Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c. VoL XW. WEDNESDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 10, 1875. No.6. THE HERALD IS PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY MOXINING) At Newberry C . Editor and Proprietor. Te"Uss $2.50 per J112U211 1J ga*ljai AdiancO. C, The Uapr is stopped -at the expirlti0Ou Of time for wlichit Is'Paid. 0-~ The ovoes uirageoOf sb Kpt te ighit as, tht a directe. Keep from the world thT frien d's defects. Keep-all tby,thoughts on purest themes. Keep-from thine eyes the motes aild beam. Keep true thy deed. Thy honor bright. Keep firm tby Nath, in God and right. Keep free from every sin and stain. Keep from-tbeways 1hat bring thee Pain. Keep right thy aim aind good thy will. Keeip strong rui bope no'enyYgee. Keep btLfu*l Care o'er tongue and hand. Keepaw Keep true thy word, a sacred thing. KeepZ4o!*e nae the tempters bringI K jo*1~CIujmli i end. Keep fall in -iew the final end. x**p fwom all hate and maicefree. Mep%trmn thy courae bold and strong. p up the right and down the wrong. Keep well the wordLq of wisdom's school. Keep warm by night and by day. keep cool. ADIVORCDM BY ROSE TERRY. "C~~1oyo th &ildgmienio the father." 1jyidWNbY dadling! die Mlilght -19 here To stifle and tempt' me withi longing andj I he$j, *~lthe darknessat ty sweet Aittle Like.idsin their nests that In slumber re-. xcy arlingi mv aaruing! a long stght has told Miss Norris would be dowA immediately. "When the door opened, I ros to greet my black-eyed charmej but instead, stood face to fac with a nice-looking, grey-6ye< 3irl that I had never seen beforc "Well, thanks to my knack o retting out of scrapes, I slippe yat of that all right. "I beg pardon 1" I said. "Bn [ supposed I was to meet Mis Torris." "Ab yes; Isee!' she said naking me at ease instantly. 'Your call was meant for my siste DIara, I suppose. But she is no t home this week, and you wil ye obliged to let me entertain you. "From that time wu went oi wimminriy, and I never enjoye< t call better in my life. She play d to me-and I never saw suet >retty hands in my life! and he: oice was like a lark's and shi ould. talk a fellow into Paradise Knowjast what. to say, and hov o say it; and I remembered then hat Clara was rather reserved Ld not balf as social as she migh )e. "Well, I called again that week Ld that girl's voice and her sof ovely han'ds haunted me. Thei ier sister came, and her eyes wer< larker and brighter than over Lod Julia-that is the other one' iatue-seerned rather dim in hei >resence. Still, her voice and hei vay of talking Clara couldn't com >are with, and I was just tosse( )ack and forth between the two "One day I would decide to set ,I to tbg and take Clara; anc esuiha would begin to talk Lnd her hands would flutter ir ome pretty work, and I wouk eam, the house dead in love witt ir. And, one day. she said t( e: "'Do you know that Ellen i4 oming home to-morrow ? "'Who is Ellen ?' I asked. ".W by, don't you know ? Sh4 s :6r younger sister. She hai een,away at Uncle John's foi everal imonths, but is coming ioe now.' "Well, she camne. You've seet er Tom-that little brown-eyet ~airy that all the fellows rave abou o; aq 4- Well, you see, con ou~ittit! 'lyetween three, I an ~ornpletely muddled." "You don't know which t< "No! that!s just th~e- trouble ! I L made up my min4 to propose t< iara as r have a dozen times yit her Elijndancas beforerme,shak g .her yellow cers, and smilin with) s'browa ees, till I am hail seas over, or 0eJlia sings ani ~alks meaito Alanatic. And if. ix my heart fisaly upoa eithe f thsis, then, then, the first tim am out on the street, that queen y Clara glides somewhere ii ~ight, and I'm gone again." "Poo.r fellow 1" 1 said, gravely Pmn U6rry for you.' But wh; on't you,.make up-your mind one fo'r all, and propose to one of thert and have it over with ?" "Ahb! if they were not sistera would!', NTed responded, "But yo dee, 1'in afraid, if I shoul once engage myself to either one I should always repent it when saw the others. Being sisteri you know, they would forever b ground, reminding a fellow who might-have been. But I've aboti made ip my mnibd to take Eller She is a perfect little fairy, and knoi19hould be happy with hel Don't be surprised, if you are cal e upon to congratulate me nes time we meet." A day or two after, I saw Ne( "Well," I began, "shall I congra ulate you ?" "Oti, confound it, no !" growle Nedr- "I have been there twice; ht that coriceit'ed Will Spencer we anging .round there both time .Ellen loo'ked dag'gers at him, an did everything but ask him to ga for she divined the cause of m visit,1guess. But be stuck tigh er than Spaulding's glue. lie: such .a conceited jackanapes ! E doubt he thought she was d, lighted with his presence." I did not see Ned for~ a week c two; but when I did, I held ou my card of idvitation to Mi: Elleri Norris's wedding. ."How's this ?" said I, bent c tesing. "Guess Will Spenc< wasn't so very much mistaken, a ter all-was he ? Seems he's ir proved his time prettyr well, an; how." "Oh, get out !" cried Ned, pusi ing 'me off. "Let a fellow alone can't you ? I am glad enough she going to marry him. .Nice gil But that queenly Clara is worn two of her, and Julia is worth tiw of her,- and Julia can't be beat, oi fello w! You'll see !" I did see, or rat her, heard. was at Ellen's wedding. Jul is as the lifa of the ev@ning, wil i: ber conversation, her music, and her graceful ways. I didn't won a der at Ned's choice. I whispered as much to him, late in the eve a ning. I He gave me a beaming glance. i "Gay-isn't.she,Tom? Butthere I f is somebody hanging about her I I -all the time; and I haven't had a L chance to get a word with her. t Now, there's that black-whiskered I s professor boring her with his olo- i gies. How weary she looks! I say 3 Tom, can't you get him off some- i - where, so I can talk to. her ?" But the professor was called away by some other person just c I then,andNed supplied the vacancy c I immediately. C I sauntered off to the library, v I after a moment, and sat down be - hind the high desk, to look over 1 an old volume. Presently I heard I Ned's voice at the door. a "Come in here a moment," he a ! said, "where we can be alone. I want to speak with you." f I thought she hesitated, but I she came with him, and, before I g could make my presence known, r Ned had begun. H0- had a perfect r command of language, and talked s like a two-volume novel. V "You must have long known, Miss Norris," he began, "the mean- b ing of my frequent calls at your home. Though first a friend of a your sister, I soon learned to look upon one of the family in another -light than a friend. I have long de- t 11 sired this opportunity to express h my feelings, and receive the an- a swer from your lips. But the fates F have all seemed averse, and I had almost despaired of speaking to ii you this evening. The opportunity il has at last arrived, and here at c your feet, I await the answer t which shall render my future life i a desert or a Paradise. Speak, I implore you!" There was a moment's silence, 1 brokei at length, by Miss Julia's n melodious accents. "Do I understand this, Mr. Clark, y as a proposal of marriage ?" 0 "Light of my life, yes! What e else could my words imply ? I 6j love you! Be my wife !" i Ned was getting eloquent, and 'J . I felt very much like laughing: i - but it would have been indiscreet, y Si my position, so I sat still till v the play ended. I > f1am exceedingly surprised." I a heard Miss Julia respond-"very I E much surprised indeed! I had al- I >ways supposed your calls were e ,merely the calls of a friend; and if - out of the three, you looked upon g one wvith the eyes of love, I had ~ -supposed it to be my sister Clara." a I "Yes, yes!i I know I have veil- t ed my heart!I" Ned interrupted; a r "but, I assure you, it is you that Ie i have loved, and do love ! It is - you--"t "Please do not go any further," Julia's calm voice broke in. "Iti ,is unnecessary to prolong this in-c r terview. Had I known your in a tentions, I should not have grant-J ,ed it." "But you don't mean to say , You surely can not refuse my suit< , utterly ! Ned cried mournfully. 1 "Indeed I must, Mr. Clark," she , answered, tenderly. "Though I1 I respect and esteem you very higrh , ly, I can never be other than ai e friend, or-a sister to you." t "But perhaps yea will think bet t ter of it-" Ned said, in so pathet .ic a voice, that I should have felt I really sorry for the fellow had it .been anybody but Ned-feather I hearted Ned, who never loved .t any body, save himself, enough to give him an hour's real pain; as it I. was, I wanted to laugh, but, aslI before remarked, thought it would be indiscreet-"perhaps you would d think better of this, after mature Lt deliberation. I do not want you s to decide hastily. Think of it a . few days, and then give me your d answer." >, "Indeed, it is not necessary !" y Julia said earnestly. "I should t- answer you just as I answer you now. Your friend-nothing more." o "But if there is any obstacle - that I can remove-" "There is an obstacle," Julia in r terrupted, with a little quaver of t mirth in her voice. "But I would is hardly like to have it removed ! M2r. Clark, I trust to your honor n to keep my secret, though it is a r secret only for the present, I am f- the promised wife of Professor 2- Thorne! We are to be married in r- ja few months. Now take me back to our guests, and let us be . Ithe best of friends in the future, as we have been in the past." s It was too good a thing to keep. I. I had to tell Ned that I heard it h all, the next time I saw him. o "You see, Ned, 'I couldn't help d being there," I said. "And, after you had got fairly afloat on your [t sea of eloquence, I was not at all a sorry to hear it. You did it up b well1 Qid hovy: but. really. I was iarprised at the reply. 1 ha yrown to look upon Miss Julia a i relative." "Oh, hang it!" cried Ned, chafing inder my raillery. "Why can' rou let a fellow be ? You'd n( usiness listening, anyhow! Bu am not sorry she answered m( s she did, after all." "No," I said ; "you will nevej iave any regrets now, thinking vbat might have been. It helpt ,ou out of your quandary nicely eaves you just 'Hobson's choice -Clara or none." "And Clara is worth both tht thers," Ned responded emphati ally. "She would reign royally ver a follow's house! She's a roman to be proud of!" "All right," said I. "Glad you )ok at the thing so logically. lelen and I shall welcome Clara, nd be glad of her as a relative nd neighbor." Ned went to the Falls, and be Dre I saw him again, with tb Zorris party. iIe wrote one lowing letter, soon after he ar ived, giving an account of Clara's oval charms, what a senqation he made, and how the fellows en. ied him. "It will be settled before I get ack " he wrote. I introduced the subject as soon s we met. "Well, Ned, when it is to be ? "Oh, deuce take you!" he cried, browing himself on my lounge in is old way. "You are always at follow-never giving him any bace." "But, Ned," said I gravely, try ag not to laugh, "you wrote that . would all be settled before you ame back. What more natural han that I should ask you when b was to be ?" "Well, then, never I" snapped Ted. "She went through all that ng rigmarole that Julia did-'shc ever thought of such a thing, ,nd so on-and the next day shc was receiving the congratulation f her friends on account of her ngagement to a Boston chap, ~eems she has known him for a ~ear or two. "I tell you what, ~om," he continued, in a reflect ~e manner, "there isn't much de endence to be placed upon e oman's actions. A fellow may e positive that he has only tc sk and receive, and likely as not e will get a positivo refusal. ~ow, I was sure I could have any 4 those three girls, by saying th< ord. And just see the conse. uencs! T wo of 'em married, one retty near it, and I rejected anc ,lone. But I am sort of glad, af er all !" he went on. "Clara is plendid woman, but she woulc ost a man a deal to rig her up ~nd there is just the trimmest lit le girl over 'in Brooklyn, and i he'll have me, I'm ~going to set what I can do in that quarter.J lo not fix my hopes too firmly up m earthly things, but .1 still thinl have a chance over there. An< ~he has no sister, so there'll be n< >other. Oh, well, women are jueer creatures-act one thing and mean another; but, Itell you rom, that little Brooklyn girl il rimn !" Ned profited by his lesson, an s a much more agreeable fellow [ told him so one day. ".Ah, yes I" he said. "Knocke< >ff a foot or so of my self conceil But it's growing again; for tha ittle wvoman over in Brookly: says l'm the nicest fellowv walk ing. We are to be married Chrisi mas, you know. After all, Fat knew best what was good for mfl Those Norris girls don't compar with t,his one." Nedl married his "little girl over in Brooklyn, and they are a jolly a couple as I ever sa w. Shei willing to worship Nod, and hei willing to be worshipped. An he is a very kind and affectionat husband as well, and neveri troubled with "quandaries." In the .Now York postoffic there is a clerk whose memory c the offiee brings him back to th year 1835, when a young woma used to call every week for a Ie ter addressed to "Miss Mary I Russell, post office." The regula1 ity of her visits, her constant r< erve,and the quie tness,with whic she resented inquiry as to her his tory and occupation excited in th office a curiosity which was neve gratified. Until within ten yeai she made her calls with accustome regularity and was never disaj pointed in her expectation of letter. Since, she has not bee seen, but the letter come as of ol< They arc forwarded to the dead letter office where they are opene< but