BY W. 451.4111 L VOLUME 26. A tint poetrg. HI WORLD IS DRUM AHD VD& BY MRS. 0. J. vicro Oh, the world is bright and wide, Lighted 'round on every side, Set with flowers thick and sweet, With cool grasses for our feet : God is good. ---With-low-breezea-in-the-wo • And gay birds to sing his praise, With soft waters on their ways, • Talking of him as they run - With their faces to the sun : The faint odors of the flowers, Beaten-out-by-summer-showers From their honeyed, hidden wells, The soma happy message tells : God is good. By the wild bee understood, And the carelese butterflies ; Nor does this sweet truth surprise These fair creatures he has made, Glimmering in the sun and shade; says the barley, waving tall ; And the grape vine on the wall, And the partridge in the wheat, • And tb robin, nsang sweet, God is good, So the hill, with cloudy hood, And the sky with-Tarns With the ocean, azure too, And the valleys, cool and dim, Sing together that old hymn, God is good. hax saith inan; the last and best, In Ids :Nlitipar's image drassed ? In his angnish or his pfulO Ile bath oft and long denied, God is good, And aloof, in anger stood. God, indeed, bath tried him sore That his tritunph may Ise more, Earth'itself shall 'pass away, Yet this magi shall live awl say, 'God is good. ( Pisa'barons gaffing. A MID,NiGHT PERU.. BAYED BY AN ABSENT WIFE. • The night of the 17th of October—shall I ever forget its }~itchy darknas, the roar of the autumnal wind through the forest, ancl•the incessant down pour of rain ? "This comes of .short cuts," I muttered petulently to myself, as I plodded along, 'keeping close to the trunks of the trees. 1 could hear the roarof the turbulent wa ters forty or' fifty feet below. My blood .ran cold as I thought of the possible con sequences of a misstep or move in the wrong direction, Wily. had I not been ,content to keep in the right road ?" „Hold on ? Wes that a light, or are my eyes playing me false ? .I:stoppcd, bolding on to the low resin ous ,boughs of a hemlock that grew on the edge of the bank; for it actually seemed as if the wind would seize me bodily and ,hurl me down the precipitous descent,. It was a light,---thank Providence—it was n light, and no ignis fatous to lure me An to destruction and (tenth. o-ol" . M a y voice rung through the woods like a clarion. I plunged onward through the tangled vines, dense briers and rocky banks, until gradually nearing, I could perceive a figure wropPed in an oil cloth cape, or cloak, carrying a huger)]. 4,s the dim light fell upon his face I almost recoiled. Would not solitude in the woods be preferable to the companionship of this vithered, wrinkled old man? But it was "'I& late to recede now. "What's wanting ?" he snarled forth, with a peculiar Motion of the lips that seemed to leave his yellow teeth all bare. "I am lost in the woods ; can't you di rect me to R----• station ?" "Twelve miles l" I stood aghast, "Can you tell me of any shelter I could obtain far the night ?" "No:" "Where are you going ?" "To Drew's, down hero by the maple swamp." "Is it a tavern !" "No." "Would they take me for the night?— I could pay them well." His eyes gleamed ; the yellow stumps stood relieved once more. "I guess so ; folks do atop there some. times." "Is it far from here ?" "Not very; about half a mile." "Then let us make haste and reach it. I am drenched to the skiu." - "We plodded on, my companion more than keeping pace with me. Presently we left the edge of the ravine, entering what seemed like a trackless woods, and keeping straight on until lights gleamed fitfully through the wet foliage. It was at ruinous old place, with the window fall drawn to one side, as if the foundation had settled, and the pillars of a rude porch nearly rotted away. A woman answered my fellow travel .er's knock. My companion whispered a won] or two to her, and she turned to me with smooth voluble words of welcome. She regretted the poverty of their ac commodations ; but I was welcome to them. such as they were. "Where is Isaac?" demanded myguide. "Ile has not come in yet." I sat down on a wooden bench'beside the fire, and ate a few mouthfuls of bread. "I should like to retire as soon as pos sible," said I, for my weariness was ex cessive. "Certain' . y," the woman started up with alacrity. "Where are you going to put him?" asked my guide. "Up chamber." - "Put ben it. Isaac's room." "No." "It's the most comfortable." "I tell you no I" But herei_interrupted the whispered colloquy. "I _am not pnrticular- I don't 'care_ you please," So I was conducted up a steep ladder that stood in a corner of the room, into an apartment sealed with sloping beams and ventilated by one small window, where a cot bedstead, crowded closely a gainst_the_oard_Rartition, and a pine ta ble, with two chairs, Dallied the sole at tempts at furniture. The woman set the lamp—ltn oil lamp on the table, God is good. "Anything more can I get you, sir r said she. "Nothing, thank you." • "I