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- ■ CALHOUN WEEKLY TIMES. BY D. B. FREEMAN. CALHOUN TIMES Kates of Subscription. One Year $2.00 fVi Months 1 1.00 Ten copies one year 15.00 Rates of Advertising. ©Sy*’ For each square of ten lines or less for the first insertion, $1; and for each sub sequent insertion, fifty cents. No.Sq’rs 1 Mo. | 3 Mob. | 6 Mos ( 1 year. Two $4.00 $7.00 I $12.00 $20.00 Four “ 6.00 10.00 | 18.00 35.00 i column 9.00 15.00 I 25.00 40.00 j “ 15.00 25.00 40.00 65.00 1 25.00 40-00 | 65.00 115.00 ggT* Ten lines of solid brevier, or its eouivalent in space, make a square. Kates of Legal Advertising. Sheriff’s Sales, each levy $4 00 Citation for letters of Administration and Guardianship 4 00 Application for dismission from Admin istration, Guardianship and Exec> utorship 5 00 Application for leave to sell land, one square 4 00 Each additional square 2 00 Land Sales, one square 4 00 Each additional square 3 00 Application for Homestead 2 00 Notice to Debtors and Creditors 4 00 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.