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BY W. BLAIR,
VOLUME 26.
c stittt pottrg,
THIS WORLD,
This 31'0:1d is a sad, sad Place, I know—
And what soul living can doubt it?—
But ft will not lessen the want or woe
To be always singing,about it.
Then away with songs that are full of tears,
Away with dirges that sadden;
Let us make the most of our fleeting years,
By singing the lays that gladden.
A few sweat portions of bliss I've quaffed,
And luau a, cup of sorrow ;
But in thinking over tile flavored draught,
• The oldAhne joy I borrow.
And in brooding over the bitter drink,
Pain fills again the pleasure;
And so I have learn'd that it', better to think
• Of the things that give of pleasura.
The world at its saddest is not all sad ;
There are days of sunny weather ;
And the people within it are not all bad,
But saints and sinners together,
I think those wonderful hours of June
Are better by far to remember
Than those when the earth guts out of tape
In the uold bleak winds e' Novemb.r.
Beeauseke meet in the walls of life
• Many a soithsll creature,
It does'nt prove that this worbl of strife
Has no redeeming feature.
There is bloom and beauty upon this earth
There are bud:, :Al blossoming flowers;
There are souls of truth and hearts of worth!
There Aire golden, glowing hours.
In tbj,nking.oyer a joy we've known
We easily. cake it double,
O'er sorrow, grief and trouble.
Fur though this world is sad, we know—
And who that is living Can dogibt it?—
It will not lessen the want and woe
To be always singing about it,
r",
allinellattnlls
A SHORT COURTSHIP.
I was a young man possessed of suffi
cient means to enable me to live at my
case, and refrain from labor of any kind,
when suddenly there came a blow that
cattered. my prosperity ,to the winds, and
tbreed me to employ my labor and wits
;in tbe general struggle of gaining a liv
ing. Ihe blow came in the shape of the
failure of a large lirai in )vhielt my capi
tal was invested.
Alter securing a clerkship in the house
of a creditor of our late firm, my first care
was to look up a less expensive boarding
house than the fitshionahle one in which
I was living. I inserted an advertisement
in several 'widely circulated city papers,
asking for board in :tried/ private f imily,
and in course received a multitude of an
swers by next post. Out of this motley
instillment of epistles, there was but one
that pleased me, and thu one I decided
to answer in person immetilately.
(trace Kingsley was the name of the
landlady writing to me, and the letter
stated that her house was entirely private,
and having no boarders whatever. I was
much pleased with the f'air, delicate hand
writing, and an ide,i took. possession of
3110 that ;Grace was a young. and fitseina
tMg widow. I was not disappointed when
Preached the house, and my ringing at
the dour bell was answered by the lady
herself. She invited me into the parlor
in a manner so courteous, and yet so mod
<..st, that I had falloi desperately in love
with her before I could cross the thres
hold.
I enjoyed a very pleasant. chat with
:Airs. Kingsley. During the conversation
rue informed me that her 'late husband
had been in a fitir way of business, and at
his death, which occurred a year previous
bad left h►er in pretty comfortable circum
tgances. They hp but one child ; and
this item oj a mottality Iswas graciously
per►itted to look upon slumbering in
its cradle. I alto learned that the lady
}vas living in the house quite alone, and
,desired n muse boarder more as a means
.of protection than a source of revenue.—
I n conclusion, thelandlady looked so pret
ty (she was quite young, not more than
two or three and twenty) and the board
, so moderate, her companionship so invit
ing, and she seemed.to trust in me, and
look . . upon me so favorably that I would
have been a heathen, dead to all charms
And inducements of the sex, if I had not
,eugaged board on the spot.
The next day I had my trunk removed
to my new boardinghouse, and permanent
ly established my,elflhere. Before leav
ing my fortner boardinghouse, a letter
•w;ts banded me by the postman, but I did
not find time to examine it •until I was
,comfortably ensconced in the parlor of
Airs. Kingsley's cozy house.
Opening the letter I discovered it to be
from a wealthy uncle, residing in Ver
mont, who regularly sent me a letter once
a year ; but whom I had never seen. His
epistles were al ways short and to the point,
generally coAsisting of an account of the
weather iu Juis locality, and some good
Advice to me to take care of my money,
as I might be burdened with some of it
before'l was mucli Older. I was always
very glad to get this advice 'from him as
I regarded it us an intimation that I was
to inherit his Wealthjtisodecease.
One day, however, about a year previ
ous I received a letter from him which
.contained another topic besides those I
;have mentjoned. • ;..1) , uncle made some
pressing inquiries respecting my matri
monial prospects, and stated that if I was
not already married I should immediate
ly enter into the wedded state, and let him
know of it, or he would.never more be an
uncle of mine.
Now as my uncle lived in Vermont and
I in Philadelphia, and I never anticipat
ed the old gentleman would pay me a vis
it and discover the falsehood, I wrote and
informed him that I was not only marri
ed, but the father of a bouncing baby.—
This intelligence so pleased my uncle that
he sent a gold goblet and a silver pap
spoon, to be presented to my child. lat
first sat down and wrote a very romantic
letter to my uncle, thanking him for the
presents, and then visited the nearest jew
elry store and turned both the goblet and
spoon into cash, which I pocketed.
had received no further letters from
my uncle until the one which I read in
Mrs. JQngsley's parlor. The postscript to
this not only astonished,' but absolutely
frightened me. It read as follows :
P. S,—.l have never visited Philadel
phia, so I decided to do so at once,
and get a look at you and your wife and
child. You may expect me• about the
10th of the month.
"Good gracious!" My uncle is coming
to visit me," I exclaimed, and its past the
10th of the month now ! don't know
at what moment he may pop in. What
am I to do for a wife and child ?
At that moment there cane a terrible
pull at the door-bell as if the man who
pulled imagined that he owned the house
and could make as much noise as he pleas
ed. A sickening sensation took possession
of me, for I had - a misgiving that it was
my uncle. Now as good fortune would
have it, Mrs. Kingsley had gone out to a
neighboring store ter a few moments, and
had requested me to have au eye on her
child while she was gone, so it wouldn't
fall out of the cradle, and hurt itself. As
I glanced at the cradle, and thought of
my uncle at the door, a bright idea enter
ed my mind. I determined, in ease the
ly occupant as my own.
The visitor proved to be my uncle. I
knew him by the pictures of him I had
seen, and he likewise knew me by ph
graph. After mutual recognitioi
hand shaking, I ushered hitn . intoi
for and introduced him to my new.
• •
cd ofi;ipring.
—There, uncle," saki I, "is the first
pledge of our married life. I assure you
I take pleasure in presenting to you my
,
"It is a fat little youngster," said my
uncle, gazing at it admiringly. "By the
wav what is it, boy or girl ?"
That was a knotty story for me to an
swer, for he was just as much acquainted
with its gender as I was. But it would
not. do to show ignorance on the subject,
so I answered at haphazard that it was a
boy.
+l-am sotry . it is a boy," said my un
cle; "there arc too many boys in the fam
ily, Now, if you had only produced a
little blue eyed 'girl, it would have been
more sensible."
assured him I was sorry the gender
did not suit, but hoped in the future 'his
wishes would be gratified.
So far I had succeeded in deceiving my
uncle, but the worst I feared was , that
when Mrs. Kingsley returned, she might
obieet to my claiming ownership in her
child, Besides, to carry out my deception
I must find a wife as well as an infant,
and Mrs. Kingsley was the only one I
mild conveniently claim. The only dif
ficulty was to get her to consent to the de
ception, and this might be done if I could
only secure a private conversation with
her Imfore introduced her to my uncle,
then it would be all right.
I watched my opportunity, and gained
an interview with her betbre she returned
to the roLni. I told her in brief and hur
ried words the extent of My difficulty, and
how I had taken the liberty of acting as
papa to her little one. I then told her I
must find n wife somewhere, and begged
her to allow me to introduce her in that
capacity. She laughed very heartily at
the suggestion, said she could comprehend
my difficulty, and consented to my propo
sal, and very roguishly warned me not to
presume upon the occurrence,
We then entered the parlor and l in
troduced her as my better half. My un
cle was very much pleased with bei• and
complimented me upon . my good choice in
the selection of a wife. Mrs. Kingsley
of course colored most charmingly at this
compliment, and I could plainly see that
she could hardly refrain from laughing.
"You have a fine boy here," said my
uncle to Mrs. Kingsley, pointing to the
cradle.
• "Excuse me, sir," she said, coloring up
again, "it's a girl."
I was dumb founded. I was exposed
after all. Would my uncle bel i eve
me after this ? He looked from me to
my landlady With a puzzled countenance.
"Your husband told me it was a boy,"
he sa=d, and rather suspiciously too, 4
thought.
"Well; I always took it for a boy," was
my reply, putting on a bold face, "but I
suppose my wife knows best."
Here Mrs. Kingsley lhirly screamed
with laughter, and my uncle's stern face
assumed an ironical smile.
"You are a nice father, ain't you ?" he
said touching me with the point of his um
brella, "not to know the sex of your own
child. Why I knew it was a, girl the mo
ment I looked at it."
"But, Charley," he said, Again address
ing me, "what did you do with the goldAt
and pap spoon I sent to the little one ?"
"Oh, they are perfectly safe, I assure
you," I replied. "I have taken good care
of them.
"Yes, but where in the deuce are they?
I would like very much to take anoth,er
loos nt them.
41. FAMILY NEWSPAPER--DEVOTED TO LITERATURE. LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWS. ETC.
WA.YNESBORO', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 10, 1873.
"Well, I hare .deposited them in a
bank for safekeeping,' but I can readily
produce them—that is—ju the course of a
week's time."
Hp told me to do so, as he wanted to
see them, and then I got out of the room
for fear that he might ask some more per
plexing questions.
4 short time afterward, Mrs. Kingsley
carne to me, when I was alone, in the ad
joining room And I saw immediately that
something very humourous must have
happened, - for the corners of her lips were
breaking into smiles.
"Do you know, sir, in what an Alt
ward predicament you have got me?" she
inquired, as she took a seat ou the lounge
by , my side. •
"Explain yourself," I said.
"Why, your uncle came to me a short
titre ago, and asked to see my marriage
certificate, and-he mid he had some mon
ey to settle upon us immediately, but want
ed to be sure everything was first right.
"Did you expose me ?" I inquired anx
"No sir, I did not, for I never enterin
to a deception or anything else by halves."
I was so elated that I could not with
stand the temptation of embracing her.—
This did not make her angry for she nes
tled her head cosily on my shoulder and
smiled serenely.
"Wha,t answer did you make him?"
asked.
She hesitated for a moment and then
said:
"I promised to produce the marriage.
certificate."
"But we havn't any," I remarked,
She indulged in a quiet little laugh to
herself, but said nothing.
"Mrs. Kingsley—nay, my dear madam
—no, I will call you tiarlit,g—we are both
in R. scrape, and there is but one way for
us to get out of it. s'e must go and get
married immediately. ‘Vill you be my
wife ?
".1. shall be delighted," she answered,
frankly, and se_zing both my hands, said
We lost no time I assure you. I don't
think %Irs. Kingsley ever got into her
'Sunday clothes in such a hurry in her
life. before, while I spoiled two pairs of
,4uspenders in my frantic endeavors to be
on time. We quite astonished .the par
eon by our haste, and at the conclusion of
the ceremony, I would have forgotten to
give him the usual "fee," if he had not re
minded me of it. '
We had secured the coveted marriage
certificate, signed and sealed, and were
LW safely out of our difficulties, as Ave
thought. •
We had omitted one precaution, as we
presented the certificate to uncle: It was
all right with the exception of the mod
ern (late.
"Why, how is this?"' said my uncle
gazing at the document through his specs:
"I thought you were married over a year
ago."
"So we were, uncle," I answered very
solemnly.
"How comes it, then, Oat the certifi
cate is dated to-day ?" he asked in a voice
of thunder.
We were struck. speechless, both my
wile and I.
"Come,'," said my uncle, "I see there
has been some trickery here. Own up to
it,'or I will never forgive you."
I did own up to it, and told him the
whole story. 1 expected it would make
him angry, but didn't; for he laughed
heartily, and said I was a clever rascal,
and he said he was proud of me.
"But how about the gold goblet and
pap spoon ? You havn't beep drawing
the wool over my eyes about them, too,
have you—eh ?"
I told the truth about the goblet and
pap spoon.
"Why, you are a regular trickster,"
said my uncle. "I believe you would de
ceive Satan himself. But I won't get an
gry with you, for I used to play the same
ga mes when I was young."
In a word, we became thoroughly rec
onciled, and my uncle settled upon me a
sufficient income to enable me to quit my
irksome duties as a clerk. He has nine
back to Vermont, and I can but say, go
conclusion, that, when he pays us anoth
ervisit, I can show several 'little people'
that I call my own, and without telling a
falsehood.
MAKE-UP OF TFjE BODY.—Supposing
your age be fifteen or thereabouts, I can
iigre vou to a dot. You have 160 bones
and 500 muscles; your blood weighs , 25
pounds; your heart is five inches in length
and three inches in diameter; it beats 70
times a minute, 4,200 times per hour, 100,-
800 per day, and 36,792,000 per year.—
At each beat a little over two ounces of
blood is thrown out of it, and each day it
receives and discharges about seven tons
of that wonderful fluid. Your , lungs will
contain a gallon of air, and you inhale
24,000 gallons per day. The aggregate
surface of the air cello of your lungs sup
posing them to be spread out, cueeed-120,.
000 square inches. The weight• of your
brain is three pounds; when you are a
man it will weigh eight ounces more.—
Your nerves exceed 10,000,000 in number.
Your skin is composed of three layers,
and varies in thickness. The area of your
skin is about 1,700 square inches, and you
are subjected to an atmospheric pressure
of 15 pounds to the square inch. Each
square inch of your skin contains 3,500
sweating tubes or perspiratory pores, each
of which may be likened to a little drain
tile, one-fourth of an inch long, making
an aggregate length of the entire surface
of your body of 201,166 feet, a. tile ditch
for draining the body almost 40 miles
long.
A careful lowa farmer, whose cow was
bitten by a mad dog, sold her to a butch
er in less than fifteen minutes thereafter.
110 W TO HEY. '
Wen you get married, don't marry ,a set,
A. jilt or a vixen, or yet a coquette,
But marry a maid, that is, if you eau.
More fit for the wife of a sensible mu..
Look out fora girl that's healthy and young,
With more in her eye than you hear, from
her tongue,
And tho' she's freckled or burnt to a tan,
Yet she is the wife of a sensible man,
With riches will wretchedness often in life
Go linked when your riches are got with a
wife ;
But marry and make nil the riches you can,
Like a bold, independent and sensible man.
Look out for a girl that is gentle and kind,
And modest and silent, and tell her. your
• mind;'
If she's wise as -bewitching she'll . welcome
the plan,
And soon be the wife of a sensible man.
Then cherish her excellence and wisely and
kind,
And be to small foibles indulgently kind,
For so you make happy, if anything can,
The wife of a sober and sensible man.
Ain't This Stewart's Crossing.
BY A BAY STREET BETADIER. .
Formerly we could never tell why so
many good things were related by steam
boat captains and clerks. We understand
in our elder days, and can readily see how
contact with all sorts of people naturally
bring awkward positions to those fre
quently-brought in contact with all man
ner of characters. Gradually the good
things are now tolling to conductor: ; rail
way travel having almost brought steam
ers to the banks And of the conductors
of the Georgia milrowis, it seems that
those on the S. W. IL It., while they have
possibly, the most pleasant general run,
suffer more from ourlandilh lolks, travel
' • ; I uthward to see ki»-folks than an
chiss which I have noticed. Some ays
since, just before the train ran from the
car-shed in Macon, I was disturbed while
reading the morning paper by the entrance
of an old lady, who was slightly deaf,
wondrously, fussy, and fearfully made; in
fact, very fearfully made for an old lady.
Chignon, pannier flounces, and all those
indescribable things which the younger of
Fashion's devotees so patiently bear, were
hung around her in profusion rare. Af
ter the train moved out the conductor ap
pealed at the door, and "Tickets" came
reverberating down the aisle. I took ad
vantage of the occasion to find out for
what point Mrs. • Joiner was bound, and
saw the ticket she handed the conductor
was -from Macon to Americus," but she
requested the conductor to let her know
when the train arrived at Stewart's cross
ing which is about four miles above A
mericus. This he of course readily agreed
to do.
engaged . the old lady in conversation
and found that she had • been married to
Mr. Joiner about two mouths, that she
was his third wife and be her second hns
band. Furthermore, I found she ha d
some relations in one of the lower counties,
and that a visit to them was the object of
her journey. She seemed anxious to make
as good impression on them as possible,
as she told me in the inocence of her heart,
because 'they were not as well pleased as
they should hair:, been at his third mar
riage, especially as he married rather au
old lady. We chatted pleasantly until
we reached Jackson—about the third sta
tion from Macon, I think, when I left the
old lady to her meditations. The next
station was Pewersville, and when the
train reached that point she called the
conductor to her and asked if -that was
Stewart's Crossing. I He replied that it
was not, and 'told her to give herself' no
trouble as he would tell her when they
reached Stewart's Crossing. In tact, that
us it was not a regular station, he would
come to her before they got there and let
her get ready in time. • I could see, how
ever, that she was nervous, restless and
excited. The train stopped at Fort Val
ley when she .grabbed her reticule, and
calling the conductor, wanted to know if
that was Stewart's Crossing. His reply
was very brief, but to the point:
•'lt is not, madame."
OW went the train again, and as the
whistle sounded for Marshalville the old
lady again grabbed the precious reticule
and called the conductor.
"Mr. Conductor, is this Stewart's Cross
ing ?"
"No ma'am, I will tell you when we
get there," was the amused conductor's
reply.
Away we sped, and Marshalville van
ished only to bring us, somewhat•bohin•l
tame, however, to Montezuma. The reti
cule was grabbed again, and again th 3
conductor called. In he came.
"Is this Stewart's Crssing, Mr. Conduc
tor ?"
"It is not, if you please, madame, T will
certaini , let you know when we get there;
so yon need not ask me," said the irritat
ed conductor,
• Oglethorpe was passed without the an
noyance, but when Andersonville was
sounded the old lady was in the highest
pitch of excitement, and as the conductor
was assisting a lady with three babies
through the car, she grasped his sleeve
with one nervous hand and her reticule
with the other, and asked with all the earn
estness of her. excitable nature;
"Mr. Conductor, ain't this Stewart's
crossing?"
The usually good-natured public &tic
tionary was vexed ; you could see it all o
ver his smoothly shaved face.
"No, ma'am, this is not Stewart's Cross
ing. I have told you I would let you blow
when we get there, so be quiet and give
yourself no uneasiness."
The old lady was twiething all over
with excitement as we steamed away and
left Andersonville vanishing behind. The
conductor .came and took a seat by me
and while discoursing au the comparative
merits of broad guage and narrow-guage
railroads, forgot everything else. At
length he looked out of the window, and
immediately grabbled the bell-line, ex
claimed ;
"Bless my life, we've passed Stewart's
at least a mile."
Stopping the train, however, he had
motion reversed, and we ran over a -mile
back to Stwarts Crossing, when ' he went
to the old lady.
•`Stewart's Crossing ma'am."
"Are we there ?" she asked.
Yes, ma'am hurry up and get off as
soon as possible; we are behind time, and
had to run back near two miles for von.
The old lady see - ned wonderfully calm
ed and said with the greatest simplicity :
"I don't want to get off here, I want to
go to Americus."
"Don't want to get off here ?" thunder
ed the conductor; "what in the thunder
did you want us to stop shere for ?"
"I didn't want you to stop here," she
replied meekly.
"What did you want to know when we
got here for then ?"
"Because," simply said the old girl, "my
hod man told me when I got to Stewart's
Crossing that it would be time to put in
my teeth."
. If you never heard a roar you ought to
have been on that train. Amid -the-fuss
the,;bell-cord had the most viclent pulls
that it experienced in some time. The old
lady reached Americus, was met by some
kin, who took her • off the conductor's
hands. He, however, pondered over it
well,' and 1 heard him tell the conductor
of the up train when they met 'that he
never would treat a toothless woman with
that veneration which they deserved a
gain, especially if she had a reticule and
wanted to know when he passed a way
station.
Could we but live our life over again,
starting from boyhood, how many an er
ror—how many mistakes would we try
to avoid. We wonder they do not com
mit more.. Many a spot in' the road of
life would be avoided. We should try to
be more brave—more earnest in defencb
of the right, and to protect.the weak.—
'There is 'iota boy but can do better than
we have done. There is not a man but
who can, by beginning at ont;e; build him-,
self up to a glorious position.
Furst, clear out from the heart all the
dirty rubbish. Leave off the slang, the
vulgarity, words which blacken and soil
the mind till it throws out malaria, and
fever, and poison, us do pools of stagnant
water. Keep the heart pure and the brain
active. Study for the best, and when you
have found it, work and study for some
tEing still better. Never be satisfied with
one '''(rood act—nor a hundred—nor a thou
&lnd. But add them together, one.after
another, till at last you will have a string
of pearls to lift you higher instead of peb
bles to sink you lower. Hearts, like houses,
can 'be built out. Minds, like homes, - can
be beautified. It is as easy to plant a no
ble ambition as to plant sordid desires,
and all those trees which bear but bitter
fruit. Remember that it is little by little,
inch by inch, but steadily upward. This
is the way the work of the man becomes
the mansion. This is the way the poor
boy becomes the great man. This is the
way the apprentice becomes the master—
the pupil becomes the master, and the in
telligence of mortals the power and un
known greatness of those who are immor
tal. Build your walls of good material,
and they will last. Keep out the rotten
sticks and that rubbish which has been
thrown away by those who have passed a
long 'before you. Be kind to the poor,
for every good act is a plant that will bear
blossoms' for our credit in the beautiful
beyond. •
By the hearth and fenders of many
homes in the country to-night are resting
boys, who in a few years will be the smart
est men in the land. They will be the
workers—the builders—the ones who will
be great and powerful iu proportion as
they take care of themselves. Then let
all the boys who read this clear away the
rubbish and begin building ror the glori
ous manhood of the future. That better
future when it will not be a sin fur man
to have ideas or to express them. That
future, which will be better when men
make it so. ThatTuture which is better
open' o the poor than the rich, as work is
better than play when men are to be made.
If all the boys ia the country would
build themselves into men in the most
glorious acceptation of the term, what a
country ours would be. Then there would
be no more prisons, or need for them. No
more poorhouses, for bad habits would
not make men paupers. No poverty, for
all would he thrifty. No armies of or
phans; no multitudes of drunkards who
make wives miserable, children wretched,
and mankind a disgrace to liumanity.—
We want every boy in the land to become
a rich, a good, a useful Man, and will do
our best to help them along on the road
that leads to peace, to prosperity, and to
the mansion there will be for every brave,
truthful, deserving, honest man in that.
more beautiful land, where are the Gar
dens of the, Rearin the new life, and the
better home for all of us who would be
remembered for the good we have done
before there comes to us on earth the fi
nal Saturday Night.—Pomeroy.
"Professor," said a student in fursuit
pf knowledge concerning the habits of an
imals, "why does a cat, while eating, turn
her head one way and then another?"—
"Per the reason," replied the Professor
"that she cannot turn it both ways at
Once."
T.he -.Old Fireside.
Not until separated can we appreciate
the sweet society of loved ones. When
far away from home, what pleasure to
think of. the old fireside—the family cir
cle, and if we are missed there. Who oc
cupies our seat? Perhaps a sister dear,
or a kind, warm-hearted brother, or per
haps it is vacant. And then we wonder
if we shall ever become a member of that
happy little group again.
Around the old fireside we have sat and .
listened to the counsels of a father, and
beheld the sweet smiles of a loving moth
er. But, alas! what changes time has
wrought! A chair is vacant which never
can be filled. That mother, is gone.—
Long, long ago, she left us to join the so
ciety of angels. And when night spreads
its dark curtain over the earth, and we
assemble around the old fireside, we wai
in vain for her approach. She comes not.
But,
When life's duties we have done,
We'll see her face again ;
In that eternal world above,
Where all is.love and praise.
Oh, how many family circles, knit to
gether in the bonds of friendship, have
th us been disturbed ; robbed of its charms
=but such is life. Like a buble upon the
ocean, or a meteor in.the sky, which are
seen but f'or a moment, so are the joys o
life. How ninny wandereis, who are with
out a home, think with what pleasure up
on the scenes which surrounded the home
of their youth_Liome,sweet-home-1 2 .
No name so endearing—no place around
which cluster so many enjoymouts-" there's
no place like home."
Let the bitter adversities of life toss us
to and fro, let friends forsake us, yet there
is a little earthly heaven, where we may
hid., ourselves—'tis'at home—around_the
old fireside.
Oh ! how sacred the' ties that bind lov
ed ones at home. In that fiimily circle,
where perfect love controls each heart, no
discord or bitter feelings are manifested.
Love is of divine origin; it emanates
od who is all love. Without this
principle formed in the soul, it is impossi
ble to enjoy the blessings of life. 'Tis this
that fills the mind of the wanderer as he
journeys in a far distant land, with con
soling thoughts, that there is a little group
clustered around the old fireside, when the
sun sinks behind the western hills, leaving
all nature in darkness, who would think
of him—and love him.
And he often wonders if he shall ever
again sit with them, and join their happy
music. .Years may come and go; but the
charms of home, and the endearments of
loved ones still linger, while memory lasts.
WHY SiECIE is SCARCE.—Here is a nut
for political economists to crack, be their
proclivities free trade or protection, from
the American Manufacturer :
From the middle of 1862 to the last of
June, 1872, the generous United States
paid Paris the enormous sum of two hun
dred and sixty millions. This somewhat
staggering amount was forwarded in gold,
on account of jewelry, laces, silks,gloves,
crapes, merinos, hats, human hair, and
miscellaneous toilet articles. This very
respectable bill does not include the gold
forwarded from our shores to the French
metropolis for wines, works of art, gentle.
man's garment and fabrics from which to
make the same. There is not a single i
tem in the aggregate of the two hundred
and sixty millions which could not have
been produced at home; or been readily
dispensed with--and that, too, with great
benefit, not only to the purse, but to the
health of the consumers. So long as our
people prefer to enrich foreign rivals at
the expense of domestic industry, so ion , *
must gold be transmitted abroad to settle
the. balance of trade against us. With
the exercise of prudence and common
sense Europe could, in tweivementh be
made a debtor w us for cereals and meats,
which she ocanno do without, and the
stream of gold traversing the Atlantic
from January to December would be fore•
ed to'reverse its current and flow hittiei
ward.
TILE GRAVE of "HIGHLAND MARY."—
Rev. J. W. Todd, writing of hiitravels
in Scotland, says : "The hotly of Highland
Mary, the early lingering light of Burns'
heart, moulders in the corner of Greenock
church-yard ; and whatever shadows gath
er around Ps memory and stain his titir
name, hers is without spot, and the deli
cious joys which she enkindled in his soul
seem to have been of the purest and lofti
est order—,lingerhig there like the reflec
tion of a glorious sunset when the dark
ness closed in and shut hini round about.
For it was far off iu the days of his life
that he tuned his lyre and sang:
"Wi' many a vow and locked embrace,
Our parting. was fu' tender;
And pledging aft to meet again,
We tore ourselves asunder.
But, 0, fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower so early !
And green's the sod and cold's the clay
That wraps my Highland Mary."
The path to her grave is trodden into
hardness by the feet of pilgrims from all
lands ; and on the slab which covers ;her
narrow bed is inscribed the unadorned
name of MARY, with these lines from the
•
poet's pen :
"0, Mary, dear, departed shag,
Where is thy place of blissful rest?"
QUEER. HOTEL—There is is hotel in
California composed of ten hollow trees,
standing a few feet apart. The largest of
these is sixty-five feet around, aid is used
as a bar and kitchen. For b9d-chambers
there are nine great hollow trees., white
washes or papered, and having doors cut
to fit the shape of theliole.s. Literature
finds a place in a leading stump duldied
"the library.'
•
Be punctual to your payintsits.
82,00 PER YEAR
NUMBER 4
Vogit a.ltd Snmor.
In Schenectady they mildly call a drunk
en man "the victim of misplaced benzine.'
If your uncle's sister is not your aunt,
what relation is4he.tolon.l She is . your
mother.
r Singularly none of the papers have yet
said that in these days of bustles.every
lady is a paper carrier.
An inaana man has invented ti-"spark
arrester." It is presumed he ,has a fami
ly of daughters.
rT 'Wouldn't you call flii9 the calf of the
leg?' Aced John, pointing to one of liis
nether limbs. 'No,' replied Pat, should
call t i at the leg of a calf.'
.*
One person havin asked another if he •
believed in the a e ance of spirits,"No,"
was the reply, "B believe in their Vis
appearance, for I'v m ed a bottle of gin
since last night."
It is conveni nt sometimes to speak the
English langila b with a sweet German
accent. A Teuto saloon keeper has
lost half his eustolne by boasting that
he keeps "de pest hause."
A teacher. ih struggling to make a
tough-braihed boy understand what con
science is finally asked, "What makes nu._
- feirtiaira - ft - ii - - hay
icettia - fra - ft - if you have done wrong?'—
'My papa's bic , leatherlstrap," feelingly
replied the lad.°
A a y having accidentally broken her
•melliug bottle, her hu§band, who was
very petulant, sail to her, "I declare, my
dear, everything that belongs to you is
more or less broken." "True," replied
the lady, "for even, you• are a little crack,
!" •
An old German while on his way from
Indiannapolis to Lafayette froze his nose.
While thawing the frost out of that very
I not understands dis ting. I half carry
dat nose fortrseven years and he never
freezed hisself before."
- A German expressman called at a door
to deliver a box. He said to the servant
who opened for him, "I have gota schmall
pox, and if you likes I will carry it up
stairs fbr you." . The girl, horfot-stricken
slammed the door in his face, as she fail- •
ed to appreciate the gift of small-pox.
"Sambo, whar you git dal watch you
wear to meetiu' lust Sunday?" "How
you know I hab a watch ?" "Bekase I
seed de chaiti hang . out de pocket in
from." "Go'way, nigger I S'pose yciu
see a halter round my neck, you tink dar
is a horse inside ob me?"
A man once took a piece of white clothq
to a dyer to have it dyed black. He was
so pleased with the result, that after a
time he went to him with a piece of black
cloth and asked to have it made white.=-
But the dyer answered : A piece of white ,
cloth is like a man's reputation: it can
be dyed black, but you cannot make it
white again.'
.A HINT Fon LAnnis.—A well-known.
German florist related his troublesin this
way : "I have so bunch drouble mit de la.;
dim van 'dey come to buy mine rose; day
vants him moondly, dey vants him har
dy, dey vents him doubles, dey vantq him
fyagmnd, dey vanta him nice gouler, dey
vents everding in one rose.' I hop&I am
not vat you calls you tufeitllant Ann; but
I have - somedimes to say to dat ladies,
"Madame, I never often' sees dat ladies
vat vas beautiful, dat vas rich, dat vas
good temper, dat vas youngs, dat vas clev
er, dat vas perfection, in von ladies. I
see her much more not !"
A negro minister who married rather
sooner after the death of his wife than
some of his sisters thought proper and
becoming, excused himself as follows:
"lly dear brethern and sisters, my grief
vas greater than I could bear. I turned
every way for peace and comfort, but multi:
came. I searched the Scriptures frtna.
Ginisee to Riverlations, and found plenti,-F;,:
of promises to the widder, but nary
to the widderer. And so I took it that''' .
the good Lord tip% waste sympathy on )
a man when it was in his power to com-
fort himself, and having a first rate chance
to marry in the Lord, , I did so again.—
Besides, brethren, I considered that poor
Betsy wus just us dead as she Would ever
be."
IF You PLEASE.—Boys and girls we
will print tin. you the last wards of the
Duke of Wellington, "if you please."
When the Duke of Wellington was
sick, the insulting he took was a little.
tea. On his servant handing it to him
in a saucer, and asking if he would have
it, the Duke replied,`•Yes, if you please."
These were his last wards. How much
kindness and courtesy are expressed by
them ! He who 44 commanded. great
armies, and was long eitcustomed to the
tone of authority, did not overlook the
small courtesies of life. Ah, how many
boys do ! What a rude toneof command
they often use to their little brothers and
sisters, and sometimes to their mothers.
They order so. This is ill•bred, and
shows, to Say the least, a want of thought.
In all 'vOur borne, talk - remember "If you
please." To all who wait upon or serve.
you,_ believe that "rf you please"' will,
make yell better served, - thau all the ems
or ordering words in the' hole dictionary, •
Do not forget thriiqittle words, ".I,f you.
please." ,
• "Speak mently ;it is better far-
To rule y love than fear."
_
quarrenk with' yotir *i 3 l b .
frr .