. •
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BY W. 11;41,IR
VOLUME 25.
FIT BWAINPBORO' N . ILL
Puniasarm EyERY yit;cumj
By W. BL
TEEMS—Two Dollars per An - Trrr, paid
within the year; Two Dollars and
Fifty cents after the expiration
of the year. .
.4,DVERTISEMENTS—One Square (10
lines) three insertions,sl,so ; for
each subsequent insertion, Thin
five Cents per Square. A liberal
discount made to yearly adverf•
Users,
LOCAL-13usiriess Locals Ten Cents per
line forlhe first insertion, Seven
Cents fel subsea uent insertions
Pri,ll.gsionai (ards.
J. B. AIaBERSON, N. D.,
fIiK.S'ICIAN AND SURqE,ON,
WAYNESBORO', i'A.
• Office it the Waynesboro' "Corner Drug
ore." pane 29-Ltif.
B. _A_ rEZ
• -
Has resumed the practice of Medicine.
OFFICE—In the Walker Building—near
e owd - enHuuse: — N - ight - e - alls - should - li•
'lnade at his residence on Main Street, ad:-
Joining the Western School House.
' July 20-tf
C.. N. S.N.TV_UI_iY, 1Z" p.,
1-ati-N-AIIIII.E
WAYNESBORO' PA.
Office at hi, residence, nearly opposite
he Bowden House. Nov 2—tf.
WIN A. 111 7 SNONG,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BAVING been admited to Practice Law
at the several Courts in Franklin Coun
ty, all business entrusted to his care will be
--prompt Iv-attended-to. -Post_Office_address
Mercersburg, Pa.
•• L , 3 W. D,E 7 k LE
p
ATTORNEY AT LAV,
WAYNESBORO', PA,
Will give prompt and close attention to all
business entrusted to his care. Office next
door to the Bowden House, in the Walker
'Building. •
JOSEPH DOUGLAS,
ATTORNEY• AT LAW,
WAYNESBORO', PA.
Practices in the several Courts of Franklin
and adjacent Counties.
N. B.—lteal Estate leased and sold,. and
Fire Insurance effected on reasonable terms.
December 10, IS7I.
IL, it,. Hl, traiIiGHSLER,
(FORMERLY OF MERCERSBURG, PA.,)
41IFFERS his Professional services to the
4 1ficitizens of Waynesboro' and vicinity.
Da. STRICKLER has relinquished an exten
sive practice at Mercersburg, W)l2-c , has
peen prominently engaged fors. „
rearsin.the practice of his profession.
- He has opened an 011iee in Waynesboro',
at the residence of George Besore, Esq., 4 1 is
Father-in . -law, where he can be found at I 1
times when not professionally engaged.
, July 20, 1871.—tf.
DR. J. 31. RIPPLE. DR. A. B.I3ONERRAKE.
RIPPLE & BONERAKE,
WAYNESBORO', •PA.
Having associated themselves in the prac
tice of Medicine and Surgery, offer their
professional services to the public.
- Office in the room on the is orth East
Cor. of the Diamond, formerly occupied by
br. John J. Oellig; deed. •
July 18, 1872—1 y
A. K. BRANISHOLTS,
RE SIDENT DENTIST
WAYNP,SBORO',
C .
AN be found in his Office at all times,
where he is prepared to perform all
Dental operations in the best and moat
eland manner.
We being acquainted with Dr. Branis
holtssocially, and professionally recommend
him to all desiring the services of a Dentist.
Ilr:. E. A. HERING,
" ' J. M. RIPPLE,
" A. IL STRICKLER,
•
" J. B. AMBERSON, '
" I. N. SNEVELY,
" A. S. I3ONBRAKE,
" T. D. FRENCH,
Z_ 0- 138.,..A_0KT31...1..T.3,
PHOTOGRAPHER,
S. E. Corner of the Diamond,
WAYNEs,EpRo',
HAS at all times a fine assortment of ?lc
tures Frames - and MOuldings. Call and
pas specimen pictures. June. tf.
DEMO EDTEL.
Cantor gi Mani CO queen Sts,,
CHAMBERSBURG, Penn'a.
LA.NTZ . &, UNGER, Proprietors.
The UNION has - been entirely refited
anti re-furnished in every department, and
under the supervision of the present pro
prietors, no effort will be spared to deserve
a liberal share, of patronage:
Their. tables will be spread .with the
best the. - Narket affords, and their Bar
will always contain the choicest Liquors.
The favor of the public solicited.
Extensive.Stablingand attentivellostlers.
Dec. 11-1-y
33r icar".. rcpt.. Salo.
rir HE subscribers Would inform the pub
. lic that they have tiow for sale a good .
article of brick and will: continue to have
A supply on hand during the summer sea
son. B. r. FUICK.
June 13—tf
',NOTICE TO;BUILDERS.
A fine lot Pine Building Lumber. for sale
Aland will be famished in rough, or hew
ed •in proper eizes to suit purchasers of
Bills, Apply at MoNrEarr Sranios.
1872—tf
All RECORD
Mnia
cr
[The following prophetic piece of poetry
we publish by request. It was perhaps com
posed soon after the Ilevolutionny war.] •
Colombia Columbitti to glory arise,
The queen of the •wori.d, and the cxid of
the skies,
y genius corn
behold,
While ages on ages thy splendors unfold,
Thy reign is the last and the noblest of time
Most fruitful. thy soil, most inviting thy
clime ;
Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson
thy name,
4e freedom,• and science, and virtue thy
fame.
To conquest and slaughter let Europe as-
pare,
Tielm nations in blood, or wrap cities in'
fire;
Thy herqes the_riglifffarailid - shaltd - e=
fend,
And triumph pursue them and glory attend,
A world is thy realm, for a world be thy
laws,
Enlarged as thy empire, and just as thy
cause ;
On freedom's broad basis that empire shall
rise,
Extend with_the _main, and_
skies.
Pair science-her gate-to-thy_sons_shall un
bar,
And the east see thy morn hide the beams
of her star ;
New bards and new sages unrivaled shall
soar,
To fame unextinguish'd, when time is no
more.
To the last refuge of virtue design'd,
Shall fly from :611 nations, the best of man
kind ;
There,'gratefut to heaven, with transport
shall bring
Their incense,_ mere fragrant than odors of
spring.
Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory as,
• tend,
And genius and beauty in harmony blend;
Their graces of form shall awake pure desire,
And the charms of the soul still enliven
the fire :
Their sweetness unmingled, their man
ners refin'd,
nd virtue's bright image enstamp'd on the
mind ;
With peace and sweet rapture shall teach
life to glow,
And light up a smile in the aspect of wo.
Thy .fleets to all regions thy power shall dis-
play,
The nations admire, the ocean obey ;
Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold,
And the east and south yield their spices and
gold;
As the day-spring unbounded thy splen
dors shall flow,
And earth's little kingdoms beforo thee
shall bow,
While the ensigns of union in triumph
unfurl'd,
lifush anarchy's sway, and give peace to the
world. .
Thus down a lone valley with cedars o'er
spread,
From the noise of the town I pensively
stray'd,
The bloom from the face of fair heaven
retied
The wind ceased to murmur, the thunders
•
expied ;
Perfumes, as of Aden, flowed sweetly along,.
And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung
Columbia! Columbia! to glory arise,
The queen of the world, and the child of
the skies.
atlistellautous geadinff.
THE WHITE PANT IM.
Major Rupert Stanley, a "bol,d dra
goon" in the service of his majesty George
IH., found himself one dark, blustering
night in autumnoiding towards London,
on the old York road. He had supped
with a friend who lived at a village some
distance off the road and be was unfamil,
iar with the country. Though not rain
ing,' the air was damp and the heavy
clouds threatened every moment to pour
down their contents. But the major,
though a young man, was an old cam.-
paigrier : and with a warm cloak wrap-.
p9d about him and a good horse under
him would have cared little for the storm
and darkness, had he felt sure of a good
bed for hiinself and comfortable quarters
for his horse, when he had ridden far e
nough for the strength of his faithful ani
mal. So he jogged along; but mile after
mile was passed and no twinkling light
in the distanc3 gave notice of the appear
ance of the wished-for inn. At last a dim
light suddenly appeared at the - turn of
the road. The horse pricked up his ears,
and trotted forward with spirit and soon
halted beside a orte•story cottage. The
major was disappointed, but he rapped
loudly with the butt of his whip. The
summons brought a . sleepy cotter- to the
door.
"My good friend," said, the major,, "can
•
11 \ " Z. r, • 9,11 V 9 VIII z *tip; I i's
A ant to seq.
COI4MBrA.
cds - thee;with raptures
WAYNESBORO', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 26,1572.
you tell me how far it is to the next
inn?" •
"Eh f it is about zeven mile, zur," was
the answer in the broad Yorkshire dia.
leerotthe-distriet:
"Seven miles 1" exclaimed the major,
a tone of disappointment, "and my
Mrse is already blown ! My good fellow,
can't yon put my horse somewhere, and
give me aled? I will •a • .ou liberally
for your trouble."
"Eh ! Goodness sakes !" said the rustic,
"I be nought but a ditcher! There be ma
place to put the nag in, and there be on
ly one room and one bed in the cot."
"What shall I do ?" cried the major,
f it his wit's end.
"I tell' ee zur," said the rustic, scratch
ing-hilead_violently. "There be vone
house•about a mile vurther
,on. It's noa
inn but,the colmiel zees company vor the
vun o' tha thing—`cause he likes to zee
company about 'um. You must 'a heard
of him—Colonel Rogers—a' used to be a
soler once."
"Say no more," cried the major,
have heard of this hospitable• gentleman.
Here's a crown for. your information my
-good-friezal Cool. M: Aber I ugh "
Touching his-steed with the spur, the
major rode off: A sharp trot of a few
moments brought him to a mansion which
stood unfenced by the roadside. He made,
for the front door, and, without dismount
ingLiplieslitheiarge-brass—knocker till a
servant in livery made his appearance.
"Is your master up?" asked the ma-
for.
"I am the occupant of this house," said
a venerable gentleman, making his ap
pearance.
"I am a benighted traveler, sir," said
the major, touching his hat, "and come to
_claitn_your_ hospitality_Can4eu4ve
me a bed for the night ?-I- am afraid that
my four-footed companion is hardly able
to cary me to the next inn."
"I cannot promise you a bed, sir," said
the host, "ifsFr but — one spare bed in
the house, and it pappens to be in a room
that is haunted : that is the only one, un
fortunately, that I can place at your dis
posal to-night."
"My dear sir," said the major, spring
ing from his horse, "you enchant me be,
yond expression ! A haunted chamber.—
The very thing—and I have never seen
a ghost. What luck!'.'
The host shook his head gravely.
"I never knew a man," said he, "to
pass a night in that chamber without re
orettinT it."
ye wit
Major Stanley laughed as he took out
his pistols. saying, "With these friends I
fear 'neither man nor demon.."
Col. Rogers showed his guest into a
comfortable parlor, where refreshments
most welcome to a weary traveler, stood
upon a table.
"Mine host" was an old campaigner,
and had seen much service, and he was
full of interesting anecdotes of adventures.
But while Major Stanley was apparently
listening to the narrative of his entertain
er, throwing in the appropriate ejacula
tions of surprise and pleasure at the prop
er interval* his whole attertion was in
reality absorbed by a charming girl of
twenty, the daughter of the colonel, who
graced the table with her presence. She,
in turn, seemed very favorably impressed
with the manly beauty and frank manners
of their military guest.
