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2Justo
HS. COOPER, PHYSICIAN A SURGEON
• Newton Centre. Luzerne County PA.
R R.&iV E liITTI.E, ATTORNEYS AT
LAW Office on Tioga street, Tunkhannock Ua.
ITTM. M. PIATT, ATTORNEY AT LAW, 0
\ ? fice in Stark's Brick Block Tioga St., Tuuk
Bannock, Pa.
fcjfif Suflrlet |)ousf,
o O
JJARIIISBtJRO, PKNNA.
The undersigned having lately purchased the
•' BUEHLEK HOUSE " property, has already com
menced such alterations as<l improvements as will
reader this old and popular House equal, if u ot supe
rior, to any Hotel in the City of Harrisburg.
A continuance of the public patronage Is rcfpect
fallv solicited.
GEO. J. BOLTON
WALL'S HOTEL,
LATE AMERICAN HOUSE,
TCNKHAN fc'OCK, WYOMING CO., PA.
THIS estaUliihinewt has recently been refitted an
furnished in the latert style Every attention
•ill he given to the comfort and convenience of those
wise patronise the H<we.
T. B. WALL, Owner and Proprietor .
Yinkfcannock, September 11, 1361.
tIORTH BRANCH HOTEL,
MESHOPPEN, WYOMING COUNTY, PA
Win. H. CITRIGHT, Prop'r
HAVING resumed the proprietorship of the abov
Hotel, the undersigned will spare no effort
reader the house an agreeable place oi sojourn -
nil who uiar favor it with their custom.
WIN. II CORTRIGIIT.
Jus, 3rd, 1563
TOWANDA, 3PA.
D- B. BARtLET,
(Late of T- llousn, ELMIRA, N. Y.
PROPRIETOR.
The MEANS HOTEL, it-one of the LARGEST
aad BEST ARRANGED Houses in the country— lt
le ftted up in the most modern and improved style,
aal ao pains are spared to make it a pleasant and
agreeable stopping-place for all,
▼ 3, n2l, iy.
CLABXE, KEEHEY.SifO.,
K AN I'FACTE* RE RS AMD WHOLESALE DEALERS I.N
LADIES', MISSES' & GENTS'
filk sift Cass iram
AND JOBBERS IN
fIATS. CAPS, FURS, STRAW GOODS,
JARASOI.S ANI> UMRRELLAS.
BUFFALO AND FANCY F.08E3,
349 BROADWAY,
CORNER OF LEONARD STREET,
■M. . CLARK, 1
A. • KEBNEV, V
B. LEKKSEY. 3
M7GILMAN,
DENTIST.
A T OILMAN, has permanently located in Tunk
I* L* hannock Borough, and respectfully tenderhi
professional services to the citizens of this placeand
aarrounding country.
ALL WORK WARRANTED, TO GIVE SATIT
IION.
Office over Tutton's Law Office near the Pos
Office
NEW
TAILORING SHOP
Tfe* Subscriber having had a sixteen years prao
Usaf experience in cutting and making clothing
ase effers his services in this line to the citizens o
SicaoLßOH and vicinity.
Those wishing to get Fits will find hia shop the
•ee to get them.
JCCL, R. SMITH
-aM-4aae
§ fleet § tortj.
HE AYE I.
" Candidly, do you bdicve in love at
first sight, Amy ?"
A loung man a ' q icstion. 'ook
ing up from the nu*el he was reading.—
And a young girl, probably his cousin,
blushed as she replied, "she did not know."
I forgot what else passed. They were
only fellow travelers in a railway-carriage.
My friend, Mrs. Murray, who was taking
roe to her home, called my attention to
some place of interest we were passing,and
the young man resumed his book.
But the question recurred to me ; and
as I leaned back in my corner I tried to
answer it for myself, and to solve a little
mystery that puzzled me.
