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GALUHER'S INDEPENDENT, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT iUITMAN, GA., J. C. GALLAHER. TKRMii OP SUBSCRIPTION* TWO DOLI+ARS per Annum in Advance. AS ANNIVERSARY. In & chamber old and oaken, • In a faint and faltering way. Half a dozen words were spoken, Jaat eleven years to-day. What was bound and what wma broken, Let a woman a oonMiflais aaj. Half a dozen word* excited, Whispered by a lover’s aide; Half delighted, half affrighted. Half in pleasure, half in pride; And a maiden'* troth ia plighted, And a false love knot ia tied. Has a maiden not a feeling That can awell, and sing and soar? Came uot o’er her apirit stealing Thoughts of things that were before? In her heart did no revealing Tell her love wan something more? Barely half a dozen glance*,, Half in earnest, half in mirth— Five or *ix or seven dance*— What is such a-wooing worth? Cottrtahip in which no romance ife, Cannot give a true love birth. Passion in a pain and power Slowly growing unto might, By long vigils, not the hour; Real love i not at sight; Ti* a wood; *tia not a flower That arises in a night. Lightly is the promise spoken, Lightly ia the love knot tied; And the maid redeems the token, Living at her husband’s side; And her heart- it is not broken. But it is uot in its pride. With the years shall come a feeling, Never may be, fell before; Bhe shall find her heart concealing Wants it did uot know trf yore; Silently the truth revealing, Real love is something more. [ CJiftnUnr, t Journal. (From the Star Spangled Banner. HI GH ALLAN'S HEIR 5 08, The Bride of South-Ridge. BY ARTHUR L. MRSKHVR. CHAPTER I. THIS FCOgLB OF TH E OiUXOE. B mth-Iti.lge Tens n gfraud old place. TU house or grange, u it was culled, stood oh the summit of a gentle eminence, mid nvrav on either side, stretched the broad acres ap- tu the estate. HT** nice ly cultivated Reids, and tn< rt J httig reaches of woodland, covered witii the primeval On one side, at the foot of the <*tniu**m e. lay a beantifnl lake, its Mttrfm** dotted with litany green Ulnrids, which lay like so many emerald gerns upon iU bosom. A /hirer domain there wan not to bo found within the broad borders of the biute. The bouse itself was grand and imposing. A broad verauder ran about oti either side, from which st any point a mo*t beautiful view was to be obtained. Witlnn, the rooms were high and lofty, and furnished with uli that wealth and taste could suggest. The owners of South-Ridge had always heen blessed with plenty of this world's Roods. The founder of the house had brought from the mother country plenty of wealth, und this had been husbanded frugally by all Lis successors, although there had been nothing niggardly about them. Each and all had Striven to make South- Ridge Orange the most attractive of any |dace in all that region of country, and in thi% they hod succeeded beyond a doubt. So much for the Grange and its sur roundings, and now let us introduce to the reader its iumates at the time our sto ry opens. It* owner, Hugh Allan, was a man some what past the prime of life, yet his form was still unbent, and his hair hardly sil vered by the hand of time. * The only change that the fleeting years seem to have made in him was upon bis face. Here there were deep wrinkles and marks of care, the fruits, maybe, of deep emotion. People who knew him well had marked them there for the lost ten years. There were those who said that they had set thetr seal in one short week of time. ' A great cross had come to him then ; such a cross as but few people are requir ed to bear iu this world. His son, his only child, had boen lost to fcim. Bet it was not Heath who was the rob, ber. He could have born tflat, have submit . dto that which was inevitable with as good grace as thousands of other who lose near and dear friends, but this cose was different. For aught that he knew his son was still alive. Yet be was as dead to him as though be had mouldered in the grave for ten years past He had committed a crime for which he had been obliged to flee and hide from the face of men to save his life, which he bad forfeited by bis act. He had been accused of murder, and the proof was so great against bias that there was no earthly hope that he could make his innocence manifest. Still he had stoutly declared that he was not guilty. But there were none who believed that be spoke the truth. The evidence aginst him was too strong. fallal )tf§ Inbepetubeni Y r OL. 111. Even hh> father believed him guilty. It was this terrible trial which had brought the wrinkles upon hia face, and made him look so old beyond hia time. Stern justice, he felt, would have sent his son to the gallows ; but this he could not do. Hia own flesh and blood must be saved, If possible, this disgruco. Therefore he had connived at his escape, and by extreme good fortune hud got him out of the country. . Since he had bee 1 assured of this, no living soul had ever heard him uieutiou his son's name. From him oue would never have known but what he hud been childless ull his life. Friends le had but few. He was not a man, in these days, who would attract peo ple to him. Those olj oucs who still lived near by, revor mentioned his sou's name to him. There was not one of them who had the courage to do it It would prob ably have hoeu an end to ail further inter course between them. Thus it was that the days of Hugh Al lan's life came and went (July one other inmate was there of the Orange, save the servants. This was a distant relative, Dora Adams. His wife hud died before the great dis grace was brought upon the family, and thus she had been spared the blow which with a terrible torture would have wrung her life Jioiu her. Soon after her death, Dorn Adams, then a mere child, had come to Soutli-Kidgc to' live. She wits an orphan, the child of a eousin of Hugh Allan's and she came to him penniless. But he had enongh.for himself and her, and when his son was the same as dead to him, he turned to the child for ail the con solation he could hope for in this world. As the years went on, lie regarded her as his own. Had he indeed been her father, lie could not havo been kinder to her. He made his will iu her favor, and, al though the fact was uot generally known, yet it was shrewdly surmised that she was to lie the heiress of South. Ridge. People said that if the outcast was liv ing, aad Hugh Allan knew of his wherea bouts, uot a dollar of lus wealth would ov -r g to '..im, And they w, re right Hugh Allan did uot know the fate of ids sou. He might lie living, or he might he dead. At any rate lie was dead to him forever. At tiio time our story opens, Dora Ad ams was a beautiful nouian. None of the many fair ladies of that seetion eclipsed her. She was the acknowledged I>v!!i and beauty of all that region of eoiflitry. Suitors she had in scores, but as yet her heart was free. None had managed to win Iter bes** from her own keeping. Hugh Allan gall filed her jealously. He wished to keep Ipr to himself, until at least the time should come when a man should seek her who in his estimation was worthy of her. Many there were in her train who were her equals iu weultli and position, but he saw no one to whom he f*'lt that he c.stld confide her. It might be that he was selfish, and wished to keep her by him while he lived. CHAPTER 11, THE PROFESSOR. One day there was an arrival at South liidgc. A stranger made his appearance at the Orange, and demanded to see ita owner. Hugh Allan was busy in his study, hut be gave orders for the stranger to be ad mitted. The servant showed him iu, and he arose to receive a gentleman who by his looks seemed to be a foreigner. The strauger introduced himself as Oarl Batch, and asked leave to present to him a letter of of which he was the tiearer. Hugh Allan took the missive, and, open ing it, slowly perused its contents. It waa from aud old friend and school mate of his, who had made a German town his home for many years. It begged leave to introduce to the kind attention of his friend, Prof, Batch, of the celebrated university of his adopted town. He was about paying a visit to America on a tour of observatfjh aud to add wlmt he could tA his knowledge of geology, and he had decided to pejd some weeks in his immediate neighborhood, in the fur therance of that object, in accordance with his recommendation. Two reasons decided Hugh Allan to rr. ceive the strancrer cordially, aside from his own gentlemanly instincts. One was that he would do anything iB reason to oblige his old friend ; and the other, that he was interested in the same pursuit himself. Geology had always possessed a charm for him, and he was quite well posted for one who had not made it the study of a life. ft was not long before he and the stran ger were on the best of terms. They read and talked, rode and walked, togeth er, aud Hugh Allan found himself taking more interest in his loved pursuit than he had ever done before. As well posted as he was,he felt that he knew really nothing when it was put into tne scales and weighed with that of his new acquaintance. People about South-Ridge wondered why it was that he opened bia house to the stranger, and was seen so much in bis company. And well they might, for it was some- QUITMAN, (IA., FRIDAY, JUNE 18, 1875. | thing unusual for him to do. Dora Adams, too, became very much in terested in him. 1 She, too, was with him a great deal, and ; seemed to take a wonderful interest iu his j pursuit. Wheu Hugh Allau was indisposed to nc j company lam, or something made it in ! convenient for him to do so, she took his place. Ere long it came to be whispered that j she was more interested in the mau than | she was in his calling. But it might have been envious people I who said this. There were plenty of followers in her j trniu who wore jealous of her evident pur j tiality for the professor. Whether or no she regarded him in the j light of a lover was known only to herself. As yet it was certiviu that she hud made j no one her ionfldaut. They could only surmise the state of her pelings towards the guest at South-Bulge. Perhaps what her feeliugs were as yet hardly known to herself. That she admired the professor she was w illing to admit. Had she been accused of loving him, she would have discovered the fact. Oue day it chanced that some business | connected with the estate kept the owner of South-Ridge at home to consult with ! his lawyer, who had come to the Orange I without uuy notice of his intention to do so. He had planned a trip with his guest to j some rocks at a point several miles away, I and now lie was disappointed in uot being I able to accompany him. Dora was solicited to take his place as ! guide, and she at once consented. Her favorite black steed was brought round, and, mounting, she rode beside her | escort, who was also mounted on a flue charger. The couple rode briskly away, down ! over the hill, across the bridge that spanned the stream, and tbumgh the busy ] little villuge that lay thereon, with its mn j ny clattering wheels, they dashed, Dora as ; guide, a little in advance. I In duo time the place of their destinn j tion was reached. Leaving their horses, j they clambered up Over the rocks, and set , about the work 00 which they had come, Au hour passed in this manner, and they seated I lien selves iu u spot sheltered | from the rays of the sun, to rest from the , fatigue they felt after their scramble over ! the rocks. From one subject to another Ilia conver sation glided afoug, until at last it eumo to H ugh Allan, and the (mat history of Bontn- Kidge. “Ho lias a son, I believe ? " said the Professor carelessly, wife his eyes fixed upou a specimen lying beside him which be hud hammered from the rocks. l)*i glanced up quickly. 1 “Why do you ask the question ?" she said evasively. “I have heard so. My friend told me something about the sud affair before I | left home." “You have never mentioned it to Mr. : Allan ?” •'No. Of course I would uot do that. I ! should say nothing to him on the subject ; unless be spoke first.” “I would not do so. If you know the whole history of that terrible nifair, you I can imagine how he feels. Although lam j the same as a daughter to him, he never | spoke his name to me. From him I never ! learned that he had a sou, but from oth j ers I have learned the terrible story." "No clue has ever been had which might go to show thut his sou might have | been innocent?” Asdic aaid this, the Professor rawed bis eyes to hor face with a strangely wistful ! look. No. If the story was true, how could j there be ? There was proof that he and i his victim had quarreled ; proof that | could not be denied. Then he was found | staudiug shove the body of the murdered man, in the breast of whom his own knife was found He denied the deed, aud said ! that he hud only that moment arrived at ' the spot.. Yet he could not prove bis in | uoceuce. Everybody was sure tlmt lie did ! the deed—his own father among the rest, iHe contrived his escape, and since that moment Ido not think that he has ever j heard from him, and knows not whether jho is living or dead. If he does lie has | kept the secret to himself. There is none J with whom he has shared it.” “And lie never speaks of him ?” “I do not thiuk tlmt bis name has pass ; ed liis lips since that fatal hour. ” “It is a sad case,” said the Professor, \ musingly. “In truth it is. People sav that Hugh ! Allan is not the man that he was before ! tiie event which threw such a cloud over | his whole life. I can wel* beleivn that he !is not. It was enough to change any mau, j though he be made of Iron. ” “l'on are right. It was a terrible thing, i For his sake, and the sake of his sou if he : be living, I wish that the latter's innocence might be proved. What a weight it would lift from his heart if it conld be done.” “Yes, but that seems impossible. He must bear the burden to hie dying day.” The Professor said no more, and the conversation was changed to another sub ject. An hour later and they were on their way homeward. The grounds of South- Ridge were almost readied, when a woman ' darted wildly out from a cottage by the | way-side. For the love of Heaven come in, Miss 1 Dora,” she cried." “My husband ia dy ing. He lias sent for Master Hugh. There ia something upon hia mind which he Bays he must tell before he dies. Come in. It may be that you can do something for him." CHAPTEK 111. AT THE HEX) OP DEATH. Dismounting, they followed her into the cabin, and to the bedside of the sick man. It needed ouly one glauce on their part to allow them that he was dying. Ho glanced up eagerly at them, and then a di 'appointed look mingled with the one of agony upon hia countenance. “It is not Hugh Allan 1” he cried. “Why do yon not bring him here? I can not die until 1 tell him the secret which has made a place of torment of my heart for so many years. Why is it that he does not come ?" “Can you uot confide it to mo ?" said the Professor, eagerly, as ho bent above the dying man. “Speak. It may be too late when becomes.” “No, no—l must tell it to him. I can not die until I have told him. No one could take my life until T have spoken. Bring him here—bring him here 1” At that moment the door of tiro cottage opened, and Hugh Allau, followed by his lawyer, whom the messenger had found still with him, entered the apartment. The dying man saw and recognised them at once. “Hugh Allau, 1 am glad you have come,” he said, "and that you have brought the lawyer with you. I want him to write down what 1 have to say. I iun dying, and what I have to tell must be told quickly.” “Not so bad us that, I hope, Tom,” an. swered Mr. Allan in an encouraging tone. “\\ hy did you not semi to mo that you was sick ? But we will try to get you up again even now.” “I am dying, Sir Hugh. I know that you call see it as well as the others. But 1 cannot die until 1 have confessed a terri ble crime, and a crime against you, be sides you, who have always treated me so well, Hugh Alan, year son ir.js inno cent. It tens I win) took the life of Richurd ntiten." For a moment Hugh Allan stood as though ho was made of stone. Then ho sprang forward with a hand outstretched as though lie would clutch the dying man by Hie throat. This he would have dot)'’, had 'not !’... Professor held him hack. “Do lH'tu no violence,” lie arid, in a tone which trembled with emotion. “Don’t you see that he is fust going? Let him speak while he may, and let the lawyer take down his confession.” I “Speak !” said the injured father, iu a ! terrible tone. "You have the blood of two upon your soul. No wonder that you ■ could not die and carry your guilty secret aith you. ” Ah though he lmd heard nothing of this j the dying mini weut on : “Yes, Sir Hugh, it was I who was the j murderer, f struck tin* fatal blow with a | knife which J hod stolen from your son. I | did the deed for the money I knew he had j about him ; but I did not get it. Your i non Ralph happened to come to the spot. 1 I heard his footsteps, ami fled. He did I not see me, aud so the guilt was fastened 1 upon him. A great many times I was tempted to spesk, aud to meet the penalty of my crimes. I should have done so; lmd he been brought to the scaffold ; but lie made his escape, and so I was silent. My life has been one of torment, but now it is ended. ” These were the last words the dying I murderer uttered. There was one convul sive struggle and the spirit parted from the I body, and then all was over. ; For the space of a moment Hugh Allan stood motionless, gazing upon the dead j man. Nut a sound was heard im the room | save the scratching of the lawyer’s pen, as ihe wrote down the confession, and the sobs of llie man’s wife. Dora Adams was the first to speak. Step- I ping to te side of Hngu Allan, she said •: “Heaven be thanked, father, that the ! truth is known at lust. Your sou and my i adopted brother, as I must call him now, j is free from the stab: that has rested upon 1 his name so long." “I am thankful, Dora; but why did j Heaven decree thut it should come so late? j Oh, my boy—my buy I And I turned ! against you like all the rest. I might j have known tlmt you were iunocent, nl ! though the proof against you was terrible. | Oh, my child ! would to Heaven that I ; knew at this moment whether you were ! alive or dead!” j ! ‘Ralph Allan is alive," Baid the Pro ! fessor, iu low, tremulous voice. Hugh Allan turned upon him with tlic ; radidity of tbonght, “My son alive ?—is what you said ?” I “Yes. ” "Where is he f “Here father—l am he. Look—do you j not know me now ?” He pulled the long heard he wore from his face, and the spectacles from his eyes, I and stood before him looking every inch ! an Allan, though older and more careworn J than when bis father hail last seen him. ; “My son—my son 1 Thank God you I are given to me again I” aud he clasped him in a close embrace. Little more is tlierß to add to my story. | That much the reader has already con- j jeotured. Ralph told of hi; wanderings in foreign lauds, and of his meeting with his father's old friend there ; how, at last, he had ventured dome in disguise, iu hopes, it time was given him. and he was not dis covered, he might obtain some proof which should establish his innocence. That proof had come now, and iu a way that lie had little expected. A few years later, Dora Adams married Hugh Allan's heir, and id! thu countryside agreed in saying that Soutb-Bidge had muter seen a fairer bride. - Influence of Newspapers. A school Teacher, who was engaged for a long time iu his profession, and witness ed the influence of u newspaper on the rnimlH of a fam.ly and children, writes as follows : 1 have found it to be a universal fact, without exception, that those pupils of both sexes and of ages, who have access to newspapers while at home, when compared to those who have not, are ; 1. Better readers, excellent in pronun ciation, and consequently read more nn ilerstaudingly. 'l. They arc better spellers, nud define j words with more ease and accuracy. 3. They obtain practical knowledge of j geography iu almost half the time it re quires of others; as the newspapers have j made them acquainted with the location of j the important places of the nations, their government and doings on the globe. 4 They are better grainariaus for having become so familiar with every variety of styles in the newspapers, from the com monplace advertisement to the finished nmi classical oration of the statesman, they more readily comprehend the moaning of the textuud constantly auulize its construc tion with nouruey. C. They write better coin lositious, using better language, more clearly and more correctly expressed. 6. Those young men who havo for years berm readers of newspapers are always taking the lead iu debuting societies, ex- j hibiting n more extensive knowledge upon I a greater variety of subjects and express- j ing their views with greater tlueuce, clear- I ness and correctness. Health and Fashion. Tho Science of Health says : Not until we deal conscientiously with nature as we do with tradesmen shall we, us individuals, be entitled to rewards of merit. Wo ask tor a load of good wood, pay the market price for it, get the worth of our money, and have the satisfaction of warmth from the fire it makes. Snppose the dealer knew we would not pay for it. He would not he likely to give full measure of the best quality. The dainty bits of lace, jet ornaments and plumes, rosebuds and vel vets composing a hat ure very becoming i to some faces. The dressy hut has s price; it takes money to pay for it. The little lady wishes to look stylish, pays the price, mid is satisfied amd happy until the fash f n changes, She .T“-injs health and elas- J ticity of slop, buoyancy of spirit- Could tliry.be purchased at Stewart’s or of Worth, ’ millions of dollars would roll in to tho cred it of their bank accounts. Alas, poor child of fashion 1 gold ounnot buy for you the ilu'.vy freshness of a vigorous life. The sntnfiiiue and raindrops are gifts. Rosea in cheeks, cherries iu color of lips, come from within. The price is service, and faithful service, too, under the direction of tiie most generous and most exacting physician, Mother nature. Her rewards are sure ; her punishment certain. There can be no appeal to a higher court—no amendments to her divinely appointed “constitution." Will you enter a willing student ? Are yon willing to measure your life by her rule and compass and square? “No 1” Then there is little hope for ycm. A Lesson to Druggists. The cletk of a druggist iu New Orleans recently sold spirits of camphor for cam phor water. I? was administered to a pa tient amt produced death. A suit was brought against the druggist for damages, and it has just been disposed of by the supreme court of Louisiana, which held ihut the defendant was primarily liable, and also liable for the acts of his clerk in the regular discharge of his business. The court declare) that the law does not place a community in the position of being poisoned by mistakes, with no one to be held responsible therefor. If it was the master who did the wrong he is re sponsible, If it was bis servant who did it, he is sfill responsible, for the master is responsible for the acts of his servant when done in the course of his usual em ployment. Such decision!! ns these are necessary to keep the dispensers of pois onous drugs and compounds up to,a prop er degree of watchfulness. In all cities there is far too much carelessness dis played in relation to this matter. In some cases incompetent assistants are put in position in drug stores on the princi ple of economy. A few hundred dollars are saved each year on the salary of clerks, arid the proprietors take the chances. In other instances clerks are suffered to get into careless habits, and in this manner j mistakes occur of a fatal character. But I wiidfthe druggists me held to a strict | and rigid accountability, not only for their own mistakes but for those of their assistants and clerks, there will be fewer deaths from the dispensing of improper drugs. Effect of Presence of Mind. What coolness may do in such cases ns the recent Holyoke disaster, was once well illustrated by tiie great German actor, Emile Devrient. The Grand Theatre at Vienna was crowded. The Emperor Francis, with several members of his fam ily, was in the inijieriwl box. The play, j Nehiller’s "Robbers,” lmd reached its 1 third act, when a cry arose that the stage was on fire. Devrient signed at one to the prompter, who lowered the curtain, the actor stepping out in front of it ere it wholly fell. In his clear, clarion voice he said: “There is no lire. The emperor has been despoiled of an aigrette of dia monds u entering the theatre. No hon est man will object to being searched. Yon will pass out one by one at each sev eral entrance anil be searched by the police stationed at tho several doors. Any man attempting to go out of order will be arrested.” Tho crowd, decieved by the coolness and tho charge, poureii out. As each reached the door he was simply told to hurry on; arid just as the la3t rows of tiie upper gallery were filing out the flames burst through the curtain, envel oped the auditorium, but not a life was lost, though in loss than half au hour after the great building was in ruins. “Qittin" a Tooth Drawfcd.” About ten o’clock yesterday mopnig a farmer and his wife hitched their team on Woodward avenue, and iu another live minutes had mounted the stairs and ap peared in a dentist’s office. The old liulv had her face tied up nud there was a smell ‘ of camphor, peppermint, paregoric, tnr -1 pontine, uud oil of smoke, as (she crossed j the walk. \ 'Biaoo up, Mary—brace up!’ cautioned i the husband as they started to fclimb the stairs. ‘I know just how ye feel—kinder weak in the knees, like—but we’ll snou have that old snug oaten there like a horse running down hill’ •They were met by the smiling detotist, and the husband continued: ‘She’s got, an old snag which we want drawed or dug out or driv in, or suthii ’ 'Take a chair, madam,’ replied tho den tist, ‘and I guess I can help you.’ ‘I vina! if I hadn’t mind to hack out!' she said, dropping on the sofa to rest. ‘Brace, Alary— brace I' commanded the husband, 'Why, even little children, bo high, (measuring) come up here every day aud have their teeth drawed for fun!’ ‘I don't b'leve it!' she bluntly replied. ‘Do you suppose I’d lie to yon, Mary,— do you s'poso I'd tell a deliberate lie right here?’ asked the husband. Slio seemed to think he would, hut didn’t suy so, and the dentist talked softly and sweetly, and finally iuduccd her to' remove her shawl and hat nud sit down in i the chair. While lie was looking over his instruments the husband remarked: ‘You want to brace, Mary. Held your month open ns long uh you posaiblur "cun, and don’t try to look oaten the winder.’ 'I wish ye’d shot up!' she snapped, sit ting up straight. 'Don't you suppose I know enough to get a tooth ilrawed?’ ‘But can't yer own husband speak to ye Mary—the husband, who lias lived with you nigh on to thirty-six year?’ The Dentist waved him away and ca joled the woman into leaning buck and opening her month. He found the cause of liel- misery to be an old snag of n tooth which would have to ho dug around, but as soon as the lance touclied the gum she screamed out and struggled up. ‘Mary—dear Mary, why do you holler?' exclaimed the husband, rushing over to her side. ‘She's all right—the worst is over, ’ re plied the dentist. ‘Oh, she’ll stand it like an elephant— sheVgot real grit, havu’t you, Mary?’ ‘She fell hack, opened her month again, and again Hie lance made her scream out. ‘Brace, Mary—shut ‘yer eyes and hold on to the chair!’ exclaimed her husband. ‘I wish you’d squat over there, and stay there!’ she snarled, after spitting out n mouthful of blood. ‘But l can’t sit tliar and honr ye moarn and holler nud take ou so.’ ‘W lie’s A hollerin'?’ ‘You did.’ 'No, I didn’t.’ ‘Mary, don’t tell me a lie— a bold, straight lie, right afore this dentister. ’ Tbs dentist induced him to be seated ngnin, but it wap five minutes before the woman would open her mouth. She de dared that the ache had entirely vanished, and that her tooth never felt to well iu her life. ‘Don’t try to crawfish, Mary—don't try that!’ exclaimed her husband. ‘Will you sbet up?’ she shouted. ‘No, 1 wou’t; duru me ef I do!—Here you’ve kept me awake fourteen nights, bowlin’ with that old tooth! You’ve jawed and howled and tore around like r.n old camel, and now you’ve got to have that tooth drnwed or you’ll go home afoot!” She wanted to get out of the chair and go for him, but the dentist persuaded him into going to u drug store after ten drops of laudanum, and while he was absent the tooth was extracted. ‘Alary’ was balan cing it on her hand when he came iu, nud after a brief glance he exclaimed, “Bully for yon, Mary! I know’d ye had grit. AH ye wanted was me to encourage ye.’ 'You didn’t cneourago nothing,’ she loftily replied ‘Tdidn’t, cli!’ Why, dnrn it, if it wasn’t for me, you'd bin howlin round home this very minute, callin’ for hot ashes, and camfire, and oils, and vitriol, and cotton! Don't lie, Mary, jist cause you've had one old tooth drawedl’ ‘I pity your second wife, ’ she growled, as she put on her hut. 'I know just how them poor children of mine w ill be used! 'Allers a twittin' me about a second wife!’ lie exclaimed. 'Here I’ve got to pay fifty cents to have- that old snag drawed, and ye ftuiu’t the least bit grate ful. I’d drive hum and leave ye in town only I kuow’d ye bo in jail in less than an hour. ’ ‘Wait till we get home,’ she suid as she started down stairs. ‘ T/ireaisl Threats!' whi-pered the far mer, ns lie turned to the dentist; remem ber, it I'm found dead to-night that ye heard her utter threats!’ And Le followed her down stairs. A Million Dollar H .mmer. A German paper informs us that the fu i minis steel works of Frederick Krupp, of | Essen, are about to receive a very iujpor- I iaut addition to their machinery. The largest steam hammer in use at these works at tiie present time, is one capable of work ing a mass of steel 50 tons in weight, and erected at a cost of|ssfio,Goo. It is now in contemplation to build anew steam hum mer napable of heating up a mass of steel of double the weight, namely, lttO tons. The new machine, it is estimated, will cost, $1,000,000, and will be the moat pow ei ful in the world ; and it may be expect and that the size and weight of the German ar tiilcry will be enormously iucrensec, as the new steam hammer will permit the work ing-tip of huger masses of metal than, up to the present time, has been thought to be passible by scientific engineers. A ICiss in Seminary Lanouaof.. —A young iady in Cincinnati, who lias just re turned from completing her education in Boston, wanted to kiss her old lover, the other night, and the mother objected. The daughter drew up her queenly form to its full height, and exclaimed : “Mother, terrible, tragical, and sub limely retributive will be the course pur sued by me if you refuse to allow him to place his alabaster lips to mine, aud en rapture my immortal soul by imprinting angelic sensations of divine bliss upon the indispensable member of my human phys iognomy, aud then kindly allowing me to take a withdrawal from his beneficent pres ence. ” The mother feebly admitted that her ob jections were overruled. . j MISCELLANEOUS. It is now settled that Satan's address to the fallen angels, after being driven out of Heaven, was in german. Ho began by su.ving “Nicks, come arouse!” “ Drimtiiidhvrickliillichattau " is tho name of a town in the isle of Mull. It ought to he a railwny station somewhere. How tho brakesmen would chew thut won! up. “Charley, dear, said sho, glancing mischievously at her affianced, “do yon think you'd ever be caught hanging pie tmes in your nightclothes?" “No, love," responded Charley, “I don’t wear' em.” l’olly being bantered one day by somo of her female friends in regard to her lover, who had but one leg, she replied to them smartly, “Pooh! I wouldn't hsve a man with two legs; they’re too common!'' It is said that Rochefort twice attempt - jed to commit suicide recently, but wan prevented. And now he has gone ami j got married. Prevent an infatuated French ■ I man from committing oue desperate dew:. I and he’ll turn right around and commit I another. I A mau in the Bergen tunnel the other j morning bailed a fellow-laborer with, “So ye’ve got a baby ut yer house. What u ! it ti loyor a g rl?" ' Ouessl” "Ah' it's a liny,” “No.” “Well, then it’s it girl.” “Faith,” said the delighted father, “some bod’s been telling ye.” This is the seitsou of the year when tho man with a garden rushes into the housi, seizes pen uud paper, shuts his teeth to gether hard and dashes off tho following aud directs directs it to Ids neighbor: “Dkah Sir—lf you don't keep your ooufouuded hens out of my garden I'iJ kill every blasted one of tlieml” In an English Sunday-school the Vicar's daughter, who was very proud of her Bi ble class,inquired of one of her pupils iu a smock frock how Queen Sheba came to Solomou? He replied: “By railway, Miss On asking for an explanation she received this answer: “Because, Miss, tho Billo says she came to Jerusalem with a very heavy train." “Six things," says Hamilton, are “re quired to create a home. Integrity must bo the architect, and tidiness the uphols terer. It must be warned by affection, and lighted with cheerfulness, nnd indus try must be the ventilator, renewing the atmosphere, and bringing in fresh salu brity day by day, while over all, as a pro tecting glory and canopy nothing will sufiice but the blessiug of God.” Two Meaninos.— A new baggage-man ou oue of our local trains was told to pile up tho trunks in the baggage car, and In sure to hang the checks on tho outside. The liberal minded youth piled up the trunks and tlieu took off tho cheeks, wild leather straps attached, and hung them ou the outside of the car. The baggage master at the depot was driven nearly frantic by the passengers per the Orizaba attempting to identify their boxes. An American clergyman exclaimed to his hearers “Eternity! Why you di n’t know tho meaning of the word, nor t either, lmrdly. It is forever nnd evei, and live or six everlastings a-top of that. You might place a row of figures from here to sunset, nnd cypher them ull up. and it wouldn't begin to tell how many ages long eternity is. Why, my friends, after millions and millions of years had rolled away in eternity it would be a hun dred thousand years to breakfast time." Woman’s Bights.- An old lady riding on a street car yesterday, took a clay pipe and tobacco from her pocket, and after tilling the pipe and borrowing a match she leaned back for a smoke. The con ductor entered the car, tapped her on the shoulder and said : “You can’t smoke in here.” NOt 7. | “I know it's a lectio crowded,” she le ! plied, ns she looked up, “but I’m used to l Iraveiliu’ and I guess 1 can put up with it!' 1 She was allowed to finish her pipe. —Detroit Free Press. Girls, let 11s tell you a stubborn truth. No woman evi r looked ho well to a sensible man, ns when dressed in neat plain mod est attire, without a single ornament about ber person. She looks then ns though she posessed worth in herself, and needed 110 artificial rigging to end a t her value. If a young woman won l spend as much lime in cultivating It c j temper and cher.sh'ng kindness, meek- I ness, genth ness, mercy and other qnuli | ties, as most of tin m do in extra dress and ornaments to increase their personal charms, she would at a glance, he known among a thousand. Hor character would be road in her countenance. The Bringham murder in Boston Ji put Mussclinsetts ladies on their guard gainst tramps and beggars. All ableboi ied member of tiie former class entered house in Worcester a few days since und asked a young lady, who was the sole oc cupant of the house, for something to ee’t. When the lady went to the pantry to (' t some food for him he followed, and refu sing tlPe proffered biscuit, demand' l “them rings” and money. Therenp' 11 1 the holy drew u revolver and marched hiiu out of the house at the muzzle therei '. She ought to have a medal from the State. A Visiting Duo.—A Nuliant dog lias .1 taste for visi>ing. Ho goes down to tin* depot anil steps aboard the train, wit' - out the customary little ceremony at 11.0 ticket office; and when it leaches tie* right town he bounds off mid pays a via:: to some family friend of his master, fit never makes a mistake about the town o ■ the train, and is such a fine, intelligent fellow, he alwiys meets with a welconi . He usually spends two or three days 1 n his trips, and no doubt picks up considiu able dog loro in bis travels. I do not know whether tho mightier dogH sho him any particular attention on his r turn, but ho is on good terras with tL< m all. A youth precocious enough to attempt the traurd’r of h s father, mother, and brother-in-law, is certainly entitled to special notice. Master Pomeroy Heeding is the son of Mr. E. L. Beeding, of Cmn- I r"’ge, Mo., one “of the wealthiest and moat popuiar men iu the State.” Being sent to Fayette, Mo., to got an education, young Heeding took a degree in love, becoming enamored of a charming young woman. He pined for liymenial rites, but not having money enough to pay even a Justice of the Peace, ho concluded to have the family killed off that so he might coma into the family possessions. Ho thercfnVe negotiated with one Stanton to do the dreadful deed, agreeing to pay $1,500 for 1 he doing, saying that he could get a man in St. Louis to undertake the job for SSOO, only he was “ufraid he would kill the wrong one.” Mr. Stanton professed a willingness to engage in the transaction; and then in the meanest way be informed old Mr. Beeding of his son’s improper designs. Forthwith, as a pre liminary piece of discipline, tiie juvenile hero was soundly horsewhipped by his in dignant papa. Then he received a draft fur SSO. Thm he was told to make him self scarce. Aud probably did. At any rate lie cashed the draft.