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JOHN HENRY SEALS. ) and > Editors. L. LINCOLN VEAZEY. ) NEW SERIES, VOL. I TEMPERANCE CMADH, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. EXCEPT’ TWO, IN THE YEAR, BY JOHN H. SHAHS. ■ terms: - f in advance; dr s2,t*o at the end of the year. RATES OF ADVERTISING. 1 square (twelve lines or less) first insertion,. .$1 00 Each continuance, .50 Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding six lines, per year, 5 .00 Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00 ST AN DING ADVERTISED ENT’S. 1 square, three months, ---- $ 00 1 square, six months,— - 7 00 1 square, twelvemonths, - -—l2 00 2 squares, “ “ 8 squares, “ “ --*2l Q 0 4 squares, “ “ 25 00 Advertisements not marked with the numbor of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and charged accordingly. Druggists, and others, may con tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms. LEG AT. AD V ERTISKMENTS. Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 5 00 Salo of Personal Property, by Administrators, Executors, and Guardians, per square,— 3. 25 Notice to Debtors and'Creditors,... 3 25 Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00 Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm’n. 5 00 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi anship, ~ 8 25 LEGAL REQUIREMENTS. Sales of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, arc required by law to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the after noon, at the Court House in the County in which the property is situate. Notices of these sales must be given in a public gazette forty days previous to the day of sale. Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be given at least ten days previous to the day of sale. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must be published weekly for two months. Citations for Letters of Administration must be published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin istration, monthly, six months —for Dismission from Guardianship, forty days. TV.” n£L must be pub been given by tho deceased, the full sync# of’ three months. will always be continued accord ing’to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise ordered. The Law of Newspapers. 1. Subscribers who do not give express notice to the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue tbpir subscription. • 2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their pewspftpers, the publisher may continue to send them until all arrearages are paid. 3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their newspapers from the offices to which they are di rected, they are held responsible until they have set tled the bills and ordered them discontinued. i. If subscribers remove (.q other places without informing the publishers, and the newspapers are sent to the former direction, they are held responsi ble. 6. The Courts have decided that refusing to take newspapers from the office, or removing and leaving them uncalled for, is }>rima fade evidence of inten tional fraud. 0. The United States Courts have also repeatedly decided, that a Postmaster who neglects to perform his duty of giving reasonable notice, as required by the Post Office Department, of the neglect of a per gqn to from the office newspapers addressed to iiim, renders the Postmaster liable to the publisher for the subscription price. JOB PRINTING, of every description, done with neatness and dispatch, at this office, and at reasonable prices for cash. All orders, in this department, must be addressed to J. T. BLAIN. PROSPECTIS TIMPIAII CRIIDI, m TEMP EitANCE’ BANS El!. ACTUATED by a conscientious desire to further the cause of Temperance, and experiencing great disadvantage in being too narrowly limited in space, by the smallness of our paper, for the publica tion of Reform Arguments and Passionate Appeals we have determined to enlarge it to a more conve nient and acceptable size. And being conscious of the feet that there are existing in the minds of a large portion of the present readers of the Banner and its former patrons, prejudices and difficulties which can never be rejnoved so long as it retains the name, we venture also to make a change in that par ticular. It will henceforth be called,. “THE TEM BERASCE CRUSAbER.” . This pld pioneer of the Temperance cause is des tined yet to chronicle the tr umph of its principles. It has stood the test—passed through the “fiery fuV- and, like the “Hebrew children,” re-appeared unscorched. It has survived .the nempaper fanzine vfhich has caused, and is still causing many e<x&el-’ lent journals and periodicals f.o sink, like “bright ex halations in the evening,” to rise tfomore, and it has even heralded the- “death struggles of many contem poraries, laboring for the* same great eivd-with itself. It “stilllives,” and “waxing-bplder it grows older,” is now waging an eternal “Crusade” against the “In fernal Liquor Traffic,” standmg likc'the “High Prfest” of the Israelites, who stood between the people and the plague that threatened destruction. We entreat the friends of the Temperance QnuSe to give us their influence in extending the usefulness of the paper. .We intend ['resenting to the public a sheet worthy of all attention atid a liberal patronage; for while itis atriotly a Temperance Poifi-tiftl, we shall endeavor to ke,ep- ite,readers posted oo ail the eun-ent events throughout the country. > IgpHPrice, as heretofore, sl, strictly in advance. ’ ‘ ‘AT’ ■ ‘ JOHrif.