Os famitg eitth.
GOSPEL FEAST.
Lo, the Feast is spread to-day 1
Jesus summons, Come away!
From the vanity of life,
From the sounds of mirth and strife,
To the Feast by Jesus given.
Come and taste the Bread of Heaven
Why, with proud excuse and vain,
Spurn His mercy once again?
From amidst life's social ties,
From the farm and merchandise,
Come, for all is now prepared ;
Freely given, be freely shared.
Blessed are the lips that taste
Our Redeemer's marriage least;
Blessed who on Him shall feed,
Bread of Life, and drink indeed.
Blessed for their thirst is o'er,
They shall never hunger more.
Make, then, once again your choice,
Hear to-day His calling voice;
Servants, do your Master's will;
Bidden guests, His table fill;
Come before His wrath shall swear:
Ye shall never enter there.
' 'Dr. Alford, Dean of Canterbury
LFrom Guthrie's Sunday Magazine.]
LITTLE CREASES.
" My name's Bessie—ye called me so yerself.
Some calls me Little . Creases,an'some jist Creases
—'cos I sells 'em. Yes, Bessie, I s'spose, is my
Christ'n name. I dori't know as I've got another
name. Granny 'as ' Marther's 'er Christian name,
an' sometimes folks calls 'er Missis Jude—some
times they calls 'er Hold Winegar, but that ain't
horfen. No, sir, they don't call 'er. that to 'er
face. Granny 'nd give it' back to 'em if they
did, an' they ain't a bad lot—not them as we
lives with. No, I can't remember when I fust
come to live with Granny—'oW could I? I was
jist a baby, Granny says. Oh, Granny does
whatever she can—she ain't a lie-a-bed. Some
times she goes hout cheerio' now, but she ain't
strong enough for that, ay' the work an' what
she gits to drink makes her precious cross when
she comes 'ome. Yes, 1 love Granny, though
she do take hall I arns.-=-She's a right to, I
s'pose. She says so, anyways, 'cos she took me
when father and mother did, an' father 'ad
vexed 'or. No, I can't remember nun o' them
—and I don't see as it matters much. There's
kids in the Rents as 'as got fathers an' mothers
as is wuss hoff than me. Well, j s'pose, when I
grows up, I can spend what I gits according' to
my own mind. But I 'on% forgit Granny. She
may growl, but she never whopped me—an'
some on 'em does get whopped. Yes, sir, I
knows I ought to be thankful to Granny for
takin' care on me afore I could git my hown
livin'—didn't I say so ? No, I can't read, an' I
can't write. I never went to school. What's
the good o' to folks like me as 'as to am their
livin'? I know 'ow •much I oughter give a 'and
for my creases, an' then 'ow to split 'em up inter'
bunches, an' Pal pickin' up the prices o' hatter
thing at the markets, an' that's ball a gall like
me need know. Readin' an' writin' may be hall
wery well for little gals as can't 'elp theirselves,
but I don't see as it would be hany 'elp to me.
Yes, I likes to look at picturs sometimes in the
shops, but - I can make out what they mesas—
them as I cares about—wi'out 'readin'. Where
does I git my creases? Why, at the markit.
Where else should I git 'em ? Yes, it is cold
gittin' up in the dark,' an' the creases feels shi-'
very when you git a harmful, when the gas is
a burnin'. But what's the good-o' growlin'when'
you've got to do it? An' the women as sells 'em
is horfen kinder in the winter, though they looks
half perished theirselves, tuckin' their 'ands un
der their harms, wi' the frost on 'em. One of
'em last winter gav me a fair market-'and when
I 'adn't .got no stock-money, an' the broWns . td
git a cup o' cawfee an' a bread-and-batter. Golly,
that did do me good, for it was hawful cold, An'
no mjetake.. If it 'adn't been for the pain in 'em,
my toes an' fingers seemed jist as if they didn't
°belong to me. But it's good fun this time o'
year. Weave our larks when we're a-pumpin'
on the creases, an' settin on the steps tyin"em
up. Rushes we ties 'em With. No, we aavo'cto
pay fOr the rushes—they're gived us by them as
sells the creases. Yes, I think lave seed rushes
a-growin'—in' Ackney Marshes—but there wasn't
much in that, as I could see. I'd rather .be
where there was houses, if that's country. It's
sloppier than the streets is. No, I don't go to
church. Granny says that she used- to go, but
they never give her nuffink, so she dropped it.
