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CALHOUN WEEKLY TIMES.
BY D. B. FREEMAN.
CALHOUN TIMES
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lUUmtl Jktodute.
Western & Atlantic Railroad.
lUY PASSENGER TRAIN —OUTWARD.
Leave Atlanta 8:40 A. M
Airive Calhoun..* 12:40 P. M
“ Chattanooga. .350 p. m
DAY PASSENGER TRAIN —INWARD.
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Arrive Calhoun*..;; 8:31 a. m.
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night PASSENGER TR AIN —OUTWARD.
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professional & business Catflg
KIKER & SON,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Will practice in all the Courts of the Cher
ekee Circuit; Supreme Court ot Georgia, and
the United States District Court at Atlanta,
Ga. Office: Sutheast corner of the Court
House, Calhoun, Ga.
UWAIN & MILNER,
attorneys at law,
CALHOUN, GA.
Will practice in all the Superior Courts of
of Cherokee Georgia, the Supreme Court of
the State and the United States District and
Circuit Courts, at Atlanta.
J D. TINSLEY,
Watch-Maker & Jeweler,
CALHOUN, GA.
All styles of Clocks, Watches and Jewelry
neatly repaired and warranted.
WALDO THORNTON, D. D. S..
DENTIST.
Office over Geo. W. Wells & Co.’s Agricul
tural Warehouse.
jyjTSS C. A. HUDGINS,
Milliner & Mantua-Maker,
Court House St.> CallioumGa.
Patterns of the latest styles and fashion
for ladies just received. Gutting and
tnaking done tc order.
ZT. GRAY,
• CALHOUN, GA„
Is prepared to furnish the public with
Buggies and Wagons, bran new and warrant
ed. Repairing of all kinds done at short
notice. Would call attention to the cele
rated “Fish Brothers’ Wagon which he fur
niches. Call and examine before buying
elsewhere.
J 11. ARTHUR
DEALER IN
GENERAL MERCHANDISE,
RAILROAD STREET,
Calhoun, Ga.
CHEAP GOODS.
RICHARDS & ESPY,
(OLD STAIN’D OF Z. TANARUS, OKAY.)
Dealers in
Confectioneries,
Crackers,
Fancy Groceries, &c.
Tobacco, cigars and snuff a specialty.—
highest market price paid for country pro
duce of all kinds. Give them a call and
they will give you a bargain. mar3l-3m
J. W . MAII,SHALL,
RAILROAD ST., OLD STAND OF
A. W. BALLEW.
Keeps constantly on hand a superior stock of
Family & Fancy Groceries,
n a fine assortment of Saddles, Rridles,
j, :i P le Hardware, &c, to which especial at-
J ’G'ou i s called. Everything in my line
1 at prices that absolutely defy competi
ijjK 4% gm A DAY GUARANTEED using our
<4 AUGER & DRILL i n good
'tt maR territory. Endorsed by Governors
of IOWA, ARKANSAS iBAKOT.*
GUis£3oipo.
SABBATH IX THE COUXTRY.
BY GEORGE W. BUNGAY.
A Sabbath Btillness fills the air.
Silence enthroned is quiet queen,
And always her sceptre o’er the scene,
Dispeopled is the village green,
No traffic stirs the silent square.
The shuttle rests upon the loom,
No grist comes to the dusty mill,
The factory wheels are locked and still,
The unharnessed ox wanders at will,
Over the grass and clover bloom.
Quenched are the furnace fires to-day,
No hammers make the anvils ring,
No brawny arms huge axes swing,
The sky seems like a sheltering wing,
Touching the hills not far away.
The day is calm, the air is soft,
Yet there are whisperings of trees ;
And the soft hum of honey-bees ;
The praise of humble things like these
Should teach us all to look aloft.
Fashion has taken early flight;
It leaves the quiet nooks and shades,
The wooded hills and sylvan glades
For museums and masquerades,
And pleasures that invade the night.
There floats a golden butterfly,
The other butterflies have fled ;
For maple leaves are turning red,
And twittering swallows overhead
Perdict a cool and sombre sky.
They heed the faded leaf that falls,
Within the modest church to-day
We miss the dresses rich and gay,
For the bright birds have flown away
To brown stone palaces and halls.
WHO MELINDA MARRIED.
“ So you’re back again with your old
employers, and at a first-class salary.—
I’m very glad, I assure 70U, and so will
my husband bo when I tell him. Sorry
you can’t stay to tea with us on account
of the children. How old is your eld
est, Tommy ?”
u Let me see.” The individual ad
dressed balanced his hat between his
knees on both little fingers, and careful
ly studied its interior, as though the in
formation he sought lurked somewhere
under the lining. A great, blonde
bearded man, but he always was and
always would be Tommy. Never being
able to rid himself of a certain awk?
ward bashfulness, nor ever having lost
the big, innocent eyes, honest mouth
and ruddy complexion that made him
look like an overgrown schoolboy.—
“Amanda’s eleven this June. Lucy
was nine in February. Melinda seven,
and Vinnie—that’s the baby my wife
left, you know—will be three
row.”
“ All girls V*
“ Yes, ma’am, all girls.”
“ How long since you left the city ?”
“ Let me see,” and Tommy again
consulted his hat. Although in Mrs.
Sandburn’s parlor, he couldn’t be per
suaded to part with his head covering.
It was a life-long habit. Before he mar
ried, the girls used to say Tommy Wbit
tlesy knew that if he let them take his
hat* he’d never have the courage to get
it again and go. Perhaps they weie
right; I don’t know ; at any rate he
had contracted another habit, and that
was referring to it in the way described.
“ I left the spring I was twenty-one,
didn’t I ? Well, I’ve been away thir
teen years. I married Amanda White
just six months after I left.”
“ She made a good wife, didn’t
she ?”
“ The tery best; but, then, it wasn’t
as though I’d married Melinda.”
“ No. I suppose not; and yet, Tom
my, I tell you, as I’ve always told you,
Melinda’s not altogether worthy of you.
Not that she isn’t good-principled, warm
heal ted, and all that, but her views of
life are false. Then, too, although she’s
my gistor, my only one, I must say she
sets too high a value on herself.- Is
not by any means as brilliant as she
thinks she is. Doesn’t know gold from
glitter. Why, my dear young friend,
you might have been a pretty bad sort
of a man, but if you’d come along with
a flash and dash, made believe to be
somebody great, and courted in Jane
Eyre’s Rochester style, you would have
won her years ago.”
“ Then you think there’s no chance
for me. Is anybody else in the way ?”
“ Nobody, and never has been, ex
cepting the girl herself. To my cer
tain knowledge, she’s had but one offer
beside yours. That was from old Mr.
Hulks, the great shipper. I thought
Melinda would tear his eyes out. So,
you see she won’t marry merely for
money.”
“ Still, you think there’s no chance
forme? I daren’t ask her, you know;
she said the last time —when I came on
after Amanda died, you remember—
that if ever I did it again she’d never
speak to me.”
“ Saying that sho meant it, best not
to venture. Let matters take their
course. See her as often as possible,
but keep a certain distance. Maybe
things will work around somehow. —
She’s got in with anew set lately—
clever people —but they have a fancy
they’ve discovered anew way to put the
world to rights, and are just the ones
to do it. It’s al) well enough, I sup-
pose. Amuses them and don t hurt any
body, but I’m out of patience, for all.
Why couldn’t Melinda have married
you years ago, in her first youth ? She
is so capable, so domestic —or was be
fore she got in with these new folks
and as for children, I really believe
mine think as much of her as they do
of me. She’s sharp with them at times,
it’s true,.but then it always- turns out
for their best geod, and they see it
See here, Tommy, I’ve an idea. She
visits the Park the day the society
meets —that’s to-morrow —to commune
with nature, she says. I know her fa
vorite spot; sho’s always alone ; you go
there, take the children, and get somo
CALHOUN, GA., WEDNESDAY, MAY 12. 1875.
where near her.”
