SLUMBER FAIRIES, | Up the side of the trundle-bed Softly they go, And over the pillow with gentle tread They come to the golden baby-head; Under his lashes ke tries to peep, Jut before he knows he is fast asleep. ~Isn't it so? For they bind the baby with fairy charms, Wonders to tell; They loose the clasp of the dimpled arms, And smooth his fornhead with sofe, small palms, And draw their cloaks o'er hisdrowsy ears, Till a fairy music is all he hears, Pleasing him well, They shade his eyes with a little dream Where did it grow ? It grew by the side of a fairy stream, ‘Where Baby wandereth now, I deem, With the Slumber Fairies to guide his feet. Good-night,dear laddie ! your rest bo sweet! Mamma must go. TN TH II. ASTRANGE CHARACTER, One evening, during the progress of the war of the Revolution in America, an old woman, living in the suburbs of Portsmouth, England, was summoned to her door by a knock, and, on open- ing it, found herself confronted with an old man, poorly dressed, with a bun- dle in his hand, such as travelers of his class frequently carried on their pedest- rian tours. “Madam,” he said, respectfully, “can I get to lodge here to-night?” “It aren’t my business to take lodg- ers,” replied the mistress of the house, scanning the applicant closely by the light she held in her hand. “I spose not, madam—but I'm a poor man, and want shelter some- where, ”’ “Well, why don’t you go to an inn? there's plenty of them in the town.”’ “Just because I'm poor, and can’t afford to pey as much as they'd ask. 1've got a little money, only a little, and I want to make it goasfaras I an. I'm willing to pay you what's reasonable; and then 1'd save some- thing, I'm thinking.” “Who are you? where do you be- long? and what’s your business?" “i'm called John the Painter, and that explains my business, and I belong anywhere where I happen to be. If you're not satisfied with this answer, why, good night to you, and I'll trudge on to try my chance somewhere else.” The old woman, who was poor her- self, and lived alone, in a small, crazy, old house, thought she might as well gather in a few pennies, by keeping the traveler, as to let some of her neighbors do it; and so, after a little reflection, she replied: “] s'pose 1 can keep you, if as you say, you'll pay me what’s reasonable— for, like you, I'm poor, too, and can’t afford to do it for nothing. Come mm and sit down-—you look tired. I s'pose you want supper?” “Yes, if you please,” said John the Painter, as he walked in and took a seat near the fire, upon which he fixed + he carelessly threw his hat and bundle down beside him, For the half hour that the mistress of the house was busied in preparing his supper, the traveler seemed deeply scarcely once took his eyes from the fire, or changed At first the old woman glanced at him fartive- ly, with an air of ordinary curiosity, and occasionally ventured some com- mon-place remark: but finding he made no reply, took no notice of her presence, and even seemed not to hear her, she became bolder in hér manner, and two or three times stopped near him, staring directly into his face He appeared to be between sixty and seventy years of age, had gray hair, a stern, pinched face, a large nose, thin, cotnpressed lips, and cold, staring eyes, the expression of which was far from pleasing, and which was not redeemed by angthing else in his countenance, In fact he seemed like a man not at peace with himself or the world, and who was either then brooding over gome committed crime or some con- templated revenge. “There, sir, your supper’s ready, if you want it,”” at length spoke the mis- tress, in a half querulous tone, ae if of- fended that none of her previous re- marks had been noticed. The strange traveler took no heed, but still sat staring at the fire, #1 say your supper’s ready, man; and, if you want it hot, you'd better eat it before it gets cold; for I'll not warn it again, this blessed nigh’, for you nor nobody else!” cried the host- ess, in an angry tone. Still no movement-—no response—no immdication that her unmusical voice was not yet heard, “1 say!’ she half screamed in his ear, at the same time taking hold of his arm rather rudely. : Like a ball he sprung from his seat and confronted her, his eyes looking wild and wicked, “Good Lord, man, don’t scare a body 80!” exclaimed the woman, tak. ing two or three quick, backward steps, and turning pale with fright. “I'm only trying to make you understand your supper’s ready.” The stranger glared at her for a mo- ment, then at the table, and then seem. ed to comprehend the true facts, “Oh! ah! yes!” he replied, with a grim smile. *‘I beg your pardonl— it’s likely you've spoke to me beforel” “It's like I have, a half a-dozen his position. times, just as 1 might have talked to a post!” “Yes, madam, 1 see—I thank you-—I beg your pardon! I was busy thinking, and forget where 1 was.” He then took his seat at the fable, and, while eating his supper, tried to make amends for his former impolite abstraction, by making himself as agreeable as possible, He succeeded so well in his efforts to please, that the mistress of the house became quite charmed with his conversation, and be- gan to think he might possibly be an angel in disguise—or, in other words, a rich and eccentric old gentleman, whom good fortune had thrown in her way for a futuere husband or possible legacy. But these bright hopes did not have a long duration—for scarcely had the stranger finished his meal, than he sud- denly grew cold, taciturn and abstract- ed, and presently asked to be shown to his bed. If he slept soundly, the mis- tress of the house did not—for after the dispelling of the bright fancy of future wealth, she began to fear that the stranger might take a notion to shorten her life before morning, and so lay awake and listened, and trembled at every unusual sound. The night, however, passed off with- out any disturbance; and at daylight the old man rose and went out, leaving his bundle behind. Scarcely was he out of sight before the curiogity of his hostess set her at work to see if she could gather any new facts, If he had left a trunk, instead of a bundle, she would probably have found away to open and rummage it; but as it was, she had only to untie an old, dirty bandkerchief; and there, betore her eyes, lay a shirt, a pair of stockings, and a tin box—a curious looking tin box—for which, unfortunately for her ease of mind, she could not imagine any wie. She held it up, turned it over, shook and tried her best to see into it, and conjecture for what purpose it was made; but not being able to do this, she at length resigned it with a sigh, rolled it up as she found it, tied up the bundle, and went about her own business, it, John the Painter came back {o a late and then seltled with the curious widow for all he had of her, at the time remarking that he might possibly remain in town another night, in which case he hoped he would be permitted to return and pass another night under her hospitable roof, same To this she now readily gave consent, again thinking him a consequence, He then inquired where he could find a tinman; and receiving the proper direction to one, he bade her good-bye and started off, this time taking his bundie with him man of some Toward evening, however, he came back, and said he had concluded to stay another night in town, and wanted supper, which the widow pared for him, Again pre- He ate this meal in silénce, and soon after made some excuse He hours; and £0 20 oul. was abent some when he two or three returned he re ported that there was quite a large fire, which he understood to be in government buildings that he feared would be consumed, SOT0e ‘But blessed are the poor!’ he added, with a strange kind of a laugh, afterwards recalled; hey have nothing to lose.” which hostess “for fis He then went to bed, and appeared to rest well through the night: but rose at the first streak of day, paid his reckoning, and took his departure, saying he should not return. On going out, an hour or two later, the wiulow was surprised to see the us. ually quiet town of Portsmouth in great commotion—groups collected here and there, as if discussing some remarkable event—and mounted men, both military and eivil, dashing hither and yon, all seeming hurried and anx- fous. On every blank wall, too, there was a flaming placard, announcing the startling fact that = hundred thousand pounds worth of naval stores had been destroyed by incendiarism, that secret emissaries of the enemy were supposed to be in their midst, offering large re- wards for the arrest and conviction of the guilty, and ordering all citizens to report to the nearest magistrate the names of all strangers who had lodged in town during the last three days, and more especially the last night. As soon as the widow fairly under. stood this matter, she hastened to give in the nawe of Jobn the Painter, with a description of his person, manner, conversation, and withal, his curious tin box and visit to the tinman, The latter was immediately sent for, and deposed that he had made a curious affair, the use of which he did not know, All this fully fixed suspicion upon the eccentric old man; and as it was supposed he had been dispatched from town to some distant point by relays of horses, horsemen were sent off in every direction in hot pursuit, with orders to arrest every meunted person they might find, Somewhere about mid-day John the Painter was overtaken, on the regular London road, by one of these mounted parties, who stopped and inquired if any one had passed him on horsebsck that morning. “Nol a soul,” replied the old man. “How long have you been on this road?" “Since daylight. Why?” “There was a great destruction of naval stores in Portsmouth last night, the work of some infernal incendiary, and we want to catch the villain,” “Well, do you s’pose he fled on horseback?" said the old man, with a peculiar twinkle of his eyes, “Undoubtedly.” “Well, he didn’t—he went on foot.” “Ia! how do you know?” “Because I know the man who it.” “Who is he? Where is manded the leader excitedly, “He’s called John the Painter, and he’s here, I'm the man.” “Take care how you jest, old fellow!” returned the other warmingly; ‘‘it might get you into trouble,” “If you can’t understand plain Eng- lish, you're as big a fool as your royal master is a knave!” said the old man, with an angry sneer. “I tell you I'm the man that did it—and I'm the man that glories in it—and if you don’t believe me, ride on and hunt till you get sense!” The horsemen now thought the old man was orazy; but, after what he had said, they concluded to arrest him and take him back to Portsmouth, They did so, and there he was con- fronted with the old woman and the tinman, both of whom identified him as the mysterious stranger they had de. scribed. He was then asked to make a fession and his name accomplices, “I never had any accomplices,’ said the old man, indignantly. “What I did, I did alone, and I glory in it. 1 once lived peaceably and happily in the quiet little town of Amboy, State of New Jersey, far away over the great waters; and I'd been living peaceable did he?’ de- COn~ there to-day, if the minions of King had left me alone; but they came there, and insulted and abused me, and burned down my dwelling, and cast me adrift to shift for myself— and then I took a solemn oath I'd be revenged, It was my first intention to kill your vile king; and I'd have done it, only for Mr. Deané our secret minis- ter at Paris who convinced me wrong lo Anointed; and 80, as the next best thing, I deter- to burn as much of the king's property direct George iL was slay the Lord's mined uid, 1] from Paris here, and you know what I got here, and thal's as I co came I've done since enough. I know you'll hang me for it ~but I don’t care for that, poor, friendless, old man, made sick of life by your accursed deeds; and now, that I've got my revenge, I don't care how soon 1 die They sent the old man, under guard, to London, where he underwent a close I'h a He first statement; no new facts were elictad, to his Own fried, we bi11" strictly adhered and mainly on his evidence, or confession he convicted, ty Was sentenced, and hanged. We have only to add oing may be relied or ! t HEenNC thal Lhe as strictly * ——— a Gathering Money, During their bard, Langtry and Irving gathered in Mrs, Langtry's SLED, 0005, American tours Bern total earnings were Mme, ) Bernbard’s are stated to have been £390,000 for twenty-six weeks, an aver. of $2,145 for 181 performances, Mr. Irving's are given as $405,004, an average of $2 242. When Rachael appeared thirty-eight times in New York and Boston, in 1855, the total re. ceipts were 620.242 francs, Mr. Ii. ving's greatest success was, perhaps, in Boston. In one week he played there to 27,000 hearers—something which he never did before, The weeks receipts were $24,087, i AM w—- age i Cure “Crazes.' About ten years ago the blood cure started, and for a time every one troubled with weak lungs became a convert, that is, in our large cities, Then eame the mud bath, People flocked tow certain Spa in Germany to try the virtues of a sticky black mud, which was said to cure rheumatism, To bathe in it meant simply to be buried in it up to the chin for an hour or two, and then to spend several hours in a tub of water getting rid of the reminiscence, The blue glass cure will be recollected by all, The sun bath cure, the fish oil cure for consumption, the simple diet cure, the celery cure for nervousness, and many others, started out as crazes but their best points have fonnd their way into the array of orthodox remedies, Books, like friends, should be few and well chosen, To be proud of learning is the great. est ignorance, Good, the more communicated, more abundant grows, To know how to wait is the great se- eret of success, Few men have virtue to withstand the highest bidder. Children are living jewels dropped unstrained from heaven, To read without reflecting is like eat. ing without digesting. Chastity, once lost, cannot be recall. ed; it goes only once, By general mistake, ill-nature as often passes for wit as cunning does for wis. dox. Myde Park. —— np ————— It is the unféftunate Charles the First that the English people have to thank for the opening of Hyde Park to the public. During his reign the gentry of the neighboring country used to try the speed of their horses in friendly races beneath its spreading trees, wit- nessed by the pleasure-loving Lon- doners, who cheered each his favorite, and drank to his success in draughts of new milk carried around and sold by pretty milkmaids, crying, ‘New milk of a red cow!” just#s they continued to ery a century after at Milk Fair in St. James’ Park. Not only did the simple London folk come to wilness these sports, but the king and his nobles were animated spectators; for we read of fair and noble dames betting “scarlet silk stockings and scented Spanish gloves’ with the gallants of the court, often giving odds of twenty to thirty for or against some particular steed, At one of those racing bouts old Aubrey tells us that Charles the First gave a mortal affront to one Henry Martin, M. P. for the of Berks. Martin, it appears, was a rough fellow, and several complaints had been made to the king respecting his rudeness, It so happened that Martin was present in the park when the king was going to witness the sports, and secing him, Charles said aloud, so that all could hear, “Let that ugly rascal begone out of the park.” The royal mandate the **ugly rascal” had terrible revenge when, a few years later, he put Bis name next to Cromwell's upon Charles’ death warrant. On that omivous day Martin, sitting beside Cromwell, Ygave his vote very merrily, and was a great sport,” whilst the Roundhead leader besmeared Martins face with ink, a joke which the jolly member for Berks immediately the. jaws of 50 say the county was obeyed, but retaliated by punching Oliver—at least historians of the times, From time to time during each suc- ceeding reign Hyde Park was the play- ground of the people. dances, plays and races were lustily enjoyed by the good citizens of London, no matter how much discord and strife General Routs, revels, shook the country or diers engaged her sol- foreign wars, In i 3 3 i | TL it has been greatly reduced in home and later years in area, always, however, against the sturdy protest of the people. In 1825 a strip of ground at Hyde Park corner was cut off from the park and added to the grounds of Apsley House, the resi. dence of the Duke of Wellington, who at that time was by no means popular; that archical and mighty power, even in mon- England, *‘the people,” ex- ¥ i . pressed in pretly strong language their opinions respecting thix excroachinent upon their ancient rights and privileges, jut they gamed more than { they lost, for the locality had long been {the resort of They =i after all idlers and wvagabonds, asserted their right to Fed IK > lant ofrespondent ' Saturday, and | more in Calas Andi An WwW at Bale, in Lond n_aon Ui ier, new Nice otherwise we should have been i 1 a half At first, 1 thought of taking the route, but the fare being two hundred francs more than on any other route, I chose the St Gothard route, as being the newest and most picturesque, and within an hour of the swiftness of the other route, which was worth saving two hundred francs. 1 think, speaking from exper- jence, I would advise every one to select the St. Gothard route, one way, at least, and never to take the Nice route, unless compelled to pass by Nice, as no time is saved by it, and it is less picturesque than any other route, whilst costing 200 francs more than the other routes. 1 must also warn trayel- ers against taking a bed in one of the sleeping-cars that are now added to every railway train in Europe You may, perhaps, think they are like American sleeping-cars, but they are pot. By night and by day they resem. ble church pews in the Protestant churches of England, with the parti. tion walls carried up to the roof, giv- ing you a stifling, suffocating feeling, quite unbearable at times. The beds are placed one above Lhe other, in ship's berth fashion. I would not have one of these beds if given to me, for, not only are they uncomfortable in every way, but you run the risk of eatching all kinds of illnesses, as there is no time given to their cleaning and airing between each journey. They are roughly swept and dusted, but that isall. I know what 1 say, for 1 saw this done all along the route, though several sick persons had occupied the beds. The Nice route train, also, which goes direct to Rome from Calais, arrives in Rome at three o'clock and leaves again at five, there being but one train a week; t here is not a change of cars at either end of the route. For a party of three, the coupe beds are better on the European railroads for night traveling, but as they cannot be transformed into ordinary seats, they are useless on long journeys, compris. ren and hours ear. about ing several days and several nights, Taking Care of New Dresses, There 18 an old proverb that says a lady is always to be known by her boots and gloves, Quite as crucial a test is the faculty of taking good care of her costumes, and one that quite as dis- tinetly marks the well-bred lady. Any one can buy an elegant wardrobe if she have money enough, but to take the requisite care to keep it fresh and dain- ty requires something more than a check-book., Of keeping nice dresses, a lady writes : “Each dress should have its own wrap or cover to keep it from chafing or fading. Take fine, lirm cotton cloth, something over a yard wide, cut it into squares, then hem and wash the squares, They should be fine take no room and weigh little ; firm, to keep away from dust : hemmed, that you may keep the same side next the silk, and washed, to do away with the bleaching chem- icals, which are lable to change the color of the silk, Fold the bottom of the train back and forth in about eighteen or twenty-three inch folds so as to fit the box you have for it, The bottom now being all together you will cover it with a small cloth or towel to keep +the rubbing against the cleaner parts of the robe; dusty train from roll the whole dress loosely to the size and shape of the box, lay it upon the white cloth and fold the corners of the same over the top of the packa e and place it in the box. Now loosen the roll and adjust it to its space so as to favor any delicate or easily crushed portion of the dress—as Medici collars, flower garniture, embroidery, ete.—re- lieving crowded places and distributing the thick to the thin spots. When you come to use the robe shake it out and you will find it in good condition. The fold of a dress or shawl will often work up between the trays of boxes and by motion of cars, wagons, etc., get chafed into holes. To avoid this, pin the cloth over it so it cannot jut over the box, To pack laces, fold them in blue tissue paper or soft linen, because white paper contains bleaching acids and discolors and decays the ribbon or lace, The same is true of white shoes and gloves, and especially of silver ornaments, The latter, tho their ugh worn every evening, re- tain purity and brilliancy for kept closely in blue tistue Shoes and slippers should never without a cloth or paper bet wean them, tnret her togeiher as the sole of one upper of the other, Put one , turn it over, and then add the Olid Pablie Funclionaries, Fifty vears ago Jfmes Lawrenson of Maryland received an appointment to a $400 clerkship in the post office depart - ment, Washington, He celebrated the centenial of his service by taking a balf-holiday from his desk in the dead letier fh + LHS semi v £1 81 e and receiving rat i Conga. ¥ # jor of being in Washington. olde Lt journalist He is still in goo 1 health and able regn- larly to perform the duties of his office, although the disciplineisa little relaxed in his favor. William T. Barry was postmaster- general when Lawrenson came in, and Andrew Jackson was President. Before Barry's time the post office department was considered merely a bureau, as the agricultural department and govern ment printing office are now, but Jack. son invited him to a seat in the cabinet, in defiance of precedent, and against the protests of John C. Calhoun, who wis secretary of state and a. great stickler for etiquette. The only autho- rity the postmaster general has for a geal in the executive chamber is Andrew Jackson's invitation to Barry. Seventy clerks did the post office department business in those days, and three men were assigned to the mail morgue. It requires over one hundred now to open, read, return, or destroy the dead letters that come in at the rate of two million A year, Uncle Jimmy Marr, the venerable chief clerk of the first assistant post. master<general, ante-dates Lawrenson’s service by three years, having been ap- pointed to a clerkship on the 20th of June, 1831. There are also several postmasters who hold commissions lon. ger than his, although, including his service In the Baltimore post office, Lawrenson helds the list of veterans Lindley Mure, the venerable old negro who sits at the mahogany door which leads to the beautiful office of the seo. retary of the navy, comes second. with a service of 56 years, having been ap- pointed in 1828 by Samuel Southard; and the third on the list is the Hon, William Hunter, second assistant secre. tary of state. A clerkship was given to him by Martin Van Buren in 1820 and he has been promoted from time to time, Holiness is the architectural plan upon which God buildeth up his living temples. No matter how unworthy a man may be, he should have our sympathy if he is suffering. What is defeat? Nothing butleduca- tion, nothing but the first step to some- thing better, J A great many people in praise goodness, and then have a mind to, Moderation may be considered as a tree, of which the root is contentment and she fruit repose, When the sun of virtue blush of shame is the twilight. that dies, all is darkness, He that cares only for himself, has but few pleasures, and these are gener- ally of the lowest order, Doctrines are of practiced; men may their heads full of ¢t The real wealth o ber of thinge which and by which Le is ble If you hit the ma: little above it; even feels the attraction this world as they i0 as they are y is * ¥ go to perdition with use only i iS thie num- 1d blesses, Philanthropy, like charity at home, Fri thies may extend circle, ii A loving act does fiery exhortation. Wha laikers, | good than a ankind needs 18 not more good ut more good Samaritans, idleness is the most corrupting £3 that can grow on the human mind, Men learn to do ill by doing what is next to it—nothing. The man whose soul is in his work finds his best reward in the work itself, The joy of achievement is vastly beyond the joy of reward. There collection of a affection is rather a devine uourish- ment for a soul grow 1 than a poison {o destroy iL. Lan nd tria deep and true 4 * # to BLrong upon He that does not know which are of use and necessity for him to know, is but an ign { man, what- ever he may know bes Consideration | kindness and afl iy; it is everywhere, with all, an back a little friends! those things = Colin Curren ialways brings How abundant are {he men and wo- men who crave martyrdom in ship! How few Ywrak is sis 1 x srvice! themselves in the | IVRILY OL Service. leader- ling to honor He who i8 ex us of Ls ignorance, viewing it in more wise than cial polish Never contradict an) y in general society. Rarely do it ever! at home, Nobody likes to be contradicted, even when cotradiction is deserved. Examine your | your mo- tives, watch over ) conduct, and you will not take long to learn or discover enough to make you entertain charitable opinions of We uld no 1 lament that we have grown old than t¢ husbandman, : v hea the bloom 13 as. weigh =, WEIR others, shu and fragram have passed away, shou sumer or aulume enemy to hums destroy y AlDeg tues impracticab difficuit. As the sun does no and incantations before rises, bul straightway u hailed good for ap- but shines forth and is of all, so do not wait to do plause and noise and praise, with your own desire, and, likethe sun, you will be loved. The most influential man, a free country, at least, is the man who has the ability, as well as the courage, to speak what he thinks when occasion may require it. The fortunate man, is he who, born poor, or nobody, works gradually up to wealth and cousideration, and having got them dies before he finds they were not worth so much trouble, 14 it GO ak vs iid Exclusively dwelling upon ourselves, on our own virtues and failings and ex- periences, weakens our power of sym- pathy with others, while it increases our aculeness of sensibilily as regards self, A man that hath no virtue in himself ever envieth virtue in others; for men’s minds will either feed upon their own good or upon others’ evil; and who wanteth the one will prey upon the other. The study of literature nourishes youth, entertains old age, adorns pros- perity, solaces adversitiy, is delightful at home, unobstrusive abroad, deserts us not by day or by might, in journey- ing nor in retirement. A great man under the shadow of defeat is taught how precious are the ures of adversity; and as an oak tree's roots are daily strengthened by its sha. dow, 80 all defeats in a good cause are but resting places on the road to victory at last. Bacon says, ‘There is as much differ ence between the counsel that a friend iveth and that which a maa giveth fmself as there is between the counsel of a friend and of a flatterer, for there is no such flatterer as 18 a man’s self, and there is no such remedy against the flattery of a man’s self as the liberty of a friend.” The majority of people are ever ready to judge the conduct of their neighbors oJ other words, to ‘‘cast the first stone.'’ But we have ne cases we might imitate those we under like “Judge not, that ye be not judgeal™
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers