HARVEY SICKLER, Publisher. VOL. VIII. 111 pining pfiiuuidh \ IkuxiW.itic weekly __ , U'.T I>0 • , YPFR-' ,'J T , tad >citncs®c. Tub- ig \ H J Ty ,li.J very We lues- J fjqGiiL-C "^vSsje ii Tunkhwnnock ,Yvuuiiug County, i\ /"Y ij f gy iIARVEY SICKIER I lYrm* I copy 1 year, in advance) S'i.OO ; if paid within six months, #2.50 will be charged NO paper wiH be DISCONTINUED, until all ar rMri(re*paid: unless at the option of puMi RATES OF ADVERTISING TEX LIMES CONSTITUTE A SQUARE. Oua square one or three insertions <1 50 Ewry subsequent insertion less than 8- • • • • 50 KBALESTATK, PERSONAL PROPERTY, aud GENERAL AnvritTisiNO, as may be agreed upon, PATKNT MKUICINES and other advertisements oy the column : One column, 1 year, S6O Half column, lyear--- 3a Third column, 1 year, Fourth lolumu, 1 year, 20 Business Cards of one square or less, per year ilh paper. f8 "(F EDITORIAL or LOCAL ITEM advertising—with >ut Advertiseu et t—ls cts. per line. Liberal terms incite with peimaneivt advertisers. EXECUTORS, ADMINISTRATORS and AUDI TOR'S NOTICES, of the usual length, $2,50 OBITUARIES,- exceeding ten lint s, each ; RELI iIOUS and LITERARY NOTICES, not of general merest, one half toe regular rates. fj? 4 Advertisements must be handed in bv Tuts ir NOON, to insure insertion the same week. JOB WORK fall kinds neatly executed and at prices to suit ihe times. All TR ANSIENT ADVERTISEMENTS and JOB tt'OKlv it. ust be paid for, when ordered litis in ess Notices. 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- MK's estates 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. PORTRAIT, LANDSCAPE, AND GEEF JIL FA.HVTIIVG Hy H\ 'JtUGJZ'Jt, Artist. ilucuisover the Wyoming National hank,in .Stark's j Block, TUNKHANNOCK, DA. 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. ITTUFFORITHOUSE: I 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. IBOLTON HOUSE." lIAItKISHITFtG, PKfJNA. 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 PROPRIETOR. ■- 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. Latest Jf*ews. Late arrival of New Goods. Great Bargains at the New Store of C. Detriclt, 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 FALL GOODS, and one of the lorgest and rickest assortments ever offered in this community. Consisting of RICH AND FANCY (JOL'RD DRESS SILKS, FRENCH AND ENGLISH MERINOS, EMPRESS AND PRINCESS CLOTHS, POPLINS, PAREMETTOS, 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, Cassituercs, Ves'ings Satenetts, Tweeds, Jeans, Cottuuades. Drills, Denims, Ticks, Checks, Stripes, Sheetings Shirtings, Bleached A Brown. Shawls, Sontags, lioods. Furs. Ladies' Reticules, Shopping Bags and Baskets TRUNKS, VALISES, and TRAVELING BAGS, Latest Styles, Kid, Silk, Lisle Thread, Cotton Gloves, Hosiery, Notions, Toilet and Fancy GOODS, FARCY SOAPS, PERFUMERY, 4-c., 4-c., 4*., Black an<[ Colored Velvets, Ribbons, Ruffles, ' Frills, Fringes, Braids, 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. READY MADE Clotlxingr, • AND GENTS' Furnishing Goods. 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 Oil - Cloths. Cnim, 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 section, Nails, Spikes, Iron, Steel. Horse Shoes. Horso Shoe Nails, Nail Rods. Paints, Paint Oils, l'ainler, Material, Putty, Windoir Glass, Kerosene Gi J/all, 3' 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 your nose?" "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. " 808 HUNTER. 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 manhood ! 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 the man. "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 dering eyes. "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 go ?" 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 side spring. "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 -1 light. "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 lie ! "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 and sobs. "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 her Uncle. 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 furthest off. 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 any. 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 row. The devil tempts others, an idle man tempts the devil. Always refuse the advice which passion gives. 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 another. 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 without one. 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 Monthly. 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 you home. 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! 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 sorry ! 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 yet ? 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 Maid. 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 ever small. Abandon all other ambitions or pnr ) poses. i Pay whatUU NO. 15.