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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