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SAVED by a lightning flash. Mvname is Hunt. Yes, sir; Anthony Hunt. lam a settler and drover on this Western prairie. Wilds? Yes, 8 * r ’ * tß little else than wilds now, but you. should Jiave seen it when I and my wilo first moved up here. There was not a house within sight for miles. Even now we have not many neighbors; but those w e have are downright good ones To appreciate your neighbors as you ought sir. you must live in these lonelv places, so far removed from the haunts of man. ... What I am about to tell of happened ten years ago. I was going to the distant town, or settlement, to sell some fifty head of cattle fine creatures, sir, as ever you saw The journey was a more rare event with me than it is now ; and my wife had always plenty of commissions to charge me with in the shape of dry goods and gro ceries and such like tilings. Our youngest child was a sweet little gentle thing, who had been named after her aunt, Dorothy, Wo called the child Dolly. This time my commission included one for }, er —a doll. She had never had a real doll; that is, a bought doll; only the rag bundles her mother made for her. For some days before my departure the child could talk of nothing else—or we, either, for the matter of that—for she was a great pet, the darling of us all. It was to he a big, big doll, with golden hair and blue eyes. I shall never forget the child's words the morning I was starting, as she run after me to the gate, or the pretty pic ture she made. There are some children sweeter and prettier than others, sir, as you can’t but have noticed, and Dolly was one. “Avery great big doll, please, daddy, ’’ she called out after me ; “ and please bring it very soon.” 1 turned to nod a yes to her as she stood in her clean, withey-brown pinafore against the gate, her nut-brown nair falling in curls about her neck, and the light breeze stirring them. “ A brave doll,” I answered, “ for my little one—almost as big as Dolly.” Nobody would believe, I dare say, bow full my thoughts were of that promised doll, as I rode along, or what a nice one 1 meant to buy. It was not often I spent money in what my good thrifty wife would have called waste ; but Dolly was Dolly, and I meant to do it now. The cattle sold, I went about my pur chases, and soon had no end of parcels to be packed in the saddle-bags. Tea, sugar, rice, candles —but 1 need not weary you, sir, with telling of them, together with the calico for shirts and nightgowns, and the delaine for the children’s new frocks. Last of all, l went about the doll—and found a beauty. It was not as big as Dolly, or half as big; but it had flaxen curls and sky-blue eyes ; and by dint of pulling a wire you could open or shut the eyes at will. “ Do it up carefully,” I said to the store keeper. 44 My little* daughter would cry sadly if any harm comes to it.” The day was prett} r well ended before all my work was done; and just for a moment or two I hesitated whether 1 should not stay in the town ami start for luun in thy morning. It would have been the more prudent course. But I thought of poor Dolly's anxiety to get her treasure, and of my own happiness in watching the rapture in her delighted eyes. So with my parcels packed in the best way they could be, I mounted my horse and started. It was as good and steady a horse as you ever rode, sir; but night began to set in before I was well a mile away from the town ; it seemed as if it were going to be an ugly night, too. Again the thought struck me—should I turn back and wait till morning? 1 had the price of the cat tle, you see, sir, in my breast pocket; and robberies, aye, murders also, were not quite unknown things on the prairies. But 1 had my brace of sure pistols with me and decided to press onward. The night came on as dark as pitch, and part of the way my road would be pitch dark besides. But on that score I had no fear; 1 knew the road well, every inch of it, though I could not ride so fast as I should have done in the light. I was about six miles from home, I suppose, and I knew the time must be close upon mid night, when the storm which had been brewing broke. The thunder roared, the rain fell in torrents; the best I could do was to press onward in it. All at once, as I rode on, a cry startled me; a faint, wailing sound, like the cry of a child. Reining up, I sat still and listen ed. Had I been mistaken? No, there it was again. But in what direction 1 could not tell. I couldn't see a thing. It was, as I have said, as dark as pitch. Getting off my horse, I felt about, but could find nothing. And while I was seeking the cry came again—the faint moan of a child in pain. Then I began to wonder. 