VOL. 48. Tar PlIg„-,c 'Aram Tired Mothers A little elbow leans upon your knee, Your tired knee, that has so much to bear ; A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly From underneath a thatch of tangled hair. Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch Of warm, moist fingers, folding yours so tight; You do not prize this blessing over much, You are almost too tired to pray to-night. But it is blessedness 1 A year ago I did not see it as I do to•day— We arc so dull and thankless, asd too slow To catch the sunshine till it slips away. And now it seems surpassing strange to me, That, while I wore the badge of motherhood, I did not kiss more oft, and tenderly, The little child that brought me only good. And if, some night when you sit down torent, You miss the elbow from your tired knee; This restless, curling head from off yourbreast This lisping tongue that chatters constantly; If from your own the dimple bands bad slip ped, And ne'er would nestle in your palm again ; If the white feet into their grave had tripped, I could not blame you for your heartache then I I wonder so that mothers ever fret At little children clinging to their gown; Or that the footprints, when the days are wet; Are ever black enough to make them frown_ IfT could find a little muddy boot, Or cap or jacket on my chamber floor: If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot, And hear its patter in n y home once more. I could mend a broken cart to-day, To morrow make a kite to reach the sky— There is no woman in God's world could say She was more blissfully content than I. But ah I the dainty pillow next my own Is never rampled by a shining bead; singing birdling from its nest has flown, The little boy I used to kiss is dead I American A-ris-toc-ra-cie American "A-ris-toc-ra-cie" Is rather a pitiful sight to see, As it struggles to ape the grand• Ali ! many a one, if he'd only look back Upon old Time's well beaten track, Would find that.his ancestor carried a pack Well filled with many a nice gimcrack. Laces and bodkins, and various ' , traps," Penknives, suspenders, awl razor straps, Which he sold to every one, white and black, As he traveled all over the land. There's many a "snobby"—yes, many a one, Too good for the breezes to blow upon. Who rides in a coach-of-four, Who, (if she would take the pains to See. And examine with care the "Family-Tree,") Would probably find that her "An ces-try" Began with some cobbler of low degree. Obliged to battle with poverty, To frighten the wolves from his door. There's many a flirt with a turned-up nose At every poor creature that by her goes. As if they infected the air Who brags and boasts of her royal blood, Dating from Noah, who 'soaped the flood, Or Adam—(in Eden first formed of Mad), Who, if the positive truth was told, Sprang from some tallow-chandler old,. Who earned his living by "dip" and "mould," Through heat of summer, and winter cold, And always dealt heaest and square. From this time forward let none of ns be So vain as to boast of our heraldry, Or brag of our ancient "Family-Tree," Struggling to ape the s-x-o•B-o-e-n-♦-c-v, When all of us, as it's plain to see, Whether of high or low degree, llave very little to boast! Let the cobbler apply his ant and lee, The chandler to his shop stick fast, Banish the high-falutin' "ton," And each ridiculous notion shun, (For there's naught so pitiful to see As your "codfish A-ris-toc-ra•cie,") And let honesty rule the roast. let the sausage•man and the baker agree To labor together in harmony, The lawyer and doetor strive for a fee, The farmer his horses won ! and gee, . . . And the tailor attend to his aitches ! And every body right friendly be— Let every one of us, he and she, Advance the good of society, Drop every nonsensical vagary, Such as parentage, blood and pedigree, To the devil pitch .A-ris-toc-ra-cie," And don't get too big for our breeches f , At Atorg-Uelltr. JENNIE BRIEN -OR HOW PATRICK FOUND HIS WIFE. - WHERE are you going ?" asked every one of Pat, as he was on the eve of leaving the Green Isle. To every one Pat answered : "Where would I but to Ameriky, where uie own cousin is a councilman," which to Pat's mind was very little less than a I king. "gesides," added Pat, "they say ye make as much the day there as ye make the year in Ballayhofay, and it's the place for young men of interprise." With which. Pat would flourish his shillaleb and strut away to meet other questioners and an ewer them in the same way. Soon Pat was on the ocean. Finally he landed at Oastle Garden, was imprisoned, robbed, neglected, except when be was made a fool of, and ill used generally, in company with other steerage folks— until he was at last cast adrift in the great city of New York, his "chik" gone, also his purse—"one crown piece," like "Ja mie's," his "only store," and no prospect or making the crown a pound. His first thought was of his cousin, the councilman. Alas ! that relative having shaken off the last bit of Irish bog from Iris feet, with the purchase of a new brown stone front, and naturally considered him self one of the aristocracy, had no desire to renew the long dropped acquaintance. He presented Pat with five dollars, and intimated that his official business en grossed hint to the exclusion of every thing else, and that really he had "no time for receiving calls." Pat threw the money in his face, and trudged away to try "in :crprise" y himself, now that his influen tial friend had forsaken him. He was not a bashful man and he had strong arms and legs, and a general air of willingness, but there were so many before him; no lack of ruddy Irishmen any where. The pen nies melted away—the crown piece was changed and followed, and still there is no work to be found. Pat betook himself to the river. The suburbs of New York are green and fresh by the river side in Summer ; and just there lay a gentleman's residence. The garden sloped gently to the river, and ended in a green meadow where two cows were grazing. Under a great tree just there, Pat - laid himself down, -covered his thee with his hands and wept. "Oh, for the bit of a shanty at Ballay hotly again, and the kind word of the old mother who'll never see her boy again Och it's hard to starve in a strange land ! Only just to be back to old Ireland again and die there." "An' what are ye talkin' of dyin' for ?" aid a voice, "is it hurt ye arc?" And Pat looked up to see a girl bonding over him—a buxom servant girl, with round blue eyes and glorious golden hair, p, - -. • v-.,' ~ . 