-gfeO# ’* Editor and’Proprietor. Qa., Doc.J* 185fc “ §Wwrt& to Centperaitct, |poral% literature, faeral Intelligence, Betas, Ac. From Graham’s Magazine. SITTING IN ONE’S BONES. 15V GEORGE W. GRIMSBY. ‘•There mbit a young man in all Rich mond who works as hard as my George— no, not one.” S > said old George Grantlmm, one oft he mogt respected citizens of Richmond, Va., a goodmany years ago. The old man had once heei wealthy; hut a series of-misfor tunes and gradual decline in the value of his property had impaired his circumstan stances;'and instead of leaving his only son a competency as he had once ex pected to do, he now looked forward with considerable anxiety to his prospects of success in the profession he had chosen. Young George was to be a doctor. liis father could not afford to send'him to Eu rope to study, nor indeed was it then thought necessary; but no expense was spared to procure for the young man the laiesfc works and the best instruments and other paraphernalia of the craft. As for George himself, he was like all young men of his age. He was anxious to work, and quite resolved in his vague way to succeed in life, and make a name for himself; but he djd not thirst for medical knowledge sufficiently to enjoy many hours consecu tive reading. If the truth were told, he preferred a hard ride in the country with bis friends the Lindsays, or a tramp thro’ the woods in search of game. Better still, the rogue liked to spend an hour or more of an evening by*the side of pretty Lucy Prime, who —I blush for the first families as I write —having been left destitute by the death of an extravagant father, had courageously hired a small room for herself, and stuck on the door a little sign, “Miss Prime, Dressmaker.” But of all these liking’s, of his “boy George,” old Mr. Grantham, in the inno cence of his heart, knew nothing, So far as he saw, George spent the whole of his ieisure hours in reading. So sedulous did he seem, that at times it flashed across the kind old father’s heart that his.‘boy’ might be over-working himself; and on these oc casions he would himself insist on George’s cret of his frequent visits to their place. There was however one person who was less easily deceived than the old gentleman; and that was George’s aunt, Miss Betsy Grantham. As common place as her neph ew, Aunt Betsy’s sojourn on this planet was divided between thednty of worry ing Mr. Grantham, his son and the ser vants, and the pecreatiop of dispensing charities to the poor with cross words and a vinegar aspect. If Mr. Grantham had set his heart upon seeing George a great doc tor, Aunt Betsy had set hers upon develo ping in him the noble Christian virtues of patience and endurance. Never fop an hour did idie suffer liiip to rest iU peace-lie could not act, speak or pvcp look but she found in the deed, speech or glance, mate rial for a sermon. Only when he was at work could he hope to escape her, as his lather had forbidden the household to dis turb his studies. His room was in a small building in the rear ot his father’s house, communicating with it by a gallery. Opposite hi§ window was that of Hie aged spinster’s bed-room.— In the exercise of her authority as house keeper, she had placed his table in such a position in his rob n that she could see from tier window whether he was at work or not; and wo betide the luckless youth if Miss Betsg’s sharp eye fell upon *ah untenanted chair, when George was absent from the family circle. When this a|raqg£meni was first made, George had reused himself to protest and even to make a show of rebel lion against if: but latterly he had submit ted, and Miss Betsy was forced to confess s4n l i t i^npr\ v te t . ever -I lOU r °f the evening she r eq riej-spir viilivu and she flattened hpr old bony nose against the window at least half a dozen times before she went to bed, and got up once or twice in the night to repeat the op eratipn—George’s ample dressing-gown, and lus smoking cap were to be seen in the right place. It was some time after this victory of Aunt eve hmg between nine and'ten —that Mr. Grantham made the remark quo* ted above, to his friend and neighbor, old Dr. Timms. It brio be feared that the sim ple old gentleman had a sordid object in view in making it—for Timms had the largest practice in the place, and'was an up right and highly respectable citizen, More over, ns he had recently married a young and rather giddy wife from New York, and was beside comfortably rich, everybody said he ought to take a partner. Dr. Timms had half admitted as much, as the two old fellows prosed in Grantham’s drawing room, adding: “If l were a bachelor still, Grantham, I shouldn’tmind it. But you see Mrs. Timms is a good “deal younger than you or me— she Hires society, and I don’t blame her for it; but L sometimes think it’s not right for her to be going to parties’With young fel lows whom 1 hardly -know from Adam, while!,am out visiting my natiqnts,” “Mrs. Timms; is-yerv Jqk^ 1 of. gayety,” said Gt'aiitha*hr|jrav;eLy? ‘’ ‘ - “Why, very 1 fond indeed. In. our- PENFIELD, GA., SATURDAY, AUGUST 2, 1856. “*“**” time, we should have said, perhaps too fond. But then, Grantham, we’re old fellows; the world’s gone ahead precious fast since we were young’men. And I haven’t the heart to speak to her on the subject—poor child, yoked to an old fogy like.me.” And the old doctor cleared his voice once or twice with energy. “I sometimes think.” said Grantham, has tening to change the subject, “that George’ works too hard. I darn’t tell you the nunrCr her of hours he reads a day.” “Medicine,” replied the doctor, senten tiously, “is a science which cannot be mas tered even in a lifetime of study.” “No doubt; but you will admit that very few young men of George’s age spend their evenings in poring over scientific books.” “I know youngmen study much less than they used to do in my time.” ‘You must except George, doctor. It’s not possible to work harder than he does. Now just come here,” added the old father rising, “and you shall see him.” And despite a remonstrance from Timms, Mr. Grantham dragged him into Aunt Bet sy’s bed-room, even to the spinster’s win dow. Sure enough, there was George; wrapped as usual in his dressing-gown, his head buried in his smoking-cap and leaning on his hand. His lamp was burning bright ly, and though his back was turned to the observers, it was plain he was immersed in the perusal of a book. “He’s been there some time already,” said his father, triumphantly, “and he’ll not stir till past midnight, I’ll be bound.” “Has he seen much practice?” inquired Dr. Timms. “He’s always visiting some sick person or other,” replied Mr. Grantham; but he could tell you more about that, than I. I’ll send for him,” “Pity to disturb his studies.” “Oh ! not at all. He’ll be -delighted to see you. Jane.” hq called tq a servant, “just st§p to J\f r. George’s room, and say I’d like to see him.” The two old gentlemen returned to the drawing-room. They had hardly sat down when the servant returned with the answer that George didn’t say anything when she gave him the message—didn’t even turn his head. “You see, dqqtay” qrie4 Grantham, de hinn him I want’to see him?’ “He must be reading very hard,” said Dr. Timms, kindly. In a few moments a shriek was heard, and the servant came running back, as pale as death, and hardly able to speak, from agita tion. MW(iat ? s the matter, Jane?” asked Mr. Grantham hastily. “Oh, Lord ! sir,” gasped the girl. “Speak, woman, has anything happened?” “Mr. George, sir—” “Well, what of him?” cried the father, in great alarm. “Hfl—hfrs sitting in his bones, sir,” # f ‘ # * t * * On that same evening, some time before this startling announcement, George Grant ham took his seat on a stool in the modest work-room of the dressmaker, Lucy Prime, and began with more zeal than skill tq put her work-box to rights “Where qo these skeins of silk go,, Miss Lucy ?” sai4 he. “Oh ! dear me,” replied Lucy, impatient ly; “do let them alone. You always leave everything in such confusion, that it costs me an hour to set the box to rights when you are gone.” “You see I think so much of you when J’m here.” “Mr. George, if you ta||v §o foolishly, I won| Igt YOU in again, . “Mayn't I say I think of you, dear. Miss Lucy?” ‘“You know very well I don’t like it.” “Very well. But I do, all the same, — When I saw the sun rise the other morn ing, just tipping those dear old mountains -rrith gutd, H.O lilts sejng says, d<> you know what was my first thought ?” “How should I know ?” replied the young girl, with a downcast glance. “I thought it would have been a delicious sight, if yoq had been there to share it with me.” “Mr. Georgp J” “Oh ! you needn’t say Mr. George,” re plied, the young man with warmth;. “I can’t help it. I’m always thinking of you. When I sit down to read those prosy old books about physic, I find my mind wandering away from fevers and lotions to you. When I ride to the Lindsays, and talk to Kate, I always fancy I am talking to you; pv.e even caught myself being civil to aunt Bet sy, under, the impression that, she was trans formed into rny pretty Miss Lucy.”’ “If I didn’t know that you were talking nonsense, Mr. George, I should be very un happy. But you’ve made me waste ever so much time, and Ive got this dress to finish by .nine. I promised it for four o’clock this afternoon, but I lost the day going to visit those poor people you told me of, and Mrs, Timms was so angry.” “Mrs. Timms.* It’s for her ?” “Yes. Now let me work, do.” “ Very odd that Mrs, Tirffips should want a at pipe okfiqc.k qt night. ‘lt’s not an evening dress, f see?’ “No. But vvhat do you men fibuut dresses ? teu ‘yofc by qme, I shall per, anq gpe’s-nay best customer,” “I wish I could sew/’said George, with a sigh. “I think you’d better go home—it’s get ting late.” “JLate? Oh ! you’re quite mistaken. It’s very early, on the contrary. And I can’t go yet.” “Why not, if you please ?” inquired Lucy, raising those beautiful eyes of hers, and look ing searchingly at George. “Because I’ve something to say to you.” and “Say it at once, then—no,” she added, correcting herself, and sewing very ner vously, ‘ perhaps you’d better not say it” There was a pause. George walked a cross the room hastily. Then Lucy broke the silence by observing in a firm voice : “I change my mind. What you have to say, Mr. George, I am ready to hear now.” “I love you.” And he seized her hand and covered it with kisses. She was violently agitated and grew very pale. A minute or more elapsed before she could speak. At last she said 5 “Now, Mr. George, that you have spo ken, I will tell you, frankly, that—that you must not come here again.” “Lucy, do you love me?” “You must not come here again.” Just at this moment, a rap was heard at the door. George had just time to hide him self in a closet, when the door opened, and Mrs. Timms entered the room. “I’ve come for that dress, Miss Prime,” said she, in a tone which seemed very strange to George. “I’m very sorry,” replied Lucy, “to have kept you waiting, ma’am; but I was delay ed. It will be ready in ten rqinutes, if you will take a seat,’* “Nevermind,” said Mrs. Timms, faintly, “I’ll take it as it is.” Lucy looked at her customer, and did George, frarp his hiding-place. She was strangely pale, and seemed ill. “Wont you sit down, ma’am? In five minutes it will be finished. I’ve only a stitch or two to make. I was in hopes you would not want it till the morning.” “No,” said Mrs. Timms, hastily, “the doc tor and I are going to the country to-night. He’s waiting fqp jug qt home now?’ George hqd some difficulty in Suppressing an had broken off her thread, and was folding up the dress, and looking very wretched* “Never mind folding ip” cried Mrs. Timms. And after a pause, during which George was convinced hq heard her teeth chatter, she asked Lucy if she could give her a glass of water. Lucy rose, and passed into her bed-room. Mrs. Timms, apparently too nervous to sit still, followed her. The moment they loft the room, George sprang from his hiding place, and hurried down stairs, At the door he saw a traveling carriage, lie hesitated. Could it be ? She J had been the town talk for weeks ; her name and young Melville’s, who had followed her fro.m New York, were in every one’s mouth.— Yet to blunder was ruin. He tore his hair in his perplexity. The night was very duvk, yet he could see the carriage \yas empty, ‘ A black dri ver sat upon the seat, and looked anxiously at George. The latter walked to the door of the carriage, with the intention of accost ing him. He had hardly done so, howev er, when he heard hasty footsteps approach ing along the pavement. He turned apd looked. In a moment or t\yq, the new com er and George, saw each other. George would have sworn it was Melville. The latter--seeing a man at the door of the car riage—stopped short, and appeared uncer tain how to act. A few seconds elapsed; then he moved toward the carriage. His mind thoroughly made up, for he was certain he held the clue to the mystery, George boldly seized the handle of the car riage door, and opened it. The new comer stopped again—seemed lost in doubt—then crossed the street. At that moment a female figure rushed out of the house. George held the carriage door while she stepped in. Then, whisper ing to the driver, he sprang in, seated him self beside her, and the carriage rattled over the pavement. Within, all was dark.. Neither spoke.— George could hear the quick breathing of his companion, as he held his own breath.— Those minutes seemed centuries to him, At last the carriage stopped, . “Where are we cried the lady, spring 'ing fopvyurd. “At yo.qr own home, Mrs. Timms, where your husband, the doctor, will soon join ’ you.” “Saved—saved !” gasped the poor wo man. Leaping out, George lifted Mrs. Timms to the ground, bade the driver drive home as if old Nick was after him, and in half a min ute was seated in the Doctor’s study. With perfect coolness he untied Mrs. Timms’hat, unpinned her shawl, and divested her of both articles of dress. She hqd qqt tainted; hut she see.iped in u torpid state, indifferent tq what vyas going qn. A glass of water revived her. ‘ “What a havriWe drqam !” she muttered. “Bu,t I’rn at home, at I not f” Qf course you are,” replied George, gay ly M You’ve got the dress, and Miss Prim© will be her© in the morning to finish it.” “But.ifTm at home-—” whispered Mrs. Timms, with a vacant gaze. “You’ll wear it the next time you go out with the Doctor. Now, I must be oft'.— Good-by, dear Mrs. Timms. How odd that I should fiave met vou at the dressma ker’s !” “You met me ?—” “Yes, just in time to see you home, wasn’t I ? I must say, dear Mrs. Timms, you’re a model of punctuality. If you’ll allow me to say so, I think the idea of driving to a dress maker’s at nine o’clock at night, on purpose, to get a dress, quite original. Ha !ha! ha ! I beg yourjpardon for laughing, but our Rich mond ladies are not such sticklers for exact ness, by any means. Good night!” And taking leave with as much formality as if he had made an ordinary visit, George ran down the steps of the doctor’s house, and hastened home, **■**#*% When Mr. Grantham and l)r. Timms heard the servant say that . “Mr. George was sitting in his bones,” they burst into a roar of laughter. “What do you mean?” asked the former, as soon as he could speak. But the girl was too much agitated to re ply, S?he trembled, and began to cry, and shook her head ominiously. “Come along, Doctor, we’ll soon see what this means,’ said Grantham, leading the way out of the room. “First let us sec whether the hoy’s there.” And the two old fogies, quite excited, has tened to Aunt Betsy’s window. There was George as before; not a muscle had moved. ( “What the deuce did the girl mean?” said Grantham. Before the words were uttered, an excla mation from Dr- Timms drew his attention once more to the window. What they saw there might well astound them. They saw distinctly a man leap into the room, appa rently by the window, seize George by the throat, and with one powerful jerk, lift him out of the chair, and throw him to the other end of the room. “Murder!” roared Timms, “My poor boy!” groaned grant ham. . Surely two old gentlemen, of their size and age, never fan so fast as did they to the scene of the outrage. Gasping for ’ —*-—. -V- vA - - vjl:_ worst. “Pbansy their feelings,” as Jeames says, whqn thqy saw George standing in his shirt sleeves, in the middle of the room, as cool AS a diploma,—and on the bed, honor of horrors ! a skeleton ala Beauchene, recent ly imported from Paris, draped in George’s dressing gown. “What is this large, air?” roared Mr. Grantham, ... “Hush? hush!” said old Timms; “we’re sold, and the less said the better. Let me advise you, as an old friend and a medical man, to be careful of your son’s health; he evidently reads too hard.” Long and bitter was the lecture George had to endure at the hands ol Miss Betsy ; next morning; and far worse to bear were the few words of reproach which fell from the lips of hi§ kind old father. “You have lost, sir,” said he, “an opportunity on which I have been counting for years, “it was the hope of my old age.” And when, a few days afterwards, old Timms called on his friend Grantham, and told him that he had talked the matter over with his wife, aqd that sho and he were both of opinion that he had better take a partner, and that they knew of no one. with whom he would sooner associate himself than “your boy George”—old Mr. Grantham was fairly petrified with astonishment.— Stranger things than this came to pass. For the old doctor complained—in a very cheery tone, however—that lie had no sooner ta ken a partner, so as to go out with his wife, than that lady abjured society, and insisted on spending every evening reading and talk ing to “an old fogy like me.” And Mrs. Timms, with whom George had become sud denly intimate, came over one morning,, and notified Mr, Grantham that her husband's practice would be ruined if George remain ed a bachelor, adding that she had found him a wife—Miss Lucy Prime. “What! a dross-maker.!” screeched Aunt Betsy, But when Mrs. Timms gave out that she would cease to know any lady who forgot to call on the future Mrs. George Grantham, and when George assured his father that it was, useless to talk of his marrying any one else, all obstacled vanished, and the marri age was. duly celebrated —the old Doctor giving away the bride, Even Aunt Betsy was reconciled to the match, by the assu rance that at least one of Miss Prime’s an cestors had come over with Captain John Smith. HOW TO BE HAPPIER. Said a venerable fanner some eighty years of age to a relative who lately visit ed him, “I have lived qn tins farm for more than half a oentury. I have no de sire to elmuge my residence as lung U 9 I’ live on garth. X have no deslrer to be richer than X now am. * I have worship pod the God of my fathers with” tho same people for more than forty years. Dur ing that period I.lnrve. beerr rarely absent from the sanctuary on the Sabbath, an,d have never lost but one coinqpotiiofl sea son. I have never beei£ acxntined to my bed by sickness a single day. The bles- f TERMS: #I.OO IN AD VAN ) JAMES T. BLAIN,’ I V. ‘ PRINTER. ; VOL. im-NUMBEi sr g* of life have been richly spread arflH ok-, and I made up my mind long ago,Bß| if I wished to become happier, 1 must Hjjjjf more religion . . , ’ CHARACTER*?” THB I-ION. H| W hat a lion may do, even after his sh|B der is broken, may be gathered fromHH following story—one of the best of HU French sportsman’s: BHHj - A lion had worried a tribe of Arabs HH yond endurance, and they had saught I A:: . Gerard, and besought him to rid themHH their male factor. They discovered BSE lair, which was in the side of a moun&flS and obedient to the Frenchman’s ordiSJl led out a goat, and tied it to a tree on tH| outskirts of a wood near the lair. took up a position in the wood, and tne satisfaction of seeing the lion as the goat was being made fast. After B§ moment’s observation he disappeared.-HB Gerard lay quiet, watching; soon the goH| began to trimble and shiver, and its eaH| to jerk convulsively. The lion was ing. He ascended a ravine between tlßi lair and the hunter, slowly, and capital target; but Gerard was so strucßj with his grace and magesty that he woulH not fire. mb If he admired the lion, the latterseemeß to return the compliment. He stopped isl i)is career, lay down, winked at Gerard! and eyed him with a benign expression.—l He seemed to be saying to himself, saw just now a man and a goat here. Th! ruan is gone, and there is another mar* there strangely dressed, who looks as if hel wanted fco speak to me. Dinner time hfl near; which would be best to eat, the lionl or the goat ? Sheep are better than goats,l but they are so far off. Men are fair eat-l ing, but this fellow seems thin.** 1 The lion decided in favor of the goat,! and advanced toward the poor trembling I creature, At twelve paces Gerard fired, I with a steel-pointed bullet at his shoulder; I a second after, he again fired at the same I spot. Beyond, a doubt both shoulders I must be broken. The lion, however, ©s- I caped into his thicket. Impossible to pro- I vent the. Arabs following him, Gerard gave his second gun to an Arab, directing him to hold it in readiness, and rolnr-tantlv oAminrwl Thar upon thorn. Every body fired. All mis sed but Gerard : and his shot was not so effective, blit chat the lion seized a poor wretch and began to tear him. Quick as lightning Gerard pulled the trigger of his ocher barrel, but for the first time in ten years it missed fire. He held ont his hand eagerly to his gun-bearer for his other weapon,- but his heart sickened when the Arab replied, “Not loaded. He bad fired with the others. Most providentially, the throe shot's which the lion had already received told at last. He expired before ne had quite killed the poor fellow who was in his clutches. We cannot better conclude this rambling account of lion-sla} T ing and man eating than with the story of the “lord with the Large Head.” Gerard had again been summoned to free a district from leonine exactions.— Having heard the story, he hastily laid his plan, and announced that he would set out that night alone. The Arabs endeav ored to dissuade him: but he laughed at their remonstrances. Finding he was re solved, the sheik took him aside and said, “My child, if the lion come to-night, the lord with the large head will come first. Do uot mind the others; they will rely on their father; do you look after the lord with the large head. If your hour is come, you will be eaten by the others, but you will be killed by him.” With this advice Gerard started, and the tribe accompanied him to the position he had resolved to occupy. On leaving him, the sheik whispered in his ear, “The robber has taken my best mare and ten oxen.” “What robber?” asked Gerard. “The lord with the large head,” answered the shiek in a very low voice, hastening away. The night and still, and about midnight the lions came, Gerard shot the foremost, killing him with the third ball; but he turned out to be only a cub, and by morning news arrived that the lord with the large heiad had that very night stolen the finest ox in the douar. A year or more elapsed before he paid the debt of nature. One day Gerard was sitting in his tent, when an Arab entered, saying briefly, “I have found him; come.” Gerard rose and went. His guide led him to a secluded spot in the wood, where lay the carcass of a freshly-slaughtered bull. Gerard made a screen of branches to hide himself, and sat down quietly to wait for the lion. Several hours passed; at last, about eight in the evening, a branch crack led in the wood. Gerard listened, rested his elbow on his knee, pointed his gun in the direction of the bull. Then came a roar, and in a few minutes the lion was crouched beside the bull, licking the car cass and casting sidelong glances at Ge rard. As he looked, an iron slug somehow struck him near the left eye. Be reared, and a second slug brought him down. He died hard; it took, two more shots to finish him. B.nt hq did die, and there was at last an end of the lord with the Large* Bead. 1 1 ■ ■” “ ■ PT* It’ yon feel angry, beware lest yon become revengeful.