Nothing Like Trying. Life after all is a kindly affair; Why ia it stupid and not worth the living ? Striving and getting won't drive away care Try giving. Roowling and growling will make a man old; Money and fame at the best are beguiling; Don’t be suspicious and seldsh and cold Try emiling. Happiness stands like a maid at your gate; roving? Never was groater mistake than to hate Try loving, The Unseen Friend. Tit is too long for me. 1 cannot hear The weary days and hours, But # 1 share Thy weary vigil, wilt thou still despair? My burden weighs me down, [am not tree To haste with eager steps. Yet 1 will be Thy help ard strength me. Divide thy load with The path is strange and ragged, and the night Falls black along the sky. { will be sight For thee, faint soul, avd guide thy feet aright. Nay, but fair homelights on the valley gleam, And voloes oall. What doth earth's 5s; ndor seem Better, more lasting than the | ow-warm'’s beam? And is there, them, for me, no dome nor love Nauoght but those barren wastes? So thou shalt prove The bliss God giveth to his own above. Thou, who art thou, that by me toilest on, - Unthanked, nnasked ? Friend, when thou lookest upon My face, thy place in heaven will be won! Mary Ainge De Vere A BACHELOR'S ROMANCE. A vigorous pull at the front door-bell started Mr. Wells as, with his feet com- fortabl poised on his desk, chair tipped back, and the fumes of an odorous Ha- vans pervading the apartment, he in duiged in his usual after dinner smoke. Mr. Frederick Wells was a confirmed bachelor, and notwithstanding the many solicitations of his far friends, whose charms bad fsiled to melt his ohdurate heart, stiil persisted in eschewing so- ciety, and living with his sister almo t the iife of a recivse. But Mr, Wells had not always been so exclusive: only a few years before Le had metand loved Lucy Shelton, the daughter cf one of Chicago's wealthy citizens, This young lady, though refusing to be his wife so- knowledged her heart to be his, but she bad promised her faiber to marry his partner, Joseph Parker, and circum- stances over whieh she had no control compeliied her to kvep Ler word and mary his rival - her father's choice. In vain he pictured to her the wrung she would do him, herself, and her husband ; nothing could tarn her from her course, Not wishing to witness Parker's tri- umph, Mr. Wells resoived to leave Chicago. Accordingly he, with his only sister, removed to the East, where they occupied an elegant house in one of New Epgland's flourishing cities. In their peaceful Eastern home rumors had reached them ot the failure of the house of Shelton & Parker. Later the sad story of soung Parker's downfall reached their sympathetic ears—how, by becoming a victim of the demon, intem- persnce, he had reduced his fair young wife to the necessity of giving music lessons in order to keep starvation from her door. Mr. Welis, by thinking of Lucy as the wife of another and a wo- man false to her heart's best impulses, sought to banish her forever from his wind, and while he pitied the uniortu. bute Lucy, be still thought that she, in 4 measure, deserved her sad fate. With these bitter feelings would come a wish to stretch out a helping hand to thi woman, who, by scorning his love, had consigned bim *o 8 hopeless, hapless existence. On the sfternoon our story opens he was musing upon a means of siding Mrs. Parker—for he knew her proud epirit wonid refuse any pecuniary as- sistance from him—when the sound of | an unusually loud ring of the door-bell aroussd him from his reverie, and in- stantsneously brought his feet and chair to their proper position. “Whew! he exelaimed, as he knocked the ashes from his cigar, “something unusual is wanted to warrant such impatience.” Just then the door of his study opened, and his sister called him to come and see what had been left at their door. Hastily following her into the hall, he beheld, to Lis surprise, in the arms of a gervan’- who expisined that she had found ** the little thing” lying on tle door step when she opened the door— an infant some seven or eight months old, wrapped in a huge shawl, and calmiv gazing with bright blue eyes at the astonished group Taking thechildin his arms, Mr. Wells proceeded t6 remove the saw] and found pinned to the dress a card hearing the name Lucy, and gath- ering the little form to his breast, great tears welled up into his eyes az he bent his head over the tiny baby face and murmered: “Those eyes! that name! Surely, tLis is Lucy's child.” Then, as it ashamed of his emotion, he handed the child to his sister, telling her in a ruff voice to see to its wants, vanished | to hissenctum slamming the door with | a bapg that plainly told her he did | not wish to be interrupted; and | “here, free from mortal gaze, gave vent to his pent-up feeligs: and while scbs shook Lis manly frame, the question, can this be Luey's child? con .stantly recurred to hime. He had not even heard that she had achild; besides, he knew she was in Chiesgu very re- cently. in a state of abject poverty. But notwithstanding these contrarieties, the resemblance he fancied existed be. tween this little waif and Mrs. Parker, only served to confirm him in the idea that this was indeed her child; then again he would ssk himself—How came it Lo that city? to his door? None of his friends in Chicago knew of his | whereabouts, ¢:nd how was it possible for Mrs. Parker thus to leave Lier elila to tlie mercy of aman she had so cruelly | wronged? At length, not finding a sat'sfactory answer to his queries, he | resolved to keep this little foundling, to bring it up as his own, cherish itasa boon from heaven sent to cheer his lonely life and bring sunshine in to his heart and home. “Well! Ellen, how do you and the little stranger agree?” playfully inquired | Mr, Welis. a8 he met lis sister at the | tea-table that evening. “Her Iadyship and myself are on | wonderfully good terms, considering our | limited acquaintance,” laughingly re- | i i VOLUME XIV. HALL, CO., PA. NUMBER 7. wailing his return, to send for a physi olan and bring restoratives, as he had just ‘found lLmey Shelton, dead, or rearly 80, at their door. Ellen, who had known and loved Lucy during ber happier days in Chi: cago, assuring hersell that she had only fainted, immediately set about bringing haok to life the inanimate form. At lemgth her eflorta were rewarded ; the color came slowly baok to the pallid cheek, the hesutiful eyelids quivered and ree venled a pair of blue eyes that wa dered in a restless, searching glunoe, from face to face, as if looking lor some beloved object. In tones of pitecus agony she wailed: “Oh! my baby! my lost darling!” Then, as if speaking to some unknown person, she wounid elasp her poor little hands and implore the restoration of her ehild I'he doctor declared hers to be a most preoar fous ease of brain fever, and that her recovery would be almost a miracle, as some great mental sorrow was aiding the ravages of this terrible disease For many weeks Lucy's life tottered on the verge of eternity. Mr. Wells and Lis sister were untiring in their care and watehfulness, making