hope you'll sleep well, sir. When 4ihall I calf ou ?" " t our u c oc T in cnrorrungo yo please. I must walk to B— station in tithe for the seven o'clock express." "I'll be sure to call you, sir." "She wididrew, leaving me alone in the gloomy little apartment, I sat down and looked around me witb no very a 2Teeble_seusations — "I - will sit down and write to Alice," .I 'thought, `!that will soothe my nerves and quiet me, perhaps." I descended the ladder. The fire still glowed redly on the stone hearth; my companion and the woman sat beside it, talking in a low tone, and a third person sat at the table, eating—a short, stout villainons looking man, in a red flannel shirt and very muddy pantaloons, I asked for writing materials, and re turned to my room to write to my wife. "My darling Alice." paused, I laid down my pen as I con cluded the words, half smiling to think what she would say, mild she know of my strange quarters. Not until both sheets were covered did I lay aside my pen and prepare for slum ber. As I folded my paper, I happened to glance toward my couch. Was it the gleam of a human eye ob serving me through the board partition, or was it but my own fancy ? There was a crack there, but oily black darkness beyond. - Yet I could have sworn that something bad spirkled balefully at me. -took out my watch—it was only one o'clock. It was scarcely worth while for me to undress for three hour's sleep ; I would lie down in my clothes and snatch what lumber I could. So, placing my. valise close to the head of my bed and barricading the lockless doors with two chairs, I extinguished the light and laid down. At first I was very wakeful, but gradu ally a. soft drowsiness seemed to steal ov er me, like a, mis tymantle, until all of a sudden some starthngelectric thrill cours ed through my veins, and I sat up, excit ed and trembling. A .luminous softness seemed to glow through the room—no light of the moon or stars was ever so penetrating--and by the little window I saw Alice, my wife dressed in floating garments of white, with her long golden hair knotted back with a blue ribbon. Apparently she was becon ing to me with outstretched hands and eyes full of wild, anxious tenderness. I sprang to my feet and rushed toward her, but as I reached the window the fair apparition seemed to vanish into the stor my darkness, and I was left alone. In the self same instant the sharp report of a. pistol sounded—l could see the jagged stream of fire above the pillow, straight toward the very spot where ten seconds since my head had lain. With an instantaneous my danger, I swung myself over the edge of the window, jumped down eight or ten feet into tangled bushes below, and as I crouched there recovering my breathe, I heard the tramp of footsteps' in my room. "Is he dead ?" cried a voice up the lad der—the smooth, deceitful voice of the woman, • "Of course he is," growled a voice back, that charge would have killed ten men. A- light there, quick, and tell Tom to be ready." A cold agonized, shudder ran over me. What a den of midnight murderers had I fallen into? And how fearfully narrow had been my escape! With the speed that only mortal terror and deadlyiperil can give, I runhed thio' the woods, now illuminated by a faint glimmer of starlight. I know not what impulse guided my footsteps—l shall nev er know how many times I crossed my own track, or how close I stood to the brink of the deadly ravine, but a merci ful Providence encompassed me with a guiding and protecting care, for when the morning dawned, with faint bars of orient light against the eastern sky, I was close to the high road, seven miles from R—. On at the town I told my story to the police, and a detachment was sent with me to the spot. After much searching and false alarms we succeeded in finding the ruinous old house; but it .was empty and our birds had flown ; nor did I recover my valise, watch and chain, which latter I had loft under my pillow. "It's Drew's gang, said the leader of the .police ; and they've troubled us these two vents. I don't think, though that they'll ge only ma ere you A FAMILY *IOO3.P.AIiE/iL.DEVOTIW TO LITERATURE, LOCAL AND GENERAL 'NEWS. ETC. WAYNESBORO', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PA., ,THURSDAY, AUGUST 14, 1873. come back here at present." • Nor did they. But•the krangest part of my story. is to come yet.. Some three weeks subse quently I received a letter from my sister who was with. Alice in her English home, a letter whose intelligence filled me with surprise. n — Mit - 3 tell -you somethingtvety-s_ tra-ng., wrote my sister," "that happened to us on the night. of the 17th of October, A lice had not been well for some time ' • in tact,. she, bad ben confined to her bed nearly a week, and I was sitting beside her reading. It : was late; the clock had just struck one, when all of a sudden she seemed to faint away, growing white and rigid as a corpse. I hastened to call as sistance, but all our efforts seemed vain to restore er 7life and animation. I-was just about sending for a doctor, when her senses returned as suddenly as they had left her, and she 'sat up in bed, pushed back her hair, and looked wildly about her. "Alice!" I exclaimed, "how you have terrified us all. Are you ill ?" "Not ill," she answe •• ,"but — feel - so strange, Gracie, I have b my hus band!" . ' `kAll our reasonings failed tikconvince her of the impossibility of - her - assertions; - She persists to this moment that she saw you on the 17th October; or rather on the morning of the 18th—where and low she cannot tell—but we think it must have • n-SOW : V: 11. -..7 . 