Three times had 1 met a gentleman, a
handsome young man, tall, dark and list
less. We had never spoken, but hi-- no
tice of me had attracted my attention. At
a ball he followed me about, changed color
when our eyes met, but did not seek an
tioduciion.
At a concert he had stared me almost out
of countenance, yet gravely,almost respect
fully.
At a picnic—the last time I had seen
him—he was happy, laughing and talking
till he saw me, when his manner became
constrained, and in a lew* minutes he left
the party.
There was a strange fascination in his
large Jark eyes, and i wondered if I should
ever meet him again.
He must have had some reason for no
ticing me so strangely, for I was not pretty
No, no ! It could not be love at first sight,
could it ?
We arrived a: The Meadows late in the
evening. Mrs. Murray introduced me to
her daughter, Lydia, a lady some fifteen
years older than myself. She was the on
ly child at home. Mr. John was married
and had the rectory. George, the eldest
son, was traveling abroad.
Mrs. Murray and my mother had been
school friends, hut had been separated for
years, and so were comparative strangers
u"'i! they met again in society, and Mrs,
Murray asked me to spend two or three
months with iier i;; the country, \9 recruit
my strength after the fatigue of a Lon lon
season.
The da)* afier our arrival Lydia showed
inc over the house an 1 grounds. Harold,
Mr. John's eldest child, eight yeais eld
came with us.
The conscivatorv door was locked. Mi*s
Murray left us to letch the key. Harold
remaining talking.
"I shall have this horrid old place pull
ed down!" he said, pulling at some
ivy that clustered round the turret. He
looked at me as though expecting an answer
then resumed: "pa says, if HE has it he
sha'nt stay at the church. He shall pull
this down ; if HE don't, I shall."
"But this is your uncle's place," said I.
"Mv uncle! lie won't live long. My mn
says Uncle George is a bad man, a wicked
man. Don't you think lie is a wicked
man ?"
" No," said I, though I know nothing of
him. "Little boys—" I impress
ively; but his aunt returned, and the con
versation ended. #
"The place would be very diffeicnt if
poor George were lu re," said Lydia sadly.
"Doe* he never live here ?" I inquired.
M.-> Murray h. h >. k. - nly, "1 ive
here! No, never. He STAYS lor a week or
two sometimes."
"Perhaps some day he will marry and
settle."
"Never!" said Lydia, stooping to pick
up a flower. " Have you not heard about
him ?"
" Heard what!" said I.
" I shall not be a raven, and tell you
You will learn soon enough."
Harold was standing in the doorway
looking back at us. lie had large brown
eyes, and something in tlu in made me fan
cy I had seen him before, though I knew I
had not.
So there was a secret in the family, some
mystery about the eldest son. Perhaps I
was wrong, but 1 <1 id wish to find it out.
I had been at The Meadows nearly a
month before an opportunity occurred. —
Then I paid a visit to the rectory, taking
my work, that I niiglitspend the day there.
Mrs. Murray. I fancied, got tired of hav
ing to entertain ine, and Lydia liked to
have some time to herself,
Mrs. John jind I were friends, so could
speak freely to each other.
"Are you engaged ?" said Mrs John.
"No.' said 1, fancying she alluded to an
opal and diamond ring 1 always wore.
" Some girls are, so young. How old are
you f
"Eighteen. Not o vEßT.young.
" No, not so very young," said Mrs.
John, meditatvely. " I was only seven
teen when I was engaged."
"That was very young to marry."
"O, I was more than that when I mar
ried. Mamma could not bear ;he idea of a
second son, you know. It was NOT a good
match then; but I always said I would
marry for love. Now they a;e pleased
enough; for poor George is really nobody
only lie keeps John out of the (dace at pres
ent. Eventually Harold must have the
estate. It is entailed."
" But there is an older brother ?" said I.
'•To my husband? Yes; but since that
| affair of his he will never marry,* and John;
he comes next. Sad affair that! I always
j pit) poor George."
' Mrs. John said this very comfortably* in
••TO SPEAK HIS THOUGHTS IS EVERY FREEMAN'S RIGHT. " —Thomas Jefferson.
TUNKHANNOCK, PA., WEDNESDAY, DEC. 19. 1866
the same way one pities a tradesman for
having to reduce the price of his goods,
while rejoicing in the oppoituiiity ofbuy
ing them cheaply.
" Is be very unhappy?"
As I saiil that I hated myself for asking
it. I know if I had been right (as some
would say, "commonly honest") I should
have declined to hear anything Lydia wo'd
not tell inc. Like a good child I shonld
have said, "Thank you, I must not listen.
He would not like itbut " mime !' as a
French friend of mine used to exclaim, 1
am one of Eve's true daughters, and the
temptation was irrcsisistble. I yielded to
curiosity.
" Well, yes," said Mrs. John, "for the
world is not charitable Of course WE
know the truth, and we don't really con
condemn him. But he takes it to heait
(perhaps to conscience, and that is as bad,)
though it may be a shadow after all, it may
be."
Mrs. John emphasized the last three
words, and her straight lips again made a
corresponding line to the faint straight.eye
brows that met over her nose, and disap
peared behind the set curls arianged on
either side of her face.
" It is a pity he should mind a shadow—
I spoke awkwardly, conscious of trespass
ing ou a forbidden subject.
Mrs. John looked up at me. "I thought
all the world knew iiis history," she said ;
'quite romantic it is, and sad. You know
lie wa a surgeon. Before his father had
tliis property left him by his brothi r, the
boys were brought up to professions. My
huAiand to the church, to take this living.
George chose to be a surgeon, so he he
came one; and clever, too, I believe, very
clever. Well, he had good expectations,
so was iri a good deal of society ; and in
the course of his practice met a young lady
whom lie liked; in fact, fell in love with.
I supposed she returned the affection, for
the) were engaged (this was before I was
n-arried.) Well, Miss Chester, Colonel
Chester's daughter, was rich; at least, her
father was rich ; the estates were left by
will in this way : if Colonel Chester died
without hoys, hut leaving h daughter, that
daughter might inherit ; but if tbeie was a
son, all landed property war. to go to the
son, however young; arid only some dow
er to be paid to Miss Chester. An un
lucky kind of arrangement, wasn't it?—
Well, Colonel Chester hid hut this one
daughter !i." he married again; then he
had one AOR. WY7/, that child was from
after George was engaged to MLs Ch.st T \
•1 " |
and when it was a year, or perhaps cigG*
teen months old, it become ill—some child- j
isli illness, and— thr child died.''
] echoed Mrs. John's interjcction,"wcli?"
" Well I dou't you see. George had
attendei it, was it not awkward? George
had never been a favorite with the Colo
nel, and he became suspicions, and had his
prescriptions looked at. and the matter
judged by other physicians; ior Colonel
Clu-ster was an old man, a..d mad at losing
the child. They said it was right enough,
quite right, medical men always hang to
gether, vou know, but the child had not
died of any acute disease ; it had died of
an over-cose of medicine. It w as, of course
the chemist's fault, but—you see how it
stands —awkward for poor George."
" lie could not help it," said 1.
"My dear, he was there three timps a
day to see the child (and Miss Chester,)
and the child died ; the little child died.—
The world i* not aharitable !"
"Nor are von," thought I; but I only
sai l, "And M:ss Chester?"
" Her father told George what he sus
pected of him. He, of course, gave ln r
up on the spot- I don't know what be
came of her. George will never tnar**y,
impossible; but he wanders about like a
ghost, and Ipo pitv him. It was a temp
tation for a young man without means.—
He had not succeeded to The Meadows
then, you know. It was a great tempta
lion."
"A little child.!" saiJ I.
