TIiniNtisIEFINYILLTGENGEIt ,
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A. o. SMITH. A. S. STEINMAN.
TERMS—TWO Dollars per annum, payable
In all gases In adyanae.
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THE LANCASTER DAILY INTELLIO: 2 4CEE
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OFFlCE—Souinirierr Conbizn Oa CENTRE
SQUARE.
Poetry.
SUPPOSE!
Suppose my little lady
I.our doll should break her head
Could you make It whole by crying
Till your eyes and nose are rod?
And wouldn't It be pleasanter
To treat It as aJoke;
And say you're glad 'twos Dolly's,
And not your head that broke?
Suppose you're dressed for walking,
And the rain comes pouring down
Will it clear off any sooner
Because you scold and frown?
And wouldn't it he nicer
For you to smile than pout,
And so make sunshine in the house
When there Is none without !
Suppose your task my little malt,
Is very hard to get,
Will It make It any easier
For you to sit and fret?
And wouldn't It he wiser,
Than waiting like a duets.,
To go to work In earnest
And learn tits thing at °nee?
Suppose that smite boys have a hors,
And some a coach and pair,
Will It tare you less while walking
TO my "It Isn't fah - ?"
And wouldn't It be nobler
To keep your temper sweet,
And In your heart be thankful
You run walk upon your feet
Suppose the world don't please you,
tour the way some people du,
Dovou think the whole creation
1111 be altered Just for you?
And Isn't It my boy Or girl,
'rho wisest, bravest plan,
Whatever-comes, or doesn't route,
To du the best you:cun
qieetie Nliejelettbl, tell Tee, pray,
Ilits my Colin come this way?
Ile chants a rustle ritornella,
And bears n crook—nn his umbrella
Say then, gentle shepherds, say,
llns my Colin passed this way ?
\Vint° his shlrtsfront as new nillk
Soft his whiskers are as silk.
110 drl yes no noel:, the darling imot
Bat wears a vest of Astroean.
. .
Say then, gentle she plterd , , say,
Has Illy Ccili IJatiNcit 111 IS way"
Every morning forth he Ides
While ille milkmaid rubs her eyes,
With hasty ,steps In• eastward g,,es,
l' pan a Bank In seek repose.
Then, gentle shepherds, tell mo . , , pray
lists my 'olin passed Liiia Way
"If the party as you man—
Which, Is name Is Peter (Peen—
Is a clerk will, 001111111 , 1P0.,
Then I see him thithergo
(lint don't heneefortik address mr thus
I ain't 110 shepherd) on a 'IAN.
" Hls pipe—l do not mean a lloot.—
' N,Pll ) o e r a e r . ' ;‘ l ,i t i ' ,V.: ': l ' ) ' f f, y t2 a ri :l lr l;r::t ' .lll ; ne . shore,
lie slopped Ittnl houaht 0 1)011Y
Thou mounted I'm no slu•plioril, ot !)
1:11011 the ICllifebllard Of OW 1/.."
ftliscrtlaneolls.
A Romance In Lima
Many years ago a young Englishman,
medical student 'wanted Astley, went
to Lima. The love of adventure was
strong upon hint, and all he met with
in his own country was Lou Lune to sat
isfy it. I'mud of the profession for
which he was studying, and trusting to
It Mr subsistence, strong and healthy
in body and in mind, he left England
with a bold heart, and this was the life
he led, and what came of it.
At a time when the diffieulty of pro
curing subjects for anatomival study was
great, and when to procure them hon
estly wits impossible, and the prejudice
against Alissection was so strong that nu
one was willing to submit the body of
any one connected with him to exami
nation, it is well known that there were
men who made it their business to ob
tain, at no small risk, bodies, generally
those or the newly-buried, which they
sold to surgeons, medical students, or
1111CL•11 to any one who stood in need of
the ghastly commodity.
This class, known as "body snatchers"
and " resurrection own," lilts died out
since there is happily now little preju
dice against what has been triumphant
ly' proved to be a neeesaary branch of
scientific study ; but at the time of our
story their hideous wort: was a thriving
and profitable one.
Richard Ashley, In common with the
rest of the 111 i'VSSI On, availed himself
of their services, 111111 many times in the
black night his d o ur Wl.l-': opened to those
who did not knock, hut who were ex
peeled and waited for, and who,
enter
ing silently, stealthily deposited a dead
burden upon the table prepared for its
reception. Old and young, men, and
women and children, all in time lav
upon that grim table, and Astley's skill
ful instruments cut their way to secrets
that were destined to benefit the living.
Though he was not hard-hearted, it
WZLS not unnatural that in time he should
grow so much accustomed to the sight
at' his subjects as to feel nothing , but a
momentary pity ' us he put aside the
clustering curls of infancy, or uncovered
the face of a man struck down in the
glory of years.
One night, its many nights before, the
stealthy visit was paid, and Astley took
his lamp to...examine the new subject.—
Neither strong omit nor tender child
this time b u t a young and beautiful
W0111:111. The dead face was so lovely
that it did not seem possible that the
light in the closed eyes could make it
lovelier. The fair hair had fallen back,
and gave no shade to the white brow,
tool the long, fair lashes lay in a thick
fringe upon the violet tinted underlids.
She was very tall and slender, and her
hands—one of which hung down as she
lay opt m the tattle—were long and per
fectly shaped. As Astley lifted her hand
to lay it on her breast, he thought how
beautiful it must once have been, since
now, when there was not the faintest
rose tint to relieve the deadly palor of
it, it was so exquisite. She wore one
garment, a long flannel shroud, very
straightly made, through whirl' scanty
drapery her slender limbs were distinct
ly visible, and below which her tel
feet were seen hare to the ankle.
Astley W2ls troubled as he had never
been before. The idea of treating this
beautiful corpse as he had dune all oth
ers brought to him in like manner was
repulsive to him, and lie recoiled from
it as from the thought of sacrilege. But
how could he rid himself of the lovely
ineumbus? IL was possible that the men
who had brought it 'night be bribed to
take it back again, and if they should
refuse—but he was incapable of distinct
thought upon the subject, and could only
determine that in any use the beautiful
thing before him should be treated with
reVerellqe and respect. lie gently cov
ered it front head to foot with a long
white cloth, and locking the dour of
conununication, between his bedrctom
and the rootn in which it lay, threw
himself upon his bed without undress
j,,pg, for the night was nearly gone.
lint his sleep was broken, and his
dreams were feverish, anti itt some way
all connected with what lay in the next
room. Now it seemed to hint that she
glided ill through die locked dour, with
hands folded on, her breast, and eyes
still fast closed, and stood by his bed
side, anti now his dream -was that he
had opened a vein in one of the delicate
arms and that warm blood poured from
it fast; and finally he woke with a cry
of horror from a ghastly dream that lie
had entered the room, and found that
some unknown hand; had anticipated
him in the work of dissection.
The horror was upon him after he
awoke to know it was a dream, and
ripening the door lie looked in upon the
table. No change there of any kind.
The long sheeted figure lay in the half
light of dawn us lie had seen it before in
the lamp-light, very straight and still.
It was not until nearly Amon that Ast
ley raised the covering:M look once
again upon the lovely dead face, and
when he did so saw with wonder, not
unmixed with terror, that a change had
come upon it. He could not tell what
it might be; the deathly pallor was
there still, but in some way the face was
not the same. He looked into it long
and curiously. Surely a change had
passed over the eyes fur they were still
fast shut, they looked now as though
closed in sleep rather than in death. He
lifted an eyelid tenderly with his linger;
there wits not death in the eye; uncon
sciousness, trance, there might be, but
not death.
He was certain now that she was not
dead, though lid could not find life in
her pulses. For hours he strove to call
back the spirit, until at length color re
turned, and warmth, and life, and she
lay before him sleeping' tranquilly like
a child. He had placed her on his bed,
and now sat by her side with a throb
bing heart, to await her awakening.
She slept so long, and in the waiving
light looked so pale that he feared she
was again about to fall into the strange
deadly trance from which he had with
so much difficulty recovered her. In
his terror of that he cried out for her to
awake, and the sound of his cry awoke
her with a start.
He had prepared a speech that was to
calm and retassure her when she awoke
bewildered to dud herself, so strangely
clothed and lodged • .but she no more
needed calming and re-assuring than an
infant too young to know its mother
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••• ; I , ; ) I ,ILL1 1- 7 . :7. T 1 7rF , I i?.
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VOLUME 71
from any other woman. She looked
around with a wandering gaze that was
almost infantile, and her eye resting
upon Astley she sat up in the bed and
asked him in his own language for food.
