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Job work, cash on delivery.
Vol. XIV. No. 38.
TIONESTA, PA., WEDNESDAY, DEO, 14, 1881.
$1.50 Per Annum.
1
All lor Nothing.
Happy the man whose far remove
From business and the giddy throng
Fit him in the paternal groove
Unquestioning to glide along,
Apart from struggle and from strifo,
. Content to live by labor's fruits,
And wander down the vale of life
In gingham shirt and cowhide boots.
Ho too is blessod who, from within
By strong and lasting impulse stired,
Faces tho turmoil and tlio din
Of rushing lifo ; whom hope deferred
t But more incites j who ever strives, 3
And wants, and works, and walta. until
j The multitude) of othor lives '
Bay glorious tribute to his will.
But ho who, greedy of cnown,
Is too tenacious of his ease,
Alas for him I Nor busy town " '
Nor country with his mood agrees ;
. Eager to reap, but loth to sow,
lie longs nwn$trari digito,
And looking on with envious eyoA,
Lives rostloss and obscuro! v die.
i j
THE COUNTESS.
" It'a the loneliest old place in Rom ,
this Palazzo Comparini," said Thor,
an American painter, o Giuseppe, the
porter. Giuseppe alwaya lounged at a
door that led from the court-yard into a
darkness and a dampness supposed to be
his apartment. Giuseppe wps white
haired and bent, and after the fashion
of the Italian lower orders, felt almost
past work at fifty, but certainly not post
the pleasures of conversation.
tir l i . i l
enough nowadays, but the Oomparinis
used to be rich, and kept up a great
state. No grass in the court then, no
mold on those marble steps, no silence,
no foreign painters on the top floor
(without offense to you, signore). Then
the young count ah, well, he was a
rare one "here the old porter fell to
laughing " and a gay one, and a care
less one. He went to Paris, and. whewt
away went the money. The villa won
sold, the property on the Corso wa
sold, the palace at Naples was sold, and
back came the count, as merry as ever
and got married Married a young wife,
and then away went ber fortune. Paris
Again; borne, gambling, betting, and
wofee. Five years ago he died diet!
Merry, too. A pleasant man was the
ount."
' Very pleaiant man," raid Thorn
grim I v. " Then he squandered every
thing?" " Except this palace; and that would
have u one if he had lived."
How about his wife ?"
"Well, her father gave hex some
thing more, and then here's the palace
et. Wait, signore."
Giuseppe shnffied off toward a young
lady who had just entered, and who
beckoned him from the staircase. She
was a ittle Jfarsnn, with a low brow an
wonderful liquid Southern eyes and a
row of small teeth like, as Thorn men
tally remarked, sweet corn. Bhe had a
dimple in one cheek only. You couldn't
adk amato in the other cheek, for such
a dimple couldn't possibly be repeated.
She had a small straight nose and a full
mouth; she was brown, and she vas
2 nick, yet languid. 8he talked with
fiuseppe in lively fashion, yet leaned
against a pedestal, like a weary nymph
in a picture. All this Thorn noted
Then he caught Ginseppo's bame as she
prononnoed it, with that gentle separa
tion of the syllables, as if for lingering
more tenderly on each.
What a lovely name the old wretch
has t" he thought. As the little lady
tripped lightly up the stairs he was very
glad to ask the old wretch, and right
eagerly too, "Who is the signorina?"
The .Countess Vittoria Oomparini."
" Does she live here ?"
"Of course. On the second floor."
, "Does she does anybody does she
have many visitors?" stammered Thorn,
adding to himself, " Confound this
foreign tongue ! it won't let a fellow say
whr.t he means."
Giuseppe caught the meaning pretty
surely, for he answered: " Certainly,
signore, the countess sees her own
friends."
You mean the foreigners tha' is,
the Romans."
" I mean the Romans, not the for
eigners. Ladies like herself, and gen
tlemen like the count, her late hus
band."
"Like the fellow that spent her
dowry."
I mean gentlemen people who
don't work as I do, or as "
" ITa I ha t as I do," laughed Thorn.
" Well yes, Bignore," Baid Giuseppe,
with riolite hesitation.