M rs. John seemed surprised and half- |
alaimed at the distress I could not help
feeling, probably betraying, so injuitifica
tion of herself, she added : "It was awk
ward for him, very, and people will judge ;
and, my dear, the fact remains, whether it
was the chemist or not," said Mrs. John,
before taking up her baby from tho sofa
where it had been seeping. "The fact re
mains," said Mrs. John, stroking baby's
ruddy cheek and fat arm, "though babies
live through a good deal, this little child
died !"
Two shadows fell across the window. —
Mrs. John had turned to take her baby to
the nursery, and did not observe them till
she was just leaving the room. Then she
said, "Talk of an angel, and you are sure to
see its wings !" She stood in the doorway
a moment, and nodded and smiled befqre
closing the door and retiring. Her
band entered the room by the window that
opened to the lawn. After Jjim came an
other gentleman. I looked up, and recog
nized the mvsterious gentleman of the con
cert, the ball, and the picnic.
"Ah ! Miss Christensen!" said Mr. John;
"let me introduce you to my brother George
Tins young lady is at your house, George,
with your mother."
Mr. Murray bowed,and his color chang
ed as lie watched m collect my work and
materials, and prepare to leave the room,
"Pray, don't let rr.e frighten you away,"
he said. shall be home soon."
They were such commonplace words.bnt
nty face cimsomed, and I was glad when
Mrs. John came in. She was smiling most
affectionately, and apparentiv had forgotten
the conversation that I would have given
anything not to have shared, She noticed
mv confusion, but did not know I had met
him before ; nor did she notice that his
hand trembled when at parting he touched
mine, .ut it did. 1 know now whose eyes
I had recognized when 1 saw Harold,
When 1 returned honde, Mrs. Murray
was expecting her son, for his man and
luggage were there already.
"It is just like him," said Lydia ; "he
comes and goes like Will-o-the- Wist ; per
haps you may induce him to stay a little
longer this time."'
Again I blushed
"Diu I offend you, dear !" said Lydia
kindly, as she passed her arm round my
shoulders, and we walked up and down
the terrace together.
"No," said I, 'not ii the least; if I in
fluence Mr. Murray at all, it w ill be to d' ivc
him away."
Then I told h- rof our meetings, but of
course 1 was careful what I said. "He is
very stiange and moody at .itnes, my dear;
you must not notice him."
In the-evening lie came home.bnt he was
not strange or moody, and during the
whole six weeks lie stayed I found him
rather the reverse, pl< a-ant, kind, consid
erate. He was always waiting on his
mother, going about with Lvdia, and rath
avoiding me, still in a kind, gentlemanly
way. So matters went on, till one evening
I stood on the lawn with baby in mv arms.
II was a glorious sunset ; the brothers re
turned from their walk, and came to my
i side. Mr. George Murray had a rose bud
in his band, and held it to the child. The
little thing laughed ar.d talked to it in ba
bv fashion, and stretched out her little hand
to take it from him. Her hand touched
his. He trembled, dropped the bud, and
turned away, Mr. John was good-natured
and, I believe, sincerely fond of his broth
er ; he took the child from my arms,smil
ed sympathizingly at George, end ran into
the house to his Wile, who had been spend
ing the whole day with u-i. Mr. George
looked very handsome with the sunshine
lurking in h's soft glossy beard, the rest ol
his lace in deep sh .dow from the broad
brim of the felt hat he wore pressed close
on his brow. I was Sorry for him, but 1
did not dare break the silence, though it
was awkward, and we were quite alone.—
We came back to the house side by side ;
HS we passed the drawing room window
we heard Mrs. Jobu's cold voice say pre
cisely—
"Any one would think they were, lov
ers !"
lie looked keenly in my face, lam
afraid a blush was tin re. He passed on
to the library ; and ivli?n I rose the next
morning he was gone. Lydi. fvas dis
tressed and out of spirits. We wandered
together over the house and grounds, and
walked with Mrs, Murray to the rectory,
where she always spent the first days of
George's absence. When we returned, I
went with Lydia to her brother's room to
put away the many pretty tilings she had
arranged to welcome him when he came
home.
