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• 4 FAMILY .NEW - SPAIDEICDEVOTED TO LITERATURE, LOCAL AND - GENERAL` NEWS. ETC. . .
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. -WAYNESBORO' TRAITIUDICOUNTY, VA. ? ITIVRSDAY, APRIL 2'1874. - '
, 9 . .,', - ,
• ~
, . .
. .. . . . .
-rr WAINISBORO' VILLAGE,. RECORD
'PUBIAMED-ETEBY- THURSDAY . MORNING
By W. BLAIR.
TEEMS—Two Dollars, per Anndm if paid
within the year; Tgn Dollarsand
Fifty cents after Che.expiration
• of the year..
ADVERTISEMENTS—One Si
._.n=: - ITell e ion: , '. 2 . I ;
each subsequent insertion, Thir
' five Cents per Square. A liberal
disco3.lat made to yearly adver
tisers.
LOCALS.—Business Loosls Ten Cents pe
line for the first insertion, Seven
Cents for subseouent insertions
Iprofessional (arils.
J. D. .a.MBERSON. N. D.,
PHYSICIAN AND' SURGEON,
WAYNESBORO% PA.
Office at the Waynesboro' "Cotner Drug
ore." • pane 29—tf.'
RUPPLE t
PHYSICIAN ' AND. SURGEON,
Offers his professional Services to the pub
lie. 01liee in his residence, on West Main
'street, Waynesboro'. april 24—tf
DR. RENJ.:FRANTZ,
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,
OFFICE—In the Walker Building—near
the Bowden House. Night calls phould be
`_race_-at his residence on Main Strwt. - ad-,
pining the Western School House.'
July 20-tf
ISAAC N. SNIVELY,
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,
WAYNESBORO' PA
Office at his residence, nearly opposite
he Bowden House. Nov 2—tf.
JOSMPII-1
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
WAYNESBORO', PA.
Practices in the several Courts of Franklin
and adjacent Counties.
N. B.—Real Estate leased and sold,, and
Fire Insurance effected on reasonable terms.
December 10, IS7I. ,
OBi_., lk., Hl., STRICKLEftv
(FORMERLY OF MERCERSBURG, PA.,)
niFFERS his Professional services to the
Ificitizens of Waynesboro' and vicinity.
Dn. SrarcaLan has relinquished an exten
sive practice at Mercersburg whore he has
been prominently engaged for a number of
years in the practice of his profession.
He has opened art Wilde in Waynesboro',
itt the residence of George Besore, Esq., "i ie
Father-in-law, where he can be lona at al
'times when not professionally engaged.
July 20, 184,5-tr. " •
A. K. BRA . NISHOL TS,
RESIDENT DENTIST
ALSO AGENT
'For the Best and Popular Organs In Use
Organs always on aF hibition and for sale
at his office.
• yr
We. being •acquainted with Dr. Ennis
bolts Sotially anti professionally recommend
him to all desiring the services of a Dentist.
' Drs.. E. A. BERING, J. WRIPPLE,
". A. H. STRICKLER, 1. N. SNIVEL;
" A. 5". BONEBRAKE, T. D. Flaxen.
julyl7—tf
3. H. FORNEY & CO.
Prallge ea=n1i851.4212 Ner(3kants
No. 77 NORTH STREET,
BALTIMORE, MI).
Pay particular attention to the sale of
Flour, Grain, Seeds, &c.
Li berfa advances made on consignments.
. may .29-tr
D . _A_ 1 P., - 1 7- !
tHE subscriber notifies the public that
he has commenced the Dairy business
and will supply citizens regularly every
morning with Milk or Cream at low rates.
He will also leave a supply at M. Geiser's
Store where persons can obtain either at a
ny hour during the day.
nov 2.7-tf BENJ. FRICK.
WHEAT WANTED.
frPHE subscriber announces to the farm
ers of Washington and Quincy town
ships that he purposes superintending his
nailing interests in person !luring the win
ter season, and will pay the highest market
price for wheat delivered at his Tdill. When
not at the mill he will be found at the Bow
den House, in Waynesboro'.
dcc 38-tf DAVID PATTERSON.
J. H. WELSH
w. v. LIPPINCOTT & CO,
STIIOLFSALE DEALERS IN
liats, Caps, Furs uid Straw Goods,
No, 531 Market Street, Philadelphia, Pa
april 3-tf
BARBERING 1 BARBERING 1
. ,
rpir subscriber having recebtiv re-paint
' ed and papered and added new furni
ture to his shop, announces to his custom
ers and the public that be will leave noth
ing undone to give satisfaction and make
comfortable all who may be pleased to fa
vor him with their patronage. Shaving.
kehampooning,-Hair-cutting, etc. promptly
attended to. A long experience in the bar
bering business enables him to promise sat
isfaction in all cases. W. A. PRICE.
sept ]B-tf
THE BOWI)EN HOUSE
MAIN sTnEET,
WAYNESBORO',
TILE subscr;ber having leased
_this well
known Hertel property, announces to
the public that he. has refurnished, re-pain
ted and papered it, and ienow amply pre
pared to accommodate the traveling,public
And others who may be pleased to favor
him with their patronage. An attentive
hostler will at all times be in attendance.
.IQty P. STOICi.'
tua- pottrg.
I BY ALFRED
0 ! take -me, friend, oh! take me where
Hard times none ever cry,
Wheire bread and butter grows on trees
And sausage close by ;
Where oysters dwell in-constant stews,
And dcvil'd crabs fall out,
Where clams come ready cooked to hand
And cooks can never pout.
Oh take me to some wilderness,
Far, far away from town, •
Where turkeys roasted run about,
With gravy dripping down ;
Where people never have to work,
As some do, night and day,
Where one can get just what one wants,
And nothing have ti) pay!
Oh ! take me where no wicked still
Of strichnine whiskey's found,
Nor where champagne fills every rill
And cognac doth abound; •
But where the most delicious fruit
The eyes have ever seen,
Spontaneous-rolls from mountainsdown,
And every hill ice cregn.
Oh 1 take me to the land of peace,
Where never comes a dun.
Where people never go to law,
And lawyers never come ;
Where crops are good and never fall,
And each one gets his share,
Where one may eat, and drink and sleep
Without an anxious care.
Oh, take me, do, where all the folks
Get plenty clothes to wear ;
Where fashions never change, and pante
Do never burst nor tear;
Where satins, silks and bonnets all
May have a fu!! supply ;
Where children are obedient,
And babies never cry. '
Take me where wives good-humor'd grow
And gossips never talk, •
And parson less by preaching judg'd
than by their daily walk :
Where doctor's charges are unknown,
Where none grow grey and old,
Where chills and fever trouble not,
And quinine is not sold.
Oh, take me, for I'm awful sick,
Far, far from banks away,
Where ne'ei another note I'll give,
Or have a bill to pay.
Oh. take me to some wilderness,
Where all these things m e found ;
Oh, take, take me quickly, for
I'm almost run aground.
fflisullantrats Pading.
POWER OF IMAGINATION.
THE STORY OF A. SNAKE.
. The following incident, which happened
to the writer long years ago, is of such a
thrilling nature as to cause the blood to
run cold iu one'e veins at the bare men
tion of it. The account is founded on
facts, and can be vouched for by witness•
es of undoubted integrity.
sauntering out one morning thro'
an orange grove bordering on one of the
bayous of Louisiana, and where the war
ning hiss and rattle of that most veno
mous and deadly species of the reptile
tribe are not frequently heard, I came up
on an inviting shady nook, and being
weary and fatigued by exercise and the
heat of the sun, I sought repose by stretch
ing myself at length upon the grass, and
while lying there, dreaming day dreams
and being refreshed by gentle breezes,
deep scented with the fumes of the lus
cious Louisiana orange, I naturally yield
ed to the seductive.influence of Morpheus
into whose arms I gracefully resigned my
self:
I did not lie long thus, however, before
I was awakened by the sense of a cold
pressure about my neck. I glanced down
ward to ascertain the cause of my disturb
ance, when, oh, horror !, What met my'
gaze but a huge rattlesnake, lying with
his head resting as complacently and as
serenely as one can imagine, upon the
back of my hand, which I had carelessly
thrown across my breast ; the rest of his
body being drawn over thy shoulder and
wound around my neck. His piercing
black eyes "looked daggers" into mine,
and the diabolical expression of his coun
tenance generally, looked, if it did not say
in as many words : "the gage is up with
you now, my boy," which to me was pain
fully too apparent just then to entertain
the least hope of escape. Fortunately, I
displayed gloat presence of mind, and I
knew that to stir or to make an audible
noise was instant death to me.
