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kith's legacy. When Rodney Craig came home from the army with an empty sleeve, some people wondered if Ruth Gerrish would m arry him. A man with one arm gone, and that his .right one, they argued, was only part ot a man, and Ruth was a girl who could have her choice among the*young men of her acquaintance; therefore —and what conclusion these poople arrived at you know well enough, 1 am sure, for you have seen these very persons. They live in every neighbor hood. Hut those who knew Ruth best, never doubted wlmt she would do for a mo ment. “Of course she'll marry him,” they said. “ She wouldn’t let the loss of an arm keep her from doing ns she prom ised. She loves him, and that settles the question.” When Rodney Craig told her that he would give her back her promise, she came and stood before him, and looking into his, with her earnest ej T es, she said : ■“ Do you love me, Rodney f” “ God knows I do, Ruth!” he an swered, and then she put her hand in his, and made reply : “ Then never mention this matter again. I told you I would be your wife, Qod willing; and if we love each other. I see no reason why we should not do as we intended. I would marry you, Rodney, if there was enough left of you to hold your heart.” After that he never spoke of break ing the engagement; but he would not consent to be a burden upon her, and it was agreed that the marriage be post poned until lie secured some employ ment. lie had made application for a clerkship under the government, but it began to seem as if it was a modern case of Jarndyce vs. Jarndyce. Once in a while he got a letter from the de partment at Washington, saying that it was quite probable that he would se cure the position ; the matter had been referred to such a bureau, or was now under consideration by such an official, etc. And so the weeks lengthened into months, and he waited and hoped, and heard nothing definite, and the time when he would be in a position to marry Ruth seemed very far otf. She would have married him next day if he he had been willing. She would have been glad to work for him, because she loved him, and work for those we love is always pleasant. Hut he was too proud to consent to anything of that sort, as I have said. One day Ruth got a letter from Aunt Martha Fielding. Aunt Martha lived in a thriving village among the Herkshire hills, and all Ruth could remember about her was she always made her think of some of the old mountains to be seen from her windows, because she was so grim in aspect, and seemed so unchangeable in all her ways. There had been some family trouble, and Aunt Martha had but ver} 1 little to do with any of her relatives. Therefore it is not to be wondered at that Ruth and her mother were surprised when the letter came, asking Ruth to come up and stop with her for a month that summer. “ Shall I go ?” asked Ruth. “ I think you had better,” answered her mother. “She must be lonely there. Poor thing! she’s had a good deal of trouble, off and on, but she’s made the most of it herself. Hilt I suppose she couldn’t help it; it washer disposition.” “ I can’t see wliat she wants me to come for,” said Ruth. “ I haven’t seen her since I was a little bit of a girl. I wonder she didn't seud for one of Aunt Lucy’s girls.” “ She's got some plan in her head,” said Mrs. Gerrish ; “ she always has when she invites any of her relatives to visit her. Yes, Ruth, I think you'd better go, and do all you can to make it pleasant for her.” So Ruth went. Aunt Martha wel comed her in her usual grim fashion. Her kiss made Ruth think of one of the old mountains departing from its usual dignity and saluting one of the hills. Iluth wasn't long in finding out what Aunt Martha had invited her to visit her lor. One of her nephews was com ing next week—her favorite nephew, she told Ruth, and the one to whom her property would go when she was done with it, and she had got the idea into her head that he ought to marry Ruth. “ I always liked you,” she said, in one of her confidential moods. “Now, when Lucy’s girls were up here, I was completely disgusted with ’em. All they thought of was dress and par ties. They were willing to see their mother slave herself to death for ’em, and they wouldn’t lift a finger to help her. Rut I've heard all about you and I know you're a good girl, and I know John’ll like you. He's sensible, and I hope you are.” When Ruth saw how determined she was to make a match between her and this expected nephew, sire thought it time to tell her how matters stood. “ Aunt. Martha,” she said, with a lit tle frightened catch of her breath, for she was afraid the old lady would be mortally offended at the failure of her jilans, “ I’m engaged to be marrie 1. And then, the worst being over, she ■went on and told her all about