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• It ,1 WO BtIAM
voitmE:
elect pottra.
TIIB MOTHER :S LAMEST.
t in the church
How sad is the bloom,
That summer flings round it,
In flowers and'perfume; '
It is thy dust, my darling,
Gives life to each rose,
'.Tis because thou haat withered,
,The violet blows.
'Thelillies.bend meekly
On thybosom above,
Bat•thoutwilt not.pluck them,
Sweet child of •my love.
1 see the green willow
Droop low o'er thy bed, •
But Lsee not the.ringlets
That decked thy fair bead.
1 heardhe'bee hemming
Around thy bright grave ;
+Can he deem death is hidden
Where sweet fiowrets wave ?
:From the white cloud above thee,
The'lark scatters song,
.But Mist for.thy voice,
Olt how Jong, Oh! how long.
'Then comeback, my darling,
And come back to-day,
For the soul of thy mother
Grows faint with delay.
'The home of thy childhood
In order. is set,
-..The-couch-an-d-tlfe-chamber—
;Why Comest thou not yet?
THE .CHILD'S ANSWER.
Olitmoth - e - ri - meetta - oth• .-
Whose . love like the wave,
Hid treasures and jewels,
And also a grave;
Too strong in its fullness,.
Too deep in its power—
Oh! hush, precious mother,
The grief of this hour.
I walk 'mid the palm trees,
And drink of the
That on earth are but types of
What God here fulfills ;
The joys of my childhood, ,
Ilow dim they appear—
Yes, dim are the brightest
When looked on from here.
Then stay not, thetimourn not,
Then yield not to fears,
.The flowers love bath planted
0, steep not in.tears;
There's beauty, there's blessing
On earth left for thee,
But bid me not share them—
There's more here for me.
s;:.)#i
"What are you going to do with that {
Fa ? Why do you take it down ?"
Mr. Bretman did not answar. For the
first time in his life lie pushed his child
from him, and called harshly to the nurse
to take him away. ; Little Fred made no
resistance, but his grieved lip and pilf
ering chin told that he felt hurt and in
juriecl. And up in the nursery lke appeal : -
ed to Maggie, the maid.
"Maggie, why did papa look so cross ?
Why didn't he tell me what he was doing
with mamma's picture ? 'Twasn't any
.harrn to ask ?
"Och, I doubt he was ashamed, darlin,"
said Maggie. Be aisy ; you are not to
blame."
And she took the widower's little boy
upon her knee.s.,and patted his round head.
"Why ought he be ashamed ?" asked
Fred.
"Ye musn't say I said so," cried the
-woman ; "Master has the right to do his
own will. It's none of my hilliness."
'But why did he take the picture down ?'
asked Fred again.
"There's somebody coming that wouldn't
like to see the face of, the lady that was
mistress here but a year ago," said Mag
gie. "Your pa is after givin' ye a step
mother, Freddie."
"What's that?" asked Fred.
"A. new mother," said Maggie. "Ah,
don't be spakiu' of what I've said,or she'll
send me away, and there'll be none to love
ye. She'd turn your pa's heart, and have
it all her own. It's always so ; poor bair
nie
And the old nurse wept over the child,
and with him,
Mr. Bretman carried his first wife's pic
ture up to the great garret, where, truth
to tell, he shed a few tears over it before
he deposited it in its corner. It was im
possible for him to haVe those sweet eyes
look 'lnert him, while living ones shone
inter chair and place at table. He loved
the dead woman still, though he also lov
ed a living one.
Maggie did not know this. She thought
.as she said, that, the mistress was forgot
ten quite" What she thought- slfe taught
the childl and the young lady who came
smiling into the parlor one bright morn
ing, and knelt down when her husband .
said, "Come kiss your new mamma, Fred
dy," looking so sweet and . gentle,and pret
ty that left to himself, the boy would have
liked her, was surprised by an earnest slap
in the face, and the angry words, "Go a
way. You made papa put dead mama's
picture up garret. I don't want you for
a mama ; I wont have you. Go away."
And .at that, the bride, almost a child
herself, started up,flushed and angry,and
retreated to her husband's protecting arms,
quite overcome by his greeting, and the
':.. , .PA3mr
face of th'd nurse ni. which she saw no
plwant .greeting, buksleftanee,and anger
instead. • • • ••' • • • .•
The father by the 'china; words,
seized him, for the first time in his life,
roughly by the shoulders, and.turned him
out, from the room.
