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VOLUME -VU. PROFESSION* CaldS. 1 Lawyers. K OBERT k. MASSEY, Attorney at Law. (Office in front room, Dorsett’s building.) ] Will practice anywhere except in the County , Court of Douglas county. yy a. james, jay mil Sj, ' A " . a. Douglasville, Ga. Will practice in all the courts. State and Federal. Office on Cpurt-house Square. WM. T. ROBERTS, V V Attorney at L aw, Douglasville, Ga. Will practjctfe ail the courts. All legal bus iness will r&eive prompt attention. Office in court-house. d.- camp. • Attorney at Law. •W oj v j] E n gj neer and Surveyor, Douglasville, Ga. s |> (i. GJUtiUH, , Attorney at Law. Douglasville, Ga Will practice in all the courts, State and Fedorak JOHN M. EDGE, Attorney at Law, , Douglasville, Ga. Will practice irt bli the courts, and prompt y attend to all bnslii««M elrfrustwDto bis care. 1 H. JAMES. tj * t Attorney at Law, k Douglasville, Ga / will practice in the courts of Douglas, Campbrn, (‘Stroll, Paulding. Gobb, Fulton ami adjoining nouutiee. Prompt attention jufh to all ImsifM-KS. JOHN V. EDGE, * A torne.v *t Law, Douglasville, Ga. gfishM ;^S==S=£ 3 Doctors. .... pi;.' i ij.’niiin . I Phyeifcian and Surgeon *# Douglasville, Ga i J Spccial.wttMvUMi M mm! Chronic dis- s g I oSt JjSrtt’* Liek building. p WftDERY' Physician and Surgeon. Office djjßjSfr* ll whare he eau hHfbmhl £^>all ; iiour«, except when Hp»«->al attention given to ctHR and especially all cates that bavi&*dMretiSai and ■ as ■r y IREKi'it “iwrLt#iK«»y ifevW as shy- atMM& ' '*’* ' MNMb ’W day, and at night at. tn’jN||te«Wl!W, stWe "Wuse recently occu pied by J. A. littuun. J. B. EDGE. T. * ®* Pental Surgeon. Hat toeafed in Twenty years’ •xperieuoe. Dentistry iu *Hit» branches done iu the most «pprcvc»d style. Office over poat offioe. Painter. rjl B. BUTLER. ■ 11 Homa Painter, m W Doug’asville, Ga Wdi make old furniture look as well aa new. <Mve him a trial in »hu Hue. Will abto do fa.sTM" carpctderiuK work. That Made a Difference. “Now.” aqM *ba ratfroad prasaldont, as he sAt <fowfe «>th ihw seeretary. «m dkUUwgad te fellows; , ‘We cottgrafdafe stofekholdersion the improved condition Will© J. & J.' * “W»y. we are tn pressing need of 50 miles a* “ 0W rail *’ Bev onty-iive cars. : A " and half a doaen of new locomotives!" * said the secretary. U “That’s all right, air; gw on with the 7 BfrcuiaU Say: ‘The net earnings of the road warrant us in predicting that the next dividend will ” “Bat we can't even pay th® Interest on <mr mortgages,” inturrupuad the secretary. “Mr. Secretary, this h a circular! ♦•Yea, air; but why ° “A circular to the public. sir.” “I know, but such mats——" • A ntremar to be sent to Europe to indue* a demand for our stock! ’ ihan dered the president that's it. ch! Oh. well, that alter* the ease? We sure warrant ed in predivd'ig a January dividend of plight i«er cent, of course.”'— M ali St i The WefUy Star The I’Baintftn Ship We touch Life’s shore as swimmers from a wreck Who shudder at the cheerless land they reach. And find their comrades gathered on the beach Watching a fading sail, a small white speck— The phantom sMp, upon whose ample deck Their seemed awhile a homeward place for 'stifi wring'tlmir ’hands and still beseech. But see, it fades, in spite of prayer and beck. Let those who hope for brighter shores no more Notmourn,but turning(pJaad brqygly Feek. wjMßddeeWblih red«fe tm sbap. H TlJ&r’ nJmwSt buildUfestf,«abi’i®W the* weak; Must plant and stint; must sow and reap and store; For grain takes root though all seems bare and bleak. —Eugene Lee Hamilton. FOR HIS MOTHERS SAKE., _ Unmarried at twenty-two. I ;Was 'rich, entirely nxy own mistress, and considered more than pretty; and still, in spite of many excellent opportuni ties to change my condition, 1 was rap idly drifting on towards old-maiden hood; no wonder people called me hard to please. I hadL admirers and suitors in plenty; where; is the heiress who has not? And two men loved me. I say? “two men.” There were many who made professions, and of whose sincerity I have no means' to judge, but these two I can answer for as for my self, and I know they loved me. Never were two people more unlike each other, in looks, in taste, disposi tion, temper, everything. It seemed tlfe strangest thing in the world that both should fancy me. Even their respective circumstances and positions in life offered a striking contrast. George Redfern was a wealthy and influential banker, forty years of age, grave, quiet, and reserved in manner, and with an indisputable and enviable standing in society—a man against whom no breath of re- E roach or blame had ever stirred; while Robert Dene —my