THE FOREST REPUBLICAN If jmliUtlied every Wednesday, by J. C. WENK. OWe la Bmeeibaugh & Co.'s Building EfcM 8TRBKT, TIONK8TA, T. Trm, tl.eo per Year. Wo McripK(v receive 4 for shorter period ttvu ItwM mnntiia, Qtrmmyonton noHoltort from all txrta of the otrr. No notice will be ukw of auosrmou. coniinaalcMtoii.. RATES OF ADVERTISING. One Bnre, one Inch, one tn.ertlon... .......$ 1 00 One Pqnare, one Inth, one tnrmth. ........... 8 On One Pqunre, one Inch, three mentha, 6 N One Square, one Inch, one jetr ) M Two Kqnirtt, one jear II 00 Quarter Column, one yr. M SO llilf Column, one rear pe to One Colnmn, one ytar a....... 10 M focal adrartlataieatt tea eeets et II e la rtlo. Marriage and death notice, srntle. All bill, for yearly adTriMnumi oeaWed qr. terlr. Temporary adTertleeoienla mart be pel In id rail ce. Job work cash en deilrarr. 11 V0L.IVIII. NO. 33. TIONESTA, PA., WEDNESDAY. DECEMBER 2. 1885. $1,50 PER ANNUM. LUCKY DAYS. Whan May with apple blossom Ker loving-cup la brewing, With beams and dews and winds that got The honey from the violet, With hope, on which the heart is let, Oh( then's the time for wooing, For wooing, and for suing, Dear lad, the t ime for wooing I When August calls the locust To Bound the yonr's undoing, And, like aome altar dratted of old In drapery of cloth of gold, High p fixtures thick with broom unfold, Oh, then'a the time fur wooing, For wooing, and for suing. Dear lad, the time for wooing I When brown October pauses. The ripened woodland viewing, And all the sunny forests spread Thoir fallen leaves, as heart's blood red, A carpet fit for brldos to tread, Ob, then' the. time for wooing, For wooing, and for suing, Dear lad, the time for wooing! Oh, listen, happy lovor, Your happy fate pursuing: When fields are green, when woods are sere. When storms are white, whon stars are clear, Od each sweet day of each sweet year, Ob, thon's the time for wooing, For wooing, and for suing, Dear lad, the time for wooing I Harriet Prtscott Spofford, in Bazar. AUNT MITT AlMrsTlIlNGS. The orango glow of the March twi light threw the leafless copses into strong relief ; the littlo brook, had burst its thick crust of ice, and sang merrily under the Telvet fringes of tho pussy-willows, and up from tho woods thcro came an inde scribable odor of sping. A red flag rolled tip and tied around its stick by a hemp string, lay just inside the door jard, when Mrs". Grigson came !a with the last pail of water that sho should ever draw from the old well. She sighed as she filled the squat copper kettlo and hung it over the fire. "Tho uuction sale is to be to-morrow," said she, "and I never was so glad of anything in all my born days. Sech a time as I've had cleanin' up and scrub bin' down and scourin' and polishin'! There ain't a bone in my body but aches." "It's all time and trouble thrown away," scpulchrully observed Miss Kctchum, who had dropped in on her way from the store; "the old traps won't sell for sixpence apiece you see If they do." "But the things ain't no use to me," said Mrs. Grigson, "and I need a little money so awful bad ! As for the poor luck I've had, right straight through, there ain't no calculatin1 it. Ef I was to tell you, Martha Ketchum, you wouldn't believe it. Even down to my last gold dollar 1" "Eh?" said Miss Ketchum. Being of a melancholy turn, she liked to hear sad recitals, although personally her sympa thies were enlistod on the Widow Grig son's side. "Why, it was last week," said Mrs. Grigson, in tho level," complaining tone that always remiudod you of tho little brook down in the hollow, "brother Lyman left his little Brazil monkey hero overnight. He was a-calculatin' to sell it to Mrs. G.irtney's little boy, John Henry. And ef you'll believe mo, the mis'able critter swalleied tho gold dollar I'd left on my bureau to pay the meat poddlar with, and dropped my silver specs down the well." - "Lai" said Miss Ketchum. . "I seen hira champin' it between his jaws," said Mrs. Grigson, "and shake and squeeze him as I would, I couldn't get it out of him 1" "Well, I never did I" romarkod the guest. "It did seem as ef that was the last straw that broke the camel's back," ighed Mrs. Grigson. "Brother Lyman he was dreadful consarned about it, but he couldn't do nothin' for me. He of feied to kill the monkey, but I k no wed how disappointed John Henry Gartney would bo, and, arter all, tho critter had only acted accordin' to its natur', and they was to pay brother Lyman a dollar and a half for him. As for tho specs, brother Lyman fished 'cm up with a long pole with a crooked pin hitched on to the end on't. Tho glasses was broke, but the frames is good yet. I'm calkilatin' to get 'em mended when " "Wonder how much tho featherbed '11 go for!" said Miss Ketchum, break ing in on the monotonous refrain. "There ain't no tellin'." said Mrs Grigson. "They're dreadful old. Aunt Mittable sho'd kep' house for forty year, and never had nothin' new. I don't 'pose an auction sale will pay, but what else could I do with all the old duds? 'Squire Daggett wants possession of tho place at once, and "Ain't gwine to sell these 'ere houso plants, be ye?" said Miss Ketcuum, nod ding toward a green-painted stand in the corner. "Brother Lyman thought they might fetch a few cents, said " Mrs. Grigson. "And the stand ought to be worth a quarter of a dollar. It had a new coat of paint a year ago. I give one J'rusa lera cherry-tree to Abigail Burton for helpin' uie to clean out the old cup boards. She's been dreadful neighborly, and sho wouldn't take a pecny for what she did." "Moro fool she," curtly observed Miss Ketchum. "I'd like that thar monthly rose with the striped blooms on it." "It is pretty," said Mrs. Grigson, ig noring tho broad hint. "And I guess it 'ill Bell cheap. I'd like some friend to hev it, for tho slip it growed fiom was give rue by Grigson the very first yeur wo were married." And as she was not invited to stay to lei, Miss ketchum at last went away, leuvlng Mrs. Grigson sitting sorrowfully before the fire of discarded barrel staves, ruinous packing boxes, ancient chair legs and wooden stools which had absolutely refused to bo made capablo of further service. "Aunt Mittablo" which name was a pcrvision of the good old New Eng land pnrnomen Mohitablc had been all tie mother sho had known, and it seemed lonesome enough to bo sitting there in the empty houso with Aunt Mittable tuckod away in a corner of the frozen church yard. Her husband was dead, and her three little children were strug gling up in the world as best they could. Sho had had a position ns janitress in a public school, but she had lost it when she came to Mullein Form to nurse Aunt Mittable in her Inst illness; and now she scarcely knew which way to turn. Brother Lyman, her only living relative, was poorer than herself a good-hearted, empty-pocketed man, who occupied some position on a sailing vessel which which plied between Boston and the Azores islands. . There was a mortgage on the nlacc which had swallowed up all aspirations in the direction of selling it, and Mrs. Grigson faintly hoped that the auction sale might help to pay the expenses of her old aunt's burial. Other wise sho did not, to uso her own expres sion, "see her way clear." Mrs. Grigson wns not a sentimentalist. A janitress in a public school building, with forefinger roughened by the coars est needle-work, and mind narrowed down by the daily tread-mill of the most groveling cares, has not much time for that sort of indulgence; but as sho sat there, drinking an infusion of the weak est tea, and watching the yellow March moonlight lay tho perfect pattern of the uncurtained window, on the carpetless floor, while the barrel staves smouldered into carmino tinted ashes, sho could but remember the days when she had hoped for such a different life. "I was a gal then," thought Mrs. Grigson. "It didn't seem ns if there was anything impossible. Well, well, I s'poso most folks are disapp'intcd jest as bad as I bo, ef they live long enough." And then the poor widow went to bed to keep warm; and all night-long tho yellow moonlight flooded the ' solitary room where Aunt Mittablo had died, and a solitary cricket sang on tlio hearth stone where the red ashes had long since faded into white dust. The morrow dawned wild, bright and windy, as March mornings