every effort in their power to save the life of the hapless mother of their little foundliog, tor as such both had grown to consider her. During her ravings she reproached her faithless hushand with having robbed her of her only source of hap- piness—her ehild, and besought him, in plaintive tones, to bring back her baby, to tell her where he bad hidden their child. On one occasion she pleaded so piteously that she be restored to her arms, that Ellen, moved by her entreat- ies, brought the child and Inid it at her side; but instead of assuaging the mother's sorrow, this only increased her agony, as, turning away from her little one, she acoused them of trying to de ceive her. “My husband has stolen my child,” she cried. “Oh! what shall Id: without my darling?” One day, after Mrs. Parker had been ill for about six weeks, Ellen entered her room to see aiter Lier patient's wants, On approacning the bedside a thin, little hand clasped hers, and a trembling voice inquired: “Have I been iil long ? Oh, Ellen! why did you call me back to a life of misery and sorrow “Hush; you must not talk now. When you are stronger all wil: be ex- plained," answered the delighted Ellen, and kissing her paliid cheek, and recom- mending her to rest, she fled to her brother with the wejcome tidings of Mrs. Parker's recovery. On reaching Mr. Wells' study, she found him in a state of intense ex- citement, caused by something he had read in the newspaper which he convulsively eiutched with one hand, while with the other he pointed to a paragraph that read: ** Last night during a quarrel in ore of the drinking dens in this city, a young man named Joseph Parker was shot through the heart by an unknown assassin. As Parker is a stranger in the city, his body will be in the morgue until to-morrow, in case some of his friends might wish to ¢ aim it.” ““ A terrible end to an ill-spent life," was Ellen's verdict, as, g'ancing over the article, she realized bow just are the punishments of an all-wise God, “Lucy has regained her reason,” she told her.brother, *‘and issensible of her child's We must conceal it safely and the death of her husband from her until she is sufficiently strong to bear this double shock.” “You are right; my dear sister,” re- joined Mr. Wells: “but in the mean. time I will have the unfortunate Parker decently interred .” Accordingly be proceeded to the morgue, and there recognized in the bloated, scarred face the features of a once brilliant man and the husband of the unhappy Lucy. By Mr. Wells orders the remains were conveyed to the nearest churchyard, and a plain marble siab erected, to mark the resting-place of him who had been the cause of his unliappiness and of Lucy's misery. Under Ellen Wells’ skillful nursing, Mrs. Parker's return to health was rapid. Day by day she gained new strength, till at leneth the doctor pro- nounced her strong enough to hear the tidings of her child's safety. Asyet Mr. Wells had not seen her, and only on one cecasion had she mentioned ler pre- server's name. This was, when speaking of her past wretched existence, she blamed herself for having not only blighted her own lite, but for being the cause of his misery. She told Ellen that ber father had extorted a promise from her to marry Parker by avowing himself on the verge of bankruptcy, from which this marriage alone would save him. Accordingly she sacrificed her heart's dearest love in order to save | her father's honor. Matters got worse, instead of better, after this ill-fated mar- riage. Parker spent his time and money at the gaming table, and, finally, | not content with squandering his own | money, spent that of the firm also. A crisis was inevitable, and when at last | the house was declared bankruptevery- thing was sacrificed to satisfy whe credi- tors. Even ber father was not spared her; for, when he realized the extent of misery in store for himself and his cherished child, he took his own life, But hier trisls dia not end here. Her husband fell from one degradation to snother, til! at last, from neglecting lis young wile, he grew to abuse her. With the aid of a few friends she ob- | tained several music scholars, and with the money thus earned kept starvation from her door. Wien at length her pairong refused to aid one whose O88, " $ + an infant of seven months, from the | seene of hier many sorrows, to the East, where she hoped to get employment— but here she was followed and | tortured by her tyrant husband's pres. ence. Life became alaiost unbearable, and but for her child, whom she devo- tedly loved, she would have ended her | own existence. Jealous of the atten tion she lavished upon her ba’ e, the inbuman father threatened to take it | from her. Not dreaming him capable | of so disbolical an act, she did not fear | the fulfillment of this threat, and onthe | afternoon of the day they found her at | joined his sister. ** Come and see her | their door. she le‘t her darliag under new quariers, but, as she is asleep, | his care, while she went forth in search you must make as little noise as pos- | of employment, On her return after a sible! | fruitless afterpoon’s labor, she found “Oh! ho! the little tyrant has issued | her decrees thus early in her reign,” | gayly retorted Mr. Wells; * but shell not find an obedient subject in me;” and with stealthy steps he followed Ellen into the next room, where.lying upon an impromptu couch, improvised with an arm-chair and piliows, was the form of the sleeping child. As. Mr. Wells stood gazing at the infantile face, the blue eyes opened and looked up at him, while a bright smile lit up the baby features and rendered more strixing the memory of another puir of eyes that had looked into his, another smile that had once shed its rays over his pathway. Ellen was delighted at the prospect of caring for this little one. whose coming she felt would dispell her brother's gloom and bring joy to them both. That evening, on returning home at a late hour, Mr. Wells perceived a pros- trate figure lying directly in front of his door. “Hello! Who is this? You will freeze to death in this blinding storm,” he exclaimed. But the figure remained motionless, and, approaching, Mr. Wells proceeded to uncover the face, As the gleam of the street-lamp fell upon the upturned countenance ofa young, and once beautiful, woman he staggered back, muttering: “ Oh, my God! Hasit indeed come to this? My poor, , Luey!” and raising the frail Jn in his strong .arms he cai rie! ler inte tlie | house, their lodgings deserted, and not a trace of the whereabouts of her child to be seen. Realizing that her husband had kept his threat, she rushed, frantic with grief, about the streets in hopes of find- ing some clew to the little one’s retreat. At length, tired of wandering about, she sat down upon a door-step to rest. Here she remembered nothing further; and “Oh! Ellen,” the invalid continued, “to think that I should have come to you, to be nursed by you back to life— you who would be justified in turning me from your door, because of the blight I have cast upon your noble brother's life. But God knows how bite terly I have been punished