it, and succeeded in making her lover into a great hero, in. her own estimat on, it not in Aunt Martha's. “ And so you’re going to marry a man with one arm and as poor as poverty, are you ?” m l the ol 1 lady, grimly. “ Yes, if nothing happens to prevent it.” answered Rut’’, bravely, “We R>ye each other, and we’ll get along VOL. Ill—NO. 6. some wa) T ANARUS; and love’s better than all the wealtli in the world, I think, and so does Rodney.” . “Humph!” said Aunt Martha, and there the matter dropped. Nephew John came, and he and Ruth were good friends at once; but neither of them ever dreamed of loving eaeli other. One day Aunt Martha hinted her plan to him, and then had a long talk with Ruth, which hadn't the least effect toward changing her mind. “ I have promised to marry Rodney,” said Ruth, firmly. “ I shall keep my promise. Not all the wealth in the world would tempt me to break my promise to him, because I love him.” That afternoon, when she and John were together, he told her what Aunt Martha had said in the morning, and then they had a good laugh over the old lady’s plans, and before the interview was ended, lie showed her the picture of “ his girl,” and Ruth told him all about Rodney. “ It’s almost too bad to disappoint her so,” he said, laughingly. “ Hut 1 don’t feel quite willing to give up my plans for hers, and I see you don't; so we don’t seem to be able to gratify her by carrying out her pet project.” “ I think not,” answered Ruth. “ I like you pretty well, John, but I like Rodney better —in a different way, you know; and I guess we shall have to run the risk of Aunt Martha's dis pleasure and take the consequences." The matter was never mentioned by Aunt Martha again. When Ruth went home, she kissed her after the same grim fashion of her welcome, and told her that she should expect to see her next summer, if nothing happened. Something did happen. It will hap pen to all of us some time. Aunt Martha had not expected it so soon, and none of her relatives had thought of her dying for years to come. Hut the call came for her suddenly, and she went away in the darkness of a winter night, and there was no coming back from a journey like hers. Ruth and her mother went to the funeral. The lawyer invited all the relatives to tarry to the reading of the will. That had been her request. To her dear nephew, John Hunt, she gave the sum of thirty thousand dollars ; to her dear niece, Ruth Gerrish, she gave her Bible, witli all the papers therein contained. That was the sum and substance of the document. Ruth took her legacy, which was found in Aunt Martha’s room securely tied up in a thick wrapper, with her name upon it, as the will had stated, and they went back home. “ I wonder who lias the homestead ?” said Mrs. Gerrish that evening. “ All the property willed to John was in bonds and notes.” Rodney Craig came in, and Ruth brought out her legacy to show him. She removed the wrapper, and they sat down together to look the well-worn Bible over. A paper fluttered to the floor. Ruth picked it up and read : “ My Deau Niece Ki th : I believe that the woman who is true to the man she loves, even if he is poor and hasn’t but one arm, is an honor to her sex. If you had been willing to marry John and given up your lover, I should have despised you. As it is, I respect you, and, as a token of my respect, I give you this old Bible and all you will find in it, and pray that yon will be happy, as 3 011 deserve to be. Maktha Fielding. Then, of course, Ruth had to tell Rodney all about it. She had told her mother before. How his eyes shone when he knew the sacrifice she had made for his sake ! And he said some thing about it in a broken voice; but she stopped him. “ I made no sacrifice at all,” she said. I didn’t do it for 3 r our sake either; I did it for love's sake.” The Bible slipped from his knee to the floor, and several documents slip ped out upon the carpet. He picked them up to replace them. Ruth took them from his hand to examine them. “ Oh, mother !—Rodney !” she cried excitedly, “ they are deeds /” And sure enough they were ! The old homestead in the village, and the farm a mile or two away, were left to “my dear niece, Ruth Gerrish,” and Aunt Martha had had the deeds made out before her death. A slip of paper wrapped about them said that Mr. Jeff reys, her lawyer, could tell Ruth any thing she wanted to know about the property. She could take possession at any time. “ Oh, we're rich /” cried Ruth, with happy eyes. “ Dear Aunt Martha! Her heart was kinder than any of us thought. I hope she knows all about it. If she does I'm sure she isn't sorry for what she's done.” “It never rains but it pours.” Next day came a letter to Rodney from the publisher of the paper in the village where Aunt Martha’s home had been, lie wanted someone to take the posi