The Waynesboro' village record. (Waynesboro', Pa.) 1871-1900, August 08, 1872, Image 1

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Drifting away.---drifting away !
Baby is leaving me every day,
far °atom} tim treacherpus sea
WheFe the bright glories of woman life be
the, hour-Fipples, day after day,
:Balli34my,darling„is, drifting away.
,Drifting aWay--drifting away!
';Every morn loses a golden ray,
Every night twineth a shade, less fair,
Over the tangles of clustering hair.
LYes, on the hour-ripples, day after dal),
Baby; my darling, is drifting away !
, 'Drifting away-. 7 -drifting away
Salling,,and singing ! 0, bright little fay!
An the true strokes of thy silyer-tp, el oar
Float back to echo on memory's s lore
Yes, on the hour l ripplcs, day after day
Baby, my darling, is drifting away!
Wonderful words ; the dainty lips. say,
Wonderful tasks can the busy hands do
Wonderful journeys go tiny feet true ;
Yes. on the hour-ripples, day after : day,
Baby, my darling, is drifting away !
Drifting away—drifting away : !
Baby is leaving me every day ;
Steering far out on the treacherous sea
Where bright glp,ries of woman life be,
Y-es T on-the-hour-ripple%:-day-after-day,
Baby, my darling, drifting away
Fly, little song, to my lore,
Over the Tqlling sea;
Tell him hoIN bright are stars above,
Tell him to,weep not for me.
Kiss off the fulling tears
111.y.lqss of the days gone by.;
Tell him hwfleetis the foof,of.vears,
Whisper—my love cimnot.die.
Fly away in his heart,
Borne on the soft Summer's breath ;
Sing to him, 'Love and lo*,r must part
True low is stronger than death."
Fly with the dying day,
Over the star-lit sea;
Lull him to sleep in tileland far day;
Bring him in dreams to me.
fflisullnurous grading.
The Old Homestead.
There are few places so dear to us as
: scenes of our childhood. Around the as
sociations of our early years our heart's
best affection have twined themselve,and
though we roam over the dark sea foam,
,or wonder in far distant lands, yet we will
often ify back on memory's swift pinions
to the golden moments of life's morning,
and fondly linger around the sights
scenes of our juvenile rambles.
Emotions swell the heart and tears fill
the eyes as we think .of the old house at
home. That old house may not have been
a palatial structure, with its magnificent
dome and gorgeous surroundings ' • it may
have beeli a humble cot iu which
had left its footprints, and where grim
want stared out from wall and floor and
bed of straw. No matter how humble,
still how dear to our heart is that old house
at home. No
rwas not for its splendor that dwelling
was clear;
'1 was not that the gay and noble were near;
O'er the porch the wild rose and \i•oodhine
And the sweet scented jessamine waved . in
the wind,
But dearer to me than proud turret or dome
Were the.halls of my father—the old house
at home,"
We love that old building, and our at
tachment to it increases as years roll on.
We may dwell in a palace of golden bright
ss, the steeples of which may penetrate
I..te very clouds, and millions of earth's
riche3t trea.mrers may lie in our cotfers
still our heart never changes for the old
house at home.
Did you ever visit the home of your
childhood after years of absence ? What
a gush of recollections come throbbing
through the heart ! Every place and al
most every object that merits our gaze has
some associations with our childhood days.
The brook flows on just as it did in days
of yore. The very gurgling of the current
seems familiar.
!-This brook wherein, when a trippling wild
I bathed my burning brow,
It rapidly ran wl.e 11 was a child.
And it runs rapidly now."
Here, in this brook, we had our deck
yard, arid here we sailed our mimic fleet.
There stands the "old oak tree" under
,w.dch we conned our boyish task. From
hire wehad rolled stones down the steep
hillside and had watched them disappear in
the clear waters below : on that grassy
; knoll we had stood at sunset and had gaz
ed upon the golden tinted clouds which so
gracefully slumbered on the bosom of the
'western sky.
The fields and lames and trees are fa
miliar, recalling old memories and scenes.
Over the heaths we'had wandered forth
with brothers And sisters in merry mood
t 3 gather wild flowers, Under this tree
we, had gathered nuts; there have we
plucked blackberries from the brambles ;
through yonder meadow we have saunter
_in childish glee, inosearch of the fresh
sprung mush-room. Little did we know
of the cares and perplexities of life.
The old log school house is gone—a new
one has taken its place. The cluster of
trees is,still there. Here-is our old play
ground, upon which we have sported in
those halcyon days of old. We almost
fancy that we can, hear the shrill voices of
schoolmates, sublued by the distance bore
upon the breeze, bet, no! these voices can
never reach us „again. Where are our
school fellows.? time and change ?
Ask sickness and sword and boundless
ocean ! Ask accident and, death ! For all
these have been at work. What a dream
is the past!
But what emotions rise in the heart as
we stand and gaze upon the old house
where my father dwelt, and where a child
at the feet of . my mother I knelt." What
hallowed memories cluster around that
sacred spot ! What endeared associations
still linger there !
It was in that old time-honored dwell
ing that I knew bymy .mother and lisped
my evening prayer; 'receiving her affec
tionate kiss ; felt the hot tear fall on my
boyish head, and heard her in her broken
accents say, "God bless my child." When
- away - from that dear - home, ivade ra
diant by her smiles, we feel that her pray
ers still bless us as we roam: her words
we never forgot. Those were sacred sea-
How sweet their memory, when in
& innocence we "Coinmuned—Withs
heaven and felt the angels near !
The old house stands us a monument to
departed days. There have been changes
there. The footprints of time are seen.—
The moss covered- roof ; the ivy-bound pil
lars; the decayed columns and the crumbl
ing walls seem in keeping with scenes and
memories. The inmates of long ago are
gone ; some sleep in the grave, over which
the weeping willow ehoops and the winds
low a mourn u - requiem ; ie res are
acting their part in, the great drama of
life, far away from that sacred old domi
But still there are hallowed associations
and reminiscenses which crowd and clus
er that old house, long silenced
voices which still linger and echo there.—
There are affections centred there that will
make that place ever dear to us. And al
though our heads may grow silver with
age, our eyes grow dim, and our frames
may totter beneath the -weight of years,
yet still dear to our hearts will be the
scenes of our childhood when fond recol
lection presents them to view.
"But, oh ! how sad the thought ! The
old house has passed into' stranger hands.
It is no longer our old house.
"That old house is no dwaing for me ;
The home" of the stranger henceforth it must
And n e'er shall I view it nor roam as a guest
O'er the evergreen field which my father
But still in my:slumbers sweet ;visions will
Of days that I passed in the old house at
A Factory Girl's Experiences. .
Writing from Boston to the Chicago
Journal, a correspondent relates the sto
ry of such mutations in a life as may be
considered characteristic of American ex
periences. In 1865 there came to the
metropolis of New England, from Penob
scot, in Maine, a young orphan girl, who,
after vainly striving to maintain herself
comfortably at home by' school teaching,
had decided to essay the fortunes of a
factory girl in a larger city. Entering
the hoop
,skirt manufactory of a private
firm in Boston, she devoted all her ener
gies to a mastery of the business, that her
confinement to mere drudgery might not
be long protracted, and this to such effect
that in a year's time she was promoted to
the position of saleswoman.
In two years mere her superior mental
capacity and practical tact made her the
chief saleswoman of the establishment,and
through this last position she was brought
to the acquaintance of a certain rich Cal
ifornia merchant buying goods for his
store in San Francisco. The acquaintance
matured into a mutual regard of a graver
nature. The girl, well as she was doing,
had a woman's natural yearning for wo
man's domestic kingdom, and when the
Californian closed his business account for
the time by asking the saleswoman to go
back to San Francisco with him as his
wife she yielded a graceful assent. After
a quiet wedding the two departed tcgeth
er for the Pacific coast, where the ensuing
four years were passed in all the harmo
ny nii,d prosperity requisite for the smooth
est progress of married life.
The wife now of a rich man, and the
possessor of abilities and personal come
liness to grace a high social station, the
former factory girl assumed a command
ing position in the society of her new home
and became a leader in matters of aristo
cratic taste and fashion. After four years
the Americanism of her destiny found
tragic demonstrations. Some months ago.
her husband was tempted into one of those
extravagant mining speculations which
are the bane of California, and entered
too deep to be able to withdraw before the
collapse mid crush. In a few .hours of
sinking values he was dragged down from
wealth to poverty, and revenged himself
upon fortune by committing suicide. The
sound of the fatal pistol shot awoke the.
bereaved wife from her four years' dream
of happiness and plenty to the old realil
ty ofher girlish homeliness and want.—
The expenses of the self destroyer's burial
left her with barely enough remaining
from recent wealth to secure her return
to Boston, where she is once more work
ing for a livelihood as though the Cali
fornia episode had never "blighted ker ex
A deb'tor gave as an evuse for nonpay
ment, that "money was very close, but not
close enough yet for him to reach it."
VII ;FA JJ 4'4 l ;P AY P) ›oi-e5 o Ale) _M >0 Oki , 4 1 Y ;:k OVA P >0 . 7.4 1 :1 Avi , ' . o l IA
A Tale of Pantaloons.
A Davenport legalgentlema,n went out
one evening last week. to have a quiet
game of billiards. He stuck to his cue for
several faithful hours, conyjvialized with
his friends still longer and then went
home- On retiring to rest he was most
singularly uneasy and tossed about for
some time without dropping into that
peaceful slumber we usually derive from
a clear conscience. His lady was annoy
ed and complained kindly. It was no use,
however; something drove sleep from his
eyelids. At this juncture his lady was
taken suddenly ill (how fortunate he was
awake 1) and he was appealed to to hast
off to the nearest drug store in quest of a
restorative. He 'hastily attired himself,
double quickened down the street, rushed
into a store, obtained the article so urgent
ly required, and produced his pocket book.
Great Caesar! what had transpired? He
bad never seen that wallet before; and
the pants they were not his own. Could
it be possible he was in his right mind?
Was it not rather all a distemp ere d
dream? He resolved to see, and without
stopping to take the remedy with him, he
,rushed back to the wife of his bosom. He
r .did not flourish a revolver, he did -not
tudes like a gladiator—he simply I took
part in the following conversation :
`Jane ?'
•'Yes, dear.'
93etter. Mucklietter. I think a good
.sleep is all I now need. How kind
to go:to so much trouble?'
`Very kind, wasn't it ?'
`Very kind, honey.'
`Jane, shall I turn on the gas?
'lf you like, dear.'
The gas was turned on.
`Yes dear.'
---4- Do - they_looklike - mrp - antaloons_?'
'Why, what can you mean dear ?'
mean; do these resemble the trousers
I wore home this evening ?'
.'Why how can I tell, dear?' and Jane
raised up with some reluctance, gave a
quick glance and screamed outright.
`Husband,' said she, with some embar,
rassment, 'you've made a ridiculous mis
take somewhere, while out with your
friends. What in the world have you
been doing to-night?'
`That's rather thin, Jane. We don't
lisuallytake off our pants to play billiards.
When I went to bed to-night I laid my
proper pantaloons on that there chair.
When I dressed to go out, the pair I have
on first fell in my way. I put them on.
I discovered at the store they were not
mine. I returned at once, and now I
find the pair I left on the chair are miss
Jane began to sob, weep, and protest
her innocense, while the husband paced
the floor in deep reflection.
lane; at last he said, guess you .can
go home to your parents to•morrow. You
and I have gotten along very well for a
year or two, but the thing's played,
And down Stairs he went with a deaf
ear to the frenzied appeals and prayers
she showered after him. An investiga
tion on the morrow disclosed the fact that
the mysteriously procured pantaloons con
tained just $3OO more than the pair that
had so mysteriously walked off. Jane
left on the first train for her Illinois home.
A bill of divorce has been filed, and no
one has called to exchange pantaloons
and pocket-books.
Stopping the Paper.
This is what an exchange says in speak
ing on this subject : "In the past year we
have lost but one subscriber, and that one
appears displeased at something which he
does not clearly state. We might very
appropriately quote for such persons the
story about Mr. Swain, years ago, when
he was the proprietor of the Ledger. By
his course in regard to some public mat
ter, he had offended a number of readers,
one of whom met him on Chestnut street,
and thus accosted him :
"Mr Swain, I've stopped the Ledger."
"What is that, sir ?"
"I've stopped the Ledger," was the
stern reply.
"Great Heavens ! said Mr. Swain ; "my
dear sir, that won't do. Come with me
to the Office. This must be looked into."
And taking the man with him he en
tered the office at Third and Chestnut
streets. There they found the clerks busy
at their desks ; then they ascended to the
editorial rooms and the composing room
where nil was as usual. Finally they de
scended to the press rooms, where the en
gineers were at work.
"I thought you told me you had stop
ped the Ledger," said Mr. Swain.
"So I have," said the offended subscrib
"I don't see the stoppage. The Ledg
er seems to be going on."
"Oh I mean to say—that is, that l—
ah—had stopped T4KING IT."
"Is that all?" exclaimed Mr. Swain.—
"Why, my dear sir, you don't know how
you alarmed me. As for your individu
al subscription I care very little. Good
day, sir, and never make such rash as
sertions again.
Fortunately no one is compelled to take
a paper he does not vault, and that fact
should set at rest the hearts of these great
ly excited individuals."
Beware of the boarding-houses where
you• are to be "treated as one of the fam
Beware of a young lady who calls you
by your Christian name the first time she
meets you.
Beware of a wife who talks about her
"dear husband" and "that beautiful dress"
in her sleep.
Beware of the man who sells goods be
low cost—upon his honor.
Charge it.
I role to town the other day , with Sam
Stewer. He was in a "deuce of a hurry."
He had sold a tub of butter to be deliv
ered at the station that day, sad he had a
field ready to sow with wheat. He didn't
know how to spare the time, but he "need
ed the money," and so harnessed his team
to deliver the butter. This he did, got
his cash, and, returning from the station,
stopped at a store to get two pounds of
tea, a pound of coffee, a pound of allspice,
five pounds of sugar, and. a gallon of mo
lasses. He hustled them into the wagon,
and, as he was untying the tiestrap, he
shouted to the merchant, "Chaige it."
After we had started home, I said, "Why
did you not pay that bill ? You had the
money in your pocket."
"Yes; but you see I had got to buy
some clover seed of Peter Juniper, who
only deals in cash—don't give credit.—
Then I have got a bill to pay at the mil
liner's. My wife wants a new bonnet, so
does daughter Sally, and last years bill is
not paid ; and the women folks said they
would not ask for any more credit there
until it was, so I've got the fifteen or twen
ty dollars to pay up last year's bill, so
they can get their head-gear. The fact
while. These middle-men do take the
life-blood out of us farmers."
"Bah !" said I. "That is all nonsense."
There are two words, Stewer,_that you
should Heys " r speak to a man or woman
of whom you make a purchase; nor should
you allow any one to say them for you.—
If yoit will agree to do so, I will warrant.
that within two years you will be out t f
debt, a free, happy and independent man ;
and that what you buy will cost you from
seven to fifteen per cent. less than it does
now !"
"What words ?"
"Never say "charge it !" Never allow
-any-one to say '-`charge it." The than
who does it has to pay a good roun • per
cent. for the use of the money he thus
borrows—more than any farmer can af
ford to pay. I've tried it Stewer, and I
know.. You have often wondered how I
always manage to have ready money. It
is be cause I do not say "charge it." " It is
bees nse I will not say "charge it." It is
bemuse I will not buy what I cannotpay
cash for. And it is because when I. do
buy, I can get it cheaper than you can,
because I do pay cash for it, and you say
"charge it." That's what ails you, Stew
er. And you'll always be a Stewer, and
in a stew, as long as you say to anybody,
"charge it."--Bural New Yorker,
tile only guide mortal man has to rest leis
ope of a future life on, take it away and
'I that remains for man to build his hope
on, unless he invents some other system to
,gratify his natural longings for a Supreme
Being that he can venerate. God created
man perfect with all his faculties to ven
erate a Supreme Being; to have a con
science that prompts to justice. Man rea
sons, and admires all that is good. The
Bible and as teaching are perfectly adapt
ed to man's nature and all his natural
wants. Without such a guide all, good
men would be at sea without a compass.
Bad men, skeptics, infidels, are defective
in their moral organization. Such men
see differently, and are at least for a time
willing to reject the teachings and pre
cepts of the Bible. Such men see through
glasses that are morally dark. Such men
have no inspirations to lead them up to
God and his teaching. They will scoff
at things holy and sacred, only when death
comes and when they find themselves lost
to all hope, they not knowing where to
find rest for their souls, only then will
they realize the hopelessness of their un
belief,eonly then will they feel themselves
out at sea like the mariner without his
compass. The Bible is the only hope of
man when he is done with this world, and
it makes men good and useful for this
world. It makes society better,a3afer and
happier. Young men and young woman,
think of this when the skeptics tells you
otherwise. Trust not their specious argu
ments ; they are delusive and destructive
to society and your immortality. Believe
it not that you are like brutes when you
die. Remember youlaave no other mor
al guide like the Bible, It is your safest
How TO ENJOY LIFE.—It Is wonder
fill to what an extent people believe hap
piness depends on not being obliged to
tabor. Honest, hearty, contented labor,
is the only source of happiness, as well
as the only guarantee of life. The gloom
of, misanthropy is not only a great de
stroyer of happiness we might have, but
it tends to destroy life itself. Idleness
and luxury produce premature decay much
faster than many trades regarded• as the
most exhausting and fatal to longevity.—
Labor, in general, instead of shortening
the term of life, actually increases it. It
is the lack of occupation that annually
destroys so many of the wealthy, who,
having nothing to do, play the part drones
and like them make a speedy exit, while
the busy bee fills out its day in useful
ness and. honor.
If I were to choose among all gifts and
quality that which on the whole makes
life pleasant, I should select the love of
children. No circumstances can render
this world wholly a solitnde to one who
has this possession. It is a free-masonary.
Wherever one goes there are the little
brethren of the mystic tie. No diversity
of race or tongue makes much difference.
A smile speaks the universal language.
"If I value myself on anything,7 said the
lonely Hawthorne, "it is on having a smile
that children love." They are such prompt
little beings,too ; they require no prelude,
hearts are won in two minutes at that
frank period ; and so long as you are trip
to theta they will be true to you.
For the Village Record.
BY °A. B. S
The world is Full of Beauty,
Around, beneath, on high,
'Tis written o'er the earth abroad,
And painted on the sky.
The world is full of beauty,
The mountains as they stand
Show forth its power and loveliness,
O'er all the pleasant land.
The world is full of beauty,
The rippling streamlets say,
As gently murmuring on they flow
And leave a shining way.
The world is full of beauty,
The flowers softly sing,
And unto their Creator's hand
A worthy tribute bring.
The world is full of beauty,
The sun is daily singing,
While light and gladness o'er the earth
-He constantly is bringing.
The world is full of beaut
To lead man to rejoice,
And praise his great Creator
With all his heart and voice.
Yes, - the world - is - fall - of - beauty -
Around, beneath, on high,
'Tis written o'er the earth abroad,
And painted on the sky.
In the south of New Jersey, some years
ago, there traveled over some of the har
dest countries, a good, faithful ; hardwork
ing brother, named James Moore, or 'Jim
my Moore," as he was familiarly called.
He was devotedlo the itinerancy. A true,
lAyal Methodist, plain, pointed, and_sharg
in all his preaching and exhortations. Bre
had been laboring a year on one of his cir
cuits, and before leaving for his new field,
he gave his people, who dearly loved him,
his farewell sermon.
At its close he said : "My dear breth
ren, that is my last addfess to you. I am
going, and you may never hear
the voice of James Moore again."
"Amen 1" came loudly from the seat
before him.
He looked at the man with a little sur
prise, but thinking it was a mistake, he
went on.
"My days on earth will soon be num
bered. lam an old man, and you may
not only hear the voice of James Moore,
but never see his face again."
"Amen !" was shouted from the same
seat, more vigorously than before.
There was no mistaking the design now.
The preacher looked at the man. He knew
him to be a hard, grinding man—stingy
and merciless to th poor.
He continued his address—" May the
Lord bless all those of you who have done
your duty, who have honored him with
your substance, who have been kind to
the poor, and—." . Pausing and looking
the intruder straight in the eyes, an d
pointing to him with his finger,_ " Mayhis
curse rest on those who cheated the Lord
and ground the poor under his heels.--
Say amen, to that, brother!"
The shot told. ,He was not interrupted
again.—Christian Weekly.
Judge Davis' Riches.
Judge. Davis, of Illinois, the Labor
Reform candidate for the Presidency, is a
a rich man. The public may not know
how he became wealthy. About thirty
five years ago, when Judge Davis was a
practicing lawyer in the West, he was
employed by a Connecticut man to col
lect $BOO. Davis went to the place where
the• Debter lived, and found him to be
rich in landed possessions, but without a
spare dollar in money. He finally set
tled the bill by giving a deed for a tract
of land—a flat, moist and undesirable
piece of land in appearance, lying close
by a sheet of water, and consisting per
haps of sixty acres. Davis consequently
met his Connecticut client in St. Louis,
when the latter (who seemed not to have
the usual Connecticut shrewdness) fell to
and gave him a regular"blowing up" for
taking the land, rather than insisting up
on taking the $BOO in cash. He didn't
want any of your western land, and he
told Davis that, having accepted it in
payment for the debt, he had better keep
it himself, and pay over the money out of
his own pocket. To this Mr. Davis a
greed. Stepping into a friend's office he
borrowed $BOO, took the Connecticut man's
receipt for the land, and held the land for
a rise. That land now forms part of one
of the suburbs of Chicago. Judge Da- ,
vii sold two or three hundred thousand
dollars' worth of it, and has nearly a mil
lion dollars' worth left. It is a striking
example of what the possession of Wes
tern property has done for its Western
bolder; and as the story has never been
printed we thought it would be interest
ing enough to publish.
"Can you tell me the road to Green.:
vine?" asked a Yankee traveler of a boy
whom Le met on the road. "Yes, sir,"
said the boy. "Do you see our barn
down there?" "Yes," said he. "Go to
that—about three hundred yards beyond
the barn you will find a lane. Take that
lane, and follow along about a mile and
a half. Then you will come to a slippery
elm log. You be mighty keerfiil, strang
er, about going on that log—you may
get into the branch—and then you go on
up to the brow of the hill, and there the
roan prevaricates ; and you take the left
hand road, and keep that until you get
into a big plum thicket; and when you
get there, why then—then--then---"
;What then?" "Thai, stranger, be
hanged if you ain't lost !"
HOME LIFE.- One marked difference
between the animate and inanimate ob
ject consists in the need of the former for
a home. Most of all 'is this necessity
manifested in the human race; and the
greater -.the civilization, the more tena
acious the clinging to home, and the more
profuse are the means brought to bear to
perfect its arrangements.
If this need of home be so inherent in
our natures, and so important to our wel
fare, it becomes the duty of all to see to
it that contributes their share to its es
tab i ihment and perpetuation. This ob
ligation, in some of its many forms, rests
upon every one. The father who main
tains the household, the mother who di
rects it, the children, who are its joy, aie
all active and responsible agents in mak
ing home the centre of their truest life.
the birth place of noble aspirations arid
generous affections, and the spot to which
the memory of future, years will cling
most fondly.
The conception of the felicity possible
to be realized by true home life falls usu
ally far short of a,true standard. The
means of happiness within the reach of
every household are greater than they are
aware of and lie more closely; within their
reach. Riches ma• 'urchase luxuries
)ut never can buy the sweet content and
satisfaction that flow over the humblest
household where affection and order reign
supreme. Let us, then, cherish our homes
as .our_mostsacreitreasures....------
"THAT'S A MAN."—A farmer in Illi
nois had a neighbor across the Wabash in
Indiana who was keeping a pauper on
contract at his house. In the corn hoeing
season the Illinois man sometimes borrow
ed his neighbor's pauper to help in the
corn field. Bill Turner had a pauper work
ing for him, and as none of the people in
the neighborhood had nver seen a pauper,
they were very anxious to get a peep at
Wnri, • Consequently-some-twenty-of-them
joined together one day, armed with their
shot guns and rifles, and went over to
Turner's to see the strange•creature. They
got cautiously over the fence, and came
up to where the men were working.
"Bill," said Silas Brown, their spokes.
man, "we've heard that you've got a pau
per working for you, and we'd like to see
Bill thereupon pointed out the object
of their curiosity. The visitor walked a
round the astonished pauper and silently
surveyed him from every point of view.
At last Silas spoke :
"Look here, Bill Turner," said he, 'you
can't fool us ; that's a man !"
We wish all those in charge of Qharita
ble institutions had the same idea about
paupers as Silas had.
THY KINGDOM' COME. —A poor wound
ed boy was dying in a hospital. He was
a soldier,- but a mere boy for all' that.—
The lady who watched by his bedside saw
that death was coming fast, and placing
her hand upon his head, she said to him :
"My► dear boy, if this should be death
that is coming upon you, are you ready to
meet your God ?"
The large dark eyes opened slowly, and
a smile passed over the young soldier's
face, as he answered, "I am ready, dear
lady, for this has long been his kingdom ;"
and as he spoke he placed his hand upon
his heart.
"Do you mean," questioned the lady,
gently, "that God rules and reigns in your
"Yes," he answered ; but his voice
sounded far off, sweet and low, as if it
came from a soul well on its way through
the "dark valley and shadow of death."
And still he lay there with his hand a
bove his heart, even after that heart had
ceased to beat, and the soldier-boy's soul
had gone up to its God:
Too Monti.—A young lady with a
number of othe.s, who were injured by a
rail road accident near Boston, was car
ried to a hospital, The surgeon came
round and said to the fashionable miss :
"Well madam, what can I do for you?
"Doctor, one of my linibs is broken.
"One of your limbs? said he; well which
limb is it?"
"Oh, I cant tell you doctor, but it is one
of my limbs.
"One of your limbs l" thundered the
doctor, out of patience ; "which limb is it
—the one you thread a needle with?
"No, sir," she answered with a sigh, "it
is the limb I wear a garter on."
The doctor attended to her then said :
"Young woman, never say limb again in
a hospital ; for when a woman gets as fas
tidious .as that the quicker she dies the
A Western exchange is inclined to be
facetious over the verb lay. It gets off
the. following : "There are all sorts of
lays in this world. Show me any partic
ular lay, and I will show you any num
ber of persons on it. Some men are con
tinually bunting subjects ‘ to write lays a
bout, 'while others lays about all their
lives, and never hunt anything, except it
is a drink. One man lays up a grudge,
and another lays.lor‘ttamething for a rainy
day. It is one niaria lay to lay a stone
wall s another to lay still. A ship lays
alongside, and a lazy
lays around
and does nothing. One man lays down
piping, and another lays down and dies,
while few, alas !Jay up their treasures a
bove. There are men who lay over their
fellows in every particular, and there are
t.thers who are sacrificed to be lay mem
bers all their lives ; although paradoxi
cal as it may appear, a lay member may
often be a member in good standing.
A "Patent Journal"states that the n•
ventor of a watch that winds itself tip and.
gives a pirkt of milk a day, is in I.Vas,
ington for the purpose of sect4l,ns• a pat.:
182,(16 PER YEAR
Mix ally alumor.
Why is - a needle in a hay stack like glue?
Because you can easily find it—in a horn,
Why is a wife like 4 bad bill ? Because
she is difficult to get changed.
What land, of all lands, do lovers like
the best ? Lap-land.
I - Wity is D, the best letter? Because
it makes men, mend.
If an enemy smite thee on the cheek
turn round and hit him a thundering clap
for his unmanerly kindness.
What did that young lady mean when
she said to her lover : "You may be too
late for the cars,but you can take a buss?"
likl e
Some people say ark haired wo'a d
men marry soonest. - differ; it is the
light headed ones.
A rural editor has lost all faith in the
hick of horse shoes. He nailed one over
his door recently and that morning there
came by mail three duns and seven `stops,'
and a man called with a revolver to ask
`who wrote that article."
An exchange says fashio na We young la,
dies are calling upon somebody to invent
a new dance. Suppose `somebody',invents
-one whereirrtife - younglidTdAikes - irond
the house and looks after everything.
A gentleman dining at a cheap restau
rant the other day was heard to give the
courageous order : "Waiter, let the cheese
move this way." It was a cheese very like
that on the table which was awarded the
prize for gymnastics at a country fair.
A sheriff who had a writ to serve ascer
tained that the defendant was dead, and
tossing - the - paper - over - the - wall - of t e cem
etery, he made return upon the writ that
he had left the. summons at the last and
usual place of abode. •
A young married man was perfectly
astonished to find two large bustles in his
chamber one morning. It was not until
after the adjustment of his wife's correct
that he had the least idea in the world
where the second one belonged:
A gentleman connected with a Boston
bank as a clerk,recently robbed the bank.
They called him a "fellow" and other dis
reputable names at first, and some inti
mated that he was a thief, for they thought
he had stolen only a few dollars. But it
turns out he :took $85,000, and is not a
thief at all, but a defaulter.
One of our exchanges says that a dapc
ing master in New York, has introduced
the "Kiss Cotillion," in which the gentle
man always kisses the lady as they "swing
the corners." We are not much on the
dance, but would like to swing a few cor
neas most awful
"Shut your eyes and listen mit me,"
said Uncle Van Heyde. "Veil, de first
night I opens store I counts do monies
and finds him nix right. „I counts and
dere be tree dollars gone ; and vat does
yer Link I does den ?" "I can't say." Vy,
I don't count him any more, and lie come
out shoost right•ever since."
The Springfield Republican says: "Ma
ry Hogan eloped from a Connecticut Sha
ker tommtinity and married Brother Jack
son on the sly. She quietly remarked to
a friend after the ceremony : "You can
make your apple sass and warrant it to
keep, lut gals ain't apples; and you can't
bile 'em down so they won't sour on your
old rules about marriage.
THE WAY TO LIVE.—Ten minutes of
weak repining will plunge a brave heart
into the depths of unhappiness as sudden
ly as a thunder storm will overcast Ist clear
sumnimer sky. The only way to live is
to cast away all troubles and contentions
which cannot be cured by fretting. A
thing that is done belongs to the past.—
In justice to the requirements of the pres
ent, and posssibilities of the future, you
cannot look back and make yourself
wretched over things which cannot, be m .
Cultivate consideration for - the feelinr•s
of other people if you would never
your own injured. Those who complain
of the most ill-use are the ones who ahuso
themselves and others the oftenest.
If life to you is not all you would hare
it seek to make it better and more enjoy
able yourself.
Everything in nature indulges in a
musement of some kind. The lightnings
play, the winds whistle, the thunder rolls,
the snow flies, the rills and cascades sing
and dance, the waves leap, the fields smile,
the vine: - creep and run, the buds shoot,
and the hills have tops—to play with.
But some of them have their seasons of
melancholy. The tempests moan, the
zephyrs sigh, the brooks murmur and the
mountains look blue.
USEFUL TRUTLit3.—Deserve friends and.
you will have them. The world is teem-
nig with kind hearted people, and yoir
have only to carry a kind, sympatlietio
heart in your own bosom to ealkout friend
lin.ess from alma. ,14.!
It is a mistake to expect toil4ceive wel
come, hospitality, words of chillier and help,
over rugged and difficult pa k tics in life,
in Maya fornothiug in the world but self.
Live Elp, long as you may, the first twenty
years form the greater part of your
They appear so when they are passing
they seem to have been so when we look.
back to gem, and they take more kp•na
lo our kiemory thun
.01 the years that,
i4teceedAt gem. '