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CALHOUN WEEKLY TIMES.
BY D. 13. FREEMAN-
CALHOU N TIMES
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Tjv J. KIKER Sc SON,
attorneys at law,
Will practice in all the Courts of the Cher
okee Circuit; Supreme Court of Georgia, and
tlic United States District Court at Atlanta,
Ga. Office: Sutlieast corner of the Court
House, Calhoun, Ga.
TjVUN & mlluser,
attorneys at law,
GALIIOUN, GA.
Will practice in all the Superior Courts of
of Cherokee Georgia, the Supreme Court of
the State and the Untied States District and
Circuit '.ourts, at Atlanta.
J 1). TINSLEY, ~
Watch-Maker & Jeweler,
CALHOUN , GA.
All styler of Clocks, Watches and Jewelry
peatly repaired and warranted.
TJUFE WALDO THORNTON, D. D. S..
DENTIST.
Office over Geo. W. Wells & Co.’s Agricul
tural Warehouse.
jyjTSS C. A. HUDGINS,
Milliner & Mantua-fLaker,
Court House St., Calhoun* Ga.
Patterns of the latest styles and fashion
far ladies just received. Gutting and
making done to order.
j h. Arthur
DEALER IN
GENERAL MERCHANDISE,
RAILROAD STREET,
Calhoun , Ga.
7 TANARUS, OKAY,
f. i#
CALHOUN, GA.
Is prepared to furnish the public with
Buggies and Wagons, bran new and warrant
ed. Repairing of all kiuds done at short
notice. Call and examine before buying
elsewhere.
DR. H. K. MAIN, M. D.,
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.
J. w. marshall;
RAILROAD ST., OLD STAND OF
A. W BALLEW.
ceps constantly on hand a superior stock of
family & Fancy Groceries,
Uso a fine assortment of Saddles, Bridles,
Staple Hardware, &c, to which especial at
trition is called. Everything in xny line
leffd at prices that absolutely defy competi
tion.
Hooks, Stationery and Jewelry.
rum mwin & co.
Cm m W (Sign of the Big Book & Watch.)
H[E sup ly Blank Books, .School Books
'! and b >oks of all kinds; also, pens,
iuks, paper , and everything in in the line
of
Stationery, at Atlanta l*rieos.
A good lot of JJVELRY always on hand,
hatch, Clock and Gun repairing done
cheaply and warranted.
IML. Country produce taken in exchange
for goods. jRWIN & CO.
barber shop :
il;i ESSEX CHOICE.
HAYING opened a Barber Shop between
the Calhoun Hotel and W. & A. Rail
r°<nl, I earnestly solicit tbe custom ot the
public,pledging an honest endeavor to mer
-11 the good will of every one.
s ingle shave, 15cts. ; hair-cutting, 2-5 cts.;
lampooing, 25 cts. Shaving per month—
shaves per week, SI.OO, liair-cutting and
shampooing included. Other prices low in
Accordance. july2B tf.
Squire Wadley f Petition tor divorce in
vs. I Gordon Superior Court,
Y uanda Wadley. ) September term, 1875.
lue defendant is hereby notified that the
f d>ove stated case will be tried at the Sep
tember term, 1875, of Gordon Superior
h'°urt. HANKS & BIVINGS,
Plaintiff’s Attorneys.
TIIE BURIAL OF MOSES.
BY C. F. ALEXANDER.
By Ncbo’s lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan’s wave,
In the vale in the land of Moab
There lies a lonely grave.
And no man knows that sepulchre,
And no man saw it e’er,
For the Angels of God upturned the sod
And laid the dead man there.
That was the grandest funeral
That ever passed on earth,
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forlh ;
Noiselessly as the daylight comes,
Comes when the night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean’s check
Grows into the great sun.
Noiselessly as the spring time
Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills
Open their thousand leaves ;
So without sound of music,
Or voice of them that wept,
Silently down from the mountain crown
The grand procession swept.
