•A. J. GERRITSON, Publisher. I
TON Dimiaa's BLUNDER.
BY BELLE ST. AIIBTN.
"Come Bettie, and let's have d' drive.
Vat pining for a change; and as for you,
I have serious fears that you will fade
quite away. Get your hat and mantle,
my Kit, and we will have jolly time !
Run off, now, right away !" And lazy
Torn for ; once roused himself, ,and clapped
his hands with that gesture which is
sometimes used to hasten the movements
of others when we are ourselves iu a bur-
ry. , But Bertie only looked up with a
tiolefultiCe, and dropped her sewing re
luctantly upon ber lap, to make a regret
ful reply.
" Tom, dear, I really can't. This work
oust be finished, and if I spared the time
for a drive I could not. do it."
" Come, somebody else will finish it."
" Who is there, pray ? You don't ex
sect Jenny, the housemaid, to take bold
of a piece of work like this, and there is
no others of womankind in the house !
To morrow, manitna will be here, and our
new house must look just as perfect as
possible. I will try to bud' time to drive
after tea, perhaps; but I can't go now any
way possible."
Little Mrs. Dunleigh here settled her
self back to her work, *firmly, utterly re
signing the tempting thoughts of a drive
while the cover that was to enrich her so
fa pillow remained unfinished. Torn
signed heavily, and passing out into the
hall, put his hat on; but he paused at the
door and looked back, wistfully.
'• Oh, psha w Berrie. Do come.
What does a new cover sig,nity ? It will
do just as well without for another day.
and I want you ever so much, because I
.:1311 not have another holiday in a long
time perhaps. I don't know what to do
with myself."
Beaie looked up, roguishly.
" Suppose you - read aloud from Dante's
uferno for me. ~That would be charm
ing. I could listen delightfully while
pe wing."
•' I hate Dante, and you know it !
Come; won't you be obliging !"
" Can't, really. You had better go and
god Harry Leon to play billiards; you
;611 enjoy that."
Tom waited no longer, but went out.
deliberately, walking quite as deliberate- I
ly down the street, puffing at a cigar with
commendable z-al. To tell the truth, he
was vexed, fur he had set his heart upon ,
a drive wi;h his charming little wife, and
the disappointment was a sore one. He
(lid so love to have the little creature
perched bes:de him behind the lovely
L•rays h w.,s wont to drive when he went I
nit. Sle always looked so bright and i
happy. and everybody else looked so ad-
very strong wants of his na
tare were supplied. Tom loved his
fairy" and he loved to have
her praised beyond anything else. In
deed, if the truth was told, Tom Dunliegh
souk especial delight in havinr , anything
that belonged to him admired. It was
one of the peculiarities of his disposition;
and those who sought the way to his
great, generous heart could find it in no
ea,ier way than by praising his various
possessions.
By the time he arrived at Leon's place
`of business, he had partly dissipated his
vexation,. burning it away with the cigar
he smoked, and watching hi m a s i t ,
spread in soft clouds above him. Unfor
tunately, however,,Mr.,Leon was not in,
and Tom 'betook himself to the street
again, feeling in anything but a happy
mood.
" I've half a mind to go off ono spree,"
said Tom to himself, in a half audible and
very petulantlone. And then he smiled
when he thought of how - horrified Bertie
would be to see . him coming home "tip
sy," and how she would reproach herself
as the cause. To do bim justice, Tom
bad no serious thought of -doing.. himself
so gross an injury; and for au hour did
nothing more harmful than to wander
aimlessly about, hoping .to find some one
to help him get rid of a troublesome of
ternoon. Fi n ally be stopped on a cor
ner near a large hotel, gazing idly at the
passers as they filed along each bent on
their own business cir pleasure—none
with more than a word, a nod, or asmilei
for him. 1
" rtl3 just like tha idle_ boy who could I
find no one to play with him," nautterek
Tom once more to himself." "And I sup- i
Pose it willsend in my getting hitosotne
mischief or other.- I, hope there will be
no more holidays-soon, if this is-the way
'W to spend 'em; better have atten
ded the funeral respected senior
employer than fto -have pretended a bead.
ache, and have . this aimless, drtatry time
sea reward. ..I.feel like gob= .to.a funer,
si Wish it yam% too .
