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CALHOUN WEEKLY TIMES.
BY D. B. FREEMAN.
CALHOUN TIMES
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jjgttftiSSiamrt & justness (Cards.
U J. KIKER & SON,
* ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Will practice in all tlie Ctiurts of the Cher
©kee Circuit; Supretne Court of Georgia, and
the United States District Corirt at Atlanta,
Ga. Office : Sutheast corner of the Court
House, Calhoun, Ga.
JUAIN & MILNER,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
* OALHOUN, 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 AtlantiL
J I>7 TINSLEY™
Watch-Maker & Jeweler,
CALHOUN, GA.
All styles of Clocks, Watches and Jewelry
neatly repaired and warranted.
JJUFE WALDO THORNTON, D. D. S..
DENTIST.
(jffice over Geo. W. Wells & Co.’s Agricul
tural Warehouse.
jyjiSS C. A. HUDGINS,
Milliner & Mantua-Maker,
Court House St., Callioitni Ga.
Patterns of the latest styles and fashion
for ladies just, received. Gutting and
making done to order.
J 11. ARTHUR
DEALER IN
GENERAL MERCHANDISE,
RAILROAD STREET,
(Jalhdun, Ga.
y J T. 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. Call and examine before buying
elsewhere.
DR, H. K. MAIWj mTSU
PRACTICING PHYSICIAN,
Having permanently located in Calhoun,
offers his professional services to the pub
lic. Will attend all calls when not profes
sionally engaged. Office at the Calhoun
Hotel.
Books, Stationery and Jewelry.
/mm, IRWIN & CO.
(Sign of the Big Book & Watch.)
WE sup ly Blank Books, .School Books
and bioks of all kinds; also, pens,
inks, paper , and everything in in the line
of
Stationery, at Atlanta Prices.
A good lot of JEWELRY always on hand.
Watch, Clock and Gun repairing done
iheaply and warranted.
Country produce taken in exchange
6r goods. IRWIN & CO.
J. W. MARSHALL,
RAILROAD ST., OLD STAND OF
A. W BALLEW.
ceps constantly on hand a superior stock of
family & Fancy Groceries,
ilso a fine assortment of Saddles, Bridles,
itaple Hardware, &c, to which especial at
tention is called. Everything in ray line
■told at prices that absolutely defy competi
tion.
T. M. ELLIS’
LIVERY & SALK STABLE.
Good Saddle and Buggy Horses
and New Vehicles.
Horses and mules for sale.
Stock fed and cared for.
Charges will be reasonable.
Will pay the cash for corn in fhe ear and
fodder in the bundle. feb3-tf.
Squire Wadley ") Petition tor divorce in
vs. v Gordon Superior Court,
Amanda Wadley. J September term, 1875.
The defendant is hereby notified that the
jffiove stated case will be tried at t¥ie Sep
tember term, 1875, of Gordon Superior
°urt. HANKS & BIVINGS,
junO-GOd. riaintilfs Attorneys.
COOD-NIGIIT.
Apple blossoms, fair and lovely,
Opened with the dawning day,
Shook their fairy heads and nodded
To the blossoms o’er the way—
Caught the sunshine in the frolic,
Held it in their petals bright,
Scattered perfume on the breezes,
Laughing, dancing, said good night.
Fading blossoms, pure and stainless,
Slowly flutter from the trees ;
Snowy petals sadly linger
Playing with the evening breeze.
Drifting, floating, falling ever,
Fairy angels robed in white,
Hid among the dewy grasses.
Softly, sadly sighed good night.
By and by, alone and lonely,
Leaves arid blossoms withered dead
Will the trees seem robed in sorrow,
Mourning for their beauty fled.
But from out the barren branches,
Ki :dly veiled in winter’s white,
Hopeful of the coming springtime,
Sweet-tuned voices breathe good night.
We are waiting for the springtime—
Dark and dreary be the day—
Stifl our wistful eyes are turning
To the “sometime”—far away.
So we sink to rest, still trusting
Sleep, to dream of morning light,
Where the flowers shall bloom forever,
Wnere we ne’er shall say good night.
HOW HE LOST HIS WIFE.
Married ? said Peter Tremor—No,
and I never shall be now ! Fate is
against me. I was meant for a married
man. I know it. Nature intended me
to be the possessor of a wife and the
papa of a dozen sons and daughters,
hilt, unfortunately, Nature made me al
so the most timid man in the universe ;
and I could never screw my courage up
to the sticking point, and pop the ques
tion. One after the other the objects
of my admiration married someone else
—some one with pluck sufficient to say
“will you have me ?” plump and plain,
without knowing for certain that the
answer would be “yes.”
If I could have reversed the order of
things, and sp contrived that I should
only have had to give consent by blushes
and silence, I should not be a bachelor
today. O, dear, no! more probably a
grandfather. Rut, you see, girls are
shy and skittish, and won’t come to the
point, and the bewildering way they
have of never letting you know wheth
er they like you or Dot, is awful to a
timid bachelor.
So Kitty Greene, the brunette, whom
I adored at eighteen, and Jessie Brown,
who was my idol at twenty, and Rose
and Evaaand Helen and Josephine, and
Jane Eliza Tiffany, the daughter of a
dry goods merchant in Boston, and lit
tle widow Block with whom I boarded,
one and all forsook me for braver rivals,
and at forty I was a bachelor no braver
than before.
Just then my great-uncle, Bobkins,
took a final leave of this sublunary
sphere, and bequeathed me a legacy—
something rather handsome—enough, in
fact, to make quite a catch for any girl.
I let it be known, and waited, but no
offers of marriage came. One or two
ladies seemed more than usually amia
ble— smiles greeted my approach, andl
was invited out to tea to such a degree
that I ruined my digestion with pound
eake and muffins, preserves, and strong
cups of that herb which cheers but not
inebriates; still, nobody said “ will you
be mine?” and really I found it impos
sible to say it myself to anybody.
But, at last, one Christmas eve, at
the Stokers, there dawned upon my vis
ion a young lady by the name of Bob
kins —a glorious creature, all curls and
lace, and beauty generally.
This most lovely creature I felt was
intended by my luck for Mrs. Tremor,
and I vowed to win her, were it vossi
ble. It was a bold venture. Firstly,
her own loveliness awed me; then she
had a stout papa in a brown wig, and a
portly mamma, with roses in her cap,
who stared one out of countenance, and
a big brother, full of fire and fury, who
was known to carry revolvers at his
waist, and an adorer —my rival—who
had a black mustache and an uncom
fortable habit of declaring that he would
make mince meat out of any man that
stood in his way. Nevertheless, I
braved them all, and courted Amanda
Bobkins.
1 had heard her mamma say to our
hostess : “ How much a year did you
say ?” and presumed the question was
about my fortune. That in itself was
encouraging ; also the fact that when I
called, Amanda received me, and mam
ma was generally engaged in the kitch
en. The rival scowled and strutted and
made fearful allusions to mince meat. —
But I defied him. Never in all my life
had I been so brave.
One day I invited Amanda to take
some ice cream in a shady and roman
tic spot, and there, as I fondly fancied,
having my fate, I began after the third
saucer had disappeared :
“ Miss Bobkins, I —ahem ! —”
“ Well, Mr. Tremor.”
“ Perhaps you have guessed—”
“ Oh, Mr. Tiemor !”
“May I venture—” .
“ Spare my blushes, Mr. Tremor !”
“ To hope —”
“ Oh, you know—you must know ! I
have long —ah !”
“ Angel!”
A sound like the uncorking of soda
water.
“Somebody will see you, Mr. Tre
'mor.”
So it was settled. We were engaged.
Amanda Bobkins was mine. The dhy
was set at last. I was to be a married
man. I let all the world know it. I
defied my rival of the black mustache,
who circulated a base reportrthat Aman
da was about to marry for gold, and ,vas
as happy as a king.
So the days rolled on to my wedding
day. On the 20th of August we were
o be united at the church by the Ilev.
CALHOUN, GA., WEDNESDAY, JULY 28, 1875.
