riw fi ft'
B. F. SCHWEIER,
m onramonos-jm vxiox-un thi nnroKoximiT or rai laws.
Editor and Proprietor.
VOL. XXIX.
. MIFFLINTOTf N, JUNIATA OOUKTY, PENNA., MAY 26, 1875.
HO. 21.
THE HA PPT TILLA6K.
ar kaxb o noa-sax.
As often I put the roadside, -When
wearily fail the dT,
I turn to look from th hill-top
At tlx Beountaina far away.
Tb red ana through the forests
Throw hither hia parting beams.
And far in tba quiet valley
Tba happy Tillage gleans.
There the lamp is lit in the cottage
Aa the boebaadman'a labor cease.
And I think that all thing are gathered
Aud folded in twilight peace.
But the aoand of merry voices
la beard in the Tillage street.
While pleased the gramlame watches
The play of the little feet.
Aud at night to many a fireside
The reay children come ;
To tales of the bright-eyed fairies
They listen and ars damn.
There aeems it a Joy foreTer
To labor and to learn.
For Ioto with an eye of magic
Is patient to discern.
And the father blesses the mother.
And the children bless the sirs.
And the cheer and joy of the hearthstone
la ss light from an altar fire.
tie, flow en of rarest beauty
In that green Talley grow ;
And whether twere earth or besTen
Why shouldst thon rare to know ?
Ssts that thy brow ia tronbied.
And dim is thy helpmate's eye ;
And glares ars green in the Talley,
And stars are bright in the aky.
-ScnWi Mly,
lor anal Peale.
Preserve us from unceremonious peo
ple those ineu and women who never
si a nd on ceremony" who are always
licrfectly at home ill other people's
houses! Society lias many pests, but
few ho intolerable as they. "Free and
easy" visitors are most thoroughly dis
agreeable. They will iuflict themselves
iikmi you at auy time, aud expect to be
cordially welcomed because they are so
free and easy and so loth to put anybody
t trouble. They will come before
breakfast, or just as you are sitting down
to dinner, and draw up tbeir chairs like
one of the family. Early in the morn
ing they delight to "ruu in," and they
w ill eome right up to your chamber to
save you the trouble of coining down,
and there they will kit and watch you
make your toilet, and comment on how
gray your hair is getting, and wonder
if yoii are not a great deal stouter and
redder in the face than you used to be.
They will hunt over your writing desk
for note wper; bathe their faces with
your cologne-water, aud sceut their
"handkerchiefs with the contents of your
choicest perfumery bottle. They are
always ready for luncheon "You
know I'm too much at home in your
bouse to go hungry my dear," and
auy stray confectionery lying about
melts before them as dew before the
sun. They make no scruple of borrow
ing your latest magazines aud novels;
even your wardrobe does not escaie
their encroachments; and all this in
solence is cloaked by some such empty
remark as this: "I never stand on cere
mony, but make myself at home every
where, so dou't put yourself out to en
tertain me!" Again we pray preserve
us from unceremonious iieople!.
A Gtl Fiw.ee te f FUhiag. "
The water is very clear at Hommer
fest, in Lapland; you may see every
thing that goes among fish. A few feet
down you may see the young cod snap
ping at your book, if you have one; a
little lower down the coal fish, and the
huge plaice and halibut, on the white
sand at the liottotn. In other places are
the star fish as large as a plate, and
purple aud green shell fish of all sizes.
The plaice is taken in the following
manlier: In calm weather the fisher
men takes a strong fine rod, to which he
has fastened a heavy spear, like a whale
harMiu. Tli is he holds ready over the
how of the lMat w hile auother jierson
paddles it forward slowly.. When the
lish is at the bottom the boat is stopped,
the harMioii is suddenly dropped upon
it, and thus it is caught. In two hours
the fishermen get a boat load. The
halibut is caught w ith Uie hook. .They
sometimes weigh live hundred pounds,
and if drawn upcarelessly will overturn
the boat. In many of the mountainous
district the rivers swarm -with trout,
the habit of which is to conceal them
selves beneath boulder rocks In the bed
of the stream, venturing out ouly at
night to feed. Men, each with a heavy
hammer, will enter these waters and
strike one or two blows on the stones,
w ben the fish rush from their lurking
places tartly stunned, and are easily
taken.
Mprlaa Fewer.
Simultaneously with the lireaVing up
of winter and the Increased power of
the sun, comes to mankind a malady
denominated 'spring fever, but for
w hich the tenn of constitutional lazi
ness would be quite as appropriate. The
complaint attacks all alike it spares
neither the high nor the humble; the
nobleman and the peasant, the million
aire and the beggar all feel its enliven
ing influence. A general spirit of Hst
lessness and inertia also pervades the
brute creation, and. even our mother
earth seems to participate therein,
Animals begin to loathe their food, and
to search along the bodge rows for tuft
tif grass. Jleu and women, too, get
tired of bread and butter, pancakes be
come burden, and,, even beefsteak
loses its charms. A ppetizers are sought
found and indulged in varieties used
depending oii -the taste of the user.
Horse rouUu dues for oue, lager for an
other, onions and vinegar fur a third.
Canned fruit slightly flavored with tin
is brought into requisition, but after all
the efforts, made to cook up an appe
tite,' eating like labor becomes irkseiae.
Hut warmer and more settled weather
brings u around all right, for though
burdedsonie, the complaint is not dan
gerous. . -
. -1' A mlltades) la Mem.
It is verr certain that no man is fit
for everr'thing; but it is almost as
certain, too, that there is scarcely any
one man who is not fit for something,
w hich something nature plainly point
out to him bv giving him a tendency
and propensitv to it. Every man finds
in himself, either from nature or educa
tion (for they are hard to distinguish),
a peculiar bent and disposition to some
peculiar character; and his struggliug
against it is the fruitless and endless
labor of Sisyphus. Let him follow and
ttii-afn Him enratum. he will succeed
in it, and be considerable in one way at
i . . f . . . r 1 1.
least; wnereas 11 ne oeparus irvui it w
w ill at best, be inconsiderable, probably
ridiculous. Lord L'MaUrjUUL
The whole number of females em
ployed in industry in the United States
is over l,WXt,lKt, one-tenth of whom
number are under the age of fifteen.
LES DEUX lOBLEMEI. '
f -'.' t 4 ' I
It was on a cold night in the year
it) , the streets were almost deserted.
