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YOL. I.
SANDERS VTLLE* GEORGIA, APRIL 4, 1873.
NO. 40.
J. M. G. JIEDLOCK. JETHEO ABLINE. B. L. COGGERS.
By ^Iedlock, Arline X Hodgers^_
The Hebabd is published in Sandersyille
Ga every Friday morning. Subscription
-rice TWO DOLLARS per annum.
^ Advertisements inserted at the usual rates.
No charge for publishing marriages or
deaths.
POETEY.
' For the Herald.
'Over the River.’
Respectfully inscribed to Hr. and Mrs. J. M. 0.
Medlock.
Death came—the stem, relentless foe,
And checked life’s current -warm—
Impressed his seal on throbbing heart—
And claimed the loved one s form.
He blasted with his with’ring breath,
The cherished hopes of years—
His victim clasped in strong embrace
’Mid heart-wrung, anguished tears.
But ‘over the river’—pearl gates beyond,
What mean those songs of praise ?—
A new-born angel has been crowned
With glory's fadeless rays.
Hark ’. ‘over the river’—God’s throne about,
’Mid floods of light divine—
A tiny victor lisps the shout
“The joys of heaven are mine !
See ' ‘over the river’—bright realms within,
She walks the streets of gold—
And bathes in streams of endless bliss,
Of glories yet untold.
Safe ‘over the river’—pure clime afar
Where shining orders soar,
Tout budding flow ret thither borne
Shall bloom forever more.
From ‘over the river’—to earth beneath,
Where grief cloud’s darkly loom—
She wafts the chiding—“stay your tears—
I've risen from the tomb.
From ‘ over the river’—back down to earth,
Defaced by sin’s foul stain—
A white-robed seraph whispers oft,
“We all shall meet again.”
Look ‘over the river’—lookjup—rejoice
Twas Mercy bore the rod—
For angels tiro—immortal links,
Now binds your hearts to God.
Then cling ye. to Faith’s anchor sure,
. Repress grief s rushing tide—
Just ‘over the river' your child you 11 greet .
At our Redeemer’s side.
Forest Home. Sunbeam. {
SELECT MISCELLANY. j
GERTIE WEST’S TRIAL.
BY FRANCES HENSHAW BADEN.
"A holiday to-morrow! Oh, ain t
tot glad ? ' exclaimed a girl beauti
ful and bright looking, notwithstand
ing the long hours aud close atmos
phere of the sewing room. She was j
such a happy little bird, with such a
hopeful heart, that she would not
grow pale and thin as most of the
others
“Say, ain’t you glad ? Why don’t
you clap your hands, and dance for
joy ? I believe I must,” throwing
her arms about one of her compan
ions. She was about to suit her ac
tions to her words, when a step was
heard on the stairs. ^ j
“Oh, here comes Miss Crane, ’ she
whispered, and returned quickly to
her work..
Miss Crane was the foreman of
the dressmaking department, in one
of the largest establisments of P .
She had never been very popular
with the girls, and lately they had all
grown not only to dislike her very
much, but really to dread her entry
into the work-room. It was whisper- j
ed that she had been trying to fasci
nate Mr. Osborn, the head of the
firm, an old bachelor of about sixty. ,
His marriage, a few months previous, j
to the widow of an old friend, end- *
ed all hope in that quarter.
This disappointment had not tend
ed to improve her temper by any
means.
However, for a few days previous
to our story, the girls had to admit
some change for the better in her
mood. Then some of them declared
she was after Mr. Harry, Mr. Os
born’s nephew. Indeed it looked j
rather like it,. for somehow Miss 1
Crane managed to have a great deal
of business with Mr. Harry.
Although no longer very young,
Miss Crane was still quite handsome;
aud as many a man of thirty had
married women ten, fifteen and even
twenty years older than themselves
—she had read of men of fame do
ing just so—Miss Crane had hope,
and really did look very sweet when
ever she could manage some excuse
to carry her to Mr. Harry.
“Do yon think she heard Mr. Har
ry whisper to me in the,hall?” the
happy girl asked, putting her rose
bud of a mouth close to her friend’s
ear, as Miss Crane passed by, going
into another room.
“I am not sure, Gertie, but fear so.
I did,” answered her friend.
“I don’t mind if you did hear. I
should Lave told you. But I do hope
that she did not.”
"We shall soon know if she did.
She will show her rage in some way.”
A moment after Miss Crane enter
ed.
“Six o’clock, young ladies,” she
said.
In ten minutes more the girls were
ready to leave, every face brighten-
ed by the thought of rest on the'
morrow.
“Miss West, you will have to come
here as usual in the morning. The
dress you are at work on must be
finished for the evening. I have an
order to that effect,” Miss Crane said,
approaching the door, as Gertie was
about going.
“Oh, no! Indeed I can't come.
How can I? I—” she hesitated—“I
have an engagement,” Gertie said,
looking imploringly at Miss Crane.
“Very well, Miss. Perhaps Mr.
Osborn can find some one more wil
ling, and more desirous of getting
and retaining employment, to fill your
place,” returned Miss Crane coldly.
“Can I not take it home with me ?
I will finish it to-night,” Gertie ask
ed.
“No, Miss. You know that is
against the rules of this department.”
“Then I shall have to come,” Ger
tie answered.
Her lips quivered, and she strove
hard to keep back the tears, as she
followed her friend down the steps.
* When out on the sidewalk, Gertie’s
companion said :
“You know now that she did hear.”
“Yes, of course. Oh, is it not too
hard ? Mr. Harry was going to take
me out to see mother. I don’t mind
losing the ride so much, but it would
have been such a happy surprise for
her. You know I have not been
home for four weeks. I cannot af
ford to go but once a month. And
mother is so poorly too! Well, I
will have to wait until Saturday even
ing, and go in the cars.”
“Would it be too late to start at
twelve, or say ten o’clock ? I will
help you on the dress, Gertie,” her
friend asked.
“Oh, yes. If we should start at
ten, we should not get home before
two o’clock, and it would not be
worth while to stay only an hour or
so. And Miss Crane would manage
some way to stop my going, even if’
I could get the dress finished in an
hour. I wonder how I will let Mr.
Harry know? I cannot—I don’t
like to go in to tell him. Katy, you
would not mind doing it for me ? You
always turn this corner. - Go in the
side door, and I will go on ; so Miss
. Crane won’t know any more than
now. She is on the watch up at the
window, I’m sure,” said Gertie, look
ing up.
Sure enough, Miss Crane was
there.
Katv promised to do as her friend
wished, and so they parted.
Tbe next morning, just as Gertie
entered the establishment, the por
ter approached her, and was about
to speak, when Miss Crane appear
ed. With a dexterous movement,
unseen by her, the man passed on,
and Gertie went up to the work
room.
A few moments after Miss Crane
entered. Gertie’s face flushed pain
fully as she turned aside, as if to
conceal her embarrassment
Instead of giving instructions con
cerning the trimming of the dress,
Miss Crane was very busily engaged
moving about and turning over the
work, as if hunting for something.
At length she grew apparently very
much agitated, and turning to Ger
tie, she said:
“Miss West, last evening, just be
fore our leaving, Mrs. Dalton’s mes
senger handed me twenty dollars.
I thought I put it in my pocket-
book ; but when going‘ into the
counting-room to make returns, a
few moments ago, I missed it._ I
must have dropped it here some
where ; indeed I am perfectly cer
tain of it. Will you look about,
while I go out for a few moments ?
You •will find it, no doubt. You
know there has been ■ no one here
since we left, and as you were the
first to enter this morning, of course
it must be here now.”
Again Gertie’s face crimsoned,
and as the door closed after Miss
Crane, she said, with ^ a frightened
look:
“Oh, she must have seen James
when he handed the note.”
Ten minutes, and the door open
ed again.
“Yon have found it?” Miss Crane
said, in a tone rather asserting than
inquiring.
“No, indeed; and I have looked
everywhere,” Gertie said, looking
very much worried.
“Miss West, it is useless for you
to seek either to retain the money
or deny its being in your posses
sion,” Miss Crane said, approaching
Gertie, and looking as if she was
about to lay hands on her.
“What?” cried Gertie. “You mean
that I have found the money, and
am keeping it ?”
•‘Exactly so, Miss. And it is of
no use to put on that astonished and
injured look. I know you have it, I
saw you conceal something in your
bosom as I entered. Can you deny
that, or explain your embarrassment
at the time? ’ Miss Crane asked,
with a triumphant air.
Gertie West’s color fled. She grew
very pale as she said: °
“I know nothing about the money.’
“Ah! you cannot deny it. I knmc
it!” Miss Crane cried. ‘ “Hand it to
me, this instant!” approaching Ger
tie, and holding out her hand.
The girl drew back, paler than ev
er, only repeating again:
“I know nothing about the money.’
“I will Bend for a detective, a po
liceman. I will have you arrested.
Some one shall search you, if you do
not give it to me,” the excited wo
man said:
“I have not it, Miss Crane. Sure
ly you will not bring such a dread
ful charge against me!” the poor girl
cried.
“Enough of this acting. If you do
not give me the money immediately,
I will go for advice to Mr. Osborn.
Perhaps Mr.Harmj Osbom would be
more kindly disposed—a less impar
tial judge, hey?”
Again the pale face crimsoned,
But she raised her eyes to those of
her tormentor, and said:
“You will not believe me. I have 1
nothing more to say.”
“Then, Miss, I shall take the lib
erty to lock you in here until I re
turn,” Miss Crane said, walking out,
and locking the door after her.
Gertie sank on a seat and burst in
to tears. What should she do? Ere
she could collect her thoughhts the
door opened, and Miss Crane enter
ed, followed by Mr. Osborn.
Tho old gentleman was really very
much embarrassed. He had a good
heart, and felt sorry always to know
of any one’s falling into sin. Gertie
West was the last person he could
imagine being dishonest. He did
not know what to say to her, or how
to accost her. He looked at Miss
Crane, and she at him. At length,
glancing pityingly at the trembling
girl, he said:
“Well, Miss Crane!” feeling any
thing but well himself.
“I stated' the case to you down
stairs,” Miss Crane answered.
‘Oh!—Ah!—Well!—Really!’ began
Mr. Osbom.
It was .difficult to tell which was
the most agitated, Gertie or her em
ployer. The poor girl had by a great
effort managed to keep from weeping
aloud. She dropped her head then
and all the suppressed' emotion es
caped in one great sob. This was
too much for the kindliearted man.
He started forward, placed his hand
on her golden head, and said:
“My dear child 1—there, don’t do
so. We are all likely to err. The
strongest of us may be tempted.
I—I will endeavor to have this un
happy affair remain unknown out
side "this room. Give Miss Crane
the money.”
“Indeed I have not got it,” s6bb-
ed forth the weeping girl.
•‘She has, sir,” cried out Miss
Crane, more angry than ever, at the
kind way Mr. Osbom dealt with
Gertie. "“I saw her myself when
she put it in her bosom.”
Mr. Osbom knew not wbat to say
then. After walking to the window
and pulling it down, although it was
one of the warmest mornings in
July, and taking out his handker
chief and wiping his face, he return
ed to Gertie. She was a little calm
er, and raised her eyes to his.
“Can she be guilty, looking so
sweet and innocent? I can’t believe
it,” the kind man thought, .but said:
“The only way we can retrieve a
wrong action, my child, is first to
acknowledge it. Then ”
“Mr. Osbom, perhaps I may nev
er be able to prove my innocence,
but I am not guilty. I have never
even seen the money,” Gertie was
saying, when Miss Crane angrily
asked:
“Do you pretend to deny my see-
ing "you hiding it as I entered the
room ?”
“I can. and do.”
“What is this then?” Miss Crane
exclaimed; and darting up to Ger
tie, she snatched forth a closely fold
ed paper, the comer of which had
worked its way through an opening
in her dress, which the poor girl, in
her haste to hide the paper, had fail
ed to button. -
Impulsively Gertie sprang for
ward, and then stepped back simply
saying:
“It’s not the money.”
When she saw the paper unfolded,
and a contemptuous anile on the
woman’s face, she said to Mr. Os
born :
“She has no right to read my let
ters. . Make her hand it to me.
“Really!” Miss Crane said, with
a mocking smile. “Mr. Osborn, this
is something for yonr eyes, sir. Per
haps you will not relish, the thought
of a thief becoming your niece! This
artful girl has entrappod Mr. Harry
into a proposal of marriage. I insist
that she shall be searched, sir.”
Poo^ Gertie! She saw the look of
displeasure plainly on the old gen
tleman’s face. What could she do?
what say? Nothing that she could
have said would have gone so quick
ly to her employer’s heart as the one
word which escaped her lips in a
wail of despair:
“Friendless!”
Mr. Osbom refolded the letter
without looking at it, and handing it
to Gertie, said:
“I am unerilling to condemn you,
Miss West, on either of Miss Crane s
charges. About the first there must
be some mistake. I suppose it must
havejoeen my nephew’s letter that
yon concealed on Miss Crane’s en
trance. Still, for your own sake, I
should like this mystery solved.”
“You can have me searched, sir;
but Miss Crane shall not do it. She
hates me, and is wicked enough to
f retend she found it- on my person.
do believe,” Gertie cried. Then
catching hold of Mr. Osborn’s hand,
she said:
“ You are just. You will help me
to prove my innocence, will you not
Have me searched; have the room
searched. Oh, we must find it! It
will kill my mother if I am thought
dishonest. I cannot have this dread
ful suspicion on me?”
Before Mr. Osborn could reply,
Miss Crane said scornfully:
‘Having entrapped your nephew—’
Just then the door opened, and
Harry Osbom entered, holding an
open note in his hand.
Miss Crane’s words had reached
his ear. Looking from her excited
face to Gertie’s tear-stained, and ex-
E ressing so much agony, he was by
er side in an instant.
“What is the trouble,sir ?” he ask
ed, looking toward his uncle.
“Miss Crane can inform yon better
than I,” the old gentleman replied.
“I heard Miss Crane’s lemark as I
entered. Excuse me, but I must de
ny the assertion. I have not been
entrapped. I have been so fortunate
as to avoid your snares,” Harry Os
bom said, in a tone more malicious
than gentlemanly.
For the moment Miss Crane was
completely silenced,while Gertie,tak
ing courage from her lover’s pres
ence, said:
“Oh, Mr. Harry, she has accused
me of something terrible. She has
called me a—a—”
“Thief,” Miss Crane said, her tone
and look full of venom. “Yes, Mr.
Harry Osbom, I say your promised
bride cannot boast of an unspotted
reputation after this. I accuse her
of stealing a twenty-dollar note ! Let
her prove her innocence, if she can.
A look of withering scorn Harry
Osbom cast upon the woman, as,
holding toward his uncle the open
letter, he said:
“Here is the proof of Miss West’s
innocence. Mrs. Dalton’s servant
has just brought it, and it was for
the purpose of returning to Miss
Crane the lost money that I came up.
Yon will see Mrs. Dalton says she
found it in the sleeve of her dress;
probably dropped by Miss Crane
when folding it.”
“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed old
Mr. Osbom. “I am glad, very glad,
Miss Crane, I’m sorry you have been
so hasty.”
It is impossible to describe Miss
Crane’s chagrin. But she would
make another thrust at poor Ger
tie, and said:
“If Miss West had not looked so
guilty when she hid your nephew’s
love-letter, I should not have thought
of her having the money.”
“The letter the answer to which
I am so anxious to hear,” said Mr.
Harry, and added:
“Uncle, Miss West is not my
promised wife. I only wish she had
made me so happy. But my high
est hope is to win her. Have I your
good wishes for my success ?”
Miss Crane was getting out of
the room as fast as possible, but
Mr. Osborn’s reply reached her ear.
“Yes, yes; win her, if you can,
and comfort the poor child the best
you know how. She has - passed
through a terrible ordeal, truly.
Ugh! that woman is very fierce.”
He turned, and was going out of
the door, when Gertie hastened af
ter him. Catching his hand, she
said:
“I want to thank you sir. If you
had not been so good to me, I could
not have borne up through that
dreadful scene.”
Hesitating a moment,-she contin
ued:
“Tell me, do you not regret yonr
nephew’s loving me? Would you
not rather it should be otherwise?”
Mr. Ostorn looked into the pret
ty young face raised to his with such
a gentle, pleading expression, and
stooping, pressed his lips on her
clear, broad brow, saying:
“You are a dear, good girl. No, I
have no regrets about Harry or his
love. I chose my own wife, and ex
pect other men to do the same—to
suit themselves. Now go and be
happy. May God bless you, child!
And I’m sure He will.”
Harry Osborn wonld not let Ger
tie touch any work that day. He
id not believe it was ordered for
the evening, and did not care if it
was. Gertie should have her holi
day, he declared. And so the day
which brought Gertie West the
greatest trial of her life, secured to
her also the greatest blessing—the
love of a good and noble man.
It is said that if the oil in a kero
sene lamp is not allowed to bum
more than half way down, an explo
sion is almost impossible. The accu
mulation of infiamable gas as the oil
gets low is the chief source of dan
ger. .
True religion is the foundation of
society; when that is once shaken,
the whole fabric totters.
Lije Loomis’ Little Bil.
Lije was the factotum of Guy's
Neck. He did a miscellaneous bus
iness as a carpenter, cow doctor and
coffin maker—adding to his other
functions that of undertaker to the
county poor house. He was withal
an easy, good-natured fellow, free to
trust, ana a most indulgent creditor.
Among the others whom Lije had
trusted to his cost was Greg Grimes,
without exception, the greatest prom
ise maker and breaker in Guy’s Neck.
I verily believe he would, if possible,
have put a creditor off till the last
judgment, and then, on the score of
its being a busy day, have begged
him to wait till to-morrow.
Greg had wheedled Lije with prom
ises till the latter’s claim was “out- !
lawed.” Losing patience at last, Lije '
took his account over to the ’Squire’s,
when, to his no small discomfiture,
he learned that unless he could get a j
new promise from his debtor, with a ;
witness to it, he might whistle for .
his bill. 1
Such fellows as Greg always know 1
a great deal of law, especially the |
sharp points of it. Greg would talk |
as freely, and was as full of promise '
as ever, when he and Lije were alone, ;
but before others he would either
evade the subject or else remain pro- ;
vokingly mum.
One day Lije drove up to Greg’s :
door with his old gray mare and !
spring wagon, a plain pine coffin— :
one of those flat-topped affairs deem- j
ed good enough for poor folks—be- j
ing risible behind the seat. {,
“Momin’, neighbor,” said Lije.
“Same to you,” said Greg. “Go-
in’ to plant a pauper, I see.”
“Y-a-a-s; old Boke took rather
sudden leave last night, and went to
try the charity of another world.”
“"Which is no more’n fair,” said
Greg, “seein’ how long he’s lived on
the charity of this.”
“Would yon mind gittin’. in and
cornin’ along, neighbor?” said Lije;
it’s mighty dull goin’ to a funeral all
alone by one’s self.”
Greg didn’t mind, and straightway
mounted by Lije’s side.
The two chatted away after a sort
to prove how cheerful good company
can render even a grave occasion.
“I s’pose you haven’t forgot that
little bill o’mine,” Lije at last took
the liberty to hint.
“Not by any means,” said Greg.
“Let’s see now—how much did you
say it was? I misremember rightly.”
“Even sixty-nine dollars, besides
seven years interest.”
“Quite right,” Greg assented; “I
recollect it now.”
“Ef it’s at all inconvenint to pay
it,” said Lije, “don’t put yourself out
on no account.”
“I’ve been threatenin’ to settle it
for a month back,” said Greg; but
times have been tight, an’—an’ how
would Monday week do?"
“To a dot,” answered Lije.
“I’ll send it round,” said Greg.
A carious sound came from the
coffin. The ghost of a chuckle, Dur-
dless would have called it. Greg
gave one jump and “lit” in an adjoin
ing cow pasture. Looking back, he
saw Lije’s apprentice, the most mis
chievous lad in Guy’s Neck, but with
plenty of sense, and of lawful age to
«be a witness, laughing like mad.
Greg took in the situation at a
glance. He had been dnpedinto com
mitting himself before a witness.
“It’s a dirty, nasty, mean trick,” \
he exclaimed.
“What is?” said Lije.
“Why, triflin’ with a body’s feel-
in’s about old Boke—makin’ believe
he’s dead.”
“An’ so he is,” said Lije; “only I
was goin’ after the body instead of
fetchin’ it away.”
Greg turned off in digust, Lije bowl
ing after him:
“Don’t forget Monday week, and
’rhaps it’ll save ns both some trou-
"e.”
Greg didn’t forget; but he has nev
er more than half enjoyed himself at
a funeral since.
Remedy fob Painful Wounds.—
Take a pan or shovel with burning
coals and sprinkle upon them com
mon brown sugar, and hold the
wounded part in the smoke. In my
own case, a rusty nail had made a
bad wound in the bottom of my foot.
The pain and nervous irritation was
severe. This was all removed by
holding it in the smoke for fifteen
minntes, and I was able to resume
my reading in comfort. We have
often recommended it to others with
like results. Last week one of my
men had a finger nail tom out by a
pair of ice tongs. It became very
painful, as was to have been expect
ed. Held in sugar smoke for twen
ty minutes the pain ceased, and it
promises speedy recovery.
Trials are moral ballast that often
•revent our capsizing. When we
_iave much to carry, Heaven rarely
fails to fit the back to the burden where
we have nothing to bear, we can sel
dom bear ourselves. The burdened
vessel may be slow in reaching the
destined port, but the vessel without
ballast is in imminent danger of not
reaching it at all.
Remedy for Whooping Cough.
Take four ounces of the dry root
of the Asarium Canadensis, or Wild
Ginger, or Colt’s Foot; or if you can-'
not get this, the common Heart leaf,
which is just as good, if not better,
bruise it into powder, and pour one
pint of boiling water on it in a ves
sel, set it by the fire and keep hot
for three hours, with the vessel close
ly covered, then strain it and press
it, to get all the strength, through a
cloth, add to it from one to two
pounds of loaf sugar. Take one-fourth
of an ounce of Cochineal bruise it
to a powder, and add to it one-eighth
of an ounce of Salts of Tartar, pour
upon this one gill of boiling water,
stir it and strain it through coarse
flannel, and add the liquor to the
above, stirring it well, and set it aside
to cooL Keep it in bottles in a cool
place.
Dose.—For a childundera month
old, half a teaspoonfull; from six to
twelve months old, one teaspoonfull;
from one to two years old, one and
a half teaspoonfull, to be given once
in two, three, or four housr, as the
case may require. Diet—Bread and
milk. .If loose in the bowels, rice
water, rice jelly, and no animal food.
Don’t let the child nurse too often,
or much at a time.
Sheep and Hog vs. Dog in Mis
souri.—During the year 1870, more
than one hundred persons are re
ported to have died of hydrophobia,
occasioned by the bite of mad-dogs.
In thirty-two counties, 10,602 sheep
have been killed by dogs. It is esti
mated that allowing two dogs for
each family, which is less than the
actual number, there would be 460,-
000 dogs in the State.
The amount of food necessary to
support a fair-sized dog, will keep
one hog in good thriving condition,
which at twelve months will weigh
200 pounds, making for the whole
number of dogs 92,000,000 lbs. This
would load 4600 cars, ten tons to a
car, and be worth at 6 cents a pound,
§5,520,000, nearly twice the value of
all the school houses in the State,
and more than twice the amount
used by the State in 1869 for all
school purposes. In consequence of
the great amount of damage done
by these animals, it has been pro
posed by the State Board of Agri
culture to recommend to the legis
lature to pass a dog law, by which
the owner shall be required to pay
an annual tax of $1.00 on every male,
and $2.00 on every female dog.—G.
IT. Kinney, in Deparhcent Report
for ’71, p, 374.
Asparagus and Manure.—I have
tried all kinds of manure for aspara
gus plants, and all sorts of treat
ment. Nothing, however, produced
such a rank and thick growth, as
fresh cow manure. We have often
used horse manure, well rotted, and
salt and various other applications.
But the pure cow manure, spread
over the bed about three inches
thick, proved the best. The year
before last we had the most won
derful growth, and as we believe,
entirely from this cause. We al
ways leave our stalks until they are
about one foot high before cutting
them; we fancy they are much bet
ter, and we know we get three times
as mnch vegetable food fit to eat.
—Exchange. ■
A certain doctor, who sometimes
drank a good deal at dinner, was sum
moned one evening to see a lady pa
tient when he was more then “half
seas over,” and conscious that he
was so. On feeling her pulse and
finding nimself unable to count its
beats, he muttered, “Drunk, by Jove!’
Next morning, recollecting the cir
cumstances, he was greatly vexed,
and, just as he was thinking what ex
planation he should offer to the lady,
a letter was put in his hand. “She
too well knew,” said the letter, “that
he had discovered the unfortunate
condition in which she was in when
he visited her;” and she entreated
him to keep the matter a secret, in
consideration of the enclosed—a hun
dred dollar bill.
A Novel Method of Catching
Mice.—A Correspodent of the Jour
nal of Pharmacy say: “Having no
ticed mice in our seed barrels, I be
thought me how I might trap the lit
tle intruders. I thought of satura
ting a piece of cotton with chloro
form and throwing it in, then closing
the lid. On raising it again in a few
minutes, I would find that life had
almost or quite departed. Having
on one occasion left the piece of cot-
tan in the barrel, on again returning
I found three mice with their heads
in close contact with it, and dead.
In the evening I saturated another
pieee and placed it in the barrel, and
on opening it the next morning, to
my surprise I found nine dead mice.”
Glass may easily be cut with any
hard steel tool, according to the Bos
ton Journal of Chemistry, by wetting
freely with camphor dissolved in tur
pentine. Ragged edges of glass may
in like manner be smoothed with a
fiat file.
Raising the "Wind.-
Not many years ago two French
men 1 —one wealthy and in possession
©f ready cash, the other poor and'
penniless—occupied, by chantee, the
same room in a suburban hotel,
far the morning the seedy one arose
first, took from his poclcet a pistol,
and holding it to his own 1 forehead,
and backing against the door ex-
claanfed to his horrified companion:
“it’s- ihy last' desperate resort;
I any penniless and tired of life, give
me fivs hundred francs, or I will in
stantly blow out my brain&'cnd' you
will be arrested as a murderer!”
The other lodger found himself
the hero sfaii unplfeassiit dilemma;,
hut the cogfency of his companion’s
argument struck him ‘cold ;’ he qui
etly crept to his pantaloons, handed
over the amount and the other va
mosed, after locking-the door on the-
outside.
Hearing of this another French
man, of very savagB aspect,' one
night contrived to room-’ with a very
raw-boned gentleman from Arkan
sas, who had been rathe* free with
his money during the day, and evi
dently had plenty more- behind-
Next morning, when awaking, dis
covered his room-mate standing over -
him, with a pistol leveled at his own
forehead, and evidently quaking with
agitation.
“What the deuce are you stand
ing there for in the cold ?” asked
Pike, proping himself on his elbow,
and coolly surveying the GauL
“I am desperate 1” was the reply;
“you give me one hundred dollars,
or I will blow out my brains!”
“Well then blow and be darned!”
replied Pike, turning over.
“Bote you will be arrested for ze
inurdaire!” persisted the Gaul, earn
estly.
“Eh, what’s that?” said Pike;
“oh, I see!” and suddenly drawing
a revolver and a five pound Bowie’
from under his pillow, he sat up
right. “A man may as well hang
for a sheep as a lamb,” he coolly
remarked; and at the word he start
ed for the Gaul, but the latter was
too nimble- —the ‘boss pistol,’ inno
cent of lead, exploded in the air
and with one frantic leap our little
Frenchman was standing in hi3
nightrobe at the foot of the stair
case. A proof that what may suit
one latitude will not always answer
for another.
The Dutchman’s Remedy.
A Dutchman in Iowa, having fre
quent occasions to emplov a physi
cian, the head of the family became
quiet familiar with the form of writ
ing prescriptions. The doctor was
one of those mixtures of farmer,
stock raiser, and physician, not un
common in the country; but exercis
ed very little care in the management
of his cattle, which told wonderfully
against his pecuniary interests, while
the Dutchman’s herd being well fed
and-well housed, was in very fine con
dition. The doctor was not slow in
observing the difference, and suggest
ed to the farmer that he thought
something was the matter with his
cattle and requested him to ride over
and tell him what to .do for them.
The farmer very cheerfully promis
ed to come at a given time, and when
that time arrived he was promptly
on hand. It so happened that the
doctor had been called away. The
Dutchman, however, examined the
stock carefully, and then looked in
all directions for suitable shelter and
food without finding either. Deduc
ing the conclusion that hunger and
cold, with lack of care, were the on
ly diseases with which the cattle were
suffering, he entered the office of the
doctor and left the followingprescrip-
toin:
“R—Good Shelterum q s,
Com mealmn q s,
Pure waterum q s,
Apply com mealum in form of
poultice to mucous membrane® o*
stomach and renew twice a day.”
The prescription worked wonders.
It pleased the kind hearted doctor,
ana paid a very large share of the
bill which had been incurred in doc
toring the equally good natured and
witty Dutchman’s family.
Jim H., out West, tells-a good
yam about a “shell bark lawyer.”
His client was upon two small charg
es, “frivolous charges,” as shell bark
designated (forging a note of hand
and stealing a horse.) On running
his eye over the jury he didn’t likA
their looks, so he prepared an affida
vit for continuance setting fourth the
absence of a principal witness. He
read it in a whisper to the prisoner^
who, shaking his head, said: “Squire
I can’t swear to that dokyment.”
“Why ?” “Kase it haint true.” Old
shell inflated and exploded loud
enough to be heard throughout the
room. “What! forge a note and
steal a horse, an’ can’t swear to &
lie! Hang such infernal fools.” And
he immediately left the conscientious
one to his fate.
A doctor was asked to dance the
“Lancers;” he declined, but express*
ed his willingness to lance the dan*
cere.