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VOL. VI. THE APPEAL. PUBLISHED EVERT FRIDAY, By J. P> SAWTELL. Terms of Subscription: Oxk Year.. ..s3 00 | Six Months.. ..s2 00 invariably in advance. No attention paid to orders for the pa pier un'ess accompanied by the Cash. Rates of Advertising. ■w - " 3 I ft S I E g. | § f f ¥ ?I s 1.... $ 3.00 *" 6.00 $ 9.00 $ 12.00 2 5.00 12.00 16.00 20.00 .3 7.00 15.00 22.00 27.50 4 8.00 17.00 25.00 33.00 \ c 9.00 22 00 30.00 45.00 4 c 17.00 35.00 50.00 75.00 1 c 30.00 50.00 75.00 125.00 2 c 50.00 75.00 One square, (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- _ Persons sending advertisements should maTk the number of times they desire them inser ted, or they wilUbe continued until forbid and "harmed accordingly. Transient advertisements must be paid for at the time of insertion. If not paid for before the expiration of the time advertised, 25 per eent. additional will be charged. Announcing names of candidates for office, $5.00. Cash, in all cases Obituary notices over live lines, charged at regular advertising rates. All communications intended to promote the private ends or interests of Corporations, So cieties, or individuals, will be charged as ad vertisements. Job Work, such as Pamphlets, Circulars, Cards, Blanks, Handbills, etc., Will he execu ted in good style and at reasonable rates. All letters addressed to the Proprietor wil' lit promptly attended to. Bea Woman. Oft I’ve heard a gentle mother, As the twilight hours began, Pleading with a son on duty, Urging him to be a man. But unto her blue-eyed daughter. Though with love's words quite as taiady, Points she out the other duty— Strive, my dear, to be a lady.” What’s a lady ? Is it something Made of hoops, and silks, and airs-, Used to decorate the parlor. Like the fancy rings and chairs? Is it one that wastes on novels Every feeling that is human ? If ’tis this to be a lady, ’Tis not this to be a woman. Mother, then, unto your daughter Speak of something higher fur Than to be mere fashion's lady— “ Woman” is the brightest star. If you, in your strong affections, Urge your son to be a true man, Urge your daughter no lees strongly To arise and be a woman. Yes, a woman ! brightest model Os that high and perfect beauty. Where the mind, and soul, and body •, Blend to work out life's great duty. Bea woman ! naught is higher On the glided crest of fame; On the catalogue of virtue There’s no brighter, holier name. Bea woman I On to duty ! liaise the world from all that’s low, Plncc high in the social heaven Virtue’s fair and radiant bow. Lend thy influence to each effort That shall raise our nattire human; fee not fashion’s giddy lady— fee a brave, whole-souled, true woman. Kissing in a Tunnel. —Gentle deader, did you ever—l desire not to be personal —but did you ever kiss a girl in a railroad tunnel ? I never did ; but if the truth must be told, I’ve wanted to, awful bad. Not that I have any idea that gobbling a chaste salute within the dark and narrow confines of a tun nel renders a kiss more delicious than if stolen or taken with full permission anywhere; it is the nov city of the thing. It is tho darkness, the rank bur glary, the calculation as to time, the sudden assault, the desperate defeuse, the acute agony of the skirmish line of liair pics, the car rying of the outer work, the fierce struggle at the scarf, the glorious sweetness of the surrender, and the condemnable meanness afterward of the victory. The hurried re pairs, and the impossible attempt to appear placid and all serene be fore the other passengers. I tell you there’s a short life-time passed iu the kissing of a girl in a tunnel. - A young lady suggestively re marks : “If it was not good for Adam to live single when there wasn’t a woman on earth, what shall be said of old bachelors with the world full of pretty girls ?” “I want to know,” said a cred itor fiercely, “when you are going to pay me what you owe me.”— •“When I’m going to pay you? Why, you’re a pretty fellow. Do you take me for a prophet ?” A Missourian who stole a kiss from a pretty girl, was fined by a magistrate, horse whipped by her brother, and hurried into a brain fever by his wife. The clergyman also alluded to the affair in a ser mou, the local editor took sides with the clergyman and reviewed the case in print, and the potato bug ate up every blade of the male factor’s wheat crop. CUTHBERT 111 APPEAL. A Sickening Story. The telegraph has previously no ticed the case of a man who was detected near Maryville, Mo., driv ing an emigrant wagon containing the decaying bodies of five murder ed persons. His second confession, extorted from him at the end of a rope, we copy as follows, from cor respondence of the St. Louis Repub lican : He gave bis name as Tanzey, and said it was not Osburn as stated in bis first confession. That bis home was at Mount Ayr, lowa, where he had a wife and one child. The par ties he had murdered were five in number. A man with his wife and two children and another man who was unmarried. He said they were traveling in a lumber wagon, and that they were returning from Kan sas to their home in Minnesota. He met them first last Thuisday, the 15th. Having no money and traveling in the same direction, they kindly asked him to join them, which he did. The wagon being, large, they all, six in number, slept in it. The married man, his wife and two children slept on a platform raised on the front of the wagon, while the remaining two slept in the bottom of the bed below. Last Sunday night they camped within half a mile of a house near Burr Oak Grove. At this place the wretch conceived the plan of mur dering them and making way with their horses and wagon, their cat tle (three or four in number,) and whatever money they might have in their possession. After having murdered them, be intended to se cret them in tho brush on Clear creek near by. That Sunday night, little dream ing of tho black-hearted wretch they had taken under their shelter, and the awful fate that awaited them, they lay down in the wagon, and all save the murderer were sound asleep. Satisfying himself that all were sleeping, he took a loaded pistol which lay in the wagon, and placed it at the head of the man who was sleeping by his side, fired. He instantly killed him. The married man being aroused by the report of the pistolj rose up, and thinking Tanzey had fired at a strange dog which had been annoy ing them during the night by bark ing said. “Good 1 Good!” The assassin immediately turned and shot him, and then jumped from the wagon to the ground. The woun ded man attempted to follow him, when Tanzey seized an axe and dis patched him at once. Theagonized wife of the murdered man was now running around the wagon, uttering fearful cries, and fearing that she would alarm the people at the farm house near by, he also killed her with an axe or club,just which he does not remember. The two infant babes, aged three and fifteen months, now alone remain ed living, and it seems that he did not dispose of them until some time after the rest had been killed. When asked how he could have the heart to kill the two helpless chil dren, he replied that he did so with reluctance, but that when be had murdered their mother they annoy ed him with their piteous cries, and being alarm#! lest the noise should lead to his detection, he cut their throat’s from ear to ear, and -thus completed his work of destruc tion. After the confession had been made, two hundred determined men collected at the place where the prisoner was confined, and it was plain that they intended to take the law in their own hands, and mete out to this inhuman wretch the speedy justice he so richly deserved. The prisoner having finished his confession was bound hand and foot and taken to a black walnut tree, the place selected for his execution. Arrived at the fatal spot Tanzey was cool and collected, perfectly unmoved, proving himself to be a man of iron nerve and one of the most hardened villains the world had ever kown. A rope was then placed around his neck, one end thrown over the limb of a tree, when Tanzey was told his time had come, and that ten minutes would be given him to make any last re quest. He replied that he would like to live until he could see his wifo, and when told that his request could not be granted, he said he had. no further remarks to make. Many stalwart hands then took hold of the rope, drawing him clear fr om the ground, and just as dark was coming on last Thursday eve ning, the soul of Tanzey, the mur derer, was launced into eternity, ther e to appear before his God with CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1872. his hand yet red with the blood of his five victims. He died almost without a struggle, and was buried beneath the very tree on which he was hung. Several of our leading physicians had an interview with the deceased before his execution, and all were of the opinion that he was perfectly sane, and all agreed that he was the most thoroughly depraved speci men of human nature they had ever met. Absent-Minded People are Funny.— Sir Isaac Newton wanted his servant to carry out a stove that was getting too hot. A fellow stole his dinner before his eyes, and he afterwards thought he had eaten it because he saw the dishes empty- A Scotch professor walked into the middle of a horse pond while pon dering on Final Causes. Ben. Franklin punched down the fire with the finger of a young lady sit ting at his side, and severely burned the lily white poker. A gentleman in Troy received a letter in the dark, used the letter to light a lamp and looked about for it to read.— Pere Gratry, one day in Paris, thinking he had left his watch at home, took it out of liis pocket to see if he had time to go back after it. Neander, the church historian, used to go to his lectures in his night-cap and night-gown, and sometimes walked in the gutter.— But all those cases do not equal that of the man who takes a paper a year and always forgets to pay tor it. Stokes Unhappy. —The murder, er of Fisk has a comfortable apart ment in prison. He is furnished b" friends outside with the best of hotel fare every day. lie sees his friends often and hears from them oftencr. lie has the daily papers, is privileged to make choice be tween the candidates for President, drinks the best ot liquors, and smokes fragrant Habanas. Still he is not happy. He is troubled with bronchitis. The prison is not a heal thy institution. Its walls are too thick ; they engender dampness.— Therefore his friends ask that lie be released or better cared for. The confinement is not conducive to health. We do not know' what will be done about this matter. Avery natural solicitude pervades the coun try, and especially the miud of Mrs* Mansfield. Avery strange commen tary does New York justice occa sionally furnish to the old fashioned article that once bore that name.— Poor Stokes ! “His suffering is in tolerable.” They ought to build better jails in New York for men who are reduced to the necessity of killing the fellows. Characters. —We may judge a man’s character by whatever he loves —what pleases him. If a man manifests delight in low, sordid ob jects, the vulgar song and debasing language, in the misfortunes of his fellows or animals, we may at once determine the complexion of his character. On the contrary, if he loves purity, modesty, truth—if vir tuous pursuits engage his heart and draw out his affections—we are sat isfied he is an upright man. When weseeayouhg maU fond of "fine clothes and making a fop of himself, it is a sure sign that he thinks the world consists of outside show and ostentation, and he is certain to make an unstable man, without true affection or friendship, fond of change and excitement, and soon wearying of those objects and pur suits which, for a time, give him pleasure. The Sacredness of Marriage.— For the man and woman who pure ly and truly love each other, and are guided by the law of justice, marriage is not a state of bondage. Indeed, it is only when they become, by this outward acknowledgment, publicly avowed lovers, that free dom is realized by them in its full significance. Thereafter they can be openly devoted to each other’s interests, and avowedly chosen and intimate friends. Together they can plan life’s battles, and enter upon the path of progress- that ends not with life’s eventide. Together they can seek the charmed avenues of culture, and strengthened by each other, can brave the world’s frown in the rugged but heaven-lit path of reform. Home, with all that is dearest in the sacred name, is their peaceful and cherished re treat, within whose sanctuary bloom the virtues that make it a temple of beneficence. Josh Billings says: “Don’t work before breakfast. -If it is nec essary to toil before breakfast, eat your breakfast first.” Ten Years Ago. BY DEAN ARCHER. These are three little words of no importance within themselves, yet they hold in their grasp the reality of a great mahy memories, which are of great importance, and linger in the mind as the links that unite them with the past. Some of the memories are pleasant and joyous, while others are sad and mournful, but none the less sacred and cher ished. Ten years ago a bride stood at the altar, radiant in her happiness, but, alas! how soon she was at tired in garments white as her bri dal dress, and now lies beneath a drooping willow, which for three springs and three autumns, has budded and blossomed, and then carpeted her grave with its autumn leaves. While the shrubs and flowers, which yearly bloom and then die on her grave, form a fit emblem of the end of all human happiness, such as hers was. Ten years ago, some of us were treading the pleasant paths of inno cent childhood, with hearts that were purer, and hands that were more ready to do kind deeds for the benefit of others than they now are. Ten years ago We cherished hopes which now are blasted and wither ed forming a cruel example, and warning, of the folly of placing our hopes upon the things of this world. Ten years ago many of us were members of a happy family group whose circle had never been bro ken by the angel of death, who now, alas! cannot look around them and say “they are all, all here.” In some families