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V * - r IT j i v . » > < » ** 1 r*. V TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. 0 \FEBRUARY 10. 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848 \ v. * :ii A » • ^ 1876. 1882. F. W. HABENICHT Proprietor of the .;i r—’ ' I respectfully call the attention of the public to my superior facilities for sup plying everything Li nff line, of superior quality. Starting busines* In Winns- boro in 1876, I Have in all this time given the closet attention to my busi ness and endeavored to make my estab lishment FIRST-CLASS in every par ticular. I shall in the future, as in the past, hold myself ready to serve my Customers with the best articles that can be procured in any market. I shall stand ready, also, to guarantee every article I sell. I invite an inspection of my stock of Wines, Liquors, Tobacco, Cigars, etc. F. W. HABENICHT. IMPORTED. ♦ ■ - * i Scotch Whiskey (Ramsey’s). A. Bin Laubert and Marat Cognas Brandy. Jamaica Rum. Rotterdam Fish Gin. Ross’s Royal Ginger Ale, Jules Mumm Sc Co.’s Champagne, Cantrel St Cochran’s Ginger Ale. Apollinaris Mineral Water. Angustora Bitters. Old Sherry Wine. Old Port Wine. DOMESTIC. Ginger Ale. Soda Water. Sarsaparilla. Old Cabinet Rye Whiskey. Old Schuylkill Rye Whiskey. The Honorable Rye Whiskey. Old Golden Grain Rye Whiskey. Renowned Standard Rye Whiskey. Jesse Moore Vollmer Rye Whiskey, Old N. C. Sweet Mash Corn Whiskey. Old Stone Mountain Com Whiskey. Western Com Whiskey. - Virginia Mountain Peach Brandy. New England (French’s) Rum. North Carolina Apple Brandy. . Pure Blackberry Brandy. Pure Cherry Brandy. Pure Ginger Brandy. Boston Swan Gin. SUNDRIES. Rook and Rye. Osceola Bitters. Hostetter’s Bitters. Bergner Sc Engel’s Lager Beer, In patent stopper bottles and on draught. New Jersey Sweet, Sparkling Cider. Tolu, Rook Sc Rye, Lawrence Sc Martin. Stoughton Bitters, ^ Rook and Corn. Cigars and Tobacco ... :T Mjf . Syndicate Cigar, 5 cents. The Huntress Cigar, 2| cents. Madeline Cigar—All Havana—10 cents. Don Carlos (Nub)—«11 Havana—10 cents Minerva Cigar—Havana filler—5 cents. Cheek Cigar—Havana filler—6 cents. Our BoastCigar— Havana filler—5 cents * Lucky Hit Cigar—Havana filler—cents. The Unicnm Self-Lighting Cigarette, (Amber mouth-piece to every ten packages.) « The Pickwick Club Cigarette, (Shuck mouth-Diecee.1 The'Richmond Gem Cigarette, (Light smoking.) LIKE THE ITT. Tlie ooly Biari ani Pool Par lor in Ton. Tme love Is like the ivy bold That clings each clay with flnner hold. That groweth on through good and ill. And ’mid the tempest cllngeth mil. What though the walls on which it eltmbs Have lost the grace of former times— Will then the ivy lose Us hold. Forget the sunny days of old f Nay, rather it will closer cling W ith loving clasp, remembering That It had hardly lived at all Without the kindly sheltr’ing wall. True love Is llks the Ivy green. That ne'er forgetteth what hath been, And ao, till life Itself be gone. Until the end it cllngeth on. What thought the tree where it may cling Shall har ly know another spring t What though its boughs be dean and bare ? The twining ivy cllmbeth there And clasps It with a firmer hold. With stronger love than that of old, And lends it grace It never had W lieu time was youug and life was glad. DOROTHY PINK. ICE! ICE! ICE! An abundance always on baud for the me of my customers.. I wil also keep a supply of '-*•*'} • -*' * * f FISH, QYSTERS, &C for my Rqstauraut, which is Jfcdways. open from thg^first oL^apt^mbor to the l! rtt of April I shall euueavor to please all who give ttfra'talL' i '’ Very respectfully, .o u. if f. w. nABENicnr. if ilitior:- '• . ittn • »• OPPOSITE POSTOFFCE, Half way up the steep narrow street of the little village it stood, the tiny gabled roofed house, whose small lead- en-paned windows overlooked with sentinel-1 ike air the modest shop en trance beneath, in whose casement was displayed the stock of feathers, ribbons, and velvets, which represented the sole earthly wealth of Miss Dorothy Pink. Usually the street door stood open, and behind the diminutive counter was seen the pale face of the little milliner rerself ; but to-day the wind rattled in vain at the bolts and bars ; the space behind the counter was empty, and in the little chamber above, peering in tently into the ancient black-framed looking-glass, whose cracked surface re jected back the white dimity curtains, and the glow of the small wood fire, stood Miss Dorothy herself, engaged in fastening a knot of bine