BY W. BLAIR.
VOLUME 26.
eled—po
DIE TWENTY TEARS ICO.
BY I'ARK WILSON.
Fond Fancy brings to dreaming eyes
A picture sweet and clear—
And, as I gaze, new beauties arise,
And many an image dear.
'Tis not of hoary castles gray,
Nor hamlet on the lawn,
Nor where the lingering moonbeams play
O'er ancient - tower or town
.I3ut sleepily, now in Summer's light,
• And now in Winter's snow,
She brings the home again to-night
Of twenty years ago.
of ! thou hadst no frowning wall
Sweet
No battlement nor mere;
But in thy hospitable hails
What gladsome light and cheer !
Bow innocent the mirth and jest,
how fondly beamed each eye, •
Bow kindly welcomed Was the guest
' Of !ow estate or high !
Oh, happy earth, if In thy round
tht such welcome know
As in that home each pilgrim found
Of twenty years ago.
And where are they ! The happy band
Who gathered round their sire,
And prayed for tale - of foreign land
Beside the evening fire;
The laughing girl, the bright-eyed boys,
The youth, the maid were there;
The tottering infant spread his toys
Beside his mother's chair.
33ut now how dreareach well known room
When fades the sunset glow!
For but one lamp fights up the home
Of twenty years ago.
One who had dwelt years afar
Found in thy shades a grave—
Some wander, where the evening star
Sinks in the western wave—
Scattered, perchaucejor aye are they.
Once gathered'neath thy roof;
For duty calls, and they obey
Her high but stern behooE
Yet from each heart prayers will rise
When Fancy does but show
That pictured home to dreaming eyes
Of twenty years ago.
,2/listtilaueous glading.
ONLY A MUSIC TEACHER.
BY NARY W. CABELL.
"Only the music teacher," said Mabel
Ainslie, in reply to an inquiry from her
-companion, as the door bell rang.
She sat :tete•a-tete with Russell Sydney,
handsome, high-bred, wealthy young
man, on whom the haughty belle •turned
her eyes with a softened bistro.
"The music teacher! A're you taking
lessons, Miss Ainslie?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, "and this is my
hoar. If you have nothing
,ipecial, to de,
however, you may. stay here and look at
the pictures, and read, till I'come. bgen
•erally get tired, and wind up my lesson
in about half an hour.".
4 1 love music so well that I would
gladly stay, even to hear you practice,"
►e replied.
• "Very well, but you must stop your
Sears when I come to the scales," said Ma
bel, la.ughingly, as she left the room."
Russell Sydneyadmired Mabel's beauty
.and elegance, with sufficient warmth to
Jiave•bis sentiments for her kindled into
love, if no adverse fates interfered; and
regard had now reached a critical
; point at which the scale must soon be
turned. He listened eagerly for the sound
4)f her voice, for music formed so import
ant an element in his existence, that he
wished the woman Whom he might choose
should poss es s a ,fine voice. Mabel's, how
.ever; disappointed him. It was correct,
but cold and lifeless. The electric spark
did not glow in its tones.
But ere long another voice broke' on
the air, so warm, so full of sympathy,and
.of airy, exquisite sweetness that he felt
himself carried irresistably along in the
tide of melody. nie song was Gounod's
delicious "Fruhlingslied," (Spring song,)
and as the singer went on, it seemed to
Sydney that he .could see thti fragrant
green and tender violets springing around
him. Snow and sleet lay on the ground.
The wintry Imes° sighed though the
bare tree; but all •thispassed from his
• consciousness, in the bright vision of the
spring, which this beautiful voice called
up. He drew a long breath of regret
when the song came to a close; but when
Mabel repeated it titer her teacher, altko'
she did so very well, as far as the ex
ecution was concerned, yet the spell was
brokeuthe snow, sleet and wintry wind
were no longer conjured away.
"Who is your teaches asked Sydney,
eagerly, when. Mabel returned. "As the
Mohammedans say of the angel Israel :
'Her heart-strings , are a lute, and she has
indeed the greatest voice of all God's crea
tures.'
Rash young man, to speak thus to one
woman in unreserved praise of another.
But Sydney was free from envy and jeal
ousy himself, and knew not the shoals on
which he was touching.
"She is Miss Alice Leslie," said Mabel,
coldly. "She is quite a good teacher, I
flink, which is very fortunate for her in
her reduced circumstances."
"Is her music all her livelihoOd r, ask,
Bydne
"Yes. Shells an orphan, and bee a lit=
tie brother and sister dependent on her.
Her, father was a dissipated man, and
made a complete wreck of his property;
but, fortunately, gave this girl some ad
vantages of education,
before he totally
squandered his estate. '
Russell Sydney seemed disposed to ques
tion Mabel further about:the young mus
ic teacher, but her replies 'were so brief,
that, after awhile, he could not avoid see
ing that the topic was unwelcome, and so
he dripped it.
Some weeks after this conversation Ma
bel gave a musical soiree.
"I don't wish to have Miss Leslie here
at all," said she to her mother; "but no
one else plays my accompaniments so
well. But, remember, mother, Ido not
wish her asked to sing."
When the guests were all . assembled,
there was one who booked strange a
mongst the gay company, 'a young wo
man dressed with lady-like refinement,
but perfect simplidit ; ; the face lit up by
• : . • • :I I :haded_ wav
_
black air that rippled on her temples.
The first song that Mabel sang was
Schubert's Gondola Song, one in which
the effect of the song is greatly heighten
ed by the weird rich beauty of the accom
paniment. So exquisitely did Alice Les
lie render all the gradations in this ac
companiment, that the majority of the
hearers listened more eargerly to this
IVairthirsorgTandlifter — W l "" L
_ _ _
ished. singing, a lady standing near beg
ged Alice to sing, adding that one who
accompanied the singity, of others so beau
tifully, must surely sing well herself.—
This request being' geconded by a large
' circle, Mabel and mother were forced
to let Alice comply.
Russell Sydney was one of the circle of
listeners, and he revered in a sea of 'de
light as she sang. Her repertoire suited
his taste admirably. Leaving the beaten
track of opera selections, she sang detach
ed songs and ballads by Gomm], Abt,
and Kucken. When she arose, be led her
to seat. and entered into conversation with
her. Poor Alice had had a weary lot.—
She had to buffet with the world for a
scanty living, and now when she met this
high-bred man, who treated her with a
courtesy as deferential as if she had been
a queen, and who listened with interest to
every word she spoke ; it was, as though
'a pilgrim, walking through arid sands,
had suddenly come on a clump of palms
and a sparkling spring.
Never had Mabel's beauty shone with
a brighter lustre than on this night ; but
her haughty, jealous heart chafed as she
saw Sydney bending over Alice, in long
and earnest conversation. She resolved
that never again should he *See Alice, if
she could prevent it, in which case she
felt sure that her own attractions could
speedily eradicate any impression the in
significant music-teacher might have made
.
on him. •
-
But fate defies all human calculations.
Not long afterward, Mabel went to a con
cert with a party of friends, Sydney be
ing of the number. Who should enter and
take seats in front of them, but Alice and
a lady friend, who had brought her thith
er, knowing her passionate love for music..
Alice, was sufficiently near for Sydney to
readily enter into conversation with her,
and gradually he transferred his atten
tions almost entirely to her,
as the con
cert went on; 'and he fouud that no one in
his party could enter into it with the keen
delight and subtle ; appreciation that Alice
showed. Her beautiful eyes kindled, her
cheeks glowed, her breath came quick and
short. There was a greater beauty in her
face, for the time, th an - in Mabel's. She
and Sydney enjoyed,' with kindred rap
tures, Beethoven's immortal seventh sym
phony, filled with such unearthly, myste
rious beauty that it sounded like angels
talking together. They entered with keen
ed enjoyment, into each note of Mendels
shohn's wonderful "Capriccio Brilliant,"
into the sweet, heavenly Kreuzer Sonato,
and all the selections from the grand mas
ters. Seldom were two persons gifted with
a finer musical intuition. The concert
had but one alloy to them, which was
that it had to come to a close. To Miibel
the dose was a relief. Her jealously and
chagrin bad so far mastered her as to
make her forget common good-breeding.
She threNt scornful glances on Alice and
whispered derisive remarks on her dress
and appearance. Sydney could not help
overhearing some of these, and they had
the effect of making him more deferential
and attentive to Alice than he was before;
and be wondered how he could ever have
thought Mabel so beautiful, when her ex
pression was so haughty and arrogant.
That night two different pictures might
have been seen.. One was a young girl
sitting in a chamber full of every appli
ance of luxury. Het elegant opera cloak
was thrown carelessly down, her jewels
scattered over her toilet table, and she sat
musing with a look of deep unrest and
bitterness. The other picture was of a
young girl in a plaice little atti&mom,
whose surroundings were of the humblest
sort; but her time was filled with dreamy
joy.. She had been lifted from her narrow,
daily life, into an atmosphere of wondrou,s
brightness, into a lovely fairyland. Tho'
she had to go forth again, next day, to
struggle tbr her bread, she carried some
bright memories that, for the time, raised
her out of the dust and turmoil. Beau
tiful strains of melody, and kindly tones
of voice, still rang through her brain.
So . for weeks she went .bravely and
hopefully about her work. But at length
a day came when she could no longer go.
She had never been very strong physical
ly, and exposure to the weather and in
sufficient food and clothing commenced
to tell on her frame. She struggled brave
ly against the inroads of sickness, but at
length she had to yield and lie prostrate.
A rixiiime Ti) LITERATURE, LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWS. ETC.
riiiNlitlN COUNTY', PL, THURSDAY, AUGUST 21, 1873.
WWI
,
It wrung her heart4o see, .the little ,boy
d girl who were dependent' ' her ef
fort,' They 'alit that childish •Care
and skill were capable of, but thoughts of
them increased her malady, for the terri
ble idea would flash over, her that she
might die and leave them destitute.
In 'the 4ist Stage of Alice's illness, she
had irittxi;.ivith tremulous fingers; to all
her eniployers (and they were • 'mot many
in this great:City where there was so much
competition;)i and had. explained, the rea-'
son why She temporarily discOntinued her
instructions but assured them, that she
would be at her post as quickly as possi-
ble. When she commenced a ,note to
Mabel, she. paused,. for Mailers ruden( i
had been such that she recoiled from hold
ing BO eommunkiiition With her. When
she. looked, at, the little brother and sister,
however, she conipelled herself:to put
side-her-pride,and_wiitk . •
During her illness Sydney asked: Mabel
several times, "where is your teacher ?
She seems never
.to•come here now." Ev
ery time he asked, Mii,W e the same
reply—she was fortified in her resolve to
never have Alice there again.
• the fir flush of spring, wile
At was in Ale first Hush of spring, when
Alice crept forth from the sick room. A
faint hint and whisper of the coming
sweetness and bloom lurked in the air.—
Still weak and faint, her strong resolve
bore her up, as she wended her way along.
Beside the necessity there was for .her.to
gain their daily bread, she had to work too
for the past. She was not able to give les
.
went, her reception was discouraging.—
The young lady either was or fancied her
self, too delicate to prosecute the study of
singing. It gave her a sore throat, she
said, so she had concluded to stop her les
sons. At the next place Alice was start
led to observe that the whole house was
shut up, and looked gloomy as a tomb.—
After ringing repeatedly, a servant came
forth from the alley, and informed her
that scarlet fevcr had broken out on that
street, and that her mistress bad gone a
way with all the children, to stay she did
not know how long. Alice had had four
pupils in this house, and she turned away
with a sickening feeling at heart. She had
a more cheering reception at the next
house, and then she thought she would go
to Mabel's before her strength entirely eb
bed away.
It was early twilight when she !mewl
ed the steps ; the first pale stars were be
ginning to gleam in the sky. After she
had waited for some time, a servant came
to the door to inform her that she need•
not come again, as Miss Bindle had pro
vided herself with another teacher. Stung
to 'the heart with this fresh blow, Alice
grew deadly pale, and turned away. But
Just as the servant had commenced to de
liver his message, a young man came up
the steps, and, as the poor 'little teacher
descended them, a kind, gentle voice greet
ed her. It was Sydney,'whose indignation
had been aroused by the; unfeeling mes
sage, and whose compassion had been ex
cited by Alice's pallor and feeblenesi
"Take my arm," said he, turnip& l' back
with her. "You do not seem '
, strong e
nough to go alone:7. , „.
