mm-: S d !™2 ■« Jhiplic»i W rat fa*. anrp*r^MM^i.: th *^ l R;tenUflo vjuMttipiSffiiS#** l ’* HMn My Uyla reqakod, ° r 'Hfc «btnut«d: J '' wy»*ck»d»nd pvpSbra JMtßli.at the -J>*» eWM TldnitT.. l|*|j I ; r nt Vtf. If D! EVER ONWARD! P BY STEP.I a «r^yssfes -ed a larguaod ratfrelypewAtgtk of )ss Goiidg ■ iVablk PAmmms. ■m»j' be tnnnd K it. would be tw Mowgfjl^ET 1 ' in«' of pnn>, fresh radThheakTr & PROfISBPNS ■her” to «ny of mj ~-ryirtltnrs Is Brarethat {'ran«»3«wS32eti*•*; T 4IAJI - _Y. LARI) Ol <* L—A TOOTH, 6 ’ Tanuh MOV PRIN 1 udiiiilttudkfl rrANH F f.rff: . pA»J> omAN’E S CARF >lbw*i»i ‘ L Atifeor: li'WfcM MoC RUM & BERN, \ 0L- 8- Muskingum Talley ZANESVILLE. OHIO. lITg ASE NOW TOBNINa OCT A LAJBGE I T oamber of oar Impaired Portable Steam Koines, .d portable Circular Saw Will*, aa well aa Stationary iucinee and Saw HtUa, beany of which are finding,theli .into Blair, Cambl la, Huntingdon and Crawford Coun i ami other porta of tlndbjt of Peonaylranle. Those Sready weired and in Operation, an giving the moat en e satialactiOD. Than ia now hardly a State or Territory ,(,0 Onion. bat that,oar improved Portable Knginee n,I Saw Hills are in ate lu. All our Engine have Spark (neater buck* on them which confine the flying sparks. \Vi would respectfully refer you to tire following gentle ■iniord Ccrtlflcatea for the portability utility and urac icsl operations of oar Portable Steam Engtnea and Saw idle Haanrowv, Crawford Co., Pa., 1 May 16lh. 1863. / Mssm-J. * J‘ U- Dota.U': —Gentlemen \V» received urTweatv Horse Power Portable Engine, nnd Saw Mill, i, guod order. Wo are perfectly satisfied with it; every blue works to our entire eatislkction —in fact hoyund our ipectalions. We saved 4000 feet of white-oak boards in :v!) hours, and could hate done maro in the some time ;iuil *•* have bad gfod logs. We take pleasure, in recommending those in want ot VA w Mills and Enclasp to purchase of you. Respectfully, C. REYNOLDS A E. ANDRESS. Wc are authorized to say, for Mr. Samuel Millikan, iloilidaysburft Pa* that the 2D horse power Portable En ■me aud flaw MJU we sold him, haa fully met hi- expec utiou and proved itself to be all that was claimed for if our cireiiSar; and since starting it, has scut In his -iei for a second Engine add Saw Mil), of same powet .ml size. ■ . ...... . ' ... for farther references, we will *give tho naznea of M. i Dill and Thomas M’Aulley, Altoona, Pa.; A. L. Ilolll „vy. Hollidßyaburg, Pa.; M.'M. Adams, Cresson, Pa.; \V. J. Zeigler and Joseph 8. Reed, Huntingdon, Pa.; Messrs hurley, i C'* ereiy tfyla, «*«■ tad shape, for both old and young. %11 be asks Is that the people ctllsod examine h» stock. . Id in (Sabi eouadect that he can Mpdthem away re Mleina, If BattelbiTpnrebaae ofsuchan article as they Vented, at the remembrance of haring looked upop thr ■aodeomest stock of Hats, Caps, Flats, tc, anr exhibited -this tows. . . I I hare also on hand ah entirely new stock of ) 3)0 -'•(•OT *■ *» U» Ladies’ and Childrens’ Hats and Flats, »Uich I am confident cannot be enrpaeaed In the country, til of which I«m aril at the moat reasonable prices. Ke nnnber the Wall of Fashion when yon want anything In :he line of head covering, and call on Mey4.'«g-tf 33 rug Store. £ BERLIN &CO v ANNOUNCE TO O « the citizens of A Itoona and vie liiity that they have opened tt Dmg and Variety Store in WORK’S NEW BUILDING, Virginia Street, between Julia and Caroline Streets, where may l>e had DRUGS, CBXMJCALS. DYK-STUFFS, FTrktfT MFDWINBS. psrfumebies, I‘ALVTS, OIL, GLASS, POTTY, and mI other articled naoaUjr add in the Drug bwineaa. OUR MEDICINES of the purest and oest qa&kUr, and oar Chemicals bear the marks of the beer ninufactarerx. Painters, tilasiera,- Builders and others requiring tones * fUim,- UIU, ?ARSIBILKdt *'"*»» OUut, Py&Ht Item Bruikii, Sat/iji oJfcilSc., «fc., „ «rJU Bad unr uaortm>-!;t to be of the BKST QUALITY AND AT TU.K LOWKf'T PUCES, pnpureiit Wines and Llqnorn for Medicinal M4ehani calaeiSacrament*! purposesalways in store. wm promptly answered, and < * ccnra *** y com P ot,ndw, ‘ $O. iVEH m*. - - - - .•• / -■ - Market and Third Streets, MEN AND BOYS’ -WEAK, EXCELSIOR THE ALTOONA TRIBUNE. E. B. McCSVM, - . - - - • U.C.D&BN, tDITOP.R AITD PBOPEIZTORH. Per annum, (payable lavAriaMyin advnnCe,). $1 50 All papers dfeeootipiied ; at tlte expiration of the time paid lor. 'rUMS; OF ADVERTISING t . 1 ioMTtkm 2-do. S do Four lined or $ 26 $ 37)£ $ 60 One Square, (8 Knee). 60 76 • i 00 Two (16 « ) 1 00 1 60 2 00 Three “ (24 w ) 1 60 2 00 2 60 Over three weeks ami law than three months, 2> cents per square for each Insertion.: 3 months. 6 months. 1 year. Six lines or lesa. 1 60 $ 3 00 $6 00 One square .... 2 60 4 00 7 00 Two *• 4 00 6 00 10 00 Three «• 6 00 8 00 12 00 Pour ; 6 00 10 00 14 00 Half a column 10 00 14 00 20 00 Ode column 14 00 26 00 40 00 Administrators and Executors Notice# 1 75 Vlerchants advertising by the year, three squares, with liberty to change....:... 10 00 Profrasiodal or Jteatows Cards, not exceeding 8 lines with paper, per yaar.w........i - 1 — 6 00 Communications of $ -pOtittea< character or individual interest, will be charged according to the above rates. Advertisements not marked with the number of Inser tions desired, will be continued til Morbid and charged according to the above terms. Business notices five cents per line forevfry insertion. Obituary notice* exceeding teo lines, fifty cents a square. #hrier f ojrttg- COO ftUSSS YOU! How sweatly fella those simple words Upon the human heart. When friends longbonnd by strongaet ties Are doomed by fete to part! Too sadly press the bauds of those Who thus in love caress yon, And soul responsive beats to soul. In breathing put God bless too.” “God bless you I” ah! long months ago I beard the iftourUfol phrase* When one whom 1 in childhood loved Went from *ny dreamy gaze. Now blinding tears Ml thick and fast. I mourn my long lost treasure, While echoes of tha heart bring hack The ferewhll prayer, “ God bless yon.” The mother sending forth her bo< To scenes untried and new, Lisps not a studied, stately speech. Xor murmur* out ‘'adieu.” She sadly says, between her sobs, “ Wheue’r misfortunes press you, Come to thy mother—buy, come hack;' Then sadly sighs "God bless you!” “God bless you” more of love expresses ' Than volumes.without number: Keveal we thus our trust in Him Whoso eyelids never .slumber. I ask in parting no long speech, Drawled out in studied measnr* : 1 only ask'the dear old words, -8o iweet—eo'sad—“-God bleaaiyou. , ‘ JFj tlui JOHH KOBOAITS SUBSTITUTE. A STORY OF THE PRESENT WAR. It had been the day fur drafting in a little town in the hill country of Con necticut It was nightfall now-, and- a man walked slowly home to the wile who watched for him. He was a tall hand some fellow—thirty-five perhaps; vigor ous of limb strong of muscle, with kindly, yet earnest eyes, well cut features, and an expression of fearless integrity. You would have known him at once for what he was—-a good, unselfish, courageous, honest man, worthy, of vanning, capable ol holding a woman’s love. She who listened for bis coming heard (he slow step upon the gravel, and sprang from the door to meet him. You could see, even in that dim light, what a bright, cheery, pretty woman she was, with her loving eyes—her dark, satin-smooth hair-, her red, tender lipsand the fresh roses on her cheeks. She went up to her husband, and put her hands on his arm lovingly. “I know you have bad news for me John.” “Yes, Mary; I most go. 1 was the third drafted.” .The wife felt her limbs shake, and she thought at first that she could not Stand. All the force of her nature seemed giving way, but she rallied bravely. For his sake she would be calm and strong, but she coaid not speak just then. She led him into the house, where the children were—five of them ;; the- eldest only ten in July just gone. .There was something in their father’s manner which checked the noisy demonstration with which were'wont to greet him, and they only gave him a few silent kisses as he sat down in the great chair by the west window. He buried his face in his hands for a while, and then :he lifted it, and looked round on the little group of his loved ones. Three girls and two boys, and his wife their monger, looking, in spite of years of care, a» :fair, almost as young, as the day h? brought her home, his new-nwwle bride. His chest heaved witb a batter sigh—a sort of sob of then he. said, as if he femred ; ewn she, nm other self, might ■ “'Hod lnow’S, it is not fur our own PtAoj Mary. Ido not think lam afraid to die. I would go with more than wil lingness—with joy i-if I had not so much to leave. If I fall, vfbat will become of you and the children t I cannot bear to think of what you aught suffer, with no one to stand between you .and the cam and sor rows of the worid. Maty, this drafting indiscriminately dew riot seem just— Sore the mep ought to go first.” Hb wifßSttie herlittle band into his very gently. , . JEWS BMITU ALTOONA. PA.. TUESDAY. JULY 21, 1863. Do not think of us,” she said, with a true, woman’s self-forgetfulness. “ It* is not that. We should Bo well enough.— Yon need not fear tliat we should come to want. But O, John —” And just then she broke down utterly, and cried out with a burst of passionate tears: “No I cannot bear it 1 You will die 1 I shall never, never see your face again! If I could know that you would come back, even were it maimed and helpless I would not nuirmer: but to think that you might die there, and I could not help you—that your eyes would seek mine, your hands grope for mine, and not be there—O, John, I shall go mad with hopeless horror!” It was bis turn to be the comforter now. He drew her into the shelter of his arms: lie rested her poor head on his breast; he whispered tenderly: “ All who do not die, Mary.— God watches over us there as well as here. Some women’s husbands must go, poor child. Something may happen yet that J shall not have to.” He knew, however, no solitary chance under the wide heavens by which he could escape. The words with him were but the vaguest utterance of soothing; but she caught at them eagerly. “ You could procure a substitute, per haps—is that what you mean ?” “I would if I could,” he answered, evasively, remembering in bis own mind the difficulty that richer men than he had experienced in procuring them in those quiet, thinly peopled, agricultural towns. “ l am very tired, Mary, can you give me some tea?” Cheered a little by her new hope, and anxious above all to cheer him and make him comfortable, the wife got up and went into the kitchen. The biscuits for supper were already made, and in a few minutes tea was upon the table. John Morgan drank \up after cup of it, with an eager, feverish thirst ; but eating with him was a mere feint. When the meal was over the children were put to bed, all but the two oldest girls. They stole out to the open door, and sat down in the September moonlight, their arms around each other —feeling with a sort of dumb (lain, that a. shadow which they could not resist, had fallen upon the household.— * Their mother, meantime, had lighted her lamp and taken her wock-—a child’s frock, which she was finishing—to the little round table. She would not let this even seem more unlike other evenings than she could help. Soon there came a footstep on the gravel walk ; this time a quick firm tread. The girls in the door made way for the new comer to enter, and he came in and stood "silently for a moment in the centre , of the little sitting.room. He was a slender, elegantly moulded man. You could sec at a glance that the fibjje of his manhood had never been tested by any tough, struggle with fate. Yet one would not have doubted his untried courage. It shone in his steady blue eyes, sad with unspoken pain; it betrayed itself in the curl of his lip, the curve of his nostrils. They say no soldiers ever fought more bravely than the gentry of England—white of hand, haughty of look. [■>• v.l lelicate of feature. Some such blood flowed in the veins of Ash Thornycroft. He was the only son of the rich mill owner whose foreman John Morgan was. He was no stranger to the little cottage; and even in this sorrowful hour there was no danger of (us being unwelcome. He was the first to speak. “ It is hard on you, Morgan, this draft. My father was saying to-night that he did hot know how he should contrive to spare you. So well you are doing now, too—already comfort and competence to you and yours, and better thipgs in pros pect.” “ It’s needless talking. I think I was nth; born under a lucky star. You were Mr. Xhornycoft’s son to begin with, young, rich, without a tie to fetter you; and of course the draft spared you.” i “ Without a tie ? Do you call that happiness ?" John Morgan’s eyes fell beneath that sad, steady gaze of reproach. He remembered the one who died in March, on whose grave the lonesome spring rath had wept tears which sprung up again in roses and violets —the gentle girl whom Ash Thorny croft had loved so long and well. “ Forgive me,” said Mr. Morgan, ki a low penitent tone. The other went on. . “ I think you forget yourself a little when you repine at this stroke as it were the worst thing,that could have happened Would you give up your wife or one of your children even, to escape from the perils of this war.” “Didyou think I was a coward!” and the honest soul looked indignantly out of John Morgan’s eyes. “ If I were to fell, what woiUd they dot I have struggled to shield them, so far as I could from want, care and privation. How are they fitted to | tread the world's rongh path alone?” : V “No. | did not take you for a coward. If I had,' I should not have thought .your [INDEPENDENT IN EVERYTHING.] life worth saving I think I know how I should feel in your place. It is a place in which I shall never stand. lam going to enlist, John. It is my duty, for 1 have nothing to keep me r at home. lam readv to give all that I have to my coun try, If 1 fall. I shall only go the sooner where all my longings tend. What is to hinder my sparing you to your happy fireside ? I caine to propose myself its your substitute.” “It is not —are you sure it is not —to spare me ? Would jou go in any case ?” John Morgan asked, with a little doubt in his voice. “ Da not fear that I am going for your sake. i made up my mind as soon ns the call came for volunteers. I only waited for this very thing —the chance, If I should not be drafted myself, of saving some man to (he family who loved him. lam glad it is you, John, my good old friend, to whom I cun render this service.” . Siohn Morgan was a man of few "words —of feelings which lay so deep that they seldom rose to the surface, hut there wa= something which Ash Thornycroft needed no language to interpret in the look of his eyes, and the grasp of his hand, as he hurried out of the room. Thornycroft was one of t hose men witli a vein of tenderness in the midst ot their strength which always allies them more nearly to women than to men. Leit alone with Mrs. Morgan, he said what he'never would have said to her husband. It was when she thanked him, with earnest words, and sobs and tears yet more elo quent. “ There was one, Mrs. Morgan, who loved me as well as you • love John. You do not need to thank me. All that 1 ever could do for any other woman, 1 would do for her sake. You have seen her: you know how fair and sweet she was ; but 1 think no one save me know? all her purity, her saint-like goodness. 1 have had only one hope since she died that I might be fit to go to her. If I die in this good cause, think of me as happy with an unspeakable happiness. It will be but opening the golden gates the sooner I shall not see you again, so 1 will hid you good-bye now." Her tears fell upon his hand—her lips touched it. She whispered brokenly her blessing—the blessing of one who owed to him more than life: and so anointed for his work, as it were, by those holy tears and prayers, he went away. The girls at the door saw his face in the moonlight, while yet radiant and tender. They' ran into their mother, asking their childish questions— “ What made Mr. 'thornycroft. look so? What was he here for?” “Father is not going away Thornycroft is going in his stead, shall keep father at home.” And then womanlike, she fell to hugging them and crying over them—just then John came back, and took them alto gether in his strong arms. It was one of the supreme moments of life which whether of joy or grief, picture themselves,clearly, to our mind and need no description. Ash Thornycroft walked with a firm tread. He turned aside when he came to the church, with the old burying ground in the rear, full of grass grown mounds. He wont in there, and knelt beside a grave on whose -headstone the name of Con stance Ireton gleamed white and clear in the bright moonlight. “Oh, my darling, my darling!” he cried, with his lips pressed to the sod. f If the dead could hear, that still heart ocncath should have throbbed again to the accents of such love. Many a night had he talked to her there, as now, with a strange sense of nearness—a full belief in the communion of their souls. “ You are not here, I know, and yet 1 know you hear me. I am going away to-morrow, God's soldier and yours. — Give me your blessing, Constance, and pray for me, you who have already seen, the Father’s face, that I may do my work without faltering, and the end may soon come.” It was but a dream of his own over wrought fancy; but he seemed to see a cloud draw near, from which a face looked—a white sweet face, sad with waiting, yet glorfied with immortal hojfe. And he seemed to hear a voice, which said: “Go forthj my. beloved, and do your work. Soon will the straggle be over, and the reward is long and sure.” For an instant he seamed to see the I smile upon, her face, the look of faith* | ful love in immortal eyes. Then, when he | stretched out his hand toward it, the cloud seemed to melt into the white nvuon • light; not even ah: icho of the voice thrilled the September air—he was alone [ with the night. I He went away next day to join his | regiment—one which had already seen i hard service. “ . There was in him the true pettle of the j true soldier. His day might be short—he i would be busy while it lasted. Besides, 1 J think lie liked his grim work. He was | always to be found among the volunteers for any desperate service. In many a fierce charge he led the van, with his bright, fair hair glittering goldenly in the sunlight, and a blue glist in his eyes. He was never wounded. Nothing happened to disable him from his duty. He; had re fused well-earned promotion, and once. when a true comrade, who marched always at his side, bad asked him the reason why, he sadly answered: “ Because shall bo here such a little while.” “ I thought you volunteered for three years. I had heard that you bad came in the place of a nine months’ man, but that you chose to enlist fur a longer time and join an old regiment.” There was no answer to the inquiring tone which made a question of his re- marks. and Stephen Chase, who under- stood his comrade too well to press the point, was as much puzzled as ever. He comprehended it all the better the night before Fredericksburg, 'they sat together on a stone a little Way from their tent. For a while they both had been thinking silently of what the dawning was to bring. “It will be a tough fight,” Chase said at length. “ You may well say so,” Ash Thornycroft answered. “It is a terrible responsibility to assume, that of leading men Jo such certain destruction ; and yet, if we can but win the victory ! There is hardly a man but would be wil ling to sell his life .for that. It is the only regret I have in going in,' that I shall never know which side conquers.” “Nonsense, man; don’t get blue after seeing so much blood spilt as you have, and coming out of so many hard bouts scarless." “It was not my time, hitherto. It is now. 1 shall go into the fight niore joy fully than ever tired children went home. I have only one wish. If you pull through alive, take care of my body. I wa o t to be buried at home, beside a grave that was made last March, in the West ville churchyard. You, must send me to my father—David Thornycroft, Westville. Connecticut. Here it i«, written down for you. Papers that I left at home, explain ing my wishes, will be sufficient for the rest." His manner carried e.inVictiori of bis own faith in his forewarning, bnt Stephen Chase tried to shake it oft’. “ I never knew a presentiment; to come true in my life,” he paid sturdily. “You will talk over the battle-field twenty- four hours trom; ndW.” ' Thornycroft only smiled, as he said: •• Do you promise what i asked, Stephen* Will you send my body to my father, if it is within your power to protect it?” “ Yes; for your satisfiaction, ! promise. 1 shall not bid you good-bye, though.” They were toiling up the bill, that fatal 1 afternoon of the next day, side by side, when suddenly Thornycroft looked round with kindling eyes to. his comrade. He stretched out his hand with a smile which the other will never forget if he lives till his hair is white. Mr. We “Goodrbye, Stephen!” The instant he fell heavily. A rebel shot had given him his mortal wound. With exertions which would Seem hai incredible if I would relate them, Stephen Chase succeeded in getting him off the Held. He was not dead, and a hope still lurked in bis comrade’s heart that be might yet live to tell at borne the story of the war. He did not speak or move, but faithful Stephen could feel the faint beat ing of hisheart. He did hot die till the troops had gone back across the Rappahannock. ; He be longed to a division which went into the fight six thousand strung and went back at night with only fifteen hundred. He . lay there with the wounded round him the thin ranks out of which "so many brave feet had marched forever. Just at dawning,. he looked up, and met his friends’ eyes. He faltered, feebly: “ A defeat, Stephen, I lived to know victims not conquerors.” Then his face brightened witba strange radiance and he whispered so softly, that his friend could scarcely catch,the words— whispered as to some invisible auditor: “Yes, my darling, yes.” The neat instant the faint heart-beat under Stephen Chase's hand was still. They have buried him since then, beside the grave where ihe knelt in the moonlight the night before be went away. Only a foot of earth between the two who loved ejacb other so dearly. Is there so much'?; Surely our dreams of the future is not in van. Surely somewhere in the hsaven which is i anchored off this world,’ where sickness and sorrow never come, and there are neither ware nor rumors of ware; somewhere. in that still land _of Peace they are tasting the cup of joy which earth denied them. John Morgan, and John; Morgan’s wife and children, will speak the name of Ashy Thornycroft all their Jives with such reverent tenderness as befits -the memoiy of one who is enshrined in their hearts as saint and as deliverer. We. know not for what good end he and those who fill, with hini fatd'down their Uvra-nG-bd grant that we may know hereafter—that ,the eeed sown in tears we may reap with ■ exceeding great joy.’ . - i ; . ■ EDITOBS AND A WIFE. Mr. Dimlight, has prayed every day that his wife would tumble down stairs and break her neck, or else die, like a Christian, in her bed. The simple reason for this is, that Mrs. Dimlight was fond of complaining, taking medicines, and having protracted interviews with, the doctor, alt of which required money, and money Mr. Dimlight hate* to part with. In fact, he had much rather- part with Mrs. Dimlight; but that lady manifested no intention of leaving this pleasant world and taken np her abode in an un certain sphere. Neither didsbe eaytbat she could live, leaving her lord i» an un certain state, and her physician ia a per plexed condition. The doctor said she wanted rousing, and Mr. Dimiigbt tbought that he would do somethißg to start her, and get her out of bed. He hit upon a plan which he thought would operate in a satisfactory manner. Mrs. Roundwink acted in the capacity of nurse to Mrs. Dimlight. - Mrs. Bound wink is a widow, very pretty and very coquettish. For a handsome present she resolved to enact the part, that I)untight marked out for her; so one evening when Mrs. Dimlight was groaning, and threat ening to die, Dimlight called in the widow. ~ “ She is going to kick the bucket at last,” said the husband, “so you and I may as well fix things so that we start fair.” v Mrs. Dimlight turned her head and stopped moaning. Her eyes began to as sume an unnatural brilliancy. The par ties in the room to.>k no notice id 1 her. “ Yes,” said Mrs. Roundwink, “ she is going at last. 1 Now we can talk over bur own afiairs.” Mrs. Dimlight raised her fonn in bed, and sat bolt upright. She listened atten tively, and her eyes grew brighter. “ How soon shall we be married after she is dead?” asked Dimlight, passing his arms around the substantial waist of widow Roundwink. “ I suppose you will be wilting to wait a week or two 1” simpered Mrs. Round wink, lovingly. Mrs. Dimlight uttered an exclamation which sounded profane, and giving one spring, landed on the floor. . . ' “ You think I’m going to die, do you V she yelled. I’ll see you hanged first! I’ll live to spite you —yes, I will! Now out of my bouse! (turning to Mrs. Round wink.,) for you. don’t stay here another minute! 1 can act as my own nurse, yon good for nothing huzzy !” v And from that day there was rapid Im provement in Mrs. Dimlight’• health.— She no longer; tolerated nurses, butane can imagine what kind of a life poor Dimlight leads. His version of the love making scene is not believed by the restored Mrs Dimlight. The Beauty of * Blcbh.—Goethe was in company with avmotber andher daughter, when-the latter being reproved for some fault blushed and bunt into tears. He said: “How beautifol your reproach has made your daughter. The crimson hue, and those silvery tears, become her belter than any ornament of gold by pearls.- There may lie hue on the neck oi any woman ; but those are never seen 'discon nected with moral purity. A full Mown rose besprinkled with the purest dew, is not so beautiful as this chikl,Ulushing beneath her parent’s displeasure, , and shedding tears of sorrow at her feait. A blush is the sign which, nature haags out to show where chastity, and honor, dwell.” (9* A former, more celebrated for his fine stock than a good education, wroteto the secretary of an agricultural society in regard to entering his animals-for the premiums offered, and added as a poet script asfoUows: “ Also enter me for the best jackass. I am sure of taking a ; C)r A Lady was once she could not' understand why a gentleman could smoke. “It certainly sbbrfons their lives,” said she. “if didnH kifow that,” exclaimod a gentleman:' ’ “ tliere’s ray fether who smokes every * Messed day, and he’s nowseventy yearioW.” “WeH,” was the reply, “if he had never smoked ho might have been eighty.” * ' 03T When you go to kiss—first grasp with haste around the waist, and ting her tight to thee ; and then she’Hsay "!)© go way—do, won’t you let, pss |a?“— Then, 0, what hjiss! but neve| miseao good a chance as that; theft make a dash, as quick as flash, and—Geotgie bold' my hat. When Jack visited Venpont, where they have pie for breakfast, he was irreverent enough to remark that thepeo* pie of “Greco Mouplaiu Stale.” w«e “ some” for catty , crStuKton hwre thn* «gp Write ay, p»tron»«fe «od port-fe. if < '■< ' i- • ■ii.l NO. 22