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la There Room in Angel-Land ?
These lines were written after
hearing the following incident rela
ted by a minister A mother who
was preparing po mo flour to bake
into bread, loft,it for a few moments,
when little Mary—with childish cu
riosity to see what it was—took
hold of the dish, when it fell to the*
floor, spilling its contents. The
mother struck the child a severe
blow, saying with anger, that she
was always in the way l Two
weeks after little Mary sickened and
■died. On her death-bed, while de
lirious. she asked her mother if
there would be room for her among
the angels. “I was always in your
way, mother—you had no room for
little Mary ! And will Ibe in the
angel’s way? Will they have no
roomfor me?” Thebroken hearted
mother then felt no sacrifice too
great could she save her child.
Is there room among the angels,
For the spirit of your child ?
Will they lake your little Mary
In their loving arms so mild ?
Will they ever love me fondly,
As my story books have said ?
Will they find a home for Mary—
Mary numbered with the dead?
Tell me truly, darling mother 1
Is thine room for such as me ?
Will I gain tbe home of spirits,
And the shining angels see ?
I have sorely tried you, mother—
I!eetl to you a constant care !
And you will not miss me mother,
When I dwell among the fair!
For you have no room for Mary—
She was ever in your way,
And she fears the good will shun her!
Will they, darling mother, say ?
Tell me—tell me truly, mother,
Ere the closing hour doth come!
♦ Do you think that they will keep me,
In tho shining angel’s home?
I was not so wayward, mother!
Not so very—very bud,
But that tender love, Would nourish,
And make Mary’s heart so glad I
Oh! I yearned for pure affection ,
In this world of bitter woe!
And I long for bliss immortal,
In that land where I must gol
'Tell me once again, dear mother,
Ere you take the parting kiss !
Will the nngels bid me welcome
To that world of perfect bliss ?
Grains of Truth.— Happiness
-only begins when wishes ends, and
he who haakers after more enjoys
nothing.
The good man’s life, liko tho
mountain top, looks beautiful, be
cause it is nearer heaven.
You cannot dream yoursldf into
a character, you must hammer and
forge yourself into one.
Gratitude is the music of the
heart, when its chords are swept by
the gentle breeze of kindness.
A word of kindness is seldom
Spoken in vain. It is seed which,
even when dropped by chance,
springs up a beautiful flower.
Learn to say no. No neoessity
•of snapping it out, but say it firmly
•and respectfully.
If a man is honest and truthful
there is little need of saying much
about it. k
No human heart is ever vacant.
It has an inhabitant, either an angel
• or a devil. •
If moil’s faults were written on
foreheads, broad-brimmed hats
•Would be fashionable.
Never stand aside for trifles.—
let them do that honor to you.
He who has good health is a rioh
an an and does not know it.
Authorities on Advertising.—
Advertising I should be
a poor man to-day.”— JI. T. Helm
dx>kl
“My success Is owing to my lib
erality in advertising.”— Bonner.
“Advertising has furnished me
•with competence.”— Amos Law
rence.
“I advertised my productions and
made money.”— Nicholas Long
worfh.
“Constant aud persistent adver
tising Is a sure prelude to wealth.”
—Siephen Girard.
“He who invests one dollar in
lousiness should invest one dollar in
-advertising.”— A. T. Steioart.
P-T. Barnum, the noted exhibi
tor, ascribes his success in accumu
lating a million of dollars in ten
;years to the unlimited use of prin
ter’s ink.
“A man who is liberal in adver
tising is liberal in trade, and such
a man succeeds while his neighbor,
with just as good goods, fails and
-drops out ol the market.— Horace
Greeley,
fii&EAL.
BRADLEY’S FIGHT.
A Tale of the Prairie.
BY LIEUT. IIARDINGE.
I could not help noticing the
long, red scar, which, stretching
from the temple to the chin, disfig
ured the face of my new friend,
Bradley.
When looking at his profile from
the left side you would instinctively
set him down as a brigand wbo
would have no more hesitation
about cutting your throat, and then
relieving your pockets of its loose
cashjthan he would of ‘picking his
teeth with a bowie knife,’ as the Wes
tern saying is; but, transfer your
person to his right side, where no
cut was, and where the sight was
nnimpaired, and you at once felt
yourself in very pleasant society,
bating a certain sternness of the
countenance that perhaps was not
altogether pleasant to one who did
not know him. I had come sud
denly upon this man in a lonely
part of the road between George
town and Coloma, where the hills
were steep and ugly and where the
body of a man or a mule could be
thrown aside and never afterward
found—and my first glanco at him
was taken-from his left side.
I had about ten thousand dollars,
in gold dust, on my person and in
the saddle bags that hung before me
on my mule, and I instinctively
placed myself in a position for de
fence, should an aggressive move
ment be made.
The man laughed, and then un
consciously turning his right side
toward mo, asked me if I were
afraid of strangers?
My apprehensions of assault left
mo, and I answered that I was now
not afraid j although but a moment
ago I must confessed was.
•Ila ! ha !’ laughed this traveller,
whom I soon knew by the name of
Bradley. ‘lt is funny ; but about
half the people I meet take me for
a highway man as you did just now.
Ana I suppose, if I didn’t keep a
civil tongue in my head, I would
have it filled with lead before I
knew it.’
‘We are sometimes apt to mistake
the intensions of those whom we
cautiously meet, particularly in a
place like this, where chasms are to
be found hundreds of feet in depth,’
I responded. ‘I have a largo
amount of gold about me, and it is
very natural that I should be ready
to defend it/
‘Are you not afraid to say so
much to me, a stranger ?’ he asked.
‘Not now. When I first saw you
I was,’ I frankly answered.
‘That is singular,’ he replied.—
‘Well, since you are so candid, I
have no hesitation in telling you
that I am, like yourself, laden with
gold. It is the property of friends,
entrusted to me to be deposited in
their names in Sacramento/
‘Shall we get into Coloma before
jt is quite dark?’ I asked again,
slightly uncertain of my customer.
-I know the road thoroughly,’ he
answered. ‘lt wants an hour to
sunset; and now if you will follow
me, I’ll guarantee our being on the
other side of tho Middle Fork be
fore the sun disappears. For my
part, I’d like to push on to tho Blue
Tent and stop there for tho night,
and so bo ready for an early start.
What say you?’
‘No, I’ll put up at Coloma, and
I’d adviso you to do tho same.—
We shall be safer at the American
llouso to-night than sleeping out in
the valley ; beside, wo can get to
Sacramento by three o’clock to-mor
row/
‘Well let us stop at Coloma.’
This was said in a hearty tone of
voice, and still I somehow had a
fear that all was not quite right
with this roadside acquaintance.—■
I took his advice, however, and fol
lowed him, my hand ready at the
slightest movement on his part to
wards belligerency to draw my pis
tol and shoot him in his tracks.—
There had been several daring rob
beries on this road of late, and I
did not care to be a victim.
However wo arrived safely at
Coloma, and put up at the house
agreed upon.
W T hile at supper I had plenty of
leisure to examine the man’s coun
tenance, and the more I gazed upon
it the more consciously I felt that I
had seen him before. The gash in
the left side had so altered the en
tire expression of the face, that
while I pondered I still felt dubious
of him.
‘Ah!’ suddenly exclaimed my
fellow traveller, looking directly at
me, ‘I know you ! Why, sir, I’ve
been bothering my brains for the
last half hour to make you out, and
it’s just popped into my head who
you are. Lieutenant Hardinge,
how do you do-? You remember
me ? I was with you when we had
that little scrape with the Crow In
dians on the Yellow Stone, just
where Big Horn empties its waters.’
‘Ah, yes,’ I cried, rising and tak
ing the man’s hand in mine. ‘I,
too, have been laboring to recall
your face. When you told me
what your name was on the road.
I thought’t I’d seen you somewhere.
Yes, yes, the Bradley who siew
Big Thief of the Crows. That scar
on your face, Bradley—pardon my
impertinence, but where did you
get it ? When I last saw you—it
was ou the W ind River —you did
not have it.
‘That’s so, lieutenant,’ 1m an
swered, ‘The fact is I had to tfike
that or lose my life on the little
Missouri river, while on my way to
CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, SEPTEMBER 17, 1870.
Fort Mandon. You see, lieutenant,
after I left you 1 had business with
the Assinoboins at Fort Union, near
the junction of the Yellow Stone
with the Missouri, for the company
at St. Louis, touching some peltry
about which there was a misunder
standing, raised by Jacques Du
Bois, a surly French Canadian who
had been placed by General Clark
in command of the trading post/
‘I had full authority from the
General to settle all questions in
dispute and satisfy the Indians.—
A day or two after my arrival at
the fort, on inquiring, I became con
vinced that the Indians were right,
and that Du Bois was the real cul
prit. I told him so, and when he
found he could neither wheedle nor
frighten me into his views, he inti
mated I should never float down the
Missouri or cross the Turtle Hills
on my way to Mandon.
‘That was sufficient, and so I
told him that whatever happened
to me he could no longer command
the post. I thereupon called the
people in the service of the com
pany together, and exhibiting my
credentials to them, formally de
posed Du Bois, and nominated a
man named Woodstock to his place.
Du Bois did not dispute my author
ity ; but while I was speaking I
saw a terrible cloud—a cloud that I
felt was surcharged with lightning,
gather upon his face.
‘The Canadian commenced mak
ing preparations for immediate de
parture, and on the second day from
his deposition, left the Yellow
Stone, without saying good-by to
bis old acquaintances at the post,
and struck into the great trail that
led directly to Fort Mandon.
‘lt was my intention to have gone
down the Missouri in the company’s
boat; but an accident happening to
it, I changed my mint!, and six
days subsequently to the departure
of Du Bois, took his course, hoping
to arrive at Mandon in season for
the boat which I had been told was
discharging winter supplies there,
and trading with furs and buffalo
skins for him down trips. Between
Yellow Stone and Mandon, t}ie
Black Hill Jack, and a large valley
running north and south, bounded
on the east by the Turtle Hills—a
valley that is well watered by the
Little Missouri —have to be crossed.
In this valley, at a camping ground
on the banks of tho river, T found
Du Bois. He was alone, and ugly
enough, I can tell yon. I spoke
pleasantly to him, but without stop
ping to keep him company I at once
crossod the stream and encamped on
its easterly side.
‘While crossing I heard the re
port of a rifle, and simultaneously
a ball whistlod past me, within a
few inches of my body.
‘You mean murder, Du Bois,’ I
said to myself.
‘I turned my head, and found the
fellow had his rifle still in his hands
but pointed in an opposite direction.
‘The Canadian fool !’ I muttered,
‘lie imagined I shot so I did not
hear the bullet sing. Well, I don’t
think he’ll trouble me further to
night.’
‘Dismissing the man from my
mind, I, on landing, staked my ani
mals where they could get a mouth
ful of good grass, and then pre
pared my own supper ; late hearti
ly. This concluded, I indulged in
a pipe of tobacco, and afterwards
rolling myself in my blanket fell in
to a profound slumber.
‘I sleep heavily, lieutenant,’ con
tinued Bradley, but am easily
aroused. About two or three
o’clock in the morning I was sud
denly awakened. I looked up and
saw that it was yet very dark.—
There was no moon, and only here
and there in the far expanding
heavens twinkled, but with dimin
ished brightness, the stars that are
so familiar to tho eyes of those who
make the over-spreading prairie
their home. I lay perfectly still,
and soon my acute cars caught tho
sound of a footfall—not that of a
horse or mule, but of a human be
ing.
‘Who can this be?’ ran through
my mind. ‘No Indian would be>s<f
clumsy. What if it is Du Bois ?
He is bold enough to assassinate me,
but I’m afraid not sufficiently brave
to meet me in open warfare/
‘While thus I communed with
myself, I felt rather than hoard the
step approach me. My knife was
in my hand, and my revolver in my
belt. I was prepared for him, I
thought.
‘Cautiously, slowly Du Bois stole
towards me ; but, in the darkness,
I could not distinguish in which di
rection ; (therein I made my serious
mistake.. Whilo looking fbr him in
one direction ho sneaked upon me
from another; and I had just time
to see his bowio-kuife glisten in the
air, before it struck me as you sec.
/The next moment I was on my
ifdet, one hand pressed tightly round
the wre.tch’s throat, and then,, with
ffiy disengaged one, I buried deep
in. bis heart the blade of my knife.
‘The contest between us could not
have lasted ten seconds. It was all
but momentary. I fell with the
corpse of Du Bois to the ground. —
I had fainted from loss of blood, I
suppose.
‘Two days afterwards I awoke in
the hospital tent of a company of
United States troops. It seems I
was found lying on the body of my
enemy (the handle of the knife still
ekitchod in my hand) shortly after
wards, by two soldiers who had
strayed up the river during the
night. But for this timely discove
ry, I should in all probability have
perislved.
‘A few days nursing brought me
around again, and as the troops
were going the same way I accom
panied them to Fort Mandon.
‘Du Bois was buried where he
met his death. On his person were
found papers that proved him to be
a defaulter to his employers to a
considerable amount/
When Bradley had concluded his
story we retired for the night. The
next morning we travelled together
to Sacramento City, There we par
ted, and since that day I have not
seen him. He is, in all probability,
roving over the plains he loves so
well.
What A Blind Man Saw.
He saw an Lonest man on ’Change
And waterrnn up hill:
Saw rival beauties tender friends—
A doctor take his pill.
He saw a parson ‘‘feed hts flock”—
A wolf give lambkins suck—
Police decline to pick a lock—
A fox decline a duck.
He saw the poor dote on the rich—
The pigeon on the kite—
Attorneys starve before they’d cheat,
And fleas that wouldn't bite.
IR saw a sinner made a eaint—
A pig’s tail made a whistle,
And nature’s bloom on matron’s cheek ;
Pinks growing on a thistle.
lie saw that all men wouldn't steal,
when shielded by tbe law;
And other very usual things
This very blind man saw.
The Boy and the Bricks. —A boy
hearing his father say “It’s a poor
rule that won’t work both ways,”
said “If father applies this rule
about his work, I will test it in my
play.” So, setting up a row of
bricks three or four inches apart, he
tipped over the first, which striking
the second caused it to fall on tho
third, which overturned the fourth,
and so through the whole course un
til all the bricks lay prostrate.
“Well,” said tho boy, “each brick
has knocked down his neighbor
which stood napt to him. I only
tipped one. Now I will raise one,
and see if h#will raise his neighbor.
I will see if raising one will raise
all the rest.”
He looked in vain to see them
rise.
“Here, father,” said the boy, “is
a poor rule. It won’t work both
ways. The bricks knock each oth
er down, but will not raise each
other up.”
“My son,” said the father, “bricks
and mankind are alike, made of
clay, active in knocking each other
down, but not disposed to help each
other up.”
The farher then added the follow
ing moral:
“When men fall, they lovo com
pany : but when thoy rise, the}’
lovetostand alone,}l ike yonder brick,
and see others prostrate below
them.”
Slues on Women. —Of all tho
evils prevalent among young men,
we know of none more blighting in
its moral effects than to speak
slightingly of the virtue of women.
Nor is there anything in which
young men are so thoroughly mis
taken, as the low estimate they form
of the integrity of women—not of
their own mothers and but
of others, who, they forget, are
somebody else’s mothers and sisters.
As a-mle, no person who surrenders
to this debasing habit is to be trust
ed with any enterprise requiring
integrity of character:- Plain words
should be spoken on this point, for
the evil is a general one, and deep
rooted. If young men are some
times thrown into the society of
thoughtless or lewd women, they
have no more to measure all
other women by what they seo of
these, than they would have to esti
mate the character of honest and
respectable citizens by developments
of crime in our police courts. Lot
our young men remgmber that their
chief happiness of life depends up
pn.tneir utter faith in women. No
generalization can cover this funda
mental truth. It stands like the
record of God itself—for it is noth
ing less than this—and should put
an everlasting seal upon lips that
are wont to speak slightingly of
woman.
A Stoky With a Moral.—A
young man paying- special atten
tion to a young, lady, tnot with the
following incident during ono of
his visits.
Being invited into the parlor to
await the lady’s appearance, ho en
tertained himself as best he might
for some time, and was becoming
very weary, when a littks girl about
live years old slipped in and began
to converse with him.
“I can always tell when you are
coming to our house,” she said.—
“Why, when yon are going to be
here sister begins to sing and get
good ; she gives me cake and pie,
and everything I want, and she
sings so sweetly when you are here,
and when I speak to her she smiles
so pleasantly. I wish you would
stay here all the while, then I could
have a good time. But when you
go oft' sister is not good. She gets
mad, and if I ask her anything she
slaps and bangs me about.”
This was a poser for the young
man.
“Fools and children tell the
truth,” he muttered, and taking his
hat he left and returned no more.
Moral. —Parents wishing their ill
natured daughters married, should
keep their small children out of the
parlor when strangers aro there.
There is no End,
Light traverses space at the rate
of millions of miles a minute, yet
the light from the nearest star re
quires ten years to reach the earth,
and HersChel’s telescope revealed
stars two thousand three hundred
times further distant. The great
telescope of Lord Rosse pursued
these creations of God still deeper
into space, and, having resolved the
nebulae of the milky way into stars,
discovered other systems of stars —
beautiful diamond points, glitter
ing through tho black darness be
yond. When he beheld this amaz
ing abyss—when he saw these sys
tems scattered throughout space—
when lie reflected upon their im
mense magnitude, and tho countless
millions of worlds that belonged to
them, it seemed to him as if the
wild dream of the German poet was
more than realized. God called
man in dreams into the vestibule of
heaven,saying,—
“Conae up higher, and I will sliow
thee the glory of my house.” And
to His angels, who stood about
His throne, He said, “Take him,
strip him of his robe’s of flesh;
cleanse his aft'eclions ; put anew
breath into his nostrils; but touch
not his human heart—the heart that
fears and hopes and trembles.”
A moment, and it was done, and
the man stood ready for his un
known voyage. Undor the gui
dance of a mighty angel, with sound
of flying pinions, they sped away
from the battlements of heaven.—
Sometimes on the mighty angel’s
wings they fled through gaharas of
darkness, wilderness of death. At
length from a distance not counted,
save in the arithmetic of heaven,
light beamed upon them, a sleepy
flame, as seen through a hazy
cloud. They sped on in their ter
rible speed to meet the light. And
in another moment the wheeling of
planets; then came long eternies
of twilight; then again, on the right
hand and on the left, appeared
more constellations. At last the
man sunk down, crying,— *
“Angel, I can go no further ; let
me down into tho grave and hide
me from the infinitude of the uni
verse, for there is no end.”
“There is no end!” demanded
the angel. And from the glitter
ing stars that shone around there
came a choral shout, “There is no
end !” “There is no end !” deman
ded the angol again ; “and is it this
that awes thy soul ? I answer,
There is no end to the universe of
God ! Lo, also of Him who made it
there is no beginning !”
Compensation.
There is not a heath, however rude,
But bath some little flower
To brighten up its solitude,
And scent the evening hour.
There’s not a heart, however cast
By sin and sorrow down,
But hath somo picture of the past
To love and call its own
Bathes. —We love babies, and
everybody who does love babies
No man has music in his soul who
don’t lovo babies. Babies were
made to be loved, especially girl
babies, when they grow up. A
man isn’t worth a shuck who hasn’t
a baby,-and the same rule applies
•to a woman. A baby is a spring
day in winter, a hot-house in mid
winter ; a ray of sunshine in frigid
winter.; and if it is healthy, and
good-natural, and you are sure it’s
yours, it is a bushel of sunshine, no
matter how cold the weather. A
man cannot be a helpless case so
long as ho loves babies —one at a
time. We love babies all over, no
matter how dirty they are. Babies
were born to bo dirty. We love
babies because they are babies, and
because their mothers were lovable
and lovely women. Our love for
babies is only bounded by the num
ber of babies in the world. We al
ways look for babies, we do with
anxiety and paternal affection ; we
do, indeed we do. Wc always have
sorrowful feelings for mothers that
have no babies, and dont expect any.
Women always look very down
hearted who have no babies; and
men who have no babies always
gamble and drink whiskey and stay
out nights trying to get music in
their souls ; but they can’t come it.
Babies are babies and nothing can
take their place. Pianos play out,
and good living plays ont, unless
there’s a baby in the house. We’ve
tried it; we know and wo say there’s
nothing liko a babj*. Babies are a
productive substance and we intend
to talk more about babies in the fu
ture. We intend to tell our friends
if they want to bo happy in this
world they must have a baby in the
house —one of their own is prefera
ble. Babies stimulate exertion;
they make a young man scratch
gravel; and in this view of the
case, they are all the while laying
golden eggs. A man is hardly ev
er worth three red cents until lie
gets a wife and baby They push
him to it. While he is making
enough for their support, he is sure
to have something over.
fry A Week filled up with
selfishness, and a Sabbath filled
up with religious exercises, will
make a good Pharisee, but a poor
Christian. There are many j*;r
sons who think Sunday is a sponge
to wipe out the sins of the week. —
Now God’s altar stands from Sun
day to Sunday, and the seventh
day is no more for religion than
any other. It is lor rest. The
whole seven are for religion and
one of them for rest.
Flize.
I bate a fli.
A fli is got no manners.
He aint no gintleman.
He is a intruder, don’t send no
kard, Dor ax no interduckshun, nor
knock at the front door, and nuver
think of takin off his hat.
Fust thing you kno he is in bed
with you, and up yore nose—tho
what he wants thar, is a mistery—
and he invites hisself to breakfast
and sets down in yore butter thout
brushing his pants. He helps him
self to sugar, and meat and melas
sis and bread, and pesurves, andvin
egy—ennything, and don’t wait for
no invitashun. He’s got a good ap
pytite, and jist as sune eat ono
tiling as another.
Taint no use to ehallingo him for
takin liberties; he keeps up a hostil
korrispondence with you, whether
or not, and shoots hisself at you
like a bulitt, and he nuver misses,
nuver.
He’ll kiss yore wife 20 times a
day, and zizz and zoo, and ridikule
you if you say a word, and he’d
ruther you’d slap at him than not,
coz he is a dodger uv the dodgirin
ist kino. Every time you slap, you
don’t slap him, but slaps yoself and
he zizzes and pints the bine leg uv
skorn at you, till ho aggravates you
to destrackshun.
He glories in a lighting on tho
ixact spot where you driv him from,
which pruveß the intenshun to teez
you. Don’t tell mo ho aint got no
mind; he knows what he is after.
He’s got sense, and too much of it,
tho he nuver went to skool a day in
his life ixcept in a sugar dish.
He’s a mean, malignant, owda
shus, premeditated cuss.
His mother nuver paddled, him
with a slipper in her life. His mor
rals wuz niglectid, and lie lacks
a good deal uv humility mitely.—
He aint bashful a bit, and I douts
es he blushes ofting.
In sack he wuz nuver fotch up a
tall. He wuz born full-grown; lie
don’t git old—uther things gits old,
but he nuver gits old —and he is
imperdent and misceevus to the
day uv biz deth.
He droops in cold wether, and
you kin mash him on a winder pain,
but u’ve jest put your finger in it.
lie cums agin next yeer, and a heap
mo with him. Tain’t no use.
One fli to a family might do fur
amusement, but the good nv so
menny flize I be dog of I kin see:
kin you?
I haz thort much about flize, and
haz notist how ofting they stops in
thar deviltry to skratch thar heads
and skratch thar nose with thar so
legs, and gouge thar arm-pits under
thar wings, and the tops uv thar
wings with thar hine legs.
And my candid opinyun ar, that
flize is lowzy; they eeches all the
time, iz miserable, and that makes
them bad tempered, and want to
make other peepil mizerable too.
Es that ain’t the flossfy uv flizo,
I give it up.
Altlio a fli don’t send in his kard,
he always leeves one, and I don’t
like it. Tain’t pretty es ’tis roun.
lie kan’t make a cross-mark, only a
dot, and he iz always a dottiu’ whar
thar ain’t no i’s. Thars no end to
hiz periods, but he nuver cums to a
full stop. Sich hanritin is disgrace
ful.
lie’s a artist, but biz freshco and
hiz wall paperin I don’t admior.—
Thar’s too much sameness in hiz
patterns. Hiz specs iz only specs
that don’t help the eyes. You can’t
see throo um, and you don’t waut to.
I hate a fli. Barn a fli.
Isaac Newton’s Couetshix’.—
Sir Isaac Newton was urged by one
of his friends to marry ; lie excused
himself by saying that he had no
time to court a wife. His friends
said they’would assist by sending
to his apartment a woman of worth,
lie thanked them for their offer,
ami promised to receive a visit from
her. Ilis friends applied to the
woman, and requested her to dis
pense with the usual ceremonies of
courtship and wait on the philoso
pher, which she consented to do.—
When she came to his apartment,
and produced her letter of recom
mendation, he'Yeceived it politely,
filled and fired his pipe, and sat
down by her side, took hold of her
hand, and conversed on tho subject.
Before they had brought tho point
to a close r some question about the
magnitude of the heavenly' bodies
struck his mind with such force that
ho forgot what ho was about —he
turned his eyes up to heaven, took
his pipe out of bis mouth with his
left hand, and being lost in study,
without design took the lady’s left
hand, which he held in his own, and
with one of her fingers crowded the
tobacco in the bowl of his pipe, and
held it so long that her heart as
well as her finger took fire, and she
in a huff sprang up and went off,
leaving tho philosopher to finish his
study alone.
■ - -
Nail in tiie Foot. —To relieve
from the terrible effects of running
a nail into the foot of man or boast,
take peach loaves, bruise them, ap
ply to the wound, and confine with
a bandage. They cure as if by
magic. Renew the application
twice a day, if necessary- but one
application usually does the work.
I have cured both man and horse
in a few hours, when they were ap
parently on the point of having the
lockjaw. This recipe, remembered
and practiced, will save many valu
able lives.
Experience haz the same efikt
on most folks that age has on a
goose, it makes them tutfer.
Suggestions to Country Boys.
In a recent address to country
boys, Hon. D. D. T. Moore, editor
of Moore’s Rural New Yorker,
after assigning certain cogent rea
sons why’ many farmer’s sons are
constrained to change from coun
try to city life, or at least forsake
the farm for other occupations, lie
proceeds:
‘Taking the standpoint and sur
roundings of many a farm boy', let
us now' endeavor to show why so
large a number of this class" fly
from what ought to be pleasant
homes, seeking unhealthy and often
precarious employment elsewhere
—in the village, city, or on the
briny deep. The view may prove
useful to parents, in suggesting
how the rights of their children
should bo respected, and their
tastes and inclinations properly re
garded.
‘Country homes are too often
rendered forbidding,—both unpleas
ant aud uncomfortable, socially and
physically, by tho negligence and
lack of taste, discrimination and
liberality of their owners and 00-*
cupants. Their lack of both exter
nal and adornment, —and especially
of the requisites to entertainment
and recreatiou for tho young,—is
often a primary cause of tho dis
taste of many youth for farm lifo.
Indeed, tho discomforts, discour
agements and hard tasks to which
somo farmers’ sons are subjected,
have a direct tendepoy to produce
discontent and repugnance, and to
create a longing for other, and what
it requires little or no imagination
to suppose, pleasanter scenes and
occupations. The decaying, dilap
idated and tumble-down condition
of buildings and fences, and the
poor implements and tools (or
great lack of them) on many a
farm, often disgust and dishearten
boys -who possess manly pride and
ambition. And moreover, the hum
drum, stereotyped life of young peo
ple (both boys and girls) on such
farms, —where little time or oppor
tunity is afforded for recreation,
amusement or mental improvement,
while their associations and sur
roundings are unpleasant, if not
positively repulsive,—not unfre
quentiy drive to uncertain, if not
immortal and dangerous callings,
those who, if properly cared for,
entertained, trained and educated,
(at home, as well as at school)
would become intelligent, refined
and prosperous ruralists, —fully de
veloped, physically, mentally and
morally, —and noble men and Women
in all the relations of life.
‘Farmers who regard the future
well-being of their children—espe
cially those who desire to have
their sons remain at home, adopt
their profession, and become intel
ligent and enterprising cultivators
and managers of landod estate, se
curing competence, if not wealth,
and an honorable position—have
much to do, by both precept and ex
ample, to accomplish the desired
result. Home and its surroundings
must be made pleasant rather than
forbidding. Regard should be had
to tho arrangement and pleasant
ness, as well as convenience and utili
ty of the homestead buildingaßd its
surroundings—including those in
expensive adornments which good
senSe, taste, and attention easily
secure; yes easily, for those who
think a home cannot be rendered
beautiful and attractive without a
large outlay of time or money are
mistaken. It is not expensive to
have a neat flower garden, and such
trees and shrubs as delight the eye
and make attratcive far more than
costly objects. Nor is it prodigali
ty, but rather ‘economy, to have
neat and durable out-buildings,
fences, gates and conveniences, in
cluding the best labor-saving imple
ments and tools to facilitate and
lessen both farm and domestic ope
rations. And, by the way, it is
never wise to give tho boy3 the
poorest rakes, hoes, etc., and then
complain because they do not ac
complish as much as full grown,
able bodied-men. It is ouly just
that thov, beiug weaker, should be
accorded the best tools and be fa
vored and encouraged in other re
spects.
‘Some farmers—we trust their
number is increasing—wisely en
courage their sons by giving them
plots of ground, to cultivate for
their own benefit, or animals the
increase or product of which is to
be their own. In this, and like
mannor, many a young boy lias
been encouraged, given lessons in
management, and acquired means,
which not only produced content
ment, but led to success in after
life. Tho hints though not new or
patentable, may prove suggestive
to those parsimonious farmers who
force their sobs to remain at home,
laboring almost unceasingly, with
rare holidays or opportunities for
amusement or improvement. All
farmers who desire to imbue their
sons with manliness and independ
ence, and teach them to manage
for themselves —to produce, and
save or invest judiciously—may
safely act upon this suggestion.—
Let the boys have something which
is their own, and thus not only en
courage a just pride and ambition,
but test and develop their industry,
economy and management. If you
can do no more, give your boy or
girl, or each, a plot of ground for
flowers. It will pay you, as well
as them, both now and in the fu
ture.’ »
A contemporary thinks it sad
that Memphis, with 12,000 dogs,
has not enterprise enough (o start
a wholesale sausage iactoiy.
YOL. IV - NO. 39
Stuffing improves the fair, as
well as the fowl.
Men often blush to hear what
they are not ashamed to do.
Failin in luv iz like faliin into
molassis, swetc, but dredful dobby.
“Time works wonders,” as the
lady said when she got married fa
ter a thirteen-years’ courtship.
“Will you demonstrate your
agility in a whirl?” is tho way
they ask ’em to dance at Saratoga.
Why is kissing your sweet
heart like eating soup with a fork ?
Because it takes a long time lo get
enough of it.
“No cards, no cakes, no company,
nobody’s business,” was recently
appended to a marriage notice out
West.
A grave-digger in Kansas City,
who buried a man named Button,
sent a bill to bis widow, as follows:
‘To making one Button-hole, $3.50.’
A prisoner was examined m
court, and contradicting himself.—
“YV hy do you lie so?” asked the
judge, “haven’t you a lawyer ?”
Bill Arp solemnly declares
that “tho war ouded bad for us,
but I’vo got ono consolation, I killfjL
as many of them as they killed <jf
me.”
After a wedding it was for
merly a custom to drink honey, dis
solved in water, for twenty days—a
moon’s age. Hence the origin of
the honeymoon.
A Wisconsin paper mentions
a case where some burglars broke
into ti store, but the goods were
marked so high that they would not
take any away.
A Chicago lady lately dropped
one of her eye-brows in tho church
pew, and dreadfully frightened a
young man sitting next to her, who
thought it was his musta„che.
Boil a small quantity of flour
long enough to lump it, then grate
it into pure boiled milk, and it will
cure the worst cases of bowel com
plaint.—Exc,
There is a farmer in Yorkshire
who has a mile of children. His
name is Furlong, and ho lias four
boys and four girls. Eight furlongs
make one mile.
—lt is singular how pious new
clothes make people. For a whole
month after the Misses Flirt got
their new mantillas, they were at
church regularly three times a Sun
day.
A little boy, three years old,
who has a brother of three months,
gave as a reason for the latter’s
good conduct: “Baby doesn’t cry
tears, because he doesn’t drink wa
ter, and he can’t cry milk.’
A Missouri newspaper claims
that the hogs of that State are so
fat that in order to find out where
their heads are it is necessary to
make them squeal, and then judge
by the sound.
Jones says that he first met his
wife in a storm, took her to the
first ball in a storm, popped the
question in a storm, married her in
a storm, lived his subsequent mar
ried life in a storm, but buried her
in pleasant weather.
A young lady pupil in a college
for both sexes recently brought a
letter to a friend to an abrupt ter
mination, as follows": “But 1 must
stop; for here comes a soph, who
parts his hair in the middle, and
wears a mustache that pricks dread
ful.”
A gentleman traveling on a
steamer, one day at dinner was ma
king way with a large pudding close
by, when lie was told by a waiter
that it was a desert, “it matters not
with me,” said he; “I could eat it
if it were a wilderness.”
An old bachelor says that giv
ing the ballot to women would not
amount to anything practically, be
cause they would keep denying that
they were old enough to vote until
they got too old to take any interest
in politics.
Happiness. —The contemplation
of human affairs will load us to this
conclusion, that among tho different
conditions and ranks of men, tho
balanco of happiness la preserved
in a great measure equal, and that
the high and the low, tho rich a«#i
the poor, approach, jn real enjoy
ment, much nearer to each other
than is commonly imagined.
—An lowa John lately conrted
and engaged to marry a young girl,
who, in a miff at some neglect on
John’s part, revenged herself by
marying Isaac, Jonn’a father. John
countered by marrying the mother
of his betrothed—John becoming
the step father of his own step-moth
er, while Isaac’s w r as compelled to
become the daughter-in law of her
step-son.
Wear a Smile. —Which will you
do, smile, and make others happy,
or be crabbed and make everybody'
around you miserable ? You can
live among beautiful flowers and
singing birds, or in the mire sur
rounded by fogs and frogs. Tho
amount of happiness that you ean
produce is incalculable, if you show
a smiling lace, a kina heart, and
speak pleasant worths.
Keep Gut. —Keep out of debt
out of quarrels—out of law —out of
thin shoes—out of damp clothes—
out of reach of brandry and water
—out of malrimnnv, unless you arc
in I •to —and keepde ir of cheating
the p: iuter out of his dm.