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:By W. BLAIR.
g , Cita I tetra.
Each human heart doth fondly look
- Back to the long ago; '
To childhood scenes, by field and brook,
Where yet the heart would gladly look,
For youthful joys to flow.
How. yearns the heart to view again
The scents of childhood's days :
The murmuring brook, the waterfall,
The hazel glen, the ancient wall, _
The spot of merry plays.
And when viewed, how sadly changed,
That atmosphere of joy ;
Time hath deranged the longed-for'-scene
No mark is left of what has been, -
Of playhouse, book, or toy. •
The fading eye will sadly gaze •
Upon the childhood scene ; .
And strive to reproduce again t •
The grape vine swing, the weather vane,'
And scenes that once had. been.
But that sad glance is but a dream,
For youthful joys have fled ;
The hopes that kindled in the soul,
And each swjet di-aught from pleasure's
Are burried with the dead. •
Yes, it is written on,the trees,
And on the sky's blue dome,
And zephyrs waft it through the vale,
Wherever time's rude shafts assail,
That "Earth is not our home."
THE LAST TINE.
There's a time for all things; there's a time
to be gay;
There's a time for dark night, and a time for
bright day ;
There's a time when the heart should be
happy and free ;
There's a time when light laughter no 'hug
er should be;
There's a time for sweet youth, and a time
for old age ;
There's a...time when the infant will turn to
, the sage;
There's a•time when the past will a mock
There's a time when the past will appear
but a dream;
There's a time that all dread—there's a last
time in store ;
When the soft smile of loved ones can wel
come no more;
There's a time when at peace in the grave
we shall lie ; '
There's a time when the noblest and biav
• est Irust die.
All my life I had known Mary Moore;
all my life I had loved her.
' Our. mothers were old play-mates, and
first cousins. My first recollections are of
a boy, in a red frock and morocco shoes,
rocking a cradle, in which reposed a sun
ny haired, blue eyed baby,. not quite a
year old.' That boy was mYself-Harry
Church ; that baby was 'Mary .Moore.
Later still, I see myself at the old school
house, drawing my little chaise up to the
door that Mary might ride home.' Many
a beating have I gained on such an occa
sion, for other boys besides me liked her,
and she, I fear, was something of a flirt,
even in her phiaf2re. How . elegantly she
came tripping down the steps when I cal
led her name ; how sweetly her blue eyes
longed at me ; how gaily rang out her'
merry laugh. .No one but Mary could
ever bring her heart so soon . to her lips.
I. folloWed that laugh from the days of
my childhood till I grew an awkward
blushin g youth ; I followed it through the
heated noon of manhood; and now when
the frosts of age are silvering my hair,
and many children climb upon my knee, •
and call me "father," ,I find that memo
ries of youth are strong, and that, even
in gray hairs, lam following the music
When I was fifteen, the first great sor
row of my life came upon my heart. I
was sent to school, and was obliged to part
with Mary. We were not to see each other
for three long years This, to me, was like
a sentence of death, for Mary was like
life itself to me. But hearts are tough
things after all.
I left college ifs all the flush of my nine
teenth year. I was no longer awkward'
or embarrassed. I had grown into a tall,
' slender stripling, with a very good opinion'
of myself both in general and particular.
VIFI thought of Mary Moore it was to im
agine how I could dazzle and bewilder her
with my good looks and wonderful men
tal attainments, and never thinking she
might dazzle and bewilder me still
I was a coxcomb, I know, but as ' youth
and good looks have fled, .1 - trust that I
may be believed when I say that self con
ceit has left me alio. ,
An advantageous proposal "Was made
me at that.time,.and accepting it, I gave
up all idea of a_profession, and prepared ,
,togo to India. Ili my hurried visit home of
two days, I saw nothing of Mary . Moore.
Sho,hitdgone to a boarding school atsome
dittance.nnd was not .erpected honk. un
til" the following May. I uttered: a sigh
to the memory of my, little blue eyed play
mate, and then called myself "a man" a
. In a year, I thought as the vehicle
whirled away froni our door—in a year,
or three at the very most—l will return,
and if Mary is as pretty as she used to be,
why then, perhaps, I may marry her.
And thus I settled the future of a young
) 1 1
"K ., 1 • y whom I had not seen for four years.
I never thong& of:the possibilty of her
refuslng me—neverdreamed that she would ,
not condescend to acceptmy offer.
But *nova • know that 'had, Mary 'met
me then she would haie ; h ad,
renews in the scented; and affected stu
dent she might have found plenty of sport;
but as for loving me; I ishould lia.vefound
myself mistaken. India' was my salvation,
not merely because of my success, but be
cause my laborious industry had counter
acted the evil in my nature, and had made
,me a better nfan. • When at the end of
three years I prepared to return, I said
nothing of the reformation of my self,
and they shall find out for themselves wheth
er lam better worth loving than forme:l
SOCIAL. HoNon.—Every person should
cultivate a nice sense of honor. In a hun
dred different ways • this most fitting ad
junct of the true lady or gentleman is often
tried. • For instance, one is the guest of a
family where, perhaps, the domestic ma
chinery, does not run smoothly. There is
sorrow in the house unsuspected by the
outer world.. Sometimes it is a , dissipated
son, whose conduct is a shame and grief
to his parents ; sometimes a relative, whose
eccentricities and peculiarities are a clbud
on the home. 'Or, wo±at of all, husband
and wife may no t in accord, . and there
may be often bitter words spokeriand harsh
recriminations. In any. of these Cases the
guest is in honor bound to be blind and
deaf, as far as people without are concern
ed. If a gentle word within can do any
good, it may well be said ; but to go forth
and reveal the shadow of an unhappy se
cret to any one, even your nearest friend,
it is an act of indelicacy and meanness al
most unpearalled. Once in the' sacred
precincts of any home, admitted to its pri
vacy, sharing its life, all that you see and
hear is a sacred trust. It is as really con
temptible to gossip of such things as it
would be to steal the silver or borrow the
books and forget to return them.
I picked up many a token from that
land of romance andgold for the friends
I hoped to meet. The gift for Mary
Moore I selected with a beating heart; 'it
was a ring of rough, virgin gold, with my
name and her's engraved inside—that was
all, and yet the sight of the little toy
strangely thrilled me as I balanced it up
on the tip of my finger.
To the eyes of others, it was but a small,
plain circlet, suggesting thoughts perhaps,
by its elegance, of the beautiful white
hand that was to wear it. But not to me
—how much was embodied there—all these
delights were hidden within that ring of
Tall, bearded and sun-bronzed, I knock
ed at the door of my father's house. The
lights in the parlor window,• and the hum
of conversation and cheerful laughter,
showed me that company wan assembled
there. I hoped that sister Lizzie would
come to the door, and I might greet my
family when no st range! eye was carelessly
looking on. ,
But no, a servant answered the sum
mons. They were too merry in the parlor
to heed the long absent one whoasked for
admittance. • A. bitter thought- like this
ran through ray mind as I heard the sound
from the parlor, and I saw the half sup
pressed smile on the servant's face.
I hesitated a moment before making
myself known or asking for any of the
family. And while I stood silent a strange
apparition grew up before me ; from be
hind the servant, peered out a gold= head,
a tiny, delicate form and a tweet childish
face, with blue eyes,•so like to those of
one who Lad brightened my boyhood, that
started me with a sudden feeling of pain.
"'What is your name, my pretty,". I
asked, while the wondering servant held
"And what else?" I asked quickly.
She lifted up her hand to shade her face.
I had seen that very attitude in another,
in my boyhood, many and many a title—
and answered in a sweet, bird like voice:
"Mary Moore Chester," lisped the child.
My heart sank down like lead. Here
was an end to all the bright dreams and
hopes of my youth and manhood. Frank
Chester, my boyish rival, who had often
tried in vain to usurp ,thy place beside the
girl, had succeeded•at last, and had'wen
her away from me. This was the child-z—
-his child and Mary's.
I sank, body and soul, beneath this
blow; and hiding my face in my, hands I
leaned against • the door, while my heart
wept tears of blood. The little one gazed
at me, grieved and amazed, and put up
her pretty lips as if:about to cry, while
the perplexed servant stepped to the 'par
lor and called my sister out to see who it
was that• conducted limself so strangely.
I heard a slight step, and pleasant voice,
"Did'you wish to see in' y.father, sir?"
looked 'up. There stood a pretty,
sweet faced maiden of twenty, not muck
changed from the dear little sister I had
loved so well. M.I ,looked at her for a mo
ment, and then stilling the tempest of my
heart, by a mighty effort I opened my
arms and said:
"Lizzie, don't you know me?
"Harry! oh, my brother Harry!" she
cried, and threw herself upon my breast,
anti vept as if her heart would break.
'I . could not weep. I drew her gently
into the lighted parlor, and stood with her
before them all. '
• There was a rush, and a cry of joy, and
then my father and mother sprang toward
me, and welcomed me home with heartfelt
tears. Oh, strange and passing sweet is
such a greeting to the way-wOrn traveller.
And as I teld my dear old mother to my
heart, and grasped my father's hand, while
Lizzie clung beside me, I felt that all was
not yet lost; and although another had
secured life's most choicest blessing, many
a joy remained for me in the dear sanctu
ary of home.
There were four other inmates of the
4 ; . . • ,
A TAMELY CEIFI3I4PRIt-rDiairOTED TO LITERATURE, LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWS, ETC.
WAINASBOBANKLIN 001 ,_I'LI.,AIMISDAY, JULY 27, 187 L
rooni,- Who had risen on my su.dden en
trance.' :One was: the blue-eyed child
whomi had already seen, and who now
stood beside Frank chester, 'clinging to
his hand. near by stobd Lizzie Moore,
Mary's oldest sister, and in a distant corn
er to hadwhich she hurriedly, retreated
when my name was spoken, stood a tall
S and slender figure, half , hidden by the
heavy window curtains that fell to the
When the first rapturous greeting was
over, Lizzie led me forward with it timid
grace, and Frank Chestergr. asped my hand.
"Welcome home, my boy," he said, with
the loud, cheerful tones I remembered so
well. "You have changed so that I never
would have known you ; but no matter
about that, your heart is in the right place,
"How can you say , he is changed r
said my mother, gently, • "To be sure he
looks older, graver, and more like a man
than' when he went away`; but his eyes
and 'smiles are, the same as ever. It is a
heavy heart whiCh changes him. He is
my boy still."
"Aye, mother, " I answered, sadly, "I
am your' boy stil."
Heaven help me I At that moment I
felt like a boy, and it would have been a
blessed relief to have wept upon her bo
som as I had done in my infancy. But I
kept down the beating of my heart, and
the tremor of my lip, and answered quietly,
as I looked into his full handsome face—
, "You have changed, too, Frank, but I
think for the better."
Oh, yes—thank you forthe compliment,"
he answered with a hearty laugh, "My
wife tells me that I am getting handsom
er every day."
His wife! Could I hear that name and
keep silent still.
- And - have you seen my little girl?" he
. the iufanto in his arms, and
kissing her crimsoned cheek. "I tell you,
Hairy, there is no such other in the world.
Don't you think she looks very much like
her mother used to ?"
"Very much." I faltered.
"Hallo !" cried Frank, with a sudden
ness which made me start violently. "I
have forgotten to introduce you to my
wife; I believe you and she used to be
playmates in your younger days—yes,
Harry," and he slapped me on the back—
"for the sake old‘times, and because you
were not at the wedding, I will give you
leave to kiss her once, but mind, old 'fel
low, you are never to t repeat the cerettio
ny. Come, here she is ;:I for one want to
see how you will manage thoSe ferocious
moustaches of yours in the operation."
He pushed Lizzie, laughing and blush
ing, towards me. .4 gleam of light and
hope almost too dazzling to bear came
and Icried out before I thought.
"Not Mary !"
I must have betrayed my secret to ev
ery one in the room. But nothing was
seicl; even Frank, in -general so obtuse,
was this time silent. I kissed the fair
cheek of the young wife, and hurried to
the silent figure looking out of the window.
"Mary—Mary Moore!" I said in a low,
eager tone, "have you no welcome to give
She turned, and laid her hand in mine,
and said hurriedly—
"l am glad to see you here,
Simple words, and yet how blessed they
made me. I would not have yielded her
up that moment for an emperor's crown.
For there was, the happy home group and
dear horns fireside, and with Sweet Mary
Moore. Cie eyes I had dreamed of day
and night were falling beneath the ar
dent gaze of mine, and the sweet face I
had so long prayed to see was there beside
me. I never kneity the meaning Of hap
piness until that time.