'Sides, Sunday's when I sells most. Forks likes
a relish a-Sundays for . the breakfastes an' teases;
an' when - I ain't a Valkin' about, I likes to'g - dt
snooze. 'Sides, I haiu't no clothes fit to. go to
church in. No, an' I don't go to theaytres an'
that, nayther—l sh'd like to if I'd got the browns.
I've 'eared say that it's as fine as the Queen
a-hopenin' Parli'ment-th . e Forty Thieves at the
Pawilion is. Yes, I've seed the Queen once. I
was in the Park when she come along wi' them
fine genlemen on 'ossback a-bangle' away at the
drums an' the; 14'spose them was the Parli%
meet. I never was so far afore, an' I ain't been
since, an' I was wery tired, but I squeeged in
among the folks. Some of 'em was swells, an'
some on 'em was sich as me, an' some on em was
sich as shopkeepers. One hold fellow says to me,
says he, ' What do yea want 'ere, my little gal ?'
4 1 want to see the Queen, an' Prince Halbert ;
an' the Parli'ment gentlemen,' says 1. ' I'm a
-Parliament gen'lemany says he, but I ain't
down to-day.' I worn't a goin' to let aim
think he could do me like that, for he worn't
dressed nigh so smart as Wilson a-Sundays.
You're Chaffin'; says I; Why hain't , you got.ae
'oss, an' a goold coat, an' summat to blow ?'
Then he busted out larfin' fit to kill 'isself; and
says he, Oh, you should 'ear me in Parli'ment
a-blowin' my own trumpet, an' see me a ridin'
the 'igh 'oss there.' I. think ..he was 'alt'silly,
but he was very good cratured:—silly folks horfen
is. He lifted me hop right over the people's
'cads, an' I see the Queen wi' my own heys,,as
plain as I see yen,' sir, an' ' , Prince Halbert, too,
a-bowin' away like those, images in the grocers'
winders. I thought it was hurtcommon queer to
see the Queensi-lbowin'. I'd 'speeted that, all on
us would a 'ad to bob down as if we was playin'
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1869.
'honey-pots when she come by. But, law, there
she was a-bowin' away to heverybody, an' so was
Prince Halbert. I knew from the picturs,
though he didn't seem 'arf so smart as the
gen'lemen that druv the 'oases. What a nice
lookin' gen'leman, though, that Prince Halbert
is ! I do believe that himage in the barber's
window in Bishopsgate, with the goold sheet on,
ain't 'arf as 'andsome. Wisher may die hif he
didn't bow to me ! The queer old cove I was a
settin' on, guy me 'is 'at to shake about like the
other folks—law, 'ow they did shake their 'ats
an' their 'ankerchers, and beller, as if the'd bust
theirselves! An' Prince Halbert grinned at me
; an' then he guy the Queen a nudge,
an' she grinned, an' . guy me a bow too, an' the
folks all turned round to look at me, au' I felt
as hif I was a swell. The hold cove was nu•
common pleased, an' he guy me a 'arf
granny said he was a real Parli'ment gen'leman
arter all."
" And what did you do with the money, Bes
sie?" I asked.
" Guy it to Granny."
" But didn.'t you get any of it ?
"Oh, yes, Granny 'd a blow out o', trotters,
an' she guy me one, an' huncommon good it
were."
A little girl who had sold water tresses for
two years, with no more memorable treat than a
trotter, could not be injured, I thought,.by a
little indulgence. If I confirmed Bessie in her
Opinion that, in the complimentary,,,wqr4 she
had already used in refe'renee to nie, wasn't
"Bich a bad sort, arter all," I might be able to
" get hold" of her, 'and eventually do more'gOod
than giving her a little passing pleasure. Still
I Was at a loss how to carry out my 'plan of giv- .
ing her a day's treat; so I asked her to choose
herentertainment for herself.
Well," she answered promptly, "I should
like to 'ave some more to heat binieby ;" and
then, after a minute's pause, " an' '1 should like
to go up the Moniment I've horfen seed the
folks at the top like rats in a cage, an' I should
like to 'ave a look down through theni railin's
too."
/Little. Creases' costume, although it attracted
little attention to herself, was likely to make a
clerical companion stared at, even in London's
crowded streets, where men brush past each
other never heeding—frowning and laughing,
and even talking, as if they were in a dark, dou
ble-locked room alone, instead of publishing
their secrets of character, at any rate, in broad
noon, to the one in ten thousand who may, have
leisure or inclination to notice them. I thought,
however, that it would a bad beginning with
Bessie, if I wished to secure her confidence, to
seem to the ashamed of-her clothes. So I got my
hat, and proposed that we should start at once.
When I took hold of her hand outside the front
door, I could see that she thought that in my
case, as in that of her parliamentary friend in
the Mall, wit was not-equal to good-will. We were
chaffed a little as we walked along. A police
man asked me if I wished to give the little girl
in charge, and when I answered that the little
girl was taking a walk with me, looked more
than half-inclined -to take me into custody my
self. " Qh, he's adoin' the good old Samaritan
dodge in public, Bobby," explained a sneering.
on-looker; " lettin' his light shine afore men.
He don't mean no more mischief than that. I
know the ways'of them parsons. They'd be pre
cious deep, if they knew how ?" I must confess
that the gloss upon my behaviour did annoy me,
because- felt that I had laid myself, open to .it.
But is it not a satire on our Christianity that'-we
should think it " very odd" to see a person, in
whole clothes talking to one in rags, unless the
contitiuously clad person be either - bullying or
benefiting tlie intermittently clad' from the top
of a high cliff of universally admitted social su
periority ?
I ,do not know who takes the money at the
Monument now. At the time of which I write
the money-taker was a very morose 'old fellow,
who, seemed to regret that the gallery had been
caged in. " You„ can't fling her oVer," lie
growled, as we began to mount the weary, wind
ing stairs.
"Did you hear what he said, Bessiel' I asked,
with a laugh.
''"'Oh,. yes I 'eared 'im;" Litle. greases an
swered gravely; "but I ain't afeared.' I'd strata'
so as ye couldn't, if ye• wanted to, an' it ain't
sich as you does thins to git put the pa
pers. It's chaps as can fight doeS them kind .o'
thins."
For a wonder, the day. being so fine, we had
the gallery at first. to ourselves. "lhat's a bus
ter," said Bessie, as she mounted the lagt step,
" I'll 'ave a blow now. Law, 'ow my legs do
ache, an' I feel dizzy like I shouldn't ha' been
'arf so tired if I'd been a-goin' my round"
Aneljet you wanted to come up, Bessie?"
Well, ,I know I did—helse Lshouldn't ha'
come.
, Bessie was more
of
when I explained
to' her the meaning of the " goold colly-flower,"
as she called. the gilt, finial; but she was very
much disappointed when she was told that the
Great Fire after all 'had hot been caused by Ro
man Catholics. " They'd 'a done it, 'if they
could, thdugh," she commentated. " I can't
abide them wild' Iliridlathey's so savage, an'
they's -so silly. There's Blue Anchor Court,
close by the Tents, as is full o' Romans, an'
they's. always a-pitchen' inter each hother wi'out
knowin" what's it all about. Law,' ow they do
'send the tongsed an' pokers flyin'of a Saturday
night! An' the women.4,4truss than the men,• wi'
their back hair a-'lingin down like a 'oss's tail.
They'll tear. the {,, , oWnd hoff a woman's back,
and shy bricks, an' a dozen on 'em will go in at
one, hif a-fightin' wi' their pal, an' is
a lickin' on 'nu, or heven.hif 'e ain't—an' the
men's as bad for that. Yes', the Henglish fights,
but they fight proper, two and • two, an' they
knows what they'sfightin' for, an"they doesn't
screech, like• them wild Hirish--they's wuss than
the cats. No
' it ain't horfen as Elfish-linter
feres wi' the Henglish hif the Hengliai i dOesn't
worret ''em. , Why should they .? What dell 'as
sich as them 'to come hover 'ere to take the
breed 'hour o' 'the mouth of them as 'as a right
to 't ?
Bessie's I.lpereilioUsly uneharitable comments
on Irish character were suddenly interrupted by
an, expression of surprise at the number of
churches she saw risin around her through
the sun:gilt . ,grey `smo kes, The".sensation of
seeing a stale sight from a novel stand-
point seemed to give her more pleasurable ex
citement than anything she had yet experienced
on this to her eventful day. Instead of leaving
her to enjoy her treat, and the new experience to
teach, on however small a scale, its own lesson, I
foolishly again attempted to moralize.