It was evident that she had no recollec
tion of illness and neither anxiety nor
curiosity as to her present condition.
She ate the food that was brought to
her with appetite, and would have risen
from the bed, apparently unconscious
that she wore no garment but a shroud,
had not Astley persuaded her to lay
down and sleep again.
He left her sleeping, and went on to
another room profoundly puzzled. Here
was this beautiful woman, ignorant, and
almost helpless as a child, thrown upon
him for protection, as it 1 , 711.9 clear that
she did not remember anything which
would lead to the discovery of her
friends. It was possible that her senses
had left her altogether, never to return ;
the lovely creature might be a harmless
idiot all the rest of her days. Herspeak
ing English was another puzzle. She
might be an English woman—her
beauty was certainly of the Saxon type
—or she might only have learned the
English language; but if so how came
that knowledge to have been retained
when all else seemed gone?
His perplexity was Interrupted by the
entrance of the cause of IL She stood
at the door wrapped round in one of the
bed coverings, looking at him with a
sweet, childish, vacant expression that
was touching in its helplessness. I
must call her something, he thought, as
he stood apparently waiting for him to
speak • " her name shall be Mary."
" Are y ou better, Mary, and will you
sit in this chair? " '
She paid no attention to the inquiry,
but took the offered seat, and began
silently rocking herself to and fro. It
had such a ghostly effect to see her
there by the lamp-light, robed in the
long white drapery, with liCr beautiful
face stillpale, no longer deathly, rock
ing herself in silence that Astley felt a
sensation very like fear thrill through
him, for he could not bear this. He took
up a book, the first one that came to
hand—it was an English one—and offer
ed it to her, asking ifshe would read.
She took it with a childish smile, and
laying it upon her knees began to flutter
the leaves [awkward and forward, play
ing Idly with them.
(hood heavens !" said Astley to him
self, "she is mad, imbecile at any rate;
I must do something with her."
But it was impossible to think wilh
her before hinyand, taking her by the
hand, lie said :
"Now, Mary, you must go back to bed,
and to-morrow—"
She did not wait for the end of the
sentence, but rose at once to do as she
was bidden, threw down the book, and
letting fall the coverlet that had enve
loped her, walked quietly back to the
inner room.
Astley fastened the door, and left as
he was going mad from sheer bewilder
ment. She must have clothes the first
thing, and how were they to be procured
without taking some one into his con
fidence Even,if he knew where to go
for them, he knew nothing of what a
woman's clothes should be. It was evi
dent then that some oue must be told of
the extraordinary adventure, and it was
evident that it must be a wthuan in
whom he could confide, as lie required
practical help of the kind no man could
give him. •
The morning dawned before he could
arrange and settle a plan, and finally he
decided that lie could not if he would rid
himself of the charge of her, therefore
she should remain in his house, and he
would tell all to the one acting as his
housekeeper, who chanced to be absent
at the time, but whose return lie was
expecting that very day. He would
bind her to secrecy by the most solemn
oath he could devise, and if she failed to
keep it, why—at any rate he was in a
terrible serape, and this seemed the best
thing to be done. The woman returned
early in the day, and Astley at once told
:ill, and implored her assistance. To his
great relief she agreed at once to do all
that lay in her power for the unhappy
young girl, and a few arrangements
made. Astley left the house for the day,
determined to shake off the unpleasant
impression which the whole thing had
made upon him.
Returning at night, he found Mary
comfortably elothed and looked less
pale and ill. His housekeeper told him
that she had been dressed like a child,
having apparently no idea of assisting
her at all.
It would be impossible to describe
minutely how intelligence dawned and
grew swiftly in the poor girl's mind. It
was not a gradual growth from infancy,
but came in fitful snatches. The great
est change came first, when her face
brightened from its sweet, blank vacan
cy of expresssou at Astley's approach,
and then she began to wait upon him
like a loving child, and he with infinite
patience taught her to read and write.
She also learned to sew, and was not
unskillful in such woman's craft; but
what he taught was learned quickest,
best.
TWO years passed, and 'Mary had de
veloped so rapidly that she was much
like other women in knowledge and ac
quirements, but,she had no memory of
anything before her trance. Astley told
her the whole story, and urged her to
try to recall somethingof the time before
but it was in vain, ber memory was
gone. And the present time was so hap
py that they eared little for the past.—
She was something belonging so entire
ly to him, even her life she owed to his
care, and loved him so intensely, there
being no one in the world whom she
knew or loved beside, that he could not
fail to be very happy ; and the mystery
of the bond between them enhanced its
charm.
They were married, and still she
lived in the same privacy as before;
her husband and his love sufficed for
everything, and she shrank from enter
tug a world of which she knew nothing.
Astley's acquaintances had long ago
decided that if he was not mad, he was
at least eccentric enough to make his
society undesirable, and had fallen oil
one by one, leaving him none but a pro
fession. Ile had the reputation of be
ing skillful, and his practice was a large
one; his spare hours were devoted to
his home, which was his heaven.
Two more years passed, years of most
perfect happiness. Mary differed now
in nothing from other women, save
front that blank existence of more than
twenty years. Her memory of that time
never returned. She lived entirely with
in doors. Astley had one evening taken
her for a walk, and the unaccustomed
sights and sounds of the streets had ter
rified her so much that he never repeat
ed the experiment.
At times a longing to introduce his
beautiful wife to his old friends and ret-
the difficulties of explaindion, or of de
ceit, which it NVOI id involve, combined
with her extreme aversion to the pro
ject, always prevailed, and the idea was
dismissed as if the thing was impossi
ble.
Six years had passed since the event
ful night when Mary had been brought
as one dead to Astley's door, when walk-
ing one day in the streets of the city, he
had met an old friend whom he had not
seen since his departure from England.
The recognition was mutual, and Astley
insisted upon his friend's returning with
him to dinner. The invitation was cor
dially given and willingly accepted, and
thinking to surprise Mr. Holt by the
sudden sight of his wife's loveliness, he
said nothing of his being married, pic
turing to himself what his salon ish men t
would ba when he saw her.
Though he had anticipated some evi
dence of surprise, he was quite unpre
pared for the excess of emotion display
ed by Mr. Holt upon his introdution to
Mrs. Astley. The color left his face for
a moment and then returning violently
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dyed in crimson, and the words of ac
knowledgement were stammered out
almost unintelligibly. Recovering his
composure by a strong effort he offered
his arm to lead 'Mrs. Astley to dinner,
but she quietly dedlined it, laying her
hand upon her husband's. During the
whole time of dinner Mr. Holt scarcely
moved his eyes from Mary's face, who
did not seem at all disturbed by his in
tensev,aze, and took no notice of her
guest beyond what hospitality de
manded.
Astley's suspicions were excited long
before the meal was ended, and his heart
took a jealous leap as he thought it pos
sible that his friend was falling in love
with his beautiful wife. He cursed the
impulse that had induced him to bring
Holt home with him, and busily invent
ed excuses for ridding himself of his
guest as soon as possible.
Holt's agitation increased to positive
illness before long, and rising, he asked
Astley to accompany' hilt to another
Be BCArec`lY 4ble to walk,
and Astley took him by the arm and
asked him if he was ill.
" III!" he groaned, "I v;dsli I were
dead."
He sat down and covered his face with
his hands.
" You will think me a fool, Astley,
but the likeness of your wife to mine has
overcome me.
" I was married eight years ago. I
married an English girl with your
wife's hair and eyes ; her height, too,
and with her sweet voice. I brought
her over here directly after our mar
riage, and we lived the happiest life in
the world for two years—and then she
died."
Astiey was silent. He could think
of no words of consolation that would
not be a mockery to a man who had
lost such a wife as Mary.
"Died," Holt continued, afters pause
while I was away from her. I had gone
a three-days journey, leaving her in per
fect health, and I returned to find that
she had died suddenly immediately af
ter my departure and was already bu
ried."
"How lonl,• ago asked Astley,
hoarsely. A horrible light was break
ing in upon him.
" Six years. I left Lima the following
day. I never even visited her grave,
but returned to England at once; and
now after these years I find your wife
so like her in every feature that my old
wound is torn open afresh, and intoler
able anguish hus made rue cry out in
this way."
Astley - started up and laid his hand
upon his friend's shoulder with a grasp
lilte a vice. His voice was harsh and
dry, and his eyes were bloodshot and
staring.
" Holt, for God's sake let us do noth
ing rashly. Come with me to your
wife's grave, and let us be very sure."
Holt looked up and saw all in Astley's
face.
" Speak," he shouted ; "she Is my
wife! Tell me how you met her, speak
quickly while I can hear you, for there
is a sound of a cataract in my cars that
deafens me."
And he fell In a swoon at Astley's feet.
He might have died in it for all Ast
ley could revive him. He stood blindly
staring at the pale face, but was incapa
ble of so much its holding out a hand to
him.
Holt came to himself before long, and
rising up haggard and wild, repeated
his demand that Astley should tell him
where he had met his wife.
And he did tell him, sparing nothing;
saying plainly out that she had been
brought to him by the body snatchers
as a subject, that she had lain as dead
upon his table for a night, sheeted and
shrouded like a corpse."
"And you dared—" burst in Holt,
who was almost beside himself.
"I saved her life," said Astley, gently;
he had softened 149 he had thought of
that restoration. "Well you come with
me to the grave that we may be very
sure?"
"No, no, no," Holt moaned ; the fury
was passing away, and giving place to a
dull sorrow. "I can bear no more. It
is as certain, more certain than death,
that your wife is mine. God help us!"
Which of tho men was the most to be
pitied?
There was sonic moments of horrible
silence, in which each heard the beating
of his heart, like a heavy drum. Holt
spoke again.
" Ask Edith to come here. Surely
she cannot have forgotten me?"
"Mary—l call her my Mary. It will
only distress her. I give you my word
of honor that she has no memory of
anything before the trance."
But when he saw the passion in Holt's
face lie judged it best for his sake that
she should come. Since he chose to
hear from her own mouth what he had
refused to believe from his friend's he
should do so.
Site came quickly at the sound of the
loved voice and glided into the room,
looking like an angel of peace between
two evil spirits. She stopped short as
she caught sight of Astley's face all
drawn and set with the effort to suppress
his emotion, and then threw her arms
around his neck with a cry of love and
terror.
But he unwound his arms, and for the
first time drew back from her embrace.
"Mary, my love"—Holt's eyes flashed
tire at the tender words and tones—"tell
Mr. Holt, if you remember anything in
your life before you awoke from your
trance in this house?"
" I do not," she said, " I remember
nothing. I have said it so ninny times."
" Swear it," cried Holt.
'" I swear it," she said, " my hus
band, Richard Astley."
Poor Holt ! He threw himself at her
feet, clasping her knees, and crying pas
sionately :
" Oh, Edith! have you forgotten me,
your husband, David Holt? Oh, my
darling, you must remember me, and
how happy we were for that short two
years?
But she broke from his grasp, and
threw herself into Astley's arms, crying
out:
"Send him away ! What does he
mean? Send him away!" She was
pale and trembling with terror.
" Let her go !" shouted Holt, "or
b y .
The oath was interrupted by Astley.
" Holt, God knows I will try to do
what is right, and for her sake I ask you
to be calm." He placed•her in a chair,
where she sat weeping for very fright,
and went on:
" You shall say all you can to bring
the past to her memory, and if she can
remember in the faintest degree I will
give up my claim to yours. But if she
does not—oh, Holt, I saved her life!"
The struggle was an awful one, and
shook him as the wind shakes a reed.
" You tell her," said Holt, bitterly ;
"perhaps she will believe what you say.
At any rate, she will listen to it!"
It was hard to begin the cruel task ;
yet for her sake he undertook it, his
voice trembling, though he tried with
all his will to steady it.
"Mary, love, listen. You know that
you must have lived twenty years be
fore you was brought here that night."
" I do not know," she said ; " I can
not remember."
" But it must have been so, for you
were a woman then."
" I can not understand," she repeat
ed. " I have no recollection of any
thing before that time."
Astley turned to Holt with a look of
agony. "You see how it is; let us end
this torture."
" Give me Leek my wife!" stud Holt
fiercely.
" Yju will not take her," Astley cried,
as the thought of his doing so against
her will struck him for the first time.
"She is mine," said Holt. "Go on ;
tell her the whole story. If she does not
understand it, she will believe it when
you tell it to her."
The sneer with which the words were
spoken was a cruel one, but misery had
made him cruel, and he scarcely knew
what he said or did.
And Astley told her all in a very few
words. She looked bewildered.
" It must be true if you say so, but I
can not recollect ; and oh, Astley, I love
only you."
"She must come with me," shouted
Holt, savagely. The demon had gut the
better of him, and the poor wretch, mad
with jealous pain, spoke bitter and un
just words, that made the terrified wo
man cling more closely to Astley fur
protection.
The scene must be ended for her sake,
and Astley besought Holt to leave them
till the next day, when, if they could
but decide upon what was right it should
be done. For her sake, too, he conde
scended to plead with the frantic man;
and seeing that Mary had fainted in his
arms, lie laid her down, and led Holt
from the room, that the sight of her
might no longer madden him. His rage
died out from simple exhaustion, and,
throwing himself Into a chair, lie wept
like a child.
Astley roused him. "Holt, be a man.
This is an awful tragedy; I wish to
heaven I had died rather than played
my part in it. There are not upon
earth two men so broken-hearted as you
and I. Let us accept what is inevitable,
but let us spare what anguish we can to
that unhappy woman. Leave me now,
and to-morrow I will see you again ?"
Holt rose passively. ''You are nobler
than I," he said, as he turned to go.
It seemed to Astley that his grief was
but beginning when he tried to explain
the whole thing clearly to Mary. The
torture of putting it Into words was so
intense that 'all before was nothing
Compared with it, when at length she
comprehended, and asked him if he
wished her to leave him, even that
agony seemed slight contrasted with
what he endured in telling her that he
believed she ought to do so.
Lqving as she was, she could not com
prehend the =dike to duty which Asir
ley was striving to make,and her
thorough ignorance of thew° rd rendered
LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAT`MORIiIIiP MARCH 23 1870
it impossible to make her understand
what her position would be if she re
mained where she was. And yet this
was a case--so Astley tried to persuade
himself—so extraordinary; so different
from anything that had ever been in the
world before, that no law, human or
divine, could apply to it. But above all
the thought rose dominant, that, by
whatever mystery of unconsciousness
deprived of memory, she was still Holt's
wife and not his, and with this thought
piercing him like a sharp sword, he said
that he believed she ought to leave him.
She rose up, cold and proud in a mo
ment and would have left him, then,
but at the threshhold her spirit failed,
and, she turned again to throw herself
at his feet, with tears and sobs.
Night has veiled many sights of woe,
the clouds of night have many times
been pierced by cries of anguish, bitter
cries for faith and patience, going up
above the stars right to the feet of God,
but night never shrouded deeper woe
than this, nor bitterer cries never pier
ced the shuddering darkness.
When morning dawned they were
both very calm and still. Their tears
were shed and their eyes were dry. He
had decided for the right, though his
heart was broken in the conflict; and
she, woman-like, had accepted the
right, not because it was so, but because
he said it was so.
" I shall die," she said in a voice from
which all passion had departed. "I can
bear no more and live, but I can bear
even this and die,"
Who can describe that parting? When
the sun set, it was upon Astley broken
hearted and alone. Holt had taken a
way his wife.
Seven days passed, and Astley never
left his desolate home. He mado no
distidction of day or night, but lay down
to sleep—if the stupor which from time
to time rendered lum unconscious could
be so-called—at any hour that sleep
came to him.
At the close of the seventh day he
tried for the first time to look his fate
boldly in the face. "I am not dead,"
he said, "therefore it is clear that this
grief will not kill me." That night he
undressed and went to bed.
Thenight 6 years ago, when the sheet
ed figure lay upon the table, and he
dreamed fantastic dreams of terror con
nected with it, came to mind more
distinctly than it had ever done before.
His sleep was broken and feverish and
haunted by wild dreams.. Twice he
awoke feeling certain that he had heard
a knocking at the door, and twice he
slept again when he found that all was
silent. But he awoke a third time in
the gray dawn and heard the sound
again, a feeble knocking at the outer
door, which ceased suddently. He rose
determined to ascertain the cause ; lie
unbarred and opened the door, and
there fell forward across the theshohl
the dead body of Mary.
Advice to Young Men
If you go to call on a young lady, and
she crochets diligently all the evening,
and only says yes' and "no," you
can go away about nine or a quarter
past, without_ breaking any of the rules
of etiquette.
Don't make a business of courting
anybody very extensively without you
want to go in for keeps, and by all
means avoid Sunday evenings. There
is something in the Sunday evening air
decidedly spoony, and it is just as natur
al for fellows and girls to get together
and court Sunday evenings, as it is for
a hen to set. Many a promising youth,
in the full vigor of manhood, has been
dragged into premature matrimonial
decay by an innocent Sunday evening
call.
If you are invited to a "sociable" or
fair, make yourself sick by smoking
your big brother's pipe and stay at home
and when you are called upon to suffer
do it with alacrity, and think how hap
py you are compared to tho miserable
victims who are decoyed into attending.
