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A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c. Vol. XI. WEDNESDAY MORNING,MAY 26, 1875. No. 21. THE HERALE IS PUBLISHED EVERY WED'_\ESDAY MOR-SIXG2 At Newberryt S. C. BY THO,, F,, GRENEKER Editor and Proprietor. Ternas., $62.5o Per eInhurin, Jnvariably in Advance. M7The paper is stopped at the expiration oJ t Me for which it is paid. 39- The >4 mark denotes expiration of sub ,cription. - cl-~ ! DECORATION DAY. We went together, she and 1, id in oar robes- of grief; Our widowed hearts made inward moan Seeking some poor relief, In village church with vill3ge throng We faltered through the prayer and song. By throbbing drum and wailing fife In long procession led, All soug-,ht the rural church-yard, where Reposed their patriot -lead, And, flowers in hand, we gathered round In turn, each still pathetic mound. With tender pride one then proclaimed The sleeper's name below; Neighbors and friends with tearfal eyes Around it circled slow, And piled the spots with blossoms fair, And breathed soft blessings on the air. And thus I thought: my soldier's grave I may not deck to-day; Above his rest with raining tears I may not bend to pray; Far, all too far my so'Idier lies, In southern soil, 'neath southern skies. That bloody earth would scarce, methinks, -Lie lightly on his breast, That sky scarce seem with smiles to bend Above his silent rest, Slept he not 'mid our patriot dead, The dear old flog high overhead. Sleep on, beloved! Although not mine, Yet other hands to-day Have strewed, thank God! fair, fragrant flowers --erItdd (tory. Time for a Parson to "Cuss." -0 The camp to which Big Jack Small's freight was consigned was a new one, and, of course, the last days of the trip led the team over! newly broken roads, which fact in creased the labor of Mr. Small, and gave to his face and language a somewhat serious expression. Dar ing the last day's drive before coM ing to camp, the road was particu larly uneven, and on the down grade caused the long high wagon boxes to reel to and fro like boats at sea. Often the wagons, despite the strong friction of the howling brakes, pressed upon the cattle and crowded them upon each other en masse. Then again the hindmost wagon, in making a turn, encroach ed so far upon the inner side of the'! circle that the brake must be let; up to avoid sliding farther and overturning, as a rolling wheel slides less than a wheel which is locked. On one of these sideling turns, on the brink of a shallow dry wa ter wash, Mr. Small was compelled to stop his teani to prevent the overthrow of the rear wagon. As he proceeded to release the brake, which on this particular wagon had its lever low down and between the forward and hind wheel, the wheels, from the slight move they made after being released, settled the wagon just a little, but far enough in its nearly poised position to turn it over suddenly, before Mr. Small could fly for safety. Mr. Sighal had been anxiously and prayerfully observing from the rear of the train, the attitude of things. He heard a sudden shout, a crash, and then all was silent, and Jack Small invisible. The incon scious cattle stood quietly in the yoke; Mr. Sighal ran wildly from one side of the wagon to the other, endeavoring to discover some clue to Mr. Small; while the Indian walked gravely up from the head of the team, where he had been sta tioned to keep it in check, and stol idly observed, pointing to the pros trate wagon. "Uhl! one uim wagon heap ketch urn Big Jack." Mr. Sighal looked in the imper turbable face of the Indian, the In dian looked into the face of Mr. Sighal, and they both looked at the wagon. Then the Indian sat down upon the hill-side, and Mr. Sighal stood pale and sad, turning his hands nervously through e a ec other, vainly trying to determine what to do next. Suddenly he call ed the Indian, and began actively unloading the unfortunate wago~n, with the intention, as he afterward explained, of lifting iti back by hand; which feat, considering its1 great size and weight, was nearly as far beyond the available power there present as to lift the whole load. While thus fiercely engaged, and urging the Indian to increased ex ertion in the same direction, he heard a voice as of one crying from the depths: "Hul, Parson !" "0, thank God, my dear Mr. Small, you still live !" "Yes, sir. I haint dead yit." "Are you seriously injured ?-and do tell me what to do, Mr. Small." "Guess not. I'm down yere in the holler, but it's mighty close quarters-like a fishin'-worm under a board. Ef the wagon-box don't settle down on me, I reckon I'm 'bout all right. What're 'yer doin', Parson ?" "Unloading t h e wagon, Mr. Small," "H-1! That haint no use. Git the couplin'-chiains from the other wagons-but chock the wheels fust! pass 'em roun' the box from end to end, 'bout quarter-way down from the top; then bring the ends to. gether on the side o' the box. Sabe ?" "I hope I do, Mr. Small." "Then take five yoke o' cattle an' another chain-an extry chain, more'n what would do to hitch up fer common with-drive the cattle roun' to the other side o' the wagon, an' p'int 'em straight across from the road; hitch that extry chain into the chain on the wagons. then hitch the cattle's chain to that extry chain. Sabe ?" "I think I do, Mr. Small." "When yer git that done, holler to me. Don't hurry. Work i'ight ahead as though thar wasn't nothin' wrong. The parson conscientiously, yet with much misgiving, wvent about his task and when he had all ready, and the cattle strung out at right angles with the r'oad, he stepped up to the prostrate wagon, and, turning as one who listens down a I well, he shouted: "Hullo-o!" "I believe I have done as you told me. "Got everything hitched strong? -don't want no slips in this game, yer know ?-'cause ef this wagon box slides much, you'll have a mighty flat corpse to preach a fune ral on !" "0 dear! dear! Mr. Small!" ex laimed the parson, vexed and hor rified. "What next shall I do ?" "Give Gov a strong bar'l, ef yer kin git one, or git a big stone of yer can't git no bar'l, an' place it to Lhe edlge o' the wagon-box, so 'at he kin put it under when the cattle Lift it. S.be ?" "Yes, sir. . . . All done, Mr. Small" "Now, then, start up the cattle, in' keen 'em to it when they start. A.n' Gov, you look out an' heap fix ap. "Yash, me sabe," said the Indian, aking his position, while Mr. Sig ,al gathered to himself the terrible hip, and proceeded to try his powers in a role in which he had int hopes of success. He swung the whip round his head, bringing the heavy lash with a rake like that >f a dull rasp across his own neck, mnd shouted at the cattle. Slowly they tightened the chains, and then tood in the pulling attitude, but pulling not one pound more than just enough to stretch the chains. Oxen which will pull true enough in the beaten track have doubts ibout pulling across country thro' the brush. "Get up! Gee !" shouted the Rev arend Mr. Sighal at the top of his oice, and trying in vain to jerk an explosion out of the great whip, as ie hd seen Mr. Small do. "Get Lp'! Gee! Go 'long !" And then, eeing himself successful, and be :oming heated with the exertion, he idded, by way of terror to the cat le, "Confound you! Get up !" Still he vagon-box lay flat on the top of Nr. Small. Hearing a continued rattling of -hains, and much shouting with no 1pparent result, Mr. Small called: "Hullo ! Parson !" "Sir." "What's the matter ?" "The cattle can't draw it, Mr. Small," replied the parson sadly. "Can't draw it, be d-d ! Go er 'em with the brad, an' cuss 'em! hey kin pull it easy enough." "Curse them, Mr. Small !" cried bhe parson, in a voice of impressive solemnity. "Yes, cuss 'em!" shouted Mr. Small. "I wish I was out there, a-n 'em!" "Mr. Small, don't swear needless ly. This is an occasion of life and death," said the parson, desisting from his efforts at urging the cat te, whereat he had grown hot and red, excited and vexed. "'Well, well! never don't fret, Parson! Better men than me ha' died in a better cause. Write a note an' send it down to camp by th.e Injin-the boys'll come up an' git me out, alive or dead." "Do not think me weak or im practical, Mr. Small," replied Mr. Sighal, with a determined ring in his voice. "Tell me what to do and I will do it, God being judge of my intentions." "Can you cuss, Parson ?" "It is many years since I have ut tered an oath of profanity. What is it I am to do ?" asked the parson, sternly. "Go round to them cattle, com mence on the leaders, an' brad 'em all with that steel in the end o' the whip-stock-the way you've seen me do it ; then raise the whip above yer head, start 'em on the gee pull, an' jest lay your head back an' cuss as loud an' strong as you kin hol The Reverend Mr. Sighal went round to "them cattle." ~There was audible to Mr. Small's ears a hust ling of ox-feet upon the earth, a creaking of ox-bows, mixed with an occasional short bawl;then the sound of the parson's voice elevated with great vehemence-and the wagon slowly arose enough to permit Mr. Small to crawl out into the free air. The parson was still shouting at the straining cattle, when Mr. Small limped quickly to where he stood, and taking the whip from him with one hand, extended his other, which Mr. Sighal grasped in both of his, and, turning