The Waynesboro' village record. (Waynesboro', Pa.) 1871-1900, September 17, 1874, Image 1

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

    . . ,
, .
. , .
. . . .
, . .
. --, . . ,
. .
P . 4 ' .. . - ..o
, . , , . , .
. .. . .
."•, . . .
. . ,
' ' ' '''
I'l. .'
. - ... .
... . . .
~ . . . . .
• . . .
s e, . .
, ' ' 4 ,
.. , , 1 '.....
. „ .
. , .
..... . ,
. ~., .
. -gib:
. .
. ..
, .
... .
, tt
....., ,
• . . . . ....,- - . .
, •
. . . ~.
_.... .
.., .
w. BLAnz.
tied pottrg.
When many years have rolled away ;
• When we no more are young;
", When other voices may repeat
The songs that we have sung.
. When all thy youthful beauty pales,
Which time will not restore ;
Some tender thoughts may come again
• Of days that are no more.
The soul but slumbers to awake
Alike to joy and pain,
And. every memory of the past
Is sure to come again.
The youthful heart, untried by care
But dreams of days before;
The old heart lives - on memories
Of days that are no more.
There is another world to come,
Whose gateway is the tomb,
Where voices will be heard again
Beyond the hidden gloom;
Where friends that we have loved and
- Will find an endless,day,
When human hearts and human hands ,
Have crumbled to decay.
And there, when years have rolled away,
When we no more are young;
While other earthly voices sing
The songs that we have sung;
Heaven's sunshine, on thy troubled soul,
Its beauty may restore; •
Ani} happy dreams may come again
Of days that are no more.
Slisallautous litading.
Paul Winship and Mary Archer sat in
a small, comfortable sitting-room of an
humble cottage not far from the great
It was late in the evening of a Spring
day, and they,had not long been in from
a stroll in the bye ways by the glimmer
of a quartering moon.
Paul had seen only a week
and twenty, And Mary one year young
er. And they were both of that mould
and that temperament which Nature bes•
tows upon those who are to be made there
by capable , of great enjoyment. These
two bad been schoolmates and companions
14 years. They had loved each other
while yet children, and their love had
gone on, growing stronger and stronger
from day to day.
Paul's father and mother had both died
while he was yet an apprentice, and he
had been left with only the love of Mary
Archer to give him bright sunshine to his
life. Mary had lost her father, and now
labored with a bearty and healthful cheer
fulness to assist her mother in gaining a
livelihood. And she labored the harder,
because a poor cripple brother depended
. upon her for support.
Paul Winship had resolved that he
would go to_sea. An uncle was captain
of a large ship bound for the East Indies,
and had offered him a good position, with
promise of promotion. He thought he
could do better so, than to drive at a trade
whiCh could never yield him more than a
a bare support. '
-..t.And on the morrow the ship was to sail,
• nd this was to be their last evening to
- 'gather for a long, long time. •
' Mary,had worked into a fanciful braid
slender tress of her glossy dark brown
Lair, and while they talked, she fixed it
into .a small golden locket, and shut down
upon it a glass cover.
"There, Paul," she said, when the work
was finished, "there is a lock of i y hair,
as you wished. It is a poor thing, but
you will think of me when you look upon
Paul took the locket, and pressed it to
his lips.
"I shailliook upon it often, darling, and
'think, while I look, of the dearest treas
ure for me this earth can bold."
"Ob, Paul !"
'Darling, don't weep. But a few
short montts, and we shall be happier
than ever.. I know I shall prosper. We
!hall suffer-this separtion as the seed is
hidden in the• ground. It is to be the
germ of better things to come, dearest."
"I shall try and think so, Paul. I will
think so."
Paul found a piece of blue ribbon in
Mary's work basket, with which he sus
pended the locket about his neck, and
when he had placed it once more to his
dips, with a murmured blessing, he hid it
away in his bosom.
And, bye and bye they stood at the
dobr, locked in the parting embrace.
* * *
Until long past midnight Mary sat by
- the window and gazed out upon the stars.
IShe knew that Paul was on his way, ou
foot, to the city, and that it would take
him two hours to walk the distance. So
;she sat there until she thought he had
reached his ship, and then she went up to
her chamber, and sought her pillow, but
not to sleep.
