Rates of Advertising. Onw-lqliare (1 inch,) one insertion - f! One Square " one month - - S W OneNqiiare " three months - 6 OueHqiiare " one year - - 10 Oft Two (Square, one yar - - 15 Op QuiirterCol. - 00 Half " . - GO 00 One " " - - 100 00 Trfnal tioltcpMHt established rates. . Marriage and donth notices, gratis. 5 All bills for yearly advertisements col lected quarterly. Temporary advertise ments must lie paid for in advance. Job work, CaU on Delivery. ) PURLISHED EVKItY W ICOVRSDAY, BT OrriCB IW ROBINSON 1 BONNER'S BUILDISQ ELM STREET, TI0NE8TA, PA. , THRMS, $2.00 A JKAH. No Hubscrlptlon rivcived for a shorter period tlinn throe months. f:i)rmsfii(1fMi'n solicited from all parU ii Urn country. No notice will be taken of anonymous (oimiiuiilealions. 0 wmmman. VOL. XI. NO. 18,, -TIONESTA, fA JULY 24, 1878. $2 PER ANNUM. The Schoolliome. Yas, John, onr district well may brag On this new snhoothouRe. 1 brag too. I'm for Improvement. 1 don't lag Behind when things want putting through. Milt that old, battered, wooden b1h4I That stood on UiIh spot fifty year, I'd learned to know its face no well Thai somehow John, it's mighty queer. Bat when you pulled the old house down, . Th time this new one was began, I bad to go to lower town : I couldn't stand to see it done. For there I titndiod A, B, C, Hot lickod, and learned, by hook and crook, To read about tho apple-troe In Weboster's old blue spelling book. And, where that church standn, many a morn :(Twns a field thon) a love nick fool I stood behind a shock of corn To nee the schoolma'ara come to sohool. Iler checks, an hIio tho cornfield crost, Were redder than the scraboak leaven; Iler eyes were brighter than the frost That sparkled on tho tinselled shoave. And in among the noisy throng Of barefoot youngsters ho would go, And, as I watched her, I allowed It wasn't strange they loved her so. But when, just at the schoolhouse door, Kit oh urchin claimed bis kiss, ah I then I longed to go barefoot once more, A n J read the spoiling boo again. Hn ect Lucy I How came it to pass X oau't explain, but any way, I might as well have joined a claw, For I hung round there half the day. At noon I'd take her nuts, a pear, Or applcs.--my bent grafted fruit, To trade for smiles; she traded fair, And gave tue many thanks to boot. Aod sometimes, afttr study hours, Wuen Lucy lod her merry throng Into the woods for late mildflowers And autntun leaves, I'd go along. She had some'dozen boys, half grown, That loved bor well. They shamed me, thongh, For I loved too, and I alone Ilad Dot the pluck to tell her so. "You happy boys !" I tbonght, "yon swap Wilddowera for kisses from her lips; I'd harvest the whole flower crop To kins hor very finger tips." . But winter oame, and when tie ground And the big bills with snow were white, I'd hitch my colt np and go rouud To take her home from school at night. Oae frosty evening, riding slow Through John on's woods her rosy cheek Lay close to mine and thrilled roe so That I determined I would speak. . .a--. "Lucy!'' I said, "dear Lucy !" Tlere Hor eyes mot mine and fluster me. As awkward as a yearling steer I backed and tried again. '-You see "1 want to ask you" a big lump Came In my throat' Whoa, Bill, you fool ! That's nothing but a hemlock stamp ! If- -if you love the boys in school." 'f want what I raent; but, any way, She dropped her eyea, and I could see Hho guessed what I had tried to say. She said, ' Of course. Thoy all love me." Boldonod by this, hor hand I prett, And cried, "Dear Lucy, oould'nt you Love me a little with the rest? For I I love the schoolma'am too." Kee, yondor c:mes my schoolma'am wife; Her checks are fresh and rosy yet; And, for our happy married life, We lions this jpot where we first mot. The Old Bridge of Diarmid. Diarmid is a narrowft-illage walled in by two lines of wooded hills. East street and West street rim for a mile par allel. Between them is the river and the suspension bridge. There was an old tumble-down wooden bridge there once, which was held in high veneration by the oldest inhabitant. He could just remember its dedication. At the west end of the bridge, up overhead among the beams and rafters, was Thoff Skelton's retreat; his den, the boys called it. Here he had laid down a fcjoards, making a rough sort of floor, 1 up a pile of straw for a bed , aud L Vue. came when things were more than cJimonly. uncomfortable