"Go, sir;" he 'said, "and do not come
back until,you can behave decently. It is
that ignorant woman's fault," he said to
his young wife, -and led the way to the
dining room. But.the shock of the bride's
reception had robbed both .of any' appe—
tite, and Helen even wondered whether
she had been wise to break her resolution
and "marry a widower who had children."
"No one has ever any comfort with step-
children," she thought.
And who can 'say what was in the man's
mind ? They were silent both of them.—
And after lunch was over,the husband
marched into Maggie's room and address
ed her sternly.
"You have been filling the child's head
with wicked thoughts," he said. `"How
dare
, you do it ?: He has insulted Mrs.
Bretman,and you are the cause. I've half
a mind to send you packing---.you deserve
it."
"Have just a bit of pity on the boy and
me, and I'll never do it. I'm all he's got
now," sobbed Maggie. "Don't blame me:
I'm ould and . remimber better than .st
young man. She was a swate lady,"
‘Yoirvere good to her and'are still good
to her child," said the gentleman gravely;
but you remember, no more of this under
hand work. You' must teach the child to
love his new mother and to obey her."
"Obey he may," said Maggie, "but love
can't be taught, and we've bid one moth
er in the world however many wives an'
husband's we may have."
The man looked at her sharply, but
there was no insolence in her face ; and
he - left - the - ruom and - returned - to - his - wife
and saw no more of Freddie that day.—
Indeed the child did'not seek him. Never
before bad he been harshly. used ; and the
shake his father had given him had been a
tilitible - thimig - Whinl 7 - - tre — very confirma
tion of prophecy. More and more he
.clung to the old nurse, and though Mrs.
Bretman tried to make friends with both,
the old woman's grim face .and cold mon
osyllables, and the child's passionate re
pulses were too much for her. She aban
doned the effort and the boy took his meals
in the nursery, walked out with the nurse,
and brooded in silence, as vary little chil
dren often do, over his wrongs.
It was easy enough - to foret - him in the
honeymoon billing and cooing, and the
father was careful to give Maggie all she
asked for—new shoes and caps, and toys
and books. That was his duty ; as he
often said, "he never forgot his duty to
Maria's child." 'The lone boy, fatherless
as he was motherless, dwelt alone, save
for an old servant's faithful love, in the
very room where his birth had been hail
ed with such rejoicing. "It's the new la
dy doe's it," said Maggie, honestly, believ
ing it and never guessing that she herself
had caused this unnatural •estrangement
by her unwise chatter. She had taught
the boy that his step-mother came as an
enemy, else he would have greeted her
with a kiss,, and been petted until she
came to love him as her own ; else he
would have utterly forgotten When, one
bright winter morning, the suu rose upon
a little face, that its setting had not shone
upon, and Helen Bretman kissed the un
conseious lips of.her first born.
Little soul, Litt new born soul, I.am
not sure - what mirage you may have
worked. Have you ever read Foque's
sweet story of Undine, dear reader? And
do you remember how love gave the he 7
roine a soul ! Sometimes I think mother
hood seems to work as marvelous a change
in this our actual world. I know that
less selfish thoughts were in this girl
wife's heart when she held the boy to it,
than had ever been before. And some
how, as this child's breath floated over
the cheek, the resemblance of another
child came to her whose mother slept in
the cold grave-4hose sulky mouth and
angry eyes, when he met her in the gar
den path, had made her loathe him. So
might some other woman feel toward her
babe, some day, if she slept beneath the
churchyard - soil, and another filled her
place.
Dead Maria rose before living Helen's
memory ; dead Marie's child found a
place in her thoughts. She pitied him
from her heart and for the first time since
she wore his father's wedding ring.
' But old nurse Maggie did not come
near her and she would not send for the
old woman. She had been hurt by her
grim face and cold voice and was now
hurt by neglect. No, she could not call
Maggie. But one day, when she was a
ble to leave her room, she made her way
to the nursery and peeped in. There was
no one there ; only a broken toy upon the
floor told her of the boy's existence. Mag
gie had gone out upon an errand. She
had seen the sturdy old figure trot down
the street before she left her room, else
she had.not come hither. But where was
the child ! Afar she seemed to hear sob
bing— soft, heavy sobbing—like that of a
grown person. Her heart beat faster.—
' The little stair door leading to the attic
stood open. She followed the sounds and
climbed the stairs.
There she saw a scene that seemed to,
take away her strength. The winter sun
light fell through the skylight in a broad,
slanting stream. In the flood of gold
stood a picture—the portrait of a woman,
fair and young, with soft blue eyes and
dimples in her cheek, with coquetish curls
falling about her neck, and diamonds in
her dainty ears—and upon the floor, his
cheeks against the lace veiled bosom of
this exquisite picture, sat Freddie, weep
ing as children weep, and sobbing, "Main
ma! Mamma!"
It was 3laria's portrait Helen remem
bered the words the child had spoken very
„ -
NEWSPAPER-DEVOTED TO ramtamile, LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWS. ETC.
WAYNESB
pertritit banished from the
*ler when: ihe'cinie tO take 'her place.
.'She Could. not, 'stir nor .speali. And as
she, sat, there,, sonie, one else climbed the
itiiiraher • husband, :Maria's • husband—
the father' 'tlieSe two children the
weeping one here,. the smiling one in'the
cradle below. Then tbe wife and mother
arose and crept up to . he, boy, and, gath
ered him to her bosom.-
"Paul," said she, to the father, "is that
Maria? Is it Fred;lie's.mother
"Yes, love," he answered.'
' "The mark where that picture hung is
on the mill still," She said. "Let it fill its
place once More.. 'Am I so jealous as to
forbid you ever the memory of the sweet,
dead woman? Let me see her smiling
down on me, and' fancy that she knows
that I love her boy as I• do my own. For
I do, Paul. And God forgive me for the
past for which the future shall atone."
Then 'she took Freddie by the hand,
and his blue eyes looked no longer angri
ly upon her ; nor did his tiny hand essay
to, push her from him, as of yore. • And
she led him down to the little crib where
the new-born child lay smiling, and laid
him beside the little creature.
"Love him, Freddie," she said, "it is
your little brother."
And the husband and wife stood hand
in hand and'watched the little tear-stained
lids droop in slumber, with the dimpled
hand lying softly about the neck of the
young creature who bad opened a place
in- his mother's heart for him. •
Maria's portrait smiled upon Helen;
and she can meet its gentle gaie without
fear ; for it would be hard to tell which is
the dearer to her now of the two boys who
call her mother.
Praise Children.
There is an old superstition that praise
is too good a thingtohe given to children, -
that it is too rich for their mental and
moral digestion. Some parents are so a
fraid thitt a child will grow proud, that
they never praise him, and this course is
ofterrdigatkouff. — lrissipETTlirodUce toTh
much self-assertion—for self-assertion is a
legitimate out growth of the withholding
of commendation to which one is entitled
—or to engender a self-distrust or melan
choly hopelassnea of-disposition. -
Praise is sunshine to a child, and there
is no child that does not need it. , It is
the high reward of one's struggles to do
right. Thomas Hughes saYs you can nev
er get a man's best out of him without
praise. Many - a - sensitive child we be
lieve, dies of a hunger for kind commen
dation. Many a child starving for the
praise that parents should give runs off
earge,rly after • the designing flattery of
others. •
To withhold praise where it is due, is
dishonest, and in the Case of n *child, such
a course leaves a Stinging sense of injus
tice. Motives of common justice, as well
as a rewa - :d for the future of the child,
should influence the parent to give gener
ous praise for all that deserves it. Of
course there is a difference in' the consti
tution of children. Some can not bear
so much praise as others, and, some need
a great deal. It should never be indis
criminate. We' remember a wonderful
woman who taught school in one village
until she had educated a part of three
generations. She was one of the most
successful of teachers. But her success
lay in her gift of praising with discrimi
nation.' A bad boy who was a good schol
ar got praises of his brilliancy sandwich
ed in between her admonitions for his bad
behavior, and so was won to a better life,
and we recall a good girl who had no gift
learning rapidly, but who was saved from
utter despair by her untiring industry.
Into the discouraged hearts of the chil
dren the praises of the teacher came like
sunlight. And the virtues, like other
good fruits, can only ripen in the sunshine.
Hearth and Home
The Mullein Plant.
Mullein is common in the United States,
growing in the recent clearings, along the
sides of roads, in neglected fields, etc.,
flowering from June to August. Accord
ing to the Half-Yearly Compendium; the
plant has valuable, medicinal properties.
the leaves and flowers the parts used.
They have a faint, rather pleasant odor,
resembling that of a mild narcotic, and a
somewhat bitterish bituminous taste, and
Yield their virtues to boiling water. Mul
lein is demulcent, diuretic, anodyne, and
anti-spasmodic.. The infusion is useful
in coughs, catarrh, luemoptysis, diarro3ha,
dysentery and piles. Its diuric properties
are rather weak, yet it is very useful in
laying the acridity of urine which is
present in many diseases. It may be boil
ed iu milk, sweetened and rendered more
.palatable by addition of aromatics, for
mternal use, especially bowel complaints.
A fomentation of the leaves also forms
an excellent local application for inflam
ed piles, ulcers and tumors. The leaves
and pitch of the stalk form a valuable
cataplasm in white swellings, and infused
in hot vinegar or water it makes an ex
cellent poultice to apply to the throat in
cynanche tonsillaris, cynanche maligna
and mumps. The, seekare said .to pass
rapidly through the intlitines, and have
been successfully used in intestinal ob
structions. They are narcotic, and have
been used in. asthma, intlintile convul
sions and to poison fish. The infusion
may be drunk. freely. The flowers. plac
ed in a well corked bottle and exposed
to the sun, are said to yield an excellent
relaxing oil.—Journal of Chemistry.
Olive Logan commenced one of her
lectures at Newark, recently, with the re
mark, "Whenever I see a pretty girl, I
want to clasp her in my arms." So do
we," shouted the boys in the' gallery.
. For a moment Olivo was nonplussed ; but,
recovering her self-possession, she replied
II"'Well, boys, I don't blcrue you."
Ro', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 11; 1872.
Our .Life.
BY ANNIE B. BARTLETT,
"Life is sometimes bright ond fair.
And sometimes dark and 'lonely ;
Oh, forget its toil and care;
Andmone the, bright hours, only."•
' Our life is' Made up of light and shade,
the bright and dark threads so closely wo
ven, that sometimes we can scarcely see
either alone. Sunshine and shadow mingle
freely in our every-day life,while sickness
andlealth, sorrow and joy, are only way
marks in our journey to the tomb. Just
before the dawn of morning, the darkest
hour is seen. But when the glad sunbeams
come softly from their rosy couch in the
eastern sky,illuminating the sombre man
tle of night with loving warmth and cheer
fulness, then the darkness passes away,
and light and joy and glorious sunshine
smile upon the world, radiant and beau
tiful.
When in the morning of life we see the
future spread out behind us, all rosy and
happy ; the azure dome of heaven above
us smiling and clear, our path-way fra
grant with the breath of sweet flours, our
warm hearts untouched by sorrow or care,
we enter upon its duties buoyantly and
hopeful of prosperity. We see no reason
why, with health, youth, education, and
many other facilities, we may not become
successful.
• We dream not pf failure •we smile at
every fear. - But, oh, how often when the
cup of happiness is just within our reach,'
and the tide of prosperity seems bearing
us swiftly onward to wealth and fame,
some useless event dashes our fond hopes
to atoms I Our bright . dreams pass like
morning dew away, and where once the
light and brightness of fond anticipation
glowed, now only darkness and 'sorrow
prevail. And yet behind every dark and
- stormy - cloud; there 'is a silver lining. "- -
Our life was notgiven to us' to spend in
idleness or folly, in quietly laying aside
the talents God has given us; 'but to use
the golden moments' as they pass to the
Wei - let us' work
while the day lasts, while yet the silken
tie is unbroken which binds us to the
sweet promise of rest. There are none so
week or humble but can find something
to do that will make their own lives no
ble and sublime. It requires thousands
of tiny rivulets and flowing mountain
streams to form thevast rolling sea. • Yet
these little brooklets, each in their quiet,
gentle -beauty, freshen many a hillside and ,
- brighten many a flower-crowned meadow.
It is thus with the acts of our own lives—
scattering bhssings, deeds of love and
kindness, and:filling the dark corners of
earth with the pure sunshine of human
sympathy and love. And thus shall we
find in the desert of life bright cases of
refreshment and good cheer; pure foun
tains of sparkling waters to revive the
! weary hearted; while flyer all, the "tree
of life," with its healing' fruit, shall wave
its fragrant foliage. Thus while we re It
there, many a toil-worn pilgrim, fainting
by the dusty wayside, shall be refreshed,
• and go on his way rejoicing.
Some walk the mountain top and. bathe
ever in the noonday sun, others ,tread the
lonely valley path, where only the stray
sunbeams come—and others, with weary
'feet and aching hearts, taking up daily
the great burden of life, pass underneath
the dark cloud where no sunlight ever
lingers. But none so high, or so great,
or good ; none so weary, sad, or forsaken.
but carry intheir hearts the tender, holy
power to do good wherever they may go,
and make those around them happy.
"Go and toil in any vineyard=
Do not fear to do and dare;
If you want a field of labor,
You can find it anywhere."
..„ .
COUNTRY NEWSPAPERS .— Few people
appreciate the value of the village papers
which gather up the news of a county and
advocate the interests of a locality. And
few understand the amount of ability re
quired to edit such a paper, where one
man must be editor, publisher, printer,
book-keeper and all. Imagine how much
the intelligence of the country would suf
fer by the bloting out of the country news
papers, which treat the immediate inter
ests of th eople and thus come into im
mediate contact with their minds. The
true country editor understands that his
paper thrives by being intensely local ;
that it is not by learned editorials on tariff
and income tax, but by articles in favor
of the new railroad, by description of the
new factory, by advocacy of the new
bridge, that he must succeed. People look
at this column not only for the latest gen
eral news, but for a mention of every in
teresting fact, of. every curious matter of
c
ossip in his own country.' And thus the
aper becomes the reflector of theeurrent
vents and the public sentiment of his
Lion. Nothing is too small to be item
ied if only it is of interest. A country
editor advertised - the other day that he
would insert a list of are names of all the
people who had joined ihe.churches in the
county in a recent revival. Which showed
that he understood his business. He pro
osed to chronicle every event of interest
ccuring in his jurisdiction. Every intel
-1 gent family should give a cordial' sup
ort to the local newspaper. It is one of
t e great educational influences.
Busy CHILDITOOD.—Do you ever think
ow much work a little child does in a
ay? How, from sunrise to sunset, the
ear • little feet patter round (to us) so
irnlessly ? Climbing up there, kneeling
own there, running to another place, but
ever still. Twisting and turning, rolling
nd 'reaching and doubling, as if testing
very bone and muscle for their future
ses. It is very curious to watch it. One
, ho.iloes so may welL understand the deep
reathing of the rosy little sleeper, as,
ith oue arm tossed over its curly head,
prepares fbr the next day's gymnaStics.
busy creature is a little child. .
EVER PRESENT.
The sun of yeSterday is set—
'Forever set to Time and me;
Yet of its warmth' and of its light,
Something I. feel and something see.
The flower of yesterday" is not
Its faded leaves are scattered wide ;
Yet of its perfumes do I breathe,
Still does its beauty stir my pride.
The friend of yesterday is dead—
On yonder hill his grave doth lie;
Yet there are moments when I feel
"His presence, as of old, draw nigh.
A part of what has been remains ;
The essences of what are gone
Are ever presant to my sense;
Though left, I am not left forlorn
In thought, in feeling, and in love,
Things do not, perish though they pass;
The fOrm is shattered to the eye,
Rut only broken in the glass.
Son, friend, and flower have each become
A part of my immortal part;
They are not lost, but evermore
Shine, live and bloom within my heart.
"Nothing to Do."
What nothing to do in this world
where so much must be done? • Have we
thought of it? Every attainment, every
possession, and every desirable blessing is
the result of doing something. The de
velopment of our body, mind and charac
ter depends upon our activity, and yet we
have nothing to do ? The importance of
self-culture p resents a strong motive to
industry, and especially to the young.—
Desirable attainments in literature, sci
ence and art, correct habits 'of thought
and action, or a noble manhood or Wo
manhood, are the price of perpetual" toil.
What youth then can have nothing to do ?
And what period in life will self-improve
'meat be no longer dduty ?
And have - we nothing to do for others l
_Alay_we_confme_our_activityto the , attain,
I
ments of our selfish ends ? By no means.
The world's' history reveals . no truth more
,
clearly than that men and women become
great and good:by the deeds ,of their no
ble lives. Not alone by good but by do
ing good have, they attained to eminence
and usefulness.
And can anything"more forcibly indi
cate wrong views of life, limited attain
ments, wasted Went and a comparatively
worthless character, than the involuntary
expression, "I have nothing to do!" No
aim in life 1 . Nothing to • live for, ' but
youi own selfiSh gratification ! A murl
derer of time is a, burden to society ,and.
a curse to the world.
Row TO GET ALONG.—Do not 'stop to
tell stories in business hours.
If you have a place of business, •be
found there when wanted. , ,
No man can get ricirby sitting around
stores and saloons.
Never "fool" in business matters.
Have order, system, regularity, and
promptness.
Do not meddle with business you know
nothing of.
Strive to avoid harsh words and perso.
tales.
Do not kick every stone in the path.—
More miles can be made in a day by go
ing steadily on than by stopping.
Pay as you go.
A man of honor respects his word as he
does his bond.
•
Aid, but never beg.
Help others when you can, but never
give what you cannot afford 'to,simply be
cause it is fashionable.
Learn, to say "no." No necessity of
snapping it out dog-faShion, but say it
firmly and respecfully.
Have few confidants—fewer the better.
Use your own brains rather than those
of others.
Learn to think and act for yourself.
Be vigilant.
Keep ahead rather than behind the times.
Young, men, cut this out, and if there
be folly in the argument, let us know.
WHEN THE DARK COMES.-1 little
girl sat, at twilight, in her sick mother's
room, busily thinking. All darshe had
been full of fun and noise, and had many
times worried her poor tired mother.
'Ma" said the little girl, 'what do you
suppoie makes me get over my mischief,
and begin to act good, just about this
time every night?'
do not know dear. Can you not
tell?"
'Well I guess it's because this is when
the dark comes. You know I am a little
afraid of that. And then, ma, I begin
to think of all the naughty things I've
done to grieVe you, and perhaps vou
might die before morning, and so I -be
gin to act good.
'Oh l' thought I, 'how many of us wait
till dark comes,' in the form of sickness
or. sorrow, or trouble of some kind before
we begin to act good I' How much better
to be good While we .are enjoying life's
sunshine I and then, when the dark comes,'
—as it will in a Measure to all,--we shall,
be ready to meet it without fear.— Well
ipring.
It is the proper office of faith to believe
what thou seest not, and the reward of
faith to see what thou bast believed.
Troubles are in God's catalogue of mer-
Heaven is your home ; therefore think
about it tribulation is your loi; there
fore daily expect it.
Unless I see something beyond the
grave worth. dying for, there is nothing
on this side worth living'fbr.
The proofthat Ave believe in'the . " reali
ty of religion, is that we walk ih thepow
er of it.
•
It ig well said, that though faith jasta
fie's us, yet works must justify-1)ot faith.*
Fidelity.
To succeed in any undertaking we must
enter4nto it in earnest, givino- ° it our in
terein-
terestand deepest' oughts. The young
man 9tarting.in life shows in the outset
what his course will be. If ho shows -
delity to his choice of occupation,he makes
it a pleasant and profitable employment ;
but by restless wandering, to the neglect
of imperative duties, he finds the road
marked out a weary, toiling journey.—
Look at the many who have risen by their
industry and fidelity, to occupy ,the posi—
tion of our wealthiest men. Their 'Success
was the reward of true fidelity. They star
ted with the determination to success and
were not to be stopped by any difficulties
in their way—by remaining firm in the
discharge of every duty, they overcome
obstacles which would have' quelled less
ardent spirits.
Another type 'of fidelity is that true bond
of friendship existing between two of con
genial thoughts and feelings—that love
which exists even after adversity comes
and fate seems to have forsaken them,and
the dark clouds of sorrow hang heavy, and
close around. How refreshing it is some
times, when looking around on the deeep
tiori practised, of which, we see so much,
to meet one of the.kind described. We
have so much of professed friendship and
so little real that we are led to wonder at'
the familiar and odd quotation, "A friend
in need is a friend indeed," as at our great
est need we often find our friends-.out or
otherwise engaged.
So koes 'the regular routine of life. Rare
'as they are, yet we meet • sometimes men . ,
noble in their actions,, lifting from the
depths 'into which he has fallen,one wheise
only claini is a friendship formed long ago,
which years of probably entire separation
failed to quench. We grieve that this is
so rare an instance, that we are often left
to deplore the loss of a friendship we prim
—lost through the changes of a changea
ble world.
But,we i ,will not dwell on the dark side
ofliin_bngh-piptures,--We-ratherlike
to float pleasantly down 'the'ltireain;clos
ing our eyes to, the rocks lying around us,
while : we,reveal in the sweet. communion
with friends who have proved their true
fidelity to friendship.
We are taught many-beautiful lessons
from the.fidelity of the animal. Notice
the peculiar attachment of a dog : to its
master. They frequently castrellections,
by their dumb intellect, on us of bright
intelligence, by their fidelity and acts of
kindness, which we so .often fail to perform
for each other.
How anxious we should be to cultivate
a true and . upright mind—one . above the
meanness of betraying trust reposed. Try
to benefit our fellow-beings, .practicing in
all our actions the. golden rule: ."Do ye
unto others as . ye would they should do
unto you," 'and having, by an approving
conscience, the'reward of true fidelity.
. AN ABSURD CUSTOM.—If I could per
suade all the yaung people of Elmira net . -
erto treat each other,' nor be treated,-I
think' one half of the danger from our
strong drink would.be gone. - If I can
not get you to sign the total abstinence
pledge, binding, until you are twenty-five,
I .would be glad to have you promise three
things: First, never to drink on the sly,
alone; second, never to drink socially,
treating or being treated; third, when you
drink, do it openly, and in the presence of
nome man or woman whom you respect.
Now, boys, if you wish to be generous and
treat each' other, why not select some oth
er shop beside the liquor shop? Suppose,
as you go by the post office, you say,
"Come, boys, come in and take some
stamps." These stamps will do your friends
a real good, and will cost you no, more
than drinks all round. Or go by the tai
lor's store and say ; "Boys, come in and
have box of collars." Walk up to the
counter free and generous, and say, "What
style will you have ?" Why not 'treat to
collars as well as treat to drinks ? or go by
a confectioner's and propose to treat to
chocolate drops all round? or say, '
stand a jack-knife all around ?" Now
does it happen that we have lidlen into a
habit, almost compulsory, of social drink- I
ingl? you drink many 'a, time when ask
ed
to, when really you do not want to.—
When a man :has treated 'you, you , feel
mean and indebted, and keep a sort of
account current in your mind, and treat
him.. And FO iii the use of just :that a
gent which at the very best is a danger
ous one, you join band in hand tv help
each other to ruin instead of hand in hand
to help each other to temperance.—T. K
Beecher.
LEMONS FOR FEVER.-Dr. Hall says :-
When, persons are feverish and thirsty
beyond what is natural, indicated in some
cases by a 'metallic taste in the mouth,
especially after drinking water, or by a
whitish appearance of the greater part of
the tongue, one of the best "Coolcrs,"• in
ternal or external; into take a lemon, cut
off the top, sprinkle over it some loaf su
gar, working it,downward.into the lemon
with a:spoon; Auld then suck it slowly,
squeezing the lemon and adding more su
gar as le acidity increases from being
brought up from a lower point. Invalids
with feverishness may take two . or three
lemons a day in this manner With the
most marked benefit manifested - by. a
sense of coolness, comfort and invigora
tion. A lemon
,or two thus, taken at "tea
time," as an entire substitute for the ordi
nary' "supper" of summer, would give
many a comfortable night's sleep, and an
awakening after rest and invigoration,.
'with an appetite for :breakfast, to which
they are: strangers who will :have their
cup of tea or supper or ".relish7 and "cake"
and their beirtes or peaches and cream.
Neither death nor life is -aa. :serious as
marriage. Yq nothing is entered •into
_half so thouglitinssly. •
$2,00 PE/Z, YBAR
'ft and aluinar.
The site of Pittsburg was owe sold for
a fiddle.
What fruit does a newly married cou
ple most resemble? green pear.
- •
Statistics show that not one woman in
a hundred marries the man she loves.
► •
Why is a pocket handkerchief like a
snake? Because it belongs to a genera
tion of wipers." .
Where is money first mentioned in the ,
'Bible? When the ,dove brought the,,
green bad to Noah.
rilie difference between a country and
a city greenhorn is that one would like to
know everything, and the other thinks he
a , tell him.
There are two reasons why some petiplis,.
don't mind their own hnsiness. One in;
that they have no business, and the.other
is that they have no mind, . ..
"Its forty years, my old friend John,
since we were boys together." "Is -it?
Well, don't speak 'so loud ; there's that
zc ...... niug widow in •the next room,"
A Minnesota twhool teacher . who whip
ped one of his pupils nearly 'to death has
left that part of the country by rail. The'
rail was a three-cornered one. ' •
The man whi) has no enemies is one of
no iMportanee, drifting befOre the tide Of
popular ?pinion, subject to the whims of , ,
and. caprices' of all who wish to use him.
A young man who was caught strain-
jug his sweethart to his bosom the' other
night, justifies himself on the ground that
he has a, right strain his own honey
—Virginia exchange says,-'at a - concert;;
recently, at the Conclusion of the song,
','There's 4 good time coming," a farmer
got up ' and exclaimed : you
couldialt fix the date; could you 7"
A dutchman a few days ago; pickedj
up a: bound 'volume of-dociiments, on the •
back•of which was stamped "Pub. Does." '
"Ter Tyful !" said he, "vat kind of pooks
will dey brint next? • Ash illy:here ish
xo2_l on pup toga." -
- - .
' Thompson is not going to have anything
more to do with conundrums. He recent
ly asked' his wife the difference between
his head anda hogshead, and she said
there was .none. He says that is not the
right. answer.
A. Plain, honest fellow applied yester
day to a wall street attorney for legal ad
vice. After detailing the circumstances
of the cause, he was asked if he had ailt
ted the facts exactly as they had occurred:
"Yes, sir," said he, "you can put in the
lies yourself."
There is a story cif a grocer who is so
economical that he sends home the bund
les his customers buy, and when they ar
rive at the houses has the boy empty the
paper bags and ,bring them baelmith the
strings they were tied, up with. 'That's
what you call a careful grocer.
Dr. Hall discourses in his Journal up
cn the effect , of marriage in lengthening
human life. His theory was illustrated
by the case:Of a baChelor who, in a fit of
bilks, recently applied to his .doctor for
some medicine. The doctor ordered seven
teen yards of silk with a woman in it. In
a fortnight the bachelor had a wife, and
was a thoroughly well, and happy man.
"Gentlemen of the jury," said a western
lawyer, "I don't mean to insinuate that
this man is a covetous person, but I will
bet five to one that if von should , bait a
steel trap with a new three cent piece, and
place it within six inches of his mouth,
you would catch his soul. I would'at.for
a moment insinuate that he will steal ;
but may it please the court, and gentle- ,
men of the jury, I would'nt trust him in a
room with red hot millstones, .and an an
gel to watch 'cm."
EARLY THRIFT.--The Troy Whig tells
the following : "One of ourpromi-:
nent physicians, making his daily roands ,
to see his patients, had occasion to call at
a house where them were no facilities" to
fasten his horse. He loft it inthe care of
a small boy; whom 'he happened to see in
the street: On coining out of the house.
he naturally enough expected find , Lis
trusty servant' treating himself to a ride ;
but no—the boy knew the use of time and
value of money a little better—he was let
ting the horses boya in the street,.
at a,cent a ride around the block." '
CURE ToR HyDRoPnoBIA.—A corres
pondent of the Menge, Tribune states that
the poison from the bite of a mad dog can
be eliminated from the system by . vapor
'baths: He quotes from an artic'e from
Dr. Buisson, a celebrated French surgeon,
who s'ay.s : the disorder has declared
itself, I Immicribe a single bath, and leave
the patient in until a cure •is effected.—
Hydrophobia-may last three days. Ex
perience has proved to me that a cure is
certain' on the first day of the, outbreak ;
on the second day.doubtful ; ant .on the
third, hopeless, on account of therdifficul-'
ty 'of ,conveying .the patient to the bath
and- keeping him in. And as hydropho-
Ida never breaks out before the seventh
day., 411pre is time to perform a long jour
ney to•pbtain a bath..
"Cluj a y9u. change a two.dollar .bill ?"'
said an unpeculliOUS drinker tit a bar-ten-:
der. '.‘Yeg.when I get alma, dpl—
la r bill Ilibringii
NITMBER 6
MEE