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r., jidiiwwffim 1 - >(i a i YOL. II. =ij& SAN DERS VILLE GEORGIA, OCTOBER 31, 1873. ~ NO. 18. M a JIEDLOCK. JETHRO ARLINE. It. L. RODGERS. By Jledlock, Ar!iue & Rodgers. Tni: Herald is pubiislied in Sandersville, j (}a every Friday laorning. Subscription j price TWO DOLLARS per annum. " ^ Ivertisements inserted at the usual rates. | Xo charge for publishing marriages “ deaths. POETRY. every thing around her to make life desirable ?” “Everything but a husband,” inter rupts his sister. “Ah, Harry! I am afraid you do not understand our sex. a man she loves, to sacrifice wealth. and a half after our marriage Fred dy was born, and I came very near losing my May then. For two months she never left her room. Then—for T — misfortunes never come singly—I fell .Letae would be contented, for j from a scaffold and broke my leg. she loves to saenfloo i Q ur mone y was gone and we were The Last Talk. : I >ut in the garden and walk with me, i- the dancers whirl to that dreamy .. moonlight silvers the sleeping sea, ti:-' ' orivl is fair as a night in June, hoi i \ our hand as I used to do; is the’iast, last time, you know, o-.utow a wooer comes to woo to win vou, though I love you so. She told me long before she saw you, | pretty badly off. I hardly know that she expected when she married j we would have done then if mv credit to begin just as her mother before i had not been good. Harry, take her began. She could not expect a j my advice, and never accept credit young man to have gained the j until you are compelled to. By al- wealtli it nas taken her father years | ways dealing on cash principles,- you >.!'• -or is it the moonlight’s hat sorrow-fix gleam look ? it hist from our- Stun me , .a > . i\oy uis poem s-.veet; uJt . ; r ;'ie i.ii I, we must say ia re well— A i. hut the Summer was fair and fleet. Do you remember the night we met? fwu wore a rose.in your raven hair, Closing my eyes, T c.-tn see you yet, Just as you stood on the topmost stair, Aflutter of white from head to feet, A cluster of buds ou your breast. Ahme! But the vision was nev er half so sweet As it is to-night in my memory. Hear the viols cry, and the deep bassooq Seems sobbing out in its undertone Soule sorrowful memory. The tune Is the saddest one I have ever known. Or is it because we must part to-night, That the music seems so sad? Ail me ! You are weeping, Love, and your lips are white — Tne ways of life are a mystery. I love you, Love, with a love so true That in coming years I shall not torget The beautiful face and the dream I knew, And memory always will hold regret. I shail stand by the seas as we stand to-night, And t hink of the Summer whose blossoms died, When the frosts of fate fell chill and white On the fairest flower of the Summer-tide. They are calling you. Must I let you go? Must I say good-bye, and go my way ? If we must part, it is better so— Good-bye’s such a sorrowful word to say! Give me, my darling, one last, sweet kiss— So we kiss our dear cues, and see them die; But death holds no parting so sad as this; God bless you, and keep you—and so— good-bye! to accumulate. Besides, you know Harry, that, withal, they do not live luxuriously, and keep but one ser vant.” “But I could not keep even that. And see how beautifully their house is furnished. Ah! could I take Let- tie, whom I love, from a home like that, and place her in a cottage with two or three rooms, scantily furnish ed ? Nt>* no, May,—my heart would break.” “My dear Harry, did you never notice, in your visits to Mrs. Sut ton’s, how plain their furniture would appear were it not for Lettie’s hand iwork? Be assured that if she were placed in two or three scantily fur nished rooms, they would soon look got it. My May was able to sit by me and do light fancy work long before I could get up; and the same kind of work that had made our room so beautiful, nearly supported us. As I lay there and saw her working—knowing how feeble she was -I cannot say that I blamed myself for taking her from her home. At last I recovered and was able to resume my labors. Sat urday nights regularly I brought home my week’s wages and gave it to May, wondering how she managed to keep house for three with it, whenl had handsomely furnished. My dear j found it no more than enough to sup- brother, you are in the same mind as ; port myself. I was fortunate in was my husband before he married, keeping to work—i an old maid. Eh, May ?” and Ned left the room, laughing. “Tell me, sister, do you really be lieve Lettie wouid be unhappy if— “You did not ask her to become a mechanic’s wife. Brother, I