Perchance the bold old eagle
On gray Beth-Peor’s height,
Out of his lonely eyrie
Looks on that wondrous sight •
Perchance the lion stalking
Still shuns that hallowed spot,
For beast and bird hav e seen and heard
That which man knoweth not.
But when the warrior dietli
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drum
Follow the funeral car ;
They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,
And after him lead liis masterless steed,
While peals the minute gun
Amid the noblest of the land
We lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honored place
With costly marble dressed ;
In the great Minister transept,
Where lights like glories fall,
And tne organ rings and the sweet choir sings
Along the emblazoned wall,
This was the truest warrior
That ever buckled sword,
This the mist gifted poet
That ever breathed a word ;
And never earth’s philosopher
Traced with a golden pen,
On the deathless page truth half so sage
As he wrote down for men.
And had he iiot high honor,
The hillside for his pall.
To lie him in state whi.e angels wait
With stars for tapers tall ;
And the dark rock pines like tossing plumes
Over his bier to wave,
And God’s own hand in that lonely land
To lay him in the grave ?
In that strange grave wiHiout*a name,.
Whence his uncoffined clay
Shall break again, oh, wondrous thought,
Before Hie judgment day,
And stand with glory wrapt around,
On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife won over life
With the incarnate son of God,
0 lonely grave in Moab’s land,
On dark Beth-Peor’s hill,
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still;
God hath his mysteries of grace,
Ways that we cannot tell,
He hides them deep like the hidden sleep
Of him lie loved so well.
FARMER BURLING’S REVENGE.
I did love her. Oh, how I did love
that girl! And they say all is fair in
love and war, and perhaps that is some
excuse for me. I had hked her a long
while, and I know that she liked me. —
1 was as big a fellow as she could see
anywhere about. I had a farm of my
own, and when I was married, father
had promised to build me a first-rate
house and stock the place for me.
And when I went to church on Sun
day, or to the city, I had good clothes,
and was never told I looked ill in them.
On the whole, I felt myself a good, fair
match for Fanny Martin, though she
she was so nice a girl And her father
and mother thought so, too, and she
never refused my attentions. I had
settled in the slow, quiet sort of way in
which country men do settle these things
that we’d make a match of it. The
other young fellows knew it, and if we
were not fashionable we were so far gen
tlemen that we had our code of honor.
None of them ever interfered or tried
to cut me out.
But, then, he came, don't you see,
Dapper and pretty, and dressed like a
tailor’s fashion plate, and he talked of
things 1 knew very little about, and his
hands were white, and he had graceful
gallant ways that I had never learned.
Mr. Williams —that was his name—
And in that summer holiday of his
while we were working over the crop,
and were tanned and dirty and worn,
and so tired that sleep was about all we
wanted when work was over, why, then,
he, soft and sweet and smiling, made
himself agreeable to the girls, and crept
into Fanny Martin’s heart. My lan
ny. She scarcely looked at me. She
did not care whether shS met me or not;
and on Sunday there he was making
me feel somehow so coarse and rough
and vulgar j and when I wanted her to
go with me into the woods where we
used to sit in the great green shadow,
and listen to the birds sing, she had
some excuse for staying i:t home ; and
and when on the road from church I
took her hand in mine, she snatched it
away and said quite crossly ;
“ Don’t Ben.; don’t do such silly
rustic things while the city folks are
here. They never do it themselves, and
they laugh so.”
“ Mr. Williams laughs, you mean, 1
suppose,” said I. “ I hat gentlemanly,
too.” * , ~ .
And then she blushed and curled her
little lip and said : ,
“ You are criticising Mr. W llhaius
manners, are you ?” ,
Af cr that there wa3 a coomess be
tween us ; but though it made my heart
ache, I could not think that it mattered
much to her, I stayed away from her
father’s house, and I did not walk home
with her from church on Sunday j in
deed, I did not go to church at all.
CALHOUN, GA., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 18, 1875.
And I knew the young folks, yes, and
the old folks too, were saying that we
were out with each other, and I suppose
every one guessed why; but I would
never answer any questions—not when
my own mother asked them, no not I.