1 am not superstitious, but 1 asked myself how it was possible that a child could be out on the prairie at such an hour and in such a night. No ; real child it could not be. Upon that, came another thought, one less welcome —was it a trap to hinder me on my way and ensnare me? There might be midnight robbers who would easily hear of my almost certain ride home that night and of the money I should have about me. I don't think, sir, I am more timid than than other people ; not as much so, per haps, as some ; but I confess the idea made me uneasy. My best plan was to ride on as fast as I could and get out of the mys tery into safe quarters. Just here was about the darkest bit of road in all the route. Mounting my horse, I was about to urge him on, when the cry came again. It did sound like a child's; the plaintive wail of a child nearly exhausted. “ God guide me !” I said, undecided what to do. And as I sat another moment listening, I once more heard the cry, fainter and more faint. I threw myself ofl my horse with an exclamation. “ Be it ghost or be it robber, Anthony Hunt is not one to abandon a child to die without trying to save it.” But how was I to save it?—how find it? The more I searched about, the less could my hands light on anything, save the sloppy earth. The voice had quite ceased now, so I had no guide from that. W hile I stood trying to peer into the darkness, all my ears alert, a Hood of sheet lightning suddenly illumined the plain. At a little distance, just beyond a kind of ridge or gentle hill, I caught a glimpse of some thing white. It was dark again in a mo- 81.30 A VKAIt. nient, but 1 made my way with unerring instinct. Sure enough, there la v a poor lit tle child. Whether hov or girl I could not tell. It seemed to be three parts insensi ble now, as I took it up, dripping with wet, from the sloppy earth. “My poor little thing!” I said, as 1 hushed it to me. “ We’ll go and find mammy. You arc safe now.” And, in answer, the child just put out its feeble hand, moaned once and nestled close to me. With the child hushed to my breast I rode on. Its perfect silence soon showed me that it slept. And, sir, 1 thanked God that lie had let me save it. and 1 thought how grateful some poor mother would he ! But I was full of wonder for all that, won dering what extraordinary fate had taken any young child to that solitary spot. Getting sight of home I saw all the win dows alight. Deborah had done it for me, I thought, to guide me home in safety through the darkness. But presently I vnew that something must be the matter for the very few neighbors we had were gathered there. My heart stood still with fear, I thought of some calamnity to one or other of the children. I had saved a like one from perishing, but what might not have happened to my own. Hardly daring to lift the latch, while my poor tired horse stood still and mute out side, I went slowly in, the child in my arms covered over with the flap of my long coat. My wife was weeping bitterly. “What’s amiss?” I asked in a faint voice. And it seemed that a whole chorus of voices answered me. 44 Dolly's lost!” Dolly lost! Just for a moment my heart turned sick. Then some instinct like a ray of light and hope, seized upon me. Pull ing the coat off the face of the child I held, I lifted the little sleeping thing to the light, and saw Dolly 1 Yes, sir. The child T had saved was no other than my own—my little Dolly. And I knew that God’s good angels had guided me to save her, and that the first flash of the summer lightning had shone just at the right moment to show me where she lay. It was her white son-bonnet that had caught my eye. My darling it was, and none other, that I had picked up on the drenched road. Dolly, anxious for her doll, had wander ed out unseen to meet mein the afternoon. For some hours she was not missed. It chanced that my two elder girls had gone over to our nearest neighbor’s, and my wife, missing the child just afterward took rt -for granted she vas with them. The Tit tle on* had come on and on, until night and the storm overtook her. when she fell down frightened and utterly exhausted. I thanked Heaven aloud before them all, sir; as I said that none but God and his holy angels had guided me to her. It’s not much of a story to listen to, sir, I am aware of that. But I often think of it in the long nights, lying awake; and 1 ask myself how I could bear to live on now, had I run away from the poor little cry in the road, hardly louder than a squirrel’s chirp, and left my child to die. l r es, sir, you are right; that’s Dolly out yonder with her mother, picking fruit; the little trim light figure in pink—with just the same sort of white sunbonnet on her head that she wore that night ten years ago. She is a girl that was just worth saving, sir, though I say it; and God knows that as long as my life lasts I shall be thankful that I came home that night in stead of staying in the town. Jolm nt (In.