often come rushing over the bleak Connecticut hill crosts. The auctioneer arrived in a one horse buggy from the village ; the neigh bors assembled from all points of the compass. For in Feltville Four Corners people entertained thesame sentiment toward an auction sale Is New Yorkers feel toward a private view of tho Acad emy of Desigu, or a flower show at the Madison Square Garden. Miss Ketchum was there in her best dyed Bhawl, and the bonnet which the irreverent youth of the neighborhood had christened "Old Ply mouth Hock," from the fossilized ap pearance of its feathers; Squire Daggett drove down in his family carry-all with the 6ix Misses Daggett. The par son and tho parson's wife were there, punching pillows and inspecting bolsters, aud counting cups and saucers. A man who was vaguely reported to be an emis sary from au old curiosity shop in the city wag prowling about with a memoran d urn-book under his arm. Everybody was there, even down to the village fool, who had been allowed to come with his grandmother, under solemn promise of not speaking a word the whole time." In her special corner Abigail Barton was whispering to a knot of eager women with much excited gesticulation, and close by the high wooden mantel sat poor Mrs. Grigson in her best gown, trembling a little, she scarcely knew why. "Aunt Mittable wns always partial to auction vendoos," said she to herself. "It does seem as ef she'd ought to be here." And she thought of the lonely grave under last year's weedy mullein stalks in the neglected corner of the church-yard, and sighed. "1111 set a rose o' Sharon there as soon as the spring fairly opens," mused she. "Aunt Mittable always likea flowers." And the crowd around Abigail Barton increased, and a sort of intangible thrill went through the rooms like an electric current. "Is anything wrong?" Mrs. Grigson asked, nervously, "llev they heard any news?" "I seen it myself," she could hear Abi gail saying: "I've got it to hum in my pocketbook. I'va always heard that sho was queer, nnd I shouldn't wonder if that was tho way she'd hoarded up." Mrs. Griirion roso to join the group; but just then tho auctioneer's voice drowned all e!so in its high, sing-song drone: "Now, then, ladies and gentle men, if you please," aud the sule began in good earnest. The breadths of well-worn rag carpet brought a pitiful sum, but the four hair cloth "cheers" in tho best parlor, nnd a certain uncompromising sofa of the same slippery material, realized twenty dollars, and the wooden clock was bid up to six dollars and a half by Squire Daggett him self. "He can't know that the machinery's clear worn out, and it hain't struck in six months," said Mrs. Grigson. "I don't Know but it's my duty to tell him." "Hold your tongue, Naomi," whis pered biother Lyman, who, with his hands iu his pockets, was flattened up agiint the wall. -"I truess nil the neigh bors Hereabouts know as much about Aunt Mittable's clock as you do." "Eight dollars for the old feather bed! Folks must be crazy !" said Mrs. Grigson. "And a dollar apiece for them worn-out bed-quilts! Is tho world a coruin' to an end?" But when they came to the stand of house plants, Airs. Grigson a amazement reached its culminating poiut. The striped monthly roue brought a dollar: a stumpy old lemon bush in a trreeu tub j which had never been suspected of the faintest inclination to bloom, ran up to five; a myrtle-tree ascended the scale, and was finally knocked down at ten and a half; an oleander was bid up to three, half a dozen spindling fish-geraniums va ried from fifty cents to a dollar each, and ten callas aud a sickly carnation were bought by Miss Dora Daggett at sevcDty-five cents each; and the surplus age of pallid primroses and cactus mon strosities was lumped at a dollar to Mr. Tows, whoso door-yard was laid out in carrots and parsnips, nnd who did not know a pokebcrry bush from a holly bush. "Bo folks mad?" said breathless Mrs. Grigson. The proceeds of the flower stand amounted to eighteen dollars, nnd the purchasers eagerly seized their property and carried it off, m if unwilling to let it out of their sight, and the sale went briskly