Newspaper Page Text
BY J. P. SAWTELL.
E. H. PURDY,
Manufacturer of
SaiMlis, Harness ani Ms,
And Wholesale and Retail Dealer in
411 kinds of Sadlery Ware,
Corner of Whitafcer *nd Bryan Ska.,
SAVANNAH, GA.
| -3g~ Orders for Rubber Belting, Hose and
Wcklug; also, Stretched Leather Belting,j
tilled piomptly. sep!7-6m
t. J , OUILMAKTIN, JOHN Ff.AN NEKT.
L J. GUILMARTIN & CO.,
Cotton Factors,
... XnD
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.
\g~ U>u cl Fm ifilies Ektetodei to Customers.
■epl7-Hm
A. J. MILLER & CO.,
FURNITURE DEALERS,
150 Broughton Street, ,
«AVA»MII, GEORCiIA.
WE HAVE OX HAND, and are <Cou
tinually receiving, every variety of
Parlor and Bedroom Sets,
Bureaus, Washstands, Bedsteads, Chairs,
Rockers, Wardrobes Meat Safes, Cradles,
Looking Glasses, Feathers, Featherbeds, Pil
lows etc.
Hair. Mohs, Shuck and Excelclor Matrasses
on hand, and made to order.
Jobbing and Repairing neatly do: c, and
with despatch. .
We are fullv prepared to All orders.
Country orders promptly attended to.
All letters Os inquiry answered promptly.
«epl7 6ui.
MARIETTA MARBLE YARD.
J AM PREPARED TO FURNISH
Marble, Monuments,
Tombs, Head and Foot Stones,
Vaces, Urns, Vaults, etc,,
At very reasonable terms, made Os
Italian, American Mhd Georgia
Al A R B L E .
IRON RAILING Put Up to Order.
For information or designs address me at
this place, or
DU. T. S. POWELL, Agent.
Cnthbrrt, Ga.
Address,
1, A. BISANER,
•epir lini Marietta, Da.
GEORGES. HART & CO.,
Commission merchants,
And Wholesale Dealers iu
Fine Bntter, Cheese, Lard, etc., 1
- 39 Pearl and 28 Bridge Sts., N. Y.
.. w Bntter and Lard, Os all grades, put up
’iseveiy variety of package, for Shipment to
Warm Cflimates. sepl7-fim*
REED & CLARKE,
Ho. 22, Old Slip, New York,
DKALERB IN
PROVISIONS,
Onions, Potatoes, Butter, etc.
septl7-6m
ELY, OBERHOLSTER & CO.,
Importers and Jobbers in
Dry Goods,
JVos. 329 tfc 331 Broadway,
Corner of Wortb Street.
ts»pis-6m Aeiv York.
WHEEL,
1/lill Gearing, Shafting Puileys
>E-CBENP FORACfRCUIAPLJfe >
„ GEORGE PAGE & CO.
iv o. 5 V. Schtdeder St., Baltimore.
*turer* of
portabu ahd «T<TIUVAHY
Steam Engines and Boilers
I’ AT ENT IM P K'lVEn I’oKTABI.K
Circular Saw Mill
Gang, Mulay <end-Sash Sate Mitfa,
•Grist Mills, limber Wheels, SiftojAe Hi a
‘ol'iues, &.c. U' ah-.is in Circular Saw.<, -'Beh
liig’an't Mill fiippl es gt ftf»railv atnluritfutac
tnrer’e for L' ffe ’s Celehraited Turi>iii«
Water Wheel and every (Jea< rii*tu»n "t Wood
Worldnir Machinery. At*ri,-rflttfh& Engines
*a Specialty.
C«t. -Bepl7 ly.
CUTHBERT
CTntjjliEvt g-jpal.
lierms ofSubsoriptiont
One Year....s3 00 j Six Months...-. 52 00
BT No attention bald to orders for the pa
per uu'ess accompanied by the Cash.
Rates of Advertising:
One square, (ten lines or less.) $1 00 for the
grst and 75 cents for each subsequent inser
tion. A Kbe'fai deduction made to parties
who advertise by ttft year-
Persons sending advertisements should mark
the number of times they desire them inser
ted, or they will be continued until forbid and
charged accordingly.
Transient advertisements must be paid for
at the tithe of insertion.
Announcing names of candidates for office,
f5.00. Cash, in all cases.
Obitaaty notices over live Hoes, 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, such as Pamphlets, Circulars,
Cards, Blanks, Handbills, etc., will be execu
ted in good style and at reasonable rates.
AH letters addressed to the Proprietor will
be promptly attended to.
[From Andrew College Bell.
“ Bury tee in the solitude where flowers,
birds and rills may sing my requiem Col
loquy. i
TO
BY ORIOLE.
Oh seek not a grave in the deep solitude
Where floorers are wild and e'en nature is
rude ;
Where beasts of the forest in sullenness roam,
And the footprints of friendship never may
come.
The pale flower there will shed its sweet
bloom
And the zephyr be robbed of its breath of
perfume l
The breeze now so balmy be chilled by the
frost,
And moan o'er thy grave like a dirge for
the lost.
The song of the birds like the blush of the
flowers,
Will leave their wild hewh** ie Ike green
leafy bowers ;
And the Voice o's nature that sung in the
rill,
Will lie hushed by the spell so icy and still.
Oh seek the dear spot where your kindred
are laid.
Where the footprints of friendship a pathway
have made ;
And the dews affection will nourish the
flower,
Ai they silently fall at eve's pensive hour.
Let the loved on<* in sadness and sorrow re
pair,
To that place ot all -ether? most sacred and
dear ;
For the tears that they shed in tenderness
there,
May be gems in -the crowns which those lov
ed ones may wear.
Oh sweet be the wreath that love shall en
twine,
And warm be tho hearts that tby virtues en
shrine ;
'Tin these that will last like an amaranth
bloom.
And lose naught of sweetness tho' laid on the
tomb.
Death.
Death has reaped a heavy* harvest
during 1870. It swept many celeb
rities from the world.
Among statesmen : Burling, Pi
erre Soul, Count and« Moutalembsrt,
Baroche, Salnave, Earl Mayo, Duke
de Brogne, Lord Clarendon.
In literature: Charles Dickens,
Alexander Dumas, Mark Lemon,
George D. Prentice, Wm. Gilmore
Sims, John E Read, E. T. Blan
chard, John P. Kennedy, Brough,
Viltomain, Paul de Cassenuc, Anna
Cora Mo watt Ritchie.
Artists: Balfe, Wilson, Moschel
les, Straus, Deßeriot, Mozier,
Launitz, Maolise.
Soldiers; Robert E Leo, Brant
ley, Sandford Thomas, Granger,
Liddell, Mower, Hitchcock, Ripley,
Count de Flahault, Evans, Hess,
Jean D. Augdy, Loweslive, Duogy,
Farragut, Gardner, &o.
Lawyers : Justice Grier, Lord
Chief Baron Pollock, Lord Justice
Garfard.
Doctors: Sir James Y„ Simpson,
Professor Srnye, Sir James Clark,
Sir Wm. C. Hood, Dr. Bright, Dr.
Copland, Cabarrus, Von Graefe.
Actors: Mrs. Rechie, Lavasser,
Leigh, Murray, Lo Martre, Tagli
oni.
Preachers: Albert Barnes, Dr.
Rowland Williams, Bishop Calvin,
Bishop Kingsley, Bishop Thomp
son, Bishop Chase, Dr. McClintock.
Genera! celebrities : Jerome Bo
naparte, Baron Rothschilds,Richard
Tatt*ersal, the horse dealer; Roeder,
the Champagne mam; Green, the:
balloonist.
L'pez, Sultan of Zan
zibar, Dowager, Queen of the Sand
wich Islands ; Prim) Leopold H. of
Tuscany, Duchess of Berry, Duchess
of Saxony, Frederick Wurtemburg,
Henry of Bourbon Constitution^
Last Year's Crop. —We learn
from a -summary of the latent agri
cultural news for December, furnish
ed by the Agricultural Department,
that the present corn crop is the
largest crop sitoce IS6O, the aver
age per acre being estimated at
twenty eight bushels, The pro
duct of sorghum is larger than last
year ; the tobacco crop is corn para
tively la*!ge; hay is less by aboHt
fifteen per cent, than that of 1869,
And dhe potato crop is little more
thim four-fifths of what it was last
year-. _
“Mistus tomus brown, (presi
dent of nashurual bftnk) l fe&k?Pdelf'y, f ’
was the stijierscriptioti on a letter
that passed through the Boston
post-office recently-,
CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, JANUARY 20, 1871.
Published by Request.
A Dream, Which is not all a Dream.
Having been a physician for a
long, well, say timo out of- mind,
and served the people with all the
fervor, zeal, earnestness and fidelity
my natnre was capable of, and now
being broken in health, fortune and
a cripple; and even right here
where all my efforts, life and lamp
oil have been spent—pennytess, and
almost forsaken and forgotten—
wondering where my next month’s
board was to come from, and how,
under these embarrassing circum
stances I should find the means
wherewith to “ settle,” that talis
manic word that would make even
a valley of dry bones shake, I fell
to sleep and had the follow ing dream,
revery or vision : I fancied that
“ mine ancient” companion in arms,
misery, medicine and misfortune,
pills, powders and portions) was re
ported to be sick unto death.
1 hurried) I thought) With all the
sj eed that my poor shattered frame
was capable of supporting, to his
bed-side. Being somewhat “blow
ed ” I sat down immediately in
front of a fire) glowing with red-hot
coals, whose grateful warmth pene
trated every fibre and set my imagina
tion all aglow, adding strength and
rapidity to the fevered dreams that
were the culmination of an unhap
py train of sad reflections. I fixed
my eyes while in this melancholy
aud sombre mood, upon tho glow
ing coals before me, when directly
1 saw, or so fancied, weird and gro
tesque figures tracing themselves
there upon. First in this great
panorama came a long procession of
men, women and children, “some a
loot aud some a running—dressed
in every imaginable kind of fashion,
comfort and discomfort, und many
who could not be said to have been
dressed at all; men, with bloody
noses and brokeu heads, some ou
crutches, minus one pedestal extrem
ity, others in every extremity, save
extremes desirable; some large aud
protruding in abominable regions,
ruby cheeks and blossoming noses)
“ Dr. mighty slow, mighty slow ”
and themselves a great deal slower
when pay-day came, and many of
them like the immortal Fox post
poning that day until the day of
the final judgment; woman in every
condition of mortal ailment, scold
ing, fretting, frothing and frowning
at the tooth ache or a delinquent
husband; fashionable belles with
hot spots on their heads and an iu
supportable sense of immediate
dissolution from choking and smoth
ering, yet pronouncing anathemas
in unmeasured terms upon the poor
devoted son of Esculapius who had
the intemerity of coming to the
rescue with assafoetida and black
cohosh!
Then came a long procession of
poor children, barefooted and hat
less, thin thread-bare covering hang
ing in tatters, and flaunting in the
bitter breath of Boreas as though
each oue was trying to exhibit a
miniature flag of every nation un
der heaven, although he had never
heard of any nation but his own,
and thought that one even, bounded
by the horizon. They were little,
their, pinched feature*, their long
skinny fingers looked more like the
claws of animals than any resem
blance they ought to have had to
the fleshy, tapering and dimpled
ones of their wealthier neighbors,
faces with a cadaverous expression,
cheeks with a hectic flush, eyes duli,
leaden and heavy as if they were
already prematurely world-weary,
hastening on, as it were, willing,
wishing and waiting for their little
graves in potter’s field, for oh ! how
quiet and silently they moved along
without a s@Hnd or song, or sym
pathising, encouraging word or
look from any passer-by left to
•struggle alone, tender and inexpe
rienced as they were, With gaunt
famine and disease. What, thought
I, can all this mean ! Are all these
suffering mortals thrown out upon
a vast tera incognita -to suffer, pine
away in anguish and die, without a
benefactor—without meeting, at
least)One heart to commisserate, oue
benevolent aud kindly disposed hu
man being -endowed with the bet
ter instincts of our nature, a heart
of flesh, softened and subdued,
made tender and feeling by our ho
ly religion, with so much of the
Master’s spirit as to say, “ Suffer
them to come unto me and forbid
them not”—with a mind richly
stored with known and occult sci
ence to euable him to become the
good Samaritan to all this vast ar
ray of human suffering aud misery?
Just at this juncture the panera
-mic wheel made another turn,
creaking and crying for a little more
“ patent axle grease,” (as the
wheels of creation are supposed to
have creaked when the globe was
rolled upon the stage) when all of a
sudden the vision changed, when
to my happy disappointment, and
confident expectation, it was not
the pale horse and hit rider, but a
high-headed bay with a grass rope
’round his neck, wholly above and
unenvious of, and in whose seeming
opinion, the notorious Bucephalus
would have been, when compared
to him, reckoned to a garrow.—
Drawn by the said bay was a yel
low buggy, high in the back, but
minus a dash, containing a solitary
individual, on whose head sat a little
round crowned hat, spectacles on
nose, cleanly shaved UroUnd the
mouth, with a pair of gray whis
kers, and dressed in a greenish yel
low suit, much defaced by a too
great familiarity and long acquaint
ance v ith grease and dirt, and the
wearing and tearing effects of time.