Her heart was too heavy and sad.—
But Mary Archer was young, healthful
and strong, and ere long she brought rea - -
aon to the aid of hope, and was content to
look and pray for the good
.1.9 come,
At the end of three months.a letter
came to her from the Sea, brought by a
honleward bound ship, which Paul bad
met on the trackless deep. It was a let
ter full of love and hope and promise.—
The weeks and the months passed on, and
another letter came.
It was written from Calcutta, and Paul
was well and in glorious spirits. From,
there they were going to Canton. Again
at Clinton he wrote, and the letter came
home after many a weary months. All
was hopeful still.
They were going to some of .the Pacific i
islands for spces. And then the mouths
dragged on heavier and more heavy.
Two years had .gone since- Paul had
written. Oh, how dark and , drear.
Mary remembered the shadows and the
forbodings of tharfirst sleepless night.—
Two years - without a word, and then come
a word that' stunned her. She found it
in a newspaper.
The ship "Fides,"which bad sailed from
Canton for Borneo, had not been heard
from, 'and fears were entertained that she
had been lost in a typhoon, which swept
over the Chinese Sea with terrific force
shortly after she had sailed.
Weeks,mouths, years and no more from
Paul. That the ship had been lost was
now known.. And could any of her crew
have been saved'? Old sailors, to whom
the question had been put, sh ook their
heads slyly. . -
When the news of the loss became known
many who had thus far heldaloof came to
smile upon Mary Archer, and to seek her
her smile in return. She was known to
be as good and true as she was beautiful,
and men of sense knew that she would do
her part towards making an earthly heav
en of the home over which fortune might
lend her to preside.
Among them was John Lettrell, a man
older than Mary, and a man of wealth.—
He offeted her a home and asked her to
become his wife. But she had no heart to
give him.
The months and years rolled on,and it was
known that the §hip 'Fides' had been long
at the bottom of the sea, and not a word
had been heard from any of her 'crew.—
That they had all been lost was beyond a
In time Mary's mother fell sick and died,
and Mary was left alone with her crip
pled brother. She 'kept -the little cottage,
but it was not all her own. There was a
mortgage upon it, -and upon Mary the
mortgage lay heavily.
Percy, the cripple, could eat but he
could do no work. He was a constant care,
and he repaid his sister in love when he
could repay her in no other way. She
found work at dress making, and so she
laboied on praying for strength to peform
her duty to the living and to the dead.
Years, years, years, with little of sun
shine, with much of gloom, and with
much, very much of care and labor.
Years, \ fbur and twenty since that night
when Paul went so resolute and so hope
ful. Mary Archer was now forty-four.
The freshness and the bloom were faded,
but the ripeness of her true womanly na
ture; in faith and resignation, had come
with a beauty that cannot fade. But it
was growing datker without.
Percy had been very sick, with need of
more care and more medicine. Theinter
est on the mortgage was two years over
due, and the man of calculating business
who held it had forclosed and sued for
possession. The Cottage could not be
much longer her home. Of herself she
thought not at all, but what would be
come of her helpless brother ?
In this strait John Lettrell came to her
once more and offered both herself and
her brother a comfortable home for the
rest of their days. ' What could she tell
him ? Only that she had no heart to give
him. And yet he pressed his suit. He
would teach her to love him in time.
And he left her weeping with the inde
cision that had grown from the one weak
spot—duty to her brother. He told her
that he would come again, for he thought
he saw his way to hope.
"Mary dear," whispered Percy, as she
bent over his couch, and smoothed his pil
low, "why don't you accept the home he
offers ? Mr. Lettrell is a good man. Oh,
my sister, not for my sake—not for mine,
but for your own."
"Hush Percy ! Not now—not now, Oh,
my poor heart."
And she went out to the little sitting
room, and sat by the window where she
had sat long, long ago, while the man
whom she must ever love, either living or
dead, walked on his way to the city to go
forth upon the sea.
The grand words Paul Winship bad then
spoken sbunded again in her ears; she saw
him again, and then put the blue ribbon
about his neck, and kis.; the little locket,
and then hide it away in bis bosom close
to his true heart.
It was her gift—her hair in that lock
et—and if the Ilieless form had sunk in
the sea, the precious memorial of her love
had gone down therewith. Her hands
were clasped, and her face lifted heaven
"No, no, no, John Lettrell, never ! I
will be true to him, as I know he would
have beeu true to me."
She turned from the window, and saw
by the clock in the corner that midnight
was near. She was on the point of rising,
when she heard a step a of a heavy
man approaching the cot. A pause, and
then the gate was opened, and presently a
rap upon the door. She had no thought
of fear. A stranger, probably, who wished
direction on his way.
She took up the lamp, and, the
door, and she saw , by the flickering light,
a middle aged man, large and strong,
dressed in the garb of the sea.
"Does Mrs. Archer live here ?" the man
asked, in a voice, scarcolk audible;
"Miss Archer lives here, sir?"
FAO VA L' , i s 44;F*4zi ;FA D-0 ;ES i) Ale) I _lo_2 Aof >4 1 : 7 ,30 1EF.4 1 41i i 1 1e14 3,1 WARP lit) *4 ).) ;10:11 414 >iv Ili (411
"It is late I know 4" the than said, after
a pause, "but I have walked from the
city, and as I came this way. I saw a light
in the window, I ventured to stop, I had
an errand to do."
• There was something to her sacred in
those habiliments, and she bade him come
in. He followed her'into the sitting-room,
but he did 'a - Sit down in the proffered
seat, nor did he re-move his hat. It was 'a
chill autumnal night and he wore his pea
jacket buttoned close up.
"You said you 'bad an errand, 'sir 1 1 "
Mary at length ventured.
"Yes, yes, said*the man, with a start.
He . had been looking 'at her ,from the
shadow of his bat-rim. "Yes, I have an
errand. It was given to me years ago.
'At one time—for a long time—l thought
I should never bring it, but should never
-bring it, but fate has been kinder than I
'dated hope. You know—none should.
know better—that there are mortal dan
gers on the deep.'
'I was wrecked, as others had been be
fore and have been since. I was cast,
alone on a raft, upon an island, where
were Savages for long years .my only
companions. I taught them many useful
things, and they were kind to me. Of
gold and preciousstones I gathered a great
store, useless there, but to me of value,
should I ever again find my native laud.
'The time Came, at length, after weary
years, and my feet once more tread the
soil of my own country. And I have-to
fulfil a trust. 1 1. knew who you were be
fore I came here, they told me of your
The man unbuttoned his pea jacket,and
drew something out froni his bosom, and
slipped something from around his neck.
The former was a, golden lodket, scar
red and worn and blackened and the lat.
ter was soiled and frayed and notted rem
nant of dingy ribbon. In the locket;be
neath the' glass, was just dsscernible, a
braid of brown hair. He handed it to
' 'Do you know that ?'
, The words were spoken huskily, and
with an effort.
She caught the , precious momento, and
clasped it .to her bosom. The man seemed
to be growing weak.
He sat down and removed his hat, and
the wealth of nut brown curls, with just a
touch of silver here and there, fell over
His temples and clustered upon his broad,
frank, and manly brow.
Mary saw, and her heart leaped. The
long dark years were gone,as by the touch
of a magician's wand, and the old evening
of that far gone time lifted its blessed
light upon her.
Paul !'
That cry told to the man from over the
sea all he would know. He again stood
upon his feet, with his arms nut-stretched,
and in a moment more the faithfully lov
ed and the faithfully loving ono was clasp
ed to his bosom. '
"Yes, Mary, after all these years. Oh,
thank God, it is light at last. -No more
trial, darling, no more sorrowing. We
can forget the darkness and the agony of
this blessed hour for joy and re-union af
ter many years."
Sandwlch Island Women.
A lady writing from Honolulu, thus
discourses upon the native women and
their free and easy manners : "The women
are erect, wide in the shoulders, and carry
their heads like queens. Many of them
are truly handsome, wearing their hair
falling over their shoulders in curls, and
surmounted With little straw hats, garlan
ded with wreaths of lovely native flowers.