his eyes, now full of tears, toward heaven, eloquently thanked God for His great mercy in the preservation of a life which he hoped might yet be dedicated to good and holy works. "Thank ye, Parson," said Big Jack, as lie dropped his hand and turned to the cattle; "you're a good one-thar aint no go back to you !" And then easing the cattle back from the pull, he said: "Parson, when I marry that solid, square built gal, you shall do the ceremony, ef it costs me a thousand dollars to feth vear wheve T am !" "Ah! Mr. Small, this lessoi should teach us that we know no what a day may bring forth." "Well, we'll take the chances anyway, Parson !" What language the Reverend Mi Sighal used to the cattle is not rf ported by Mr. Small; the Indian being accustomed to much that hi does not fully understand, made ni note of it; and the wide gray si lence of the desert is no babbler. [J. W. Galy, in Overland Month ly for May. BYRON'S LAST EFFORT. "The manner of it To see it in a play would break your bearl It was so pitiless." Se long as time continues to un fold his varied and instructive scrol] will the genius of Byron enchai the sympathies of all who posses intellects capable of appreciatinj the grandeur of his muse and thi towering magnificence of his imao ery. Alas ! that while this remain the case, there must ever likewis remain a world-wide sorrow tha the dark spectre of his domesti sufferings should so constantl, arise to cast a funereal gloom ove all otherwise so bright in his bein and his genius! In 1822 Lord Byron was i Italy. Surfeited with pleasure ani renown, he yet wandered abou from place to place, a broken-heart ed and hopeless exile. Still si young, so handsome, and so brim ful of the limpid waters of Castalia there was yet one person living whi could have relndled hope in hi throbbing bosom and restored bin with matured powers to himself an< the world. That person was Lad: Byron. In the winter of 1822-3, she alsi went to Italy, to spend the season a the fashionable resort of Nice thei a part of the Italian dominions. She traveled incognito, and he journeys and abiding-places whij on the continent were known only t a few of her intimate acquaintances The poet, however,. through som one of his numerous friends, hear< of her arrival at Nice. His grea heart bounded with renewed hope His mighty spirit, so seldom bowed bent with the desire to receive onc< more the embraces of his famil; and to be thenceforward their faitl> ful protector and companion. Years had passed since the poe and his wife had seen each othea and the heart of Byron was effectu ally softened. He had realized th force of the touching words: "At sence makes the heart grow fonder. Who can picture the hopes ani fears which racked the mind of By ron at this period ? Did he fanc; that Lady Byron, as might easil; hve been imagined, had come ti Italy to increase the chances o meeting with him, and of effectinj a~ rconciiation between them, whic] would forever have redounded t< the honor of her nature and pro claimed thie tenderness of her die position ? Did he impulsively cor cude that if he could once mori meet her and speak confidentiall; with her, all would yet be well ? Did he behold visions, in the fu fture, of a happy home and; loving family cr-owning the glory c a mighty fame ? Whatever were his thoughts hopes or fears, he resolved to se her, and if possible surprise her it to the opportinity of a recencilia tion. And now, casting away eu ey feeling of pride, and every fea that might have seemed an imped: ment to his honorable and nob] design, he hastened to Nice, evi dently with this one thought dwar: ing all others in his ardent natur< Arriving at the hotel where Lad Byron was domiciled, his plan were soon matured; and all who ar familiar with the peculiaritiesc the poet's nature, will perceive ho' highly characteristic they were'c his disposition, however out of th common order-as indeed was no he under all circumstances and al ways ? He resolved to surprise he by suddenly appearing before he in'a livery similar to that of th servant who waited upon her. N' doubt he presumed that such ten porarily assumed humiliation, an< the unconquerable desire to mee her which it must have evidence would have the effect of materiall; influencing her favorably towar< him especially when joined to th magnetic power of his presence an< the eloquence of his address. Th sequel sadly proved that by follow~ ing these generous and impetuou impulses, he had wholly mniscalcula ted the result as well as the subjec of the effort. Having procured a suit of liver; and bribed the chief servant of th< hotel to allow him to take the plac< of the attendant who a~were i Lady Byron's bell, when she next t rang it he quickly appeared before her. As may be supposed, she was ;, amazed-thunderstruck-but alas ! unreleuting as ever! Perceiving that he was recognized, Byron hastily expressed his joy at seeing her, begged her forgiveness, prom e ised in the future to atone for all > the faults and follies of the past, - and at last implored that she would speak to him, if only one single - word. His appeal, however, was lost-worst than idle. Unmoved as a marble statue, her features -pale and rigid, she violently rang the bell beside her, and thus sum moning the servants of the house, abruptly terminated the interview by ordering her husband's forcible expulsion from her presence. From that time, more than ever before, Byron's mighty spirit was effectual ly broken; he found himself now in deed without hope in the world; 1 and in a state of dejection and dis 5 may, such as few men have ever suffered, he retired to commune 3 more sadly than ever with his im mortal muse,and the more dangerous 3 personifications supplying its alter 3 native. t Lady 'Kavanagh, who was then 3 at Nice, occupying apartments ad r joining those of Lady Byron, with r whom she was especially intimate, i communicated these circumstances to her niece, Mrs. Jane Kelly, of ' Stradbally, Queens County, Ireland; I and they are well known to the t children of that lady, who now re - side.in the American city of Brook >lyn. Lady Kavanagh was in her. own apartment when the occurrence took place; and being attracted by the a unusual noise and bustle which it 1 created, she proceeded to inquire the cause, thus coming almost im r mediately after into the presence of Lady Byron. Ten minutes could > not have elapsed after the expul t sion of Lord Byron, before Lady 1 Kavanagh was present with her - alone, and heard a recital of the in r cident from the lady's own lips. 3 Lady Kavanagh described her as ) having been in a state of nervous -agitation, complaining of the cruel 3 ty of the shock which the occur I rence had inflicted on her', but ut t tering not one word of sympathy -for her forsaken husband-not one ,solitary reflection on the stern se a verity of her conduct toward him. V Whether she ever expressed, or in deed experienced, at any subse quent time, either regret for her reception of Byron on this affecting Soccasion, or sympathy with his broken and hopeless condition, will e now probably forever remain un known ; but judging from the inci "dent itself, as well as from others in her biography, such feelings had -slight if arry affinity with her gene V ral character and disposition. Yet it is difficult to conceive of a heart >in which such remembrances might f not at some unsuspected moment sti ike a latent chord of tenderness. 1 Whether they did so or not, the > words of the poet who exclaims, - "Too late. You've crushed the light out of a* - gem You did not know the price of. Had you spoken But one kind word-" Sseem to have a singular application to the incident. But even this was not the end. However broken and almost hope less, Lord Byron did not discon tinue his personal effort at recon ciliation, even with so lamentable ea failure to discourage him. He probably felt that the surprise might been too much for Lady By-1 ron's nervous system, and that af-. ter time for calm reflection she might possibly regret the inexor able course she had pursued, and perhaps gladly embrace a similar opportunity if it should be again offered.* At all events, soon after ward the illustrious poet again s "stooped to conquer" what, alas! seems to have been unconquerable. On this second occasion he dis guised himself as a coachman, and succeeded in mounting her carriage. His success, however, was no better than before; for no sooner had Lady Byron become r aware of his identity, than she vehemently and unflinchingly re epudiated him, again firmly declin ing to hold even one moment's in tercourse with him. t It was Lady Kavanagh who like wise related this circumstance, and further alleged that her authority for it, as for the other, was Lady Byron herself, who seemed rather proud than regretful at the attitude which she had thus maintained. -Lady Byron soon afterward left Italy, and traveling through France returned to England. With her after t history, this hasty sketch has no connection. There have not been wanting those who considered her a mentality s o m e wh at disordered, Seither through temperament or the itatin n+' b& marita1 tenh1e and in the light of such a supposi- f tion she might be judged with u otherwise impossible leniency. s Byron also left Italy the