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HARVEY SICKLER, Publisher.
111 pining pfiiuuidh
\ IkuxiW.itic weekly __ ,
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,Yvuuiiug County, i\ /"Y ij f
gy iIARVEY SICKIER I
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B. dt W. E LITTLE ATXORNKYB AT
ih LAW Office on Tioga Street Tunkhannock Pa
[T B.CfWPBR, PHYSICIAN A SURGEON
tL. Newton Centre, Luzerne County Pa.
| \ I„ PARHISII, ATTORNEY AT LAW.
''•otfi-c at the Court House, in Tunkhanock
IVy, ming Co. Pa
II M.~M~PUAT L\ ATTORNEY AT LAW Of
-11 fice in Stark's Brie k Block Tioga St., Tunk
| aun. k, Pa.
I T J CUASBY ATTORNEY AND COUNSEL
I LOR AT LAW, Nicholson, Wyoming Co-, Pa
Sspecial attention given to settlement of dece-
Sr ii>ls.jti, Pa., Dee. 5. 18fi7 —v7nl9yl
II J. WILSON, ATTORNEY \T LAW, Col
.'ls lecting aDd Real Estate Agent. lowa Lands
'irsale. Scranton, l'a. 3Stf.
j 11 . RIIOADS, PHYSICIAN A SI'KG EON,
J. will attend promptly to all calls in his pro
,ia jr. May be louud at his Office ut the Drug
■ :a. or at his residence on Putman Sreet, formerly
-.curled by A. K. Peckham Esq.
Hy H\ 'JtUGJZ'Jt, Artist.
ilucuisover the Wyoming National hank,in .Stark's j
Life-site Portraits painted from Ambrotvpos or
. i'graphs Photograph* Painted in OilCtlurs, —
AllorJersfor paintings executed according to or
itr.ur Docbarge made.
I Instructions given in Drawing, Sketching,
Hi.rtrait and LaniDenpe Painting, in Oil or water
I. irs. and in all branches of the art,
I T aak . July 31, "fi7 -vgnSO-tf.
IrjXKHANNOCK. WYOMING CO., PA.
■Tills ESTABLISHMENT HAS RECENTLY
■ 1 been refitted and turnished in the latest style.
B'tty attention will be given to the comfort and
Bftwnun.o "1 those who patronize tbe House.
11, HPFFORD. Proprietor.
I lunkh inoock, Pa., June 17, 1869 —v7till.
I The undersigned having lately purchased tho
■ i'EHLER HOUSE " property, has already com- |
B:' e i such alterations and improvements as will
•'-ier this 01.1 and popular House equal, if not supe- j
B ' to any Hotel in the City of Ilarrisburg. I
H Atonttnuanco of the public patronage is refpoet- 1
B- y solicited.
GEO. J. BOLTON-
I WALL'S HOTEL
I LATE AMERICAN HOUSE.
B'NKHWNOCK, WYOMING CO., PA
B"HI> establishment has recently been refitted an
furnished in the latest style Every attention
He given to the comfort and convenience of those
B- fatronixe the House.
T. B. WALL, Owner and Proprietor., j
■ ".ikhannock, September 11, 1861.
IMEANS' HOTEL. I
I TPOWAJNTDA, fa
■ a B. BARTLET,
■ -Ueott. "BRAINARD HOUSE, EI.MIRA, N. Y
■- MEANS HOTEL, i-one ot tne LARGEST!
j-E-T ARRANGED Houses in the country—lt !
I- up in the most modern and improved style I
pains are spared to make it a pleusantand J
• 'topping place for all,
u * u,t Boots or Shoes and the full value for J
■ ' tnoney, •<> to Eastmati's- He has every fa
■ ■* 0r luauufactaring and cball enges com petition j
•• ILL pnrchsse a pair of Eastman's water- !
I f JSj. ts, certain to keep any uian's feet j
"cars them, for a twelve month.
're iiecessity for complaints of wet feet '
i water-proof Jti.its are warranted a
■ l '"il [orrfecl remedy, and this wanai t |
B 4 *r'ttcn guarantee, if required.