4 , .... fz , 0 -:-: I A 117- r r ..., , u.ri t i n (4,.., d on OP who wore a neat calico dress and white apron, and had plainly come down to milk the cows. "I'ni not hurt, thank ye," said Pat, "but I'm not well. I'll take myself off. Pll-" But as he arose he staggered and sat down again . The girl gave a little cry. "Holy angels above us ! Pve seen the signs of it before. It's starvin' ye are. Sit still. I'll get ye a bit and a sup. It's many a one has gone through the same in a strange land before ye." "Is it to beggin' I'm come ?" said Pat, but he could not help himself. He was too weak to go far, and there on the grass he waited until the girl returned. She came with steaming, fresh-baked bread, cold meat and red cherries, and filled a little tin pail with milk, and brought it to him, and Pat ate heartily. She milked the cows the while, giving him a merry word at times; at others singing the old crooning sort of sow's that none but Irish can sing. At last he had finished. How delicious the meal had tasted he only knew, and he turned to thank the girl; and overcome somehow by the soft light in her blue eyes, caught her hand and kissed it. -An' don't be angry any more than if you were the queen," he said, "for I meant ye no harm by it. An' won't ye give me your name ?"he asked. "For what ?" asked the girl. "Well, once in a while Ido be prayin', itnd I'd renumber it thin," said Pat. "It's just Jennie Brien," said the girl. "Will thin, God bless ye, Jennie Brien," said Pat. "an' if iver I find the gould they told me I could pick up in the sthreets, ye'll see me again if ye're on earth." "But is it work ye want ?" asked Jen nie. "Look ye : go up the road a bit, and yell see a tavern. There's a man wants hands for the West. May be he'll want _ _ "Give me yer hand for good luck, thin," said Pat. And when she gave it shyly he kissed it again, and was off up the road to the tavern. The man did want Pat; what job he hardly eared, so that. there was wages. He went with a gang of laborers to the far West, and laid railway track and dug canals; and falling ill of a fever, was cared for by a kind farmer's family, who, when he grew better, engaged him on the farm. There began Pat's luck. He saved his wages and bought a piece of ground. He Became a little farmer himself; little enough to tell, but a great deal for. Pat. He slowly civilized after the western farm er sort. He voted ; he had a strong polit . ical opinion. He built a house, wore broadcloth on Sundays, and was well Ithought of by many a country girl, despite f the • iv" • j • i "bit a brogue, which clung to his !; speech as burs cling to wool. But Pat never went courting. and lived alone in his new house until autumn. When the crops were all gathered in, and the hay all made, he put a neighbor in charge of his place. and started off, without a word of explanation. eastward. He told no one what lie went far, but he had a spe cial object. This object was Jennie Brien. New York was not the dreadful place to him that it was when he roamed hungry and foot sore through the streets, a stranger in a strange land. But the city did not keep him long. Out in the suburbs he traveled before night fell, and presented himself at the door of a gentleman's resi dence he remembered so well, with the confident inquiry : "May I see Jennie Brien, av ye please, Miss ?" of the girl who opened the door. The girl started. "She's at service here.' The girl shook her head. "It was be fore me, then," she said. "I'll ask." and ran away. In her place returned an old lady. "Jennie Brien lived with me two months ten years ago," said she. "I have never seen her since." . "An' where is she, may I ask, ma'am ?" asked Pat. "I'm sure I don't know," said the lady. And any one but an Irishman would have given poor Jennie Brien up in despair; but ho had made so sure of finding her that be made sure yet, and searched and hunted till spring came round, ringing door bells and asking those who answered it they knew Jennie Brien, but in vain. "At least I'll see the spot where she was so good to me," he said one bright Spring evening ; and with a heavy heart he went out into the suburbs again, climbed the fence, and threw himself down on 'the grass, where be could watch the river and the crafts upon it, and see not flu. from him cows that might have been the very ones she milked that day. "It seems almosi as if she'd come," he thought, "as ii she know'd I wanted her." So thinking he watched the sun go down and the twilight gather, and never thought of going—a longing so strong thatit seemed a power which might draw her to him, burning his soul; when suddenly- , -and Pat. was neither poet nor student of psy chology to fancy it—he saw her coming How he never could tell. He saw through a bush, a fence, a stone wall—saw her co:a3i g. -It Seemed as if it wasn't wid the eyes, but I saw her," said Pat, afterward. She came on steadily, surely. He knew she was in the lane beyond before he saw her climb the fence and stand in a fright ened sort of a way beside it, and he started up and went towards her. Then ske gave a scream. •Jennie Brien, don't be afraid," said Pat, "it's me." And she said: "Who is here that re members Jennie Brien ?" She was worn, and thin, and altered. Her dress was wretched ; her voice was sad, but Pat's heart thrilled at its sound. . _ "You saved my life here once," he said. "You fed me when I was starving. I said if iver the gould came you should see me, and here .I am. I'm a well-to-do farmer, Jennie, and I'm come to marry you if you'll have me. All these years l've kept a thought of ye. Just spake a kind word, darlint, and aim me heart." "But I'm not the same at all I was thin," she said. I went to service in a sickly place, and took ill, and I've been in the hospital very low, and I left it yester day. Me money is gone, and ladies think I look too wake to work; an' I was fright• cued for what was comin' to me, when it seemed all of a sudden sonic one called me; and the c.:!! jest went before till it brought we here. An' [ thought of you the while. Och ! but it's strange, Pat." "It