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BY W. BL.AIR.
VOLUME - 2 ; .
cleft tilottrg..
THE HOB OF TWENTY YEARS AGO.
•
BY PARK WILSON.
Fond fancy brings to dreaming eyes
A picture sweet and clear—
,And, as I gaze, new beauties rise,
And many an image dear.
''Tis not of hoary castles gray,
. Nor hamlet on the lawn,
Nor where the lingering moonbeams play
' O'er ancient tower or.toirn—
Mut sleeping now in Summer's light,
And now_in_Winterls_snaw
She brings the home again to-night
Of twenty years ago. -
Sweet spot ! thou hadst no frowning walls
No :battlement nor mere;
But in thy Hospitable halls
What gladsome light and cheer -
How innocent the mirth and jest,
Row fondly beamed .each eye,
How kindly welcomed was the guest
Of low estate or high;!
-0, happy earth, if in thy round
All might such welcome know
As in that home each pilgrim found
- - Oftwenty years ay.:,
And where are they? The happy band
Who gathered round their sire,
And prayed for tales of foreign land
Beside the evening fire;
. The laughing girl, the bright-eyed boys; ----
The youth,-the-maid-was there--;
the tottering infant spread his toys
Beside his mother's chair.
But now how dear each well-known room
When fades the sunset glow ?
;Fer hut one lamp lights up the home
. .of:twenty years ago.
,One who had dWelt years afar
Found in thy shades a grave—
Bo:Lae:wander where the evening star
Sinks in the western wave—
:Scattered, perchance, for aye are they
Once gathered ineath thy roof;
For duty calls, and they obey
Her high but stern behoof.
'Yet from each heart fond prayers will rise
When fancy does but show,
"That pictured home to dreaming eyes
•
Of twenty - years ago.
— Alißtellaueous aleadinjj.
JOHN'S CHOICE.
Peter Jansen was a wealthy and eccen
tric New England farmer. The owner
in fee simple of many broad and fertile a
cres of available land, and the proud pa
rent of a very promising son, now 'near
grown, who iu his infancy had the un
heard of name of John. '
Now John Jansen had been brought up
in a very careful and proper manner, and
it was therefore not to be wondered at
that, as he grew more mature, that he was
regarded as a very exemplary young man
by those who knew him intimately. He
was sober and industrious iu his habits,
cultivated and refined in his tastes, with
disposition to get along and prosper in the
world, as his lather had done before him.
But the time came when he was one
and twenty. This is a remarkable epi
sode in the lives of most young men, when
fully freed from parental restraint by the
construction of the law, they think they
know so much, and subsequently learn
they know so little.
'"Now possibly Peter the poor regarded
this event in his son's life with as great
concern as did John the junior, for certain
it is, that shortly thereafter he summoned
the young man into his presence for a lit
tle private conversation.
"Well, John," he said, "how does it
,seem to be one and twenty r'
"Seem ! why I can't see as it seems a
ny different from any other time." •
"Can't, eh? 0, well you'll see quick
enough, I guess. I suppose the next thing
you'll be thinking of, will begetting mar-
"0, I hadn't thought of such a thing
yet in earnest:"
"Hadn't, el.! Well, you'd better be
thinking ; getting married is about as im
portant a thing as'll ever happen to you.
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Suppose so 1 suppose so, you'll know
so by and by.
"Well, John, you're old enough to be
gin to,think seriously about this matter.
I ain't going to have you running around
unsettled and unsteady in your habits and
character. Now, the quicker you pick
out a wife and settle down, the better,
Mind you, my boy, this wasting three or
ibur of the best years of your life in sow
ing your wild oats, is a very foolish prin
ciple for young men to adhere to. Now,
I don't propose to have you Alo anything
of the kind, and if you avoid it you won't
have a 'tamest of briars and thistles to
gather in afterwards. Now, just so soon
as you will pick out a good, prudent, and
industrious little wife, l've a good farm to
give to you, and enough to set you up in
reasonable style, you understand !"
"Yes, sir."
