B LAnt J.:1;
; ;
VOLUME 25i
elect pottrn.
'OP
BY FATHER RYAN. •
I walked down the Valley of Silence,
Down.the dim, voiceless valley—alone!
~ And X. hear not the fall of , a footstep
Around me—save God. and my own I
And the hush,of my heart is as holy
,• As hovels where Angels have flown.
Imig ago was I weary of -voices,
Whose music my heart could not win;
Lon arro was I weary of noises
That fretted my sou wi fur
Long ago was I weary of places
Where I met but Human and Sin
I walked thro' the world with the worldly,
I craved what the world never gave ;
. And I said : "In the world each Ideal,
That shines like a star on life's wave,
shores - ofthe Reit_
d- s l e eps like a (Ire h = _rave.
And still did I_pine for the,Perfect,
And- still-found-the-false - wit I • ,
.I sought 'mid the Human for Heaven,
Wit caught a mere glimpse of its blue;
;" e - e Op so e_ or
Veiled even the glimpse from my view
And I toiled on, half tired of the Human,
And 1 moaned 'mid the mazes of men ;
'Till I knelt long ago at the altar,
And I heard a voice call me; since then
I walked down the Valley of Silence
That lies far beyond mortal ken.
Do you ask what I fouhd in the Valley ?
'Tis my trystiug place with the divine;
And I fell at the feet Ofthe Holy,
And about. me a voice - said :11 0 `Be mine!"
And then rose from thedepths of my spirit
An echo : "Ms heart shall be Thine !"
Po you ask how I live in the Valley ?
I weep, and I dream. arid I pray;
But my . tears are as sweet as the dewdrop ,
That fall on the roses in May ;
And my prayer like a perfume from censor
Ascendeth to God, night and day.
In the hush of the Valley of Silence
I dream all the songs that I sing,
And the music floats (Jowl' the dim Valley
'Till each finds a word for a wing.
That to men, like the doves of the Deluge
• The message of Peace they may bring.
But far on the deep there are billows
That never shall break on the beach,
And I have heard songs in the silence
•That never shall float in the speech;
And I have had dreams in the Valley
Too lofty for language to reach.
And I have seen thoughts in the Valley—
Ah, me! how ray spirit was stirred I
And they wear holy veils on their faces—
Their footsteps can scarcely be heard ;
They pasg thro' the Valley like Virgins,
Too pure Zr the touch of a word.
Do you ask me the'place ofthe Valley,
Ye hearts that are harrowed •by care ?
It lieth afar, between mountains,
And God and his Angels are there;
And one is the dark mount of Sorrow,
And one the bright mountain of Prayer
Oisullaurous leading.
THE WONDERFUL' DREAM.
"Yes, yes, sartin 1 Yes, yes—l believe
in dreams," said old Silas Talton. He
took another whiff at his pipe, and then
added: "One of the greatest speculations
I ever went into came of a—wonderful
dream. "I'll tell you about it."
You remember, some of you, about the
great land speculations here in Maine
thirty years ago. Poor men—a very few
of them—were made suddenly rich ; and
rich men made suddenly poor. I was liv
ing then in Grew. One day old Samuel
Whitney of Oxford stopped at our place,
and showed us a map of a new town which
bad heed laid out in Sagadahoc. On the
map it looked beautiful. There were
brooks and lakes, and broad plains of pine
and oak, and streets all laid out, and spots
for churches and schoolhouses marked out
in proper array. I had a cousin living
,down ,that way, and I concluded to go
down and take a look. I found the town
Ellenville, which old Whitney had
shown me on his map to be
_a wild, worth
less tract, all rocks and swamp; but on
the edge of this tract in another township
my cousin owned a piece.of a good land,
and I bought a hundred and fifty acres
of it, and made me an excellent farm ;
And for that purchase I was never sorry.
Meantime Elleuville was nearly all
Aiold in hundred acre lots. The excite
ment was at fever heat, and peaplehought
without once coming to see the land they
were purchasing. But by and by the
new owners began to look upon their pro
perty, and you can rest assured that they
were a blue set, when they. were reassem
bled on that territory. Within all the
limits of the mapped-out township there
was not an acre that could be cultivated.
