Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

VOL. II. SANDERSVTLLE; GEORGIA, JULY 25, 1873. NO. POETRY. The Golden Ladder. BY MARIE P. BUTLER. j. II. G. MEDLOCK. JETHRO ABUSE. B, L. RODGERS. By Be cl lock. Arline & Rodgers. 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. The children watched the sun go down, And in its gleaming changes, The west seemed first a sea of fire, Then golden mountain ranges. And Fannie asked, “What are the clouds?” They look like hills of glory.” “The steps of heaven,” Frank replied, •‘It is a sweet, old story : “A guardian angel, every day, To each of us is given; And everything we do or say, They carry up to Heaven.” “When we do wrong they write with tears ; When good, their hearts are gladder ; And every night they climb to Heaven, Up o’er that golden ladder. “And then the gates of pearl swing back Upon their gleaming hinges, And all the sky seems melted gold, With red and purple fingers. “But when the doors are closed again, The guardian angels gather In solemn silence, with their books, Around our Heavenly Father. “And then I close my eyes and think How, in that sinless dwelling, Will sound the story of the life My angel must be telling. “Some days I know, my angel takes The record of my sinning ; But then I always try to make The next a new beginning. “So, when at night our Father calls, My angel may be gladder, And be the first to climb to Heaven, Up o’er the golden ladder.” SELECT MISCELLAOT. MAUD’S CHOICE. BY E. A. LORD. The low weird strains of a waltz pulsed through the gaily-peopled rooms to the green nest of a conserv atory, where Maud Dalton stood un der the fragrance of orange-blossoms and tube-roses, the strains mingling softly with the tones of Malcolm Mortimore’s voice as he bent to wards her, saying something that made the blood surge up to her temples in great scarlet tides. She was a beautiful girl, tall, wil lowy, graceful, with coils of purpl ish-black hair, and great luminous eyes that thrilled one through and through; and as she stood, slightly inclined towards him, her nervous fingers scattering the scarlet blos soms she held all over the amber satin of her dress, the man’s love found expression in one passionate torrent of words: “I love you,” he said, “better than life ; with all my heart, my strength, my soul! I have wealth and posi tion, but so have yon, and with these I cannot tempt you; but my love alone must win you, peerless and queenly Maud. ConJe to me, my passion-flower, my wife!” He was flushed and eager, but she stepped back, folding her white arm over her throbbing heart. “Let me think. Remember, it is for life, Mr. Mortimer!” “It is for ever! Come to me for life—for eternity?” “I am not sure I love you,” she went on to say. “I have known yoA such a little while. I must be sure that I can honor and trust the £an I give myself up to, and Maud Dal ton will take no second place in any man’s heart. Look at me, Malcolm Mortimer, and tell me whether or not you are offering me a heart pure in its first love.” He raised his thrilling passionate eyes to hers, and lifting one of her velvety hands to his lips, held it softly there while he murmured over it: “Beautiful Maud, my first love, never before has Mortimer's heart stirred or throbbed at any woman’s voice! Hove you alone, now and forever!” “Give until to-morrow, then, to decide.” A moment more, and they had joined dancers out in the glare of lights and crashing of music. He handed her to her carriage that night, fastening her wraps about her with a lover’s tenderness, hold ing her jewelled fingers even after the coachman had been given the word to start, saying to her, in plead ing tones: “Be merciful to me, sweet Maud. I shall not sleep till I have heard your decision—and then it wiH be happiness or misery for life!” And then something, a form shiv ering in the bitter night, came out of the fold of shadows, and the hors es shied madly ere the driver could hold them in. As it was, the angry, half-sleepy coachman struck at the shivering heap with the long stinging lash, and it cut through the thin tatters. But the creature never gave a moan or cry, though the whip cut her cruelly. “Take that for frightening decent folks this time of night!” he mutter ed, driving on, while Maud, uncon scious of it all, looked out at the dark night with troubled eyes. Malcolm Mortimer turned towards the woman, saying, sternly: “Who are you? Such creatures as you should be under lock and key. You came near frightening the horses into running away. If you had, and a hair of Maud Dalton’s head come to harm, I would have killed you! Be off with you!” And he touched her with his pol ished boot ere he turned back to the music and mirth, not yet over. When he had gone the woman flung out her wan, white hand and raised her heavy eyes towards the stormy sky with such a look of dumb anguish that the very angels must have pitied it. And then she fell prostrated on the hard, cold earth, her thin, hollow cheek against it, the wild, stormy winds lifting the tattered shawl from the poor pinched body, never moan ing, never a cry, with only Heaven to see the poor broken heart, and the tears falling upon it slowly, until the end should come. By and by she gathered herself up painfully, murmuring, in broken tones: “Maud Dalton—he called her that. I must find her, and then my journey is done.” And then she moved away in the ■msinal night, and the darkness closed over her. A white mantle of snow lay over the earth, the air was full of whirling flakes. Maud reclining in an easy- cliair before the glowing grate, watched it idly. Her maid broke in upon her reverie. “Some flowers for you, Miss Dal ton.” Maud lifted the cluster of frag rant blossoms, and saw in the heart of them a tiny note. A moment and she had read it, while a pleased smile broke through the shadows on her face. “Please take my flowers, poor as they are, as a slight gift. Heaven bless you, my friend and dear play mate of my childhood. Habey.” Maud laid her face down in the fragrant bloom. “Dear, true fellow,” she murmur ed, “he never forgets me; true as steel, tender as a woman!” and then she fell to thinking again, forgetting the time as it slipped away, aroused at length only by hearing Harry Derwent’s voice without, asking if he might come in to her. She sprang up, pleased and smil ing, opening the door with her own quick hands, welcoming him with bright sparkling eyes, as he stood on the threshold, the snow clinging to his brown curly locks, bis face aglow from the keen north wind, but with such a tender light in his soul-lit eyes. “Thank you for holding my little gift of flowers, dear friend; if I were rich you should have had something better than that, but I’m only Har ry Derwent, a miserably poor fellow, who laughs at poverty even when its grip is upon him.” “Nonsense! You know I don’t care a fig for what people say, and you do know I care a great deal for you, but I' shan’t praise you, you great giant—so there !” And then they laughed together, and he sat down opposite h£, say ing a moment after. “Tell me what your trouble is. I see the shadow all over your face?” “Am I a book that you read me so well, Sir Harry ? It ought not to be a trouble, but somehow I am un- happy over it. You will laugh at me when I tell you it is that I am trying to decide whether to say yes or no to a question asked.” “And the question ?” “Whether I shall be Malcolm Mortimer’s wife.” The red glow went out of Harry Derwent’s face. He arose and went over to the window, looking out at the blinding drifts, feeling only the snow falling on his own heart, flake after flake, chilling him like death. “Do you ioxe the man ?” he said at length. “Love him? I am not certain. At times I have thought I did, and yet I could not promise myself to him when he pleaded with *all his soul. I wish some one would tell me what irue love is like,” she add ed, with a little uncertain laugh. He turned his ashen face towards her. * “Shall I tell you what true love is? It is to feel every throb of y.our heart beat out the one name; to have the touch of one hand thrill your whole being as the song of an angel might. It is to have this dull earth turned into a bright golden heaven. To feel that the hardest battle could be fought, fate con quered, death borne without a mur mur, if through it all the clasp of one hand was on yours until the glory of the other world should flash upon your earth-closed eyes. To feel that eternity, with its pulseless hush, could never, never divide the hearts that were one on this earih. That is love, stronger than death— stronger than the grave!” She turned her agitated face to wards him, the eyes full of misty tears, her fingers working nervously together. “But I do not feel like that—yon have frightened me. I am shivering from head to foot. Harry, Harry, have you loved like that ?” He smil ed bitterly. “Yes I Have been foolish—I have loved you like that—you, Maud Dalton. I, a poor young lawyer, without practice, have dared to love the Hon. Steele Dalton’s only child. I do not wonder yon cower down and shrink away from me. I have been mad. Why, it would take all the money I have to buy you a ring like the one Malcolm Mortimer will put on your finger. But if I were rich, if I had wealth and position to back me, there should not be on all this great earth a Malcolm Mortimer that could take you from me!” Maud sprang to her feet, the blood surged to her brow and cheeks, her eyes glittered like diamonds through the tear-laden lashes, but the voice was clear and sweet that answered him. “Rich or poor, there is not a Mal colm Mortimer that can do it now. My lesson is learned. I love you, Harry Derwent. It is that which has kept me from promising my hand to another, but never until now did I know my own heart.” A great sob choked him, a white ness, like death, settled about his lips. “Maud,” he cried, “I dare not be lieve it; this happiness is too great!” Then she came over to his side and laid her head against his heart, and he folded his arms about her, his kisses falling on her tender face, and then he laid his face down on her clustering hair, and she felt his lips move and knew in her heart he was thanking Heaven. After a little while he turned her face where he could look into it, ask ing with troubled voice, the question that had lain with dread forebodings on his heart. “What will your father say to this, dearest, when I tell him of our love ?” “Papa loves me, Harry, and once I heard him say he wished he had been given a son with a head and a heart like Harry Derwent. We will go to him, ask his consent, and if he refuses, then we will brave poverty together. Do not fear that anything shall separate us, Harry.” Then he gave her a smile, bright and tender as her own, holding her to his side, calling her by every en dearing name that a lover could in vent. And time went by golden winged, and they had floated out of this dull, commonplace world into a sea of amber glory, forgetting the past, with its trials and cares, the ruture shining out to them like a path of roses. Do you smile, you who have for gotten the romance of early youth? To me it is beautiful, this great love that makes me forget the past, and swallow up the future. But how few, oh, how few of us ever feel it! Maud’s maid broke upon their silent happiness and brought them back to the real again. “There is a woman below,”’'she said; “a ragged caeature, crazy, I believe, who is bent on seeing Miss Dalton. Shall I turn her out ?” “Turn her out in such a storm ? Are you heartless, Jennie ?” “No, ma’am, not that quite, but sbe isn’t a lady. And I told her you were engaged, and could not see her; and she just turned such a wild look upon me that it made my blood freeze, and told me if you sent such words’as these from your own lips she would not take them, but would deliver her message. She made me angry.” “Send her up here, Jennie.” The girl withdrew, and ere long re turned, and ushered in the stranger. Maud turned round and saw the tall, stooping figure of a yaung woman, with the traces of rarest beauty linger ing on the thin w’hite face. Great blue-black eyes, coil upon coil of golden brown hair, lying in tangled masses about her face, touching the throat, losing itself here and there in the tatters of her shawl. Behind her blue, white lips teeth glittered white and even as pearls. “You wish to see me,” Maud asked. “Sit down, you look worn and tired.” “I have come a long journey, day and night I have travelled; how long I know not, but my journey will end to-day. Will you send that gentleman away for a little while ? I have something to say to you?” She spoke in husky whispers, her breath coming brokenly from between her lips. Harry arose to leave the room, but lingered reluctantly. Maud seemed to read his thoughts, and answered them instantly. “Go, Harry,” whispered. “Stay in the next room, where I can call you if .needed "and tfcen when he had withdrawn she turned to the woman, sitting so still and awfully white before her. “Do you know I was once just as beautiful, ju3t as happy and pure as youjare*to-day ? I had the same gladness in my eyes, for I loved as yon love, and I thought I was a heaven blessed-wife. My babe was born, and after that the surse came upon me. I must tell my story quick or not at all. The man who won me, whom I had called husband for year, the father of my boy* cast me off. My marriage was a mockery. I was no wife. He laughingly threw the maddening truth in my face, and left me to starve or die, I and my young babe. I followed him from Italy here, only Heaven knows how I have come. I cannot remember all, but my boy starved cm my breast. I wrapped liis little cloat about him, and one night I stole into a - little country grave-yard, andlaid him un der the shadow of a white cross,-and the moon shone upon his little u turned face like. the smile of angel “Last night, I came to a house all ablazq with lights. Tie sound of music came out to me. I knelt down and looked through the window at the dazzling sapper awaiting the dancers. Oh! I went almost mad, for I was starving out there in the bitter, bitter blackness. “After a while I saw the company come down. He was 'with them, bright, fascinating, the did smile on his lips, and I watched outside, with my brain on fire. I lingered late. It was I who frightened your horses when I strove to see your face, and he spurned me with his foot when you had gone. ‘That man was Malcolm Mortimer; the father of my dead babe! I heard his words to you last night. I have come through the storm, with death at my heart, to save you from him. He may love yon now^-he will make you his wife, for you arfe rich and great, but he will be noue the less false to you when a few years have gone by. Do you know what it is to be hungry—oh, so hungry?” Her head fell forward upon her breast, and then she slipped from the chair down, limp and lifeless on the soft, rich carpet. Maud gave one quick cry to Har ry, which brought him instantly, and then she knelt down and took the weary head in her arms. “Bring me wine, quick! I fear she is dead even now,” and Harry sprang away to obey the order, returning almost instantly; and together they tried to pour the drops between those tight-clenched teeth. By and by the lids of her great, sorrowful eyes trembled ; she moved wearily, and shivered. “It is bold! Mother—mother!” A tear fell from Maud’s eye down on the dying face; she looked up, startled. “I thought I was a child—that my mother held me! I want to pray, the old prayer I used to say at her knee, but I cannot remember—my memory is breaking up)—it goes from me- -I Cannot think!” “It will soon be over,” Harry said, in a solemn, awed voice. Jennie opening the door stood aghast, remembering to say at last that Mr. Mortimer was waiting in the parlor. “Show him up here,” Maud an swered, and though the girl wonder ed, she dared not question. Harry glanced up at Maud, but the look on her face silencedhim. Malcolm Mortimer sprang up the stairs, opened the door smilingly, gay words on his lipje^but stopped instantly, -frightened at the sight that met his eyes. He conld not see the woman’s face as she lay in Maud’s arms, but something in the coils of tangled brown hair falling wildly about, sent the blood out of his face. “Come here,Mr. Mortimer,” Maud said, and he obeyed her silently. As he did so, the girl opened her eyes, glazed with the awful change that comes but once over all, and wildly threw out her hands. “Malcolm, I’m—dying. Oh, I have—been—so—hungry. Our— babe—starved!” They saw him shiver slightly, the bearded chin quivered; then lie turned towards the door, but Harry Derwent faced him. “Stay till the end!” he said, in a voice that Malcolm Mortimer dared not resent. “It’s cold! Malcolm, Malcolm, you broke my heart!” And' with the words, the sorrow-laden spirit fled. Harry Derwent lifted her to his arms and laid her down on the vel vet lounge—coverineg her face and folding the hands reverently. Maud turned to Malcolm Morti mer. * “Go!” she said, “rad let it be for ever, I know that poor woman’s story, and you are her murderer! Leave me!” * . “Let me speak,” he cried out. “Who among us is without®sin? I have sinned, bat I have as bitterly atoned. Show me mercy, as you may one day expject it!” “Man—fiend—I loathe you! Go, and if ever you cross my path again, I will make the story public 1” “I cannot go,” ne cried. “My heart and soul cry out against this parting; it will be more than death. Your pity and love will be my salva tion ; without it I am lost.” ‘And do yon think I could lay my hand in yours,content to walk through life beside yon? No! a thousand times no! I have made my choice. My future husband stands beside me, and he has all the sweet trnst and love of my womanhood. Go! And let ns never meet again. I pity ■on; for I know how, in many a dark lour of your life, the white face of her you have ruined will come up before you, haunting you with its dumb anguish. Farewell! and again I say let it be forever!” He turned away, a hard defeated look over his features, and wentfrom her presence, and she never saw him again. 'Maud left the ill-starred woman in the care of the old nurse who had cared for her in her childhood, and then she took Harry’s arm, and went down to the library. Her father, a haughty, gray-haired man sat in his cushioned chair, reading. He glanc ed up, smiling, as they came towards him. “What can I do for you, Mr. Der went?” “I love your daughter, sir. Don’t think me mad. Only promise*that some day she shall be mine, when I have won for myself a name and wealth.” ‘Are you crazy, sir?” ‘Not as bad as that, yet I know I have not wealth to plead for me, sir: but your daughter loves me.” ‘And what have you to offer her, sir, for that love!” “A true heart and clean hands, a spirit and a will that must carve for itself a name. Heaven helping me!” ‘Yery fine talk that, but you must remember that my Maud has been brought up to expect all the luxu ries of this life.” And then Maud said, in her soft, low tone: “Please, papa, Harry’s love is more to me than all the luxuries of this life. Do give your consent, please; for I love him, and some day I shall marry him, papa.” ‘You will, whether I give my con sent or not, eh ? Is that what you mean ?” I am very sorry to have to say it, papa; but I have your spirit and will, and I shall many him when he is ready.” “But let me telLyou I have chos en a husband already for you, a man of wealth and position equal to your own. Malcolm Mortimer is my choice.” “Listen, papa,” Maud said. “I have a story to tell you.” And she told him the story of the dead girl upstairs. Something for Married Folks. The first year of married life is a most important era in the history of man and wife. Generally, as it is spent, so is almost all subsequent existence. The wife and the hus band then assimilate their views and their desires, or else, conjuring up their dislikes, they add fuel to their prejudices and animosities forever afterward. “I have somewhere read,” says Rev. Mr. Wise, in his Bridal Greeting, “of a bridegroom who gloried in his eccentricities. He requested his bride to accompa ny him to the garden a day or two after tjje wedding. He then threw a line over the roof of their cottage. Giving his wife one end of it, he retreated to the other side and ex claimed : “Pull the line.” She palled it, at his request, as far as she could. He cried : “Pull it over.” “I can’t,” she replied. “But pull with all your might,” shouted the whimsical husband. But vain were all the efforts of the bride to pull the line so long as her husband held on to the opposite end. But when he came around, and they both pulled at one end, it came over with great ease. “There,” said he, as the line fell from the roof, “yon see how hard and ineffectual was our labor when we both pulled in opposition to each other; but how easy and pleasant it was when we both pulled together. It will be so with us 'through life, my dear. If we oppose each other it will be hard work. If we act to gether it will be always pleasant to live. Let us always pull to gether.” In this illustration, homely as it may be, there is sound philosophy. Husband and wife must mutually bear and concede if they wish to make home a retreat of bliss. One alone cannot make home happy. There must be unison of action, sweetness of spirit, and great forbearance and love in both hus band and wife, to secure the great end of happiness in the domestic circle. When she had finished, he sprang to his feet. “The scoundrel!” he cried. “Greaf heavens! and I would have given him my child! A true heart and clean hands! Blpss yon, my boy! yon have offered her something bet ter than wealth and position. Take her, with my blessing. Only re member, that I do not agree to part with her. I am a lonely man, and she is motherless; let this be your home.” And then he hurried oat and left them with their great happiness. “My own darling!” Harry cried. “Thank Heaven, you are mine, to guard and protect ever in this life; and, as I deal with you, so may Heav en deal with me!” Harry did not wait long for his bride; and though people wondered, at first, that she should have mar ried so poor a man, it did not mar the happiness and sweet trust of her heart. And to-day she is a Heaven- blessed wife, and he has risen to fame and wealth; but his heart is as trae and his hands as clean as in the days that are gone! Wife, Mistbess and Lady.—Who marries for love takes a wife; who marries for fortune takes a mistress; who marries for position takes a la dy. You are loved by your wife, re garded by your mistress, tolerated by your lady. You have a wife for yourself, a mistress for your house and friends, a lady for the world and society. Your wife will agree with wife will take 'care of your hold, your mistress of your house, your lady of appearances. H you are sick your wife will nurse you, J our mistress will visit you, your ady will inquire after your health. You take a walk with your wife, a ride with your mistress, and go to a party with your lady. Your wife will share your griefs, your mistress your money, your lady your debts. H you die, your wife will weep, your mistress will lament, and your lady wear mourning. * ’ ~ have? Which will you Mrs. Partington saysthe only wqjt- to prevent steam explosions, is to make the engineers ‘“bile their wa ter” ashore. In her opinion, all the bustin is caused by “cooking the ste&m” on board.” ; . : Saying “Hateful” Things. What a strange disposition is that which leads people to say “hateful” things for the mere pleasure of say ing them. You are never safe with such a person. When you have done your very best to please, rad are feeling kindly and pleasantly, out will pop some bitter speech, some under hand stab, which you alone compre hend—a sneer which is masked, but which is too well aimed to be mis understood. It may be at your per son, your mental failing, your foolish h abits of thought, or some little secret of faith or opinion, confessed in a moment of genuine confidence. It matters not now sacred it may be to you, be will have his fling at it; nay, since the wish is to make you suffer, he is ah, the happier the nearer he touches your heart. Jnst half a dozen words, only for the pleasure of see ing a cheek flush and an eye lose its brightness, only spoken because he is afraid you are too happy or too conceited. Yet they are worse than so many blows. How many sleep less nights have such attacks caused. How, after them, one awakes with aching eyes and head, to remember that speech before everything else— that bright, sharp, wellaimed needle of a speech that probed the very center of your soul. There is only one comfort to be taken. The re petition of such attacks soon weans your heart from the attacker; and this once done, nothing that he can say will ever pain yon more.—Mes senger. The Caterpillars in Alabama.— The Montgomery Advertiser of Sun day says : We saw sevrat cotton stalks vester* day with worms enough on them to satisfy the skeptical that this dread ful foe of the cotton planter is put ting in his appearance. The stalks can be seen moor office. The worms are said to be of the second crop and do not damage to any great ex tent. These fellows, however, were hard at work yesterday, and conld eat up a cotton leaf in short order. The next crop is now greatly dread ed, and if it should appear in regular force about the 10th or 20th of August, the crop will be cut short to an im measurable extent. About PiCKLES.-An exchange says: To keep them from becoming soft use alum. To a gallon of vinegar, add one ounce of powdered alnm.— If the vinegar is put in bottles, tight ly corked and set in a kettle of cold' water, with hay or straw between them to keep the bottles from knock ing together, and allowed to remain over the fire until the water boils, then removed and kept in & kettle frill nearly cool, the vinegar will kqep perfectly clear when used for pickles, bat it should be added to them cold. Shreds of horse radish-root will pre vent pickles from moulding. A little “drpp” now and (hen Makes fools of wisest man. Naked Arms and Sore Throat. Editors Herald: During the late splendid examination of the San- dersrille Academy, a gentleman call ed my attention to the mischievous cruelty that some mothers practive on their girl children, by making them go with naked arms. He urged me to write an article for the Herald about it. While we were talking of this, two little girls, ap parently sisters, stepped into the Court-room. We called one of the children to us and felt of its arms. Hot as the day was, the little crea ture’s arms were strangely cold. In stead of writing anything myself, I send'the enclosed slip, ent from an Illinois paper. Oh! that every read er of the Herald would memorize this piece : “The following wise words are taken from Lewis’ ‘New Gymnas tics.’ ” Let every mother read the truth, and then see whether the dresses of her little ones correspond. A distinguished physician, who died some years ago m Paris, declared: “I believe that during the twenty-' six years I have practiced my pro fession in this city, twenty thousand children have been carried to the cemeteries, a sacrifice to the ab surd eastern of exposing their naked arms.” I have often thought, if a mother were anxious to show the soft, white ’ skin of her baby, and would cut cut a hole in the little thing’s dress, jost over the .heart, and then carry it about for observation by the compa ny, it would do very little “harm. But to expose the baby’s arms, mem bers so far removed from the heart, and with such feeble circulation at best, is a most pernicious practice. Put the bulb of a thermometer in a baby’s mouth; the mercury rises to 99 degrees. Now carry the same bulb to its little hand; the mercury will sink 40 degrees. Of course, all the blood which flows through these arms and hands must fall from ten to forty degrees below the tempera ture of the heart. Need I say that when these cold currents of blood flow back into the chest, the child’s general vitality must be more or less compromised ? And need I add that we ought not to be surprised at its frequently recurring affections of the longs, throat and stomach ? I have seen more than one child with habit ual cough and hoarseness, or choking with mucous entirely and perma nently relieved by simply keeping its hands and arms warm. Every observing and progressing physician has daily opportunities to witness the same simple cure. After the Event—A Fable.—A swallow’s nest fell from the eaves of a farm-house, and the barn-yard poultry and the hedge-birds gather ed about the mins, and went into committee on them. “I knew it was going to fall—I felt sure it must the last time I went on the roof,” chirped a sparrow. “Stupid thing—building its nest up there,” hissed a goose. “I could have taught her how to lay eggs without getting them smash ed, if she had only come to me,” quacked a dnek. “And I conld have taught her how to hatch them—I have had to hatch yours, Neighbor Duck,” cluck ed a hen. “Gobble, gobble, gobble—if peo ple choose to be fools, they most take the consequences,” said a strut ting turkey-cock, puffing out his feathers. “My friends, you are very kind to take so much interest in my affairs,” twittered the poor swallow; “but if you were so sure that my house was going to fall, isn’t it a pity that you didn’t tell me so a little sooner?”— Good Things. . _ _ Destroying Ants.—A French agri- • culturist, after trying every method known to him for the destruction of ants infesting his fruit trees, succeed ed in .effecting his purpose in the plete manner by placing a mix- i of arsenic and sweetened water in a saucer at the foot of the trees. For the larger species he made use of honey instead of sugar, and in a few days’ time he claims to have ex terminated them completely.—South ern Farmer. An impulsive young countryman sent his girl the piece of sheet music entitled “I will meet you at the Beau tiful Gate.” Her father saw the piecee when she opened the package, adB after daubing a bucketful of tar over his gate, quietly remarked to his daughter, “He can wait for you if he wants to, but you. won’t either of you swing on that gate if tar will keep you off.” To Remove Sunburn.—(Ellen G. C.)—Put two spoonfulls of fresh cream into half a pint of milk; squeeze in the juice of a lemon, half a glass of brandy, a little alum and loaf su gar; boil the whole; skim well, and when cool apply to the skin. It takes off sunburn and freckles.—Exchange. Marriage makes a man and wo man one; bat the troupe is to tell which of them is the one. • ■ * .f,,ietsv :.a» aw ; ; o zil com ture