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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