* Auction. Virginia (Xev.) Chronicle. This morning, at an auction sale on C street, a lot of worn-out household furni ture was under the hammer, when a China man, who had been carefully watching op erations for some time, put in a bid of " hit tee ” for an old dilapidated washstand. “Two bits—do I hear the three?” shout ed the auctioneer. There was a long pause, broken at last by the Chinaman bidding again : “ Tree bittce.” The crowd laughed at the Celestial for raising his own bid, and the auctioneer taking in the situation, sang out: “ Three bittee—do I hear the four?” and looked over at John. There was another long pause, but at last 4 Fo bittee ’’came from the Chinaman, and a roar of laughter went up, in which even a number of old women joined so heartily as to almost shake their false teeth out. Still the auctioneer held on to the wash stand, and the Chinaman determined to se cure it, bid five, six.|seven, eight 44 bittee ” successively, and it was finally passed over to him for a dollar, lie received it with a smile of awful dimensions, remarking : 44 Me ketchec washstand, you betce— heap cheapee.” A Cash Transaction. A Detroit man hired a boy to walk home beside him and carry a bundle, having first agreed to pay the lad 15 cents. Reaching the house, the man found he had no small er change than a quarter, and he said : “ If you will call at my office at 2 o'clock I'll have the change.” “ But it was to be cash down,” protest ed the boy. “ So it was ; but l haven't the change, you see. You'll have to call at my office.” “ I'll call." growled the boy, as he turn ed away ; “ but I know just how it will work. When 1 knock at the door a cross eyed clerk will yank it open, ask me what I want, and when I tell him he will yell out: “ That man went into bankruptcy last September, and now you git !” That is the way they alius play it on me, sir, and I druther lose the 15 cents than to call the clerk a dodo, .and have to dodge coal scuttles all the way down stairs.” The gentleman walked with him to the nearest grocery and made change. HARTWELL, GA„ WEDNESDAY, JULY J 1877. Com mil ii ten t lon. In your last issue, there appears a com munication over the signature of one “M.,” to which we have this to say : In our com munication, following one from him from Bay's district, we made no reply to his ar ticle. but merely as a matter of informa tion to the good people of this Cbunty, gave them a few indisputable facts regard ing the Singer Manufacturing Company to correct, as we thought, the impressions that might grow out of his violent denun ciation of that Company made by him in that communication. *’ The unwarranted attack that lie is en deavoring to make on us in his “ last chap ter from Moses," wo shall not reply to, but will treat it with that silence tiiat all good people should do to idle newspaper scribblers, who want to get up newspaper controversies from which no good can re sult. We have lived long enough in this Comity to be pretty well known, and are perfectly willing for the people to take us for just what we are worth and no more, without any effort on our part to contro vert the impression endeavored to be raised by “M.” in his last letter. His first ar ticle from Bay’s, was an attack on the Singer Company, v pieh in a courteous manner we laid dowisteertain facts concern ing the Company, to show his mistake in using those very harsh words in that ar ticle. Ilis second communication was an attack on ourselves principally, and also a denun ciation of the same Company; in reply to which article, we merely quoted from the poet what we thought an apt comparison, and we shall now leave him battling with that “frog of .Esop,” from a similarity of whose fate his danglrs are much nearer tlian ours would be, in collecting an hon est debt from a fraudulent debtor who, after giving his note and a lien on a sewing machine, seeks through his attorney, to get rid of the same by an action of trover. Now with regard toKlie sewing machines : It is true that the Batcliclder patent ex pired on the Bth of May, 1877, but some time before that the Singer Manufacturing Company reduced the prices of machines a little. ’This Company, and several others, some years since found that the large roy alty which they had to pay for the use of the Batchelder patent would compel them to increase the price of machines, and in ! order to ohviaAc-uuch' . course they cotn- I billed together and purchased the patent at 'an immense cost, and continued to sell at i the old prices. The Batchelder patent is by no means the only one which has