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it -~ -" ./ A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c. Vol. XII. WEDNESDAY MORNING, JULY 11, 1877. No. 28. THE HERALD IS PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY MORNING, At Newberry, S. C. BY THOS, F, GRENEKER, Editor and Proprietor. Terms, $2.00 per nIuunm, Invariably in Advance. r The paper is stopped at the expiration of time for which it is paid. 27 The ? mark denotes expiration of sub scription. stirn. ESTRANGED. Some day she will come back, my poor lost dove My dove with the warm breast and eager eyes! How did it fail toward her, my passionate love? Where was the flaw? since flawed it must have been, Or surely she had staid with me, my queen. Her heart was full of inarticulate cries Which my heart failed to catch; and yet she strove To cleave to me. Ah, how she must have s'riven, Praying, perchance, of times for strength from heaven! But no strength came; and so, one fatal day, Despairing of all help, she went away. And there her half completed portrait stands, The fresh, young face, and gray eyes brim med with light. I painte i ithdiewers in her hands, Because he always seemed so bright and good, I nexr h.ought the studio's solitude W u>iher-nyway. I thoygb the sigh?-. Ofpainted forms and unfamiliar lands Woin be-enough for her. She was too mild, Too. =*ient With my painter's life.,, Poor Had she complained a.t4l, by look or tone, Had she but said; "I seem too much alone; ''I grow half fearful of these painted eyes That never change, buit,_fulof'.sad reproof, Haunt me and wat4 ;anBfris8southern skies - - Reflected in de,renm~ffd tibstdark boat From which a ~ ih bare sweet.hreast and throat Droops willow lik ,nd dreams of life and love; And tat youth's dying face, which never dies; And then, agai , that picture of Christ there, Christ fallen in an agony of pr ayer, -An'd his disciples near him, stern and dumb, Like men who know the fated hour is come." Had she said thus, and added: "Take me, dear, Outside of these sad faces; let me stand Once more wvithin life's shadows, and there hear Light laughter of the surf upon the beach, Fbr here-the very sea is without speech, So still it is, anzd far away from lan'd; Iwanit.life's little joys; this atmosphere Oppresses me; I cannot breathe in it; The light that lights your life leaves mine unlit"-I I should have answered tenderly, and sought -To carry on.t in all her slightest thought. She knew I loved her, through those winter D tnot comfort her at all, my love ? It was such joy to look upon her face, I sat for hou,rs, content to be quite still, Feeling her warm bright beauty fill My soul and brain; fearful lest she should move, - And speak, or go; but when she met my gaze I turned a1way, as if I had done wrong In looking on her loveliness so long. I ra ely kissed her, rarely took her 4and4 A.dnow1 I think, she did not understand. Perchance she thought my love was.passion less, Wante ha.t leI teldyet longed to give; She did not know my silence a caress All pas'sibii was by reverence controlled And so she.deemed my ways of love were cold. Ah, me! the lonely life she had to live! And I knew nothing of its loneliness. Hers was a nature quick to give and take. A nature to be broken and to break; She loved confiding valleys, sun kissed rills, But saddened at the solemn peace of hills. All things had been so different had I known Her nature then as now; and yet, and yet, If she heame in, as I sit here alone, The April twilight falling through the room, And alN the pictures lapsing into gloom' Came in, kneltdown, and prayed me to for get,. Forgive her, and reclaim her for my own, I should be glad, and draw her to my heart, And kiss the rising tears away, and part The sweet black hair, and fold her to my side, Yet leave, perchance, the want unsatisfied. But here she comes not. I must wait and bear; Live on, and serve my art as best I may. If I can eatch the color of her h air And the neck's.poise, and set beneath her name, 4 Shall not her loveliness have deathless fame? Now lights shine out along the London square. Oh, dreary place! where no joy comes at all, There! 1 must turn the easel to the wall! I cannot bear her face as yet-Oh love! Oh, wounded of. my hands! my wounded dove! [Harper's Magazine.. MAGGIE MAY. --0 "I amn sorry, George !" - a L ~.. moist, and a tremor was in her low swxeet vuice: "Belkve me, George, I never dreamed of this. For so many years, ever since I was a little girl, you have been so like a brother that I have given you a sister's love and did not think you wished for any other. George," she con tinued, piteoiusly, "tell me you do not think I have been trifling with you, or willingly wounded the no blest, truest and best heart in the world." "Darling," said George, hoarse ly, "I know you have not. It was my own blindness, my own great love that deceived me. Tell me, Maggie, is there no hope for me