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VOL. IL
SANDERSV.ILLE, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 7, 1873.
jt. JsEDLOCH. JETHRO ABUSE. E. L. SOEGEKS.
Itv J'foiUoelk, Is*Jii!c tfcKotigers.
The ITeraED is published ia Sandersville,
0:i.. nvory Friday morning. Subocuption
pri" ' TWO DOLLARS per nnn-aaj.
AiL rrtisements inserteR ?A the usual rates.
'> . charge lor publishing marriages or
deaths.
POETRY.
Watching' lor* Papa.
She always stood upon the steps,
Just by the cottage door,
Writing to kiss nm when I came
Rich night home from the shore.
!!••:• were like, two glorious stars,
Dancing in heaven’s own blue;
“Pupa,'’ sin d call, like a wee bird,
• L oo. in’ out for ou.”
live
N(
me VVcie.-mo Home.
arms stretch out to me,
No blue eyes dancing bright
Ar p. ping from the cottage door
V. ': *:i I come home at night.
An i yet it comforts me to think
. v. ucn I’m called away,
: aenes below to those of bright
n- ■ rlauting day,
uigel at tii ■ gate,
,t‘;t'i ,-ts divinely blue,
•• j.. birdi - voice, “Papa,
lootin’ out lor ou.”
iliJT MISCELLANY.
ANEASiA AND CLE031ENE,
BY ANN E. POUTER.
‘•Slow sinks, more lovely ere her race is run,
Along iloreas’hill, the setting sun;.
Nol, as in the northern climes, obscurely
bright,
Put one unclouded blaze pf living light.’,
Tims passed daylight from tiie
glorious old city of Athens, and such
whs the presage of a beautiful eve
ning. The absence of twilight made
stiil more welcome the approach of
Night’s gentle queen. Moonlight,
like the smile of beauty, soqji rested
upon the lofty Acropolis, and bath
ed with its soft radiance the temple
of the virgin goddess. How pure
and white seemed those pillars of
Penteiic marble, and the vine and
honeysuckle, carved by the hand of
Phidias, twined gracefully around
the cornice! The battles of the
gods, the exploits of heroes, and the
actions of the goddess are here com
memorated by the same master hand.
Ou such a night as this, one could
not but desire to enter those mas
sive brazen gates, walk undisturbed
through the Propylea, and gaze up
on those works of art which have
since made the Athenians immortal.
That day the great feast of Panatlie-
mea had been celebrated. The sol
emn procession of minstrels and
priests, horsemen and victims, passed
through those consecrated avenues,
and performed their wonted ceremo
nies before the golden statue of their
favorite goddess.
The music had ceased, the flow
ery wreaths that adorned the lyre
and the harp were withered, and the
weary hands that, all day long, had
drawn sweet music from their strings
were now folded in sleep.
Priest and soldier, citizen and
slave, exhausted by . the exciting
events of the day, had left the scene,
and naught was heard save the monot-
Gi ,i - sound of the waves of the gulf,
and the heavy tread of armed watch
men. Leaning against one of the
marble pillars, one solitary gazer
alone remained. He was wrapped
in an ample cloak, which concealed
his form, and seemed absorbed in
<■ mtemplation of the beautiful scene
1 fore him. Par' in the distance
were the dark waters of .the JEgean,
on the other side smiling vineyards
and olive-crowned hills; while above
lam was the blue sky, from out which
the full moon looked down in glad
ness on a quiet world. The head of
the muser was uncovered, his helmet
was in his hand, and the lofty brow
and noble profile were no unlit com
panion for the marble bust of many
a worshiped god around him. “Thou
art a late wanderer, my dear teach
er,'' said a voice, whose tones were
musical as the harp touched by the
evening wind.
