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THE gramiLE IWIMBt,
BENNETT & SMITH, PROPRIETORS.
VOL. VIX.
Tf)c tflossmUt Stmiftarb.
B. F. BENNETT & S. H. SMITH,
PUBLISHERS.
ur.
OFFICE, —N. E. CORNER PUBLIC SQUARE.
Terms : Two Dollars, if paid in adfance;
Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if payment be
delayed six months; Three Dollars, at the
end of the year.
No paper discontinued until all arreara
ges nre paid, except at the option of the
Publishers.
Miscellaneous Advertisements inserted at
One Dollar per square (twelve lines) for the
first insertion, and Fifty Cents for each
weekly continuance.
EMeHisetyegfe flecked s{j £gto:
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Es
tate, must be published Forty Days.
Notice that application will be made to
th Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land
or Negroes, must be published weekly for
Two Months.
Sales of Land and Negroes, by Adminis
trators, Executors or Guardians, are to be
held on the first Tuesday in the month, be
tween the hours of 10 in the forenoon and 3
in the afternoon, at the Court House of the
County in which the property is situate.—
Notice of these Sales must be given in a
public gazette Forty Days previous to the
day of sale.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage, must
be published monthly for four months. For
establishing lost papers, for the full space of
three months. For compelling titles from
Executors or Administrators, where a bond
has been given by the deceased, the full
space of three months.
Citations for Letters of Administration,
thirty days. For Dismission from Adminis
tration, monthly six months. For Dismission
from Guardianship, forty days. For letters
of Guardianship, forty days.
Itie of
1. Subscribers who do not give express
notice to the contrary, are considered ns
wishing to continue their subscriptions.
2. If subscribers order the discontinuance
of their newspapers, the publishers mny con
tinue to send them until all arrearages are
paid.
3 If subscribers neglect or refuse to take
their newspapers from the offices to which
they are directed, they are held responsible
until they have settled the bills, and order
ed a discontinuance.
4. If subscribers remove to other places
without informing the publishers, and the
newspapers arc sent to the former direction,
they are held responsible.
5. It has been decided by the Courts that
subscribers refusing to take their newspapers
from the office, or ret. oving and leaving
them uncalled for. is pririia facie evidence
of intentional fraud.
6. The Courts have also decided that a
postmaster who neglects to perform his duty
of giving reasonable notice, as required by
the Post Office Department, of the neglect of
a person to take from the office newspapers
addressed to him, renders himself liable for
the subscription price.
JOB PRINTING,
Ofebeirtj Jjeselrijtfioo, Sxecqfed,
At the Standard Office!
PS’ Address BENNETT & SMITH,
Oct. 1, 1855. Cnssville, Geo.
Clinic?
Written for the Standard.
Oh! Do Not Bid Me Smile, Mother !
Ob, do not bid me smile, mother,
’Twould only rend the heart
That should be broke, but sadly beats
With quick and painful start.
Nor bid me sing to thee,
So wildly sad the lay,
Would issue from my spirit’s depth
Thou would’st the wish unsay.
But gently kiss my brow, mother—
Then leave me to my rest:
I’ve lain full oft, in hope’s bright dream,
Upon thy loving breast.
Clasp once again my feverish hand,
Then soon perchance I’ll come,
But now I would be left alone
In my dark and silent room.
I love to lie without a light,
Upon my little bed,
And listen to the rain drops—
Falling, softly on the shed.
Lulled by their mournful droppings,
I close my ■weary eye,
And think again, the blessed thought,
The time wheu I shall die.
I feel the tear-drops starting,
Slow and silently they roll,
And burn upon my wasted check—
Growing so pale and cold.
Oh, I pray ere the night is past,
Ere the morning light is come,
That God in his loving mercy
Will take me to his home.
Then do not bid me smile, mother,
Oh, I could wildly weep,
L ntil these eyes forever close
In death’s unbroken sleep.
Cassvillc, Geo. seana.
From the Yankee Blade.
SPEAK GENTLY.
Speak gently to thy father.
For he is aged now,
The frost of many winters
Have fallen on his brow.
Soon, soon the willow’s drooping branch
Will o’er liis ashes wave,
Then strive with gentle words to smooth
His pathway to the grave.
Speak gently to thy mother,
’Twas she who gave thee birth:
She watched o’er thee in infancy,
And guarded thee in youth.
Then never let an unkind word
Her loving spirit move:
Speak gently to thy mother
The words of deepest lore.
Speak gently to thy sister,
Thee she ’doth fondly love,
She too will soon be called away
To a better world above.
Then speak not harsh or unkind
To her thy sister dear,
And, should she weep, with kindly words
Check thou the falling tear.
Speak gently to the mourner,
Perchance thou too may’st know',
What ’tis to feel misfortune’s blight.,
Or pass through scenes of woe.
Then ever use the gentlest word,
To those with downcast eyes,
So shalt thou reap a rich reward
In the world beyond the skies.
Speak gently to thy fellow-man,
Os high or lowly birth,
Speak gently to him if he's poor,
Or rich in things of earth:
Speak gentle words to every one,
Kind w'ords will cost thee nothing,
And eveiy one will prove a star
In the crown of thy rejoicing.
J. W. WELCH.
51 Capital ,?tarij.
MINNIE’S RUSE.
BV LIZZIE ELMWOOD.
‘Heigh -ho !’ sighed Minnie Ar!in,
‘ what a plague these lovers are! Par
ticularly if one is not certain whether
they are enamored of one’s fortune. I
wish I knew ,’ and as she said this,
she glanced thoughtfully after the re
treating form of a tall, gentlemanly look
ing young man, at that moment passing
out of the gale in front of her father’s
mansion.
Minnie was not a beauty, as heroines
usually are, but she possessed a sunny,
gleeful temper, a warm heart, and culti
vated mind, which amply compensated
for all deficiencies of form and face, so
that among the truly discerning she
found many and warm friends.
As her father was very wealthy, many
suitors knelt at the feet of Minnie, who
otherwise would have sought a lovelier
bride. But to all she had given a kind,
but decided negative, until she met
‘.Valter Roby, the visitor who had just
bid her adieu. He was a young lawyer,
who had recently come into the village
of Belmont, and who possessing a hand
some person,- fascinating conversational
powers, and bland and agreeable man
ners, very soon won the confidence and
good-will of the people, and particularly
of the ladies.
He did not at first, however, notice
Miunie with much attention; but in the
course of a few weeks, he seemed to be
suddenly enamored, and soon became
very attentive.
Though Minnie was much flattered
by this devotion of the ‘ handsome law
yer,’ yet she had a large share of that
rare, but important article, common
sense , and as she suspected that this as
siduity did not arise wholly from a love
of her own rather plain self, she deter
mined to prove her lover. He had, this
very day, made her an offer of his heart
and hand, and begged her’s in return;
but Minnie had given him this reply, —
‘ Mr. Roby, I am not prepared to answer
you immediately—l shall require at
least two weeks to reflect upon it.’ He
was somewhat daunted by this cool an
swer to his rather eloquent and ardent
proposal; for he deemed his handsome
person irrisistible. He urged her for a
shorter probation ; but she would not re
lent, only telling him that if she decided
before the time had expired, she would
inform him.
Minnie sat long in her room that
night devising some means to ascertain
his real sentiments. She thought if she
were only handsome, she might rest as
sured that he loved her; and then she
could return that love. She revolved
many schemes, but none seemed plausi
ble, and finally, when the bell chimed
twelve, she retired, resolving in the
morning to impart her trouble to her
father, and implore his aid, for she was
motherless.
. 9 ZahtiltJ lietospiipei-—Uebofei) to ffgfiowl qi)o State politics, Jiiehfijre, the TiLtllefs, Foreign qi]o Sofriesfie Ketos, &e.
OA.SSVT'IXjXjE, GA., THURSDAY, TSTOV. 1, 1855.
Morning dawned, and Minnie arose
unrefreslied and pale. As the breakfast
bell rang, she greeted her father at the
foot of the stairway.
‘ What ails my birdie this morning ?’
inquired her father. 1 I’ll tell you after
breakfast, papa,’ replied Minnie. Ac
cordingly, when the meal was finished,
she twined her arm within his, and ac
companied him to the parlor, where she
unfolded to him her suspicions, plans
and hopes. Minnie’s father was not
surprised. Mr. Roby had applied to him
to sanction his contemplated proposals
to Minnie; and as Mr. Arlin thought
him a worthy, talented young man, he
told him that ‘if Minnie consented, he
should.’ When she had concluded, Mr.
Arlin said :
‘ Don’t be troubled, my daughter. It
would be strange if we could not devise
some means, by which to ascertain what
this young lawyer is in love, with.’ He
then unfolded his plan, and when they
parted, Minnie’s face had resumed some
thing of its look of careless gayety.
The first week of Walter Roby’s ‘ ban
ishment’ (as he told her he should call
it,) had not passed, when it was rumored
that Minnie Arlin had entered the shop
of Mrs. Rand, the milliner, as an ap
prentice, and that when she was ques
tioned, she had replied, ‘She did not
wish to be a burden to her father in his
present circumstances.’ There came al
so flying reports of loss of property,
which seemed in accordance with Min
nie’s conduct, and many people began
to believe that Esq. Arlin would be
obliged to dispose of his handsome man
sion and fine farm. Minnie continued
her daily task at the milliner's shop un
til the two weeks had nearly expired.
Two days before the time had expired,
she dispatched to tier lover the following
note:
Mr. Robv — If you still entertain the
sentiments you professed at our last in
terview, I will give you my reply this
evening. Minnie Arlin.
Walter had heard the rumors, and
had endeavored to ascertain their truth,
lie trembled lest they were true, for he
felt that he could not make Minnie Ar
lin, if poor, liis bride. lie was quite un
decided what to do, when lie received
Minnie’s note; but immediately sallied
forth, determined to satisfy himself as to
the truth of the rumor, if possible.—
Stepping into the office of a physician,
with whom he was upon terms of inti
macy, he said, after a moment’s conver
sation, — 4 what is it, Doctor, about this
affair of Esq. Arlin ? Ts he really so re
duced that Minnie is obliged to become
a shop girl ?’
4 Well,’ replied his friend, 4 1 thought
at first there must be some mistake, but
I heard the old gentleman say this morn
ing, when someone spoke of Minnie
being so industrious , that Minnie Arlin
would not see her father reduced to pov
erty, and not make some effort to assist
him. So I presume there is foundation
for the reports. But, my dear fellow,
Minnie is a noble girl without her prop
erty —if she has not so pretty a face as
some.’
4 Oh,’ replied Roby, carelessly, 4 1 hope
you don’t think I’m committed there.—
I have been somewhat friendly with
Minnie, it is true ; but nothing serious, I
assure you. No trouble about the heart]
and he laughed, ‘ though,’ added he, 4 1
should regret exceedingly to have them
meet with reverses.’ He soon after took
his leave, and returning to his office,
seated himself at his writing desk, and
wrote, and sealed, and dispatched the
following note:
4 My Dear Miss Arlix —During the
time that has elapsed since I saw you
last, my feelings have become somewhat
changed—or rather I have analyzed
them more closely—and I fear wo can
never be happy together. I see now
that I was somewhat premature in my
proposal; though I entertain the warm
est feelings of regard and friendship for
you. Your cool reply to my proposal
led me to suppose that your feelings
were not very much interested in myself
—and perhaps it were best for us both
that the affair should terminate here. I
remain, most respectfully, your obedient
servant, Walter Roby.’
Minnie shed some tears, when she re
ceived this cool epistle; for she had hop
ed, as maidens sometimes do, that her
lover might ‘be tried in the balance,
and not found wanting.* But brushing
“PRINCIPLES---NOT MEN.”
the tears away, she went to her father,
and handed the note to him, saying,—
‘Ah, father, you have lost the hand-
Jsome, accomplished young lawyer for a
j son-in-law. He don’t think your home
ly, poor Minnie can make him happy.’
Leaving the room, she caught up her
straw hat, and went out to ramble in
the woods to a favorite haunt, hoping
the sweet influence of Nature might
soothe and calm her somewhat troubled
! spirits.
The scene was lovely, for it was the
sunset hour, and the dreamy, golden
light glanced down between the interla
cing boughs upon the soft green moss,
making dancing lights and shadows in
every greenwood path. The air was
soft and balmy. No sound broke the
stillness of the forest shades, save the
sighing, plaintive windharps, or the oc
casional carol of a bird. Yielding to
the lulling influence of the scene, Minnie
seated herself upon a fallen tree, and was
soon lost in a reverie.
In her musings, she thought how
pleasant it would be to be loved for one’s
self alone ; and a voice seemed whisper
ing in her ear, with soft thrilling tone,
love’s own cadence, and dark eyes were
gazing into her own with tender loving
look. She had wandered thus far into
love’s fairy dreamland, entirely uncon
scious of all around, when the crackling
of a dry twig startled her, and she sprang
up in alarm ; but a pair of dark eyes
looked into her own, and a familiar voice
re assured her. She laughingly greeted
the intruder, saying,— ‘ Why, Herbert,
how you startled me!’ He smiled, and
advancing to meet her, replied, ‘ I am
sorry I occasioned you such a fright—l
did not think to find you here; but you
are looking pale —are you faint?’ and
be gazed at her with so much anxious
solitude, that Minnie’s equanimity was
entirely overthrown, and sinking again
upon her seat, she covered her face with
her hands and burst into tears. The
feelings so long pent up, and the tears
that had been gathering for several days,
had at last found vent.
Herbert Clayton had grown up with
Minnie from childhood. He had always
loved her, but had felt that a deep gulf
separated him, a poor widow’s son, from
the only child of the wealthy Esq. Arlin,
and therefore he compelled himself to
4 worship from afar.’ He, too, had heard
the rumors of Esq. Arlin’s losses, and sup
posed this was the cause of Minnie’s ag
itation. He could hardly suppress the
hope, sweet and faint though it was, that
Minnie might now be his; but checking
this feeling, he seated himself by her
side to comfort and cheer her if possible.
Gradually she became calm, and then
she imparted to him the story of Roby.
He was indignant at such baseness, and
led on by his feelings told Minnie of his
own love and hope. His unselfish af
fection touched her heart. Here was
one who loved her for herself, and was
willing to take her, even if poor. But
the wound she had received was too
fresh to allow her to do aught but rise
embarrassed, and though thanking Her
bert with her eyes, to shake her head
sadly.
But that chance interview decided the
fate of both. The more she thought of
Herbert’s disinterested offer, the mere
his character rose in her estimation.—
Meantime, as she had consented to re
ceive him as a friend, he often visited
her; and gradually esteem for him ri
peaed into love.
One soft, summer evening, Herbert
ventured to urge his suit again; and this
time Minnie, though as embarrassed as
before, did not say to him nay, but re
turned a blushing answer that filled his
heart with joy. They lingered long a
raid the forest shades, and when they
returned, Herbert sought Esq. Arlin,
while Minnie ran up to her room, like a
frightened deer.
When Herbert had confessed his suit,
Esq. Arlin, looking archly in his face,
made reply,—‘Do you wish to make
poor Minnie Arlin your bride ? Can
you think of taking a dowerless wife ?’
4 Oh ! yes,’ earnestly replied Ileibert,
4 1 should never have told my love, had
she still been as in days gone by.’
The old gentleman smiled a peculiar
smile and said ‘Yes, Herbert, she is
yours—you are worthy of her—but I
am glad, for our sake and her’s, that I
am not so poor th.ii she will be a por
tionless bride. But you must let Minnie
tell you the story.*
Minnie did tell him the story, and
Herbert was almost aghast at the idea
that he had won the hand of the heiress
of Esquire Arlin’s wealth; but Minnie
laughingly told him that her poverty had
lost her one lover and won her another.
I Herbert was also a lawyer. But poor
without influential friends, he had many
times been nearly discouraged; but he
now felt his heart become strong within
him, more because he had won the hand
and heart lie had so long desired, than
at the prospect of a portion of her fath
er’s wealth.
They were soon after married* and
Esq. Arlian’s handsome mansion was
thrown open to the crowd of friends who
gathered to witness Minnie’s bridal.
Before the day had arrived, however,
the story of Minnie’s ruse had become
rumored forth in the village ; and Roby
finding himself and his selfish principles
too much the topic of conversation found
it convenient to leave Belmont for some
other field of labor.
HirJj, Hart anil Hanj.
A Curious Sermon.
The Brandon (Miss.) Register reports
the following curious sermon preached
at the town of Waterproofs, not far from
Brandon:
4 1. may say to you my brethring, that
I am not a educated man, an I am not
one of them as believe that education is
necessary for a Gospel minister, for I be
lieve the Lord educates his preachersjes
as he wants ’em to be educated ; an al
though, I say it that oughtn't to say it,
in the State of Indianny, wliar I live,
thar’s no man as gits a bigger congrega
tion an what I gits.
There may be some here to day my
brethren as don’t know what persuasion
lam uv. Well I may say to you my
brethring, that I’m a Hard Shell Bap
tist. Thar’s some folk an don’t like the
Hard Shell Baptists, but I father have a
hard shell as no shell at all. You see
me here to day, my brethering, dressed
up in fine clothes; you musn’t think I
was proud; but I am not proud, my
brethring, and although I’ve been a
preccher of the Gospel for twenty years
an although I’m Capting of the flat boat
that lies at your landing I’m not proud
my brethring.
I’m not a gwine to tell cdzactly whar
my text may be found; suffice to say,
it’s in the leds of the Bible, and you’ll
find it somewhar between the first chap
ter of the book of Generations and the
last chapter of the book of Revolutions,
and es you'll go and search the Scrip
ture®, you’ll not only find my tex thar,
but a great many other texes as will do
you good to read, and my tex when you
shall find it, you shall find it to read
thus:
4 And he played on a harp uv a thou
sand strings—spirits of just men made
perfeck.’
My text, brethring leads me to speak
of spirits. Now thar’s a great many kind
of spirits in the world—in the fust place
thar’s the spirits as some folks calls
ghosts, and then thar’s the spirits uv tur
pen time, and then thar’s the spirits as
some folks call liquor an I’ve got as good
an article of them kind of spirits on my
flat boat as ever was fotch down the
Mississippi river, but thar’s a great many
other kind of spirits, for the tex says, ‘He
played on a hard uv a </oimnd string,
spirits of just men made perfeck.’
But I’ll tell you the kind of spirits as
is ment in the text, it’s fire. That’s
the kind of spirits as is ment in the tex,
my brethring. Now thar’s a great ma
ny kinds of fire; in the fust place thar’s
the common sort of fire you light your
segar or pipe with, and then thar’s fox
fire and camfire, fire before you’r ready
and fire and fall back and many other
kinds of fire for the tex says ‘lie played on
a harp uv a thousand strings, spirits uv
just men made perfeck.’
But I’ll tell you the kind of fire as is
meant in the tex, my brethring—it’s
hell fire! an’ that’s the kind of fiicas
as a groat many uv you’ll como to, es
you don’t do better nor what you have
been doin’—for ‘Ho played on a harp
uv a thousand strings, sperits uv just men
made perfeck.”
Now different sorts of fire in the world
may bo likened unto the different per
suasions of Christians in the world. In
the fust place wo have the Pisoapalions,
an’ they are high sailin’ and a high fa
TWO DOLLARS A-YEAR, IN ADVANCE.
lutin’set and they may be likened unto a
turkey buzard, that flies into the air, and
he goes up and up, till he looks no big
ger than your finger nail, and the fust
thing you know he cums down, and
down, and down, and is fillin’ himself on
the carkiss of a dead horse by the side of
the road, and * He played on a harp uv a
<Aowsand strings —spirits uv just men
made perfeck.’
And then thar’s the Metliodis, and they
may be likened unto the.squirril, runnin,
up into a tree, for the Methodis is gwine
on from one degree of grace to another,
and finally on to parfection and die
squirrell goes up, up, and and up and up,
and he jumps from limb to limb, and
branch to branch, and the fust thing you
know he falls and down he comes kor
fiumux, ana that’s like the Methodis for
they is allers fallen from grace all! ‘He
played on a harp uv a tf/ioasand strings,
sperits uv just men made perfeck.’
An then my bretliring, thar’s the
Babtist ah! and they have been likened
to a possum on a’simmon tree, and thun
ders may roll and the earth may quake
but that possom clings there still ah !
and you may shake all feet loose, and he
laps his tail around the limb, and he
clings furever, for * He played on a harp
uv a f/towsand strings, sperits of just men
made perfeck.
Below we publish the defence of Rev.
Arter Mangum which we take from the
Temperance Banmr , previously pub’is’ied
in the Spirit of the Age. Read the Let
ter :
to the so called Editor off
the wod be spirit of the age
Sir I see in a September off your trashy
paypor whar you hev made anutlier at
tempt to explogerate the keractor off
the hard shelled babtist as you cawl em
you have published what you kail a
sarmont preacht from an, he plade on a
harp with a thousent strings <fec, which
you no is as lykely to be false as true and
I make bold to tel you so
I wil let you no that I am won off the
priramatif bapiis an a temprence man,
two, an wil contend for the fathe wonst
delivered too the santes
an wil preatch a gin al the folts wase
of the da-such as mishions, sons, masons,
odfellers, no nothings, black legs, hi
edication an so no
an es you had bin at my meetin totli
er da you wod off’ got what you desurve
fur I preached a sartnon a gin folts
waise-an diddent praehe on a harp of a
thousant strings notlier-I tuke my text in
pauis secont epistle to moses wliars it
ses, wo to him off hi edecation that run
neth gredaly after the wase of inen-omit
ing the fathes of our fathers —
I helta large kongregasion spel hound |
for thre ours an gin what ilo gif you es I \
se enny more off your stuf a bout hard j
shels anef you hev enny felin ile make j
you seal like you ort to seal.
I hev gist rit the above too lot you no
that you cant runover us. I will not ax
you to put hit in publick fur you dont
want folks too no that we ar able too take
our own part.
I wish this cud git in your paper hit
wood make fokes open tliir ise—an es I
sc enny more hard sliel stuf in your pay
por ile gin you a gaw braker.
ARTER MANGUM.
Wilks N. C. 1855.
Msttlloni}.
The Afflicted Lass.
Some wag about hero has produced the
following sweet morceau and to add to its
interest and romance had smouched it all
over with red mud, and then writes that he
had found it in the street. He is perfectly
welcome to pick up more of the same sort :
I saw a fair maid weeping,
Down by yonder big oak tree,
One day while I was resting,
The cause I flew to see.
She turned ns I nppronched her.
Then blushing dropped her head,
While I in tones of kindness,
Unto the maiden said :
• What grieveth thee, fair maden >
Ah ! maiden tell me true,
Can sorrow rest within the breast
Os one so fair as you ?’
Yes, yes !* she said, kind stranger,
I’ve drank of sorrow’s cup :
Just now my ma, with ruthless hand
Cut my new bustle tip ! I’
” ■—— atx> —■■ ‘■ •
Never pay a Printer when ho first
presents his bill to you, for such an un
expected phenomenon! might cause a
rush of blood to his head and throw him
into rwx* 1
NO. 38.
New Way to Detect a Thief.
The father of a great American states
man was a very humorous and jocose
personage, and innumerable are the an
ecdotes related of him. As he was
once journeying in Massachusetts net
i far from his native town, he stop
S rather late one night at an inn ir
village of . In the bar room v
about twenty different persons, who as
he entered called out for him to discover
a thief. One of the company, it s:v
| peared, had a few minutes before had •
i watch taken from his pocket, and h
j knew the offender must be in the roon.
| with them.
j ‘ Come, Mr. Almanac maker, you
| know the signs of the times, the hidden
| things of the seasons, tell who is the
j thief.’
j 4 Fasten all the doors of the room and
let no one leave it; and here, landlord,
go and bring your wife’s great brass
kettle.
4 Wh—ew! want to know! my stars!
my wife’s —wh—ew i’ quoth Boniface.
‘ Why, you wouldn’t be more stuck
up if I told you to go to pot!’
{ Boniface did as was commanded ; the
great brass kettle was placed in the mid
dle of the floor, its bottom up —as black,
| sooty—and smoky as a chimney back.
The landlord got into his bar, and look
ed on with eyes as big as saucers.
‘ You don’t want any hot water nor
; nothin’, to take off the bristles on a crit
| ter, do you, Squire?’ said the landlord,
! the preparation looking a little too much
iike hog killing. ‘The old woman’s
gone to bed and the well’s dry.’
‘ Now go into your barn and bring
the biggest cockerel you’ve got.’
j ‘ Whew ! you won’t bile him, will
you ? he’s a tough one. I can swear,
Squire, he didn’t steal the watch. The
old Tooster knows when it in time to
crow, without looking at a watch.’
* Go along, or I won’t detect the thief.’
Boniface went to the barn and soon
returned with a tremendous rooster,
cackling all the way like mad.
‘ Now, gentlemen, I don’t suppose the
thief is in the company, but if he is, the
old rooster will crow when the offender
touches the bottom of the kettle with
liis hands. Walk round in a circle, and
the cock will make known the watch
stealer. The innocent need not be a
fraid, you know.’
The company, then, to humor hir.
and carry out the joke, walked rounc
the kettle in the dark for three or fom
minutes.
‘ All done, gentlemen ?’
‘ All done !’ was the cry— ‘ where’s
your crowing ? We heard no cock-a
doodle doo!’
‘ Bring us a light.’
A light was brought as ordered.
* Now hold up your hands, good folks.’
They were of course black, from coining
in contact with the soot of the kettle.
4 All up!’
4 All up!’ was the response.
‘ A—l don’t know ! here’s one fel
low who hasn’t up his hand !’
‘ Ah, ah, my old boy, let’s take a peep
at your paws!’
They wore examined, and were not
black iike those of the rest of the cor -
pany.
‘You’ll find your watch about. 1
search.’
And so it proved. This fellow
being aware any more than the •
the trap that was set for the discover
the thief, had kept aloof from the kei
lest when lie touched it the crowing
the rooster would proclaim him as
thief. As the hands of all the ot. •
were blackened, the whiteness of his
own showed of course that he had not
dared to touch the old brass kettle, aud
that he was the offender. He jumped
out of the frying pan into the fire, and
was lodged in as uncomfortable place as
either—to-wit —the jail.
—UK
4 What -docs the minister say to or.’
new burying ground ‘He don’t like it.
at all ; he says that ho never will be
buried there as long as he lives.’—
4 Well, if the Lord spares me, l will.’
■ coo
4 I’d just like to see you at it.’ as the
blind man said to the policeman when
ho told him that ho would take him to
the station-house if he didn’t move on.
aoo—
The individual who planted hum
on his good intentions hasn’t yet sprout
ed ; he’s wantiag for a ain.