THE FOREST REPUBLICAN I pablUhtd Trjr Wdnea, bf J. E. WENK. Offloo in Smearbaugh & Co.'; Buildint; SIM STREET, TIONESTA, PA. Terms, - - . tl.BO par Yar. No inbacrtptlon racalred for a ihortor rl4 tlitn thrwi month. ('orrenpondonce oHcHed from all part of to country. No notice will b taken ef nonjmTi communication. THE SOUL OF A FXOWFR IN THE IHUUUHTOFACHlLft BY THE X ARL OF LTTTOIf. I. The soul of a white clematis am I, Fa.lng, the maiden that I loved boho'd me. To lose my lito in hers, I know not why, Her gaze compell'd mo. it. What could I do f I was but a small flower, Hoot-bound. Hut hnr sweet eyes Drew me. I loved her; and love gave me power To rise, and rise. in. To follow thoo, I scaled the castlo wall, And leapt the bridgelcss moat. To follow thoo I clltnb'd the clilT, and did not fear to fall Down from tho windy kocp. The grassy lea, Whore I was bom, boncath me sunk; and small And smaller grow the farm, the Hold the troo, I loft long since to And thy seagirt halL I llston'd, and 1 heard tho curlews call, And the hoarm muriaui ing of the great suit sea: 1 lonk'd and saw thee loaning from a tall Etheiwl tower, above the world and me. 1 knew that I was near thee. That was all I cared to be. IV. upward Love help'd me thro' the patient yeor I ros3; and Btill I had no fear; Tho', as I climb'd, the craggy glen deep down Dleam'd with my dropping blossoms thickly Ftrown, Nor did tho roaming winds and rains forbear To leave mo oft o'crthrown. One happy morn, in at our lattice peeping, I saw tluc s'eeping: And tapp'd, 1 11 thou, with shy amazement, Didst wa'to, an 1 listen, and fling Wido the casement, And lol I faced thee Trembling all over, faint at having found thee. Thou didst lean o'er me, and mine arms went round thee And I embraced thoel .vi. Clapping thy hands for gladness, thou dldsi cry, "What! is it thou Madcap, how couldst thou dare to climb so high Look down below. Think, hodst thou fallen 1" "Many a fall had I," laughing l answer d; and made haste to EUOW Where, hanging halfway down the castlo wall, My blossoms tremble! over an abyss, An I droppd, addropp'd: and, "Thus do blossoms fall," llaugb'd, "like kiss on kiss." VII. understand Then didst thou bust, mo, child, t And tho i didst know mo then by my true name. Into thy foul, thro' thy sweteyes, I pass'd, And my own soul a thought of thine be came. VIII. Thro' thy sweet eyes that thought may still le Feen; Tho' by thyself it be unnoticed quite, Nor canst th u utter it Let others cues. Some call me Grace; some call me Charm: I ween That only One will ever win the right To know me by my true name, Tenderness. Yuuth'a Companion. OLD ANDREW AND ST. LUKE. Old Andrew Lickney lived in a little log house that seemed to cling to tho mountain side. It was typical of its owner, for old Andrew held on to tho rugged mountain sido of life. He was a struuge man. Years ago, when the won derful enterprise of tho Methodist church sent its circuit riders in advance of civil ization, old Andrew, or rather at that time young Andrew, parted the rank cane with the vigorous hand of the gos pel. Ho was never married. In latter years, when he had grown too old and feeble to longer engage in active work, his only household companion was a large shaggy dog, whosp somewhat astounding cognomen, St. Luke, caused much com ment, and, on one occasion, it is said, confereaco requested the old man to change the animal's name, claiming that it was irreverent to bestow on a dog so suintly a title. This requeit was not granted, and it was hinted that it had something to do with old Andrew's with drawal from active warfare with the world, the flesh and the devil. ' St. Luko very much ' resembled his master. Tho odd funcy is sometimes indulged even by practical people that men and animals can associute so long together that they finally partake of each other's physical, not to suy mental peculiarities. Old Au dio w had but one good eye; St. Luke ouly had one. Old Andrew's chin shook ; St. Luke's under jaw was unsteady. Old Andrew limped; so did Ht. Luke. Several nights ago, while old Andrew sat by his tire, his nodding and the snoring of St. Luke were disturbed by a knock ut the door. "Come in !" Steve Blue entered. Line was a large, rough fellow, with thick, coarse-grained skin, heavy eyes which looked not from a soul, and withal, a general expression of brutality und lack of thought. Old Andiew arose and motioned the vistor to a chair. St. Luke, lying iu tho corner near the fire, opened his effective eye a moment and slowly closed it, not with- TOL. XVII. , NO. 10. out