41711 . 7 . 1:7127=M ' I wish you could see how fast she is im proving." This is my plain unvarnished tale. I do not pretend to explain or account for its mysteries. I simply relate facts. Let psychologists unravel the labyrinthian skein. lam not su -rstitious, neither do I believe in g s osts, wraiths or apparthons ; but this. thing I do know—that although my wife was in England, in body on the morning of October 18th., her spirit sure ly stood before me in New York at the moment of the deadly peril that menaced me. It may be that to the subtle instinct and strength of a wife's holy love, all things are possible, but Alice surely sav ed my life. THE VOICE or THE Clock.---The clock proclaims the hour of twelve, Witch signi fies that another day, has gone and another spark from the flickering light of life is extinguished .Still its measured ticks 'are heard, numbering the seconds as they pass away, uttering an admonitive tick as each second of time departs to warn us of their flight; and as the humble seconds pass on, collectively assuming the dtnity of an hour, the clock, as though it were not con tent to remind us by its lowly ticks of the passing of time, announces to us by the voice of its silvery bell that an hour of another day has gone; while at each vibra tion of its pendulum, it adds,"and another hour is passing." So the faithful clock ticks on, not allowing a second to pass unnoticed, while twenty four times each day its bell resounds at the passing of the fleeting hours. Yet, amid all these reminders, how careless are we of the transientness of life, allowing the moments to pass unnoticed, the hours to unconsciously depart, the Anys and years to pass into oblivion while we remain indifferent at their flight: or.if we listen to the ticking of the clock, we think how slow is the flight of time; but slow as it may seem, it is ever on the wing, and every little second is a representative of our life, which passes away second by second, so rapidly that when we look back over the years that .are gone, we are sur prised at the swift flight of time, and sadly listen .to 'the ticking of the clock which shows that time still passes on. And— "As the clock strikes, time flies we say, When it is we who are passing away." MRS. CAUDLES SILENCED.--The Brant ford (Canada) Courier tells of a gentle. man of that town w ho . recently tried an experiment which he says has completely cured his wife of jealousy. He says he was subject to a nightly curtain lecture from his better half, at a time when he wished to be wrapped in the arms of Mcr pheus, for returning an affection for an old lady friend. He bore it for several nights with a Christian-like resignation, but at last he devised a plan for putting an end to it. He procured a piece of wood termed in the shape of a human being and dressed it in some of his wife's ward- robe, and then placed it in the garden, sitting in an bon chair. To this graven image he knelt down and poured forth impassioned addresses. The servant girl was standing at the kitchen door nt this time and overheard these appeals. She immediately notified her mistress of the fact. Presently both of them emerged from the kitchen, armed with broomsticks, and made an attack upon the "dummy woman," while the husband, who had re tired in good order, sat at the back enjoy ing the scene. After knocking the im age over they pounced upon and.tore the clothing in rags. They soon discovered the cheat, and rushed back into the house terribly mortified: The husband follow ed them and said exasperating things.