Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.