Don't court but one girl at a time.—
The most harrowing sight 1 know of to
a sensitive mind is to see a young man
full of Christian fortitude and a noble
ambition, trying to court two girls at
once.
Don't drift into matrimony, unless
you want to get wretched; and don't
marry a poor girl, unless she has money.
If you are calling on a young lady,
and the old folks go out of the room
about nine o'clock with a solemn air,
you can make up your mind there's a
conspiracy afloat. Don't show ally
symptoms of fear, but tell tile young
lady you were sitting up last night with
a friend of yours who has the small
pox, and you think
.) ou'll go house and
get a little sleep.
Don't imagine it looks smart to loaf
around billiard halls, smoke cheap ci
gars at a high price, and swallow slops
at twenty cents a glass. It would show
more talent on your part to retire into
the nearest grave-yard and study last
year's almanac.
And don't imagine you arc a hardened
bummer just because your father lets
you carry a night-key. Some young
men will go to a hand cmcert on the
Common, smoke a cinnamon cigar, and
go home thoroughly convinced that they
have made a heavy night of it, and
ought to be looked after.
If you ask a young lady to marry you,
and she says she would rather he excus
ed, don't excuse her.
Don't marry for money. If you arc
engaged to a young lady who has a for
tune, tell her that you won't marry her
unless she gives it all away to the poor,
and goes to making vests. Money is
sure to bring unhappiness.
I never knew of a single instance
where it didn'tbring barrels of unhappi
ness, and I have seen strong men weep
hysterically because they had seven
dollars ahead.
If you want to be considered anybody,
learn to chew tobacco immediately. It
looks so cultivated and refined to see a
young man pull out a tin canister of to
bacco and make a cesspool of his mouth.
Don't get into debt unless you can
find some one who is willing to trust
you, and then dont.
Don't stay in your present situation
allyour life because your grandmother
Says that " a rolling stone gathers no
moss." I know several very aged and
respectable stones who have stuck in
one place all their lives, and who hav
en't got moss enough to make a small
saucer of blanc mange.
If you are engaged to a young lady,
don't make a great many presents un
less it's a pretty sure thing, for if any
thing happens, she is sure to return your
presents. A friend of mine lately re
ceived by express three pair of decayed
corsets, a lot of initial note-paper a faded
bouquet, a fatted calf, a pair of odd
gloves, and a broken heart, and he is
now looking for another girl of the same
size.
Please don't get married in church,
and have it described in half a column
of daily news. It is the cheapest sort of
notoriety.
See if you can't go courting without
tumbling your shirt bosom. If courting
was a criminal offence, I have seen evi
dence enough on a young man's shirt
bosom to hang him.
Remember that ignorance and con
ceit go hand in hand, and that "cheek
and impudence are twin brothers.
Young men now-a-days are hardly
worth bringing up, and, as near as
can find out, they seem to be governed
by about the following rules:
It is better to receive a small salary
and be constantly in debt, than to earn
a large salary by doing something that
isn't genteel.
It is more blessed to invite yourself to
dinner with a friend, than run the risk
of having to invite him.
If a friend asks me to stop over night
with him and take breakfast, it is my
duty to stop several nights and eat sev
eral breakfasts to show him that I ap
preciated his kindness.
One old friend whom you can borrow
money of is worth a dozen new ones
who are doubtful.
If a friend is smoking a cigar, it is my
solemn duty to ask him if he has the
mate to it.
The first principle to be observed in
buying cigars is to buy odd ones, then I
can truthfully say that I have no mate.
If I can't wear kid gloves and diamond
studs, why seek to drag out a miserable
existence in a world where all is a dreary
blank ?
If some young• men had died when
they were children, they would have
been an ornament to their sex.
The following persons have been ap
pointed by the Governor and commis
sioned by the State Department, Com
missioners of Deeds for a term of five
years each: George A. Black, Kansas
City, Missouri ; Charles E. Carry!, New
York ; Ellis J. Hughes, lowa City,
lowa ; Edgar M. Garnett, Richmond,
Va.; 'Whitfield S.. Johnson, Trenton,
N. J.
A smmciyr.
Preached In the' First Ball llBl- Chrr*
Lancaster, ra., on Sunday AdOrnleg,
March 17th, 1870, by Bev. Isaac Bevan,
Pastor
TETE OFFICE OF FAITH IN , SAVING MAN
Luke vil, 50: "And he salt! to the woman
thy faith hath saved thee;' go to peace."
.•
Nothing ismore plainly taught in the
Bible i than that man is saved by faith.
This is a fundamentardoctrine bt Reve
lation—with .faith Min is saved, With-
out faith he is not saved. If he believes
not, he is lost. This is the great hinge
upon which every inan'a salvation
turns. Whether auy man will be saved,
depends entirely upon his believing,
and upon nothing else. Nothing can
prevent any man being saved if he only
believes. Nothing in his previous char
acter or condition. He may be the
vilest andmost degraded being on earth.
His sins may he as numerous as the
sands by the sea shore, and as heinous
and aggravated as they can possibly be.
They may be as the tallest mountains
towering presumptuously towards hea
ven, and as black as an Egyptian night ,
and yet they du not for a moment stand
in the way of his being redeemed if he
only believes. Salvation is free, and as
sure, as it is free, to every one that be
lieveth. Its treasures are richer than
those of the gold. States. Faith is the
key that unlocks the door, and makes
all these treasures ours.
An sin man is a slalie, held fast in the
worst possible bondage. Faith is the
grand act by which he at once secures
his freedom. As soon as he believes he
is in the noblest, grandest and happiest
sense a free man. Nothing can keep
in bondage if he believes. No pow
erlit any world can for a moment de
prive the believer of his liberty. Faith
will at once introduce him into the
royal household of God. It will make
heaven sure, and will open wide its
pearly gates to him. Unbelief will for
ever bar them against him, and will
make hell his sure and everlasting
abode.
- - -
If this be true, then it makes every
one who hears the gospel, In every way
responsible for his own personal salva
tion. It leaves every man perfectly and
eternally inexcusable for being lost. If
any here is lost, he is lost for want of
faith ; and for want of faith that he can
have; and if for want of a faith he can
have, for wantof a faith he ought to have,
and which he is under al Ipossible obliga
tions to have. If a man is inexcusable for
any thin*, ho is inexcusable for not be
lieving his Maker. And he is especial
ly inexcusable, when it is in believing
his Maker alone he can escape eternal
perdition, and secure eternal well
being. Multitudes of the worst sinners
that have ever lived on the earth, are
now in heaven, eternally holy and hap
py, and simply because they believed.
Multitudes of as moral and lovely peo
ple as have ever lived on earth, are now
in hell, and only because they refused
to believe.
. .
Allow me to give you some of the
plainest declarations of God's Word on
this subject, and will give you the oft
repeated language of the Great Teacher,
Jesus Christ himself: "And as Moses
lifted up the serpent in the wilderness,
even so, must the Sun of Man be lifted
up ; that whosoever believeth in Him
should not perish, but have eternal life.
For God so loved the world, that He
gave his only begotten Son, that who
soever believeth in Him should not
perish, but have everlasting life. He
that believeth on the Son, hath ever
lasting life ; and he that believeth hot
the Son, shall not see life but the wrath
of God abideth
on him : John iii, 14, 15,
Ili, 38. "He that believeth and is baptized
shall be saved ; but he that believeth
not shall be damned:" Murk xvi, 18.
These passages are sufficient. They
are plain, and asposilive as they are plain.
They fully and unequivocally prove all
I have said, as to the essential necessity
and absolute importance of faith in
luau's salvation. My text also furnishes
another proof and illustration of the
same great truth. " And He said to the
woman, thy faith hath saved thee ; go
in peace." The case of this woman is
exceedingly interesting. Jesus had ac
cepted the invitation of Simon the Phar
isee, to dine with him. While thus re
clining at the table after the custom of
those times, this woman came behind
Him, washed his feet with her tears,
wiped them with the hairs of her head,
and then unnointed them with a very
costly vase of ointment. This dis
pleased Simon. He looked upon the
woman as unworthy the notice and re
gard of Jesus. In his estimation she
was not tit to be associated with. She
was', not a Pharisee; she was a sinner.
Jesus knew Simon's thoughts, as He
knows ours now. He therefore at once
proceeded to vindicate himself and the
woman, and as He alone could. He dues
not deny her being a sinner, as Simon
had within himself said she was.—
Neither does He call in question the
fact of her being a great sinner, or that
her sins were many. He admits all this.
He admits the worst. He then claims
and asserts the best He could 'concern
ing her. That she was a sinner saved.
That her many sins were all forgiven.
That all she had done, had been done
from grateful love. It was thus that He
very kindly, but very positively and
somewhat reprovingly settled the mat
ter with Simon, the Pharisee.
Then He turned to the woman and
said to her, " Thy faith hath saved thee ;
go iupeace !" Nothing could be more
consoling and cheering. She could
never forget those words. Their sweet
and blessed influence would go with her
through life. This language is in per
fect harmony with all the Saviour's
teaching as to the office of faith in saving
the soul.
The office of faith in sating man.
I will treat this subject, Ist, Nega
tively, ild, Positively.
I. NEGATIVELY. The office of faith
in saving man. What is that office?
To make the subject as plain as possible
I will attempt to show you what it is
not.
1. Ps office is not in a tray of provision.
Man's faith has nothing to do in provid
ing salvation. In this respect, man has
done nothing. He could do nothing,
any more than he could in creating the
light or air. Salvation as a provision is
entirely and exclusively from God.
Man has had no more to do with salva
tion, thus considered, than he has had
to do with the creation of the sun and
moon. The brazen serpent that was
elevated in the camp of Israel in the
wilderness, was no human provision or
device. The great idea of it did not
originate with Moses, but with God. It
was a divine provision for human suf
fering, and to save human life, and it
was purely as a divine provision that it
proved efficacious to any Israelite, bit
ten by a licry serpent who looked
upon it.
God sends His only begotten Son into
the world, that the world through Him
might be saved. All this He planned
and purposed to do before man sinned—
before the creation of the world. The
salvation which is in Christ Jesus, and
which the Gospel proclaims to us so
freely and so fully Is of God. It is His
salvation devised and provided by Him
before the world began.
The manna and quails, and the
water from the rock saved Israel from
perishing with hunger and thirst in the
wilderness. And these were all God's
creations and provisions to save them,
as they were his timely gifts to them.—
Thus,with the bread and water of life in
Jesus Christ, they are provided, and
divinely provided, whether man believes
or not.
2. Its office is not meritorioux. It Is not
in the way of merit that faith saves any
man. Repentance, that is genuine, is a
godly or pious exercise of an act of the
soul. It is a godly sorrow for sin, by
which it is both hated and renounced.
In all genuine repentance there is a
right, a virtuous and pious affection and
exercise of the soul. But there is in it
nothing meritoiiou& Sin is a wrong. It
is a wrong against God, and against
man. It is an inexcusable wrong. It
is wickedness. If I feel very, sorry for
doing this wickedness, is it notmy duty
to feel thus sorry? Is it not right that I
should feel thus? Suppose I take away
the life of my fellow-man, and I at once
feel sorry I have done this great wrong,
Is there any merit in that? Will my
immediate and deep repentance shield
me from thepeiaalty of the State law?
Before God I repent of all my sins, and
seek forgiveness. He forgives•me slimy
sins. Does He do it for the sake of my re
pentance? Does he,dd it because I merit
anything from Him? As a sinner ready
to perish, do I purchase my salvation by
my tears and prayers? Do they offer
any atonement for my sins ?• Assuredly
not. The pardon is a free gift.
Thus with faith—that-faith that saves
roe. It, is a right aetiort.er, exercise of
heart. If I believe In the saving of the
soul, I believe with allnay heart. 'so
believe in God that I lota him.—
so believe. in Jesus that I receive
Him joyfully as my Saviour. I trust
in Him and hi Him alone to save me.
He' is God's greatest and best gift to
me.. .1 believe all this, and in believing
I xetwive..ilim as such. Is there any
thing of merit in that? God tells me
the grand , truth that He so loved me,
that He'has given his Son to die for me.
r • believe all that and am saved.—
What merit is there in that?
Suppose a reliable friend or physician
should tell me how I could be entirely
cured of any disease. I heartily believe
and am cured. Do I deserve any credit for
my faith in my friend or the physician?
Does man deserve any credit for believ
ing God at all? Does he deserve any
credit for believing in an Almighty Re
deerner that redeemed him with His own
blood and saved him with His own
death ? Such a thing is preposterous.
11. THE OFFICE OF FAITH POSITIVE
LY. What is the office of faith in sav
ing man.
1. It is trustful. It is simply to trust in
God that He will pardon and accept us
in Jesus Christ. We have confidence in
God that He will save us, and we have
confidence in God that He will save us
for the sake of his Son Jesus Christ, and
that He will forever be our God and
Father.
God promises pardon to every penit
ent that will come to Him through Jesus
Christ. He proclaims himself to us as
a merciful God, forgiving iniquity,
transgression and sin. His words
through his servants are, " Let the
wicked forsake his way, and the un
righteous man his thoughts, and let him
return unto the Lord, who will have
mercy upon him, and to our God who
will abundantly pardon." Is iv. 7.
Now as far as we truly believe God iu
all this,we, will readily and heartily trust
in Hhn: We will take Him at His word,
and' vile and wicked as we may
feel ourselves to be, we will at once
cast ourselves upon His mercy. It is a
great thing to be forgiven by the great
God,against whom we have so causely
sinned. Wemay think that it is too much
for us to expect, and may shrink for a
time from asking. This, however, is
unbelieving. This is distrustful. Noth
ing that God says He will do, is too
great or too gracious for Him to do.—
His language is, " Come now and let
us reason together!" Saith the Lord,
"though, your sins be as scarlet, they
shall be as white as snow ; though they
be red like crimson, they shall be as
wool." Is. I. 18. If we truly believe,
we trust in Him, that He will be pre
cisely as gracious as He says He will be.
We trust that He will not and can not
fail us.
If Iwas bankrupt and in distress, and
a wealthy personal friend of m ine should
write to me and say, " Draw on me to
any amouutyou need," I should believe
he meant precisely what he said. Trust
ing in him I should do as he bid me.—
When I am sick and need a physician,
I trust him, and take the medicine he
prescribes. I give him my full confi
dence. Sometimes our confidence is
misplaced when it is given to man. He
fails and disappoints us. God never
does and never can. The office of faith
then in saving man, is fully to honor
God. it is to trust in Him that He will
save us, by taking away our iniquities,
and blotting out our transgressions.
2. The office of faith ix receptive.—
Faith is that act of the soul by which
we receive the Lord Jesus Christ as our
only and all-sufficient Saviour. It is
the act by which we receive Him as the
gift of God. In thus believing we re
ceive the salvation as His free gift in
Jesus Christ. Tho Father sent the Son
to be the Saviour of the world. lie says
to us : is is my beloved Son in whom
I am well pleased, hear or receive ye
Him." As far as we believe all this, we
open our hearts to receive Him. We
receive Him, not to help us save our
selves, but actually and absolutely to
save us. We do not receive Him to sup
plement what we can not do, but as the
alone author of eternal redemption to
all them that obey Him. Faith saves
us, because it receives Him who alone
can save us.
If He saves none but those who are
willing to be saved by Him, He saves
none but those who are willing fully to
receive Him as their Saviour. The Holy
Spirit shows us our gilt and misery. He
convinces us of our sinfulness and con
sequent helplessness. Then He reveals
Jesus as the one able to save to the ut
termost all them that come to God by
Him. When we are thus enlightened
and convicted, we heartily receive Him
as the way to the Father, the one only
way of salvation. We give Him a true
and grateful reception. We receive
Him as the only foundation of hope for
eternal life. We believe in the efficacy
of His death. That He died for us, and
that in dying for us, He fully atoned for
our sins. Therefore in receiving Him,we
receive the atonement. We believe that
God is well pleased in Him, and we re
ceive Him that through Him, He may
well pleased with us.
We know how we receive a friend
who calls to see us, when we are in
trouble, and offers to us his services in
every way he can be of use to us. As
we believe in the sincerity and ability
of our friend, and as we feel our absolute
need of his kind offices, so do we thank
fully and joyfully receive him. What
a warm place do we give to that friend
in our hearts ! How dear he is to us.
How strangely we feel relieved. What
peace comes to our troubled minds !
What light shines upon our way! What
joy springs up in our hearts! Precisely
as it would be with us,if on board a ship,
and in imminent peril for want of a pilot,
how gladly would a'pilot be received. So
we receive Jesus. The act of receiving•
Him is that act of ours that saves us. He
offers us the waters of salvation freely,
without money and without price. Faith
is the act by which we take the cup and
drink the waters. It is the act by which
we make Jesus fully and happily our
own loved and precious Redeemer.
3. Its office is one of subjection and
obedience. In truly believing on the
Lord Jesus Christ, we become subject
and obedient to Him. We believe in
Him, in all the completeness of His
character and offices as Redeemer. In
the act of faith in Him, we yield our
selves willingly and submissively, that
He may be our Lord and Master. We
believe that He is fully and happily ours,
and that we are fully and happily His.
We believe in Him, not alone as having
power to save us from the consequences
of our sins, but equally so from their
dominion. When we receive the pilot,
we yield to him the command of the
ship. He is absolute muster, until he
brings the ship safe into port. When
Saul of Tarsus believed in Jesus of Naz
areth, that He was the true Messiah,
he immediately acknowledged His di
vine authority, and said " Lord, what
wilt thou have me to do?" And in all
things he became at once His willing
and obedient servant. When the eu
nuch believed that JesusChritt was the
Son of God, he said to Philip, as they
came to a certain water, " Lo! here is
water; what (loth hinder me to be bap
tized ?" And he lost no time in submit
ting to, and confessing Jesus in that
sacred ordinance. Most appropriately
was his burial with Christ in baptism, a
putting on of Christ. It was what bap
tism should always be—the act of
a true believer pledging 'fealty to his
divine Lord, and confessing . Him before
the world. A full belief in Jesus is a
full surrender to Jesus. And in the
baptism of the believer in the water this
full surrender is most strikingly ex
pressed. From the burial in the sacred
flood, the believer rises to newness of
life.
All this is essential to the very act of
faith. As far as soldiers heartily and
happily believe in a general, so far
they are readily and uniformly obedient.
They follow where he leads, though
into the jaws of death. According to
the strength and vigor of their faith in
such a leader, so will be their enthusiasm
in following and obeying him. So, as
our faith in Jesus is a living and vigor
ous belief, will be the measure of our
devotion and constancy in His service.
Thus will His service be our delight,and
we shall feel that no sacrifice is too great
to be made for Him. It is thus. we are
truly and practically saved from our
sins. He rules in and reigns over us.
As he is enthroned in us, Bo are sin and
Satan excluded. Ho gives us the vic
tory. He subdues and fully conquers
all our enemies. The strong believer
is always the willing disciple.—
He can do all things for Jesus, and
through Him. He knows and ac
knowledges no other Master. By His
faith he lives in Jesus, and by the same
faith, he liveri to Jesus. The more he
believes,, the more he works.. The more
he rejbices in Jesus, the more he accom
plishes for Him, and the more unswerv
ingly/oyal, and unreservedly consecrat-
Hto His service. By faith he stands.—
e stands fast on thelitrerty with which
Jesus milkers him free. He stands fast
at his post, like the _Roman sentinel, who
never moved when the ashes and lava of
the burning Mountain buried him in the
ruins of Pompeii. His true faith in Jesus
as it thus triumphs is ever saving and
preserving him from aim—the sins of ne
glect and unfaithfulness into which he
would otherwise fall and by which he
would dishonor his Lord, and injure his
fellow-men. His path is that of the just,
which is as the shining light, that
shineth more and more unto the perfect
day.
Better-Half Barter
In savage lands, women aro so far
merchandisable articles that a young
man anxious of setting up an establish
ment of his own is expected to give the
papa of the lady of his choice something.
handsome in the way of cattle, or what
evei may be the favorite currency of
the country, as an equivalent for the
loss of her services. A custom some
what inconvenient in its results, leading
as in Katirland, to much discontent
among the young men, from the rich
old men buying up all the wives, as
they are able to outbid younger wife
seekers—an evil the Legislature of Na
tal has sought to check by fixing the
price of a wife at twenty cows. Even
in civilized communities, the selling of
daughters is not entirely unknown. An
English lady traveling in Portugal was
horrified by a wealthy Moor offering her
a good round sum for her beautiful
daughter, an incident evoking from the
narrator the remark : " How we revolt
from appearances instead of realities!
A proposal to buy her daughter would
shock any European parent. But If a
man of superior rank or fortune offered
himself, though his intellect, morals,
and appearance were all contemptible,
would there be the same horror enter
tained of selling her ?" Certainly, in
openness and honesty, the savages have
the advantage; and it must be owned
that they never seem to entertain the
idea of selling a woman after they have
made her a wife.
The idea is one, however, that has
been entertained and carded often
in England ; and, what is more strange
still, the perpetrators of the offence ap
pear to have believed they were doing
nothing contrary to the law of the land
when divesting, themselves of re partner
of whom they were tired, by suoh a sim
ple and In expensive mode of divorce.
A correspondent of Notes and Queries
attempted to account for the popular be
lief in the legality of transactions of the
sort, by saying that it sprang out of the
long war ending In 1815, when many
soldiers and sailors returning home,
found their wives, supposing they wore
dead, had re-married. To get out of the
difficulty arising from the unwelcome
appearance of so many Enoeh Ardens,
it was declared to be lawful to sell the
wife in open market, when the second
husband made his marriage good by
purchasing her, and tire first one became
tree to marry again. Wo fancy the
writer in question would find it difficult
to prove that such dealings were ever
declared lawful; and, unfortunately fur
his theory, disposing of a wife by sale
was practiced in England long before
the era of Napoleonic wars.
In Grimaldi's " Origines Genealogi
(le " is to be found the following curious
document, dating back more than five
and a half centuries:—" To all good
Christiansto whom this writ shall come.
John De Camoys, son and heir of Sir
Ralph Do Camoys, greeting. Know me
to have yielded and delivered up, of my
own free will, to Sir William De Paynel,
Knight, my wife, Margaret de Camoys,
daughter and heiress of Sir John De
Gatesden. And likewise to have given
and granted to the said Sir William, and
to have made over and quitclaimed oil
goods and chattels which the said Mar
garet had or may have, or which I may
claim in her right; so that neither I,
nor any one in my name, shall at any
time hereafter be able to claim any right
to the said Margaret, or to her goods
and chattels or their pertinents. And
I consent and grant, and by this writ
declare, that the said Margaret shall
abide and remain with the said Sir Wil
liam during his pleasure. In witness to
which I have placed my hand to this
deed before these witnesses: Thomas
De Depeston, John D. Ferringo, Wil-
IMm De (combo Henry De Birouu,
Stephen De Cham'berlayne, Walter Le
Blound, Gilbert De Batecumbe, Robert
De Bosco, and others." Despite its
signing, sealing, and witnessing, this
precious deed was declared illegal and
invalid by Parliament itself. In later
times, Lord Hardwicke had occasion to
issue an information against a gentle
man for disposing of his spouse by pri
vate contract ; but what came of it is not
recorded. Another instance in which
formality was invoked occurred in 1793;
when three men and three women went
to The Bell Inn, Egbaston street, Bir
mingham, and made the followingentry
in the toll-book kept there:—" August
31, 1773. Samuel Whitehouse, of the
parish of Willenhall, in the County of
Statffird, this day sold his wife, Mary
Whitehouse, in open market, toThomas
Griffiths, of Birmingham; value, one
shilling. To he taken with all her faults.
Signed, Samuel Whitehouse, Mary
Whitehouse. Voucher, Thomas Buck
ley, of Birmingham."
In 1803, one Smith took his wife from
Ferrybridge to Pontefract, a distance of
twenty miles, and put her up for sale in
the market place ; the biddings were
started at twelve pence, and she was
knocked down at eleven shillings, the
spirited purchaser leading his bargain
away by a halter, amid showers of mud
and snow from the spectators. A. fellow
at Tuxford, let his wife and child go for
five shillings ; and in 1859, a similar
scandalous exhibition took place at
Dudley, when the wife was put up by
auction at three half-pence, and sold to
the highest bidder for the sum of six
pence.
111 the above cases, the wives seem to
have fallen to chance buyers; but gen
erally the affair was a prearranged one
between the buyer, the seller, and the
sold, who seemed to have salved their
consciences by going through the cere
mony of a mock auction. On Valen
tine's-day, 1806, a man named Gow
thorpe exposed his wife for sale In the
market at Hull, at 1 o'clock In the day ;
but the mob interfered with such effect
that he was compelled to withdraw her.
