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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.