Robert, whom I loved —was comparatively poor, having on ly his salary as conlideutial clerk iuthe Redfern bank (out of which he support ed a widowed mother), and was one of those merry, cheerful, light-hearted fellows who somehow—perhaps from their love of company and pleasure— get the name of being “wild," without deserving it. Certain it is that Robert merited no word of evil, though there was a time when it looked otherwise. Mrs. Dene had been my dear.dcad mother's friend. Naturaßy I often went to visit her. She was a great in valid. and hardly ever went out, ex cept for an occasional quiet drive with her devoted son. who idolised her; so much so that I grew positively jmi otis. For Robert and I understood each other, as lovers will. He was very sen sitive and high-minded. 1 thought, at first, that because I was an heiress he would never the love I knew he fell, and which 1 longed to hear; but 'flm Aveleoiue dfElaratibn oninp at I Mr. Redfern t<r2 th«fek Mr it. I met him at Mrs. oneoven fag. when he had to speak to Robert on some business, hav ing chanced to see him in the garden ’ jts he was ruling past. I was at the window, leaning out,and iiofiwm<| I knew, thaiJ that was tlte reason he asionUhed Rob ert, by accepting his invitat on to come In. wn,go etv, «md fat-iFing the TO' He teiok w gfmuo to ■ balls, theatres, operas; and when Ihad met him a good many limes, he re quested permission to call on me. Robert heard of it, and grew jealous. One evening he came to me, his dear handsome face looking gloomy and sad ©no igh. “We have boon friends for years,” said he, “and I believe you like me well enough to grant me' a favor. I love you. Kate. That’s no news to yon; is it? Well, I never should have told you so—never should have asked you to become my wife, because you are rich and I am poor; but. my girl, I can’t stead quietly fey and see another lake what I'd have died to win; so I want vo« to tell me truly if you intend to marry Redfern, and if it’s ‘yes.’ I shall go out of the country, and stay out until 1 can get over it.’’ Oh, the happy girl I was when I heard him! The precious 1 had longed for were spoken at last He might have seen the joy in my face. I felt my cheeks burn, and mv eyes grow bright with happiness; but lie kept his fa<'e gloomily turned away. So 1 stole up to him, half shy, half bold, all joyfir, aud slipped my hands about his arm. “And can you ‘get over it,’ do you think?” I asked demurely. He looked at me then, and disengage ed bis arm. He thought I was trifling , with his pain, and was vexed at me. “This is no jest with me. Miss Crav en, whatever it may be to you,” he said quite sharply; “I did not expect that you would "make it one. Yes." very , coldly. “I am not a love-sick fool I do suppoee I sh&ll get over iu” I looked at him reproachfully. I felt I the tears spring to my eyes at his words ; and tone. “You don't love me as I love you. then, Robert.” I said softly: “for if you go awav and leave me so. I’m afraid I I never shall get oxer it.” | “Oh. mv darling!V I How qnfekly fete face brightened as | he caught my hand! “You say that. Kate? You mean it? | You don't love Redfera—you won't FAWNING TO N’ONE—CHARITY TO JAtX. L •_■ - . - .-.r> U-- . -- -.-- -■ Tr- T. , „ DQUGkASVILEE GEORGIA, THURSDAY, AUGUST 13,1885. B ® H A . * . . “I lovte yod," I answered, as his dear arms clasped me close; “and you only will I marry." And so we were engaged. And Rob ert drove me over to the cottage, there and then, to teH his mother. “She will be so pleased," he said. “I believe that she suspected my feelings. But ! would not Cmfide them to her, lest the fear of disappointment and pain to me should distress her." How he loved her! A little jealous pang shot through my foolish heart. • “f fesr*you love her best," I said im- ho saia - ly, “one does not measure suqh sacred loves; each ‘dearest.’ But my mother seffefAWHS an affection of the heart. Au or pain must injure her,’ and a sudden shock would kill." And then it was I first understood rightly his devoted care of her, a care in which, from that hour, I shared. Next day Mr. Redfern proposed to me. My heart, in spite of its own hap piness, ached for the bitter pain he shewed when I told him I was engaged already. *T had set my aver# hope on you— I cannot give you up!" he cried, with an intensity of passion that startled me. “Oh,'child, have mercy on me! Think again—give me time. lam rich er than you think; if you are ambitious n I interrupted him. “I am not; I have wealth enough,and covet only happiness. I shall marry Robert Dene, the man I love." His face was white as death. “You shall not marry him!" he said with a deep and bitter