ENE
Sp. 11717. .38141,1%.`
VOLUME - XVIII
:IPCI!3rZTC342I.M.
MAW BOAC
Is there no lesson in the year
ler it e seasons out,
No type or shadow in our thoughts,
Whilst fading leaves are strewn about I
Surely we have a sympathy—
Made true by all our hearts haye known,
°flatlet] ho • . and ended joys—
With lying leaves and flowers blown.
Are these not things that touch a spring—
, ..-Where Scenes, both sad and dear, are lain—
'ln Memory's immortal bower,
That makes the'paet come back again!
Do they not mind ua of the time
W hen we must also leave the light—
When the last bloom upon our cheek
Shall turn into a deathighlte
When, from its watch-tower called, the soul,
Like a leaf falling from its bough,
Shaking and twining to its goal,
Must draw its gaze, and trembling; go?
WITHERED LEAP ES.
BY E. H.•GOULE
One breath from Autumn's chilly lip,
One touch from his cold, icy hand,
Ad Spring's sweet beauty, Summer dowers
Lie faded, withering o'er the lan ..
But, in these faded, withered - leaves,
We may a twofold lesson read,
The end of all our hopes ana aims,
in this poor life of pain end need,
Still more, these have behind them left
The choicest sweet of their best days,
The essence of their noontide pride, ,
To live and shine with richer rays.
AL welt for us, when death's cold hand
Has laid es low within ttro oust,
I f,genorous acts and noble deeds
Still live in hearts we've learned to trust.
40- .0-
EDWARD'S TEMPTATION.
It was six o'clock in the afternoon. At
this time the great 'wholesale warehouse of
Messrs. Hubbard & Son was - want to close,
"'unless the pressure of business compelled
the partners to keep open until later.
The duty of closing usually devolved up
on Edward Jones, a boy of fourteen, who
had lately been engaged to perform a few
slight:duties, for which he received the sum
of fifty dollars annually. He was the 'boy,'
but if lie behaved himself so as to win the
approbation of his employers his chance of
promotion was good.
Yet there are some things that rendered
this small salary a hard trial to him—circum
stances with which his employers were un
acquained. His mother was a widow. he
sudden death of Mr. Jones had thrown the
entire family upon their own -resources, and
these were- indeed but slender.
There was an older sister who assisted her
mother to sew, and this with Frank's salary
constituted the entire income of the family.
Yet by means of untiring industry, they had
continued thus far to live, using strict econ
omy, of course. Yet they wanted none of
the absolute necessaries of life.
Bat. Mary Jones—Edward's . sister—grew
sick. She had taken a severe cold which
. terminated in a fever. This not only cut off
the income arising front her own labor, but
also prevented her mothei from accomplish
ing as much as she would otherwise have
been able to do.
On the morning of the day on which our
story . commences, Mary had expreesed a long
ing for an orange. In her lever it would
have been most grateful" toher.
It is hard indeed, when we are obliged to
deny ttibse" we love - that which' would be a
refreshMent and benefit to them
.
• Mrs. Jones felt this , and so did Edward.
'I only:wish I could buy you one; Mary,'
said Edward, just as he set out for the store.
'Next year I shall receive a larger salary, and
then we shan't have to pinch so much,'
',Neves mind, Edward,' said Mary, smiling
faintly.
. 4 •I ought not have asked tor it, know
ing tow hard you and mother find it to get
along without me'
'Don't trouble yourself about that, Mary,'
said Mrs. Jones soothingly, though her heart
sank within her at the thought of her empty
larder. 'Only get well, and; we shall get on
well enough afterlards.' '
l y
It was with the Mettiory this scene that
Edward went to the store in the morning.
All around him were bo aof rich, goods,
representing thousands of , Hats in motley:
'Oh,' ttionght le 'if ion bad the value
'43f one of these bO ' res, ho much good it
would do poor Mary.' • .An Edward sigh
ed.— ; :
' The long day wore away at last, aid Ed
ward was about to close the warehouse.
i_tetjcs he pruned the desk of his employ
eiiiie td a bit of paper
Wog .On' the • •
.B :[)irked it up, , and to 'his great joy
Around it:to hes**._
',The first;thoik' htAbst 'gasified tipon . him
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perhaps
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WAYNESIIRgi-FRANItLIN-COUNTYANAYLVA.NIA, FRIDAY MORNING,I NOVEMBER 18, 1864.
4 4011, urged the tempter; , he will never
Itnotr it. - And after all what are ten dollars
to him. He is worth' a, hundred them-find,'
Still - Edward was not satisfied. Whether.
Mr. Hubbard Could . spare it Or nci,t, was not
the q uestion: It was rightfully his and must•
be gtven back to him:
go to - his house and give it to him
this very night,', said Edward. 'Otherwise,
I might be tempted to keep it.' . •
He determined to go to Mr.' Hubbard's
;• .:
sistti might'weaken his resolution, and this
must never Re - must preserve his integri
ty at all hazards.
He knew where Mr. Hubbard lived. It
was a large, fine looking house, on a fashion
able street. He had passed it several times,
and_wondeted_whether_a man_must_not_feel
happy who was able to live in such style.
Without any unnecessary delay, therefore,
be went to the house, and ascending the
steps, rang the bell.
A man servant came to the door.
"Well?" said he,
'ls Mr. Hubbard at home?'
'Yes, but he has only just come in, and I
don't think °he can see you,' was the reply
—'l am his employ,!_saisLEdward quietly,
'and just come from the store I think~he
will see me if you mention this to him.'
'Very well, you can come in.'
Edward was left standing in the hall while
Mr. Hubbard was sought by the servant.
He came out in a mome_nt,ancLlooked_at.
Edward with a little surprise.
'Well ?' be said inquiringly, 'has anything
happened e
'No sir,' said Edward, 'but I picked up this
bill near yOur desk, and supposed you must
have dropped it. I thought I had better
bring ft here directly.'
-___.Y_ouLhave dope well,' said Mr. Hubbard,
'and I will remember it. Honesty is a ye y
valuable quality in a boy jut commencing a
business career. Hereafter I shall have per
fect confidence in your honesty.
• Edward was gratified by this assurance,
yet as the door closed behind him; and he
walked out into the street, the thought of
his sister sick-at home again intruded upon
him, and he thought regretfully how much
good could have been done with ten dollars.
Not that he had regretted that he had been
honest. There was a satisfaction in doing
right, but I think my readers will understand
his feelings wiihout any explanation.
Mrs. Jones brought some toast to her
daughter's bedside, but Maiy motioned it a
way, 'taking the trouble to make it mother,'
-she said, 'but I don't think I could possibly
eat it.'
'ls there anything you could relish, Ma
ry ?'
'No,' said she hesitatingly, nothing that
we can get.'
Mrs. Jones sighed—a sigh which Edward
echoed.
It was with a heavy heart that Edward
started for the warehouse the next morning.
He had never before felt the craving for
wealth which now took possession of him. •
He set about his duties ass usual About
two hours after he had tsrrived at the ware
home, Mr. Hubbard entered. He did not
at first appear to notice Edward, but in a
bout-half an hour summoned him to the of
fice, which was partitioned off from the re
mainder of the spacious rooms in which goods
were stored..
lie smiled pleasantly as Edward entered
his presence.
•Tell me frankly,' he said, 'dui you not feel
an impulse to keep the bill which you found
last night ?'
'I hope you won't be offended with .me,
Mr. Hubbard,' said . Edward, 'if I say that I
did.
'Tell me all about it,' said Mr. Hubbard,
with interest. 'What was it that withheld
you ? I should have never known it.'
knew that,' said Edward
'Then whit withheld you from taking it?'