— 'Whenever she shows any disposition to be jealous he has only to mention that lit tle scene in the garden, and she changes the topic. The servant has been induced to go to the States where "wages are higher." . • A little four year old, residing . a short distance from the city, was saying the Lord's Prayer a short time ago at his mother's knee, and after he had finished it his mother said: "Now, Sandy, ask God to make you a good boy" The child raised his eyes to his mother's' face for a few moments, as if in deep thought, and then startled her with the following reply: "It's no use, ma. He T won't do it: ve asked him a .heap of times_" ROSALIE. BY TO3f .C. HARBAUGB. Hark ! the antique village bell Tolls a solemn, funeral knell, • And its notes ; so sad and low, Fill my heart with bitter woe, O that I with her could glide, tward-with-the-tide Destined for the other side. • Yes, the hand is still now, And the dainp is on the brow, And the fOotsteps soft and light Hushed in death's repulsiye night, But beyond the waters cold, Where the pearly gates unfold. She shall tread the streets of gold. Ah, no more that gifted strain, Driving from the heart earth pain, Floats to heaven's eternal dome, Weleonied by the angels home. But up the "distant shore," She shall sing forever more,• • Far sweeter than she sang of yore. Ah, no more the sunbeams fair, Leap to kisi her golden hair ! Ah! I never more shall twine Her locks about these hands of mine. But upon her tresses bright, There shall rest a crown of light, . Gained by they who walk aright. None to bloom fore'er were made, Fast they fall before the frost Of winter, ere their bloom is lost, But the flower we mournoth now, Fell in Springtime's golden glow, With the sunlight on her brow. • She was mine by promise fair, Now she's Death's—no life is there, Shadowed bridegroom take thy bride, Charonbear her over the tide, And return in haste for me, For T long to ride with thee, And live again with Rosalie. GROWTH OF CHARACTER.—Many peo ple seem to forget that character grows ; that it is something to put on, ready-made, with manhood and womanhood ; but, day by day, here a little,- and there a little, grows with the growth, and strengthens with the strength, until, good or bad, it becomes almost a coat of mail. Look at a man of business—prompt, reliable, con scientious, yet clear-headed and energetic. When do you suppose he developed all these admirable qualities? When he was a boy ? Let us see the way in which a boy of ten years gets up in the morning, works, plays, studies, and we will tell you just what kind of a man he will make.— The boy that' is late at breakfast, and late at school, stads a poor chance to be a prompt man. The boy who neglects his duties, ,be they ever so small, and then excuses himself by saying "I forgot ; I did not think I" will never be a reliable man. And the boy who finds pleasure in the suffering of weaker things ; will never be a noble, generous, kind man—a gentle man. THE FRESIINII3S OF MoßNma.—The brightest, the best, the most beautiful part of the day, is the early morning.— There seems also to be a, moral inflgence, and sweet, healthy power at this time.— The air is fresh, the feelings are renewed, the spirit is calm, and we enter upon the day rested and restored. If we had day without night, and our hours of repose were amidst the hot rush of constant ac tivities, we should lie down, and wake fe vered and unrefreshed. It is a blessed pro vision that nature giies us, in the cur tains of'the night, that we may sleep with the glare of the day shut out, and arise in the morning, as the day begins, to see all nature start afresh. There is both stimu lus and encouragement in the air we breathe . at this time.' Shun evil speakers. Deal tenderly with the absent; say nothing to inflict a wound on their reputation. They may be wrong and weak, yet your knowledge of it does not oblige you to disclose their character, except to save others from in jury. Then do it in a way that bespeaks a spirit of kindness to the absent offender. Be not hasty to credit evil reports. They are often the result of misunderstanding, or of evil design, or they proceeded from exagerated or partial disclosures of fact. Wait and learn the whole history before you decide; then believe just what ,evi dence compels you to do, and no more.— But even then, take heed not to indulge the least unkindness, else you dissipate all the spirit of your prayer for them and un nerve yourself from doing them good. COMPANIONSHIP AND HEALTH.-TO be perfectly healthy and happy, one must have friends. They need not be in large numbers, hut one, two, or three kindred spirits with whom one can commune, share joys and sorrows, thoughts and feel ings. In choosing friends great care is necessary. There must be some common bonds of sympathy. It may be moral, in tellectual or social ' • but even these bonds are not sufficient. A weakly person, an invalid, needs healthy friends; a timid one, brave friends. Those who are bless ed with good friends are healthier and happier than those who have none. A million cf one dollar bills possess a vastness that is rath4r startling to a man who has never faced such a pile. To count this sum at the rate of one thousand five hundred dollars an hour, and 'eight hours a day, it would require nearly three months. If the dollar bills were laid side by side, they would reach about one hun- Amid and twenty miles, while their trans portation would require more Than tan• ox team, Ministering Angels The beautiful have gone with their bloom from the gaze of Inman eyes. Soft eyes that made it springtime in our hearts are seen no more. We have loved the light of many a ismile that