Newspaper Page Text
I
Y-
YOL.
SANDERSYTLLE, GEORGIA, AUGUST 22, 1873.
NO. 8.
, M. G. MEDLOCK. JETHRO AI’.LINE. R. L. RODGEBS.
g»y .vicdloclt, Irlinc ARodgcrs.
The Herald is published in Sandersville,
frt.. every Friday morning. Subscription
price TWO DOLLARS per annum.
Advertisements inserted at the usual rates.
No charge for publishing marriages or j
deaths. ° ' I
POETRY.
At the Garden Gate*
Somebody came to the garden gate,
While a soft, hand trimmed the flowers;
And a blackbird piped to his listc-niug mate
In a language as rioh as ours.
Somebody blushed at the garden gate—
A blush that was fair to see:
And the sly sun peered as he fain would wait.
And the blackbird paused on the tree. j
Somebody spoke at the garden gate, !
As the shadows began to fall; i
And the rose looked up, though the hour was ;
late, !
And the peach blushed pink on the wall. •
A sweet head fell at the garden gate
On an arm that was strong and true; »
And a chirrup of lips were heard to state '
What words refused to do.
SELECT MISCELLANY.
finger. A great many sensible ivo-
men have married men solely because
feme other woman wanted to mar-
by them, just to show r the superior
power of their attractions ; but Isa-
r el would not go quite so far as that.
She might be a little vain,—it would
have been singular if she had not
been, flattered as she had been,—
but she was not heartless.
The cherries were ripe on the tall
trees in the front yard. The gilds
went into ecstaeies over them. On
ly they were up so high that they
were “sour grapes.”
“If we could only get some of
them!” cried Maud Ilsley. “Do go
up, Mr. Heminway % I wish I were* across, and put her down just as the
UNCLE NED'S HIRED MAN.
BY CLARA AUGUSTA.
Pshaw, Aunt Hattie! Don’t talk to
me of the refinement of a farmer.
Uncle Edward was bred a lawyer,
and it is unfair to instance him to
support your argument, that, as a
class, farmers have as much refine
ment as any other.”
“All true refinement, my dear Isa- j
bel, is inborn, and does not spring i
from outward influences. You will j
change your mind yet. I expect to t
live to see you the wife of a farmer.” j
“Don’t, aunt! It is too preposter- j
ous! I am sure I should rather die!” j
“Oh, fiddlestick, Isa!” said Uncle
Ned. “I am of your aunt’s opinion.
I can show you some as fine speci
mens of manhood who follow the
plough as you can show me iu any
other business. Now I hired a man
yesterday-to help me through haying,
as handsome as Apollo, and a great
deal more sensible. Shall I intro
duce you to him ? His name is Duke
Hillary,and his hair curls like Cupid’s.
Shall I have the pleasure of present
ing him to my niece, the belle and
beauty, Miss Isabel Leslie?” and
Uncle” Ned made a mocking bow.
Isabel’s lips curled proudly.
“If I did not know you were jok
ing, I should feel insulted. Intro
duce me to a clod-hopper, indeed!”
“This is no clod-hopper, Belle,
but a gentleman of intelligence.
Look here, mother; Hillary says the
east meadow might be made to cut
double the hay it does now, by under-
draining and subsoiling.”
And then followed a long disser
tation on top-dressing and fall mulch
ing and erossplo.ughing, in the midst
of which, Isabel fled from the room
in disgust, to the cool piazza. The
hired men were grinding their scythes
at the grindstone under the apple-
tree. She would not look at them ; j
of course she could feel no interest t
in a gang of dirty workmen. One |
of them, a tall, curly-haired young j
fellow, with frank blue eyes, and i
clear ruddy complexion, was wbistl- I
ing “Annie Lawrie,” and he did not j
stop when Isabel came out on the ;
piazza.
She was looking her best, in a very i
recherche toilet of pink muslin and |
ribbons ; but this “clod-hopper” had, j
evidently, no eye for recherche toilets, j
He went on turning the grindstone,
and whistling, apparently totally in
different that such a person as Miss
Isabel Leslie was within a hundred
miles of him. He finished his work,
and went past her into the kitchen |
for a drink of water, went past, so !
near he almost touched her, and '
never stopped whistling, and never ;
glanced up.
Isabel walked away with a gesture j
of haughty scorn. Of course she
did not care for the notice of this
rustic clown ; but she had been so
accustomed all her life to receiving
admiration, that she hardly knew
how to behave when one manifested
an indifference like young Hillary’s.
She kept thinking about his rude
ness all the afternoon. He was an_
insolent, conceited thing, she said
to herself; she wished Uncle Ned
could see him as she saw him. He’d
get dismissed before sundown, she
was sure. And then she run her
crochet needle into her finger, and it
hurt her so that she tossed the white
kitten away with her foot, and push
ed off Towzer when he came to lay
his nose on her knee. All because
Duke Hillary did not stop whistling
when she thought he ought to.
That night* a party of friends came
out from the village, which was al-
•most a city. Among them Mark
Heminway,” Isabel’s most devoted
admirer. Mark was young, stylish,
andj being wealthy, was considered
a “great catch.” lie was something
of a dandy, and in her heart Isabel
despised him; but the other Mrls
were all trying to win him, and°she
rather enjoyed showing them that
she could twist him round her little
a squirrel for about twenty minutes.”
“They can be reached with a lad
der,” said Isabel. “The boys had
one here this morning. It is there
by tlie fence now. Cannot you get
us some, Mr. Heminway ?”
“Indeed, you must excuse me, la
dies,” said Mark nervously. “It is
so far up, aud my head might get
dizzy. And if oue should fall, it
might be likely to injure him.”
“So it would,” said Isabel sarcas
tically. “Of course, we don’t want
you to expose yourself, Mr. Hemin
way. Not for the world. We never
should survive it if you came to harm
through attempting to cater to our
silly appetites.”
Duke Hillary was coming up the
path, self-possessed, and indifferent
as ever, swinging his straw hat in
his hand, and whistling.
“Look here, fellah !” cried Hemin
way. “You get us some cherries,
will you ? The ladies are positively
dying for some.”
Duke surveyed him coolly, and
ran an indifferent eye over the la
dies.
“There’s a ladder. Why don’t
you get them yourself ?” he asked,
evidently enjoying the dandy’s help
lessness.
“I get them, indeed! I am not used
to climbing trees like you country
fellahs, and I wouldn’t like to run
the risk of breaking my neck. I’ll
give you a quarter if you’ll get us
some,”
A red flush leaped to Duke’s face.
He seized the basket from Isabel’s
hand, and went up the tree like a
cat. He gathered the basket full,
and laid them at the feet of Maucl
with a graceful bow. Mark fumbled
in his pocket for the promised quar
ter, but something he saw in Duke’s
face restrained him from offering it.
He thanked him instead.
Maud smiled and blushed at his
preference. Isabel felt irritated, she
hardly knew with whom. She would
not eat any of the cherries. She
was afraid they would disagree with
her, she said, telling a little white
lie for appearance’s sake. She knew
Duke Hillary was sitting on the
doorstep not a rod off, and lie should
not see her eating cherries he had
picked. She hated him, she said to
herself, with her whole soul.
Two or three days passed on, and
Isabel grew more and more bitter to
wards Duke. He not only did not
notice her, but he had twice won
Towzer away from her when she was
patting the dogs head; and Spot,
flie kitten, would leave her any time
when Duke came in. Besides, he
brought home such a beautiful clus
ter of golden-hearted water-lilies,
just what she had been pining for,
and gave them to Aunt Hattie. Af
ter that, she would not look at them,
or inhale their fragrance. The odor
was too strong for her, she said.
The next day, Isabel went across
the river in search of blackberries.
The stream was not very wide, and
was crossed just below the east mea
dow by a narrow foot-board.
Isabel enjoyed the day finely, and
did not think of going home until
the distant rumble of thunder warn
ed her that a storm was approaching.
She had a mortal terror of a thunder
shower, and forgetting how very in-
dignified a lady looked running, she
set off for the river at the top of her
speed. "When she arrived there, she
found to her unutterable dismay that
the foot-board was gone!
“Oh, dear! dear! What shall I
do ?” she cried aloud, as a peal of
thunder much nearer than the first
burst in the air.
“Do you want to come across?”
asked a pleasant voice, and looking
over she saw Duke Hillary on the
opposite side. He had just finished
his swarth, and was picking up his
jacket to go home.
Her face flushed; she would not
have answered him, but a blinding
flash of lightning made her forget
pride in fear.
“Yes, I do,” she said, “but the
foot-board is gone.”
- “So I perceive,” he returned, a
slight smile curving his handsome
mouth,—“but I will take you across.”
He stepped into the water, and
came to her side. She drew back
haughtily. It was a little too much,
to have this plebeian farmer touch
her. Duke read her aright. He
turned to the river.
“Very well, just as you like. I
am going up to the house, after I get
the cows, and I will speak to your
uncle about your situation. He will
probably send some one down for
you.”
The insufferable fellow ! He was
going off as though a lady’s staying
out through a thundei’-shower was of
no consequence in the world. A blind
ing flash over her head decided Isa
bel. She held out her hands to him,
hating herself at the same time for
making such a concesssion.
“I will suffer you to take me over,”
she said coldly. k.
“Not unless you wish it,’’-said Mr.
Duke Hillary, quite as coldly.
“I do wish it,” she said. “I shall
be very grateful to you.”
He lifted her carefully, took her
rain began to fall in torrents. Isa
bel shuddered ; her thin clothing was
drenched through in a m omen t.
Duke was not a cruel fellow, and he
was naturally chivalrous. Ho put
his jacket around her, and drew her
under the shelter of some wide-
spreading beeches, still keeping his
arm around her.
“It is impossible to get to the
house,” he said, “and we must make
the best of it. Stand on this side
of ine; the storm comes from the
west, I think. There, do not be
frightened—it will soon be over.”
Here a crash of thunder close at
hand so terrified Isabel that she clung
to him, forgetting that he was a clod
hopper, and that she hated him.
Duke did not release the little soft
hand she had put into his; some- j
how, he liked to hold it, and she was '
so frightened.
The rain did not last long, and j
when the thunder got distant, Isabel 1
began to realize that she had made I
a very pretty fool of herself for Mr. ]
Duke Hillary to laugh at.
She broke away from him abrupt- j
ly, aud without a word started oft' ■
through the wet grass for her aunt’s j
house. Duke looked after her, a i
quizzical smile on his face, and be- t
gan to wliistle. Isabel heard him, i
and her cheeks burned like coals, j
He was positively insulting ! and she !
resolved never to speak to him as j
long as she lived, and to hate him !
more deeply than ever. She should
only stay two weeks longer at the i
farm-house, and then she should!
never see or hear from him again.
Aunt Hattie met her at the door I
with a score of anxious inquiries, j
Where had she been? Was she wet? :
Where did she getshelter? and where !
could Duke Hillary be ? The other i
men came up long ago; had Isabel ;
seen Duke? Isabel replied pettish- |
ly, that she supposed he was about '
his business, if he had any ; and j
Aunt Hattie sighed to think she could '
not bring about a more amicable i
state of things between lier favorite i
Duke and her favorite niece.
The days came and went, and it !
was the first of September. Isabel !
was to return home in a week. Her '
stay had been prolonged by Aunt j
Hattie’s entreaties, but her mother i
refused to let her remain any longer. 1
She was still hating Duke with all •
her heart. Aud he was as supreme- ■
ly indifferent to it as the Grand '
Mogul. Only once had he offered ;
her any courtesy. Ho brought in a 1
superb branch of cardinal flower one }
night, and gave it to her. '
“Scarlet flowers look well in black ;
hair,” he said, smiling, with a glance i
at her jetty braids.
She colored hotly, flung the flower ,
on the floor, and trampled on it. I
She had read presumption in his :
eyes, she thought, and that she •
would not bear. He looked at her
unmoved, though his heart beat a
little quicker, and then went off
whistling as usual; and after he was
gone,—such is the inconsistency of
some women—Isabel picked up the
crushed flower, aud put it in her
bosom.
Uncle Ned owned two spirited
horses, which Isabel had been teas
ing to be allowed to drive. It was
rather a hazardous proceeding, and
it was a long time before she gained
bis consent. But she conquered at
last, and Duke was ordered to liar- ,
ness them to the carriage. Isabel, >
equipped for the drive, came out, I
just as he had adjusted the last j
buckle. _ j
“Miss Leslie,” he said, obeying his
sense of duty, “Dick is very refrac
tory this morning, and I would ad
vise you to postpone your drive, or
take some one with you.”
She stopped into the carriage, re
sisting his offered assistance, and
gathered up the lines. She was
looking splendidly, and she knew it.
“Thank you, Mr. Hillary. When
I want advice, I ask for it.” She
started Dick with the whip, and the
animal bounded off.
Hillary stood a moment medita
ting; then ho went to the stable,
and suddenly mounting Comet, the
blood horse, which was Uncle Ned’s
especial pride, took a road running
parallel with the one Isabel had ta
ken. Two or three miles farther oi
the roads joined, just above a preci
pitous piece of causeway, severa
feet above the river. He reache.,
this dangerous place bofore Isab(
did; for in the distance he heard th
rumble of her carriage-wheels. H
threw himself off Comet and stor.
awaiting her. Some subtle instinct
told him that she would need him
when she did come. ’ We have all
felt such premonition!; can any of
us account for them ? j
She came in sight around an angle
of the road. Duke saw at a glance
that Dick was runnikg away with
her. She maintained - her presence
of mind, and held the Veins in a firm
hand; but her slight strength was
no check upon those. two strong
headed horses.
At that time Dick plunged sud
denly out of the road; the wheels
struck a stone, the carriage was over
turned, and Duke was just in time
to catch Isabel as shb was being
hurled upon the stone]. But not in
time to save himself o:,her from go
ing over the precioicA Down they
went with fearful velocity, alighting
at last in a bed of juniperbushes,
which broke somewhat the force of
For a moment Isabel was | well than to plead law poorly.
Be honest : a stove cold is better
than a stove hot with stolen fuel.
The laboring man holds the same
relation to the merchant, manufac
turer, attorney, physician and min
ister, that the locomotive does to a
train of elegant and well-filled cars :
they would stand still for ever if the
engine did not move them.
There is many an honest, hard
working poor man, who rises himself
and calls his family before sunrise,
the fall.
stunned, then she roused herself,
and looked around.
Duke lay beside her, as pale as
death, the blood oozing slowly from
a cut in his temple. She grew white
as marble. In that one moment of
horror she realized what life would
be to her without Duke Hillary. She
bent over him, lifted up his head, and
pressed wild passionate kisses on his
pale lips.
“O Duke! Duke!” she cried, “I
have killed you! and Ilovedyou so!”
His eyes flashed wide open, his
arms enfolded her; two strong, ex
acting, despotic arms they were.
She struggled, but he held her fast.
“Isabel, I love you so, too! Those
kisses were sweet, but you had it all
your own way; it is my turn now.
Be quiet, darling ; it is too late to af
fect colduess. I love you; you love
me.”
“But I tried hard to hate you.”
“I know you did, dear ; I give you
credit for doing your best. But you
couldn’t, and so you were not to
blame.”
Isabel went home, leaning on
Duke Hillary’s arm, while Comet, in
a very meditative mood, followed be
hind.
But it was not until after she had
been some time his wife, that Isabel
found out that she had married a
wealthy man, and that he had only
been masquerading while acting as
Uucle Ned’s hired help. And Aunt
Hattie was in the secret all the
time.
The Oldest City.
Damascus is the oldest city in the
world. Tyre and Sidon have crum
bled on the shore. Baalbec is a ruin,
Palmyra is buried in a desert; Nine-
vah and Babylon have disappeared
from the Tigris and the Euphrates.
Damascus remains what it was be
fore the days of Abraham—a center
of trade and travel—an island of
verdure in the desert; a presidential
capital, with martial and sacred as
sociations extending through thirty
centuries. It was near Damascus
that Saul of Tarsus saw the light
above the brightness of the sun; the
street, which is called Strait, in
which it was said he prayed, still
runs through the city. The caravan
comes and goes as it did a thousand
yeai’s ago; there is still the sheik,
"the ass, and the water-wheel; the
merchants of the Euphrates and the
Mediterranean still occupy these
with the multitude of their w r ares.
The city which Mohammed survey
ed from a neighboring height and
was afraid to enter as it was given
to man to have but one paradise,
and for his part he was resolved not
to have it in this world, is to-day
what Snliau called the eye of the
East, as it was in the time of Isaiah,
the head of Syria. It is still a city
of flowers; the streams of Lebanon
and the silk of gold still murmur and
sparkle in the wilderness of the Syr
ian gardens.
Maxims for Working Men.
A good advertisement for a work
ing man is a seat in church.
The savings-bank is a safe debtor.
Ffty cents for a good lecture is
better than half that sum for a cir
cus.
Dress neatly. A well-clothed man
commands favor and respect, while
one in slovenly attire can hardly bor
row his neighbor’s saw-horse.
If you wish to personally compre
hend the completest meaning of the
old adage, a fool and his money are
soon parted, buy a lottery ticket.
Never sacrifice money for what
people will say. It is better to buy
a fair piece of beef at fifteen cents a
pound, and leave the sirloin for some
other man who would buy your kind
except for the name.
The man is always most honored
who is most excellent in what he un
dertakes. It is better to saw wood
Family Recipes.
1.—Fob Repairing Family Jars.—
Mutual Love well stirred with For
bearance, mixed with Readiness to
Forgive, and general Good Temper
is an admirable cement. It is well
to let all family jars be shelved at
once.
2.—Preserving.
Temper is best kept by using as j
little vinegar as possible. The Heart/
by using abundantly of the Oil of
Grace. Treasures, by laying them
up where neither moth nor rust dotJi
corrupt.
3.—Creams.
The milk of True Faith, if it stands
long enough, yields the'crreauibf as
surance ; if flavored with the Essence
of Love, it is a delicious dish.
How good aud beautiful would it
be, if our tastes, impulses and inclin
ations were so pure that we might
live freely and naturally, as the birds
or the flowers, trusting without mis
giving to our spontaneous sympathies
and movements.
“Among all my boys,” said an old
man, “I never had but one boy who
took after me, and that was my son
Aaron, who took after me with a
pole.’
Early Marriages.
There is no school which God ev
er opened, or permitted to be open
ed, which young people can so ill af
ford to avoid as the school of care
and responsibility and labor in the
honsehold ; and a young man and a
young woman, marrying, no matter
from what source they came togeth
er, no matter how high their fathers
have stood, one of the most whole
some things they can do, having
married for love, and with discretion,
is to be willing to begin at the bot
tom, and bear the burdens of house
hold life so that they shall have its
education. I tell you, there are
pleasures which many young married
people miss. I would not give up
the first two years of my married
life for all I have now. I live in a
big house, with a brown stone front,
and very fairly furnished ; but after
all, among the choicest experiences
of my life were those that I passed
through in Indiana, when I hired
two chambers up stairs; when all
my furniture was given to me, and
was second hand at that; and when
the very clothes which I had on my
‘ ack had been worn by Judge Bir-
ey before me. We were not able
to hire a servant. We had to serve
ourselves. It was a study every day
how to get along with our small
means—and it was a study never to
be forgotten. I owe many of the
pleasures which have run through
my life to being willing to begin
where I had to begin, and to fight
poverty with love, and to overcome
it, and to learn how to live in ser
vice and helpfulness and in all the
thousand ingenuities which love
sweetens and makes more and more
delightful.—H. IF. Beecher.
j
4-r
How Old Joe became Beautiful.
Poor old Joe was an ugly old man,
indeed, nearly everybody called him
“Ugly Joe.” The old people used
him as a kind of a scare-crow for
their children, so that the poor little
things ran off whenever he came
near. But this was a great pity, for
poor old Joe was as harmless as they
were, and dearly loved little children.
Often he tried to coax them to him,
but they would have nothing to do
with the poor old man. So one day
he went up to the graveyard, and
there, off by itself, he found a neg
lected little grave, with no little stone
to tell who lay beneath, and over
grown with weeds. Carefully old
Joe pulled up every weed, then sod
ded the little grave with fresh, green
grass, and brought sweet wild flowers
and planted them upon it. Every
day he spent much time upon it, till
he seemed to love that little grave ;
and one morning he was found lying
close beside it, with his arms stretch
ed out above it, cold and dead; for
poor old Joe had gone where there
would be many to love him, and they
buried his body close beside the lit
tle grave he had loved.
A day or so after old Joe was buried,
a lady and gentleman came to the
village. They were the parents of
the child who slept beneath the lit
tle grave. They had left the village
some years before, too poor to buy a
three hundred and sixty-five daviy little tombstone to place above their
in the year. In nine cases out of ’ - x 1 1 -
ten, when his children arrive at his
age, they will be called up by ser
vants.
A meerschaum-pipe and bank
book always quarrel, and the upshot
of the encounter generally is, that
one puts the other out of doors.
Work harder at drilling rocks, for
instance, if your employer never vis
its you than if he frequently does.
He* will know of your faithfulness
when he pays for the drills.
The poverty of childhood is more
frequently than otherwise the step
ping-stone to wealth.
It is better to eat one meal a day
and pay for it, than to eat three and
have two of them charged.
The larger your account with Trust
the sooner Debt will take your bus
iness into liis hands.
It costs a poor man more to let
his children wander iu their every
day clothing, Sabbath days, than it
does to dress them for church.
Want is a far less uncomfortable
companion than debt.
Never envy a rich neighbor ; his
boys will drive your children’s car
riages.
A poor man’s character is worth
two dollars to him where his hands
are worth one.
A full purse and a brandy bottle
rarely occupy opposite pockets in
the same coat.
Never dodga a dirty job. The
richest deposits of gold are frequent-
lv overlaid by the debris.—Christian
Weekly.
Hope is the ruddy morning ray of
joy, recollection is its golden tinge;
but the latter is wont to sink amid
the dews and dusky shades of twi
light ; and the bright blue day which
the former promises, breaks indeed,
but in another world, and with an
other sun.
Who ever brings the tales of others
to you, will be sure to carry tales of
you to them.
child’s grave, but had now come
wealthy. They were surprised when
they saw the little grave so well taken
care of, and the mother wept when
she heard the story of old Joe. And
over his grave they placed a beauti
ful monument, with these words en
graved upon it:
“He will beautify the meek with
salvation.”
And in the resurrection day may
we all be as beautiful as old Joe will
be.—Our Paper.
The Value of a Newspaper.
The following is the experience of
a mechanic concerning the benefit of
a newspaper:
Ten years ago I lived in a town in
Indiana. On returning home one
night, for I am a carpenter by trade,
I saw a little girl leave my door, and
I asked my wife who she was. She
said, Mrs. Hams had sent her after
their newspaper ; which my wife had
borrowed. As we sat down to tea
my wife said to me by name :
“I wish you would subscribe for
the newspaper ; it is much comfort
to -me when you are away from
home.”
“I would like to do so, said I, but
you know I owe a payment on the
house and lot. It will be all I can
do to meet it.”
She replied; “if you will take this
paper, I will sew for the tailor to pay
for it.”
I subscribed for the paper; it
came in due time to the shop. While
resting one noon and looking over it,
I saw an advertisement of the coun
ty Commissioners to let a bridge
that was to be built. I put in a bid
for the bridge and the job was awar
ded to me, on which I cleared $300,
which enabled me to pay for my house
and lot easily, and for the newspaper.
If I had not subscribed for the news
paper I should not have known any
thing about the contract, and could
not have met my payment on my
house an lot. A mechanic never
loses anything by taking a newspa
per.
• The Masonic Grand Lodge Build
ing.—The new Temple designed for
the accommodation of the Masonic
Grand Lodge of Georgia, and which
has been in process of erection for
nearly two years, is nearly comple
ted. Located on Mulberry street
with a frontage of seventy feet, and
height of stories fully sixty feet,
it is imposing. The first floor now
occupied for mercantile purposes is
fifteen, the second, intended for gen
eral public business, or a Town Hall,
is twenty, and the third for the meet
ings of the Grand Lodge, is sixteen
feet high. The round cost of the
building, including the grounds, will
be $62,000. It will take one thou
sand yards of carpet to cover the
main floor of the Lodge Room,
which will cost $2,500. The chan
deliers, chairs, and other necessary
articles, will run the items of furni
ture and fixtures to about $5,000 in
all. Before the whole thing i> fin
ished, the round cost will not fall
short of $75,000. But the “Brothers
of the Mystic Tie” will have the sat
isfaction of knowing that their
Lodge is the finest and most impos
ing in all the South.—Atlanta Con
stitution.
Pocket Edition of Hell Fire.
A young parson of the Universal-
ist faith, many years since when
the Simonpure ISniversalism was
preached, started westward to attend
a convention of his brethren in faith.
He took the precaution to carry a.
vial of cayenne pepper in his pocket
to sprinkle his food with, as a pre
ventive of fever and ague. The con
vention met, and at dinner a tall
Hoosier observed the parson as he
seasoned his meat, and addressed
him thus:
“Stranger, I’ll thank you for a lit-
tel of that ’ere red salt, for I’m kind
o’ curious to try it/’
“Certainly,” returned the parson;
“but you will find it rather powerful;
be careful how you use it.”
The Hoosier took the proffered
vial and feeling himsef proof against
any quantity of raw whisky, thought
he could stand the “red salt,” with
impunity, and accordingly sprinkled
a junk of beef rather bountifully with
it, and forthwith introduced it into
his capacious mouth. It soon be
gan to take hold. He shut his eyes,
and his features began to writhe,
denoting a very inharmonious con
dition physically. Finally he could
stand it no longer. He opened his
month and screamed—“fire!”
“Take a drink of cold water from
the jug,” said the parson.
“"Will that put it out?” said the
martyr, suiting the action to the
word.
In a short time the unfortunate
man began to recover, and returning
to the parson, his eyes yet swimming
with water, exclaimed:
“Stranger, you call yourself a
’Versalist, I believe ?”
“I do,” mildly answered the par
son.
“Well, I want to know if you think
it consistent with your belief to go
about with hell fire in your breeches
pocket?”
ABlusli.
What is there more mysterious
than a blush, that a single w r ord or
look or thought should send that in
imitable carnation over the cheek
like the soft tints of the summer sun
set? Strauge it is, also, that the
human face is capable of blushing,
that the hand or foot does not turn
red with modesty or shame any
more than the glove or sock that
covers them. It is the face that is
heaven. The blush of modesty that
tinted woman’s face when she awoke
in Eden’s sunny land still lingers
with her fair daughters. They caught
it from the rose, for all roses were
first white; but when Eve plucked
one, the bud seeing her own fair face
—more fair than the flowers-blushed
and cast its reflex on her velvet cheek.
The face is the tablet of the soul,
wherein it writes its actions. There
may be traced all the intellectual
phenomena with a confidence amount
ing to a moral certainty. If inno
cence and purity look outward from
within, none the less do vice, intem
perance and debauchery make their
indelible impression upon it. Idiocy,
rage, cowardice and passion leave
their traces deeper, even, than the
virtues of modesty, truth, chastity
and hope. Even beauty glows more
beautiful from the pure thoughts
that arise within it.
A Rustic Moralist.—Rector (go
ing his rounds)—“An uncommonly
fine pig, Mr. Dibbles, I declare !”
Contemplative Y i l l a g e r—“Ah
ves, sir, if we was only, all of us, as fit
to die as him, sir !”
There is a good deal of sound wis
dom in the suggestion of the farmer:
“If you want your boy to stay at
borne, don’t bear too hard on the
grindstone when be tarns the crank.”
Balky Horse.—Above all things,
don’t whip your horse. If of a ner
vous, high-lifed nature, be kind to
him, yet prompt. Let him know, as
soon as you can, what you require
of him. Never take him out of his
position except by doing as you re
quire. Be patient; stay by him ; /
keep every one else away. Never
lead him; sit patiently; sing or
whistle, as though nothing were the
matter, and your horse will seem, as
it were, to be ashamed of himself,
and improve, and finally forget for
ever, the tricks some dunce has
taught him.— Wm. Horne, V. 8., 31.
A school-boy being requested to
write a composition upon the subject
of pins, produced the following:
“Pins are very useful. They have
save the lives of a great many men,
women, and children—in fact, whole
families.’ “How so ?” asked the puz
zled teacher. And the boy replied,
i“Why, by not swallowing them.”
' Thismatelies the story of the oth
er hpy who defined salt as “the stuff
that makes potatoes taste bad, when
you don’t put on an}’.”
Beautifcl Sentiment.—One pound
of gold may be drawn into a wire
that would extend around the globe.
So one good deed may be felt
through all time, and cast its influ
ence into eternity. Though done in
the first flush of youth, it may glad
den the last of a life, and form the
brightest and most glorious spot on
it, _
A little girl seeing a hen about to j
brood her chickens, cried out: “O!!
don’t sit down on those beautiful |
little birds, you great ugly old roos
ter.”
How to make a tall man sbort-
Ask him to loud you five dollars.