Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, January 01, 1880, Image 1

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The BaLDPORD RZPOWIIIII IS published every
Thursday morning by GOottalcu t atiCIICOCE,
at One Dollar per annum, to advance.
air Advertising In all cues exclusive of Sub.
'acription to the paper.
_line for drat insertion, and MECUMS panne for
each subsequent Insertion, but no notice Inserted
for len than Iffy cents.
ed-at reasonable rates.
Administrator's and Executor's Notices, it;
Auditor's Notice-NO:SO t Business Cards; Ere lines,
(per year) IS, additional lines Si each.
• Yearly advertisers are entitled to _quarterly
changes. Transient advertisements must be paid
for is advance.
All resolutions of associations; communications
of limited or Individual interest, and notices of
marriages or deaths, exceeding Ave Unsure charg
ed viva eaters per line, but simple notices of mar
riages and de tdhswill be published without charge.
"tie RagOnTau having a larger circulation than
any other paper in the county, makes IV the best
'advertising medium in Northern Pennsyliania.
JOB PRINTING' of every kind. In plain and
fancy colors, done with neatness and dispatch.
Handbills, Blanks. Cards, Pamphlets, Billhetuis,
Statements, &e:, of every variety and style, printed
at the @honest notice. The - HeronMt Mace Is
well supplied with power presses, a good assort
ment of new.type, and everything in the printing
line can be executk in the most artistic manner
and at the lowest rates. TERMS INVARIABLY
Nusiness garbs.
°Mee over Mason's old Bank.
0111ce with Patrick and Foyle
Solleltor of Patents. PatOrular'attention paint
to In.lttess to the Orphans Court and to spa settle•
nient of estates.
(Mee in Montanyes Block Alay 1, 19. ,
VI •
Judge Jessup having resumed the practlceof the
law In Northern Pennsylvania, will attend to any
legal bushings Intrusted to him In Bradford county.
Pere us wishing to consult him. can call on It.
Stree:er, Esq., Towanda, Pa., when au appolntruen t
can I. male.
1 41.. VS WOOD,
mch9-76 TOWANDA, PA. •
HL.:TOWNU., M. D.,
Residence and (Mame just North of lir. Cor
bin's. on Main Street, Athens. Pa. Jun26-6ni.
TOWANDA, PA. Cnovll-75,
AgFn'y for the sale and purchase of all kinds of
:Seem Ries and for mat:lng, loans on Real Estate;
Ail .lep.iness will receive careful and prompt
attention. f June 4.1879.
V • kT LAT:, WYALUSING. PA. WM attend
to all business entrusted to his care In Bradford,
Sullivan and Wyouiliig Counties. Office with Esq.
porter. En0v1974.
• ••
umee on State'Street, second pour of Dr. Pratt's
'Office. npr 3 79.
I,Jr •
OfTb-p.—Rooms formerly-occupled by Y. M. C. A
Rending Room. rian.3llB.
Diet AWL, Brad. Co.
, -
Oftice--North Side Public square.
Dee !:3-15,
ll I
(Mira over Turner Sz Cordon's Drug Store
Tor. Ada, Pa. May ne'consulted In German. ,
[April 17, '74.3
1 •
A ?Tort N EY-A T -L AW,
door smith tit the First National
Bank Main Si., uli stairs. •
uF FlCE.—Formerly occupied by Wm. Watkins.
11. N. '% I. LI A Ms. (Oct. .77)
Driee over Dayton's Store
Apr] 12, 1576. - •
Ofri , e In Block. first door south of the First
i i ;11ank,
0 DILI,. rinne-731y1 .T. N. CAMPY'.
clam and :_surgeon. 011 co over 0. A. Black's
J.:P.-4 , 1v store. • ' la, May' I. 14721 y•.
St, Inn
A 1
• over M. E. Rosenfield's, Towanda, Pa,
'reeth Inserted ou Gold, :Silver.- Rubber, and Al
titanium basa, teeth extracted without pain. '
Oct. 04-72.
11 -I _, PAYNF'„ M. D.,
Ortive over 7sl ontailyeNl Store. 1 11Iten hullos from 10
to A. 1., aiol from 2to4P. It
Special attention given to
0). , and -
1 1 - W. RYAN,
luR •
Office day laA' Saturday of each month, over Turner
& Gordon's 'Wg Store, Towanda. ra.
TowaudA, June
TjEACII ER iitl PIANO:Mrstc,
TF.IIM per term.
(Residence Third street, 1M ward.)
Towanda, Jan. y.
C 4 . Ali w. BUCK,
TO ii'.4.VDA, PESX
Office—South side Poplar street, opposite Ward
Ilou.e. : [Nov.l3, 1579.
Tht, Bank offers unusual facilities for the trans
sett,n of a general banking business.
N. BETTS, Cashier.
dO9, row ELL, rresldeni.
Aril 1, 187.9
Though towers have perished at the toneh
Of Frost, the 'early coiner,
1 hall the season Idred eo much;
, •
The good St. Martin's summer: . ,
O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn,
And thin moon Curving o'er It I
The old year's darting, latest born,
More loved than ail before it
How flamed the suhrlso through the pines!
How stretched the birchen shadow[,
Braiding in long, Wind•wavered lines
The westward sloping meadowi.
The sweet day, opening as a flower
Unfolds itepetalls tender,
Renews fur us at neontide•s hour
5ep.25, , 79
Tho summer's tempered splendor
BZILT. M. Baca
The birds aro'hushed ; alone the wind,
That through the woodland searches,
The red oak's ilngeelug leaves can find,
And yellow.plunies of larches.
But still the balsam-breathing pine
Invites the thought of sorrow. .
No Mitt of sorrow from Mt like wine
. . . . . .
Tbe earth's content can borrow.
The summer and the winter here
Midway a truce are holding,
A soft, consenting atmosphere
Their tents of peace enfolding
The silent woods, the tette*. hills;
Rise solemn In th'eir itidness;
The quiet that the valley tills
Is scarcely Joy or'sruluatis.
Ilow strange the autumn yesterday
In wintern grasp 'seemed dying;
On whirling winds from skies ottray
The early snow was dying;
And now. while over Nature's mood
There steals a soft relenting,
I will not mar the present good,
Forecating or lamenting.
Feb 27, •79
My autumn time and Nature's bold
A dreamy tryst together,
And, bah grown ol , about as told,
, The golden tissue I weather.