should advise you to go to headquerters for your answer. I will not betray con fidence, but be assured that I wonld not adviseyou to a step that I thought you would regret.” That be did go to headquarters we may believe, for two months after, the names of IIany- Norton and Miss Lettie Sutton appeared in the news- following this principle, u hen I really i papers under the head of “Married;” did need credit I got it. My May It was firmly establish yourself as a reli able customer to all business men you may come in contact with. By SELECT MISCELLANY. A MECHANIC’S STORY. “I tell you, May, that I will nev er marry, unless Dame Fortune smiles on me more favorably than she has done as yet.” “Nonsense, Harry! You have the disposition to make some woman happy, and it is wrong for you to say so.” “Why, May, you seem to forget that I am but a mechanic, earning suck scanty wages that I can but support myself. If I had a wife we would starve.” “That is a great mistake. If you get a good economical girl—one who loves you for -yourself—it will, I m sure, cost you no more to live than it does now.” “How can that be? You know’ well that I am no spendthrift. ’ i know, my dear brother, that v uu are one of the most temperate, mural young nu a in existence,” and !i:s sister’s arm was ’ around him; ••'it I also know that no matter how >•: -.-•deal a man may be, be cannot u r n.e to a true wife. You think Gnu you can earn enough only for yourself, but if you had a true wife you wouid find that you could sup port her also. There are many lit tle expenses attending single life that you do not think of. A man spends, without thinking, enough to support a wife—if he could but real ize tiie fact. Ask my husband if it is not true.” “Your husband, May! W hat does he know- about it ? You have your homestead and a couple of houses besides, while your husband is a partner in Wade’s boiler foundry, which represents a large capital.” “And twm bright children who graduate next month. Don’t forget them, brother, for they are our great est pride. Harry, dear, you were a mere babe when we married, and although my brother, knew very little about us until two years ago, when you came to this city. But, if you ask Ned, he will tell you that when we were first married lie was but a mechanic, receiving mechanic’s wages. All we J>ave has been acquir ed since.” “May, can that be possible ? Well you have been furtunate—I might not be.” “I was in hopes, brother that you would not be insensible to Lettie’s Ask him to tell you his experience. “Tell my experience, says a cher ry voice, and a good-natured, honest face appeared at the door. “That I will; but what is it for?” “To encourage Harry to marry,” answered the wife, as she went to meet her husband. “He thinks that he is too poor to marry.” “Too poor to marry ? Nonsense! Harry has two thousand dollars in the bank. Just one thousand nine hundred and fifty dollars more than I had when the little room which we took when we were first married was furnished and a month’s provisions provided for. That’s so !” he added as Harry looked incredulous. “You were such a wee little fellow that of course you know nothing of it. Rat tle boxes and sweatmeats were of more consequence to you than your sis er’s future life ; and, as we have been separated by an ocean nearly ever since, I suppose that our life- story will be a new one for you, so I’ll tell it, if V’ou wish. I first met your sister,” iie began, after he was comfortably seated, “at a social that was given in aid of some charity fund, and I never shall forget the impres sion her blue eyes had upon me. It was really a case of love at first sight. After that I met her several times and one evening, with a friend of mine, called upon her. Whatever hopes I might have indulged in were entirely banished as we entered the parlor. I could never hope to win her. I could never ask her to leave that home and accept the fortunes of a poor mechanic. When I left her that night I resolved never to see her again, if I could avoid it. For three days I held to my resolution. At the end of that time I found it impossible to resist the temptation of calling just once more. I yielded. Again ami again I visited her, think ing that each time should be the Just. At length I could no longer hide from myself that my iove was returned. The kno wledge thrilled me with pleas ure and it tortured me with pain. I .then commenced to blame myself for • hot adhering to my first reso lution ; but it had gone too far—it was useless to think what I ought to have done. For her sake I could do what I had uot the courage to have done myself. I would leave the city. I went to bid her good-bye. I had not intended to tell her that it was through her I left, but some how it came out. She did not deny her love for me, but I told her I would not bind her to such a life as mine. Her pride prevented her making any reply to this; and I doubt, feeling as I did then, if I would have listened to her, even if she had insisted upon my remaining. M3 7 destination was west. After being gone some two years, I began to grow restless. I sold out m3- land and came back. What was my surprise to hear that your father had failed and was obliged to accept a clerk’s position. From his scant3’ income he was sup porting his family—a wife and five children. They were living in a cot tage in the suburbs of the city. I went there as quickly as possible, expecting to find them in poverty;' but, to m3 r surprise, the parlor looked as cheerful and almost as well furn ished as when they lived on street, May and her father cordially greeted me, and,observing m3’glances around the room your mother said: keeping to work—partialty because my employer knew I had a family to support, and partially because I was industrious and sober. But a great sorrow fell upon us. Freddy died when he was seven years old. About three 3-ears after this event little May was born. We had re moved into a little cottage, after having lived in one room two 3-ears, and in three rooms six years. So you see, we were steadily gaining, though very slowly, you will say. One da3 T —it was the da3 r before Christ mas—I returned home earlier than usual. M3 t wife’s eyes beamed with unusual brightness, and I asked her ; what news she had received. “Some thing pleasant,’ she replied. “Am I not to be a sharer in it?” “Not just yet, Ned, dear.” I thought that she must have received good news from her father—who, I forgot to say, had gone to England four years previous, having received a trilling inheritance through his uncle. After the children were in bed May and I sat chatting until twelve o’clock. As we counted ' the strokes, I took from my pocket i my Christmas gift to Ma3'. I had I come to the conclusion that we could not afford nicknacks, but a watch was what she needed, and a watch was what I bought for her—though I could not then afford a chain. She thanked me for it, and I could see that it was quite a surprise. She thrust her hand in her pocket, and drew forth a paper, which she gave • me. I opened the paper, and found it the deed of four lots in the sub- j urbs of the cit3*. My first thought i was that she had received a legacy, as did her father; but she told me J that she had saved the mone3’ from j m3 r wages. That mone3 T saved from ; my wages that was no more than j enough to support me ! I need not 1 trouble you much longer. In a few j years there were cottages built? upou j those jlots, and the rent for them came in very convenient^-. Later the cottages were moved back and handsome fronts built upon them. You are in one now.” “But Ned, 3 r ou said the suburbs. This is in the heart of the cit3’,” said Harry j as Ned paused in his narra tive. “The city sometimes grows, my dear Harry. We are comfortably enough off now; but your sister in sists upon doing her own work, in order that the children may have the benefit of a good education. They will be home in a month, and proba bly then May will take a little rest.” “I must thank 3 7 ou, Ned, for let ting me know what a treasure m3 7 sister is. You will find few like her.” “True, Harry; but we would find more did husbands realize the fact that wives should be treated as com panions and confidants. If a wo man is treated as a child, receiving money or a new dress every now and then from her husband the same as he would give a child a toy, or can- d3 7 , he cannot expect her to interest herself.” i Hotheaded “Marriagein High Life,” for the bridegroom was but a mechanic.—Golden Era. A Good Lesson. If your bo3’s revolt from stud3 T , give them an opportunity to test the { ileasure of manual labor, and then et them follow the occupation they prefer. In nine cases out of ten, books will carry the day. “When I was a bo3 7 ,” said the elder Adams, “I had to study the Latin grammar, but it was dull, and I hated it. My father was anxious to send me to college; therefore, I studied gram mar till I could bear it no longer, and going to m3- father, I told him I did not like study, and asked for some other employment. I was op posing his wishes, and be was quick in his answer. “Well, John, if Lat in grammar does not suit, you may try ditching, perhaps that will. My meadow needs a ditch, and 30U may put by Latin and try