. . . ...- ,',. . - .P. .O , L ..., `' .- ‘9 ,-: : ...,..„ , ~-,. • Pl''..''.. - '' -. j --. ) •••• 4 , . .. !II V• ._ 1 . i l .. \ I i .. 4) '* • I .. FA I! I -." ..t.. ' _......,-•-:...,.. II -1. --- / .....I."' •-• / -".... 1 It fasilp paper---Iltnottli to Politics, Agrintiturt, fittraturt, sfituct, Art, fillip, 90111t5tif aaB UMOI jititilignwe l Vic. ESTABLISHED IN 1813. THE WAYNESBURG MESSENGER, PUBLISHED BP L W. JONES & JAMES S. JENNINGS, WAYNESBURG, GREENE CO., PA ETOPIPICIC NEARLY OPPOSITE THE PUBLIC SQUARE...CU '2 Mal Stt Z % • 815560.111.11011.-161 50 in advance; $I 75 at the ex piration of six months; $2 00 within the year; $2 50 atter the expiration of the year. Anirsertsemwers Inserted at $1 00 per square for insertions, and 25 cents asquarc foresail addition a; (ten lines or less counted a square.) *liberal deduction made to yearly advertisers. Isr Jos PRINTING. of all kinds, executed in the best style, and on reasonable terms, at the" Messenger" Job *ace. ;0 utsburg 'flusiness Qtarbs. I!:EMES A'TTORNSTS. SA L. PVII P MAII.R IT C a II i. URMAN & RITCHIE, ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW, Waynesburg, Pa. BI"*AU business in Greene, Washington, and Fay- VW • Counties, entrusted to them, will receive prompt attention. Sept. 11,1861-Iy. J. A. J. BUCHAN•N. WIN. C. LIN DORY. INICEIAINAN & LINDSEY, ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW, Waynesburg, Pa. Office on the South side of Muhl street, in the Old link Building. Jan. I, ISO/ IiNT. TACIPIPITWM - E", ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW, trrOtitee in Ledwith's Building, opposite the Court anulle, Waynesburg, Pa. A. IeCONNELL. J. J. HUFFMAN. 211VCONZWEILL EMTPWAN, VITORNETS AJVD COUNSELLORS AT LAW Wayliesbur Pa. Clifice in the "Wright H. .se," East Door. ollertions, &c., will receive prompt attention. synesburg, April 23, 1862-Iy. DAVID CRAWFORD, Attorney and Coninenor at I.aw. Office in Sayers' Building, adjoining the Post Office. Sept. 11, 1861-17. d. ♦. SLACK. JOHN PHELAN. BLACK & PHELAN, ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW Oliat in the Court Nonlife, WaynetbtAg. Sept. 11,1861-Iy. irintszoiaas B. M. BLACHLEY L _M. D. sizirsiczam at 5112.011071 f, CMllime—iblmehilei l s Safisnits, Maim St., geaESPBCTFIII LY announces to the citizens of Waynesburg and vicinity that be has returned from Army Corps of the nny and resumed the prac of medicine at this place. Waynesburg, June It, 1381.-I}. DR. D. W. BRADEN, rksysiciau and Surgeon. Office in the Old Bank eliding, Main area. Sept. 11, 1861—Iv. DR. A. O. CROSS WOULD very respectfully teadeabis services as a DiIYSIGLAN AND 10.111GHON, to the people of Waynesburg and vicinity. He hopes by a due appre- Aktfou of human Ite and health. and strict attention to blidekati, to merit a share of public patronage. Wilytiesbunr. January 8, 1842. DR. A. J. EGGY {o r Wayn riiLiX n ae Z lis : ervic r ti lL tizen L esburgadcinitarriyselnsi: geon. Office opposite the Republican office. Ile itopis#,*. des swee.iation of she taws of human life Ithitherda; tufnitffee Medication, and strict attention ee besimese, to merit a liberal share of public patronage. apribli.4BBll4 DRUGS M. A. HARVEY, Dlggist and Apothecary. and dealer in Paints and the most celebrated Patent Medicines, and Pure Liitiabra for medicinal purposes. 11,18111--11. ZEIRCHANTS _ WM. A. PORTER, Wholesale and Retail Dealer in Foreign and Domes tie Dry Goode, Groceries, Nations, dm., Main street. &dn. 11, Mel --ly. ANDREW WILSON, Dealer in Dry Goods, Groceries, Drugs, Notions, k 'u gagdware, queensware, Stoneware, Looking Glasses, a and Nails, Boots and Shoes, Hats and Caps, n street, one door east of the Old Bank. Sept. 11, 1861-Iy. R. CLARK, -IDerder in Dry Goods, Gmeeries, Hardware, Queens ware and notions, in the Moulton House, opposite the Nutt House. Main street. Sept. 11, 1861-Iy. MINOR & CO ., Skaters' in Foreign and Domestic Dry Goods, Grp MAP, Queen:ware, Hardware and Notions, opposite Green UMW!, Klan street. 111kqn. 11, 1861-Iy, 03.0 1 PZING N. CLARK, •!•thipa t ior in /den's and Soy.' Clothing, elothc Cassi *arm fatinets, Hata and Caps, dte., Main arr. et, op. phnifte the Court 'louse. Sept. 11, 1861-Iy. A. J. SOWERS, Gelnielnell'i Sur es. Il cats and Claps, Old " k kr"Pailat. Main Street. S ept. pt. 114,1.861-4 m BOOTAIND 411013 DWlWank D. COSGRAY, . 