'First I will tell you what tempted me.'
said Edward. 'My mother and sisters are
obliged to depend upon sewing fOr a living,
and we live very poorly at the best.. But a
fortnight since Mary became sick, and since
then we have had a hard time. Mary's ap•
petite is poor, and does not relish food, but
we are not able to get her anything better.
W hen I picked up that bill I couldn't help
thinking how much I might buy with it for
her.'
'And yet you did not, take it ?'
'No, sir; it would havabeen 'NTOI3e. And
I could not have looked you in the face after
it.' ,
Edward spoke in a tone of modest confi
dance.
Mr. Hubbard went to the desk and wrote
a cheque.
'How much do I pay you now ?' he ask
ed.
'Fifty dollars a year,' said Riward.
'Henceforth your duties will be increased,
and I will pay two hundred • Will that please
you
'Two hundred dollars a year 1' exclaimed
Edward his eyes sparkling with delight.
'Yes, and at the end of the year, that will
be increased, if, as I have no doubt, you con
tinue to merit my confidence.'
'Oh, sir, how can I thank you ?' said Ed-
ward, full of gratitude. -
'By preserving your. integrity. As I pre
sume you are in preseht need of money, I will
pay you one quarter in advance. Bare is a
cheque for fifty dollars which you can get
cashed at the , bank. And, by. the way,„you
may have, the . rest' of the day to yourself.
_ .
Edward flew to` the bank, sand with his
midden rielies.lesstened to the market,'wliero
,he purchased a Supply of provisions it's% 'iis
he knew would be welcome at belie; and then
made haste "home to aneolyiee',hii - goo4 ter.
tune.
• • ,A,weig,ht,seemed so fall off the Ilearfe of
m6o'4 eed , daughter as they'heird . his bur.
tied story, and kiss. Jeoes thanked 4:itekTOr
bestomog upon her a son whose 'goal pried-
plea had broight them this greatirelief.
And Mr Hubbard slept • none the worst
thatthatilfaTSlight pecuniary satirifitTY
be bad' one a kind, 'action, confirmed a boy
in his integrity, end gladdened a' struggling
family If there were employers as consid
erate as he,.therci Would be fewer dishonest
elerks. •
CHASE OF .A 'FAWN
• • • awn ai ieen brought in
very young from the woods,
and nursed and'
petted by' a lady in the village until it had
become as tame as possible. It was grace.
ful, as those little ereattires always are, and
so gentle and playful that it became a great
favorite, following the.different members of
the family_about,caressed_by_tbe_neighbors
and weleotne everywhere.
One morning, after gambolling about as
usual until weary, it threw itself dollp in the
sunshine, at the feet of one of it'll/friends,
upon the steps of a store.- There came along
a eountryman, who for several years had
been a hunter by pursuits, and who still
kept several dogs; one of the hounds came
with him to the village on this occasion.—
The dog, as it approached the *Tut where
t e fawn lay, suddenly stopped; the litt e
animal saw him and darted to its feet. It
hail lived more than half its life among the
dogs of the village, and had apparently lost
all of them; ut it seemed now to know
iminetively_that-an—enemy was at hand..
In en instant a change came over it; and the
gentleman who related the incident, and who
was standing by at the moment ; observed
that he had never ia his life seen a finer
sight- than the sudden arousing of instinct
m that heautifal creature.
In a second; its whole character and ap
pearance seemed changed, all its past habits
were-forgotten T every—wild—impulse_was_&_
wake; its nostrils dilated, its eyes flashing.
In another instant, before the spectators had
thought• of. the danger, before its friends
could secure it, the fawn leaped wildly
through the street, and the hound in full
pursuit. The bystanders nib re eager to save
it; several persons instantly • followed on its
track, the friends who had long fed and fon
dled it, calling the name it had hitherto
known, in vain.
The hunter endeavored to whistle back
his dog, but with no better success. In
half a minute the fawn had turned the first
corner, dashed onward toward the lake, and
thrown itself into the water. But as if for
a moment the startled creature believed it
self safe in the cool bosom of the lake, it
was soon undeceived; the hound followed it
in hot and eager chase, while a dozen village
dogs joined blindly in pursuit.
