The Waynesboro' village record. (Waynesboro', Pa.) 1871-1900, May 16, 1872, Image 1
c% ' c ‘ 6l '4 atiittstT +l,l, J ItO i agt ttartre BY W. BLJIIR. VOLUME 24. c$ elect Vottrg. • '7 ' , or. ,ter -.7•• ".? SOFT SPRING AIRS Come up,.eome up, 0 soft spring airs, Come from your silver shining seas, Where all.day long you toss the wave About the low and palm-plumed. keys! Forsake the spicy lemon groves, The babas and blisses of the South, And blow across the longing land 'le breath of your delicious mouth. .Come from tbe almond bough you stir, The myrtle thicket where you sigh— Oh, leave the nightingale, for here, The robin whistles far and nigh! For here the victlet in the wood Thrills with the sweetest you 6• a : And wrapped away from life and love The wild iv:Jed-reams, fain would wake • _ . • • • .nd rub and grass And tiptoe in the dark and.cle.w, Each sod of the brown earth aspires To meet the suu„ the sun and you Then come,.o fresh spring airs, once more Create the old delightful things, .And woo the frozen world again With hints of heaven upon your wings. SPEI4.G. Thrice-bleasei - Spring! -thou-bearest IM2M Sunshine and song and fragrance, all are Nor unto earth aloue ; T ou ast a essing or t e uman seam Balm for its wounds and _healing for its =art; Telling of Winters flown And bringing hope upon thy rainbow wing, Type of eternal life—tlsice-blessed Spring. ,ji lisrrllaueou* Paiiing. ALICE. BY MRS. M. A. DF.XLSON "Yes," said the girl passionately, "my life is -too narrow, too full of petty cares. Would it be any broader if I married you ? You don't know what you ask ; you don't know what au unhappy, dis .satistied girl I am ; how tired of every .thing about me.. From. Monday morn ing till Saturday night, I must perform ,the same tiresome duties. Then there is : always the rehearsal on Saturday, and the singing on Sunday. My lather reads his sermon to me in the middle of the week, so that is nothing new. Don't ask me to be your wife, Louis; you would be sorry in a year ill said yes." "I thought you loved me;" said the young man, sauly. "So Ido; at least I think do," she .added with a curious ingenumisness. "I am sure, Louis, I love no one better than you; but I tell you this kiusLof life don't suit me." "What would suit you, dear." '"I hardly dare s to.say ; but I should 'like to be something.great— z to be & looked up to—admired—spoken of with enthu siastic praise. I should prefer to live in a city where I could see great people and art galleries and 'go to concerts-yes, and -to the theatre, though father thinks it so wicked." "Ali, Alice, dear, your hiead is turned, iuot heart ; pray God not your heart. Go ing to the great city has changed you ; Amt).•yet, if I remember, you did not like your rich relatives." -"Nc, nor they me; hat they found me ;very handy. I could make over their ~dresses and embroider dainty little neck -ties, and. erve them in a thousand ways; -vet, slave-life though it w.ss, in one. sense 'they have invited me, aud I am going there again, to stay six weeks." • "Oh, A /ice !" "And then, when I come back—if I .do"—she paused a moment, for Louis' face Fad changed, and, after all, she did love him better than she knew—"l will give you yrizr answer." . "If you c nie back. Good-bye, Alice." "Are you. going ?" ."Why shduld I stay ? You will not come back, Alice. Good-night and good bye." "Good-byethen," she answered proud ly,l and hurry into the porch of the par soilage, hot te Ts crowdinn• b up to her eyes. "1 don't carefor him at all ; why should I cry ?" she asld herself angrily as she entered the i.larletr. "Alice," her lather called, "bring me my Church-IfistOky. Thank vou, child; but what makes yetu so pale, birdie ?" "Nothing, fathdr, only I'm tired.— Good-night," and •i t llice sought her own m roo .„. Citne week more aind Alice was on-her way to the city, to live (mr again what had been before a lif of torture—render ed endurable, howeve , by one cherished, underlying purpose. 