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