Quite a crowd collected on the hank; men,
women and children, anxious for the tate of
the little animal known to them all; some
threw themselves into boats, hoping to in
terrupt the hound before he reached his
prey; but the splashing of the oars, the voic
es of the men nod boys, and the barking of
the dogs, must have filled the beating heart
of the poor fawn with terror and anguish, as
though every creature on the spot where it
bad once been caressed and fondled, had
suddenly turned into a deadly foe.
It was soon seen that the little animal was
directing its course across a bay toward the
nearest borders of the forest, and immediate
ly the owner of the hound crossed the bridge,
running at fail speed in the same direction,
hoping to stop his dog as •he landed. On
the fawn swam. as it never swam before, its
delicate head scarcely seen above the water,
but leaving a disturbed track, which betray
ed its course alike to anxious friends and
fierce enemies. As it approached the land,
the exciting interest became intense. The
hunter was already on the same line of shore,
calling loudly and angrily to
. his dog, but
the animal seemed to have quite forgotten
his Master's voice in the pitiless pursuit
The fawn touched the land—in one leap it
had crossed the narrow piece of beach, and
is another instant* wouln reach the cover
of the woods. The hound followed, true to
the scent, pointing at the same spot on the
shore; his master anxious to meet him, had
run at full sicced, and was now coming up at
the same critical moment Would the dog
! listen to his voice, or could the hunter reach
himin time to seize and control him? A
shout from the village bank proclaimed that
the fawn had passed out of sight into the
forest; at the same instant, the hound as he
touched the land, felt the hunter's strong
arm clutching his neck. The worst was be
lieved to be over; the fawn was leaping up
the mountain side, and its enemy under re
straint.
The other dogs, seeing their lead
er
cowed, were easily managed . A number
of persons, men and boys, dispersed them-,
selves through the wood, in search of the
little creature, but without success; they all
returned to the village, reporting that the 1
animal had not been seen by them. Some
persons thought that after 10 'fright had!
passed over, it would return of. its own 'ae-
'cord. It had wore a pretty collar with its
owner's name, engraved upon it, so that'it.
could be easily , known frotn'any otheefewnal
that might. be' straying-about ' the 'woo& : . i
Before maurhours lid4tunied,• a hunter
presented himself to. the - lady 'whose petsthe
little creature had been, and showing: a col
lar with her name upon it, said he had been
out hi the , woods, and saw a fawn in the
distance; the little animal, instead of board
ing away, as he expeetekmoved toward him;
be took aid), fired, and shot it to the heart.
When he found the collar about its neek,'he
was very sorry that he had killed it.. ' And
so the pow , : little:thing died ; one would lt*e
thought that: tetriblevhatie 'would have Made !
it afraid of man; but no, it forgot the , bid ,
and remembered , the, kindness Maly, and came
'to meet as a Mend the hunter who: shot it.
`lt Wait' tong Mon - rned:by .. its'. best ' friend..—
Ms* epoper'i"Rierai-iloiriii." ''-'. ''' -'
When is a horse, not a .horse i _Win) . it
is turned into it'stible 9 _
The Light Gobe' Out
BY - EvA. , '
A little child lay in, the houtie.- Theie
were blook and white foldingi 'tiCthe . door j
and iloWing irbbea of• white upoii the Bleeper
in the great parlor. tt Went last niglit'wheti
the Asti were out, when the moon had set ;
and the winds were silent. There was tie
etruggle—the little hands
went ui
apwar on its heaven Ward . journeY. '
After all, there is nothing strange in eneh
a going—nothing so sad in:the passing deiv
drop, in the melody of the voice now dumb
forever; and we have often wondered what
there was for tears when the little one was
borne away from .the arms of its mother.—
It seers to in there 'ought to be smiles in.
ssead of tears r and peabe instead-of- wailing._
We lifted up the snow-white 'covering and
Saw smiles only Upon the lip, and no three of
suffering and sorrow left The summons
came to it and it went out in gladness.'
We saw the mother, amid tears, lay aside
the forgotten toys, and rota up the little
white robe, as if there *as to be en eternal
shadow and silence in the household, and we
marvelled why this should be For we
thought . of_ the- sweet- face-wrinkled, when
age came ; the hair gray ; and the man strug
gling in after years for mastery in the world.
Then we thought of the new life; the
years of joy growing brighter through end-
Jess_eyelesi-and-we-thuirglit the lit.
tle child waiting in the better land for com
ing friends. Think of this link binding
earth to heaven—held-in the hands of a lit
tle child
Oh, it is better, far better thus to go a
way in the first flush of life, than to .be wreck
ed on the great ocean of the world, or go
down in storm. We can be reconciled to ail
this; we can drop a tear upon the face of the
-sleeper-and_turn_awny without sorrow.
Or ;hild ' fr
me child in heaven—one angel frouiar
household in heaven; and we dry our tears,
and pass on in life, conscious that we and it
will clasp hands at the threshold of heaven.
We murmur no more, and follow the little
household god to the grave, thinking only of
its new glory and its angel robe.
We will miss the laugh and. the sound 'of
little feet; and we will miss it at the family
meetings, and we may sigh as it passes on
its journey to the sky, but it is not the sor
row of one eternally dead to us. Take up
the little coffin in your arms, lay it on your
lap in the carriage, dress it with flowers and.
lay it G ently down in the grave. Drop no
tear, b ut scatter roses above it, and go home,
rejoicing and not weeping—now that God
has taken it, and conscious that your darling
little child is waiting for you up above the
stars.
Think of it! a little child waiting, in belly
en, for coming friends from home!
Rejoice Evermore
Oh; wonderful and marvellous is the way
in which God, day by day 'surrounds us—
His fallen creatures—with mercies and joys.
Oh, previously sad and strange that we should
be so little glad . and grateful I that, unac
knowledged and unthanked-for, we should
receive blessing upon blessing,aceepting them
as matters of course, perhaps never heeding
them at all till we lament their loss. •
I should like to take the sunflower for my
emblem, and to have strength and grace giv
en me to turn my face towards the sunshine
with which our heavenly Father ever illumes
the lot of each one of us. I would not • ask
freedom from care and trial, but pray that—
no matter how heavy and overwhelming my
trouble be—l might always have faith to see
that God's tondei mercies of joys and bless
ings far outweigh every earthly suffering.—
He, in His almighty wisdom, deems good for
me to bear.
Alas ! it is upon the dark and shady paths
we are so apt to fix our attention. We will
persistingly turn our eyes to the very deep
est, dreariest part of the wood of affliction,
and then complain that we can see no clear sky
no ray of sunshine I Let us look beyond, to
the smiling fields gleaming. in golden floods
of light and canopied by heaven's bright blue
arch; or climb.some hill till we stand above
the gloom (our having passed through it will
make our after course appear brighter,) and
the very leaves and branches which from be
low looked so sombre and dreary, from above
will show brilliant in sunshine.
Oh, believe me, my readers, there is a sun
ny as well as a shady side to every lot io life
Let it be our aim to trace it out, patiently
and prayerfully; and where we cannot see it
when we first gaze, let us have faith that it
is there—present though hidden.
And so let us go on our way rejoicing and
thankful, ever remembering that there is one
mercy for which the hymn of praise may at
all times ascend—one joy' which always, en
dures—one unspeakable gift, the greatness
of which, in its bight and depthow one of
us can fathom—the promise of eternal life
purchased for us by the death and passion of
our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. .
KEEP DIISY.—Men who have a haltdozen
ironsin the fire are not the ones to , go crazy.
'lt is the of Volintary or ''coizipelled lei
sure who Mopes or pines, and thinks hiniselt,
'into the 'mad honk thei grave. 'Notion is
all Nature's law. Action is , man's salvation,
phypitial and Mental.
( Anti - yet; nine out of,
ten are wistallY looking lorwaid to , the .cov-
eted hour when they' shall have Tersare to
nothing or ' something,' only if theyfeel,
like it`-=the Very siren 'that his'lured to death
Mania "iticceisfil",'lneW. only is truly
wise-Who lays' himself out. to'ivoik ; till life's
hour, and that is the man who Will live the
longest, and Will 1# 9 ..i°;.!/Tstt P°,11)?8!
-- Two centuries.ago" not, erfe hundred.
- wore
v ,years, ago, not ,a bo y
'in a theitund`was'ahoWed inn ; fitlirge it
ty - yearcarr:ritoi - onn - girl in
thousand made 4, iiiitinganiiirof her tnoth- ,
"es' •'" • "iti • ifi'" • • -
,r. 913 Or u Junprotentp .. . ;It, m!)
. derflul age! • •
An Old Murderer. !.‘
The Cairo eotitiepondent of the St. Louie
' epn. man e s s cry:
"At one point'on the Tennessee river there
is a' place that has beeotne a terror to - steam.
boat Wen, and iii passing ' it tberaltityif.'llnd
sonie place to eboure themselves midi the,
boat passes. At this point an old maryilit.-
ty odd.years of age, has made his
rrr-7. 9 2"."•=r e , an, the peculiar 'crack
of his gun' is familiar to the river. Men, and
sends a thrill of terror wherever it is heard.
He has a long, heavy , barreled gun, original
ly a squirrel rifle, which has been holed out
three different times, until now the largest
thumb can easily be turned in" the muzzle,
and the aim of the old man is one of deadly
certainty. The murderous sentinel is always
_faithfully_upon_his_vtatch; Mid hia_retietithas_
so far baffled all attempts , to catch him, from
the feet that he is surrounded with ,very
swamps and deep ravines 'Well in
fornied river the'ticathitatirthat this old man
has murdered in this way not less than Sixty
persona; and yet be performs his- murderous
work with as mach earnestness and vigor as
when he first commenced.
DREADFUL DRAVA LOF A-YOUNG LADY.--;..
—The Keitbsburg (Illinois) Observer 'says :
—On 'Thursday evening last, Miss Lydia El
liott, a young lady, seventeen_ Years of age,
lost her life by falling into a kettle of boiling
sorghum molasses, 'at the residence of Mr.
Alexander York, about three miles east of
the town. She was at play with some com
paiiiitai at the time, and, carelessly running
against the kettle, fell into it. Her burns
were severe upon one leg and one arm; but.
probably not enough to have killed her had
they been properly treated, as, after reaeii
leg them, she Walked to a neighbor's, Mr.
Tyler's. But after arriving there She was
placed in a trough, and bucketful after buck
etfol-of-wittertfrrown-en—hers -which produe,
ced convulsions. In these she lingered from
about seven in the evening until half-Past
four in the morning, when death came to her
relief. She was buried on Friday,' in the
wedding dress in which she would have been
married had she lived a few days longer.
FORTY YEARS.— Forty years seemed a,long
and Weary pilgrimageio tread. It now seems
bit a step. And yet along the way are bro
ken shrines where a thousand hopes have
washed into ashes; footprints sacred under
the drifting dust; green mounds whose grass
is fresh with the watering of tears; shadows
even, which we would not forget. We will
garner the sunshine of those years and with
chastening steps and reasonable hopes, push
on towards the evening whose signal lights
svqll be seen where the waters are still and the
storms never beat.
It is a curious fact, that while some birds
refuse to sing when the cage is darkened,
others have softer and sweeter notes of song.
And so it is in human existence. When the
soul of one opines under the "shadow of a
great affliction," it has no longer the Voice of
melody. The resources and the heatt of joy
are gone. But another sits in shadow, and
sends up to God the purest tones of music,
and loftiest strains of praise from a chasten.
ed spirit. It was thus with David whose harp
ings are never so heavenly as when they rise
from the "depths" orhis sorrow.
The following are the dying words of some
of our country's most eminent Men
"I resign my soul to God—and my (laugh•
ter hi my country."—Thomas Jelerson.
"It is well."— Washington.
"Independence forever." —Adams.
"It is the last of earth."—J. Q. Adams.
6 .1 wish you to understand the true prin.
eiples of the government, I wish them
carried out. I ask nothing more."—itarri
80Th.
• "I have endeavored to do.mydnty."—Tay
' or.
—Daniel Webster.
"I oil' live."
Two OF Timm —Dr. is one of
those genial souls who can tell a good• story,
and who loves a good joke, even though it is
at his own expense At one time he had
employed an Irishman to cut some wood at
his door; and it being a very cold day, he in
vited him into the house to warm whim, and
to drink a glass"of cider with hiniself (the
Doctor-never takes anything stronger.) Af
ter Pat had become sufficientlywarteed, 'the
Dr. turned him out a glass, which he' drank
off with great relish. "Pat," asked the Dr.,
still holding the pitcher in his hand "what
is better on a wild day like this than a good
glass of cider F" "Two of Mem, to be attic!"
was the ready reply. Perhaps it id hardly
necessary to add that Pat got his two . glass.
es. •
OLD GutIVER.-0110 of the most outspo
ken of. Methodist ministers was ',Old Gru
ber." Puce, Nit a camp-meeting, a rather
flashily dressed lady entered the altar-gate
while'the old, man was preaching, and.wslk
ed back and. forth seemingly afraid to sit on
the 'rude benches for fear of spoiling her fi
nery. • She had:anostrich feather
bead-dress, which was a ,soreabominition in
the old. man's eyes, and
_stopping the
Midst of a Pathetic passage, be eaclahned:
. "Briithren, open `the gate,' and le t that *tie
St a ploughing Mileh, seine taborera were
standing behind aplity ; of ladies-whose hoc
iiits and criiielibe laddered iheti froze seed
:ang whit'wait goitigibriard Otie'of them
complained that ;le:eculdlait Ne ! the 'steam
plough. "Of comae' lOW .retorted tate of
his emir/4W% AWL
" oho can lee throe ie': wo
The manier of adritrtisiug:for buebatuf
java . 4l:4lb4ClAKLßlPS.F.*Maricif. • 411 4
the portoco roof,Whieh ur as 'flinch to my . .
“*.j o u ng i lk dy as.itt .1.10 Ateste,•.!illteiuid
wanted.° • '
MEE=
' How to ,iteep , Beet -
Idteglionse CO . fin . `'efietil 31!
fie'tioba •ow to tare ,SO t t w -0
untiriThffel huirfet tint' b too ailitiot thtau
ble W. B. Dyer,. Dougraa county, lowa,
Writes to hid AoterieuwAgricialtailat 'For.
eVety oho hundred pounds of bait; vaeseveit
,ouuds ealt; well rubbed oac ;:Alloß,>tbe
A& co mewl in the.. salt for twenty-four
hours; take, it -Amu, the,,.yessol arid pour?*
the drippings;, then pack closely, and , oar
with brine wade as Hollows : For every 100
pounds of beef, :4 .6 ces saltpcler . 4 ounces
bicarbonate Soda,' 1 414 i; Molessee.
E. A. Letniikid, eiriiiity, Ohio,
say's : allow the beef tiOol
ter killing, then .ciitik into' Ootifeniebtalied
pieces for use, andltiabk:ii' loosely into a bar
rel to which I
tity of weak brine. When the meat is all in,
or the barrel full, see that the brine cbvers
it, let it stand two' or three days, then
take out the meat. throw away the - brine,
riuse,out the barrel and repack the meat
snugly.' Make a quantity of brine sufficient
to cover the meat and strong enough to bear
up an egg. Add -g dunces—of—sidepeter-for--
every 100 pounds' of meat, potir it on the.
meat i -and it will keep until--hot-wciather.-------
Asubscriber in Greene Co., 111., writes:
To 8 gallons of rain water, add two pounds
brown Sugar, 1 quart of wolassei, 4 ounces
saltpeter, rind enough 'of Corirmon salt to
make brine sufficiently strong:to float au egg.