"But not an acre nor a penny of mine
shall you possess until youhuve complied
with my wishes." -
"I mean what I say, exactly, and 4
more; make this matter your first busk
ness, and when you have performed your
part of the contract, I will attend to mine .' l ,
"But this is rather sudden," I
"That makes no difference, if you are
not satisfied with my terms, the world is
svide enough and bright enough to earn
your . owb living; if you can 'do better by
yourself than I can do by you, why, start
right in the world, for you are of age. I
have stated my terms, and do not propose
to alter them.'
"But who shall I marry?"'
"There's Israel Ives's five daughters;
and I'm certain you can have yOur pick
out of the lot. They've all been well
brought up, any one of them is good e
nough foryou, so go ahead ; and as soon
as you report favorably the farm is yours.'
"But which one shall I take," father.
"Which one shall you take," repeated
Peter Jansen ; "it must be a bright man,
surely, that cannot decide at, sight.what
woman to pick out of a dozen, and a sing.
ular youth you are not to have your eyes
on one already. However, make your
own choice, and you'll be happier, live
longer, and prosper better in your domes.
tic affiiirs generally."
With — these conchang remarkth - e --
fond father turned away,., and_John_was
left alone to his reflections.
verdant
young'
John Jansen was not a verdant
young; man ; he had seen considerable of
the world for a person of his age and cir
cumstances, but he was very diffident and
bashful. It was this quality of his dispo
sition that made him so adverse to ladies
society and - had occasion - Ed na little anxi
ety to old Peter,. whci had already began
fear that John would be a confirmed
bachelor; hence his desire to kindly assist
John's matrimonial matters along.
.Vor some moments after his fathers ex
it, John sat profoundly thinking ; hehz ,- -
lieved he did have an inexpressible sort
of tenderness for the youngest daughter
of_lsrael . lves. If not strictly beautiful,
she was at least a very sensible girl, and
_cis! mid...make .a_p_ractical housekeeper.__'
John had but little.sentiment in his com
position, his tastes were more - of - a — m - a - ttCT - 1
of fhet. The more John thought of mat
rimony the more fixed became his deter
mination of committing himself as soon
as possible.
A night or two subsequent to the con
versation with his father, it was noticed
that he attired himself with unusual care
before going out, as he insisted, to attend
the "debating society." His father and
mother regarded each other insignificant
ly, as if they knew what was uppermost li
in John's mind, but they gave the young
man no intimation that they suspicioncd
his intentions.
After a last lingering look at the look
ing-glass, John started forth into the dark
ness, taking the shortest road possible to
the residence of Israel Ives.
He soon came to the place he intended
visiting. A bright light gleamed out thro'
the front windows, and he fancied he
could see smiling faces there, yet his heart
thumped so very singularly under his
shining satin vest that it was several min•
uets before he could make up. his mind
to knock at the door; be walke'd up and
down the road past the place several
times, to calm himself, and to think over
the words he proposed saying when in the .
presence of Miss Ives.
At last he turned in at the gate, and
walking-boldly up to the front doer, he
made his presence suddenly known to the
Ives family, by means of the friendly as
sistance of the heavy brass knocker.
-"lsrael Ives came to the door, with a
flaring candle in his .►and ; he gave a
sudden little start of surprise upon recog
nizing the visitor."
"Why ! John," he said, "is this you ?"
"Is Miss Ives at home ?" said John,
nervously, forgetting in his sudden em
barrassment to designate the particular
Miss Ives he wished to see.
"Certainly, certainly," replied Israel,
smiling mischievously, walk right into the
parlor and sit down and she will come in
presently."
Leaving his hat upon the rack in the
hall, John did as he was bid . ; be sat down
upon the outer edge of the chair and a
waited the young lady's coming. He
heard several suppressed giggles in the
adjoining room, and a subdued sugges
tion upon the part of Israel that they had
best not act too silly and foolish. Then
the door opened and in sailed Miss Sohp
rony Ives, followed by Patience, Priscilla
Malvina and Lucy Ives, each simultane
ously smiling and trying to look as pret
ty as possible. They advanced one by
one and gave John a greeting, after which
they arranged themselves in a graceful
group about him ; then began the liveli
est conversation John had ever listened
to.. He began to grow uneasy and, to lose
his self-possession.. This was rather more
Mies Ives than he had anticipated meet
ing.
:At last a sudden idea occurred to him.
"Girls," he said, "do any of you play
blind man's buff?"
The young ladies all suddenly giggled.
"Sometimes," said Miss Sophrouy, with
a sly glance at her sisters.
"Suppose we have a game then," said
John earnestly.
Severnl handkerchiefs were simultane•
ously produced, and before John was a
ware he was in midnight darkness.
"But von must be blinded, Lucy," said
Miss Milvina, "it always makes it liven.
er to have two, you know."
So Miss Lucy's sight was temporarily
obscured in the same manner that John's
had. been.
Then the word "ready" was given, and
without ft. word of warning Sophreny, Pa
tience, Priscilla and Malvina noiselessly
glided from the room.
For awhile John and Lucy groped in
nocently about them, each failing to find
the objects they sought, at last John spoke;
- "I say, where are you all?" he said
helplessly.
No answer came to his question from
those he was seeking.
"John," said Lucy, "I believe they're
all hiding."
Just at that moment the two approach
'.ed each other with their hands extended,
11: • )it I I , • i,1 11 ) '
and they were each suddenly Clasped in
each other's arias. This wawa- sensation
so sew to John that it almost: deprived
him of articulation.
4 'o, is it you John ?" said Lucy, "I do
believe they're fboling us."
She suddenly removed the bandage
from her eyes, and the next moment John
felt her deft little fingers untying the knot
in the hankerchief that was bound about
his head.
"Look a here, John," she said in a p ro
yoked sort of a way, just see what trick
they've played upon us. I might have
known what they were up to. Never
mind, we'll haven real pleasant visit now.'
They sat down side by side on the high.
backed 'sofa, and Lucy talked so pleasant
ly and encouragingly ,to John that he
soon felt perfectly at home. He was al
most astonished at his self-possession.—
The minutes lengthened into hours, and,
well The never could - far.plain how it
was afterwards, but the fact was -that
Lucy - promised - hinr - that - she - woald-be-
Mrs. John Jansen whenever he was ready
to claim her as his own, and John went
home that night very proud and happy,
and on the following morning he inform
ed his astonished father that any tiro
that farm was ready he would he ready
to go to housekeeping.
Peter Jansen kept his word, and John
was .often subsequently heard to say that
if it hadn't been for that friendly game of
lmiff_le_would hardly have
known how to have made a choice.
What is Trouble.
A company of Southern ladies were
one day assembled iu a lady's parlor,-when
the conversation chanced to turn on the
subject of earthly 'affliction. Each had
her story of peculiarand bereave.
- went to relate, except one pale-looking
woman, whose lustreless eye and dejected
air showed that she leas a prey to the
deepest melancholy. Suddenly arousing
herself', she said in a low voice :
"Not oue of you know what trouble is."
"Will you please, Mrs. Grey," said the
kind voice of a lady who well knew her
story, "tell the ladies what you call trou
ble ?'
"I will if you desire it," she replied,
"for I have seen it. My parents posessed
a competence, and my girlhood was sur
rounded by all the comforts of life. I sel
dom know an ungratified wish, and was
always gay and light-hearted. I married
at nineteen one I loved more than all the
world besides. Our home was retired, but
the sunlight never fell on a lovlier one or
a happier household. Years rolled on
peacefully. Five children sat around our
table, and a little curly head still.nestled
in my bosom. One night about sun-down,
one of those fierce black storms came on,
-which are so common to our Southern
climate. For many hours 'the rain pour
ed down incessantly. Morning dawned,
but still the elements raged. The Whole
Savannah seemed afloat. The little stream
near our dwelling became a raging tor
rent. Before we were• aware of it, our
house was surrounded by water. I man
aged with my babe to reach an elevated
spot, on which a few wide-spreading trees
were standing whose dense foliage afford
ed some protection, while 'my husband
and suns strove to save what they could
of our property. At last a fe,arful surge
swept away my' husband, and he never
rose again. Ladies—no one ever loved a
husband more, bUt that was not trouble.
"Presently my sous saw their danger
and the struggle for life became the only
consideration. They were as brave look
ing boys as ever blessed a mother's heart,
and I watched their efforts to escape with
such agony as only mothers' can feel.—
They were so far off I could not speak .to
them, but I could see them closing near-.
er and nearer to each other as their little
island grew smaller and smaller.
"The sullen river raged around the huge
trees; dead branches, upturned trunks,
wrecks of houses, drowning cattle, masses
of rubbish all went floating past us. My
boys waved their hands to me; then point
ed upward. I knew it was a farewell sig- -
nal, and you, mothers, can imagine my
anguish. I saw them, all perish, and
yet—that was not trouble.
"I hugged my babe close to my heart,
and when the water arose to my feet, I
climbed into the low branches of the tree,
and so kept retiring before it until my
babe was swept from my arms."
HOUSER 0 D ECONOISIY.-It is astonish.
ing to see how well a man may live on a
small income who has a handy and indus
trious wife. Some men live and make a
far better appearance on six or eight dol
lars a week than others do on fifteen or
eighteen dollars. The man does his part
well, but his wife is good-for-nothing.—
She will even upbraid her husband for not
living in as good style as his neighbor,
while the fault is entirely her own. His
neighbor has a neat, capable and industri
ous wife, and that makes the difference.—
His wife, on the other hand, is a whirlpool,
into which a great inanysilver cups might
be thrown, and the appearance of the wa
ter would remain unchanged. It is only
an insult for such a woman to talk to her
husband about love and. devotion.
BUDDING INTO WOMANHOOD.—There
is a touching beauty in the radiant look
of a girl just crossing the limits of youth,
commencing her journey through the
checkered space of womanhood. It is all
dew-sparkle and morning-glory to her ar
dent, buoyant spirit, as • she presses for
ward exulting in blissful anticipations.—
But the withering heart of the conflict of
life creeps on; the dew-drops exhale ; the
garlands of hope, scattered and dead,
strew the path ; and too often, ere noon
tide, the brow and sweet static are exchang
ed for the weary look of one longing for
the evening rest, the twilight, the night.
Love makes labor light.
SBORO I , FRANKLIN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, APRIL 30, 1874.
For the Village .Record.
Suggested on seeing a 'copy of the Waynesboro'
Village Record for the first time in twenty years.
tIY ZIJMAN.
So here we meet again, old friend,
But you're not quite the same
That you were twenty_years ago,
While Time has, changed my name.
And other changes too, old friend,
• With passing years have come;
For summer flowers and winter snows
Have strown the graves of some,
The graves of some I knew, old Mend,
And loved in days of yore ;
Their sparkling eyes and fresh young lips
Will greet me never more! •
Your presence makes me sad, old friend,
You've - opened - mem'ries - store,
And bid me list again for tones
That I shall hear no more.
Yes sad and glad tarn, old friend,
'Tis pleasure mixed with pain
"The Record" in my hand to hold
And live the past again.
,Vayilaboro' April 16, '74. .
Last Words of the Dying.
The last words of the dying are eager 7
ly sought after, and enshrined in memory's
bosom by loved ones. The hero, stand
ing upon tfielield of battle, amid the
- b - oomin - g — Of cannon and therattling of
musketry, is stricken down, and dying he
utters some sentiment which tells the liv
ing be fought bravel and died loving
his country. is wor s us uttered — rife
chanted iu his praise, pass immediately
into history, are preserved to be handed
down from generation to generation.
The mother, bending over couch other
dying child, eagerly listens for its last
words. As the heart's pulsations grow
feeble, the respirations become more labor
ious, she silently listens. Now the pale
lips are parted; and she drew nearer, until
her ear comes in contact with the cold
breath, when she catches the last faint
murmur of the dying one. Oh, how she
treasures in her pure heart that last
Good-by, that last token of going home to
heaven.
The husband; through weary days and
nights, has been watching at the bedside
of his darling wife, until now the dread
moment approaches when she shall be
wafted beyond the river of death. Under
no pretence will be now leave her, and
why ? Ab, he is waiting and listening
'for the last whisper. As she speaks, her
words echo and reecho through the cham
ber of his soul, and remain there through
out the mystic future.
As a young lady reads over the slain
in battle, and her 'weeping eyes rest upon
the name of her lover, almost ber first
thought is, "Did he leave me a dying mes
sage ?"
The sweet sister of a shipwrecked bro
ther, impatiently awaits the arrival of
some one rescued from the wreck, to learn
if her brother as hO was swept beneath the
'dark vvaves, sent her a dying word.
Yes, dying words are those most sought
after and cherished by. the human heart.—
Amid all the cares and disappointments
that may surround us in life, we never can
forget the last faint whisperings of the dy
ing.
Men Whom Women Like Best.
We know that men naturally shrink
from the attempt to obtain companions
who are their superiors ; but they will find
that really intelligent women who possess
the most desirable qualities, are uniform
ly modest, and hold their charms in mod
est estimation. What such women most
admire is gallantry ; not the gallantry of
courts and 'fops, but boldness, courage, de
votion and refined civility. A man's bear
ing wins ten• superior women where his
bows and flattery win one.
If a man stand' before a woman with
respect for himself and fearlessness of her,
his suit is half won. The rest may be
left to the parties most interested. There
fore never be afraid of a woman. Women
are the most harmless and agreeable crea
tures in the world to a man who shows he
has got a man's soul in him. If you have
not the spirit to come up to a test like
this you have not that in you which most
pleases a high souled woman, and you
will be obliged to content yourself with
the simple girl, who, in a quiet way, is en
deavoring to attract and fiisten you. But
don't be in a hurry about the matter. It
isn't creditable to you. E.Speeially don't
imagine that any disappointMent in love
which takes plac - e before you are twenty
one years old will be of any consequence
to you. The truth is that before a man
is twenty-five he does not know what he
wants himself. So don't be in a hurry.—
The more of a man you become and the
more manliness you are capable of ex,hib
iting in your associations with women, the
better wife you will •be able to obtain ;
and one year's possession of the heart and
hand of a really
.noble specimen of her
sex is worth nine hundred and ninety.
nine year's Rossession of a sweet cr..ature
with two ideas in her head and nothing
new to say about either of them. So don't
be in a hurry, we say again. You don't
want a wife now, and you have no idea of
the kind of a wife you will want by-and
by. Go into female society if you can
find that which will improve you, but not
otherwise.
Nothing teaches patience like a garden.
You may go round and watch the open
ing bud from day to day, but it takes its
owntime, and you cannot urg e it on fast
er than it will. If forced, it is only torn
to pieces; All the best results of a gar
den, like those of life, are slow but regu
larly progeczlsive.
Have you paid for your paper ?
band Punishe
"Mr. McineOn," said my grandmother,
"I have no 'wocd to burn to-day. What
shall I do ?" . .
"Oh, send Louisa to pick up some,"
said the good man, malting a stride to
wards the door.
"But she haspicked up all she can find"
"Then let her break up some old stuff."
"But she has broken up everything al,
ready."
"Oh I well, then do the next best thing
—I must be off," said the farmer, and off
he was, whistling as he went, and no doubt
wondering in hie heart what the next best
thing would turn out to be.
leo= came and with it came my grand
father and four hungry laborers. My
grandmother stood in the kitchen spin
ning on the great wheel and singing a
pleasant ditty; Louisa was scouring in
the-back-room,-and-the-cat sat purrin on
the hearth before a black and fireless chim
ney, while the table sat in the middle of
the room, spread for dinner with empty
dishes.
"Well, wife, here we are," said my
garndfatliar, chepringly.
"so I see," replied she, placidly ; did
you have a good morning in the corn field?'
"Why, yes, so. But where is the din
ner ?"
"In the pot on the door step. Won't i
you see if tis done ?"
An - 1 on the door step, to be sure, sat
the great iron pot, nicely covered, but not
looking particularly-steamy.—My grand
father raised the cover, and there lay all
the ingredients of a nice boiled dinner—
everything. prepared in the nicest maner.
"Why, woman, what dose this mean ?"
began my grandfather, indignantly. "This
dinner isn't cooked at all?"
"Dear—me r is it—not-?-11Thy it has sat
in the sun these four hours."
"Sat in the sun ?"
"Yes -you told me to try the next best
thing to have a fire, and I thought setting
my dinner in the sun was about that."
My grandfather stood doubtful for a
moment, but finally* his sense of humor
overcame his sense of injury, and he
laughed aloud. Then picking up his hat,
he said :
Come, boys, we may as well start for
the woods. We shall have no dinner un
til we have earned it, I perceive." '
"Won't you have some bread and
cheese before you go ?" asked my grand
mother, generous in.her victory, as wo
men almost always are. And so she won
the day.
The cellar stairs in the old farmhouse
had become broken and so unsafe that my
grandmother besieged her husband, early
and late, to repair them lest some accident
should happen. He always promissed to
do so, and always forgot to fulfill his
promises. At last oue day, my grand
mother fell in going down, and spilled the
milk she was carrying.
"Are you hurt ?" asked my grandfather,
smoking his pipe beside the tire.
No matter whether I am or not !" re
turned the angry housewife, re-appearing
with her empty can. This is the last time
I will carry milk down those stairs until
they are mended."
"Please yourself and find the next best
way to get it down," said the husband, a
little vexed at her tone.
"I will," said my gt andmother, and she
was good as Ler word. The next eve
ning my grandfather went down to the
cellar to draw some cider.
"What in the thunder !"exclaimed he—
nothing worse, I assure you, for lie was
not a profane man—"what in the thund
er is the matter down here? Why. wo•
man, your niilk is all over the cellar hot
'torn !"
"It is," replied my grandmother, tran
quilly. "Well, I think that it is likely
enough, falling so far."
"Palling so far ?" IVbat do you mean?'
"Why, you know I said I shouldn't
carry milk over those broken stairs again,
and you told me to try the next best way
of getting it down , and so I took up a
board in the kitchen floor. threw: down
the pans and then strained the milk down
into them."
The cellar stairs were mended the nest
day.
KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.—That knowl
edge is power was happily illustrated by
an incident that happened in Edinburg
some years ago. A crowd had gathered
around two dogs. The larger one, a big
and powerful mastiff, had the smaller one
in his relentless grip. Every effort had
been made to loosen his hold, such as slit
ting his ears and pinching his tail, but
all in vain. At length a quiet, scholarly
looking gentleman came up, and asked to
be allowed to separate the combatants.—
Assent was given amid laughing and jeers
when drawing a snuff box from his pock
et, he applied a pinch of the tiltilating
power to the mastiff's nose, which caused
him not only to release his hold, but. to
make off us fast as his legs would carry
him. The scholar was greeted with cheers
to which he only replied.
"Gentlemen, I have given you proof
that knowledge is power."
A WAR Car.—A man who is addicted
to practical jokes, stepped into a popular
saloon at New Albany, Indiana, the oth
er day, and excitedly exclaimed, "The
women are coming !" The effect on the
crowd of card-players and liquor-drinkers
was instantaneous. The cards were shov
ed down into pockets without a murmer,
except from one worthy,, who held "four
queens" in his band. The drinking was
suspended and the crowd of revelers stood
not on the order of their going, but went
out of windows, backdoor and down the
cellar steps, and the saloon in a moment
was as quiet as a graveyard.
Be always at liberty to do goed ; never
make business an excuse to decline the of
fices of humanity.
Crusade Against Trailing Skirts.
Perhaps among all the foolish and ab
surd requirements of fashion there is noth
ing, if we snake fife one single exception
of tight lacing, which is so ridiculous, so
disgusting and so contrary to all ideas of
appropriateness and delicacy; as that of
sweeping the streets with the skirt of the
dress, and gathering upon it all mud and
filth with which it comes in contact. Yet
many women do this because theyhardly
dare set themselves in opposition to pre
vailing custom. , They would gladly as
sert their independence if they really knew
how to do so.
Several ladies of Vineland, New. Jer
sey, wishing to gauge popular sentiment
in this matter, and find really how many
women would prefer being sensible to be
ing ultra-fashionable, drew up a paper to
which they appended their own names,
-and-then-circulated-for-signatures. T.
paper read as follows :
"We, the undersigned, pledge ourselves
to shorten the skirts of our dresses to four
inches from the ground provided twenty
five ladies can be found who will sign this
pledge."
Within two days the pledge had twen
ty-two names appended, and, mf doubt,
by this time, the full number required is
obtained. But the ladies, pleased with
their success, do not purpose to stop at
the twenty-five names. 'They desire to
see how many women there are through
out the country who are 'willing to go
-with—them-in—this-very—mild—crusade-a-.
gainst fashion, a crusade which involves
no startling change of dress, but which
will allow a jady to walk the streets un
noticed save by those who may remark
her good sense in refusing to be a scaven- 4
ger. They therefore make the request'
that all women throughout the country
who are willing to take , this slight step to
war ress reftorm, will send their names
to Mrs. E. E. Duffey, Vineland, New Jer
sey, and they shall. be recorded in a book
which shall bear the title "The Sensible
Women of America ;" and, in time, if the
facts justify, a report shall be made of the
number of names recorded.
Pat and the. Lawyer.
An Irishman by the name of Tom Mur
phy once borrowed a sum of money from
one of his neighbors, which he promised
to pay back upon a certain time: But
month after month passed away and no
signs of the agreement beino• b kept, his
creditor at last warned him that unless he
paid it upon a certain day he should sue
him for it and recover by law. This rath
.er frightened Tom, and not being able to
raise the money went to a lawyer to get
advice on the matter. After hearing
Tom's story through to the end, he asked
hith :
"Has your neighbor got any -writing to
show that you owe him the fifty dollars ?"
"Devil a word," replied Tom quickly.
"Well, then, if you haven't the money,
you can take your own time; at all events
he cannot collect it by law."
"Thank, yer honor, much obliged," said
Tom, rising and going to the door.
"Hold on, my friend," said the lawyer.
"Fat for ?" asked Tom in astonishment.
"You owe me two dollars."
"Fat for ?"
"Why, for my advice to be sure. Do
you suppose I can live by charging noth
ing ?"
Tom scratched his head a moment in
evident perplexity, for he had no money.
At length a bright idea seemed to strike
him.
"An'• have yees any-paper to show that
I owe yees two dollars ?" he asked with a
twinkle in his eye.
"Why no, of course not, but wh'it does
that signify ?"
"Thin Pll be after takin' your own ad
vice, an' pay nether you nor my neigh
bor I" sayinc , which he left the office and
its accupant ei to meditate on a lawyer tak
ing his advice, and a doctor taking his
own medicine.
SETTING OUT CURRANT BEDS.—In re
ply to a corresondent who inquires where
he shall set, out a currant bed, and the
distances, &c., we answer that we prefer
a rather shady location where the bushes
can get the sun an hour or two a day. In
such a situation We have had our own bed
for more twenty-five years, and not in a
single year have we tailed in securing a
full crop. Some of the stems of the bush
es are now as thick as a. man's wrist. We
have no less than four varieties and they
have all done equally well. The rows
should be four feet apart, and the bushes
three feet apart iu the rows.. Where root
ed bushes are not to be obtained, cuttings
of last year'S growth can be used. They
grow easily and often produch' fruit the
second
. year. Take cuttings eight to ten
inches in length, and plant them at least
five inches firmly in the ground in which
you want them to grow, pressing the soil
around them with the foot, and this is all
there is to do, except when you wish for
a single stem to your bush, then you must
cut out all the eyes on the cutting that
goes beneath the surface.
A number of highly respectable and
strictly moral young , gentleman of St.
Louis - have organized an association whose
object is to furnish young ladies who have
no regular beau or escort to church, con
certs, „lectures and places of amusement.
All niembep have to undergo a rigid ex
amieffition deto,character, &c., before they
amamitted,'; :they obligate themselves
to 'Obey all" ers of the Executive
CoMmittee. 'liktir lady wishing an escort
has only to apply to the President of the
society, naming the evening, - and a young
man is detailed for the purpose. As soon
as a young man becomes engaged he must
withdraw from the organization.
He that swims in slit will sink in sor
row. .
82,00,PER YEAR.
NUMBER 46.
aud Xuntor.
Lazy husbands are known out West as
stove watchers.
What is that which has got feet and
nails, but no legs, no toes, or claws 2. A
yard measure.
Why ought superstitious people to be
necessarily temperate? Because
.they are
afraid of spirits.
ou can take it to e a fact that but
ter is old when a gra hair is to be found
in it.
kl,
r A "mysterious' r nk arrived in - St.
Louis last wee . e - detectives - seized
it, and found in it ab dozen' Limberger
cheeses. No arrests. •
%--......
r t too . two persons to marry a Mary
land couple a short time since-.-4 justice •
of the peace and his wife.---Hc-pEirformed
the—cere TatrAiiorimssinreptignriursmi
A Brooklyn s 'in society fines any
member who ;talks dal, $l.OO for each
offence; only the we t are able to at
tend. '
. Milwaukee thought she had a case where
in a youug girl died of a broken heart,
but it turned out that her corset strings
were
were too tight, and one stroke of a jack
knife-revived-he . . -
, `man played dead with laudanum,
etc., at his side, in Order to test his wife's
affections. She, to test his vitality, ran'a
cambric needle into his leg and brought
him to.
A linnesota Granger protests that if
dancing is to be allowed in Granges ftfter ,
business, it wilLkill the order in./410,year,
He calls dancing •the flower4lo2t4llca
gate to hell.
A Norristown youth sent his 'girl a lot
of grapes, one afternoon lately ; and, the
ova day a fellow met him on the street
and said : Those grapes were jolly good
last night ; send some up every Wednes
day evening; that's my night you know."
An old chap, whose wife is as ugly as
sin, was recently reading an elopement
case which seemed to affect "him. Said
he : "I should be tempted to shoot a man
if lie was after my wife." "Well,"' said
a hearer, "a man ought to be shot if he
ran oft with your wife." Verdict for the
helrer.
An old bachelor says that he has known
ladies in whom the instinct of decoration
was •so strong that if they were told they
must, be hanged in the presence of twenty
thousand persons tomorrow, their first
thought would be : • dear and I
haven't a dress fit to be banged in !" ' ,
"A Nebraska Journal invitingly says:
"Who says &rimers cannot get rich in
this State? Fifteen years' ago a young
man came to this State .without a dollar
in the world. Last week he WeDPout of .
the State, carrying with him the suitiL of
one dollar and thirty-eight cents, the.sliv.;
ings of fifteen years of frugal life. COM°
West, young man, come West." ' , -
A good wife is like a snail. Why ?
cause she keeps in her own house. A ,
good wife is not like a snail. IVhy.: Be
cause she does not carry her all on- her
back. A good wife is like a clock. Why?
Because she keeps good time.. A good
wife is not like a town clock Why? Be- ,
cause she does not speak , so loud that all
.
the town can hear her.' -.-
-- A modest young husband sent the fn,l 7
lowing message over the wires to fries tls_v
tha other day : "See ninth chnpleei3f.
Isaiah, sixth verse. The dusty old Bible
was hauled down in an instant,' and the` !
above. chapter and verse 4v'exe.,4untimtOrit
and, found to explain„tilt..ertii:mr3e : .
reads, "For unto us a chilOsDbra+initti.
Us a son is given.”
John was thought *o he verz . ..lonpl .
he was sent to the mill one dayvf r amrthe.
miller said, "John, some , people Say you
are a fool ; now tell .me what you 'do'
know, and what you don't know/
"Well," replied John, "I knoW millers
hogs are Mt"
"Yes, - that is well, John ; now what
don't you know ?"
"I don't - know whose corn fattens
them."
AN OPINION AS IS AN Orixrox—A
highly. respectable gentleman, rejoicing
in the sounding name of George Edward
Fitz-Augustus, visiting the Washington
Market, a few days since, thus delivered
himself to a fat countryman, Whose stock
of vegetables he had been busily.investi
gatine. ;
"Are theie good taters ?" . .
"Yes, sir ! " responded the countryman.
"A tater," resumed George Edward
Fitz-Augustus, "is inevitably bad unless
it is iuwariably good. ere is no med
iocrity in de combination of a tater. The
exterior may appear remarkably exem
plary and beautisome, while the interior
is totally negative. But, sir, if you wends
the' article oh your own recommendation,
knowing you to be a man ob probability
in your transactions, I, widont any furd
er circumlocutions, takes a bushel oh dat
superior vegetable 1" -
An exchange says that at a revival in
Jamestown a short time ago, one of the •
brethern got the "powerand made a very
impressive prayer; a part of ; which was
the, following : "0, Lord, I . feel like itiv- •
ing.every poor man in•this4Lice a barrel
salt, and a barrel of peprer—Oh,
too halal