K'Stman's Water-proof Boots sre made
• ''turr tai.ne i in the oid-fa.thioned way —in
cenacquen'ly will turn waU;r aini will
'- "il lui|4>:ted French t'slf Boots, nisn
-1 y E v.lloan for $lO, s:e Aii|wru>r to
u la|, ou Fren th CIT Dress Boots
uie a neat, stylish and durable
• oilf.ng like ihem tnthil market.
TUNKHANNOCK, WYOMING CO., PA.-WEDNESDAY, NOV. 11, 1868.
Late arrival of New Goods.
Great Bargains at the New Store of
in 8. Stark's Bri.-k Block.
AT TUIHAIOCK, PEI'A.
Having just returned from the City, I urn now
opening an entire New Stock of
and one of the lorgest and rickest assortments ever
offered in this community. Consisting of
RICH AND FANCY (JOL'RD DRESS
FRENCH AND ENGLISH MERINOS,
EMPRESS AND PRINCESS CLOTHS,
BLACK AND COLORED
ALPACCAS WOOL, ARMIRE, I'EKIN
AND MOUSELIEU DELAINS, INPORTED
AND DOMESTIC GINGHAMS, PRINTS
of Best Manufactures and Latest Stylos,
Ladies Cloths and Saoqueings, Cloths,
A Brown. Shawls,
Furs. Ladies' Reticules, Shopping Bags and Baskets
TRUNKS, VALISES, and TRAVELING
Kid, Silk, Lisle Thread, Cotton
Gloves, Hosiery, Notions,
Toilet and Fancy
FARCY SOAPS, PERFUMERY,
4-c., 4-c., 4*.,
Black an<[ Colored Velvets,
Beads, Ball and Bugle Trimmings
A Large quantity of BEST STVLE HOOP SKIRTS
and CORSETTS, eelecct from Manufacturers, at
greatly reduced prices,
FLANNELS all Colors and Qualities.
• AND GENTS'
HATS AND CAS
of Latest les,
CALK, KIP, and SKAVF, BOOTS & SHOES.
Ladies'. Misses', and Children's Kid l'runelle Mo
rocco an I Calf Gaiters, Shoes, and Slippers,
Wall and Window Pape Window
Curtains, A Curtain Fix
tures, Carpets A
Glass, and Stone Ware,
Tinware,—made expressly for this
Trade, ai.d warraiued to give satisfaction,
2U per cent. Cheaper than the usual rates in hfi
Horso Shoe Nails,
Material, Putty, Windoir Glass, Kerosene Gi
J/all, 3'<trior, Stand, and I/and
Lanterns, Lamp Chimnies, Shades,
ASHTON, TURK ISLAND, .V EEL SALT
WOOD & WILLOW WARE,
BRUSHES, ot all kimls.
PATENT MEDICINES. DRUGS, and DYE 3
FLAVORING EXTRACTS, Ac., Ac,
These goods have been selected
with great care to suit the wants ot
this community, and will be sold as
heretofore, at the lowest living rates
lor cash or exchanged for country
produce at market prices. Thankful
for the past liberal patronage, 1 shall
endeavor by strict attention to my
business, to merit a continuance <1
the same, and will try to make the
future still more attractive and ben
eficial to customers.
YOUR. OWN BABY.
Out or all the little people
That you know.
Great 'oiks' children, poor folks' babies,
High or low ;
Big or little, blondes, brunettes,
Dark-haired beauties, blue-eyes pets ;
Or the ugliest of aborations,
With pug noses for their portions—
Noses pugs for facial handles;
Hair that curls like pounds of candles—
Out of all the little people
You can bring,
Nine miles round, from any steeple,
In a ring-
Diil you ever see a darling
Whom its "ma," like Hotspur's starling,
Didn't say beat all creation
Into bits i
No, ina'm —no, sir—miss, or master—
Never came such sad disaster
To maternal bosom tender—
No! one horrid doubt would send her
Don't you pity Mrs. Snivcns?