Rub the beef well with salt before placing it
in the barrel. Then pour over it the pre
pared brine, and pat on it a weight sufficient
to keep the . beef covered with the pickle.
Each of the above contributors nays that
the method recommended has been tried by
him for severai years, and the result was ev
ery way satisfactory. Where a considerable
quantity of beef is to be cured, it might be
well to; try all the above ways on different
-parcels—Llte_sho_uld like to hear which pro
daces the best article nest May or June.
Here is a.very good anecdote, reminding
ohs somewhat of Airs. Stowe's "Topsy."
• During the last winter a "contraband"
came into the Federal lines in North Caroli
na; and was marched up to the officer of the
day, to give an account of himself, whereup
on the following colloquy. ensued :
•
"What's your name ?"
"bly name's Sam."
"Sam what ?" •
"No ash ; not Sam Watt. I'se jist Sam."
"What's pd. other name ?"
"1 hasn't got no odor name, sah. rse
Sam—dat's all."
"What's your master's name ?"
"I'se got no massa now; massa ruo'd a
way—yah yah ! I'se free nigger now."
"Well, what's your, father's
.and mother's
name ?"
"I's° got. none, sah—neber had none,
.Pse jilt Sam—ain't nobody else."
"Haven't you any brothers and sisters ?"
"No, sah; nobor had none. No brudder,
no sister, no Ladder, no' madder, no massa
nothin' bat Sam. • - When you see ,San
,you
see au dare is'of us."
A man named Blake has been arrested at
Milan,Me., charged with having murdered
Mr. Parker; the, Collector of Manchester, N.
H., about twenty years ago , and for which
crime the Weutworths of Saco, Me., were
tried, but acquitted. The arrest was made
in consequence of the death bed revelations
of a woman who recently died in Manches
ter. Blako'formerly lived in °Manchester.
May is considered an unfortunate marry
ing month. A- young girl was asked , not
long since, to unite herself to a lover who
named May in his proposals. The lady hint
ed that May was unlucky. "Well make: it
June, then," replied the swain. Casting
doWn bet eyes, and with a blush, she rejoin
ed, "Would not April do as well." t,:
Last Sunday, little ike, three years and a
half old, went to church for the first time.
ills Mother gave him a penny to put in the
contribution boz,' which he did,. and sat qui
et fora few moments, and 4hen wanted to
know how soon the man was coming with the
candy.
it is stated that in Chester County, Pa.,
not loss than thirty mills are- now at work,
manufacturing sorghum syrup. The price
charged-is 25 to 30 cents per gallon.
If a woman eon no longer weep, she may
expect to die of .dry roe. •
A man is oftnerhated by the . many with
out occasion, than loired by them without
Time has made life too long for our hopes
btt too for, our
Yn man,.tita bad resolutions always rise up
sooner thatritlin piodoneilti—the devil sooner
than the angel. ,
For the coffin we mast pay whate!er is de
manded. It , is the lasi building-grant of this
lite, the last'Shoat of the carpenter.
What three vowos spell one of the United
States f--41' 0 A. -
Three may keep souesel if two be away.
Do you endorse a.sioundrol 'when Yea make
yout - mark upon his back ?
, • • • •
``Why is a thief on a garnet an honest man?.... ; -
tectue& be ietbove doing:a bad icttiO.
Play or gaming bath the devil at the-bet-
tom.
4igoodtworil is'atianon said *ilia_
•
Pooe,irigi 'itifivext is titeLbeee ftieiNtekip,
a27 2 • lo *ir
ea 3
NUMBER 23.
A Male nopsy."