As the young Count Paul de Beauvalet
was crossing the t aubourgst. Germaine,
a man grasped his hand, and, .in a
tremniing voice, implored aid.
"Give m some money, monsieur,' he
said, "for I am starving."
Tbe Count eiwloavored to -disengage
nis nana, Dot louna it lmposstDie, lor
the stranger held him with the firmness
of a vice.
"What do you want?'!, inquired de
Beauvalet. - i
'I have already told you. I want
money. Give it me quickly, and do not
force me to commit a crime to obtaiu
that which I must have."
At first the Count was alarmed, being
entirely unarmed, but the tone of voice
in w hich the word were spoken touched
him deeply by its accent of misery aud
despair. .; - ;. -
"You are silent,'.' continued the man,
"and yet it is not unlikely that you have
just left a gambling house, aud have
gold about you."
"I'uhand nie !'' commanded the Count,
authoratively. For an instant the
stranger hesitated and then obeyed,
and, without another wont, de Beau
valet placed several pieces of gold ill
his hand. 7 " "
"Now let me go," said the Count, Im
patiently. "Is all this for me?" inquired his
listener. "It is too much, monsieur. I
am no roblier. I only want bread. For
two days 1 have been fasting, for no re
lieving' hand was extended. You can
not conceive the agony of seeing your
wife and cbildreu suffering the tor
ments of hunger, nor will you ever
kuow it horror, for you are rich."
"Go!" exclaimed de Beauvalet. "God
grant that misery, and naught else, has
reduced you to this state."
"I have spoken the truth, continued
the man. "Believe me, I have sought
in vain for work, but take back your
gold, for I can still die like an honest
man." As he said these words, he
placed the money in the Count's hand,
aud burst into tears.
"The gold is yours. I have given it
to you."
"No, no.' For an instant I forgot
myself, but I am neither a beggar nor a
thief."
"Then it shall be a loan," responded
de Beauvalet, much impressed.
"Are you in earnest," inquired the
stranger, eagerly.
"1 am, undoubtedly."
"Then tell me your name."
The Count hesitated.
"Are you afraid?" said his com
panion, in a tone of disappointment.
"Xo," rescinded the Count, "I am
tbe Count Paul de Beauvalet."
"And I am Frederick Baudot."
. With these words the man hurried on
his way. t . i .' . I ; I '
Three months had passed, when one
morning tie Beauvalet was handed a
package. It contained four lines, and a
letter in which these words were writ
ten :
"I have not forgotten. We are now
at war. If the people are victorious,
the Count de Beauvalet need not fear,
as he will always be protected by
Frederick Baudot." -
A few days after tbe Commune had
risen, and Paris was in a state of revolt.
Anions those who struggled for the
suppression of the strife and restoration
of peace was Paul de Beauvalet. Having
been surrounded he was about to ne
taken captive, but the interference of a
strong arm saved him; not, however,
before a well directed blow had been
dealt. The Count staggered, and would
have fallen had he not been suddenly
seized and borne through the wild con
tending throng.
On reaching the Rue Mouton, the
stranger placed de Beauvalet upon his
ieet, naymg :
"Do you not recognize me, monsieur?
I am Frederick Baudot, tbe man who
owes his very existence to you."
"Then we are quits," responded the
Count.
"That we can never be," replied Ins
listener, "for in saving my life you also
saved my honor, the sole heritage I can
now leave my daughter, my only ctnhl.
You are brave, but believe me you are
in danger."
"You have lieeu fighting since dawn,"
replied de Beauvalet; "should you bo
killed, what will become of your w ife
and child?" " ' t i
"God will watch over them," re
sjtouded Baudot.
At this instant loud cries were heard.
"io, Monsieur le Count," continued
Frederick. - "The peopie, when. in re
volt, listen to nothing. The flow of
blood has made them drunk."
"I go, Baudot, because wounded,"
replied the Count; "but with regret
that I cannot aid the brave ones of
France to subdue these wretches."
"I am one of the people, monsieur.
You are an aristocrat and cannot under
stand us We also fight for 'France,
and, as you, we are devoted to our
cause; biit between us there exists a
bond that no cause of country may
sever." . . ,
With hands clasped firmly, the two
men stood fsr an instant regarding each
other fixedly, but in a moment more
Baudot had disappeared.
During the hot strife of the Commune,
Frederick Baudot took -part with the
people in thei r revolt. He fought bravely,
but at length sought bis home wounded
and exhausted.
Many suffered for their complicity
with the revolutionists, but Baudot es
caped detections ,. i I
The sun of France had risen upon a
o..Ki;.i ....I ITu.tui-l.,b Runlnl n.
Joioed. Two months passed, and still
tue numnie artisan suarreu.. juuon
could no longer work, but trusted--that
those whom he had faithfully served
would remember his family. In this,
however, he was disappointed. Anxiety
of mind heigh teued bis fever, a relapse
followed, and oue bright morning the
sufferiug man was carried to the Hotel
Dieu, where he soon expired,: leaving
bis invalid wife and daughter to the
charity of the world. . .
Cosette Baudot, the sole support of
her helpless mother, was, although poor
aud almost friendless, gifted with rare
beauty, together with the refinement
and dignity a duchess might have
prized. .
One evening as Cosette was finishing
a niece of delicate needlework, she
heasd a voice calling her. . At first she-
thought herself mistaken, Uie sound was
so feelde, but again her name was re
peated distinctly, and. 1 recognized
her mother's tremulous accents. . Rising
hastily she ran to the adjoining room,
and found her cold and motionless
upon the floor where she had fallen. ;
"I it you, my child ?" murmured tbe
dviii2 woman. "Take ine in your arms,
that I may embrace you for the last
time."
The vouna- eirl knelt and raised the
frail form in her arms. Sob after sob
convulsed her breast.
"Qht mother, do not die," she ex
claimed. "ThinKormy loneiy iiie."
"Courage, my child," whispered her
listener. "I am happy; for beyond
this life of suffering lies peace. Wben
I am gone you will not be utterly alone,
for my spirit will always be near you.
Adieu, my Cosette, God will permit me
to watch over you." The last words
were scarcely audible, and the pale lids
ciosea ever uie weary wyes.-. .
