33Y W. BLAIR.
VOLUME 26.
c s glut pottrg.
MUG I LI an
'Give me ttn eye to other's failings blind—
(itiss Smith's new bonnet is quite a fright
behind.)
Wake me in charity for the suffering poor
(There comes that contribution plate once
more.)
Take from my soul all feelings covetous—
.(Vll have a shawl like that or make a fuss Z)
Let love for all mankind my spirit stir—
•(Sawe "Mrs. Jones—l'll never speak to her!)
Let , me in truth's fair.pages take delight—
.(l'll read thnt.othermovel through to-nigh!)
:Mike me contented with my earthly state
(l wish Pd married rich. But it's too late).)
Give me a heart of faith an all my kind—
t(3liss Browri's as big a Itypocrfte as you'll
find !) •
Help me to see myseittorcifliers see--
(This Ilress is quite becoming unto me!)
Let rue act out no falsehood, I appeal—
kl wonder if they think these curls are•real!)
Make my heart of humility the fount—
(How glad I am our pew'ssorlear the•font!)
Fill me with patience and strength to wait
(l know he'll preach until our dinner's late!)
Take from my heart each grain of self con
ceit—
(I'm sure the gentlemen must think me
sweet !)
Let saintly visions be my daily food--
,(I wonder what they'll have for dinner
good!)
Let not my feet ache on the road to light
(Nobody knows how these shoes pinch and
bite !)
In this world teach me to deserve the next—
(Church out! Charles, do you recollect the
text ?)
Pisan:turns {ending.
SCARED OUT OF A WIFE.
The narrative which I am about to
write, was told me one bleak, cold night,
in a country parlor. It was one of those
nights in midwinter, when the wind swept
over the land, making everything tingle
with its frosty breath, that I was seated
before a blazing fire, surronnded by a jol
ly half dozen boys and an old bachelor,
Peter Green—about forty-eight years old.
'twits just the night without to make
those within enjoy a good story, so each
of us had told his favorite story, gyre Mr.
.Green, and as he was a jolly old fellow,
We all looked for a jolly story. We were
somewhat surprised to hear him say, "I
have no, story that would interest you,"
so we had to find other amusements for a
while, when one of the boys told me ask
him how it happened that he never got
married. So I did.
Well gentlemen,. he began, it don't
.seem right for me to tell you how it hap
pened, but as it is myserf, I don't care
much. You see when, I was young we
had to walk as high as five miles to church
and singing school, which was our chief
.enjoyment. But this don't have anylhing
to do with my not getting a wife, but I
just wanted to show you that we had some
trouble them days in getting our sport.
John Smith and I were like brothers
or like "Mary and her little lamb."—
Where one went the other is sure to go.
fio we went to see two sisters, and 'as we
-were not. the best boys imaginable, the
old gentleman took umbrage and wouldn't
allow us to come near the house, so we
would take the girls to the end of the lane
:and there we would have to take the final
kiss.
We soon .got tired of that sort of fun,
cud I told. John, on our way to singing
school .one night, that I was going to take
Sad& .home, and that I . was going into
the house too.
He said the old man would run me if
I did.
I told him I was going: o risk it any
how, let come what would.
He said "he would risk it if I would.'
So home we went with,the girls. When
we got to the end of the lane I told the
_girls we proposed going all the way.
They looked at each other in a way I
didn't like too well, but.said as the old
folks would be in bed, they didn't care
if we did. .
They very a little more surprised yet
when I told them we thought of going in
a little while, but us all was quiet when
we got to the house, we had no trouble of
getting into the kitchen.
Then there we had our fir court, and
I made up my mind to ask Saddie to be
_my wife the next time I came I
It was now past the turn of the night,
and we had four miles to walk. I told
.John we would have to be going. So we
stepped out on the porch, but just as we
.did so, the sky was lit up by lightning,
.and one tremendous thunder peal rolled
along the mountain sides. Its echo .bad
not died out in the far off vales until the
rain began to pour from the garnered
fullness of the clouds. We waited ibr it
to stop until we were all sleepy, when the
girls said we should go to bed in the lit
tic room at the head of the stairs which
led out of the kitchen ; as their father
.didn't get up early we would be home be
fore the old folks were astir. So after
bidding.the girls a sweet good night, and
wishing them pleasant dreams, and prom
ising them to come back on next Satur
day night. we started for bed.
We didn't have far to go, as the bed
stood near—the-head - of the stairs. John
was in bed, but as I always was a little
slow, and full of curiosity, I was looking
around the little room ; at last I thought
I would sit down on a chest which was
spread with a nice white cloth, while I
drew oft my boots. So down I sat, when,
stars of the east, I went Omni) into a big
egg•custard pie !
I thought John would die laughing;
for he said I bad smashed that' custard
all to thunder, and right in two.
You - see we had to be awful quiet so
that the old man wouldn't hear.
I was now ready to get into bed, so I
put the light out and picked up my boots,
thinking to put them in,arnore conveni
ent place, when ' dovin my One foot went
through a stove pipe hole, which had been
covered by paper, upto my hip.
Now one part of me was up stairs, while
the longest part was in the kitchen.
As my leg was very long it reached a
shelf which was occupied by dishes, pans,
coffee pots, ate., and turning it over, down
it went with a tremendous crash. •
The girls had not yet retired, and I
could. hear them laugh fit, to split, their
sides. •
I felt awful . ashamed, and was scared un
til my heart was in my throat, for I ex
pected the old man every moment.
I extracted my leg from the confound
ed hole just in time, for the old woman
lucked in from the room door, and asked,
"What all that noise was about."
The girls put her off as best they could
and I went to bed, while John was strong
ling himself under the cover to keep from
laughing aloud.
We soon went off into the land of
dreams, with the hope of waking early. I
wish I could tell you my dreams, but it
would take me too long. One moment
I would fancy myself by the side of Sadie,
sipping nectar from her heaven-bedewed
lips, and the next I would, be flying from
the old man, while he would be flourish
ing his cane about my head.
This all came to an end by John giv
ing me a kick.
On waking up and' looking around'
saw' John's eyes as big as my fist, while
the sun was beapaing in at the 'window.—
What to do now we couldn't tell, for
we heard the old man having family
prayers in the kitchen.
John looked' out of the window and
said we could get down over the porch
roof.
"Get out and dress as soon as possible,'
he said.
So in my burry my feet got fastened
in the bed clothes, and'out I tumbled,
head foremost, turned over, and down the
steps until I struck the door, which was
fastened by a wooden button, and oat I
rolled right in front of the old man.
He threw up his arms and cried" Lord
save us!" for he thought that I was the
devil.
The old lady screamed until you could
haVe heard her a mile.
I was so scared and bewildered that
I couldn't get up at once. It was warm
weather, and I didn't have anything on
but a narrative. • •
When I heard the girls snickering it
made me mad, and jumped up and
rushed out of the door, leaving the great
er part of my shirt on the old iron door
latch-
Off I started for the barn, and when
half way through the dog set up a howl
and went for me.
When , ,I got into the baitkyard I had
to run 'through a flock of sheep, and
among them was an old ram," who back
ed off a little and started forme. With
one bound I escaped his blow, sprang in
to the barn, and began to climb up the
logs into the mow, when an old mother
hen pounced upon my.legs, picking them
until they bled.
I threw myself upon the bay, and after
John had slide down the porch into a hogs
head of rainwater, be came to me with
one of my boots, my coat, and one of the
legs of my pants. ,
He found me completely prostrated.—
Part of my shirt,.my hat, one leg of my
pants, my vest, stockings, necktie, and
one boot were left behind.
I vowed then and there that I would
never go to see another girl, and I'll die
before I will.
ADVERI I uNG.—To dull times—apply
an advertisement to the afflicted parts.
A sign board can't tell everything. It
takes an advertisement to do that.
