03 1 ..... . . . - . . . , . , ip, r - . _ . , , • , _ ,•. 4 -1,) .. .. , . •, ~. .r . ; ...;-.. , 1 . . . . ~:', . .. , • ' .i• . . , , . :4. '.,,, !;''‘.• _. .; „ •:;•,. . . :.;,',;-,i '•,.., ...71., • . , • . • '•';',.. .0, ..";',. ''''' •,, •-...', , `‘,., . • - •• 0 . . . . • , . A a.':'. I , . . • , . ~ .„, ... • i304...7 ., ? : , , 1.•:? . ,‘.. - • . , . ... " t• ~. '7'; .:, .., ~ :y, r ..• • ~. y ' • . . I".. ... .. . .. • } , 11111 I 4c , 1111 ' 111 . !a :: 4 . .}i: ' .-' % .;•- • )-• . . . . „. !. *.• ' t ' I ', n.. . • 1 r , .-: , • ...,........ . . ~!.....,..... .:.,,....,.., A . ~„, • . , . . .. . . ...,/ . . , . ....:- . . . , . . . _ , ... . . . . . .. . BY W. BLAIR, VOLUME 27. A. elect p THE LANGUAGEfff THE BELLS. Bt .GEORGE W. BIINGAY Down in a peaceful 'sylvan dell, Echo responding to the bell, Repeats thAall to rise, to rise, Before the sun has lit the skies. The the time, the time has come; -To toil, to toil, to toil; the hum Of wheels whispers 'tis well, 'tis well, -Obey the morning workshop bell! ~'Tis noon,, gone is the dew that fell; The hollow sky, like a vast bell, Is 'ringing with the cheerful chime ~ Of music, like the rythmic rhyme if - singiriglArds, of singing sins, Or ringing woods, or ringing woods, 'Too To heed the welcome dining bell! Day closes like a closing shell, • The silence•broken by the bell Gives place to tones that fill the air, Like-music-melting-into-prayer. Another day has passed away ; The evenings gray, like nuns to prz , y, Come not to dwell, come not to dwell, 'says the evening bell, the evening•bell Two loving heart 9 with rapture swell, The soft notes of a cooing bell Sound sweetly to the list'ning ear-: "0 darling dear, time's near—'tis here! Swift flying, happy, golden hours Come, crowned With snow-white flowers, Through life. sweet wife, we'll dwell In love," rings the sweet wedding bell. Loud clanging like an angry knell, At midnight hear the awful bell ; Loud and louder, nigh and nigher, Ringing, ringing, fire ! fire I fire! fire I Awake! arise! the crimson skies Seem all ablaze? a banner flies, Of flame,- where stormy t empests swell "Put out the fire!" exclaims the bell. Soft sounds of love and duty tell The heart attuned to a sweet bell, That beats in holy harmony, And throbs with joyful ecstacy To worship here—to worship here With contrite soul and heart sincere. " 'Tis here the Christian loves to dwell,'" Exclaims the cheerful Sabbath bell. Slistellantous ',,fteading. THE HEAVY BURDEN. BY S. A. N "Rather a heavy burden, isn't it, my boy ?" Clarence Spencer to whom the words had been addressed, turned from the led ger; and looked towards the speaker.— Clarence was a young man—not more than five and twenty—and was book-keep er to tiolomon Wardle. It was Mr. Solo mon Wardle, a pleasant-faced, keen-eyed man of fifty, who had spoken. ' "A heavy burden, isn't it, Clarence?" the merchant::Npeated. And still the young man was'silent.— Ills looks indicated that he did not com prehend. He had been for some time bending over the ledger with his thoughts far away; and that his thoughts were not pleasant ones, was evident enough from the gloom on his handsome face. "My dear boy, the burden is not only heavy now, but it will grow heavier and heavier the longer you carry it." "Mr. Wardle, I do not comprehend you." "Ah, Clarence !" "I certainly do not." "Didn't I call at your house for you this morning ?" Clarence nodded assent. "And didn•'t I see and hear enough to reveal to Me the burden that you took with you when you left? You must re member, my boy, that X am older than you are, and that I have been through the mill. You find your burden heavy; and I have no doubt that Sarah's heart is as heavily laden as you own." And then Clarence Spencer understood; and the morning's scene was present with him,as it had been present with him since leaving home. On that morning he bad had a dispute with his wife. It had oc curred at the breakfast table. There is no need of reproducing the scene. Suffice it to say,that it had come of a mere poth ing,- and had grown to a cause of anger. The first had been a look and a tone;-- then a flash of impatience ; then a rising of the voice ; and then another look ; the voice rose higher ; reason was unhinged ; passion gained sway ; and the twain lost sight of the warm, enduring love that lay smitten and aching deep down in their hearts, and felt for the time only the pass ing tornado. And Clarence remembered that Mr. Wardle had enterred the house and caught a sight of the storm. And Clarence Spencer thought of one thing more—he thought how miserably unhappy he had been all the morning ; and he knew not how long his burden of unhappiness was to be borne. ‘,Flonestl,y, Clarence, isn't it a heavy and, thankless burden ?" The bookkeeper knew that his employ er was his friend, and that he was a true hearted Christian man ; and after a brief pause he answered Ur. Wardle, it is a heavy burden." "My boy, lam ving venture upon bit of fatherly counsel. I hope I shall not offend ?" "Not at all," said Clarence. He wine .ed a little, as though the probing gave him new pain.. "In the first place," pursued the old man, with a quiver of emotion in his voice "you love your wife ?" "Love her ? Yes passionately." - "And do you think she loves you in re turn ?" "I don't think anything about it—l know." "You know she loves-you?" "Yes." "Then you must admit that the trouble of this morning came from no ill-feeling at heart." "Of course not." "It was but a surface squall, for which you, at least, are very sorry ?" A moment's hesitation, and then yes ; I am heartily sorry." "lbw, mark me, Clarence, and answer honestly—Don't you think your wife is as sorry as you are ?" "lirannot doubt it." 'And don't you tbilik — ghe NT-SiftVwfiFig all this time 2" "Yes." • "Very well. Let that pass. You know she is bearing her part of the burden ?" "Yes—l know that." "And now, my boy, do you :comprehend where the heaviest part of this is lodged?" Clarence looked u .on his interlocuter wonderingly. "If the storm had all blown over, and you knew that the sun would shine when you next entered your home, you would not feel so unhappy ?" Clarence assented. "But," continued Mr. Wardle, "you fear that there will be..gloom in your home when you return." "The young man bowed his head as he murmered an affirmative. • "Because," the merchant added, with a touch of parental sternness in his tone, "you are molted to carry it there 27 • Clarence looked up in surprise. carry it ?" = - "Aye—you have the' burden in your heart, and you wean to carry it home. -=-- Remember, my boy, I have been there, and I know all about it. I have been very foolish in my lifetime, and I have suffer ed. I suffered until I discovered my fol ly, and then I resolved that I would suf . - no more. Upon looking the matter square ly and honestly iu the face, I found that the burdens which had so galled me had been self-imposed. Of course, such bur dens can be thown off. Now you have resolved that you will go home to your dinner with a heavy heart and a dark face. You have no hope that your wife will meet you with a smile. And why? Because you know that she bas no particular cause for smiling. You know that her heart is burdened with the :affliction which gives you so much unrest. And so you-are ful ly assured that you are to find your home shrouded in gloom. And, furthermore, you don't know when that gloom will de part, and when the blessed sunshine of love will burst in again. And why don't you know ? Because it is not now in your heart to sweep the cloud away. You say to yourself, can bear it as long as she can !" Ani I not right ?" Clarence did not answer in words "I know I am right," pursued the mer chant, "and very likely your wife is say ing to herself the same thing. So your hope of sunshine does not rest upon the willingness to forgive, but upon inability to hear the burden. By-and-by it will happen as it has' happened before, that one of the twain will surrender from ex haustion ; and it will be likely to be the weaker party. Then there will be a col lapse, and a reconciliation. Generally the wife falls first beneath the galling burden, because, her love is keenest and most sen sitive. The husband, in such case, acts the part of a coward. When he might, with a breath, blow the cloud away, be cringes and cowers, until his wife is forc ed to let the sunlight in' through her breaking heart," Clarence listened, and was troubled.— He saw the truth, and he felt its weight. He was not a fool, nor was he a Han— During the silence that followed, he re flected upon the past, and he called to his mind scenes just such as Mr, Wardle had depicted. And this brought him to the remembrance cf bow often she had sob bed upon his bosom in grief for the error. The merehatd read the young man's thought ; and lifter a time he arose and touched him upon the arm. "Clarence, suppose you were to put on your hat and go home now. Suppose you should think, on your way, only of the love and blessing that might be; and with this thought you should enter your abode with a smile upon your face; and you should put your arm's around your wife's neck, and kiss her, an 4 softly say to her, 'My darling, I have Come home to throw down the burden I took away with me this morning. It is greater than I can bear." Suppose you were to do this, would your wife repulse you ?" 