The Sandersville herald. (Sandersville, Ga.) 1872-1909, February 20, 1874, Image 1

Previous Issue Next Issue

Clip Visible Area View Page Text View PDF

Newspaper Page Texti By the Sandersville Pu hshing Company. “LET ALL THE ENDS THOU AIMgST #T, BE THY COUNTRYS, THY GOD’S, AND TRUTH’S.” Terms: $2 00 p#r mama. Oi.d SEP.rES—Yoi- XXVHI. New Semes—Yoi.. II. SANDERSVILLE, GEORGIA, FEBRUARY 20, 1874. NO. 34* .The Sakdeesvllee Hejiaed ipoEoiAN is not produce—j us t as we have seen published at Sandersville, Ga., evo’ in ay |the torn and broken clouds, plied Znnmtn advance No name efc upon {-dong the Western sky, reflecting the the mail book until at least a part t » years j beams of a declining sun, and re- subscription has been pnid. No: j vealing to us a glorv that we never sys n t™r per UDleSS U f j saw in the serenity of a cloudless Advertising accounts are due u en called , noonday, for, unless otherwise agreed upon. Our pn-1 j heard the story of the mornins:- son aide. " , : rarely speaks of herself, and it was The paper has a circulation of al«d twen.-’ on ]y by gathering it in fragments of and jading it in the vertise. tearful tenderness oi her eyes as she All communications, or letters onlisiness.: spoke of the past, that I am able to should be addressed, “Herald & G*nouK. • - r 11 A X on the margin of your paper jdicates j g™ it now in tutl. that your subscription has expired, td that She battled bravelv with the hard the publisher would like to have yo £™w |lot th t had f a U en to ‘ her, trying to it. Two XX marks, indicate that tm ss > ou , i -iji xi x remit at «in early dfiy your nnni | S 1 ' ,,r ill "be support ilGYSGli £111 Cl tilG Ciuld til n't stricken from the list. Yfe hope nr to he j was left llGr. But, all! llOW hard it under the necessity of placing a X n rk np-: js tJl0 elasticity of hope in on a single paper during the year. . : , f , , ■ , f. it G. MEDIA)CK, Sen. Eitor. jour hearts, when everydajwsa strug gle for the sheer necessities of life j when we are driven in unflagging I pace by the homely, persistent, daily j want of bread! She laydown at night i weary and worn, only to rise on the dieted, saw a kindred helplessness in the weak plant; it appealed to his! heart. A Bachelor’s YisiUh. It would seem as though it took a Be Slow to Accuse.- “Mother, I can’t find my seventeen J Shutting Doors. j The Child’s pocket Etiquette. heart no riimmnoit , -—~—;-*o“ ** “ juuiuci,r uau iauu iu» sevemceu Don t look so cross, Edward, j 1. Always say,yes,sir; yes, papa ennlfflinvo done ort ^ bachelor to paint a fitting picture of cents anywhere,” said Arthur, com- when 1 call yon back to shntthe no, thank'yon; good night; good rest till if-vaq Jeureb r J 011 ^ , nota wife. The following is by Wash-fog into his mother’s room with quite i doors i grandpa’s old bones feel the moming. Never say “ljow” or “whih, fitroT.notcbV li a .rni Clle< l ^ ain ;gt°nlrymg : I have speculated ajananxionsfa.ee. “I put it right here! March winds ; and besides, you have [for what. Use no slang terms. Re strong stake. How it gladdened him! great deal upon matrimony. I have to see the grateful young tendrils; seen a young and beautiful woman climb higher and higher, demanding, the pride of gay circles, married as' more and more support, unti! it eov- 1 the world says, well. Some have ered the whole doorside, and spread:moved into costly houses, and their like a canopy overhead. The leaves j friends have come and looked at grew wide and thick, and shook them- j their fortune and their splendid ar- seivos j ike tmy banners, and waved 1 in my overcoat pocket. It had been ( rangemient for happiness, and they POETRY. CONTENTMENT An’ folks are fTm’: suf- fSuggested on seeing a little pictur of an j morrow to go the same dreary round, aged'couple seated in a log cabin Wore a T]ie on l y recreation she had, if such slow, patient, painstaking might be culled recreation, was the teaching of her son. For hours she would try to satisfy the cravings of his thirst for imagination. The vague reaching out after ideas, the subtile workings of a bright mind that could only know what it might learn from object-teaching, interesting as it was. was a work that progressed only with the most patient repetition. But when he once comprehended the idea, how’: amply did his persevering teacher feel rewarded. To see his large wondering eyes brighten and glow with the newly acquired intelli gcnce, was sufficient return for all the care she had bestowed. At the earnest' solicitation of hor neighbors, she had sent him away to die Institute for the Deaf and Dumb, where he had learned the manual alphabet, and to read a few simple books. But he soon fell sick, and her mother’s heart could bear the separation no longer, so she took him home. If God had given him a strong, healthy frame, he need not have been such a helpless, hopeless burden on her hands, but he was puny and frail, and often suffered from sharp attacks of illness. It was pitiful to think how poor and narrow his life was. Often he sat for hours looking out of the door or window, watching the charming aspect of the sky as great clouds drifted across it, and at the wide fields, that in a way v! mysterious to the dumb child, put on ancTput off the green, and the gntp'.'uMbe steme::erex?so. and went He had gone over every inch of the house and garden; explored every crack and cranny, in search of new objects, until there was nothing to interest him. Sometimes when he saw others talking, he would watch them eagerly, wondering what it was that so entirely seperated him from his fellows—what it was that ena- . blal them to understand each other 1 bya simple motion of the lip, while he/with all-the cumbersomeness of fire, at bed-time.] Ta nks is all a bustin’, Nance, and kings i Mil’ ter smash. The pel),;. Id for credit ivhar they'd light er sel; "or cash. An’ winter’s 1'ringin' poverty to everyody’s door, i The rich kin land it pretty well—Mfsoxfal on Lae poor. The -workin' man’s the sufferer, Nanfe he’ got no cork to do ; goin’ to suffer whnr tli ver knew. An’ them thr.'k always “snowin’ off’ topoor folks what they’ve got, You’ll find, perhaps that they’ll turn or th poorest in the lot. I’ve jist been tbinkin’, Nancy Jane.Bibont the awful muss ; How folks had better live an’ raise thar hil- dren jist. like us. For, as I told old Deacon Smith, he sa 1 it all was true ; Ho never in his life had seed two folks ike me an’ you. Our home’s an old log cabin, Nance, .all hidden in the woods ; Our family's rich in life an’ health, but’ por in “worldly goods.” We haint no fine lace curtains, or no qAt>et on the floor, But the sun is always smilin’ through he window ah’ the door. Our farm is small—we’ve got a spiring, n’ horses, hogs an’ cows ; We’ve gals to milk, an’ cook, an’ sc-w, □' boys to tend the plows. We’ve got no gold in banks that bust, nr owe no man a cent; I tell you, Nance, the Lord is good, an’ 'e should feel content. We’re plain an' honest country folk, an’ tow no “city airs;” We read the Bible every night before >'e kneel in prayers. We go to cknreli on Sundays, Nance; a t walkjist like the rest, An’ live like Christian people ought—wa to do wliat’s best. Our boys don’t do like city boys, who $ni' thar duty shirk, Whose parents raise ’em up to think 'ti a disgrace to work. Our gals aint like them city gals you wilbo often meet, Who ought to help thar mothers more »’ run less on the street. You don’t see Thomas Henry pushin’ h- liards every night, Or loafin’ ’bout the tavern gittin’ treated 11 he’s tight. ill You uoirt find him a rnnnin’ 'round to calujblqi them to understand each other some damsel’s eve, Or courtin’ of some gal that’s rich, wliSf daddy’s "bout tohlie. lii:j signs, could be so hardly com- Ah! kSt ^fjprihended. At such times he would The folks’ll find the workin’ man’s the lit' creep to his mother S Side and look and prop of ail; folk her face with the most implor- Tbe f wm never S ent ’ *1 ! ™S wnestness, as if he begged help So long as he is abls'with his sons to till tli. Iron her in understanding this never soil. solved,, and yet ever recurring pi’o- The proud, aristocratic folks, who sot in blem. ASiLWfreil no colliu not ii.nO'w Fortune’s door, why, or how it was, he would steal k <WTio thought the/dneveleomet 0 want, arf a , yay jjfo, ^corner and weep in tlieir servants gone, their horses sold, their ; ho lonely /Desolation of his heart, houses an’ their lands, [ not as other children cry, with sobs An’everything except thar lives are in tlife an j ^ ou( J but with low, almost sheriff S hands. inaudible n oans, and tears chasing Old woman, put yer knittin’ up, it’s gittiif 0 ach other swiftly down his pale, sad purty kite; Iface. to and no in the wind. Tiny flower-j have gone away and committed them buds came all sheathed in, green cal-1 to their snnnv hopes cheerfully and yes, and day after day swelled in/without fear, “it is natural to be san- sizo, until the perfect blooms spreadjgoine for them, as the young some- their oeauty out before him. It was j times are carried away by similar the convolvulus, the morning glory, j feelings. I love to get, unobserved ei cry cap with creamy white rim, i into a corner, and watch the bird in and tnroat of glowing ltsyat purple.'her white attire,‘and with her smil- JAe was aiw ay up at the first peep ing face aS*d soft eyes meeting me in I'll read about two chapters in the Bible, you’ll wait; We’ll "pray to God before sleep, as every, Christian ought; An’ thank Him, not for what we vxtnt, but. what we’e had an’ got. Will S. Hass. SELECT MISCELLANY. [ From the Index and Baptist.] MORNING GLORIES. • BY LIZZIE lyiAY. Widow Ross always has her hum ble doorway surmounted with lattice work, and invariably, when the suin- | mer comes, this lattice is covered with rooming glories. It was a source j of wonder and envy with some of hor I duelier neigiibors|to"see how fine ajhd large they grew. But it was not strange, if one did but notice hjow much labor she bestowed on theu|. A long time ago she never c-ajid for flowers at all; there was not • so much as a box of moss, or a sppg of sweet verbena, about her house or garden. She said she “had no time ■ to waste on such useless things ’ She was a busy, bustling woman than, always in a hurry, always immjiatient, add apt to be; exacting and fretfii. Her husband was a railroad hand, . accustomed to hard work; but lie was frugal as well as indastrions, aid so was beginning to thrive in the Poor lad! Not only was he shut jut from all the music of the thous and f voices of nature, but forever • ebarred from the pleasure of ex- ]iessing in words the pent-up emo tions that struggled in his heart. Trapped in the impenetrable mys tery of profound silence, only such pleasures fell to him as could enter Trough those windows of the soul, his large lumiuous eyes. And yet the lesson of God’s tenderness and love shoue into his poor benighted soul, as louely and inaccessible as he was. God does not often produce changes in a violent, sudden manner, but rather suffers tliem to steal on in al most imperceptible gradations till a thorough revolution has_taken place. T<T see the rigor of winter limiting slowly and gently into the mildness o*f spring; the sun wheels noiseless and gradually up, transforming the darkness of night into the rich efful gence of perfect day; and so the mor al changes that talre place in the hu man heart are oftenest effected by silent influences. And sometimes peace and comfort come to us from apparently insignificant sources. Poor Bertie was in the habit of sit ting in the low doorway, looking with preternaturally brilliant eyes out at the familiar and homely objects that surrounded his mother’s cottage. Down, in the ^sha-^ow of the flag stone that served for a doorstep, where world. But one day—an evil dfej _ for his poor wife, a dreadful accident j the earth was alwaysdark and heavy, happened, and he was borne home a i a tiny shoot came up, a slender green bleeding, maugled corpse, and :she 1 tiling, so frail and helpless that its was left a lone widow.with one little veryiralty drew liiui toward it. He i child, a poor mute boy, to struggle j founjl, : nd watched it with keenest with the hard realities of poverty, inter/ st. It put forth leaf after leaf, It is pleasant to yisit wilow Ross now, although many years of toil and pain have passed over her; she is so svvfifi^iflcDpatient. There is an feebl • at first, a* if the heaviness of eartl still cltmg td it, feeling its way, as it vere, tip into the free pure air, and nto ’food's: blessed sunlight. iut of the sun, to count over the gor geous arrayiof blossoms the night time had prepared for him. He would go all around, touching every one within reach with that reverence we bestow on those things which we regard as too holy to be highly han dled. Ho would gaze down into the regally painted cups, and smile in perfect delight, and ofjen would press the great swaying hells close to his thin, white cheek in a mule, but fond caress. It grew to be a companion ior him. And when the sunshine caused the flowers to close their petals, he would tip-toe softly to his mother, and in his sign lan guage, tell her the}- had gone to sleep, then lie would close his eyes and clroop his head to indicate the rest they enjoyed. And so time glided on. But the day was com.ng in which poor Ber tie would be able both to hear and find expression for his long silent emotions. A physician came to the nearest town who was able to cure many stubborn diseases of the eye and ear, and widow Ross took the small sum she had hoarded up, and procured -his services for Bertie, thinking if he were cured, she would be rich indeed. The remedies were painful to take, anti the poor boy moaned, turning such looks of j mute appeal to the .doctor as we have sometimes seen in the eyes of a wounded animal that claims our pro tection. He clung to his mother, and made dumb entreaties for sym pathy and help, till her heart was oroken with its pain. Then came long days of aente suf fering, in which he slept little, save that.deep, heavy sleep'that .opiates bring. One night his mother sat with him alone, all thijouiA Jbeloii", dail' watches. Ghe counted him bet ter, for helav quite still, and the low moans had hushed into regular breathing. The day dawned ; the song-birds gaily caroled forth their matins out side, the dew-laden earth sent up its morning—iuceuse offering of fra grance to God, and the vine shook its manifold bells of purple and white, but there was none to note and re joice in its brief splendor. Bertie whispered his mother’s nanle. She opened the window ; and it was only when the bright sunlight had stream ed in that she saw that grayness creep over his face that comes to us all but once. He was dying. His hands, almost too feeble now to per form ihejy'office signaled ‘good-by.e.’ Presently, in that quick and eager way he had of conveying intelligence, he asked to be lifted up. A grief too deep for words was tugging^at her heart, but she stayed her tears, and raised the emaciated form of her darling in her arms. Once he'turn ed his face to her’s and gave her a glance of unspeakable love and ten derness, a look to be treasured up by her till they shall meet in Heaven. Then the thin hands were lifted, and while an expression of unutterable joy beamed over his countenance, he signaled to her the electric words • “I hear! 1 hear sweet music /” \ And so he passed away with ti e triumphant light of the heavenly vis ion shining on every lineament of his wan, white face. Was it not sufficient recompense for all his sad, sileDt life, to have died thus ? No sound had ever fal len on his ear; the myriad voices of nature that blend so harmoniously, he had never heard ; nor even the soft, sweet tones of his mother. He knew naught of the unfailing sym pathy that had encircled him ah Ills' life, save as it had been manifested in tender touch, or glance, or smile, spoken, it was an unintelligible man ifestation that only confused liim. Was it nothing to,have passed through the world without havinglieard any of its discordant strifes, its wailings and cries of pain ? The first sound that ever broke on his ear was that of the heavenly choir, as they sang the song of Moses and the Lamb, the glorious song of Redemption. A wreath of his flowers lay on the plain coffin, and the clods were scarcel}' smoothed over his grave before an untimely frost had nipped his vine, and it too had drooped and faded away. Since then, widow Ross has always trained the morning glory over her door. She seems to have bestowed some of the love she had for her lest Bertie on his favorite flower. Anyway, she connects the two, the one bringing to mind th'e ether. And the boy’s life, so simple, so helpless, so useless, it seemed to us, has been annelancholy, but sweet experience to her. From the §forn discipline t great sorrow, she has come ' earnest, a pure, arid a Let- ' ‘ * their pride of life, weaves a waking dream of future happiness, and per suade myself that it will be true. I think how they will sit upon the lux urious sofa as the twilight falls, and build gay hopes and murmur in low tones the now forbidden tenderness , and how thrillingly the allowed kiss and the beautiful endearments of wedded life will make even their par ting joyous, and how gladly come back from the crowded and empty mirth of the gay to each other’s qui et company, I picture to myself that young creature, who blushes even now at his hesitating caress, listening eagerly for his footsteps as the night steals on, and wishing that he would come ; and when he enters at last, and, with an afleetion as undying US’ his pulse, folds her to his bosom I can feel the tid& that goes flowing through the heart, gaze with him on the graceful form as she moves about for the kind offices of affection sooth ing all his unquiet cares, and making him forget even himself in her young and shadowed beauty. ‘‘I go forward for years, and see her luxuriant hair put soberly away from her brow, and her girlish graces all resigned in a dignity, and loveli ness chastened with the gentle meek ness of maternal affection. Her husband looks on her with a proud eye, and showed her the same fer vent love and delicate attentions which first won her, and fair children grow about them and they go on full of honor and untroubled years, and are remembered when they die.” The want of our Time. One grand want of our times is in dividual action. People are too much afraid of doiug anything alone. We crvsfollize activity fotc cold formal ity by our cumbersome machinery. If a man has a good idea, if he is inspired to build a church, found a mission, or inaugurate a reform, in stead of carrying out his idea, he tells it to the church; the church re fers it to a committee; the commit tee cp.ll a public meeting; the public meeting forms.a society; the society organizes its machinery, and by that time the idea is dead, To act alone with G od seems not to be in the con ception of most men. Hence the world is full of blighted efforts. The idea to be realized is the power of a once dead and risen, Christ-living, Christ-loving man—such a man act ing as a vital force on society. Why, who filled Germany and the world with the blaze of the Reforma tion? One earnest man, Martin Lu tlier, who caught the inspiration of faith in the cioistgl' of Erfurtli. Who Hrigmafed and inspiN/d Sunday schools, nurseries of piety,"Ahat now dot the globe? One earnest nS au Ro bert Raikes. Who went ofli from Christ Church, Oxford, to sd| the world on fire with a living religfoB^, One earnest man, John Wesley. Who struck the shackles from the limbs of all the slaves in the British empire, on which the sun never goes down? One earnest man, William Wilberforce. Who stirred up two continents with an enthusiasm of piety, the waves of which have scarcely subsided. One earnert man, Geo. Whitefield. Whose mind or iginated, and out of his soul came the deep flow of modem missions? One earnest man, William Carey. Bessie Barton’s Test.—”1 wish I knew just what to do about jit.” were the words that again and again fell from Dr. Barton’s lips; for the mat ter to be decided was a weighty one. Each time they were uttered, the soft eyes of a young girl, who sat, sewing near by, were lifted wistfully towards the gentleman, till at last he noticed their earnest expression, and asked: “W’hat is it, Pussy? What do you think about it?” . “I should go by papa’s rule,” she replied, the crimson creeping into her fair cheek. ' “And what may papa’s rule be, lit tle Bessie?” asked her uncle. “Never to do anything, or to say am thing, or to go anywhere, we can not ask food’s blessing to rest upon ns. He says it saves a world of trou ble, and is always a sure test.” Dr. Barton was a worldly man, who sometimes scoffed at the pimple confidence of pious souls; but no such feeling tempted hini now, and silont’y kissing the fair forehead of his niece, he left the room. A reformed gambler was about to die, and sent for a minister, when the following conversation occurred: “Pastor,“do you think I am near death?” “I Tegret to say I believe you mo. • “Do you think, sincel ain conver bd, I will go heaven?” "do.’fofoTi’Sf*- ' .. 'Do yon qxpeot to go there, 4oo! ^es,«l believs I ww£- :WUbe'«wds,wont to - !V 1 hanging up in the hall all day, and I do believe the new hired girl has ta ken it out. Shejjsaw me have it last night and put it away.” “Look in your pockets, Arthur. A little boy who is so apt to forget things must not be too positive that he put his money in his pocket-book. And never accuse anybody of steal ing without a shadow of evidence. This is very sinful as well as unkind. What if Susan should - lose her mon ey and accnse yon of stealing it? Remember the, golden rule.” “But, 'mother, she looked very guilty when I said I had lost it, and and that I knew that some one had taken it out of my pocket. “Very likely she did look confused on hearing you make such an unkind speech. She knew very well that there was uo one in the house you could suspect of taking it but herself. You might as well have said so ifl plain words. An innocent person is more apt to look guilty when accus ed of a crime than one who is har dened in wrong-doing. The latter usually has a face ready made up to suit auy occasion. A gentleman once said that the most guilty look ing person he ever saw was a man arrested for stealing a horse which afterward proved to be his own. But what has become of my mon ey, mother? It is gone—that is cer tain.” I believe you lost a fine top once, that it was supposed a little neighbor had stolen,” said his mother with a smile. “But .1 can’t have left this in the grapevine arbor this weather.” But there are plenty of other los ing | laces about. Did you have on that jacket last evening.” ' No, mother; I believe I had on my gray one, but then I know I put it into my pocket-book.” Don’t say you know, my dear, for it may be an untruth. Please bring me your gray jacket.” Arthur walked slowly up to his room, but he walked slower still and looked very foolish when became in' to his mother’s room again. Mother comprehended it all at a glance, and smiled as she said: “I wonder who looks guilty this time.” O mother! I am sorry, but I did not mean to accuse Snsan so wrongs ly. I remember now, jnst as plainly as can be, wrapping up these three five-cent pieces and two pennies in that bit of paper, and putting them into my jacket pocket. “It is a very serious thing,/Arthur, to make such charges as yea did a moment ago against an, innocent person. What if you had mention ed it among your schoolmates ? It would be told all abou/—‘Susan, at Mrs. Reynold’s, steals. I wonder they keep her.’ If she ever wanted to get another placet might be a difficult matter. Though you con tradict die story afterward, it would never undo the mischief. ' Many will repeat the injurious story, who will never take the trouble to correct it. I will pray fqt yqfe, my dear boy, that you may learn tetcorrect .this sinful habij and I hope you will pray with me. ^Tou will never correct a bad habit until you pray over it. Run, nqiv, and tell Susan that you have found your money; and try and mako. amends for - your injustice by beiiyf more than usually thoughtful ant#obliging.” got to spend your life shutting doors, and might as well begin to learn now.” “Do forgive me, gran’pa, I ought ta-be ashamed to be cross to you.— But what do you mean? I ain’t go- g to be a sexton. I am going to college, and thqp I am going to be a lawyer.” “Well, admitting all that, I imag ine ’Squire Edward C will have a great many doors to shut, if ever he makes much of a man.” What kind of doors ? Do tell me, gran’pa.” “Sit down a minute, and I will give you a list.