8 „,„,, sad ahem maker. Main wee!, manly opposlie the **Farmer's and Drover's Dant.' Every style of loam 'WHO= eonetantly on hand or made to order. IWO. 11,48M-Iy. N. H, McClellan 'Orsit arid shoe maker,Blaefiley's Corner, Main street. fr . and elhoes of every variety always on hand or ellbreto isrder on short notice! Sept. 11, 1861-Iy. 14 744 & VALUISITUNI JCWERii YATER, Dealer in Groceries and Confectioneries. Notions, Perfumeries, Liverpool Ware. ike., Otaaa of grepis. and Gilt Moulding and Looking Glaze Plates. nrep i -Caelepaid for good eating Apples. Mr.Li, 1661-1 y JOHN MUNNELL, Dealer in Groceries and Confectionaries, and Variety poeds geeeroy, Wilson's Nt w Building , Main street. ektipt 11, Ogr—ly. POIMI!. act. LEWIS DAY, • % 1r 44: " Atalal a titVtr it tetititt l o p ; Lie Street. Se 1861 JAZ* 1111161013611 • • ll • WAU4STER. Bank 4 j; isallantm. WHAT HE HEARD. "Have you heard the news ?" "No; what is it now ?" "'Squire Dunham is gone—was found dead in his bed this morning —was carried off by a stroke of ap oplexy." "He was ono of our prominent citizens He will be widely missed." "Pm not at all certain about the last remark. In my opinion there'll be very few mourners at 'Squire Dunham's funeral. He was a• hard old customer, from first to last; and all he thought of, or cared for, was to make money. He was shrewd enough at a bargain, and always got the best of it; but If think you'd have to go a long way to find the man, woman or child that's any the worse off 'cause 'Squire Dunham has finished his days." "It's a great pity he couldn't take any of his bank stock or real estate with him. I tell you, my friend, after all, it's a losing operation to have all one's property in what goes. fot nothing on the other side. They want a different kind of coin there." "That's a fact. I reckon 'Squire Dunham bas learned some new truths by this time." The shove conversation took place in a city car just as the night was falling, so that the passengers could scarcely discern one another in the dim twilight. The speakers were two plain-talking men, in the prime of their years; and the conversation was suddenly cut short, for the car stopped at the street-crossing, and the friends hurried out together. In the seat behind theni sat an old man, of somewhat portly figure and dignified presence. He had a hard, told sort of a face—a face which no tender sympathies, no high and noble purposes—no earnest, unselfish striv ings for right and truth, had soften ed or spiritualized, and looking into he keen, gray eyes, under the shag gy eyebrows, a heart that had gone to them for pity or mercy would have been turned away. Beneath lay no sweet, gushing springs of human love, only a cold, hard rock where no flowers blossomed, and from whose bosom gushed no streams gladdening the waste desert of the man's soh. But it was evident the old man had been an interested listener to conversation which bad transpired in the seat before him. At the first mention of 'Squire Dunham's name he had leaned forward, and drank in breathlessly every word which fol lowed; while quick flushes and strange agitation went over the bard, thin face. He leaned back, so that the men could not catch a glimpse of bis features as they left the car, and his reflection went on somewhat after this fashion : " Well it's pleasant, that's a fact, for a man to sit still and have his life held up after he's been laid in his coffin I never met either of those mon, but it appears that one of them, at least, is pretty well posted up about me, and the estima tion in whieh I. am held in public opinion—though he has mistaken my name for Silas Dunham, the old lawyer, who died last night. Com plimentary, wasn,t it, Stephen Dun ham ? I 'spode there was a little spite and envy at the bottom of it all, just such as poor folks always have towards those who have got more money than they ; hut then—" At that moment the car stopped in front of the stattly dwelling in which the old banker resided. And that "but then" followed him into his house, and sat down with him at his solitary supper-table, and after it was through, these words were the teat