was me ye said Pat. •'The angels took the call to ye. Och, darlint ! jist spake a word of' kindness, and tell me I don't call for nothing." And Jennie answered as he liked, and Pat took a wife back with him to his Western firm in a day or two. "I don't know what it was," says Pat when he tolls the story, "but the heart of me called, and the heart of her heard some how ; and that's as true as Gospel !" Alentling for the pillion. How I Escaped Being Killed in a Duel BY MARK TWAIN. Tho only merit I claim for the following narrative is that it is a true story. it has a moral at the end of it, but I claim nothing on that, as it is merely thrown in to curry favor with . the religious element. After I had reported a couple of years on the Virginia City (Nevada) Daily En terprise, they promoted me to be editor-in chief—and I lasted just a week by the watch. But I made it an uncommonly lively newspaper while I did last, and when I retired I had a duel on my hands, and three horse-whippings promised me. The latter I made no attempt to collect ; however, this story concerns only the for mer. It was the old "flush times" of the silver excitement, when the population was wonderfully wild and mixed; every body went armed to the teeth, and all slights and insults had to be atoned by the best blood your system could furnish. In the course of my editing I made trouble with a Mr. Lord, editor of the ri val paper. He flew up about some little trifle or other that I said about him—l do not remember what it was. I suppose I called him a thief, or a body-snatcher, or something like that. I was obliged to make the paper readable, and I could not foil in my duty to a whole community of subscribers merely to save the exaggerated sensitiveness of an individual. Mr. Lord was offended, and replied vigorously in his paper. Vigorously means a great deal when it refers to a personal editorial in a frontier newspaper. Dueling was all the fashion among the upper classes in that country, a very few men would throwaway 1 an opportunity to fight one. To kill a per- 1 son in a duel caused a man to be even 1 more looked up to than to kill two persons 1 in the ordinary way. . Well, out there if you abused a man, and that man did not like it, you had to call him out and kill him ; otherwise you would be disgraced. So I challenged Mr. Lord, and I did hope he world not accept it ; but I knew perfixtly well he did not want to fight, and so I challenged him in the most violent and implacabl manner. And then I sat down and suffered and suf fered • till the answer came. All our boys —the editors were in the office, "helping" me in the dismal business, and tellifin• about duels, and discussinn. ' the code with a lot of aged ruffians who had experience in such things, and altogether, there was a loving interest taken in the matter, which made me unspeakably uncomfortable. The answer came—Mr. Lord declined. Our boys were furious, so was I—on the sur face. I sent him another challenge, and an other and another ; and the more he did not want to fight the blood-thirstier I be came. But at last the man's tone changed. He appeared to be waking up. It was be coming apparent that he was going to fight me, after all. I ought to have known how it would be—he was a man who could nev er be depended upon. Our boys were ex ultant. I was not, though I tried to be. It was now time to go out and practice. It was the custom there to fightduels with navy six shooters at fifteen paces—load and empty till the game for the furneral was secured. We went to 4 little ravine just outside of town, and borrowed a barn door for a target—borrowed it of a gentle man who was absent—and we stood this barn door up, and stood a rail on end against the middle of it, to represent Lord, and put a squash on the top of the rail to represent his head. He was a very tall, lean creature, the poorest sort of material for a duel—nothing but a line shot could "fetch" him, and even then he might split your bullet. Exaggeration aside, the rail was, of course, a little too thin to represent his body accurately, but the squash was all right. If there was any intellectual difference between the squash and his head, it was in favor of the squash. Well, I practiced and practiced at the barn door, and could not hit it; and I practiced at the rail, and could not hit that, and I tried hard for the squash, and could not hit the squash. I would have been disheartened, but that occasionally I crip pled one of the boys, and that encouraged me to hope. At last we began' to hear pistol shots near by, in the next ravine. We knew what they meant ! The other party were out practicing too. Then I was in the last degree distressed ; for of course those people would hear our shots, and they would send spies ever the ridge, and the spies would find my barn door without a wound or scratch and that would simply be the end of me—for of course that other man would immediately become as blood thirsty as I was. __ _ _ _ ' Jua at this moment a little bird, no larger than a sparrow, flew by and lit on a sage bush about thirty paces away, and my little second, Steve Gillis, who was amatch less marksman with a pistol---much better than I was—snatched out his revolver and shot the bird's head off! We all ran to pick up the game, and sure enough, just at this moment, some of the other duelists came reconnoitering over the little,ridge. They ran out to our group to see what the matter was ; and when they saw the bird, Lord's second said "That's a splendid shot. How tuer off was it ?" Steve said with some indifference "Oh, no great distance. About thirty paces. " "My man—Twain." "The mischief he did : Can be do that often ?" "Well—yes. He can do it about—well —about, four times out of five." • I knew the little rascal was c but I never said anything, I never toldhim so. He was of a disposition to invite confidence of that kind, so I let the matter, rest. But it was a comfort to see those people look sick, and see their ender jaws drop, when Steve made thesa statements. They went off and got Lord and took him home ; and when we trot home there was a note saying that Mr. ' Lord peremptorily declined to fight It was a narrow escape. We found out afterwards that Lord hit his mark thirteen times in eighteed shots. If he had put those thirteen bullets through me, it would have-narrowed my sphere of useful ness a good deal—would have well nigh closed it, in fact. True, they could have put pegs in the holes, and used me for a hat rack. I have written this true incident of my personal history for one purpose, and one purpose only—to warn the youth of the day against the pernicious practice of duel ing, and to plead with them to war against it. If the remarks and suggestions lam making can be of any service to Sunday school teachers, and papers interested in the moral progress of society, they are at HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, FERUARY 5, 1873. liberty to use them, and I shall even be grateful to sae them widely disseminated, so they may do as much good as possible. I was young and foolish when I challenged that gentleman and I thought it was very fine and very grand to be a duelist, and stand upon the "field of honor." But I am older and more experienced now, and am inflexibly opposed to the dreadful cus tom. lam glad, indeed - , to be enabled to lift up my voice against it. I think it is a bad, immoral thing. I think it is every man's duty to discourage dueling. I al ways do now ; I discourage it on every oc casion. If a man were to challenge me now— now that. I can fully appreciate the iniqui ty of that practice-1 would go to that man, and take him by the hand and lead him to a quiet, retired spot and kill him. " I Make No Mistakes.' A first-rate story is told of a prominent man, who lived in Detroit forty years ago, and'who at that time owned wore steam boat stock than any man in the Western country, besides other wealth to a large amount. Like many of the pioneers who acquired great riches, he was very ignorant in all that books taught, but his learning is more like wisdom, and, in common with many who have lived and passed away, but left their mark behind them, he knew what tree would make shingles by looking at it. He had, at the time of our story; just completed a splendid new warehouse at Buffalo, and wanting a suitable clerk to take charge of it, he advertised for one in the papers. The next morning early, a candidate for the position presented him self, rather too flashy a young man in ap pearance, but the following conversation occurred: "Young man, when you make a mistake in any of your books, how do you correct it r The young man explained irt a very profuse manner, how he should proceea to make it all right. "A good way, no doubt. to do it," re plied the old num ; "but I shan't want you.,, Very soon another aspirant put in an appearance. A similar question wgs asked him, and in a long and eloquent manner he pointed out the remedy in all such eases. All tho reply was : "Young matt I shan't want you." SoMe three or fbur others dropped in during the d iy, and to each one the same question was put, and they all had some smart way of covering up errors in their books. The old gentleman was entirely igno rant himself of the art of book-keeping, but he bad wisdom in all things, which is more than a match for learning. Just at the close of the day a plainly dressed man with a bright eye and a brisk step called for the situation. ilTake a seat, sir," said the old gentle man, "I want to ask you one question.— When you make a false' entry on your books, how do you go to work to correct it ?" Turning upon his questioner a cold, sharp look, the young man replied : "I don't make that kind of mistakes, sir." "Ah ! my dear sir, you are justthe man I have been looking for all day," and in a few moments after, the man who corrected his blunders by not making them, was in stalled in the office. Flirting with Strangers, It is a prevailing custom with youni , ladies in country towns, to promenade the streets in the evenings, especially past the hotels, and signify to the new comers by looks and gestures that their acquaintance can he made if' desired: Drummers from ouriwholesale houses, lightning rod men, venders of patents, showmen, and so froth, are so accustomed to these things, that they are not in one of these towns or cities over night until they have a "duck" in tow, and that duck perhaps the daughter of some respectable citizen, who knows little of the danger his daughter is in. What is the result ? In seven cases out of ten the fly is caught in the unmerciful spider's web—the girl is ruined; and, in endeavoring to screen her parents from the shame the knowledge of her fall would bring upon them, she finds her way to this or some other city, and into some of the gilded palaces of sin, where good-looking Country girls are at a premium, and where, under an assumed name, she is dead to her j parents, as she soon becomes to shame and I and all the finer feelings of her woman ; nature. It is a well-known fact that it is not our city girls who people bagnios, but girls from country towns, whose first faux ipas was street, or theatre flirtations with strangers, and listening is their .honeyed words and grand promises. Let girls be ' ware of itinerants; those fellows, who go pinto stereotyped rhapsodies over their beauty and accomplishments, and swear j they are fit to adorn a mansion in the city; who travel on their cards, and dine, when at home, with Jay Cooke, Drexel, &c., who, accordiac , ' to their own words, are the golden apples of society at home and would rather die than do a dishonorable act. Beware of suchove repeat, girls, and if you would save your good name, your peace of mind, the happiness of those who gave you life, and command the respect that every woman has within her reach, treat every stranger you meet in an irreg ular way as a Roue, a Libertine. Gentle ! men do not seek to form the acquaintance of ladies except in a legitimate manner, depend upon it.—Exch,angc. The Way to Succeed Fortune, success, position sic never gained but by piously, determinedly, brave ly striking, growing, living to a thing. In short, you must carry a thing through if you want to be anybody or anything, no matter if it does cost you the pleasure, the society and the thousand yearly gratifica tions of life. No matter for these. Stick to the thing, and carry it through. Believe you were made for the matter, and that no one else can do it. Put forth your whole energies. Be awake, electrify yourself and go forth to your task. Only once learn to carry through a thing in all its com pleteness and proportion, and you will be come a hero. You will think better of yourself. and •others will think better of you. MULTITUDES in their haste to get rich rained every year. The men who do things maturely, slowly, deliberately, are the men who oftenest succeed in life. People who are habitually in a hurry gen• orally have to do things twice over. THE most beautiful may be the most admired and caressed, but they are not al ways the meat esteemed and loved. Seward-Napoleon--A Chapter in the History of the Rebellion. The death of the ex-Emperor Napoleon recalls an incident of the great Southern rebellion which has not hitherto been made public. It is well known that the late Emperor of the French was an aetive and earnest sympathizer with the South; that more than once he seriously medita ted material intervention in its behalf; that the invasion of Mexico and the enthrone ment of Maximilian in the seat of the Mon tezumas was a part of a deliberate plot to break up the American Union. But to what lengths he proceeded—how resolute ly determined he was to carry his fell de sign into execution—has never been fully known outside of a narrow official circle. The story of his purpose is short but sug gestive, and was told by Mr. Seward to a few personal friends at a dinner party, among whom was the writer of this article. No one who was present will ever forget the intense earnestness and animation of the great statesman as he related the mo mentous incident. The exact words, so pregnant with eloquent meaning—so sol emn and impassioned—we cannot in every instance reproduce, but the general import is given below : "It was," said Mr. Seward. "in the darkest days of the rebellion. Disaster upon disaster had befallen the Union ar mies. Treason was active and bold-fronted at Washington, in the North and in the West. Rebel emissaries and their allies were plotting against us over the Canadian border. Our foreign relations were most critical. Rebel cruisers were being fitted out in British ports and sent to prey upon our commerce ; Germany was coldly neu tral ; the smaller European States were indifferent spectators of the conflict ; Rus sia was the only friend we had among the Powers of the earth. "In this desperate emergency I received an autograph letter from the Emperor of the French. It was marked 'private and I confidential.' It began with expressions of personal regard for myself; and pain at the spectacle of the great Republic in the throes of dissolution. 'Personally,' said Napoleon. 'I could wish the cause of the Union to succeed. But the welfare of France and the force of popular opinion are paramount to the individual sympa thies. Our commercial interests are seri ously suffering from the prolongation ofyour war. My subjects appeal to me to arrest the bloody conflict. I must obey the voice of France at whatever cost. You cannot put down the rebellion ; embrace the earliest opportunity to make terms with the South. If you fail to do this, I shall feel compelled, in the interests of my country—in the in terests of civilization—to intervene with all the power at my command.' "I answered Napoleon's insulting letter immediately. I did not waste words in compliments. I said : This ais family quar rel. We propose to settle it in our own way and in our own time. Wedo not wish the assistance of outsiders ; we will not brook interference. The American Union is to be preserved. It shall be preserved if it takes twenty years to do it. The war is hardly commenced yet; the people are just beginning to warm to the work. We wish to be on good terms with our neighbors— we wish especially to be on good terms with France, our ancient friend and ally. Bat you must keep hands off. If you pre sume to interfere, we will show you what a free people battling for National existence are capable of. H Utica° we have conduct ed the war humanely, in accordance with the codes that govern the most Christian States. Interference on your part will be the sig nal for a war of conquest and destruction. We will free the negroes ' • we will put arms in their hands, and send them forth to ravage and plunder. We will make the South a waste and a desolation. Raise a hand against us, and horrors worse than those of San Domingo will be seen from one end of the South to the other. "The letter was sent by the first stea mer. The same day I telegraphed to Thurlow Weed, Archbishop Hughes, and Bishop Simpson to meet me at the Astor House the morning following. That even ing I left for New York, and enjoined to these eminent gentlemen the objects of the conference and the new danger that threa tened the Union cause. I told them that they must at once go to Europe, to labor unofficially with the government and ru ling classes in England and on the Conti nent, to represent the wickedness, danger, and folly of foreign interference. In less than a week they were on their journey, reached Europe at a most opportune mo ment—[Mason and Slidell had just been seizel—England was in a white heat of rage]—and did much toward convincing Europe that the proper thing and the only thing to do was to leave us alone. And the mission cost the government less than seven thousand dollars." Homeiy Girls. "How did that homely girl ever con trive to get married ?" is not unfrequently remarked of some domestic creature whom her husband regards as the apple of his eye, and in whose plain face he sees some thing better than beauty. Pretty girls who are vain of their charms are rather prone to make observations of this kind ; and conscious of the fact that flowers of loveliness are often left to pine on the stem, while weeds of homeliness go off readily, is no doubt in many cases at the bottom of the sneering question. The truth is, that most men prefer homeliness and amiability to beauty and caprice. Handsome women are apt to overvalue themselves and in waiting for an immense bid occasionally overstep the market. Their plain sisters, on the contrary, aware of their personal deficiencies, generally lay themselves out to produce an agreeable impression; and in most instances succeed. They don't aspire to capture paragons with pricely fortunes, but are willing to take anything respectable and love-worthy that Providence may throw in their way. The rock ahead of our haughty Junos and co .quetish Hebes is fastidiousness. They re ject and reject until nobody cares to woo them. Men don't like to be snubbed or to be trifled with—a lesson that thousands of pretty women learn too late. Mrs. Hannah Moore, a very excellent and pious person, who knew whereof she wrote, recommends every unmarried sister to accept the offer of the first good, sensible lover who falls in her way. But ladies whose mirror, aided by the clamor of vanity, assures them that they were born for conquest, pay no heed to such advice. It is a note-worthy fact that homely girls generally get better husbands than fall to the lot of their beautiful sisters. Men Who are caught merely by a pretty face and figure do not, as a rule, amount to much. The practical, useful, thoughtful portion of mankind is wisely content with unpretending excellency. Tit-Bits Taken on the Fly. Pay the printer. To understand truth, one must live it. All things are but altered, nothing dies. The table of interest is the dinner-table. Portland, Oregon, has a new opera house. Twins ; like mirfortunes, never come singly. Sweet fern leaves sell at $1.2 per ton in the West. There is no death; what seems so is transition. Anger makes dull men witty, but keeps them poor. To lore is the only thing that can till up eternity. An essay on man—A woman's attempt to marry him. British engineers are at work on a rail road in China. Nebraska expects to receive 75,000 em igrants this year. Be not hopeless fbr the lily bemuse it starts in the mud. New York pick-pockets are becoming very troublesome. The home circuit—Walking about with baby in the night. Philadelphia is making preparations for the celebration in 1876. A good hotel keeper is one that a man can always put up with. Truth is richer than imagination ; she oversteps it on all sides. Our homes should be as holy as our churches, to say the least. God values men according to whs.t they have had to walk through. The worst kind of education—To be brought up by a policeman. The earth does not bring forth but un der the plow which rends it. God never would have required the sac rifice of Isaac from a mother. When the heart is cleft to the core, there is no speech nor language. A Chicago German advertises a "base• ment to rent on the third story." Youth is the smile of the future before an unknown being, which is itself. An autograph letter of Henry Clay was sold in Terre Haute for fifty cents. A new Peoria paper starts under the burden of "Injunction' for a name. To the contemplative soul there is no littleness; the least of things is infinite. The Seine inundation destroyed 12,000 rats, and there is now a corner in the mar ket. Animals are truly neither father nor mother; they are but the workmen of na ture. The sting of a bee carries conviction with it. It makes a man a believer at once. He who cheerfully commits the uni verse to God has nothing in the universe to fear. _ Athens, Ga., prosperously began the new year with a surplus of one cent in the treasury. Ex-Senator Gwin, otherwise Duke of Sonora, has sold his silver mine for $l,- 000,000. Here is the newest floral "sentiment"— If you wish for heart-ease don't look to mari-gold. Upwards of $1,000,000 is the average annual sum paid in Great Britain for arti ficial flowers. A Hartford paper asserts that every Bostonian who dies with a hight forehead expects a statue. A punster challenged a sick man's vote at the city election, on the ground that he was an ill-legal voter. A woman in Birmingham, England, was lately fined $2OO for giving a good Char acter to a bad servant. Advice is like snow, the softer it falls the longer it dwells upon and the deeper it sinks into the heart. Cheerfidness is not a proof that the mind is at ease, for often "in the midst of laughter the heart is sad." To love and to labor is the sum of liv ing, and yet how many think they live who neither labor nor love. • Faith, is to walk through the darkest clouds, though there be no silver lining to show that day is breaking. We may see, if we do but look, the shuttle of life flying to and fro in the tin niest morsel of liviug stuff. The three things most difficult are, to keep a secret, to forget an injury and to make good use of leisure. A great deal of what is called hypocrisy arises from the delicacy one has in offend ing the feelings of another. Whenever you buy or sell, let or hire, make a clear bargain, and never trust to "We shan't disagree about trifles." A California widow, just before com mitting suicide wrote to a friend that "it nearly killed her to leave her children." The last sensation in Chicago is a trunk which can be converted into a bath-tubor coffin. The last peculiarity renders it very appropriate for railroad travel. An Indiana paterfamilias, whose sponse has filled his quiver with twelve sons and fifteen daughters, wishes to know if that isn't sufficient cause for a divorce. A lady in Fort Wayne has cards out for her silver, crystal and tin weddings, which occur on the same day. Her first two hus bands (divorced) have received invitations but perversely decline attending. The mass meetin ,, called at Dover, Del., for the purpose of organizing a "white man's party" resulted last week in the harmonious assemblage of one individual, who, after passing several resolutions, ad journed himself sine (lit. Collinsville, Conn., has a cat without tail, but who has seven toes upon each foot, and when engaged in battle he can throw a stream of red fire and noise out of his month that sweeps the other cats off from the roof like a simoon. Monticello, the estate of Thomas Jeffer son, subiequently owned by Commodore Levy, and by the latter bequeathed in trust for a farm school for the orphan sons of warrant officers in the navy, is now in liti gation at Richmond, between the State of Virginia as trustee and the heirs of Com modore Levy. The clerk of a San Francisco lawyer guarded against the possibility of forget ting the secret of the combination by wri ting it upon a piece of paper and pasting it upon the knob of the safe. He found it hard to dodge the well-bound law-books that were thrown at his head when the lawyer discovered it, and is now seeking a desk in another office. The Seven Wonders of the World Although every school boy and girl in the land have read of