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JOHN H. SEALS, - Editor and Proprietor.
MRS. MART E. BRYAN (•) Anociate Editor.
A. 1.. HAMILTON, D. D., - Associate Editor
And Manager of Agencies.
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, DEC. 25, 18757
The money must accompany all orders for this paper,
and it will be discontinued at the expiration of the time,
unless renewed.
NEW YORK AGENCY.
Young Sl Layton, at 134 Pearl street, New
York city, are in charge of the New York branch
of this paper. They are active, reliable and
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this office.
>0 PAPER NEXT WEEK.
To give ourselves and employees a
few days of relaxation during the
Christmas holidays, we shall issue no
paper next week. Our next issue will
bear date January 8, 1876.
NEW STORIES.
7^' “Brazos Bob" is at last in hand, and will
begin in our next issue.
fits' “ The Mute Banker, or The House of Se
crets,” will soon be commenced.
/?r-©~“Luti-Gul, ” a beautiful and thrilling East
ern story, will soon begin.
fgS~ A number of other brilliant stories are in
hand, and will soon be commenced.
Christmas, Merry Christinas I—To-day’s sun
ushers in the universal jubilee of Christendom.
Christmas, the pearl clasp of the year’s bright
rosary of days—the beautiful festival, sacred to
social reunions and domestic delights; the day
that loosens the miser’s purse-strings and stirs up
the spirit of hospitality in the heart of the most
selfish churl; the day full of sacred memories
and grand associations, that chasten even our
mirth and soften our hearts with feelings of
kindness and fellowship with all humanity.
Christmas—old time-honored Christmas—will
have his welcome in spite of hard times. Prep
arations have been made for his advent in almost
every home of this broad land—among high
and low, in cottage as well as hall. Innumera
ble turkeys have gone the way of the kings of
France — “guillotined for the public good.”
Frosted cakes, and crisp pies, and quivering
jellies adorn the clean shelves of the pantries,
watched over by careful housewives to prevent
the depredations of the eager little intruders
who stand on tip-toe, with watering mouths, to
peer at the “Christmas goodies.” And fair fin
gers fill the vases with mistletoe and ivy, and
weave
“ The holly round the Christmas hearth.”
For days, have the streets of our stirring cap
ital been busy and brilliant with the stream of
humanity pouring along them — shopping for
Christmas; rich people in their carriages, muf
fled in furs and velvets, with servants and
obsequious clerks to stow their packages, while
they sat tucked under gorgeous afghans; middle
class people, brisk pedestrians, with cheerful
faces and shrewd glances, looking about for
bargains; country people, with eyes round with
wonder, and cheeks rosy as winter apples, and
the independent air that comes of conscious
honesty and integrity of purpose. The poor,
in scanty shawls and rusty coats, are not seen
in the stream of gay buyers, but you will find
them at the dingy counters of the small shops
on the back streets, cheapening some little extra
for the great occasion—a joint of meat, a few
links of sausage, a pound of coffee, or a chicken
for the Christmas dinner, or some apples and
candy for the little ones’ stockings.
Sad must be the feelings of those for whom
grim poverty shuts out even a stray gleam of
Christmas cheer; who have no money to buy
even the extra piece of meat, or loaf of bread, or
cup of coffee that would be so refreshing to the
craving palates of the wife and little ones; the
poor who walk the brilliant streets and see the
glittering shop windows, the tempting display
of fruits and meats and dainties, and watch the
smiling shoppers hurrying homeward with arms
full of Christmas presents, while their own dear
ones hover around scanty fires, and
** Darkly tails their Christmas eve.”
Ah! upon Christmas day, let us remember
that the great master, whose advent this festival
commemorates, has told us it is more blessed to
give than to receive. What little gifts make the
hearts of children glad, what small kindnesses
raise the crushed spirits of the poor, wipe out
the bitterness of neglect, and give fresh hope
and energy to the forms that stagger under the
burden of uncheered poverty.
In our principal Southern cities this winter,
many thousands of dollars have been appropri
ated to getting up grand celebrations for the hol-
days—costly pageants, processions and banquets.
An exchange states that thirty thousand dollars
have been sent from New Orleans to Paris to
purchase expensive character costumes and ap
purtenances for the holiday revelers. All this
might be well at any other time, as affording re
fined and cultivating amusement; but now,with
the grasp of hard times and cold winter upon
us, with so many thrown out of work and need
ed wages, would it not have been better to ap
propriate some of these thousands to alleviating
the distresses and adding to the oomforts of the
poor?
Thirty thousand dollars! Think what a grand,
free Christmas tree for the poor that would have
hung with gifts, and to what a number of hearts
it would have brought a “merry Christmas!” *
Teachers’ Department.—The attention of all
teachers is called to this department.
The Secret of Happiness.—On the threshold
of New Year, let me tell you a secret—a little
golden rule, that will make it a happy year if
observed: Be kind, polite, and loving at home.
Life has other phases beside the domestic one,
yet true happiness has its root at home. Home j
is the centre, though it send abroad branches
and blossoms, and far-reaching fragrance into 1
the outer world. Rooted in the love and kind
ness of those who sit around the sacred hearth
stone, happiness may be shaken by the storm of
hard times; it may droop beneath the coldness
of the world’s neglect and the blight of the j
world’s injustice, but it can never die.
Then plant your happiness at home. Culti
vate it by deeds of courtesy and kindness, of
forbearance and gentleness; prize the little at
tentions and caresses of the home-circle; prize
the small pleasures that bloom in the home at
mosphere, and cease to fret over the little va
pory trifles that your ill-temper magnifies into
overshadowing clouds. Be forbearing; don’t
pick out small faults and deficiencies, and let
these blind yon to the great treasures of ten
derness that you may lose eventually by per
sistent slighting. And pray, carry a little bit
of your courtesy and fine manners home with
you, and astonish therewith your family-circle.
Some of that polite and graceful urbanity for
which you are distinguished abroad would work
wonders at home if you would be prevailed upon
to try it upon your care-worn wife and little
ones; or upon your tired husband, good mater
families.
Ah, is it not true that
'•We vex our own
With look and tone
We may never take back again.
We have careful thought for the strauger,
And BtnileB for the some-time guest;
But for our own
The bitter tone,
Though we love our own the beat.”
Let us, in the coming year, cherish “our own”
more fondly, and cultivate an undergrowth of
small pleasures, for few great ones are let on
‘ ‘ long leases. ” *
A Poet’s Aspirations Nipped.—A young dry
goods clerk who parts his hair in the middle and
wears a diamond pin from the dollar store, has
lately been the victim of an attack of la grand
passion. Being of an aggravated type, it has
broken out in poetry. As it is the holiday sea
son, and all femininity is abroad playing at
shopping, a dry goods clerk has to hop about as
spryly as a grasshopper in June, and our would-
be poet had little time to court the muses in
regular style; accordingly, he was forced to vent
his love-filled fancies in rhymes scribbled on
wrapping-paper with a red pencil, in the inter
vals, while his lady shoppers (after overhauling
his whole assortment) were deciding whether
they would buy a spool of thread now, or call
some other time. These stray moments, our
lover improved by inditing stanzas to his lady
love’s charms on the paper that was destined to
wrap up hege and calico, standing, meanwhile,
goose-like, first on one tired leg and then upon
the other.
On Saturday afternoon last, while the estab
lishment was crowded with customers, and ev
erybody was so busy that our poet did not find
sufficient time even to indite a single line to his
most adored, an excited individual, with his
cravat askew, his hair disheveled, and a desire
for blood visible in each line of his countenance,
rushed into the place and struck an attitude of
defiance in the middle of the floor. In his up
lifted hand he held a fragment of brown wrap
ping-paper, and after cutting a pigeon wing or
two, he rushed frantically towards our poetic
acquaintance, and thrust the paper into his face,
with the remark:
“Hid you write that?”
The young salesman glanced at the ominous
paper, and with a faint and sickly smile, ac
knowledged that it was his scribbling.
“Well, sir, read it. I want your employers
to know what sort of a man they have got in
their store. Read it aloud, I say.”
Everybody in the establishment had now
congregated about the two men, and the young
C HRISTMAS SONG.
Glad Christmas tn the peasant,
In his lonely Tillage home;
May his hmnbie hearth be pleasant,
Maj a blessing to it come!
May the mistletoe and berry
His cottage wall adorn,
And hie lioneat heart be merry
This merry Christmas morn!
Glad Christmas unto all men;
Whate’er at other hours
May harass or befell them
To-day may they have flowers!
May wreaths of kind affection.
And bloom of friendship born,
And gifts of God’s selection.
Bless all this Christmas morn.
The Princess Borgliese and Lord Brougham.
The eccentric sister of the great Napoleon was
a coquette through policy as well as inclination.
Blonde and Brunette. — The complexion of
women, blonde and brunette, indicates a differ- j
ence—more than cutaneous deep in the temper
ament. The poets always build a fair-haired
woman around deeds of risk and daring. Ten-
nyson’s Godiva was like a creeping sunbeam.
Brave and constant Imogen had eyes of heaven’s
blue, and a skin through which the veins showed
as the azured harebell. Browning's dreamer, (
Sordelo, drew his manhood from the golden- |
haired Palma. Blondes had greater versatility.
They could drop their bolt from a clear sky. !
They were more fascinating and dangerous than !
the bronzed Cleopatras, however delicately chis
eled. There were two kinds of blondes, that |
might be called lunar and solar. The former,
like Antony’s wife, Octavia, wilted for want of
heat and by thinness of blood; but Mary Stuwat
| and Lady Macbeth were blondes fired by sun-
■ light—the voice low and clear and even, but cov-
J ering the whole gamut of a trumpet of silver, j
with not one brassy note. Mary Stuwat’s char-
[For The Sunny South.]
THE VINE.
BY FANNIE H. MABB.
The tender vine, that cannot stand alone.
Scorns not to clasp the nearest stick and stone,
And of their roughness makes a prop and stay
To help it in its upward, winding way.
So, on the hard, rough task that nearest lies
I must take hold if I would upward rise,—
Must firmly grasp, as clinging vine the stone,
The ills that God allows to help me on.
After her separation from her husband, Don acter was not so simple as Lady Macbeth’s. Her
emotions were pledged to many objects. She
Camillo, she was through his generosity left
mistress of his magnificent establishment at
Rome. Napoleon was then an exile at St. Helena,
where he often mentioned his sister with fond
ness. He considered her the handsomest woman
in Europe, and spoke with pride of the fact that
artists loved to call her the modern Venus de
Medici. “ When she was at Nyce,” he said, “ she
actually established a line of baggage -wagons to
and from Paris to bring her supplies of the latest
fashions. Had I known it at the time, I should
have scolded her soundly, but after all she is the
kindest creature in the world.”
In her palace at Rome, the deserted wife still
swayed her sceptre over hearts. She was still
marvelously beautiful, though her health was
delicate and her constitution impaired. She
was surrounded by admirers, the most ardent of
whom was Lord Brougham. “He was admitted
to the mysteries of her toilet, and she allowed
him to sit on the floor before her and hold her
feet in his hands. He was also permitted, as a
great favor, to hand pins to her dressing-maids
when they needed them in the arrangement of
her person.
“How can you take pleasure,” some one asked
her, “in the society of men who have imprisoned
your brother at St. Helena ?”
“Can you not understand,” she replied, vehe
mently, “that I enjoy the sight of these men,
once so arrogant, now humbling themselves to
the dust of my sandals ? Can you not see that
the complaints of that British peer are sweet
music to my soul ? He stands for hours to give
pins to my waiting-maid, because they are to
touch my person. He has the courage to con
front the caprices of a woman, hut he does not
dare to speak before his parliament in behalf of
that woman’s brother, that he be more kindly
treated in his accursed dungeon at St. Helena !
And this man hopes that I may love him ! And
the others hope that I may love them. If I had
neither heart nor soul, perhaps I might! Let
them love on and suffer the penalty.”
was less constant than Lady Macbeth, who had
only one ambition: to raise her liuitband and
share his elevation. Her only resource was to
be a woman. Her emotions, when opportunity
is tossed in her lap, are not of the full-blooded
virago. Her soliloquy is not rant, but the ex
Savannah, (la.—The following from the ed
itor of the Nassau Guardian gives a stranger’s
ideas of Savannah:
While the visitor who goes to Savannah for the
first time may not he impressed with the view
from the river, a drive or a walk through its
broad streets and squares, intersecting one an
other at right angles, with its finely wooded
park and a sight of its numerous buildings, some
of them possessing considerable architectural
merit, will most certainly leave a very favorable
impression of the city and its suburbs. Some
of the streets are particularly imposing, and ad
mirably adapted to a Southern climate. They
have grass promenades in the middle of them,
pression of her fear. How dry her politeness | fringed with the water-oak, sycamore, magnolia,
' *' ' “ ’ ' ’ ’— and pride-of-India trees. A carriage-way is laid
down on each side of the grass-plot, and amply
paved foot-paths run the whole length of the
streets, for the accommodation of the business
pedestrians. Every other “block” is laid out in
the form of a park, with large, shady trees and
well-kept walks, and some of these squares are
ornamented with monuments of which the
Greene. Pulaski and Confederate will compare
favorably with many in the Union.
man, as bidden, read:
“ Come in the evening or come in the morning;
Come when you’re looked for, or come without warning,
Kisses and welcome shall be there before yon,
And the oftener you come here the more I’ll adore you.”
“There, sir,” continued the excited intruder,
‘how dare you give such stuff to my wife? My
wife whom I adore ? you wretch!’ Anti with
that he reached for the hair of the poet. His in
tention was interfered with, however, and as
soon as the young gentleman had conquered
his confusion, he went into an explanation,
which in the end proved satisfactory. *
Philopena.—Plenty of “philopenas” will he
eaten during the coming festivities, and per
haps our young friends may like to know the
origin of the word and of the custom. The word
is of German derivation, and was originally
“velleibchen,” “well beloved,” but the inhabit
ants of Alsace and Lorraine, where the custom
originated, partly lost the use of their native
language while under French dominion, and what
remained to them was corrupted and changed.
So it came, that velleibchen was altered into
phillipo, or phillipina, which sounds like it. It
was an old custom among thorn for young
couples to engage themselves by eating the
halves of double almonds, and then to salute
each other as well beloved (phillipina) each time
they met. *
The Macon Library.—The Telegraph and Mes
senger says: With Mr. Herbst as librarian, and
the constitution so amended as to make the pay
ments lighter, it is believed the membership will
be more than doubled, and that the incalculable
advantages of membership in the association be
extended to hundreds who are now deprived of
them. For the small sum of two dollars initia
tion fee, and two dollars semi-annual dues, any
white person can become a member with all the
privileges, and who will say that they will not
be repaid ? The association does not ask con
tributions, hut offers membership for a stipula
ted sum and will give ten times value received
in return.
The directors have determined upon an active
campaign for the winter and spring for the pur
pose of raising funds for the association.
And she gave me her heart with the flower;
Oh! never a blossom that blows
Is sweet as the heart of my darling,
That she gave to me with a rose.
Darling, the blossom has faded,
But your love no fading knows.
The Innocent Robber’s Grave.—In Montgom
ery churchyard, in Wales, one grave is conspic
uous. It alone is hare and sterile—all around
are green. No tree waves above it—no grass
covers it—no flower, l>y its perfume, testifies to
the tender ministry of loving hands. It is called
the “Robber’s Grave,” and the simple folk of
that country, rich in icgendafy lore, say that a
man, unjustly condemned for highway robbery
and murder, prayed Heaven, at his conviction,
that no grass might grow, no flower bend above
him, and that thus his innocence might be at
tested. How Heaven heard his prayer, a local
poetess has told in lines which suggest a strong
point against capital punishment:
“ Twice forty years have passed since then. The grave
may yet be seen,
All sterile, bare and desolate, amid surrounding green.
Though she of whom he spake had brought forth many
root and Btem—
In vain! The earth which covered him refused to succor
them.
And though she watched them morn and eve, they with
ered one by one,
And ne’er a flower expanded there its beauties to the sun.
She know that he was innocent, whate’er the world might
say,
And, for his sake, alone she trod life’s dull, unequal way,
And men with saddened eyes pass by that barren spot of
ground.
Still stands the gray old church, and still are all the graves
around;
The roses blush, the fuschsias trail, and grasses Idly wave,
But never leaf or blade hath grown above the robber’s
grave.”
The Secret of Social Success.—Madame Reca-
mier was the most successful in winning and
retaining homage, friendship and respect of any
woman that the annals of society record. Even in
old age, she commanded the enthusiastic admi
ration and devotion of distinguished men. The
secret of her success was said to he due more to
the graces of her soul than to her physique, gince
neither time nor blindness destroyed it. “Not
mentally brilliant, her marvelous tact and pres
ence, combined with the constancy of unswerv
ing friendship, and infinite patience and amia
bility, ensured her the respectful homage of the
most learned and brilliant men and women of
her day. Kind to all, she was yet exclusive in
her affections, and was fond of saying, “there is
always a certain taste in friendship to which the
commonplace characters could not attain.”
The same evergreen charm of manner, due to
the graces of the spirit as well as of the body,
made the celebrated actress, Mademoiselle Mars,
bewitching and irresistible at three-score. A
biographer says of her:
At sixty she played like young girls of twenty—
her figure having lost none of its suppleness
and youthful grace. An assertion that we, who
have not had the pleasure of verifying, need not
doubt, after witnessing the appearance and per
formances of Dejazet, during this last winter.
At fifty-eight she was arranging a marriage for
her grand-daughter, but the young bridegroom
elect became so enamored of the grandmother,
that he would not hear of it. Scribe read to her
his play of the “Grandmother;” when he fin
ished, she said, “Ah, yes, it is very, very good,
but I have been trying to think who can play the
grandmother.” “Ah, yes, that is the difficulty,”
answered the author, who dared not, after that,
venture to explain that he had written the role
for her. *
to Duncan. She is so set to the high key of
murder that she is rigid, stiff and cold—not pro
fuse in her welcome. In the impetuous, suc
ceeding scenes, her thoughts run rapidly. Men
study the ground and judge of the possibilities.
Women are not heedless till their heart is in
volved. Then they are the swift-footed couriers
of the ideal, fretting at obstacles, impressed
that what is worth doing at all is worth doing
quickly.—Exchange. m
Shattered Lives.—Many of the misfortunes
of women’s lives owe their origin to vacant or
dissatisfied minds. Few women attach sufficient
importance to the care of the mental faculties.
Their sphere of life being more limited than that
of men, they have not so wide a choice of occu
pation or amusement. This often causes women
who are naturally capable of considerable mental
exertion, to use their powers in an inordinate j
and unnatural degree, until they become mascu- j
line in manner, or eccentric. Often they fall j
into the opposite extreme. Not being possessed j
of sufficient force of character to take up any j
really intellectual pursuit, and being easily in
fluenced by any unusual excitement, they rest
their hopes of happiness on such slight founda
tions that when these fail them they have no 1
power to rally. The vacant mind broods over !
trifles for sheer want of occupation; inaction
produces a feeling of fatigue which induces a
desire for solitude; solitude soon gives rise to
melancholy, and a general weariness of existence
makes the sufferer only too glad to embrace any
chance of relief. Hence arise ill-assorted mar
riages, melancholia, religious mania and conven
tual life. To prevent the mental faculties from
sinking into lethargy, nothing is more effectual
than change of occupation or scene. It should
he the practice of every one to cultivate at least
one form of mental occupation other than that
which forms the chief object of life; for a wide
range of knowledge is of inestimable value, and
may prove to be not only a means of recreation
and pleasure in profitable times, but a source of
profit and comfort when accident or misfortune
renders it impossible for the ordinary pursuit
to he followed.
BOOKS AND PERIODICALS.
A most realistic piece of acting was lately wit
nessed in New Orleans, where the heroine and
the young man cast for her father both lisped in
speech. At the recognition, after long estrange
ment, he said: “Aith I live, it ith my own
thilde. ” And she said, “Yeth; yeth, father, I
am your own thilde.” The family infirmity at
once discovered the relationship, though it was
not so intended by the dramatist.
Think Well, Girls, Before Marrying. -We
have lately seen it stated that in one town, four
girls were married at the same hour, about eigh
teen months ago. Two of them have separated
from their husbands, and the other two aie try
ing for divorces. Such things ought to wake up
the girls to a sense of their danger. Girls talk
and laugh about marriage as though it was a ju
bilee—a jolly, gladsome thing, a rose without a
thorn. And so it is, if it be all right, if they go
about it as rational beings, instead of merry
making children. It is a serious thing to marry.
It is a life business, and that of heart and happi
ness. Therefore, never do it in haste; never run
away to get married; never steal a marriage;
never marry for wealth, or standing, or fine per
son, or manners, hut only for character, for
worth, for the qualities of mind and heart which
make an honorable man. Take time; think long
and well before you accept any proposal. Con
sult your parents, then some judicious friend,
then your own judgment. Learn all that it is
possible for you to learn of your proposed hus
band; when all doubts have been removed, and
not till then, accept him.—Exchange.
“ Worth makes the manno doubt, but on this earth,
It all depends upon how much he’s worth.”
Burns’ Monument.—This monument, de
signed by Hamilton, of Edinburgh, does honor
to the designer for taste and durability, and a
more suitable spot could not have been selected.
Near the cottage where he was horn, where
quietly flows through]the “banks and braes”
the pretty “Bonny Doon,” and within a few
yards of the Auld Bridge where Tom O’Shanter
met with his sad fate, and the old haunted Allo-
way Church and yard, with the little antique
bell which was used some three hundred years
ago, now dangling between two sharp points of
the gable-end of the building; these all have
associations sacred to the Scotch, and to every
stranger who has read the poems and life of
Burns.
When these are taken into consideration, the
monument, beautiful as it is, holds but a second
place in the visitor’s interest.
The monument is more than sixty feet high,
with a triangular base, supporting nine Corin
thian columns, surmounted with a cupola, and
terminates in a gilt tripod, and cost about two
thousand pounds.
Never too Old to Learn.—Socrates, at an ex
tremely old age, learned to play on musical in
struments. Cato, at eighty years of age, thought
proper to learn the Greek language. Plutarch,
when between seventy and eighty, commenced
the study of Latin. Sir Henry Spelman neg
lected the sciences in his youth, but commenced
the study of them after he had turned fifty.
After this time he became the most learned anti
quarian and lawyer. Dr. Johnson applied him
self to the Dutch language but a few years before
his death. Franklin did not fully commence
his philosophical pursuits till he had reached
his fiftieth year. Dryden, in his sixty-eighth
year, commenced the translation of the “Iliad,”
and his most pleasing productions were written
in his old age.
I bend o’er these royal blossoms,
A-swlng by the garden wall,
And my heart is astir in my bosom,
As if it beard you call.
Where are you, oh, my darling!
Sweetest June rose of all?
Ob, my love! like a summer blossom,
You died as these roses will;
Died! but the heart you gave me
I bold In my keeping still.
I shall keep it forever and ever,
Mine through all good and ill.
A Question of Honor. By Chkistian Reid.—
It is a relief, after the wear and tear of high
tragedy, of which modern romances give us a
surfeit, to read this strong and simple story.
It excels in power and pathos that style of san
guinary incident and illicit sentiment which a
vitiated public taste has so long required. A
severe review in a late Galaxy savors strongly of
sectional prejudice. The critic complains that
the authoress assumes a degree of culture, and
a knowledge of the world, in the circle she lo
cates at Stansbury, incompatible with the real
incidents of society in our Southern towns, and
with which, as a resident of such a locality, she
cannot be familiar. The public will accept Miss
Reid’s representation of a society of which she
is a member, as perhaps more accurate and in
telligent than that of her reviewer, whose op
portunities of observation of said society are at
least more limited. The standard of culture
she assumes is that of the class from which her
characters are chosen—families to whom an in
telligent ancestry and competent fortunes have
secured liberal educations for generations, with
the advantages of travel. In most of our aver
age towns, where the professions are well rep
resented, and the facilities for communication
with the world are secured by railroads, we have
a society which can favorably compare with most
cultivated wiles in our own country. To the
reviewer’s charge, that Miss Reid repeats her
self, we cannot consent. This hook is strikingly
dissimilar from her other works. And though
she has written much within a short interval,
she has steadily improved. Madeleine is in
finitely superior to Katharine, Valerie or
Nora; and Basil, in his grand, unconscious hero
ism, learned in common sense, and great in
simple duty, towers above her other male char
acters. We do not agree with the Galaxy critic,
that Miss Reid is guilty of repetition; though
we could pardon it. Such pure ideals of wom
anhood as Madeleine Severn cannot come too
often into our literary world. There has been a
moral iconoclasm of all high ideals of female
character by such writers as Ouida. We are
glad to welcome into the field authors who ren
der woman attractive through her moral and
mental attainments, instead of the seductive
grace of beauty and coquetry.
“Barnes’ Brief Histoi-y of France”—one of a
“Brief History Series” that is now issuing from
presses of the enterprising publishing house of
A. S. Barnes & Co.—certainly merits and will
meet the same favorable reception as has the
United States History.
For these histories a uniform plan has been
adopted, viz: Epochal divisions with geograph
ical questions at the beginning and chronologi
cal review at the close of each epoch. While due
space is given to the great captains and states
men of the several epochs, the domestic life of
the people is exhibited and the history stands
before the student as resultant from the combined
impulses of patrician and commoner. Its fault
is in that it assumes the use by the student of
the entire series, but this fault is venial as com
pared with the frequent repetitions that must
else encumber the series.
Numerous tables and a copious index are among
the excellent features of the work. 12 mo., 330
pp., SI.50.
From the same house we have before us Peck’s
Manual of Algebra. This is a revision of the
well-known Davies’ UniversityAlgebra,and needs
only an introduction under its new name.
“ Practical Ethics" is the title of another new
publication of A. S. Barnes & Co. This is a
woman’s work, designed for use as a text-book.
The arrangement is catechetical, and the style
is entirely relieved of that weight which so com
monly encumbers Ethical treatises.
“Pooler's Test Speller” is still another book
from the same house, and is brought out in re
sponse to the demands of the spelling mania of
last winter. Price, 25 cts.
And finally—“The National School Singer,”
for day schools and juvenile classes, containing
song-lessons, school-songs, etc. Price, 35 cts.;
sent by mail, post paid.
The Rural Texan.—This grand agricultural
journal of the Southwest has the hearty endorse
ment of the State Grange and of the press. It
makes adaptation to Southern climate a specialty.
Weekly, eight pages, forty columns, handsomely
printed, and only $2 per annum. R. J. Smith
& Sons, Publishers, Bryan, Texas.
“Written in Blood, or The Midnight Pledge,”
continued on third page.
“That’s How.”
After a great snow storm, a little fellow began
to shovel a path through a large snow-hank before
his grandmother’s door. He had nothing but a
small shovel to work with.
“How do you expect to get through that drift?”
asked a man, passing along.
“By keeping at it,” said the boy, cheerfully;
“ that’s how!”
That is the secret of mastering almost every
difficulty under the sun. If a hard task is before
you, stick to it. Do not keep thinking how large
and hard it is, but go at it, and little by little it
will grow smaller, until it is done.
If a hard lesson is to be learned, do not spend
a moment in fretting; do not lose a breath in
saying, “I can’t,” or “I do not see how;” but
go at it and keep at it—study. That is the only
way to conquer it.
If a fault is cured or a had lialht broken up, it
cannot he done by merely being sorry, or only
trying a little. You must keep fighting until it
is got rid of.
Fouk things are greivously empty—a head
without brains, a wit without judgment, a heart
without honesty, and a purse without money.
INSTINCT PRINT