Many years have pawed since that hap
py night, and the hair that was dark arid
glossy is fast turning gray. I am now
grown to be an old man, and can look
back to a happy, and I hope a well spent
life. And yet, sweet as it has been, I
would not recall a single day, for the love
that made my manhood so bright, shines
also upon my white hairs.
An old man I Can this be so? At heart
lam as young . as ever. And Mary, with
her bright hair parted smoothly from a
brow that has a slight furrow upon it, is
still the Mary of other dtiys. • To me she
can never grow old or change. Vhoheart
that held her ininfancy and' sheltered her
in the flush and beauty of womanhood,
can never cast her out till life shill cease
to *arm it. Not even then, for love still
lives 'above. ' •
Srmsm Wisicar.—Look well to your
spending: No matter what comes in, if
more goes out you will always bC , .
The art •is not mmakingmoney, but keep
ing it ;little expellees, like mice , hi a'harn,
when they are many make great waste.—
gal; by hair heads get bald; straw by
straw the thach goes •off the cottage; , and
drop by drop the rain comes—Jilt°. the
chamber. 'A barrel is soon einpty, if . the
tap leake but tivilrop. a minute, .When
you mean to save, begin with your mouth ;
there are many thieves down the red
lane. The ail jug is a great . waste.
In all other things keep within compass.
Never stretch your legs further than the
blankets will reach, or you will soon be
cold. In clothes, choosesuitable and last
ing stuff, and not tawdry fineries. To be
warm is the main thing; Never mind
the looks, A fool may make money, but
it needs a wise man to spend it. Remem
ber,,it is easier to build two chimneys
than to keep on going. If you give all
to back and board, there is nothing left
for the saving bank. Fare hard and work
bard while you are young, and youhave a
chance of rest when you ate old.
Out in lowa kisses axe sold at fairs by
the fair. A man pays a certain sum to
the general fund, and then selects the girl
or woman he desires to kiss.
BY MARY FERN.
0, who would wed a dry-goods store? •
Not I so foolish be,
For in life I think there's something more,
Than being seen and to see.
"That's so," as they say out • West.—
There is komething more in life than to
follow after fashion.
: This trailing the
streets for display, that they may show
off their silk dresses, is far from becoming
„in ladies. They should be in better busi
ness, especially if they, covet the 'regard
and admiration of the other sex. I tell
you .what it is,
ladies, the men ` care not
for your costlyfinery,but look upon your
selves to see if they can discover aught
that is lovely , or disirable in your person.
You sit disconsolate in your houses. while
the' rain comes pouring down, and you
long for the storm- to cease, that you may
once again sail along in sunshine upon
the crowded pave, and spread out your
many colors. Now r dear ladies. don't be
angry with me, and pout your dainty lips,
and think that I 'misjudge you, or wish to
depreciate your worth. Not so--I ever
would be the friend of woman, and while
I would build up her virtue and the no
ble traits of character ahe evinces, still I
must not fail to expose her points of weak
ness and folly,. else I should be untrue to
my mission. I would speak the truth in
its simple plainness, and when I tell you
that a man, intelligent and educated, .
when selecting a companion for life, enters
not the ball-room to choose from its gay
assemblage a partner of his joys and sor
rows; but seeks by the fireside of some
peaceful home for his object. I hope you
will agree with me that he obtains the
pure gold while the dross is left behind.
I speak for your highest good, -therefore,
I hope you may be inclined to heed my
advice. and profit by it. Lay aside your
robes of ornamental mockery and prove
yourselves true women, such as true men
adore. Home is a far superior place to
the street promenade. If you are indus
trious you will show yourselves worthy
the friendship of every high minded per
son, and though your trappings are laid
aside yet you will net be forgotten, but
your memory will be pleasant.
Lay aside the little jockey hat—leave
behind your sashes and embroideries; and
appear as God created you, and you will
be considered by all whose opinion is wor
thy of acceptance, far more prepossessing
than when topped off with the baubles of
vanity.. Do you believe all this, ladies ?
You cannot do otherwise, for your good
sense "must teach you all, and' even• mare
than is here' asserted. You' must know
that fashion or gold =not ensnare a true
heart—one with which it would' be a bles
sing rather than a burden
and misery to live. The true seek thetrie
and not the semblance of it' The weak
minded are enticed by those whose lack
of wisdom .and discernment is equal to
their own. Art thou a woman who seek
eth to please some such a heart, and doth
thou ever dream of the grief thou causeth
'him who doateth on thee, by thy extrav
agance, and thy eagerness for public ad
miration, when there remains one heart
thou should'st please rather than the world
without the circle of what should be a
"Away, away—you're much tho Same,
A smiling, flat'ring,jilting throng;
And wise too late I burn with shame,
Po think I've been your slave so long."
Such thought the poet of inconstantwo
men, and thus do all men think, yet un
like him they seldom have the courage to
break entirely away from the presence or
society of women. I myself would, not
centure woman to any great degree, my
only object being to turn her attention to
the right path that she may pursue it.—
Look out; ladies, for Harry Is on the field
of conflict, and friend as well as foe may
feel the power of his weapon.
T READY - REcKowEß.—"Father, do
you remember that mother asked you for
two dollars this mornine"
"Yes, my child, what of it?"
"Do you remember that mother didn't
get the two dollars?"
"Yes. And I remember what little
girls don't think about."
"What is that, father?"
remembir that we are not rich, but
you seem in a brown study. What is my
daughter thinking about?"
"I was thinking how much one cigar
"Why, it costs ten cents—not two dol
lars, by a long shot."
"But ten cents Alms times a day is
thirty cents." • -
"That is as true as the multiplication
"And there are seven day.in the week."
"That is so, by the almanac."
"And seven times thirty cents are two
dollars and ten cents." . • ,
"Hold on. I'll surrender:. Here, take
the two dollars to • your mother, and
tell her that I'll do without cigars for a
"Thank you, father; but if you would
only say a year, it would save more than
a hundred dollars. Wewould have shoes
and dresses, and mother a nice bonnet,
and lots of pretty things."
. "Well, to make my little girl. happy, I
will say a year.
"Oh! that will be so nice! But would
it not be about as easy so say always!
then we would have the money every year,
and your lips would be so much sweeter
when you kiss us."
A young man living in Lafayette, Ind.,
is - humility personified. The other day
he asked a young lady if he might be al
lowed the priviledge of going home with
her, and was indignantly refused • upon
which he ing . • very humbly , she
would permit him to sit on the fence and
see her go by.
The Age of Our Earth.
Among the astounding discoveries of
modern science is that of the immense pe
riods that have passed in the gradual for
mation of the earth. Scr vast were the
cycles of the time preceding even the ap
pearance of man on the surface of our
globe, that our own period seems as yes
terday when compared with the epochs
that have gone before it. Had we only
the evidence of the deposits of rocks, heap
ed upon each other regular strata by
the slow accumulation of material, they
alone would convince us of the long and
slow maturing - of God's works on earth,
but when we add to these the successive
populations of whose life this world has
been the theatre, and whose remains are
hidden in the rocks into which the mud,
or sand, or soil of whatever kind, on which
they lived has hardened in the course of
time—or the enormous chains of moun
tains whose upheaval divided these peri
ods of quiet accumulation by great con
vulsions—or the change of a different na
tare in the configurations of our gdobe, as
the sinking of land beneath the Ocean, or
the gradual rising of continents and Is
lands above—or the slow growth of the
coral reefs, those wonderful sea walls rais
ed by the little ocean architects, whose
own bodies furnish both the building stones
and cement that binds them together, and
who have worked so buisily during the
long centuries, that there are extensive
countries, mountain chanes, islands and
long lines of coasts, consisting solely of
their reniains=or the countless forests
that have have grown up and flourished
and decayed, fill the storehouses of coal
that feed the fires of the human raee-Lif
we conclude all .thesexecords of the past,
the intellect fails to grasp a chronology
of which our experience furnishes data ;
and time that lies behind us seems as
much an eternity to our conception as the
future that , stretches indefinitely before
A Bin OE POETICAL .Pnos,—Tell us
not in idle jingle "marriage is an empty
dream ;" for , the girl is dead that's single,
and things are not what they seem. Life
is real, life is earnest, single blessedness a
fib ; "Man thou art, to man returneth,"
has been spoken of the rib. Not enjoy
ment and not sorrow is our destined end
or way, but to act that each to-morrow
finds us nearer marriage day. Life is
long and youth is fleeting, and our hearts
though light and gay, still like pleasant
drums are 'beating wedding marches all
the day . In the world's broad fields of
battle, in the bivouac of life, be not like
dumb driven cattle—be a heroine—a
wife ! Trust no future, however pleasant:
let the dead past bury their dead ; act—
act in the living present, heart within
and hope ahead. Lives of married folks
remind us we can make our lives as well
and, departing, leave behind us such ex
amples as shall "tell"--such examples
that another, wasting time in idle sport, a
forlorn, unmarried brother seeing, shall
take heart and court. Let us, then,'be up
and doing, with 'a heart on triumph, set;
still pursuing, And each one a husband
How TO BUILD & LlFE.—Ruskin, in
one of his Oxford lectures, says: "I pray
you with all earnestness to prove, and
know within your hearts, that all things
lovely and righteous are possible for those
who believe in their possibility, and who
determine that, for their part, they will
make every day's work contribute to them.
Let every dawn of morning be to you as
the beginning of life, and every setting
sun be as its close; then let every one of
these short lives leave its sure record of
some kindly thing . done for others—some
gOdly strength gamed for yourselves,; so
from day to day, and strength to strength,
you shall build up indeed, by art, by
thought, and by yust will, an ecelesia of
England of which it shall not be said,—
`See what manner of stones are here," but
'See what manner of men."
Why will men be naughty and neglect
the sweets of domestic life for the bitter
waters of the tavern 4 - There was Tommy
B—, who one night returned to his
domicil in a state of uncertainty that was
rediculomi. Pushing heavily against the
door, it opened, and Tommy fell sprawl
inn. across the threshold. His prolonged
and ineffectual efforts to regain an erect
position aroused his wife, in bed in the
next room, who said, "Tommy is that
you.? What is the matter?" 'Yes, it's
me; laothites the matter, 'cept this here
bee's got too much honey on its wings to
g-g-git into the hive."
Honor If there is one word• that fills
the heart withjoy, it is "home ;" home is ,
an old word, yet it has invincible power
that can never lessen or wear out. There
is no other word in language that clusters
so many pleasing affections, and that so
powerfully excites our feelings. We are
bound to it by ties of early affection, by
years of childhood, by a father's and broth
er's friendship, • by a mother's and sister's
love. Home; murmur but its name, and
what happy recollections shoot through
the heart, and our brain is wild with emci
tion.• Our spirits, however depressed by
sorrow or affliction—however much we
have been stunned by the rough change
of life, sometimes turns to the memories of
"home, sweet home."
, Mr WrvEs.—ln a certain cemetery in
a town in Connecticut can be found a lot
containing, five graves, one in the centre,
the others near by at the four points of the
compass. The inscriptions on the latter
read, respectively, after the name of the
deceased: "My L Wife," "My 11. Wife,"
"My 111. Wife," "My 1111. Wife," while
the centre stone bears the brief but elo
quent expression, "Our Husband."
'RH •L(ILLT LIFE
A little flower so lenely grew,
So lonely was it left,
That heaven looked like an eye of blue
Down in its rockey cleft.
What could the little flower do,
In such a darksome place.
But try to reach that eye of blue,
And climb to kiss heaven's face?
And there's no life so lone and low.
But strength may still be given,
From narrowest lot on earth to grow,
The straighter up to heaven.
BY JOSEE BILL=GB.
Hash iz made out ov east oph vittles.
Hash haz done, more for the human race
than almost enny other breed ov food.
For breakfasts small tender loin steak,
BUM few ham & eggs. 3 baked' potatoes,
a plate ov buttered toast, sum slap jacks,
2 cups ov wily, and slim hash iz good.
I like to eat hash this - way better than
Sum pholks alwuz raize their noze up
at hEh. •
If yu. search history with, one eye: yu
will find these pholks, 20 or 30 years ago,
more or less, were born on hash.
I seen hash miself that i had mi
doubts about, but i et it, and still liv.
I love hash as a principle, and this iz
mi rule i 'watch the.landlady, and if she
eat; it, ,i take the second plate.
This makes me very popular at all the
boarding houses which i attend.
If folks would be a little more penur
ious with there hash, and not get stubs of
tallo kandles, babys morocko shoes, and
now and then a fine tooth comb, that want
more than half worn out, into their hash,
hash would stand to-day at the head of
all mux food.
FAN FLIRTATIONS.—Fan fast—l am
Fan slow—l am engaged. _ '
Fan with right hand in front of face—
Fan with left hand in front of face—
Leave me. •
Open and shut—Xiss me.
Swinging the fan—Can I see you home?
Fan by right cheek—Yee.'
Fan by left cheek—so.
• Tp cary in the left. hand--desirous of
Carry with handle •to lips—l will flirt'
with you " • .
QUEER IDEAs.--The queer ideas some
people have of nature's workings some
times exceedingly laughable. A French
minister recently declared that insurance
. was flying in the face of heaven. "To
insure one's property," he said, "Oh, My
hearers, is a crime!. Calamities of all
sorts are chastiseMents from on high. I
you insure your property you prevent
God from punishing you, should he see fit
to do so. This is equal to the od Pew:
sylVaiak Dutchman, who contributed
erally toward building a church, and WO.
afterwards solicited to pay something more
towardsfurnishing it +with a lightning-rod.
"No," said he; "I pay fifty lollars to help
puild a: church for de Lord.;4ind now if
he choose' to tundei on it, ank i talockit
down, he do it at his own risk." '
THINGS i HAVE 13EVER have
never seen such hard times' as the present,
in all my life. I have neverseen old maidt,
decidedly opposed to matrimony. I shaini
never seen a pretty girl that did not know
it. I have never seen a lawyer refuse a
fee on account of his client's poverty. I
have never seen a woman that was tongue- .
tied. I have never seen rich men prefer
marrying poor girls. I have never seen
but one lady use a bed wrench and gin to '
tighten her corsets. I have never seen a
woman die with the lockjaw.
It is an old story, but a good one, that
tells of a very negligent man who was go
in; away, on a visit to some friends.—
Ills wife extorted from a solumn promise
that he would abandon his usual custom
and put on 'a clean shirt every day. So
he packed a dozen in his trunk. When
he come hdme again, his wife was glad to
perceive he had grown more fleshy; but
she was alarmed when on examining his
trunk she discovered there was not a shirt
in it. He had kept promise to mount
a clean one every day, but he always put
it on over the others, and, now he was
sporting around with a whole dozen on
A traveling Yanked9ately put up at a
country inn where a ntuilber of loung ers
were assembled telling stories. After°sit
ting some time and attentively listening
to their folly, he suddenly turnedandask
ed them how much they supposed he had
been offered for his dog, which he had
with him. They all started, and curiosi-*
ity was on ti to to know ; one guesed five
dollars, anot ierten dollars, anotherfifteen,
until they had exhausted their patience,
when one of theni seriously asked how
much he had been offered. "Not a darn'.
crent," he replied.
. A traveler, who saw a pretty little girl
la the same car with himself, says: "Ina
few years, thought I; that infant will be an
ornament to societyebut had she better
not die? Very soon, they wirtie. some
dead man's hair to the back of her head,
fasten her ribs With a comet, hang a bird
cage around her lower limbs. Worse
than thal,,when she arrives at maturity
she willibe compelled to determine wheth
er she is for protection orfmtrade, to un
derstand the intricacies 'tie' : pig iron ' and
go to the polls and vote." -
82,00. PER YEAR
UKBER - . - 5 - .
A school girl's conundrum is : What
State is round on both ends and high in
the middle ? Ohio.
"Now, my little boys and girls," said a
teacher, "I want you to be very quiet—so
that you can hear a pin drop. In a
minute all was silent, when a little boy
shrieked, "Let her drop 1"• _
"Sam." said one little urchin, to,•anoth.
er "does your schoolmaster ever give you
and rewards of merit ?" "I s'pose he does
was the reply ; "hegives me a thrashing
ev • , day, and says I merit two." •
Dr. Hall has written a long article to
prove that it is unhealthy for a man and
wife to sleep in the- same room, but the
Rome, Ga., Commercial knows of some
wives that would make it unhealthy 'for
eir husbands to sleep anywhere else.
A Virginia editor has come to the con
clusion that a man might as well under
take to hold himself at arm's length aild .
then turn a double somersalt over a meet,;
ing-house steeple as to attempt to publisk
a paper &at will suit everybody.. .
young lady at a western temperance
meeting said : "Brethren and sisters, cider
is a necessity. to me and I must—. have it.'
It is decided, that we are not to drink ci
der. I shall eat app kii and get some
young man to squeeze r e for I cannot
live without the juice of tlie apple."
A colored poet of Memphis has reduced
the fifteenth amendment and the enforce
ment bill to rhyme, as follows: -
"It is a sin to steal a pin,
-A crime tip cut a throat,
But a darned sight bigger to stop a nigger
From ibutting th hiavote,"
Bum ANcenum,—The grab' old • cap
tain P., was once half bored to death by
a certain inquisitive passenger, but he
silenced him, however,' when the latter,
pointing to a cow on the lower deck, re
marked-.-" That's a- nice cow, Captain."
"Yes, sir." "Is it the only cow on board ?"
"No, sir, with the exceptions . of the ani
mal in front of me." Curious passenger
suddenly thought he' saw a porpoise and
rushed tbr his operaglass.
Patrick saw a bull paWing •in a field,
and thought what • Itna •it would be to
jump over, catch him by the horns and
rub his nose in the dirt. ,The idea was
I:fuhny that he lay dOwn and laugh to
%link of it. The more he thought of it.
funnier it seemed, and he determineil
to do it.. The bull quickly tossed him o
ver the fence again somewhat bruised.—
Pat leisure ly picked himself up with the
consolatory"remark ; "Well, it's a mighty
foiue thing ,had my laugh foorst
A Hrr.—ln 4 fye olden tymes" the meet
ing houses were fitted with two galleries,
one far j *h sex. &minister at Newbury
*as iliteitipted one Sunday in his sermon
by talking.. He stopped short in his dis
course, arid remarked that he wished that
talking wiOld cease in 'tl49. galleries, di.
renting hies st the saran , time, to the
wonples side-t-wherupon a tenerable
-te and said that it was, not in,their
.galley,,butuo the men's ."I'mglad
of it then,','.replied the person,."for thew
it will -be likely to stop the sooner!":
COULDN'T SEE IT.--"Old Trotter"; is .
an eccentrie,genius,lho `drivesl.the first
stage out offtirt Riney westward. The
.following is related of him : "One day
tke stoped a man on the road who drove a
4inserable team of sick and aged little
and with the ejaculation,"Look
a here, ; I know a man th at would
give you eight hundred dollars if he could
see them mules." "Why," exclaimed the
man, startled by such an unexpecte.dpr_as
pect ef luck, "yeon daon't say 50... Who
is he;. `;He's a blind man," said Trotter:
OUGHT IT VOS THE OLD • 3Luc.—A
Dui:Chinni, who in a fit of passion, was.
swearing, 'terribly, was reproved by a
church deacon, who chanced to overhear
"Why do you swear so, Hanse l" said
the deacon; "don't you know that it is a
"Yaw, I know it pese a sin.
"Do you know," said the deacon, anx
ious to sound the depths 'of his religious
teachings; "do you know who died tosave
"Yaw," said Hans; "Cot died to save
'"Not God, exactly, Hans, but the Son
"SO!" exclaimed Hani, a new light
breaking in upon him; "vos it one of de
boys? I dirls all de Odle it vos de 4d
TAKE rr EAsr.—Old father Hodge was
a queer dick, and, is his own way, • made
everything a subject of rejoicing.
'is son Ben male one day and said--
"Father, the old black sheep has got
"Good," says the old than, "that's the
most profitable sheep on the farm.'.
"But one of. them is dead," returned
"I'm glad on't," says the father,
be better for the old sheep."
"But tother'ajlead, tocirsays :Ben.
._"Sa much the better, ,
"She'll.make a grand piece of mutton m
"Yes but the Old'sheep's dead too, ex
elaitned Bra. •
"Detudi•Ldeatil the old sheep dead?
.eried old-Hodge, "that's good; she was al
ways an ugly hal scamp:"
He only is independent who can main-.
tain himself by his own exertions, unaid
ed and alone-