an air of suspicion. Although the oia siago norso of the church, as Mr. Lickncy was sometimes called, and Stove Blue lived in the same neighborhood, yet they knew very little, of each other, for minerougn iciiow old Andrew could hnd nothincr attractive, and in tho some what intellectual preacher the dull eyes of Steve could seo nothing at all. This mutual lack of interest caused old An drew to recard tho visit with surprise. Stove sat down, and with hi9 heavy gaze fixed on tho flro, remained for some time in silenee. Tho old preacher began to show signs of nervousness, but whether they were observed by the visitor, or whether he took secret pleasure in such exhibitions, the unwilling host could not divine. At last Steve, removing his gazo lrom mo nrc. ana tixinsr it on old An drew, said: "You was down to Little Rock 'tuthcr clay, wa'n't you? ' "Yes, I went down on business." "I 'lowed it was business." and Stove laughed in a sluggish way, like the murky slosh of swamp water. "Seed somn o' them govcr'ment men down thar, didn't Bt ' you f The old man started, as though seized by a sudden fear. "Yes; for some of the officers, hearing that I was in town, had me summoned before tho United States grand jurv." "An' you told 'em that several felW in this here curmunity was makin' wild cat whisky, eh ?" 1 he old man moved uneasily and re. plied: "I was placed under oath and was compelled to answer the Questions which wiev asKeu me." "An' I reckon vou was michtv keen in uo it, wa n t you f ' J- -i . "... O- J It was no business of mine, and I should have volunteered no informa tion." "lou're a putty slick talker, old man. All you wanted was a chance to give us awuy. You want to see us drug oil to jail an' see our wives an' chillun starve." "The assertion is untnnf. Mr. "Rlnn My mission on earth, Biid it is now clos ing, nas been to alleviate suffering:, in stead of causing it. I did not know that you were an illicit distiller. I did not mention your name and only spoke of luuao wiium i Knew to oe in that unlaw ful business. "Unlawful business," repeated Steve, with a merciless grin. "What right has the gover'ment got to say that 1 sha'n't do what I please with my co'n an' ap ples? This here's a free country, old "I shall not enter into a discussion of individual rights. You may entertain one idea and I may hold another. I grant you the right and you should not with hold it from me." "Never mind your high-strung talk. I ain't got time to palarvcr. This here's a business visit, old man." "Whatbusinesscan youhave with me. M;-. Blue'" ' "Lamtne tell you a littlo story." "Thought this was a business visit." "Well, airter the story the business comes. One time thar was a feller what was a quiet sort o' man. One o' the neighbors killed his son. He didn't say much an' didn't do nuthin'. Airter a while another one o' the neighbors caused his wifo to leave him. He didn't do nuthin'. Some time airterwards his brother told the deputy marshals that he was makin' wild cat whisky." Old Andrew waited lor a moment to hear the conclusion of the recital. Steve sat, with his gaze fixed on the fire. "Well, what did he do with his broth er?" "Killed him," and again there was a slugglish laugb. like tho murky slosh of swamp water. "What, killed his brother for so little when for great offenses he allowed others to escape 1" "Zackly. The greatest sin what a man can do in this world is to repo't on a wildcat 'stiller." The old man looked around nervouslv. and then began to search tho visitor's face. He might as well have studied a shovelfull of earth. "This eveuin'," said Steve, "a demitv marshal como to my house. I poked my gun through the window and killed him. Ihen I left, an' as I was passin' here. I thought I'd stop an tell you good-bye, fur I've got to leave the country. How old are vou?" "Seventy-eight." "It's bad that you've got to die so young," turning with a murderous leer. "My God, mau, you don't mean to kill me " " Oh, no, wouldn't kill you. A man never kills a snake what tries to bite him." Steve took a short rone from his pocket. He made a loop at one end and sat for a time turning the hemp round ana rouna. " For the love of God. do me no vio lence. I am an old man with only a few more days left. " "A few more minutes, you mean." "I am unable to defend myself, and am at your mercy." "Don't reckon I want you to defend yourself, do you? I ain't the man to trivo a feller a stick an' tell him to knock mo down." " Will you let me pray?" "No, you've prayed enough in vour iiieume, an 'siacs that, vou micrht pray for the marshals to ketch me." No, I will ouly pruy for myself. Ah. Mr. Blue, life is sweet even to au old mau. The young, with bright hopes, can die quite as willingly us the old man who has walked far along the dusty roud. I did you no intentional harm, and I implore your forgiveness. Let me live i " Old man, life is as sweet to me as it to you. 