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UNCLE ZEKE AND ‘THE ELECTRIC TRAP. Some years ago there moved to the neighborhood of Uncle Zeke’s cabin a gentleman from New York, whose identity may be disguised under the name of Smith. The new-comer en gaged vigorously in farming, and by liberal employment and prompt pay ment soon gained the good will of all the colored men around him. Uncle /eke in particular was never weary of chanting his praises, and many a bushel of oysters did Ezekiel convert into money at Bellevue, as Smith’s estate was called. But all the good-will of his humble neighbors did not suffice to keep Mr. Smith from pilferings. Slioats would disappear mysteriously during the night, geese and turkeys would take wing for parts unknown, and, in partic ular. the corn-crib would show by un mistakable signs that its sanctity had been violated. To the story of these various losses would Uncle Zeke in cline a sympathetic car, and his “Well, now, who ever heard de like o’ that ? I *elar to goodness these yer boys is gittin’ wusser an’ wusser,” evinced alike his detestation of the crime and his contempt for the offender. Smith's patience was at last exhaust ed, and he determined upon vigorous measures for the protection of his property. His first experiment was to place a light spring rat-trap artistically Concealed in a heap of shelled corn, close by the cat-hole in the corn-crib door, expecting that the unwary thief, plunging his hand recklessly through the hole into the heap, would be caught and held until someone came to set him free. But lo! next morning the trap was found sprung and the heap of corn diminished! but the thief had vanished and left no trace behind. At last a good sized box arrived from New York, and the next day the local carpenter was ordered to fix brass bandies to the corn-crib; one to be put alongside the door for convenience, as Mr. Smith publicly explained, of steady ing one's self while turning the other. The second handle had a latch attach ed to it by which the door was secured on the inside, and it was set in such a position that any one turning it must hold on by the other knob to prevent being thrown backward by the opening door. Both handles were profusely decorated w r ith glass, and elicted much admiration from the hands who submit ted them to a critical examination. The carpenter’s work being finished, Smith, in presence of all his colored employes, solemnly repeated in front of the corn-crib the first two lines of the second book of Virgil’s “TEneid,” and announced that his corn was thence forward secure. A box, stated to con tain seeds, was that afternoon deposi ted in the crib, and during the early part of the night the proprietor of Bellevue secretly busied himself with a coil of insulated wire. Numerous and diverse were the speculations among the darkies, Jim Oakley “ lowed Mis’ Smith done’witch ed dat ar corn-house, sho’ ’miff. Tell you, gemmen, you touch dem ’ere handles evil spirit carry you away. llow do you know dere no such ting ? llush, boy ; go see what de Bible say ’bout dem ting.” l’ete Lee “didn’t b’lieve in no sperits; got a gun fix somewhar inside dat house; turn de handle an’ de gun go off. Seen dem tings afore up de country when I lived in Goozleum.” Another theorist aver red that “ while Mis’ Smith sayin’ dat ar scripter ober dem handles he seen a white pigeon come a-sailin’ roan’ an’ roun’ an’ roun’, an’ done light on de peek o’ de corn-house roof. Hi tell you, sar, sumpin up, sho.” Uncle Zeke, like the rest, was troubled in his mind, but, unlike his fellows, he determined to waste no time in speculation, but to seek his inform ation from headquarters. Prepared with half a bushel of oysters as an ex cuse for conversation, he sought an in terview with Mr. Smith, and boldly propounded his questions. “ Mis’ Smith, what yon bin a-doin’ to that ar crib o’ yourn ?” “ Why, Uncle Zeke, what do you want to know for ?” “ Oh, nuffin, sar; sorter curns like. Hearn all the boys talkin’ ’bout it— never see nuffin like dat afore.” “ Well, Uncle Zeke, I can’t very well explain it to you; but I just advise you —don’t go near that crib after dark or you may see something you don’t like.” And Uncle Zeke departed, re volving many things in his mind. It was midnight—the hour when churchyards are said to yawn, not with exhaustion, but returning animation. In front of the enchanted corn-house The Haktwell Sun. By BENSON & McGill. VOL. IV—NO. ‘,’o. stood Brother Ezekiel, a lengthy pole in his hand a capacious meal-bag over his shoulder. In silent meditation he stood for some five minutes delibera ting on the best plan of attack. The great New found land *dog bounded to ward him, evidently in rejoicing wel come. Forth from his pocket tlx! old man drew a savory bit of fried bacon, which the'fnithless dog eagerly devour ed. The reflection ended, the dog' lay contentedly on the ground and watch ed the subsequent proceedings with the air of a totally disinterested observer. “ ’Clar to goodness, now,” muttered Uncle Zeke, "wish I understood ’bout dis ting. Can't be no spring-trap like las’ time, kase how he gwine to spring froo de doah ? lve !he ! Done bodder Mis’ Smith sho’ nuff when lie find dat ole rat-trap sprung and nuffln cotch. Hi! Can’t fool dis yere child wid no traps. No sar! Done sec too much for dat.” Uncle Zeke paused, scratched his head meditatingly, and then resumed his soliloquy— “ Well, I declar, ef dis yere don't beat preachin’ it mus’ be a gun in dar. Ef ain't no gun, den dcre ain’t nuffin dere—all foolishness. Anyway, Iso gwine for try him.” Uncle Zeke tiirew his bag to the ground, stepped to one side of the house, and with his pole struck a sharp blow on the brass knob nearest him. Nothing followed. He pried against it with a stick, but still without effect. He went to the other side of the house and repeated his experiments on the second knob, but still all remained quiet. Uncle Zeke now drew from his poc ket a skelton key, mounted the ladder, and in a trice had opened the padlock which held the door. “ Dar, now, just as I thought. De boss done humbug dem fool niggers, make urn tink dis yere house witched. Ain't nuffin dar, sho’ nuff.” The old darkey reached up and cau tiously turned the handle. The door opened a little, and, casting away all fear, Uncle Zeke boldly reached for the other knob to steady himself while he swung back the door. Literally like a flash of lightning the electric discharge passed through him. The muscles of his fingers contracted, and he could not release his hold of the enchanted handles. At last his feet slipped from the ladder, and the weight of his body tore his hands adrift. Like a log the old man drop ped to the ground, and lay groaning, praying and generally bewildered. “ Oh, de Laws Gor A’raighty! Oh, my Heabenly Marster! Whoeber thought o’ dat! My consc’ence done wake up! Hearn ’bout it often, an’ now I knows it. Oh, my Heabenly Marster! ef you let’s up on me dis time Uncle Zeke neber touch nuffin no mo’. ’Clar to goodness, Ise a changed man from dis day. And with the shock, the fright and the fall, Uncle Zeke’s senses seemed leaving him. “ Ezekiel!” said a solemn voice. Instinctively Uncle Zeke answered him —“ Here me,” and looked in the direc tion of the sound. Oh, horror! A figure clad in white was nearing him with slow and solemn steps. As the mysterious visitor approached it seem ed to rise until it towered to the height of at least ten feet. The wretched Ezediel, on his hands, and knees, his eyes protruding, and his jaw dropped, remained paralyzed. Suddenly the phantom bowed itself, and his hand descending with incredi ble swiftness, smote the unfortunate Uncle Zeke senseless to the earth. Three days later, as poor Uncle Zeke lay, racked with rheumatism and tor mented with spiritual fear, upon his bed in the single room at his cabin, the door opened and in walked Mr. Smith of Bellevue. “ Good morning, Uncle Zeke. Why, what’s the matter with you, old man ?” “ Oh, Mis’ Smith ! oh, Mis’ Smith, I done had some turrible sperences latety. De angel ob de Lord done wrastle wid me, an’ my consc'ence done woke, and oh my Heabenly Marster, Ise one suf ferin’ sinner. Mis’ Smith, is your bin —is you done—is you m-miss any ting wid dat ar c-corn-house o’ yourn ?” HAKTWELL, GA., WEDNESDAY JANUARY 14, 1880. “No, indeed, Uncle Zeke; nobody been near it. Everything all right now." “ And noftf*ly done touch the lock ? Do you look ebery morning ?" •• Yes, indeed. Why, who do you think would touch it, old man ?” *• Uncle Zeke answered not, but his lips moved convulsively, as he mutter ed. “ Knock me down fust, an’ den lock de iloar an’ took de key. Now I know it was dc angel ob de Lord.” Affectation. Athene linnner. Webster says affectation is “ false pretense,” and Locke calls it “ an awk ward and forced imitation of what shold be genuine and easy, wanting the beauty that accompanies what is natu ral.” It is most commonly the result of youthful vanity, by which we mean an empty conceit of one’s personal beauty and decorations, and an over weening desire to gain the attention of others. It is often combined with in experience, and always with an emo tional nature without reflection or good judgment. We sec it exhibited in at tempts to copy the speech, looks, dress and gestures of those supposed to be superior, and it is noticeable that the models selected are generally of the worst character. The high ruffs of the days of Queen Elizabeth were invent ed to conceal the scraggy neck of her majesty, and many a good fellow of the gas or feathery temperament lias made himself ridiculous in wearing large lull ing collars, a melancholy look, and writing verses like a would-be Byron. The author of Gil Bias tells a stor}’ of a very celebrated actor that imita ted the squeal of a pig almost to per fection. A countryman stood him a wager he could beat him at his partic ular game. The two appeared on the stage—the countryman enveloped in a loose cloak. When the man of author ity squealed, the theater resounded witli applause; when the countryman opened his lips in dumb show the spec tators hissed from every side of the house. “ Look here, good people and most excellent critics,” said the coun tryman, quickly slipping a pinched pig from under his cloak, “ Look and hear again—for it is not me you hiss—but this poor pig!” This story is from life several hun dred years ago, when folks were ignor ant of railroads, false hair, false faces, social and political thimble-rigging, and mean electioneering whisky. It was in the days before small men and weak women were puffed into notoriety, and humbugs were all the go. The people then never suspected a cheat, and con sequently they were easily deceived as to the squeal of a real or counterfeit pig. Not so now, in this free age and country of progress. If “ Solomon in all his glory ” were to assume wisdom, or Samson strength, or Judas a virtue, the boys and girls would detect the im posture and hiss the true pig. On the whole, we conclude that it is better and easier to be wise, virtuous, beautiful, strong and brave than to seem to be. With all jour alfectation time will reveal j’ou as you are in spite of paint, and putty, feathers and fuss. The ass was known in the lion's skin, and the crow in the plumage of the peacock. Stupidity can be seen under the helmet of Minerva, and they are not always brave who wear the beards of Hercules or frowning Mars. The African Hone)-bird. The honey-bird is about as large as a gray mocking-bird, and is of similar color. It endeavors to attract the attention of travelers, and to induce them to follow it. When it suc ceeds thus far, it almost inevitably leads the person who follows to a nest of wild bees. When on the route, it keaps up an incessant twittering, as if to assure its follower of success, and often alights on the ground or a bush, and looks back to see if the person was still in pursuit. The native Africans, when conducted by the bird, frequently answer its twit tering with a whistle as they proceed, for the purpose of signifying to their con ductor that they are still following. When the bird arrives at the hollow tree or other place where the honey is deposited, it hovers over the spot, points at the deposit with its bill, and perches Devoted to Hart County. on a neighboring bush or tree to await its share of the plunder. This is the usual termination of the adventure. But sometimes the honey-bird seems to be actuated by a love of mischief, and then instead of leading the traveler to a bee’s nest, it conducts him to the lair of some wild beast, and then flies away with a twittering which sounds a good deal like laughter. Gordon Gumming, tho “lion killer,” once followed a honey bird which conducted him to the retreat of a huge crocodile; and having intro duced the traveler to its august presence, tho little feathered joker took a hasty leave, evidently much delighted with the success of his trick. A Hint to Brain Drinkers. CamjtbfU't Lecture at MayJieUt, Ky. Barkeepers pay, on an average, $2 per gallon for whisky. One gallon con tains nn average of fifty-five drinks, and at ten cents a drink the poor man pays $0.50 per gallon for his whisky; in other words he pays $2 for the whisky and $4.50 to a man for handing it over the bar. While it would lie better for him not to drink, some men will have whisky, and my advice to them is this —'Make your wife your barkeeper. Lend her $2 to buy a gallon of whisky for a beginning, and every time you want a drink go to her and pay ten cents for it. By the time you have drank a gallon sho will, have $0.50, or cuough money to refund tho $2 borrow ed of you, to pay for another gallon of liquor and have a balance of $2.50. She will be able to conduct future operations on her own capital, and when you be come an inebriate, unable to support yourself, shunned ami despised by re spectable people, your wife will have enough money to keep you until you get ready to fill a drunkard’s grave. But had you paid all this money to a barkeeper, he would not have given a cent to bury you or a crust, of bread to keep your children from starving. Few people ever stop to calculate the cost of dram drinking. At ten cents per drink, one drink per day w ill cost $36.50 per year; two drinks per clay will cost S7O; three drinks, $109.50, and four drinks, $146 yer year. A man came to me the -other day to pay the interest on a note of SIOO I hold against him. Said he: “I only receive S6OO a year, and with a family to support I am not able to pay my debts.” I asked him to take a pencil to make a slight calculation for me, and then asked him how often he drank at a bar. His average was three drinks per day, which, by his own calculation was $109.50. or enough to have paid both principal and interest on the note and have $1.50 left. He was astonished at tho discovery and is now determined never to drink at a bar again. Hurtful Heading’. A bad book, magazine or newspaper, is as dangerous to your child as a vicious companion, and will as surely corrupt his morals and lead him away from the path of safety. Every parent should see this thought clearly before his mind and ponder it well. Look to what your children read, and especially to the kind of papers that get into their hands, for there are now published.scores of week ly papers, with attractive and sensuous illustrations, that are as hurtful to young and innocent souls as poison to a health-1 ful body. Many of these papers have attained a large circulation, and arc sowing, broadcast the seeds of vice and crime. Trenching on the very borders of indecency, they corrupt the morals, taint the imagination, and allure the weak and unguarded from the paths of innocence. The dangers to young per sons from this cause were never so great as at this time, and every father and mother should be on their guard against an enemy that is sure to meet their child. Look to it then that your chil dren are kept as free as possible from this taint. Never bring into your house a paper or periodical that is not strictly pure. See to it that an abundance of the purest and healthiest reading is placed before your children. Hungry lambs will eat poison, but if well fed on good food, they let the poison alone. If you wish to save your own children and the children of others, do all you can to maintain and circulate healthy, moral literature. $1.50 Per Annum. WHOLE NO. 17(5. NOt’HATKN NSOOI4M. Mr. Socrates Snooks, a lord of creation. The second time entered the married rela tion, Xantinpe Caloric accepted his hand And all thought him the happiest man in the land. • But scarce had tho honey-moon passed o’er his head, When one morning, to Xantippc, Socrates said, “ 1 think for a mnn in my standing in life This house is too small, as i now have a wife; So, as early as possible, carpenter Cary Shall be sent for to widen iny house and my dairy.” “ Now Socrates Dearest,” Xai.tippo re plied, “ 1 bate to hear anything vulgarly my’d. Now next time you speak of your chattels again. Sayt >t’lt house, OUR ham-yard, Ouit pig pen.” “ By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I’ll say what I please Of My gardens, My lands, My houses, My trees.” “Say Our!” Xantippc exclaimed in a rage, “l won’t! Mrs. Snooks tho’ you ask it an age.” O woman, tho’only a part of man’s rib. (If the story in " Genesis ’’ don't tell a tilt) Should your naughty companion o'er quar rel with you. You’re certain to prove the best man of the two. In tho following case, this was certainly true. For the lovely Xantippe just hauled offlicr shoe, And laying about her on all sides at ran dom. The adage was verified “nil desperan dum.” Mr* Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain To ward off the blows that descended like rain, Resolving that valor's best part was dis cretion. Crept under the bed like a terrified Hes sian, But the dauntless Xantippe, not one hit afraid. Converted the sledge into a blockade. At length, after reasoning the things'in his pate, 11 o saw it was useless to strive ngainst fate. And so, like a tortoise, protruding his head, He exclaimed, “ May We com'? out from under Our bed f" “Ah !” she exclaimed, “ Mr. Socrates i Snook a, t perceive you agree to my terms, by your looks. Now Socrates, hear me, from this happy hour If you’ll only obey me I’ll never look sour,” ’Tis said that next Sabbath, on going to church. He chanced for a clean pair of trowsers to search. Having found them, he asked with a few nervous twitches, “ My dear, may we put on Ouit Sunday breeches ?” Can’t Alford lo Marry. Girls, do you hear this? Many good men are crying, ” Can’t afford to mar ry!” Why? “ Expense of supporting a a wife!” Why support a wife? Might not wives be made self-supporting, or partly so? Isn't there something wrong in this system which makes matrimony dependent upon a man's ability to pay all the wife’s expenses? Is it not filling the land with old maids? Has it not done so for the last half century? Who marry most? What race? The people who care nothing for keeping up style— the foreign-born, whose women turn to and tend the shop. The cultivated American is not the marrying man. He likes the goods on exhibition, hut they are too costly for his everyday wear. Hence, often they re main on the counter until shop-worn. This is a crying evil. Our best men are not marrying because so many of our girls are saying, " You must take me for better or for worse; to feed me, to clothe me, to house me, to warm me, tokeepmeclad in the fashion, to give me a house proportionate to my style, to keep me in pin money, and I will condescend to live with you, and take your money and do nothing to earn more and to lament, if things go wrong, that I didn’t marry better, and you must re gard it as a great favor on my part.” The man wants you pretty badly, hut it’s too heavy a contract. Things must be rearranged, so that you can carry more of your end of the log. An Irishman was accused of steal ing a handkerchief of a fellow traveler, but the owner on finding it apologized to Bat, and said that it was a mistake. “ Arrah, my jewel,” retorted Pat, “it was a two-sided mistake—you took me for a thafe, and I took you for a gintle man.” < An ounce of keep your mouth shut is better than a pound of explanations after you have said it. MR. COFFIN S SPELLING MATCH. The other evening old Mr. and Mrs. Coffin, who live on Brush street, sat in their cosy back parlor, lie reading the paper ami she knitting; end the fami ly cat, stretched out under the stove, sighed and felt sorry for cats not so well fixed. It was a happy contented household, ami there was love in his heart as Mr/Coffin put down his news paper and remarked — • “ 1 see thnt the whole country is be coming excited about spelling schools.” “ Well, it’s good to know how to spell,” replied the wife. ” I didn’t have the chnnce some girls had, but I pride myself that I can spell almost any word that comes along.” “ I’ll see about thnt,” lie laughed ; come, now, spell buggy.” “Humph! that’s nothing—b-u-g-g-v, buggy,” she replied. “ Missed tho first time —ha! ha !” ho roared, slapping his leg. “ Not much—that was right.” “It was, eli ? Well, I’d like to seo anybody get twog’s in buggy, I would." “ But it is spelled with two g’s, any schoolboy will tell you so,” she per sisted. “IVell. I know a long sight better than that!" he exclaimed, striking the table with ds list. “I don’t care what you know !’’ sho squeaked ; “ I know that tliere are two g’s in buggy.” “Do you mean to tell me that I’ve forgotten how to spell ?” he asked. “ It looks that way.” “It does, ch ! Well I want you and all your relations to understand that I know more about spelling than the whole caboodle of you strung on a wire !” “And I want you to understand, Jonathan Coffin, that you arc an ignor ant old blockhead, when you don’t put two g’s in tlx? word buggy—yes you are ! I can beat you spelling with my hands tied behind me!” “ Don’t talk that way to me!” lie warned. “ Ami don’t shake yb.iV fist at me I” “ Who’s a-shaking his list ?” “ You are!” “ That’s not true, that’s not true !” “ Don’t tell mfl that’s not true, you old bazaar!" “ I’ve put up with your meanness for forty years past, but don’t lay a hand on me l” Do you want a divorce f" he shout ed springing up; “you can go now, this minute!” “ Don’t spit in my face—don’t you dare do it, or I will make a dead man of you !” she warned. “ 1 haven't spit in your freckled old visage yet, but I may if you provoke me further!” “ Who's got, a freckled face, you old turkej' buzzard ?” That was a little too much. He made a motion as if he would strike, and she seized him by the necktie un til his tongue ran out. “ Let go of me you old fiend !” “ Get down on your knees and beg my pardon, you old wildcat!” she re plied. They surged and swayed and strug gled and the peaceful cat was struck by the overturning table and had her back broken, w hile the clock fell down and the pictures danced round. The woman finally shut her husbands sup ply of air off, and flopped him ; and, as #he bumped his head up, and down on the floor and scattered his gray hairs, she shouted— “ You want to get up another spell ing-school with me, don’t you ?” He was seen limping, around the yard, yesterday, a stocking pinned around his throat, and she had court piaster on her nose, and one finger tied up. Ile wore the look of a martyr, while she had the bearing of a victor; ami, from this time out, “ buggy ” will be spelt witli two g’s in that house. He told a friend that he had often heard of “ spelling bees,” but that his wife regular old spelling hornet. The Bangor (Me.) Commercial saj's : The stupidest man in the State is a farm-hand near Lebanon. lie was hired to plow a ten-acre field, and his boss, wishing him to draw a straight furrow, directed his attention to a cow grazing right opposite, telling him to drive directly toward that cow. He started his horses, and the farmer’s at tention was drawn to something else. In a short time he looked around to see what the hired man was doing. The cow had left her place and was walking around in the field, and the hired man following her, drawing a zig-zag furrow all over the field. llow to make crockery ware—Don’t use it.