“Night is the time for thought,
Plato; all day long I walk the throng
ed and busy streets, imparting my
small stock of wisdom to the youth
of the republic. At night, like the
flowers, i gather dew and sweetness
to relieve my own wearied spirit. I
have now been reviewing the past
and dreaming of the future. The
vain pageant of to-day, in which I
joined in body, though not in heart,
has ruffled the usual calm of my
spirit. Now, as I gaze upon the
boundless sky, that glorious moon,
and stars, to me mysterious, I feel
the insufficiency of our religion to
satisfy the soul. - Here, here,” laying
his hand upon his heart, “are wants
which idle paean and useless sacrifice
fail to satisfy. I feel, Plato, like a
part of something infinite; that with
in this deformed and shapeless body
the spirit will dwell but a brief space.
Farther than this I know not; but I
believe that goodness here will be
perfect happiness* with the gods.”
“If so,” said Plato, who now drew
near to his master, while both seat
ed themselves on a block of marble,
which lay ready for the builder’s
hand, “if so, how foolish to strive
for immortality here!” and he point
ed to a marble statue of one of the
gods, the features of which were an
exact copy of those of Pericles.
“Poor Pericles! ’ said the philoso
pher, as he bowed his head upon
his hands, while he wrapped his cloak
closer about him.
‘“Poor Pericles!” gayest thou?
YV hv, he is the idol of Athens, favored
by the gods with wealth, beauty, and
power ; why callest thou him ‘poor ?’ ”
“Poor indeed is that man, Plato,
who excites the pity of one so poor
as myself. Alas! the mighty Per
icles is learning in his old age, the
lesson which I learned long since ;”
and, as if bitter memories of the
past thronged upon him, the philoso
pher concealed his features in his
mantle.
“I have unwittingly,” said the
gentle Plato, “recalled sad thoughts.
Shall we not retrace our steps to the
grove of Academus, and, amid
the beautiful works of Phidias, for
get all but the rich pleasure of our
own friendship ?”
“Not so,” answered Socrates; “you,
Plato, are the mirror of my soul.
Naught passes there but may be re
flected. Sit down again, and I will
rehearse to you a chapter in my life,
known as yet to none but myself.
Men call me philosopher, and fancy
that no event disturbs the tranquili
ty of my spirit. It is so. There is
within me that which is more power
ful than the lyre of Orpheus, when
it charmed the savage Cerberus. - " It
has lulled every passion, and led me
to find more happiness in the little
domain of one soul than Alcibiades
or Pericles in the applause of all
Athens. Men pity me that the gods
gave me a deformed body; but. I have
learned, while I love beauty, to prize
more highly the spiritual beauty
which I seek than all the fair forms
which matter may assume. I have
said I delighted in beauty. The sil
ver moon, and her sweet attendant,
mild Hesperus, have, to-night, filled
my soul with rapture. Not a stray I
wild flower in Attica, not a silver j
brook or rushing waterfall, a viue- j
clad hill or singing bird, but is a 1
source of pleasure to me. Neither j
do I forget the human face and form.
When this right hand carved the j
Graces, my eye and heart were not j
insensible to their beauty. And j
when I first gazed upon the boauti- 1
ful Aspasia of Miletus, I felt a thrill j
such as I have never experienced
since. You saw her to-day as she
rode in her chariot, richly adorned :
you thought her enchanting then,
and Pericles, forgetful of the sad
Cleomene by his side, had eyes only j
for her. She sees her power, and ;
throws around him cords which will j
bind his soul like bands of iron.
“It is not many years since I too
sat as the feet of Aspasia, and felt \
delight, yea rapture, in the thraldom, j
lu my humble occupation as a statu
ary, in my earlier years, I studied the j
finest models; but, while I did so, I i
became more acutely sensible of my j
own imperfections. The sight of this
defective body, and these shapeless !
feet, caused me many an hour of bit- j
ter murmuring against the gods. I
was happy when Gitro relieved me
from what I feared was my taskwork
for life, and bade me pursue the
more congenial path of philosophy
and literature. It was then I met
her, compared with whom the ladies
of Athens have no beauty. The full,
deep, lustrous dark eye—the rich
mass of black hair, whichjmnlike
others, she braided with pearls and
precious gems—the small voluptuous
mouth—-and the form which since
has furnished Phidias for a model
for many a goddess ; all these, and
more—the fascination and polish of
a cultivated intellect, and the graces
of a Milesian education—conspired
to captivate my eye and heart. You
cannot appreciate this part of my
spirit’s discipline—you will attain
the felicity of thejjods without the
suffering through which 1 have pass
ed. I have been through Hades on
earth. But listen. With all the.
reverence that a Greek feels for his
gods did T worship this gifted wo
man. Not with the pure, cold, and
spiritual attachment peculiar to
voiirself, Plato. Not such my nature.
Men call me philosopher, and speak
of the purity and simplicity of my
life. They little know the effort and
toil it has cost me to ascend from
the mist and darknes of a lower re
gion to a higher spiritual existence.
And yet, I am not like the fuel con
sumed to dull ashes by the intensity
of the flame ; nor, like the tame beast
of burden, broken and spiritless—
but like the trained war-horse, whose-
paces are regulated and mettle *cnrb-
• od by discipine and practice. The
warmed' passions of my nature are
not extinguished, but burn with the
steady and constant flame of a ves
tal fire.”
It was the evening meal in the ,
house of Pericles. Cleomene, with j
the utmost deference and zeal, had ;
attended to the wants of her illus
trious husband. At the close of the j
meal, as he poured a goblet of wine |
for his wife, he said, “We will go toi
the theatre; Aristophanes has a com
edy this evening; then I wish you to
accompany me to the house of As
pasia, where Anaxagoras, Plato, and
others sup.” The gentle Cleomene
promised obedience, but the sad ex
pression of her face showed that her
own inclinations were sacrificed to
the wishes of her husband. She
arose and left the room followed by
her maidens, who resumed their spin
ning. She turned to her embroidery,
and her delicate fingers were soon at
work upon the figure of Minerva
presenting the embroidered cloak to
•Jason when he went in search of the
golden fleece. As she plied the pol
ished shaft, and twined the gold and
silver threads, tears filled her eyes
and fell upon the beautiful fabric.
Then, as if remembering the pres
ence of her maidens, she resumed the
dignity of a Grecian matron, and,
suppressing all outward appearances
of emotion, entered gayly into con
versation with the fair group. The
-t feast of the Pauathensea, which
ad just taken place, formed, of
course, the topic of conversation for
sage and maiden throughout Athens.
The eyes of the young girls glistened
as they rehearsed the scenes of the
exhibition. The torch race on horse
back, a part of the ceremony which
had that year been introduced, was
admired and commented on.
“How well Laertes rode his noble
steed!” said one.
“Yes, but not more gracefully than
the son of Pericles, when he turned
his horse’s head, and refused a gar
land from the hand of Aspasia.”
At these words Cleomene started,
and a look of surprise and pleasure
lighted her beutiful countenance.
The conversation was resumed—for
so interested were the maidens that
they did not notice the emotion of
their lady.
“And that reminds me,” said an
other, “of the oak garland upon the
sacred robe. I wish we could ob
tain some of those rich colors for
our use.”
“Ho you not know,” said Calvce,
“that they were imported from Mi
letus bv Aspasia, and that with her
own hands she wrought the garland ?”
“And what right has a Milesian
dame to interfere with the employ
ments of Athenian maidens?”
“The sacred robe should be wro’t
only by such. But the men of Athens
seem, now-a-daj’s. to prize beauty
and learning more than modesty and
the domestic virtues.”
"While the maidens were thus talk
ing, Cleomene glided from the room
and retired to her own chamber.
She sat down, and leaning her head
upon her hands, gave free vent to
the emotions which she had s^long
concealed. But one pleasant thought,
like a stray sunbeam on the cloud,
mingled with her sadnsss. “Yes,”
thought she, “my first-born, my be
loved child, feels the insult offered
to his mother in the homage which
his father pays to the beautiful Mi
lesian. My gossiping maidens little
knew the comfort which that sen
tence, so thoughtlessly spoken, has
given me. But am I so faded, and
are all the charms of my youth so
utterly gone, that I cannot win back
the early love of Pericles?” She
rose, and gazed on her countenance,
as reflected from the polished mirror.
True, the bloom of youth was gone ;
but there was the same classic head
and regular profile, the mild eye, and
transparent complexion.
But the gaze did not wholly satis
fy the wishes of the sad wife. She
saw not the sweet, mild expression
which usually dwelt there, or thougiit
of the quiet performance of all the
duties of wife and mother ; neither
was there reflected in that mirror
the loving glance with which she ever
met the return of husband and sons.
She did not remember the qualities
which made her “Cleomene the belov
ed," but only of the brilliant beauty
and rare endowments of the fasci- ]
nating Milesian, which made her ;
“Aspasia ike admired.” “To-night,” j
said she-, “I must' again meet liter, be j
a witness to the admira .ion with |
which she inspires my husband, and \
with the quick and watchful eye of j
a wife, his devotion to her charms. ,
But I will make one more effort,” I
added she, mentally, and rose from j
her seat to open her casket of jew- |
els. They had long lain undisturbed, i
for this Athenian wife and mother j
prized far more highly the treasures
of her heart, the loved ones of her
home, than all the precious gems
which her wealthy father had lavish
ed upon her. Amid the other glit
tering contents of the casket, her eye
fell upon a golden cicada, most inge
niously and beautifully wrought. It
was one of the early gifts of her
husband. More than a hundred pre
cious stones, of very minute size, and
of various colors, were so arranged
as to form a perfect resemblance to
the insect inself. She remembered
how Pericles had admired it as a
work of art; and then, too, as a na
tive Athenian, she could proudly
wear it. It was an ornament v, hich
distinguished the inhabitants of this
famous eity, for believing that it
sprang from the earth itself, as^ they
supposed of Athens, it hence came
NO. 19.
to be a national ornament. Cleo
mene placed it amidst the glossy
braids of her hair, and then array
ing herself in her richest robes, as
became the wife of. Pericles, she sat
down to await his coming.
From the theatre they adjourned
to the house of Aspasia. Here were
assembled the choicest spirits of
Athens—the mild Plato, the witty
Aristophanes, the eloquent Anaxago
ras, and the calm, philosophic Soc
rates. Aspasia presided at this feast
of reason—her beauty heightened
by the charms of dross, as well as by
the brilliancy of her conversation,
and the vanity of her attainments.
She could talk with the philosopher
of his studies—-with Pericles of the
affairs of government—with Phidias
upon the proportion*-) of a statue, or
the beauty of frieze and cornice ;
then, with the jest of a young girl,
she could discourse upon the beauty
of a tunic, the fit of a sandal, or the
ornament of a bodice. Cleomene,
on the other hand, preferred retire
ment, seeking nb admiration from
the crowd. She lived for her hus
band and her children.
This evening Aspasia was unusu
ally brilliant. Whenever Pericles
left the weightier duties of his office
for the gay feast and social g atlrer-
ing, her greater charms were brought
into requisition. Pericles could not
resist her power, though lie was not
then fully aware, of the strength of
those silken cords which she, in soft
dalliance, was winding around him.
Poor Cleomene listened in silence,
and a sensation of fear and heart
sickness came over her as she saw
the rapt attention of her husband,
and marked his admiration of this
accomplished woman. But one, in
that company of learned Athenians,
noticed the deadly paleness of her
cheek, and the restlessness of her |
eye. There was one who, ever for- j
getful of self, and always mindful of
the suffering, knew the changes of
human countenance,and could thence
divine each inward phase ; for he
had learned his wisdom in the crowd
by day, and in communion with his
own spirit by night. Yes, Socrates,
the wise and gentle, had watched
Cleomene this evening, and knew the
agony of her heart. He approached,
and kindly entered into conversation.