This individual had the appear
ance of having lived always, never
taking any rest, never stopping,nev
er dying—one on whom time seem'
ed to have had no power ; always
on the alert, ever active and vigi
lant, never considering his own
comfort, or that anything would be
comforting to him at all; and like
the “ Wandering Jew,” forever go
ing and perpetually revolving, yet
with all this toil and vigilance, his
eye had a youthful and mischievous
twinkle, and while it beamed with
love for all God’s creatures, there
was still a lurking devil-sort-of
spice aud humor about it. His
head was far too small immediate
ly under the band of the aforesaid
round hat to admit of much love
for bloated purses or steaming pots,
and showed a total disregard to the
wants of the inner or decorations of
the outer man ; or whether the said
buggy had a dash or was dashed to
pieces, but with large, full grown
head above the ears, full in coronal
region, and tapering back until
there was just enough left behind
to drive the ponderous hurricane
deck forward against every oppos
ing element that would be likely to
impede the progress of the high
trot by which his little dashless
bark was carried along. On ! on,
and ever onward he went, after this
wretched army of human suffering,
with straining eyes and outstretch
ed arms, without hope of reward.—
Shall I say it? No, not entirely so,
for no man, no matter how much
devoted to science he may ever be
come, with all the self-sacrificing
devotion he may ever pursue his
calling, if he be a physician, with
all his kindness and sympathy, ten
derness and pity, prayers aud heart
yearnings for the suffering, sinking
and dying, when he thinks of his
own poor wife and children at
home, lacking many of the necessa
ries and all of the luxuries of life,
cannot wholly divest himself of a
sufficient of human nature to pre
vent him from deploring the fact,
that many, very many, should be so'
utterly devoid of the moral obliga
tion they owe to him. And so it
proved in the present instance, as
the sequel will show. But I am an
ticipaliug.
From the contemplation of these
sad pictures, ray disordered fancy
had been conjuring up in a hob
goblin kind ot phantasmagora, I
turned, I thought, to my dying
friend and told him that the public
wished to offer some tribute, some
testimonial of their appreciation of
his labors, by building a suitable
monument over Ms remains, and
had sent me to inquire the kind and
style most pleasing to him without
regard, whatsoever, t© cost. He
turned those eyes—the light of
which had often cheered and made
glad my desponding moments —up
on me, and smiled faintly, at what
I feared he thought was vanity, and
especially of all posthumous honors
(which are always doubtful at best)
aud remarked :
“ That he had always been a plain,
blunt man, sad wished to lie in the
last sleep, the sleep of death, with
the same disregard of all things
seemingly ostentatious as he had
lived, and that if the dear pubiio,
of whom I had been speaking, and ;
for whose opinion and welfare he
had ever felt the deepest regaid,
and for whom he noio felt very
grateful for their consideration in
wishing a suitable mausoleum to
cover his remains and keep his
memory green, wished to evince
their appreciat ion of his labors, that
a more suitable acknowledgement
could not be offered than by coming
forward and paying their medical
bills, (some of which,” said he,
“ are of over thirty year’s standing,)'
for the benefit of the heirs and
creditors.”
I had, ere this, heen a Tittle .puff
ed by “ the divine afflatus,” and had
cogitated the greater portion of
what I thought would be a suitable
inscription, (to be surmounted of
course by a mortar and pestle,) but
his common sensed, -practical view
es the matter so ‘crippled niy Pe-
gassus that he limped away and I
awoke—and no way yet offering it
self, whereby I should be enabled tc
discharge my board bill, I slunk off
to bed, to dream in earnest of—oth
er days and downier beds, and of
lands in sunnier climes beyond the
blue horizon, where in the dreams
of childhood aud maturer hope, im
agination clothes the vast landscape
with flowering shrubs and trees of
immortal verdue, and birds on
overhanging boughs sing sweet lul
labies to world-worn pilgrims as
they recline on mossy banks beside
the river of life. There may we at
last meet., all but the horse and yel
low buggy /
. “ llyoscYaSus.”
The Shadow of Life.