“ Take the children ! I’d frighten
her miles and miles away.”
“ No, you wouldn’t. The more I re
flect on this plan, the better I like it.
Ask for a half-holiday, gather up your
girls, and go.”
The day was all that could be de
sired. A May-blue sky, with a drift of
clouds like departing snow across it;
warm, penetrating sunbeams ; soft airs,
alive with children’s voices and bird
warblings.
Spring’s blossom-host pitched their
tents of white and pink on hill and val
ley-side ; tender mists of green melted
in golden distance. Earth and air were
awake, jubilant, under the stir and
whir of new life and growth. Yet
could not my heroine find herself in
harmony with the scene. She succeed
ed in securing her favorite seat in the
Park, a niche on the hillside, with an
interlacing of boughs, and glimpses Gf
rock and river. It contained only two
settees. Occupying one, she spread her
shawl on the other, thus keeping intru
ders at bay* A quiet little spot, fes
tooned with hanging vines and fringed
with ferns; and yet to-day no restful
influence pervaded it.
Melinda met Tommy Whittlesy just
as he was leaving the afternoon previ
ous. Somehow those big, blue, re
proachful eyes met hers whichever way
she looked. More especially did they
haunt the page she tried in vain to
read, and moved in her pencil’s wake
when she turned to writing for relief.
Not that she cared for their owner —
Oh, never a particle. Any time since
her fifteenth birthday, she had but to
say, “ I love you,” to make Tommy the
happiest of men. Yet she never did
say it—never intended saying it. True,
life was unsatisfactory. One dream af
ter another faded; still, there was a
hope of her becoming something, being
somebody; tied to Tommy, that was
gone. As Mrs. Whittlesy, her days'
would be bounded on the east by break
fast, south by dinner, north by supper,
and west by a basket of undarned stock
ings.
No, she never had said yes —empha-
sizing her resolution in angles and tri
angles on the soft soil sparkling with its
myriad particles of mica.
yjjyWaa there ever—no, there never was
—such imprudence ? Tommy Whit
tlesy and one, two, three, four feminine
Whittlesys, walking in upon her seclu
sion quite as a matter of course. Y"et,
no, not altogether so. Tommy swayed
awkwardly from side to side an instant,
then, with a lift of the hat and a scrape
meant for a bow, turned as red as the
Giant of Battles, and dropped upon the
other bench, also upon her shawl.
“ This is Miss Denver, children,” aud
Tommy almost stammered in his em
barrassment. “ Come and speak to the
lady ”
To rise and leave would be an ac
knowledgment of weakness ; so, out*
wardly cool, yet inwardly burning, Me
linda kept her seat, turning her atten
tion to the children. A pink-dressed
brood, each a trifle overgrown, like
their father, staring at her with his
eyes, and making not the slightest pre
tonse of manners.
“ Who fastened your clothes?” she
asked, seeing that Amanda’s and Lu
cy’s buttons began too soon and ended
too late.
“The woman we board with.”
“ You’re big enough to fasten them
for each other. Come here, both of
you.”
After having straightened their backs
as Lucy afterward expressed it, she dis
missed \manda with, “ Now look after
your little sister, and turn your toes out.
What’s that on your dress ?” to the
third girl, who, singularly enough, re
minded her of her own child-self.
“ I don’t know.”
“ It’s a shame to have that pretty
suit spoiled. I wonder if ammonia
won’t take it out ? What is your
name ?”
“ Melinda Denver Whittlesy.”
Melinda senior actually flushed. —
My name’s Melinda Denver; did you
know it? Keep your fingers out of
your mou f h !” and the sharpness of the
tones betrayed unusual emotion of some
sort.
Very shortly the oldest girls strayed
away Melinda said at once she must
go, but taking Vinnie, who had got
something in her shoe, delayed her.—
There proved to be nothing in that tiny
pink boot. A hole in her stocking,
through which peeped a toe as pink,
caused the difficulty. Miss Denver rub
bed the little foot, and was so long get
ting on the pink boot that the blonde,
baby-head nodded against her breast,
and at length found itself cradled
there.
Tommy, sensible to a degree unpar
alleled in his history, asked to be ex
cused for reading, and became so en
grossed as to forget to turn his paper.
Below the river ran, flower-fringed
rocks leaned out to catch a sunbeam,
green boughs intertwined, the voices of
uuseen pleasure seekers, mingled with
bird-songs, made music in the air ; -dip
of shadow, dart of wiug, wind-whispers,
how sweet it was !
While Melinda sat there with Tom
my’s youngest in her arms, and the man
himself opposite, there came upon her
a feeling that just such a scene was en
acted once before. It was like the
turning back of a leaf and finding the
same passage, word for word, upon it.
She was almost tempted to speak to her
companion, aud ask him about it, when
all of a sudden there was a flutter of
oink dresses, aud Amanda and Lucy
appeared before them, breathless*
“ Is Melinda here ?”
She was not, that was quite certain.
Tommy took himself off, listening to
their hurried explanations as he went,
and the only woai&fl in the world he
ever loved was left alone with his baby.
The trio returned without the miss
ing one. Thought there was a chance of
finding her there. Their united voices
arousing Yinnie, Melinda gave her into
Tommy’s arms.
“ I’ll go and see what I can do,” she
said, with the mien of a conqueror.—
“ Children, you come right along with
me You’re to tell just where you weut,
and when you missed her. Tommy,
you stay about here, there’s a probabil
ity of her finding her way back.”
Having issued her orders—short,
sharp, decisive—Melinda hurried away,
to he met by Tommy half an hour later,
completely crestfallen. Her search had
failed. Tommy looked ready to drop;
the girls fobbed ILterly, declaring
“ M’lio ” was drowned in the river;
while Melinda scanned the horizon for
a guard whom she bad not alteady con
sulted.
Suddenly a voice : “ Madam, there’s
a little lost girl at the mansion, dressed
like these ; is she yours ?”
“ Yes, thank you, sir,” replied Miss
Denver, promptly, and headed the par
ty that went toward the place indicated
as fast as feet could carry them.
“ We all go the same way,” said Me
linda, holding fast her namesake’s
hand, “ and may as well start home at
once.”
“ One word, Melinda. When the
gentleman asked was this your little
girl, you said yes ; is she ?”
“ Of course,” replied Miss Denver,
her cheeks in a blaze. “ These chil
dren need somebody to take care of
them, and I’m the one to do it.”
“ Melinda Denver—excuse me, Mrs.
Whittlesy, I should say —I’m sur
prised ; completely so!” and the light
of the new society shook her head sad
ly. “ You told me again and again you
never meant to marry that man.”
“ I haven’t married him. I've mar
ried the children ; that’s all.”
Still, Tommy looks as radiant as if it
were himself.
Goldeu Words.
If you would succeed, you must show
heart and fire and hope. If you are a
candidate for public favor, keep your
face to sunrise, all radiant with life,
wit, good humor, and whole souied ani
mation. People don’t want to go to the
graveyard before their timo comes, nor
do they love often to bo reminded
that—
“ This world is all a fleeting snow,
To man’s illusion givea^’
They love to feel happy and to think
that other people are happy; that
there is such a thing as Leautifui Low
ers, - Bweet-singing birds, mirthful chil
dren, cheerful homes and hearts, warm
gushing friendships, active, bounding
sympathies—aye, that life is real and
worth having. They love to see men
walk quick, and talk quick, and look
quick, and do all things quick, as
though they were well pleased to do it,
and well pleased to please others. It is
no reason that one should always be
sorry because the world every day re
volves towards sunset; and reason that
he should always look sorry because he
feels so. We never knew the sun to go
down without coming up again. There
are just as many days in human expe
rience as there are nights, and as many
bright days as there are dark nights.—
God has set the good over against the
bad everywhere, and why should man
everlastingly go sighing in this beauti
ful world, as though he had not a friend
in it. Let us all cheer up, and let us
cheer up everybody. There’s a divine
bow in the cloud, and it speaks of hope
beyond the cloud, and it speaks of hope
beyond the storm. Especially, let not
“ the children of a king go mourning
all their days.” If your work is hard,
thankless and profitless, you have at
least, the consolation that it means well,
and that a hundred thousand years
hence it will be all the same to you, as
if the whole world had run mad after
you with pmans of praise.
Getting Ready to be Happy.
This is exactly what most of us ate
doing. We are not ready to be happy
to-day, this year, but to-morrow, next
month, another year, our cup of joy
will be full. When the promised time
comes and the acme of cur hopes, in a
certain direction is reached, health may
be wanting, friends dead, and life, how
ever full of all we thought would make
it rich, and worth the having, be empty
and dreary. But he who “ takes the
best now and here,” enjoys it, puts him
self in possession of that which cannot
be taken away. Certainly it is right to
provide for the rainy day, in health to
prepare for sickness, in youth to lay up
for old age; but there is much more
time than many of us think, while do
ing this, to be happy in the present, and
there are a thousand paths to happiness
if we but have the will and desire to
find them.
We are too eager in the pursuit of
some far-off result take time to be hap
py to-day. llow often do we look back
on years that have fled and see man}'
elements, which at the time we took no
notice of, and which, could we count
them in now, would fill our cup of joy
to overflowing. Shall we Jearn a lesson
from this ?
Asa policeman passed upon his beat
in Detroit he observed two broken
windows. He looked through one of
them and saw a man on the floor with a
broken aud bound uo head, while fur
niture and fragments were heaped about
him. Inquiring as to the origin of the
ruin, he was answered by a woman with
a baby in her lap : “ You see that man
there? Well, he’s my husband. Ba.
by’s sick. He said, ‘Giver her castor
ile.' I said ‘Give her goose grease ’ —
There ho lays.”
The Overcrowded Cities.
There is hardly a city in the United
States which does not contain more peo
ple than can get a fair, honest living
by labor or trade, in the best times.—
When times of business oppression
come, like those through which we have
passed, and are passing, there is a large
class that must be helped, to keep them
from cruel suffering. "Still the cities
grow, while whole regions of the coun
try —especially its older portions—are
depopulated year by year. Yet the
fact is patent to-day that the only pros
perous class is the agricultural. We
have now tho ahomaly of thrifty far
mers and starving tradesmen. The ag
ricultural classes of the west are pros
perous. They had a good crop last
year, and have received good prices for
all their products ; and while the cities
are in trouble, and manufactories are
running on half time, or not running
at all, the western farmer has money in
his pocket, and a ready market for ev
erything he has to sell. The country
must be fed, and he feeds it. The city
family may do without new clothes, and
a thousand luxurious appliances, but it
must have bread and meat. There is
nothing that can prevent the steady
prosperity of the American farmer but
the combinations and “ corners ” of
middle-men, that force unnatural condi
tions upon the finances and markets of
the country.
This is not the first occasion we have
had for allusion to this subject, and it
is not likely to be the last. The forsa
king of the farm for city life, is one of
the great evils of the time, and, so far,
it has received no appreciable check. —
Every young man, apparently, who
thinks he can get a living in the city,
or at the minor centers of population,
quits hi3 lonely home upon the farm
and joins the multitude. Once in the
city, he never returns, Notwithstand
ing the confinement and the straitened
conditions of his new life, he clings to
it until he dies, adding his family to
the permanent population of bis new
home. Mr. Greeley, in his days of ac
tive philanthropy, used to urge men to
leave the city—to go west —to join the
agricultural population, and thus make
themselves sure of a competent liveli
hood. He might as well have talked to
the wind. A city population can neith
er be coaxed or driven into agricultural
pursuits. It is not that they are afraid
of work. The average worker of the
city toils more hours than the average
farmer in any quarter of the country.—
He is neither fed nor lodged as well as
the farmer. He is les3 independent
f h:.i- the farmer. He is a bond-slave to
his employers and his conditions; yet
the agricultural life has no charms for
him.
Whatever*reason for this may be, it
is not based in the nature off the work,
or in its material rewards. The farmer
is demonstrably better off than the
worker of tho city. He is moie inde
pendent, has more command of his own
time, fares better at table, lodges better,
and gets a better return for his labor.—
What is the reason, then, that the far
mer’s boy runs to the city the first
chance he can get, and remains, if he
can possibly find there the means of
life?
It can only be found, wo believe, in
the social leanness, or social starvation,
of Amrrican agricultural life. The
American farmer, in all his planning,
and in all his building, has nevor made
provision for life. He has only consid
ered the means of getting a living.—
Everything outside of this—everything
relating to society and culture—has
been steadily ignored. He gives his
children the advantages of schools, not
recognizing the fact that these very ad
vantages call into life anew set of so
cial want3. A bright, well educated
family, in a lonely farm-house, is very
different material from a family brought*
up in ignorance. An American far
mer’s children, who have had a few
teiins at a neighboring academy, resem
ble in no degree the children of the
European peasant. They come home
with new ideas and new wants, and if
there is no provision made for these new
wants, and they find no opportunities
for their satisfaction, they will be ready,
on reaching their majority, to fly the
farm and seek the city.
If the American farmer wishes to
keep his children near him, he must
learn the difference between living and
getting a living, and wc mistake him
and hi3 grade of culture altogether, if
he does not stop over this statement
and wonder what we mean by it. To
get a living, to make money, to become
“forehanded”—this is the whole of life
to agricultural multitudes, discouraging
in their numbers to contemplate. To
them there is no difference between liv
ing and getting a living. Their whole
life consists in getting a living; and
when their families come back to them
from their schooling, aud find that, re
ally, this is the only pursuit that has
any recognition under the paternal roof,
they must go away. The boys push to
the centers of the cities, aud the girls
follow them if they can. A young man
or a young woman, raised to the point
where they apprehend the difference be
tween living and getting a living, can
never be satisfied with the latter alone.
Either the farmer’s child must be kept
ignorant, or provisions must be made
for their social wants. Brains and hearts
need food and clothing as well as bodies ;
and those who have learned to recognize
brains and hearts as the best and most
important part of their possessions, will
go where they can find the ministry
they need. What is the remedy ? How
shall farmers manage to keep their chiE
dren near them ? How can we discour
age the influx of unnecessary—nay.
burdensome—population into the cities ?
\\ e answer : By making agricultural
society attractive. Fill the farm-house
with periodicals and books. Establish
central reading-room, or neighborhood
clubs. Encourage the social meetings
of the young. Have concerts, lectures,
amateur dramatic associations. Estab
lish a bright, active, social life, that
shall give some significance to labor.—
Above all, build, as far as possible, in
villages. It is better to go a mile to
one’s daily labor than to place one’s
self a mile away from a neighbor. The
insolation of American farm-life is the
great curse of that life, and it fills up
on the women with a hardship that the
men cannot appreciate, and drives the
educated young away.—Dr. J. G. Hol
land, in Scribner for April.
Mr. Cofflii’!? Spelling Match.
The other evening old Mr. and Mrs.
Coffin, who live on Brush street, sat in
their cosy back parlor, he reading the
paper and she knitting, and the family
cat stretched out under the stove, and
sighed and felt sorry for cats not so well
fixed. It was a happy, contented house
hold, and there was love in his heart as
Mr. Coffin put down his newspaper and
remarked :
“I see the tfkole country is becoming
excited about spelling schools.”
“Well, it’s good to know how to
spell,” replied his wife. “I didn’t have
the chance some girls had, but I pride
myself that I can spell most any word
that comes along.”
“I’ll see about that,” he laughed;
“coma, now, spell ‘buggy’.”
“Humph ! that’s nutking—b-u g g-y,
ouggy,” she replied,
“Missed the first time— ha ! ha !” he
roared, slapping his leg.
“Not much—that was right.”
“It was, eh ? Well, I’d like to see
anybody get twog’s in buggy, I would.”
“But it is spelled with two g’s, and
any school boy will tell you so,” she per
sisted.
“Well, I know a durn sight better
than that!” he exclaimed, striking the
table with his fist.
“I don’t care what you know 1” she
squeaked ; “I know that there are two
g’s in buggy !”
“Do you mean to tell me that I’ve
forgotten how to spell ?” he asked.
“It looks that way.”
“It does, eh? Well, I want you and
all your relations to understand that I
know more about spelling than the
whole caboodle of you strung on a wire!”
“And I want you to understand, Jon
athan Coffin, that you are an ignorant
old blockhead, when you don’t put two
g’s in buggy—yes you are !”
“Don’t talk that way to me I” he
warned.
“And don’t shake your fist at me !”
sho replied*
“Who’s a-shaking his fist V*
“You were 1”
“That’s a lie—an infernal lie V*
“Don’t call me a liar, you old bazar !
I’ve put up with your meanness for for
ty years pa9t, but don’t call me a liar,
and don’t lay a hand on me 1”
“Do you want a divorce ?” he shout
ed springing up; “you can go now, this
minute !”
“Don’t spit in my face—don’t you
dare do it or I’ll make a dead man of
you !” she warned.
“ I haven’t spit in your freckled old
visage yet, but I may if you provoke
me further 1”
“Who’s got a freckled face, you old
turkey-buzzard ?”
That was a little to much. He made
a motion as if he would strike, and she
seized him by the neck tie. Then he
grabbed her right ear and tried to lift
her off her feet, but she twisted up on
the neck tie until his tongue ran out.
“Let go of me. you old fiend 1” she
screamed.
“Git down on your knees and beg
my pardon, 'you old wild cat 1” he re
plied.
They surged and swayed and strug
gled, and the peaceful cat was struck
by the overturning table and bad her
back broken, and the clock fell down,
and the pictures danced around. The
woman finally shut her husband’s supply
of air off and flopped him, and as she
bumped his bead up and down on the
floor and scattered his gray hairs, shout
ed :
“You want to get up another spelling
school with mo, don’t you V’
lie was seen limping around the yard
yesterday, a stocking pinned around his
throat, and she had court plaster on her
nose, and one finger tied up. He wore
the look of a martyr, while she had the
bearing of a victor, and from this time
out “buggy” will be spelled with two
g’s in that house.— Detroit Free Press.
Burn Kerosene the Right Way.
A correspondent of the New York
Sun calls attention of all consumers of*
kerosene oil to the pernicious and un
healthy practice of using lamps filled
with that article with the wicks turned
down. The gas which should bo con
sumed by the flames is by this means
left heavily in the air, while the cost of
the oil thus saved at present prices
would scarce be one dollar a year for
the lamps of a household. His attend
tion was called particularly to this cus
tom by boarding in the country where
kerosene was the only available light.—
A large family of children living in
the same house were taken ill one night,
and on going to the room the mother
found the room nearly suffocating, with
a lamp turned down, whereupon the
physician forbade the use of a lamp
at night, unless turned at full head.—
He says be could quote many cases, one
of a young girl subject to fits of* faint
ness, which, if not induced, 'nN
ly increased by sleeping in a rsfcu with
the lamp almost turned out. ' Besides
the damage to health, it spoils the pa
per and curtains, soils the mirrors and
gives the whole house an untidy air and
an unwholesome odor.
YOL. V. —NO. 41*
Voltaire ou Marriage.
Voltaire said : ,l The mere married
men you have, the fewer crimes there
will be. Marriage renders a man mor£
virtuous and more wise. Ah unmar
ried man is but half of a perfect be
ing, and it requires the other half to
make things right, and it caDfiot be ex
pected that in this imperfect state ho
can keep the straight path of rectitude
any more than a boat without an oar, or
a bird with ode wing, frin keep’ U
straight course. Ip uine cases out of
ten, where married men become drunk
ards or commit crimes against the peace
of the community, tlie foundation of
these acts were laid while in a Single
state, or where the wife is, as is some
times the case, an unsuitable match.—
Marriage changes the current of a man’s
feelings, and gives him a center for his
thoughts, his affections, and his acts.—
Hero is a home for the entire man, and
the counsel, the affection, the example
and the interest of his t; better half"
keep him from his erratic courses, and
from falling into a thousand temptations
to which he would otherwise he exposed .
therefore, the friend to marriage ij tlie
friend to society and to his country."
l>on*t I> It.
Don’t flirt with a fool. It’s bad
enough to fool with a flirt.
Don’t underbill your ago. Your de
tection is only a question of time.
Don t rush. At the end of tho race
you will suffice to convict the world of
your folly.
Don t magnify your neighbor’s vices.
It s worse than extolling your owu vir-*
tucs.
Don’t boast of your brain work. Somo
inquisitive person might ask for a spec
irnen brick.
Don’t advocate tho doctrino of uni
versal salvation. “Hell on the Wab
ash " is a matter of history.
Don’t turn up your nose at barren
land. A farmer without “ rocks " nev
er makes a stir in the world.
Don t dream that the world can’t wag
along without you. A grain of sand is
not missed from the desert.
Don’t attempt to do too much. At
twenty-five men imagine the/ will re
form the world. At forty they are con*
tent to reform themselves.
Tiie Xenia Torchlight relates this
story : “An old gentleman living near
here was called upon a short time since
by a clock tinkerer, who examined our
old friend’s clock and pronounced it out
of order. The old gentleman said that
it was good enough for him and the old
woman, and ho would not have it fixed,
but it was insisted upon, and he finally
agreed to keep the tinkerer and his
horse all night in recompense for tho
necessary repairs to the old house clock.
Tbe clock proved to need more
than was at first expected, and in addi
tion to the night’s lodging seventy five
cents was demanded. Tho old gentle
man objected to this,and began to count
up v.hat he had already given his lod
ger. ‘First, there was your supper— ’
‘Hut stop,’ said the tinkerer, ‘you asked
me to eat supper, and consequently you
can’t charge me for that.’ ‘Well/ said
the old gentleman, ‘you asked me to let
you fix my clock, consequently you can’t
charge me for that. So we are square
on the supper and clock, and you owo
me for your lodging and breakfast.’—
The old gentleman was ahead."
Woman’s Companionship. —What
the true man wants with a wife is her
companionship, sympathy and love.—
The way of life has many dreary places
in it, and man needs a companion to go
with him. A man is sometimes over
taken by misfortunes; he meets with
failure or defeat; trials and temptations
beset him, and he needs one to stand by
and sympathize. lie has some bard
battles to fight with poverty, enemies,
and with sin; and he needs a woman
that when he puts his arms around her,
he feels that he has something to fight
for ; she will help him to fight; that
will put her lips to bis ear and wh : sper
words of counsel, and her hand to his
heart and impart inspiration. All
through life, through storm and through
sunshine, conflict and victory, through
adverse and favoring winds, man needs
woi3*an s love. The heart yearns for
it*. A sister’s or a mother’s love will
hardly supply the need.
The reading of a good and well con-<
ducted newspaper, even for the space of
one quarter of a year, brings more
sound instruction, and leaves a deeper
impression, than would probably be ac
quired at the best school in 12 months.
Talk with the members of a family who
read the papers, and compare their in
telligence and information with those
wuo do not. The difference is
comparison.
“ Wake up. Judge, wake up ; there
is a burglar in the house,” said Mrs.
7 to her husband, the other ni-hi.
The Judge rolled out of bed. grasped
his revolver, and opened the door to
his wife, he said, “Come, you lead the
way. It’s a dog gone moan man that
will hurt a woman.”
A PRETTY girl attended a ball out
\ esi, recently, decked oil in short
ure93 *iod pants. The other ladies were
shocked. -"’he quietly remarked that
if they should pail tip th -I- ?■,>,
about the neck, a- t
tlielr sk : •
'G i:
-**-+-*
‘•Falling Water” is the pretty name
of Indian maiden up in Ohippewa
county, but she chews tobacco and wears
and old pair of army pants, with hoi a*
buttons on them.