'Repulse me?' 'Ash, my boy, you echo my words with amazement that shows that you under stand me. Now, sir, have you the cour age to try the exreriment? Dare you be so much of a man? Or,do you fear to let your dear wife know how much you love her? Do you fear she would respect and esteem you the less for the deed? Tell me—do you think the cloud of unhappi ness might thus be banished? Oh, Clar ence, if you would but try it!' * * * * * * Sarah Spencer had finished her work in the kitchen, and in the bed-chamber, and bad sat down with her work in her lap. But she could not ply her needle. Her heart was heavy and sad, and tears wern in her eves- Presently, she heard Lie fropt•door a• A FAMILY NEWSPAPER--•DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWS, ETC. WAYNESBORO', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 30, 1874. pen, and a step in the passage. Certain ly she knew that step! Yes—her hus band entered. And a smile upon his face. She saw it through her gatheling tears, and her heavy heart leaped up. And he came and put his arms around her neck, and kissed her; and he said to her, in bro ken accents, 'Darlinig, I have come home to throw down the burden I took away with me this morning. It is greater than I can bear?' And she, trying to speak, pillowed her head upon his bosom, and sobbed and wept like a child. Oh! could he forgive her? His coming with the blessed offer: ing had thrown the whole burden of re proach hack upon herself. She saw him noble and 'generous, and she worshipped him. But Clarence would not 'allow her to take all the blame. He must share that. 'We will share it so evenly,' said he, 'that its weight shall be felt no more.— And now, my darling, we will be happy.' `Always!' * * * * * * Mr. Wardle had no need when Clar- ence returne. to the counting-house, to ask the result. He could read it in the young man's beaming eyes,and in his joy inspired face. It was a year after this—and Clarence Spencer had become a partner in the house—that Mr. Wardle, by accident, re ferred to the events of that gloomy morn ing. bosom, 'that was the most blessed lesson I ever received. My wife knows who gave it to me.' And it serves you yet, my boy?' `Aye; and it will serve us while we live. We have none of those old burdens of an ger to bear now. They cannot find lodg ment with us. The flash and jar may come, as in the other days—for we are but human, you know—by,t the hears, which has firmly resolved not to give an abiding-place to the not be called upon to entertain it. Sometimes we are foolish; but we laugh at our folly when we see it, and throw it off—we do not nurse it till it becomes a burden.' How precious is time, yet how lightly esteemed. All the wealth in the world cannot purchase it, and when once lost, it never can be regained. Many, when 'they are about to leave this world and bid farewell to the things of time and sense, wake up to the real value and im portance of time. Thus it was in the case of Queen Eliz abeth, who exclaimed in her dying mo ments, 'Millions of money for an inch of time.' But alas, all the wealth of her kingdom could not purchase one moment of time. Voltaire, the infidel, when he was about to depart this life, exclaimed with the utmost horror to his doctor, am .abandoned by God and man.' He then said to his doctor, will give you half of what I am worth if you will give me six months life.' The doctor answer ed, 'Sir, you cannot live six weeks.' Vol taire replied, 'Then I shall go to hell and you will go with me!' and soon afterward expired. Time is too precious to squander away, so much depends upon the choice we make here in this world of probation. Every day we live we are forming our charaCters for another world; we are eith er fitting ourselves as vessels of honor or glory, or as vessels of wrath for destruc tion. God in His infinite mercy and love has given us a short space of time to pre pare for eternity. Oh, eternity, eternity, 'thou lifetime of God.' Surely' the great care and object of our lives should be to prepare for eternity. 'What is' life? It is even a vapor that appeareth for a little time and then vanisheth away.' BUSINESS MAXIMS.