ribbon at the neck of her well-worn but freshly- ironed black silk gown, “Who would think to look at me now that I had once been young,’' she mur mured, surveying ruefully the face that gazed pathetically back into her own. “I do not think that after to-day I shall ever waar a blue ribbon again. It may do very well for the maidens with their fresh flower-like faces, but not for .a woman of thirty-five, with streaks of grey in her brown locks, who boi-ied her youth long years ago in the grave of the past.” Something that glittered like a dia mond rolled down Miss Dorothy’s cheek, and fell, a spot of moisture on a rusty 1 bid of her dress. “What, crying ?” exclaimed Miss Dorothy incredulously, shaking her head at the countenance in the glass. Actually shedding tears because your eves cannot always remain bright and your cheeks rosy ! and when you are invited to visit cousin Silas beside ! “For shame, Dorothy Pink! “You deserve to be left to brew your onely cup of tea by your solitary fire side instead of dining on roast turkey and listening to the voices of your own kin!” “Your own kin 1” The words seemed to float back on the still air, and before their echo died away the face faded from the ancient mirror, and in its place Miss Dorothy saw a low- ceiled loom, on whose ample learth the great logs burned redly, shining on the blue delf and pewter ware th it lined the generous sideboard, burnishing the old-fashioned furniture till it fairly shone in the flame. A tall grey-bearded man bent over a white-haired, white-capped matron, from whose hands the bright knitting needles had fallen unheeded. Two handsome dark-eyed lads romped with a couple of setter dogs, and mid way between them stood a young mai den with fair locks cut square on the forehead, and falling in shinnig curls over her shoulders; a pretty vision from the smiling open brow to the small slippered feet that peeped from the scant folds of her flowered silken gown. A smile of delight parted Miss Doro thy’s lips, and she clasped one hand over her eyes as if to assure herself of the reality of the vision. When she looked again the bearded man, the white-haired matron, the dark eyed lads, and the delicate maiden had disappeared, and she saw only the wist ful face that always met hers when she was wont to gaze at her own reflection. 'Gone ! all gone !” she cried ; “(athei, mother, brothers, and I—only I am left 1 What would Diek Weatherbee aay il be could see me now ? “I, tlie proud girl who refused te even listen to his suit because he was poor and in my father's employ. 'How well I can remember his honest ragged lace, and the soft light in his grey eyes—they were handsome eyes, poor lad !—when he promised to toil nard and win gold and fame for my sske, if I would only give him one Utile word of encouragement and the pink rose that I wore at my belt. 1 smiled at his words, and threw the flower wafitonly away. “The next day he went away, and in his stead came grim care and dire mis hap. - “One by one death snatched my loved ones away, and not till then did I learn the terrible truth that my honored father died a ruined man, and that was penniless. “The old homestead was sold along with the fertile acres, and Deaeon Pink’s daughter came at last to depend for bread on the very toil that she had once so despised.” Poor Miss Dorothy! For years she hud toiled and moiled ; lor years she had lived her lonely life, keeping the door of memory resolutely shut, and striving to be content with 'the meagre happiness that fell to her lot But this frosty November morning there was no sunshine without or with in ; hope unfuHed its wings, and fled away, and the grey leaden sky that frowned down on the outside world seemed a fitting type of her future life. “And I am not brave enough to look the morrow in the face,” went on Miss Dorothy, “It is rent day, and cousin Silas is a strict landlord. “1 owe him already for one quarter. and I dread to have to tell him that I cannot make np the amount. “Dorothy," ho will say, putting on his gold glasses and looking at me as if I were a criminal, “you have aptitude for business; really no aptitude. “It may do very weU for ladies of fortune to have whims and fancies, bat you are too sensitive, Dorothy ; really too sensitive.” “I suppose it is kind in him to invite a plain body like me to share his Christ mas cheer, jind sit at the table with his fashionable wife and daughters ; bat stiU he is hard—the world is hard,-Ufe is hard, and I don’t know what to do.” By this time the blue knot was fast ened, the hair that was inclined to curl a little on theforchead brushed smoothly down, and Miss Dorothy was ready for her visit As she glanced out of the little win dow she caught sight of a faint ray of sunshine that fliokered a moment on the sill and then vanished sway. The sight of the unexpected visitor seemed to cheer her, “I know what I shall do,” she said answering her own query. ‘•I’ll pretend just for this one day that I have found my yonth again; that 1 am not poor aud lonely ; that some friendly heart on the earth will grow glad at my coming ; that there is no such phantom as buried hope—and the morrow I will leave to Heaven.” The great parlors of Silas Pink’s stately mansion were thrown open, and that august personage himself, a stout, well-dressed elderly gentleman, with fat hands and a beaming smile, stood before the costly marble mantel, warm ing himself in the glow of the coals, and chatthiK and laughing with a group of tindred spirits. On a velvet couch was seated the lady of the house—liaughty, severe, and per- : ectly attired—while her daughters, fresher pictures of herself, fanned them selves with languid grace, and perform ed the graceful duties of elegant hos pitality. Pictures adorned the tinted walls; silver mirrors flashed back the sheen of silk and the glitter of jewels. Heavy flower-strewn carpets hushed the sound of dainty gliding footsteps, and the merry sound of music and aughter filled all the scented air. Bitting alone—as she thought—in the ibrary, with the cold marble eyes of the dead and gone heathen philosophers ooking unwinkingly down upon her, and row upon row of gilt-titled books staring her oat of countenance, was Hiss Dorothy. The wealth and elegance displayed as avishly abwut her brought no plesoure to her beauty loving nature. day-dream was shattered and broken. Rhe had no place in this little world of beauty and fashion. They were ashamed of her shabby dress and lack of ornament. No faces had brightened at her ap proach, no voices grown lower and ten derer in kindly greeting. tike was more utterly alone than in the little chamber under the gabled roof, or in the tiny shop with its meagre stock of dingy feathers aud flowers. “I will go home,” she said aloud. “When 1 Have seen tiilas and told him of my inability to pay my debt, 1 will go home, “I want no rich viands, no ruby wines. I will go back to my lonely fireside and enjoy it while I may, to morrow may see me without a roof to cover my head, ora spot wherein to rest my weary feet.” In a dusky comer, turning carelessly the leaves of a portfolio of rare engrav ings, was seated a figure, entirely hid den from view by the high-backed cush ioned chair against which he leaned in idle, luxrious enjoyment. When he heard the voice, he started and rose to his feet, and Moss Dorothy saw advancing towards her a portly grey-haired man, clad in a suit of black broadcloth. “Pardon,” ha began hastily, “but did I not hear you address yourself as Deacon Fink’s daughter ?” “What can that matter to a perfect stranger ?” answered the little figure m the shabby silk, looking towards the open door as if to escape. “She did not want to meet any one who had known her in youth—the youth that she had that day burled from sight forever, poor, lonely, sensitiye, heart sick Miss Dorothy. “Naught to a stranger, but much to a friend.” answered her questioner, bending his face a little nearer. And Miss Dorothy, looking np sud denly, found herself gazing intently in to a pair of deep, earnest grey eyes, whose glance held her, spite of self, completely fascinated. “Yes, I am Dorothy Pink,” she managed to stammer, feeling as if a cruel hand was clutching her throat, ‘and yon are, Richard Weatherbee.” This man, whose simple, loyal nature gold and its possession had not spoiled, looking down at the face of the woman he had loved in her fair girlhood, read printed there in clearest type the story of her life, and realized that care and not time had wrought the wondrous change. “The same Dorothy of old?” he asked with meaning fi his tones, bat with the smile she remembered so well, the smile that alone made him seem different from other men, “Nay, not the same,” she answered, dropping her eyes she scarcely knew why, wlule the hot blood surged into the cheeks that had lost their roses years before. “In the old days I was proud, aud vain, aud boastful. “New 1 am ” “What ?” he asked, with a little tre mor in ids deep voice. “What yod see,” she answered, drop ping her face in her hands