BY W. BLAIR.
VOLUME 27.
,eittt tiottrg.
A THOUGHT.
BY 'FATHER RYAN.
"There never was a Valley without a faded
flower, •
•Tliere never was a Heaven without some
littlepelond.
*The face ill day may flash with light in any
morning. hour,
But evening soon shall come with her shad
ow-woven shroud.
'There never was a. river without its mist of
_ gray,
afiere-never-was-a-forest-mittout-its-falle
leaf;
And joy may walk beside us down the wind
ings of our way,
When la! there sounds a footstep and,we
meet the face of. Grief.
There never was a Bea-shore .without its
drifting wreck,
There never was -twi ,ocean_. without_. its
moaning wave,
And the golden beam.•of•glory•the•summer
sky that fleck,
Shine where. dead stars are sleeping in their
azure-mantled grave.
There never. was a streamlet, however crys
tal clear,
Without a shadow resting in the ripples of
its tide;
Hope's brightest robes are broidered with
the sable fringe of fear—
And she lures—but• abysses girt her path
on either side.
The shadow of the mountain falls athwart
the!lowly plain, •
And the shadow of the cloudlet hangs
above-the mountain's head—
And the highest hearts and lowest wear the
shadow of some pain,
And the sky has scarcely flitted ere the an
guish tear is shed.
For no eyes have there been ever without
a weary tear,
And those lips cannot, be human •which
have never heaved a sigh, .
For without the dreary winter there has
never been a year,
.And the tempests hide their terrors in the
calmest summer sky.
•The cradle means the coffin—and the coffin
,means the grave ;
'The mother's song scarce hides the'De Pro
fundis of the priest
-You may cull the fairest roses any May day
ever gave,
)3ut they'll wither while you wear them
'ere the ending of your feast..
.So this dreary life is passing—and we move
amid its maze,
And we grope alone together, half in dark
ness, half in light;
And our hearts are often burdened by the
mysteries of our ways,
Which are never all in shadow and never
wholly bright.
And our dim eyes ask a beacon, and our
weary feet a guide,
And our hearts of all life's mysteries seek
the meaning and the key;
And a Cross gleams o'er our pathway—on
it hangs the Crucified,
And he answers all our yearning by the
whisper "Follow me."
gtl istellautta
BURTON'S FOURTH WIFE.
BY EMMA MOORE.
`l'll never marry a widower;' nor a
man without money;' nor a poor minis
ter;"nor a homely man;' nor a real old
bachelor, if he is as rich as Crcesus;"nor
a man with red hair.'
Such was the confused 'ejaculations of a
merry band of school-girls, whom their
'teacher was vainly endeavoring to sum
mon to their studies. At length her bell
was heard amid the din of voices,all talk
ing at once, and she laughingly exclaim
cd, 'You ug Lad ies,matrirnony need not en
gross your thoughts for some time to come.
You will please come and attend to your
lessons. Doubtless,wben the time comes,
you will, like many others, act entirely
contrary to your present feelings.'
'As she has done, I remain single, I
whispered to my companion; 'but I am
sure,' I emphatically repeated, 'that
never-110 i never, as long as I live,marry
a widower 1'
At the time I made this remark, I was
a laughing girl of sixteen, with jet black
hair and eyes, and said to be full of life
and animation.
Soon after, I left school, with a letter,
signed by the mistress,to the effect that I
was now fully qualified to fill any sphere
.of usefulness to which I !night be dcatin
.ed. Mamma had this duly framed and
gilded, and I never doubted its truth.—
Neither did papa's friend s old Mr. Ash
burton. From my earliest recollection
he had been our neighbor and visitor,
generally accompanied by a Mrs. Ash
burton. 'The village bells had.tolled some
two months since for his third wife, and
rumor asserted that lie was already look
ing for some one to supply her place.—
All the widows of marriageable age, and
all the spinsters of every age, were on the
alert; and surely the little Ashburtons
were never as much carzs;:cd. ae whem they
were mothuloss.
No one could assert - that Mr. Ashbur
ton was the picture of grief,as he wended
his way up our avenue every week. His
visits were universally conceded to my fa
ther,and no one was more delighted when
they were over than myself. Although I
inherited too much of my fathers courtesy
to treat any one rudely, a sight of his
portly figure and sandy wig entering our
parlor inspired me with "a desire to leave
it. • What was my amazement, then at
being summoned into my father's library,
one day, and having the following note
placed in my hand :
Ashburton Villa, Tuesday, A. 31.