But just at- this :moment Tom's eyes
fell upon a littlefigure , gliding away rap.
idly along oil the- .opposite , :side of the I
Street, where it soon turned the cornend
The ace was - concealed by -the wail; Sint
there was no'such. thing:llB nirstaking -at
figure like. Bertie's light, airy, and grace
ful. Front her helot' to the; tip-+ rher
dainty boot,. his ,- Wrife ;was.the' rperfection
of delicate loveliness, and - all P—Could
not boast another her. - : Bat he was
astonished tO see - het' int %bill meet after
her refusal to 'drivel - end a
tti
mood was not made any better by the
sight.
Crossing the street - quickly, he follo w
ed after, intending to overtake her; but
her little glancing feet were far too quick
for his clumsier tread. Sbe led him a
charming chase for three squares, then
he just caught a sight of her, as a tall,
slender gentleman, faultlessly attired,
stepped to her side and took her hand in
greeting. The next moment, both bad
entered the ears; and before be had real
ized it, had gone.
For one moment after reaching the cor
ner, Tom gazed after the distant car in
bewilderment. The cool, sluggish blood,
so hard to rouse usually, was mounting
hotly now. Au incident of less import
might have set it going in his present
frame of mind; and this had maddened
him. Once thoroughly angered, Tom
Dunleigh was a terrible man to deal with,
and it would have fared ill with the hand
some stranger had he been at that mo
ment within reach. As it was, he star
ted MY in a steady, rapid walk, bent on
tracing her to her destination. He would
find out who it was that she preferred to
her own husband, and take dire ven
geance upon him. Surely he had reason
for the maddening jealousy that had ta
ken possession oPhim. The meeting he
had witnessed bore mystery upon the
thee of iy even bad be not known that
such a man, his name or station, had nev
er at any time been mentioned to him as
having the honor of his wife's acquain
tance. A less passionate man might have
felt as Tom did at this moment. But as
we have said, though Mr. Dunliegh was
one of the best and generous of mortals,
taking all things ordinarily with iiiimica
tile sangfroid, when once roused, he was
terrible, and one might be forgiven for
trembling in the presence of his wrath.
Tom had walked about six sq•iares ere
he was near enough to see that he had in
view the same c-ir he was following. One
or two delays at the corners, waiting for
passengers, favored him greatly, so that
it was not a square distance when the
pair descended and mounted the steps of
an eleaant house on the left. He quick
ened his pace almost to a run at the sight
of them; hat ere he could gain the house,
the door had clogod upon tuew, shutting
him out.
Poor Tom's fury was boundless. He
was tempted to rush up the steps and de
mand that she should go with him in
stantly. But a moment's thought re
strained him.
I may get her, but he will escape me,"
he muttered through his set teeth. " I
wi.l wait and make sure of him when he
comes out." Saying which, with por
tentous coolness, Tom crossed the street,
and took up his position in a drug store,
where he could see the houses. He only
asked permission to sit down for a while,
giving no reason, and set there stolidly
indifferent to the man's wonder at the
strange proceeding. Keeping his gaze
fixed the door, be remained for a full
hour, then seeing no signs of returning,
his patience was exhausted, and he went
out abruptly. In that hour the thoughts
and feelings that had passed through his
unhappy brain were of a fearful nature's
Out of the whirlwind of passion, one de
liberate purpose had resolved itself. And
now as the cool air fell upon his hot face,
he tossed the thick, damp masses of
brown hair back from his forehead, and
turned his steps homeward.
Arriving there, he turned into the lit
! tie library, and wrote rapidly for several
minutes. The letter he carried into Ber
' tie's chamber, and left upon her toilet ta
ble. It was a cruel, bitter letter ; but--'
he meant that she should never know
peace again, after having read it once.
