Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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. • * '