So the summer passed and the fall
came on, and the city people stayed;
I saw that fellow’s Panama hat and
silk umbrella and pretty linen suit,
wherever I went. Farther than I could
see other people, I used to see him and
her—Mr. WiUiams and Fanny, you
know.
They never made Fanny work much
at home, and she had plenty of time to
enjoy herself. The only girl you know,
and her people what we call forehanded.
I never intended that she should
drudge after we were married. When
I had hoped for that, I did not mind
work myself, I’d never have made a
slave of my wife, as most farmers do :
any one can see that by looking at the
poor women who have no time for rest
or prettiness, or even to play with the
babies they bring into the world—wo
men, whose husbands are rich men, too,
very often.
This Mr. Williams, he could not have
made her more of a precious thing than
I would; I knew that,
I was thinking (his all over one even
ing on the meadow —not trying to think,
you know, but fighting the thoughts
that came like mosquitoes, as fast as I
drove them away, to ring in my ears
and stiug me—when suddenly I heard
someone say:
“ Ah—Mr.—Mr. Burling.”
And I looked up and there was Mr.
Williams, nattier than ever, with a ci
gar in his mouth.
If .he had known just how I felt to
him, I’m not sure that he’d have come
to find me alone in the great meadow,
and 1 thought of that as I jumped up
from the grass and looked at him. But
he was smiling as politely as possible,
and there is something in a man’s heart
that makes it hard to do the first rude
thing to one who is civil.
Still I was not over polite to him, l
know.
w That’s my name,” said I: “Do
you want me ?”
“ I want something of you,” said he.
“There’s a little excursion to night over
at our house We are going to drive
to the falls and sup, and I’m going to
take a lady. Have you any light wag
pn, and a horse, of course, that you
could hire me for the evening ? I’d
rather go alone with her than in the
big wagon. Y"ou know, I’m sure, how
it is—that a fellow had rather ride
alone with a pretty girl, and if you’li
help me out I’ll be ever so much ob
liged to you.”
So he had come to ask me to help
him to have a nice time with my girl
—he who had cut me out. I looked at
him, just holding my hands still by
main force, and I thought of him rid
ing along the moonlit road, with Fanny
close beside him. I asked myself wheth
er his arm would not be around her
waist, and whether in the shadow, as
they fell a little behind the others, he
would not kiss her.
“ And you want me to help you !” I
said out loud. “Me /”
“Y'es,” he said. “Please.”
* Come along,” I said. “ I’ll show
you what I’v.e got.”
On the farm that was mine there was
one building, a little cow-shed. We
put the tools in there sometimes, and I
had a padlock for the door, the key was
in my pocket- It came into my head
that I could spoil his evening for him,
and spite Fanny, too, by locking him
in this shed. And if he had spirit
enough to fight me for it afterwards so
much the better. And I led the way
down into the meadow where it stood,
and unlocked the door.
“Just look in,” said I, “ and see if
that will suit you.”
“ Can’t see anything,” said he. “ It’s
pitch dark. Wait, I have a match.”
He took one from, his pocket, and
stooped to strike it on the sole of his
boot, and then I gave him a push and
over he went, and I had the key in my
pocket.
“ Y'ou’ll not make any one hear very
soon, my lad,” said I, grinning to my
self, “ and you’ll not kiss Fanny Mar
tin going over the bridge this evening.”
Then I went away and laid myself
flat upon the porch in front of our house,
and felt happier than I had felt before
for a long time. Revenge is sweet now
and then. 1 don’t pretend to have none
of the old Adam in me. I’d been there
about half an hour, and the chirp, chirp,
chirp of the crickets was lulling me off
to sleep, when suddenly I heard a little
light step clos 1 by me, and saw a wo
man’s white dress fluttering, ana jump
ing up, stood before Fanny Martin.—
The first thought that came into my
mind was that she was looking for her
beau, and it made me fiendish.
“ That you, Miss Martin ?” said I.
l Yes. Mr Burling,” said she; and
though I’d said 31 iss Martin, how it
hurt me not to be called Ben. “ I came
over to see your mother. Is she in ?”
