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VOLUME VIL
ffhurch Directory.
DouglasTille. flret and sseond
Bev. C. S. Owen. paitor.
SUsrm-Douglasville, fir>t and fourth San
/' Bev. A. B. Vaughn, pastor.
Masonic.
DouaMriV Lodge, Wo. 259. F. A. M.,meets
I tight before the flint and third
r fcuda»» Its «4en month. J. R. Carter, W. M.,
Ordinary—H. T. Cooper,
Clerk—B. N. Dorsett.
Sheriff—Henry Ward.
Deputy Sheriff—G, M. Souter.
Treaaurer—Samuel Shannon.
Coroner—F. M. Mitehell.
SCTMUOB COUXT.
Meets on third Mondays in January and Jnlj
and holds two weeks.
Judge-Hou. Samson W. Harris,
SoL Genl.—Hon. Harry M. Reid.
COUNT! COURT.
Meets in quarterly session on fourth Mon
days in February, May, August and November
and holds until all the cases on the dooket are
called. In monthly session it meets on fourth
Mondays in each month,
Judge - Hon. li; A. Massey.
Sol. GenL-Hon. W. T. Roberts.
Bai’ifi-D. W. Johns.
OBDINASI's COUBT
• Meets for ordinary purposes on first Monday,
and for county purposes on first Tuesday in
each month.
Judge—Hon. H. T. Cooper.
JUSTICES COURTS.
730th Diet. G. M. meete first Thursday in each
month. Jf L Feely, J. R, W. H. Cash, N. P.,
D. W. Johns and W. K. Hunt, L. Q
7M& Dl»t. G. M., wets second Saturday.
A R. &>mar ( J. P., B. A. Arnold, N. P., S. C.
Y «sger, 1* C.;
784$ t Diet. G.‘ M. meets fourth Saturday.
FraaW Garver, J. P., 0. B. Baggett, N. P.,
J. G. Jwaes and M. 8. Gpre L. Cs.
ISfigth Diet. G. M. meets third Saturday. T.
OSlkm, J.T., M. L. Yates, N. P., 8. W.
Btggt rs iL.U, 8. J. Jourdan, L. 0.
Diet., G. M. meets third Saturday. N.
1371#t Diet. Gt. M. meets first Saturday. C.
C. CHutim, J. P. Alberry Hembree, K. P,,
J272nd Diet. G. M. meets fourth Friday.
Geo. W, Smith, J. P., C. J. Robinson, N. !».,
——L. O.
1378 rd Diet. G. M. meets third Friday. Tims.
White, J. P., A. J. Bowen, N. P., W. Jf Harbin,
■ Cards, ~
ROBERT A. HttSSEU
ATTORNEY AT LAW
; DOUGLASVILLE, GA
(Office In front room, Dorsett's Building. >
4 Wflf practice anywhere except in the Count,
Court of Douglass county.
< W. A. JAMES,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Will praotice in all the courts, Slate an
Federal. Office on Court House Square,
DOUGLASVILLE, GA
WM. T. ROBERTS,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
*V DOUGLASVILLE, GA.
Will practice in all the Courts, All legs
business will receive prompt attention. Office
in Court Houte. - ' V fc .
J. h. McLarty,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
DOVGLASVH I I;, GA.
Will practice in a II Die courts, both State and
Federal. OpUeotio ns a specialty. •
B. G.GRIGGS,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
v DOUGLABVJIXB, GA.
Will practice in all the courts, State and
Federal
JOHN M, EDGE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
DOUGLASVILLE, GA.
WIU practice in aU the eonrte, and promptly
attend to all bunneaa entrusted to his care.
TS. JAMES,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
DQPGLASVn.LE, GA
W|il practice in the courts of Douglass.
OampUU, Carroll, IWding, Oobb, Fniton and
adjuring countie*. Prompl attention given
toaMbtannees. .L,,.
JOHN V. EDGE.
attorney at law,
: DOUGLASVILLE, GA.
Doctor#,
DR. I.R. WHITLEY,
Physician and Surgeon
DOUGLABVHA Ox
gmeial attention to ffargery tf4 Chronic Dte-
MM*h either mol
Offioe,Upelaire in Dorsett e Brich Buildlag.
VERDERY,
Physician and Surgeon
OBee*al h« RESmSNCE. on Price stmt
wMera The eaa he found at aB hours, exwpi
wh«n professionally engaged. Specs al ettan-
Uor. given to Chronic com*, and especially
afi eaae* that hove to*s treated aad arv still
tmcsredl faaU’Sfi-ly
The Weekly Star.
THS LSSSON OF THS SEA.
I stood upon the shore one day
Casting pebbles, out of play,
Into the ocean broad and deep.
As they sank beyond my sight
In its waters clear and bright,
Wavelets bathed my feet.
Each pebble caused the same result,
A tiny sound, a slight tumult,
While circles formed around.
And beneath the surface bright,
Wavelets danced, though out of sight,
Homeward bound.
Each drder started, bold and clear.
Pressing onward without fear,
Widening more and more.
Circling, widening, still they grew,
Until they faded from my view,
Bathing another shore.
80, dear child, it is in life,
The pebbles cast may pass from sight,
Pleasures and pain.
But they have caused a movement of life’s
stream
Always felt, perhaps unseen,
Our loss or gain.
The circles widen as they flow,
Bearing shall know
Os our life*.
May we keep our record clear,
Trusting Him without one fear,
Seeking light
—George F. Turrill.
A DIAMOND IN THEROUGH.
“Isn’t it lovely
“Purty as a pictur’. There ain’t noth
in’ that lays over an October sunrise on
these mountains. Look at the mist
risih? from that cascade t’other side of
the valley. Makes a rainbow. You
kinder take to this sort o’ thing, don’t
you, Miss Pembrook?”
“Oh, yes, indeed. lam a worshiper
at the shrine of nature. One glimpse of
such scenery as this is to me worth a
journey across the continent, ” and the
truth of Miss Pembroke’s assertion was
reflected in her flushed cheeks and
sparkling eyes.
They were on horseback, and had
halted on a high plateau where the sun
rise and this choice bit of mountain,
scenery had burst simultaneously upon
thoir view.
To look at these two riders one could
not avoid the impression that both were
j©m«yyha' out of pl ahe in each other's
society,* was « beautiful young
lady, fresh from the heart ol ultra civili
zation, with an unmistakable air of culture
and high breeding; the other was a hardy
miner, whose knowledge of the world
was confined to the wild, mountainous
gold regions of California and Nevada.
One had a slight, willowy form, dis
played to good advantage in a neat-fit
ting habit of some rich material; the
other revealed a tall, athletic figure, clad
in garments that were coarse and unpre
tentious, but by no means unbecoming.
They had met by the merest chance.
A party of tourists from some Eastern
city had stopjied for a month at the lit
tle town of Blazeaway, and Miss Pem
broke and her parents were the party.
Btazeaway, one year ago, had been noth
ing more than a mining camp, but it
had grown like a mushroom in the night,
as it were, and had become so popular
with travelers and pleasure-seekers that
a passable hotel was now one of its
most important institutions. In its im
mediate vicinity was some of the grand
est scenery to be found in the whole
range of the Sierra Nevadas, and this
delightfu) climate and many ad
vantages of location was the secret of Us
attractiveness.
It so happened that Joe Langdon, the
miner, became the favorite guide of this
particular party on their sight-seeing ex
peditions, during their sojourn at Blazea
way. He was a good-looking, big
hearted, intelligent fellow, with a cer
tain rough eloquence in his speech and
manner, and a peculiarly graphic style of
relating the legends ana anecdotes* con
nected with the points of interest that
came under their observation.
Strange to say, the proud Miss Pem
broke became deeply interested iu this
Joe She found him an enter
taining companion, with views and ideas
similar to her own, if they had only been
cultivated, and she was amused rather
than shocked by his simple, un
polished language. He liked poetry,
and she read to him sometimes by
the hour, while he listened with
beaming eyes and bated breath. And
while she marveled that a man so utterly
without culture and learning could be
fond of such things, it probably never
occurred to her that it might not be so
much the poetry as the musical rhythm
of her own sweet voice that engaged his
rapt attention.
At any rate, they were good friends,
and when the entire male portion of the
excursion party went off for a two weeks’
hunt up the Sacramento river, Miss
Pembroke was left with little else to
amuse herself with beside this new ad
mirer of here. It was certainly a great
comfort to her to have him always near
her, as guide and protector, when she
went beyond the limits of the little
town.
They had risen early this morning on
purpose to see the sunrise. Ijingdon
naving expatiated on the beauty of the
scene as viewed from a certain point on
the mountain. Miss Pembroke went into
raptures over it
“It is the most beautiful sight I ever
witnessed!” she exclaimed, again and
again. “How good of you to propose
this morning ride. Mr. Langdon. You
are always thinking of something new
for my enjoyment I must induce the
rest of the party to see this before we
leave here. By the way,’’ she added,
“the gentlemen are expected to return
from their hunt to-morrow, and I pre
sume they will propose an eaily depar
ture for some other point. lam so con-
FAWNING TO NONE-CHARITY TO A.LL.
DOUGLASVILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, JANUARY 5. 1886-
corned about Charley that I shall be
glad—”
“Charley who?” asked Joe Langdon,
almost sharply.
“Why, Charley Brantley. He is one
of our own party, you know. You must
have seen him.”
“You mean the handsome feller with
the long moustache that kept so close to
you the day we rode over to the mine I”
A consious blush reddened the lady’s
cheek.
“Yes,” she replied; “that was Charley
Brantley.”
Langdon saw the blush, and moved
uneasily in the saddle.
“Doyou love him, MUa Pembroke?”
“Sir!”
“Do you love Charley Brantley?”
It was a plain question, plainly put.
From another person it would have been
resented as a most impertinent one; but
even the haughty Miss Pembroke could
not get angry with this frank, simple- ,
hearted man. With heightening color j
she replied:
“Yes, Mr. Langdon; I don’t mind tell- I
ing you that Ido love him. We are en- ■
gaged to be married.”
She was not looking at him. She did
not see the gray pallor that crept slowly
into his face; did not note the stony look ;
in his eyes, or the nervous manner in !
w hich he raised his hand to his throat I
and pulled at his collar as if it were
choking him.
She was looking out over the valley, 1
too much abashed by her own confession '
to meet her companion’s gaze.
‘‘l am anixous about Charley, ” she said,
after awhile. “I fear his life is in dan- |
ger—” I
Joe started, and looked positively
fuilty. Had she read the thought that ,
ashed lightning-like through his mind?
But the girl did not see—did not know.
With eyes still averted she continued:
“Charley has such a temper, and he
sometimes loses control of it. The day !
he went away he caught a man in the
act of stealing his silver-mounted rifle,
which he valued so highly, and without >
pausing to consider the consequences he f
struck the fellow across the face with
his riding-whip. I have since heard that
the man has since sworn vengeance on
him, and declared he would kill him at
the first opportunity. The thought is so
terrible that 1 cannot drive it from my
mind, and 1 fairly dread Charley’s return.
Perhaps you could contrive to save him,
Mr. Langdop—” ’ ’ > ■
•‘Eh? I —l don’t—did you speak to ;
She looked at him now, with an ex
pression of surprise. She saw how j
deathly pale he was, and with a woman’s {
readiness to jump at conclusions she ex
claimed :
“You believe it, too. You think
Charley is in peril! I know you do!”
“Wait a minute, Miss Pembroke,” ■
said the miner, making a mighty effort
to recover composure, and partially suc
ceeding.
“You say some feller has took an oath
he’d kill your—your —Charley Brantley.
Who is the feller, an’ what’s his name?” 1
“The people here call him I
Tom.’ He is a low, dissipated half
breed. Os course you know him.’’
“Whisky Tom! I know him for a
drunken scamp and vagabond,” said Joe, ’
with emphasis. “He oughter been hung j
long ’ago. Why, bless your heart, !
whisky Tom "ud murder his mother for *
a glass o’ whisky. When he says he’ll
kill a feller you needn’t flatter perself
that he won't try his biamedest to do it,
jest as soon as he can make a sneak on
the feller. AU I’m s’prised at is that he
tried to steal a rifle—unless he wanted
to sell it for money to buy liquor with. !
He never uses firearms nohow--conldn’t r
hire him io have anything to do with !
’em. He does all bis shootin’ with a !
bow an’ arrow, an' he can knock a wood- |
pecker out o’ the top of a Californy pine ;
every clip. Why, Miss Pembroke, you’re |
white as a ghost!”
“Oh, won’t you try and save him, Mr. !
Langdon?”
“Save who?'’
“Charley. If anything like—like that
should befall him it would kill me. I ,
know it would!”
It would have been hard to tell which
was the paler of the two, only for the j
sun-bronze on the miner's face. It was
a trying ordeal through which he was ■
passing, and for a moment it seemed as I
if he were turning to ice; but the big, ,
unselfish heart melted beneath the pite- '
ous, pleading gaze of those eyes that
had played such havoc with it during
these sunny weeks. Joe Langdon wiped l
the jierspiration from his brow, conscious •
that he was trembling, and that she
would surely notice his agitation.
“If so be,” he said, with another great
effort to be calm—“if so be it should i
come in my power to do Charley Brant- |
ley a service, I’d do it, of course—for
your sake! But come, Miss Pembroke,”
he added, in a more cheerful tone, “you
mustn't let yerself think 'o secb things.
I guess Mister Brantley ain’t in sech dan
ger but what he’ll take keer of hisself all
right. It’s time for us to be movin' i
down the mountain. We'll have a sharp
appetite for breakfast after the ride, 1
reckon; but it won’t do for you to carry i
that white face back to the hotel. You’ll I
skeer everybody out of a year’s growth.”
Then, after they had started off at a
brisk canter, be said. “What do you say
to a race, Mias Pembroke? Let's see
which o' these horses can take the rag
off the bush in a mile stretch.”
And away they galloped at a reckless i
rate of speed, leaving a cloud of dust in
their wake.
It was the next day after this occurence
that Joe Langdon stood leaning against
the trunk of a huge tree, just beyond
the limits of Blazeaway, absorbed in
thought.
He was alone, and he could scarcely
have looked more pale and haggard if he
had just risen from a long, wasting ill-
U<Sg..
“I don’t know what ails me, onleas
Pm goln’starin’ mad,” he muttered to
himself. “I didn’t think It ’ud strike
me all of a heap to know that she loved
some other man, but that’s jest what it’s
done—blame my skin if it ain’t! I’m
blowed if I understand myself at all.
I’ts the fust time I was ever kerflum
mised by a woman, an’ I reckon —I
reckon it’ll be—the last.”
He made a movement as if to wring his
hands, but seemed to check the impulse,
i as if he were ashamed of his weakness.
“Joe Langdon, your a blamed fool!”
he said, unconsciously speaking aloud,
i “You’ve got the brass of a road-agent
jto go failin’ in love with a fine lady
i like Laura Pembroke. But how can a
man help it. She ain’t like other fine
; ladies. She makes a feller forget that
. he’s nothin’ but a rough cuss; an’ she
couldn’t talk any nicer to the President
himself than she does to me. I don’t
know what I’ve been thinking of all this
time. I ain’t fit to be mentioned in the
■ same day with her, an' here I am in
I love with her. I can’t bear to think of
I her going away ’’
“You can’t, eh?” interrupted a sneer
; ing voice. “If that is the case it is
: time you were being taught a lesson!”
Joe looked up with a start. Charley
! Brantley stood before him. tall and
■ handsome, with an angry gleam in his
black eyes.
The miner felt himself growing weak
■ to think he had committed the crowning
> folly of betraying his secret to this
{ man.
I “So you are in love with Laura Pem
broke,’’continued Brantley, with cutting
sarcasm. “I have heard of your per-
I sistent attention to her during my ab--
‘ sence. And you think you can’t bear to
see her go away from here. That is bad,
. truly.”
“Wait a minute, Mr. Brantley,” said
Joe, his voice husky. “You have heerd
what I was foolish enough to say out
loud, an’ there’s no use in my denyin’ it
now. Ido love Miss Pembroke, but I
j didn’t intend to let her know it, nor you.
■ I know she ain’t for me;l know she's to
be your wife.”
“And knowing that, you have the
impudence tt» tell me that you love her—
you, a low, miserable specimen of hu
manity, too ignorant to realize your own
audacity!” cried Brantley, his temper
getting the better of him. “You're a
scoundrel, sir-G-a dog—”
“Stop!” If Joe Langdon’s face was
nale before, it was ghastly now. “Stop!”
lie repeated, jnd his voice was terrible
/rum its very -calmness. “Thera ain’t
one man ow earth that can call me
®ech names as ?hat, an’ live—an’ you’re
man. But you musn’t do it ag’in,
sir—by the Eternal you musn’t do it ag’n,
r only her love for you that save* you
’ now."
“You threaten me, do you?” cried
i Brantley, in a white heat of passion.
“You threaten me—”
Whatever was in his mind to say, it
remained unsaid, for at that instant Joe
Langdon sprang upon him with the
■ quickness of thought, and bore him
heavily to the ground.
The attack was so sudden and unex
pected that Brantley was not prepared
for it. but with a furious curse he strug
gled to his feet and drew his revolver.
He was about to fire when he heard a
woman’s scream, a man's shout, and a
strong hand seized his arm and held it.
“Drop that pistol!” cried a stern voice.
I “You wouldn’t shoot a man when he’s
down!” v
What had happened? What did it
mean? Was that Joe Lingdon lying on
the ground with an arrow Quivering in
his side? Was that Laura Pembroke
J kneeling beside the prostrate miner?
i Was this Mr. Pembroke who had grasped
’ fais a.rpx and wrenched the pistol from his
I hand? . .
i Charley Brantley realized these things
gradually, like a man waking from a
nightmare.
“You told me to save him, Miss Pem
! broke, said Joe, faintly, as the weeping
i girl lifted his head to her lap. “You
told me to save him, an’ I've done it. I
; see’d that wretch, Whisky Tom, lurkin’
behind the bushes yonder, with his bow
i drawn and an arrow p’nted at Brantley.
, I knowed what it meant, an’ I knowed
’ Tom never missed his aim; so I—l
. jumped onto Brantley an’ pushed him
; out o’ the way, an' took the arrow my
self. Good-bye; don’t cry for me. I’m
, glad it turned out this way. I hope
j you’ll bchanpy. Good bye—good-bye—”
i * And Joe Langdon was dead.
It was merely an episode; and after
a handful of citizens had run the mur
i derer down and hung him to the nearest
! tree, after the fashion of Western justice,
i the event was not long remembered.
But there were two who never forgot
I it—Mr. and Mrs. Brantley.— Frank
I Swinton. .
Remains of a Mammoth Animal.
Dr. J. Ireland, of Henley, who, with
A. G. Smith and others, has been min
ing at Soda Bar, on Cottonwood creek,
about two miles this side of Cole's Siski
you Mountain house, brought to town
i this week a mammoth horn, also jaw,
! teeth, vertebrae and other fossils of an ex-
■ tinct animal, which he calls the oreox.
i They were found forty-five feet below
I the surface, which indicates that this
' animal died thousands of years ago, the
accumulating debris of ages past cover
ing the carcass to the extent stated. The
horn is five and a half feet long, in the
shape of a cow’s horn, and iseignt inches
in diameter at the base. The teeth and
I other bones are of mammoth size. An
' animal built in proportion to them
J would weigh at least ten tons when
alive. The teeth, horn, etc., gives evi
dence that the animal was of the
bovine species, one of which, if good
beef, would be equal to a pretty good
sized band of cattle of the present day.
Yreka (CaL) Journal.
The four field marshals of the British
army are the Duke of Cambridge, Prince ;
of Wale*, Lord Napier and Sir Patrick
Grant.
AN EPISTLE BY BILL NYE.
SHE WESTERN HUMORIST IN THS
ROX.S OP A FATHER.
The Sire n i.etter to hie Son nt College
- A Buaine«e “Tower” on the Can,
etc.
The Chicago jVeios prints the follow
ing from the pen of Bill Nye. It is a
good specimen of the well-known West
ern humorist’s peculiar style:
My Dear Son : I tried to write to
you last week, but didn’t get around to
it owing to circumstances. I went away
on a little business tower for a few days
on the cars, and then when I got home
the sociable broke loose in our onct
happy home.
While on my commercial tower down
the Omehaw railroad buying a new well
diggin’ machine of which I had heard a
good deal pro and con, I had the pleas
ure of riding on one of them sleeping
cars that we read so much about.
I am going on fifty years old, and
that’s the first time I ever slumbered at
the rate of forty-five miles per hour, in
cluding stops,
I got acquainted with the porter, and
he blacked my boots in the night unbe
knownst to me, while 1 was engaged in
slumber. He must have thought that I
was your father, and that we rolled in
luxury at home all the time and that it
was a common thing for us to have our
boots blacked by menials. When I left
tfre car this porter brushed my clothes till
.the hot flashes ran up my spinal colyum,
and I told him that he had treated me
square, and I wrung his hand when he
.held it out toward me, and I told him
that any time he wanted a good, cool
drink of buttermilk to just holler through
our telephone. We had the sociable at
our house last week, and when I got
home your mother set me right to work
borryin’ chairs and dishes. She had
solicited some cakes and other things. ■
I don’t know whether you are on to the '
skedjuleby which these sociables are run '
or not. The idee is a novel one to me.
The sisters in our set, onct in so often,
turn their houses wrong side out for the
purpose of raising $4 to apply on the ■
church debt. When I was a boy we |
worshiped with less frills than they do '
now. Now it seems that the debt is a j
part of the worship.
Well, we had a g jod time and used up !
150 cookies in a short time. Part of 1
these cookies was devoured and the bal- I
ance was trod into our all-wool carpet.
Several bf the young people got to ;
playing Copenhagen in the sitting-room 1
and stepped on the old cat in such away i
as to disfigure him for life. They also '
had a disturbance in, the front room and i
knocked'off some of the plastering.
So your mother is feeling rather slim
and I am not very chipper myself. I
hope that you are working hard at your i
books so that you will be an ornament !
to society. Society is needing some or- i
naments very much. I sincerely hope
that you will not begin to monkey with
rum. I should hate to have you meet i
with a felon’s doom, or fill a drunkard’s !
grave. If anybody has got to fill a
drunkard's grave, let him do it himself.
What has the drunkard ever done for
you, that he should expect you to fill his 1
grave for him?
I expect you to do right as near
as possible. You will not do ex- j
actly right all the time, but try to strike
& good average. Ido not expect you to
let your studies encroach too much on
your polo, but try to unite the two so
that you will nqt break down, under the ■
strain. I should feel sad and mortified
to have you come home a physical
wreck. I think one physical wreck in a
family is enough, and I am rapidly get
ting where I can do the entire phyiscal '
wreck business for our neighborhood.
I see by your picture that you have '
got one of them pleated coats, with a
belt around it, and short pants. They
make you look as you did when I used
to spank you in years gone by, and I \
feel the same old desire to do it now that
I did then. Old and feeble as I am, it
seems to me as though I could spank a
boy that wears knickerbocker pants but
toned onto a Garabaldy waist and a
pleated jacket.
If it wasn’t for them cute little camel’s
hair whiskers of yours I would not be
lieve that you had grown up to be 8
large, expensive boy, with thoughts.
Some of the thoughts you express in your
letters are far beyond your years. Do
you think them yourself or is there some
boy in the school that thinks all the
thoughts for the rest?
Some of your letters are so deep that
your mother and I can hardly grapple
with them. One of them especially was
so full of foreign stuff that you had got
out of a bill of fare that we will have to
wait till you come home before we can
take it in. I can talk a little Chippewa,
but that is all the foreign language l am
familiar with. When I was young we
had to get our foreign languages the best
we could, so I studied Chippewa with
out a master. A Chippewa chief took
me into his camp and kept me there for
some time, while I acquired his language.
He became so much attached to me that
I had great difficulty in coining away.
I wish you would write in the United
States dialect as much as possible, and
not try to parlize your parents with im
ported expressions that come too high
for poor people.
Remember that you are the only boy
we’ve got, and we are only going through
the motions of living here for your sake.
For us the day is wearing out, and it is
now way along into the shank of the
evening. All we ask of you is to im
prove on the old pecple. ’ You can see
where J fooled myself, and you can do
better. Read and rfbte and sifer and
polo and and try not to be
ashamed of*your parents. *
When you get tjtet checkered little
sawed-off coat on that pair of knee pan
ties and that poker' dot necktie, and the
sassy little boys bolter “rata” when you
pass by and your heart is bowed down,
NUMBER 46.
remember that, no matter how foolish
you may look, your parents will never
sour on you. * Your Father.
What Handwriting Reveals. T
Handwriting undoubtedly reveals
more of the character and attainments of
its possessor than any other attain
ment.
Judgment is manifest in the form and
proportions of the writing, taste in the
style, choice of paper, ink, etc., care and
neatness in the arrangement, folding,
superscription and staihp, manual dex
terity in the quality of line, and grace
and rapidity of motion. A skilled and
discerning reader, as it were, reads a
correspondent in his writing and compo
sition, and is enabled, as a rule, to form*
an opinion more just and reliable than
from a personal interview. A person
may speak correctly and yet be unable to
j compose and wiite a single sentence
without betraying an utter ignorance of
grammar, orthography and general liter
ary attainment.
Adult writing is the outgrowth of
years of practice and habit, into which
has been become incorporated number
less personal peculiarities which render
each different handwriting as distinctive
from any other as are the characters,
faces and personal mein of the different
writers. Persons odd and eccentric
in their character generally develop
j a style of writing equally odd and eccen
tric. This is done quite unconsciously
to the writer, so much so, that it is well
nigh impossible that such peculiarities
can be avoided by those who would seek
to suddenly alter or disguise their
writing. It is quite obvious that an ha
bitual peculiarity that , is unnoticed can
not be dispensed with. No one can go
around to avoid stumbling into an un
discovered hole, nor can one attempting
to simulate the writing of another, note
and comprehend so as to reproduce per
fectly all the numberless parsonal pecu- *
liarities therein contained, even if his
own habituai peculiarities could be .
avoided.
It is on this principle that scientific ex
amination of the handwriting is usually
conducted.
In courts of justice handwriting is
brought in question in a variety of forms,
and different forms require different
methods for detection and proof. In
some instances the work is so skillfully
done as to well nigh defy detection;
others so dumbly and of such a charac
ter as to be at once apparent to a skilled
discerner.— Penman's sirt Journal.
y What is Money? n i
The value of a commodity limits its
quantity. Anything which can be Ob
tained in a limited quantity, with a cer
tain ascertainable amount of labor, and. .
which is divisible, will serve the pur
pose of money. Furs have been em
ployed in some countries as money, cat
tle in others as in the * ‘lliad. ” in the
estimation of the respective value of the
shield of Diomedes and Glancus, the one
worth nine oxen, the other a hundred
oxen; bricks of tea in Tartary, cowries
in Africa, rock salt in Abyssinia. Other
African tribes, calculated in nacutes, »
money of the mind, which has no sub
stance corresponding to it but the value
contained in which has been, sufficiently
ingrained in their minds to answer the
purpose of a measure of value. Buljion
is chosen because it complies with these
two conditions, difficulty of acquisition
and divisibility, better than any known;
substance. Is it not strange that we
should turn this gervant into our master
and elevate that which is a mere medium
for avoiding the inconvenience of barter
into an indispensible necessity of life,
scarcely secondary to food and clothing?
If by some convulsion of nature, the
precious metals, gold and silver, were
utterly destroyed, the world would be
impoverished by a loss of a commodity
on the discovery and manufacture of
which much labor and time have been
expended, but the only result would be
that we should have recourse to some
other contrivance. The main buainees of
life would go on as before, and the only
difference would probably be that we 1 '
should be obliged to have recourse to a
paper currency,based on whatever might
be found, after careful consideration, to
be the most convenient or inconveniqnt .
standard value. The question would be, ;
as it is now, a question of remedying the
inconvenience of barter by providing
some means of fixing prices. This would
be all.— National Soldiers' Home Bulletin.
Antiquity of Bridge*.
The first bridges were of wood, and
the earliest of which we have any ac
count was built in Rome 500 B. C. Tho
next was erected by Julius Caesar for the
passage of his army across the Rhine.
Trajan's great bridge over the Danube,
4,760 feet long, was made of timber, '
with stone piers. The Romans also* .
built the first stone bridge, which crossed,
the Tiber. Suspension bridges are of
remote origin. A Chinese one mentioned
by Kirchea wae made of chains support
ing a roadway 830 feet in length, was
built A. D. 65, and is still to be .seen.'-’
The first large iron bridge was erected
over the Severn in 1777. The age of
railways has brought a remarkable de
velopment in this branch of engineering,
especially in the construction of bridges
of iron and steel.— Arkansaw Traveler.
Took the Hint
There was a man in our town
Who was not wondrous wise:
For though he had fresh goods to sell
He would not advertise.
But when he saw his rival roll.
5! ore good# than e’er < mild he.
He stormed about his groj-ory
As mad as mad could be.
He soon found out the other man
Had “ads.” in sheets, betimes;
He took the hint and did likewise,
And now piles in the dimes.
—GoodalVs Sun.