"Me had not stayed so long for years,'"
said Lydia, a< she disconsolately collected
the pipes that had been scattered on a
Mde-table. "I can't think what sent him
aw.iy again so suddenly poor fellow !"
I did not speak ; I dared not tell her
Mrs. John's reinaik then. Sol sat, idly
looking from th * window, and Lydia bu- '
sied herself with the dressing table. There j
were some papers there, left ail together
just as tliev had been sorted out to take.
Mr. George must have gone off in a hurry
at la-t, and so have forgotten them. Lydia
► looked through them listlessly, saving,
"Perhaps I must send them on ?'* Sud
denly her hand stored turning the crisp
leaves, and an exclamation burst from her
lips. I rose and looked over her shoulder
In her baud she held a small square pa
per, that might once have been a leaf in a
sketch-book. On girl's head itad been
mugUlv drawn in pencil. The hair waved
off the temples, the eyes look d up anx
iously, pleadingly. The lips were silently
apart. Bound the throat a little, ribbon
was tied, and oil the ribbon bung a small
locket. Beneath the drawing t'e letters
D, C. weie written, and thete two words,
' Kyrie Eleison." It was not an artist's
sketch; it was a drawing of a hand that
loved. Lydia held up the sketch, and
placed her finger on the looking-glass be
fore us. The reflection was reproduced
in the sketch. I turned away, for it was
not my own reflection that I saw, and I was
sorrv to have stumbled on another ot his
secrets. But my heart bounded, and a
new life seemed to come to my soul. Lydia
put her arm around me and kissed me.
"My dear, a red rose; mi.nl, a full, rich,
crimson rose, from the second staddord in
the large conservatory, and your long
while dress."
It was Lydia that spoke; she bad come
to bid me good by for the afternoon. She
was called from hoiue, -he said. I must
excuse her and try t<> amuse myself. A j
bright bloom was on her cheek, and she
looked quilt young again, though she was
dressed soberly in black with only a violet
ribhoa to relieve it. Those d< licious hours
of solitude, if solitude it coulu be called! ;
No, no ; it was life ! new life ! a happi
ness too great to realize,' luxurious; aho
ly future, in a sweet uncertainty and shad-
O-vy brightness. One figure, one face, in
a thousand reflections, precluded the idea
of solitude. I was companioned by the
future. The evening came, so quickly.
1 must dress for Lydia's return. The rose
was plucked. 1 was fastening it in my
hair when she oarae softly to my room.
She had been crying, though evidently
she tried to compose herself.
"My dear," she said, drawing me down
TSfcRMB, 2,00 P Xin AKTITUM
to the sofa at her side ; "do von think wc
arc responsible for the evil we unconscious
ly bring cn others V'
not," said I, my mind going
back to George and bis mistake.
She leaned her head upon my shoulder,
and a tear dropped on my hand, as she
whispered:
"1 have done you a real wrong, I have
been a Judas to you. and betrayed vou bv
a kiss!"
I did not know myself or my weakness ;
actually I was ill. Mrs. Murray and Mrs.
John thought I had taken cold. Lydia
knew differently. She kept my secret and
nursed me kindly. When 1 was recover-'
ing she told me it was Miss Chester's por
trait I had seen. D. C was not Dora
Christcnsen, but Delicia Chester. It was
my resemblance to Miss Chester that had
brought me so much notice fiom Mr.
Murray. I hated myse'f for the mistake,
and my hatred only increased the evil.—
For weeks I lay ill at the Meadows.
Lydia would blame herself for showing
me the portrait. But we both felt that
there is a mystery in sequence—circum
stance must lollow circumstance. One
link cannot be severed in the chain of fate.
And the weary days of illness and conval
esence passed on, and after a time my
mother took me across the Channel to Di
eppe, We were en route for Geneva, but
I was weak, and we waited at Dieppe tor
a few days to rest. We used to watch the
steamers come in. It was the autumn, and
there were not a great many passengers.
As the boat neared the shore the day be
fore we intended to leave, I recognized a
pair of dark eyes looking up at me.
Mr. George Murray was on board. I
fainted. /Chen I recovered Lydia was
bending over me, and though we were in
an open carriage in the public road, she
kissed me as she said:
">illy girl!"
We did not leave Dieppe that day. In the
evening Lydia and I walked out together,
to have a chat, she said, about old times ;
but I hat seemed scarcely her intention,
for w hen we were alone together she was
unusually silent. We were on the pier,—
I down to rest, and Lydia, with some
unintelligible excuse, left me I leaned
against the parapet, watching a boat come
in. The tide was dead ahead ; the wind
only a cross wind, so the task of bringing
her in was not an easy one. It was only
a fishing boat; four men were in it; each
had an oar : still, as they 'bp rrnpi—
fix at cither side, CHCII raised his hat and
signed the cross upon his breast, and
seemed to breathe a prayer.
"Do they lose or gain by that Set ?"
I started so when I heard the question.
It wilS Mr- Murray who put it.
"They lose a wave,' said I. "It is a
question/'
"They believe they gain. It may be
suprrstition; still I think, there is some
reality in their idea. The loss is a gain.
The boat is a trifle longer i.i getting in ;
each man is nearer to his home.''
I did not under.-tand, lor my brain wa<
stupid, and I felt ashamed at seeing
again ; but lie said no more aboui the boat
or the men, tho. gh we watched them out
of sight. Then he sat down at my side.
I felt his brown eyes on me ; but what came
next I can never write. It is only tor
him and me. The minutes pased on, each
bearing away a pain from my heart. lie
told me he had come to Dieppe on purpose
to see me, and with the remainder of Iris
life endeavor to banish the remembrance
of the mistake that had cost me so much.
And 1 could only weep and weep, till
Lydia came back to put his hand in mine,
and ask if I would be her sister.
It is all told now. A month after, we
left Dieppe ; and were manied by special
license before he took me home to The i
Meadows as his wife. Mrs. Murray was
glad to welcome me, and have her eldest
boy near her. happy, though Mrs. John was
not so pleased as she might have . been. —
And George and I talk freely of the pas' ;
and I, too, have learnt to sympathize in
Miss Chester's sorrow, when she wrote
those two sad words, beneath the sketch
Colonel Chester permitted him to make
from her a few days before her death.
Son e day lam to travel, and stop in
Maderia, to visit the English cemetery and
see her grave. Still he carries the sketch ;
but the mystery is gone between us, and
we are very strangely happy, he and I. He
does at my baby, though often
I see the little fing< rs twine round his ; in
deed, I think he likes to feel the strange
soft touch of baby's cheek against his own.
A wise man will desire no more
than he may get justly, use soberly, dis
tribute cheerfully, and live contentedly
upon. Should like to see that wise man.
—
ILnryWard Beecher is tt) furnish a
story for the New York Ledger. The
first chapter w ill be published early next
year,
_? a..
Women should always set good exam
ples, for the men are alwiys following after
them.
_ •
* The influx of immigration into Texas at
I the present time is reported very great,
| Prentice says Butler makes war as a
boy sleeps in oold weather —spoon fash
i ion.
Opportunities like eggs, must be hatch
ed when they freah.
VDL. 6 NO. 20,
HOW YOUNG PERSONS ARE CAUGH?
A friend of the writer had a young man
in his office that was very fond of doing
just what other persons did, not thinking
of the difference in age and circumstances
between himself and the men around him.
One day the gentleman went into his bar
ber's shop to be shaved, just as bis clerk
was coming out of the same place. The
barber did not know that the merchant was
acquainted with this boy, so he said to
him, "'Did you notice that lad that went
I out as you came in ?" "Oh ! yes," said the
j merchant. "Well," remarked the barber,
"that boy has his shaving-pot and razor
I here, and he comes in every day to be
shaved, although he has not a hair upon
his face !" lie Wanted to do as others did
no matter what it cost him, or how silly
it appeared; and this and other thing*
came very near proving the boy's ruin.
