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m ■ „ :^ >~*rr*vaam.- 'ic^w • • .« YOL. I. ;.;. r«. WEDLOCK. JETHRO ARLIKE. R. L. RODGERS. 31 y 'Je«Eiock. Ai’lcttc & Rmlgers. The Hes.u.1) is published in Sandersville, every Friday morning. Subscription price TWO DOLLARS per annum. V Ivertisements inserted at the usual rates. .< > charge for publishing marriages or deaths. POETRY. True Politeness. True politeness, people say, Like the rosy dawn of day, Has a touch of nature’s grace, Has a freshness one can trace In the manner and the -word. In the actions, though unheard. True politeness can but make Love and honor out of hate; Can but move the coldest heart; Make the fountains to upstart* Which were thought forever pressed From the dead, unfeeling breast. True politeness, people say, Drives dislike and hate away; Hides from view each wanting charm, Shields one oft from many a harm: Makes fair nature quite complete; Makes our hearts with joy replete. True politeness, like the rain Falling on the parched grain. Watering thirsty fields and woods With its cool, refreshing flood, Makes the drooping soul rejoice, Chimes in sweetly with the voice. True politeness, wondrous art, Wins respect from every heart, Gains a friend all unawares; Many a wound alike repairs; Shows a henrt and soul refined; Shows a cultivated mind. True politeness, like the sun Sheds abroad on every one. In the brightness of the day, Many a warm and pleasant ray; Then the shadows that are oast Are the memories of the past. SELECT MISCELLANY. MRS. GREYS RELIGION. BY MRS. M. A. DENISON. “You don’t believe Mrs. Grey is a Christian. I am sorry to hear you speak in that manner of so estima ble a woman.” “Perhaps I should not have spoken so decidedly, but I think I have a good reason for what I have said.” “But you certainly overlook the fact of her usefulness in the church. Nobody gives more liberally than she does. Only last Sabbath, remember, she subscribed fifty dollars toward our minister’s salary—and in times of conference nobody entertains more liberally than she. ’ I think she is a perfect prodigy of benevolence.” “1 dare say in such matters her liberality is unstained; but I was not thinking of that. She is rich, I suppose—I know she has kept that large store on Marshall street for a great many years. Suppose we call there—it is on our way.” The two friends, a Mrs. Abdy and Mrs. Brown, walked on together until they came to an imposing store, where on one side every conceivable kind of fancy work was for sale, and on the other children’s garments, chiefly for boys—coats, pants and caps—a large and costly variety. Mrs. Abdy and Mrs. Brown quietly stood on one side, for there were several women at the latter counter —not customers, it was evident, for they were palefaced and shabbily dressed. A showy looking girl with red ribbons in her hair stood behind the counter, picking out sorted bun dles and passing them over to these women. “Mrs. Grey says vou must take the last batch home and make the button holes over—she won’t have such work,” said the girl, approaching a tidy looking woman who turned a shade paler at the asperity and sup ercilious manner of the girl. “I thought they were done as geod as usual,” said the woman with a tremulous lip, “but perhaps not. Mary was sick, you see, and she al ways makes the button-holes—she’s sick now. Wouldn’t they possibly do?” Mrs. Brown stepped forward and caught a sight of the button-holes. They were good, as neatly made as she would have wished, were the suit made for her boy. “No, they won’t do,” said the girl sharply, pushing the articles toward her. “You can leave them—but you know Mrs. Grey’s rule—not one cent unless the whole is done to suit her.” “And I only get fifteen cents for the whole,” murmured the woman with a despairing look.” “I’m sure the button-holes are very neatly done,” said Mrs. Brown, hoping that a word from her would have the desired effect; “they would suit me and I am quite particular.” “They wouldn’t suit a majority of Mrs. Grey’s customers, said the girl with an insolent side look at the impertinent stranger as she consider ed her, “and this woman is none too particular at any time. She often ii.is to carry her work back, and I’d advise her to get a new pair of spec tacles it she can’t see better.” “Bear Lord,” groaned the -woman, turning away, a heart-broken ex pression darkening her pale, pinched teat ires—shrinking almost from sight m her mortification and despair; she Fho had silver threads shining amidst tlm dark' gleam of her locks—she ' ■ uh all the rich experience of mater- “rty—with ail the heavy care of the ! ; world’s neglect and poverty—with I all the scars of a hard, long fight with temptation, privation, disease and sorrow upon her, flippantly shamed by a pert, mindless, brazen girl of seventeen. Mrs. Brown’s cheek was scarlet -but the jfoor wo man had crowded out and others had crowded in. A good looking, coarse woman threw down a bundle; it was examin ed and passed. The girl took from a small box one piece of money and handed it to her. The woman stared at it, rubbed her eyes—looked with a puzzled face at the girl, and then exclaimed. “Why don’t you give me the rest of the money?” “That’s all that’s due,” said the girl, “make room.” “But I tell you there were five shirts at twenty-five cents apiece.” “And I tell you they were only five cents apiece,” was the frowning re ply ; “pretty profit we should make to give twenty-five cents for those little things.” “You deceived me then,” cried the woman, her anger rising, “for I dis tinctly asked you if they were twenty- five cents apiece, and you said yes. Why there are four rows of stitching in the bosom.” “Won't you please to make room ?” asked the girl impatiently. “Not till I tell you what I think of you,” cried the woman, “for you are a liar and a cheat. Thank God, I’m not dependent upon your work for my living, and I pity them that are, that’s all. You may cheat the poor widow and the orphan, but you won’t cheat me again.” The girl only curled her lips, for a pale, pinched woman who had been waiting sometime now eagerly crowd ed up to the counter. “O please put me in her place, I’ll be glad to work for anything if only I can get it to do.” She choked down the tears and absolutely trem bled in her eagerness (and her hun ger I have no doubt) from head to foot. %. “O yes, you can have it—we can get plenty to take them at that price and thank us in the bargain,” said the girl heartlessly, pulling down another bundle. Mrs. Abdy now inquired for Mrs. Grey, and was ushered into the show room, where a portly woman stepped forward much surprised and pleased —and learning that they had come for a call she immediately ushered them by-means of a stairway into lier private parlor, a splendid room fur nished with every luxury the heart could desire. “And how are you, Mrs. Abdy— and you, Mrs. Brown ? It’s a great while since I have seen yoainchrcuh, isn't it ?” “My children have been ill,” re plied Mrs. Brown quietly. “O! I thought something must be the matter. If you are amything like me—I never let trifles interfere with my church duties. I believe I have been when others would have wrapped themselves in flannels and gone to bed—I have that much affec tion for the Lord’s house. And what a heavenly sermon we had last Sab bath, Mrs. Abdy. I have thought of it all the week. I do think we ought to be so thankful to the Lord for sending us Brother Drewson. His words are indeed sharp as a two- edged sword.” During a confidential tete-a-tete, Mrs. Brown managed to give a hint at what she thought of the wholesale impertinence of the girl in the shop towards the work perple. “O, Delia’s sharp,” said Mrs. Grey, with a gratified little laugh; “that’s why I keep her. Do you know I pay her extra for that very quality ? I assure you it’s the most terrible thing , to deal with these swop-women. They shirk and sham, and tell all manner of lies to get excused, and do their work abominably at the best. You’ve no idea what a trying busi- t . ness it is on that account. If it didn’t * pay me pretty well,” she added, com placently, “I’d give it up to-morrow. But Delia, dear me, she’s a perfect treasure—knows just how to deal with that sort of people. You see there’s no getting along with them I assure you, unless you’re right up and down with them.” Mrs. Brown’s heart ached as she thought of that neat, grave-looking woman with her quivering lip and silvery hair, stabbed to the very quick by the course, unfeeling creature be hind the counter. “Is this girl—a—professor of re ligion ?” asked Mrs. Brown with some hesitation. “Wh y no,” replied Mrs. Grey turn ing red ; “that’s all I have to try me. Deiia is iionest and concientious, and all that, but I don’t think she has found a hope. She is with me now, however, altogether, and I trust I may be made the means of her sal vation. Do you believe Brother Drewson will get well ?” she queried, shrewdly changing the subject. “Now what do you thiuk of Mrs. Grey?” asked Mrs. Brown, as the two friends gained the street. , “I’m afraid she is sacrificing her religion on the shrine of Mammon,” S ANDERSYJLLE, GEORGIA, MAY 16, 1873. NO. 46. was the reply. “I have always thought so very highly of her, I can’t