All who advertise do not get rich, but
precious few get rich without it.
The world is full of advertising, yet
every one wants to see what is new.
The world's memory is short. It will
forget you ifyou do not jog it frequently.
'Early to bed and early to rise,
Mill all be in vain if you don't advertise.
The world is sure to find out an honest
man; but it will find him out a great
deal quicker if he advertises.
Your advertisement is your repmen
tative. It need not be large or imposing,
but should be honest and respectful.
truth may contrive to live at the bot
tom of a well, but it is about the only
thing that can make a living in such ob
scurity.
It takes three things to make advert's.
ing pay ; Honest goods, an attractive ad
vertisement, and an economical and good
medium.
The telescope seems to bring distant
friends near you ; the advertisement real.
ly puts you into communication with them.
Mind your own business, and you will
have enough to do.
At FAMILY NEW - gPAPEit-4DEVOTED TO LITERATITkE, LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWS. ETC.
WAYNESBORO?, FRANKLIN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 1874.
Wisdom Paragraphs.
Trifles often lead to serious results.
Flee pleasure and it will follow thee.
Truth fears nothing but concealment.'
Do what you ought, come what may.
A guilty conscience needs no accuser.
Adversity . make a man wise, not rich.
Procrastination is the thief of time.
Betray no trust ; divulge/0 secret.
Hope deferred, maketh the heart sick.
Modesty has more charms than beauty.
Of earthly goods, the best is a good
wife.
Religious contention is Satan's har-
vest.
Age and youth both have their dreams
.The sweetest pleasures are the soonest
gone.
Some are very busy, yet do nothing.
• Love rules his kingdom without a
sword.
Do good whenever you can, and forget
it.
Man carries an enemy in his own bO•
som.
The first step to greatness is to le bon
est.t
Defile not your mouth with - impure
words.
Deeds are fruit—but word's are only
leaves.
Better be aloue than to be in bad coat-
Money is a good servant, but a bad
master.
Articles of real merit are worth their
value,
When flatterers meet, Satan goes to
dinner.
The simple flowers are sociable and be
nevolent.
A pound of care will not pay a pound
of debt.
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins
the soul.
Youth looks at the possible, age at the
probable.
No one ever becomes poor through
giving alms.
Report is a quick traveler, but an un
safe guide.
Drive thy business or thy business will
drive thee.
. A good book supplies the place of a
companion.
He who , despises the little, is not wor
thy of the great.
Many kiss hands they would fain see
chopped off. .
Fortune can only take from us that
which she gaire us.
It's a very proud horse that will not
carry his oats.
Never lose your respect ; if that is lost,
all is lost.
Undertake nothing without thoroughly
considering it.
agar..
The exact number of letters are in the
President's and Vice Pr es ident's name—
Abraham Lincoln and Hannibal Ham.
lin. •
Every letter that is it? the Vice Presi
dent's name is in the President's name,
is also in the Vice President's name.
The last syllable of the President's
Christian name, and the first one of his
surname, form the surname of the Vice
President.
The first syllable of the President's
surname, is the last syllable of the Vice
President's surname.
The last syllable of the President's
Christian name, is the same as the first
syllable of the Vies President's surname,
and when the surnames of both
are placed one above the other, they may
be read in regular order, or the same rea
ding will be rendered by separating, as
above, the syllables of each, and reading
them upwards.
The Scientific American predicts that
the time Will soon come when ice will be
manufsntured in all our great eitiem at a
dollar a ten. Manufactured ice at three
dollars a ton has for some time been in
the markets of New Orleans.
LIN COLN
HAIL LIN
A LA MODE.
BY OBPIIEOtS C. EMIL
He bowed in loving homage to
His darling and liis bride,
nd vowed by all that's good and true,
... was creation's pride.
He bore him meekly in her view,
As though - alit, was a - satritT —
Then whispered, "Are you satisfied ?"
And she replied, AIN'T
He bought a bonnet new for her,
Of cost o'er all beside ; ,
He sought for satin, silk and fur,
Of pattern rich and wide,.
.'
And gave her these, with jewels rare,
Whereof not one was sham ;
Then thundered, "Are you satisfied ?"
And she replied, "I AM I ,
What to Do for a Living.
Men make a regular business of walk-,
ing the streets of Paris at break of day
to nick up the "inconsiderable' trifles"
dropped by careless people the nightpre
vious. Here is a fellow who - pursues the
same evocation iu New York. Being ar
rested on suspicion of practicing some.
criminal "dodge" for a living, he rises
to explain that his emoluments arise from
-finding things. '
"Well your Honor, you see the trades,
are too full—more men than work—and
I don't want to lay down and din. So,
coming from a very lucky family—don't
smile; it hurts my feelings—and having'
very sharp eves, start out into the street
by 'daybreak - , or earlier, if there's a good
moon, and examine the streets and side
walks when - people and horses are at home
asleep. I walk miles before breakfast,
and always find somethin_ worth i -*. _
up, generally dropped the night before.—
Say kid gloves, handkerchiefs, knives,
pencils, oceasionly a hat, sometime an,
umbrella, now and then small parcels,
Nssibly a pocket-book, once in a while a
few stamps, frequently a horse shoe."
"How much money did you ever pick
up ?"
"One two dollar bill, good money, one
five dollar bill, counterfeit, but no end to
ten-cent scrip and nickels.' People who
drop gold watches are scarce.. My best.
hold is small sums like ten, twenty-five
and fifty-cent scrip, and my best' hold in
goods is knives, handkerchiefs, and small
buddies. I have fluctuated down as low
as picking up a pin, but it was more for
luck than anything else ; and I have got
as high as a five, dollar shawl, several
times dirk knives, and once a revolver.—
What do I with all these things? Why,
I pawnbroke 'em or sell 'min bar-rooms
or, sometimes, call at houses and offer 'em
cheap foi cash—"stranger in the city,"
you know ; "relics of a distant relative,';
want money enough to get back to my
good home m the country. Everybody
is a stranger to a certain extent, and we
are all relatives in Adam, and'every poor
man would like to go to his good horns
in.the country, if he only knew where it
was.
"Anybody can find things, but some
are professional finders ; and there aro
specialities in . the business—:dog, horse,
wagon, pocketbook, watch, and even spec
ial valuable cat finders—but they are all
reward men. I am; however, I think
the only original, breaklof day, miscella
neous, accidental finderthere is in the ci
ty, or perhips,, in. the world, who finds,
ut hope of reward, except for what
get ter what I find. Do I make my
inderstood 2" Perfectly. ' You are
idering philanthropist and political
mist; and, as you have managed to
body and soul together for ten years
is business, I think I won't make you
'den to the State."
Mother's 'House.
'w many happy thoughts are called
those two beautiful words. Is there
. there be any place so lull of plea
places beneath the waving palms of
isles, or in the chilling shadows of
mountains? Our heart turns with
Angeable love and longing to the
old house which sheltered us in our
(hood. Kind friends may beckon us
lwer scenes, and loving hearts may
us fast to pleasant homes, but we
lot satisfied with them alone, for
is one place more fair and lovely
them all, and that , is the beloved
ther's House."
may be old and rickety to the eyes
stranger. The windows may have
broken and patched long ago, and
the floor worn through and mended with
pieces' f tin, bat it is still mother's house
from wisichk we' looked' out at life with
hearts full of hope,. building.wonderful
castles in cloudland which faded long ago,
but thanks to the good Father, mother's
house is left us still', and, 4eary with the
busy turmoil of life,'weary with ourselves,
we turn our steps towards the dear house
of rest, and at its threshold lay our bur
dens down.
