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All letters addressed to the Proprietor will be promptly attended to. From the N. Y. Observer. The Mound. BT RAY PALMER, D. D. Thou bast a charm, thou grassy mound, That yraws my heart to tbee ; And oft my footsteps linger round The spot so dear to me. ’Tis but of earth a simple pile, With mossy turf o’ergrown, Where Spring’s first-peeping violets smile When her soft winds have bown. The Summer birds around it sing Through all the glowing day, Aad near it sit with folded wing When twilight melts away. Pale Autumn, with her pensive mien, Strews o’er it withered leaves, And seems os one that there unseen, In silent sorrow, grieves. E’en wintry snows and storms seem kind, When round that mound they sweep, As they, with fleecy robes, would hind And shield what there may sleep. The ever-wakeftil stars, by night, Watch o’er it from above, And cheer it as with glances bright Os eyes that beam with love. The sun, when the sweet morn awakes, Eacl*>day through changeful years, .Makes glad the spot that man forsakes, And dries its dewy tears. Full well—O, dearer thought—l know That angels linger there, -And guard the slumbering dust below With sleepless, faithful care : I know, that e’en tlie Lord on high, Whose word all worlds obey, O’er that dear dust, with loving eys, Watch keepeth day by day. ■O, moments blest! when, lowly mound, 'I sit alone by thee, '■While genial Nature smiles around, And breathes her peace o’er m«. Then, floating on the tranquil air, 1 gentle whispers hear, Feel deep affections waken there, And know that God is near. Ah ! then swift thought far onward flies To that bright, gladsome morn, "When this, that mortal, mouldering lies, Immortal shall be born 1 When He, of Life and Death the Lord, Who holds of both the keys, Gives Death to death, and, with His word The grave’s last captive frees! Then— then shall Love its harvest reap, From tears of sorrow sown, And its rich treasures safely keep Through ages all unknown. The Storm —Listen to the howl ing winds as it sweeps around the corner, bearing pedestrians onward •to their destination, blowing num berless hats into the gutter, and ■whistling its fierce music through thS leafless tree-tops. The large •rain-drops beat/ against the case ment; each drop, had it the power of speech, could tell tales of the cloud-land from whence it came. Doubly welcome is the cheerful fireside, surrounded by happy faces, after a battle with the elements, •and happy are they who possess blessings. The lonely wan derer and outcast, the homeless or iphan thrown upon the world, and seeking somewhere under the vast *«BtwSpy of heaven a shelter, often £alls a victim to the chilling blast, and sinks to rest oa earth’s snowy -carpet And who will say it is not so ? Hark ! was that a human voice •calling in accents of the wildest agony for succor, or was it the wind, fowling and shrieking down the chimney, and reminding one with ••standing force of a human being in distress '? Moth inks the leaden clouds chasing each other through the sky, and the failling rain, sleet .and snow which is fast encasing Abe earth in a snowy mantle, are fit ■emblems of the noise and strife go ing on in the world around us. But see ! the clouds are break ing,-mid the sun, in all his glory, bursts upon the vision; the storm is over, and tlie trees, bending un -der tbeir sparkling load present a picture worthy the admiration of every lover of Nature. Such are the storms which we encounter through life; severe and terrible while they last, but they soon pass, leaving us purified and strength ened, and better able to bear those (through which we may be called to pass in future. {L W, Curtiss. CUTHBERT |gj| APPEAL. Margaret's Mission. “Agnes Gray says that every wo man has a mission. What do you suppose my mission is, mamma?” “Mission, indeed !” laughed Mrs. Alleyne, looking proudly at her pretty daughter. “I suspect, my dear Maggy, your mision is to flirt and dance.” Mrs. Alleyne was wealthy, and Margaret was her only child. Her whole life was spent in rendering her daughter happy, so Miss Mar garet was petted to the heart’s con tent. To look as pretty and be witching as possible, to be arrayed like Solomon in his glory from morning till night, to pass her time in an endless succession of Belgra vian gayety, was her child’s mis sion, according to Mrs. Alleyne’s idea; so Margaret received all the gifts fortune showered upon her quite as a matter of course, and en joyed life as her mother expected she would do. At last Margaret met her fate, to the great wonder of her friends, in the person of John Graham, a weal thy young merchant of Baltimore; for Margaret