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BY W. BLAIR
VOLUME 25.
`,LIEWAYNES BOBO' ;VILLAGE RECORD
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY 3.IORNING
By W. BLAIR.
TERMS—Two Dollars per Annum if paid
within the year; Two Dollars and
Fifty cents after the expiration
- of the year.
4DVERTISEIdENTS—One Square (10
' lines) three insertions, $1,50 ; for
each subsequent insertion, Thir
. five Cents per Square. A liberal
- discount, made to yearly adver
tisers.
LOC_ 6 -,T_S.—Business Locals Ten Cents per
line for the first insertion, Seven
Cents forssubseo uent insertions
(prof emiionitt or„altls.
J. B. AMBERSON, M. D.,
PLITSICLIN AND SURGEON,
WAYNESBORO', PA.
o.lfice at the Waynesboro' "Corner Drug
ore." - [jam 29—tf.
TAR_ R N 2.1 ,
lies resumed the practice of Medicine.
' OFFICE—In the Walker Building—near
-the Bowden House. sight calls should be
made at his residence on Main Street, ad
joining the Western .School louse.
July 20-tf
PRYSICIAN ,AND SURGEON.
WAYNESBORO' PA.
Office at his residence, nearly opposite
he Bowden House. Noy —tf.
Jf OLIN A. MYKSONG,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
AVING been athnited to Practice Law
3 several-Courts in Franklin Coun
ty, all business,tintrin,ted to his care will be
I )romptly-attendpl-t-o----Poet=ollice - i4tiress - !
Mercersburg, Pa.'
ATTORNEY AT -LAW,
NES BO PA,
Will give prompt and close attention to all
business entrusted to his care. 01lice neia
.door to the Bowden House, in the Walker
Building. [jul~•
jOS - 20P1-I
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
WAYNESBORO', I'A.
Practices in the several Cburts of Franklin
and adjacent Counties.
N. B.—heal Estate leased, and sold, and
Fire Insurfuice effected unreasonable terms.
December 10, 1871.
Ei,, tk.., tikSITRAGEUER,)
(FORMERLY OF MERCERSBERG, PA.,)
AIFFEIZS his Professional services to the
'ftfleitizens of Wayne,boro' and vicinity.
Du. STuiciciam has relinquished all exteu
sive'practice at Mercersbur , !, 'tas
been promineutly engaged . fort. CA • /
'years in the practice of his profession.
Ile has opened an 01lice in Waynesboro',
at the residence of George Ilesore, Esq., 't Fs
Father-in-law, where he can be found at
times when not professionally engaged.
July 20, 1871.—tf.
DR. J. M. RIPPLE. DR. S. ISONEBRAKE
RIPPLE & BONERAEE,
WAYNESBORO', PA.
Having associated themselves in the prac
liee of Medicine and Surfery, oiler their
professional services to the public.
Otßee in the room on the _.orth East
Con of the Diamond, formerly occupied by
Dr. John J. Oellig, deic
July 18, 1872-1 y
A. K. BR ANISHOLTS,
PLESIDENT DEIITIST
r'
•-• • ' , A4x 4 :.7
INK z
WAYNESBO Ro', PA.,
(lAN he found in his orrice at all times,
where he is prepared to perform all
]rental operations in the best and most
111111 manner.
We being acquainted with Dr. Braids
b oh 'ocialty and Professionally recommend
Jiim to all desiring the services of a Dentist.
• E. A. HERING,
" J. M. RIPPLE
" A. H. STRICKI.ER, •
" J. B. AM BEI:SON,
" I.N SNIV ELY,
" A. S. BONBRAKE,
" T. D. FRENCH,.
DE3I2,,A_CKI3I.I_,I_I,
PHOTOGRAPHER,
S. E. Corner of the Diamond,
WAYN . ESBOIZO% PA.,
.11_1A .S at all times a tine assortment of Pie-
IL tures Frames and Mouldings. Gall and
:as specimen pictures. June tf.
lafitril 11DTEL
Garner of IFZain of: Queen e5"4,5,,,
CHAMBERSBURG, Penn'a.
LA_NTZ & UNGER, Proprietors
The - UNION has been entirely refited
and 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 Market affords, and their Ear
will always contain the ehoierst Liquors.