DEAR MIeS Baum:
"When Adam was made happy for life,
He was the husband of just one wife;
But my bliss has been of higher degree,
As I have already been blessed with three.
What-could-mortal - matrask more, •
Than to have you for number four?
We cannot tell how the die will be cast,
Perhaps, dear Emma, you will be the last."
Respectfully yours,
AARON AtiMURTON.
I burst into an irrepressible laugh,such
:chool-girl: only in, uge in, , m
the scroll nothing but a joke, and was
much surprised on glancing at, my papa,
to see him looking as grave as a judge.=
He placed a note in my hand in which
the billet-doux to myself had been enclos
ed, saying that Mr. Ashburton was a man
of good sense, and like an honorable_gen,i
Aleman, had first requested his permission
,to address me. The note - was - as follows -- ;
.DEAR SIR,-If agreeable to Miss Em
,ma and yourself, I should like, as soon as
-your-daughter-rAn_make it_convenient,to
enter once .more into the matrimonial
-state. You know my ample means: and,
if Miss Emma consents, I will; on our
•marriage day, endow her with - one Ilan
:tired thousand dollars. Hoping,' when,
next I address you, to be able to sign my
self your affectionate son-in-law, I am
now,
"Yours faithfully,"
"AARON-ASEBURTON."
I could endure the scene no longer, and
eluding my father's grasp, and donning
my hat, ran to tell my bosom friend, Lu
cy, of the bliss in store for me.' We were
quite merry over the poetical proposal,
Lucy exclaiming: "Who knows, Emma,
if you don't survive,'but I myself will be
number five."
That night, mamma, after•tea,,came in
to the council, and, dazzled•by •the bait
held out, gave her influence in favor of
Mr. • Ashburton ; and I, a thoughtless
child, yielded to the entreaties of my pa
rents.
It was not my father's method , to neg
lect business, so I was dispatched to my
room to write my reply. I sat down to
my writing-desk, chose my beat paper and
pen, when the idea of being anybody's
fourth wife, and I only seventeen, struck
me as being .very absurd. 'I imagined
how Mr. Ashburton must look divested of
his wig; then pictured myselftwalking
down the aisle of the village church, at
the head of the -six Ashbortons, three of
them being older than myself."
"Not for twenty millions !" I cried,
"will I sign away my happiness."
And as I thought of Gerard, with his
stalwart, young frame, raven locks, and
fine teeth, his kind heart, mid fortune yet
to make, I thought I would tell him of my
dilemma.
I had just commenced, "My dear Ge
rard—Somethibg so strange and ludicrous
has happened. Come up to-morrow and
I will tell you all,"—when papa tapped
at the door, saying,• pleasantly, "IVell,
Emma, my reply has been •sent, and ere
this Ashburton is a happy man."
"What !" I cried. "0! papa, what
have you done?"
"Don't be excited, child," he answered;
"here is the copy of my reply."
"Mv DEAR SlR.—Yours of the Bth in
stant is just received. I feel highly hon
ored by your proposal, and my daughter
will write her acceptance at once.'
"Yours very sincerely,"
"EDWARD STAUNTON."
"You see. Emma, I have left all senti
ment to you."
"Oh. papa," I repeated, "what have
you done !"
But tears and entreaties were of no a
vail. Fapa's dignity could not be com
promised, and I was obliged to write an
acceptance, which I did in the following
brief lines.
"DEAR Sm.—ln obedience to my fath
er's demands, I accede to your proposal.
"Yours, &c.,
."Entau S."
Imagine me now presiding over Mr.
Ashburton's establishment. A few short
weeks since, a thoughtless school-girl, now
addressed as "mother" by six children !
One day the new gardener said to me as
I was helping myself to hot-house flowers;
"Miss, your pa,
said I must not let your
children•pluck those flowers."
My greatest perplexity was with my
mother-in-law. They felt a natural anxi
ety to know something of the character
of the new mother of their grandchil
dren, and made various efforts to judge
personally. Shortly after my settlement
in my new home, I had been indulging
ing in a forlorn feeling of homesickness;
as in arranging my husband's wardrobe,
I had unexpectedly found among his
treasures, three locks of hair carefully pre
served. One labeled, "My sainted Ellen;"
No. 2, "My sainted Maria e , and the
third, "My departed Susan."
"How came I," I cried; "ever to mar
ry such a Bluebeard?" •
Here Jane appeared to summon me
down to see my husband's mother-in-law.
An image of my own dear mother rose in
my mind, and I bounded' down in hot
haste to throw myself into her arms.—
What was my disappointment to see a to
tal stranger surveying me through her
spectacles with a penetrating gaze ?"
"Well I" she exclaimed, "has Aaron
really made such a foal of himself as to
bring a child to preside over his house ?
4N f f 44:4 ;7-1 *:155 e) >Olt IL.' AAI Y*A:4 >0 - K.I•111 'WV iZt)*P *7ll Di'4l-191/4
WAYYESBORO', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 23,1574.
Why, he had children enough already for
one roof."
To which I mentally responded, "Too
many by half."
She went on, "Really, it's enough to
make my daughter Ellen wish her
self back in this world of trouble—"
and
me in tears, she checked herself
and said, "Well,dear! What's done can
not be undone, and we must make line
best of it; but I have come on purpose
to. advise you. I have reared ten children
all except nine, who are dead ; and you
cannot begin to train them - too young.—
Have my boxes and trunks up to Ellen's
room—she will be glad to. see her grand
mamma."
Human nature could endure no more,
and I was about retreating from the room,
on the plea of obeying orders, when I ran
e exten
er-in-law, who had just arrived.
This one was a complacent looking old
lady, fat and good-natured, and informed
me at once that "She was the mother of
t e sainted Maria, and had come purpose
ly to see how she liked me for a stepmoth
er to her little pets."
I introduced the old ladies, and left
them to have their rooms prepared, and
their grand-children put in presentable
order. On my return. I found them in
about-as-amiable—position—as-a-eat-an
dog would have been, if shut up . in the
same room. Each one was asserting that
all the good looks and intelligence belong
ed to her side of the house. The question
_had-not-thaslightest_interest_for_me, and
all participation in the argument was pre
vented by the entrance of my husband,
with an open letter in his hand. After
greeting our guests, he informed me that
he had j ust
. received a letter from his third
mother-mlaw, saying that she would ar
rive by the evening train, as she deemed
it her duty to give his young wife the ben
efit other experience o f bringing up chil
dren.
No pen can describe the confused state
of our mansion during the invasion of
these mothers-in-law. They only agreed
on one subject, and, unfortunately that
was myself. They thought I was too
young ; that I did not preside with digni
ty ; that I was not fond of children, and
much too fond of dress, &c., dr.c. Advice
was showered upon me from morning un
til night. At the table, the six children,
three grandmothers, and husband, engag
ed in reminiscences of my predecessors.
Each mother insisted that her daughter's
,portrait should be added.to the number.
I thought that my patience would be
entirely exhausted before the old ladies
took their departure. The likes and dig
likes.of their daughters had been rehears
ep and 'rehearsed to me, their wishes in
regard to their children frequently repeat
ed ; until one day I retired to my own
room, intending to lock the door for a
season.of brief quiet. But the mothers
in-law were not no easily evaded. One
was at my side with her knitting work
and snuff box, prepared Ibr a social chat.
She said it was natural that I should like
to hear my husband's former history, and
commenced recounting the three weddings
and three death-bed scenes, and the fun
erals, ending with an intimation that my
husband had had the three deceased In
dies buried together in a semicircle, leav
ing places for two more graves.
So, dear,' he affectionately remarked,
'you may console yourself by thinking
that you are the last wife he expects to
have. The tablet will be placed in the
ceutre when he dies, with this appropriate
inscription, 'Our husband."
The climax has now been reached. I
had endured the trial of being the fourth
wife, and the fourth mother to the chil- '
dren, and almost lost my indentity—but
this partnership in death I could not tol
erate. When the old lady, glancing at
my wedding-ring, pronounced it to be the
very one worn by her daughter, I angrily
drew it from my finger and threw it from
me, giving way to such an indig nant out
break, that the old lady jerk ed her cap
on .one side, dropped a stitch in ber stock
ing, let her snuff-box roll on the floor,and
by her screams brought all the grand
mothers into my apartment. Such a hub
bub ! Each one was trying to praise her
own deceridants to the detriment of the
rest. I endeavored to rise and reach my
own room,and the effort effectually arous
ed me. When I opened my eyes, a laugh
ing eye was glancing into my face, and a
loving arm thrown around me, and I was I
greeted %ith the exclamation, 'Why,Em
ma, darling, what have you been dream
ing abort this bright 'sunny day? Why
are you so excited?'
Quite bewildered, I exclaimed, 'Why,
Gerard, where are all the old ladies?—
And the portraits? And the children?'
'What old ladies, and what portraits,
and children?' he responded. found
you in dreamland, in your favorite arbor,
where your mother bade me seek you.'
When I had laughingly rehearsed my
dream, Gerard joined in my merriment,
and said, 'lf I meet the happy Mr. Ash
burton. I shall certainly challenge him.'
But immediately his voice assumed a
softer tone, and his eye a more gentle ex
pression. What he said was intended
solely for my ear, however. He could not
have taken a more favorable opportunity
to urge his suit; and so I became Gerard's
first wife instead of Mr. Ashburton's
fourth.
Hot lemonade is one of the best reme
dies in the world for a cold. It acts
promptly and effectively, and has no un
pleasant after effects. One lemon proper.
ly &Timed, cut in slices, put with sugar,
and covered with half a pint of boiling
water. Drink just before going to bed,
and do not expose yourself the following
day. This remedy will ward off au at
tack of chills and fever if used properly.
Capital .letters—Thcsa contftin xe
mittances.
er mot
arms -o
YARN RAKING&
Godspeed the plowshare! Tell me not
Disgrace attends the toil
Of those who plow the dark green sod,
Or till the fruitful soil.
Why should the honest plowman shrink
From mingling in the van
Of learning and of wisdom, since
'Tia mind that makes the man ?
Godspeed the plowshare, and the hands
That till the fruitful earth.
For there is in this world, so wide,
No gem like honest worth.
And though the hands are dark with toil
And flushed the manly brow,
Itmatters not, for God will bless •
The labors of the plow.
I LITTLI SONG. i l
When little bands are clean and white,
And littlo faces sweet and bright,
The little hearts are glad and light.
What little minds should early heed,
How fast will spring truth's precious seed !
When little lips speak words of praise;
And little feet tread wisdom's ways,
How good and happy are the days!
Life is made u , of little thin
The flower that blooms, the bird that sings
every hour has ange
Who Rules.
_Fashion rules the world, and a most
tyrannical mistress she is—compelling
people to submit to the most inconvenient
things imaginable for her sake. _
She pinches our feet with tight shoes or
chokes us with tight handkerchiefs, or
squeezes the breath out of our body by
tight
She makes people sit up by night,when
they ought to be in bed ; and keeps them
in bed in the morning when they ought
to be up and doing.
She makes it vulgar to wait on one's
self, and genteel to lie idle and useless.
She makes people visit when they had
rather stay at home, eat when- they are
not hungary.
She invades our pleasure and inter
rupts our business.
She compels people to dress gayly
whether upon their ownproperty or that
of others, whether agreeable to the word
of God or the dictates of pride.
She ruins health and produces sicknesss,
destroys life and occasions premature
death.
She makes fools of parents, invalids of
children, and servants of all.
She is a tormentor of conscience ; a
despoiler of morality and an enemy of r&
'igloo, and no one can be her companion
and enjoy either.
She is a despot of the highest grade full
of intrigue and eunning,and yet husbands
and wives, fathers, mothers, daughters,
sons and servants, black and white, have
voluntary become obedient subjects and
slaves, and vie with one another to ace
who shall be the most obsequious.
A PROFITABLE INVESTMENT.-A story
of real life, of a. class of which the State is
prolific, is related by the Califonia papers.
In 1850 a young man named Osborne,who
had recently arrived at the mines from
the east, penniless and friendless, was
taken sick. He told his condition 'to a
fellow adventurer, named Hitchcock, who
was a little better off, and the latter prom
ised to "see him through." The promise
was kept, and when, after two mouths of
illness, Osborne arose from his bed, his
friend handed him $250 to bear his ex
penses and procure tools, saying to him,
"If you ever get able you may pay me
back, but do not worry yourself any
in trying to make the money too qick."
One year and a half from that time Os
borne sent Hitchcock $1250 with the fol-,
lowing note: "I'll pay interest on friend
ship." His labors proved remunerative,
and by 1872 he was worth $350,000.
While in San Frncisco he by accident met
and recognized his friend. When they
parted after several days' companionship,
Osborne gave Hitchcock a sealed pack
age, with the injunction that it should not
be opened until he was on the cars.
There Hitchcocx found that it contained
a deed for one-sixth of a rich silver mine
with a small note containing the words:
"Interest on friendship." Hitchcock has
sold his interest for $BO,OOO.
SAD CASE OF HYDROPIMBIA.—Mag
gie Lowerhill, aged eight years who lived
at Oldham, near Paterson, N. J., was bit
ten about fivq weeks ago by a small dog.
The slight wound soon healed, but a few
days ago she suddenly went into convul
sions ut tha sight of a glhss of.water. Dr.
Neer of Paterson 'was sent for, and al
though when he arrived the little girl was
apparently all right again, he saw that it
was a case of genuine hydrophobia that
would undoubtedly prove fatal, and he
quietly told the little girl's mother and
took his leave. He had about half reach
ed the gate when the little girl ran after
him and called,—
'Doctor come back.'
He waited until she caught up to him
and she asked,— .
'Doctor did you tell mother I am going
to die?'
The kiwi hearted doctor replied,—
'Oh, my child, I hope you will not die.'
'But,' replied Maggie, doubtfully, and
with just the shadow of a tremor in her
voice, 'you must have told mother that I
am going to die, for she is crying just as
hard as she can
The old doctor turned his moistening
eves and hastened away. Maggie ran
I;ack into the house. She was soon seized
with another convulsion which resulted
fatall ..
No postage on county papers now with
in the county. .
The Best Medicine for 'Trouble.
Don't try to quench your sorrow in
rum or narcotics. If you begin this, you
' must keep right on with it, till it leads
you to ruin; or if you try to pause, you
must add physical pain and degradation
to the sorrow you seek to escape. Of all
wretched men, his condition is the most
pitiful whoi- having sought to drown his
grief in drink, awakes from his debauch
with shattered nerves, aching head and
depressed mind, to face the trouble again.
That which was at first painful to con
template, will, after drink, seem unbeara
ble. Ten to one the fatal drink will again
be sought, till its victim sinks a hopeless,
pitiful wreck. Work is your true reme
dy. If misfortune hits you hard, hit you
something else hard; pitch into something
with a will. There's nothing-like-good,
solid i substantial, absorbing, exhausting
work io cure trouble. If you have met
with losses, y ou don't want to lie awake,
thinking ab out them. Yon want sweet,
lin,aound-alesp,-and-to-eat-y-our-dinue
with appetite. But you can't unless you
work. If you say you don't feel like work,
and go loafing all day t 9 tell Dick and
Harry the story of your woes, you'll lie
awake and keep your wife awake by toss
ing, spoil her temper and your own break
fast the next morning, and begin -to-mor
awlirfeeling ten - times - worse - th , • ,
to-day.
There are some great troubles that only
time can heal, and perhaps some that
never will be healed at all; but all can be
helped by the great panacea, work. Try
it, you who are afflicted. It is not a pat
ent medicine. It has proved its efficacy
since first Adam and Eve left Paradise
behind them Weeping for their beautiful
Eden. It is'an official remedy.
All good physicians in regular stan
ding prescribe it in case of mental and
moral disease. It operates kindly and will,
living on disagreeable sequella, and we as
sure you that we have taken a large quan
tity of it with most beneficial effects.—
It will cure more complaints than any
nostrum in the rnateria medics and comes
nearer to being a "cure all" than any drug
or compound of drugs in the market.
And it will sicken you, if you do not take
it sugarcoated.—Scientific American.
JONAII OVERBOARD.—Lag week the
Brooklyn Tabernacle excommunicated a
member for conduct disgraceful of the
Christian profession. He had long been
warned and admonished; but. failing to
cease his evil practices, he was by unani
mous vote cut off, and his excommunica
tion as publicly announced as his recep
tion five years before had been published.
Brethren of the Churches, is it not time
that our religious societies be cleaned of
their unfaithful members? Will not the
world have more respect for the Church
when it is understood that there is such a
thing as Christian discipline, and that a
man cannot live an obnoxious life and
yet sit at j.he communion table? Let this
cleansing process go on kindly but firmly,
and the Church will mean more than it
(has now. The greatest dangers to Chris
tianity to-day are not those who are wri
ting against it, but the professors of reli
gion who carry around contribution plates
and communion cups, and stand promi
nent( at prayer-meetings, while they are
known as defrauders, slanderers, or ine
briates. You wonder why the old Gospel
ship has such rough weather. It is be
cause you have a Jonah on board. Pick
him up and let him drop over the sides
very gently, and the sea will cease its ra
ging. It is very hard to do so,but better
Jonah go to the bottom than the entire
vessel. One rotten apple will spoil the
whole barrel.— Christian. at F ork.
UNUSUAL LosoEvrry.—The Denton
Union, Caroline county, Md., says:
"Mrs. Hester Authors, Who resides a
bout four miles from Templeville, just
over the Delaware side of the line, is said
to be 112 years old. She was present at
the signing of the Declaration of Inde
pendence, et Independence Hall, Phila
delphia, in 1776, and was then 14 years
of age. She has a daughter with whom
she is now living, the third child after
marriage, who is 76 years old. The old
lady is quite active, and visits Philadel
phia on the cars, unattended,onceor twice
a year to see her grandchildren.
"Philip Money, a resident of Glassbc
rough, New Jersey, died at the residence
of his son, in Haddington, Delaware, on
Friday last, aged 106 years. He had re
cently visited this son, saying he bad come
to die, and while there was taken ill, his
illness resulting in his death. His son,
living at Harrington, is 72 years of age."
ENERGY.—Energy is omnipotent. The
clouds that surround the houseless boy
of to-day are dispersed, and he is invited
to a palace. It is the work of energy.—
The child who is a beggar this moment,
in a few years to come may stand forth
the admiration of heroes! Who has not
seen the life-giving power of energy? It
makes the wilderness to bloom as the rose;
whitens the ocean; navigates our rivers;
levels mountains; paves with iron a high
way from State to State;and sends through,
with the speed of lightning,messages from
one extremity of the land to the other.—
Without energy, what is man? A fool, a
clod.
TlME.—Time is life's tree from which
some gather precious fruit, while others
lie down under its shadow,and perish with
hunger. Time is life's ladder, whereby
some raise themselves up to honor, and
renown and glory, and some let themselves
down into the depths of shame, degrade.
tion and ignominy. Time will he to us
what, by our use of the treasures . we make
it; a good or an evil,s blessing or a curse.
You may know an old bachelor by the
fact that he always speaks of a baby as
"It."
Saving and Having.
Either a man must be content with
poverty all his life, or else be willing to
deny himself some luxuries, and save, to
lay the base of independence in the future.
But if a man defies the future and spends
all that he earns (whether his earnings be
one dollar or ten dollars every week,) let
him look for lean and hungry want at
some future time, for it will surely come,
no matter what he thinks. To' save is
absolutely the only way to get a solid for
tune; there is no other certain mode on
earth. Those who shut their eyes and
ears to these plain facts will be forever
poor, and for their obstinate rejection of
the truth, mayhap will die in rags and
filth. Let them die so and thank. them
selves.
_But, no 1 They take a sort of recom
pense in cursing ibrtune. Great waste of
breath I- 'They- might_ as_ well curse the
mountains and eternal hills, for we can
tell them fortune does not give away her
• . : I ; • I ; ;
them to the highest bidder,to the hardest,
wisest worker for the boon. Men never
make so fatal a mistake as when they
think they are mere creatures of fate; 'tie
the sheerest folly in the world. Every
mad► may make or mar his life,whichever
way he ma) , choose. Fortune is for those
by-diligencedionesty T sand-frugalit ,
place themselves in a position to grasp
hold of her when she appears in view.—
The best evidence of diligence is the sound
of the hammer in your shop at seven o'-
clock in the morning. The best evidence
of frugality is the five hundred dollars or
more standing in your name at the sav
ings bank. The best evidences of
are diligence and frugality.
THE BOY AND THE BRICKS.-A. boy
hearing his father say `Tomas a poor rule
that would not work both ways,' said, 'lf
father applies this about his work, I will
test it in my play.' So setting up a row
of bricks three or four inches apart, he
tipped over the first, which, striking the
second,caused it to fall on the third,which
overturned the fourth, and so on through
the whole course, until all the bricks lay
prostrate.
'Well,' said the boy, each brick has
knocked down his neighbor which stood
nest to him; I only tipped one. Now I
will raise one, and see if he will raise his
neighbor. I will see •if raising one will
raise all the rest.'
Hs looked in vain to see them rise.
`Here, father,' said the boy, 'is apnor
rule; 'twill not work both ways. They
knock each other down,but will not raise
each other up.'
'My son,' said the father, 'bricks and
men, I am sorry to say, are alike active
in knocking each other down, but are not
inclined to help each other up'
COUNTING A BILLION.—What is a bil
lion? The reply is very simple—a mil
lion times a million. This is quickly
written, and quicker still pronounced:—
But no man is able to count it. You can
count 160 or 170 a minute; but let us
suppose that you go as far as 200, then
an hour would produce 12,000; a day,
288,000;and a year or 365 days 105,120,-
000. Let us suppose now that Adam, at
the beginning of his existence, had begun
to count, had continued to do so, and was
counting still, he would not even now, ac
cording to the usually supposed age of our
globe, have counted near enough. For
to count a billion he would require 9,512
years, 342 days, 5 hours and. 20 minutes,
according to the above rule. Suppose we
were to allow a poor counter 12 hours
daily for rest, eating' and sleeping, lie
would need 19,025 years, 319 days, 10
hours and 45 minutes.
THE INFLUENCE OF DAILY HABITS.-
The daily habits of every boy and girl
are materials with wh;ch they are build
ing up their characters, and every repeti
tion strengthens them for good or for evil.
Justice, benevolence, honor, integrity and
self-control are no ephmeral blossoms that
a day's sunshine can call into being and
a night's frost can wither and kill. They
grow_slowly and develop gradually, but
once rooted firmly in the heart and train
ed by constant exercise they will prove
sturdy,healthy,long-lived plants that will
bear rich and abundant fruit. It is not
enough to teach, we must learn to train.
It is not enough to tell the child what is
right, we accustom him to love its atmos
phere. So with self-culture. If we would
become nobler and more virtuous,we must
habituate ourselves to the constant exer
cise of pure thoughts, generous affections,
noble and disinterested deeds.
WILL YOU MIND TEIAT Now?--'Fath
er. what does a printer live on?'
'Live on? the same as other folks, of
course. Why do you ask, Johnny ?'
'Because you said you hadn't paid any
thing for.your paper, and the printer still
sends it to you.
'Wife, spank that boy.'
'I shan't do it.
'Why not?'
'Because there is no reason to do so.'
'No reason? Yes, there is. Spank him,
I tell you, and put him to bed.
'I shan't do any such thing. What in
the world do you want him spanked for?'
'He is too smart.'
'Well that comes of your marrying me.'
'What do you mean?'
I mean just this, that the boy is smart
er than his father, and you can't deny it.
He knows enough to see thtit a man, prin
ter or no printer, can't live on nothing,
and I should think you would be asbain
ed of yourself not to know as much.
CUT TWS OUT. -Boil poke root and
new milk, equal putt.; and give it to the
patient until it produces sleep, and it still
cure hydrophobia.
Have your fruit cans ready.,
82,00 PER YEARI,
i aud :iattmor.
The oldest 'esters sett(
ni g sun.' ,
The article chiefl • so!• at mcst fancy
fairs—The visitor.
Why do white sheep at "'
ones ? Because they 6 are
Decoration Dar Every
ilfpf a faebionab e belle.
What trade is it wht works are tram
pled under foot ? A s emaker's.
Family physicians W. carefully noting
the promising state of green apple
crop.
A Lebanon (Ky.) gent, in ardently
greeting a_ longliarted wife, broke one of
her ribs.
Z 4
•nri ive i 1 `• broken off the
match because he sai
a rasin•box.
A Maine husband wanted to bet hia
wife that she coulyhip a panther, but
she saw the joke a refused to try. ✓
Samuel Gettinzs, of S
is t e at er o .1 drew.-- e
hoped that with all his Gettings he got
understanding.
An Irishman was .lace asked if he had
ever seen a red blackberry. 'To be site
I have, replied Pat—"all blackberries are
red when they are green !"
N
A Maud Muller I ghed heartily at a
young haymaker N the yellow jackets
got up his mankee °users, but when
they got up her'n it wasn't so funny. ,-----
Landlady, fiercely—" You must% occu
py that bed with your boots on." Board
er—" Never mind ; they're an old pair. I
guess the bugs won't hurt 'em. Let 'em
rip anyhow ! -
"I, say, Samba, does ye know what
makes de corn grow sofast when you put
the manure on it ?" "No, I don't hardly.'
"Now, jilt tell you : when de corn
begins to smell de 'turnery, so it hurries
out oh do ground, an' gets up as high as
aossible so as not to breathe de bad air."
• wag, with the word 'whoa,' brought
a horse driven by a young man to a dead
stop. 'That's a tine beast of yours,' says
the wag. 'Yes, a pretty gdod•sort of an
animal, but be has .cne jEfe wits
once owned by a butcher,.aPdlt.iure %o
stop whenever be heaii'it
Mr. Parker, of tire. Woburn , (Mess.)
Journal, wrote his deader-; - last week is
rhyme, as follows , :
"A daughter was wanting,
At. last we have found her :
She tame Sunday morning—
A healthy nine-pounder."
Bob Peters was too bashful to pop the
question, but he sent a ring to Clara with
these lines:
"This ring that's enclosed will you please
to retain ?
May it grace your clear hand when we next
meet again; •
I'm aware 'tin a trifle, but still it will show
What I tremble to ask, yet am ilYierg to
know." , 48142.0
Ire COSS—Mr. Hammond. the revivaP
ist, spoke to a man standing in a crowd
at Quincy, 111., a short time ago, inquir
ing how he felt. 'DO you see anything
green?' Said the man, pointing to hie eye,
as much as to say he was not a subject
for conversion. No, my friend,' Mr. 11.
replied, 'but I see something red—your
nose—and it cost $5,000 to paint it,if you
paid for the drinks.'
SUNDAY Wonx.—An D 1 a Western ftrm
er, who was anything but religious, had
hired a devout negro, and to get some Sun
day work out of him had to resort to speci
ous devices. One morning Sambo prov
ed refractory—"he would work nu more on
Sundays. The master then argued
that in case of necessity, even the Scrip
tures allowai a man to get out of a pit on
a Sabbath day, t beast that 'had fallen
in. "Yes, massa," rejnined the black,
"but not if he spent Saturday diggia' de
pit for de berry purpose!"
A young bachelor who had been ap
pointed sheriff, was called upon to serve
an attachment against a beautiful young
widow. He accordingly called upon her
and said: 'Madam, I have an attachment
for you.' The widow blushed, and said
his attachrittnt was reciprocated: •Yott.
don't understand me; you must proceed' '
to court.' I know it is kap year, sir, buts
I prefer you to do the courting." Mrs.
P. this is no time tln trifling; the Justice,
is waiting.' 'The Justice! why, I prefer'
a parson.'
NONPLUSSING A. BARBER. - Persons
who visit barber shops would give a pre
mium for a barber who would not insist
upon their 'hair cut,' or submitting to a
`shamboo' when they only wished to ho
shaved. A man who called at a tonsorial
establishment succeeded in nonplussing a
most persiitent knight of the razor. The
barber insisted upon giving transient
customers a 'shampoo,' and T. C. peremp
torily demanded why such a request was'
made. Then a little
. colloquy - ensued
something like this: •
Barber—'Your head'a'very dirty, sah.'
T. 0.- 0 Weil, I know it is, and I want
it dirty: , ,
Itaiber=iNcr_' ant it dirty r-.lV:ity,', what :
fah?' 1 . L . , • •I • t1. ;• •
T. '‘' I
.A. • . -• •
watt: • - A.%
The - e - o
NUMBER 5.
ZEMES
ore than black
e of the
in the
had a foot like
field, Ohio,
71 , • ?tti,ll.
• , At.