Alleyne, with her ba by face and coquettish manner, was the last person in the world you would imagine the grave business man would fc>ve, and he the mos„ unlikely of all her suitors to carry off the belle. But Margaret did love her lover; he was so grave and clover. So, amidst the con gratulations of his friends and the tears of her parents, John Graham bore his fair bride off to his home. He was very much iu love with pretty Margaret. The soft, rose flushed face, the tender blue eyes, the cringled golden hair, never lost their charm for him. But he never dreamed that this little fragile crea ture could share the burdens with him. No, that dimpled face was only made for smiles, so he indulged and caressed her, but his cares he bore alone. The large fortune left by John’s father had been doubled by his en ergy; but now, by the simultane ous failure of two or three firms he had trusted, and the villainy of a confidential clerk, the wealthy merchant saw himself upon the brink of ruin. Love rendered Mar garet keen sighted; she quickly perceived that all was not right with her husband; his wan, hag gard face frightened her. But, dearly as she loved him, she was too proud to* seek his confidence; so both were 'Wretched, though each endeavored to conceal it from the other. . When John saw that ruin was in evitable, he wrote to Mrs. Alleyne, frankly disclosing the state of af fairs. The mother insisted that her daughter should return to her; her husband should claim her when fortune again smiled upon him; but in the meantime, Margaret was better with her; to spare her anx> iety, it was better she should not know of her husband’s difficulties. With a heavy heart, John agreed to all Mrs. Alleyne’s demands.— Margaret’s love was the only bright ness left in his life ; but, of course, if she could be happier with her mother, he could sacrifice it. His stern, pale face, and constrained manner affected Margaret painfully when he told her he desired her to accept her mother’s invitation. “He no longer loves me—he wish es me to leave him,” tlie poor child cried afterwards, in a passion of tears. But before him she present ed a calm exterior, and John Gra ham thought that his young wife, like the rest of the world, was ready to desert the ship. So Margaret returned to the house of her girlhood, calling all her pride to her assistance to enable her to appear indifferent; but her heart was rent by bitter pangs, for she had persuaded herself that her hus band no longer loved her. Whole nights spent in tears leave traces; pretty Margaret grew pale and th in, and Mrs. Alleyne began to fear that, after all, h<jr tenderness could not constitute her daughter’s happiness. Still the girl never complained, but bore her burden in proud silence. One night Margaret was at a ball given by an intimate fried. She had danced a great deal, and being very tired, sat down near an open window ; a heavy curtain entirely concealed her. Two gentlemen were standing near, and she heard the conversation distinctly. “So John Graham, of Baltimore, is bankrupt ? I was very sorry to hear it; he is a most honorable fel low,” said one. “Yes,” answered the other; “I saw him last week; he looks wretchedly. You know he married Miss Alleyne, a pfetty little doll without an idea, and, what is worse, without a heart; now she has de serted him in his adversity. It is rather hard when a man’s own wife will not aid him to bear his troub les.” Margaret’s heart gave a great bound. How she had misjudged him 3 how true and tender he was ! He was alone and in trouble; sure ly her place was at his side. Then heedless of comments, she left her , hiding place. The next day, John Graham’s .stately mansion was to be sold. He had taken great pride in his home ; a thousand tender associations were connected with every room. Now, with a heavy heart, he wandered through the deserted apartments. Here was Margaret’s piano, which he had g'ven her; .the pictures and statues they had chosen together; every article appeared like an old friend; then a feeling of intense CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1870. desolation crept over him—he was so utterly lonely. The strong spirit was almost crushed. He threw himself upon the bed, and wept like a child. A quick step upon the stairs, a rustle of silken robes, a glad cry, then clinging arms twined about his neck, a soft cheek was pressed to his, tangled golden curls mingled with his dark locks. Was it a dream ?He press* ed her close to make sure of the re ality, and kissed her with such pas sionate fervor that Margaret wept for joy. “Margaret, my wife—Margaret!” he sobbed. “Oh, John, how cruel you were to send me away ! But I’ll never leave you again, darling.” When they had both regained calmness, John Graham explained to his wife that the next day the house was to be sold—he could not take her into lodgings—perhaps she had better return to her moth er. But Margaret firmly refused. “Any place that is good enough for you, John, is good enough for me. My place is with you. I can assist you more than yon think,” she said. Then Margaret commenced the bat tle of life in earnest. It is not easy to turn from a life of pleasure and luxury to one of comparative pov erty. Margaret at first did not find her path strewed with roses; there were difficulties to be encountered, slights to be endured, ease to be sacrificed; but she had. a brave heart, and love had changed the gay, careless giii into the tender, self sacrificing woman. She became her husband’s closest friend, his best adviser, the sympathizing confidant of all his plans; ever ready to cheer in moments of depression— the first to rejoice in his success. John Graham is a wealthy man again now; success has crowned his efforts; but he ever blesses the adversity which taught him to know the real value of his wife. So Margaret found her mission as a devoted wife and mother, much to her mother’s amazement; and John Graham found he had married not a pretty butterfly of fashion, but an earnest, loving woman. Women In China. The woman is regarded and treat ted as a creature radically despica ble, and scarcely belonging to the human race. She has no soul.— She is treated by every body, and especially by her brothers, as a creat ure from whom they have a right to demand the lowest and meanest services. The amusements and pleasures of her age are quite un known to her, her whole education consists in knowing how to use her needle. She neither learns how T to read nor write for there exists no school nor house of education for her. The idea of nullity is carried so far that consulting her in any w r ay or even informing her so much as the name of her future husband W'ould be considered superfluous and absurd. She is simply a traffic, an article of merchandise to be sold to the highest bidder. She has no right to take her meals with her husband; nay not even with male children. Her duty is to serve them at table and fill and light their pipes. She must eat alone after they have done, and in a corner. Her food is scanty and coarse, and she would not dare to touch even W'hat is left by her own sons. Her husband can strike her with immunity, starve her, sell her,.or what is w'orse, let her out for degrading purposes. The number of women who com mit suicide is very considerable.— When this catastrophe occurs in a family, the husband usually show's a great deal of emotion, for in fact he has suffered a great loss, and will be under the necessity of buy ing another wife. In some parts of theflkmntry it is so much the fashion to beat a wife, that a man who show s himself neg ligent on this point forfeits his mor ral dignity, and is regarded as a simple lon who understands nothing of his prerogative. When women are treated with gentleness and moderation, it is usually on a principle of economy, as one might spare a beast of bur den because it cost money, and be cause if it is killed one would have to replace it. A late writer states that more than once has he seen a plow drawn by a woman while her husband walked behind and guided it. Pit iable it was to see the poor little things sticking their feet in the ground as they went, drawing them painfull}' out again, and so hopping from one end of the furrow to the other. A lady, a regular shopper, who had made an unfortunate clerk tumble over all the stockings in the store, objected, as none were long enough, “t want the longest hose that are made,” she said. Clerk’s reply—“Then, madam, you had bet ter make inquiries at the next en gine house.” ‘Mamma,’ said a Jitttle girl to her mother, ‘do you know how I get to bed quick ?’ ‘No,’ was the reply. ‘ Well’ said she, in great glee, ‘I step one foot over the crib, then I say ‘rats’ and frighten myself right in.” Fair Play.— An Irishman who was engaged to cut ice from a pond, when hauded a crosscut saw to commence operations with, pulled out a penny, and turned to his comrade, exclaimed, ‘Now, Pat, fair play; head or tail, who goes below ?’ Rubber vs. Mule for Street Car Pro pulsion. Mr. Solomon Jones, of New Or leans, has found out anew use for India rubber, which he has paten ted. He has made numerous expe riments, which prove the amazing elasticity and durability of that sub stance. He soon came upon the idea of using it as a motive power, and then the next step' was its ap plication to the propulsion of street cars. He decided that it would be economical iu in space, first cost and running expenses; also, that it was so simple that it could be handled by the driver at the same time he was on duty, and as readily as the ordinary brake. Here are some of the particulars from the New Orleans Republican : After a long series of experi ments, he discovered that the Para rubber was capable of stretching ten feet for every one'of its ordina ry length, and that the retractile power was enormous. He made a system of turnings, windings and twists of this rubber power which would enable him to place it under any car without altering its present build, and which would give him a power capable of propelling that car through the streets at a rate always at the command of the man in charge, and capable of wasting the wear and tear of constant use for years. His machinery was very simple; the rubber was wound upon a drum, and the drum once let loose, the car commenced to move at a speed more than could be desired, were it not that it is under perfect com mand from a simple system of cogs working under the leverage power in the hands of the conductor. His model ivas sent to Washing ton to the Patent Office, and although it xvas not all he could wish, as he was compelled to use a common gas-pipe rubber in place of the prepared material he proposes to use, it passed the rigid scrutiny of office, famous for the care and strictness of its examination, and a patent was issued to him, in con nection with Mr. Bernard Terfloth, one of our well-known merchants, for this new invention. For street cars, two bands of the rubber, two and a half inches in di ameter and fifty-six feet in length each, will be used. Each piece will be attached to a separate drum, and as the stretch of the rubbe will be ten feet for one, five hun dred and sixty feet will run oft the drum before it' becomes necessary to use its fellow-drum. In run ning off this five hundred and sixty feet, a distance of fourteen thou sand one hundred and seventy-tw'o feet, over tw 7 o miles, will be tra versed by the cars ; the other drum is them called into requisition, and while it is propelling the car, the exhausted drum is wound up by the same leverage which the con» duetor uses to stop and control the car. The only trouble the conduc tor has is to throw the lever off the drum in motion, a simple operation, which can be reversed in a minute if it becomes necessary to stop the cars. The present cost of running a street railroad car is over $3,000 a year, independent of the five mules required for it, whose value must be between six and eight or nine hundred dollars. With the new arrangement, the cars are put in running order with the rubber motive power at an ex pense of about $550 a car, and have, while running only the SSO a month to pay the driver or con ductor whatever he may be called. The rubber will certainly last as long as the car will run, and the machinery it moves is not calcula ted to wear out fast, as there can be very little friction on cog wheels. Tlie heavy wear and tear must nec essarily, as at present, be upon the journals of the axles. The fact that the rubbery will last is amply illustrated by the wonderful endu ring powers of the present rubber springs used for cars. The cars may wear ’, out, but the rubber springs are taken out of the old ones and put in the new. Take my Hand, Papa. —ln the dead of night, I am frequently wakened by a little hand stealing out from the crib by my side, with the pleading cry. “Please take my hand, papa 3” Instantly the little boy’s hand is grasped, his fears vanish, and soothed by the consciousness of his father’s presence he falls into sweet sleep again. We commend this lesson of sim ple, filial faith slid trust to the anx ious, sorrowing ones, that are found in almost every household. Stretch fotrh your hand, stricken mourner, although you may be in the deep est darkness and gloom, and fear and anxious suspense may cloud your weary pathway, and that very act will reveal the presence of a loving, compassionate Father, and give you the peace that passeth all understanding. The darkness may not pass away at once, night may still enfold yon in its embrace, but its terrors will bo dissipated, its gloom and sad ness flee away, and in the simple grasp of the Father’s hand sweet peace will be given, and you will rest securely, knowing that the “ntorniug eometh.”