He spoke of her sons, and express
ed his interest in their prosperity,
and advancement- in the state. The
mother’s heart was quickly won, and
not many minutes elapsed before she
was, all unconscious to herself, talk
ing well and wisely upon the edu
cation of youth. Socrates could
learn even from the humblest citi
zen, nor did he refuse to glean wis
dom from the experience of a wife
and mother; and such as Cleomene
might well win his esteem and ad
miration. We have seen with what
feelings Socrates had formerly re
garded Aspasia. These had passed
away, and were known only to Plato
and himself; but his own experience
led him to sympathise with Pericles,
and tremble for Cleomene.
“Aspasia is uncommonly brilliant,”
said a young man who now joined
them; “the beauty and talents of
Milesia are well represented in this
accomplished lady.”
“Are the ladies of that city, gen
erally, so beautiful and charming?”
asked Cleomene.
“They have,” said the truthful
Socrates, “more personal beauty,
and are more skilled in those arts
which command admiration, than our
own ladies but the daughters of
Athens ^re better wives and moth
ers ;” and the approving glance of
his (ye, as he said this, gave force
to the expression.
Cleomene felt and appreciated the
compliment; but she replied—
“I came here this eveniug at the
request of my husband. It is long
since I have met so many of our dis
tinguished and learned men. The
charms of one woman must be great
to draw so many- hither.”
“I confess,” said Socrates, “the
learning, the wit, and eloquence of
our hostess are powerful. But the
incessant homage paid to one whose
virtue is questionable is almost an
insult to our own ladies,'and I have j
resolved that this shall be my last j
night at Aspasia’s.”
Before Cleomene had time to re- j
ply, a knot of young philosophers I
came to Socrates for the solution of !
a difficult question, and Cleomene j
was again left to mingle with the 1
few ladies who graced that circle. j
Not once did she receive an affee- j
tionate glance or kind word from j
Pericles. But, as they rose to
return home, he noticed, for the first i
time, the ornament in her hair.
“No offence,” said he, as soon as
thay were together, “I trust, to our
hostess in the choice of your orna
ment to-night. It is, I believe, pe
culiar to our Athenian ladies.”
“I hoped that it would remind
you of the earlier years of our mar
ried life,” was the answer which
f . enabled on her lips; but, suppress-
i;ig her emotion, she merely said—“it
is a favorite jewel of mine, and was
your earliest gift.”
The mildness of the Teply, and the
gentle tones of her voice, caused a
pang of remorse in the bosom of Per
icles; but he stifled the thoughts
which would have pleaded for his
wife, and in his willing captivity to
Aspasia bartered the peace of his own
home.
When Cleomene entered her own
chamber, she found it occupied by
Cleantli, her elder, son. He was
was walking the room in quiet agita
tion. On seeing his mother, he sa
luted her respectfully, aud as he did
so, remarked her exceeding paleness,
and her wearied, melancholy expres
sion.
“You suffer, my mother, and you
have known all, and borne it in si
lence. You must have thought- me
an ungrateful sou not to sympathise
more in your sorrow.”
“What do you mean nr. son?”
said Cleomene, sinking into a chair,
and gazing into his face with an ex
pression of deep anguish.
“You cannot be ignorant, my moth
er, that your husband, my fatlier,
the once illustrious Pericles, is a
byword and a jest in the mouth of
every citizen. Yes, his love for As
pasia, and his neglect of you, are the
common topics in the streets and
S ublic places. He took you to her
ouse to-night to silence, if possible
common rumor. I came home, hop
ing to be here in time to prevent
your going, but I was too late. I
remained in your room, and fervently
have I prayed the gods to avert this
calamity from our household.”
Cleomene was silent; no word -of
reproach against her husband es
caped her lips, but her small hands
were firmly clasped together, while
the tears fell from her closed eyes.
“And they say—” continued
Cleantli ; but he looked at his moth
er, and paused.
“Say what?” said Cleomene ; “tell
me all—I would know the worst.”
“Pardon me if I give you pain,
but I must tell you all: They say
that the wife of Pericles is too tame j
and spiritless to resist, and patiently |
submits to insult and wrong. Two !
days since, at the feast of the Panthe- j
on, I had an opportunity to show i
this artful woman that one, at least, j
in whose veins your blood runs, could ;
despise aud scorn her.”
During this speech, the expression j
of gentleness which Cleomene usually
wore passed away, and there was a j
fire in her eye, and a decision in the ;
small, compressed moUih. which her
son had never seen before.
“What/you say is new to me, my
son. Tine, I must confess, I had my
fears and suspicions ; but I bore the j
coldness and reserve of my husband
in silence, or returned it with inci eas- ;
ed attention and kind words. I j
hoped to win back his early love, j
But prove to me that liis love is an
other’s—that all my efforts are vain ;
and the wife of Pericles can act as
well as suffer, and can preserve the
dignity of an Athenian mother.”
Cleantli cast upon his mother a
look of pride and love; and, with
words of mutual affection, they part
ed.
It was at sunset, one mild even
ing, that Plato wended his way to
the small obscure house of Socrates.
“And who,” says a beautiful writer,
“can describe the beauty of that
hour in Athens, when violet lights of
all various tint i descend from heaven
upon the-mountains, red violet upon
Hyraettus, and blue violet onParnes?
A soft yellow light is spread along
the plain, and rests on the front of
the Acropolis, and kindles into blaze
upon the peak of Lycabetus; the
sun, meanwhile*, sinking slowly be
hind Troezene and Epidaiuus, and
the bright surface of the Saronic
Gulf gleaming like a golden shield.”
Plato surveyed the prospect with the
eye of a poet and a philosopher, aud,
as he passed on amid this scene of
natural beauty, heightened by those
noble works of art which have made
the age of Pericles immortal—the
Pantheon, rising above the city like
a crown of glory, with its magnificent
colonade; the temple of Theseus, a
model of architectural beauty; with
numerous other temples and statues,
still beautiful in their decay—he felt
the inspiration of the hour, and, with
his capacious spirit, drank in
draughts of happiness, while the
godlike stirred within him. In his
humility he did not dream that his
own name would descend to posteri
ty as a no less noble specimen of
mural grandeur than the works of
Phidias and Praxiteles of physical ;
beauty in the world of art. At the j
close of his long walk, as he stopped
at the humble abode of the great !
philosopher 1 he heard voices within, j
“I say, Socrates, my life is a bur
den to me; nothing but toil, toil,
from morning till night. I have not
only the whole care of the house,
and providing for the table, but I
must submit to all your blunders. It
was only last night that you came
near wearing my gown to the theatre
for your own tunic; and when poor
little Lamprocles asked for a drachm
to buy dried grapes, you gave him,
instead of the money, a long lecture
on the blessings of poverty., I’ll Jell
you what it is, Socrates, I'll bear
with your ways no longer. All Ath
ens knows I have borne my lot with
patience. We are so poor that I
haven’t decent clothes to wear, and
yet yon spend your time in the
streets and market-places, and they
say you do nothing but ask ques
tions. I only wish you’d ask me a
few. I gness you’d find it harder
and the healingwatersgushed forth,
healing to the bruised spirit of the
wife, and like a cordial to the dying,
man. W ords of love and forgiveness
were spoken, one thought to their
children in Elysium; then, as Cle
omene saw that life was ebbing, she
raised the head of her husband, that
work to confound me than the young it might rest upon her bosom, and
Sophists. I'd give you pretty straight i with his hand clasped in hers, he
answers, I assure you.” 1 breathed his last.