on. "Well, Naomi," said brother Lyman, chuckling, when the "vendoo" was over, "how much did ye ex peck to git for Aunt Mittable's things?" "I did hope for fifty dollars, all told," said Mrs. Grigson. "But Miss Ketchum said I was a fool for calkilatin' on any sech amount." "What d'ye say to two hundred!" said brother Lyman, gleefully. "What!" shrieked Mrs. Grigson. "Ly man, you're a-pokin' fun at me." "No, I ain't," cheerfully spoke up brother Lyman. "It's two hundred and fifteen dollars and eighty-eight cents, that's what it is! Oh, ef ye'd only seen the women-folks a-carryin' out Aunt Mittable's house-plants nugged up close to 'em, like they was littlo babies!" Brother Lymun stopped to shake all over with a species of inaudible laughter which convulsed him as if he were a mold of jelly. "Two hundred and fifteen dollars!" gasped Mrs. Grigson. "It's like a dream." The auctioneer counted out the bills into the good woman's toil-hardened hands. "I congratulate you, ma'am," said he. "Are you sure there ain't no mistake?" said Mrs. Grigson. ' Quite sure, ma'am." "Well, 1 don't nohow understand it," said the widow, slowly shaking her head. "P'r'aps, Mr. Pulfield, you can explain it to me?" The auctioneer looked around, winked one eye solemnly, and twirled his quill pen backward and forward. "No one here?" said he. "Not a soul," declared brother Ly man. , "Everybody gone?" "Yes, everybody." "Then look here," said tho auction eer. "I couldn't help catchin' a word here and there; and it wan't no business of mine to interfere." "I don't understand," said Mrs. Grig son, more bewildered than ever. "Don't ye, now? Well, less see if I can't make it clear t' ye," said Mr. Pul field. "Abigail Barton she was a-whis-perin' to Deacon Plimpton's widow how't she found a littlo gold dollar bur ied in the earth or a nower-pot that held a J'rusalem cherry-tree you give her; and it went from one to another like wild-fire. Oh, yes, Mrs. Grigson, your aunt Mittable was a good woman, a very good woman, but awful queer. And now every man, woman and child will be rippin' open feather-beds, diggin' up house-plants, and pokin' into cheer seats and bureau drawers for hidden treasure. See?" "You don't s'poso " cried Mrs. Grig son. "Yes, I do s'pose," said tho auction eer. "If folks will be fools, there ain't no way of preventin' 'em as ever I k no wed of. And I wish 'em good luck findin' what yoitf aunt Mittible has hid there." "Well, I declare!" said Mrs. Grigson. "Your things hev sold very well, ma'am," said Mr. Pulfield, buttoning up his coat. "i don't know when we've had such a successful auction salo in the neighborhood." Mrs. Grigson went back to the city feel ing richer than any capitalist. And not until the train was running into the New Haven depot did she start wildly from her seat in the corner of the car. "it was the monkey," sho said, speaking aloud in the sudden enlightment of her soul "brother Lyman's monkey ! And there was me, poor, simple, critter, a repinin' again the mischief ne had done !" The other passengers stared dubiously at her, wondering if they had come all tho way from Feltviilo Four Corners with a crazy woman. Au old man took up & basket and shawl-strap and went to the other end of the car. But they need not have been alarmed. Mrs. Grigsou wai not crazy. Uarper't lltirar. Medical Virtues f Dogs' Tongues. M. Keiinach having recently called at tention to the mention, in the recently discovered inscriptions at the Temple of Esculapius, in Epidaurus, of children having been cured of blindness at that sanctuary by having their eyes licked by the sicred dogs. M. Henri Gaidoz states that he has discovered the faith and practices of the dog-cure among several peoples and in a number of religions. The Hindoos believe that the English kill dogs to obtain possession of a sov ereign ictnedy which is found in their tongues. In a Venetian legend, St. Koch was cured bv a balsam distilled from the tongue of his dog. Dogs' tongues are considered to have medical virtue by many people iu Portugal, France and Scotland. In Bohemia they let dogs lick the faces of new-born children for "good luck." A belief in the existence of di vinities issuiug from dogs, whoso ollice it was to lick the bruises of the wounded, onco prevailed in Armenia. Iu & scene in one of Aristophanes' plays l'listus ie covers his sight in the Temple of Esculu pins after being licked bv two rerpenis which the god sent lor Jhat purpose iu answer to his prayer. i AFTER PRAIRIE CHICKENS. HOW THB WILD BIRDS ABB RUSTID IIT ILLINOIS. the I Inn ten' Kren-Srenlert Ilog-a A Nportaman'a Outfit How the) Ilirde ctro Found and Killed. A Chicago letter says that a glance, almost any day, into the baggage cars of tho trains leaving tho cftv for tho West and South will reveal ail unusual sight. In addition to the piles of trunks, empty milk cans, and the usual promis cuous heaps of all kinds of luggage, anywhere from six to two dozen dogs of various sizes and colors may be seen se curely chained in different parts of the car. They may be chained singly, in pairs, and sometimes in double pairs; but the different groups are kept care fully apart and out of each other's reach. The reason is that they are apt to be bel ligerent anl are extremely valuable, and a "scrapping match" of even short du ration might result in the destruction of serious damage of several hundred dol lars' worth of property of a kind not easily replaced, and the delay of a hunt ing trip just begun. The secret is out. They are hunting dogs and their owners are starting out for the corn fields and grain stubbles in search of prairie chick ens. Contrary to what one would natu rally expect, the dogs are fur from being plump and sleek after the manner of well fed and comfortably housed pets. In fact, they are quite the reverse, and, as a rule, are lean and gaunt, although clean and sound of limb. They are kept thiu on purpose, that they may worK easily aud without fatigue, and are trained with all the care bestowed upon a champion in the rn". Few of them are valued at less than $150, and a check for ten times that amount would not buy a number in the car. Bom with the "instincts of the hunting dog of pure pedigree, they have been as carefully trained as children, and at a large expense, by their owners or by professional trainers, who make a hand some living at the business. The ordi nary pup is worth from $50 to $250, ac cording to the size, color, disposition and pedigree, and his training costs from $50 to $100. If well treated and intelli gently handled the trained dog is a mir acle of docility and intelligence, and the hunter's bag would be woefully small without his aid. In the smoking car will be found the hunters themselves. While their cos tumes are much alike, the similarity ends with their clothes and outfits. A dozen or more conditions of .life and business interests are represented by the group. The chicken shooting in Iowa, Minnesota and the West generally is poor this year, and the hunters as a rule have obtained most of their sport in Illinois and In diana. These men are bound for the central and southern parts of Illinois, and tho rich corn and grain fields of the Prairie State. The outfit of each is q uite similar, varying only in quality and com pleteness. It may be briefly enumerated as follows: A dog or two, a gun, a "shell-box" tilled with loaded car tridges, rubber or leather hip-boots, a pair of lighter shoes or boots, stout breeches, hunting-coat nnd cap, rub ber coat and gamo-bag. The coat is the most remarkable part of the costume. It rcsombles the Irish man's cannon, which was built around a big hole, in that it appears to be con structed around innumerable pockets. It is made of stout canvas, the color of dried reeds or an oat stubble. The hip. boots are for use in the morning when the dew lies heavy on the fields and for wading in the marshy bits. In the after noon in dry weather the lighter shoes or boots may be used. In the pockets of the coat are a short rawhide whip and a silver whistie, articles of whose uso the dog is well aware. The prairie chicken is an accommodating bird, and may be hunted in pleasant weather; and this fact may partially acccount for the ar dor with which it is pursued. Chicken shooting, however, is a fascinating sport la itself, the game bsiug wary, strong of wing, and exceedingly palatable. Day light finds the hunters for they gener ally, like their" dogs, hunt iu pairs leaving the farm-house where they have passed the night. At the word of com mand the dogs leap into the wagon, and a few moments' drive brings the hunters to a "likely field." The hunters alight, slip a cartritdge into each barrel of their guns, and turn into the field. The dogs are eager for the sport to begin, and at the words "Hunt 'em up," aud a wave of the hand, spring out into the stubble at full speed, one hunter and one dog to each side of the field. Tho doss work from tho edge of the field to the centre, cross, keep on to the outer edge, return, aud cross again, covering the field iu ever-varying aud irregular circles. Now and then one pauses and snuffi the wind blowiug down tho fluid, or turns quickly aside from his course and follows up for a few yards an old scent in tho hope of finding it grow stronger. Suddenly one of them running at full speed iu long, elastic bounds, with car and tail waving as he leans, falls, flat as if paralyzed and re mains motionless us a stouc. Quick as is the movemeut. the other dog has also crouched aud is pointing at the first dog, "backing him up with implicit confidence, though the sccut may not have reached hi keen nostrils. Then the sagacious animals turn their heads uud look back ut their masters with in telligent eyes, as if he says, "Hurry up; here they nre!" 'llio nieu move rapidly and noiselessly up to the first dog. The intelligent animal, who has not moved u muscle, except to turn his head anil look back, .rises slowly and crouchingly to his feet, and with nose extended steals slowly forward, intelligence und wary caution expressed in every movement ut his eloquent body. His feet aie lifted nnd put down likewuvsof velvet, and his progress is noiseless and as true us the needle to the polo. The hunter follow carefully close benind, guns cocked and ready for use. Down goes the dog as though shot dead, and this time he does not dare to look back, the tremor of his body giving warning that he can go no further with out walking into the covey. The men take one, two steps whiz, whirr three birds rise, two to the left, one to the right I Bang! bang! bang! The man on the right kills his bird, tho man on tho left kills with the first barrel and misses with his second barrel. Neither hunters nor dog stir a step. The left-hand man breaks his gun, draws out the discharged shells and slips fresh ones in their places. While he is loading, up rises a fourth chicken, this time to the left. The right-hand man knocks it over, and at tho discharge of his gun the chickens riso on all sides. The left-hand man gets in both barrels and knocks down two birds. They reload, and the dog is told to "hunt 'em up." If the birds are plenty and the stubbles in good condition, the chances are that a covey will be found in each stubble-field. Hunters often "draw a blank," as they term it, and sometimes two coveys are found in one field. The coveys vary widely in size; sometimes as many as thirty or forty birds are found togelhet and sometimes an old cock is found alone with a field all to himseif. The chickens in different coveys also behave differently. At times they will get up singly, and in such a case two shooters will get nearly the wholo covey. At other times the whole covey will rise to gether, and it needs quick and skillful shooting to make each of the four barrel count. If the country and flight of the birds allow, it.js sometimes possiblo t "mark a covey" and follow them from field to field, unless they fly into the corn, when pursuit is hopeless. A Great Irrigating: Canal. There is now in progress in Merced county, California, a great irrigating canal. Merced, the capital of the county, lies in the heart of tho San Joaquin valley, which has been for some years the chief wheat-producing section of the State. Tho valley extends from the Sierra Nevndas on tho east to the skirt of the coast range on the west, its greatest width being ninety miles, aud its length from north to south about forty miles. The town of Merced if expected to make enormous strides when the canal is completed. The first sight of the ditch suggests the earthworks or a fort, the ground being ridged up from six to eight feet. There aro 300 men at work on the canal. Tho undertaking was begun on March 14, 1883, and has been carried on continuously ever since. The canal will run across the country from the Merced river just above Snel ling to Plainsburgh, ten rnilos bolow the city of Merced, on the Southern Pacific railroad. The slope during this whole distance is a gradual one, and the canal is carried well up on a slight ele vation, so that without artificial means the water will flow over the wide extent of level valley land which is to be irri gated. The entire length of the canal will be thirty-five miles, of which sixteen miles are now completed, In the portion which has been built there is one tunnel a trifle over a mile long, and an other of sixteen hundred feet is now be ing excavated. The general grade of the canal is one foot to the mile. Among the hands employed arc 150 Chinese. They receive $1 a day and board thora selves, while the whito men receive $20 a month and their board. The Chinese live in a camp by themselves, and run their commissariat. 'The company which has charge of the enterprise has expended already nearly $700, OOU, and it is roughly estimated that the entire cost of the work will be double that sum. Land on the banks of tho canal, which was previ ously valued at $2.50 per acre, has now advanced to $8 per acre, and the owners claim that it is worth $33 per aero. Close to the town of Mercod, however, land can not be bought for lcs3 than $150 per acre. Chicago Timet. An Intoxicating Palm. The Miuionart Herald gives an account of an inland tour lately made by tho Kev. Dr. Richards, a missionary of the American Board, stationed at Inham bane, on the cast coast of Africa, from which the following in relation to the Amakwakwc tribo was taken : "They have no gardens at all. They nro so frequently robbed by I'm.ilu's impis (soldiers) that they have become quite discouraged. Another reason is that tho native fruit is capable of sus taining life, and is abundant; and, again, the palm wino flows freely all over the country. This palm-tree is iour or live feet high, seldom tcu feet. It manifests little life, savo at the top, where a few leaves appear, looking like a flower-pot ou a stump. These leaves are all cut off, and from the cut each tree yields daily about a pint of delicious juice, but highly intoxicating when allowed to stand for a few hours. There seems to be no limit to these trees, and we were surrounded on every hand by drunken men and women. Even little children were staggering about as ingloriously as their parents. It was difficult to avoid trouble with these people, yet our guns were respected, and a ball fired care lessly at a near tree would produce quiet for half an hour. They wero coarse, rough, drunken fellows, often plunder ing, often plundered, and accustomed to piarrels uud lights not ultugether blood less. Ono could ecurce expect to find pleasure in passing umcug them." Littlo Johnny, ou being asked by hii school teacher if he knew what was meant by "ut par," replied that "Ma was al ways at Pa when ho cauio home late." !". . And now Chicago cluims tbut poik u a I'luid lood, being a pioduc. of thous u lids of peiiB. ImuM CUicn. I'LL KNOW THEE 1HEP.E. O. D. Prentice nA: "No living poem oaa urpasi in beauty the following lines from the muse of Amelia. " I'ale star that, with thy soft, snd light, Comes out upon my bridal eve, I have a song to sing to-night, Before thou takest thy mournful leave. Since then so softly time bath stirr'd That months have almost seemed like hours, And I am like a little bird That slept too long among the flowers, And, waking, aits with waveloss wing, Soft singing 'mid the shades of even; Bu5, oh! with sadder heart I ting - I sing of ono who dwe'.ls in heaven. Tlio winds are soft, the clouds are few, And tenderest thought my heart beguiles, A, floating up through mist and dew, Tho pale young moon couies out in smiles; And to the green, resounding shore In silvery troops the ripples crowd, Till all the ocean, dimpled o'er, Lifts up Its voice and laughs aloud; And star on star, all soft and calm, Floats up yon arch, serenely bluo; And, lost to earth, and steeped in balm, My spirit floated in ether, too. Loved one! though lost to human sight, I feol thy spirit lingering near: And softly as I fool the light That trembles through the atmosphere, As In some temple's holy shades, Though mute the hymn and hushed the prayer, A solemn awe the soul pervades, Which tells that worship has been thera; A breath of incense, left alone, Where many a censer swung around; Which thrills the wanderer like to one Who treads on consecrated ground. I know thy soul, from worlds of bli.--s, Yet stops a while to dwell with mo. Hath caught the prayer I br3utlied in this, That I at last might dwjll with thee; I bear a murmur from the uens That thrills me like thy spirit's sighs; I hear a voice on every breezo That makes to mine its low replies A voice all low and sweet like thine ; It gives an answer to my prayer, And brings my soul from heaven a sign That I will know and meet tlieo there, I'll know thee there by that sweet face Round which a tender halo plays, Still touched with that expressive grace) That made thee lovely all thy days, By that sweet smile that o'er it shed A beauty like tho light of even, Whose soft expression never fl:d, Even when its soul had fled to heaven; I'll know thee by the starry crown That glitters in thy raven hair; Oh! by these blessed sights alone I'll know thee there, I'll know thee there. For ah! thine eye, within whose sphere The sweetest youth and beauty met, Thut swam in love and softness here, Must swim in love and softness yet. For ah! its dark and liquid beams, Though saddened by a thousand sighs, Were holier than the light that streams Down from the gates of Paradise Were bright and radiant like the morn, Yet soft and dewy ns the eve, . Too sad for eyes where smiles are born, Too young for eyes to learn to grieve. I wonder if this cold, sweet breeze Hath touched thy lips and fanned thy brow, For all thy spirit bears and sees Recalls thee to my memory now; For every hour we breathed apart Will but increase, if that can be, The love that fills this lonely heart, Already tilled so full of tnee. Yet many a tear these eyes must weep, And many a sin must be forgiven, Ere these pale lips shall sink to sleep, Aud you aud I shall meet in heave nl HUMOR OF THE DAY. The golden mean The miser. A dead beat. The muflled drum. Inquirer Hsks: What must I do to make my hands soft? Do nothing. Dm ton Courier. An exchange says that there is a mis sion in this life for dudos. We hope it is a foreign mission. Burlington Fret Pre. An Iowa veteran draws a pension be cause ten years ago his wife struck liiin with a broomstick. BurLinyton. Free 1'ies. "Atlend your church." the parson cries; To church each fair one gnus; The old go t here to close their eyes The young to ye their clothes. UooUall't Sun. "You are bound to road, I see," said Mrs. H. to her hunbaud, who, with novel in hand, was busy umong its pages. "So is this book," he replied, without look ing up, and his talkative wife collapsed. Mtreiant- Traveler. BHB COMPUKO WITH HIS KEQUEKT. "Pray call nie a pretty name," said ho Out night to his darling I'urrie, The girl he had courted so long that she Thought he never meant to marry. Up from his tosom she raised her head, Anil hur chef ks grew red us ro-4.s, "1 think 1 will cull you 'man, ' " slm said, 'lor they say tbut 'muii propos.'" ii'Jtid Courier. "If you should allow tie fourteen dol lars per week on which to run the house," she said, as they sat together in the twi light, "aud 1 saved three dollars per week out of that, what would you Bay?'' "Say? Why, I'd say you ought to run it ou Meveu," he growled, a-, ho lighted the gas. Iktrait Free J 'reus. Oh! for a girl with bright blue eyes, A girl that know, how to ioe. A girl tliut cu.in.tkegnod .-b pita And 1 wl us the uiitis ubove. Oh foi a fc.rl that, will not flirt, A womuu Kind uud truo; A tie tn stv liiutims on your shirt, V ln'ii siiu's cullottg el.-; to dn. i-luA l.uVn.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers