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iBY J. P. SAWTELL. m 11 •" •- B Terms of Subscription: Year....s3 00 J Six Months s2 00 INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. If No attention paid to orders for the pa cker uu'ess accompanied by the Cash. v|i HL Rates of Advertising : SksM'iare, (ten lines or less.) si (ill for the • Hk. r >o cents for each BuWi|ue»t iii* r JUjenil deduction made to pm ties the year i advertisements should inaik offniues tiiey desire them inser li iHwtiiey will be continued until forbid aud S HPged accordingly. HR'ransient advertisements must be paid for tat the time of insertion. Announcing names of candidates for office, '55.00. Cash, in all cases Obituary notices over five lines, charged at regular advertising rates. All communications intended to promote the ■private ends or interests of Corporations, So cieties, or individuals, will be charged as ad vertisements. Jon Work, such as Pamphlets, Circulars, Cards, Blanks, Handbills, etc., will be execu ted in good style i nd at reasonable rates. All letters addressed to the Proprietor will be promptly attended to. 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.