At this moment Plato, calm and
philosophical as he was, could not
repress a smile at the downcast, self-
accusing look of the great Socrates.
There sat the good man, in a ragged
tunic, by a small table on which lay
some olives and dry bread, all the
provision, as Xantippe said, which
the house contained. The poor wo-
The Earning of Gin Houses.
University of Georgia, )
October 30, 1873. )
Editors Chronicle and Sentinel:
The frequent notices recently pub
lished of the burning of gin houses,
. . _ _ t and often of the fire originating
man stood with her arms akimbo, j during the operation of ginning, has
trying to awe her unoffending spouse j suggested what, in some instances at
by the clouds upon her brow and the ; least, may be regarded as a probable
thunder of her eloquence. j cause of the fire, and therefore worthy
She paused as soon as she saw j of consideration,and of the use of
Plato, and, changing her tone from j means to prevent its occurrence,
the major to the minor key, began to j It is possible that ignition may be
make apologies for their meagre fare caused by electricity generated by
and untidy appearance. Socrates j,the continued friction of the rubber
turned to his friend with a look of ! or {/>■:■■ la jvrcJta 'band. We do not
humility and self-reproach. “The i mean to say this is always the case.
We only regard the cause as suffi
cient, and therefore infer that in
someo#.-ises the true cause of ignition
may be in the electricity thus gener-
truth is, dear Plato, I am not as
faithful a husband as becomes an
Athenian citizen. In my anxiety to
reform the youth of the city, I have
neglected my own family; and in my
love of philosophy, I have not been
so attentive to the wants of “hiy wise
and prudent wife, the good Xantippe
as becomes a husband and father. ’
“But your wife, no doubt, forgets
these foibles in the high respect and
reverence with which all Athens re
gards the wise Socrates.”
Xantippe softened at once, assu
ring her guest that “not a wife in the
city took more pride in her husband’s
reputation. Though poor,” she ad
ded, “we have confidence in the love
of each other.”
“When I was in Egypt,” said Pla
to, “I found an ancient book which
interested me much, and among its
wise maxims 1 treasured the follow
ing: “Better is a dinner of herbs
where love is, than a stalled ox and
hatred therewith.’ ”
“And that reminds me,” said Soc
rates, “of our fair friend Cleomene.
How stand matters with her? If I
judge rightly, she would give all her
ated. It is very common in the lec
ture room to ignite by electricity
ether, alcohol and other inflammable
substances, as raw cotton mixed with
powdered rosin, kc., and it is possi
ble to generate enough electricity
with a few feet of gutta percha tub
ing to ignite other substances.
We infer, therefore, when the at
mosphere is very dry, such as we
have had for some weeks, the elec
tricity generated by the friction of
the band may become of such ten
sion as to ignite, by the passage of a
spark, the waste cotton near the gin.
That is, when all the conditions are
favorable, it is possible this may oc
cur.
Did we know the facts in regard
to the burning of the gin houses,
such as the character of the day, the
when and where the fire was first
discovered, etc., the amount of prob
ability in favor of this supposed
cause could soon be determined.
There is no danger to bo appre-
weaith and splendor could she v in j bended from this cause except when
back the love of Pericles.”
“Pericles is, T fear, umvortliv the
love of such a woman. His attach
ment to the noted Aspasia is a dark
spot on his otherwise illustrious
character.
To-day his wife leaves him forev
er, and returns to the home of her
childhood. !She has long borne with
patience his neglect, and the arro
gance of her rival. But that patience
is exhausted, and that fond heart j
a rubber or gutta perchci band is used
and the atmosphere is very dry, and
then tiie remedy is simply to xoet the
brnd. Out of abundance of cau
tion I would therefore suggest when
these bands are used, and the atmos- -
phere is very dry, that they be wet
ted three or four times in the day.
This could be readily done by the
driver pouring on gradually a cup of
water near the band wheel.
Believing the suggestion here made
crushed. Her own dignity and self- j may be of value to the public, I re
respect require her to act with de- j spectfuliy request that you will pub-
cision, and she returns to her father, j lish the same
wife with a widowed heart.”
Years passed. Time had whitened
the locks and bowed the frame of
the ambitious and renowned Pericles.
The most illustrious among the great
men of his age, he had climbed to
the very “topmost round of the ladder
of fame.” {Scarcely a spot in the
city but bore witness to the wisdom
of his projects, and the magnifi
cence of his designs. But there was
a want unsatisfied, a void unfilled.
He had lived for many years a rest
less life seeking pleasure, and finding
satiety and disgust. His early pas
sion for Aspasia had long since con
sumed itself; yet he remained bound
to her by fetters which her own pow
erful will, and more powerful ambi
tion, had forged for him. His two
sons, in whom he had garnered so
many fond hopes, were dead, and he
now lay in a darkened chamber, him
self drawing near the grave. Aspasia
was not there. The sick room suited
liot the gay and brilliant, but debas
ed woman.
Yours, &c.,
W. LeRoy Broun.
Important to Bankrupts.
Persons who are indebted to a
bankrupt estate must be very care
ful how they make payments to any
one who claims to represent it. Af
ter commencement of proceedings
in bankruptcy the title to all such
debts will rest in the assignee, al
though lie may not then be appoint
ed, and the payment to the insolvent
himself, or to any other party for
him, after such time will be of no
avail to protect the debtor from pay
ing the samo amount over again to
the assignee, who can sue for and
receive it. We know of a coal deal
er here, says a New York exchange,
who sold all his customers their
winter supply of fuel, and then
became insolvent, and applied
for the benefit of the bank
rupt act. After the proceedings were
commenced, and public notice had
Sad memories thronged i been given in some obscure paper
around the dying man. He thought ' not generally circulated, the dealer
of the calm, quiet happiness of his | went around and collected all his
former life—of his once loved and
gentle wife. YV’hat would he not
give could she stand by his bed and
soothe his last moments ? Could he
but see her, and hear forgiveness
from her lips, he would be happy.
A sudden thought struck him. Call
ing a slave, who stood in a distant
part of the room, he bade him bring
his materials; then with a trembling
hand, he traced a few lines on a
piece of papyrus. After binding it
with a fillet of ribbon, and sealing it
with his signet ring, he dispatched it
to Cleomene.
Not an hour elapsed before the
forgiving wife stood by the bedside
of her dying husband. Many years
had passed since they had met:
time, sickness, and sorrow had ieft
their traces upon both of them.
Most gently had they dealt with
Cleomene: her quiet spirit had bow
ed in silence and submission when
the storm had passed, and, like the
dove, sought peace in retirement.
Pericles, like the eagle, had bid it
defiance, and he now lay with tom
plumage and broken wing.
There was little time left for the
reunited, for Death was rapidly do-
. . .. - - -** - - valid. '
ing his-work uponTfic iuv
But
bills. His customers paid him in
good laith, knowing nothing of his
pecuniary troubles, and took his re
ceipt. Every one of them was oblig
ed afterwords to pay the debt over
again to the assignee, who had thr.
dealer’s books, and proceeded to
collect every dollar not paid to him
before the proceedings were com- *
menced.
How few housekeepers know that
the expressed juice of garlic, is an
everlasting cement for broken china,
glassware and the like, leaving no
mark of fracture if neatly done.
Mrs. Jefferson Davis has recently
received an elegant album of paint
ings that was “confiscated” by a fed
eral soldier during the time of the
The exportation of gold from Aus
tralia this year, up to the 31st of
August amounted in value to $31,-
078,245, an increase of more than
one-third over the value of the ex
ports in 1872.
An ignorant old lady was asked l
a minister visiting her if she had f
iigion. She replied: “I have lig..
the fount of buried love was opened^ touches of it occasionally.”