Newspaper Page Text
BY J. P. SAWTELL.
, E. H. PURDY,
“MiimifitCturer of
Saddles, Harness and Trite,
And Wholesale a.i'i-Retail Dwdhr in
All kinds of Sadlery Ware,
Corner of Whitaker and Bryan Sts.,
SAVANNAH, <3A.
, .{jjr* Ord -rs for R ihber Belting, Hose and
•J'k-king;; alsit, Stretched Leather Belting,
Tilled psoiuptly. Sepl7-6tn
TANARUS, J. GUIi.MARTIN, JOHN FT.ANNEKY.
L. J. GUILMARTIN & CO.,
Cotton Factors,
AND
General Commission Merchants,
Bay St., Savannah, Ga.
Agents for Bradley’s Super Phos
phate of Lime, Powell's Mills
Yarns and Domestics, etc.
Bagging, Rope and Iron Ties, al
ways on hand.
j:gT“ U.Ual Facilities Extended to Customers.
sepl7-fiin
A. J. MILLER a CO.,
FURNITURE DEALERS,
150 Broughton Street,
fe A V Al¥X A3I, IA.
WE HAVE OX HAND, and are eon
t'mmlly riceiving, every variety ol
Parlor and Bedroom -S^ts,
ijßnreans, Washstands. Bedsteads, Chairs,
-Rockers, Wardrobes Mi at Safes, Cradles,
Looking Gla-Scß, Feathers, Kuathcibeds, Pil
lows etc.
Hair. Moss, Shuck and Exeelcior Mutra-ses
’on hard, and made to order.
Jobbing and Repairing neatly do- e, and
With despatch.
Wc are fullv prepared to All Orders.
Country orders promptly attended to.
All letters of inquiry answered promptly.
ecpl7 Am.
MARIETTA MARBLE YARD,
J AM PREPARED TO FURNISH
Marble, Monnmeiit&,
'Tombs, Head and Foot Stones,
Vaces, Urns, Vaults, etc.,
■At very reasonable terms, made of
Italian, American and Georgia
MARBLE.
■IRON RAILING Put Up to Order.
For tnformftttmi or
'thin place, or
DU. T. S. POWELL. A (fen*.
I'ullibert, Ga
Adiirt S3,
.1. A. BISAAEBS,
pepi7 6m Miitieitti, Ga.
GEORGE S. HART & CO.~,
lerchaiitfi,.
And , Wholesale Detilers in
Fine Butter, Cliee&e, Lard, etc.,
39 Pearl ami 28 Bridge Sts.. N. Y.
Butter ami L:\rti, O' nil grades, put up
ittev.'iv VH'ietv of package, for shipment to
Warm C iiimncß. Bt p 17-0(11*
REED & CLABKEr~
No. 22, Old Slip, New York,
DEALERS IN
PROVISIONS,
fi
: Onions, Potatoes, Butter, etc.
septl7fiin
€LY, OBERHOLSTER & CO.,
Importers and Jobbers in l
Dry Goods,
Nos. 3*2 9 & 331 Broadway ,
'Corner of Worth Street.
-
“Water wheel,
Mill Gearing,Shafting Pulleys
FORA CIRCULAR E^*
. GEORGE PAGE & CO.
JVo. 5 A r . Schroeder tit., Baltimore..
Manufacturers of
PORTABLE AND STATIONARY
Steam Engines and Boilers
'Patent, improved Portable
Circular Saw Mill
Gant/, -Malay and Sash Saw Mills,
Grist Mills, Tinker Wheels, Shingle Ma
chines, tcc. Di-alers iu Orcular Saws, lleh
ingand Mill supplies generally, and manufac
mrer’s agents lor Letfcl’s Celebrated Turbine
Water Wheel and every description of \Vao I
Working Machinery. 'Agricultural Engines
a Specialty.
J-gTSeiid lor descriptive Catalogues &. Price
List. Scpl7 Iy.
®jjt (Lulbki't Appeal.
Terms of Subscription:
One Yeah. ...$3 00 | Six Months s2 00
1 N VAR I ABLY IN ADVANCE.
J3f* No attention paid to orders for the pa
per un'ess accompanied by the Cash.
Rates of Advertising ■:
One sqnare, (ten lines or less.) $1 00 for the
first and 75 cents for each subsequent inser
tion. A liberal deduction made to parties
who advertise by the year-
Personssenditig advertisements should mark
the number of times they desire them inser
ted, or they vriil be continued until forbid and
charged accordingly.
Transient advertisements muet be paid for
at the time of insertion.