I lean my heart against the day
To feel Its bland caressing;
I will not let It pass
, a,way
Iletore it leaves It; blesslnF.
God's angels come riot as of Old
The Syrian sliephikds know them ;
In reddening dawnv, in'sunse,t
And warm noon lights I view them
Nor need there is, in time like this
When heaven to earth draws nearer,
Of wing or stingits Witneises
To tuake their 'Presence clearer.
O stream of life, whose swifter Sow,
Is of the end forewarning,
Methinks the sundown afterglow
Seems less of night than morning.
Old cares grow light; aside I lay
The doubts and fears that troubled ;
Ttie quiet of the happy day •
1\ lthlu tnylsoul IsSloubled.
That clouds must vellthis fair sunshine
Not less djoy I thnt it ;
Nor less you warm horizon line
That winter lurks 'behintrit.
The mystery of the entried,days
I close toy eyes truth reading ;
His will he done whose darkest 19)1
To light and life are leadik
Less drear the winter - night shalt he,
If memory cheer and hearten
Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee,
Sweet summer of :it. Martin !
—John Greenleaf Whitifer, in Atlantic ;Monthly
[ feb.l'7B
We had been so sure that the trou-
bles that wO're overwhelming others
in the manufacturing world would
never touch us!]l We had been so
sure that delegateS from the_ Unions
might prowla out .anning our
" hands," and ne er gain one sinale
adherent !
. :
I thought our s fety founded on a
rock. I thought we could calmly
and sympathizing y look down upon
the troubles of ar neighbors.
Now, when I say "we; I mean
John and I. ThiS sounds "strong
minded," you are ready to say.
Well, I don't know What -other
people may choose, to call it, but in
truth I have been very proud and
glad that ever since-the clay I mar
ried the owner of Otway Mills he
has liked ,me to I take an interest in
his work and in his people.
1 don't mean tO say - that he talks
t 6 me aboirt the price of yarns, or
tells me of the rises and falls in the
cotton market, though I think that if
any great anxiety came upon him,
even of that. kin I, Jack would give
me a hint of it, an I'm sure I should
try my best to 1 ok as wise a's a
young owl, andja if the ins and outs
of the trade W t ere familiar subjects
to my inqui ring and enlightened mind.
You see, I have had such an exam - -
ple in John's mother; and then--
well,.my family thought that I ought
to have done better than marry a
‘-Lancashire mill oWner; and they said
a good many bitter things. Aunt
Denison used to] give her shoulders
the least little shrug and draw her
shawl - about her las if, she shivered
slightly when I allltided to my future
home; and when she shook hands
with John she always managed to
convey to me antlffected'misgiving
that she rather feared her delicate
fingers might be* soiled by the con
tact. These things hurt at the time;
though,, they lost their sting quickly
enough *hen I got him' all to r . myself,
and be held me close in his arms and
told me how hard he would strive to
make me happy. Happy! well, well,
I wonder does there live a happier
woman than John's wife in all the
let;gth and breadth of F r nglatril Yet
no life is without its day of trial, and
the story. I am going to tell you now
is of one ofthose dark times, that
come to us all sooner or laler.
or •
The way that Aunt Denison and
others of my own kith and kin be
haved about my marriage naturally
put me "out in the cold " with them,
and threw me More completely upon
John's people than might have been
the case otherwise. And, how good
they were to me !
I had never seen Mr!. Ralph Cot
way, John's mother, anal I came to
the land of smoke and tall chimneys.
fur she had not come South to our
wedding: Iles delicate' health was
the excuse put forward, but my own
.private , opinion is that Johu was .
afraid of auntie. • lid' could put up
ki t alaily enough with that shiver and
shrug when Oirected against himself;
but.both he and I had once inadvert
ently heard her say that " she be
lieved all Lancashire ladies spoke in
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a loud voice and had very red hands,"
and Lthink that was enough for John.
When I first saw . Mrs. Ralph Ot
way this saying at once darted into
my, mind, fornever, among all the
grand London ladies that visited at
my guardian's house, hal I ever, seen
a woman so completely, beautifully
refined in look, voice and manner.
Then her hands! Why they were
such soft, white, womanly things,
and closed over one's own with such
a tender, faithful clasp, that once,
sitting by her knee, I.could not help
bending down and kissing them as
,they lay, upon her lap.
i She used to tell me stories of Jack's
boyish days—stories that she never
tired of telling or I of listening to ;
and sometimes she spoke of,her dead
husband, and of how he had been re
vered and looked up to by everybody,
until at last , his name became a sort
of proverb, and people in the busi
ness world had been heani to speak
of him as "honest Ralph Otway."
You could hear a tremor in her voice
when she spoke of things like these,
and see a faint flush, like the pink in
the inner side of a seashell, ,rise to
her delicate cheek. •
"It is a great responsibility to
have so many hands under one head,
and to be answerable for the welfare
of them all ; it needs wisdom to rule
them well, and to be just as well as
kind," she would say to me, speaking
of the great mills where the machin
ery whirred and buzzed all day long,
and the " hands " came rushing . out
when the dinnerbell clanged its noisy
summonSilike bees swarming from
their hives. Listening to her wise
and tender words, it was borne in'
upon me• that from his early boyhood
John had been trained in the best
school to make a man good and true.
He had wanted his mother to live—and you may be sure that I
had no will apart from his—but she
said, "No; married folks are best
left to themselves." She had her way,
but, we would not let her go far from
us ; only a "step or two," as John
said, so that we could run across of
an evening, and she could come to
us without fatigue.
By.the end of the first year of my
married life I seemed to have...forgot
ten the fact of being a South-country
wtoman. d found that there were
plenty' of art lovers among the pea
ple whom Aunt Denison once told
me went into society with little fluffy
bits of cotton sticking to their dress
coats ; while, as for honest warmth
of heart s and true, ungrudging hos
pitality, I soon came to the conclu
sion that the South couldn't hold a
candle to the North.
I was, '
very happy during that
strange new year ; happier still.dur
in,g the one that followed, , When I
held John's son in my arms, and saw
the clear gray eyes that had won my
girlish heart look up at me from my
At first Motherhood seemed to me
such a sweet, new,
precious joy that
I was ready to be over-anxious. I
might have fallen into the mistake
that', - so many,.young wives make, and
in my love for baby let the , even
dearer possession of my hUsbandts
companionship slip from my . hold.
However dearly a man loves , his
children, tie does not always want to
b€ bearing about-them; least of all
when •he comes home tired with the
days :work ; nor yet does he like to
see his wife gradually become little
better than a nursemaid.' I know all
these things now; but in-those early
days I might have lost the.freshness
of John's sympathy for me - , and Mine
for him, if it had not been for the
gentle word in season that fell from
his mother's lips, and Made, as it
were, scales to fall from my eyes.
She . spoke with her hand on my
shoulder, and her dear beautifUl face
all a quiver in the dread lest I should
be ready to resent her counsel. , I •
" Don't let baby keep you from
being the heart of John's life,child,"
she said. " Let no (Me ever ihave'the
power of takidg that froin you:24,
Then I remembered how the night
befoie I had been chattering away
about baby's remarkable feats and
marvellous doings, and how weary
John had looked—nay, how I had
caught him in the loving hiding.
away of a yawn that would not be
wholly repressed, and wisdom came
to me as I pondered.
Times were bad ;. trouble was
around us everywhere in the mercan
tile-world ; evil counsel was leading
honest men astray,and wanton hands
ware sowing the seeds of dissatisfac
tion in the hope of-reaping harvests
of advantage to themselves. First
one class of .operatives would strike,
anti then another. The " hands "at
this mill or that refused to go on
working except under the spur of
higher wages, and so the busy whirr
whirr of the machinery was 'silent
until stranger hands could be found
to set it going again.
Darker shadows crept into the pie
ture after this; men an hour ago
hale and hearty were maimed, blind
ed, beaten almost out of life; and
these crimes were done in the dark.
The masters did not escape; one
was fired -at, the cowardly bullet
coming from no one knew whither.
I grew fearful, and in spite of strug-
files after courage, more than once 1
had to turn my head after John's
gOod-by kiss had pressed my lips, as
he 'set off for Otway Mills.
Our hands seemed all right as yet.
Yet I saw, day by day, how ,the
cloud deepened on my husband's
face. I used to sit very quiet, just
within reach of his hand, of an eve
ning, or We •would stroll down to
Mrs. Otway's—John very silent, but
yet I knew, by the magnetism of
touch, happy in the feeling of my
hand resting on his arm. The mother
and son spoke earnestly together of
the state of trade, and the dark mists
hanging over the North country, and
well typified by the black smoke that
came from, the big chimneys and
hung like a canopy above the town.
Who shall tell of the tribute paid
in pain and tears by the women and
children in those troublous days.?
Surely no bitterer pang there can be
than the sharp stab that goes through
a mother's heart as the cry of her
child for "Bread ! bread l" has to be
smothered against her bread, lest its
1 1 sound drive the brooding man by the
fireless hearth to . madneas and , vio-,
knee.' I, •
This is, what" - being 'um i3"trike" ,,
means to the Wives and little ones'of
Our mill bands. say "our" lieeause
..;--alas! that I should have to write
it—the day Catllo when John return.;
ed from town lookirK as l'had never
seen him--as the mother who bore ,
him had-never seen him.
Otway 'Mills had stopped. The
men, whose'relations with tneir mas•
ters had been a. proverb in the trade;
were on strike.
John did not say much. He was
never a man of , many words, and si
lence is . natural to men „as a refuge
from possible team
" Our turn has tome at last; it is ,
hardly the me
. 's fault ;. this sort of
thing is as. catching
. as the ; plague.
They know 'they have been fairly
dealt with. That blackguard Jim
Stevens is at' the bottom of .it; be
was Seen talking - to one di' the. dele
gates from the Union:"
That was all John said. His moth
er and I listened ; and; noting the set
line of his lips and. the stern•look in
his eyes, we knew that, let the men
of Otway kills be as stubbotin . as
tley might, the master would not
yield an inch.
Our honie, the dearest spot on
earth tome—the fairest, too, in spite
of its nearness to tt mannfactdring
centre—was some three miles out of
John, used generally to drive in
and out, to and from the' mills, but
sometimes he rode his • big black
horse, King Cole, and now and again
I would ride by him on my pretty
little bay mare, Lassie, returning
with the groom. I
Well, the bight after he told me of
the strike I lay wide ; eyed through
all the lon g , long hours, hearing each
one strike below stairs, and thinking
those thoughts of mingled love and
fear that gather about a woman's
heart like . a flock of ill-omened birds
when her nearest, and dearest are
threatened with danger. The ,still
ness of night is a,terrible magnifying
medium ;‘ possibilities take gigantic
proportions seen !thfougli its voice
less—quiet. now glad I was when
faint lines of light began to creep in- . ,
to the room !
- -
It was past—that night of thoughts,
that were almost prayers—and pray
ers that were only like thoughts that
I trusted to God to read the mean-.
ing of. t
Breakfast over, the passionate pro-
test in my heart bubbled up to my
lips,-like a spring that must well, up
to the light:
Jack I oh, Jack! you will not go
to the to-day f"
The answer came, calm and clear,
smiting me with despair.
I did not think my wife would
try to make a coward of me."
Ile did hot speak.harshly; I could
have borne it. better if he had.
Ile kissed me a moment after—
held me very fast and chre—then,
before he went,,he kissed me again.
" That
,is for the youngster up
stairs," he sail], with a tender smile
sottening the set look of his mouth ;
" give it when he wakes." •
The groom,' an old and faithful
'servant of the Qtways, looked grave
as he led up King Cole and gave the
bridle into his Master's banA. 'Then
John rode away and I went into the_
house, seeing nothing clearly for the
mist that gathered round me, not
even baby's face as nurse met me
with him at the foot of the stairs.
That night and morning formed
the initial letter,of a time of anxious
foreboding that iieined long to me,
though in reality
. its duration was
scarcely a fortnight.
Threatening letters missi i - efi of
that most cowardly character called
anonymous—came at" intervals.
Many husbands would have hidden
such things trout a wife, but I think
John knew that of all trials I could
have least endured the thought that
he kept a trouble from me.
Mrs. Otway's face grew. pallid with
a more transparent Whiteness every
-day ; her eyes, always tearless, had
a fixed, -.hard look, the look that
comes from *grief restrained from
outward show by might or will.
lent!th netrotiations for the em-
ploymetit of alien " hands ".._--men
willing to work for the wages • that
was all the masters could give in
those biting times—were spoken of.
:Wrath that had simmered now seeth
ed; scowling,lmen gathered in, yroups
about the narrow streets that sur-.
rounded the mills like a labyrinth ;
muttered curses made starved and
frightened women hurry by; clench
ed ,fists threatened the world - for
grievances brought about by the, bad
counsel of wic;:ed men and the brute
.resOlve and stubbornness. of uncul
tured natures.
Many cases of low fever, the result
of insufficient food and fuel, occurred
among the wives and children of our
rebellious operatives; and my time
was soon taken up by ministering to
the necessities of the sick. In this
work, John never strove' to hinder
me ; not yet, in the want-stricken
homes of the people, was one word
of reference to the strike ever uttered
in my hearing. The people were
kindly and grateful to me in their
own rough way, and I crossed no
threshold that a welcome did not
greet me.
God knows how full my heart was
in those days of darkness He was
teaching me the deepest lessons of
life, for " in the day of my sorrow I
sought the Lord. Not with long•
prayers, or any outward acts of de
votion,- but with a close dependence
on His care that became as the very
air I breathed. Nor was I without
comfort. The sympathy of those
dependent 'upon ".tis ,is a beantifid
thing in time of trouble—and • there
*as not a servant] ii , our, lionSehold
whose heart did not beat in sympa
thy with mine; not one who ,did not
rejoice with mein the safe return of
the master evening by evening, and
enter into my repressed anxiety as
we saw him ride away in the morning.
At leUgth came a dayone. of
those days that are to be found in
most lives—a day that, however long
we live, however far away - from its
scenes our after fate drift ns,, is
traced upon our memories in indeli
ble colors and forms a' &WO upon
". • - I ~ •1 1! r. "
-;• • raiCiABDIAriM4i Pit DiFtitrX7,4 l l o .4f. ,FTL.P 3 ANY gIUAIMER.
which we turn and look back, to
tnarvel again andagain how we lived
through its horror and its anguish. •
The.days were beginning to short
en. I , Jove _the gloaming, and was
net sorry ~to welcome the soft dusk a
Wren bit. eaklier each day. , Ilaby liked.
it, .too,, I , think, for, twilight makes
idle fingers, and I had. more , time to
toss hup and down and _ listen to the
merry music. of: his crows of pleas
tare: _However. sad and' haious at
other, times, 1 always M aaged to
cheer' up when -baby made is appear
twee in my sitting-room';,;'and, oh,
*hut comfort I fonnd in the touch of
his Velvet4Oft ' cheek' Griddled 'up
against mine, and 'his little pink
palmed hands clinging round my
lingers.: , . - ~
'Well, one day-4 rather afternoon
1 , the, shadows were lengthening
out, and robin wao piping ,the first
notes of his plaintive even-song, I
sat alone in my cosy,
My.mother (I -tali her thua because,
in mycreed, Joha'l belongings were
mine, too) had been ailing for a day
or two. The straia,of, anxious, lov
ing thought for her son had ~told
Upon that fragile frame, wearing it
as the sharp sword wears the scalr•
For our troubles were black around
us as ever.
" If I had dealt unfairly by :4 sin
gle man in my employ, I would own
to the wrong and make reparation,"
my darling said: " Some hands have
Just, cause to complain of the Masters;
mine have none. I will not budge
an inch."
It seems to me that I . am telling
my story in a strange, desultory
fashion, but I cannot help it. I give.
you the memories of tho'se days as
they rise one by one before me.
The illness of Mrs. Otway kept her
a prisoner to her own home, and day
by day I went to sit , beside her
couch and talk of John, andof scarce
aught else. Women who are Leal
and true, can give sweet, store of com
fort to each - other in time of trouble
by community of sympathy, even if
they be but close friends; how much
more, then, could we two, to each of
whom the man upon whose. head sor
row had fallen was the best and
dearest 2
Baby, on the day which I now
write, and from which I 'seem ever
wandering in devious paths of thought,
had seen lit to take his sleep' at air.,
unwonted hour; so I- was alone in
the deepening twilight for once.
The house , was very still just then,
for the servants were at their tea,
and a thick, green-haized door shut
off their premises from the rest of
the rooms. It was so quiet that
through the open window I could
hear Lassie whinny softly, in her
stable across the yard; so quiet that
the sound of my own name, spoken
hurriedly and almost in a whisper,
made me start, and seemed as it were,
to tear the mantle of silence that
was brooding overthe earthly autumn
•" Mistress Otwayl Mistress . • Ot
way !!' said the voice, " for God's_
sake coom round to 't door and let
me in. I'm nigh drooping
• Inn moment I.had reached the
porch, opened the door, and was half
supporting, half-leading a figure so
ghostly, /30 deathlike, that it might
almost have been taken- for a visitant
from the spirit-world. •
It was Jim Steven's wife; a woman
haggard and fever-wasted, and whom
I had seen milk the day before lying
weak and wan, with her two-day
old baby by her side.
. "Lizzie !" I cried, as she staggered
into my room, and still holding my
arm in a wild, convulsive grasp,
gasped out something I — could not
understand, "are you mad ?"
" Ay, a'most she whispered, rais
ing her fever-bright eyes to mine,
and wiping the sweat from herpoor
thin face with a corner of her shawl.
"Listen, lady," she- Went on; "if
they miss me fro' my bed' and Jim
learns I've coom oop here, I'm a-dead
woman ; brak every boan in my
body, as sure as theer's a God above;
but I dnnnot care. Yo've bin a,good
friend to me, and the like o' me, and
I woant see yo made a widder, and
yer little one fatherless."
The. words struck me like blows,
felling me where I stood with their
terrible force.
On my knees, with my head in that
poor creature's lap, I wrestled with a
pang so..awful that as, I write about
it now, after. long. years, it seems to
rice my heart-
• "
Nay," 'said . Lizzie, lifting my
bowed head with her, shaking hands;
tfi,yh' munna greet—yo' mun'be strong
and hale—for the sake o' him as
loves yo'. If summat ain't done
he'll be carried - whoam to yo' dead
this neet, wi' bullet in his bress."
"My God I my God I" I cried, stag
gerino, to my feet, " help me I"
"Ay, I say Amen to that, lady,"
said - Lizzie, catching my hand and
pressing it agiinst her bosom.
" Yo've helped' others ; happen God
'ull mind that now and help yo'."
" What can I do ? Tell me—tell
me the whole truth, Lizzie: See, I'm
strong and hale now ; God has help
ed we already. He has put courage
into my heart."
" Thou% need it, my lass," said
Lizzie, forgetting in her eager trouble
all barriers of class, for pain, the
great - leveller, set us • for the nonce
side by side, just two sorrowing,
timorous women, and nothing more.
It's Jim as is at t' bottiim o' it all
—may God forgive me for speakin'
agen my' mon, Mistress Otway—l
wudna ' but it's to hinder- murder
hula' done, and afore 1:ell thee, wilt
'thou swear that n.e'er a word shall
pass thy lips to -hurt, him ?' He's a
bad mon, I know ; but fora' that he's
my mon--and it's hard for, any
woman to speak up agent her mon I"
'ln sorest anauish of impatience I
wrung my hands the one in the other,
' with lips ssi white as Llizie's
°ln, swore the oath she craved for.
Then she told me all the shameful
'Story. _
The foreign workmen' whom (so
report had it) John hid decided to
employ •were on their way to 'the
North ; there was no chance now of
bringing the owner of. Otway Mills
.TANT!AtY 1, 1880.
on big knees. The furnace of hate,
heated Oven timhs with 'the fuel of
'drink, seethed like a mighty cauldron.
Jim stirred -it with bitter, angry
words. Ile had been at fault more
than • once, and at last diatnissed; he
had.wrongs to , revenge, he said—they
all had.
Thus the evil tongue tried to stir
tip strife but only one or two turbu
lent spirits like himself would be led
into: plotting against the master.
Theise then had laid a foul plot--the
plot' that' poor, faithful Lizzie had
left-her bed of weakness and . pain to
. Warn . me 'of..
" You know," she said, "the big
wood wheel , t' two roads meet, half
way. 'Mixt here an t' mills ?• Wee),
they're to watch for him passing , ' by
Cheer on his black horse, and, oh, my
lady !the shot coom from behind
the trees." •
"..When—when?" I almost shriek
ed.' •
" To-neet," she whispered hoarsely,
as though she feared the. very walls
would tell Jim of her great ,-reg,cli
ery. " Theer's no toime, to lose.
Thee must go . theesel' • they'n know
surawat's up if (my alter body goes
by. Which .0' the roads does the
meester coom by ?I she added, with
a Sudden - look of- dread in her eyes
that was-mirrored in my own. .
"Sometimes' one, sometimes the
other," I wailed. " Oh, I cannot tell
'which 1" - •
"It's hard on thee," she said, with_
wonderful, pitiful lovingness. "How
wilt thou knaw which way to game '
" How, indeed ?"
"One—two—three-four's rang out
the little clock upon 'the bracket, by
the window. 'We 'both started, tied
Liizie gathered her shawl, about her.
" I must gang my way," she said,
her head drooping on her breast.
ilut she lingered a moment more,
holding my band close, and peering
eagerly into my face. -
"If Jim ketches . me," she said,
" if he murders me, if I sec thy face
no more, dunna forget mY . little 'un,
for heaven's love !"
"No, no,"
" I.cried; "but do not
speak such words! they break my
heart! God keep you . from harm.
He will! He will 1"
She shook her head, and a tear
trickled down her cheek., "Tell thy
errand. to Atone," she-said earnestly.
" The
.meft love the,: sight of thy
bonny face, even the roughest of 'em ;
but, they're not theirsel's now; ',they're
loik - wild beasts mad wi' the taste o'
blood ; theyrd shoot , yo' dowit loik a
rht if they guessed yer errand."
t. I had hurriedly fetched • a . glass of
wine, and now held it to her drawit
lips. - .- :. '‘, /
" Drink's a good 'servant, bit a bad
.master," she said when she swallow
ed it, "and happen I'll get whoam
the better for that. (food-bye, .my
lady " • _
_ .
I have always been impulsive--at
least I believe so; at all events, in
another moment my lips were press
ed against Lizzie's sunken cheek,
aup her tears and mine mingled. We
stood thus, hand in hand, nodonger
diVided. by any thoughc of classor
caste, only two sobbing, troubled'
women, and then— •
.. .
Like a shade] that ad come and
gone, as a strange apparition might
do,• . the tall ilgur%'with . .the shabby
shawl 'gathered snood-like over its
head., ad - glided away among the
trees, and I was left alone to think.
Time, precious time, was passing
by. I had—how long to reach, the
mills? Scarce an hour.
How should I- go? By .whicliof
the two roads would John come?. I
stood out on the green, velvety lawn
where of. an &Veiling he smoked his
cigar while I set by. I remembered
I .
this as I stow ' there, and had to
crush back a c y that rose to my
lipS. .
Just at that moment once more a
low, soft whinny came from Lassie's
stable. Then I knew.
The grooM was crossing the yard;
and speaking, measuredly, as one in
great haste,.l told him to saddle the
lrtbl'e mare : " I am= going to ride to
meet, your - master; you need not
come with me."
Then I turned hastily toward the
house, fearing some expression of
surprise upon -the man's part. „
I remembered what . had!
said : " Let no ode know thy errand."
- To fly rather than to walk — to my
bed-room, to equip myself in my
riding-dress, in so- short a time that
it was a wonder mortal fingers could
achieve-the task, and then, just-for
one moment, to-steal to my7darlinft's'
little bed ; not to weep, tears weaken
at such a time, but just to kiss the
cheek flushed in sleep, and lying in
such sweet-repose - upon the tiny open
palm. -
"Oh, baby !" I said bowing my
head upon my hands as I knelt. " I
am going to save him—for you and
for me I" • And I sobbed, though my
eyes were dry. , .
Who, watching a sleeping infant,
has'not seen that sudden, ineffable'
smile that, like a sunbeam playing
on'the petals of a flower, parts the
sweet injlkAedewed lips, ,and passes
swiftly 4s it came?
I,cheSe• to take that , smile as a
good Omen; 'I chost to think
IfeavenlLangel, in my' hour of need,
stood by me, -and the closed violets
of my darling's eyes saw the minis
tering presence. -
I heard the clatter of Lassie's hoofs
upon the etones of the yard. I,staid
one fleeting instant at the nursery -
door, and then- down the stairs, out
through the pretty porch; one spring
to the saddle.
Oh, it did not take long, and we.
were on our way—on our way upon
the journey that meant life or death
for him and for me—worse than-death .
if , the worst befell. •
' I dare not hurry . much at first;
kneW that "the hedges had eyes and
the trees ears. •Iloyr they sighed
aboVe my head as the evening wind
swayed them gently.
telenched my hand on the - handle
of mr riding 'whip. I set my teeth
hard. 'I fought for 'patience.-
Every moment was a "jeviel of
great-price," and yet 1. dare not.hur
ry. riot yet. , Once the horrible
gloom of the thick wool past, and
. 1 then the terrible choice between the
two roads would lie before me.
My heart beat so thick and fast
I scarce could draw my breath ; and
just as csve were , near the thickest
part of the bush and trees something
stirrbd l. whila, Lassie gave,a,sudden
startond then a bound.
" Stead3r, - steady, little one," I said,
speaking out loud; " it is - but a poor,
silty sheep that has stmyed into the
.Lassie trembled, as I_ could feel ;
but she stepped on quietly enough,
and--Heaven knows where a woman's
strength cornea from at such Uwe--
I let the reins drop loosely on: her
shining, neck, and sang to myself as
I.went along.
• The ears that listened could not
think a woman rode a race of life
and death for the sake -of the man
she loved, could they ? •
• We had reached the fork of the
two Toads • thb dark shadow of the
wood lay behind, us. A touch, and
the mare stood still.
" Which ? which ? 0, my - OW
help ine ! guide me!" I prayed.
'Then I let the rein drop on Lassie's
neck, closed in eyes, and gently :
urged her on. She took the waythat the left. The eho ce was 'Ostia.
Maddening thoughts throbbed in
my brain. Was John, even now, as
Lassie's willing hoofs rang out on.
the hard road coming along the
almost parallel route, each step of
his trusty steed leading him nearer
death? •Or had some blessed chance
delayed him ? Should I find him at
the mill ? Would Heaven be so
Merciful as that to the-?
Three miles! three miles! Did
ever the road, gleamin g palely white'
before me in gathering dusk, seem so
long before? The night, like a soft
curtain, was falling upon the world ;
I saw a single star glimmering above
-the robin sang no more.
We were - in the open country.;'we
passed no more dwellings where
lights twinkled through the trees,
acid seemed to speak of human com
panionship and happy:homes. Alone
in the twilight two solitary figures =
my little mitre and
et On, Lassie, on !" I cried to her.
"Faster, faster!"
I saw, the smoky canopy that over
hung the town, though now—ominous
sign !—it was less dense than its wont.
I could have cried aloud for joy.
"Lassie! Las4iel make good speed,
little mare—we have Inot an instant
to spare !"
The road seemed to rush along be
neath us.
"quicker! quicker! make gOod
speed ! make good Speed,little mare!"
1 touch4d her Hank's lightly with
my whip ; she tossed her pretty head,
flung off the White fOam that had
gathered .on her bridle, and sprang
forward with added life and spirit..
"Lassie! dear Lassie!bonnie Las
sie! see, the ,gall chimneys are, in
Stg,lit, we arel,i,ettin,g near him now,
Lassie; we shall save him yet!" •
I. knew not' what wild . words I"
uttered in my mad excitement; lath;
erto I had managed to keep, the curb
upon my terror and my pain; but,
now, as the goal of my desires was
nearly reached, 1, could have tossed
tpy arm aloft; I could have stKiek
ed out to the night; I could have
been'guilty of any mad thing. •
-' At the entrance to the town I drew
rein, and Lassie and I tried to look
as-quiet and respectable as we
As we passed through the narrow
streets, where men , stood about in
little groups, and- wOrne.n, with poor.
starved-looking children clinging to
their petticoats, Stared ut me: and my
panting steed. The great. gates that
led into the mill yard were closed.
How strange , a contrast to when
they stood widely opened, and
of men, 'like bees out of
Live, came pouring - through them,
while the great bell, that meant
" work isnver " clanged out its
come message! •
A man looked thr4ugh a grating,
anti not without some curt express
ions of amaze.
" Has the master gone I asked,
in a voice that did not sound like
" Noa, rny leedy," he answered in
the North country tongue.
Once. inside the yard I - stepped
from my , saddle, find! left 4 Lassie
standing there panting • and foam
flecked. (lathering . my, habit in my , .
hand I went up the steps into the
cold whitewashed passages, and so
on to a room L knew well—John's
lie was writing at a table, and the
flaring gas above his- ! head showed
me his : face, grave and anxious;
change to a look of uttermost sur
prise as he saw his wife standing in
the doorway.
Perhaps tbe .moment of relief is
more -trying than the suffering we
have waded through :to reach
cannot tell; but I kdow that as I
inet my husband's eyes—as saw
John there before Me—as realized
the - mighty truth -that he was saved,
I gave a great cry, and fell.,down
without sense or life at his feet., •
These things happened,a long time
ado. People have forgotten the year
of the great strikes; 1 have not. ,
Baby is a young giant nlow;a head l
taller than his mother; 'and 'owns a
sister Whose inches reach : , 'well nigh
to his stalwart shoulder? . John still
.smokes upon the lawn ofip. summer's'
evening ; while I sit by, but tell
him he is growing fat and lazy,' .At
which he laughs, and says he shall
soon turn OtWay Mills over lb his.
son .altogether. • t.
- Our mother rests now from all
earthly sorrow, and her memory is
like -a beautiful presence among-u 5..,,
On the table iu my own sitting.
room is a little hoof, shod in a silver
hoe. The relic is ,kept under a glass.
shade, and I always dust it. with my.
Own hands. 1. am sure you will know
without - my telling you that it is held
dear foi the sake of Lassie, the little
mare. IYou will divine th;tt it is one
of those willing' feet that carried me
. to Otway Mills•through the dusk pt a
memorable day to save a life clearer,
than Inv own.
That.dear- life • cost another, ‘ . for
poor Lizzie left her baby motherless;
and I had to promise . . ,Weak
ened with'fever,"and her recent trial,
the strain ofthat errand of love that
the set out Opon to warn ale of her
$l.OO per Annum' in 'Advance.
husVand's plot against mine, proved
too much for her•feeble frame.
I kept my oath sieredly;and
one, save John and I; ever knew that.
Jim's wife, with a noble disloyalty,
"spoke up- aged her mon."—All the
Year Round.
Berry, the sable philosopher of Carp
son, spent a few days-in this city last
week. He sins sorry to find his old
friend Marcus A urelius Johnson, con
fined to his bed when he called. •
" Why, Marchs, what on errs de
matter wid-ju?"
"Dunno, 'Clem—dui no 'zactly.
Doc Bronson sez de- disease hasn't
gone 'long 'nuf ter make a erect
doggyneses of it„but he believes it's
de roomytism or:the newralzy,
" Well if dat's what de matter, I
jest know how ter-flr you. Seen lots
Of it cured down der in Cahson. Der
was Guv'nor Kinkead, an' ole Jasper
Balicoek, an' Farmer Treadway, an'
a lot o' dem ,kind o' fCller—all had
'de roomytism, or de newralg,y, or
some udder mighty reliable disease
of de same - gin'ral nature—an' I've
seen all dem cured. You , jes' send
fo' yo' doctor, an' tell him to cut a
button-hole in yo' hide whar de pain
does de mos' work, an' .to take a
seeringe an' squirt 'bout half pint
mawfeen in dar. Pat's what'll cure
you, Marcus—you hear me. I'm
a talkin, chile—cure you shuah.
Dat's. what we call the sutterranean
injecshin, an' don't you forget it.".—
Virginia (Nee* Chronicle.
didn't happen - in Elmira, but the ap
plication is just as binding :
A little shoeblack called At tht ,
residence of a clergyman of this, city,
and solicited
.a piece Of bread and
some water.- The servant wits di
reetcd,to give ; the child bread from
the cruirib , basket, and as the little
fellow was walking slowly away and
shifting the gift .between his fingers
for a piece large enough to chew, the
minister called hint back and' askqd
him if'he had ever learned to pray.
On receiving a-negativ.e answer he
directed him to . say, , 1 " Our Father,"
but he could not understand the
familiarity: .
"Is it our fatheryour father—my
father ?" •
". Why, certainly.",
". The boy looked at him awhile and
commenced Crying, at the same time
holding up his crust of bread,, and
exclaimed between his sobs. ,
You say that your father is my
father; aren't you ashamed to_ give
your little brother such stuff,to eat
when you have got so many good
things for yourself?"
cAGo.-A downright vulgar Amer
ican is about as vulgar a than as you
could'meet with anywhere, and per
haps the flower of American vulgarP!
ty'is to be 'found in the thriving city,
of Chicago. The lion of - a fashion:ll'
ble dinner table; at which I happen
ed- to be. present the other : evening ;
was a Chicago banker, so enormous
ly 11.1 that he -might havef.daid with
Mr. A lqwn.,in "Courtship," Wealth
I woller in it." He carried the out
ward signs of it ahout him in several
Massive rings and a watch chain
that hung like ropeS' of .
g old - about
his waistcoat. He was tall, . lean,
and .yellow, and abominally over
dressed ;. but In - others with marriage
able . I dattgliters . could ' not make
enough .-of him. He Aid not talk
much, and. would have got through
dinner well enough but for one un - -
lucky slip into' which the kindness of
his hostess betrayed' him, He ate
but little; and refused one dish . after
another; and the hi)stess ; after ttyinc .,
in vain to tempt his appetite,i said e
she believed. she must give him up.
" Wal, yes,' ma'am - I believe you'd
best," said-the banker. You kno*
I'd trust you with my purse and my
topcoat ; but I guess I'll boss my
-own stummick."—London World.
WOMEN.—The Archbishop of tan,
terbriry heartily approves.'of universi
ty education for young women. At
the recent distribution of the prizes
of . the- Oxford -local exaMination he
declared that-ilie, w:is glad' to think
that fltst-class instruction was ready
to the bands of. all young ladies Who
desired' to avail themselves of it;
and spoke in Commendation of
the opening.a.these examinations to
young women; " whose education,
after a comparatively-early-age,' was
left entirely unattended to, and -they
had no stimulus to continue it." An
otherdistinguished gentleman, • Sir
Alexander. Grant, at the recent open
ing of the session of the Edinburgh
Association for the University Edu
cation of Women; - spoke heartily. in
favor of the higher education fit
women. He characterized - the old
System Of education_ - in boarding
schools as. meehanical and dry, and
I said that the - .proposed substitution
was not longer hourS of •study, -but a
more rational employment , of a short
er time._ I • L
SOME geETlri Tnixas. Take, for
example, the folloWing gehuine notice
on an Irish church door: "This is
to give notice that ,no person is be'
buried in this 'church-yard bu't those
living in this . parish. Thoie who wish
to - be buried are desired to apply. to
me, Ephraim Grub, parish: clerk."
Here is another . kindred specimen-i
" The churchwardens will
hold their quaitCrly meetings once
in six wecks,iinstead of half-yearly;
as , formerly." , In April of Mu: the
following bill was . stuck up : .". This
house to be let:forever, or longer; if
required." Such a house would quite
match the goWn.mentioned .by Miss
Edgdworth.. " which would wear for;
ever, and might be converted into a
petticoat afterward." Another pe
culiaegarmeat is described in one of
Lady i Morgan's earlier .noVelS
in Cr composed of "an apparent tissue
of woven air." •
A LITTL girl of four yearaWaa 'recent
ly called as a witueas in a.. police court,
and in answer,to the question what be
came of little girls who told lies, ,intio n
eentbr moiled that thev Were sent to bed.
,--11roso York Eronissyt Post.
The old year sat beside the hearth
In thoughtful mood : the boor was bite ;
Acid era be vanished from the earth -
The past hi: !Yale would contemplate.
6 6 1 brought - a wen th of joy or those
Who bad toorbUrtloned been with grief.''
lie said. "and for unnumbered leers .1
. Furnished thepeordist of relief;
"To some I gave a garden's bloom.
-street pansies and forretdarnots; , •
To some the cypress, atli-batOmb. -
The barrenness.of:desert snow_
With lore I tarrtel!for a Awhile,
Breathing the sweet elyalan Mr ;
And bidding hope serenely Smile -
Across the thresbcdd of Murals:
I mitered mit my natal hoar
littlidened alike with bliMand bane;
Cominissloned by my Lord to dorm!'
Some heartkwith ease, and ifolre with pain .
happiness bad rich Incrase, -
I shall be honored long, I kdoWi
Due those I robbed of Joy and peace-
They will be glad to !lava me go 1-
" I've followed Many a bridal' traixt
Have` witched many a lonely bier
With birth and death, with loss and gain,
!lade up the record of the year.
And sow beside liecember'S gate • 1 1
Where bangs the yearealaretu bell,
I pause to scan the past, and wait
The'seund of my own funeral knell.
