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Tilt l'ATCpy APROy. by mbs. mahaly gowbax. “ Katie, what girl vere you giving a bou qiust to; the one having ou a patched aP -°Jennie Land, ma. Her mother washes for Mrs. Banks. She is the kindest girl in the school, and is never cross and hard to please like some of them I play with. When she came to school last W ednesday, she had two bunches of strawberries, and she offered me one of them, and the clus ter looked so rod and rich 1 took it and thanked her. This morning when she was passing by our flower garden, 1 asked her to wait a few minutes and 1 would pick some flowers and arrange for her a pretty bouquet, and O, ma! 1 wish you could have 1 seen how pleased she looked and I heard her say so softlj r , “ Dear Katie, 1 tliank you.’* ••No more of such nonsense as that, Katie. Ido not wish you to associate with beggars, or t play with girls that poverty compels to wear patched aprons at school/’ “ Sla. Jennie is not a beggar. She always looks clean and has such beautiful auburn curls. I almost know you would like her it you only knew how good she is. She has to wear dresses and aprons with patches on them sometimes, for her mother washes and takes in sewing to buy books and clothes for herself and Jennie. She stands at the head of her spelling class most of the time. Mary Kemp, the Pres byterian minister’s girl, plays with her and says she ; likes her, and told Maggie Rice and I last week that her father was killed in battle at Fort Donaldson. Her only brother died a few months ago, and ever since his death Jennie has been ven' lonesome. She visits his grave quite often, and when she can get beautiful flowers she carries them to the cemetery and places them in a goblet she will keep in summer time on Harvey’s grave.” “ Really, Katie, you are quite a story teller. If I would allow you to have ac cess to such low associations you will be, by the time you are sixteen, scribbling for the newspapers. You are just like your father, and think that the poor are as good as the rich. L very much regret that my daughter, ten years old, exhibits so little dignity and judgment as to be captivated by a school girl who w ars a patched apron.” Great tear drops glistened in Katie Reed's eyes whilst listening to her mother's sar casm, for she loved Jennie Land and feared that social intercourse, even at school, would be prohibited by her mother's au thoritative influence. Mr. Reed’s opinion was solicited by his wife, but to her recital of Katie’s deport ment to a school girl who sometimes wore a patched apron he gently replied : “ Jennie Land’s mother is a real lady. I have known her from childhood—we at tended the same school. She, like many others, was unfortunate in selecting a hus band, l'or he had hut one business talent and that was seldom seen, Mrs. Land is Christian woman, and bears the disappoint ments and the trials incident to life like a philosopher. Jennie’s moral training is of a high order, and, if she wears patched aprons there are no patches on her youth ful soul, and I am gratilied to learn that Katie has found a safe and congenial asso ciate.” “Just as I expected. Mr. Reed, I should think you would take a deeper in terest in Katie's future welfare, than to en courage her to cherish a liking for such low company.” To Mrs. Reed’s remarks her husband deemed it advisable to make no reply. Time wore on, and Katie had access at school to the society of her little friend, Jennie, and their love for each other was as true as the love of David and Jonathan of the Bible. The summer had gone into autumn, and Katie Reed was dangerously ill of brain fever. In her delirium she would speak of her dear schoolmate, and call Jennie her beautiful friend—talk of her golden ringlets—of her musical voice, of her f>arting kiss. Sometimes she would ask ier to come to her bed that she might kiss her once more. Now and then her incohe rent sentences were so pathetically ex pressed that the tears would come into her mother’s eyes unbidden ; still she turned a deaf ear to the mournful pleadings of her dying child. A few days previous to her death she seemed more rational, and her father chanced to be sitting by her bed, and heard her half audibly pronounce “ Jennie, dear, come!” That was enough for his tender and noble heart. Jennie was sent for immediately, and Katie recognized her playmate, her lovely friend, as she had often termed her during her illness. The sweet demonstrations of mutual love by those children awakened Mrs. Reed's ma tcrnal affection, and found the