The Waynesboro' village record. (Waynesboro', Pa.) 1871-1900, May 16, 1872, Image 1

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Come up,.eome up, 0 soft spring airs,
Come from your silver shining seas,
Where 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.
Thrice-bleasei - Spring! -thou-bearest
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
Telling of Winters flown
And bringing hope upon thy rainbow
Type of eternal life—tlsice-blessed Spring.
,ji lisrrllaueou* Paiiing.
"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
"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, 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
"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
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
"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
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
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 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
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 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
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
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
"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 ?"
Cream is allowed to mould and spoil.
Silver spoons are used to scrape ket
The serubbing-brush is left in the wa
Bones are burned that would make
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.
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."
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 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
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
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
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
"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
"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 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."
—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
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
• •
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
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
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 :
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 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.