at home. Diarmid was a tidy village of white houses, ' and green blinds, and trim yards; but down ut the foot of West street, under a sand-bank, there was a wretched building going to ruin in the midst of a litter of rubbish. It looked as though all the dusj: of the clean street had beeu swept out there and left for the winds to blow away. But the winds had failed thus far to do it, and so the Skeltons lived there. JiuaSkelon, fathei of Thoff, had a pe culiarity which interfered with his rela tions as a parent; to wit, the habit of drinking a great deal too much of every thing but cold water. The consequence was that Tuoff's life had begun to be a burden to him as soon as he could re member, and, in fact, some time before. There 1" he said to himself one night, lie was quite out of breath, for he had run half a mile, clambered like a monkey up the beams, and was now safe on the straw of his den in the bridge. "The old chap won't get hold of me in a hurry now, I guess." " The old chap," I grieve to bay, was ThofTs father. It was a bad maiier of designating bin), but anotlar desalt of tho peculiarity aforesaid. A boy who for no offense whatever has been pur sued by his parent, armed with a pitch fork, and who has just found his kitten's head two rods away from her other be longings, the kitten also having been guiltless, such a boy will not mention the author of his being as respectfully as I, who tell this tale, could wish. "Well, I say I think this is rather hard lines on a feller," Thoff went on. " I haint had any supper, an' break fast '11 be nowhere, an I wish I was out o' this, I do. Oh, if I only had some money I" It had grown quite dark ; an April night, the air mild, and a soft patter of rain on the bridge-roof. Thoff sat staring down at a lamp which burned dimly just below him,' a depressed looking lamp, whioh sputtered crossly, as though saying, "I'm supported by the town, and I know it." Thoff under stood what it was to have "aid from the town." The evening train from Boston came shrieking np the valley, passed the end of the bridge, and rushed on into the darknesB and stillness, Thoff sat quiet a long time. He was getting drowsy when he heard footsteps approaching from two directions. There was a quick greeting on the bridge just below him, and then he caught the words, " Up in his pasture on Spruce Hill. Lost the wallet with five hundred dol lars in it." "Five hundred dollars ! I thonodit ho was smarter than to be carryin round so mucn money, opruce uui, too. Why, it's all alders and second growth up there." "Yes, I know; an' 'tis a bad job. You see he was oomincr down to Mia bank and stopped to look np a southdown that nau sirayea away, wnen tie got to the village he'd lost the wallet, and now he wants you V me to start off with him to morrow morning V see if we can find it." "Find it!" cried the man. "Sh hi not bo loud," whispered the first speaker, looking cautiously round. "Don t vou see we've pot to kAen nr.ill about it? If gome folks should trer. hnl.l of the story they m't come in ahead, find me waiiet, ana men it never a be heard of again." "What'll he pay for finding it?" "Four dollars a day," was the slow answer. i "That aint enough. If he wants the s'lectmen o' Diarmid, he's got to pay ac oordin. I'll go for six." "All right; be won't stand for two dol lars, I guess. Eight o'clock to-morrow morning. I'll stop for you. Keep dark." The men parted, and Thoff sat in the dimness of his den thinking. He was not sleepy cow. Five hundred dollars lost among the rocks of Spruce Hill! He knew every foot of gionud up there. It was not in vain that he had lived away from home and eaten strawberries for a week at a time. If any person in Diar mid oonld find the wallet, Thoff knew himself to be that person. The old town clock waa striking five the next morniug as the boy climbed the wall and started up Spruce Hill. "Now I'm three hours ahead of the squire 'n' his men," said Thoff. "But they'll know where to look, and I've cot to guess at it " At eight o'clock two wagons went up the gulf-road," and a boy stole down over the hill to the school house. " Better luck next time," said Thoff. " One Hnndred Dollars Reward !" This was a week later, and a lad stood reading an advertisement which was pasted up at the entrance of the bridge. The above reward was offered for the finding and return to its owner of a pock et book, lost on Spruce Hill the 30th of April, by Luke Granger. Thoff stood for some time staring at the large capi tals; then he turned away, remarking to mmseii: " So thev haint found that monev. it seems. Well, nor haint I." Three days afterwards, when the search had been given up by everybody else, Thoff started out again. Arbutus was in bloom now, and wake robin, and wood violets, and the boy trampled down great levels of them in his search. Uis palm leaf hat, with a strip of blue cambrio tied around it for a band, 1 - j f , a i ' uecume a iamiuar signs to every squir rel on the hill that day. for he stay ed till sunset. Then, as it drew toward dusk, and the valley below lay in shadow, i and only the hilltops saw the sun, he started for home. It was quite dark in the thick woods at the base of the mountain, and there, running along a narrow path, his foot hit something which bounded off, and which was not a stone. He stooped, fumbled with groping fingers in the ground pine and last year's leaves, and at lengtn found the pocket book. Ten minutes more and Thoff Skelton n ight have been seen, had there been more light and any one to see him, crouching in the darkness of his den, hugging the wallet to his breast, and, to his own amazement and mortification, actually crying as he clutched his trea sure. "Five hundred dollars I" he said, Bof tly, to himself. It was all there. He had counted the bills by the one bar of lamplight which struggled up from be low. " Now then for 'life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,' as the reading book says." Then he proceeded to arrange with himself how " the pursuit of happiness " should begin. " I'll start off on the six o'clock train to-morrow morning. I'll go to Boston, 'n' I'll have a stunnin' dinner, V I'll buy me some clothes. Hold on a minute, though." Caution put in a word here. f " How about buying a ticket and chang ing a ten dollar bill and bo on r "Thoff thought some time about this, and at last decided it wouldn't do for him to be seen with money in Diarmid. 116 night walk to Springfield and take the cars, but Springfield was only ten miles away. The lost wallet had been talked about there, and he might get himself into trouble. Well, then, what should he do? "Wait a little," said Caution; "you've got your money What's your hurry ? Wait till people forget about it." "All right; I'll wait then," said Thoff. The night was getting on. The clock struck twelve. Up to this time he had been wildly happy. No more cold, nor hunger, nor hard knocks. Plenty of clothes, and food,and kittens, and com fort. This was what the money meant to Thoff, you know. Presently, he felt bim self grow quiet. Then something waked np inside, and said, " Better take the pocket-book back to the squire, And claim the hundred-dollar reward." " Hush up !" answered the boy. I sh'd be a jolly fool to take one hundred dollars when I've got five." "1 know you've got it," the uome thing we will call it Conscience more awake ; but is it your money ? Isn't it the squire's money ?" " No, 'taint the squire's money," re plied Thoff, stoutly. " He lost it, and then 'twasn't his'n. I've found it, 'n' now it's mine, 'n' I'm going to keep it So that's the end of it" It was'nt ; it was the beginning of it The war had just broken out. The same battle between Thoff and h'S conscience had to be fought over again for every cent of that five hnndred dollars. The boy considered that he beat conscience in every engagement, but Bomehow she wouldn t stay beaten. She came np fresh and cheery every time, till finally but there are two or three things to be told first. Thoff's great trouble was where to put the wallet He dared not to carry it about with him. If he hid it up over the bridge some one might find it, for the school-boys all knew the secret of his retreat. Finally he decided on wrapping it in a piece of brown paper,, and sliding it under a stone at the base, of one of the piers of the bridge. This he did, and then went off to school and spent the time in an agony of fear lest something should happen to rob him of his wealth. What if a BHiir rel should happeu to carry it off, or a musk-rat out of the river ? What if the great dam at Millingtou should break, and the Hood come down and take away bridge, and piers, and hidden treasure ? Thoff thought of it until he was sure he heard the roar of the water sweeping down. What he really heard was the teacher's stern "Skelton, take your place in the spelling-class !" All through the spelling a voice in side was saying, over and over: "You're a thief I you're a thief I" "You hush up I I ain't a thief, I tell yon," he said, in answer. You see a boy may have money and yet be a miserable boy. Thoff found this out that day, and he found out another thing. He had lost his hat-band. Now the loss of an old strip of blue cambrio is no great affair, especially to a young man of means, but this set Thoff to thinking. He wondered if he had lost it on Spruce Hill. "Look here, you Tom Ted what's your name Skelton ?" The squire had driven np and stopped his horse near Thoff on the bridge one morning. The boy glanced up aid met a pair of keen gray eyes fixed on him, glanced down and longed for a hole in the bridge floor, that he might drop into it Hole there was none. The eyes were still on him, and he stammered; "My name is The Theophilus." "Well, Theophilus, then, I want you to come along with me, up on Spruce HilL" Day grew black for an instant to Thoff. Then he heard: "I want a boy to help me get np some sheep. Got to have 'em down here for the noon freight train. Pay you twenty-five cents. Up with yon !" And the boy took his seat beside the man, though he would have preferred to sit anywhere else. "Cold ?" growled the squire; for Thoff was shaking all over. " Yes, sir, that is not much." He wasn't a coward naturally, but he was more afraid ci the squire that day than he would have been of a band of Sioux with all their war-paint on. The squire was a silent man, some people said a surly man, so there was no talking for a while. Up the hill they drove, and out on a high level where the wind was blowing. " There goes my hat I" cried Thoff. He was out over the wheel and back into the wagon again in a twinkling. " Say for't you're not a bad jumper," the squire said. " Better have a band to that hat, hadn't you ?" "I did have one, sir, but I" he stopped, remembering. " Lost it, most likely. Stop, I believe I've got a hat-band some'ers." The squire put his band in his pocket, and produced from it a strip of folded blue cambric. "There, I found that np on Spruce Hill." The gray eyes seemed to Thoff to go through him and come out on the other side. His fingers trembled as he tied on his own hat-band. "Some fel low lost it up there, I s'pose. Ever go up on the hill much?" ""Sometimes, blackberries." " Bad place to lose things up there. Don't find 'em again so easy." And the man added, "Homebody else does, may be." "He knows I've got that mosey," thought Thoff; " watched me or some thing." "Tell him all about it," said Con science. "Dursn't; he d kill me if I should." "No, he'd forgive you if you gave him back the money. Come ; now's your time." AiGood mind I will." And Thoff drew a big breath to start with. " nere we are I" cried the squire. Out with you, 'n' Bee how quick you'll got those southdowns together. Lively, now !" No chance for confession then, but with that drive went the last of Thoff's peace of mind. He knows something, T haint a doubt of it," he said to himself, wretchedly. " I dare say he does," answered Sus picion ; and Conscience chimed in, " Perhaps you're right" The boy did'nt dare now take the Eurse and run away. The sheriff would e on his track in twenty-four hours, he thought. " I know the squire's just holding off so't he can catch me and E ounce down on me. I'd carry 't up to is house V fling it into his window some night, only he know 'twas me 't did it, 'n' he'd have me took np all the same. Mercy ! who's that ?" He had got back to the bridge, and just ready to climb up to his den, when he heard a footstep on the loose boards above him. He raised his eyes, had a glimpse of a policeman's blue coat and yellow buttons, and then he ran, ran as he never ran before, nor stopped till he reached the freight-depot and a plat form under which he could crawl. In the policeman searching his retreat he had recognized a Springfield detective. The wallet was not in the bridge, but among the stones of the pier. Twenty-four hourslater, Thoff crouch ing and cramped under tbe platform from which he had not dared to stir, heard voices near him. "Wonder if Pixley found what he was after yesterday ?" "Pixley ?" the squire's voice. "Didn't know he'd been over." "Yes. Stolen goods; surmised they'd been smuggled over here 't Diarmid. Don't believe he found 'em, though." A pause, a waft of tobacco -smoke, and then the words, "Do you know, Bquire, i oeiieveyour wauet snn it id away round here somewhere, "So do I." answered Squire Granger: 'but the thing is to lay hands on it" And then the voices passed beyond hear ing, and a ragged, faint, wretched boy crawled out, and skulked off through tne son dark oi the summer night I hope uo one of you will ever know how miserable Thoff was during those July days. He looked back on the time when he had a quiet conscience, and was only cold and starved, and abused as a time of perfect bliss. Things got worse and worse. He seemed to meet Squire Granger on every corner, and fancied a sheriff behind every tree. At last there came this end: Sunset of a very hot day, a thunder shower fast coming on, mutterings in the black clouds, and Tboff seated in the bridge staring out through a crack at the lightning. Suddenly he saw up the valley great branohes of trees broken off and flying through the air; then the roof of a house close by was lifted, and then, quicker than I can tell it, the timbers began to rock and sink under him, there was a great flash of light, he saw a figure reel on the opposite end of the bridge, and knew it was his drunken father, and then he knew no more. ' The storm passed, the moon came out, and a crowd of people stood on the riverbt "Yjf ld bridge is gone," they said. Ahere was no one on it. Wha& bu say? Jim Skelton seen goiug"li the bridge as it went down ?" Yes. Just as Thoff, who had been stunned and afterwards had lain only half-conscious for an honr, crept from the ruin, he saw some men bringing a body up the river in a boat His father was dead. The whirlwind had carried the three eastward spans of the bridge forty rods down the stream. The span on which Thoff was had merely sunk in its place. Early next morning the boy climbed over the bank, took something out from among the stones and walked away. In thatne awful instant when death had stared him in the face, Thoff had seen what he must do. He was now going to do it. " I want to speak with you a minute, sir." ' Speak on. " The squire was at work in this garden. " Oh, is it you, Thoff? Your father yes, I've heard." "No, sir; I wanted to tell you some thing. That money of yours" Thoff choked a little. He hud set his face to do it, but it was hard. He would be in jail by noon, probably, thongh perhaps the squire might let him off till after the funeral. " I fonnd it There it is." The squire silently took the wallet and opened it. " I found it up on the hill, and I've kept it six weeks, 'n' thaf&the truth if I die for't,' blurted out Thoff. "'N' now I've done it, 'n' father's dead, V our house is unroofed, V the ole den's blown down, 'n' I dunno's I care what you do with me." The squire turned and looked at the little ragged figure before him, looked for quite a minute, remembered, per haps, something that had happened to himself once. At all events, a new meaning came into the stern face, and he asked: "Had any breakfast?" "No, sir." Thoff was taken into the kitchen, given a bowl of bread and milk, and then sent away. " Coma back after the funeral," the squire Baid. After the funeral Thoff went back, and was told: " Now, my boy, I'm going to give you a chance here on my farm, j eipect you'll do your best, and if yo do, you'll never be sorry you came. And Thoff never has been sorry. That was twenty years ago, and he is manager of the squire'r plaoe now. I heard some one remark the other day as he passed : "There goes a fellow with a good con science. You and I know how the boy "had it out" with his conscience once, and gave up beaten. The squire has never mentioned the matter of the lost money. Prom Youth' Companion, , . Steinberg's Goose. A New York paper says: Gustave Schmidt, who is noted for the interest he takes in rifle shooting, entered the saloon of John Lutz, and drew from his pocket a fine revolver which he had re cently purchased, and which he exhib ited with pride to Lutz and to those of his friends who were in the saloon at the time. Schmidt spoke boastingly of his own powers as a marksman, and offered to make a bet of ten dollars that he could hit a mark at the other end of the room. "Do you see that goose," said Lutz, contemptuously, pointing to a fowl that could be seen through the open door waddling obout the back yard. You give me a dollar and 1 11 let you fire three shots at her, and if you hit her once you can have her." Schmidt accepted the offer, and fired from where he was standing, bringing down the goose. A roar of laughter greeted his achievement. He walked proudly into . the yard and took the goose, supposing that the merriment was at Lutz's expense. As he entered the saloon with the fowl in his hand, the side door of the saloon was thrown vio lently open and an angry man ran into the saloon. This was Henry Steinberg, the owner of the goose. His first act was to knock Schmidt down, and his second was to explain his reasons for doing. When Schmidt understood how he had been taken in, he knocked Lutz down and demanded the return of his money, Steinberg in the meantime busying him self in asking both of them to pay for the goose. The noise attracted the at tention of Officer Wheeler, who entered the saloon. After some discussion he arrested Lutz on the complaint of Schmidt, who charged him with obtain ing one dollar by false pretenses; Schmidt, on the complaint of Lutz, on a c Wge ot assault and battery, and Stein ' berg on a similar charge, aiso made by Schmidt. When the prisoners were taken to the station-house, and the sergeant heard with wondering eyes the various com plaints, he turned to Wheeler and asked if that were alL " Why, no," was the answer; " Lutz was Belling liquor with out a license. Schmidt hasn't a permit to carry that pistol, and that the other man, Steinberg, hasn't got any permit from the Board of Health to keep his goose." When the prisoners were taken before Justice Flammer, in the Essex Market Police Court, recently, a long investiga tion was held, and the court room was crowded by tho friends of the three prisoners. Lutz said it was all a joke, and gave back the dollar, withdrawing his charge against Sohmidt. The latter, touched by this spirit of conciliation, withdrew his charges against Lutz and Steinberg, and the owner of the goose forgave the marksman, when the latter and the saloon keeper each promised to pay half the value of the goose. Their misunderstandings being over, they ex pected to be allowed to go. But just then Officer Wheeler and his charges loomed np like grim fate. Justice Flammer required Lutz to give $100 bail on a charge of violating the exoise law, held Steinberg in the same amount for keeping geese without "a permit and fined Schmidt $5 for carrying a pistol without a permit Fashion Notes. Fans are larger this season than last. Grenadines are variously united with silk or satin. Russian lace is a favorite trimming for summer dresses. The profuse nee of gold and silver braids is subnidur. New uinbrellitiave a scent-bottle hidden in the hanoVo. Mastic gray pretty color with green is a favorite combination. Hosiery of the color of the dress, with fine white stripes, is worn. The long lace mitts in delicate shades are worn Lypera and theater." The newobi regular bonnets are very small and distinguished looking. Linen lawns with small, colored figures are cheap and very pretty. A new oruambnt for the English walk iug hat a whip oftcut steel and gilt. Lisle-thread gloves with colored mono grams on the back are now fashionable. Navy blue and white ginghams are trimmed with Smyrna lace and embroid ery. Lace jubots begin at the neck of the dress and extend all the way down to the bottom of the skirt For the semi-negligence of a country toilet hats whioh are a cross between a round hat and a bonnet are worn. Knife pleatings are largely used ou eveniug dresses; also plaitings which ex tendjfroni tho waist downward. Long sleeves are made tighter than before, and without trimming, the wide lines and lace cuffs taking iv plaoe. A very pretty ornament is composed of pale pink aud white daisies aud a golden arrow fixed to a long hair-pin. A novelty in satin-barred ribbou, barred across with velvet of a contrast ing color; it is narrow aud u for bows. Items of Interest. Headquarters The hntter's store. Every carpenter has a plane duty be . fore him. Carvers of their own fortunes Butchers. The most becoming tie for youug ladies Modesty. " Printer's ink keeps the hingns of store doors loose." Leipsic is one of the leading oauters of the doll making trade. There are two thousand characters in the stories of Charles Dickens. Glass grindstones are being experi mented with in mills in Germany. , j Bracelets have been in use in every nation from its very earliest period. Pearls differ from other' gems in re quiring no art to bring out their beauty. "I-have a bone to pick with you" came from Sicilian marriage observances. Errors, like straws npon the surfaoe flow. He that would seek the pearl must never blow. Primitive bread was grain soaked in water, subjected to a pressure and then dried. Dumps, an Egyptian king, is respon sible for "Oh, she is down in the dumps." A Russian lady is not considered well dressed unless she wears from twelve to twenty bracelets. The beer gardens outside the Paris Exposition grounds cover as much space as the Exposition buildings. What is it that has neither wings nor legs, and yet flies fast, and is not stopped by rocks, rivers or walls ? The voice. Mrs. D. A. Dodd, of Hnmboldt,Iown, has just given birth to her twenty-second child, a son. Among the number are seven sets of twins. Upwards of 494,391 persons were em ployed in English coal mines in 1877, 30,141 less than in 1H76, and 1,'Uo or one in 400, died by an accident. It is easy to And a friend in Parts'; if he isn't in any of 74,999 houses, he'll be sure in the other one, unless he is out of doors or has left the city or has not yet come. - An Illinois woman has written to ote of the assistant postmaster-generals to pick her out a good young man for a husband. She thought his experienoi with the mails would give him an advantage in the selection. The capers of a team of mules hitched to a harvesting machine, near St. Louis, saved the lives of five men who had taken shelter from a thunder storm under a tree. The muVs began to kick, aud the men, going to quiet them, escaped a thunderbolt that shivered the tree. A small boy was asked to give an ex ample of earnestness. He looked both ered for a moment, but his face bright ened like the -inw drops glistening on' the leaves of tho. rose in early morning as he delivered himself of the following happy thought: "When you see a bov engaged on a minoe pie till his no touches the middle plum and his sr drop on the outer crusts, you may kno he has got it" USES OF ADVEK81TT If none were sick and none ware sad, What service cou'd we render ? I think if we were always glad W scarcely could be tender. Did our beloved never neod Our patient ministration, Earth would grow cold, and misi, irvl'"' ' It s we . tost cousolation. If sorrow never claimed our heart, fc And every wi-h were granted, Tatience would die and hope depart Life would be disenchanted. ' Rain. The first water how much it meai!' Seven-tenths of man himself is wi' Seven-tenths of the humau race raiiu " down but yesterday I It is much in- Erobable that Ctesar will flow out ' ung hole than that any part of his mains wl ever stop one. Oar life indeed a vapor, a breath, a little ma ture coudeusxl upon the pane. 1 carry ourselves as in a phiaL Cle the flesh, and how quickly we spill c Man begins as a fish, and he swims i sea of vital fluids as long as his life la: His first food if milk; and so his last ft" ; all between, llo '-tn taste and assir..: late and absnb uoihing but liqni ' The same is trut, Inroughout all ganic nature. 'Tis water power V" makes every wheel move. Without t great solvent, there is no life. I adiL immensely this line of Walt Whitrc;' ' The Bluinbeing and liquid trees." The tree and its fruit are like a spoi which the rains have rilled. Throu; them and through all living bodies tin goes on tho commerce of vital growti tiny vessels, fleets and succession : fleets, laden with material bound for t! taut shores, to build up, and repair, a: ' restore the waste of the physical trn Then the rain means relaxation; tension in Nature and in all her cr turos are lessened. The trees drop ti leaves, or let go their ripened fruit. 'X tree itself will fall in a still, damp, when but yesterday it withstood ap of wind. A moist south wind peuetru even the mind and makes its grasp 1 tenacious. It ought to take less to V mull nn a rflillV duV tlllill On a fir The direct support of the sun is w draw; life is under a cloud; anias- ' mood gives plaee to something 1 feminine. In this sense, ruin i grief, the weeping of Nature, t! (, a burdened or agonized h-,. tears from Nature's eyelid remedial and prepare the ! 1 er, purer skies, y A-' S'-rihner, .
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers