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ft n t v ftl ft ,o r VOLUME XV. SANDERSVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, MAY 29, 1861. NUMBER 22. J. M G. KEDLOCK, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR-. Ugp” The Central Georuiax is published weekly, at Two Dollars per annum payable iu advance. Any person sending Fit- E a E W sUB- SCRIBERS, accompanied with the Cash, will be Furnished with a copy of the Georgian lor one year FREE OF CHARGE. Remittances by mail in registered letters at our risk. The Georgian is the organ of the Planters Club of Hancock, and will publish the proceedings ■of the regular monthly meetings of the Executive Committee. It will also contain, each mouth, at least one original article from tho pen ot some member of the Club. _ , Subscribers wishing the direction of their paper changed, will notify us from what office it is to be transferred. . , ADVERTISEMENTS conspicuously inserted at $1 00 pet square for the hist insertion, and 50 cents per square for each subsequent insertion. Those sent without a specification of the number of insertions, will be published until ordered out, and charged accordingly. 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.