They clothe themselves modestly and
prettily, wearing the dress to cover neck
and arms, and falling loosely from the
shoulders to the top of the feet, which
are often bare. Not being civilized like
us, they have not been enlightened into
compressing their ribs with iron and whale
bone corsets ; nor to disturb and torture
their feet with over-tight shoes; nor to
put bonnets upon their heads running up
into turrets of silk and artificial flowers
and leaving'the ears at the mercy of bit
ter winds ; nor to make up forty-five yards
of steel wire iuto cages and fasten them
selves within them ; nor to carry an extra
half yard of dress stuff bravely after
them over the payment through thick and
thin. Yes, these women have the advan
tage of us, for are we not forced by the
exigencies of custom, when we come with
our long garments upon any impurities of
the pathway, to shut our eyes and clench
our teeth- and rush blindly, over them,
whereas those .11.ftnaka women, at the sight
even of a spot of water, lift their . light
garments gingerly, and pass over, clean
and unsullied from its contact ! Can this
be barbarism.
Thaw who have vigorous health, a
house however humble, to shelter them,
and food, drink, and apparel enough to
render them comfortable, and yet go a
bout complaining of their hard lot, may
find some consolation in the folowing short
but inspiring paragraph, which we find in
one of our exchanges :
"Many a man is rich without money.—
Thousads of men with nothing in their
pockets are rich. A man born with a
good sound constitution, a good stomach, a
good heart, good limbs, and a pretty good
head-piece, is rich. Good bones are bet
ter than gold ; tough muscles,
than silver, and nerves that flash fire and
carry energy in every function are better
than houses or land. The man is rich, who
has a good disposition—who is naturally
kind, patient, cheerful and hopeful.
A "Big Indian" strayed ,away from his
camp and got lost •`No," said he, dis
dainfully, "Indian no lost ; wigwam lost!"
striking his breast, he excliamed, "Indian
here !"
Wisdom rides upon the ruins of folly,
BEAUTIFUL Thom:cm—Bayard Tay
lor gets off the following beautiful eipres
sions:—"ln, from under the clear blue
sky of heaven, with its glad bushes of
sunlight, we come to an humble chamber,
guiltless of ornament. Therein is a. man,
and he bends over a canvas.—The light
of the setting sun playsin a halo around
his head, - and falls Upon a picture. 'Tis
of a dwelling, an humble dwelling, sur
rounded by old trees, and a hill rising . in
the distance and a stream now murmrmg
in the foreground. His pencil deepens
that 'shadow and that tint—The land
scape is almost finished. What do. ye
hear ? we ask. A light is kindled in the
eye ; a glow on his pale cheek"; he dashes
his pencil upon the palette as he exult
antly exclaims: I have recalled it all.
There is the very tree from whose pendant
limbs I swung years and year ago; there
is through whose little blue
panes day was wont to break upon my
childish eyes ; and there the stream upon
which floated my mimic sail .; and the
roof—aye, with the very moss up the
northern eaves—beneath which I loved
my first love and thought my first thought.
—All there ! 'A transcriptefroip memory!
The old house—or, so they tell me—is
dismantled; the roof lets in the stars; weeds
have sprang upon the earth, and the
graveyard is more furrowed than 'ever.—
Let it crumble ; let , its dust be strewn to
the winda, but its image Shall not fade.-
-Time,_do_ thy_work ; 'I have thee now !
Efface the picture of that house from mem
ory I It shall not be 'lost to sight.' And
ere thy fingers shall dim that canvas, I
shall have gone beyond that potent touch."
WHO 113 THE GANTL.I—A , gentle
man is a person not merely acquaintedwith
certain forms and etiquette of life, easy
and self possessed in society,ablelo bpeak
and act and move in the world without
awkwardness, and free from habits which
are vulgar and in bad taste. A gentle
man is something beyond this; that which
lies at the root of every Christian Virtue.
It is the thOughtful desire of doing in
every instance what others should do un
to him. He is constantly thinking, not
indeed how he may give pleasure to oth
ers for the mere sense of pleasing, but
how he may avoid hurting their feelings.