I thought that while there was life
there was hope at least, and setting my
wits to work, I began devising schemes
by which I might make a coup d' elate on
his Fnakeship and effect an escape from
my impending.doom. Ali I the thought
struck me, I had a sharp penknife in my
pocket ! could I but slyly ease my band
down into my pocket, get possession of the
knife, and by a raphlmovement sever the
head from the body, I would be free !
But no ; the knife was in my right hand
pocket, and I dared not move that band
from under his head to get it. Then could
I not clutch him by the neck and body
;and hold Liza ? That would not do eith
er, for were I to choke him he would choke
me.
There :was but one recourse left me, and
that was to lie perfectly . quiet and" let
events develop themtielves ; perhaps some
ohe would" chance to pass this way and
frighten the monster away. I remained
wrapt , thus within the serpent's embrace
a few moments, which seemed ages, when
I heard the rustling of grass as of ay
vusciung—tolJtstzia—A—Vat
„-Acain otWe
now entered my - mind. - Perhaps it was
some one sent by Providence to rescue me,
from my perilous situation.
I was doomed to disappointment a
this time also, as my anticipated rescuer
was nothing more than a powerless hog,
which passed by within a few paces of
where I lay unaware of and unconcerned
as to the agony under which I was suffer
ing. A -drowning man will catch at
straws in order to save himself, it is said,
but I actually invoked the intercession of
that hog in silent prayer. I prayed that
he would come nearer me in hopes that
his presnce would frighten. the serpent off ;
but he only gave a grunt of recognition
and went his way. The noise caused the
snake to move and draw himself tighter
about my neok. I shudderecl_froin_
or hope, I know not which.
I had by this time grown very weak;
my blood seemed to be getting as cold as
that of the snake itself and I lay there
perfectly powerless, and, as it were, dying
by inches—staring grim Death in the face,
while his 'icy hand encircled my throat.
My physical strength could endure no
more, and I swooned away from sheer
fright and exhaustion. The supreme
moment had now arrived.. In reviving,
from my,fainting spell I suppose I irrita
ted the 'snake in some• way, as he had
loosened himself from My neck, and coil
ing himself upon my breast, with his
omnious forked tongue darting forth,
stood ready for the attack. I uttered a
yell, at which he sprang at my face with
terrific force, and as I felt his jaws close
on me, and his poisonous sting enter my
flesh, IL—awoke from my horribledream,
in a state of cold perspiration, amid the
merriment and.laughter of several of my
lady acquaintances, one of whom had
been tickling my neck with a straw.
Unhallowed Resignation.
What a habit we have of crediting all
our ills to Providence ! We are never
willing to admit that our own inactivity,
fully and self-love have wrought out the
dire results over which we mourn. We
only hear shipwreck of our lives; we only
hear the voieei of:the storm, and in
stead of owning that it was our indifferent
and unskillful navigation that brought
our craft upon the rocks, we fold our
,hands and cry 'out, blindly, "Strange and
mysterious are thy ways, 0 Providence!"
It is well to have faith and trust. It is
well' to be resigned, to trials that cannot
be aVoided;,but it is not well to hide our
talents in a ''napkia, to take our fill of
ease and pleasure,.and bow down to the
gods of pride and fashion, then shrine:
back from the consequences and say that
the work is none of ours. Some of us
really imagine"that we•are suffering the
will of the Lord, because the flour barrel
is empty and our coat out at the elbows
when a little more energy, a little more
'self-denial, a little less folding of the
bands for rest—these would raise us out
of the slough of poverty, and set us on
our feet, crowned with the gift of a godly
heritage. We eat rich, unwholesome
food, keep late hours, transgress all the
laws of health, and when we pay the pen
alty with shattered nerves and broken
constitution, we wonder why we are not
strong and vigorous as our neighbor who
has lived moderately all his days. Be
cause the neck and arms of our tender
infants are soft and white and dimpled,
we' let them go bare and unprotected,
then, when some day we leave the little
one out under the snow, we murmur that
our .Father bath been unkind. In too
many such cases, with a little more flan
nel the . family circle might he kept un
broken for 'many a year.
THE EFFECTS OF THE PANIC.—"Many
a man wishes he was a farmer about these
times," remarked a distinguished lawyer
during the recent financial panic.
"No doubt about that," replied a prom
inent banker.
Only ,a few weeks ago one of these
men, himself a farmer's son, spent. some
time on our farm, and from casual re
marks that he made it was evident that
he congratulated himself that he was not
a farmer.
"After all," we observed, "the prosper
ity of the country depends to a great ex
tent on our agriculture. Bankers and
business men will find, sooner or later,
that anything which hurts the farmer
will them. It is slow work digging mon
ey out of the soil, but successful agricul
ture is the true road to national wealth,
and we are in great danger of overlooking
this well established fact." •
We . shall all suffer more or less from
the panic. But the ultimate effect will
be beneficial. 'lt will clear the atmos
phere. Financial men will realize that
farmers, who are getting only from ten to
thirty cents a bushel for corn, cannot buy
railroad bonds. As our readers know,
we have repeatedly predicted the present
condition of affairs. We regret the loss
and suffering. But it is well that we
should all occasionally touch bottom, and
realize whence our wealth and strength
as a nation are derived.—American Agri.
culiterist.
The father of ex-Gov. Johnston is still
living, in.Westmoreland county, and is
now one hundred years old. Until with.
in the past two years he was in the habit
Os 1.14. y •au •ag vat ja Nal. vamkta.
Travel in Russia:
A correspondent of the London Daily
'Telegraph,. en route from Berlin to St.
Petersburg, writes as follows : -
Thevery cars are made fora realm of
ice and snow. Built after the American
fashion, they are divided into. a number
of separate compartments, connected by
a long narrow passage running right thro '
- e - wesmed - byTiWtres fed from
the piles of wood logs stacked up in front
of the stove. A Moujik, who appears.to
turn up from nowhere, and sleeps outside
upon the steps, keeps feeding these stoves
from hour to hour. .The carriages are lit'
up with short, squat wax candles,3vhich
never getreally_alight,_afid_itrealviays_
guttering out. Very few' passengers get
out ; and fewer still get in ; and altogeth
er a sort of phantom air hangs over the
whole journey. The day is well on before
the gray, dim light struggles-through the
icicle-befrosted windows, and then for
some half dozen hours—rather less than
more—the dull, dreary landscape of a
Russian plain, where the meow lies deep
upon the ground, shifts steadily before
our eyes as we journey slowly northward.
* * *
vie expanseof . snow, broken by
patches of pine forests, whose dark sombre
leaves are crested with white flakes, forms
the never-changing back-ground of the
scene. Throughout the whole 560 miles
which separate St. Petersburg from the
Rusisan boundary line, there
_is neither
embankment, nor cutting, nor curve. >A-•
cross a dead waste of snow the line
stretches as far as the eye can reach. The
roadside houses 'you pass in that long dis
tance might be counted on the fingers
of your hands ; the number of roads you
see from the carriage windows, is scarce
ly greater. At regular intervals, usu
ally some twenty Miles apart, the train
stops at some roadside station. No town,
or even village, is visible in the distance.
Half a dozen sleighs stand outside the sta
tion ; a score of sh ..cpskin-clad peasants
loiter on the platform ; a sentry, with fir
ed bayonet, stands 'at attention all the
time the train stops ; nobody gets in or
out. The sole object of the halt seems to
pile up anew the stacks of logs with which
the engine's tender is provided. The
names of the stations are unintelligible to
the western eye, and the queer combina
tions of unknown; contorted, blue letters
with which the walls of the railway wait-'
ing rooms are covered, bear little or no
analogy to the Germanfield 'versions pro
vided by the timetables. Koschedann
and Swentziany seem in Russian to be
spelt with much the same letters; and ev
en the difference between either of them
and Ostrow is barely perceptible.
Nor is there much iu the outward as
pect of these stations to distinguish them
from another. They are all alike, only
varying in size. A long:low, wooden,
barn-shed building, planted in the middle
of a waste of snow is • their invariable
type. The train jolts slower and slower
for some quarter of an hour, then at last
comes to a full stop - ; the doors at the end
of each long railway car are thrown op
en, the double windows lowered, and a
mass of figures, swathed in furs and sheep
skin, disgorges itself upon the platform.
Out of the frosty air you pass into the re
freshment-rooms, whose atmosphere is hea
ted like that of a bake-house oven. There
is a long table in the middle for travelers
who wish to dine, a bar resplendent with
colored bottles where all kinds of schnapps
and drams are dispensed •, a side table
full of glasses of tea, presided over by a
woman in peasant's dress. The waiters
are dressed in black, with white ties and
white Berlin gloves. As the larger por
tion of the travelers are foreigners, there
is a good deal of pantomimic language
and action, and you constantly witness
the spectacle of two. persons jabbering
fiercely to one another in different lan
guages, each of the speakers being per
fectly aware all the time that what he
says is utterly unintelligible to the other.
The. Bothersome Flies.
The following froin an exchange may
not be without value:
Let me give you 'a piece of my experi-
ence with the troublesome flies. My room,
with a southern exposure, and the window
open day and night, has been free from
flies all summer, though in the adjacent
kitchen and dining•romn there have been
millions. I explain this by the fallowing
observations :
1. Flies hate light. -You can find them
in dark corners, dark passages, dark holes
never in blazing sunlight.
2. Flies hate a draught. They are at-
tracted by. effluvia, , and like close air,
while wind beats them about and gives
no promise of anything to eat. Set up a
tent on the prairie, making a little oasis•
of darkness and dead air, and in an hour
it will.be . full of .ffles. Where do they
come from ? From dawn in the grass
were it ia dark and Still. In England I
have seen multitudes in the close lanes,
overshadowed with trees and branching
hedg-rows, of which there are so many in
that country. But you never find them
in the open air and light.
3." Flies like all kiods of dirt, particu
larly decomposed organic matter. A kit•
then full of scraps and grease, a dining
room with, an unctuous cloth and steam
ing viands, a sick room; full of pestifer
ous odors and effluvia of every sort are
their paradise. Where there is perfect
cleanliness, flies, if they come at all, will
lie torpid, as they do in unoccupied rooms
during hot weather, and because there is
nothing for them to eat in such a place;
they will leave as soon as light and wind
are introduced.
The discovery of what is true, and the
practice of what is good, are the two most
lavortfint ;;I:j - -tE, of life.
. IJYEIC OF ACTION.: ,
':GIs the part of a coward to brood
O'er the past that is withered and dead ;
What though the heart's roses are ash-
es and dust ?
What though the heart's music be fled?
€till shine the grand heavens o'erhead,
When the voice of an angel thrills clear
- on the soul,
"Gird about thee thine armor, press on
to the goal !"
If the faults or the crimes of thy youth
Are a burden,too,heavy to bear, ,
What hope can bloom on the desolate
waste
--Of-a-jealous - and - craven despair ?
Down, down with theletters - offear - !
' In the strength of thy valor and man
hood arise,
With the faith that illumes and the will
that defies
"Too late !" through God's infinite world,
FroM "HIS - tliiline to life's nethermost
fires— •
"Too late 1" is a phantom that flies at the
' dawn
Of the soul that repents and aspires.
If pure thou hast made thy desires.
There's no height the strong wings of im
mortals may gain
Which in striving to reach thou shalt
strive in vain.
Then up to the contest' with fate;
Unbound by the past which is dead !
What though the heart's roses are ashes
and dust?
What though the heart's music be fled?
Still shine the fair heavens o'er head;
Abd sublime as the angel who rules in
the sun
Beams the promise of peace when the
conflict is won
Stephen Girard's Will.
In a recent lecture before the Mercan-
tile Library Association of &ston, Dr.
Cornell, gave the following interesting ac
count of the opening of Stephen Girard's
will
The old man lay dead in his hoouse on
Water street. While the public out of
doors were curious enough to learn what
he had done with his money there was a
smaller number within the house, the kin
dred of the deceased, in whom the curiosi
ty raged like'a mania. They invaded the
cellars of the house, and, bringing up bot
tles of the old man's choice wines, kept
up a continual carousal.: Surrounding
Mr. Duane, who had been present at Mr.