in the future, when you may cease to love me as a brother, but love me dearly and affectionately as I love you." The answer came slowly and tenderly: "I am the promised wife of Edward Glover." The room reeled before George's eyes; then by a great effort he straight ened himself, and contiolled his voice to speak: -He is worthy, Maggie, even of your love. May heaven grant you every happi ness !" and as he spoke, he softly touched the raven hair of Mag gie's bent head with his lips, and left her. She went to her own room crying softly. It was a sore pain to her to know that George loved her so deeply. There was no thought of the girlish triumph over a new conquest, for Maggie had not one spark of coquetry in her simple nature. No pain of her happy, innocent life had been so great as this sympathy and re gret for George. She was but a mere childt when her uncle had taken George into his household to study medicine with him, to become, in course of time, as dear to him as a son. He was not en tirely dependent on his profes sion, having a small income inherited from his father. To Maggie her uncle's house had been a second home since she was a child. Situated about two miles from her father's residence, the distance had been considered too great i-a her childhood for two walks in the day, so that a visit to her uncle's was usually of, two or three days' duration. She was the star of the whole household, from her uncle to the housekeep er, and even down to the office boy, who considered her a little angel. George's arrival gave the damsel a new admirer in the strong, rough lad, wvhose ringing voice woke the echoes of the quiet old house, as her silvery laugh and low, sweet tones had never done. It was pleasant to see how the young natures controlled each oter in their frank, pleasant in tercourse., It was George who conquered Maggie's timidity, and made her a fearless horsewoman, who wakened her from dreamy reveries to realities of life, turned her tender sympathies to practi cal charities, and led her up to higher and nobler aims in life than her shrinkin.g gentleness would have ever sought alo e. It was Maggie who taught George to soften his rough, rathere uncouth manners, and persuaded him that courtesy was no want of manli ness, and gentleness implied no But wh . -ing his whole %ert epm nd p in Maggie, fvini en tire devoti ing her retur y exer tion; ev ct 3f gf-sacrifice, dreamin * t oil a lifetime o care far'ber, Maggie regar afdM ny a. brother and kept her heart un touched till Edward Glover came to claim it. He was but a visitor at the village where Maggie-spent her happy life ; but in his brief summer sojourn he won the heart for whose love George would have given his life, and in the spring came to carry his bride to his city home. In the library, where George Goodwin had spoken his love tale to Maggie, there were seated, eight years later, an old gentle man and a young, fair lady in deep mourning. "Your mother must have missed your letter, Maggie," Dr. East said. "She would.never have left hme expecting your return." "I found my last letter unopen ed on her table. All was so sud den at the last, uncle. Edward was so well when I wrote, before, that I do not think the idea of my return occurred to her. It is so lonely at home, 1 came at once to you, hoping to stay till father and mother return. "You know, dear child, how glad I am to have you with me. Maggie, there is something to tell you we did not write of, thinking it would only grieve you. George has been deeply afflieted." "George ? gje is here, is he "Always. I will tell you all. You heard soon after your arrival in Italy, did you not, of the dread ful accident at the new building st out of the village ? Many were killed and wounded by the premature fall of a large quantity of brick and mortar. Every one hastened to the spot to aid the sufferers, supposing all danger was over. George went down to the building, superintended the removal of the unfortunate wound ed, and I received them in the long stonecutter's shed above, and dressed their wounds. All was removed but the dead, and George was still in the building when a second fall came that horrified us all.'' "Oh, uncle ! George ?" "He was taken up insensible. Apparently his injuries were slight, but as he recovered con-. sciousness we found a blow upon his head which, with the nervous shock, bad totally destroyed his eyesight." "Not incurably ?" "Yes, dear. Every effort skill could suggest or money procure has been-made. We have had the advice of the first surgeons in the country, and all remedies have been faithfully tried. All has been in vain. He is hopelessly blind." Maggie's tears were falling so fast she could not speak ; and her uncle continued : "He bears his trial with forti tude, but it is a grief none can ap preciate, except under similar af fliction. Hush ! he is coming." "Don't say I am here. I cannot speak to him yet," whispered Maggie, rising softly and taking a seat in a further corner of the room, where she watched George's entrance with painful earnestness. He came in very slowly, his arms outstretched, and his step uncertain. Maggie longed to offer her support, but could not control her voice to speak. "Are you here, Dr. East?" George asked ; and the deep, sweet voice struck'upon Maggie's ear. "I am here, in my old place." "Let me find my chair. Ah ! here it is;" and he sank down wearily in the chair.. "I have glad but still sad news for yoa;" said Dr. EAst. I "Sad and glad ! News from abroad ?" t"Yes. The sad news of Edward Glover. He died in Italy last. month." 