—CaIUtiOa is the fa ther of security. He who pays before-hand is served be hind-hand. If you would know the value of a dol lar try to borrow one. Be silent when a fool talks. Never speak boastingly of your busi ness. An hour of triumph comes at last to those who watch and wait. Word by word Webster's big diction ary was made. Speak well of your friends—of your en imies say nothing. Never take back a discharged servant. If you post your servants upon your af fairs they will one day rend you. Do not waste time in useless regrets o ver losses. Systematize your business and keep an eye on little expenses. Small leaks sink great ships. Never fail to take a receipt for money paid, and keep copies of your letters. Do your business promptly. and bore not a business man with long visits. Law is a trade in which the lawyers eat the oysters and leave the clients the shells. Rothschild, the founder of the world renowned house of Ruthschild & Co., as cribes his success to the following: Never have anything to do with an un lucky man. Be cautious and bold. Make a bargain at once Fight the weeds as you would fight a fire. Do not let them get beyond your control. Kill them while in the seedleaf. On loose,mellow soil,a fine harrow,if used just as the weeds are breaking through the soil,will kill them by the million;but if delayed few days in warm growing weath er it will have comparatively little effect. Never reveal thy secrest to any except it as much their interets to keep them as it is your%3 that they should he kept. We seldom repept of talking too little, but ,very often for talking too much. Time. MEETING. AND PARTING. We walked beneath the low-voiced trees And heard the cries of birds that broke The silence, falling on the breeze ; And neither turned, and neither spoke We met the river; saw it run To kiss the warm shore - by our Bide ; We watched the spirit of the Bun Float down a red shield on the tide. We wandered on and down, and came To where the waters thundering broke Aslant the crag, a sea of flame; • And neither turned, and neither spoke. We parted in the summer noon; A sweet, round arm was lifted high; A wanderer went forth alone ; And one, a maid, went back to die. [Published by Request, Hints to the Public Schools. Now that the public school examina tions and exhibitions are "ust over,it be worth while to call public attention to ,one or two points in which their manage ment, as it seems to us, is largely suscep tible of reform. Our people are taxed more heaVily than any other nation for the free education of their children, and it is their right to see that the whole ob ject does not fall short of its end from the creeping into the syStem.of the national -fault-and-fol ly---a_prefereztee_of_sho_w_and_ display to solid substance. The chief way in which this is shown is the system of preposterous cramming, to which we have formerly called attention, practiced espe cially in the higher grade of schools. The pupil is regarded only as a probable can didate for a teacher, and the sole aim of his instruction is to qualify him to bear examination on certain textbooks which he may have to teach, but on all subjects of useful knowledge outside of these he remains in absolute ignorance. The a mount of 'memorizing required to pass these examinations is so large that no ex planation can be given by the teacher. Eleven or twelve text-books are frequent ly placed in the hands of young girls of sixteen at one time, when competing for rank in graduation. It is evident that either the brain is injured by such unrea soning force-work or the work is left un done. Another point in which this false deference to display is shown is the dress worn by the young girls at graduation, which both here and in neighboring cities is often of the style and value of that of a handsomely dressed bride. * * * Bad as this is, worse remains behind. Certain itinerant showmen, with an abil ity to turn a ready penny by their shrewd wits, have chosen the children and teaoh era of the public schools, first in one city and then in another, as their ready vic tims. They find out that a school wants a piano or an ornamental desk, and pro pose—for a consideration—to show the scholars how to procure it. Whereupon a drama is planned, illustrative of the re ligion of the pagans, or of the Great Re pnblic, and the children are given roles to fill of Virtues or Vices, Goddesses of Liberty, Rebellion, or Heaven knows what not. The school-room is turned in to a theater and green-room ; the show men