the "seven wonders of the world," and every person of any in telligence has either reader heard of them, the New York Star thinks that ninety nine persons out of a hundred who might be asked the question could not name them. They are the Pyramids—the mys tery of the past—the enigma of the pres ent—and the enduring for the future ages of this world. The temple, the walls and hanging gardens of Bablyon, the most celebrated city of Assyria, and the resi dence of the kings of that country after the destruction of Nineveh. The Chry selephantine statute of Jupiter Olympias, the most renowned work of Phidias, the illustrious artist of Greece. The statue was formed of gold, and was sitting on a throne almost touching the summit of the temple, which was seventy feet high. The Temple of Diana at Ephesus, which was 220 years building, and which was 425 feet in length and 220 in breadth, and supported by 127 marble columns of the lonic order, 60 feet high. The Mausol eum at Halicarnassus, erected in the mem ory of Mausolus, tue King of Caria, by his wife Artemesia, B. C. 353. • The Pharos at Alexandria, a light house erected by Ptolemy Soter at the entrance of the har bor of Alexandria. It was 450 feet high,. and could be seen at a distance of 100 miles, and upon which was inscribed, "Kin.. Ptolemy to the gods. saviour, for the benefit of sailors." Lastly, the Co lossus at Rhodes, a brazen image of Apollo, 105 Grecian feet in height, and which was to be located at the .entrance of one of the harbors of the city of Rhodes. Some Facts for Young America Governor Palmer, of Illinois, was a country blacksmith once, and began his political career in Macoupin county. A circuit judge in the central part of Illinois was a tailor, as was ex-President Johnson also. Stephen Girard, who died worth millions, began by bottling cider. J. B. Benjamin could not read at the age of eighteen. A. T. Stewart began life poor. Mr. Bennett, of the Herald, made several failures before he got a fair start. Mr. Greeley, whose death a nation is mourn ing, began life a printer's apprentice. Thomas Hayn. a rich and eminent lawyer of Illinois, was once a book-binder. Eras tus Corning, of New York, too lame to do bard labor, commenced as a shop boy in Albany. When he applied for employ ment first, he was asked; "Why, my little boy, what can you do ?" "Can do what I am bid," was the answer, which secured him a place. Senator Wilson, of Massa chusetts, was a shoemaker ; Thurlow Weed. a canal-boat driver; ex-Governor Stone of lowa, a cabinet-maker, which trade the Hon. Stephen A. Douglass also worked at in his youth. Large numbers of men of prominence now living have risen from humble life by dint of industry, without which talent is as gold coin on a barren island. Work alone makes men bright, and it does not alone depend on the kind of work you have whether you arise or not; it depends on how you do it. etuational. Eduoation, and the Science and Art or Teaching.--No. 4. ELOCUTION-CONTINUED. It is well known that there is a wide difference of opinion, among elocutionists, as to the extent speakers and readers should be governed by fixed and special rules.— Some hold that, in the delivery of every sentence, the application of emphaies, pause, pitch, inflection, etc., should be regulated by fixed rules. In accordance with this theory they have formed, for the guidance of pupils, complex and elaborate systems of elocutionary rules. Others, on the other hand, regard all specific rules for the management of the voice in speaking and reading, as not only useless, but posi tively injurious. They advocate what we call the natural. To pay no attention to the voice, but studiously to withdraw the thoughts from it I think that the true course lies midway between these extremes. Because some elocutionists fall into the error of attempting to carry their princi ples too far, and perplex the student with endless lists of rules, it dues not follow that all rules should be disregarded. The best example:of the middle course is Prof: Mark Bailey's essay introductory to Hil lard's Sixth Reader, and I would recom mend it to sohool teachers before any other work on elocution with which lam ac quainted ; while for a manual of lung gym nastics, and vocal drill and discipline, I would recommend the works of Murdock and Monrae. In teaching declamation the piece should be accurately committed to memory, with out the variation of a syllable, so that in delivery no effort will be required to recall it. The pupil must have time to practice by himself, and as one author expresses it, "It must be impressed upon his mind that he must practice, practice, practice" He must be made to understand that the re petition of a pieCe three or four times is no adequate preparation, and that he must ,go over with it twenty, thirty, or fifty times, if he would excel. in learning t 3 dance a pupil must pay attention to the motions of his limbs; but when practice has made the movements familiar, his mind is withdrawn from them. They then be. come natural. So with the student of elocution. In his disciplinary exercises he must attend to his coke. But when he comes to practical delivery, he should withdraw his mind from the manner of ut terance, and concentrate it intensely upon the matter—the thoughts and feelings to be expressed. Above all, let it be remem bered that the perfection of declamation consists in delivering the piece as though it were real speaking, the speaker putting himself in imagination so completely into the situation of him he personates, as to express himself exactly as such a person would have done in the supposed situation. But my purpose is not to elaborate a system of elocution for the use of teachers (any teacher will find all the directions he needs in the numerous works now publish ed), it is merely to draw their attention to the sad, I could almost say criminal, neg lect of this important branch of education, that by giving to it and School Gymnas tics. their proper place in our educational scheme, we may make provision for the acquiring of that moral and intellectual power, and that expressive force, which result from the blending of a high-toned physical and mental training. JASON. UsE your own brains, rather than those of others. No man can get rich who lounges in stores and saloons. N 0.6. c luund thr Waiting for Me. When mysteries whispers are coating around, And voices that will not be still Shall summon us hence from the slippery shore, To the waves that are silent and still ; When I look with changed eyes at the home of the blest, Far out of the reach of the sea, Will any one stand at the beautiful gate, Waiting and watching for me ? There are dear ones at home I may bless with my love, There are wretched ones passing the street; There are friendless and suffering strangers around, There are tempted and poor I must meet ; There are many unthought of whom, happy and blest, In the land of the good I shall see : Will any of these, at the beautiful gate. Be waiting and watching for me ? There are the old and forsaken, who linger a while In the homes which their dearest have left, And an action of love or a few gentle words Might cheer the sad spirit bereft; But the Reaper is near to the long-standing corn, The weary shall soon be set free ; Will any of these, at the beautiful gate. Be waiting and watching for me? There are little ones glancing about on my path In need of a friend. and a guide ; There are dim little eyes looking up into mine, Whose tears could be easily dried; But Jesus may beckon the children away, In the midst of their grief or their glee; Will any of these, at the beautiful gate, Be waiting or watching for me? I may be brought there by the manifold grace Of the Saviour who loves to forgive ; Though I bless not the hungry one near to my side, Only pray for myself while I live. But I think I should mourn o'er my selfish neglect— If sorrow in Heaven can be— lt' no one should stand at the beautiful gate. Waiting and watching for me. "I am Going to be Damned, I Know It." Let me tell you a story—a true story— one you never could forget if you learned it as he learned it who now sits down to tell it. The subject of it has been dead now for some time, and I suppose his body has long ago changed into dust. A won derful body it was that God had given him. Like Saul, he would stand head and should ers above most of his fellows. He was a strong man, with broad chest, brawny arms and sinewy muscles. Ho lived on A— street, in the city of Pittsburgh, and was by trade a blacksmith. I saw him first in his own house, and was introduced to him by his wife as the minister from a neigh boring church. It was but a little body beside him, but having heard incidentally that he never went to church, I wished to talk with him about his soul. At sight of the man, for whom I had inquired, my heart trembled within me and I hesitated. but the grace of God was sufficient, and 1 began as kindly as I could to converse with him. The following was in substance the conversation : "I never saw yon at oar church; would be pleased to have you come up some day." "No! I don't go to church any place ; it is all a piece of nonsense." And with out giving me an opportunity to say any thing, he continued in this strain for some time, scoffing at churches and church go ers. Seeing that there was no use in en tering upon an argument with him, I let him talk on until he seemed to himself to have completely exhausted the subject and to have stopped my mouth. Then telling him I had a question to ask him, and ho ping that if he thought it was a fair one he would answer it, I caught his eye, and looking him fell in the face, simply said : "Mr. B—, what are you going to do for the salvation of your soul ? Ts your peace made with God ?" The bow was drawn at a venture, but the arrow went straight to his heart. He dropped his eyes, was silent a moment. then rallying, said : "Oh, my soul is all right; it is safe.— God is merciful ; he will take care of me," and followed this up with language of sim ilar import. Merely reminding him that God was just as well as merciful, I again asked : "Mr. B-, what are you going to do for the salvation of your soul ? Is your peace made with God ?" Once more the arrow hit him, but he rallied and said : "You needn't talk to me about my soul. I know all about these things. I was a member of a church fifteen years ago, and you can't tell me anything about God that I don't know." "Very well, sir, but you have not an swered my question yet; what are you go ing to do for the salvation of your soul ? ' Is your peace made with God?" His eyes filled with tears. The strong man bowed himself and wept, and in a few minutes, with a trembling voice. confessed that he was in the wrong. Said he : "There is no use in trying to brave it out any longer. I have been a very wicked man. I know my peace is not made with God. Won't you pray fer me? I kneeled down beside him and prayed for him, and rising up preached Christ. When I was leaving he told me he would be at church the next Sabbath, and requested me to hold a prayer-meeting at his house on the first moonlight evening. Sabbath came, but he was not at church. Hesent a mes sage, saying that he had hurt his foot and could not come, but that he would bethere on the following Sabbath. The second Sabbath came, but he was not at church. A message came saying that he was dying. It startled me ! After service, in compa ny with an elder, I went to his house, but he was wandering in his mind, and remain ed in this condition several days. One day, as I stood by his bedside, he turned to wards me, and seemed to recognize me. I asked him if he knew me. "Oh, yes," said he, "you are Nr. - the minister." "Are you prepared to die ?'' "No, I am not!" I urged him to preparation, but his only response was: •:It is too late ; I have been a wicked man; I ought to have attended to these things long ago." I held up Christ as well as I could be. fore the dying man, but his reply was: "It is too late; there is no hope for me." I prayed for him, and rising from my knees besought him to look to Christ, but alas !it was too late. Never, while mem ory performs its accustomed duty, can 1 forget the terrible look of despair, and the agony of his countenance, as with clench ed teeth he gave utterance to these words: "It is too late ! it is too late ! I ain going to hell ! Jam going to be damned, and I know it !" lie died with these words upon his lips. Reader, make your peace with God NOW.— United Presbyterian. LOVE those who hate you,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers