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IJ. F. SCIIWEIER,
THE COISTnrnOI-THE UHOS-AITD THE ENT0B0EJIE3T OP THE LAVS.
Kditor and Proprietor.
VOL. XXXII.
MIFFLINTOWN. JUNIATA COUNTY, PENNA., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 2, 1878.
NO. I.
THE G0LDL5 KHISTOHE.
Leafless are the treea ; their purple branches
Hpread themselves abroad, like reefs of coral,
liming sileut
In the red sea of the violet sunset.
From the hundred ch'mneva of the Tillage,
Like the Afreet in the Arabian story.
Smoky columns
Tower aloft into the air of amber.
At the window winks the flickering firelight ;
Here and there the lamps of evsuing glimmer,
Social watch tires
Answering one another through the darkness-
On the hearth lighted logs are glowing.
And like Ariel in the cloven pine tree
For its freedom
Groans and sighs the air imprisoned in them.
By the fireside the old men seated
Seeing rained cities in ashes.
Asking sadly
Of the pant what it can ne'er restore them.
By the fireside theie are youthful dreamers.
Building castles fa r. with stately stairways,
Asking blindly
Of the future what it cannot give them.
By the fireside tragedies are acted.
In whor-e scenes appear two actors only
Wife and husband,
And above them God, the spectator.
By the fireside there is peace and comfort.
Vires and children, with fair, thoughtful
faces.
Waiting, watching
For a well-known footstep in the passage.
Each man's chimney is his Golden Milestone ;
Is the central point from which he measures
Every d stance
Through the gateways of the world around
nim
In his farthest wanderings etill be sees it.
Hesrs the talking flame, the answering night-
wind.
As he heard them
When he aat with those who were, but are noL
Happy hs whom neither wealth nor fashion.
Nor the march of the encroaching city,
I.Yivee an exile
From the earth f his ancestral homestead.
We mav buQd more splendid habitations.
Fill our rooms with paintings and with sculp
tures.
But we cannot
Buy with gold the old associations !
Out of Work.
"It's no use, Maria, I have tried
everywhere."
"But you are not going to give it up
yet, Peter?"
'Give it up! How can I help it? In
four days I have been to every book
bindery in the city, and not a bit of
work cau I get."
"Have you tried anything else?"
"What else can I try?"
"Anything you can do."
"Yes, I've tried other tilings. I've
been to more than a dozen places of my
friends and offered to help them?"
"And what did vou mean to do for
them?"
"I offered either to post their ac
counts, make out bills or attend to the
con nter."
Mrs. Stanwood smiled as her husband
spoke thus.
"What makes you smile?" he asked
"To think that you would have im
agined that you would find work in
such a place. Hut how is Mark Leeds?'
"He's worse off than I am."
"How so?"'
"He has nothing in his house to eat.'
A shudder crept over his wife's frame
now.
"Why do you tremble, wife?"
"Because w hen we shall have eaten
our breakfast to-morrow morning, we
shall have nothing."
What!" cried Peter Stan wood, half
starting from his chair. "Io you mean
that?"
"I do."
"But our flour?"
"All gone, I baked the last this after
noon." "But we have jiork !"
"You ate the last this noon."
"Then we must starve?" groaned the
stricken man, starting across the room.
I'eter Stanwood was a bookbinder by
trade, and had been out of employment
about a month. He was one of those
who generally calculate to keep about
square with the world, and who con
sider themselves particularly fortunate
if they keep out of debt. He was now
thirty years of age, and had three chil
dron to provide for, besides himself and
wife, and this, together with his house
rent, was a heavy draught iiMin his
purse, even when work was plenty ; but
now there was nothing.
"Maria," said lie, stopping and gaz-
ing his wife in the face, "We must
starve. I have not a single penny in
the world."
But do not despair, Peter. Try
again to-morrow for work. You may
find something to do. Anything that is
honest and honorable. .Should you
make but a shilling a day w e should
not starve."
"But our house rent?"
"Trust me for that. The landlady
shall not turn us out. If you will en
gage something to do, J will see that
we have house room."
"I will make one more trial," mut
tered Peter despairingly. ,
"But you must go prepared to do
anything."
"Anything reasonable, Maria."
" What do you call reasonable?"
"Why, anything decent."
She felt inclined to smile, but the
matter was too serious for that and a
cloud passed over her face. She knew
her husband's disposition, and she felt
sure he would find no work. She knew
that be would look for some kind of
work that would not lower him in the
social scale, as he had once 01 twice ex
pressed it. However, she knew It would
be of no use trj say anything to him
now, and so she let the matter pass.
On the following morning the last
bit of food in the house was. put on the
table. Stan wood could hardly realize
that he was penniless and without food.
For years he had been gay, thoughtless
and fortunate, making the most of the
present, forgetting the past, and letting
the future take care of itself. Yet the
truth was naked and clear, and when
he left the house he said, "Something
must be done."
Xo sooner had her husband gone than
Mrs. Stanwood put on her bonnet and
shawl. Her oldest child was a girl
eleven years old and her youngest four.
She asked her next door neighbor if she
would take care of her children until
noon. These children were well known
to be good and quiet, and they were
taken cheerfully. Then Mrs. Stanwood
locked up her house and went away.
She returned at noon, bringing some
dinner for her children, and then went
away again. She came home iu the
evening before her husband, carrying
a heavy basket on her arm.
"Well, Peter," she asked, after her
husband had entered and sat down
"what luck?"
''Nothing, nothing!" he groaned.
made out to get a dinner with an old
chum, but could not find work."
"And where have you looked to-day ?"
"O, everywhere. I've been to a hun
dred places, but it's the same story in
every place. It's nothing but one eter
nal no, no, no. I'm sick and tired of
it."
"And what have you offered to do?"
"Why, I have even gone so far as to
offer to tend a liquor store down the
street."
The wife smiled.
"Xow, what shall we do?" uttered
Peter.
"Xow, we will eat our supper, and
then talk the matter over."
"Supper? Have you any'"
"Plenty of it."
"But you told me you had none."
"Neither had we this morning, but I
have been after, work to-day and found
some."
"Been after work and found some?"
"Yes."
"But how where?"
"Why first I went to Mrs. Snow's.
I knew her girl was sick, and hoped
she might have work to be done. -1
went to her and told her my story, and
she set me at work at once doing her
washing. She gave me food to bring
home to my children, and paid me three
shillings when I got through."
"You beeu washing for our butcher's
wife?" said I'eter, looking very much
surprised.
"Of course I have, and have thereby
earned enough to keep us in food
through to-morrow at any rate ; so to
morrow you may come home to dinner."
"But how about the rent?"
"Oh, I have seen Mr. Simpson, told
him just how we were situated, and of
fered him my watch iu pledge for the
payment of our rent within two months,
with interest on arrearages up to date.
I told him I did the business because
you were away hunting for work."
"So he's got your watch ?"
"Xo, he wouldu't take it. He said if
I would liecome ri'sjionsiMe for the
rent he would let it rest."
"There, w e've got a roof to cover us,
and good food for to-morrow, but what
next? Oh, what a curse these hard
times are.
"Don't desjKiir, Peter, for we shall
not starve. I've got enough engaged
to keep us alive."
"Ah, what is that?"
"Mr. Snow has engaged me to carry
small packages, baskets, bundles and
so forth to his rich customers. He has
had to give up one of his horses."
"Maria, what do you mean?"
"Just what I say. Mr. Snow came to
dinner; I was there and asked him if
he ever had light articles which he
wished to send around to his customers.
Xever mind what he said. He did
happen to want just such work done,
though he had meant to call upon the
idlers that lounge about the market.
He promised to give me all the work he
could, and I'm to be there in good
season in the morning.
"This is a pretty go; my wife turned
butcher's boy ! You will not do any
such thing."
"And why not?"
"Because."
"Say, liecause it will lower me in the
social scale."
"Well, so it will."
"Then it is more honorable to lie still
and starve too, than to earn honest
bread by honest work. I tell you Peter,
if you cannot find work I must. We
should have been without bread to
night, had I not found work to-day.
You know that all kinds of light agree
able business are seized upon by those
who have particular friends, and engage
in them. At such a time as this it is
not for us to consider w hat kind of work
we will do, so long as it is honest. Oh,
give me the lilx-rty of living upon my
own deserts and the indetendence to
lie governed by my own convictions of
right."
"But, my wife, only think, you car
rying alout butcher's stuff. Why, I
could sooner do it myself."
"If you will go," said the wife with
a smile, "I will stay home with the
children."
It was hard for Peter Stanwood, but
the more he thought upon the matter,
the more he saw the justice and right of
the path into which his wife had thus
ed him. Before he went to bed he
promised that he would go to the
butcher's in the morning.
And Peter Stanwood went to his new
business. Mr. Snow greeted him
warmly, praised his faithful wife, and
then sent him off with two baskets, one
to a Mr. Smith's and another to Mr.
Dixall's. The new carrier worked all
day and when it came night he had
earned ninety-seven cents. It had been
a day of trials, but no one sneered at
him, and all of his acquaintances whom
he met greeted him the same as usual.
He was far happier now than he was
when he went home the night before,
for now he was independent.
Oh the next day he earned over a dol
lar, and thus he continued to work for
a week, at the end of which he had five
dollars and seventy-five cents in his,
pocket, besides having paid for all the
food for his family, save some few
pieces of meat that Snow had given
them. Saturday evening he met Mark
Leeds, another binder, who had been
discharged with himself. Leeds looked
care-worn aud rusty.
"How goes it ?" asked Peter.
"Don't ask me," groaned Mark, "My
family are half starved."
"But can't you find anything to do?"
"Nothing."
"Have you tried ?"
"Everywhere ; but It's no use. I
have pawned all my clothes save those
I have on. I've been to tiie biudery
to-day, and what do you suppose he
offered me?"
"What was it?"
"Why, he offered to let me do his
hand carting? He has just turned oft
his man for drunkenness, and offered
me the place. The old curmudgeon. I
had a great mind to pitch him into the
hand cart and run him into the "
"If I had been in your place I should
have taken up with the offer."
