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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.