We have rarely met with any
thing more beautiful than the fol
lowing, which we find iu an old
New York Mirror;
‘‘All that lives must die,
Passing from nature to eternity.”
Men seldom think of the great
event of death until the dark shad
ows fall across their own path, hid
ing forever from their eyes the
faces of the loved ones, whose lov
ing smile was the sunlight of their
existence. Death is the great an
tagonist of life, aud the cold thought
of the tomb is the skeleton iu all
our feasts.
We do not VfAnt to go through
the dark valley, although its pas
sage may lead to Paradise; and
witli Charles Lamb, we do not wish
to lie down in the muddy grave,
oven with kings and princes for our
bed fel'ows.
But the fiat of nature is inexora
ble. There is no appeal from the
great law that dooms us all to the
dust. We flourish aud fade like
the leaves of the forest, and the
frailest flower that blooms and with
ers in a day, has not a frailer hold
on life than the mightiest monarch
that ever shook the earth by his
footsteps. Generations of men ap
pear and vanish like the grass, and
the countless multitude that swarms
the world to-day, will to-morrow
disappear like toot-prints on the
shore:
“Soon as the rising tide shall beat
Each trace will vanish from the sand.”
Iu the beautiful drama .of lon,
the instinct of immortality, so elo
quently uttered by the death devo
ted Greek, finds a deep response
in every thoughtful soul. It is na
ture’s prophesy of life to come.—
When about to yield his young ex
istence as a sacrifice to fate, his be
trothed Clemanthe asks if they shall
not meet again ; to which he re
plies : “1 have asked that dreadful
question of the hills that look eter
nal ; of the flowing streams that
flow forever; of the stars, among
whose fields my raised spirit hath
walked in glory. All were dumb.
But while I gaze upon thy living
face, I feel there’s something in
that love which mantles through its
beauty that cannot wholly perish.
We shall meet again, Olemantbe.”
A Bold Hand at the Helm, or
Helmhol©.— A paragraph has heen
going the rounds of the press quite
recently, stating that llembold, tho
celebrated New York Druggist,
pays the Tribune of that city over
SIO,OOO a year for advertising.—
Ilembold’s business must be im
mense to enable him to pay such a
sum of money to one paper out of
sixteen hundred in which he adver
tises. By his judicious, but at the
same time extensive advertising.—
Hembokl has made his “Buchu”
and other proprietary compounds
standard remedies in almost every
household in the land; while the
medical faculty, whose approbation
is never gained for a nostrum, not
only recommended Ilembold’s prep
arations, but quite extensively use
them, in their private practice. If
some thousand of business men,
who have been content to plod along
in the old fogy footsteps of their
ancestors, who looked upon news'
paper advertising as money thrown
away, had hut possessed Hembold’s
sagacity and courage, they might,
perhaps, figure quite as largely in
the Income-Tax return?.—[JVeio
York Times.~\
Attention —Reeipß for Making Tat
tlers.
Take a handful of the weed called
Run-about, the same qfiaatky of;
root called Nimble-tongue, a sprig
of the herb Backbite, (either before
or after dog days,) a table spoonful
of Don’t-you-tell it, six drachms of
Malice, a few drops of Envy, which
can bo purchased in any quantity at
the shops of Miss Tabitha Tea-table,
and Mis* Nancy Night-walker.—
Stir them well together, and sim
mer them half an hour over the
fire of Discontent, kindled with a
little Jealousy; then strain it
through the rag of Misconception,
aud cork it up iu the bottle of Ma
levolence, and hang upon a skein of
Street Yarn ; shake it occasionally
for a few days, and it will be fit for
use. Let a few drops be taken be
fore walking out, and the subject
will be able to speak all manner of
evil, and that continually.
ISaP- Some of the colored men of
Washington, have addressed a let
ter to Colonel John W. Forney, re
gretting that he is going away.—
They fell him shat he -has treated
some of them like a father, that re
publics are ungrateful, but colored
children are-not-.
Forney replies, that though he is
going away, he will still be among
them and watch them.
APPEAL.
Twenty-Five Cents.
“Please, sir, will you buy my
chestnuts?”
“Chestnuts! No,” returned Ralph
Moore, looking carelessly down on
the upturned face, whose large
brown eyes, shadowed by tangled
curls of flaxen hair, were appealing
so pitifully to his own. “What do
I want with chestnuts?”
