BY W. *BLAIR
VOLUME 25.
c $ tint pottrx.
VIENNESS_.
,lIY PELEBA CAREY
Well, let him go, and let him stay--
I do not mean to die ;
I guess he'll find that I can live.
Without him, if I try.
He thought to frighten me with frowns,
So terrible and black—
He'll stay away a thousand years
.13eliye I ask him back!
He said that I had acted wrong,
And foolishly besides ;
I wont forget him after that— •
If I was wrong wbat o right.bad he
To be cross with,me?
I know I'm not an angelloite—
I don't pretend to be.
He had another sweetheart once,
And now when we fall out,
lid always says she was not cross,
And that she did not pout,
It is enough to vex a saint—
It's more than I can bear :
I wish that girl of his waS
Well, I don't care where.
lie thinks that she was pretty, too—
Was beautiful as good ;
I wonder if she'd gOt him back -
Again, now if she could?
I know she would, and there she is—
She lives almost in sight;
And now it's almost nine o'clock—
Perhaps he's there to-night. \
I'd almost write to him to come—
But then I've said I won't,
I do not care so much but she
Shan't have him if I don't.
.13e0des, I know that I was wrong,
41. pd he was jn the right;
I guess I'll tell him so—and then
-1 wish . he'dcome to-night.
glistcllaurou eading.
LAWYER TEMPLE'S PLOT.
Old Walter Kilborn' died and left a
fortune that, aggregated nearly a million.
The gloomy old house which had been
the family residence for many a year,
stood iu one of the down town streets that
had once been the site of the fashionable
residence of New York city. But the
wealthy had long ago removed to the av
enue, leaving the perverse old millionaire
to hold his own among the growing busi
ucss of the once aristocratic thoroughfare.
A bunch of black crape still hung on the
bell knob, fOur days after the funeral,
11 hen a bent, wily looking man pulled it.
Being admitted, he was shown into the
dingy room which Mr. Kilborne had in
his life used as an office. This bent and
wily looking man was Lawyer Whitmore.
"Good morning" was the reply. "Well."
"Well ?" echoed the lawyer.
"You got my note ?"
"Asking me to meet yoU here? Yes
what do you want?"
"You drew my grandfather's will?"
"I did, two days before he died."
"\Vhat were its contents?"
"I have no •right to tell you," and Mr.
Vhitemore tried to look severe. "It is
with the surrogate now, and you will
know its contents on Thursday, when it
will be officially opened. I could% think
of violating my official—"
"Not unless you are paid for it," inter
rupted the young- man. "I understand
that perfectly well, and will be plain and
brief with you. as you ate aware, myself
iwd my cousin Myra are the only living
relatives of my grandfather. We have
been brought up here in this house togeth
er, and. each hates the other as much as
possible. Now, I've no idea how the prop
erty is, left, and I want to 'know. lam
willing to pay for the knowledge in ad
vance of the opening of the will, and you
have it to sell."
The lawyer assented with a cool nod of
his head.
"Then name your price," continued
Robert.
"One thousand dollars."
"I haven't so much."
"A note for a month mill do."
The document was quickly written out,
signed by the young man, and transferred
to the lawyer's • pocket.
"The will," then said Mr. Whitmore,
"is a strange one—as strange as the man
who made it—but he would listen to no
advice, and I had nothing to do but car
ry out his wished. He leaves all his prop
city to Myra Kilborne."
"D—u him !" hissed Robert.
"Hold,' s. said the lawyer, "until you
hear the conditions.' He leaves all his
property, to Myra, as I said before, on
conditions that she shall immediatly sign
au agreement to, within a year, becojne
your wife If she shall decline to fulfil
this condition, the property belongs to you.
Th. , only other point is, that Mvia is
married to anybody before the will is o
pened, she gets the property the same as
if she married you. But that provision
is of no consequence ' as she is not likely
to marry before day after to-morrow, that
will be the Thursday on which the docu
ment is to be opened.
Here the lawyer stopped snti looked
into his companion's face as if expecting.
an exprdsion of displeasure. He was dis
appointed, however, for Robert seemed
rather satisfied than otherwise.
"It pleases me wellenongh," said
"for I half expected to he cut off uncondi
tionally. - You see, I've been rather fast,
and the old man disliked it, while Myra's
gentle ways and attention to his wants won .
his regard. She is completely bound up'
in her lover, Harry Perton, who is hun 7
dreds of miles away just now, and I. don't
believe she would give him up for the
fortune a dozen times over. Even if she
should consent to marry me, I Wouldn't be
eo badly off with the property almost un
der my control."
The lawyer here arose, bade his unscru
pulous patron good day and went out. But
as he did so, had.his ears been younger, he
might have caught the sound of rustling
skirts fleeing up the stairway—those same
skirts enveloping the pretty form of Myra
Kilborne, who had heard every word of
the interview by listening at the door.
"So, so," she mused, when she had reach
ed her own room and thrown herself into
the chair, "I am 'to buy the fortune by
selling myself. I won't do' it. I would
ot_give--up-Barry-fer-fifty-times - a - mi
lion. Robert can take the money, and
much good may it do him."
Yet, notwithstanding-her conclusive de
cision, Myra could not relinquish without
a pang the fortune to which she had always
looked forward as her certain portion.—
Her grandfather .had always seemed to
regard i her with affection, she bad not
dreamed that in his will he could impose
such .a distasteful reatricciOn.
"If _Harry was only here," she thought,
"there would not be any taouble,
because
we could get married before Thursday.—
What shall I do ? I wish I had somebody
to advise me. And .1" can have—i lawyer
is what I want. They are up to all sorts
of-tricks, so they say."
Without a moment's delay she dressed
herself for the street .and went out. tShe
knew no lawyer, but walkacl until she came
to a building upon which she had often
noticed an array of legal signs. Passing
up stairs, and selecting a' name from the
lot-that, chanced-to-strike-her-most-fitvor
ably, she entered a well furnished office.
A middle aged man sat alone writing at a
desk.
"Is Mr. Templer in ?" ask Myra.
"Yes," said the man, looking up at his
pretty visitor, and motioning her to take a
seat, "that is my name."
have came for.some legal advice—
some advice on a matter of the greatest im
portance to me, and—"
"If I am to aid you," said the lawyer
kindly, "you must speak frankly and un
reservedly, which you may do in the ut
most confidence."
Thus encouraged, Myra told him the
whole story of the will, the manner in
which she had obtained information, and
her feelings in the matter.
"Of course," she concluded, " I want to
retain the fortune, but' not at the price
stipulated in the will. Can you help me ?"
Mr. Templer sat for a while in deep
thought—so long in fact, that Myra got
fidgety with waiting. At last his face
brightened with an idea, and he at once im
parted it to his fair client. For an hour
they were in close consultation.
That day and the next passed, and Thurs
day came. The will was to be read in the
Surrogate's office ; at twelve o'cloCk, a car
riage drove up to the Kilborne residence.
In it were Mr. Templer and two of his in
timate friends. The former alighted and
entered the house. In a moment he re
appeared with Myra. She acted a little
nervous, but seemed reassured by the pres
ence of the lawyer, who helped her into the
carriage, and all were taken way. They
proceeded to the residence of a clergyman,
where they were evidently expected, as
they were shown promptly into the par
lor. The reverend gentleman entered and
the lawyer stepped forward with Myia.
"We are the couple sir."
The marriage ceremony of the Episcopal
church was performed, a certificate was
made out, the two friends signed it as wit
nesses, and the quartette were soon again
seated in the carriage.
"Drive on to the Court House," said
Mr. Temple to the driver.
The Surrogate, the clerk, Robert Kel
born, Lawyer Whitmore, and a few others
were in the surrogate's office when the
"wedding party," returned. It was just
twelve o'clock. The will was read and
Robert turned rather superciliously to
Myra for her decision:
"'Will you sign the agreement to marry
me ?" he asked.
"No," she replied.
"Then you resign the property to me ?"
and a glair of triumph shot from her
eyes.
"No !"
"That will provides," said Mr. Temple,
"that she shall take the fortune if married
at the time of its opening. She is married
-to me, and here is the certificate.- The
ceremony was performed an hour ago."
On the same day proceedings were insti
tuted by Mr. Temple on behalf of Myra to
obtain a devoree for himself. "Abandon
ment" was the ground. A few days later
Harry returned, and before the day ap
pointed for his marriage to Myra she had
obtained a divorce from Mr. Temple. The
latter was one of the jolliest of the guests.
"If it hadn't been for you—"began the
grateful bride.,
"Stop 1" interrupted Mr. Temple "I
am to put it all in my bill. For the will
suit so many dollars ; for the divorce suit,
so many more dollars—you see I am the
one to begreatful after all."
But no Oil' for legal services was ever
paid with ,a better grace.
There are souls that are created for one
another in the eternities, hearts that are
predestined each to each, from the abso
lute necessities of their nature ; and when
this man and this woman come face to
face, these hearts throb, and are one.
Very dangerous persons—reople dress
ed to kill.
A FAMILY NEWSPAPEREVOTEI) TO I.ITEILILTIERE, LOCAL, AND ,GENERAL NEWS. ETC.
WAYNESBORO', FRANKLIN COrNTY:, PA., THURSDAY, 'NAY 22,1873.
KANSAS tett) R.
ONE OF THE 3108 T FEARFUL CRINEEI. ON
RECORD. •. ,
. .
The Kansas City (Mo.) Timm contains
the following account of a dreadful affair
already alluded to - in our telegraphic
col
umns :
What follows in its facts may read like
the recital of some horrible dream, where
in nightmare mirrors upon the distemper
ed brain a countless number of monstrous
and unnatural things, yet what is itet down
in-the narrative is as 'true as the sun:
From the information furnished to us
last night by a gentleman just from the
scene of the butchery, and from dispatch
es and accounts already published, we:are
enabled •to give a tolerably detailed ac
count of the monstrous series of murders
up to date.
The 'beginning of the end came about
in this wise : On the 9th of March, Dr.
Wm. H. York; the brother of that other
York, famous now for his penetration of
he-guilty-secrets-of-Pomeroy and be : -
al in the supreme moment of the Senato
rial crisis of the trusts confided to his kee
ping—left Fort Scott, ,on horseback, • for
his home in Independence, Kansas. He
did not corner home. His friends watched
and waited for him, his family prayed
and prayed.for him, the talk of the town
dealt day after day with him, expectation
at last deepened into downright earnest
ness about him, until on the 28th Of March
the Lawrence Tribune gave a brief ac
count of the mysterious disappearance.—
All at once thereafter all the papers in
State took up the tale of his journey, of
his non-arrival, of the fears of foul play,
and of . all the little details and circum
stances that-might-go—to shpw that lie
had been murdered.
The most thorough search known to fin
ite skill was at • once commenced. His
neighbors turned out en: masse. His bro
ther, Col. A. M. York, rested neither.day
nor night in his labors, but followed what
-seemed-to--him--a-trail-with-the--tenacity
of an Indian and the devotion of a saint.
Rivers were dragged, spots fit•for" am
bush were probed fbot by foot, lonesomek
places were quested as a keen hound,
scents a trail that is cold, the route he
was supposed to have followed had scouts
upon it from city to city, the tracks of
his horse were even, attempted to be iden
tified, but all to no purpose.. Not.a shad
ow of evidence rested anywhere to say
that Dr. York had been murdered—not
a sign anywhere showed how he came%)
his death, if death indeed had overtook
him, unawares. 'He• was traced to Cher
ryvale, but no further. There the trail
was no longer a trail, but a myth, a mys
tery, an enigma neither the unwearied
patience of friends nor the sacrificing de
votion of a brother could solve.
Cherryvalo is a small town on the Lea
venworth,
.Lawreice and Galveston rail
road, and is in Labette county, about fif
ty miles from the south line of the State.
To the south ObCherryvale, some two
miles or less, stands a frame house, hav
ing in front a large room, where the meals
were served, and in rear a sleeping room
furnished with two beds and some scant
additional furniture besides. William
and Thomas Bender lived in this house
with their wives. To the right of the
dwelling house was an out-house, and in
the rear was an :enclosed garden of possi
bly two acres.
The search seemed to end suddenly at
Cherry vale. Suspicion if ever entutain
ed, fell 'upon no one. There were vari
ous surmises,
° conjectures And .expressions
of opinion ; but for the life .of any man
he could not say what had become,of,Dr.
York.
One day, early in April, some
,open
from Cherryvale rode over to the Bender
house—a tavern too, it was, where enter
tainment was furnished to travelers—to
inquire concerning Dr. York, and to learn
if possible, some tidings of his fate. They
learned 'nothing, however. None of the
Benders had seen him, nor heard of him,
nor his mysterious disappearance, npr a
nything that pertained to him. Very well
the men said, and they rode on again as
fully informed as before.
Wm. Bender, the eldest of the brothers
had a wife'who was a Spiritualist. The
balance of the Benders called . her a me
dium. The neighboni, a she devil. She
was forty-two, with iron-gray hair ragged
at the ends and thin over her temples.—
Her eyes were steel-gray and bard. All
the household feared her, dreaded her, o
beyed her, and, as the sequel proves, did
the devil's work for her beyond alt the a
trocious devil's work ever done in Kan-
Time went slowly by, and a man riding
in one day from the prarie saw no smoke
rising from Bender's chimney. The win
dows were down, the doors were closed,
there was no sign of life anywhere.. These
evidences of emigration did not even in
terest him. So absolute was the stupor
over the disappearance of Dr. York that
an awakening had to depend upon an ab
solute discovery. This man, however in
riding by a pen to the left of the house,
saw a dead calf in the lot, and, upon fur
ther investigation and with the practical
eyes of a practical farmer, used in guess
ing the weight of live-stock upon the hoof
he knew that the calf had died of starva
tion. Then the • truth came, as an over
flow comes often to a Kansas creek, all of
a sudden' and overwhelming. Such a
death suggested flight, flight meant guilt,
and , the nature of the gult was surely
murder. lie galloped into Cherryvale
and related what he had seen. The town
aroused itself. A party was organized
instantly arid set out for the Bender man
sion. Then it was remembered that a
bout two weeks before this—say some
where near the 24th of April—William
Bender had sold to some persons either
in or near Cherryvale, a watch, and some
clothing of flue .character, two !pules, and
, 't .
1
perhapti a 'shot gun or two, and some pis
•_:•HOw did he come by' these ? ,If
the. dead could:speak, the question might
be readily annexed.
he party from Cherryvale arrived at
"the house directly from the .Osage Mission
road, having the outhouse in the rear of
it to the south. In the rear as we have
said, was a garden. This at first was not
examined. -The front room of the house
was next carefully searched, every crack,
and crevice being minutely examined
and subject to the application of rods and
levers to see if the flooring was either hol- ,
low or loose. Nothing eame of it all.—
No blood spotspappeared._ The floor was
solid—the walls were solid. If there were
dead men about,. they were not in the
front' roOm.. Then came the back room.
The beds were removed. In his flight
the elder Bender had left everything un
touched; • Not even the doors were lock
ed, though such had been, the reputation
of the she-devil that the premises stood as
safe from intrusion 'as if proteetediby a de-
vi in reality.
After the beds had been removed one
of the party noticed a slight depression
in the floor, which upon closer examina
tion, 'revealed a trap door upon hinges.—
This was immediately lifted up, and in
the gloom a, pit outlined itself, forbiding,
cavernous, unknown. Lights were pro
cured and some of the men descended.- - - -
They found themselves in an abyss shap- -
ed like a well, some six feet . deep, and a
bout five feet in diameter: . - Hear and
there• little damp places could be 'seen as
if the . water, had come up from the bottom
or been poured down from - above. They
groped about over these splotches and
held up a handful to the light. The ouze
smeared itself over their palms and drip=
pled through their fingers. It was blood:
The party had provided themselves with
a long sharp rod of iron which they drove
into the ground in every direction at the
bottom of the pit, but:nothing further re
warded the, search, and they came away
-to-exarnine-the-gardeth-e-res.r-ortho
house. After boring, or prodding, as it
were, for nearly au hour, the rod was driv•
en down into a spot, and when it was with
draivn something that looked like matter
adhered to the point. Shovels were' at
once set to work, and in a few moments
a corpse was uncovered. It had been hur
ried upon its 'face. The flesh had drop.
ped away from the legs. There was no
coffin, no winding' sheet, no preparation
for the grave, nothing upon the body but
an old shirt, torn in places and thick with,
damp and decay. The corpse was,tender
ly disinterred, and laid upon its back in
the full light of the' soft April sun. One
look of horror-into the ghastly face, fes
tering and swollen, and a dozen voices
cried out in terror:
"IT IS DR. YORK !"
And it was. He had been burried in 'a
shallow hole, with scarcely two feet of
dirt over him. Had he been murdered,
and how ? They examined him closely.- 7 -
Upon the back of his head and to the left
and obliquely from his right ear, a terri:
ble blow had been' given with a hammer.
The skull bad been driven into the.biain.
Strong men turned away from the sicken
ing sight with a shudder. Others wept,
Some even had to leave the garden and
remain away , from the shambles .of the
butchers.
It seemed as if the winds carried the
tidings to Cherryvale. In an hour all the
town was at the scene of the discovery.
A coffin was procured for Dr. York's body,
and his brother, utterly overwhelmed; sat
by the ghastly remains as one upon whom
the hand of - death had been laid. He
.could not be comforted.
But the horrid work was not yet com
pleted. The iron Tod was again put in
requisition, until Piz more graves were
discovered, five of which contained each a
corpse, and . the sixth, containing two, an
old man and a little girl. Some were in
the last stages of decomposition, and oth
em, not so far gone,might have been iden
tified if any among the crowd had known
them in life.
The scene was horrible beyond descrip
tion. The daylight fled from the prairies,
but the search went on with unabated vig
or. A fascination impossible to ,define,
held the spectators to the spot. The spir
it of murder was there, and it kept them
in spite of the night and the horror of the
surroundings. The crowd increased in
stead of diminishing. Coffins were pro
vided for all, and again was the search re•
flowed. It was past midnight when our
informant left, but three more graves had
been discovered, each supposed to contain
a corpse, although they had not been o
pened. The whole .country is aroused.—
Couriers and telegrams have been sent in
every direction with descriptions of .the
Benders, and it is not thought .possible
that they can escape. With' the crowd at
the grave was a man named Brockman
who was supposed to know something a
bout the murders. Furious men laid hold
upon at once and strung him up to ,a beam
in the house. His contortions were fear
ful. His eyes started from• their sockets,
and a livid hue•came to his face that was
appalling. Death was within reach of
him when he was cut down.
"CONFESS ! CONFESS !"
they yelled, but he said nothing. Again
he was jerked from his feet, and again
was the strong body convulsed with the
death throes. Again resuscitated, he once
more refused to open his mouth. He did
not appear to understand what was want
ed of him. The yelling crowd, the muti
lated and butchered dead, the flickering
and swirling torches sputtering in the
night wind, the stern, set, faces of his ex
ecutioners, all, all passed before him as a
dreadful phantasmagoria, wliich dazed
him and struck him speechless. For the
third time they swung him up, and then
his heart could not be felt to beat, and
there was no pulse at his wtista. "He is
dead," they said. BB; he was'not dead.
The night air revived him at last, and he
was permitted to stagger away in the dark
ness as one who was drunken or deranged.
Six butchered human beings were
brought forts from their bloody graves,
and three others are yet to be uncovered.
It is thought that more graves will,yet be
dispoiered. The pit under the trap door
was made to receive the body when first
struck down by the murderer's hammer.
All the skulls were 'crushed in, and all at
nearly the same place. One of the Corpses
was so horribly mutilated as to make the
sex even a matter of doubt. The little
girl was probably eight years of age,,and
had long, sunny 'hair, and some traces of
beauty on a countenance that was not en
tirely disfigured by decay. Nothing like
this sickening series of - crimes has ever
been recorded• in the whole history of the
country.
People for hundreds of miles are flock
ing into cherryvale, and enormous rewards
are to be offered for the arrest of the mur
derers.—lt---is-supposed—that-they- have
been following , their horrible work for
years. Plunder is the accepted cause.—
Dr. York, it is said, had a large sum.of
money on his person, and that he stopp
ed at the house either to feed his horse or
get a drink of water. While halting for
either he was dealt the blow which killed
him is an instant. Every one who knew
- him liked him. None of the other corpses
have been identified. We have dispatch
ed a special reporter to the Scene who will
send us other and fuller particulars of the.
diabolical butchery.
LATEST-MIDNIGHT.
The following special dispatch, receiv
ed at midnight, gives some further &mu
. We particulars :
"CHF.RRYVALE, Kan., May 8-11:30
P. ar.---=Seven more bodies have been ta
ken up, besides that of lDr. York, with
three graves yet untouched. . Six of these
have been identified. H. Longchos and
'child, eighteen months old, was identified
b his father-in-law. The body of W. F.
-' irthy has also been identified: He
was born-in 1843, and served during the
war in company D, 123 d Illinois Volun
teer Infantry. Some men from Howard
county identified the body of D. Brown.
He had a silver ring on the little finger I
of his left hand, with the initials of .his'
name engraved thereon. The body, of
John Geary was identified by his wife
from Howard county, whoselerrible grief
over the mutilated remains of her hus
band was .heart-rending. All had been
killed by blows on the back of the head
with a hammer. •
"The throats of all had been cut except
that of the little girl. The whole ground
will be dug up to find mere graves: • The
excitement is increasing hourly. Some
suspected parties will be arrested to-night,
I will return to the scene of the murder
to-morrow, and will send a• full account
of everything new that is developed. The
whole country is aroused, and the good
name of the State is enlisted in the deter
mination to secure the murderers if they
have to be followed to the ends of the
earth. The scene at the grave surpasses
everything in horror that could possibly
be imagined."
Stupidity.
Under this head, Dr. Hall, in his Jour
nal of Health for March, 1873, humorous
ly discourses on the tendency of the times
as follows :
It is really a great wonder that every
body is not dead and buried, and the
world itself used up entirely, if the thou
sandth part of what is told us about
mi
croscopical and other "discoveries," so
called, is true. One man will have it that
the glorious Union over which the stripes
and stars ilipat so proudly will Soon be
come depopulated, because respectable
people don't have children, another has
discovered myriads of bugs in • the chate
laines and waterfalls of the ladies, boring
into their skulls 'and sucking out all the
remaining brains of the dear delightfuls.
A German &wan now tells us that every
sip of tea we take is full of oily globules
which get into the lungs direct,' weaken
them, set up a cough, , and the person dies
of consumption. Another man has found
that the purest spring water, clear as a
crystal to all appearance, will if let alone
deposits a sediment which generates. ty
phoid fever ; hence he proposes that eve
ry body shall quit drinking water. An
other says that bread has so much lime
in it that it is turning us all to bone, and
and makes us stiff in the joints, that be
ing the reason we have no lithe, sprightly
old men Low-a-days ; hence we are full of
limps and rheumatics ling before our time,
therefore we had better quit eating bread
altogether, and live on rice and sago and
tapioca. The water cure folks assure
. us
thatpork and beans i and ham and eggs
are of abominable trichine, and that
if otie is swallowed and gets fairly nestled
into the system, he, she or it will breed a
million mom in a short time, and that
roast beef has juvenile tap worms in it.— '
And here comes Tom, Dick and Harry,
all in a row, loaded down with micros
copes and spy glasses which show as plain
as day that the air is swarming with liv
ing monsters and putrid poisons, which
fly into the mouth and crawl up the nose
and creep .into the ear ; hence it is death
to breathe such pestilential air, and the
best way is to keep the mouth shut, plug
up the nose, and ram cotton into the ears.
Ever so many learned prozasional gen
tlemen have been torturing poor figures
for years to make them tell the stupend
ous fib that everybody is either crazy, or
will soon be; that the annual increase is
ten per cent, consequently in eleven years
everybody will be crazy, and more too.
The fact is that the people who spend
their time in hatching out these tomfool
eries, ought to be 'put to work and made
to earn an honest living. This world has
beep pretty well taken care of for thou
sands, of years, increasing in comfort and
•
wealth and life,. the average length : 'nf
which has doubled within two centuries,
and the population increased perhaps
three fold ; and the presumption is that
the Great Maker of all will so arrange all
the antagonistic forces of life fur the fu
ture as eventually to make "the wilder
ness and solitary place to be glad, and the
desert to rejoice and blossom as the rose,"
aid the race be happy still.
Alfred's Failure.
"There is Alfred Sutton home with his
family to live on the old folks," said one
neighbor to another. "It seems hard, af
ter all his father has done to fit him for
business, and caPitalinvested to start hith
so fairly. It ig surprising he has turned
out so poorly. Iluis a steady young man,
no 'bad habits, as far as I know; he ba d
a good education, and was always cons
ered smart ; but he doesn't succeedin any
thing. lam told 'he has tried a num
ber of different sorts of_businessrand-sunk
money every time. What can be the
trouble with 'Alfred-? I should like to
know, for I don't want thy boy to take his
turn." •
"Alfred is smart enough," Said the otil
er, and has education enough, but he
lacks the one elenlent of success. He nev;.
er wants to give a dollar's worth'of work
for a dollar of money; and there is no oth
er way for a young man to makeliis for
tune. He must digit' he would get gold.
