Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

The Calhoun Times. Volume T. TIIE CALHOUN TIMES. B, railkoad «tkeet. Terms of Subscription. Om T«r ' iOS fix Months : Rateslof Advertising Vo. S^T]TM^ITM.^~| H MosT" I year. f~r~ $500“ s'*.oo [ $15.00 " $25.00 £" ur ii 8.00 12.00 25.00 40.00 1 column 10.00 18.00 | 35.00 45.00 1 •* 18.00 30.00 60.00 75.00 J 30.00 50.00 1 75.(X) 140.00 All subscriptions arc payable strictly in *iT»nce; and at the eipiration of the time for which payment is made, unless pre yiously renewed, the name of the subscriber will be stricken from our books. For each square of ten lines or less, for the tr#t insertion, sl,anff for each subsequent insertion, fifty cents. Ten lines of solid Drerier, or its equivalent in space, make a cash, before or on demand after th# 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 puolic i ß tere«t will meet with prompt attention, and concise letters on general subjects are re spectfully solicited from all parts of the •ountry. 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 Arri»aat Ca’hmm ‘ r J *• Arrive! at Chattanooga 5-80 p. m. accomod tion train—outward. Arrivs at Dalton 8.80 r u. SICHT P * ASSNOKIt TRAIN—INWARD. Lmvs Ch*»Unooga * “ Arriv. at Calhoun " f \ T " Arrive at Atlanta 400 A - *■ jDAT |PASStNOSR TRAIN INWARD. I,mts Chattanooga •' r, -8° “• Arrifs at Calhoun 944 A ' “ 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.