Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, March 13, 1879, Image 1

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The Munn:min Raronral is pablished every
Thursday morning by Ooematcn a litncncbcs,
at One Dollar and Fifty Cent per annum, ad
INMA.drertising In ail cities eselisive of sub:
Acription to the paper. .
+ SPECIAL NOTlCESlnserted at TV; cititeS per
fine for first insertion, and 'Wiesner; peeling for
each subsequent Insertion, but uo notice Inserted
for less than fifty cents.
ed at reasonable rates. .
Administrator's and Executor's Notices, (R;
Auditor's liotlces,r-50 ; Business Cards, five lines,
(per year) di, additional lines fl each. .
Yearly advertisers .are entitled to quarterly
changes. Transient advertisements mast be paid
for in adeanes.
All resolutions of associations; oommuniestinna
of limited or individual Interest; and notices of
marriages or deaths, exceeding live lines are charg
ed rick cants per line, but simple notices of mar
riages and de Ohs will be published without charge.
whe RSPOttittt having a larger circulation than
any other paper in the county, makes It the beat
advertising medium'in Northern Pennsylvania.
JOB PRINTING et every kind, In plain and
fancy colors, done with neatness and dispatch.
Handbills, Ittankn, (!anis. Pamphlets, Billheads.
Statements, de., of eteryFarlety and style, printed
at the shortest notice. 'the !IMPORT= offlea. Is
well supplied -ntql power presses, a good assert
meut of new type, and everything In the printing
line can tie executed in the. most artistic manner
and at the lowest rates. • TERMS INVARIABLY
Vusittess garbs.
OdleWaver Braund St 111 meat nutate t,
Towanda, Jan. IS. 1579.
i 7 F. GOFF,
Main Street (4 doors north of Ward. Mania), To.
winds, Pa. • CA prlll2, 1877.
()lice, In Mutant's Block. J 1717.73.
VV -
• Al LAW,\VVALCSING. I I . A. 'WM attend
b. alt Imsiness entrusted to Ids care `atiltradtord,
Sullivan and Wyoming, Counties. On3:e , with Esq.
r due. rnovl9-74.
r •
Towanda4 Pa. Offic i n over Bartlett &Tt acy,
P.3IaSON. ra9'77) 'Alan:ea EAT?.
A TTO it !kl EV S-A
N. C. CLsituF.E.
kJ. ,
'olfiCe—Ttnoivs formerly occupied by Y. 3f. C. A.
Rea ling Room. tjan.3l-78.
Diet Atry Brad. en.
Office—Norm Square.
S , )ETD' SIDE OF wArai 'OUSE.
Dec 23-75. TOWANDA. PA:
()Mee over Cross' Book Stom, two 'doors-north of
Stevens ag Long, Towanda, Pa. May be consulted
la German. (April 12. 76.1
tinier—gerund door 's'outh of the First Nat'nual
~...11ank Main St., up stairs. •
-(lFFlCl..—Fornierty occupied by Wm. 'Watkins,
E ,4 1.
11. N. WILLIAMA. (0ct.17. - 77) 8. .1. ANGLt..
. TON - i?A N DA, CA.
°Mee) over Dayton's Store.' T
April 12, 1878. ,
C 1 L. LAMB;
- Collectlon4l prOmptly attended to. 'duly 27."74.
ToW A Ni).A,
Office am? Siontanyes ;Afore. [may67s.
T 4 pW AN DA. PA.
048tH In Wnort's Mark. nrst door eouti tho First
!tat ',mai hank. up-stairs.
14 1 MADI LL. rjanB-73iy) J. CALIF?.
CHAS. 11A14.,,
ct nic.• os er I taynnt's harness store. Nov. 21. '7B.
DR. 8. M. WOODBURN, Physi
-I_, clan and surgeo . n. Oalce over 0. A. Black's
Crockery store.
Towanda, May 1, 1! 4 721y.. •
B. KELLY, DENTIST.--oflice
v • ° vol. M. E. Rosenfield's, Towanda, I.
Treth Inserted on Gold. Silver, Rubber, and Al
arniaum 14'56. Teeth ertracted without pain.
r P PAYNE, M. D.,
Office aver Mootanyes• Store. /Mr., tioUtti from lo
co 12, A. 111„ and front 2 to 4, P.M. Special attention
Cis - onto dime:L.os of the E. and Far.-C1et,19.'78-11f.
day laßt Saturday of each month. over Turner
Si Gordon's Drug store, Towanda, Pa.
Towanda. Juno 20. 10S.
TERMS...Aid per term.
(Iteshienex Third street, Ist ward.)
Tiowninl.t; Jan, 13,'19-iy.
. . .
1 4 , Ly2F,70t1
The following
Companies represented; •
March 0. A. BLAeK.
Painted to order at any price tromp to WO.
kiii Paintings Itt_ , Painted, Jte-Tquehe , or changes
made as desired.
All work done in the highest style of the Att. /
Towanda. Pa , A-pril 18, MS.
r v Arr ° , lE.sSu P,
7tTTORcET xten COrs'aELLOit•AT-LaV,
:lodge Jessup haling resumed ihe practice — Of the in Northern r enusylvanta; will attend twany
b gal hTOne‘k intrusted to blin - In Bradford county.
wlrbtng to consult him, can call on B.
sth•etcr. }.N., Towanda, Pa., witpu an apiailatmen
sturtus FUND...
Tlen4 Rant offers, iantisnal belittles forthe trams
action of a general banking bualnesa,
JOE. POW ELL, President.
Lire fins i goblet burnished. •
That with los'elor wine was filled ;
The cup Is bruised and tarnished,
And tho•prrcious a Ins is
Butt? the traveler weary,
Jfrst coming ha sight of home,
What does ft matter bow , dreary
The way whereuy he his come?
rani .1 48.
In the northern sunset's glitnnier.
The Great Bear opened his eyes ;
Low to the east a shinitner
Showed where the tap moon would rise
Yesterday's'sikadow and sorrow
That tninnent all vanished away
here Were today and to-morrow—
What matter for yesterday ?
—Oodif Word*.
The blaie of countless wax-lights,
the scented air - of .sweet - flowers and
-their rival perfumes, the hum of
'many, voices, the fluttering of gauze
and silks, the gliding of hundreds of
feet, some shod in - laquer
,and others
in daintiest satin ;- the sparkle of in
numerable gems, the more bewilder
ing sparkling of human eyes, the im
portant whispers of asfeet lips, the
laughter of light hearts-LnerhapS the
heaViest ones laugh the loudest, who
can tell'?—and aboVe all this is the
moving spirit of the giddily gay
scene—music !—Strauss' dance
sic, bewildering strains, played, with
so wonderful 'a power that they seem
to force even the most lethergic of
men and the most affected 'of women
on to their feet, eager to' join the
festive throng.
