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YOL. I. SANDERSVTLLE GEORGIA, APRIL 25, 1873. NO. 43. GlI. G. MEDIjOCK. JETHBO ABLINE. B. L. BODGEBS. By Wedlock, Arliue Jfc Rodgers. The Hebald is published in Sandersville, Ga., every Friday morning. Subscription price TWO DOLLARS per annum. Advertisements inserted at the usual rates. No charge for publishing marriages or deaths. POETRY. II' We Knew. If wo knew the woe and heartache Waiting for us down the road, If our lips could taste the wormwood, If our back could feel the load, Would we wait in such impatience For our ships to come from sea? If we knew the baby fingers Pressed against the pane, Would be cold and stiff to-morrow— Never trouble us again, Would the bright eyes of our darling Catch the frown upon our brow, Would the print of resy fingers Vex us then as they do now? Ah, these little ice-cold fingers, How they point our memories back To the hasty words and actions Strewn along our backward track. How these little hands remind us, As in snowy grace they lie, Not to scatter thorns; but roses, For our reaping by and by. Strange we never prize the music Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown; Strange that we should slight the violets Till the lovely flowers are gone. Strange that summer skies and sunshine Never seem one-half so fair As when winter’s snowy pinions Shake their white down in the air. Lips from which the seal of silence None but God can roll away, Never blossomed in such beauty As adorns the mouth to-day; And sweet words, that freight our memory With their beautiful perfume, Come to us in sweeter accents Through the portals of the tomb. Let us gather up the sunbeams Lying all around our path, Let us keep the wheat and roses, Casting out the thorns and chaff, Let us find out sweetest comfort In the blessings of to-day, With a patient hand romoving All the briars from our way. SELECT MISCELLAJfY. THE MAGIC LANTERN. BY W. B. E. The scorching rays of an August sun were fast driving many of the denizens of the thriving little city of Knoxville to seek more shady groves, or some place of refuge from the heated and pen^up atmosphere of a dense and crowded city, until it had become almost deserted. Among those who were seeking some quiet nook, where a few weeks might be passed in quietude and recreation, was a rather prepossess ing young man, whom, for the present, we will call Duval. He had been confined, during the entire summer, to the narrow bounds of the counting-room, and, being in dustrious and energetic, worked late and early, until his health began to give way, and he found that a shrot respite from his labors and the monotonous routine of business was actually necessary in order to his re cuperation. But where to go he knew not. Being a native of a dis tant State, and only domiciled in the above city since the war, as a mat ter of course his acquaintance did not extend far beyond the corporate limits ol the place of his adoption. Here was a dilemma! go somewhere he must and would; his failing health demanded it. He could not go to any of the public watering-places, the resort for the votaries of Fashion. He could not there obtain that which he sought—rest and retirement. He was too much a matter-of fact man to enter into and enjoy the frivolous gaieties that go to makeup the past time of visitors at public watering- places. No; what Duval wanted was some quiet, sequestered neighborhood, where he would be free from the re straints and conventionalities of fash ionable society, and allowed to dress and pass his time in whatever man ner his fancy might suggest. This was his idea of recreation; but where or how to find suoh a place was the question. After sever al days of fruitless cogitation trying in vain to think of some place suitable to his fancy, and being about to abandon the trip and re sume his duties in the counting-room, he fortunately or 'unfortunately—as the reader may judge—remembered an old and valued friend, then living ■with his family in a certain little vil lage, upon the banks of the banks of the quiet and romantic River Clinch. Here was the goal of his wishes—this was the very place to wiiich he desired to go. Without a moment’s hesitation or further cere mony, he addressed a note to his old freind, stating his wishes, and asking whether it would be entirely agree- ble to receive him. His friend, Mr. Day, having served with Duval in the army, and become much attached to him, was only too glad to receive him into his hospita ble mansion, and so wrote Duval by mail, urging him to come, and come at once, promising to do everything to make his visit a- pleasant and agreeable one. Our hero was no longer in doubt, ills idea of a place of recreatian and rustication could not have been more fully realized had he roamed the entire State over. Situated upon the banks of the beautiful and picturesque Clinch, fifty miles faom any city or town of any pretentions—its reputed delightful element and invigorating atmosphere, its magnificently grand secnery, its hospitable inhabitants, &c., all served to convince the pleasure-seeking in valid that the objective point had been attained, and that his most sanguine expectations would be more than realized. The above being his reflections, Duval did not long stand upon the order of going, but went at once. In due course of time our hero found himself snugly ensconced in the hospitable mansion of his coun try friend, who, with his gude lady, were doing their utmost to make their visitor comfortable and contented. Duval was delighted! Everything to his fond imagination pictured was more than realized. Pure and unal loyed enjoyment was his portion. He was improving rapidly in health, had gained several pounds in weight, and altogether was really pleased and delighted with his visit, whilst Mr. Day and his solicitous lady were equally happy to see Mr. Duval so well pleased with their efforts. Two weeks were thus passed, and all went as merry as a marriage bell, when, alas! a change suddenly came over the spirit of Duval’s dreams. He is no longer the buoyant, hilari- ious Duval. To the great distress and annoyance of his friend, he had suddenly grown abstracted, morose, and melancholy, shunning society— even that of his friend Day, scarcely even exchanging the usual saluta tions, and from a healthy appetite he suddenly changed to none at all. The poor wife—the mistress of the culinaries—was in despair. Why this sudden change from gaiety to misanthropy the perplexed host could not divine. A strange feature in Duval’s eccen tric hehavior, and which excited Day’s curiosity not a little, was the fact that every night he would go out from the house, bearing an old and peculiarly constructed lantern. Where he went, or when he returned, no one about the house knew, or how or whence came the ill-shaped lantern was equally a mystery. The fact of his taking a lantern when the great orb of night was shining out with unusual brilliancy, and more than sufficient to dim the pale and flicker ing light emitted by the little, musty, old lantern, was well calculated to excite curiosity. He could not car ry the lamp for the purpose of as sisting in navigation. There was evidently some mystery involved, and the now highly excited host de termined to ferret the matter out, regardless of consequences. Once or twice the distressed host thought his friend was laboring un der an aberration of mind, but ulti mately failing to discover any posi tive evidence, Was compelled to re linquish the idea. Day was in a quandary. The thought of watching him—dog-ging his steps, in the hope of some clue to his mysterious behavior, occurred to him. Eaves-dropping, or to act the part of a spy upon the actions of his old friend, was unkind, ungentlemanly, and repugnant to his feelings. But then that lantern—his peace of mind —his poor distracted wife—all con spired to urge him on—he must, he would see. He icould unravel this mystery, and thereby obtain peace of mind for himself and wife, and probably be enabled to assist his disconsolate friend. Undoubtedly, he argued, the ends to be attained justify the means, and he would make the efforp Ac cordingly, acting upon this determin ation, he prepared himself, and was only too anxious for the advent of night. It came at last, and with it came our melancholy hero, lantern in hand, and sallied forth on his accustomed nocturnal ramble. After allowing Duval time to get sufficient distance, so as to be able to keep his eye on him, and not be observed, Day emerged from his hid ing place, and started in pursuit. With a thumping heart, staring eyes, distended nostrils, and half-bent body he proceeded to follow his friend, tak ing care to hug the dark side of the street. Following along for several squares, he observed Duval halt in front of one of the residences in the northern portion of the town, and up on closer inspection he ascertained that it was the same where resided the elegant and accomplished Miss Kate . the well-known belle of ticipated. As usual a woman was at the bottom of the mischief, and he knew it from the first. She it wns who had caused him love in divers eccentric ways, with out again exciting the wonder of the Days or causing them another mo ment’s loss of rest, until business call- and his so many sleepless nights, she i ed our hero back to Knoxsille. it was who had made such a fool of his friend. Day was not in the habit of swear ing, but upon this wonderful discov ery, he could not refrain from giving vent to his exasperated feelings, and venting his spleen upon the innocent and unoffending head of the the un conscious instrument of all his trou bles. Miss Kate is still the reigning belle of the quiet little village of the Clinch. How long she will remain, or when Duval will return to claim her as his bride, we are at present unable to say, Family Government. In spite of modem whims of equal- , , ity, the government of a family must Now, notwithstanding Day was so ; be absolute;mild,not tyrannical. The very knowing, and so positive as to i laws of reason have declared the de- the cause of Duval’s strange behav ior, nothing is more certain than that he never entertianed an idea that Duval was so desperately in love ; it was the last thought that entered his head. But on the contrary, in dogging the footsteps of his friend, he momen tarily expected to be led among hob goblins or banditti, but a icoman— neveb! When it is known that Day was a lawyer—en embryo—it is not to be wondered that he shonld be so wise, for as a class they are supposed to know everything, and the erudite Day had no idea of disgracing the profession to which he aspired, and of which he bid fair to become a dis tinguished member. As Duval entered the house, he was observed by his quondam friend, (who by this time had come up in full view,) to be cordially received by the blushing Miss Kate. Day could al so see, from his concealed position, the mysterious lantern, which to his surprise and amazement was actually caught hold of by the fair mademoi selle, and much conversation was had over it, all of which, strange to say, was inexplicable to the astonished spectator. As he thus stood watching the hil arious couple, he could but admire the queenly Miss Kate, as her grace ful form glided back and forth before his enraptured vision, and he at once ceased to wonder tMt Duval had been so completely metamorphosed. Now, Kate had a fine person al appearance, and perfect symmet ry and proportion in the outlines and features of her face; a complexion as pure as the new-fallen snow,fan eye sparkling with every indication that bespeaks worth in a woman, and a charming, dulcet-like voice. In fact, she was perfection personified—pos sessing a fascinating loveliness which was irresistible, and caused the stern est hearts to become pliant subjects of her will. Duval was of an extremely suscep tible nature, and, having accidental ly met somewhere with Miss Kate, did not prove an exception to the rule, but fell desperately in love; and feeling, (as is usual with anxious lovers,) that his ardent attachment future time, rear its hydra head, not pendence of the child on the parent. The weakness of youth must be re pressed by experience. Parental ten derness is apt to- degenerate into parental weakness. “If you please child,” and “Will you, dear?” are soon answered with “No; I won’t.” The reins of the government should be always gently drawn; not twitch ed, like a curb bridle, at one time, and dangled loose at another. Uni formity in parents produces uniform ity in children. To whip one minute, and to caress, or let the culprit go unpunished, for the same crime at another, cannot fail to injure the force of parental authority, Consid er before you threaten; and then be as good as your word. ‘Til whip you if you don’t mind me,” says the parent, in a passion. “I am not afraid of it,” says the child. The parent flies towards it in a paroxysm of rage; the child prefers flight to broken bones. “You may go now, but you shall have your punishment with in terest the next time you do so.” “I don’t believe that,” thinks the child. It is experience that gives the parent the lie. “But,” say you, “whips and rods were the scourges of the dark ages; the present age is more enlight ened: in it law is reason and authori ty is mildness.” Beware of that rea son which makes your child dogmati cal, and that mildness which makes him obstinate. There is no such a thing as the rod of reproof; and it is certain that in numberless cases, arguments produce a better effect than corporeal punish ment. Let children be properly ad monished, in case of disobedience: if ineffectual, try the harsher method. Never begin to correct till your an ger has subsided; if you do, your authority over the offender is at an end. Let your commands be rea sonable. Never deliver them in a passion, as though they were already disobeyed; nor with a timid, distrust ful tone, as if you suspected your own authority, Remember that scold ing is directly the reverse of weighty reasoning. It is the dying groans of good government. Never let it be heard under your roof, unless you intend your house should be a nur sery of faction, which may, at some Anecdote fob Children.—The fol lowing anecdote, we have no doubt, will both instruct and amuse our youthful readers: One of the elders of the Metho dist Episcopal Church has a son, who inherited his father’s love for whatever is comic, and this son re turned from school a few months since with a report of scholarship below the average. “Well,” said his father, “You’ve fallen behind this month, have you?” “Yes, sir.” “How did that happen?” “Don’t know, sir.” The father knew, if the son did not. He had observed a number of dime novels scatterd about the house; but had not thought it worth while to say anything until a fitting op- portuninty should offer itself. A basket of apples stood upon the floor. And he said: “Empty out those apples, and take the basket and bring it to me half full of chips.” Suspecting nothing, the son obyed. “And now,” he continued, “put those apples back into the basket.” When half the apples were i placed, the son said: “Father, they roll off. I can’t put in any more.” i “Put ’em in, I tell you.” “But father, I cant put them in.’ “Put them in! No, of course you can’t put them in. Do you expect to fill a basket half full of chips and then fill it with apples? You said you did not know why you fell be hind at school; and I mil tell you. Your mind.is like that basket. It will not hold more than so much. And here you’ve been, the past month, filling it up with chip diet—dime novels!” The boy turned on his heel, whistl ed, and said, “Whew! I see the point.” Not a dime novel has been seen in the house from that day to this. A Salutary Remark.—When I was a young man, there lived in our neighborhood a farmer who was us ually reported to be a very liberal man, and uncommonly upright in his dealings. When he had any of the produce of his farm to dispose of, he made it an invariable rule to give good measure—rather more than wou!4A® required of him. One of his frieras observing him frequently doing so, questioned him as to why he did it; he told him he gave too much, and said it would be to his disadvantage. Now, dear reader, mark the answer of this excellent man: “God has permitted me but one journey through the world, and when I am gone I cannot return to rectify mistakes.” Think of this. There is but one journey through life. the village; and it at once occurred to him that Duval had fallen a victim to the irresistible cb arris of the in comparable lady,—that he was hope lessly in love. This, he concluded, had been the whole cause of his low spirits and eccentric behavior. Day was wonder-stricken. The reason of his friend’s extraordinary actions was no longer a mystery. Everything was now as “clear as the noon-day sun.”. It was, however, just as he had an- was not fully returned or reciprocat ed, was thus solicitous and unhappy. The knowing Mr. Day, after feast ing his eyes for some time upon the graceful figure of the beautiful Miss Kate, retraced his steps, eager to convey the tidings of his discovery to his better half, who had been pa tiently awaiting the result of his ad venture and investigations. .The good wife, like her lord and master, also guessed as much. She knew it from the first. She, however felt much relieved upon learning that Duval’s unhappiness was not caused by any remissness or want of atten tion on her part. She therefore gave herself no further uneasiness about her visitor, believing that in time it would be all right. The cause of Duval’s melancholy having been satisfactorily explained Day’s curiosity was still excited to learn something about the mysteri ous lantern. His'better half being equally exercised, her woman’s wits soon suggested an expedient where by the mysteiy could be unravelled. She would make Miss Kate a friend ly visit. And sure enough she did, and learned frdm her the follow- ing:- Duval, upon the occasion of his first visit to Miss Kate—it being a little cloudy and dark—borrowed an old lantern,—the only one about the house at the time,—returning it in the evening, but borrowing it again, he returned it the next, and so con tinued borrowing and returning dur ing his sojourn in the village. “But what did he want with a lan tern when the moon was shining so brightly?” inquired the knowing Mrs. Day. “Well, really, I don’t know,” repli ed Miss Kate, blushingly. Oh, I see; it was only an excuse —a strategy whereby Mr. Duval was enabled to pay you a visit every even ing.” Mrs. Day, now fully satisfied and highly amused at the brilliant strate gic movem ent of Duval, hurried home to tell the good joke to her husband. The whole mystery being now ful ly explained away, the Days were one more happy, since it was no fualt of theirs that Duval was apparently so miserable, and he was left to con duct his suit and exhibit his fervent only against you, but in opposition to the parents and guardians of our country. Pat on Lawyers. Emeralder—“You’re a lawyer, beent you ? (Reporter does not know what is coming, and thinks he’ll say yes at a venture.) Reporter—“Yes. Emeralder—“Well, did you iver hear of lawyers (pronounced like bars) gettin’ to heaven ? Come now, spake the truth and shame the divih’ Reporter—“Well, I don’t know as I ever did. Did you ever hear of an Irishman gettingthere ?” Emeralder—‘‘Yes, I heard of one once. Reporter (briskly)—“How was that?” Emeralder—“Why, there was a fellow once who lived in Ireland. He was a noble kind-hearted a man as ever you saw, and when he died everybody had a good word to say for him, the praist absolved him, and he went straight to hivin, and—” Reporter—“How do you know he did?” Emeralder angrily—“Aint Itellin’ yees ? I know by what happened af ter he got there. When the people that live in hivin found that an Irish man was there it raised a fine rumpus, and they determined to put him out. Jim Rooanan, for that was his name, wouldn’t go, he said, unless he was { rat out through the due course of aw. So they went to work and searched all over hivin to find a law yer, but there wasn’t none there, and Jim is there yet.” A Beautifl Thought.—Mrs. He- mans, shortly after her arrival in Ire land, where she died, was extremely unwell. When among the mountain scenery of the finer county of Wick low, during a storm, she was struck by one effect in the hills. It was pro duced by a rainbow diving down in to a gloomy mountain pass, which it seemed really to flood with its color ed glory. “I could not help think ing,” she remarked, “that it was like our religion, piercing and carrying brightness into the depths of sorrow and of the tomb.” All the rest of. the scene rround that one illuminat ed spot was wrapt in the profound- est darkness. An editor whose brains were bal anced by a bottle of Bourbon whis ky lately, wrote up a melancholy event in the following maimer ^Yes terday morning at four o’clock, p. x. a man with a heel on the hole of his stocking, committed aisenic by swal lowing a dose of suicide. The .in quest of the verdict returned a junr that the deceased came to the facts in accordance with his death. He leaves a child and six small wives to lament the end of his untimely loss. In death we are in the midst of life. A person advertises in one of the papers for a helpmate for life; he wants one who shall be a companion of his heart, his hand, and his home. “How large is the home?” asked the candidate for the situation, in anoth er paper. Although men are accused for not knowing their own weakness, yet perhaps as few know their own strength. It is in men as in soils, where sometimes there»is a vein of gold which the owner knows not of. “This is the rock of ages,” said a father, after rooking two hours, and the baby still awake. I won’t say the more intellect the less capacity for loving; for that would do wrong to the understand ing and reason; but, on the other hand, that the brain often runs away with the heart’s best blood, which gives the world a few pages of wis dom, or sentiment or poetry instead of making one other heart happy, I have no question—[O. W. Holmes. Can’t think of anything good to say of a person you don’t Eke? Non sense. Take the case of a house or a horse which von have to sell be cause you don’t like it, and how much may be truthfully said in its favor in an advertisement! You cannot prevent the wind from rising and the tempest from raging out of doors, but within you may se cure unbroken calm and endless sun shine. “Mister, I say, I suppose you don’t know of nobody who don’t want to hire nobody to do nothing, don’tyou?’ The answer was. “Yes, I don’t.” The Timely Word. In a field where the grass grew green, there lay a little boy on the ground. He was. seven years old, and his name was John Harold. The folks called him Jack. Near by stood an artist, who had been sketching a picture. All at once he caught sight of Jack lying on the ground: and then the artist made a drawing of Jack; but Jack did not know it. Then Jack started up, and began to chase a dragon fly. Oat of one field into the next, back again over the stone wall, and then over a ditch, and into the bushes, ran Jack; but he did not catch the fly. It had flown up on a large leaf of an ash-tree. Jack did not give ui the chase. Up the tree he climbed caught the fly and jumped with it to the ground. The artist now stepped forward, and said, “Do not hurt that fly, my boy. Let it go, and I will give you a penny. A penny was worth more to Jack than the fly: so he let it go. “What is your name, my lad?” ask ed the man. “My name is Jack Harold,” said the boy. “Have you no one to mend your clothes for you, and to teach you to be clean and neat? Have you no mother?” “Mother and father are dead,” said Jack; “and I have no one but aunt to take care of me, and she has too many cares of her own to think much of me.” “Then I would care for myself, if I were you, Jack,” said the man. “I watched you while you were running after the dragon-fly, and I thought it a pity that so bright and spry a lad as you, should look as you do. You are not idle all the time, Lhope?” “I’ve nothing ever to do,” said Jack: “I wish I had. Aunt will not send me to school.” “And so you cannot read or write? Well, Jack, I was once a3 badly off as you. I had lost my parents, and I was a poor boy; but I was just as anxious to get on, and do something as you were just now to catch that dragon-fly.” “Well, Sir, what did you do, if you had no one to help you?” asked Jack. “Why, I helped myself. I got over one difficulty after another, just as you got over the stone walls, and through the brambles: and you can do as I did, if you will be as eager to get your living as you were to seize on that fly.” Having said thus much, the artist walked away; for he saw he had set Jack to thinking. And Jack, I am glad to say, did something besides think. He began to act. He went in search of work, and he found it. He now earns enough to pay for his board. He has a new suit of clothes and a pair of good shoes. The artist’s word was a time ly one. Perhaps I may and Perhaps I may not.—The life of Dr. Raffles, of Lon don has the following: A young la dy, the daughter of the owner of the house was addressed by a man who, though agreeable to her, was dislike- ed by her father. Of course, he would not consent to their union, and she determined to elope. The night was fixed,the hour came and he placed the ladder in the window, and in a few minutes, she was in his arms. They mounted a double horse, and were soon at some distance from the house. After a while, the lady broke silence by saying. “Well, } era see what proof I have given you of my affections: I hope you will make me a good hus band.” He was a surly fellow, and gruffly answered, “Perhaps I may and perhaps I may not.” She made no reply’ but after a silence of some minutes, she suddenly exclaimed, Oh, what shall Ido? I have left my mon ey behind me in my room.” Then he said, “We must go back andfetch it.” They were soon at the house, the ladder was again raised, the la dy remounted, while the ill-natured lover waited below. But she delay ed to come, and so he gently called. “Are you coming? when she looked out of the window and said “Perhaps I may and perhaps I may not;” and thenshut the window down, and left himto return upon the double horse alone. Happiness.—Now let us tell you a secret, worth knowing. This looking forward to .enjoyment don’t pay. From what we know of it we would as soon chase butterflies for a living or bottle up moonshine for cloudy nights. The only ture way to be hap py is to take the drops of happiness as God gives them to us every day of our lives. The boy must learn to be happy while he is plodding over his lessons: the apprentice while he is learning his trade, the merchant while he is making his fortune. H he fails to learn this art, he will be sure to miss his enjoyment when he gains what he has sighed for. Speak of people’s virtues, conceal their infirmities; if you can say no good, speak no ill of them. Preaching and Practice. There is an old story in the Gesta Bomanorum, of a priest who was found fault with by one of his par ishioners because his life was in painful discordance with Ins teach ing. So one day he takes his critic out to a stream, and, giving him to drink of it, asks if he does not find it sweet and pure water. The par ishioner having answered that it was, is taken to the source, and finds that what had so refreshed him flowed from between the jaws of a dead dog. “Let this teach thee,” said the priest, “that the very best doctrine may take its rise in a very impure and disgustful spring, and that excellent morals may be taught by a man who has no morals at all.” v It is easy enough to see the fallacy here. Had the man known before hand from what a carrion fountain head the stream issued, he could not have drank of it without loathing. Had the priest merely bidden him, to look at the stream, and see how beautiful it was, instead of tasting it, it would have been quite another matter. And this is precisely the difference between what appeals to our esthetic and to our moral sense —between what is judged ef by the taste and the conscience. It is when a mere sentimental man turns preacher of morals that we in vestigate his character, and are justi fied in so doing. He may express as many and as delicate shades of feeling as he likes—for this the sen sibility of his organization perfectly fits him—no other person could do it sowell—but the moment he under takes to establish his feeling as a rule of conduct, we ask at once how far are his own life and deed in ac cordance with what he preaches. For every man feels instinctively that all the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh less than a single lovely action; and that while tender ness of feeling and susceptibility to generous emotions are accidents of temperament, goodness is an achieve ment of the will and a quality of the life. “Fine words,” says one homely proverb, “butter no parsnips ;” and if the question be how to render those vegetables palatable, an ounce of butter would be worth more than all the orations of Cicero. Tiie only conclusive evidence of a man’s sin cerity is that he gives himself for a principle. Words, money, all things else, are comparatively easy to give away; but when a man makes a gift of his daily life, it is plain that the • truth, whatever it may be, has taken possession of him. From that sin- cerify his words gain the force and pertinency of deeds, and his money is no longer the pale drudge ’twixt man and man, but, by a beautiful magic, what erewhile bore the image and super " ” ~ now to 1 tion of God. It is thus that there is a genius for goodness, magnanimity, for self sac rifice, as well as for creating, and building, and beautifying, and it is thus that the Infinite Beauty and Goodness shapes to its own likeness the soul which gives it body and in dividuality. She Wouldn’t Marry a Mechan ic.—A young man began visiting a young woman, and appeared to be well pleased. One evening he called when it was quite late, which led the young girl to inquire where he had been. “I had to work to-night.” “What! do*you work for a liv ing?” she inquired, in astonishment. “Certainly,” replied the young man. “I am a mechanic.” “I dislike the name of a mechan ic,” and she turned up her pretty nose. . That was the last time the young man visited the young woman. He is now a wealthy man, and has one of the best women in the country for his wife. The lady whe disliked the b«m of mechanic is now the wife of a miserable fool, a regular vagrant about grog-shops, and the soft, ver dant and miserable girl is obliged to take in washing in order to support herself and children. You dislike the name of mechanic^ eh? You, whose brothers are but well dressed loafers. We pity any girl who has so little brains who is so verdant, so soft, as to think less of a young man for being a mechanic—one of God’s no blemen—the most dignified and hon orable personage of Heaven’s crea tures. Beware, young lady, how you tieat young men who work for a living, for you may one day be menial to one of them yourself. A darkey was sent to eut down a very tough tree, but his axe flew back for some time with but very ht» tie effect. A storm occuring mean time, and a crashing shaft of lights ing shattered a huge oak to spinster* near him. “Bress de Lord!” exclaimed Sam bo, “dat’s well done. ‘Pose you try dis one next guess you get your match, massa ”