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VOL. I. SANDERSVTLLE, GEORGIA, MAY 2, 1873, NO. 44. M- Gr MEDT.OCK. JETHRO ARLINE. R. L- RODGERS. By Ariiiie A Rodgers. The HkraiJ) is published m Sandersvilie, 1,.. every Friday morning. Subscription I .rice TWO DOLLARS per annum. ' Advertisements inserted at the usual rates. No charge for publishing marriages or deaths. POETRY. At Six in the Morning. • BX ROSE WILDE. ( ,y song-bird ripples its rhythm to me, IA breeze from the river steals over the still j I panic Nature sends cards for her matinee ; I \i v pulses return an affectionate thrill. I To the balcony turning, with heart at rest, ! f t r evel in beautiful sound, anu sight. ' mV spirit is clothed, like a scriptural guest, . In'a decorous garment of pure delight. The blue birds flash in and out of the green; ; The leaves of the apple-tree rustle and dance;- They are holding court in the branches,! ween , While holding;my soul in' a musical trance. , In the eastern gate the archers of Sol stand poising their bows in the glittering lines Took! look how the golden-tipped arrows fall Midst the lofty hills'bold sentinel pmes. . I turn to the eloquent west—Ah! where ; i re the emerald slopes that the sunset kissed, Do <rc-nii e’er vanish with hills in mid-air. What phantoms are those that loom thro the mist? Tidiopte, Fa., Aug, 28, 1S60. j ""^SELECT MISCELLANY. "the MITE’S PRESCRIPTION. V “Bedlam let loose! Pandemonium in rebellion! Clraos turned inside out! "What is the reason a man can t be allowed to sleep peaceably in the morning, without this ever lasting racket raised about his -ears ? Children crying—doors slamming.— I will know the reason of ail this uproar.” Mr. Luke Darcy shut the door oi liis bedroom with considerable em phasis, and went straight to the breakfast parlor. All was bright and quiet and pleas ant there, the coal snapping and sparkling in the grate, the china and silver neatly arranged on the spot less damask cloth, and the green parrot drowsily winking his yellow eyes in the sunny glow of the east ern window. Bedlam plainly wasn t located just there, and Mr. Darcy went stormily up stairs to the nur sery. Ah! the field of battle was reach ed at last. Mrs. Darcy sat in her little low chair before the fire, try ing to quiet the energetic screams of an° eight-months-old scion in the house of Darcy, while, another, a rosy boy of five years, lay on his back on the floor, lacking and cry ing in an ungovernable fit of child ish passion. “Mrs. Dar—cy!” enunciated Luke with slow and ominous precision, “mav I inquire what this means ? Are you aware that it is fifteen min utes past nine o’clock ? Do you , know that breakfast is ready?’’ , “I know Luke—I know,’ said the : poor, perplexed Mrs. Darcy, striving j, vainly to lift the rebellious urchin •, up by one arm. £t Come, Ereddy, j you’re going to be good now, mam- j rna is sure, and get up and be wash- j ed.” . j “No—o !” roared Master Freddy, 1 performing a brisk tattoo on the | carpet with his heels, and clawing j the air furiously. j Like an avenging vulture Mr. Dar- > cv pounced down upon Ills son and j heir, carried him promptly to the j closet, and turned the door upon j his heels. “Now, sir, yon can cry it out at your leisure. Evelyn is waiting for the baby. "We’ll go down to break fast.” “But Luke,” hesitated Mrs. Dar- cv, “you won’t leave Freddy there?” “Won’t I? I’d like to know why not. It’s temper, and nothing else, that is at the bottom of all these demonstrations and I’ll know the reason why. It ought to have been checked long ago, but you are ridi culously indulgent. There’s noth ing I have so little tolerance for as a bad temper—that ought to be promptly and severely dealt with.” “But if he’ll say he is sorry, Luke?” Mr. Darcy rapped sharply at the panels of the door. “Are you sorry for your naughti ness, young man ?” A fresh outburst of screams and a renewal of the tattoo was all the answer. “I'm sure lie is sorry. Luke,” pleaded the all-extenuating moth er ; but Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Entire submission is the only thing 1 will listen to, he said sn.-.rp- lv. “I tell you, Evelyn, 1 am de termined to uproot his temper.. Evelyn, with a dewy moisture shadowing her eyelashes, and a dull aclie at her heart, 'followed her liege lord down to the breakfast table, with little appetite for the coffee and toast and eggs as might be. A tall, blue-eyed young lady, with a profusion of bright chestnut liair, and cheeks like rosy velvet, was al ready at the table when they de scended, by name Clara Pruyne, by lineage, Mrs. Darcy’s sister. She opened her two eyes rather wide as the two entered. “Good gracious, Evy, what’s the matter ?” “Nothing,” answered Luke, tart ly. ■ “Mrs. Darcy you appear to forget that I have eaten no break fast.” ‘Something is the matter, though,’ said Clara, shrewdly. “Wliat is it, Evelyn ? Has Luke had one of his tantrums ?” Luke sat down his coffee cup with a sharp click. “You use very peculiar expres sions, Miss Pruyne.” “Very true ones,” said Clara, sau cily. Evelyn smiled in spite of herself. “It’s only Freddy. He feels a lit tle cross, and-—- “A little cross!” interrupted the indignant husband. “I tell you, it’s quite time that that temper was cured. Oh, that parrot! Mary, take that bird into the kitchen, or I shall be tempted to wring its neck. Strange that a man can’t have a little peace once in a while. What does ail all these eggs, Evelyn ? I thought that I asked you to see that they were fit for Christians to eat.” Luke pushed his chair back with a vengeance, and took his stand with his back to the fire, both hands un der his coattails. “Please sir,” said the servant, de preciatingly advancing, “the gas bill —the man says would you settle it while—” Mr. Darcy gave his egg, shell and all, a vindictive throw upon the grate. Evelyn’s brown eyes sparkled dan gerously as she observed the manoeu- ver, but she made no remarks. “And the plates are cold as a stone, when I’ve implored again and again that they might be warmed. Well, I shall eat no breakfast this morning.” “Whom will you punish?” demand ed Miss Clara. “Evelyn give me an other cup of coffee. It is perfectly delightful.” “No!’ roared Luke, contemptuous ly, “tell the man to go about his business; I have no small bills this morning, and I won’t be so persecut ed.” Evelyn retreated precipitately; Clara raised her long eyelashes. “Do you know, Luke,” she said de murely, “I think you would feel bet ter if you would do just as Freddy ( l oes —be flat on the floor and kick your heels against the carpet. It's an excellent escape when the.choler gets the better of you.” _ Luke gave bis mischievous sister- in-law a glance that ought certainly to have annihilated her, and walked out of the room, closing the door be hind him with a bang that would bear but one interpretation. Then Clara came around to her sister’s side, and buried her pink face in Evelyn’s neck. “Don’t scold me, Evy, please—I know I have been naughty to tease Luke so.” “You have said nothing but the truth,” said Evelyn, quietly, with her coral lips compressed, and a scarlet spot appeared on either cheek. “Clara, I sometimes wonder how I can endure the daily cross of my hus band’s temper.” “Temper!” said Clara, with a toss of her chestnut brown hair. “And the poor dear fellow hasn’t the least idea how disagreeable he makes him self.” “Only this morning,” said Evelyn, “he punished Freddy with unrelent ing severity, for a fit of ill-humor which he himself has duplicated with in the last half hour. I am not a mor alist, but it strikes me that the fault is rather more to be censured in a full-grown, reasoning man than in a child.” “Evelyn,” said Clara, gravely, “do you suppose he is beyond the power of cure?” “I hope not; but what can I do? Shut him up, as he shut little Fred dy?” Evelyn’s merry, irresistable laugh was checked by the arch, peculiar expression in Clara’s blue eyes. “The remedy needs to be some thing short and sharp,” said Clara, “and the dark-closet system certain ly combines both requisites. Tears and hysterics were played out long ago in matrimonial skirmishes, you know, Eve.” “Nonsense!” laughed Mrs. Darcy, rising from the breakfast table in obedience to her huband’s perem- tory summons from above stairs, while Clara shrugged her shoulders and went to look for her work-basket. Luke was s anding in front of his bureau drawer, flinging shirts, cra- vais and stockings, recklessly on the bedroom floor. “I’d like to know where my silk handkerchiefs are, Mrs. Darcy,” he fumed. “Such a state as my bureau is in! it’s enough to drive a man crazy.” “It’s enough to drive a woman crazy, I think!” said Evelyn, hope lessly, stooping to pick up a few scattered articles. “You were at the bureau last, Evelyn. It is your own fault!” snarled Luke, giving Mrs. Darcy’s poodle a kick that sent it howling to its mistress. “Anything but- a -wo man’s reiterating, recriminating tounge. Mrs. Darcy, I won’t stand it any longer.” “Neither will I!” said Evelyn, res olutely advancing, as her husband plunged into the closet for his busi ness coat, and. promptly shutting and locking the door. “I think I’ve endured it quite long enough—and here’s an end to it.” “Mrs. Darcy! open the door!” said Luke, scarcely able to credit the evidences of his own senses. “I shall do no such thing,” said Mrs. Darcy, composedly beginning to arrange shirts, stocking and flan nel wrappers in their appropriate receptacles. “Mrs. D—arcy!” roared Luke, at a fever heat of impotent rage, “what on earth do-you mean ?” “I mean to keep you in that clos et, Mr. Darcy, until you make up your mind to come out in a more amiable frame of mind. If the sys tem succeeds with Freddy, it cer tainly ought to with you; and I am sure your temper is proving much more intolerable than his.” There was a dead silence of full sixty seconds in the closet, and then a sudden burst of local wrath. “Mrs. Darcy, open the door this instant, madam!” But Evelyn went on humming a saucy little bpera air and arranging clothes. “Do you hear me ?” “Yes, I hear you.” “Will you obey me?” “Not until you have promised me solemnly to put some sort of control on that temper of yours; not until you promise hereafter to treat your wife as a lad}' should be treated, not as a menial.” “I won’t.” “No? Then in that case I hope you don’t find the air at all oppressive there, as I think it probable you will remain some time.” Another sixty seconds of dead si- lience, then a sudden raid of heels and hands against the relentless wooden panels. “Let me out, I say, Mrs. Darcy! Madam, how dare you perpetrate this monster us piece of audacity?” “My deal’ Luke, how strongly you do remind me of Freddy! You see there’s nothing I have so little toler ance for as a bad temper. It ought to have been checked long ago, only you know I am so ridiculously indul gent.” Mr. Darcy winced a little at the sound of his own words. Tap, tap, tap, came softly on the door. Mrs. Darcy composedly open ed it, and saw her husband’s office boy. “Please, mam, there’s some gentle men at the office in a great hurry to see Mi-. Darcy. It’s about the Ap plegate will case.” Mrs. Darcy hesitated a moment; there was a triumphant rustle in the closet, and her determination was taken. “Tell the gentlemen that your mas ter has a very bad headache, and won’t be down town this morning.” Luke gnashed his teeth audibly, and as the closing of the door admon ished him that he might do so with safety, said: “Mrs. Darcy, do you propose to interfere with the transaction of bus iness that is vitally important, ma’ am, vitally important?” Mrs. Darcy nonchalantly took up the little opera air where she had left it, letting the soft Italian words ripple musically off her tongue. “Evelyn, dear!” “What is it, Luke,” she said, mild ly. “Please let me out. My dear, this may be a funny joke to you, but—” “I assure you, Luke, it’s nothing of the sort; its the soberest of seri ous affairs to me. It is a question whether my future life shall he hap py or miserable.” Where was a third interval of silance “Evelyn,” said Luke presently, in a subdued voice, “will you open the door?” “On one condition only.” “Ah! ah!” thought the little lieu tenant-general, “he’s beginning to en tertain terms of capitulation, is he? On condition,’’(She added aloud, “that you will break yourself of the habit of speaking sharply to me, and on all occasions to keep your tem per.” j “My temper, indeed!” sputtered Luke. . “Just yourjtemper,” said his wife ! serenely. “Will you promise?” Mrs. Darcy quietly took up a pair of liose that required mending, and prepared to leave the apartment. As the door creaked on the hinges, how ever, a voice came shrilly through the opposite keyhole. “Mrs. Darcy, Evelyn!” “Yes.” ] “You aroinot going down stabs to leave me iflf this place?” “I am.” “Well—look here, Ipromioe.” “All antli everything I require?” “Yes, all and everything you re quire—coafound it all! Wisely leaf to the muttered sequel, Mrs. Daiby opened the door, and Luke staged suddenly out, looking right over the top of her shining brown hair. Suddenly a little detaining hand was laid on his coat sleeve. “Luke, dear.” “Well” “Won’t you give me a kiss?” And Mrs. Darcy burst out crying on her husband’s shoulders. “Well!” ejaculated the puzzled Luke, “If women ain’t the greatest enigmas going. A kiss? Yes, half a dozen of ’em if you want, ypu hard hearted little turnkey. Don’t cry, pet, I am not angry with you, though I suppose I ought to be.” “And may I let Freddy out?” “Yes—on the same terms that his papa was released. Evelyn, was I very intolerable ?” “If you hadn’t been, Luke, I never should have vfentured on such a vio lent remedy.” “Did I make you very unhappy?” “Very.” And "the gush of warm sparkling tears supplied a dictionary lull of words. Luke Darcy buttoned up his over coat, put on his hat, shouldered his umbrella, and went to the Applegate will case, niusing as he went upon the new state of affairs that had pre sented itself for consideration. “By Jove!” he ejaculated, “that little wife of mine is a bold woman— aye, and a plucky one!” And then he burst out laughing on the steps. It is more than probable that he left his stock of evil temper behind him in the law buildings that day, for Evelyn and Clara never saw any more of it, and Freddy is daily get ting the better of the peppery ele ment in his youthful disposition. Men, after all, are but children of a larger growth; and so Mrs. Evelyn Darcy had reasoned. The Candle in the Gunpowder. I have read a thrilling story of a merchant who was one evening cele brating the marriage of his daughter. While the guests were enjoying them selves above, he chanced to go to the basement hall below, w-here he met a servant carrying a lighted candle without a candlestick. She passed on to til© cellar forwoojl, and return- ed quickly without the candle. The merchant suddenly remembered that, during the day. several barrels of gunpowder had been placed in the cellar, one of which had been opened. Inquiring what she had done with the candle, to his amazement and horror her reply was, “that not be ing able to carry it with the wood, she had set it in a small barrel of ‘black sand,’ in the" cellar.” He flew to the spot. A long, red snuff was just ready to fall from the wick into the mass of powder, when with great presence of mind, placing one hand on each side of the can dle, and making his hands meet at the top, over the wick, he safely re moved it from the barrel. At first he smiled at his previous terror, but the reaction was so great that it was weeks before he overcame the shock which his nerves had sustained in that terrible moment. There are candles iu many a bar rel of gunpowder to-day. Many homes have already been blown to min by them. There is a candle in the cellar of the wine bibber. It bums brighter with the added fuel of every cup he drains, and before he is aware, all his hopes for this world and the next will be blown up with ruin more terrible than any de struction which gunpowder can bring. There is a candle in the cellar of the liquor dealer, burning slowly, but surely. He who is dealing death to others will yet be startled by a sud den blasting of his own peace, when the wrath of God, restrained no longer, shall fall upon him in a mo ment. “Every way of a man is right in his own eyes, but the Lord pon- dereth the hearts.” “He that by usury and unjust gain increaseth his substance shall gather it for him that will pity the poor.” “If thou forbear to deliver them that are drawn unto death, and those that are ready to de slain: if thou sayest ‘behold, we know it not!’ He that pondereth the heart consider it? And He that keepeth thy soul, doth, He not know it ?” And shall not He “ren der unto every man according to his works ?” The man who is willfully destroying himself may be deluded, and see no danger; the who is de stroying others may say, “I do not see it,” but the eyes of Him who ponders both their ways, sees not the evil but the “sudden destruction” which is befere them, if they do not speedily repent and reform. See tb it, that no righteous anger burn against you. See to it, that no burn ing candle is endangering you in your cellar.—National Tcmperanpe Advocate. The foundation of domestic hap piness is faith in the virtue of woman; the foundation of political happiness is confidence in the integrity of man; the foundation of all happiness, tem poral and eternal, is reliance on the goodness of Providence. ImpTtfWthe nfoments as they fly Farmer’s Sons. It is something to boast of to be the son of an American Farmer. It is a capital in itself to start in life with; which, if rightly valued and rightly used leads, on to usefulness, if not to fame and fortune. The boy who can say, My father is a farmer, claims to be, though he may not at the moment realize it, the son of one who is most honorably occupied —'who is daily contributing to others’ comfort whilst advancing his own— who stands on the very centre of the arch on which the social fabric with its varied interests rests. Agricul ture is the keystone, as it were, to all industrial structures. Where it suc ceeds, all other pursuits prosper. If it fails or flags, the mine is dormant, the forge-fires grow dim, the ring of the anvil is faint, the whistle of the engine is only heard at in tervals, and the ship rots at the dock, even the Press itself—the organ of intelligence—drags its weary way. On the other hand, with the Great Interest prosperous, all else partici pates and sympathizes; and the busy hum of trade, commerce, and manu facture resounds throughout the land. Such, boys, are the results which grow out of the occupation in which your farmer fathers are engaged. Is it not to be honored and respected? That it shall be so, and that they, and you, in turn, may not be spoken* of merely as “hewers of wood,” you must improve the present hours. Whilst learning to plough, and sow, and reap, it is gecessary for you to im prove your minds,that you avail your selves of every opportunity of study. When at school, profit to the full ex tent by the opportunitypresented,and cherish the precious hours. Always be tween the intervals of school-study or daily-labor, have some good book at hand—one at a time only—and pick it up at every leisure moment. Once form a habit of reading and your greatest pleasure through life will proceed therefrom. Boys! Wash ington, Webster, Clay were farmers’ sons, toiling just as you may now do, but, whilst doing so, laying the foun dation for future usefulness. All boys cannot turn out Clays or Websters, or is it desirable they should, but they can each one and all,enlarge their minds, extend their knowledge, im prove their tastes, and thus qualify themselves for the polifienl and so cial position to which, as educated and refinded men, in addition to be ing farmers, they are entitled to claim. Especially study Nature. Make ! yourselves acquainted with the trees j and shrubs, the plants and grasses, f and the weeds (so-called) which grew j on your fathers’ farms. Learn their names, both common and botanical, and inform yourselv.es of their qual ities and properties. In this matter, as in all others, be systematic. Buy yourself an ordinarily ruled copy book, and enter the names, in alpha betical order—Oaks under their head, Maples under theirs, and so on. If you find difficulty in determining them, as certainly you will at first, and till you understand the classes, and orders and natural groups, apply for aid to the physician or clergyman of your parish or locality; they should know,—and if they don’t, it is likely soon will, after such an application. Meanwhile store up some portion of your earnings or spendingmoney,and buy the introduction to Scientific Botany,” by Dr. Gray, Professor of Natural History in Harvard Univers ity. That done, a wider field of in quiry will open, and open wider to the end of fife—a never-ceasing fund of intellectural enjoyment. It is an old man who writes these lines, one who has not lived without opportunity for observation. He tells you, boys, that next to the pleasure which must of necessity proceed from the practice of virture, the greatest will be found in the habit of reading and reflection. Let us pursue it, anc one-half the vexations and ills which beset our path through life will fade a way, disappear, and be speedily for gotten. Have you enemies ? Go straight on, an*d mind them not. If they block up your path, walk around them, and do your duty regardless of their spite. A man who has nO enemies is seldom good for anything; he is made of that kind of material which is so easily worked that every one has a hand in it. A sterling char acter—one who thinks for himself, and speaks what he thinks^—is al ways sure to have enemies. They are necessary to him as fresh air; they keep him alive and active. A cele brated character; who was surround ed by enemies, used to remark— “They are sparks which, if you do not blow, will go out of themselves.” Let this be your feeling while en- .deavoring to live down tffe scandal of those who are bftter against you. If you stop to dispute,, you do but as they desire, and open the way for more abuse. Let the poor fel lows talk; there will be a recreation if you perform but your duty, and hundreds who were once alienated from you, will flock to you, and ac- le’ ‘ ,v '' Temptation. There is a legend of one of the an cient kings of England, that, return ing from the Crusades, he was taken captive by his enemines, and confin ed in a German fortress. Languish ing there in the darkness of his soli tary cell, he was lost to his people ana dead to the world, and fast per ishing from memory of mankind. But there was a minstrel of his court by the name of Blondel, who sought to find him. He wandered in disguise through Europe, and played and sung under the windows of every prison, the airs which he and his master had sung together in the days of old. At the last trial, after the first strain had died away, the second strain awoke from within the fortress and rolled responsive from the pri son cells. The lost monarch was found Precisely such is the office which temptation performs for us. It reveals us. We mean by temptation, such surroundings as make us conscious of wTong desires, and draw us vehe mently towards forbidden objects. Any one seeking in good faith to know himself, may find all the shadings of his inmost being refleeted back up on him, from the objects that lie along his path. For temptation puts noth ing new into us. It only brings out before the sun something which ex isted there already. We are enticed by the lusts that are within, and it is the lust which gives to the object without all its meretricious and se ducing charms. The corruption with in corresponds to the great object without, and they call and answer to each other. If there were no lurking evil in oar nature, there could be no temptations. They are the Blondels, whose songs and harpings are of the same air and dialect of some corrup tion within; and so they respond to each other, strain for strain. Simplicity in Beauty.—The late Fitz Greene Halleck said: “A letter fell into my hands which a Scoth ser vant girl had written to her lover. Its style charmed me. It was fairly in imitable. I wondered how in her cir cumstances in life, she could have ac quired so elegant a style. I showed the letter to some of my literary friends in the city of New York, and they unanimously agreed that it was <x rif Koaijj mid eleg>uu>A T then determined to solve the myste ry, and I went to the house where she was employed, and asked her how it was, that in her humble cir cumstances in life, she had acquired a style so beautiful, that the most cultivated minds could not but ad mire it. ‘Sir,’ said she, I came to this country four years ago. Then I could not read or write. But since then I have learned to read and write but I have not yet learned to spell; so always when I sit down to write a letter I select those words which are so short and simple that I am sure to know how to spell them.” There was the whole secret. The reply of that simple minded Scotch girl con densed a world of rhetoric into a nut-shell. Simplicity is beauty. knowledge their error. Remember the Golden Rule. Rev. De Witt Talbnadge has a way of putting things that is often spark ling and forcible. “Let us all go to preaching,” he. says. “Peter was never a sophomore, nor John a fresh man. Harlan Page never heard that a tangent to the parabola bi sects the angle formed at the point of contact by a perpendicular to the directrix and a line drawn to the focus. If George Muller should at tempt chemical experiments in a philosopher’s laboratory, he would soon blow himself up. And hun dreds of men, grandly useful, were never struck on Commencement stage by a boquet, flung from the ladies’ gallery. Quick! Let us find our work. You preach a sermon— you give a tract—you hand a flow er—you sing a song—you give a cratch to a lame man—you teach the Sabbath class their. A, B, C— you knit a pair of socks for a found ling—you pick a splinter from a child’s finger. Do something! Do it now! We will be dead soon!” Phenomena of the Brain.—One of the most inconceivable things in the nature of the brain is that the organ of sensation should in itself be insensible. To cut the brain gives no pain, yet in the brain alone resides the power of feeling pain in any other part of the body. If the nerve which leads from it to the in jured part should be divided, it be comes instantly unconscious of suf fering. It is only by communica tion with the brain that any kind of sensation is produced, yet the organ itself is insensible. But there is a circumstance more wonderful still. The brain itself may be removed; may be cut away down the corpus calsaum without destroying life. The animal lives and performs all its functions y^hich ajf necessary to ample vitality, but no longer has a mind; it can not think or feel; it re quires that the food should be push ed into the stomach; once there it is digested and the animal will thrive and grow fat. One Thing at a Time.—A great many things may be well done, pro vided that only one thing at a time is attempted. Many active, ener getic people suffer their lives to waste, simply because they are with out method of any kind. True, they are busy, and fussy, and figety, and full to bursting with all manner of plans and projects; but while ag onizing with the pains of parturi tion, they seldom bring any matter of importance to birth. They should recollect that good deeds are pro duced in litters, but are laid down on a solid basis after the order steps ascending toward the summit of a pyramid. As a rule, the first thing to be done is that of immediate, S resent duty. It should be done to- ay, and not be postponed until to morrow. It should be doue now, and not when one feels more like trying it. The body is lazy. The mind is often sluggish but to will is to do. The will has imperial force in men of will, who gamely resolve to rule themselves, and so far as they can, call the circumstances around them. Few things worthy of being done can be accomplished without hard work. Shiftless people are cowardly. They shrink from con tests with dificulty or hardships. They ran for refuge to the quick sands of idle hope. Full of wishes, they imagine that somehow hick will fill their hands with benefits. And so they dream and wonder how others get along, and why they do not. Life oozes out nothing but stagnation and de cay for such cowardly spirits that dare not compete for the prizes of intelligent industry. Hard work grows easy and be-* comes a pleasure to all who have felt the stimulus of its medical charms. One task well done makes the next lighter. The ancient Syra cusan, who began by carrying the •calf, found himself able to carry the grown up bullock with ease. “One thing at a time and courage,” these make life pleasant and fraitfnl. An Absurd Custom.—If I could persuade all young men never to treat each other, nor be treated, I think one half of the danger from our strong drink would be gone. If I cannot get you to sign the total abstinence pWge, binding*until you are twenty-five, I wouia De glaa tu have ydu promise three things : First, never to drink on the sly, alon ; second, never drink socially, treated or being treated; third, when you drink, do it openly, and in the pres ence of some man or woman whom you respect. w Now, boys, if you wish to be generous and treat each other, why not select some other shop be sides the liquor shop ? Suppose as you go by the post-office, you say, “Come, boys, come in and take some stamps.” These", stamps will do your friends real good, and will cost you no more than drinks all around. Or go by the tailor’s .store and say: “Boys come in and have a box of collars.” Walk up to the counter, free and generous, and say: “What style will you have ?” Why not treat to collars as well as to treat to drinks? Or go by a confectioner’s and pro pose to treat to chocolate drops all around? or say, I’ll stand a jack knife all aronnd ?” How does it hap pen that we have fallen into a habit, almost compulsatoiy, of social drink ing ? You drink many a time when asked to, when really you do not want to. When a man has treated you, you feel mean and indebted, and keep a sort of account current in your mind, and him. And so in the use of just that agent, which at the very best is a dangerous one, you join hand in hand to help each other to rain instead of hand to hand to help each other to temperance.—T. K. Beecher. In the development of every moral principle, there is, soon or later, a crisis reached which, if safely passed, ensues the greatest possible amount of good of which the cause admits; otherwise, the greatest possible amount of evil. The weight of a feather may turn the scale. God loves to have ns pray with earnestness. The best proof of earn estness is simplicity. Better in God’s sight are the broken, but heartfelt utterances of a child, than the‘high- flown utterances of some who think themselves wonderful in prayer. A kind old father-in-law wanted to know why the Feejeans were called cannibals, to which Bamum re plied : Because they live off other people. Then, replied he unhappily, my four sons-in-law must be canni bals—they live off me. What, use are forms? exclaimed a petulant legislator to Dr. Franklin; you connot deny that they are often mere empty things! Well, my friend, and so are barrets, but nevertheless they have theiruses, quietly replied the doctor. It is the mark of the soundest 1 dom not to pry into when V C;,.