u u 1 1 COME AND TAKE ME. Dlvivier. VOL. 1. CLEARPIELD, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 7, 18-5-5. NO.- 33. RAFTSMAN'S JOURNAL. Be. Joves, Publisher. Per. annum. payable ia advanco,) $1 50 If paid within the year, 2 CO No paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid. A failure to notify a discontinuance at tlio cxpi ration of the terra subscribed for, will bo consider d a new enr jement. ' f5oe!rt. DESTRUCTION OF BABYLON. ISAIAH XXI. As the whirlwinds that 'tend on the deadly simoom Are the sounds of the spoiler that ring on my ear, O erthe queen of (JaaUea bangs a darK veil ot gloom, A mantle tcenroua ner wnen sixcicuea on acr oier From the desert it comes from a terrible land The armies of Elam in bristling array, hand With the proud hosts of Media approach hand in Weep liabjlon weep lo too end oi iiiy uay. No more shalt thou raise thy proud standard on hign snrine No moro shall the nations bow down at thy The close of thy day dream is fast drawing nigh, . And thy glories shall fade in a rapid decline. Too long hast thou trod on the rest of the world, And hoped that thy might would continue the same, be hurled, Yet proud queen from thy grandeur thou soon shalt As high in thy splendor so low in thy shame. The Persian draws on with hie spear and hi bow, And the steeds of the Median fret for the fight The morning shall view the approach of the foe. But the city's his spoil at the dead hour of night Look dowp from thy seat in the heavens, eh, moon ! And ve stars turn away your bright eyes from the scene, gone, From the powers of the earth a proud kingdom is ... i rom the high throne ot glory is cast down a queen (Driginul Mmnl Cnlc. WRITTEN' FOR TIIE JOURNAL-1 r MJm -iL.'J. '- ' 0:- coriaionT a k c f a e d . - CHAPTER XV. Ia this situation slio lay for some time. Iler delicate and sensitive frame Lad been entire ly overpowered by the sudden 6hock. Her eyes had closed, and scarcely a sign of life remained. Valens, sitting down at her side, and lean ing his Lack against the damp walls, had rais ed her partly up ia his arms. Iler head sup ported by one arm, rested against his breast ; while, with the hand of the other, he had ad justed th3 dishevelled hair, and, in the deep est sorrow and anguish, gaziug on her pale, fixed features, continued chafing her throbing temples. After a few minutc3 her eyes partly opened, looking .sank and dreamy. Her father spoke to her, but sho mads no reply, and they again gently closed. Again they opened slowly, and gradually seemed to fill up with returning life and animation, till, at length, they were fixed with a fui!, steady gaze on her fathers sorrow ing face that leaned, over her. "Father! father !" said she, in a low, fdint Toice, and seemed to swoon away again. Presently, her eyes again opened, and, rais ing herself party up in her father's arms, she Legan looking wildly around her. "Where ? what?" she at length exclaimed, as if ia & fright, and then fixed her eyes upon her father with a steady, wondering sort of gaze. "My daughter ! God bless you,' said Va lens, as his lips quivered, and his eyes filled with tear3. "What a strange- plac4- Why, where are we, father 2 "Where's mother 2" inquired Vertitia, casting her eyes around the low, Llack cell. "We're in the bands of our enemies. The hour is at hand, my daughter. Be of good cheer ; the life to come will soon be ours." Vertitia looked thoughtful for a few mo ments ; and then, with a smile upon her fea tures, she said, quickly : "O, father! I see it all now, it's all just flashed in my uiind. Th-j heavens will soon open for us, wont they 1 But, O ! what'll become of poor, dear mcther?" "The laord will do what seemeth unto him good," said Valens, raising his eyes as he spoke, and pressing his daughter ia his arras to his l-rcast. CHAPTER XVI. Not a moment was to be lost. The time was at hand. Death was at the door. Angels were on their way, to carry their sqirits to brighter worlds. They had but a few more hours perhaps.mcments, to live oa earth. So they felt. . Hence Valens and his daughter bestirred themselves. They trimmed their lamps, and lit them up into a bright, brilliant flame. Many were their mutual etnbracings, tender exhortations, and fervent prayers. The nar row, gloomy cell was rilled with their songs. Heaven seemed to have begun. All fear and terror fled, and they rejoiced and were exceed ing glad. . From the moment of their arrest, Valens had been all anxiety adout his poor, dear daughter. He knew her youth and inexperi ence, how recent had been her conversion, how many avenues the youthful mind presents to the assaults of Satan ; and he had feared lest her faith might fail in this extremity. Hence, many wor his exhortations and pray- her behalf. ".My daughter," said he, "don'.t be alarmed Trust in the dear, blessed Savior ; he'll sus tain you, carry you through. Die in the faith, my daughter. It '11 only be a momentary pang a quick flash just and glory, honor, immor tality, eternal life will be yours forever." "O ! yes ; that '11 be my reward yours too, father. I think I can suffer even death for it Then I'll be so soon there there where my sweet, dear sister is, and my dear, blessed Sa vior. O ! what a joyful meeting !" said Ver titia, calmly, as if seated in the flowery arbor at home. "Yes ; joyful ! joyful ! Welcome death ; come Lord Jesus, come!" said Valens, his eyes lilted up, and every feature lighted with the holy fires that burned and glowed in his breast. " Just at this moment, the door of the cell was dashed open, and two of the Emperor's guard entered. They cast a scowling glance at the kneeling and praying father and daugh ter ; and then, roughly seizing Vertitia, hurri ed away with her. "Farewell, father; farewell forever on earth," she had said, just as the door closed. "The Lord bless thee; we'll meet again," she had heard faintly echoed frera the cell. This was about two hours after their arrest Vertitia was led hastily across a corner of the square, in the centre of which great bright fires were burning, with hundreds of squalid, miserable-looking beings gathered around them laughing, swearing, carousing, . and cursing the Xazarenes, as the cause . of all their sufferings and misery. The sight of the blazing, crackling fires. and the horrid shouts and curses of the multitude, terrified her ; and she felt for a moment as if she would fall to the earth. But she thought of Jesus, and her terrors fled. She was conducted along the great, broad aisle cf the Forum, which was filled with gap ing, jeering crowds ; and, quickly, she found herself seated on a marble block, with a dozen or more poor, sighing, weeping, praying Chris tians, bome were gazing rapturously upward; others, with their eyes rivited on the floor, were looking the pictures of despair ; while others, with their faces hurried in their hands, were inly praying for mercj'. As for herself poor Vertitia felt as she had never done before. There was a joyousness in her heart, and a strength, and courage in her soul, to which she had heretofore been a mgcr. Why was it ? These very scenes she had often pictured out to her mind, but she had shrunk away, pale and trembling, from the thought. Now, with all real around and before her, she felt quite calm and unmoved. She thought it was her father's prayers ; then, and what is more likely, that it was the real aud actual presence of Christ in her heart. As she sat, her attention, at first was direct ed to those of the little flock, seated, as stat ed, on her right and left. Her heart was touched with pity, and her tears, at length, began to flow freely iu their behalf. She dri ed them away, however ; and glanced her eyes around on the great, promiscuous throng then at the Emperor then tit the fierce, sav age monsters who stood in armor all around him. But she felt not the least fear or trepi dation. In the mean time, one of the poor Christians, a female, not far from her side, had been com manded to stand vp. Her trial, all the while, had been progressing, but she had heard but little of what had been said. She had barely no ticed that the woman looked pale and emaciat ed,and that,with her eyes closed,and her hands clasped tightly across her breast, her lips mov edinaudibly in prayer. She had noticed, more over, that she had paid no attention to the in solent questions, or the haughty, taunting threats of the Emperor. But, by and by, hearing the Emperor, in his usual shrill, squealing voice, cry out; "your duty, soldiers!" she was startled almost to her feet, and trembled in every limb. And then again, when, after a monment,she cast her eyes partly round, and saw two or three horrid looking monsters dragging her along the aisle, and saw the faint, despairing look cf the poor woman, with much difficulty she supported herself on the blocK : and then, when, after a few minutes, a faint, horrid shriek from without, like the last wail of earth, tell on her ears, she involuntarily start ed to her feet, and exclaimed : "O! God mercy! mercy!!" The only effect this burst of feeling, ejected from the depths of a warm, sensitive, and gen erous heart, produced, was, to throw the Em peror into a hearty laugh then into a fit of violent sneezing; while a general titter, along with obscene jesting, passed round the vast assemblage. There was one, however, far back in the hall of the court, in disguise, who smiled not. He had stood just inside the door as she entered, and he had caught a sight of her pale, beauti ful face, and of her large, deep blue eyes, and of her long, rich, tresssyhair, hanging loose ly down over her neck and shoulders. At the sight, he had suddenly started back a few paces as if horrified, and then reeling back against the wall on the right of the door, he had stood motionless as a statue. There was a wild, frenzied look in the eyes, and a jerking, twitching movement in the muscles of the face, which, one moment, was frightful ly palid, and the next bloated and distorted.. The eyes' of this man, had followed, with an indescribable stare,the elastic step of Vertitia as she was hurried down the aisle; and they were tever once removed from off her, as sha sat that long night on the marble block. To becotilinued. THE LAST OFFER, BY MRS. HALE. "0, love will master all the power of art " "And so, Clara, you have rejected Mr. Tin eford I own I do regret it," said Mrs. Cros by to her neice. "My dear aunt, would you wish me to mar ry a widower, with as many children as fol lowed John Rogers to the stake ? but whether there were nine or ten has always been a puz zle to me. Do you not think Mr. Tineford could solve that question? I wish I had asked hira,"said the young lady,lookiug very demure. - "Mr. Tineford has but three children, as you very well know," said Mrs. Crosby. 'But you know, also, my dear aunt, that my imagination always expatiates in the "Rule of Three" that is, making three of one, which just brings out the nine, without any remain der." "Come, Clara, pray leave this trifling ; it does not become 3ou, and Mr. Tineford is not a character which should excite ridicule," said Mrs. Crosby, gravely. "You acknowl edged yesterday, that you thought him excel lent, intelligent, and agreeable." "I do think him worthy of nearly every good adjective in our language," said Clara Dinsmore, earnestly. "I esteem his charac ter as highly as you do but I could never, never think of marrying him.' "Oh, Clara!" "Spare me, dt;ar aunt, I know all you would urge in his favor, and I know, too, many rea sons which your tenderness for my feelings would spare me. I am twenty-nine O, wo is me, that I have arrived so near the verge of old maidism! My beauty is gone nay, don't shake your head Miss Jones says I look pos itively old, and that she is quite shocked, (you know her benevolent affection for me) to see such a change." "I do not see it, my dear Clara, nor is it so.H Your cheek is not as blooming as it was at nineteen, but there is at times, a more lovely expression in your countenance, a chastend thoughfulness, which gives promise of that tenderness and goodness which I know was al ways in your disposition, but which, in the years of your brilliant youth, you did not display." "Who would blame me for being vain if they knew my aunt flattered me thus ?" ex claimed Clara, tears of gratitude and pleasure filling her eyes. "But I must not flatter my self that others see with your partial affection. I know there is a change ; my mirror, as well as 3Iiss Jones, reminds me of it; and the young ladies, these who were in the nursery when I came out, called mc old." "It is a great pity that girls are permitted to come out so young," said Mr. Crosby. "There is no use of preventatives, in my case, dear aunt," replied Clara, smiling with her usual cheerfulness. "I am twenty-nine, with little beauty, and no money at all. How can I ever expect another offer 2" "My dear child, it is none of these motives which induce me to wish this marriage to take place," said Mrs. Crosby, earnestly. "But I know that Mr. Tineford loves you ; and he es timates also your worth of character, or he would not, in tho maturity of his judgment, when he has reached such high eminence in lis profession, and acquired such distinguish ed reputation, he would not thus renew the homage he paid you ten years ago. I do not see how you can have the heart to refuse him a second time." "Simply because I have no heart to give him," said Clara, with a sigh, and then gaily added, "you know, aunt, that he has been married, and appeared to love his wife most tenderly ho doubtless loves his children, so that between the regret he is bound to cherish for the memory of the one, and the affection he must bestow on the other, there can be lit tle room in his heart for love towards me. This second disappointment will not aflliethim; so do not urge the match on his account." "I wish it on your own, "dear Clara. Since the loss of my property, by the failure of the bank, my whole concern has been for you. My annuity will cease with my life, and I feel my strength failing daily. Do not look so sorrow ful, my darling, I should welcome the change, with joy, were your welfare secured. And to Mr. Tineford I would entrust your earthly destiny with perfect confidence." "I wonder if there ever was a good mother-in-law," said Clara, striving to turn the con versation from her aunt's ill health, which she never could bear to hear named, although she felt that there was hardly any hope that she could be saved. 'You would make a good one, Clara; I know your heart is over flowing with affections and tender sympathies: you would love those little children dearly their mother was your inti mate friend, and if their father was your hus band, studying your happiness and securing to you every rational source of enjoyment, you could not refrain from loving his children, or rather you would feel that they were yours. I cannot bear to think yon will finally refuse him, and be felt to struggle alone with the hardships, and cares, and sorrows, which a single woman, without relations or fortune, must encounter." "How careful you are, my dear aunt, for my happiness," said Clara, gratefully. . "I wish I could follow your advice ; but I should wrong Mr. Tineford's generous heart if married him when I do not love him." "You would love him, Clara" "Oh! never attempt to persuade me that love can bo awakened after a marriage, when there is no kindling of affection before the ce remony. I should undoubtedly esteem him; I hope, treat him with propriety, but I never should loved him, and you know I have always declared that I would not marry except I lov ed the man to whom I pledged my faith." Mrs. Crosby looked distressed. "I must then relinquish all hope,' said she. "You think that if I have lived twenty-nine, years without being in love, that my heart is ossified, I suppose," said Clara, laughing. "I think when a young lady has had the numbers of admirers and offers which I know you have had, and rejected them all, that there is little reason to expect she will receive others. I have made up my liiind that this is to be your last offer." "You said the same, dear aunt, when I re jected Mr. Bellows." "He was a good man, and is highly prosper ous. It would have been an excellent match for you." "A most wretched one for I positively dis liked him he was so prosing and particular, he would have driven me crazy with his small fidgeting and solemn reflections. I would rather prefer living like Madame Roland, in a garret on beans, than to have married him, though he had been rich as Rothschild." "Then, there was William Hopkins, he was a fine talented young man ; I thought for a long time that you liked him." "I did like him as a child does its rattle, for the amusement he always; mado me; but I could not respect a man whose manners were so frivilous so like my own. Ia not that a candid admission ?" "But what could you have found to cavil at in the character or manners of that noble young man, Lucius Howard?" "He was too perfect for me, dear aunt," re plied Clara; a blush crimsoned her cheek, and there Mas a slight tremor in her voice as she added "He never offered me his hand." 'Clara, I am sure I understood at the time, that you rejected him." "No, no, aunt you were deceived;" Clara's voice grew firmer, though hrr face was deadly pale; while she continued "I have long'wish ed, long intended to confide my weakness and disappointment to you; but, it is so humilia ting to own one has been crossed in love, that I never could fiud tho opportunity when my mind was in a right mood. Now it shall be done, that you may feel convinced I do right in declining to marry Mr. Tineford you would not wish me to vow at the altar to love him, when my heart is irrevocably devoted to another. Yes, I did, love Lucius Howard, and he loved me, but thought me unworthy to be his wife." She covered hei lace with her hands, and burst into tears. "Clara, my darling, this cannot be. He never could have thought you unworthy ; but he might fear you would reject him," said Mrs. Crosby. "Xo. no," replied Clara, iu a voice of deep agony; "no, ho knew that I loved him, and I believe he had little doubt that I would accept him; but he thought I permitted or rather en couraged attentions from others. You know how many admirers I had in thoss days, when I rejected Mr. Tineford and a dozen others; there was then no shadow on my beauty, and I triumphed in the power it gave me. Fatal power, most foolishly used to vex the noble heart that loved me, and whose love I return ed. I trifled, till Lucius Howard thought niea confirmed coquette, and when he acknowledg ed his deep affection for mc, he told me that he did it to prove to me the consistency of his principles ; as he knew he had often betrayed his love, he came to make the avowal openly, but at the same time to tell me that he did not seek a return, that he did not ask my hand he believed our dispositions and tasteB were too dissimilar to allow him to hope for happiness with- me. He invoked heaven to protect and bless me and took leave of me for ever." Mrs. Crosby was sadly dist-essed and con founded by this disclosure. She had always thought that her neice remained single because she found no one to suit her fastidious taste. Xever had she dreamed that Clara, the gay Clara Dinsmore, had nursed a secret and hope less passion. Mr. Howard, she well knew, had left that part of the country entirely ; he was settled in the ministry at the South she had heard that he was one of the shining lights of the age, and she felt almost certain she had heard of his marriage, too so she could not flatter her dear Clara with the least hope of ev er renewing her acquaintance with him. But if she would be persuaded to accept Mr. Tine ford. who she doubted not " would be too glad to marry her, though she had loved another, the good aunt thought she might still look for ward to days of happiness for her niece. So she began her work of comforting, by remark, ing that no person could expect an unshadow. ed lot. She reminded Clara of the fortitude with which she hud, hitherto, borne this disap pointment of the heart entreated her not to1 allow the remembrance of a scene so long past to overcome her now showed her how much of good had already arisen from this disap pointment, as doubtless that improvement in Clara's character, which had been remarked by every one, had been effected in conse quence of the new reflections awaked by the parting words of Lucius and in short, the good lady proved, to her own satisfaction, that Clara wis a much more estimable person from h iving been crossed in love, as children, hab ituated to the practice of self-denial are much more amiable than petted favorites, who have never learned to control their own inclinations. M rs. Crosby hinted that if Clara would only con sent to marry Mr. Tineford, and, as she was well qualified to do, train his motherless children in the way they should go, and make his home the pi ice of happiness to him, as she easily might, that she would be a heroine indeed, as much superior to'the common description of those who marry at the end of the fashionable novels, as Rebecca the Jewess was toRowena. But poor Clara was resolute to her vow of single blessedness, and really felt that-her aunt had almost compromised her dignity, when she acknowledged that she bad invited Mr. Tineford to take tea that evening with them ; and furthermore, permitted him to bring a friend who was visiting at his house. "I told him truly the state of my heart," s.iid Clara. "I felt it was due to the disinterested regard he had manifested for me, that he should know why I could not return his affection. And I told him then, that I should, for the fu ture, avoid his society, lc.t I might be tempt ed to speak of Lucius Howard. 