'Cause you've read books an' preached, don t think that your life is worth more to vou than ilSi i tn me." "Yes, but I would not take vours for the world. If you had but one hour to TIONESTA, PA., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 18, 1884. live, and I knew that by robbing you ol that short tirao I would gain years and years, I would not lift a finger against you. You are yet a free man. You can escape. Yau may tako my borso." "I will tako your horse " "Thank you." ''After I have took your life." "Oh, Lord, save your " Steve threw tho !oop over tho old man'j head and with a jerk pulled him from the chair. He fell on his knees and with his palsied hands, struggled to loosen the rope. Steve stood regarding his victim with brutal fondness. He allowed the. rope to slacken, for he seemed to take a fiendish delight in hearing the old man'i tones of agony. "For Christ's sake spare me!" catching the rope. "Spare me, and I will praj unceasingly for you. Oh, do you nol know that there is an awful hell wher the murderer's soul cries out in the deep anguish of unbearable torture !" "You'd better draw up a bench, old, man, an' let me bo a mourner." "Oh, that you were a mourner I" "An' then you'd have the heels on me, ch? To throw aside foolishness an' com down to business, you've got to die. I'm goin' to drag you 'round this room till the life's choked outen you." He gave tho rope & jerk, and tho old man fell on his face. Around the room Steve dragged him. The old man's tonmie came out, and catching on a sharp nail, was almost torn from his mouth. The. old dog arose and was gazing at the hor rible performance. Steve, in turning to drag tho lifeless body back toward the fireplace, stumbled over a stool and fell. The old dog's chance had come. Ho sprang upon tho fallen man. seized him by the throat, and with a strength that had long been slumbering, pressed him to the floor. Steve struggled desperately, but his hands becoming entangled in the rope, he was soon in a helpless condi tion, nis groans were awful. The old man's life was but a mere breath. Steve's life was a storm. Old St. Luke panted with exertion, but he did not re lax nis noia. The next moraine two deputy marshals entered the house. A shocking picture. The old man lay on hia back, with hi hands clasped. Steve's face was blue and his eyes protruded in ghastly stare. They were all dead. The dog's eyes were closed, and in death he still retained a strong hold on the assassin's throat. Arkansas Traveler. How Seven Men Dispersed 1,200. Mr. George W. Veatch. now of Nv county, Novada, but formerly of Cincin nati, writes home telling of a mob out West and how it was dispersed. II says: , A few years aero, in tho countv nexf adjoining Nye (Nev.) on the east, at th town of Eureka, where there are large silver smelting works, using an immense amount of charcoal, which is sunnlied from tho mountains, mostly by Italian coal burners, they struck for a rise in !""!, auu nuuiu uuow do one to orins coal in town. There were some 1,600 oj them in the business. Tho sheriff telearanhed the that he feared a riot. That morning a man came in and said the burners were assembling mounted and armed, and in tending to come to town. The sherifl jumped on his horse, armed with Henry rifle and revolver. Before he got out of town he hallooed to six men to arm and follow him, and meet him at a certaiu place. Ho could have had a hundred men if he had said so. Meeting at the place ho said: "I'm going to make a speech to that crowd, and they must and shall listen to me. Tie your horses boys, our Henrys are good for sixteen shots each, and our Colts for six each. Now don't shoot until I say the word, and not unless they defy me." i uen on tnose seven men went on foot, about a quarter of a mile, and came to the strikers, fully 1,200 men mounted and armed, but sober, though like their race they became very excited on seeing seven armed men coming toward them. The leader rode down on them fol lowed by the whole gang. The sheriff, said: " You know I'm the sheriff. You are an unlawful crowd. You must dis perse." "To perdition with you and tho law," and all that vast crowd were riding round that little band of seven men, with fearful oaths in their own language. " Boys," said the sheriff, " look sharp!" Furiously tho leader cursed and defied them. At the word "fire" tho sherifl Kiuea tne leader, and Rcven bodies rolled lrom their saddles, and the quick repeat ing rifles killed twenty of them before their horses could take them out of range. Had the seven kept their horses so they could have pursued them, many more would have been killed. They didn't think the sheriff meant any thing more than talk. Had they got into town and whiskied, there would have been an awful riot. So severe was the iesson, and so many mounted men were seen by the Italians uiffing their horses toward Eureka, they fled further into the mountains, thinking tho whites were rallying to again slaughter them. That determined sheriff in a few days went ut to their haunts and told them they could return to their business and wouldn't be molested. "But if you break the laws you'll suffer worse next time." One said: "1'ini Garlici's horse threw him, poor fellow! and one of your men shot him." The sheriff told them they could go to town and get the bodies. A few went in, but they felt safest when the sheriff was iu sirht. Many left the county, and there has never been any more coal-burners attempting to defy the law. A little child, says a writer, becoming wearied over the quarreling of two younger children over a glass of milk.cx cluimed, " What's the use in fighting for ever over that milk? There's a whole cowful out in the barn." WiUiamvvrt A PROBLEM OF THE TIMES. MAT KEV LIVE tfo BE 0E HVIf SHED TEARS Or AOS f A Pl.roTryThnt man Alrcadr Mrrt. Longrer Than lie IHd Nome) Wnf to Put Death Vet Further Ana,, To be told that under proper condi tions wo ought to live one hundred years, and that the discouraging doctrine of tho influenco of heredity in shortening life is only true in a limited sense, is interest ing to most people. So, also, is the cir cumstance that we arc living longer than we used to live, and the assurance that much may yet be done to prolong our lives. These and analogous topics were given in a recent lecture by Dr. John Foster, of Bradford, England, read at the February meeting of the Sheffield Medico Chirurgical society : "The late Dr. Farr, in his description of tho march through life of a million children has given the following results: Nearly 150,000 willdie in the first year, 53,000 in the second year, 28,000 in the third year, and less than 4,000 in tho thirteenth year. At the end of forty-five years 500,000, or one-half, will have died. At the begin ning, of sixty years, 870,000 will still be living. At the beginning of eightyyears, 00,000; at eighty-five years, 38,000; and at ninety-five years, 2,100. At the be ginning of 100 years there will be 223, and at 108 years one. The mean lifetime of both sexes in England was calculated some years ago to be 40.858, or nearly forty-one years. Mr. II. Humphreys has shown, however, that in the five years, 1876 to 1880, he mean age at death was 43.50 (females 45.3), being a gain of nearly two and three-quarter years. Thus within twenty years, notwithstand ing an increased birth rate, density of population, and the unsanitory condition of towns suddenly grown large, more than two and a half years have been added to the life of every inhabitant of n.ngiana. "Tho Spectator asks: 'What Is the kind of life which is increasing? Aro we young longer? Do we live longer, or are we only a littlo slower in dying ?' I am bound to admit that some of the gain in early life is lost in middle life ; that while tho expectation of life at birth is 2J more, the expectation from 85 to 60 is a fraction less. But notwithstanding the slight increase of mortality at 35 and up ward, a large portion of the additional survivors live on to the higher ages. Of 1,000 born, the additional number of survivors is 85 at the ago of 45 ; 20 at 55 ; v at oo ; o at 70 ; ana l at 85. The in crease is much greater among females, By far the larger proportion of the in creased duration of human lifo in Eng land is lived between 20 and 60. It is interesting to ascertain what is the nat ural limit of existence. Doctor Farr says tho natural lifetime of a mau is a century. That is tho length of time a body will live under the most favorable conditions. Another most interesting question is : ' When does old age commence?' Dr. Farr has divided life as follows: Boyhood, 10 to 15 years; youth, 15 to 26; manhood, 25 to 50 ; maturity, 65 to 75 ; ripeness, 75 to 85 ; and old age, 85 and upward. "Old age really begins in certain pathological changes which take place at different ages. It is interesting to learn what conditions hasten or hinder these changes. It is held that all life begins in a formless fluid, and from this develops into the varied forms of living beings. There is a life force, inherited from a preexisting life, which builds up matter into living tissue, and holds it to gether for a time ; and the tenacity with which this force holds organized matter together does not depend on size, or strength or muscular development alto gether, but rather probably on an even balance between the several parts, and on something more. As the strength of a chain is equal to its weakest link, so the vuai sirengtn oi tne Doay is equal to the weakest organ. After the middle arch of lifo is passed these changes become commoner, and there is danger, if we cuuiiuue w put tne same pressure on a weakened vessel, that it may burst. In the hurry and strife of lifo men too often forget this truth and pay the penalty. After 50 or 55 a good deal more rest and sleep are required than in earlier man hood. The physical powers ha7e begun to fail ; the mental powers should be at their best. It is probable that some of the greatest literary productions havo been the work of man between fifty and seventy. Living public med in every de partment of literature, scienco, art and politics, may be cited in proof. For many years after the degenerative pro cesses of age have weakened the bodily powers the intellectual powers remain comparatively unaffected. A weakened nerve fiber may retain its continuity, and a diseased vessel in the brain may hold Its entirety for a great lensrth of time if no great strain is put upon it. "In taking the period of sixty-five to seventy-five, and still following the for tunes of the million children born, we find that 809,029 enter this age and 101, 124 leave it alive. Diseases of the brain, heart and lungs aro the most common ; 31,400 die of old age. The numbers that enter the next decennial seventy-five to eighty-five are 161,124, and the number that leave it alive are 38,505. About 122,500 die chielly of lung, brain, heart and other locul diseases. Nearly 59,000 die of atrophy, debility and old age. Soiu writer says ho has met few or no vises of death from old age, every body dying of some recognized disease. It is true that tho symptoms of disea become obscure in old w'i many cases of pneumonia and other inllammatious es caping recognition. But it is also true that many deaths attributed to disease are mainly due to old age; slight inju ries, cold, heat, want, or attacks which in early years would huve been shaken off. Of the million with which we stilted, 8,153 live to tho ago of ninety-five 223 to 100. Finally, at the age of 108 one solitary life die $1,50 PER ANNUM. "Diseoses may be divided into two great classes tho parasitic and tho do generative. The latter are more preva lent in carly.and the latter in later stages of life. Of cancer, which is one of the diseases of old age,it is uncertain whether it belongs to tho parasitic or the degen erative type. As it is tho duty of the physician to help man through as many of these stages, and with as littlo pain as possible, it becomes important to study how to protect him from accidental dis eases, and how to husband his forces so that ho may travel far over the way be fore his strength shall fail. Tho first es sential of life is his food, and beyond doubt the majority aro underfed, and a largo proportion improperly fed. The mortality among the poor and the hard worked, at all stages of life, is amazingly larger than among the middle and highet elapses. The human constitution pos sesses a great amount of elasticity, and will tolerate departure from correct diet for a length of time, but in the end the penalty is rigorously exacted by nature. Lessened vitality inevitably follows im poverished blood and ill-nursed tissue. Undoubtedly, men aro better fed than formerly, and fewer die of starvation. But the increased density of tho popula tion by the flocking of people to tho towns has intensifiea old dangers. Un less sanitary improvements keep pace with tho increase of population, the mor tality increases. One-seventh of the popu lation of Great Britain live in London ; a large portion of tho rest live in large towns. Doctor Farr savs: 'What is espe cially remarkable in London is tne high mortality of all ages after twenty-five.' It is due to pulmonary disease. Tho samo holds good of all large towns. Improved health conditions and in creased population are fighting a great battle, and, on tho whole, if not at every part of the field, health is win ning.' Tin ware. Many people still think tinware is pure tin, and astonishment is often depicted on the countenances of tho unsophistica ted when told that only from two to six parts in a hundred of a piece of tin-plato is pure tin, tne rest Dcmg sheet-iron or steel, and the tin only a thin coating. The process of coating ironplatcs with tin was first invented in Bohemia, or Silesia, in the fore part of the seventeenth century ; but, like everything else in thoso times the process was very crude. Tho iron plates at that time were produced by hammering, and of course varied much in their thickness, and seldom ex ceeded six or eight inches in width and length ; these plates were heated, dipped in water, mixed with wood-ash, then polished by scrubbing them by hand with sand, covered with a greasy sub stance and dipped into molten tin. On account of tho uneven surface of the iron plates, a heavy coating of tin from fifteen to twenty pounds per hundred pounds of iron was necessary to pro duce a bright appearance. The platc3 that were made in those times were very costly, and were mostly worked into cuirasses for warriors, ornaments for church steeples, and occasionally into vessels for family use; but the latter were so expensive that a piece would bo kept as a valuable inheritance by sever 1 generations. These plates were used in England largely, but were imported, because all experiments to produce them cheap enough at homo remained unsuccessful untii about 1740 or 1750; from that time on the tin-plating industry began to pros per in England. The process of reduc ing iron into thin sheets of more uniform thickness was soon after invented, and gradually, England got control of all the markets of the world in this coramod- I ity, and since the adoption of tho com- ' modify for such general use in the United 1 States, the consumption here has been i enormous. This country now consumes about two-thirds of England's produc tion. For the fiscal year ending June 30th, 1882, tho number of pounds of tinned plates imported was 171,803,000, representing in value $10,634,000. A Knotty Problem. This story was told to me yearsgo, and if it has ever been in print I "have not seen it : A jolly party was gathered ono winter's evening around the blazing tire in tho barroom of Green's old tavern in Maiden. The great iron loggerheads were buried in the coals, and tho aroma of flip floated gratefully upon the air. They agreed, finally there were a dozen of them to put knotty questions and problems, and the first one who should ask a question which ho could not himself answer, should pay tho flip for all hands. At it they went with many a laugh and jest; but ere long a few knotty problems calling for serious thought sobered thein. Finally, Sam Emmerton, the village blacksmith, asked : "Why is it that the common striped squirrel, though ho may burrow a dozeu feet under ground for winter quarters, never brings any dirt to tho mouth of his hole?" They considered deeply, and gave it up. "Why is it, Sum?" "Because," answered Sam, with the utmost gravity, "the sipiirrcl, . being naturally timid and suspicious, always commences to dig ids hole at the bottom. That is one answer. 1 can give you an other, and a philosophical one, if you wunt it." j "Yes," cried Jo Nichols, in Lot haste. "but I'd just like to ask you, Sam Em merton, how tho squirrel gets down to the bottom of his hole to commence dig ging?" "Ah, Jo, that is a question, of own asking. Vou must uiiswer it.' you The only solution Jo could offer was to pay for the twelve mugs of hot flip. American Yntng FMt. RATES OP ADVERT! SI NO, ON ffijoart, ens inch, on lnfertlon tl 90 On HqnSre, one Inch, on month I 09 On Fqusr, on luck, tkre month t OS One Pinr, on Inch, on jar 1 I Two Bqnr, on ycr 1 Qnrtr Column, on jer W Half Column, on yar 0 M On Colnmnjon yr 100 M Legal notice at (ttabll.had rt. MarrUg and dath notice sjatl. AU bill for jrnnlj 6rtlnnli eollcti nr. tfrij. Traporarj Tnlmi muit b fil k adranc. Job wrk . on ollTry. BETTINA MAZZI. "Oh! who will scale the bilfry tower, And cut that banner down? All broken ii the Austrian power; They gallop from the town; And surely 'tis an idle taunt, With this day's victory gained, To let yon painted falsehood flaunt " ' The very sky s ?ems stained I" Po spoke tho Duke: ar jund he glanced To see that eac'i rank heard: But every eye was on the Rround, No sing!e foUlier stirred; The shattered belfry timbers shake: That highest spire of all Beneath a dove's weight might it break, And soven scora feet down-falL Each thought: "Cut down by 'hand thai flag? Foolhardy were fie deed, Whon one three-poundor snaps its staC. As breaki a withered reed!" But just as silence crew to shame, 1 And none wiuld lift his face, A sunburned child, her face aflame, Stood forth before his Grace. She courlesiel; gave a hssty glance To where the flag flew high, Then, stammering, she said, " My lord, May I -have leave lo try V "You, child."' h3 mocked. "ByMars,yoa come To sehtol theg? veterans grim. And your reward ?' ' The e two fair plumed That shade your beaver's brim." Loud lan j his laugh, " So be it! cllmbl The plumes are yours if won." She darts across the street as fleet As swallow in the sun; N The church door clashes at her back; She rushes up the stair Against the sky, in the bolfry high, Bee, see her standing there! And now she slips up to the leads; The crowd all hold their b -eath, Hight r and higher slow she mounts, One steo 'twixt her and death. Along that narrow dormer's edge, Up to th.i broken b.ill; Oh, shattered joist and splintered beam, . Let not the brave child fall ! . And now she gi asps the slender staff; 'Then slowly, gently, see! The flag begins to sink. Good cord, Do thy work faithfully I Tho pully turns the rope runs smooth Down, down the gay folds glide Along the quivering pole, until They hang her hand beside. Close gathered look! she cuts their boad, Her Fcisson flashing fair; Then lightly pushed from where she clings, They drop, plumb, to the square; But no man thought ti raise his cheer Until oh, blessed chanoe! -They see her clambrr down, and safe From the church step3 advance. Ah, then, what shoutings came from all. To honor such a deed! Up the old street at the Duke's side She rides his pacing steed, Her homespun apron filled with crowns, Th juke's plumes in her hair; What man shall say a little maid Can never do and dare? It is roliteJ that immediately after the battle of Polferino a detachment of the Ital ! ian force passed through a town near the field , o the day s victory, and d scovered that t le enemy's colors, abandoned or forgotten in : their panic, wore still flying from the old church. The spire had been nearly demul- ished bv the cinnonades. In reply to the I thoughtless challenge of the leader to "climb up and cut down the flag." alt r the soldiers had shown their cenerel unwillingness to risk . tueir livos on t le tott -rinj structure, a little : peasant girl, Beltini Alazasi by name, undr j took it successfully. tShe received a rich re ward from t.m spectators, as well as the only thing she had asked for on attempting he i f -at-thi long ostri-h plumes which th leader wore in his military chapeau, and by which hir rustic littlo funcy had been greatly s'raek. Edward Jrenwus Stevenson, in uarper s X oung t topie. HUMOR OF THE DAY. Girls look upon the engagement ring as a very promising affair. I'htiadetyhia t'h ion icle-llerald. Ella Wlieeler asks : "Hive you heard of Iho Valley of Baby land?" No, but we havo hoard "from" it late at night. Uartford Post. Pythagoras used to say that a wound from the tongue is worso than a wound from a sword. Pythagoras must have been a married man. Courier-Journal. If you don't believe that " three ii a crowd," just ask the young man whose sweetheart's small brother infests the par lor Sunday evening. New York Journal. "Whe-e-w !" yelled tho man, as the dentist jerked his tooth out. "1 though' you extracted teeth without pain." "So 1 do without pain to me." Kentucky State Journal. "Were you ever caught in a suddeu squall?" asked an old yachtsman of a worthy citizen. "Well, 1 guess so," re sponded the good man. "i have helped to bring up eight babies." Chicago Sun. The man who takes a party of cirls to a church entertainment may properly b spoken of as tho conductor of thi party, for ho has to colluct tho fail when it's time to go homo. Uustot 1'ilUlS. " It is now settled," says an exchange, " that a newly-married lady ceases to b a bride und becomes simply a wife when she has sewed a button on her husband' clothes." It is this fact that makes ut such happy people. The country is full of brides. Sijiiu rcille Journal. THE t AUKl.KSS KAl.SOUlNtClt. The wliitewusher sings a merry song, A boii lull ul Wader I'ovliug, As he dance th Hc a loiilin along, Anil s ups tho t'i l o i tho ceiling, He -las it on with a merry biiiiIu '1 hat lights up hii la iuf wrinkles, And niuruon your overcoat and u a Than upon the wall ha spiiuklu. iVoAt
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers