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BY D. B. FREEMAN.
CALHOUN TIMES
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Western & Atlantic Ilailroad.
DAY PASSENGER TRAIN —OUTWARD,
Leave Atlanta -8:40 a . M
An-ive Calhoun UfftO p ‘ M
<* Chattanooga.. 350 r. M
DAY PASS KNURR TRAIN —INWARD.
Leave Chattanooga 5:15 p. si.
Arrive Calhoun vS : 2J A ‘ M *
“ Atlanta l-,:oo p. m.
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.. Atlanta l Q i° B A - M
& SJusUwsss ©unlsi.
"I? J. KIKER & SON,
attorneys at law,
Will practice in all the Courts of the Cher
okee Circuit; Supreme Court, ot Georgia, and
the United States District Court at Atlanta,
Ga. Office: Sutheast corner of the Court
House, Calhoun, Ga.
attorneys at law,
CALHOUN, GA
Will practice in all the Superior Courts of
Of Cherokee Georgia, the Supreme Court of
the State rtfld the United States District and
Circuit courts, at Atlanta.
TV AN KIN & NEEL,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
CALHOUN, GA.
Office : Court House Street.
J D. TINSLEY,
Watch-Maker & Jeweler,
CALHOUN, GA.
All styles of Clocks, Watches and Jewelry
neatly repaired and warranted.
JJUFE WALDO THORNTON, D. D. S..
DENTIST.
Office over Geo. W- Wells & Co.’s Agricul
tural Warehouse. _____
jyriss C. A. HUDGINS,
Milliner & Mantua-Maker,
Court House St., Calhoun
Patterns of the latest styles and fashion
for ladies just received. Gutting and
making done to order.
TirUSIC! MUSIC!
i.y i A large variety of new and select music
direct from Philadelphia, kept constantly on
liai. l end for sale by Mrs. J. E. Parrott.—
'."he also gives notice that she will instruct
in music at her residence. Terms, per mouth,
c>4.00: use of instrument, 50 cunts, ltecep
tion days, Tuesdays and Thursdays.
ZT. GRAY,
• CALIKnJN, GA„
Is prepared to furnish the public with
Buggies and Wagons, bran new and war i ant
ed. Repairing of all kinds done at shon
notice. Would call attention to the cele
rated “Fish Brothers’ Wagon which he fin
lushes. Call and examine before buying
elsewhere.
J 11. ARTHUR
DEALER IN
GENERAL MERCHANDISE,
RAILROAD STREET,
Calhoun , Ga.
NEW GROCERY STORE.
Marshall.
RAILROAD ST., OLD STAJ4D OF
A. W. BALLEW.
I'IIESH GOODS, BOUGHT FOR
CASH, AND WILL BE SOLD
FOR CASH ATTHE VERY
LOWEST PRICES.
Would respectfully ask his numerous
rie ndß in Gordon county to confie in and
See him before making purchases elsewhere.
ONLY Send Twenty-Five Cents to
THE KENNESAW GAZETTE,
-■'*> Atlanta, Ga.,
OF'Nmj au< * w iH Be sent you rnonth
•B'A Id. one y ear . Richest thing out
THE WANDERER'S DREAM.
The rays of a bright Italian sun
Were fading fast away ;
The cadence sweet of the vesper bells
Told the eve of closing day.
Half hid by the leafy boughs of trees
An old man sleeping lay,
He heeded not the carnival throng,
Nor the sound of laughter gay.
His boyhood’s home in fancy he saw,
Where twined the roses red,
And starry violet’s sweet perfume
Rose up from its leafy bed.
The shouts of welcome again he heard
His coming used to greet,
The merry voices and gleeful laugh,
The patter of childish feet.
He saw the rays of the setting sun
On the tall trees golden glow,
And heard in the calm of the Summer eve
The streamlet’s gentle How.
Then the soft loved tones of liis mother’s
voice,
Seemed borne on the evening air,
And he heard again in that peaceful home
Deep earnest wDrds of prayer.
But the spell is broken, the dream is o’er ;
He Wearily opens his eyes,
To find he’s alone, poor, aged, and gray,
A stranger ê foreign skies.
A CONVICT’S STORY.
“411?”
“ That/s mo, sir.”
“ Lot mo see your arm. It’s all right,
is it ? In my humble opinion it’s as
wrong as wrong can be.”
411 looked down at the bruised and
broken bones he had affirmed to no “ all
right” with a half contemptuous smile,
and then, resigning himself to the in
evitable, laid quietly watching the white
hands of the young doctor as he pro
pared bandages, splints, etc., and com
menced the work of setting the bone,
now rendered doubly difficult by the
swelling of the bruised flesh.
The light of the setting sun stole in
to the room, illuminating with a sudden
glory the bare walls and comfortless
surroundings, and throwing into strong
relief the two figures that gave life to
the picture. The doctor’s frank, good
humored faee, slight, easy figure, and
air of careless good breeding, could not
have been out of place under any cir
cumstances ; but the other seemed
strangely in unison with, and yet in
contradiction to, his surroundings. His
muscular frame might have served as a
model for strength and beauty—a Her
cules in prison dress ! llis hands,
roughened and hardened by toil, had
been as slender and well-shaped as the
doctor’s own. His face, bronzed by ex
posure to all weathers, was still high
bred and refined—aquiline features,
clear, brave eyes, and, above all, the
close-cropped hair of a convict. Tie
had that air of reserve, totally distinct
from rudeness, which only well-bred peo
ple possess, and which impresses even
the most vulgar and obtuse.
Though the sensitive mouth betrayed
his delicate, nervous organization, noth
ing could be more stoical than the com
posure with which he bore the torture
he was suffering.
“ Why on earth, man, don’t you say
something or cry out ?” exclaimed the
doctor, half impatiently.
Noticing the gathering whiteness
around his patient’s lips, the doctor
hastily poured something in a glass and
bidding him drink it, went quickly on
with his work. After a few minutes of
silence, he glanced up suddenly.
“ What’s that?” pointing to a small
blue figure on the brawny wrist.
“What? Oh, my crest. I did it
when I was a boy,” said the man, in
differently.
“ Your crest ?”
“ Did I say that ?” and a flush crept
over his face. “ I must have been
dreaming; people do dream sometimes,
don't they ?”
The doctor did not say anything, but
looked keenly at him as he turned away
his head with a short, embarrassed
laugh.
“ What is your name ?”
“ No. 411 ”
“ I don’t mean that, I mean your
name,” persisted the doctor.
“ Jim Brown.”
Dr. Harris laughed.
“ Jim Brown ! Why don’t you say
Bill Scrouruns ? One name would suit
about as well as tne otnor.
411 frowned slightly.
“ Why should I tell you my name ?”
“ I’m sure I don’t know,” was the!
answer —“ unless because I want you
to. The crest on your arm is very
much like my own. I thought maybe
we were related.”
“ And if we were ? You wouldn’t
own me.”
“Why not? I’m not a bad fellow,
in my own way, neither do I think
you are. Why shouldn’t I own you ?”
The man raised himself on his arm
and looked searchingly in the doctor’s
face
“ A convict,” he said, slowly.
“ Well,” said the doctor, dryly, “ 1
don’t see much society, except convicts,
at present, and I can't say but what 1
like them about as well as I do those
that think themselves a great deal bet*,
ter. I’ve found out it isn’t always the
worst that are caught, by any means.—
I’m a ‘ Radical,’ you must know, ’ he
added quaintly, “ and very much dis
approved of by the family.”
411 looked out upon the.gathering
darkness for some minutes, and tnen
said, quietly:
“ Well, sir, if you care to hear a con
vict’s story, sit down awhile. I’ve nev
er told it to any one, and I don t know
wby I shouldn’t tell you but the mood s
on me, and I might as well talk as
think, maybe; and then, you ve guess
ed my secret partly —at least you know
I’m not Jim Brown,” and a smile flash
ed across his face. “ How old do you
think I am ?” lie continued.
CALHOUN, GA., WEDNESDAY, APRIL 14. 1875,
Dr. Harris looked at the powerful
frame of the man—at the strong hai-ci
lines in his face.
“ Between forty and fifty, I should
say.”
“ Thirty-six yesterday. I was twen
ty-four the day I was sentenced—a
pleasant way of celebrating one’s birth
day, wasn’t it ? There was a lot of
stuff in the papers about my ‘ youth,’
and being so ‘ hardened.’ Did they
think I was going to beg for mercy ?
Not I ! I’ve been out here twelve yea : s,
now, and escaped twice and been
caught again. But I’ll try it once
more, sometime.”
“ You ought not to tell me that,”said
the doctor, smiling.
“ Why not ? They watch me all the
time anyway. Just give me some wa
ter, will you ? Thanks. Well, I ought
to commence with my name, I suppose.
It is Edward Tracy; I was The second
son of a Northumberland Squire, who
had just enough money to keep up the
place for my brother, and no more. A
fine old place it was, and the only hap
py days I can look back to were spent
there. That was when I was a boy—
home for the holidays, eager about
cricket and foot ball, and to whom a
gun and the range of the rabbit-warren
v. e.e perfect happiness. After a while
it was unpleasant enough. My brother,
a i az ,Vj good-iooking ieilov., ho kno\;
now to ride and shoot, and only that,
was the idol of mother and sisters.—
Ail deferred to him except little Mary,
my pet, who used to follow me ’round
like a kitten. Boor little girl ! I won
der il she ever thinks of me now !
Younger sons in a poor family have a
hard time of it. I only wonder more
don’t go to the bad than what do.— •
Brought up as a gentleman, they are
then thrown on their own resources, to
live by their wits, either in some beg
gardly profession, or as hangers on,
where there are any rich relations.—
j hey must put up with being snubbed
and thrown over, whenever they come
in the way, made use of, and then cast
aside; at least such was my experience.
.1 was proud and passionate, and so felt
these things more than others, L dare
say. I wanted to go into the army, but
my father said he couldn’t afford it.
said l would be always getting into
debt, etc., and so I was apprenticed to a
London barrister, a great pompous man,
whom I cordially detested before a
month was out. He had a way of ag
gravating mo wherever we came in con
tact that used to make me long for an
excuse to pitch him down stairs. I be
lieve in presentiments. 1 knew that
man*would injure me some day. i saw
more trickery and underhand dealing
while in that office than I had ever seen
in my life before. Mr. Pierson was a
man of tact, not talent. He had gain -
ed several good cases which made his '
reputation, and’he had a way of mak-'
ing people think if black was not just
white, it was certainly gray, which
proved very useful to him. I was
about tweuty-two when I went into
Kent for a few weeks, partly on busi
ness fur Mr. Pierson, and partly to vis
it an uncle of mine. Am I tiring you
with this long story ?”
“ Not at all, Tracy; go on.”
411 started at the unfamiliar name
which the doctor slightly emphasized.
His breath came quickly and his voice
was husky when he spoke again :
“ Would you think, now, that a man
could hear his own name so seldom that
when it was spoken as you spoke mine,
it could make the past come back like
a great wave, almost blotting out the
present? I haven’t heard my name for
fully ten years,” he went on musingly.
“ l don’t wonder it sounds strange to
uie. It was iu the summer when I
went to Kent—the time for 1 falling in
love,’ as it is called, and of course I did
it. I don’t wonder at myself even now,
when I remember all that has passed.
Yfe were thrown very much together.
Lucy was an orphan, living with a rich
maiden aunt, whose place adjoined my
uncle’s. I had a fondness for playing
the part of a protector, and she was a
clinging, dependent little thing, with
long curls and a delicate pink and white
daisy face. I never eared for any girl
before, and from the first I ioved her
madly. It’s the old story, and I need
not make a fool of myself again by
telling it to you. Before I went back
to town we had exchanged rings, and
she had given me her promise to love
me through eternity. A lengthy eter
nity it proved.
“ Oar engagement was to remain a
secret until I should become a great
lawyer, and then I was to claim her.—
This was Lucy’s idea. I wanted to
speak to her aunt, but she begged me
not to, giving a dozen different reasons
for my silence. I believe even then she
thought it best not to bind herself too
closely, but I never suspected this, for
with all my faults I had always been
perfectly honest and truthful. In the
winter Mr. Pierson told me that the
business I had been attending to had
now to be completed, and that lie was
going down himself. I was of course
very anxious to go. out lie did not give
me a chance. Lucy met me at \ cou
ple of dinners, and from what she said
i knew he had been very attentive to
her. He was a good looking man, about
forty, and could make himself very
agreeable when he chose to do so. I
wrote to Lucy immediately, telling her
what I thought of him. She replied,
accusing me of belug jealous, and say
ing she was sure I was prejudiced
against Mr. Pierson, who had spoken
very kindly of me, and to whom I
found she had confided the whole story
of our engagement. I was very angry,
and wrote rather harshly to her, for I
remember she told me I did not love
her as I once did. That was our first
quarrel, and was soon made up, and for
a few weeks we corresponded as usual.
Mr. Pierson returned to London, but
went back again to Kent in a week or
two. He said he was collecting evi
dence for an important case.
“ Soon I noticed that Lucy’s letters
grew shorter, and finally one came, say
ing that she had been thiuking over our
foolish engagement, and as there was
no prospect of my being able to support
her, she had come to the conclusion that
for the sake of us both it had better be
broken.
“ I know every word of that cool,
heartless letter now. One remembers
such things. Very soon after l heard
of her engagement to Mr. Pierson. I
was a gentleman and he was a snob, but
lie had money and I hadn’t.”
“ What’s a gentleman born ? Is it
shillings and pence ?” quoted the doc
tor, softly.
“ Eh ? what’s that ?”
“'■Only a quotation from tho York
shire Farmer. Go on.
“ Well, of course, I was furious; but
what good did that do me ? I thought
if I only had money, I would find some
means of revenge; but money was just
what I hadn’t got. About that time I
met a man calling himself St. John.—
He was clever and well educated, and
seemed to read all my wild, reckless
longings at a glance. He led me from
bad to worse, till it ended in forgery.—
Then he turned king’s evidence, and I
was locked up. I wa's always very strong
and, finding one of the bars loose, I
wrenched it out, and dropped from the
window one dark night and escaped.—
On my way to the sea I met this man
—St. John. I might have got off if 1
could have let him alone, but I could
not. I stopped him ; he told me that
Mr. Pierson had known of the plan laid
to ruin me. ‘ The young lady throwing
you over was a prime trump in our
hands,’ he added witii a leer. I warn
ed him to be silent; but he, as if
blinded to his danger, exasperated me
in every way possible. I grappled with
him, arid, remembering a trick I had
learned at school, soon threw him.—
My hands were on his throat. A half
moment more, and the earth would have
been rid of one sordid wretch ; but his
cries had been heard by some men in a
neighboring field, and I was overpow
ered. This man a ruined gamester,
once a gentleman—had changed me
from an honest, honorable lad, to a fel
on, and then, disregarding the '• honor ’
which is said to exist even- ‘among
thieves,’ threw me over to save himself.
I would not be content to give five
years of my life—nay, more, I would
be content to add five years of life—
could I purchase that one half minute
of which I was robbed.
“ My family disowned me, and made
no attempt even to procure counsel for
me. All forgot me except little Mary,'
from whom I got a tear-stained letter
inclosing a five-pound note, her quarter
ly allowance, and telling me she would
nevet forget me. My father had for
bidden any of them to write to me, or
even mention my name; but Mary had
disobeyed him. ‘lt can’t be wrong to
write to you, dearshe said, ‘for you
are my own brother, always.’
* > j
“ There was a flaw in the evidence,
which my counsel took advantage of;
fut Mr. Pierson worked against him
privately, collecting evidence for the
crown, and I was convicted. Heaven
grant there may not be many poor
wretches who‘leave Old England with
the feeling with which I left it. If I
had the opportunity, I would have put an
end to my miserable existence. I was
taken in a cab, strongly guarded, from
the jail to the wharf. We passed one
of the parks on our way. I had been
in prison som* time, and the fresh green
grass, the trees and flowers had never
looked so beautiful as now, when I knew
I was looking on them for the last time.
1 thought of the hedge-rows white with
blossoms, in Northumberland; Mary,
perhaps,, in our favorite nook in the or
chard, weeping bitter tears as a last
good-bye to ‘her handsome Teddy,’ as
she fondly called me. No wonder my
heart swelled when I thought of those
who m the sight of God were guilty of
my crime.
As we went down the dock, a child
passed us with a bunch of cowslips. —
Just two years before ; I had gathered
them for Lucy in the Kentish. The
child looked up wistfully, as I passed j
presently she ran after us and put her
cowslips in my hand. That was a drop
too much iu the cup already full; to
save my life I coulu not have kept back
the tears which rolled down my cheeks.
I was handcuffed, but iny guards thrust
a handkerchief into my hand, with a
few cheering words gruffly said. That
touch of sympathy, and the child’s gift,
saved me from utter despair. That
was the last I saw of England. My
life has been the same, day alter day,
except the few nights I spent in the
bush, the two times I got off. They
mostly let me alone now. I keep to
myself, and I’ve never told a word of
this before. 1 had almost forgotten I
wasn’t ■ Jinj Brown,’ until to-day. Did
you hear how I hurt my arm?
“ One of the men told me you were
helping to ra : se a heavy stone, and that
you let the lever slip in some way, and so
you got your arm crushed.
That’s true as far as it goes ; a gang
of us were working on the road when a
carriage passed. I looked up as I step
ped out of the way, and who do you
think I saw ? Lucy and her husband !
ifihe was looking just the same as ever,
only prouder. I was so near I could
have touched her dress. She looked
calmly on me—l was only a convict,
covered with the dust from her carri
age wheels. If she had recognized me,
the color would have faded a little from
her cheeks. I think. I wonder if she
remembers the letters I wrote her be
fore I was transported ? I told her
some home truths then. She knows
who to blame for my wasted —wasted—
life.
Twelve years didn’t seem much to
me. I looked after the carriage like
one stunned. The lever slipped from
my hand—you saw my arm. I didn't
think of it until I found I couldn’t lift
it. Mr. Pierson has got some appoint
ment here, someone said. Of eouise
his„wife will be feted and flattered. 1
wonder how she would like to be re
minded of that summer in Kent. How
would she look if I should stop her
carriage, and remind her of the time
she swore to love me forever, or how
often her bright head has rested on my
shoulder. 1 can feel the thrill of her
soft lips yet on my cheek. There, that’s
all. Do you believe in justice ? I don’t.
The cause of evil should uow be attack
ed ; now, now it is only the victim.—
The woman tQ-day is more guilty thm
I. She drove me mad —and yet sff
rides ’by in her carriage, respected and i
admired, while I, in my prison d r css.
can never be anything but what I
am—4ll.”
There is a Skeleton is* Every
House.
We remember reading a story, not
long ago, of a beautiful countess, liv
ing ia one of the largest cities in Italy,
who had an only son whom she loved
with all the love of a mother. He was
a remarkably handsome youth, very
amiable, and also very accomplished in
his manners. At the proper age he
went to a university, and there acquit
ted himself in his deportment and stud
ies, in the most praiseworthy manner,
and thus gaining tho love of his fellow
students and standing high as a scholar.
At last, after several years of unrelent
ing perseverance to his books, the time
arrived for him to return home, where
he expected to remain and cheer his
mother. But that very day on which
he anticipated leaving the university,
he was seized with a dangerous illness,
which threatened his life. After a few
days of intense suffering his physicians
informed him that it was impossible lor
him to recover; and then Ins thoughts
turned to his mother, how he could
gently prepare her to part with him;
for well be knew that she loved him
more than all the world besides. At
last an expedient suggested itself to
him. He dictated a letter to her of his
sickness, but omitted to mention his
precarious condition, and asked that she
would request the happiest woman in
the city to make him a shirt and send as
soon as possible, for he had an idea that
by wearing it he would recover very
rapidly.
The countess thought this a very
strange request, but being always will
ing to grant her son any favor, she
started out one afternoon to call on
some uf her friends, whom she thought
were perfectly happy, and to ask them
to make the shirt. But her chagrin
was unspeakable, when, at each house
she entered, she ascertained that every
inmate had some great trial to bear, and
even a concatenation of petty trouble
and disappointments. Finally, after
being nearly discouraged in search
ing, she was recommended to a very
rich young married lady, who al
ways appeared as though st-e had every
luxury and was perfectly happy. Her
face was invariably radiant with the
sweetest smiles, and she was never
known to complain of anything. On
the countess explaining her errand, the
lady said she would gladly do the favor,
if possible; but really, she was the
most wretched woman in the city ! And
then she led the countess into another
room where there was a skeleton q#s
pended from the ceiling. The coun
tess, deeply shocked, asked its meaning;
and the lady replied, looking exceed
ingly sad. that that was the skeleton of
a young man whom she had dearly
loved, years ago, and had promised to
marry, but was prevented by h- r pa
rents and compelled to marry her pres
ent husband. Arid one day when he
called to see her, with no evil intention
whatever, her husband became very an
gry and ran a sword through his heart.
Then he had him hung up there, an( ]
compelled her to go into Lie room every
morning and night and look at the re
mains.
And so this was her great sorrow.—
The countess was deeply moved,’ and
expressed her sympathy to the Judy as
she left the house. She was fully con
vinced that every one had trouble.—
" A'as !’' she said to herself, “there
are skeletons in every house !” And it
is only too true. On reaching home
she heard of the death of her son by a
dispatch, and endured the affliction
with great fortitude, but which in any
other circumstances would have coni'
pletely turned her reason • but now
made her only the more resigned to her
lot. This example is only one of the
many which shows the fallacy of be'
lieving ourselves the only ones not ex
empt from trials and troubles. Let
those who are inclined to doubt this, ask
any of their friends, as the countess
did, how they feel; and they will in
evitably Sad that the Great Dispenser
of human bliss leads every one through
similar rough and thorny roads.—Hart
ford Times.
IhiUrng ou :i Siiirt in the Bark.
Mr. Hasty is a gentleman who is or
dinarily very particular in matters per
taining to dress. Mr. Hasty would no
more think of appearing in a garment
the least bit shabby than he would of
standing on his head in the parlor win
dow, or executing a double shuffle on
the dining room table. And to this
peculiarity the fact that Mr. Hasty is
grave of face and portly in figure, and
it will be seen that he is a gentleman of
sober dignity and not given to the fool
ish frivolities of youth.
This description of Mr. Hasty will,
therefore explain why upon being met
at the hall door one evening after dark,
by his wife with the whispered warn
ing : “ Hurry up stairs dear, and fix
yourself, there’s company in the parlor,”
he hastened to the second story front
room to make himself presentable.
It was dark in the room, and Mr.
Ilasty could find no matches, “ well,”
thought he “ never mind. 3ly face is
clean, and I will only need to put on a
clean shirt.”
Then M*\ Ilasty carefully and quiet
ly took off his coat and vest preparing
to put on his clean shirt, and having
opened the bureau drawer he began to
examine the contents to find the desired
article.
Now, if there was one garment about
whiijh Mr. Hasty was more particular
than another it was. bis shirt. Have
Ttot mLfiEnigVr specked in tho least,
and Mr. IJasty was an indescribable tor
meat. Indeed in this respect, Mr. 11. j
may be regarded as having been slight
ly over-sensitive. And so Mr. Hasty
feeding the contents of the bureau draw
er in the dark, could for a time find
nothing to suit his fastidious taste.
“ This thing," said Mr. Hasty care
fully feeling the first shirt lie found,
“is all worn out in the neck. I do
despise a shirt worn out in the neck.—
It makes me feel like, .” Mr. Ilasty
said no more, but threw the offensive
garment into tho middle of the room.
“And here is one,” muttered Mr. Ilasty,
slowly passing his fingers over the wrist
bands, “ that’s all ragged a : the cuffs
I wonder why in the world my wife
don’t stop gadding about amongst the
neighbors and attend to my clothes. —
If she imagines that I want to look like
a street-scraper she’s very much mista
en. There,” and the second shirt fol
lowed its predecessors. “ And here’s
one,” growled Mr. Hasty, beginning to
perspire and growing warm, and un
comfortable, “ that’s lost the buttons.—
If I have told that woman once I’ve
told her a dozen times to seethe buttons
were all right. •Maria knows that I
look ridiculous with a shirt unbuttoned.
Confound it; why don’t she sew on the
buttons ?” with which remark the in
dignant. Mr. Ilasty, threw the button
less garment over his head, where it
lodged on the gas pipe, and gracefully
hung like a domestic flag of trace. Mr.
Hasty was getting warm, very uncom
fortable and very angry. There was
only one garment left. Mr. ilasty
examiued it. fully determined to tear it
to pieces if it was out of order.
It was not out of order however, Mr.
Hasty carefully examined the nevk,
cuffs, front, back and sides and found it
in perfect trim.
“ This must be anew shirt,” said
Ilasty, arising. “ Maria never keeps
my old shirts in such good order.”—
Then Mr. Hasty took out the garment
and endeavored to put it on. “ Just as
I thought,” grumbled Mr. Ilasty, “it
don’t fit. I wonder when Maria will
learn to make me a shirt that will fit. —
This is too narrow in the middle and
too wide at the top, and there are no
collar buttons.
“ Why plague take the thing,” ex
claimed Mr. Ilasty, when he found that
the end of the garment fell below his
knee, “ what a fearful slack was in this
shirt.”
Having finished dressing at last, al
though he felt, as he expressed himself,
like a turkey before Thanksgiving; he
slowly descended the stairs and entered
the parlor iu his most dignified and im
pressive manner.
But the moment he did so there was
a horrified exclamation from his wife,
and a perfect roar from his fiiends
Mr. Ilasty frowning at this unseemly
behavior, looked at his reflection in the
mirror and when ho found that lie had
put on one of his wife’s elaborate em
broidered nightgowns, in place of a
shirt; he fieu, followed by the hysteri
cal screams of the company. Mr. Hasty
had simply opened the wrong bureau
drawer,
Well Up in Geography. —While
a newsboy was hanging around one of
the depots yesterday, a gentleman en
gaged him in conversation, and In
quired :
“ Do you go to school, bub ?”
“ Yes, sir, and I’m in geography,”
was the answer.
u Ah, ha 1 Where does the sun rise ?”
“ In the east.”
“ Correct. Where does it set ?”
“ In the west.”
“That’s right. What is the earth’s
surface composed of?”
“ Land and water, sir.”
“ Eight again. Is the world round
or flat ?”
“ Less see,” mused the boy, sitting
down on a bench. “ Well. I know dad
and mam had a tight abuut that very
thing, but I forget which licked 1”
Detroit Free Press.
The following is a summer episode,
as evolved by little Johnny :
“ Last summer our dog Towscr was a
lyin in the sun a trine to sleep, but the
flies was that bad he cuddn’t, cause he
had to cetch m, and bime by a bee lit
on bis hed, and was a working about
like the dog was liisn. Towser he hel
his bed still, and when the bee was
close to his nose Towser winked at me,
like he said you see what this duller is
doiu ; he thinks I’m a liily ofthe val
ley which isn’t open yet, but you just
wait till I blossom and you will see some
fun ; and sure enuf Towser opened his
mouth very slo so as not to friten the
bee, and the bee went inside Towsers
mouth. Then Towser shot his eyes
dreamy, and his mouth too, and had be
gun to make a peacelie smile wen the
bee stuog*him, and you never see a liliy
f the valley ack so in all your life.”
VOL. V. —NO. 37.
THE STRUGGLE OF IS7C.
: Party Organization Essential to
Democratic Siutosh.
.There never has b'eeri and time in the
htetety 6f fc% when it was
;so important for the Democratic t y
to have its organization perfect as the
present. In unity there is strength,
fhe Republican party has, by its reck
less coarse, its violations of the Con
stitution, and its efforts to centralize all
power iu the Federal Government,
brought the Republic to the very verge
of destruction. This fact was so appa
rent that the sovereign people in the
elections last fall rose op in • He**' maj
esty and made a clean sweep, beating the
Republicans in nearly every Stato iu
the Union. It was a glorious triumph
for constitutional liberty. That tri
umph, however, is worth nothing if the
party that achieved it permits itself to
become demoralized and divided by
the machinations of the Radical lead -
ers.
It is an old saying, “ There dre more
to kill a dog than by Choking bint
to death on butter." This fact the Radi
cal leaders understand, and they believe
there are many ways to beat the Demo
erats than by simply outnumbering them.
Their tactics will be to beat the Demo
! erats with Democratic votes. To b:
able to do th’s they will select soft Dem
on, is and place them at the head of
their ticket, and iu this way divide and
ouer. A true Democrat can never
v e for a Democrat who has accepted a
nomination at the hands of the Radical
party, for the moment he does that he
is a Radical, or, what is infinitely *ror?C,
the tool of the Radicals. Any Demo
crat who would run for office as the'
nominee of the Radical party is worse
than Judas Iscariot. lie is a trastor to
all the principles upon which the' liber
ties of the people are based, ahd 13
lending himself (ignorant, perhaps), to
that party who arc working to build up'
a centralized despotism, with a bonded
aristocracy to control and make the
peo- le hewers of wood and drawers of
water for them.
There is a great contest now goihg off
in this country between despotism On
the one hand and liberty on the other.
G rant and his henchmen evidently in
tend, if they can, to destroy our govern
ment and build up a Centralized despots
ism on its ruius. Tbe progress they
have made in accomplishing their pur
ple lms been very great. The Constn*
tut:on, the great chart of liberty, has
beeu isolated time and again by these
upstarts in power. No one doubts that
Grant has been influenced in his official
acts by the money power. Ilis veto of
the bill to increase the v lume of the
currency when the entire commerce of
the country was ruined for the want of
currency to carry it on was conclusive
that the bondholders and moneyed
sharks had Grant by the wrist. It is
this moneyed power that the people'
must fight ana bring under subjection, or
Constitutional liberty on this continent
will be a thing of the past. The order
now is, all along the line, for Democrats
to stand by their guns and neither gite
nor take quarter. If the line is brokefi
anywhere it may produce a general rout
and result in a victory for the Radical
destruction party in 18*76. Cincinnati
Enquirer.
“That IfSischeivous Young Broth-'
or.”
The moral to the following, told! By
the suffererers, is too apparent to meri
tion. Young ladies will hereafter run
their brothers out when gentlemen
call.
I’m certain I wish Somebody would
spank the young rascal. We talked of
bills, mountains, valleys and cataracts.
I believe I said water falls, when tho
boy spoke up and said :
V> by, sister’s got a trunk full oftfiemf
up stairs ; pa says they are made of
horse hair.”
The revelation struck into me, and
blushes into the cheeks of my fair com
panion.
It began to be very to me
that I must be very guarded in what 1
say, Us’ the boy might put in his remarks
at uncalled for places, in fact, turning
my conversation to him, he ought to go
home with me and see what nice chick
ens we had in the country. Unluckily,-
’ Moned a yoke of calves my broth
er woed. The little one looked up and
said :
got a dozen pair of them,
but she don’t wear ’em only when she
goes up town windy days.”
“ Leave the room, you unmannerly
wretch !” cried Emily ; “leave quick !”
“1 know what you want me to leave
the room for,” he replied ; “you can’t
fool me. You want to siton that man’s
lap and kiss firm like you did Bill Jones'
the other day; you can’t fool me ; I
jes tell yer, gem me some candy, like
he did, and I’ll go. You think becaustf
you got the Grecian bend you’re smart.
Guess I know a thing or two. I’m mad
at you anyhow, beeause papa would have
bought me a top yesterday, if it hadn’t
been for getting them curls, dog yer ?
You needn’t turn so red in the face
’cause I see the paint. There ain’t no
use winking with thatglass eye of yourrf,-
for I ain’t going out o’ here now, that’s
what’s the matter with the pupS.
don t care if you are twenty-eight years
eld you ain’t no Boss o’ rue."”
A LfTTLE three year-old woke up, 1
one morning, and seeing the full moon
from the window, innocently remarked:
‘‘ I should tink it about time for Dod to 1
take that moon in.”
•'
An lowa womu ends her vie#s orf
female suflferage with: “You may look
at this matter in whatever light you
please, but simmer it down, and it is
but a quarrel with the Almighty, tha#
we were not all men.”