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VOLUME T.
THE INDEPENDENT.
SATURDAY, SEPTRMIIEIi 13, Ml3.
Published Weekly At $4 00 per Annum
In Ydvnnce.
Single Copies 3 cent*.
BT TEE BHOEE OF THE BIVER.
Through hir* gray willows the bleak winds are
raving
■Here on the shore, with its drift-wood and
Hands;
Over the river the lillioN are waving.
Bathed in the sunshine of Orient lauds;
' over the river, th.- wide, dark river,
Springtime and Huiumor are blooming forever.
H<*re, all alone on the rocks I am sitting.
Sitting and waiting—my comrades all gone—
Shadows vi myaterv drearily tiittiug
Over the surf with sorrowful moan,
Over the river, the nlruxige, cold liver,
Ahl must I wait for the boatman forever ?
Wtfe and children and friends are around me,
Labor and rest were as wings to mv until;
Honor and love were the laurels that crowned
me:
Little pt’hdkfd bow tin dark waters ron,
But the deep river, the gray, misty river,
All that I lived for has taken forever!
Silently came a black boat o’or the billows;
Stealthily grated the keel on the sand;
Bustling foe {stop* were heard through the wil
lows;'
There the dark Boatman stood, waving bis
hand.
Whispering. “I come o’er the shadowy river,
Sho who is dearest must leave time forever,”
Suns that wore brightest and skies that were
bluest
Darkened and paled in the message he bore,
Year after year went the fondest and truest,
Following that beckoning hand to the shore.
Down tie river, the cold, grim river,
Over those waters they've vanished forever.
Yet. not in visions of grief have I wandered;
tftiil have 1 toiled, though my ardors have
flown.
Lai hit i* manhood; and life is but squandered
Dreaming vague dreams of the future alone.
Yet from the tides of the mystical river
Voices rue whispering forever.
XondfV and old, itt the dark I am waiting,
Till the dark Boatman, with soft mufttod oar
Glides o’er the wave*, and I hear the keel grat
ing;
See the dim, beckoning hand on the shore,
Wafting me over that welcoming river
To gardens and homes that are shining forever.
THE BEWITCHING WIDOW.
BY StrrTlE DYIUt BIiITIS.
Just bjefore (lurk one evening, Tom
Courteua came into the little office where
Frank Worthington kept'his dusty law
books, and helped himself to a chair and
a cigar, with a quiet make-yourself-at
home sort of coolness which show ed him
no stranger to the premises.
■‘Well, Frank, ” said he, “wc got through
the last case to-day, and I’m ready to be
oil' home to-morrow. You promised to go j
with me, remember.”
“Xo need to remind mo of it, old fel
low,” laughed Frank. “I’ve endured the
horrors of a boarding-lttnme too long u<
to jump at the chance of country living
awhile,. ”
“You can be ready by morning ?”
“Oh, yes. It won’t take long to pack
my kot. 1 haven’t any Saratoga trunk to
fill with flounces and furbelows.”
“All right, then. We shall have a cousin j
of my mother's to go down with us.”
“The deuce we shall! Tom, if it’s a
girl I won’t go, by George! I got enough
of traveling with girls last summer. ”
“You will gol I will never forgive you
if you don't.”
“Is the cousin of the feminine per
suasion ?”
“Yes, but she is not a girL She is a
sedate widow lady, who goes down to make
an annual visit to us every Christmas."
“Oh, that alters the case. One of those
motherly, middle-aged ladies who make a i
fellow look respectable, us if he was travel
ing with his mother.”
Tom repressed an inclination to laugh, ;
and replied,'soberly:
“Yes; no doubt Mrs. Cameron will up- ;
pear like a mother to both of us.”
“Mrs. Cameron; a good old respectable |
name," repeated Frank. “Has she any j
money, Tom?”
“Well, yes, a fair little fortune.”
“And you may stand a chance in her
will?”
“Possibly.”
“Yes. Well, my boy, you are quite S
right to be attentive to your mother’s
elderly relative. No doubt Mrs. Cameron
will be an addition to our journey.”
“Decidedly,” said Tom, feeling it about
time for him to get out of that office, j
where he could indulge in a laugh, and
rising as he spoke: “Meet us at the depot
at seven in the morning. ”
“I will.”
“Sharp seven, remember.”
“Yes. And time and railroad cars wait
for no man or woman, either. Depend on
me, Tom, and just look after that elderly
cousin.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Good-night, then.”
‘ ‘Good-night, old fellow. ”
And as Tom went out Frank arose and
began to put Ids office in order, and make
some preparations for his Christmas jour
ney.
He meant to be very early nest morn
ing, but over-slept himself, and reached
the depot only five minutes before train
time. He went hastily into the ladies’
room, supposing Tom would be there with
Mrs. Comeron. There was, however, but
one occupant, a bright-faced lady, in a
stylish black and white traveling suit, with
a long white plume drooping over a co
quettish black hat. She turned a pair of
saucy brown eyes upon him as he entered,
glanced around, and beat a hasty retreat.
“Whew! what a pretty girl! Glad I
don’t have her to dangle after, and wait
on, though,” thought he. “Where the
dickens is Tom ?”
He hunted through the crowd, and just
as the train was about starting found Tom
on tlm platform.
THE INDEPENDENT.
“Oh, hero you are I Be quick now!”
hailed Tom. “I thought, you were about
to give me the slip, after all.”
“No danger; I slept late, that's all.”
They went in the ear, and the ponder
ous wheels rolled oft', and as they opened
the door Flunk got a glympse of the pretty
girl with tho white plume, seated inside.
“Did your cousin come?” ho asked of
Tom.
“Yes; I'll introduce you."
Tom marched straight down the narrow
aisle to that very girl’s seat, as she arose
with a bewitching smile, he introduced:
“Mrs. Cameron, this is my friend, Mr.
Worthington. My cousin, Kate Cameron,
j Frank.”
; Poor Frank! you might have knocked
I him down with a knitting-needle. But he
; was gentleman enough to stammer some
I response to the beautiful lady’s courteous
greeting, and try to recover from his con
fusion as host ho might
Half an hour later he and Tom stood to
gether on tho car platform, and thou his
wrath had vent;
“Tom Courtena, I’ll never forgive you.”
“You will. 1 had to deceive you so
that you would not act like a fool, and
disappoint me of your visit. But Kate
will neither cat you uy nor fall in love
with you, so you needn’t be scared. ”
“Don’t expect me to pay attention to
her.”
“Hold on, there! She hasn’t given you
a chance yet. Kate is quite a belle in city
society, and awful particular in her com
pany. Sad dogs like you and 1 wouldn't
stand a ghost of a chance.”
“Humph! I don’t know that she could
do better!” growled Frank, instantly, with
man’s usual contrariness, taking the op
posite track.
“She might think so. I'm going to the
smoking car, Frank. Come along ?”
“No; I don’t care about smoking now.”
“All right. Just look after Kate till I
come back, that's a good fellow. ”
Now, Frank had not the least intention
of looking after Kate, but when he ap
proached her sent she looked up with such
a frank, pleasant smile, and moved her
shawl from the opposite seat to make room
for him with such a cordial air, that he
could not resist the temptation to sit down
and enjoy her society. Not much of it
; did h" get, however, for, after the first
pleasant reception, Mrs. Kate betook her
self to her book again, and never even
! looked at him. By way of revenging him
self, Frank looked at her, and the pret
tier she grew.
“She’s a widow,” he thought. “She’s
mt day over one-aud-twouty, if she’s
that. I wonder if she is Tom’s sweet
j heart.”
And strange to say, this reflection made
Frank feel like grinding his teeth at the
uuconcious Tom, who sat ealudy smoking
( his cigar in the smoking car.
The journey passed off without any
incident, and without Mrs. Kate troubling
1 Frank in the least for attention.
At the station they found Black Boy
: awaiting them with a big sleigh, and a few
minutes’ breezy sleigh ride brought them
I safely to the door of Tom's home. If
Frank had fouud Kate Cameron pretty in
--her hat and traveling wraps, when she
took them off aud showed the slight form,
with its graceful curves aud arches, he
thought her bewitching. Of course, ho
I didn't care anything about her; but, some
way, it was a great relief to find a certain
i pretty little Minnie Brown, who was one
]of the holiday party, unmistakably occu
| pying the position of Tom’s sweetheart,
I and putting Kate out of the question.
Before they had been there three days
! Frank began to have an uncomfortable
- sensation under the left side of his vest
whenever Kate was near; and, Sunday
morning, when she came down dressed in
a bewildering suit of blue velvet, ready
for church, he quite gave up, and owned
to himself that he loved every inch of her,
from the heels of her tiny boots to the
I tips of her little blue gloves.
Mrs. Kate was sharp enough very
speedily to see how the land lay, but she
never gave one sign that she eared a straw
for him, and Frank tormented himself
■ daily with hopes and fears, after the usual
■ fashion of lovers.
The holiday visit was to close with a
grand party on New Year’s night, and all
the young people in the neighborhood
were invited in to assist in the merry
making.
Late in the evening a silent figure sat
by the library fire, having stolen away
from the revellers below stairs to indulge
jin a moment’s quiet re very. Presently
| the door was softly opened, and the faint
j light glitttered on Kate Cameron’s blue
! robes as she came forward and addressed
i the figure in the chair:
“Why, Tom, old fellow, what is the
| matter ? Have you got a fit of the blues?
Why, dear, dear, it is worse than I thought
it was!” laughed Kate. “Have you been
j quarrelling with Minnie Brown ? Tell
Ime all about it ?” And with cousinly free
dom she laid her hand on his head.
The little hand w-as quickly imprisoned
and carried to the bps of the silent figure,
and then Kate stooped and looked into the
face—not of her cousin Tom—but Frank
Worthington. She gave vent to a low
exclamation, and would have fled instantly,
but Frank took good care to hold fast to
’ his little white prisoner, and detain her.
“Itisn’tTom; but don’t go,” he pleaded.
“Stay with me, Mrs. Cameron—dear Kate!
Tom don’t love you half as well as I do!”
“How do you know ?” whispered Kate,
shyly.
“Because Tom only loves you asa cousin.
QUITMAN, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER l:f, 187:5.
aud I—O, Kate, 1 love you better than my
life!”
“But you have known me sueli a little
while.”
“Yes; and might never have known you
at ull if Tom, tho blessed old boy, hadn’t
deceived me, and made me believe it was
an old lady who was to come down with
us. ”
“I know—Tom told me all about it,"
laughed Kate.
“Did he ? But you will forgive me, Katy
darling, because 1 lovo you so, and learn
to love me a little, won’t you ?" pleaded
Frank, boldly throwing one arm around
her, and drawing her down by his side.
“I’m afraid I have learned that already,”
whispered she, frankly.
And then—but neither you nor I, deal
reader, have any business listening to love
secrets in the fire-lighted library, so I
won't tell you what, then. But 1 will tell
you, that when the next New Year’s came,
Frank and the bewitching widow were
visiting at Tom’s again; but she was a
widow no longer, and they called her Mrs.
Worthington.
A Model Love Story.
It appears that in .Sun Jose, California,
there dwells a man,Orion Duboiso by name,
who pursues the honest, if humble, voca
tion of a tinner. By constant and dutiful
application to his shiny work cm tin,
he has acquired “tin,” thus turning his
labors into the more shiny form of gold
and silver. He has purchased in the en
virons of his town a cottage and lot, and
there has gathered around him his house
hold gods. Fig trees bear him yearly
tneir delicious burdens, and graceful
acacias soothe his Wearied senses w itli de
licious perfume. Honeysuckles and climb
ing roses vie with each other in the en
deavor to hide his cottage from the com
mon gaze, and lift their lovely heads and
twining arms to the very gables in their
emulation. California violets, as largo as
mushrooms, rear their velvety faces upon
the lawn, and gorgeous geraniums grow to
such a size that the very birds of tho air
rest cm their branches. Brilliant wiuged
strangers from the tropics flit in time to
the sweet music of the Northern songsters
in his garden. Vines that bear him splen
did dusters of purple fruit lie languidly
on the trestles, or spring from limb to
limb upon the trees. And from these
grapes, iu the mellow autumn, ho presses
glorious red wine, that cheers his soul and
washes the tin filings from his throat
throughout the year—wine,
“Pontifi um potolre coewi’s.”
But Orien Duboisehas something better
fur than all' these things sweeter than
the fruits, more beautiful than the flowers,
more musical than the birds, more per
fumed than the violets, more cheering
than the wine—a daughter. She, amid
all the things near aud dear to his heart,
reigns Biipreme. Her soft voice is to him
the sweetest music, her beauty his great
est joy. She is, as it were, the glorious
consummation of his life, and he can look
upon her as upon one of his own tin cups,
and say with paternal pride: “Behold my
handiwork embodied there.”
To come to the mutton, it is not sur
prising that, even among these described
delights, there was a necessity for a cook.
Of course the good tinner had to eat, and
even his fair daughter needed sustenance.
As the roses have their a-oots in the com
mon soil, so she was compelled, in spite of
tier music scud beauty and perfume, to fall
back occasionally upon beef and potatoes.
“Yon may live without wisdom, you may live
without art;
You may live without feeling, you may live with
out heart;
You may live without learning, you may live
without books,
But civilized man cannot live without cooks."
Bo Orien Duboise, casting about him
for a cook, fell upon a certain Chinaman,
yclept John, tho hero of this story. John
was recommended as honest, faithful and
imitative. As cooking is an old science,
and as there is not much room in it for
creative genius, this imitative faculty of
John’s was considered a great quality.
Make a dish right but once before him,
and it would be produced always thereafter
in perfection. Bo John was installed the
oook.
Alack! the day that poor John entered
that house. He saw Alice, for that was
the daughter’s name, and was gone! Is it
strange that he saw iu her liquid blue eyes
possible lights that might discover for his
footsteps happy pathways forever? Is it
strange that he was enraptured with her
soft, wavy hair, so like the sunlight iu his
celestial home? Is it surprising that he
saw iu her heaving bosom glorious possi
bilities? Do you wonder that he was
overcome with the soft undulations of her
pink and white face? It is true, her foot
was rather largo for' John’s taste, but he
saw she was young and tender, just seven
teen, and he felt this might be corrected
by a little pressure. Besides, lie was con
soled by observing, when she tripped
through the grass and lifted her skirts to
keep them from tho dew, that her ankle
was absolutely perfect.
It was tho old, old story—John was
madly iu love; and, being a man of spirit,
he told her so. He spoke in burning elo
quence of his love, of his ambition, and
of the possibilities of his profession.
Without her he was nothing—with her he
would dare all things. He would strive
until he became the chief cook in the
country, and never, he swore, never would
he be a bottle-washer. And when at last
they had attained fame and fortune they
would go together to his celestial home,
live out their old days, and in the end
mingle their ashes with those of his fath
ers. But Alice was inexorable. Bhe re-
ciprocated not one bit of bis sentiment,
and, indeed, turned from him coldly aud
with scorn.
John .vos heartbroken. The light of his
life was extinguished. He had failed In
obtaining his heart’s great wish, so he de
termined to take the next best thing, her
image. He extracted her photograph from
the parlor album. Ho would press this to
his heart und weep in silence. He would
bow to the inevitable, as Cpiifucious taught
all good men to do. But Alice discovered
the loss of her picture aud demanded it of j
him. She flew at him, seizild his cue, and, [
carving-knife in hand, threatened to trim
it close to his devoted heal if he didn't
produce that, picture. Tln 'ii-on (not the
carving-knife) entered John's soul. He
consented to get the picture. He retired
to the recess where it was hid, and re
turned, the picture iu one hand aud a pis
tol hid in the ample folds of his hunting
shirt. He had determined .o die, but his
love should die with him. He gave Alice
| the picture, and, presenting tho pistol,
fired three times. Each time the bullet
l;it h<u- devoted waist. She fled, und John,
turning the pistol to his head, blew out
his brains, dying n martyr to despised
love. Alice was saved by the steel stays
in her corset, thanks to the wonderful pro
visions of modern science.
John has gone where all good China
men go —by express to China.
—
A Favorite Drink.
There lived, not many years ago, in the
good State of Tennessee, rather an eccen
tric gentlemen, who occupied the judge’s
seat in one of the wealthiest circuits of the
State.
Upon one occasion, there were two men
arraigned before the judge; charged with
disturbing the peace, etc. No. 1, upon
the usual question of “guilty or not
guilty,” pleaded “guilty to drunkenness.”
“You were drunk, wero you, sir?”
asked the judge.
“Yes, sir,” replied the piisioner.
“What did you get drunk on, sir?”
“Whisky, sir.”
“Wliat sort of whisky, sir?”
“New whisky, sir?”
“What, right new whisky, sir?”
“Yes, sir, just from the still.”
“So you got drunk on new whisky,
right warm from the still, did you?”
“Yea, sir.”
“Mr. Clerk, line that mau ten dollars,
and imprisonment in the county jail ono
! month.”
I No. 2, upon being arraigned, pleaded
j guilty also.
“You were drunk, wero you, sir?" said
; the judjp .
“Yes, sir,” answered the prisoner.
“What did you get drunk on, sir?”
“Brandy, sir.”
“What sort of brandy
“Peach brandy, sir.”
“How did you drink it, sir.”
“With n littlu hooey, siv?”
“What sort of honey, sir?”.”
“Nice strained honey, sir.”
“So you got drunk on old peach brandy
anil nice strained honey, did you, sir?”
“Ales, sir.”
“Air. Clerk fine that mull one dime; the
| Court would like a few of that itself.”
The, same judge S llad a very wild
| son named Bob, who was constantly on a
spree, and upon being brought up once
before the court for drunkenness,the judge
cried out:
“Is that our Bob?”
“Y’es, sir,” answered the clerk.
“Fine the rascal tw'o dollars and costs;
I’d make it ten dollars, if I didn’t know
it would come out of my pocket.”
The Baffled Lawyer.
At a late sitting of the Cork Assizes, a
case was brought before the court, in
which the principal witness for the defence
was a tanner, well-known in the surround
ing country by the soubriquet of “Crazy
Pat.”
Upon Crazy Pat being called for his evi
dence, the attorney for the prosecution
excited to the utmost extejnt his knowledge
of legal chicanery, iu the endeavor to force
the witness into some slight inconsistency,
upon which he might build a point; but
he was excessively annoyed to find that
Crazy Put’s evidence was consistent
throughout.
Perceiving that acute viestiouiug failed
, to answer his purpose, the disciple of Coke
and Blackstone betook himself to that oft
| times s .coessful resource of lawyers—ridi
cule.
“What did you say your name was?” he
inquired flippantly.
“Folks call me Crazy Pat, but—"
“Crazy Pat, eh ? Avery euphonious
title; quite romantic, oh?”
“Romantic or not, sur, it wudn’t be a
bad idea if the Parliament wud give it to
yourself, an’ leave me to ehuse another.”
This caused a slight laugh in tho court
room, and tho presiding Judge peeped
over his spectacles at the attorney, us much
as to say-, “You have your match now.”
“And u'hat did you say your trade was?”
continued tho disconcerted barrister, with
an angry look at the witness.
“I’m a tanner, sur.”
“ A tanner, eh! And how long do you
think it would take to tap an ox hide?”
“Well, sur, that’s entirely owin’to cir
cumstances.”
“Did you ever tan the hide of an ass ?”
“An ass? No, snr; but if you’ll just step
I down the lane, ufther the eoort, I’ll show
Iye I cud tan the hide of an ass in the
: shortest end of three minutes.”
— •*•.*
Many young men are so improvident
that they can’t keep anything but late
fhours.
Wliat Men Need Wives for,
It is not to sweep tho house, aud make
the bed, and darn the socks, and cook the
meals, chiefly that a man wants a wife. If
this is all he needs, hired help call do it
cheaper than a wife. If this is all, when
a young mau calls to see a ludy, send him
into the pantry to taste tho bread and
cukes she has made; send him to inspect
the needlework and bed-making; or put a
broom into her hands and send him to wit
ness its use. Such things are important,
and tho wise young man will look after
them.
But what the true man most wants of a
wife is her companionship, sympathy,
courage and love. The way of life has
many dreary places in it, aud man needs n
companion to go with him. A man is
sometimes overtaken with misfortunes; lie
meets with failure and defeat; trials and
temptations beset him; and he needs ono
to stand by aud sympathize. He has
some stern battles to tight with poverty,
with enemies and with sin; aud he needs
a woman that, while ho puts his arms
around her aud feels that he has some
thing to fight for, will help him tight; that
will put her lips to his ear aud whisper
wordß of counsel, and her hand to his
heart and impart now inspirations. All
through life—through storm and through
sunshine, conflict and victory, through ad
verse aud favoring winds, man needs a wo
man’s love. Tho heart yearns for it. A
sister’s or u mother’s love will hardly sup
ply the need.
Yet many seek for nothing further than
success in housework. Justly cuough,
half of these get nothing more; the other
half, surprised above measure, have got
ten more than they sought. Their wives
sui prise them by bringing a nobler idea of
marriage, and disclosing a treasury of
courage, sympathy and lovo.
A Mother's Home.
The most perfect home I ever saw was
iu a little house into tho sweet incense of
whose fires went no costly things. A
thousand dollars served for a living of
father, mother and three children. But
the mother was a creator of home, and her
relations with her children were the most
beautiful I have ever seen. Even a dull
and commonplace man was lifted up and
enabled to do work for souls, by tho at
mosphere which this woman created; eve
ry inmute of her house involuntarily looked
into the key-note of the day; and it al
ways rang clear. From the rosebud or
clover loaf which, in spite of her hard
housework, she always found time to put
by our plates at breakfast, down to the es
say or story' aim luul on hand to be read or
discussed in tho evening, there wns no in
termission of her influence. She has al
ways been and always will be my ideal of
a mother, wife, home-maker. If to her
quick brain, loving heart, and exquisite
tact lmd been added the nppoarauco of
wealth and the enlargements of wider cul
ture, hers would have been absolutely the
ideal home. As it was, it is the best I
have ever soon.
It is moro than twenty years since I
crossed its threshliold. I do not know
whether sin: is living or not. But as I see
house after house in which fathers and
mothers and children are draging out then
lives in a bap-hazard alternation of listless
routine and unpleasant collision, I always
think with a sigh of that poor little cot
tage by the sea shore, and the woman who
was the “light thereof;” aud I find in the
faces of many men and children, as plainly
written and as sad to see, as iu the news
paper columns of “Personals," “Wanted
—a home.”
The Song of Birds.
The purpose which the song of birds
answers iu the economy of nature is one
of those mysteries which, like the differ
ences of tint in their plumage, human in
genuity has not as yet been able to ex
plain. It is not, however, a mere pairing
cry, because it is continued until the birds
break the shell, and in some instances un
til they are able to tiy. We may be sure,
however, that it has its use; and as we can
observe that the females of tdl birds which
have that cry, w hether it be what we call
song or not, are excited when it is uttered
by the male, it may be that it produces in
the female that heat which is necessary for
hatching tho eggs. Iu ourselves there arc
many sounds which make the heart beat,
the blood dance, and tho whole body glow
—we know not why; thus we have no
ground for denying, without proof that
other animals may bo affected in a similar
manner. Perhaps the move philosophical
way of considering it is to suppose that it
produces general excitement and a power
of more energetic performance iu all the
labor w hich the birds can undertake. The
connection between the song aud the
plumage, and the silence and the moult, is
also a curious matter, and shows that the
whole bird is subject to some general law,
which, though it lies beyond the power of
divination, governs even tho minutest cir
cumstance, the production of anew spot
or gloss in a feather, tho reddening of a
comb or a wattle, or tho inspiration of
courage into birds naturally timid.
“Do you think I am a fool?” u violent
mau once asked of tho ltev. Dr. Bethnne.
“Really,” replied the doctor, “I would
not venture tho assertion, but now that
you ask my opinion I must say that I am
not prepared to deny it.”
An Irish advertisement—Lost, on Satur
day, but the loser does not know where,
an empty sack with a cheese in it. On the
sack the letters G. I’, are marked, but so
completely worn out as not to bo legible.
Work.
Young men sometimes think that it is
not respectable to bo at work. They im
agine that there is some character of dis
grace or degradation belonging to toil. No
greater mistake could be made. Instead
of being disgraceful to engage iu work, it
is especially honorable. It is tho useless,
not tho useful man who docs nothing;
who eats the bread he does not earn; who
relies upon others to support his life. It
is lie who is not. respectable, because he is
doing nothing to command respect.
It is surprising to seo how many young
men there are at the present day who are
growing up to habits of idleness. Having
nothing else to do, their nights and often
their days are spent ill places of ill repute.
Graving excitement, they seek the gaming
table. They find a stimulant in intoxicat
ing drink. They look upon labor with
aversion, if not with absolute repugnance,
aud follow courses which end only in
shame.
How many uion now in middle life look
back with regret upon the many lost mo
ments spent by them in idleness, und la
ment that their livt* are now beyond re
trieval. Prepare, young man, while yet
you have a chance, against such a sorrow
ful period. Do not allow yourselves to
grow up without anything to do. Believe
that any labor that will furnish occupa
tion for your minds and hands iH better
than a life which accomplishes nothing,
and which will by aud by be full of mis
ery.
Put Flowers on Your Table.
Put flowers on your table, a whole nose
gay if you can get it, or put two or three,
or a single flower, a rose, a pink, or a daisy.
Bring a few- daisies or buttercups from
your last field work, and keep them alive in
a little water; preserve but a bunch of
clover or a handrail of flowering grass, one
of the most elegant of Nature’s productions,
and you have something on your table that
reminds you of God's creation, aiidgives you
a link with the poets that have done it
most honor. Put a rose or a lily or a
violet on your table, aud you and Lord
Bacon have a custom in common, for this
great aud wise mail was in the habit of
having flowers in season set upon his table,
we believe, morning, noon, and night;
that is to say, at all meals, seeing that
they were growing all day. Now here is a
fashion that will last you forever, if you
please —will never change with silks and
velvets and silver forks, nor be dependent
on capriee and changes to givo them im
portance and a sensation.
Flowers on the morning table are espe
cially suited to them. They look like the
happy wakening of tho creation; they
bring the perfume of tho breath of nature
into your room; they seem the very repre
sentative and embodiment of the smile .of
your home, the graces of good morrow;
proofs that some intellectual beauties are
in ourselves or those about us, some Aurora
(if wo are so lucky as to have such a com
panion) helping to strew our lives with
sweetness, or in ourselves some masculine
wilderness not unworthy to possess such a
companion or unlikely to gain her.
I NTELPIi ETATTON OF A WILL. —A Very
rich merchant who had an only son, made
his will, by which he left all his property,
amounting to three hundred thousand
francs, to some monks, who were to give
his Bon sneli a sum as they wished. After
the death of the merchant, the monks
took possession of all the money without
offering any of it to the son, who, being
displeased at this, brought the monks be
fore the Viceroy. Having road the will,
he asked them what sum of money they
wished to give the son. They answered;
“Six thousand francs.”
“And what, then, do you wish to do
with what remains?” asked the Viceroy.
“We wish to keep that,” they said, “be
causo it is ours by light.”
“But you do not understand the w ill
properly,” said tho Viceroy, “for it says
you are to give the sou the sum you wish
to have. The six thousand francs are
therefore yours, and the rest belongs to
the son.”
With this decision the monks had to be
satisfied; for, in trying to get all, they lost
nearly all. There was no release from the
Viceroy’s decision. Crying was of no use;
they had to submit.
A man stopped a North Carolina woman
who was driving her family through the
streets, en route for the West, and tried to
buy her “rig,” getting this reply: “Stran
ger, yer’er ova wastin of yer breath talk
in’ to me about Hellin’ that crceter. He’s
too noble a animal, and he comes down
from ancestors datin’ back to ther
time when I can’t remember. Aloney
can’t lmy that there donkey, and yer might
as well quit chatterin’ yer mouth about
tradin; besides, when I trades I trades,
and I ain’t a bit of tradin’ humor jist now,
So, stranger, yor might as well close up
yer fly-trap.”
“Well, Snow, does you still pay yer dis
tresses to Aliss Alorninglory ?”
“No, I dusn’t; I’se sacked her!”
“What for, Snow ?”
“ ’Cause when I asked her to docept j
my hart an’ liau’, she said she would rather
be excused.”
“What did ye do ?"
■ O, jest liko an iguimous uigger dat I j
wus, I 'sensed her,”
A clergyman who preached a sermon in !
a prison, a few Sundays siuce, began the |
discourse in his traditional way by saying: j
“I am glad, my friends, to see so many of
you here this morning. ”
It is useless for physicians to argue
against short-sleeved dresses. The consti
tution of the United States says that “the
right to boar arms shall not be interfered
with.
What we can’t see through—a high'
crowned lad at a concert.
NUMBER 19.
[From tho Atlanta Hsralil. J
“TO THE DEATH?"
A Double Homicide--.! Teaeleer and Du
jilt In Baukt County Stab Mark
Other to Death —! llloody Affair.
It becomes our duty to chronicle ono of
tho saddest occurrences that has taken
place In Georgia for many days. It wus a
difficulty between a teacher and one of his
students, a young man, which resulted iu
the
SUDDEN DEATH OF lIDTH THE PARTIES.
The horrible tragedy was enacted in
Banks county, near Homer, the county
site, on Friday, the 29th of August. Tho
teacher of the school was Mr. Alfred Alex
ander, aged forty years, and the student,
Mr. John H. Moss, a young mau aged
about twenty-one years. It appears that
oneo again
A WOMAN WAS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE AF
FAIR.
Airs. Alexander, wife of the principal,
was, we learn, present of her own volition,
but not in tho discharge of any regular
duty as teacher in any other capamfcy.
Her custom, however, has been to observe
the conduct and deportment of the pupils,
and when she considered them guilty of
any breach of decorum, to report them to
her husband for reproof or other punish
ment. On this occasion tho subject of her
KEPOKTORIAI, CAPACITY
was the young man referred to, Mr. Aloss.
When his attention wns ealled to the mat
ter in question ho denied the charge made
by Airs. Alexander, which led to an ani
mated and angry dispute. Alexander be
came enraged at the young man for the
part taken in the controversy by him, and
advancing toward Air. Aloss, drew his
knife and
STABBED HIM IN TjlE BREAST.
Aloss in turn advanced with a dagger
and
PLUNGED IT INTO ALEXANDER’S HEART.
This was a fatal wound, and the man
fell. Just then Aloss turned to leave, but
Airs. Alexander, who was at the side of
her husband, wmug the knife from hist
hand and administered one or two severe
cuts to Aloss in the hack, near the region
of the spine. Tho result was that both
lay mortally wounded on the scene of the
conflict, and both expired iu a short time,
the one within three minutes of the other.
It is not definitely known whether Moss
died from the wounds received from tho
wife or husband, as all were severe and
reasonably sufficient to produce death.
The whole school and entire community
wero thrown into tho deepest consterna
tion ami excitement over the horrible af
fair, which, though short, wus s< wdefiiaix;
aud terrible.
By a steamboat explosion on a Western
river, a passenger wus thrown unhurt into
the water, and at once struck out lustily
for the shore, blowing like u porpoise all
the while. He reached the hank almost
exhausted, and was caught by a bystander
and drawn out panting.
“Well, old fellow," said his friend, “had
a hard time, eh ?”
“Ye-yes, pre-pretty hard, considerin’.
Wasn't doin' it for myself, though; wus
working for one of them insurance offices
in Now York. Got a policy on my life,
and wanted to savo them. I didn’t cure. ”
The most hardened criminal is sup
pi sd lo he iu Chicago, ’ill ' o'l or day
lie was arraigned for an attempt to shoot
a police officer, success beiug prevented
by the failure of tho cup to explode,
\Uhile the officer was explaining how the
rascal pointed the pistol at him the man
was so tickled that he burst into a hearty
laugh. Tho judge playfully remarked
that tho mirthful smile of the young vil
lain, in days to come, would take a per
manent seat on the other side of his ca
pacious mouth.
The Rev. John Aloore, who was reported
by telegraph as having been arrested for
horse-steuling at Greenwich, Conn., and
discharged the next day, is a Presbyterian
clergyman in good standing. It appeara
that while on his way to the ruilrond station
he was fired upon by a party of men who
were watching for a burglar. He took them
for robbers and ran; wim pursued, shot at
again and overtaken, and was detained until
morning, when he proved his identity.
Charles Van Dinter, a dissipated young
man of Detroit, got drunk last Tuesday and
went home, where he threatened to kill
everybody in tho house. His father put
him out. The drunken man seized a piece
of board and started to return towards the
house und ran against a frame-work of, a
picket fence. He struck his breast against
the top rail and fell backwards, striking his
head in such a manner on tho edge of tho
sidewalk as to dislocate his neck. He ex
pired almost immediately.
What Beecher Thinks of ’em. —A cor
respondent recently asked the ltev. Henry
Ward Beecher if' he approves of wives
spending their time at watering places
and leaving their husbands to the merev
of servant girls, and received this charac
teristic reply: “No woman who values
her domestic happiness as she should,
will leave her husband thus unprotected. ”
Ex-Governor Foote, in his “Reminis
enee,” is exhibiting too much spleen against
Air. Jefferson Davis. Air. Davis’ friends may
have forgiven Mississippi for her repudia
tion, and all that sort of thing, but they
can never forgive her the wrong she did the
upper house of Congress, when, in electing
a United States Senator, she put her Footo
in it.
A conntry boy who went to Louisville
for an education was asked by his teacher
iu geography, “What is a strait?” and
horrified her by replying, “It bouts two
pair./’
lln Ceylon the marriage eeremony is per
formed by tying the couple together by
the thumbs. Iu this country they are more
frequently put together by the ears.