been used by machine companies and upon which they pay large royalties, and which I other patents have not expired and will not for several years to come, and which i are equally as important to the machine as I the Batchelder. These patents now run ! ning on other parts of the machine prevent any one else from making and selling them, and also show that the Batchelder patent had but very little to do with the slight re duction in price. The Singer Company is simply a manufacturing company ; and has never made more than a manufacturer’s profit on their goods; but it. and all other companies of this kind, that have done business in the South, have lost money on that portion of their business, because of the enormous taxes (SSOO special, one per cent, of gross sales, whether good or bad, advalorem taxes for State and County, and special and other city taxes), also the ex pense of selling in the Soutli on account of large territory and sparsely settled coun try, as well as the losses from bad debts, &c., have all caused them to lose money on this part of their trade. The machines which used to sell for S7O, SBO and SBS, time, now sell for $45, SSO and SOO, time, and $35, S4O and SSO, cash—ex tra attachments not included in either price, which were formerly included, thus showing that there has not been the great deduction, as claimed by some, over the old prices. A good test of the fairness of their busi ness, and that they have given value re ceived for what they sell, would be right at home from persons using the machine. There are in use in Hart County at least 100 of these machines, and if they were an imposition or a fraud, there would be a tremendous cry from all parts of the land to that effect, but we have not yet seen the first man, woman or child who fail to say that this is not the best and cheapest ma chine, and one they would not be without for three times the cost; they also unite in saying that this Company gives the easi est terms for paying their indebtedness of any corporation or individual in the land. Last year the sales of the Singer were 202.31 ( machines in the United States, and that of all other companies combined, being some 12 or 15, amounted to 54,000 machines, thereby showing that this is comparatively the only machine in use. \Ve could go on indefinitely to bring the proofs in justification of our position, which is, that the Singer Company is no fraudulent concern, neither is it "vampire like going over the country, pouncing upon the citizens and preparing to sacrifice what little property they have accumulated by hard toil and industry,” but is as fair, and honest, and legitimate a business as that of any individual, merchant, or farmer, in Hart County. C. W. Seidel. Tiie Oame or I,lf. Man's life is a game of cards. First, it is a “cribbage.” Next he tries to “go it alone ” at a sort of a cut, shuffle and deal I pace. Then he “ gambols on the green.” Then he “ raises ” the “deuce ” when his mother “ takes a hand in ” and, contrary to j Hoyle, “beats the little joker with her j five.” Then, with his “diamonds” he ,“wins” the “ queen of hearts.” Tired of 44 playing a lone hand,” he expresses a desire to “ assist ” his fair “ partner,” “ throws out his cards,” mid tho clergyman takes a $lO bill out of him “on a pair.” She “ orders him up ” to build a lire. Like “ knave ” he joins the “ clubs,” where he often gets “ high.” which is “ low ” too. If he keeps “straight” lie is oftentimes “flush.” He grows old and “bluff,” sees a “deal” of trouble when at last he “shulfles” ofl’liis mortal coil, and "pass es in his checks.” As ho is “ raked in ’’ by a “ spade.” life's fitful "game ” is end ed, and lie waits the summons of Gabriel’s “ trump” which shall “'order up.”— Ex. A lilt ol Ilnrrlnl IA |cr 1,-ii<-| 1 married my wife about thirty-five years ago. The ceremony was performed about seven o'clock in tho morning. Before re tiring that evening wo had a good talk with each other, and tho result sweetened our entire lives. We agreed with each other that each should always be watchful and careful never, by word or act to hurt the feelings of the other. We were both young, both hot-tempered, both positive m our likes and dislikes, both somewhat exacting and inflexible—just the material for a life of conjugal warfare. Well, for a few years we found it very hard work to live by our agreement. Occasionally a word or a look would slip oil’ the tongue or face before it could be caught or suppressed; but we never allowed the sun to go down upon our wrath. Before retiring at night on such occasions there was always confessions and forgiveness, and the culprit would be more careful in future. Our tempers and dispo sitions became more and more congenial, so after a few years wo became one in real ity, as the marital ceremony had pronounc ed us nominally. In thinking back, we find that for more than twenty years our little agreement has been unbroken, ami that there has been no occasion for confes sion or forgiveness. In business we have had adversity and failure and success. We have raised a fam ily of children and have our grandchildren about ns ; and we are simple enough to be lieve that our grandchildren have been made better by our little agreement. Un der such a contract religiously kept, no ill natured children will be reared and no boys will tind the bar-rooms more pleasant than home. To make a good wife or a good husband requires the co-operation of both. Some women are more dexterous than others in changing the nature of a morose, ill-tem pered man. This power seems to be a gift rather the result of early culture, pos sessed only by few. Asa general rule, such a temper persisted in by a husband, will either heget a like temper in the wife, or else she will silently submit to what she cannot help. A linn Wlio A over Nmv a Woman. A Chinese who had been disappointed in marriage, and had grievously suffered through women in many other ways, re tired with his infant son to the peaks of a mountain range in Kweichoo; to a spot quite inaccessible to little-footed Chinese women. He trained his boy to worship the gods and stand in abhorrence and awe of the devils ; but he never mentioned women to him, always descending the mountain alone to buy food. At length, however, the infirmities of age compelled him to take the young man with him to carry the heavy bag of rice. As they were leaving the market town together, the son suddenly stopped short, and, pointing to three approaching objects, cried : 44 Father, what are those things? Look 1 look ! what are they ?” The father instantly answered, with per emptory firmness : "Turn away vonr head ; they are devils, I tell ye !” The son in some alarm, turned away, seeing that the evil things were gazing at him with surprise from behind their fans. lie walked to the mountain in silence, ate no supper, from that day lost his appe tite, and was afflicted with melancholy. For some time his puzzled and anxious parent could get no satisfactory answer to liis inquiries, but at length the young man burst out, crying with inexplicable pain : “ Oh father, that tallest devil—that tall est devil, father.” lie ('nine Hark. A story is told of Gov. Duval, of Flor ida, which will never wear out. He was the son of a “ poor white” in Virginia, a stern, strong taciturn man, the boy, a huge youth of fifteen. At the cabin fire, at bed time, according to the custom of putting on a back-log, the old man said, between whiffs of his silent pipe—“ 'fab,” (the boy’s nickname) “go out and bring in that gum back log and put it on the fire.” 'J ab went out and surveyed the log. He knew it was no use explaining that it was too heavy, nor prudent fi>r him to return without having it on his shoulder. His little sister passing, was not surprised that he requested her to bring him out the gun and powder-horn, as a ’possom or coon might have passed, or the brother might have seen near signs. She brought the gun and Tab started. He found his way through the woods into Kentucky—this was about 1791—whence some years after he was elected to Congress. After an ab sence of eight years, then a man of im mense size and strength, long given up as slain by a bear, he started for Washington by way of his old home, to see the folks. Entering the little cabin yard near bed time, he saw the identical gum log. He shouldered it, pulled the latch string, and with his load stood before the old man, pipe in mouth, and quiet as usual. “ Here is the back log, father!” “Better late than never—put it on the fire and go to bed.” SPOKE A MOMENT TOO LATE. Portland Transcript. BY FREDERICK 11 ASTI NOS. Arriving one day, a few years ago. at Annapolis in Nova Scotia, I wished with several other friends, to cross the penin sula. We hired two vehicles for the jour ney of seventy miles. Six of our number rode in the larger two-horse vehicle, and two in the smaller, one-horse trap of old Tomkins, the carrier of her Majesty's mails. Old Tomkins led the way at llrst, until his horse becoming weary, lie was obliged to drop behind, lie told us to go ahead, but said, “ Don’t leave me too far.” On we went, hut he could not keep up. Wo found ourselves at eleven o'clock at night waiting in a dense wood for him to come up. One or two went back to find him. After an hour's detention he came up. Wo then learned that one of the hinder wheels had come oil', owing to the loss of the 1 inch-pin. The old man had put tho wheel in tno cart. He then fast ened by cords (of which he always carried a good supply) a young larch tree, cut from the forest, in such a way that, trailing behind, it kept the vehicle from upsetting. We had to relieve him of his passengers and drive on. Ere we reached the ruilo inti where we were to stop that night, the driver of our vehicle gave us some account of Old Tomkins. It seems that for many years he had carried the mails, and was known ns a strong, determined old man. lie prided himself on never breaking his word, lie was a very stern husband ami father. One day lie went home much earlier than usual and, because his dinner was not ready, lie began to upbraid his wife. She answered him warmly and he went out, saving: “I'll never speak to you again?” and said the driver, “he has kept his word.” • “ 1 suppose ;ho does not live with liis wife, now?” “ Yes, they live together just the same, but lie never speaks to her.” “ What, not at table?” “No. He does not even say 4 How are you ’ when lie comes home, or 4 Good night ’ when ho lies down by her side in bed.” 44 Has he then learned tho dumb alpha bet and does he communicate his wishes by linger signal ?” 44 No, lie has a slate hanging by the fire side, on which ho writes his wants and wishes. If he desires to have meat, or any article of apparel, or wishes to tell her anything, lie writes it down and hands it to her. Generally there is no need for him to use the slate, as his wife anticipates nearly all his wants, and he gives her a certain allowance of money. He comes and goes, time after time, and never opens his mouth to her.” NUMBER 45. 44 And how long has this lasted?” “ About seventeen years.” “ And has he any sons and daughters?” “ Yes, and he speaks to them, but never to their mother.” “ How painful for them !” “ Yes, and they have all gone wrong through his treatment.” 44 Do you think he will preserve this re solve to the end of life?” “Most likely; and when lie is joked about liis rash oath by others he only re torts, ‘better no talking than incessant quarreling.’ ” The next morning we passed the house of old Tomkins. It was a pleasant looking wooden house, painted black with blue shutters, 'flic old man baited and entered for a few moments only. When lie came back the driver said : 44 How’s the missus?” “ All right.” “ Has she gained her voice yet?” “ Drive ahead, and don’t ask stupid questions,” retorted old Tomkins. And the old man gave a smart stroke with the whip to his own poor horse and dashed away. Hi; would not speak again all that jour ney to the driver of our vehicle and hardly to any of our party. + + + * * + * Returning to Annapolis after an absence of several years, 1 made enquiries for the old man. lie was still driving mails, but his poor wife no longer lived. He went home one day as lie passed, mid found her lying very ill in bed, bis daughter told him that the doctor had been there and said she | could not recover. The old man went into his wife’s bed room, and standing by her bedside he | gazed long and intently at her, Ihe strug gle in his soul was severe. Should lie break the long silence? He took at length her hand in his. Still the silence was maintained. The daughter sat with her eyes fixed on her father, wondering at his continued hardness. After a quarter of an hour, (a very long period under such circumstances) tho sink ing woman said, 44 John, goodbye, I am going.” The old man went for his slate and be gan writing something. He handed it to her. She took it, but turned away, her face overspread with unutterable anguish. A few moments more of silence, then a gurgling sound was heard. The daughter hastened to lift her mother’s head. The attempt was useless. Life was ebbing rapidly. The old inan saw it and could restrain no longer his tongue. He said, 44 Susan, I’m sorry for you.” There was no sign that she heard. 44 I hope you'll lie better soon.” Still no sign. The poor woman was fast sinking now in death. Tomkins saw the pallor gathering over her face. Now, thoughts of old days rushed through his mind and he said again, “ Susan, can I do anything for you?” She heard not the inquiry. In the sol emn presence of death the old man bent over her and cried, “ Susan, speak once more !” It was too late. The spirit had gone to its Maker, and to old Tomkins, alas re mained the bitter memory of his rash vow and harsh treatment of a frail woman. Another Problem. Given an open field through which runs a stream of water. A dog, 80 yards from the stream, sights a fox 60 yards ahead and gives chase. The fox runs for the stream, crosses it, followed by the dog, and is caught 200 yards on the other side. The dog's speed in running is to the fox’s as 2 to 1, but the fox swims faster than the dog as 3 to 2. What was the width of the stream ?