'And Maggie is coming home, that is your glad news ?" "Yes. Poor Maggie !" Thbere was a deep silence. Then George spoke in a ineditating tone, as if following aloud a train of thought: "Better to be widow ed than to have been burdened as she would have been, had my life been blessed as I once hoped. May heaven bless and comfort her in er sorrow !" "You loved her v-cry truly, George ?" "I love her while lifh remnains. Lean never cease to love Maggie. When is she coming home, doc tor ?" ''She has come."~ "But her parents are away." "She is here, George." -it was painful to see how the sad face of the-afflicted man light edt up as he bent forward eagerly, his bands outstretched and his features working with emotion. "Here, here, Maggie !" He had forgotten his blindness, her widow ood, everything, but the fact that Maggie was near him. "I cannot see you, Maggie, darling," he said, with emotion. "Speak to me." She came softly to him, her tears falling fasts "Ob, Maggie!" he remarked, "1 have no word to comfort your sorrow." "And your affliction, George," she replied, "is a new sorrow to me." They' talked together for a considerable time. Thbere was much to tell by both parties, and each sympathized with the other for the sorrows which had fallen upon them during their separation. it was not long before Maggie had found her old place in the home circle as if she had never left it. To George a new and perhaps happier life had opened. Maggie again was his swee t. tender, loving hearted sister. ,It was Maggie who drove him out in the carriage; it was Maggie who read to him, sang for him, made the hours fly with merry descriptions of her travels. Maggie had opened a drawer in George's desk, searching for some papers he wished to see, when she said, suddenly : "What are all these loose papers, George ? There are an immensity of pages." lie replied, very sadly : "That is the wreck of my ambition, Mag gie," "Tell me about it.". "You cannot-realize the tempta tion there is for a student of medi cine to devote all his energy to some special branch of the profes sion, and to eti4y all that bears upon it. It was my fancy that I could give my fellow students some valuable information upon disnee of the brain. and I had -written- what you see when my labors were stopped and I. became the useless log I am now." "But the book, George; have you forgotten it ?" "Forgotten ? Never ! It is clear er and more distinct in my dark ened life than ever before. My mind, in my solitary hours, has dwelt on each phrase of the va rious treatment of the diseases till I find my blindness a misfortune for others as great as for myself." "But, George, why should you cease your work? Cannot you dictate to me ?" "Maggie, is it right to tie you down to such drudgery ?" "It will not be drudgery. Let me arrange these papers now, and read them to you, and you can continue the work to-morrow." "I know it is selfish, but the temptation is too great. Maggie, you are my guardian angel !'?' The work progressed rapidly, and Dr. East watched with loving gladness the change in George. Maggie wrote for him, and read the extracts he dictated, entering with her whole heart into the work. A year passed away from the day the work was commenced be fore it was ready for the press, and they were rewarded at last by a package containing the handsome ly bound volume. Maggie was in the library alone when Dr. East entered with the book. "Look at it, Maggie darling, while I find George." "I au here, doctors" said George, entering. "Let me feel it. Mag gie, dear, please read me the title page." Slowly she read the page, even to the figures that 'announced the date of publication. "1864," she said, as if pondering. "It is leap year." George looked up. Despite his blindness he' had never lost the habit of tuvning his face toward any object of interest. Now his face was pale, eager and yet ra diant. "Leap ycar,2-Maggie continued; "nhen l-adies :ay offer their hands to gentlemen. George, will you take mine ?:' ""Mugie, do not mock me. You are young, beautiful and wealthy. What am I ?" "What you are to others," said Maggie, "let the universal love and respect you meet testify. What you are to me I can never tell you. You love me, George ?" "With my whole heart and soul ! "Let your love, then, read mine. "Oh ! Maggie-Maggie, can it be true ? You love me, blind, helpless, useless" "Hush ! George." "You are my eyes, my fingers, my inspiration !" "Then you will have me ?" said Maggie, merrily. "I have no answer yet." Dr. East stole softly away, bless ing thcm'in his heart as he did' auibly when the wedding day came. For they were married, and the honeymoon has not yet waned. THE MAN WHO DOEs :NOT TAKE NEwSPAPERS.