for it consideration furnishing scenery, music, etc. Books are thrown aside or hurried over. Scholars and tetch ers (poor, tired creatures, glad of even this vapid excitement in their dreary drudgery) grow wild with enthusiasm for weeks and months until the exhibition is given. In some schools the whole busi ness of teaching has been surrendered to this work, and the pupils not engaged in it sent home. Now, while it is very desi rable that the schools should have pianos or ornamental desks, is it the scholars' business to lay aside their studies in order to procure them? But that is not the gist of the matter. While we always heartily urge the ennobling influence of the drama us it should be, we protest against the vulgarity, the debasing effects of such shows as this. While we can understand the motive which leads a pure woman, feeling that she has a high calling to a great art, to sacrifice much personal reti cence and reserve (at how great cost is known only to herself) order to follow that art, we do not understand the motive which can induce mothers to thrust inno cent,modest little girls into precocious van ity and stage trickery before a multitude of people for such a paltry end. The effect' of one such exhibition is enough to taint and deteriorate a child's mind for life. The children in our public schools, as a rule, belong to two classes : those whose parents are quiet, respectable people, not too w,..11-to-do, that desire for their girls and boys as much solid, practical knowl edge as their three or four years of school ing will give, which knowledge will help them to earn their livings, and make them useful, God-fearing men and women.— What end of this purpose will be served by making their boys and delicate little girls puppets in these raree shows to Ahicli any rough from the street may gain ad mission by paying a quarter? The other class consists, unfortunately, of children, whose birl h and association have led them to place undue value on such goods of life as may be expressed by cheap shows, tinsel, and melodrama. There is no need for us to push them on in their downward path, or foster au already vitiated taste, to their undoing. We commend these considerations to the trustees of our schools, who have been, as it seems to us, willfully blind to thern.—N. Y. Tribune. POTATO Buo.—A correspondent of the the Beaver Times says: Please let your readers know that if they will put a few grains of buckwheat in every bill of pota toes, it will save their crop from the potato bug. Try it and you will be surprised to sec what a perfect remedy it is. A Chat about Sleep. A very thin young lady, of about thir ty years, came to consult me about her 'skin and bones.' I had frequently met her when she seemed even more emacia ted,but now she 'would give the world to be plump.' Sitting down in frout•of me, she began with : 'Don't you think, doctor, that I look very old for twenty?' I admitted that she looked rather old for twenty. 'Can anything be done for me? -What can I take , for it? I should be willing to take. a hundred bottles of the worst stuff< in the world, if I could only get some fat on these bones. A friend of mine was saying yesterday that be would give a fortune to see me round and plump.' `Would you be willing to go to the Cliff Springs in Arkansas.?' would start to-morrow.' 'But the waters are very bad to drink,' I said. 'I don't care how bad they are; I know I can drink them.' ;ke you whether you were willing to golo Arkansas Springs in order to test the strength of your purpose. It is not necessary to leave your home.. Nine thin people in ten can become reasonably plump without such a sacrifice.' 'Why, doctor, I am delighted to hear it, but I suppose it is a lot of some awful bitter stuff.' `Yes, it is a pretty bitter dose, and has -to-be-taken-very night.' don't care; I -would take it if it was ten times as bad. What is it? What is the name of it? 'The technical name of the stuff is 'Bedibus Nineo clockibus.". `Why,.doetor, what an awful name! I am sure I shall never be able to speak it. Is there no commom English word for it?' `Oh yes. The English of it is, 'you must be in bed every night at nine o'- clock.' We doctors generally use Latin. `Bedibus Nineo' clockibus' is the Latin for 'you must be in bed every night by nine o'clock." 'Oh, that is dreadful. I thought it was something I could take.' 'lt is. You must take your bed every night before the clock strikes nine.' 'No; but, what I thought was that you would give me something iu a bottle to take.' 'Of course I know very well what you thought. Thies the way with all of you.' One person eats enormously of rich food till his stomach and liver refuse to budge; then he cries out. 'Oh, doctor, what can I take? I must take something.' Another fills his system with tobacco until his nerves are ruined, and then, trebling and full of horrors he exclaims. 'Oh, doctor, what shall I take? I write a prescription for him—Quitibus Chawibus et Smokibus. Tut tell me, what time do you go to bed?' `Generally about twelve o'clock.' `Yes, I thought so. Now, if you will go to bed every night for six months at nine o'clock, without• making any other change in your habits you will gain ten pounds in weight and look five years younger. Your skin will become fresh, and your sphits improve wonderfully.' do it. Though, of course, when I have company, and during the opera, I can't do it.' It is regularity that does the business. To sit up till twelve o'clock three nights of the week, and then get to'bed at nine o'clock four nigh ts,ooe might think would do very well, and that at any rate it would be 'so far so good.' I don't think this every other night early, and every other night late, is much better than ev ery night late. It is regularity that is vital in the case. Even in sitting up one night a week deranges the nervous system fir the whole week. I have sometimes thought that those people who sit up till eleven or twelve o'clock every night get on quite as well as those Who turn in ear ly six nights, and then sit up once a week till midnight. Regularity in sleep is ev ery whit as important as regularity in food. At length my patient exclaimed, 'Doc tor, I will go to bed every night for six months before nine o'clock, if it kills me, or rather if it breaks the hearts of all my friends.' She did it. Twenty-one pounds was the gain in five months. Her spirits were happily enlivened, and she spent half her time in telling her friend of her delight with the new habits, and she had no furth er cause to complain of skin and bones. A. Comet AND P 4510. —ln the year 1712, Whiston predicted that the comet would appear on Wednesday, 14th of Oc tober, at five in the moroing,and that the world would be destroyed by fire on the Friday following. his reputation was high, and the comet appeared. A number of persons got into the boats And barges on the Thames, thinking the water the safest place. outh Sea and India , stock tell. A captain of a Dutch ship threw all his powder into the river,that the ship might not be endangered. At noon, after the comet bad appeared, it is said that more than one hundred clergymen were ferried over to Lambeth; to request that proper prayers might he prepared, there, being none in the church service. People believed that the day of judgment was at hand, and some acted on this belief, sure as if some temporary evil was to be ex-, pected. There was a prodigious run on the bank, and Sir Gilbert Heathcote, at that timerthe head director, issued orders to all the tire offices in London, requir ing them to keep a good look-out, and have a particular eye upon the Bank of England. • The dressing-gornis the most lasting cif all garaleata—it vas.rn out. River of Life and River of Death. There are two principal rivers .of earth I shall call attention to. They are not natural rivers, but symbolic. They both traverse this earth, but their origin or source is in another world. The one call ed Life has its fountain beneath the Rock of Ages. It gushes forth from the throne of God, and so winds and meanders as to run near every man's house. The other river, which I have denomi nated Death, also has its origin in anoth er world. Everything has its opposites, and these two rivers are in direct opposi tion, one rising in the upper world of light,the other in the lower world of dark ness. Reader, we desire to call yout at tention to the river of Death. It is swell ed by various tributaries the most import ant of which is the stream of drunken ness. This stream—bears annually over sixty thousand men from America down to death. And well may it be called the stream of Death,since the drunkard death leads to the second death. What a terri ble sight to see husbands, fathers, broth- ere, sons, an even women going own tte river, and every day becoming more loath some as the plague spots indicate new phases of the wretched complications which drunkenness unites with other vices. The great problem of the age is, bow shall the stream of sixty thousand Amer ican_men _ annually be stopped. Or who shall induce the men to stop and turn, and how shall it be done? Can an arm f' flesh-do-it Isit possibie_fur human_ organization to accomplish the work ? Let the experience of the last fifty years answer. What new efforts can we make? I shall answer—mothers, wives, sisters and daughters may, under God, do it,but_ they must make home happy. Home, the place when-lit up by genial society cf loved ones,. possesses more charms than the ruddy wine that glitters in the cup.