which roused the conscience of the rich man took up and preached to hive in this wise : "But then, Stephen Dunham," it whispered, as the rich old man walk ed up and down the gorgeous par-' lore of his Vonely home, "you know that what that man said about you was true. There is no use getting aside of it, for he had bit the nail straight on the head. You know, too, that your object and aim in life has been to make money, and that there isn't a human being above ground who would have reason to shed a tear if you were laid beneath it. You've got money, as that man Maid. You generally get the beat of bargain, btit, after all, your half million that you delved your whole life to get together, won't pass for anything in that world which you are vatting pretty near now ; and, as there's nobody to mourn you here, it isn't likely you will have any wel c)me there." And here 'Squire. Dunham sat down in his velvet arm-chair, by his marble-table, and his thoughts went back throagh the long, winding paths of the years of his youth. His boyhood —. his glad, earelees boy hood, came back to him. no gen tle, loving mother, the young, eweet Sae of hie sister, rose up before him, and be saw the little brownovt, tage where his life cline up to him. The old appli4ree in front Wss frost ed with the bkeemne 01:1414:;, ai4 hostoo4. there *414../lero v Atin WA* aletiont,,abil her Imo, sweet .ali WAYNESBURG, GREENE COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1862. mountain brook, was in his ears, and her little, round, plump arms were around his neck. How she did love him, that little sister Hetty, over whose sweet face bad grown the grass of so many Summers—how proud she was of him and he could see the little golden head dancing oat of the house every night to meet him, when he came home from his work. Stephen Dunham's mother was a poor widow, and he had his own way to work in the world. He had risen step by step in his native town, and he saw at last that greed of money had taken possession of • him, until every other wish and pvrpose of. his life had been swallowed up in the pursuit of riches. He was still a young man when he came to the city, but he brought• with him the title of "squire," which he had borne for three years. He took to himself a wife, the daughter of a rich man, and she brought him a hundred thousand dollars for her dowry; but in a few years death had summoned her away, and she bad left no children, whose soft, sweet voices, calling him " father," should melt the cold heart that knew but one love, and that was money. All this 'Squire Dunham thought of, as he sat alone by his table, while the bright light of the chandeliers gilded the gray bead that rested on his hands; and he thought, rich man as he was, that his money didn't pay; that, after all, the great object of his life had been, as the man said, a " losing operation," and he longed to feel that in the wide world there was one human being to feel sorry to hear that he was dead—one hu man being, man, woman or child, who would say, " I am happier this night because you are on earth." And in the midst of want and yearning, a sudden declaration flashed across the mind of 'Squire Dunham. He rose up ana walked again to and fro with his hands be hind him, and his forehead knit with perplexing thought, and a va riety of emotions flitting over his face. But suddenly he stopped, and sat down his foot resolutely. "I'll do it—l will do it this very night :" and he went into the hall and took up his cane. and passed out into the street, contrary to his usual habit— for the night was dark and cold. ' Did you see Mr. Minor, Henry ?" It was a faint, mournful voice which asked this question, and the speaker was a pale, sad-faced woman, whose sunken eyes and hollow cheeks at once told you she was an invalid.— The chamber where she sat was ver y poorly furnished, but everything was neat. A small fire was burning in the grate, and a solitary candle on the stand. "No mother, Mr, Minor wont be at home for a week," answered the boy, slowly, as though he disliked to communicate the news. He was a slender, delicate-looking boy, appar ently in his twelfth year. "It is my last hope," said the mother, looking desparingly on the thin hands which lay in her lap.— "There is no way to pay the rent, and the agent said if I wasn't ready when he called to-morrow, we must go into the street. What will be come of us, my poor children ? hung on to Mr. Minor's getting back, he was so kind to your father before he died ; but my last hope is gone now. I could have earned the mon ey. if it hadn't been for this sickness, brought on by steady sewing, but to morrow we must go into the street." She said the words with great tears slowly chasing themselves down her pale ebeeks. "Don't cry, mother, I earned a shilling this afternoon selling papers, and bought you and Mary each a nice orange," interposed the boy, trying to speak in a bright, hopeful manner. Aid now a small hand was thrust out for the fruit, and a little voice said, earnestly, "Oh mother, don't let us feel bad, now we,ve got the oranges." At that moment there was a loud rap at the chamber-door, which startled the little family, but Harry was not long in ushering into the room an old gentleman who inquired if Mrs. Carpenter resided there. His glance took in the room and its three occupants. and after taking the seat which Harry Carpenter brought him, he said : "I am 'Squire Dunham, and I call ed here to say, Mrs. Carpenter, that I would not press the matter about the rent; that if you could not meet it, you might stay here, and I would not trouble you." A flash of joy went over the three faces, butthe mother brose down in to a sob. "Oh, sir, God in heaven will bless you for this I" and they were the sweetest words which Ste phen Dunham bad beard for many a day. But before he could answer, his gaze was attracted to a mhall Wistful, upturned face in the corner, and its sweet blue eves, and the golden gleam in its firewn hair ' were like that face which shone afar 011' in the morning of his boyhoo'd the hitt43 of Whist* liette firh4trgait Met tht she rose up and came toward him.— "You won't send mamma, and Har ry, and me, into the street, will you?" she said, in her pleasing way ; " 'cause we can't live there when the winds blows, and the rain comes, and the great carriages will go over us; and mamma's sick, and 1 am a little girl, you know, and Harry isn' big enough to do anything but sell papers." flly child," said 'Squire Dunham, "you shall never go in the street! and his voice was not quite steady, and there was a strange moisture about his eyes. He took the little girl on his knees, and she nestled her bright young head on his shoulder, chatter ing away to him, and thinking what a good, kind man 'Squire Dunham was ! The landlord remained some time with his tenants. Many kind words and promises cheered them, for that little head rested softly against his heart, and warmed and gladdened it and before he left, 'Squire Dunham bent down and kissed the little girl, and left two ten-dollar gold pieces in her chubby hand. He went home that night a happier man than he had been for years, sure that three hearts beat lighter because ho was in the world ! And the lesson that Stephen Dun ham learned that night going home in the cars, took deep root in his heart, and brought forth much fruit. WE BLEEP TOO LITTLE. On this subject, J. C. Jackson, celebra ted as a water-cure practitioner in Western New York says: As a habit and fashion with our people, we sleep too little. It is admitted by all those who are competent to speak on the subject, that the people of the United States, front day to day, not only do not get sufficient sleep, but they do rot get sufficient rest. By the preponderance of the nervous over the vital temperament, they need the recuperating benefits which sleep can offer during each night as it passes. A far better rule would be to get at least eight hours, sleep, and, including sleep, ten hours of an incumbent rest.— It is a sad mistake that some make, who suppose them qualified to speak on the subject, in affirming that persons of a highly wrought, nervous temperament, need—as compared with those of more lymphatic or stolid organization—less sleep. The truth is, that where the pow er is expended with great rapidity, by a constitutional law, it is re-gathered slow ly; the reaction after a while demanding much more time for the gathering up of new force than the direct effort demands in expending that force. Thus, a man of the nervous tempera ment, after he has established a habit of overdoing recovers from the effect of such overaction much more slowly than a man of different temperament would, if the bal ance between hie power to rest is destroyed. Ae between the nervous and lymphatic temperaments, therefore, where excess of work is demanded, it will always be seen that, e.t the close of the day's laber, wheth er it has been of muscle or thought, the man of nervous 'temperament who is tried, finds it difficult to fall asleep, sleeps per turbedly, wakes up excitedly, and is more apt than otherwise to resort to stimulants to place himself in a condition of pleasur able!activity. While the man of lymphatic tempera ment, when tired, falls asleep, sleeps soundly and uninterruptedly, and wakes up in the morning a new man. The facts are against the theory that nervous tem peraments recuperate quickly from the fatigues to which their possessors are subjected. Three-fourths of our drunkards are from the ranks of the men of nervous temperaments. Almost all the men in the country who become the victoms of narcotic drug medicine, are of the nervous or nervous-sanguine temperament. Dr. Corell of Philadelphia in the Educa tor, gives the following opinion, corrobora tive of the above as an explanation of the frequency of insanity. lie says: The most frequent and immediate cause of insanity, and one of the most impor tant to guard against, is the want of sleep. Indeed so rarely do we see a recent case of insanity that is not preceded by want of sleep that is regarded as almost a slip precursor of mental derangement. Not withstanding a strong hereditary predis position, if they sleep well they will not become insane. No advice is so good, therefore, to those who have recovered from an attack, or to those who are in del icate health, as that of securing, by all means, sound, regular, and refreshing sleep. "And" says Dr. Spicer, "there is no fact more clearly established in a e physi ology of man than this, that the brain ex pands its energies and itself during the hours of wakefulness, and that these are recuperated during sleep: if the recupera tion does not equal the expenditure, the brain withers--this is insanity. Thifs it is that, in early-English history, pompo u s who are condemned to death by being pv vented from sleeping, always died mviuit ngtniaca ;• Alpo, that thosi wh o iWit . atarvatiiiiiies. Immo ; the b it eft nbrltirMMf tpd eitaremaliet ihlli ,'r !ADVENTURE WITH THE WOLVES DI RUSSIA. A writer in All the Year Round gives the following account of a nar row escape he bad in an attack by wolves while making a sledge journ ey on a tour from the Volga to Jaro slay : At this point in our journey the driver sent the blood dancing though my veins by the alarming cry of "Volga I volka I" "Wolves wolves!" I sprang from my seat, and looking ahead; saw six great, gaunt, and no doubt hungry wolves, sitting exact ly in our way, at a distance of about a hundred yards or less. Our hor ses had huddled themselves together, trembling in every limb, and refused to stir. We shouted and bawled, but the wolves also refused to stir.— My fat friend, gathering a large handful of bay from the sledge bot tom, rolled it into the form of a ball, and handed it to me, saying "match." I understood him at once. The dri ver managed, by a xful lashing and noonooing, to get the horses on, un til we came within a short distance of our enemies. By this time' 1 had succeded in setting fire to the ball of hay, and just as it began to blaze out well, 1 threw it in among them. It worked like a charm. Instantly the wrethes parted, three on each side, and skulked off slowly at right angles, their tails dragging as if they were beaten curs. On dashed our .brave team—lash, lash—noo, noo. "Hurrah !" I shouted, with a lightened heart ; "we are safe this time, thank God !" 'Wait; look back," said fat-sides. I did so, and I saw the wolves, who had joined each other again in the centre track, pausing as if to de liberate. Our horses were going at their utmost speed, the driver stand ing up and useing lash and voice with all his might to urge them on to the station, then only about a mile and a half ahead. Luckily the road or track, as fat as we could see, was free from drift, and our hope was that we could gain the station before the wolves, should they pursue us. Looking back just as we turned a bend in the track, I st . .w the whole pack in swift pursuit. I had often been told that wolves will not attack a party unless in a large pack. Six were no large pack, yet here they were, coming up to at tack us; there was now no doubt about that. Hunger, through a long and severe winter, must have made them daring. With the con sciousness of an Impending death struggle 1 prepared for the result.— My thoughts went for one moment to my wife and children ; for anoth er to the great Disposer of events. Then, throwing off my sheepskin coat, so as not to impede the free action of my arms and legs I sprang on the front seat beside the driver, but with my back to the horses, and my face to the enemy, I said to the driver: "They are coming brother; drive fast but steadily. I have six bullets in this pistol. Don't move from your seat ; but drive right in the centre of the track." My fi►t companion sat still inbis corner, and neither moved nor spoke; I saw the blade of my bear-knife gleaming in his hand. The track had become worse, so that the horses could not maintain their pace. In a short time the wolves ran beside the sledge ; tho horses strained and shot on, keeping their distance, but in forcing our way through a drift we came to a walking pace, and the first wolf on my side made a dash at the horse next him. The pistol was within a foot and a half of his head, and the ball went through his brain. I shouted my triumph in English ; my companion echoed it with a "Bravo!" The second wolf roceived my second fire in the leg, which must have shat tered the bone, for he dropped be hind instantly. "Bravo!" was again cried from the corner. But the same moment was the moment of our greatest danger. My pistol fell into the sledge, as, with a sudden jolt, our horses floundered up to their bellies in a deep drift; then they came to a dead stop, and there was a wolf at each side of the sledge, attempting to get in. My bludgeon still remained. With both hands I raised it high, and brought it down with the desperate force of a man in mortal extremity upon the head of the wolf on my side. He tumbled over on his back, and the skull was afterwards found to have been completely smashed.— As I stopped to regain my pistol, I was astonished to see my companion coolly thrust one of his arms into the wolfs mouth, and as coolly, with the disengaged hand, drawing his knife, with a deep and short cut, across his throat. A peculiar cry among the homes arrested my attention. Looking round, I saw another wolf actually fastened on the off horse by the neck. The driver ivairbetween inc and the wolf. ne cried, "Give me the pistol 1" 1 did so, and the poor horse was free. So, also, were we; for the other Wolf ran off, followed by the ono with the broken leg. The wolf last &a was tumbling among the snow. dri'ter banded me the pistol to pus right, sad begged 'media &bot I the brute. This finished the engage ment. I can now tell how I felt. I could scarcely realize our great deliver ance. The driver secured the car. causes to the sledge, and when we reached the station I was completely exhausted from the reaction of the excitement. My friend of the twen ty stone chuckled much at his own trick upon the wolf he had killed.— Instead of putting his arm in the an imal's open mouth, as I supposed, he had stuffed into it the loose sleeves of his great sheepskin coat, thereby getting plenty of time to cut the mon'ster's throat. His own arm was untouched. But the poor horse's neck and shoulder were much torn. After consuming an enormous quantity of tea and part of our pro visions, we left the station, and with out meeting more adventures, except several diggings out, we arrived at Jaroslay at eight o'clock, having ac complished about thirty miles in thirteen hours. Next morning we found ourselves popular characters in the town. The driver's tongue had not been idle. My rozi volver underwent many an examina tion. The government or local re ward for a dead wolf is three rou bles, which we claimed and received for three. So the wolves, instead of killing us, paid our travelling expen ses. The fourth animal I caused to be skinned, for preservation, as a re membrance of the greatest peril I was ever in. A BRAVE BOY. When I was a boy I lived among the Green mountains of Vermont; in winter making snow forts and sliding down the steep hills, and in summer and autumn wandering over the mountains after flowers or nuts or catching the beautiful trout from the brooks. But my brother in Wis cousin wrote to me to come to him, and I went. Our house was on what was then called "Baxter's Prairie." The prairie was covered with flow ?rs, and the many clear lakes around abounded in fish and ducks ; but our principal food was hoe cake and salt pork. One of our neighbors had had no meat for some time, and getting out of powder they bad no game; so one day they sent up their oldest son, a boy about ten years old, for a piece of pork. As he was carrying it homewards, and going through a piece of woods by "Silver Lake," he heard a rustling of the leaves in a thicket by the roadside. He stopped and listened—all was still. Again he pushed forward, again the leaves rustled behind him, and he thought he heard a stealthy step. Again he stopped; everything was still except the gentle dash of the waves upon the pebbly beach and the rapid beating of his own heart. He dreaded to go forward, and he dared not stay, for he saw night was, approaching, when the woods always echoed with the sound of the hun gry wolf, and the savage bear and the stealthy catamount came out from their dens. So picking up a club, he again started homeward.— Again came the stealthy step be hind him, nearer and nearer, until he saw a gaunt and a savage wolf creeping after him, and as he hurried on still clinging to his meat, the wolf was coming nearer and nearer, and he might at any moment spring upon him. Still the boy, though ho trembled in every limb, did not lose his pres ence of mind. He remembered hav ing beard his father say that if any one faced a wild animal and looked it square in the eye it would not dare to attack him. He turned around, and faced the hungry wolf; and com menced walking backwards towards his home, still along mile and a half away. As the woods grew darker the wolf came nearer, showing his white teeth, with the hair bristling upon his back. The courageous boy knew that if he gave up his piece of pork he was safe, and could run home unmolested, but he knew that there were hungry ones at home awaiting his return. So, backWaids be went, step by step. s the wolt came near, he hit him square upon the bend with a stone, widen with an angry "yelp" the wolf sprang into the thicket, and set up a longand dismal howl. The boy listened to hear if there were any answering howls, and hearing none, took courage; but soon the savage_ beast, maddened with hunger, came at him again.— With his club he gave him a well directed blow between the eyes, which sent him bowling back again into the thicket. Again and again was the contest renewed; many times did the sav age animal make a spring at the lad, and many times did the brave boy beat him off, until at last be came near the log cabin of his parents, when the dissappointed wolf, with a long and wailing howl, dashed away into the woods. Trembling with ex citement, and wet with prespiration, the boy dropped the meat upon the door, crying, "Mother I've got it, sad 1611 exiintusted at his motbeet feet NEW SERIES,--VOL. 4, NO. M. A MOORISH LEGEND. A Span sh Moor, beng in the etve of setting out on a pilgrimage to Mecca, entrusted his money to a man who had hitherto borne aretpu.- tation of unblemished probity. His fortune consisted of two thousand pesants. On his return, he wee tot a little surprised when the reputed honest man denied all knowledge of himself or his money. The pilgrim enter a complaint against him, en treated the judge to help him to ,his property, and took his oath on Vie truth of his statement—but atl. in vain ! The old man's good nalne outweighed all he could say; the plaintiff was nonsuited, and went away in despair. Presently he met an old woman, who was toddling along with the help of a staff. Touched by the stranger's grief, she stopped him, hailed him in Allah,s name, bade him take heart, and listened to his un varnished tale. "Be of good cheer, yowls matt," said she; "maybe with Allah's aid I shall get back your gold. Do you buy a chest, and fill it with sand or mould; only let it be bound with iron and well locked. Then choose three or four discreet men, and come to me. We shall succeed, never fear," The Spanish Moor followed her ad vice punctually. He came with four friends, bringing a chest which the strongest porters could scarcely drag along. "Now follow me," said the old wo man, On reaching the floor of the sup posed honest man , she went in with the Spaniard's four friends, bid ding the latter wait below, and not make his appearance until the chest had been carried up stairs. She now stood in the presence of the hypocrite, where she introduced her four com panions. "Behold !" said she. "Here are some honest Spaniards, about to make a pilgrimage to Egypt. Their treasures are boundless. They pos sess, among other things, ten chests of gold and silver, that they know not where to stow away at present. They would intrust then. to safe hands for a time ; so I, well knowing your honesty and unsullied reputa tion have brought them hither.— Pray fulfil their wishes." Mean while she had the heavy chest brought in, which the pretended hott est man gloated over with greedy looks. But just then the despoiled pilgrim rushed in, impetous)y claim ing back his two thousand pewits. The faithless depository was fright ened lest the young man should re proach him with his treachery in the presence of 'strangers, who Would then take their chest with its uneold treasures, which ho, had already de termined to appropriate to him self. "Be welcome !" he cried tolls Moor. "I was. Almost fiaaring“yoh would never come back, end vetaleut zle.d what I bhould do with taw two thousand pesantiii. Allah be phial* who has brought you -back rife.-• r Here is what belongs to you." The Spanish Moor went away with his treasure as triumphant/ as though he were earryinL , off so mach batty. The old woman begged the rnaster a( the house to put this first chest in:a safe place, while she went and order ed the rest to be sent. She then went off with her four companions. and of course never returnee, WORDS FOR WIVES, I believe the influence of a wife to b. always, for god or for bad, very decided.-- 7 There is not a woman living, unlegialia has forfeited all claim to her hush** respect, but is making her mark day by day upon his character. We men are foolishly proud, and donotolike to let wo men see how they influence us, but we know that outside of our businese--qtad S metimes even in it—all onr doings ar e more or less controlled by our wives, and he is a knave who will not honestly ac knowledge it. Is it a disgrace to a man that, be is kept at home, away from bad compauy, away from doubtful pleasure and fooliph 114- pense through his wife's influence? Soma poor, cowardly souls think so, sad sank' senseless cries against her, who as 'it &sir dian angel, stands between these and their victim: I think the wife 'lva* gMn td supply him with certain things wanted In his own . nature, and in yielding.to inar judgment, her opinion, her deeire ) where, these are on the side of truth and justice heonly follows out the leadings of a di vine will. But though the husband hide or deny it, let the wife be in good chasr.-7 One thing, however, let her understano. worrying, fretting, fault finding, direct atv.i frequent harangues, ill-tempered slum ; anything that looks like suspicion et jtail se, will do no good. These are things a man cannotillat; fetid have driven many into the skimp .4107 were intended to prevent. She looks , pru dence rind judgment who shall indulge, la these. Let her know that the strongblitt intluencee are those which are silent and indirect ; and it is impossible fo: her to he in the right, gently, patiently, consfilleen4.l without its being felt. It may not be, 11.01 C. nowledged to-day, or to-morrow, or ir it may hot do all she hoped it troaddil.b.. Cousteraikihg influences u* bontito Nidag for that, but it is felt aliong:tha tilaiipsat• and 4 1 4144100 Are. over "thisolie j Mut Iwo" and strikes - -Batifer tap hja i e. =MI MEI
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