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W. BLAIR. * . A FAMILY NEWSPAPER--DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, 'LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWS, ETC. ,
112,00 PER YEA \
. ,
A. iSBORO' FRANS:LDI COUNTY PA THURSDAY,. JANUARY 2`'.1874
VOLUME 26.
1111 WAYNESBORO' VILLAGE RECORD
PUBLISHED EVERY THDRSDAY MORNING
By W. BLAIR.
TERMS—Two Dollars per Annum tif paid
within the year; Two Dollars and
Fifty cents after the expiration
of the year.
ADVERTISEMENTS—One Square (10
lines) three insertions, $1,50; for
each subsequent insertion, Thir
eve Cents per Square. A liberal
discount made to yearly adver
tisers.
LOCALS.-13nsiness Locals Ten Cants per
line.for the first insertion, Seven
Cents for subsequent insertions
Vroftssional ()nuts.
J. B. AMBERSON,
PHYSICIAN A.ND SURGEON.
WAY . ..N1:600R0% PA.
Office at the Waynesboro' "Corner Drug
ore." [jane 29—tf.
VAN IC,
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,
Offers his professional services to the pub-
Olilce in his residence, on West Main
street, Waynesboro'_ april 24—tf
DR. BPN3. FRANTZ,
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,
OFFICE—In the Walker Building—near
the Bowden House. Night calls should he
/mule at his residence on Main Street ad
oining the Western School House.
Tulv 20-tf
ISAAC N. SNIVELY,
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,
WAYNESBORO' PA.
- Office at his residence, nearly opposite
he Bowden House. Nov 2—tf.
DOUGLAS
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
WAYNESBORO', PA.
'Practices in the several Courts of Franklin
Rlld 14:went Counties..
N.l3,—Real Estate. leased and sold, and
Fire Insurance effected on reasonable terms.
December 10, 1871.
111131.7. v
(FORMEMY OF NERc.FatalußG, PA.,)
(AFFF,IIS his Professional services to the
Ificitizens of Waynesboro' Aid vicinity.
Ha. STRICKLER has relinquished an extea
sive practice at Mercersburg, where he has
been prominently engaged for numberof
years in the practice of his profession.
He has opened an Oflice in Waynesboro',
at the residence of George Besore, Esq.,:i is
Father-in-law, where lie.can be fowlt at al
times when not professionally engagesi.
July 20, 7871.-tf.
A. K. BRANISHOLTS,
RESIDENT DENTIST
. ALSO AGENT
For the .Best and most Popular Organs in Use
Organs always on exhibition and for sale
at his office.
We being acquainted with Dr. Branis
bolts socially and professionally recommend
bim to all desiring the services of a Dentist.
Drs. B. A. HERING, J. M, Meru;
" A. H. SFRICKLER, 1. N. SSIVELY,
" A,. S. BONEBRAKE, T. D.
julyl 7—tf
a. H. FORNEY & CO.
.PrgslitCO. GORXTELISJSiOn ltropekants
No. 77 NORTH STREET,
BALTDIOgE, MD.
Pay particular attention to the sale of
ylour, Grain, Seeds, &c.
Liberal advances matte on consignments.
may 29-tf
7D 4- I Ba 71" It
frIIE subscriber notifies the public that
he has commenced the Dairy business
and «•ill supply citizens regularly every
morning with Milk or Cream at low rate's.
He will also leave a supply at M. Geiser's
;Store where persons can obtain either at a
ny hour during the day. •
no. , 27-tf BENJ. FRICK.
1-10.T2. * SM
PERSONS wanting Spring-tooth Horse
Rakes can be supplied with a first-class
Article by calling on the subscriber. He
.continues to repair all kinds of machinery
At short noticeand upon rxasonable terms,
The Aletcalf excelsior Post Boring and
Wood sawing EcMhines always on hand.
JOHN L. METCALF,
Feb 27- 4. Quincy, Pa.
• J. H. WELSH
WITH
W. V. LIPPINCOTT & CO,
\TIIOI.F.sALE DEALERS IN
Eats, Caps, Furs and Straw Coaods,
No. •531 Market Street, Philadelphia, Pa
april 3-tf
BARBERING! BARBERING !
THE subscriber having recently re-paint
ed and papered and - added new furni
ture to his sbap, announces to his custom
.ers and the public that he will leave noth
ing undone to. gi ve satisfaction and make
comfortable all who may be pleased to fa
vor him with their patronage. Shaving.
.schampooning, Hair-cutting, etc.. promptly
Attended to. A. long experipice in the bar
bering business enables him to promise sat
isfaction in all cases. W. A. PRICE.
sept 18-tf
THE BOWDEN ROUSE
MAIN STREET,
WAYNESBORO', PENN'A.
lIIFIE subscriber having leased this wal
-1 known H Jtel property, announces to
the public that he has refurnished, re-pain
ted and papered it, and is now amply pre
pared to accommodate the traveling public
fluid others who may be pleased to favor
him with their patronage. An attentive
Posner will at 111 times be in attendance.
2:3-tf t 4 1.31'L P. r'l'oX Fit
et.ett poetrg.
TWILIGHT IN MUHL
Once more I stand berieath this spreading
beech,
Where talking, dreaming, loving, we have
lain
So many a happy day.
Now thou art gone beyond thought's utmost,
reach,
Beyond the joy we knew, the love, the pain
Out on the dim, dark way.
The problem is solved for thee, but I,
Crushed, questioning, despairing, still re
main,
And nothing thou wilt say.
Is love so weak thou dost not heed my cry?
Is memory so vanishing so vain,
That4leath wipes all away?
0 cruel secret, wilt thou ne'er be told?
0 torturing Nature, that was once a bliss,
Vouchsafed in love tOus, •
Why bast thou kept those perished joys of
old,
Those hours and days of vanished happi-
ness,
'o sting me with them-thus-?
Let me forget; oh, blind. these eyes that
look
Forever pack - ward to that happy past,
Behind her grave that lies!
Oh, hold not up that sad pathetic book
Of love's sweet records! in that grave be
cast
Those torturing memories.
Let me forget ! Ab, how can I forget?
And that were life without that tender
pain,
So deep, and oh, so sad ?
No ; rather let these sorrowing eyes be wet
With endless, useless tears, than e'er again
t===MWM
The blast among the moaning branches
grieves,
And frozen is tl•e laughter of the brook—
Death on the cold earth lies.
All fallen are my joys, like these glad leaves
Through whose g eon haunts of song the
summer shook
Odors and melodies.
Let me begone! my thoughts are wild and
hard,
By grief distracted, shivered, shattered,
torn
In struggles fierce and vain—
And like loose strings to tones discordant
jarred,
Are all those sweet remembrances forlorn,
That thrill through heart and brain•
Farewell ! upon this life I turn my back,
Nothing the world can give is good to me,
A taint on all things lies.
Joys are all poisong—life an endless rack,
And this fair earth, that was a heaven to
thee,
Is hideous to my eyes:
Olirallaueous ;leading.
THE RUFFIAN BURGAN.
One day the professor of the village a
cademy came to me, at the'beginning of
a new school term, and said :
"I would like to ask your advice, Ro
sy. This is likely to be a very full term ;
new students are coming from all direc
tions, and there is one whom I may have
to reject,. I want your opinion first. He
comes fr.= the coal regions ; is a large,
dark, thickset fellow . , with strange black
eyes, and he looks ruffianly and course.
His character is not good. He uses pro
fane language; and when Z was talking
to the boys about their duty, his lip curl
ed, and he looked doubting and scornful.
I feel as if I didn't want him here at
school; and yet we might do him good ;
he may have had a sad, gloomy childhood,
and low associations, and no opportuni
ties. We know not what the poor young
man may have encountered—what battles
of the soul he may have fought—what
sorrows undergone. He is trying to take
a step hi the right directiou—he is walk
big toward the light ; I dare not turn
from him: God forbid !"
And so the young man's name was en
rolled among the students of Brookside
Academy. He did look coarse and
bred, and he bad sooty black hair, and
his pantaloons were tucked inside of his
boots, and his thick lips set as though,
come what would, he was determined to
meet it doggedly. •
We all understand each other, and re
solved to treat him "like one of us," to
to show him respect and attention, and to
do him all the good we could do--I was
only one of the patrons—but when I met
him I always smiled or nodded, or waved
my hand. Two or three times—when we
had strawberry shortcake or peaches and
cream—l invited him to take tea with
Would you really believe it I before
three months the stern lines in his face
began to relax and soften ; a sunny light
came in his dark eyes; he began to know
what to do with his bands, and he would
raise his hat gracefully when he met a la
dy. The interested ones nudged each oth
er and said :
"How Burgan grows ! Did you ever ?"
More than one pair of eyes were misty
with tears—real tears of rejoicing and
gratitude, I frequently said to the pro
fessor :
110 Di
"It is well with the young man Bur
gan? Haire you not observed his growth
in every desirable direction ?"
"I cannot feel grateful enough," said
he, "for the good angel's whisper that in
duced me to look with favor upon that
poor felow."
Last week was commencement. The
students held a reunion in.the evening.—
No face in the throng was more express
ive than the poor boy's upon whose life
hard fate had set her seal. As they were
.about separating, and were shaking hands
with "Good-bye, Dick," "Farewell, Tom,"
"Let us hear from you, 'Will," and all
these cheery-sad things, that make the
tears come in 'spite of made up laughter,
Burgan said huskily :
"Will you come into the library a mo
ment, professor?" He went and when the
door was closed the poor boy, standing
up hefbre his teacher, said : "I could not
possibly go away without telling you how
much I am indebted to you. wish I
could make you know how much it is."
And here he lifted up his trembling hands
and tenderly laid the open palms on the
aides of his benefactor's lace, leaned his
head down upon the faithful " breast, and
cried out like a brokenhearted woman.—
Brokenly he said : "I hadn't a friend
when I came hear ; I stood alone in. the
world, with every human face turned a
gainst me. I was despairing ; this was
my last chance—my last effbrt. * I had
tried to be a good boy, but people dis
trusted me, and met my endeavors with
-scorn- t-
and-doub in-the ir-faces: ,- They`
called, me 'that ruffian,
that hard case,
Burgau.' I had learned to hate my very
name. I had nothing to plant my feet
upon • no rock to stand on ; no rope to
lay h old of; no light ; the very heavens 1 1
were brass. I happened to pick up a, l
- waif of a newspaper and saw the adver
tisement of the Brookside- Academy—a
quiet village where no intoxicating li
quors were sold, and where the inhabi
tants were peace-loving and united. Per
haps a good angel dropped the paper in
my way—l don't know; I almost be
lieve it—but something urged me to
come. You know the rest. God bless
you sir ! you planted my feet upon a rock
• d-put-new-resolves-into-mywo - r - h • ar
I have tried to drop my bad habits. I
have only used profane language a few
times, and then not because I wanted to
—it came from mere habit. Oh, I'm
coming back again professor!" and he
smiled royally ; and his teacher told me
that the face beforei-him seemed illumin
with a beauty that was heavenly.
And thus they parted, in a rain of tears;
and those two strong, muscular men,
with bearded faces, kissed each other like
weeping women. That must have been a
sight beautiful enough fbr the seraphim
to witness—the glad teacher, and the
poet student, behind whom lay all his
past years, dwarfed and shadowed and
broken, and filled with thwarted hopes
and fruitless aspirations.—Little Corporal.
•
THE LITTLE OUTCAST.
"Mayn't I stay, ma'am ? I'll do any
thing you give me—cut wood, go for wa
ter, and do all your errands."
The troubled eyes of the speaker that
stood at the outer door, pleading with a
'kindly-looking woman, u•ho still seemed
to doubt the reality of his good iaten 7
Lions.
The cottage stood by itself on a bleak
moor—or what in Scotland would have
been called such. The time was near
the latter end of September, and a &ice
wind rattled the boughs of the only 3wo
naked trees near the house, and fled with
a shivering sound into the narrow door
way, as if seeking for warmth at the blaz
ing fire within.
Now and then a snow-flake touched
with its soft chill the cheek of the listener,
or whitened the redness of the poor boy's
benumbed hands.
The woman was evidently loath to
grant the buy's request; and the peculiar
look stamped upon his features would
have suggested to any mind an idea of
depravity far beyond his years.
"Well," he muttered, his whole frame
relaxing, as if a burden had suddenly
rolled off ; "I may as well go to ruin at
once ; there's no use in my trying to do
better ; everybody hates and despises me ;
nobody cares about me; I may as well go
to ruin at once."
"Tell me," said the woman, who stood
off far enough fbr flight, if that shouldbe
necessary, "how came you to go so young
to that dreadful place? Where was your
mother—where ?"
"Oh !" exclaimed the boy, with a burst
of grief that was terrible to behold—"Oh!
I hain't no mother ! Oh 1 I hain't no mo-
ther ever since I was a baby. If I'd on
ly had a mother," he continued, his an
guish growing more vehement, and the
tears gushing out from his strange-look
ing eyes, "I wouldn't ha' been bound, and
kicked and cuffed, and laid on with whips.
I wouldn't ha' been saucy, and got knock
ed down, and run away, and then stole
because I was hungry. Oh ! I hain't got
no mother c I hain't got no mother ;
haven't had no mother since I was a ba
by !"
The strength was All gone from the
poor boy, and he sank on his knees, sob
bin.,l' great chocking sobs, and rubbing
the hot tears away with his poor knuck
les. And did that woman stand there
unmoved ? Did she coldly bid him pack
up and be off—the jail-bird?
No, no ; she had been a mother and
though all her children slept under the
cold sod in the churchyard, she was a mo
ther still.
She went up to that poor boy, not to
hasten him away, but to lay her fingers
kindly, softly, on his head; to tell him
to look up, and from henceforth to find
bi her a mother, Yes, even pot her arms
about the neck of that forsaken, deserted
frrlrr her rantlice=
sweet, womanly words—words of counsel
and tenderness;
Oh, how sweet was her sleep that night!
How soft her pillow? She had linked a
poor suffering heart to hers by the most
silken, the strongest bands of love; she
had plucked some thorns from the path
of a little sinning but striving mortal.
Did the boy leave her?
Never. He is with her still, a vigor
ous, manly, promising youth. The unfa
vorable cast of'his countenance, has giv
en place to an open, pleasing expression,
with depth enough to make it an interest
ing study. His foster father is dead ;
his good foster mother aged and sickly ;
but she knows nq want. The once poor
outcast is her only dependence, and no
bly does he repay the trust.—Eng/isk,
Magazine.
About to be Burried Alive.
From the St. Joseph (Mo.) Gazette
In the northern part of the city lives a
carpenter, with his family, who are na
tives of France, and have been in this
country about eight years. One of their
children-is alittle_girLnarned Mary, and
the subject of this singular story. The
child was born in Paris, and was eleven
years old on the 26th day of June last.—
She speaks French, German, and English
fluently, in conversing exhibits uncom
mon intensity of mental action and viv
idness of
. mental vision. She is of fair
complexion and very beautiful, with lus
trous eyes, sunnLhatr, and-a-lonk=otspiri
itui—ilinaturiiy in her countenance. She
has sometime said that she could see the
forms of persons who - have died, and her
sincerity could not be doubted, this occa
sioned some alarm in the minds of her pa
rents.
The health of the child has not been
good for several months, and on Saturday
morning three weeks ago she startled her
mother by saying that she could see her
dead sister Louise, who came near her in
angel form and spoke to her, telling her
that she would make her well so that she
would never be sick_any_more.—Her—mo
ther tried to persuade her to dismiss the
subject from her mind, bat' she could not
sto • talkin _ and con 'nverl' describing
er sister, saying that she was standing
near dressed in pare white, her face
bright and shining, her hair illumined
with silver light, and golden dew drops
dripping from her wings. She could al
so see her dead brother who came close to
her sister's side. While talking her
strength gave way, and she sank away as
if in death.
The worst forebodings of the 'parents
had been realized, and they prepared the
body for burial. No physician bad been
called, as they supposed that death had
fallen upon their child. It was about ten
o'clock in the morning when the appar
ent death occurred. The body was kept
until Sunday afternoon about four o'clock
nearly thirty-sir hours, during which
time no signs of returning lift had been
noticed. The final look at the remains
were taken, the coffin was sealed up and
placed in the hearse, and the little cor
tege started for the grave, the parents
following the hearse in a carriage.
After proceeding some distance and
coming down on Third Street, the quick
er ear of the saddened mother caught the
echo of a familiar cry, and she gave ex
pression to her suspicion that it came from
the coffin of her child. Her suspicion
was overruled, but in few moments a sec
ond cry was heard, and in compliance
with the wishes of the mother the hearse
was stopped and the coffin drawn out. The
struggles of what was supposed to be the
lifeless body could now be plainly heard.
The coffin was quickly opened and the
child found to be alive, to the amazement
and unspeakable delight of the parents.
In her struggles she had nearly torn from
herself her death robes.
She was quickly taken from the coffin
and carried into the house of a French
lady at hand where they bathed her in
vinegar. Slie recovered her strength rap
idly, and in a short time was taken to
the home which she had left only a few
hours before an apparent corpse. Since
that time she has been as well as for the
last few months. Her parents make ev
ery effort to keep her mind from revert
ing to the terrible episode in her young
life, fearing that there is a fearful fascin
ation in it for her. '
She says that while others thought-her
dead she could feel their touch and hear
distinctly all that was said, but could not
move a single muscle or make the light
est sign. She knew when they dressed
her for the coffin, when she laid in it,
and heard the terrible lid fastened down,
but could not make a motion, and was
utterly powerless until the
,hearse had
gone some distance, when the physical
forces were probably set in motion by the
motion of the hearse.
She describes with singular enthusiasm
and power for one so young the beautiful
sights that she saw while entranced, ma
ny different beings appearing to her in
wonderful beauty.
A QUAKER WOMAN'S SERMON.—"My
dear friends, there are three things I very
much wonder at. The first is, that chil
dren will be so foolish as to throw stones,
clubs and• brickbats into fruit trees, to
knock down fruit; if they would let them
storm they would fall down themselves.
They second is, that men should be so
foolish as to go to war and kill one anoth
er; if let alone, they would die themselves.
The third and last thing I wonder at is,
that young men should be so anxious as
to go after the young women; if they
would stay at home, the young women
would come after them."
It is written on the sky, on the pages
of the air, say the Orientals, that good
deeds shall he done to Win who does good
A Cannon-Ball in the Hat.
An anonymous writer,generally sup
posed to be Rev. Henry Ward Beecher,
after describing how when a boy he stole
a cannon-ball from. the navy yard at
Charlstuwn Massachusetts, and with much
trepidation, and more headache, carried
it away in that universal pocket of youth
—his hat,—winds up with the following
reflections, reflections which though phil•
osophieally - trite, are in this manner con
voyed with much force and freshns.
"When I reached home *ad nothing
to do with my shot. I did not dare to
show it in' the house, nor tell where I got
it; and after one or two solitary rolls, I
gave it away on the same day to a Prince-
Streeter.
"But, after all, that six-pounder rolled
a good deal of sense into my skull. I
think it was the last that I ever stole (ex
cepting a little matter of a heart, now and
then), and it gave me a notion of the folly
of covetiug — more — thatryou—can_7_enjoy r
which has made my whole life happier.
It was rather a severe mode of catechiz
ing, but ethics rubbed in with a six-poun
der shot are better than none at all
"B
ut see
,men • oing t e same u: — T,
going into underground and dirty vaults,
apd gathering up wealth, which will,
when got, roll around their heads like a
ball, and be not a whit softer because it
is gold, instead of iron, though there is
not a man in Wall street who will believe
that.
‘__Thave-seen-a-mairraut fto every
humiliation to win a proud woman who
had been born above him, and when he
got her he walked all the rest of his life
with a cannon-ball in his hat.
"I have seen . young men enrich them
selves by pleasure in the same wise way,
sparing no pains, and scrupling at no
sacrifice of principle, for the sake at least
'of carrying a burden which no man can
bear.
"All the world are busy in striving
for things that give little pleasure and
bring much care. lam accustomed, in
all my walks with men, ncticing their
ways and their folly, to think. "There
is a man stealing a cannon-ball'; or.
I know it by his walk."
The money which a clerk Rurloins for
his pocket at last gets into his kat like a
cannon-ball. Pride, bad temper, selfish.
ness,
evil passions, will roll a man as if
he had a ball on his head! And ten thous
and men in New York will die this year,
and as each one falls his hat will come
off, and out will roll an iron ball, which
for years he has worn out his strength
•
carrying."
A Bashful Bridgroom.
The unfortunate's friends know that be
wanted to be married; they knew that he
deserved to be; but they were quite cer
tain that he never would be, if he waited
until he found courage to pop the question;
so took all the troubles off his hands, and
by aseries of rapid strategetic moves had
him " popped, " accepted, and wifed be
fore he could find a pretext for " wilting."
So much accomplished, and the nuptial
evening having„ passed off merrily, the
young man's back- boners withdrew at au
an early hour, feeling that they could spare
themselves further effort in their friend's
behalf. ' About five minutes later, young
Benedict, who had evidently been having
a serious debate with himself, arose, took
his hat, and with a nervous "good-night,"
made his exit. He was not seen again by
the bride or her family until the following
evening,.when he timidly knocked at the
door and was admitted.
No special comment being made upon
his singular conduct, he passed an hour
rather comfortably in the parlor; and
everything seemed to promise favorably
for a cure of the besetting weakness, when,
hearing the household monitor proclaim
the hour of nine, he suddenly seemed to
remember he had forgotten something,
'and started for his hat. This was the mo
ment and the event which had been some
what expectantly awaited with indigna
tion most profound, but under control, by
the bride's mother. Planting herself re
solutely in the door-way, the old lady de
manded to know why and whether he was
a man or only a feeble imitation, etc. ;in
short, why he did not remain with his wife,
instead of slinking back to his old quar
ters? The bashful son-in-law stammered
out as the elderly female seized his hat
and backed him into a chair again:—
"Well. I should like to, but "thought may
be I'd better wait awhile, for fear it might
make talk amot.g the neighbors!"
A PROPEIECY Or SClENCE.—Professor
Winchell, in a recent lecture at the Coop
er Institute, New York, entitled, "Glimp
ses of the Future," argued that "the fi
nale of this world and of all the planets,
a.foreshadow•ed by the result of scientific
research, would he to be precipitated into
the sun. The comets, he said, were wind
ing up their career faster and faster, and
in the end will be precipitated into the
sun. The returning periods of the com
ets are growing shorter; they always come
back a little too anon. The earth is short
ening its years and drawing nearer to the
sun. All the planets are plowing their
way through a misting medium, and
many years ago it began to be calculated
what would be the end of the resistance.
We have abundant evidence of that resis
tance. It is well demonstrated that the
light from the sun is propagated in the
form of undulations. The light of each
star has trembled along its path on the
wings of ether in some cases for 700,000
years! Through the resistance of this ex
ceedingly tenuous fluid, all the planets of
our solar system are destined to be pre
cipitated into the sun and become one
totally ref, igerated mass." We guess not.
If you want a new shoe to fit as ea.sily
as au old one put on two pairs of stock
a.r. r-ravarc take -4,
Every evening six boys met on one of
the vacant lots of the village of Hamp
ton. They formed a society called the
"Farmer's Tormentors."
"Well, boys, what is the fun for to
night?" asked Tom Urbino, the leader of
the Tormentors, as they sat around their
evening fire.
"Old Farmer Williams had taken in
his water melons, and has put them in
the old barn," said Jim Stratton, anotjt
er one of the party.
"Well, then, we will call on Farmer
William's barn to-night. This knife will
cut all we want to eat," said Tom.
They sat still until about ten o'clock,
when Tom arose and said, "Now, Jim,
you lead on'; we will follow you."
The boys walked across the fields a
bout a mile, when they came in sight of
a small old barn. They glanced around
to see that the coast was clear, and then
mounted trsatillitaider-th-ey-obtaimed-on
the premises.
` c `Jitri, you mount-first, and I will fol
low ; you other fellows stay here
W and
watch said Tom.
They were soon - inside the barn; and
Jim descended the stairs, and Tom re
mained at the cop to catch the melons,
and pass them to the boys outside. Tom
waited a few minutes, bnt heard nothing
of Jim, and finally lie descended to see
what had become of him.
1143 -- -ba - d=starcel,r-reached thet - ofthe
stairs, when a large bag was flung over
his head, and held him prisoner.
"Now I've got ye, I guess ye won't come
after melons again," said their captor,
Farmer William's hired man.
He marched them up to the house, and
they were ushered into the presence of
the old farmer.
"Well, boys, we expected you would
pay us a visit" he said, as he brought a
large plate of melons and set it before
them.
"Now, boys, help yourselves," said the
farmer. Notwithstanding their fear of
punishment, they ate heartily of the feast
and drank some cider he gave them.—
en-they - had - fmislred - titey looked-with
puzzled faces at the farmer, as he opened
the door and said ;
"Now, boys, you can go home, and the
next time you want any melons don't
come the back way."
They earnestly thanked the farmer,
and ran off with. all speed toward their
homes.
on his head,
"Jim, I have met for the last time
with the "Farmer's Tormentors :" this
night I have learned a lesson I shall nev
er forget," said Tom.
• Jim assented, and said he would behave
in future, and the next night the name
of the "Farmers' Tormentors" was chang
to the "Farmers' Aid Society."
Moralizing over the lucky and unlucky
man the Rochester Chronicle thus reflects
on the "unlucky" man :
Every body knows him. He lives in
every locality and his misfortunes are
known to all. Whatever he does turns
out badly; and if by some strange acci
dent he meets with good fortune the'good
fortune is certain to be followed by an ac
cident sufficiently grievous to balance
matters in the old way. He has had ill
ness beyond all other men. He has been
burned out several times. Ladders have
found their way to his tenement for the
especial phrpose off giving him' a fall.—
He is honsSt, capable and the rest of it,
and makes more money than most men
with a fair chance to do so ; but be can
na overcome the misfortunes which in
variably follow his successes. He has
hope largely developed, however, and is
naturally a cheerful man—as if he bad
been created for the especial purpose of
living down misfortune, or rather of get
ting up in the world with the sole and on
ly purpose of falling back and falling
heavily. Of course, there is no such
thing as "luck ;" and yet this man is so
careful a manager, so temperate a man,
and generally a man of such good sense
that he cannot be held responsible for
his misfortunes. Of course, no man's
path is beset in the beginning with thorns
for the mere purpose of pricking and dis
couraging him, any more than the paths
of others are strewn with flowers as a
special providence in their behalf; but
who can rationally explain the ill luck
that persistently follows the individual
alluded to? Or who can explain the sin
gular good fortune of this man's opposite
--a fellow of no value perhaps, morally,
socially or in any other way—who never
meets a rain storm without finding an
umbrella in his hands ; who is careless,
but never suffers from fire ; who toils not,
but has a well-filled pocket book at all
times • into whose circle comes no death
and w hoi has to the end of his days no
cause for anything hut praise ? It isn't
character altogether that hews out a
man's path through life What is it?
When a boy is put to farm labor he is
given an old hoe, a fork with a broken
tine, a round-edged ax, a scythe that no
body elso will use, and he is expected to
work more hours than a hired hand, to
do all the chores, to build fires in the
morning, to run on all errands, to turn
the grindstone, and go to meeting in cow
hide boots. With this experience he does
not like farming ; and lectures, editors,
members of Congress and petty lawyers
mourn because so many young men go
from the farm to the city.
You can never prove a tiling to be good
or beautiful to a man who has no idea of
its excellence.
In character, in manners, in style, in
all things, the supreme excellence is sim
plicity.
A Midnight Raid.
The Unlucky Man.
NUMBER Sze
Wiit anti aluor.
How to make a slow horse fast—Don't
feed him.
y
A Georgia edi vas bitten by a dog,
"being evidently 1 ' taken for a bone." •
The child who cried for an hour'didn't
get it.
"Time cuts down all, both great and
small." Row about the provision and
grocery bills ?
Elgin, Illinoise, offers f the boys two
cents apiece for all the rats they•cau
and the schools are on the point of sus•,
pending.
A batter in Terre Haute, Wis., has a
bundle of old unpaid bills hung up in his
store labelled. The reason wby don'e
give credit.
n a ireac o promise case a ort
Wayne the lover was convicted of writing
"Mi hart beets oanley for the, my darlingy
huney." Served him right.
— A philosopher says that "a true man
never frets about his place in the world,
but just slides into it by the gravitation
of his nature, and swings there as easily
as a star.'_' •
meant to have told you of that hole,"
-said-a-gen tlenum — toleis - iend - wlusWilli:
I ing in his garden, stumbled into a pit of
water. "No matter," said the friend," I
have found it." • •
A little fellow not very far from here
was recently heard to ask : "What do
Charlie bite Emma for and her dont hol
ler ?" Take care girls, when little broth;
ers are about.
A - lady; says a Western editor, luts
just sent us a basket of fruit, 'the very
sight of which, she thinks, must make
us smack our lips. We thank her,
and would greatly prefer smacking hers.
The gentleman who asserted that his
en I •r — op - enei mou wl RI ou
putting his foot in it. being called upon
to apologize, said he was very sorry, but
when he made the assertion he did mot
see the size of his friend's foot.
"Well, Mr. —, how do you feel ?"
said a friend to a defeated candidate a
few days. after election. "I feel, I sup
pose," he replied, "as Lauzarus did."—
"How was that 7" "Why," said he, "Laz
arus was licked by the dogs, and so am
It was an Irish sailor who visited a 64
where, he said, they copper•bottomed the
roofs of their houses with sheet4ead.—
Perhaps it was the same man who saw
a white black•bird sitting on a wooden
millstone, eating a red blackberry.
"I had more money than he had to
carry on suit," said a very mean, individ
ual who had just won a lawsuit over a
poor neighbor, "and that is where I hail
the advantage over him. Then I had
much better counsel than he, and there I
had the advantage of him. And his
family were ill while the suit was pending,
so he couldn't attend to it, and there I
had the advantage of him again. But.
then, Brown is a very decent sort of num
after all." "Yes," said his listener, "and
there's where he had the advantage of
you."
A schoolmaster delivered an address to
his scholars, of which the following passage
isan example: "You boys ought to be kind
to little sister. I once knew a bad boy
who struck his -Little sister a blow over the
eye. Although .she didn't fade and die in
the early Summer time, when the June
roses were blowing, with the sweet words
of forgiveness on her pallid lips, rose up
and hit him over the head with a rolling
pin, so that he couldn't go to school for
more than a month, on account of Hoc being
able to put his hat on.
A negro living in Georgia, having been
fortunate enough to accumulate consider
able of these world's goods, desired, as all
royal subjects should, to pay tax on the
same. It being a new buisness td him, he
did not know there was a proper officer
for receiving tax, and concluded all that
was necessary was to find a man with a
white skin. Consequently he hailed the
first man he met with, "say, boss, I want
to pay my tax; must I gib it to you?" Ou
being told that it would be received by
the comprehending white gentleman, the
negro gave him 625, and asked if that
was enough. "I suppose it is," said the
white mau. "Boss, give me showin' fbr
dat," said the negro. Again the wits of
the white man were at work,.and he soon
handed the negro a slip of paper with the
inscription : "As Moses lifted the ser
pent out of the wilderness, likewise have
I lifted $25 out of th is d—n negro's pocket. '
Not long after this the negro met the tax
collector proper. "Done paid it, hose,
and here's de ceipt," at the same time
handing the peice of paper to-the officer.
He read: "As Moses lifted the serpent
out of the wilderness, likewise have I lift•
ed $25 out. of thin d—ji negro's pocket."
"Hold on boss, you have read um wrong,"
ejaculated the astonished dinkey; .as lie
snatched the paper and • carried it to an
other man, who began to read. "As Me:l
- lifted—," Here he .was,interrupted by
the negro,. who exclaiined: "Look.a-yor;
jest giro me dat paper, I'm pine to la it
dat white man out'whis bouts, 'fore Goa
I is." With this he left, and, not having
been heard from since, it is supposed ho
is still looking for the man to whom ho
paid his tax.
No man improves in any cotnpany for
which he has not enough mtpLet to be nu
(Le seine degree td