C hilie f •I f •' r li t•. •. '4 :• • I . 1~ . ,• ? • ••• a• t _ Or' • • • ••• 7 • . • • • • T W. BLAIR,. VOLUME 26. c s•eliti LIVE LEAVES. The dtly, with its sandals dipped in dew, Has passed through the evening's golden gates, • And a single star in the cloudless blue For the rising moon in silence waits; While the winds that sigh to the languid hourS, 'Tile lilies nod to the sound of the stream, That winds along with lulling flow ; And either awake or half in a dream, I pass the realms of Long Ago ; White faces peer with many a smile From the bowers of Memory's magical isle. There are ashen memories, bitter pain, And buried hopes and a broken vow, And an aching beast by, tlie- restless-main And the sea - lireeie fanning-a pallidbr - ow; And a wanderer on the shell-lined shore 'Listening for voices that speak no more. There are passions strong and ambitions wild, - And the fierce desire to stand in the can , 01 the battle of life—and the beak of the child Is crushed in the breast of the struggling man; But short the regrets, and few are the tears, 'That fall on the ton_bs of vanished years. ''there's a quiet and a, peace, and •domestic love, And joys arising from faith end truth; .And a love unquestioning, far above The passionate dregiviings of the ardent youth; And kisses of children on lip and cheek, And parents' bliss whielt no tongue can speak. There are loved ones lost. There are litele graves In the distant deli, 'neath protecting trees, %There the itreamlet Iv - Inds and the vioLet waves, And the grasses sway in the suing breeze ; Alid we mourn for the pressure of tender And Tight of eyes darkened in death's e clipse, And thus, lie the glow of the daylight dies, And the night's first look to the earth is east, I gaze 'math those beautiful summer skies, At the pictures that hang an the wall of the past ; Oh, Sorrow and Joy, chant a mingled lay, When to Memory's wildwood we wander a way! • jtliscillautous Reading. JOHN'S WIFE. Miss Barbara Snyder sat in her straight backed chair before the fire, her head ,dropping,ber eyes el osed—to tell the trtith„ althcAugh she would have indignantly de ;lied it, Miss Barbara Snyder was asleep. Her maid, a hard featured, middle aged 'woman, who was moving about the room putting it in order, as she did fifty times a day, at her mistress' command, watch. ed her furtively to see that she did not .fitll in the fire. "Jane," said Miss Barbara, suddenly waking and sitting holt upright with un blinking eyes, "if he comes—and I am sure he will—don't let him in." "No ma'am," tumvered Jane submis- "Tell him be has seen me the last time, the hypocrite Fto pretend always to be so tOnd of me, and then to go ami'marry an empty beaded doll-baby ! Be sure and said him Luray, Jane." "'Yes,'inteatn." A sodded commotion in the lower hall interrupted them; a few bars of popular s►ir,'whistled in a masterly manner, a rap id clatter of boot heels on the stairs, and then a young gentleman, who might have rat as a model for a modern Hercules, rushed in, and falling over an ottoman, upsetting a chair, and making confusion worse confounded in the quiet room, dash ed at Miss Barbara and took her by storm. "Congratulate me!" he cried, after im printing half a dozen kisses on her with ered cheek. "Aunt Barbara, she is the dearut—" "You may go, Jane." Miss Barbara had recovered from the shock a tittle, and as Jane had retired, she folded her mit tened hands tightly together, and turned upon him. "Nephew John." There WI'S a comical expression of de spair on the young fellOw's face at this unpropitious beginning, but he said no thing. "Nephew John, I am disappointed in you! I am not angry, but I'm deeply grieved—" • .."Why, Aunt Barby !" The blue eyes of her listener opened wide, but she si lenced him with a stately g,sture. "Please be quiet—l wish to speak. I have done my duty to you, John (there Nvas a little tremble in her voice as she said this, but she went on grimly) and now you are just coming to manhood (John was twenty-six) and I had just be gun to trust in you a little, and now you desert me for a doll•bahy !" 'She is not:a doll-babr said the young husband, indignantly. "If you only knew her =you would love her.dearly;" — "Nonsence 1" the black eye:, snapped decidedly. "All girls are fools nowa days ; but no matter ; you have chosen be tween .us. My williis made, .and.l will not change it, but you will never .be a gain to me what you was before." There was real distress in John Bar ton's leait as he rose and stood before her. "If you only let me bring her here to you," he pleaded ; "I am sorry you are iao displeased. Aunt Barby, don't let this part us." "You have chesen." The Sphyns could not have looked more unmoved. "I ordered them not to admit you—you "If you will only hear me—" "But I won't! good afternoon." So John Barton left her, with her face turn ed away from him and her hands still clasped before her. Miss Barbara Snyder was proud. Miss, Barbara Snyder was wealthy. Miss Bar bara Snyder was fond of having her own way. But she was still a woman, and in her heart of hearts she loved John Bar ton, her handsome nepheiv, dearly. His mother, her only siiter,had died when he `ivas a little child;' and - his father dying soon after, Miss Barbara had, in a fash ion, adopted him. She indulged-him from the day of his entrance into her house ; she had watched over him and made him her one object in life. He . had been the gleam of sunshine in her life, and to his honor be it said, he bad never been un worthy of the love and confidence which she gave him. "Aunt Barbara" was to him the only person in the world, and al though people marveled at the affection of the bright faced young man for his grim ila pit;it woo - -Zoe id tr old alifit, it was genial anL. rue. lie had gone through college in a thorough ly satisfactory manner, and afterwards had settled down into as steady and trust worthy a young business man as' there was in. the city, and for three years had behaved entirely according his aunt's wish in every respect. One day, however, the peace and tran quility of Miss Barbara's household weib broken by a rumor which came to her ears. John, her John, was paying atten tion to somebody I She was at first in credulous, but as the days went by she was forced to believe it ; for one night John, sitting at her feet, his yellow hair shin* in the fire-light, told her with much confusion and embarrassment that "be 11`118 going to be married." Miss Barbara was a good woman, but she was very whimsical, and a little sel fish, and above all, very jealous of her own dignity, and the knowledge that Juo. had asserted his own independence, and actually planned out his future without consultino• b her beforehand, was a hard thing for her to bear. She was not pa tient nor forgiving, and the result of John's confidence was a very, unpleasant scene. She who had never spoken harsh ly to him before, overwhelmed him with hard, bitter words, and then, when he was gone, wept herself to sleep over. his "ingratitude," as she chose to call it. When at last he was really married; her anger knew no bounds, and his first visit utter that event, ended as we have seen. The days passed slowly after John, with his bright face and -ringing voice, was banished, and Miss Barbara at this time half regretting her harshness, etc., was often tempted to send for him again ; but her obstinacy, or pride, as she called it, prevented her, and so she fretted and worried until Jane was almost dfiven to distraction by irritability and unreasona bleness. She was so cross, so hard to please, and , so "awfully savage," as John would have said, that Jane became at last worn out, and one day, when her' duties were unsually hard, she surprised her mis tress by packing up her inova.ble proper ty and departing from the house. • Then Miss Barbara was wretched. For three days she sat in solitary state, and .then sending for her lawyer, directed him to insert au advertisement in the leading pa pers to the effect that she wanted a "young, neat and la ly-like person for aa, compan ion." "No more old woman for me," she said savagely, in response to her lawyer's look of surprise, "after the behavior of Jane, who has been with me for thirty-nine years," and then authorizing him to ex amine each applicant, she sent him away and waited. Two days afterwards the lawyer return ed, accompanied by a tall slender young woman, who had come to see if she (Miss Barbara) would engage her. Miss Barbara's black eyes looked keen ly at her for a moment, and after inquir ing sharply into her antecedents, referenc es and the like, Miss Alice Worthington (as the lawyer called her) was duly in stalled in the office of "companion," and a most delightful companion she proved to be. Miss Barbara was at first disposed to be .a bit critical and captious ; but the young girl was so anxious to please, so sweet tempered and amiable, so quiet and self-forgetful, that Miss Barbara's severi ty melted away by degrees, and at last slle began to love her attendant and to try in various little ways to make her con tented and cheerful in her new home. "Alice," said she, one day, as the young girl sat opposite her before' the fire, "how old are you ?" "Not quite nineteen," and yet so quiet and dignified and womanly. It was al most incredible. Miss Barbara looked at her again,•and with a new approbation in her face, saw how.pure and sweet the fair face looked, with the sky-blue eyes half hidden by the white lids; she saw how smoothly and plainly the brown hair was fastened back, how neat and trim the *.mikain t le tirrospionigairvorrED To. .iiTEßArustz LCIC.A.L .LPM-PrEN'EILLTa NEWS. ETC. WAYXESBOR(4 . r ' 1 tpUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1873. darkdreas, how snow, .were the .cuff's and the narrow collar, and her heart was filled. - whir - wonder..., A- girl. in the, nineteenth century without a ruffle, a,puff, a crimp, an, Overskirt, 'a sash, or sus:0010n of a panier about her! Truly, wonders would never 'cease: As she gazed on this rara' avis her heart was filled with pity, for poor . John, who had thrown himself away. "She's just the wife for him," shd tho't ; "if he had only waited a little he•would have liked her, lam sure ." And then__ she dismissed the thought with a sigh, and turned to. Alice, for consolation. As, the days, went by : Miss Barbara's heart began to yearn tor' her nephew.— She loved Alice dearly, but even she did. not take the place of the absent one. His handsome face haunted her day and night, t.• _ . • rd a sudden nouse iu the hall or at the door, she would look up eagerly, half expecting' to see him, as she used to. "I am getting old," she said to herself. "Perhaps I' was a little hard with him, 'my boy. "I'll ask Alice." And so one night she called Alice to her, and as she sat at her feet in the fire light, as John had often, she told her 'all abOut, - and how she longed to see liimaa gain. -- - • . "I'm getting old, Alicersbe sail. "I may soon die, and I want to see my boy: Perhaps I was wrong ,about his wife. It would do me know harm to see them once, Alice." And Alice. answered gently that per haps it would be better for the.. . SO ; but she avoided her "kind friend's eyes, and there was a.scarlet flush on her face that was unusual. The nest day Alice, under Miss Barba ra's directions, wrote a little note to Jno. Barton, "Tell him to come soon," she said ; and it - AlicewrotethisMissßarbara - sat - and thought intensely foi a time, her face rest ing on her hands. "Tell him," • she said again, "tell him lie may bring his wife if he likes—l can at least see her to please him." And so the note was written and the messenger dispatched. After this decisive step was taken Miss Barbara was in a flutter , of -nervousness all the time. She donned her richest dress, her most costly cap, and then sat expectant, until she heard John's step on the stairs, and John himself came in as of old. Of course there was a few minutes during which they both talked at once; and then, when the first excitement was over, Miss Barbara suddenly grew grave. "Where's your wife," she asked in her old grim way. , , John rose and rang the bell. "She's down stairs. IWA her to stay till I sent for her." And then as the servant made his appearance, "Show my wife up." . Miss Barbara .waited quietly. "Yon will love her a little for my sake?" pleaded John, as a light footstep was heard nt the door; and"then, greatly to Miss Barbara's surprise, Alice Worthing ton came in , the room. "My nephew, Mr. Barton, Miss Worth ington," she said, then turning to. Alice : '‘.l . am engaged now, and'you may be ex cused." To her surprise John coolly put his arm around the waist of his pew acquaint ance and led her across the room. "Al ice Worthington Barton, Aurit Barbara," he said ; and then, with the old mischief in his eyes : "Love her a little for my sake, please." There are children's voices in the great house now, and Jane; who was in the plot and- ii now back in her old place, and Miss Barbara pet them almost to 'death, while John, the rogue, teases his aunt laughingly about the "doll-baby" to Which she considered , him sacriffeed. But if there is any person who Miss Barbara loves as dearly as "her boy," 'tis the sweet-faced, gentle girl whom that bQy married. To her mind all feminine grades and virtues are posessed by "John's wife." To A. COLD-FOOTED LADY.—Madam, says Die Lewis,"allow me to prescribe for you. I have had a long experience in the management of delicate women, and believe I can give you some important advice. For the present I prescribe only for your feet. Ist. Procure a quantity of wool en stock ings—not such as you buy at the stores under the name of lamb's wool, that you can read a newspaper through, but the kind that yourAnnt Jerusha in the coun try knits for,you, thick as a board, that will keep your feet dry and warm in spite of wind and weather. 2d. If you want to he really thorough, change them every morning, hanging the fresh ones by the Are during the night. 3d. Procure thick calf-skin boots, dou ble uppers and triple soles, and 'wear them from the first of October till the first of May. Make frequent applications of oil blacking. , 4th. Avoid rubbers altogether, except a pair of large rubber boots, which may be worn for a little time through snow drifts or a flood of water. sth. Hold the bottoms of your feet in cold water half an inch deep,just before going to bed, two or three minutes, and then rub them hard with rough towels and Your naked hands. 6tir. Now, madam, go out freely in all weathers, and, believe me. not only will Your feet enjoy a good circulation, but as a consequence of the good circulation in the lower extremities, your. head will be relieved of all its fulness and your heart of its palpitations. Your complexion will be greatly improved and your health made better in every. respect. Spanish proverbs:—"lie, who has noth ing to do, let hini buy a ship or marry a wife." "From many children and little bread, good Lord deliver us." "A fool is never at great one unless he knows Latin. TIE :AGED., Oh. pais ye by the aged With gentle step and slow ; ' They have the burden of Years to bear, And the tide of their life is low, Speak kindly as ye greet them, • For their world is ditn and cold, And a beaming look from a youthful heart Is the sunlight of the old. And comniune with the aged; Ask-them of days gone by; *You, know not what a store they have Of hoarded memory ; Of hopes, that like the rainbow shone, Only to fade in tears; And love and sorrow, change and death, Bind their long scroll of years. And learn ye from the aged How with a tranquil eye They look back on Life's stormy sea • And all its vanity; The hope deferred, the dark despair, The daily toil and strife, They are buried all in the waves of time .Of the aged ask of life ! And pray, ye for the aged; - WitlifOtre' ring steps they stand: • Upon the very borders Of the Everlasting Land. Ask for them strength in weakness And Faith's supporting rod ; And through Death's cold dark water The strop' riht arm of God. A Pathetic Frontier Incident. Mr. John W. Van Brocklin, of Twin Bridges, a short distance away from Vir ginia City, Nev., was helping to build a church at Sheridan, and was away from home with his wagon and team from Mon day merning — till—Saturday--night. He he'd been several weeks so occupied. He was, therefore, absent from his wife, and two little children, the eldest five years old, all week, except Saturday nights and Sundays. Mrs. Van Brocklin and the children enjoyed good health, and the hus band and lather had, no fear for the safety of the birds in the home-nest. There were near neighbors, too. On Saturday even ing the two children used to toddle a good distance along the road by which their father came, to meet him and get a ride home in the wagon. On a late Saturday Mr. Van Brocklin was returning' home as usual, and the two little fellows had gone quite a distance to meet him. He stopped to take them in the wagon, and, as he lifted them up, he asked, "how is mamma?" Two little voi ces replied, "Oh, papa, mamma's dead." He thought he did not hear correctly and asked again, "Your mamma ?" The lit tle voices , chimed together, "Yes, paj'm, mamma's dead in the , bed." Van Brock lin hurried his team home. - He found his fe indeed in bed insensible, and fast sinking in death. She was there alone ; no neighborA,,were near. He called loud ly for help—the neighbors were alarmed, a doctor was ,summoned, but before he arrived the poor woman had passed away. The doctor said her attack was of a paralytic nature. This is the children's story, gathered from them by odds and ends : On Thursday evening, Mrs. Van Brocklin called her children to her, and told them she was sick, and to run and call the nearest neighbor. Then she fell down on the bed. She never said any thing more to them, and they at first thought she was asleep. It was growing dark and they were afraid to go for the neighbor. They slept in their clothes, and tried to awaken their mother in the Morning, but she would not rouse. They ate what they could find cooked in the house, and drove up the eo.vs morning and, evening to be milked ; but there was nobody to milk them, and at the usual time they turned them out into the pas ture again. The *neighbors seeing their children at their usual daily tasks, supposed, of course that all was right with them at home, and it so happened that none of them called. The oldest began to be a little frightened, and suggested to the other: "\Vhat ii Mamma should be dead? She must be dead or she would waken up ;" and so the• l ittle boys came to the conclusion that their mother had gone away from them, and wondered what papa would say when he heard of it. Their curiosity .on this point was excited,' and, with their hearts full of news, they started out to meet their father coming home in his wagon. They had been about forty-eight hours with the shadow of death in the house, and were not old enough to realize what it meant. DROPPING OFF.--From youth to old age, men see their friends and acquain tances "dropping • off" the stage—going to their long homes, leaving a temporary blank in their sphere, soon to be filled by others. The healthy and robust antici pates long life; the delicate and effeminate expect, by care, to preserve their lives; the sickly resort to remedies to restore health, and those who are old and feeble hope to ,prolong their days. All look forward and act as though "living to an old age" was the rule, and dying -- or at middle age, the exception. succeeding year makes' inroad; short-sighted calculations; and out notice, snatches his victims, of class or condition of he taking the most robust and ht. and those in apparently poor h, All should live in'readiness departure, whether the call coi, or later. The present is the bean prepare : , Those who have stun uncertainties of life, and have themselves for a summons to appeal th' Supreme Ruler of the Universe, qualified to attend to the duties , ness of life, are the best citizens most useful medbers of soziety. What Molloy Cannot Do. Many, malty things can money do. It can transform the wilderness, drain the morass, cover the desert with blossoms, rear up suddenly splendid dwellings, where only hovels were before, fill them with delicacies, fill them with flattering friends. But thour money can do al most all things, it cannot make young trees old, nor old folks young. Here am, I surrounded with old, old elms, huge in trunk, with vast branches, each large as a tree, stretched out afar, to gain soMe light and liberty, and yet all feeding 15y the same root. One looks up into this vast canopy as into the nave of a cathedral ; yet no cathedral was ever so beautiful.— What architect would dare stretch out stone as these branches do ? With their . 11 11 •1: • • -ight-they-lie-upo.- seemingly light as a feathery spray. Run your eye from their summit back to the trunk. What immense leverage ! Upon these huge arms winds play and storms have wrought. Out of these rude and shapeless things storms have even evoked music. All along the weather-open spac es, moss in green patches lies along the rugged boughs, poor and weak in itself, yet able, of its mere beauty. to add grace to this giant tree. It is too high for sing ing birds, which love lower trees and shrubs ; ut squirrels live here, having homes in the holes left in the branches where storms have broken off former com panion boughs. Mighty as this tree is which throws its ,rotectin. arms over the house, it was once a riding whip, w is w• en us • an hour was stuck into the ground, took root, and behold, here it io ! I look envi ously upon this and its companion trees. No money can build such as these. Na ture cannot be bribed to furnish them to order. While waiting for them we die ? -* • -:ho 1 , k ve_ancestors. No matter about what they put in their wills, if on ly they will plant enough trees, which, when we come along, shall be old and huge! _ Young trees and young men are got up too nicely—trim and snug. Only when a tree opens its top, and lets the sunlight clear into its very centre, does it begin, to be noble. Old trees! unlike old men, they have no infirmities. Their strength does not depart, and their glory abides ! Happy are they who frolice under' them in childhood, and who sit in old age calmly beneath their shadow. We give out something of our life to the things, which surround us. Aud trees, water brooks, beetling rocks and dwellings reg ister our.thoughts of sorrow, or our great joys ; and, in after years, we recall much of our inward experience from the voice less teachings of inanimate things.—ifen ry Ward Beecher. A merchant sat at his desk. Various letters were spread before him. His whole mind was absorbed in the intricacies of his business. A zealous friend of religion entered the office. "I want to interest you a little in a new effort for the cause of Christ," said the good man. "Sir, you must excuse me," replied the merchant, "I'm too busy to attend to that subject just now." "But, sir, iniquity is on the increase a wing us," said his friend . "Is it? I'm sorry, but I'm too busy at present to do anytbino." `•When shall T calragain, sir ?" "I cannot tell. I'm very busy. I'm busy everyday. Excuse me, sir, I wish you a good morning." Then bowing the intruder out of the of fice, he resumed the study of his papers. The merchant had frequently repulsed the friend of humanity in this manner.— No matter what the object, he was always too busy to listen to their claims. •He even told' his minister that he was too busy for anything but to make money. But one morning a disagreeable stran ger stepped very softly to his side, laying a cold, moist hand upon his brow, saying, ''Go home with me." The merchant laid down his pen, he dizzy, his stomach felt faint, he left luting room, went home and retired Id chamber. 'welcome visitor had followed . )1; his place by the bed-side, `You must go home with me.' settled on the• merchant's ships; notes, houses; and his mind. Still his Lis heart heavily, thick • eyes— his tongue in the merchant his strange and I'm too. Busy. gion had all means and lath came •,eled to What Josh Has Seen I kno ov people who, when they do yu a favor, do itjust az an old bull tamer lets you pass in front ov hiz master's door —with a growl. It iz only the hilt' eddikated, and the very best bred people, that kan be famil iar with each other, familiarity breeds kontempt, amung the haff breeds. The wheel ov Fortune iz alwuss on the move, and we often lose to-morrow what we win to-day. I hav alwuss notissed that thar is a grate deal ov good luk in industry, and a . grate deal ov bad luk in lazyuess. It iz az rare tew find a trew friend as it iz a diamond that has no flaw, and isn't oph culler. He who iz every bodd • .• • : -rm-y-bodl Thare iz no trew friendship amupg loa fers and skalawags, thare is only )ntima• cys. Thare iz no man living now days that kan tell the world enny thing new ; the very heft that a modern writer kan du iz tew shine up old things. Solomon, seven thousand years ago, af terplundering from those who had writ ten before him, laments that thare iz nothing nu under the sun." "When I hear a man say that "he has got friends," I Irma tew the konelusion rite oph that he don't deserve enny. Don't tri tew make a friend out ova , weak man, it iz like trieing tew carry Wa ter in a seive. One reson vhi happiness is so skarse -- 11 7 1" . *I - M7';'77-7.ir"'".^i7 • take plezzure for happiness. Trew generosity konsist in giving what yu kan afford to thoze who deserve it. Mi young friend, look out for them men who shut up one eye, and talk to yu with other. Happiness seems to konsist in—wanting nothing. Health will bring munny, but munny won't health. Do not Worry. Do not worry. Be easy. Matters may not be smooth ; clouds may abound ; trou bles may come; but be easy. Ease will give rest and strength. Worry lessons our fitness to bear. We all might do bet ter where we often do ill, in this respect. Life is full of care, and we are called to bear a part therein. How easy to attend to one thing at a time. How often we for get this, and brood over a heap . of vexing matters that may come. There Is a strong call upon man for trust in life. We must believe that success will, in, the ordinary course of things, attend our efforts, It is easy work to imagine brother Johu or fa ther C. in going with hay to market, tum bling from the load and breaking their limbs. But we think it easier to suppose they beveled ample success, and cheer fully await their return. The existence we bear in life strictly forbids us to har bor, ill forebodings. "Be glad and joy fur should be our motto. The Great Ruler loves to see his children happy.— There is not a shadow sent from any quar ter to fall on mortal beings, that may not be so turned or passed aside as to reveal some hidden blessing or treasure. Cour age, brother, in thy work. Hope ever.— High attempts are thine Lessons of love mingle with thy hardships. Futurity will loom before thee with her drawings of cheer. Guide in the path of progress. Dismay should be left behind.—A.Thrming Star. OIIT AT noig.—Fathers and mothers, look out for your boys when the shadows of evening have gathered around you I Where are they then ? Are they at home, at the pleasant social fireside, or are they running the streets ? Are they gaining a street education ?If so, take cure; the chances of their ruin are many. There is scarcely anything so destructive to their morals as running abroad at night. Under cover of darkness, they learn to be rowdyish, if not absolutely vicious; they catch up loose talk, they hear sinful thoughts, and they see obscene things, and they become reckless and riotous. If you would save them from ruin, see to it that.night finds them at home. More than one young man has told (the chaplain of the State prison that here was the beginning of his downward -course, that finally'brought him to the felon's cell. Let parents solemnly ponder this matter, and d. - all they can to make home attrac tive to all the children, so attractive that the boys will prefer it to roaming in the streets. There is no place like home, in more senses than one—certaily no place like home for boys in the evenly,. LoAnn3.---We quote the following from an exchange, and We recommend it to all our readers : "Young man, pay attention. Don't be a loafer; don't keep a loafer's compa • elves ny; don't hang about loafing places. Bet. 'hen ter work than to sit around day after day, -. la or stand about corners with your hands in your pockets—better for your own health prop.pects. Bustle about if you have 'thing to bustle about for. Many a • physician has obtained a real patient (ding after an imaginary one. A. quire paper tied with a red tape, car tuder a lawyer's arm, may procure is first case and make his fortune. the word—".to him that bath shall " Quit 'dreaming and complain busy and mind' your chances." is above advice and . then all Idleness is the mother of rising young student, of nature Orleans amuses himself with a rat, which, from his place of eon. at, he draws across the sidewalk people are passing. Women shriek they see the rat, and men violently - it with sticks and umbrellas. Wit nud nrno ' r. "Don't get above your business P' as he lady said to the shoemaker Who was measuring her ankle in ordei to ascertain e size of her foot. Siam is an 'ungallant °mazy. There the first wife may 'be diverted, and after that every wife may be sold for cash or for a yellow dog. If we thoroughly examine, we shall find , that pride, policy, and power are three principal ingredients in all the dis turbance of churches. 's friend haint long time to bring your mail from the postoffiee, don'treprove him for being slow until you find out how many postal cards he has had io read. A keg of birch beer expliked on a Jer ky City fruit stand, recently, doing dam age to the amount of fifty dollars. We ,bave known the wonderful power of birch from the time We were a boy, when a very small piece would often make us explode. ."Doctor wants to know if you . will please pay this bill now ?" Old gentleman looks over the items and repl ies:- "Tel Motor I will, pay him for his medicines and return his visits. "Mary, my dear," said a doting hus band .to the lady that owned him, "if I turn Mormon and marry another help mate, she shall be a Mary, too, foryour own dear Bake!" "Be content with one Mary, my duck," said the loving wife; ±!.in_m_y_opinion,_another_would_be_nierely_ a super-new-Mary." The "India-rubber bustle" is again heard from. This time it was Brooklyn young lady, who waq thrown from her carriage coming down the hill from Pros pect Park. She made 9n bounces, in all, and was filially rescued by a hook and ladder company, from the top of a telegraph pole, where she had stuck in at tempting to complete the 98th bounoe. A man in• Cincinnati owned a pet pan ther. Last week he went off with- his wife and family for a visit of a couple of days, leaving the pet." panther and his mother-in-law to keep ; house. On his re turn his grief can be imagined on discov ery that it was the panther that was dead not the mother-in-law.' The old lady bad talked the poor animal to death. The comment' of a colored preacher on the text "It is more , blessed to give than to receive" is 'inimitable fo r t. its point as well as eloquence : "I've known many a church to die 'cause it didn't give• enough but I never knowed a church to die 'cans it gave too much. Dey don't die dat Bredern, has any of you'knowed a-ehurcli to die 'cause .it gave too much ? If yei , do, ,)t et me know, and I'll make a pi"- grinfte to that church, and I'll climb by the soft light of ile moon, up de moss-oov ered roof; and I'll stand dar, and lift my - hands to heaven and say, "Blessed are de dead dat die in de Lord." , • In a vigorous chase after rats a 'bay broke down a shelf in the cellar and ini inolated six jars of preserves. He gazed on the ruins without a sigh, caught and, killed the rat, laid it among the debris, and daubing his faithful ; ' dog's nose 'and legs with the fruit, sent him • up stairs, while die boy . hid iu the coal shed. Ho heard feminine shrieks of 'dismay; he heard the wrathful abjurgatious 'of his sire; he heard unsuspecting dog led into the back yard and shot, and spreading forth his hands, said solemnly: "Another victim of circumstantial evidence." That irrepressible pOet is still 'at it:— He says : 'There is many ,a love in, the land, nav love, But never such love, ,as this is; then kill me dead with love; my love, And cover me rip with kisses,'';:.' We hope his love will him *dead ) -- . .it would be much mom satisfactory to us than if she were to kill him alive—but instead of covering him up with kiisei, she, will, if she is a sensible girl, cover him with about six feet of earth . and gravel, so that he cannot get out to writo any more such killing stuff: A man ; 'killed dead,' and covered with nothing hut kisses, would be apt to be removed by the Board of Health in less than two weeks. • A traveler coming up town 0310 day recently. stopped for a moment to exam ine a coat hanging in front of a clothing store. The proprietor -rushed out, asked: ',Wouldn't you like totry on some LIMO " "I dunuo but I ivould," responded ilia traveler, consulting his thaw killer, and he went in and began work. • No matter how often he found his tit, he called, for more coats, and aiter ,he had tried ea about thirty he looked at his watel;ap,ain resumed his own garment and:Walked nil' saying: "I won't charge yoti a cent- for what I have done; hang a man Who, won't oblige another when tai can,do'itl If I come round this way again; and you!va got-any more coats to Lry on, I'll do all I can to help you." , . BEllorEFuL.7—Those whii mourn flier their petty saes and plus May lean a lesson in' pluck and hope from a young man in Mississippi, !.-In the• war: he lust one leg, and .recently the other one vnis so crushe!l as to require amputation. Dur ing the operation, he said to his friends:— "I thank God that I have two strung arms left to get a living with." •' • - $2,00 PER YEAR diri I 3N
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers