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YOL. I.
J. M- G. MEDLOCK. JETHRO ARLENE. B, L. RODGERS.
By Medloclt, Arline X Rodgers.
The Herald is published in Sandersvillf
Giv, every Friday morning. Subscriptio:
price TWO DOLLARS per annum. i
Advertisements inserted at the'usual ratef
No charge for publishing marriages o
deaths.
POETRY.
Do as Near Right as you Can.
The world stretches widely before yon,
A field for your muscle and brain ;
And though clouds may often float o’er you,
And often come tempests and rain,
Be fearless of storms which o’ertake you,
Push forward through all like a man—
Good fortune will never forsake you
If you do as near right ns you can.
Remember the will to do rightly,
If used, will the evil confound;
Live daily by conscience, that nightly
Your sleep may be peaceful and sound,
In contests of right never waver—
Let honesty shape every plan,
And life will of Paradise savor,
If you do as near right as you can.
Though foes darkest scandal may speed.
And strive with their shrewdest of tact
To injure your fame, never heed,
But justly and honestly act;
And ask of the Ruler of Heaven
To save your fair fame as a man,
And all that you ask will be given,
If you do as near right as you can.
SELECT MISCELLANY.
THE BEST WIFE IN THE WORLD*
BY AMY RANDOLPH.
“The best little wife in the world!'*
said Herbert Ainscourt.
“Of course—I dare say,” respond <
ed Mr. Portcross. “But what’s your
exact idea of the best wife in the
world? Jones says he's got the bes':
wife in the world, because she keep;;
his stockings darned, takes him to
church three times of a Sunday, and
never lets him have an idea of hi;t
own. Jenking says lie's got the same
identical article; but Jdikin’s wife
keeps all the money, draws his salary
for him, and makes him live in tho
back kitchen because the parlor is
too good for the family to use.”
“Oh! but Daisy isn’t a bit ogreish
-a little submissive, soft-voiced thing
that hasn’t an idea except what is re
flected from me. I tell you what,
old fellow, I’m the master of my own
house; I come wh^n I please^ anc«
go when I please, Daisy never ven
tures on a word of reproach.’’
“Then, you ought to be ashamed
of yourself, larking around at tho
clubs as you do, dissipated-bachelor
fashion.”
“Ashamed! what of?”
“Why, I suppose you owe some
duties to your wife?”
“Where’s the harm? My wife
doesn’t care.”
“Probably you think so because
she is quiet and submissive; but if
she were to object—
“Object! I’d like to hear her try
it.”
“Now, look here, Ainscourt, you*
wife mav be a model wife, but you
certainly are not a model bushand.
People are beginning to talk about
the way you neglect that pretty little
blue-eyed girl.” .
“I’ll thank people to mind their
own business. Neglect her, indeed!
Why, man, I love her as I love my
own soul.”
“Then, why don’t you treat her as
if you did?”
“Oh, come, Portcross, that ques
tion just shows what a regular old
bachelor you are. It wont do to
make too much of your wife, unless
you want to spoil her.”
j\Ir. Portcross shook his head.
“That sounds selfish. I don’t like
the ring of that metal.”
And he went away, leaving Mr.
Amscout to finish his game of bil
liards at leisure.
‘What a regular old fuss-budget
Portcross is,” laughed the latter. ‘Al
ways poking his nose into somebody
else’s business. There’s one comfort
—I never pay any attention to what
he says.”
Meanwhile Mrs. Ainscourt was
sitting alone in her drawing-room,
her two little white hands tightly
locked in one another, and her fair
head slightly drooping—a delicate,
little apple-blossom of a woman, with
blue, wistful eyes and curly flaxen
hair, looking more like a grown up
child than a wife of twenty-one sum
mers.
“O dear!” sighed Daisy. “It is so
dull here. I wish Herbert would
come home. He never spends any
time with me now-a days, and I
practice all his favorite songs, and
read the newspapers, so I can talk
about the things he’s interested in,
and try so hard to be entertaining.
It’s very strange.”
And then her oval face brightened
into sudden brilliance, and the spark
les stole into her eyes; for the quick
ear had detected her husband’s foot
steps on the stairs. The next mo
ment he came in.
“Well, pet, how are you?” with a
playful pinch of her cheek. “There
are some bonbons for you. Where
are my light gloves?”
“O Herbert! you are not going
away again?”
“1 must, Daisy. There are a lot
of fellows going to drive to High
SANDERS VTLLE, GEORGIA, MAY 23, 1873.
NO. 47.
Bridge, and I’m one of the party.
You can go over to my mother’s for
dinner, or send for one of your
friends, or something. There*, good-
by, puss, I’m in a deuce of a hurry.”
And with one careless kiss' pressed
on the quivering damask . rose of a
mouth that was lifted up to him, he
was gone.
Daisy Ainscourt neither went to
her mother-in-law, nor sent for one
of her girl-friends. She spent the
evening all alone, pondering on the
shadow which was fast overgrowing
her life.
“What shall I do?” thought the
little timid, shrinking wife. “Oh,
what shall I do?”
Bat, child as she was, Daisy had
a strong, resolute woman’s heart
within her, nor was she long in com
ing to a decision.
“Daisy, “said her husband to her
the next day, “you haven’t any ob
jections to my attending the Orion
Hal Masque?”
“Are masked balls nice places,
Herbert?”
“O yes, everybody goes; only I
thought I’d pay you the compliment
of asking whether yon disapproved
or not.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Well—ahem—not very well, this
time, Daisy. You see, Mrs. Fen-
church really hinted so strongly for
me to take her, that I couldn’t help
it.”
‘Very Well,’ assented Daisy, meek
ly, and Herbert repeated within him
self the paean of praises he had chant
ed in Mr. Portcross’ ears: “The best
little wife in the world!”
But, notwithstanding all this, Mr.
Ainscourt was not exactly pleased,
when, at the selfsame Bal Masque,
during the gay period of unmasking,
he saw liis wife’s innocent face crown
ing the picturesque costume of a Ba
varian peasant girl.
“Hallo!” he ejaculated, rather un-
graciouslyj'.“«/o'?( here!”
“Yes,” lisped Daisy, with a girlish
smile. “You said everybody went!
And oh, Herbert, isn’t it nice?”
Mr. Ainscourt said nothing more,
but Mrs. Fenchurch found him a ve
ry stupid companion for the remain
der of the evening.
He was late at pinner the next
day; but, late as he was, he found
himself more punctual than his wife,
and the solitary meal was half over
before Mrs. Daisy tripped in, her
cashmere shawl trailing over her
shoulders, and her dimpled cheeks
all pink with the fresh wind.
‘Am I behind time? Really, I am
so sorry! But we have been driving
in the, park, and—”
“We! who are we?” growled her
husband.
“Why Colonel Adair and I—the
Colonel Adair that you go out with
so much.”
“Now, look here, Daisy!” ejacula-
ed Mr.- Ainscourt, rising form the
table and pushing back his chair,
“Adair isn’t exactly the man I want
you to drive with!”
“But you go everywhere with
him!”
“I dare say—but you and I are
two different persons.”
“Now, dear Herbert,” interposed
Daisy wilfully misunderstanding him,
“you know I never was a bit proud,
and the associates that are good
enough for my husband are good
enough for me. Let me give you a
few more oysters.”
Ainscourt looked sharply at his
wife. Was she really in earnest, or
was there a mocking undercurrent of
satire in her tone? But he could
not decide, so artless was her count
enance.
“I’ll talk to her about it sometime,”
was his internal decision.
“Daisy,” he said carelessly, when
dinner was over, I’ve asked old Mrs.
Barberry to come and spend the day
with you to-morrow.”
“Oh! have you ? I’m sorry, for I
am engaged out to-morrow.”.
“You! Where?”
“Oh, at Delmonico’s. I’ve joined
a Woman’s Rights Club, and we meet
there to organize.
“The deuce take woman’s rights!”
ejaulated the irate husband.
“Of course I don’t believe in them,
but it’s the fashion to belong to a
club, and such a nice place to go
evenings. I am dull here evenings,
Herbert.”
Herbert’s heart smote him, but he
answered resolutely:
“I beg you will give up this ridicuT
lous idea. What do women want of
clubs?”
“What men do, I suppose.”
“But I don’t approve of it at all.”
“You belong to three clubs, Her
bert.”
“That’s altogether a different mat
ter.”
“But why is it different ?”
“Hem—why ? because^—of course
anybody can see why—it is self-evi
dent.”
“I must be very blind,”' said Mrs.
Ainscourt, demurely, “but I confess
I can’t discriminate the essential dif
ference.”
Herbert Ainscourt said no more,
but he did not at all relish the change
that had lately come over the spirit
of Daisy’s dream.
She did change, somehow. She
went out driving, here, there, and
everywhere. He never knew when
he was certain of a quiet evening
with her; she joined not only the
club, but innumerable societies for a
thousand and one purposes, which
look her away from home almost
continually. Mr. Ainscourt chafed
against the bit, but it was useless.
Daisy always had an excuse to
plead.
Presently her mother-in-law boro
down upon her, an austere old lady
in black satin and a chestnut-brown
wig.
“Daisy, you are making my son
wretched.”
“Am I,” cried Daisy. “Dear me
I had not an idea of it! What’s the
trouble ?”
“You must ask himself,” said the
mother-in-law, who believed—sensi
ble old lady—in young married peo-
f ie settling their own difficulties. “All
know is the bare fact.”
So Daisy went home to the draw
ingroom, where Herbert lay on the
sofa pretending to read, but in reali
ty brooding over liis Doubles.
“What’s the matter, Herbert?”
said Daisy kneeling on the floor beside
him, and putting her soft, cool hands
on his fevered brow.
“The matter? Nothing much, only
I am miserable,” he sullenly answer
ed.
. “But why?” she persisted.
“Because you are so changed,
Daisy.”
“How am I changed ?”
“You are never at home; you have
lost the domesticity which was, in
my eyes, your greatest charm. I
never have you to myself any more.
Daisy, don’t you see how this is em
bittering my life ?”
“Does it make you unhappy ?” she
asked, softly.
“You know that it does, Daisy.”
“And do you suppose that I liked
it, Herbert?”
“What do you mean ?” he asked.
“I mean that I passed the first
year of my married life in just such
a lonesome way. You had no ‘dom
esticity.’ Clubs, drives, billiard play
ing, and champagne suppers en
grossed your whole time. I, your
wife, pined at home alone.”
“But why didn’t you tell me yon
were unhappy ?”
“Because you would have laughed
at the idea, and called it a woman’s
whim. I resolved, when we were
first married to fritter away neither
time nor breath in idle complaints.
I have not complained; I have simp
ly followed your example. If it was
not a good one, whose fault was that?
Not mine, surely.”
“No, Daisy, not yours/’
“I do not like this kind of life,”
went on Daisy. “It is a false ex
citement—a hollow diversion; but I
persist in it for the same reason, I
suppose, that you did—because it
was the fasliiom Now, tell me, Her
bert, whether you prefer a fashinoa-
ble wife, or Daisy?”
“Daisy—a thousand times Daisy!’
“But Daisy can’t get along with a
theatre-going, club-living husband.”
“Then she shall have a husband
who finds his greatest happiness at
his own hearth-stone- —whose wife is
his dearest treasure—who has tried
the experience of surface and finds
it unsatisfactory. Daisy, shall we
begin our matrimonial career anew ?”
And Daisy’s whispered answer
was, “Yes.”
“But what must you have thought
of me all this time?” she asked him,
after a little while.
“I know what I think now?”
“Arid what is that?”
“I think,” said Mr. Ainscourt, with
emphasis, “that you are the best
wife in the world.”
A Touching Incident.—A short
time since, in this city, a brilliant
and much admired lady, who had
been suffering for some time with a
trouble of the eyes, was led to fear
a speed} change for the worse, and
immediately consulted her physician.
An examination discovered a sudden
and fatal failing in the optic nerve,
and the information was imparted
as gently as possible, that the patient
could not retain her sight more than
a few days at most, and was liable
to be totally deprived of it at any
moment. The afflicted mother re
turned to her home, quietly made
such arrangements -as would occur
to one about to commence so dark a
journey of life, end then had her two
little children, attired in their bright
est costumes, brought before her;
and so, with their little faces lifted
to hers, and tears gathering for some
great misfortune that they hardly
realized, the light faded out of the
mother’s eyes, leaving an ideffacabie
picture of those dearest to her on
earth—a memory of bright faces that
will console her in many a dark hour.
—Covington (Ky.) Journal.
London, May 12—The Telegraph
has a special stating that t h>b
Emperor of Germany, while holding
a review at St, Petersburg, received
a bullet in his helmet. His Adjtf-
tant was also severely wounded.
It is said the shot was fired by a
priest.
Practising Deception.
Rev. Henry Ward Beecher says:
“There is a large class of decep
tions which are pleaded and extenu
ated, such as telling lies to children
and telling lies to sick persons. I set
myself against the whole of this mis
erable tribe of wickedness. A lie
told to a child is a monstrous thing.
I abhor it. And yet lies are told to
the children as thick as cloves are
stuck in hams when dressed for a
public occasion.- Your child is sick,
and you bring him a potation and
say, ‘It is good, my dear, it is good,’
when it is as bitter as gall. You are
not only a liar bnt a fool. The child
learns after a little tune, not oqly
that the medicine is not good, but
that the truth is not to be regarded.
You not only give the child an odious
dose of medicine, but yon give Him
a more odious of morals. You inoc
ulate him with the spirit of lying
from the beginning. 1* think we can
not be too careful to speak the truth,
and above all to the children. As to
the sick I do not believe it necessa
ry to tell them all tie truth. But a
doctor is not justified in lying to his
patients. It is easy for him to say
to the person whose case he has un
dertaken: ‘You musl have confidence
in me.’ But, if he says anything, let
him say the truth. It may excite the
patient or it may not; but if the ex
citability is a reason for not telling
the truth, then it is a reaso#for si
lence—it is not a reason for decep
tion. I think that such persons are
oftentimes injured by being deceived.
I think there is a great deal of cruel
ty practiced toward sick people in
this way. And I think it is a shame
to let sick people go blindfolded
down to death, and drop off without
a single word, for fear that they will
be injured if the truth is told them.
I think if a person is going to die, he
has a right to know it. I do not,
therefore, believe in telling lies to
sick folks.”
Effective Christianity.—In re
gard to that Christianity which the
world most requires to-day, Bishop
Huntington very truly remarks :
“We want.in you, Christianity that
is Christian across counters, over
dinner tables, behind the neighbor’s
back, as in his faea: We want in
you a Christianity that we can find
in the temperance of the meal, in
moderation of dress, in -respect for
authority, amiability at home, in ve
racity and simplicity in mixed socie
ty. Rowland Hill used to say he
would give very little for the religion
of a man whose very dog and cat
were not the better for his religion.
We want fewer gossiping, slanderous,
gluttonous, peevish, conceited, bigo
ted Christians.
“To make them effectual, our pub
lic religious measures, institutions,
benevolent agencies, missions, need
to be managed on a hightoned, scru
pulous, unquestionable tone of honor
without evasion, or partisanship, or
overmuch of the serpent’s cunning.
The hand that gives away the Bible
must be unspotted from the world.
The money that sends the mission
ary to the heathen must be honestly
earned. In short, the two arms of
the Church—justice and mercy—
must be stretched out, working for
man, strengthening the brethren, or
else your faith is vain, and ye are
yet in your sins.”
Success.—The successful man is
not necessarily to be envied—not al
ways the happiest man. Human na
ture can not always have its own
will long without becoming deterior
ated by it. We are appointed to
struggle, and in our struggling our
highest life is developed. The time
will come when the laws of our pres
ent condition will cease, and when
we shall be able to bask in the sun
shine of success without viridity, or
enervation of our virtues. Till then
it’s our wisdom to accept our lot and
make the best of it; to seek for our
enjoyment in our work, rather than
in what our work produces; to till
the soil, and dismiss all needless anx
iety about the harvest; to be more
concerned that we should do right,
than that we should succeed; in fact
to bear ourselves like well disciplined
soldiers, with whom strict obedience
is the most sacred of obligations, and
are thereby absolved from responsi
bility as to its results. Then so far
as success is vouchsafed to us, it will
not disconcert us. Thus living, our
life will be its own success.
God has entrusted man with the
raw material. He creates the world
and gives it to man to finish. Man
originates nothing, but continues and
developes all things. Speech is fur-
nishefl him and he‘invents writing.
The ocean, fresh from God’s hands,
puts continents asunder; man makes
it only the broadest of highways.
The> earth is delivered to him rough,
and often sterile. He smoothes and
renders it productive. He grafts
the wild stock. And, in the plan
of salvation, the sufferings of be
lievers finish and perfect the passion
of our Lord.
A soft answer tnrnith away wrath.
The Struggle and the Yictory.
“Johnny,” said a farmer to his
little boy, “it is time for you to go
to the pasture and drive home the
cattle.”
. Johnny was playing at ball, and
the pasture was a long way off, but
he was accustomed to obey; so off
he started' without a word, a# fast
as his legs could carry him.
Being in a great hurry to get back
to play, he only half let down the
bars, and then hurried the cattle
through, and one fine cow, in trying
to crowd over, stumbled and broke
her leg. •
Johnny stood by the suffering
creature and ' thought to himself,
“Now, what shall I do ? that was
the finest cow father had, and it will
have to be killed, and it shall be a
great loss to father. What shall I
tell him ?”
“Tell him,” whispered the tempt
er—the same tempter who puts the
wicked thoughts into all our hearts—
“tell him you found the bars half
down and the creature lying there.”
“No, I can’t say that,” said John
ny, “for that would be a lie.”
“Tell him,” whispered the tempt
er again, “that while you were driv
ing the cows,that the big boy of farmer
Brown’s threw stones and hurried
that cow so that she fell.”
“No, no,” said Johnny, “I never
told a lie, and I won’t begin now.
I will tell father the truth. It was
all my fault. I was in a hurry, and
I frightened the poor creature, and
she fell and broke her leg.”
So, having taken this right and
brave resolve, Johnny ran home as
if he was afraid the tempter would
catch him, and he went straight to
his father and told him the truth.
And what did his father do ?
He laid his hand on Johnny’s
head and said:
“My son, my dear son, I would
rather lose every cow I own than
my boy should tell an untruth.”
And Johnny, though very sorry
for the mischief he had done, was
much happier than if he had told a
lie to screen himself, even if he had
never been found out.
A Jealous Husaand Cubed with
Liquorice Water.—There is a man
in this city, says the Titusville (Pa.)
Herald, who is so affectinately fond
of his vife that he is jealous if a man
looks within forty-five degrees of the
direction in which she may happen
to be. The other day a gentleman
spoke to her, and he immediately
threatened suicide. His wife was
dispatched for a bottle of poison,
which she had put up at the druggists
consisting of a little water, colored
with liquorice, and bottled, with a
glaring poison label outside. When
he threatened to take some of it, and
actually poured it into a wine-glass,
she screamed for help, and ran into
another room, where she could watch
him through the key-hole, and saw
him coolly open the window and
throw it out. She then rushed back
apparently frantic with grief, and im
plored him not to do the rash deed.
He merely pointed at the glass, and
laying down on the floor, began to
kick out his legs like a jumping jack.
She told him she was determined to
share his fate, and swallowed the
rest of the liquorice water, whereup
on he became really frightened, call
ed the neighbors, confessed that he
only shammed, and said that if she
only survived he never would trou
ble her again. Then she explained
the ruse, and he was so mortified he
tried to buy up the silence of the
neighbors, but the story was too good
to keep. He is thoroughly cured.
Warning to Umbella Carriers.—
The man who walks the streets, car
rying an umberlla under his arm, was
at the corner of Fifth and Vine, this
morning. He stopped suddenly to
speak to a friend, and ti man behind
him nearly broke the end of the
umbrella off by running his eve
against it. The man swore and the
umbrella chap wheeled suddenly
around tearing off a young lady’s
back hair. He turned to apologise, j
and jobbed the end of his umbrella |
into a very tall policeman’s stomach. j
Policeman administered a jerk and ‘
the umbrella point tore off a small
boy’s ear, and immediately after car
ried the starboard comer of a man’s
mouth up into his front hair. f
Stepping back in 'dismay at what
he haa done, he rammed the umbrella
down a bystander’s throat, and at the
same time he fastened the hook
handle (the probabilities are that the
handle was not only hooked, but that [
he hooked the whole umbrellar) into
a colored citizen’s wool. In his ef
forts to get his umbrella loose, the
unfortunate owner upset a fruit and
candy stand and plunged headfore
most into one of Squire’s plate-glass
windows. In the excitement and
confnsion that ensued, the umbrella
was pat into a hack and driven to a
hospital, and the man was taken to
an umbrella shop to undergo repairs.
Man is like a watch : If evening
and morning he is not wound up
with prayer and circumspection, he
is unprofitable and false, or serves
to mislead.
‘Keep away from the Edge;’ or Wil
lie Sandford.
Just beyond Mr. Sandford’s
grounds, there lay a beautiful pond
in which were large numbers of fish,
both perch and pickerel, while on the
top of the water, near the edge, were
growing those flowers that remind us
of holihess and heaven—white lilies.
On one side of the pond, there was
a high bank covered with beautiful
flowers. Repeatedly Mr. Sandford
had warned his childred against go
ing down to this bank, lest some of
; .them should fall over iflto the pond,
[ where the water was deep enough
s to drown the biggest of them.
! On the last Fourth of Jiffy, Wfl-
( lie Sandford and his sisters and lit-
| tie brother had gone out to gather
will flowers, to make some boquets
to give to little friends who had come
from the city to spend the Fourth
with them.
Seeing some very beautiful flowers
on the bank, Willie thought that for
this once he might go, even though
his father had prohibited him, and
on reaching out his hand to pluck
some, slipped, and fell over into the
water. With the exception of the
little brothers, all the children ran
to get help. Mary ran back to the
house for ma, another went to the
bam for a ladder, and another for
ropes, while little Jamie, only four
years old, stood and cried.
Mr. Sandford, who was at vfork a
little way off, heard the cries, and
hastened to the spot jnst in time to
save Willie.
The other children did the best
they could, but little Jamie did more
than all; his cries brought the father
in timA. By the time the mother
reached the place, and the rope and
ladder had been brought, it would
have been too late.
1. Learn from this, little readers,
■that the youngest among you can do
something, even if it should be to
ask your father and mother to sign
the pledge—if they have not—or your
companions to sign it, and come with
you to Sabbath School and temper
ance meetings.
2. Learn never to disobey your
parents.
3. Keep away from the edge of
the pool of drunkenness. The edge
may be very pleasant and fascinating
to look at. The flowers of pleasure
may grow there. You may see oth
ers drink now and again, and appear
as if they enjoyed it, and yet never
fall into the pool of drunkenness.
. Willie Sanford told ns he had seen
others gather flowers on that bank
and not fall in, and he thought he
could. But he fell.
So you may think there is no dan
ger in your taking just a few flowers
this once—in Stinking a very little
just this once. Take heed, children,
“keep away from the edge.” Do not
touch a drop.
Fuss and the Chickens.
The other day a cock and three
or four hens were sociably lying to
gether on the sunny side of the
fence, chattering about their own
affairs, and now and then throwing
sand over their feathers, as is the
wont of chickens to do. They were
having a nice time I do not doubt.
All of a sudden, Puss from the
next door in a great hurry jumped
over the fence, and not seeing where
he was going, came down directly
on the fowls, who were at once in
dignant and alarmed, and ran about
cackling andexclaimingloudly:
“What do you think Puss did ?”
Instead of going quietly away, or
making some apology, he flew into*a
violent passion. He hissed and spit,
and then rushed after the old cock
and boxed him violently on each side
of his head as though his own care
lessness were in no way to blame.
I think I have seen a good many
boys and girls like Pussy.
“Mary, yon have knocked off Wil
ly’s china cup and broken it.”
“Weill don’t care, it was in my.
way.”
•‘ Where?’
“ Well—on the shelf—and I didn’t
see it,” and Mary behave as though
she was the injured one.
“John, you have run over the beds
in the garden, and trodden down the
little plants just as they were coming
up—how could you be so careless ?”
“Oh! of course I’m to blame in
some way! I wish I ever could have
any peace of life,” says John, as
though he were the sufferer, and not
the doer of the mischief.
“Henry,” says sister Jane, “you
left the gate open, and the cows
have come in and spoiled my roses
—I’m so sorry!”
“Bother the old roses!” says Hen
ry roughly. “You do make such a
fuss for nothing!” And Henrv sulks
half the day, as if he were the one
who had to bear the loss.
Don’t yon think these children are
very much like Pussy?—Child's
World.
Breakfast Rolls.—Two pounds
of flour; one quarter of a pound of
butter; three Irish potatoes; one
gill of good yeast, and a little salt.
Let them rise all night.
An Elegant Tribute to General Lee.
The London Standard, in the
course of an article tfpon the critique
of the Edinburg Review, of the life
and character of General Lee, pays
the following truthful and eloquent
-tribute to the great captain. It says:
He had lost fortune and home in
the war, by pillage and wanton de
struction; he was proscribed; he de- .
clined to draw vengeance on his State
by taking open part in her politics,
the commander-in-chief of a nation
al army condescended to the control
of a military school, and to a life of
silence and obscurity. But all South
ern eyes were fixed on him, and his
influence was used to keep them calm
and patient, and to retach them to
the Union which had conquered and
was crushing them. Even while their
wrongs and miseries were wearing
out his life he checked every utter
ance of resentment, every expression
of hope for a future deliverance. We
are all Americans now.” He would
allow no toasts to the Lost Cause, no
honors to the fallen banner. He bore
his burden with- simple, unaffected,
patient heroism.
Other men may have approached
him in war and achievement: none
capable of deeds like his ever rivall
ed him in endurance and submission
under hopeless defeat. A Cato would
have fallen on his sword; a Brutus
might have conspired; Hannibal en
dured only in the hope of revenge
and retrieval. But General Lee not
only endured, but submitted, and
that without suffering his country to
entertain even the wish to renew the
struggle. He had to endure for some
weary years, and then the release.
The overwrought nerves suddenly
gave way: ‘he sank at once from per
fect self-possession and apparent
health into collapse and speechless
ness, and died as literally “of a brok
en heart” as ever despairing patriot
or defeated soldier—more truly far
than most “broken hearted” victims
of private grief. So he passed away
from the country he could neither
save by his sword nor restore to hap-
E iness by his counsels, but which he
ad crowned with glory in war, and
rescued in defeat from useless strug
gles and deeper misery.
He has left behind him no rival of
her love, no object of equal pride
and reverence. Nor is his fame con
fined to the South. Wherever the
English tongue is spoken his name
is revered and honored—a name to
which history furnishes few equals
in military renown, none in moral
grandeur; the name of one who real
ized in actoral life the dreams of ideal
chivalry—so great in victory that
none ever surprassed, so much great
er in defeat that none ever approach
ed him; the patriot without a thought
of self, the hero without a shade of
affection or display; the man who
would neither despair of his country
nor conspire against her conquerors;
ideal soldier and perfect citizen, &
Christian without pretensions and
a gentleman without flaw.
China Berries.—We heard an old
gardener assert yesterday, says the
Eufaula Times, that alter thirty
years’ experience he had failed to
find anything so effective for keep
ing worms from cutting cabbage and
other plants as the common china
tree berries. He gathers the ber
ries in a basket and scatters them
thickly over his garden, and while
they make a most excellent manure,
they drive away or utterly exter
minate the worms.
The License Yuestion in New
York.—The bill to submit to a vote
of the people of New York the ques
tion of licensing the sale of liquor
in that State has passed both hous
es of the General Assembly. It in
cludes lager beer and cider. An
amendment to exempt New York
City was lost. Under this law, at
the November election, each town
a.nd county in the State will vote on
the question of local license or local
prohibition.
Mark Twain, a few mont
his first baby was bom, was hole ^
it on his knee. His wife said, “Now
confess, Samuel, that you love the
child!” “-I can’t do that,” replied
the humorist, “bnt l am willing to
admit I respect the little thing for
its father’s sake.”
Little faults become great, and
even monstrous in our eyes, in pro
portion as the pure light of God in
creases in us; jnst as the son, in ris
ing, reveals the true dimensions of
objects which were dimly and con
fusedly .discerned during the night.
A man who met a few friends, af
terward took a walk. The pave
ments were quite icy, and he ex
claimed : “Very singular; wh-^ben-
ever water freezes, it always freezes
with the slippery side up.’
Dry earth is said to be an excel-,
lent thing for gall or sores on hors
to be retained by a bandage, *
changed as often asit becomes:
from absorption.