Silas Couplefolk. The world was too
small for me; I walked on thorns. We
were to be married on Sunday. On
Saturday I went out to walk—Saturday
evening abottt five o’clock—my evil ge
nius prompting me. It was a damp,
cloudy evehing; a gentleman of forty
was much more likely to escape a cold
by staying at home and retiring early.
Nevertheless, I walked through the vil
lage, out of it, down to the riverside,
and along it. At last I stood beside a
low brick wall, and beyond it was an
orchard of ripe apples. It was years
since I had robbed an apple tree. I was
ripe for sport that night.
“ Let me,” said I, live my youth over
again—for one brief hour,” and mount
ing the wall, I leapt over it and
to climb the most tempting tree which
presented itself.
I had aseended half way, when, hor
ror of horrors! a fearful growl burst
on my ears, and glancing downwards, I
perceived the most ferocious of all
watch-dogs making its way with head*
long speed towards me, his eyes rolling
—a dog ready to tear me in pieces if
he could get at me.
I put as many branches between us
as possible, and sat there, looking down.
The giant who sang fee fy fo fum ! I
smeU the blood of an Englishman !
Dead or alive, I must have some !” etc.,
etc., surely never manifested hi3- desires
by words more plainly than did that fe
rocious dog by "his tongue and eye 3
Once within his jaws, nothing remain
ed to Amanda Bodkins of her faithful
Tremor but his buttons. There sat the
dog watching me—there perched I pre
cariously among slender branches.
The sun went down, twilight began
to gather over the scene, and my heart
Went down with the sun. Would no
one come ? I yelled for help. There
was no answer but the dog’s bark. Twi
light faded—the evening came on—
the mooh began slowly to arise. By
its light I saw my enemy betake himself
to a pan of meat set for him hard by.
Taking advantage of this, I prepared to
descend ; but my guardian was aroused
at once, and I retreated. I called for
aid once more. Not an answer.
So hour after hour passed on, and
night—midnight. I counted the hours
by the church clock which struck regu
larly, but no one came to help me. I
listened in the hope that my jailor
would sleep, but he growled continually.
I was huogry, but hunger I could in a
measure appesae with apples. Fright
fully sleepy, yet dared not close my eyes,
lest I should topple down into the fiend
ish jaws of the watch dog.
Here was a situation! Moreover,
there came on towards dawn a dreary,
drizzling rain, which soaked, me to the
skin. Never did human being so rejoice
at the appearance o? daylight as I did.
Of comse with the sun the proprietor of
the house would awake, call off his dog,
and let me free. So I fondly believed.
Alas ! the shutters of the farm house
remained closed ; no smoke arose from
the chimney ; it appeared deserted.—
Moreover, a glance at the quantity of
food placed in the dog’s dish under the
tree made me fear that the inhabitants
were absent. The fear was made a cer
tainty in a very short time.
Just as the bells were ringing good
children to Sunday school, a man looked
over the wall from the road. I hailed
him joyfully.
“ Friend!”
“Lor !” ejaculated the rustic. “Swan
tu man, ef you ain’t there in the tree !
Comes o’ stealing!”
I couldn’t deny that, but pleaded
humbly ;
“My friend, I have been here all the
night. Will you call this dog’s master
to call him off? I will pay him well
for any damage I may have done to his
tree.”
“Couldn’t do it,” said the man.
“I implore you.”
“ ’Taint possible. You see, old man
Brown, that owns him, alius goes to his
darter’s on Saturday* afternoons, and
stays till Sunday night. His darter she
lives at Waterbridge, and that’s five
miles from Perry, and Perry’s three
miles from this here. Hev to stay till
he comes hum, I reckon.”
“ Until to-night ?”
“ Wa’al, I reckon. Nobody can’t
touch that dog—he’d chaw ’em up.”
“But I have a particular appointment
at ten this morning.”
“ That is a bad job. Only at your
age you ortu thunk of that. Didn’t
you see ‘ Beware of the dog ?”
“ No.”
“ Here it is in black and white out
side.”
“ Will you tell me the time, sir ?”
“ Half past eight. Time for me to
git if I’m going to meeting.”
“ But what shall 1 do ?”
“ Wa’al if you don’t mind risking the
dog. But I would advise ye to —”
“ Gracious goodness !” I gasped ; “ I
am to be married at ten this m irning.
I must be at Pettsborne landing by that
time. I will pay a messenger any sum
to go to Mr. What’s his-name for me,
and bring him —any sum.”
“’Twouldn’t be no use,” said he;
“you see ’twould take ’em till twelve to
git there, and then old man Brown
wouldn’t come. He’s sot in his ways.
Good*- bye.”
Away he went, but others came —
boys, girls, women and men. All told
the same tale of the dog’s ferocity. All
spoke feelingly of my want of honesty,
and recommended me not to trust my
self in reach of the savage beast, who
growled and barked continually. A
maiden lady came and left some tracts
on the wall, entitled “ The Sabbath-
Breaker’s End.” The minister stopped
and talked to me of depravity and sud
den judgments, with an admiring audi
ence of elderly females, who chorussed
“ To be sure,” and “Now, do hear him,”
and, worst of all, my wedding hour
passed. I felt, ?s it departed, that it
never would return again.
Another hour passed on —an hour of
speechless missery.
Then the dog, relaxing his vigilance,
was attracted by a predatory cat to a re
mote corner of the . orchard. Now was
my time, I scrambled to the ground,
tearing my garments in many places,
and began a wild race for liberty. A
savage growl warned me that my pursu
er was on my track ; I strained every
nerve, reached the wall, and threw my
self upon it, his jaws closing with a sav
age snap, within an inch of my heels.
I rolled off on the outer side panting
breathless. Recovering, I hurried to
the church.
T r was deserted by ill save tlie sexton.
In answer to my inquiry he informed
mo that the wedding had taken place
an hour before, and the bridal party had
departed. Wildly I demanded to see
the register. The writing was scarcely
dry which recorded the names of Aman
da Bobkins and Marmaduke Topps, my
hated rival with the fierce moustache.
In the midst of their indignation at my
supposed heartless desertion, he had
stepped forward, offered to fill my place
and been accepted.
I was crushed. I sought my lodg
ings and wrote a letter of explanation
to my lost Amanda. It was returned to
me unopened and enclosed in a note
from the big brother, intimating that
any further attempts of mine to com
municate with Mrs. Topps,either by let
ter or otherwise, would result in my re
ceiving a severe castigation.
I have never seen her since.
I shall never be married now—fute
is against it.
Mrs. Johnsoti’3 Mistake.
My friend Johnson has an establish
ment for the manufacture of jewelry
and silverware in Boston. Some time ago
he sold a bill of goods to a dealer in Au
gusta, Me. About a month after his
partner was on a visit to Bangor, and
while there Johnson wrote to him to
this effect:
“ I have heard nothing of that jew
elry I sent to Augusta. If you are
around that way stop and inquire if it
was received all right.”
He put the letter in his pocket and
forgot to mail it. Next day he left the
coat at home and Mrs. Johnson, as usu
al went through the pockets, and she
found the letter. When Johnson came
home that afternoon and opened the
front door he was amazed to see Mrs.
Johnson with her fonent on and an um
brella and handbox in her hand, sitting
in the hall on a trunk, looking as if she
had about twelve hundred pounds pres
sure of rage to the square inch. He
said :.
“ Why, Emeline, what on earth are
you doing?”
“ I’m waiting for a cab to take me to
my mother’s, you brute !”
“To your mother’s ? Why, what’s the
matter ?”
“Matter—matter? You know well
enough what’s the matter, you wretch !
I’ll no f - live with you another hour !
Oh, don’t talk to me, if you please ! Go
and talk to Augusta—go talk to her, if
you’re so fond of her. This winds you
up with me !”
“What do you mean anyhow ? You’re
behaving ridiculously.”
“I know lam ! Abuse me! Keep
on abusing me! Knock me down and
stamp on me! Augusta ’ll like it, I
dare say ! I wish I had her here now,
the wretch ! I’d give her a taste of
this umbrella ! I’d scratch her eyes
out !'”
“ Really, Emilene, this is the most
extraordinary conduct. Will you tell
me, my dear—•”
“Oh, don’t ‘dear’ me, if you please !
Save your rubbish sweetness for her.—
It’s too late to soft-sawder me. You
can’t give me clothes to be decent, but
Augusta gets all she wants, of course.
I go slouching around this house in an
old calico dress, but Augusta, I dare
say, has her silks and satins. I can’t
get a decent breast pin, but you can
give her a cart-load of ’em. It’s infa
mous !” ,
“ Emeline ?” ,
“Well, what ?”
“Did you readjthat letter I left in my
coat yesterday ?”
“Yes, I did, andthat’s the way I dis
covered your villany.”
“ Emeline?”
“ Well, what d’you wart ?”
“That letter referred to some jewelry
I sold to a man in Augusta, Maine.—
Emeline ?”
“Well?” ,
“You’ve been making a fool of your
self.”
“ Was it really Augusta, Maine ?
Oh, William, I’m afraid I have. I’m
afraid boo-hoo—boo-hoo—boo-hoo !”
Here Mrs. Johnson broke down and
wept profusely over the lid of her hand
box, while Johnson put her umbrella
gently in the rack and carried her trunk
up-stairs, while she gave play to her
feelings. She didn’t go home to her
mother, but that night she fixed a doz
en of Johnson’s shirts that he had been
trying in vain for a month to induce
her to repair. —Xew York Weekly.
An old gentleman gives the Elberton
Gazette a remedy for snake-bites or in
sect stings, which he has never known
to fail. Immediately upon being bitten
or stung, or as soon as possible thereaf
ter, apply a piece of moistened cop
peras to the wound, and keep it there
until the effects of the "poison disappear.
The copperas can be applied with a
bandage, or a large lump placed on the
wound, to which it will adhere as the j
mad-stone is said to do. When trie
lump drops off it should be replaced by
another piece, moistened as the first,
and this kept up until the adhering
ceases.
| live lifiicw and His taUf
Last Sunday, just as one of our
straightest deacons was getting ready
to shake the lines over his horse’s
back, and say “ge dap,” his wife hap
pened to remember that the calf hadn’t
been fed. The deacon looked at his
Sunday cloths and observed that he did
not deem it incumbent upon him to suf
fer for the negligence of others; to
which the deconess replied that such
language in the presence of the chil
dren, on a Sunday morning, arid from
a pillar of the church was enough to
shake one’s belief in the professions
that had been made by someone she
could name. The deacon handed the
lines to his eldest boy, and climed over
the wheel* without saying a word. lie
went around to the front door, and took
the door key from under the mat came
aiound to the back door, and as he was
trying to put the key in the hole the
key slipped from his hand and slid down
into the mud. Finally he got into the
kitchen and s'arted for the barnyard
with the milk. He sat the pail down
on the ground and called to the calf,
but the beast whisked his tail in the
air, and bellowed at him. Then he
captured the animal and pulled it along
by the ears and jammed its head into
the pail, but the calf gave a spring,
sending the milk in a cloud of spray
over the deacon’s shirt front. In try
ing to recapture the calf the deacon
dropped his hymn book out of his pock
et, and before he could rescue it the
calf stepped both feet on it and tore
the cover off. The deacon got mad
He took a hoop pole and belabored the
calf. One end of the pole struck the
shed, and knocked the deacon’s plug
hat off. It rolled directly under the
calf, who sent his foot through the tile,
and then went tearing around the yard
with his tail in the air, and the hat fas
tened justahove the knuckle bone.—
The deacon went into the house, and as
he unbuckled his shirt colar, he called
out, “ Maria, you go to church, and if
anybody asks after me, tell them I staid
at home to feed the calf!”
Ihe Fashionable Child.
There is unquestionably in infancy
an interference with natural instinct
which is far too great for healthful
growth. This, of course, from the con.
dition of the subjects of it, who are
hardly more than vegetative beings, is
chiefly physical. Ci nsider for a mo
ment how artificial a thing a modern
baby becomes under the hands of a fash
ionable mother ! Look ,at its manifold
wrappings of finery, with involutions of
lace and fine linen more complicated
than that of a mummy ! See : how care
fully it is handled and deposited lest a
speck should soil or derange the dressed
tfp manikin ? Notice how often it is
introduced to compauy, not seldom even
awaked out of sleep to be shown by ma
ma, eager for a compliment, to flattering
visitors with the ever ready “What a
fine baby !” on their lips. What more
unnatural usage could an infant be sub
jected to than be thus oppressed with
finery, deprived of its liberty, disturbed
of its repose, tormented by strange
hands, and infected, perhaps, in the
closeness of a kiss by repeated inspira
tions of tainted breath. It is a cruelty
to clothe it in any way by which its
limbs are checked in the freest rnoven
meet, to which it is impelled by natural
instinct. It should have the fullest
liberty to turn and roll, creep or toddle,
as it may, without fear of disorder from
exercise or dirt from floor. No super
fluous swathings of finery should be al
lowed to interfere with any of its vaga
ries of motion. A baby should be left
very much to itself and nature. The
less clothing it wears,and the less shack
les its body and 1 mbs, the better. We
need hardly insist upon its being allow
ed to get all the sleep it will take, for a
great deal of this, it is well known, is
essential to its health. It is equally
obvious that its natural instincts seeks
for pure air, and not the atmosphere
corrupted bj human breathing.
--
Meerschaum Mines of Asia Mi
nor.
The most extensive deposits of meer
schaum in Asia Minor are about twen
ty-four miles southeast of the city of
Eskischer, formerly Dorylea, the inhab
itants of which, numbering about 12,-
000 Armenians and Turks, are princi
pally employed in collecting or dealing
in this mineral. It is obtained down in
the earth, shafts or pits being sunk to a
depth of 27 to 33 feet. Forty or fifty
miners work in one mine and form a
company, dividing the profits among
themselves. The stonei are generally
irregular in shape and vary greatly in
size, being from the size of a nut to a
square foot or more in size. The largest
pieces are the most in demand and the
dbatest. The mineral, when freshly
dug, is of a yellowish white color, and
covered about a finger thick with a red,
greasy eaith, so soft that it can be cut
with a knife.
The treatment which the meerschaum
must be subjected to before it is fit for
export is very expensive and tedious. —
The pieces must first be freed from the
adhering earth and dried for five or six
days in the sun, or for eight or ten days
in warm rooms. The mineral is then
cleaned a second time and polished with
wax. After this it is sorted into differ
ent grades, of which there are ten, and
carefully packed with cotton into boxes
for export. The stones lose two-thirds
of their weight and volume in the op
eration of cleaning and drying. Price
depends upon the demand. The largest
! quantity is sent to Vienna and Germany,
the yearly export being 8.000 to 10,-
000 boxes, having a value of $700,000;
— ■
A good servant makes a good mas
ter. "
Jefferson ami Ilis Neighbors.
A Richmond, Va., correspondent of
the Chicago Times sends to that paper
an exact copy of President Jefferson’s
reply to an address of welcome pre
sented him by the people of Albemarle
county, Virginia,fin 1800, on his retire
ment from the Presidency of the United
States and returning home. The origi
nal manuscript of this address, only
found a few days since among old pa
pers of the late Judge Dabney Caar,
was presented to the State library for
preservation. It is as follows, if the
printers will follow copy ;
To the inhabitants of Albermarle
county in Virginia—
Returning to the scones of my birth
and early life, to the society of those
with whom I was raised, and who have
been ever dear to me, I receive, fellow
citizens and neighbors, with, inexpressi
ble pleasure, the welcome you are so
good as to give me.
Long absent on duties which the his
tory of a wonderful area made incum
bent on those called to them, the pomp,
the turmoil, the bustle and splendor of
office have drawn but doeper sighs for
the tranquil and irresponsible occupa
tions of private life, for the enjoyment
of an affectionate intercourse with you,
my neighbors and friends, and the en
dearmen-s of family love, which nature
has given us all as the sweetner of every
hour, for these I gladly lay down the
distressing burden of power and seek
with my fellow-citizens repose and safe
ty under the watchful cares, the labors
and perplexities of younger and abler
minds. The anxieties you express to
administer to m v happiness, do of them
selves eonfer that happiness; and. the
measure will be complete if my endeav
ors to fufilll my duties in the several
public stations to which I have been
called have obtained for me the appro
bation of my country, the part Which I
acted on the theatre of public
life, lias been before them ; and to their
sentence I submit; but the testimony
of my native county, of the individuals
who have known me in private life, to
my conduct in its various duties and re
lations, is the more grateful as proceed
ing from eye witnesses and observers,
from triers of the vicinage of you,then,
my neighbors, I maj ask, in the face of
the world, “YVhose ox have I taken or
whom have I defrauded ? Whom have
I oppressed, or of whose hand have I
received a bribe to blind mine eyes
therewith.”
On your verdict I rest with conscious
security, your wishes for my happiness
are received with just Sensibility, and I
offer sincere prayers for your own wel
fare and prosperity.
Th. Jefferson.
April 3, 1809.
Tlie Fartli.
What is earth, sexton ? A place to
dig graves.
What is earth, rich man ? A place
to work slaves.
What is earth, graybeard ? A place
to grow old. ,
What is earth, miser? A place to
dig gold..
What is earth, school boy? A place
for my play.
What is earth, maiden ? A place to
to be gay.
What is earth, seamstress ? A place
where we weep.
What is earth, sluggard ? A place to
sleep.
What is earth, soldier ? A place for
battle.
What is earth, herdsman ? A place
to raise cattle.
What is earth, widow ? A place of
sorrow.
What is earth, tradesman ? I’ll tell
you to-morrow.
What is earth, sick man ? ’Tis
nothing to me.
What is earth, sailor ? My home is
on the sea.
What is earth, statesman ? A place
to win fame.
What is earth, author ? I’ll write
there my name.
What is earth, monarch ? For my
realm it is given.
What is earth, Christian ? The gate
way to Heaven.
—
Getting Ready to Leave Church.
If, instead of the closing anthem,
some of the ministers should, at the
close of the service, give the orders—
“ Attention, worshippers ! for hats dive !
for overcoats go ! jerk, twist, plunge!
make yourselves ridiculous all!” the ef
fect would' hardly be a variation from
the present style of going out of church.
The singing of the doxology seems to
be a signal for a general putting on and
adjustment, and when the benediction
is about to be ponounced, the ruffled
congregation look more like jumping out
of the window? or uniting in a crushing
or crowding race for the doors than lis
taning to the solemn words of the good
pastor. At one of our well-filled
churches on Sunday evening it was ob
served that every third man was going
through these ridiculous motions while
the service was closing, although the
sermon had been excellent. Why do
not? people wait until the proper time
for these things ? There is a time for
everything, but the time does not always
occur during church service.
An awkward man,attempting to carve
a goose, dropped it on the floor “There
now !” exclaimed his wife, “we’ve lost
our dinner.” “ Oh, no, my dear,” an
swered he ; “ it's safe; I have my foot
on it.
A young lady, after reading atten
tively the title of a novel, called “The
Last Man,” exclaimed, “Bless me! if
such a thing should happen, what would
become of the women?”
VOL. VI.—NO. 1.
yclf-Exertiou.
The value of self*exertion appears no.
where more decided than when we foU
low the track of those who became emi
nent without having the advantage
ground of instruction from which to
start. There, is scarcely anything more
gratifying to the mind than the wel|>
written life of a perspn whose intellect
ual struggles through every difficulty
arising from want of books, want of ex
amples, want of patronage, and, who,
notwithstanding these impediments,
tinues to struggle till he triumphantly
emerges into notice. Art surrepd§r£
some of her choicest secrets, science
smiles, and fame or emolument, or both,
place the successful experimenter far
above common names. Not scantily are
the niches in the temple of fame orna -
mented with lasting memorials of per
sons thus claiming their well-deserved
honors—persons who have been thp
boast and blessing of their day, by
of unsubdued patience, fortitude
vivacious genius. Every department of
art and science is filled with them. The
stimulating examples are on every
From the lowest rank of life they start
forth. They break all tlie shackles of
ignorance. The repulsive frowns of the
crowd cannot daunt them. The fears
of the timorous they do not listen to.-fj
Determined to excel, they do excel, tiff
success, more or Jess complete, crowns
their untiring efforts.
Dying Words.
“Tt is well.”—Washington.
“I must sleep now.”—Byron.'
‘‘Kiss me, Hardy.”—Nelson.
“Head ( of the prmy ” —Napoleon.'
“ Don’t give u£ tKe ship.”—Law
rence. . ,i, t> ,
‘‘ Let the light enter.”—Goethe.
“ Into thy hands, O, Lord.”—Tasso.
“Independence forever.”—Adams.
“The artery ceased to beat.”—Haller.
“Is this your fidelity ?”—Nero.
“ God preserve the Emperor.”—
Haydn.
“ This is the last of earth.”—J. Q.
Adams.
“Give Dayroles a chair.” Lord
Chesjterfield.
“A dying man does nothing well.”—
Franklin.
“Let not poor Nelly starve.”—Charles
n. . .
“What I is there no bribing death?”
—Cardinal Reaufort.
“All my possessions for a moment of
time.”—Queen Elizabeth.
“It matters littlo how the head lieth.”
—Sir Walter Raleigh.
“Clasp my hand, my dear friend : 1
die.”—Alfieri.
“ I feel as if I were to be myself
again.”—Sir Walter Seott.
“Let me die to the sound of delicious
music.”—Mirabeau.
“ I know-that my Redeemer liveth.”
—Horace Greeley.
J
Tlie Arab's Proof.*
Some years ago a Frenchman, who,
like many of his countrymen, had won
a high rank among men of science, yet
who denied the God who is the author
of all science, was crossing the great
Sahara in company with an Arab guide,
lie noticed, with a sneer, that at certain
times, his guide, , .whatever obstacles
might arise, put them all aside, and,
kneeling on the burning sands, called
upon his God.
Hay after day passed, and stilt the
Arab never failed, till at last one even
ing the philosopher, when he arose from
his knees, asked him, wtih a contempt
uous smile : “How do you know there
is a God ?” The guide ffxed his eyes
on the scoffer for a moment in wonder,
and then said, solemnly : “ How do I
know there is a God ? How do I know
that a man and not a camel passed my
hut last night in the darkness ? Was it
not by the print of his foot in the sand ?
Even so,” —and he pointed to the sun,
whose last rays were flashing over the
lone desert—“ that footprint is not that
of man.”
—— ♦ ———
He of Good Cheer.
A man who acquires a habit of giving
way to depression is on the road to ruin’.
When trouble comes upon him, instead
of rousing tyis, energies So combat, he
weakens, and his faculties grow dull,
and his judgment becomes obscured’,
and he sinks in the slough of despair.
And if anybody pulls him out by main
force and places him safe on solid ground ’
he stands there dejected and discour*
aged, and is pretty sure to waste the
means of help which have been given 1
him. How different it is with the man
who lakes a cheery view of life at
its works, and faces every ill with un
yielding pluck ! He may be swept away
by an overwhemling tide of misfortune/
but he bravely struggles for the shore,*
and is ever ready to make the most of
the help that may be given him. A
cheerful, hopeful, courageous’ disposi
tion is ah invaluable trait of character/
ana should be assiduously cultivated:
Some .New French
It is right to despise fools; it is wrong
not to fear them.
. ■J'juve descends to friendship; friend
ship never soars to love.
1 eople who injure us always say
they do so foif our good.
\V omen do not like to retnember ;*
men do hot like to foresee.
Nothing shows happiness more than
tears. Tears are the extreme smiles.
An honest man never abandons a wo
man, but he knows how to make him
self forsaken.
oy their fickleness women escape
much misery. Birds save themselves
only with their wings.
A woman is never deceived by the
love she inspires, but she deceives her
sell through that which she expori
cnees.