably, will be to hear what
you have to communicate. Explain
the object of your visit as briefly as
possible.’
‘Madame,’ coolly replied the stran
ger, totally unmoved by the austerity
of the Countess’ attitude and language,
you will do me the favor of sending this
servant from the room. It is absolute
ly necessary that I converse with you
alone.’
‘I have every confidence in my do
mestics,’ rejoined the Countess whose
anger commenced rising.’
Without replying to these observa
tions, the intruder opened the door
leading into the passage whence he had
entered, took the girl by the arm and
thrust her outside. Now, thoroughly
alarmed, and satisfied that some nefa
rious project was to be attempted, the
Countess rushed towards a small
spring bell on the buffet; but before
she could reach it, the stranger seized
the timbrel, and placed it on the table
near her chair, and tranquilly said
‘Madame, \-ou have no occasion to fear
me. My purpose is io serve, not to
injure you.’
Somewhat reassnr. <1 by these words
Madame de S. resumed her seat taking
the precaution, however, to place her
hand-on the bell.
The stranger smiled.
‘Madame,’ said he, '
vants do you employ?’
‘Answer me. Madame, do you or do
you not .expect a payment cf 100,000
francs!’
‘I do.’
‘Very well madame, your exce’lent
cook whom I have just arrested is an
escaped convict from the hulk of Tou
lon, who intended to take that money
off your hands.’
‘G|pd heavens,’ exclaimed the Coun
tess, seizing the revealed detectives’
hand; while tears of gratitude stream
ed from her eyes, ‘you have saved raw
life.’
‘I think it very likely, Madame,’
returned the officer sententiouslyy “and
I have the honor to bid you good
morning. 1
Be a Whole Woman-
Young woman, you are entering up
on the voyage of life, which is a path
of duty. Before you, wide open, is the
path of honor, right and upright wo
manhood. You are to become a wife,
a mother, a counselor, an adviser, a
friend. Duties more delicate than oth
ers, because they underiy all others,
will be devolved upon you. You must
do your part toward fashioning the
character of a generation, and shaping
the destiny of a state. To accomplish
the task sec before you, you must be a
whole woman. Aim to instill into ev
ery act of life the noblest principles of
your sex, and in burning letters upon
your conduct, the whole truth of wo
manhood. Turn aside in disgust from
the glitter and the gauze, and the
meaningless batter fly display of the
world’s—Vanity Fair. Shut your eyes
and stop your ears to the rounded form
and alluring tongue of vice. Be a
whole woman. Learn to sew, to wash
to cook, to bake, to read, to talk, to
act.
Give us the true woman, who is not
gfraid to soil her hands in contact with
honest dough, nor twirl her finely
movlded arm in a pot of greasy water.
Give us the woman who knows how to
keep a house in order, to make beds to
dust chairs. Let her be able to shed
the graces of intelligent conversation
around the pathway of her daily life,
and to impart the energy, the vigor,
and the honor which shaped the im
pulse of her own life, to all with whom
she comes in contact. Leave the feeble
accomplishments of the unmeaning
fashion to her who is made up of silks
and furbelows,- big bustles, and paper-
soled shoes, whose powers of admira
tion are excited only by carefully cul
tivated mustaches aud whose sympathy
is kindled only by the fast flashy,
trashy, sensual and foolish h rench
novel. Let them continue thus to
weaken and poison society, and to be-
of worthless and
The Three Calls aid the Difference. | you have, and such a nice garden, and
It was a fine aft^noon in Au?ust ! then you always keep your house look-
that Mrs. Bradley left her cheerful
home to call-upon a few of her neigh
bors; her first call was at the house of
Mr. Munson, a thriving mechanic,
whose wife she thus addressed: ‘Good
afternoon, Mrs. Munson; how are you
getting along this fine weather ?’
‘Oh, badly enough,’ was the reph r .
‘I have to work so hard that I haven’t
time to think whether the weather is
fine or otherwise; it is work, work, from
morning till night, it is certainly
enough to wear out the patience of a
saint.’
‘You have a great deal of work, it
is true, but.your family are all enjoy
ing good health, are they not ?’
‘Yes; if my children were sickly, I
should sit down and fold my hands in
despair; there would be no use in try
ing to get along. If I were only able
to do as Mrs. Church, the lawyer’s wife
does, I think I nught enjoy life. She
has plenty of everything she wan's, a
smart husband, the pride of the village,
and an only child, and then she hires
her work all done, so that she can go
and come just when she chooses, and
can take life as easy as need be. Oh
dear, I can’t see why it is that some
are so favored while others have so
hard a lot!’
‘O, you must cheer up Mrs. Munson;
I think you have much to be thankful
for; a family of bright, happy children,
all doing well and bidding fairto make
useful members of society, and such
a pleasant home as you have; perhaps
could yon know all about the lives of
some whom you now feel disposed to
envy, you would find them not as hap
py as yourself. ‘Every heart knoweth
its own bitterness,’ you know.’
After a few hours longer spent in
conversation, Mrs. Bradley left, and
wended her way to the residence of
Mrs. Church, the favored lawyer’s
wife.
‘How do you do to-day, Mrs.
Church ?’
‘Oh, I am about as usual, Mrs. Brad
ley, always miserable.'
‘Is not your health good?’
‘Not very; I am nervous and sensi
tive, and I have trouble enough to kill
any woman.’
‘You have trouble, Mrs. C ? Indeed
I suppose you were one of the favored
few who hardly know of trouble but
by name. It was only a short time
since, that I heard a lady bewailing
her own hard lot, and wishing she
could live as easily as yon do.’
‘Easily, indeed! let her try it for a
short time and I think she would be
inclined to change her nvnd.’
‘But what troubles vou so much, if j
come the mothers ol woiuuess auu | , , , " •
■ i i -r. , ,i . I may be allowed lo enquire :
wicked sons. But the true mutroua ot i ' A - t
. c ‘Oh, a great many thiugs; first, i
America are of another class. . . ’ J ’c i’ip
c <t> ! think my husband cares more for half
A Gentle "Whisper iu the Husband's Ear, ! a dozen of the village girls than he
j Husband, think of the good qualities : does for me; he is always speaking in
how many ser- . of pour beloved, not of her bad ones ; j their favor. He is always kind to me,
| think of her good common sense, her ' but I suppose it is bicause he is asham-
‘I will answer your questions, sir,’ ! industry, neatness, order, her kindness, j ed to be otherwise. I haven’t a parti-
said the lady, ‘when I have learned ! affability, aod above all, her ardent i cle of love left for him, and I tell him
who vou are and what may be your piety, her devotedness to things heav- J I will not be hypocritical enough to tty
1 enly and divine. Suppose you had a 1 “ 1 T ’
slattern for a wife, a slip-shod husso, a
gossip, a real termagant, whose tongue
was not merely a trip hammer, but as
the forked lightnings, so that even the
house-top would be a thankful retreat
from unmitigated fury. Suppose all
this and still more, then say, has not
God dealt very kindly, gracious^,
mercifully in giving you such as He
has. God has dealt infinitely better
with you than your desert.
‘But she is not, all I could wish.’
Marvelous, wonderful! And are
you all she could wish? Turn the
object in interrogating me.’
‘I have no time to waste in explana
tions, which might, in the event of my
visit ending fruitlessly, be worse than
useless. 1 beg you to reply without
hesitation to my seemingly impertinent
questions. I repeat how many ser
vants have you?’
*•‘1 do not know what impresses me to
satisfy you,’ said the Countess, ‘but as
your question, after all, is merely im
pertinent, as you admit, I will inform
you that I have three domestics at the
present time, one is an old servant of
my father, who has been attached to
me from infancy, and who is my at
tendant, the second is my femme de
chambre, whom you have just seen and.
the third is my cook.’ •
‘How long has this femme de chambre
been in your service?’
‘For the last nine years.’
'Ah! the cook. .What sort of a per
son is the cook ?’ demanded the stran-
to make him think I have.
‘You have a bright pretty little boy
there; he must be a great comfort to
you.’
‘Yes; the only comfort I ever expect
to take is with him and he causes me a
world of anxiety; if he should do no
better than most of the village boys,
he' would be a curse instead of a bless
ing to me.’
‘You must get a great deal of time
for reading and mental improvement,
also for the cultivation of flowers;
pleasant occupations which would
serve to divert your mind and make
ger with a look of interest which con- and the little faults which now appear
vinced Madame de S., that mere curi
osity was not his motive for the singu
lar and minute examination.
‘My cook is a woman perhaps thirty
five years of age, who has been in my
house only a few da3 r s. She came to
me with the highest recommendations,
and her conduct thus far is irreproach
able. Of course it is impossible to
judge with certainty, but Marie seems
to be in her sphere a valuable acqui
sition.’
‘Ahl’ ejaculated the unknown with
a smile, ‘the cook’s name is Marie, is
it? Well, I should like to see her for
a moment.’
‘Very good sir,’ returned the Coun
tess, sarcastically, ‘she is probable in
the kitchen; and if your object was an
interview with one of my servants
you would have saved me annoyance
of an inquisitorial intrusion by present
ing yourself directly at the servants
entrance.’
Totally unmoved by this direct cut,
the stranger rose, bowed politely and
left the room. Beckoning up two men
who seemed to be holding a desultory
chat on the other side of the street, the
curious visitor accompanied by the
talkers re-entered Madame de S.’s
house on their way to the kitchen, and
arrested the irreproachable Marie.
Leaving his prisoner in the charge of
the two agents who had been waiting
his orders, the stranger returned to the
dining room and interrogated the coun
tess as follows:
‘Do you not expect to receive in a
day or two a large sum of money ?’
‘But sir, by what right—that is—
how do you know ?U
wallet. Suppose you cast an eye with- you forget that you have anything to
in and without, view your own ugli- trouble you.’
ness and blackness. How many thiugs | ‘O, I have time enough, but have no
does your beloved wife see in 3’ou that! taste for flowers, and soon get tired of
she has reason to despise as mean, sel- ! reading, aud then my hired help is a
fish, miserly, groveling. Are you all j constant source of annoyanee.. Some
she could wish ? Far from it. people can get good help, but I never
Love covereth a multitude of blem- can; they want constant watching an !
talking to, and it is very wearying to j
me. I often feel as if I were the most j
miserable woman alive.
ishes—let the heart be filled with love
mountains, will be swallowed up, or
become as mole hills. A husband who
is always complaining and growling,
and snapping, and snarling, is enough
to crush a heart of steel, to sour the
mind of an angel. The female heart
is tender, soothing, sympathetic, love
ly. Husband, speak kindly to 3'our
beloved—
Speak kindly to her. Little dost thou know
What utter wretchedness, what hopeless woe,
Hang on these bitter words, that stern reply ;
The cold demeanor and reproving eye.
The death-steel pierces not with keener dart
Than unkind words in woman’s trusting heart.
Witty and Wise.—Two persons,
I belie,ve a husband and wile, being
very much at variance, referred their
quarrel to Mr. Howies. Each accused
the other, and both declaret^hem-
selves to be without blamed Mr.
Howeles heard them very patientiy,
aud then said—My judgment is this:
let the innocent forgive the guilty.’
A lady passing along the street in
Buffalo, noticed a little boy scattering
salt upon the side-walk, for the pur
pose of cleaning sff the ice. ‘W“’ ! 1
I’m sure,’ said the lady, ‘that is
benevolent.’ ‘No it ain’t ma’am.’ re
plied the boy, ‘it’s salt.’
The happiest period of a man’s life is
when be has a pretty little wife, one
beautiful child, more ready cash than
he well knows what to do with, a good
conscience, and is not even in debt for
his newspaper.
Lazy rich girls make rich men poor,
and industrious poor girls make poor
men rich.
T am sorry to find you so low-spiri- j p^ rent;
ing so neat and cheerful;,really, I don’t
see how you find time to attend to so
many things.’
‘Ourgarden and flowers areasource
of much gratification to us all, and the
children had .much rather spend a por
tion of their time in their cultivation
than in any other amusement, and I
consider iLnotonly a healthy employ
ment, but one which creates in their
minds a love for the beautiful in na
ture, and also attaches them to home,
a consideration of no little importance.’
‘I only wish,’- said Mrs. Bradle3 r , as
she arose to leave, ‘that all were pos
sessed of your hopeful and happ3’" dis
position. Then would this be a much
liappier world than it now is.’—Carrie
Curtis„ in Boston Cultivator.
God’s Way and Man’s Way
God says: Seek ye first the King
dom of Heaven and its righteousness,
and all these (earthly things) shall be
added unto 3 7 ou.
aK:? says: Seek first worldly wealth
and fame and power; religion you can
get on a dying bed:
God says: Open thy hfr'ffb, and I
will fill it.
Man sa3 T s: Let prayer go, and woii"
for what you want.
God says: Give and it shall begiveu
unto you; good measure, pressed down
and shaken together and running over,
shall men give into 3 r our bosoms.
Man says: Charity begins at home.
Why give to others that for which you*
have toiled so hard? Your own fami
ly may want it.
God says: Whatsoever ye would
that men should do to you, do ye even
so to them.
Man says: Whatsoever men do to
you, do ye even so to them.
God sa3 7 s: Lay not up for yourselves
treasures upon earth, but lay up for
yourselves treasures in heaven.
Man says: Make sure of your world
ly treasures. Heaven is a long way
off.
God says: Whoso bath this world’s
goods, and seeth his brother have need,
and shutteth up his bowels of compas
sion from him, how dwelleth the love
of God in him?
Man says: What guaranty have I,
if I give my earnings to the poor, that
I shall not come to want myself?
God says: There is that that scatter
ed:, and yet increaseth.
Man says: It is only by saving and
boarding what you have that it will
increase.
Reader, what says your conscience ?
Is not God’s way better than man’s?
The Boy the Father of the Man.
Solomon said, many centuries ago,
‘Even a child is known by his doings,
whether his work is pure and whether
it be right.’
Some people seem to think that
children have no character at all. On
the contrary, an observing eye sees in
these young creatures the signs of
what they are likely to be for life.
When I see a boy in haste to spend
every penny as soon as he gets it, I
think it a sign that he will be a spend
thrift.
When I see a boy hoarding up his
pennies, and unwilling to part with
them for any good purpose, I think it
a sign that he will be a miser.
When I see a boy or a girl always
looking out for him or herself, and dis
liking to share good thiugs with oth
ers, I think it is a sign that the child
will grow «p a very selfish person.
When I see boys and girls often
quarreling, I think it a sign that
they will be violent and hateful men
and women. -
When I see a little boy willing to
taste strong drink, I think it a sign
that he will be a drunkard.
When I see a boy who never attends
to the services of religion, I think it a
sign that he will be a profane, a profli
gate man.
When I see a child obedient to his
parents, I think it a sign of great
future blessing from his Heavenly
ted to-day, Mrs. Church. - I think we
ought to strive to look on the bright
side, and be as content as possible in
whatever situation in life we are placed
.trusting that the trials of this life,
which are of short duration, will work
together for our good, though we may
not always be able to see how they can
do so; but I must bid you good after
noon, as I wish to call on Mrs. Perry
before I return home.’
While Mrs. Bradley was wondering
whether she should find Mrs. Perry in
an amiable mood, as she had the pre
vious ladies, she found herself at the
door of her house, where she met with
a cordial reception.
‘How are you prospering, Mrs. Per
ry ?’ said she, after the usual salutations
had passed.
‘O, very well indeed.’
‘Thank you,’ was the reply. ‘I see
you are looking cheerful and happy;
indeed I believe you always do.
‘Why shouldn’t 1 ? I have a happy
_ t home, a good husband, and five darl-
Weli, i j U g children, with everything I need to
e£ d I make me comfortable.
‘True, but you must have to work
very hard and be quite economical to
get along as well as you do.’
‘Yes, but I take comfort in working
for my .family; sometimes when m3'
children are sick, aud we have had
much sickness in our family this win
ter, I get very tired, but do not allow
myself to get discouraged, for I think it
is never best to know trouble; ‘suffi
cient unto the day is the evil thereof.”
‘What a pretty collection ol flowers
And though great changes some
times take place in the character, yet,
as a general rule, these signs do not
fail.—Christian Enquirer.
Grow Beautiful.—Persons may
outgrow disease and become healtny by
proper attention to the laws of their
physical constitutions. By moderate
and daily exercise, men may Become
active and strong in limb and muscle.
But to grow' beautiful, how ? Age
dims the lustre of the eye, and pales
the roses on beauty’s cheek; while crow
feet and furrows, and wrinkles, and
lost teeth, and gann grey hairs, and
bald head, and tottering limbs, and
limping feet, most sadly mar the hu
man form divine, But dim as the eye
is, as palid and sunken as may be the
face of beauty, and frail and feeble
that once strong, erect and manly body
the immortal soul, just fledging its
wings for its home in heaven, may
look out through these faded windows
as beautiful as the dewdrops of sum
mer morning, as the tear glistens in
affection’s eye by growing kindly, by
cultivating sympath3 r with all human
kind; by cherishing fosbearance to
wards the foibles of our race, and feel
ing day by day on that to Good and
man which lifts us from the brute and
make us akin.
There are two languages that arc
universal—one love, and the other
money. The women understand one,
and the men the other.