The Newberry herald. (Newberry, S.C.) 1865-1884, May 26, 1875, Image 1
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.
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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