BY W. SLILIR,
YOLITNE 52.
elect
THE 000 K OF TUB NEW YEAR.
The ; Book of the New is opened,
Its pages are spotless and new,
And on, as each leaflet is turning,
Dear,ehadren, beware what you do I
Let never a bad thought be cherished,
Keep the tongue from a whisper of guile
_And_sce that your faces are_windows, _ _
Throvgh which sweet spirit shall smile.
And weave for your souls the fair garment
Of honor and beauty, and truth,
When faded the spell of your youth
And now with the new book endeavor
- To write in its white pages with care;
Each day is a leaflet, remember,
That is written, then turned, beware!
And if on a page you discover,
At evening a blot or a scrawl,
Kneel quickly, and ask the dear Saviour
In mercy to cover it all.
tiivres - 1" - treltrolt - ervery - th - ctrghful
.fora-momentr-M-y_marnma-is_v_ery-sick,
in a cold room, and I was afraid she'd
die. She fell asleep, and I happened to
think of-the-man-wim-owns - our block.—
Jtheard the folks down stairs.say that he
was awful rich; and do you know I
tbought.l'd find him, and tell him that
mamma, was dying because we didn't
have anything to eat. P found out the
street where he ;lived, and I think this is
it. I- was trying- to reach the names on
eiott• it . the door, and—"
gmstrAia . itrons litadinff. • ,"What is_ his name?"
o w en the strangetToTik — elal tie , .18
.
And clasped by the angel so tight,
You may feel, though the work be im
perfect,
You,hay,e,ear:nelt.ly tried for the right.
And think•hpw the years are the stairway
cm,Fhich,,youlnustclimb to the skies;
And strive ihat.your standing be . higher
As each ()us away from you ties.
A Basel of "lowers..
It was a bitter,night. IThe .wind,hlew
.a hurricane, mid brought the snow and
sleet up ,in showers against the plate
glass winows that lighted a cozy draw
ing -room in a grand house. It even pen
etrated through the heavyfolds of damask,
.and sent a shiver over the robust frame
of an old man, who basked in his elegant
ly upholstered chair before a rosy sea
coal fire.
He shrugged his shoulders, and rub
bed his soft hands briskly together, and
said half aloud::
"Ugh ! what a night It turns my
blood to ice, even in this warm room.—
What must it be out in the street ?"
There came a sharp ring at the doer,
just then, he turned to know who was the
intruder.
A servant entered, bearing a square
parcel in her hand, which she quietly de
posited on the table, saying, "for you sir,"
and then left the old man alone.
"For me! Who on earth has opened
there hearts wide enough to find a place
for me?" said Adam Hartford, as he took
up the package and untied it.
A square white box met his (raze, and
with caution, which had always been one
If the chief regulations of his being, he
lifted the cover and peeped in.
. "Well ! well !"
A perfect bed of fragrant flowers, with
the chips of the hot house yet fresh upon
their sterns, lay nestling in anliblegant
basket.
01(1 Adam tonk it up daintily*. What
a wealth of tube roses, hyacinths, eamelia
buds, soft creamy star flowers and lilies,
lay there side by side! Why, in all his
'wealth, he had nothing so fair or perfect
as one of these buds. I wonder who, sent
them ? Somebody that knows nothing of
the value of mouey, I'll be bound, These
trifles are almost worth their weight in
*old at this season ?'
He could not suppress that thought. It
Nvas one that was ever first in his mind
and had ever since he bad earned his first
live dollars. He had, in early life denied
himself of every luxury, and nearly every
commit in the world, until he had earn
ed enough to gratify himself to their in
diligence, without seeing behind them the
drea.lful wolf named Poverty. Now that
he had grown immensely, he had filled
his house with pictures and fine pieces of
statuary, because other folks did, and be
cause they look. He carpeted his floors
with soft carpet beetuse they were com
fortable ; put down great chairs in every
corner, because they rested him ; and eat
the very best food to he obtained, because
his appetite was poor and he could eat
nothing else.
But buying flowers, giving a penny to
anybody in the wide world, doing any
thing but for his own comfort and ease,
was something that never occured to him.
Adam Hartford had spent his whole
life in the accumulation of wealth, and
now that he had grown old, all he had to
do was to take care of himself. But he
could not help touching with very tender
fingers, the delicate leaves of the flowers
and thinking that his elegant house had
never seen anything half so beautiftd.
