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BY SAWTELL & JONES.
<JI)C tttutljbcvt Appeal.
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.LEGAL ADVERTISING.
Ordinaries. —CitatiiTHS for letters-of ad
ministration, guardianship. &c, $4 00
Application for letters of dismission Irom
administration .' 5 00
Application tor letters of dismission from
guardianship 4 00
Application for leave to sell Land 4 00
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 4 00
Administrator’* Sales, 4 <0
■* 00
Mortgage fl fa sales 5 00
of Land Uy Administrators. Executors,
are required by law to be held on
■’ Tu s lay in the mouth, between the hours
the forenoon, and three in the after-
Vnt the Court House in the county in which
is situated. Terms of sale must be
of'these salrsm .st be given in a public
for tlie sale of personal property must
Be given in like manner. 10 days previous to sale
Way.
'Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate
must be putdisbed 40 days.
Notice that application will be made to the
Court of Ordinary for leave to sell land, must
be published for one month.
Citations for letters of Administration, Guard
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mission from Administration*, three months ; tor
dismission from Guardianship, 40 days
Rules for foreclo.siire*of Mortgages must b
published monthly tor four months-for estab
lishing lost papers, for the full space ot three
months—for compelling titles from Executors or
Administrators, where bond has been given by
the deceased, the full space of three months.
Publications will always be continued accord
ing to these, the legal requirements, unless oJi--
erwise ordered.
The Doomed Man.
There is a time, we know not when,
A point, we know not where.
That marks the destinj of men,
To glory or despair.
There is a line by us unseen
That crossed every path ;
The hid len boundary between
God's patience and his wrath.
To pass that limit is to die, ■>
To die as il by stealth— '
it does not quench the beaming eye,
Or pale the glow ot health.
The conscience may be still at ease,
" The spirits light and gay ;
That which is pleasing stilt may please,
And care be thrust away.
But on that forehead God has set
Indellibly a mark—
I Unseen by man. for man as yet,
Is blind and in the dark.
Anl yet the (loomed man’s path below
Like Eden may have bloomed—
He did not, does not, will not kr.ow
Or feel that he is doomed.
lie knows, he feels, that all is well,
And every fear is calmed ;
He lives, he dies, he wakes in hell,
Not only doomed, but damned.
O ! where is this mysterious bourne,
By which our path is crossed.
Beyond which. God himself bath sworn
That he who goes is lost ?
How far may we go on in sin t
How long will God forbear !
Where dees hope end. and where begin
Tie confines of despair ?
An answer from the skies is sent—
Ye that from God depart
While it is called “ to-day,’’ repent,
A«d harden not your heart.
Eating Without Ahpktihs. —lt is
wrong to eat without appetite; for it
shows there is i)o gastric juice in the
stomach, and that nature does not need
Tood, and not needing it, there being no
fluid to receive and act upon it, it would
remain there only to puirify, the very
tW-lght of which should be sufficient
to deter any man from eating without
an appetite for the remainder of his life.
If a ‘tonic’ is taken to whet the appe
tite, it is a mistaken course; forfits only
result is t<> cause one to eat more, when
already an amount has been eaten be
yond what the gastric juice supplied is
stole to prepare. , .
The object to be obtained is a larger
supply of gastric juiCe, not a larger sup
tafy of food, and \VhateVer fails to accorn
lalish that essential object, fails to have
lily efficiency towards the cure of dys
Identic disease; and as the formation of
gastric juice is directly proportioned to
tbjo wear and waste of the system,
Which is to be the means of supplying,
ifitiA tbrn wear and waste can only take
place as the result of exercise, the point
is reached again that toe efficient reme
dy for dyspepsia is work—outdoor
work—beneficial and successful in di
rect proportion as it is agreeable, inter
esting ahd profitable.
Hard Conditions Maks a Man.—
Gibbon says ‘Every person has two
education?, one which he receives from
otheis, and one moro important which
he gives himself.’ Hard eouditions
draw aut a man, and you and I Are bet
ter for such au education. A man
needs to be hackled and spun just as
much as raw coUoh does. And the
best giu for him is, first, dxy-gen (gin)
for bodily health, and secondly the gib
cSf grinding circumstaiVste tp make a
mental oitt of him.
He needs to be pulled through nar
row places, as much as the wire, before
bo will be tit for bridging the great gor
ges and chasm of life which swallowed
iup the bloated and the capon-lined.
if a man were offered ten times as
niaDy gold eagles as be could carry, he
had-betler send them many miles frdtti
home and swear that ho will never Use
one ot them except upon the condition
that he walks back aud forth again for
each oneby one, before he speuds it. A
dollar is never worth a dollar to a man
until he has giveu a dollar’s worth of
work for it by hand or brain.
fgr- Let the salty of yesterday make
A Peep Behind the Scenes.
'Such a bargain, aunt Fanny! Lay
aside your worn and express your ad
miration. Haifa dozen of these pretty
linen collars for one dollar. 80 nicely
scolloped and stitched; just the thing
for the morning, are they not ?’
‘Exactly, Julia. They are a very de
sirable addition to your bridal ward
robe. But I cannot but regret that
they were not higher priced.’
‘Why, aunt Fanny ! you astonish me.
I had no idea that you were one of
those ladies who think nothing worth
paving unless it cost an extravagant
splice.’
« ‘And you are much in error if you
think so much, Julia. But in looking
at your cheap collars my sympathy is
called forth for the poyr seam
stress, whose weary fingers performed
the task which was to procure her a
wretched substance.’