-"The family that don't take newspapers was in town the other day. He brought his family in an ox wagon. He still believed that Millard Fillmore was President, and wanted to know if the 'Kamschatkians' had taken Cuba, and if so, where they had taken it. He bad"sold his pork for six cents, whenhbe dight have gotten ten. One of his boys went to the blacksmith shop to be measured for a pair of shoes, and another mistook the market house for a church. He hung his hat on a meat hook and patiently waited one hour for meeting to begin. One of the girls took a lot of 'seed onions' to the post office to trade off for a letter. She had a baby which she carried in a 'su gar trough,' stopping occasionally to rock it on the side-walk, and when it cried she filled its mouth with a cotton handkerchief and sung 'Barbara Allen.' The oldest boy had sold tw o 'coon skins,' and was on a bust. When last seen he had called for 'soda and water,' and stood soaking ginger-.bread in. it and making wry faces. The shop-keeper, mistaking his mean ing, had given him a mixture of sasoda and wvater, and it tasted strongly of soap. But he had 'hearn tell of sody water,' and was bound to give it fair trial, 'puke or no puke.' The old man had a tea-kettle he wanted 'fixed up,' and he carried it to the mil liner shop. The clerk thought the man was crazy ; but, noticing the hole in the kettle, politely told him that Kjeene & Austin would mend it for him. He then took an old plow to the jeweler's to have it 'poin ted and sharpened.' We told the old fdllow he ought to read the papers, but he would not listen to it. He was opposed to 'internal imnprovements,' and thought 'larnin'' a wicked inven MIisetUianons. ACTS PASSED BY THE GENE RAL ASSEMBLY AT THE EXTRA SESSION OF 1877. JOINT RESOLUTION to raise a com mission to investigate the in debtedness of the State. In view of the great uncertainty that exists~in the minds of the property owners and tax paying portion of our people as to the real and definite amount of the true and valid indebtedness of the State, and the character of the obligations out of which the in debtedness has grown, and of the equally unsatisfactory condition of the credit of the State as long as any doubt or suspicio'n attaches to claims held against her; and in order to give reasonable assurance to the honest creditor, on the one band, that the State intends to raithfully meet her obligations at aR early a date as practicable; and, on the other hand, to satisfy the tax payers that the General As sembly will have proceeded intel ligently in whatever steps may be taken to adjust and provide for the public debt; therefore, SECTION 1. Be it resolved, by the Senate and House of Representa tives of the State of South Caro lina, now met and sitting in Gen eral Assembly, and by the author itv of the same, That, in accord ance with that portion of his Ex cellency's missage touching this subject, a commission, to consist of three members of the Senate and four members of the House of Representatives, shall be elected by each house respectively. SEO. 2. It shall be the duty of said commission to make a coin plete and thorough investigation of the following and kindred mat ters, and to report the results to th'e next session of the General Assembly, to-wit: First, the entire amount of,consolidated bonds and certificates of stock that have been issued under the act to reduce the volume of the public debt od pro. for the payment . the samo approved December 22,1873, so as to show, under proper heads and classifications, the number in t lleeries, the letter, date of issue, date of redemption, denomination, rate of interest, by whom signed and coun t'ersigned, and to whom issied. s Second, wbether there is in the State Ti'easurer's office on ile, as vouchers, cancelled bonds, coupons and certificates of stocks of the issue described, issued in accordance with law, ard author zed to be consolidated by the act above recited, to the amont re uired by said act. SEC. 3. Should it appear to the commission, in the course of the investigation, that any of said bonds, certificates of stock or cou pons have been illegally or other wise improperly issued, it shall report the same, together with the evidence upon which the ille gality or non-conformity to law rests. SEC. 4. The commission is here by authorized to req'uire the hold er of said bonds, coupons and stocks to produce thbe same for in spection before the commission in Columbia. Such as