door to her heart. She relented, and her dislike for the fascinating child soon changed to admira tion. Mrs. Reed would look upon Jennie’s winning way with astonishment, when she ; would be sitting by the bed of her sick child with their right hands clasped to gether. She did not wonder that Katie loved her, for she often thought that Jen nie Land was the most lovable child she ever saw. That unsophisticated girl little thought that her sweet disposition and deep : solicitude for her sick playmate was mak ing for her a home where she could find security from the chilling storms ol life. Just as the night was stepping into the morning’s dawn the angels beckoned to little Katie Reed to come where there is no sickness, no pain or parting hours; and that innocent child felt the change coming over her, seemed to know that it was death ; for she looked wistfully into her father's tearful eyes and said : “ Papa, I shall die soon ; don't you hear the angels singing, (), so sweetly—l’m going to that beautiful place where Jesus is ; for he loves children, and took them in his arms and blessed them when he came in this world. Last Sabbath, our Sunday school teacher told us that Jesus loved children now, and everybody, and whoever are good here will be happy after they die, and sing joyful songs. She said we must Eray to be kept from temptation, and if ad thoughts came into our minds we must ask the blessed Savior to help us to drive such thoughts away, for wrong thoughts always preceded wicked actions. Jennie Land and 1 went into the grove by the school-house last summer, a good many times, and we would kneel by a great ma ple tree, and Jennie prayed that we might be good and love all our playmates, even $1.50 A YEAR. if they were unkind to us. She often snid that her mother told her if she wanted to be loved she must love. Please put my arms around your neck, papa.’’ Her father did as slic requested, then she kissed him for the last time, and utter ed the following language. “ Dear pap 1 want you to pray every day. and pray that mama may love Jennie, and give her flowers every summer to put on her brotheV’s grave. 1 want her to have the Bible you gave me for a Christmas present and my new sarque and hat, and anything else of mine you please to fet her have. Now call mama and Jennie, for I want to kiss them good-bye.” Presently they stepped into the chamber of death very softly, and Mrs. Reed was surprised to see the change that had come over darling Katie within a few hours. She tried to return the caresses of her mother and Jennie, but a faint request to meet her in Heaven and a low good-bye was all she could say, then commenced her journey in that shining road that leads into the beautiful Hereafter, where the loving Savior dwells. Love, the sweetest gift of Heaven, be comes sometimes, as if by magic, chords binding congenial souls together, whatever may be the contrast in social position, especially if money has pajntcd the dis tinction. Love, sympathy and kindness should l>e cultivated in every heart but alas ! these priceless virtues are sadly neglected ly many, both young and old, who forget that their hand may reach after these sorrow soothing qualifies, without being able to grasp them ; for'“with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.’’ Soon after the funeral obsequies were performed for little Katie Reed the. parents of the deceased child solicited Mrs. Land to allow them to adopt Jennie—and in due time their proposals were ‘accepted, and she has had every advantage that wealth can give. Already she has taken hold of literary work, and if she continues true to herself by heeding the loving voice of the Savior, her example and usefulness will make her a shining light In the world. The I.nine C'luftr. Burlington Hawin'ye. Rev. Jerome 11. Renson is a young man, a minister of great promise, and is greatly beloved by the members of his flock. But he is a very bashful young man, and it is quite a cross for him to makopastoral calls and get acquainted with the people of the congregation. lie has lived in Burlington only about eight weeks. A few days ago he fixed himself up and went to call at the residence of Mrs. Jasper L. Blasingby, on West Hill, who, is very stylish and has four lovely daughters, and young Mr. Ben son was accordingly more than usually nervous and embarrassed, and when he got to the house and entered the parlor door and saw company, two young gentle man visiting two of the Misses Blasingby, his wits immediately went wool gathering. Mrs. Blasingby bowed him into the par lor, grandly introduced him to the young men and waved him toward an easy chair. As he moved toward it she made a second ell'ort to capture his hat, and after some feeble resistance by the young minister she succeeded. And then that man, thorough ly demoralized by the loss of his hat, made a wavering advance toward the easy chair, and then, impelled by the thought that he was very selfishly taking the most comfortable chair in the room, he swerved aside and beaded for an inviting looking straight back chair that stood against the wall. Mrs. Blasingby returning from the hat rack in the hall, divined his intention and bore down upon him in order to put him about and getting him anchored in the easy chair. But the young minister had the weather gauge, and the more she bowed and flourished and said, “ Oh, do take this easy chair, Mr. Benson,” the more steam he put on, and the nearer he worked to the straight back chair. He reached it. He caught hold of the back to lift it from the wall, and the back came out in his hand like a loose tooth. For a brief second he stood there, very gracefully holding the chair back in his hand, listening to Mrs. Blasingby’s hurried explanations about the children, and then he attempted to put the chair back where it belonged. He didn't succeed very well, for the back weakened on itself as he fumbled with it, and two or three pieces fell out of it. Mrs, Blasingby was now begging him to leave it alone, and sit down in the easy chair. llis face was so hot and red lie couldn't hear a word she said, and in desperation he set the back on the chair, leaned it against the wall, and picking up the chair bodily started across the room with it, without any particular intention, and followed by a trail of chair back, legs and stray springs that dotted the carpet like the track of a tornado. 1 e doesn't know to this day how Mrs. Blas ingby got the chair away from him. He can only remember that when he was about two blocks away from the house, he discovered that he was carrying a switch cane with an ivory head, carved in a very Black Crook design, evidently the property of one of the young men. and that his head was covered by a jaunty little hat of dove colored silk and rough straw, turned up at one side and decorated with a pearl buckle and a long drooping plume, all of which he had often admired on the head of the youngest Miss Blasingby. Ilis peculiar appearance, and evident mental distress, when he was met in this guise by his sen ior deacon, gave rise to the rumors that he was intoxicated, which were however so well explained at the church meeting last evening, that Mr. Benson was unanimous ly requested to withdraw his resignation. This we are sorry to learn, he steadfastly refused to do, and it is understood that he | has accepted a chaplaincy at the Black Hills. HARTWELL, GA„ WEDNESDAY, JULY 2,1, 1877. (•corglii to Her Xc ki inuor. A'inh l or* AV . Don’t go it too strong, (> Benjamin Hill, That Georgia that honored may honor you still, But not your tongue is too lavish with praise Of tlie artful devices of Rutherford llayes. Of cr.rpct-bag thieves there at length is surcease, And Georgia has joy in her sisters’ release, Though she isn’t bv any means ready to swear That it’s due to the Fraud in the President's chair. From the bondage of years, from the wrong and the grief, To be free once again is a precious relief; But reason must fail ere our tongue can applaud The creature whose forehead is branded with Fraud. Don't go it too strong, then, 0 Benjamin Hill, That the State which has honored, may honor you still; Asa mother she speaks to a dutiful child. And teaches the wisdom of drawing it mild. He Went I'Milhk. Cleveland Ledger. Several of the Clevelanders who went to Kelly’s Island, by the way of Sandusky, last week, after black bass, reached home night before last. One of them, Brown, rushed into his house, and in his joy at meeting Mrs. Brown and all the little Brownses, attempted to clutch them all to his bosom in one wild embrace. “ <>o away!” yelled Mrs. Brown. “ But my dear—” “ 1 ain't your dear ! 1 never saw vou. My Leonidas never liad that ugly red all over his face, and never smelt like a beer garden Police!” The baby begran to yell, the oldest girl started into the back yard after the dog, and the hired girl fainted dead away in the pan try. “I am Brown ; I swear it! Listen, Mary Ann. Your upper teeth are false; your switch cost two dollars and a half; you demolish cloves for the benefit of your breath ; you keep a bottle of brandy in your washstand. Hear me for my cause. What stranger could have learned all this? Whatman —” “Me love! mo lave,! ’Tis he! ’Tis thee 1” And she collapsed into his arms, and thus prevented the gathering neighbors from learning any further particulars about the internal economy of the house of Brown, “ And now,” says Brown, “ I am fully determined to brain the first man who says ‘ black bass ’ and especially when the sun is hot enough to turn one into a Hot tentot or a Fijii Islander in twenty-four hours.” “But the GreateNt of all is Charity.” Greensboro' Herald. See here 1 >Ve always, had an idea, be fore we went into the business ourselves, that editors enjoyed an extra share of the good tilings of this life. In every paper you pick up, you see a long paragraph of thanks to Mr. So-and-so, for the “elegant basket of fruit,” or the magnificent water melon,” he gave the editor. Now all this is a fraud, you hear me ! When you pick up a county newspaper, and read such an item as this, “ Mr. Jones will please ac cept our sincere thanks for the elegant California pears he presented us with on Tuesday,” you may rest assured that some poor devil of an editor was hungry, and had been hanging around a fruit stand until the proprietor gave him a half rotten pear murder to get rid of him. Now, it’s true, we have had some very nice presents sent us this summer, such as heads of wheat, cotton stalks and corn that had been cut up by the hail, and we were glad to get them, because they helped to fill up the paper. But they don’t help to till up any thing else, gentlemen, that’s the idea. Corn stalks and the like don,t taste well. Our friends ought to take into considera tion that we don’t have time to visit or chards at night and get fruit cheap, as some others do ; we’ve got work to do—■ hard work, too, or else pay for the game. Lively, now, and bring in another water melon, and great will be your reward. Take Your County Paper. Do the city papers say anything in re gard to your own county ? Nothing. Do they contain notices of your schools, meet ings, churches, improvements, and hun dreds of other local matters of interest which your home paper publishes without pay? Not an item. Do they ever say a word calculated to draw attention to your county, and aid in its progress and enter prise? Not a line. And there are men who take such contracted views of this matter, that unless they are getting as many square inches of reading matter in their own as they do in a city paper, they think they are not getting the worth of their money. It reminds us of a man who took the largest pair of boots in the box because the price was the same as the pair, much smaller, that fitted him. A Biff Hat Trap. The Sacramento (Cal.) Record-Union of June, 7th reports the following extraordi nary rat catcher : “ The kitchen and store room of a hotel in this city have been in fested by rats, and it became evident also, that a hogshead in which swill was kept furnished the rodents an opportunity to fill their stomachs when other sources failed. Tuesday evening the hogshead was almost entirely emptied, a little food being left iu the bottom to serve as bait. All the holes were stopped up, and when the mammoth trap was finally sot it was so arranged that as many rats could enter it as desired, hut there were no means of escape. A few minutes after it was set. three or four rats sprang into it, and not finding much food, became hoggish, and began fighting for the possession of what there was. Their squealing attracted more rats, and when the trnp was examined, before midnight, it presented asingulnr spectacle, being ap parently one fourth tilled with the pests— little rats and big ones, gray-headed fellows and others that had scarcely sprouted their moustaches—all squirming, scratch ing, squealing, and biting. Soon afterward they were killed, when the number disposed of proved to be one hundred and six. Why Nile Nt upped Her l*npcr. She came bouncing through the sanctum door like a cannon ball, and without paus ing to say “ How d'ye do?” she brought her umbrella down on the table with a mighty crash, and shouted : “ I want you to stop my paper.” “ All right, madam.” “ Stop it right oil', too,” she persisted, whacking the table again, “for 1 waited long enough for you to do the square thing.” She quieted down for a moment, as we ran our Unger down the list of names, and when wo reached her’s and scratched it out, she said : “ There; now mebbe you’ll do as you ought to after this, and not slight a woman ies cans she’s poor. If some rich folks happen to have a little red-headed, bandy