However, In the evening, he again
brought her out, and sold her for twen
ty guineas, to a man who had lodged at
his house for some years. In 1764, a
man and his wife got Into a conversa
tion with a grazier at Puritans Fair—a
conversation resulting in the roan offer
ing to exchange his better-half fur a
bullock, If he might choose one for him
self from the drove. The grazier agreed,
and the lady readily acceded, and the
next day was duly delivered up, with
the inevitable halter round her neck,
the husband taking his bullock
away, and afterward selling that
too for six guineas. In 1844, a Gla
morganshire laboring man, after living
very unhapily with his wife for some
time, discovered that she sought
solace in the affection of a neighbor. To
make tho best of a bad matter, he called
upon his rival, and after an amicable
discussion, agreed to sell the cause of it
to him. The following Saturday, he
accordingly appeared in the market
with his wife, attired in a new black
dressing gown and white bonnet, with
a halter round her neck, and then and
there handed her over to her paramour
upon payment of two shillings and six
pence—in this instance an unvirtuous
wife proving half-a-crown to her hus
band; and we are told the purchaser
boasted it was the best bargain he ever
made in his life. Not so successful In
their arrangement were another couple,
whose disappointment was made public
in the Stamford Mercury of the 26th of
November, 1858: "On Monday, a dis
graceful exhibition—the attempted sale
of a wife—took place In front of a beer
house at Shearbridge,L ittle Horton , near
Bradford. The fellow who)offered his wife
for sale was Hartley Thompson. She was
a person of prepossessing appearance.—
The sale had been duly announced by
the bellman, and a large crowd assem
bled. The wife appeared with a halter,
adorned with ribbons, round leer neck.
The sale, however, was not completed ;
the reason for this being, that some dis
turbance was created by a crowd from a
neighboring factory, and that the person
to whom it was intended to sell the wife
was detained at his work beyond the
time. The couple, though not long
wedded, have led a very unhappy rife,
and it is said they and their friends were
so egregiously ignorant as to believe
they could secure their legal separation
by a public sale. In 1863, a workman
at the Cyfarthfa Ironworkssold his wife
to a fellow-workman for £2 10s. In cash,
10s. to be, spent in drink. The wife ap
peared more amused than pained by the
peril:Wens:nee, and went home with her
purefother, after enjoying her share of
the beer.
NUMBER 12
One fickle wretch was deservedly pun
ished. HaVing parted with his spouse
for a quarter of a guinea and a gallon of
beer, he was disgusted to hear, a few
weeks afterward, that she had, by-the
death of a relative, come into a little
fortune of £2OO. Only a few years ago,
a bachelor in easy circumstances, living
at Dittisham, a village on the banks of
Dart, took a strong fancy for the wife of
one of his neighbors; and after some
negotiation, it was agreed, between him
and the husband, that he should take
the lady for £5O, her baby being thrown
into the bargain ; and the newly-mated
pair soon sot off on a sort of wedding
trip. The husband, however, found he
had been sold, for, after having deliver
ed up his wife, his customer went off
without paying for her, and the delud
ed scamp was left lamenting. In 1760,
a carpenter, who had sold Ids wife, hang
ed himself upon her refusing to return
to his repentant bosom, on the plea that
she was perfectly satisfied with the re
sult of his trading.
The women concerned in these singu
lar transfers seldom seem to have made
any objection. We have only met with
two instances of the lady proving rebel
lious. Mrs. Waddlove was one of these
exceptions to the rule. Her husband,
an inkeeper at Grassington, agreed to
dispose of her to a Mr. John Lupton
upon payment of one hundred guineas—
the highest figure a wife is recorded to
have fetched—the hitter depositing one
guinea in earnest of the bargain. When
he went the following day to tender the
remaining ninety-nine guineas and re
ceive the fair dame, to his dismay, she
flatly refused to allow herself to be
delivered up ; and the disappointed
wife-buyer was obliged to depart as
wifeless as he came; while to reader
his discomfiture' more mortifying, mine
host declined to refund the earnest
money. The husband was the sufferer
in our second instance. He was a young
man hailing from Boweastle, iu Cum
berland, who, finding it impossible to
live comfortably with his spouse, re
solved to give somebody else the chance
of doing so, by disposing of her by pub
lic auction. Not being successful in
finding a customer in his own neighbor
hood, his wife suggested that he should
try Newcastle. They went there; and
the wife so contrived matters that cer
tain gentlemen employed on his Ma
jesty's service—very pressing service—
introduced themselves to the husband,
and he found himself ono fine day sate
on board a frigate bound for a long cruise
In distant waters; and so the tables were
turned, and instead of getting rid of his
wife, she got rid of him.
By law, the selling of a wife counts as
a misdemeanor; and in 1837, one Joshua
Jackson was convicted of the offence at
the Sessions In the West Hiding of York
shire, and got a month's hard labor for
his pains.
A young and sprightly widow (Mee
appeared at a Bath masquerade with
paper to her bosom bearing these lines :
To be let on lease for the term of my ll fe,
1, Sylvia J , In the shape of a wire;
1 am young, though not hand,ome, good-na
tured, though thin—
For further particulars pray Inquire within,
In the Gentleman's Magaaiue fur 1788,
the taking a lady on lease is treated as a
sober reality; a Birmingham correspon
dent of Mr. ijrhan'a writing: "Since
my residing in this town, I have often
heard there is a method of obtaining
a wifs'ssister upon lease. I never could
learn the method to be taken to gut a
wife upon lease, or whether such con
nectious are sanctioned by law. But
there is an eminent mauufacturer in the
vicinity of this town who had his de
ceased wife's sister upon lease for nine
ty years and upward ; and I knbw she
went by his name, enjoyed all the
privileges, and received all honors due
to the respectable name of wife. Bir
mingham would appear to have a
speciality for extraordinary contracts
of this nature In 1h.53, a woman
who accused her husband of as
saulting her, in giving evidence before
the magistrates of that town, said she
was not living with the ()Minder, because
he was leased to another woman. For
the satisfaction of the bench, the agree
ment was produced. It ran thus:
" Memorandum of agreement made and
entered into this second day of October,
in the year of our Lord 1853
' between
William Charles Capas, of Charles
Henry street, In the borough of Birm
ingham, in the county of Warwick, car
penter, of the one part, and Emily Hick
son, of Hurst street, Birmingham, afore
said, spinster, of the other part. Where
as, the said William 'Charles Capas and
Emily Hickson have mutually agreed
with each other to live and reside to
gether, and to mutually assist in sup
porting and maintaining curb other
during the remainder of their lives, and
also to sign the agreement hereinafter
contained to that effect. Now, therefore,
it is hereby mutually agreed upon, by
and between the said William Charles
Capas and Emily Hickson, that they
shah live and reside together during the
remainder of their lives ; and that they
shall mutually exert themselves by
work and labor, and by following
all their business pursuits to the best
of their abilities, skill, and under
standing, and by advising and assist
ing each other, for their mutual benefit
and advantage, and also to provide for
themselves and each other the best sup
port and comforts of life which their
means and income may afford. And for
the true and faithful performance of
this agreement, each of the said parties
bindeth himself and herself unto the
other finally by this agreement, as wit
ness the hands of the said parties, this
day and year above written." For this
precious document five-and-thirty shil
-1 rings had been paid to some unscrupu
lous limb of the law. It may be hoped
it is unique. But one must allow the
agreement, so fares it goes, is a fair one ;
and is just such a deed as may he ex, d
petted to be drawn up between man
and wife in the happy coming time
when the clamorous preachers of the
equality of both sexes of man shall
have altered the laws affecting matri
mony to the utmost of their desires,
and connubiality upon a proper com
mercial basis.
The Wanderer's Prayer
On a cold, dreary evening in autumn,
a small boy, poorly clad, yet clean and
tidy, with a pack upon his back, knock
ed at the door of an old Quaker, in the
town of L----, and inquired, " Is Mr.
Lanman at home ?"
' Yes."
; Me boy wished to see him, and was
speedily ushered into the hosts pres
ence.
Friend Lan all was one of the wealth
iest men in the county, and President
of the railroad. The boy bad come to
see if he could obtain a situation on the
road. He said he was an orphan, his
mother had been dead only two months
and he was now a homeless wanderer.
But the lad was too small fur the filling
of any place within the Quaker's gift,
and he was forced to deny him. Still
he liked the looks of the boy, and said
to him:
" Thee may stop in my house to-night
and on to-morrow I will give thee the
names of two or three guod men in
Philadelphia, to whom thee may apply
with the assurance of kind reception at
least. I am sorry that I have no em
ployment for thee.".
Later in the evening the old Quaker
went the rounds of his spacious man
sion, lantern in hand, as was his wont,
to see if all was right before retiring for
the night. As he passed the door
of the little chamber where the
poor wandering orphan had been put
to sleep he heard a voice. He stopped
and listened, and distinguished the tones
of a simple, earnest prayer. He bent
his ear nearer, and heard these words
from the boy's lips:
"Oh! good Father in Heaven! help
me to help myself. \Vatch over me as
I watch over my conduct, and care for
me as my deeds merit. Bless the good
man in whose house lam sheltered for
the night, and spare bins long that he
may continue his bounty to other suf
fering ones. Amen !"
• And the Quaker responded another
amen as he moved on ; and as he medi
tated. The boy had a true idea of the
duties of life, and possessed a warm,
grateful heart.
" I verily think that the lad will be a
treasure to his employer," was the con
cluding reflection.
When the morning came the old
Quaker changed his mind concerning
his answer to the boy's application.
" Who learned thee to pray?" in
quired Friend L.
"My mother, sir," was the soft reply.
And the rich brown eyes grew moist.
• "Andtheewill notforgetthy mother's
counsels?"
" I cannot, for I know that my success
in life le dependedt upon them."
"My boy, thee mayest stay here in
my house, and very soon I will take
SAvv , coirlai.vYvt.)l,-ctil
ia ßtriiinm A i r i llit ; T;ishi par a 74,5 for s. , ze!L
d rz
tonal iqyarti
REAL Elm Liz Azirialmmario coats a tine for
the first, aid 5 osata for mat' eutelequeut
Insertterk.
GENERAL AinrE.RTLSINOri routs a lino for the
first, and a (lon ts. for each subsequent luso,-
Lion. • •
SPICTA L NITICpI Inserted In Local Column.
,Ift ennui per line.
Novrcvs preceding marriages and
deaths, 10 cents per line for first Insettlon,
and 5 cents for every aulewo uent Insirtlon.
LSCAL AISD OTIIIIII
Executors' notices_ 2 50
Administrators' notice 2 .2)
Assignees` ............. 2 50
Auditors' notices 2 0)
Other "Notices," ten Ilnes„or less,
three times ........ ....... ...... ........ 160
the 6 to my office. Co now and get
breakfast."
Friend L. was gathered to the , spirit
harvest shortly after the breaking out
of the war of the rebellion ; but he lived
to see the poor boy he had adopted rho
step by step until he finally assumed the
responsibleofileewhich the failing guar
dian could no longer hold. And to-day
there is no man more honored and re.
speeted by his friends, and none more
feared bygamblers and speculators in
irresponsible stock, than is the once
poor wanderer, now President of the
best managed and most productive rail
ways in the United States.
Managing Children
Children not only imitate our faults,
suffer by our carelessness, but govern us
through weakness. A. friend came to
visit me, and broughtagenerous, frank,
and manly buy of our years old. But
he disturbed our whole circle by his
constant crying. This habit was not in
keeping with the brave, proud, inde
pendent character of the children. 1
therefore felt a curiosity to find thee/luxe.
My first discovery was he never shed a
tear.
His mother wished to take a trip, but
could not take her buy.
" Leave him with me."
" He'll torment the life out of you.'
I don't think so.'
" I will indeed, he most grateful.—
You Inns• whip him as often ns you
ilease."
" I should not strike a child, except
I a most extreme ease."
"'Then you eau do nothing with him."
She was gone. The next morning
after breakfast, Willie asked :
" May I go and play in the yard r
' "It rained last night, and it's too
tromp now. You may go at ten."
" It Isn't damp, scarcely any a bit."
" I think it is. You may go at ten
not beforb." "800, woo, woo"—refit. l
kept quietly sewing.
" 1300, woo, woo"—bass. " 800, woo,
woo"—double bass. "800, whoa, whoo"
—falsetto—rest.
" Now may I go."
" You may go at ten o'clock."
Concert repeated. I silently sewing
the while.
" Ain't your head most ready to
lit 7"
" Mayn't I go out now ?"
" Not until ten o'clock."
Concert resumed. Rest.
" Ain't you most crazy
" No, not at all."
Concert resumed with the addition .Of
throwing himself on the floor, and
knocking his feet up and down. After
a while.
" Ain't you most crazy yet? Why
don't you shake me, and call zoo the
haddest hay ever was, and send mo out
doors?"
" Because you are not guing out mai'
en o'elock.'Y
Concert. resumed with the addition u.
bumping his head as well as his toes.
Rest. A pause. Then picking himself
up, he stood erect before me. with his
ands in his pockets.
" Why don t you whip mu, and sund
me MI, to get rid of the noise?"
" Because you are not going out unrll
tell o'clock."
• He stood a moment.
" If I bump my head, ain't you afraid
it will kill me?"
" Not in the least."
"But It does hurt me, awfully."
" I am happy to hear It."
He drew u long breath.
" What can I do next? I'se done all
I knows how."
"See if you cannot think of something
else."
" May I take my blocks?"
" Certainly."
At nine he started up.
"Now may I go? "
" That's nine."
He went back to his blocks without a
nurmur.
At ten he went out, tolerably well
•ured.
Items of Interest.
Ale houses were first licensed In the
reign of King Charles 11.
A Quebec bank has three tons of
twenty-five cent pieces in its vault.
Pechter is playing to well-filled houses
in Philadelphia. This is the last week
of his engagement in that city.
Eighty-nine dozen of hens' eggs con
stituted part of the donations ton clergy
man at Ilion, N. Y., the other evening.
A sign one hundred and seventy feet
long and five wide, containing 1,8:33 feet
of lumber, is about to be put up on a
machine shop in Worchester, Mass.
According to statistical tables now
published In several European papers,
the Crimean war has cost the lives of
'2,50,000 Russians, 107,000 Frenchmen,
15,000 British soldiers, and 1,000 Italians.
At Boston, John W. Collins, clerk in
the City Treasurer's Office, has been
sentenced to two and a half years' im
prisonment for a defalcation of several
thousand dollars.
At Providence, R. 1., yesterday,
Michael Kelley was killed by a locomo
tive , Charles Rhoades fell down stairs
while drunk, and was killed ; and John
Brown committed suicide in a fit of in
sanity.
In TeXtll3, during the past month,
thirty-seven illicit distilleries have been
seized, chiefly In the Fourth District.
Gen. Barraton, Assessor, 'and G. A.
Spalding, Deputy Collector of that dis
trict, it is reported, have been arrested
for collusion with the distillers.
Another snow storm prevailed
through the Northwest yesterday, block
ading the railroads. In Wisconsin the
snow is two feet deep on a level, and in
Minnesota three feet. At Memphis,
Tenn., yesterday morning, the ther
mometer fell 30 degress in eight hours.
The new gold discoveries at San Diego
cause an emigration of several hundred
persons daily from San Francisco, and
arc almost depopulating the towns In
Southern California. It is reported that
the Chinamen have been driven from
the new mines, and several of them
killed.
" God himself geometrizes," exclaim
ed one of the old philosophers ; and he
was right, for all beauty of form, good
proportion, excellence of design, and
perfection of workmanship can be ob
tained only from the study of nature
and a knowledge of geometrical prinei
des.
The figure of the earth is nearly glob
ular, spherical. 'This fact is known by
the circular form of the shadow cast
upon the moon in a lunar eclipse; also
from analogy, each of the other planets
being seen to be spherical. The form
of the earth is an oblate spheroid, or a
flattened sphere, like an orange.
A dog belonging to William Kelly,
of East Nottiniiha - rn township, Chester
county, went mad recently. Very for
tunately, he had been chained the even
ing before, which prevented his escape.
Mr. Kelly being absent, J. D. McHenry
administered the usual effectual remedy.
This dog Is said to have been bitten by a
mad dog about six weeks ago, and Is
therefore another evidence of the fact
that hydrophobia does not follow with
in two weeks after being bitten.
In a single instance Noah Webster
used his dictionary to set forth a senti
ment not connected with philology,
using a definition after the style so fre
quently exemplified by Dr. Johnson.
Under the word "vicegerent" he says "
Kings are sometimes called God's vice
gercnte. It is to be wished they would
always deserve the appellation." This
remark was retained until the last edi
tion of the work. Ono would as soon
have expected to find wit in the Con
gressional Reports of The Globe.
The idea of using electricity to ignite
inflamable substances or explosive com
pounds is not new. Lightning, which
is nothing but an electric discharge on
a large scale, produced in nature's lab.
oratory, has effected this from time im
memorial. The ignition of alcohol,ether,
gunpowder, etc., by the electricspark Is
one of the oldest experiments in this
branch of physics, and during the last
one hundred years has formed one of
the standard experiments In the philo
sophical lecture room.
The present home of one Marshall,
whose name is historical, is a picture of
abject poverty, of toil, deprivation and
,want. ft is a little hut on the hill over
looking the town where he first made
his discovery of gold in California, its
tin roof having apparently been made
from the lining of a dry goods box and
appears not much larger than a good
sized dog-kennel. A few grape-vines
are planted around the place and over
the top of the hill, and this little spot,
to which he has but a possessory, or
squatter's title, is all the worldly pos
sessions of Marshall, the discoverer of
gold in California.