Here we have watched life come and
go. Here we have folded still, cold hands
over hearts as still, that once beat full
for tie. Here we have welcomed brothers
and sisters , into life, watched for the first
lisping words from baby lips, guided the
tottering, :baby feet from helplessness to
manhood, and here we have watched with
aching hearts to see the 'dear ones turn
from the home-nest out into a world
which has proved but a snare and temp
tation to =any wandering feet ; and here
we gather strength to take up our lives
again and g`► on patiently unto the end.—
But though the world calls us, and we
may find friends good and true, we turn
to the dear old home, when tronbles come,
for help and comfort. Gad grant that
fbr us all there riay lout 41'.italli " Mo
ther's House!"
Our devil has graduated.
The Law of Accumulation.
Everybody knows that money makes
money, but it is not everybody that pays
attention to the motive operandi by t which
this is brought about and practical con
sequences which follow.
Schoolboys are taught the rule of 'com
pound interest, but nine out ten forget all
about it for the remainder of their lives.
Yet this principal has more to do with
the accumulation of largo fortunes than
any :other cause whatever; and it has
bearings on the ratio style of expenditure
both personal and natural, of which the
practical character cannot be overrated.
We read in a, paper a few moriths_ago
of the death of •an eminent 'London 'cap.'
talist, who left the enormous fortune of
three millions sterling. This old gentle
man was over ninety years of age at his
death and it is pretty evident that he was
a man of quiet habits and moderate ex
penditure, letting his capital accumulate
from year to year by its own natural force.
.Now, it is only,when it has been in oper
ation for a longseries of consecutive years
that we see what the force of compound in
terest is. For the first' few years the aug
mentation is 'almost imperceptible, but
when once the power of increase has .be
come" •developed, it goes on at an au,g
raentating ratio until the results are al
most incredible. There can be no- doubt
that in the case, ust mentioned the wealth
accumulated after the natural- duration
of life had been reached was far more
than all the seventy years previous.
If money can beinvested at eight per
cent., and the interest reinvested at the
same rate, it will double itself in five
years. Allow ten year for this to' take
place, owing to lose of time and reinvest
ing, and we reach the remarkable conclu
'..— - ; -a ie, we mean, to those who
have not thought about it—that if a man
can lay by a thousand dollars at one and
twenty, and it accumulate at compound
interest it will amount to the enormous
sum of thirty thousand dollars if he lives
to the age of seventy, to sixty thousand
at eighty, and to the amount of a hundred
and twenty thousand at ninety. This is
the secret of the large fortunes of the great
bankers, capitalists of Europe, whose mon
ey goes on accumulating for generations
augments with•prodi.rious rapidity after
thirty or fifty years have passad on.
The process, however, may be revised.
-A man wasted or spends a thousand dol
lars needlessly by the time he is two and
twenty. What is the effect ? If he lives
till seventy he will be thirty thousand
poorer for it ; or we will say, he will
have lost the chance of being thirty thou
sand dollars better off than he is. ,
We then arrive at the general truth,
that the younger a; man is more Valuable
money is to him.' We have seen what a
thousand dollars is to amen of twenty
one, viz : the making of a fortune; but IL
thousand dollars to a man of fifty would
be of comparatively small amount.
Suppose a man begins life with econom
ical habits, and by rigid self-denial accu
mulates five hundred pounds by the time
he is twenty-five. That sum will amount
to a competency by the time he desires to
be free from the cares of business, and he
then (and indeed for .years before) has
the pleasure of laying out his money freely,
and without fear iu•gratifying his tastes
or in doing good.
But if he is inclined to gratify his
tastes when young, to buy, we
expensive furniture, or to mingle freely
in society, so that he never saved at all
Until lie is Ave and forty what good will
five • hundred pounds do him then ? Tt is
of course, good in itself but as the founda
tion, of a competency it is utterlyinade
quate. It would' only amount to two
thousand pounds at sixty-five, and not to
competency= till long after three NM
and ten.
The points of the whole matt( r are
therefore these: Every dollar
,saved in
youth is worth thirty dollars at !Ad age ;
every hundred dollars in foolery or finery
before live and twenty is simply three
thousand dollars• thrown away ofprovis
ion for the time when work must be a
burden.
Let our young men in business think
of this. They are exposed on entering
life, to innumerable temptations to spend.
Let such be steadily restated. The true
course in youth is quick saving and care
fut. economy. By and by a time will
'come when this will bear its legitimate
fruits. Then is the time fbr open-hand-,
ed 'freedOra l in expenditure, when the judg.
merit is matured when the knowledge of
the World is required, and when capital
is accumulated to, such an extent that
even if there is no more saving, there need
be no further anxiety.—Afeichanes Manu
facturer and Review.
.Atiour. BEDs.-L-A little girl in one of
the Bellefonte schools produced the fol
lowing composition on ‘'heds": !'A. bed is
one of the comtints of life. There are
'different kinds of beds. There is nothing
like the sick-bed for repentance. Some
people become so virtuous then that they
will often repent'of sins that they have
never committed. Some beds are always
inhabited. People can't see any fan or
relighin in these inhabitants, their whole
aim is to chase them out with shovel or
tongs and drive them to the brink of de
spair or ruin them with death. The pret
ties bed, and the one most admired, is the
flower-bed.
An act has passed the Legislrture giv
ing a bounty on fox and wild cat scalps
in the several counties of the common
wealth. The bounty is $2 on full grown
foxes, and $1 on half grown. This is to
prevent the raising of foxes for the pre
mium. The bounty for wild cats is g 2
each.
Why is a beefsteak like a locomotive ?
It's not of much account without it's ten
4.kr.
The Power of-a Brake.
The fast line,on Friday night, the 13th
inst., which contained Senator Itutain,
Graham and Anderson and other mem
bers of the Legislature, was saved froin a
fearful catastrophe on the Allegheny
mountain• by z theprompt action of air
brake in use on the PennsylOania rail.
road. The •Pittsburg Post gives the fol
lowing account of the occurrence: When
the train had passed Kittanning . point, or
the "horse-shoe . bend," as it is up grade
on the 'Allegheny , mountains, the bell
rope tightened with a sudden , twang,
truck the top of the car, and stretched be
yond its utmost extension, it snapped and
slackened with a rattle that nearly
brought down the lamps. A short
"doWn brakes" signal from the engine
caused a few anxious passengers to look
out, - when they immediatly discovered
that the two powerful engines had broken
loose and were some three' hundred yards
up the mountain.: , • '
Most fortunately the train which was
thought to be going up the mountain at
a high rate of speed, stopped its upward
progress within one length of itself, and
there it stood ,on that fearful declivity,
over six hundred feet to the ravine, and
ten miles upfront the foot of the grade;
with Kittanning
,point, or "horse-shoe
bencTrinidway, before
the ' train had not been checked,_would._,
have attained the speed of a tninnie bail
and have left the track at that curve
like a flAng machine, and in all proba
bility not one 'of the passengers would
have been living to-day. The air brakes,
however, better known' as "The Westing
house Atmospeheric Brake," clasped the
wheels like a vice the moment the pres
sure from the engine had been taken away,
and the train was saved from destruction
by this seemingly simple appliance.
Idle but Hurtful Words.
There 'is nothing in the New Testament
more startling than the enunciation of the
responsibility which we assume whenever
we speak ; for every idle word we shall
have to give an account at the last, great
day.
There is something appalling in this,
for how many idle words have we all spo
ken I
But there is no principle of divine lavr
for which there is not some substantial
reason; and our own observation has led
us to the Conclusion that no inconsidera
ble part 'of the unhappiness in this world
is occasioned by hasty, ill-considered idle
words.
People are more sensitive than they are
thought to be, and more people are sensi
tive than are thought to posers any sen
sibility whatever. We mean sensibility
to the remark of others. '
, A Whole life :may be influenced--a
whole life may be changed—a whole life
may be,darked, by a single observation,
the maker of which never thinks of again.
Words lightly uttered often sink very
deep into the mind of some boy or girl to
whom they ere addressed; and when those
Words are cruel or unkind or unjust, they
may rankle. there for years, never losing
their freshness or their force in memory,
but often recurring to recollection—a lap
in Well' of bitterness—
And grown people are often as semi
tive as children. Men and women appear
almost indifferent, and even callous to
what is said to them, or about them, are
not unfrequently deeply wounded by some
thoughtless remark, to which the speaker
attaches little or no importance. •
If we habitually bore in mind how hurt
ful to others our idle words may be, we
should utter less of them.
Liquor Laws of ye Olden Time.
SOino *of the old laws for the regula
thin of taverns are rather curions. The
following, enacted July 11, 1677, by the
.”Great and General Court," Held at
Plymouth, will serve as aspeeimen :
'it is ordered by the Court 'and the au.
thorities thereof that none shall presume
to deliver any, wine, strong Liquors or
Cider to any person or persons who they
may suspect will abuse the same; or to
any boyes, Gerles., or single persons, tho'
pretending to come in the name of any
sick person, , without a note under, the
hand of some sober 'person in whose name
they come; on pain - of five shillings for
every such transgression. The one shilling
to the Country and the other halfe to the
onformer." .
Drunkenness was punished hy various
penalties, which will seem amusing to us,
though doubtless considered otherwise hy
those who incurred them. Here are a
few'specimens:
"Sergeant• Perkins, ordered to carry
forty turfs to the forte, for being drunk.•
"Daniel Clark, foundlo be an immod
erate drinker, fined forty shillings!),
"J'ohn Wedgewood, for 'being' in the
company of drunkards, to be set in the
stocks."
"A man who lad often been punished
for being drunk Was now ordered to wefir
a red D about his neck fora year."
Such ,entries may be found scattered
through the old Court Records, andoc
casionally reprimands or dismissals for
drunkenness may be found 'on the church
records.
Quite a trade bad sprung up between
the coloniei and France and the \Veit
Indies. The colonies exported fish, pipe
staves, clapboards, and received in return
wines, ruin and various other articles.—
Beir. Increase Mather, in - a sermon
preached. at Boston in 1686, thus deplores
the introduction and use of rum:
• "It isra'common thing that later years
a kind of strong Drink, called Bum, has
been common alnongst us, which the pooh
er sort era:oe, pat, vvr,...1 a.; 1,1
try, can make themselves drunk with.—
Those that are poor and wicked too, can
for a penny or two peace make themselves
.112 4 00 PER IrEAR.
RXBER 41.
drunk. I wish to the Lord some 4emeqy
may be thought of for the prevention' of
this evil."
Nearly two hundred years nave flown
by since the worthy gather,nttered this
wish, and as yet no remedylasappeared.
Up a Tree,.
Canada yonill'has proted toliis eci'
pieta satiscaetiOn that,'Miltion's definition
of jealous , • - -
may be accepted, so limas heis concerned,
at least, in the most liberal sense. He
became posessed of the idea that his ina
morata received the visits of other admii:
ers than himself, and to satisfy his jealtius
suspicions he concluded to take, advgn
tage Of a dark night and station him Self
in the branches of a tree which overlook
ed the window of the lady's sitting-room.
He hardly accomplished this. somewhat
difficult feat before the curtains of "the
golden Window of his silent watch" were
cruelly and closely drawn and his Virgil
was rendered fruitless: As he prepared
to return to earth he became aware, from
the . dedp-nao'uthed bayinis'whieh greeted
his ears; that a large dog Was anxiously.
awaiting his descent, and for. twa long
hours he desperately, butneeessarily some
what quietly, endeavored to_ induce the
animal to retire.. flue theft Wei as faith
_ful_as_Byron!s_boatsiVain;_atathe unlife
ky lover's smothered entreaties and dm
-pre-cations were alike unavailing. He
was therefore compelled to select the most
corafortable crotch the branches Of the
tree - afforded, and .resign' himself to -a
night of dismal unrest,-. When the first•
streaks of dawn enahled the half frozen
fellow to get a glimpse of his_ tireless ;
watcher, he found, equally to hiS disgust
and relief, that the dog was' lii4
The suddenness with 'which the baffled
lover finally reached the ground is. said
to have been remarkable, and the solilo•
quy in which he indulged shockingly -pro
fan e.
• IntrutiENcc.—The following. from St.
Louis is said to be true, and it is certain.
ly very good :
The venerable Mr. G—is proprietor
of a large planing mill is a highlTrespect=
ed clristian gentleman. Seated Hillis of=
lice one morning, he was , accasted•loy
black-eyed specimen of humanity, who
asked for ten .cents to get a drink.
"Fact is," said he, "/ have been on a
drunk, am broke, and want just ons good
drink to sober off on."'
Nov Mr. G. was a Strong advocate of
temperance, and turning to the man, he
said :
"I am not a drinking man, but there is
my brother Jim
,over there ; he may.help
you ;" which remark; by the way, was a
decided hit on Jim, who did netraject to
an occasional smile, .and knowing hOW it
was himself, be handed the man ...-the
asked for dime, remarking,—, „ ,„.
"That's for telling the . iruth; you
had said you wanted to • bUY - bread;'or
something to eat, I wouldn't.liave given
it to you.' '
"Thank you," says thelnebriate ,;,"had
I known you were so bloody liberal,
boned you fin. a quarter." . •
"Here is fifteen cents `more for your im
pudence," handing, the man, the amount.
"Good morning.'
Their visitor backed to the'door, then
turning to Jim' with an amusing stard,•
he said,— •
"I would like to tell you something
providing you don't get mad."
"Go ahead. What is it?" wa s the're
ply. • .
- "Well, you're the ugliest white man I
think I ever saw l!'
~ , ,
~ , i . , , ,
There is one act of peliteneis Which,la '
some European countries the poorest peas
ant never gets. It istbe salutation : of the
'dead. A. funeral' passing through the ,
streets of London or Pittsburgh is treated . '
with no more consideration than a-street"'
car, but in Italy every hat would be rais
ed, in reverent salutation as the
. cotpse
went by. There may, PerhePs,. be 'very '
littlesincerity in the feeling which prompt '
the salutation, but it isene•of ,those grace
fu 1 1 i ttlb actions : by. which we. express
sympathy for the bereaved, and acknowl
edge in the presence of death, that touch
of nature which makes us kin. • •
11 fine old Dutch lady one day ,lasti
week, unfortunately felt from the top of
the cellar stairs, feet first, clear' dOwn to'
bottom, bumping every.step... Her head,
however, during the whole journey, down, .
was right side up. On reaching the hot
tom' being somewhat jarred and unsettled
she exclaimed to her husband, 'Obese name
was Peter—
• “Mine Got, pater '! ' Pater !'6::ime
Psh knocked mine prains out Ort dory
athep." • .
It is needless to .say-Peter ran quickly,
and helping the good, old lady, up„
claimed—
"Nefer pcfore did knoii"virtro your
prains vas: - •: ''• • " •
The precious lad
lowing comindrum . ..has. 'bud. itt on 'his
head for some days, and it ier thaughtlo.
will recover if kept quiet a. week or,saz
"Why is an elephant unlike a tree ?Be
cause a tree leaves in the 'sprin.g,:and the '
elephant leaves when the menagerie'doci?
Two de4oilia, puce, disputing about
proposed' new graveyard, one remarked
"I'll never 'he 'buried in:that 'grotiud us
long as :I live I" "What -an nbotirattn
man !".said the. other. "If my life is
spared, I will.
"Pomp, Ala ebile tried ebery. gift-fair
and prize, bit Heber could draw nuffiu."'
—"Caesar, yu jist try a han' tart. Mei).
be you could'dFaw dat. Yahl yab r
Ali"Cim anybutly icia ,
why, when E ve Itas manufactured of one
of Adam'a'ribi, a tired girl wasn't made
at th' time to wait on k . er . r
- • '