Now, boys will make themselves sick
learning to smoke or chew tobacco; they
will bring upon themselves a most expen
sive habit, and one that may seriously, if
not fatally injure their health, in order to*
do as others do. This is the way the
monkeys were caught!
Many fall into the habit of Sabbath
breaking, because they see others seeming
to take pleasure in such a course, and
without thinking of the sad consequences
that may follow they do as others do,
This is the way the young man falls in
to the temptation of drinking. The com
pany around hint sip the wine. lie dreads
to be singular, although to stand alone is
often to stand with God ! Apparently
very respectable people drink wine. The
evil consequences do not appear at once.
They must do as other people do, so they
begin to draw on the dreadful boots !
How much misery follows in the traint
when one seeks to do as others do. The
young man has made the acquaintance of
gay young fellows of his own -age. Their
parents are rich, and he is flattered bv
their notice. He is invited to their homes
and is offered wine at their tables. He .
must do, he thinks, as other people do. —•
The lads take him to a billiard room, and
of course he must play with them. They
then give him a treat of oysters and wine
before he leaves for his home.
Now he must do as they do. In his
tarn lie mast order tlieiu a fine supper at
some no:ed restaurant. This continues
month after month lie, by and by, conies
home to his Christian mother, lat© at night
so excited by liquor that he is almost "be
side himself. O, the agony of that home I
But this only the beginning. He has
drawn the boots on, hut how shall he re
move them ! JI is parents are neither able
nor willing to supply him with money to
he expended for such purposes. But he
is so intuited in the round of dissipation
upon which he has entered that lie cannot
tear himself away from it. As he cannot
obtain money enough honestly, he now
falls into the temptation of taking it dis
honestly. liuin does not wait long for
him then. He is discovered; he is ar
rested, and some place of restraint or pun
ishment closes its door upon him. This
is the history of many bright boys that
have, and are still, in the llonse of Refnge.
Never follow another unless you know
he is in the right path; and never fear to
stand up alone for the right.
TWENTY YEARS. —OnIy think of it, a
young man ; t 1 enty years in prison. A
poung man commits a desperate deed
agarnst the law. which not only destroys
property but endangers life ; he is arrested
tiierl and convicted ; the judge sentences
him, to a long imprisonment—hot for life,,
hut for twenty years, the hest part of his
life. How changed will all things appear
to the old man, the man who entered those
walls full ot life and vigor, hut with a down
cast look and broken hopes—when he
emerges onee more into the busy world,
with wcinkled features and silvery hair
and feeble frame. Which way will he
turn to meet the friends of his youth, or
who will remember in him—ihe old man.
of forty five or fifty years—the young and
active man of twenty years of age ? Young
men, you whose acts occasionally lead you
into errors against the peace ot the neigh
borhood and into the breaking of the law,
stop and think of twenty years in prison—
twenty years of hopeless toil for the State —
twenty years of incarceration awav from
the bright fields of the outer world. Is it
not dreadful to think about it even ? How
much more so is the reality
"Tell me, angelic host, ye messengers of
love, shall swindled printers here below
have no redress above ?' The shining an
gel band replied ; To us is knowledge giv
en ; delinquents on the printer's books can
never enter Ileaven."
If ladies appreciated the beautv of
thei< tert as thov do that of their necks and
shoulders, they would probably go to balls
barefooted,
J&T What air does the young mouse
sing to the old mouse,while biting his way
through the scenery at the opera f "Hear
ine gnaw, ma."
Have courage to prefer comfort and
propriety to fashion in all thing*.
A German paper states that a young
man recently married a widow twice hi*
age, and he ascertained subsequently that
his wife had once been his wet miree*.