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VOLUME 2 !
THE CHATTOOGA ADVERTISER
ri BLISFIKD A r SUMMERVILLE, OA.,
EVERY FR [DAY MORNING.
It A TES 0 F~SUBSCRIPTJON.
•One Copy One 'i -ar :::::::: $2 qq
One Copy Six M nths $1 00
No Sutjscrijition will be taken for a le>*
time than six mo ths.
OUR ADYL 'tTIS/Xa 'JtA TES.
m- oiuor’lis I 6 months |[2 moil's
t nqnjire I * 4 On | # 7 I ilu j#lo jon
2 squares #fi 0O | #lO <tt !# IS «»
3 squares I $ 8 On- SI4 I 00- i S2O; 00
1 column | sl2 |OO s2o |oojs 30 | (Kt
j column • S2O |OO $33 jooi $OO 00
1 column 1 s4o 100 $73 | Oft-| 100 |OO
,~R All RO ADS.
Western ft Atlantic R. R.
Change of Schedule.
On an 1 after this date the Passenger
tra'ns will run on the
Western and Atlantic Rail Road
as follows:
NIGHT PASSENGER TRAIN TO
NEW YORK AND THE WEST.
Outward.
Leave Atlanta. 8:35 P. M.
Arrive at Cbattauoog, 340 a. m.
DAY PASSENGER TRAIN TO
THE SOUTH AND WEST.
Outward.
Leave Atlanta, 8:30 a. m
Arrive at Chattanooga, 3:50 P. M
UOIITNfNO KX PRESS TO NEW YORK.
Outward.
leaves Atlanta. 4:05 P. M.
Aarrives at Dalton. 0:23 v. M.
NIGHT PASSENGER TRAIN FROM NEW YORK
TO THE WEST.
Inward.
leaves Chattanoo -a, 5:20 P. M.
Arrive at Atlanta, 1 30 A. M.
DAY PASSENGER TRAIN FROM NEW YORK
TO '1 HE WEST.
Inward
Leave (’’ ' ttaniio a, 8:30 A. M.
Arrive at Atlanta, 3:50 P. m.
ACCOMMODATION TRAIN.
Inward. •
Leaves Dalton. LOO A w.
Arrives at Atlanta, 9:50 a. M.
*• ft. R VtWfcTCKK.
aprilOtf. Master Transportation.
Quickest and Best Route
ho THE
NORTH, KAST&WEST
is
Vin {.on isvillt l
THTPE Diil Exorc'- Traiu l ' running
thromrk from Nashville to Louisville, mak
ing cl* e eonncef'.ius with Trains and boats
t.r Ihe NORTH. EAST AND WEST.
No ( hangc of ( urs
MHIkiYILLETO
St. Lou-'*. Citi ' innati , Indianapolis ,
Chicago, Cleveland, Pllts
larg. Philadelphia
(Dio New York.
ONLY ONE CHANGE TO
BALTIMORE U \Sl!l\uT0\ &BOSTOX
Quicker time by this route, and better
accommodations, than by any other- Se
cure speed and e mi fort when traveling, by
asking for Tieltef s
By the Wav of Louisville. Ky.
Through Tick ts and Baggage Check*
may be procured at the office of the Na°h.
ville and Chatta- ooga Railroad at Chatta
nooga, and at all Ticket Offices throughout
the South. ALBERT FINK,
W. H. KING, Gen’l. Sup’t.
Gen’L Passen er Ag’t. ,Juneß.
Saint Louis, Memphis,
NASHVILLE & CHATTANOOGA
KAILKOAD LINE.
CENTRAL SHORT ROUTE!!
—°—
Without Change of Cars to Nashville, Mc-
Kenzie, Uni.m City. Hickman. Co
lumbus, Humboldt, Browns
ville, and Memphis.
—o—
< >nlv < >ne Change
Ta Jackson. Toon., Paducah. Ky., Little
Rock, Cairo, and St. Louis, Mo.
Mt IRE THAN
I Tlilcs Shorter to
Saint Lou is
Than via Memphis or Louisville, and from !
8 TO i5 HOURS QUICKER!!
Than via Cos imh or Grand Junction.
ASK FDR TICKETS TO
MEMPHIS AND THE SOUTH
WEST VIA CHATTANOOGA
and McKenzie ;:
AND TO
It. Louis and the Northwest via Nashville j
and Columbus — all Rail; or Nash- j
Ville and Hickman —Rail
and River.
THE LOWEST SPECIAL RATES
FOR EMIGRANTS.
WITH MURE ADVAN
TAGES. QUICKER
T [ME. AND FEWER
CHANGES OF CARSj
*3-THAN ANY OTHER ROUTE. “©#
Ticketa for Sale at all Principal Ticket
Offices in the South.
J. W. THOMAS, Gen’l. Supt.
L. DAN LEY, G. P. k T. Agent
Wtn--*- Nap])ville, Twn
Rome Railroad Company
Change of Schedule.
DAY PASSENGER TRAIN-
Gave Rome 8:40 a tu
Arrive at Kingston 10:30 a in
Leave Kingston 11:48 a m
Arrive at Rome 1:00 p m
NIGHT PASSENGER TR AIN.
Leaves Rome 8:4 I p m
Arrive at Kingston 12:40 a in
Leave Kingston 1; 1S a m
Arrive at Rome 11:20 m
KFb. Connecting with trains on the Wes
i tern A Atlantic Railroad at Kingston, and
on the Selma. Rome and Dalton Railroad
at Rome.
C. M. PENNINGTON,
Eng. and Sup't.
[From Our Fireside Friend-
What I Stole at School.
BY It. r. w.
It was on a bright summer’s morn
: ing, in the middle of July, that 1 was
| taken by my father to a boarding
j school, a few miles out of London, in
; the snlnirhs. I was young at the time,
: and felt as if I was going to be totally
| deserted by all. I had just parted
| with my mother, and my hear' Was
j full; and 1 was, to tny idea, (i badly
jused boy.
1 A few hours’ riding and the school
j was reached, and, after a few words
| with the principal, my father left me.
| It was then that I felt the value of
| both my parents, and began to cry.
■ The master spoke a few encouraging
j words to me, and called a boy, named
I John Stickles, who was to introduce
ime to the other boys. There had
| been, that day, two other new schol
j ars, and on that account the boys had
a half holiday; the master informed
the boys of this from the dining-room
j window amid tremendous shouts.
I will pass over the many events
that occurred, and will commence ray
! story. 1 had been at the school a
; bout nine months, and was a great
i favorite with all, for I was of a rather
i lively disposition.
| One morning while I was washing
myself, uid talking to my chum—a
1-y the name of Arthur Jennings
J —another boy named John TvJer,
said to me, ‘-Harry, will you go up
• stairs and fetch a little box down for
me, which is on the bed ?”
“Its.” said I. anti away I ran.—
On getting up stairs 1 found the box
where stated, shut, but I curious
enough to hook inside cf it. V\ hai
! did 1 see! there was some rnonev. i
j was tempted, and the next instant 1
I was a thief, for I took some of the
j money. 1 then carried the box down
; and gave it to Tyler, and lie thanked
| me.
After breakfast, I noticed a crowd
; of boys together, and in the midst of
j them was Tyler, and I could see by
| bis actions that he was telling them
i about his loss.”
‘‘Clifford, said Tyler, “cotnehere;
1 want, you ’
i turned round and approached him.
I felt sure that he had found me out.
“I say, Clifford,” said be, “did you
find my box open, when you fetched
it for me this morning?”
‘.‘Yes,’ said I; 1 thought by say
ing that it would very likely criminate
some one else.
“You did, did you,” said lie; “I
left it shut; somebody lias been to it
and robbed me of fourpence.
I told him that I was very sorry,
and hoped he would find it, little think
ing how soon‘he would.
It was Wednesday afternoon, and
! wc were all on the common, playing
[ at cricket and various other games.—
I Now, tbougt I is the best time for me
| to spend this money. I looked around
j to see if there was anybody watching
I me, and then set off’ on a run to the
I other side of the common, to a little
! shop where was sold all kinds of fruit
| and candy. It was kept by an old
j woman, and the boys of different I
| schools around were her customers,
j and about her only support. I had
i made my purchases, w hich consisted
of some candy and apples, and was
just returning, as I thought, quite s.'tfe,
when some one shouted, “I say Clif
ford, what have you been to the old
woman's for?”
It took me by surprise, but I had a
lie in my mouth, ready.
“I have been to see what time it is,”
I replied.
The boy’s suspicions were aroused,
and he was not satisfied with my an
swer, but went into the shop and asked j
the woman what I had been in for;
she told him, and then I felt as if I
should drop.
“What did you tell me that lie for?”
said the boy. “Where did you get
the money from ?”
“It’s my own,” I replied.
‘‘l don t believe it,” he said, “and
I am going to tell Tyler;” and with
that he ran across the common to
where Tyler was, and told him all a
bout it.
I saw Tyler coining along, very :
slowly, with two or three other boys, !
and T began to feci my position.- '
SLIMMER VILLE, GEORGIA. FRIDAY, JULY 5, 1872.
When he came up to me he said;
“Harry, did you buy those things with
my money?”
“No,” said I; “I bought them with
nty own.”
“Now, Clifford,” said one of the
b vs, “you told me yesterday that you
had no money.”
“I know l did.” I replied, “but I
was only joking.”
While we were L iking, my friend
Jennings came up and inquired what
was the matter. I told him. “ IFell.
Tyler said he, “you don’t believe
Harry stole your money, do you?”
**l did not dream of him stealing,”
he said, “but what the boys said ex
cited my suspicions.”
AA itlt that both he and the other
boys went away and renewed their
game. _
“Harry, said Jennings, “did you
take that money?”
1 looked down upon the ground.—
1 felt ashamed of myself; he was a
dear friend to me; I could not tell
him a lie.
“Oh! Arthur,” I said, “don't des
pise me if I tell you the truth. 1
did take it.”
lie looked at me for a minute, and
then said: “Harry, why were you
such a fool ? you have lost your good
name. You know full well, 11a ry,
that you have always been the pet of
the school, but now- you will be looked
upon as a thief.”
“I know it,” I said; “but won’t
you try and do something for me, you
will not shun me. Arthur?”
“Shun you, Harry!” said lie. “I
could not, for 1 look upon you as a
brother; y :: have been good to meat
all times, and I will not leave you
now you are in trouble.”
“Arthur, what am I to do?” I said.
“Well, the best thing you can do is
to get Tyler by himself and tell him
that you took the money, and that
you will pay him back when you get
your pocket money; promise him
more than what you took, if he will
not mention anything about it; he is
very fond of money, and 1 have no*
doubt will do it.”
I was about-to reply,*T»at lie simf.
“Hush: here comes the boys; don't
let them see us talking together, else
they will be suspicious; they are go
ing home to tea, so you and I will
walk together.”
1 sat down to my tea with a firl!
heal t. 1 could bear tin* boys talking
about it, and jeering me with “Who
stole the money ? 1 was very much
liked in the school, arid there Were a
great many boys who were jealous of
me, and were glad to have something
against me, and now tliey*bud the
chance, they made good use of it.
The evening passed, and at length
bed-time arrived, and I was very g)»id
of it ; 1 knew 1 should not sleep, but
I was glad to get away Gam the jeer
ings of the boys. Tyler and I slept
in the same room, and my friend Jen
nings slept with me. 1 hastened up
stairs to bed, but Tyler was there be
fore me.
“Clifford,” said be, “I want to speak
to you. I want you to tell me about
that money.
“I don’t know anything about it,”
I said.
“Yes you do,” said he, “I want to
know if you would like me to men
tion it to Mr. Elliott (that was the
master’s name) and let him find out
who is the thief.”
I could not answer, I felt as if my
words would choke me.
“Come, come, Clifford,” -Waid he,
“what am 1 to do?”
“Forgive me, Tyler,’ I said, “I did
take it; the temptation was strong,
and I foolishly took it.”
He was silent for a minute, arid
then said, “What are you going to do?
Now, out with it at once.”
I w ill pay you back the money, and
more besides, ifyou will keep it quiet,”
I said.
“Clifford,” said he, “that will do;
but I must have the money to-mor
row. lam going home, and without
it I eanriot pay my fare.”
“Icumot do that, I said, “for .7
shall not get my pocket money until
Saturday.
“Clifford,” said he, you must get
it, or else / shall have to tell Mr. El
liott all about it, before he would give
me any money. Go to bed, and let
me know in the morning what you are
going to do about it. / will do my
best to keep it secret, but it is known
all over the school, and most of the
boys believe you took it. Good night.
1 want to get to sleep. Now mind,
let me know to-morrow- morning.”
I felt much relieved when he told
me he would keep it quiet, but where
was Ito get the money from? I had
been in bed about twenty minutes,
when Jennings came up. “Harry,”
said he, “are you asleep?”
“No,” said I , “there is no sleep for
rne to night. I have spoken to Tylev,
and he says / must pay him to-mor
row, or else he shall have to ask Mr.
Liiiott for same to make up his fare,
for he is going home to-morrow. /
feel miserable, Arthur,” / said, “/'
j don't know what to do.”
“Cheer up! Harry,” i think /can
| manage it. I have a two-shilling
piece in my box. 1 will get it changed
in the morning, and then you can pay
him.”
7 was quite taken by surprise. 1
I did not dream of it; ./ did not know
j bow to express my thankfulness to
I him; / was lost for words, and 7 felt
j as if 1 should choke with joy, and all
7 could say was, “Thank you! thank
i you!”
He would not listen to my thanks,
but told me to go to sleep,
,7n the morning / paid Tyler what
7 promised. He bid me not be afraid
of the boys knowing anything more
about it. The day wore on, and the
boys kept jeering at me, but / did not
mind it so much, for 1 knew they did
not know the truth.
That day Tyler went home, and /
felt as if a load was off tny mind, for
when he was gone there was nobody
to fear.
/ was not sorry when the time came
for us to all go home for the holidays,
for 1 had lost my position in the school;
for, although the subject was never re
called, yet the boys did not place so
much confidence in me as they did be
| fore the occurrence.
7 bid good bye to my friend, Arthur
Jennings, and 1 felt then, what/know
now, that 1 parted from the best friend
7 ever had.
*****
7t is years since 7 left that school,
hut still / often recall to toy mind
that unhappy occurrence. /t has
been a lesson to me that I have al>
wa vs religiously remembered, and lias
taught me to leave what did not be
long to me alone. My friend Jen
nings 7 have not seen since we par.
ted, but / have the pleasure of kuow
j iug that he is still my friend.
1 have related this little incident
jof my early life to show the young
I readers of Oar Fireside Friend the
degradation that invariably folloWi’L
! deviation from the path of bonfstv
j and truth.
Last w”Tk "Cousin
j Pally Dillard,” liieh irilhoiigb riot
! new to the reading world is always
I read with interest. We give, below
“Cousin Sally Dlila'd Outdone,’'
! which we find in the Lynchburg (Va.)
I Sew*. U occurred at Chatham, the
| county site of Pittsylvania county,
1 Virginia.
“Cousin Sallie Dillard Outdone. ”
j “ Scene at < 'hatham during the, sesiion
of the Circuit <A>nrt in the ‘■axe of
“Commonwealth vs : Carnot day” on
a charge, of Malicious Stalling.
“The venire being empaneled and
the jury solemnly charged bv the
clerk, the Commonwealth’s Attorney
called, in support of the indictment,
the witness, Buck Bryant, who being
solemnly sworn the truth to tell, tes
tified as follows:
“Question by Commonwealth’s At
torney. ‘Tell all you may know about
the cutting of the prosecutor by Cas
sady, the prisoner at the bar.”
Answer*—Well, gentlemen, it was
election day—’twas a dark, cloudy,
wet sort of a drizzly day, and says"l
to my old woman, 1 believe I’ll go
down to Ringgold and ’posit my vote.
And says rny old woman to rne, well,
Buck, as it is a sort of dark, cloudy,
wet sort of a drizzly day, says she,
hadn’t you better take your umbrill;
says I to the old woman, 1 spect I had
better take the umbrill. fco I took
the umbrill and advanced on down to- j
wards Ringgold, and when I got down |
thar Mr. Cole coined and says he, Un
cle Buck, have you seed anything of
old neighbor Harris? Says Ito Mr. ]
Cole, for why? Says he, he’s got my
umbrill. The witness was here inter
rupted by the court and told to con
fine himself to the actual fray between
j the prisoner and Cole, the prosecutor.
| In answer to this the witness remarked
j in a tone of indignant remonstrance,
j well now Mr. Judge you hold on for I
j am sw-orn to tell the truth, and I am
| gwine to tell it my own way—sotain’t
tor-while for you to say nothing about
it.” Whereupon the Commonwealth's I
Attorney being anxious to get rid of j
the witness upon any terms, told him j
to go on and tell the tale his own way. j
“Well, as I was going on to say, ’twas j
on lection day, Buckanan and Filmo |
was a running for the Legislator and |
says I to my old woman, old woman j
j says I believe I’lfgb down to Ring- j
j gold and ’posit iny vote. Pays my
i old woman to rne, says she, Buck, as
;it is a sort of a dark, rainy, dark,
drizzly sort of a day, hadn't you bet
ter take your umbrill? sajs she.—
Says I to the old woman, says J, I
spect I had better take raj umbrill;
so I tuck the umbrill and an.-anced on
towards Ringgold until I a*riv thar.
'Well the’first t''ing I did w,;en I got
that £as to take Ajhjfcaf Butyhanan
Whi Joey ■ w hfch iaMßLtr oua.. mood
t'>
t :
while I was advancing around, Mr.
Cole, he came to me, says he uncle
Buck says he, have you seen anything
of old neighbor Harris? Pays J, for
why ? Pays he, the old cock has got
my umbrill. Arter a while I posited
my vote and then Mr. Cole and me
advanced back towards home, and Mr.
Cole was tighter than I ever seed him.
And so W-e advanced along till we got
to whar the road and path forked and
Mr. Cole and me tuck the path, as
any other gen demon would, and arter
advancing a while we arriv to old
neighbor Harris seUeu on a log with
the umbrill on his arm, and about that
time Elijah Cassiday, (the prisoner,)
coined up and we advanced on until
we arriv at Elijah’s house. Elijah is
my nefl’ew and likewise son-in-law.—
He married my darter June which is
next to my darter Pally. Arter we
had advanced to Elijah’s house we
stood in the yard a while a jawing and
presently two somebody’s rid up on a
horse, which was Johnston before and
H bitfield Cassidy behind, Whitfield
and Kiah Cassidy being the same,
Elijah and Kiah is brothers, both born
in the nat’ral way like anybody else’s
brothers, no gals between cm and both
of cm is about the same age, especially
Kiah which are the youngest. Kiah
war drunk and he and Mr. Cole got
to cussiti one another about politix
and I anvanced in the house whar was
Elijar’s wife, which ar tny darter Jane
which is next to my darter Sally.—
Well, arter a jawing awhile with cm,
my little neffew says he to me, Uncle
Buck let’s go home. Says I, good
pop, so we pegged out together and I
heard somebody a calling me but nev
er tentioned them nor advanced back.
Well I got home and was eating my
supper and Elijah which is my son-in
law and married my darter Jane which
is next to my darter Sally arrived and
says to me Uncle Buck says he I’ve
killed a man. Says I, the hell you
And that's all I know about
the stabbing, for 1 warnt there.
“Too Much Preaching”—Too Much
PraylU| f
Edi ore Chronicle, ihitrpie)Uinsl ;
In your issue of Sunday appeared an
extract from an exchange w hich, with
sonic limitation, J believe will be en
dorsed by a large'majority of Church
goers in this country. I allude to
the article entitled “Too much Preach
ing.” Now, whilst Ido not go so far
as to raise an objection to two ser.
rnotts on the Sabbath day, 1 most hear
tily agree with the writer of the ex
tract referred to that in very many
cases the sermons are too long. It is
freely admitted that there are occa
sionally to be met with, men of rare
intellectual and oratorical powers, who
in their finest efforts, will bold a con
gregation enchained by their eloquence
for an hotiror more; but even preach
ers possessed of such unusual endow
ments should he very careful not to
presume too often upon their-powers
of entertaining and edifying an audi
ence throughout such lengthy dis
courses.
It is well known that all public
speakers vary in the vigor and force
with which they present their subjects,
at different times; and it is a fact
quite as well established that a con l
gregation, as amass, will not uniform
ly hear with the same pleasure ser
mons of equal merit. The philoso
phy of this it is not my intention now
to inquire into. It is sufficient for
our present purpose to state the facts
and let others discuss the reasons. In
I the opinion of the writer, (in which I
j he confidently believes that nine-tenths !
lof those who are in the habit of at. I
! tending our churches will sustain him,) j
i no preacher can safely rely upon the
| unwearying attention of the masses
I of his hearers, trorn Sabbath to Sab
i hath, if he makes apradtiee of speak
ing over thirty-five or forty minutes.
Not only does the reputation of the
preacher suffer by long sermons, but
many a man is deterred from attend' |
ing church altogether by the fear ofi
being subjected to them. How often j
do we hear young men, when asked j
to go to a certain church, reply: “I j
can’t; Mr. preaches too long.” i
If the preaching of the Gospel to all
men be of such vital importance as
we believe, should not our ministers
be extremely cautious to avoid driving
any from the House of God, where
the sacred word is expounded? The
writer believes that tried and faithful
Christians are frequently surfeited—
not with the Divine Word itself, but
(not to speak irreverently) with the
number and tediousness of the courses
served. If, then, full grown men in
Christ are some times satiated with
religious pabulum, how can the babes
of the church be expected to partake
so freely of it without nausea?
But whilst the writer deprecates
long sermons in general, and think
they are hurtful to the very cau>c
they are intended to promote, he would
not conclude these remarks without
devoting just a few words to long
- \Wl.at' shall J*e said upon j
Mte gl-H— of course, does uot ttnnlv ‘
to those petitions that arc offered up
from prayer-books, or other prescribed
forms. With thnse we have nothing
to do now. It is the of the long, ex
temporaneous prayer he wishes to
speak at present
We in our churches
petitions in which are incorporated
the idea if not the words, “We are
not heard for our much speaking;”
and yet that very prayer, perhaps,
will be drawn out to such length as to
weary even the most devout worship
per in the assembly. Now I would
not compare those who are led into
this error with the Pharisee, whose
“much-speaking was so seierely cen
sured by our t avior; for I know that
many earnest and sincere Christians
fall into it almost unconsciously; but
I submit whether such verbose and
wearying prayers are calculated to in
duce a spirit of devotion; or whether
they are not, on he contrary, apt to
produce a feeling of impatience in the
listener—especially if he be a world
ing?
Our Divine Master, when upon
earth, gave iiis followers a petition
which, if net intended itself to be used
on all occasions, was certainly rec
ommended as a model to be followed
as closely as possible. And what hu
man being can hope to frame a prayer
so all-expressive and all-embracing as
that which fell from the lips of Christ?
And yet the Lord’s Prayer is remark*
ably brief and simple. What a con
trast in these respects to some of .the
petitions that go up to the Throne of
Grace from many of the churches of
the present day! Yes, even from the
lips of good and holy men !
Church Goer.
The Stamp Abolitions-
A Washington correspondent has
prepared the following epitome of
stamp taxes abolished by section 36
of the new tax law which takes effect
on October Ist.
TO BE ABOLISHED.
Contracts for insurance against ac
cidental injuries.
Affidavits.
All agreements or contrasts or re
newals of the same.
Appraisements, of value or dam
age, or for any other purpose.
Assignments, of a lease, mortgage,
policy.
Many very important questions are
set at rest forever by the learned tri
bunals of the country. The Circuit
Court of Columbia decided the other
day that a white man does not become
an Indian by marrying a squaw.
Bond—administrator or guardian
or anything that has the name of bond
in it, and now taxed by stamps.
Brokers’ notes.
Certificates of measurement of any
thing
Certificates of stock, profits, dam
age, deposit or any other kind of cer
tificates now taxed by stamp.
Charter, or its renewal, or a char
ter-party of any kind.
All contracts or agreements.
Conveyance, any part of the work
ot conveying.
Endorsement of any negotiable or
not negotiable instrument.
Entry, for consumption, warchous
ing or withdrawal.
Gaugers’ returns.
Insurance policies, contracts, tick
ets, renewals, etc., (life, marine, inland
arid fire.)
Lease. All through the lease list
is abolished.
Legal document. Writ or other
process, confession of judgment cog
novit, appeals, warrants, etc., letters
of administration, testamentary, etc.
Manifest at Custom House, or any
where else, or for any purpose.
Mortgage, of any kind.
Passage ticket, to any place in the
world, Pawners' checks.
Power of attorney for any purpose.
Probate of will, any kind.
Promissory note for anything.
Protest of any kiud.
Quit claim deed.
Receipt. Now generally exempt,
arid if included in present law in any
case, will bo hereafter exempt.
Sheriff’s return.
Trust deed.
Warehouse receipt.
Warrant of attorney.
Weigher’s roturn, of any charac
ter.
RETAINED
of insurance, or anything else.
Bills of exchange, foreign, inland,
letters of credit, or anything of that
kind now taxed by stamps.
Bills of lading and receipts, in the
United States, or for anywhere else.
Bills of sale, of any kind.
Bonds of indemnification, of any
kind.
The tax of 2 cents on checks, draft
and orders, is all of schedule B that
is retained.
Time is Short. —Readers, have
you never, considered the truth of this
solemn declaration, by the rapidity of
your time? Ifitne is progressiva, »pd
I NO. 26
passed away imperceptibly. Tnis i3
made up with moments which when
once gotiC, improved or not, can never
be recovered. Time is given us for
the great purpose of seeking those
things which make for our peace and
salvation in tho eternal world, if
these things have never yet engaged
your serious attention, Oh! no longer
trifle away your precious time, hut
improve it by thinking on your latter
end. Hitherto you have been spared
from year to year, through the pro
tection of your Heavenly Father, but
you know not how long his providen
tial mercy will be extended toward*
you. The present is all you can call
your own. To-day you may be in
health, to-morrow in the grave. 01
then come to Christ for salvation. It
is in this world and not the next, that
you will have the opportunity of flee
ing from the wrath to come. Jesus
is not only able but willing to receive
you, if you como unto Ilim with a
contrite heart. He says, “Behold,
now is the accepted time; behold now
is the day of salvation.” Christ does
not say that salvation may be obtained
to-morrow, for that is uncertain.—
Therefore, from this time forward, re
deem your time. “Boast not thyseli
of to-iuorrow, for thou kaowest not
what a day may bring forth.” Live
in the recollection of your morality,
and in ail your engagements remem
ber that time is short.
A Word to Fathers.
We have read a story of a boy, who,
when he wanted anew suit of clothe*
begged his mother to ask his father if
he might have it. The mother suggest
ed that the boy might ask for him
self, “I would,” said the boy, “but
I don t feel well enough acquainted
with him. There is a sharp reproof
to the father in the reply of his son.
Many a father keeps his children so
at a distance from him that they nev
er feel confidently acquainted with
him. They feel that he is a sort
of monarch in the family. They
feel no familiarity with him. They
fear him and respect him, and erpen
love him some, for children
help loving somebody about them ;
hut they seldom get near enough to
feel intimate with him Tuey seldom
go to him with their wants and trails.
They approach him through the
mother. They tell her everything
They have a higway to her heart on
which they go in and out with per
fect freedom. In this keeping off
plan fathers are to blame. Children
should not be hold off. Let them
be as intimate with the father as
the mother. Let their little lrnvts
be freely opened. It is wwßd
to freeze up the love fountain
of little ones’ hearts. Fathers do
them an injury by living with them
as strangers. This drives many a
child away from home for the symt
pathy his heart craves, and often
improper society. It nurses discon
tent and mistrust, which many a
child does not outgrow in his lifetime.
Open your hearts and your arms,
fathers! be free with your children;
ask for their wants and trials ; play
with them ; be fathers to them truly,
and they will not need a mediator be
tween themselves and you.
A short time before the adjournment
of the last session of Congress, a fel
low by the name of Clarke, who
claimed a seat in that body as a rep
resentative from Texas, was unani
mously expelled, on the ground that
he held his seat by gross fraud. As
such a character is too valuable to
be lost by the Administration, Grant
took him at once under his protecting
care, and appointed him Postmaster
at Galveston. This is one of the
most lucrative offices in the Soutn,
and no doubt Clarke will make the
most of it, not only for himself, but
also for his master.— Ex.
Nature never makes a blunder.
When she makes a fool nobody will
mistake him for a philosopher. Some
perchance, destroy by ethusiasm the
efficiency of their talents, and some by
inactivity allow to pass mused their
fairest opportunities, but in doing this
they only exhibit their iudividual char
acteristics.
To Prevent Jumpii&. —You have
seen it stated in a dozen papers that
clipping the lower eyelashes' of cattle
would prevent their jumping. Tell
your readers of a better plan. With
a sharp needle run a small twine
through the ears and tie them back
of the head. The annimal will not
jump, unless forced to do so. Horses,
and cows invariably throw their ears
forward before they jump. They
would know what is on tho other side,
of the fence.” —>Southern Arffiu.
Chicago has a woman sexton. She
does her duty well, but of course she
cannot altogether escape complaint.
It is not charged that she has manji
relatives, or any of that kind, but
they “«y that she reserves all the
btW* j-iw for ihe voung