Mark mentioned the name of the same
individual again.
"Why," resumed Tetcr, "I have been
doing the work of a butcher's boy for
a whole week."
Mark was incredulous, but his com
panion convinced him, aud they sep
arated, one going home happy and con
tented, and the other going away from
home to find some sort of excitement in
which to drown his misery.
One day Peter had a basket of provis
ions to carry to his former employer.
He took the load upon his arm, and
just as he was entering the yard of the
customer, he met him coming out.
"Ah, Stanwood, is this you?" asked
his old employer, kindly.
"Yes, sir."
"And what are you up to now?"
"I'm a butcher's boy, sir."
"A what?" .
"You see I've brought provisions for
you, sir. I'm a regular butcher's boy,
sir."
"And how long have you been at
work thus?"
This is the tenth day."
.. "But don't it couie hard ?"
"Nothing comes hard so long as it is
honest and will furnish my family with
bread." , -
"Aud how much can you make a day
at this? .
'Sometimes over a dollar, and some
times not over fifty cents."
"Well, look here, Stanwood, there
have been no less than a dozen of my
old hands hanging around my counting
room for a fortnight, whining for
work. They are stout, able men, and
yet they lie still because I have no work
for them. Last Saturday I took pity
on Leeds, and offered him the duty of
doing my hand carting: I told him that
I would give him a dollar and a quarter
a day, but he turned up his nose and
asked not to insult him; and yet he
owned that his family were suffering.
But do you come to my place to-morrow
morning, and you shall have some
thing to do, if it is only to hold your
bench. I honor you for your manly
inleendence."
Peter grasped the old man's hand
with a joyous, grateful grip, and blessed
him fervently.
That night he gave Mr. Snow notice
to quit, and on the following morning
went to the bindery. For two days he
had little to do, but on the third day a
heavy job came iu, and Peter Stanwood
had steady work. He was happy; more
happy than ever, for he had learned two
things first, w hat a noble wife he had,
and second, how much resource for
good he held w ithin his own energies.
Our simple picture has two points to
its moral. One is, no man can be low
ered by houest labor. The second,
while you are enjoying the fruits of the
present, forget not to provide for the
future, for no man is so secure but that
the day may come when he will want
the spuanderings of the past.
Favors.
If you want to be happy, never ask a
favor. Give as many as you can, and if
any are freely offered, it is not necessa
ry to be too proud to take them ; but
never ask for or stand waiting for any.
Who ever asked a favor at the right
time? To be refused is a woeful stab to
one's pride. It is even worse than to
have a favorgranted hesitatingly. We
suppose that out of a hundred who pe
tition for the least thing if it be even
an hourof time ninety-nine wish, with
burning cheeks and aching hearts, they
had not done so. Ion't ask favors of
your nearest friend. Do everything
for yourself until you drop, and then if
any one picks you up, let it lie of his
own free choice, not from any groan
you utter. But while you can stand, he
a soldier. Eat your own crust, rather
than feast on another's dainty meals;
drink cold water rather than another's
wine. . .The world is full of people ask
ing favors, and people tire of giving
them. Love or teuderness should nev
er be put aside, when its full hands are
stretching towards you ; but as few love,
so few are tender; a favor asked is apt
to be a millstone around your neck,
even if you gain the thing you want by
the asking. As you cast your bread on
the waters, and it returns, so w ill the
favor you ask, if unwillingly granted,
come back to you when you least ex
pect or desire. Favors conceded upon
solicitation are never repaid. They are
more costly in the end than overdue
usurer's billf . Living Issve.
Bints for Speakers.
Do not be appalled by the Idea that to
make an excellent discourse, yon
have to exhaust the subject. No sub
ject is exhaustible; only take the most
salient points. Beyond this you will
seldom be understood.
Instead of multiplying heads or divi
sions of subjects, bring in your most
striking illustrations as fast as you go
along,
Let each performance be complete
enough in itself to more than satisfy
one part of Die audience, and not satisfy
the other, because in striking between
the two classes of auditors you will
bring the one up in sympathy with the
higher, and the higher with the lower,
and sympathy between the two secures
the greatest triumph with both.
A large shed in Somerville, Mass.,
has been stocked with wood, saws and
sawbucks, and tramps are at liberty to
earn their meals there or go hungry.
Beans Will Out,
"Now, children, for another story,"
said h,"nd this time about the days
of my ioyhood. When I was a boy,
about fWeen years old, there was a gen
eral trailing day in my native place.
This wa the occasion of the gathering
of all the militia, or companies of sol
diers, or trainers, as we used to call
them, from nearly all the towns in the
country. And it was a grand gala-day
you may be sure esjecially for all the
boys and girls who 'ved in the country,
and who for three hundred and sixty
four day in the year seldom saw any
thing but the same old horses and wag
ons.oxen and cows, scenes and people,
with whom they were brought up. On
training day the whole town was astir
and full of people from all the country
round about. There was first of all,
"the trainers," with their tall hats and
high waving plumes, and blue coats,
and yellow vests, and large gilt but
tons, and muskets, and swords, and
high top boots, with the more grandly
dressed officers, many of whom rode on
fiery chargers, and flourished around
all over 'the Green, seeming to me
never to be long enough in any one
spot to have the soldiers know what
they wanted. And the whole air was
full of music and the boom of cannon
and the rattle of musketry: and the
shrill eries of auctioneers on the tops of
peddler's wagons; aud the sellers of
oysters 'here's you're nicet fine, hot
austeers' and venders of peanuts aud
candies' and everything, as I then
thought and the buzz of hundreds of
voices, and the laughter of men and wo
men, boys and girls, all in ene grand
medley .f uproarious 'confusion worse
confounded.'
"On the morning of such a wonder
ful day I awoke two hours earlier than
usual, w ithout being called, as common
ly, two or three times before I tnade my
apiiearam-e, to milk our old black-faced
cow. Evcu while I was milking, some
early wagons, aud stages, aud ox carts,
loaded down with country people, be
gan to come into town. Then I un
easily waited for breakfast, and kept as
still a- my feverish excitement would
allow, liile father had family prayers,
w hich seemed to me at least ten times
as long as eer before, and after this
was over I was ready for a bound out
on to the public "green," which was
just in front of our house and I should
have leaped the fence at a single jump,
without waiting to ojien the gate, if I
had not been slopped by the voice of
my father, who called me and gave me
order? to go to work. He wanted me
to goup into the cornfield, take with
me iiiv hoc and a bag of beans six in a
hill between every corn-hill in a half
acre ht. Oh! how my heart sank with
in me. and, if I must now tell the whole
truth, how mad I was!
I wis terribly disappointed. I felt
bad enough to cry. My father knew
best what must lie done, and he was a
kind father, and he had already the
day b fore given me a silver quarter
of a dllar to spend just as I pleased.
But Br head ami ears, and eyes, and
soul,ind body, were all full of "training-day,"
and I could not lear the
thought of planting beans at such a
time. And yet I must do it. Just as
got into the lot, the drums began to roll
aud the fife to send its piercing martial
strains, a half-mile off, into my ear,
and I fairlv beat the air with mv hoe
in determination to run away and go
down where all the boys were and hide
mys-'lf iu the crowd. But then what
should I tell father at night about those
beans I wished that there mas not a
bean in the world. Just then a though
came into my mind; I don't know how
it got there, but it was there, and took
possession of my will ; and under its
power I took my bag of beans, went
down to the edge of the swamp, found
a large flat stone, which I lifted up,
dug a great hole where the stone had
lain, and dumped all my beans into
that hole, put the stone back as it had
been and started off as fast as my
feet would carry me over the fences, J
through the corn-fields, across the
plowed ground and the grass plains,
bound at all hazards to have my 'training-day.'
"And I did have It, though I was not
as happy as I thought I should tie. 1
knew that there must lie a sequel to my
planting beans, though what that se
quel should be I could not imagine.
One thing I had determined upon and
that was not to tell a lie, whatever oc
curred. Just then I met my father,
and he asked me if I planted the beans.
I told him, 'Yes, sir,' and that I had
planted theiu all. That was a lie, be
cause I intended to deceive him. But
I then thought it was not a real lie, be
cause I had planted them, as you know
under that large flat stone.
"Well, training-day passed by, very
much like all other training-days of my
childhood, (they don't have any such
days now,) and the summer wore away,
and my father and I hoed the corn.
where the beans should have been !
Father asked me again if I planted the
beans and I told him that I did.
Then he said that the beans must have
been too old, and that he would be sure
of better seed next year. 1 supposed
that this would end the whole subject
forcTer, and that I should never lie
found out. But God had me in His
loving care, and would not allow me to
succeed in my disobedience and false
hood. Some time after, when we w ere
hoeing that corn for the third time, my
father, while walking near the bound
ary of lot, discovered a large circle of
beans, springing up and growing
around the edge of that large flat stone.
Ilu said nothing about it at the time.
He wanted to deliberate in regard t
the best method of handling the sub
ject, and see what I would do, as he af
terwards told me. He did not think
that I would tell a square falsehood.
If I should do it, he had determined to
punish me. He would see. So at eve
ning, when we were at home, he asked
me If I bad planted those beans as he
had directed between the hillsof corn ?
That caught me ; and blushing, as it
seemed to me, until all the black Lair
on my head turned red, I replied i "Xo,
sir!" and then told him all the story,
and begged of him to forgive me. He
talked with me awhile about decei. and
disobedience, and then prayed with me,
and blotted out all the sin, so far as it
had been against him, forever.
But I have never forgotten those
beans, nor that way of planting them.
They were covered, but they would not
stay covered. And so it is with all
wrong in the case of boys or men.
Sooner or later a 11 iniquity, all false
hood, all wrong shall be discovered.
"He that covcreth his sins shall not
prosper." And remember, children, if
the love and mercy of our Heavenly
Father shall fail of keeping you from
doing wickedly, however you may suc
ceed lor a time in hiding wickedness,
that fiat of Jehovah has gone forth :
"Be sure your sin w ill find vou out."
And hold also in fond memory that oth
er blessed truth for us all : "If we con
fess our sins. He is faithful and just to
forgive us our sins, aud cleanse us from
all unrighteousness."
KgypUaa Architecture.
Ow ing to the climate of Egypt, it has
never been a woodland country. Talm
trees are found about the deserts of
Lybia, and near Denderah timber of
all kinds is scarce, as the soil is not
suited to the growth of trees. The aca
cia and the palm do grow , but the oak
does not, and fir has to be imported from
Arabia; and thus for solid structures
of great magnitude the old builders of
Egypt were shut up to the use of stone,
which abounds in profusiou, and in the
use of which the Egyptians were great
proficients, as may be seen both in the
rock temples which were excavated
adorned w ith sculpture, and in the tem
ples which were erected in the open
air. While the sculptures and the hier
oglyphic figures which adorn their
palaces and temples and attest the pro
gress of their workmen in the art of the
hewer of stone, it is evident that they
had made great progress also in the
department of construction, for many
of the blocks which they used were of
enormous dimensions, and that they
were lavish in their material is showu
by the fact that the walls of some of
their temples are of the almost incredi
ble thickness of twenty-four feet thick.
Then again the stones instead if being
dressed as in modern masonry on one
side, are cut Inside as well as outside,
and the whole mass is solidly joined
together, thus tending to secure the
durability of their monuments. In
these great structures no arch Is ever
introduced. Thecolnmnsstand at such
short distances that great stones can
reach from capital to capital, and thus
the roof is formed of huge blocks laid
on horizontally forming a solid bed.
Amerirttn Monthly.
Sum Welter', l imt Leve.
There w.13 no body in the kitchen but
the pretty house-maid; Sam's hat was
mislaid, and he had to look for it, and
the house maid in her anxiety to find
it, turned over all the things that were
heaped together In a little corner by the
door. It w as an aw kw ard corner. You
couldn't get at it without shutting the
door first.
"This is it, ain't it?" said the pretty
house-maid.
"Let me look," replied Sam.
The candle gave a very dim light,
and Sam was obliged to go down on his
knees before he could tell whether it
was his awn hat. It was a remarkable
small corner, and so it was nobody's
fault but the man who built the house
Sam and the house-maid w ere pretty
close together.
"Yes that is it," said Sam. "Good
bye." "Good-bye," said the pretty house
maid. "Good-bye," said Sam; ami he drop
ped the hat that had cost so much trou
ble. "How awkward you are." said the
house-maid; "you'll lose it again If you
don't take care."
So to prevent his losing it, she put it
on for him.
Whether It was that she looked so
pretty as her face was raised towards
Sam's or whether it was the conse
quence of their being so near together,
is a matter of uncertainty to this day,
but Sam kissed her.
"You don't mean to say you did that
on purpose," said the house-maid, blush
ing. "No, I didn't, then," said Sam, "but
I will now; and he kissed her again.
"Sain," said Mr. Pickwick, calling
over the bannisters.
"Coming, sir," replied San, running
up stairs.
"How long you have lieen," said Mr.
Pickwick.
"There was something Whind the
door, sir. which prevented our getting
it open for ever so long," replied Sam.
And this was the first passage of Mr.
Weller's first love.
Ttcer In Bavaria.
Bavaria is the Paradise of the beer
drinker and smoker. We are told by a
vorrespondent that beer Is to the Ba
varian what beans are to the dowu
easter. It strenghtenshim at the early
breakfast, refreshes him at the iioon
lunch, washes down his dinner, and
gives the German rest and recreation
in the evening, with his pipe, in the
public gardens and music halls. Beer
is not spoken of in the vein of frivolous
badinage common among our country
men. It is referred to if it occurs to
the Bavarian to ever think of it, save
when his huge stone nmg is empty
with gravity and sober comment, as he
would discuss the price of bread. All
Bavaria drinks beer royalty, nobles,
burghers, artists, men, women and
children, old and young. Likewise, all
Bavaria dances, loves music, and all the
males smoke. The soft blue haze that
hangs over the mountains of the Tyrol
I see from where I write, might be the
incense of tobacco rising from millions
of little altars at which the memory of
Sir Walter Raleigh is worshipped from
dawn to bed-time.
"Dont."
Don't bang a dismal picture on your
wall, and don't daub with sable and
gloom in your conversation. Don't be
a cynic and disconsolate preacher.
Don't bewail and bemoan. Don't waste
yourself in dejection, cor bark against
the bad, but chant the beauty of the
good.
Sir Boyle Roche's Blunder.
Many of these are preserved. "Sir, I
would give up half nay, the whole of
the Constitution to preserve the remain
der." This, however, was parliamen
tary. Hearing that Admiral Howe was
in quest of the French, he remarked
somewhat pleasantly that the Admiral
would sweep the French fleet off the
face of the earth. By and by came dan
gerous times of disaffection, and honest
men's lives were insecure. Sir Boyle
writes from the country to a friend in
the capital this discouraging view of
his position : "You may judge, he says,
"of our state when I tell you that I
write this with a sword in one hand and
a pistol in the other." On another'oc
caslon, when the famous letters to the
Public Advertiser were attracting uni
versal attention. Sir Boyle was heard to
complain bitterly of the attacks "of a
certain anonymous writer called Jun
ius." He it was who recounted that
marvelous performance in gymnastics,
when in a tumult of loyalty, he "stood
prostrate at the feet of his Sovereign."
lie it was who denounced, in withering
languaeg, the apostate politician, w ho
"turned his back upon himself." He
It was who introdnced to public notice
the ingenuous yet partially confused
metaphor of the raf ''Sir," he said,
addressing the Speaker of the Irish
Hoose, "I smell a rat. I see him brew
ing in the air; but, mark me, I shall
yet nip him in the bud." There was
the famous speech which confounded
generations. "I don't see, Mr. Speak
er, why we should put ourselves out of
the way to serve posterity. What has
ever posterity done for us?" He was a
little disconcerted by the burst of laugh
ter that followed, and proceeded to ex
plain ais meaning: "By posterity, sir,
I do not mean our ancestors, but those
who are to come immediately after
them." His invitation to the noble
man on his travels was hospitable and
well-meant but equivocal. "I hope,
my lord. If ever you come within a mile
of my house you'd stay there all night."
He it was who stood up for the proper
dimensions of the wine bottle, and pro
posed to Parliament that it should be
made compulsory that "every quart
bottle should contain a quart." Very
pleasant, and yet perfectly intelligible
though it iftihappily took the fatal Imv
vine shae was his rebuke to the shoe
maker, when getting shoes for his gouty
limbs: "I told you to make one longer
than the other, and, instead of that,
you have made one smaller than th
other the very opposite."
A Brief History of Fairs.
Fairs have a peculiar and interesting
origin. Over the great rivers and high
ways in ancient days, with much diffi
culty and danger, the merchant trans
ported his goods from one point to an
other. He touched only at the gre.t
centres of population, and traveled on
horseback with his merchandise in his
pack saddles. A large body of consum
ers were outside of the regular paths of
eommeice, whom it was difficult to
reach. L" liable to go to them, he sought
to make them come to him, aud for this
purpose displays of merchandise were
made at certain fixed pointsand at cer
tain seasonsof the year. Living in rude,
unsettled times, the merchant was
obliged to use extraordinary precau
tions effectively to guard his treasures
and to secure himself against the nu
merous bands of pillagers that infested
the country. For this reason merchants
were obliged to limit the circle of their
oerations, to travel In armed bands,
or what was better still In that age, to
join some little company of pilgrims
journeying to some famous shrine.
Chaucer shows us the merchant among
that interesting group of pilgrims at
the Tabard inn, en route to Canterbury.
He does not give a very flattering de
scription of the merchant of those days.
For the same reason, doubtless, the pro
tection afforded by religion as well ason
account of the numbers w ho assembled
at these shrines for the exhibition and
sale of relics and to perform religious
rites and penance, they became also the
points selected by the merchant for the
disposal of his commodities. From this
union of two objects in one, this mix
ture of religion and trade, comes the
two-fold derivation of the word fair,
from the Latin ferine, meaning church
festivals, and the French wire, meaning
a place to which merchandise is
brought.
Fairs are of very early origin. We
see them in th-;ir incipient stages as far
back as the time of Constantine, when
we read that Jews, Gentiles and Chris
tians assembled in great numbers to
perform their several rites about a tree
reported to be the oak under which
Abraham received the angels. At the
same time, adds Tossimus, there also
came together many traders, both for
the sale and the purchase of wares. St
Basil, toward the close of thesixth cen
tury, complained that his church was
profaned by the public fairs held at the
martyr's shrine, and under the Fatim-
ite caliphs, in the eleventh century.
there was an annual fair held even on
Mount Calvary.
The most ancient fair known in
France, appears to have been that of
Troyes, in which mention is made in a
letter of Sidonius Apollonarius, toward
the end of the fifth century. More than
two centuries after Dagobert I, founded
the fair of St, Denis. This fair was not
only the oldest, but it was one of the
most celebrated fairs of France. It be
gan on October 10 and lasted ten days.
It was opened by a procession of monks
from the Abbey of St. Denis, and in
later times it was usual for the Parlia
ment of Paris to allow itself a holiday
during the time of the fair in order that
its members might attend. The great
fairs of France began with the celebra
ted "Foire de Champagne, et de line" iu
the twelfth century. To these fairs
flocked merchants from all the provinc
es of France and also from foreign lands.
The duration of each of these fairs was
six weeks, and there were six in the
v-ourse of a year, so that they occupied
nine months out of twelve. The great
fairs in Germany were those at Frank
fort and Magdeburg. In England the
great fair was that of St. Batholomew,
whose memoirs are set forth in a very
interesting manner by Henry Morley.
This fair lasted from 11I&, when it was
founded by Kayer, a prior of the Abbey
of St. Bartholomew and former jester of
King Henry 1., by a charter from the
royal hand, to the year 1"5, when it
was proclaimed for the last time.