The 1)all is given by Madame la
Comtesse de Monteferrata, and 'cele
brates the twenty-filth birthday of
Victor, her !only son, he pride and
joy of his willo*ed mother. Madame
is an EngliSh 'woman, who has grand
relations drid,great personal wealth:
In her enthusiastic girlhood she mar-.
vied a noble Spaniard, moved by the
eloquence of his melting e 3 es, his
graceful dancing, and', above all;hy
that charming fashion' he had of ser
enading her before the windowslA
the. British Embassy in Madrid. • Oh!
those wonderful moonlit nights when
she leaned from her balcony and re
warded him with . a rose she had
worn, and which he pressed so ar
dently to his lips. Bin all that hap- .
pened many years ago ' • it would have
been forgotten now, hot those arc
just the episodes' of life that women
do not forget. ' It is over a score of
years since the "nObil senor" has
been gathered: to his ancestors, but
Madame la Cbmtesse has by no
means forgotten his dark eyes and
bright smile even now. After her
husband's death the Countess re
-1 turned to England to live amon g her
own people, and devoted her days
anti all her thotiglits to her two
drea. Victor—fair-haired, blue-qed
—is essentially an. English-looking
lad; the Very son of his mother, while
Inez seems the gentle counterpart of
the handsome, dark senor, her father.
"What a charming assembly you
have here to-night, Madame la;Com
tessel It gladdens even the. eyes of
an old soldier, who goes AO-morrow
to look on . very different scenes."
So says, 'with a profound .bow of
greeting, a venerable4ooking French=
man, one every inch a soldier, froth
his keen black eyes and heavy white
moustache, down to the extra polish
on his square-toed boots. .
" Are -things really looking so seri
ous with you, General ?" asks the
Comtesse.with sympathy.
" Serious, Madame ? Heavens I but
we shall have war—absolute hand
to-band war, and they shall learn to
tremble in Berlin when they know
us better. We will teach them. Ali!
there goes my noble young friend
Victor. Would he were in my regi
ment. Of such stuff are heroes
Jar!. 1, 187.,
" Pray, General, do not 'let him
hear you."
"Not for worlds, Madame, if it
should cause you a Moment'i anx
"Young men are so enterprising,
so enthusiastic,",says the fond moth
er; "they are always eager to rush
into danger , and any novelty attracts
them. I should not like Victor to
be led away by wild emulation in .
this cause, which to me, I must con
fess the fact, appears a veritable dill
" On that point we will not argue,
rMadame,.and as to Monsieur Victor,
the mother's fears are surely uncall
ed for," says. the - General, drily.
"The young man seems 'far too much
engrossed at present to five heed to
the remarks of any outsider. Well,
I don't wondetli his companion is
very lovely..,Who is she ? "
"Oh! a litle nobody—my daugh
tter's companion. Au orphan we have
partly adopted ; I knew her poor
mother well. She is rather pretty,
as you say; and (dear Victor is so
considerate, and thinks it is his duty
to dance with all, as far as possible.
Remember he is host to-night." F.
. 4 And a host in himself, Lady
Monteferrata," says an influential
Englishman, coming tip at the, mo
ment; on which these three immedi
ately plunge into the great war ques
tion again, which at this time is
ginningto agitate Europe, and thre4t
ens soon to convulse the Continent.
Meanwhile Victor and " tha
nobody" have a subject of more vi
tal import to themselies to discuss
Feb 21, •70
N. N. BETTS, Cashier
14, 1478,
Coming along by the meadows,
Just after the sun went down,
Watchlug the gaLbtrineabadows
Creep over the ht hides brown. ,
Cooing along In the‘gloatnlng,
Iklth neier a star In the sicy,i _
Ityithoughts went a.roamlng, - a.roamlng
Through days that are 1011 g gone by.
Days when desire said, "To-morrow',
To-morrow, heart, well he gay r.
Days ere the heart heard the sorrow
Which echoes through „yesterday.
Conan along by the meadows,
And watehing.the fading day..
Dusklei than night's dusky shadows
Fell shadows of yesterday.,
. .
Lights In a telndr were glen
And some one sibed At the gate, .•
Said, "'Why do you stem: there dreaming?
And why are you twine so late?
than general questions concerning
empires and dynasties.
" Come into , the- conservatory,
Pearl. I must talk to you away
from this maddening, noisy crowd,
and as he speaks Victor draws her
little hand close within his arm. .She
leaves it passively, and walks on si
lently by his side, through a loig,
dimly-lighted corridor, which leads
to the furtherest entrance of the great
glass' house. -
The conservatory is very large—it
is built along one. entire side.of the
house. It contains magnificent
plants of tropical. growth. Huge
_palms and graceful ferns form a ver
dant and shading screen. Entering
at the last door, Victor feels. secure,
from the prying
.eyes of visitors.
He places. Pearl in a low' rustic 'seat,
and stands before her in silent con
" I, • thought you wished to talk
to. e,. Monsieur le Comte P " she
says.r . presently, and as she speaks
shelitAs her clear gray eyes steadily
to his:
" Has it 'evei. happened that I do
not want to talk to you! Oh why
have you so utterly withdrawn your
self from me of late, Pearl? I scarce
ly-ever . see you at all, and never
alone. Yoikavoid me as though you .
hate me—yOu, Pearl---who are my
very life l'How I hate longed, hoped,
prayed for to-night 1 1 could scarce
ly await its coming. But I thank
God I have had my reward. I have
held yod in my arms, and we haVe
danced together; 'you the loveliest
of women, and I the happiest, the
very happiest, of :men." He pauses
for .a_ momerlt. She is no longer.
looking up at him, and sits motion
. .
He snatches at'ller hand and Press
es it fervently ; she meets his - eyes
again, and a faint smile comes to tier
lips. In truth, she is a very lovely
woman. Her hair is of that wonder
ful. chestnut color. in the waves of
which golden light seems to play at
hide-and-seek; her clear gray eyes
are dark lashes, the firm
.chin is cleft by a delicious dimple,
and it was for the tinting of her won
derouS skin that herromantic mother
called her "Pearl."
"Dearest." says Victor, with re
newed tenderness, "do my eyes be
tray tun.? Does my voice move you?
