Newspaper Page Text
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YOL. I.
"*' ” GEORGIA, MARCH 7, 1873.
' ■- ^
NO. 36.
51. b. WEDLOCK. JETHRO iBLlSE. B, I. RODOEES.
By Ifledlocfe, Arlino & Rodfere.
The Heru.t> is published in Sandersville,
Ga every Friday morning. Subscription
price TWO DOLLARS per annum.
A-dvertisements insortstl fit tlio usury rates.
No cliarge for publishing marriages or
I deaths.
POETEY.
Sheaves.
A sad autumnal sky—a twilight sky,
All colorless and gray;
A low w ind whispering through the withered
grass,
And wandering away;
Bare trees—save for a handful of hare leaves:
A quiet reaper, resting with her sheaves.
How poor they seem! how few, how worthless
till!
Ah! for another spring;
Or. if the summer, late and cold at best,
Might come again and bring
The light and warmth that best matures the
1 grain
I Before the frost falls and the latter ram:
| And yet lie knows and judges all aright;
I Borne by the wayside fall;
borne came to naught; and some the birds
deaBiMsed.^yw,, jewifiifci it ^mi :
j And He alone cun tell
■ What- bitter Chance of circumstance decreed
j The utter failure of the cherished seed.
| But it may be in a diviner air
Transfigured and made pure,
The harvest that we deeth'ed as wholly lost
Waits perfect and.mature:
And tlie faint heart that now defeated grieves
May ret stand smiling* ’mid abundant
sheaves.
“Well, we hare been married six
teen years, and ar6 the happy pro
prietors of one girl; and two noble
boys.’ Grade, being the elder, and
certainly Ed, the most bewitching
little Sprite, that ever gladdened a
fathers heart.
my tyrannical implacable Grand- j to secure for our little giri education-
father, in a paroxysm of frenzied rage, ! al advantages, and soon found my-
imperiously commanded my father j self again established as book-keeper,
to decide' at mire and forever, between | comnianding a handsome salary.—
a princely inheritance and “that! In two yeitrs more, just" as I had by
nameless designing plebian”—which
he unhesitatingly did, byinmedia-
After Sherman ? s hellish raid to- 7 sea, ! tely marrying my mother and seek-
SELECT MISCELLANY.
[Written for tLe Herald.]
CLIFFORD LYLE.
BY SUNBEAM.
“Edgar Lvle! Can it be possi- j
hleT
You are right Summers. Fate has j
indeed decreed that we meet again, |
after the laose of eighteen changing j
years, and this meeting though quite
unexpected, is nevertheless fraught g r ..,^
with pleasure; for a single glance at | -ons has been your voyage thus far,
with only a scanty remnant of what-
had been a handsome fortune, I re
solved to leave forever, the devoted
little State that had been desolated
and polluted by the fiendish vandal
foe. Launching out, with scarcely
a thought or care as to my destina
tion,by the most unforeseen circum
stances imaginable, I drifted to this
place, rented a small house ,soon had
out my shingle, and by prompt, ex
clusive attention to professional
duties, found to my relief, I had se
cured the sympathy 1 , confidence, and
(last though not the least), practice
of the entire community, to the mor
tifying, yet pardonable chagrin
of my only competitor—an insignifi
cant, conceited coxcomb, who wise
ly concluded to “change his base,”
thereby leaving me “master of the
situation.” He was undoubtedly
the most supercilious, deeply-dyed
dandy I ever saw, devoting infiinite-
ly more time to his luxuriant, well-
trimmed moustache, than to the
comfort of his patients. But I am
digressing. To conclude my simple
narrative — after years of rigid
economy, and innumerable acts of
self-denial, I am now the -proud pos
sessor of a neat suburban cottage;
stand square with the world, besides,
having an extensive, lucrative prac
tice. Now, Ed. my plain, unvarnish
ed tale is finished.”
“And highly entertaining it has
proven, I assure you. It is evident
beyond dispute, that yon may be
classed among the. select few of fickle
dame Fortune’s special favorites—
one of her deal; but, jesting apart,
how strangely smooth and prqsper-
your well remembered features, lias ,
alread awakened a host of cherish- *
ed reminiscences, that have long lain ]
dormant in the hidden vaults of
memory—and are even now* strug
gling for pre-eminence. But come,
old fellow, don’t stand there - staring
like one possessed—and immovable
as if petrified. Ha ve you no cheer
ing words of welcome for your old
ch in
The unaffected, familiar greeting
of his Mend instantly aroused Hugh
S earners from his momentary shock
of surprise, and the expression of
b.aiik astonishment, depicted on his
handsome face, was quickly super
seded by one of jovial, heart-felt
gladness, as cordially grasping the
extended hfud he exclaimed—
“Ah! this is truly a rare, a realj
pleasure ! By jove! Ed, I’d as soon j
expected to see yon glorious orb, !
set at noon-day, as your sober .phiz, !
this morning, in our quiet, country- j
town.”
“How happens it Summers, that j
I find you, in this out-of-the-way,
embryo 1 city, so distant too from your
grand old'homestead, within hear
ing of Saluda’s tumbling waters?—
and—well, in other words, just make
a full, free confession of ail your ups
and downs, upon the stream of Life,
for lo! these many years.”
“Quite a wearisome task you’ve
imposed,” smilingly replied Hugh
Summers, “but come,” drawing the
arm of his comrade within his own,
“we’ll walk down to my office, make
ourselves comfortable, then ask and
answer unmolested, the questions
whose name is legion, which natural
ly suggest themselves after our pro-
. tracted separation.” *
Walking briskly a few paces, they
halted in front of an unpretending
structure, above the door-w'ay of
which conspicuously glittered, “Hugh
Summers, M. I>.”
“See there Ed,” pointing to the
glistening sign, “my boyhood’s am
bitious dreams literally realized.”
Glancing in the direction indica
ted, Edgar Lyle threw up his hands,
with an ail* of well assumed sur
prise cxclaTruing—
“Hallo! by George 1 the. yeritble
’ coveted '!. D., appended! What
is its signification £> maimers, in con
nection with yfAtr name—‘My Door,’
‘Mighty Dangerou s’ .or ‘More
Deaths f I imagine the slowly mov
ing hoarse, follows closely in the
wake of your pill boxes and’ bottles,
eh, old iei?”
“Yes, and if any ?df my patients
are so fortunate as to be deprived of
a ride therein, you may depend ’tis
not :.iy fault,”', was the laughing re
joinder.
Thus gaily chatting, the two en
tered the office, and Raving drawn
their chairs near The . blazing fire,
that glowed and spark 16(1 ’ upon the
open hearth, Edgar Lyle observed—
“No w, Summers)-' I'm ready and
anxious to hear ali about yourself—
as you are my senior, -you are en
titled to Jir.st go—so let’s havefit.”
“Ahem ! ahem!! You recollect
M.ss Adela Maxwell ?”
“Of whose perfections you so of
ten raved like a Bedlamite?”
“l'he very same—my jirst and only
love.”
Most assuredly I do—perfectly,
perfectly well.”
down Time’s wide-spreading ocean.
Scarcely a ripple to disturb its calm
surface:— yet, oh, Summers, what
treachery and danger lurk beneath
those unfathomable waters! Ah,
we know not at what moment, rag
ing storms may burst—lashing
those gentle ripples into seething,
foaming billows, engulfing our fra
gile barks within then mysterious
depth. But
“But more of that anon my friend.
I’m waiting now to hear what parts
you have played in the great drama
of life—anticipating ‘moving acci
dents’—hair-breadth ’scapes,’ rap
idly shifting scenes, ‘grand, gloomy
and peculiar.’ ”
An almost imperceptible change
swept over the expressive features
of Edgar Lyle, which to a casual ob
server, would have passed unnoticed
but the practiced eye of Dr. Sum
mers, quickly discerned the fleeting
cloud, and readily inferring, that
painful recollections had been re
vived by his thoughtless badinage,
without comment discontinued liis
levity and raillery, with truthful so
berness added:
“It is a well known fact, taught by
stem experience, that “the web of
our life is of mingled yarn—good
and ill together.” Every revolution
of Time’s ponderous wheel, casts up
lights and shadows, chances and
changes, while we as creatures of
irreversible destiny must accept them
as they come.”
“True, I admit—irrefutably true”—
“but,” he continued with a sad smile,
“unfortunately the shadows and
changes to which you allude, have
invariably fallen to my lot. Since
in Columbia’s classic halls, we bade
each other adieu, my life has been
for the most part, sad and eventful.
During my collegiate course, rose
the dark o’erwhelming cloud of my
first, great sorrow, ominously ob
scuring the hope begirt horizon of
a cloudless future; which just then
was unfolding its gorgeously tinted
views to my enraptured gaze. I re
fer to the demise of my revered moth
er. She was a widow, and I her
only child—yet the full extent of my
bereavement I never realized until
I graduated and returned to my
boyhood’s home;—’twas then I felt
the loss I had sustained when she
passed from earth to heaven. The
charms, aims’and aspirations of life,
were remembered only as things that
werf. N6 tie—ho claim of kindred
bound me to any living creature-I was
alone, emphatically alone. Tne ex
pression must appear strange, but
to justify, and give strength to the
assertion, allow, me to read you a
chapter from my family history.
Of my father’s ancestors ■ 1 know
comparatively nothing, save they
were Virginians, proud, domineering,
and despotic to a fault, as the sequel
will prove. My mother was a por
tionless orphan of obscure parentage;
consequently, they strenuously and
with bitter vindictiveness opposed
my father (who was an only child)
forming: a matrimonial alliance, with
one they considered so immeasurably
his inferior in social point of view;
and when announcing his unyielding
determination to link his' destiny
with hers, regardless of consequences,
their fury was "fearfully violent, and
ling a new home in the sunny South.
My father, unfortunately inheriting
in an eminent degree the invincible
firmness of my Grand-father, made
no overtures towards a reconciliation.
Time and absence widened the
breach—and the rash command was
never revoked. However, my lengthy
digression is growing wearisome—I’ll
proceed with my individual history.
After the disease of my mother—
I disposed of my home, witli its ef
fects for a mere “song”—intending
to eke out my unprofitable existence
amid the crude wilds of Texas. “Man
deviseth his way, but God directeth
his steps.” On reaching Galveston,
I found the “gold fever” prevailing
to an alarming extent—and as may
be supposed I was speedly number-!
ed among its victims. The watch- i
wordwas ‘Westward ho!’ and onward,
still onward I moved with the flow
ing tide. Soon wearied with the
hardships and uncertainties of a
miner’s life, I sought and obtained
the position of book-keeper,. with a
highly remunerative salary, in the
largest, wholesale establishment in
San Francisco. For a few months
business occupied and engrossed rny
time and attention, to the almost
entire exclusion of everything else—•
however, as fate v juld have it, I ac
cidently met—and ere the evening
closed, passionately, wildly—with
all the intensity of my ardent, im
pulsive nature, I loved sweet Lilia
Knox—only child of one of the firm,
by whom I was then employed.
’Twere folly—nay madness, to
cherish a single thought of marriage
under existing circumstances, I was
simply a poor book-keeper--\eiy true
I had several hummed dollars ahead,
safely and profitably invested—but
what was that scanty pittance?—
however, it is well known that ‘Love,’
laughs to scorn, prudential motives
and arguments of reason;—the re
solve to see her no more was scarce
ly formed, ere I had actually wooed
—and won her to be my bride.
Though somewhat dubious of suc
cess, I nevertheless boldly present
ed my claim, respectfully -soliciting
parental sanction—which was po
litely yet decisively declined. Op
position I apprehended,—but was
pained to learn—though esteemed
as a Mend—and appreciated as an
assistant—to enter upon the list as
an aspirant for matrimonial favors,
was.considered the acme of presump
tion—a wild chimerical fancy ! The
foud, but mercenary Father hail long
since projected a cherished, ambi
tious design, with reference to her
future, and regarded its consumma
tion as a fixed fact;—which was no
other than to unite her in marriage
to a worthy son of his co-partner.
Ev ery honorable—available expedi
ent was resorted to with the fruit
less hope of securing his approba
tion,—bat his word was law—unal
terable as tli^t of the “Medes and
Persians.”
TJiilike the generality of men, con
trolled by similar circumstances, he
never during our necessary inter
course, suspended his customary
courtesy. Apprized of liis real sen
timents, my own pride and sense of
honor precluded a continuance of
my visits—v et strange as it may ap
pear, Lilia’s privileges were not in
the leas-t curtailed—or liberty, in
the slightest degree restrained, by
an unusual, suspicious vigilance;
consequently we frequently met and
devised plans for future action.
Finally I broached the only alter
native—elopement, to which she read
ily assented, and speedily we were
married. As early as practicable,
a note was dispatched to Mr. Knox,
stating the occurrence, and a few
hours brought his reply, addressed
to my wife, merely containing my
own communication, on which was,
penciled with , a nrm steady hand
these ' characteristic ' words—iudciL
Fly ; -engrave«I upon the' reefor'd or.
memory—
Mrs. Lyle-— diadamr Since you
have commenced life so indepeiut-
enth . I hope it may continue ; but
lieiucj ij rth and’forever we meet as
s&rahjtj’S. Respectfully,
Clifford Knox.
That was a??—rand what’need of
more? As early as arrangement's
could be made, i steered my course
eastward, bearing my prize, with the*
enthusiastic resolve to plant a .sec
ond E.len in the solitary wiids of the
‘Hone Star.’ I purchased a desira
ble plat of land, and went .to work
in earnest. Xke second t ear of our
marriage, my wife gave - birth to oUr
first and only child—a daughter—
whom she tearfully untreated might
be christened Clifford Knox. Thus
timeroiied on bearing the burden of
six years—the happiest of my exist
ence. ’Twas indeed,‘love in a cot
tage’—bliss without alloy- At length
yielding to the persistent entreaties
and arguments of my wife, I leased
my; farm, moved down to Galvesfe*,
nice management and paying invest
ments, amassed a snug little fortune—
my wife died- Her illness was of long
duration. I knew she was doomed
and tried to nerve myself to bear
the worse—yet, Summers, when her
loving, heart was stilled—and the
crimson tide of life forever stayed
’neath the icy hand of Death—I was
wholly unprepared for the terrible
event. Great God! „the unuttera
ble agony I endufed !—misery is an
idle word truly, compared with the
intensity of mv sufferings. But
enough—'I cannot even now revert
to that unhappy period of my ex
istence, with any degree of compo
sure.
My little daughter, I entrusted for
an indefinite time to the care of the
‘Sisters of Mercy,’ and sought for
getfulness in the excitement of travel.
For yeais, I had no permanent abid
ing place, hut like a bird of passage
was ever on ‘the whig.’ Fearlessly
I entered into every speculation
that promised success,,and always
f iroved successful;—but in an un-
ucky moment I ventured too far—
invested nearly my entire capital in
a business enterprise and—fust—lost
all, the accumulated earning of years.
Pecuniary embarrassments ren
dered it necessary to remove my
daugh ter from the Institute, in which j
she was still a pupil—then turned
my steps towards the “old red hills
of Georgia,” longing like a weary
cluul to be at home again.
Business transactions of an imper
ative nature required my immediate
presence at this place, hence our
unexpected meeting. At a late hour
last evening I arrived, and was wen
ding my wav to the office of Col. La
Borde; when halted by your excla-
mation s of recognition.”
“Why Ed, that’s aS good as a
novel—the ‘latest and best.’—Yerily
the old adage ‘truth is stranger than
fiction’, is. conclusively and satisfac
torily corroborated by the events of
your chequered life—the recital of
which has. deeply interested—and
excited all the gentle emotions of my
sympathetic nature.”
“Changing the subject Summers,
I must’’—rising and glancing at his
watch, “eleven o’clock! possible?
Why the morning is fast waning
and I’m compelled to—”
“Hold on Ed, you’ll have plenty
time—-don’t go yet—tell me—your
little girl—”
“My little girl ?” reseating himself,
ha, ha, ha—why man—you forget
that sixteen summers have crowned
her brow with their golden light!”
“True—I had forgotten—but where
is she “At the B hotel.”
“Ed, I’ll take no denial—I shall
order a carriage immediately, to con
vey your daughter to my residence,
where I intend you shall remain du
ring your sojourn in our midst.”
“Nay Summers I thank you—and
highly appreciate your kindness, but
must decline your offers of hospital
ity—our stay will necessarily be brief,
and Clifford is quite indisposed with
nervous headache, the result of un
usual fatigue—she requires rest—
and ! think a brisk drive to-morrow,
(already promised) will complete her
restoration to wonted health.”
“Well Ed, since we are denied the
pleasure of. your - society at “Ever
green”—Mrs. Summers will certainly
call on your daughter;—at what hour
shall we find you at the hotel?”
Any' hour after ten—will be at
home ' to visitors—we contemplate
leaving hi the afternoon. But I de
clare, this will never do—I must real
ly leave you Summers, though with
extreme reluctance—and hasten to
the dry details of business;—I will
however see you to-morrow, until
then adieu.
Next morning Edgar Lyle was
seated in an elegantly furnished par
lor, Vastly enjoying two luxuries
a good fire, and a late paper, in
dent so intently was he engaged
with the mttev that he did not hear
tire opening door, nr the gentle
swr ep oi Rowing drapery as a small
; eyipn-iike iioiiu, the • personification
oi grace and loveliness, glided softly
behind liis chair, nor was he aware
oi Her presence, until a pair of soft
warm Firms, twined lovingly about
'his neck kud rosy lips hovered
temptingly above his own, sweetly
murmuring —:—
which time we shall have had our
breakfast. But, my daughter, I
have not told you of the pleasant
surprise I met with on yesterday—
in fact, none of the occurrences of
the day; you appeared inclined to
sleep, when I came in last evening,
therefore I reserved all communic *-
tion for morning.”
He then proceeded to relate his
interview with his college chum, Dr.
Summers, and its result, thereby be
guiling the weariness of intervening
hours. At the specified time a ser
vant entered announcing-
Love Your Wives.
Husbands, love your wives. Noth
ing brightens a true woman’s life like
love. She will do anything, bear
anything suffer anything for the sake
of a husband who truly and tenderly
loves her, und whose heart is one
with hers. Where such love ends,
widowhood begins. The woman who
has a husband who is not wholly hers,
mourns the loss of a companion and
endurse the presence of a mummy.
But where conjugal fidelity and af
fection exists, poverty, privation and
toil are welcomed gladly for the joy
of love. But this love must be more
“Carriage for Mr. Lyle.” t
Turning to his daughter he remark- f than words; it must be in heart and
e d— • life, in deed and truth. It must be
“Wrap yourself up warmly pet— endured as well as demanded. It
old Boreas is whistling no gentle ■ must be self-denying as well as self
airs I assure you—however, I hope ! desiring. Love beareth all things and
his rough kisses will restore the : endureth all things, and never faileth.
bloom to your cheeks, which I per- ^ And when in her weakness, weari-
ceive still bear the snowy traces of. ness and sorrow a woman can feel
Pain’s pallid fingers.
With a gay laugh, she tripped to
her apartment, and hastily donning
hat and furs, re-entered the parlor.
A few moments later they wore
whirled away, leaving M with its
bustle far in the rear—while quiet
country scenes were rapidly presen
ted to view and greatly enjoyed. Af
ter an hour’s brisk drive, the wind
which had been steadily increasing,
became so violent as to render long
er driving, disagreeable rather than
otherwise. Orders were given to re
turn.
“See! oh see, father, what a gem of
a cottage, just over there, half hid
den by the trees! What exquisite—
that she does receive from her hus
band such a self-denying love as this;
when his strength bears with her
weakness, his patience with her petu
lance, and when his calm courage
soothes her frights and fears, what
gratitude swells up within her heart.
"Woman seeks in a husband truth,
and nobleness, and uprightness. She
loves manliness and spotless purity.
And if a man will show his manhood
in his daily life, he will find a bless
ing in his heart and in his home such
as tongue cannot describe.
"Wives need love. Their hearts
yearn for it as much as in the days
of girlhood, when life itself was love.
They often pass their womanhood in
really artistic taste is evinced in the anxious cares and wearing labors
arrangement of the grounds,
tiful, oh so beautiful!”
Beau-
In the anguish of maternity they en
ter into new spheres of existence,
broil lie;carefuuy inquired:
“How is my darling this morn
ing?”
“As fresh and joyous as the early
gong of merry spring birds, father
—my slumbers were undisturbed
during thercntipetiiighfc, and on awadci
ing, not A vestige of that dreadful
headache remained;—1 I eel so
miK-ti refreshed, and eagerly antic
ipate my promised - ‘■‘Lreutf——the
ai’i-f-r- -*■ .
“Yes, I’ve ordered a phaeton to-be
ilt attendance at nine! o’clock, by
via&i tfjjjgg
“Yes, I neglected to direct your whose only life is love. Whether wo-
attention to it as we were going out! man’s course is to be sadness or joy,
—that is the residence of Dr. Sum
mers.”
As he finished speaking, Mr. Lyle
noticed a wild restlessness about the
highly mettled steeds by which they
were drawn—chafing, as it were un
der restraint—Clifford, following his
steady gaze—quickty asked—
“Is there any danger father ? Are
they quite gentle?”
“No cause for alarm love—I ap
prehend no peril whatever, so calm
vour fears birdie—the horses were
represented, as being spirited, but
gentle,—the animals are thoroughly
chilled, and impatient to ”
The sentence was not completed,
when a child's straw hat, borne on
the wings of the wind—with flutter
ing ribbons, fell directly under the
horses’ feet. With the rapidity of
thought, they were off"—dashing at
a furious speed, entirely beyond
control The coachman, losing all
presence of mind, sprang from his
seat, abandoning his helpless charge
to their fate. Glaacing at the
blanched cheek of the trembling
form at his side, Mr. Lyle, gathered
the strong lines with a herculean
grasp, making every effort to guide
the affrighted animals—but vain was
the attempt;—in making a short
abrupt turn, the vehicle came in
violent contact with some obstruc
tion on the street, precipitating its
occupants to the ground. Assist
ance procured—the sufferers were
conveyed to the B hotel, and a
messenger quickly dispatched for
Dr. Summers—who ever prompt,
was speedily in attendance. Clif
ford Lyle was his first care—who
had-miraculously escaped uninjured,
save a few slight contusions. Yet
so completely unnerved by the shock
as to faint again and again—reviv
ing only to relapse into a state of
unconsciousness. Dr. Summers re
mained sufficiently long to satisfy
himself in regard to her condition,
then leaving her in charge of a com
petent nurse, anxiously hastened to
the relief of his friend. Mr. Lyle
was lying with closed eyes apparent
ly unmindful of passing events, when
Dr. Summers approached and quiet
ly called his name. At once the suf
ferer opened hiseyes-stared vacantly
around the room for a moment, then
lingering with a wistful gaze upon
the Dr. articulated with great diffi
culty
, “Summers,—my child”
[to be continued.]
“Dear Father, good morning.”
' 'Tenderly the clinging arms were
disengaged, and her yielding form
drawn to an ottoman at his sider-rr ,
imprinting a kiss upon the up-turned acids present in the perspiration, and
How to Wash Woolen Clothing.
—From the “Applied Science” col
umn of the New York Tribune which,
by the way, is a new and very valu
able feature just introduced in that
paper, we extract the following:
Articles of woolen clothing, wash
ed in ordinary soap and water, not
only shrink, but acquired a peculiar
fatty odor, due to the decomposition
of the soap by the lactic and acetic
Consequent precipitation of the great
er part of the soap in the fibre of the
wool. According to Prof. Artus, both
of these effects can be prevented by
steeping the articles for several hours
in a warm, moderately concentrated
solution of washing soda, then after
the addition of some warm water,
and a few drops of ammonia, wash
ing them out, And rinsing them in
lukewarm water.
The wits Called bigamy Utah-li-
zing ike female-sex.
sunshine or gloom, depends upon
love. All her cares are borne with
patience if love sweetens her bitter
cup. A long, hard, weary day of toil
is amply paid for with a single smile;
and one tender, loving clasp makes
her forget a whole life time of care
and conflict, bless the day she found
a husband with a heart so true and
hand so strong. An unexpected fa
vor touches her to the soul. A gift
in secret, an approaching word, a
pitying, soothing glance, a kindly,
sunny smile, a little self-denial to af
ford her pleasure or spare her pain;
all these are as sunbeams of gladness
to the heart of a true and toilin
wife.
Her husband and her children are
her treasures. Slie lives if they stand
fast. She is proud of their honor
and joyous in their prosperity. And
every token of their care and love
for her, in sickness or in health, is
laid up as a cherished memory,
kindness which she cannot forget,
and which she is only too happy to
repay.
Husbands, love vour wives. A
harsh word from yon is worse than
a poisoned arrow from an outside
foe. Your sneer turns life to bane
and blackness, while your smile alone
brings sunshine to her soul. One
selfish meanness in you, one little
contemptible thing, robs you of your
crown of honor and leaves her to be
wail her loss.
The -wife rnnst reverence her hus
band, but your love must beget that
reverence. We reverence the Heav
enly Father: “we love him because
he Jirst loved us.” “So let husbands
love their wives, even as Christ loved
the church and gave himself for it,”
and that love shall plant in her glad
heart such seeds of blessing and radi
ance as shall cause flowers radiant
as those of paradise and full of heav
enly fragrance to bless and brighten
all yonr journey in this wilderness of
sin and pain.
A Fox Tale.—A quaint Scotch
minister was gtyen somewhat to ex
aggeration inube pulpit. His clerk
reminded him of its ill effects upon
the congregation. He replied that
he was not awaae of it, and wished
the clerk the next time he did it to
have a cough by the way of hint.
Soon after, he was describing Samp
son’s tying the foxes’ tails together.
He said: “The foxes in tjiose days
were much longer than ours, and
they had tails twenty fut long.”
“Ahem?” came from the clerk’s
desk.
“That is,” continued the preacher,’
according to their measurement, but
by ours they were fifteen fut long.”
“Ahem!” louder t an before.
“But as you may think this ex
travagant, we’ll just say they were
ten fut!”
“Ahem! ahem!” still more vigorous.
The parson leaned over the pul
pit, and shaking his finger at the clerk,
said: “you may cough there all night
long, mon, I’llnae takeoff a fut more.
Would ye hae the foxes widnae teels
at a?”
Josh Billings on selecting a Wife.
Find a girl that iz 19years oldlast
May, about the right hight, with a
blue eye, and dark brown hair and
white teeth.
Let the girl be good to look at, not
to phond of musik, a firm disbeleav-
er in ghosts, and one ov six children
in the same family.
Look well to the karakter ov her
father: see that he is not the member
ov any klub, don’t bet on elekshuns,
and gets shaved at least three times
a week.
Find out all about her mother, sea
j — -—'•'•j vii uuj, u&CoaUU
dislikes, eat sum ov her hum-made
bread and apple dumplins, notis
whether she abuses of her uabor,
ask her servants how long they hav
lived thare, and don’t fall tew obsere
waetberher dresses last year’s ones
fixtover.