In old times fair-goers were a privil
eged class of persons aud were granted
certain immunities. The lords of the
land through which merchants passed
were obliged to requite w hatever loss
trailers suffered by spoliation in passing
through their territory. The import
ance of these fairs was recognized thus
early in their history. They bad an
important effect not only upon the
wealth of the country, but upou the so
cial relations of the people, and upon the
language itself.
At what time amusements were first
introduced to add to the attraction of
fairs is not dctinately known, but it was
quite early in their history. They be
gan, probably, with miracle plays, giv
en in connection with the religious fes
tivals, and as the religious element fa
ded slow ly away, we may suppose that
these amusements became of a grosser
character, until at last they formed the
principal features of the present fair.
In this country the yearly agricultu
ral show is perhaps the nearest approach
to the time-honored institution. What
we commonly call a "fair" is. however,
but the ghost of that old, rollicking fig
ure of the past.
Let Tour Neighbor Alone.
Xo people are such thorough nuisan
ces as those who are perpetually med
dling with the business of their neigh
bors who are always on the alert for
something suspicious always ready to
believe the worst of every body. Read
er! if yon belong to that unfortunate
class, we pity you. As it is impossible
that you can find out everything that is
going on in your vicinity, you must be
iu a state of continual torture. A pry
ing mind needs food, and without it suf
fers. Then try to conquer the unhap
py peculiarity. What is it to you if
your neighbor does bring home a brown
paper package and a covered basket ?
You will live just as long if you never
know what they contain. It is none of
your business. And if your flighty
neighbor, Mrs. Lightfont, indulges her
self in a new bonnet while her devoted
husband wears patched boots, you need
not fret about it he is the only suffer
er, not you. Xo need of making a hue
and cry over her supposed extrava
gance. The money did not come out
of your pocket, and consequently it is
none of your business. What if the
minister does call on Ann Smith twice
a week? Why exercise your brain about
it? Suppose she has an awful temper
ami powders her face, as you say she dies
her temier will not trouble you.
Mind your own concerns. What differ
ence does it make to you if bold Maria
'cuts out' modest Mary ? You need not
torture Mary by long stories of what
you have heard concerning the matter.
"I thought I would tell you, my dear.
I speak for your good. Somebody ought
to put you on your guard against that
treacherous girl." As a natural conse
quence modest Mary, her womanly
pride aroused, shrinks into the back
ground, leaving the field open to her
victorious rival. So you will crush a
good girl's heart liecause you will not
mind your own business. What if they
do have three pairs of stockings over at
'Squire Hill's? Haven't they got a
right to? As long as you don't do the
washing it need not trouble you at all.
What right have you to watch their
clothes line? Employ your time better.
It may be perfectly true that dashing
Mrs. Gay signals to young Ir. Wilde
from her back windows. But who gave
you the privilege of watching a lady in
her own home, where, if in any place,
her privacy should be sacred ? Her dis
grace is nothing to you ; it is none of
your business. If w e had our own way,
meddlers should be punished like any
other offenders against the rights of
others.
' On. sir. Go On."
Arago, the French astronomer, says
in his autobiography, that his best mas
ter in mathematics was a word of advice
which he found in the binding of a text
book. Puzzled and discouraged by the
difficulties he met with in his earlier
studies, he was almost ready to give
over the pursuit. Some words which
he found on the waste leaf used to stif
fen the cover of his paper-bound text
book caught his eye and interested him.
"Impelled," he says, "by an inclin
able curiosity, I damped the cover of the
book and carefully unrolled the leal
to see what was on the other side. It
proved to be a short letter from D'AI
embert to a young person disheartened
like myself by the difficulties of mathe
matical study, w ho had written to him
for counsel."
" 'Go on, sir, go on, was the counsel
which D'AIembert gave him. 'The
difficulties you meet will solve them
selves as you advance. Proceed, and
light wil dawn, and shine with in
creasing clearness on your path.' That
maxim," says Arago, "was my greatest
master in mathematics."
Follow ing those simple words, "Go
on, sir, go on," made him the first as
tronomical mathematician of his age.
Don't be Too Critical.
Whatever you do, never set up for a
critic. We do not mean a newspaper
one, but in private life, in the domestic
circle, it will do you harm if yoa
object to being called disagreeable. If
you don't like any oue's nose, or object
to any one's chin, don't put your feel
ings into words. If any one's manner's
don't please you, remember your own.
People are not all made to suit one taste,
recollect that. Take things as you find
them unless you can alter them. Even
a dinner that is swallowed can not be
made any better. Continual fault-find
ing, ctoinual criticism of the conduct of
this one and the speech of that one, or
the dress cf the other, and the opinions
of the other, will make home the on
happiest place under the sun.
Hunting the Red Deer Aw Experience la
Michigan.
On the afternoon we reached the
woods none of us bad an opportunity
for any hunting; the whole time, and
far into the night, was taken up in
clearing away the underbrush, pitching
our tents, hauling firewood and arrang
ing the camp. The next morning,
however, we were all up and off into
the forest before it was fairly light. 1
started out alone, and after following
the "old tide road" a half mile or so
west of the camp, I plunged into the
dense woods to the south. Deer sign
wherever the soil could be seen was
abundant, ami I floundered ou as
quietly as possible, hoping soon to
strike one of the maple ridges that in
tersected the country. About nine
o'clock the clouds began to break, and
the sun peeped into the bnshes and
struggled to force its way into the for
est. Although it made a tall stand
ing birch glow in its mellow warmth,
it but edged the encompassing ever
greens, and soon the clouds obscured all
again. I was growing desperately im
patient, when suddenly I emerged from
the moss-hung and dripping lagoon on
to an open ridge, where the yellow aud
scarlet maple leaves strew the ground
like a velvet carpet. Deer "runways"
opened into the undergrowth iu every
direction, and going down upon my
knees in one of these I scrajied away
the autumnal baldrich and was over
joyed i finding, not a single fresh
track, but dozens of them; some going
this way, some that, and with faster
beating heart I arose, wondering
whether any of the boys had struck
such a lead, aud certain of killingadeer
within an hour. Speedily selecting an
old log, that in falling had lodged in
the bushy tops of the dwarf cedars, I
clinibej upon it some ten feet high and
cocking, mv rifle, w aited. Hard! v fif
teen minutes had elapse I, when a sharp
plunge iu the hopple bushes, a snapping
of the dead branches in front of me,
sent a thrill like electricity through and
through my frame, and the next instant
I beheld two deer, a sturdy young buck
and a beautiful doe, some larger,
emerged into the ojen wooils on the
ridge.
They had not been frightened, for
flapping his ears once or twice, and
casting a single short glance back into
the bu.-hes whence they came, the buck
lowered his pronged head, and began
to graze very complacently upon the
tender shoots and grasses at his feet,
while the doe, close astern, her sleek,
beautiful head well up, followed leis
urely. Over-eagerness aud a mild
touch of the "fever" made ine act w ith
less judgement than one of my exper
ience should have acted, and although
the deer was coming straight to me, I
took up my rifle and taking a deliberate
aim at the buck, between the shoulder
blade ami the thick of the neck. I tired,
at a good seventy paces. With a
"swish" and a snort the doe wheeled
in her tracks, and made a gray streak
athwart the brown background wood.
But the buck, to my wild delight, bra
ced himself madly a moment in the soft
soil, then went ever backward, with a
piteous bleat, apparently in the throes
of death. Very coolly I retained my
position, and reloaded my rille, then
waiting a few seconds, that seemed
ages, i leaped down ami ran toward my
meat in a terrible excitement. I reached
back for my knife as I ran, but instead
drew forth my hatchet, and was almost
upon the fallen animal, when he leaped
to his feet w ith a defiant snort and faced
me. I saw his distended eyes flashing
fire, ami the blood ami froth dripping
from his nostrils before I whisked be
hind a convenient oak.
"When I looked forth, to my alarm,
the buck had turned tail and was mak
ing off into the wood at a staggering
loe, but soon getting under full head
way he disappeared in the hopple
bushes. Away I dished, foolishly
enough, after him ; had I allowed him
half an hour to himself he would have
Iain down and bled to death. But this
fact never occurred to me, and I
threshed away upon his bloody trail at
the top of my speed. The leaves and
bushes and even the trunks of the trees
where the deer had passed were ensan
guined with the crimson liquid that was
letting his life out. Away I flew over
logs and mossy hollows, when with
startling abruptness. I was upon him,
almost over him, as he lay bleeding to
death in the low whortleberry bushes.
Up again he staggered, and with an
angry "swish" was gone before I even
thought of my rifle. By this time I be
gan to realize the consummate fool I was
playing, and with an inward reprimand
I moved on again upon tne bloody trail
it a cautious pace, and had traversed
but a few hundred yards when I
"jumped" him again, aud this time as
he liimberingly vaulted an old, pros
trate hemiock I gave it to him. breaking
his hind leg just below the knee joint.
But he was still in a navigable condi
tion, and a third time he left me. With
feverish determination I held his trail,
and after travelling perchance a half
mile I espied him lying half concealed
under a clump of y el low-lea fed shrub
bery. A halt, a deliberate aim, and a
half-ounce of lead went crushing
through his head at the butt of the ear,
and at last he was mine. I felt like
giving a regular war-whoop as I ran
up to him. but the darkness and unfa
miliarty o( the woods repressed all
boisterousness, and, lost as I was, I
set to work disembowelling him. It
took me a good hour to accomplish this
and hang him up out of the reach of
wolves; but this once effected I took
out my compass, shaped my course as
well as possible, and then began blaz
ing my way back to camp- As luck
would have it, I had gone but a mile or
30 when I ran across "Hoff," one of our
guides, and he and I returning, toted in
the first deer. Cincinnati Commercial.
Some men are like pyramids vtry
broad where they touch the ground,
but grow narrower as they reach the
sky, Observe their heids; the are
correspondingly pyramidal. "
Kindness gives birth to kindness.
hi