follow- s ing year, but not for England. The a land of his childhood knew him no t more. He sailed for Greece, no doubt first seeking the inspiration y of the old Hellenic land, but to be- li come, later, though so briefly, a v sharer in one of the most praise- t< worthy enterprises of his century- t, the attempt to free the land of a Spartan valor and Homeric song. e There, beyond doubt, his muse re- r ceived fresh and if possible more ti exalted inspiration; but there, all u too soon, he breathed forth his o lofty even if misguided spirit, pass- t ing to that yet more distant land h where the pains and troubles of i2 mortality are unknown, and where s there are those who believe taht the a trifling errors of this fitful life are b magnanimously forgiven. i -From THE ADmE for May. _M* e AN AWFUL HISTORY. il "St. Mary's is one of those little r fishing towns which are common on the coast of Newfoundland, and e 0 so small, some of them., as scarcely 0 v to have any connection in any way I with the outside world, or to find their way to maps. The inhabit ants are poor and find almost their entire support in the sea, which they trust in the roughest and a most inclement weather, sailing out,, in their shore boats. All or nearly all of the fishermen of St. Mary's b are Irish or of Irish blood. What suffering there has been among the wives of the men who have perish- 1 ed and those who will yet return. t home can be appreciated by those who know the warm and impulsive Irish heart, so sensitive to acute t anguish and so little able to bear up under uncertainty and suspense in regard to those who are loved C and from whom nothing is or can be heard. -Early in the morning of March t 2,the fishermen saw a ship ice-bound a about two miles from shore, and e immediately undertook to go to the rescue of the crew. There had already been reports of a ship drift ing about and seen from the head lands. Thirty-four men were found ready to start at once without evenc heavy coats or jackets to shield them from the keen wind- The I ice around the shore had been firm e all winter-winter here lasting, a a series of storms of wind and snow and hail, from December nearly i till May--and the'St. Mary's peo I: ple had often gone. out on it to a hunt wild fowl. No especial danger t was anticipated, although the wind a was blowing off shore, and might possibly break down the bridge by a which they must return. Another a party had set out for the ship even t before this, and the rescuers met e them returning over the ice, having i the captain of the ship with them, t and being obliged to support him, e as he seemed very ill. He said that a his crew had left the vessei on the t preceding day, but he had no t knowledge of where they had gone a to, which of itself is a most remark- t able circumstance. The party toil ed on over the ice, which in many places was so thin that the great- e est care had to be taken to avoid i falling through, and about three e o'clock in the afternoon they reach- t ed the ship, which as they had anti cipated, was wholly abandoned in a shaky condition. -Its cargo consist ed of salt and molasses. They r could not discover its name. They searched her thoroughly, and as e night was coming on they set out to return, but fou.nd to their horror t that the treacherous ice had parted f~rom the shore and thus their only E bridge was destroyed. Nor could they at once return to t the ship, for around it the ice was dangerous and the night was dark. t Through all the loing hours before i the dawn of day they remained on j the ice, cut off alike from ship -and . shore. They had no provisions, no t extra clothing, no means of shelter- f ing themselves from the keen and a cutting wind; they knew that on that shore, so near and yet accessi- 1, ble, their wives and children and a mothers were wailing in agony in t their cottages, or running up and h down the beach vainly seeking for j some sign and listening for some ~ sound from them. During that c night seven of the party froze to death; one of them, Dobbin, having gone crazy beforehand and, insist t] ing that he saw a light in the win- is dow of .his house, started for it, and n had to be forcibly restrained from y wandering off and dying alone, as afterwards he died with his corn- h rades. h To keep themselves warm they a danced and ran about as much as o they dared, but some sat down, and, y having said their prayers, refused to stir. The apathy which comes ar thana *hafreen in death soon Ia ff1 upon them, and they died ncomplainingly, and turned to bone. When the sun rose the arvivors found them sitting still ad frozen so stiff that at a touch 3eir fingers broke off like brittle lass. The survivors made their ,ay back to the ship, but were ob ged to leave, besides those who ,ere dead, several of their comrades ) their fate, for the ice was too thin ) allow of their tarrying them way, and the survivors were nearly !hiusted. The ice was yet but a .ef beyond the shore, and between ie two was the cold, green water, terly impassable. They remained a the ship. for seven days with no iing to eat but molasses, which, owever, proved good and warm qg food. The ship drifted out to a again when the ice went out, ad they remained in it in cold and anger till March 11, all the time isight of shore. On the 11th they saw the schoon e, and took a small boat to reach from the slip. There were eigh %en of them, and all were kindly ceived by Captain Spence, but ven yet they were forced to live a short rations. Meeting another ssel the captain of the George S. 'ogg went to it and endeavored ) arrange a transfer, but the new ssel could take but eight of them, though it was bound for St. hn's, in Newfoundland, not far way. The wretched men promised ) live on deck and use only ice for ater if they could be taken back ome but this was refused. Three f the party were afterwards trans ,rred to another boat bound for rewfoundland. The rest we'e iken to Baltimore on the Nurn erg, on board of which they had een taken on March 22, when Cap tin Jaeger found the George S. 'ogg exhibiting signals of distress, ore down on her, and took the men n board.-N. Y. Graphic. - - - LAUGHING CHILDREN.-Give us he boy or girl who smiles as soon s the first rays of the morning n glance in through the window, ay, happy and kind. Such'aboy ill be fit to "wake up" into a man -at least when contrasted with ,sullen, morose, crabbed fellow, rho snaps and snaris like a surly ur, or growls and grunts like an ntamed hyena from the moment e opens his angry eyes till he is onfronted by his breakfast. -Such girl, other things being favor ble, will be good material to aid a gladdening some comfortable ome, or to refine, civilize, tame nd humanize a rude brother, 1aking him gentle, affectionate ud lovable.. It is a feast to even look at such ,joy inspiring girl, and see the miles flowing, so to speak, from be parted lips, displaying a set f clean, well-brushed teeth, look ag almost the personification of eaty and goodness, singing, and s merry as the birds-the wide wake birds -that commenced heir morning concert long before he lazy boys dreamed that the un was approaching, and about o pour a whole flood of light and varmth upon the earth. Such a girl is like a gentle. show r to the parching earth, bestow ag kind words, sweet smiles, and ts of mercy to all around her e joy and light of the house Old. INCH BY INCH.-Obse:-vations egarding the growth of man have etermined the following inter sting facts :-"Tbe most rapid ~rowth takes place immediately af er birth, the growth of an infant uring the first year of its exist ce being about eight inches. ['his ratio of increase gradually ecreases until the age of three ears is reached, at which time he size attained is half that which Sis to become when full grown. .fter five years the succeeding in rease is very regular till the six eenth year, being at the rate >r the average man, of two inahes year. .Beyond sixteen t h e rowth is feeble, being for the fol Wing two years about sixteen ths f an inch a year; while from eigh een to twenty the increase in eight is seldom over one inch. -t the ago of twenty-five the rowth ceases, save in a few ex ptional cases." A very practical sermonizer made iese remarks on the soul say g question: "My brethren, a Lan cannot afford to lose his soul. [e's got but on'e, and he can't get other. If a man lose his horse e can get another; if a man lose is wife he can get another ; if a an lose his child he canuget an ,her. But if he lose his soul, good T, John !" -- .- e + - - To be angry is to revenge the nlts of others uDonU OB61T A GENTLEMAN. When you have found a man, you have not far to go to find a gentleman. You cannot make a gold ring out of brass. You can not change a Cape May crystal to a diamond. You cannot make a gentleman till you first find a man. To be a gentleman it is not suffi cient to have had a grandfather To be a gentleman does not depend on the tailor or the toi let. Blood willdegenerate. Good clothes are not good habits. The prince Lee Boo concluded that the hog was the only gertleman. in England, as being the only thing that did nct labor'. A gentleman is just a gentle-man ; no more no less; a diamond polished that was first a diamond in the rough. A gentleman is gentle. A gentleman is modest. A gantleman is cour teous. A gentleman is slow to take offence, as being one who nev er gives it. A gentleman is slow to surmise evil, as being one who never thinks it. A gentleman sub jects his appetites. A gentleman refines his taste. A gentlenan sub dues his feelings. A gentleman controls his speech. A gentleman deems every other better than him self. Sir Philip Sidney was never so much of a gentleman-mirror though he was of English knight hood-as when, upon the field of Zutphen,as be lay in his own blood, he waived the draught of cool spring water that was to quench his mortal thirst, in favor of a dying soldier. St. Paul describes a gentleinan when he exhorted the Philippian Christian: "What soever things are true, what ever things are honest, whatso ever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." And Dr. Isaac Barrow, in his ad mirable sermon on the callings of a gentleman, pointedly says, "He should labor and study to be a lead er unto virtue and a notable pro moter thereof; directing and ex citing men thereto, by his exema plary conversation ; encouraging them by his countenance and au thority ; rewarding the goodness of meaner people by his bounty and favor; he should be such a gentleman as Noah, who preached righteousness by his words and works, before a profane w'orld." [Bishop Doane. -RANDOM SHoT.-It was while we were editing the Evening Spectator that we wrote that editorial about Caruthers. who was a candidate for sheriff in our county at the time. We were not aware that we had said anything calculated to hurt his feelings, but he seemed to think we had. It is true we called him a crane-legged, shad-bellied, squash-headed, lop-sided old son of a gun, but then we had a par ticular friend who was a candidate for the same office, and of- course we had to support him. But this explanation would not satisfy Caruthers. We knew that he meant businees when we found him sitting on the steps of our office the next morning. We can forgive a man for almost anything he may do when he is a candidate for office but we have no patience with the man who will deliberately and maliciously attack an innocent and helpless orphan who has no one to protect him, and stand him on his head on the cold and unyielding pavement, and then lay.him down and walk on him with a pair of No. 10 boots, and then turn him over and walk on the other side of his nose, and pull his ears, and make his nose bleed, and expectorate tobacco juice in his eyes, and p9ke him in the ribs with a stick, and make an utter wreck of the only paper col lar the orphan possesses. We repeat that .we have no pa tience with such a man and never expect to forgive him, unless--well, the offer of a deputy sheriff's place might make some change in our feelings~ toward him. Active natures are rarely melan choly. Activity and melancholy are incompatible. All power appears only in transi tion. Permanent power is stuff. Rats and conquerors must expect no mercy in misfortunes. Measures, not men, have always been my mark Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread. Weaenttweevnsbto Welare them. a vet btt ~Uowthe~i. ADVERTSINC RATES. Advertisements inserted at the rate of $1.00 Iper square--one inch-forfirst inmertiou, and I76c. for each subsequent insertion. Double column advertisements ten per cent on above lqNotices of meetings, obitaaries and tribute of respect, same rates per square as ordinary advertisements.. Special notices in local co;= 20 cents per line. Advertisements not ma*ked wfth the num - ber of insertions-wil be kept in- tM forbid and charged accordingey. Specal ontact mae wth sW dver Done wi*th Neatns and Da p-Ter m' Cash. NO ONIONS THIS SPRIENG. A little bitofa man, wearig a bilious looking -plug hat and opeak ing in child-like tones, wa cmiduct ed out and His Honor looked up and inquired: "'Whyfor, thou seedling ? "I'm a prisoner, but I'm e6t1ed to be treated withresecPl" iak ed the little man, standing a -his tiptoes and growing red in the face "Respectfully, your obedientaffer vant,"i replied the court, W=Wfnhis hand around and lettiug it genT drop upon a seek no famtber. "I wont be made m. of-I UeU you I won'tV" squ*aed the prison er. "Fun! fum!" repeated His Honor. Sir, this is i, serious world, with four poundq of heartache to ,the old-fashioned grin. No; -sir, 1 See no fun here. The -charge is being drunk and raising a great row-a& very serious thing." "Who says I got drunk r" Aquead ed the little man;' "who sa".sl raise a great row? It is aconspmia Cy to get me out of the neighbor hood." 'Prisoner at the bar,". said His Honor, when the evidence Was. all in, "~now is the time to aea