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Vf • ' ' ' - "ft,*.-*•; 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.*