shall be found to have beed issued according to law, and that are valid bona fide bonds, coupons and stocks, shall be registered by their number, let er, denomination, and such other listinctive titles as may -be best suited to the object in view, and shall be certified as correct in such orm as the commission may deem proper. SEC. 5. The commission shall have fuill power and authority to send for per-sons and papers, and. to administer oaths; and false swearing by or before said com mission shall be indictable and punishable as perjury. SEC. 6. The Comptroller Gen eral and Treasurer are hereby au thorized and required to co-ope rate with said commission when called upon. SEC. 7. The comiission shall be authorized to sit during the recess of the General Assembly. SEC. 8. The compensation of the commission shall be a per diem of 5 each. SEC. 9. It shall also be the duty of said commission to investigate the amount and oharacter of' the ioating indebtedness of the State, and make a report thereon in de-1 tail. SEC. 10. That said commission ball have power to report any special matter. SEC. 11. That before said com mission shall enter upon its du ies, each of the commissioners shall first take and subscribe the1 ollowing oath, to wit: "I sol emnly swear that 1 am not now, nor was 1 at the date of my ap pointmen t as comnmissioner, di rectly or indirectly interested in any bonds or other evidence of tate indebtedness to come before ue as commissioner, nor am I, or will become, the attorney or le gal representative of any party ;ivntete in any such bond or j evidence of indebtedness ; and, further, that I will honestly, fair ly and to the best of my ability perform the duties of commission er as required by the joint resolu tion under which I was appoint ed : So help me God." SEC. 12. That said commission shall make a report to the Gen eral Assembly at the next regular session, during the first week of said session. AN ACT to amend an act entitled %A,n act to amend 'An act to provide for the redemption of forfeited land upon certain con ditions therein mentione4.' " Be it enacted by the Senate and Rouse of Representatives of the state of South Carolina, now met net and sitting in General As 3embly, and by the authority of the same: That an act entitled 'An act to amend 'An act to pro 7ide for the redemption of forfeited and upon certain condition's there n mentioned,'" be, and the same s hereby, amended by striking )ut in section 1 all after the word 'follows," and inserting the fol lowing : "That in all cases where lands shall have been forfeited to the State for the non-payment of taxes, and the titles thereto be vested in the State from the 15th of June, 1876, the owners of the said lands, or if they be dead, their legal representatives, heirs at law, >r any judgment creditor, mort gagee, or other person interested in- said lands, shall have the right, and they are hereby authorized, to redeem the same on or before the first day of January, 1878, upon the payment of all taxes, :osts and penalties due and owing upon the same ; and the County Auditors of the several counties where the said lands are situated, upon the payment of such taxes, ::osts and penalties within the time herein limited, shall report the said payment to the Comp troller General, and the property o redeemed shall therefore be iropped from the forfeited land record and restored to the tax ist of the county where the rand is situated. Approved May 31, 1877. A man in Wisconsin has applied or a divorce, upon the grounds hat his wife married him under alse pretences. He says she told hm while he was addressing her ~hat she could hoe an acre of pota uoes and split two cords of wood etween breakfast and dinner; ~nd she had proved herself a fear 'ul fraud because she could only plit half a cord and hoe three imes across the field. it seems rard that men are continually to be made the victims of these de igning women. Why will wives ~rifle in this manner with the ten lerest affections of their hus mands? Why will thef shatter ~heir heart-strings ? Ho w much iappier would have been the some of this Wisconsin woman if se had emulated the example of he Seoshone squaws ? One of hem goes out and digs turnipis ill day, and then wheels them some at night in a push'%art, while her self-sacrificing husband, n the depth of his unspeakable ove, sits on the front door-steps mroking Lone Jack tobacco and ~neditating upon the number of rinks of pyrotechioal rum he can >ut in his jug with the money he ets when be sells that squaw. The following is the verdict of LCharleston County Jury over be body of John Grant, shot by Richard Wright: STATE OF SOUTH CAROLINA, MOUNT HoltY, April 1st, 1877. J Jury inquess held at Mt. Holly >ver the Body of John Grant Shot By Richard Right at Mt. Holly We the under Singa Jurow. Do ereby agred that the Body of ohn Grant Was Wilfully and Mo ishous Murdered and Kill By Richard Right and the Said Rich rd is Guilthey of man Storter Did to his Greate Danger and erte against the State as it four aid and to the Peec of the Peo le and harmoneous We the under sinurs* as folows State the Body of ohn Grant Was Shot Within fif een Steps and the Condission of he Shot in the L4eft Bress extent o the Right and fell Instantley. This paper was signed by the ourteen jurymen and F. T. Als on, the acting coroner, cross narks being attached in each in ~tance. A witty writer has observed, 'ith much trutb, that every man n a sense is three different men. :n the first place he is the man he binks himself to be ; in the see mnd place, he is the man other >ersons think him to be and final y he is the man that he really is. When is one apple equal to four >airs ? When it's ate (eight.) The ow~n who gets into prison vill be more guarded in future. "Wearin' o' the green"-the (rrom the Burlington Hawkeye.j ADVICE TO NEWSPAPER CORRESPONDENTS. Never write with a pen or ink. It is altogether too plain, and doesn't hold the mind of editors and prin ters closely enough to their work. If you are compelled to use ink, never use that vulgarity known as the blotting pad. If you drop a blot of ink on the paper, lick it off. The intelligent compositor loves nothing so dearly as to read through the smear this will make across twenty words. We have seen him hang over such a piece of copy half an hour, swearing like a pirate all the time, he felt that good. Don't punctuate. We prefer to punctuate all manuscript -sent us. And don't use capitals. Then we can punctuate and capitalize to suit ourself, and your article, when you see it in print, will astonish even if it does not please you. Don't try - to write too plainly. It is a sign of plebeian origin and public school breeding. Poor writ ing is an indication of genius. It is about the only indication of genius that a great many men possess. Scrawl your article with your eyes shut and make every word as illegi ble as you can. We get the same price for it from the ragman as though it were covered with copper plate sentences. Avoid all pains-taking with pro per names. We know the full name of every man, woman and child in the United States, and the merest hint at the name is sufficient. For instance, if you write a character something like a drunken figinre "8," and then draw a wavy line, we will know at once that means Sam uel Morrison, even though you may think you mean "Lemuel Messen ger." It is a great mistake that proper names should be written plainly. Always write on both sides of the paper, and when you have filled both sides of every page, trail a line up and down every margin and back to the top of the first page, closing your article by writing- the signature just above the date. How we do love to get hold of articles written in this style. And how we like to get hold of the man who sends them. Just for ten minutes. Alone. In the woodr, with a can. non in o r hip pocket. Revenge is. sweet, yum, yum, yum. Lay your paper on the ground when you write ; the rougher the ground the better. When your article is completed, crunch your paper in your pocket, and carry it two or three days be fore sending it in. This rubs off the superfluous pencil marks, and makes it lighter to handle. If you can think of it, lose one page out of the middle of your arti cle. We can easily supply what is missing, and we love to do it. We have nothing else to do. STneC A BoNAz.-A Decatur street grocer took a sugar-cured ham from its yellow overcoat the other day, stuffed the canvass with sawdust and hung it temptingly before his door as a sign. Yesterday short legged Jim came along and, seeing the decoy, re membered that the old 'oman was out of meat, and 'concluded he'd appropriate what he termed 'the "big banana." Watching his chance he soon had the yellow fraud under his arm making for home. "Ole 'oman, hyar's a ham o' meat I fotched yer," he said as he depos ited his prize. "Look hyar, nigger, whar in de name ob de Lamb did yer fotch up wid all dat ham ?" "As' me no qu.ischu.ns an' I'll tell yer no lies," said Jim, evasively. "Well, it duz look sorter like ole times ter see so much meat as dis in der house. Clar to grashus dat man Hayes ain't no slouch ob a presumdent--an he, Jim ?" "Shet your fly trap, ole 'oman ; wot de debbil you know 'bout Hayes ? Fotch me dema scissors and let's sample dis ham." The scissors cut two or three stitches, and the sawdust began to pour out. There were two dark faces made darker by the revela tion, and it flashed through Jim's mind that he hadn't struck a bo nanza after all. "See hyar, Jim ; 'peers ter me dat ef I couldn't steal a .shore nuff ham I wouldn't steal a bag ob saw dust !" Then Jim went down town fully satisfied that "all's not gold that glitters."-Bridges tSmith's Paper. James Russell Lowell tells a good story about his butcher. One morn ing the man expiated upon the loveliness of the moonlight of the night before, and, just as the poet was thinking that he had done him an injustice in never having given him credit for refinement of soul, the butcheradded : "The night was so fine i jest couldn't sleep, and had to get up and go to killin'." In youth our souls are great and our bodies slender ; in' old age our bodies are often great and our I souls alander. ADVERTISING RAT Advertisements inserted at the rate of $1.00 per square (one inch) for first insertion and 75 cents for each subsequent Insertion. Double column advertisements ten per cent. on above. Notices of meetings, obituaries and tributes of respect, same rates per square as ordinsty advertisements. Special Notices in Local column 15 cents per line. Advertisements not marked with the nun ber of insertio+:; will be kept in till forbid, and charged accordingly. Special contracts made with large adve: tisers, with lie::1 d e iuc ions on above rates. JOB P RI.'TIWJ DONE WITH NEATNESS AND DISPATCIT. TERMS CASH. TEACH YOUR BOYS. Teach them that a true lady can be found in calico, quite as fre quently as in velvet. Teach them that a common school education with common sense is far better than a college education without it. . Teach them that one good, hon. est trade, well mastered, is worth a dozen beggarly "professions." Teach them that honesty is the best policy-that it is better to be poor than to be rich on the profits of "crooked whiskey," etc., and point your precepts by the exam ples of those who are now suffering the torments of the doomed. Teach them to respect their el ders and themselves. Teach them that as they expect to be men some day, they cannot too soon learn to protect the weak and helpless. Teach them by your own exam ple that smoking in moderation, though the least of the vices to which men are heirs, is disgusting to others and hurtful to them selves. Teach them that God is no re specter of sex, and that when He gave the seventh commandment He meant it for them as well as their sisters. Teach them that by indulging their depraved appetites in the worst form of dissipation, they 'are not fitting themselves to become the~ husbands of pu.re girls. Teach them that it is better to be a~n honest man seven days ,in the week than tobe a Christian (?) one day and a vilain the next. THE MM WHo STOPs His PAPER. -Philip Gilbert Hamilton, in Ins admirable papers on "Intellectual Life," thus talks to a man who "stopped" his paper: Newspapers are to the civilized world what the daily household talk is to the members of the fam ily-they keep our daily interest in each other. They save us from the dangers of isolation. To live as a member of the great white race that has filled Europe and America and colonized or conquered what ever territory it has been pleased to occupy ; to share from day to day its thoughts, its cares, its in spirations, it is necessary that ev ery man should read his newspa per. Why are the French peasants so bewildered and at sea ? It is because they never read a newspa per. And why are the inhabitants of the United States, though scat tered over a territory of fourteen times the area of France, so much more capable of concert of action, so much more alive and modern, so much more interested in new dis coveries of all kinds, and capable of selecting and utilizing the b,est of them ? It is because the news papers penetrate everywhere,- and the lonely dweller on the prairie or in the forest is not intellectually isolated from the great currents of public life which flow through the telegraph and public press. A Massachusetts farmer says: "My cattle will follow me until I leave the lot, and on the way up to the yard in the evening, stop and call for a lock of hay.' Smithson says there is nothing remarkable in that. One day last week he went into a barn-yard in the country, where he had not the slightest ac quaintance with the cattle, and an old bull not only followed him till he left the lot, but took the gate off the hinges and raced with him to the house in the most familiar man ner possible. Smithson says- he has no doubt the old fellow would have called for something, if he had waited a little while, but he didn't like to . keep the folks waiting din ner, so huing one tail of his coat and a piece of his pants on the bull's horns, and went into the house. "It might save your life somie time," urged he. "Well, I don't care if it would," declared she ;."neither you nor any other husband can get me to prac tice climbing down a rope, just to be prepared in case of fire." "But-" protested he. '"It's no use," broke in she. "I don't risk' breaking my own and the baby's neck on the old rotten clothes-line, and you might as well untie it from the window-sill." And he sadly relinquished the experiment. V.it is-o---+ tntl+- oicio ofit self that evntnl whereitown ofim aself t, ivnered its oni eaaresek nt itetd wic idi rectly seeks thiihealiment~ wich it