1: er mind was made up. People told he she had talents. Her father, even, who deldom praised,tad once said that lie feare for his poor little girl, because she had g nius. Madame Lc -Ark h". once fo an importune storti• of wretchedness h upon her sympathies. had several calls that morning, none of them pleasant; but she seldom permitted the poor to leave her empty-handed, and she was wont to say that such people were better worth studying than all her books. From their voices, gestures, their pathos and their pleading, she learned much. There was a knock at the door of her beautiful parlor, and Mari, her favorite maid, came in, "Another applicant?" asked the mad ame. "Yes, but perhaps it is not best that madame sees her, though she is very dif ferent from the rest." "What is she like, Marie ?" "Like a rose, madame—the daintiest flower of a country maid," said the girl, "with a face so sweet that I almost hope you will see her. After those sorrowful ones, I think it would•do you good ma dame" ATerhaps it would. Ask her up ; I am /rested now." Very beautiful was the slight young creature who entered the parlor a moment afterward.' Her dress was of pure white, as fresh and delicate as it could well be. heacLw_as_k_t pretty hat,, edged with a single fall of lace. A. cape as sim ple in its fashion as her face was pure and innocent,fell at her waist. Smooth, though well-worn gloves fitted her hands, and she -look-ed-as-the-maid-had-said,_ a_very,_ rose, for freshness and beauty. For some moments the great artist gaz ' ed delightedly upon this vision of natural grace—so pure, so refined, so artless. "What did you wish of me, my dear?" The girl started ,and trembled a little. Her cheeks were covered with blushes as she said, lifting her blue eyes reverently : "I saw you last night." "Well, and what - did you think of me?" _asked the woman, stain ! . • _ “Lougtft —oh7l — tholghlihat to an b l e c as gifted and as great as you, I would sac rifice—almost----life itself." "And perhaps honor ?" The woman's eyes glittered. Her voice •-• s , . from between closed teeth. "Who• are you ?" she asked, a moment after. "My name is Alice Graham. lam on ly a country girl, but I feel there is that within me would raise m?. to greatness. I have a talent for the stage. I can recite for yuu if you wish it: Oh, madame, you have influence; your position is great; your name is written among the stars— will you let me come where you are ? Will you find me some humble place where I can learn to be like you ?" _ "Like me—to be like me ! Poor child, are you mad '.?" Alice looked at her, startled by the hol low ring of her voice. "I say, are you mad ? Come, now, you want me:to be your friend. I will be the best friend you ever had. Oh, you are so like what I was ! Heaven keep you from becoming what I am ! You shrink from me. That is as I would have it. Keep as fitr from me as you can—vou are too pure to touch me. Listen. My father was a clergyman—a quiet, holy, devoted man. Perhaps he sometimes forgot he had a child ; but he loved me. I was addicted to that habit of reading and memorizing plays. Night after night I sat up devour ing the tragedies of Shakespeare, until at last the passion become so overpowering that I determined to seek the city anden ter upon the theatrical profession. I had no mother to wound; she was dead. My beauty attracted instant attention. Suc cess turned my head—flattery ruined me. To-day I am a mother and no wife ; and well fbr me if my son does not curse the name of the mother who bore him." Alice was weeping. "You are young and beautiful. When you asked to come here you cannot dream of the perils that may beset you. Like me you may live to cry out,"l am lost !" Like me you may hear that your father has gone bivken-harted to the grave; that the man who loved you, and. 'whom you loved—if there be such—is the husband of a happy wife. You may weep fur the priceless love you threw from you, fbr life of care, of hardly-won ease, of hateful splendor. Then, child, I don't mean to make you cry ; but I do say, that willing ly would I die to-morrow could I bring back my innocent youth. Go home, young girl ; and when you are tempted to be great, think of the "star" you saw last night, blazing with a false lustre ; and re member how to-day you have seen the set ting of every fair star of hope in one hu man bosom." Alice went from the madame's palace house heavy-hearted. Life in its aims seemed changed to her as she turned her tikce homeward. "Oh, fhther ! oh, Louis !" she cried, soft ly, "I could not have los4, you both. God help me henceforth to be content." bo she returned to the old personage, and Louis—who had expected that she would find a home in the city—heard she had come back, and hastened, fleet-footed, to the dear old gray house. Together. they stood again in the porch, and this time there were sweet, caressing voices, and the perfume of the yuses waft ed by them—and a kiss was given and re turned—the precious kiss of betrothal.— Wood's Household Magazine.. OunsELvEs.—To acquire a thorough knowledge of our own hearts and charac ters, to restrain every irregular inclination, to subdue every rebellious passion, to pu rify the motives of our conduct, to form ourselves to that temperance which no pleasure can seduce, to that meekness which no provocation can ruffle, to that patience which no affliction can overwhelm and that integrity which no interest can shake ; this is the task which is assigned to us—a task which cannot be performed without the utmost diligence and care. I d just given audi woman. whose d drawn lu'rgelv Indeed, she hu.d We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts not breaths. Drawing Lots for Death Col. Henry W. Sawyer was among the Federal prisoners in Liby prison at the time the Confederate government - deter mined to retaliate in kind the execution of two rebel officers by one of the Federal Western generals. Mr. Sawyer was at that time a captain in the First New Jer sey cavalry, and was one of the grade of officers from whom selections were to be made for the victims to Confederate ven grancT. The officer who had charge of the prisoners at that time was a kind hearted, agreeable man and was regarded by them with feelings of gratitude and affection. On the morning in question, 1 this 'officer entered the room where the prisoners were confined and told all the officers to walk into another I oom. this order was obeyed with particular alacrity, as the prisoners were daily expecting to be exchanged, and it was supposed that the order had arrived, and that they were about to change their prison quartet's for home and freedom. After they had all e gathered in the room their countenances lighted up with this agreeable hope, the -officer-came-hramong-themrand—with-a very grave face took a paper out of his pocket and told them he had a very mel ancholy duty to perform, the purport of which would be better understood by , the reading of-th-e-order-ite-had-in-his hand, which he had just received from the War Department. He then proceeded to read to the amazed and horrified• group an order for the immediate execution of two of their number, in retaliation for the hanging of two Confederate officers. As the reader ceased the men looked at each other with blanched faces, and a silence like death prevailed for some minutes in the room. The Confederate officer then uggested - - - that=perhapthe=better=war would be to place a number of slips of paper equal to the . whole number of offi cers from whom the victims where to be selected in a box, with the word "death" written en two of them and the rest blank —the two men w o I rew tie aMips to be the doomed men. The drawing then commenced, the men advancing and tak ing out a slip, and if it proved to be a blank, taking their places in another part of the room. The drawing had proceeded for some time, and fully a third of the officers had exchanged gloomy looks of apprehension for a relieved aspect they could not avoid showing after escape from such terrible peril, before a fatal death . - slip bad been drawn.• At the end of a bout this period, however, the first slip was drawn, and . the name of "Captain Henry W. Sawyer, of the First New Jersey cavalry," was called out as the unfortunate.man. The captain was, of course, deeply agitated, but did not lose his self-possession. He immediately be gan revolving in his mind some plan for averting; or at least postponing the im mediate carrying out of the sanguinary edict of the Confederate government, and by the time that he was joined by his companion in misfortunewho had turn ed out to be Captain Flynn, of an Indi ana regiment—he had resolved upon his course. The officer in command, as soon as the drawing was completed, ordered the two men to be taken out and executed. Captain Sawyer, however, demanded, as a request that no civilized nation could .efuse under such circumstances, that he should have permission to write to his wife, to inform her of the terrible fate that await him, and to have her come on and bid him an eternal farewell. Respite for a day or two was thus obtained, and Sawyer subsequently obtained an inter view with the Secretary of War, and se cured permission to write to his wife, which he did. 'His object in writing to her was principally for the Federal gov ernment to be made acquainted with the predicament in which the officers had been placed, and secure hostage and threaten retaliation should the orders of the rebels be carried out. It turned out. precisely as Sawyer hoped and expected. Our government was informed of the condition of affairs, and promptly seized a son of General Lee, and one of some other prominent general, and threatened to hang them if the Union officers were executed. By this means the lives of the two were saved, as the Confederate govern ment did not dare to carry out their threat. After a few mouths"' more con finement, Captain Sawyer wage xchanged. Captain Flynn, his companion in misfor tune, came out of the ordeal with his hair as white as snow, turned gray by the mental sufferings he endured. Capt. Sawyer served through the war. A. SHREWD CoNTruvAncE.—Patrick Hughes, of Harlem, took a contract last week to dig a well. When , he had dug about twenty-five feet down, it caved in and filled nearly to the top. Pat looked cautiously around and seeing no person near, took off his hat and coat, hung them on a windlass, crawled into some bushes •and awaited events. In• a short time the citizens discovered that the well had caved in, and seeing Pat's hat and coat on the windlass, supposed that he Was at the bottom. A few hours of brisk &win.. ° cleared the loose earth from the well, and just as the citizens reached the bottom, and were wondering where the body was, Pat walked out of the bushes, and goodnatnredly thanked them for relieving him of sorry- Some ofthe tired diggers were disgusted but the joke was to good to allow any thing more than a hearty laugh, which followed. An excellent old deacon, who having won a fine turkey at a charity raffle, didn't like to tell his severe orthodox wife how he came by it, quietly remarked as he handeil her the iowl, that the "Shakers" gave it to him. Leap-Year Marriage. A RICH WIDOWS CHOICE. A romantic marriage was solemnized at St. Paul's Church, in New York on Wed nesday the couple being Mr. Thos. Fagan and Mrs. J. Read. It was the _climax of a case of love at first sight and the rising of a poor young man to affluence. Mr. Thomas Fagan is the son of the late James P. Fagan, who was Superin tendent of Ward's Island. Young Fagan led a fast life previous to his father s death, and thus naturally incurred the old gen tleman's displeasure. He was cut off with a shilling. Thomas then sensibly went to work to earn an honest living. Being young, of prepossessing address he soon tatted employment with Mr. Patrick Mar tin a house painter in Harlem. In about three week's timelhe flourished the paint brush in an artistic manner,and could put as new a coat on an old fence or house as any experienced painter. About this time he was sent by his em ployer to brighten up the interior of the lonely dwelling of the buxom widow of the-late—Josepb Reaci,a_gentleman_who_ had acquired a large fortune in Washing ton Market. The widow was decidedly taken with young Fagan, on his first ap pearance in the house, and watched his ork—with-an-apparently-deep-inter- In fact she followed him from room to room, scarcely leaving him alone for a minute. This made Thomas a little ner vous, and being rather sensitive he imag ined that the widow.suspected him of dis honesty. The longer Thomas remained in the widow's house the closer she watch ed him. Finally it made him so uncom fortable that he resolved to stand it no longer. onimploy_er_oLthe_stato of affairs and another man was sent in his place. This did not suit the widow, and when the painter made his appearance she made him return to the shop and send Fa gan to do the work; saying that she wan -fa-him and none other to work for her. Fagan was accordingly sent to finish the job. While Fagon was busily at work, Mrs. Read stepped up to him and asked him whether he was married. On being answered in the negatsve she said. "Then I am going to take advantage of the leap year and make you a proposition of mar rage." "But, my dear madam," said thi young man, blushing to the roots of his hair, "you must surely be joking: we are stran gers, and I am sure that you do not mean what you say." "If you think I am joking and do not mean what I say, just put on your coat and go with me to my lawyer, and I will make over to you $50,000 worth. of prop erty, said the bouncing widow. Youn g Fagan convinced by her man ner that she was in earnest, straightway accompanied her to the la.wyer,and a deed was drawen up giving to Fagan $50,000 worth of property, which he was to be comti possessed of on the day of the mar riage. Fagan, after the agreement had been made, gave up his work. He can be seen daily riding through the city behind a fine horse, which draws a stylish turn out, and he is oue of the . hest dressed men to be seen on the stree C. Whenever he meets one of his old chums he bails him and says. "Well boys, this is better than painting, eh ?" • WHY SOME PEOPLE ARE POOR.- Cream is allowed to mould and spoil. Silver spoons are used to scrape ket tles. The serubbing-brush is left in the wa ter. Bones are burned that would make soup. Nice-handled knives are thrown into hot water. Brooms are never hung up, and soon are spoiled. Dish-cloths are thrown where mice can destroy them. Tubs and barrels axe left in the sun to dry and fall apart. Clothes are left on the line to whip to pieces in the wind. Pie-crust is left to sour, instead of mak ing a few tarts for tea. Vegetables are thrown away that would warm for breakfast. Dried fruit is not taken care of in sea son, and becomes wormy. Bits of meat are thrown out that would make hashed meat or hash. The cork is left out of the molasses jug, and the flies take possession. Pork spoils for want of salt, and beef because the brine wants scalding., Coffee, tea, pepper and spices are left to stand open and lose their strength. Potatoes in the ' cellar-grow, and the sprouts are not removed until they be come useless. The flour is sitting in a wasteful man ner, and the bread pan left with the dough sticking to it. Vinegar is drawn in a tin basin, and allowed to stand till both basin and vin egar are spoiled. Cold puddings are considered good for nothing, when often they can be steamed ,for next day. Perhaps the eye of the Omniscient sees a more flagrant exhibition of selfish ness, and unbeleif, and downright irreli gion in many luxurious homes of refine ment than he sees in some dens of sensual vice, where ignorance is sinning against but small light and powerful temptations. Pleasing self, without caring whether God is pleased or not, is "sinful pleasure." "Mamma," cried a little girl, rush ing into the room, "why am I hkea tree?" Mamma could not guess, when the little one excisiord, "Because .1 have limbs, mamma !" SDAY, NAY 16, 1872. CHEEK. Upon the world's vast battle field, Amid its war and strife, Where men their weapons wield To gain the price of life, If any fail—and some do fail— To win the goal we seek, Be sure it is the cowards, pale, And not the man with "cheek." If there's a place needs to be filled,• Of all the men that seek, 'Tis surely won, however skilled; By him who has the "cheek." He gains the place, and none may fear His fitness will be small ; Deficiencies will ne'er appear, For "cheek" conceals them all. The ladies, bless their gentle hearts For him have special smiles ; And though by him they suffer smarts , He all their fears beguiles. They thought he was so very good, . And then at times so meek; It seems they never understood, He did it all by "cheek." The man of cheek—he is the chap Whose praises now I sing ; Though he may hit your head a rap, You think 'tis quite "the thing." gaKaismats4vzva : .. a a, .dest as : Whose soul is mild and meek ; But I shall ever lead the van That lauds the man of "cheek." FTLIrMWFIRr ..W rI II IM! I MMZ7M The Louisville Ledger says : Three years ago W. F. Hewett was sentenced to five years' imprisonment in the Tennesee pen- en lazy or ro store in El&ield of a - large amount goods. His health was" bad and he was put at light work iu the shiie shop of the prison. After serving two years and four mos. he and another convict named Smith suc ceeded in scaling the walls at night and making their escape. They both came to Louisville, where Smith was recaptured. Hewett subsequently committed a theft in this city, and was sent to the Kentucky penitentiary. He was discharged a short time ago. Helpless from a complication of diseak, without friends or money, and convinced that he would be haunted and taken back to Tennesee to serve out his time there, he chose the desperate alter native of surrendering himself. His moth er, who resided in Edgefield, was startled last Monday night by his entering the house and announcing that he was ready to go back to prison if the authorities so decided.' He presented a most distressing spectacle, and his mother determined up on an effort to secure his . pardon. She sent a friend to Governor Brown on Tues day, with an earnest appeal in behalf of her son, but the case was one into which consideration of executive clemency could not possible extend. As Hewett• was an escaped convict, pardon was of course out of the question, and so Governor Brown intimated, kindly, but firmly. The mo ther had a high sense of her duty in the matter, and requested that no officer of the.law be sent after her son, pledging that the State should be put to no expense on his account, and that he should be deliv ered at the prison Wednesday. She had kept her word,, Wednesday morning she called at the Capitol in a carriage, the son sitting by her side. After a last appeal to the Governor—which could be answer ed only as before—she drove, broken liar ted, to the. Nashville penitentiary and de livered the prisoner to Warden Chumb ley. The episode is one of the most singular in our criminal annals. Never before, we believe, did a mother make such a sacri fice, or make it more nobly. But who,ip the uncharitable world,will give her cred it for the grand, moral heroism that mow ed her thus to deliver her son to the ten der mercies of a penitentiary, in order that he might expiate a crime he had com mitted against his country? A LIVELY HOTEL—There is a hotel in /San Francisco- under the sole manage ment of the fair sex. From. the proprie tress to the hall girl, from the bar tender to the boot black, all connected with the house are women. The portress are mus cular Germans, who handle the most mammoth "Saratogas" deftly and easily, while the clerk is a handsome brunette, who parts her short, black ringlets on one side, and makes bright repartees to the jokes of the drummers and traveling salesman, who largely frequent the house. The bar tender can make a cocktail quicker and better than any other in the State, and drinks herself every time she is asked to, which, on an average is abOut fifty times a day. We may also add that the landlady is fair, fat and forty—has already r►ceived offers of heart and hands of more than four hundred of her some times guests—but ;she is still in the mar ket. Mrs. Shaw appeared before the Recor der to prosecute her husband for insult and abuse "What have you to complain of ?" in quired the magistrate. • "My husband neglects me, sir," was the answer of the spiteful lady, thrown out jerk. "Indeed a sort of a "Indeed ! how is that ?" "He leaves me at home, and when I complain of it, insults and abuses me." "Can you give me au instance of it ?" "Yes. He went to the cock-fight on Sunday,•and wouldn't let me go with him, and said if they fought hens he'd send for me." "Come where my love lies dreaming." and see how she louks without and•—brunt on her fuee. A. young man named Parks, from Wor cester, entered the store of the Lawrences, in Boston, and found Amos in the office. He represented himself as having just commenced business, and desired to pur chase a lot of goods. He had recommen dation as to character from several influ ential citizens of Worcester, but none touching his business standing or capacity. The merchant listened to his story, and at its close shook his head. I have no doubt," he said kindly "that You have full faith in your ability to promptly meet all the obligations you would now assume; but I have no knowl edge of your tact or capacity, and as you are just launching out on the sea of busi ness, I should be doing you a great injus tice to allow you to contract a debt which I did not feel assured • you could pay at the proper time." But Mr. Lawrence liked the appear. ance of. the young man and finally told him that he would lethim have what goods he could pay for at the cost of the manufacture—about ten per cent. less than the regular price. The bill was made out and paid, and the clerk asked Where the goods should be sent. "I. will take them myself," said the purchaser. "You will find them rather heavy," sug zested_the_elerk_sniling. _ "Never mind; I am strong, and the stage office is not far away, and' besides, I have nothing else to occupy my time." "But," said the clerk, expostulating, 'it is hardly in keeping with your position to be shouldering such ponderous bundles through the city." "There you mistake,': replied the young manowith simple candor. "My position gust now is one in_which_l_musthelp_my, eakley s self if I would' be helped at all. lam not ashamed to carry anything which honestly possess, nor am I ashamed of the strength which enables me to carry this heavy burden." Thus speaking he shouldered a large bundle, and had turned toward the outer door, when Mr. Lawrence, who from his office, had overheard the conversation, called him back. "Mr. Parks, I have concluded to let you have what goods you.want on time. Select to your pleasure." The young man was surprised. "You have true pride for a successful merchant, sir," pursued Mr. Lawrence "and I shall be disappointed if you do not succeed." Amos Lawrence was not disappointed. Within fifteen yearsjfrom that time, Sam uel Parks was himself established on Milk street—one of the most enterprising and successful merchant in Boston.—Exchange. Ho* IT WAS.—"Fat Contributor" pro f....ses to know how it is, and tells it in this way : I know when I have made a success . without being told. The "com mittee" bring their wives up to the plat form and introduce them to me. Some of the influential citizens come up and intro duce themselves. The editor takes, me warmly by the hand, and wants . to l;-now where the next number of his paper reach me. • -•• If I stay over night with my friend,the Association President, he invites in some of the neighbors, and there is a social time in the parlor. Or, if lam at the hotel the "boys" call around and invite me out to eat oysters, and it is difficult to get a way from them sometimes to go to bed.— There are People-to see me off in the morn ing, and I hear it stated o'er and above board that if I should come; to that town again the hall would not be large enough to hold the people. Little boys on the street are respectful. • But she n I fail nobody is to be intro duced. The editor who in the afternoon said he must be sure to see me after the lecture, slips off home. His paper dosn't :reach me either.(uhless it reaches me tin der the fifth rib). The secretary hands me the stipulated amount with frigid po liteness, and departs. As I pass along the sidewalk, on my way to the hotel, I hear some little boy shout "humbug" in a voice of startling shrillness. The landlord surveys me with a look of pity as I enter—he.bas heard all about it —and I sneak off to bed as soon'as possi ble. No one attends me to the depot in the morning to see me off, and I hear a rude fellow tell another on the platform, as I am about to get into the cars, "If that fraud comes to town again he'll get . a head put on him." SAFEST POSITION IN A THUNDER STORM. —To stand by the side of" a continuous conductor, of sufficient conducting capac ity to afford free transit to the electric charge, is be safest position a person can take. A home with a good lightning rod passing down its wall is exactly in that condition. But to be near an imperfect conductor, as a tree for example, or some part of a broken chain of conductors, is on the other hand, the most dangerous.— In a house which is not protected by lightning rods, Prof. Wells, says : "The safest position a person can occupy is to lie upon a bed of hair or feathers, in the Middle of the room. The middle of a carpeted room does tolerably well, provid ed there is no lamp banging from the ceiling. It is prudent to avoid the neigh borhood of chimneys_, because lightning may enter the room. by theni—soot being a good conductor . For the same reason a person should remove as far as possible from metals and mirrors, as well us gilt articles. There is an iniprobable story that a New Jersey hen mislaid an egg, when another hen sat on it, and the original ,hen recog nized the chicken after it was hatched.— The sitting hen. claimed the "fowl } " but the umpire has not given his decision. True Pride. $2,00 PER YEAR • • NUIIJI3ER 50 Mit and aluntor. No one preaches better than the ant, and sho says nothing.-I,:tanilia. When does a bottle resemble Ireland ? When it has a Cork in it. . To make apple trees bear—pick off all the leaves as soon as they appear. When is leather like a fashionable wo man ? When it la well dressed. Why is a crow the bravest bird? Be cause it never shows a white feather. Why do little birds in their nests agree? Because it would be dangerous to fidl out. Ah exchange says that 'an Irishman who was recently run over by a whole train of cars got up and asked for his cap, and said he would not run another such risk as that for ten dollars. We saw the man the other day that mmeEthe_ground—that--raised--the-7corn— that fed the goose that carried the quill that the Declaration of Independence was written with, as least he said so. no ar rom the Brew House mistook his wife's yeast bottle for his favorite "little brown jug," and took a "long pull and ,a strong pull" therefrom. He is now regarded as a ris ing man. A. young man asked a young lady her age, and she replied : "6 times 7 and 7 times 3 added to my age will exceed 6 times 9 and 4 as double my aze " The_volinr. --- • - 20." T_he y_oung mnn snicLhe_thought-she— looked much older. ' A man who wanted to buy a. horse ask ed a man how to tell a horse's age. "By his teeth," was the reply. .The next day the man went to a horse dealer, who show ed him a splendid black horse. The horse hunter opened the animal's mouth, and gave one glance and turned on his heel. "I don't want him,/,' said he ; "he's thirty two years old." He counted theteeth. A:clergyman asked his pupils, whether "the leopard could changs his spots?" 7-- "To be sure," replied Billy, "When he gets tired of one spot he goes to another." Mr: Baker showed us an egg which was seven inches-in circumference. Can any body beat this.—Exchange. ,Certainly. Brake the egginto a bowl, and beat it with a spoon. An American judge was oblidged to sleep with an Irishman in a crowded ho tel, when the following conversation.. en sued : "Pat, you would have remained a long time in the old country before you could have slept with a judge, would you not?" "Yes, yer honor," 'said Pat, "and think yer honor would - have been a long time in the ould country before ye'd ,been a judge, too. A Yankee Was narrating some of the wdr sights he bad seen to a crowd-of as tonished Getnaus;.ta.arncingthe rest he Said, - "Why, when I We in MexTCO, un der Scott, saw -a ball 'larger than this house:" This was too muchr.for the cre dulity of the Germansiendrone of them said, "Dunder. and blitzen I yore vould dey got de cannon, to fire it off?" "Dun no," repled the itaterturable - Y:ankee, 'but I saw it." "Y . at kind of 17411 vas it ?" "Oh, a ball given by tha general in .11le.;- ico to celebrate - the victor} . - During the-trial of a case a witness persisted in teatifiing What his wife told him.- To this, of - courae,"the attor ney objected. He would proceed- again to tell "shunt how - it vas," when the attor ney would sing out:. "How do you know that ?" vifelold me," was the an swer. This was repeated several tines. Presently the Judge becoming unable to contain himself longer, ipterruptect : "Sup pose your wife Would tell you 'that the -heavens had fallen, what would you think ?" "Yell, I dink dey vas down !" Jinksis a clerk hi a store for the- sale of laces and things. One day a young and pretty customer tendered to him in exchange for some lace a much worn and patched fifty-cent stamp. Jinks look ed at it dubiously. It was against the rules to take such. -His -face was so grave and his manner- so hesitating that the pretty face said, in thesweeV.st tones: "Would you like a better half?" "Well," stammered Jinks, his heart in his mouth, his face crimson, "I wouldn't object, provided, Miss, the—the--• right person would accept me." The pretty face blushed,. too; but three months later the twain became one flesh, as above stated. A saddler in Detroit has a monkey who usually sits in the store and on the coun ter. A countryman came in one day while the proprietor WaS in the back room, and seeing a saddle_that suited him asked the price. Monkey said nothing. CustOmer said, "I'll 'give twenty Mars forit," lay ing down the money, which the monkey shoved into the drawyer: The man then tock the saddle, but the monkey mounted him, tore his hair, scratched his face, and made the frightened rustic •seream for dear life. Proprietor ru , hed iii and Wan ted to know what the _fuss iva.k "Fuss," said the customer, "fuss', I bought a sad dle of your son, sitting there, and wlrm I went to take it he would not let me liar it." The saddler apohigized for the mon key'but denied the relationship. titrongest winds are oftBn the fags r;itom h?.:tre. Icst.