23Y W. BLAIR
VOLUME 25.
c seltd goetrg.
AEA.Bali .TIIE HOBS.
Hy tenio. OAK WOOD.
An old man sits in a-worn arm-chair;
White,as the snow is this thin, soft hair,
I.l\mo:wed his brow by time and care,
,And back and forth he sways.
rhea's - A:far-a arlook4n-his-dira r dim_ey.e_
',IV hiah tells of thoughts of theonggoneby;
Ik'or he Sits once morelneath la sunny sky,
„AAA. in ChilßhAod mertily plays.
•
- He rests his cheek on the bead,oftis.eanel,
And, happily:smiling, dreams over again
Of his home—the brick—the meadew—the
Dreams all With a vision , elear ;
Then clliklhood yields unto .taanhood its
. place,
And he looks once more,ia.asweet, brlglzt
.face,
And down in the starAy.eyes,he can.trace
A Jove remembered and deaf.
Then he wakes ana.sighs:: "It seems IV, a
.dream,
'That comes to : me.aow like kgolden gleam,
the shiTmeri4g glow of the .suns last
beam ;
But 'tis pleasant to think it o'er,
That youth was sweet, but now is past; •
Those days of love were too precious to last,
But over yonder their pleasures are cast,.
And I'm nearing that shore."
jie is gliding on his frail life-boat,
(Over the calm, still waters they peacefully
• float,
But ee,ho full oft brings a well-known note
From the land he has left behind; ,
But time Avili row back for him never more
And he ga,T.es ahead to that other shore,
And ).vows when this voyage of life shall
be o'er
Fiat his Alzeam beyond he will find.
The seeds of geod which in youth we sow,
All down through the isles of our future
will grow,
And shed on age a beaatiful glow
tAs they come in memory's gleams.
Loved faces will come to a dimming sight;
Sweet words will echo in day-d. earns bright
they'll circle old age with their halos of
light,
As they mingle in beautiful dreatns.,
Oistellautints
MY NEIGHBOR BLAKE.
I did not speak to him while he was in
the shop, and in hearing of ray good friend
the shopkeeper and the other customers.
I knew Amos,Blake too well to venture
on doing it. It would. have made him
,avgry, and put him upon his mettle; and
what good would that havVone ? But
presently, when he had bor ht the gar
ment he went to buy, and AMos had left
the shop, I followed him. •
"I am 'gong your way, Amts; shall we
walk together ?" said I.
"All right, sir," said he, 114rtily.
So we walked on• in comptny till we
were out of the village, and out of earshot
also. \
"There's ode thing I like in yo, Blake."
"Is there, though? Well, sir, I ttm
glad of it then ;" he laughed she said
this, in a good natured way. " nd what
yruay it be, sir ?"
"You never stop at the publlc-house ;
at any rate, you never get intolcated I
,think."
"Well, sir, not much merit in t t, eith
er,li to my thinking. But 'tis tru I nev
er do get drunk. I don't want make
a beast,of myself, as some do; work than
beasts, as a fellow may say, for beasts nev
.-er do get drunk."
"I had the misfortune to travel 'forty
miles, not long a go, with a person ii that
state
"I dare.say that put you about a ittle,
.sir," said Amos.
."Yes, not a little, for lie made hixiself
so .offensive I to all his fellow-passenfers
that they were glad when he arrive at
his deatipation."
0 1 wonder you could stand it, sir,"sild
my neighbor, • :
"It could not be helped when once
were in the same „carriage. As to se)*
anything to him, it would have been only
throwing words away. Indeed, I though,
that any remonstrance at that time Rout]
have provoked the poor drunken man
great violence."
"I reckon I should have told him of
though," said Blake. "A man hasn't
a right to make himself unpleasant
company Without being told of it, whoev
er he is."
"Do you really think so, Amos ?"
Amos not only thinks, but is sure o
"But suppose the mnpleasantness to
consist in some other habit or practice.—
For inst Lee, suppoie you had been pres
ent, and the man I am telling you of; in
stead of being noisy and tipsy, had used
•words and expressions very offensive to a
dear friend of yours, •what would you have
done?"
"I should have told him a bit of my
mind. whether he liked it or not," said A
mos Blake, with great decision. '
"Even if the man had been Your neigh
bor, and one for whom you had felt re
spect?"
"It shouldn't have made any difference."
"Weil, I think you would • have been
right in stundin,glip for your friend. By
the way, Amos, I am afraid you got hold
of a very dear bargain Ut Mr. Scott's shop
just now." •
."A dear bargain 1" exclaimed my neigh
bor, rather surprised, perhaps, at ,the sad
-4len turn of the conversation,
"Yes, you saw me there, didn't you, sit
ting at the back part of the shop while
you were making your purchase I"
"Yea, air."
"And you bought—"
"A' ready-made shirt, striped cotton;
and not dear, either, I think," he adfleil ;
e‘tboxigh I couldn't beat the governor down
in his price."
"Well, what did you-give for Ur
"I don't mind telling you. I gave three
and-tbree...penee fog " • '
"And something besides —think."
Not a half-penny, sir," said 'Blake,
wondering mors,and more, probably # what
business it could be of mine what his new
shirt cost. •
"No, riot ;WI-penny, but something in
finitely more valuable; you gave your
_soul for it in addition to—"
I could not ftnish the sentence,' fart e
sudden start my neighbor gave, and the
expression which exploded from his lips ;
commencing with the sailed name of God.
"Stop, stop, my good friend," I said,
laying my band gently on his arm ; "do
you recollect what you said a minute or
two ago e •
"Concerning what, sir.?"
"Concerning what you would do if yOu
should hear a neighbor of yours saying
what would justly offend a friend of your
Own.
"Certainly, sir," said Amos. "I said I
°nid give him a bit of my mind."
*";SON, listen, neighbor. You havejust
sed an expression most-offensive to-my
est friend, and you used that expression
r something like it, many times while in
he shop. No, please do not interrupt
me"—for I feared another explosion of
orbidden words—"l will explain what I
eon. My best friend is the infinitely
'rest and Holy Being, whose name, in a
ight and thoughtless mood, you both now
nd then used. Now, you .cannot be ig
orant of what He himself has said to
you and to all. These are His words :
`Thou shalt riot take the name of the
ird thy God in vain; for the Lord will
not hold him guiltless who taketh His
name in vain.' You have heard these
words, I am sure."
"Certain sure, sir," answered Amos.
"Well, then, to break that high corn
., and is a sin ; and all sin is offensive to
he Lord our Maker. You do not blame
e therefore, do you, when I give you se
riously and sadly what you would call a
, it of my mind f"
"All right, sir, and thank you," said A
, os, after a momentary struggle between
vexation aid good temper, in which the
atter conq ered. "All right; and I can't
nd fault ..ith your speaking out; but I
didn't mean any ham either. But, then,
about wh I bought at the shop—you
said somet ing queer, neighbor," added A.
.• :1:.•
was you who said something
h worse."
"No, it
queer—m
"Blame.
if I know what you mean, sir,"
said he.
"I will
let me b
mind the
ing with
Amos
"Liste
told Mr. '
you if yo
for the
afterw
Mr. Scot,
-11 you ; and if there is blame,
it. But do you not recall to
fords you spoke while bargain
[r. Scott." •
d not or would not reccollect.
again, then ; do yoU know yod
%cat that the devil might take
gave.more than three shillings
rment, for which, almost direct
rd, you laid down the full price
had asked ?"
inly words, words, words," said
tly laughing ; but yet I thought
1 uucomfortable—"idle words, to
but only words; no meaning in
.can't think they meant any
lionid hope?" he added.
ibor slake, in that book which I
be God's .own are these words
our blessed Savior Himself : "I
you, That every idle word that
p speak they shall give account
5 the day of judgment. For by
s thou shalt - be justified, and by
Is thou shalt be condemned.—
m confess to idle words, .aud .80
yourself."
winced a little at this.
are not angry with me for remind
of these things, are you ?"
! all right; you mean well, sir, so
ce," said Amos. - .
Ili mean well, I trust; at any rate,
what I say ; and you, do you mean
.0 Pay?"
:tly do sir," said Amos uneasily.
.n you did and do mean that you
Riney made yourself over—given
, body and soul—to the great en
mankind ?"
r heart! you don't suppose such a
it ?" said Amos.
I do not suppose vou bad any such
.4 or wish, but those were your
Amos, lit
he seeme
be sure.;
them •; y
thing, I
"Neig
know t
spoken
say unto
men sh
thereof
thy wor,
thy wok
Now, I
condeni
Alpo;
"Yoi
mg yo
"Oh
no offe,
•I .1
I mean
what y
"I „I
have .1
yourse
elny o
"D•
thing,
"No
intenti
words.
1-‘.l;:j
,• lota of such things, without think
id Amos, `•`and so do other people.':
to their own hnrt, and' you to
sorry I used the words, sir, but
ill slip out at times without my
g it almost."
do not tiuite; you generally keep
• tongue while you are talking to
instance, or to the minister, of the
do iron Rot?' •
uess - I do, sir; you see I know you
ike such talk, and no more would
they
knowi
"B
a clea
me, f
paris
"I .1
[don't
=Si
"And yet—only think, Blake—this al
.. ost .aggravates your guilt, for it shows
c hat you pay more respect to your fellow-
Features than to your Creator."
"I know, sir, I know; and I w;sh I
thinly n £ wl, n t r RT" **vin.;
br it is a terrible bad habit I have go — t
ito. But I ;ma afraid I never shall get
r " : I ,t 6 I 41)1E_ 7 .t
WAYNESBORO', FRANICUN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, 'MAY 29,1.873.
out of it," said Amos, almost sadly. '
• "You must, if .you,mUuld ever get, to,
heaven ; for nothing can enter there that
defiles or is defiled. And since you feel
that you cannot cure, yourself, go to Him
who can not only help you to put a bridle
on your tongue, but can pardon the past
and cleanse your conscience from the guilt
and stain of profanity of thought as well
as of word. Ask His , help, neighbor.
Blake.":" And here we parted. +-
The
Cottager and Artisan.
THE LITTLE PEDDLER.
One rainy afternoon, in the earliest
part of autumn, I heard a low knock at
back door, and, upon opening it, found a,
pe• er. ow, pedlW3 tt - r - e — a — grearvex-v
ation to me ; they leave the gate open ;
they never have anything I want; and I
don't like the faces that belong to them,
.esyecially those of the strange men who
. go about with little packages of 'bourse
goods ; and I always Close the door upon
,them, saying to myself,, "Lazy." ,
— This - was - a — little - boy, ---- and - he - was pale
and wet, andlooked so cold I forgot he
was a peddler, and asked him to come in
to the fire. .I thought he appeared as
though he expected I teas going to buy
something, for he commenced opening his
tin box ; but I had no such intention.--
He looked up in my face very earnestly
and sadly when I told him to warm .him
self by the are; and did nut wish to pur
chase anything. As he rose slowly from
his seat, there was something in his man
ner which reproached me, and I detained
him to inquire why lie was out in the
rain. •
He replied.: "I am out every day, and
can't sta •_ in for .a little rain ; besides;
most peadlers stay at home then, and 1 .
can sell more ,on rainy days."
"How much do you earn a dayr
"Sometimes two shillings, sometimes
one; and then; ma'am, I am very tired."
Here he gave a quick dry .cough which
startled me.
"How long have you bad that cough?"
. "I don't know, ma'am."
"Does it hurt you ?"
"Yes, ma'am." .
"Where does your mother live?"
"In Heaven, ma'am," said he unmoved.
-"Him you a father ?"
."Yes, ma'am; he is with mother,"te
replied in the same tone.
"Have you any brothers or sisters?"
"I have .a little sister; but she went to
mother about .a .month Ago."
"What ailed her." -
"She wanted to seemotlier, and so do I;
and I guess that is why I cough so."
"Where do you live ?"
"With Xrs. Brown in N— street."
"Does she give you any medicine for
your cough ?"
"Not doctor's medicine—she is toe ;poor;
but she makes something for me to take."
"Will you take something if I give it
to you."
"No ma'am, I thank you ; mother took
Medicine, and it didn't help her, though
she wanted to stay. .And, you see, r want
to go. It would not stop my cough. Good
day ma'am."
"Watt a minute," I said. "I want to
see what you carry."
He opened his box, and for once I found
what I wanted. Indeed, I don't think 'it'
would have signified what he bad—l should
have wanted it; for the little peddler had
changed in my eyeshe had a father and
mother in Heaven. and so had I. How
strange that peddlers had never seemed
like human, soul-filled beings before !
How thankful he was. and how his great
sunken blue eyes looked into mine when
I paid him
"You don't ask me to take a cent less,"
said he, after hesitating a minute; "I
think you mu.,o be very rich." •
"Oh no !" I replied ; "I am far from
that, and these things are worth more to
me than I gave you for them. Will you
come again :1"
"Yes, ma'ain, if I don't go to mother
soon."
"Are you hungry ?"
"No, ma'am, i never feel hungry now.
I sometimes think mother feeds me when
I sleep, though I don'Vemember it when
lam awake. I only . know I don't wish
to eat now since my sister is dead."
"Did you feel very sad then ?"
•"I felt very big in my throat, and tho't
I was .choked; but I didn't cry a: bit,
though I felt very lonely at night for a
while. But I'm glad she's up there now."
"Who told you you were going to did'?
"Nobody, but I know I am. Perhaps
I'll go before Christmas."
I could not endure that, and tried to
make him stay, but he would run and
tell Mrs. Brown what good luck he had
met with. He bade •me good-day .again
cheerfully, and went out, into the cold
rain; While I could only say "God be
with you, my child."
He never came again, though I looked
for him every day. At length,. about
New Year's day, I went to the place he
called borne. Mrs. Brown was there;
but the little pilgrim—his feet were at
rest, and never more would his gentle
knock be heard at the door of those who
like myself, forget the necessity and stern
want that often sends about these wan
deres from house to house, and that their
employment might be far more unseem
ly to theni than annoying to us.---House
hold Treasure.
.
Boxes.—Borax .
cannot injure clothes
in washing, hence it should be used to sof- •
ten hard water. A bandfal is sufficient
for tea gallons of water. As a way of
cleansing the hair, nothing is better than
a solution of borax in water. 13orax is
also excellent for cleaning the teeth, dis
solve in Water, it forms a most valuable
tenth rash_ It is alsztTalanhin ?s a cad,
roach extermtnator, while perfectly harm,
less to hpmart beings.
VONE BEFOR.B.
There's• a beautiful face in the silent air,
Which follows me ever and , near,
With smiling eyes and amber hair, • • ,
With voiceleth lips, yet with breath of pray-.
That I kinel, but cannot bear
The dimpled hand and ringlet of gold
Lie low in a marble sleep ; .
I stretch my hands for a clasp of old,
But the empty air is 'strangely cold,
And my vigil alone I keep.
Then% a sinless brow with a radiant crown,
And a cross laid down in the dust ;
There's a smile where never a shade comes
now
And tears no more from those dear eyes
now,
'So sweet in thy innocent trust.
Ah, well and summer is.coming again,
Singing her same old song ;
But oh I it sounds like a sob of pain,
As i“loats in the "sunshine and the rain
O'er hearts of the worlds great throngf
There's a beautiful region above the skies
And I long to reach its shore, •
For I know I shall find my treasure there,
The laughing eyes and amber hair
• Of the loved one gone before.
A Year Without a Summer.
A correspondent of 'the Amherst, New
Hampshire, Farmer's Cabinet, gives the
following account of the terrible year with
uo summer in the earlier part of the pros
tut century, which old New England far
mers still refer to as "eighteen hundred
and starve todeath.". We hope the fact
may have no significance, but the weath
er of April of the dark year was sin,„crular
ly like that of the last month : "While
every one' is speaking of the present sea
son as being remarkable in its character
istics, I have gathered for your readers
some reliable facts of the year .18.1q
known as the "year without a summer."
Few persons now living" can recollect it;
but it was the coolest ever known through
out Europe and America. The following
is a brief abstract of the weather during
the year.
January was mild ; so much so as to
render fires almost needless in parlors—
December previous was very cold.
February was not very cold ; with the
exception of a few days it was mild like
its predecessor.
March was cold and boisterous during
the first part Of 'it; the remainder was
mild. ' A great freshet on the Ohio and
Kentucky rivers caused great loss of pro.
perty.
April began warm and grew colder as
the month advanced, and ended in snow
And ice, with a' temperature more like
winter than spring.
May ,was more remarkable for frowns
than .smiles. Buds and flowers were fro
zen, ice formed half an inch thick ; corn
was killed And the fields were again and
again planted until .deemed to late.
June' was the .coldest ever known in
in this latitude. Frost, ice.and snow were
common. Almost every green thing was
killed. Fruit was nearly all destroyed.—
Snow fell to the depth of ten inches in
Vermont, several in Maine and dime in
central .New York, and also in Massachu
setts. Considerable damage was doneAt ;
New Orleans, in consequence of the rap-'
id rise in the river ; . and the roads were
only passable in boats.
July was accompanied by frost and
ice. On the sth ice was formed, of the
thickness of a common window glass,
throughout New England, New York and
parts of Pennsylvania.
'August was, more cheeriest if possible,
than any of the 'summer months passed.
Ice was formed half an inch thick. In
dian corn was so frozen that the greater
part was cut dOwn and dried for todder.
Almost every green thing was destroyed
in this country and in Europe. Papers
received .from England stated that it
Would be remembered by the present gen
eration as a yeai in which there was no
summer. Very litttle corn ripened in
New England and the Middle States.—
Farmers supplied themselves from corn
produced in 1815 for the seed of 1817.
l't sold at from four to five dollars per
bushel.
• September furnished about two weeks
of the mildest weather of the season. Soon
after the middle it became cold aad fros
ty and ice formed a quarter of an inch
thick.
October produced more than its share
of cold weather, frost and iee particular
ly. •
November was very cold and binster
ing. • Enough snow fell to make good
sleighing. December was quite mild and
comfortable. •
The above is a brief summary of "the
cold summer of 1816," asNit is called in
order to distinguish it from the cold sea
son. The winter was mild. Frost and
ice were common in every month of the
year. Very little vegetation matured in
the Eastern and Middle States. The sun's
rays seemed to be destitute of heat through
the summer, all nature seemed to be clad
in a sable hue ; and men exhibited no lit
tle anxiety concerning the future of this
life."
The entire alphabet can be found in
these four lines of Dr. Watts.. Some of
the children may like to learn them :
"God gi:res the grazing as his meat,
He quickly bears the sheep's low err;
But man, who tastes His finest wheat,
Should joy to li ft His praises high."
It is•a sure sign of an early spring to
see a eat intently watclaing a small. hole.
A 4e70 , plane fox tight hoots—A 0.7. -
A Trusty Boy.
A few yearS ago, says a New York pa
per a large drug firm in this city adver
tised for a boy. The next day the store
was thronged with appliPants. Among
them came a queer looking little fellow,
accompanied by his aunt, in lieu of faith
less parents, by whoin he had been aban
doned..
Looking at this little waif, the mer
chant in the store promptly said : "Can't
,take him ; places all full ; besides he is too
small." "I know he is small," said the
woman, "but be is willing and faithful."
There was a twinkle in the boys eyes
which made the merchant think again.—
A partner in the firm volunteered to re
mark that "be did not see what they want
ed of such a boy—he wasn't bigger than
a pint of Cider." But after consultation
the boy was set to work.
A few days later a call was made on
the boys in the store for some one to stay
all night, The prompt response of the
little fellow contrasted well with the re
luctance of others. In the middle of the
night the merchant looked in to see if all
was right in the store, and presently dis
covered his youthful protege busy scissor
ing labels. "What are you doing ?" said
he ; "I did not tell you to work at night"
"I know you did not tell me so,. but I
thought I might as well be doing some;
thing." In the morning the cashier got or
ders to "double tha boy's wages for he is
Only a few weeks elapsed before a show
of wild beasts passed through the streets,
and very naturally all hands in the store
rushed to witness the spectacle. A thief
saw his opportunity, and entered in a rear
door to seize something, but in a twink
ling found himself firmly - clutched - by - the
diminutive cleilt aforesaid, and, after a
struggle was captured. Not only Wils'a
robbery prevented, but valuable articles
taken from other stores were recovered.—
When asked by the merchant why' he
stayed behinds.to watch when all others
quit their work, the reply was, "You told
me never to leave the store when all oth
ers were absent, and I thought I'd. stay."
Orders were immediiitely given once more:
"Double that boy's wages ; he is willing
and faithful. .
Poverty of Rich gen's Children.
An intelligent company happened to
make this the subject ot their conversation
one day, and nearly every one present had
some instance to relate which served to il
lustrate it. They were too wise an d
thoughtful to dismiss a matter so sugges
tive and important without inquiring the
cause of it, and accordingly it was earn
estly discussed. •
It was maintained by some that the
blame rested with parents, who,in _foolish
love, trained their children to luxury and
idleness rather than to labor and frugali
ty, and being eventually . left to their own
devices, become the victims of their waste
and prodigality. Others supposed the
cause arose from the fact that great wealth
is seldom amassed by one man except at
the expense of many others, in short, with
out injustice; and for that reason the tears
of the widows and the sighs of the poor
curse it so that it fritters away.
A third party did not object to either
theory, but insisted that while both causes
might be right in particular cases a more
charitable one could also be assigned for
such an incident. To the children of the
rich, he said, poverty comes a blessing in
disguise, to subvert the course their fond
parents would give their lives to leave
them, inasmuch as it takes from them the
key to all sin and evil. •
How fewnf those who have accomplish
ed anything in the world have been born
in wealth, since it appears that the hope
of amassing wealth, or at least the energy
which is developed in their struggling to
succeed in earning a comfortable living,
is that which prompts them to undertake
any work of magnitude arid self-denial.—
When men, therefore, are intent upon
leaving-great riches for their children - to
inherit, .et them be aware that they are
loading them with fetters, which will keep
them from doing anything or being any
body but stupid dolts or sickly hot-house
plants in our lively, progressive world.
Nurtured in superfluity and indulgence
of all kinds, in,_total ignorance of duty
they owe the world, and indifferent to the
hardships and miseries of their fellows,
they live a lazy, selfish life, unless God
permits their wealth to melt away from
them that they might thereby be ted to do
some good in the world and seek with
greater ardor the riches of the world to
come.
• BIG SVNDAT Dmarts.—A Sunday's
dinner is made the most sumptuous meal
of the week in a great many households,
and the guests retire from table more like
gorged ancondas than intellectual human
beings, with the result that during the
whole afternoon there is such an amount
of mental, physical and religious sleepi
ness, if not actual stupidity, that no oth
er duties-whatever are performed with a
lacrity, effieiency and acceptableness. The
Sunday dinner made of a cup of hot tea,
some bread and butter with a slice of cold
meat, and absolutely nothing else, would
lie wiser and better for all ; it would give
the servants more leisure, the appetite
would be as completely satisfied half an
hour afterward, while the body, brain and
heart would be in a fiting condition to
perform the duties of the day with plea#:
ure to ourselves and with greater eilicien
,ey to others.
Neglect the duty of an hour, and it is
an hour irretreviibly lost. Crowd this
neeleeted duty into the nest hour, and
you will crowd out of it its own appoint
ed *task, and some task out of life. A lost
Iwur is lot Leyuuti rectal. a
14141 igie.not on
ly 1 03 1 DimPrond, bat it works dialtg
cts•
Poor Once—very, very Rich Now.
Of the Nevi York millionaires, hardly
any one, except William B. Astor,
any part of his property, and Astor
is one of the few men of vast inheritance.
who have increased instead of diminishing
it. What a long list'of self created Cites
es' have we here!
There is Cornelius Vanderbilt, who be
gan life with an old pirogue, running be
tween Staten Island and New York, and
carrying garden stuff to market. With
two or three thousand dollars raised from
that source, he entered upon steadily in
creasing enterprises until he amassed the
immense sum of $60,000,000.
Alexander T. Stewart first bought a
few laces at auction, and opened his way
to success in a dingy little shop in Broad
way, near the site of his wholesale estab
lishment.
Daniel Mew, in Ms early career, was a
cattle-driver, at the munificent rate of sev
enty-five cents a' day, and he has now driv
en himself into an estate valued at $15,-
000,000 to $30,000,000.
George Laiv, forty-five years ago, was a
common day laborer on the docks, and at
-present counts his fortune at something
like $10,000,000.
Robert L. and Aleiander Stuart, the
noted sugar refiners, in their boyhood, sold
molassescandy, which their widowed moll
er had made, at a cent a stick, and to-day
are probably worth from $5,000,000 to
$6,000,000 apiece.
Marshall 0. Roberts is the possessor of
$4,000,000 or $5,000,000 ; and yet, until
lie was twenty-five, he did not have $lOO
he could call his own.
Horace B. Claflin, the eminent dry
goods merchant, worth, it is estimated,
from $1g,000,000 — to — A15;000,000com - -
menced the world with nothing but ener
gy, determination and hope, 'and see : how
magnificently he has invested them !
Aged Youth.
This, certainly, cannot be called a ve
ry arduous life ; and 'the result of it is,
that most of our citizens look fresh and
are vigorous after they have advance&
An exemplificatian is seen in Corneli
us Vanderbilt, who, in his 77th year, is
perfectly hale and hearty ; walks as e
rect, and is lithe and supple, as if he were
still 40..
Alexander T. Stewart over 65, bas not
the'slightest ailment ; is entirely 'healthy
in mind and body ; and is capable of man
aging his immense business in all its de
tails with the greatest ease.
• William B. Astor ; 76phOws no sym
toms of decay ; takes long walks ; has an
excellent appetite and digestion ; and
looks forward, I presume, to 15 or 20 years
more of adherence to the planet.
William Cullen Bryant,..now .75, pre
serves thephysical characteristics ofyouth.
He often walks five or six miles before
breakfast; prides himself upon his abili
ty to leap fences ; and laughs at the idea
of being considered an old man.
Daniel Drew, at , 70, is as active and
wiry as he was 30 - fears ago, and more
than a match for the Sioungest. and shrewd
est operators of Wall street.
George Law, about the same age, at
tends to his vast business precisely as he
did a. quarter of a century since, and very
seldom requires the services of a physician.
..might mention any number of New
Yorkers, ranging from 60 to 70 years
,old
who.are as full of vitality' and energy as
men •of half their age. I used to think
that to be 60 was to be old'; but here I
have learned by actual observationsthat to
be 70 is to be almost in the prime.of life.
Retrospection.
In the evening-oflife, especially; what
a hallowed'pleasure it is to turn back the
leaves of time, and find in our books of
life, pages, if only scattered here and there,
upon which no spot or blemish appears
to mar the .retrosnective joy that a well
spent life'affards. How true that we live
twice, when we can.reflect with pleasure
on the days that , are gone. Thrice bless
ed is he who is philosopher enough in ear
ly life, to build hit character with a - view
to its pleasant contemplation in later
years. What an unspeakable pleasure
must it be, after 'years of wanderings, vi
cissitudes, struggles, temptations, and sore
trials, to give the memory a recreation
day and let it bound with the imPulsive
ness of youth, back to its childhood home,
and tha pleasant reminiscences of early
life. The cares and trials of life are for
the time obliterated ; the world becomes
again a never-ending Paradise,' such as
the glorious and buoyant e,peetationa of
youth only can paint it. In a moment
the pleasures of years rush upon us with
„such a flood of joy.as to sweep away for
the time being
,every remembranee of the
cloudy part of the past, leaving only the
sweet, glorious, sunny side of it, making
earth seem iudeed a very Heaven.
Pleasant reminiscences are to the ad
vanced in life, what health a,tid happy
imaginations are to youth. They 'keep
them fresh and green until, they debark
upon that other shore of life immortal.
THROUGH THE WINDOW.--.The exist
ence of happiness, whether in a commu
nity •or 'private family,. is not to be con
cealed. - All that we do, even
est action of our live, - is tinctured by the
condition of eur"Minds- If we are ill-dis
posed, those things Which have been per:
formed. with cheerfuln es s and alacrity are
not One merely - because there is a sorrof
pewasity for their perfonittrice and the ob
servant eye will soon detect whether or
not the heart accompanies the duty. As
long as we are happy, we are eager to an
nounce it by smiles, bright looks, cheer
fulness, energy, and activity, We think
of a hundred means of awakening delight,
which could not have suggested them
selves to less contented minds, The world
is peeping 'through your window. Let it
find you making happiness in your house,
.L. 13 it and nmor.
The man who couldn't find his malch).
went to bed in the dark.
Be temperate in diet. Our first Paren '8
ate themselves out of house an d home.
Dobbs thinks that instead of giving
credit to whom credit is .due, the .cash
had better be paid.
. a
Why is a lovely young lady like 'a
hinge? Beeauie she is something to 'a
doze.
'Nat-what are you leaning over that
empty .cask•for2" "I'm' mourning aver
departed.spirita."
Mrs.'Jones says her husband is a thre - e. -
handed man—right hand, lett hand; and
little behind hand. •
An lowa merchant won't sdvertis* e in
the papers, but paints on the fences, "Ge
tew Allen's for yer dri goods.
Who was the straightest. man, in the
Bible? Joseph, for 'Pharaoh wanted to
make a ruler of him.
A sign at a feeding place on he Paci
fic Railroad reads : "A good square meal
$1; a perfect• gorge, $150."
A Tennessee . ,girl, fourteen years old.,
ran off with a circus, because her mother
wouldn't let her wear a bustle.
lie use of fasting, in a religious. ense,
probably lies iu this, that it gives oue a
realizing sense of the emptiness of things
helOw.
A young felloir got off a smart thing
the other day. It was a mustard plaster
that• he sat down on just before retiring
for the night. .
A monkey in the New York Central'
Park mound up his mortal career 'the oth
er day by breaking his back while tarn
'hog a. summersault: He gave himself st
monkey wrench.
A worthy Kentucky. farmer, being
ed if a daughter recently married was still
living with him, replied : "No, sir ; when
one of my gais swarms she' must hunt her
own hive."
Somebody, evidently down South, says :
"People who imagine there, is no cotton
raised at the North are mistaken. There
are thousands of women who raise a pound
or so of cotton every time they draw a
breath.
' I came fair the saw, sir. What saucer?
Why - the saw s sir, that you borrowed. I
borrowed no saucer. Sure you did, sir;
you borrowed a saw, sir: .1 never saw
your saucer. But you did • there's the
sir. Oh, you want the saw; why
you say so.'
A young man, who knows all about it,
states that his experience has•taught him
that a flirt is a fool, who delights in fool.
ing fools, and the fbol who is fooled by
such a fool is the foolishest kind °fa fool.
He's been fooled badly we judge:
A French gentleman, learning English
:to spme purpose, replied thus.to the ques
tion :—"How do you do, 'lktonsieut?"
"Do vet?" 'How do you find yourself?"
"I never looses myself" dO feel ?"
"Smooth, you just feel me." "Good morn
ing, monsieur !" "Good. No, it's a had
one, it's vet and nasty."
A son of the Emerald Isle, says the
Woodford Sentinel, whose wife had the day
before bought a box of matches of Sam
Miller, a prominent grocer in -*Minonk.
came into his store the other day, and pre
senting the box to Sam, says :
"Mr. Miller, my wife says these Matches
are n 9 account."
"How is that?" asks Sam. "I keep he
best of everything."
"Well," says Pat, "my wife can't light
'em, and she told me to go back with
him:"
Sam thereupon takes out match alter
match, and striking them upon the leg of
his pants bolds. the brightly burning fuses.
before the astonished Celt, exclaiming
"There; don't you see, they are good match
es ; not one has' misbod."
"Do you take me for a d—d fed ?" ask
ed Pat. "Do you suppOie that I'm going
to mind my wife down here to scratch
matches on your dirty ould pants ivery
time she {rants to light the fire ?"
This brouOit clown the house and Sam
willingly paid the cigar's.
TaE MF.axr.sT Yk.a. , —Soine gentlemen
Were -talking .a bout meanness When one
said, he knew a man on'Lexington aven.
ue who was the meanest man in New
York.
"How mean is that ?" asked a friend:
"Why, he is so mean that he keeps a
five cent pieve, with a rtring tied to it, to
give to baggers, and, when their backs
ara turned, 'he jerks it out of their pock
ets."
"Why this man is so mean," continued
thegentleman, "that he gave his children
ten cents a piece the night before the 4th
of July, 'hut during the night when they
were asleetr he went up stairs, took the
money' out of there pockets, and then
whipped them in the morning for 'losing
it!"
"Does he do anything else?"
"'Yea; the other day I dined with him,
- and I-noticed the poor little servant girl
whistled gaily ail the way up stairs , ith
the 'dessert, and when I asked my gener,
01.18 friend what made her whistle so hap
pily, lie said, "Why, I keep her whistling
:=0 she. can't eat the raiiius out .of the
cake."
'82,00 PER YEAR.
NUMBER 51