Doesimy heart speak to yours of its
passionate adoration :i Pe. I—you
Pearl beyond price, I have don your
bidding, I have waited in silence for
a whole year! Today "jhave at
tained my majority. I am. 'my own
thaster, I know of no will but my
own, and 1 get possession of a for
tune- that even you might deign to
accept. And all this—will—fortune
—absolute command of: myself and
-all that ever may be mine, t lay at
your feet. Will you bless me? Pearl,
will you be my wife ? " As he speaks
his n H
overpowers - him. -e
says no further words, but throws
himself a suppliant upon the ground
At her feet. .
'She is strangely quist, and hesitates
a Ding minute before she answers
hini.\ Of all_her.charms perhaps the
greatist is. Pearl's voice. In its-low
musical tones she now speaks to her
lover, and he hears her to the end ;
but as he 'listens he is thrilled by a
measureless pleasure and by a meas
ureless pain. ",Ile himself S'earcely
knows which emotion is keenest.
" Mmisieur le ~ Comte," she says,
believe me I value truly the great
honor you are doing me, and more
still the true love which, as you now
have proved, lives in your heart for
me. I have learned it well ere this.
You have indeed bravely\kept your
word. For a whole long car you
have been silent on. this, sub.kect, on
which just twelve - months ago you
first spoke tei,me. And floss", yout
come to repeat your questien,\and
not having changed ,your mind/e*-
pect an answer. Aou r are rich,„hanth
some, noble. You can hold,;Aip your
. with the highest in /the land,
and you come to me who/have noth
ing—am nobody—a poor dependant,
living on your mother's charity, be
frended by your gently' sister—you
come to me, and„tisk me to be your
i wife ! Oh! it
you were poor!
1f we might and live together !
If you were an artist like my poor
dead father, who struggled so hard.„
and to whom a wife was as a right
hand- 7 =a help and a blessing !—how
. I *id. glory in helping yoti, -in
watching rise, as rise you surely
would, aye, and assert yourself, your
true, noble self, among men. I
am very proud, Victor! Is- that a
tault ? Think how proud I _should
be of you, and of your success! Now
you have no need to work, no desire
to diitinguiSh yourself. Your fath
er's: title and your mother's wealth
make you an object of admiration
and . envrto your little world. Such
a little world after all! Your whole
life:has been one of indulgence, -tlat
•tery has surrounded you. There has
never been need for you to lift your
little finger, or to endeavor to, be
usefultd .yourself or others. I !Ike
• you much, Victor, but I can. never
marry you. lam no fitting wife for'
the Comte de Monteferrata.l f I must
look up to my life's lord. with vene
ration, and he must have won some-
thing, fir hiMself aid by his own
merits; something no'money pan buy.
Then I could sit at his feetin abso
lute content, admire, worship, and
obey my hero ! " She rises and with
a gentle movement withdraws the
hem of her dress, on which he is
kneeling. Lie has scarcely realized
all she had ; said, but he feels she is
going, going from him, who; alas!
has no laurpl crown tolay at the feet
of this proud, ambitious, lovely, love
able woman. Ile also starts up now
and seizes her arms almost roughly.
"'You mean to leave we,
this to be our farewell ? "
" - It is best to part at once, as it
most be for all time. I cannot marry
the Comte tie Monteferrata."
Because to his mother and his
Father alone he , vies his position y "
he cries,
"You have said," she answered
"There is tprrs other shadow divid
ing us ? 'There is not graven in that
deep: heart of yours the picture, the
, t7 ...y.% \ r ,
• I.
thought even, of any other man ?",
"Great - heaven, no!"
"If I:—for you—Unaided—alone . =
can, win honor and renown - p rove
myself:A man among ,men, flghVmy
way upward if I can .— thus win dis
;tinetion for you,will you deem me Wor
thy ? •Will you then be thy wife ?
" I will."
" You promise faithfully, on. your
honor ?
"I swear it," she pauses for a mo
ment, then flings her arms about his
eck and ,looks into his eyes.' "
swear it, ;Victor, by the , love that ,in
my heart of hearts I gave to you
even' before you asked it."
And she lifts her head and se - Ma
her toond with a kiss upon his lips. 1
There is terrible trouble and eon-.
fusion in the house of Madame la
Comtesse the morning after the ball.
Victor has gone. Re - has !led from
his house in theearly dawn, and has
left only a few Bing addressed to his
mother. The note runs thus: "Moth
er,, forgive me. I dared not speak to
You.btfore I left, for you would have
bid mh stay! Pray do not seek me;
it is my earnest wish. not to be found,
and I shall take every precaution
against. discovery. My resolve is to
quit the life of luxury and. idleness
have hitherto led. I feel that my
better self is getting ignobly lost. I
must 'work—must learn to assert my
self. Thus and thus only- can I bon:
or the woman who has promised
(when such success is achie t ved) to be
my wife.. I have long loved Pearl
Tenn:land, and all my hopes of hap
piness centre in her. When I am
gone, dear mother, love hey for me,
this I pray of both you and of Inez
—dear gentle sister Inez. You have
both reason to be proud of my Pearl,
for she will give you cause to be
proud of your sou, and it is she who
has raised the spirit of emulation
within me;
and I mean to.prove my
self worthy of the love of the three
best women in the world, whom I
leave under this roof to-night."
Roused to - unknown fury by the
passion of motherly love and des
pair, by wild anger against Pearl,
and wilder fears for her lirst-bort,
Madame la Comtesse-summons "Miss
Tu ro uand."
" You have lived with my.daugh
ter and been her constant compan
ion, Pearl;" says the Comtesse, stri
ving bard to speak calmly,
"I believe, I hope I have nev
er failed in my duty toward you, the
pleasant duty of a hostess toward an
honored guest. Is that so?"
Gravely sweet Pearl bows her
head. Tier heart is heavy within her
and her . cheeks, her very lips are
pale; but her voice does not tremble
as she replies:
"No lady could have treated' a
trusted friend with More uniform
courtesy and kindness, Madame,
than you have invariably shown,to
me. Believe me, lam deeplygrate
ful.' .
Her humble tone, her downcast
looks, exasperate the Comtesse, and
arouse a feeling of burning anger in,
her maternal bosom, Her u. -
pa c face flushes hotly as she c
"And do you dare to speak
of trust. and gratitude,' wretched,
miserable girl—you, who have bro
ken my heart ? 'You, who. have sto
len my beautiful boy from me? You,
who have crept with your sly looks
and your sly-words j„into his lower
nature and made Yourself mistress
there ? That is the empire you have
obtained. a cause for pride !
Ito not Lo answer me! _I
thought bring myself to
speak;or • you—to you. But
nature wia assert ,herself—the moth
er's nature—and you shall be' pun
ish 4 1 Will punish you, and you
shall sutrer—if you can suffer. To
think that 1, his most unhappy Moth
er, should stand . here t6-be defied by
you—you pale-faced girl—by you,
who have robbed meof:my son, my
joy, my pride. Where has he gone?
where - have you bid him go? You
now his secret--he has trusted it to
you, for you have driven him away,
while 1, his mother, am left desolate,
in utter ignorance of what has be
come \ of my son. Oh! it is bard
too hard." •
. .
Indeed, Madame, I'know nothing,
truly nothing. Your son honored
me too much Ile sought to make
me his wife, and I, intensely proud of i
him, for him, besought him to dia.
Uppish liimself,\to wins name to—"
"Enough , , cruel, cruel girl. Per
haps you cannot realize the awful
thing, you have done. Tout have
ruined my peace of mind; you have
robbed me of my joy, 'ray hope and
pride, for you. have sent,' him•to his
death !"
• " God forbid cried the girl, and a
gleam of .terror dilated her eyes.
" Pearl, you must have some pity,
some feeling for me, - Oh ! tell me
where he has cone! Let me go after
him, kneel to him, pray him to come
back, even as 1. now implore you ;
implore you! If you have given him
your promise to keep his intentions
secret, break that promise, break it
for his mother's sake.. Pearl, let us
go together to pray him come back."
Her haughty. spirit was quelled, and
the 'wretched mother, forgetful of all
but' her love and her fears for her
boy, actually knelt a suppliant, at the
feet of trembling Pearl. ,
"1 give you my true word I know
nothing, absolutely nothing, of yoUr
son's movements, Says Pearl in
utter consternation. "We parted
last night without his saying . one
word to me beyond' his expressed in
tention of earning distinction for
himself. He vowed he would win a
-name apart from his title,. and prove
his mood among. men.. Those
were his words! How he hasgone,
For where, I cannot, tell you, for I do'
not know."
"Then you defy, me and refuse me,
is that so?" cries the Comtesse,
fiercely. .
"Indeed, Madame, I do neither."
`-` Shall I tell you where you have
driwn him ? He had been talking
to you during that lengthened• ab
sence from the 'ball-room. - He was
gale and. flurried on his return. 1
Hifi it. Ah me; how little I guessed
the truth ! Then he entered into a
animated discussion with my: old
friend the General ; who left inimedi-
. .. . - t
~ .1111- . 1::T.111...11111 liglii .7F - 11 - TZta . - ft!): i•.)
Maly after. - Iricter einiveyed tb mm
the General's parting wordsoindtold!
;ne that. the_ valiant !old , Soldier la::
tended'starting for. Paris stAaybreaki,
Thither, no doubt, in some ignoble
disguise,, victor has followed also.",
"Ignoble?_impossibleiF says Pearl,
raising her, head , :for the, . . tine,
during this painful intervjewi3O!Pft:
you sgfiPY beliovc.this, 31 44 1 94 c V'
am convinced of says the,
C omtesse, " and this ' W,your
Nov;'l thirik le • Ntiir sea f ,eeryibe:
necessary for'the point' out to yoli';
alter 'what has' "occurred;, that'
roof can shelter you "wiTloriger,
Pearl Turquand. I - h9pe;•l pray; I
shall never have' to look' , upon 'your
face again:" ' •
leave you !blew day, Mad,
ame." • , • , ••• 1 .' •
"Yes, go, noyc, at , 'orree, hi the
least you.eau do." • • ,e. • I
Pearl' makes an attempt 'to tone,ll;
,he Comtesse's_ hand, whichis hastily
withdrawn. Then poor. Pearl, .with,
bent head and tear-filled ,eyes,
her way to the door. Uri the turd ,
hold Inez meets her. .; •
"Yin will not leave' me 'Pearl '?
You will not forsake ine . ,:dtio?
for loves you! I 'lOve - yoU :both;
dearlY. Let s ;us wait Tor • him to
gether. 13e my sister still, as :you
have ever been; and 'When •Vietor re
turns he wilt draw the loving tie be
twebn. us 'closer - still." - Soii — s - peaks
Inez and laying her hands caress
ingly on .the shoulders of Pearl seeks
to detain her, .
"Inez, my daughter," •cries the.
Comtese, "Do not ~.attempt•:. to
detain her. She.and I ean : .hreathe.
the same air no longer," With ;
stifled cry the Cpmteso sinks : back:
in . her chair, half closing4tpr, eyes.
Inez flies to her Mother, teudPr,
compassion. Pearl goes froM
room, and a little time after froth the
house. •
It it is midnight. Such a night!
The ground frozen hard as iron ' every
sound, every movement, reverberat
ing with a mental clang through
the void stillness. The sky has been
showing a brooding, ominous black
ness for hours past. If only that
threatening snow would begin to fall!
Any change must be for the better;
any downeoraing, any drops, be they
of hail or snow, must bring less.cruel
bitterness into that .eutting,. biting
• Outside the walls of .Paris the
brave . - ‘ Garde Nationale " is on the
watch: Here, and : there camp-fires
are crackling andlilitzfu e ,ff; 'and At
tt:icting tts closely as possible to their
Welcome warmth' sueh of to men as
dare leave their appointed - beat.
Those ,soldiers who have been S on
outpost duty : for the past twelve
hours, keeping incessant and weari
some watch, have now
themselves- wearily .• enough - otf." the
bosom of mother earth.. She is a cold
unnatural mother to-night, and gives
but scant welcome to her overwrought
To.a stranger. there is ,something
appalling in the great, bosum . of ,
iron messengers that, send startling .
reminders of their hideous power
through the silent night. • But' to'
those. watchers Withobt the 'gates,the:l
horrid sounds bade becorne familiar:
by perpetual repetition; and' Mounts':
Valerien and Bicetre may tierntiorth
their deadly minute'• inessiages'•ot
massacre unheeded. • - ;
* * * 4. * * *
Neither the .boom -or the guns nor
the heavy breathing of his weariedi
companions, who - are. asleep in - the;
cold, lying without tent: or other
shelter, appear to disturb the medita-'
tion of a young sentinels, who stead-i
ily continues to step ,to. ma fro on
his limited beat. ilis- heavy . gra,
coat is elaSely buttoned up to the
chin, his small kepi is pressed well -
down over his forehead,-but his fair,
hair, curly in spite of its - close clip,
'pins., peeps out underneath. No head
gear could possibly hide or disguise
the straight outline of profile, or tlid
clear gaze of those blue eyes, which
had been to -.that - .yotlng soldier's
mother the most welcome and beau
tiful sight in the world-,the sight
for' Which she is now, longing ,and
praying—how i wearily I
it was thus .Pearl's !over-
termined to "distinguish''' himself,
Here, he believed, was a chance of
winning, unknown, and' without the
influence of high-born 'relations that
laurel crown which' he - had resolved
to earn, to'take home and In Y at the
feet or the proud woman whom he ,
loved ! To-morrow will be his first
chance. To-morrow he goes -into ac,,
tion, to-morrow he 'wilt strike :his
first blow. ,Fired by Pearl's ambi
tious words, find by the answerMg•
throb in his own .breast,,he wilt rush
into the thick. , battle- r dare
greatest danger - joyfully, likely- thus
to secure greatest success—anti allfor
the sake of,Pearl--=proud Pearl! . Oh!