oath. “Never, while I live! I swear it!" And he rushed out of my presence like a madman, leaving me shocked, frightened, perplexed, and with a strange sad cloud upon my happiness. I said nothing about it to Robert, however. His relations with his em ployer continued pleasant, as usual; and I did not feel justified in disturb ing them. I felt surprised ivhen he told me that Mr. Redfern had himself congratulated him, and made some slight but graceful allusion to the dis appointment to himself; but I conclud ed to keep silence still. What was the use of creating ill-will between them? “Probably," I thought, “Mr. Redfern regrets his intemperate warmth and foolish words, and takes this method to let me know of it." And I too —infinitely sonal apology So the time began the prep >• aw riage, and our engagement was under stood everywhere, when the storm which instinct had warned me of frQßk. the moment in which I had beard tW? bitter threatening oath, burat suddenly. It was evening, and Robeißand I were sitting together, talking* such sweet nonsense as lovers wilSfe—We zrfez: u trx I asleep in her easy-chair, when sudden ! ly and unceremoniously the floor was open wide, and three men en *Wo of them were officers- The in- • dignation which their rude entrance caused, gave place to sickening fear when I saw the third —George Red fernl I He fixed his hollow, burning eyes up on m«v Even in. that- moment of ex citement I was sensible of a shocked surprise oLthe strange change in him since last we met. “Men, do your duty," he said briefly. Next minute Robert was . under ar fl don't know what I said dr did in the first horror of it I remember clinging around-Robert’s neck, and being pulled away—by auntie, I think—and some one asking, “What’s the charge against him?" Then came the stern answer from George Redfern’s lips: “Koi>l beryl" With that word my senses came back to me. I tore myself from auntie’s arms and flew to my lover’s side. “It’s a lie!" I cried, looking straight into Redfern’s face. “He is innocent!": Robert turned grateful troubled eyes upon me. “God bless you, my true love!" he murmured sadly. And then Redfern’s stern low voice broke in again: “Men, search him!” 1 saw it done. I saw them dBMv; forth a roll of notes—ten—of twenty five pounds each, and forming a larger sum than Robert could have come by rightly. I heard Redfern identify them as his own, and declare that none but Robert had access to the safe or vault And then I heard Robert say, with a moan of agony: •Oh, God! My mother!” 1 understood it all. I stepped up to George Redfern, and looked into his face. ‘Cool with me into another room," I said- “I will make a bargain with you. Let your men remain with their primmer hero.” And he obeyed me. When we were alone, I said passion ately: “Mr. Redfern, you are a villain! You have j dot ted to separate me from the man 1 love, and blast his reputation. ’ You shall fail in both- You know that ‘ he is innocent” He answered quietly: “1 am not his judge. Miss Craven. 1 He himself will tell you that I placed those notes in the safe in his presence, and that no one has since had access to ! it but himself. An hour ago 1 missed them. You saw where they were found. Let the law decide th© rest." I wrung mv hands in agony. ' “The law!' I cried. “Man, not know he has a mother ' charge will kill? Will you be a mur -6 derer?” He caught my hand. “No," he said hoarsely. “It is you —not I. You murder two of us, his mother—when she learns the story of his guilt, from which you could save her —and me—you murder me!—for the hour that sees you marry him sees mo a«corpse." I snatched my hand away. “I will marry him," I cried, “if the whole world, calls hjm guilty!" He answered quietly: “And kill his mother?” What could I do? Turn as I would, he brought me back to that at last. The son’s imnrisonment on a shamo Wd. probgble condemna tfoiv-for'laid— ” ' he of- rfjjfSv . I th o manT ’of th© man I hated. “Never while I live," he said. That was my oath, and I have kept it. We went back together. George Redfern formally withdrew the charge he made, and gave one of the notes to each officer as a bribe for silence. So Robert and I were parted, and his mother’s life was saved. And the world wondered, and called me a coquette, and “hard to please;” and a year went by and found me twen ty-two—unmarried still—Robert’s true love still—and miserable. How many times had I seen George Redfern dururg that vear? More than a hundred times. He had come to me praying, pleading for love—oh, how vainly! Often as ! saw him, though, I noted how he changed—so terribly— so rapidly! Worn almost to a shadow. Pale, with all the life in him seeming to be centereddn his burning eyes. They seemed lit with the fires of madness. Poor George Redfern! It would be hard if I should not give him pity who gave me sb much love. The end came suddenly. One win ter’s night a messenger summoned the two whom he had wronged to his bed side. He was dying. Just the same as ever—strange, abrupt, half-crazed. He took Robert’s hand without noticing me, and stared into his eyes. “I’ve brought you pain and sorrow, haven’t I? Ah, that’s nothing! You have brought me down to death. I loved that woman—loved her. Ah, Heaven, that doesn’t express it! I be came a villain for her sake. I liked you, Robert. I meant to make you partner some day. Kato,” turning sud xJfenlx . N > matter; with him - ’Wr a flf' qufat morn in g he was cold and quiet too -at rest. “You may marry her very soon," h© said in dying, “but not while I live.” * Poor George Rediorn! He lov®|jfM> gyell. I weflfed life spring daisies on <iis grave with tears before 1 took the freedom that his death had given. Af ter that 1 laid sorrow by and married Robert. v . He was rich now, and his mother to this day believed it was a lovers’ quar rilsl .that kept as apart so long. Better so, for thus the memory of the man Who sought to blast our lives, and lost his own, is spared. And w© can spare him in his grave, and pity, too. For my life's romance had a blissfnl ending, and I am a happy woman after all. — ♦. Oil I A Very Conscientious Reporter. It is a, breach of confidence for a member or an officer of the Senate to disclose the transactions of a secret ses sion, until the removal of the injunc tion of secrecy by a formal resolution of that body. Stiil, newspaper corres pondents generally manage to find them out, in some way*. Jjo well known wo their ;n this direction, that senators would oftentimes go to the reporters for information as to what had been done in secret session, instead of the reporters to the senators! Once, a senator, going to the Senate rather late in the afternoon, met a correspond ent coming from the Capitol. The law- asked what was being done in ■ the Senate. “Oh, nothing important," was the answer. “They have just gone out of executive session and are now discussing the subject they had up yes terday.” The senator was cvitiently interested in some nomination or other business, and so he persisted and asked the correspondent what action had been taken in executive session. The news paper man coolly eyed the senator for a few moments, and then cautiously re marked: “Well, you Congressmen’ are fatting to be such free talkers, 1 think d better not tell you!”—Edmund lon, in SI. Nicholas for f'kbruGry. A Dog With a Memory. A letter carrier got a summons in the Jefferson Market Police Court the oth er day for the owner of a greyhound. The carrier said the dog always attack ed him on his rounds through Bleecker street. Soon after the postman went away the owner of the animal appeared in court with the dog. The brute, he said, was worth SIOO. According to ifeamaster the greyhound was kicked by a postman while a puppy in Buffalo, and although years have elapsed since then, the dog cannot now see a grey uniform without evincing a strong de sire to attack the wearer. While in court another postman came in to deliver the Justice's mail, and the dog was with difficulty restrained from jumping on him, but when Officer Murray step ped to the carrier's side the dog be fccame quiet This, the owner said, the dog's respect for a blue cost, which it had been trained to re spect as representing law and order.— A: F. Herald, _ . . GLEANINGS. The population of the Congo basin is estimated at 80,000,000. Dr. Rawitz, of Berlin, has discovered that snails in captivity can live on paper. Nearly five thousand patents on churns have been issued in this country alone. There is a glacier in Alaska moving along at the rate of a quarter of a mile a year. With the exception of Hayes all the Presidents since Lincoln have been ' smokers. A fair quality of artificial stone is made of equal parts of Ifaio and feafed. ( It costs about the same W’foribk. ( The Italian funds have lately been quoted as nearly the same figures'as the English. In 1866 they stood at 36. Just sixteen years ago the interest on > the national debt amounted to $153,- i 000,000 a year. It is now $58,000,000. 1 There are 2,800,000,000 copies of daily, weekly and monthly journals published annually in America, against 7,300,000,000 copies in Europe. Penny dinners have proved so popu lar among the children of the London , poor that a movement is nowon foot to provide penny breakfasts. In some ( schools 70 per cent of the children are unable to procure breakfasts. i A family of twelve children n6w re siding in England can count up their aggregate ages to the figure of 972 ■ years. • The youngest is seventy-nine and the oldest is eighty- nine, the aver- , age for each of the twelve children be ing eighty-one years. Queen Victoria’s determined an- • nouncement that she shall keep Beat -1 rice with her after the marriage to the Impecunious Prince Henry of Batten berg is believed to be prompted partly i , by her love for Beatrice and more by . the belief that she can board the beg garly Battenberg cheaper than Beat rice can. I The Campbellite Church, the denom , {nation to which Mr. Garfield belonged, I has purchased 18,000 acres of land, at , $1.75 per acre, and taken up 20,000 . acres additional, near Redding, Shasta • county, Cal., on which they intend to | found a colony. The Campbellites of St Louis are the prime movers in the ■ enterprise. Mr, Fro tide is going round the world, ; partly for the sake of his health and partly because, as he says, “I have Brown tired—xrf -the ekatter..which Jay iTast volumes on Carlyle have brought | forth, and I thought that in six months, at any rate, the world would forget the - existence of so unlucky a person as th© biographer of Carlyle." Experiments have lately been made , in WU is to be hoped will®' lead to a process of heating railway ; 1 carriages by electricity. A Gramme , machine generates a current that pro duces heat in boxes similar to the pres i ent hot-water pans, but which will dis , ' fer from them in uniformly accomplish ing the object for which they are de , signed. • In the lead production of different countries Spain holds the first place, the amount reaching some 120,00 J tons in one year, or one-sixth more than America, which comes next on the list, while Germany follows with 90,000, Os Spain’s total 'production some 67,000 tons are derived from one district, that of Linares, in which more than 800 mines are registered. ' There is a Baptist Church in Pittsyl vania county in which is kept a cradle. During a single sermon often as many i as a dozen babies are rocked in it. A child is not half so apt to make itself disagreeable in a cradle as in it’s moth- ■ i’sa’t'rKi: placed in the chqren crftdle.— liidi- . mond (Fa.) AeligioWi Herald. After Mr. Thomas Whittaker had been giving a temperance lecture at ■ the Alexandra palace, London, a friend said to him: “Why, Thomas, I heard you say the same things twenty year# ago. I can’t think how you can go on repeating the same old stories." “Ah! > Did you?" replied Mr. Whittaker. •Well, I’ve heard you lots of times, and for the life ot me I can’t remem ber a single thing you ever said.” The Adams family is renowned for its diary writing. John Adams began a diary Nov. 15, 1755, just after his' twentieth birthday, and continued it with breaks until Nov. 21, 1777. The ’ diary of his son, John Quincy Adams, 1 was begun soon afterward, and ran through its course until 1848. It is said the third generation has done similar work, so that 100 years of his tory will be found in the family annals. —Boston Journal. Prof. E. L. Ritchel, of Bridgeport, Conn., has invented a poisonous air bomb, which is charged with gases several times compressed and impreg ' naled with poisonous vapors which will r prove quickly fatal to any creatures breathing them. With one of them he killed twenty rats in an inclosure. The ‘ bomb exploded will charge a radius of ’ i 100 feet with silent death. An army i bombarded with such bombs would L | have to retreat or be annihilated, j This is a Laramie, Wyo., criticism on r ■ a Western actress; “And Stringham— . . the sublime and beautiful Sadie—how i shall we find the words to characterize j • her? She was a symphony in red. , She had rouge enough on her face to - ’ paint the town, the general effect being j highfened by a crimson dress of an . ’ tique design. She repeated several times . | that she was ready to ‘beg from door , I to door to save her starving child,’ and 3 ’ that's about what she will have to do . I if she depends on the stage for a liv- ■ i in « ” - - . - NUMBER 27 Mr. Dolby’s book on Dickens as a lecturer confirms the opinion that Dickens brought on his death by over work and dver-exei>eraent. According to Mr. Dolby, the reading of the mur der scene in “Oliver Twist" by Dickens brought up the reader's pulse from its normal 72 to 118. “0* these occa- sions he would have to be supported to his retiring-room and, laid on the sofa for fully ten minutes before he could speak a rational or consecutive sen tence." Yet this reading he gave very frequently. The diameter of trees varies not only from summer to winter, but from day to