* “In the first place, the door of your ears must be closed against the bad lauguage and evil counsel of the boys and young men you will meet at school and college, or you will be un done. Let them once get possession of that door, and I would not give much for Edward C ’s future prospects. member that good spelling, writing and grammar are the base of all true education. 2. Clean faces, clean clothes, clean shoes and clean linger nails indicate good breeding. Never leave your clothes about the room. Have a place for everything and everything in its place. 3. Rap before entering a room, leave it with your face to the company, Never enter a private room or public place with your hat on. 4. Always offer your seat to a lady or old gentleman. Let your com pany enter the carnage or room first, 5. At the table eat with your fork; sit up straight, never use your tooth pick, although Europeans do; and when leaving, ask to be excused. 6. Never put your feet on cushions, chairs or tables. 7. Never overlook any one when reading or writing, or talk or read aloud when others are reading. When conversing, listen attentively and do The door of your eyes, too, must not interrupt or reply till others have be shut against bad books, idle nov- finished, els, and low, wicked newspapers, or 8. Never whisper or talk aloud at your studies will be neglected, and churches, or other public places, and you will glow up a useless, ignorant especially in private where any one You will have to clpse them sometimes against the fine things ex posed for sale in the store windows, Cr you will never to lay up money, or have any left to give away. "The door of your lips will need especial care, for they guard an un ruly member, which makes great use of the bad compdny let in at the door of the eyes and ears. This door is very apt to blotc open; and if not constantly watched, will let out angry, trifling, dr vulgar words. It will backbite sometimes worse than a March wind, if it is left open too long. I would advise you to keep it shut much of the time till you have laid up a store of knowledge, or at is singing or playing on the piano. 9. Long coughing, hawking, yawn ing, sneezing or blowing is ill-man nered. In every case cover your mouth with your handkerchief (which never examine—nothing is more vul gar, except spitting on the floor.) 10. Treat all with respect, especial ly the poor. Be careful to injure no one’s feelings by unkind remarks. Never tell tails, make faces, call names, ridicule the lame, mimic the unfortunate, or be cruel to insects, birds or animals. Forgive with all your Heart. Willie and Hellen had a little bit of a quarrel the other uight. Willie least till you have something ) nlua- j j iad a p re tt y picture paper, and Hel b ,, *9 sa /' 7 ; len crumpled it. But Willie is very The «mer door of your heart must, particular to keep his papers 8mootk be well shut against temptation, for and ni go j am sorr £ £ saJ hewas conscience, the doorkeeper, grows and sl J ed sister very judifierent if you disregard his — - call; and somtimes drops asleep at his post, and when you may think yon are doing very well, you are fast going down to ruin. “If you carefully guard the outside doors of the eyes and ears and lips, you will keep out many cold blasts of sin—which get in before you think. “Tills ‘shutting doors,’- you see, Eddy, will be a serious business; one on which your well-doing in this life, and the next, depends.” The Serpent .of Appetite. - ~~ It is an old Eastern fable that a certain king once suffered the Evil One to kiss him on either shoulder. Immediately there sprang therefrom two serpents, who, furious with hung er, attacked the man, and strove to eat into his brain. The now terrified king strove to tear them away and cast them from him, when he found, to his horror, that they had become a part of himself. Just so it is with erery one who become a slave to his appetite. He may yield in what seems a very lit tle -thing at first; even when he finds himself attacked by the serpent that lurks in the glass, he may fancy he can cast him off. But, alas! he finds the thirst for strong drink has be come a part of himself. It would be almost as easy to cut off his right hand. The poor poet Burns said that if a barrel of rum was placed in one comer of the room, and a load ed cannon in another, pointing to ward him, ready to be fired if he ap proached the barrel, he had no choice but to go for the rum. The person who first tempts you to take a glass may f appear very friendly. It was not a dart that Sa tan aimed at the fated king. He on ly gave him a kiss. But the serpent that sprang from it was just as dead ly, for all that. O, be careful of letting this serpent of appetite get possession of you, for it will be a miracle of grace, indeed, if you are ever able again to shake him off. . ■ , Guard against every sin, Rear chil dren, however small;' let it not gain a hold upon yon. Pray to beJcept front terofitatoou in every form, and that in yonr own stre*“ rfh against it.—Ix Lifting Both HamU During the winter season, a young lady, while crossing the ice, came to a thin place and fell through. A gentleman, sitting by his office window, hearing a cry for help, has tened to the spot. He immediately put out both hands, saying: “Clasp my hands tightly and I will save you.” She replied: “Oh, I can not lift up both hands, one rests upon the ice; were I to raise it I should surely sink!” He answered: “Let go your hold upon the ice, trust to me and I will save you; were I to take one I could not draw you out. " , She then raised up both hands, he caught them, drew her out, and she went on her way rejoicing. Are there not many . who, walking upon the sea of life, come to some point when they see their needy con dition, and cry for help? The Saviour hears the cry and ' stea&S ^ith outstretched hands to save them/Yrstjlite the young lady, they are unwilling^tO'pat.rip both hands, saying in the heart, u'notTS words, “Oh, were I to lose my hold on earth I would surely sink, for He might not save me; then what should I have to lean upon?” But the Saviour stands waiting, saying: “Trust me. You cannot cling to both. Let the fleeting world go. Look to me. I will take you from that horrible pit and miry clay, and set your feet upon the rock, where you can rest secure for time and eter nity.” Jife’Paris duel hm'ended dueli-W met.' The' one re Then Helen slapped back again. Mother had to separate the child- dren. She put one on the sofa, and the other on a stool to cool down and think. Then she told them they must make up. Helen marched straight up to Wil lie, and said in her sweetest tone, “Willie, I am sorry I mussed yourj paper; will you forgive me Willie was not so loving as his sis ter. It was a good deal harder for him to make up. But he had to do something about it, so he replied: “Sister, I will forgive you, but think I can’t excuse you.” He meant just what I have heard many person say, “I can forgive, but I can’t for get.” “That won’t do,” said mamma; “you must forgive, my son, with all your ueart.’" “Well, then, I will,” said master Willie, after thinking some time about it; “sister, I’ll forgive yon, and I’m sorry I struck you; let us kiss.” Dear children, we can never be happy unless we forgive as God does; forgive and never remember any more. Congeniality. Everybody in Alabama and Geor* gia, or for that matter, in th# .South hasread “Georgia Scenes,” by Judgq Longstreet. If, however, there are any who have never revelled in ite pages, we are prepared to prove that they intend doing so. But this » * not the “congenial” point at which f we are aiming. Judge Longstreet ' was a man full of infinite humor and jest, never at a loss as toforar to tale a joke or give one. j? is said of him that for several jr .rfske per sistently paid his attentions To a young lady’ possessed of wealth, beauty, refinement and education, but who would never favor his suit. She repeatedly told the Judge she did not love him—hence' could marry him—alleging as her reason, that every idea, taste, thought and' impulse were antagonistic—that there was not even a sentiment of congeniality between them. All this did not at all abash the courageous suitor, but only eaused him to strug gle harder. Finally, however, when holding a pleasant little Me a Mo with her in a drawing room, one day, he again asked the momentous ques tion. Turning to the Judge, she said "Mr. Longstreet, you well know, as I hare often stated, that we have not two thoughts in common —and now I say that though I do not love you, yet I know of no ono for whom I have a greater respect; and, if you will name any one thing, not two as I hye often said, upon which we think alike, I will b3come your wife.” The Judge having in mind their numerous quarrels, wa# for a moment staggered, when brfoht- ening he said, “Well now suppose you and me were traveling together and should at night fall reach a ho tel, in which the only ohanoe for a night’s rest was two beds, in one of these a woman, in the other a man; now which would you want to sleep with ?” The lady rose indignantly, and said, “with the woman of course, sir!” “Stop a moment,” said the Judge. “ I would too !" The lady saw the situation, appreciated it—was as good as her word—married the Judge, and neither had cause to re pent of the union. Why he got the Place.—A young man went into the office of one of the largest dry goods importing houses i» New .York, and asked for a situation. He was told to come again. Going down Broadway that same afternoon, opposite the Astor House, an old apple woman trying to cross the street was struck by a stage, knocked down, and her basket of ap ples sent scattering in the gutter. This young"man steppedfrom the passing crowd, helped up the old la dy, put her apples into ner basket, and went on ms way, forgetting the incident. When he called again upon the im porters he was asked to name his price, which was accepted immedi ately, and he went to work - Nearly a year afterward he was Sewing-Aches. Jessie sat down by bqr mother to sew. She was making a pillow-eas# for her own little pillow. “All this ?” she asked in a conten ted tone, holding the seam out. “That is not too much for a little girl who' has a work basket of her own,” said her mother. “Yes,” thought Jessie, “mother has given me a work-basket, and I ought to be willing to sew;” and with that she took a few stitches quite diligent- !y- “I have a dreadful pain in my side,” said Jessie, in a few moments. “My thumb is very sore,” she said, in a very few minutes after. ‘‘0, my hand is so tired!” That was next. And with that she laid down her work. Next, there was something the matter with hor foot, and then her eye. At length the sewing was. dons. Jessie brought it to her mother. “Should I not first send for a doc tor ?” said her mother. The doctor for me, mother 1” cried the little girl, as surprised as she could be. “Certainly,” said her mother; “a little girl so fnll of pains and aches must be sick, and the sooner we have the doctor the better.” “O mother!’’ said Jessie, langi*' “they were sewing-aches. I ” enough now.” \ ,?s§»la»r a* a" I have heard If other litt igs fla^»t.-yig ht besides Jessie, who had sewi ours of and pains Wenever their par rio 'j < j I - work for them to do. Tp oYwm and pains do show sickpe proper- are symptoms of a ba^^bntion disease which eats some peopit-., This disease is called "selfishness. - ' It makes children cross and fretful and disobliging and troublesome and unhappy ; and I am sore it makes those selfish and .sad who hare charge of them. ailed aside one day and asked if he Some obey the voice, lift up both/remembered assisting an old apple hands, crying, “Lord saw vno or I i woman in Broadway to pick ap > Derish,” are saved, aud go their way' basket of apples, and, much to his rejoicing. /surprise, learned why he obtained a But alas! too many would be sav ed by raising one hand to Christ, while cleaving to the world with the other, placing it either upon its rich' es, honors, or pleasures, feeling that they cannot give up all for Christ. And when Christ says, “Leave all and follow me,’ they turn back and sink deeper into worldliness, and are lost; yes, lost forever. A Flash of Zeal.—The housewife E uts her tea-kettle on—for tea must e made. Shavings are heaped up under the kettle, and are lighted. Soon they are ail in a blaze; and for a moment the water begins to sim mer; but presently the fire goes out; and,’ she going out too, forgets her tea; aud when she comes back, it is as if there had been no fire. So there is no tea, » n d there is no meal. How often do Y®? in like manner, kindle a momentary zeall How often do we situation when more than one hnn- dred others were desiring the same place. Young man, you little know who sees your acts of kindness. The eyes of others see and admire what they will not take the trouble to do themselves.—American Messenger* An incident in the life of Peter the Gbeat.—Peter L, or Peter the Great, Emperor of Russia, was one day in a sailing boat with some of his courtiers, when he became so an gry with one of them, a senator, that he seized him with the intention of throwing-him overboard. “You ma_ drown me,” the senator remarked “but yonr history will tell of this. A Tribute to Confedhrati! Jol- diers.—The^New York Sim, in ta king strong grounds against the inW crease of the United States army/^V compares the material of the Union army during the late war with that of the Confederates, and says : “The quality of the Confederate soldiers effectually disposes of the plea that it is necessary to*keep the regular army as a nucleus. On the Union side was the entire rank and file of the old army. Of that force the rebels had only officer*. The Confederate ranks and file was com posed wholly of raw men, and, in the first two years of the war, volunteers. Yet what an infantry they . were ! Those of us who saw them eharge in line of battle never approach a Confederate cemetery without taking off out hats in homage to the devo ted braves who ever walked straight into the jaws of death vithoot blan ching.” (— —•—j.. —r~\, The- Young.—Lord Shaftesbury The Emperor was struck with the recen tj y stated, in a pnbiie joeeting justice of the observation, and to m Londonj that, Horn pewonal ob- save his reputation, spared the life servat j ont heha( j ascertained that of of his subject. . the adult male criminals of that City, inspire intense eirihusiasticfeelinra ^temptation, th^-dOrar. actions ; ’ " that quickly tom to asbe: °r'temptation, mat our actions years^hnd that if. a young are recorded-m hook of mexpressi- — a lived an Loaestlik uo to twentv- atein silver . , „„. .. .... il.-.By * wicked «*»£*}***£% ■oeii And n»W»la #!■»*•«■»! '“S-

Georgia Historic Newspapers

The Sandersville herald. (Sandersville, Ga.) 1872-1909, February 20, 1874, Image 1