— The prayers of the pious women of old were heard,and why may not the exertions of women of the present be attended with salutary results ? -Let the women all act in this struggle for freedom from strong drink, so that it can be truthfully said of each, "She bath done what she could." This effort at hour amongst the women is the hope to be relied upon. Home in fluence, the influence of prayer with, and for husbands, brothers, sons and fathers, may do the great work-. We know the next generation can be reared in sober ness if the women will all work. The Little Worries. BY MM. L E. M'CONAUGRY "Their goes another china-cup," said a mother in an excited tone, and with a general flush over her face, as she caught the little sacred culprit by the arm and gave him a severe shaking. Then with a push she sent him to the nursery for an hour. "I believe that child does more mischief than two ordinary children. He is forev er breaking dishes, or soiling his clothes, or falling down stairs. lam quite out of patience with his carelessless,"she exclaim ed, as she proceeded to pick up the frag ments. Her invalid brother leaned back in h?s chair, and looked oh sadly. At leagth he said: It will not make much difference twen ty years hence,Kate,if your boy did break your china, and leave finger marks on your windows and ballusters, and get his clothes soiled. But it will make a vast difference with him howyou take these tit tle worries. Every tune, every word,and every ges ture is leaving its finger mark on his soul." Frank said no more, but turned again to the book he was reading; yec the mother could not forget his words. Was she, in her zeal for order and neatness in her house leaving black finger maks on th e soul, of the child so dear to her? Was he catching her petulant tones and angry words, and would he one day wine her soul by some exhibition of the result of her seed sowing? Was she slowly and steadily alienating his heart from his 'mother, and would he soon begin to look forward impatiently to the time when he might go forth from under the parental roof Ah !if she was not all in all to her little boy, she never would be very near to the heart of her growing-up one. The mother who can learn well the lit tle worries—who can wisely discriminate between accidental and intentional mis chief, and who can manage herself ac cordingly, will get the strongest hold of fie hearts of her children. And this mother love has become the sheet anchor which has kept many a wanderer from eternal shipwreck. Some one said, "they never knew a boy going to the bad, who began his career by falling in-love with his mother." If you would have your old age sooth ed and cheered by the loving attention of your children, be watchful of your tones and manner toward them. If you would guard their various stations in life, see that you live before them daily such a life as you disire to see repeated in their experi ance.—Presbyterian Weekly. A. menagerie ekhibiter says lions range in value from $1,400 to 84,000, and live from eight to twenty years. The next most valuable animal is the Bengal tiger, which lives from fifteen to eighteen years. African elephants range from $BOO to $4,- 000, and live to three-score years. CELERY vs. IVEnvouswEss.—The Frac. tical Farmer advises the use of celery as a cure for nervousness,, and. avers he has known cases where a care of palpitation of the heart has been effected by a plentiful use of this delicious salad. • Abundance is a blessing to the wise; The use of riches in discretion lies!' Learn this, ye men of wealth—a heavy purse In a fool's pocket is a heavy curse. The flar. Itris chortening. 42,00 PER YEAR NITHB,ER 6. Spending Money.. - Money is hard to get and easy to spend. There is peril in it, and there is blessed ness in it. To the wise and good it is the best of servants, to the weak and foolish it is the most terrible of tyrants. There are those who think it a fine thing for a ruing man to spend his mon ey with a careless, dashing freedom, and the spendthrift is a character less despis ed than the miser. But we think the weak vanity which prompts the yOung man to spend carelessly that with which he could do so many noble and satisfying things, is not more wise than that of the miser who devotes all his thoughts to getting, without any definate plan •of present or future use. All things are given that_ we may use them far the general good as well as per sonal needs. Hence all who do their duty must toil with head or band. We should take all the rest or recreation that the body or mini requires, but while we can benefit one person by precept or example, we have no r*:ht to be careless or waste ' of time or money. Carelessness in all its forms is wrong, but carelessness in the spending of money is the surest to lead to misery and shame. Frugality and liberality should be joined. The first is leaving off useless expenses, the last is bestowing our savings for im provement of others. BEAUTIFUL AND TRUE.—WeII has a writer said :—"Flowers are not trifles, as one might know from the care God has taken of them every where, not one bear ing the marks of a pencil. Fringing the eternal borders of mountain winters,grac ing the pulseless beat of the gray, old granite, everywhere they are harmonizing. Murderers do not ordinarily wear roses in their button-holes. Villains seldom %rain vines over cottage doors." And an other adds, "Flowers are for the young and for the old, for the grave and the gay, for the living and for the dead—for all but the guilty, and for the guilty when they are penitent." PROVEMA—Count your very minutes; let no time slip. Pamper not the body; a youth wants a bridle not a spur. A fine coat is but .a livery, when the person who wears it discovers no higher sense than that of a footman. Shun or break °frail disputes with in feriors,lest they lose all respect for you. The old fashioned women's crusade— A boy's head and a fine toothed comb. It is said that thole lowa grasshoppers wink at Paris greon and smile at hot wa ter. A man it Stark county,lnd.pays his boy ten cents a quart for potato bags, and the • boy says that if next year is as good as this he came buy the old man out.,x Composition by a little boy. &hied : The Horse—The horse - is 'a very meal animal. It has four legs—one on each. corner. A French writer has cicribed a young lady as a creature that ceases to hisg gen tlemen at twelve and begins at twenty../ As a vessel is known by the sound, whether it be cracked or not, so men are proved by their speeches, whether they be wise or foolish. "Dear me, how finely he talks," said, Mrs. Partington, recently, at a temperance meeting. "I am always rejoiced when he mounts the nostrils, for his eloquence' warms every cartridge in my body," A down-east girl, who has strayed ou -- eN to Sonora, writes to her father that the strawberries out, there grow as large as New Hamshire pumpkins. To find out whether they are ripe, they "plug" them as we do water melons. Young lady—a word in your ear—only a whisper, take 'off those thin delicate shoes. Put on warm thick ones, if they are not quite so handsome. Health is of more importance than fashionable shoes. Off with them ! Saire your health and your life. "The Comet! He is on his way, And singing ashe flies ; And whizzing planets shrink before The spectre of the skies. Ahl well may regal orbs burn blue, And satellites turn pale, Ten millions cubic miles of head, Ten billion leagues of tail !" According to the Lawrence _Eagle a peace-loving husband of that city a few months ago agreed to give his wife three 'dollars a week to maintain comparative silence, deducting one cent for each i 3 uper uous word she uttered. She now owes him enough to pay the city debt. - "No indeed I I wouldn't marry the keeper of a crockery store, if I where you," said a young lady to a friend who vas engaged to one of that respectable class of citizens. "Why not r "Because .vour husband would never be at home, as he'd always be dealing in China." The ' wed ding preparations went on just the same. The observations of a married man have led .to the conclusion that money put into mirrors .• is a good. investment, as it af fords a marvelous amount ' • of ,comforts and gratification to • a woman. He says his wife thinks just as much of consul ting her glass when she ties on her apron as when .she tied on her bonnet,and while he goes to, the door at once when there is a rap, she, exclaims, "Mercy! Joseph, who is that ?" and _dashes, for the look.-, inz-glass.