All the men that have succeeded honestly
or dishonestly, in making money, have
had to work for it—the sharpers some
times the hardest of all. Alfred wished
to set his train in motion, and let it take,
care of itself. No wonder it soon run off
-the-track-, and-wsmash-up-was
Teach your boy, friend Archer ' to work
with a will when he does work. Give him
play enough to make him healthy and
happy, but let him learn early that work
is the business of life. Patient, self-deny
ing work is the price of success. Ease
and indolence eat away not only,
biit'worse. all a man's nerve power. Pres
ent gratification tends to put off duty un-'
til to-morrow or next week, and so the
golden moments slip by. It is getting to
be a 'rare thine for the sons of rich men
to, die rich. Too often they squander in
half a score of years what their fathers
were a lifetime in accumulating. I wish
I could ring it in the ear of every, aspir
ing young man that Work; hard work, of
head and hands, is the price of success."—
Country Gentleman.
"'Twas My Mother's."
A company of poor children, who bad
been gathered! out of the alleys and gar
rets of the city; were preparing for their
departure to the new and distant homes
in the West. Just before the time for the
starting of the cars, one of the boys was
noticed aside from the others, and appa
rently very busy with a cast-of garment.
The superintendent stepped up to him
and tbund that he was cutting a. small
piece out of the patched lining.. It prey
ed to be his old jacket, which, having been
replaced by a new one,bad been thrown
away.. - There was no time to be lost.— ,
"Come, Johu, come 1" said the superb'.
tendent,'"What are you going to do with
that old piece of calico ?"
"Please, sir," said John, 4 1 am cutting
it to take with me. My dear, dead moth
er put the lining into this old jacket for
me. This was a piece of her dress, and it
is all I shall have to remember her by."
And as the poor boy thought of that moth
er's love, and of the sad death bed scene
in the old garret where she died he cover
ed his face with his hands and sobbed as
if his heart would break.
But the train was about leaving, and
John thrust the little piece of Calico into
his bosein "to remember 'his mother by,"
hurried into' a car, and was soon far away
from the place' where he had seen so much
sorrow.
;Many an eye has moistened, as the sto
ry of this orphan boy has been told, and
many a heart prayed that the God of the
fatherless and motherless would be his
friend. lie loved his mother, and we cnn
not but believe that he obeyed her and
was a faithful child. "
Will our little readers, whose parents
are yet spared to them, always try to show
their love by cheerful obedience, knowing
this is pleasing to the Lord? Will the
boys, especially always be affectionate
and kind to their mothers !
A Ram STORY.—The following story
is too good to be lost, and as it must have
been told by a lawyer, of course the pro
fession will take no offence at our repro
ducing it. An old lady walked into a. law
yer's office lately, when the followitig con
versation took place:
Lady—Squire, I called to see if you
would like to take this boy and make a
lawyer of him.
Lawyer—The boy appears to be rather
young, madam ; how old is he ?
Lady -Seven years, sir.
Lawyer—He is too young, decidedly
too young; have you no other boys?
Lady—Oh I yea, I have sevcml, but we
have concluded to make farmers of the
others. I told the old man I thought this
little fellow would make a first-rate law
yer, so I called to see if you would take
him.
Lawyer-:-No, madam; he is too young
yet to commence the study of the profes
sion. But why do you think this boy any
better calculated for a lawyer than your
other sons?
la►dy—Why, you see, sir, he is just sev
en years old today. When he was only
five he'd lie like all natur' ; when he got
to be six he was saussy and impudent as
any critter could be, and now he'll steal
everything he ea.a lay his hands on.
Why is a promising ball-player like
flour and eggs ? A us.r—Beau se ,he cal
eulaitd to make a good bateter.
82,00 PER TEA R
NITXBER
ea If libuttor.
Jo. says: "I think .public dancers ought
to be rich, so many: have a large leg-I--see
bequeathed them.
Mrs. Partington will not allow Ike to
play the guitar. She says he-had it once
when he was a child , and it nearly killed
him.
A Maine girl Whose lover had tout a
limb, replied to her companions' banter,
"1 wouldn't have a man with two legs—
they're so common.
r Which would you rather do, go through
a:giddy waltz with a pretty girl or go
through a pretty waltz with a giddy girl ?
Ana •er must be sent in on a hand-cart.
An Indiana young lady died recently - 7
I tii
I but while the ere
. preparing her body
1- for - the - coffin - sh vivid long enough to
tell them to cr . p her hair.
A crusty old bachelor says that,Adam's
wife was called Eve because when she ap
peared man's days of happiness Were draw
ing to a close. .
An Irishman quarreling with an Eng
lishman told him if he clidu!t hold his
tongue he would break his impenatrable
head and let the brains out of his empty
skull. •
4*.
"Jenny," said a Scotch minister, stoop
ing from his pulpit, "have you it pin a
bout ye?"
"Yes, minister." „
.11en-s ick-it-intu*at-sleeping-brute
by your side • '
der--
A Bridget applied. to.the Wilily of
citizen up town yesterday, with her elothea•
drippling like a water-spout. On being
interrogated as to her condition, she/midi
she understood the lady.of the use w i an; , _
ted a wet nurse, and she had come ready . ;
for service. •
"Pa" said a little seven year old,fellow v
"I guess our man ' ,Ralph,is a Christian.',,
"How so, my boy?" 'queried the piti.ent.—.
"Why, pa, I read 'in. the Bible that
wicked shall not live Out half his days—
and Ralph says he has lived out ever since
he was a little boy. ,
•
Two little girls were'gravely s
disc U s.
the question of earringk . One thought it•
wicked. The other was sure it could:not ,
be, Thr so many gpod people wear them.
The other replied : "Well, I don't care;
if it Wasn't wicked God would have made
cies .... in our ears." ' - •
"I say,ol4 boy," cried Paul Pry to an ,
excavator, whom he espied at the bbttom
of a yawning gull; "what'are yOu digging
there?" "A big hole," the'old boy repli
ed:. Paul was not to be, put off an this ,
fashion. "What are you going ,to do midi%
the hole?,' he asked. "Going, toont t it up
into small holes," rejoined the o ld boy,,
"and retail them to farmers for gate`piists."
A funny thing happened .at a Rresby.-
terian church the other day. The ,new
steam heating apparatui3 was in use for
the first time; and, after service, one la
dy meeting aji elder in the aisle, said : 2
That boiler ain't under our seat is it
"No," was the reply ; "it is under the.pul
pit platfbrin." " if, it .blows up, wo
shall' hnve a good niaa,tago ahOd of us,'
was 'the reply.
A great man is affable in hist cottv,ena-
tion, generous in his temper, tusil. immov
able in what be has naturally reitobied up
-on. And as prosperity does not' make
hirmeitlier haughty and imperious, so nei
ther does adversity sink him into mean
ness a t nd dejection; for if ever he shows
more lapirit than ordinary, it is when ,he
is ill used, and the world is frowning up
on him. ' In short, he is equally removed
from the extremes of severity and• pride
and acorns either to trample upon a worm
or cringe to an emperor.
"No Mom TirEnn."—Toward the close
of a long 'summer day, which had flooded
the earth with beauty and song a lovely
bay, wearied with his very pleasures. at •
ter silent thought, said with a tone of•sad
ness, "Mother, am so tired; and it gays.
in the Bible, There shall be no night there.
What shall I do in heaven when I am
tired ?"
We think that the oldest of us, find it
difficult to comprehend an eternal day of
unwearied activity. The home of the re
deemed is called rest ; this must mean
simply freedom from weariness. We know
of no descriptive worlds of heaven which
include more than these : "There shall be
no night there."
A MIRED Ur DARKEY.--'•Uncle Chew,"
a. venerable negro preacher of Jersey Ci
ty, who was formerly a slave and now u
nites his professional dirties with those ap
pertaining to the whitewasbin' business,
cherishes the old delusion that women
have only seven devils. "For," says Un-.
de Chew, "as Mary Magdalen was Lilo
only woman who ever bad them cast out,
all the rest must,consequeutly hive them!'
He thinks the preaching of the present
day is shocking.' "Why," says he, "(ley
don't :say nuflin" 'bout hell now-a-days,
and what's religion good for without licit
and de debbleil Guess dey find . oat fo'
demselves by atulzby, Uncle,t;hew
quotes. "It' a man • steals one grain of
wheat and plant the fall when
ered the whole is stolen." "so," says Un
cle Chew, "when dey stole de first darker
from Africa de whole produrt are stgded,.
end as the prn,porit, of the country rll.l
made by stoled labor, It rightfully be,
longs to de cullered folks," Uncle Chews
theory would sadly, interfere with the
plans of some people. - •