At length she retired. The colonel who
was a three bottle man, was somewhat hi
dined to prolong the .ssion, but finding
that his guest was fatigued, and begin
ning to nod in the midst of his choicest
story, he felt compelled to ask him if he
would not like to,retire. Major Stanley
replied'in the affirmative, and the old gen
tleman ceremoniously marshalled his guest
to a large old-fashioned room. A com
fortable bed invited to repose ; a cheerful
fire- was blazing on the hearth, and eve
rything was cosy and quiet. The major
looked round him with a smile of satisfac
tion.
am deeply indebted to you, colonel,'
said he, "for affording me such comforta
ble quarters. I shall sleep like a top."
"I am afraid not," answered the Colo
nel, shaking his head gravely. "I never
knew a 'guest of mine to pass a quiet night
in this chamber."
"I shall prove an exception," said the
major, smiling. "But I must make one
remark. It is ill sporting with a soldier,
and should any of your servants attempt
to play tricks upon me, they will have
occasion to' regret it." And he laid his
pistols on the stand by his bedside.
"My servants, Major Stanley," said the
old gentleman, with an air of dignity, 'are
too well drilled to dare attempt any trick
upon my guests. Good night, Major.'
The door closed. Major Stanley lock
ed it. Having done so, he took a survey
of the apartment. Besides the door open
ipg into the entry,there was another lead
ing to some other room. There was no
lock upon this second door, but a heavy
table placed across,completely barricaded
it.
The major threw himself into an arm
chair before the fire, and amused himself
with building castles in the air, and mus
ing on the attractions of the host's daugh
ter. He was far enough from thinking
of spectral visions, when a slight noise
struck on his ear. Glancing in the direc
tion of the inner.door, he thought he saw
the heavy table glide backwards. He
caught up a pistol, and challenged the in
truder. There was no reply, but the door
continued to open, and the table to slide
back., At last there glided into the room
a talk graceful figure, robed in white. At
the first glance, the blood curdled in the
major's veins ; at the second he recogniz
ed the, daughter of his host. Her eyes
were vide open, but it was evident she
was asleep. The young girl walked to
the fireplace and seated herself in the arm
chair from which the-soldier !lad riserts:—
His first impulse was to vacate the room,
- and - go-directly and alarm the , colonel.—
Bui,dri the first place he knew not what
apartment his host occupied, and in the
- • condi-curiosity prompted him to watch
the denouement of this singular scene.—
Julia raised her left hand, and gazed on
a ring that adorned one of her fingers,
pressing it repeatedly to her lips. She
then sank 'into an attitude of repose, her
arms drooping-listlessly-at-her-sides.
The major approach& her, and stole
the ring from her finger. His action dis
turbed, but did not awaken her. She seem
ed to miss , the ring, however, and after
groping hopelessly for it, rose and glided
through the doorway as silently as she
entered. She had no sooner retired than
the major replaced the table, and draw
ing a heavy clothes press against it, effec
tually guarded himself against a second.
intrusion.
This done, he threw himself upon the
bed and slept soundly until a late hour of
the morning. When he awoke, he sprang,
out of bed and, after completing his toilet,
descended to breakfast.- Here he met the
colonel and his blooming daughter..
"Well major—and how did you
_pass
the night ?," -asked the host, anxiously.
"Famously," replied Stanley. "I slept
like a top."
"Then, thank Heaven, the White Phan
tom has ceased to haunt that chamber, at
last !"
"By .no means," said the Major, smiling,
"the White Phantom paid me a visit last
night, and left me a token of the honor."
"A token 1" exclaimed father and daugh
ter, in a breath.
"Yes, my friends. and here it is !" And
the major handed the ring to the old gen
tleman.
" What's the meanin
[aimed the colonel.
you last week."
Julia Uttered a faint cry and turned
deadly pale.
• 6.- -
"The mystery is easily explained, 1, saul
the major. "The young lady is a sleep
walker. She came into my room before
I had retired, utterley unconcious of her
aetions. I took the ring from her that I
might be able to convince you and her of
the reality of what I had witnessed."
The major's business did not press and
he was easily induced to spend a few days
with the old colonel. The mutual liking
of the young folks increased upon better
acquaintance, and in a few weeks the
White Phantom's ring, inscribed with
the names of Rupert Stanley and Julia
Rogers, served as the sacred symbol of
their union for life.
A Text for Boys.
A man of very pleasing address,but very
dishonest in his practices, once said to au
honorable merchant, "whose word was as
good as his bond," "I would give fifty
thousand dollars for your good name."
"Why so ?" asked the other in some
surprise.
"Because I could make a hundred thou
sand dollars out of it." •
The honorable character which was at
the bottom of the good name he cared
nothing for ; it was only the reputation,
which he could turn to account in a mon
ey point of view, which he coveted.
But a good name cannot be bought with
silver ; it, of all other possessions, must
be fairly earned. -When it is possessed,
it is better business capital than a great
sum of money. It is a capital any boy
or‘girl may secure. Honesty must be its
foundation, even in the smallest particu
lars.. When an employer says, "That is
a boy I can trust," he will always find
himself in demand, provided he joins with
it industry.' "The hand of the dilligent
maketh rich."
It seems hard at the time, maybe,—
this ceaseless round of work, while other
boys are lounging about store-steps, or
playing on the green. But the reward
will come if you are faithful. While loun
gers are dragging out a miserable lifetime
in privation and poverty, the hard-work
ing boy lives at his ease, respected and
honored.
Remember this, boys, if you desire to
make your way in the world. There is
nothing that can serve your purpose like
a name for honesty and industry ; and
you will never acquire either if you area
lounger about the streets and a shirk at
your business. Everybody suspects a lad
who is often seen about saloon-doors or
tavern-steps. It undermines a boy's char
acter for honesty very rapidly to mizwith
the. society he finds there ; and such hab
its tend to hnything but industrious ways.
"A good , name is rather to be chosen
than great riches, and loving favor rather
than silver and gold." Print that test
on your heart, and carry it with you in
all your walks and ways. It is worth far
more than silver and gold to you.---Pies
byterian.
A GLIMPSE OF TRE OTHER WORLD.
•-Mrs. Gardiner, wife of a Michigan far
mer recently died under circumstances the
most extraordinary. Two of her sisters
were dead, one but lately, one a few
weeks ago. The cause of Mrs. Gardiner's
death was a congestive chill, and she had
been considered dead for six hours, and
was being prepared for the grave, she re
turned to consciousness and talked freely
with her attendants. She stated to those
around her that she had been to the bet
ter land and had seen both of her depart
ed sisters, with other friends ; that it was
a most beautiful land—beyond all• de
scription ! She said that she had per
mission to return to-tell living friends of
what she had seen but that she was anx
ious to return again, She passed away
soon after making her statement, and
seemed overflowing with joy and hanpi
ns.,,Thc Detroit Tribune says that there
can be no questiop as t9.the circumstances
above • stated.,
of thip, Julia r
"The ring
'I ascended once to such a level plain,'
says Dr. Mayes, "reaching eighty miles
from the ,coast at an altitude of five thou
sand feet. I was set upon by a tempest.
The temperature sank to thirth-four de
grees below zero. Nothing could be more
terrible than a wind under such circum
stances, except, perhaps, a furnace blast.
Mercury hardened almost to the consis
tency of lead. The moisture of the breath
froze on the beard in solid lumps of ice.—
The snow which came whirling along
the ice plane was like the sand-clouds of
the desert, which oftentimes overwhelm
travelers. There was no chance for life
except in flight. It would be difficult to
inflict greater torture upon a man than to
expose him to such a storm. First comes
alarm, then pain, then lack of perception.
One of my comrades said : "I cannot go
any further.. I do not want to ; I am slee
py ; I cannot walk." Another said : lam
no longer cold; lam quite warm again,
shall we not camp ?" There was great
need of.haste and exertion, or we should
all have perished. The whole continent
of Greenland is, say, twelve hundred miles
long, by six hundred broad. This gives
seven hundred and twenty thousand square
miles of superficial area ; and assuming
the ice, which covers the greater part of
it, to have the very moderate average
depth of five hundred feet, we have a grand
total of seventy thousand cubic miles of
ice. All this vast accumulation is the
property of Denmark.
In evidence of the change in climate
since then, we observe that in the old
chronicles of those ancient Northmen,
there is very little mention made of ice
as a disturbing element in navigation.—
From the glaciers come the icebergs, and
a fiord which receives a glacier is not hab
itable. The colony was destroyed by the
Skraellinge, savages now represented by
the Esquimaux, who have held undisturb
ed possession .of the country until now,
when they aro dwindling away. These
is no story of ruin and decay more sad
than this ; the ruthless hand of nature
•has nowhere pressed so heavily upon the
children of men. The little town in the
wilderness is a quaint, happy place, where
everybody is and smells more or less fishy,
where the women wear fur boots and trous
ers, do not know that petticoats exist, but
are as fond of jewelry as their Southern
sisters, and perfect adepts in dancing and
flirtation. The little company on board:
the Panther had a pleasant time of it in
the "fiord of the deserted homes" before
they steamed away southward to that of
Sermitlialik, which means "the place of
ice," there to witness phenomena such as
are not to be seen elsewhere in the whole
known world.
In Greenland the
,snow.falls dry. The
mountain's are loftly ; it never rains upon
thorn, and a'fresh layer of snow is laid
upon them every year. Enormous quan
tities break loose and roll down the moun
tain sides in avalanches ;- but the amount
is small in comparison with the deposit.
The glaciers are the means of drainage of
these great snow fields, which are turned
to ice by. a very simple process, and the
ice flows , to the sea. In many places in
this awful country the valley are so filled
that they have become level with the
summit of the mountains, and there is a
desert waste of whiteness,, smooth wt. the
sea and void of life as Sahara.
floirdoesthislinelookwithoutspacee—
WHO Will CARL
Who will care?
When we lie beneath the daisies,
_ Underneath the churchyard 'mold,
And the 'long grais o'er our faces
Lays its fingers damp and cold ;
When we sleep from care and sorrow,
And the ills of earthly
Sleep, to know no sad to-morrow,
. With its bitterness and strife—
Who will care ?
Who will care ?
•
Who will come to weep above us?
Lying,- oh! so white and still,
tnierneath, the skies of summer,
When all nature's pnlses thrill,
To a new life gay and tender,
Full of beauty rich and sweet,
And the world is clad in splendor
That the years shalt ever repeat—
Who will care?
Who will care?
When Queen Autumns flowers blossom,
And she stoops in pity down,
With a white flower for our bosom
• • ro al crown?
Who - will come to Icael-in pity -
By • our long and narrow bed,
When the wild winds sing their ditty
In the grasses o'er cur head—
Who will care?
Who will care ?
When the spring -time's glad smile lin
gers,
And the meadows far and wide, .
And the drops, from rosy fingers,
Bloom and leaf on every side ;
Who will come with tender yearning
To the graves of those they miss?
Who_Wrillsif, , YroT. our returning
Totheir presence and their kiss—
Who will care ?
Who will care ?
Who will think of white handslying
On a stilLand silent breast,
Never more to know of sighing,
Ever more to know of rest ?
Who will care? • No one can tell us,
But if rest and peace befall,
What it matters if they miss us,
Or they miss us not at all ?
Not at all.
Greenland and lts Ice.
The Old Homestead.
There are but few places so. dear to us
as the scenes of our childhood. Around
the associations of our early years our
Iffart's best-affections have—twined-them--
selves, and though we roam over the dark
sea foam. or wander in far distant lands,
yet we will often fly back on memory's
swift pinions to the golden moments of
life's morning, and fondly linger around
the sights and scenes of our juvenile ram
bles.
Emotions swell the heart and tears fill
the eyes as we think of the old house at
home. That olg„ house may not have been
a palatial structure, with its magnificent
dome and gorgeous surroundings ; it may
have been a humble cot in which poverty
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 us is that old house at
home.
We love that old building, and our at
tachment to it increases as years roll on.
We may dwell M a palace of golden
- brightness-the-steeples-of--which rnut. y
penetrate the very clouds, and millions of
eartlf_s_richest treasures may lie in our
coffers—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 recollection come throbbing
through - thh - earti - Every place and al
most every object that meets our gale has
some associations with our childhood days.
The brook flows on just as it did in days
of yore. The very gurgling of the cur
rent seems familiar. Here, in this brook,
we had our dock yard, and here we sailed
our mimic fleet. There stands the "old
oak tree" under which we conned our boy
ish task._ From here we had rolled stones
down the steep hillside and watched them
disappear in the clear—waters below ; on
that grassy knoll we had stood at sunset,
and had gazed upon the golden clouds
which so gracefully slumbered on the bo
som of the western sky.
The fields and lanes and trees are fa
miliar, recalling old memories and scenes.'
Over the hills we had wandered forth with
brothers and sisters in merry snood to
to gather wild flowers. Under this tree
we had gathered nuts ; there have we
plucked blackberries from the branches;
through yonder meadow we have saunter
ed in childish glee in search 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, subdued by the distance,
bor upon the breeze, but, no these voice
can never reach us again. Where are
our school fellows ? Ask time and change!
Ask sickness and sword and boundless o
cean Ask accident and death 1 For all
these have been at work. What a dream
is the past 1
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 associa
tions still linger there !
It was in that old time-honored dwell
ing that I knelt by my mother and lisped
my evening prayer ; receiving her warm
kiss, felt the hot tear fall on my cheek,
and heard her in her broken accents say,
"God bless my child..' When far away
from that dear home, made radient by
her smiles, we feel that her prayers still
bless us as we roam ; her words we never
forgot. Those were sacred seasons. How
sweet their memory, when in childish in
nocence we communed with heaven and
felt the angels near !
The old house stands as a monument
to departed days. ' There have been
changes there. The foot-prints of time
are seen. The moss covered roof, the i
vy-bound pillars, the decayed columns
and the crumbling 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
droops and the winds ' , owl a mournful
requiem—the rest are acting their part
in the great drama of life, far away from
that sacred old domicile.
But still there are hallowed associations
and reminiscences which crowd and clus
ter around that old house, long silenced
voices which still linger and echo there.
There are affections centered there that
will.make that place 'ever dear to us. An
although our heads may grow white 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 cur childhood, when fond recol
lection presents all of them to view.
ONEOF DE<tx SWIFT'S JO-KM—Man
Swift was walking on the Phceuix. road,
Dublin, when a thunder-shower came up
and ho took shelter under a tree where a
party were sheltering also—two young
women and two young men. One of the
young girls looked very sad, till as the
rain fell her tears fell. The Dean in
qured the cause, and learned that it was
their wedding day.. They were on their
way to church,, and now her white clothes
were wet, and she could not go.
"Never mind, 1 , 11 marry you," said the
Dean,,and he took his prayer book, and
then and their married them, their wit
nesses being present, and to make .the
thing aomplete, he tore a leaf from his
pocket-book, and with his pencil wrote
and signed a certificate, which he handed
to the bride. It was as follows :
Under a tree, in stormy weather,
I married this man and woman together;
Let none but Him who rules the thunder
Serer this man and woman asunder.
Jonathan Swift ; Dean of St, - Patrick's.
82,00 PER YEAR
NEKBER 16
Mit aud .ttutor.
Had No Change.
While riding in the cars in Ohio, some
days since, I sat beside a fellow.who look
ed weather beaten, as though he sat out
on a watermelon, for a couple of weeks.
I said to him - ;
'What's your name?'
Said he, 'Adolphus.'
Says I, 'Your mother's name?'
Says he, 'Mary.'
looked amazed, and says I, 'Mary
Mary ? can it be possible that you are the
lamb?'
' Says he, 'The what ?'
'The lamb that Mary had.'
He revealed the fact that he was not
the lamb, and he further observed the
fact that 'lt is all fired hot.'
Says I, 'Did you ever visit a tropical
clime ?'
•
Says he, 'a what ?'
Says I, 'A hot clime.'
Says he, 'Jimmy crix, stranger, I've
slowed up a side hill Fourth of July
ws en the sun seFni - y4traw — h - at on fire
and if that ain't a hot climb why 'I hain't
been - to-one yet.'
Before I had time to reply, the conduc
for came along and shouted ‘ta:ikets.'
Greeny— 'l've got none.'
Conductor—'Money then'
Green • hain't an .
Conductor- 4- Got-a.:l3ass?'
GreenyNo, hain't got a pass.'
Conductor—`You don't expect to trav
el on the cars for nothing, do you ?'•
Greeny—Tou advertise to take a fel
ler for nothing anyhow.'
Conductor—Wow so?'
theenyL-Down there in yourAfice in.
eincinnatti you've got a big sign 'stuck
up in-store-writing; it - sa,Wlhto' to Novi —
York without change ; and nary a cent of
change have I got.'
The conductor dropped his anchor and
sot the fellow ashore right by a big white
post with some black letters on it, which
read C. 30 miles.
Scene in a horse car—Car stops ; srti ••
ing young lady enters; every seat full.—
An old gentleman raises at the opposite
end. "Oh, don't raise," said the lovely
girl. '"I can just as well stand." "I don't
care whether you sit or stand," he replied,
I'm going to get out."
A popular doctor in Oswego gave a
prescription with directions to . "take one
teaspoonful every three years." The pa
tient recovered.
THE CHRISTIAN'S HOPE.—The Bible
is the only guide mortal man has to rest .
his hope of a future life on, take it away
and what remains for man to build his
hope, unless he invents some other sys
tem to gratify his natural longings for a
Supreme Being that he can venerate.—
God created man perfect, with all his fa
culties to venerate a. Supreme Being; to
have a conscience that prompts to
a justice.
Man reasons, and admires all that is good.
The Bible and its teachings are perfectly
adapted to man's nature and all his nat
nral wants. Without such a guide all
good men would be at sea without a com
pass. 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 precepts of the Bible. Such men are
not looked upon as good, moral citizens.
Such men see through glasses that aro
Morally dark. Such men have no inspi
rations to lead them up to God and his
teaching. They will scoff at things holy
and sacred, but 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 unbelief; only then
will feel themselves out at sea like tho
mariner without his compass. The Bible
is the only hope of man when ho is done
with this world, and it makes men good
and useful for this world: It makes so
ciety better, safer and happier. Young
men and young women, think of this when
the skeptics tell you otherwise. Trust not
their specious arguments ; they are delu
sive and destructive to society and • your
immortality. Believe it not that you are
like brutes when you die. Remember
you have no other moral guide-like tixe-
Bible. It is your safest compass.
A correspondent of the 'Washington
Star writes:
The original manuscript of the Declar
ation of Independence is rapidly fading
away, and, judging from the past, but a
few years will elapse before the naked
parchment will be the only souvenir re-•
maining of that bold manifesto of a few
colonists, who, with their lives in their
hands, dared proclaim. themselves free
men. Already nearly all the signatures
are wifely effaced, and the rest cam t
last!nuch longer, unlesasomething isdor.e
to restore the writing.
The sacred Declaration. together with
George Washington's comn*sion as Gen
eral and Commander-in-Chief of the Co
lonial Army,. which is in about the same
Condition, have been for years on exhibi-•
tion in the Patent OffieN and it is a mat
ter of surprise that no effort has been,
made by the Government to save them:
from being lost forever to posterity. This:
is susceptible of being done, as we are
credibly informed that the Brittish Muse
um is constantly restoring old nmuseripts
to their almost original condition. Do
we not possess like knovrldge which can
be put to such valuable use?
MANLY AnT.—A patriotio citizen boasts
that no people on earth can excel the :
mexicana in the manly art of sitting on a
-bench and watching eighteen men play i
base-ball.” • '