The Waynesboro' village record. (Waynesboro', Pa.) 1871-1900, May 28, 1874, Image 1

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    BY W. BLAIR.
go tint ticetrg.
We are growing old—how the thought will
When a glayme is backward cast
'On some long Temembered spat that lies
In the silence of the past;
It may be the shrine of our early vows;
Or the tomb of our tears,
But it seems like a far off isle to us,
In the stormy sea of years,
'Oh ! wide and wild are the waves that part
Our steps from its greenness now,
And. we miss the joy of many a heart,
And theligliy - a -- brow - ;
:For deep o'er.raany_ a stately bark _
Have the whelming billows rolled
'That steered with us from that early mark-
Oh, friends? we are growing old.!,__
Old iu the dimness of the.dust
Of our daily toils and cares—
Old in the wrecks of love and trust
Which our burthened memory bears.
Each form may wear to the passing gaze
The bloom of life's freshness yet,
And beams may brighten our latter days
Which the morning never met.
But oh the changes we have seen,
In the far and winding way, •
The graves in our paths have grown green,
And the locks that have grow_. gray!
The Winters still on our own may spare
The sable or thesold ;
Ent we see their snows upon brighter hair,
- And, friends, we are growing old!
Vs have gained the world's cold wislom
We have learned to praise and fear,
;But where are living founts whobe flow
Was a joy of heart too dear?
We have won the wealth of many a clime,
And'the lore of many a page ;
but where is the hope that saw in time
But its boundless heritage!
'Will it come again when the violet wakes
And the woods their youth renew?
We have stood in the light ofsunny brakes,
' Where the bloom is deep and blue;
And our souls might joy in the springtime
For it never could give us the youth again
•Of hearts that are growing old.
fflisteUnueous °sending.
"Papa," said little Busy Weston, climb
ing upon her father's knee, "what pleases
you so much to-day ? You have been
smiling to Yourself all dinner-time."
"Something has pleased me to-day, Su
sy. If you and Johnny would like to
hear the story, draw up your chairs."
"A story," said Abs. Weston, looking
up from her sewing. "May I hear, too?"
"If you will be very good," said Mr.
Weston, smiling.
"Let me see, how old are you, Johnny?'
•"Twelve, sir."
"Well, my , story is about a boy of just
your age. It is nearly a year since I first
saw him. I was .very busy one afternoon
last winter, when I saw a little boy corn
ing into the store, whose time attracted my
attention at once. It was not a very hand
some face , but it was earnest and bright;
a strong, good face, if I ever saw one.—
The boy was poorly clad, but his clothes
were clean and whole.
" 'May I see the boss ?' he asked.
"'I um the boss,' I answered, 'what cart
I do for you 2'
"I . want to ask the price of a first-rate
sewing machine; mot a fancy oue, sir,
but a good worker.'
"'Well, sir,' I said, can give you a
good machine for sixty dollars.'
-"Sixty dollars. Well, Mister,' said he,
earnestly, 'can I work one out? I have
every, afternoon from half-past two till
sexen, and I can run errands or do any
work about the store. You'see, sir, this
is how it is. Father died two years ago,
and mother, she wants me to stay at school
for a year or two longer, ,but she has to
work awfully , hard to keep me there. Fa
ther was a bricklayer, and mother owns
the little house he almost built himself',
but that is all. She sews, sir, and she
could make twice as much if she only had
a machine. But we never can spare six
ty dollars, sir, so I thought I would see if
I could earn one."
" 'But it would take you a long time,'
I said ; 'if I gave you a dollar a week, it
would be sixty."
"'Will. you give 'me that ?' he said, his
eyes fairly dancing. can,come all day
"Can you? Suppose we. say a dollar
and a half ? and if you do well, you can
have the machine at a little less than the
retail price.
"You see,Susy, I was interested alrea
dy in the boy, with his honest, frank face,
and resolved, if he was faithful in his du
ties, to help him along. So we made an
agreement, he to give me all his spare
time out of school, Ito credit him each
week with a dollar and a half toward the
purchase of a machine.
"Every day he came, punctual to the
minute, rain or shine, and he was the most
prompt and reliable errand boy I ever
employed. Little by little the dollars roll
ed up on the account until one evening
in the fall, I was here. after dinner,
before you and your mother came home
from the country, when the door-bell rang,
and in walked Harry Cummings, my er
rand boy.
" . `I found this, sir,' Ise said, 'when ' I
was sweeping out the store,' and he hand
ed me.a roll of bank notes I had thought
was safe in my pocket.
"Please see if it :is all right, sir,' he
said, 'it was under the counter."
'"I-counted the notes, two hundred dol
lars, and then taking out one twenty dol
lar note, said :
"'I should have .offered a reward, for
this, Harry, if you had not found it.'
"'I am glad I saved you that, sir," he
answered. bid you good night.' '
"'But you have earned the reward,' I
said putting down the twenty dollars,
'will you take it or pass it to the machine
" all that I "Oh, sir, pass it to
the machine. You see I'd - have to tell
mother where I got all that money, and
the machine is to be a surprise.'
"I never spent twenty dollars with such
pleasure in my life, Susy. I This was a
_greatlift_on_the_machine,_and_this after
noon, when Harry came,l told him to
pick one out for his moter.—
"We selected a first-rate one, handsome
too, and I promised him one of our best
- teachers should go to show his mother
how to work upon it.
"When it was on the cart, ready to go,
I invited myself to go with Harry and see
it delivered. He had asked me to write
a note telling his mother it was honestly
earned; and I told him I would tell her.
"So away we went, and when we reach
ed_the little house. the cart was justturn-
ing the corner of' the street ATLITy op
ened the door, very softly, and the men
lifted the machine into the parlor. Then
Harry led me to the small sitting-room at
the back of the house, where a pale wo
man in the widow's dress was sitting sew
ing busily. She rose and offered me a
I could obtain Harres_services_in the
store, at . five dollars a week. You should
have seen the boy's eyes.
"'He can go to eveuing school,' I said,
`and I will see that he' has some time to
read and study. I cannot spare.hiin now
having had his services so long.'
" •Rfy afternoons and Saturdays, moth
er," Harry said. "I told you 1 was not
in mischief, I was earning you a present.
Come and see.
"And he fairly danced into the parlor,
his mother and I following.
"'lt's yours,' he said, &neing around
the machine ; 'all paid for, and lessons on
it, tot. Ain't it s!ilendid
"His mother was as delighted as he ex
pected, and that is saying a great deal.
"'Oh, sir,' she said to me, 'he's been a
good son since his poor father died. Ev
ery morning, summer or winter,
he's up
and makes the fire while I am dressing,
and while I get breakfast he brings up all
the coal for the day, so I won't have to
go into the cellar; and every step he can
save me he does. But how he ever made
all the money to buy a machine out of
school hours, I cannot understand.'
" got a dollar and a half a week, mo
ther, tbr errands, and ten or twenty Anta
extra when there was snow to clean off'
the sidewalk, or any other odd job, and
Mr. Weston gave me twenty dollars.'
"'No, you earned that as well as the
rest,' I said, and his mother fairly broke
down and cried when I told her all about
the roll of money.
"So, Susy, now you know what pleased
me so much to-day. To-morrow Harry
becomes my errand boy, and I know lie
will be a faithful one . . There is the mak:
ing of a noble man, Johnny, in the boy
who can work steadily and faithfully'for
months for such an object as Harry had,
never taking one cent from his hard-earn
ed money for his own pleasure, never fail
in his self-imposed duties. Harry is
a boy only twelve years old, but I honor
"But papa," said Susy, "you are ricl,
Nchy didn't you give his, mother a mq
chine ?"
"Because the pleasure would not have
been so great to either Harry or his moth
er. Think how proud she will be of her
good son every time she touches her ma
chine, and how glad he will feel that be
persevered so well whenever he sees it
is a little sunbeam in the dull routine
of business for both of them, as well as
for me."
"Any mother would be proud of such
a son," said Mrs. Weston, gently, "and
when he has a holiday you must let lira
spend it here. We will be glad to'see
him, will we not children ?"
There was a very hearty "yes, ma'am,"
and then the brother and sister, thanking
their father for the story, opened seliool
books and went busily to their duty for
the evening, Johnny wondering a little if
he could ever have the self-dial, indiiitry
and patience of Harry Cummiugs.—#etk
American boys are expected to become
manly men. The mother of every boy is
expected to teach him to be obedient to
parental authority, to the civil lavf, and
to acquire au education—a trade, a busi
ness, or an art—samething for which be
may be adapted and by which he may
earn an honest living. This is a privil
ege, nay more, it is a duty—a duty to self,
'to family, to friends, to the State, 'to the
nation. When this is done, socity has
a guarantee for the good conduct and use
fulness •of each of her sous. •When it is
neglected, the boys grow up in ignorance
and idleness, society is taxed for their
support, either in her reformatories, her
jails, hospitals or asylums. How much
cheaper it would be•to have every boy
properly educated, trained and disciplin
ed, so that be would be a blessinginstead
of a curse to the world. He is sun: to be
come one or the other.
Show me the mantlepiece of s hcuse,
ear a sage, and I will tell you what men
der of persons reside therein.
In the city ofllartford, Conn., lives the
-hero of the true story I am about to relate
—but no longer "little," as the perilousi
adventure which made him thmous in his
-native town happened s e veral years ago.
Our hero was then a bright active boy
-of fourteen—the son of a mechanic. In
the severe winter of 1835, the father work
ed in a facry, about a mile from his
home, and eery day the boy carried him
-his dinner across a piece of meadow land.
One keen, frosty day he found the snow
on this meadow nearly two -feet deep, and
no traces of the little footpath remaining.
Yet he ran on as fast as possible, plung
ing through drifts, keeping himself warm
by vigorous exercise and brave, cheerful
When in the midst of the meadow, ful
ly half a mile from the house, he sudden
ly felt himself going down, 'down !
He had fallen into a well. He sank
_down_intoithe_dark,icy_water,b_ut rose
immediately to the surface. There be
tecLhold_ol dank which had fallen
into the well as he went down. ne en.
of this rested on the bottom of the well—
the other-rose-about- four feet-above -the
surface of the water.
The poor lad shouted for help until he
was hoarse and almost speechless, but all
in vain, as it was impossible to make him
self heard from such a depth, and at such
a distance from any house. So at last he
concluded that if he was saved at all he
must save himself, and begin at once, as
(TUTits getting extremely cold in the wa
ter. So be went to work.
First, he drew himself up the plank,
and braced himself against the top of it
and the wall. of the well, which was of
brick and quite smooth. Then he pulled
oft' his coat. and taking out his pocket
knife—he cut off his boots, that he might
go to work to greater advantage. Then,
with his feet against one side of the well,
and his shoulders against the other, he
worked his way up r by the most fearful
exertion, about half the distance to the
top. Here he was obliged to pause, to
take breath and gather up his energies for
the work vet before him. Far harder was
it than all he had gone through, for the
side being from that, point covered with
ice, he must cut with his knife, grasping
places with his fingers, slowly and careful
ly all the way up.
It was almost a hopeless attempt, but
was all that he could do. And here the
little hero lifted up his heart to God and
prayed fervently for help, fearing that he
could never get out alone.
Doubtless the Lord heard his voice;.cal
ling from the deep, and pitied him. He
wrought no miracle to save him,but breath
ed into his heart a. yet larger measure of
calmness and courage, strengthening him
to work out his own eliverence.
After this,
the little hero cut It s way up
ward, inch by inch. His wet stockings
froze to the ice and kept his feet from slip
ping, but his shirt was quite worn from
his shoulders ere he reached the top.
He dui reach it at last—crawled out in
to the snow, and lay down for a moment
to rest—panting out his breath in little
white clouds on the clear frosty air.
He had been two hours and a half in
the well !
His clothes soon froze to his body, but
he no longer suffered with cold, as full of
joy and thankfulness, he ran to the facto
ry, where his father was waiting aud won
The poor man was obliged to go with
out his dinner that day, but you may he
sure ha cared little about that, while lis
tening with tears in his eyes to the thril
ling story his son bad to relate to him,
He must have been proud of the boy
that day, as he wrapped him in his own
warm overcoat, and took him home to
"mother." • •
And how that mother must have wept
and smiled over the lad, and hisSed him
and thanked God for him
I have not heard of the "little hero" for
two or three years, but I trust he is grow
ing up into a brave, heroic man, and I
hope he will never forget the heavenly
friend who did not forget him in the hour
of his great need.
There is an old saying that truth lies at
the bottom of a well.
I trust that this brave boy found and
brought up from there this truth : God
helps those who help themseives.—Grace
ABSENCE.—When a friend dies and is
buried, there's an end of him. We miss
him•for a space out of our daily existence;
we mourn for him by degrees that become
mer3ifully less ; we cling to the blessed
hope that we shall be reunited in some
more perfect sphere; but so far as this
earth is concerned, there's an end of him.
However near and dear he was, thelime
arrives when . he does not form a • part of
our daily thought ; he ceases to be even
an abstraction. We go no more with flow
ersand tears into the•quiet cemetery; on
ly the rain and the snowflakes fall there;
we leave it for the fingers of Spring to
deck the neglected mound. But when our
friend vanishes unaccountabl f inthe midst
of a crowded city, or goes off on a sea voy
age and is never heard of again, his mem
ory has a singular tenacity.
He may be to all intents and. purposes
dead to us, but we have not ]ost him.—
The ring of the door-bell at midnight may
be his ring ; the approaching footstep may
be his footstep; the unexpected letter with
foreign postmarks maybe from his hand.
He haunts us as the dead never can.
The woman whose husband died last
night - may marrry again within a cluster
of months. Do you suppose a week pass
es by when the woman whose husband &-
appeared mysteriously ten years ago does
not think of him ? There are moments
when the opening of the door must startle
her. There is no real absence but death.
House cleaning is about over.
A Little Hero.
'Tie hard to part with those we love—
To snap the fine-wrought chain
That pure affection's hands have wove,
'Nor meet on earth again,
In youth, the heart's soft tendrills torn,
Round other hearts will cling;
I3nt weary age, when called to mourn,
Is aye a lonely thing.
Upon the mountain's desert peak
Soft summer showers descend;
In vain the swelling streamlets - seek
A common course to wend ;
One dashes down the rocky side,
Joins the broad river's nave,
Till in the Eastern ocean's tide
It makes its gloomy grave.
The other, far Western lands,
A pleasant fonntaiu glides ;
Soon in some mighty lake it stands,
Lost 'mid the gathering tides.
In clouds surpassing fair;
The clouds theirlides - of glory bend,
Those streamlets meet iu air.
-And-thus i on-earth, we're forced to part
From those dear friends we love ;
And thus the fond and faithful heart
Shall join the lost above.
To Bury or to Burn.
This is still an absorbing topic, and with
all that ,is said against tbriner, the .
"Churchman . ' says :
Just now the abet is making 'to throw
as much obloquy as possible upon inter
ment; and by way of doing this, it is at
tempted to make it out, that the prejudice
in its favor is from religious bigotry. We
have been afraid that the well-meaning
but mistaken zeal of a few will undertake
to put the cause of burial upon a false
tooting, and to defend it by untenable ar
There is no doubt that during the peri;
od of active decomposition there is evolv
ed a certain amount of deleterious gases.
But that these continue in their virulence
forever, and that (for example) a cem-.
etery in which during forty years burials
had taken place would therefore be at that
time forty times as insalubrious as it was
at the first interment, is a mode of reason
ing which we must perforce challenge.—
The facts ought to be ascertained and scien
tifically tested, before any vague induc
ticins are allowed.
This thing is very certain. The Mosa
ic law was very precise upon many mat
ters relating to health. Its minuteness
the Christian would feels that. it can .dis
pease with, because of the larger liberty
of the Gospel. But the Old Testament
and the New alike recognize the practice
of interment' Now we contend that this
would not have been the case had the
practice been necessarily detrimental to
the human race. More than this Scrip
ture asserts it as the natural destiny of
man's body to return after death to the
earth. Therefore we cannot believe that
any extended corruption of the earths sur
face is possible from the continuance of
interment. That must be affirmatively
shown before the cause of cremation can
stand. Vague declamation will not do.
Again, it must be shown that the pre
cess of cremation does not equally or in
part infuse into the atmosphere the same
dangerous elements. That. is not yet es
tablished. The common notion is that fire
purifies everything ; but that is an idea
that will not stand for a moment when
carefully analyzed. It is possible through
combustion to disseminate very deadly ele
ments. It was . rt trick of the subtle pois
oners of the 15th century to burn deadly
substances in chambers where their vic
tims were to lodge, secure that, after all
apparent trace of the process had disap
peared, the poison would lurk in tapes
tries, clothe tile walls, and enter into the
system of the persons to be destroyed.—
Because the evil is not perceptible (and
we grant that cremation may obviate that)
it does not follow that it is non-existent.
Cremation must show affirmatively its
positive and decided superiority over buri
al, before it can appeal for a. hearing
and a trial. We need not say that it is
a heathen custom, and thaf the Christian
Church decided on its practice against it,
when there must have been an overwhel
ming prejudice in its favor of the resurrec
tion of the body. It is the sign of fellow
ship in the Lord's death. It has from the
earliest date distinguished the' people of
God from unbelievers. We do not say it
was confined to: the Israelites any more
than now it is peculiar to Christian peo
ples, but it has always been a distinction
which the Church in each of the dispensa
tions has maintained. And when a mode
of disposing of the remains of the dead is
proposed, which cannot fail to shock the
tenderest feelings of nearly all Christian
believers, it ought to show a very strong
case before it is fairly entitled to 'a stand
ing in the tribunal of public opinion.
Unless it can do this, it-must submit, as
the lawyers say, to a non-suit.
A good telescope, with, a three and a
half inch aperture, virtually brings the
moon within one thousand. two hundred'
miles of the observer, or within one two
hundredth of its real distance. Lord
Rosse's telescope brings it within forty
two miles, so that objects two hundred
and seventy feet long are discernible.—
Baer has calculated that an instrument of
ten times the power of Rosse's would be
required to briLg the moon within a Ger
man mile, at which distance the body of
a man can be perceived.
Never lose your respect ; if 4hat is lost,
all is lost.
Undertake•nothing without thoroughly
considering it.
Flouters weep without woe, and blush
vvithoutk crime.
Cultivate a Rome Feeling.
0, ye fathers and mothers who have
sons and daughters growing up around
you, do ye ever think of &our responsibil
ity in this regard—your responsibility for
keeping alive the home sentiment in the
bearer our children? Within the limit
of your mss, remember that the obliga
tion rests upon you to make their home the
pleasantest place upon this rolling earth,to
make the word "home" to them . the syn
onym for "happiness' " I would not have
you import the vices of the outside world
into your homes for any purpose ; but I
have you go to the verge ofwhat is moral,to
provide at home those things which entice
young and growing persons away from
home. And let me assure you that you
had better spend your mony in doing this 1 1
than in ostentation or luxury, and far, far
bey ter to spend it thus than to amass afor
tune for your children to squander in the
future. And not only as regards amuse
ment, I lomfort and retinements
its, but a,
tr - Thave a keen appreciation
of these thing— this is much the best pol
Don't send your boy to school in
fitting garments-collar all awry and claf
lug his neck, buttons missing, and shoes
down at the heel. Don't make a warehouse
'or clothes-press of his bed-room. Don't
feed him on sour bread, and tough meat,
and dissension and misrule spoil the hours
he spends at home. Don't do any of these
things if you can possibly avoid it; especi
ally don't do them for the purpose of lay
ing up meney - foritiafuturense. - The rich.
est legacy you can leave him is a lifelong,
inextinguishable and fragrant reccillie-7
tion of his home,when time and death have
forever dissolved the enchantment. Give
him that, and he will, in the strength of
it, make his own way in the world: but let
his recollections of home be 'repulsive, and
the fortune you may leave him will be a
poor compensation for the loss of that:ten
derns of heart, and purity of life, which
not only a pleasant home, but the very
memory of one would have secured. Re
member this, too, that while he will never
feel grateful for your money when once
you are under ground, he will go to your
green grave and bless your very ashes
for that sanctuary of quiet, comfort, and
refinement into which you may, if you
possess the means, transform your home.
A Successful Conundrum.
"John has never given you a ring ?"
said Katie's sister to her oue day. John
was Katie's lover.
,"Never," . said Katie with a regretful
shake of her head.
- "And he never will until you ask him
for it," pursued the sister.
"Then I fear I Shall never get one," was
the reply.
' "Of course you never will. John is too
stupid to think of such things; and as you
can never pluck up courage enough to
ask for one, it follows that you will never
get one."
This set Katie to thinking, and to what
purpose we shall see.
That evening her lover called to see
her. He was very proud and very hap
py, for the 'beautiful girl by his side had
been for several weeks pledged to marry
with him as seon as his business could be
properly done, and John was a grand,
good fellow, too, notwithstanding his ob
liviousness to certain polite manners.
"John," said Katie, at length, looking
up with an innocent smile, "DO you know
what.a conundrum is?"
"Why, it's a kind of a puzzle—a rid
dle," answered John.
Do you think you could ask me one I
couldn't guess T'
"I don't know. I never thought of such
things. Could you ask me one?
"I could try."
Well, try .Katie."
"Then answer this : Why is the letter
(D) like a ring?"
John puzzled his brain over the prob
lem for a long time, but was finally fore :
ed to give it up.
"I don't know, Katie. Why is it ?"
"Because, replied the maiden, with a
very soft blush creeping up to her tem
ples, " We cannot be wed without it."
In less than a week from that date,
Katie had her engagement ring.
a fortune itself; for a courteous man
generally succeeds well in life, and that
evenwhen persons of ability sometimesfail.
The famous Duke ofMalborough is a ease
in point. It was said of him by one con
temporary, that his agreeable manners of.
tea converted an enemy into a friend, and
by another, that it was more pleasure to
be denied a favor by his Grace than to
receive a favor br most men. The gra
cious maner of Charles James Fox pre
served him from personal dislike, even at
a time when he was politically the most
unpopular man in the kingdom. The his
tcry of every country is full of such ex
amples of success by civility. The ex
perience of every man furnishes, if we
may recall the past, frequent instances
where conciliatory manners h tve made
the fortunes of physicians, and i udeed, in
dividuals of all pursuits. In being intro
duced to strangers, his all'ubility, or the re
verse creates instantaneously a prepos
session in behalf of, or awakens uncon
s ions prejudice against him.
The pride of mankind is great. A
family living in Hoboken was awakened
by unusual noises in the house, and on
turning out saw the eldest hopeful rush
ing around in his suspenders, brandishing
a new Weston, and shouting, "There is a
man in the house." A lengthy search fail
ed to show any foundation for the young.
man's warlike demonstration, when be
mildly informed the breathless and ex
hausted tribe that it was his birthday.—
He was twenty-one. -
The birds are merry.
Birds and Bugs.
The entomologists, er bug-hunters, who
go about hunting butterflies and bugs, are
au institution. Their business is to study
the nature and habits of insects, and the
necessity of their work is shown by such
facts as are to be found in the reports to
The "army worm," after it had given
but little trouble fora hundred years, des
troyed millions of dollars worth of grain
in 1861. The -wheat midge and Hessian
fly destroyed several million dollar's
worth of wheat in New York in a single
year. It is said that Maine could raise
100,000 bushels of wheat a year but for
the rayages of these two insects ; and the
loss to the Southeib planters by the "cot
tonball worm, the army worm," and the
'cli inch bug' is enormous. The "wire worm'
- alone — corrscnned in one department of.
France nearly a million aollars' worth of
grain, and caused deficient harvests for
'ears. In German whole forests were
consumed by the larvae of a species of
worm, and thousands of fir trees had to be
cut down. These are facts that make en
tomology on economic studies. The agri
culturist classifies-insects into friends or
foes of his crops, as they are carnivorous
or herbivorous. The work of protection is
well done by birds. In France the govern
ment extends its protection even to buz
zards and rooks, because each of the for
mer consume about 6,000 field mice yearly,
and the latter an incalculable number of
white worms. In Hungary, afterwards
in Prussia, to the discomfiture of Frede
rick the Great, the sparrows were found
to be the farmees best friend.
Over fifty species of insects prey upon
cereals and grapes, and as many on our
field crops These well-known species rav
age garden vegetables, and fifty attack
the grape vine, and their number is increa
sing. About saventyfive species make
their annual onset upon the apple tree,
and as many the -plami-pear r -peack r and,
cherry. Over fifty species infests the oak,
twenty-five the elm, ssventydive the wal
nut, and ono hundred prey upon the pine.
Each year witnesses the attacks .of new
enemies. The killing of insect-eating birds
steadily increases noxious insects.
WOMAN'S ItrouTs.—The following are
the opening sentences of an address on
this subject by Mrs. Skinner :
Miss President, feller wimmen, and
male trash generally: I am here to-day,
for the purpose of discussing woman's
re-cussinrr a her wrongs and cursing
the men.
I believe sexes were created perfectly
equal ; with the women alittle more equal
than the men. •
I also believe that the world would to
day be happier if man had never existed.
As a success man is a failure, and I
bless my stars that my mother was a wo
man. [Applause.]
I not only maintain their principles
but maintain a shiftless husband besides.
They say man was created first. Well,
'spose be was. Aint first experiments al
ways failures?
If I was a betting man, I would bet
$2.60 they are.
The only decent thing about him was
a rib, and that went to make something
better. [Applause.]
And then they throw into our face a
bout taking an apple. bet five dollars
that Adam boosted her up the tree and
only gave her .the core.
And what did he do when Le was found
out? True to his masculine instincts, he
sneaked behind Eve's Grecian bend, and
said, wrwan't me; 'twas her ;" and wo
man has had to father everything mean
and mother it too.
What we want is the ballot, and the
ballot we're bound to have, if we have to
let down our back hair and swim in a sea
of sanguinary gore. [Sensation.]
THE FIVE CRADt ES.-A. man who had
recently become a votary to Bacchus re
turned home one night in an intermediate
state of booziness. That is to say, he was
comfortably drunk,but perfectly conscious
of his unfortunate situation. Knowing
that his wife was asleep, he decided to at
tempt gaining his bed without disturbing
her, and by , sleeping off his inebriation,
conceal the fact from her altogether. Ile
reached the door of his room without cre
ating much disturbance, and after rumin
ating a few moments on the matter; he
thought if he dould reach the bedpost,
and hold on to it while he slipped out of
his apparel, the remainder Or'"'the feat
would be easily accomplished Unfort
unately for his scheme a cradle stood in a
direct line with the bedpost, 'about the
middle of the floor. Of courqe, when his
shins came in contact with the aforesaid
piece of furniture, he pitched over it with
a perfect looseness ; and upon gaining an
erect positiou,ere an equilibrium was made
be went over it backwards, in an equally
summary manner. Again he struggled
to his feet, and went headforemost over
the bower of infant happiness. At length
with the fifth fall, his patience became ex
hausted, and the obstacle was yet to be
overcome. In desperation, ho cried to
his sleeping partner :
"Wile 1 wife ! how many cradles have
you got in the house? I've fallen over
five, and here's another afore me!"
We let our blessings grow mouldy, anti
call them curses.
We fear men so much because we fear
God so little.
Do the duties of to-day, and leave the
cares of to-morrow till they come.
If, as atheists affirm, creation came by
chance, what a sublime chance it was.
The sourest temper must sweeten in the
atmosphere' of continuous good humor.
Dispute and borrowing, cause grief and
Costly apparatus and splendid cabinets
have no power to make scholars.
42,00 PER YEAR.
Mit and Sniok.
Why is Sunday the strongest day of
the week.? Because all the others are
week days.
I t
Which of the . ve.e.postho wore the
largest hat? Tie , e that hail the larV
eat head.
A St. Paul woman who used to keep
three girls, now does her own - work cheer•
fully. She found her lasuband thing
kisses at them.
A Philadelphia, youth was reeeiatl' •
married to a girl who, had refused hinti,i
eighteen times. Ho wishes nocv he hadn't:,
asked her but seventeen.
"this summer ladies are "going to dress
their hair as they did three hundred years
ago," says an exchange. This makes some
of the ladies rett,_
P - Why does a cat,-while eating,. turn
head first ono way, and ben arijltlier?
Because sbe can't turn it. both ways at
An ox that had beat eating fermented
grain, which was in preparation for malt
ing ale, became intoxicated, :Ind was of
fered for sale by his owner es 'corned' beef. ,
The yen rof jubilee has come The sew
ing machine RV)) of indianapolis irc
using each of her as targets tbr pibtol prac
tice. Now let other cities follow the ex
IT a lady in a red cloak were to cross a
red field in: which was a goat, what won
derful traustbrrnation would probably
take place? The goat would tura to' but-
Lr and the lady into a scarlet runner.
You may talkyonraelf into a bronchia '•\,\ •
airocaon,—iatt .—caX-t-conxincP
moat woman thatkthe.o won't be a death •
in the family if fili'di.A..eams Of Benin°. o a
hen walking u picket: fence.
Some man never lose their prmnee of
mind. In Milwaukee. last week a maa
thew his mother•in-laity out of a window
i:n• the fifth..4ory-of'a — burniug
and carded a'feather bed down stairs :ti
his arMs.
A Quarrelsome couple were discussing '
the subjects of epitaphs•and tombstones, ,
and the husband said : "My dear, what •
kind of a stone do you suppose they. will . .
give me when I die 2" "Brimstone, my
love," was the affectionate reply.
John Randolph -met a personal enemy
in the street, one day, whorefused to give
him hall of the sidewalk; saying that be
never turned out for a rascal. "I do,"
says Randolph, stepping aside and polite
ly raising his hat. "Pass on."
The average Burlington, lowa salool ,
keeper must be bad indeed. A. learned
divine in that city recently addressed one
of them as follows: "Wretched man
If the hed of the river was hank high
with the suds of salvation, and a June
lice of piety comhig down the mountains,
there wouldn't ise .Bough to wash your
Lord Chancellor Eldon, who was well
known by the nickname of "Old sags,"
in one of his shooting excursions unex
pectedly came across a person who was
sporting over his land without leave. Flis
lordship inquired if the stranger
. was aware
that he was trespassing, or if he knew U,
whom the estate belonzred. " What's that
to you :" was thereply ; "I suppose you
are one of Old Bag,s' keeners." - "No," re
plied his lOrdship, "I am Old Bags himself?,
It !s related of a certain New England
divine 'who flourishednot many years ago,
and whose matrimonial relations are sup.
posed not to have been of the most agree
able kind, that one Sabbath morning while
reading to his congergation the parable of
the Supper, in which occurs this passage:
"And another said, I have bought five
yoke of oxen, and I go to prove them ; I
pray thee have me excused. And an other
said, I have married a wife, said therefor
cannot come"—he suddenly paused at the
end of this verse, drew otr his spectacles,
and looking round oa his hearers said
with emphasis : "The fact is my brethren,
one woman can draw a an further from
the kingdom of heaven than live yoke of
oxen !",
GRASS WIDOW.—"Sam, did you see
dat hors I had last fall?" .
"No, I did not
. "He var.; a great Loss—l called him
um "Prairie Steed."
.'"W hat yo;: call him your"Prabie
Steed" - for?"
, "Cause he eat so much grass."
"ii:ow much dui he used to eat?"
"Tont sin or sewn acres healick."
"He mr..;, have been very expensive."
"He %I.:1g, inn hc-Efc- oot:e."
"In whatnr.nnel' y was i done
"Why, see, ode 'lay look my gal
out ;fain O,, alit when we got
oat in cic: tuiddi.e ob de praiiie pooh
soon 74: :o‘)keil a: - M1:1(1 fltl ;;;V; (kbrai
f.:o had coichetl on lire."
‘rliisa you et , re in a pro:lit:llcent."
`'NO; SfC wi:s in de ihanie.nil de time.'
"How (Id you' got sat'ely ottt?"
"11 7 1:y. 1 tiii 7 to tiebileh its hoss
and ho eat u 1 ti Ye or Pi::: a;:ies oh tiegvaxi
ail around us, but de worst oh all, Ewa,
he eat up'de gall"
"liortible I"
"Ye 3, Sam, he was horrible hungry to.
do dat."
"What was the reason he, did so ?"'-
4 .l" . nonfda't find out till I gOt
. "What did you find .out then?".
"Dat f)e gall was a 61.1Z51