— Congrega tionaiisL Mrs. Partington has been read ing the health officers’ weekly re ports, and thinks “total” must be an awful malignant disease, since as many die of it as of all the rest put together. Dont Stay Too Late. One of the advantages of being “past thirty,” is that one now and then can put in a word of good, motherly advice to the other sex. So I’ll begin at once, and say to any single gentleman reader who chooses to listen—Don’t stay too late. At the store or office ? No. You know very well I don’t mean that. I am not fighting Imaginary dan gers, but real ones ; I mean simply, don’t stay too late when you go to spend a quiet evening with a young lady. It is not fair ; it is short sighted; and it is pretty sure to wear out your welcome. Even if the poor thing is eventually to al low you to stop until death doth you part, that is no reason why you should bestow too much of your tediousness upon her at the outset. When she really wishes your visits to be longer, you’ll know it; even then be chary of the moments after eleven. At any rate, don’t suffer yourself to be misled by the usual commonplace form of detention that, in nine cases out of ten, arise from a suudon consciousness on the la dy’s part that she may have betray ed her weariness rather too plainly. It won’t hurt you to be longed for after you are gone ; but beware of ever causing a girl to give a sigh of relief when the hall door closes after you. There is a sandman for the parlor as well as for the nurse ry, and after a certain hour, except iu special cases, whenever he finds the eyes too well drilled to succumb to his attacks, he sprinkles his sand around the hearth. After that your best efforts to please are wasted. Every word will grate, every win ning attempt of yours be met only with the silicate of emotion at best. I know all about it. I’ve received young gentlemen callers in my day; yes, and enjoyed receiving them, if ever a girl did. I’d think all day that perhaps John, for instance, might come in the evening, and on these occasions I’ve come down to lea with a rosebud in my hair, and a happy flutter in my heart. Yes, and I’ve started at the ring of the door-bell, and when at last ne came in, smiling and bowing, I’ve looked just as if I didn’t care a single bit. There were others, too—not Johns by any means, but friends who were always welcome, and whom it was right good and pleasant to see.— But that fact did not make null and void all somnific law; it didn’t make father and mother' willing that the house should be open till midnight; it didn’t make it desira ble that I should feel a rebuke in everybody’s “Good morning !” when, with throbbing head and weary eyes, I came down late to breakfast. No, you may be sure it didn’t. Therefore, I learned soon to hon or those who knew enough to go when half past ten came; while those who didn’t know were the bane of my existence. llow they W'ould linger and skirmish, and stand up and sit down, and move about, and look at the clock, and in a thousand torturing say “Good-by” without going, forget ting that I could not turn them out of the room, yet judging by that token that their presence was nectar and balm for all weariness. Now, never think that these friends stayed from kindliness to their weary hostess—not at all.— They stayed because they didn’t know enough to go. They liked the warm room perhaps, and dread ed the cold street, but beyond that they lacked the simjde grace of tak ing themselves off promptly and handsomely. Ah ! what a gift that is in a man or woman, to know when to go, and knowing it, to stand not upon the order of going, but go at once. I know a few such, persons. They radiate peace and restfulness, or they sparkle and scintillate, or they arouse and in spire you, as the case may be. An hour glides away, then another, and the midst of another, you are con scious only of a gentle “Good-by” flash, and they are gone. Then a hundred things rush upon you— you wish you had asked them this, or told them that, you think how pleasant it was to meet them and you long to see them again. ‘So dear single gentlemen, whoev ever and wherever you are, the next time you go out to spend a quiet evening with a lady, remem ber my words. Young girls are human; they require rest and sleep; they are amenable to the benefits of domestic system and or der ; they have a precious heritage of strength, health and good looks to guard. Above all, if they are true, sensible girls, they secretly respect a man who don’t yield to the temptation to linger past a rea sonable hour. In a word, though they may be glad to see you, an evening visit is not a species of eternity. . Don’t go too late, and don’t go by inches. “Good-by” is the flow er of a welcome. If you wish it to retain its aroma, the fewer leaves it sheds the better. —At the age of twenty Daniel Webster, writing to his brother Ezekiel, said: “I have now two cents in lawful currency; next week I will send them, if they be all; they will buy a pipe; with a pipe you can smoke ; smoking in spires wisdom ; wisdom is allied to fortitude; from fortitude it is but one step to stoicism ; and stoicism never pants for this world’s goods; so perhaps my tw o cents, by this process, may put you .quite at ease about cash.” The Marriage Outfit Old deacon Brown started in life very poor. He married his wife, Susan, before the days of hoops, pads, etc. They had been happy in their married life, and unto them was born a beautiful girl, whom they named Kate, who, of course, when she grew up, fell in love.— Her choice was a poor, hut noble young man. The deacon and his wife had taught their child to choose for herself, but to do it wise ly, and they were glad to see that she made choice of an estimable young man, their neighbor’s son. Now, Kate took up a notion that she must have a great many arti cles for her marriage, and to make a fashionable show of dress during the honeymoon, and as they lived at only a town, she wrote her fath er a note requesting him to furnish her a considerable amount to buy her outfit, and stated in it that she expected she would have to send to the city to get all she needed, whereupon the old man made the following reply : Dearest Daughter ; As you are my only daughter, I may call you dearest, truly, fur I love you very much. I have considered your note, aad this is my reply: lam sorry to find you possessing a weakness of most of your sex, viz : that you think you should have a large outfit for your wedding and honeymoon. When I married your dear mother she had but two calico dresses and other things to fit, and she thought herself well off with them, and I really thought her, as I took her in her calico dress, the prettiest, sweetest girl in the land, and I have never thought otherwise. She has made me a dear, precious wife, and has been to me a help mate, indeed. Now, my dear child, I will not refuse you what you ask, but my observation in life has con vinced mo that those girls who spend a heap of money to provide their outfits for marriage are gen erally sure to spend heaps of it af terward, and that often they keep their husbands’ noses to the grind stone of misfortune and toil all their lives. A great many fine things for your wedding and its after inci dents will make you no sweeter or prettier to your husband, and may make you a great deal dearer as to his pocket. If the man of your choice really loves you, as no doubt he does, it is not for what you have on, but for the qualities of your person, head and heart, and as he is a man of sense, I have no doubt, he will think more of you when he finds that you have not made any great preparations for your mar riage. There are many gentlemen in this country, now worth millions whose wires, when they married, had no more than your mother.— By this I do not mean that you should have no more, but your mother tells me that you now have five neat every-day dresses and four Sunday ones, and really they are a larger, finer and better outfit than many millions of your sex are able to obtain. I make these suggestions for your consideration, but leave you to fol low them or not, as your judgment may dictate, and to show you that is the fact, I enclose you a draft for a thousand dollars on my cashier, which you can use at your pleasure. Affectionately Yours, John Brow'n, Kate did not long hesitate as to her course of action. Her mother gave her a few dollars of her pock et- money, and she bought only a simple, plain, white dress, and. ap peared in it at the altar, with natu ral flowers and her owii loveliness for adornment. She drew the amount of the draft in gold, and one month to a day af ter her marriage handed the amount to her husband and accompanied the gift with these words : “Dearest—l applied to my fath er for money to purchase what I supposed I needed for my marriage, and he wrote me this letter (hand ing it to her husband,) and inclosed in it the draft upon which I drew this thousand gold dollars, which I now present to you as the money saved by a victory over a foolish fashion. Have I done wisely?” “You have, my blessed wife, and are a thousand times dearer to me by your better judgment.” It is needless to add that the hus band of Kate is now worth many millions of dollars, and in a delight ful old age they often tell friends and children of the thousand dollars as the foundation of it nil. A Handsome Thought.— That was a timely and a beautiful thought expressed by a clergyman at the grave of a lovely little child of four summers, from the garden of whose parents, as they all went through to the churchyard, he had plucked a little “Forget-me-not.”