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THE SOLDIER TRAMP. A SUrjr With n Bn<! Bt-iriiuilng ami a tiuoU Eudiug. “No tramps here,” said I, and shut the door iu his face, I did. The wim blew so, that I could hardly do it, ant tho sleet was beating on the panes, anc the pear trees were groaning aud moan ing as if they suffered in the storm. “No tramps here; I’m a lone woman, and I’m afraid of ’em.” Then the man 'I hadn’t 6ecn yet, for the dark—went away from the door. Champ, chauip, champ, came the man back again, and knocked on the door— knocked not half so loud as he did be fore—and I opened it hot and angry. This time I saw his face—a pale ghost of a face—with yellow-brown hair, crop ped close, and great staring blue eyes, and he put his hand against the door and held it. “ How near is the next house, ma’am?” said he. “ Three miles or more,” said I. “And that is not a tavern?” “ No,” said I, “no drinks to be got ■ there ; its Miss Mitten’s and she’s as set against tramps as I am.” “ I don’t want to drink,” said the man —though Ido want food. You needn’t be afraid to let me in, ma’atn. I’ve been wounded and am not able to walk far, and my clothes are thin, and its bit ter cold. I’ve been trying to get to my parents at Grecnbank, where I can rest until lam better; and all my money was stolen from me three days ago. You needn’t be afraid ; let me lie just before the fire, and only give me a crust, the stalest crust, to keep me from starving, and the Lord will bless you for it.” And then he looked at me with his wild eyes in a way that would have made me do it if it hadn’t been I’d seen so much of thesaimpostors. The war was just over, and %very beggar that came along said he was a soldier traveling home, and had been wounded and rob bed. Oue that I had been fool enough to help limped away out of sight, as he thought, and then—for I was at the gar ret window —shouldered his crutches and tramped it with the strongest. “No doubt your pocket is full of money,” I said, “ and you only want a chance to rob and murder me. Go away with you !” Drusilla—that’s my niece—was bak ing cakes in the kitchen. Just then she came to the door and motion ed with her mouth to me: “Do let him stay, auntieaud if I had not had bet ter sense I might, but I knew better than a chick of sixteen. “Go away with you !” says I, louder than before; “ I wont have this any longer.” And he gave a kind of groan, and took his band from the latch, and then he went champ, champ, through the frozen snow again, aud I thought him gone, when there he was once more, hard ly with a knock at all, a faint touch, like a child’s. Aud when I opened the door again he came quite in and stood leaning on his cane, pale as a ghost, his eyes bigger than ever. “ Well, of all the impudence!” said I. He looked at me and then said : “ Madam, I have a mother at Green bank. I want to live to see her; I shall not if I try to go airy farther to-night.” “ They all want to see their mothers,” and just then it came into my mind that I hoped my sou Charlie, who had been a real soldier, an officer he had come to be, mind you, wanted to see his, aud would, soon. “ I have been wounded} as you can see,” said he. “Don’t go a showing me your hurts,” said I; “ they buy ’em, so they told me, to go a begging with now. I read the papers, I tell ye, and I’m principled, and so’s our clergyman, against giving anything unless its through some well organized society. Tramps arc myl abomination. And as to keeping you all night, you can’t expect that of de cent folks —go!” Drusilla came to the door and said : ‘‘Let him stay, auntie,” with her lips again, but I took no notice. So lie went, and this time he did not come back, and I sat down by the fire aud smelt the baking cakes and the ap ples stewing, aud the tea drawing on the kitchen stove, and I ought to have been very comfortable, but I wasn’t. Some thing seemed tugging at my heart all the time. I gave the fire a poke and lit another caudle to cheer myself up, and I went to my w’ork-basket to get the sock I had been kuitting for my Charlie, aud as I went to get it I saw something lying on the floor. I picked it up. It was an old tobacco pouch, ever so much like the one I gave Charlie, with fringe around it, and written on it in ink: “ From C. F. to R. H.” and inside w as a bit of tobacco and a rumpled old letter; and when I spread it, I saw on the top, “ My dear son.” I knew the beggar must have dropped it and my heart gave one big thump—a thump as though it had been turned in to a hammer. Perhaps the story was true, and he had a mother. I shivered all over, aud the fire and candles and