‘Mercy, aunt Fanny 1 How deep you
look into things. It is enough for me
that I got the qpllars cheap. I shall
not trouble my head as to the maker of
them. I B-sides,’ continued the lively
young lady, as she noticed a cloud upon
the brow of her auditor, ‘you have for
gotten the sewing matches. They do
all the work now a-days.’
‘Not quite my young friend. I have
hud a peep behind the scenes. The
scolloped collars are not stitched by the
machines; weary fingers as I said be
fore, perform the task, for a compensa
tion wuich will hardly sustain life. You
must remember that when the collar
reaches your possession the wholesale
and retail dealer have both secured
their profits, and still you justly regard
them as cheap. Only think then what
a mere trifle must have been paid for
the making.’ **
‘O, it is very true, aunt Fannie; and
I am sure I pity the poor as much as
any one; but as long as this evil exists
I may as well reap the benefit of it.—
You know it is an ill wind that blows
nobody good.’
Aunt Fanny shook her head gravely
as she replied.
‘You speak lightly, Julia. May you
never have reason to Know the suffering
which springs from this want of uoion
of the interests of the employer and the
employed. But enough of this. Let
us speak of your approaching marriage.
It is long since you have sought ray
quiet room.’
‘Too long, aunt Fanny ; but my time
has been so much occupied. My neg
lect has not been from wujtt of affi-ck
tion, for you know that I love y #\i its
well as you had a right to the naf&e by
which I love to call you.’ ,i' ; _ . -
‘I know it, dear. I, did -uot mean to
complain. And now tell me whep/ the
wedding is to take place,-find afi, about
it.’ 1 ‘
‘ln two short weeks. I am to be
murried at my guardian’s, of course.—
You kflow lie does not qujte approve of
the marriage; or, at leiht, he would
prefer that we should wjpit until; Henry
is established 114 business; but I have
coaxed him into good lnfUjor. You
know he might as well submit with jj,
good grace, for I He tfigflteeta oh
my wedding day, and my little property
comes into my own hands.’
‘1 our guardian has been a faithful
friend to you since the death of your
patents, my dear Julia I trust you
will be guided by his advice ’
‘Not entirely, aunt Fanny. He would
pieter investing my money in some sale
and profitable way, for my futuie bene
fit, but I intend to have the present
good of it. Let the future take care of
itself, Henry will be rich, I have no
doubt. Bo wc shall begin life in the
style which we intend to keep up. A
handsome bouse, well furnished, and in
a pleasant part of the city. You shake
your head, but will see that it will all
end well.’
‘I hope 60, my child, but it strikes me
as impudent. Commence in a moderate
way, live within your husband’s income,
let your own property be reserved for
the hour of n< ed.’
‘My guardian’s exact words 1 But
you know I was always a wayward
girl, and must have my own way. And
now say—will you grant the earnest re
quest of Heniy and myself, and mak
your future home wuh us ! I shall need
an adviser, and you shall bo my second
mother.’
‘My dear child 1 your kindness brings
the tears to my eyes. Lint I cannot ac
cept your invitation —at least, not at
present. A few days ago I received an
urgent request from an aged re.ative in
England to come to her and be her
companion and friend lor the remainder
of her life. She is wealthy, but lonely
in her riches, and being nearly blind, is
much dependent upon the kindness of
those around her. At present there
are none but servants to administer to
her wants. She was the sister of my
own dear mother, and I feel it my dut3’
to go to her and do what I ean for her
comfort I sail in the next steamer.’
“Before the wedding! Why, aunt
Fanny, jmu will not ieave us so soon ?’
‘My prayers will be with you and
yours, dear Julia, but it necessary
that I hasten my departure as much as
possible. Do not forget your old friend,
aud in the midst of your happiness
sometimes remember the words of ad
vice which she has often spoken-’
With many tears the young maiden
bade adieu to oue who, though in reality
no relative, bad long been a valued
fr.end. 1'
Julia Howard had become an orphan
in early childhood. Her father’s dying
charge placed her under the care of one
who iu many respects was worthy of the
trust, and bad well performed the duty
which devolved upon him, but he was
a bachelor, and could not supply a
mother’s place to his orphan ward.—
The want of female influence was deep
ly felt. There was no one to watch
over each developing trait of character
—to cherish the good and gently and
carefully to remove the evil. Some
thing of this was done at times by aunt
Fanny; who had been an early friend
of Julia’s mother; but her opportuni
ties were limited, and the lovely girl
grew to womanhood a creature of im
pulse rather than fixed principles a
luxuriant arid beautiful but an unre*-
strained, iinwedded plant.
At seventeen she became attached to
Henry Lawrence, a young man of good
family and unblemished, character.—
Her guardian heartily approved fne con
oexion, but as Julia stated to aunt
Fanny, preferred that the young couple
should wait until Henry was well es
tablished in business, but this prudent
jidyicq was not followed. Henry’s pros
_ **- •*
pects were good—Julia had a few
thousands. Why not begin the world
at once ? So on the very day, when by
a peculiar coincidence, the bridegroom
was twenty-one and the bride eighteen,
they stood at the altar and plighted
those holy vows which bound jg
gether for weal or for woe.
AH was sunshine then. The present
was delightful, and the future bore the
rainbow tints. Years passed ere the
dark clouds oi adversity gathered
round them, but alas! they did gather ,
and the bright sunshine faded away
until scarcely one beam found its way
to those once happy hearts. Affection
for each other still remained—but even
this was chilled and repressed by their
earthly misfortunes. In some few in
stances the spirit may rise triumphant"
over the trials of the body, but in far
the greater" portion of mankind spirit
and matter are indissofi||£|e, aud the
afflictions of one .must unavoidably If
feet the other.
We.wiff'pasfi over tlreirain of mis
fortunes which had at length reduced
the youn - couple
and (rant.
living, failure hi business, long and se
vert- ilmess, were the producing causes.
Few would have recognized in the anx
ious, care worne looking husband, and
the feeble, desperated wife, the exulting
bridegroom and happy bride of former
days.
There were others also to share the
sufferings. Three lovely children hatl
been born to them. One had passed
to the spirit world, the others remained
to enduie the t[ial« ol earth. Sad was
the father’s heart as be gazed upon
them, and the tears stood in the moth
er’s eyes as she pressed them to her
bosom. The eldest, a sweet girl of
"seven years had a distinct recollection
of a happier home; and, although with
a prudence and sensibility beyond her
years, she n. ver reverted to it —yet her
devoted affection, aud her peculiarly
quiet and somewhat melancholy disposi
tion evinced her sympathy with the triuls
of her parents. The boy was much
younger, and knew of naught but pov
erty.
Affliction should have drawn the
husband and wife nearer together—
but, on the contrary, as we a 1 ready said,
misfortune seemed to chill and repress
the love they had borne to each ottier.
Unaccustomed to self control, or to
the denial of selfish gratification, Julia
was ill prepared .0 bear the rigid sys
tem of economy which was now neces
sary She became irritable and morose,
and thoughtlessly added many a drop
tp-tbe bitter cup which her husband was
""drinking.
•Is there no hopo of your obtaining
the situation with Mr Markham which
you mentioned some days ago ?’ she
suddenly asked, as her husband rose
from their frugal meal, oue cold morn*
ing in tha early part ot winter.
’Ndhe at-hll,’was the reply. ‘The
present clerk has decided to retnaio.’
‘Then we tmfy make up our minds to
starve,' vvas the despairing reply.
The gentle-little Fanny drew nearer
,lo her.{pother, ajid clasped her hands
fond I})wflHe'the tn**tw ad'replied ronth
ly :
‘Not so bad as that, Julia. Even my
present situation is better than nothing.
TrjSe hundred will keep us from star
ving.’
Mt were better to die, Henry, than
trtdive in this way Life has lost ail
its charms for me, and 1 would gladly
be at rest.’
‘But our children, Julia. Think of
them and keep up your courage a little
longer. The day may yet dawn upon
us,’
‘Never, never. My own folly has
brought this upon me. My guardian
warned me ugaiost marrying one nut
well established in the world, blit 1
slighted his advice. Thank God, he is
not here to see how bitterly I have lived
to repent my rashness.’
‘And do you really regret it, »ulia?
We may regret the imprudence in our
former syle ol living, and we may sor
row for the misfoitunes which have
come upon us, but we ueed not repent
of our marriage.’
‘Was not that the cause of all ?” was
the bitter reply. “It is of no use to
disguise tne the truth.’
Deeply grieved the husband turned
to leave the house. On the thresold a
gentle touch detained him.
‘Mamma is sick and sorry,’ whisper
ed the soft v -ice of Fanny, in its most
pleading accents
The appleal was not to be resisted,
and tbe lather stooped to kiss her white
forehead as he replied :
‘I know it, love. Do all you can to
comlort her.’
The cloud had passed from his brow
aud Fanny was satisfied, but it was
more difficult to quiet the self-reproach
of the mother. The day was a sad one—
and when an hour or two before the
usual time for his return, Henry was
borne into the house by two men, and
the unhappy little family were told that
an accidental fall on the ice ha*i resulted
in a broken leg, the last~drop seem
to have been added to the already oriui
ming cup.
From the night of agony which fob.
lowed, Julia was a different, and, in
some respects, a better woman. Hith
erto ihtre had been a lingering feeling
of pride which had prevented her from
coming forward at nei’- husbanu 8 side
to struggle against the miafortui.cS
which had come upon them. 8n« had
shrunk back despairing and powerless
Now she was roused into energy. Her
husband, her children would look to
her for bread. It would be long ere
Henry could resume his labors, and
their slender means would soon be ex
haosted. Something must be done,
and with the consciousness of what de
volvt-d upc n her, came an earnest prayer
for strength—a look upward which was
not ber wont.
Her education had been somewhat
showy, but far Irom thorough, and she
felt quite incompetent to teach any of
the various branches to winch she
had attended. Nothing presen ed
to her mind but plain sewing, and this
she was well aware would afford them
but a miserable pittance. Still it would
be better than nothing, application
was at once made to a kind neighbor,
aud through her influence work was
speedily obtained.
It was soon evident that this exertion
was not Uncalled ,lor. The puiu yt the
broken limb and the anxiety of mind
produced by his situation, brought ou a
fever, and for m#Dy weeks Heqry Law-
CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JULY 23, 187*
rence hovered bn the border of the
grave.
The grief of the wife was overwhelm
ing as she-watcued over him and lis
tened to the wild ravings of his deliri
um. He was again the lover of her
youth, the husband of happier years.
%»ch hasty word, or unmerited re
proach carne to her ears with fearful
distinctness, and earnestly did she prav
for at least one look of recognition, one
word of forgiveness and love
But the hand of the destroyer ww
stayed, and feeble as an infant, the Hus
band and the father looked once more,
upon his little funify and bade them
bless God that life was spared, and that
re. son again resumed her throne
exhausted in body and mind,
rift‘With a heart filled with thankful
ness. Julia redoubleijypfer exertions for
their maintenance, moment of
leisure during the day, aoij|Auny'weary
hours of the night ployed in
finishing those garmtftfljjyßir which the
compensation was so smal that it hard
ly sufficed to supply their absolute ne
cessity. _ ,1
Often when employers wouhjjl
urge her to abate a few pennies on Thp
usual price, and assured her thutnt was
for her interest to work cheap, she
would sigh deeply as she remembered
her own feelings ir. former days, and
the truth of aunt Fanny’s words forced
itsell upon her mind. The sufferings
proceeded from the want of union of
the employer and the employed were now
her own.