If you are satisfied that the moth
er would make the right kind ov a
mother-in-law, yu kan safely kon-
klude that the daugter would make
the right kind of a wife.
After these prelimenarys are all
settled, and yu hav done a reazona-
ble amount ov sparking, ask the young
lady for her heart and hand, and if
she refuses, yu kan konsider yourself
euchered.
If on the contrary, she should say
yes, git married at once, without any
fuss and feathers, and proceed to
take the chances.
_ I say take the chances,' for thare
ain t no resipee for a perfect wife,
onny more than thare iz for a perfect
husband.
fiiare iz just as many good wifes
az thare iz good husbands, and i nev
er knew two people, married or sin
gle, who were determined to make
themselves agreeable to each, but
what they suckceeded.
Name yure oldest boy sum good
stout name, not after sum hero, but
should the first boy be a girl, I ask
.1 ns a favour to me that yukaul her
Llebekker.
I dq want sum ov them goed, old-
asliioned, tuff girl names revived and
xtended.
Mark Twain says the memory of
the, rescue of the crew of the Charles
Ward “Stirs a body so that I would
swing my hat and disgorge a cheer
now, if 1 could do it without waking
the baby: but if you got a baby
awake once you never can get it a-
sleep again, and then you get into
trouble with the whole family.
Somehow I dont seem to have a
ohance to yell the way I used to.
The Old Enemy.
Three Indians of St. Mary’s For
est, who had been sadly given to in
temperance, were, by the powerful
persuasions of George Copwav—Ka-
ge-ga-ga-bongh—induced to sign the
pledge. These red men had done
union trading with the whites, and
were well known in the region of
St. Mary s, and when it became
known that they had pledged them
selves to totai abstinence, a party of
white men formed the somewhat
• iszy resolution of tempting mem to
test their sincerity, to which end
they placed a bottle of whisky in
the path w'hich the Indians were
soon to travel, afcd then concealed
themselves to watch for the result.
By and by the red men came along
in single file. The first one observ
ed the bottle, and with a deep ‘Ugh!’
shook his head and passed on. The
second kicked the bottle aside with
his foot, saying,—“Me knows you,
old friend,—and me no want you
any more.” The last of the three,
who had overheard the speech of
his companions, when he came up,
stopped and and contemplated the
bottle for a moment in silence. Then
he shrugged his shoulders, end
drawing his tomahawk, exclaimed,—
“Ugh!—No friend this, ever! He
is our enemy! He conquer me
many times,—now I conquer him !”
An xie smashed the flask to atoms.
The Story of a Vacant House.—
There is near the Boston and Lowell
Railroad, in Somerville, a handsome
brick house, just discernible form the
cars as they enter a cut on the road
bed, whic has a remantic history.
It was built by a rising young law
yer of Boston, who was engaged to
be married. He had fully furnished
the house,in anticipation of soon mak
ing it his home with hi3 young wife,
when the engagement was broken
off, for reasons, which, if they could
be related, would greatly add to the
romance of the story. The disappoint
ed lover shut up his new house, just
as it was, declaring it should not be
opened as long as the would-have-
been bride should live. That was
nearly twenty years ago; and the
luiiiisheu bui unienaiiieu house still
stands closed, just as it was prepar
ed to welcome its expected mistress.
We have here a dog story which
beats anything of the kind recently,
at least, related. In Clinton, Mass.,
a dog “was in the habit of helping
himself form a pail Of “odds and ends’
belonging to a neighbor. One day
he upset the pail and it fell to pieces,
upon which the sagacious creature
went home and brought back a sound
pail wLL'h hr* substituted for thebro-
’ en one,transferring the contents from
the oia io Lue utw, after which he
hid the staves of the broken vessel.
—We have heard of “sly dogs” be
fore, but was there ever a dog so sly
as this?
Good Brogans, whole stock $1.75 % pair at -
It A. EVAJtS A 00.*