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The Calhoun Times.
Volume T.
TIIE CALHOUN TIMES.
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iz a i r4 l to a 1 >H-__
Western & Atlantic.
manr rASStsosa trun—outward.
Lssvs Atlanta *-45 *• “•
iTriv. at Olhonn U 21 a.
Arrivs at Chattanoogi * 45 a. m.
dat PAaasNcaH twain —outward.
I,mts Atlanta ft 15 J’ J
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accomod tion train—outward.
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Lmvs Ch*»Unooga * “
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Arrive at Atlanta 400 A - *■
jDAT |PASStNOSR TRAIN INWARD.
I,mts Chattanooga •' r, -8° “•
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ArriTs at Attain* 300 P. u.
accomodation train inward.
I.mto Dalton % 00 p 11
Arr'is »t Allan's
PROFESSIONAL CARDS.
W. S7 JOHNSON,
Alt orney At Law 9
CALIIOUN', GEORGIA.
ftgr Office in Southeast corner of the
Snort House.
Aug 11 1 ts
I C. FAIN. JOS. M CONNKLL.
fain and McConnell,
A.ttornoys at Tjavv,
CALIKE X, GEORGIA.
HjjT Office in the Court House.
Aug 11 1 ts
R. M. TARVER~
Attornoyat Law,
CA Ln O l X, GE 0 R GIA .
iy Office in the Court House.
Aug 11 1 ts
W. J. CANTRELL^
Attorney At Law.
Caliioun, Georgia.
WILL Practice in the Cherokee Circuit,
in U. 8. District Court, Northern Dis
trisl of Georgia, (at Atlanta): and in the Su
firwnae Court of the State of Georgia.
E.j7iilKEß,
Attoi’noy at Law,
CA LllO UN, G EON GIA.
[ Ofilct at tht Old Stand of Cantrell Kiker. J
H7ILL practice in all the Courts of the
ts Cherokpe Circuit; Supreme Court of
Georgia, and the United States District Court
at Atlanta, Ga. aug!9'7oly
RUFE WALDO THORNTON,
I)E.\TIST,
Calhoun, - - - Gvoigia.
THANKFUL for'ormer patronage. solicits
s continuance •/ the same.
Office over Boaz. Barkf.tt & Co's. seplo
DR.D.G.Hy^T,
Physician and Druggist,
CALHOUN, GA.
ew Management!
(lALHOUNHOTEL
E. K. SASSEEX,
[Formerly of Atlanta, Ga.']
RESPECTFULLY announces to t'ne travel
ling public, that lie has refurnished and
s ‘”ed the above hotel, and is now ready to
*'u'nunodate all who may stop with him.
vate " moderate; and table furnished with
? best the market affords.
( alhoun, Ga., August 19th, 1870—ts
nr™;
WATCH-MAKER
Jeaveler,
{ *LHOUN, : : : : GEORGIA .
o
\ styles of Clocks. Watches and Jewelry
n ?’ly repaired and warranted.
a W7otf
CJ-A.Xj3EIOTJN"
BALE AND
4IVERY STABLE!
O
, u - R. BOAZ,
STOCK, and Vehicles to
Lacf.fi * 1 °^P on< i, and is at all times pre
-10 furnish any kind of
at w > i txxr oyanco,
\ U)W KATES FOR CASH.
h*ru, s ol >ght and gold on reasonable
aull,tf
ROME ADVERTISEMENTS.
“Home Again.”
J. C. RAWLINS, Prop’r.
CHOICE - HOTEL
BROAD ST.. ROME, GA.
Passenger* taken to and from the Depot Free
of Charge laitß 7etf
TEN NESS EE _ HOUSE”,
ROME, GEORGIA ,
J. A. STANSBIKY, Proprietor.
MUIE abore Hote i* L-caicd within Twaoty
I Stei-a of th* Railroad I’laUotoi Baggage
bandied free oi Charge. o 16 7Otf
ALRERT O. PITBEII. IIENRY H. SMITH.
PITNER & SMITH,
Wholesale and Retail
Grocers & Commission Merchants
Asn nr.Ai.ERB in
PURE KENTUCKY WHISKIES,&c.
No. 23, Corner Broad it Howard sis.,
ROME, - - GEORGIA.
octt>,l 870-1 y
COLCLOUGH,
HARKINS &
GLOVER,
Home, Ga.,
CALL the attention of dealers to the fact
that they have just received the largest
stock of
Dry Goods, Boots, Shoes, &c.,
ever offered in the Cherokee country, and
can furnish them tit exactly New \ ork prices.
Call and be convinced. sept22’7o-ly
Bones, Brown & Cos., I J. &S. Bones & Cos.,
Augusta, Ga. Rome, Ga.
Established 1825. Established 1809.
J. &S. BONES & CO.
ROME, GA.
IMPORTERS
AND
Wholesale Dealers
IN
HARDWARE,
CUTLERY, QUNS, SC.
WILL offer for sale, the coming season :
350 Tons Swedes Iron,
75 Tons “Jonhs” Plow* Steel,
A LARGE LOT OF
Imported Cutlery and Files,
Tngrther with a full assortment of GEN
ERAL HARDWARE.
WE are Agents for R. TIDE A CO'S. Pat
ent Inserted Tooth Circular Saws; Machine
Belting, Orange Rifle Powder, and Rome
Iron Manufacturing Co's. Merchant Bar Iron
and Nails.
All of above to compete with any House
South. novl7'7o-4m
W 7 T.ARCHER,
Wholesale and Retail Dealer in
i jfmm wei t
Mattresses, Looking-Glasses,&c.
All of which l ain offering at extremely low
prices.
82 Whitehall st., : ATLANTA, GA.
nov 1770-3 m
J. H. GAVATJ,
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALER IN
Fine Wines, Liquors & Cigars,
No. 11 Granite Block ,
Beoad Street, - ATLANTA, GA.
AGENT FOR TIIK SALE OF THE
Celebrated Cincinnati LAGER BEERand ALE
sept 29 For the State of Georgia. 8m
G. 11. & LAN. FORCE,
SIGN OF THE
BIG IRON BOOT,
Whitehall Street, ; : : Atlanta, Ga.
BOOTS Shoe* and Tiunks, a complete Stock
and new Good* arriving daily! Gents’
Boots and SIKH'S, of the he*t mak*s. Li.d es’
Shoe* of a l kinds. Hoys, Miases aud Children's
Shoes of every g-ade and make.
We >»r*‘ prepared to offer inducements to
Wholesale Trnde. sept 2 ,’7O-1 v
BETTERTON, FORD & Cos.,
WHOLESALE DEALERS IN
BRIMIIL\ WHISKIES.
Wines, Tobaccos, Cigars, &c.,
No. 209. market st., No. 209.
CHATTANOOGA, TENN.
oct 13,1870-1 y
(ESTABLISHED IN 1855.)
J.O.MATHEWSON,
PRODUCE
COMMISSION MERCHANT
A EG USTA , GEORGIA.
sept 22 1870 ly
ir* 1850.
T. R. RIPLEY,
Removed to Peachtree Street,
ATLANTA , GEORGIA.
Wholesale Dealer in
CROCKERY & GLASSWARES,
WILL duplicate any Bills bought in any
Market, to the amount of One Hun
dred Dollars, and upwards, adding Freight.
P. S. All Goods guaranteed as represented
from line limit*. Aug 19 ly
CALHOUN, GA., TIITJRSDA.Y, JYLnTTAIRY ±2, 1871.
MISCELDANY.
A Tale of Two Christmases.
PART I.
“So you’re determined not to come
and spend the Christmas Vacations with
us?’-’
“ My dear old boy, if I do it’s good
bye to my chance of a first, and there
fore a long farewell to my hope of a
fellowship.”