"Here's a genuine old wojld crea
ture," thought Mr. Thorn, Let a little
amused, " untouched by republicanism,
communism or nihilism. Pray that his
mistress is m moderr -ml bo, access
ible." A vain prayer it seemed, for in pay
ment of a month of cold sentinel duty
on the marble stairs, often an hour at a
time, Mr. Thorn had met tha Countess
Oomparini but twice. Once she passed
him with a slight bow and downcast
eyes as he politely lifted his hat; and
one morning she looked up with a
"Grazie, signore," as he restored the
prayer-book that she had let fall on re
taining from early mass. This wasn't
the American way of getting on with a
lovely woman, bo Thorn applied to an
Italian fellow at the banker's who talked
English.
Posseeble to know the Countess
Compariu, my dear fellow ? No. The
oountetsa is of an old house. Bhe likes
not the foreigners. Imposseeble, my
dear boy."
"Is it?" said Thorn, and shut his
teeth in good New Er gland fashion.
"We'll see."
Then he lounged about town for days,
making acquaintances among the nobili
ty. Counts and marquises in plenty be
came to know, for Thorn was only pleas
ing a Bohemian fancy by lodging in an
old palace, and could afford to stand
dinners for even the hungriest nobles in
Italy. But no luck. Invariably he
found the Countess Oomparini inap
proachable, frequenting a small circle,
butj not inclined to foreign society.
Sometimes he saw her piquant little
face on tho Pincian, as she drove alone
in an open carriage, and then ho went
home and laid the maddest schemes.
He even knocked some mortar out of
the solid wall in his apartment, and told
Giuseppe that he required, as a tenant,
to see the countess about some repairs.
"The signore will go to the agent on
tho Corso," said Giuseppe.
At last Thorn became horribly jealous
of this old porter, who was sure of a
smile and a pleasant word, or perhaps a
little confidential talk, as the countess
would come in from her drive. Gloom
ily pondering Giuseppe's good fortune,
an idea struck the American. The
countess was out. Giuseppe was some
thing of a connoisseur in wines. Now
Thorn had a certain flask containing a
certain liquid that might easily be called
American wine. Giuseppe, without
much persuasion, swallowed a good pint
of whisky straight, and swore it was
bettor than Montepnlciano. Soon he
lay senseless in the court yard, and
then Thorn coolly sauntered into the
street waiting for the countess car
riage. Before long it came, and he
lounged discreetly in the porto cochere.
" Giuseppe I" called the countess, in
that cooing way that always set Thorn
wishing to be an old serving-man. Then
seeing the man's prostrate form, she
gave a little cry, and going to him in
sweet womanly fashion, turned up his
rough face, and said, "Oh, the poor
Giuseppe is ill Teresa 1" This last to
ber maid, who might have heard through
one the open windows, but did not.
Teresa, help me. Poor Giuseppe 1"
IliiH was Thorn's time. Advancing,
he caid : " Pardon me, signora, but I
have a little skill. I can help the
man."
Are you a doctor, signore ? I thought
you were a "
"A painter," said Thorn, secretly
exulting that she had thought of him at
all. " So I am, but so poor a ono that
I've wit enough outside my own craft
to treat a simple case like this."
"Oh, he is an old and faithful ser
vant." " Leave him to me, and iu a short
time I will let you know his condition,"
said Thorn, formally.
Reluctantly she went. Thorn moved
tho man inside, and in five minutes met
the countess anxious face at the door
of her own salon. Bo sure Giuseppe's
recovery was delayed ; be sure that only
Teresa, the maid, who did not under
stand the symptoms, was allowed to
approach him ; and be very sure that
bulletins were conveyed every few
minutes to the countess by a tireless
messenger. During the evening the
invalid became conscious. Then Mr.
Worthington Thorn, with every claim
to gratitude, with a year of formal ao
quaintance, franchised at one lucky
bound, reposed his six feet of American
pluck and expedient on an ancient
Oomparini sofa, and secretly laid down
before the lady's dainty little slippers
all his honest New England heart.
Now Giuseppe, too, was indebted to
Thorn for not mentioning the nature of
his illness, and obeying the order to re
main indisposed for several days.
Several days I why, they were more
like several weeks, so common had it
grown for the countess to say, "A
riverderla, Signor Torn."
" Thorn, if you please, signora."
Then, with a violent exertion to ful
fill the rules of enunciating "th," the
troublesome combination would some
how Blip away in a laugh, and the
countess would say, blushing and look
ing very lovely indeed, "Ah! I can
never say that foreign name of yours."
" Try my first name Worthington."
" Vortinton. Is'that right?"
" Whatever you say is right."
" Ah I your Italian improves. You
can make compliments already."
In truth, Thorn got on wonderfully
in Italian. With so much practice, no
wonder. Not only had he much to say
on his own account, but tho countess
was insatiable in her curiosity about
his home and the ways of the American
people.
" How strange and how foreign I Ah I
an Italian could never like such things,"
she would exclaim.
"Then you do not like anything
foreign, countess ?"
A little shrug for answer, and a little
elevation of the eyebrows, that might
mean polite reluctance to offend, and
might mean bashful hesitancy to speak
a flattering truth.
" And do women speak," the countess
asked, "in publio in America?"
"Oh, yes; that's common."
" And their husbands, what do they
Bay?''
"That if a woman has ideas or opin
ions, Bhe has a right to express them."
"An Italian wouldn't like that. And
how about a woman's dowry?"
"Most women marry without any."
" Italians wouldn't like that," laughed
the countess.
" But if a wife has property, it is
proteoted bo the husband shall not
squander it. Would the Italians like
that r
" I I think the women would," and
the countess looked thoughtful.
Thorn felt he was striking home and
making progress; but the countess see
ing him dare to look happy again,
started her raillery again. "Now tell
me about your festa days. What do
you do at Easter ?"
" Nothing much where I live. Some
people eat a few eggs or put a few
flowers in the churches."
" How sad 1 No Easter 1 Bui you
have a carnival T
"Not where I live."
" No carnival I But t-n Italian would
die without the carnival. Pray what do
you have ?"
" we have Fourth of July."
" Forterhnli and what is that?"
Thorn explained in few words, add
ing : "We make all the noise possible ;
send off fireworks all day andall night;
but it's very hot and disagreeable."
" It must be dreadful. But you have
holidays. There's Christmas."
" Oh ye3 ; we go to church then."
"Stand up and hear prayern?"
"Yes."
" Then we have Thanksgiving."
" Tanksgeevin ?"
- " Yes ; that's a great day in late No
vember, when we have turkeys."
" Turkeys I where ?" and the countess
opened her soft eyes so wide that Thorn
quite lost himself in their brown
depths.
" Where ? Oh, on the table, to be
sure."
"Turkeys, and little trees, and a great
noise on a hot day, and no carnival!
I could never like American ways." The
countess shook her head with decision,
and for the rest of the evening smiled
upon a stout, middle-aged marquis, who
had a waxed mustache.
For weeks Thorn haunted the old
salon, meeting the stout marquis at
every call, while Countess Vittoria be
stowed her favors evenly. If she ad
mired Thorn's last picture, she admired
the marquis' new horse; if she let the
marquis play with her fan, she let
Thorn steal a flower from her bouquet.
When she was not present, the marquis
glared at the American, and the Ameri
can whistled softly to himself and
looked over the stout gentleman's head.
He was tall enough to do it in an aggra
vating way. At last matters came to
a crisis when Thorn sang a love song to
Vittoria's own guitar, and pointed the
words very dramatically. The marquis
followed him out, and on the stairs said,
very red and Bhort of breath: " You
will fight me, signore."
" Why ?" demanded Thorn, quietly.
"You know why. The Countess
Oomparini."
"Well?" and Thorn leisurely lighted
a cigar. " I don't quite see your point.
If yon are an accepted fiuitor of tho
lady"
"I fancy I am to be bo favored," re
plied the marquis, fiercely.
"Then I esteem the countess too
highly to injure her future husband.
On the other hand," continued Thorn,
with provoking calm and distinctness,
' ' if vou are not an accepted suitor "
" Well, suppose I'm not?" blustered
the marquis, rather botraying weak
ness in his haste.
"Then, Signor Marchese, you are
less than nothing to me. I wouldn't
waste the time walking out to a re
tired spot to shoot you down."
"Then you won't fight?"
"No."
The marquis was purple with rage by
this time, and exclaimed: "Coward!"
At the vord Thorn asked: "Have
you pistols?"
"I have;" and a valet was beckoned
who presented a pair. " Ha ! you will
fight, then !" sneered the marquis.
Thorn made no reply, but examined
one of the weapons.
"Do you observe," he said, still
smoking, "the forefinger of that
statue?" It was a cast filling a niche at
the foot of the long flight of stairs. As
he spoke he fired, and the finger, shot
off, clicked as it fell on the marble
stairs. The marquis had just time to
note that, when the American Baid:
" Now this is for calling me a coward,"
and delivered a blow right between his
enemy's eyes which sent that titled gen
tleman rolling downstairs in a sense
less heap. Then Thorn went up to his
rooms, the cigar still alight.
Now Teresa, the maid, had overheard
this scene, and the next day the
countess said : " An Italian would have
had a duel with that gentleman, Signor
Torn.'.'
"We don't Bhoot fools in America;
we whip 'em," answered the young man.
" Your ways are not like ours," sighed
the countess, with a mock regret, for a
smile was playing in that one un match-
able dimple.
" Countess, could you never like our
ways?"
" They are bo singular," she answered,
evasively.
" Could vou never like an American ?
a man who loves you sincerely, who will
make of you not a plaything, not a
household ornament, but a companion,
a friend, a wife ?"
" It is all too strange;" and she spoke
low. " I could never get used to you.
You are so"
" Well, bo what ?"
" So tall and bo blonde, and"
" So ugly."
" No, but so different from us. And
your name I could never, never pro
nounce it. Vortinton Torn."
" I will pronounce it for you; I will
do everything for you." He approached
her, and Bhe took fright.
"No, no, signore; don't ask me. I
couldn't I couldn't."
? Then your answer" said Thorn,
growing very white.
" My answer is no."
" Good night, countess, and good
bye. I have lived at Rome so long only
in the hopewhich you have just blasted."
" Do you go soon ?"
" I shall stay merely for a celebration
that my conntrymen enjoy at this sea
son, and which I am pledged to attend."
" I know, said tho countess. " It is
November." ,
He went off bravely enough, leaving
the little woman standing with her
pretty head on one side and her eyes
cast down.
It ought to be easy for a young fellow
of fortune, cf talent, of many resources
both within and outside of himself, to
shake off the thought of a little woman
standing with her eyes cast down. To
that end the American occupied him
self during the days that intervened be
fore the Thanksgiving dinner. Besides
having promised to be present he
feared his absence, coupled with break
ing off his known intimacy with the
Countess Vittoria, would give rise to
remark and set gossip all agog.
One, two, three times twenty four
hours went slowly round. It was the
eve of Thanksgiving day; it would be
his last evening in the Comparini pal
ace, his last but one iu Rome. Poor
Thorn was seized with a desire to see
once more the face that hod cost him so
much divine misery, to look once more
into the eyes that had banished him a
foolish, inconsistent impulse known
only to lovers. Half unconsciously he
tramped out into the great hallways
and up and down the cold staircases,
imperfectly lighted by wretched oil
lamps. There was confusion on the
floor where the countess lived. People
were hurrying in at the doors, and then
men seemed carrying in great boxes.
He could hear Teresa's shrill voice call
ing on the Madonna as they stumbled
awkwardly under their burdens. The
noise ot arrivals ent ou for a long
time; then it was hard to hear anything
distinctly, the place was so large and
the walls so thick. Yet there was tho
sound of voices and laughter, and at
last some serving-men went out in a
crowd, and Teresa's shrill whisper called
after them : "Bring enough for them all
to eat."
" Enough for them all to eat." It
was a party, then. Perhaps more had
come than were expected, and the care
ful Teresa had to make provision duly.
In a moment Thorn convinced himseli
that the stout marquis, who had proba
bly recovered from his tumble, was
being entertained by Countess Vittoria's
most winning smiles. In his excited
mind he could see them both; that
waxed mustache (how he hated it!);
and Vittoria from her dainty foot to
the topmost braid of her little head, he
could see her, too see her smile and
coquet and bandy compliments with
that detested fat fellow he had knocked
downstairs. Thorn raged, shut him
self in the studio, walked up and down
all night, and looked like a specter in
the morning. Toward noon he fell
asleep, and waking with a start at 5
o'clock, he got up to dresB for the din
ner, heartily wishing it all over. Trying
to cogitate some verse, or toast, or epi
gram for the occasion, he spied among
the brushes on the dressing-table a
dainty envelope. Evidently Giuseppe
had brought it while he slept. " The
Countess Comparini's compliments, and
she fould ba happy to see Signor
Thorn" (the h very carefully written)
"at 5 o'clock."
Thorn vowed he wouldn't go; then,
seeing it was already 5 o'clock, hur
ried his toilet. He whisked out a
clean handkerchief, he dashed a little
Cologne water about, still swore he
wouldn't go and be tortured anew, hasti
ly left his rooms, and marched straight
down to the familiar great door on the
seoond story. Ho was ushered as far as
the little antechamber. The drawing
room was closely shut. From another
entrance the countess advanced to meet
him. She was charmingly dressed, but
very gentle and Bhy.
She hoped she saw tho Bignore well.
" That could hardly be expected," he
answered, all resentment gone, as he
looked down upon the tender, girlish
little creature who was so dear to him
"I have been," she faltered, "think,
ing very seriously since we talked th
other day; and last evening "
Thorn braced himself to hear she had
accepted the mat quia at the party.
" last evening I made up my mind.
I I want you to feel at home, so I
arranged a little surprise. I hope you
will like it." Here she opened the
drawing-room door. "They make a
dreadful noise, but it pleases me for
your sake."
The tears were in her eyes, Bhe was
ready for his arms, yet Thorn stood in
mute amazement. The Comparini drawing-room
was half filled with tables,
and on every table was a crowd of gob
bling, screeching, flapping living tur
keys, some tethered, some cooped, but
all joining in the dreadful din.
" What is the meaning " Thorn be
gan, in wild astonishment
The countess broke down completely.
"It's tho custom of your country on
this day you told me so turkeys on
tables," she sobbed. " I'll try to be a
perfect American."
" You're a perfect angel," said Thorn,
and all Countess Vittoria's team, by
some strange law of hydraulics, ran
down an American-out waistcoat.
"And do you feel very much at
home T' she asked, in a happy whisper.
" I never felt bo much at home in my
life," he answered, clasping her closely.
" I knew you would. I'm so glad I
did itall right. The men found it hard
to fasten so many of them on the tables,
though ; and the feeding, that was
dreadful."
Thorn laughed very much. "For
pity's Bake, have them taken off," he
said.
i " No ; they shall stay. I don't mind
the noise. Ah ! caro, when these
things gobbled so frightfully all night
long, I said, I will love them, for this
is the custom of his country perhaps a
part of his religion."
" Dearest," said Thorn, as well as he
could through the flutter and cackle
around them, "love has all customs,
all religions, and all countries for its
own. Nothing is hard, or strange, or
foreign to hearts that cling together
like ours."
It was not until the next year, when
the countess met a party of her hus
band's compatriots, that she found out
the real use of the great American
turkey.
Story of an Indian Captive.
General John R. Baylor furnishes
the San Antonio (Texas) Kzpret with
the following incident connected with
his late visit to Corpus Christi, where
he met a Spaniard by the name of Tito
Rivera, whom he rescued from the
Comanohes a quarter of a century ago:
In 185G I was United States Indian
agent at the Comanche reservation on the
Clear Fork of the Brazos, then Throck
morton county. One day I found a note
on my table from a boy, who asked that
he be taken from the Indians. Soon
afterward the boy walked into my office
with a bunch of turkev feathers fastened
to the top of his head, and his face
painted and dressed in the Indian
costume, and said he was the boy
who left the note on my table. I asked
him where he came from, and he said
that his father was a Spaniard, and
lived in the mining town of Tapio, in
the state of Dnrango, Mexico. He spoke
Spanish and also Comanche. I didn't
believe that he had written the note,
and to try him asked him to Bit down
at my desk and show me how he could
write. He wrote a beautiful hand for a
boy. Questioning him as to how he
came to fall into tho bands of the In
dians, he said that his father owned
pack train, and one day he went out
with the mules and the men in charge
of the mules and camped. The Indians
came on them and took him into cap
tivity. After hearing his story I sent
for the Indian who claimed to own the
boy, and when he came I told him I
must have Tito. He replied that I
could not, and I told him I would or
we would fight. He said that fight it
would be then ; the boy could not go.
I went to see General Robert E. Lee,
who was then lieutenant-colonel of the
Second United States cavalry, at Camp
Cooper, and who had been stationed
there to protect the Comanche camp;
hue there, Chief Cateman, ol the Co
manches, who bad heard of the object
of my visit, came to see me and said
that ho wanted no trouble between my
self and the Indians, and that if I would
give up $100 worth of goods I could get
the boy. I gave him an order on the
sutler, and he was given the goods, and
the boy was turned over to mo. 1 sent
the little fellow to my house "and he
lived with my children for about two
years, being treated as one ot the lamiiy
Afterward I met Major Neighbors, who
then lived near San Antonio, on the
Salado. Major Neighbors said he
wanted him, and if I would give him to
him he would send him back to his
mother. I turned him over to the
major, but ho didn't Bend him back to
his mother, and the war came on and
he went into the Confederate army.
The boy was twelve years old when I
took him, and the Indians had captured
him when nine, having had him three
years. He spoke the Camanche lan
guage perfectly, and I used him as in
terpreter. Major Neighbors left the
boy on his ranche on the Salado, near
San Antonio, and the boy entered the
Confederate army when about sixteen
years. Upon returning from the war
he stopped with Captain Albert Wal
lace, on the Cibolo, fifteen miles
north of San Antonio, and from
there went to Galveston and thence to
Corpus Christi. While with Captain
Wallace he earned his living as a cow
boy. I went to Corpus Christi to see
tho boy, Tito Rivera, now cashier of
the bank of Davis & Dodridge in Cor
pus Christi, and one of the most respect
able men of Corpus. He married a
Miss Mollie "Woodward, and now has
one boy and two little girls, and the
best of my visit was that the little
children came about me. threw their
arms around my neck and called me
grandpa. Rivera is a man now about
thirty-six years of age and is a magnificent-looking
man.
The oldest, and doubtless the richest,
convict in the Ohio penitentiary is
Horace Brooks, age seventy-four years,
whose long imprisonment is likely to
be soon terminated by a large rose can
cer which has appeared upon his fore
head. He was received at the peni
tentiary November 10, 1850, under a life
sentence for murder in the second de
gree, and has, therefore, been in the
prison thirty-one years. He owned a
farm in the suburbs of Cleveland
through which a railroad passed ; the
oars ran over and killed some of his
sheep, and to avenge this injury Brooks
obstructed the track, threw off a train
and killed five persons. He was indicted
for murder by the grand jury of Cuya
hoga county, tried in the courts of that
county and sentenced to the peniten
tiary for life. At the time of nis con
viction he was a wealthy man, and the
property he then owned has become ex
tremely valuable, having since become
a part of the city of Cleveland.
Take little annoy anoea out of the way. It
you aeu&aring with a Couguor Gold, una Dr.
Buir Oomgu Syrup at onoo. Thin old and re
liable remedy will novor disappoint you. All
DruggiaU Mil it fur 28 cant a bottle.
HUMOR OF THE DY.
Light work The incendiary's.'
The banana skin generally opens the
fall business.
" Why stand ye here idol ?" as the
missionary said to one of the heathen
gods.
No philosopher has explained why
stones are so scarce when a big dog
jumps upon the scene.
Diogenes sought for an honest man,
Sought him but couldn't find him i
Wo look as vainly now for a man
Who will shut the door behind him.
Whatever you may have to do, do it
with your might. Many a lawyer has
made his fortune by simply working
with a will. Statesman.
You'll find many frionds, as you travel life's
road,
Who profoes to be friends of the heart, .
Are much like the bad dog that stole the cat's
meat,
And then said: "Ob, yes; I'll take your
part"
Wit and Wisdom.
A father with marriageable daughters,
like a maiden with sensitive skin, often
dreads the winter, because it brings so
many chaps on his hands. Toledo
American.
" The same thing," says a philosopher,
" often presents itself to us in different
aspects." That is true. For instance,
it makes all the difference in the world
whether you Bit down upon the head or
point of a carpet tack. Sommerville
Journal. .
Charles Dudley Warner has written
an article on camping out, in which
says nothing about the rapturous et
citement attendant upon stealing tur
nips at moonlight, or getting up in the
morning and cutting slioes off a ham
with a dull hatchet. Puck. '
The New Orleans Picayune says that
a saddle-horse knowd enough of arith
metic to carry one. It is also fact
that, when put in a livery stable, he
can ruu up a big bill in a very short
time. Ho has also been known to fig
ure some in a Fourth of July proces
sion. Texas Sitings.
They are bragging a good deal about
the locomotive in New Jersey that goes
one hundred miles an hour, but a Third
street youth who went serenading last
evening returned home at the rate of
one hundred and three miles an hour,
and had a spotted dog hung to his
trousers at that. Stillwater Lumberman.
WISE WORDS;
Advorsity borrows its sharpest sting
from impatienoe.
No lifo can bo utterly miserable that
is lightened by the laughter and love
of one little child.
Wrong doing is a road that may open
fair, but it leads to trouble and danger.
Well doing, however rough and thorny
at first, surely leads to pleasant places.
An unkind word from one beloved
often draws the blood from many a
heart which would defy the battle-sx
of hatred or tho keenest edge of vindic
tive satire.
He was one of the few great rulers
whose wisdom increased with his
power, and whose spirit grew gentler
and tenderer as his triumphs were
multiplied.
If you hate your enem ies, you wil
contract such a vicious habit of mind
as by degrees will break out upon those
who are your friends or those who are
indifferent to you.
In order to have any success in lifo,
or any worthy - success, you must re
solve to carryfinto your work a fullness
of knowledge not merely a sufficiency,
but more than a sufficiency.
A swimmer becomes strong to stem
the tide only by frequently breasting
the big waves. If you practioe always
in shallow water, your heart will assur
edly fail in the hour of high flood.
In peace patriotism really consists
only in this that every one sweeps be
fore his own door, minds his own busi
ness, also learns his own lesson, that it
may be well with him in hia own
house.
The German proverbi " If I rest, I
rust," applios to many things beside the
key. If water rests, it stagnates. If
the tree rests, it dies, for its winter
state is only a half-rest. If the eye
rests, it grows dim and blind. If the
lungs rest, we cease to breathe. If the
heart rests, we die.
Minute Workmanship.
The Salem (Mass.) museum has in its
possession a cherrystone containing one
dozen silver spoons. The stone is of
the .ordinary size, tho spoons being so
small that their shape and finish can be
distinguished only by the microscope.
This is the result of immense labor for
no decidedly useful purpose, and there
are numbers of other objects in exist
ence the value of which may be said to
be quite as indifferent. Thus, Dr. Oli
ver gives an account of a cherry etone
on which were carved 121 heads bo dis
tinctly that the naked eye could distin
guish those belonging to popes and
kings by their miters and crowns. A
Nuremberg topmaker Inclosed in a
cherry stone which was exhibited at the
French Crystal Palace, a plan of Sebas
topol, a railway station, and the "Mes
siah" of Klopstock. Pliny, too, men
tions the fact that Homer's Iliad, with
its 15,000 verses, was written in bo
small a space as to be contained in a
nutshell. The greatest curiosity of all,
however, vaa a copy of the liible, writ
ten by ono Peter Bales, a chancery
clerk, in so small a book that it could
be inclosed within the shell of an Eng
libh walnut.