Announcing names of candidates for office,
$5.00. Cash, in all cases
Obituary notices over five lines, charged at
regular advertising ra’es.
All communications intended to promote the
private ends or interests of Corporations, So
cieties, or individuals, Will be charged as ad
vertisements.
Jon Work, eu' h as Pamphlets, Circulars,
Cards, Blanks, Handbills, etc., will lie execu
ted in good style and at reasonable rates.
All letters addressed to the Proprietor will
be pivinptlv attended to.
. 1 * - .
Ring out the Bells.
Ring out the bells for Christmas !
The happy, happy day
In winter wild the Iloly Child
Within the cradle lay.
Oh, wonderful! the Saviour
Is in a manger lone ;
His palace is a stable,
And Mary’s arms his throne.
On Bethlehem’s quiet hillside
In ages long gone by,
In angel notes, (lie Glory floats,
*• Glory to God on high 1”
Yet wakes the sun as .joyous
As when the Lord was born.;
And still he comes to gteet you
On every Christmas morn.
Where’er Ills sweet lambs gather
Within this gentle fold,
The Saviour dear is waiting non" - ,
As in the days of oi l ;
In each young heart you see 111 m,
In every guileless face
You see the holy Jesus,
Who gfve’tr inlrulli and grace.
In many a darksome cottage,
In many a crowded street,
In winter bleak, with shiveringthedt,
The lionn-less'cliild you meet;
Gaze on the pale, wail features- -
The let*, w th wandering sort*,
Yon see the soul lie lovetli.
The-Clii isf child at the door,
Then sing your gladsome carols.
And hail the uewdboi'tl sun ;
l'or Christmas light is passing lA tglrt,
In smiles on every one.
And least Christ's littl children,
His poor, lIL orphan call ;
For he who chose the manger,
lie lovetli one and all.
Markiag b.’“-Mair*age is to a
woman .at once the happiest and
saddest event-of her life; it is the
promise of future bliss, raised on
the death of all presetit enjoyments.
iShe quits 1 * er home, her 'parent*,
her companions; her occupations,
her »musemenlß~*every thing on
which site has hitherto depended
for comfort, .for affection, for kind
ness, for pleasure. The parents by
whoss advice she has been guided,
the sifters to whom she has dared
impart every embryo thought and
feeling, the brother who lias played
with her, by’ turns the counsellor*
and the counselled, and the young
er children lo whom she has hither
to been the mother and the play
mate—all arc to be forsaken at one
instant; every former tie is loosen
ed, the spring of every hope and
action is to be changed, and yet she
ilies with )ov into the untrodden
paths before her. buoyed up by
the confidence of requited love, she
bids a loud and grateful adieu to
the life that is past, and turns with
excited hopes and joyous anticipa
lions to the happiness to come.—
Then woe to the mar. who can
blight such fair ’hopes—who can,
coward-like, break the illusions
that have won’her, and destroy’ the
confidence which love has inspired.
• —Every man wlio is obliged to
work for his living, should make it'
a point to lay up a little money for
a “rainy day,” which wo are all
liable to encounter when least ex
pected. The best way to do this
is to open an account-with a-savings
bank. Accumulated money is al
ways safe; it is always ready for
us when needed. Scrape together
five dollars, make your deposit, re
‘Cefve your bank book, and then re-,
solve to deposit a given sum, small
though it be, once a week, accor-.
ding to circumstances. Nobody
knows, without trying it, how easy
a thing it is to save money, when
;m -account with the bank has been
opened. With an account a man
feels a desire to enlarge his deposit.
It gives him lessons in frugality
and economy, weans him from his
habits of extravagance, and is the
very best guard in-the world against
intemperance, dissipation and vice.
that bleodiug'from a wound on man
or beast may be stopped by a mix
•-tore of wheat flout and*, common
.salt, in equal parts, bound on with
a cloth. If the bleeding be profuse,,
use a large quantity, '■say from one
to three pints. It may be left on
for hours, or even days if necessary.
The person who gave us this receipt
says: “111 this manner he saved the
life of a horse which was bleeding
from a wounded artery-; the bleed
ing ceased in five minutes after the
application.
People who go about black
ing other people’s characters rarely
have any of their own.
CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, JANUARY 6, 1871.
A California Story.
In the third story of a lodging
house, situated in an obscure but
respectable street, tvas a room plain'
ly tarnished. A few pictures on
the walls, a bed, table, chairs, cook
ing stove, and closet that stood out
a few feet from the wall, nearly
tilled up the room.
A plainly attired woman was
kneeling upon the floor. She was
packing a small trunk. Sometinres
she would rise and listen to a foot
step corning up the rickety stairway,
and her eyes would assume a satis
fied expression ; but when the step
was heard no more, she would again
bend with tear-dimmed eyes over
the trunk and resume her occupa
tion.
“Mamma, mamma!” I’se hun
gry 1 came in child-like tones from
beneath the cover of the bed.
The woman rose, and, approaching
the bed, took from it a little boy
about two years old.
“Here, Willie, tal<e this cake.—
Papa bought it.”
And she gave him a piece, as sire
continued :
“Poor Willie; papa is going
away. Perhaps he never comes
back. Papa leaves this evening.
Don’t you wish that papa would
remain with us?”
The child cried in a loud voice,
as it was bending over her shoulder:
“Papa, papa, don’t go !”
She quickly turned.
A man in the prime of life, with
pleasant features, curly liaif, and
well proportioned form was stand
ing upon the threshold ol the door.
George Warner approached, and
kissed his wife and child as ho said
in a cheerful tone :
“All is settled now, dear Alice.—
I have signed the .papers. Every
month you have to go to Ericks &
Cos., where yon will receive twenty
dollars# They gave me the promised
place as supercargo on a ship bound
to East India. And—don’t turn
pale, dear wife -Tic thing will happen
to nve. 1 know that it is a danger
ous voyage, but with the blessing
of God I am sure to return ere two
years have expired.” And he put
his strong arm around her neck, and
pressed her to his bosom.
“Something within me tells me
that you will never come back. Is
there no other way to make a few
dollars? Could you not obtain a
situation as clerk ?” asked she, lean
ing her head upon his shoulder.
“Well, you knob’, dear wife, that
I vainly tried to get a place in sotne
counting-house in this crowded city.
One thing is certain ; we either
have to go to the poor-house, or
else 1 have to go out in a ship;
therefore bear up. Remember that
you are not alone. Our dear Willie
is with you. Won’t you stay with
mamma, little Willie?” asked lie,
fondly kissing the boy, who nodded
his head in the.affirmative.
The bell of a neighboring church
struck the hour of four.
George Warner hastily withdrew
his arm from the neck of his wife.
A clear, metallic sound broke the
stillness of the room. A plain, gol
den sleeve-button was rolling over
the floor.
Alice laid the boy upon the bed,
and then she .picked up the sleeve
button, which had rolled under a
chair
“It has caught in the meshes of
my collar, Hold up your arm,
George; I will fasten it again,”
said she.
“Keep it, dear wife,” said he,
pushing back her hand, “perhaps
one day it may tell you where I may
be found. My initials are-engraven
on it, G. 'W-, as you perceive. I
will keep its companion. These
buttons were a present from my
mother. Twice they have been lost
and twice found again. There is
an old superstitious belief in our
family’. If one button is lost, the
other will point:out the.place where
the lost one can bo found. I don’t
believe in such things, yet many and
many a time my mother told me
the legend of the sleeve-buttons. I
have ho -time now to tell you the
legend. One more kiss dear Alice,
and then good-bye 1”
“Stay’ with mo, Geoßge,” sobbed
Alice, .pressing him to her bosom.
He had -to tear himself away.-r
Ilis last words were full of tender
ness and love for his wife and child
When his footsteps had died
away upon the staircase, she knelt
down and prayed aloud for the wel
fare of her husband.
* -* * ■*
Thirty years had been gathered
in the parting of Alice from her hus
band.
Thirty long, weary years of wait
ing and watching.
The blooming wife of twenty sum
mers was now a gray-haired matron
of fifty, .and the curly-headed boy of
two years had grown into a man of
thirty-two. •
Again we-see Alice bending over
a trunk, and again we see ti man
standing on the threshold.
‘ Mother, do-not weep as if your
heaTt-wonld break,” cried lie, kneel
ing down beside her, and taking the
straps of the trunk itom her feeble,
trembling hand. “I have to go. I
am compelled to go. Only three
hundred dollars are left from the
little fortune you inherited from
your uncle', California, the land of
gold, is the place in which the la
bors of a determined man are amply
rewarded. Ere two years have
passed over our heads, i will be
back with enough gold to support
us the rest of our lives. But what
ails you, dear mother ? you look
agitated.”
“Willie—O God —Willie, you
have nearly repeated the words your
father uttered when be left us, nev
er-—never to return !” murmured
the matron throwing her arms
around his neck.
“But I feel confident that I slia'l
come back. Every month I will
write to you and send you money.