On the ,side that bordered my farm it was
a craggy ledge of rocks; and beyond that
to the eastward the land settled under the
mud and water of a sunken slough. Some
of these lots had been sold as high as one
pound an acre, and a' few of them even
higher than that. One poor fellow, nam
ed John Twist, from Vermont, had paid
one pound an acre for a lot that bordered
on ray farm. On the map it had been
set down as a glagnificent pine forest with
liver upon itc hnrAcr; nr-ou which Tai.
a superb water-power. John Twist bought
it and paid for it, and when lie came to
rxsim
A - 1 46 " - . 0 . 1 *
• "ft was the old dream of hidden wealth"
he said, with a solemn look. "I haven't
dreamed such a dream before, since by a
wonderful dream in South Africa I led to
the discovery of a diamond mine worth
millions of dollars, and it never profited
me a cent. But such wealth is not for
me. I need it not. My callin.g hath high
er and holier aims. And yet this poor
flesh is sometimes weak enough to lust af
ter the dross of gold and silver.
By degrees we got from him that he
had dreamed of a silver mine among the
crags of our hills. This mine seemed to
his vision to be utterly exhaustless in the
precious metal; but he could not locate
it. Betsey, wh se curiosity was aroused,
would . have pushed the matter, but Mr.
Meeamore finally shook his head more
solemnly than ever, and said that he
would rather forget the dream if he could.
When the missiouary's horse was at t ie
door, and the owner was prepared to start
off, he informed us that. he was bound to
ward the Canada line, and that he might
return that way. Of course we told him
that our door would be always open to
him ; and he promised that he would a
bide with us again if he had the opportu
nity.
In two weeks Mr. Meekmore came back.
He had received a summons he said, from
the Home Board to return to Boston and
make immediate preparation for a Win
ter campai g n in the West.
The secoritl evening in the society of
the reverend gentleman we enjoyed more
than we enjoyed first. His fund of anec
dote hnd adventure was litterally exhaust
less, and yet an odor of sanctity and del
icacy pervaded all his speech. We urg
ed that he should spend a few days with
us, but he could not. He said it would
give him great pleasure to do so, but his
call to the new field of labor in the West
was pressing and imperative.
On the next morning,, at the breakfast
table, our guest was even more sedate and
thoughtful than on the previous occasion
and when questioned on the
. matter he
told us that he had been visited by tha
same dream again.
"This time,"
he said, "the vision came
in wonderful distinctness. I not only be
held the vast chambers of virgin silver.but
I saw an exact profile of the overlying ter
ritory. It was a wild, desolate spot, by a
deep ravine, through which the snows of
Winter seem to .find release in Spring,
rushing down a craggy hillside to a dark,
wide-stretching swamp below. This would
not impress me so seriously were it not
that once before a dream of the same im
port proved a startling reality."
We conversed further on the subject,
and after breakfast Mr. Meekmore took a
pencil, and upon the blank leaf of an old
atlas he drew a picture of the place he
had seen in' his dream ; and he pointed
out where, beneath the roots of an old
stumpy pine tree, he had seen out-crop
ping of the precious metal.
• He had drawn the picture, he told us,
to show us how vivid his dream had been;
but he advised us to think no more of it.
Even .if it were possible that the dream
had substance, the body of the mine was
far below the surface ; and, moreover, the
Lord only knew where the spot was loca
ted, even allowing that such a spot exist
ed.'
For once in my life I had allowed cu
pidity to get the better of my hones
ty. Pallowed the reverend gentleman to
depart, and did not tell him that I knew
where there was a spot exactly the origi•
nal of that which he had pictured, even
to every rock, shrub, tree and ravine. And
that spot was on the wild lot, which had
been purchased by John Twist, and which
John Twist owned still.
look at it, he found it to be a mass of
barren rocks, with here-and-there a chunp
of shrub oak and few Norway pines, and
or_a river_he ibuud a •water course which
tumbled melted snow over the crags in the
spring, and which was, dry most .of the,
year. 1 did not see the poor fellow when
he came to survey his property,, but can
imaginer he felt.
After a 'while, however ; the'excitement
passed on, and the sufferers of Ellenville
turned their backs upon the graves of
their speculative hopes., On my farm I
prosper y an. was o e very
best quality; my crops were abundant;
my stock thrived, and -I found myself
with a goodly pile of money tied up in
my stocking :
One morning early, after our crops had
been garnered, a man, riding a sorry-look
ing nag, pulled .4 before our door. lie
"as-a--well-looking-man,wi : : :1 .
:olema face, and dressed in black. It was
.ate enough to conclude that the man 4ivas
minister, and so he announced himself.
. e said he was the Rev. Paul Meekmore;
ie was a missionary, on a. home eircuit,
nd asked shelter for himself and beast
for the night. Of course we Welcomed
hem-cheerfu I ly,- and-were_pleased_with
I', He had traveled extensivel , and
his conversation was entertaining an
structi•e lc it v•i - r - t - s .•
a chapter in the Bible and made a pray
er; and Betsey said`to me after he had
-tiful - prayer - in - herlife.
The next morning at the breakfast ta
ble, Mr Meekmore was very sedate. He
asked a blessing, and then only answered
such questions as we' asked him. Final
ly my wife told him she was afraid he
had not slept well. He smiled and said
he had slept well, saving the spell of a ve
ry curious dream which had visited him
three separate times during the night.—
Betsey asked him if he would not tell
what it was about.
That very afternoon, armed with an old
axle and pick, I sallied forth to the rough
outside of the Twist lot. I knew exactly
where the pictured lot was to be found,
wheri r,-14 - A.l,:lci IL I s v.as iware
than ever struck with the faithfulness of
Mr. Meekato - re'a draft. The iicaiiracy in
A FAMILY NEWSPAPER--,DEVOTED TO /4=it,A.TiniE,' LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWS. ETC.
WAINESBEIRCr, FRANKLIN CKTNITY, Pk; THIIIISDAY, MAY 8,1873.
detail was wonderful. Ands hen reflect
ed that-this-drat had- been-made-by on
who was an utter ;and absolute'' stranger
to the lace—made from the simple L.
pression a dream—is it a marvel, that,
I was strangely influenced? I found the
old tree which 'the reverend dreamer had
particularly designated and went to work
at its roots.
_ And ere long my labors were rewarded.
Beneath one of the main roots I found a
lump of pure :white metal as large as a
hen's" egg; and, upon further chopping
id 'l fr so- 11. mnr saile•
any Jigging _ iound several more smaller
pie A. They had evidently been taken
from a molten mass, and upon rubbing off
the dirt I found them all pure and bright.
That night I slept but little. I could
only lay awake 'and think of the vast
wealth that lay harried in that bleak hill
side. But what could .I. do ? The lot ia
not m nee and I should ..run great_ris •
troubled another man's _property. ___ And_
moreover, if I 'made further explorations
while the land was not mine, the secret
miglt be divulged and the vast wealth
snatched from, me._ I must purchase the
Twist lot, and I
_had no doubt that I could
- purchase irlbe a mere song.
On the next day I rode over to see my
cousin,and when I had spoken of the Twist
formed me that not onlyth - at - t ,
- I -, I Y. ' ;
They bad .been advertised, and would be
sold at auction in two weeks. He called
the - Twistlot - ; but — l - told him that -Thicd
looked it over and made up my mind that
my sheep could find plenty of grazing
there throughout the summer months. He
asked me -if I hadn't already got all the
sheep-pasture I needed ; but I told him he
need not trouble himself. • ,
During the next two weeks I kept, qui
et and held my tongue, giving no oppor- .
tunity for my secret to become known:—
On the appointed day r went over to the
settlement where the land was to be sold.
It was to be put up in hundred acre lots,
and sold by the original plans of the Whit
ney purchase. Lot number one was put
up first, and sold for one-quarter of a cent
au acre.
, The next lot was the "Twist lot,:: so
called, and I heard it whispered that iron
and copper had been discovered upon it.
A stranger in jocky clothes started it at
fifty cents an'acre. Another straogerotho
'wure a blue frock and top boots, bid sev
enty-five.
There was more talk about iron and ore.
The man in the jockey suit said that he
had positive assurance that pure iron ore
had been found in some of the gulches, and
he bid one dollar an acre. At this point
I entered the contest and bid one dollar
and twenty-five. Up—up up twen
ty-five cents at a time, until at length I
had bid. ten dollars an acre. People call
ed me crazy. Ten dollars an acre was
more than the very best land in the whole
country was worth But I held my bid,
and kept 'my own contest.
And the Twist lot was knocked down
to me foi just one thousand dollars. The
terms were cash. I told them to make
out the deed while I went home after the
money. And away I rode. I emptied
my old stocking ,of gold and silver, and
found nine hundred and fifty dollars. I
borrowed the other fifty without trouble
at the settlement, and straightway pro
ceeded to the office of Squire Simpkins,
where the deed had been made. The in
strument was duly•signed and sealed, and
when the Squire had assured me that the
payment of the money would make all
fast and safe, I handed over the gold and
silyer..
• I observed that the name of John Twist
had been recently signed, and I asked
Simkins if Mr. Twist was present.
"He was present a few - minutes ago,"
said Simpkins, "and will be back again
for his money. He's feeling pretty good,
I should judge, since he has got rid of his
hundred acre lot for twice as much as it
cost him, and for a thousand times more
than any sane man would • think it was
worth.
Half an hour afterwards I called•at the
Squire's again. Mr. Twist had just gone
out with his money.
"There he is now said Simpkins,•"just
bound off."
I looked out the window, and saw at
the door of the inn, on the opposite side
of the way, a tall man, in a bottle green
coat. with bright, glaring buttons, just
mounting a horse, I recognized the horse,
and I recognized the man I
"Who is that man ?" I asked : "he with
the green coat and brass buttons ?"
"That," said Simpkins "is Mr. John
Twist." •
In a moment more the man in the bot
tle-green coat had ridden away, with his
heavy' saddle-bags behind him, and hut
toned up within that coat I beheld my rev
erend guest ! It rushed upon me that the
Rev. Paul Meekrnore and John Twist
were one and the same person ! And this
was not all that flashed upon me!
A few• days afterwards I took my lumps
of white metal to a man who was versed
in such matters, and asked him what they
were. Be took the largest lump and test
ed it, and said :
"Pewter !"
I asked him if pewter was ever dug out
of the earth in that shape.
"Well," said he, "seeing that pewter is
an alloy of lead and tin, it couldn't be
very well dug up, unless somebody had
gone and buried it before band."
Touching further explorations on my
"Twist , lot," I will not speak. I will on
ly add that I have an old stocking with
half a dozen lumps of pewter in it ; and I
never look upon it, but I am forced to ac
knowledge that dreams itre sometimes very
strange and wonderful things.
if a lady 15 az - ked bow - rn-any rings she
has,, she can say with the truth that there's
no cad to them.
My 'Dvr pg. sunny
Where the mocking bird sang sweetly,
Many years ago ; ,
'`• •re e swee magno
Gre* as white as snow:
There I never thought that sorrow,
Grief, nor pain, could come ;
Ere to crush the joys and pleasures,
Of my sunny home.' , ,
Floirers withered, roses drooping,
And the birds that sang so sweetly,
Sing alas no more. ,
• Everything seems - changed in 'nature,
' Since I crossed the foam
To return my poor heart broken, ,
To my sunny home. , „
Other forms and stranger faces,
All that I can Sees; '
Brings to memory thoughts of loved
. oneA, ' •
Who were dear to me
Bat my poor heart - inn • a
'When I turn to roam;
Far from all I loved and cherished,
Can I leave you? can I leave you ?
Good-bye sunny home. •
onor Your Business.
It is a good sign when a' man is proud
of his work or calling. Yet nothing is
more common than to hear men finding
fault constantly with..their particularbus
iness, deeming themselves unfortunate be
cause fastened to it by the. necessity of
gaining a livelihood. ,In this way men
fret and laboriously destroy all their com
forts• in the work ; or they change their
business, and go on miserably shifting
from one thing to another till the grave
or the poor-house gives theta a fast grasp.
But while occasionally a man fails in life
because he is not in the• place fitted for
his peculiar talent, it happens ten times
oftener that failure, results from neglect
and even contempt 'of an honest business.
A man should put his heart into every
thing that he does. There is no profession
that has not its peculiar cares and vexa
tions. No man will escape. annoyance:by
changing his business. No mechanical
business is altogether agreeable. Com
merce, in its endless varieties, is effected,
like all other pursuits, with trials, unwel
'come duties, and spirit-trying nepessities.
It is the very wantonness of folly for a
man to search' out the frets and burdens;
of his calling and give his mind every'
day to a consideration of them.. They are
inevitable. Brooding over them only
gives them strength. , On the other hand,
a man has power given to him to shed
beauty, and pleasure on the homeliest
toil, if he is wise. Let a man adopt his
business and identify .it with pleasant as
sociations, for Heaven has given us imag
ination, and alone to make up poets but
to enable all men to, beautify homely
things. Heart-varnish will cover up in
numerable evils and defects.
Look at the good things. Accept your
lot as a man does piece- of rugged
ground, and begin to get out the rocks
and roots, to deepen and mellow the soil
to enrich and plant it. There is some
thing in the most forbidding avocation a
round which a man may twine pleasant
fancies, out of which may develop honest
pride.
EVERY-DAY RELIGION.—We must come
back to our point, which is, not to large
all of you to give yourselves up to mission
work, but to serve God more and more in
connection with your daily calling. .
have heard that a woman who has a mis
sion makes a poor wife and abaci mother;
this is very possible, and at the same
time very lamentable, but the mission I
would urge is not of this sort. Dirty rooms,
slatternly gowns, and children with un
washed faces, are swift witnesses against
the• sincerity 'of those who keep others'
vineyards. and neglect their own. I have
no faith in that woman who talks of grace
and glory abroad, and uses no soap and
water at home. Let the buttons be on
the shirts, let the children's socks be men
ded, let the roast mutton be done to a turn,
let the house be as neat as a new pin, and
the home be as happy as home can be.—
Serve God by doing common actions in a
heavenly spirit, and then, if your daily ,
calling only leaves you cracks and crev
ices of time, fill these up with holy servi
ces.
BE MODEST AND SENSIBLE.-DO not
be above your business no matter what
that calling may be, but strive to be the
best in that line. e who turns up his
nose at your work, quarrels with his bread
and butter. HeOis a poor smith who quar 7
rels with his own sparks ; there's no shame
about any honest calling ; don't be afraid
of soiling your hands, there's plenty of
soap to be had. All trades that are good
to traders, are good to buyer. You can
not get honey if you are frightened at
bees, nor plant corn if you are afraid of
•
getting your boots muddy. When you
can dig t fields with tooth-picks, blow ships
along with fans, and grow jilum eakts in
flower pots, then it will be fine 'time for
dandies. Above all things avoid laziness.
There is plenty to do in this world for ev
ery pair of hands placed ou it, and we
must so work that the world will be rich
er because of our having-lived ii. it.
Forty yeare ago a revolutionary soldier
deposited $lOO pension money in a New
Hampshire savings bank, and in each of
the following years added $l5 more.—
Neither principal nor interest has ever
been drawn, and the amount now is $l,-
228,81, with a share in an extra dividend
about to bo mado.
In 187,—, on the steamer-- . --, from
Louisville to Bowling Green was uite a
arge par y o passengers. "ei ad got
ton some distance up Green River, when,
at some landing, a gentleman and lady
came aboard, registered as man and wife,
and were duly assigned a stateroom in the
ladies' cabin. The boat's cabin presented
the, usual varied scene, some reading,
sev
eral groups stile card tables, knots here
and there engaged in conversation. In a
uaa:ivm atr: I izM
0680 MS
told the Captain that the lady just come
aboard ) wished to see him in her room,
who, a little surprised and wondering,
went immediately back and ,knocked at
the door, which was hesitatingly, cautious-,
ly, with evident signs of, trepidation, open
ed. They were both unmistakably much '
alarmed, and the lady appealed to the
'Captain
r iLeously forprMcii - oti=.llThts
astonished inquiries about the cause of all
this, she explained that in passing down
the hall she recognized 11 *an who had
been her husband, but from whom she had
been separated and married again, and
-wlihad-driven-them - from - their - h - orue
with threats of violence and followed them
with every - possible annoyance ; tliatW
had but just left a place in Indiana", —
they thought secretly, when lo! and
o , t ere e was atler them in Kentuc
ky. She was in despair and implored the
-t 'at—he-would—but-begged — her - to - point
out the tnan, as he was acquainted with
nearly all, and could not imagine which
one it could be. After much importunity,
the curtain being partially drawn so as to
secure her from view, she was at last pre
vailed upon to • pass cautiously out, her'
husband standing behind her and evident
ly equally frightened. The ridiculousness
of the scene presented here may be imag
ined. Her eye, with terrible fascination,
at last rests upon him, and she points out
a Mr. —, well known to the Captain—
a gentleman whom he had known for years
—well knew he was not married and had
every reason to believe never had been.
The Captain assured her that she was
mistaken ; that he knew the fact above
related in regard to the man, and that it
,could not be true. She said, vehemently:
"I know it is him. Do you think it pea
sible that I could live with a man three
years iu the relation of wife, and that on
ly a few weeks should intervene since I
saw him, and then be unable to recognize
him, or mistake another for him?"
• This was a poser sure enough, and to a
stranger to all the parties, convincing and
unanswerable. But, then, there stood the
living, ineradicable, insurmountable fact
'Algiat this was John and not Mr.-
- • I had known for five or six years
that he was not married, and had not been
'witbilAtat time. So we had it, neither
'beinOthle to convince the other. I pro
posed taring him up for closer inspec
tion, but she,w . as too much ail aid of him
to consent; bait` assurances of pro
tection at last prevailed, and I went out
tor him. Callingihim out from his card
party, I briefly toldlim what had occur
red, and iu his won Bring amazement he
assumed something of the appearance of a
frightened culprit. Brought face to face,
the ludicrousness and singularity of the
case culminated. He commences :
"What is this you accuse me of, mad
am ? of being your former husband ? of
tbllowing you with threats to kill, etc ?
Why, I do not know you—never saw you
,before on earth, to my knowledge, and I
never had a wife."
She answering --"What, sir? You de
ny that your name is —, that you were
once my liusband, and that we were sepa
rated in —, Indiana ?"
He—" Yes, madam, I do deny it, each
and all, most emphatically."
By this time quite a crowd had been
attracted na witnesses and auditors. She
evidently was not convinced of her mis
take, and after a slight pause says : •
"Well,:there is one way to decide this
question of veracity , between you and my
self. If you are Mr. and my for
mer husband, you have a deep scar in the
edge of and bidden in your hair and at
the top of your forehead."
Imagine the scene here. All are eager
to see the result of this test, as he pulls of
his hat, and, stooping, presents his head
for close inspection. She looks again;
there was no scar to be seen. He feels
that he has triumphed, and the company
present acquit him ; but she amused and
confused, seems but half convinced. Here
the case rests. I have never since seen or
heard of the strangely deluded lady; but
the gentleman, the subject of this delusion,
is still living on Green River, a respected,
good citizen, and the hundreds who know
him know this was a mistake, but.a mis
take utterly incredible and incomprehen
sible—not•committed by an acquaintance,
'nor even an intimate friend, but by a wife,
who had lived with a roan in the marital
state for three or four years, and only sep
arated from him then for a few mouths.
As a case of "mistaken identity," it cer
tainly is without a parallel.—"S. W. a,"
in Bowling Green, (Hy.,) Pantograph.
THE LOSS or ONESUBSCRIBER.—One
of our excbangPs recsntly lost a subscri
ber ; the matt thought he had ruined the
establishment, and did not expect anoth
er number could possibly be issued. Con
trary to his expectations the, paper came
out as usual, the dumber containing the
following from the editor : "It was pret
ty close work for a while, we confess ; but
by omitting to put sugar in our tea, and
by buying a cheaper grade of
_paper col
lars and reversing them for the second and
third time, we managed. to rub along un
til a new subscriber came and took the
place of our respected, disgust ..41 friend,
and then Richard was himself again.—
Nothing but right economy will carry one
'safely over such .21 calamity as the kw of
a suliseribor."
A Credit t • ' - • • • •
A cotemporary, reciting the facts gath
ered durin , an ms ion of a large_pe i -
entiary, states that in•reply to a casual
question as to whether convicts are put to
work at the trades they 'followed before
being brought to the-institution, the War
den replied that they seldom found a con
vict who was a skilled mechanic, and
that it was always necessary to teach
those sentenced to terms in the penitentia
ry, a trade. Here is a fact which has a
showing that the
untrained and the idle are always the vi
cious and the criminal. Our own obser
vation corroborates the statement of our
cotemporary. A workingman, a steady
going mechanic, sod a business man fol
lowing his ventures guided by principle
and fair dealing, never gets into criminal
practices. If he becomes embarrassed, it
_w e con I -not
prevent, and in order to extricate himself
he never resorts to dishonest practicea.—
He recovers himself in an honorable man
ner. But your universal genius—your
sagacious and exceedingly smart young
-manTis;he - wha - gainuchis en - d - s - bytricks,
and secures his objects by criminal action.
- It - is such menrthat -are - constantly - rob
as bur' g thelavc — They are ever ea cu atmg
falling into the clutches of the law, and
-never do anything honestly which_ they
They - are - of the - idle - class - TomaTork as
skilled mechanics do, is beneath their dig
nity, and therefore it is that our peniten
tiaries are tilled with such as these There
is little to be amazed at in this fact.
- Parents -who esteem their sons as too
"noble" to learn trades, live to behold
them in many an ignoble condition of pov
erty and crime, the 'result of the idleness
forced upon them by false pride. The:
lesson, is before us daily, that industry is
the surest preventative of crime; but like
all good teaching, it is most wolully nem
_
lected.
Wisnont.—Perfection is the point for
whieh.all should steadily aim.
Let us plant the earth with noble deeds,
and she will yield us children of the sun.'
—Hume. . ,
The utmost that severity can do is to
make men hypocrites ; it can never make
them converts.
lie is happy vihose circumstances suit
his temper; hut he is happier who can suit
his temper to any circumstances.
Nothing is more precious than time.—
Never be prodigal of it. As every thread
of gold is valuable, so is every minute of
time.
A firm faith is the best divinity; a good
life .is the best philosophp ; a clean con
science is best law ; and honesty the best
pol icy.
The reign of good principle in the soul
carries its own evidence in the life, just as
that of a good government is visible on
the face of society.
The willingness of American citizens to
throw their fortunes into the cause of pub
-1:c education is without a parallel in my
experience,—Tyndalt
The successful business man is he who
has a practical system, and keeps his eye
on the little expenses,. knowing that small
leaks sink great ships.
A man should first relieve those, who
are connected with him by whatever tie,
and then if he has anything to spare, may
extend his bounty to a wider circle.
—Johnson.
Every look, tone, gesture of a man is a
symbol of his complete nature. If we ap
pl. the microscope severely enough, we
can discern the fine organization by which
the soul sends itself out in every act of
the being. And the more perfectly de•
veloped the creature, the more significant,
and yet the more mysterious, is every
habit, and every motion, mightier than
habit, of body or soul.— Winthrop.
It is Better.
Better to weal; a calico dress without
trimming, if it be paid tor, than to owe
the shopkeeper for the most elegant silk,
cut and trimmed in the most bewitching
manner.
Better to liVe in a log cabin all,your
own, than a brown stone mansion Winn
ing to somebody else.
Better Walk forever than run into debt
for a horse and carriage.
Better to sit by the pine table, for which
you paid three dollars ten years ag o, than
send home a new extension, black walnut
top, and promise to pay for it next week
Better to use the old cane•seated chairs,
and faded two-ply carpet, than tremble
at the bills sent home from the uphol
sterers for the most elegant parlor set
ever made.
Better to meet your business acquaint
ances with a free "don't owe you a cent"
smile, than to dodge around the corner to
escape a dun.
Better to pay the street organ grinder
two cents for music, if you must have it,
than owe for a grand piano.
Better to gaze upon bare walls than
pictures unpaid for.
Better to eat thin soup from earthen
ware, if you owe your butcher nothing.
than to dine off lamb and roast beef and
know that it does not belong to you.
Better to let your wife have a fit of
hysterics, than run in debt for nice new
furntiure, or clothes, or jewelry.
• Poszrz. '
Before a circle let there appear
Twice twenty-five, and five in rear;
One-fifth of eight join if you can,
And then you'll form what conquers man.
The "last words" of men are quoted but
no one ever says anything about the "last
words" of woman. Probably no one over
heard them.
Our Devil goes!4,'sparking."
$2,00 PER YEAR
NUMBER 48
u ~► ii in ar.
"q 1
e Bellowing is the advertisement of a
' extern tailor: "Wanted—two or three
steady girls, to put on pants." .
An active bachelor in Maine claims to
be 102 years old • but; as he "makei his
own bed," according to a local 'paper, so
he must lie.
to accept tbe theor •
eration if potato bu
a Winter as the ton:
A man out West, who offered bail for
a .friend, was asked by the Judge if 'he
had - any ineumbrance on his farm, "Oh
yes," said he, "my old woman."'
- old neighbor of Rip
Van Winkle Was said to be so lazy that
when he went to hoe corn he worked so
slow that the shade of his broad brimmed'
hat killed the plants.
—A—r
German in Buffalo fell into a beer.
vat the other day and was
.drowned.—
He - drank as bard - as - he cogld-to-save-him--
would have succeeded had not a
Did our reader_ever—hear-their-
-.c• 0 ier aes _
your politics r' iliad then giggle. The
question has a hidden meaning. For ex
planation apply to the first lady you know
who wears a bustle. - •
Zeonnecticut woman waa recently be
reft of the faculty of speech by being hit
with a snowball, and many married men
in that part of the country have been heard
to remark that, after all, winter has ad
vantages not afforded by any other sea
son.
A spread eagle orafor of New York
State wanted the, wings of the bird to fly
to every town and county, to every vil
lage and hamlet in the broad land; but -
die wilted when a naughty boy iu the crowd
sang out, "You'd be shot for a goose be;
fore you bad flew a mile."
`Utrah, Pat, and why did I marry ye,
jist tell me that—for it's meself that's had
to maintain ye iver since the Missed day
that Father O'Flanigan slut me hum to
yer house."
"Swate jewel," replied Pat, not relish
ing the charge, "an' its meself that hopes
I may live to see the day you're a widow
waping over the cowld sod that tivvers
me—thin by St. Patrick; I'll see how you
get along without me, lu.ney."
Win HE ASKED.—Coupon, the corpu
lent banker, was standing. in Wall street
one hot day, in August, "wiping the ser
vile drops from off' his brow," when a rag
ged but sharp-eyed newsboy accosted him
with :
"Please, sir, tell me the time."
Coupon lugged out• his time piece, and
looking benignly down on his interlocutor,
responded:
"-Just two o'clock." •
"All right, old buffer,".said the gamin,
gathering his rags together for a run.—
"You can sell out for soap-grease at three."!
The insulted man of money raised his
cane, and, making a frantic rush for his
tormentor, nearly fell over a friend who
was coming up the street.
"Hello, Coupon, what's the trouble?
said the other.
"Matter!" said Coupon, puffing with
heat and anger, "why, one of those news
boys asked me the time, and when I told
him two o'clock, the impudent young
scoundrel said I might sell out for• soap
grease at three."
"Don't be in such a hurry," was the
malicious response ; "it's only five minutes
past two ; you've got fifty-five minutes to
do it in."
BUFFALO ON THE PLAINS.-A report
of the Agricultural, Department shows,
that it is almost certain the buffalo will dis
appear with the Indian—the aboriginal
inhabitants with the animal mainly relied
upon for his meat and clothing. It app,
pears that the Atchison, Topeka & Santa
Fe Railroad reached Fort Dodge, above
the great bend on the Arkansas river, in
Kansas, on the 23d of September, 1872.-
From that date to December 31st, the
shipment at that station of buffalo hides
was 43,029; of buffalo meat, 1,436,290
pounds. These figures do not include the
many buffaloes shot by sportsmen in warm
weather, nor those slaid for food by fron
tier residents; and although they show a
slaughter of over 43,000 in a little over
three months, they are less than they
would have been had not the horse disease
hindered the transportation of hides and
meat to the station. It is believed that
the slaughter for the current season of 18-
72-3 will amount to 100,000 in the neigh
borhood of Fort Dodge alone. ,
NEWBPAPERS.-7lf a young lady wishes
a gentleman to kiss her, what papers
would she mention ? No Spectator, no Ob
server, but as many Times as you please.
We add too that she would like it done
with Dispatch, no Register or Journal kept
of it, and for him not to Herald it, or
mention it to a Recorder or Chronicle it
abroad. Her lips should be the only Re.
pository, and the Sun should be excluded
If possible. If a Messenger got it, the
World would soon know it, for the News
is now carried by Telegraph 'where it was
formeraly done by the Couriers, who was
always ready to Gazette it. In the act,
the Press upon the lips should be light
and the Union perfect-4assuring ourselves
that no Argus eye was upon uD, and the
only Rtflertor present the .14:rrer.
view the case as you will, no Plain Deater
ih fact could bescaore adipendiatia this
fast Age. - •.,
t -7 r ingt.tess
spontaneous gn
. spear after such
ust passed.