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by FREEMAN & BRO.
g!u* (MUgwk ®iwcg.
Winding the Skein.
tv*
, J
Vi omtx has wiles
Wherewith she beguiles
Our sensitive sox, whose rceistoncc -.3 vain;
But phe’e no better plan
For inveigling r. man.
Ilian to get him to help her in winding a
skein.
Ilia glance fondly lingers
On deft, lil tie fingers ;
jjegt'ts into tangles again and again
Which while the unravels,
His focdd'ancy travels^
Xo tying a knot, and not winding a skein.
Why, heaven preservVus,
’Tis tit tc unuorve us,
To see with what case in the same we ore
taken;
And how slender the net
Into which we all get,
But cannot escape from iu winding a skein.
Though you’d fain remain single,
Your fingers will tingle,
You’ve blood to the heart, you’ve love on the
brain,
If but once you consent
To the treachery meant
By the harmless employment of winding a
skein.
A DROVER AND MS CHILD.
A TOUCHING STORY.
| My name is Antony Hunt. lam a
(Jrover, and [ live miles and miles away
out on the western prariea.
One day, about ten years ago, I went
away from home to sell sortie fifty' head
of cattle —fine creatures as I ever saw.
1 was to buy some groceries and dry
goods before I went, and above all, a
tloll for our youngest Dolly. She had
never had a store doll of her own, only
the rag baby her mother had made for
her.
Dolly could talk of nothing else, and
went down to the very gate to call after
me to “buy a big ’un.” Nobody but a
parent could understand how full my
mind was of that toy, and how, when
the cattle were sold, the first thing I
hurried off to buy was Dolly’s doll. I
found a largo one with eyes that would
open and shut when you pulled a wire,
and had it wrapped in paper and tucked
it under my arm, while I had the par
cels of calico and delane and sugar and
tea put up. Then, late as it was, I
started for home. It might have been
more prudent to stay till morning, but
I felt anxious to get home and eager to
hear Dolly’s prattle about her toy.
I was mounted on a steady-going old
horse of mine, and pretty well loaded.
Night set in before I was a mile from
jfcvn, and settled dark as pitch while I
ia the middle of the darkest bit of
road I know of. I could have felt my
way through, I knew it so well, and 1
v. doing so, almost, when the storm
that had been brewing broke, and pelt
el the rain in torrents, while I was five
or sis miles from home.
3 rude rs last as I could, but nil of a
s ’iddjn I heard a little child's voice; 1
topped short and listened—l heard it
a g‘in. I called and it answered. I
c ridn’t see a thing—all was dark as
pitch. I got down and felt about the
erars—called again, and again was an
sweved. Then I began to wonder. I
: ; m n, tt timid, but I was known to be a
(ir -'OL, and to have money about me. —
It might be a trap to catch me una
v’ i,r<: A and rob and murder mo.
lui not f aperstitious—riot very; but
‘ ;0K ’ could a real child be out on the
] raine ia such a night, and at such a:;
k° ur ■ It might be more than human.
ibe bit of coward that bides itself
!a na t men showed itself in rue then,
; n ii 1 was half inclined to run away,
but ooee mom I heard that cry, and I
taid:
‘ 3i any man’s child is hereabout,
-vntony Hunt is not the man to let it
die.”
t searched again.
A: last I bethought me of a hollow
1J1 "-r the hill, and groping that way,
'“ rc eaouuh, I found a little dripping
. , n § *A.at moaned and sobbed as I took
hi my arm 3. I ea'ied my horse, and
beast came to me. I mounted, and
- 'bed the little thing under my coat as
* eri as I could, promising to take it
|OUiQ to mammy. It seemed tired to
, 'y-'atb, a boost, and pretty soon it cried
u »eit to sleep against my bosom.
, • had slept there ever an hour when
p*y own windows. There were
wi r an d l supposed my wife
hi them for my sake ; but when I
h' 1 ln the yard, I raw something was
J:**- matter, and stood still, with a dead
; live minutes before i could
u ll ’- e hitch. At last, I did it, and saw
of neighbors, and my wife
11 y,‘!f ’ ai 'dst of them weeping.
J} en she saw me she bid her face.
bi “’” Btesoid ’ “**
)' s ! lat 23 it, neighbors ?” I cried.
; Vn and one said :
. Nothing now, I hope—what is that
u Jouraruig?”
it ? K)v: child,” said I; “I found
m U . L ‘ c roa d.” I then lifted up the
n 8- saw the face of my
ch ‘!d, my little Dolly.
p n;i t r's ni y.darling, and none other,
road picked up on the drenched
had wandered out to
fti.fj, ,jil ddy” and the doll, while her
t], 7 W;i; j at work, and they were
fi lor as one dead.
