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YOL. II.
SANDERSVJLLE, GEORGIA.
NO. 3.
3. M. U. WEDLOCK. JETHRO AKLIN'L. R. X,. RODGERS.
ISv Ilediock, Arliue «& Itodgers.
The Herald is published in Sandersville,
Ga., every Friday morning. Subscription
price TWO DOLLARS per annum.
Advertisements inserted at the usual rates.
No charge for publishing marriages or
deaths.
POETRY.
Tlie Dying Wile.
Lay the gem upon my bosom,
Let me l'eel her sweet warm breath;
For a strong chill o’er me passes, ^
And I know that this is death.
I would gaze upon the treasure—
Scarcely given ere I go—
Feel her rosy dimple lingers
Wander o'er my cheek of snow.
I am passing through the waters,
But a blessed shore appears; *
Kneel beside me, husband dearest,
Let me kiss away thy tears.
Wrestle with thy grief,-my husband,
Strive from midifight until day,
It may leave an angel’s blessing
When it vanishes away.
Let the gem rest on my bosom,
’Tis not hing she caff bo there;
See ! how to my heart she nestles,
’Tis the pearl I love to wear.
If, in after years, beside thee,
Sits another in my chair,
Though her voice he sweeter music,
And her face than mine more fair—
J: a cherub call thea “Father!” - .
Far more beautiful than, this,
Love thy first-horn ! Oh, my husband !
Turn not from the lpotlierlessj
Tell her sometimes of her mother—
You may call her by my name!
Shie-ld her from the winds of-korrow;
If she errs, oh ! gently blame.
Lead her sometimes where I'm slceping-
I will answer if she call*.
And my breath will stir her ringlets,
When my voice in blessing falls.
Then her soft blue eyes will brighten,
And she’ll wonderjhvhence it came:
In her heart, when years pass o’er her,
She will find her mother’s name,
It is said that every mortal
Walks between two angels here ;
One records the ills, but blots it,
If, before the midnight drear,
Man repenteth; if uncanoelled,
Then lie sesils.it.fojc the.stick*:
And the right-hand angel weepeth,
Bowing low, with veiled eyes.
I will be her right-hand angel,
Sealing up the good for heaven;
Striving'that the midnight,patches
Find no misdeeds unforgiven.
You will not forget me husband,
When I’m sleeping ’neath the sod !
O ! love the jewel to us given,
As I love thee—next to God !
SELECT MISCELLANY.
A LEAF FROM A ftSTVYER’S DIARY.
EY WALTER GARDNER, ESQ.
“Curse him, I’d like to kill him!”
Wilford Anderson uttered the rash
words aloud, and clenched his fists.
He forgot he was on a public street;
forgot everthing but the sorrow that
lav heavy on his heart, and which
was now turning to anger and de
spair by the infliction of a newpiece
of cruelty.
Ever since his father’s death, lie
had battled with the world to §et
bread for his mother and sister. De
nying himself comfortable clothes,
he had striven to lay by a few dol
lars to pay off the mortgage on his
home, and now, when his hopes
were almost realized, old Bertram.
West had notified him that he should
foreclose at once. Only one hundred
dollars were wanting, but the selfish,
callous creditor would not wait—like
a hungry beast, he yearned for his
prey. And this was to be the end of
Wilford’s struggle; this the reward
of his self-denial. It cut deep into
his soul, and aroused the worst pas
sions of his nature. In other days
Bertram West had borrowed money
of Wilford’s father, and now showed
his gratitude by turning the son of
his benefactor out doors, and added
insult to injury by refusing to treat
with him in person, but sent his
agent, a low, mean, crafty wretch,
who was as small and inferior in stat
ue as he was in mind. All this
rankled in the young man’s heart and
inflamed his brain, but there was still
another complication to torture him:
Florence West, the' beauty of the vil
lage, and one of the dearest, sweetest
little women that ever breathed, had
been Wilford’s companion from child
hood, and just before his father died
they were betrothed; but when the
estate was settled, and Bertram West
found that Charles Anderson had left
comparatively nothing, he withdrew
Florence from Wilford’s society, and
informed him by letter that he must
re,sigh all thoughts of Florence, and
pay the mortgage as soon as possi
ble—that now lie had no business to
love. Hard and unkind as this was,
Wilford bore- it bravely, and ceased
visiting at the West mansion; but
he did_not cease to meet Florence,
who, true to her heart and word, held
stolen interviews with him in a little
glen on the outskirts of the village.