And where was aunt Fanny during
the lapse of years ? FaithfuPy and
unweariedly had she performed the du
ties which she had taken upon herseif.
That task was now ended. That aged
leiative, t-» whose wants she had so
ministered, had at length gone home.
Once more Fanny’s heart lurned to her
native land. Friends of her earlier
years rose before hep, and she longed
to meet them agaiu face to face. The
few necessary arrang-ments were soon
made, and eie many weeks had passed
she had o.;ce more crossed the broad
ocean, and was welcomed with kindly
greetings by many whom she had known
so long.
One of her first inquiries was for Ju
lia, for it was very long since she had
heard from her. News of the failure of
Mr Lawrence in business had reached
her, and rumors of various undefined
misfortunes had from time to time come
t-» her knowledge, Ijait n -t one word of
direct information. CTlie mother of Ju
lia had been a very dear friend, and
aunt Fanny felt a yefirningTor her child.
Al first it seemed to trace
them, for mtHjt of Jos\r former aequain
tance had lout aigSt of them in the hum
ble sphere in which they were now mov
ing. But aunl Fanny was indefatiga
ble, and the difficulties of the task oDly
gave vigor to her resolution.
‘Mrs. Alcott must be able to give me
some information,’ she said to herself, as
she ascended the steps of a handsome
house in one of the most fashioable
streets of the city. ‘I recollect tiiat she
was a great friend of Julia’s. I will
take the liberty of calling upon her.’
*Nt»t at bofpe, madam/ said the
spruce looking waiter who answered*
her ring at the boll.
An echo of the words met her ear as
she turned Irom the door.
‘Not at home! I thought it was the
poor only who were not at home.’
The simplicity of the words caused
her to observe the speaker attentively.
A little girl of seven or eight years
stood gazing wishfully towards the ele
gant mansion. Her large dark eyes,
clustering ringlets and delicate skm
formed a strimng contrast to the misei
able garments which served as a scanty
protection against the chilling breeze.
And yet there was an effort at neatness
and even gentility in her dress, which
could not escape the observation of an
attentive observciyfftid which gave evi
deuce of better days gone by.
Irresistibly drawn toward her, aunt
Fanny paused near where she stood
and said in a kind voice:
‘And why did you think that it was
the poor only wbo were not at home,
my-ohild ?’
The little one hung her head, but an
swered mi-desly :
‘Because I never feel at homp. now
that we.are poor, and I kn--w that moth
er never ft-els at home, nor fathe-’.either.
It is like staying in a strange place.—
But then if we are all good we -hall go
to God’s home. Is not that a comfort?
As she asked tins question she raised
her eyes and looked with great earnest
ness in aunt Fan.iy’s face.
Tears dimmed the the eyes of the
kindhearted old lady as she replied ;
‘lt is indeed, my child. But tell me
y<»ur name and where you live, for I
should like to be a friend to you.’
'Oh, thank you, ma’am. And per
haps you would be a friend to my poor
fathe,r now he is so sick, and my mother
works so hard. My name is Fannie
Lawrence, ma’am, and [ will show yon
where I live if you will come with me.’
A few brief enquiries convineed aunt
Fanny that she had found the object of her
searcti, and giving her hand t -her little,
guide, with a voice trembling with enio
tion she bade h<M' lead her to her m >th
er.
The day had been a discouraging one
for Julia, even more so than usual. A
little exertion had brought on Henry’s
fever again, and the physician who was
summoned to attend him had spoken iu
siring terms of the absolute necessity
for perfect rest and freedom from ex
cite merit. Row was this possible when
hour after hour he must lie upon his
back and see his wife toiling beyond her
strength for their maintenance ? And
tiien it Was something difficult to pro
cure wurk/Stnd Julia absolutely trem
bled as she tfituight of the sufferings
they must uflhjrip&sliould this means of
-upport be cut oflv Some kind neigh
b*»r had advised her to apply at a collar
manufactory near by, where inuuy wo
men and young girls found constant em
ployment. She had done so with sue
cess, and at the moment her old friend
entered she was gazing mournfully
up«>n a dozen collars which she had
taken on trial They were nicely stitch
ed by a sewing machine, and she*had
engaged to bind them and uaake three
huilou holes in each for the Mnall sum
of one cent a piece. *A starving price,’
she murmured to, herself, and she s6eiri
ed lost iu jp wfd%verie, from which she
was aruu»e|kby the,.soft voice of FanDV.
‘ MarttmaT a lady to <*e
you. She will be our friend.’
Julia looked up iu suprise as Fauny
spoke, but to an instant her wonder was
joy. and twining ber arms
aroupd aunt Fanny’s neck she sobbed
like a child.
Composure was at length restored,
and tfieu there was so much to tell and
to be told, that the good lady took oft
her bonnet, aud said she would make
quite at home, aud pass the eve
ning with them.
‘You -annot be at borne here,’ said
Fanny, ‘because it is not pretty enough
fc^home.’
&fjjlulia sighed as her child spoke, but
aunt Faijny answered:
/'‘HoJie is wheramr we find those we
ToreJl PrttTe oucjjfffof- matters little in
wfiAt place we fidSHerai; So this is my
home fajr the eysfjpf, and now, Julia,
as yout^husbup3|3Beds attention, just
give ? itic your.iwc and I will sew for
you.- My thirffyle is in my pocket a9
Visual. You see I retain my otf&afeits.’
‘You are still the sairne auJH||p(&’
was Ug; reply. ‘Here is my r v«|pJsjia,
bind jLp# collars. Do you
our JfrvarsatioD the day
cheap collars frxyiery
my rnin,d I w.at,
jVugt&sf^hen—butt O, JSunt
TfannwPr ton have had a peejlUlehind the
tcenee^mk^^p-*'
‘Yijtf&jpire, indeed, my poor child;
but to your husband, and when he
is eoni f ortably arranged we will sit to
getbi r by his bedside and have a quiet
chat. ; J,
• The ti-ents of the years were soon
talked fiver, and ere aunt Fanny rose to
bid t tem good night, she said:
‘Ail now, my dear young friends, I
am yiaJy to accept your former invita
tion and become an iumate of your tam-
r >
‘O/T iaunt Fanny,’ exclaimed Julia,
‘we'ja’ve no longer a home to offer you.
Thiajis the hardest trial of all.’
‘listen, my child. I ainr becoming
infirijo, and shall soon need the care
whiiiluXrhave bestowed upou others. —
There are none who seem nearer to ine
thap yourself. My means are ample,
for my generous relative has added
largely to my little fortune. We will
look for a suitable dwelling, and you
will l»e to me as affectionate children.’
Tears were her only answer, but
these were sufficient to speak the ieel-
heart.
In after years neither party had
cause to regret this arrangement. —
Closer intimacy only served to endear
them still more to one another. In the
midst bf her happiness Julia forgot the
uses of affliction, and would often feel
irfgly reier to her peep behind the sceneß.
Thinking. —Thinking, not growth,
makes perfect manhood. There are
some, who, thought they are done
growing, are only boys. The constitu
tion may be fixed, while the judgment is
immature; the limbs may be strong,
while" the reasoning is feeble. Many
who can run and jump, and bear any
fatigue, ean not observe, can not exam
me, o ijp not reason or judgo, contrive or
essSbte—they do not think. Accius
tom yourself, then, to thinking. Set
yobrself to understand whatever you
see or read. To run through a book is
task, nor is it a profitable
a fiW'.v pag*s
is far better than to read the whole,
where mere reading it is all. If the
work does not set you to thinking, eith
er you or the author must be veiy defi
cient.
It is only by thinking that a mao can
kow himself Yet alj other knowledge
without this is splfcodiil ignorance.—
N<lt a glance merely, but much close
examination will be requisite for the for
miug of a true opinvm of your own pow
ers. Ignorance and self conceit always
tend to make you overrate your person
al ability; as a slight degree of knowl
edge may make a timid mind pass upon
himself too humble a judgment. It is
only by thinking, and much impartial
observation, that a man can discover
real disposition. A hasty temper
onfy supposes itself properly alive; an
indolent indulger. imagines be is as act
ive as any one;- but by close and severe
each may discover tome "
thipgPearer the truth. Thinking », in-
H&I the very germ of
»the source from which all vital infiu-
turn
arm
like
pce springs. Thinking will do much for
fhiiict've mind, even in the abseuce of
books, or living instructors. The rea.
jojung faculty grows firm, expands, dis
cerns its own powers, acts with increas
ing.. facility, precision and extent, under
all its Where there is no
pfivatiou, help from former
tinkers, how much may we not expect
fom it! Thus great characters rise.—
While lie who thinks little, though much
ref#, or much he sees, can hardly
ctfl anything he has his own. He
tiitdes with borrowed capital, and is in
tlie high road to literary or rather to
Rental bankruptcy.^,
) |®“ The other day, in Paris, a lady
returned from promenade at dinner time
ti her house. She rfent to the kitchen
to see if everything was all right there,
and as the inspectfrm did jnot have
the wished-for result, she sent Justine,
to buy some moro pro
-41kon. Suddenly Ahe door bell ting,
iTOt when the lady opened the door, a
San rushed in and menacingly brand
led a knife, uttering the words, “your
plate or your life!” Perfectly dumb
founded, the lady pointed to a large
clothes-press standing in the kitchen ;
perhaps her intention was only to gain
time; for the plate was not there at all
The robber hastened to the clothes-press
and opened it; but to his terror, and to
t(ie great surprise of the lady, there
stepped fiom it a tall granadier, who
disarmed the robber and took him to
dlie station house ; previously saying to
tlie lady, ‘excuse me madame, I was
waiting there for Justine.”
A Scale by Which to Measure Crime.
{le who steals a million is a shrewd
financier.
He who steals a half a million is a de
faulter.
He who steals a quarter of a million
is an ‘irregular financier.’
He who steals a hundred thousand is
a rogue.
tie who steals fifty thousand is a
knave.
But he who steals a pair >f hoots «r
a loaf of bread is a scoundrel of the
deepest dye, and deserves incarceration
iu prison 1 .
g££r O Tommy 1 that was abominable
in you to eat vour ljttle.sisier’s Bhare of
the cake 1” ‘‘Why/’SaidTorpmly, “didn’t
you tell me, ma, that l was always to
take her part?”
Prom tbe Eufaula News.
Combat with A Battle-Snake—
Death from its Bite-
Mr. Editor. —Last Saturday morniDg
I was the witness of such a scene as I
pray God I may never see again. I be
held a comoat between a young man
and a rattle snake, in which the former
was bitten and died iu ten minutes
thereafter The particulars of the ter
rible affair, are as follows:
On Friday last, a young man named
Gray nor, asked me to spend tbe
with him and go coon hunting the next
morning, to which request I readily ns*
seated. We started out about 3 o’clock,
A. m., and near day tbe dogs opened ou
a trail in the swamp of Bear Creek.—
J cat after sun-rise, the deep baying of
tbe dogs informed us that the- game
had taken a tree. We proceeded to
make our way through the bogs and
tangled brush and vines in the direc
tion oi the dogs, until we came to a
£inall space of firm ground, which was
'Covered with a low growth of oak bush
tp. Here we halted a moment to listen
far the dogs. i *
'} '"We had barely nlenwe were
startled by a
sound issuing from beneath a low, thick
hush within a lew feet of us. Though
I had never heard that peculiar noise
before. I knew instinctively that it was
a rattle-suake, and I sprung back in ter
ror, remarking, ‘Graynor, let’s leave
here.’
‘What, S ,“ said he, ‘are you
afraid ?’
‘Yes,’ said I, ‘lm a afraid.’
‘Well, S ,’ he coolly remarked, ‘I
am going to kill the snake; it would be
a pity to leave such a fine fellow here.
So, here goes.’
While Graynor was speaking, I
caught a glimpse of the snake, which, as
nearly as I could judge, appeared to be
about eight fe. t in leng'h, and three
inches in diameter in his larger part
He was lying coiled up iu perfect cir
cles, with his head drawn back in a ter
ribly graceful curve, his small black
eyes sparkling, hisslender forked tongue
darting swiftly back and forth, and his
brown neck swollen with fatal wrath
whiie ever and anon he twirled the
warning rattles in the air, with a harsh,
blood-curdling sound. *
‘For God’s sake, let’s go,* said I,
shuddering at the terrible sight.
‘Don’t get scared,’ said G. ; ‘just
climb a tree, and he won’t bite you. It
ain’t every day that a fellow meets with
such a fine, large snake as this, and it
wouldn’t do to lose him.’
He had picked up a small stick about
a yard long, and while speaking, was
drawing back the bushes from above the
snake so as to get a sight of him. He
threw his foot around over the bushes,
and tramped them down in such a man
ner that the monster was fairly exposed
to view ; but just as lie did so, and be
fore he had time to strike, 'the snake
made a sudden spring at him, and I
turned away my face in horror. The
next instant, Graynor exclaimed, ‘l’ve
got him, by George !’
I turned to look, and with his right
hand he was grasping the snake by the
neckjn such! a manqer that he could 0 t
bite, while the monster was knashfng
his teeth most; furiously, and twisting
and writhing iu huge folds around G.’s
arms. All of a sudden iu some unac
countable manner, the snake ireed his
head, and quick as lightning plunged
bis deadly fangs into G.’s right cheek :
when, dropping on the ground, lie gli
ded a few paces and again coiled him
self up, keeping his head erect and ring
ing his fearful rattles. G. turned death
ly pale, paused a moment, and theD
with a little st : £k advanced toward the
snake. As he did so the snake made a
spring at him, but G. struck him with
the stick and knocked him back. A
second time the snake sprung at him ;
and he again knocked him off with the
stick; before be could strike a third
blow, the suake had made another
spring and inflicted another wound in
; Graylor’s arm. This time Graylor
managed to seize the monster by
the neck; and, dropping the stick, he
drew forth his knife with one hand,
opened it with his teeth, and then de
liberately cut off" the snake’s head.. —
Blood spurted from the trukn, and G.
still grasping the snake whose huge
folds flapped and writhed around him,
turned towards me, staggered and fell.
I rushed up to him and asked him, -
‘What in the name of God can I do
for you ?’
‘Nothing’ said he calmly, ‘I am dying.
Tell them good———’ and his features
became frightfully contorted, his eyes
rolled over as if starting from their
sockets, and his black swollen tongue
protruded Rom his mouth. Then he
fixed his red, wild, staring eyes upon
me, and heaved a deep piercing groan;
a shiver passed over his frame, and
then all was still. I was alone with the
dead.
Marking the place as well as t could,
I hastened to a house we had passed on
the road, some half a mile distant from
the fatal tragedy. Runners were sent
thro’ the neighborhood, and in the
course of two hours, some twenty of the
neighbors had gathered. We pro
ceeded to the place which I found no
difficulty in pointing out.
Good heavens! what a sight met our
view. The face and body had turned
to a deep purple, and were swollen to
three times the natural size, presenting
the most horrible appearance I had ev
er witnessed. The snake lay where he
had been thrown, and was still writhing
A litter of boughs was hastily con
structed. and with heavy hearts we took
our way to the residence of his parents.
I will not attempt to describe the heart'
rending scene, when they saw the body
Grief like tbeirs cannot be portrayed.
This was my fWt encounter with a
Rattle Snake, aud I pray God it may be
my last. L A. S.
Clop too, Ala., 1870.
t&T Loafers toil uot, neither do they
spin, yet they inacage to keep soul and
body iogether without working, which
is a very fine art.
tST A woman’s life has two eventful
periods. One when she wonders who
she will have, the other when she won
ders who wiU have her.
14 What i« the dittereuce twixt a
watch and a fedder bed, Sam ?’’ “Dun*
fio, gin it up.” “Because de ticken ob
de watch is on de inside, and de ticken
ob de bed is on de outside,”
tfby fHerjcj hai a friend, and tfey
froad’s friend liai a friend—be di«reet.
A Brkvo Girl*
Our heroine lived in Bartlett, N. H .
and was a descendant of the old Craw
fords. Her father was a Crawford, and
followed the profession of guide among
the mountains. Ber name Was Bessie,
and she was the only daughter remain
ing at home—a dark-eyed, brown-haired
girl; of slight, but compact frame; just
entering her nineteenth year. He**
mother had been dead several years, and
upon her devolved the whole care of the
household.
One day, late in the summer, Mr.
Crawford went, with a party of travel
ers, away to the head-waters of one of
the many mountain streams that empty
into the Baco, and Bessie was left alone.
Even the dogs had all gone with the
pleasure seekers. Near the middle of
the afternoon, while the girl was sitting
by an open window of the front room,
engaged in sewing, a man came up from
the road, and asked hei if she would
give him a drink of water. Bessie had
seen this man before, and had not liked
his looks. He was a stout, broad
shouldered, ill-favored fellow, and the
bits of "moss and spikes of the pines,
U|K»n clothes, indicated hall
slept in the woods.
But Bessie did HTit hesitate. She
laid aside her work and went to get the
water. When Bhe came back the man
had entered the room. She did not
like this, for she was sure he had come
by the window ; but she handed him the
tin dipper without remark. The man
drank, and tließ set the dipper down
upon the table Then he turned upon
the girl, and drew a broad-bladed knife
from his pocket.
‘Look ye, my young lady,’ he said, ‘1
know there’s money in this house;
and I know that you are alone. Show
me where the money is ! If you don’t,
I shall kill you and then hunt it up my
self ! I’m in earnest, and there ain’t no
time to waste, Don’t make a fuss, or
if you do you'll feel this knife quick !’
Bessie shrank back, and looked into
the man’s fm e, and she could see that
fie meant whut he had said.
‘lf 1 show you where the money is
will you proemse not to do me bartfl V
‘Sbow mo, honest, and 1 won’t harm
you.’
‘Then come with me. But you will
take only the,—you won’t take father’s
papers ?’
‘Only the money girl.’
Bessie led the way to a small bed
room on the ground floor, where there
was an old mahogany bureau, the up
per drawer of which she unlocked.—
The man, when he saw this, thinking,
doubtless, that Crawford's gold was
within his grasp, shut up his knife and
put it into Ins pocket. The girl opened
the drawer, and quick as thought, drew
foilh a large navy revolver—one which
she berself had killed a trapped bear—
aud cocked it.
‘Villain 1’ she exclaimed, planting her
back against the wall, and aiming the
weapon at his bosom, ‘many a wild
beast have I shot with this good pistol,
and I’ll now shoot you if you 4JO not
iustantly leave this house! Uwwjl give
you cot even a second 1 StaTLlr# I
fire!’ .
Tibe* ruffian 4501)1$
as well as could the maiden, and. Imj
could read very plain§Bp» the fiim-set
lips, and in the flalTfmgeyes—but more
clearly in the steady hand that held the
pistol—that she wuuld not only fire, as
she had promised, but that her aim
would be a sure and ‘atal one.
And he backed out from the bed
room—backed iato the sitting room
then leaped from the open window, and
disappeared,
Bessie kept her pistol by her side un
til her father and his guests came home;
and when she had told her stoiy, search
was made for the ruffian. But he was
not found. Our heroine had so thor
oughly frightened him that he never
eatne that way again.
A Tough Storx. —A Philadelphia pa
per says: There is a doctor in the
northwestern part of this consolidated
city who is especially remaruable for
being, as the women term it, ‘short and
crusty.’
A week or two since he was called to
visit a patient who was laboring under
a severe attack of cheap wliskey.
‘Well, doctor, I’m down, you see—
completely floored. I’ve got thd tre
mendous delirium, you know !’
‘Tremens, you fool ! Wher’d you get
your rum ?’
‘AU over in spots; broke out promis
cuously, doctor.’
‘Served you right.’
‘Father died of the same disease; it
took him under the short ribs and car
ried him oft" bodily.’
‘Well, you’ve got to take something
immediately.’
‘Your’re a trump, Doc 1 Here, wife,
I’ll take a nip of old rye.’
‘Lie still, you blockhead ! Mrs. B. if
your husband should get worse before
I return, which will be in an hour, give
him a dose of that trunk strap, may be
that will fetch him to a sense of his fol
ly.’
The doctor sailed out grandly, and
within an hour sailed in again, and
found his friend of the ‘tremendous de
linum’ in a terrible condition, writhing
and struggling with pain. His wife, a
female of the kind, but ignorant school,
came up, aod laying her hand on the
doctor’s arm, said :
‘Doctor, I gave him tbe strap, as you
directed.’
‘Did you thrash him well ?’
‘Thrash hirn ?’ exclaimed the aston
ished woman, ‘no 1 I put the strap into
hash and made hiiT) swallow it!’
‘Oh, Lord, doctor 1’ roared tbe vic
tim,‘l swallowed tbe leather, but—but’
‘But—what ?’
‘I swallowed the whole strap, but I’m
darned if I could go the buckle !’
The doctor admimsteicd two bread
pills and evaporated.
BS3L. The loss of tastes for what is
right, is the loss of all right tas'e.
The credit that is got by a lie
only lasts until the truth comes out.
I®. Silence is more significant than
tlie most expressive eloquence.
If you would know a bad Jius
band, look at h is wife’s countenance.
The greatest glory is not in never
falling but ib rising every time we fall
Wof-k is the Wfeapon of honor;
and he who iadks the weapou wilt uev
! er triumpb,
VOL. IV—NO. 36
A Quill Driver Essays to Drive
a Mule.
Major Napier Bartlett, of tbe New
Oi leans Times, gives to the readers of
that journal his experience in an attempt
to plow a mule, near that city :
Becoming enamored, along with every
body through this country, in the culti
vation of cotton, I occupied my last dad
in Columbus in guiding tbe plow and in
urging through the furrows a long eared
and stubborn mule. A dozen men, wo*
men and children were in the field to
keep me companj’, and throwing the
whole of my weight upon the beadles,
spradling over newly-turned ground and
whooping and halloing at my slow paced
team in the manner pursued by the
brothers, I was soon up to my knees ift
work. Still the faithful animal that
acted as principal in the experiment bad
his theories about the matter, which
were not thoso laid down by Virgil,
and from time to time gave Utterance to
his dissent in discouraging cri«& Prac'
tical experience soon began to prove
that it was just as difficult Jfor. scribes
to keep from working fuEMwH.
as it was with straight sentences, and H
that anew -pair of hnnt« might he on
closed in the success off the expAsSttent,
not to speak of occasionally puiw|| up’
small stumps with the bottom of yopr
pants. I found it was annoying to be
bit by the flies and to melt with perßpi
ration under a sweltering sun. Lastly,
the mule became goaded to
the sight of a sassafras I
cut with the object of explaining my
opinion to him. Without waiting far
tbe conclusion of the explanation, ha
set off at full speed for the stable, and
I have had no curiosity to see him since.
Young Mbn. —An exchange truly
says : ‘Thousands of young men are
to-day drifting helplessly about on the
ocean of life, vainly hoping that ere
long some favorable breeze will spring
up and drive their vessels into some safe
harbor. Where that safe harbor is they
have no idea ; because they have no def
inite object in view. They have never
decided upon any course of life j but
permit their actions to be shaped and
moulded by the circumstances of the
hour. Is it any wonder that disasters
follow each other ? More men are ruined
through indecision than from a wrong
decision. Few men will deliberately
lay out and pursue a plan of life that
will ultimately work tbeir rum. Most
young men of the present day enter
the batt’e of life without any well de
fined system of warfare, and consequent
ly spend their best days in aimless put-'
suits. Indecision is the bane of our
existence. Could we look into the
world of spirits we would find but few
souls in the dark region of woe that
had resolved to reach that goal; nearly
all who are there, and those who are
hastening the e, are in their presentcon
disiood becaqstyiever decided whither
t their indecision has
ia, CiiElMagte . PeupljC—God bless the
afifesflul poop] or child,
nI#V young* illllerat'eor educated,
'haudapyie or ijj Qwr andLabova
~iv.»ry ovfier so.inT'-WwrSiaßds Tbecrr
ralntjss. What the sun is to nature—
what God is to the' stricken heart which
knows how to lead? upon? Him—are
cheerful persons in the house and by
the go unobtrusively, un
co; iseiou«l|^oid.u*'riheir silent mission,
biighteiimguip soejety afouud them
with ths happiness beaming from their
■faces. We love to sit near them ;we
love the nature of their eye, the tone of
their voice. Little children find them
out, oh ! so quickly, amid the densest
crowd, and passing by the knitted and
compressed lip, glide near, and laying a
confiding little hand on their knee, Tift
their clear young eyes to those loving
faces.
Lean on Yourself.—Half at least of
the disappointed men one meets are vic
tims of ill-grounded hopes and expects*
tions, pei sons who lnve tried to lean
upon others, instead of relying upon
themselves. This leaning is poor busi
ness. It seldom pays. Energetic men
(and they are the classes generally look
ed to for aid), do not like to be leaned
upon. If you are travelling in a rail
road car, and a great hulking fellow
lays his head against yonr shoulders and
goes to sleep, you indignantly shake him
off. It is the same in business. The
man who does not at least at\mtpt to
hoe his own row, need not expect any*
one to hoe it for him It is noqscttsS
for any man to pretend to the digni ty/of
bei ig unfortumte, who has depended
upon others when he might have cloaA
a way to fortune for himself.
“What do you mean by\cat‘aod
dog life ?” said a husband to bis anjpry
wife, “Look at Carlo and Kittyftnßbo
rug asleep; I wish men lived half a*
peacefully with their wives.”
said the lady; “tie them together,aud
see how they will agree.”
C3T An old lady lately refused to
let her niece dance with a young grad
uate, because she bad heard that be was
a bachelor of arts, whereby she Under
stood him to be an artful bachelor.
Youth repentant, butinpoherent,
over bis dissipation, signed the fondling
pledge : “I solemnly promise to abstain
from the use of all intoxicating bevera
ges, otherwise than as a drink; anil pro
fanity, unless subsciibod by a physician,
at four times a day, excepting cider.”
tar An old hotel.keeper, in Wash
ington, once posted on his dining-rßom
door the following notice : ‘Members of
Congress will go to the table first; and
then the gentlemen. Rowdies and
blackguards must not inix with tlje Con
gressmen, as it is had to tell thera%rom /
the other.’ _
tfgr An old lady bougfit a shroua iW
her husband the other day, remarking,
th;.t be wasn't dead yet, or particularly
ailing; but she dicjii’i .t.Hiifii that she
should ever be able to buy it so cheap
again.
A lady who had been a widow
but three months recently carried to a
jowcller’s shop in New York, the gold
pb te of the false teeth of her late hus
band ordering It to be made into rings
to be used lipon the occasion of her
marriage with the foreman of the coach
factory of her deceased husband.
tar a Cl itic says of a famous singer
that ‘she sings a few airs and puts ou «
great many.’