1 , I?u h L 'd Heaven on my knees be
them all. J
U)Q ch of a story, neighbors,
w ( ; tu . it often in the night,and
1 1, V* iOW h could bear to live now if
for i, i not Bto PP e d when I heard the cry
cr./V*' ’*t' u the road, the little baby
ehi ; r dl y louder than a “squirrel’s
. •*-*-»>
a L:ti ‘ lUia o lnar y quantity—A lady’s
| A'FIRST-CLASS GHOST STOR .
I was seated iu a comfortable comparts
ir.ent in a first-class railway carriage at
London Bridge Railway station on the
21th of December. The weather was
horribly cold, and the wind was very
high. 1 had my evening paper already
cut by my side, and my Bradshaw was
in r.y hand ; but they were at preseut
both unheeded, for my thoughts were
far away down the line, forty miles down
to Nettleton, where I was going to spend
my Christmas holidays with my uncle,
Arthur Blucher, a few cousins and Bes
sie Noland. "When I say that iny un
cle and cousins were second and third
in my thoughts, T need hardly explain
that Bessie was my sweetheart —rather
an old fashioned word,, but I have to
use it. I had won her after a courtship
of twelve months ; and I thought my
self the happiest of young fellows and
the luckiest cf mankind. I. need not
attempt to describe my Bessie, for that
can only be done by photograph. She
was very pretty, very sensible, beloved
by everybody, and adored by me. I
had parted with her in the autumn; al
though every week brought me a kind,
gentle letter from her, we had not met
since saying good bye at the Barmouth
station, North Wales, when she went to
stop at Nettleton, and I returned to grim
old law in my chambers, New-inn, Lin
coln’s-inn. How slowly the time drag
ged on, to be sure ! There never could
have been a windier or a more cheerless
October than in that year, nor a duller
or darker November. I could find no
charm in the London theatres, in spite
of the novelties produced. The news
papers were stupid, and the magazines
barely readable. My friends, too,some
how or other, became wearisome. John
son’s puns fell fiat; Robinson’s practic
al jokes lost their charms ; and Smith
and Jones’ parties bored me. I wanted
Christmas to come us quickly as possi
ble. and yet Old Time would not go any
faster in spite of my 1 retting. But -at
last the day arrived for my departure.
1 had packed my portmanteau two days
before it was necessary. I had studied
my route until I knew the stations b ir
heart, aud I found myself at London
Bridge station a good half hour before
the train was advertised to start. 1 im
mediately “my ” train —I had known
this 5:55 for so many weeks that I look
ed upon it in the light of personal prop
erty —backed into its position, i in
sisted on taking seat, although the
guard assured me we shouldn’t be off
for a quarter of an hour, if then. Nev
er mind, I felt happier and less restless
in the carriage, ‘knowing that it was
something somehow connected with
Nettleton and my visit. OuY train, ac
cording to the time tables, did not stop
anywhere after passing Croydon, but
ran right into Nettleton junction—ig
noring Reigate, Little Houghton and
Hush ley. So, giving a shilling to the
guard, I requested him to lock the door,
and L was left to my cigar, my evening
paper, and my Bessie.
The station was thronged with holi
day makers of all, grades of society,
pushing, squeezing, shouting, but all
bent on one object—to get good places
in their various trains. I’oor guards,
how 1 pitied them ! and bow i admired
their coolness and clear-headedness in
the midst of such a babel of tongues !
Should we ever start, I asked myself, as
I leaned out of the window for the
twentieth time, lea; surely those are
“our” doors being slammed to; that is
our guard whistling and holding up bis
hand ; and that brisk, determined whis
tle belongs to our engine—we were off!
As we slowly glided out of the station
I was somewhat surprised to see a tall,
lank, white-faced gentleman walk up
to my carriage door, which I paid the
guard to lock, open it, step in, end take
his scat oppositejnc. lie was a. most
peculiar-looking individual. His lace
very long and painfully white; his eye
was bright and restless ! his hinds, in
eased in black bid gloves, had the ap*
pcaraace of possessing a good deal of
bone; bis legs were awkwardly long;
and, to add to his eccentricity, his head
was quite bald, and shone like-a plain
white billiard ball. On entering the
carriage he bowed to me, cud after care
fully gazing around him, smiled—such
a smile 1 and taking cut a black covered
book, coiled himself up in a corner and
ocried himself ia its contents. This
strange being puzzled me considerably.