nice, comforta ble smells might as well not have been at all. I was cold and wretched. And over and over again had I to say to myself what I had heard our pastor say so often : “ Never give anything to chance beggais, my’dear friends; always bestow your alms on worthy persons, through some well-organized societies,” before I could get a bit of comfort. And a fool 1 was to cry, I thought, when I found my cheeks wet. But I did not erv long, for, as I sal there, dash aud crash and jingle came a The Hartwell Sun. By BENSON & McGILL. VOL. Ill—NO. 51. Isleigh over the road and stopped at our Igate, and I heard my Charlie’s voice ■crying, “ Halloa mother 1” And out 1 Iwcnt to the door, and had him in my ■arms —my great, tall, handsome, brown Ison. And there he was in his uniform Iwith his pretty shoulder straps, and as ■hearty as if he had never been through ■any hardships. He had to leave me to Iput the horse up, and then I had by the Ifire my own son. And Drusilla, who ■had been up stairs, and had beeu crying I —why, I wondered?—came down stairs Bin a flutter, for they were like brother land sister, and he kissed her and she ■kissed him, and then away she went to ■set the table, and the nice hot tilings ■smoked on a cloth as white as snow; land how Charlie enjoyed them ! But loncc, iu the midst of ail, I felt a fright lened feeling come over me, and I know II turned pale, for Drusilla said : “What is the matter, aunt Fairfax?” I said nothing; but it was this, kind ■o’ like the ghost of a step, going champ, Ichamp, over the frozeu snow; kind o' 11 ike the ghost of voice saying, “ Let me ■lie on the floor, and give me any kind of |a crust;” kind o’ like some oue that had |a mother down on the wintry road freez- Jing and stating to death. This is what ]it was. Blit T put 'it away and only |thought of Cliame. We drew up together by the fire when ■the tea was done, and be told things |about the war I'd never heard before —: |how thesoldiers suffered, and what weary! |marches and short rations they rome-fl [times had. And then he told me howl [he had been set upon by the foe and! [badly wounded ; and how, at the risk! |of his own life, a fellow soldier lmdß Laved him, and carried him, fighting hi.-a [path, back to the camp. | “I'd never seen you, but for him,”■ Lays my Charlie. “ And if there’s [man on earth I love, its Bob Iladnwayl | —the dearest, best fellow! We’v<p [shared each other’s rations and drank! from the same canteen many and manjg times, and if I had a brother I couldn’t! think more of him.” “ Why didn’t you bring him home to! Lee your mother, Charlie?” said I. “ I’d! love him too, and anything I could d< a [for him, for the man who saved my boy’s! life, couldn’t be enough. Send for him,! [Charlie.” But Charlie shook his head and cov-1 ered his face with his hands. ! (* Alother,” lm, “J .mu t knovH whether Rob Hadaway is alive or dead! to-day. While I was still in the ranks! he was taken prisoner; and military! prisons are poor places to live in, moth-B er. I’d give ray right hand to be able! to do him any good, but I can find no! [trace of him. And he has a mother,! too, and she is so fond of him ! She! lives at Greenbank —poor old lady. Myl dear, good, noble Bob, the preserver oil my life!” I And I saw that Charlie was nearly crying. Not to let us see the teal's, be got up [and went to the mantlepiece. I did not [look around until I heard a cry-- “ Great Heavens ! what is it?” And I turned, and Charlie had the [tobacco pouch the man had dropped, in ■his hand. “ Where did this come from?” said he. 1“ I feel as though I’d seen a ghost. I [gave this to Bob Hadaway the day lie ■saved me. We soldiers had not much [to give, you know, and he vowed never to part with it while he lived. How did it come here, mother?” And I fell hack in my chair, white and cold, and said I— “A wandering tramp left it here. Never your Bob, my dear; never your Bob, my dear; never your Bob. He must have been an impostor. I would not have turned away a person really in want. Oh, no, no; its another pouch, child, or he stole it. A tall fellow, with blue eyes, and yellow brown hair; wounded, he said, and going to his moth er at Greenbank. Not your Boh. And Charlie stood staring at me with clenched hands; and said lie — “It was iny Bob ! it was my dear old Bob, wounded and starving! my dear old Bob, who saved my life, and you ye driven him out such a night as this, mother! My mother ;to use Bob so!”] “ Condemn me, Charlie,” said I—] “ condemn me if you like —I’m afraid! God will. Three times he came back three times he asked only for. a crustj and a place to lie, and I drove him awayl —l —l—and he’s lying now in the road] Oh ! if I had kflowu.” And Charlie caught up his hat. “ I’ll find him if lie is alive,” said he] “ Oh, Boh, my dear friend !” And then—l never girl in such a taking. Down went Drusilla on her knees as if she was saying her prayers, and says she — “ Thank God I dared to do it!” And says she again td me—“Oh! aunt, I’ve been trembling with fright, not knowing wliat you’d say to me. I took him iu the kitchen way. I couldn’t see him go faint and hungry and wound ed, and I put him in the chamber over the parlor, and I’ve beeu frightened all the while.” “Lord bless you, Drusilla!” said Charlie. “Amen,” saidl. HARTWELL, GA., WEDNESDAY AUGUST 20. 1879. And shogetting bolder, went on— “And 1 took him up some hot short cake and aiiple-sass and tea," said she, “ and I took him a candle, and a hot brick for his leet, and I told him to go to bed in the best chamber, Aunt Fair fax, with the white counterpane and all, and I locked him in and put the key in my pocket, and told him that he should have oue night's rest, and that no oue should turn him out unless they walked over my dead body.” And Drusilla said it like an actress in a tragedy, and went off into hysterics the moment the words were out of her mouth. She’d beeu expecting to be hall murdered, you know, and the girl was but sixteen, aud always before minded me as if I was her mother. Never was there an old sinner so hap py as I was that night, so thankful to the good Lord ; and it would have done your heart good if you had gone to set the two meet in the morning—Charlie aud his friend Bob. And Charlie had a mother that was not pot? 'one''’ an< * helped Bob into business. well over his wounds, at last," A l 'V-w as handsome as a picture, ailu jay week he is going to marry Drusilla. “ I’d give you anything I have,” said I, “ and I wont refuse you Drusilla,” when he asked me, telliug me that Ik loved her since she was so kind to him on the night I’ve told you of. And Charlie is to stand up with him, bud I am to give Drusilla away, and [Bob’s sister from Greenbank is to be bridesmaid, and I have a guess that Lome day Charlie will bring her home to me in Brasilia's place. I don’t drive beggars from the door now as 1 used, and no doubt I’m often imposed upon, but this is what I say: Better to be imposed upon always than to be cruel to one who needs help. And u’ve read my Bible better of late, aud I know who says, “ Inasmuch as ye have Mono it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me.” | Happiness, Where it is to he Found. Happiness is the great object of hu man pursuit, as the conduct of all men [in every age abundantly exemplify, [since the fall of man efforts as varied [and diversified as the conditions and spheres of men And !‘f c V magnitude of its importance can Lily be conceived by the risks run, the crosses borne, the sacrifices of health, wealth, time and talent made for its possession. The military hero will risk his life for that honor, in the possession ot which he imagines he will be made [happy. The man who endeavors to [make his mark on earth’s political arena [will submit to many buffets and sneers, [and shoulder many arduous burthens, [that his name as a man of honor may be wafted by every breeze that sweeps across the country. The aspirant for literary fame will waste time wealth and health for that which he conceives will make him happy —fame. If what we have stated be true, that all the energies of man since his fall have been expended in pursuit ol hap piness, he of course will be considered the benefactor of his race who can tell where this heaven-bought boon may be obtained. The Mussulman in bowing to his prophet, never found it. '1 he pagan in adoring his idol, never oxperi frnced it. The votaries of fashion seek t with an eastern devotion by bowing it its shrine. The lover of gold and silver searches for it, and counts his fortune by millions, imagining that the time will soon come when contentment around his heart will fold its happy wing, and not a wave of trouble e’er again roll across his peaceful breast. But, alas ! to none of them who seek it in this way does that period ever come ! Where is it to be found ? We answer in following him who says : “ My ways are ways of pleasantness, and all My paths are paths of peace.” Italian (jirls. The girls of Italy do many things our young ladies would not think of do ing,"and they leave unlearned certain [accomplishments which only the very [poorest American fair ones pass by, [ I’he Italian bride makes her own outfit, [and, as the trousseau consists of six [dozen of everything, being intended |to last twenty-five years, and all must ■be embroidered and frilled, the task is loot an easy one. * But they take their [time to it, occupying two years in get ■ting it in shape, and all the while the work goes on the lovers are courting. The husband gives the dresses, shawls, everything, in fact, but the undercloth ing. Italian girls do not learn to sing, draw and play the piano. These are left to people who earn their living by them. But they are taught to sew, cook and iron. Pulverized alum possesses the prop erty of purifying water. A large spoonful stirred into a hogshead of water will so purify it that in a few hours tiie impurities will all sink to the bottom, and the water will be fresh and clear. Four gallons maybe purified by a teaspoonful of alum. Devoted to Hart County. it is doubtful if any theatre ever of fered such volumes of romantic inci dents as the deck of the old time Mis sissippi steamer. In the old days be fore the railroads traversed the conti nent in every direction, and the West was a wilderness, New Orleans was the Mecca of travelers, and the fleet wave born carried thousands of pleasure seek ers to the South. It was then that life was a carousal; and men and women surrendered themselves to the most lav ish enjoyments. Gaming was a custom and courage and instinct. Men were as prone to brawls as the sparks to fly up ward. Conspicuous among the fierce and frolicing habitues of the steamer was Captain West, a noted duelist. One day he engaged in a controversy with a gentleman whom he met on the deck, whom he accused of staring at him impertinently. “Whydo you look at me so intent ly?” demanded the captain. “I am not looking at you.” calmly replied the stranger, his eyes meanwhile fixed with a stony glare upon the du elist’s face. “ But you arc sir.” “ I am not.” The captain turned away, hut a short time afterward he felt that those stony eyes were again upon him and follow ing all his movements with pitiless fe rocity. It became inexpressibly annoy ing, and the captain at last determined to stop it. Stepping up to the side of the stranger lie inquired with sup pressed passion : “Can you fight as well as loojc?” “ Perhaps so. I never tried it. Place me, however, in position and I will do my best.” The singular conduct of the stranger had by this time attracted universal at tention, and whispered conferences re garding his remarkable appearance ag itated little groups of persons all over the boat. In a shorttime, however, the vessel rounded the lauding for wood, and then the parties to the impromptu duel went ashore. The stranger was led off by a negro servant, who seem ingly picked his way. Indeed from the intense interest he was manifesting in the encounter, the colored servant was apparently more deeply interested in the encounter, than his master. But the time alotted for preliminaries was brief, and the men were put into posi tion and pistols placed in their hands. The word was given and two ringing reports flashed out on the air. Captain West fell pierced to the heart. The stranger stood erect, calm and dignified. His second rushed up to him. “ Are you hurt?” “ No; how is it with my antagonist?” “Can't you sec? You have killed him.” “ No; lam unable to see.” “ You can’t see?” “No; I’m blind.” And he was. The tragedy was a nine days’ wonder, and all sorts of ru mors were rife as to the identity of the k n K TiII.MOM AL. Littlo Mi** Featherweight* J Miming along, * Haughty ami MiTogunt, Traiu a yard long; Too proud to notiro Shop window or warn*, Kndo ami uulndy-liko. Rutting oil aim. Tonne Mr. Noltody, Living quite ]ill<r ot podigroo, Hank in tho pant! KuiHing with fondnoH* A tow Milken haita, Leaning on relative*, l’utiing on air*! Little Mi mm Foatliorwoiglit MeetH Mr. N , * “ Angel in petticoat* “ SwoetoHt oi men Giggle and lmiidinage, Love unaware*; Bach to the other one Rutting on air*, a ‘ Young Mr. Nohodv Mnrrie the mara; She hlushoM tenderly. He half afraid. Now we’ve two Nobody*— Dove* go in pair*— *, Spending the honeymoon, Rutting on airs. One year ha* passed away, Mask* are thrown duwu j She a virago proves, Hto bu t a down ! Stranger*, the XobW** - v Ra* oi> yjLo ataii M ; / i VUE MK i DVOuM.Y . BY RUGRNK FIRM), Algernon’* Ethel * papa ha* a Newly painted front pioxxa. He ha* a piazza. ■When with tobacco juice ’twa* tainted, They had the front piazza painted. That tainted Riazza painted. Algernon called around perchance That night arrayed in goodly pant*— That night perchance In gorgeon* pant*. Engaging Ethel in a chat On the piazza down they *at— Jii chat They *at. And when an hour or so bad pars'd JHo tried to rise hut, oh! Muck fust— At luNt Stuck fast ! Pair Ethel shrieked, “ It i* the paint !** And fainted iu a deadly faint— This Muint Did faint. Algernon Hit* there till llii* day— He cannot tear himself away— Away ? Nay, nay! Tlis pant* arc tinii, the paint i* dry— He* nothing else to do hut die— To die— O my ! TUimumru Tsrrnv. $1.50 Per Annum. WHOLE NO. 155. fivtal stranger. But who lie whs hikl where he went was a mystery never solved. The circumstances went to make up an incident in the dark and bloody memories which made fainote the olden time. Balky Horses. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, puts forth the fol lowing rules for the treatment of a balky horse: 1. Pat the horse upon the neck ; ex amine the harness carefully, first on one side and then on the other, speaking encouragingly while doing so, then jump into the wagon and give the word go ; generally he will obey. 2. A teamster in Maine says lie can start tho worst balky horse by taking him out of the shafts and making him go round in a circle till he is giddy. If the first dance of this sort doesn't cure him the second will. 3. To cure a balky horse, simply place your hand over the horse’s nose and shut off his wind till he wants to go, and then let him go. 4. The brain of the horse seems to entertain but one idea at a time; there Tore, continued whipping only confirms his stubborn resolve. If you can by any means give him anew subject to think of, you will generally have nq trouble in starting him. A simple rem edy is to take a couple of turns of stout twine around the foreleg, just below the knee, tight enough for the horse to feel; and tie a bow-knot. At the first Check he will go dancing oil, and after going a short distance you can get out and remove the string to prevent injury to the tendon in your further drive. 5. Take the tail of a horse between the hind legs and tie it by a cord to a saddle-girth. C. Tie a string around the horse’s ear close to its head. 7. Give him about four ounces ot good gravel to chew. That will divert his mind, and start him. A Philosophic Fiend. AVue York Star. IJI '(XU.bI Pk/l to. nail-ct-I-W walked into an office the other day. “We have no use for one,” replied the cashier. “But you should always look into the mist}' future,” went on the fiend demurely, “ next winter you will want to make holes in your boot heels, so you can get your skates on.” “ I use club skates—no straps re quired.” “ You may want to screw some boards together some time. The old fashioned method of driving the screws iu with a hammer is pernicious, as it deteriorates the tenacity of the fangs of the screw as it were.” *• Nothing to-day, sir.” “This gimlet also acts as a cork screw.” “ I don't want it.” “ It also may be used as a tack ham mer, a cigar-holder, and a tooth brush." “ I don’t want it.” “ It lias an eraser, a pen, an inkstand, a table for computing compound inter est, and a lunch box attachment.” “ I can’t help it; I don’t want it.” “ I know you don’t you’re one of these mean men that won’t buy a gimlet un less it has a restaurant, and a trip through Europe, and an Italian Opera Company attached. You’re the kind of a man who would live near an elec tric, light to save a gas hill.” And the peddler walked out with his mental plumage on the perpendicular. Mother’s Affection. Many of you have fond mothers to] care for, watch over and keep you from] harm and danger. Then let ine iin-S press it on you to never cease being! kind to your ever obliging mother] Those of you who have mothers do not! know how to appreciate them; but] alas ! when that lovely form is taken] away then and not till then will you! realize the value of one. If you have] spoken an unkind word or disobliged] her, will not those harsh words rise] often in your memory long after that] lovely form has been laid in the coldj dark grave, and cause your heart to! throb with pain ? What would you! not give then to have her buck to tell] her how you had wronged her and how] you had sinned against Heaven in dis-j obliging her; but regrets arc useless] after she has passed from earth away] We think- yea, we know a mother isj the kindest friend we have. She is soj thoughtful and tender; she has the first care, and is ever ready to do some thing to promote the happiness andi contentment of those around her, and! the sorrow we experience in the loss oil a mother is unsurpassed, for a Mother lout in childhood Uneven the heart from day to day, We mine her n ell tie hand, Her fond and earnest care, And oh! how dark in life around n, What la home without her there, There is no grief like the grief which does not speak. A fine coat may cover a fool, but never conceals one. SOUTHERN INDEPENDENCE. The following characteristic iittlc sketch is from the Natchez, Miss., Dem ocrat : “ Halloo, stranger yon seem to be goinir to market r” “Yes, sir, I arc.” “ What arc you carrying that plow along for ?” “ Going to send ft to littsburg.” " To Pittsburg, in Pennsylvania!” " You're mighty right, I am.” •' What are you going to send it there fof ?” “ To get sharpened.” “ All the way to l’ittslnirg to get sharpened ?” “ You bet! We’ve starved our blacksmith out. He pulled up stakes the other day and went to Texas.” ” Well, that's a rather novel idea my friend—sending a plow so far to get sharpened.” “ Not so novel as you heard it was. We do our milling in St. Louis.” " Is that so ?” " You’re right it is. We used to have a mill at Pimkinvino creek, but the owner got too poor to keep it lip and so we turned to getting our grind ing tlone at St. Louis.” “ You don’t mean to say you send your grist all the way to St. Louis by rail ?” “ I didn't say nothing about grist— we hain’t got no grist to send. But we get our flour and meal from St. Louis.” “ I see you have a hide in your wagon.” “ Yes our old cow died lust week. March winds Mowed the life out'n her. Sendin’ hide to Boston to get it tanned.” " All tho way to Boston ? Is not that rather expensive, my friend ? The freights will eat the hide up.” “That’s a fact—cleaner than the buzzards did the old critter's carcass. But what's the use bein’ taxed to build railroads, ‘thout you get tiie blood of ’em ? Used to have a lanyard over at Lickskillett, and a shoemaker, too. But they kerfluimnnxed.” “ Kcrflummuxed—what’s that ?” “ It means gone up a spout—and twlxt you and me that’s mighty nigh the ease with our State.” “When do you expect to get your leather ?” “ Don’t expect to get no leather at all—expect to get bliocs, some day, made at Boston or thereabouts,” “ Rather a misfortune to lose a milk cow, my friend.” “ Not so much of a misfortune as you heard it was. Monstrous sight of shuckin’ and unibbin in a cow, and milkin’ iicr night and mornin’ and got ten only ’bout three quarts a day.” ‘‘ Whflt iirp umiiHiiiur £itp mill/ 2’^ “ Semi North for milk ?” “ Yes; concentrated milk and Go shen butter.” “Oh! I see the point." “Mighty handy things, these, rail roads—make them Yankee fellers do all our jobs for us, now—do our smith in’, and grimliu’, and tailin', and milk in’, and churnin.’ ” “ Yes, we go our bottom nickel on cotton. Sendin’ it up to Massachu setts to get carded, spun and wove. Time'll come when we'll send it there to be ginned, then we we'll be happy. Monstrous sight of trouble running these gins.” “That would he rather expensive, sending cotton in seed.” “No more so than them Western fellers pays when they send corn East and get a dollar a bushel and pay six bits freight. Besides as, I said, what is tiie use of paying for railroads'thout we use tho rood ?” “ You seem to appreciate the value of railroads.” “ I think wc ought —wc pay enough for ’em.” “ I reckon you fatten your own pork ?” “ Well, you reckon wrong, stranger. I get them lllinoy fellers to do that for me. It’s mighty convenient, too; monstrous sight oi' trouble toting a big basket full of corn three times a day to hogs in a pen, especially when you hain’t got none to tote it to.” “ I should think so.” “ There’s one thing lacking though to make the business complete.” “ What’s that ?” “ They ought to send them hogs ready cooked. Cookin’, and preparin’ wood for cookin’, takes up a heap of time that ort by rights to be employed (in the cotton patch. I was sayin’ to my old woman, the other day, if we .Mississippi folks got our cookin’ and washin’ done up North and sent by ex press we'd be as happy as officeholders.” “ Your horse In the lead there seems [to be lame.” | “ Yes, needs shoein’. If he wasn't the only horse I’ve got, and can’t spare him I’d send him up where they make [the horse shoes and nails and get him [shod. Can’t get such a thing done in [our parts. Perhaps I can at the depot.” j “ How do you manage to live in [your parts, my old friend ?” I “ Why, we raise cotton. My road {turns off here, stranger. Gee, Ball, Iback Brandy, I’m glad I seed you, [stranger.” I A little boy was told by his grand [inother to turn down a leaf in the fam |ily Bible every time he told a lie. At ■the end of a week the old lady asked ■him how many lies he had told in the ■seven days. He silently handed her ■the holy book. She turned over page ■after page, and at length said angrily, 1“ Why, you little brat, you’ve lied all |the way from Genesis to Revelations, land half way through the Psalm*.” | Read what you do read carefully.