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Georgia weekly telegraph, journal & messenger. (Macon, Ga.) 1880-188?, April 16, 1880, Image 1

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JOURNAL AND MESSENGER. CLISBY. & J GNESj Propbietobs. THE FAMILY JQURXAI^NEWS—POLTHOS—LITERATURE—AGRICULTURE—DOMESTIC NEWS, Etc7-LPRICE $2.00 PER ANNUM. =-T r.1 vr i— . ■ ' ■ - .. . : ! GEORGIA TELEGRAPH BUILDING. 'ESI ABLKIIED1826- MAOONj ESEDAT, APRIL 16, 1880. VOLUME LV—NO. 16 WHO SHALL GO FIRST? "Who shall go first to the shadowy land, My love <5rl ? Whose will it be in grief to stand And press the cold, nnanswering hand, Wine from the brow the dew of death, And catch the softly fluttering breath, Breathe the loved name nor hear reply, In anguish watch the glazing eye; His or mine ? Which shall bend over the wounded sod My love or I? Commending his precious soul to God, -’Till the doleful fall of the muffled clod Startles the mind to a consciousness Of its bitter anguish and life distress, Dropping the pall o’er the love-lit past, With a mournful murmur, “the last—the last,” My love or I ? Ah! then, perchance to that mourner there, Wrestling with angnlsh and deep despair, An angel shill’Come through the gates ol prayer And the burning eyes shall cease to weep, And the jobs melt'down in a sea of sleep While "fancy, freed from the chains of day, v Through .the shadowy dreamland floats .* Ljafriyi ! J • I Y^'My love or I? Whish shall return to the desolate home, *• My love pr I ? And list for a step that shall never come, And hark for . a voice that must still be dumb,” * While the half-stunned senses wander back . { k ■ ■ j To the cheerless life arid thorny track, Where the silent roqm and vacant chair Have memories sweet and hard to bear: My love or I ? And then, metliinks, on that boundary land My love and I! The mourn’d and the mourner together shall stand • *. Or walk by those rivers of shining sand, ’Till the dreamer, awakened at dawn of day, • Finds the sepulchre rolled away; And over the cold, dull waste of death. The warm, bright sunlight of Holy Faith, “r love andl! My love am k BAD .SPECULATION. BY EDWA1SD GAR11ETT. Time came when he most send for his daughter, and formally ask her what were her feelings towards her declared lover. lie had had no experience in such things, and there seemed to him some nameless incongruity about it— something like writing a love-letter on lawyer’s brief. His daughter was cooler and calmer than he, sitting opposite him In her airy, niorniug dress. O little Jane, in the shabby mousseline-de-laiHe, with the darned frills—where are you gone away, and will you never come back agaiu ? “It is a very serions step in life,” said the father tremnlously. “It is as solemn as a birth or. 'death; only, unlike those crises, this is left so "much to our own will.” “Not altogether so. Circumstances guide us a great deal,” Said his daugh ter Jane. It was a truth; but out of place, like a cabbage ia a rose garden. Mr. Bun combe had exalted “circumstance” only too often himself, but now the sound gave him that jar peculiar to our jown -words when thrown back upon our ear, out of harmony with our present mood. He al most thought Jane "must bo mocking. But she met Ills glance with eyes that were perfectly sincere and- serions in their own way. • * • -1 -. • i “Jane,” B6 said, "^marriage is a veiy solemn thing. Your life becomes your husband’s henceforth. You are one with each other, and must^go together all the way, bo it wide aud fair, i or scant and gloomy. You cannot read the future. No prophet can hint what it may bring; but this at least : you > should take to it— truest love and firmest faith, so that yon can hear all for your husband and trust him in all< 4 Is it so ifow, Jennie ?” It was his daughter's. turn to Jook up astonished. “I think Godfrey and 1 un derstand each other,” she answered thoughtfully. “He has spoken to me- very considerately about : all his possible future arrarigembnfe. * fh.eliCve he would I'l* ■ each other for so many years Is a great comfort.” • .*j jUJ* , £7’ “And you think this is 1 quite enough to begin with, eh. Jennie?”'asked her fath er. almost sadly. iJanSspiiled, amiblushgd—there can be something mechanical even in a blush— > for there is tlie' blush of the rose, and the •blush ogthe pinkJight in the pantomime. “Well, papa,” she said, “L should scarcely have expected - you to require a love- match. They’re often •' unsatisfactory enough, I’nf sure. We must choose be tween things, and make the best of our choice. At any rate, I hive never liked . anybody better than Godfrey. - The lot Lj^Rf. shall have Twill suit me. I’m sure I’m not tit for a poor man’s wife,” she added, with a lone almost like a sigh', as if something stirred among i the tendrils of her withered, worldly youth. < : ’ “Then will you take him?” asked her father doubtfully. r * *' She paused, 1 and looked up with those blue Q-es Of' hers, all'unconsciously so hard aud keen.', “I shall never do bet ter,” she said, “arid we have known each other a long while, and I shall be near all of yon.” * — ____ _ - u. So it was settled. Bu? For’daysaiid day^ ■ after,: while mother and daughter were merrily. driving from shop to shop, collecting the trousseau, the father sat in his study, resting his head on his hands, and pondered heavily of many tilings. -His pondering was not thought. His ledgers always seemed to ‘need alllhe sharp decisive i ihoughthe had to spare. It was just raj VortfuaeTK"pondering of Ids' own sweet limifafASve'vuiking, with all its eager hope and pure ideal, and how Jane’s courtship knew nothing of all this. But tliis had not seemed to dorueito much after all, and yet surely if ought ! He was like one who falls asleep over a deli- — cate web of embroidery, and awakes to" find the threads in hopeless tangle. The ghost of his old 6elf .returned to him sometimes in his ninsings. v The im. age of the .ardent young man who had counted wife and babes as the best wealth of lifej whose temper would never have been ruffled by a scantier tapfoor a plain er ro6m,'i who. Chad spoked “Vfo God fri prayer, and heard his voice in the Bible, and to whom'the Sabbath had been a day of rest outside heaven’s gate, but, within hearing of the sweet sounds within. Was it all but the enthusiasm serf 1 youth, a happy dream, the morning dew on the earth, which tlie noon-tide sun must diy away._ ne had had fears and anxieties then, lie- remembered ,them, now but as gossamers ‘floating on what had surely been pure .sunlight. He'had trembled for the stability cf his home, for the. fu ture of his wife and ■children; but how much more to him were boms, and wife, and children then than now! nc might indeed be wealthier—for lie was now ounted a rich man—but he was only poorer in all for which he had valued wealth—in leisure, in domestic comfort, in true friendship, in honest peace of mind. There was another future now, which troubled him more sorely than the old one of care and poverty. He had once felt lrmself a Christian man; he did not seem such now, even in his own con sciousness. And as the old beliefs of his youth rose vividly before him, with the once comforting assurance of the Saviour, “Those that Thou gavest me I have kept, and none of them is lost,” he thought bit terly that the spiritual grace and peace of those days could have been only a delu sion, a very snare of Satan, and that, after all, there was nothing better than to be as he was—upright, honorable, and conscientious; religious, too, in what seemed to him a common-sense, practical way. Only there was a beauty about the vanished dream of which this reality knew nothing. And he conld have wish ed that his children did at least see the vision. For if he had so degenerated from a youtlxhood which had it, what would be the old age of a youth which had never known it ? A et when he left his study and return ed to the active side of life, he again de tected his own peevish, fevered hankering after out ward good which he foreknew to be unsatisfactory. Not Mrs. Duncombe nor any of the family were more dis turbed under their irritations and disap pointments than he was, if the cookery was not quite perfect, orthe parlor-maid’s attendance negligent. How could he do without these things? He might feel a loathing self-contempt at his own anger' and impatience; but it only made him more angry and impatient thereat. Jane Buncombe became Mrs. Godfrey Mallock. There was a splendid wedding and a fashionable honeymoon, and a grand coming liome to a luxurious house. How different from the time when Henry Buncombe and Ills Margaret had been married in an empty church, and had gone for a fortnight to Hastings, and re turned to the little den in the Hampstead Road, only partially furnished too, with divers of its chambers left empty and locked np! “Jane takes it all very coolly,” said Mrs. Buncombe, as she sat in her dress ing room, long after midnight, fagged to death with the gaieties of the “house warming.” “Young people aren’t senti-, mental qow-a-days. To look at her, she might have been married twenty times. Well, I don’t know but what I’d rather lie as.we were, though it was liardjiues at first. But .people can’t have every! thing.” • • Yet it did not strike either Mr. Dun combe or his wife that they might have 'robbed their child of a pearl to give her a stone, that they might verily have ex changed her birthright for a mess of pot tage." Now that Jane was gone, there was less domesticity than ever in the house in Belsize Park. There were few “even ings” now when guests, aud music and gaiety kept even the young men at home. Sirs. Duncombe was often out at her daughter’s house, and the father drifted more and more into the mere man of business. A ledger may be as fascinat ing aud as deadly to a merchant as rouge-et-noir to an idler of fashion. It is the spirit, rather than the game, which makes the gambler. So Steenie and Tom were left almost entirely to their own devices. They ran into debt, and had to come to their moth er to wheedle their father. Mrs. Dun combe used to cry about them, and “talk” to them. She was sure they both meant well, and would be two fine young men when they began to settle down. It was the cant of the circle she lived ip, and Margaret’s was not a mind that looks be fore "and after, aud pierces into the neart of things. She had half forgotten what she had hoped for her boys, when tlicv lay in their cradle or knelt at her knee, and she was willing to accept an idle trust that things were not so bad as they seem ed, and would shortly mend. Not tliat it did not trouble her. She was really unhappy about them. But with all her good-heartedness, she was not a strong- hearted woman, and lacking her early discipline of constant and necessary work, she had drifted down into a poor helpless creature, who could scarcely have foregone her afternoon nap and cup of strong Bohea, even for the salvat ionof those who were dearest to her. Matters grew worse and worse. Peo ple began to talk about the young Dun- combes, and invitations to parties grow rarer, and were seldom accepted when they came. Godfrey Mallock angrily de clared that he mnst shut his house against his brothers-in-law, since they, atid espe cially Steenie, did not know when they bad enough wine, and were over-candid and quarrelsome under such circumstan ces. Jane reported her husband’s words to her parents, with all the influential dignity of a young matron. Her father must really use. his authority, she urged. She hferself quoted Godfrey to her eldest brother, but 'for her pains only got a langli and a reply, that made her veiy angry with. her brother, but, somehow, rather wards her husband. It camerio an eadLat last.. c( Ttiere Tr cre blood-stains .on ,-f.he floor orthe fashion able hotel which the brothers had most frequented, and officers of justice hurry ing to and fro .about the grand house in Belsize Rark. There wa* a sad, sad story in the papers, and an honest name dragged through the.mire of public criticism. There were the two younger boys, half- puzzled, all shamed. There was the bro ken mother, wearily crying out to God as she had not cried for many a thoughtless day and night. There was Tom, with his own reputation gone in the prime of his youth, telling. the truth plainly—half in inanfulness, half in defiance—of all the levity, and sin, and passion, and rage, which had at last tempted his brother to lift his hand against a fellow-reprobate; and had drive a him out to wander the world with the mark of Cain on his fore head. Ml At;d there in his study, with grey head resting on nerveless hands, sat the old father. Even in that hard time, it could not let him be—this costly prosperity of liis. Clsrks came in and out, among the policemen, with invoices and contracts for his signature, and'A single stroke of Ins pen, made in mechanical obedience to liis managing man, brought him three thousand pounds. Wliat did he care?— except to bate the mon6y. Mr. Mallock and Godfrey might come in and sit oppo- sitehim,''Hid" talk stonily aud cruelly of Steenie—bis own Steenie, his own frank and inge’niftns boy, whom God had made for so much better things, and who his heart-broken father, felt might be nearer God still, In all.'his outlawed infamy, than this Learf-bollow son-in-law of his, who thought nothing to be sin blit crime, and never dreamed that respectability w rvmlil ornr tiorol wanAtifitnoA Pit? Inf ! !•: first days of stormy anguish would return —that he Would ' give his whole posses sions just to speak with his first-born child again, even if it were on his roddf to the gallows. Anything!'anything, better than this dead silence, this dull hopeless-; ness. 'ii .. And he had still three sons left; but there seemed a spell on him so that he could not stretch out a hand to save them. He could not talk with them, scarcely in an ordinary way, far less on the fears and yearnings that were crowd ing his heart almost to bursting it He had lost the habit. His children were strangers *tb him. While- he had been forming his “desirable business connec tions,” and heaping up his gold, they had not been standing still. And lie could do 'nothing! The power was not in him. Talk of the anguish of a living soul chain ed up in a paralyzed body! What of a heart still loving, left in the chill of a paralyzed soul ? Those were dark days too for Tom Duncombe. In all their recklessness, Steenie and- he had loved each other. Both their characters had been full of good impulses. But in the profane,-un converted man, good impulses are but weaknesses!—fatal inconsistencies in wickedness which surely ruin them for the wdrld which now is, without availing them for that which is to come. Without strong principle, their warm sflections and enthusiastic natures had been easily led into all sorts of guilty excess, and yet had offered them specious chance of easy return to comparatively innocent society and pleasures.. No more such chance. The more reputable companions, whom Tom liad really liked best, drew utterly away from him no w. He was an unmis takable black, sheep. Others, whose lives his had hitherto touched but occasion ally, and then with consciousness of low est mood and speedy return, claimed him wholly, no longer with a sort of deferent invitation, but with proffer of sympathy- nay, even of pity and patronage. It was a dreadful time for Tom Duncombe. He shrank from his parents. His fath er seemed so stem and strange, his moth er did nothing but bewail him to bis very face. He shrauk’from his younger broth ers—he saw they shrank from him. He would not enter GodfreyMallock’s bouse. Tlie poor fellow had a sort of half-blind consciousness that all this would uot have happened if Steenie and he had never gone to the Derby and the theatres with Godfrey, in his fashionable sham-decor- detonation". As for Jane, whenever she saw'him, she did not spare him. “They should have remembered they were gen tlemen. They should have known where to stop. She was not proud to remember they were her brothers. Tom must not be astonished to find himself shut out of society. Without being puritanic, people could not tolerate a man who was mixed up in a public scandal.” Tom took it all very meekly from her, only when she was gone he said to his brother James, who had overheard her, “It isn’t the doing a thing, but the-being found out, that matters with Jane. Don’t you go on that principle, my boy. Its fearing man and daring God, aud that seems to me to be courage turned upside down.” Tom wandered in and wandered out, and sauntered- about. His sOnl was too sad and galled to return at once to tbe old dissipations. His heart was empty. The unclean spirit had gone out for a while. Should it return, it would be with the old, old story of the compatiying spirits more wicked than itself, and then the hopeless end. Tom took after his mother. He was ready to follow, had only too fatally fol lowed the course that had presented itself as easiest. ^Jle had a large, soft heart, poor fellow, and from the time that he had helped Steenie and Godfrey Mallock to rob a nest in the great elm at Heath Castle and then had sincerely but vainly tried to keep the fledglings alive, he had always followed bis more daring brother into evil, and then remained behind to humble himself under condemnation, al ways heartily endorsed by himself. Tom had never been a favorite with the Mal- locks. Mr. Mallock said he had the “natural stamp of a ne’er-do-well, and that if he were Duncombe lie would havo- put him into the navy long ago.” It was Sunday morning, in ju3t that same dawn of summer in "which, sixteen years before, Harry Duncombe went to chapel and did not hear the sermon that was preached by the good minister who had been dead so long. And now this fair Sabbath morning, “poor Mr Dun combe” would go to his great pew- in the fashionable church. It would be for the first time since his household calamity; his two youngest sons might possibly go with him, but not his wife Margaret. She was far too broken down. Nor his son Tom, though he might be lounging idly in the dining room, as tho others took up their books and went. Tom never went. Nobody expected him to go. It was useless hoping that he would. The father might see Jane and her husband in ■their own pew. * They- were punctual at morning service, however they might give dmner parties and “a little sacred music,” in the evening. Somehow, as he sat in church this morniqg^that other nioming rose vividly before poor Mr.“Dnncombe. Was it tlie sunshine or the breeze 4 that brought it back? He even saw his .wife’s poor darn ed glove, and the blotty type of Jane’s old Bible, as sbe handed it to him that lie might read. “He gave them their request, but sent leanness into their soul.” Poor Mr. Duncombe! He almost groan ed as he sat. Oil, if he had but known when he was really rich! If only he had not thrown away gold that he might gather oyster shells! Oh if he had only prayed to God not to let “the cares of this world” urge him towards “the deceitful ness of riches,” till all the precious seed of Heaven’s sowing was trampled dead beneath his eager feet! And now it was surely too late. Yes; too late, lie said to himself. And let his thoughts career on by unreined despair, till tliey were suddenly arrested by/he closing words of the sermon: “Rend your heart, and not your gar ments, and turn unto the Lord thy God: for He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repent- eth .Him of evil. Who knoweth if he will return and repent and leave a blessing behind him?” The words answered his heart like a a voice direct from heaven. They were God’s words—God’s words for him just as much as the exhortation, “Take no thought, saying what shall we eat? or, what shall we drink? or wherewithal shall we be clothed? For your heavenly Father conld ever' need repentance. ~ But let[ knoweth that ye have need of all these them talkliow they would, the miserable : things.” . If he liad repented of disregard- father scarcely heard them, for still in his- i ing that, should he disregard this? Heed- soul there sounded, like the knell of a " funeral bell—“What doth It profit thee,,to gam tlie whole world, and lose thine own soul, and the souls of thy children ?” The fever of excitement and confusion subsided by-and-by, and only left life very dreary in tlie great house in Belsize t And he rose from. his knees with a strange light bn his worn grey face. How does a man look when, after sixteen years wandering in the wilderness, he once more comes .In sight of his father's man sion? And yet as he turned from the MpuntoftheLord aiid went once more toWard^ the moil andsbiTof the: world, the old spirit that haddoubted “Jehova Jin:” could scarcely keep from asking “Whence can help come now?” “Is the.Lord’s arm shortened, that, it cannot save?” He lias known from the beginning of the world, every prayer that shall reach Him, and He has know how he shall answer each. The river wheye the wounded deer shall slake his Hurst to-day was started from its spring six thousand years ago. The clock strikes-at the hour but it was wound up long before. Say not, -therefore,. “.What need of prayer?” Say rather, “Lord teach us how to pray.” • • •; • • It was a dull affair, the family dinner. The roast partridges and the almond pud- (liugs. tlie strawberries and the choice wine could not enliven it. Tom was not present. The servant reported that “he had gone out directly after Mr. Dun combe and the young gentlemen.” Tljmr knew they need not expect his return till late at night. The boyB tried to talk a little between • themselves. The mother was tearful with the ■ sense of the empty places at her household, board. Mr. Duncrmbe himself was sad and silent enough. He had been up to the Mount of the Lord; but now he had returned to the camp, and, oh! lie' kne.w that the golden calf which had wrought such have? there was of his own making! ’ r ' _y , And what had become of Tom? Well, he had sauntered out with a vague design of lounging ontho.bcath. He chose the very narrowest by-paths, at once to avoid the pharisees who would thank . God they were not as he was, rand the publi cans who would hail him as fellow. He turned down a narrow lane of neat little cottages, with wooden-paled gar dens, rejoicing in peonies and hawthorn bushes. ' He half remembered the place; he must have known somebody there a long time ago. Surely' there was- also something familiar in the trim little e) 7 derly figure which came out of ppe of tlie houses and stepped towards him. But Tom Duncombe had not kept life mind in that active state which must gives name to_ every shadow that passes over the mifrfer of memory, ne would have thought no more of the vague recollection r lyyl not that slight figure as it^assejj him suddep ; ly paused add turned back to ifiquire— “Is hot this—Mr. Tom Duncombe ? ” He looked down-at her. Yes.' The hair was silvery now, butthe fashion of the bonnet little altered, and tlie kind, blue eyes were tlie same'as cler. It was liis old friend of bun and sweetmeat memory, kind-hearted, long-forgotten Miss Griffin. “Are you gomg anywhere very particu lar ” she asked. It was the satqe Cheery tond that had once' held out'tempting choice between Coliseums and Waxworks, and it carried bim back to the free, inno cent old days. “Because if you are nbtj there’s to bd such a good minister preach at our chapel to-day. -1 wish you'would come with me; for I’m expecting'a real treat. Do come.”. And before he knew wliat lid wis doing, Tom Duncome consented. j - ' It was :he old chapel of his childhood. It thrilled him with tender, touching asso ciations. The same old service. The same old style of singing. Oh, if Steenie were only here once more sitting by, liis side, aud all of it had never happened! A critic would have said that tjie sermon was rough and queer, disconnected in might not please God, and that Ho would not listen to you.” Tom looked up at her frank, kind face’ with his sad, weaty eyes. > •,' “I woidd give all I have or shall ever- havcifl could be that child agapi,” he said, and buried his face in his hands. Miss Griffin was frightened.' H^r life had had but limited experiences of this kind of thing. . iai ■*»» wfUio j "***’’ “Dear, dear, I didn’t think it .would touch you so,” she pleaded, nervously. “I’m so' thoughtless, forgive me. As for wishing one was a child again, I’ve felt it myself. But there’s better before' than there can be behind us, dear. Wore al ways children in our relation to ’God; He’s always our Father. Thai’s, the com fort of it.” .w “Yes, for you good people,” said Tom faintly. i'. r ‘ ' l? ’ r > “T-here’s none good except. God,“ re turned the little woman.- “There’s small reason f<Sr wS sinners Jo draw distinctions between ourselves. The moment we set ourselves up among the > just we lose our Saviour for he came ‘not tq call the right eous hut sinners to repentance.’ Dear know to apply to Mr. Duncombe.Ho cannot'find his own Steenie, but he helps every such poor prodigal that lie comes across to another chancei for this world hnd the next; silently praying, “God send somebody to do as much for Steenie.” And he>understands th»t, after all, prayer ia alt 'tbat-one can do .of oneself, 1 for-fib can do no more for Jane, who he sees con stantly, and who, in her hardness : and worldliness, and vanity, , he feels to be as faraway as the lostsoa.. . : And so he goes down to the grave quiet ly— thankful to God who has given him to see so much salvage from the home wrecked by his pride and,:impatience." For the' -two' youngest ylads are doing well in the .sight of God - and man, and poor, hum ble, docile Tom, having once found his Heavenly Leader, has never turned aside from following him. ■ The.soft, easily per suaded heart is softest and easiest persua its. Saviour. He has passed through dark days—hard days—days when ‘otionehandp he’ must confront contempt, ridicule anger rand on Jlic. other! doubt, suspicion,coldness.’ But lid' conquered me,” she thought to herself, “I wish I bad . all, and hears bis victory, so meekly that not got to talk about these things, for Bui he scarcely needs the warning which lie Miulflntlv rpnnato ** I M r a weak creature, and sure to be making blunders.?’ And she was ve suddenly raised his _ effort resumed something like h& usual look and manner, and asked her if she overplayed hymns now, and persuaded her to go to the piano and slng'ber old favorite, “Rock of Ages.” And then -they ,. looked through some of her religious; *7° ®! constantly repeats to himself. ; “Let him that lliinketh he sta'ndeth, take heed lest he fall.” i . r ‘ Agricultural. " 1 '' . -J. ti « - PRE3EJ1VINQ BOSS. , , . TKe Uachor und Conditor Zeitung has orite, “Rock ofAgcs.” And tSeq they P^- P reserv " . uu ked through some of her religiousi ?* en „ lateIy recoB ?" books and periodicals, and compared the physiognomy of missionaries. This—who, ! 2^1’ se ^’ ( -S ie Miss Griffin thought, must look like the ^^re placecUn a solution of fifty loved Annstlp John and who had so grammes of salicytic *md, rand a little ...... won the hearts Gf his Monlefthat spirits Of wine, diluted with one liter of mother ran out of butter one morning, a Chief Who l^d nnee » Jin- i water i afterwards packed away in and needing some before it could be had nibal had walked'two hundred miles to ®. f look nnnn his a~od fjtoa-i in death—with they Were found in perfect condition and look upon his aged' taps” in death—with the countenance-of missionary That, "bo.| had so set his face against certain .bjoody i J? ^ eggs thus treated, should keep and Jfirbaron3heathen rites,' that they ( finally good for a mui longer time, as had utterly disappeared from the! distri^' j;^“ dv “ ntaseS of where he Lad worked, though, he himself odder weather m their fovoiv | liad fallen a victim to the treachery of ■ . ■ treachery savage enmity.. It was ail simple talk, mere chit-chat sotfie people might call it, But it was titter change of air to.Tom’s soul. ' And change of air cores more ef fectually than sharp surgery or hitter po- tipn." -. : w!ffiy.kad tea fogetheo tpid Tom. ac companied her co chapel for, her evening service, but left "her at the door and went home, : i,- The great house in Belsiza Park was very quiet. The boys were out. Poor Mrs. Buncombe lay in her bed room in dreartiy lamentation. Tho servants told Toin that “master was in the library,” Tom found him there, poring over thQ great family Bible/ the shabby old family Bible with pictures, which he had not opened for many a day. - ! ,?j, S The fathe.r'glanced at his son; arid has tily turned again to his page, secretly groaning under his terrible dumbness. ,i,‘ “Lord, Lord, would that I could speak! Oh speak to me, Father of forgiving mer cies.” voice. He '.wanted* to* be! •,.encour aging, sympathetic, “"fatherly- ,Rgt nothing came save a constrained {‘-{im deed. ’ ... ! “And I went' ttf ! chapel with her-, I have'Stayed with her till now.. ;» died his subject strongly. He had lired out the parable himself, and coming from the husks and the exile,he gaydnew touch- ; es to the old, old picture.'‘Poor Tom Duncombe, still among the swine, with the veiy husks failing, felt a hand sudr denly laid oq his jsoul. .i q,. It was the first time for many a day that lie had been in a place of worships and this was one hallowed with the .'.asso ciations of innocent .childhood—tender with memories of tho^ost brother and the changed home. They se6med all in the sermon. It might not have been heeded without them, without* it, they would lfave'ended in a useless pang and a des perate throw for forgetfulness. The har vest depends chiefljron the soil and the seed. oLet the' sowers be humble. For without fitness of these they can do noth ing, and with it a mere bird of the air may do as well as they. | Miss Griffin had expected another kind of discourse, and her first impulse was to feel a little disappointed. But one glance at the face beside her, silenced even her kindly criticism. How can one say a slight ing word of the roughest rope that has saved a drowning man ?, She invited Tom to dine with her, arid he went. She was a kindly, honest little woman, and her heart yearned towards the poor prodigal that she had known a. "happy, bright-faced child. She was not a Woman to dare to think of aiding" a^cou- versiou—was far too humble to hope that W? „ the food which otherwise might only tie-' imperfectly digested. Actual experi ments carefully conducted have demefo- strated that where two hogs were fattened, pne fed salt in tee food, the other with salt excluded, the one fed salt food fat tened very miiChr faster and in several weeks’ less lime. It exceeded' in weight by a considerable proportion Itpe onti : fed" wjthout salt in its : food. Stock should kaye free access to salt, and they will on ly fake what is 'needfulj hut |pthey are left without it for some time, a surfeit is often taken which operates injuriously. * TO CUBE FOOJ-BO.T 1ST -SHEEP. ’ The preparation of the foot is just as, essential as.the renie'dy, for' if! every part of the disease is not laid bare, the remedy/ will not effect a cure. A solutiou of blup vitriol as strong as can bp made, and as hot as you .canbepr your hand in, even for a moment, having theRquid three or four inches deep! or deep enough, to coverall the affected parts; then, hold the diseased , ... . foot in this liquid ten minutes, or long voice, crying m tho - my boy.” L * , ■ ' ' | . -i perietrate-to all the diseased ... j Aud there wai thp faded writing,, 4ri ,a. parts; put the sheep on a dry ft-nm dr.-,, of y 0U ng man’s plaifi, film hftid 1 — k ' --- ■* , ,“As, for me arid my'house, we will>ae: the Lori”. ,Y.V. k '' ' : * -_ v -»H ,>§ValIiqy fault,Tom,” said.the. pld, mam re wrote mairimon over that in my heart, 1 ,’ arid,liis grey‘head dropped on .the ygllpw pa raas.he.nioaried: “O [Steenie! my 8oq,wpuJi!p'oa ! haq died for thee,’ my son, my son t t __ w his preacher liad been a wild, bad man once; father’s eyes arid understood them- Oh he had done evil as he could! Ndw jie j could any one* misuridterst arid'the eyes of wanted to save sinners. ! ’... .a dumb man, pgohizlng to cry >out a.-wel- It was not such a sennon a3 Tom’s . come to one who was' lost and is found? father bad needed sixteen years before-J “Father, I liaVe givcn you a great deal It was not a sermon to, probe the shell. of trouble and Sorrow. Will you forgive of self-rigliteousncss, nor yet "was it meet. me.arid help me begin totry again ?” • J for the building up and perfecting of a true ' The father stretched out -his harid si- saint. The work of God’s spiritual world j lently. '” " ,.’j is as diverse as tlie work of physical crea-! “I would not ask for your pardon be- tion, and calls for as many kinds of in- 1 fore I’ve liad.tjirfe to show repentance,” strument?. If there was but the sculp-_ said poor Tom,’“but Ilhirik to know that' tor’s burin, and the dainty lawn-mower,' I’ve told you to expect'me.ta he^dilfererit*. wliat would break up the granite boul- wijl help me to be so. T^y to hope for' ders, or hew down the forest ?. j The rough j me, father!” ’ tools ’ [place ■ but how out them H the Mount, came the wilderness. Tlie text was taken from the story of young man’s plain,' the Prodigal Son; and the preacher han- GRANT8JGU CK A Characteristic Anecdote. A prominent Republican Congressman is responsible for the following in the Cin cinnati Commercial: If people think that Grant is indifferent tri the nomination, they are greatly mis taken. I will tell you a conversation I once had with Grant, bfit I.don’t wish it published, as some might, think that I am committing a breach of honor - in repeat ing a private conversation. It was about tlie time that Graut’s name was first men tioned as an available candidate, for the Presidency. I was on a train going to Washington, being a member, of the House at that time. Grant got on the train at Harrisburg, and we rode to Wash ington together. . Well, I wanted to hear some expression from him about bis candidacy, and he re plied that he had some doubts about hb being able to get the nomination. I then, in order to draw him out, reminded him of Zachary Taylor .at Coipus Christi. How he had happened to be in command there at the’first outbreak of Mexican maraud ers, that terminated in the Mexican war, and how pure accident and the exigencies of that war had made an humble"border Colonel President of the United States; aud I added that it was more frequently the smallest things that made men great than the pursuit of a well defined ambi tion.: He sat musing for a time after tell ing him this story, and then, turning around to me, said: “I’ll tell you, H——,, there’s something in that, aud lent tell you of a smaller circumstance than Taylor’s. When I was a boy, living in Georgetown, my A writer oft fungus growths says'their cost to agriculturists is many millions of dollars. 1 They blight hb fruit trees from the seed; they blight his grain crops more or less every year; they blight liis fruit from-blossom to its end, pursuing it with a determined hate; they mildew his beans and peas; they impair his corn and pota toes; they poisonous hogs and .disease hb cattle; they destroy hb loved -ories often with ' insidious disease; and, then, rot out lib store-houses, hb dwellings, and eveu fasteningnpon himself chains at last, as fit ground on which to ripen their spores •for deadly work on others. No pest b so deadly, none so insiduou3 in its jvorkiugs, riofte'so varied—meeting us everywhere and under almost all conditions. Insig nificant in themselves, their yery obscurity gives them the best opportunity for doing us injury.—Prairie Farmer. ■< U".:. SALT FOB STOCK. 1 The value of salt for stock cannot h 3 overrated. It is an undoubted fact that where animals have ‘ unrestrained access Tom sat dowri gentijria a ahair,nearly to salt st all times, many. of the diseases. opposite, and for a riddle there .was’m- to which they are liabla-'are warned off lence. '■-iq andynreveirted by.-. “Father,” said Tom softjy at last, ,“I m'et Miss Griffin this morning.” ; , „ Mr. Duncombe yearned towards, a something he heard in foa < sonfq vnirn. He ' w!mted*?to he -. encour- keeping tbs ' System' regular. . Farm "anfmals, when kept' oil grass or green succulent feed, J naturally take -more salt than wheu kept ou dry fodder. Salt assists digestion by increas- Ingthe fiow of saliva, aiding-also further by promoting thirst, and a constant floyv 'i}F‘fluids assist in dissolving much 'of ijrapn l , f. r - V “It was for qur sakesyou did it,father,” pleaded Torn. -JSYou’a rievpr have .been teqaptpd*j f 'Pm.sure j it was not for'your, .own .bapg^rieM! Father, bow can you expert me .to take heart to begin: again, unless you wili^youfoelf?? ., • n n. Long and Jofig the-, faaer and semsat closeted together. Tlie boys came home, and the servants got the supper ready, ana yet the bell didhnotiring.' And when it did, Mr. Dancombe’s order,Was simply^ tins: ' •*.«» bna «f; . « } • "!'m» i “Call Mrs. Duncotobe, andlet'everybody else in tbe house come:heie.”- . , ■' Poor demised Tom, -poor'torn black sheep, had been the first to -find the way back to the fold, by the humble way 1 of re pentance and humiliation. And straight and narrow ilsaithat .path might be, there was nevertheless an awfhl grandeur about it. Npt even tlie little ilight-mind- ed, idle foot boy,, foil inclined io titter as Tom’s fine voice' trcftfolingly' started, the good old hytain hefflfid hhritd once "before, that day; and the shortness of 'Mr.’Dun-' combe’s prayer;but addedtp its force. “Father, wg.haye .sinned, against 'Ifo^v-' en and before Thee, and we’ are no. more. she might drive one nail into the urk of a 1 soul’s salvation. But she Wanted,, hearts.** ^nifot give thorn to Thee, good to him-to let him feel that' dveiy-1 ^ Jody had fl that there 1U TTe 5 «at down in the Hriihhle little rod™ Tcouia; we come to ifteo co unao it. Don to toe hon^cold d “ ? Therefor the sakeofXh*life,and: dqath of ot such self-revelation as ^anything which 1. ~ -- throws us back on the past.. By the places and ways that have .never changed, wo. best see the changes In ourselves. •Lord, we ask it... Amen.’',j • • 4 V' j *U.->yli-fl How dld’it end?' 1 ' •**•«* ! •*-'« ,.U V The Buncombes. the great 5 - v, .. . _ • • house at Belsize Park. 'iThe father and Miss Gnfiin -asked a blessing, and ; mnt.hecgling to ,t as the old nest whence then _went on cliattirig _ in _her- simple, their boy was blown outiiito the' cnrel . ^ * rmJ:. - 'J Li xLi*. ^ w. mJj* M cheerful way. Asking afipr Jane and lier baby. Talking of old njigbbors yiio .liad died or gone away. Bringing to mind .all the quaint details of tire old child isi ex cursion days. ■ Tom ansriered arid talked as best he might, until she i lighted An an anecdote of a time .when,, she h^d taken him tostay With her'for“a ’ while, a .little mite of six or seven, (in trutji it'was when his youngest 1/rother.was bo.rnJ. world.' Their ! old acquaihtaifces' T ‘pro!- ! nounce them “to. be almost gone out of society.” But 'though Mrs."Buncombe never went to another party at Heath Castle, she scent nearly a fdrtriiglrt fhefo- last winter when Mrs. Mallock hid ft par alytic stroke. Mrs. DunconAic Is stronger" 1 now than, she has been 'fdr years, and works almost as liardin. other homes rilip nncp . ri in linr nwn. * Youtut "Mi less of the departing congregation, the poor successful merchant knelt down in his pew, and once more he felt there was verily a Father God who listened while his soul-cried out— “Lord thou hast rent niy heart for me. Thou only canst turn it to Thyself. Thou Park. The father Went again to liis offi- , art gracious and merciful. Thou art slow ces and warehouses, and knew that his to anger, else I should be utterly consum— own clerks, and porters spoke of him as cd. Lord thou kuowest If Thou w ilt re- “poor Mr. Duncombe.” He returned to tum aml pardon and leave a blessing be- lus desolate home, where Margaret sat, hind Thee. Oh Lord I have led my cliil- always weeping, until she had wept so dren from Thee. I cannot lead them _ ... _ .. long "that slw could weep no more. He back. O Lord, have mercy upon ma, a ! and I told you to say them standing", inactive life, but yf anybody wants help are invited to call arid examine the"nov would sometimes almost long that the sinner.” 1 Poor little dear, you were afraid that in an unostentatious act of mercy; they elties in her line. _ she once, diil iuher own- 1 Young Mrs. “You were suriltra little mischief,” sbe j Mallock is very dngiy, and (tolls her bus-V said, “my olftcabdid not know children,! band tii^t “since Stccniri’s disgrace, ma aud could not understand jou; at all, ***’" ' remember he 61tmb*e'|l tf.oi kitchen t board to get-away from you. and you tried i people, aud behaving to follow him and fell and hurt your knee, i grandmother to them all, It was a bad.fall- and frightened,me,,}jut from renswing friendship ri ith that Slisd you boys are so determined. to‘bc"bjave Griffin. Fancy' taking out sudi a .fright- ,'It ali comes . bare flooi; for fiwepty, hours" "to'/ gwe . it a chance to take effect. In cv^ry case where I have, tried it, it has; ^ffocted a pure, and I .have never given a sheep,, medicine inter nally for foot-rot. The remedy I, call, dead, shot when the foot is. thoroughly pre pared, but a more , expeditious way, and where you hardly hope to ^exterminate the disease but keep it in subjection, is this : After preparing the feet as for the vitriol cure, take butyr of antimony, pour oil of vitriol into it slowly until the heat ing aud boiling process ceases, ami apply, with a swab. This remedy works quiek- er, and is stronger than the vitriol, and is just as safe, but its mode of application renders it lee sure.—OMo Fairmeri-. ■ Atigusta Iteina. Augusta; Ga,; Aprff lS.-^-ileavy frosts for the last three nights have killed r both fruit and vegetibles in this section. The dturia^e has been exfousive. ’' . \ ,7 ., ,Dr. MT. E. Bland, who vis shot in, jin election riot at Edgefield, S. C., yester day, died to-day. At a,meetlng of the Georgia Railroad directors to-day, a contract for.five years .With the Louisville and Nashville Rail-‘ road, was confirmed. X threat. UlMovtty by i»'Grcntlliui!! TliiyJ primarily, is what IVamer’s Safe' .Nervine 13. The great man, is one of the most,'famous living physicians. He found Jt harmless remedy for all kinds of paui, others improved it* arid the'final result is, the Safe Nervine pow manufactnred only by H. H. Warner & Co. FroipHi"well-known citizen of Chicago: CmcwfiBo, III., January>1, i860; • £L_U. Warner & Co., Rochester, N. T.:. , Gentlemen—I have,Used gamer’s Safe Kidney and^Ldver Cure with the greatest satisfaction. It is the, only remedy I have ever !.used" that jf can recommend to my friends, m .it'.' hits ’cured mo of Bright’s Disease of long standing, after having vis ited the White Sulphur Springs of Yir- ginia, and trying" innumerable so-called “remedies” of the day. Having resided here for foiJy-scVen years, my friends will ,be gjlad-to see fliis statement. The-dis coverer is, indeed,a public'benefactor. Wxr. HI Patteksow, 1,491 Wabash avenue, near Twenty-ninth street. ' ,. . , ‘ aprl4-lw ' The hnmerise rush at tlie New York Store, - at the closing 'out of tlieir retail, stock, is a sufficient guarantee how goods ate being sold, ri-cm ■ aprld-lt Bemsmbeb we must disjiosc of our i-c- Nn. Ik S. Rees will-open 011 next Thursday and Friday that you did not make much fuss. Only ' in the carriage; rind still mamma will do , tho largest stack of imported PaUeraBou- when you were going to bed you found 1 it.” i nets and Hats ever brought to this city, yon could not kneel to say your prayers, | Mr. Duncombe has ceased to mix much Her customers and the public generally at the store, she sent me over to the next door neighbor to borrow some. Well, I was just as well acquainted there as I was at home almost, and opened the door and went in without .knocking, and just as I went in, one of the folks—the old gentle man, I believe—was reading a letter from a son who was in West Point. Well, I didn’t want to disturb them while they were reading the letter, and stood there and heard what .was read. Well, the son said-in this letter that ne had been found —that is, '.he had failed' to pass examination, and he would have to come home, and he had sent the letfou>QC mail ahead, so that the surprise at bis return might not be so great. Well, when they got through, I borrowed the butter and took it home, aud then rushed down to Thomas L. Hamar’s office—he was our Congressman then—and I asked him if he wouldn’t send me to West Point. Ho told me that he couldn’t send me until this other hoy got through, and that wouldn’t be for three yearS yet. ‘But, Hamar,! said I", ‘suppose this boy should fail to pass examination, and should he sent liome, will you send me then?’ “Well, Uly,” said he, “I guess if he can’t pass there’d be no use of you trying it.” - - • “But I want you to promise that yon will send me,” said I. .“Ali -right,’,’ said he; “if he can’t get tftrougft X jHvmiau to. let you” “Well, during the day Hamar heard about the other fellow, and the next day I .went and asked if he had heard the news, lie-said he had, and after laughing at me -for the,way I had got him to make the promise, he said it was all right, I should go. y. T eil, I went, and because my moth er happened to be-oiit of butter, lias made me General : of the army of the United States,-and I don’t know, after all, but whafiib may make me President.” “You gap. draw your own conclusions as to whether Grant is anything of a schemer,”-laughingly said tbe gentleman to the writer, as be brought the conversa tion to a close. A FLYING-MACHINE. Professor B-itchell’s Proposed Aerial , r _ Voyage to."the North Pols. . Professor Ritchcll made a flying ma chine about two years ago that would re ally fly. It went up or down at the wish uf the operator, went forward and back ward, .turned around, remained in one place, or went to any desired point—in short, it proved that a flying machine was possibly though it fell far short of realiz ing wliat its projector hoped for, and that while navigation in the air was possible .under oertain conditions, there were cir- cqanstancea when it was not practicable. The macfcineiwas .exhibited at Philadel phia, at the Permanent Exposition, at Hartford and subsequently at., Boston. Its performances excited wonder and sur prise, and indicated the correctness of the principle upon which its construction was based, even if it did not go further. But -even flying machines lose their novelty as a showpiece, and Professor UiteheU is now in tlie field with a new proj ect, suggested, e perhaps, by Commander Oheyne’s grand scheme of reaching the North Pole-Tby wroufcutic voyages. Pro fessor Ritchcll says : “I will go to tbe North Pble in my airship, and the very reasons -'that will keep Captain - Cheyne from reaching there will be the ones by which I will be able to succeed. In carry ing out this idea, he has built a working model of the airship he proposes to send to the Arctic regions. It does not materially differ from the one exhibited a few months ago; The lifting power is in a horizontally placed cylinder of gossamer cloth—fine linen coated with India rubber. It is charged with hydrogen gas, made by the usual process from iron turnings and sulphuric acid. Broad bands extend over the cylinder, which is about twenty- feet long and- fifteen feet in diameter, narrowing toward each end. The bands are fastened to a light, strong rod, from which the car is suspended. Tlie machine is sliaped something like the skeleton of a cutter sleigh, on the top of which is the operator's seat. THE FBOPKLL1NG PBOCKSS, In iront of the seat is a cog-edged wheel about ten indies in diameter, with double haridles, geared to a four-bladed fan, mov ing horizontally beneath the operator. It can be turned 2,500 times a minute. Tlie blades of the far are of strong wood, and each has a superficial area of about fifty square inches. The blades are set like those of a propeller—that is, at a small angle with the screw which turns them. This constitutes part of the lifting and drawing down'power. The gas rais es ninety-nine pounds of every hundred to be lifted; tlie fan takes care of the other pound. The operator, wishing to descend, reverses the wheel. From the front of the frame reaches out two rods, carrying at their extremity a verti cally working fan, revolving 2,890 times a minute. It is exactly like the propeller of a steamship, except that it can be turnod by the operator’s foot from right to leftrind vice versa, and thus it becomes a rudder as well.' It wilt send the machine forward or take it backward, and also change its direction. The two fans can he worked together or separately, the ma chinery being simple and quite within the control of the operator. Such is the plan in tlie diminutive by which Professor Ilichtell hopes to reach the North Pole. The machine ho now has will carry one man. It lias been tried, and al though much ' like the one ex-1 liibited before, it has many im provements, is more easily con- j trolled and perfectly balanced. Instead j of worsted hands around the gas cylinder i the professor proposed to have steel ad- j juslable bands on the big ship, which will compress the gas in the bag or allow it to expand at will. This arrangement will, he says, counteract the influence of the cold weather in the high latitudes. Ha believes ■ he can make headway against wind blowing at the rate of ten miles an hour. The machine has already traveled against a six-mile wind at a fair speed. Further details of his proposed pleasure trip to the pole the professor has uot yet formulated.—AT. Y. Herald. Decisions of Supreme Court. BENDERBB APBIL 6lH, 1880. {Abridgedfor the Telegraph and Messen ger, by Bill * Harris, Attorneys at Law, Macon, Ga.) Fuller vs. Arnold et ux. Certiorari, from Pike. 1. Where a motion to dismiss a certio rari was made and overruled, but no or der was entered on the minutes; and at a subsequent term the same ground was again urged on a' new motion to dismiss, there was no error in allowing the order to be entered nunc pro tunc, and holding that ground to be res adjudicata, no exception having been taken at the time when it was made. 2. It is not necessary to attach to a peti tion for a certiorari a certificate of the magistrate that costs have been paid and security given, bpfore the sanction of the judge can he obtained. 3. Before a writ of certiorari can be le gally issued by the Clerk of the Superior Court, there must be filed in his office, within three months from the decision, both the petition, sanctioned by the judge, and also a certificate of the magistrate that all costs have been paid and bond and security given, or a pauper affidavit in lieu thereof. Where the magistrate did not sign such a cert ificate within three months from the decision, the certiorari should have been disriiisscd. Judgment reversed. Persoll et al. vs. Scott, administrator- Equity, from Rockdale. Where a father advanced to his son a “wool carder,” of the value of one thou sand dollars, and afterwards took posses sion of it and used it, he thereby became the debtor of his son, and the statute of limitations would run as well against such claim as against any other debt. If the claim for the use of the property was barred before^the death of tbe father, it would npt be a proper deduction from the advancement in a settlement of hfs estate. Judgment affinried. Ellis vs. U. S. Fertilizing and Chemical Co. Complaint, from Spalding. 1. That a verdict for the plaintiff is toa small is not good ground of exception " by defendant. 2. Where a father and son lived lo- jelher, the latter cultivating a part of the ormer’s laud and attending to the entire farm, and the son went with his fatliec’s wagons and teams to purchase guano, it was admissible to show that in making the purchase, he stated that the guano was for the use of both of them. This fanned a part of tlie contract. The effect which it would have on tbe father would ribaend. profit _<*£ .tlusagepcY-OfHie snn. 3. Where one of twn paj-f must sutler by reasomof the fraudulent conduct of a third, he who places it in the power of tho latter to perpetrate such fraud, must lose rather than the other. 4. Where a son obtained’guano on a credit by fraudulent representations that he was purchasing for himself and father jointly, and ou discovery of the fraud, the agent of the vendor demanded a return of the guano, and was referred to the father, who agreed to lake it and useit it a speci fied deduction should be made in the irices, which'was assented to, he thereby jecame liable as an original contractor. Judgment affirmed. Georgia Railroad Company vs. Cox. Case, from Newton. Wb«re the evidence as"to the diligence used by the employes of a railroad was conflicting, the presumption of negligence being in all cases against the company, and the jury find for the plaintiff, and the presiding judge is satisfied with the ver dict, this court will not interfere. Judgment affirmed. Black vs. Peters. Appeal," from Rock dale. The county court of Rockdale county being governed itry the same law in re spect to appeals as justice courts, an ap peal therein must be entered within four day? from the decision. H is not sufficient that it be withiu four days from the ad journment of the court at which the de cision was rendered. Judgment reversed. Scott vs. Taylor. Equity; from Rockdale. A bill filed by a sister against a brother to compel the conveyance to her of cer tain property, the title to which had been taken in bim under a purchase made by her, to secure tbe payment of the notes for the purchase money which had been given by him, and upon a verbal agree ment to convey to her for life with re mainder to herchiidrezi, on the payment by her of said notes, which payment she alleged had been made, is not a proceed ing to change the deed to the brother from a fee simple to a l conditional title. Evidence of such agreement and payment was admissabie, without infringing the rale that it is not competent to engraft an express trust-upon-a written deed by parol proof. Judgment affirmed with directions. McAllister vs. the Singer Manufacturing Company. Complaint, from Rockdale. 1. A plea to a suit on a foreign judg ment which appertains wholly to matters occurring anterior to such judgment, and 'whidh, with the exemplification of the record, shows great negligence in failing to set up such defense to the original ac tion, was properly dismissed on demur rer; especially where the facts pleaded would have constituted no defense. 2. Since May 1790, the records and ju dicial proceedings of tbe courts of any of the States are admitted in any other court within the Unibed States by the attesta- tion-of tlie clerk and the seal of the court annexed, together with the certificate of the judge that the attestation is in due form. Caldwell et al. vs. Williams. Claim, from Spalding. 1. Where -the court has jurisdiction of tlie person and the subject matter of the litigation, aud the parties in open court enter into an agreement in relation there to, which is recorded on the minutes and approved by the judge,. it is binding upon the parties. The more especially is- this so when four days elap:e before a verdict, which is the subject matter of the agree ment, is taken without objection, and one of the parties has received a benefit under the agreement. 2. Where a question of law arising un der a given state of facts is submitted to the judge lor his decision, the statement to him of what the facts are upon which he is to decide the law cannot lie error. 3. Where counsel make statements in their place, they may be received without, verification, unless the same is required bv the opposieg party at ihe time. Judgment affirmed.' A bite from a rattlesnake is something not more dangerous than a severe cough or cold. A well merited reputation lias Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup, and this remedy is sold by all druggists. Price 25 cents- : ..