The first speaker was Walter Carew.
heir to one of the richest baronetcies in
wealthy Beeveshire, and gentleman
commoner of St. Guthlac’s College, Ox
ford, on which fine old foundation his
friend Charlie Brandoth was a scholar.
“ Well, then, at all events you’ll come
and stay somewhere handy, so that you
can spend your Christmas and New
Year’s Day with us?
• To have you come and chevy me off
my work every day? said Brandreth.
“ No; ’pon honor I won t. There’s
a farm of the governor’s at Bishop’s
Climstoke, five miles from the nearest
station, and that’s an hour and a half
from us. They’re excellent people, and
will put you up capitally, and for a
moderate screw. Say yes, and I’ll write
to old Dimsdale about it by this even
ing’s post.”
“It is a tempting idea. Are you
sure there is nothing about the locality
to keep a fellow from reading ?”
‘ k Not more than any other place on
this jolly sphere. You know I’m no
judge. As my old coach used to say,
the only place where I should be likely
to stick to reading would be Eddystoue
Lighthouse, and then I should have to
promise not to fish.”
“ Well, I confess, with all my anxiety
for a class. I don’t quite like the no
tion of Christmas Day in Oxford and
solitude, so I’ll say yes.”
The upshot of this conversation was
that the beginning of the Christmas
Vacation, found Brandreth comfortably
settled at Dovecote Farm, in the retired
little village of Bishop’s Climstoke. He
found the Dimsdales very agreeable peo
ple, and rather superior to his notion of
former life. The family consisted of
old Dimsdale, an honest and energetic
man, his wife, a very homely and easy
going body, and Rose, their daughter, a
girl of about eighteen, and pretty en
ough to deserve to be, what Brandreth
soon discovered that she was, the belle
of Bishop’s Climstoke.
Brandreth had been thrown on the
world an orphan at an early age, with
no kith or Lin save an old bachelor
uncle, who was his guardian un»il he
came of age —an event which had taken
place a couple of years before the date
of this story. He had. therefore, never
known womanly kindness or attention ;
aud the care and thought which Rose
bestowed on him as their visitor came
upon him with no less novelty than en
joyment. She. on the other hand, hav
ing been all her life accustomed only to
the awkward homage of rustic admirers,
was charmed with the refined and re
spectful attention which Brandreth na
turally paid to a woman.
It was hardly likely that such a state
of feeling should remain at a fixed point,
and it was scarcely probable that it
would suffer diminution. It naturally
deepened and strengthened Brandreth,
with a man’s instinct of rivalry, could
not bear to see a girl like Rose, sur
rounded by such clowns as her village
suitors; and taking advantage of his
position as a visitor at her father’s
house, he contrived on all occasions to
monopolize her. much to the chagrin of
her rustic swains, but greatly to her
satisfaction.
Poor Rose! her guileless and un
sophisticated nature saw no wrong, no
danger, no inequality in their love.—
How could she fail to believe and return
what she supposed to bo an honest and
honorable passion ? What eke could
his attentions mean ?
And now it was Christmas Eve, and
he was about to start for Sir llanulph
Carew’s. to spend his Christmas. Poor
girl, though the separation would only
be for a day, it seemed os if it was to
be for ages. It was her first experience
of the hitters of love.
She stood in the hall, waiting to see
him off, with a sad heart, which sorely
hindered her in her appointed task—the
decoration of the old farmhouse with
evergreens.
At last Brandreth came down stairs
equipped for his journey, which was
likely to prove a cold one, as the winter
had begun to set in severely.
“ Good-bye, Rosie ! A merry Christ
mas to you,” said he, cheerfully.
“And to you too, said she. but in no
very merry tone.
“So you’re doing the decorations,
eh ? I shall take the privilege of the
season.”
He caught up a bit of mistletoe, and
holding it over her head bent down and
kissed her.
It was the first time he had ever kis
sed her. and it should have been pleas
ant therefore. But it was not. As he
drove away toward the station he re
called it again and again, but with an
uncomfortable feeling, a self-reproachful
dread.
Shall I tell you why ? Because,
when he stooped down to kiss her, she
had not turned her head away or tried
to escape. She had raised her face
calmly and innocently and met his lips
with hers. It was so simply and trust
fully done that there was nothing un
maiden ly in the action. It shocked
him because it was a revelation—in
that kiss she had given him her heart,
lie felt he was a villain. He had won
the poor child’s affection by false pre
tence. He had blighted her happiness
merely to gratify his vanity; for of
course, as he kept repeating to himself,
there could be nothing between them,
their stations in life were so very differ
ent.
The line between the station at which
he entered the train and that near Sir
Ranulph’s seat ran close to the village
of Bishop’s Climstoke, and as he was
whirled rapidly by it, and recognised
many a familiar spot, his heart grew sad
to think vrhat evil he had wrought in
that quiet hamlet, and to the poor
trusting girl who had given him her
heart.
Before long, however, he found him
self at Sir Ranulph’s hospitable man
sion, where, in the pleasure of meeting
Walter and in the jollity of the season,
he soon forgot his remorse, and dismis>ed
the subject of his cruelty from his
mind.
It was a thoroughly old fashioned
Christmas, kept up in the regular old
fashioned style. When the Yule log
that was drawn in by a party of mum
mers was laid on the capacious hearth,
and began to blaze, it was not only the
sap that hissed. There were big flakes
of snow coming down the wide chimney,
and they sputtered and steamed as they
fell on the hot log.
A week passed pleasantly enough,
and perhaps only too quickly. It re
quired all Brandreth’s resolution to
make up his mind to tear himself away
and get back to his books. His diffi
culty in doing so was not decreased by
the fact that his friend’s only sister,
Edith, showed a decided partiality for
him, which Walter was only too delight
ed to foster, and upon which Brandreth
could not help fancying neither her
father nor mother looked with any dis
pleasure.
However, by a strong effort he resist
ed the spell, and on the day after New
Year’s Day found himself in the train
on the return journey to Bishop’s Clim
•toke. As he passed the village, recol
lection of what had happened when he
left it, came back to him again vividly.
He could not help reproaching himself
for his attentions to Edith as a treason
to Rose. And yet, after all, how could
that Rose and he were so differ
ently situated, it was absurd to think of
anything serious between them !
But when he arrived at the farm he
found the Dimsdales in sore distress
and tribulation. Rose had gone that
morning early to visit her grandmother
in the next village, which lay four miles
off across the moor. At mid day —
though Brandreth had been too much
occupied with his thoughts to notice it
—there had been a blinding snow storm
of long duration and Rose had not yet
returned. They had waited and hoped
until the lateness of the hour had driven
them to acknowledge the fear that they
had not yet ventured to hint to each
other—she must have lost her way in
the snow!
The whole village was out in search
of her, but the moor was a wide one,
full of gullies and water courses, and
the peril, was extreme, the Dimsdales
said.
Almost before they had finished
speaking Brandreth had seized his hat
and stick and hurried out. He did not
know the moor at all, but he felted that
he would find her. lie must find her
or die, he sail to himself, and then
woudered what this violent feeling
meant.
He could see lanterns moving about
on all sides, and heard at intervals one
party of searchers shouting to another.
He strode on in darkness and in silence.
His ignorance of the moor did what
the villager’ intimate acquaintance with
it failed to do. They searched on and
about the different paths. lie went
blindly on, now plunging into holes, now
falling over ridges.
At last the ground seemed to open
under him—he felt himself falling into
space. lie could scarcely smother a
cry. But the sensation had been de
ceptive—he had merely plunged into a
water course. But as he turned to
scramble out again he saw a shred of
gTey cloth in the snow, lie knew it—
it was Rose’s cloak. He threw himself
on his knees, and began madly tearing
the snow aw ly with his hands.
Y T es, it wa< she ! But was she asleep
—or dead? He raised her from her cold
couch, and taking off his cloak and coat
wrapped them around her. As he was
taking off the latter he felt something
in its pocket. Thank God !it was the
brandy flask Walter had pressed on him
when he started. He contrived to pour
a little betwe n her pale, motionless lips,
then catching her up, with a strength
that sjr} rised him even at the time, he
strode back along his clearly-marked
track, covering her poor cold face with
showers of warm kisses, and addressing
her in the fondest terms of endearment.
It would be vain to attempt to picture
the joy and the gratitude of the Dims
dales at recovering their daughter, who,
thanks to her warm wrappings and the
brandy, had already begun to show signs
of returning consciousness when Brand
reth, almost wearied out with his exer
tions, came staggering into the farm
with her in his arms.
But wearied as he was, that night he
did not sleep a wink. He lay awake,
trying, as lie had tried on the moor, to
make out the road before him. Did he
love Rose? Could he make her his
wife? .And the spirit of pride was
strong in him. and early in the morning
he packed up his- things, bade good-bye
to Mr. and Mrs. Dimsdale. left a fare
well for Rose, and went back to Oxford.
ir.
When he had recovered from the fe
ver by which he was prostrated immedi
ately on his rt tur 1 to Oxford, Charles
Brandreth set to work with unabated
zeal at his studies.
The examination arrived; and when
the list came out the name of Brandreth.
Carolus, e Coll., Sti., Guth., was in the
First Class. He took his degree, and
in another term had arrived at the height
of his ambition —a fellow-ship. But
somehow all his success failed to make
him happy. He had lost his pleasant
old smile, as his friend Walter complain
ed, and then woudered whether his old
chum Charley was wretched to think he
had not proposed to Edith, to whom the
young Earl of Marston was now paying
suit with apparently every chance of suc
cess.
So—the year having now come near
ly to an end—Walter determined to ask
Brandreth down once again £>r the
Christmas. “Who knows.” said he to
himself, “but he may cut the Karl out ?
He shall have my assistance anyhow !”
He could not prevail for some time
upon his friend to accept the invitation ;
and it was not until he declared he
should interpret his refusal as a desire to
bring their friendship to a close, that he
got Brandreth to promise to come.—
But even then lie would not come an
hour earlier than Christmas Eve.
So Brandreth made his arrangements
for the journey. And then the recol
lection of the same time last year, and
of the Dimsdales and dear old Bishop
Climatoke, came back to him fresh and
bright. In a gracious mood he sat him
self down, and wrote to old Dimsdah ,
wishing him and his family the compli
merits of the season. And then, just as
he was closing his letter, somethin!,
eame over him. and he added:
“I shall be able to utter the wish nl
most within your hearing, for I am go
ing down by the evening mail on Christ
mas Eve to spend a short time at Sir
Ranulph Carews’s
You may be sure the letter was a
pleasant surprise at Dovecote Farm.—
For the simple minded old people never
connected Charles Brandreth with th<
sadness and gloom that had e nne over
Rose, that had stolen the color from her
cheeks and the light from her eyes, and
that made her sigh so heavily like one
weary of life. They only thought of
him as the preserver of their darling ;
and they fancied the change in her was
due to the shock she had received when
she was lost in the snow.*
“Why. dame !” said the farmer, bright
ening, “’tis a letter fro’ our Mr. Brand
reth.”
“A cursed jackanapes!” came in a
„rowl from a dark corner.
The farmer turned—it was only
black Dick, as he was called in the v’l
’ tge, an ill-favored lad, not many a--
rees removed from an idiot or a brute.
Je used to hang about pour Hose, mue’
to her horror, making a display of slav
ish ad oration for her that was almos
revolting.
“What’s wrong wi’ thee Dick V * said
the farmer.
“A thrashed o’ I oust,on’y for carr'in
a bit o’ mistletoe in ma pocket to catch
Roscy wi’!”
“Served you right, too !” said Mrs.
Dimsdale, who shared Rose’s loathing
for the creature; ‘and what says Mr.
Brandrcth, father ?”
He’s coming down here to stay ’long
of the Carews, an’ll wish us a merr T
Christmas as he passes a long the line
o’ Christmas Eve by the mail train.—
Here’s a merry Christmas to him, eh,
dame?”
Mrs. Dimsdale heartily joined in the
wish, and then they began to talk of
his stay at the farm, and about Rose’s
rescue; and they did not notice the ma
licious grin with which Black Dick stole
out of the kitchen after hearing the
news contained in the postscript of
Charles Brandreth’s letter.
“Cursed Jackanapes 1” he muttered
to himself, as he went pounding across
the frosty meadows in the direction of
the railway; “who but he’as bruk Ros
ey’s heart ? Who but he’s teuk the maid
away from oos honest village mates ?
An’ ’a thrashed o’ I too? But I’ll be
even wi’ un !”
111.
There was no moon on Christmas Eve,
but the stars were bright in the frosty
sky. and the reflection from the thin
sheet of snow that had fallen in the
morning reflected what little light there
was.
The throb and rattle of the train that
rushed so rapidly along, bearing him
towards Bishop’s Climstoke, seemed to
fall into a regular rliymth, and his imag
ination, heated by remorseful memories
seemed to supply it with the words:
“Ruthless traitor ! “Ruthlesstraitor !”
The words rang continuously in his
ears. He could not shut them out by
reading. They were like the souruTs
that repeat themselves with such mad
dening monotony to a man in delirium.
He was positively grateful when he rec
ognized by certain familiar landmarks
that he was approaching Bishop’s Clirn
stokc. He opened the window and
lean* out. Still the train hurried on.
Now he could see the tower of the
church. He was getting near the vil
lage now. He would see the farm in a
minute.
Ah ! what was that ? Some black ob
ject moving down the side of the em
bankment a little way ahead. The en
gineer must have seen it, for hark!
there is a warning whistle.
All of a sudden the tone of the whistle
is changed. It becomes a shriek, as of
terror. There follows a tremendous
grinding of breaks, hurriedly applied,
till the sparks rush from them in a stream.
Then arise cries of alarm. And then,
over all, a crash—the train heaves like
a wounded snake; the carriages seem to
fall into splinters. A grinding crush
ing roar—the bellowing of escaping
steam —the hissing of water flung on
live coal*! All this comprowed into a
minute’s space ; and this is the last
thing of which Charles Brandreth is
conscious.
1 hose of the guard who are uninjured
set to work to learn how the accident
rose and to extricate the passentrors. —
They find the line has been blocked
with several sleepers aud upturn rails
which have thrown the engine off the
track. It has IbeUn overturned in its
fall. Stoker and driver have both beer
thrown some distance, and lie dead or
insensible, it cannot be clearly ascer
tained which just yet.
But there’s seme one under the en
gine. for all that. They can hear s
faint moaning. Whoever he is. he’s as
good as dead, what with being crushed
and burnt aud scalded, all at the same
time. They extricate him.
It is a young fellow, apparently a
farm laborer. It is promptly conject
ured that he is the person who placed
the obstruction on the line, and when
the question is put to him he and >es not
deny it. Ju.st at that moment they are
carrying past the apparently lifeless
body of one whose-dress scents to indi
cate that he is a elergymrn. A ghastb*
red cut across the face heightens its pal
lor. The bystanders acknowledge with
a shudder the presence of the dead.
The wretched author of the calamity
grins a terrible grin, half of agony, half
of triumph.
“I be done for. but I ha’ killed un !
I ha’ killed un, for sure!”
And with that lie falls writhing and
dies like a cruched viper.
And just then a big hurley figur
comes pushing through the crowd.
“Mr. Brandreth! Mr Brandreth!
Are you hurt? Where are you, sir?
Have any o’ you seen a clergy—
And then he catches sight of the dead
body, and all he can find breath to say
is, “Oh. my God ! he is dead?”
TV.
But Charles Brandreth was not dead.
