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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.