Don't you feel for Mrs. Kivens 1
Snivens's baby has red hair,
ltivcns's squints, I do declare.
Did you ever ?
Hut my baby—oh, the precious
Ain't ho perfectly delicious 1
Papa's nose, and mama's eyes;
And so good ; he never cries—
This, and nothing more, my moral ;
(And with it who dare to quarrel 1)
Babies arc to woman given
By the special grace'oi Heaven,
And that alone;
By devine interposition,
To compel from her admission
That one jicrfcrt thing there may be,
Yes, a baby ! Hum ! what baby t
Wreteh ! her uxs
WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH THAT
Snyder kept a beer saloon same years
ago "ovet the Rhine." Snyder was a
ponderous Teuton, of veiy irascible tem
per—sudden and quick in quarrel—get
mad in a minute. Nevertheless his sa
loon was a great resort for the boys—
partly because of the excellence of his
beer and partly because they liked to
chafe "old Snyder' as they called him;
for although his bark was terrific, expe
rience had taught them that be wouldn't
One day Snyder was missing, and itwas
explained by liis "frau," who "jerked the
beer" that day, that he had gone out fish
ing mit ter boys." The next day one of
the boys who was particularly fond of
roasting old Snyder, dropped in to get a
glass of beer, arid discovered Snider's
nose, which was a big one at anv time,
swollen and blistered by the sun. until it
looked like a dead r*pe tomato.
"Why Snyder what's the matter with
your nose ? " said the caller.
"I have been out fishing mit ter hoys,"
replied Snyder, laying his finger tenderly
against his proboscis. "de sun it pe-,e hot
like ash der tifel, unt I purus mv uose.—
Nice nose, iont it: " And Snyder view
ed it with a look of comical sadness in the
little mirror back of his bar. It entered
at once into the head of the mischievous
feilow in fiout of the bar to play a joke
upon Snyder, so lie went out and called
halt a dozeu of Ins comrades, with whom j
lie arranged that they should drop in at !
the saloon one after another and ask Su v- >
der "what's the matter with '.hat nose?"
to see how long lie would stand it. The!
man who put up the job went in first with '
a companion, and seating themselves, call
ed for beer. Snyder brought it to them'
and the new comer exclaimed as lie saw '
him: "Snider what's the matter with 1
"I just deli you friend hi re I peeu out
fishing mit ter boys, unt de sun he burnt
'em zwi lager—den cents all right."
Another boy rushes in. "Hallo, boys
you're head ot me this time." 'spose 1 am
in though. Here Snyder, bring tne a
glass of lager beer and a pret —(appears to
catcli a glimpse of Snider's nose, hmks
wonderfully a moment, and then
out laughing)—ha! ha! ha! Why,
Snyder,— ha! ha I—what's1 —what's the matter
with that nose ? "
Snyder of course, can't see any fun in
having a burnt nose, or having it laughed
at, and he says, in a tone sternly emphatic:
•'l've been out fishing mit ter boys unt
de f-un yust so hot like aslt der tifi 1, and I
purnt my nose ; dat ish all right - "
Another tormentor comes in, and in
sists on "setting 'em up" for the whole
house. "Snyder" says he, "fill up the boys
glasses and take a drink yourself—ho!
ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Snyder, what's the
matter with that?"
Suyder's brow darkens with wrath by
this time, and bis voice grows deeper aud
sterner —"1 peen out tishin' mit tei poys
on der leetle Miami The sun pese hot
ash hail, unt 1 pnrnt my bugle. Now, dat
is more vot I don't got to say : Vot gind
of pesens? That ish all right: I purnt tny
own nose, don't it * "
"Burn your nose—burn all the hair off
your head for what I care; you needn't
get mad about it "
It was evident that Snyder wouldn't
stand more than one more tweak at that
nose, for he was tramping about behind
his bar and growling like an exasperateJ
old bear in bis cage. Another of his t<>r
menters waiked in. Some one sings out
to hint, "Have a glass of beer. Billy?"