- When the little coffin was lowered into the grave, the clergyman, hold ing up the sweet flower in his hand, said :—■ “I hold in my hand a beautiful flower, which I plucked from the garden we have just left. Hy tak ing it from its present home ill has withered ; but I here plant it at the head of this grave, and it will soon revive and flourish. So it is with the little flower we have just plan ted in the grave. It has been plucked from its native garden, and has wilted ; but it is now transplan ted into the garden of immortality, where it shall revive and flourish in immortal glory aud beauty.” Suppose. BY rnuSBS CARY. Suppose, ray little lady, Your doll should break her head, Could you make it whole by crying, Tiil your eyes and nose are red ? And wouldn’t it be pleasanter To treat it as a joke, And say you’re glad ’twas Dolly’s, And not your head that broke ? Suppose you’re dressed for walking, And the rain conies pouring down, Will it clear off any sooner Because you scold and frown ? And wouldn’t it be nicer For you to smile than pout, And so make sunshine in the house, When there is none without f Suppose your task, my little man, Is very hard to get, Will it make it any easier For you to sit and fret ? And wouldn’t it be wiser, Than waiting like a dunce, To go to work in earnest And learn the thing at once? And suppose the world don't p lease you. Nor the way some people do, Do yon think the whole creation Will be altered just for you ? And isn’t it, my boy and girl, The wisest, bravest plan, Whatever comes ordoseu’t come, To do lhe best you can ? Too Poor.* 5 Brother Moore, of the Rural New Yorker, was sitting in his of fice one afternoon, some years ago, when a farmer friend came in and said: ‘Friend Moore, I like your paper, but times are so hard I cannot pay for it.’ ‘ls that so, friend Jones? I’m very sorry to hear that you are so poor, and if you are really so hard run, I will give you my paper.’ ‘Oh, no, I can’t take it as a gift.’ ‘Well, then, let’s see how vfe can fix it. You raise chickens, I be lieve?’ ‘Yes, a few, but they don’t bring anything hardly.’ ‘Don’t they? Neither does my paper cost anything hardly. Now, I have a proposition to make to you: I will continue your paper, and when you go home you may select from your lot one hen and bring me the proceeds, whether in eggs or chickens, and we will call it square.’ ‘All right, brother Moore,’ and the old fellow chuckled at what he thought a capital bargain. He kept the contract strictly, and at the end of the year he found that he had paid about four prices for his pa per. He often tells the joke on him self, and says he never has had the face to say he was too poor to take a paper since that day. —Farmer & Planter. A Practical Joke. The San Francisco “Golden City” relates an adventure which recently befell a resident of that city, who for convenience sake they call Jones. He w r as an eccentric individual, and his fellow-workmen in the manufac tory where he was enployed sought to indulge in a little fun at his ex pense, and succeeded in getting a letter mailed at New York addressed to him, staging that by the death of a distant relative in England he had fallen heir to the sum of fifty thousand dollars, and that a solici tor had come over to New York to hunt him up. Jones rccieved the letter, and spoke of it in good faith to his fun-loving companions, who gravely urged him to write to a prominent lawyer in New York, stating his case and asking the le gal gentleman to see about it.— Jones was foolish enough to take this advice. In due time —much to the astonishment of his associates —he received a letter from his law yer, who, by one of the prettiest coincidences in the world, chance 1 to be at that time engaged in look ing up a person of exactly the same name as Mr. Jones, who was enti tled, by the will of the English gen- tleman who died a few years ago, to the sum of not fifty thousand dollars, exactly, but the sum of four thousand five hundred pounds sterling, or about twenty thousand dollars. Jones happened to be the very man himself, and he immedi ately left his work in a state of high excitement, took a trip to New York, andjiad ho difficulty in proving his claim. He returned to San Fracisco a few days since with funds amounting to eighteen thou sand dollars, expenses having been deducted from the original sum, which might never have found him but for the disposition of his com rades to practical joking. “Don’t put too much confi dence in a lover’s sighs and vows,” said Mrs. Partington to her niece. “Let them tell you that you have lips like strawberries and cream, cheeks like carnation, and an eye like an asterisk; but such things oftener come from a tender head than a tender heart.” • A farmer was. dividiug his property among his four sons. In return one was to board him, an other to lodge him, a third to clothe him, and the fourth at his death was to bear the funeral ex penses. After some little consider ation, each seemed satisfied with his lot, except the fourth, who kept silent. “Are you not content ?” asked the lawyer. “1 don’t know,” ■flplied the hopeful, “I was think ing how much it would cost to plant the old man.” YOL. IV—NO. 40 Our neighbors’ children are always the worst. The difference between a bride and a bridegroom is this—One is given away, and the other sold. What kind of sweetmeats did they have in the ark ? Preserved pairs. —What verb is that, in the lan guage of flowers which few can comjugate? TheVerb-ena. A widower was recently re jected by a damsel who didn’t want affections that had been “warmed over.” —lt was woman who first prompted man to eat, but he to#k to drink on his own account after ward. * —Experimental philosophy— Trying to borrow an umbrella Moral philosophy—Refusing to lend it. What’s the difference between a chilly man and hot dog? Ono wears a great coat, and the other pants. —An urchin on being rebuked for wearing out liis stockings at the toes, replied it couldn’t be helped, “toes wiggled and heels did not." Thin Man— “ Boy, what’s that hungry dog foiling me for?” Boy—“lie thinks you’re a bona. I reckon.” “Young man, do you better* in the future state ?” “In cour#a I duz, and what’s more, I mean to enter it as soon as Betsy gits her things ready.” Little four-year old the otner day nonplussed its mother by mak ing the following inquiry: ‘Moth er, if a man is a Mister, ain’t a wo man a Mistery ?’ A book-keeper in a leading merchantile house has been dis charged on account of short-sight edness. He rubbed out with his nose what he wrote with his pen. Josh Billings says that the ne gro waiters at the hotels at Long Branch have resided among the whites so long that they have begun to adopt our color. A lady "who had repeatedly called a little boy to come in and say his prayers, was somewhat ta ken back by his asking her if “God was iu much of a hurry ?” —At a recent lecture Professor X stated that Saturn had a ring six thousand miles broad. “Jabers,” exclaimed an Irishman who was present, “what a finger he must have,” A Minnesota census taker is said to have been accommodating enough to wait in a house four hours for a lady who wished to re port twins before they are ten years of age. “Well, wife, I don’t see for my part, how they send letters on them ’ere wires without tearing them all to bits.” “La, me! they don’t send the paper; they just send the wri ting in a fluid state, A young lady at Long Branch says she always takes a piece of soap into the water with her, so that if the undertow should be too strong, she would be able to wash herself ashore. The only way for a man to escape being found out is to pass for what he is. The only way to maintain a good character is to de seve it It is easier to correct our faults than to conceal them. A little boy having broken his rocking-horse the day it was bought, his mamma began to scold, when he silenced her by inquiring, —“What is the good of a hoss till it’s broke ?” A negro who had learned to read at Hilton Head wished to give some of his acquaintances, who had never seen a book, an idea of it, said, “Heading is the power of hearing with the eyes instead of the ears.” A couple of fellows who wero pretty thoroughly soaked with bad whiskey got into the gutter. After floundering about for a few min utes, one of them said, “Jim, let’s go to another house—this hotel leaks.” Every parent is like a looking glass for his children to dress them selves by. Therefore* parent# should take care to koep the glass bright and clear, not dull and, spot ted, as their good example is a rieh inheritance for the rising gen*r» tion. “There is two ways of doing it,” said Pat, to himself, as he stood musing and waiting for a job, on the street corner. “If I save $4,- 000, I must lay up S2OO a year for twenty years, or I can put away S2O a year for two hundred years. Now, which way will I do it?” Wiiat he Learned. — A little boy, in the infant class of a Sunday school ‘out West,’ was asked by his teacher if he had learned any thing during the past week. *Oh, yes,’ said he. ‘What have yoft learned?’ “Never to trump your partner’s trick” was the reply. “—A countryman who had never paid more than twenty-five cmt» to see an exhibition, went to see the “Forty Thieves.” The ticket s Her charged him seventy-five cents for a ticket. Passing the pastels* ivd back, he quietly remarked : “Keep it mister, l don’t want to see the out er thirty and out he march ad.