Newspaper Page Text
VOL. II.
SANDERSVILLE, GEORGIA, JULY ll, i873.
no. 2.
J. M. G. MEDLOCK. JETHRO ABLINS. R, L. RODGERS.
|{y Itledlock, Koilgcrs.
The Herald is published in Sandersville,
Sa every Friday morning. Subscription
orice TWO DOLLARS per annum.
1 Advertisements inserted at the usual rates.
No charge for publishing marriages or
deaths.
POETRY.
Don't let Mother clo it.
BY CARRIE ALTON.
Daughter, don’t let mother do it!
Do not let her slave and toil
While you sit a useless*idler,
Fearing your soit hands to soil.
Don’t yon see the heavy burthens
Daily she is wont to bear
Bring the lines upon ber forehead—
Sprinkle silver in ber liair?
Daughter, don’t let mother do' it 1
Do not let ber bake and broil
Through the long, bright summer hours,
Share with her the heavy toil;
See, lier eye has lost its brightness,
Faded from her cheek the glow,
And the step that once was buoyant
Now is feeble, weak and slow.
Daughters, don’t let mother do it!
She has cared for you so long,
Is it right the weak and feeble
Should be toiling for the strong?
Waken from your listless languor,
Seek her side to cheer and blessj
And your grief will he less bitter
When the sods above her press.
Daughters, don’t let mother do it!
You will never, never know]
What were home without a mother,
Till that mother lieth low—
Low beneath the budding daises,
Free from earthly care or pain—
To the home, so sad without her,
Never to return again.
^SELECT 7 MISCEL LYNY,
TTie jYEissing Ruby.
“David!”
“Yes, sir,” promptly responded a
brisk boy of sixteen, coining forward
to await the old banker’s orders.
Mr. Taft was rapidly writing at
his desk and said no more for some
time, while David Prescott stood
waiting. Perhaps he wished to
send a message somewhere.
A few minutes passed. A gentle-
mon came to see the banker on bus
iness. Leaving liis writing, Mr.
Taft began to talk with him, paying
no attention to the boy. David
waited till the gentleman had gone
and then asked :
“Did you want me, Mr. Taft ?”
“No,” said the banker, and he re
turned to his writing and David to
liis place behind the counter.
The old gentleman had probably
intended to send David on some er
rand, but in talking and thinking of
other things, had forgotten all about
it. He was a very absent minded
man.
Several days after this, David was
again called to the banker’s desk.—
This time found him unoccupied.—
With an ominous look upon his face
he said, “Last Saturday I sent you
to Grant & Willoughby’s with a ru
by ring to have the stone re-set. I
find that it has never reached them.
What does it mean?”
David looked puzzled. His face
plainly said, “What do you mean,
Mr. Taft?” but of course lie dare
not speak of it. “I think you must
be mistaken, sir,” he replied, re
spectfully, “I certainly have no_ rec
ollection of being sent with a ring.”-
“Certainly, I am not mistaken,”
said the banker, tartly. “I called
you and gave you the ring at this
very spot. It is lost. I hold you
responsible for it.”
David turned pale with excite
ment. Looking his employer full in
the eye, he answered, “I am posi
tive that I was not sent to Grant &
Willoughby’s last Saturday at all,
and I have never to my knowledge
taken your ring into my hand.”
Mr. Taft stared an instant as if
amazed at the boy’s assurance.
“You deny it, then, do you? ’ He
said almost fiercely.
He was a man of impulse, and un
fortunately, when once he had form
ed an opinion, he was so conceited
that he could not bo made to see that
it might be incorrect; so he contin
ued:
“If you had confessed that you
had taken it; I might have been ea
sy with you; but I hate a thief and
a liar. Andrew, call in a police
man.”
“I am not a thief or a liar, sir,”
said he bursting into a passion of
tears.
“There is no need of more talk,”
replied the banker. I know that you
took the missing ring. If you can
show where it is, or give any account
of it so much the better for you.”
“Arrest this boy and take him to
jail for stealing jewelry,” he said to
the policeman who soon after enter
ed ; and the young clerk went out in
custody of the officer.
David had been with the banker
about six months. This was the
first time any suspicion had rested
against him.
He was an active, willing lad, and
seemed to satisfy his employer per
fectly. Both he and his mother
supposed he was sure of his place,
and were anxiously awaiting the in
crease of wages promised him at the
end of the year.
When, therefore, Mrs. Prescott
heard the sad news of her son’s ar
rest, it for the moment took away all
her strength. As soon as she could
she hastened to see him. Poor Da
vy could throw little light upon the
matter he was charged with, or give
any explanation why the theft of the
ring should be so confidently fasten
ed upon him, unless it was that the
banker had made a mistake. If the
ring was lost some one else had cer
tainly taken it. He had never touch
ed it.
Mrs. Prescott was a widow, poor
and unknown ; but she was a woman
of spirit. Being strongly assured of
her son’s innocence, she determined
to leave no effort untrietLfor his re
lease and the vindication of her fam
ily from disgrace.
She went to Mr. Webb, a good
lawyer, and told her story. He prom
ised to do what he could.
Accordingly he first visited the
banker, and afteward examined Da-
vifl in jail. From neither of them,
however’, could he obtain any satis
faction as to the true state of the
case.
Mr. Webb was pleased with the
appearance of David, however;
thought him innocent, and under
took liis defence with more than or
dinary zeal.
Being a really humane man, he
was touched with the apparent help
lessness of the boy and his widowed
mother, and was resolved, if the bank
er, had wronged them, either inten
tionally, or unintentionally, to force
him to an acknowledgment.
Starting on the theory that there
was really no crime in the case, only
a mistake Somewhere, his first step
was to visit the principal jewelry
stores, and make inquiries’ for the
missing ruby.
It was a weary search, but he
persevered, and at length, in one es
tablishment, kept by one Mr. Ander
son, he came upon the clue that he
wished.
At this point, he could have ad
justed the case;- but he felt that the
boy’s character and future success
in life were at stake, and therefore,
determined to vindicate his good
name in the most public manner; and
at the same time give a needed les
son to the quick-tempered, impulsive
banker.
At the trial every thing seemed to
go against poor David. His mother
sat weeping and sobbing as if her
heart would break.
Mr. Taft told his story under oath,
as we have already stated it, and the
judge was evidently quite satisfied
of its truth and correctness.” Few
could have thought of doubting the
evidence of bo respectable a witness.
When Mr. Webb came to cross-
examine him, he put his questions
so rapidly and sharply, and made
him repeat so often his positive as
sertion, that he gave the boy the
ring as first claimed, that the old
gentleman grew angry, and was on
the point of appealing to the judge;
but suddenly the quiet lawyer pro
duced a fine ruby ring, and banding
it to the banker, asked him if he had
ever seen it before.
“It’s mine,” said the banker, look
ing at it with astonishment?
“Then you identify it as the one
you swore you gave to the boy, do
you ?” asked Mr. Webb.
“I do,” said he, beginning to look
mortified.
“That is all,” £aid the law} T er.
“And now, may it please your
honor, I shall call one witness for
the defence.
Will Mr. Anderson take the stand?”
Mr. Anderson stepped up, and
being duly sworn and shown the
ring, testified that he recognized it
as one he had mended about a week
before for an elderly gentleman who
call and left it with the order.
“Is that gentleman in the room,
Mr. Anderson?” asked the lawyer. (
“He is,” replied jeweler. “He sits
in that chair, pointing directly to
Mr. Taft.
The judge and all the spectators
were astonished, and the old banker
was covered with confusion. There
was no more now to be done, save
to hear the stammered apology of
the rich man to the court and liis in
jured clerk.
The explanation was a simple one,
but did him far less credit than it
would if he had made it before
pressing matters so far, and having
it at last forced from him.
As we have said, he was one of
those dogmatic men, who think they
can never do wrong, and, unfortun
ately for such a disposition, being
very absent-minded, he sometimes
misplaced objects and events very
strangely, as he now confessed.
He had intended to send the ruby
by David to Grant & Willoughby’s
to be reset, and actually called him
for the purpose, as we related at
the beginning of the story. The
hurry of other things had put the
matter out of his mind, and, as we
have seen, lie never even named the
errand to the boy.
The same absence of mind seem
ed to have followed him all that
day, for when, on his way to dinner,
he passed the store of Mr. Ander
son and left the ring, he retained no
recollection of it whatever.
Recurring afterwards to his first
intention, he assumed it as - a fact
that he had sent the boy. and called
at Grant & Willoughby’s expecting
to receive his ring. Being told,
much to his surprise, that no such
article had been left there, instead
of recollecting, or trying to recollect,
if any other disposal had been made
of it, he at once made up his mind
that David had stolen it. Having
taken that position, he was too set
in his own opinions, to take any oth
er view of the matter.
The result of the affair taught him
a lesson, old as he was, and he went
so far in personal acknowledgment
and amends to his wronged clerk, as
to present him a liundred dollars
for the trouble and pain he had
caused him and his mother.
A Good Recipe.—I have a recipe
to offer. It is a compound, being
composed of several ingredients. It
is an excellent remedy, and when
properly applied, ..lias an amazing
good effect upon farmers’ boys, keep
ing them at home in the evenings
when they ought to be there, and
making them love home better than
any other place on earth. Here are
tire ingredients:
1. Treat them as partners with
you. Give them to understand that
they are interested in the success
of the farming operations as much
as you are yourselves.
2. Converse freely with them.
Get their opinions, and give them
yours. If at all prudent, make use
of their plans, and when you think
your own best, explain to them why
you do not adopt theirs. Don’t
keep them altogether in the dark
with reference to your plans for the
future.
3. Don’t require them to stay at
home in the evening all the time.
When there is any meeting or en
tertainment from which they might
receive benefit, besure to let them
go*
4. Provide them with plenty of
good books and papers; ^especially
referring to agriculture. Let them
be well posted in their own business
—farming.
5. Never scold them because they
don’t do their work or attend to the
business of the farm as well as you
do. Encourage them.
About Alike.—Humanity aver
ages about the same the world over.
The same impulses sway the human
heart in each strata of society.
There would be far greater charity
in the world were it fully understood
that very many times, when one
man is honored above another, it is
because he is not as well known.
Look out for those who cry the
loudest, “stop thief,” at the starving
creature who steals a loaf of bread.
If they are respected as better than
common people it may be because
they adroitly cloak their 'villainy.
Charity neither dwells with ignorance
or hypocrites.
To be incapable of narrow censure
and base suspicions, a mind must be
expansive, and generous, learning
lessons from the infinitude of the
mercy and magnanimity of God. To
be and to do this, one must ever seek
the good and the beautiful in all
things, and every person, rather than
to clutch the flaw in a grand work,
drag it to the light and exaggerate
its size and importance. The most
perfect piece of statuary is not with
out some blemish, for few pieces of
marble can be obtained in the cut
ting of which some dark spots are
not revealed.
Good, if True.—It is said that the
daughter of the great Vanderbilt has
beei^ teaching her child to dam stock
ings. She put her to work on an
old pair, saying"to her, by way of
justification, that “there is no know
ing what ive may any of us come to.”
If this is so, it is worthy of the best
days of Sparta or Rome. It was no
cowardly eye that looked thus at
poverty and set deliberately to
work to honorably meet it, if any of
the possible mischances of commer
cial life should bring the necessity.
If this is so, why will not some pain
ter, say all draft upon his inventive
genius for a theme, give us simply a
transcript of the little girl with its
fist buried deep in the old stocking
and its needle applied by the other
hand; while the mother, of course
beautiful as such a motner must be,
shall sit near by carefully watching
the progress of the task?. We would
gladly commend such a picture to
mothers who only prepare their
daughters for luxury and idleness,
and to think poverty a crime and
work a disgrace!
“This little fellow,” said Martin
Luther, of a bird going to roost, “has
chosen his shelter, and is quietly
rocking himself to sleep without a
care for to-morrow’s lodging, calmly
holding with his little twigjind leav
ing God alone to think for him.” ,
Man’s nature runs either to herbs
or weeds; let him seasonably water
the one and destroy the other.
Saturday Nfght.
What, blessed tilings Saturday
nights are, and what would th'e wqrld
do without them ? Those breathing
momets in ‘the»trapping march' of
life; those little twilights in the
broad and girlish light of noon,
when pale yesterdays look beauti
ful through the shadows - and faces
“changed” long ago, smile sweetly
again in the husbs; when one remem
bers “the old folks at hom$,” and
the old-fashioned fire", and the old
arm chair, and th<§ little brother
that died^mnd the little sister that
was “translated.” ’
, Saturday night makes people hu
man ; sets their Leaits to beating
Speak Gently.
“Please help me a minute, sister.”
“O don’t disturb me; I’m reading,”
was the answer.
“But just hold this stick, won’t
you, while I drive this pin through?”
“I can’t now; I want to finish this
story,” said I emphatically, and my
brother turned away with a disap
pointed look, in search of somebody
else to assist him.
He was a bright boy of ten years,
and my only brother. He had been
visiting a young friend, and had seen
a wind-mill, and as soon as he came
home, his energies were all employed
in making a small one, for he was
always trying to make tops, wheel-
... „ , , . . . barrows, and kites. He had been
softly as they used to do, before the wd rking all the morning with
world turned them into wardrums nd j a ° ck -knife, and now it only
and jarred them to pieces with
toes.
The ledger closes with a clash;
the iron-doored vaujts come to with
a bang ; up go the shutters with a
will; click goes the key in the lock.
It is Saturday night, and business
free again. Homeward, ho!- The
door that has been ajar ail the week
gently closes behind‘him ; the world
is shut out. Shut in, rather. Here
are his treasures after all. and not
in vault, and not in the hook—save
the record in the family Bible—and
not in the bank.
Maybe you are a bachelor, frosty
and forty. Then, poor-fellow! Sat
urday nights are nothing to you,
just as you are nothing to any body.
Get a wife, blue-eyed or black-eyed,
above all, true-eyed, get a little
home, no matter how little, and a
little sofa, just to hold two, or two
and a half in.it, of a Saturday nigftt,
and then read this paragraph by
the light of your wife’s eyes, and
then thank God and take courage.
The dim* and dusty shops are
swept up; the hammer is thrown
down, the apron is doffed, and labor
hastens with*a light step, homeward
bound.'
“Saturday night!” 'feebly mur
murs the languishing, as she turns
wearily upon her couch, “is there
another to come?” *
“Saturday night, at last!” whis
pers the weeper above, the dying,
“and it is Sunday to-morrow, and—
to-morrow.
- Photou raphing a -<5jss.—In the
neighborhood of, Chiselhurst, the
other day, an enamored pair were
•walking pleasantly along,unconscious
of the surroundings, and more par
ticularly of the fact that an itinerant
photographer had taken up his posi
tion, surrounded by an interesting
crowd. As the swain and the maid
en took their wav, what more natural
than that the former should imprint
a chaste salute on the pouting lips of
his fair companion ? What more
annoying than that the camera should
h ive seized him iii the act, and ren
dered it immortal ? The hapless
couple became aware of the fact from
the loud outbursts of laughter which
ran through the assemblage as the
plate was held up, and the girl at
first stormed and threatened; but,
subsiding into a more reasonable
mood, offered to purchase the nega
tive. But the photographer was in
exorable. He was willing to sell any
number of copies, but insisted upon
retaining the original.
My Life a Vapor.—The time in
which I live is but a small moment
of this world’s history. It is a flight
of a shadow; it is a dream of vani
ty ; it is the rapid glance of a me
teor; it is a flower which every
breath of heaven can wither into
decay; it is a tale which as a re
membrance vanishes; it is day
which the silence of a long night
will darken and overshadow. In a
few years our heads will be laid in
the cold grave, and the green turf
co'ver us. The children who come
after us will tread upon our graves ;
they will weep for us a few days;
they will tiflk of us for a few years;
when our memory shall disappear
from the face of the earth, and not
a tongue shall be found to recall
it.—Hr. Chalmers.
How to, keep Children out of
Mischief.—The Herald of Health, in
answer to a query, says: “The surest
and easiest way to keep children,
and grown folks, too, for that matter,
out of mischief, is to keep them busy.
The trouble is, that bfines begin to
throw out the hands and feet after
things within reach, and we begin
by saying, “No !” and holding them
back; and by and by, when the little
ones get out of our $rms, and we
say, “No, no!” they turn faster than
we can follow them to something
else, only to be again reproved, until
they are glad to get out of our sight
and find vent for their activity in lib
erty.
“Begin rather by supplying the
out-reaching fingers, and as the de
sires develop and enlarge, keep the
busy brain and body interested in
harmless ways, and there will be lit
tle cause to fear that they will go far
astray.
* J > • # • <
He who defers his charites till his
death is rather liberal of another
man’s goods than of his own.
needed putting together to complete
it, and Ins sister had refused to help
him, and he had gone away with his
heart saddened.
I thought of this in the fifteen
minutes after he had left, and the
book gave me no pleasure. It was
not intentional unkindness, only
thoughtlessness; for I loved my
brother, and was generally kind to
him; still, I had refused to help him.
I would have gone after him and af
forded him the assistance he needed,
but I knew he had found some one
else. Yet I had neglected an op
portunity of gladdening a childish
heart.
In half an hour he came bounding
into the house, exclaiming, “dome,
Mary, I*ve got it up; just see how it
goes.”
His tones were joyous, and I saw
that lie had forgotten my petulance,
so I determined to atone by unusual
kindness. I went with him, and sure
enough, on the roof of the wood-
house was fastened, a miniature
wind-mill, and the arms were whirl
ing around fast enough to suit any
boy. I praised the wind-mill, and
my little brother’s ingenuity, and he
seemed happy and forgetful of any
unkind word, and I resolved, as I
had man}- times before, to be always
more loving and gentle.
A few days passed by, and the
shadow of a great sorrow darkened
our dwelling. The joyous laugh,
and noisy glee were hushed, and our
merry boy lay in a darkened room,
with anxious daces around him, his
cheeks flushed, and -his eyes un
naturally bright. Sometimes his tem
ples-would moisten, and muscles re
lax, and then hope would come
in to our hearts, and our eyes would
till with thankful tears. It was in
one of these deceitful calms in his
disease that he heard the noise of
his little wheel, and said to me, “I
hear my windmill.”
“Does it make your head ache ?”
I asked. “Shall we take it down ?”
“O no,” he replied. “It seems as
if I were out-of-doors, and it makes
me feel better. Don’t you remem
ber, Mary, that I wanted you to help
me to fix it, and you were reading,
and told me you couldn’t ? But it
didn’t make any difference, for ma
ma helped me.”
O how sadly these words fell up
on my ears, and what bitter mem
ories they awakened!
How I repented, as I kissed little
Frank’s forehead, that I had ever
spoken unkindly to him ! Hours of
sorrow went by, and we watched by
his couch, hope growing fainter, and
anguish deeper, until one week from
the morning on which he spoke of
his childish sports, we closed his
eyes, once so sparkling, and folded
his hands over his pulseless heart.
He sleeps now.in the grave, and
home is* desolate ; but his little wind
mill, the work of his busy bauds, is
still swinging in the breeze, just
where he placed it, upon the roof of
the wood-shed; and every time I
see the tiny arms revolving, I remem
ber, also, the thoughtless, unkind
words.—Exchange.
— * -«
Men and Women.—Men love
things—as facts, possessions and
eatables; and women, persons; and
while men regard only abstract, scieh-
tific factSj a woman looks only at the
person in whom they are embodied.
Even in childhood the little girl loves
an imitation of humanity, her doll,
and works for it; the boy gets a hob
by horse or tools, and works with
them.
But the noblest quality where
with nautre has endow ed women for
the good of the world is love—that
love which seeks no return. The
child is the object of love and kisses
and watching, and answers them on
ly by complaint and anger; and the
feeble creature that most requires re
pays the least. But the mother goes
on; her love only grows stronger the
greater the need and unthankfulness
of its object, and while fathers pre
fer the strongest of their children,
the mother feels more love for the
feeble and querulous!
“Have you Goldsmith’s Greece,”
was asked of a clerk in a store in
which books and various mescella-
neous articles were sold. “No, said
the clerk, reflectively, “we haven t
“Goldsmith’s Greece,” tjbut we have
some splendid hair-oil.
The Dear Old Grandmother.
Some one in the Children’s Hour
thus talks about a kind, lovable old
lady whose presenceis sunshine in
every house :
Have you a dear old grandmother
who comes three or four times a
year, and stays ever so many weeks,
and is so good, and tells you such
sweet stories ? We have, and she’s
so niceL
She came yesterday, and the house
has been brighter ever since. Jack
isn’t half so noisy as he- was, and
May hasn’t cried or pouted once,
but goes about singing like a bird;
and it’s all because grandma is here.
It seems as if nobody would be
cross, or fretful, or bad, where she
is. She speaks igo gently always,
.and - there is such a soft light in her
eyes, when she looks at you, and
such a sweet smile on her lips when
she talks.
Mr. Walton, our minister, was
fibre this morning, “and I heard him
say something to mother, after grand
mother had left the room, abou,t
“growing-old gracefully;” these were
his very words. I think I know
what he meant. I wonder if I shall
ever get to be a woman, and then
grow old like grandma—sweet, and
beautiful, and good! Everybody
loves her; and she seems to love
everybody.
I think I’d rather die than grow
old like Katy Long’s grandmother.
Nobody likes her, and I don’t much
wonder ; she’s so cross and selfish.
Katie doesn’t love her; she told me
so, and said she was always sorry
when she came and glad when she
went away. Now isn’t that dread
ful!
It is so sweet to be loved; anci I
heard papa say once that if we
would be loved we must be lovely.
Grandma is lovely, and that’s why
she is loved.
I’m a little girl, and don’t know a
great deal, but I know why * every
body loves grandma. Dear grand
ma ! I hope I shall be as sweet
and good as she is when I grow
old.
JFrom tlie Rural New Yorker.]
Murrain in Cattle.
Please give the symptoms and
treatment of murrain in cattle. A
disease has appeared here among
our cattle that is called murrain.
They lose" all disposition to eat or
move about, he down the most of
the time, have a dark greenish dis
charge from the nostrils, also from
the bowels. The flies seem to de
light in staying on them, and they
make no effort to brush them off. Is
murrain contagious ?—J. H. Mara-
ble, Carbondale, Tenn.
An attack of murrain is indicated
by a cough first, then a heaving of
flanks, with bloody, black, fetid evac
uations, tenderness over the loins,
and coldness of the horns. Tumors
and boils sometimes appear. The
animal holds his head down, moans,
is restless and staggers when walk
ing.
Various remedies have been giv
en by experienced herdsmen. One
is, for an old ox, cow, or bull, take
three pounds fat bacon, cut in pieces
so that they can be pushed back in
to the throat and the animal will
swallow them freely; rub the back
and belly with whisky.
Injections are used. Take a good
sized syringe and inject soap and
water, using soap enough to make
the water “feel slippery,” and inject
at short intervals until the bowels
of the apimal are relieved.
Another remedy which has proved
successful, if given in time, is calo
mel, in doses of .from one-quarter to
three-quarters of an ounce, with a
proportionate quantity of powdered
opium, to be given in such quantities
as to produce an altera'ice rather
than a purgative effect, and to be
followed by a mixture made of thick
mucilage or gum arabic and castor
oil, to which add equal parts each of
spirits of tuipentine and balsam co-
paiva, with laudanum occasionally
added, according to circumstances.
To prevent murrain, keep cattle on
dry, clean pastures, and away from
all miasmatic influences. If there
are such places on your farm, clear
them up and drain them, a
Simple Faith.—When a child who
had lost her mother was once asked,
“What do you do now without a
mother to tell your troubles to ?”
she sweetly answered, “I go to the
Lord Jesus, ne was my mother’s
friend, he is mine.” And in reply
to another question, whether she
thought Jesus Christ would attend
to her, “All I know,” she at once re
plied, “He says He ivill and that's,
enough for me!”
That was a beautiful idea in the
mind of a little girl, who on behold
ing a rose-bush, on the topmost
. stem of which a rose was fading,
whilst below and around it three
beautiful crimson buds were just un
folding their charms, at once and
earnestly exclaimed to her brother,
“See, William, these little buds have
awakened in time to kiss their moth
er befqre she dies.
Saved by a Horse.
Let any man who ever struck a
faithful horse in anger read this
true story and be ashamed of him
self :
Some years since a party of sur
veyors had just finished their day’s
work in the north-western part of
Illinois, when a violent snow-storm
came on. They started for* their
camp, which was in a grove of about
eighty acres in a large prairie,
nearly twenty miles from any other
timber.
The wind was blowing very hard,
and the snow drifting so as nearly
to blind them.
When they thought they had
nearly reached their camp, tney all
at once came upon tracks in the
snow. These they looked at with
care, and found, to their dismay,
that they were their own tracks.
It was now plain that they were
lost on the great prairie, and that if
they had to pass the night there,
in the cold and snow, the chance
was that not one of them, would be
alive in the morning.
While they were shivering with
fear and the cold, the chief man of
the party caught sight of one of
their horses—a gray ponv known as
“Old Jack.”
Then the chief said, “if any one
can show us our way to camp, out
of this blinding snow, Old Jack can
do it. I will take off his bridle and
let him loose, and we can follow him.
I think he will show us our way
back to camp.”
The horse, as soon as he found
himself free, threw his head and tai
into the air, as if proud of the trust
that had been put upon him. Then
he snuffed the breeze, and gave a
loud snort, which seemed to say:
“Come on, boys! Follow me ; I’ll
lead you out of this scrape.” He
then turned in a new direction and
trotted along, but not so fast that
the men could not follow him. They
had not gone more than a mile when
they saw the cheerful blaze of their
camp-fires, and they gave a loud
huzza at the sight, and for Old
Jack.
More Natural Spelling.—The
Aurora Commercial is guilty of the
following amusing obituary:
Mis^gEJi Edatur—Jem bangs, we
are sorry tu stait, has deseized. He
derparted this life last munday.—
Jem wos generally considered a gud
feller. He dide at the age of 23
years old. He went 4th without a
struggle, and such is life. Tu day
we are as pepper grass—mitv smart
—tu Morrer we are cut down like a
cowcunfioer of the grownd. Jem
kept a nice store, which his wife now
wates on. His vur-chews was nu
merous to behold. Menny is the
things we bot at his growceroy, and
we are happy to state to the admi-
run wurld, that he never cheeted,
speshully in the wate of markrel,
which wos nise end smelt sweet, and
his survivene wife is the same wa.—
We never new him to put sancl in
his shugar, tho he had a big sand
bar in front of his house, nur water
in his lickers, tho the ohio River run
past his dore. Piece to his remans!
Poetry.
he di-ed in his bed,
a great big bnk be red,
a pra-er be loudly sed,
then turned over on2 his bed,
and dur ned if he"didn’t die—ded
He leves a wife, 8 cliikfren, 4 hor
ses, a growceroy, and other quodre-
peds to mourn his loss—but in the
spl-en-did langwidge ov the poit,
his lose is there eternal gane.
Pryvet—Mr. Nellson and pural:—
If you will stomp the abuv on2 yure
valerable colyumns, I will be obliga
ted, send me a copy as I doant taka
hit.
!An Excellent Example.—To all
thoughtful young women everywhere
we commend the following, clipped
from the Vermont Chronicle. The
example it gives ought to be followed
by all girls, in reference to all young
men of any evil practices whatsoev
er: “-f
“Why did you not take the arm of
my brother last night?” said a young
lady to her friend, a very intelligent
girl, about nineteen, in a large town
near Lake Ontario.
She replied: “Because I know
him to be a licentious young man."
“Nonsense!” was the answer of
the sister; “if you refuse the atten
tions of all licentious young men,
you will have none, I can assure
you.”
“Very well,” said her friend, “then
I can dispense with them altogether,
for my resolution on the subject is
unalterably fixed.”
How long would it take to revolu
tionize society—aqd for the better—
were all young ladies to adopt this
resolution ?
Profanity never did any man the
least good. No man is the richer or
happier, or wiser for it. It com
mends no one to any society. It is
disgusting to the refined; abomina
ble to the good; insulting to those
with whom we associate; degrading
to the mind: unprofitable and inju
rious to good society.