"Don't care about any beer," says Billy,
'but Snyder you can give me one of your
best cigars—Ha-a-a! ha! ha! ho! ho!
lie! he! ha ha-ha! Why—why Snyder
what's the matter with that nose?"
Snvder was absolutely fearful to behold
by thaa time, his face was purple with
rage, all except ii is nose, which glowed
like a ball of fire Leaning his ponderous
figure far over the bar, and raising his
arms aloft to emphasize his word with it,
he fairly roared :
"I've peen out fishing mit ter poys
The sun it pese hot. like as kail-tamnation.
I purnt my n.'se. Now you no like dose
nose, you yust take dose nose unt wr-wr
wr-wring your tarn American finger wit
em ! That's ihe kind of man vot lam ! "
And Snyder was right.
" To Speak his Thoughts is Every Freeman's Right. "
Poor Bob Hunter!—all the morning
since the night first broke up from the east,
he had lain there bv tho roadside —dead !
dead and lost ! dead to the sweet June that
smiled down from the soft sky above and
sang her song in the trees that shadowed
him; dead to her work everywhere—the
green of the meadows and hills ; the blos
soms that send up their fragrance above
him, and the sweet breezes that played
over his burning cheek and lifted his mat
ted uncombed bait Dead to the world—
to his own heart—lost to his strength and
It was no ttew thing, alas! for Bub Hun
; ter to sleep by the roadside; no new sight
for the villagers to see him as they passed
along tho stieeis, lying under tho hedge
'• row, his pout- clothing damp with dew, his
I head resting upon the ground. Indeed
' had he so long been an out cast —so long
| lost, it was no wonder to those who had
known him from his childhood even, to
see him thus, not a tongue, however accus
tomed to serve its own in the great cause
of humanity, that would say, either in pure
pity for tenderness, "Bob Hunter was drunk
by the roadside this morning !'
It would have been quite as well to
have affirmed that Mount Monadnock was
west of the village, or that in the north
as far as one could see, the spear-like
pines pricked the blue skv. True, some
would venture to say that lie was a dis
grace to the village; and others, forgetting
that God was on earth, would say that he
would be better off dead; that he was no
use in the world; that he was a tirute, and
that the last spark of truth and manhood
had died out in his soul. Alas lor them,
that having light they are so in darkness
and also for him that his hellish passion
came between him and his God; between
him and his fellow, creatures, and then
turned upon his own human heart.
But 1 liave to tell of this one bright,
cherry morning that Boh Ilunter slept by
tbe wayside. It was a pitiable sight in
deed, a wretched picture that he made,
the fallen man, lying there; his torn hat by
his side, his ragged clothes wet with dew,
his pale trembling bands clasped over his
brcat, and bis bead pillowed on the grass,
so near a neighboring garden that a stray
rose glistening with tears looked down up
on him from the low fence where it had
crept to blossom. I'oor man !if he c utld
onlv have taken the lesson the dewy
flower taught into his sodden heart !
At last, when the bold sunlight shone
full in his face, he started up and drew his
hand across his dim and bloodshot eyes.
He thought ho was quite sure that he
heard a step close beside him,and ihe sud
den fear quickened his nur.llalf
asleep and drunk as he •> , lie had a
faint remembrance of what had happened
during his sleeping hours in times past—of
stones coming hard and thick upon him,
like huge hail stones, arousing him from
his slumbers, and of ice water that had
been thrown over him by some thrifty
handed housewife, when lie had ventured
too near her premises for a nap.
But now, neither sudden shower nor
stones answered the look of inquiry that
he cast about him. Everything was still,
only the birds sang in the trees, and a lit
tle brook gurgled along from the opposite
side of the road: he could hear nothing be
side, yet he grasped his torn hat, and halt
staggered to his feet, looked searchingly
about him. Just then a little pink and
white face, fair as the rose beside it, ap
peared above the garden fence and a pair
of wondering blue eyes glanced question
ingly alter the half recumbent figure of
"v\ hat d'ye waut ?" growed out Bob
Hunter, turning lijs face from the steady
gaze of the child, * hich somehow sobered
as well as annoyed lint.
"Ate you sick, Mr?" she asked, without
heeding his question.
"Sick? O yes, ha !—l'm sick or drunk!"
"Drunk !" she replied after him, clasp
ing her little dimpled hands over her face,
"Aunt Lucy says it's terrible to be drunk."
"Does, eh ? Well, she's mistaken; the
terrible is light the othei waj%"
Again the child looked wonderingly in
to the flushed face of the inebriate.
"I want to go over there; will vou hurt
me it I do V'
"Cotne and see,"
"Promise first that you won't hurt me."
Promise—Bob Hunter promise ! he
laughed to himself at the idea. What
would his promise be worth to the child,
it he gave it? But nevertheless he said
as soberly as he could:
"Come along, I won't hurt you,"
That was enough. The next moment
she was beside him, looking his face over
and over again with her great and won
"What are you tooking at ?"arked Bob.
"You look sick, just as papa did wiien
he had the fever, and that's what makes
me live here with aunt Lucy. Ain't you
dry? Don't you want some water?"
"Water, child ? what should I do with
it ? I drink rum."
"But I've got a little paii just over the
fence, ami I know where there is a cool
spring right here by the road. Shan't I
lie did not say no this time, but stared
half blankly at the child. Perhaps the
faintest shadow of a memory fell across his
darkened heart. Perhaps, when a hoy, he
had drank water from a tin cup at a road
"Drink, please sir, it will not hurt you."
She was at this side again, holding, the
brimming vessel to his parched lips.
Drink—he, Bob Hunter drink cold wa
ter ! He raised bis band t dash the clear
draught from him, but the child caught his
hand with "Please drink sir."
And he drank long and deeply nor put
| the cup from his lips till it was emptied,
j while the child clapped her hands, and
j shook her head till hc-r hair, half iu curl
! and half in wave upon her shoulders,
danced and swung iu the pleasant sun
"Do yon fee! better?'
The man smiled a strange, pitiful smile,
as though his sodden heart was trying to
look out into his dim eyes.
"O yes, better!"
Poor sinning Bob Hunter, that was no
"Have you any little girls like me ?"
Again lie smiled as if his heart was try
ing to speak from his eyes, but had forgot
ten its language. Heaven pity him, but
Bob Ilunter had neither kith nor kin in
the great proud world that would own
hi in. He had proud brothers and sisters
once, and he remembered away back in
the past, a sweet mother who had loved
him—but she had long since slept that
sleep which knows no waking. No, uo,
he had no.friends. —lie looked into the
child's tender face, and said:
"No, no, I have nothing, nothing."
What was there in the reddened visage,
or hesitating speeclt of the bleered-eyed
inebriate that sent the little fair faced girl
closer to his side ?
"May I be your little girl ?"
She asked it with both hands clasped in
his; so near him that her sweet breath was
against his burning cheek.
"I'm poor Bob Hunter, what d'ye want
to be mine for ?"
lie hid hi:, face in his hands while he
spoke. Out from the world as he was, he
was no stranger to its cruel rebuffs. Iu
this sober moment of his life they caine up
on liitn like a terrible curse. As he
crouched before the child, he saw himself
as lie really was. Through the light of
her purity he beheld his heart in all its
rottenness. He was Bob Ilunter ! know
ing this would the little creature still cling
to him ? She answered him softly, still
clasping her hand in his. Did all heaven
listen to her ?
"1 want to be yours because you hav'nt
anybody to love you."
"But I'm wicked ami don't deserve any
body's love. 1 '
liis whole heart gave way as he spoke,
and the words came from his lips in gasps
"Well, you won't be wicked any more
will you, if I'll be your iittle girl ?"
Now she put back the damp hair from
his fore head ami temples, with her soft
baby hands. Was it the caress or the
words that quivered his poor lips ?