Whenle is. in 'society be scrupulously
ascertains the position and relations of
every one with whom be comes in. contact,
that he may give to each his due honor,
his proper position. He studies how to
avoid touching in Conversation upon any
subject which may needlessly hurt their
feelings—how he may abstain from any
allusions which may call up a disagreea
ble or offensive association. A gentle
man never alludes to, never even appears
conscious of. any defect, bodily deformity,
inferiority, of talent, of rank, of reputa
tion in the person in whose society he is
place* He never assumes any superiori
ty to himself = never ridicules,
sneers, never boast, never makes a display
of his own power, or rank, advantages—
such as is implied in habits or tricks, or
inclinations which may be offensive to oth
How SOME OP us Womc.—A. writer
in the Providence Journal says "This is
the way we are hurled through the world,
and some of us out of it. A. man's pulse
is at eighty, the blood is leaping to the
brain from excitement or pressure of busi
ness or duty ; he rushes through the day,
the constant calls upon his attention give
him no respite ; the time flies, night comes
the day is over ; he retires to his home,
eats hurriedly, with brain whirling he
goes to bed, tosses all night in feverish
dreams, awakes in the Morning weary
and worn ; the old stimulus is applied,the
ealls upon his time and attention come in
troops ; he does not pause to think of the
strain ; and thus goes on, day after day,
month after month, year after year, until
there comes a flash, something snaps, then
a sudden darkness ; the lamp is gone out,
the end has come, and it is only noon.—
This is the way we live, merchants, man
ufacturers, 'lawyers, doctors, ministers edi
tors, students, all ; we heed no warning ;
comrades in the ranks fall by our side
and in front of us, we march on over them,
—to fall ourselves."
"He that believeth, shall not make
THE HAT SYMPTOM-L good deal can
be told of the working of the mind of the
average human male by observing the
manner in which he wears his hat. He
who draws his hat far down upon liis head
is resolving a , desperate idea in his mind;
he who pitches his hat forward , low up
on the forehead and high upon .the back,
is indulging in self-conceit and over esti
mating his importance conciderbly;he who
allows his hat to fall back so that its brim
fairly touches his coat collar is indifferent
to the opinion of others . ; he who cocks
his hat upon one side of his head is burst
ing with vanity,and wants tabe taken ds wa
a trifle. The man of good , common
sense seldom wears his . hat in either of
these positions , but carries it lightly upon
the head in a horizontal position. The
close :tudent of human nature can read
this an by these -signs and not fail to
arri .e at a pretty correct estimate of his
indi ; uality.
The Paul Free Press states that
young gen lemen, when they take their
"duxies" bi .1:y-riding, should pay every
attention possi to their safety and wel
fare. The editor. •s, he noticed a young
man on Saturday that seemed to under
stand the art of protecting his lady love
to perfection. As they passed down Fifth
street, she was doing the driving, while he
had both arms around her, and we could
tell by the wild look in his eye that he
was determined she shouldn't fall out.
Josh Billings says "there are two things
yin this life for which we are never pre
pared, and that is twins."
THE . rust AGO.
Everyfbeart has its long ago ;
• To which it will wander btick,
To breathe the sweets of the flowers that
On its almost worn out track ;
And the waves of time with their ebb and
Will cast on the lonely heart, •
Some broken wrecks of the "Long Ago,"
In which our fates owned part.
Beautiful, sweet, and gentle words,
Life's first hopes, and love's firsr glow ;
Thoughts that folded their wings like buds
And fell on the breast like snow;
Tracks of little bare feet in the sand, .
Tresses of smilight, and tresses of jet.
The last fond wave of a pure white hand,
And a whisper of "Do not forget."
Smiles as bright as an angel's dream,'
Tears that were pure as the morning's dew
Eyes that for us,, had loving beams,
And' prayers that were warm and true ;
Oh ! who has not bid afar in the heart
Some dream of the long ago,
Which causes the tear unbidden to start,
As life's waves make their ebb and flow.
Ch,eapoide, London.
"I left Glasgow the last of July taking
the north British Railway to Edinburg
and from thence to Granton where the
Steamer "Stork" was to sail from, for
London. It usually requires over 48
hours to. complete the journey between
these , two points. The weather was so
mild during our, trip that scarcely a rip
ple was noticable upon the smooth wa
ters. The moon was shining brightly
that night and the lights of other vessels
glimmering in every direction made it so
attractive upon the_deck, that altogether
it surpassed any night scene I ever wit
nessed upon the Ocean. I never retired
to rest during the whole trip, in fact the
commotion on board would ftot permit any
one desiring to do so, take any - rest.
There was a squad of soldiers on board
which was landed at Gravesend which is
20 miles from London. They put ashore
in boats at 1 o'clock in the morning. We
arrived safely in the river Thames. at 3
o'clock A. M. and remained on board un
til daybreak when we we were sent ashore
in Tug boats as the Pier was crowded to
such an extent with.vessels that the Cap
tain of the "Stork" was obliged to remain
at the head of the river until morning.
My first destination was the Waverly Ho
tel on King St. Cheapside, as I felt quite
wearied from my journey. find the Ho
tels here well conducted and the proprie
tors an obliging set of fellows. The-wait
ers as I have frequently noticed at hotels
in this country on previous occasions, in
variably expect a handsome gratuity from
the traveling public, but their' expecta
tions are frequently doomed to disappoint
ment.- This feature was particularly well
marked among a class in London who
wear the standing collar, with white neck
tie, black cloth suits, with swalloW tail
coats. I have to be wide awake whilst
in such a place as London in order to
prevent becoming bewildered and one can
easily imagine what a trifling matter it
would be to go astray in a place contain=
lug more inhabitants than all Scotland
combined. It almost seems incredible
that the city of London alone has a few
thousand more inhabitants than all Scot
land, for when I look at Glasgow which
is said to contain a population of 900,000
I. consider it a brisk place ; yet it can be
thrown (so to speak) into London, and
never be seen. I soon discovered that If
any one visited London for the sole pur
pose of seeing what could be seen, it soon
would prove more laborious than pleas
ant, of course this depends 'upon the
amount of- time allotted to those visiting
London for such a purpose. As I only,
had about a fortnight allotted to me ev
ery hour was precious. From early in
the morning until late in the night it was
nothing but riding on Trainway cars, oni
uibuesses, hausomes and cabs, then the
train and steamers and part of the time
on foot, so you may imagine it was tire
some. As usual, on these occasions I bad
college companions with me with some of
whom I remained for several days after
receiving cordial invitations. The first
sabbath we visited the principal parks
and Buckingham Palace, the residence of
the Queen, Westminster Abbey, where
most of Brittains illustrious dead are in
terred, among which is the late, and lam
ented African Explorer, Dr. Livingstone.
I was greatly disappointed in not, getting
there at the hour of services. The House
of Lords and Commons is just adjoining
the Abbey and is built with stone of the
finest architectural style. A splendid stat-,
ue of the late Earle of Derby has lately
been erected which stands immediatly in
front of the Abbey. It was lately unveil
ed by the Hon. Mr. Disraeli Prime Mi
nister 'of Great Britian. I was unable to
obtain permission to interior of the House
of Lords and Commons as Parliament is
not in session. The next day I went by
rail:from Kings Cros9 to Windsor a small
town some 20 miles distant from London
and famous for containing the Castle, an
other residence of the -royal family. Al
though somewhat digressing from the sub
ject I may mention that the Queen bas 4
places of residence, Ist, Balmoral in Scot
land, 2d, Buckingham Palace in London,
3d, Osbume at the Isle of Wight in Eng
land, and 4th,the Windsor Castle in the
town of Winsor. There were some 25
or 30 carriag e s, on the train to Windsor,
,as it was the day upon which the Castle
was open to public curiosity, and such a
rush for the train at every station, and
the number of passengers left behind, was
rather amusing to lookers on whilst it was'
equally vexing to those disappointed. This
ts the roate over which the Queen travels
to, and from London. As her Majesty is
at present. 'at Osbtirne all _ivho visited
Windsor that day had an opportunity of
going through the state apartments.
secured a guide who was of great service
to me and after viewing the grounds and
exterior of the building—which is built
chiefly of - granite stonewith a Circular tow
er and adjoining buildings and- barricks
for soldiers. I proceeded to the chapel'
where some 2or 300 people bad assem
bled. In the chapel where the Queen at
tends" divine services during her stay at
Windsor are to be seen the flags and en
signs of all nations and statues of all
Princes and Princesses. As I entered my'
ears were greeted with sacred music from
one of the finest organs I ever heard. The
State apartments, most especially the
grand Reception Room where all the no
bility of the land are received by the Roy
al Family, for grandeur may be better'
imagined than described. In fact I can
not desCribe it in these limited pages. I
have quite a collection of stereoscopic
views of London, the Castle and all the
places of importance, with photographs of
all the members 'of the Royal Family. I
was wishing for you when" was. taken
through the Queens stables in coonnection
with the Castle where I was shown the
horses and carriages used by the Royal
Family. The stables may almost be corn
pared to Palaces and the horses are kept
clothed continually 'whilst in the stables,
and the grooms in attendance are forbid
den to unclothethem for the public. One of
the Queen's own grooms accompanied me
and when he learned I was an American
and a veterinary surgeon, ke spared .no
pains to give me any information. The
first stable I entered contained 30 of the
finest carriage horses and all greys none
exceeding your "Missouri." In the sec
ond stable were all iron greys some fifteen
in number and intended as saddle ,ani
mals. The third stable contained all bays
expressly for harness. lb all there were
75 horses and some of them aged 20 years,
and yet as brisk and active as any ani
mal at 3 years, showing what careful at
tention has to do in preserving this faith
ful animal. Each animal has his name
nicely painted in his stall.
I visited Woolich one of the principal
headquarters of the army of Great Brit
ian, I. passed through the barracks where
I had an acquaintance who is a veterina
ry Surgeon in the British army. Ile took
me through the army Infirmary , for sick
animals of which he has 200 under treat.
ment. I also visited Greenwich, situated
midway between Woolich and. L ondon on
the banks of the Thames. This place is
noted for containing the clock which reg
ulates the time of Great Britian. My
visit to the Crystal Palace and Zoological
and - Cremorne gardens was alike inter
esting. The latter being the great centre
for the swells of London._ It is beautiful
ly illuminated at night and there is music
from the military band and orchestra in
the open air. No one has ever realized'
life in true sense of the term until he has
seen London. The passenger traffic ne
cessitates the street cars and omnibusks
&c., to run on Sunday as welt as through
the week and I never saw a better class of
horses than were used for this, purpose.
The restaurants, dining booms &c. are all
licensed to sell on Sundays at all hours
except those of divine service. My at
tention was directed to what I never wit
nessed in Scotland and Ireland,but seems
to be an established practice by the cock•
nPys, as they may be seen on Sunday,
from the youth to the old man carrying
their ftworite beverages home at dinner
hours from a pint ton gallon. Of course
this is only practicd by the lower classes,
but what would it be thought of in Scot
land. Bad us it is in this respect they
care for no - one. There is no indulging
in such practices on the sly in Loudon.
They let the world see what they are do
ing. Beer gardens are very numerous
where it is disposed of in the open air and
along the public thoroughfares and pass
ers by take no notice whatever of a cus
tom permanently established.
I should liked to have gone to Paris
from here which requires only 16 hours
by rail and steamers but the weather was
• .
very warm, so much so that I had to pro
vide myself with a straw hat, something
I never wore on any occasion in this coun
try before. 1 am turned quite brown in
my, face and reduced more in weight than
I ever was before. After taking a little
rest I may go with an excursion to Paris
before starting for home which I hope to
do this fall unless I may change my plans
for the future.
August 11th, 1874
tiss, editor of the Junction City Noble ,
Union, in responce to the toast, "The
Press, at the commencement exercises of
the State University not long since, said
many good things, one of which we copy,
as follows: , '
"With all its faults and billies the press
keeps abreast with all moving things. The
condition of the local press is the index of
the character and prospolity of the local
ity. Flourishing towns Have, flourishing
neswpaoers, and vice versa. A rusty
church, a windowless school house and a
shabby newspaper are the sure and cer
tain evidences of decay ; a-half starved
preacher, an unpaid and illiterate school
teacher and a haggard and hollow eyed
editor are the three ravens that croak
-over the corpse - of a dead town."
Same crusty old bacheler 'says :—I have
noticed that when there is only one daugh
ter in a family, and her paernts are very
anxious to keep her at tome- as long as
possible, some chap conies
,her off before
she is peventcen, • I have also noticed that
when there is a house full of girls, and.
the parents are praying daily for husbands
for the same, the whole lot age apt jive
and die old maids.
Oh ! thou lovely and.glorious sun,
There is nothing so beautiful as thee,
That •rises in4.he morning so lovely. and
• grand,• •
That makes everythiuglook happy .and
Then lovely and adorning sun,
Who fillest the earth with beaming light,
Who goeth to rest when even comes,
And likleth thyself quite out of sight.
How beautiful the sun cloth rise
.A.uong the mountains green•;
How goodOod hath been to us,
Breving us such abeautiful scene. .
When standing on hill or deck, ,
Watching the sun rising far away, •
And cOming . , nearer and nearer to make it
light of day;
Rising brighter and yet more 'brighter o'er
the sky,
Oh ! how beautiful the rising sun. . •
By four little girls of Waynesboro'.
GOLDEN WORDS.—Dispose not thyself of
much rest, but for great patience.
No man cloth safely rule; but►e that
bath learned gladly to obey.
He is the happiest, be he king or peas..
ant, who finds peace in his home. -
We would willingly have others perfect .
and yet we amend not our faults.
- Occasions of adversity best discover
how great virtue or strength each one
An honest man is belieired withoilt an
oath, for his reputation swears fc
Our duties would seldom be ,
ble if we did not perversely rest
think them so.
Every-day cheerfulness is a f
itself. Sunshine does have a ruoi
effect on all around.
The habit of being always emi
a great safeguard through life,
essential to the culture •of every
The following colloquy: actin
place at an eastern post office:
, Pat—" I say 'll4 lostmastei
a litther for me?"
"Who are you, my good sir V
"I'm meselfe, that's who I am.
Well, what is your name I"
"And what do ye want ivid
Isn't it on the litther?"
Want to find the letter, if thei
"Well, Fat Byrne,
,thin, if
have it."
"No, sir, there is none for y ou.
Is there no way, to get in
through this pane of glass?" _
"No sir." •
"It's well for ye there isn't 1
ye betther manners than' to insi__
gentleman's name! Butt ve didn't givit
afther all, so I am even yasorra a bit
is name Byine !"
this house?' inquired one of the 'sanitary
police force ef'Detroit, as he entered a
house in the Sixth ward to serve a notice
lately. The woman had a black eye, the
man a bloody nose,and both were panting
as if ex hausnlid. 'Who onus this house?' I
say,' demanded the blue•coat. '•A gent
on Lafayette'ltreet owns it,' replied the
woman; 'but If you want to ; know Who
runs it, just sit doWn a few miautes•until
we have one more clinch to 'decide that
question. •
The Irish traveler, Planche, tells ,-of a
fellow-traveler - who'm he met in Ger
many, and who Was
,himself 'an' Irish
Ile was on the - box of an-IriSh
coach, on a very cold day, observing' the
driver enveloping : his neck iu the yoluin
jams folds of an amide Comfort, he' re
marked,-= . •
"You seem to be taking very good dare
of yourself, my friend.', ,
"Och. to be shnre lam sir," answered
the driver ; "what's- all the world to a
to a man when )Xis wife's a widely ?"
Defteit Free ..Pkesi An old man arid
his wife,who came in by the Central road
yesterday mornineaw about thirty hacks
at the door of the depot, and about thirty
haekmen shouting 'Hack!' at them. 'the
man took it all as a high ebmplinient, and
turning to the old _lady he said, 'I 'tell
you; mother, they think we are something
great, or they'd never had all the earn
ages down here to meet us. I wonder how
they knew We was coming
Potito bugs must be immortal. A
man has kept some iprked up in bottle.
without, air, food or Ilrink for a year, and
they are as lively as ever. He proposes,
if be lives long enough, to see how long
,-&-y can stand it.
if you think your neighbor is too con
ceited just put a small piece of melim rind
where he is bound to step ou it. There is
nothing really so disastrous to conceit as
to sit down suddenly and unoxpectedly On
the back of your bead.
People 'who are addietpi to tattle, gos
sip and scandal, are not as good as these
they talk about. ' '
Why are darned atockinp like dead
Beaune they are men-ded.
Why is a man without legs like an even
exchange? •.
Because he has nothing to boot. •
'The Houiton GAsioniolegaylYexclaims:
"Glory to God Two dollars received
at this oIEO yesterday! Bring in:. your
washbill." ,
Why is a kettle, a dog'r tail like .
death? Because it'itelat icad''Sa , "Air.
~:71 ' f "''' * ":;tinkV ' ' - '. •
' ri l , ',, ' ' 'l ,, - ' '' . - ' •:* -1 . -
.. , e'..,.4`• A.:A. .• ' so- , ,( • ,
2 .1...., ..... , .' i . - :k -
~, .:•C .
' .::, •'. , I. - i ). 4 .-i s 'ilyr n t.. ''07.1
$2,00 PER 'BAR.
piu6 I a Di tiFEI