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Y W. i3LALti,
VOLUME 25.
. 1 111 E ViIifiCESDORO' VILLAGE RECORD
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING
By W. BLAIR.
-TEE. :.IS—Two ;Dollars per -Annum - if paid
within the year; Two Dollars and
' Fifty cents after the expiration
of the year.
ADVF,RTISEMENTS— One Square (10
lines) three insertions, 51.,50 ; for
each subsequent insertion, Thir
live cenls per Square. A liberal
• discount made to yearly adver
tisers.
I.OC ).LS.—Business Locals Ten Cents per
line for the first insertion, Seven
Cents for subsea uent insertions
profosignal Culls.
J. B. ABIEBER,SON, M. D.,
EILYSICYLKANILSILIBGZON.
WAYNESBORO', PA.
Office at the "Waynesboro' "Corner Drug
ore." Dane 29—tf.
12.1 B_ FR,ANTZ,
Has resumed the practice of Medicine.
OFFICE—In the Walker Building—near
the Bowden House. Night calls should be
made at his residence on Main Street ad
oining the WeStern - School House.
JULY :04f •
,C. "M"
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON.
WAYNESBORO' PA.
Oflice at his residence, nearly opposite
Jae Bowden House. Nov 2—tf.
JOSEPH DOUG-LAS,
ATI:OR:KEY AT LAW.
WAYNESBORO', PA,
leractices in the several Courts of Franklin
and adjacent Counties.
N. B.—Real Estate leased and so ,an
;Fire Insurance effected on reasonable terms.
„December 10, 1871.
1' 11 E
(FORMERLY OP MERCFIRSBURCI, PA.,)
FFER.S.bi* Professional services to the
tficitizens of Waynesboro' and vicinity.
Da. STRICKLER has relinquished an exten-•.
dve pnicticeat _Mercersbur , where he hue.
_JJecu_proiniiieittly_eng,agetifforainunber
ve4rs hi the praelice of his profession.
lie bas opened an Office in Waynesboro',
the m e itlence of Ueorge Desore. Esq.. , s
Father-m-law..wbere he can be limn(' at al
wih:n not professionally engaged.
July 20, 1871.—tf.
DR. J. 3t. IMPPLI:
RIPPLE Sr, BONBRAKE,
WAYNESBORO'. PA.
Havinz associated themselves in the prac
tice of Medicine and Surgery, offer their
professional services to the. public.
Office in the room on the orth East
Cur. of the Diamond, formerly occupied by
Dr. John J. OeMg, deed.
July IS, 187 . ..!--Iv
•
:113 A. M I:2_, ST 0- I
Y 7111ricriber informs the public that he
continues the Barbering bm•iness in the
room next door to Mr. Reid's Grocery Store,
and is at all times prepare to do hair cut
ting, shaving,s hampooning, etc. in the best
style. The patronage of the public is respect
fully solicited.
Aug 23 1871
C Cl. AND SEEOMAKING.
rirllE subscriber would inform the public
If that he is at all times prepared to make
o order Gents Coarse or lie Boots, also
coarse or fine work for Lathes or Misses, in
cluding the latest style of lasting Gaiters.—
Repairing done at short notice, and measur
es taken in private families if desired Shop
on East Main Street, in the room formerly
occupied by J. Elden, as a flour and feed
store
THOS. J. ITOLLINGSWOJITH
J. H. FORNEY it CO.
-Practace corgrilf.ssign Mascaairts
No. 77 NORTH STREET,
BALTIMORE, MD.
Pay partioilar attention to the sale of
Flour, Undo, Seed_, 6:e.
July 18, 1572-ly
S t GA
rITE subscriber has now for sale a prime
' , article of Chestnut Shingles, a supply of
whieh he will continue to keep on hand.—
] le has also for sale a large lot of dlastcring
Laths.
April IS S. B. RINEEIART
.T If E
WASHINGTON COUNTY PLOWS,
THIS justly celebrated Plow formerly
manulltctured by Moatz 13arkdoll can
now be had of Barkdoll & Newcomer or
their authorized agents. All Plows war
ranted to give satisfaction.
BARKDOLL & NEWCOMER,
RINGGOLD, WASIIINGTON CO., Mn.
• AGENTS.—D. 1-1. Stonebraker, Cayetown,
Md. 0. Bellman, - Hagerstown, Md. S. B.
Rinehart, Waynesboro', Franklin Co., Pa.
March 28, 1872—1 y
COUNTY TREASURER.
VINCOITRAGED by the flattering sup-
JlLlport received for the office of County
Treasurer at a former Convention, I again
offer myself as a candidate for that otlice,
subject to the decision of the Republican
Nominating convention.
W. H. DAVISON,
Greencastle, Dec. 28, 3872.
WAYNESBORO' CONFEiIIONERT
'UHT; undersigned informs the public that
he will continue the confectioners bus
.ness at the old stand opposite the Bowden
iouse, where can be had at all shales the
toicest Candies manufactured of the pur
:. 1 white sugar wholesale or retail. Also
ways on hand a well-selected stock of Or-
. zes, Lemons, and other tropical fruits;
kes of every description - baked to order
id fresh ones constantly for sale. Figs,
raisins, Citron, Dates, Prunes and Nuts
'wide a specialty. Thankful for past favors
o hopes to merit a continuance of the same.
Feb 6-tf JOSEPH FRANTZ.
mmurtagy Goons
TO THE LADIES!
C. L. HOLLINBERGER has just
/A-received a full supply of riew Millinery
ovnds. Ladies are invited to.eall and examine
slot:.);.
_
otor
. c i
I ag
Int-ts_ Intl'
Against the curtained pane, beloved,
The snow beats thick and fast, '
The wild wind's sorrowful refrain
Is telling of the past—
And in the old familiar clnriv,
Beside the hearth fire glow,
I sit and sing the tender air
You loved so long ago. '
Ab, often since the springs, beloved,
ave I oome a ove your rest,
I breathe the sweet old song that sings
Itself within mybreast—
As children, in the cheerless days
When winter darkly lowers,
Retrace the garden's sodden ways
And talk of last year's flowers.
It never-seemed-to you,-beloved ;
When we walked hand in hand,
_Amid_the_sunshine_and_the'_dew
Of youth's enchanted laud—
It never seemed 'to you or me
That I could sing or smile
If you were lying silently
' Within your grave the while.
We thought we could not live, beloved,'
IVe were torn apart—
That earth would have no more to give
To either stricken heart •
Alas, the change that time has wrought
Your grave has held you long,
But in a home where you are not,
I sing the dear old song !
Do you look bdck to me, beloved,
From out your happy sphere,
And deem me false, that I can be
live, and you not here?
'kfh d its — ding 'its li;
toes not.ways
Ti) every aching ill—
Life may outlast its dearest charm,
And heart-break does not kill.
It would have been' the same,.beloVed,
Had I been first to die—
Another love has worn your name,
More dear, perchance, than I ;
Ah, after all these weary years,
Would you more constant be ?
And would you drop these bitter tears,
And sing the song for me?
—From the Aldine for March.
"I don't care I" sobbed Julius Kings
ley. "You're real mean so you are!".
And he threw himself down on a pile
of disjointed kindling wood, in a parox
ysm of childish rage.
"Is that the way to talk to me ?" an
grily demanded Mrs. Parley, bestowing a
most cordially given box either side of the
doomed young victim's head, "and, you
nothing on earth, but a bound boy ! I
Wilt no patience with you—and Job him
self wouldn't have I"
W. A. PnICE
"Gently, mother, gently. What's the
matter now ?"'demanded Firmer Parley,
cautiously thrusting' his sunburnt shock
of hair into the wood shed door.
"Matter!" echoed Mrs. Parley. "Why
just look here ! Them wheels off, the old
wheelbarrow hvsted up to the roof, with
the second-hand harness you bought of
Deacon Salisbury and the strips for the
new rag carpet-and all the wood tumbled
down, higgledy piggledy, to make room
for it. And the hens ain't fed, and the
cows ain't gone after—and their ain't.noth
in' done that ought to be ! I tell you I
ha'nt no patience with his experiments
and his tricks. Get up, Julius, this min
ute, and go for the cows ; and not a bless
ed mouthful of supper• will you get this
night.
Julius Kingley obeyed sulkily, and with
down-drooping head. He was a bright
looking boy of about thirteen with dark
gray eyes and thick brown hair, which
hung over a square low forehead ; and as
he walked he clenched his boyish hands
until the nails indented the flesh in eres•
eat shaped marks.
