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