she shall ha.Ve cause' to lie Alia of
Net yeti! He holds her plighted word
and she with her own sweet liPs rat
told him: how she InVed- him—long
ago—and she .gave him..her promise,
and sealed* it • too with a kiss I —a
soft, lingering,: intoxicating,. bewild
ering kiss. • . !ir .*. :* Even - now. his
heart beats wildrk at the *delicioUs
recollection,: and the remembrance
sends the
.. 7 blOod, , tingling; hotly
through every vain. - Present cold,
privation, most uncongenial:
panion4hip, are all , fOrgoltexi 'for the ,
tinieTietor In iMagina 'once again hi that shady tOok
behind the great fern screen in the
conservatory. - ClOSe to his heart he
holds the one Woman he: adores :
ybnd bet- kind, he feels' her kisses:—
whOse 'caprice he.
has now proved hlinself willing to'
risk hisilery life.. ' And 'fervently he
prays "God' bless'and keep my dar
ling. and me tame :home to her vie
. •
And in her chamber, far over ,the,
sea, his mother on, her Inees is,also
praying,.:" God_bless and keep ray
darling, and let him come back_ to me
soon and safe." :
She little guessCS; pOOr !Bother
where her curly4mi red
thai momeni; , :less does She.
dream or tike spirits of jOkflir entr
prise,witti which he', intends to nigh
into the heSrt Of battle tci-ingrrow--
1 - 1! , !.1
tr i I*.lf',l • .. , e 7 ;lifi, ; ,„foo ?i:;•1
Jri 111
t:,: :f
'lt ,
.e : , ejs if'
r. r.
r L,.il . ~ ~?
`i."~a't i 7 'c
Ormathervto•satlsfptlia:,ombition of
the w9IRCP 44, IPYW.
irttz vAritz:
;The hbat of the fray is over: !Under
ln.urelle des Pa/Wipes an import..
0 41'4 1 Y - Ifli.xcia4PtctmA,G , Perce: 4o,
attack on., the.Prussitins
_that it not
temporarily Iliseeticerted their
leadereWbut spread •alartrf finking the ,
beleaguering troupe.:, Night is creep
iugpn, apparently: to do her
gentle share ; ; toward . . shrouding . in
darkneas . 'the Worried sights' that
gartelfifun'atid' the Pritmly,' glittering .
snOw‘have ma& too. awfully appar
eutduriug:theTast tea hours ! • `
'or th-,-a e,time being _truce is pro-.
el a inte:lfter fashion. 'The great
iftirtfi h a ve - Peit:ceased s ending out
ithelegreetin k' of 'tiestration, nor t is
,therewny •relaxation , in •411,5 pre,para
-I,ion.,for. further aids, on thp,morrow. ‘
But that wild combat to which Victor
had - looked ' 'forward with Such a
spirit' of 'fiat:l%l66 enterprise, has
ceased. It has ended with the light
of clay, and, how rind a;day has it
been for. some
,of the bravest arid
he'stil Victor had rushed wildly into
Abe Ihickeht . Of `the melee; lie had
steeled his heart with the bright
thought of Pearl's steady gray eyes„
and wished for nothing so much as
the chance of proving himself un
,diunted. - The ' ambitions intention
was genuine and grand, but the car
rying it out rash and reckless, and
its assults by no means such as the
young hero had hop ed ' , for—nay,
;reckoned on: In lieu of thelirst step
:tovrard promotion, hisPareer has re
'ceived a fatal blow at the very out
set ; for he now _lies_ sick to death,
'faint, and almost Unconscious with a
deep home-thrust from a vengeful
',sabre in his breast.
At last•the "heavy .rumble of the
cross-protected .ambulance smites on
the ears of the wounded, who lieSo
wearily liStening—listening. So they
have lain for hours in the enforced
lethargy of • agonizing pain numbed,
crushed,:unable to move—dying of
cold, or maddened to fever, and suf
fering from its accompanying parch
ing thirst.
'Poor Vietor is beyond the hearing
of any- promise of relief, when sud
denly there comes :upon him feel
ing of a horrible wrench, :is- strong
arms lift It;tn. Then he fCels himself
cruelty jolted, every bruised 'muscle
shaken, every nerve in, his body-ter
ribly strained. • Finally he loses con to feeling. lit or well ;
in a deathlike trance he lies, oblivious
of all snreoundings: Spelt a swoon,
wily, is the greatest boon mother na
ture can hestowion worn-out suffer
ing humanity. , •
THE . I,filtD.
How 'grateful is the hash", the 'ab
solute repose, that comes to • those '
weary soldiers, when at last they rind
themselves laid at rest, in the neat
beds provided for them by kindly
Samaritans in the 'temporary hospit
al for the wounded and the, dying.
Gentle women watch over the help-
less ones with Amremitting patience
and ear,; With hushed voice and quiet
tread they go from one couch to an
other, offering comfort'for the body
and 'solace' to - the mind of the wound
ed and the dying. -
:Victor-lies, at rest in one of the
softest beds of the ward, set apart
for dangerousLpatients that is, for
th ose wb ose. lives are at thestake. And
this ward is established within the
Precincts 'of an ancient royal' resi
dence, and on its floor dainty satin
slippers and handsome buckled shoes
have danced many u stately minuet.
_That -deadly sickness is on poor" Vic
tor still, but he is "no longer faint,
though he lies' absolutely motionless.
Ile now hears and heeds the various
sounds about him, even as with
weary eyes he notes those who pass
to and fro, :and sees vaguely the out
lines of - other:suifervs - as they lie
stretched on' 'their beds of pain, to
the right and left of him, and away
aftainst the ftirther windows.
Thns Victor • watches lislessly
enough,. With half-closed lids, and
presently remarks, leaning over. the
bed opposite to his, the graceful out
' line of a' woman's form, that in spite
of the strange Shaer of Mercy garb
' seems to' him—homelike—familiar.
He looks'at the . nurse 'with growing
interest. If she would
uld but turn her
bead. With grow-In . attention he
open's his eyes fully ° now. Oh that
he. conic] really see that face. Set on
such shoulders it surely must be fair
Cduld he raise 'his head just a little?
' He tries to do 'so but alai! the mere
attempt has made him groan in a
midden spaim of 'agony. His cry of
pain at oncenttraets the nurse ; she
turns swiftly and Tuns to his side.
Their eyeS. meet, and into his comes
a look Of tenderness and of intense
longing as he sees the love of his life
Once s atin and whispers." Pearl."
But her outstretched hands fall by
• her side helpless, as she stifles the
shriek that she can scarce repress.
What-faint - cbT4 there was in her
fair face leaves it now,. and she looks he who lies before her,
her hero, her betrothed, the true love
of her proud yiing,heart.,
Oh! how, low has that pride laid
. , ,
. Withnllthe strength that . is in her,
and s ; it grest, she conquers her
trenpling, overwhelming agitation,
anti sinks quietly oLi to her knees by
,Tieior's side: „She takes his weak
;hand in hers; and devers it with pas
sionate kisses; She prays with all fer
,to the Vither in . ,.heaven to spare
the life of this:bravest and best-loved
,of preatuies:: hen comes -a mid
den thought' preinpts' her to
(mink setion4 Help, iruniediate belt)!
yiotor the best eSre. and in
. Stsnt attention.. Good' advice she
can procure tor him, arid this shall be
done instantly !, " '
So,l ) etirl goes swiftly to seek the
doctor in,whom she has most , ,taitli,
,and ,rho has; aiready pros himself
a kind, and patient friend to all, who
sutler, and to her who tends them.
The doctor comes. Ile has seen Vic
..tor before, and knows well that:his is
a hopeless case. The kindly doctor
FMCetS the eyes of , the young nurse
with a wistful sadness that says more
, than words.. This nurse has always
.shown air earnest. devotion ,to the
• I
killiOC:l3 - , : We.
good - cause, and has been unremitting
in her care- and attention to all the
sufferers. But now thew is more
than ordinary anxiety in the poor
girl's manner as she learns the fate
of the handsome young soldier lying
814 unto. death Wore her: It Ist
ke'en feeling of personal agonY that
blanches poor:Pearl's face, and sends
that look of desperate entreaty into
her eyes.
* * * * * *
i rte !a
".Oh!save him, save him, doctor,
for his poor mother's sake !" she cries
with uplifted hands, while tears'
`course freely over, her cheeks.
"Is it really too late I" r Cannot
you send for her, my poor mother,
my dear mother?" asks Victor feebly.
There is no answer. And the in
valid fully understands the import of
this ominous silence.
" Ah 1" fie - pkesently says, with a
long•drawn "Then ; it is -too
late, all too late;l feel it now. Kiss
me, my bea - ful lore. I' wished to
live for you, and now I am dying—
dying for you !"
" Ity , glorious hero!" cries Pearl,
the ring of passionate despair tremb
ling in ber sweet voice, "de - not say
it, do not think it: Live, - Victor!
you mud live, you shaitlive, for your
mother's sake, for poor Inez, for your
own heartbroken, miserable Pearl !"
• "Ay, and I will," he cries, and
with a superhuman effort raises him
self "and lifts 'the arm that is not
maimed and puts it Jip to her neck.
With a sudden revulsion from agony
to hope, she folds him close to 'her
warm throbbing bosom, and: kisses
his hair, his brow, his lips passion
ately,"ag though ,she would till him
'with' the vigorous current of her
warm life's blood. I '
• "...My darling," she cries,,'Oh say
it again! You will . lire,.iye•tO for
give me, to bless your poor mother,
live to be mine—mine."
" twill live to bless you, my beau
tifugPearl, but as to forgiviug you,
sweetheart, what can there be-to for
give ? I have loved you, I love you .
now, and shalland shall--"
The words came slowly,. brokenly.
His life's blood and breath are both
failing him. : • •
" - Pearl," heWhispers, "My darling,
kiss . me." Then, more 'faintly still,
" My proud love—my beautiful love
—and shall—forever."
hig band holds hers closely; and
his head falls heavily on her bosom.
Pearl's pride, her hero, and her
hope in life—are dead.— Temple Bar.
The relation in which men of nn.
equal birth stand to each other
wolves a question of taste which is
not easily settled. English moralists .
have of late cried fie upon toadyism to
such an extent -that one is almost
asharded to confess acquaintance with
a lord. And yet there is no country
in the world where a titled name
commands such respect as in Eng
land. It is easy to explain 'this 'by
saying that the; aristocracy of. this
Country is not a cheap aristocracy—
that it represents an illustrious de
scent or an intellectual worth which
is deserving of public esteem. But
this is not always the case. Even in
our own day men have been raised
from the ranks with .no such claim.
Yet - we know the mere prefix of a
"Sir" before a namegoes far to this
day at a committee meeting olin
ball-room. Whether it be a fault or
a virtue this is a national peculiarity.
The lines of social demarcation are
nowhere more emphatically indicat
ed than in our own country. They
do—not indeed preclude inter-mar:
riages, nor are they attended by the
absurdities of :etiquette which the.
!Undo() or Bra,hmin faith might im
pose, but'theY separate by'a stern
law of artificial life, class from class
in a manner which is unknown else
where in modern. Europe. They are
drawn through all g rades of society,
from the most elevated coterie down
to the humble offices of domestic life.'
A French bonne is much more a
servant in her dress, and far more
humble in her notions than an En
glish nursemaid. Yet an English
nursemaid would not presume
td address her mistress in the
familiar language which the French
bonne would use toward madame:
She could not be trusted with the
license; not, heaven knows, because
l - the English character has cless,diffi
deuce in its composition than the,
French, but because she would at
.once forget her station. A German
gentleman sees nothing infra din. in
shaking hands with his tailor, but an
Englishmen knows that if he were to
admit his trades to the smile privil
edge, they would - probably first un
dervalue it, and then presume upon
it.- It is a painful fact, that if you
wish to mainland civility and atten
tion in an ordinary London shop
where you are not in the habit of
dealing, it is necessary to assume an
air of calm superiority to the gentle:
man across the counter., If you ap.
proach him with an humble manner,
he will regard you with an eye of
suspicion. But, if you are polite, to 1
him,,he will often treat you with ab
solute contempt. These are only
some familiar illustrations out of
many which might be selected to''
show that this superiority 'of piece-,
dente of class over class ii not only
assumed downward, but -- looked . for
upward in _England. It is to be feared
that the romantic notions of British
freedom formed by Roman .peaSants
and Venetian godolieri might find
realization in a sort of bondage from
whirl' they, would 'gladly escape.
What are commonly known as the
"lower orders."- here have Ruch more
political but far less social liberty
than =they enjoy under - the rule of
some foreign States. The origin:of
this state of things with us may, in
great measure, be attributed to the
gross ignorince "whick.has so long
characterized our t English poor. The
mental condition 'of a London laborer
or small tradesman was not many
years ago, &amps in .some instances
still is, far inferior to the average
capacity of: similar classes on the
continent. In Germany, where- educa:
tion; has long been compulsory and
undertaken by the State, the hum
hlest errand boy is better informed
on most 'Subjects than those who.
would'be in the position of his em
ployers here..
l k . :
: '
51.5 0: per Annum in' Advance.
soul &meth to the dust; quicken thou me,
according to Tby Word:. - -
)6 soul fut eleavetb to the dust;
• My heart withlnis deid andcold;
I'm blown about by every gust;
No certain anchorage I bold. .
I fain would lift mine eyes on high, • .
• Net, sly onparged, they cannot me;
I feel like ow:, about to die— .
:llama mercy, Jean, quicken ma •
My Offs Is like the =allied land
- -On which noflower Or fruitage grows ;
'Tie like a waste of arid wand,.
A wintry lam/Ratio clothed withanOws.
All empty are the mulched years . ; -
Shah like the pan the future be?
'Galust this I. plead with privers and tam,
Have mercy, Jest', quieten rue -
My life is like to plants that creep,
Like plants that droop end touch the ground!
Wo seed I sow, no harvest reap,
All barren as the months go round:
. •
'uproot me then, and plant again;
I would be fruitful unto Thee ; • ; •
Prune, cleattle Me, Lord, 411 scorn the pain;
nave mercy, Jesu, quicken me i. .
The defenders of an old law usual:
ly urge as the first reason againstits
abolition, its antiquity. The mass
of mankind resist change. The spir
it .of progress carries them along in
spite of themselves. A few daring
spirits lead ahead, the mass hold
back. "Thus did our fathers," they
say. Since they were satiafied,-why
should ..riot we be ? An old [custom,
like a venerable heir-loom, fit only to
be put away in the garret, is obsti
nately retained by a people; kept, as it
•were, right in the way, in the kitchen
of their life. They at first look upon
every new, project as dangerous;
every new invention ss _a, . failure;
every honest doubter as an infidel ;
every new idea as a dream ; and
every fearless denouncer of old insti
tutions as a, scoundrel and a.derna
iogue.- Neiertheless, history shows
that the antiquity of a custom and
the age of doctrines are , not absolute
proofs of their efficacy and truth. It
has been a universal custom over the
world untira few years ago; for peo
ple to travel by horseback or in
vehicle; yet it is &loin since the ap
plication of steam to carriages, that
there ban better way. Slavery has
been, from all 'time, among all na
tions, until within a century, consid
ered a just, nay, even divine, institu
tion ; and is yet, in the greater por
tion of the earth's territory, allowed
and justified. Yet we do noVliesitate,
in the light of 'only a few yeari, to
denounce this institution; though
sanctioned by the' practice of all
nations since the dawn of the world,
and tolerated by the sacred writings
of all peoples, to be. an infamous li
bel on the name of justice itself.
The antiquity ,of a doctrine, we
might almost exclaim, after reading
the history of all doctrines, is an evi
dence of its infirmity rather than of
its truth; I speak not now of abso-
lute facts and - mathematical princi
ples nor the underlying principles of
right and wrong, which are eternal.,
But customs and usiges, theories, be
lids and religions, are as perishable
as the nations who hold them. The
law of the universe is change. Dif
ferent generations must necessarily
hold different views-from those who
preceded them. The Aristotelips.
and 'Ptolemaic systems of philosophy
have passed away. no now
a system of religion on the earth
„that existed two thousand years ago.
There is not a denomination to-day
that holds entirely to the same tenets
it did twohtindred years ago. There
is not a religious or, political dogma
to-day that two hundred years hence
will hate any claims to public belief
or confidence. Because our Puritan
ancestors burned old women at - the
stake, it will not justify us in setting
up the stake again.; nor because a
savage tribe of Asia three thousand
years ago refused to eat pork, are we
in any respect bound to"shun it to
day. The, authority and binding
force of a custom cannot then be de
duced from its antiquity, but from
its adaptation to the- needs of the
present. The 8:11311C reasoning-applies
to capital punishment. If the wants
of the age demand it,-and-it can be
shown to produce its intended results
for the good of society, we want it;
but the antiquity of death penalties
as alone no reason for their preserva
tion. It is also a mistaken notion of
many good persons that punishment
by death is a kind of expiation for
the shedding of innocent blood, to
society in general, and - to-the friends
and relatives of the murddred man in
particular. To kill one man to satis
fy the death of another, is acting on
the principle of , retaliation. -This,
(considered as a retaliatory measure),
can be of no possible-advantage to
society at large. To deliberately de
priVe itself of one -of its members,
because another has been- destroyed,
is doubling its own loss. What satis
faction to the friends and relatives of
the murdered man would this retalia
tion be ? Can . the death of the
wretch bring back to life his unfor.
innate victim ? Will depriving some
body else of a parent, a brother, or
a son, bring back to health and beau.
ty the, loved form of your own lost
one ?' That crime is done. No att
of:the law, no prayers, no, tears, no
punishments can undo it.- To punish
this crime by visiting the same act
on the offender with the idea of re
taliation. or expiation, is to imitate
the practices - of - savages; to act on
the principle of - vengeance. In case
of murder, to take the life lot the
murderer as a retaliation, is clearly
acting in the spirit of vengeance, and
black, diabolical - vengeance, which is
itself a most dangerous crime against
all order and _religion. This is no
satisfaction warranted by law or re
ligion. Money would indeed be
some sort of consideration to
friends and relatives of a murdered
man. But if money t i re allowed as
a commutation for mu er, as in civil
injuries, the safety of Society in gen
eral would be "placed ,second to the
interest of slew prite
by t,imaktig tlfeoffend -loose again
to renew his outrages4Punishments,
it is admitted by all w , ho have studied
the nature of punishments, are never
justifiable as, a satisfietion for past
offenses. -This principle was recog
nized more than one hundred . years
ago by Blackstone, who says as fol
low*: "Punishment is not by way of
Buzaix aenserxosa
iss.c.urox BLEU D. D.
ittatEinitt;orexptatioulbribr. .
committed, for tbatmust Ixdeft to the
determination of the SapreamoSebis
but sa-s precaution ag. sins' Clause. -
offenses, of the .'Same kind."; This'
punishment, then—being not - Makin- -
cept a preeautiott 'against the -repeti
tion of, offenses- .the great ComMen
tator continues; must be by one - or
moie'orthese three means, viz:
1. The refcirmation of the offender;
as, temporary imiirisonment,
' 2. The - dread and terror caused by
such punishment, as a !imams of de- •
terring others froth cOmmitting such
offenses;- public punishments, &e;
3. Depriving the party injuring of'
the power to do further injury; as,
by death,perpetualimprisonment - , &e.
With regard to the-first method of
punishment, it is now. universally
conceded that, while the protection
-of society is the end of , punishment,
at the same time the reforination of -
the offender should- always be had
view. Any punishinent which, does
nothave this in view is not, properly,
a punishment,.but cruelty. And it
must also beat once conceded that_
-killing the offender cannot possibly -
have his reformation in view. True,.
by the logic of our* religious friends -
of the old school,we are told a good
deal about the opportunities of the
criminal for repentance after convic
tion ; how, by a profession . of faith at
the foot of the gallows, the heaped-up
blackness of. - a life of wickedness is
all wiped out, washed clean, though
his unfortunate victim is at that mo
ment suffering the
_pains of eternal
torment. Repentance and remorse
are good. I would not speak lightly
of any - miserable sinner's remorse.
Remorse is the path. of 'salvation. •
But for the 'opinions of those persons
who would sentence a fellow creature
to death, and offer as any sort of -de
fence for this proceeding the means •
of repentance they place before him
to escape-the consequences of his own
villainies, it is impossible tolhaVe any
other feeling than contempt. On this.
principle they ought to condemn ev
ery unconverted man to death, that
the thought of his - approaching fate
might lead him to repentance. Queer
logic—that a man is ready for hear- -
ten who is not fit to live on earth ;. to
ask God to forgive a man whose life
you are. about to take. Besides, if
the murderer really repents, is made
pure and righteous, fit for heaven,
why kill' him at all ? The object is.:
accomplished ; he is reformed, and
would make a good citizen here.
Thebreaking of man's neck as a
means of his — reformation however
demonstrable by theologic al sophis
try. is ' nevertheless, too palpably •
ridiculous to deserve any serious
consideration whatever as an argu
ment. 'lt is never advanced but as
an "ultiraaratio," an apology for cap
ital punishment when all other argue
ments have, failed. If capital punish- .
meet cannot -possibly have the,refor
mathm of the criminal in view, then; .
by the modern. definition of punish
ment, it is a cruelty, and no excuse
can be offered for it except that it is
a necessary cruelty. 'lt remains to
be considered whether the death pen- -
alty is necessary (1) as a means of
terror to deter others, and (2) to de
prive the - offender of'the power to do
further harm, • - ' E. S.
Seven •pr eight years ago much _
alarm was caused along the line of
the Housatonic Railroad in the north
western part of Litchfield county,
Conn., by the alleged appearance Of, •
a great snake. The reptile, as the
story went, seemed to make its home
in a denge swamp near the "railload
track. It had been seen by - different
persons ; who' were terror-stricken'by
its wonderful size: Time and !again
the snake was shot at, by hunting
-parties, but it always managed to get
away safely. Two men went into
the swamp last Saturday to get a,
load of wood. They came to a large .
button-wood tree which had fallen to \
the ground. Finding that it was
hollow, and in order to handle it
_easily, they applied a woodman's saw
,to it. They had sawed almost through
one part of it, when the saw grated
as though it had struck a stone.
Taking their axes they spilt the
trunk, when, to their astonishment,
the obstacle which the saw had struck
proved to be they bones. Then .they
opened the tree, as far as they could
-find bones, tbe.distance being twenty
one: feet. The bones prove to be those
of the reptile no often seen. .The
largest bones measured six Inches_ in
diameter, and from that tapered down
to smallensizes. The tail of the snake
was, found embedded. in the upper
part of the tree. There is no doubt
that this tree had been the snake's
winter trine 'for many' years, and in
it be died. The bones and other-re
mains have been preserved and will
be sent to ti scientific society.
The New York Legislature is mov
ing towards a reduction of the regal
rate of interest in I that State from
seven to. six .per cent., a bill to that
effect having beenlordered to to_
reading in the Senate. The Leaisla
tnre is not yet - prepared to abolish
the usury laws leaving the rate of
interest to be determined by the lend
ceaud borrower, but a rate
to be charged when none/ is agreed
upon. With the usury laws in force
the borrower has to 'Ay an extra rate
covering the risk of loss whenever
the mat:ket. value of- money happens
to be greater than the legal rate, but,
nevertheless, usury laws are passed
. and maintained on the statute books
ostensibly in .his interest. They all
belongin the category of relics of a
past age. They are powerless to pro.
tect the borrower, and only add to
the "dead - letter" laws, a thing
always to be dep l reeated as encourag
.the habit of disregarding other
and .good laws. .
Tux cunning crab of the se.iihme
ways comes after the under-toe.
FIE sued her for her hand before mar-,
riage, analier hand sewed for him after.
Journal. - .•
To remove paint from the wall—back
up against it before it gets-dry.—Brifts
port standard.
-Iv Americans should go to Peek's( Chi
naywhy should John Chinaman not come
to peek in America!_—Baton Transcript.
Winou is oddest, the man rho asks a
question or the man who answers? Thof
man viho asks, because he is the. querist.
Is Congress should remove theism on
=Whim, it won't cost as much to get
married, will it?—Cincinnati - Commercial.
"Nu of which I saw," said the big
steam-driven "Circular" to the piln - of:
lumber. "Part of which I lilts," replied.
Wu never saw a_phraso being soyanid
ly run into the ground by the newspapers
as "never, hardly ever . " That is, hard
ly ever. —Norristote n Herald.
Accrtumr-insurance companies • hail)
put kings and emperpts down in tho
fourth-elaas of 481% along with engineers,
brakemen; firemen,` - Xnd - book-agents.,
GLAD:crows has been presented with.a
Over hatchet. This pioneer him under n
awkward responsibility for the future.
Re cannot tell a lie.—Harsard Lampoon.