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YOL. II.
J. M. O. MEDLOCK. JETIIBO ABUSE. E. L. EODC-EES.
Uy iriedlock, Arliiic & Rodgers.
The Hejiaed is published in Sandersville,
<t;i. every Friday morning. Subscription
price TWO DOLLARS per annum.
Advertisements inserted at the usual rates,
y,, charge for publishing marriages or
deaths.
POETRY.
“His Comma; Home.”
Tour “leige lord” comes, His step I hear,
His man“v form is drawing near,
Put off that look of sadness now,
Chase every shadow from thy brow,
And meet him with a smile serene,
Tli o’ very dark thy day has been.
What matters though your heart be worn
With cares that all the day you’ve borne,
Until your very soul is faint ? ....
You m ust not—dare not make complaint.
So don llait smile—be joyful now,
Lest he should see your clouded brow,
And fail to read a welcome there,
After a day of toil and care!
“Good evening John, I’m glad you re here,
You look so tired and worn, poor dear.
You wan’tyour slippers—here they are,
Also your well-beloved arm-chair,
“Don'tbother me with questions, pray,
I'm tired—‘used up,’ and want to rest—
But my ! how horridly you’re dressed !
Your hair is rumpled—smooth it down !
And there’s a greece spot on your gown .
Your collar, too, is all awry !
Why Alary I do wish you’d try
Not to belooking such a fright
When I come home from work at night.
You’ve nought to do the livelong day
But dress yourself—then why, I pray,
Can’t you be looking fresh and sweet,
With hair well brushed and clothing neat.
You’ve work to do?’ O yes I know
What kind of work you women do.
You’ve nothing but your house to keep,
You sew a little- may be sweep.
Pshaw ! I could do such thing with ease,
And always look as neat as please
To make those children stop their fuss,
1 nevar was in such a muss !’’
Now whilst poor Mary stops the noise
Of merry-hearted girls and boys,
To John—one of creation’s lords—
I’ll give a few plain-spoken words:
“You ought to be ashamed, Sir John,
To vent your manly spleen on one^
Who loves you more than all beside,
And still will love whate’er betide.
Her you have promised well to love
In sight ol man and Him above,
Before whose bar you may not stand
With woman’s tear-stains on your hand .
For you she left her father’s home
Into a stranger’s land to come,
For kiss from you or loving smile,
She’d gladly travel many a mile.
And her reward for ceaseless care,
For days of toil, and nights of prayer,
O what is it most manly man ?
You trample her because you can.
For kiss you give her frowns or sneers,
And wonder when vou see her tears,
Why women will be ‘moping round’
When gold and silver both abound !
You know not that a woman deems
Lore better than Golconda’s gem;
And kindly word or gentle tone
A sweeter balm than Gilead s own.
You say you love your wife—ah well!
Why do you ne’er your fondess tell?
’Twill sound as sweet to her I know
As when you told her long ago,
In youth’s fresh flush of joy and pride,
tVlien she stood smiling by your side;
And when you vowed with heart so bold
That your fond love would ne’er grow cold.
O many wives are longing now
For tender kiss upon their brow,
And many, manv hearts are sad
That single word of love would glad.
There is a song which thus doth go,J
‘0 il you love me, tell ms so !’
John's Wife,
(but not this naughty John’s. -
SELECT MISCELLANY.
THE HILL AND THE TAYERN.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
“To my oldest son, Richard,. the
tavern-stand known as the ‘Red Lion,
and twenty acres of ground attach
ed thereto; and to my other son,
Jacob, the grist-mill on Dart Creek,
and the residue of my landed prop-
erty.”
Bo the will read. A deep silence,
and then a single word of dissatis
faction. It came from Jacob, the
Youngest son of the deceased Ricard
Cragan. His brother looked up with
a troubled expression on his face,
and their eyes met. ,
“The will is not to your mmd,
Richard said, gravely, but kindly.
“No, it is not,” answered Jacob,
with a hardness in singular contrast
with his brother’s subdued and gen-
tle manner. *
“You prefer the tavern-stand?
“Of course I would,” rejoined the
brother. .
“And I would prefer the mill. So
all can he satisfactorily adjusted,”
replied Richard, in a frank and cheer-
full way.
Jacob’s face was not the only one
that showed surprise. But as none
present had a right to question Rich
ard’s decision, there was no remon
strance or deprecatory remark.
“Well, you are a precious fool!”
said Harry Glenn, in an angry voice,
on meeting Richard Cragan next
day; “and, if Katy follows my, ad
vice, she’ll give you the mitten.” .
“What do you mean?” asked Rich
ard, showing some resentment at this
rude assault. .
“Just w 7 hat I say. Didn t your
father leave you the ‘Red Lion tav
ern-stand?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve given it to Jacob for
tli at miserable old grist-mill, on Dart
Creek ?”
“Yes.”
“H u m p !”—contemptuous 1 y—“I
knew 7 you were not remarkable for
wit, but did not imagine you were
such a cursed fool as you are. Why,
the tavern stand is worth forty times
as much as the grist-mill.”
SANDERSVILLE, GEORGIA, SEPTEMBER 19, 1873.
NO. 12.
“Maybe so, and maybe not,” re
plied Richard, with a flash in his
eyes that was unusual to th’eir blue
tranquility; “time will show. As for
me, I am satisfied ; and no one has
a right to question any decision I
may choose to make touching my
own affairs.”
“I have a right,” said Glenn, with
something offensive in his voice, “as
the brother of Katy—”
“Stop there, Harry!” interposed
Richard, in a voice so stern |and in
dignant, that Glenn moved back a
step or two in 'surprise. “I never
permit any one to meddle in my af
fairs, and you cannot be made an
exception. Katy has cast her lot
with mine, and her happiness is in
my keeping, not in yours.”
“Not quite cast in yet,” muttered
Harry Glenn, as he turned away from
Richard, whose ear caught the sen
tence. Its meaning he well under
stood.
On the evening of the same day
Richard met Katy Glenn, and no
ticed, with a sudden chillness about
his heart, a change in her manner.
She was very dear to him. He had
loved her ever since he was a boy—
with a steadiness that no coldness
on her part, no flirting with other
boys, or, as the years went on, other
young men, could diminish. She
was pretty, but wayward—the very
opposite of Richard Cragan, wdio
was so quiet, reserved, and true of
purpose. After a long series of ten
der vicissitudes, of pains and dis
couragements, of hopes and fears,
Richard at last had the ineffable
happiness of giving her the kiss of
betrothment. This happened only
a short time before his father’s death.
A cloud that looked no larger than
a man’s hand at first now appeared
in his sky. Rut it grew rapidly, and
in a little while filled the whole hori
zon, obscuring the sun.
“Is this true that I hear?” said
Katy.
“What?” asked Richard, his heart
falling like lead, for he understood
what she meant.
“That you have given Jacob the
handsome tavern-stand your father
left you, and taken that old grist
mill, and a few acres of poor land,
for your share.”
“It is true,” answered Richard.
“What could have possessed you
to do this?” said the maiden, ail
the beauty in her face dying out un
der thy hot flushes of a selfiish in
dignation.
“Because I would rather have the
mill, and earn my bread by useful
work, than burden my heart and life
with evils that are inseparable from
tavern-keeping. ’ ’
“Pshaw!” ejaculated Katy, in no
amiable tone. “As good men as you
have kept, and still keep tavern. Are
you better than your father?”
“I don’t set up as being better
than any one, Katy,” replied the
young man, whose face had become
very pale; “I only determine for
myself what I ought, or ought not to.
do. If I had not let my brother
take the ‘Red Lion,’ it would have
made no difference as to my own
future—I should have sold it, and
put the money into farm, or some
thing else by which I could make a
living.”
Katy bit her lips, and looked
angry and disappointed.
“I will never consent,” he resumed,
“to bring up a family amid the bale
ful associations of a tavern. There
are only two of us left out of six
brothers. Four of them died years
ago—and it is better that they died.
Oh, Ksit}'! try to think and feel as I
do. The mill has a good run of cus
tom. I shall improve it in my way,
and double its capacity. We shall
get along well—trust me for that,
and be, oh, so much happier! As
for me, I should have a restless, mis
erable, guilty feeling all the time if
I,kept a tavern, and sold drink to
the young men of our place—hurt
ing all, and doing good to none.”
And he shuddered at the bare
thought of such responsibility.
“As you like,” answered Katy, in
a chilling voice. “But, one thing is
certain, I’m not going to be cooped
up in the little pigeon house over at
the mill, you may count on that as
settled.”
“I will have it done up new all
over, and make it the nicest place
in the world,” said Richard.
“But you’ll never put me into it,”
cried Katy, with a sudden passion in
her voice.
“You are surely not in earnest,
Katy,” remonstrated Richard.
“I surely am,” she replied, tossing
her head in a way that hurt and am
azed the bewildered young man.
Richard Cragan sat silent and still
for a long time. Then, rising slow
ly, and with a quiver of pain running
over his pale face, he put out his
hand to Katy. She let hers fall in
to his coldly, not returning by the
slightest motion the pressure he
gave.
“Good-night, Katy!”
The girl would never have known
the voice as that of her lover.
“Good-night!” Not a pulse of
feeling beat in her tones.
Richard turned slowly away, and
left the house—but all the while, as
he went farther and farther fi om her,
his ear harkened for her voice break
ing out into a repentant cry, but
hearkened in vain!
It was all over with Richard and
Katy. The selfish, fickel and world
ly-minded girl, who was incapable
of such a love as glowed in the heart
of this young man, broke off her
engagement, and in less than a year
became the wife of his brother Jacob,
who installed her as mistress of the
“Red Lion,” which had been flitted
up in the most attractive style, and
was known as the best tavern for
miles around. The custom had more
than doubled since Jacob became
“mine host,” and the new owner was
beginning: to reap an abundant har
vest of profit.
Katy had her horse ard carriage,
her fine clothes, her personal ease
and comfort; pride and vanity were
gratified in may ways. Yet she was
not so happy as she expected to be.
Jacob was a different man from Rich
ard. He was harder, more selfish,
less scrupulous—and had little hesi
tation about trampling down with a
ruthless foot whatever came in the
way of his purposes. He had no
tenderness toward his wife, and nev
er seemed to regard her feelings,
comforts, or wishes in what he did.
Not that he was unkind to her—on
ly indifferent. There were no little
confidences between them—no con
cessions on his part to her wishes
and comforts, but a silent self-asser
tion that left her wholly out of his
business affairs, while in all that con
cerned her personally he seemed to
feel little or no interest.
No, Katy was not happy. Far
from it. And as the years went
past, the desire of her heart "was less
and less satisfied.
Richard Cragan took possession of
his mill, and began refitting, improv
ing, and setting things in order. All
the light of his life seemed for awhile
to have gone out. But his work kept
him up. There were not many in
the neighborhood who did not call
him a fool. But, in his own mind,
he never doubted or repented.
“Better so,” he would often say
to himself, “than bear the resposi-
bility of all that”—meaning fhe tav
ern. “I take no man’s money with
out giving him what is good in re
turn. My work will not come back
to curse me in after years. No fath
er or mother can ever say to me,
“Where is my boy ?—my poor, lost
boy, that was led astray in your bar
room?” No—no—no! I will give
the people bread, not a poison to
consume body and soul.”
The year's went on. Jacob Cra
gan grew rich ; but, alas! how many
became poor and and miserable that
he might abound in wealth. Rich
ard had no ambition beyond his mill,
and the thirty or forty acres of land
attached thereto. His first work
had been to put it in good order,
and year after year he made one im
provement after another, until he
had the finest mill in all that region,
and as much custom as he could
possibly attend to.
The miller did not marry. Katy
had been his first and only love ; his
heart never opened to another. Year
after year he grew better off; bat
not with the rapid increase that
marked the fortunes of his borther.
But there came a time when things,
began to change—when the owner
of the “Red Lion” grew less atten
tive to business, and more given to
sporting, and the company of sprort-
ing-men. A good customer at his
own bar, the veil of his work cursed
him as well as others. His feet drew
near to the pit he had digged for
other men, and the edge was crumb
ling away from them.
“The‘Red Lion’ is not what it used
to be,” said one and another of its
old customers.
“Jacob is going to the dogs, I’m
afraid,” was heard now and then,
half confidentially.
One day, more than twelve years
after Richard and Katy parted com
pany, the former, while standing at
his mill door, was surprised to see
his brother’s wife coming down the
road. She was alone,
“Why Katy!” he said, going out
to meet her, “what has brought you
away down here ?”
As he looked into her face, he saw
that it was full of trouble. “Is any
thing wrong?” he added.
“Yes, everything is-wrong,” she re
plied, her voice choking with the
sentence, “and I want to talktoyou.
Richard’s bachelor home stood
close by the mill, and he went in
with Katy.
“What is it?” he asked, with kind
ly interest.
“Oh, Richard!” She choked, and
sobbed, and then, controlling her
self, went on: “Oh, Richard ! I am
almost heart-broken. Things are
crorng to rack and ruin; and if there
isn’t some change, we 11 not have a
house over our heads in a year.
“Which may be the best thing
that can happen,” replied Richard.
“A tavern is a curse to all who have
anything to do with it, and the sooner
you. and .your children are out it, the
better.”
Katy covered her face, sobbing
and crying in weak, despairing way.
“I wish you would talk to Jacob,”
she said, after a few moments, look
ing at Richard with tearful, pleading
eyes.
“I have talked to him again and
again; but he only gets angry.”
“Yes—yes—that’s just it. I can’t
say a word without his flaring up,
and—and—cursing mel Oh, Rich
ard ! It’s dreadful how he goes on
sometimes!”
“I know. Tavern-keeping has
been his ruin ; and I wish he were
out of it—if it isn’t too late.”
“Too late!” The words sent a chill
through Katy’s heart.
“It isn’t too lak- for your boys, if
it is for thtir father,” Richard ad
ded, in a softer voice.
“But what else can Jacob do?”
asked Katy. “If we. give up the
tavern, we must starve.”
“Not so bad as that,” said Rich
ard.
“He’ll never turn his hand to any
thing else, you may be sure,” re
plied Katy.
“Necessity drives men to doing a
great many things.”
“It may drive him to do worse
than he is doing now,” answered
Katy. “He’s in with a dreadful bad
set of men—horse jockeys, and—
and—gamblers, I’m afraid ! Oh,
dear! And I’m getting worried
about Jimmy. . He had trouble with
the teacher, and has been home
from school now for three weeks,
and his father won’t make him go
back; says the teacher is a cross
old hunks, and not fit for his place.
And now he goes idling about, spend
ing his time in the bar-room, or
with the stable-boys. He’ll go to
ruin if something isn’t done.”
-Richard looked very grave. There
was so little in common between him
and his brother, that they had been
for a long time getting farther and
farther apart, and now rarely met.
“The sooner this tavern keeping
is broken up, the better,” he said,
after a long silence. “I can’t help
you now, Katy.. But when things
come to the worst I’ll do the best I
can for you. If I had Jimmy all to
myself, iu the mill, I am sure I could
make something out of Him. But
as things are. there’s no use talking
about that, Jacob wouldn’t give his
consent.”
Poor Katy went home but little
comforted; and Richard had a weight
of concern laid on his heart that was
not to be shaken off.
Later in the day, Richard was
surprised again. This time by a
visit from his brother, who had not
been at the mill for over two years.
Jacob -wanted him to go on his note
for three thousand dollars.
“I shall be sold out by the sheriff
if you don’t do it!” he said, after a
hurried statement of his affairs and
the pressing need for money that
was upon him.
Richard was silent for a long time,
trying to see what it was best for
him to do.
“Let the tavern go, Jacob,” he
said, at length. “It has cursed you
from the beginning, and will curse
you tenfold in your boys, if you keep
it. A sheriff’s sale, if it must come
to that, will, in my opinion, be the
most fortunate thing that can hap
pen to you. There are a hundred
other ways to make a living. Let
the tavern go, and then I will help
you in every way that I can. But
I should do wrong and hurt you and
yours if I put a single dollar into
that wretched, soul-killing concern.”
Jacob started up, all on fire with
anger. He shook his clenched fist
in his brother’s face, and cursed him
for “a mean, selfish hound.”
A sheriff’s sale did not take place.
But Jacob gave up his inheritance
in a compromise with his sporting
creditors—gamblers—and went off
to a new place, two or three hundred
miles distant, and set up another
tavern, but in a style far below that
in which he kept the “Red Lion.”
Years passed, and no certain news
from his brother and family came to
Richard. Once or twice he wrote
to him, but got no answer. A lonely
man, working on steadily and pa
tiently in his mill, the years crept
over him, and vied with the dusty
atmosphere in which he dwelt in
sprinkling his hair with gray. He
was spoken of far and near as the
kind old man at the mill; and the
gossips for once -had the truth, when
they told the story of his disappoint
ed love, and the mistake of Katy.
Twenty years had gone by since
Jacob Cragan sold out the “Red
Lion,” and moved away. One even
ing, late in November, Richard sat
in his solitary home, while the wind
and rain sobbed and sighed without,
feeling more lonely and disquieted
than was usual with him. His
thoughts had all gone out of his con
trol, back through more than thirty
years, and the image of Katy, for
whom a tender feeling had never
died out of his heart—the image of
Katy, in all the freshness and sweet
ness of girlhood—stood smiling and
happy before him. He was stirred
with feelings that he bad believed
dead and buried long ago. Then [
he thought of the fatal tavern which
had been given up to his brother,
and how it had blighted all their
lives.
“If I had kept it and closed it,”
he said in a kind of bitter self-accu
sation, “it might have been so differ
ent !”
He started and listened. A voice
bad faintly touched his ear. He
rose up, and moved toward the door.
The voice came to him again, and
then a low answering voice. He
threw the door wide open, and let
the light stream out. Then he saw
two women, closely wrapped up,
coming in from the road through ms
little gate. -
“Richard! oh, Richard!” one of
them cried faintly, and tried to hur
ry forward, but stumbled and fell on
the wet ground. In an instant she
was lifted in his strong arms and
carried into the house.
The voice—how like the old voice
that had been for all these years as
the sound of music in his soul; but
the face, when he looked into it,
alas! how changed. Old, shrunk
en, faded—even haggard ! What a
wreck! What a transformation!
“I have come here to die, Rich
ard. I have no right; but—”
Sobs choked the voice.
‘ Hush, Katy.” Then, “Where is
Jacob ?”
“Dead.”
“Dead ?”
“Yes,” in a steadier voice.
“How long since?”
“Not long, a month. This is Katy,
my youngest child. You never saw
her before.”
Richard looked into the girl’s face,
as the light fell upon it, and trem
bled. He was back again through
thirty years, and Katy, in the sweet
May-time of life, stood before him!
“Dear child!” said the old man,
as he took her hand and kissed it
very tenderly.
The story that Richard heard
that night was sad and sorrowful to
the last degree. Both of his broth
er’s sons grew up to be miserable
drunkards, and died in the prime of
manhood. His oldest daughter mar
ried their barkeeper, who broke her
heart and then deserted her. She
(lead. Three children were left,
and were now with the husband’s
parents, who were low people, and
not fit to have charge of them.
“There is room here for all,” said
Richard Cragan, when the sad his
tory was told. He asked no par
ticulars about his brother’s life and
death, and Katy did not intrude
them.
A week later, and the last day of
another mortal life was closed. Dark
and stormy had been the years that
preceded this dying day; but as the
sun drew near the western hills, the
clouds broke suddenly, and golden
rays came flooding the earth and
brightening all the air. Ail.that
Richard Cragan could do to soften
the pillow on which lay dying his
early and only love, was done. ;
“They shall be mine,” he said.
“Your Katy shall be my Katy; and
the children out West shall be my
children.” ;
And smiling in gratitude and calm ;
content, the woman died—died with I
a single, sweet draft from a cup that j
love had filled for her years and j
years ago, but which she pushed |
aside for another that held only gall j
and wormwood.
Richard Cragan kept his word to ;
the dying one; Katy’s daughter and
grandchildren were taken to his
home. Their presence gave new
life to the old mill, and a new grace
and charm to his dwelling that filled
his soul with a sweetness once
dreamed of, but never tasted before.
It was a pleasant sight to see
them all together, in the waning
summer afternoons, gathered abont
the mill door, after the great wheel
was still, and the air no longer jarr
ed by the rumble of machinery.
There was peace, and sweet content;
and Hope for the young lives over
which, when their morning broke,
dark clouds hung and threatened.
Coffee Grounds and Melons.—
It is said that coffee ’grounds, which
are very rich in nitrogen, form an
excellent manure for melons. In
order to produce the best effect, they
should be mixed with the earth
which farms the bed, so that they
should be well decayed by the time
the roots begin to develop,
A widow in New York has been
three times married. Her first hus
band} was Robb, the second Rob
bins, and the third Robbinson. The
same door plate has served for the
whole three, and the question now is,
what extended name can be procur
ed to fill out the remainder of the
space ofit.
Friendship has a noble effect up
on all states and conditions. It re
lieves our cares, raises our hopes,
and abates our tears. A Mend who j
relates his success, talks himself m- :
to a new pleasure ; and by opening ,
his misfortunes, leaves part of them;
behind him. i
The Mother’s Prayer.
Once there was a good mother
whose chief prayer for her little boy
in his cradle, was that he might have
a loving heart. She did not pray
that he might be wise, or rich, or
handsome, or happy, or learned, or
that others might love him, but only
that he might love.
When that little boy, whose name
was Edward, grew up, it seemed as
if his mother’s prayer had been an
swered, and that, in making it, she
had been wiser than she knew or
dreamed.
She had not prayed that he might
be wise; but somehow the love in
his heart seemed to make him wise,
and to lead him to choose what is
best, and to remember all the good
things he was taught.
She had not prayed that he might
be rich; but it turned out that he
was so anxious to help and serve
others, that he found the only way
to do that was to get the means of
helping; and so he became diligent,
thrifty, and prompt in business, un
til at last he had the means he
sought.
Edward’s mother had not prayed
that he might be handsome; but
there was so much love and good
will manifest in his face, that peo
ple loved to look on it; and its
expression made it handsome, for
beauty attends love like its shadow.
The prayer had not been that he
might be happy; but—dear me!
how can there be love in the heart
without happiness ? Edward had
no time for moping discontent, for
revenge, or anger. He was too busy
thinking what he might do for oth
ers ; and in seeking their happiness,-
he found his own.
But was he learned? Of course,
when he found it pleased his pa
rents to have him attend to his
studies, he did his best; and though
there were many boys quicker and
apter than he, yet Edward generally
caught up with them at last; for
love made him attentive and earn
est.
But last of all, though Edward
loved others, did others love him?—
That is the simplest question of all.
You must first give love if you would
get it. Yes, everybody loved Ell-
ward, simply because he loved eve
rybody. And so I advise those lit
tle boys and girls who think they are
not loved, to put to themselves the
question, “But do you love?”—Emi
ly Carter, in The Nursery.
A Debate.
Editors Herald: On Monday last
we opened, in school-room some
thing that might be termed a “large
debate,” and we supposed that it de
served credit, and we are resolved
to have it in the columns of the
Herald. The question is this: was
it in the 14th or the loth century,
that America was discovered by
Christopher Columbus, 1492.
Some of our schoolmates said
that it was in the 14th, while some
few of ns said we thought, and pos
itively knew that it was in the 15th ;
and right here, the question rose.
Some of the fourteeners (as we will
call them), tried to explain the ques
tion on the blackboard, by letting 1
represent the birth of Christ, 2 the
first century, 3 the second, and so on
until Hfe came to the 15th, saying
that it lacked 8 years of being to the
15th. But that was not the point,
14 centuries had expired, and 92
years of the 15th, lacking 8 years of
being 15 centuries. We admitted
that whole centuries had not expired,
but 92 years of the fifteenth had;
making this 92 years in the 15th.
But make some men believe it—why
we could come just about as nigh
stretching forth our hands, and pull
the great luminary from the heavens.
But that makes no difference with
us, we know, and others may believe
if they wish.
But away with that, this young
man who tried his skill on the board,
forgot we guess that he had learned
that it was in A. D. 1492, plain and
evident, that 1400 {years had done
gone. One hundred makes a centu
ry, and 1400 years have gone. Any
man or woman, of common sense
and judgment, will know that 14
centuries have expired; and we would
like very much to know what they
will do with this 92 years. We hope
that they will not try to murder nor
press it back in the 14th. We are
sure they cannot do it, but it seems
as if they were trying to put 1492
years in 14 centuries, making 106 4-7
years in each century, when there is
but 100 years.
This' question is thought very lit
tle of by the people of the present
time, and we doubt very much of
its ever being. Rut these fourteen
ers trying to put 1492 years in 14
centuries, “Laws a massey,” that
beats Saul (beats all.)
Yours sincere, &c .y
“Fifteeners.”
Honest and courageous people
have very little to say about either
their courage or their honesty. The
sun has no need ip boast of his
brightness, nor the moon of her efful
gence.
Sale of Chinese Women.
The San Francisco correspondent
of the New York World details re
volting scenes of Chinese degrada
tion and immorality in that city. A
ship just arrived at the date of the
World correspondent’s letter had on
board nineteen women, who were
immediately taken in charge by the
police. They proved to be all above
the infant age—though it Was be
lieved many of them were under
age—and the corporation was com
pelled to set them at liberty. First,
however, they were offered situa
tions; but under Chinese threats
or fears, it is supposed, they went
off with their countrymen and fell
into the hands of the “Hip Yee
Tong.” They first paid the ring
$40 each, and then it received ten
per cent, on the purchase money
paid for them at auction. Each was
brought out, one after another, into
the auction room in a nude state
and cried out to the highest bidder.
The prices paid ranged from $250
to $425. The writer says he had
seen negro sla\es sold in the South
ern States; Turks at the slave mar
ket in Constantinople; Arabs in
Alexandria at an auction of eunuchs,
and Eastern jockeys at a horse sale;
but he had never witnessed any
thing so revolting as this sale of
Chinese women. The municipal au
thorities have endeavored to sup
press this horrible traffic in Chinese
women, but so far the social evil
continues. Heavy fines and impris
onment have been decreed and are
imposed upon any party convicted.
There is in San Francisco a “ring,”
known as the “Hip Yee Tong,” which
imports Chinese women, and sells
them in the manner above describ
ed. With polygamy in Utah and
the traffic in Chinese women in Cal
ifornia, the people of the Pacific are
making rapid progress in civiliza
tion. Here is a fine field for the
philanthropists of the North to labor
in. The President and the Admin
istration might do the country some
service by sending old Brownlow
and Credit Mobilier Harlan to re
form the abuses of the “Hip Yee
Tong,” and Freedman’s Bureau
Howard and Smiling Colfax to labor
among the erring sisters of Utah.
The virtuous Morton and the im
maculate Matt Carpenter would
doubtless be willing to labor in con-
S action with old Brownlow and old
oward in removing the social evils
of Utah and California.
The Right Time.—Reproof must
be administered gently, if at all. If
you are annoyed or vexed at people,
just remember it is not the right time
to speak. Close your mouth, shut
your teeth together firmly, and it
will save you many a useless and
unavailing regret, and many a bitter
enemy. If you happen to feel a lit
tle cross,—and who among us does
not at some time or other?—do not
select that season for reproving your
noisy household flock. One word
spoken in passion will make a scar
that a summer of smiles can hardly
heal over. If yon are a wife, never
tease your husband when he comes
home, weary from his day’s business.
It is not the right time. Do not ask
him for expensive outlays when he
has been talking about hard times; it
is most assuredly the wrong time. If
he has entered upon any undertaking
against your advice, do not seize on
the moment of its failure to say, “I
told you so!” In fact, it is never
the right time for those four mono
syllables. Oh, if people only knew
enough to discriminate between the
right time and the wrong, there
would be less domestic unhappiness,
less silent sorrow, and less entrange-
ment of heart!
Remedy fof. Chicken Cholera.—
The Plantation says: B. H. Knapp,
Esq., of this city, in a communication
to the Atlantic Sun, states that he
has found a mixture of two ounces
each of red pepper, alum, rosin and
sulphur to be an infallable remedy
for this scourge to the poultry yard,
and adds:
“Last summer I lost more than
fifty common fowls from cholera.—
My Buff Cochins not being at all
affected. When glancing over the
columns of the Rural New Yorker, I
chanced to see the above mixture
recommended, and tried it—mixing
one tablespoon in three pints of
scaldad meal; and though several
fowls were in the last stages of the
disease, they recovered, and I have
not lost a chicken since. In severe
cases I would advise giving abont
one-third of a teaspoonful in a meal
pellet to each fowl everyday till welL
Put a small lump of alum, say the
size of a hickory nut, in their drink
ing water.”
A wag, seenig a door nearly, off its
hinges, in which condition it had
been some time, observed that when
it had fallen and killed some one it
would probably be hung.
Lea sure is a very pleasant gar
ment to look at, but it is a wBry bad
one to wear.