with a bitter cry of loneliness and pain. “My poor Dorothy !” he said softly, “what yon have Buffered I” And before she Tmew it his strong arm wns round her aujj-sfc^ was drawn closely to his broad bniask “Many years I have spent in foreign lands,” he* went on, still holding her captive, “and many faoee have 1 seen. but strive as I would T^y heart eonld never forget its one lovoij; its one treas ure. “A month ago I cams back to this my native place. “Then I learned of yopir losses, your poverty, and the hard struggle yon were waging with the world. “I will give her back-the pleasures of her yonth, I said, if she will but give me in return the love she once refused me. “I am not the eager hopeful boy that sought you in the olden doys, but I have loved you long and faithfully, and if you say me nay, I will go away quietly as I came, and no one will be the wiser, “Which shall it be, Dorothy, go or stay?” “Stay,” she whispered, looking np with suoh a radiant face that half in amaze he tamed her towards a mirror that she might see her own reflection, and pointing, triumphantly cried, “I have more tlian fulfilled my promise. “I have given you back youth itself,”. What mattered the sheen of silk aud the glitter of jewels ? What mattered the shabby dress lightened only by the knot of blue rib bon? • What mattered the grey leaden sky without ? No jewels could eqnal the light that shone in Dorothy’s eyes, no grey sky quench the gladness that filled Dorothy’s heart When tiilas Pink was summoned to the library he grew white withe astonish ment and red with gratification upon hearing the news. “You must make this your home till you leave it for one of your own,” he insisted. “Let bygones be bygones, Dorothy.” And Dorothy, too happy to bear ill will, consented to share his hospitality till she became the wile of Richard Weatherbee the banker. Later on, when the guests had de parted, and they stood arm in arm by the dying fire talking of that far re mote time when life seemed a dream of ceaseless pleasure to the one and of high rope and youthful ambition to the other, the musical chimes of the steeple clock rang out oh the frosty air. Ten, eleven, twelve,” he counted, bending his head to listen. “Dorothy, Christmas Day is ended.” “The happiest Christmas Day in the world,” she answered reverently ; “a day to be ever remembered. “No other day but one could ever make me so happy. ” “I know,’’ said Richard, smilling, bur weddmg-day. “Oh, Dolly, darling, do not make it too iar off. > “We are net so young as we were, dear.” And Dolly smiled, anaomsWa; and looked very charming, for all her old dress. And report says that the wedding was not long delayed. Tlie utet ot Children. Aaron llurr as a Cross-Kxaniioer. A writer thus describes tlie conclusion of a case in which Burr wa, one of the law yers: The evening session opened and Burr resumed bis cross exan.iuatiou of the witness. It was a test of the prosound skill and subtlety of the lawyer, the self possession, courage and tact of the witness standing on thrf very brink of a horrible gulf firmly and intrepidly resisting tlie efforts of the terribie man to topple him over. At last,after dexterously leading the witness to an appropriate point, Burr sud denly seized a lamp m each hand, and bold ing them in such a manner that their light fell instantaneously upon the face of the witness*, he exclaimed in a startling voice, like the voice of the avenger of blood: ‘Gen tlemen of the jury, behold the murderer!” With a wild, convulsive start,a face of ashy pallor,ejes starting from their sockets lips apart,his whole attitude evincing terror,the man sprang from his ohair. For a moment he stood motionless, struggling to recover his self possession; but it was only a momen tary struggle, shaking every nerve with paralyzing fear. Conscious that the eyesof all la the Court room were fixed upon him reading the hidden deeds of his life, he left the witness stand and walked shrinkingly ts the door of the Court room; but he was prevented 'rom making his escape by the Sheriff. The effect can be better}imagined than uescnbed.lt struck the spectators with silent awe,changing tin whole aspect or the' trial m an instant, oveitbrowing the hyyo- thesis of the Attorney General, which he was convinced would send the prisouer to the gallows, saving au innocent man from the deathful hands ot a bold and skilful oerjurer. The false witness was arrested, 2 indictments were found against him, one for murder, another tor perjury. He was acquitted of murder, but subsequently convicted of perjury and sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. Permitting children to sit at table with their elders is the cause of a good deal of mischiei and injury to their youthful di gestions. A variety of dishes should nev er be permitted, and any attempt at waste fulness should be checked at once? Econ omy and self denial can be taught at the children’s table far more easily than at school. Tne diet of children can hardly be too plain, if they require to be encouraged to eat by the administration of dainties, there must be something radically wrong some where. It is unlikely that something is constitutional more probable insufficient exercise is taken, or taken at wrong times, or the nursery is stuffy, or the bedroom badly ventilated,or the parent! have forgot ten that sunshine and fresh air are necessa ry to the healthy life of a child as whole some food itself is. The want of cleuiliness, or frequent use of the bath, is many times the cause of in different appetite m children. Without cleanliness of clothes and cleanliness of person, you can not have healthy children. Wittiout this the young blood seems pois oned, the child has neither buoyancy nor heart, appetite is depraved or absent, and he grows up as pale and poor as a sick ly plant. Injudicious clothing is another cause ot dyspepsia. It is bad enough to encase the body which has attained its full develop ment iu a tight dress, but it is ruinous for a child to be clothed in tightly fitting gar ments. Every organ of a child’s body requires room to grow and expand; if it be in any way compressed, the circulation through it becomes lessened,aud it is there, for sickly and rendered weak. Tightness, therefore, of any portion e f a child's clothing ruins not only the organ directly underneath the constriction, but indirectly those at a distance from it, for ao da liming up of the circulation can be tolerated by nature. Tightness round the waist in children and young people is the cause of many cases of dyspepsia, and in a lesser degree so is tightness of the necker chief, by retaining the blood in the brain. Have yeur children’s clothing loose, then, if you «ouid see them healthy and happy.He# too, that at ni^ht they sleep not on leather beds,aud that though warmly they are not heavily clothed. Children should be fed with great regu larity day by day. The parents having chosen the hours lor dinner, bre&kiast and tea, ought to see that the times are strictly adhered to. Irregularity in meal hourf; and times of getting up iu the morning and retiring to bed ju night, is not only prejudicial to the present health of a child, but it teaches him habits which are greatly against his chances of success in alter life. 1 need hardly speak here about the qual ity of ti# food that is placed nefore a child; against indigestible or too rich food.againat sauces afid apices of all kinds, including curries, against heavy foods of tne pancake dough aud dumpling kind, against unripe fruits, against too hot soup, against strong tea and coffee,or beer, or against overmuch butcher’s meat.' Pray, mothers, do not forget that an In terval of rest should ensue between the meals you give your children, and do not injure their young digestions by cramming them with cake, or buns, or sweets of any kind. To do so is worse than cruel,it is a sin. and a sin which you are but little likely to commit if you truly love them, and really wish to see them generate into strong and healthy men and women. Tarts and sweets and confectionery would be bad enough in all conscience for children, even if they were always pure and una dulterated. But they are too often posit ively poisonous. Feed on plain and whole some food regularly from day to day, per. mitting no stuffing between meals,and not forgetting the benefits that accrue from frequent changes of diet, more espe cially as regards dinner. Do this, and your children will live to bless you ; do otherwise, and expect to see them sickly, with veins and arteries possessing no re siliency, with mucous membranes pile aud flabby,pipes of lungs that the accident of a slight cold is sufficient to close, mus cles oi limbs so weak that exercise is a penance instead of a pleasure, and fl> sh so unwholesome that pin’s prick may cause a fester,and all this, because the blood is im poverished through errors in diet. Pleaaaut Vales. Theatre Flopertlr*. Wliltewood. Builders tell ns that in the early days of Philadelphia whitewood was largely used in house-building in that oity. It was used for ratters and joists iu the upper stories, and was much es teemed for its lightness and strength. As the wood became soaroe in the victnity pine yery naturally took its piaoe. In an article on its present use the “Woodworker” says: In the middle, Southern, and West ern States, where the tree grows abun dantly, It has been, and still is, exten sively used, and is considered a good substitute for pine, red cedar and cypress, and serves well for the exterior work of houses as well as for external covering. The panels of doors, wain scots, and moldings of chimneys are made of the wood, and shingles have been mode in some States. These sliingies are preferred by some to pine, beoause they are more durable and not liable to crack from the effects of in tense frost and suns nine Lumber sawed from this tree is used in all the principal cities for the panels of car riages. When perfectly dry they take paint well, and will admit oi a brilliant polish. It enters largely into coaah manufacturing, and is used in cars, wagon-boxes, sleighs, etc. It is par- tioularlv applicable to any work requir ing soft wood, easily worked, and re quiring great strength, especially if wide work is desirable. It was used years ago in large quantities iu the manufacture of trunks, which were covered with cloth or skins, Large quantities of tables and bedsteads have been made from this wood. They are usually stained to imitate mahogany. It often enters into the construction of bureans and general cabinet work, ’particularly where it is the base for covering with veneer. It Los been used also in the interior work of canal beats and steamboats. As it is easily wrought in the lathe, it is often used for bowls, brush and broom handles, and numerous other articles of turned wares. Fa-mers construct eating and drinking troughs for their animals ot the wood, as it stands long exposure to the weather better than chestnnt or butternut. It is also used in bridges in some places; the Indians were won’t to make canoes from the big trees, and some of ihorn hod room for iwonijr or moie persons. -In some parts of the country tong lines of fences may be seen that at e made of rails of this tree. One-third of the lumber used in making coffins iu New York City is whitewood, it being used for the sides and tops. Yery large quantities are consumed in the backs and legs of pianos. Fnrni tare manufacturers use it for ebouizing, and in parts where great strength is not required. A manufacturer of buugs m New York uses 500,000 feet annually, and it is also used largely in making ays and pumps. FOOD FOR THOUGHT. The “properties," as they are termed,of the tneatre, that is, the unused scenery and also the machinery and fixtures of old performances, gradually form an immense accumulation. The machinery used in “tiaruanapalus” was of very great bulk, and is now stored in the rear of the thea tre, where it may remain till called for. The storage room in the Booth Theatre is of vast extent, and embraces an accumula tion which, no doubt, cost one hundred thousand dollars, it is in this manner that the profits are so often sunk. A play must, betore it can be called profitable, pay for the expense of getting it up, and hence a large risk is taken. “Sardanapalus” is said to have coat thirty thousand dollars, but as the play had a run the outlay prov ed s first rate investment. After a few years it may be revived and have another run. ’ At present, however, it is almost forgotten. There is at the present ime scenery of more than one hundred plays lying Idle, and most of it will be painted over, ticene pain ten are now very busy, aud the artists make fifty dollars per «eek. They work v.*th rapid touch, and acquire great skill ia this specialty. The drop cur tains; however, are very elaborate, and are often highly admired. It is estimated ’hat twenty fire thousand persona attend the theatres every night,besides those who attend other places of amusement. One reason for this is fouud in the homeless character of New kork life. Everybody wants to go somewhere to be amused, and hence the theatres are crowded. Fully & century ago the pleasant vales leading up into the Coast M run tains in California had been penetrated by the frontiersmen o’ Mexico, of which country this whole great region was an ill-defined province, under the name of Alta Califor nia. These men were herdsmen or farmers. Early m the present century a colony of Russians and Indians from Alaska, under the leadership ot Alexander