the gen tle voice and guiding hand of the mother is gone —in others, the pro viding arm of the father, or com panionship of a brother or sister; yet each vacant place causes a dull hard ache in many a heart, which sacredly treasures up the memory of ten years ago. Ten years ago we spent many happy hours with loving friends who have left us to follow different paths, leaving to as only the memo ry of happy hours past and gone, and the sad, sad ache of separation and broken love links. Ten years ago a group of school girls, having graduated in the Sem inary which they had been attend ing, separated with warm adieuz and high hopes to go to their indi vidual homes. In the dawn of ear ly womanhood, bearing upon their brows the laurels of scholarly hon or, they go forth to meet—when again? Hid that lovely group ever meet again under the same circum stances ? Ah ! no; ten years ago have wrought changes for them as well as others. A few have gone forth to discharge the duties in curred by the holy bonds of matri mony. The tender feet of another have touched the waters of the dark and turbid stream in the shadowy valley of death. With a smile, the loveliest one of the group passed over the raging w r aters, and received her crown.— One has robed herself in bridal gar ments of widowhood. Another with a crushed spirit, and bleeding heart, has seen the sod heaped Cver the remains of her “ first born.” With agony un speakable, she watched the fading of its bright young life, only to find how dark, how cold the world was, when it was with her no long er to cheer her idle hours with its innocent prattle. Another went forth with intellect and ambition stamped upon her noble brow, and soars with a smile of triumph among the leading literary stars of the day. No cloud has risen upon the hori zon of a few, but the next ten years may bring a sad second for them. How little is known about what the next ten years will briDg forth. Many, now in the pride of youth, wealth and enjoyment, will have to drink the bitter waters of trouble, or walk through the dark shadows of death. Yet such is life. Time rolls around, bringing both sad and joyful changes, filling our grave yards and leaving the impress of its fingers upon our faces. Few people know, and thou, sands do not know, that by setting a glass fruit jar on a folded towel, thoroughly soaked in cold water, the fruit can be poured in boiling hot, with no more danger of break ing than with a tin can. When a woman begins to drink her tear without sugar —that’s a symptom. When a woman begins to find fault with her looking-glass, and say it doesn’t show her features right—that’s a symptom. Hope. The gray eastern sky heralded the coming day, and still the lamp burned dimly in the sick man’s chamber; still the watcher was un wearied. Anxiety, deep and most intense, was depicted on that pale, lovely face, and yet hope was not banished from her brow; for ever and anon did the calm eye of him she idolized, rest with holy pure af fection on the form of his loved wife, as in days gone by, and then she felt she could not give him up. She yet hoped the “cup might pass.’’ But ere another dawn the purified spirit of all her earthly hopes had flown to its eternal rest, and left the young wife and her child desolate. ’Twas then despair, deep and dark, did bow her to the earth, and grief such as the widowed heart alone feels, was hers. But blessed be God, there- is a voice that whispereth unto the mourner’s heart, “thou mayat still hope”—hope for resignation to the will of him whodrieth the mourner’s tears; who doeth all things well; hope, that however dark and drea ry this world may oft seem unto thee, there may be a bright, holy light, to guide thee and to cheer thee; hope that the sainted spirit of him or her that has gone before thee may still hover around thee and be a guardian aligel unto thee. Hope that “as thy day is, so shall thy strength be,” and that thou even may’st find consolation in this life, in performing as best thou canst thy duties here; hope that when thy duties here are ended, when thy journey here is over, thou wilt again meet those thou hast lov ed on earth, in a home of eternal day, where the tears of separation will be no more known, “where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary aro at rest.” There is a deep spring of joy in hope to the human breasts, whoso waters while life remains, never cease to flow.— It is this that renders existence tol erable, and even precious to the be reaved and desolate wayfarer, as he treads his downward path to the grave. When all around is dark, and want and -wretchedness stare us in tho face, when in the past all is bar ren, and in the future there is no way to light the wanderer iu his pilgrimage, there is still a spirit of hope within him teaching him to gather the few flowers that yet re main within his reach, though they be of fading beauty and dying fra grance. The faint glimmerings of the pale-faced moon on the troubled billows of the ocean, are not so fleeting and inconstant as the fortune and condition of human life. We one day bask in the sunshine of prosperity, and the next too often roll in anguish on the thorny bed of adversity and affliction. How many are doomed to roam in the wide world alone, unpitied and un known ! What can cheer the mind, raise the drooping soul, calm the agitated bosom, and throw a cheer ing light on the furure ? It is Hope sweet Hope ! thou ministering spir it of Heaven ! who visitest the abodes of misery ; wipest the tear from sorrows eye ; chasest away the anguish of despair: sweeteneth the cup of affliction with thine all-sooth ing and siren voice. And when the solenm hour of death should come, and the lamp of light but faintly glimmers in the leeble frame Hope shall bid us look to a better and brighter world than this, to live and reign with the Blessed Redeem er in never ending joys, such as “ear never heard nor eye hath seen nor has it ever entered into the hu man mind to conceive” that never ending bliss which Is prepared for those who live and serve God. Number Os Shingles in a Roof. —J. D. Tate gives to the New York Farmers Club a rule for esti mating the number of shingles re quii cd for a roof of any size; one which he thinks every mechanic and farmer should remember. First find the number of square inches in one side of the roof; cut off the right hand or unit figure, and the result will be the number of shin gles required to cover both sides of the roof, laying five inches to the weather. The ridge board pro vies for the double course at the bottom. Illustration : Length of 100 feet; one side, 30 feet—looX 30X144—432,000. Cutting off the right hand figure we have 43, 200 as the number of shingles requir ed. —“Pa, are you still growing ?” “No, Frank. What makes you think so ?”—“Because the top of your head is coming through your air.” The Old Fashioned moth ers* Thank God, some of tis have an old-fashioned mother. Not a w r o man of the period enameled and painted, with her great chfgnon, her curls and bustle, whoso white jewel ed hands have never felt the clasp of baby fingers ; but a dear, old fash ioned, sweet-voied mother, with eyes in whose clear depts the love light shone, and brown hair, thread, ed with silver, lying smooth upon her faded cbeeK. Those dear hands worn with toil, genily guided our tottering steps in childhood, and smoothed our pillow in sickness, even reaching out to us in yearning tenderness when her sweet spirit was baptised in the pearly spirit of the river. Blessed is the memory of an old fashioned mother. It floats to us now like the. beautiful perfume of some woodland blossoms. The music of our voices may be lost, but entrancing memory of her tones will echo in our souls forever. Oth er faces will fade away and be for gotten, but hers will shine on until the light from heaven’s portals shall glorify our own. When in the fit ful pause of busy life our feet zan der back to the oid homestead, and crossing the well-worn threshold, stand once more in the low, quaint room, so hallowed by her presence, lioav the feeling of childish innocence and dependence comes over us, and we kneel down in the molten sun shine, streaming through the wes* tern window—just where long years ago we knelt by our mother’s knee lisping “Our Father.” Hoav many times when the temp ter lured us od the memory of those sacred hours, that mother’s words, her faith and prayers, saved us from plunging into the deep abyss of sin! Years have filled great drifts be tween her and us, but they have not hidden from oui sight the glory of her pure, unselfish love. A Fool For Luck. John, the fool of the N. Y. Sun was made rich in spirt of himself at Long Branch, and this was the way it was done. “Just as I was the hungrest ,Long. fellow and Harry Bassett were brought out and they went the cor ner like two Colt's revolvers. All the nice young men around me stood up and bowed and scraped and held up one finger as if they were stopp ing an omnibus. They all yelled i “A hundred to eighty on Harry Bassett. They all appeared to bo so very po lite, that I held up my finger too, and I nodded and bowed back to all of them. I never saw such po lite young men before. You would have thought I was the Grand Duke Alexis. I kept up the bowing just as long as' they did, and pretty soon the race was over, and I con fess I was agreeably surprised to see about four hundred young men file up and each chuck a §IOO bill into my lap. Then I thought that lot of young men j ust about the nicest lot of young men I ever met. There I sat with $4,000 in my lap, and, much to my astonishment, I found out that all the time I was pointing my finger and bowing back to ’em, darned if I wasn’t taking every darned bet that was made, and darned if I knew it. I only bad eight dollars in my pocket, and if I had lost, I’d slept in an oyster bed that night sure.” Boyhood’s Need. —Of all earthly undertakings, none pays better than the brooding over an ungainly boy. What shall be done with him? as none but a mother can love. His destiny is in your hands. Bear with him. Take an interest in his affairs j win and respect his confi dence. Go to his bedside at night with a kiss and a blessing, and whispered prayer. He may pre tend slumber, but he will tell his wife of it with tears in his eyes, years after you have gone to your reward. When he sees that yon are less offended with his boyish rudeness and follies, than with the slightest want of integrity, that you are proud of him, content with him, he will make the mother’s great heart of love a resting place. Let the spirit of adventure take him the world over, he will never forget whose idol and pride he was Ih those days when he was “in every one’s way, and of no use.” if the moth* ers of our land must engage io poli tics, fill the professions, ahd live in public, God help the boys from nine to sixteen ! They are friendless in deed ! They have lost the only be ing capable of steering their bark safely through the quicksandr, rocks and shoals that lie in the way from boyhood up to a virtuous glo rious manhood.— Advocate and Guardiani Horn Drunk. A Good Temperance SeMOfl. The New York Sun recounts the following remarkable circumstance: Among the names registered at the Tombs the other night, was that of a youth about fifteen years of age, who had been arrested for drunkenness. But he was not drunk nor had he been drinking. lie was moreover, in good, sound health, but gave all the external indications of being intoxicated when Sfrrested by a police officer. Upon protest ing to the keeper of the Tombs that he was not intoxicated, it was revealed that the unfortunate youth had been born a natural drunkard, or rather that he had always acted like such a thing. He said that al though in good health, had never been able to walk withoutjstaggering. His speech was not unlike that of persons in a state of intoxication; and when excited he would mutter and reel. ’ The unfortunate youth was detained until the next day, and was not sent to the courts to be ga zed at thro’judicial spectacles. A subsequent investigation of the case proved that the lad had been telling the truth about himself, but his con dition revealed a demonstration of that natural law that the child is a fair copy of his parents. It appears that prior to marriage the father had been a secret but confirmed Inebriate, and when the facts became known to the woman thus suddenly and unexpectedly’, she wept in the most teirible man ner. Almost broken hearted, she contemplated the misery in store for her. Months passed away, when it was discovered that the child at 3 months acted strangely, and at the end of six months the unhappy woman fully realized all her forebo dings. The effect produced upon the mother was not without its influ ence iipoh the father, however.— Realizing, in the midst of tears of bitter anguish, the sin that had been visited upon the child, the man re formed. lie has now several bright children, and most exemplary’ ones too, they are. But the boy that was brought into the Tombs was not drunk, but has entailed upon him a life of misery, as it was a blasted destiny. The Wife. In comparison with tbe loss of a wife all other bereavements are tri fles. The wife ! she who fills so large a space in the domestic heav en, who is so busied, so unwearied— bitter is the tear that falls on her clay. You stand beside her grave and think of the past; it seems an amber colored pathway where the sun shone upon flowers, or the stars hung glittering overhead. Fain would the soul linger there. No thorns are remembered above that sweet clay, save those your own band may have unwillingly planted. Her noble, tender heart lies opeh to your inmost sight. You think of her as all gentleness, all beauty and purity. But she is dead ! The dear head that so often laid upon your bosom, now rests upon a pil low of clay. The hands that minis tered so untiringly are folded, white and cold, beneath the gloomy portals. Tbe heart whose every beat measured an eternity of loreP lies under your feet. And there is no white arm over your shoulder now ; no speaking face to look up in the eye of love; no trembling lips to murmur. “ Oh, it is so sad i” There is so strange a hush in every room ! No smile to greet you at nightfall. And the clocks ticks and Btrikes and ticks !—it Was sweet music when she could hear it! Now it seents to knell Only the hours through Which you watched the shadows of death gathering up on her sweet face. But many a tale it telleth of joys past, sorrows shared, and beautiful words and deeds. registered above; You feel that the glare fcaniiot keep heh— You know that she is in happier world, but feel that she is often by yo«r side, an angel present — Cherish these emotions j they will make you happier. Let her holy presence be as a charm to keep you from evil. In all neW and pleasant connections, give her a place in youi* heath Never forget what she has been to you—that she has loved you. Be tender to her memory. —The transmuting of base metal into pure gold, and a woman chan ging her sex to that of a man, and marrying a woman, are the latest sensations. We may be induced to believe the first, but not the last until we see the fruits of that*mar riage. *. NO 3?. Hoxy to SEtEcf Flour. —Look at the color; if it is white with a slightly yellowish or straw-colore I tint, buy itj if it is very white with a bluish cast, or* with white specks in it, refuse it. Examine its adhe siveness ; wet and knead a little of it between your fingers; if it works soft and sticky, it is poor. Throw a little lump of dry flout against a dry, smooth, perpendicular surface ; if it falls like powder, it is bad. - Why is a muff like a fool ? Because it holds a lady’s hand with out squeezing it. —ls girls always knew the pre vious lives of the men they marry, the list of old maids would incroase. —An Evansville reporter Wears sack-cloth because he wrote “ anoth* er factory” and lived to sec in print “ a mother factory.” When a house burns down it burns up; When y’ou drink a glass ful, you drink it empty 5 and when you take a cab, it takes you. The man who asked his wife why he was like a donkey has gone out of the conundrum business,— She said he was born so. Children can do much toward making their parents happy, or they can send their gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, A husband can readily foot the bills of a wife who is hot afraid of being seen footing the stockings of her husband, A boy bawling in the street was asked the" cause of llis trouble, and replied, “ I want my’ mammy : that’s what’s the matter. I told the darned thing she’d lose me;” —Mm “ 1 believe in going to the boh tom of things,” as the school mad am said when she laid a refractory pupil over her knee. There are two tilings in the world that are not safe to trifle with—a woman's opinion, and the business end of the wasp. Look always at tho bright side ot things, as the cheefiug and invig orating sun does; and remember that content is the mother of good discretion. --»■■ A little boy three years old, gave a reason for his infant’s broth er’s good behavior as follows; “Baby ddesn’t cry tears because he doesn’t dfibk water, and be can’t cry milk ?” A California man requested his wife in a ball-room to hold tho baby of another man’s wife while he danced with the baby’s mother, but she didn’t hold it. Some wives are too disobedient to put up with.— Lemons, sprinkled with loaf silgar, completely allay feverish thirst, and are, therefore, invalua ble in a sick room. Invalids with feverishness, can safely consume two or three lemons a day. Mamma to naughty boy: “You should always behave the same, whether you are in company or not.” Naughty boy: “Well, ma, why don’t ydu behave the saina as you do to company, and press us to» have another tart ?” —An old lawyer says the threw most troublesome clients we ever' had Were a young woman who wanted to be married, a married woman who wanted a divorce, slid an old maid who didn’t know what she wanted. Speak kindly in the morning, it lightens the cares of the day, and makes household and all other af fairs move along more smoothly.— Speak kindly at night, for it may be that before the dawn some loved one may finish his or her space of life for this world, and it will ba too late to ask forgiveness. -—Delphi, out in Indiana, has the following dog ordinance: “ Dog* that are not collared and labeled, no matter how reapeotably connect ed, will have their narratives ampu tated one inch south of their ears.’* A lady declares that she ie guilty of downright falsehood a dozen times a day, by saying to people whom she meets, “I am glad to see you,” and she cannot break herself of the habit of so say ing. A grocer being solicited to contribute to the building of anew church, promptly subscribed his name to the paper in the following eccentric manner John Jones (the only place in town where you can get 11 pounds good sugar sos a dollar) 25 cents, ;