What could he be ? Perhaps a Doctor.
No—his appearance would terrify any
nervous patient. A lawyer —possibly ;
an escaped lunatic, more probably. J
determined to speak to him ; for though
I was not a coward, I did not like the
man. There was something unearthly
about him; for now and then he would
put down bis book, gaze on the lamp
above him, and laugh quietly, then fix
ing his c-yes on me for a second, would
reiapse into a smile and contiea ■ his
reading. “Do you object to smoking?”
I asked —I own with an effort. He
took no notice of me. 1 repeated (he
question ; but in lieu of replying he
twisted himself into an easier position,
and went on with the black bound book.
“ I eh all not be at all sorry, when we
gel to -Nettle-ton,” I thought to myself,
as I threw my cigar away and took up
the paper. “ 1 don’t relish this super
human fellow passenger at all. Wei!,
as there’s no chance of release for two
good hours, 1 may as weil make the
best of it.” 1 tried to load, but could
not fix my thoughts on any subject; so
I soon gave it up. a.id tried to lose my
'self in dreamland. But at first I could
not sleep; for whenever 1 happened to
look up, 1 found my horrible compan
ion’s eyes fixed on mine. A cold per
spiratiou came over me every time I
looked on him; so I summoned uo
courage and said somewhat sharply, “ I
think you are very rude to stare at me
so, sir; if you have anything to say bo
CALHOUN, GA., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 28, 1874.
me, be good enongh to speak." He
smiled, and looked out of the window
for a moment, sighed, aud changed his
seat. I must have soon fallen into a
doze, but how long I slept I have little
idea. When I awoke, I felt the carri
age oscillating violently, and to my hor
ror and surprise, my companion had
gone ! Yes, I was alone in the carri
age! In another moment the air was
filled with shrieks of agony and yells of
despair, the escape at steam and the
crashing of wood. My carriage shook
and groaned, and then tottered over on
its side down an embankment; but,
luckily for me, I was, with the excep
tion of a few bruises, unhurt. O, what
a sight was before I The 5:55 from
London had run'into a goods train, and
lay before me a wreck. Women, chil
dren aud men were buried beneath the
debris, whilst some, like me, had es
caped without a scratch. We rendered
the help ail that lay in our power to the
poor creatures, and it was not until the
sun had] risen that we got sufficient
hands together to clear the line.
Twenty-five people were killed in this
awful accident, and over thirty severely
wounded.
The fewMays’leisure that 1 had al.<
lowed myself went quickly enough ; and
my Nettleton visit was soon a thing of
the past, aud I was once again hard at
work in the Inn. At times my thoughts
would turn to the events of Christmas
Eve; and though I strove to erase the
recollection from my mind, I could not
forget my fellow-traveler. I read books
on spiritualism ; and in spite of argu
ments with friends, and several serious
conversations with my relatives, 1 be
came a believer in ghosts. H kept the
truth from Bessie; for I knew that she
would be broken-hearted if she knew
•that I had become a disciple of the
spiritualists. I was very unhappy and
unsettled -, my health was none of the
best ; my spirits were low, and my en
ergy flattered considerably. So the
long year passed away, and Christmas
came again. I was as-’usual to spend
my few days’ holiday at Nettleton; and
1 found myself once more in a first-class
carriage by myself at 5:55 on the 24th
of December.
The door opened and he entered the
carriage, smiied in the same death-like
manner as he had twelve months ago,
took his seat, produced the black buok
and read in silence. I do not think I
was very much seeiug him,
for he had been in my “mind’s eye" all
the year ; but a cold perspiration came
over me; I. felt a sinking at my heart,
and an aching, throbbing pain flew to
my bead. “ Man—if man you be," I
said, fixing m3’ eyes on the figure, “if
you have come to warn me of any com
ing danger, speak to me now. I am
brave enough to hear the worst." He
lifted his eyes from his book, yawned,
closed the volume and settled himself
to sleep. “No," I cried, “you shall not
evade my question. You. must answer
me. W fiat will happen ? Why are you
here ?” He roused himself and looked
at me with a smile upon his hard lips;
he then took out a small pocket-book,
and wrote Am a pa gov which heffiore out
and handed me, these words, “We shall
meet to-night. ’
Ij’eud the jive words eve Hand over
ngaiii.jbuHcould not fathom theirmean
ing. I was painfully certain, in my
own mind, that some other terrible ca
lamity somekiud or other would
happen before longhand that I read my
warning on the piece of paper I held
in my hand, i kept my eyes fixed ou
him for some time; but nature at
length ruled, and I fell asleep—not in
to a sound slumber, but into a troubled,
fretful series of dozes of an unrefreshing
feverish character. I was aroused by
the train slackening speed, and on look
ing out of the window found we Lad
arrived at Nettleton junction and I -was
the. only occupant efi the carriage !
Hastily gathering my traps together, I
got out of the haunted carriage, and in
quired of a porter if my uncle had
sent over any for mo. Yes,
there was the dog-cart. saving
the station I asked the if
he was sure that the train frourn which
I had just alighted was the express
from town ? “Yes sir,” was his an
swer, “through from London Bridge.”
What an awful ride I had on teat dark
Chaistmas eve ! At every turn of the
road 1 thought we should be overturn- 1
ed ; whenever the horse improved hi,:
pace.l made up my mind that he bad
bolted ; but in spite of my fears, we
arrived safely at the Nettletca House,
find received a hearty welcome, an of
yore.
All agreed fhafc I was looking far
from well. “ Bless the boy,’ 2 said my
aunt, “ you look as pale as ihough you’d
seen a ghost.” I stammered out some
thing about the closeness of London,
and went up stairs to dress for din
id 3 r •
How i got through the meal I have
very little idea. Bessie must have
thought me very stupid, for I made
few remarks, and answered her ques
tions in monosyllables. There was to
be a dance —as usual—in the evening,
and l was engaged, of course, to Bessie
for the opening quadrille ; but I made
so many foolish blunders, and, as my
sweetheart tld me, looked eo very un
well. that I was fain to leave off.
“ Come into this non:, dear,” Bes
sie said; “ It in cooler there and more
quiet.”
We entered. I started back with a
look of horror on my face ; for there,
by the mautleshelf, stood my mysterious
railway companion with a glass of sher
ry in his hand.
“ Bessie,” I said earnestly, “ rotne
away ; come away, for Heaven’s sake!”
“Why, what ever is the matter,
Charley ? You look so terribly fright
ened,” she said.
But I heeded her not; for I could
not think*of anything hut the phantom
before me He approached, with that
cursed smile upon his face, and held
out his hand.
Bessie looked up laughingly at hi
face, and said, “Charlie, won’t you
shake hands with Dr. Linton ?”
“ Who —who is he?" I asked.
“ Why, Doctor Linton, the deaf and
dumb gentleman.”
For a moment v\y brain whirled
round, and i can remember but indis
tinctly what immediately followed. I
saw Bessie making signs with her fin
gers, and the Doctor replying to her in
the same manner. This is what I learn
ed in calmer moments.
The Doctor was deaf and dumb, and
ticket holder on the line ; and
as he could not always make the por
ters understand, he was allowed a pri
vate key. He lived at a little village
some five miles from the London side cf
Nettleton, and the managers of the
liuo steppec the 5:55 for him out of
courtesy.
So my'ghost vanished with the ex
planation. I shook him warmly bv the
handy and, with the assistance cf my
Bessie, informed him of my doubts and
fears, at which lie laughed heartily.—
My spirits soon returned, and by the
lime the last dance j was announced no
one was happier than myself. Bessie
and I were married the following Christ
mas, and conspicuous among our guests
wasmy “ First Class Ghost,."
Light Words.
Nothing ia fraught with more signif
icance than "the interchange of words
that is going oa in the world indicative
of thought and expressive of ideas, or
idle, careless and light as wisps before
the wind.
Words, words everywhere, but so few
ideas among them ! People reflect lit
tle before speaking. Is it not strange
when, once spoken, not a word can be
recalled or blotted from existence ?
Harsh, where gentleness were better
deserved; kind, where reproof were but
to honor arid thoughtless where earnest
consideration were necessary—this is
the way things work at cross purposes
and the ends of ultimate good to all are
temporarily conf>u nd e d.
There is so little earnestness aud sin
gleness of purpose in the average hu
man heart, that almost every one drifts
with circumstances and thinks and
speaks from impulse, or speaks without
thinking.
There are times when light words
sink deep and pervert to bad uses that
which Imre been given in a good cause.
Happy hearts are often saddened, bright
•homes darkened and sunny days made
tedious and lonely by words which
might have never been spoken had but
one sober thought intervened.
It is so easy to make people happy 7
and so difficult to eradicate trouble and
drive away care, that light words which
convey discomfort ought almost to be
cause for criminal jictioa.
If a thief steals your clothes, furni
ture or stock, the law affords redress :
but an addlebrained vender of gossip
can walk in and demolish your house
hold god of love and affection, leaving
the sacred fires smoldering to ashes on
the hearth and there is no help for it.—
Elm Orion.
Can You Afford It 2
There is a vast difference between a
discreet thoughtfulness for future exi
gencies in money matters and never be
ing satisfied with enough.
ft <3
The first proceeds from common
sense, and may be accompanied with a
most generous spirit, which could never
become debased v iih loving money for
its own take. The latter comes from a
miserly,grasping soul that always craves
more gold.
There is uo virtue in neglect of bus
iness interests under any circumstances.
Generosity is not involved. Before
there is any dignity ia inidscriuiinate
giving, you must bo able to afford lib
erality.
A slovenly man may congratulate
himself upon not being Vain, but unti
dy personal habits are none the less
grievous faults. A slack man efi busi»
ness may nut clear out the pigeon holes
of his desk, or wipe the dust from his
account books more than once in a quar
ter and thereby pride himself upon be
ing an easy creditor whom all men
should revere for his disregard of mon
ey interests. Bat that is not the way
to do business, and more likely proceeds
from laziness than generosity. Some
people are toe lazy to live regularly.—
Elm Orion .
Lord Macahty has been present at
a Chinese theatrical performance. !i he
building, including lodgings for the ac
tors. gardens, Ac., occupies a bite which
covers a square mile. The performances
lust, twelve days and twelve nights with
out interruption. The twelfth day wa»
of course the crowning day. It repre
sented the “Marriage of the Earth a id
Ocean,” when every animal was repre
sented, from the elephant down to the
donkey: after which the ocean offered
its steamers, rocks, corals, mermaids,
and whales, the final effect being pro
duced by u whale t-htowing a cascade of
water ovi-r the stage without hitting any
one in the house. Thereupon the Chi
nese enthusiasm knew no bounds, and
the audience reproached Lord Macarty,
whose english blood was not stirred by
the cry of “ liaehowny haho i” The
fun of it is. the audience come and go,
eat ar.-A sleep, rarely leaving the build-'
ing'dur.ng the twelve days of the per
formance.
—
Coleridgb, when lecturing, as a
young* man, was once violently hms-d
He immediately retorted :**When a cold
stream of truth is poured on red hot
prejudices no wonder they hiss.”
(auf-es jef Poor Scholarship.
TI . ro is a good story with a moral to
it fur boys—and adults also.
A bv'} r returned from school one day
with a report that bis scholarship had
fallen below the usual average.
“ Weil." said his father, “you’ve full
on behind this month, have you ?"
“ Yes, sir."
“ llow did that happen ?”
“ Don’t know sir.”
The father knew if the son did not.
Tie had observed a number of cheap
novels scattered about the house; but
had not t thought it worth while to eay
anjghiug until a fitt’ng opportunity
should offer itself. A basket of ap
ples stood upon the floor, and he said.
“Empty out those apples, and take
the basket and bring it to me half full
of chips."
Suspecting nothing, the son obey
ed.
“ Now.” he continued, “put tho6e ap
ples back into the basket.”
When half the apples were replaced,
the son said :
“ Father, I can’t put in any more,
they roll off."
“ But them in, I tell you.”
“ But father, i can’t put them in”
“ No, of course you can’t put themjic.
Do you expect a basket lull’ filled with
chips to hold a basket full of apples ?
You said you didn’t know why you foil
behind at school, and I will tell you.—
Your mind is like that basket. It will
not hold more than so much. And here
you’ve been the past month filling it up
with chip dirt—cheap novels.”
The boy turned on his heel, whistled,
and said :
“ Whew : the point.”
TVaterprooffi.
A writer iu a scientific paper says :
“ By-the way, speaking of waterproofs,
I think I can give travelers a. valuable
hint or two. For many year3 I have
worn India rubber waterproofs, but I
will buy no mere, fori have learned
that good Scotch tweed can be made en
tirely impervious to rain, and, morever,
I have learned to make it so; aud, for
the benefit of your readers, I wil 1 give
the recipe : In a bucket of sjft water
put half a pound of sugar of load and
half a pound of powdered alum; stir
this at intervals, until it becomes clear,
then pour it off into another hue vet,
and put the garment therein, and let
it be in for twenty-four hours, and then
hang it up to dry without wringing it.
Two of my party —a lady and gentle
man—have worn garments thus treated
iu the wildest storms of wind and rain,
without getting vret The rain hangs
upon the cloth in globules. In short,
they were really waterproof. The gen
tleman, pi fortmghty s ago, walked nine
miles in a storm of rain and wind such
as you rarely see in the South, and
when he slipped off his overcoat his un
derwear was as dry as when lie put it on.
This i3, 1 think, a secret worth know
ing ; for cloth, if it can be made to keep
-out wet, is, in every way, better than
what we know as waterproofs.”
It is a noteworthy fact that no two
countries have the same weights and
uieaurcft, though the same name to des
ignate them may be usedsfti several na
tions. Take the mile measure, for in
stance. In England and the United
States, a mile means i,760 yards; in
the Netherlands, it is 1,098 yards;
while in Germany it is 10,120 yards, or
nearly six English miles, and in France
it is 3,025 yards. The Scotch mile is
1,984, and the Irish 2.038 yards; the
Spanish is 2,472"Jrards,*and the Swed
ish mile 11,700 yards. Those are com
puted in English yards ; but this yard
of itself, of three feet in length, has di
vers .significations in different places.
Thus, the English yard is 36 inches;
the French 39.13 inches. The Geneva
yard is 57.00 , the Aus train, 37 35 ;
the Spanish, 38.04; the Prussian, 36.57;
the Russian, 39.51. For measures of
capacity, the dissimilarity is still wider
and more perplexing—showing the
great need of some fixed basis or sys
tem of international uniformity.
Clean Teeth. —IT you will only
keep your teeth clean they will not de»
cay. The wonderful dentrificea which
are sold at fabulous prices are greatly
inferior to a simple mixture of s up am*,
prepare:! chalk, with a little something
like orris root; but the essential arti
cles. are eoap and chalk. The druggist
will prepare you enough for a quarter of
a dollar to last a long time. \Vhen you
go to bod, with a broad, soft tooth-brush
go through the mouth thoroughly. If
disposed to a bad mouth, you may re
peat the dose in the move log. But the
principal article lev keeping the teeth
clean is a tooth-pick, a soft goose quill,
which you must use after eating, no
matter though it is a piece of apple,
and if convenient, after the pick use s
mouthful of water to rinse from between
the teeth what the pick may have left.
—Dio Lewis in To day.
Taepe is a woman ia Port Perry ;
who makes her husband’s breeches the j
same before as behind. It confuses him
so that when he starts out after dinner
she has to stand him ia the street and
point him in the right way, as he says
those breeches t> :c no guide to which di
rection he shall take.
Thee* is nothing like economy.—
iuo men, it is web known, who pick up
oias in the street always become mil
lionaires if they live long enough.—
There is an officer iu Massachusetts who
proudly shows a lead pencil which he
has used for nine years, and yet h is
little more than hall- gone now.
■»
Why is our milktr.au like Pharaoh’s
daughter? Because he takes a little
profit (prophet) out us the water.
iTN;iTE3iS.j
The dyiog request of a man recently
huag in Nevada was for a clear, a min
ister, throe cheers, and a New Yak pa
per.
Schoolmaster : “ What is noth
ing ?” Boy : “It is when a man asks
you to hold his horse, and just says*
* Thank you/ ”
If the united power of all agricultu
ral colleges would teach us how to : row
good crops of potatoes, we would be
thankful.
“What is a more exhiiaraliag Right.”
asks a Vermont paper, “than to see
eighteen handsome girls riding dawn
hill on an 'ox sled ?”
A cabinet-maker explained that he
had to aek a hi Mi price for coffins, be
cause they never came tack for re
pairs.
What cord is that which U full of knots
which no one can untie, and in which
no one cau tie another ? A cord cf
wood.
It is fortunate there are no female
legisLtoresses in Mississippi where or.: 1
Iluggins is candidate for speaker of
j the house.
At a recent dinner of shoemakers the
following toast was given : ■ May we
have all the women hi the country to
shoe arid di the men to boot.”'
Let no man boast him that ho is safe
now a-days. Notice of a suit for breach
of promise was last weik served on a
convict in the Indiana penitentiary.
A girl, hearing her uibstress ask her
husband to bring “ Dombey and Ron
with him when he came home to din -
ner, set two extra plates for the expect
ed quests.
“ What cornea after TV* asked a
teacher of a soiail pupil, who was learn
ing the alphabet. He received the
bewildering reply: “You do—to sec
’Liza.”
A Kentucky paper, in announcing si
Sunday-school picnic, “ truly hopes
that our citizens wil', for once, have
their bowie-knives and revolvers at
home.”
An old maid suggests that when men
break their hearts it is all the same as
when a lobster breaks one of his claws
—another sproutes immediately, aud
grows iu its place.
“I would advise you te put your iteau
b:> a dye-cup ; it’s rather red/’ said a
j- «.*r to a sandy-haired girl. “ 1 vrouid
ad *l*o you to put yours la an oven;
ib rather soft,” said Nancy.
A lawyer urose iu the midst of a ease
at {'hicago, the other day, and said :
“ /lay it please the court, there’s a fight
out-duors, and I «usk for a short ad
journment.” The court went out with
him.
A teacher said to a little girl at
school; u lf a naughty girl should
hurt you, like a good girl, you would
forgive nor, wouldn’t you f” “ Yes,
ma’am,” she replied, “If I couldn’t
catch her!”
“ Good morning,” said a compositor
to the head of a flourishing family,
“have you any daughters who would
makegood typesetters?” “No, but I
have a wife that would make a very
good devil.”
That horrible Jenkins avers that the
young ladies of Vessar College, Pough
keepsie, arc credited with drinking 15U
pounds of butter and 40 pounds of su
gar for pudding sauce for one dinner.—
The quantity of pickles and slate pen
cils is not slated.
Two Irishmen were in prison—one
for stealing a cow, the other for steal
ing a watch. ‘ Hullo, Mike, and sure
what o'elock. it iu?" said the cow steal
er. “ An’ sure," said the watch ste„<
er, “ I’ve no timepiece handy, bui- -ap
pose it’s jisk about milking tii»'.”
A woman in Louisville, Tcnn., re
cently enecuod a false Voth out while
feeding her chickens, and one of them
picked .i up, whereupon the won m
caught the ofiickea, cut open the <
and, having taken oat the tooth, eewed
>1 up again, And that chicken is as
proud us a credit ia obilierist.
Daughter of the house (to & privi
-1 old friend of the family j. !*
Mr. Lupus, you don’t seem to Ire en
joying yourself. I should so. oke to
have you wa ] tz this cnce with me."
Privileged old friend—"Tly dear child,
I don’t dance, but if it suite you, I
wouldn’t mini sitting here with my
arms around your waste while the oth.
ers are making themselves dizxy."
“ You bev heeru, gentlemen of jury,"
caid an eloquent advocate, “ hav
beer a the witness swear he saw the
prisoner raise hid gun; you her hecru
him swear he saw the flash and hm.-rn
the report j you hey heern him sw.-.r
b<* dug ihr* bullet out with his jack
knife, and you bev reeu the bullet pro
duceu ia courtj but v?aor, gentlemen,
wbar, I ask you, is the man who saw
that bullet hit that dog."
lasect3 generally must lead a truly yo
vd lit®. Think what it must be to
i dge ia a h!y ! Imagine a palace of
ivory or pear s, with pillars of silver
and capitals of gold, ali exhaling such
a perfume as never arose from human
c.user 1 Faacy, again, the fuu of tuck
iag yocrscll up for the night in the
fold., ci rote, rocked to Bleep bv the
geutei sighs of the Etrjuncr air, and
nothing to do when yea awake but to
wash yourself iu a dew-drop, aud tc.
ail to and eat your bed-clothes ! * One
c annot indeed wonder at the aaioni* v
f au car-wig, or the suavity of a lady
ird, under such circumstances.
VOLUME IV. —NO. 2(1.
HOUSEHOLD HINTS*
Kgg ast> Milk —Beat separately
the and white of « fresh egg ; add
to fqo yolk a lutubicr of cold milk.—
Sweeten it with white sugar to t<i£tc,
and then stir in the white.
How to Ci.fam Bonks.—Soda ash,
1 lb ; lime (.burned), 1 lb.; hot water,
3 quarts. Mix ami soak the bones for
34 hours in the liquid ; wash them
thoroughly and bleach them.
Clove Basket. —Soak the cloves in
brandy till softened—pierce them with
holes and string them on wito inter
mixed with gay beads, and now form
the basket to fancy.
Trench Polish for Leather.—
-tessoive IS grams of shellac iu 5 grams
of turpentine j-nd 40 grams of alcohol,
and add to k I gram extract logwood
and some chromate of potash and sul
phate of indigo. •
Golden Pudding.— S;i ounces
bread crutnl s, two ounces fl.oir, one
quarter pound suet, cue-quarter p umt
ui orange marmalade, one-quarter p mid
sugar, three eggs, with sufficient milk
to mix; bo: for two hour-5.
To Take Pimples from the Face.
—Take occasionally a spoonful of mag,
nesia ia a tumbler ot water, to which
the juice cf a lemon has been added,
or get a chemist to m; ke up fur you
some potash rills. Also use the carbol
ic soap for Washing.
Waterproof Composition for
Boots and Shoes.--Boiled oil half a
pint; oil of turpentine, black resin.and
beeswax, of each one ounce and a half.
Melt the wax and rosin, thou stir in oil,
remove the pot from the fire, and when
it- has cooled a little add the turpen
tine.
Kioe Pudding.—Two quartsof milk;
a quarter of a pound of rice; sugar to
taste; half a nutmeg (grated); a small
piece of butter. Pick and wash the
rice, add all the ingredients and boil tho
whole until the rice is perfectly soft.—
If the pudding should then seem rather
too thin, let it boil away a little more.
Substitute for Bottle Wax
Take 400 grams ot plaster of Paris,
000 grams white English cement, 500
grams chalk, 200 grams dextrine, 5 lit
ters alcohol varnish, 4 and a sufficient
quantity of ochre, or other coloring ma
terial to produce the color desired. The
necks of the bottles are dipped into this
mixture uud allowed to dry.
Cold Slaw. —Get & fresh cabbage,
take off the outside leaves, cut in half,
and with a sharp knife shave it into fino
slips. Beat up two eggs, add to it one
gill of vinegar and water mixed ; place
it on the range; when it begius to
thicken, stir in a piece of butter the
size of a email walnut, a little salt and
a teaepoonlul of sugar ; when cold.pour
it over the cabbage, and stir it togeth
er; then before sending to table, sprin
kle with a little black pepper.
Poisonous Plants and Insects.—
Many persons are very susceptible to
the poisouous influences of vegetable
substances; and poison ivy and poison
oak are highly injurious to the skin,
and produce excessively painful sores.
When burning and itching first com
mence if the skin be painted with a
thick whitewash made out of a handful
of uuslacked lime dissolved in just
enough water to form a substance that
will cling to the flesh, these sores will
subside very quickly. Often one appli
cation is sufficient, but if not, put it on
two, three, or more times, until the lime
klils the poison entirely. If the skin
has become broken, however, this rem
edy may be too severe; but a salve iu»d j
by pouting liquid, ammonia i"tj sweet
o:I, stirring it rapidly until it !'< rtns a
thick puite, and t.*-- applying it on a
I **!oth to the surface, vriil extract the
poison. For curing the stings of bees,
hornets, and spiders, com nu n fine salt
and bicarbonate of rodi,in c :ual parts,
is the best remedy. Pub the powder
well into the bite, and repeat the appli
cation if the paiu and tes not cease. If
the soda is not at hand, soft soap, made
of wood ashes, will often cure the pain.
Fnlcratus, in T toned to a pa-te and r-’
bed into the skin is also a good t* inedv
The poison of those -* „ f,’
1 . "** • a rectly to
of it, U very efficacious.
Don’t Lsg no Much Cam hi on
The physiological act if u of camphor i-,
not fully u;;d. r.-toud. but judging from
the effects which follow the taking of a
moderate dose, it may be called a ner
vous stimulant. It is therefore akin to
opium and alcohol,and if sufficient quan
tities arc imbibed it will undoubtedly
produce convulsi' ns tnd death Itsex-
use is the cause of dyspepsia,
ulceration of the stomach, torpidity of
the liver, and general nervous dauntal
iptions. In mo.-.t >V# England ihini-
Ibes of camphor is considered quite as
indispensable as salt p >rk, and th* bot
tle is kept as carefully filled as the bar
rel. If anybody Las a headache, the
forehead is bathed with camphor; docs
an aching tooth make life u burden,
cotton soaked in camphor is apnlied to
the throbbing grinder, and an aching
ear is stopped with the same prepara
tion; a tea-povnful of this omnipotent
drn ;.•;$ a• i • ; ;' ■ and • , U
matic limb is soothed by its application.
Camphor is rubbed on baby’s gums du
riug the teething process, and when
Tommy stubs'his t< e, the hov/I is quiet
ed and the pain alleviated by camphor.
El fine, Vhat i.5 there iu the way of ills
that flesh is heir to, which docs not ov> u
the conquers - g*’p, r, r h i the odorous
exudation ol the Luarus Camphors ?
it is absolutely cruel to banish this
remedy frmn the hou . hold vvithoutsug
gestiag something to Inhabits pin re.