" "Mother, mother, speak to me. Oh !
do not leave an unprotected." AO re
sponse answered her wild pleading, and
Cosette Baudot realized that she was
alone with tbe dead. After tbe funeral
Cosette rented a little room, and was
never seen in the gay streets of Paris,
save at dusk, when she went to carry
borne her work to those who gave her
employment. Her room was situated in
tbe fifth story of a house that overlooked
the garden of the Count de Presval. To
admire tbe flowers and inhale their per
fume was Cosette 'a only pleasure, and
through the' long summer hours she
could be seen seated at her task. ,
t One evening as she was leaning upon
the window sill watching the birds flit
from branch to branch, and lost in
melancholy thought, she was awakened
from her reverie by hearing the sound
of a delightful .strain of music, and
through the wiudows that led from the
drawing-room of the hotel de Presval
be saw persons dancing, and a feeling
almost akin to envy entered her breast
to witness the happiness which con
trasted so painfully with the sadness of
her tiny home. At length, weary with
work, and lulled by the strains of tbe
music, her head sank upon the sill of
the open casement and she slept, little
dreaming that she had that evening been
observedfor the first time bv Henry de
Presval. "
The Count de Presval was a young
aud remarkably handsome man, pos
sessing all the pride and arrogance of
high birtb. He was a member of the
Jockey Club, and acknowledged by all
his gay and dissolute companions to be
one of tbe most successful men with
women.
For de Presval to observe beauty such
as that possessed by Cosette, was suffi
cient to induce tbe desire to possess her
charms, to win her favor if not her love.
Inquiry informed him that she was an
orphan, and although romantic and un
happy, nevertheless virtuous and in
dustrious. ' ' '
"I will play a new role," thought de
Presval; "I will let her observe me
continually in the garden in the charac
ter of a pensive student, and thus
gradually w iu my way to her heart. .,
The plan proved effectual, insomuch
that Cosette did observe the Count, but
gave uo visible evidence of liaring done
so.
One day de Presval hcird that Cosette
was preparing to go out. lie instantly
determined to follow her.
At first he observed a respectful dis
tance, but at length he determined to
address the young girl, but received no
reply.
Cosette hurried on her way towards
Mont Parnasse, the cemetery being her
destination. Xte Presval leisurely fol
lowed, and at length saw her enter the
little gate and turn into a narrow path
that Ted to a secluded part of. the
grounds.
Without hesitating the Count entered
also, and soon traced Cosette to tbe side
of an humble grave. In prayer the
orphan knelt at the foot of a wooden
cross, which bore the name of
rKKDAucnc batdot.
Died at the Hotel Dieu."
Before this sight de Presval raised his
hat respectfully. There is something
so sad and sacred in the teachings of a
grave that the hardest heart is moved.
When Cosette had concluded her
prayer she laid her wreath of imniortels
upon the cross and hurried away. She
had, however, gone but a few steps
when the Count joined her.
"What is it you wish, monsieur?"
she inquired. .
"Pardon me, ir I thus pursue you,"
replied de Presval ; "but I love you,
Cosette. . I am rk-h, noble, and yet I
love you."
'Be silent," responded the girl in a
tone of command. "You saw me alone
and unprotected and dared to follow. I
now request you to leave me instantly."
"I will not obey," continued the
Count. "Repulse me if you will ; your
disdain cannot triumph over my passion.
Give me one word of encouragement."
".Sever: ' was the answer, ami the
word was uttered with firmness.
At this instant de Presval, fired by
her resistance, attemted to seize Cosette
in his arms, but clasping the cross, she
turned towards him with a look of defi
ance. "The ground on which yon stand Is
hallowed," exclaimed the young girl,
"and here beside this grave my father.
even in death, wul urotect me." .
"My love knows no rcriiaint," re
sponded de Presval. "I only know that
I will make you mine."
As these words were spoken Cosette
uttered a wild cry for help, and at this
instant a young and exceedingly hand
some man sprang to the side of tbe
grave.
"Coward!" exclaimed Uie stranger,
addressing the Count.
"Save me ! save me !" cried Cosette.
"Do not fear," was the calm response;
"I will defend you. . I came to pray be
side the grave of one I called friend,"
he said, turning to de Presval. - "What
is your mission ?" .. .. j
"I accompanied Cosette," responded
the Count, after a moment's- hesitation.
"Do not believe him," replied the
girl, "for it is false.".
"Can you deny my words here at
your : father's grave t" questioned de
Presval with a smile,
I do deny them," replied Cosette,
trembling with emotion. "I do deny
them with my whole soul." . . . .
'Are you the. daughter of Frederick
Baudot? inquired the stranger.
IaBy" :' .! ki! i--';:-: u
God be thanked, for I can now ren
der his daughter a service, and accord
her the friends hip I entertained fox her
father."-
"Did' you know toy father?" In
quired Cosette.' i - - -it : - .
"Yes, and death could alone have
broken the link that bound us.' I am
the Count Paul de Beauvalet. : You may
have heard my name?"
"Many times have I heard It men
tioned," replied Cosette. "It was you
who befriended us when we were in
want." .
"You have called me a coward, Count
de Beauvalet," said de Presval. ."Know,
then, that I in full, return the compli
ment." ...
"Youf name," monsieur," responded
his listener, haughtily.-
"Henri Count de Presval," was the
proud retort. "
"I will be at your service to-morrow'
replied de Beauvalet. -! ' - ' -
"To-morrow, then, in the Bois de
Boulogne, t ,You will bear from me to
night, when time and place shall be
named." With these words de Presval
walked rapidly towards the great gate
of the cemetery.' - -
"Let us pray together beside your
father's tomb, Cosette," said de Beauva
let. "To-morrow we will meet again."
When they rose from tbeir knees the
Count led tbe young girl from the grave,
and at her own door bade her a respect
ful adieu.
With a feeling of undefined dread
Cosette saw Paul de Beauvalet depart.
She had only partially caught the mean
ing of the words exchanged between
himself and de Presval, and yet her
heart was troubled.
On the following day a storm raged)
and Cosette worked beside her little
window full - of 1 thought. Towards
evening a valet in rich livery entered
the room and handed her a letter which
Contained these words :
' "Cosrttc: I fought to-day with tbe
Count de Presval and I am wounded.
Had it not been for this you would have
seen me. I our true friend,
i Pacl j Beavvalxt. .
"Wounded!" exclaimed the girl, ris
ing quickly. "I now understand the
threat of yesterday. This duel has been
fought for me. I am the cause. I am
ready to accompany you,", she added,
turning to the servant.
"Where, mademoiselle?" inquired the
man. .
"To the Count de Beauvalet," re
sponded Cosette. - 7
- The man bowed in silence. Quickly
they descended tbe stairs, and ere long
crossed into the Rue d'Autin, and en
tered a bamlsonie hotel. In a moment
more Cosette found herself in a richly
furnished chamber, aud. on a bed cov
ered with a crimson damask spread lay
the Count.
"Is it true that you are wounded?"
inquired the girl, iu trembling accents.
Is It you, losette r inquired tie
Beauvalet, in surprise.
i es. how could l remain awar.
knowing 1 hail caused this duel, aud
that you are wonuded."
"ot oadlv. my child," responded tbe
Count, gently, his Urk eyes raised to
the pale, neautiful lace of the girl.
"God be thanked " replied Cosette,
meekly.
" ou did not hesitate to come to me.
"Oh, no." replied the orphan. "Whv
should I ? ..Are you not alone and .suf-
tenngr"
"True, and 'your presence brightens
my solitude, for like you, Cosette, 1 am
an orphan," responded de Beauvalet,
"but I dare not ask you to remain,
knowing the world as I do." ;. ,
A red flush of shame colored the girl s
pale face, as she for the first time saw
how unconventional her act had been.
and a look of fear gleamed in her dark
eyes. ' -
"1 read your note, and for the moment
thought oulv Of danirer for vou." she
said in a low voice.
"I will confess, Cosette, that In writ
ing that note I hoped you. would come
to uie," continued the Couut. "I will
nut deceive you, my wound is serious."
"But a niouieut ago you denied all
danger," exclaimed the girl iu a trem
bling voice.
"Hut, l reared to alarm you.
"Do not bid me leave," responded
Cosette. "I will save your life, for I
will watch over you night and day."
Again the warm flush suffused her neck
and face, but her purpose was un
broken.
"Do not fear," replied de Beauvalet.
You are as safe from harm under my
roof as though my friend, your father.
stood beside you. How tell me ofjrour-
sen, ne auueu, closing ni eyes nearly.
"o " continued Cosette, "you must
rest. When you have recovered you
shall kuow the little there is to tell.''
"Then listen to me," resotided her
companion. "I did not know until
yesterday that rredericK .Baudot was
dead. After your father rescued me
from the fury or the populace, 1 was 111
for a length of time, aud on my recov
ery went to Brittany, where I remained
a year. Had not business of great im
portance recalled me l would sun be
many miles from Paris. On my arrival
I made inquiry, and learned that Baudot
was dead. I sought his grave, and you,
Cosette, know the rest."
The young girl weiit bitterly, and In
a few words told the story of their pov
erty and the death of her parents. De
Beauvalet listened, much agitated, sud
denly his face grew ashen in its pallor,
and before Cosette could summon as
sistance he had tainted.
For four weary weeks the Count Paul
de Beauvalet lay ill and delirious, his
life despaired or by all, except tne
faithful and gentle nurse who never left
his bedside. Cosette Baudot had learned
to love the pale and suffering man who
obeyed her gentle voice, and was soothed
by her soft touch, n itb a woman s
readv wit she realized the sacrifice she
had laid at the shrine of that love, but
comforted by a sense of purity, she for
got all else save her devotion.
One evening a Cosette knelt in prayer
beside de Beauvalet, she raised her eves
to his face, and saw that he was gazing
upon her with look of intense feeling.
"Cosette, are you still here?" mur
mured the Couut, feebly. "Still lieside
niybed?"
"Who would have so carefully nursed
you, had I gone away ?" questioned the
gli'l, rejoiced to e hat he was again
calm and sensible.
"How long have you been with me?"
replied the young man tenderly.
"Four. weeks,": said his listener,
timidly.
"And alone?" continued the Count.
"Yes, alone," was the gentle answer.
"God w ill reward you for this sacri
fice," said de Beauvalet, with a look
which at once expressed a deeper feel
ing than was spoken in his words. "You
have restored me to life, Cosette. Will
you accept that life? Although sinless,
you have sacrificed your fair name
know then that by my love I can atone."
"Your love?" murmured Cosette.
"Yes,'.' responded de Beauvalet, "and
in your eyes I read that my love is re
turned." '
For an instant, Cosette hesitated, a
look of radiant joy beamed upon her
face, and the throbbing of her bosom
spoke plaluly this intensity of her emo
tion. "I do love you," she whispered.' ' "I
do love you, for have I not given you
proof; but I am only the daughter of
Frederick Baudot, and yoH are the Count
de Beauvalet. : I am too' humble to' as
pire to be your wife, but hold my honor
too dear to be your mistress."
-"Cosette, we are equals," responded
de Beauvalet. ."In me you recognise
nobility of birth, in you I behold no
bility of virtue.- My beloved,' heaven
has seat you to me. Cosette, 1 claim
you before the work! as my wife.!' . .. ...
Talaklag.
Thinking, not growth, makes perfect
manhood. There are some who, though
they have done growing, are - still only
boys- The constitution may be fixed,
while the judgment is mature; the limb
may be strong, while the reasoning is
feeble. Many who can run, and jump,
and bear any fatigue, cannot observe,
cannot examine, cannot reason or judge,
contrive or execute, they do not think.
Accustom yourself, then, to thinking.
Set yourself to understand whatever
you see or read. To run through a book
is not a difficult task, nor is it a very
profitable one. To understand a few
pages only is far better than to read the
whole where mere reading it is all. If
the work does not set you to thinking,
either you or the author must be very
deficient. ....
It is only by thinking that a man can
know himself; Yet all other knowledge
without this is splendid ignorance. Not
a glance merely, but much close exami
nation will be requisite, for the forming
of a true opinion of your own powers.
Ignorance and self-conceit always tend
to make you overrate your personal
ability as a slight degree of knowledge
mav make a timid Biiud pass upon him
self too humble a judgment, It is only
by thinking, and much impartial obser
vation, that a man can discover his real
disposition. A hasty temper only sup
poses itself properly alive; an indolent
indulger Imagines he is as active as any
one; but by close and severe examina
tion each may discover something near
the truth.
Thinking Is, Indeed, the very germ of
seir cultivation the source rrorn which
all vital influence springs. Thinking
will do much Tor an active mind, even
in theabsenceof books, or living instruc
tors. The reasoning facultv grow s firm.
expands, discerns Its own power, acts
with increasing facility, precision aiul
extent, under all its privations. Whe
there is no privation, but every help
from former thinkers, how much may
we not expect from it I Thus great char
acters rise. . hue he who thinks little,
ran Tianlly call anything be has hi
own. He trades with borrowed capital,
and Is on the high road to literary, or
rather to mental, bankruptcy.
A eviBSjaiAr w eapsa.
TUX NATITRS OF AfSTRAI.1.4, AND THK t'HK
TUKV MAkK or THK "HOOMKItASU."
A traveler .tells us something of that
singular weaMii used by the natives of
Australia, the boomerang. lie saw them
used by tlie natives. They ranged from
two feet to thirty-eight inches iu length,
and were of various shapes, all curved a
little, and looking, as he describes theui,
sometliiug like a wooden uew moon.
They are made of a dark, heavy wood.
and weigh from one to three pounds. Iu
thickuess they vary from half an inch to
an inch, and taper to a point at each
end. ... - i - t
Oue of Uie natives picked up the piece
of wood, poised it an instant, and threw
it, giving it a rotary motion. For the
first hundred feet or more It went
straight ahead w ith a deep, humming
sound. Then it tacked to the left, and
rose slightly, still rotating rapidly. It
kept this latter course fur a hundred
feet more, perhaps, but soou veered to
the left again, describing a broader
curve, and a moment later fell to the
earth six or eight feet iu front of the
thrower, having described nearly a cir
cle in the air.
Another native then took the same
boomerang aud cast it, holding it with
the same grip. It look the same course,
but made broader curves: and as it
came round, the black caught it hand
somely in his right hand.
Another native next threw it, and
lodged it on the ground about twenty
feet behind him, after it had described a
circle of two hundred yard or upward.
After him they all tried it, ami but one
of them failed to bring the weapon back
to tbe spot where they stood.
t am boo, a native, then selected from
the heap of boomerangs another one,
and cast it with a sort of jerk. It flew'
very swiftly for forty or fifty yards,
whirling like a top. Then it darted into
the air, mounting fully a hundred feet,
and came over our heads, where it
seemed to hang stationary for a moment,
then settled slowly, still whirling, till
he caught it. Two others of the blacks
then did the same thing. '
Meanwhile I had with my knife
shaved a little of the wood from the
convex side of the boomerangs. This
one I now offered to one of them to
throw. He took it, without noticing
what I had done, poised it, but stoped
short, and with a contemptuous glance
at my improvement threw it down, ex
claiming: "Hnlr,hu,lirryr' (no good.)
Tbe others then looked at it curiously,
hut it was a If If budiyn also to them.
Xot one could he induced to throw it.
Myers asked them why they did not
use it, but they could give no defiuite
answer. It was plain that they did not
like the wav It pirised, when held in the
haud; yet I could not distinguish any
difference whatever between this and
the other weapons.
Burleigh then walked to a distance of
two hundred feetor more from the blacks
and bid Camooo throw to him. The
native looked at him a moment rather
curiously, then comprehending what
was wanted, he selected one of the
heaviest of the missiles, aud turning
half round, threw it with great force in
a direction almost opposite from that
where Burleigh stoods
The weapoa sped smartly for sixty or
seventy feet, then tacked iu an instant,
and flew directly at Burleigh, and had
he not most expeditiously ducked, be
would have received a bard thump, if
nothing worse. It struck the ground
twenty or thirty pais beyoud. This
feat brought out a broad grin, and some
thing like a chuckle, from the whole of
them. Caruboo even intimated that he
would like to try another cast, but B ir
lelgn eApresstd'h'..j. ii itilly x:.Lcd.
Mr. Addition (another of our party),
however, offered to "take a shot," but
not at too short range. We were standing
in front of one of the store-houses.
Carnboo placed Addition in front of the
door, and stood with his lieck to him,
with Addition's hand on his shoulder.
Aone of us knew w hat sort of a man
oeuvre he had in mind, not even Myers.
Standing in this position, the black
threw Uie boomerang straight ahead.
Immediately it curved in the air. Then
it disapiieared around the right corner
of Uie building, and before we had time
to guess what was meant, came round
from the other end (having passed com
pletely around the store-liouse), and
gave Addition a sounding rap on the
back, which made his eye snap.
The Caataaaa Lai.
Tbm I no Sock, however watched and tended.
: Bui at dee kunb M there I
Tlrc I ao &rrlilr, taoweue'er defended,
Bat ha oa vacant aalr!"
The hour of bereavement is tbe com
mon lot of us all ; and we come back
from the new-made grave when we have
laid our loved ones to sleep, come hack
to the vacant chair, the desolate room,
the empty life oh, how empty ! Yet
not for ail thi do tbe cares anil duties
of life press on us with any less weight
or diminish aught of their demands.
Wisely is it thus ordered. To sit down
and nurse our grief, to give full rein to
the indulgence of sorrow and tears, is
the worst possible thing for us and for
those around us. If grief opens our
hearts to feel the woes of others, inclines
us to forget self and selfish, sorrow in
binding up other bruised aud bleeding
hearts, leads us to double onr diligence,
that before we too are summoned away.
the whole work given us to do shall be
done and well done; it will be possible
in some near ruture for us to say from
the heart "It is good for me that I have
been afflicted."
- Bitter as is the cun of bereavement.
cruel aa are the pangs of separation at
the jaws or the sepulcber, lasting a is
the sense of loss, yet, from these all
good may be evolved, for only those
wno nave nau tnis napusm, Know bow
to feel for others woes, to speak words
of consolation and to keep silence when
no word can be of any avail. Death
runs ids plow-ehare through our house
hold tearing up the sod, cutting off at
the root roses and violets, and the
tender blossoms whose fragrance cheered
our lives wither and perish, but by and
by a richer harvest justifies the ways of
God ; aud, as little by little, our affec
tions are transferred from this to an
other world and the fruits of patience
and hope and resignation ripen above
the sod thus rudely up-torn, we begin
dimly to perceive that "whom God ,
loveiu ne cuaaieuein.
A Blat far ataers.
The new-born English aristocrat re
ceives as soon as born, a little oed with
a hard mattress. From its earliest age
it is taken, warmly wrapped, Into the
fresh air. After the first year, its
meals are reduced to three, ami this rule
is so unchangeable that no child thinks
of requiring 'anything more. After
break rast it remains several hours in
tbe open air and then sleeps. The
whole afternoon is passed outside. From
earliest childhood, the children of the
aristocracy have tbe extremities clothed
in the warmest manner. Never are
English children entrusted to the care
or a young nursery maid, out to an
elderly, exjierienced person, under
whose direction they constantly are.
As soon a the young girl goes to
school, the carriage of the head and
shoulders becomes an object of atten
tion, and nnder no circumstances is she
permitted to sit otherwise than upright
"My child grows but once," savs an
English mother, "and, then-fore, noth
ing is so uiisrtant as her physical de
velopment." Everything else can be
acquired later. An r.nglish vhihl rises
at seven, breakfast at eight, dines at
one, sups at seven, and at nine goes to
bed. I'ntil twelve years of age, it
passes the greater part of the day iu the
open air, with only about four hours
mental work. An r.nirlisfi maiden at
eighteen, is fresh and blooming as a
rose, with light step and eyes beaming
with pleasure and life.
Of course, the life of gav society nn
der mi lies to some extent what the early
traiuinr has accomplished; but the sen
sible physical education of the first
years leave peruiament effects, and tbe
Kneush womau remains equal to tlie
duties of life and the requirements of
wile aud mother. If she does not con
tinue perfectly well, she retains enough
health to be verv beautltul.
One sees in Great Britain ladies of
sixty with complexions fairer than
those or our young maidens, and w hose
hair, though silvered, is yet abundant
and handsome. ,
)
The Weelag ( Harold tbe Fair-
llalrrsl.
Tbe lieginuiug of his great adventure
was or romantic character youthful
love for the beautiful Gvda, a then glo
rious and famous young lady of tkrse
regious, whom the young Harold t
pired to marry. Gyda answered his
embassy and prayer in a distant man
ner: "Her it would not beseem to wed
andjarlor any poor creature of that
kind; let them do as I iorm or Denmark,
Eric of Sweeden, Egbert of England,
and others had done subdue into eace
and regulation the confused, contentious
bit of jars around him. and become a
king; then perhaps, she might think of
proposal : till then, not." iiarold was
struck w itb this proud answer, which
rendered Gvda tenfold more desirable
to him.
He vowed to let his hair grow, never
to cut or even to comb it till uns f--.it
were done, and the lieerless Gvda his
own. He prodecd.id accordingly to
couquer, in fierce battle, a jarl or two
every year, aud at the end or twelve
years, had his unkept (and almost un
imaginable) bead of hair dipt off Jarl
Rognwald Reginald of More, the most
valued and valuable of all his suhject
jarls, being promoted to this sublime
barber function after which King
Harold, with head thoroughly cleansed
and hair grown or grpwing again to
the luxuriant beauty that bail uo equal
in bis day, brought home his Gvda, and
made her the brightest queen in all the
north. He had after her, iu succession,
or perhas even simultaneously in some
cases, at least six other wives; and by
Gyda herself one daughter ami four
sous. Tkoatn O'rMe.
Afcaat Remains;.
Why should people read ? and what
is the real, solid value of printed
matter? There are three good solid
reasons for reading and we can think of
no others. They are to be made wiser,
to be made nobler, aud to be innocently
recreated. Books which neither confer
information which is worth having, nor
lift the spiritual part of us up to loftier
regions, nor, by judicious diversion,
refreshen the mind for further serious
efforts, are bad books, and the reading
of such is invariably idleness, and not
unoften tbe most dangerous kind of
idleness. Heading is not, as so many
people nowadays seem to suppose, good
in itself, as so many things are which
are by no means as highly thought of.
All energy that is not injurious, waste
ful, or subtracted from some other effort
incumbent upon him who puts it forth,
is good, as walking, riding, boatir.snd
tbe rest- But the reading of which we
speak cannot, under the most favorable
construction,' be regarded as energy.
On tbe contrary, it is the very laziest
form of laziness. People fly to it when
they think they have nothing else to do,
and they flatter themselves that by read
ing they are really doing something ;
and thus, nine times out of ten, they
exonerate themselves from the obliga
tion of performing some duty which is
distasteful to them. Temple Bur.
A Uraciwas) Baw.
lie (Lord Carteret) said, when all his
other stories failed him, Ireland was a
constant resource. Iuring his stay
there as Lord-Lieutenant, there was no
end of the ridicule with which it sup
plied him. Both be and Sir Robert
Walpole were above money, particularly
the former. Lord Carteret was more
careless than extravagant. When bis
daughter, Lady Georgia a, was going to
be married to Mr. Spencer, mnch against
tbe inclination of Sarah, Duchess of
Marlborough with whom he had been
in great favor, but had lost it on some
political account he suffered the day
to be fixed for signing the settlements
and solemnizing the marriage without
any tbonght how he was to pay her for
tune. Ilia family, knowing that be had
not tbe money, were under vast un
easiness as the day approached, and as
far as they could venture, reminded him
of it to no purpose, till the very day
before Sir Worsley, Lady Carteret's
father came to him, and, speaking of
the marriage, said be hoped he was pre
pared with Lady Georgina'a fortune,
because he knew tbe Duchess of Marl
borough's violence and her aversion to
the marriage. lie said undoubtedly
that it could not be supposed tliat be
was unprepared. ''Because, if you are,'
said Sir Worsley, "I have 5,000
at my bankers with which I can accom
modate you." II said, "Can you
really ? If so, I shall be much obliged
to you ; for, to say the truth, I have not
a hundred pounds towards it." At one
time be had an execution in his bouse,
brought by a coal merchant to whom be
owed 2,000. II is coach, &c., were
stopped. As soon as it was taken off,
be saw a man in tbe ball whose face he
did not recollect. It was the merchant,
lie went up, to him, made a very gra
cious bow, and the man served him to
the day of his death. Life of WOliarn,
liti of ShdUurae.
TOCTtr num.
May.
Pretty little vfcMe, waktat frat Tear aleea,
Fraaraat llule k wa, Jaal but h axe,
W..ald to kaw the Nam all Ue world hi terf
Itoua I la hueehasa. leU ag joe 'u Ma !
Little traa aad maa, all e nam aad hrlf M,
Fvph (lew aoddtaf . satoM fr ah aad wktta,
Woald re Bew la leaaea all the wrM hi gar f
Milan k the aaaattaaa, tallies Tea Ua Mar I
Veritas RU1 warbler, eaejiae la la aerlar.
Waal Tea kaow ih na la lael jw tot la eta t
Rear the axuj caildne, ehoetUf aa Umw Ha?.
Llatea huake eUaka, talllaa a 'lie Maj I"
Something fob Yovxg Folks to
Stvdv. A vigilant gazetteer, with the
sobriquet of "Colonel," w ho had com
bated the raillery of the plebeians and
the euphuisms ami schisms of the vacil
lating, idiosyncratic, erudite patriciaus,
received.with iuiiaralUied i-acliinnation,
a challenge to an orthographical compe
tition.
To bis transcendent surprise, the
proffered prize was daguerreotypes of
.Hemic issoiin, ivosclusko,aiid Keusselaer.
or, if the conqueror preferred, -opies of
me Jseptuagint, -pncrvpha and West
minster catechism. He thought,, with
dehatably admissible egotism of the
gratuitous applause of the ponula-e.am
the appearance of his name iu burgeois
the uext dav, and his choice was dis
cernible in hilaritv. and the hieroglvubi
cal acknowledgement which he trans
mitted to the embarrassed stupefied
gJ'Py, who left with a rough courtesv
He changed his annarel. donned his
Nassau, l ister, aud bis worsted gaunt
lets, ami traveled towanl the trvsting.
place. He stopped at a druggist's to
ootain a uose ol chloral aud a dozen
troches. Here he found a physician
wno was purchasing a dram phial of
ipecacuanha and an ounce or licorice for
a colicky patient, who not ouly bad the
colic, but rheumatism, neuralgia, hi lion
erysipelas, aud was threatened with
hemorrhage, cerebro-spinal meningitis,
pneumonia, and hemiplegia.
lie met a surveyor and an architect
w ho were guaging the width of Eighth
street for arrisscrosstrestlework bridge.
A ferreous derrick almost mauled his
cranium, and he bawled aloud. His
clamor brought an ally from a neigh-
oonngallev, who administered a draught
of rectified w hisky, and a teaspoouful of
luiregoric mixed w ith chloroform. At
the same time this thief with consum
mate villainy purloined his chronometer
and the Iwlance of siecie in bis ss kets.
tie committed this piece of rascality
with impunity, and it was unpunished,
for our punctilious friend wxs harassed
aud jierplexed at the lateness of the
hour.
He next met a sibyl, w ho wore a de
bege polonaise with a cuirass basque,
ami a shirred tahlier, all elalmrately
tri ted w ith bias pleatings aud passe
menterie and carried a sachel. srte-
moiinaie and reticule. Mie siuiliuglv
offered him a tempting liouquet of
fuchsias, lilies, mignonette and phlox
iu a conch-like nashi. But he saw a
caterpillar cosily ensconced among the
posies, and refused the nosegay.
- grocery man tried to inveigle bun
into buying a supply of is-as, iMitatoes,
celery, cauliflower, or kerosene, but be
thought of his embezzled funds, and
(Kissed on. A Teutonic tenant of a tene
ment house, forgetting the tenet of the
law, was bastinadoing the soles of an
incorrigible stripling with a surcingle.
The murmur of the parental harangue,
preceded bv a volley of virulent impre
cations, tilled the auditory meatus of
our friend, and be proceeded toward the
goal. A flaming advertisement of recent
discoveries of auriferous and argentifer
ous deisisits in the argillaceous country
of the Black Hills now caught his eve.
He did not stop to criticise the italicized
statements, hut he saw several salable
sccimcns of cinnabar, more precious
than bdellium, onyx or beryl.
" lien he reached his destination he
as exceedingly roiled to find that the
gnomon of the dial indicated that he was
delinquent. All ostentatious pedagogue,
wun a leruieor gavel In Ins hand, was
endeavoring to mystify his audience
wun the appellatives that emanated
from his larynx.
"Refutable," "gossamer" "medi.-rval"
'kaleidiroie,'' and "mnemonics," dis
mayed some, and "hymn" was a plaguy
word to the Colonei. for he ielled it
witlh an "i." Keeling symptoms of a
phthisicky catarrh, he left amid the
ridiculing clapping of bands of his
competitors.
rli sT Goini; Ti. "I supiiose von have
mailed my letter in time, Bob," said his
father.
"X-n-o-o-sir," he answered. "I was
just going to run over to the ofllce with
it, and the stage drove off.
"then I must send a telegram; and
that will cost me several dollars."
"1 am so sorry," said Bob; "I will
try to be more prompt next time."
"But one dav soon after, when he
rs coming home from the mill, he
stopped,, to see Rodney Browu's grey
squirrel.
"Your horse seems . little restless,"
said Mrs. Brown, opening the window;
had you not better fasten him-!0 the
post!"
"Yes'em, I was just going back to tie
him," said Bob. But at this moment
a bit of w hite paper fluttered over the
ground ; the horse took fright, and ran
down the street, breaking the wagon,
and losing most of the flour. "Oh
dear!" said Bob, "1 wish I had started
a litUe sooner." That was the way with
hi in most of the time; he was a little
late at table, at school, and at church ;
and people began to see that he could
not lie trusted to do errands.
What kind of a man will that boy
make who is "just going to" do things.
A niCRO. "If I were a general," said
Freddie, laying down bis history, "I
uliould lie happy."
"Are you not happy nowr" asked
Aunt Margaret.
"Oh, yes ! but I long to he a hero. It
is something to be a hero. Iu you uot
think so?"
"Yes," said Aunt Margaret. "I ad
mire a hero. Shall I tell you how you
may become one now, a hoy hero, w hich
I think is far more nobler "than being a
general ?"
"Yes," said Freddie, eagerly, "do tell
me."
"By being master of yourself. Lo
not give way to angry, wicked feelings.
The Bible says, 'He that is slow to anger
is better than the mighty ; and he that
ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a
city. Thiukof this, and, w hen tempted
to ilo wrong, fight for the right, and you
will be a hero greater than a general.
ChiMrtu' Friend.
Or what good is It to learn ? That we
may become modest; that we may
occupy life with something better than
those things to which our vanity
prompts us; that we may make our
selves of some little use to our fellows,
without exacting gratitude from them.
It is said that the late Lord St. Leo
nard taught that it was the sacred duty
of every man to make his will, and he
wrote a book to show bow it should be
done. He made his own will with the
sound of trumpets, as it were, and now
that will cannot be found lost appa
rently, in the wilderness of his papers,
or, as conjectured, perhaps buried with
him for he kept it sometimes in the
pocket of his dressing gown.
Ttuirin.
Haste is of the devil.
Pleasure's couch is virtue's grave.
Regular branch establishments Trees.
Sweet for the ill-tempered Tart say
ings. Scandal is the reputation of the
wicked.
It takes a pretty smart man to tell
w hen he is happy.
The French convert pea nuts into
"the best olive oil."
What is everybody doing at the same
time? Grow ing old.
Tbe best hand to accompany a lady
vocalist? A husband.
Riches bring suspiciousness as surely
as over eating brings gout.
A little per tii-lion would revolution
ize the world if it were in it.
TA.lieoieii to argument aud to lie
ojieii to conviction, are two different
things.
How cruel Is misery of being de-'
ceiveil where we have the least right to
exiectit!
We like a spirit of compromise; but
no man should ever compromise his '
friend or himself.
The love of heaven and the love of
earth are like scales of balance when
one rises tlie other falls.
A hospitable man is uever ashamed of
his dinner when a friend unexpectedly
drops in to dine with him.
A good word is an easy obligation,
but not to speak ill requires ouly our
silence, w hich costs nothing.
More epitaphs are written to show
the w it or genius of the living than to
perpetuate the virtues of the dead.
Our passions are like convulsive fits
which, though they make us stronger
for the time, leave us weaker ever after. .
Tbe man who had "a will of his own"
didut't get on very well at home, be
cause his wife hail a won't of her own.
Personal beautv is a letter of recom-
mendaUon written by the haud of
divinity, hut not uufreqiieutly dishon
oured by the bearer.
A Canadian company is manufactur
ing caoutchouc from milk-weed, the
juice of which yields about four per
cent, of India rubber.
An interesting numismatic discovery
was made at Kourhonrre-les-haiii. In-
partuient ot Haute-Marue, iu t rance.
Iu ii.jk:!ir excavations for the public
baths and reservoirs now iu course of
construction, tlie workmen came iimii
a large number of Roman coins and
niedals, resiiectively of bronze, silver
and gidd. Between 4.INI0 and 6.0HO
pieces in all have lieen already . removed
to the museum namely. 4, ONI bronze.
HI silver, ami a few gold coins; the
latter are iu size equal to r rem h pieces
of forty francs, and hear the Mrtraits of
.Nero, Hadrian, llonornis, and raustitia
Senior, w ife of Antoninus l'ius.
monster cuttle fish, the body of
which was from ten to twelve feet iu
length, its arms or suckers being six
feet long, ami in some parts as thick as
a man's thigh, was found recently
lyingnil the bench at .Negislit, near
lokohama, in Japan. A mans hat
would scanvlv cover one of its eves.
It was sent to Yokohama. After lying
at the market for a few hour it was
sent to Tokio, an enterprising showman
liaving purchased it for exliihltioii
there. The fishermen who secured this
specimen pronotitH-e it a female, it being
minus the shell commonly found fin the
back of the ink-discharging beast of the
stronger sex.
A woman living in the canton of
Zurich, Switzerland, recently resorted
to a curious mode of revenge. Her cat,
of which she was exceedingly fond.
had, for some reason or other, been
killed by an ollli ial. She accordingly
procured several mouse-traps and caught
some fifty nine, which she immediately
enclosed in a box and sent to the offend
ing jierson. He, suspecting nothing,
opened the package, anil w rs horrified
to see a swarm of mice spring out of the
box and run al! over the place. At the
bottom of the box he found a note con
taining the follow in' words: "Yu
have killed my cat. I haTe therefore
the honor to send you my mice."
Mr Fronde has just got home from a
visit to South Africa, and at a banquet
given him by Iindon merchants, has
given his impression on British colo
nial prospects in that quarter. He evi
dently thinks South Africa rich in pos
sibilities -says it is a magnificent
country, with butter at $1.75 a pound,
and other provisions proMirtionately
high. In fai t, the lalmr question Is a
very serious one. The Zulus who
swarm in from the heart of tbe conti
nent are a tough set, who conquered
the aborigines in tlie last century and
who are increasing rapidly in numbers,
insolence and laziness. There are now
3M),MM of them in Natal to 17,0uu whites
and Mr. Froude regards the latter as iu
real danger.
. . Italy has a standing army of over
gllli uui'ri:n. Yet tourists are robbed
bv ' highwitviT.'''- br", daylight
within five miles of . nJ iu,,KM- ,
jurymen, and witnesses pro.?",,p
ends of justice in many districts at the
peril of their lives. If they secure the
conviction of arrested banditti, they are
very likely to lie assassinated. In fact,
they have Ku Klux in Italy of the very
worst sort. It would seem that part of
the great army above mentioned might
be employed to better effect than it now
is, in checking crime. Still the evil
complained of is of long existence, and
will not be extirpated until moral and
intellectual culture and free govern
ment shall gradually remedy the conse
quences of centuries of oppression ami
ignorance.
The London Lnarrt, which ought to
be a good authority, says: "Anodynes,
narcotics, cough mixtures, and lozenges
are practically of no good, and but too
often increase the debility and facilitate
the end. The best method of easing
cough Is to resist it with all the force of
will possible, until tbe amount of
phlegm becomes greater, then there is
something to cough again, and it comes
up very much easier aud with half the
coughing. A great deal of hacking aud
hemming and roughing in invalids Is
nervous, purely nervous, or from tbe
force of habit, as is show u by the fre
quency when thinking about it, and
the couiiarative rarity when tlie person
is so much engaged that there is no
time to think about it and the attention
is compelled in another direction.
t'aaraae.
Timidity never accomplishes anything
in the world. Getting up in life is very
much like getting up to make a fire in a
cold room. If you crawl timidly out of
bed, go on tip-toe to the stove, and allow
the shivers to get control of you before
the kindling starts, your tire will prob
ably be a failure, and you will half
freeze to death In the operation. But if
yon jump out bravely, bustle around,
pull on your clothes, knock over a chair
or two, and pitch in the stove wood, you
will probably be warm by the time tbe
lire gets to burning, and have to open a
window. So is life. Attack it timidly
and you will fail' Grapple with it,
hurry up things, stir around, conquer
fortune, and you will be a success.
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