Newspaper Page Text
r,y FREEMAN & BRO.
{The (L'.Uhouu fimts.
The Frost at Memphis,
11Y AN Mi: lUAUJEBT;
It wa p niglittall iti the city,
There was silence on the street,
■ r; l ;inoil the sound of sobbing
\nd the trend of hurried feet;
flurgish wings of mist were stirring
Through the pestilential air,
,\:.d the meek cross-bearers perished
i ruin their sacrifice and prayer.
hi liio dull and heavy twilight
bay a boy of tender years,
Vt’hcre the scourge was knocking hourly
i'ov it- dale of death and tears ;
\ad he called bis pallid mother
i’hrough the shadows to his side,
While his face was like a vision
Os the faces glorified.
~y ] lilV e had a dream.” iu; whispered,
‘•.bi't tbe'strangcst that could be—
■j'v.it I shouldn't die like papa,
\dl and all but you and me;
lOr 1 dream ;d art angel watchman,
W ith u mr.ntb s« it und white,
. ] iC | tht Mil *r »i all tlt l st roots at midnight;
Mamma, will he co-i e to-night V*
•j ~n ft,,, wan ;.nd weary mother
h r ( iuld to ipiict sleep ;
•: fiolcmii wonder dawning
or the watch the angels keep;
tii ! y!ielistened asotle listens
To the music of a noil,
Through the rtkshipg of the river
To the watch in ,n * cry, “All s well!
It was morbing, and the people,
| n t!:> hushed and reverent air.
l’nwe 110 <‘ar!'u in silent rapture —
Touched the sign of healing there ;
l'.ir the Angel of t lie City
I Ov v every thr-'shold crossed,
With a silver vail of moonlight,
’\,ul the footsteps of the frost.
A (l MOSTLY LOBUiXU.
m cnaua ußouoiiTox,
On a cold winter evening, in the year
Ia young g’rri, loading a little boy
by t]| hand, emerged from a grove into
liTiiely road leading to the village of
Milford.
It had been snowing all tbe afternoon,
ii i though the storm had now ceased
,r ; h ivy drifts made tiie roads almost
', , , .w;h!c From time to time, a keen
i-uttin ,r wind swept down the street.
<.riv'iithe snow in all directions, ihe
..; 1 1 , vigor .us country lass of eighteen,
. • ' ;! blindly on a lew moments,
t;,i.t| natisod, breathless.
• 1 wotnKr where we are,’ .she said.
•;;i, j ip to tbink whore we tiro,
V pi:. :! h r bi( th r ; “ Ju.-t push on.”
■ Rut we can’t get home to'iiighf.”
( nth;nod the eirl resolutely. We
Ml 11 he buried in these drifts pretty
mi!i. If theie, was some farm house
tht'y would take us in for the
niglu ”
(• j j-n ■ ivue round here, said the
b. v. si raining his bright eyes in every
direction
Suddenly Helen Wilson uttered an
(X launti nos joy. “ See. Ilobbhu
s , re is a house just at the turning of
the mad 1 We’ll go in there.
“Rut it Jo; ks so queer —no lights or
anything.” said the hov uneasily.
rh'ip tin-'/'re abed. Nevermind,
vc must reuse them up, if we don’t
v/.ir.t to i'meze to death, sat l lielcu,
giving vent to her fours.
! koifully they struggled on, till they
paused at length in front of the house.
The b y looked up and uttered ajjtofe
cry of dread. ‘ Sister, it's the HatyAfftfl
il use! Tim house where that l.idjLwas
ki11,,!.] several years ago. Nob' dv dares
to go near it. Come vi«»lic away !”
"X .msense said !leleii, linn I\\ “H|
tills is tin: place, we arc it got and long
el-lance iV nn any other house, v'ouie,
Robbie, it's our only chance.”
•*< lit. 1 can’t, t can’t 1” sai l the boy,
the courage tlt.it had sustained him
hitherto _ way to his superstitious
t rr. rs • Foe h"\v wild and 1 nic.ly it
1 ok: ! \ud tfic lady walks there every
iigot tm.y say!
" Robert, we are g'ung in here, re
plied Helen, firmly. -There are no
hosts, toohsil bov \v c shah til iit we
keep on ('.oim: with me this moment.!
The boy obeyed With difficulty
they clambered over the fence, halt
buried in snow, and waded up the gar
den toward the house. Helen laid her
band on the door. It yielded, niter a
few pushes, and, shuddering inwardly,
with her brother, entered the ill-omen*
od house. Roth stood silent for a mo
went. Rut for the moaning winds, and
mysterious ;ustling sounds at intervals,
the broad, empty hall was still as death.
“• Come, Robert,” said Helen, recov
ering. herself, : we musn’t stand here.’
As she spoke, she led the way to the
large parlors, opening oft the hall, lue
moon shone brightly through the lofty
casement, revealing rooms stripped bare
of pictures, curtains, of every vestige
of furniture. The snow had driited
through the numerous broken panes,
rnd lay in white heaps on the floor,
boor Helen's heart sank at the dismal
picture. Rut she kept up her courage
for his sake, and turning to him, snid
as cheerfully as
We must go up-stairs. The upper rooms
way not be stripped so bear as these
“ Oh, not upstairs where the murder
was done not up stairs, Helen !
pleaded the boy.
“\\ e must —we shall freeze to death
if we stand here 1”
“ Rut if we should happen into that
room ?”
“Wellcome out again,” said Helen,
a shudder belying the careless courage
of her tones. “ Come, Robert.
As she spoke, they ascended the
stairs. At the head of the long wind
tog stairway was a massive oaken dooi.
They paused here a moment, while
an indefinable nervous thrill passed
through hoth.
1 fry the other rooms first, whisper
ed Robert. Like shadows they stole
along the hall, entering chamber after
4u4jc Catyomi , ccfifji
chamber, only to find them bare and
desolate as the rooms below.
“What shall we do?” asked Robert,
as they descended the secofld broad
Stairway, and approached the door they
had encountered first.
“ God only knows/’ said poor Helen,
who Was beginning to be sofely dis
couraged. “It’s best to keep moving,
at any rate We will just try this
door.” As’she spoke, she laid her hand
on the knob, hesitated a moment, then
turned it softly. A smothered cry broke
from both as they looked in.
No glare of moonlight here, reveal
ing naked desolation as in the other
rooms! Through the half-open curtains
stole a ghastly uncertain light, in which
the surrounding objects were dimly out-,
lined. A massive bedstead stood in one
corner, its curtains drooping heavily ns
n funeral pall. The atmosphere was
damp and oppressive—muffled whispers
seemed to stir the air,afid dark,threaten
ing forms to lurk in every corner. The
brother arid sister stood clasping each
other's hands,and gazing fearfully about
them,
•‘Tbe while some secret inspiratior. saul:
•Tli ir-; chamber is the ghostly !' ”
Suddenly the wind came shrieking up
the stairs, it sounded like the death
cry of some poor haunted soul.
“Oh. Helen, Helen, couie away!”
cried Robert, in a frantic voice. Helen
grow calm at once ; she stooped and
pressed KL cheek tenderly to hers.
“ ]>e quiet, dear Robbie —that was
only the wind. We ‘cannot leave this
room—it’s our only chat ce of lile. —
There is no danger.”
Robert clung tightly to Iks sister, till
he heard her gentle voice again.
“Robbie, have you any matches?
Here are candles, if we could only light
them.”
“ Yes, in my pocket,” whispered the
boy • and in a moment more Helen had
lighted one of the tall candles Her
next step was to holt the door —to draw
the window curtains close. Then she
glanced around,her eye brightening as it
fell on the old-fashioned fire place in
tlie corner.
“ How fortunate!” she exclaimed. —
“Here is wood for a fire! Now, my
poor child, you will have a chance to
•varin yourself.”
in a few moments a cheerful fire was
blazing on the hearth.
“flow queer it is, sister,” said Robert,
suddenly, though in a subdued and
rather nervous voice; “how queer it is
this should be the only room left fur
nished ! Do you really suppose —
“Hush!” said Helen; “ don't talk
about it.”
“Why, I'm not afraid now, Helen.—
T wonder,” in a louder tone. “ what did
become of the old squire ? They say he
escaped abroad and hasn't been heard
from since. Wasn’t lie a wicked man
to kill his poor wife ?”
“Was site young?” Helen asked.
“ Not much older’u you, and real
beautiful, Deacon W ise says. He kill
ed her cue night,” his voice sinking to
an awestruck whisper, “ stabbed her
with a knife. Oh. Helen, do look un
der the bed !”
“I thought you weren’t afraid, Rob
bie ” —forcing a laugh—“ there’s noth
ing here to hurt you; but, seeing I
haven’t, you’d better go right, to sleep.”
As she spoke she approached the bed.
k “Rut, I can’t sleep there!” said Rob
bie with a shudder.
“ No, dear ; you can wrap yourself
up warm in these blankets, and lie down
hv the fire if you wish. They are fear
-1 fully moth eaten, but I guess they will
keep you warm.”
“ Rut you —you don’t take care of
yourself,” sail Robert, in a tone of lov
ing remonstrance.
- Oil, I’m going to attend to myself
now,” said Helen, as she wrapped the
blankets warmly round him. “ I shall
sit up the rest of the night.in this big
arm-chair. Here, put ( your head on
this cushion. Now, don’t speak anoth
er word. Good-night, and pleasant
and reams.”
It was after midnight. The fire still
glowed on the hearth, and the candle
cast a faint flickering light through the
.oo in. Robert, exhausted by the day Is
fatigue and suffering, slept profoundly.
Helen reclined in the great arm-chair
opposite —her eyes closed, her cheeks
resting on the soft folds of the blanket
in which she had wrapped herself.
Suddenly she sat up in her chair,
looking around her with a wildconfused
-Ranee. In a moment she realized where
she was. A frightful picture rose'be
fore her; she shuddered, and made a
halt"motion to rise. She would feel
less lonely if she stretched herself by
Robbie’s side. Just then she heard a
stealthy footstep on the stairs !
Helen sat, with her head turned to
ward the door, perfectly rigid with fear.
She never moved, only clasped the arm
of her chair more convulsively. Then
she hoard the footsteps passing along
the hall, and echoing on the stairway
overhead.
She drew a long bre \th now, and put
up her hand mechanically to her fore
head. A cold dew covered it, and she
was shivering from head to foot.
Hark ! The footsteps again,approach
ing the door ! They ceased—a hand
tried the lock !
There was a pause of a moment, per
haps, but it seemed an eternity to her.
Then a voice exclaimed, in a deep groan,
‘ ; oh, my God !” The intense hollow
bitterness of those tones sent the blood
back with a rush to Helen’s heart: she
gave a low, shuddering sob. and her
head dropped on her bosom The foot
steps receded, softly as they came.
Helen rose, and, with a wild glance
around her, tottered toward the place
where Robbie lay. She dropped down
beside him, and with a faint moan em
braced him with one trembling arm.
CALHOUN, GA., WEDNESDAY", JANUARY 7. 1874.
“Oh, Helen, how good it seems to see
the sunshine again !”
Robert was bustling about, his spirits
quite restored by a good night’s rest,
and the cheerful morning light stream
ing into the Tooth.
“You look dreadfully pale. Helen—l
don’t believe you slept so well as 1 did
See, our clothes are quite dry. Quite
an adventure we’ve had, haven’t we ? I
wonder if father and mother worried
about us.”
“J’hey probably thought we stayed at
Aunt Rydia’s, like sensible beings,”
said Helen. “ Dress yourself quick,
Robbie—it is time we were on our
way.”
Half an hour later they were toiling
through'the #noWy strfcets agiifu Af
ter trudging along some time they heard
the sound cf sleigh bells approaching'
them.
“Oh, it’s Mr. Jones Helen,” cried
Robert joyfully ; “he’ll take us home.”
“ Why, it’s Nell Wilson and her
brother.”.exclaimed tlie tanner, check
ing his horse. “ What upon airth—?’
• Oh, Mr Jones, take us in and we ll
tell you all about it !” said Helen, half
crying with excitement and exhaustion.
“We are almost dead !”
On the way to Milford they told him'
their story.- . . .
“So you slept in the Haunted House,
eh ?—pretty plucky ! And yau lieerd a
voice, Helen, eh ?”
“Oh, yes; and I’m sure now’ it was
some poor mad creature!” said Helen,
earnestly. “Oh, Mr. Jones, do search
the house at once !”
“ ’Urn —well! I doubt if we’d find
anything. Somethings can’t be ox
nlained, Helen.”
Rut Helen’s entreaties were not un
availing. That Very afternoon a party
of men, headed by Deacon Wise, drove
up in front of the house. While a few
remained outside as “guard,” the rest
entered and began their search. The
“ghost chamber,” was.explored at length.
Old Deacon Wise stood near the bed,
describing in solemn tones the a.t ful
tragedy that took place there! when a
loud exclamation was heard from the
other end of tlie hall.
“ It’s Dan—Dan Withers !” cried a
young fellow ; “he’s found something !”
All rushed with one atfeord toward the
place where young Withers stood
“What is it. Dan ?” they cried eagerly.
Dan pointed with his finger through
the half open door There was some
thing lying in the corner. A great si
lence fell upon them as they followed
him in.
There, a little way from the window,
lay an old gray haired man, stretched
on his side. Ilis face was turned from
them—they could just discern his
flowing silver beard. lie lay quite stiff
and motionless —all guessed at once
that the warmth of life had left those
aged limbs.
The old deacon was the first to rally,
lie Went up and laid hisJomd on the
man’s shoulder; then shook it lightly.
Macing his hand under the bearded
chin, lie turned it gently to the light.
“"It’s the old sqnire himself!” said
he, solemnly. “ He’s dead—frozen
stiff ! 31 ay the Lord have had mercy
on his soul !”—Aldine for January.
Eating Without an Appetite.
It is wrong to eat without an appe
tite, for it shows that there is no gras
tric juice in the stomach, and that na
ture aloes not need food, and not need
ing it, there being no fluid to receive
and act upon it, it remaines there only
to purify, the very thought of which
should be sufficient to deter any man
from eating without an appetite for the
remainder of his life. If a tonic is ta
ken to whet the appetite it is a mista
ken course, for its only result is to cause
one to eat more, when already an
amount has-been eaten beyond what
the gastric juice is able to prepare.
The object to Re obtained is a larger
supply of grstrie jrileo; hot a large sup
ply of food ; and whatever.fails to have
any efficiency towards the cure of dys
peptic diseases. The formation of gas
tric juice is directly proportioned to the
wear and tear of the system, which it is
to be the means of supplying, and this
wear and tear can only be the result of
exercise. The efficient remedy for
dyspepsia is work—out door work —
beneficial and successful in direct pro
portion as it is agreeable, interesting
and profitable. —Halls Journal of
Health.
Disturbing Public Worship.—
The Supreme Court of Missouri has
made a decision defining the offence of
“ disturbing public worship.” “Some
months ago a disturbance took place in
a church, after service, but just as the
congregation was leaving. Jesse J.
.Jones was indicted under the law for
the protection of religious worship, and
was convicted, the judge in the lower
court charging the jury that the pious
thoughts and impressions inspired by
the services themselves. The Supreme
Court has reversed this decision and re
manded the case. That Court decided
that the law only applied to the congre
gation while in the act of worshiping ;
that the disturbance must have been
wilful and intentional to warrant a con
viction under the indictment, and (hat
after the actual services were at an end,
a disturbance, although an offence was
not, the offence fqr which the defendant
had been indicted.
It is utterly impossible that two or
dinary persons should live contentedly
together and not offend each other
sometimes. The offense may not be in
tentional; it may occur inadvertently.
In order to enjoy life, all unintentional
offenses ought to be forgiven. It
would be well, however, if persons stud
ied not to give offense even unintontion
ally.
“Do'You'.Want to Buy a Bog I”
The editor of the Fairville, Ya.,Mer
cury has been having a few thrilling mo-
I ifients with a nirtn who owns a dog.—
This is the story.
He was about six feet two in height;
he was several feet across the shoulders;
his arms were long and his hands were
large and powerful ; in his right hand
he carried a heavy stick, scraggy and
terrible to look upon.
His face was deeply scarred and its
expression was admirably calculated to
disconcert Uje average editor. He was
followed by a ferocious looking bull dog
which showed us his teeth and greeted
us with a savage growl.
We were quietly writing when he
entered, puffing our meerschaum the
while, in a contented manner. We
looked up and trembled ; our pipe drop
ped from our lips. He gave his cudgel
a suggestive swing, the dog gave a
threatening growl, we summoned all
our courage, smiled a sickly smiiL
moved cautiously toward the poker, ana
said in our most propitiatory tones
“Good monning, sir. take a 'seat, good
dog, pretty dog, fine morning, sir
good dug.’,’ Rut the man remaiued
standing, the dog snarled, wq edged
nearer the poker, and reflected on the
advisability of shouting murder. The
man raised his stick, pointed it at 113,
and in a voice closely resembling the
bpllon ing of a bull, Inquired, “ Re you
the editor of' this paper ?”
We got nean r the poker.
“ Sir,” said wo, “we cannot tell a lie.
We are, but we are sorry for it.”
The dog began showing his teeth and
sneaking toward us; the man raised
his club, and advanced a step We
seized the poker, shut our'eyes, groaned
and sprang back, the club descended,
-trul sent the dog reeling to the uther
end of the i;ot>m.
“ Keep qnict; Tiger,” said the man.
We reached,the door, and were quietly
turning tne knob, we meditated getting
out of our sanetum*aud seeking protec
tion Jn the street.
“ So you’re the editor, be you ?” ask
ed the man again.
We assented with a Emile, and were
about to throw open the door and run,
When he bellowed :
“ Do you want to buy a dog ?”
We breathed easier, we felt better,
we grew courageous, we answered :
“ Not at present, thank you.”
“ Sell him cheap.”
“ No money.”
« All bull.”
“ Dead broke.”
“ Good morning.”
“ Good morning sir.”
And the man went out. the deg gave
a parting growl and followed. We
picked up-the fragments of our pipe,
and gazing upon them, meditated sadly
upon the deceitfuluess of appearances,
and realized that you can’t sometimes
always tell whether you arc safe or oth
erwise.
Lawyers’ Manuscript.
A nice piece of manuscript (says the
Nashville Union) was sent to this (.face
lately. It was prepared by the skillful
hand of a member of the legal profes*
sion, and consequently its meaning was
as clear as mud. There were shoit
marks here and long marks ■there', while
dots, ink, splashes, erasures, and things
of that sort were scattered about with
reckless profusion. The paper resem
bled a map of bleeding Kansas, a plan
of our proposed new water works, a pen
and ink sketch of the burnt district of
Edgefield, or indeed, anything of that
sort. The printers yearned for that
manuscript the moment they saw it,
and the one who was given the largest
portion of it was looked upon with en
vy by his fellows. Finally one of them
came, to a couple of long words, that he
couldn't decipher readily. He went
out and borrowed a telescope, and look'
ed again, but still failing to make out
the two words' in question, he propped
his copy up at one end of the room,
stood on his head at the other, and
viewed it in that position for a time,
but yet without success. Then he car
ried the copy to evetyman in the office,
begging their assistance, but none were
able to help the unfortunate typo. —
Then he became desperate, pulled his
hat down with a firm grasp, ignored
the undecipherable entirely, and sub
stituted therefor 1 * copy-books, ten cents
each,” remarking confidently to a broth
er comp., “ Won’t that chap swear
when he reads his proof?” And he
will, of course ; but is there not some
thing suggestive in the sentence sub ti
tuted? If copybooks are only ten
cents each, why should not every law
yer in this city purchase one immedi
ately, and at once sot about improving
his chirogftiphy ?
Train i ag a Calf. —A country
clerk had a pet calf which he was
training up in the ways of the ox.—
The calf walked around very peaceably
under one end of the yoke while Mr.
Clerk held up the other end, but in an
unfortunate moment the man conceived
the idea of putting his own neck in the
yoke to let the calf see how it would
seem to work with a partner. This
frightened the calf, and, elevating his
tail and voice, he struck a “cead run”
for town, and Mr. Clerk went along,
with head down and his plug hat in his
hand, straining every nerve to keep up.
and crying out at the top of his voice :
“ Here we come, dang our fool souls ;
head us. somebody !’’—Marietta Jour
nal.
- r<= — ——
The day when a boy begins to fel
uneasy at being dependent upon some
ody else, is the day when his boyhood
begins to give wav to manhood. The
day when a girl finds somebody on
whom she is willing to depend, is that
in which she passes from girlhood to
womanhood.
A Boy’s Composition on Trees.
Most trees was once twigs, but some
was once acorns, which are not good to
eat, but some boys eat them, though,
and I think they are bad off A kiud
of a tree which was once a chestnut is
erood enough, but it is awful tall and
mighty scarce, because chestnuts is six
dollars a bushel, and they don’t give
hardly any for five cents, and so. I’d
rather buy a plug top.
But there is a kind o.' tree what they
make into home-made sugar with, and I
believe I like them kind the best, for,
if you can borrow a auger, you can spit
on your hands aud bore a hole iu them,
and then drive in a big elder, and you
can suck till you get sick if you suck
too much. Then you can leave the el
der in the hole, so that other boys will
get sick, just for spite.
There is a tree of heaven, which T
never could understand why they call
it so, and if they would talk me blind.
I wouldn’t believe it ever came from
there, for it don’t smell like it did. They
are the hateiujest tree which grows.
I don’t thipk the hop.ey-Lcust tree is
much liked, only by birds, for they
know that hoys can’t climb and get
their nests. The thorns are sharp as
tacks, and for my part it is the only
thing what I will take a dare on. 1
won’t climb a honey-locust tree for any
body. Honey-locusts are tolerable good
to eat, but they don’t fall till frost, and
boys haven’t got no time to wait for
frost, and so they throw clubs at them.
I despise a sycamore, for they nearly
always grow by the creek, just where
llie good holes is, and they root out in
the water, so when you go afishing and
you think you have got a chub, why,
you haven’t got no such thing, but you
get a line Moke, and get mad Then
there is a persimmon tree, which, if you
eat them before they get ripe, you can
whistle Shoo-fly and Hail Columbia both
at once.
A frc grows in our back yard, I
don't know its name, but a good many
of’ the small limbs is trimmed off of* it
My step-father cut them off one at a
time, as they were needed. If the wind
would blow that tree altogether,
or it 'would get blighted, I. would he
glad.
A tree is tlie most imturalest thing,
and they are like a school-master, be
cause no two of them is alike. These
trees which I spike about are found in
the woods, and lightning strikes them,
and any boy can find them what aint
too lafcy, but no boy can find the light
ning* Some of the Great Eastern was
once a tree, and a telegraph pole, also
once was, and so was a stump fence,and
some of the Erie railroad, and then you
will know that a tree is one of the use
fulest things which is. There is some
men which they call wooden men, but I
don’t know for certain if ever they was
trees.
But my finger is sore, and my pen it
must get mended; and so, respectful,
Jjoiin Glades.
Debt and Dishonesty.
One who is anxious to disc ver the
causes and remedies for the prevailing
lack of honesty traces the latter to the
credit system as the financial calamities
now upon us. A thousand honest men
are put at the mercy of a single dishon
est man b? pay his debts If the one
pockets his money and refuses to pay,,
he deprives a thousand who arc anxious
to do it. The best way to get capital
is to work for it. Work for wages till
you have money of your own. To use
another’s capital, if yoo lose it you must
replace it. When a man finds he ewes
more than he can pay, he begins to in
quire how he can get rid of his debt.
If ail he has will not pay all he owes,
then less than all, he thinks, will pay a
part, and he hides a .portion of all from
his creditors. Learn to make money a
year before you spend it, then you will
buy less and buy cheaper. Other things
being equal, dishonesty prevails in pro
portion so the facilities lor escaping ob
ligations The wise man has said that
the “ borrower is the servant to the lend
er,” and he ought to be till he returns
what he has borrowed. When one has
had the benefit of another's labor, prop
erty, person, skill and all are bound for
the equivalent. The ancient Roman
and Jewish codes held that a man’s life
and labor should he bound for his debts.
This may appear, and sometimes is, se
vere; but strict justice says, “ What
doth the Lord thy God require of thee
but to do justly ‘‘Owe no man any
thing,” if you can help it; but if you
d<>. place what you have at the disposal
of your creditor till all is paid.— X. I'.
Express.
The Chin.
Fortune tellers are generally skilfuil
physiologists, and all the features of the
human lace do their share in enlighten
ing the understanding of the seers. The
chin at the present day is rather diffi
cult to read on account of the increas
ing cm tom of wearing a beard. A goad
chin should neither project nor retreat
much. Avery retreating chin denotes
weakness, am: a very projecting one
harsh strength, united with firmness
amounting to obstinacy. A pointed
chin generally denotes acuteness. A
soft, fat. double chin generally denotes
a love of good living, and an angular
chin judgment and firmness. Flatness
of chin implies coldness; a round dim
pled chin, goodness; a small chin, fear;
sharp indentings in the middle of the
chin point to a cool understanding
The color and texture of the skin and
| of the hair and beard have also direct
harmony with the features. These
should be studied more than they have
been. A facility in drawing faces is of
great use to the student of physiogno
my, as it enables him to note peculiari
ties <>f feature which no written de
s scription would be capable of preserv
ing.— Exchange.
Irish Wit.
The Hon. S. S. Cox lecture:, recent
ly in the Cooper Union. New York, cn
“Irish Wit and Humor.”
The lecturer gave many illustrations
of what he viewed as essentially Irish
witticisms. The sharp retorts of Burke,
Grattan Phileips when pressed by their
adversaries of the bar and bench were
instanced. The wit of tbe uneducated
Irishman was exemplified by the story
of the pious man who desired the Lit
sacraments of his church. “You must,
to obtain final absolution,” said the
priest, “make a full and free confession
of your sins.” Under this injunction
the dying penitent unfolded such a long
and black eotalogue of crimes that tlte
priest was horrified. Shuddering un
der the contemplation of the penitent’s
sins, the Rev. Father Gallagher ex
claimed, “Did you ever do any good in
your life ?”
“Oh, yes,” replied the dying man. “I
once converted a Jew who died i:i the
faith.”
The proselyting of Israelites is such
an unfrequeut occurrence that the priest
was interested. “llow was that?” said
he. “ Well, you see,” said the dying
man, who wished to make an offset
against his larcenies and other crimes in
the Court of Heaven, “I was once or. a
flat boat in the Mississippi river. We
were tied up t) a big cottonwood tree,
and all the crew were off hunting for
watermelons except a Jew and myself.
He made me mad. and I knocked him
off the boat into the river, on the out
side. lie flouudered in the muddy wa
ter for a few minutes aud got hold of
the gunwales of the boat to climb back.
I took his hands and unclasping
them from the boat said. ‘Do you
believe in the Fuviour?’ ‘No,’said be.
Then I soused him under, and kept him
there a minute or so. I pulled him up
by the hair of his head. ‘ Do.j’ou be
lieve in the Saviour ?” I asked him
again. As soon as he had breath he
said ‘ No’ again, and I soused him un
der. When I brought him up again he
was spouting, and when l asked him a
third time, ‘Do you believe in the Snv*
iour ?’ be answered as soon as be could
get breath, ‘Yes, I dm’ ‘ Then die in
ilie faith,’ said I, an t I soused him un
der again and hold him down until he
was drowned He never had a chance
to recant his conversion.”
How to Core a Cold.
The whole fraternity of editors, and
all their readers owe a debt of grati
tude t.? one of their members, the edi
tor of the Danbury News, for a report
of the following case, instituted by.
though not practiced on himself, but by
one of his editorial corps, lie boiled a
little boneset and hoarheund together,
and drank freely of the tea before go
ing to bed. The next day he took five
pills, put one kind of planter on his
breast, another under his arms, and still
another on his back. Under advice
from an experienced old lady, he took
these off with an oyster knife in the af
ternoon, and slapped on a mustard plas
ter instead. His mother put some on
ion drafts on his feet, and gave him a
lump of tar to swallow. Then he put
some hot bricks to his feet and went to
bed. Next morning, another old lady
came in with a bottle of goose oil and
gave him a dose on a quill, and an aunt
arri r ed about the same time from
Bethel, with a bundle of sweet fern,
which she made into a tea and gave him
every half hour until noon, when he
took a big dose of salts. After dinner,
his wife, who had seen a fine old lady
of great experience in doctoring, on
Franklin street, gave him two pills of
her make, about the size of an English
walnut and of similar shape, and two
tablespoonfuls of home-made balsam to
keep them down. Th’.n betook a half
pint of hot rum, at the suggestion of
an old sea captain in the next house,
and steamed his legs with an alcohol
bath. At this crisis two of the neigh
bors arrived, who at once saw that his
blood was out of order, and gave half a
gallon of spearmint tea and a big dose
of castor oil. Before going to bed he
took eight of a tunv kind of pills,wrap
ped about his neck a flannel soaked in
hot vinegar and salt, and had feathers
burnt on a shovel in his room lie is
now thoroughly cured, and full of grat
itude— The Sanitarian.
The Old Oaken Bucket.
The “ Old Oaken Bucket” was writ
ten by Samuel 13. Woodworth, while
vet he was a journeyman printer work
ing in an office at the corner of Cham
bers and Chatham streets, New York.
Near by, on Frankfort street, was a
drinking house kept by a man named
Mallory, where Woodworth and several
particular friends used to resort. One
afternoon the liquor was super excellent.
Woodworth seemed inspired by it, for,
after taking a draught, he set his glass
upon the table, and smacking his lips,
declared Mallory’s eau de vie was su
perior to anything that he had ever
tasted.
“No,” said Mallory. “ you arc mista
ken; there was one wh'ch in both of
our estimations far surpassed this as a
drink.”
“What was that ?” asked Woodworth,
dubiously.
“ The draughts, of pure fresh spring
water that we used to drink from the
old oaken bucket that hung in the well
after our return from the labors of the
field on a sultry day.'’
The tear drops glistened for a mo
merit in Woodworth’s eye. “True,
trnr,” he replied, and shortly afterward
quitted the place. He immediately re
turned to the office, grasped a pen, and
in half an hour the “ Old Oaken Buck
et,” one of the most defightlul compo
sitions in our language, w’as ready in
manuscript to be embalmed in the
memories of succeeding generations.
VOLUME IV. —NO. 23.
FUKNT 1 GRAPHS.
Branch may take man to the pei.i
tenshary cr to the lunatic asylum, but
they don’t ofen fetch him up in Kon
grffis these days.
The editor of a country paper thinks
that fishing, as a general rule, doesn't
pay. lie says, “We stood it all day in
the river last week, but caught nothing
—until we got home.”
*' How does that look, eh ? ” said a
big-fisted man to a fri ml, holding up
one of his brawny hands. “ That,”
said the friend, “ looks as though you’d
gone short on your soap.”
A Barrister, blind of one eye, plead
ing with his spectacles on. said, “gen
tlemen, in my argument 1 shall use
nothing but what is necessary.” “Then”
replied a wag. “ take out one of the
glasses of your spectacles.”
A young lady says that a gentleman
ought never to feel discouraged when
the “momentous question” is negatived
by the object of his choice, “for in life,
as in grammar, we always decline before
we conj ugate.”
Someone calls the race of American
ladies indolent,” whereupon one of them
retorts, “ I wonder if that man ever re
flected upon the amount of shopping
we do, and the willingness with which
we do it ”
A paper publishes the following no
tice : *• L««st or strode from th sen bo r
a shepe all ovpr white —on • lrc was
black and half his body—all pv sons
shall receive one pound to bring him.
He was a she goto.”
Not long ago a young fellow paid bis
undivided attention to one of the *fair
sex, and concluded to pop the question
After much stammering and hesitation,
the young lady exclaimed: “I’m par
tially engaged, but my mother wants to
marry !”
“ There is one good thing about ba
bies,” says a late traveler; “ they never
change. We have girls of the period,
men of the world, but the baby is the
same self-possessed, fearless, laughing,
voraaious, little heathen in all ages and
in all countries.”
How doth the little busy pig im
prove each shilling horn, and gather
sausages all day from every opening
flower? And when the shades of twi
light fall, he slumbers in his stye, or
sings his his pretty evening hymn—
‘ Root, little pig, or die !”
“ Conductor, why didn’t you wake
me as 1 asked you 'i Here I am miles
beyond my station !” Conductor —“ I
did try, sir, but all I could get you to
say was, “All right, Maria, get the
children their breakfast and I’ll be down
in a minute !”
A remarkably dirty man stepped in
front cf a small boy sitting on a fence,
expecting to have some fun by chaffing
him. He sai 1: “ How much do you
weigh ?” The answer was : “ Well,
about as much as you would f you were
washed.”
“ Fat,” said a traveler, why did you
make the stone-wall around your shanty
so thick ?” “ Why. please your Hon
or, I he ir they have extraordinary high
winds in Ameriky, so I thought if I.
built it about as thick as it was high,
if it blew over it would bo just as high
as it was afore, your honor.”
Samivel Samivel, bevare, bevare of
-he viniuien as reads no newspapers. —
Your father married a vouian as read
none, and you're the sad consequence
You’re as hignorant as a ’orse. Hig«
norant people say its throwing away
money to take papers, and foolin’ away
t ime to read ’em.
A Vallejo, Cal., business man is said
to be the father of the following stan
zas: “The drummers came down like
wolves on the fold, their toes were all
frosted, their noses all cold; their
weather peeled bugles soon shone
through the town, they gobbled tbe
money and salted it down ; then took
a few orders, and lit out of here, with
their heads full of business and skins
full of beer.”
A Hartford man thinks, if it wasn’t
for newspapers, a man might get along
in this world. A letfT r advertised for
him was taken out bv his wife, who
happened to read the advt itisemcut first,
and as it was a communication to him
from a young woman living Sj > ii. _ field,
and gave him a blowing up for n<>t
meeting her on the train at Woioe-ii ; ,
last week, a little family difficulty has
arisen. But for the meddling newspa
pers the situation would have been dif
ferent.
Somebody in a Georgia court ap
plauded,” where up n'lie judge (we
quote from the Griffin Nowsj indignant
ly remarked; “Now dry that up: I
will let you know that this is no camp
meeting for exuberating your enthusi
asm ; this court shall be respected at
the risk of outraging tbe 17th com
mandment to the constitution ; and if
you open y< ur fly trap or pat-a-pat
with them number 14 brogans of your.s
again. I will send you to jail for thirty
days, w here you will remain without
the benefits of a damnum obtque inju-.
• Jf
ria.
“ Dear old Aunt Mary,” said a school
girl, “ don’t see very well, and last Sun
dav she was buzzing around getting
ready for church, looking for umbrellas,
overshoes, and last but not least, her
prayer-book. The latter she thought
she had secured by grabbing something
off her bureau at the last moment, but
when she go* to church it proved to be
my musical-box. and the old lady, in
tr.ing to find her place in this uncom
mon place book of prayer. D uohed tho
snring, and it went oft in fine style to
the tune of “ O, Jim Along, Jim Along
J> sy ”