1 fear he will think I have no consistency of character." Mrs. Crosby promised to do the honors of the evening to her guests, but thought Clara must be present s and finally she consented. At the appointed hour, Mr. Tineford and his friend arrived, and were warmly welcomed by Mrs. Crosby. Mr. Tineford inquired with a ! smile of much meaning for Miss Dinsmore. "She will be with us soon," said her aunt. "She has not been quite well to day." The lriend of Mr. Tineford looked distressed. Just then Clara entered; the excitement of her feelings deepening the color of her cheeks,t ill she looked as blooming as she did -at nineteen and more beautiful, Licius Howard thought, as he stepped forward to greet her. Poor Clara she was quite overcome for th moment, as she looked at Mr. Tineford, and ought of the confession she hud made to him, and then felt her hand in the clasp of Mr. Howard's. But all was soon hippi'y settled, and good aunt Cosby, as she prepared for the marriage of her beloved niece with Lucius Howard, declared thai this l ist offer was the best which Clara ever had, and she had be come convinced that a woman had better live single than to marry one man while her heart was given to another. On Gluttony. you shuudu'tbe glutinous. Isaac, saidMrs. Partington, nswith an anxious expression she marked a strong effort that the young gentleman was making to achieve the last quarter of a mince pie. "You shouldn't be glutinous, dear, you must be careful, or you will get something in your elementary canal or sarcophagus one of those days, that will kill you, Isaac (she had heard Dr. Weiting); and then ycu will have to be buried in the cold ground, and nobody wont never see you no more; and what will I do, Isaac 1 when you are cut down in your beauty like a lovely young cabbage plant m the gar-Jen tiiat tlie grubs have cat off!" Much afllicted by the picture her prolific fancy had conjured up, she pensively sweetened her tea, for the fourth time, and looked earnestly upon Isaac, who heeding all that she was saying, sat gazing at the street door, revolving in his mind the practicability of his ringing the door bell un- pcrceived, without going outside. Mas. Partington at Tka. "Adulterated tea!" said Mrs. Partington, as she read an ac count of the adulteration of teas in England, at which she was much shocked. "I wonder if this is adulterated?" and she bowed her head over the steaming and fragrant decoc tiou in the cup before her, whose genial odors mingled with the silvery vapor, and encircled her venerable poll like a halo. "It smells vir tuous," continued she, smiling with satisfac tion, "and I know this Shoo-shon tea must be good, because I bought it of Mr. Shoo-shon himself. Adulterated!" she meandered on, pensively as a brook in June, "and it's agin the seventh commandment, too, which says don't break that, Isaac!" as she saw that interesting juvenile amusing himself with ma ting refracted sunbeams dance upon the wall, and around the dark profile, and among the leaves of the sweet fern, like yellow butterflies or fugitive chips of new Juno butter. The alarm for her crockery dispelled all disquie tude about the tea, and she sipped her bever age, all oblivious of dele-tea-rious infusions. Loos on this Pictcre and ox This! Mat' rimony Hot Buckwheat cake comfortable si ippers smoking coffee buttons redeemed stockings boot jacks happiness. Bachelor ism Sheet iron quilts, blue noses frosty rooms ice in the pitcher unregenerated lin en heelless stockings coffee sweetened with icicles gutta, percha biscuita flabby steak dull razors corns coughs nd colics rhu barb aloes misery. ' ' ' ': Wait. The Student toils in the lonely at tic, wearing his life away with the midnight . oil, pouring over the books that 'Turnback the tide of ages to ite head, And hoard the wisdom of the honored dead." hoping with the magic power of eloquence that witchery of song, the vagaries of philoso phy, or tho voluminous flow of imagination, all as yet unsyllabled, undreampt of and un sung, to startle the world. . - - - - Wait whispers the heart. He waits un honored and unnoticed. ' lie labors and de spairs, and sinks to rest on the right arm of his strength, while an Alexander Smith, far less of a giant in intellect, fills all the heavens with his meteoric blaze. ' ' . " - - The sculptor chisels at the uncouth stone destroying and reproducing encouraged and disheartened cursing the visions ot beauty that haunt his midnight hoursi and which" he would give tho world to catch. The. artist plies his pencil in his studio blending the yielding colors increasing and subduing tho' light now a Titan in prospect anon Tilcon nor in abject despair The adventurer" treads the mazes of the forest parts the long prairie grass gazes on the heretofore undiscovered river that stretches out its cool arm to tho sleeping sea. ' Wait whispers hope and ambition. They wait. A power startles the world a modern Tasso fills out his short cycle and a De Soto, with his Eldorado dreams unrealized whila torch-light flashed upon the wavelets here and there, is lowered into the Mississippi. - Wait says Love, as she toys with a deep trusting heart. The early flowers open to tho Sweet May sun, the autumn cuts patter on tho brown leaves, the holiday gayetics set in, the brooklets a gain burst their icy chains. Miitl ' and shadow thickens as the seasons roll on and a broken heart lies in the grave! . Wait, mumers Faith to the dying Christian. His dark eye losses its lustre Lis lips quiver white-winged angels people the room de licious strains float upon the ambient air the silver spray from the fountain before the great white throne, seems to fall upon his fe vered brow, a thort struggle and he is gone. lie waited, long, and anxiously, and patiently. He suffered and wfis strong. His soul was re fined by trial and tribulation and while tho rt ht who waited, and played like children with the sea-shells upon the beach of eternity, were swept away one by one lost upon the confine a of a dim and hazy shore he was at rest in that glory which at times so dimly visioned to him, when Lc knelt in the quiet twilight in prayer. A Bachelor s Woes. What a pitiful thing an old bachelor is, with his chieerlcss honso and his rueful phiz, on a bitter cold night, when the fierce winds blew, and when tho earth is covered with a foot of snow. When his fire is out, and in shivering dread he slips 'neath the sheets of his lonely bed. . How ho draws up his tors, all encased in yarn hose, and he buries his nose and his toes still encased in yarn hose, that they may not chance to get froze. Then he puiTa and he blows and he swears that he knows, no mortal on earth ever suffered such woes; and with ah 's! and with oil's! and with limbs so disposed, that neither his toes nor his nose inaj-' be froze, to his slumber in sihmce the oid bachelor goes. In the morn when the cock crows, and the sun had just rose, from beneth the bed -cloths pops the bachelor nose, wLen he hears how the wind blows, and sees the windows all froze, why back 'neath the cloths pops the poor fel low's nose, for full well he knows if from his bed he rose, to put on his clothes, that he'd surely be froze. . A Gal' Waste. A school boy "down cast," who was noted among his play-fellows for his frolics with the girls, was read ing aloud in tho Old Testament, when, coming to the phrase, "making rvastc places glad," he was asked by the pedagogue what it meant. The youngster paused scratched his head but could give no answer, when up jumped a more precocious urchin, and cried out: "I know what it means, master. It means hugging the gals; for Tom Ross is allers huggin' 'em around the waist, and it makes 'cm as glad as can be." A Whole hoc Stort. "Tis Grease But living grease no more !" The Buffalo Courier gives an amusing account of a gentleman who mounted a barrel of lard to hear and sec, on the arrival of the Mayflower with the President and suite. Just as he was listening with great unction to the speeches, the barrel head gave way, and he slid easily and noiselessly up to his "third button" in the great staple of Ohio, exclaiming, "La-a-r-d have mercy on nsl" Natlre and Art. "Ah, Eliza," cried a puritan preacher to a young lady who had just been making her hair .into beautiful ringlets; "Ah, Eliza, had God intended your locks to be curled, he would have curled them for you." "When I was an 'infant,'' replied the damsel, "so he did, but now I am grown up, he thinks lam able to doit myself." . '" A Dialogue ix the Back-woods. "What are you at there, you black scoundrel t Twice you awoke me from a sound sleep; and not content with that, you are now palling off tho bed-clothes. Get you gone, sir." "Well if you won't git up, I must hab sheet, anyhow, cot theyTre waiting for dc table-cloth!" r i t t n n ii
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