"Now who sent them ? Ha! ha! ha
You don't suppose that I have made a
'conquest? "and he made the room ring
with his hearty voice. "Adam you are
getting handsome? Must be, or no lady
(and surely it must have been a lady who
sent these) would ever think of sending
you a basket of flowers. Hallo ! What
is this ?"
The tidy servant opened once more the
door of the drawing room, and this time
he had a great bunle in her strong arm
a bundle or patched and faded calico—
a pair of ragged shoes where the blue
pinched toes peeped plainly through, and
A„. grcat, taugle vi
tie ,c,olored handkerchief which served for
a hood.
eetrg.
its golden hair falling • ack - rom e it-
PAlr. Hartford ! • If you please sir, I
found this child just now at the door. I
heard a voice, like some one trying to
reach the bell, and when I opened the
door this poor thing fell right across the
step. I'm afraid she's dead."
The broad smile of Adam's face faded
and setting aside the basket of
. glowing
flowers,.he came forward and looked into
the Childs face.
",Dead ! No, I think not, IC4y. Lay
her here on the sofa, and bring a little
wine and some warm flannels. She has
Nnted." •
And for the first time in, his life he o
pened his heart. Beater let me say the
flowers opened it a little way, and this
poor helpless child came before he had
time to close it. At any rate he sat qui
etly down and took the frigid hand in
hisLown;:and=r_u_b_b_editsmartl „andzw.her
ie - spoon an
andliirc
ed a little of the liquid between her clos
ed teeth. In ten minutesshe was wide a
wake, her blue eyes taking in the warm
fire, the rich, bright hued furnishing of
the room, and even that bask
_ • _
et-of
_ flowers_on_the_tal3le._Shelooked_at_
Adam Hartford next, and then at Katy.
"Where is my mother?"
"Your mother? How do we know?—
We found you on our door step," said the
old man.
"Adam Hartford."
,f‘What — do you wait of — Main HETtf-
ford ?"
•"r t7)i4 you my mamma was sick, you
know."
"Yea,•but he won't,care."
Ihe great tears Bashed into her blue
eyes.
IQh, don't .you think he will ? What
will I do without mapinaa ?"
"Where is your father ?"
"Dead."
The old, old story', that began with the
fall, and—ah, when . ? Not yet; not until
pride and selfishness go out togethersruoth
ered by the fire and charity of love
"What would you do if Man Hartford
should wrap you up in warm shawls, and
send you home with wood, food, lights,
medicine and money to your sick rnother."
"Bless him! and mamma and I ,would
pray for him all the days °Cott; jives !"
Adam touched the bell, And when Ka
ty answered it, said :
"Bring me a shawl,if you can.find one,
and then pack a basket with rovisionp.—
Tell Thomas to run around the corner for
a coach—it is too stormy to take our horses
out—and then put up a basket of kind
ling wood. I want you to go home with
this child and make her comfortable. If
you are afraid to go alone take Thomas
along. Don't look at me so, child; lam
Adam Hartford."
Would you believe me, the blessing on
her lips was drowned in a flood of tears,
and all she could do was to lay her wan
cheek on the old man's hand and sub.
"There, there! never mind. Here is five
dollars. That will last until to-morrow,
and then I will come myself. Dear me,
what a dreadful night out."
Adam kept bis word and made his vis
it, and down in the little room, in one of
his own houses, he found the mother of
the little girl: A fair, daintily made wo•
man she was, and a voice so soft, a man
ner as refined as any •he ever knew, and
he came home as lonely as though he had
nothing in the world, and never expected
anything more.,
The basket of hot house flowers, as fresh
and perfect as when he first saw them, eat
on the table, and he went and passed his
hand over them.
"You're a queer set! If I hadn't seen
you I shouldn't be so soft. Let me see;.
I'm only fifty years old—l cannot be in
my clottage, and lam not crazy. No.—
gotig to get married, and I shall mar
ry that poor woman with her beautiful
face, and patient mintier if she will have
me. Wouldn't you?"
The flowers did not have time to reply,
for Katy entered just then and, brought
with her a sweet young lady with spark
ling eyes and very red cheeks, who said
with a laugh :
"-`oh, Mr. Hartford, have you really got
those unfortunate flowers? How stupid
of John, to bring them to the wrong
house."
• Why, bless n;te, Miss Kittle, did you
send them to me?"
Why, no; you see, Mir. Percy, next
door—"
"Fred, you mean ?"
"Well, Fred," with a blush. "He was
injured a week ago while out driving, and
he is lonely—and I sent the basket to—
to help—that—that—is—"
"Oh, yes ; I understand ! Fred is a very
nice sort of a fellow. But, Kittie, I can't
give up these flowers. Somehow they fell
on my heart last night, and did me more
good than a round dozen of sermons. You
won't believe me, but I'm quite changed
in heart. I cannot part with them, I must
see the end of them. But I'll send Thom
as and get you another basket, and I
would advise you to take them yourself;
John might make another mistake, and
really, if he should not, I think it will do
Fred more good to have you carry them."
IdiEs until c.'eage
A EMILY N I EWSPAP ' ' ; z to"o;f 1 01
'WAYNESBORO', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 16, 1873.
with another basket, and then acted as
Adam had Advised.
: e ore x e ong winter nig i : en •.
before the snow left the streets, and want
left the door of the poor—there was that
soft, sweet womanly face on the other aide
of Adam's hearth-stone ; and he often held
in his arms the same
. child who w a
brought in unto him half dead from the
cold street.
And through the loving hand of these
two, so strangely given unto him, the rich
man's heart went out and fed the hungry,
clothed he - naked and lifted up the bro
ken hearted, and filled his own life with a
happiness made up of their blessings and
prayers.
•
Advice to Yinum Ladies.
First, you are perfect idiots to go on in
-this —Yonr_badies_are_the_most_beau , _
1_
tal galleries I always saw groups of peo
ple gathered about the pictures of women.
it was not a passion ; the gazers were
just as likely to be women as men ; it
was because of the wonderful-beauty-of a
woman's body.
Now, stand with me at my office win ,
dow, and see a lady pass. There goes
one! Now, isn't that a pretty looking
object? A big hump, three big humps,
[
a wilderness of crimps and frills, a haul
-r ing-tip-of-the:th-ess-Lete-aad-there,-au-ei,
ormous
bark piled ox Op of her head, surmount
ed by a little fiat, ornamented with- bits
of lace, birds tails, &c. The shop-win
dows tell you all day long of the pad
dings, whale bones, and steel springs which
occupy most of the space glthin that out
side rig.
In the name of all the simple sweet sen
timents which cluster about a home, I
would ask, how is a taau to fall in love
with such a piece of compound double
twisted, touch me-not artificiality, as you
see in that wriggling curiosity ?
Secondly,-with-the - waspwastec - squeez=
ing your lungs, stomach, liver. and other
vital organslnto one-half their natural
size, how can any manirof sense, who
knows that life is made up of use, of sense
of service, , of work, take to such a part
ner? He must be desperate, indeed, to
unite himself for life with such a fettered,
half-breathing ornament. .
Thirdly, your bad dress, and lack of
exercise lead 'to bad health, and men
wisely fear that instead of a helpmate,
they would get an invalid to take care of.
This bad health in you, just as iu men,
makes the mind as well as the body fad
dled and effeminate. • You have no pow
er, and use big adjectiv'es, such as "splen
did." No magnetism I I know you gig
gle freely, "awful," but then this don't
deceive us ; we can see through it all.—
You are superficial, affected, silly ; you
have none of that womanly strength and
warmth which are so assuring and attrac
tive to man. Why, you become so child
ish and weak-minded that you refuse to
wear decent names even, and insist upon
baby names. Instead of Helen, Margar
et and Elizabeth, you affect Nellie, Mag
gie, and. Lizzie. When your brothers
were babies, you called them Bobby, Dick
ey, and Johnny ; but when they grow un
to manhood; no more of that silly trash
if you please. But I know a woman of
twenty-five years, and she is as big as
both my grandmothers' put together, who
insists upon being called Kitty, and her
real name is Catharine, and although her
brain is big enough to conduct.affairs of
state, she does nothing but giggle, cover
up her face with her fan, and exclaim,
once in four minutes, "Don't now, you
are real mean."
How can such a man propose a life
partnership to such a silly goose? My
dear girls, you must, if you get husbands,
and descent apes, dress in plain, neat, be
coming garments, and talk 'like sensible,
earnest sisters.
You say that the most sensible men are
crazy after these butterflies of fashion. I
beg your pardon, it is not so. Occasion
ally a man of brilliant success may mar
ry a silly, weak woman, but as I. have
heard women .say a hundred times, that
the Most Sensible men choose women with
out sense, is simply absurd. Nineteen
times in twenty, sensible men choose sen
sible 'women. I grant you that in com
pany they are,very likely to chat and toy
with these overdressed and forward crea
tures, but they don't ask them to go to the
altar with them.
Fourthly, among the young men in the
matrimonial market, only a small num
heir are independently rich, and in Amer
ica such very rarely make good husbands.
But the number of those who are just be
ginning in life, who are filled with a, no
ble ambition, who have a futbre, is very
large. Those are worth having. But such
will not, they dare not, ask you to join
them, while they see you so idle, silly,
and so gorgeously attired. Let them see
that you are industrious, economic al,
with habits that secure your health and
strength, that your life is aearnest and real, that you would be willing to begin
at the beginning in life with the man you
would consent to marry, then marriage
will become the rule, and not, as now,
the exception.—Boston Congregationalist.
The blossom cannot tell what becomes
of its odor, and no man can tell what be
comes of b,is influence and example, that
roll away from him and go beyond his
ken on their mission.
Girls in olden times did't behave any
better than they do nowadays. Even the
Old Testament tells how Ruth followed
the Boaz around.
In private watch your thoughts. In the
family•watch your terr.p,er. In company
,youi
FOLLY ON THE WING.
hiddeous mass of false hair or
OUR MUIR IN HEAVEN.
Our-Father - in - Heave ,
We kneel as we say,
The name be all hallowed
By night or by day ;
And to Thy bright kingdom,
That we may all come,
Let Thy will, as in heaven,
On this earth be done.
Oh, give to us children
The bread which we need,
For which we ask daily,
As humbly we plead.
Andes true forgiveess
Mothers we show,
0, Father in heaven,
Thy pardon bestow
Fiosr each day's temptation,
FrOn evil and wrong,
Lord; keep us and guard us
Through allsmr life long_l
•
power,
Th 4 glory and might,
That can shield us and guide us
By day and by night.
- The - Old - arid the New.
What-is-Stewart,--or-Belmont,-or-the-
Marquis of 'Westminster, to Ptolemy Phi l
adelpbus of 'Egypt, who amassed little
property of $350,0100,000 ? And which
of our extraragant young ladies in these
boasted times ever gave-her-lover as-Cle-
opatra did, a pearl dissolied — in vinegar
-(or-undissolvid) -worth $400,000, Then
there was Paulina, one of the ton in Rome,
who used to wear jewels when she return
ed her visits worth $BOO,OOO. Bicerb, who
was a poor man, gave $150,000 for his
house, and Clodins paid $1350,000 for his
establishment on the pola ntine, while Mas-,
mila gave $2,000,000 for the b l ouse at An•
tium. Seneca, who was: just a plain phi
losopher, like Mr. Gil eley, was worth
$120,000,000. Why they now talk about
a man's now failing for a million• as if it
was a big thing. Caesar, before he enter
esLany_office—when he was a. young gen
tleman in private life—lnVed $14,000,000,
and-he-purchased-the-friendship-of - Qute=
tor for $2,500,000. Marc Antony owned
$1,400,000 on the ides of March, and he
paid it before the Kalends. of Marche--
This was nothing ; he squandered $750,-
000,000 of the public money. And these
fellows lined well. Esoplius, who was a
play-actor„ paid $400,000 for a single dish.
Caligula spent $400,000 on a supper.—
Their wines were often kept for two ages,
and some of them sold for $2O an ounce.
Dishes were made of gold and silver set
with precious stones. The beds of Hello
gabulus were of solid silver, his table and
plates were of pure gold, and his mattress
es, covered with carpets of cloth of gold,
wele stuffed with .down from under the
wing of the partridge. It took $BO,OOO a
year to keep up the dignity of a Roman
senator, and some of them spent $1,000,-
000 a year. Cicero and Poni-ey "drop
ped in" one day on Lucullus—nobody at
home but the family—and that family '
dinner cost. $4,000. But we talk of pop
ulation. Rome had a populatien of be
tween three and four millions. The wood
en theatre of Scarrurus contained 80,000
seats ; the Colliseum, built of stone, would
seat 22,000 more. The Circus Maxisnus
would hold 385,000 spectators, 'There
were in the city 6,000 public baths, those
of Diocletian alone accommodating 3,000
bathers. Even in the sixth century, af
ter Rome had been sacked and plundered
by the Goths and Vandals. Zacharia, .a
traveller, asserts that there were 384 spa
cious streets, 80 golden statues of the gods,
46,097 palaces, 13,052 fountains, 3,785
bronze statues of the emperors andsener
ails, 22 great horses in bronze, 2 collossi,
2 spiral columns, 31 theatres, 12 amphi
theatres, 9:002 baths, 5,800 shops of per
fumes, and 2,091 prisons.
Take Life Easy.
How many toil on, disquiet and bar
rass themselves, as if desperately strug
gling against poverty, at the same time
they are surrounded with abundance!--
Have not only enough, but moro than
enough—far more, in fact, than they ac
tually enjoy. Still on they go, worrying
themselves incessantly in the endeavor to
acquire more property, as if under the in
fluence of some fatal spell. To the tasks
of labor there are seasons of intermission ;
but to the toils imposed by the vain en
deavor to satisfy imaginary wants, there
are none. It would seem that enough is
a nonentity; a dream,
.a chimera—some
thing conceived as possibly to be met with
yet never found. As far, indeed, as our
neighbors are concerned, we can general
ly find very good and sufficient reasons
why they ought to sit down perfectly sat
isfied And content with what hasfallen to
their lot. But in our case—that is in
each man's particular case—the argument
becomes altogether changed, and every
(me can find very good reasons wherefore
he should be exeMpted from the rule he
lays down fir others, and be privileged
to be discontented. The true policy is.
if we cannot raise our circumstances to
the level of ,our desires, our endeavors
must cut down .our desires and expecta
tions to the level of .our circumstances ;
aoil we should then generally find that
we have quite enough„ where we now fan
cy we have too little. Life is =tee up of
little things. He who travels over a con
tinent must go step by .step. He who
writes books must do it sentence by sen
tence. He who learns science must mas
ter it fact by fact, principle:by principle.
What is the happiness of lifeamade up of?
Little courtesies, genial smiles, s friendly
letter, good wishes, and good deeds. One
in a million—once in a life time—may
do a heroic action, but the little things
that make up our live come everyday and
every ,hour. If we make the little events
of life beautiful and good, then is the
whoje Life ;WU of beauty and goodness.
Fearful Scene at a Grave.
The_cbic_ago 21mes says : A few days
ago Itlrtlublbesch was taken :suddeTifly
ill at his late residence. His disease was
of a.very acute nature, and in vpite of all
'the efforts.of his physicians, he, died after
a brief illness, and sorrowing friends made
ready for funeral. An undertaker was
summoned. and the body was promptly laid
out, the funeral services took place from
his late residence. The last .prayer had
been offered and the last solemn service
repeated, when, just as the sexton seized
his spade and was about toidrop the first
shovelful , of earth upon the coffin, a sound
something like a stifled groan,
followed
by a scratching noise, as if the dead man
was trying to release himself from the con-
Enerrof - hisinarrow - house, was ller - trd - pit; -
ceeding from the still open grave. For
an'instant every heart stood still, and the
blood of every listener seemed to curdle
in his veins. The women screamed and
ien were not slow in following them. In
an instant the sexton was the only man
'left at the grave, and he, too, trembled at
hearing what he never heard before.. Fi
nally he recovered presence of mind enough
to descend into the grave and break open
the-rough_boxin_wkich_the_coffin_was_en
cased. The noise was repeated, and he
knew that the occupant of that grave,
who in a few moxpents more Would have
been consigned to a horrible death, and
whom his friends mourned as dead, was
trtirmoTis - W .e set me.
screw-driver-was soon procured from_the
undertaker present, and the coffin lid Te
moved, when its occupant, instead of,be
ing cold And dead, as he bad appeared
when last seen, was found to be once more
alive.
His friends, who had by this lime re
covered courage enough to return to the
grave were almost overjoyed at this strange
and unexpected turn of affairs, and-has
tened to rescue the late deceased from
his unpleasant quarters, and removed him
to one of the carriages in waiting, where
he-was-rolled-up - in -- a plentiful - supply - of
blankets and robes, and the friends who
- had lately followed him sorrowingly to
the grave now hastened joyfully toward
their homes. The rescued man was so
overcome on being rescued from his peril
ous position that he was for a long -time
unable to speak, and what his feelings
were while undergoing burial, or whether
he was conscious at all or not until the
last moment when he managed to signify
that he was still alive, is not known.
Trifles.
What is a trifle ? We search the dic
tionary and find, "A thing of no moment,
no value." We look abroad to the heav
ens, where stars '
"Numerous as glittering gems of morning
dew,
Or sparks of populous cities in a blaze,"
each in their sphere of use—no trifle there.
Look we to nature; 'tis but a drop that
wears the hardest rock, and opes the way
to foaming cataracts and gushing rivers,
which sweep relentlessly o'er lands and
homes, bringing devastation. A grain of
sand is but a small thing, yet what agony
it can cause either singly, or as the dan
gerous bar whereupon so many mariners'
hopes are wrecked. The careless garden
er passes the down which blows hither
and thither, and only wakes to his mis
take when, on the following year, he tries
in vain to eradicate deeply,rooted weeds,
that choke his blooming flowers ;'and thus
is it, "For there is nothing on the earth
so small that it may not produce great
things." And, as in nature, so with hu
manity, for to us, "Each breath is bur
dened.with a bidding, and every minute
bas - its mission." We cannot say to the
passing event, 'tis but a trifle, like the
stone thrown in the water, causing a cir- '
cle fur beyond the beholder's eye. So the
word which escapes the thoughtless lips
may go forth winged with a power to
change a life--nay, perhaps, tipped with
a poison as deadly as the Indian's arrow,
which the speaker forgets as soon as said,
or only remembers it when too late, in a
time of distress or despair ; and thus the,
heedless ones of the earth daily repeat in
society words and deeds, and calm their
consciences with the thought, "'Tis but a
trifle I" Half of our faults arise from
thoughtfulness, forgetting that
"So our little errors
Lead the soul away
From the paths of virtue
Oft'in sin to stray;"
Happy the•man who goeth forth know
ing no trifles, 4 `sowing.tbe good seed be
side all waters," waiting in patience for
its fruits ; realizing that the acorn may
become the pride of the forest, and that
no action is too small to influence others
for' good or evil ; and particularly re
members at this joyous season that
"Little deeds of kindness,
Little words of love,
Make our earth an eden,
Like the heaven above?'
CnorCE Woaps.—We let our blessings
grow mouldy and then call them curses.
We fear men to much because we fear
God so little.
Do the duties of to-day and leave cares
of tomorrow till they come.
If, as athiests affirm, creation came by
chance; what a sublime chance it was.
The surest temper must sweeten in the
atmosphere of continuous good humor.
He who caressesthe more than he won't
to do, has either deceived thee or is a
bout to do it.
We may judge of men by their conver
sation toward God, never by God's dis
pensation towards them.
An exchange having advised its read
ers to plant peas 'in the new of the moon,'
the Norristown Herald asks : 'But how
are they going to do it:? They can't reach
up. .The ground is a better Once to plant
pens, anyhow:
Too Much Credit.
' Mr. Keene, a shrewd and thrifty fiirm
-r-of-Allenboroughi-owted-a-largefloekuf
sheep, and one autumn, when it came
housing time, lie Was greatly annoyed up
on missing a number of bis finest muttons,
'among them three or four wethers which
he bad raised and fattened for his own
table. He was sure that it was not the
work of dqg, '
s and the most he could do
was to await further developements.
On the following spring, when his sheep
were turned out to pasture, he instituted
a careful watch, and ere long he detected
Tom Stickney, a neighboring fanner, pil
fering a sheep ; but he made no noise a
bout itat the time. Stickney was a man
well to do, and Keene did not care to ex
pose him.
Autumn came again, and upon count
ing up his flock Mr. Keene fbund eight
sheep missing. He made out a bill in
due form to Thomas for the eight sheep,
stammered, but did'not back down. Like
a prudent man he paid the bill and pock
eted the receipt.
Another spring time came, and Mr.
Keene's sheep were again turned out.—
Another autumn came, and the farmer
again took an account of his stock, and
Iliis time fifteen sheep were missing. As
before he made out the bill to Tom Stick
.ney for the whole number missing; but
%his time Tom objected.
"It is too much o p f l a nod thing," said
soul, I hava't had a fifth part of 'em."
eene was inexora
"There is the bill," said he, "and I
made it out in good faith. I have made
no fuss when.my sheep have been missing
because I deemed your credit good and
.sufficient."
"Well," groaned Tom, with a big gulp,
"I suppose I must pay ; but," he added
emphatically, "We'll close that account
from this time. You have given me too
much credit altogether. Some other ras
cal has been stealing on, the strength of it."
CAREFULNESS IN OLD AGE.—An old
-man-is -like-an-old-wagon—with-light
loading and careful usage it will last for
years ; but one heavy load or. sudden
strain will break it and ruin it forever.—
So many people reach the age of fifty, or
sixty, or even seventy, measurably free
from most of the pains• and infirmities of
old age, Cheery in heart and sound in
health, ripe in wisdom and experience,
with sympathies mellowed by age, and
with reasonable prospects and opportuni
ties for continued usefulness in the world
for a considerable time. Let such per
sons be .thankful, hut let them also be
careful. An old et:institution is like an
old bone•; broken with ease, and mended
with difficulty. A :young tree bends to
the gale—an old one snaps and falls be
fore the blast. A single hard lift, 'or an
hour of heating work, an evening expo
sure to rain or damp, a severe chill, an
excess of food, the unusual indulgence•of
an oppetite or passion, a sudden fit.ofan
ger, an improper dose of medicine, any of
these, or other similar things, may cut off
a valuable life in an hour, and leave the
fair hopes of usefulness and enjoyment
but a shapeless wreck.
INFLUENCE OF TEMPER ON HEALTH
—Excessive labor, 'exposure to cold, de
privation of sufficient quantities of neces
sary and wholesome food, habitual bad
lodging, sloth and intemperance, are all
deadly enemies to human life; but they
are none of them so bad as violent and
ungovernable passions. Men and women
have survived all these, and at last reach
ed an extreme old age; but it may be
safely doubted whether a single instance
can be found of a man of violent and
irascible temper, habitually subject to
storms of ungovernable passion, who has
arrived at a very:advanced period of life.
It is, therefore, a matter ed . the highsst
importance to every one desirous to pre
serve "a sound mind in a sound body," so
that the brittle vessel of life may glide
down the stream of time smoothly and se
curely, instead of being continually tossed
about amidst rocks and shoals which en
danger its existence, to have a special care
amidst all the vicissitudes and trials of
life to maintain a quiet possession of his
own spirit—Hall's Journal of Health.
A. BE ER EXHORTATION.-0 lazy
old men ; 0 non-ambitious middle-aged
men ; 0 dainty, melancholy, sentimental
young men, who are talking about life's
being almot done, shake the bough of the
tree again Bring down more fruit. O
pen the furrows once more. Cast in the
seeds of new endeavors. Live again! for
you are active only when you are think
ing, planning, executing, bearing, suffer
ing. Never whine. Leave whining for
the dogs. You area son of God. You
were not whelped to be a son of the gut
ter. Live an. Live forward, sloughing
infirmity, sloughing sin, sloughing crime,
and the memory of them, if they hold you
down. Stretch out hands of aspiration.
Reach aft-errnew thoughts and aspirations.
It is never , too late to mend. It is never
too late to begin again. It is never too
late to sow. It is never too sate to reap.
Go through life with the reaper's song in
your mouth, and when you die carry your
sheaves with you to heaven.
A young lady fainted at dinner because
the servant brought a roast pig on the ta
blo that showed its bare legs. "What
made you faint?" anxiously inquired her
friend as soon as she came to. "The na
kedness of the horrible quadruped," sob
bed this bashful piece of modesty. "Och,
an' bedad," exclaimed the servant who
had brought in the offensive pig, "it was
not naked at all. I dreesed it meself be
fore I brought it in, sure."
A haeheior cornpares.a shirt button to
life, because it hang 3 by a thread.
$2,00 PER YEA R
Mit Hut" Xnmor.
A Scotch gentleman says, "There aras
few people like Burns." ,We shoul4.thin s ki
not, iiadeed, or scalds either.
One ...Missouri editor says of another
that his ears would do for awnings
ten-storylog packing establishmeLt. ✓
There is a widow in England, twenty
years of age, who, enjoys two hundred and
fifty thousand dollars a year. She has no
.ther incumbranee. r •
A new boy at the South street schZ,N,
being asked if they bad family prayer at
his house, promptly replied "No, but we
have got ft ur bay windows." t...._...../
.A Divine, once praying•ssid, "0 Lord,
give unto.us neither ,poverty .nor riches."
- ek"especiallrp - overty
Springfield paper says ; . "We know shoes
have soles and tongue, and now a chap in.
Rhode Island advertises: "Shoes made
Hear." We don't believe:it.
tine our
not chastise you. No one whu is a lover
of money, a lover of pleasure, or a lover
of glory, is likewise a lover of mankind.
"Taint de white nor . yet.de•blaok folks
but.de boys_," said Auntehole, as
she jingled a few gold coins that-had come
down from a former generation.
. A lady, a .disbeliever in the science,
asked a learned phrenologist, mith a view
of puzzeling him . " What kind of.people
are those who have destructiveness .and
benevolence equally and largely develop
ed?" "They, madam,• are those who kill
with. kindness,"
Speaking of the sad affliction of a citi
zen
. of..lndiana who had recently lost his
wife, a.local editor says: "The .broken
-hearted-mturerected-a-pine•slab-over,his
wife's grave, and presented a four ..hun
,dred dollar piano to the young lady who
was so kind to him in his hours of afflic
tion."
An editor announces the .marriage of a
friend ,thusly : "He has read himself out
of the jolly brotherhood of bachelors, Bola
his single-breasted.lounge, packed his bag
gage and checked it forrGlory, walked the
gang-plank of courtship to the vessel of
matrimony, and is now steaming down the
stream of bliss by the clight•of the honey
moon."
At a ladies" temperance meeting mot
long since, , oue of the members remarked
that the temperance cause had been a
blessing tolier: "for," added she, I slept
with a barrel of rum for ten years; übt
now she continued; her eye brightening,
since my husband signed the pledge; I
have lad a man to sleep with? Then all
the spinsters laid their hands on their
hearts and sang—Amen.
STANDING IN THE MARKET.—This old
Eastern habit remains much the same as
in Bible time. A European traveler, in
narrating a visit to the market, says.:
"Here we observed, every morning, be
fore the sun rose, that a numerous bawler
peasants was collected, With spades in4their
.hands, waiting to be hired by the day, to
work in the surrounding field. This cus
tom struck me as a most happy illustra
tion of our Saviour's parable, particularly
when passing by the same place late in
the day, we found others standing idle
and remembered His words, "Why stand.
ye here all the day idle?; as most appli
cable to their situation, for on putting the
very same question to them, they answer
ed us : "Because no man bath hired us."
"I say, old fellow, can you tell me
where Mr. Swackelhammer, the preacher,
lives?"
"Yaw. Just go on till you come to the
road up to do creek, and durn the pritch
over the stream.
Den just go en till you gom to a rote
which winds choost around a school house;
but you don't take thatroute.—Well, den
you go on till you meet a pig barn shin
gled with mit straw, , den you dum do
rote around de field, and go on till you
come to a big red house all speckled aver
mit white, and the garrett up stairs. Vell,
dat is my broder Ilans'house. Den you
darn dat house around de barn, and you
see a rote dat goes up in de -woods. Den
you go rite strata on and de first house
you meet is a haystack and de next is a
barrack. Vell he don't lif dare. Den you
will get furder, andyou see a house on
top de hill about a mile, an den go in dere
and az de old woman and she will tell
better as I can.
A TEUTONIC ALLEGORY.—An old Mall
was toiling through the burden and heat
of the day, in cultivating his field with his
own hands, and depositing the promising
seed in the fruitful lap of yielding earth.
Suddenly there stood before him, -under
the shade of a huge linden tree,.a .v.ision.—
The old man was struck with amazement.
"I am Solomon," spoke the phantom,
in a friendly voice. •'What are you do
ing here, old man ?"
"If you are Solomon," re,plied the ven
erable laborer, "how can you ask this ?
In my youth you sent me to the ant; I
saw its occupation, and learned"from that
insect to be industricus and to gather.
What I then learned I have followed out
to this hOur."
"You have Only learned half your les;
sen," replied the spirit. "Go ay. in to the
ant and learn to rest in the winter of yotir
life;ind to enjoy what you have eathered
"
up. ,
NUMBER 32