that;” this seemed a delightful change, and to the meadow I went. ButT soon found ditching harder than Latin, andjhe first forenoon was the long est I ever experienced. That day I ate the bread of labor, and glad was I when night came on. That night I made some comparison between Latin grammar and ditching, but said not a word about it. I dug the next forenoon and wanted to return to Latin at dinner, but it was humil iating, and I could not do it. At night toil conquered pride, and I told my father—one of the severest trials of in}- life—that if he chose, I would go back to Latin grammar. He was glad ol it; and, if I have since gain ed any distinction it has been owing to the two da3’s’ labor in that abom inable ditch.” From the Chronicle and Sentinel. To the Planters. The communication signed “A Friend to the Planters” is from one of the most virtuous and distinguish ed of Georgia’s citizens. The obli gations resting upon those who have obtained advances to make their crops are both sacred and imperative, and their duty, in the present em barrassed condition of the merchants and factors, is to send their cotton to market as soon as baled. Every planter who has received advances should do all m* his power to fulfill his contract in good faith, and thus enable our merchants to meet their paper when it falls due. So much, at least, of the cotton as may be nec- essar3 T to liquidate honestly contrac ted debts should be forwarded to market without delay. And, indeed, this must be done in order to save our people from the ruin which stares them in the face, and which honesty and good faith alike demand shall be averted by the timely action of the producer in forwarding the crop to market. When the planter has met his obligations, he can, if he sees proper, hold that portion of his cot ton which belongs to himself for bet ter prices. But now his first duty is to forward his cotton to the merchant or factor to pay his honestly contrac ted debts. them, are you very sure that any probable increase of price you may get by breaking faith with your fac tors will enable you unaided to make the next crop? If you break the faifh upon which you got help to make this, whence do you expect to get help for the next ? Honesty is not onty in itself a jewel beyond price, but it is the best policy. If you have failed, owing to adverse circnmstances, to meet your obliga tions, pay what you can and your factors and all good men will sympa thize with you and help you again. But if you speculate upon broken promises and ruined factors, you must meet a fearful reckoning. The Planters Friend. (•harms. You seem so suited to each , . , other, that I am afraid I have built ! Ibis is all May’s work. She has castles in the air.” ! macle ™ 1S cotta S e so pleasant that I “I do love Lettie, Mav—too dearly } scarcely miss our old home. To to ask her to share the life of a me- make a long story short, I thought chauic ” f 1 that I could keep May as comforta- “ -I’d offer thee this hard hand of hie as she could then be kept, and mine if I could love thee we were mamed. TVe took a room less’-that’s your belief is it, Harry? and furnished it, I had then just Well, I do not know but there is j fifty dollars leL. I soon got to work sooner than if I had been single— much to admire in that but at the same time, I sentiment; think it a lame to keep from Lettie a husband so suited to her.” “May. Jiow can I ask one who has for a married man is always given the preference. What money I re ceived I gave to May, who had the management of the house. A year “Have 3 7 ou succeeded in convinc ing Harry that he is rich enough to marry?” asked May as she re-enter ed the room. She had left them alona when her husband began his story. “I hope so. How is it Harry ?” “I still hesitate to take Lettie to such a home as I have for her. You succeeded very well, I own, but I dare not trust to fortune.” “I see that Harry is determined to make Lettie miserable Imaginary Happiness. A large number of people imagine they can be happy in affairs which would be burdensome to them in less than a month. A lady who has al- wiys been clothed in elegant appar el imagines she could be happier if she were in the place of the milk-maid whom she sees every morning with pail on her head, singing some cheer ful little song, and in return the milk maid imagines she wonld be happier if she could wear silks and satins. The man who has always lived in a palace, and had servants to attend to his wants envies the rustic, and in return the rustic envies him his pal ace and gardens. The school-girl en vies the lady who sits in the parlor, receives company and attends all the balls and parties; the young lady envies the school-girl, for she knows her school days were the happiest part of her life. The school-boy en vies the man of the world, the man envies the boy, for his life was one of care and trouble, aud so ad infinitum. Now, the true secret of happiness is in contentment. To the Planters. Editors Chronicle <£• Sentinel : Certain letter-writers, newspaper coirespondents and lecturers, who have constituted themselves special guardians of the planters of Geor gia, have recent^’ been flooding the State with advice, which is equally barren of financial wisdom and sound morality. One says hold your cotton for higher prices—another, keep 3’our cotton until your factors ’ agree to give you twenty cents per pound ; the price will go up to that point, and you are entitled to it. Now, in the case of a planter who j has produced his cotton solely upon • his own resources, this policy may do j well enough. He has the moral and * legal right to hold aud take the risk." But what proportion of all the plan- j ters in the State are in this condition? j Do the sage advisers of the planters, j above alluded to, know that a large j majority of the planters have been J enabled to conduct their operations j and make their cotton by means of 1 advances from the factors ? Dofthejwj know that the factors have been ’en- ‘ abled to make these advances by • loans from the banks, and that the j advances to planters and loans to factors mature generally on or abouT. the first of November ? Do they know that unless the planter meets his obligation to his factor the latter can not meet his obligation to the banks? : Do they know that unless the factor’s obligations to the banks are prompt ly met, they, the banks, will bo utter- 13- powerless to provide currency to move the cotton ? Do they know, that from such a state of tilings- there must necessarily result stag nation in commerce and paratysis of 1 all industrial pursuits ? If they do ’ not know these things, let them go : back to school to learn something of j the course of business in this coun try—of the natural dependence and j connection of different industrial Yellow Fever in Bainbridge— From a private letter to Mr. James Yan Horn, of this city, we learn that the dreadful scourge, yellow fever, has reached the beautiful and heal thy little city of Bainbridge and car ried away five of its people in one night. The sickness of the town and county is very great. We deep ly sympathise with Bainbridge in this her hour of deep distress.' We hope that the cold weather of this week and the heavy frost which vis ited it Monday night will clear away the prevailing sickness and render the city healthy and prosperous. The list of deaths on Sunda3 7 night last are as follows : Jesse King, Hartwell Swarengen, Mrs. Cloud, Mrs. Louis Ehrlrich and Haywood Merritt. All of these died in one night, in a city of less than 2,500 inhabitants. For several weeks past the people of that section have been suffering from cli matic yellow fever, but the letter says that the physicians of that city pronounce the type of fever, of which the above deceased died, the same as that prevailing at Shreve port and Memphis, or in other words, the genuine yellow fever. We hope that the physicians may be mista ken.—Central City. Yellow Fever in Texas.—A Pic ayune special of the 22d inst., says: “Galveston is full of refugees from Bryan, Calvert and Columbus, with more coming by each train. Tele grams from Columbus report th6 fe ver increasing fast and of a very fatal ^ t3~pe, with four deaths in twelve j ? an > an( I a fi his business by the way 1 Hon. George W. Smith and 1S — e r ' - 1 —- 1 - 1 The Happy Man and True Gentle man. , The happy man was born in the city of regeneration in the parish of repentance unto life. He was edu cated at the school of obedience, and lives now by faith in persever ance. He works at the trade of dili gence, “notwithstanding he has a large estate in the country of Chris tian contentment, and inan3’ times does jobs of self denial. He wears the plain garb of humanity. He often walks in the valley of self abase ment, and sometimes climbs the mountain of spiritual mindedness. He breakfasts every morning upon spiritual prayer, and sups every evening upon the same. He has meat to eat that the world knows not of, and his drink is the sincere milk of the word. Thus happy he li\es and happy he dies.” Happy is he who has gospel submission in his will, due order in hie affections, sound peace in his conscience, sanc tifying grace' in his soul, true humili ty in his heart, real divinity in his breast, the Redeemer’s yoke on his neck, a vain" world under his feet and a crown of glory over his head; happy is tbs life of such a person! In order to attain which, prav fer vently, believe firmly, wait patiently, work abundanth’. live holilv, die daily, watch your heart, guide your senses, redeem your time, love Christ and long for glory. A true gentle man is God’s servant the world’s master and his own man. Yirtue is business study, bis recreation, con tentment, his rest and happiness, his reward, God is his father, the Church is his mother, the saints are his brethren, and he is a friend to all that need him: Heaven is his inheri tance, religion is his mistress, loyal ty and justice his two maids of hon or, devotion his chaplian, chastity his chamberlain, sobriety his butler, temperance his cook, hospitality his housekeeper, providence his steward, charit3* his treasurer, piet3 r is mistress of the house, and discreation is port er, to let in and out as is most fit. Thus is his whole family made up of riitues, and he is the true master of the family. He is necessitated to take the world in his way tolieaven; but he walks through it as fast as he hours J. W. Harcourt are among the vic tims. The place is almost depopula- A special relief train was for warded to-day with physicians from Galveston. Calvert telegrams re port nine deaths in 24 hours. The disease continues very violent. Bus iness is almost entirely suspended. Crops of Georgu.—In 1870 Geor gia produced 308,890 bushels of spring wheat and 1,818,127 bushels winter wheat—in all 2,127,017. Of corn she produced 17,646,459 bush els; of cotton, 473,934 bales; of tobac co, 288,569 pounds; of oats, 1,904,601 bushels; of hay, 10,518 tons; of swine she had 988,566 head, and to these add her product of cattle, goats, poultry sugar cane, rice, sweet po tatoes and coons and ’possums to bake with them. The main fault with all her crops was they were not big enough. She bought more is to glorify the name of God and do good to mankind. Take him all in two words—He is a man—a Chris tian.—From an old Theological Maga zine, 1797. Read an Hour a Day.—There was a lad who, at fourteen, was ap- E renticed to a soap dealer. One of is resolutiont was to read an hour a da3% or at least at that rate. He had an old silver watch left him by his uncle, by which he timed his reading. He stayed seven years with his master, and it was said when he was twenty-one that he knew as much as the young squire did. Now let us see how much time he had to read in, seven years, at the rate of one hourada3’. It would be 2,555 hours which, at the rate of eight hours a day, would be equal to three hundred and ten days; equal to forty weeks, nearly one year’s reading. It is surely worth trying. See what you can do. Begin' now. In after years you will look back up on the task as the most pleasant and profitable 3’ou ever performed. than a bush el of corn and oats and pursuits before they undertake the j w k ea t I° r every one she raised, to role of teachers. If they do know ! say. nothing of swine wherein we probably invested more than four for one. The food question is the trou ble in this State. We buy more than half our food at double price, be cause we transport it about a thou sand miles.—Telegraph <£ Messenger. In Atlanta, on Saturday, in the neighborhood of the Rolling Mill, a mother poured a tub full of scalding w r a ter. She went out the door, and when she returned she found her baby in the tub. It had crawled up and fallen in. The mother it out as quick as possible, but the poor child was scalded so that the skin slipped whenever touched. It died Sunday “May you know that it is because morning. I do not wish to make her miserable _ that I hesitate to ask her to marry, j A western stump orator, in one of Her happiness is dearer to me than j his speeches remark: “Gentlemen, if my own life.” the Par-sy-fix Ocean wor an inkstand “Ask my wife which was the un- and the hull clouded canopy of heav- happiest part of her life, and f am en and the level ground of our yearth convinced that she will tell you that it was when I was of 3’our opinion and she was in danger of becoming w 7 or a sheet of paper, I couldn’t be gin to write m3’ love of country on to it.” them, let them return to the Sunday School and learn something of the obligations of promises of the main tenance of personal integrity before they assume the sacred office of keepers of other men’s consciences. Verily, verily, one knows not which most to admire, the financial wisdom or the moral probity of these noisy advisers. Now a word to the honest, clear sighted planters who have sought aid at commercial points tc make their crops. When you borrowed money | further and ‘the deeper the roots Private Prayer.—The root that produces the buautiful and flourish ing tree, with all its spreading branch es, verdant leaves, and refreshing fruit, that gains for it sap, life, vigor, and fruitfulness, is all unseen, and from 3’our factors and gave your notes payable on the first of Novem ber, or on some later day, did 3 0U make it a condition of prompt pay- ment that you should get twenty spread beneath the more the tree ex pands above. Christians, if you long to bring forth all the fruit of the Spirit, strike your roots deep and wide in pi ivate pra3’er. That cents or any other stipulated price | faith and support, that strength aud r — 0 TJ! -~ L 1 grace, which you seek of God in secret, that it may be exercised in the hour of need, God will in that hour give it you before men. A man wnose morning dram had. been too much for him, in saddling his horsefgot the saddle wrong end foremost. Just as he was about to mount, . a neighbor came up and called his attention to the mistake. The horseman gazed for a moment at the intruder, as if iu deep thought, and then said, “You let that saddle alone. How do 3’ou know which way I am going?” And he looked daggers at the officious neighbor. The man, who answered an adver tisement to the following effect, savo his curiosity is satisfied : “If you would learn how to make home happy, send a postage stamp and twenty-five cents to P. O. Box, No.—, Cincinnati.” He did send the necessary cash, and soon received the answer :— “If you are as big a fool as we think you must be for giving us vou* money, you can make home happy by leaving it and going West by yourself.”—Hec r h and Home. An Elmira editor met a well edu cated farmer of Chemung county the other day, and informed him that he would like to have something from his pen, whereupon the farmer sent him a pig and charged him 89.75 for it. for your cotton ? If 3'ou did not, have you the legal or moral right when pay day comes, without the factor’s conset, to add this condition to your contract made six or eight or ten months before? Will you bur- • en your consciousness with such a ! agrant. breach of faith upon the j chance (perhaps fallacious at last) of “I had more money than he had to carry on the suit,” said a very mean individual who had just won a law suit over a poor neighbor, “and that getting a five cents more per pound ! is where I had the advantage of him. for your cotton ? To do so would be ’ Then I had much better counsel to falsify the estimate of personal integrity upon which 3'ou procured the advance. Those who so advise you believe more in the “almighty dollar” hoarded *on earth than in “treasure laid up in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal.” If the writer properly understands the character of the planters of Georgia, as a class, than he, and there I had the advan tage of him. And his family were sick while the suit was pending, so he couldn’t attend to it, and there I had the advantage of him again. But then Brown is a right decent sort of a man after all.” “Yes,” said a listener, “and there he has the advantage of you.” Corn Bread Rusk.—Take six cup- they will throw such immoral coun- j fuls of corn-meal, four cupfuls of sels to the winds, and show them selves entitled to the proud boast,! “My record is nay bond.” | H there be a few (and I hope there j are none) inclined to adopt the ad vice, I have still another question for ' wheat flour, two cupfuls of molasses, two teaspoonfuls of soda, and a lit tle salt; mix this well together, knead it into dough, then make two cakes of it, and put into the tin ^or iron pans, to bake one hour. Keep sober and then you can talk straight. One of our druggists waa surprised the other day to hear a fellow inquire if he had any of Mrs. Soothlow’s Winsliug Slyrup. What is the difference between a Jew and a lawyer ? The one gets his law from the prophets, the other his profit^ from the law. What is the difference between a cloud and a beaten child? Oaa pours with rain and the other roats with pain. Pride is increased by ignorance.; those assume the most who know tha least. “Are you guilty or not guilty?” asked a judge of a prisoner tka other day. “An sure now,” said Pat, “what are yon put there for btik to find that oat?” There is a story of a fascinating young lady at one of our summer resorts, who on being asked recently if she had ever read Shakespeare, tossed her pretty head with the an swer : “Sbakespaere ? Cf course I have ; I read that when it first came out.”