“Better he had been,” he thinks when,
after a long, lingering recovery from the
worst, he learns from the doctor that he
is hopelessly disfigured, and that he will
be a deformed cripple for life.
lie shudders and turns away from a
gentle hand that is laid 011 his shoulder
—oh, so softly ! It does not put him
to physical pain, but it racks him with
mental torture. For there is the gliost
of poor Rose—the spectre now’ of the
pretty girl he knew—waiting on him,
tending him, nursing him. patiently,
devotedly, unwcaryingly. But some
how he feels there is a barrier between
them. Not the cruel old barrier of
pride that he had built up. In bis hu
miliation. in the silent hours of waking:,
in the constant school of pain, he has
learned to see clearly now. The barrier
is uone of his raising. It is interposed
between him and Rose. If he were the
merast stranger she could not keep him
more coldly at & distance with her face
emotionless as a mask, and her demure
“ Yes, sir,” and “No, sir.”
He prays for death ; but he feels that
he will live. Aud the thought of what
life means to him now r is unendurable
One day when he is, as he supposes,
alone, he complains aloud, reproaching
himself for the post.
“I blighted her life, and mine is
darkened ! I killed the prettiness in her
face, and mine is made a horror I de
serve it—and yet it is sad to think of
the doom the doctor passes —a disfigur
ed. deformed cripple for life!
And then suddenly he feels two arms
around his neck, and a shower of kisses
on his forehead, and he hears Rosie’s
voice sobbing : “ My darling!—my dar
ling ! Yes, I dare to call you so now’ —
my own ! my own ! Dearer to me now
than ever—doubly dear, for they will
not steal you from me now!”
“ Merciful heaven ! what have I done
to deserve this? he gasps.
And from that day he begins to mend
fast.
There is little more to add, but that
little is good.
Sir Ranulph, dissatisfied with the
opinion of the local surgeon, sends to
town for the first surgeon of the day.
who comes down with his cheerful face
and his noble gray head—grown gray in
the service of suffering humanity—and
he takes a brighter view of the case,
and a more correct one, which is better
still.
For, by the time Charles Brandreth
is well enough to move about again, and
irons to take the fat college living for
which he exchanges his fellowship, you
would never guess from his straight,
well-proportioned figure, that he had
ever been such a shattered wreck as he
had been. There’s just the shadow of
a limp in his walk, and there’s the white
seam of a long sear on his brow, but
you can only see it when you are very
ne»r him.
But Rose, his beloved wife, who is
nearer and dearer to him than any one
else in the world, vows she cannot see
anything of a disfigurement, or any
fault or imperfection at all in her hus
baud. Tom Hood.
At a school in Greenville, Alabama,
the sentence “Mary milks the cow,” was
given out to be parsed. The last word
was disposed of in the following man
ner : “Cow is a noun, feminine gender,
singular number, third person, and
stands for Mary.” •Stands for Mary!”
said the excited pedagogue : “how do
you make that out?” “Because,” an
swered the intelligent pupil, ‘ if the cow
didn’t stand for Mary, low could Mary
milk her ?”
A Sacramento paper says that wild
ge se are so plenty in California, that
th- y give as much annoy »nce to raihoad
mi n as the grasshopper* in summer.
jSTumKer
Rules for Table Etiquette.
True politeness has its origin in Chris,
tian charity and kindness, and all stand
ard rules of etiquette were founded for
the greater convenience and happiness
of the members of society. Although
the reasons may not be obvious at first
sight, they exist, and wiil be apparent
on careful consideration.
1. Do not keep others waiting for you
either at the beginning or close of a
meal.
2. Do not sip soup from the tip, but
from the side of the spoon.
3. Be careful not to drop or spill any
thing on the table cloth.
4. Keep your plate neat; do not heap
all sorts of fi»od on it at once.
5. In passing your plate to be re-hclp
ed. retain the knife and fork.
6. When asked fur a dish, do not
shove, but hand it.
7. While Jr ink in <: do m.t look around.
8. Instruct the servant to hand tin*
cup at the left side so that it may be re
ceived in the right hand.
lh Do not drink your tea or coffee
without first removing the tea-spoon
troui the cup to the saucer.
Kb lsc the knife for cutting only}
never put it to the lips or in tile mouth.
11. Break your bread into small pieces
and rest them on your plate while spread
ing.
12. Do not cat to fast, bosidcs giving
one the appearance of greed, it is not
healthy.
13 If you find anything unpleasant
in your food put it aside as quietly as
possible, without drawing the attention
of others to it.
14. l>o not open the lips nor make
unnecessary noise in chewing.
15. I)o not tench the head.
IG. Do not rest the elbow on the ta
ble.
17. Brush the table neatly before
bringing in the desert.
13. Be thoughtful of and attentive to
the wants of those around you.
19. Converse on pleasing subjects
with those sitting near you.
20. Do not say anything not intended
for all present to hear.
21. Jioavc your plate with the knife
and fork lying parallel, the handles
pointing to the right of you.
22. Never Kave the table before oth
ers without asking the lady or gentleman
who presides to excuse you.
The Pretty Girls. —What a charm
they have about them ! How they are
loved, followed, bowed to, and worship
ped ! W hat a power they have over the
hearts of men ! How encouraging is rne
of their smiles bestowed upon a down
hearted masculine gender! Whore tl ey
are. a man can. by a little exercise oi
the imagination, suppose a company of
angels. There is a shower of sunshine
wherever they go, and they leave broken
hearts when the depart. All opposi
tions will vanish as vapors before their
magical influence. Their power is su
preme. their influence over the hearts
and feelings of men is unlimited. They
are queens, indeed, and the boasted
‘‘lords of creation” are their humble and
obedient subjects. Au atmosphere of
love and adoration surrounds them on
all sides, and they breathe it, as we poor
masculines do the air around us. They
have a kingdom, which is love, their
sceptre is beauty and their royal pavil
ion is made of a thousand and one
charms. Where they appear they con
quer; and where they apeak, they rule,
and when they approach, men render
the deepest obeisance. Their smiles are
glimpses of paradise, ar.d their kisses
tastes of heaven itself. We love them;
everybody loves them, and the mi n is a
brute w ho wouldn’t love them.
Timid People. —lt is the habit of
some people to laugh at the terror which
is experienced by others at the heavy
thunder-crash, or the flashing lightning.
This is both cruel and wicked, since the
victim is no more to blame for it, than
for the color of his eyes and hair.—iu
fact, like them, it is often hereditary.
Such persous should be pitied and
soothed, end allowed during these pe
riods to^hwalways near son e one whom
they love and confide in. More especial
ly is this true of children, some of whom
suffer more than words can tell from this,
as well as from other causes of fear.—•
Deal gently with such; it is the only
way to eradicate their fears; ridicule
and harshneas will only confirm them.
The child “afraid of the dark,” should
never be enforced to encounter it unat
tended and uuwatched. Idiocy has of
ten boon the s»d result of a contrary
treatment. Let parents and teachers
then, be thoughtful in these regards.
Patrick saw a bull pawing in a field,
and thought what fun it would he to
jump over, catch him by the horns and
rub his nose in the dirt. The more he
thought of it the funnier it seemed, and
he determined to do it. Bovus quickly
tossed him over the fence again. Pat
leisurely picked himself up with the
consolatory remark: “Well, it is a
mighty fine thiug I had my laugh first.”
“Professor.” said a student in pursuit
of knowledge concerning the habits of
animals, “why does a cat, while eating,
turn her head first one way and then the
other?” “For the reaso i,” replied tho
Professor, “that she cannot turn it bvUh
ways at once.”
A self-constitute I functionary at
Council Bluff, lowa, has been marrying
couples when he had no authority. Ihe
falsity of his assumption has been db
eovered. and quite a sensation has resuh
ed—-especially among those whom ho
has pretended to marry.
To speak ill from knowledge shows a
want of character; to speak ill on suspi
tion shows a want of honest principle.