“ No,” said I ; gone to prayur-meet
ing at Deacon Dull’s.”
“ Then I had better go hofne,” said
she ; but she lingered.
“ Not looking for any one else ?”
said I.
“ No,” she said, very sadly. “ Good
night.”
But I could not let her go without a
cut.
“ I thought you’d be on this wonder
ful moonlight drLe,” said I.
“ There you were mistaken,” said
she.
“ Did be forget to come for you ?”
said I —“ Mr. Williams, you know.”
, " “ I haven’t been asked to drive,”
said she. “ I don’t know why you say
so. The city folks are all by themselves,
and Mr. Williams, I suppose, is with
the lady he’s engaged to. She came
down last week with her mother.”
“ Oh,” said I, and I began to wish I
had asked a few more questions, before
I locked young Williams up in the cow
house.
We stood still, apart from each oth
er. I saw her lip quiver. Was it for
him? Had he jilted her? That was
tit for tat, anyhow. But she was so
pretty and so sad, and so winning, I
felt my he:irt give one great throb. I
took a step nearer — she took another.
“ Oh, Ben.,” cried she, “ I can’t
stand it if you stay angry with me. I
always have liked you Dest, but you’ve
been so awfully cross,” and then she
was crying on my shoulder.
Did you ever make up with someone
you’d “ fallen out ” with, loving her all
the time ? Did you ever feel, holding
the dear face between your two palms,
pressing sweet kisses on the dear, soft
mouth, that it had all come back, all the
old love and trust, and sweetness, and
hope that you thought dead ? If you
have, you know what I felt that mo
ment.
I found myself again. I was Ben.
Burling once more. Not the hot, an
gry fellow, with a curse upon him I
had seemed so long, and all for a little
silly woman; a dear, sweet, silly little
woman, how strange it was. Out of all
my life I’d like to have that one moment
buck ; it was the sweetest I ever lived
through.
Then what? A splash of crimson
and orange on the white wall of the
house; a cry from Fanny. We both
turned and looked. Up to the midst of
the far meadow rose a column of flame.
The cow-house was on fire, and I had
looked poor innocent young Williams
up in it to be roasted alive.
“ Oh, Fanny,” I cried, glaring at the
horrible sight. “ I’m a murderer— a
murderer—don’t touch me.”
Aud away I flew to undo my mis
chief, if there was time. There might
be, perhaps.
Never was such a run as I took across
that long meadow. But when I reached
the door, plunging my hand into my
pocket foi the key, I could not find it.
1 had dropped it somewhere. It was
not about me.
“ Williams !” I cried ; “ Williams !
are you there ? I am outside ; courage !”
There was no answer.
“ For Heaven’s sake, if you can speak
do,” I shrieked; but pilence answered me.
Doubtless the smoke had already smoth
ered the poor fellow, but I set to work
and tore away the burning boards. I
was scorched. My lia,ir, Ul7 face, my
eyebrows. Twice my clothes were on
fire, but I rolled on the dew wet grass,
aud was up and at the flames again.—
Oh, it was horrible. If he had been
my rival it would have been bad enough,
but an innocent young fellow, his sweet
heart waiting for him somewhere.—
What a wretch I was.
“ God have mercy on me,” cried I.
“ Let me save him, don’t punish me by
making me a murderer !' and 1 tore
and wrenched the boards with my burnt
bands. And in a moment more —well
it was the roof that fell, I think—l
don’t know.
“ lie’ll do very nicely now,” said
some one —“ very nicely . plenty of
nourishing food, quiet, and the wash as
directed. No danger, no danger, though
his escape is wonderful.”
It was the family doctor, and I was
on the spare bed in the bedroom, with
bandages about my hands. Mother sat
there; so did Fanny. Father looked
over the bod foot. Peleg and Jane Ma
ria, the help, were also visible.
“ And why to gracious he was so sot
on saving that old shed, I can’t tell,”
said mother. “ Must have hid some#
thing precious there.”
They did not know, then. I sat up
and looked at them all.
