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Calhoun weekly times. (Calhoun, GA.) 1873-1875, November 24, 1870, Image 1

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The Calhoun Times. Volume T. THE CALHOUN TIMES. OFFICE OVER j. H. ARTHUR'S, RAILROAO BTREET. Term* of Subscription. One Year $2.00 Six Months i • ? t 1.25 Rates of Advertisting. V,. SqVs | T Mo-l 8 MoB. I 0 Mob, j yoaiT f SALH» S9J#T $ 15.00 525.00 Four ** 8.00 12.00 25.00 40.00 | column 10.00 18.00 35 00 45.00 ] U IH.OO 80.00 50.00 <5.00 j “ 30.00 60.00 75.00 140.00 AU subscriptions are payable strictly in 'advance ; and at the expiration of the time for which payment is made unless pre viously renewed, the name of the subsenber will be stricken from our books. F«»r each square of ten lines or less, for the first insertion, sl, and for each subsequent insertion, fifty cents. Ten lines of solid Brevier, or its equivalent in space, make a Verms cash, before or on demand after the first insertion. Advertisements under the head of “ Special Notices,” twenty cents per line for first in sertion, and ten cents each sebsequent inser tion. All communications on matters of public interest will meet with prompt attention, and concise letters on general subjects are re spectfully solicited from all parts ot the country. RA tLROAPB. Western & Atlantic. MOIIT PASSKNGBU TRAIN —OUTWARD. Leave Atlanta 7.00 i*. m. Arrive at Calhoun 12.15 A. m. Arrive at Chattanooga 3 SO a. m DAT fASSENUKR TRAIN —OUTWABO. Leave Atlanta 8 15 a m Arrive at Calhoun 12.51 p m. Arrive at Chattanooga 4.20 p. M. ACCOMOD TION TRAIN—OUTWARD. Leave Atlanta *3O p. m. Arrive at Dalton 3.30 p. m. MOBT PABBKNOKR TRAIN INW A KI). Leave Chattanooga 7.50 P. m. Arrive at Calhoun 11.44 p. m. Arrive at Atlanta 4 14 a. m. day PASSENGER TRAIN—INWARD. Leave Chatlanooj'u 7-C0 A. m. Arrive at Calhoun 10.29 a. m. Arrive at Atlanta 3.27 p. m. ACCOMODATION TRAIN— INWARD. Leave Dalton 200 r m Arrive at Atlanta 9 00 A. m. Georgia Railroad. DAT PASSENGER TRAIN. Lcare Angus’a. 7.10 a. m. Leave Atlanta. i 00 a. m. Art ive at. Augusta. 5.45 p. m. Arrive at Atlanta. 7 10 p. m. NIGHT PASSENGER AMD M All, TRAIN. Leave Augusta. 9 51 p. u. Leave Atlanta 5 45 P. M. Arrive at Augusta. 4.00 a. m. Arrive at At anta. 8.00 A. m. Macon & Western. DAY PASSENGER TRAIN. Leave Atlanta. 7.55 a. m Arrive nt M»«nti. 1.4</ P M. Leave Macon, I k x. m Arrive at Atlanta, 2.20 p.m. NIGHT EXPRESS PASSENGER TRAIN. Leave Atlanta 7.18 p. m. Arrive at Macon 3 23 a m. Leave Macon 8.50 p. m. Arrive at Atlanta 4.4 G a m. Rome Railroad. DAT TRAIN. Leave Rome 10.00 m. Arrire at Kingston lI.SO a. m. Leave Kingston 1.00 p. m. Arrive at Rome 2.30 p. m. Connecting at Rome with accomodation trains on Selma, Rome and Dalton Railroad, and at Kingston with up and down trains Western and Atlantic Railroad. NIGHT TRAIN. Leave Rome 9 30 p m. Arrive at Kingstor. in 45 p. m. Leave Kingston 11.10 p. m. Arrive at Rome 12.25 p. m. Connecting at Rome with through night trains on Selma, Rome and Dalton R,.Broad, and at Kingston with night trains on Western and Atlantic Railroad to Chattanooga and from and to Atlanta. Selma, Rome & Dalton. PASSENGER TRAIN. Leave Selma 9.30 a.m. Arrive at Rome 8.55 r. m. Arrive at Dalton 11.50 p m. ACCOM MODATIOM TRAIN. Leave Rome 4.45 p. m. Arriveatß>me 12.30 p.m. Leave Dalton 10.00 a. m. The accommodation train runs from Rome to Jacksonville daily, Sundays excepted. The through passenger train only will be run on Sunday. PROFESSIONAL CARDS W. S. JOHNSON, Attoi’ney At Law, ('A LHOITN, GEORGIA . Office in Southeast corner of the Court House. Aug 11 1 *f j. (• rA iN. jos. m’connell. fain and McConnell, Attorneys sit Law, CALHOUN, GEORGIA. Office in the Court House. Aug 11 1 ts r. mTtauver: Attornoyat Law, CALHOUN ; GEORGIA. (&}?“ Office in the Court House. Aug 11 1 if W. J. CANTRELL, Attorney At Law. Calhoun, Georgia. \\HLL Practice in the Cherokee Circuit, in U. S. District Court, Northern Dis ’fiet of Georgia, (at Atlanta); and in the Su- P rp me Court of the State of Georgia. E. J KIKE H , Attorney at Law, CALHOUN ; GEORGIA, at the Old Stand of Cantrell £ Kiker.] \\ itL practice in all the Courts of the f'herokee Circuit; Supreme Court of and the United States District Court '' Atlanta, Ga. augl9'7oly RDFE WALDO THORNTON. dentist, f ALHou N; . G'. 01GIA. for former patronage, solicits Continuance of the same. .. Ce over IJoaz, Garrett & Co's. seplo Printing neatly executed here. Calhoun Advertisements. fXw. BALLEW, DEALER IN DRY-GOODS, NOTIONS, Boots, Shoes, Hats, Groceries, Hardware, Queensware, &.C., MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS, FACTORY YARNS, SHIRTINGS, AND READY-MADE CLOTHING, Railroad Street, - - CALHOUN, GA. Nov. 10, 1870-ts R. B. HACKNEY, (At the Old Stand of M. H. Jackson,) CO UR TllO USE ST., CALHO UN, GA. KEEPS constantly on hand a good supply FAMILY GROCERIES, Tobacco, Cigars, Wines, Liquors, &c. All who wish to get bargains will do well to call on him. BAR ROOM! MY Bar, in the rear, is always supplied with the very best and purest of BRANDIES, WHISKIES, WINES, RUM, GIN, &c. Give me a call. novlo’7otf It. B. HACKNEY. New Management ! CALHOUNIOTEL. E. R. SASSESN, [ Formerly of Atlanta, Ga.~\ RESPECTFULLY announces to the travel ling public, that he has refurnished and refitted the above hotel, and is now ready to accommodate all who may stop with him. Rates moderate; and table furnished with the best the market affords. Calhoun, Ga., August 19th, 1870—ts J. D. TINSLEY. WATCH-MAKER ANI) JEWELER, CALIIOUN, : : : : GEORGIA. o A EE styles of Clocks, Watches and Jewelry iY neatly repaired and warranted. augl9’7otf CALHOTJKr SALE AND LIVERY STABLE! O R. 150 AZ, KEEPS FINE STOCK, and Vehicles to correspond, and is at all times pre pared to furnish any kind of Conveyance, AT VERY LOW RATES FOR CASH. Slock bought and sold on reasonable terms. J. H. ARTHUR, DEALER IN STAPLE AND FANCY DRY GOODS, Cutlery, Notions &c. Also keeps constantly on hand a choice stock of FAMILY GROCERIES, In all of which purchasers are offered in- I ducements to buy. All g H 1 6m WHEAT CI INK LB! LOOK OUT! T PROPOSE to give $1.25 per bushel for l White Wheat, and sl.lO for Red Wheat, when taken in payment of any accounts due on my books. Eet those who owe me now, bring on their M heat and get good prices for it. M. H. JACKSON. Calhoun. Ga., October 6,1870—ts BETTERTON, FORD & Cos., WHOLESALE DEALERS IN BRIDIES, WHISKIES, iiies, Tobaccos, Cigars, &c., No. 209. MARKET ST., No. 209. CHATTANOOGA, TENN. octl 3,1870-1 y J. H. CAVAN, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALER IN Fine Wines, Liquors & Cigars, No. 11 Granite Block, Broad Street, - ATLANTA, GA. AGENT rOR THE SALE OV THE Celebrated Cincinnati LAGER BEER and ALE sept 29 . For the State of Georgia. 3m G. H. & A. w. FORCE, SIGN OF THE BIG IRON BOOT, Whitehall Street, : : : Atlanta, Ga. BOOTS, Shoes and Trunks, a complete Stock and new Goods arriving daily! Genta Boo's and Shoes, of the best makes. Ladies Shoes of all kinds. Boys, Misses and Children s Shoes of every grade and make. rJSf We are prepared to offer inducements to Wholesale Trade. sept2s, 70-lv Railroad Boarding House, By MRS. SKELLEY, CALHOUN, - - GEORGIA. Within ten steps of the Depot. ocllStf CAXiHOTJISr, GA, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 24,1870. POETRY. TAKE THE PAPEKS. DT N. P. WILLIS. Why don’t you take the papers? They’re the life of our delight, Except about election time, And then I read for spite, Subscribe! you cannot lose a cent, Why should you be afraid ? For cash thus spent is money lent At interest four-fold paid. Go, then, and take the papers, And pay to-day, nor pay delay, And my word for it is inferred You’ll live until you’re gray. An old neighbor of mine, While dying with a cough, Desired to hear the latest news While he was going off. I took the paper, and I read Os some new pills in force; He bought a box—and he is dead ? No—hearty as a horse. I knew two men, as much alike As e’er you saw two stumps, And no phrenologist could find A difference in their bumps. One takes the paper, and his life Is happier than a King’s, His children can read and write, And talk of men and things. The other took no paper, and While stroking through the wood, A tree fell down and broke his crown, And killed him-—“very good.” Had he been raiding of the news, At home, like neighbor Jim, I'll bet a cent that accident Would not have happened him. Why don’t you take the papers ? Nor from the printer’s sneak, Because you borrow from his boy A paper every week. For he who takes the papers, And pays his bill when due, Can live in peace with God and man, And with the printer too. The Departed Soul.— Heaven ! what a moment must be that when the last flutter expires on our lips ! What a change ! Tell me ye who are deepest read in nature and in God, to what new world are we borne ? Whither has that spark—that unseen, incomprehensible intelligence fled ? Look upon that cold, livid, ghastly corpse that lies before you! That was a shell, a gross, earthly cover ing, which has held the immortal essence which has now left; hut to range per haps through illimitable space; to re ceive new capacities of delight, new powers of conception, new glories of beautitude. Ten thousand fancies rush upon the mind as it contemplates the awful moment between life and death ! It is a moment big with imagination that clears up all the mystery —solves all doubts—removes all contradiction, and destroys error. Great God! what a flood of rapture may at once burst upon the departed soul. The unclouded brightness of the celestial region—the solemn secrets of nature may be divulged, the immediate unity of the past—forms of imperishable beauty may then sud denly disclose themselves, bursting on them in immeasurable bliss.— Spurgeon. Despair. —ls there is anything that will kill a man, it is despair. It has nerved the poor victim to steady the knife on its way to his heart, to the core of life. It has flung the proud woman who stood in her beauty and loveliness, where before life was worth living, into the filthy throng to be trampled on, and a filthy thing herself, an outcast from human love, a poor wanderer from the love of God. Men and women are among us, on every side of us, who take our hand and speak a passing word, but they do not live life; they live instead, an awful, ever-dying death. Hope is gone, and they work as the clock works, work as a machine. Turn not too cold ly. proud fortune, from a fairer one who has fallen at your feet—she was better than you once—she stood up longer than you could have done—she is your sister—she is God’s. Shun evil speakers. Deal tenderly with the absent ; say nothing to inflict a wound on their reputation. Thevmav be wrong and wicked, yet your knowl edge of it does not oblige you to disclose their character, except to save others from injury. Then do it in a way that bespeaks a spirit of kindness to the ab sent offender. Be not hasty to credit evil reports. They are often the result of misunderstanding, or of evil design, or they proceed from an exaggerated or partial disclosure of facts. Wait and learn the whole history before you de cide; then believe just what evidence compels you to, and no more. But, even this, take heed not to indulge the least unkindness, less you dissipate all the spirit of your prayer for them, and un nerve yourself for doing them good. ABeautipul Though t. —God knows what keys in the human soul to touch, in order to draw out its swe tost and most perfect harmonies. They may be iu the minor strains of sadness and sorrow; they may be in the loftier notes of joy and gladness. God knows where the melodies of nature are, and what discipline will call them forth. Some with plaintive songs must walk in lowly vales of life’s weary way ; others in lof tier hymns, shall sing of nothing but joy as they tread the mountain tops of life; but thev all unite without a discord or a jar, as the ascending anthem of loving and believing hearts, finds its way into the chorus of the redeemed iu heaven. MISCELLANY. Running a Time Table. A brakeman’s story. I have been a “ railroad man ” for a great many years—have, as the expres sion goes, grown grey in the service.— I am certain, however, in all my experi ence, I never saw a road that was the equal of the Valley Air Line, upon which I was, at the time of the incident about to be related, a brakeman. The Valley Air Line was one of those roads that spring up suddenly out of the imaginations of a few men. One cannot say that it sprung from their purses, for if they had the seed in them to grow anything, it was never put in the Valley. There was, as nearly as I can now re member, a capital stock, which was never paid up, a little town and village credit, and a large amount of preferred stock, first and second mortgages, etc. Asa result the road was built, in a manner, grades were bad, road-bed was poor, bridges and culverting were thrown together in the worst possible manner, because the worst was the cheapest.— The iron was a light and frail mass, manufactured in England especially for the American market, while the rolling stock had been worn out in services on other roads and sold to the Valley Air Line on credit and long time. The reader will see from this truth ful statement that the Valley was not the safest road for travelers in the coun try. It was not. Innumerable were the accidents we had, and it is a won der to me" that none of them were se rious. While we had many narrow escapes, we still managed through sheer good luck, slow time, and great care, to get on without breaking bones; but I positively assure you that time did not accustom us to the road, and we never ran into the depot at night without feel ing thankful that we were alive. When I say we, I mean the conductor, engineer, baggageman, fireman and myself. How the passengers felt I do not know, but I do know they ought to have felt as thankful as the road men that their bones were in good condition to allow them to walk from the depot to their homes. Ignorance may have been per fect bliss to them, however. The engineer of our train—the Light ning Express—was one of the most sober, careful, thoughtful and indus trious men that ever handled a throttle. He possessed more than the ordinary share of thoughtful prudence, of his class, and it was owing to this fact that so great a degree of good fortune came to us. V A few moments before the train was to start one morning, Gardiner, the engineer, called me to his cab. He ap peared unusually downcast that morn ing, though at the best he was by no means a “ gay ” fellow. “Bob,” said Gardiner after a few seconds talk about general matters, “ Rob I want you to be very careful to day. I know you’re a good fellow and always do your duty well; but to-day I want you to do more. I want you to stand by your brake every second of the trip —not to leave it for a moment, and when I signal I want you to set them up as you never did before, and prompt ly too. I know you will do it for me, won’t you, Bob ?” I was too astonished to speak for a second, and then I asked : “ Why, what under the sun is the matter with you, Gardiner ? You know the brakes are so nearly worn out that it is impossible to set them up, and you know too “ I know it all, Bob, and that is the reason why I want you to be careful. [ am going to try and make the time table to-day; if it is possible, I will do so. I feel just as though something was going to happen, and am more than half sorry that I promised; but I’ll do it though. Now promise me, Bob. and off to your brakes.” I promised and took my post, not a little mystified at Gardiner’s words, looks and actions. V e left the depot and went rattling on over the iron. Passengers looked at each other in surprise and wondered what under the sun was the matter with the A alley if it had suddenly awaken ed from its long sleep, and now proposed to be a railroad in earnest. When the conductor came through the train and came along by me. I asked: “ What is the matter with Gardiner this morning?” “ Oh,” was the reply, “he and the old man have had a blow out this morn ing. You see our train never makes connections—passengers always lay over and, of course, they growl. This morn ing the old man called us into the office and the whole thing was out. Gardiner talked like a father to them, and as he grew excited, he said that it was crim inal running the road in the condition it was. He told them the time table as made up was fast even for a first-class road, and if we undertook to run it, a frightful accident could not be avoid ed. When Gardiner said it was crim inal to run the road as it was, Supt. Brown was very hot. He fairly boiled over. He declared that there was no better road in the country, and that Gardiner was a coward who ought to go on to a gravel train, and if he didn’t make time he’d hive him there, too. The road was losing its business and there had got to be a change. Brown also said that in Valley Creek, where he lived, he had noticed that the train al ways slowed and lost time enough there to lose the connections. Gardiner re plied to this, that at the Creek there was a down grade, the bridge was un safe, and he was obliged to slack up for safety. More than this, the track pas- sed through the play ground of the Creek school, was not fenced in, and they could not go through at a rapid speed without danger to the children. “ Then Brown burst out with an oath, that if parents did not want their chil dren run over, they must keep them off the track. It would be a good thing to run over one"or two of them, as it would teach them a lesson. Os course, he didn’t mean this, but he was “ hot ” you sec, and did not know what he did say. He added, that Gardiner’s family lived near the track, and that Gardiner’s sole reason for slowing, was to have a chance to chat with them as he went through. This set Gardiner’s anger on fire, and he then and there declared that he would make time, let the consequences be what they might, and if disaster happened, Brown must assume, the re sponsibility. lou see he keeping his word, but the old fellow feels bad though.” We dashed on over the frail iron at a frightful speed. You could almost here the bars crackle as we went. The cars surged from East to West, forcing pas sengers to fairly cling to their scats. Not for a second did I leave my brake. We were nearly down to Valley Creek on time. As we approached the long stretch of down grade, I felt by the shaking that Gardiuer had slackened up, as if the danger were really too great; and then, as if his promise had came full upon his mind, had again carefully opened his throttle. Down the Valley we went, our rapid speed startling the birds, the cattle, and even the staid old forest trees into new and strange ideas. I grasped the brake firmly; the engine whistled and screamed, warning all to keep clear of it. I held my breath, well knowing that if we left the track it would be to go to destruction. Sudden ly the whistle ceased, and then there came three unearthly yells from it; they pierced my ears and made them ache. How I set up the brake, for I felt there was danger ahead. I knew this when Gardiner suddenly reversed his engine. The shutting off, the reversing, aud the brakes set up so tight that I feared the chains w'ould break, did not seem to have the slightest effect upon the train. On, on it went, at its dangerously rapid speed. I stretched my neck out as far as possible, clinging nervously to the railing. I could see that Brown was at his post, looking out as I did. and mov ing his hand energetically, while whistle and bell were uniting their protest. What was the matter, I could not conjecture, but was anxious to know. Springing upon the rail, I made my way to the top of the car, and the mystery was revealed. There on the track was a sight that sent a thrill of horrow + hrongh me. Only a few feet ahead of us on the track, stood a mere child— unconscious of its danger—paralized so that it could not move. Just clear of the track lay a woman, evidently help less. I looked for Gardiner, to see what he was doing ere I closed my eyes to shut out the horrible sight. The poor fellow had not been idle. Plainly seeing that he could not drive the child from the track and that its companion was helpless, he left his cab and climbed forward on the engine, on to the ex treme end of the cow-cateher, leaned over, and while clinging with one hand, reached out with the other. There did not seem one chance in a million to save the child—not one—but anxiety over came horror, and I looked, aud shudder ed as I looked. How my heart leaped into my very throat as I saw the train dash on, but saw that as it did so, Gardiner, with al most superhuman effort, raised the child by its arm from the track and clasped it to his bosom. Then he sank down upon the cow-catcher, faint and power less. His fireman clambered out to his side, and you may rest assured I was not long in getting to their assistance. The unusual noise of the steam had brought every person in the village out to witness the sight, and as they realiz ed it they shouted their joy until their throats must have been hoarse. The fireman and I clung to Gardiner; there was no need to hold the child, for though rigid and helpless Gardiner held the little one to his breast with an iron grasp. Very soon we crossed the bridge and struck the up grade, where the train slowed and finally came to a full stop, nearly in front of Gardiner’s house.— With the help of some of the villagers we took by force the child from Gardi ner’s arms and carried the engineer into the house and laid him on the bed. As he sank down the little life in him seemed to come back, and he whispered: “ Whose child is it ?” “ Superintendent Brown s, said a neighbor, to my astonishment. “ Is it alive ?” gasped Gardiner. “ It is alive and well —thanks to your bravery,” I answered, and Gardiner sank back upon his pillow. The child which Gardiner had so miraculously saved was a son and only child of our Superintendent. It seem ed singular that the morning talk of the two men should have so singular an en ding, but so it was. The wife of the Superintendent with their only child had been out for a week. The little one running on ahead had strayed upon the track. Hearing the whistle, the mother called the child to her, but the child, happy in its freedom, ran on laughing aud shouting, child-like, into the jaws of danger. It was too much for the mother; she made an effort to save her darling, but before she could overtake the little one, her strength failed her and she fell. Our engine was injured so that it was impossible to go on, and another was telegraphed for. We tried all we could to bring Gardiner back, bat the phys ieiau said that the excitement under j which the noble fellow had labored had prostrated him, and it would require the greatest care and a long time to bring him back to life. He had that care, you may rest assured. I was in Gardiner’s house when Supt. Brown came in that night. The “ old man,” as we called him. had lost all sign of his anger, and he wept like a child as he looked upon the strong man thus prostrate before him. He visited the patient daily, and his very life seemed to hang upon Gardiner's recovery, and when the danger was passed, the lons fever which ensued was broken, and the engineer began to recover, the Supt. was a5 happy as a child. I may s.iy, in conclusion, that the incident was not without its result, for at once the Valley Road was thoroughly rebuilt in the beat possible manner, new ly stocked, and is to-day one of the best roads In the country, running its trains on time and giving great delight to the traveling public, thanks to the energy and enterprise of Superintendent. Gar diner, a kind-hearted, grey-headed gen tleman, who is ranked among the best railroad men in the country. Igo down to see him twice a year, and we always talk about the day when he undertook to run his time table and the results thereof. — Signs of the Hands. The person who will carefully study the wrinkles, furrows, lines and hollows on the hands, will be able to tell fortunes as well as any modern Gipsey. If the palm of the hand be long, and the fingers well proportioned, not soft, but rather hard, it denotes the person to be ingenious, changeable, and given to theft and vice. If the hands be hollow, solid and well knit in the joints, it predicts long life; but if oyerthwarted, a short life. Observe the finger of Mercury—that is, the little finger; if the end of it ex ceeds the joint ot the right finger, such a man will rule his own house; and his wife will be pleasing and obedient to him; but if it should be short, and does not reach the joint, he will have a shrewd, and she will be the boss. Round nails show the person to be bashful, fearful, but of gentle nature. Narrow nails denote tho person to be inclined to mischief, and to do injury to his neighbors. Long nails'show a person to be good natured. but distrustful, and loving re conciliation rather than differences. Oblique nails signify deceit and want of courage. Little, round nails denote obstinacy, and aptness to anger and hatred. If they are crooked at the extremity, they show pride and fierceness. Round nails show a choleric person, yet reconcilable, honest, and a lover of secret sciences.. Fleshy nails denote the 'person to be mild in temper, idle and lazy. Pale and dark, purpleisli nails, having semi-circles of a blue tinge near the end, where the nail is connected with the quick, show the person to be dissipated, subject to disease, and deceitful. Red and marked nails signify choler ic and cruel nature, and as many discol orings as they are. bespeak so many evil habits and desires. Not long ago. the Independent con tained a sensible article on “Getting Married.” The substance of it is Uhj true— that while young men say they cannot marry because the girls of this generation are too extravagant, the fault by no means is altogether with the girls. In the first place, young men, as a gen eral thing admire the elegant costumes in which many ladies appear, and do not hesitate to express their admiration to those who are more plainly dressed. And what is the natural effect of this? In the second place, mauy young men are too proud themselves to commence their married life in a quiet, economical way. They are not willing to marry until they have money enough to con tinue all their own private luxuries, and also support a wife in style. The diffi culty is not altogether on either side; but if both men and women would be true to the best feelings of their hearts, and careless about what the world would say. pare and happy and noble homes would be more abundant. Riches. The man with good firm health is rich. So is the man with a clear conscience. So is the parent of vigorous, happy children. So is the clergyman whose coat the little children of his parish pluck, as he passes them at their play. So is that wife who has the whole heart of a good husband. So is the maiden whose horizon is not bound ed by the “coming man,” but who has a purpose in life, whether she ever met him or not. So is the young man who. laying his hand on his heart, can say! “I have treated every woman I saw as I should wish my sister treated by other men.’* So is the little child who goes to sleep with a kiss on its lips, and for whose waking a kind blessing waits. Ovid finely compares a man of broken fortune to a falling column ; the lower it sinks the greater weight it is obliged to sustain. Thus, when a man has no occasion to borrow, he finds numbers willing to lend him. Should he ask his friend to lend him a hundred dollars, it is possible, from the largeness of his de mand, he may find credit for twenty; and should he humbly only sue for a trifle it is two to one whether lie might b* trusted for two cents. Wk mast, in this world, gain a relish for truth and virtue, if we would be able to taste that knowledge and perfection which arc to make u? happy in the next. Number 16. - - ,u VARIETY. People who are behind the time# should be fed on ketchup.” Mrs. Partington there most be some sort of kin between poets snd j pallets, for they are always chanting j their lays. Wealth without friends, is like life I without health ; the one is an uncom fortable fortune, the other a miserable being. Little opportunities of doing p*»d are neglected by many who are waiting for an occasion to perform great acts of charity. Ne\ kr eat while yon speak, as a man's throat is too narrow a channel tor words to pass up. and good meat to pass down at the same time. 1 is a sad thing when men have nei ther art enough to speak well, nor judg ment enough to hold their tongues ; this is the foundation ot all impertinence. There are certain g«»ssips in society who resemble long and twisted trumpets —what they reeieve as a faint whisper, they give out in a long, connected blast’ ll* a man blends his angry passions with his search after truth, become his superior by suppressing yours, and at tend only to the justness and force of his reason inir. A woman went to a circus in Terre Haute, accompanied by eleven children, and. when a neighbor asked her where the old man was, she said he was at home taking care of the children. * The last thing in head-dresses is a coronet of gin as Qeissler tubes filled with colored rays, emanating from a small galvanic battery set in the chignon. £uch extravagance is ‘‘shocking.” Dr. Dorimus says if he was challeng ed to fight a duel he would suggest to his opponent that both should take poison, and then sit down and play po ker for the exclusive use of the stomach puuip. The Chinese are a queer people to go to market. A triend at San Francisco writes that a neighbor of his had just laid in his winter’s provisions—a hind quarter of a horse and two barrels of bull dogs. He who thinks no man above him but for his virtue, none below him but for his vice, can never be obsequious or as suming in the wrong place, but will fre quently emulate men in stations below him. and pity those nominally over his head. John wap thought to be very stupid. He was sent to a mill one day, and the miller said; “John, some people say you are a fool! Now. tell me what you do know, and what you don’t know.”— “Well.” replied John. “I know that the miller’s hogs are fat.” “Yes. that’a well, John ! Now. what don’t you know ?” “I don’t know whose corn fats ’em.” “My dear Amelia.” said a dandy, “I have long wished for this opportunity, but hardly dare speak now, for fear you will reject me , but I love you, say you will be mine! Your smiles would shed,” and then he came to a pause; “Your smiles would shed,” and then he paused again. “Never mind the wood-shed,” replied Amelia, “go on with the pretty talk.” A boy is very miscellaneous in his habits. We emptied Marter Smith's pockets the other day. and found the contents to consist of the following arti cles : Sixteen marbles, one top. an oyster shell, two peiees of brick, one doughnut, a piece of curry comb, a paint brush, three wax ends, a handful of corks, a chisel, two knives, both broken, a skate strap, three bucklcss. and a dog eared primer. A bright little fellow was traveling in a crowded stage-coach, and had been taken on the lap of a fellow-passenger. The conversation turned on pickpockets, and their great skill. -Ah ! iny fine fel low,” said the gentleman who had the little one on his knee, how easily I could pick your pocket,” as it lay open near his hand. “No you couldn’t, neither,” answered the boy. with a sharp twinkle in his eyes, “’cause I've been looking out for you all the way,” Milk as a Pkevkxti ve of Leah Poisoning.—M. Pidierjean. a red lead manufacturer in France, states that he tried every possible way to keep his workmen in good health, but did not w holly succeed in preventing lead colics until by mere accident he found that two of his men were never affected in that way. Inquiry brought out the fact that these men regularly took milk as a drink with their meals. lie was thus lead to try the experiment of making the use of milk (a litre a day.) compulsory with the workmen, and he succeeded by this means in keeping all of them free from any symtom of lead disease for the past eighteen months. The absolute correct ness of this statement is confirmed by good authority. The remedy is a sim ple one, surely, and it ought to be thor oughly tested by every one exposed to the danger of lead poisoning. The following i« vouched for as a toy’s composition: The Horse.—The horse is the most useful animal in tha M rrld. So is the cow. I once had thirteen Ducks and two was drakes and a Poll eat killed One. he smelt Orful. I knew a boy whic h had I chickens but his father would not let him rais Them and so begot mad and so he boared a Hole in his mother’s Wash tub. Our saviour r«.»de ou a ass. I wish I had a horse: a horse way* lOOn pound*.