We will yet find my father and—”
A wild cry came up from tbs lips
of Alice as she tossed up her arms.
Then she sank in the arms of her
son.
“Mother! mother!” exclaimed
Willie Warner, vainly trying to
rouse her from a deatli-like swoon,
lie carried her slight form to the
bed, and dashed water in her face.
At last she opened her eyes.
“I—l have been dreaming. But
no—that what I saw was realitj'.—
What date have we and what time
was it when I lost all consciousness ?
“This is the fourteenth of July,
1853, and I think it was ten min
utes after ten in the morning. It
is now nearly twelve,”* replied her
son.
“Twenty-nine years ago on the
fourteenth of July, 1838, precisely
at ton minutes past ten in the morn
ing, 3 r our father, together with two
Indians, entered a deep wooden dell.
The ground was very soft, and they
stepped from one flat rock to anoth
er. Your -father was behind the
first Indian who seemed to act as
guide. The departing sunset cast
ing long shadows over the green
sward. Your father noticed that
the shadow of the Indian -behind
him was lifting an arm. lie quick
ly drew a pistol and turned. The
savage was close behind him. His
arm was uplifted as if to strike at"
your father, with the hatchet. Your
father fired-. The Indian fell with
a yell. The other savage turned
and threw a-largo rock at your fath
er who had scarcely time to turn
ere he was caught around the waist
by his foe. Your father’s arm was
useless, for it had been broken by
the flying stone. He tried to use
his pistol, but the sccofid barrel was
not loaded. He struck the Indian
with the butt end of the weapon.—
The Indian fell, dragging downy our
father, who struck his head upon a
sharp projecting boulder. As he
fell, I distinctly saw the sleeve but
ton he had taken with him. I knew
that the button would tell me c?V his
death. Soon after I saw a large
mass of earth and stones detach it
self from -the side of the mountain,
and the next moment the three
bodies Were covered by the debris
—then I awoke from the hideous
dream —but no, it was uot a dream,
it was reality, Willie, and some day
not very distant, you will find that
it was just as 1 described it !”
She stopped.
Willie Warner was deeply im
pressed by what he had heard ; still
lie believed it to be only a hallucina
tion of the excited mind of his aged
mother.
“But how do you know it was
on the 14th of July’, 1838, that the
sad event happened ?” asked he,
taking her hand and pressing it
reverently to his lips.
“That date seemed t .> float before
my’ mind’s eye as I witnessed fhs
horrible scene,” replied bis mother.
“Although thirty years have
passed since my father sailed on
that ill-fated ship, which, according
to the Calcutta papers, has never
been .heard of since-it left that city’,
still I believe that my father is alive.
As soon as I have made enough
money in the gold mines, I will set
out in search of my parent. To
morrow I leave. Ho not look
grieved, moll er. I cannot help it
—I must go,” concluded he in a de
termined voice.
• “God bless you, my boy. May
your guardian angel be ever by
your side ?” cried the matron, lay
ing her trembling hands upon his
bowed head.
“Should you find a companion for
life in that laud of sunshine and
clear skies; do not forget your moth
er who will pray night and day for
your welfare !” continued she.
“I will .never marry until I find
my father ; I swear that—”
“Hold, rash boy’ !” interrupted
Ids mother, “you have never felt
the passion of love. All vows will*
not prevent you from marrying a
woman'tfor whom ..you -feel a tender
regard. Now, dear Willie, let us
finish the packing of your trunk,”
said she, rising from her bed.
On the following morning a sob
bing woman stood upon the pier,'
and gazing with straining ey’es at
the receding vessel which bore a Way’
all that was dear to her.
Another year passed away.—
W T illie Warner had made enough
to send for his mother. She came.
.A neat little cottage near the town
of Columbia, Toulumne county, had
been built by her affectionate son,
who was part owner in a rich hy
draulic claim dose to his abode.
After she had been residing in her
new home for above two weeks,
Mrs. Warner noticed that her son
seemed very sad and preoccupied.
She soon found out the cause. He
was in love with the daughter of
one of his partners. The young la
dy also loved him.
When Willie’s mother urged him
to marry the girl, he answered :
“Twill not marry until I find my
father!” and he never referred to
the subject again.
It was in the summer of 1860.
The fays of the departing sun shone
upon Mrs. Warner and Willie as
they sat near each other .gazing at
the wild mountain scenery before
them. Mrs. Warner held in her
hand something wrapped up in a
piece of paper. Often .she was on
the point of opening the little par-
cel, and as often she tightly closed
her trembling hand over it.
’“This is the 14th of July, Willie;
the day of my dear husband’s death
and—but what is this !” cried she,
interrupting herself,and starting to
her feet.
A strange, rumbling sound, com
ing apparently from beneath the
cottage, struck upon their ears.
“Sit down again, mother. It is
only a land slide in our claim. We
have undermined yonder large bank
of gravel and cement, and we ex
pected that it would come down
ere night set in,” said he, pointing
in the direction of his claim ; see
how the edge o-f the bank begins to
fall off in small pieces. Now comes
a larger lamp—now, now the entire
bank gives way, and listen to the
awful— ’
“Noise,” he would have said, but
the loud crash of falling earth and
stones, together with that of break
ing timbers, drowned his voice.
For a few moments he gazed at
the clouds of dust that arose from
the deep cut, then he turned to his
mother.
Mrs. Warner, with eyes staring
into space, and with her hands raised
on high, stood like a prophetess be
fore him. Iler lips were moving— ■
He bent down Ins head and listened.
“The same scene —yes, the same
scene. The earth trembled, de
tached pieces rolled down into the
deep dell ; then came the bank of
gravel and stones and cement, and
covered the bodies of George War
ner and the two Indians. The
place, where once was a deep dell,
is now covered by the slide. Only
two lone pines remained near a linte
stoneclift. But they were cut down
years ago. 1 know lie is there—
there—-.there!” uttered Mrs. War
ner, lowering her right arm and
r writing in the direction of the
claim.
“Come,, mother, you look pale
and excited. Come, let us go in
the house,” cried Willie, touching
her.
“Who speaks? Is it you, dear
George? Is it your voice?” cried
the matron* passing <her trembling
hand over her brow to push away
the cloudy that obscured her mind.
“It is mo, your Willie, mother.—
please come in ; the night air is in
jurious to your health.”
“I have been dreaming again,
Willie,” said his mother, taking his
arm. “I again saw the landslide
■that covered np your poor father!”
“But what have you in your
hand ?” asked AYillie, lealing her
to a seat.
“Look,” exclaimed the matron,
opening the tiny parcel.
He gazed upon an old-fashioned
sleeve-button, with the initials “G.
W.” engraven thereon.
“To-morrow,” continued she,
“you will find its companion near
the remains of your father. Stop,
not a word; 1 know* what you want
to say !” cried she, as Willie was
about to speak, “come, hits me
good night; I am going to bed, for
I feel very tired and weak.”
* * * * *
Early on the -following morning,
Willie Warner left his anode. His
mother was y’et asleep.
“Halloa, Will! you are up early.
I thought you wouldn’t come down
befoie breakfast,” shouted James
Gilbert, who tvas already directing
a stream of water issuing from-the
hydraulic pipe at the fallen debris
of the high bank.
Hid you see any human hones
among the caved earth ?” asked
Willie, putting his mouth close to
the ear of his partner, for the water
made a great noise as it washed
against the caved gravel.
James Gilbert shook his head in
the negative, while he looked with
inquiring eyes at Willie.
“What a foolish question !” cried
he, after a pause, during which lie
directed the stream of water to
wards a shell-like bank of hard ce
ment and lime boulders, that stood
out from the bank about twenty-five
feet from where they stood.
A few minucs after, he dropped
the nozzle of the hose and rushed
through the deep mud and sand to
wards the bank, closely followed by’
Willie Warner.
Both had seen a't the same time
a human skull, as it was tossed up
by the water from the hydraulic
pipe.
Willie knelt down close to the
shell-like bank and folded his hands,
as if in prayer, while tears streamed
down his agitated 'face.
“Father, deaufather !” murmured
he, bending over a cavity in the ce
ment.
They saw three human skulls lying,
among broken bones, which looked
dark. The sun had never shone
upon these bones. Reverently' the
partners lifted the skulls from the
cavity. One was that of a white
man. It showed a. fracture near the
left temple. The second skull was
that of an Indian ; a bullet hole was
visible near and a little above the
left eye. The flattened ballet was
found within the cavity where once
was the brain <jf the savage. The
third skull was also that of an indi
an. It showed no marks of vio
lence.
The broken, pieces of a pistol and
a part of a stone hatchet were also
discovered lying among the bones.
“Look, Will, tvhat I’ve found be
neath that thigh bone,” cried
James, rubbing something against
his shirt-sleeve, for it was covered
with mud.
“I know what it is. Give it to
me,” cried Willie, stretching out
his shaking hand.
It was a plain old-fashioned gold-
eu sleeve-button, with the initials
“G. W.” engraven thereon.
As Mrs. Warner prophesied, Wil
lie had found the remains of his
father.
* * * * *
Next day the remains of George
Warner were interred In the church
van! of Columbia. A plain marble
slab marks the spot. Upon it is in
scribed the following :
“Iloro lie the remains of George
Warner, a native of New York. He
was slain by Indians, on the 14 day
of July, 1838. Requieseatin pace.”
Many q traveler has read the in
scription upon that tomb stone, and
many expressed their doubt to the
old residents of that mining town
in relation t.o the date.
But no one could tell the strange
narrative which I have written
above, and which I have heard from
the lips of Willie Warner, who is
now a prosperous farmer, and fath
er of three charming children.
A year elapsed after he had found
the remains of his father, ere he
married the daughter of his partner.
His mother died about two months
ago. The two sleeve-buttons were
found tightly grasped in her cold
hand after her death.
llow George Warner escapes
from ship-wreck, and how he found
his way to California, and among
the Indians, in the year 1838, Will
probably remain a mystery forever.
All 1 could ascertain from an old
Walla-Walla Indian,. who was my
guide to the head-waters o-f the
Stanislaus river in 1868, was that
many, many years ago, (he coun
ted over forty on his fingers) there
came a white man among them
The Indian was but a boy then, but
he remembered that the white man
had a rifle and a pistol of a differ
ent construction from those of the
Spanish soldiers near Monterey, and
that he was a tall, well-built man,
with long curly hair. He did not
know what became of the stranger.
This white man was probably
George Warner.
Want of Courage.
Sidney Smith in his work on
moral philosophy, speaks in this
wise of what men lose for the want
of a little brass as it is termed:
“ A great deal of talent is lost to
the world for the want of a little
courage. Every’ day sends to their
graves a number of obscure men,
who have only’ remained in obscu
rity because their timidity has pre
vented them from making a first
effort ; and Who, M they only can
be induced to begin, would in all
probability’ have gone great lengths
in the career of fame. The fact is,
that in order to do anything in the
world worth doing, wo must not
stand shivering on the bank, and
thinking of the cold and danger,
but jump in and scramble through
as best we can. It will not do to
be perpetually calculating risks, and
adjusting nice chances, it did all
very well before Ue flood, when a
man, could consult a friend upon an
intended publication for one hun
dred and fifty years, and then live
to see its success for six or seven
centuries -afterwards.; but at pres
ent a man waits, and doubts, and
hesitates, and consults his brother,
and his uncle, and his first cousin,
and his particular friends, till one
day he finds that he fls sixty-five
years of age, that ho has lost sc
much good time in consulting his
first cousins, and particular friends,
that he has no more time left to
follow their advice. There is so
little time for over squeamishness
at present, the opportunity slips
away the very period of life at
which a man chooses to venture, if
ever, is so confined, that it is no
bad rule to preach up the necessity’,
in such instances, of a little violence
done to the feelings, afid of efforts
made in defiance of strict and sober
calculation.”
A country girl once went to
the city to pay a visit to one of her
old and best friends; this friend
was married to a rich merchant,
and was leader of fashion. In city
etiquette, of course, the -visitor was
verdant, and made numerous mis
takes. Her friend wished to initi
ate her fully into the “mysteries,”-.
and as they were going to a large
ball, gave her the following instruc
tions, viz: “Eat only one small cake
and one saucer of ice cream, and
when yorfr attendant presses you to
take more, answer that you have
masticated a -sufficiency, and more
would be superfluity.” Things
went on smoothly until her atten
dant asked her to -partake of more
refreshments, when, to the horror
of her friend and amusement of.
the company, she answered in a
loud.voice: “I have evaporated in
sufficiently: any more would go
flippity-floppity.”
Spend Wisely —Look most to
your spending. No matter what
comes in, if more goes out you will
always-be poor. The art ; s not in
making money, but in keeping it;
little expenses, like mice in a barn*
when they are many, make great
waste. Hair by hair heads get
bald. Straw by straw the thatch
goes off the cottage, and drop by
drop the-rain comes into the cham
ber. A barrel is soon empty, if
the tap leaks but a drop a minute.
When you begin to save, begin with
your mouth; there Are many thieves
down the red lane. The ale jug is
a great xvastc. In all other things
keep within compass. In clothes
choose suitable and lasting stuff",
and not tawdry fiscry. To be warm
is the main thing; never mind the
looks.
Not all in Bringing up.
It isn’t all in Uti-ngi-ug tip,
Let folks say what they will ;
You silver-wash a pewter cup.
It will be pewter still.
E'en the okl. wise Solorh&D,
Who said, “ Train up a child,”
If 1 mistake not raised a son,
Gay, rattle-brained and wild.
A man of mart, who faiu would pass
For lord of sea and land,
May have the training of an ass,
And bring him tip fall grand.
May give bim »*H the Wealth of lore,
Os college and of school :
Yet, after all, make him no more
Than just a decent fool,
Another, raised by penury,
Upon her bitter bread,
Whose road to knowledge is like that
The-good lor Heaven must tread ;
lias but a spark of nature's light,
Will fan it to a flame,
Till iu its burning letters bright.
The world may read his name.
If it were all in bringing up,
'Jo counsel and restrain*'
Some rascals have been honest men—
I'd been myself a saint.
Oh. ’tisn’t all in bringing up,
Let folks say what they will ;
Neglect may dim a silver cup,
It will be silver still.
Mental Taxation a Cause of Dys
pepsia.
Mental anxiety and pecuniary
embarrassments, such as loss yf
property by fire, by failure in busi
ness, Or by bad debts, and also do
mestic troubles, disappointed af
fections, and the loss, or the
treachery of friends, will frequently
cause dyspepsia; too close, and too
active intellectual labor is also a
frequent cause. Editors, authors,
and literary persons often engender
dyspepsia in this way.
Much brain labor requires ranch
blood at tho brain, and an over-!
working-intellect uses up so much
of both blood and nervous force
that there is not enough remaining
to do the work of digestion.
On the other hand, deranged di
gestion is sometimes produced by
too little exercise of the- brain.
Persons are frequently met with
who have been in active business
life, and, having accumulated enough
to satisfy their ambition, have re
lired from business. Now although
the brains and bodies retire from
active life, yet the poor stomachs
very’ often have their tasks increas
ed. If a man has been for a long
time accustomed to eating heartily
and working hard, either with body
or brain, he had better not re'ax
his working habits without at the
same time having a corresponding
relaxation in his habits of eating.—
“He who will not work neither shall
he eat,” is not only a Bible injunc
tion, but a law of the human eon-’
stitution, the disobedience of which
is often attended with such derange
ments of digestion, and other bodi
ly infirmities, as to render either
property or life of but little value.
— Dr. Miller on Dyspepsia.
Rational Recreation.— Society
is not and ought not to be exclu
sively’ devoted to serious concerns.
The beneficent-Creator of the uni
verse would not have adapted hu
man beings to the enjoyment of his
gifts unless he intended that they
should be enjoyed ' With the law
which enjoins industry, comes the
law of fruition. Why should the
eye be formed to perceive natural
and artificial beauty’, if it is not to
be used for that purpose? Why
has the capacity’ to make instru
ments capable of emitting sweet
sounds been given, if such sounds
are not to be heard ? Why should
the human structure be capable of
the sweetest melody, and of grace
ful action,, and of the delightful ex
pression beaming from innocent and
heavenly countenance, if pleasure
from such sources were forbidden
us ? Why does the grape ripen, the
silk-worm toil, the annual fleece re
turn, the diamond eparkle, the mar
ble yieldffo the chisel, and-thc can
vas catch and preserve the inspira
tion of genius, but to awaken hu
man desire, animate industry and
reward with fruition ? It is the ex
cess and the abuse that are forbid
den.
The poorest man to be met
withyespecially in these stirring times
is the man Who is too poor to-tajee a
newspaper. We pity such a man,
especially if he is a man of proper
ty. Who ever heard of a man too
poor to smoke Or chew tobacco, if
addicted to either habit? And yet
men who spend from fifteen to
twenty-five cents a day for “the
■weed” are too poor to take a news
paper, in the intellectual enjoyment
of which their families might par
ticipate. Really such men are
poor. They are objects of pity.
Just as a traveler was writing
his name on the register of a Leav
enworth hotel, a bedbug appeared,
and tcok-its way across the page.
The man paused,.and remarked :
“I’ve been bled by St. Joe fleas,
bit ten-by Kansas City spiders, and
interviewed by Foil Scott gray
backs, but I was never in a place
before where the bedbugs looked
over the hotel register to find out
where your room was !”
--There is said to bean organiza
tion of blood-thirsty young females
in Ohio, the object of which is to
intimidate the young men to dis
contiue the habit of waxing mous
taches. They tickle so !
YOU. V—NO. 2
fay Your Debts.
One of our exchanges in an arti
cle under the above heading, dis
courses thus: Not to pay debts is
a species of dishonesty, which,
however, it may be tolerated by
reason of the laxity of public morals,
is still dishonesty A man who
would scorn and rescut the idea of
being a rogue, will frequently keep
back the money he owes his neigh
bor, and speculate on it after lie has
promised to pay. By this means
he not only defrauds his neighbor,
but violates his'promise, and there
by forfeits his honor. If a man lies
about anything else, except paying
money, he is considered a bad man,
not to be believed or relied upon)
but a cash lie don’t count in these
degenate times, in many circles.—
We can however, inform these slip
shod financiers, that there is a large
number of the best and purest peo
ple in the world, who look upon a
promise to pay money as quite as
sacred as any other promise, and
they look upon a man who fails to
meet such promises, with as little
toleration as they do upon any oth
er species of fraud. We repeat,
therefore, to every one whom mis
fortune lias not deprived of the
power to do so, pay your debts.
But whatever you do, pay your
small debts. Pay the mechanic, the
laborer and the tradesmen who
have given you credit. It is these
little credits that test the honesty
of many men. A man owing sever
al small bills,.says to himself: “My
creditors won’t sue me for this
small amount. He knows I am
good; I’ll take the aggregate
amount of those.few little debts I
owe, hod buy a certain lot of land I
have been wanting for seine time.—
I can get it part on credit, and the
money -I had intended to paV A. B.
& C.’s small account, will make the
cash peyment on the land. Messrs.
A. B. tfc C. won’t miss the small
amount I owe them, and lean make
a pretty good speck on the aggre
gate.” Meanwhile, Mr. A. is a mer
chant who sold our financier goods
last summer on. a sacred promise to
pay out of the proceeds of the pres
ent crop, lie has his own liabilities
to meet promptly, or lose his stand
ing in market, and bv that means
stop business. Mr. B. is a shoe
maker': lie has bought his leather
partly on time, relying on numer
ous small customers to come up
promptly with the cash. Unfortu
nately numbers of them treat him
as our financier does, lie can ge’t
no more leather, and must go and
work as a journeyman, for some
shoemaker who had too much sense
to give credit. Perhaps Mr. *O. is
a printer i has Worked hard and
faithful, night and day, and sold
newspapers and job work upon
credit. If he has though, he cftigik
to break—and yet printers will
sometimes do this foolish tiling,
and their foolishness is, no excuse
for the careless or dishonest cils
t6mers.
Wo know that many people stick
to the cash rule, in all cases, and
y r et it seems almost impossible to
avoid giving and taking credit at
times. If all men were honest,
this would be very convenient and
beneficial, but alas ! alas! we fear
that roguery is becoming popular,
and honesty at a discount.
Fates of the Apostles.—Math
ew is supposed to have suffered
martyrdom, or was slain in a city
of Ethiopia.
Mark was dragged through the
streets of Alexandria, in Egypt, till
he expired.
Luke was hanged to an Olive
tree in Greece.
John was put into a boiling caul
dron at Rome, but escaped doath.
lie died a natural death at Kphesf&s,
Asia.
James, the Great, was beheaded
at Jerusalem.
James, the Less, was -thrown
from a pinnacle and beaten to death.
Phillip was beheaded.
Bartholomew was skinned alive.
Andrew wasotticlfiad, and pound
ed while lying.
Thomas was run trough With a
lance.
Simon was crucified.
Matthias was stoned.
Barnabas was stoned to death.
Paul was beheaded by the tyrant
Nero, at Rome.
A BsAf’s Composition ox Tira
Goat.— A goat is stronger than ft
pig and gives milk. He looks aft
you. So does n doctor, but the
goat-lias four legs. My goat but
ted Deacon Tillinghast in a bad
place, and a little calf wouldn’t d6
so. A boy without ft,father is an
orphan, and if he liftint got ho
mother he is two orphans. The
goat dont give quite So much milk
as a cow, but more than an ox. I
saw a ox at a lair one day with a
card tied to his left ear, and we
went in on a family' ticket. Moth
er picks „geese in the summer, and
the goat eats grass, and jumps bh
a box. Some folks don’t like-goats',
but as for me give me a innlfe tvith
a paint brush tail. The goat is a
useful animal, but don’t smell as
sweet as nice bear’s oil for the hair.
If I had two much hair I would
wear a wig as Captain Peters does.
I will sell my goat for three dollars,
and go to a circus to see the ele
phant, which is bigger as five goats.
Father is coming home to-morrow*
and the baby has got the croup.—
Bad. _
—An Illinois postmaster gives
qotice as follows : “After this date
every body’ must lick their owii
postage stamps for my tongue?!
give out.
%- *