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CALHOUN WEEKLY TIMES. BY D. 13. FREEMAN- CALHOU N TIMES Hates of Subscription* One Year $2.00 Six Months 1.00 Ten copies one year 15.00 Rates of Advertising. For each square of ten lines or less for the first insertion, sl, and for each sub sequent insertion, fifty cents. NcT.Sq’rs j I Mo. ~3 Mos. Jh Moe I Tyear. f W o $4.00 $7.00 I $12.00 $20.00 Four “ G.OO 10.00 | 18.00 35.00 1 collinih. 9.00 15.00 I 25.00 40.00 “ 15.00 25.00 40.00 G 5.00 1 “ 25.00 40-00 1 05.00 115.00 Ten lines of solid brevier, or its equivalent in space, make a square. Rates 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 h 00 Application for leave to sell land, one 11 A Oft square Each additional square 2 00 band .Sales, one square 4 00 Each additional square 3 00 Application for Homestead 2 00 Notice to Debtors and Creditors 4 00 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 !”