“But, please sir, buy’ em,” plead
ed tbe little one, reassured by the
rough kindness of his tone. “No
body seems to care for them, and—
and—”
She fairly burst into tears, and
Moore, who had been on the point
of brushing carelessly past her,
stopped instinctively.
“Are you very much in want of
the money.”
“Indeed, sir, we are,” sobbed the
child; “mother sent me out, and— ”
“Nay, little one, don’t cry in such
a heart-broken way,” said Ralph,
smoothing down her hair with care-!
less gentleness. “I dont want your
chestnuts, but here’s a quarter for
you, if that will do you any good.”
He did not Btop to hear the de
lighted, incoherent ibauks the child
poured out through a rainbow ot
smiles aud tears, but strode on his
way, muttering between his teeth;
“That cut off my supply of ci
gars for the next twenty-four hours,
-i don’t care though; the browu
eyed object really lid cry as if she
hadn’t a friend iu the world. Hang
it! I wish I was rich enough to
help every poor creature out of tue
slough of despond.”
VV bile Ralph Moore was indulg
ing in these very natural reflections,
the dark-eyed little damsel whom
he had comforted was dashing down
tile street) with quick elastic foot
steps, utterly regardless of the bas
ket of unsold nuts that still dangled
on her arm. Down au obscure
lane she darted, between tall aud
ruinous rows of houses, and up a
narrow wooden staircase, to a room
where a pale, neat looking woman,
with large brown eyes like her own
was sewing as busily as if the breath
of life depended upon every stitch,
aud two littie ones were eouteated
ly playing in the sunshine tuut tem
porarily supplied the place of fire.
“Mary ! back already ? Surely
yuu have not sold your chestnuts so
soon?”
“Oh, mother ! mother, sec 1”,
ejaculated the almost breathless
child, “a gentleman gave me a
whole quarter. Only think, mother,
a whole quarter!”
If Moore could have only
seen the rapture which his tiny gift
diffused around it iu the poor wid
ow’s poverty stricken home, he
would have urged still less the
temporary privation of cigars to
which his generosity had subjected
him.
Years came and went. The lit
tle chestnut girl passed as entirely
out of Ralph Moore’s memory as it
pleading eyes had never touched
the soft spot in liis heart; but Mary
Lee never forgot the stranger who
had given her the silver piece.
The crimson window curtains
were-closely drawn to shut out the
storm and tempest of ttie bleak De
cember night; the fire was glow
ing cheerily in the weii-filled grate
and the dinner table, in a glitter
with cut glass, rare china and pol
ished silver, was only waiting tor
the presence of Mr. Audley.
“What can it be that detains
papa?” said Mrs. Audley, a lair,
handsome matron of about thirty,
as she glanced at the dial ol a tiny
enameled watch. “Six o’clock, and
he does not make his appearance.
“There’s a man with him in the
study, mamma—come on business,”
said Robert Audley, a preity boy,
eleven years old, who was reading
by the fire.
“I’ll call him again,” said Mrs
. Audley, stepping to the door. But
as she opened it, the brilliant gas
light fell full on the face of an hum
ble looking man, in worn and thread
bare garments who was leaving the
house, while her husband stood in
the doorway of _his study, apparent
ly relieved to be rid of his visitor.
“Charles,” said Mrs, Audley,
whose cheek had paled and flushed,
“who is that man, and what does he
want ?’*
“His name is Moore, 1 believe,
and he came to see if I would be
stow upon him that vacant messen
gership in tire bank.”
“And will you ?”
“I don’t know, Mary, I must think
about it.”
“Charles, give him the situation.”
“Why, my love?”
“Because I ask it of you as a fa
vor, and you have said a thousand
times you would never deny me
anything.”
“And I will keep my word, Mary,”
said the lover husband, with au af
fectionate kiss. “I’ll write the fel
low a note this very evening. I be
lieve I’ve got his address about me
somewhere.”
An hour later, when Bobbie,
Frank and Eugenie were snugly
tucked in bed, in the spacious nur
sery upstairs, Mrs. Audley told her
husband why she was so interested
in the fate of a man whom she had
not «een for twenty years.
■“That’-a right, my li-t-tle wife,” re
plied her husband, folding her fond
ly to his breast, when the simple
tale was concluded:; “never’ fe*rget
one who was kind ; to you in the
days when you needed kindness
■most.”
Ralph Moore was sitting in hrs
poor lodgings beside his ailing
wife’s sick bed, when a liveried ser
vant brought a note from the rich
and prosperous bank director,
Charles Audley.
“Good news, Bertha!” ho ex
claimed, as he read the brief words.
“We shall not starve $ Mr. Audley
promises me the vacant situation.”
“You have dropped something
from the note, Ralph,” said Mrs.
Moore, pointing to a slip of paper
on the floor.
Moore stooped to recover the es
tray. It was a fifty dollar bill neat
ly folded in a piece of paper, on
which was written t
“In grateful remembrance of a
silver quarter that a kind stranger
bestowed on a little chestnut girl
over twenty years ago.”
Ralph Moore had thrown his mor
sel of bread upon the waters, aud
after many days it had returned to
him.
How to Succeed iu Business.
It is well-known that, of the
many thousands who enter upon
business, those who succeed are few
in comparison with the thousands
who fail utterly, or are successful
only iu part. Much which goes to
secure success is natural to tbe mau
himself. Much more is the result
of circumstances which he did not
create*) and which he could not con
trol ; but much more is the result of
a wise use of those mcaus which lie
open to all, but which are seized up
on and made available only by the
few.
The newspapef) ft* a medium of
communication, stands first among
all the agencies now known.
It tells the business man more as
to what is being done in his line in
ten minutes time in the morning
before business begins, than he
could find out in other ways were
he to give the whole day to it. It
tells a man what is doing in his own
neighborhood, puts him in commu
nication with other countries, and
gives him the earliest and most ac
curate information concerning com
merce or trade.
Take away from business the in
formation and stimulation which it
gives) and it would become impos
sible to succeed, and would tail
back into the narrow channels of
half a century ago.
Books have their place and their
influence. The daily mail is of
great benefit und cannot be dis
pensed with. But the daily and,
weekly press exeits au influence,
wields a power, and produces re
sults which surpass all other influ
ences united. It goes everywhere
for information, and then carries it
everywhere. Tlie opinions of men
are often reflected, but more fre
quently created by the press tliau is
generally supposed. It makes and
unmakes men. It elects and de
poses Presidents. It creates or ob
structs trade. The merchant buys
and sells by its aud
the commerce of the world steers
by it, as the single ship is steered
by the chart which lies spread out
upon its cabin table.
The consumer of any given ai ti
cle goes to its columns to learn
where to buy best and cheapest.—
The retail merchant goes to the
same source to find the state of the
market, and where to get his sup
plies, and so on through all grades
till the producer is reached, and his
accumulated stock finds market.
This is not only the surest aud best
way, but it is almost the only way.
Millions of dollars are expended ev
ery mouth iu advertising, without
which half of the productions of the
earth aud of human history iu vari
ous forms would fail to find a mar
ket.
Especially is this true of all new
things. Trade has its channels al
ready dug, and sowethings find
more ready purchasers than others.
But new tilings, new productions,
new inventions especially, must be
made known.
Who knows, who can know, that
some ingeuious man has found out
a quicker, safer, surer way of doing
a certain kind of work, than the
way it has always been done, unless
they are told of it. But information
travels slowly where one person on
ly tells the story. Let him com
mit his story to the press, and if it
is the matter of real public interest,
the press will give it wings, and in
ten days time millions of people
will know what he is doing, and
the desire to possess it wffl be‘
awakened in a thousand minds.
The press has many tongues, and
the story once told flies over moun
tain, valley and ocean,and what was
but yesterday a hidden thought
or a crude conception, now becomes
a perfect machine known aud desired
in all lands. This is the power of
the press. Let every man who has
an invention which he does not
know how to set to work for his
own good, and for the benefit of:
others, proclaim it through th§
press and ere he is aware, someone
will be found who will show him
how to turn the sweat of his brain
into food for his family and cloth
ing for his -children) and gold for
his purse.
A peach tree .growing on a
battle-field near Vicksburg boars
blood-red fruit, and the leaves are
said to look and even smell like
blood. The cause of this phenom
enon is romantically ascribed to
the fact that during the battle men
tioned a Gen. Tighlman was killed,
and that his blood drenched the
soil.
Alluding to chignons, Mrs.
Cleaver said “A girl now' seems all
head.” “Yes, till you talk to her,”
replied Mr. Cleave a
YOL. V-NO. 4
New Year Resolution
Every new year, aR it come!*,
marking the milestones in the path
of life, naturally brings up the well
worn yet ever fresh subject of good
resolutions. To the well disposed
youth this topic is full of peculiar
attractions. It appeal* to thei*
natural zeal and enthusiasm in tbe
future, and With a faith in their
own powers that past failures have
not yet had time to dim, they hail
the approach especially of the ne#
year, to make various * resolves
their own improvement, or for oth
ers good, which they desiro to
coinplish. As wb grow* cider, how
ever, many of us feel if ml less
disposed to mark tho natural divis
ions of time in this manner. The
broken resolutions of tho past loom
up . reproachfully, and warn us
against multiplying their number;
and the many defeated good inten
tions, and the miaspeot time which
memory recalls, bring with them A
dejection of spirit utterly at vari
ance with the hopeful enthusiasm
that looks joyfully into the future)
and lays plans ahd forms resolves
never to be frustrated. It ia not
surprising that those who say with
Lord Byron,
“ I make a vow of reformation eVerjr year,
But soon relapse again-, trtfllre the year fa
out,”
gradually cease to pttt ftfah fe the
value of these broken Vows, And
nally discontinue them altogether*
It is natural that youth having so
little of the past for memory to re
call, should rathe? ignore the sor
rowful reflections which it might
induce, and press on hopefully to
the future ; while as life’s past in
creases, and its future contracts,
the mind involuntarily looks back
at what is floating away like a cloud
into the distance of time gone hy-
It may seem at first sight as if tmi
effect of increasing years was in
creased wisdom, and that the enthu
siastic resolutions of youth can on
ly he made through an over esti
mate of our powers, and an igno
rance of our inability to cope with
the many and severe temptations
which surround us. In truth it f*
the young, and those who, though
older, still retain enough of youth’s
zeal and hope to continue making
fresh resolutions, who are on the
right side in this. A good resolve
shows, first of all, that the heart U
in the right place ; that the inten
tions, at least, are excellent, and
the desires pure, as far as that re
solve is concerned. This spirit of
mind leads us more than half way
in the paths of virtue, and ittdeed)
without it we could not take a sin
gle step. The desire for improve
ment and goodness must ever pre*
cede attainments in either, and If
we feel these desires growing faint
from any cause, we may well leaf
that we are retrograding, instead ot
advancing. Then, too, the very
act of making a good resolution
strengthens within us the power of
keeping it. With the earnest de
sire for a worthy object co&ea a
determination, more or less strong
ly felt, to work tor it) «od in pro
portion to the strength Os this de
termination will he the success we
shall meet, and the progress we
shall make in our own character.—
The expression of such resolves,
whether to others or ourselves,
helps to fortify us against the temp
tations which a sail us ; its memo
ry constantly arises te check wrong
impulses; and the feeling of tho
bond that it creates eterriaes a
wholesome influence over the pass
ing inclinations, which might other
wise lead us astray.
What then, it may be said is to
become of all the broken vows, the
unkept resolves, the forfeited jmr
poses of life, that even the young
are in measure conscious of, and
that every year serve to depress
and discoura e so maayof us? An©
we to go on forever satisfied with
worthy intentions, though they fail
to produce like results ? By no
means. The great mistake that tho
framers of good resolutions are apt
to fall into, is that of expecting too
much from them. Though most
excellent and useful, their power is
limited. We must not look for per
fect conformity to them, in our
selves or in others, but only for an
increasing tendency to be guided
by their spirit. A young man, for
instance, makes a resolution at the
commencement of anew year
against some vice or indulgence
whieh he desires to overcome. For
a time he succeeds in resisting the
impulse, hut at length some peonl
lar temptations subdues his better
nature, and he yields. Should ho
then be discouraged, regret having
made the resolve, and discontinue
his efforts? Not at all. He should
rather rejoice that he had so long
been enabled to persevere and tak
ing fresh courage, renew his resolu
tion with enhanced «cal. Thus the
habit of doing right will, by in
creasing power, overcome the habit
of doing wrong, until at length the
breaking of a resolution will be
come the rare exception. Let none
of us ifeen overlook the deep sig
nificance that adheres to these land
marks-of time, or refuse to open
the new year with good resolutions,
irire wisdom is to preserve the en
thusiasm of youth, adding to it the
lessons which experience brings—
taking new hints at the close of the
year, and taming -over anew leaf
•at the beginning of another. Suck
reformation, gradually but steadily
carried out, will bring with k a re
«ewed lease of life and happiness,
and will give to all of us a Hap
py New ¥eac^ ,,,