The favor of the public solicited.
Extensive Stabling and attentive Host'yrs.
Dee. 14-1-y
ft:3a:
THE subscribers would inform the pub
lic that they have now for sale a good
article of brick and. will exmtinnexto have
a supply on hand during the summer Sul-
13. F. Sr. 11. C. FUNK
June 13—tf
,100TICE TO BUILDERS.
A fine lot Pine Building Lumber for sale
..Mand will be furnished in rough, or hew
ed in proper sizes to suit purelmsers of
Bills. Apply at Mo.NrErmY
April 4, 1572--tf
VottrA.
SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE,
Sweetheart, good-by! Our varied day
Is closing into twilight gray,
And up from bare, bleak wastes of sea
The storm wind rises mournfully ;
A mystic prescience, strange and (hear,
Doth haunt the shuddering twilight air,
It fills the earth, it chills'the sky—
Sweetheart, good-by !
Sweetheart, good-by ! Our joys are passed,
And night with silence comes at last;
All things must end, yea, eVen
Nor.know we, if .reborn above,
The heart .blooms of our earthly prime
Shall flower beyond these bounds of tieie,
"Ah,, death alone is sure !" we cry— _
.Sweetheart, good-by!
Sweetheart, good-by! Through mist
Pass t.:e pale phantoms of our years,
Once bright with spring, or subtly strong,
When summer's noon thrilled h-ith song,
Now wan, wildeyed, forlornly bowed.
Each rayless as an - autt cloud
_. an auttnnn e out.
Fading on dull September's sky—
Sweetheart, good-by !
Sweetheart, good-by! The vapors rolled
, Athwart yon distant, darkening world,
Are tv vs of what our world cloth know
Of tenderest-luves-of-long-trg-o-;
And thus when all is done and said
Our life lived out, our passion dead,
What can their wavering record-be .
But tinted mists of memory?
Oh ! clasp and kiss me ere we die—
Sweetheart, good-by ! _
i~i~~~l u~ottti irulin .
JUSTIN'S WIFE.
BY LO TIE BROWN
The room was exceeding bright and
comfortable, with the morning sun creep
ing through the rich curtains and beam
ing mildly on the breakfast table, with its
burden of white china, silver, hot muffins,
fragrant coffie and delicately broiled birds,
but the pair who sat over the little feast
looked anything but bright and comfbr
table.
There w•as an open letter beside the
plate of the lady, and glancing over her
shoulder you might have read the follow-
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER :-I hard.
Iv know how to get around my subject, so
I'll come directl , to it. lam married.
I love Lucille very dearly, and she was
too poor to gain your admiration, so I
married her without asking, leave. As my
wife, I know you will receive her. At all
events I am going to bring her straight
to you, and I will trust to your natural
goodness of heart. Your dutiful son.
"Your dutiful son !" said Mrs. Yorke,
holding a bit of chicken on the end of her
silver fork, and eyeing it as though it was
the son in question. " cannot see where
he finds the shadow of an excuse for dar
ing to style himself thus—Justin is not a
dutiful son Mr. Yorke."
"You are correct, Elizabeth ; he is a
most undutiful son, to thus repay the years
of care we have bestowed upon him," said
Mr. Yorke.
"What shall we do ? Lucille, indeed !
It has the sound of an actress, or some
out of the way sort of person. Probably
she is some frivolous, ignorant creature,
with a pretty face and an empty head, who
will s irely bring disgrace upon us and
ruin him. Oh, James, I reasoned against
allowing him to remain in the store after
we came to the country. 'What can. we
do?„
"Lock pp the house at mice, this very
day, and go to Newport. Then if he brings
his wife, he can take her back the way
they came. KU teach him a lesson that
he will not soon lioget."
So, in their wrath,
the old couple pack
ed their trunki, ioeked the summer cot
tage, and, with their two servants, depar
ted for Newport.
Justin was the last of a large family of
boys and girls. One by one they had pass
ed away, until only the one handsome boy
was left. As a sequence he was idolized,
and grew up an odd mixture of good na
ture and waywardness.
The Yorices were highly respectable,
and glorified in the fitct. There was not
a member of the tinnily far or near, that
had a disgrace attached, and each mem
ber was extremely seasative upon this
particular point.
To be justly considered respectable was
the ambition of the race,
Now, what had this wretched represen
tative done? Married a pauper without
the customary IVedding festival, and the
talk, the envy, the bustle, the carriages,
the church, the crowd, the cake, the cards,
the lace, the satin,and the fol-de-rol which
had attended the marriage of every Yorke
from the beginning !
Mrs. James Yorke shivered at the
thought, as they rode on towards New
port, even though the thermometer was
up among the nineties, and the dust al
most thick enough to be cut with a knife.
As good luck would have it they ob
tained rooms without inconvenience, and
in two hours after their arrival, Mr: Yorke
was arrayed in a suit of snowy linen, and
A FAMILY NEWSPAPER-DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWS. ETC. •
WAYNESBORO', FR.finalN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, OCTOBERIO, 1872.
airing himself at one of the chamber win-
dows, in a state of quietude quite pleasant
to contemplate after his recent trouble.
"Hadn't we better walk down to the
beach, Elizabeth? There is a fine breeze
blowing."
"Isn't the sun a little too hot," sugges
ted the lady.
"Not at all. I will take an umbrella
along."
So Mrs Yorke donned her bonnet and
a lace shawl, and the portly pair slowly
transportA themselves down to the beach.
It was quite too early for the fashiona
ble crowd to collect, and there were only
here and there a gentleman, a nurse with
children, or some invalid, who preferred
this hour to that used by flirters and bath
ers ; so the old couple had the broad sand
beach pretty much to themselves, and they
sauntered away, enjoying the cool breeze
and the musical murmur of. the sea as
much as people so filleted are expected to.
As they passed along, Mr. Yorke said,
nodding his head in,a certain direction to
where a lady sat in a cool dress, of pale
blue muslin :
"There's a pretty creature !"
"So she is—and an extremely lady-like
person. Quite odd to see a young lady
out at this hour. Probably, the most of
them are yet asleep, and. trying to wear
away the effects of last night's dissipation.
She is very fresh and sensible Icokincr
"Yes—very. It's a great pity that Jus
tin—"
oy 2 s-nant
"You are right. We will dismiss him
from our thoughts for the presont. It looks
comfortable up there among the rocks.—
Supposing we should go up ?"
"I dare-say-we-would—find-a-good seat,"
said Mrs. Yorke.
cc o r t linglyLth , ' a • • • . •
as age and a superfluity of flesh would al
low, and were on the point of seating them
selves, when Mrs. Yorke, unhappily, step
ped on a loose stone, and fell heavily a•
mong the jagged rocks, and laid there,
very still and white, with the blood trickl
ing down from a cut on her forehead.
For a moment reason. forsook her com
panion, and then, with a Ivild shout, he
called for help. It came almost instant
ly, in the person of the beautiful girl he
had observed a few seconds before, who
running up, leaned over the lady and lif
ted her head, and sought to staunch the
blood.
"It is only a, little cut, sir, and the :lady
is stunned," said she binding her hand
kerchief around the wound. "Please take
her in your arms for a moment and I
will bring some water."
The water, which the fair stran g e r
brought in her hat, had the desired effect;
and after a little, Mrs. Yorke opened her
eves and sat up.
"You are feeling much better, my dear?"
"Very much. Ah ! I think I have you
to thank for it," said Mrs. Yorke, looking
up at the sweet fitce above her.
"By no means. It was a trifling ser
vice, I assure you. I am only too happy.
Let me remove the handkerchief, and
bring some water."
.111 rs. Yorke's daughters, had died be
fore they had reached even the dignity of
young , girlhood ; but, as the soft fingers
toudliOrlightly her aching head, sh e
thought attention might have been her
own, had God spared her dear children.
"Your mother is blessed, my dear," said
she, looking at the perfect face, "in having
such a daughter as yourself:"
"My mother is dead, madain."
Mrs. Yorke's chubby fingers sought the
slender ones of the young lady, and closed
over them in a warm, sympathetic clasp.
"My daughters are dead, and my heart
and home are quite desolate !" said the
good woman, with a dash of tears.
"Halloa !"
tTLSTIN YORKE.
The word came iu a, cheery cry across
the sands, and looking up, the trio espied
a tall, handsome felloF trotting towoard
them, with a face as bright as a half dozen
summer days. -
At once. Mrs. Yorke greW very nervous
and distressed ; Mr. Yorke grew very red
in the face, and thumped his cane ener
geticully on a rock ; and the pretty young
lady's eyes glowed, and a smile played a
bout her dimpled mouth.
"Why, father and mother !" cried the
aforesaid young than. "How came you
here ? I tun overjoyed to see you."
"I shall not return the compliment,"
gruffly replied Mr. Yorke.
"Why not?"
"Because, sir, you are a base ingrate !
How dare you marry . Nrithout my leave?"
"But, fhther, I loved her, and knew
that you would when you came to know
her "
"I shall never know her. You shall
never bring her into our flunily. If you
have disgraced our honorable name you
may suffer the disgrace alone."
The young man dug up the sand with
his cane for a moment, and the young la
dy twirled her parasol: Then he looked
"Well, Lucille, we had better come a
way," he said, and the young lady step
ped over to him, and put her hand upon
his arm.
"What ! Who is this ?" cried Mr. Yorke.
"My wife, hailer."
"Well, why didn't you say so before ?"
blustered the irate old fellow. "Elizebeth,
I'm afraid we have sold ourselves very
cheap."
"Are you really Justin's wife?" said
Mrs. Yorke, smiling in spite of herself at
the fair girl.
"Yes, madam."
"Here, Justin ! Why arc you standing
there ? Don't you see that your mother
has met with an accident ? Give her your
arm, and take her up to the hotel. Lucille,
my daughter, take mine,"
Justin would have laughed, but under
the circumstances, he thought better of it,
and the quartette walk - eq. up to the hotel.
"Pray don't mention that unfortunate
The Newport visiecaine to an abrupt
termination, for the Yorke party left in
the first train on the following day ; and
when they reached home, Mr. Yorke said:
"If we hadn't been a pair of old fools,
we would have stayed at home, and saved
our money, time and exertions. We migth
have known that our son would not err in
selecting a wife.".
Mrs. Yorke passed her hand lightly over
her wounded tbfehead, aid concluded, as
I did long ago, that love and marriage are
matters beyond the control of humanity.
A Faithful Shepherd Boy.
Gerhart was a German shepherd boy,
and a noble fellow he was, although he
was very poor.
One day . while watching his flock,
which was feeding in a valley on the bor
ders of a, forest, a hunter came out of the
woods and implied ;
`flow far is it to the nearest village.'
• 'Six miles replied the -boy, 'but the
road is only a, sheep track and very easy
missed'
The hunter looked at the crooked track,
and said:
`Ay, lad I am hungry, tired and thirsty.
I have lost my companions, and missed
thy way. Leave your sheep and show me
the way. I will pay you • • .'
'I cannot leave my sheep, sir,' replied
Gerhart. 'The would stra into the for-
est, and be eaten up by the wolves, or be
stolen by robbers.'
`Well, what of that ? queried the hun
ter.
`They are not your sheep. The loss of
one or more would not be much to your
master, and I'll give you more than you
have earned in a whole year.'
go,_sir,'rejoined Gerhart,
very firmlf: My master pays me for my
time and he trusts me with his shee •.
If I were to sell my time which does not
belong to me, and the sheep should cret
lost, it would be the same as if I stole
them.
'Well,' said the hunter, 'will you trust
your sheep here, while you go to the vil
lage and get some food and drink, and a
guide? I will take care of them for you.'
The boy shook his head. 'The sheep
don't know your voice, and'—Gerhart
stopped speaking.
*And what? Can't you trust me? Do
I look like a dishonest man ? asked the
hunter, angrily.
'Sir,' said the boy, you tried to make
me false to my trust, and wanted me to
break my word to my master. How do I
know that you would keep your word
with me.' '
The hunter laughed, and he felt the
boy had fairly cornered hire. He said :
see, my lad, that you are a good,
faithful boy. I will not forget you. Show
me the road, and I will try and make it
out myself.'
Gerhart now offered the contents of his
script to the hungry man, who, coarse, as
it was ate it gladly. ' Presently his at
tendants came up, and then Gerhart, to
his surprise, found' hat the hunter was
the Grand Duke, who owned all the coun
try around. The Duke was so pleased
with the boy's honesty that he sent for
him shortly attar, and had him educated.
Honesty, truth, and fidelity, are pre
cious jewels in tne character of a child.—
When they spring from piety they are
diamonds, and make the possessor very
beautiful, very happy, very, honorable,
and very useful. May you, my readers
wear them as Gerhart did. Then a great
er than a king will adopt you as his chil
dren, and you will become princes and
princesses royal in the kingdom of God.
Trapping An Audience.
Some years ago an eccentric genius,
the Rev. Thomas P. Hunt, used to give
temperance lectures. One night be an
nounced that he would lecture in Easton.
Now Temperance was not in favor among
the male portion of that burg. The wo
men, however, were all in fbr the pledge,
and consequently, on Hunt's first night,
not a man showed himself in the hall.—
The benches went% pretty well filled with
women, though, and Hunt; commenced ;
but instead of temperance, he put them
through on the vanities of dress, etc. They
—the sleeves—caught it ; then their tight
lacing, and so on through the whole cata
louge of female follies; roof a word about
temperance. And the ladies went home
hopping mad, told their husbands about
it, and voted old Hunt down to the low
est notch.
He had announced that he would lec
ture at the same place' the next night.
Long before the time appointed they
commenced to come, and, when Hunt
hobbled down the aisle the building was
comfortably well filled with men. The
old fellow looked about, chuckled, and
then muttered :
Hogs, I've got you now !' The audience
stared. 'Aha, hogs, I've got you now. .
After the crowd had got quiet a little,
the lecturer proceeded by saying:
`Friends, you wanted to know what I
meant by saying `llims, I've got you now.'
and I'll tell you. Out t ' west, the hogs run
wild ; 'and when folks get out •of meat,
they catch a young pig, put a strap un
der his body, and hitch him up to a young
sapling that will just swing him from the
ground nicely. Of course he Squeals and
raises a rumpus, when all the old hogs
gather around to see what's the matter,
and then they shoot them at their leisure.
Last night I hung a pig; up ; I hurt it a
little and it squealed. The' old hogs have
turned out to-night to see the fun and I'll
roast you ; and he did, pitching into their
favorite vice with a relish and a gusto.
Every 'human creature is sensible to
some infirmities of temper, which it should
be his care to correct and subdue, partic
ularly in the early period of life.
The happy medium—A gentleman be
tweea two ladiez,
HOW LONG.
If on my . grave the summer grass were
growing,
Or heedless winter winds across it blowing,
Through joyous June, or desolate Decem
. ber,
How long, sweetheart, how long would you
remember
HoW long, dear love, how long?
For brightest eyes would.open to the sum-
And sweetest smiles would greet the sweet
newcomer,
And on young lips grow kisses for the tak-
mg.
When all the summer buds to. bloom were
lireaking—
How long, dear love, how long ?
To, the dim land where sad-eyed ghosts
walk only,
Where lips are cold, and waiting hearts are
lonely,
I would not call you from your youth's
watm blisses,
Fill up your glass and crown it with new
kisses—
'nor long, dear love, how long?
_ _
June, you might be to regret
me,
nd_lisping hp
But ah, sweetheart, I think you would re-
member
When wind were weary in your life's De-
cember—
So long, dear love, so long
Riches and Happiness.
Riches alone will make no one happy.
n_the first place,_thei r is n o_such_thing_
as complete, unalloyed bliss, in this state
of existence, and even the nearest approach
to it is not attained without something be
sides wealth. Of course the posession Of
property to a reasonable extent contri
butes most essentially to one's enjoyment.
A house for shelter, lire for warmth, feo.l
and clothing—surely it can not reasona
bly be contended that a person without all,
or any of these, is in a condition favora
ble to happiness. Diogenes, with noth
ing but a, tub, would make a sorry show
these days, however he may figure as a
character in classics. He would be taken
for the hen pecked husband of some wash
er woman who had no more manly oc•
cupation than to carry about her wash
ing utensils. and, probably fun would be
poked at him for not having a clothes
wringer along with his tub. But those
who rely solely on wealth for happiness
will be disappointed grieviously. Hap
piness depends. mainly upon the cultiva
tion of the mind and heart ; on the faith
ful performance of duty, in secret as well
as openly, and amid reproach and oblo
quy, as well as when cheered by words of
encouragement or applause. It depends
on courage to sustain us in the trials of
this life, and the hope which extends to
another. It depends upon the love and
confidence of kindred, and acquaintances.
What wealth and property can do to
ward promoting happiness' at the same
time is not inconsiderable. It supplies
us with the means of intellectual culture,
as well as of physical comfort. It has
been well remarked that money is a hard
master, but a good servant. As a mas
ter it cramps both body arn: soul, making,
its victim a detestible miser. As a ser
vant it is many handed, and in ordinary
affhirs and extraordinary emergencies may
to a great extent, be safely relied on.
The Mountain Meadow Massacre.
Philip K. Smith, who was a bishop in
the Morman Church, has lately made a
terrible charge against the head of that
fraternity. About fifteen years ago a ve
ry wealthy train of emigrants left Arkan
sas for California, to seek new homes,
and perished on the Mountain Meadows,
two hundred and fifty miles south of Salt
Lake City. One hundred and twenty
men, women and cbildred were massa
cred. This fearful crime has often been
charged upon the Mormons, but as often
boldly denied. Now Smith makes oath
before the clerk of the Circuit Con rt of
the seventh judicial district of the State
of Nevada that the massacre was perpe 7
trated by the Mormon militia, and by or
der of the Mormon authorities. He states
that he was a member `of the force sent
forth for that purpose, and that after the
emigrants had, fought successfully four
days they were treacherously entrapped
by a flag of trace, and induced to lay
down their arms under a promise of se
curity, and then mercilessly butchered,
none but the small children being spar
ed. One of the motives of the butchery
is supposed to Le revenge for the injuries
sustained by the Mormons in Missouri
and Illinois° ; another that it was to re
venge the killing of a Mormon some time
previously in Arkansas by the husband
of a woman whom the Mormons had
carried oft: It may have also been the
desire of the Mormon leaders to trike
such a terror into emigrants as to put an
end to all traveling across the Territory
and all settlements within it.
It is molt important to the interests of
justice and humanity, and to the charac
ter of this country as a civilized power,
that charges like these, sworn to by an
eye-witness and a participator in the
transaction, should be thoroughly inves
tigated.
Wisdom and truth, the offspring of the
sky, are immortal ; but cunning and de;
ception, the meteors of the earth, after
glittering for a moment must pass away.
Memory is a patient camel, bearing
huge burdens over life's sandy desert.—
Intuition is a bird of paradise, drinking
in the aroma of celestial flowers.
The End of Surrimer.
The harvest fields•are ready for the hus'-
bandmen. The fruits of the season are
ripe and mellow. The leaves are already
beginning to fade and -wither, and are
only waiting for the first frost to give
them their autumn tints of gold and crim
son. The air is clear, cool and invigor
ating. It is the last of summer.
It brings to us many thoughts that are
both sad and pleasant ones. It recalls
many memories, that are both sorrowful
and joyous, of summers that have gone ;
roses that have budded, bloomed and
faded ; of hopes deferred ; of fancies that
were too bright for human realization;
offriendships we have known, and of lov
ed ones that have passed away.
We have watched with feelings of
pleasure the leaves and delicate blossoms'
of the trees as they appeared in the spring
time, fresh and beautiful, and we have
felt emotions almost of regret and pain,
"when the flying of the ruined woodlands
drove th — ei — n throughtheair."
Life has its seasons. They are as dis
tinct and different from each other as the
seasons of the year, though the boundary
line that lies between them is impercepti
ble; for we glide gradually from one in
to the other, like the gradations of color
and shade that express the distance in a
beautiful painting.
ik — e — the summeiefthe year , the sum
mer of our lives is that time , when their
is the most labor to be done. Every
thing is earnest and real, and at its close
man is ready to reap the reward of his
labors, as the fanner gathers the harvest
into his granary. And the recompense
conforms perfectly to his respective in
dustry, perseverance and good actions,
bringing their corresponding pleasures
and blessings, as surely as misdeeds, er
-rors and wasted opportunities produce
ultimately sorrows and distress.
Trouble.
Trouble is more frequently made than
sent. If every person would take the world
as it is, its joys and sorrows, and yield at
once, an humble reconciliation to what is
unavoidable, there would be far-more hap
piness, and infinitely less misery than
there is. Six thousand years experience
ought to convince mankind that there are
clouds here as well as sunshine, and the
man who starts life with the expectation
that every thing before him,will be smooth
and uninterrupted is, simply a dreamer
who knows nothing of the world's reali
ties: 'Wealth cannot shield us from dis
appointment and affliction, and poverty
are not as heavy,on the heart, as the cares
brought on by the possession of uncoun
ted riches. We cannot keep death away
from our door,Eno matter how faithful we
may guard its portals, nor can we so con
trol the minds and dispositions of others
that the most tender ties and associations
are not at times, snapped assunder. Let
us take matters as they come and try to
be content. If we are prosperous,we should
rejoice and give God the praise. I f
we fail in our enterprizes and fi n d
our plans of business dwarfed and thwar
ted, let us submit cooly to the visitation,
and try again, with renewed hope and ef
fOrt. There is no use lamenting when la
mentations,will do no good, or shedding
tears when they only tend to heighten our
sorrows. The grave will soon cover our
troubles, and there is a happy life beyond,
which we can make our own, no matter
how the world treats us.
PHYSICAL BENEFIT OF THE SAnnAnf.
—The Sabbath is God's special present
to the working man, and one of its chief
objects is to prolong his life, and preserve
efficient hiv workinging tone. In the vital
system it acts like a compensation pond;
it replenishes the spirits, the elasticity,
and vigor, which the last six days have
drained away, and supplies the force
which is to fill the six days sufteeding :
and in the economy of existence it an
swers the same purpose as in the econo
my of income, is answered by a, savings
bank. The frugal man who puts aside a
pound to-day, and another pound next
month, and who, in a quiet way, is al way
putting by his stated pound from time to
time, when he grows old and frail, gets
not only the same pound back again but
a good many pounds beside. And the
conscientious man, who husbands one day
of existence every week, who instead of al
lowing the Sabbath to be trampled and
torn in the hurry, and scramble of life,
treasures it devoutly up, the Lord of the
Sabbath keeps it for him, and in length
of days a hale old age gives it back with
usury. The savings bank of human ex
istence is the weekly Sabbath.
THE GnEAT MysTEßx.—The body is
to die. No one who passes the charmed
boundary comes back to tell. The
im
agination visits the land of shadows—
sent out from sothe window of the soul o
ver life's restless waters—but wings its
way wearily back without a leaf in its
beak as a token of merging life beyond
the closely bending:llonm= The great
sun comes and goes in the heavens, yet
breathes no secret of the etherial
The cresent moon cleaves her night
ly passage across the upper deep, but tos
ses over hoard no signals. The sentinel
stars challenge each other as they walk
their nightly rounds, but we catch no syl
able of their countersign which gives pas
sage to the heavenly camp. Between
this and the other life their is a great gulf
fixed, across which neither feet nor eye
can travel. The geatle friend whose eyes
were closed in their last long sleep long
years ato, died with -rapture in her won
der-stricken eyes, a smile of ineffable joy,
on her lips, and hands folded over a tri
umphant heart ; but her lips were past
speech ; and intimating nothing of the
vission. that enthralled her. •
Arms Imvc tltey, ye,t lciil not—Chairs.
$2,04 PER YEAR:
MCI
Mit and (Ilamor.
The Dutchman's Strike.
A German man, called Jacob, who had
lately arrived in this country, got a situa
tion in a plaining mill, at a salary of $lO
per week. Returning home one evening,,
with oue of the young bands of the mill
(whom he called John,) he told him that
he got $l5 per week.
"Vot?" cried Jake ; "you vas gotten fif
deen toolars a week ? Tunder and plitzen!
I vos so olt . like you a couple of dimes, ua
I got me $lO. How dot vos ?"
"Well," replied John, "if you don't get
enough, you strike the boss for more."
"Vot you say ? Strike the boss for more?
You dink I vos got more hire vages of I
vos strike ter - bess ain'd i l ?"
"Yes," replied_Joliu.;
could."
"All reid," said Jacob.
So on Monday Jacob went to work as
usual ; but, instead of entering the shop
he took up his station by the door, and
as the proprietor came down the street,
Jacob stepped out in front of him, and
struck bins with all his force, felling him.
to the ground, saying, at the same time :
"Dare ! I vos strike you for more high
er cages, don't id ?"
The proprietor bawled "Police II! with
all — his—might,—which had the effect of
bringing an officer on the ground, and
Jacob was arraigned for assault and bat
tery. When the mayor asked him what
he had to say, he replied :
"Veil, ton't vos could find me out vod
der matter yos id. Igo me' home mit a,
man-vot work by me to got some more
vages higher I vos petter go strike ter
posy; so yen ter puss he vos come dish
morning, I striken him for dot vages high
er, and now I vos got here for salt and
battery ; I ton't quite understan me dot."
During the laugh whitch followed, the
German was informed by the mayor that
when he wanted to strike again, not to
make such a striking demand, and his
employer w•ithrawing the charge, he was
discharged.
A man in Massachusetts had an un
reasonable grudge against his minister
that lasted twenty-five years. But at last
the hand of death knocked at the door of
the parishner and he sent for the pastor.
The good man hastily obeyed the sum
mons with a solemn delight, as his being
thus called showed a • mellowing of the
heart of the dying man which promised
reconciliation both with Heaven and him
self.
You sent for me," said he as ho ap
proached the bedside.
"Yes," answered the dying man, whose
breath was now short and difficult. "I
have but a few—a few hours to live and
I sent—sent for you to say that—that this
is your last —last chance to apologise!"
A housekeeper has been imagined "who
was not so discourteous as to spoil the din
ner of a half dozen sensible persons for
the sake of one or two lbols who thought
it fine to be late." She was right—no
courtesy should be shown to those "fash
ionable" folks who come late, in order to
create a sensation.
A quiet man rang a door bell in Bea
con Street. New York, one night.
"Is the gentleman in ?" lie asked of a
servant.
"I don't know. Did you wish to see
him particularly ?"
"Oh, no ; I merely wanted to tell him
that his house is on fire."
A Connecticut lad chalked a Romau
candle perfectly white, and stuck it in
his mother's candlestick. Although some
what astonished, the old lady retained
enough presence of mind to fan the young
gentleman with a shingle.
•
The pews of a Methodist Church on
the boundary line between Pennsylvania
and Ohio stand in former State and the
pulpit in the latter. Pennsylvania cou
ples, in consequence, have to be married
in the vestibule.
A Detroit .gentleman, oue hundred and
five years old, has lately been troubled
with a failing in his eyesight, and his
doctor thinks it is the result of smoking
to excess for the last ninety years or so.
There is one happy man in Indiana.—
His wile has talked herself into a tongue
paralysis, and cau only give him "fits"
with her eyes.
, Josh Billings, in his directions "How
to pick out a good hoss,"says, Good boss
es are sknrsc, and good men that deal in
envy kind of bosses, are skurser. •
To THE POI ' N'T.-".1 never go to chnrelt,"
said one ; I spend Sunday settling ac
counts.' !Inc day of judgment will be
spent in the same way," was the reply.
People - who are always wishing for some=
thing new, should try urn ralg,itt once.
.
r f
Hands have they, yet steal not—Clocks.
?kr:suer or PLEAsunk.—We smile at
the savage who cuts down a t4Te in order
to reach its fruits; but the iiacr:..l.4*Ftt
blunder of this description is tiutey :
cry person who is over eager andNiTipa
tient in the pursuit of pleasure. To such
the present moment is everything, the fu
ture nothing; he borrows thcrelore, from
the future, at a most usurous and ruin
ous interest ; and the consequence is, that
he finds the tone of his feelings impair,:d
his self-respect dimished, his health of
mind and body destroyed, and life r,!due
cd to its very dregs at a time when, het-.
manly speaking, the greati..st portion cit
its comforts slymhl lie still before
‘_`.." think yott