These rare moments of bliss strength
ened Wilford, and helped him to en
dure the cares of life with more cheer
fulness, more hope. But at last old
Bertram West discovered the lovers’
trysting place, and to prevent fur
ther meetings, sent Florence off to
an aunt in Hartford, and warned
Wilford, as I have said, that he
should foreclose the mortgage at
once.
With this’, accumulation of grief
and foul wrongs pressing upon his
heart and soul, itfis not to be won
dered at that Wilfred Anderson gave
utterance to the exclamation that be
gins my story. All of us, suffering
intensely, have doubtless said simi
lar words, but circumstances make
such either significant or pointless,
and it was Wilfred’s misfortune to
be overheard, and hence a mere
ebullition of anger became a serious
threat. Petter Petty, Bertram West’s
agent and attorney, coming suddenly
round a corner in the rear of Wil
fred had heard his words, and chuck
led to himself with vindictive satis
faction ; then, assuming a half regret
ful look, he said:
“Hard words, bad words, Mr. An
derson -lucky for you that I’m friend
ly to y|6.”
Wilfred turned around, his eyes
dilating with wrath, his lips curling
with ineffable scorn.
“Friendly to me, you sneaking liar!
Use fny luckless words if you can;
you cannot make me more miserable
than you have. One effort of yours
would save my home to my mother
and sister, but you would die before
you’d give it. Get out of my path ;
my feelings are like fire in my breast
and yonj- devilish face is hateful to
me.”
“Hump! I’ll excuse you, because
you’re mad; bat I’d advise you to
, control yourself. I’ve no influence
with my patron, I haven’t. If you
. hadn’t made a fool of yourself over
that girl—”
“Scoundrel!” The word left Wil
fred’s lips with a half shriek, and
clutching the attorney by the neck he
shook him until every bone in his
body rattled, then slamming him
down upon his feet he exclaimed:
“Now go, you deformed toad, and
never speak to me again, Because
I’m poor, you think you can jeer at
my sacred love and insult iny dearest
emotions; but as long as these arms
last, no man shall take advantage of
my poverty to scoff at my heart. Be^
gone, or I’ll throw you into the gut
ter.
“Sneaking liar!’ muttered Peter
Petty, glancing at the young man
like a wounded snake, “devilish face!”
Just wait, Mr. Wilfred Anderson!
Oh, yes, you are an honest, hard
working young man, but—we’ll see,
we ll see,’ and the agent crawled off’,
repeating his words, with increasing
malignity.
Wilfred continued on to liis shop,
and worked diligently until sunset;
then he went home to his mother
and sister. They noticed as soon as
he entered the room that he was unu
sually depressed, and anxiously in
quired the cause. He sought to elude
their queries, but at length told them
of his recounter with Petty.
“Oh, if this had not happened !”
exclaimed Mrs. Anderson, clasping
her hands tightly together. “I can
not blame you, Wilfred, for you have
been patient up to this time, and
none of us can bear everything.
But oh! my boy, I fear it will not
end here.”
“You are, superstitious, mother,”
he said with a faint smile, but there
was singular heaviness at his heart.
His sister Lela was crying softly,
her head bent forward on her hands.
The thought of losing their dear old
home, and the undefinable fear her
mother’s remarks had sent over her
nature, opened the flood-gates of her
grief. Wilfred sought to cheer her,
but she only cried . more violently,
and clung to him with a strange te
nacity. All together, it was a mis
erable evening, and all were glad
when it was time to retire.
Next morning Wilfred was up at
five o’clock, and at six he started for
Foxville, a town seven miles west
ward, in company with four fellow-
workmen. His mother wept when
he left her, and hung around his neck
until he was obliged to release him
self. Many a time he had gone a far
greater distance, and she had thought
nothing of it; blit there seemed iq bfe
a cloud hanging over him, and the
mother’s yearning heart would fain
have cried, “Come back! come back!”
but her reason argued that her con
tinued trials made her weak and fear
ful, so she tried to smile through hex-
tears as she saw her handsome boy
ride off in the sunshine.
At six P. M., the job was com
pleted, and Wilfred supposed his
companions Avould return home at
once : but no; they had decided to
remain over night to attend a party
at the house of a mutual acquaint
ance. No persuasion, however, could
induce him to remain, for he knew
his mother would be anxious, so he'
started at 7 i 5 . M., to walk home.
When he arrived at Coos Village, a
small hamlet three miles east cf
Foxville, he met a friend whom he
had not seen for years, and who, in
blighter days, had been his college
chum—for Wilfred had been edu
cated for the law, but circumstances
had sent him to the carpenter’s
bench. The force of old associa
tion compelled him to pause and go
to the hotel with George Arnold to
have a cosy chat and supper. But
dear as were the memories of the
past and the society of his old friend,
he broke away from him at ten min
utes past eight, and resumed liis
journey. One hour later he drew
near the Black Brook—a rivulet run
ning through a dark, dense glen of
willows and alders. Thinking he
heard a strange noise in the coppice,
lie paused and listened. Suddenly
a half-suppressed shriek sounded
hoarsely on the night air, and he
darted into the-recesses of the glen.
As he reached the side of the brook,
the clouds parted, and a faint ray of
light from the moon disclosed a
scene that made his blood run cold
with horror. There, waist-deep in
the water, stood an old man, his
face distorted with fear, and one
hand imploringly upraised, while,
half-kneeling upon the b&nk, was a
younger man, with a large stone
menacingly uplifted in his left hand.
There was murder in his eye ^d at
titude. Wilfred darted forward, but
the underbrush tripped him up, and
he fell heavily, and at the same in
stant he heard the awful crash of
the stone as it met its victim’s skull.
Appalled, for an instant he remain
ed motionless, and then sprang up,
only to be dashed to earth by the
flying assassin. Bruised and bewil
dered, he struggled to his feet again,
and neared the fatal spot. Groping
about in the darkness, he caught the
senseless body of the old man, and
dragged it partially ashore, when
the rays of a lantern burst full upon
him; and the squeaking voice of
Peter Petty rang out with malicious
sharpness:
“Ho! we’ve caught him! Surround
him, my men.”
Stupefied for a moment by the ac
cusing circumstances that surround
ed him, and which were now only too
terribly evident to himself, Wilfred
groaned aloud and pressed his hand
to his brow. It was the worst thing
he could have done—it was taken as
a proof of remorse. Instantly he
was arrested and firmly hound, and
then the constables bade him look
upon his victim. Wilfred turned
deathly pale as he beheld Bertram
West; until this moment he knew
not whom he was trying to rescue.
The old man was nearly dead, and
insensible ; but Peter Petty dashed
water in his face, forced brandy be
tween his lips, and then there were
signs of returning life.
“Look at this man, Mr. West—
look quick! Did he do it ?” ,
“Yes, he did it,” came in a faint
whisper from the pale, bloody lips,
and the spirit of Bertram West pass
ed from earth.
* * * * X X
In a low, narrow, .dismal cell sat
Wilfred Ajaderson, his arms folded
across his chest, his wild, sunken
eyes directed upon the* cold floor,
At intervals he trembled, and a low
moan escaped his lips. Thoughts of
his mother and Lela, and their heart
breaking anguish, had worn him al
most to a skeleton. He had but one
hope*now, and that %as God. His
heavenly Father and himself knew of
liis innocence, but the few others of
earth that loved him could only be
lieve, and that belief could not give
them faith. Anon he started and
raised one hand, for he heard steps
along the stone corridor. Then his
cell was opened, and Florence West
came in, her face blanched white, and
traces of tears on her cheeks. He
dared not look up. Could she be
lieve him guilty ? His frame shook
with suppressed emotions.
“Willie!” the voice was low and
tremulous,”
“Oh, Florence! Oh, God! do you
believe me guilty ? Speak dearest!
I am willing to die, knowing you be
lieve me innocent.”
“I do! Oh, my poor love, I do!”
He clasped her in his arms, and
her tears mingled with his, her sobs
seemed to become part of his, and
for moments they were as little cllil-
dren swayed by grief. The jailor at
the door wiped Ins eyes and couglr-
eddown liis j-ising sobs; and then to
prevent himself from giving way to
emotion, he terminated the inter-
It was the day of the trial of Wil
fred Anderson for the murder of Ber
tram West, and the case attracted
extraordinary interest, because of
the relation which the accused held
toward the daughter of the murder
ed man. From every section of the
State came spectators, many of them
eminent members of the bar. At an
early hour the court room was pack
ed, aud still the crowd surged against
the doors. The five judges in their
seats, the accused was placed in the
dock, and the attorney-general arose
to address the jury upon the law
involved in the case, and what he ex
pected to prove. Wilfred Anderson
listened calmly, occasionally glanc
ing towardsliis mother and sister,
with a beautiful resignation iu his
white face. His counsel, a young
man of little practice in his profes
sion, and features thin and not very
prepossessing, was regarded by the
attorney-general as a foe unworthy
of his steel, and the other members
of the bar seemed to agree with him,
judging by their sidelong glances.
The opening address over, the gov
ernment witnesses were called and
sworn, and then Peter Petty took
he standi His testimony was sub-
tantially as follows:
“On the seventh of October, Ber-
ram West left his 9f house to go to
Vtill Village. He started about elev-
n o’clock in the forenoon, on liorse-
mek. At eight and one-half o’clock
n the evening I became anxious
ibout him, and started with two con-
tables to find him. When we got
o a place in the Black Brook called
Ruddy Hollow, I heard a noise, and
lpon approaching nearer, I saw the
irisoner drawing the body of Mr.
VVest out of the water. The consta-
ole at once accosted him. Then I
oathed Mr. West’s^face, forced some
orandy between his lips, and he re
rived. I asked him if Mr. Ander
son did this; he said, “Yes, he did
t,” and died.
The attorney-general intimated to
-he counsel for the defense that he
:ould cross-examine.
“Mr. Petty, on what part of Mr.
Vest’s body was the prisoner’s hand
.vhen you first saw him ?” asked the
pale Mr. Shirley.
“On his shoulders, sir.”
“He was not pushing Mr. West
‘ down into the water then.”
“No, sir.”
“Now, sir, when you asked Mr.
West to identify his supposed as
sailant, was _ there bipod in and
around Mr. West’s eves?”
“No, sir, I had washed it away.”.
“Well, sir, might not Mr. West
lave taken Mr. Jones, the younger
constable, for his assailant just as
easily as Mr. Anderson ?”
“I object,” screamed the attomoy-
qeneral, jumping up.
“Mr. Shirley, what is the object of
this examination?” queried the sen
ior judge.
“To show, your honor, that Mr.
West, in that brief moment, was not
in a condition to recognize anybody.’
“Proceed, sir.”
“Now, Mr. Petty, answer my ques
tion,” said the counsel for defense.
“No, sir, he could not have taken
Mr. Jones for his assailant, for Mr.
Jones held the lantern.”
“Are you sure of that, sir?”
“Yes; sir.”
“Then why did you testify in the
preliminary hearing that you held
the lantern yourself ?”
Mr. Petty coughed and dropped
liis eyes. There was a sensation in
court, but the witness soon recovered
himself!
“It’s an error of my memory: I
did hold the lantern.”
“Ah ! you did. And Mr. Jones
stood near the mudered man, did he
not ?” *
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, sir, did Mr. West recognize
you ?” _
“I think he did, sir.”
“Stop, sir,” I don’t care what you
think. Do you know whether he
did or not ?”
“No, sir,” very reluctantly.
“Did he call you by name ?”
“No, sir.”
“Now, sir, will you swear that Ber
tram West fixed his eyes on young
Anderson when you asked him to
identify his assailant?”
“I won’t swear to that.”
“And Mi-. Jones and Mr. Ander
son stood side by side, did they not ?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Shirley waved the witness
aside and sat down. The spectators
had a better opinion of the young
barrister now, and poor Florence
felt a thrill of hope; but both were
dissipated when the attorney-general
recalled Mr. Petty, and he testified
to Wilfred’s exclamation in the street
only one day previous: “Curse him,
I’d like to kill him.” This was put
in to prove malice aforethought, and
although Mr. Shirley tried to weaken
it, it remained a dark obstacle. Then
the two constables, were called, and
they corroborated Peter Petty’s story
in every particular. Following them
came Wilifird’sfellow-workmen, who
testified that he would not remain
with them at Foxville overnight,
and he gave no reason why he would
not. This of course was construed
against the prisoner, aud the case
began to assume a dubious aspect,
which was made positively black by
the landlord of the hotel in Coos
Village, who testified that George
Arnold begged Anderson to remain
with him longer, but Anderson would
not, and furthermore gave no reason.
He said Anderson left there at ten
minutes past eight, and his last words
to Arnold were: “I shall either be
better oi* worse off when you see me
again.” Wilfred remembered those
w ords, and that he referred to his
gloomy financial prospects, but the
inference the jury drew was that of
a dark intention.
Lela now fainted, and was carried
from the room in the arms of the
sheriff. Wilfred nearly choked when
he saw his sister’s pale, unconscious
face, and heard Florence’s sobs. The
constables were now recalled to tes
tify to the evidence of a struggle be
tween West and Anderson, by the
appearance of the latter’s clothes
and the ground near the scene of the
conflict. In regard to the latter, it
taanspired that there were two sets,
as one might say, of tracks, that is,
marks of a large boot without heels,
andinarks of g small boot with heels;
the latter were acknowledged to be
those of Wilfred Anderson, and that
raised : an* '■‘Unanticipated question.
Whose .wire the others ? The con
stables had not been in that particu
lar place, and Mr. YVest had not a
largg foot, and always wore heels,
It was seemingly a small point, but
Mr. Shirley worked on it until he
obtained a permit for the jury to visit
the spot. When they returned, an
other witnessfor the government, a
Mr. Solon Welch, was put upon the
stand. His story was a follows:
“I live in Mill Village. I am the
person that Mr. West called on the
seventh day of October. He said he
should go home by the way of the
Black Brook. I advised him not to
do so. It was a lonely road. He
left my house at six o’clock. Shortly
f lfter I remembered that I had neg-
ected to say something that I wished
to, and so I harnessed up and went
after him. I drove round by the
common and missed him. It was
then about eight o’clock. Then I
started toward the Black Brook road
and reached Muddy Hollow about
half-past eight. As I drove by I
saw a man go into the coppice, but
thought nothing of it. I remember
that he wore a light felt hat. I am
confident that it was Anderson: I
drove on. Not meeting' Mr. West,
I turned about again and got back to
the Hollow, just as the constables
came out with the prisoner and the
Avounded man.”
This evidence was introduced to
connect Anderson’s movenients, to
show his intention of lying in wait
for West, and in a measure, of course,
it corroborated the testimony of the
landlord of Coos Village hotel.
Everybody felt that the prisoner
Avas doomed, and that it was useless
for Mi - . Shirley to cross-examine.
But the homely lawyer Ayas indomi
table; he acted like a hound on the
scent of a fox, yet perplexed by a
triple trial.
“Mr. Welch, what was Mi-. West’s
business with you?” queried the
young barrister.
“He wanted me to haul stone for
him ; there was also some talk about
getting out some lumber.”
“Mr. Welch, how far is it from Mill
Village to Muddy Hollow, by the
common road coming round through
the north-eastern part of this town ?”
“It’s a good fourteen miles, sir.”
“Yes; Avell what time did you leave
your house to folloiv Mr. West?”
“About seven o’clock, sir.”
“Is your horse lame, Mr. Welch ?”
“Which one, sir ?”
The bar smiled, but Mr. Shirley
kept on his track firmly.
“The bay one—the one you drove
on the seventh day of October.”
“Yes, sir, he has a bone spavin.”
“And do you mean to tell this jury
that you drove this horse fourteen
miles in one hour and thirty minutes,
over the hilly common road ?”
“I didn’t say so, sir.”
“You said you started at seven
o’clock, and in your direet testimoney
you said you reached Muddy Hollow
at half-past eight. Now did you or
did you not ?”
“I did. I don’t want to take back
anything I said,” said the witness,
doggedly.
His manner did not have a good
effect upon the jury. The attorney-
general saw it and accused Mr. Shir
ley of badgering the Avitness, but the
latter only smiled in his quiet way,
and went on.
“How far did you drive on the
Black Brook road after you saw this
man go into the coppice ?”
“About a mile and a half.”
“No more ?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you were forty-five minutes
going three miles; for it is in evidence
that it was a quarter past nine when
the cons aides-came out'of the cop
pice. Is this true, Mr. Welch?”
The Avitness was becoming very
uneasy, and muttered, “I suppose so.’
“Don’t you know, sir ?”
“Yes,” he growled.
“Then, it was?”
“Yes.”
“Well, noAir, Mr. Welch, said the
young barrister in a ringing voice,
What were you so long in that vicin
ity for?”
“To meet,Mr. West, of course.”
“What! when he left your house
at six o’clock.”
“He might have stopped on tlid
road, X thought.”
“Why didn’t you go to his house
to see if he hadn’t got home ?”
“I didn’t think of it.”
“Didn’t you suppose be Avas at
home?”
The Avitness grew more restless.
The attorney-general objected to the
question, and it was ruled out. Noth
ing daunted, Mr. Shirley proceeded.
Mr, Welch, do you wear heels
on your boots ?”
“Not always.”
“Did you have a pair of boots With
heels that night?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Will you swear at this moment
you can’t recollect whether you did
or not ?”
“No, I won’t."
‘Then you can’t remember, can
you.''
“Not surely; but think my boots
had heels.”
“Will you swear they did?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, now, Mr* Welch, I see you
have an odd button on your coat.
Will you tell me how you lost the
matched one ?”
“I donT remember such little
things.” W
“But I want to know. Was it lost
the seventh day of October?”
“I don’t think it was.”
“Did you liave'it on your coat at
nine o’clock that evening?” queried
the young barraster, looking tne Avit
ness straight in the eye.
He faltered a little, and sSid, I
think I did.”
“Will you swear you did ?”
“No, sir.”
“Is this the button you lost ?” asked
Mr. Shirley, taking from liis pocket
a horn button with raised centre.
“It was like that.”
“Is it yours?”
“I won’t say either way.”
Perspiring like rain, the Avitness
left the stand; and as he went along
by the jury, they were seen to look
at liis feet, and the spectators began
to feel a strange doubt. The defense
now opened their case, and Wilfred
Avas'put uyon the stand. With steady
eye and trustfulfacehe told his story
as I Jjave described it to the reader,
and added. “When I sprang up af
ter falling down in the underbrush I
was again knocked down by coming
in contact Avith the assassin. As I
fell I clutched his coat, and this but
ton remained in my hand.” He took
up the button which Mr. Shirley had
left upon the stand. This closed the
case, and Mr. Shirley arose to make
his argument. It Avas a masterly
effort, and when he finished there
was not a dry eye in the rooin. The
attorney-general followed, but it was
evident that he could not obliterate
the impression the youthful barrister
had made. And noAV occurred a
strange episode. Mr. Solon Welch
Avas found dead in his chair, and on
the inside of his coat was pinned a
paper Avith the words: I killed Ber
tram. West.” This of course, created
great excitement, and itwasmoments
ere-the spectators could be brought
into order again ; and then an infor
mal A-erdict of “Not guilty,” render
ed, and the house rang -with cheers.
Wilfred Anderson bowed his head
and thanked God, while his mother
and Florence clung about his neck.
Lela, coming in at that instant, threw
her arms around youDg Wallace
Shirley’s neck and blessed him ; and
his eyes swam with joyous tears at
his success. Then Wilfred Ander
son was discharged, and his toAvns-
people followed him home Avith shouts
of gladness. In the confusion Peter
Petty escaped, and has not been
heard from since. Three months af
ter, Wilfred Anderson married Flor
ence West; and Wallace Shirley had
Avon the best cause he ever under
took—Lela Aandrsou’s love and
hand.
Too Much on Not Enough.—The
folloAving is a7i example of too much
scientific knowledge, or not enough.
A little knowledge is indeed a dan
gerous thing, at least it often tends
to make its possessor ridiculous.
The folloAving conversation among
some Ohio River boatmen, which
was overheard by our informant, is
a sample:
“That was an aAvful cold winter
now, I tell you. The river was fro
zen tight at Cincinnati, and the ther
mometer A7ent down twenty degrees
below Cairo,’ said one.”
,‘Below which ?” asked the other,
“Below Cairo, you timberhead;
don’t you know what that means ?”
“It don’t mean anything, you fool!
there’s no such thing.”
“I say thfire is, You see, when
it freezes at Cairo, it must be pretty
cold, so they say so many degrees
beloAv Cairo.” '
, “Ho! hoi You prfetend to know!
Why, you stupid, you’ve got the
Avrong Avord entirely.”
“What is it, then ?”
“Why, so m^py degrees below Ne
ro, of course. I don’t know what it
means; but I know that’s what they
always say when it dreadful cold.”
Sowing Wild Oats.
Must there be, in the early life of
every man, a sowing of Avild oats ?
Some will contend so. And they ■will
point to the dissipated, reckless,
youth,—the prodigal from truth and
goodness and respectability, who is
spending “his substance in riotous
living,’’-and say his season of soAving
is at hand—that,he will settle down
by-and-by, and lead a correct life.
To such Ave commend these words,
by some unknown writer:
“In all the wyle range of accepted
maxims there is none, take it for all,
more thoroughly abominable than
the one as to the soAving of Avild oats.
Look at it on what sicle you will, and
I will defy you to make anything but
a devil's maxim out of it. What a
man—be he young, or old, or mid
dle-aged—sows, that shall he reap.
The only thing to do with wild oats
is to put them carefully into the hot
test part of the fire, and get them,
burned to dust, every seed cf them.
If you soav them, no matter in what
ground, they will come up with long,
tough roots, like the cough-grass,
and luxuriant stalks and leaves, as.
sure as there is a sun in heaven— a
crop which turns one’s heart cold to
think of.' The devil, too, whose special
crop they axe, will. see..that they
thrive, and you, and nobody else,
will have to reap them; and no com
mon reaping will get them out of the
soil, Avhich must be dug down deep
again and again. Well for you if,
with all your care, you can make
the ground swefet again by your dy
ing day.”
A Puzzled Juby.—In one of the
towns of Mississippi two colored
men were arrested on the charge of
burglary. The jury was composed
entirely of “persons of color.” After
the case was argued the jury retired
to make up a verdict, which was an
nounced to the court. On being
called, the judge asked for the ver
dict, which the foreman delivered as
follows:
Dis jury-find dat one of the ’ense
busted in de sto’ and stole dat ba
con, and dat de oder didn’t do nuf-
fin.”
“Which one do you find guilty ?’*
asked the judge.
“Dat’s de question, boss,” return
ed the foreman, “dat’s jes what we
can’t find out, and Ave recommend
dat de honorable cort jes have an-
oder trial, and find out which one
of dem two niggers stole dat ba
con.”
Of all passions, there is none so
extravagant aijd outrageous as that
of- anger ; fc other passions solicit and
mislead us, but this runs away Avith
us by force, and hurries us as well to
our own as to another’s ruin; it falls
many times upon the wrong person,
and discharges itself upon the inno
cent instead of the guilty, and makes
the most trivial offences to be capi
tal, and punishes an inconsiderate
word perhaps with fetters, or death;
it allows a man neither time nor
means for defence, but judges a cause
without hearing it, and admits of
no meditation; it spares neither
friend nor foe, hut tears all to pieces,
and casts human nature into a per
petual state, of war.
The strongest man feels the influ
ence of woman’s gentlest thoughts,
as the mightiest oak quivers in the
softest breeze.
Push.—Keep pushing: if you run
against a snow-bank or a rail fence,
don’t go back, but push them over
or leap them. If you hit against
any difficulty, push it forward, or
on one side, and go on. It is of no
use to cry or lament; it will not help
the matter in the least. Tears never
leaped a stream, or dug through a
mountain. Push ever, and keep
pushing, and your fortune is half
made, and your immortality securred.
A shipoAvner, in dispatching a ves
sel, had a great deal of trouble Avith
one of bis men, wlio had got drunk
on his advanced wages. After the
vessel bad accomplished her voyage,
on settling Avith the crew it came to
the man’s turn to be paid. “What
name ?” asked the merchant. “Cain,
sir,” was the reply. “What, are you
the man Avho sleAv his brother?” “No,
sir,”* replied Jack, giving his trousers
a nautical hitch, “I’m the man that
was slewed.”
Borrowing Trouble.—“Sufficient
imto the day is the evil thereof.”
Christ hath spoken it. With such
Avords, let us be content to resign
the future to His keeping who sur
veys the future, as He does the past
and present—at a glance; who shapes
if as He pleases; and who Avil^ en
able us to bearr Avtetuver His pro-vi-
dence thall see fit therein to order
for us.—Spurgeon.
If you have a bad temper, lose it.
If a good one, keep it. If a doubt
ful one, make it certain. If a sweet
one, use it for the benefit of your
friends. If a jolly one, cultivate it
for example’s sake and the delecta
tion of the community. If none at
all, aA r oid looking into the mirror lest
you see a goose.
At no moment of difficulty does a
husband kc6\ring his own litter help
lessness, draw so near to his wife’s
side for comfort and assistance, as
when he wants a button sewed on
his shirt-collar.
A Portland man caught Avith his
hook and line in another man’s trout
brook, completely silenced the own
er, who remonstrated, with the ma
jestic answer, “Who wants to catch
your trout ? I’m only trying to
drown this worm.”
If yon would render your children
helpless all their fives, never com
pel or permit them to help them
selves.
Modesty in woman is like color on
hercheek—decidedly becoming if not
put on. • * '