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HAVE TRAVELERS ANY RIGHTS? 
Have Travelers any Rights which Railroad, 
Express and Baggage Companies am nound to 
Respect? "We ask this question in ali serious¬ 
ness, au<l in behalf of the thousands who are 
directly interested in the matter. It strikes us, 
very forcibly, that travelers have some rights 
which should be respected and protected, rather 
than outrageously ignored, as is too often the 
case, by the agents and employes of those com¬ 
panies which arc di paid for the services they 
should render—which services ought to include, 
as they imply, decent treatment of persons and 
property, and, extraordinaries excepted, a ful¬ 
fillment of every contract. But almost every 
man who has “traveled with his trunk ” during 
the past year, can “a tale unfold’* concerning 
his treatment by Railroad and Baggage Express 
Companies that would be likely to deter the 
hearer from trusting the agents with his bag¬ 
gage, out of reach or sight. , We speak feelingly 
on this subject, because we have not only heard 
the complaints of others, but know whereof we 
affirm from observation and bitter expererience. 
But what, you ask, are the rights of travel¬ 
ers which are violated? My innocent friend, 
take your trunk and let us go on a voyage of 
discovery. Start from any point, on almost any 
railroad, for New York, Philadelphia, Boston, 
or elsewhere. Place your baggage ’’ in charge 
of the hotel or railroad porter or baggageman, 
and get u “check” for your destination. If 
you are nervous, don’t stand where yon can see 
your trunk handled, for, however strong, very 
likely it may be smashed in being placed in the 
baggage-ear—certainly, if the Herculean porter 
can knock or throw it hard enough—and it isn’t 
a pleasant thing to see your iron-bound Monitor 
“6tove to Sinters," while your “things.’’ or 
those of your “better half” or the “childer” 
are promiscuously scattered about, perhaps in 
dirt, mud and rain. But if you are a “ looker 
on’’ you will make discovery No. 1—viz.. That 
railroad baggagemen evidently have a grudge 
against every traveler’s “plunder,” and seem 
bound to annihilate the same on the shortest 
possible notice. And should you modestly pro¬ 
test against the destruction of your goods and 
chattels, it is more than probable that the party 
addressed will violate the third commandment, 
and moreover direct you to go to an uncomfort¬ 
ably warm place! 
But you have other discoveries to make, and 
scenes of vexation and tribulation to pass 
through before the close of your journey, unless 
you are more fortunate than most people. As 
you near the city—New York, for example—an 
agent of some Baggage Express Co. will kindly 
offer to transfer your baggage to any hotel or 
railroad depot you desire, and positively prom¬ 
ise it shall arrive “ on time." You confidingly 
hand him your check, pay the fee, and inno¬ 
cently suppose you are relieved of trouble ami 
anxiety. Vain mortal!—for if your experience 
prove that of many others, you have made au 
investment the dividends whereof will be hours 
and days of vexation, delay and expense. 11 
you go to a hotel, and do not require an early 
change of linen, perhaps the baggage may be 
there when needed—say in three to ten hours;— 
but if you are to go by another railroad at a 
certain hour, it’s more than iikely (whatever the 
promise made you) that you must either remain 
or part company with your trunk. 
For instance, it is not many moons since we 
were traveling on the Hudson River E. Ik— 
bound for New Haven via. New York. The 
train arrived at Thirtieth St., New York, at ti 
A. M., and we were to take the S A. M. train 
for New Haven. Before leaving the cars we 
gave our check to the agent of Wescoti's Re¬ 
press, having a positive promise that our trunk 
should be delivered at the X. 11. Depot in time 
for the train. The distance between the depots 
was but short, yet two hours did not suffice the 
insatiate filcher of our money and time—for, 
after waiting until the last moment, we were 
obliged to leave what was necessary to our com¬ 
fort and convenience while journeying. And 
on returning to New York we were detained 
nearly Urn days, and had no little vexation, iu 
order to straighten the matter. We had directed 
the trunk to be forwarded to New Haven by 
Express, but it required the lime skated to ascer¬ 
tain the facts iu the ease. But the most frigid 
part of the transaction was the refusal of a 
clerk or agent of the first aforesaid Express- 
principal olliee corner of Tenth st. and Broad¬ 
way—to give us the names of the proprietors of 
the punctual concern. Our previous experience 
had convinced us that the W. Express was de¬ 
cidedly slow and unreliable, and the refusal 
only confirmed the opinion though it further¬ 
more Induced the ventilation of the matter con¬ 
tained in this paragraph. 
We trust the W. E. is not a fair sample of 
the City Baggage Expresses. Indeed, we are 
assured that it is not, but that many companies 
are reliable and trustworthy. 
— But travelers have other rights which 
should be respected. Among these is, that 
Railroad Companies should, unless unforseen 
accidents occur, run their trains on and up to 
time, so that passengers may reach their several 
destinations in time to meet business and other 
engagements. Yet many of the roads are so 
miserably managed of late, that failures to con¬ 
nect, or arrive, aro the rule instead ol" the ex¬ 
ception, uud tho traveling public suffer im¬ 
mensely in consequence. It is about time that 
the rights of the traveling public were respected 
by Railroad, Express Baggage and other trans¬ 
portation companies, and we sincerely trust that 
tho coming Legislatures will provide against 
the abuses and nuisances to which the Peoplo 
are now subjected. 
"Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THINGS AT THE SOUTH. 
It is a long time since I sat down in my own 
home among the hills of old Steuben, to pen an 
article for the Rural, but perhaps its readers 
have not all forgotten me; and some, it may ne, 
would like to have a chat with me to-day. But 
r can not talk with them, now, of the subjects 
vve used to discuss in days gone by. And were 
I to call up the old themes they would not stop to 
read, for we are living in other times, and other 
events have mingled with our daily lives. Nor 
have I taken up xny pen to tell of the mag¬ 
nificence of the mountains of Kentucky aud Ten¬ 
nessee, much as I have admired their picturesque 
beauty: nor of the lovely landscapes along the 
peaceful Ohio, nor the romantic scenery of the 
Cumberland, nor yet of the days and nights 
passed on the Mississippi, mighty and muddy, 
monarch of rivers. Other travelers have writ¬ 
ten of all these things, and will again, and 1 
leave to them their dory, while I gossip of times 
and scenes in this sunny, southeni land that 
nature meant for a terrestrial paradise, but 
which slavery' has cursed and war wasted, until 
its beauty is blighted and its glory changed to 
desolation. 
At home a feeling of gloom and sadness per¬ 
vades all classes of society, because kindred, 
neighbors and friends are in the army exposed 
to danger and death, or sleeping in the graves 
filled from its thinning ranks, aud every mail 
may bring tidings of death or disaster haring 
come to some “ dear boy ” who has gone “ at his 
country’s call;” but Oh, how little we know of 
the miseries of war, in the free and peaceful 
North, where all the arts of peace flourish un¬ 
disturbed, and the tramp of opposing armies is 
never heard. We of the North most come 
South to this land of blood and tears, if we 
would realize what sorrow and suffering, mis¬ 
ery, destitution and crime follow in its fiery 
track. These times may be hard, taxes oppres¬ 
sive, and once happy homes be filled with 
mourning; but here, all business, save that con¬ 
nected with the horrid work of war, is sus¬ 
pended, miles and mies of rich farming lands 
uncultivated, thousands of families houseless 
and homeless, and want, vagrancy and crime 
lift their squalid front*, iu every street of the 
city, and along every lane and highway of the 
country. 
A few days ago I visited the State House of 
Tennessee and mounted to the top of its lofty 
dome, i i look over Nashville and the country 
around it. The Capitol stands on an eminence 
overlooking the city, its cupola is two hun¬ 
dred and twenty-five feet above the surface of 
the earth, and the riew from the summit 
bounded only by the limits of human vision. 
You have doubtless read descriptions of that 
magnificent structure of marble 3nd iron, and 
seen engravings of it as it looked in times of 
peace. War lias added its touches to the pic¬ 
ture by fortifying the place, and sentries now 
guard its approaches, and cannon frown grimly 
around its base. 
I will not stop to tell of the stateliness of its 
sculptured columns, or the artistic beauty of its 
graceful statuary: or of the many interesting 
relics of other times, and curiosities of nature 
and art gathered in its library; but ask you to 
come with me, in imagination, up the two hun¬ 
dred and fifty marble steps leading to its summit, 
and then if the muscles of your imaginations are 
not too weary, we will climb the spiral iron 
stairway leading to the top of the cupola, to be 
rewarded for the toil by a view of one of the 
most extended and beautiful landscapes I ever 
saw, or ever A all see again. 
The city of Nashville, with all its artificial 
beauties, is in full view, and all the meanness, 
poverty and filth to be seen in its streets, hid¬ 
den by the rich masses of shade, that everywhere 
abound; the Cumberland river, with all the wild 
wealth of scenery along its bauks: a range of 
blue hills far away to the south, and many miles 
of landscape unrivaled in natural loveliness, but 
over which the spirit of desolation seems to 
brood, telling of the fiery.baptism wherewith 
our God has visited this devoted land. No 
signs of cultivation aro anywhere visible, but 
instead, trampled fields, wasted gardens and 
ruined fences; a circle of camps stretching 
nearly around the city, and! long lines of army 
wagons drawn by patient mules or impatient 
horses with spirits above their stations, fretting 
and chafing their strength away as if they were 
human: droves of Government horses, aud files 
of infantry and cavalry moving along the dusty 
roads. Mingled beamy and barrenness combine 
to form a picture that is at once delightful aud 
desolate beyond description. 
In the city, too, all things bear the impress 
of war. Nearly every large building suitable 
for such purposes, is used as a hospital or for 
barracks; groups of soldiers crowd the comers 
of the streets, and armed regiments, the moving 
words of that “ fiery gospel writ in burnished 
rows of steel,” tread its thoroughfares. Iu 
times of peace, Nashville was celebrated for her 
institutions of learning; now her colleges .and 
seminaries are hospitals; and the halls, sacred to 
science ami the arts, are crowded with wasted 
and mutilated forms crippled with wounds, and 
languishing with every form of disease; among 
whom Death stalks daily and chooses who shall 
be borne away to that .■fileiit “ City of the Dead,” 
where already nearly ten thousand soldiers 
sleep, never again to be wakened by reveillies, 
or startled by the bugle that sounds the signal 
of battle. Yet this is only one of the many 
places where our country’s brave defenders 
have been laid to rest, where the last battle is 
over, and the victory won over tho last great 
euomy of man. 
Not many days since, I visited one of the 
wards of a large general hospital, in which a 
number of badly wounded rebel prisoners were 
quartered, aud laying my hand on the forehead 
of one who was suffering from seven fearful 
wounds, one arm shattered, the other ampu¬ 
tated, and five bullet holes beside, I said to him, 
“ Do you remember that there is a better 
country, where there are no wars, and where 
sorrow and suffering can not come?” 
“Oh, yes,” said he, “and the longer this war 
lasts the more it, makes us think of that good 
country.” 
Poor man! I would like to know his History, 
and whether he was a wilting or compulsory 
soldier of the Confederacy: but when I saw him 
he was too weak to tel! his story, and before 
this, bis waning life has doubtless ebbed quite 
away. To several others I said, “ How are you 
getting along, my friends?’’ They replied that 
their wounds were hea’ing, and thanked 
me for coming to cee them and calling them 
friends. “I call you friends, and we treat you 
as such." said I, “ as tongas you are heiplessaDd 
suffering; and when you are well, }OU are ex¬ 
changed and can go back into the ranks of the 
rebel army and tight us again if you will.” 
They said they had not exacted to be treated 
with as much kindness as they had received, 
and when I asked if they had deserved it, ac¬ 
knowledged that they had not, but said they 
would never bear arms against the Federal 
Government again. * * * 
The prisoners I have seen are a more intelli¬ 
gent class of men than I expected to find. All 
acknowledge that the North is strongest, that 
the South is already beaten, and long for peace. 
And well they may. Now and then we meet 
Union soldiers from some rebel State, and they 
are full of the war 'pirit still; for they know 
that they can never return to their homes until 
the power of the rebellion is utterly destroyed, 
A few weeks since I met a soldier at a western 
railway station, who, hearing me ask for 
checks to Louisville, asked if that city was my 
home. I told him my home was in New York: 
“and mine,” said he, “was in Louisiana before 
the war, and now it is with my regiment.” 
“How is it,” I asked, “that you wear Uncle 
Sam's livery? If you are a Louisianian, I 
should think you would be a * Graybaek.’ 
“ "Why I ran away when the war first began, 
went North, and enlisted into a Northern regi¬ 
ment, and have fought three years for the 
Union, and will fight three more if I live and 
the war lasts so long.” 
If there were only enough such patriots in the 
South to force her back to her allegiance in spite 
of Davis and his Cabinet, how soon might she 
have the peace for which she prays. But un¬ 
fortunately such patriotism is as rare as it is 
noble. 
It is surprising how cheerful our men are 
under suffering, how grateful for kindness, and 
how careful of the feelings of those at home. 
When dictating letters to their friends at home, 
most all of them will say. “Write cheerfully, 
and don’t say anything to alarm them." One j 
poor follow who knew that he must die, said to 
me. “I wish you would write to my father 
and mother that I am sick: but don't tell them 
how sick, for my mother could not sleep if she 
knew: and please cut a lock of my hair and keep 
it until I am gone, and then send it to mother.” 
Many of them, on becoming very ill, destroy 
the address of their wives or other near rela¬ 
tives, that so one may be able to alarm them 
with news of their situation, seeming, in their 
care for the feelings of their friends, to forget 
that suspense is often as painfhl as the saddest 
certainty. 
Rut I must close this gossipping letter, for 
duty demands my time, and if you and your 
readers desire it I may resume my pen another 
day. Elizabeth Bouton. 
U. S. Christian Commission, Nashville, Tenn. 
“Not Afraid of the Draft’’ 
I was walking slowly across the common a 
few days since, reading Thornton Grey’s last 
letter from England, when a mutual acquaint¬ 
ance against whom I had nearly stumbled, 
stopped me with the exclamatian and inquiries. 
“ l'ardon me. Miss North. I could not help 
seeing that the letter you were so intently pe¬ 
rusing had a foreign post-mark. Is your—is 
Mr. Gray well? And what does he say to the 
requisition for more meu ? Or doesn’t he know 
of it yet? ’’ 
“ Ho knows it, Mr. Marks; his mother wrote 
him as soon as it was published, hoping that the 
knowledge of the coming draft would arrest 
his inteution of returning now, aud keep him 
in Europe till the present crisis was past.” 
"Aud what does he say. Miss North?" again 
queried my interrogator, who vva> a distant cousin 
of the absent Thornton Grey. 
For reply, I showed him the posteript. to the 
letter I had just finished reading—“Tell my 
mother that lam not afraid of the draft; and I 
hope to be with her almost as soon as my mes¬ 
sage. 
“ Not afraid of the, dralt, eh?" said "William 
Marks. " Well, that’s because he has the luck to 
be rich. He could buy a dozen substitutes more 
easily than I could find myself in cigars. Money 
is the magician everywhere, it would seem." 
Aud with a bitter tone at variance with his 
usual studied courtesy, the speaker made his part¬ 
ing salutation, and left me to my blushing in¬ 
dignation aud my love. 
How 1 despised his insinuations! They were 
all as false, I was sure, as himself. The wealth 
of Crcesus, I knew, could not ha\ e bought for 
him such loving devotion as I cherished for 
his cousin Thornton. And I did not believe he 
understood the latter any better thau he (.lid me. 
Tho fact would be quickly tested, however, for 
the steamer in which Thornton Grey had taken 
passage would be in to-morrow. 
It was Saturday morning, and I sat beside 
Mrs. Grey at the late breakfast which her son’s 
arrival had summoned me to share. 
“I can forgive you, mother, for wishing to 
keep me out of danger,” he said kindly: “but 
I could neither forgive nor respect myself, had 
I listened to your caution and absented myself 
longer at such a time. The business which 
took me abroad is successfully completed. My 
health is sound; ray circumstances are easy; 
and my heart (at least all of it which you ana 
Ellen have left me) is with my country in her 
struggle for national life and liberty.” 
“ And ail this means that you will go to the 
war, if drafted.” was the tearful reply. 
“ I shall not be drafted, mother,” he answered 
quietly; and the full resolute glance of Lis clear 
blue eyes, as they rested for a moment on his 
mother and myself, left neither of us in doubt 
of bis intentions. 
Before noon that day handbills were posted 
through the town calling a meeting of its citi¬ 
zens at Liberty Hail in the evening. The ob¬ 
ject of the call was stated to be “ to hear a few 
words on the subject of the coming draft from 
their friend and fellow-townsman, Thornton 
Grey.” Various were the speculations among 
the multitude who read the notice. “This Is 
Widw Grey’s son—been traveling in Europe 
nearly two years—rich and independent. What 
docs he care about the draft? ” “May be he’s 
got a big contract with government, and don’t 
want the concern to smash, just now." “It’s 
more likely he means to show the rest of us 
thet it’s our duty to volunteer, so as to keep off 
a draft here. For the ‘ lot ’ might pick him off 
as well as a poorer man, you know.” “That 
can hardly be; for he says, I understand, that 
he isn't afraid of the draft.’’ “ I suppose that 
means either that he feels sure of being so lucky 
as to escape it, or else is easy in the knowl¬ 
edge that he is abundantly able to provide a 
substitute.” 
“You misjudge Thornton Gray: if he hopes 
to persuade us to volunteer, it is from no such 
seifish motive as some of you seem to think." 
“It can’t be nothing else than selfishness when 
a rich fellow like him says to the poor, ' enlist, 
enlist,’ and then buys himself off, as such a one 
is sure to. If a man wants me to volunteer he’s 
got to say *Cb?ne > instead of * Go .’” And so the 
talk aud comments flew from lip to lip as the 
afternoon sped away. 
Liberty Hall was crowded to its utmost ca¬ 
pacity that night; and from my seat in the gal¬ 
lery, reserved for ladies, I looked and listened. 
“ I shall give you no oratorical harangue,” the 
speaker said; “ but will lay before you a brief 
statement of facts, to be followed by a plain, 
practical proposal.” The facts were soon giv¬ 
en. All were made to see clearly their coun¬ 
try’s wrongs, her danger, and her need—the 
need especially of the brave hearts and strong 
arms of her sons. Then followed the proposal 
that all who were not absolutely incapacitated 
should .bin the speaker iu a voluntary offer 
of their services in defense of Union and Lib¬ 
erty. 
“I invite you, my friends." he said, “to no 
hardships which I am not willing to share: I 
urge upon you no duties which I am not ready 
to perform: I call you to no perils which I am 
not prepared to brave. And if any of you have 
families or friends whom your absence would 
leave without comfortable support, I here pledge 
the abundant means which Providence has 
given me to make sufficient provision for their 
need. This is what brought me from Europe 
in such haste: this is why I am not afraid of the 
draft. I volunteer for the war: who will come 
with me ? ” 
How that manly talk of Thornton Grey’s 
banished doubts, silenced sneers, ami stimulated 
patriotism, is not for me to say. Nor shall I 
detail the hasty ceremony which gave me the 
dear privilege of becoming a soldier’s wife, per¬ 
haps a hero’s widow. 
Lincoln at Grant's Headquarters. 
“About one o'clock, a long, gaunt bony man. 
with a queer admixture of the comical and dole¬ 
ful in his countenance, that reminded one of a 
professional undertaker cracking a dry joke, un¬ 
dertook to reach the General’s tent by scramb¬ 
ling through a hedgerow and coming in the 
baekway alone. He was stopped by one of the 
hostlers, and told to »" keep out of here.* The 
individual in black replied that he thought Gen¬ 
eral Grant would allow him inside, and strode 
ahead. ‘ You'll damned soon find out.’ was 
yelled in reply. On reaching the guard, he was 
stopped with. ‘ No Sanitary folks allowed inside.' 
After some parleying, the intruder was com¬ 
pelled to give his name, and announced himself 
to be Abraham Lincoln, President of the Uni¬ 
ted States, desiring an interview with General 
Grant. The guard saluted and allowed him to 
pass." 
Shoulder Straps and the Sentry. 
Here is a little war story from the Far West: 
A Lieutenant of the Tenth United States In¬ 
fantry recently met with a sad rebuff at Fort 
Kearney. The Lieutenant was promenading in 
full uniform one day, and approached a volunteer 
on sentry, who challenged him with " Halt! who 
comes there ? ’’ The Lieutenant, with contempt 
in every lineament of his face, exclaimed indig¬ 
nantly, “Ass!” The sentry's reply, apt and 
quick, came, “ Advance, Ass, and give the 
countersign! ’’ 
Gen, Shennan and the Christian Commissions. 
A memorandum written by General Sher¬ 
man upon the back of an application from the 
Christian Commission, for leave to pass its del¬ 
egates within his lines, reads as follows: 
Certainly not; crackers and oats are more 
necessary for the army than any moral or re¬ 
ligious agency; and every regiment has its chap¬ 
lain. 
kfaliwj ux im Usung. 
PUSHING ON. 
When I was a boy about your age, 
My rosy-cheeked John! rosy-cheeked John! 
I took as my motto from some old pase, 
“Pushing on.” 
I wrote it all over my books and slate, 
All over them, John I over them, John! 
And thought of it ever both early and late, 
“ Pushing on.” 
At work or at play, at home or at school, 
Think of it, John! think of it, John! 
At books or at playthings, ’(.was ever the rule— 
“ Pushing on.” 
I pushed out of boy, and I pushe d into man, 
That I did, John! that I did, John! 
I pushed out of “ can't ” and I pushed into “ can 
“Pushing on” 
Whenever an obstacle in my path lay, 
And many did, John! many did, John! 
I pushed and I pushed ’till I pushed it away, 
“ Pushing on.” 
I pushed through the world with an honester heart, 
Honester, John! honester, John! 
Than many a man with a fairer start ; 
“ Pushins on” 
And now I’ve a good wife, children well taught, 
Very well, John! very well, John' 
A snug little fortune, all honestly got; 
“Pushing on” 
I’ve pushed a large place in the hearts of the poor, 
That is good, John! very good, John' 
For I never pustied any away from my door; 
“Pushing on. 
I’m now an old man, my head white as s • ow, 
And mother’s too, John! mother's too, John! 
And down the bright valley together we g >, 
“Pushing on.” 
I am still pushing on for a happier land, 
Trustingly, John! trustingly, John' 
Trustingly holding my Father’s hand— 
“ Poshing on. ’ 
A NEW LIGHT ON THINGS. 
“Holloa, young fellow !” said tiie cock to 
the shepherd’s dog, eyeing him very fiercely as 
he ran by, “ I've a word to sav-to you.” 
"Let us have it.” said Shag: “I am in a 
hurry." 
“I wish to remark,” said the cock, “that 
there has been a great mistake made in the 
stack-yard, and you can tell your master that 
he and the other man, instead of turning the 
corn end of the sheaves into the stack, and leav¬ 
ing the stubbles outside, should have done it 
the other way. How are my hens and I, do 
you think, to gee at the grain under the circum¬ 
stances ? •” 
'‘Anything else?” asked Shag. 
The cock was offended, and shook his wat¬ 
tles, hut answered. “'Yes—I have also to re¬ 
mark—” 
I “ Never mind, never nfiud,” said Shag, inter¬ 
rupting him; “ your'e underageneral mistake, I 
! see, and one answer will do for your objections. 
You fancy that farm-yards were made for fowls, 
; but. the truth is, that fowls were made for farm¬ 
yards: get that into your head, and you won’t 
meddle with arrangements which you can’t un¬ 
derstand, and iu which you anu your affaire are 
not taken into account.” 
TRIFLES! TRIFLES! TRIFLES! 
“ Don’t.” said the pony to the flies, and he 
shook his head and lashed his tail about, and 
away they all flew. 
•‘Don’t, I say," he ened again, moving to an¬ 
other place, where he hoped he should lose 
I them. And so he did for a minute or two, but 
| no longer. There they were in his eyes, on his 
I nose, at his ears, and all over him. 
| If he could have eaten them all he would, or 
! kicked them into the country he would; but 
there was no doing anything with them. As he 
moved, they moved, and every time he attempt¬ 
ed to graze, they settled themselves on him, or 
! buzzed in a cloud round his head as regularly as 
I if they had come by invitation. 
“Oh, dear,” he sighed at last, “what is to be 
! done ? I can bear my master’s whip and spur; 
| I can stand being half worked to death over the 
l country, and with the heavy cart—those are 
i evils I make up my mind to; and, if that yelp- 
| ing cur comes behind me, I can give him a re¬ 
ception that sends him flying; but as to these 
torments, contemptible as they are—I verily be- 
j lieve they’ll be the death of me !’’ 
Ah ! so is it in human as iu pony life. Great 
trials can often be bravely borne, when petty 
annoyances, by their number and pertinacity, 
vex and wear the soul. 
AFRICAN PROVERBS. 
He who disappoints another is not worthy to 
be trusted. 
A pig which has wallowed in his own mire 
seeks a clean person to rub against. 
When you are warned, warn yourself. 
Peace is the father of friendship. 
He who strives to shake the trunk of a tree, 
only shakes himself. 
It is easy to cut a dead elephant to pieces, but 
no one dares attack a live one. 
A matter dealt with gently, prospers; but a 
matter dealt with violently, brings vexation to 
the author. 
The time may be very long, but a lie will be 
discovered at last. 
The dust of a buffalo is lost in the dust of an 
elephant. 
He who claps hands for a fool to dance is no 
better than the fool himself. 
All men are related to one another. 
He who cannot take up an ant. yet tries to 
take up an elephant, will find out his folly. 