bear to change my opinion. Still I have seen with my own eyes and heard with my own ears what I would not have believed as bear-say.” ‘One of our church poor lives here,’ said Mrs. Brown as they turned in to a lonesome street lined with poor houses that were filled with poor tenants—“shall we call upon her ?” Mrs. Abdy signified that it would be pleasing to her, and they entered the creaking door of one of the tall est houses, where after toiling up three pair of wretched stairs they came to a room in which a thin, pal lid woman sat making caps at the rate of sixpence apiece. She arose with a smile, extended her thin hand, choked down a hard dry cough as she asked them to be seated, and to excuse her because she most go on with her work; “for you see I prom ised them at five this afternoon, and I work for Mrs. Grey, o£our church. She’s a good woman I’ve no doubt— only she don’t know by experince what the poor have to suffer, and that perhaps makes her hard on ns. But she pays me a little more than sne does the others. “That’s a sad case in the other room,” she went on, “a dreadful sad case. It’s a Mrs. Acton, a widow woman, as good a soul as ever I knew, and she’s got a poor consumptive girl to support. Maria works in spite of her weakness all she can; but this week she couldn’t seem to get np strength. So Mrs. Acton she had some nice work and had to make the button-holes herself. She’s been longer than usual about it too, and I dare say actually wants the money to buy bread. I went in to stay with Maria while she was gone, and the poor soul came back completely crushed. She threw the work down, and burst into tears. Maria was frightened, and when her mother told her that the button-holes would all have to be picked out, it threw her into such a fit of trembling and conghing that she burst a blood ves sel, and now I suppose the poor thing is barfcly alive. Mrs. Grey’s a very hard woman sometimes, but I don’t know as she would be if she knew the circumstatnces—I hope not.” Mrs. Abdy and Mrs. Brown ex changed glances. “If I was only able to do them button-holes,” said the poor spinster, hurrying at her own work, “but by the time I’ve done with these, my eyes’ll be good for nothing.” “Suppose we call upon this poor widow,” said Mrs. Brown, wiping the tears from her eyes. “She’d take it kindly, I’m sure,” replied the poor sister, into whose hand Mrs. Abdy slipped something as they parted, well rewarded by the quick look of gratitude that flushed the woman’s attenuated features. Knocking at a crazy door, the two were admitted into a darkened room: destitute of a carpet, almost of any kind of furniture save a large bed stead, on whose thin mattress laid a form that seemed already prepar ed for the grave. “My poor child,” whispered the grieved mother as they went forward to look at the sleeping girl, “the doc tor says she can’t last long.” “I saw yon in Mrs. Grey’s shop,” whispered Mrs. Brown. The woman started—a red shame painted her cheeks for a moment. “O! did you, ma’am?” she cried, biting her lips; “did you hear how that girls spoke to me? and I have been in better circumstances. While my husband lived I had plenty— while my parents lived I had every thing. O! it is bitter!” she straggled against the tears, but they would come; she hid her face in her hands. “Give me your work,” said Mrs. Brown gently, as soon as she could speak. “I will pay you now—take it home and make the bntton-holes myself, and then see Mrs. Grey abont it. I am well acquainted with her, and when she understands the case I think it will be less hard for you. Here is my card—send somebody to my house to-night-I have some wine and little delicacies which I keep for the sick.” “God bless you, madam-God bless —and I know he will,’ cried the grate ful woman. “I said a dreadful thing in my heart when I left Mrs. Grey’s, but indeed I don’t want to feel so even towards my oppressors. I trust He will forgive me and open her eyes and touch her worldly-heart." Mrs. Brown called upon Mrs. Grey according to promise. She listened coldly, and promised coldly to do what she could-—but oh! as the poor widow had said—in spite of her pro fession—her charities—her gifts to those who needed not-oh! that world ly heart! how it stood in the way of many a poor soul’s welfare! . Strangely indeed upon the ears of such .must fall the words of our Lord: “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is to visit the orphan and the widow in their afflic tion and to keep himself unspotted from the world.” Girls are taught type-setting at aa industrial school in Vienna. Distance Lends Enchantment. . BX HIT. nH. srusaxos. On the Island of Lido, within.hail of Venice, one hears a very heaven of music floating over the lagone from the church bells of “that glo rious city in the sea.” The atmos phere seems to ripple with silver waves akin to those which twinkle on the sea of glass before you. A mazy dance of sweet sounds bewild ers you with delight; it is a mosaic of music, or, if you will a lace-work of melody. One would not wish to lose a note or hush the glorious clangor of a single bell. How changed it all is, when the gondoli er’s fleet oar has brought you fclose under the Campaniles, whex you are gliding smoothly along those mar velous streets, where “salt seaweed clings to the marble of the palaces.” Then ihe booming of the bells, in cessant, impetuous thundering, gar rulous, discordant, becomes an al most unbearable affliction. On your right a little noisy demon calls from the hollow of his cracked shrine in a voice dolefully monotonous, and yet actually piercing, awakening a whole kennel of similar spirits, each one more ill-conditioned than his brother; these, in turn, aroise a huge and monstrous Diabolus, who* groans at you as if longing to grind your Protestant bones, and feed the departed souls of Inquisitors with the dainty bread. Two or three sweet little bells cast in their dulcet notes, but the ear resents as an im pertinence their unrequested addi tion to the deafening din; while Worse than all, if perchance a mo ment’s paose should occur, and the discordant and the booming noise- makers should rest, as though from sheer exhaustion, some miserable cur of a bell close at hand is sure to yap out like a scalded puppy, to the utter despair of the wearied traveler. Charles Lamb may talk of'bell-ringing “the music nighest bordering upon heaven,” but too much of it is more suggestive of an other place. At certain hours in Venice, the bells of a hundred chuvches, all near at hand, make day hideous to the ear, and cause one to wish for night, when— “Darker and darker The black shadows fall; Sleep and oblivion Reign over all." Thus and thus it is with this world everywhere and evermore. Ear away and outside the world is har mony and delight—nearer and more closely known, it is horror and con fusion. To the young and inexpe rienced, the cadence sweet of love and mirth is rapture, and the towers of earth ring out a concert, filling hope with transport; but when the gondola of experience has brought the man into the very city of life, he hears a horde of bells— “Solemnly, mournfully, Dealing their dole.” He is startled by mighty knells; wearied with piercing tones of care; and worried out of hope, as with mournful accents tronbles cleave the air, and the crazing clamors of peals of controversy, bobmajors of non sense, and chimes of slander, fright en sacred quiet from the scene, and sound a hideous requiem to peace. “Things are not what they seem.” From afar, society is full of friend- hip ; nearer it is hollow and hypo- •ritical; pleasure dreamed of is Elysium, but, mingled in, too much >i it is Gehenna; philosophy seems leep and solid at a distance, but .earched with care, it is proved to be .•apid and pretentions. All the world’s a mirage; heaven alone is •eal. From thy din, O earth, we .urn to the divine Sabbath bells of leaven, which from far off hills pro- ilairn the everlasting joy of the New Jerusalem. Robert E. Lee.—In the Edin burgh Review for April, an article m Robert E. Lee, will be read with leep interest. It is a grand tribute rom an unbiased source. For its istimate of the. general place that Lee is to hold in American history he following sentences will suffice as veil as a volume: “The day will come when the evil jassions of the great civil strife will deep in oblivion, and North and South ,vill do justice to each other’s mo tives and forget each other’s wrongs. Then history will speak with clear /oice of the deeds done on either side, and the citizens of the whole Union do justice to the memory of .he dead, and place above all others .he name of the great chief of whom xe have written. In strategy migh ty; in battle terrible; in adversity, as in prosperity, a hero indeed, with the simple devotion to duty and the rare purity of the ideal Christian knight he Joined all the kingly quali ties, of a leader of man. It is a won- derous future, indeed, tiiat- lies be fore America, bnt in her annals of years to come, as inthosa of the past, there will be found few names that can rival in unsullied luster that of the heroic defender of his native Vir ginia, Robert Edward Lee.” Business success—Its Secret What is the secret of success in business? This question is asked by a. young correspondent as gravely as if it could be answered be chapter and verse out of some well known text book. It may do him and oth ers good however, to discuss it a lit tle. And first it is not genius. All with such peculiar gifts make bad managers of any business, and arc too erratic for ordinary executive purposes. And it is not liigh intel lectual attainments. Few scholarly men will lay aside their devotion to letters for their own sake and follow the plodding course by which success in business is to -be attained. And it lies not in the force of circumstances Some who might have otherwise been sccessfnl in a clear course have doubtless broken down in the face of peculiar obstacles; bat the man who can bend circumstances and occa sions to his will can achieve his triumph in spite of adverse circum stances. It is not luck. There is less happy chance in success than is com monly supposed. It is true that many tempt theirfate and escape as by a miracle, bnt this can form no rule of life: success in business is obedient to a law that can be clearly and dis tinctly traced throughout the whole of one’s career. This law is based on the principle that everything has its price, and they only who are will ing and able to pay it, can acquire that which they covet. Some are un able through want of nerve, of failling health, or defective judgment, or oth er mental or physical defects, to sue ceed in the struggle. But more who are able, fail because they are un willing to meet the cost. They seek the end, but will not, by patient, earn est self-denial, employ the means. Present gratification, some form of indulgence, not consistent with the end which has been proposed, offers a temptation too strong for them to re sist. To-morrow they will begin a i sterner course; next week they will j turn over a new leaf with different reading on the obverse side; bnt to : day let the hands be folded and the i old incumbrance remain. No man j is on the road to success, who has j not already paid part of the price, j and is now holding out to fortune in ; full the next installment that is due. Many fancy they are tendering the j price, and wonder that the ground : does not grow solid beneath their j feet. If they will look again with a i keener eye, they will see that their hands are filled with conterfeit offer ings which will never be accepted. The toiler may deceive himself, bnt he can never get the principal. Some thing for nothing is contrary to the constitution of things. Everything for its price, is the universal law, but no bogus coin is taken in this bar gain. There is still another question of still greater inportance. Is that great i measure of success, which most peo- j pleple covet, worththepri.ee at which ; alone it can be recovered? Is it not i often, if not always, bought too dear- j ly, and at a sacrifice too great for its j real value? And another of even more practical importance, is person al happiness at all dependent on this measure of success? We hold that happiness is not dependent on out ward circumstances. It is the out growth of desirable moral character, and is built of no sordid materials. In truth, the enjoyments of oar pres ent state, are more evenly distributed than they* are willing to admit as ap plied to their own case; this our fact alone proving the truth of oue asser tion.—Millers Journal. A Lesson of Obedience. To obey promptly, to do the very thing that is commanded—how very rarefy do children understand the importance of those things. An il lustration of the importance of such obedience has just been given in the Berlin papers, which relate the fol lowing incident that lately took place in Prussia: *‘A switchman was at the junction of two lines of railway, his lever in hand, for a train was signal ed. The engine was within a few seconds of reaching the embankment, when the man on tuning his head, perceived his little boy playing on the rails of the line the train was to pass over. With a heroic devoted ness to his duty, the unfortunate man adopted a soblime resolution. “Lie down,” he shouted ont to the child; but as to himself, he remained at his post. The train passed along on its way, and the lives of one hundred passengers were, perhaps, saved: But the poor child! The father rush ed forward expecting to see only a corpse; but what was his joy on find ing that the boy had at once obey- ea his order? He laid down, and the whole train passed over him without injury. The next day the king sent for die a—and attached to his breast the medal for civil courage. Where God loves he affords love tokens and such are only his soul- enriching graces. If our heart moves toward him certainly his goeth out toward us. The shadow on the dial moves according to the sun in the heavens. . * -vixi-j™. -Robs-iedf ov »* The Cheerful Face. BY ANNA CLEAVES. Next to the sunlight of heaven is the sunlight of a cheerful face. There is no mistaking it—the bright eye, the unclouded brow, the sunny smile, all tell of that which dwells within. Who has not felt its electrifying in fluence? One glance at snch a face lifts us at once ont of the arms of despair, out of the mists and shad ows, away from tears and repining into the beautiful realms of hope. One cheerful face in a household will keep everything bright and warm within. Envy, hatred, malice, self ishness, despondency, and a host of evil passions, may lurk- around the door, they may even look within, bnt they can never enter and abide there; the cheerful face will put them to shame andjflighi. It may be a very plain fact, but there is something about it we feel, yet cannot express; and its eheery smile sends the blood dancing through our veins for very joy; we turn to ward the sun, and its warm, genial influence refreshes and strengthens our fainting spirits. Ah, there is a world of magic in the plain, cheeful face! It charms os with a spell that reaches into eternity, and we would cot exchange it for all the sonlless beauty that ever graced the fairest form on earth. It nut) be a very little face; one that we nestle on oar bosoms or sing to sleep in our arms with a low, sweet lullaby; but it is such a bright, cheery little face! The scintillations of joy ous spirit are flashing from every feature. And what a power it has over the household! binding each heart together in tenderness, and love, and sympathy. Shadows may darken around us, but somehow this litile face ever shines between, and the shining is so bright that the shad ows cannot remain, and silently they creep away into the dark corners where the cheerful face is never seen. It may be a very icmikled face, bnt it is all the dearer for that and none the less bright. We linger near it and gaze tenderly upon it and say, “God bless this happy face! We must keep it with us as long as we can, for home will lose much of its brightness when this sweet face is gone.” And after it is gone how the re- membracC of it purifies and softens our wayward natures! When care and sorrow would snap our heart strings asunder, this wrinkled face The Hornet’s Nest.—Some time ago, a fanner, finding a hornet’s nest under the eaves of his bam, de termined to destroy it. So he took some matches, tied them to a pole, and with them set fire to the nest, and totally destroyed it; unfortun ately, however, the barn was also burned, together with the grain, to the value of fifteen hundred dollars, on which there was no insurance. “What a foot!” some, one says. Not so great a fool as thousands are proving themselves to be. . .This man burned-down a barn to get rid of a hornet’s nest What else is a man doing who drinks ram to cure disease ? “It mav save life,” the wise doctor says. Yes, but it is apt to destroy it after a while. I know many a man who, in trying to burn out a pain in his breast by firing his stomach with brandy, has set his whole house on fire, and both body and reputation were de stroyed. Take core, children, that yon do not set fire to your house for the sake of destroying a hornet’s nest. Never mind what friends and others may say about it.—Banner. Of two evils, it is perhaps less in jurious to society, that a good doc trine should be accompanied by a bad life, than that a good life should lend its support to a bad doctrine. For the sect if once established, will survive the founder. When doctrines, radically bad in themselves,’ are transmitted to posterity, recommend ed by the good life of their author, this is to arm an harlot with beauty, mid to heighten the attractions of a vain and unsound philosophy. I 3 uestion if Epicurus and Hume have one mankind a greater disservice by the looseness of their doctrines, than by the purity of their lives. Of such men we may more justly exclaim than of Cse-sar, “confound their vir- tnes, they have undone the world.” A few years Bince there was a Presbyterian minister at Colnmbus, Miss., who had a horror of shooting in church, which fact was well known to his congregation. One day, after he had preached a very spiritual ser mon, an old lady was observed to leave the church in a very hasty manner. Meeting her a few days af ter, the minister asked why she had rnshed from the church so suddenly the Snnday before. “Well,” she re- . , - , , i sponded, “the fact is, I