contain no clue to the identit ofeither the writer or the recipieni In each is a 35 note, with a lin saying when the next remittanc will ba made-nothing more. "1AND WHEN F'M TO DIE." The hymn of John Newton in which the verse beginning with these words occurs, was a favorite of the venerable Rowland Hill. During the last two or three years of his life he frequently repeated the following lines: "And when I'm to die, Receive me I'll cry, For Jesus hath loved me, I cannot tell why. But this I do find, We two are so joined, He'll not be in Glory and leave me behind. There are two incidents in his old age connected with these words which-are deeply touching. The last time he occupied the pul pit of one of his brethren near by, and whom he sincerely loved, he preached an excellent sermon in behalt of acharitabie institution. He retired to the Vestry after ser vice under great exhaustion. Here he remained until all but himself and the pastor had loft the church. At last he seemed to gather up strength to take his departure, in timating that it was probably the last time he should have the privi loge of preaching in the pulpit. "I offered him my arm," says the pas tor, which he declined, and then followed him as he passed dowh the aisle of the chapel. The lights were nearly extinguished, the si lence profound; nothing indeed was heard but the slow, majestic tread of his own footsteps, when in an undertone he thus solilo quized: "And when I'm to die," &c. "To my heart," his friend adds, "this was a scene of unequalled solemnity, nor can I ever recur to it without a revival of that hallow ed sympathy it first awakened." The other incident was upon his deathbed. He waA literally dy ing, and to all appearance uncon scious. A friend approached his couch and began to repeat close by his side the favorite lines "And when I'm to die, Receive me, 1!1.ery," &c. The light came back to his fading eye, a smile overspread his face, and his lips moved in vain at tempts to articulate words which had so often imparted joy to his soul. This was the last sign of consciousness he ever gave. May not other Christians take instruction, comfort and strength from the example of this man of God ? The work of his eventful life was ending, eternity was open ing before him. But he claims no merit before God. With the hu mility of a little child he takes his place at the foot of the Cross, an absolute debtor to divioe grace. There is much of both sound Stheology and true-Christian expe rience in the lines he so loved to repeat. Let us never forget that God's love to us does not come as a return for our love to him. "We Ilove him because he first loved us." The wonder of it is that it was to wards hps enemies. If our hearts have been brought under his pow er, we can give no further account of it, in its origin or in its opera tion than this-"I have loved thee with an everlasting love, therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee." Happiest is that Christian who can live most entirely under the power of this truth. Blessed in deed is that death which has shed upon it the peace belonging to him who can say with an unwavering fih"I know and feel that Jesus ehlas loved me, though I cannot tell why."-Central Presbyterian. WHOSE BoY Is THAT.-He may be seen any day, in almost any apart of the village ; he never Smakes room for you on the side s walk, looks at you saucily, and d swears smartly if asked anything; e he is very impudent, and often vul s gar,to ladies who pass; he delights in frightening and sometimes does serious injury to little boys and Sgirls; he lounges at the street ecorners, and is the first arrival at a ndog fight or any other sport or nscrape; he crowds in the post office in the evening, and multiplies him self and his antics at such a rate - hat people having legitimate bus hiness are crowded out; he thinks himself very sharp, he is certainly every noisy ; he can smoke and chew tobacco now and then, and r arip out an oath most any time: dwe ask whose boy he is. Mother dis he your boy ? We think he is, for there are many good qualities a in the lad, and we do not think Sthat you know what he does on -the street. Look after him mo thor; keep him more at home. Train him and you will have a son to be proud of. ___ e Death is as necessary to our e constitution as sleep. We shall he refreshed in the mornina. WHEN TIMES WILL GET BET TER. "Why don't the times got bet ter ?" This is a question which is fre quently asked. We think, says the Ledger, that the times are getting better-slow ly, but surely. And they will con tinue to grow better just about in the ratio that industry increases and extravagance decreases. We were reading, not long ago, about a great Belgium iron manu facturer, whose works cover eight acres of ground. His business amounts to millions of dollars per annum, and he is able to undersell rivals in all parts of the world. One of the chief reasons of his ability thas to triumph over com petitors, is to be found in the facts that his personal and family ex penses amount to only sixteen thousand francs ($3,200) a year, that he ovesees his business him self, and that all his sons and son in-laws work with him, and are as industrious and economical as be is. How different the great manu facturers of this country and their families operate. An American with such a business as this Bel gian, would not be content with living on a paltry three thousand two hundred dollars a year. His sons would not put on leather aprons and work at the bench. His daughters would not consent to their husbands working like day laborers. . No; he would have a costly es tablishment. They would a 1 I have costly establishments. His sons would spend more for cigars and dinners than suffices to pay all the personal and family expenses of the Belgian iron king. His daughters would expend three thousand two hundred dollars in their outlay for one grand fancy ball. Newport, Saratoga, the Euro pean tour, and such like indul gences, would swallow up tens of thousands of dollars per annum. And in the absence of the head of the establishment, away on some fashionable tour, the cashier would leave with the ecntents of the treasury.. Of course, such a concern would have to ebarge high prices for all its commodities. With all the ad vantages of a high tariff and the cost of ocean transportation in its favor, it could not compete with the Belgian who, reinforced by all his family, attends assiduously to his business, and foregoes all the fashionable frivolities of the age. It is not to be expected that anybody's family in this country will imitate the Belgian iron king's family; but it is not unreas onable to maintain that until in dustry and economy shall take the lead of idleness and extravagance the times will not generally and permanently get any better. EDUCATE THE MUscLES.-Mucl1 matrimonial misery grows out of the complainings of an unhealthy wife. When will our girls under stand the grand truth that men prize health in women above all other gifts? Tbe robust masculine half, is 80 constituted that it soon tires of t h e pettish complaints (even though well founded) of the weak er feminine half. Sentimental, "delicate" Mi ss Araminta, languidly rising from a lounge to meet her devoted lover, may look marvelously poetical in her white robe and blue ribbons, and, by weakness alone, forge another link in the mighty chain of love which binds his heart to hers. But a year later, when the mar rid man sees at his breakfast ta ble a sallow-faced, untidy female in a loose wrapper, who has lain awake allnight with "one of those dreadful sick headaches," he fails to see the poetry of Mrs. Aramin ta's appearance. So let all girls and young women partake of every active exercise not absolutely unfeminine and trust to their being able to get in to or out of a carraige with a light and graceful step, which no drill ing can accomplish. Let them rise early and retire early to rest, and trust that their beauty will not need to be coined into artificial smiles in order to secure a wel come, whatever room they enter. Let them ride, walk, run ,row, play, dance in the open air. En courage the merry and innocent diversions in which the young delight; let them, under proper guidance, explore every bill and valley ; let them plant and culti vate the garden, and make hay when the summer sun shines, and surmount all dread of a shower of rain or the boisterous wind; and, above all, let them take no medi cino except when the doctor pre rios it. [From Gov. H1offman's address to the Albany Medical College.] MILD PILLS. I would not say anything to lower the tone of your profession al or personal morals, but I fan cy that there is a certain kind of deception which is not sin. I was sitting at dinner once with an esteemed c o a n t r y medical friend, and noticed him rolling in his fingers pills from the bread at bis side. I asked his purpose, 9nd he replied that with that sirn ple remedy he had worked a cure n the case of a lady who had con iulted, in vain, some of the most ,elebrated physicians in the coun .ry; that she had a slight relapse, Lnd had sent for him for some of the same pills which he had giv )n before. He did not seem to 'hink that he was doing a very wicked thing, nor did it strike me hat he was. I suppose he would lave been a little flustered if his patient had asked him to write >ut the prescription. This he knew she would not do. She had Eaith in him, and in no one else, ind would have trusted no one Ase to make up the pills. Wheth )r this deception-a professional hite lie-was censurable accord ng to piofess'onal ethics, I can 3ot say. The standard of morals wven among the faculty is, I am orry to say, not always the same. Recently I saw a report of a suit tt law between two physicians. [t was a slander suit. The trial nvolved, among other things, in juiry into the use of homeopathic medicines by an allopathic physi Dian, and the professional pro priety of so doing. One witness f high professional standing in bis own neighborhood, testified, in substance, that if an allopathic doctor administered homeopathic remedies without letting his pa ient know the fact, it was quite right and regular; but if he told Lhe pationt that'they were bomeo pathic medicines, then be was altogether wrong and irregular. In other words, regularity lay in the concealment of the truth. I, an unprofessional man, do not mean to express my opinion upon that point; but I do think my triend with the bread-pills was regular." ONE HUNDRED FLORINS FOR A SINGLE iLAIR.-A young and poor-' ly clad girl recently entered a bar br's shop in Vienna and told the proprietor that he "must buy her head." The friseur examined her long, glossy, chestnut locks, and began to bargain. He could give her eight gulden, and no more. Hair was plentiful this year, the price had fallen, there was less de mand, and other phrases of the kind. The little maiden's eyes filled with tears, and she hesitated a moment while threading her fin gers through her chestnut locks. She finally threw hereelf into a chair. "In God's name," she gasp ed, "take it quickly." The bar ber, satisfied with his bargain, was about to clinch it with his shears, when a gentleman who sat half shaved, looking on told him to stop. "My child," he said, "why do you want to sell your beautiful hair!" "My mother has been near ly five months ill; I can't work enough to support us, everything has been sold or pawn ed, and there is not a penny in the house" (und kein kreutzer im haus.) "No, no, my child," said the stranger ; "if that is the case I will buy it." He gave the poor girl the note, the sight of which had dried her tears, and took up the barber's shears. Ta king the locks in his hands, he took the longest hair, cut it off alone, and put it carefully in his pocket-book, thus paying one hun dred florins for a single hair. He took the poor girl's address, in case he should want to buy anoth er at the same rate. This charita ble man is only designated as the chief of a great industrial enter prise within the city. GIVE THE CHILD A LIGHT.-If a child wants a light to go to sleep by give it one. The sort of Spar tan firmness which walks off and takes away the candle and shuts all the doors between the house hold cheer and warmth and the pleasant stir of evening mirth, and leaves a little son or daughter to hide his head under the bed clothes and get to sleep as best it can is not at all admirable. Not that the mother means to be cruel, when she tries this or that harden ing process, and treats human na ture as if it were clay to be moulded into any shape she may please. Very likely she has no idea what evro-h nuy n ufrn h evr or peasheijr hsfertn ache cautseo perhsever heart ache; but she~ prseersgtinig.h a doina right. CHARGE OF A DETROIT JUDGE. A NEW YEAR'S CALLER. John Robinson made New Year's calls. He called on a saloon-keep. or, he called for liquor, called the liquor good, and drank enough to trip him up. Then he called for police, and when the police came he. called them liars and such. "I was having a little fun," he explained, winking at his honor. "John Robinson are you aware that this is a very solemn world," said the court, "a world which has ten heartaches to one smile? Don't you know that the grim shadow of grief rests upon every doqrstep, and that the tombstones in the cemeteries almost outnumber the trees in the forest? There's wailing in every household, John Rob inson-there'sgrief in every heart. And yet you claim that you wore only having a little fun?" "That's all, your honor-it was a holiday." "It was sad fun: John Robia son. While all the rest of us were swearing off and making double back action resolves while you were lying at the corner of an alley dead drunk. It is five dollars or sixty days, sir, and if this case was before a Chicago police judge he'd make it five hundred dollars or a life sentence." SOME FIGURING: "It's the last time !" exclaimed Anthony Hock as he was brought out. "You've decided to quit, eh ?" "Yes your honor-yesterday was my last drunk. I've been counting up the. cost, and I've made up my mind to live sober and save money after this." "Anthony Hock, you talk like a man. It does me good to hear a man speak up that way in this day and age. It's like finding a ten-dollar bill while one is pawing over the clothes-basket to discover where the hired girl flung his Sun day boots. Stand right up to your resolution, sir. I've been figuring a little, and I find that if a man will. stop drinking liquor, tea and coffee, go barefooted, steal his wood, get trusted for his pro visions, cheat the landlord out of his rent, stand up in church to save pew-rentand live economical ly in other respects, he can save at least $500 per year. Now then, $500 per year for 400 years is $200, 000. Just think of that! With out any effort to speak of you can in time be worth $200,000. You may go home, sir!" FIRsT JOKE. - Elizabeth McNamara, a woman fifty years old, got off the first joke of the season when she walk ed out and announced that it was her first appearance here. Bijah laughed until his spectacles fell off, the clerk grinned like a copper mine, and his honor stopped paring his apple, stuck his knife into the desk, and replied : FIRST JOKE. "Elizabeth McNamara, the sight of tha,t 'ore front door is not more familiar to me than the fact that you have been here somewhere in the region of forty times. What's the charge, this time ?" "Taken a drap-a bit of a little small drap." "i've let you off, sent you up, expostulated, pleaded and threat ened, and yet you come back here," he said, "I was thinking the other day that if I ever peered over the desk at your freckled nobe again. and the charge was drunkenness, i'd have you sawed in two with a cross-cut saw and the pieces split up for kindling-wood !" "Don't do it, sir-send me up again." "1 shall make it three months." "I don't care-only don't saw me in twice !" she gasped. "Well," he said, after pondering over the case, "we've been to $10 expense to get the saw, and B3ijah has anticipated great fun. but I'll see what three months will do. Go back and sit down on the stove hearth until the Black Maria goes up.'' CoUJLDN't sTAND IT. "T his is Daniel Casey," said Bijah as he handed out the last man, "and 1 can tell you why he was drunk." "Casey wasn't sober!" contin ued the old janitor. His honor regarded him for a long time without speaking, but finally said : "The prisoner can go, and Bijab, if you ever sit down on this court with another pan like that, and are acciden3tly shot next day, your friends mustn't ask me for money n help buy a monnment" ADVERTISINC RATES. Advertisements inserted at the rate of Vl.00) per square-one inch-for first insertion, and 75c. for each subsequent insertion. Doub!e .:olumn advertisements ten per cent on above. .Notices of meetings, obituaries and trib,ute of respect, same rates ptr square as ordinarY advertisements. special notices in local columec 20 Cents per line. Advertisements Mo marked with tbe num - ber of insertions will be* kept fa #P forbid and charged accordingly. Specistl contracts made *ith' ls_p,Adver Users-, i~~hliberal deductious on ab-Me rates. D)one with Neitnessitnd DUP"s~. Terms CAs.. 1HOW DRY IT WJ4L8 An honest old farmer from the coun.try aave his- recollectiOnri of the late hot spoll as follows: It was so dry we couldn't'spare wrater to ptit in our.whisky. The grass was so dry that. every time the wind blew it flew around Like so much ashes. There wasn't a tear shed at a funeral for a month. The sun dried up all the cattle, and burnt off the hair till, they lookee like 31ex ican dogs, ad the sheep all like poodle puppies, they shrank aR. so. We had to soak till our hogs to make 'em hold swill, and if an"y cattle were killed in the morning, they'd be 'drMe beef atdak" The woods dried up so that,the farmers chopped. seasoned timbers all through Au'gust, and tb*'e ain't a match through all the coun try-in fact, no weddir g since th,o widow Glenn marrie4 old Baker, three months ag-o. What few grasshoppers -are left. are all skin and legs; aad-1 didn't hear a 'tea-kettle- si6g- for.six We eat our potatoes baked, they being all ready, and we: couldn't spare water to boil 'emn..