Deceit like_bers was deserving of dread
ful
punishment.
It was a hard thing to go away and .
leave his new home. He had toiled very •
hard for it, and had anticipated so much
happiness in-the possession. And here it
must all end ! Tom thought everything
that, made Ile worth the keeping must ;
be left behind, and he became a wander
er
on• the face ,of the earth, a vagabond,
perhaps, he said, bitterly. ,But what
w ; ouldit matter now ?
Standing in Bertie's room, with the del
idate perfumes she loved stealing around
him, poor Tom's agony was increased.
One :of her tiny slippers lay upon,a - stool ;
where. she bad left, it, and he snatched it ;
up, kissing.it passionately, while a bitter ;
groan - burst through his lips.
" Ole Bertie,- Bettie ! How I have
loved your
-And theit-be put the little thing in his'
pocket, the only memento he would car.
ry away with bun. He would take one
long look.' through the house, then he,
Would go and lie in 'wait fin; that 'llan
until he could punish him, after which he
would -fly the country, and 'see her no
xiiora forever. -
A deadly - light gleamed -from honest
'A:W.B Wog eyes, as he took. a, .revolver
frlam,its . ,e' wood _placed it . in; aninside
Pocket, ,But. teal* were. on his .ebeektV.
when be turned from Bertie's., room. for
the - last ideas a bard and , bitter.
014.14tdoilsilat lay before him:- -
.Twilight bad fallen by. this time, and:
be pesTed.Vistiblly into eacbc: dim -.mord
making bis way tci.l;lerties:
boadoit fora last qoolc, !at -gib , ' spot she
MONTROSE, PA., TUESDAY, OCT. 16, 1866.
! loved best. But the house was so still,
his own steps sounded harsh to him in
spite of the sott carpets. Turning the
handle of the door,
he stepped in aalight
ly as he could , but he stood for half a min
ute ere his eyes became sufficiently accus
tomed to the darkness to enable him to
distinguish objects. When they did
grow used to it,
he saw something that
drove the hot blood back to his heart,
and made, him feel faint.
There in one corner, resting upon a
lounge, and dressed in a white wrapper,
lay Bertie fast, asleep! Her rich hair was
scattered over the pillow, and a warm
flash on her delicate cheeks, which made
her look inexpressibly lovely. Her regu
lar breathing betrayed a deep and dream
less sleep. Evidently she had been there
for some time, for the enrtains had been
dropped to subdue the light.
Filled with remorseful shame for the
actions of the past two hours, poor Tom
slipped out of the room, and quickly re
turned the revolver to its case. Then he
burnt the letter he had written, and bay
ing destroyed all traces of his anger, re
turned to Bertie,
who woke to find her
husband holding her in his arms, and cov
ering her face with kisses.
" Oh, Tom, how you frightened me !
I got so tired I had to lie down, but the
cover is finished, and Tom so pleased. Did
you have a nice game, dear?"
" Very nice," answered Tom, aloud,
but mentally added : A very nice time
in making a fool of myself."
" Why did you not bring Harry home
to tea with you ?"
"Couldn't come," answered the duti
ful fellow witb some hesitation ; then he
hastened to cover it by saying that it
seemed quite as we!l, for he saw no signs
of such a meal. Bertie laughed.
"That's all you know about, my man
agement ! A match touched to the din
ing-room chandeliers will show you the
table in perfect readiness, and in less than
two minutes tea can be served. I am sav
ing gas by waiting, you see. I mean to
be a very economical little housekeeper
until you are wholly out, of debt, so ma
ny little things have to be paid for. And
I'll tell you, dear Ton; one reasot why I
did not yield to your wishes for a drive,
was because I thought we ought to dis
11"ZtettlevihAigh be c 4 i ViAMP I RW - nAf t vis
deny ourselves a few simple pleasures."
Tom's arms closed very tenderly round
the little figure now, but the blood came
in a hotter flush to his brow. He was
trembling, so as to make detection inevit
able, bad not the little hands, wandering
restlessly to his pockets, found something
which brought a quick exclamation and
rin,ging laugh to Bertie's lips. Then he,
too, began to laugh ; and after some teas
, iug, told her the whole story through,
amid sea earns of laughter, ending with an
earnest prayer to be forgiven for his
blunder.
12=ME=1
Civilization Weakens as well as
Strengthens.
Society never advances ; it recedes on
one side as it gains on the other. It un
dergoes considerable changes ; it is bar
barous, it is christianized, it is rich, it is
scientific, but this change is not ameliora
ted. For everything that is given, some
thing is taken. Society acquires new arts
and loses old instincts.
What a contrast between the well-clad,
reading, writing, thinking American,with
a watch, a pencil and a bill of exchange in
his pocket, and the naked New Zealand
er, whose property is a club, a spear, a
mat, and an undivided twentieth of a shed
to sleep tinder! But compare the health
of the two men, and you will see the
white man has lostlhis aboriginal strength.
If the traveler tells us truly, strike the
savage with a broad axe, in a day or two
the flesh will unite and heal as if you had
struck the blow into soft pitch, and the
same blow would send the white man to
his grave.
The civilized man has built a coach,but
has lost the use of his feet. He is sup
ported on crutches, but lacks the support
of muscle. He has a fine Waltham watch,
but he fails of the skill to tell the hour by
the sun. A Greenwich nautical almanac
he has, but being sure of the information
when he wants it, the -man in the street
does not know a star in the sky.. The
solstice he does not observe ; the quill
lox he knows as little, and the whole
bright calender of the year is without a
dial in his mind. His note books impair
his memory ; his libraries overload his
wit; the insurance office increases the
number of accidents ; and it way be a
question whether machinery does not en
cumber; whether we have not lost by re
fmement some energy, by a christianity
I entrenched in forms and establishments
some vigor of wild virtue.
far Never place so much confidenc e
,
in your minister as to sleep during t he
sermon.
rer,`; Look otie, lest b 5% endoising_ the
charodei of others you.. Jose your.own,
, epo -cares like. Sulphur wares
front VestivittS, therefore it is good fOr
eruptions.
4( 1 1: 1 A00*1:lloillJt):i0)4
It is matter of amusement, to an unin
terested spectator like myself, to observe
the influence fashion has on the dress and
deportment of its votaries, and how very
quick they fly from ono extreme to the
other.
A few years since . the rage was very
high crowned hats, with very narrow
bnms, tight neckcloth, tight coat, tight
jacket, tight small clothes, and shoes
loaded with enormous silver buckles; the
hair craped, plaited, queued and powder
ed—in short, an air of the ,greatest spruce
ness and tightness diffused e over the
whole person.
The ladies, with their tresses neatly
turned up over an immense cushion ;
waist a yard long, braced up with stays
into the smallest compass, and encircled
by an enormous hoop ; so the fashionable
belle resembled a walking bottle.
Thus dressed, ivas seen, with the most
bewitching languor, reclining on the arm
of an extremely attentive bean, who, with
a long cane, decorated with an enormous
tassel, was carefully employed in remov
ing every stone, stick, or straw that
might impede the progress of his totter
,
ing companion, whose high-heeled shoes
i just brought the points of her toes to the
ground.
What an alteration has a few years pro
duced ! We now behold our gentlemen,
with the most studious carelessness and
; almost slovenliness of dress • large hat,
large coat, large neckcloth, large panta
loons, large boots, and hair scratched into
every careless direction, lounging along
the streets in the most apparent listless
, nese and vacuity of thought ; staring with
an unmeaning countenance, at every pas
; senger, or leaning upon the arm of some
kind fair one for support, with the other
hand crammed into his breeches' pocket.
Such is the picture of a modern bean—in
his dress stuffing himself up to the dimen
sions of a Hercules ; in his manners af
; fecting the helplessness of an invalid.
I The belle who has to undergo the fa
tigue of dragging along this sluggish ani
' mal has chosen a character the very re
verse—emulating in her dress and actions
all the airy lightness of a sylph, she trips
along Jvith the greatest vivacity. Her
j ktiyhhigt eye, her countenance enlivened
with kindred aniinatian'ev L ity — ltetailailr,
except the torpid being by her side, who
is either affecting the fashionable sang
froid, or is wrapt up in profound contem
plation of himself.
HOW THE OLDSTYLES GOT MARRIED
There is nothing that seems more
strange and preposterous to me than the
manner in which modern marriages are
condncted. The parties keep the matter
as secret as if there was something dis
graceful in the connection. The lady posi
tively denies that anything of the kind is
to happen ; will laugh at her intended
husband, and even lay bets against the
event, the very day before it is to take
place. They sneak into matrimony as
quietly as possible, and seem to pride
themselves on the cunning and ingenuity
they have displayed in their manmuvres.
How different is this from the manners
of former times ! I recollect when my
aunt Barbara was addressed by Squire
Stylish ; nothing was heard of during the
whole courtship but consultations and ne
gotiations between her friends and rela•
tives ; the matter was considered and re
considered, and, at length, the time set
for a final answer. Never shall I foret
the awful solemnity of the scene. the
whole family of the Oldstyles assembled
in awful conclave; my Aunt Barbara
dressed out as fine as hands could make
her—high cushion, enormous cap, long
waist, prodigious hoop, ruffles that reach
ed to the end of her fingers, and a gown
of flame colored brocade, figured with
poppies, roses and sunflowers. Never did
she look so sublimely handsome. The
squire entered the room, with a counten
ance suited to the solemnity of the occas
ion. He was arrayed in a full snit of scar
let velvet, his coat decorated with a pro
fusion of large silk buttons,and the skirts
stiffened with a yard or two of buckram ;
a long, pig-tailed wig, well powdered,
adorned his head ; and stockings of deep
blue silk, rolled over the knees, graced
his extremities ; the flaps of his vest
reached to his knee-buckles, and the ends
of his cravat, tied with the most precise
neatness, twisted through every button
hole. •
Thus accoutred, he gravely walked in
to the room,
with his ivory-headed ebony
cane in one hand, and gently swaying his
three-cornered beaver with the other.—
The gallant and fashionable appearance of
the squire, the gracefulness_ and dignity
of his deportment, occasioned a general
smile of complacency through the room ;
my Aunt Barbara modestly veiled her
countenance with her fan,but I observed
her:contemplating her admirer with gaeat
satisfaction through the sticks.
The business was opened with the most
formal solemnity, but , was not long in ag
itation.' The, Oldstyles were moderate;
their articles of capitulation few; the.
Equire was 01=4 aed ateeded to them
aff. ' sbort,ihe blushing Barbara was
delivered up to his embraces with due
ceremony. - • -
Then were the happy times. Such
oceans of arrack—such mountains of plum
cake—such feasting and congratulating ;
such fiddling and dancing—ah me 1 who
can think of those days, and not Oglt
when be sees the degeneracy of the pres
ent; no eating of cake nor_throwing of
stockings—not a skin fulled with wine on
the joyful occasion—nor a single pocket
edified by it but the parson's.
It is with the greatest pain I saw those
customs dying away, which served to
awaken the hospitality of my ancient
comrades—that strewed with flowers the
path to the altar, and shed a ray of sun
light on the commencement of the matri
monial union.
Whakis " One Horse Power 1"
The use of the term " horse power" is
'very common ; yet few, except good me
ebonies and engineers, attach a definite
meaning to it, but regard it as indicating,
loosely, about the power which one
horse would draw. It is, however, when
used in the sense under consideration, as
definite as possible, and means the power
required to lift 33,000 pounds avoirdupois
one foot high in one minute.
A horse hitched to the end of a rope
over a pully one foot in diameter placed
over a deep well, traveling at the rate of
about 2i miles per hour, or 220 feet per
minute, will draw up 150 pounds the
same distance he travels. The force thus
exerted is called, in mechanics, a " horse'
power," it being an approximation to the
average amount of continuous power it is
fair to demand of a strong horse. If we
multiply the weight raised (150 pounds)
by the number of feet it was moved per
minute, (220,) the product will be thb
number of pounds which the same power
would raise one foot high in the same
length of time (33,000 pounds.)
The dynamometer is an instrument
made for measuring power, particularly
that exerted in drawing. Those used for
testing the draft of agricultural imple
ments are simply very strong spring bal
ances, or spring steelyards, graduated to
indicate the power required to raise any
weight, within reasonable limit, at the
rate of 2i miles per hour. When we ap
ply the dynamometer, in ascertaining the
draught of machines, if the index indi
cates one hundred and fifty pounds, it is
shown that the horse is required to draw
inas.arthar.d.as he„vould do if raising 01:14)
with a rope over a pulley one foot in di
lameter at the rate of 2-1 miles per hour,
and so for other weights.
The velocity at which a. team moves is
to be considered, as well as the weight to
be raised, or the load to be drawn. If a
horse travels faster than two and a half
miles per hour, while raising one hundred
and fifty pounds out of a well, he exerts
more than one horse power. If be walks
slower than this, he does not exert a force
equal to one horse power.
In ascertaining the draught of a plow,
or reaper and mower, by drawing faster
than two and a half miles per hour, the
dynamometer would indicate more than
the correct draught; and by driving slow
er, the draught would appear to be less
than it really is. In testing the draught
of machines a team should always move
at the rate of two and a half miles per
hour, or two hundred and twenty feet
per minute, which is the universally ac
cepted rate with reference to which
dy
namometers are graduated, and an easy
one to which to approximate in driving
with almost any kind of team.
Many people have supposed that 300
pounds—two horse power—represented
the same force that a team would exert,
when dragging 300 pounds along on the
ground. A horse can haul 000 pounds
on the bard ground with ease ; but he
could not draw hard enough on the dy
namometer to mark more than 250 of 300
pounds, except for a few minutes. The
power of a man is estimateeat one fifth
of a horse power.—. American Agricultu
rist,
Not Deep enough for Prayer.
A good story is told of two raftsmen
who were eaught in the late big blow on
the Mississippi, by which so many crafts
were swamped and so many steamboats
lost their sky rigging. The raft was just
emerging from Lake Pepin as the squall
came. In an instant it was pitching and
writhing as if suddenly dropped into
Charybdis, while the waves broke over
her with tremendous uproar, and expect
ing instant destruction, one of the rafts
men dropped on his knees and commenc
ed praying with a vim equal . to the emer
gency. Happening to open his eyes an
instant, le observed his companion not
engaged in prayer, but pushing a pole in
the water at the side of the raft.
" What's that yer doing, Mike ?" said
he, "get down on yer knees now, for there
isn't a minute between us and purgato
tory !"
I "Be airy, Pat," said the other, as . he
cooll continued to punch with his pole
"be a iry, now; what's the use of prayin'
when a feller can tech bottom with a
/ pole ?"
Alike is a pretty good specimen of a,
large class of Christiana, who prefer-to:
onntpreyera as . long xte they. can tech
bottom."
_ _
gar A peeiteetial tear in- valtte „mfr.
passes the wealth of worlds;
{VOLUME XXIII, N11M.13E11_42.
Three Processes for Preserving Nast
The perfect preservation of fresh meat
in warn) countries offers such a remlnif..
ative field to the successful invento r,
many methods have been proposed for itaf
accomplishment. In an official .reportlaiar
before Parliament on the preparation' of
beef in South. America, for the English_
market, three methods, proposed by Prof.,
Morgan of the 'Royal College of Surgeons
in Dublin, Baron Von Liebig, of Munich,, .
and Mr. Sloper, of London, are to effect,
this end.
Mr. Morgan's process is based on faced
infiltration, using the circulatory systerti
of the body as a means of introducing in
the tissues of the animal, by injection, a 3
preparation the constituents of which
have not yet been wave public. The pro
cess is simple and efficacious; by it an ox
can be preserved in ten minutes, using
from twelve to fourteen gallons of the flu.
id.
Liebig's process differs essentially from
the former, for the meat, instead of being ,
preserved whole, is reduced to an essence ,
to be used in making soups. The concen
tration is carried to such an extent that
thirty-three pounds of meat are reduced
to one pound of essence, and the alimen
tary matter of an entire ox is containettin
eight pounds of this preparation, making
over one thousand basins of good, strong
soup.
The remaining process, patented by
Messrs. McCall 4:t Sloper, professes to
preserve meat in its fresh. or raw state,
arriving in market in the eiact condition
of butchers' meat just killed, but with an'
additional advantage of keeping twice as
long as ordinary meat, after being exposed
to the air. The curing process is based
on the extraction of oxygen from the ves
sel in which the meat is packed. Tin cans
are used in putting up the meat, in which
a vacuum is formed to be filled by a cer
tain gas, the composition of which is kept
a profound secret. The only difficulty ot
this process, in some respects superior to
either of the preceding, is, that the small
est opening in the tin case proves de
structive to its contents, by allowing the
I gas to escape and the air to get in.
During the war a good story used to ,
be told of a private in one of the Massa
chusetts regiments—the 14th we think:
good things, and one day told the tagn ,
private to go for some oysters ; also giv
ing him"in the usual jocose way the com
mand :
" Don't come back without them."
Off went the man, and no more as
seen of him for several days, and the in
dignant and disappointed Captain report
ed him as a deserter, and gave him np 88
a lost child. But 1;), after the lapse of
nine days, the Captain beheld his report
ed deserter, Bailey, coming into camp,
leading a train of four wagons loaded with
oysters. Approaching and respectfully
saluting the amazed Captain, Bailey. re
ported :
" Here are your oysters, Captain ;
could not find any in Alexandria, so
chartered a schooner and made a voyage
to Fortress Monroe and Norfolk for them.
There's about two hundred bushels ;
where do you want them."
Bailey, it seems, really did make 'the
trip, hired his men, and sold enough Oys
ters in Georgetown, before reporting,: to,
pay all expenses and leave bim a profit, of
$l6O.
Two hundred bushels were divided'
among the regiment, and Bailey returned
to duty as if nothing bad tranvirede+,
N. Y. Citizen.
Moral Courage in Everyday Life.
Have the courage to discharge a debt
while you have the money in your pock
et.
Have the courage to do without that
which you not need, however much your,
eyes may covet, it.
Have the courage to speak your -mind
when it necessary . to do so, and to hold
your tongue when it is prudent you 'lout&
do so.
Have the courage to speak to a friend
in a "seedy" coat, even though you are-;
in company with a rich one, and richly.at
tired.
Have the courage to make a willund*
just one. -
Have the courage to tell a matt why
you will not lend him your money. _
Have the courage to "out the
_'moat,.
agreeable acquaintance you have When m '
you are convinced that he lacks principle'
A friend should bear with a friend's ill.-
finnities, but not, with-his vices.
Have the courageto show your respect
for honesty in , whatever guise it appears;! .
and your contempt for dishonest ptibli4-1
ty, by whomsoever exhihit4.
"
Have ' the courage to 'Wear your 'ald
clothes until you can pay for new ones:
Have the couragn-to oheryour'Makeii:
at, the risk ofbeiugridicaled luau...
Have the courage toprefercomfortmi„
propriety to fashion in all thing*,
Have the courage telOaiotviedie
ignorance
. iith - er than .
knowledge Pildijrl4lPretensOff;: .: '
- Rave- the obiliag9l.q ffrok l 4o'
pleat for year friends tpthin y'oer maple'
not beyond.
An Obedient Private.