"I won't stand it!" muttered Julius to
himself. "They have no business to treat
me so." . -
And theb the wrathful mood subsided
in some degree, as he remembered the ma
ny deeds .01 kindness that he had received
from both Mr. and Mrs. Parley—the care
in sickness, the nearly mended clothes,
the many little tokens of watchfulness so
new . and grateful to the orphan boy ; and
little Alice, too, who troted at his heels
when he went to gather apples in the or
chard, and thought of the wooden toys
nis ingenius jack itnife furnished the most
marvelous of creation.
"I suppose I am a trial," sighed Julius;
but she needn't have torn all my machin
ery down; and then to box my ears, too.
It was raper a derogatory process to
the boyish dignity of thirteen.
"You ain't in earnest about his supper,
mother ? said Farmer Parley, as they sat
down to the well spread evening board.
"Yes, I be. Have some quince sass,
Alice ?"
"Remember, he's a growin' boy, plead
ed her husbind.
"I can't help that; he's got to learn to
behave himself: There ain't no other way
of managin' him. It was only yesterday
be blowed off the top of one of my best
preserving cans, to show slice how a steam
boat worked ; and last week I most got
poisoned with a bottle of some stuff he'd
got tucked away on the shelf, tlmt I took
for vinegar,"
pottrg.
INCONSTANCY.
Tai BOUND BOY.
A FAMILY NEWSPAPER-.DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWS. ETC.
WAYNESBORO', FRANKLIN CO
Sulpheric
_acid, mother," said little Al
ice. •`lt was to—"
"I don't care what it was for," interup
ted the farmer's .wife. "Julius can behave
well enough when he's a mind to, and he's
got to."
And the farmer knew from the way his
wife compressed her lips together, that
she was in unmitigated earnest.
Julius Kingsley went supperless to his
room, but before he had begun to undress
a soft knock come to his door, and Alice's
voice whispered :
"Julius ! Julius !"
"What is it ?"
Open the door. I've got a piece of
peach-pie for you and two rusks, and a
bowl of milk."
"But what will your. mother say, Alice."
She's gone to Mrs. Badger's and she
thinks Fm in bed, but I got up and dress-
• - • " " • ) " • • • •
ing how hungry you must be."
And she nestled down close at the bound
boy's side, as he eagerly devoured the sup
per, which she brought him.
"I was hungry, Alice," said Julius, as
ho took a long draught of milk, "and
you're a good little thing, I'll do as much
for-you-some day."
Alice laughed.
"I don't_, get into_scrapes
Julius."
"That's no sign you never will."
. Mrs. Parley, secretly relenting in the
depths of her motherly heart, gave Juli
us the brownest cakes, and the juciest bit
of meat for breakfast the next morning.
"He'll behave himself now, I guess,"
she thought; but in this she was mistak
en.
Julius did up his chores in the shortest
possiM - TmTi - g.l of — thneT - that afterfrom ,
when Mrs. Parley had betaken herself to
the Sewing Circle with little Alice, and
the farmer had gone to the neighboring
village, and applied himself with more
zeal than discretion to the further prose
cution of the experiment that had ended
so disastrously for the preserving can.
"The tea-kettle isn't of glass," thought
Julius - "and -- I — know - 1 call make that
work."
Vain unction to lay to his soul! ; for just
as that experiment, whatever it happened
to be, reached the culminating point, up
flew the tea-kettle froth the stove, tortur
ed by much caloric, arid bang went the
iron lid, right into the dresser cupboard,
that held Mrs. Parley's best set of china.
Julius stood staring aghast at the ruins.
All house keepers have their domestic idols
and this new 'iron stone' set was Mrs. Par
ley's. The tea-pot lay noisless and dernol:
ished before his eyes, three cups wore bro
ken, and the handle was dashed off from
the cream pitcher, while the knob was
chipped neatly off the cover of the sugar
bowl. •
Julius only paused for one glance at the
general ruin, then, he turned and fled in
gloriously from this Waterloo of his sci
entific efforts.
And the next day all Bickerton kneT
that Farmer Parley's bound boy had run
away, after first demolishing all of Mrs.
Parley's china, out of sheer revenge, be
cause she had boxed his ears the day be
fore.
"I always knew that boy wouldn't come
to no good," said Deacon Jones.
"There was a vicious look in his eyes,"
croaked Miss Lamina Denham," "and I
only .wonder he didn't set fire to the house,
or burn you all in your beds."
But little Alice cried bitterly and treas
ured inure tenderly than ever a goggle
eyed doll, with arms out of all proportion,
and ieet several degrees larger than her
head, which was the .last wooden exploit
Julius had presented to her. •
"I'll never have another bound boy,"
asserted Mrs. Parley."
*
"Well, well," sighed the fanner, "how
time does slip away from us, to be sure!
Alice is nineteen today, and it don't seem
right she should be away from us on her
birthday. she's been three months in the
city now, wife."
"Yes," said Mrs. Parley, nodding her
head eagerly, "and don't believe she'll
come home alone neither."
"Eh," the fanner opened wide his blue
eyes; "you don't s'pose she'e engaged to
that Mr. Clinton?"
"You men are so slow to put two and
two together," said Mrs. Parley, with a
conscious smile. "I've suspicioued it this
long while, and Mrs. Carter writes that
it'll be a splendid match, and half the
young ladies in Boston are envying our
little girl. Only think! won't it be nice
to have our Alice a rich lady, livin' in a
big 'house in Boston ?"
Mr. Parley stared steadfastly at the
fire.
"Who is he, any way ?" he asked in a
troubled voice. "She's all the child we've
got wife." "We can't give her to a man
without knowin' Who, and what he is."
"You needn't worry," said his wife, with
the superior calmness of one who is post
ed." "He's a steady-goin' as you be your
self—at least, so Mrs. Carter writes—and
he's an inventer whatever that may be.—
Any way, he made a great fortune out of
a patent he's sold to the government. Al
ice won't have to work all her days as
hard as I have done, and that's one com
fort."
And when Alice's shy letter, which im
plied tar more than it told, intimated that
she was coming home under Mr. Clinton's
escort, the old farm house was duly swept
and garnished:for the reception of the hon
ored guest. Mrs. Parley put on her best
black silk, and the farmer donned his
butternut suit, which seemed to him as
gotgeous as it had been on the day he bad
bought it, twenty good years ago.
"I wonder which. train they will come
in," said MrS. Parley reflectively. "I
should hate the worst way to have the
turkey spoiled."
But such a catastrophe was happily a
verted for the travelers arrived just as the
stormy twilight made the glow of the great
wood fire doubly grateful. ,
There was the crunch of wheels with
out, the opening of the door, and then Al
ice was in her mother's arms.
In the background a tall figure stood,
stately and dignified and aell-contained
with jet black hair and grave violet gray
eyes, and the farn:er made his best bow as
Alice introduced Mr. Clinton:
"You must like him very much, father
for my sake," she said, "because I have
promised to be his wife."
When the hospitable meal was over and
Mrs. Parley came in from the kitchen,
pulling down the sleeves that had been
rolled up above her elbow, and tying on
a clean checked apron, Alice sprang to
her feet.
— "Mother," -- she — said — with — lrerisenill
smiles and dimples, "Mr. Clinton has
brought yen-down a present."
"A present !" cried Mrs. Parley.
"And father must get a hammer and
screw driver and open it very carefully,
for it's china,"
"China'?"
"Yes,-real-china, imported—from Can
ton, so transparent that you can look
throu h it in_the colors of_life, _ Coti, it is
"She stood by, gleefully clapping her
hands as the treasures were unpacked and
enjoying her mother's delight as the beau
tiful. fragile things by one made their ap
pearance from countless' wrappings of sil
ver paper.
"How kind it is of you, Mr. Clinton
said Mrs. Parley, looking up with beam
ing eyes. I always set store by china.",
"1. Littallaid_the_y_oung_man
quietly"it is simplyhe settlement of a
very old debt."
"A debt," repeated, the farmer's wife
with puzzled eyes. "I don't think I fair
ly understand you, Mr. Clinton."
He smiled. "It is to replace til l
which I broke, trying expAriments, twelve
years ago."
Mrs. Parley stared,--- beginning to halie
uncomfortable doubts as to the entire san
ity of her daughter's lover. And then, as
he sullied again, a sudden light broke in
upon her brain.
"It ain't never"—she began, and then
stopped short.
"Yes, it is mother !" cried Alice radi
antly. "It's Julius—our Julius!"
"Whose cars you have boxed deserved
ly so many thaw," laughed the . young
man.
"And he has made his fortune, mother
and he is a great , man now ; and I
always knew it would be so," went on Al
ice, flushed :tad excited. "And it all came
from the experiments he was always try
ing."
"Well I never!" cried Mrs. Parley;
while the farmer rubbed his spectacles,
and laughed a low chuckingly laugh,
which expressed his perfect contentment
better than all the adjectives in Webster's
Dictionary could have done,
And the chill December moon shining
through the far off window, beyond the
cubit of the fire, beamed upon no happier
household in all the land, than gathered
that night round Farmer Parley's hearth
stone ?"
DOES IT PAY 2—A great many busi
ness men don't t advertise, because they
think it "don't pay." John V. Farewell
says, "Without advertising, I should be a
poor man to-day." A. T. Stewart says,
"He who invests one dollar in business
should invest one dollar in advertising."
Robert Bonner said, "My success is owing
to my liberality in advertising." Amos
Lawrence said, "Advertising has•furnish
ed me with a competence' Stephen Gi
rard said, "Constant and persistent adver
Usin . g is the sure road to wealth." Nicho
las Longsworth said, "I advertised my
productions, and made-money." Here is
the evidence of the moat successful busi
ness men in America, of the present and
the past. It is a well-known fact that
Barnum can make a fortune every three
years by the judicious use of printers' ink.
There are merchants in.olmost every city
who could increase their sales one hun
dred per cent. by`expending a compara
tively small amount in advertising. "I
don't think he amountiuto much—ho don't
advertise"—is a very common remark a
mong, farmers, mechanics, and the labor
ing men in all classes. It is a well-known
fiet that in all communities men 'who do
the largest amount of business aro those
who advertise there wares. True, men
may advertise foolishly a-ed fail to receive
returns, but judicious advertising brings a
rich return for every dollar invested.,
HINTS ON PourEsEss.—Before you
bow to a lady iu the street permit her to
decide whether you shall do so or not, by
at least a look of recognition.
"Excuse my gloves" is an unnecessary
apology, for the gloves should not be with
drawn to shake hands.
When your companion bows to a lady
you• should do so also. When a gentle
men bows to a lady in, your company, al
ways bow to him in return.
A letter must be answered, unless you
wish to intimate to the writer that he or
his object is beneath your notice.
A visit must be returned in like man
ner, even though no intimacy is intended.
Whispering is always offensive, and of
ten for the reason that persons present sus
pect that they are the subject of it,
A sneer is the weapon of the weak.
Like other evil weapons, it is always
cunningly ready to our hands; . and there
is more poison in the handle than in the
point. But how many noble hearts have
withered with its venomous stab, and been
fettered with its subtle malignity.
The mountain is apt to over shadow the
but the hill is reailitr,
PA. THITRS
Young girls who rejoice in a fair share
of beauty very often do what they can to
s.,_ j _END, themselves the name of beim_
Iroque
They like the title.
They like to feel that they have the
power to bring stubborn men . to their feet.
Add, indeed, the commencement of a
- coquette's career is suspicious enough.
fa a limited way she is a very queen--
a sovereign—often a tyrant.
This is tee bright side of the picture.
So the coquette plunges into the amuse
ment of a flirting with infinite zest, and
does as much damage in a short time as
possible.
. But as she grows older, her triumphs
become fewer and her disappointments
many.
Her power of attraction grows less, un
consciously she acquires an overbearing
demeanor, the natural result of her many
victories.
She gets the notion into her head that
men are bound to admire and pay their
homage to her that, as a sup6rior crea
ture, she has a right to demand their o
penly-expressed admiration.
And so she does not take the trouble
to make herself very agreeable to them.
She assumes a half defiant attitude,
and snubs and ridicules them most un
mercifully.
Strange as it may (and does) appear
to the coquette, they do not like this sort
of thing, and are not attracted thereby.
The consequence is, they rather avoid
than court her society.
She becomes, too, as fitful and changa
ble as an April day ; one moment she will
be gushingly sentimental and confidential,
and the next cold and distant, and biting
ly sarcastic.
And now comes the dark side of the
picture.
Her reputation gets impaired ; for at
last the truth leaks out that she is a co
quette.
People decline to place themselves with
in reach of her baleful influence, for they
shrink back from the probability of being
Waled with.
• Her voiais to them as the voice of the
syren, and her eyes as the will-o'-the-wisp,
luring poor mortals on,to a miserable fate.
And so, if she is not altogether avoided,
her society is courted only by those who
mean just as little, and are as heartless as
she is, who are proof against all her as
saults and who have no objectiolto carry
a flirtation to its most extreme limits,And
end the matter there.
They have no respect for her.
She cannot deceive them by her arts
and studied grace.
Even the delights of a true friendship
are denied her; she is deserted upon the
first opportunity ; for in dealing with her
men have few qualms of conscience.
She is only getting paid back in her own
coin.
The end of the matter is that she, too,
frequently becomes really crossed in love•;
the man upon whom she has set her heart
ignores her as a heartless coqutte, nor can
all 'devices bring him to her side.
Then she is miserable, and 'finds what
a mistuke she has made.
As years roll on,•admirers of any sort
grow scarcer and scarcer. .until :there are
none left.
She becomes soured in &position, and
ultimately develops into a waspish old
maid, or contracts a loveless marriage.
Girls you who are beginning your ca
reer, and already boast of your conquests,
look on the dark side of your
picture ere
it is too late. .
Vanity has slain its thousands—hearts
and souls.
People who are continually medlifig
, with other peoples business, will always
be found incompetent to attend to their
own.
"I am rejoiced, my dear wife, to see you
in such good health,'' said Sparks to his
wife. "Health ?" was the quick retort,
"why I have had the plague ever.since I
was married."
Y, APRIL 3,
[For the Village Record
THE HONEYMOON.
BY JOHN H. BARNES, JR
A willing bride he led her
From home and friends away,
For blithely he had wed her,
Upon that bright May day
The world seemed bright before them
A happy, golden day,
And love's bright sun shone o'ei them,
And night seemed far away.
But hearts that feel the lightest,
And loves that are most warm,
Like sunshine, the brightest,
Before the coming storm.
AO flowers that are the fairest
Are soonest to decay,---
And clouds of tints the rarest,
The' soonest float away.
Ere autumn turned to winter,
Or summer chilled to fall,
Death whispered—the bride listened—
And answered at his call. •
The cypress crowned the myrtle,
The _brightness turned to gloom,
The hopes so sweet in budding,
Were destined ne'er to bloom.
The hopes, the dreams elysian,
The love, the joy, the trust,
Had faded like a vision,
In bitterness and dust.
PITTSBURG, March, 1873. •
Coquetry.
But her humiliation is not complete.
Lei not yours be added to the list.
Send For Mother.
"Dear me! it wasnt'enough for me to
nurse and raise a family of my own, but
now, when I'm old and expect to have a
little comfort here, it is all the time, 'Send
for mother?"--And the dear old soul
growls and grumbles, but dresses herself
as fast as she can, notwithstanding. After
you have trotted her off and got her safe
ly in your home, and she flies around ad.
ministering rebukes and remedies by turns,
you feel easier. ' It's right now or soon
will be—mother's come.
In sickness, no matter who is there or
how many doctors quarrel over your case,
everything' goes wrong, somehow, till you
or mot 1 er.
In trouble, the first thing you think of
is to send for mother.
But this has its ludicrous as well as its
touchin ! aspects. The verdwiLyoun_
couple to whom baby's extraordinary gri
maces and alarming yawns, which threa
ten the dislocation of its chin ; its wonder
ful sleeps which it accomplishes with its
eyes half open and no perceptible flutter
of breath on its lips, causing the young
mother to imagine it is dead this time,
and to Shriek out "send for mother !" in
tones of anguish—this young couple, iu
the light of the experience which three or
four babies bring, find that they have
been ridiculous, and given mother a good
many "trots" for nothing.
Did any_one ever semi for mother and
she fail to come, unless sickness' or the
infirmities of age preventes her? As when,
in your childhood, those willing feet re
spolid to your call, so they still do and
will continue to do as long as they are
able. And when the summons comes
which none yet disregarded, though it will
be a_happy_day_for_her,it_will_be a—very
dark and sad one for you, when God too
will send for mother.
Every-Day Duties.
There are a great, many kinds of chari
ty, and many people have many ways of
displaying it. Practical people do not
consider it charity to give a penny to the
street mendicant, - - of whom — nothing - is
known, and haggle with a poor man, out
of employment for a miserable dime. It is
not charity to beat down a poor seam
stress to starvation prices; let her sit 'in
her wet clothes sewing all day ; to deduct
from her pitiful remuneration if the storm
delays her prompt arrival. It is not
charity to take a poor relative into your
family and make her a slave to all your
whims, and taunt her continually with her
dependent situation. It is not charity to
tarn a poor man who is out of work into
the street, with his family, because he.can
not pay his rent. It is not charity to ex
act the utmost farthing from the widow
and orphan. It is not charity to give
with a supercilious .air and patronage, as
if God had made you the rich man of
different blood from the shivering
i recipi
ent, whose only crime is that he s poor.—
It is not charity, though you bestow
your alms by thousands, if you bestow it
grudgingly and reluctantly. It is far
from charity for an. employer to be con
stantly goading and carping at an em
ployee—it not only impairs his efficiency
but renders him sour and discontented.—
Men who hire workmen should try to en
courage them and they in return will labor
far more cheerfully and earnestly for
them. The true secret is to pay your
men liberally, promptly, and regularly,
and in this true charity you will find your
self surrounded by people who are true
and devoted friends.
WASTED Hoults.—Oh, how many of
these upon the record of our past! How
many hours wasted, worse than wasted,
in frivolous conversation, useless employ
mode:- hours of which we can give no ac
coutil, audin which we benefitted neigier
ourselves or others. There are no such
hours in the busiest lives, but they make
up 'the whole sum of the lives of many.—
Many live without accomplishing an y
good ; squander away their time in petty,
triffling things, as if the only object in life
were to kill time, as if the,earth were not
a place for probation, but our abiding res
idence. We do.not value time as we should
but let• many golden hours pass by unim
proved. We loiter during the day time
of life, and ere we know it;the night draws
near "whermo man can work." Oh, hours
misspent and wasted! How we wish we
could live them over again. God will re
quire from us an account of the manner
in which we spent our years, and he will
judge us so differently from our own judg
ment. The years that we spent in promo
ting our selfish motives, Ignoring our soul's
salvation, these all in his sight will be
wasted. Let...us be prudent then in the
employment of our time that when the
Great Judge investigates the works of each
one, he will not say that we have lived
wholly in vain.
DISCOUNT ON DutthEss.—The New
York Observer, being a _ religious paper,
may be appropriately heard on the ques
tion treated below. It says :
"The time has gone by for dull preachers.
The activities of the age, the diffusion of
knowledge by schools, books, periodicals,
the spirit of inquiry, the spread of infidel.
ity, the prevalence of doubt, the subtlety
of false science; demand live, strong earn;
eat, capable men to preach the Gospel. It
will not answer to educate dullness or
mediocrity. It was forbidden that a son
of Aaron should be a priest if ho had any
blemish. Even a fiat nose excluded him.
And the age wants no halfbaked minister.
The West will not hear them. The East
cannot bea...them. The heathen know too
much to take them. Therare not wanted
on this earth. To get money to educate
dull boys because they are pious is robbing
God and a fraud upon the Church. his
a _crime or a blunder, or somtimes both,
How irreconcilable is the man who is
otreirletl with - out cause
$2,061 1 ER YEAR
and n m r.
r A Western pap:
tween two "jackamspe
A genius has discovered how to cut woo,\
without using an axe or a saw: lie uses
a hatchet.
There is a ma, k
in the country, so
he keeps a bank a
is a list °fall banks
to he able to say that
ount.
A Popular parlqq magazine—a big
kerosene lamp. TheMUrnish reading for
the million.
A young woman ' Wisconsin recently
poured a potfulf glue over her , lover,
because he didn't eem disposed to stick
to her.
A sehoolmaste ; being asked what
was meant by the ad fortification ; an
swered :
"Two twentificatio s makes a fortifimy'
tion."
The editor of a Western paper lately
-went up in a balloon, in-pursuit-ofsome-of—
his delinquent subscribers. A contempo
rary suggested that he had took the wrong
road; as such - chaps - always - go in the other
direction.
. A certain political speaker closed an
address in behalf of his party with the fol
lowing florid peroration: "Build a worm
fence around the winter's supply of sum—
mer weather: skim the clouds from the
sky with a, teaspoon ; catch a thunderbolt
in a bladder; break a hurricane to har
ness; ground-sluice an earthquake; lasso
an - avalanch ; pin a dipper_on_the crater_
of an active volcano ; hive all the stars in
a nail keg; hang the ocean on a grape
vine to dry; put the sky-to - soak - in .a
gourd ; unbuckle the belly-band of eterni
ty, and paste 'To let' on the sun and moon
but never sir—never for a moment, sir,— '
delude yourself with the idea that' any
ticket or party can beat our candidates.",
EXPLICIT DIRECTION.—"Can you tell
me the road to Greenville ?" asked
Yankee traveler of a boy whom he , met
on the road.
"Yes sir," said the boy, "do yell see our,
barn down there ?"
"Yes,' said he.
"Go to that. About three hundred yards
beyond the barn you will find a)ane.—
Take that lane and follow all:mut : bout a
mile and a half. • Then you: will'ennuzi - to
a slippery elm log. You be mighty keer
ful, stranger, about going on that log—.
you might get into the branch—and then
you go on up till you reach the brow of
the hill, and there the roads prevaricate;
and you take the left hand road until you.
get into a big plum thicket and when you.
get there, why, then—thea—then—" .
"What, then ?"
"Then, Stranger, .be hanged you
ain't lost."
An old joker who was .never known t',
yield the palm to any antagonist in reel
ing a knotty yarn, was put to his trumps,
at hearing a traveler state that he once
saw a brick house placed upon Tunuers
and drawn up a hill to a more favorable
location some half mile distant. ' What
do you think of that, Uncle Ethiel said
the bystanders, "0, fudge!" said the old
man, "I once saw a two-story house down
east drawn by omen three miles." A dead
silence ensued, the old man evidently had•
the worst end of it, and he saw it. Gath
ering all his energies, he bit .off a huge
piece of pig-tail by way of gaining time
tbr thought. "They thawed the stone
house," said the old man, ejecting -a quan
tity of tobacco juice towards the fire place,
"but that warn't the worst of the job, for
after they had done that, they went'back
and, drawed the cellar." The stranger
gave in.
He who is too much of the gentleman
will never be over succe.ssfal. Too much
polish is decidedly inimical to great suc
cess. A man has need of civility, good
address, and courtesy, but he needs very
much more thar these qualifications if ho
desires to attain very extraordinary results.
He requires indomitable energy, boundless
enthusiasm, and unconquerable zeal to
carry him over every difficulty, and never
allow him to rest until he accomplishes
the object he resolves upon. , It•has gen
erally been that most successful arec e the
men who have but one business tiA,?ntie
idea, who allow no other occupatif(kttion
gross their thoughts, but who deterrnine in ,
this one field to do or die. %SThen men'
take up any calling in this spirit, is is
next to impossible that they shall not be
successful.
There are thousands of gems along the
'wayside of lite, all entirely unnoticed, or
if noticed, still unappreciated. Every
passing cloud, however tiny; seems to have
its'eris.ud of sunshine and shadow. Every
zephyr comes to us laden with a sweet
perfume. The morrow scents all the brigh
ter for the.rude storm that has played 0..
bout us to-day. Every dew drop is heavy
with its sparkling gems: There is joy and
beau y all around us if we can trace it
midst familiar things, and not neglect the
opportunity of basking in the sunshine'uf
life .Vhen there is not a oloud to hide front
us its enjoyment.
In JO - sii the marriage ceremony is vary
simple. A man and a woman drinks wino
from the stone cup, and the thin.. is donk
Divorce is not a mueb more eliSorate af
fhir. The husband who is diAatistied with
his wife gives her a paper on which a few
characters are traced. ' Being translated,
they are abOut as follows: no Ake you.
I think you like other man more better.
I give you piece a paper. Uo'n can-go.
Boodeebv, -
ER_4
eaks-ui* a duel be
• individuals."