was so filled looks down upon us, and the painful! ^ ^ listening to vour ser . tension grows lighter, the way less mon J hat j fonnd j co Wt contain dreary, and the sorrow less heavy. God bless the cheerful face! Bless it? He has blessed it already; the stamp of heaven is on every feature. What a dreary world this would be without this heavenbom light! and he who has it not should pray for it as he would pray tor his daily bread. —Phrenological Journal. Tlie Cat and the Goldfish. I once had a cat that was a vic tim of misplaced confidence. In those days, I could mew nearly as well as she herself could. One eve ning, I was amusing the children by counterfeiting the voice of a kitten in distress. Pass was greatly ex cited, and looked everywhere and ran everywhere to find the kitten. She looked in the bed-room, prowl ed under the bed, then back to the parlor, under the sofa, piano, book case. and everywhere else. She look ed about me, under my skirt, into my lap, mewing pitifully all the time. Then she sprang into my lap and looked wistfully into my face. Evi dently I had, according to her theo ry, either eaten a kitten, or it was at that moment suffering agonies in my mouth. She put one paw on my shoulder, and with the other patted my cheek, crooning to the invisible kitten all the while. This was too much for my gravity. I threw back my head and indulged in, a hearty laugh. Puss looked in to my mouth, and sprang off my lap. “It is over with the kitten,” said she to herself, (that is, I supposed she did,) “and it’s the last time I will ever have anything to say to that deceiver.” At any rate, it was the last, for I never could «oax her on my lap again. She was an embodiment of virtuous indignation and offended dignify. I wish yon could have seen how the goldfish frightened Mrs. Tabitha Tortoise-shell Velvet. She wanted to catch him, but cats don’t like to wet their feet. So she pretended that she jnst wanted a drink out of the top of the globe. The goldfish, who isn’t such a fool as he looks to be, sank instantly. ’ •‘That’s nothing,” thought puss,' “I can catch you through the side of the water.” (You see cats don’t know much abont glass.) So she stooped down to catch him through the side, when he swam to ward her with his mouth open. I never saw such a frightened cat in my life! She sprang off the table, and never tried to catch Goldie again.—Little Corporal. myself, so I ran over to the Metho dist church across the way and shout ed.” THEBE^are two things that always pay, even*in this not over-remunera tive existence. They are, working and waiting. Either is useless with out the other. Both united are in vincible, and inevitably triumphant. He who waits without working is simply a man yielding to sloth and despair. He who works without waiting, is fitful in his strivings, and misses results by impatience. He who works steadily and waits patient ly, may have a long journey before him, but at its dose he will find its reward. A Little girl, not six years of age, screamed ont to her little brother, who was playing in the mud: “Bob, you good-for-nothing rascal, come into the house this minute, or I’ll beat you till your skin comes off.” “Why, Angelina, dear, what do you mean?’ exclaimed the mortified moth er, who stood talking with a frieud. Angelina’s childish reply was a good commentary upon this manner of speaking to children: “Why, mother, you see we were playing, and he’s my little boy, and I’m scolding him, jnst as you did me this mopping.” He that from small beginnings has deservedly raised himselfto the high est stations, may not always find that full satisfaction in the possession of his object, that he anticipated in the pursuit of it. But although the in dividual may be disappointed, the community are benefitted, first, to his exertions, and secondly by hn> example; for, it has been wefi observ ed, not by what the lord mayor feels, who rides in his coach, but by what the apprentice boy feels, who looks at him.—Lacon. He that gives a portion of his time and talents to the investigation oi mathematical truth, will come to all other questions with a decided ad vantage over all his opponents. He will be in argument what the ancient Romans were in the field; to them the day of battle was a day of com parative recreation, because they were ever accustomed to exercise with arms much heavier than they fought; and their reiews differed from a real battle in two- respects, they encountered more fatigue, but the victory was bloodless. Inquisitive people are the funnels of conversation;, they do not take anything for their own use; bnt mere ly to pass into another.