Girard's death and remained to direct his
funeral, they demanded to know if there
was a' will. To silence their indecent
clamor he told them there was and • that
he was one of the executors. On hearing
this their desire to learn its - contents rose
to a fury. In vain the executors remind
ed them that decency required that the'
will should not be opened till after the fu
neral. They even threatened legal pro
ceedings if the will was not immediately
produced, and at length, to avoid a pub
lie scandal, the executors consented to
have it read. These affectionate relatives
being assembled in a parlor of the house
in which the body of dieir benefactor lay
the will was taken from the iron safe by
one of the executors.
When he opened it and was about to
read he chanced to look over the top of
the document at the company before him.
No artist that ever held a brush could de
pict the passion of curiosity, the fivrisy of
expectation, expressed in that group of
pallid flees. Every individual among
them expected to leave the apartment the
conscious possessor of millions, for no one
had dreamed of his leaving the• bulk of
his estate to the public. If they had ev
er heard of his saying no one should be
gentleman on his money, they had forgot
ten or disbelieved it. The opening para
graphs of the will all tended to confirn\
their hopes, since the bequests to existing,
institutions were of small amount. But
the reader soon reached the part of the
will which assigned to ladies and gentle
man present such trifling sums as $5,000,
$lO,OOO, $20,000; and he arrived ere long
at the sections which dispoied of millions
for 'the benefit of great cities and poor
children. Some of them made not the
slightest attempt to conceal their" disap
pointment and disgust. Men were there
who had married with a view to share the
wealth of Girard, and had been waiting
vear*for his death. Women where there
who had looked to that event as the be
ginning of their enjoyment of life.
The imagination of the reader • must
supply the .details of a scene which we
might think dishonored human nature, if
we could believe human nature was meant
to be subjected to such a strain. It had
been better, perhaps, if the rich man 'in
his own lifbtime, had made his -kindred
partake of his superabundance,.especially.
as ha had nothing else that he could share
with them. They.attempted, on grounds
that seemed qtterlq frivolous, to break
the will, and employed the most eminent
counsel to conduct their cause, tut with
out effect. 'They did, however, succeed in
getting the property acquired after the
execution of the will, which Girard, dis
regarding the opinion of Mr. Duane, at
tempted by a postscript to include in the
will. "It will not stand," said the law
yer. "Yes it will," said Girard. Mr. Du
ane, knowing his man, was silent ; and
the courts have since decided that his o
pinion was correct. •
EDUCATION.—No more truthful sen
tence was ever penned by man than the
following by Chancellor Kent : "The pa
rent who sends his son into the world un
educated, defrauds the community of a
lawful citizen and bequeaths to it a nui
sance." These words should be written
in letters of gold over the entrance of etw
ery school in tile laud.
How a Merchant was Sold.
, Among the solid merchantkof Boston
two generations ago, none
,stood higher
than Mr. Hensha,w. Ho 'was as fine a
specimen of the old time Boston merchant
as could be found ; shrewd and far seeing
in his business operations, exact in all his
transactions, be , was withal very lenient
with au unfortunate debtor, especially
when he thought the tmcortunate was
honest and meant to be honorable.
One day a country merchant who had
been doing business in. New Hampshire,
and who was owing Mr. Renshaw about
$l5OO, called upon him and with pallid
face and tearful, .eyes, told him he had
dentist - paper' had
worth of his stock
alized enough to liquidate his liability as
endorser and that everything was gone
ut-a-farm-of-150-acres-which-he-owned
free of incurabratice, and "Here," said
the debtor, "is a deed of that which I
have drawn and duly executed conveying
it to you, here is the abstract of title lily
certified, and the papers am all recorded.
It is all I can do, and I have come to ask
you to accept it and give me a release."
And what do you propose to do ?" ask
ed the kind hearted merchant. He an
sivered that he was going to WI his house
hold furniture, and with the preceeds,
take his wife and child and go west, enter
some land, and try and work out a new
home. This "touched the spot," and seiz
ing him by the hand, Mr. Henshaw said,:
(the tears, meanwhile streaming down his
benevolent face). God bless you for an
honest man 1" and once executed the re
lease, and then taking his check book,
wrote a chec - for $5OO, and presented it
to the hank upt, saying, "Take this, it
will help you o start in your new home,
and I tell you, sir, that I never in my life
signed a check with more satisfaction."
So with a fervent "God speed" from the
generous merchant, the man withdrevir.—
This occured iu the fall of the year, and
when the roads "got settled," the follow
ing spring Mr. Henshaw thought he would
take a trip to New Hampshire and see
his farm, and either rent or dispose of it,
some way. He accordingly took the
l
stage early in the morning, and a little
after dark arrived at the village in sight •
of which the honest bankrupt had stated
the farm was located.
Taking his supper he retired to rest.
The nest morning he was up with the
sun, and walked out upon the steps of
the inn, where he seen the object of his
visit, he produced the deed, and asked if
he cuuld tell him the exact location of his
farm, as he proposed to take a look at it
after !breakfast. The jolly landlord, up
on looking at the precious document,
smiled audibly, and said:
"Yes, Squire, that's all right. Your
title is clear. lam the Town Clerk, and
know all about it. , But, Squire, I guesi
you won't care to go over the place. You
can see it all from here."
"Where ?" asked Mr. Henshaw.
The old man pointed to a high ledge
of rocks, covered with loose boulders,
coinpis:ng, without doubt, a full 150
acres, upon the whole area of which a
single goat would have died of starvation,
if limited to' the products of that farm
for sustenance.
"Good heavens! You mean to tell
me that that pile of rocks is my farm?"
"Just so, Squire, and it has been prof
itable farm to more than one purchaser,
I can tell you."
"How so ?"
"Wall, you see, Squire, nobody round
here is fool enough to pay taxes on it,
and every two or three years it is sold for
taxes, and is allus bid in by some mer
chant for a dollar or two, and he keeps it
until he fails, and then goes to Bosto❑
and uses it in settling with his creditors.
Why, I suppose, Squire, that that air
pile of rocks has paid more'n $5,000, of
debts, owin' to them smart Boston mer
chants. But there's the bell for break
fast. Won't you take a little rum and
tanzy, Squire?" It's a real good thing to
brace a man up when he feels a little
down in the mouth."
Mr. Henshaw took the return stage for
Boston, and before placing the deed of
his farm in his safe he wrote on the back
of it, SOLD.
STERN REALITY.-It may seem strange,
but it is nevertheless true, that alcohol,
regularly applied to a thrifty farmer's
stomach, will remove the boards from the
fences, let cattle into crops, kill the fruit
trees, mortgage his farm, and sow his
fields with wild oatiaud thistles. It will
take the paint off his building, break the
glass out. of the windows, and fill them
.with Tags,-. It will take the gloss from his
clothes and the polish from his manners,
subdue' his - reason, arouse his paSsions,
bring: orrow and disgrace upon his fami.
ly, and topple him into a drunkard's
grave. It will do this to the artisan and
the capitalist, the matron and the maiden
as well as to the farmer; for, in its dead.
ly enmity to the human race, Alcohol is
no respecter of persons.
BOYS BF: SPnucE.- 7 •Boys be spruce.—
Al woys strive to look neat and clean.
Black your shoes and, brush your clothes.
Never let people see you with your hair
like "Old Nick' in a wind," or with your
hands and face the color of mud. Slovli
ness and dirt tell against you fearfully.—
Speak up, and never hang back when peo
ple ask you queitions you ought to an
ewer. Promise only what you can and
will perform. Be
_prorppt. Keep your
appointments to the second, and never
put. off things. ' Tell the truth invaiiably.
These rules well attended to will make
you manly, and giali you the opinion of
the world.
ADVPItTi" I ii .the
"Brother Beecher, " says the venentblei;,7
Dr. Bacon, laying hie hand on the gret4.4
preacher's' shoulder, "Brother , Beechei*,
I fear the devil whispered in your ear just"y
now, -that this was a very tinelecture:
"0 no," replied lir. Beecher; ,heleft.'4,, - ;
that for you to do."
We never did - believe much in ileitaV_
relics, but if we must have
.them - 101e,r,
ought to be in the shape of somethiuv
worthwhile. A Nashville man' hai a•ret:,:k ,
is there is no discount on. 'ltis a bet L."•
bug preserved in alcohol, which wits::'
caught in a bed in which General Jack • '
son slept. •
Romance is not confined altogether to
populous cities. A beautiful incident has,
- lately transpired iu a neighboring village,
the particulars. of which are worthy to
compose a first-class story; During the
the cruel, bitter days of the late war, a
private soldier who was stationed in this
county, approached an unpretending farm
house, and asked -fiirsomething to
It was readily, given; and on leaving,ifilte
soldier offered to pay for liis ineal.'kft
the good host refused compensation. ,
The farmer had a good looking lass,
with bright eyes and rosy eheekS, and the
soldier could hardly tear himself .from
her charming society. As he wasleaving
the premises he shouk her hantl and gave
it a gentle squeeze, as much as tO say "I
love you," which was answered by a blush
that told a short but sweet tale.. Before
another interview the 'regiment was or
dered to the front, and amid the 'din - and
carnage of war he did not forgetnhe - 1*
from whom he had raart(td. The War
closed, and found` the soldier a. cripple.—
The old love still lingered, but'his condi
tion unfitted him to take charge of
family, therefore he bad' never sued for
the . band' that • was so dear to him.
,But
a few weeks ago a relative passed over
the flood and left the young man a well
stocked and valuable • farm. -pc took
possession of the farm with a proud heart.
His only dread was concerning the Wash
ington county girl, whom he feared .was
beyond his reach a s the wife of Another.
He accordingly. jumped on a' train and
visited the section in which his ideal lived.
Upon inquiring he learned that she was•
still alive and unmarried; that her father •
had died; that the old farm leidlced
sold; and she, with her aged motlfer, was
living in the village. Ile at elm sought
her presence, promptly offered to her his.
heart, and his home , and to the mother a'
comfortable refuge for her last days.—
The girl remembered the soldier and ac
cepted the .civilian, and a few mornings
tince the Cumberland Valley train 'took
the happy little tinnily to their western
home. Our 'hope for a happy life cheer
ly follows them.--Hagerstown. Daily
Hews. •
Love all, trust a few, and wrong no
one. . -
rriendship. like iron,. is fragile if ham
mered too thin.
—Never speak loud. one another,
unless the house is on fire.
"
In Tesige money tliiis
ofding
•'- 4,
nud aaniner.
. ,
What is that which by losing an eye
has only a nose. left ?—A noise.
" 'A
man has. beeri arrested for.takiitt, , .;
.Lings as they come.
Our housekeeper is certainly a. most
generous woman., She has just volunteer
ed 'to give an eye to a - domestic Nth - 61as
j
lately joined the establishment. •
"An Indiana paper says girls should be
taught that God made them in His own
image, and that no amount of tight lacing
--- )rove_the_ =die.
'erkins, so called, froze his ears in
. thoweboodkry, but it is a comfort
to know that he has plenty left for Alm
's frnst_to_work_on
• Titusville had a marriage of a wornatt
to her step-son. And now comes Altoona
with a case wherein a son marries his
mother. The eon was a eleryman, holf
ever, and, married his mother to a farmer,
"Paddy," said a joker,
"Iv* don't you
have your ears cropped ? they are entire
ly too long, for a man." "And your:4,"
replied Pat, "ought to be lengthened; they
are too short forAtn ass."
• It is stated that the heart of a man
weighs about nine ounces, that of a woman
about eight. As their age, increases, a
man's heart grows heavier and the wa
man's lighter—some girls lose theirs at
sixteen.
A Chicago man wrote to Agassiz that
he had au apple which he bad preserved
for fifty-three years, and When Agassiz
wrote for it, the joker said twa.s . the ap•
ple of his eye. •
One feeble clergyman asked a brother,
preacher if he was never troubled about
the doctrine of the "perseverance of thet
saints ?" The more robust brother drily
rerlied, "Not a bit of it—the perseverance
of the sinners is all that troubles me!"
At a recent Cattle Show, a lot of black
pigs, breed not stated, classed as 'less than
eighteen.month,' weighed about 800 16s.
each. They are described as being, sitfat
that it was necessary to place blocks of
wood under their snouts to keep them from
choking. . •
A Romance.
X : 444, ,X47!: 7
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