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HOYL & SIMMONS,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
D.nrAo.r, - . GEostai.t.
L C. noVL. jsn2s Ir. r. s. simxions.
G. B. WOOTEN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
2ly Dawson, Ga.
J .
HATCH JSpLn AND
REPAIRER : M. JEWELER.
Dawson, Ga.,
18 prepared to do any work in his line in
the very best style. feh23 ts
J. (j, >i, SMITH,
SMITH and
Machinist,
f).f ll’SO.* 1 , Georgia.
Repairs all kinds of Guns, Fistols, Sewing
Mahines, etc., etc. - lv -
W, c. PARKS,
attorney at Taw.
M*rß 1 f l).i !S'SO.V;G.#.
C.w. WARWICK.
jt'torney at Late and Solicitor
in Equity.
a'. If ITRVtLLL - - - GEO.,
IVTILT* poetic* in Lee, Sumter, Terrell
▼ V and Webster.
LA.W‘ NOT I C3 K
1 | iHORG/11 will pMCfice in all the
.1 1 • con-f# ot’tbe Soil*h western, ill irwin
ol the Southern, 0 »flee and A.pp! n z <*f Gie
Rr un swirk, and moat of the com ?p of the Fu
tmtlft Circuit*.
Office on Wi^in K »on Stree*, npno*«*e the
Fa *r. is office, Alojmiv, Gi. ®avll ly
t.AAV GA m>.
rpHK undersigned will at'eiid to »n.f legtl
Jl busincHS entrusted to his care, in Soa*h*
western Georgia. Office atCutberr, Randolph
so., Ga. ma?ll,ly K. Id. PLATT
T. K. BTE WA HT.
attorncv at law,
Culhbtrt, ndolph Cos., Ga..
Aft l,n*tne*a en’rnsted to his csre will be
faithfully attended to. June 1
E. L. DOUGLASS,
Attorney at Law,
June i c uritnc nr, <?>#•
J. E. HIGGINBOTHAM,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Calhoun Cos., Go.,
Will pra-tlo* to *'l lhe C° urt * of the South'
* rn »°d Circni's. Juue 1
AC K E L FO R D,
attorney at law,
CAMILLA, HIK’I*® 11 Cos., Oa.,
AGK2TT for p****** nn ?‘ ale 0
CAND. June 1, lcj66.
DK. & Cm. ROB KII SON,
SURSSONi DENTIST
jiwj i Cufhhrrl, Georgia.
J C L MARTIN
GKSERAL INSURANCE AGENT AM»
exchange dealer,
EVW.iIC.i i Alabama
Meceetea t» * paid Capital in A No. 1
i!orop».iie«, »f f#»,000.000. Takes
,*'lre, Inland, Uiver Marine, Lite, and Acci
dent risks. JjO?? 8 * f ro Wff r adjusted arid
~no, jaoya, riiog. if. £?z«r^ay.
pRO*N &,STEWART;
"Ware House nnd
COMMSSIOtI MEKCIIASIS,
at Sharp A Brown's old stand,
p.fiftso.y GEonoifi-
We are determined to use our utmost en
deavors Jo gjye entire satisfaction to all who
m»y favor 3s with their patronage ! and as
hr as possible to J;e them, In this depart
ment, (what we have often felt, apd what eve.
ry planter must feel that he needs) jij-t and
erliahle Mends, That we may be betrer ena
bled to carry out this design, we have secured
aa business agent, the r?l, jfOfiva »u 4 reliable
papt. Joho A. Pulton.
“A ju*t balaiuu," is our motto.
Afarcli 8 1867.
ITbT&ITm. THORNTON
Practical Dentists,
irso.r, G*i.
.or Office In Harden's naw building, West
Bide, Depot Street. Dec. 14 ,
WILL. SELL!
FCRKITURE, Buee'es and Roekeways at
Coat for the Cash, as I wish to close
•at that branch of my business.
4peit l*th, 186f 1® £. B OOTLESS.
THE DAWSON JOURNAL
Vol. 11.
ISABEL'S CHOICE:
cm
THE RIVAL LOVERS.
Isabel Wyndham lay lazily back on
her host cushioned fauteuil, with her
hands clasped behind her head, look
ing dreamingly out of the curtained
window. Slowly and serenely sailed
up t he full round room behind the
misty Kentucky hills, anti the roar of
a rapid river very near rose above the
sighing of the melancholy night wind.
'J he stars cleaving bright and keen
through the blue black arch, looked
bleak and wintry, and a hard black
frost backed the earth.
But to Miss Isabel Wyndham, nest
ling oosi'y among the rosy cushions of
her chair, the outer coldness and des
o'stion only made the comfort of tier
pretty chamber moro luxurious. It
w as the prettiest, tho daintiest of maid
en bowers, pm feet from the mosey car
pet, where rosebuds bloomed, to the
plump, snowy bed and the oval pic
tures on the tiuted walls. It was all
charming, but nothing there was more
charming than herself, as she lounged
with negligent grace in that gold col
oreo morning robe with its black b it,
and her trim s ! ippered feet resting on
an ottoman. Her black hair Jell, all
tumbled and loose, over her shoulders,
and her dark eyes were misty w ith
languid thought.
“I wi h I knew what to do," Miss
Wyndham was ti inking, rather rue
fully ‘ I don’t want ty be rnnrrbd
that I know of, tnd I'm not in love
I’m certain ; anil yet it seems I must
be Mrs. Somebody befc re long, or my
dear absurd old uncle will go distract
ed. I wish I could take to matrimony
in the natural way like other girl*, and ,
have done with it. I’ve had the nteas- ,
les, and whooping cough, and searleti
na, and the rest of the diseases coin- ,
mon to juvenility, but I can’t fall in I
love. 'J he nearest approach I ever
felt to the tend, r passion was at the
age of fifteen Now I am thrcc-und
twenty, and—come in ”
A rap at the door disturbed the cur
rent of her thoughts. Miss Wyndham
sat erect, and a tail, thin old gentle
man, got up in fault’ess even’ng cos
tume, entered, and paused iu the door
way aglia.-t.
‘•Miss Wyndham, are you aware it
is half-pust six, uud we date at sov- 1
en ?" |
1 Good gracious, uncle ! Half-past
six ! I never dreamed es such a thing !
Has anybody come?"
‘ Uur guests are all down stairs.—
Mr. Raymond and Mr. Warner arriv
ed this moment. This negligence on
your part, Miss Wyndham, is abso
lutely disgraceful.”
Isabel jumped up aod rant* the
bdl
‘ Don't be eras', uncle Tom, that's
a darling, tmd I will be ready in fi‘ —
teen minutes. I know it’s disgrace
fit', find I’m dreadfully nshunie I of
inymdt, btic I—oh, Susie ! hurry nnd
make me cs pretty ns you eau I nm
afraid I nhall be Into ’
busie, n bright quadroon girl, hur
ried through the boudoir into the dres
sing rootn, and her-in stress wua fob
lotting her, when li r urule laid his
bund on her arm and detained her.
“Isabe 1 , you will have a proposal to
night—ln fact, two proposals. '
“Two proposals! Now what on
earth—’' Mr Jordan gave his niece an
impatient shake
“ You understand rcry well, only you
aie the most agravating—Mr. .Ray
mond and Mr.* Warner, have both
done you the honor of asking my per
m ssion to address you. Both are un
exceptionable in point of family and
fortune, both aie young ar.d good
looking What more car, any woman
in her senses require?”
“Nothing,” replied Isa? el, meekly.
“Am Ito accept them both ? ShaH I
tnarry oue fir.-t and the other after, or
both together, or how
“Don’t be absurd I Accept which
of ttiv'h* you please. Mr. Raymond is
more po.'isbed and considerably the
ivea'thiesf, but please yourself. I know
both will make you an offer to-night,
and one or the OtVr you must accept
under pain of my o't*®p displeasure.”
Mr. Jordan strode w/h dignity out
of the chamber and down to the draw
ing rojins where his guests were as
sembled, waiting for the d'ning bell
Walter Raymond and John Warner .
were waiting for something else—what
do young men in the last stage of love '
care for their meals ? They fidgeted
and made objects of themselves, John
Warner particularly, mid wn'ehed the
floor, and answered at random when
peopl; talked to ill m, and sat on net
ties generally. ’ ,
Mr, Raymond, who was slender and
elegant, and had a beautiful moils- ,
taciie and Parisian pan els, pinn
bly, and to talk tp a passe laily ip red
velvet; bgt Mr. Warner <ould not.—
lie was a tall, fair haired young man, I
this John Warner, who blushed when
M iss Wy rid bam spoko to him, and
had a crazy notion tun' the angels in
paradise could not be tngch more
beautiful or perfect than sfcu.
Presently she came in, radient in
bright blue glace nnd misty lace with :
jewels spnrkl.ng about her, apd fct?r ,
dark curls flowing Mr. Raymond win j
beside ’ter, roniehow, directly, with
u fluah on hie cheek: and Mr. War j
ner coloring up aa if he had sto’en the
spoons, stood afar off, and looked and
loosed
Tae blunders that that young man
made all through dinner were shock
ing. Nothing, but being hopelessly
in love with a young ltdy titling oppo
site could possibly palliate his attrocit
ies. Mr Raymond—oh, thrice bles
sed Mr. Raymond I—sat by her side,
and poured soft eli queoce iu her lie-
DAWSON, Ga., FRIDAY, MAY 31, 1807.
tening ear. Ho could'nt eat any more
than that unhappy John; but Miss
Wyndham took her soup, and her fish
and her de=crt as calmly and with as
good an appetite as if they had been
at the antipodes Still she had rather
liked it; and Mr. Raymond’s eager
rhajisodies and Mr. Winter's blun
ders and distressed face amused her.
She was inclined to prefer the fortrer;
a husband who would blush whenever
she looked at him to the roots of his
whiskers, and who drank frantically
out of his finger glass, and overset tho
gravy, was not desirable. Besides, he
had fair hair and no moustache, and
Isabej liked moustaches, and raven
locks, end men who knew how to use
their tongue. Yes, she decided before
she rose she preferred Walter Ray
mond ; and yet —poor John ! He had
been her playmate long ago, her
brave, true hearted boy lover, and she
had always liked him. It did seem a
little bard.
In a eoraer of the long drawing
room, something in a shadow, Isabel
sat at the piauo, playing brilliantly,
with Walter Raymond turning her
leaves, an 1 bending over her with such
a rapt face. Tho storm of music
ceased, and then there was an idle
strumming on tire keys, ami the D—out
it came—one pa stun ate, eloquent, im
petuous appeal. She listened half
frightened, yet pleased, too—it was so
romant'c, y ti know. The Corsair
never wooed “Medora” more eloquent
?y than this. Poor John Warner, sit
ting melancholy and alooi, still saw
and understood it all. Isabel, lilting
her eyes from the piano keys, saw hitn
too, and the half sacred '‘Yes" tremb
ling on her lips died there. Poor
John ! Her heart flu'tered a little,
and then stood still. She had cotm
| from a race of heroes, this dark eyed
' Kentucky maid, and the blood of her
forefathers rose in her veins.
“Mr. Raymond, I—you ara very
' good to care for me so much; but I
I am alruid I don't like you ; you know
just as much as I ought. If you will
wait, if you will give me time—”
He caught her hand and kissed it in
a rapture. Give her time—of course,
he would give her eternity, or any
thing else, if he had it.
‘ Thank you,” Isabel said gratefully,
i “Give me six months, and then you
shall have your answer. ’
I Mr. Raymond locked rather taxon
, back. Six months was longer than
what he had antic'pa’ed. But no mut
ter ; he would be gallant and wait
| “In three months I expected to rail
for Europe," he said ; “but your will,
fair lady, is my law. I will postpone
the journey, and whin I go, far s',
and dearest Isabel, I trust, I believe,
you will go with me.”
That poor John Warner'—didn't
he see and understand till this in his
remote corner, »nd gnash his tee.h
w ith impotent rage and joa'no-y.
“The lights were dec!,
The pail l.als dead,
And :he bai fj'iet hall deserted.”
I But st 11 he sat there, silent and
sulky—that’s lhe word for it. Miss
Wyndhnm wrapped herse'f in a ciim
son shawl and stepped out on the ver
andah with a yaw n that was not v*ry
cncouragin ; lie started up, goaded
to desperation, ands ood beside her.
1 Ah, how pretty she was ! You nrght
have fallen in love with her yourself
had you not seen her there, her long
dark cuils fluttering, her eyes Ike
stars, and the moonlight fall ng like a
tender glory around her. There Mr
John Warner told his story—rather
incoherently, rather hysterica ; ly, not
at all as the Corsair or “Count Lara”
would have told it.
Miss Wyndham letened and looked
at the moon, and fell a little sorry for
him, poor fellow, but the words were
cold that fell Irom her rosy lips Still
there was hope in them, hope Mr
Warner had hardly dreamed of lie
was to wait six months—at the end of
that time, she, Miss Wyndham, would
have made up her mind.
Mr. Warner rode home that nig’ntin
the silvery moonlight, an ecstatic mar.
lie couldn’t eleep of course; he could
do nothing but smoke segars and think
of Isabel’s black eyes. Mr. Raymond
more sensible, went to bed 1 ke a chris
tian, and Isabel dreamed with her rosy
cheek pillowed on her white arms, that
she was being married to tin in both,
and likely to have a perp’exing time
between them
Five months bad passed away, r.nd
t’ e great rebe’lion bad broken forth.
The war cry from Sumpter bad echo
ed through the length and breadth oi
the land. The Soutn cried aloud to
, her yong men to gird on the sword
. and fiee their lovely land from the ty
rant yoke of lhe oppiessor. With one
hoaiT they answer—an army of braves
and went forth from kindred and
friends, to fight fOT their freedom and
their right.
1 In the tendor twi.ight Isabel Bat
pi one, the sbnw ows of tfce clematis
climbing round the window, coming
and goiug on her thougbtlul face.—
Only one month left no* and as fur
from a decision as ever.
“It dosn’t matter much,’’ she thought
! “this is no time for marrying or giv-
I ing in marriage. Now is the oppor -
I I unity ol p-i'ving what mettle they ary
1 made of, wnen fhejr country calls.—
| When the Boutfj is freed from the
Northern yoke l«t tlujn letijrn, and
iny promise will be kept. “Nope but
I tl.fl brave deserve the lair. 1 ”
While the thought was yet in her ,
'mild the door opened, uud Water
1 Raymond, elegant as ever, stood be
fore her. Miss Wyndham aro e with
j a welcoming smile, and an inquiring
I glance. She hud seen neither of her
1 suitors for the past three weeks, and
there w ee a certain anxious expression
in Mr. Raymond's sane now that told
her, before, his visit meant more than
a rnero lover'a caH. A low desultory
common plane, and then hi struck in
to the heart of the mutter at once.
“laabwl,” he said nervously, “tho
bu-iness I spoke of five months ago,
cannot any longer be postponed. I
must depart at once for Europe, but
before I go will you not give me that
promised answer ? Oti, Isabel I wi 1
you not come with me P*
Before Miss Wyndham could reply
tho door was flung open by a servant,
andJohn Warner strode in'o the room,
lie looked eager and flushed, and he
wore the gray uniform of tbo (Jonfed
erate army The flush faded from his
face at tho first sight of Isabel and
Raymond seated side by side, her
hand in his, that down cast look in her
face. She hastily Snatched her hand
away, and stood up us her second suit
or came forward.
“Pray don’t disturb yourself, Miss
Wyndham,” Mr. Winner said, coldly,
and with a very pale, stern face. “I
shu'l not remain a moment. I merely
rode over to say good bye.”
“Good-bye,” Isabel faltered, “you
mean you are go’ng—”
‘AYhere glory leads me, and all that
son of thing,” trying to speak careless
ly, “I am Captain Warner now, very
much at your serv'oo, and off tomor
row to face tbe foe. Good bye Mi s
Wyndham - say farewell to Mr. Jor
dan for me.”
With a nod to Raymond, he was
gone—standing over the moonlit lawn
with his cap pn led over his eyes, nnd
his heart plunging tumultuously be
hind Lie Confederate grey. It bad all
passed so quickly, this inter.option,
that Isabel scarcely realized he was
there, before he was gone.
She drew a long, stuveiing breath,
and sat down, shite and still.
“Isabel, dearest, your answer.”
She look and up in Walter Raymond’s
handsome face, with a se.chiug glance
in deep dark eyes.
‘TI iw long will you be away ?”
“Months—a year perhaps. You
wi 1 eorne w ith roe, Isabel—my love—
my wile ?’’
Ho would have taken her hand
again, but she drew it away and stood
up.
“No.” she said ; ‘ now, when brave
men are fighting nud dying for free
dom —when homes are desolate around
us, there is no time for wedding fes
tivities When tho war ends, como to i
me again and you rhal. have my an-1
swer.”
# * * * * # «
Four years! The long weary
stt ugg e ot might against r'ght was at
an en I—the cm) Ithat so often cl sea
siii'li s r-.’ggles in this world. Might
had conquered; over-fiowered by
numlrers, the heroes who had fought
so long a od so nobly, laid down their
arms a' last, arid peace reigned agair.
in the land.
Rlie inn nock in the oM homestead.
Isabel Wyndham changed in the.-e
years from a gay gill to a thoughtful,
uddened worn n In the hospitals
she had been u ministering angel; in
the pr so ,s she had been a comforter
ami I.iend ; but it was »U over now,
and she was back where the old trees
w.ived, looking i t the sun go down
oiu.e more behind the ruisty, purple j
bik
Rhe sat mder a heavy elm, dressed |
in deep mourning, paler, thinner, and J
with a sadder beauty than of old.—
Her uncle was dead, the old servants
gone, and she sat in the tender spring
twilight, desolate and alone.
Tlic gate opened. A man came up
the lo ;g avenue, ard in the pale cheek j
a rosy light came. Handsome, well!
dressed, more polisbel than ever. Wal- (
ter Raymond bad just returned from
abroad, with the old love stronger, il j
possible, in bis heart In all these 1
years they Lad not met btfor ; now he
bent over as if they bad parted but yes- I
terday.
‘ls.-abel,l Levs come, for myanswor.’
A tall figure that had been walking |
amongst tbe trees, drew near, but stop-'
ped as he beard the words
She looked up, very quiet, and very
pale, ‘! he answer is no, Mr. Ray
mond.’
‘O, Isabel 1 After all these years ?’
She smiled Dimly. 'You »re very
kind, but I cannot marry you.’
‘And why, l abel ? I-» it for any one
else? Is it for John Warner I »m re
jected r .
The Instability of Life.
That life is unccrtsin, and death an
avoidable, is a maxim which, though
all admit to bo true, all scorn willing to
forget. I is a maxim which has been
so often n Derated, that none can bo ig-1
norant of i‘ : and if any were disposed
to disregard i f , the perpetual occurrence j
of its fu fi’lraeot migkt bo sufficient for ;
its establishment as eternal truth, j
Granting, then, that it be true, is it not i
a matter of such consequence as to de
mand our most serious attention? Can
any one bestow np:n it even the slight-1
ost consideration without feeling its im-1
portancc—without porce»viug that, re- i
garding it merely as relating to a ecu
plete Removal from this world and all
its concerns, independent of the rcwaid
or punishment which to follaw, it is a
joint if tbe utmost importance ? CaD
auy one reflret, as on a muter of no
concern, .on being separated from all
those whom he loves, and by whom bo
is beloved ? Will ho disregard (ho tears
which will bs shed, and tbo sighs which
will burst from tbejbosom of those whom
fillul or fraternal affoctson have bound
to him ? Can ho think unmoved that
he will no moro augment their joy or
sooth I heir grief—that whatever dan
gcr may threaten them he can no long
er lend bis assistance to avert it, and
that whatever blcssiogs may erj >in to
make them happy, will be embittered
,by tbe rifleotion that he is uot a sharer
.in them.
11s who can think on these without
emotion, is more or less than man. let
these arc tbe consequences of that event
J t he occurrence to which to every one is
eritaiu, and the period at tvhioh it will
.take place is unknown. Ota it le de
tiled, then, that this is a matter demand
cd our most sriiuv attention? But
.tho departure from tbu world, however
affection or friendship may cnJear it to
us, must ever be considered by the vir
tuous, as a cause of joy, as it removes
them from a region of sin to realms of
light and purity.
Surely, then, he who wishes even to
make bis death contribute to the hap
piness of those whom ho loved while
living, will so conduct himself iu this
life as to leave no anxious doubt
ing on their minds with respect to his
welfare in the lift eternal. 110 will sot
|so that in the end he may look bach
with tranquility, and forward with rap
I ture, without regret for tbe past or fear
tor the future.
But the disposition of mind necesary
for the attainment of a life produc
tive of this desirable conclusion, cannot
be acquired except by a frequent and
sorious consideration, aud a firm convic
tion of the truth of the above maxim ;
since, without such conviction, the
Lightest incentive to virtue would be
wanting. It is, then, not only the duty,
tint the interest of every one to reflect
in a manner suitable to tbe importance
of tbe subject, on tho uoertainty of the
present lifa, and on the consequent ne
cessity us Itcing prepared lor the change
which we know must take place at some
peri >d, how near or how remote we are
by all-wise Providence, kept ignorant of.
Nor can the wisdom which dioiates this
concealment be impeached. VVer3 the
time of our desoluiion known to us, its
remoteners, if distant, would breed in
dolent security, or its tuldenness, if
near, occasion terrors which would pre
vent preparation fur it.
Os Wo Consequence.
It h not a little curious to trace the
origin and result of sums alienations
which realy embitter the domestjj peace
of similies Mr. Mrs. Graham had a
most delightful courtship; ihey always
jhought alike upon every subjeej. But
during their honeymoon they encoun
tereii a squall. It began thus .'
‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Graham, ‘bow
plentifully your father ato last night of
i the oyster-patties!’
1 “You are mistaken, my dear ;he on
! ly tasted of them ; it was the lobster sal
ad of which you allude.'
‘Now, yon had better make me out
that I don’t know what I see.’ ■
! ‘And don’t you makiout that I don’t
j know what I help people to/
‘But what I saw, I saw, Mr. Gra
; ham, and I don’t give it up.*
‘And what I know, I know, Mrs.
Graham, and I don’t give it up.’
‘Well, I don't care, only I like to see
people adhere to tbe troth.’
'D>you mean to insinuate, ma’am,
that I don’t speak the truth ?’
‘Yes, I do, if you say your father did
uot eat of our oyjter pat ire last night,'
‘I won’t talk with you You are one
of tho most unacoountable beings ; ever
knew/
And M . Graham took his (cat in an
other room and began reading.
Mrs. Graham took a lamp and went
to her chamber. The clock struck sev
en, eight, nine Tue newly married
pair felt uneasy; they were lonely. The
newspaper bad been rattled over till it
was flimsy as a rag, and yonng Mrs.
Graham grew tired of pouting alone.
At ibis lute hour a mutual friend
knocked at the front door. Both the
parties knew the cheerful voice, as on
entering the drawiuw room be ex
claimed :
‘Now, this is wbat I call oomfortable.
' Bot winro is your wfe Graham? in
quired the visitor ai he looked wistfully
I around.
! “Anna,’ said a melodious voice at
'he foot of the stairs, ‘our friend Mr.
| Wilson, is hero.’
Very toon a nimble pair of little feet
came tritting down stairs, aud face ail
beaming with smiles external, exclaim
ing :
‘How delightod lam to see you 1 My
husband and I are quite dull—we have
-aid all the sweet things, and were
just trying to got up a bitter pill as a
contrast.’
Tbe other half of Mrs Graham laugh
ed outright, and it was all over. Tbe
visiter had a delightful evening, fully
satisfied that there was parrallcl to be
found to domestic comforts.
A week or two after this little tiff,
the party were expatiating upon the
folly of bring easyly provoked by tri
fles, and both pledged themsdves nev
er again to indulge iu any evil fooling
toward each other, signing, sealing and
pledging themselves, aKerumoh billing
and cooing, with a mutual kiss.
‘But,’ said Mrs. Graham, ‘it was so
provoking in you to get so indignant be
cause I merely remarkei that your fath
er ate those oyetcr-patii.-e.’
‘But they were not oysters, l tell you
it was tbe lobster salad.’
‘W*7 Kill you have it so, Mr. Gra
ham V
'Because I,like the trntb, ma'nti), and
want you to adht to to it ’
Mrs. Graham began to sigh, aud then
orv, and say, “If she had known”—
whereupon b r huaband gently pat his
I band over bar month, niyiog, “Done it’s
of no onDsrquenee j” and bt f r his
who knows where the first quarrol
would have ended ?
It appears that Graham bad just been
: reading tbe anecdote recorded in a late
: maguz ne, where arjnarrel between a
newly married pair was served up all
arising from the wife’s declaration that
she had just s en a moose run along,
while tbe husband strenuously niain
tajaed itw»%»_»at. Tb«|. tjj.wi! of.
No. 10.
fectually cured of hastily contradicting
his wife, and she was'neharaed of being
so easily exuited as to dcstry her own
happiness.
It is oomputed that fully half of our
douiestio troubles originate from such
iusiguiflcaot trifles ; and happy are that
couple who are sensible enough to re
member in tbo very outset, ‘it it of no
consequence.'’
Cnpluiii Hlad Montague.
Gaptaiu Mad Montague, as he was
called, was an cnglishraaD, and as reck
less a man a* ever livfd. We recol
lect two anecdotes of this crack brained
individual, and doubt whether they
have been in print.
(htptain Montague’s ship was lying
at Spithead, and ho wrote to the Admi
ralty asking permission to prooccd to
London on urgent private cff.ii s But
it whs war times then, and difficult to ob
tain leave of abseooc ;so that tbe offi
cial reply intimated that the Captain
was SQwl.V*at liberty to proceed where
his barge oould carry him
Two days osier Mad Montague pre
sented himself at the levee of tbe First
Lord of the Admiralty, and wasgreated
with :
‘How’s this sii ?—did not you receive
our instructions ?’
‘Ay, ay, my Lord,’ was the pnewer,
an 1 I came iu my barge—there she i
Mad Montague pointed to tbe win
dow wbiuh cverlooks the courtyard of
tbe Admiralty, and there sure enough
was the Captain’s burge set on Wheels,
with post horses attached, bm the crew
all in their places, with toss and oars, in
•rue man-of-war style. It may be pre
sumed that his lordship oould not find
it iu his heart to give the captain a very
severe rao on tbe knuckles.
On another occasion Mad Mortague,
who was dnown far anl wide through
I’ortsmouth and Gosport, s'rolled into
a barber’s shop at one of these row's o c
the amphibious Throwing himself in
to a chair, and then pulled out a pistol
and cocked it, he asked the barber if
he knew him.
‘Tobesureldo—who doesn’t?’ wes
was tho reply.
‘Shave me, then, said the crank-brain
ed sea-dog; ‘and rn'nd what, you are
about, for if you draw blood I’ll shoot
you through the bead.’
The barber went coolly to work, and
performed the oeremety without, flinoh
ingjor accident. Struck by the fellow’s
collected manner, the captain compli
mented him thereon asked him, howev
er, wh< tSer he did not feel afraid, siuee
he knew that his brains would have
beon blown out if bis razor had chanced
to slip.
‘Afraid I’returned the barber; ‘not a I
bit of it, sir; for if I had unfortunately '
drawn your honor’s blood, you mav dc- '
pend upon it I should have cut your I
throat!’
moral Conmee iu Every-Dav
Life.
Have the eourage to discharge a debt
while yon have the money in your
noeket.
Have the courage to do without that,
which you do not need, however much
you' eyes may et vot if.
Have the courage to speak your mind,
when it is nccessry you should do go,
and hold your tongue when it is prudent
yon should do »).
Have tbe courage to speak to a friend
in a ‘seedy’ ooat, even ( though you arc
in comjany with a rich oue, and richly
attired.
Have tbe ooarage to make a will and
a just one.
Have tbe courage to tell a man why
you will not leod him your money.
Have the courago to ‘eat’ the most
agreeable acquaintance you have, when
you aro convinead that he lucks princi
ple ‘A friend should bear with a
friend’s iufirmities, but not with his
vices
Have tbe eiur ge to show your re
spect for honesty, in whatever guLeit
'appears; and your contempt for dis
honost duplicity, by whomsoever ex
hibited.
llavo the courage to wear your old
clothes until you pay for new ones.
Have tbo courage to obey yonr mi
ker, at the risk of being ridiculed by
man. Have the courago to prefer com
fort »Dd propriety to fashion, in all
thing 3 .
Have the courage to acknowledge
your isrnoranoe, rath rthan 'o seek end
it for knowledge under the false preten
us.
Hava tbo coerage to provide enter
tainment Tor ycur friends within your
means—not beyond.
Have tbe courage to take a good pa
per, and pay for it annually in advance.
Zs. Name of zs Street. —A French
man, a stringer in New York, stopped
a lad in the streot, and pihtely ask
ed :
‘Mon fren, what’s *c name of xis *cre |
strei tT
‘Will, who said it wasn’t?' replied
the boy,
‘Wbat you call z T s streot ?’
‘Of oourse we do ’
‘Pardonntx! I have not ze name:
what you call cim ?’
‘Yes. Wat s, we ea’l i.’
Zis street?’
•W halts street, old fellow ; and don’,
yon g> make game of me-’
'iSacre oom de Dieu ! I ask you one,
two, dree, sever<>l timis, often, will you
tell me ze name of zs treet, eb ?’
‘Watts street, I told you. You're
drui. k uin't yon V
‘Mon littlo fren , vcie yon live, eh ?’
‘ln Vandatn street.’
'K”, bi n ! Yon livo in voc dam etreit,
and you is von d—n fool!’
And they parted, entertainirg a mu
, teal dislike.
i “I vv»s naked and yon tt>ok me in,’’ as
tUs oyster fctid to the hungry am
Briolk Humors.—»A .gentleman trav
eling to Pittsburg-from one of (ha neigh
boring town*, stopped to sea a friend,
and left bis horse tied on tha rtad, 0®
bis return be found that tho animal lad
slipped his bridle, and while In search
of him he met an Irish of
whom he inquired : ,
“Have you seen a strange creature
anywhere hereabouts, with a saddla o*
h's back ?”
“Oob, by the power*, ye may say that"’
replied Pat.
“Where ?’’
“Just yonder."
“Will you show me tha plaoe t*
“That I will, iu less than no tins/*
suid tho man, approsebing a small Woods
j of young timber. “Ay, there he is, auro'
I cdoujgh honey.”
The gentleman looked up, «t>f Mid :
“I do not see him/’
“Then, by Skint Patriok, you must be
blind . Not *eo him ? Oob, by let
powers of mud, what’s he about now Z
Only fee, be swallow* hie head I l ’’
“ W by, sir, that’s a turtle, and uot W
horse.”
“A torso ! and who in the deuce aaid
it was a hors-o ? Sure a horse is naf a
strange creature,” he added, pointing to
it with fear and trembling ; * and hs
has a saddle on; but hang ire if »’d fcri*
die him for the whole- country.”
Dkatii non Phidk -A distressing
case of foolish yielding to the diotatea
of vanity occurred iu Dayton, Obio,w
few days ago. A young lady bad bean'
iu the habit of lacing very tightly fcr «
long while, and caused a hook to be
placed fa the wall 1 of her roomy aud aba
would fasten her corset strings to it Ho
enable her to draw her corset tighter.
She bad dono it so long with impunity
that she had become careless, and the
other day in' repeating the torture, she
threw herself foo heavily on the strings
and broke a blood vessel, from Whioh
she died in a few hours A sad oom-'
meutary on attempting to make the form
from a mistaken idea of beauty, differ-'
ent from what it naturally is.
An Editor Tight.—We belive it iu
rare that an editor indnlges iu a drop,
but when they do, their readers are sura
to Cod them out. A cotemporary War
called on to record a ‘melancholy ovenf r
tt a time when his head was rather
heavy, and did it up after tbe following
manner :
“Yesterday morning at 4 o’clock t.
a man with a heel ia the bole of hiw
stocking oommitted arsenic by swallow-*
ing a dose of suicide. The inquest of
tho verdict returned a jury that the de
ceased came to the facts in accordance
with hie death. He leaves a obild and
six small wives to lament tbe end ot
his untimely loss. Iu death> rvw are io
the midst of life.
The Latest ! — A tburp youth of
the African species was scattering a lot
of auction baud-bilk around the city ot»
Saturday, whin he was accosted by m
brother treedmaw tbusly v
‘What job got dar V
‘Desc oapers? why dis is Senator WiD
son’s speech.’
‘How much you ax fir ’em ?
Three for a quarter—lem me sell you
some.’
‘All right—f wan*s to learn it—.gib
mo a quarter’s wufl,’ and the trade was
made at once, the youth pocketing,
with a self sati-fiod air, tbe supposed el
qent speech of the bonorabfe gentle
man from Massachusetts?—At, Intel 1 .
A Lrtt’e boy on the train for King
ston yesterday ; said he :
‘ Mister, the locomotive is a lover of
the weed, is’nt it ?’
‘Can’t say ; why do you* neb, my lit*
fie man 7’
“Because it smokes and chews.’'
“Very well I see it smokes, bot
bow about the chewing?”
• Did’nt you notice it in tbe depot
jtmt before we left. .Pid’ot if ‘chew,
chew/to 1 gt> ahead, and- then- ‘chew,--
chew/’ to hark her
That will do little boy, you will be
a- wit some o’ these days, if you don’t
t.ke the wo and and whiskey.
Rasical Tactics rx Tenresree.—
The Radicals are determined to keep'
possession of Tennessee, legally or ille
gally, whatever the popular vote or voice
may be.-
One of Gov. Brown low’s right-band
men thus plainly sta'es that determina
tion in the papei which he edits:
“Tbe m»n-b'‘»t' does not uoderß*rnd
that ibis State is to remain uodef tfio'
onntrol of its Iriends, at any cost or sac
rifice, is cert .inly to -1 far behind the
times to make a safe and frtnce-tsfuf I- g
tslator. The Radicals will ruin* this-
State peaceably if they ean, foicm’yif
they must.”
Marriages are rare among the Chinese
in California. But one is recorded in
cur last San Francisco papers—A-h Fy»
to Cum Ho.
Life ard Existence. —The mem
lapse of years is not life. To eat,- aud*
drink, and sleep; to be exposed to dark
ness and the light; to paee round in the
mill of babir, aud turn thought into im
plement of tiadc—this is not life. Iu
all this, but a poor fraction of the con
sciousness of humanity is awaked, and
tbe sanctities still slumber which make
it worth while to be. Knowledge, thith
love, beauty, goodness, faith alee can
givi vitality to the mechanism cf exist—
enoe.
Tho young lady who was recom
mend® 1 to take eXerotoc to improve her
b ialib, says that ‘she will jump at ait
offer and ran her own risk.’
A yourg l idy in Nan Antonio think*
ts going t j Cal fornia to get married, for
the reason she has befn told that in than
country tbe men folks ‘ took tbe cra
dles.” Ilex bead’s right.
A story is told of a young mao wbo
or ssid in love, and attempted suicide
recently by tairing a dose cl yeast pow
der. }£e immediately rose abovo Lis
troubles.
A lover, writing to his swcot burr,
ssy-:
‘*Dvlootsbla dear—you are so sweet
that honey would blush in your pres
- sai molasses stand appalled.