for my folly.” Tears filled Mrs. Parker's eyes, as she concluded her sorrowful story, and trinkled down her pale cheeks. Ellen, kissing the tears away, vainly tried co cheer her by picturing a brighter fu- ture, the possibility of again finding her missing child. She declared she would never be happy while her tyrant hus- band lived. Ellen, embracing this opportunity, disclosed the details of Parker's death and burial to his Lieart-broken wife, who listened with bated breath and long- Arawn sighs till she had finished the sad recital; then throwing her arms about Files neck she sobbed out her grief on 8 er. The latter endeavored to soothe her sorrows, but Lucy was inconsolable, not s0 much at the loss of her miserable 28 at the realization of her own 1 husha sd and ohild, ** My poor baby," bear all else.” “Then Lucy; vour child is safe and Eilen said, and proceeded to tell weeping mother how her ohild wo, the had it had been taken in and tenderly cared for until she should be sufficiently re covered to receive it back; that this same gentieman was waiting to restore it to Ler arms, and, recommending her to quiet and rest, silen left the room to prepare her brother for the meeting. Luoy had covered her face with her hands and promised to comply; but finding herself alone she threw herself on her knees, and raising her hands and eyes to heaven, in fervent tones she thanked the Father of the widow and the orphan for having spared her to her fatherless little one. “Oh, God!" she concluded, *‘ bless and prosper him who, in his charity, Das succored my lost lamb in its hour of direst peed.’ Rising, she stood to face with Frederick Wells, For an instant her tongue refused to articulate n word, but as her eves fell upon her lost darling, whom he carried in his arms, she utterd a glad ery, and snatching the child to her bosom, the fond wother almost smothered the frightened little one with caresses, Mr. Wells, stand ing a silent witness of this reunion, feit amply repaid for his long years of pain, and he thought how much more blessed it is to give joy than sorrow When Mrs, Parker raised her eyes, streaming with tears of joy, to his face, and said: ‘Mr. Wells, how shall | ever pay this great debt of gratitude, for not only do 1 owe my own life to your kindness, but also that of this child, infinitely more precious to me?" he answered: * By giving me the right to watch over and protect you both, I will be made immeasurably happy” and drawing mother and child to his breast he kissed Lucy's tear-stained face. Of course she consented, for a few months later a quiet wedding took place from the Wells’ residence, when, after all her sorrows, Lucey Parker became the wife of her heart's first love, face Something About Barbers, A barber of a literary turn of mind writes to the New York Sun: In the seventeenth century before Christ, Sesostris, one of the most ancient and the greatest kings of Egypt, shaved himself. He did it to please his wile; and he was the first man, so far as is known, who ever handled a razor. It is to Sesostris, then, that I and my fellow artists owe the art from which we gain our bread. What a queer re- the rasor-makers of Sheflield owe their prosperity to a caprice of Madam Sesostris! Little causes, great events! I donot undertake to explain how this ancient Egyptain learned to shave. Bus I know this, that in France, as recently a- fifty years ago, people shaved themt solves in a very primitive fashion. In those days, when you went into a barber's shop, first question was, “ Do you want to be shaved an pouce or a la cuiller? (with the thumb or the spoon.) Very few of my readers, I dare say, have ever heard of this method of shaving, which, droll as it seemns, had nevertheless its prac tical fe. The barber used his thumb only in the case of ous tomers who had lost their teeth. He introduced the thumb of the left hand | into the mouth, and moved it up and | down in order to soften the skin and | facilitate the operation of shaving. All barbers know, as I do, that it is not an th Lait sic a man who has lost his teeth. The spoon was used only in the case of wrinkled old men and thin men. Not being able to reach the hollow of the cheek with the thumb, the barber sub- stituted a soup spoon. These methods are no longer in vogue, the barbers of the present day having improved upon them. Some days after. the revolution ol February 24, 1848, a number of journey- men barbers out of work were assem- bled in their intelligence office, which at that time was situated on the Qanai des Orfevres. Busiress being very dull on accoant of the political hurly-burly, they were endeavoring to hit upon some means of employing their leisure and at the same time earning their bread. “ Happy thought!” cried one of them of a sudden. *' Let us open a hairdressing shop in the Quartier des Chiffoniers (ragpickers' quarter); rents are cheap over there, and, as the ragpickers are not addicted to .uxury, we won't need | to spend much in fitting up the place.” * A capital notion,” said the others; ““ but, since there are barbers already there, we shall have to hit upon some new style of shaving in order t get their customers away from them." Thereupon a cudgeling of brains. Al. at once the most intelligent of the party shouted, '‘Eurekal"—the ory uttered by Archimedes in the streets of Syrae | cuse when he made his famous discovery. * We will announce on our sign that we will shave with our thumbs, but that before introducing them into the mouths of our customers we soak them in a glass of brandy. Oar success is certain; | the ragpickers dote on what they call in | their picturesque language the tord | boyau.” Thanks to this spirituous | method of doing things, the new bar- hers’ shop was quickly thronged, for tha news spread abroad, and ali the ragpiok- ers of Paris patronized it. Even the indies of these knights of the hook oc- themselves for a shave; they, too, had heard of the pouce a I’eau-de vie. AIS 55.. Care of Nails, Some parsons insist that the finger- | nails are signs of character. The slender | tapering nail, they say, indicates » re- fined nature which is sometimes accom- | by a shrewish temper. i The | suggests natural conr.cness whieh may be allied to good nature. Whether these are signs or not, veals personal habits us to cleanliness. Nails may be greatly improved; both in shape and color, by proper attention. The best appliance is a nail brush used in water softened by the addition of a little borax and really fine toilel soap. in well-brushed and well-cared for nails the little curtain-like rim which snrrounds them is well pushed or rolled back, displaying generally a delicate lit- tle crescent at tue root. The skin of the finger should never be allowed to grow up on the nail, In paring and trimming the shape given should always be as long an oval as possible. To cut n nail squarely off gives the finger-end a stubby look. The corners should be carefully and closely cut, and the center left rather long, sons to give the long oval shape. In cleaning the nails the knife should never ecrape off the inner substance of the nail, a8 this renders the edge opaque and muddy in appearance, whereas it should be transparent. The nail is susceptible of a high degree of polish by rubbing with the towel when drying the hands. The habit of biting the nails is one against which children should be care- fully guarded. It is ruirous to the very structure of the nail, and once acquired, is one of the most difficult habits to break. This is evidenced hy the fact that some men and women, but more especially men, have a habit of biting their nails when reading or studying, of which they are perfectly unconscious, IN Nearly a year has elapsed since the last wealthy young lady eloped with her father’s coachman, and the many re- spectable young men who hopefully sought employment in the stables of the rich during the epidemic are disconso- ately drifting back to their former * . VALUABLE OLD COINS, ————— Siiver Dollar Valued at 81.000, Looking over a large collection of old coins and medals, a New York reporter asked the dealer: ** What coin you have” “Here is an XHgina coin dating 700 years before Christ. It is a didrachma, and was a very common Greek coin It is worth about $6." How is that? Does not a coin become more valuable according to its age?" "* By no means, unless it is rave and n demand as well as old. Many old coins are comparatively plentiful. Here are coins at least 8.000 years old that oan be bought for seventy-five cents, $lorga™ “How do you know they are genu- ine?” “By the same tests that manuscripts and traditions and historical (acts ol ail kinds are authenticated. There are societies not only in New York, but in Philadelphia, Boston, Pittsburg and other places, where they make a study of these things. Thereis no more trou- than any other object of antiquity.” “Have you any specimens of the ‘widow's mite ' spoken of in Seripture?” ““Yes; thevarenot very searce. Here is a coin issued by Pontius Pilate.” “You have 1 ever found any of the siiver pieces for which Joseph was sold “No, there would be no means of identifying them, because not coined or stamped. The silver for which Judas betrayed his master was coined money. The progress of the art of coining is a sir index of the progress of the ages. First there ware only ruce stamps on chunks of silver or other metal. Then the stamps were made larger, but no attempt was made 10 fill the moid. The more modern coins out covering the r.m as well as the faces Some of the medals that have been coined to commemorate various events are the most beautiful specimens of die utting. There is naturally more scope medal. Here is a beautiful medal struck in 1830 to commemorate the fiftieth auniversary of the independence of Bel- gium. There is one of 1637. The sub- ject is the siege of Breda, in the Nether- iands., Here is a double crown with the portrait of Ferdinand 111. and his wife, lars; it is now worth £15, “What are the chiel coins of the United States that are worth more than their face value?” “The silver dollar of 1794, with | flowing bair, is worth $15. The silver dollar of 1504 is worth $2300 to £700. The silver dollar of 1835 is worth #15, The half dollars of 1794 are worth $35; | of 1796, 850; »nd 1797, $10: of 1536, with milled edge. $3. An original half | dollar struck by the Confederate States | in 1861 is worth #300, The quarter dollar of 1796 is worth $1; of 1533 and 1827, $15: of 1853, 50 cents. The twenty. cent pieces of 1877 and 1878 are worth | £1 50 each. The dimes of 17968 are | worth 50 cents: of 1797, 1798, 1800, 1801, | 1802, 1803, 1804, are worth #1 each. In some cases there have been different issu~s of the same coin in the | same year. One issue may be a rarity, snd the other issue may be plentifal. | I'ie only way to determine the value is | to see what a piece will sell for. Of} half dimes. sp issue of 1794 is worth £1; | of 1796, 1797, 1801, 1803, and 1805, $1 each. TIhemost valuable half dime is | of the issue of 1803, which £12.75. Three cent silver pieces from 1863 to 1868 are worth twenty-five cents | each. Those of 1873 are worth sixty cents each.” i “How about the nies?’ “There are many varieties, and their value varies from ten cenls to $10 acomding to the perfectniss of the stamp. There are several kinds of the issu: of 1783 " and famous liberty pen. | thirteen links. Apother kind Las a liberty cap and wreath of a different de- | ol 1856, which is worth fifty cenls i il the device that it was withdrawn from The most valuable hall-cent is the issue | of 1798, which is worth 85. The bail. | cent issues of 1836, 1843, 1847, and 1852 are worth 88 each. The half cent is. sues of 1831, 1841, 1844, and 1846 are worth 81 exch. The half-cents of 1840, 1842, 1845, and 1848 each." | sons ignorant of this, and anxious to | make a nollection, offer large sums for | a coin of this date, This makes a de- | mand and the demand ealls tor a supply, 80 there have been cases where the cent {of 1813 has been altered so as to almost | defy detectior. Again, the silver dollar | of 1804 is sought after, and counterfeit { ers have succeeded in making a coin | very similar to the original, Injecting Morphine. A number of persons more or (ess | prominent in different walks of life have | died in this city, says a New York | paper, within a few months from the | direct effect, it is said, of hypodermic | injections of morphine. | had, according to report, begun the in- { jections in order to relieve themselves { from pain caused by neuralgia, rheama. { tism, or some other distressing disorder. | The effect was so pleasant, 80 delicious, | indeed, that they were gradually sedu- {eed into such use of morphine when { they had no need of it, and, soon yield- ing’ completely to the habit, were | destroyed by it. Physicians say that {this has grown to be far from | yncommon AMONE Persons | men, who, after having tried it a while, | have not had the strength to relinquish | | the delightful anodyne. Nor is it by | | any means confined to New York. The A GUOD YEAR FOR LOUUSTS. Professor Miley Predicts that the Locusts will Swoop Down Upan the Country Next Sommer—Interesting Facts About These | wscots, This is to be a good year for the lo. cnsts. In the Southern States they will be particularly abundant, and it is | more than probable that the woods in { Maryland, Virginia and the District of | Columbia will resound with their rat. tling song. This will be unwelcome news to the farmers and florists, who know, from sad experience, the de. structive character of these insects, It will be remembered that in the summer of 1868 the locusts were particularly { abundant in this locality. There was | bardly a foot of ground in the woods {and fields which was not complete! perforated with the holes out ol whie the insects had come, They were everywhere and ate up everything, causing an amount of damage which is still fresh in the minds of agriculturists. They will not appear this sesson in such great quantities, but in the year 1885 this vicinity will be again afflicted by an abundant visitation. ““ There are two broods of the locust,” sald Professor Riley, of the agricultural Fost reporter, who called upor him for information; * one appears every thirteen years, and the By aco- Huesian Exiles, On bisarrival the prisoner is driven straight to the police ward, where he is inspected by tue i~pravaik, a police offi. cer who is absolute lord and master of the district. Jhis representative of the government requires of him to answer the followin uestions: His pame? How old? Ar or single? Where from? Address of parents, or relations, or friends? Answers to all of which are entered in the books, A solemn written promise is then exacted of him that he will not give lessons of any kind, or try to teach any one; that every letter be writes will go through the ispravnik's hands, and that he will follow no occu. ation exept shoemaking, earpenter- ing. or field inbor. He is told he is free, but at the same time he is solemnly warned that should he attempt to pass the limits of the town he shall be shot down like a dog rather than be allowed to escape, and should he be, taken alive, shall be sent off to Eastern Siberia without farther formality than that of the ispravnik's persons! order. The poor fellow takes up his little bundle, and, fully realising that he has now bidden farewell to the cuiture and material comfort of his past life, he walks out into the cheerless street. A group of exiles, nll pale and emaciated, are there to greet him, take him to some of their miserable lodgings and fever- ishly demand news from home. The | it is naturall | large cities. It is said to have grown | | alarmingly during the last five or six | | years, and many persons who would places.” “In what localities?” “The seventeen year locusts will be | | others nervously irritab'e, and the re. mainder have evidently tried to find solace in drink, They live in com- | of the old custom of taking morphine, | | laudanum, and other preparations of | opium into the stomach. The | popular notion is that it is not so harm. | i ful. But there is very little difference, | and the injections are thought to be | | more dangerous because Lhey are more { | insidious. They can be seif-adminis. | | tered without the least trouble, and are | | so administered in nearly all cases where | | serious mischief is done. The effect of | the morphine under the skin is de. | | seribed as peculiarly and wonderfully agreeable, A delicious ‘anguor steals | | over the irame, the senses are wrapped | | a8 in a voluptuous waking dream, and a | | most joyous consciousness of perfect yet | | fascinating repose softly over. | {flows the mind, Even strong | {men and women have frequently | found it hard to resist ita allurements, | | have not been able to surrender its | beatitudes without arousing all their | will. On this account some physicians | { will not administer or prescribe mor. | phine under any circumstances, fearing the consequences to their patients. Not | a lew women of the finer type have been wrecked by the habit, and many men, professions! and commercial are steadily ruining themselves by its indulgence. It was hailed as a great blessing once, and so it is, properly regulated ;: but, like so many blessings, it may readily be & ! 1 i A Romance of Real Life. Grandmas Hamilton has lived for five | years in the Home for the Friend less in Cuicago. A shorl time ago a Indy in sealskins and jewels rang the bell and asked for Mra. Hamilton 2 “ You don't mean Grandma Hamilton, | in. said the lady. | i i Yes, 1 suppose so,’ “ [ would Jike to see her.” i When grandma and the rich Iady met | in tho rarlor the visitor sobbed out: mother! don't you know Louisa?” “Oh, no,” said grandma, : with ber hlind eyes and shaking her | head. “My daughters, Louisa and | Lizzie, are both dead, and you cannot be Lozisa™ “Bat indeed I am: and Lizzie is liv. | peering | looking for you everywhere, and now | have found you,” and while they wept superintendent, and Miss Bowman, the | matron, withdrew and left them to talk | it over. Next day Louisa came again, | and grandma, all wrapped in fur-lined | robes, went away with her, leaving the little room where she had so long sat | rocking and knitting, expecting oniy to leave it at the summons of death. he Lizzie remained in Ohio, while their | mother, with a snug little competence, to Chicago. Finally they lost trace of each other. Mrs. Hamilton up an abode in the Home of the Friend- | jess. Louisa's husband became rich in | “Many are worth more than their face. The 820 of 1849 is worth £50. All the 810 gold issues from 1795 to 1801 are | at a premium of from fifty cents to $2. | Most of the 85 gold pieces from 1786 to 1807 are at a premium of twenty-five cents to $1. ing to the coinage, with the large or small eagle used in the mint in those Years, i815 is worth $5. i i eagles are at a premium of fifty cents to $1. A #81 goid piece of 18756 seils for 2 " “What is the most valuable modern coin?” “It is a Confederate States silver dol- lar, which is valued at $1,000, There were only a few of these coins struck. The Confederate government had the dies made, and a few coins were struck at the New Orleans mint for the inspec- 1 hey no more were coined. Jefferson Davis says that he had one ot! these coins on his person when he was cap. —he does not know who. Possibly it may be in circulation yet as a genuine coin of the United States. One side of the coin was in fact made with a regular strike off United States silver dollars. The other side was specially devised for the purpose. The legend reads: ‘ Con federate States of America.’ There is a shield, with bars and seven stars, sur- mounted by a liberty cap. The shield is inclosed by a wreath composed of cotton and sugar stalks.” “1f this is worth $1,000, it would pay better to counterfeit it than a genuine coin?” “* No; a counterfeit would be easily detected.” *“‘Lhen as a matter of fact one of the most recent coins is worth very much more than the oldest coins you have?’ “Yes; here is a Cromwell shilling that is only worth $10. Here is an Athens tetradrachm wnich is worth only 810, though it is 3,000 years old. Herc) one about 500 years older, worth 15, * How about political coins P” “There are some very curious ones that are celebrated, like the English coin that gave rise to the couplet: * Cooing and billing like William and Mary on a shilling.’ The most celebrated in the history of American coin is the series thint was issued to signalize the oppo- sition to and support of the United States bank in Jackson's time. Both the friends and opponents of Andrew Jackson issued coins, and somesot the devices and inscriptions were very funny. Similar coins were issued in Van Buren’s time. All these things are valuable in forming an estimate of the height of political feeling at that time.” The first American money was the pine tree shilling, coined in 1652. For fifteen years they were all coined under the same date, so if aman bas a pine tree shilling he don’t know when it was or five dollars. In the year 18156 there were no cents manufactured, It & pursuif made but very little money. after a long search found ter mother in that city At the Theater in Japan, The theaters here are probably the most interesting sight to travelers; hich they have been accustomed. Of | | course, there are no seats; all squat on | Running down the center of the | hich the sectors always enter upon the | stage: the exits are all from the rear, and instead of shifting the scenes, ithe whole stage is rovolved on | wheels (same us we tarn a horse car), | When an actor is killed daring the play, a man dressed in black, with his | face covered (you are not supposed to gee him), rushes out, and holds a large cloak in front of the dead man. The latter rises and runs off the stage, | though just beheaded and his head lying | on the stage, looking as natural and the execution so well done that until you actually see the dead walk you think he surely was beheaded. After the cur- | tein falls for another set, all the chil- | dren in the audience rush on the stage | behind the curtain and play around be- | nind the scenes until the drum beats for | another act, The music they have is a | drum, fite and a small string instrument, | though the players are general.y sing- | ing in very Ligh and unmusical notes. | The play generally begins at ten o'clock | in the morning and lasts until one or | two o'clock at night, and the audience alwavs take food enough to last twenty- four hours, besides which men with rice, tea, peanuts and oranges are always passing through the audience, very much fixe our circuses at home. The theater is lighted by gas, very dimly, however, and as the audience--men, women and children—are smoking pipes all the time, the atmosphere is not very pleasant.— Yeddo Letter. | W iir—————————— Anecdotes of the Stage, John McCullough, tho tragedian, has been talking with a Cleveland Herald reporter about the stage and plays in general. He thinks “ Virginius" a eat play, ennobling and elevating in ts influence, but ** Othello” and ** Kin. Lear” are the grandest plays on the stage. “I don't believe that In any language in any country any author has ever written such plays as those. Mind you, they are a great deal harder to play than those of any other class. As they are godlike in their conceptions, the actor must be godlike to play them, and feel them and make them move—to feel and talk and act them as Shakes- peare has given him an opportunity to do. Mr. McCullough told a pleas- ant story of Forrest, which was as follows: Forrest was playing Rich- ard, when Catesby came in to sum- mon him. The actor was so struck with Forrest's manner, look and tone, demanding, ** Who goes there?” that he could only stammer out, ** "Tis I, my lord, the early village cock,” while the other words, ** has thrice done salutation to the morn,” stuck in his throat. Forrest got the laugh of the audience on his side by Tespgnding “Then why the deuce don’t you crow?” The last New Jersey cranberry crop of 492,630 bushels was the largest ever North Carolina, in Northeast Onilo, and a few in Lancaster county, Pa., and | Westohester county, New York, They | will also be abundant in the neighbor. | hood of Wheeling, and will probably | extend down into Maryland, Virginia | and the District of Columbia Of this, | however, 1 am not quite sure. The thirteen.year brood will, in all proba. | bility, appear in Southern Illinois, throughout Missouri, with the exception ¢f Arkansas, Indian Territory, Ken- tucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and North and South Carolina.” “* What is the difference between the | two broods “ Do you mean in appearance? Very little, and one is very apt to confound them." ** Are the locusts to be depended upon | as recurring in regular periods? “ Yes, sir. Observations extending for more than 200 years prove that they never fail. The earliest appearance of the periodieal cieada, or locust, so far as we have any record, occurred at Plymouth, Mass. , in the year 1634, Each years they have appeared | again without fail. The naturalist cal- : pearance of the locust in a given month the astronomer does an eclipse or a | transit on some particular day; and he | may go back in time when none but | savage men dwelt on this continent,and | feel confident that the woods of New Jersey rattled with the hoarse cry of this insect in the month of June, seven years did in June 1877." “ Where does the locust reside, soto speak, during his absence from the face of the earth PV ** He is then under the earth, in the young rooticts. In foliowing these they | sometimes going =s far down ss teh or pearance and disappearance differs | somew hat with the latitude, though not | so material.y as one might suppose. | They appear a little earlier in the South than in the North, but the last half of May can be set down os the period dur. ing which they emerge from the ground, in many parts of the country, whieh they generally leave by the fourth of | July. other insects, the males make their ap- | pearance several days before the female, and also disappear sooner. Hence, in | the Istter part of the cicada season, males, the song of but very few males will be heard.” i * Do not the females sing?” “No, the musical organs are pos- sessed only by the males, This (act was « Happy the cionda’s lives, For they all have voweless wives." ” “ How is the music produced?" “The rattling noise is produced by a system of muscles in the lower part of the body, which work on the drums under the wings by alternately tighten- ing and loosening them. The general | noise on approaching infested woods is a compromise between that of a distant threshing machine snd a distant frog pond. That which they make when disturbed mimics a nest of young | snakes or young birds under similiar circumstances—a sort of scream. They can also produce a chirp somewhat like | that of a cricket, and a very loud shrill screech, prolonged for filteen or twenty seconds and gradually increasing in force and then decreasing.” * gs it true that the Jocust stings?" “There is a widespread fear of the | locust sting,” answered the professor; | “ gyvery time there is an abundance of | locusts you hear of people being stung, and newspaper accounts of such acei- dents are by no means infrequent.=I have known people who denied them- | selves the pleasure of eating blackber- | ries and other fruits, because they feared these fruits had been poisoned by the eggs of cicadas; while others believe | that they poison water, So far as 1 can | find, all these reports are faise or greatly | 3 them are pure imagination.” “ Are {hey not capable of doing an im- | mense amannt of damage?” “Yes, sir. They have destroyed whole | apple orchards and vineyards. The | worst of it is that there is no way to | get rid of them when they make their | appearance in large numbers and have | attained full size and powers of flight. The cnly possible method is to aliow poultry and hogs to devour them just after they come up out of the ground and are ina helpless condition.” “There is a good deal of supersti- tion.” remarked the reporter, “about the W on their wings.” + 1 have noticed that,” Professor Riley answered, ** some ignorant persons are silly enough to believe that it portends war. It occurs alike, though not to such a marked degree, on all other cicadas, and it people must have an omen let them take the two W's for warm weather, and it will not be likely to disappoint them." — Wash ngton Fost. A Tough Toad Ntory, “ Yes.” spoke up a soldier, who had been listening with approving silence to his comrade’s recital of the habits of snakes; ** but even the toad knows how to defend itself against the voracity of a rattlesnake. A rattlesnake never bites anything it swallows, and so it will cram a toaG down its throat whole. 1 once saw a rattlesnake about six feet long, trying to capture a large toad. The toad adopted a novel method to thwsrt the reptiles intentions. The snake had come upon the tond unawares, and it could not turn tail and jump, else the snake would spring and eateh it in his awd. So the toad took up a small stick, about six inches long, holding it at the center in its mouth, The snake's mouth could not be distended to a width of six inches, and so facing the snake with the stick in its mouth, the toad wearied its would-be destroyer out of all patience, and finally he gave up his efforts and crawled away. The toad dropped the stick and’ hopped to a safer retreat,'— Chicago Tribune. EE —————————— Of the 600,000 male adults in Illinois, 400,000 drink beer, wine and whisky, gared duty to help each other in every emergency, without distinction of sex, rank or age. The noble by birth get ernment for their maintenance, and commoners only ten, although many of them are married, and sent into exile with young families. Daily a gendarme visits their lodgings, inspects the premi- ses when and how he pleases, and now and then makes some mysterious entry in his note-book. Should any of their number carry a warm dinner, & pair of newly mended boots or a change of linen to some passing exile lodged for the moment in the public ward, il is just as likely as not marked against him as a crime, Itis a crime to come and see & friend off, or sccompany him a little on the way. In fact, should the ispravnik fel out of sorts—the effect of ecards or drink—he vents his bad temper on the exiies; and, as cards and drink are the favorite amusements in those dreary regions, crimes are marked down | against the exiles in astonishing num. bers, and a report of them sent regui ry to the governor of the province. Winter lusts eight months, a period during which the surrounding country ifeless, frozen mareh—no roads, no communication with the outer world, no means of escape. In courseof time almost every individual exile is at- tacked by nervous convulsions, followed. | by prolonged apathy and prostration. | each other. Some of them contrive ‘0 | as it were, make their esoape, but the great majority of these victims of the third section either go mad, commit sui- cide, or die of delirium tremens. Their history, when the time comes for it to published, will disciuse a terrible tale of human suffering, and admin- to find their equivalent in the contem- porary history of any other European state. — London Slandard. Words of Wisdom. None but a fool is always right. He that sips many arts drinks none, To fear the worst, oft cures the worst, Rumor doth double, like the voice und Some persons mistake noise for argu- ment. They that govern most make least DOIsSe. He that too much fears hatred is unfit to ruie. Wrinkles disfigure a woman less than ill-nature, We are never as lappy nor asunhappy as we fanoy. No one wishes to be pitied on account of his errors. Grief counts the seconds; happiness forgets the hours. Men speak of what they know ; women of what pleases them. He who is never guilty of foliy is not go wise as he imagines. Prosperity unmasks the vices; adver- sity reveals the virtues. An indiscreet man is like an unsealed letter—every one can read it. W here there is much pretension, much has been borrowed. Nature never pre tends. Immoderate pleasures shorten (he long it. We must laugh before we are happy, lest we shouid die without having laughed. Knowledge without justice becomes craft; courage without reason becomes rashness. It is far more easy to acquire a for- tune like a knave than to expend it like a gentleman, No man ever obtained eminence with- out owing it to the influence of some good woman. The expression * they say” has black- army of saints. opinion of himself. Adversity does not take from us true friends; it oniy dispels those who pre- tend to be such. Ten erness and its outcome, pity, are as inseparable from true maniiness as true womaniiness. As long as hearts beat, as long as life exists, in whatever age, iron or golden, you will find love. The first ingredient in conver:ation is truth, the next good sense, the third, good humor, and tne fourth wit. Envy is a passion so full of cowardice | and sham that nobody ever had the con- fidence to own its posscasion. The time for reasoning is before we have approached near enough to the forbidden fruit to look atand admire. He who is false to the present dut breaks a thread in the loom, and will see the effects when the weaving ol a lifetime is unraveled. — Sa C—O II 05. A Pin in a Child’s Tongue for Eleven Years. Miss Harvey, of Candor, when eleven or twelve years of age, was one evening making hurrried preparations to attend a purty. Ste had a pin between her lips, which passed into her mouth, and was supposed to be swallowed. Dr. Miller assumed such to be the fact, but the girl insisted that it was under ber tongue. The physician made search for HN inere, hut failed to discover it, and treated her protestations as the work of imagination. Recently Miss Harvey had a large lump come upon one side of her tongue, increasing in painfulness, Dr. L. D. Farnham opened the swell ing. The next day, after eleven years of hiding, the pin came out of the open- ing. It was two-thirds covered with a lime formation and was much corro: ed. — Ithaca (N XY.) Journal. ye rvs—————— A firm in Boston is making a douhle belt 200 feet long, thirty inches wide. It will we 1,100 pounds and will re- quire the hides of 100 head of cattle in 1ts construction. wh. and of these 40,000 drink to excess. Wanted Him to Resign. A capital story is told of one of our public men—a man who for man years hed a ¢ office, wh wany other zealous workers in political fieid greatly desired to ill. The | A rit office—of judicial character, and requir- | pious, b ing erable capacity in iis incum- | of cant. bent~—was not only an lent berth, but it was le, and considerable patronsge connected with Lt. : Once upon a time, when the anxious waiters lind fully made | up Shir J minds taking stock. ‘ oi that old Hsrtwe office 7 long enough, one of number was | Thermometers reform him, and request | they never become deputed to wait upon bim to resign. The man found the old | nearly sixty. judge in his office, with bis cos’ off. | Why isa police offic and surrounded by papess of &li sorts | dence man? Becsuse he and descriptions. The usual greetings | in. — Philadelphia Sun. Were exthanged, and the visitor opened One of the best things A business. court an orgen- ever got off wasa grinder was di lent selection of Strauss Hastws oh hn Wing through hi BEETS 1POU, 8 pak silver locks. * And hn Burgiars are of plente- reason, pray “I'll tell you, judge; we think you! They have been here ong enough. You wre growing old—altogether too old for the | that way anfold Auties and responsibilities of | Oyisem “Oho! Too old, am 1? Now look you: Just you gel up here, and spin 14 {oi matvied in waileg with me There goes 1 Blue Danube! Just the thing; come!” | F008," but now he And hie seized bis visitor by the two | 779: arms, lifted him 10 his feet, and began to whirl him about 1he room, keeping | Pess.™ step himself to the notes of the distant | bat, * or broke away and begged off. He didn't know bow to dance. “No? Not dance? Then the gloves: We must have ex some fashion.” And old Hartwell went to a small locker, and ght forth two pairs of boxing gluves, one of waich he put on, and offered the other to his visitor. But the man would not take them. He de- ciared he had never boxed in ins life. “Never boxed? Then it is time you had a lesson. And i’ faith, I'll give you one. Now! Btand by. Here is the po- sition. One, two, three!” | And he tapped the messenger, first on the forehead ; then on the ching then on the bresst; and them, with a blow straight from the shoulder, he knocked | slept all sermon toa orother him clean across the room, con. “Didn't likeit, Brother A.? Why, the wall. 1 saw you nodding assent to every “Ho! I'll soon teach you the rudi- | osition of the parson.” ments. Let me now show you the true | * Harvard student {who has jost failed knock-down blow, It is given in this | in a Chinese sentence, to manner.” “Thou * Professor (turi- But the breathless, bewildered and | opsiy)—* What! you dare to—" (lari. utterly demoralized visitor did not wait | gen mly proceeds )—** Theu teachest init isngusge.” t (cal most d : : emulating r 1 me kiss bim for bis mummy.” Phe . de/phia Bullctin, When the te are under the worms will Jearn to read #1 »8 to know when the fishing is good. —Phi Chronicle. made his escape, and later his associates that Judge Hartwell was A Hartford cst bas been the examo's of Tanner by fasting amin of her. protwiyPe by poing inte examp ; : the lecture field. She prefers the con- A Terrapin Farm. cert stage.— Boston Transcript. The Mobile (Als.) Register has the Galveston gentle. ollowing account of a terrapin ‘arm man observed that when he ont owned by Muiford Dorion at Cedar | hunting, and Eo um whib Bi: and Point: This projection of land is on | wants to ride on the . he hes the western shore of Mobile bay, about | never yet had occasion to signals street thirty miles below this city, and is in- —alveston News. habited principally by oystermen, reap golden harvests from keds which furnish nearly eve brought to the port of Mobi . Dorion, who keepe a store at this point, has about three acres fenced in strong pilings Leading to this inclos- ure are two canals, one on the bay side and the other on the gulf side, which supply with salt water a number of ditches ten feet wide and 100 feet long. | With The sand accumulating from the ex- cavation of these ditches is thrown on each side, and used by the terrapins to sun themselves and Iay their in, ; which, if pounted, would go up in the | A South End millions, and can be raked up by the | young man comes t bushel. Inthe winter season the terra- | carriage and takes a pins remain imbedded in the mud of | theater ani a supper the ditches, where they stay until makes her magnificent pn what - time, never touching a morsel of Tool does it indicate™ It indicates, ms - A system of sluices enables Mr Dorion | that he has got more Boney 10 > to keep the ditches full of salt water, or | away than we have.— Boston drain them at pleasure, and he is not at exchange combines s great 2 all dependent on the tide for that pur An a deal pose sourd sense as wellas og he The mute of serrapinson She Seth, of Joins Eribers: We are as far as can be ascertained and by ; closest calculation, is betw don’t like this paper. and 25,000, and in the cour 20,000 of the next three or four years will be some. thing hard to calculate. About May 1. Mr. Dorlon wmskes his purchase of terrapins from the country peopleon the Mississippi sound, and takes all he can secure nt $3 a dogen, and that generally averages ahout 8,000 a year added to his farm, outside of those bred therein. The inhabitants ol Mississippi and Alabama hunt the terrapins with dogs trained jor that purpose. The dog barks when he finds one, and the hunter immediately secures it by going to the spot where the dog points. The cost of feeding the terrapins, which, as we have said, is only done in present. papa call go shout ten o'clock : fie Hh fl dozen for the season, and the price in dozen in New York has varied from $18 to $8. Tne food, which consists of crabs and figh, is caught _with a seine, in front of the farm, and really very little expense is attached to the raising of these valuable land tortoises. Mr, Dorion begins to ship about October 1, and then on to May 10. He generally sends his to Savannah by rail, and thence to New York by steamer, averaging about 13,000 a season, and had it not been for a disastrous hurricane, which some time ago washed out Mr. Dorlon’s farm, it wou'd be to-day the greatest He oan al- ways ship all he can get, for there is a ready market for these delicacies. The Embarrassed Passengers: You may have been a passenger on & street-car at a time when some one picked a half-doilar off the cushions or a dollar-bill from the straw and anx- jously inquired for an owner. At such a time every man instinctively feels in his pockets. Every man feels like say- ing that he is the lucky , but an inward voice somehow him, and he remembers that George ton conld not'tell a lie. The money is in- variably pocketed by the finder, and he is set down in theopinions of his fellow- passengers as contemptible and mean. On a Woodward avenue car yesterday a young man purposely dropped a greenback on the floor, and at a proper moment he picked it up and observed: * Who lost this dollar?" Every one looked at mouth watered. “Did any one drop this bili?” con. tinued the young man, as he held up a corner. There was another embarrassing pause. Then a man reached out for it with the remark: “I dropped it, sir. You arean honest man to return it.” : ** Are you sure you dropped it?" “}am. Iam nota liar.” * But—you see—you—" stammered the young man. “You give me my money or I'll wring your neck I" interrupted the other, as he reached out for his Nichi. He locked oe young man gave it up. He > Dall lal ¢ white and red and green, and he felt so | the term has no terror, while those se who bad over it that he soon d off | have seen an avalanche in the Wasatch he car and took to the icy walk.— Free | shudder E88. If a person of fairfcomplexion ex-|1 poses litmself to the electric light for some | tonwood ining the action of lamps, | g : 3 i 25 £338 they - Or any time in exami the hands and cheeks will show all the Syuiuoms of “sunburn” even in mid- ter. foe} i I ir The Scientific American estimat Tho United States’ last year by foreign | *
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers