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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.