Alum felt her strength, ebbing away to
such a degree, that she TfftB thankful for
the support of his arm and the support
of lib presence Was greater still. She
could • nerve herself against indifference
and unkindness, but , not against gentle r
ness and consideration. Her blended e
motions, joined with her physical weak
ness, made her burst into tears.
"Oh, Mr. Sydney, pray excuse me !"
she sobbed. out, after awhile, "and do not
think strangely.of, my conduct. I have
been very ill,. and am still weak, which
makes me act childish."
• "If tears are a relief to you, I. am very
glad for you to weep," said he, veiling his
concern and sympathy. under a light cheer
ful tone.
' "Deeds not words," was .the motto of
Sydney's life ; so now he set to work to
find . a delicate, yet efficient way, of help
ing Alice, and unknown to her, this zeal
ous friend was exerting himself for her,
while she was toiling on 'with her few re
maining pupils to gain a bare subsistence.
Sydney sought unremittingly for some
good employment, and by dint of keeping
constantly on the alert, he at length dis
covered an admirable opening for her.--=
The soprano in a fashionable choir became
fired with ambition to go on the stage,
and so deserted the choir. Sydney suc
ceeded in procuring this vacant place for
Alice, and so she waked up one morning,
and found herself rich, as .Byron found
himself famous. And, to crown her sat
isfaction, Sydney attended
. the church in
which she was to sing. Never before had
he been so devout in his attendance there
—never bad the thought of heaven, eter
nity, and the angels seemed so' near and
so real as when this 'beautiful voice sing
of them.
When he came to know her better, he
saw that her lovely harmonies were not
confined to outward embodiment, but that
there was a music breathing in her true,
pure and womanly heart;''and so Mable
found, that instead of choosing her, he
chose for his wife the woman whom she
had introduced to his notice as being, "ON
LY THEC MUSIC-TEACHER !"
Covington, Ga., has a colored debat
ing society. The question last diseusSed
by this august assembly was, "Which is
the more uceful; paper or gunpowder."
The president was for a long time in great
doubt as to which side had produced the
strongest argument, when one of the pow
der side arose and very gravely said:
Mr. President : Spose'dar was a bar out
dar at de door, and you was to go dar and
shake de paper at biro„ you'd see what,de
bar would do. But jes shoot a canon at
him and mark de result. I calls for de
question." -The president forthwith de
cided in favor of powder.
T 111) UNKNOWN WORLD.
O! by what glimmering light we view
That unknown world we're hastening fo ;
God hath locked up the mystic page,
And curtained • darkness round the stage.
We talk of Heaven, we talk of Hell,
But what they mean no tongue can tell !
Heaven is the realm where angels are,
And Hell the chaos of dispair.'
But what these awful words imply
None of us know before we die;
Whether we will or not, we mu:
Take the sueeeding world on trust.
Swift flies the soul—perhaps 'tis gone
Ten thousand leagues beyond the sun,
Or twice ten, thousand more thrice told,
zwit • s
But, ah! no notices they give,
Nor tell us when or how they live;
Thoughconscious-while-with us below
How much themselves desired to know ;
• - • , ontnt-uprby-solemt-fate,
To keep'this secret of their state.
To tell their joys or pains none,;
That man may live by faith alone.
Well I—let our Sovereign, if He please,
Lock up His marvelous decrees;
Why should we wish Him to reveal
What He thinks proper to conceal?
Heaven's brighter far than we conceive ;
And, 0 ! may God our souls prepare - -
To meet_ and bless and praise Him there.
Literal Answers.
A lady noticed a, boy sprinkling salt
on the side-walk to take off the ice, and
remarked to a friend,.pointing to the salt :
"Now, that's benevolence."
"No it ain't," said the boy, somewhat
indignant, "it's salt."
So when a lady asked her servant girl
if the hired man cleaned off the snow with
alacrity, she replied,—
"No, ma'am, he used a shovel."
The same literary turn of mind which
we have been illustrating is sometimes
used intentionally, and perhaps a little
maliciously, and. thus becomes the prop
erty of wit instead of blunder. Thus we
hear of a very polite and impressive gen
tleman who said to a youth in the street :
"Boy, may I inquire where Robinson's
drug store is ?"
"Certainly, sir," replied the boy, very
respectfully.
"Well, sir," said the 'gentleman, after
waiting awhile, "where is it ?"
"I have not the least idea, yer honor,"
said the urchin.
There was another boy who was accost
ed by an ascetic middle aged lady with,—
"Boy, I want to go to Dover street."
"Well, ma'am," said the boy, "why
don't you go then."
One day at lake George a party of gen
tlemen strolling amoni , b the beautiful is
lands on tife lake with bad luck, espied a
little fellow with a red shirt and a straw
hat, dangling a line over the side of the
boat.
"Hallo, boy," said one of them, "what
are you doing ?"
"Fishing," came the answer.
"Well, of course, said the gentleman,
"but what do you catch ?"
"Fish, you fool; what do you s'pose ?"
"Did any of you ever see an elephant's
skin ?" inquired a teacher of an infant
class.
"I have," exclaimed one.
"Where?" asked the teachef.
"Oa the elephant," said the boy laugh
ingly.
Sometimes this sort of wit degenerates
or rises, as the case may be,,into punning,
as when Flora pointad pensively to the
heavy masses of clouds in the sky saying,
"I wonder where those clouds are go
ing ?" and her brother replied,—
"I think they are going to thunder."
Also the following dialogue
:
"Hallo, there, how do you sell your
wood ?"
"By the cord."
"How long has it been cut ?"
"Four feet ?" •
"I mean how long has it been since it
was cut ?"
"No longer than it is now." '
And also when Patrick O'Flynn was
seen with his collar and his bosom sadly
begrimmed, and was indignantly asked by
his officer,—
"Patrick O'Flynu.! how long do you
wear a shirt ?" •
"Twenty-ei,ght inches, sir."
This reminds one of an instance which
is said to haie occurred recently in Cha
tham street, New York, where a country
man was clamorously besieged by a shop
keeper.
Have you any line shirts ?" said the
countryman.
"A'splendid assortment. Step in, sir.
Every price and every style. The, cheap
.
est.zn the market, sir."
• "Are they clean?"
"To be sure, Sir."
"Them," said the conntryman with't, , reat
gravity, "you had better put on one, for
you need it."
How many people wish . they were
healthy;
How many beggar men , wish they were
wealthy;
How many ugly ones wish they were
pretty;
How many stupid ones wish they were
witty;
How many bachelors wish 'they were
married;
How many benedicts wish they had
tarried;
Single or double life's full of trouble;
Riches are stubble, pleasure's a bubble.
Show Thyself a Man.
Now, there are two courses, either of
which you can take. One is to say:•"I
am not-living-nor-dressing so-well-as-my=
companions, and I must have fine clothes
and better fare." The other is to say;
with sturn manliness: "I have come here
to make my way in this world and hon
esty and simplicity require that I should
not live any higher than I myself can.
earn the means of living. I will he no
man's pauper or beneficiary. I will make
what I - take; and what I make and take
shall support me." The discipline which
you - get - from-the - latter - course-ofself-der
nial is better than going to college. Ma
ny a man cradled in learning gets no dis
cipline ; but a young man who, having
been reared and trained in self-indulgence,
leaves his father's house, and comes to the
cit Andea s " wilLbe_b_eholdento_no_
man . ; I can air, I I:
any man, both in regard to diet and
clothes, if it is necessary to my manhood,
and I will not have anything which I
cannot fkirly earn ; I will b - C — indepen=
dent and establish myself "—such a man
_ • ts a disci 'line which is worth a univer-
sctraucatton. :y ornung Al a purpose
and adhering to it, he is educating him
self in the very dements of manhood.-- 7
He is making a man of himself.
Do you suppose men think less of you
because you dress plainly? Fools may,
but men do not. Do not think your
chances in life are less beeause you fed
ashamed to show a man where your room
is and where , ou dee Wh man a
man has slept in a barn w o was • tter
than many another who slept in mansions
and palaces. A man ought not to lie a
shamed to say : "I um poor, and can't do
so and so." It is the curse of America,
since there are no orders of nobility here,
men are ashamed to admit that they are
poor. The 'young man defends himself
and says : "I am' not so poor as you take
me to be." Even sensible people yield_
to the temptation of the devil and are al:
shamed to acknowledge that they work.
Truths.
Every duty brings its peculiar delight,
every' denial its appropriate compensa
tion, every thought its recompense, every
love its elysium, and every cross its crown;
pay goes with performance as effect with
cause. Meanness overreaches itself ; vice
vitiates whoever indulges in it ; the wick
ed wrong their own souls; generosity great
ens ; virtue exalts; charity transfigures,
and holiness is the emence of angelhood.
God does not require us to live on credit.
He pays us what we earn as we earn it,
good or evil, heaven or hell, according to
our choice.
-It is truth which makes a man always
angry.
It is good•to know our friends' feelings
but not to publish them:•
It is better keeping out of a quarrel,
than to make it up afterwards.
If pride, were a deadly disease, how ma
ny would be now in their graves.
It is an evidence of great hardness to
be more concerned about our sufferings
than our sins.
What an absurd thing it is to pass over
all the valuable parts of a man, and fix
our attention on his infirmities.
If the - whole world should agree to
speak nothing but the truth, what an a
bridgement it would make of speech.
If you would have a thing kept secret,
never tell it to any one ; and if you would
not have a thing known of you, never do
it.
Wealth consists in sticking to one thing
"the poor man's budget is full of schemes."
The threatnings of God rest - upon the
same foundation as His promises. •
THE FIRST THOUSAND DOLLARS.—The
first thousand dollars that a young man
honestly earns, and saves over and above
his expenses. while earning it will ordin
arily stamp on his mind and character
two of the most important conditions of
success in sifter life—industry and econo
my. It is far better for him that he
should earn the first thousand dollars than
that it should be given him. If he earns
it he knovis what it is worth, since it rep
resents to him a very considerable amount
of effort. If he saves it while earning a
larger sum, he acquires thereby the habit
of economy. Neither of these valuable
lessons is taught by a pure gift. On the
whole, it is no very serious disadvantage
to begin life poor. Most persons who be
came rich in this country, were once poor;
and in their poverty they gained habits
from the stern necessity of their condition
which in the sequel resulted in riches.—
Those who were born with "silver spoons
in their mouths," and spent their early
years in idleness and prodigality, seldom
amount to much as men in the practical
business of life.
'PULL, ADAM, PULL."—There was a
lad in 'lreland, who was put to work at a
linen factory; and, while at work there,
a piece of cloth was wanted to be sent out,
which was, short of the quantity that it
ought tehave; • but the master thought it
;night be made thp,lengtb by little stretch
ing. , He thei4Ore nnrollea the cloth, tak
ing bold Of ima'end 'of it - himself, and piat
lag' the boy atthe Other. He then said,
oPull,'Adam; Punt", •
Tho master pulled with all his might,
but the boy stood still.
The master again said, "Pull, Adam'
Pull I"
The boy said, "I can't."
"Why not?" said the master.
"Because it is wrong," said Adam,.and
lie refused to pull.
Upon this, the master said he would
not do for a• linen manufacturer.; but that
boy became Rev. Adam Clarke, and the
strict principles of honesty of his youthful
age, laid the foundation of his future
greatness.
Billings'. Essay on Silence.
One of the hardest things for a man to
do, is to keep still
Everybody—wants-to-be-heard first, and
this is just what fills the world with non
sense.
Everybody Tamil to talk, few want to
think, and nobody wants to listen.
The greatest talkers among the feath
ered folks are the magpie and the guinea
hen, and neither of them are, rauch—ner—
count.
If a man is not sure he is right the best
card he can play is a blank one.
1 - have-kriown - many - a - man - to - beatin - .
an argument by just nodding his hear"
once in a while and simply saying, "Jr
so,just so."
It takes a great many blows to drive
a nail, but one will clinch it.
`Some _men talk_justas-a-Freneh-poi
Silence never makes any blunders, a
always gets as much credit as is due
and oftentimes more. 1/4.
When 1, see a man 'listening to mg
closel ralwa ,ssa to_m meif, "look out,
os , t at • ow is to mg your measure.
I have heard men argue a point two
hours and not get any further from where
they started from than a mule in a bark
mill ; they did a good deal4f_goingroun
and round.
Brevity and silence are the two grea
cards, and next to saying nothing, saying
a little is the strength of the game.
One bin, '2. ill. !El
thinkers who can afford to be 'net and
there have been but few volumes yet pub
lished which could not be cut down two
thirds, and many of them could be cut
down to the title page without hurting
them:
It is hard to find a man.of good sense
who can look back upon any occasion
rst
awish he had said more, but it is easy
to find many who wish they bad 'said
less.
A thing said is hard to but un
said it can be . spoken any time. '
Brevity is the child of silence, and is a
great credit to the man.
A Dutchman on Life Insurasace.
• A certain Dutchman, the owner of a
small house, had effected an insurance on
it of eight hundred dollars, although it
had been built for much less. The house
burned down, and the Dutchman claimed
the full amount for which it' had been
insured; but,the officers of the company
refused to pay any more than its actual
value—about six hundred dollars. He
expressed his dissatisfaction in powerful
broken English, interlarding his remarks
with some Choice Tutonic oaths. "If you
wish it," said the cashier of the insurance
company, "we will build you a house lar
ger and better than the one burned down,
as we are positive that it can be done for
even less than six hundred dollars." To
this proposition the Dutchman, objected,
and was at last compelled to take the six
hundred dollars. Some weeks after he
had received the money, he was called up
on by the same agent who had induced
him to effect an insurance'on his house.
This time the agent wanted him to take
out policy of life insurance on himself or
on his wife. "If you insure your wife's
life far $2,000," the agent said, "and she
should die, you would have that sum to
solace your heart."
"Dat be tam!" exclaimed the Dutchman.
"You shurance fellers ish all tiers! If I
inshure my vife, and my vife dies, and I
goes to the office to get my two thonancl
dollars, do I gits all de money? No, not
quite. You will say to me, "she vasn't
worth two thousand dollars: she vas worth
only 'bout six hundred: If you don't
like to take six hundred dollars, we vill
git yon a bigger and better wife!" .
A little girl was rebuked by her moth
er for her fondness for killing flies. The
little one had acquired great dexterity in
this employment, aad was so much occu
pied in it that the parent found that she
was growing into a state of cruelty. Call
ing the child to her side one day, she said
in a sad tone :
"Mary, my dear, don't you known that
God loves the little flies?" .
Mary seemed to hear the words as tho'
they suggested'a great many • new ideas.
She stood by her mothel's side for some
time, in thoughtful saddens, and at length
walked slowly up to the window, where ,
a bewildered fly was humming about on
the wind9w pane. She watched it lov
ingly for sometime, and then, almost too
full of grief to speak plainly, she began to
utter caressing words.
"Doz ee fly know dat Dod luves oo ?
Doz oo hive Dod?" Here she extended
her hand fondly toward the insect, as
if to strike away the terror that she felt
she had inspired. "Doz oo want to see
Dod ? We - 11"—in a tone of intene love
and pity, at the same time putting her
finger on the fly, and softly crushing it
against the glass—"well oo shall"
CAN SUCH THINGS BE ?-4. few clays•
ago, as we learn from the daily papers,
the scandalous proceeding of selling wo
men. took place in San Francisco. Young
girls brought $4 50, . middleaged women
$2OO and old women $lOO each. They
were Clams women, with delicate feet
and a fondness for rata.' We suppose. Is
it not a trifle disgraceful that a city like
Sam Francisco—boasting some of the bra
yest.and•most intelligent men and women,
and numbers of the best newspapers in the
country—should be guilty of permitting
such a scandalous proceeding within its
jurisdiction? We are inclined to think
this an unusual occurrence; but if such
actions are ordinary afEtirs, it would be
well to have regular quotations in the
California markets, so that the ,world may
know precisely how much flesh and blood
sells for in the El Dorado of the West.
$2,00 PER YEAR
\ •I and Suntan —.
Parental es—The old man's corns.
Cholera bn lets—green apples.
Singular., t'l ware meals make ro
bellies.
A tree that without blosso
•
The axietree.
'There is a linait a all thin;
the appetite for stro a drink.
A little bo • in ee
utoes i►
"Paring p,
Philodophy nEd
lant sentinels—warn
there exists something
is seen.
•v. ge o " i lam enn, !which is
now in a dilapidated condition in the
• • :t-of-the-great-warehou '
delphia, is used for a bier saloon.
A. good maxim of the late Horace Gree
ley:: "It is fir easier to maintain the prop
duetive capacity of a farm than to,ratore
it. To exhaust *fecundity and thßn at
tempt its restocation . ..by, buying tautly
commercial . fertilizers; is waatefulAnd, -- ir.:
rational.
An old, rough clergyman once took for
his textihat passagefof the Psalms,
said in mylaste all men are liars: Look
ing up, apparently as if he aaw the. Psal
most standing immediately before him,
he said: "You said it in your ha.ste;Thi-;
vid, did you ? Well, if you had been here,
you might have said it after mature refle,c
doh."
Recently, in a• street car, in Ai'add.;
phis, an old gentleman was seated in one;
corner, and the car was full. A. bevy of
fair ones of all ages and weights, swarm
ed in 'and there were no seats. ' Whereup
on the gallant old gentlemen said albud
"Ladies, I shall be most happy to give
seat to any one of you who is over thirty
two years of age." All remained stand
ing.
A school-bey being .requested to write
a composition upon the subject of "Pins,"
produced the following : "Pins are very
useful. They have saved the, lives of a
great many men, women, and children ; in
fitct whole families." "How so ?" asked
the puzzled teacher. "Why, by not swal.
lowing them." This matches the story of
the other boy who defined salt as "the
stuff that makes potatoes taste bad when
you don't put on any."
A mechanic died lately at the age of fif
ty-four, in Rhode Island, who had been
unable to do any work for twelve years.
and who had never received over 8.1,60
per day for wages, and yet ho left a snug
little fortune 01'515,000, all from his own
earnings. He was not penurious, was
married, had one child and educated her,.
lived comfortably, and (limed neatly.
He merely saved small sums. beginning
with $2OO, when he became of age, and
added the interests of his deposits to the
princjpal.
hater of tobacco asked an old negro
woman, the fumes of whose pipe-were an
noying to him, if she thought' she was, a
•
Christian?
"Yes, brudder, I ppecti I is."
"Do you believe in the Bible ?"
"Yes, brudder."
"Do you know that there is a 'passage
in the scriptures which declares that noth
ing unclean shall inherit the kingdom of
heaven ?"
"Yes, I've Beard of It." '' . ; 4
"Well, Chloe, you smoke, anion can
not enter the kingdom of heat/ because
there's nothing so uncleim as the breath
of a .smoker. What dayou say to that ?"
"Why, I expects.to leave my breff be
hind me,when I go to heaven."
A DUTCHMAN ox Stnics.—Dutch.Fritz
was asked what he thought of signs and
omens. "Veil, I don't dinks , mooch of
dem dings, und I did not pelieve everx
dings ; I dells you soinedimes' dere is dings
as does dings ; now de oder night I 'sits
und reads my uewsbaper, and mane frau
she speaks und says :—Tritz, der tog ish
howling!' I don't dings much ofdemdings
und I goes on und reads minetaioer; mid
my frau she Says: "Fritz, dere is • some
dings bad ish happeued—dat dog ishowl
iug.' And I gets up :nit myself und looks;
ouddo der ,wines on der porch, end• der
moon shinin', und my kale ! tog, hi?
schooloS 'right up and . down -like everr
dings, and he park at der moon •vat vas
shine so bright as never vast). And ash
I hauled , my bet in der vinder der fdt wtt•
man she tiay; '‘.lllind, Fritz, I dell you
dere is 'Someding pad ishhipPen: Per
togVell, I gong to ped;und
I shleeps, udd all night long von I vales
dere vas dat tog howling verger as never.
Und hi der morning I 'gits mine break-.
fast, und mine frau she looks at; me und
saw very. solzmn : dertt.jah - some:
ding pad ish happen. Der tog vas
all night.'' And shoost den deriaiiisbaPor
come :a, end I opens him—und by shings,
vat you dioks ? Dare was a man died iu
Philadelphia."
kl iii I :3 DI :401
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ossible
of a
coon.
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