Newspaper Page Text
OL. II.
SANDERSVILLE, GEORGIA, SEPTEMBER 12, 1873.
NO. 11.
L Gc. MEDBOCK. JETHXiO AHLINE. B, L- EODGEBS.
k- TSi‘d!oek, ArSame AESodgcrs.
■rgv Herald is published in Sandersville,
L-vjrv 1'riday morning. Subscription
TWO DOLLARS per annum.
Iilveriisements inserted at the usual rates,
charge for publishing marriages or
POETRY.
The River Time.
BY B. F. TAYLOB.
wond> rful stream is the Iiiver of Time !
1 it flov.-s through lire realm of tears ;
:'i a fanldcsr ryt'i::; and a in Joical ruyine,
j broadening swoop and a surge sublime,
■ , it bends with the ocean of years.
j v the winters are drifting like flakes of
snow !
And the summers like buds between ;
i. i the ears and the sheaves,how they come
and go,
)n fan river’s breast, with its ebb and flow,
As they glide in the shadow and sheen.
’here's a magic isle up the River Time,
■Where the softest of airs are playing;
' s a cloudless sky and a tropical clime,
nd a voice as sweet as a vesper chime,
f And the Junes with the roses are staying ;
gul the name of that isle is the “Long Ago,”
And we bury our teasures there ;
;here are brows of beauty and bosoms of
snow,
here are heaps of dust, but we loved them so,
There are trinkets and tresses of hair.
here are fragments of song thatnobody sings
And a part of an infant’s prayer ;
ihere’s a harp unswept and a lute without
strings,
There are broken vows and pieces of rings,
And the garments she used to "wear.
There are hands which are waved when that
fairy shore
By the mirage is lifted in air,
And sometimes we hear, through the turbu
lent roar,
Sn eet voices we’ve heard in the days gone
before,
When the wind down the river is fair.
Oh, remember for aye be that blessed isle,
All the day of life till night;
And when evening comes with a beautiful
smile,
And our eyes are closed in slumber awhile,
May that greenwood Of soul be in sight!
SELECT MISCELLANY.
AN UNWELCOME PASSENGER.
THE TEDDLEB’S STORY.
A cold winter s niglit several years
dice, found a stage load of passen-
;ers gathered together around the
warm fire of a tavern bar-room in
a New England village. Shortly af
ter we arrived, a peddler drove up
and ordered that his horse should
be stabled for the night. After we
had eaten supper we repaired to the
bar-room, where the conversation
flowed freely. Several anecdotes had
been related, and finally the peddler
was called on to give us a story, as
men of his profession are generally
full of adventures and anecdotes.
He was a short, thick-set man, some
where about forty years of age, and
gave evidence of great physical
strength. He gave his name as
Lemuel Yinney, and his home was
in Dover, N. H.
“Weil, gentlemen,” he commenced,
knocking the ashes from his pipe
and putting it into his pocket, “sup
pose I tell you about the last thing
of any consequence that happened
to me. You see I am now right from
the West, and on my way home for
winter quarters: It was during the
early part of last spring, one pleas
ant evening, that I pulled up in front
of the door of a small village tavern
in Hancock county, Indiana. I said
it was pleasant—I meant warm. I
went in and called for supper, and
liad my horse taken care of. After
I had eaten I sat down in the bar
room. It began to rain about eight
o’clock, and it was very dark out of
doors.
“Now I wanted to be in Jackson
next morning, for I expected a load
of goods there for me, which I in
tended to dispose of on my way
home. The moon would rise about
midnight, and I knew if it did not
rain 1 could get along through the
mucl after that. So I asked the
landloidif he would see that my
horse was fed about midnight, as I
wished to get off about tw r o. He ex
pressed some surprise at this, and
asked me why I did not stop for
breakfast. I told him I sold my last
load about out, and that a new lot
of goods was waiting for me at Jack
son, and I wanted to get there be
fore the express agent left in the
moring.
“There were a number of persons
sitting round while I told this, but I
took little notice- of them. Only one
arrested my attention. I had seen
notices that week for the detection
of a notorious robber. The bills gave
a discription of his person, and the
man before me answered very well
to it.—He was a tali, well-formed
man, rather slight framed, and had
the appearance of a gentleman, save
that his face bore those hard, cruel
marks which an observing man can
not mistake for but the index of a
villainous disposition.
“When I went to my bed-chamber
I asked the landlord who that man
was, describing the individual. He
said that he did not know him ; he
had come that afternoon, and intend
ed to leave the next day. The host
asked me why I wished to know, and
if. I was acquainted with him.
“I resolved not to let the landlord
into the secret, bat to hurry on to
Jackson, and there give information
to the Sheriff, and perhaps he might
reach the inn before the villain left,
for I had no doubt of his identity.
“I had an alarm watch, and having
set it to give the alarm at one o’clock,
I Went to sleep. I was aroused at
the proper time, and dressed my
self. When I reached the yard I
found the clouds passed away, and
the moon was shining brightly. The
hostler was easily aroused, and by
two o’clock I Avas on the road. The
mud was deep, and my horse could
not travel very fast. However, on
we went, and in the course of half
an hour I was clear from the village.
At a short distance ahead lay a large
tract of pine forest. The road lay
direct through this wood, and, as
near as I can remember, the distance
•was 12 miles. Yet the moon was in
the east, and as the road ran nearly
west, I thought I should have light
enough.
“I had entered the wood and gone
about half a mile, when my wagon
wheels settled with a bump and jerk
into a deep hole. I uttered an ex
clamation of astonishment. But this
was not all—I heard another exclama
tion from some source. What could
it mean? Hooked quietly around,
but could see nothing; yet I knew
the sound I heard was near me. As
the hind wheels came up I heard
something tumble from one side to
the other of my wagon, and I could
feel the jar occasioned by the move
ment. It was simply a man in my
cart! I knew this on the instant.
Of course I felt puzzled. At first I
imagined that some one had taken
this method to obtain a ride. My
next idea was that somebody got
there to sleep; but this passed away
as soon as it came, for no man would
have broken into a cart for that
purpose.—And that thought gentle
men, opened my eyes. Who ever
was there had broken in. My next
thought was of the suspicious in
dividual I had seen at the tavern. He
heard me say that my load was all
sold out, and of course he supposed
that I had seme money with me. In
this he was right, for I had over two
thousand dollars. I thought he meant
to leave the cart Avhen he supposed I
liad reached a safe place, and then
creep over and shoot me, or knock
me down. All this passed through
my mind by the time I had got arod
from the hole.
In a few moments my resolution
was formed. My horse was knee
deep in mud, and could slip off with
out noise. So I dreiv my pistol, and
having twined the reins about the
whip stock, carefully slipped down in
the mud, and as the cart passed on I
went behind and examined the hasp.
The outer door of the cart lets down,
and is fastened by a hasp which
slips over the staple, and is then
secured by a padlock. The padlock
was gone, and the hasp was secured
in its place by a bit of pine, so that
a slight force from within
could break it. My wheel wrench
stood in a leather backet on the side
of the cart, and I quickly took it out
and slipped it in the staple, the iron
handle just sliding down.
“Now I had him ! My cart was
almost new, made of a stout frame
of white oak, and made on purpose
for hard usage. I did not believe
any ordinary man could get out.
I got into my cart as noiselessly as
I got off, and then urged my horse
on, still keeping my pistol handy.
I knew that a distance of half a
mile or further I should come to a
hard road, and so I allowed my
horse to pick his own way through
the mud.
“About ten minutes after this I
heard a motion in the cart, followed
by a grinding noise, as though some
heavy force was being applied to
the door. I said nothing, but the
idea struck me that the villain might
judge where I sat and shoot up
through the top of the cart at me ;
so I sat on the foot-board.
“Of course I knew my unexpected
E assenger was a villian, for he must
ave been awake ever since I start
ed, and nothing in the world but ab
solute villainy would have caused him
to remain quiet so long, and then
start up in this particular place.
The thumping and pushing grew
louder, and pretty soon I heard a
human voice.
“‘Let me out of this!’ and he
yelled pretty loud.
“I lifted my head so as to make
him think I was in my usual place,
and then asked him what he was
doing there.
U me ou t and I will tell you,’
he replied. .
“ ‘Tell me what you are in there
for,’ I said.
“ ‘I got in here to sleep on rags/
he answered.
“ ‘How did you get in?’ I asked.
“ ‘Let me out, or I’ll shoot you
through the head!’
“At that moment my horse’s feet
struck the hard road, and I knew
that the rest of the route to Jackson
would be good going, the distanc
was twelve miles. I slipped back
on the foot-board and took the whip.
In fifteen minutes we cleared the
woods, and we went at a keen jump,
the chap inside yelling to be let out.
Finally he stopped, and in a few
minutes came the report of a pis
tol -—one—two—three—four—one
right after the other, and heard the
balls whiz over my head. If I had
been on my seat, one of these balls,
if not two of them, would have gone
through me. I popped my head up
and gave a yell, and then said, ‘Oh!
God save me! I’m a dead man!
Then I made a shuffling noise as
though I was falling off, and finally
settled down on the fooLboard again.
I now urged up the marpHby giving
her an occasional poke with the
whip-stock, and she peeled it faster
than ever.
“The man called out to me twice
more pretty soon after this, and as
he got no reply, he made some tre
mendous efforts to break the door
open, and as this failed him he made
several attempts at the top. But I
had no fears of his doing anything
there, for the top of the cart is
framed witji dovetails, and each
sleeper bolted to the posts with iron
bolts. I had it made so I could car
ry loads there. By-and-by, after all
else had failed, the commenced to
holler ‘whoa’ to the horse, and kept
it up until he became hoarse. All
this time I kept quiet, holding the
reins firmly and kept poking the
mare with the stock. We were not
an hour going that dozen miles—
not a bit of it. I hadn’t much fear;
perhaps I might tell the truth and
say I had none, for 1 had a good
pistol, and more than that, my pas
senger was safe; yet I was glad when
I came to the flour barrel factory
that stands at the edge of Jackson
village, and in ten minutes more
hauled up in front of the tavern, and
found a couple of men in the barn
cleaning down some horses.
“ ‘Well old fellow,’ said I, as I got
down and went to the back of the
wagon, ‘you have had a good ride,
haven’t you?’
“ ‘Who are you ?’ he cried; and
he swore as he asked the question.
“ ‘I am the man you tried to shoot,’
was my reply.
“ ‘Where am I? Let me out.’
“ ‘Look here, Ave’ve come to a safe
stopping place, and mind! my pis
tol is ready for you the moment
you show yourself. Now lay quiet.’
“By this time the hostlers had
come to see what Avas the matter,
and I explained the case. After
this I got one of them to run and
rout the Sheriff, and tell him what
I believed I’d got for him. The first
streaks of light were just coming,
and in an hour it would be broad
daylight. In less than that lime the
Sheriff came, and two men with him.
I told him the whole affair in a few
words, and then made for the cart.
He told the chap inside who he was
and if he made the least resistance
he’d be a dead man. I then slipped
the iron Avrench out, and as I let the
door down, the felloAV made a spring.
I caught him by the ankle and he
came do Am on his face, and the mo
ment I saw the chap I recognized
him. He was marched to the lock
up, and I told the Sheriff I should
remain in toAvn all day.
“After breakfast the Sheriff came
doAvn the tavern and told me that I
had caught the very bird, and if I
would remain until the next morn
ing I should have the reAvard of two
hundred dollars that had been of
fered.
“I found my goods all safe, paid
the express agent for bringing them
from Indianapolis and then went to
stoAv them aAvay in my cart. The
bullet holes were found in the top of
the vehicle just as I expected. ^They
were in a line, about five inches
apart, and had I have been where I
usually sit, two of them must have
hit me in the small of the back, and
both charges of powder were heavy
ones.
“I afterwards found a letter in the
Post Office at Portsmouth for me,
from the Sheriff of Hancock county,
and he informed me that the fellow
who tried to kill and rob me was in
prison for life.”
Wanted—A Chance.—The people
who say that all they want is a
chance—are you old enough to have
found them out? Of all miserable
souls these used to appeal most
quickly to my sympathies. Of course
there are plenty of genuine cases—I
think I am expert enough noAv to
detect them at a’glanee. But I am in
clined to think that the vast majori
ty of chance wanters are the peo
ple most active in throwing chances
aAvay. I.never saw an earnest man
long in want of a chance. The
trouble is. in; the man, not in the sit
uation. The‘ individual of all others
AA-ho has talked to me with the most
persuasive pathos about the lack of
fortunate, circumstances, i3 the man
whom I have found, most ingenious
in evading his opportunities.
PAUL HAMPTON’S GOOD FORTUNE.
BY E. ANDERSON.
So necessary is fun to the mind,
that a late philosopher says if you
should build schools without play
grounds, nobody would get beyond
short division in a life time.
“Oh, Paul! don’t you wish we
were rich, like the family at Hill
Lodge, and that papa could drive to
toAvn every day in his carriage as
Mr. Bivers does ? and there’s Juli
an, too, only your age, rides a horse
now—lie might have given you his
little pony, it was very mean to sell
it.”
“Sister, let us be thankful that our
fath r is able to walk, and not crip-
E led like Mr. Rivers; and do you
elieve that I, Avho am taller than
Julian, Avould ride that little pony?
A pretty figure I should cut with my
longlegs almost touching the ground.’
“Ah, but sometimes I cannot help
wishing Ave were rich,” and Dora
Hampton sighed, as she glanced
down at her faded calico dress.
“Have courage and patience, little
Sis; I hope soon to get a place and
earn some money, then, when I grow
to be a man, you are to be my little
housekeeper. But here comes Juli
an, riding at a full gallop down the
hill; what brings him, I wonder, for
we have not been very good friends
of late ?”
“Hallo, there!” cried Julian.—
“Hold my horee while I come in for
a few minutes.” Again he repeated
the summons in a louder tone.
“Who are you calling to, Master
Rivers ?”
“To you, of course: you don’t
keep a groom, I guess.”
“ We do not, sir, neither am I one;
so when you condescend to ride
doAvn into the valley, attend to your
horse yourself.”
Dora watched Julian as} he alight
ed and tied his horse to the garden
gate. He was handsomely dressed
in a velvet suit, with riding gloves,
and dainty, little, Avell-fitting boots ;
but he looked pale and sickly, for
his appetite Avas pampered with rich,
imwholesome food, and he was al-
loAved to sit up until all hours of the
night. Then she glanced toward her
brother. What a contrast! With
his dark, handsome eyes, and noble
brow and cheek, broAvned by expos
ure to the sun; even those coarse,
homemade garments looked Avell up
on Lis erect figure. “I’ll never wish
for riches any more,” thought Dora.
“Puff,puff!” exclaimed Julian as
he entered; “how smothering it is in
this little room, with its low ceiling !
Oh, Dora! I did not see you in that
dark corner.”
“Look you, sir !” cried Paul, in
dignantly, “this is my father’s dwell
ing, and as such is sacred in my
eyes. Stay without in future, aDd
do not come here to insult us.”
“Excuse me, Paul, for I really
didn’t intend to offend you,” and Ju
lian held out his hand. “I came to
ask if you would go to toAvn with me ;
I want a new riding whip, and no
end of things.”
“Not in the dusty highway at your
horse’s heels ; but if you walk there
by the meadoAv, and through the
little wood, I don’t object, for I have
some errands in town for mother.”
“Agreed, then; may I put up my
horse somewhere till we return?”
“Yes, in the old barn ; there is
plenty of straw and he will be quite
safe there. I’ll assist you now, Juli
an, and any time Avhen you treat me
as your equal, and drop putting on
airs.”
“All right, Paul. But what shall
I bring you from town, Dora ?” and
Julian rattled a handful of silver
dollars in his pocket.
“Nothing, thank you.” Dora
Hampton was not a whit less proud
than her brother.
The tAvo boys followed the narrow
footpath through jhe meadow, tho’
almost hidden from their sight by
the long, waAdng grass, Paul some
times stopping to gather a feAV wild
flowers, for the garden at Dale cot
tage was not rich in floral ornaments.
They did not wait to go round by the
old bridge which spanned the little
stream half a mile away, but draw
ing off their shoes and stockings
waded through the water, sitting
awhile to rest on the other side, and
planning a fishing excursion for a
future day. Beyond the stream lay
the little AA r ood, and there Paul gath
ered the Avild honeysuckle and the
delicate fern to add to his bouquet,
hiding it beneath the rushes at the
water’s edge until their return.
The pleasant shady wood was
passed, a winding lane succeeded,
from whence the church spires and
lofty buildings of the town were ris
ible. The two companions soon
reaching the suburb of the principal
street, traversed it in all directions
by many others.
- They visited one store. Paul
made the household purchases for
his mother, and various others on
Julian’s account, who soon disposed
of all his money. “And now,” he
said, I have not a red cent left.”
“Precisely my case,” cried Paul,
‘Srith this difference, that I started
out without any of my own. Hallo!
• what’s this? Stop, stop, Jule.”
The boy lifted something from be
neath his feet; it was a pocket-book
filled with notes, some of -high value.
“How lucky!” exclaimed Julian,
“just Avhen our pockets were empty.
Let’s go halves on the spot, or, rath
er, hurry on into the lane, and there
count our treasure.”
Our treasure! You had passed
by, and were not the finder, neither
is it mine to diride.”
“I never heard such stupidness!—
Do you really intend to restore that
pocket-book, if inquired for? No
one saw you pick it up.”
Yes, One did, who sees all things ;
but I shall not count the money now;
my father will do that when he
comes home, and keep it until we
hear of the owner.”
“And that owner reward you with
thanks, or, perhaps, a miserj
or ten dollar note.”
“I shall rejoice to have earh
much honestly.”
The walk home was far less pleas
ant to the two boys; Julian all the
way coveted a share of the newly
found treasure, and Paul grave and
silent with the responsibility of his
charge. They no longer hunted the
brown squirrel, nor paused to watch
the fish leaping to the surface as the
sunbeam danced upon the water, nor
plucked the Avild-flowers in their
path—even the little bouquet was
forgotten—but they hurried on to
the cottage, where Julian, uttering a
hasty “good-bye,” mounted his horse
and rode away.
Mr. Hampton held a situation as
clerk in an office in the town; he
always went there early, but the fol
lowing morning Paul accompanied
him. They bought a paper, eagerly
scanning the advertisements under
the head of “Lost,” and Avith a wildly
beating heart, Paul read aloud, “$200
Reward,” then followed a description
of the pocket-book and its contents.
$200! He was breathless with ex
citement.
‘This appears to be the property
of OAven AVainright, one of our lead
ing merchants,” said Mr. Hampton,
yon shall take it to him, my boy,
relating how and where you found
it.”
It was not long before Paul return
ed, his handsome face glowing Arith
pleasure. “After inquiring my name,
father” said he, “and your employ
ment, Mr. AVainright asked what I
should do with the Teward ? I an
swered give it all to my father, for
he will know best how to lay it out.
So here it is sir,” and Paul counted
out ten $20 bills.
And a real Godsend it is, Paul.”
But stay—you have not heard
all. Mr. AVainright seemed pleased
with my answer, and taking$25 more
from the pocket-book gave it to me,
also, saying, “This, my honest boy,
is for yourself.” He next asked my
age, and oh! father, I do believe my
fortune is made, for I am to come
again, bringing you to with me, to
morrow morning, and he promises to
give me then a “post of trust” in
uis warehouse; and, I met old Miss
EimAvood, who once had the school-
house near our cottage, and she is
going with me to the drygoods store,
to help me choose two pretty dresses
for mother and Dora; and, dear fath
er, try to get off with me after noon
—we’ll go home together and have
a real banquet together in honor of
this good luck.”
Mr. Hampton made a sign in to
ken of assent, for at that moment
he could not speak.
Oh, what a happy evening that
was! The little cottage in the val
ley resounded with the children’s
songs and cheers, as Paul’s ‘banquet,’
for so they called it, was partaken.
I question if the great house upon
the hill was half so joyful a place.
It was wonderful what that $200
effected. It put a bright paper on
the little parlor walls, and a new car
pet over the* floor, so strewn with
rosebuds and green leaves that one
feared to crush them by walking on
it. Trees and shrubs were planted
in the garden, and floAvers round the
wiudows—oh, you would hardly know
Dale cottage now.
Even Julian Rivers is convinced
that it was a far Ariser, as well as
more honorable course, to restore
that money, for Paul advances each
year in his situation.
And dear little Dora is so proud
of her brother! She will -now and
then remember a highly important
commission, and write him a note,
sending it by some one going to town,
merely for the pleasure of seeing the
direction, “Paul Hampton, care of
Owen AVainright, Esq.”
“Here’s another letter from your
sweetheart, Paul,” said a fellow clerk
one day.
“No, it’s from my own, dear little
Sis,” was Paul’s reply, “but if I
meet with such another true, kind
girl for a sweetheart, also, I shall
think myself a lucky fellow.”
And so Paul keeps steadily upon
his course, with every prospect of
future advancement, and with the
brightest hopes of growing up to a
noble manhood, in spite of his hum
ble beginning. His employer places
the greatest confidence in him, and
Dora is justly proud of her brother.
They have both learned, on more
than one occasion, the truth of the
old maxim—Honesty is the best pol
icy : for does not Paul owe all his
bright prospects and ambitions to
that one little act of restoring the
lost pocket-book to its owner ?
Methods of Making Coffee.
; The roasting of'coffee in the best
] manner requires great nicety, since
j much of the quality of the beverage
] depends upon the operation. It is
j usually roasted in a hoIloAv cylinder
• made of perforated sheet-iron, which
| is kept turning over a brisk fire.
When the coffee has assumed a deep
cinnamon color and an oily appear
ance, and the peculiar fragrance,
is perceived to be sufficiently strong,
it should be takeq from the fire, well
shaken, and permitted tocooIT"
more than half a pound at once
should be roasted for domestic use,
and the cylinder should never be
above one-third filled. This opera
tion, and the subsequent grinding of
the beans, should be performed just
before the coffee is needed for use.
The French, who are celebrated for
their coffee-making, use various kinds
of combination, such as Java, Mocha,
Rio, and Maracaibo. These coffees
are so delicately and in such due
proportions mixed as to produce a
bouquet of aromatic flavors. With
respect to quantity, at least one ounce
of eoffee should be used to make
three ordinary sized cupfuls. The
coffee-pot should be first warmed,
and the water poured over the coffee.
AVhatever is used for clearing, Avhite
of eggs, isinglass, Ac., should be dis
solved before mixing. There are
about one hundred and seventy-five
patents in existence for coffee-pots.
The best form known is one which
distils the coffee, never allowing it
to boil. By this process the infusion
does not become black, bitter, or
stale, and can be served at any time,
with all the aroma of the bean.
Anecdotes of a Deaf Man.
Wind mills, made famous by the
exploits of Don Quixote, in olden
times, were in common use in the
early settlement of this country, and
then one man who followed the busi
ness of putting up wind mills, Caleb
Snyder, of Franklin County, Georgia
was of this calling. Now Caleb was
very deaf, and like most deaf men
he had a habit of guessing at what
was said and answering at a venture.
On one occasion as Caleb was mak
ing a wind mill near the public high
way, he saw a man approaching on
horseback. Now, said he, that man
will ask me what I am making.
I’ll tell him a wind mill post.
He’ll then ask me how deep I put
it.
I’ll tell him up to this knot on the
post.
He -will then ask what I will charge
to make him one.
I’ll tell him $25.
He’ll say he won’t give it.
Ell tell him if he won’t somebody
else will.
The stranger approached with the
salutation, “Good morning sir.”
Caleb replied, “wind mill post sir.”
“Please inform me how far it is to
the next house ?”
“Up to this knot sir.” n
The stranger somewhat indignant,
replied “you must be a fool.” fa
Twenty-five dollars sir.”
“I’ve a good mind to get down and
give you a hell of a whipping sir.”
H you don’t somebody else will.”
A Temperance Sermon.
The Peoria (HL) Revieio prints
this plain story: Springfield has just
had a sensation. A former State
official, and a man who has occupied
high positions, not only in the com-
momvealth, but in the nation, has
been on a spree for a few days. He
visited at Bunn’s banking-house,
and demanded fifty dollars. It was
refused him; whereupon he abused
the teller and had to be ejected. He
■risited a saloon and asked for a drink
of whisky. The bar-tender told him
he had none; whereupon, he grew
so violent that he had to be ejected
by force. Drunken, friendless, and
an outcast—such is the fate of one
who aspired to be President of the
United States. He is now a perfect
wreck, and even his friends have
come to the conclusion that the only
service he can render is to die. Whis
ky has swamped him as it has many
others.
The Sabbath a Loving Day.—
“Mother, I suppose one reason why
they call the Sabbath a holy day is
because it’s such a loving day,” said
a little boy, as be stood by his fath
er’s side and looked up into his
mother’s face.
“Why is not every day a loving
day?” "asked his mother. “I love
father, and father loves me, and we
both love you and baby every day
as well as Sunday.”
“Well, but you’ve no time to teU
us on week days,” said the little boy.
“You ham to work, and father has
to go off early to his work, and he
is so tired when he comes home;
but Sunday he takes me on his knee
and tells me Bible stories, and we
go to God’s house together, and oh,
’tis such a lovingday T’
“Don’t Scold Me.”
“Don’t, Tommy—don’t do that.
You know it makes mother’s head
ache.”
“Does it make your head ache,
mother ?” asked the child, curiously,
and with a pitying tone in his voice,
as he came creeping up to his moth
er’s side, and looking at her as if in
doubt whether he would be repulsed
or not.
“Sometimes it does, my son,” re
plied Mrs. Lyon, kindly; “and it is
ahvays unpleasant. AV on’t you try
to play without making so much
noise ?”
“Yes, mother, I’ll try,” answered
the little fellow cheerfully. “But I
loofefGfEeameatly at his moth
er, as if something more was in his
thoughts.
“AVell, dear, what else ?” said she,
encouragingly.
“AYhen I forget, you’ll tell me,
won’t you?”
“Yes, love.”
“And then I’ll stop. But don’t
scold me, mother, for then I can’t
stop.”
Mrs. Lyon’s heart was touched.
She caught her breath, and bent her
head down to conceal its expression,
until it rested on the silken hair of
the child.
Be a good boy, Tommy, and
mother will never scold you any
more,” she murmured gently in his
ears.
His arms stole upward, and as
they were tAvined closely about her
neck, he pressed his lips tightly
against her cheek—thus sealing his
part of the contract with a lass.
Hoav SAveet to a mother’s taste
were these first fruits of self-control!
In the effort to govern herself, what
a power had she acquired.
Only first fruits Avere. these. In
all her after days did that mother'
strive with herself, ere she entered
into a contest with the inherited erils
of her children; and just so far as
she was able to overcome evil in
herself, was she able to overcome
evil in them. Often, very often, did
she fall back into the old states; and
often, very often was self-resistance
only a slight effort; but the feeble
influence for good that flowed from
her words or actions whenever this
Avas so, warned her of error, and
prompted a more rigorous self-con
trol. Need it be said, that she had
an abundant reAvard ?
Sunbeams.-—Of course you have
noticed what a different aspect every
thing wears in the sunshine from
what it does in the shadow ? And
did yon ever think what an analogy
there was between the sunlight of
the cloudless skies and the sunshine
that gleam sin to the darkened cham
ber of the human soul ? How bright
and beautiful are the golden beams
that break at last through the riven
clouds to lighten up the Avorld again
after a succession of dark and stormy
days. How peaceful and happy are
the blissful words of hope and cheer
that touch the heart and fill the soul
with emotions of peace and joy af
ter a long period of sorrow and de
spondency, when uttered by some
disinterested friend. There are none
living that do not, in a greater or
less degree, have an influence over
the earthly happiness of others. The
sense of contributing to the pleasure
of others augments our o\ra happi
ness. Unselfishness, Christian char
ity, and loving kindness, are the sun
beams of the soul.
Advice fob Young Men.—Presi
dent AVhite, of Cornell University,
said recently, in an address to the
students: “If there is any man
whom from the bottom of my heart
I pity, it is the man who believes
that all mankind are cheats and
SArindlers, and who considers life
merely a game of grasping and grip
ping. H there is any young man for
whom I feel deep regret, as for a
man sure to fail, sure to live and die
wretchedly, it is the young man who
goes forth into the world believing
that the onjy motive's in the world
are selfish motives. Depend upon
it that selfishness is not the only mo
tive in this world— nay, it is not even
the strongest motive.
Good definitions are rare, as all
who consult AVebster’s Unabridged
well know. The editor of this pon
derous volume ought to be grateful
to the little boy, when asked by his
sister what capital punishment was,
replied that it was being locked up
in the cupboard with the jam ana
other nice things.
Patience is the ballast of the soul,
that will keep it from rolling and
tumbling in the greatest storms; and
he who will venture out without this
to make him sail even and steady
will Certainly make shipwreck and
drown himself, first in the cares and
sorrows of the world and then in
perdition.
“How do yon keep out of quarrels?”
asked one friend of another. “Oh,
easily enough,” was replied. “If a
man gets angry with me, I let him
have All die quarrel to himself.”