day. They are larger from noon to twilight the next morning than from twilight until noon ; they are smaller in the winter th ah in summer. Water and the sap of trees expand not only in proportion as they rise above, but also as they go below the freezing point Low temperature as well high pro motes evaporation, and the trees evapo rate from their branches in winter, and so the colder the weather the more they shrink. When I consider, says Labouchere, how very few things there are in this world really worth knowing, and that most of these can be picked up in con versation; that reading, writing, and arithmetic are all that a man wants to start with in life, and that the largest fortunes have been reached by men set ting out with no other equipment. I can’t believe that it is necessary to catch a child from Its mother’s arms at 5 (the legal age), and keep him in school till he is 13, and thereby ruin health and destroy his happiness, at the expense of the ratepayers, in order to give him a fair chance of earning his living. Mr. Gladstone is a prowler. Ho loves back streets. It is no unusual thing to see him looking in the win dows of a bric-a-brac store. Summer days he often strolls from Parliament to his house in Harley street, an inte rested spectator of all that is going on around him. He is not well dressed. His trousers are generally baggy at the knee. His tall collars arc always famil iar in caricatures. He rarely buys a new hat. He has a strong, hard, bony face, a powerful a character istic nose, a firm mouth (a little too hard in its lines). He would strike the most ordinary observer as a man cf great intellectual physique. Changing the Nose. its sSape*cam^e^c^ngecT wlth*ea«e. "a clever Frenchman, some years ago, invented a machine for that purpose, ! and has made a fortune by it, so many people are troubled' with noses whose shapes do not please their o,w«ere or their owners’ friends. The machine . , consisted of a small shell in twp parts, hinged together. ‘ It is made of-iron g lined or enameled. It ft in shape e that of a perfectly molded = nose, F rdingtothe type of the features e wearer. Thus you can $ obtain a an, Grecian, retrousse, aquiline, , hr any other shape you desire. To ap ply the instrument. the nose is first bathed in warm wafer at bedtime,' and thoroughly heated and softened? Then it is well greased with olive oil, glycer- sth ine, vaseline, or other oily substances. Finally the nose-improver ..is and the sides clasped wearer keeps it on' all night, taking care in the morning to wash in cold water only. It is* a rather painful ..pro cess at first, but after the first'two or t: three ajipliCations of the - improver jU there is no more trouble. In ; about a . month Uie nose begins to-take its new, shape and at th© end of from eight to ten weeks the Mteratfori’is' said to be perfect'and perfcailent—that 8 is, tin til the patient becomes tired of that particular shape'Mid is desirous of hav fag another, .when the same operation With another instrument isneoessitated. I have known people change their noses four or five times In as many years Tn that way a man could change 'the .style of his nose as he ’changed the terff of bis trousers.”— St. Louis Republican. ‘-U Rules for Press Writerg, First—When you have filled both sm lides of the sheet, turn back and cris cross the lines with some more chirog raphy. ? This will make you a favorite sontributor wilh.the “powers that be.”j || Second—Always, in sending: an are tide to the editor, accompany it with’ a note, saying, “This te one of my best; efforts." He will take your .word fori It, and accept your effusidn for ‘ publi-; cation, without reading the same. I Third—Don’t fail to enclose a good* supply of postage stamps—not neces-! larily as a guaranty for the return of your rejected MB, but the office boy may need them in corresponding with* his girL **** ■- ■■ W Fourth—ls your “rot” is in rhyme, bring it up in person to the sanctum. ( The Doneyard proprietor—with whom every newspaper publisher has a con tract —says that “dead poets make the best kind of soapfat!" Fifth—Never “dot your i’s, or cross your t’s.” In all well-regulated edi-i ' tonal rooms there is a man who is“ ; paid a large salary for that special: duty. ■ : Sixth—ls you desire remuneration for a forwarded communication, you can use your own judgment as regards drawing on the editor at sight Maybe he will honor your sight draft, and maybe not; probably, “not by a d—d sight!” r j . Seventh—the last and best rule is, to muzzle your cacoethes scribendi— and “write not at all."— Jeff. Joslyn, w» Jingth P Between three and four thousand horses die everv week in London.