"1 can't he good," he said, "I get drunk,'
"But you won't any more."
She had a hand on either cheek now,
bloated and tear stained as they were
coaxing him with gentle touch, her sweet
voice and gentle smile, to lie a man once
mure t uiild he be anything, anybody, if
he tried, he wondered. He bad thought
of it before, but no one seemed to care
which way he went. But now his weak
heart trembled and tbrobed in tbe battle !
How his poor bead sank lower and lower
upon his breast, as if he would bide his
fice in very shame from the child. But
he could not turn away from her or from
the storm within him.
"No, God helping me I will not get
drunk again, 'he said, starting to his feet
and then staggering again from very weak
ness to the ground.
"Who are you, little child ?" he asked,
looking up into her face.
•'I am Elsie ilaynes. I live with aunt
Lucy iu the next house. Won't you
come in ?"
"No," lie answered, shuddering.
"Where do you live?"
"I live ? Anywhere. I sleep in barns,
by the roadside, and under fences,"
"O, dear, dear ! Aunt Lucy shall fix you
a bed, I know she will. Ain't you sick ?"
lie shook iiis head, and said he was
used to such care, lie did not work and
he could not do betier.
"But won't you work for Uncle Ilaynes?"
Come up aud see."
She held fast to his hand, coaxed him
inside the garden gate, and then tried to
pull him up the smoothe path to the house.
But no, he would not go, he said no. He
wouldn't want him. But still the child
pled with him, and at last he walked by
her side up to the piazza, and seated him
self upon the steps, while Elsie went for
There was a strange expression of won
der ami surprise on tho face of good Mr.
Ilaynes, when little Elsie presented to him
her protege. Bob Hunter asking for
work! What did it mean ? He would
not have been more surprised to have seen
the dean ot a score of years at his door
asking for work.
"YVhat can he do Elsie?" he asked
"O, anything, I guess. lie can work in
the garden with you, and I'll carry you
water all day."
For a mmiient Mr Ilaynes hesitated,
then he said putting his hand out to Bob:
"Y ou may try, and as long as you will
work, you may have work 1"
There was no small amonut of wonder
in the village whyn it was rumored that
Bob Ilunter was at work for Mr. Haynes.
And when weeks after, he crept silily
among his fellow man, well'clad and sober,
avoiding steadily the places where his ruin
had well nigh been • wrought, some said
that a great miracle had been wrought,
tbat God himself must have spoken to
Bob Hunter, or he would not have chang
ed from darkness to light.
Ah, a miracle it was, indeed, wrought
by the dear merciful hand of the one God.
Father! His spirit breathed from the lips
of one little child brought about the refor
mation that none had ever hoped to that,
And so people wondered, forgettiug see
if they kept their hearfs sweet and fresh
in love and truth, "as little children," they,
too, could work out more perfectly the
ways of God.
And so little Elsie worked on, and Bob
Hunter looked up to tbe angel, blessing
her tnore and more as day by day he grew
stronger and better. Again, I repeat it,
that it seemed like a miracle to the villa
gers, tho reformation of the poor inebriate.
They did not know how faithfully, like a
weak child, he had been watched and tend
ed If they saw Elsie runniug to and
fro from the field a dozen times a day
with a pail of sweet spring water, they
did not think why it was so. Or going
up into the plain neat chamber of Bob
Ilunter, and seeing always there, the
freshest flowers the gard-n afforded and
the glass of cool water beside them on
the little table, they would not have
heeded so small a sign, because to tbern
it did r.ot appear likely tbat God worked
with such humble means.
She is little more than a child now.
Elsie Il iynes. Sometimes as I see her
walking about with Bob Iltinler, by side
at church listeuing attentively to his'
slightest wish; when I see him a man !
once more, the bestial look of the ineb
riate all gone from his face, standing up
strong and brave aud true among his (
fellows, and know now that he was (
saved. 1 say to myself that no woman 1
need ask for a richer fame than that
which God and the angels hold for her.
And I wonder, too, sometimes, if when
she is a woman, beautiful as she is and
must always be, there can ever be a con
quest so great and good as this.
Ah ! yes; "The lion and the lamb shall
lie down together, and a little child
shall lead them."
OLD PROVERBS. —Cheer up man ; God
is still where he was.
God is at the end when we think lie is
He counts very unskillfully who leaves
God out of his reckoning.
God's mill grinds slow but sure.
God is always opeuing His hands to us.
God has often a great share in a little
house, and but little share in a great one.
God comes to see us, or to look upon
us, without a bell.
Prayer brings down the first blessing
and praise tho second.
The worst of crosses is never to have had
Begin your wed, and God will supply
you with the thread.
At the end of life La Gloria is sung.
Fly the pleasure that will bite to-iuor
The devil tempts others, an idle man
tempts the devil.
Always refuse the advice which passion
lie who will stop every man's mouth
must have a great deal of meal.
In silence there is many a good moral.
'Tis a bad house that has not an old
man in it.
Welcome is tbe best cheer.
The child saith nothing but what is
heard at the fireside.
When children are little they make
their parents' head ache and when they
are grown up they make their hearts ache.
Time is the rider that breaks youth.
No man's head aches while he comforts
War is death's feast.
WIFE. —Theie is no combination of
letters in the English language which ex
cites more pleasing associations iu the
mind of man than wife. Tl ere is magic
in this little cheerful companion, disinter
ested adviser, a nurse in sickness, a com
forter in misfortune, and a faithful and ev
er affectionate friend. It conjures up tbe
image of a lovelv and confiding woman,
who cheerfully undertakes, to contribute
to your happiness, to partake with you
the cup, whether of weal or woe, which
destiny may offer. This word wife is sy
nonymous with the greatest earthly bless
ing; and we pity the unfortunate man who
is condemned by fate's severe decree to
trudge along through life's dull pilgrimage
THE ADVANTAGES OF A PURE LIFE.—
If you look into the early years of truly
hopeful men, those who make life easier
or nobler to those svho come after them,
you will almost invariably find that they
lived purely in the days of their youth.—
In early life the brain, thougli abounding
in vigor, is sensitive aad very suscepl-ble
to injury—and this to such a degree, that
a comparatively brief and moderate indul
gence iu vicious pleasures appears to lower
the tone and impair both the delicacy and
the efficiency of the brain foi life, lhis is
not preachiog, boys —it is simple truth ot
science.— James Parian, in Packard's
To CATCH Y'OUR OWN SHADOW. —To
do this trick well you must drink two
pints of whisky on a moonlight night, then
start for home, observing your shadow at
full length before you drop flat on your
face, letting your nose go two inches in the
ground, so as to make the shadow secure.—
Lie there till placed on a wheel-barrow by
a policeman, who feels it his duty to take
SAT A clergyman was sent for the
other day. The man was rather denf to
whom ho was called. "What induced you
to send for me ? " pompously said the
clergyman. "Eh ? " "What induced you,"
he repeated, "to send for me? ' "W hat
does he say ? " said the man to his wife.
"He says what the deuce did you send for
bim for? - ''
TERMS, s2.£o Per. ANNUM, in Advance,
Wait a luouicnt young man, before ion
thro.v that money Govvn on the bar and de
mand a glass of brandy and water. Ak
yourself if twenty-five cents tan not he
better invested iu something else. Put it
back in your pocket, and give it to the lit
tle cripple who sells matches on tho cor
ner. Take our wurd for it, you will not be
Wait, madam—think twice before you
decide on that hundred dollar shawl. A
hundred dollars is a great deal of money;
one dollar is a great deal, when people
once consider the amount of good it will
accomplish, in careful hands. Y our hus
band's business is uncertain; there is a
financial crisis close at hand. Who knows
what tbat hundred dollars may be to you
Wait, sit, before you buy that gaudy
amethyst breast-pin you arc surveying so
earnestly through the jeweler's plate
glass windows. Keep your money for an
other piece of jewej^y—a plain gold wed
ding-: ing made to fit a rosy finger teat
you wot of. A shirt neatly ironed and
stockings darned like face work, are bet
ter than guilt brooches and flaming ame
thysts. You can't ofiurd to marry? You
mean, you can't afford not, to marry?
W ait and tliink the matter over !
Wait, toother, before you speak harsh
ly to the chubby rogue who has torn his
apron and soiled his white Marseilles jack
et. lie is only a child, and ' mother" is
the sweetest word in all the world to him.
Needle and thread and soapsuds will re
pair all damages no v : hut if yjuLoncfia
teach him to slnink from his mother, and
hide away his childish faults, that damage
cannot be repaired.
Wait, husband, before you wonder au
dibly, why your wife don't get along with
family cares and household responsibili
lies, "as your mother did." She is doing
her best—and no woman care endure that
best to be slighted. Remember the nights
she sat up with the little babe that died;
remember the love and care she bestowed
on yon when yon had that long fit of ill
ness ! Do you think she is raaJc of cast
iron ? Wait—wait in silence and forbear
ance, and the light will come back in her
eyes, the old light of the old days !
Wait wile, before you speak reproach
fully to your husband w hen' he comes
home late, and weary, and all "out of sorts."
lie has worked for you all day long ;he
has wrestled hand to hand, with < 'are, and
Selfishness, and Greed, and all the demons
that follow in the train of money making.
Let home be another atmosphere entirely ;
let liim feel that there is one place in the
world where he can find peace, and quiet,
and perfect love.
Wait, bright young giris, before yon
arch your pretty eyebrows, and whisper
"old maid" as the quiet figure steals by,
with silver in its hair and crow's-feet round
the eyes. It is hard enough to loose life's
gladness and elasticity—it is hard enough
to see youth drifting away, without adding
to the bitter cup one drop of scorn ! l'mi
do not know what she has endured ; you
never can know until experience teaches
you, so wait, before vou sneer at the Old
Wait, sir, before you add a billiard
room to your house, aud buy the fast
horse that Black and White and all the
rest of "the fellows" covet. Wait and
think whether you can aflord it—whether
your outstanding bills are paid and your
liabilities fully met, and all the chances and
changes of lite duly provided for. Waft,
and ask yourself how you would like ten
years from now, to see your fair wife
struggling with poverty, your children
shabby and want-stricken, aud yourself a
miserable banger-on round corner grocer
ies and one-horse gambling saloons.—
You think it impossible ;do you remem
ber what Ilazael said to the seer of old;
"Is thy servant a dog that he should do
this thing ?"
Wait, merchant, before you tell that
pale-faced boy from the country "that you
can do nothing for him." You can do
something for him ; jou c.tu give him a
word of encouragement, a word of advice.
There was a time once when you were
young, snd poor and friendless! Have
you forgotten it already ?
Wait, blue-eyed lassie ; wait before you
say "yes" to the dashing young fellow who
says lie can't live without you Wait un
til yqu ascertain "for sure and for certain"
as the children say, that the cigar, and the
wine-bottle, and the card-table are not to
be your rivals in his heart; a little delay
won't hurt him whatever he may say —
i just see if it will.
And wait, rny friend in ihe brown mous
tache ; don't commit yourself to Laura
Matilda until you are sure she be kind to
your old mother, and gentle to your little
sisters, and a true loving wife to you, in
stead of a mere puppet who lives on the
breath of fashion and excitement, and re
gards the sunny side of Broadway as sec
ond only to Elysium. As a general thing
! people are in too great a hurry in this
j world, we say waif, WAIT !
How TO BE A MILLIONIAKE. — Iib a very
| able man, as nearly all millioniares are.
Devote your life to the getting and
keeping of other men's earnings.
j v Eat tho bread of carefulness, and you
must rise early and lie down late.
, Care little or nothing about otlior men's
! wants and disappointments,
i Never permit the fascinations of friend
ship to inveigle you into making loans how
Abandon all other ambitions or pnr
i Pay whatUU