Koskoff, landed at Bodega Bay, and began farming wnere now is the village of Bodega. Not satisfied with this place alone, however, they travelled northward some forty miles, and established a permanent trading poet and agricultural station near Salt Point, the site and many of the luildings of which are now occupied as the village of Fort Ross - an anglicized abbreviation of Fuerte de lot Jiutot, as the post was called by the Spaniards. The occupancy of tins strip of coast—for their hold ex tended all the way between Point Arenas on the north and Point Ruges on the south —by the Muscovites from 1811 until 1840, when they abandoned their station, left its impress upon tbe names of the region, and especially clings to the principal stream watering this portion of the redwood belt —the Russian River. Cal'for at* ViniyarAt. Late accounts from California notice the great increase m tbe size of the vine yards there. A plantation of 200 acres used to be considered a large vineyard; now vineyards of 500 and 100 acres are not uncommon, and one of 1,500 acres was recently planted near Los Angeles. It is expected that m three years or so California will poaeess vineyards of 5,000 or 6,000 acres in extent. The total num ber ot seres at preaent devoted to vine culture is estimated at about 100,000, all of which will be bearing in about four years' time, and producing about 40,000, 000 or 50,000,000 gallons annually. New wiuer at preaent fetch from 20 to 25 cents per gallon for dry wines, either red or white, tiweet wine is dear, ranging from 55 to 75 cents per gallon. Though next year's prospects are good, last year’s prices for grapes are not likely to be mam mined, as the cellars of Ban Francisco are said to be full Kattleinake Jim Slain. I True worth is void of glory. Modesty is to worth what shadows are in paiutinga; she gives it strength aud relief. Moderation is the silken string ran- ning through the pearl chain of all vir tues. The love of glory can only create a hero; the contempt of it creates a great er man. Next to an effeminate man there is nothing so disagreeable as a mannish woman. Slumber not in the tents of your col- ums. The world ia advancing, advance with it. Nature goes on her owrf^iy; all that to .us seems au exception, is really ac cording to order. The mind is like a trunk. Well pack ed it holds almost everything; if ill packed next to nothing. Take your stand by the altar of truth and be not led or driven thence by sophistry or by ridicule. C .nuuon sense does not ask an impos sible chessboard, out takes the one be fore it and plays the game. Be courageous and noble-minded; onr own heart, and qpt other men’s opinions of us, forms our true honor. Wo think our civilization ia near its meridian, but we are yet only at the cook-crowing and the morning star. Nothing makes the world seem so spacious as to have friends at a distance; they make the latitudes aud longitudes. Bad habits are the thistles of the heart, and every indulgence of them is a sea from wliicu will come forth a crop of rank weeds. The more methods there are in a state for acquiring riches without industry or merit, the less there will be of either iu that state. A man of letters is often a man with two natures—one a book nature, the other a human nature. These often dash sadly. H we cultivate home friendships with the assiduity that we give to those out side, they will yield us even richer and fairer returns. Oue trade is respectable above jinoih- or only in consequence of the superior respectability of the class of men en gaging in it. Pleasure may be aptly compared to many very great books, which increase in real value in the proportion they are abridged. There were neyer in the world tvo opinions alike, no more than two hairs or two grains. The most universal piaiity is diversity. OKi ago is the nigne or lire, as night is the old age of day. Still, night is full of magnificence; and, for man, it is more brilliant than the day. Employment, which Galen calls “na tures physician,” is so essential to hu man happiness that indolence is justly considered as the mother of misery. To think properly one must think independently, candidly, and consecu tively, only in this way can a tram of reasoning be conducted successively. Character is not out in marble—it is not something solid and unalterable. It is something living and changing, and may become diseased us our bodies do, There never did, and never will, ex ist anything permanently noble and excellent in a character which is a stran ger to the exercises of resolute self- denial. He that waits for an opportunity to do much at once may breathe ont his life in idle wishes, and regret, in the last hour, his useless inteutious aud barren zeal Talk to women as much as you can. This is the best school. It is the way to gain fluency, because you need not care what you say, aud had better not be sensible. Nothing so iuoreases reverence for others as a great sorrow to one’s self. It teaches one the depths of human nature. In happiness we are shallow and deem others so. We often wonder that our men of wealth do not give more subjects of na tive interest to our artists, aud try to fill their walls with more of the nches of our own rivem, lakes, vales and mountains. It is manifest that the life of charity toward the neighbor, which consists in doing wnat is just and right in all our dealings and occupations, leads to heaven; but not a life of piety without charity. The Christian faith ia a grand cathe dral, with divinely pictured windows. Standing without, you see no glory, nor can possibly imagiue any; standing within, every ray reveals a harmony of unspeakable splendor. Under the laws of Providence, life is a probation; probation ia a succession of temptations, temptations are emer gencies, and for emergencies we need the preparation and the safeguard of prayer. The wise man has his follies no less than the fool; bnt it has been said that herein lies the difference—the follies of the fool are known to the world, bat are hidden from himself; the follies of the wise man are known to himself, but are hidden from the world. . The use of proverbs is characteristic of an unlettered people. The common sense of the lower classes is condensed into these terse and convenient phrases, and they pass from hand to hand as the pence and farthings of conversation. They are invaluable treasures to dunoes with good memories. They give a semblance of wit to the speech of the dull. The best things, both id this life and that which ia to oome, are concealed from us, and we are compelled to wait Intelligence lias been received that “Rattlesnake Jim,” a sporting man well known from the Missouri river to the Sierra Nevada mountains, had bit the dust in Weiser City, Idaho. John Said, alias Rattlesnake Jim, who had been stopping at Weiser for some time past and eudeavoriug to run the town when;drinking, entered the Gem saloon, kept by Gray brothers, about tenVclock Wednesday night and called the houae np to drink with him. After drinking he asked John Smith, the bartender, to charge it, which Smith aaid he oonld not do. Jack >aid; “You won’t; take this, then,” at the same time pushing a large navy revolver into Smith’s face. Smith dropped behind the bar, when Jack made a second attempt to shoot him. at which time other parties inter fered and indnoed him to put up his weapon. Jack then made Smith stand np, look at him and shake hands, re marking: “I’ll not kill you now,” Smith summoned George Porter, Deputy Sheriff who, in company with two citizens of Weiser, attempted to arrest Jack od the street. When told to “throw up,” Jack remarked, “If you thiuk .1 won’t shoot you are a ,” and he drew his pistol, but be fore be bad time to set ii the Deputy gave him a slight wound in the hip. Jock, however, nothing daunted, filed four shots at the deputy and posse without dring any more harm than powder-burning some of them, The deputy and posse returned to the saloon and while disenssing means for Jack’s arrest much to their surprise the latter entered and the deputy again com manded him to “throw np,” which was answered by a shot from Jack’s pistol, the ball entering the cal/ of the officer's leg. The deputy responded by discharging one barrel jot a double-barreled shot gun, the contents of which entered Jack’s breast just below the right nip ple. Jack, with pistol in hand, now pressed the officer to the very wall, t)ie other barrel of the latter’s gun re fusing to act, leaving the officer at bin mercy; but at this junction, when it wss seemingly impossible to check Jack in his death rage, Hans Matson, ^r the manifestations that shall be one of the posse, fired bjs pistol, the bail entering Jack's back and ranging upwards, which shot seemed to paralyze him. Stepping back a feY steps be fell a dead man. made to us in the other kingdom. Whatever oar intelligence may be while here, it is relatively very slight, and we grow mine anti mors to knowhow “darkly” it is that we through the interposing glass. i - >1 '.*3551 •taSskiS /■ I