legged, squint eyed, wheezy squealer horn to them, you puff* it to the skies and make it out an angel; but when poor people have a baby you don’t say a word about it, even if it’s the blackest-haired, biggest headed, nobbiest little kid that ever Kept a woman awake at nights. That’s what’s the matter, and that’s why I stopped my paper.” And she dashed out as rapidly as she came. nifteollmiy. “ Don’t leave vour tobacco quids where the innocent little children will mistake them for chestnuts,” reads a sign on a ho tel in Maine. A Florida paper says: “ Anew and commodious (log-house was recently fin ished in this city for the accommodation of one of our leading citizens.” A Baltimore belle, when told by the waiter that they had no gooseberries, ex claimed, “ Wnat has happened to the goose?” The waiter wilted. “How many children have you?” asked one friend of an old acquaintance. “ Well, I have five, but they were eating cucum bers when I left home, and they may be all doubled up now.”— Oil City Call. “Papa,” asked a boy, “what is meant by Paradise?” “Paradise, my son,” re plied the father, “ is the latter part of the summer, when your mother goes on a visit to your grandfather.”— lndianapolis Jour nal. From a tombstone in Cornwall England : Father and mother and I Lie buried here asunder ; Father and mother lie buried hero, And I lie buried off yonder. For burns an immediate application of flour, covering the burns, and wrapped so as to exclude the air; then burn lard till it is quite brown, and apply, and relief will soon come. Do not wash off the flour if it clings, but put the lard over it. Little boy —“ Please, I want the doctor to come and see mother.” Servant—“ Doc tor’s out. Where do you come from?” Little boy—“ What! Don’t you know me ? Why, we deal with you. Wo had a baby from here last week.” — London Fun. New Orleans gets her “ first bale ” on al most the same day every year. This year it came in on the 11th; last year on the 10th, and in 1873 on the 13th of July. r I he first of the season came this year from Cameron county Texas. A Chinaman became the father of an American born son, and as he danced about swinging his pigtail, he said : “Me Melican man, all samec. Me heap W ash ington. Me lightning rod agent. Go 'way, Whoopee T” — San Francisco Chron icle. It takes according to a scientific journal, four thousand bumblebees to weigh a pound; but you stop a bumblebee some time when he is busy, and pick him up ami you will raise your hand to heaven i and swear he weighs a ton. —liurliuyton I Hawk-eye. The streets of London if placed in one line, would form an avenue of 7,000 miles in length. In the daily cleansing of the streets about 14,000 men find employment, and 6,000 horses and 2,400 carts. The en gineer-in-chief has a salary of SIO,OOO i The work goes on day and night, but the actual sweeping does not commence until eight p. m. John Bougham, in his “ Birds and Poets,” tells the best story, illustrative of a boy’s proncncss to tell, and his cairn confidence in the power of a lie, we ever read. A teacher, after long and patient watching, catches a boy eating an apple in school, a misdeed he had frequently committed and as repeatedly lied out of. “Ah ha,” ex | claimed the teacher. “ I've caught you at it this time.” “Caught me at what?” asked the boy, in conscious innocence. “ Eating that apple.” “ Ain't eatin no ap ple.” The astonished teacher compelled the boy to open his mouth, and a great slab of apple was extracted therefrom. “ Didn’t know it was there,” sturdily asserted the I boy. "O^EMAPVJIAII” HY I’I.KASANT BtfrRKHOOD. Detroit fri* Frts. A. B. Lytle is a Justice of the Peace, likewise a corn doctor. Yesterday his meditations were suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable flapping of au angry darkey’s robes, and turning arouud he be held Aunt Anarky looking as cross as her broad, shining, pleasant countenance would permit. “ Good—morning, Mr. Lytle. Whew—dat —hill! I.awsy ! 1 kin hardly —fetch—my—bretf l” “ Howdyo, Aunty, where arc you bound for in such a hurry,” said Mr. Lytle, snap ping a goober. “ Bound fur to see you, sub, cf you’ve got time to devotiate to my dilemmon. I want to git out a corpus chrlshty.” “ A what?” “A corpus clirislity.” “ 1 don't exactly understand you; don’t know what vou mean.” “ Law, Mr. Lytle!, You chock full of book lamin' an’ dunno what a corpus clirislity is? Why. it's a warriant, sub; a paper to have ftnlrsoS ’rested on. I nner staii' now ?” “ Yes, but who are you going to arrest?” Aunt Anarky straightened her fat figure up to its greatest height, threw hack her head in a manner that proved she meant business, and, with a marked emphasis on every syllable, slowly and distinctly said, “ Josh-way Jy-ara. Josh way Jyars, Josh way Jyars,” she repeated in a shrill voice. “Is it possible? 1 suppose you’ve been ‘at it again, aggory watur' ?” “ Sun?” “Have you been fighting him again? Remember, Aunt Anarky, that your little hands were never made to scratch your husband's eyes!” A momentary twitch of contrition cov ered the corners of her lips, but her eyes soon flashed and she said, “ I tells you what it is, Mr. Lytle, I’m de-easiest-to-git long-wid ’oiuan in this percinity, hut, sail, de goodest-natured pUsson in tie worruld can’t keep serennihle wid any body con ducking lnsself like Josh does lately. Lu it’s nil owin’ to Mr. Babe Symons. He owed me live dollar and tree-quarters for washin’, and instid o’ gibbiiv it to mo he ups ami pays it to Josqway in whisky ! Yes, sail, in whisky who alius makes n rantankerous fool o' Josh. l ank de Lor’ it's all gone but a little, on’ 1 put an eel in dat!” “An eel?” “ Yes, sab, hut you musn’t tole him. You jin’ put a eel in’whisky and lot any body drink olf’n it once, and slio’ as you born dey’ll never tetch 'nother drap long’s dey live. It makes ’em sick and gibs ’em a disgus’ for it. But I wish you’d git mo dat corpus clirislity now, ef you please.” “ You huVon't told mo what the Col,’a been doing to need arresting, yet.” “ Well, lie’s ben jawerin’ and mouthin’ and callin’ me names, he is ?” “ What opprobrious epithet did he hurl at you ?” “ Sub?’* “ What did ho call you?” “ Well, you see I was asettin’down las’ Sadday lAoppin’ my bar for moetin’ and Hingin’ dat blessed hyme, ‘de anguls a walkin’ on do warter,’ when my gal, Phrony, she say she want me to larn bet a speech for to say at de ’ramination. ‘Law, chile,’ sez I, ‘d’know no speech but ‘Ole Mammy liar.”’ “‘Ole Mammy liar!’ Dat’s de very thing!” sez I‘hrony. “Larn me dat.” So 1 commence : “Ole Mammy Har, What you doin’ dar, Settin’ in de corner Smokin’ a cigyar.” “ And, Mr. Lytle, je.fi’ as I got dat fur, Josh he ups and says l- didn’t taught it to I’hrony right. He say it orterbedis way : ‘ 010 Mammy f I Air, What you doin’ dair, Settin’ in de cornair NUMBER 48. Smokin’ a cigair.’ And jes’ ’cos 1 ’sputed him, he call me a muskydine-skinned, wnrnut-headed, rhi nockerous-cveil, undermined, Texasgreser, he did. and 1 want you to h’isthim olf ter de callyboosh, suh.” “AuntAnarky, instead of having him arrested, why don’t you go home and call him some names? It will annoy him a great deal more.” “ I dunno what to call him;dcrc ain’t nothin’ bad ’hough fur sicli a Babe-Symon whiskiod-fool-nigger.” “Call him a lump of unadulterated, crystalized saccharine matter.” Aunt A narky smiled at the proposed re venge, but she asked : “ Don’t you reckum dey’ll church ine for sicli onproper, per fane langwidge, suh?” “Oh, no,” replied the humorous Justieo airily, “all those expressions are recom mended in the statute books, likewise in Hennen’s Digest.” “ Fore de Lor*, I’ll call him dat, den 1 But, Mr. Lytle, I can't rememberize dat store talk* 'thout you’ll say it ober fur mo sebral times.” “ Well, I'll teach it to you,” answered Mr. Lytle, and after several failures she succeeded in “ rememberizing ” the “bad names,” she was to call the Colonel. “ Now I’d better go home ’fore I forgits it. But, Mr. Lytle, Which do you say i* correck, ‘ Ole Mammy liar ’ or Ole Mam my Hair ’ ?” “ Well, really, Aunt Anarky, T have no official information on that point. Danto and Joaquin Miller don’t agree as to which is the correct version, and when the doc tors disagree who shall decide?” “ f dunno, sab. But don't you think it more probabliest dat ‘ Ole Marnray liar ’ is dc most humhunctious way to say it?” “ 1 believe it is; the other version sa vors of Mark Twain's horse-car idyl.” “ Den I’ll make Phrony say it flat way at de ’/.amination. Josh Jyars or no Josh •Jyars ! Virginny ’stocracy nigger or no Vir ginny ’stocracy nigger, he shan’t be tyrum izing ober me no more ! Well, good-bye Mr. Lytle. I’ll go home and call him dem names while dey's fresh iu my mine.” Dead dogs are sold in San Francisco for forty cents apiece. The skins are made into gloves, the hair is used in plaster, the bones are ground for clarifying sugar, and the fat is manufactured into oil. Every part of the animal appears to be utilized except its hark—and this, it seems to us, in the hands of a yankee, might be saved and placed in the front yard to frighten off tramps and lightning-rod ageuts.