“It wasn’t the shed,” said I. “Moth
er, father. Fannie, it was Mr. Williams.
1 had locked him up there. I’ve mur
dered him.”
“No,you haven’t,” said another voice,
and someone came around the bed.
“I’m a'ive, you see. You didn’t think
I’d stay locked up in a cow-shed when
I had an engagement with a lady, did
you ? I just burned the lock off with
my cigar, and came away. I intended
to give you a fright in return for your
trick. I suppose its what you call a
practical joke in the country ; but I
didn’t think of anything serious. I’m
really sorry.”
I den t know what I said. I know
I felt like a fool ; but that was not as
bad as feeling like a murderer.
I had a pretty pair of hands for the
next four weeks ; but I didn’t mind it
as much as if Fannie had not fed me
with hers. She petted me as though I
were a hero instead of an idiot. I be
lieve she thought I had done something
noble and grand. And she’s been my
wife now —how long, Fannie ? Not so
long as to have forgotten to be lovers,
though my boy’s head is od a level with
his mother’s shoulders, and my own is
turning gray
At an auction of goods on Harrison ave
nue yesterday, when a woman made a
bid on an old bureau worth about two
dollars, a boy slipped around to another
woman and whispered in her ear :
“You see that woman over there with
a bluj bow on?”
“ Yes.”
“ Well, she says that no woman with
a red nose can buy anything at this
sale !”
The woman with a red nose pushed
her way into the crowd aud run the
price of the bureau up to twelve dollars
and as it was knocked down to her she
remarked :
“ I may have a red nose, but no cross
eyed woman with a blue bow on can
bluff me.” — Detroit Free Prsss.
A St of Two Homes.
It is not so much the amount of money
a man earns, but the way he spends it,
which solves the problem as to whether
he has a happy home or not. A and
B have an equal salary $l5O per month.
One has a prettily furnished house, a
comfortable table, his wife and children
are respectably dressed, they all move
in a respectable society, occupy a pew
in acme church, and have ( monthly
credits with the merchants wilh whom
they trade. The; other, with his wife
and children, have uncomfortable quar
ters in some boardiTg house ; the wife
is shut out from society ; she is not prop
erly clothed for the different seasons ;
she is neyer seen at any place of public
amusement with the children; the dom
estic life of the famly is nothing more
nor less than a miniature hell; and, in
numerous instances, strange as it may
seem, that one who suffers has quite as
good capacities as the one who prospers.
The whole secret of difference is the way
they use their money. For every cent
that A puts out he gets something for
his family. To illustrate]: B spends fif
ty cents a day for cigars and tobacco ;
fifty cents a day for drinks and fifty
cents a day for lunches, billiards, car
fare &c. Then after he has paid his
monthly for board, wash bills &c , he
hasn’t got a cent left, nor the slightest
thing on earth to show for his money.
He lives for no other purpose than to
distribute his hard earned money to sa
loons, restaurants and boarding house
keepers. It is a dreadful way of spend
ing one’s life, but hundreds do it. It
is true that fifty cents will buy five ci
gars or ten glasses of beer. It will also
buv two pairs of stockings, two linen
collars, a pair of gloves, two pair of
pocket handkerchiefs and various things
the wise man gets them tbe fools
go looking shabby. Fifty cents will
pay for two games of billiards, and it
will buy a quart of milk, a loaf of bread
a pound of sugar, a quart of berries and
a pound of butter. The fool plays bill
iards, and the wise man’s wife and baby
has a good breakfast. B breaks a five
dollar bilk in a saloon and before he can
say Jack Robimson every cent of it is
gone somewhere, where lie can’t tell,
but most of it in treats to worthless
companions. A takes his five dollars
and gets his wife a pair of slippers, a
collar and a pair of cuffs, anew summer
dress, a few little ribbons, and a pound
of candy no man by the way, can expect
to be thoroughly happy unless he buys
his wife candy occasionally. We have
said enough to illustrato how happiness
comes from the proper use of money,
and how sure misery is to follow a per
verted use of it.
Ancient Timepieces.