tion of editor, at a liberal salary, con sidering the amount of work to be done. Miss Martha Fielding had advised him some time ago to offer the position to him, Would he come up and talk the matter over ? Rodney went, and so did Rqth and her mother. And they are living there now, much happier, I think, than they would have been if Rodney had taken the clerkship, which appointment came when it was no longer needed. And Aunt Martha is not forgotten, you may be quite sure. A bashful Young Mail. Virginia Ciiy Chronicle. This morning a strong, heulthy-look ing young man entered the County Clerk’s office and gazed respectfully around. Harry Thompson, the Chief Deputy, stepped up and blandly inquir ed of the stranger if he wished any busiuess transacted. The young man when spoken to started back as though dreading an as sault, but he soon recovered himself, and said, in a whisper: “ Yes, sir ; I called to see—l wanted to have a little talk —how much is it, any how?” He had a soft cloth hat in his hand, and kept turning and twisting it about as he spoke ! his lace had grown terribly red, and big drops of perspiration were standing on his brow. “ What is it you want?” asked the Clerk. The man looked at him pleadingly, but struggled in vain for utterance. Ilis eves bulged out, his face grew redder, and the veins in his neck and on his forehead swelled till they looked like knotted cords. He twisted the hat con vulsively, and then straightened it out again, and then pulled the new lining out of it and dropped it on the floor. Then lie picked it up all dusty from the floor and wiped his streaming face, leav ing a dirty streak after each wipe. Fi nally, it seemed as though the poor young man had quite recovered himself, for he looked cheerfully around the room, and then turning to Mr. Thomp son, remarked in a pleasant and confi dential tone: “ Well, it is real warm forthis season, isn’t it?” “ Very warm, indeed,” replied Mr. Thompson. “Itis a good deal hotter than it is down in the valley, and somehow I’ve always had just the other notion about it—that the higher up you got the cool er—.” “Yes,” said Thompson, ‘‘but about that business of yours?” Another fiery blush that looked as if it would scorch the collar off his neck followed this remark, but the stranger held up bravely. He leaned on the desk in an easy careless sort of way, and began to toy with a mucilage brush. “ The fact of the matter is that I wanted to— Here he paused again and meditative ly jammed the mucilage brush into the inkstand. “ What the devil are 3’ou doing with that brush ?” asked the clerk somewhat impatiently. “ Oh, by George —excuse me 1” stam mered the man as he withdrew the brush, spattering the ink all over the Clerk’s shirt-bosom, and, as if it had been molas ses dripping from his fingers, thrust the brush into his mouth, daubing himself with ink and mucilage, aud then bolted from the edifice. “That’s about the worst case I've seen,” remarked Mr. Thompson, ns lie wiped a big ink-spot from the starboard of his Roman nose. “ Crazy as a bedbug,” said Alderman Orndorfj who had been an interested spectator of the whole scene. “ You ought to semi a police%an after that man.” “ No, lie’s not exactly crazy,” replied Thompson, “ I knew from the start that lie wanted a marriage license, and I thought I'd have a little quiet fun, hut lie’s broke the line now and gone otf with the hook.” “ Them Feet.” Free Press. For half an hour before the circus opened yesterday an anxious-looking middle-aged man was observed walking around nervously, as if he had a free ticket and was afraid the show was on the point of busting up. When the ticket wagon opened he made a rush for it and bought a paste-board, but while on his way to the tent, ticket in hand, a woman dodged into the proces sion, seized his collar, and for half a minute the air seemed full of heels. “ Going to the circus, eh ?” exclaim ed the woman as she slammed him around. “ Sneaked out the back way, and made a bee-line for here, did you ?” “Let upon me—stop—for Heaven's sake! stop this disgraceful conduct!” he ejaculated as he tried to keep her at arm’s length. “ Gentlemen,” she said to the crowd, as she held up one foot and then the other—“see them shoes? I’ve worn ’em better nor a year, there hain’t noth ing left but heels and shoe-strings. All the children are just as bad off, and we don't have half enough to eat. That explains why I’m bouncing him—why I’ll make his good-for-nothing heels break his good-for-nothing neck !” They fell over a rope as she grasped HARTWELL, GA., WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 1878. him,Wand kt Hie confusion he broke away, leaving the ticket on the ground. A Iwijf handed it to her, and wiping the mud off her nose with her apron she said: “Ihain't seen no giraffes, nor clowns, nor snakes, nor hyenas for twenty-five years, and being this 'ere ticket is bought I'll walk in and view the gor geousness. and the children shall come to-night if I have to pawn the wash-tub to rajse the money !” Bijali Advises Hie Small boy. ! Detroit Free Frees. A rat of a boy about twelve years old vv; the first caller at Rijah's par lors. • He wanted a certain matter de cided, and he wouldn’t trust any other man in town to decide it for him. Be ing received in a fatherly manner, he began: “ I believe I shall run away and go to Africa.” “ Africa, my son. is more’ll a hundred mi lop away,” replied Bijali. “ They have nojaw-breakers—no gum—no dime novels in Africa.” “I can’t help that—l've got t> leave homJL” continued the lad. “ About a uioii(ii ago some big guuduwu town told dad he ought to make a lawyer of me, and he came tearing home and ordered me to begin to reckon on being a lawyer. Next day someone told mother she ought to make a preacher of me, and when I got home she said she'd make me jump if I didn’t begin to look sol emn and learn to sing a hymn. That’s the case. Dad lie’s sot, and mam she’s sot, and ’tween the two of 'em I'm git tin to be a corpse. If dad asks me how many exclamation points (!!!!) there are in a writ of replevlin, mam she sets in and wants to know why Daniel was chucked into the lion’s deu and my best hold is to skip through the winder and let ’em wrangle over my tracks. It's red-hot for ’em up there, and I've got to embezzle the funds of a bank and take an excursion aboard.” “ Boy, I feel for you,” said Bijali ns he patted the youngster on the head. “Mv parents had the same fuss over me. My respected governor was deter mined that I should be a philosopher, the governess wanted me to be a poet, and my aunt insisted that I learn the hliteksruilh’s trade. One .yelled Dio genes at me —another hammered vol umes of poetry at me—my aunt bought me a sledge aud a pair of bellows. What was the result! I ran away from home and became nothing but a statesman. They lived to repent their action, but it was too late.” “ Have I got to be a statesman ?” ask ed the boy, a lonely quiver in his voice. “I hope not —I hope not. You go homo and say nothing, and I'll make it a pint to call up that wa3 r . I think I can convince your parents of the error of their wa3’s. If I can’t I'll watch for a chance to run ’em down to the cooler and have ’em sent up for disobe dience, and before they come out I’ll make a Washington correspondent of you.” The boy went away feeling good. There was a chance to steal a dog on the corner, but he was too happy to seize it. Hitting the Wrong Man. The following amusing incident occur red not long since in a denominational book store, not a thousand miles from Cornhill, Boston : Amusing it certainly was, though the hero of the occasion has not regained his equanimity. The clerks in this store had acquired the habit of playing off tricks upon each other—practical joking they called it—and one of the tricks was this : If one of the clerks happened to see an other in a sitting posture, selecting books from the lower shelves, he would seize a board, perhaps part of a box cover and smartly spank the stooping victim. Jerry I* was one of the clerks, a simple-minded, good-natured fellow from Vermont, always ready and willing for the hardest kind of work, and prized by his employers accordingly. Jerry had been the chief victim of the spanking process, and lie was determin ed upon revenge —not with malevolence, nor yet with indignation, but simply in the way of fair play. To this end he lay low, watching an opportunity. One afternoon upon returning to the store from an errand, the longed for op portunity seemed to present itself, and Jerry seized it instanter. At the far end of the long counter he saw an individual overhauling books on the very bottom shelf, his body bent at a most tempting angle. Jerry was sure it was Tom S , from whose hands he had received many an emphatic spank, and now was the time to pay off old scores. So he selected a splendid board and creeping noiselessly along to the spot, he gave tlie stooping man a blow that sounded through the store like the burst ing of a retort, and brought him to an erect position like a Jack in the box. Here was a fix. Tom S , at the sound of the blow, appeared from an other part of the store, while the gentle- WHOLE NO. 110. man who hnd bwn struck stood in u t r bewilderment, rubbing away at the af flicted part moat assiduously ; and poor Jerry then discovered to his dismay and deep regret, that ho had struck his cm- ( plover’s parson, the Rev. Dr. B who had been curiously searching among a lot of old Greek ami Hebrew books. Jerry wept with shame and confusion, was forgiven ; and from that that par ticular species of amusement was dis continued in the store. Power of Eloquence. Sargent S. Prentiss, of Mississippi, was one of the most brilliant of orators, as an advocate before a jury, or as a po litical speaker addressing a multitude i from the stump. His was a mind in which there was a rare combination of faculties. Judgment, imagination, mem ory, flic power of expression, and (lie faculty of intense application, each did work to perform a perfect oration. On a certain occasion Prentiss visited Boston and addressed its citizens in Fn ncuil Hall. A gentleman who heard him, then a venerable judge, told tins anecdote, which illustrates the orator’s power. Unable to secure a seat, he stood jammed by the crowd. As Mr. Prentiss began to speuk, the gentleman took out his watch to time him. Ashe was replacing it m his fob, something in the orator’s manner and words arrested liis attention. He found it impossible to take away his eyes or care. He for got tiic presence of tlie crowd, his ow n fatigue, the passage of the time, every thing but the speaker. Mr. Prentiss, as he drew near the close of his address seemed fatigued. So intense was the sympathy of the venerable man with him, that he found himself breathing rapidly and painfully. At last the orator, exclaiming, “My powers fail!” sank exhausted into a chair. Not till then did the aged listener dis cover that his hand was still holding his watch at the opening of its pocket. He looked at it. He had stood in that crowd listening for throe hours and fif teen minutes. Near him stood an aged minister who tremulous with excitement exclaimed: “ Will any one ever doubt again that God inspires man?” Signs of the Weather. Dew is a sign of fine weather, and is never seen except under the cloudless sk3 T . Wind and clouds are sure preven tatives of dew, from the simple reason that clouds arc able to retain some of the solar heat; and, as they can give forth warmth, the radiation from the earth is checked, and the warmer tem perature preserved. Wind evaporates the moisture ns fast as it appears; and if the wind is westerly, there is little dew or cloud to be seen. The contrary is observed with easterly wind, hut a west wind blows over a vast expanse of land, and having lost its vapor, dries up any moisture it may come across ; while an east wind, crossing the Atlantic, is full of vapor and sheds dew on all sides. These remarks, of course, apply chiefly to particular localities, but the influence of a west wind may be seen in the spring. Dew is more copiously deposi ted in the spring and autumn than in summer, as there is usually a great dif ference in those seasons between the temperature of day and night; in the spring, however, there is a small depos it of dew when a west wind prevails; hut in autumn, during the soft influences of south and cast winds, the cartli is covered with moisture. It has also been observed that there is a greater for mation ot dew between sunset and mid night. • Solemn. Wise indeed, will lie the man who profits by the ominous ami portentious signs that loom up in the unknown future, who heeds the distant rambling of the far away hut rapidly approaching storm, that will yet, like the relentless hurricane, or the deadly simoon, sweep over the land. Rut wiser far is he who has learned wisdom and expe rience from the hitter lessons of the long past. Kven as he listens to the cry of the warnings ahead that betokens the breaker, or that death-trap into which so many great, good and honored men have fallen never to rise again—that fatal wj pas of the infernal cledit system. Make no false step —mistake not the clouds that obscure the sun for the brilliant orb itself. The merchant who gets the' everlasting and al mighty dollar for his goods can afford to sell them cheaper than he who scatters them in worthless debts and paper tehose redeemer liveth not. New advanced ideas arc crowding out the old. Pluck instead of luck —cash instead of credit—brains in the place of cheek—nre heating hack and crushing into oblivion the moonshine mer chants with their tough, long time credit prices. Grant was in Denmark three weeks, and not a single newspaper informed its readers that “ there was something rot ten in Denmark is our civilization a failure, or are our newspapers losing their enterprise? —Atlanta Phonograph. A DISTINGUISHED VISITOR. Feck's Sun. The Sun office is in receipt of many calls, but no more distinguished looking man has been in than the one who came in on Monday. It is a settled habit with us to treat every person cordially, and not to be outdone in anything so cially. If a man were to come in with a grievance or a club, and desired, alxive all tilings, to erect a head upon the editor, we should receive him with cordiality, give him a check for his club for the time being, set out n bottle of wine, and gradually draw him out on the subject of finance and other great, questions, previous to throwing him down stairs. Politeness is never thrown away, and there is no person so humble but that he appreciates a pleas ant word, or a cordial shake of the hand. And in these days you can’t tell by n man's appearance, what is in him. A tramp may be clothed in pur ple ink on a fine linen ulster, or the _ millionaire ma)' be dressed ns a tramp. So it is safest to receive warmly any - person who calls. On Monday the door opened and a smiling face peered in. •• Is George in ?” asked the visitor, aud his whole countenance from lire chin Jo , liis hair, was one good natured laygh of T welcome. As the good natured sexton of the office directed the visitor to our room, we instinctively dsvpped our wri ting, stopped in the midst Af an edit.o-, rial, and bottling up ideas that were flowing from the spigot at a great rate. The man walked in and sat his box down on our mahogany desk, the brass nails grating the varnish otf, and the visitor took our hand in both of his, gazed into our soft brindle eye with a i look of mingled love, admiration r.nd devotion, lie was a thick-set, dark complected man, attired in a linen dug i ter, which covers a multitude of sins at times. We amid not plane him, ex-i actly. though lie seemed to know ns like a book. Squeezing our hand like a woman he said he had long looked forward to this day. lie said he had j expected to see a large fat man, and we must excuse him for being surprised at finding a thin, emaciated, homely man in the editorial chair, lie seemed fa miliar to us, but we couldn't tell where we had met him before. In some re spects lie resembled a member of the legislature, and then he Imd the air of a circus agent, lie might be a railroad superintendent, or a high officer of the government. Anyway, he was a dis tinguished guest and we bade him bo seated, lie said he was in a hurry, and lie began to open his box, saying I that he was introducing an article. As he fumbled at the lock of the case wo wondered what was in it. Jt might be a case of duelling pistols, it might be a lot of government bonds, or lie might ie the agent of some millionaire that had died and left 11s much money, aud i it was with anxiety that we awaited the opening of the box. Finally the fop of the burial case be came loosened, and the lid Hew up, and he said there were a few hundred corns and bunions that he had removed from people’s feet, and he wanted to know if we had any to remove. Heavens, what ja fall was there, me countrymen ! Of all t he disgusting sights in the world, a collection of corns and bunions is the worst, and as we readied around for a lemon to ward olf sea-siekness, lie be gan to tell about them, lie picked up a bunion about the size of a peach bas ket and said he removed that from the foot of a young lady living on Van Buren street. If there is one thing we won’t stand, it is to hear a man slander a girl, and knowing that the girl men tioned wore a number one shoe and I that she couldn’t possibly have raised j that bunion unless she raised it in a hothouse, we decided to kill him at once, so we touched a wire connected with a can of nitroglycerine under the the chair in which the bunion was seat ed, and there was an explosion, l'ieces lof linen duster were found up by the water works, and parties who came across the lake on tho Amazon said 'they noticed peculiar looking scales raining down, about half way across the lake, though there was not a cloud to be seen. It was corns and bunions. No one regrets more than we do the necessity of resorting to harsh meas ures to break up this habit of speaking ill of respectable girls, and when we think how pleasantly lie spoke to us, . and how glad lie was, it causes a mo* ; mentary sadness, but someone must I do these disagreeable things. Peace to liis fragments. If the coroner holds an inquest on every bunion and corn that is found, that will be the best pay ing office in the city. George Woods tells this ynrn: A young sprig of the law went to a doctor who gave him a couple of pills: Next <luy the lawyer returned with the report that the pills had no effect on him. The doctor then gave him four pills with the same result, when the old doctor re marked, “My G—d, man, two of those pills ought to act on any one. What sort of a man arc you? What is your business?” “ I’m a lawyer,” replied the young man. A girl says that when she dies she de sires to have tobacco planted over her grave, that the weed nourished by her (lust may be chewed by her bereaved lovers. There is poetry in the idea. An Irishman was once asked to de fine an Irish bull, to which he replied: “ Whenever you see two cows lying down in a field, the one that is standing up is a bull.” While the lamp holds out to burn, it I it is well to keep the parlor blinds down,