“One : How the boors liavpoilipped away?
Two: Some Will weep with sore regret;
Three Could I still on earths detiy
Four : 'Some good r might accomplish yet,.
Flee f An angelic song awoke -
Six Surely are the fetters riven ;
Soven.l.iioon I Allan bear the - final stroke—.
"Eight Chime sweetly with the clock of heaven.
" Nine lam neareeto my goal 1 -
Teti 1 Time must eternity begin :
Eleven t Awake, iminortalaoul -.
' Farewell! Farewell and let the new year In S•
"I come the old year's debt to par
I come his promises to keep;
To walk upon. the world's higtiway,- , ! .• •
- And deck the-graves Where the dear ones sleep.
Where he gave smiles I may give feinr,
Lite's path vv v gh goed or bestrew; "
For unto him_4(r views the years • .
The new Is obi, the old ts new!'
UlvpE t, II unz4.—Xany a babe gets
a wren - ch'.from ; loving hands that
might, account for the Sudden ; attacks ;
of spasms. the day after, or; for hours
of fretfulness that no coaxing seems
to soothe and no -medicine apps
to reach. Falls from little perambu
lators while-in'charge'ofnurses, tho'
they leave no.-outward and visible
sign in the shape of_ cuts or bruises, ,
may have inflicted something worse
by far than`cuts or bruises would
have proven to Me. Cases "have. -oc
eurred•frequeritly where infants hart - ,
had falls of „ which nurses h 7 s've not
told, and no maiks from : which were
visible to the eye, but .whiCh made
the child unaccountably fretful for
weeks, until curvature of , ; the spine
told its frightfurstory. - rnr this rea. •
son mothers.Onnot be too' careful in;
hand!ing ; their little ones-and looking •
after them personally; rather than
trusting Iso- much; to hired nurses: ,
A child ; is tender thing, arid a kart'
which lea.ves no s U rfaCe sear may thy -
the foundation of;an early death or
futtire deformity. ; ,
AN Acron's PRAYERS. -It ,iS
scarcely creditable, but nevertheless_; .
true, that on the morning of the day
on which •he is to appear in, a new
piece, M. Lafontaine goes to offer up -
.a prayer. that he may he successful. - f .
Some years ago, when - lie .belong,ed
to the Comedic- Prancaise, •fnend
met' him and his accomplished 'wife
out sof the g4,,pe
" The Franeaise," said th actor, ex
planatorily; `k revives Tartuffel this
evening." ." What!" . exclaimed the
friend,T" ask God' to aid - You in play
ing: h.,'part.which . the clergy hold to _
lie inimical to religion?" ''Gently;"
replio M. Lafontaine; - "we paye!.l,
that,we might be
. protected , ithis eve- -
ning., hut we did not saythat it. ws.
for Tartruffe.' " ' _ -
AT-SEA IS TUE CLo i uns.—A young
woman who is visiting friends at Chi
cago, hearing some conversation up-
on literary matters,
in Which allusion
was made. to the Flying Dutchman
and other phantom vessels, asked if
any of them had reacU. Burns' i tme
poem. - ou the subject. "Burns' poem?"
echoed one of the company ; "I 4v
er knew that Burns bad written 'a
poem - about pi l iantom ships." ."There
is hardly a school girl in 'Boston,"
said -the young woman froin the Hub,-
severely, '‘that does not know that
he was the author of the. 'Brigs of
Ayr.' " And with mile!' dignity she -
retired to peruse Tgr. Joseph -Cook's
fascinating work on '' The . Oosmogo - -
ny of Theodolitic CrepuSculisni,"
Ati 113iNEsrEn ComtuNts7.- , -- An
old, man, the senior of the band,. was
wrapped ups in a,. blanket, and trem
bling withTMu cold* Of ague. A sharp
cry diverted attention from him. It .
proceeded from Mime:Rogues, who
_recognized in one of-, the yellow
.aisaged, gray-bearded, spectres her
his - band,' who was a most respecta
ble loan, and for years - Mayor of
Patbhux. His .case. at. the time' of
his trial excited great - interest. He .
was not a Communist, but was guilty '
of having granted beligerent'rights
to some who were wounded.', The
Wife threlTherself into his arms, an.
she: led 'him to the - saloon in whic•
Louis Blanc was waiting. ,Tho- i•
looking op - felt too sadito cry, "Yiv. •
la Republique".
To the Christian the -little events of
daily life tend wonderfully to his Jtantifi
cation, though he may not know it at
the time: This discharge of, duty, this
trial of patience, this-.denial of self, this
loss or suffering, or affliction, each, like
the-finishing strokes of the -sculptor, here
strikes off an escresenCe and there brings
out a beatity of form 'or feature,. till' .at
last the work is completed, an fin
ished for the upper temple. ' .
rorutAn concert .singer advertfged...
to participate in ani entertainment, ex
cused her absence Ow the ground of hay-
ju g a Severe cold in the :head, and - the
next day received the following from -au
admirer "Thii ix gotise greze ; melt it,
and rub on the bridge of yore note xintji
cured, i Inv you:to distraxshun." i .
_ .
TREItE is to' be a la.wsuit over "Baby'
Mine," in Which the author sues Dition
& Co. for $20,000. There was a similar
suit, it Will be remembered, in the time :
of Solomon, in' which—but our readers
arc of - course aCquainted with the Old -
Testament—Net° . York Convnircial Ad
earthier. -
TEI:FI , fact that a Marrjs a member of an
unii-prbfanity society; which tines 'its
members for using bid
. language, will
have no weight with him when ,he finds
that the cat curled up and . went .to sleep
in his new silk hat; and on waking yawn
ed and . gtretcheid.--Baltimore Netts.
Josii I3lLListislias discovered that "ft"
iz a good deal ov a bore -to hive others
luv us more than we luV•them.l' That's
a lotiely sentiment for es •successful lan
guage-twister.—New York ._Commercial
IT appears that the only way for a man
to escape having a monument erected on
his account after his death is for him to
be President of the United States.—B6s
ton Poit.
NOAH built his ark 'of.g.opher wood and
fir, because to didn't have fir to gopher .
it.—Providence Journal. ,-
TUE New York IPIIOB . tells of a mart
who wns killed by a fan of four feet."
Did a mute, jump on him " ?'.Boston Post.
SOME papers can't take a joke, and lots
`ertiiand do t and what's more, they pass it
Off far ono of their own.-Boston Post.