Bowls were used to measure time,
from which water, drop by drop, was
discharged through a small aperture.
Such bowls were called water clocks. It
was then observed how much water from
such a bowl or cask, from sunrise to the
shortest shadow, trickled down into an
other bowl placed beneath it; and this
time being the half of the whole solar
day, was divided into six hours. Con
sequently,they took a sixth of the water
that trickled down and poured it into the
upper bowl, and this discharged, one
hour had expired. But afterwards a
more convenient arrangement was made.
They observed how high the water at
each hour rose n the lower bowl, mark
ed these points, and counted them,thus
finding how many hours were till sun
rise. With the Chinese, the water
clocks, or clepsydrans, are very old
They used a round vessel, filled with
water, with a little hole in the bottom,
which was placed upon another vessel.
When the water in the upper vessel
passed down into the lower vessel, it
subdivided by degrees, announcing
thereby the part of time elapsed.
The Babylonians are said to have
used such instruments; from them the
Greeks of Asia Minor got them, at the
time of King Cyrus, about the year 550
before Christ, But the Romans did
not get the first water clock before the
year 160 before Christ. Although the
hours of the clepsydras did not varj in
length they still counted from the morn
ing:. When the clock with us strikes
seven, the ancients counted one; when
the clock with us strikes tweve, the an
cient counted six, and so forth. This
method of counting the hour was, ac
cording to the new Testament, also cus
tomary in Palestine at the time of
Christ. The waterclocks had the ad
vantage that they could be used in tbe
nighfc, and the Romans used them to di
vide their night-watches, which were re
lieved four times, both summer and
winter. Conformably to these four
night-watches, time was counted, not
only in Rome, but wherever a Roman
garrison was stationed, consequently- al
so in Palestine after she became a Ro
man province.
Too Little Mvnners. —Sir Fletch
er Norton was noted for his want of
courtesy. When pleading before Lord
Mansfield, on some question of manorial
right, he chanced unfortunately to say,
“My Lord, I can illustrate the point by
an instance in my own person ; I myself
have two little manors.” The Judge
immediately interposed, with one of his
blandest smiles, “We all know it, Sir
Fletcher.”
“ Yes, you may come again next Sun
day evening, Horace, dear, but ’ and
she hesitated. “ What is it, darling?
Have I given you pain ?” he asked, as
she still remained silent. “You didn’t
mean to, I’m sure,” she responded, ”
but next time please don’t wear one of
those collars with the points turning
outward t they scratch so.”
The Language of the Fan.
It may be of interest to the “gay
belles of fashion” to know in what mys
terious way the Spanish coquettes di
plomatize and intrigue with the fan,and
for this purpose the following transla
tion of Castillian and Peruvian rules
may not be amiss:
To cover the breast with the fan,
open signifies “Be discreet.”
The fan held close and upright means
“l r ou may act in all security ;no ob
stacles stand in the way.”
The fan presenced to the interlocutor
by the small end .signifies indifference,es
trangement or aversion. Presented
horizontally by the largo end,it author
izes compliments or intrigue.
Three compartments or ribs of the
fan open, means “I love you.” It is a
confession. Two open indicates an ex
tensive sympathy ; one only,open,chaste
friendship.
The fan closed play3 a grand role.
The extremity poised on the forehead
is translated, “My protector is coming.”
If poised upon the left arm “The pro
tector is my brother ; ” if upou the belt,
“My Mother.”
The end of the fan placed upon the
lips imposed immediate silence. The
woman who fans herself “up and down”
is a little aristocratic, a tyrant, to be
distrusted, for this movement says:
“You submit yourself in advance to my
caprices and wishes.”
When a lady fans herself in a reverse
fashion it means that she i3 a “miss,”
an unmarried woman ; if tho fan be
placed on the breast with the left hand
she is a married woman, if, on the con
trary, the hand effect to wander to the
throat,she is a widow ;if it touches the
breast immediately below the throat,
and lightly strikes it, it invites a flir
tation.
In Peru more than elsewhere the la
dies make practical use of their fans
There the grandest lames of respecta
bility use fans ofseven ribs, correspond
ing to the seven days in the week.
Three discreetly given taps by the fin
ger nails on the fourth rib of tbe fan
means Thursday evening at 3
o’clock. If tbe fan is immediately open
ed the rendezvous is to be at the house
of the second person; if closed at the
lady’s house or elsewhere.
\anitas Vauifittum.
She came tripping into the street car,
smiling at the Conductor as she enter
ed, and took a seat between two gentle
men. Presently she opened a little
pocket-book, took out a ticket and said
sweetly to one of the men, “Will you
pass this please ?” and when he had
put it in the box she smiled sweetly
again and said, “So obliged.” Then
she patted her dress, smoothed down
the ribbons about her, pulled forward a
ringlet which wasn’t big enough to show
well unless in front, and folded* her
hands upon her lap. There was a gen
eral smile about the car, of which she
was unconscious. Had a school girl
done the same things no one would
have noticed them, but this woman was
forty-five at the very least! It was the
needless, and useless, and pathetic effort
on her part to appear youthful which
made her case remarkable. The ribbons
about her was of hues adapted to girl
hood There was a touch of paint
about her thin cheeks that made the
countenance almost ghastly. The hat
she wore was of the coquettish kind—
above an exceedingly handsome and
piquant face it might have appeared
well; upon her it was simply ridiculous.
Her hair was not as heavy as it once
had been, and it didn’t curl naturally,
but some of the thin locks were ar
ranged to hang in careful disarrange
ment down over the forehead, and on
each side of the face one corkscrew
ringlet dangled and swayed and bobbed.
It seemed impossible that the woman
shouldn’t have known she was making
a spectacle of herself,but there sho was,
all foolish innocence and pride. Final
ly she reached her street, beckoned to
the Conductor smilingly, tripped down
the steps as she ascended them, and
went mincing away in a funny style.—
PhUadclph ia Press,
Grotesque Salutations.
The inhabitants of the Dhillippines,
in saluting each other, use the most
complex attitude ; they bend their body
very low, place their hands on their
cheeks, and raise at the same time one
foot in the air with their knee bent.
The Islanders, near tho Dhillippines,
take the hand or foot of vhom they sa
lute, and with it gently rub their face.
The Laplanders apply their nose strong
ly against that of the person they salute.
In an island situated on the straits of
the sound,salutations are really gymnast
ic performances, Iloutuian says the
natives saluted him by raising his left
foot, whicn they passed over the right
leg, and from thence over his face. An
Ethiopian takes the robe of another and
ties it about his own waist, so that he
leaves his friend half naked. Their sa
lutatory ceremonies are farcical; the
greater part of them pull the fingers
until they crack. When’two negro
monarchs visit they embrace by snap
ping three times the middle finger.
When ancient Franks would show a pe
culiar mark of esteem they tore the hair
from their heads, and presented it to
the person they saluted. The slave cut
his hair and offered it to his master.
The Chinese are singularly affected in
their personal civilities. They even
calculate the number oi their reverences.
These are the most remarkable postures.
The men move their hands in a very
affectionate manner, while they are
joined together on the breast, and bow
their head a trifle. If they respect a
person they ra ; se their hands joined,
then lower them to tho earth in bending
the body.
VOL. VI.—NO. 4.
Jonli.
A laigc share of tho happiness in this
world that we brag so much ov is made
up entirely ov the arts we use to make
others think we are happy.
\it ties and drink are great human*
izers—starve a man and yu have got a
turtle duv. - :
I never knu a man who lived hi hie
wits but spent hiz old age at somebody
else’s expeuse.
It is a grate art to be able at all times
to tell less than yu kno. > ,
Genius, without energy, iz az bad opb
az a luxuriant hop vine without enny
Pole- . i/o< d*
Suspishun, a little ov it, is a good
thing enuff for a fello citizen to hatcj,
but when he huz got so mutbh 07 it
that he kant see a uot hole in a boan|
fense without smelling a rat he iz bae.
°P h - . . . ,-i.
Energy is what wins ; mency nea
fail to reach the mark bekauso tho pow
der in them ain’t proporshuned to the
lead.
\\ it makes a very good gravy, but'
it is too rich for a stiddy diet.
Men will plead guilty to rashness.and
even hatred, but the most diftikult
thing for them to admit iz a blunder.
When i see a well behaved child i
allwus give the mother kredit for it; i
allmost want to kiss the mother for the
child’s sake.
Good nature iz the only kind of an ex
cuse that i kno ov for impudence. r •
I like too much gaul in a man better
than i do too much milk.
If there is ennything that i really
hate it iz a literary pedant who has
swallowed a dfckshunery whole, and
bekuuse he happens to feel lull thinks
he iz intelligent.
t iWfel Girl.
A correspondent of the Sandersvillo
Uerald tell, of a young ladyof that county
who will certainly not remain single
very long, if the men down there have
any appreciation. lie says :
She is some nineteen years old, of me
dium height and size ; has long and very
black hair, and, I think, dark eyes; she
is not corpulent, but plump ; she has fair
complexion, and is beautiful; she has a
good English education, and issensiblej
she has a sweet, strong and melodious
voice, and loves to sing ; she is a member
of the Missionary Baptist Church, and is
true to the cause; she can do anything
that comes to hand, and takes a delight,
in it. I knew her in ’7l and ’72, and,
understand she is still single. 1 have
seen her sweep the yard, milk the cows
and churn. I have seen her ironiog,
and known her to cook, and make a fire
and wash and dress her little brothers
and sisters; she looks after the chickens
hogs and goats, and they lovo her. Sh j
can hive bees as well, with as few stings,
and with as much expedition as any man,
I never saw her when she had nothing
to do consequently never knew her to be
dull. I never saw her except in best of
sprite, and ready to entertain company.
I never saw hei when she was not ready
for the parlor or the kitchen. She is a
good seamstress, and has lots of her own
and of her mako, some eighteen quilts,
She often has a eofton patch and can
cultivate it. She can put a horse in a
buggy or mules in a wagon. When her
brothers and father were away, she strip
ped cane, hauled, ground and boiled it,
and had six gallons of syrup home by
night. She often shaves her father’s
beard, and is among the first up in tho
morning.
——
Why Nome People Are Poor.
Silver spoons are used to scrape ket
tles.
Coffee, tea, pepper, and spices are left
to staud open and lose their strength.
Potatoes in the cellar grow, and the
sprouts are not removed until the pota
toes become worthless.
Brooms are never huug up and very
soon spoiled.
Nice handled knifes are thrown into
hot water.
The flour is sifted in a wasetfnl man
ner, and the bread pan is left with the
dough sticking to it.
Clothes are left on the line to whip
to pieces in the wind.
Tubs and barrels are left in the sun
to dry and fall apart.
Pried fruits are not taken care of in
season and become wormy.
Rags, strings, and paper are thrown
into the fire.
Pork spoils, for the want of salt, and
beef because the trine wants scalding.
Bits of meat, vegetables, bread and
cold puddings are thrown away, when
they might be warmed, steamed, and
served as good as new.-“ Cottage Hearth.
Young lady behind the counter (to
sea-side visitor) : “I am sorry you arc
going away, ma’am, but hope we shill
see you here next season.”
Sea-side visitor : Ah, dear, I don’t
know, I’m sure; next year I may be iu
heaven 1”
Young lady with enthusiasm): “ Oh
uo, ma’am, I hope not!”
“ Pat, you have dated your letter a
week ahead. It is not so late in tho
month by a week,spalpeeu !” “Troth boy
indade, an’ its just mesilf that wanted
sweet Kathleen to get it in advance of
the mail. Shure, I’ll not care if she
gets it three days afore it is written, me
darlint”
A fussy andover particular young la
dy was having her photograph taken,
and just as the operator had got her
down to the “ perfectly still ” business,
she suddenly threw up her arms anc!
exclaimed: “ There I forgot to put mVr
bustle on !”