Yes, Bessie," I said, " things and people, too,
look very differently according to the way they
are looked at. You have been taught to hate the
Irish, but if you could see them as some people
see them, perhaps you would like them—if you
could see them as God sees thein—Tioni a 'higher
place than the Monument, you would love
them."
" Granny says they's nasty beasts," was Bes
sie's sullen answer.
"Yes, Granny has been taught to call them so,
just as she teaches you; but if Granny, too, would
look at them differently she would speak of them
differently."
"I don't see as Ilirish is much worth lookin'
at any 'ow."
" Well, but Bessie, you said the churches, and
the shops, and so on, that you've- seen all your
life, looked different up.here !' ,
"They don't look a bit nicer," Bessie an
swered sharply, having at last got . a dim glimpse
of my ._meaning.: " I'd rayther see the shop
windows than them nasty chimbly pots ;" and,
fairly floored, I . once more desisted from my very
lame attempt at.teaching, by analogy.
"Now the river do, look nice," Bessie went on
in.t , 4mph, as if pursuing her argument "But
~law,, what mites o' ttclilx the bridges-'looks 114
'ere ! lIIy I hif that ain't w?steathetoi! there's'
a sojer hin it, I can see 'is redcnat, It-look jist
, . . ... ...
like a fly a puffin about in a sarcer. Look at
them beiges, sir, wi' the brown sails, - ain't-that
'nice? IT.if I ivorn't a gal, I'd go in ,a:-barge :
Law, what jolly lEirks'you iniglit 'eve on ilia 'ere
moniment, watchin' the folks without their
knowin on it. If they was to put a slop !ere, ic ,
could see 'em 'a pricr„, ,, 4 in', but then conlikii't
git down tinif enough to na il 'em." ~. ,•-.
" But God can always see us,kßeiriiie r andielbl:
us, too, when we. do wrong." -.. ..
" Then why don't Ile ? . What's 1.4. 1 .,,n0d o'.
the pollis ? P'r'aps, though, God doiet,' liCe. to'
see the bobbies a.drivin' poor folk Ai:mt. Oratmy
says they're hawful 'ard 'on poor folk?' ''.. ' "
I had again been unfortunate— . Of l co.F.se r iS
would have been easy to answer poor little Bessie
,with satisfaction to -m self; but as I felt that 'it'
would only be with s tisfaction to- myself, I was
the more diSsatisfied that in my 'prentice at
tempts to sow, faith ,in divine government, I
should halve' generated doubts. As the best
thing I •could do uncle- the circumstances, I tried
to remove Bessie's prejudice against the police
as a body, although , I was disagreeably con- 1
seious that,, owing 4 my clumsiness, I had
mixed up the " statimf'us" and Providence in a
very bewildering fashion in my little hearer's
mind.
" Are- the police rd to you, Bessie ?" I
asked.
"Some on 'em
" Well, Bessie, it w,
'lodges at Mr. Wilson' who told me where to
find you. He spoke Its kindly about you. If
it hadn't been for you wouldn't have had
your fun up here." 1
" I never_ said anyaki6k spin
" But.if one policeman is ° kind, why shouldn't
others be ?" 4
" Pr'aps they Mat be, but there's a many as
ain't."
Bessie was a very obstinate little reasoner ;
and when'l.Paiteil from her in. Monument Yard,
I could not help contrasting with bitter humilia
tion t'he easiness o' calling and fancying one's
self a Christian tea, her of Christianity, and the
difficulty of acquittal* one's self as such.
I will only add here in reference, to her,
that I - walked houle to my lodgings !puzzling
,over those words, of the child-loved Loier of
children, '.For of such is 'the -kingdom of
hemien!! Th,ere,seemed somehow an incongruity
between them an the preciOusly shrewd,'and
yet lamentably ignnrant,,little Bessie; and yet
I felt that the. poo,,ilittle -Londoner must be as
dear to. Jesus_ as any Judean boy or,girl He ever
'blessed._,
A MINSTER ROBBED.
."Yotfr purse, Sir," was the challenge, en
!creed by pointing a loaded and cocked navy
revolver over the• buggy dasher, at one of
our Western Pennsylvania ministers, who
was nearing the foot of the mountain. He
was on his Way 4,9 a late special meeting of
his Classis. lie.: had already made many
weary miles over mountain roads, and his
horse was somewhat jaded. At the very
first call'of the'lithwayman, the horde had
come to'a fulrlialt. That was to put an end
to any hope, of ,escape.
"St - Opl' 'was t the first word said by the
robber, emerging from the wayside into the
road, before the astonished, tired and niedi
tatiog, minister. Masked with a handkerchief,
having two holeS cut in it for the eyes, with
out a hat and rather genteel in dress, the
villain advanced.in the road towards the
buggy. Astonisbed at first, and taken all
aback, before the parson could comprehend
the situation,liis good horse had obeyed the
command " stop."
Coming:forWard the assailant laid his left
hand on the line, and in his right he held an
ugly looking pistol, with muzzle pointed over
the duskier, at the minister's breast. No
wonder he was rather surprised.to find that
the fellow's thratening attitude and re
peated call,was a, wally in full earnest, as a
challimge for " Your purse, Sir." Till then,
it had net seemed to -him possible, that i n
caw late date
,of this glorious enlightened
nineteenth cntury, after the free school
system, which:some claim as a panacea for
all moral evils, had been in , operation in our
country for at least a generation ;' till then,
he conld=nOtTrealizce that the occupation of
robbing, men would be carried on in broad
daylight; on' our public highways.
Time was, indeed; when such trade w,as
followed; whin on this very road, lonely re
turning drovers or Eastward hound mer
chants, with sa4dle-bags well filled, were
waylaicl„ hurled from their horses, and it
need be robbed. any -was the.
old tale, of this kind of thing, done on the
Chestnut Ridge; the Laurel 'Mountains, or
the Alleghenies. But for litany years noth-
iry," she answered.
s Sergeant Hatfield, that
ing of the sort had been known; and it was
hard sometimes to get full credence for these
old time tales of horror and blood.
When, therefore, our good brother, Rev.
G. H. Johnston, of Somerset, Pa., recently
found himself stopped on the old turnpike, a
few miles East of Ligonier, the robber in
answer to all expostulations, only demand
ing with repeated emphasis, " Your purse,
Sir," he must have thought, if he had time
to think at all, that " history does repeat
itself:" Finding that nothing less than the
purse would satisfy the horse-leech, he made
up his mind to yield to the force of the ar
gument, and nonresistantly to give in. True,
his purse 'was not a very fat one. To some
rich, old-time merchants, going for goods,
or returning drovers who had just sold out,
the'amount which the fellow got would not
have been much. But, however little there
is in a poor minister's purse, it is generally
his all; and its loss is a serious matter to
himself, and no trifle to his wife and child
ren. Whether brother Johnston's will here
after suffer, we cannot just now say. At all
events, he was hardly a cheerful giver, as
he put his hand into his pocket and deliver.
ed into the hand of the rascally robber -the
demanded, purse.
Misfortunes seldom come alone.. And now
it so happened, . that in reaching into his
pocket for tke purse, he exposed to the rob
ber's eye a'g'old watch chain ' hanging from
his , vest poeliet. Inste,ad of being satisfied
'with the , littic finger which had already been
he enlarged his covetous request,
and now wanted the whole hand.
"I'll take that watch, too, Sir," said the
complacenytThighwayman The pointed ar
gum'ent di the drawn pistol cocked, within
a,few feet of his breast, and in hands that
could .r . iot be trusted, was too much to be
rdsisted.. So the watch had to accompany
tlie`pcirliii. However reluctantly given, it
wasnputlnto the robber's left hand.
" Now you can move on, Sir," said the
_robber. And stepping backwards, with the
inalidT looking shooter still pointed towardb
is . yietim, he motioned him forward. Hav
ing had this interesting rest in the way, it
-did ot need much persuasion or urging to
increase the distance between him and his
'hew found acquaintance. The horse, too,
scented to feel that he had stopped too
readily, and now made good time down the
road. With lighter pockets and a heavier ,
heart the robbed minister went on his way,'
till he met sympathizing brethren.--Ite
formed Church Messenger.
BEAUTIFUL HANDS.
Such beautiful, beautiful hands I
They're neither white nof.small,
And you I know, would scarcely think
That they were fair at all.
I've looked ou _hands whose form and hue
A ! sculptor's. dream might be,
Yet are these-aged,-wrinkled hands
More beautiful to me.
'Such beautiful, beautiful hands !
Though heart were weary and sad,,
These patient hands kept toiling on
That children might be glad.
I almost weep, as looking back •
To childhood's distant day,
I think how these }iamb rested •not,
When Mine were at their play.
Such beautiful, beautiful bands !
,They're growing feeble now ;
For time and pain have left their work
On hand, and heart, and brow.
Alas ! alas ! the nearing lime,
And the sad, sad day to me,
When •ineath the daisies, out of sight,
These hands will folded be.
But oh 1 beyond this shadowy damp,
Where all is bright and fair,
I know full well these dear old hands
Will palms of victory bear.
Where crystal streams, through endless }ears,
• 'Flow dyer golden sands,
And where the old grow young again
I'll clasp my mother's hands. „
BUDGET OF ANECDOTES.
—The New York Commercial thinks that was
a " sensible society," in England, that sent fifteen
tons Of tracts to Chicago.
--ek Christian mother was °Dee , showing her
little girl, about fiveyears old, a picture represent
inc, Jesus holding an infant in His arms, while
the mothers were crowding their children , toward
Him. " There, Carrie," said her mother, " that
is what I would have done with you if I had
been there."
"'I wouldn't' be pushed to Jesus," said little
Carrie, with beautiful and touching earnestness;
"I'd go to him without pushing."
—On Saturday afternoon, a little four-year old
was standini , on the sidewalk in Syracuse, with a
piece of smoked glass in 'her hand, and a black
spot on the tip of hernose. An acquaintance,
passing by, asked the little one, " What is the mat
ter with the sun ?" The juvenile astronomer re
plied, without a momen't's. hesttation, " There's a
piece broke.o.ut of ft?*
.--TriIISTING IN PROVIDENCE.—Gen. Lee's
contrabands met on =the street after old master
and missus had run off, the folloxiing dialocrue'
ensued
" Well, Saint)°, does yer fink de nigger can
shiff for deinselves, an'. de Lor' will take care ob
us ?"
Sambo.-93resi you, Sam, de Lor' don't mind
de 'nigger, uo how.'?
Sam.—" But don't de good book say de Lor'
take care ob de sparrow, what/?s, only worf a far
thing-
6 S'ambo.—" Yes, I guess it do; but-7
Sam.—" *ell, den, if de .good Master take
care ob. sparrow what's only worf a farthing,
guess He take care ob a.nigger.worf $1,200, sat
tin." .
Sambo.—"Dat's so, Sam; didn't tink ob dat
scripture. Guess you'll - make.a good preacher.
Copm„let's trabel on de strength , ob dat Vex"
—When the gallant Sir Ralph, Abe,reconiibie
was - mbrtally'wounded in Che battle Of Abbtkir,
heavai'earrind 'in :a litter on board' the'" Fon
droyant."- To ease his pain a soldier's blanket
was placed under his head, from which h e r „,
eeived great relief. He asked what it was •• It
is only a soldier's blanket," was the answer.
" Whose blanket is it ?" he asked, half liftin }M u .
self up. " Only one of the men's." •• I wish t o
know the name of the man whose blanket thi s
is," insisted the dying commander. "It is Dan.
can Roy's, of the Forty second, Sir Ralph,- an _
swered his attendant. " Then see that Dunca n
Roy gets his blanket this very night," said the
brave man, not forgetting even in his last agom es
the welfare and comfort of another, however
humble. •
—A great rarity in the shape of coins has late.
ly been sold at Paris, namely, a silver one struck
off at Breslau in 1761. Among the person, ell ,.
ployed at the time in the mint was an Austrian.
who, out of hatred to Frederick 11. of Prussia,
who had taken possession of Silesia by right of
conquest, conceived the idea of revenging hi m _
self on that monarch in the following manner
The motto on the coin, " Ein reichs thaler," ( 1 1
crown of the kingdom,) he had divided in suc h
a manner as to make it read, " Ein reich
er," (He stole a kingdom.) The king ordered
these insulting coins to be all melted down, but
some few of them still exist.
—Rev. Dr. Chandler, of Greenfield, was is
the habit of laboring much on his little farm, and
was often dressed . quite plainly. A. stranger
called_ one day to see him, and observing a per
son, barefooted,-with pants rolled up at the bot
tom, and seedy hat and clothes, at work ; in
quired of him, if he could inform him where he
could find Mr. Chandler: "I am Mr. Chand
ler," was the reply. "I mean Rev. Mr. Chaul
ler," said the stranger. "I am Rev. Mr. Chaud
ler,"' was the answer. "But I mean Rev. Doctor
Chandler," continued the stranger. " They are
so foolish as to call me Rev. Dr. Chandler,' re
plied the kind-hearted-old man.— Congr ego' 1 . (112-
alist.
—Soon after Dr. Chandler received his hon
orary title, he was overtaken by a brother c'ergy
man on their way to Association; who thus ac
costed him. " Good morning, Doctor Chandler."
Dr. C. turned round to see who had addressed
him ; but made no reply. Soon after, the saluta
tion was repeated with greater emphasis " Good
morning, Docrow Chandler !" This time, the
Doctor, turning round, and, in his peculiar way,
said, •' Whom did you speak to 7" and drove on.
—The London Nord, alluding to Prince Napo
leon's projected visit to Dublin, gives the follow
ing anecdote of his former visit to Ireland : "The
mayor of an important town wishing to show off
his learning, prepared beforehand .a discourse in
French which he delivered in the presence of his
highness. Judge of the mayor's astonishment
and disappointment, when the prince replied to
him, in excellent English,that he much regretted
not knowing the Irish lan g uage, and was thus, to
his deep regret, prevented from appreciating as
he wished the flattering sentiments which, no
doubt, the mayor had given expression to. The
mayor, full of shame, and confusion, affirmed he
would never again make a speech in French."
—Two Irishmen, stopping at the Island House,
Toledo, lit their gas, and, with windows open, sat
down to enjoy a chat. The hungriest of the
Toledo musquitoes soon flocked in and drove
them desperate. The clerk, who was summoned
to devise some defense against them, told them
to close the windows and put out the gas. They
acted on the suggestion, and placed themselves
between the sheets. Just as they began to doze,
a lightning-bug, which had strayed into the room,
caught the eye of one of the travellers. He
roused his companion with a punch: " Jamie,
Jamie, its no use! Here's one of the cratuis
sarchin' for us wid a lantern!"
—" Is my face dirty'?" remarked a young lady
to•her aunt, while seated at the dinner table on a
steamer running from Cairo to New Orleans.
" Dirty ! No. Why do you ask ?" "Because
that insulting waiter insisted .upon putting a
towel beside my plate. I've• thrown three under
the table, and yet, every time he comes round, he
puts another.one before me."
—A story which does honor to Mr. Gladstone's
goodness of heart, is found in an English ex
change. A gentleman who is in'imately ac
quainted with the Premier, and who could not
possibly be mistaken, was walking through a
street in the neighborhood of Holborn, and saw
Mr. Gladstone talking to an old Irish woman at
the door of her house. lle was considerably as
tonished, at first, because he knew that the house
was let out to poor Irish laborers, and he could
not comprehend what object the premier could
have in such a call. When Mr. Gladstone hail
walked away, this gentleman crossed the street,
and asked the woman if she knew with whom she
had been talking. She , replied : " Shure I don't
know; ; but he is a kind gentleman, and has been
visiting a poor sick laborer, who lies in the back
room." The narrator adds : " EverybOdy knows
that Mrs. Gladstone takes a Most active interest
in a charity for the relief of the destitute ; and.
in all probability, Mr. Gladstone had undertaken
a little sick visiting on her behalf."
—The late Archibald' Constable, the well
known. Edinburgh p9blisher, was somewhat re
markable in his day for. the caustic severity of
his speech, which, however, was only a thin cov
ering to a most amiable, if somewhat overbearing
disposition. On one occasion a partner of the
London, publishing house of Longman, Hurst,
Rees, Orme and BrOvin was dining with Mr.
C. at CoUntry, seat; near the beautiful ° of
L iasswade. Lookng out of the window, the Lo
ndoner remarked, "What a pretty lake, and, wi.at
beautiful swans !" "Lake, mon, and Swans'—
it's nee a lake, it's only a pond ;, and they're ear
thi)ilg but geese! You'll maybe noteCce.that there
are just five of them . ; and BaldY, that ne'er-do
weel bairn there, caws them lionginau, Hurst,
Rees ; Orme and Brown'!" Sir Walter Scott, in
telling the story, Was wont to add : That skit
cost the crafty', many a guinea, for the cockney
was deeply offended, as well he might he, not
knowing the innocent intent with which his
Scotch 'friend made such speeches."-:-IlitaTer's
Magazine.
—An old Scottish preacher is reported to have
said, ; in one of: his sermons at Aberdeen :—" Ye
people of Aberdeen get youriashions from Glas
gow, and, Glasgow, from Edinburgh, and Edin
bnrgh from London,, and London from Paris,
and Paris from the Devil "