has faded from us now; and in our hearts have lingered sweet voices that are now hushed in the :Hence of death. _Seats_ are left vacant in our earthly homes, none again can fill Kindred, friends and loved ones have passed away one by one; our hearts are left desolate • we are loud • without them. They have passed with their love to "that land, from whose bourne no traveler re turns." Shall we never see them again? memory turns with lingering regret to recall those smiles and the loved tones of those dear familiar voices. In fancy they are often by our side--but-their-home-is on a brighter shore. They visit us in our dreams, floating . over our memory like shadows over moonlit waters. Whenithe heart is weary with anguish, and the soul is bowed with grief, do they not come and whisper thoughts of comfort and hope? Yes, sweet memory brings them to us, and the love we bore them lifts the heart from earthly aspirations and we long to join them in that better land. They hover round us, the ethereal, dear, departed ones —the loving, and the loved, they watch with eyes that slumber not. When gen tle dreams are wandering to the angel land, in whispers wake the hymning strains of that bright and happy choir, evealiug untuy Et le of hope- , ttiL -,-,- atilernesi, and love: — They - tell-01, sunny realms, ne'er viewed by mortal eye —of forms arrayed in fadeless beauty— and lofty anthems to their great Creator's praise are sounded forth in sweet, seraph. ic numbers. And this bright vision of the blest dissolves the tumult of life's jar ing scenes ; they facTin air, and then we glory in the thought that we are heirs of immortality. And why is it that we re gard with such deep reverence and love, those bright, celestial beings of-another sphere ? Ah, it is because' they take an interest in our welfare, and joy over our success in the great battle of life. They are not selfish in their happiness, but fain would have us share it with them. Brain Worry. Many of us pray to be 'delivered from sudden death, and do we worry•ourselves into it? If we do, can we help it? To most of us it is not given to choose our lives, to avoid the rough places, to gent ly shoulder to one side disagreeable Acts. We must climb over the rocks though they hurt us sore, and the difficulties, howeier they may annoy us, must be met with brain fret and wear until they are conquered, or we have passed them. They are as real, living, annoying, as any tan gible ache or pain could be; as bruising and irritating as the peas in the shoes of the pilgrim of old. Nearvous health is one thing, and moral health and purely physical health is quite anothei and dif ferent thing. Calm and steady mental tal work is conducive to load' life; but nervous emotion, mental work that is a constant urging, and, at the same time, is an unhinging of the even tenor of the mind, eats away the brain faster than a ny ' mental labor, no matter how hard, that is systematic. As men do not really die of heart disease as often as. supposed, but of apoplexy, or congestion of the lungs, so they do not die of brain work, but of brain worry. Scott died of it; Southey, Swift, Horace Greelry, and pro bably Thackeray.—London limes. A CURE FOR WRINKLES.-A celebrated physician in one of our great cities, used formerly to prescribe, as an infallible cure for wrinkles, not a contented mind, but soap. The mystery of this may thus be unfolded: Time writes his lines unceasingly on the delicate skin of the face, and the longer #nd harder he writes the deeper the grooves left by his ineffaceable sycle. But these grooves become for the most part apparent by the lodgment of dust. Awry few hours' exposure to the air, or a very few minutes on dry windy days, 'are sufficient to a close observer on any but the youngest facet. To efface these records of time and weather, a pure bland soap should be used with plenty of water. To preserve the softness of the skin a few drops of good glycerine may be added to the pure water, which should always be used to rinse the sudb from - the face. This simple and unromantic recipe will do more to beautify the complexion and preserve it smooth and clear than all the the cosmetics in the world. People have frequently been informed of the buoyancy of the waters of Salt Lake, and how it is almost impossible to sink therein. As a contrast of this may be men tioned Lake Tahoe, in California, in whose waters everything sinks with surprising rapidity. Good swimmers launch forth into the lake with the utmost confidence in there skill, and at once find themselves floundering and only able to keep them selves afloat by the most strenuous exer tions. The bodies of persons drowned are never seen after they have once sunk. Of five white persons known to have drowned in the lake, not a single body has ever been recovered or even seen. Pine logs float in the lake a very short time, then sink never to rise. In places far down through the crystal !fluid, are to be seen, resting upon the bottom, great quantities of slabs, logs and lumber. SELF-RELIANcE.—The success ofindi viduals in life is greatly owing to their early learning to depend on the ir own re sources. Money, or the expectation of it by inheritance, has ruined more men than the want, of it ever did.' Tech young men to rely on their own efforts, to, he frugal and Indus • is and • ou have fur nished them. -ith priTductive which no Tr • !, - ran ever'wrest from theni. Rather Discouraging. f 1, • The Superintendent came toe and: asked if I would undertake the eh rge of i ss one boy for that session of the . • . School. "He is the worst boy we've got." said' he, "and has been the, ringleader of a bad lot; but I thought it might possibly, be of some use to separate him from the oth em, and - let — a - lady try - her-influence' oi: him." . . "Where is he ?' I asked. "I'll brio:. him to ..ou directl e urn away, re urning soon wi 4. one of the most forbidden lOoking boys I ever happened to -see. He was placed) in a chair, quite by hitnaelf, in one conker of the room. I went and sat down beside him. 'could -- yon — like - -to—have—me- ak you?" I said in my persuasive manner. "I don't care—if the other boys can come, too." "What other boys ?" • "He named three or four. I consulted the superintendent. "It won't do. My only hope for; him is to keep him quite away from that; set" I went back to my protege, who did not seem in any waydisappointed at thq non success of my mission. Resolved 'dot to disgust or weary him by ill-timed preach ing, I essayed a conversation. It' was rather discouraging work. How old are you ?" "Fourteen—how old be you ?" with a "Never-mind-do_you_go_to_scho • ?" "No, mum; I works." • "What do you do ?" "Whatever I has a mind ter," looking saucily in my &ea. "That isn't a nice way to talk to me I am interested in you, and I want you to tell me alrabout your life—what you do and what you read—" "I don't read-none." "Can't you read ?" "Course I can," with a disgusted stare, "but I don't like books—l read the dai lies and snob." "Shall I read to you ? Wouldn't you like to hear a nice story ?" Taking his muttered growl for assent, I took down a book of adventures and commenced reading to him. He was very quiet apparently, and I congratulated myself on the fact that I had interested him at last. Suddenly I became aware of suppressed giggling a mong the children near me, and looked up to ascertain the cause. That horrid' boy had perched my beautiful white lace bonnet—which I had kid aside while I read—on the top of his carroty head, and he was executing a variety of the most horrible and grotesque grimaces imagina ble, totally oblivious, of course, to all my efforts to instruct or amuse him. I re. captured fny bonnet and gave up the tri al. I felt very much inclined to believe in the total depravity of boys. A Bawl Cesn.—Some years ago an Irishman was knocked down and robbed. He accused a man of having committed robbery ; in due time the case came up for trial. The Irishman being upon the stand, was cross-examined, after having sworn positively to the guilt of the pris oner, by one of our keenest lawyers, and something like the following was the re sult: "You say that the prisoner at the bar was the Mall who assaulted and robbed you ?" ' ayes, • "Was it by moonlight when the occur rence took place?" . . "Divil the bit of it." "Was it starlight ?" 'Not a whit ; it wds so dark that you couldn't have seen your hand before you." "Was there any light shining from any house near by ?" "Divil a bit iv a house was there any about." "Well, then, if there was no moon, no starlight, no light from any house, an di so dark they you couldn't see even your hand before you, how are you able to swear that the prisoner is the man ? How did you see him ?" "Why, yer Honor, when the spalpeen struck me, (may the divil fly away wid him,) the fire flew out iv my eyes.so bright you might have seen to pick up a pin ; you could, be jabbers." The court, Jury, counsel and spectator', exploded with shouts at this quaint idea, and the priSoner was directly after de dared not qbilty. • THE PAHHON'S Wm.—A worthy Par son had, as worried parsons often do, be come bald-headed, thought it no harm, to assist nature in her tonsorial operations, procured a wig. His old-fashioned con gregation was greatly exercised thereby. Some thought Wvery worldly for a par son to wear a wig at all, while some thought the shape 'horrid.' Others thought the hair should be shorter in front, some at the sides, t and Some behind. Finally, the good paOtor invited the brethren and sisters to mOet him 'at the parsonage.— When they I were assembled, he handed. his wig tethem to trim according to their taste. One clipped itlere, another there, and another'in a different place, until the poor wig looked like anything but a head of hair. When handed back to the par son he err:tinned it carefully and then gravely said,: "Brethren and sisters, we may safely worship this, for it is the 'like mess of nothing in the heavens above, on the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth. Give a man brains and riches an*he is a king. Give a mail brains without riches and he is a slave. Give a maw -riches without brains and bp is a fool. But just give the printer what you owe him, and see how mue better you'll sleep! Try it on us, fore ple. _ • - • 82,00 PER YEAR Mit and J It There are many thread-bare souls itn= der silken cloaks and gowns. Get on your husband's blind side, and then you can go to the seaside. The work' is , a workshop, and none but e wise know how to use the tools. Pleasant memory in old age is like a :* aging nn a withered bough. ,'{.arid Why are tardy persons like bustles Because they are always behind. The miser and the glutton, two facetious buzzards—one hides his storesad the other -tores-his-hide. What is the difference between a hilt awl a pill ? One is hard to get up and tilt,/ other is hard to get down. Kind thoughts are the spice islands or , the spirit, making a man's &tweeter bree- zy with sweetness. • . • A 'missing man ,was lately advertised'• for and described as having a roman nose. He 'Such a nose as that will neveo.ttut up. - . The groundwork of all manly charac ter is veracity, or the'hahit of telling the truth. That virtue lies at the foundation CM; ing sat Mrs, Peck, of Chicago, has "gone off with a handsome man," leaving her hus band•in a bushel of trouble in the • shape of four little Pecks. "What's the date of your bustle?" was wMt an anxious papa ofCohleskill-asked— his well-dressed daughter, after searching for the latest copy of his paper. The only acceptable obedience is an in stant obedience. The only sire wa . 'Of ,dealing with duty is to perform it at Once. `What thou doest, do quickly. eriemaker out west of a literary turn, has the - following poetical gem -bit his sign.: . Here lives anon who never ranee& To mend all Sorts of boots and shoeses. `'"Six feet in his boots!" exclaimed Mrs. Beeswax; "what will the impudence of the world come to, I wonder 1 They might as well tell me that the man has lux heads in his hat." In 1760 the first society of Metho dists was organized in Aifierica with a membership of but five persons. ' Seven years later, in 1773, the sty had in creased over a thousand swag under the care of ten 'traveling preachers.' To-day the Church has 1,421,322 members, with , 9,699 traveling and 11,382 local minis ters. The striking difference between a young man and a young woman is illustrated by a croaker, who says that the first thing a young man does when he - sees a friend with a new hat on "is to take it off serene ly try it on his 'laid : but when a young lady sees one of her acquaintances with a new bonnet she just lifts up her nose. and serenely wonders: "where the thing 'got that fright." " A kiss, however pleasant, may - cost too much. Here we have an ,account of * Missourian who indulged iu the saluta tion of a fine young woman, and of what happened to him. The magistrate fined him. The fine . young woman's brother horsewhiptied him. His wife worried him into a brain fever. The parson alluded to him personally in a strong sermon: The local editor took sides with the Preacher and pilloried him in leaded =bong-primer. Finally, he was punished .by-V special providence, for the potato-bugs, left their potatoes to eat every 'blade of his wheat crop. Let the kissiugly inclined take warning. In one of the tows colored men were M of burglary. The jui were tried were all coi After the case was and made a verdict, ed to the'court. judge asked for thk foreman delivered as ."Dis jury find dal ted in de sto' and stoi, oder didn't do noffin." " iVhi?b, one did you find guilty ask ed the judge. "Dot's de question, boss,"! returned the foreman ; dat' jes' what weeaul find oat, and We recommended dat de • hiMiorible coat jes' have a:oder trial, and end out which ob cm two niggers stole-dolmen." A Western cotemparary thinks it smart to relate that an lowa editor, recently, to keep up with thestyle,raa Wraith a man's wife. He did not get off so easily, how ever, as he imagined he would. The man followed him and overtook the. truant pair. The editor got behind the woman, and prepared to sell life as dearly as pos "sible. He was uncertain as to whether 'the outraged husband would'shei e. him, or murder him with a carving knife. stood there, like the bay upon the burning deck, and calmly , pgaited,Ote outraged husband came up within ibout two feet of the editor , . and said, "Cuts* your impudence. I Ira ni; you to stoop ray paper." That was all. The editor re covered himself, and said, he would: have the matter attentled..to_.s - once. During .all. the trying scene tha t woman stuck ta the editor like a sand burr tip a prli'sstock ing. Sonia people get mini and slap their puler - for almost nothing-=it bents; all. NITMB.ER
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers