W. meaty"
VOLUME XIX
arcommixpAtLms.
1 UM AO MOTHER NOW.
I hear the soft wind sighing
Through every bush and tree,
Where now desg.molher's lying
Away from love and me.
Tears from mine eyes are starting,
And sorrow Andes my brow;
Doereary was our parting—
I have no mother now!
I aee the pale moon shining.--
On mother's white head-stone—
'The rose-bush round it twining
Is here—like me—alone :
And Just like me, ate weeping
Thele dew drops from the bough;
Long time has she been sleeping—
I have no mother now !
My heart is very lonely,
. Life is drear and sad;
'Twits her dear presence only
That made my spirit glad,
Prom morning until evening,
Care rest upon 'my brow; •
She's gone from earth to heaven—
===l
MUSIC.
I.love to trace where music dwells,
Id village chimes, in evening belle;
In gentle words, in kindly wiles
In loving hearts and tender smiles,
In graceful forms, in gentle eyes;
Where love is warm and never Sies;
In forest wild, in gentle glen,
Far from the haunt of busy men,
In shady grove by lake and wood,
Where heartless forms have never stood.
, There's music in the gentle breeze
That fans the lofty cedar trees;'
There's music in the rocky &Al.
There's music in the waterfall;
Theretilep on a summer's day,
When all around is bright and gay;
There's music in a winding stream,
There's music in a happy dream:
There's music wafted to the shore;
On summer eve from boatman's oar;
There's music in the Sabbath bell
That sounds from distant woodland dell;
There's music in the voice of those .
Who some kind tale of love disclose—
Who bid our cares and sorrows cease,
And gently murmur words of peace.
DESPONDRICY.
Earth! let me lean my fevered brows
Upon thy cool and quiet breast;
I'm weary batting with ill;
Oh ! let me leave the strife, and rest,
I cannot tell what evil stars
Shed baleful influence at my birth,
only know that I would rest;
Oh! take me to thy bosom,•earth.
Yes r let me sleep that blessed sleep,
Most blessed, that there's no awaking;
No pulse to chill again to pain,
. Or heart find darker doom than breakine.
l' -•
MARGERY.
The bells of the village 4uroh had been
ringing sweet and clear, and the sound was
borne on the summer air miles away, make
ing solemn music, which was very pleaseat
to a little lonely heart.
On the stone steps of the farm-honselwatch
ing the shadows, or looking now and then
with a wishful glance toward the bright sky,
oat Margery.
Margery who? 'That was all, she bad no
other name,' she said, when strangers ques
tioned her.
.Farmer James had found her one wintry
eight on a snow-drift by the road side:' She
was warmly rapped and sheltered from the
storm. Several changes ot clothing a' sum
of money, a paper on which was written
"Margery,' were in a basket near. She had
been kept by the farmer'eAvife, who hoped
some - day to be rewarded, and who at
first built many air -castles, which had for
their foundation the coming ot Margery's
rich friends. She was sure they were rich
elle said, for the child's -clothing was fine
end soft, and the lace upon the little dresses
was worn more than her best Sunday gown•
But as years passed and these -unknown
persons gave mew, she grew wearyof her
'charge, and by degrees indifference gave way
to• soma) unkindness.
Poor little Margery, what bad she done,
and why was she so unlike the ham chil
dren whom she sometimes met? • She often
wondered, as she did that Sunday afternoon,
sitting in the sunshine, how many miles of
beaven Was and whether eloi could watk there'
if she tried? "I wish I knew," she said.
"I wish 4 knew which road to take, and had
somebody to go with Me, for I am so tired of
living bete?", . ,
Little children who, with Nolen hands; Say
your, "Now I lay me dews to Bleep," who
are laid to rest by loying hencisi i with your.
mothers' goodnight kisses en your lit--lit
tle happy • obildreft-!—holtbiest are„you. who
read woaderingly of this ett‘ki, whusellife.wam
nnlike your own!
Margery had been taken eniti by kid
neighbor with her ebildreila the eillagellin•-
dayscheol. There, sheknoll for, the firer,
time of a beautiful plies 411. d. hearse,' the
home of Ged and bit towels, The good
I : 4liiiii.• ,(61,
WAYNESBORO,' FRANKLIN COUNTI;RENNSILYANLI, FRIDAY MORNING, JULY, 418,1805: NumBER 6
old minister , was talking of j'eens, of the lit
tle 01184 whom be, liad blest while , on earth.
whom ,he Ain ,loved in heaven, where after
death good.cluldren would go to be shining
angels in 'the sky.
Margery went home like one in a 'happy
dream. She scarcely heard 00 scolding
words that Mrs. James poured Out litre :a tor
rent.' She should not 'always,have to' be
scolded and beaten. Shoshoud. not always
be tired and lonely. There was some one
who would love her, if she only could reach
him; there was a beautiful home if she only
knew; the way there.
She kept the sweet thoughts in her little sea
heart; dreamed of them whin she slept, and
took comfort in them as she went upon ber
errands day by day, or tended the ttechild
whese mother had so little pity for her des
olation.
One morning when the busy dame seemed
to be in an unwonted mood, more gentle than
she remember to have seen her, Margery took
courage and ventured to ask information on
the subject that had occupied .so many of
her thoughts.
"If you please ma'am how far is it to heav
en?"
The astonished Woman dropped her iron,
putting in' danger thereby her good man's
Sunday linen.
"What put that into your head I'd like to
know?"
Poor frightened Margery, for once her
autiety_to_heasomethin_g of
__the blissful
home she was determined to seek, gave her
courage
• ; ;a'
heaven, and I thought if it wasn't too far
and I could find the way I'd like to get there."
--- "Vhdr - I ---- never," - said—Mrs. l -James, and
turning fiercely upon 'the child; "Do you
think its a place for the like of you? because
if you dd you're mistaken, I; can tell you.—
Try to get there indeed! I think you may
-try?-- Now just do-you-go and -shell-them
peas, and don't let me hear you talk such
; •
foolishness again!"
So the child went out once more iota the
shadow that had su long been like a pall on
her heart, and the great hope that had been
as a sunny gleam for a little while, suddenly
faded out of her yearning. heart.
But the longing was still there. Margery
had never been taught a praydr; she did not
know that God could read her every thought
and wish; that his -ere of love was always
watching over her; it she had, she would not
havo fallen asleep so often, with her cheek
wet with tears, or have looked around on the
meadows, and up into; the sky as then with
such a hungry feeling for love and kindness.
She was alone, as she had often been . on
Sabbath days; no mother's loving fingers
fashioned dainty robes; for Margery; "she
ought to be thankful" Mrs. James told her,
"to have such decent clothes, it wasn't every
one who would give them to her--but for
her part, she couldn't abide rags!"
The decant clothes, however, made so poor
a shoi that she did not choose to exhibit the
child who wore them, to gossiping.neighbors.
So the little girl staid quietly at home, a
lone, as I said before, except that "Watch,"
the house dog, moved lazily after her when
she walked about, and sometimes rubbed his
cold nose against her hand, and wagged his
tail, as much as to say, "Don't fret, there is
one friend for you!"
And the 'great Friend above all others,
whom Margery did not know, looked down
upon the lonely child, and saw how desolate
her young life was. So it was that but
few more Sabbaths found her in the accus
tomed place upon the door steps, or in the
meadow, or looking out at night, from her
little window, at the shining stars.
There came a time, when a dreadful fever
took from many homer), one and another, who
were sadly missed, and its fatal touch was
laid on Margery,' for whom no one oared on
earth, but who was just as precious in
t od's sight, as those whose graves were wet
• ith many tears.
The bright spirits whom we cannot see,
though they are often near, watched over
Margery. A neighbor who had buried her
own little daughter was sitting by the child
at the last, and thinking she asked for water
took it to her: "Isn't it beautiful, beautiful?"
said the little one, "I shall get to heaven af
ter all, they've come to show me the way!
'lsn't it beautiful ?''and with a smile 'on her
lips, and, a light in her eyes that made her
face gloriously fair, the soul of little Mar
gery was borne up to the Beautiful Land,
and the songs of the angels welcomed her,
where she could never be'sad nor lonely 'any
more. ;
PREVALENT NISTA/lEB.—We desire to call
the attention of our readers to the following
prevalent mistakes:
It is a mistake to suppose that the subscrip
tion price of a newspaper b clear gain to the
publisher.
It is a mistake to suppose that he gets
white a .er for nothin:.
It ie a mistake to suppose it is printed
without cost:
It is a mistake to suppose that he can live
bodily by faith.
It is , a mistake to suppose that `it is an easy
thing to please everybody.
• It is a mistake to suppose that a paper is
not worth buying which contains only what
we know and believe already.
It is a mistake to suppose that money due
fir a paper would be as good. to a year
fumedlit , 3 it is now.
a
• : It is greit .mistakti to believe that we
Would not be thankful for, , what is due its
and for new subscribers. ,
gentlemen' in Boston' was complaining
uwieutly that he bad' a sunstroke. Oa bi
le* it, was ascertained that 'be blamed his
wife for it,'as it was in the shape. of a pair
of twin hop. • '
The, editor of.a paper in Indians wants to
Anew "if Western whiskey was ever seen
owing through the rye'
THE SNAKE-BITTEN DUTCH
° MAN. ,
Recently, near' he city of Reading; 13as
county,
Pk ? there lived 'a cosy , old farmer
Mimed filweighoffer—Of German descent and
accent toe as his speech will indicate. Old
SWeighoffer bad once served as a member of
the Legislature, and was no fool; as he com
manded a volunteer corps of rustic malitia,
he could hardly be supposed to incline to
cowardice.' Ris boy' Peter was his only eon,
a strappling lad of seventeen s and upon youngg
Peter and old Peter devolved 'the principle
cafes and toile of the old gentleman's farm,
now and then assisted by the old lady and
her two daughters—for it is very common in
:the , State to see the women - ard - girls' in the
field—and .npon extra occasions by some
hands. —Well, one warm day, in haying time,
old Pete and young Pete were hard at it in
the meadow, when the old man drops his
scythe and bawled out.
"Oh, mine Gott, Peter 1"
"What's de matter, fader answered the
son, straightening up, and looking towards
his sire:
"Oh o mine Gott!" again cries the old
man.
"Dander," echoes young Peter, hurrying
upio_the old_man. 'Fader, what's de mat
ter ?"
"Oh, mine Gott I Peter, de echnake bite
mine leg."
If anything in_partionlar was capable of
frightening yonng_Peter it—was snakes—for
be once crippled himsel?for life by tramping
on a
_crooked stick, which broke his ankle,
an. so orri ied the you t ester,—that-he--like ,
to have fallen through himself.
At the word snake, pining Peter fell back
again as nimbly as a wire dancer and bawled
in turn.
"Where is de sebnake 7"
Anp my trowsis, Peter—Oh ! mine Gott!"
"Oh ! mine Gott," echoed Peter junior,_
"kill him, fader." '
"No-a, no-a, he — . 3. 3 ' , 33
quick."
But Peter the younger's cowardice over
came his filial love, while his fears gave
strength to his legs, and he started like a
scared locomotive, to call the old burley
Dutchman, who was in a distant part of the
field, to give his father a lift with the snake.
Old Jake, the-farmer's assistant, came bung
ling along as soon as he beard the news, and
passing by the fence whereupon Peter and
his boy had hung up their "linsey-wolsey"
vista, hurried to the old man, who still man
aged to keep on his pins, although he was
quaking and fluttering.like an aspen leaf in
a June gale of wind.
"Oh, mine Gott. Come quick, Yawl)?
"Vat you got eh ? schnike."
"Yaw, yaw. Come, come Yacob Ihe bites
me all to pieces—here, Aup mine leg." Old
Jake was not particularly oensitive to fear,
but few people, old or young, are dead to a
larm when a •'pizen" reptile is making a levy.
Gathering up•a stiff, dry stalk of stalwar
weed, old Jake told the boss to stand ready,
and he would at least stun the snake by. a
rap or two, if he did not kill him stone dead;
and the old man Peter less loth to have his
leg brOken than to be bitten to death by the
viper, designated the spot to strike, and Jake
let him have it.
The first blow broke the reed, and also
knocked-old Peter off his pegs on a hay
cock.
"Oh I" roared Peter,"you have broken my
leg, and the tam schua ke's got away."
"Vera yore? cried Old Jake, moving
briskly and scanning very narrowly the earth
ho stood upon.
"Put on your vhest den, here it is,' said
the old orout-eater, gathering up his boss and
trying to get the garment upon his humpy
back. The moment old Peter made the ef
fort, he grew lived in the face—his hair
stood on end "like quills upon a frightful
porcupine," as Mrs. .Partingtob observes; he
shivered, he shook, his teeth chattered, and
his knees knocked a staccatto accompani
ment.
"0, Yacob, carry me borne I I'm so dead
as nits !"
Vat? isb der noder sobnake in your grow.:
sis ?"
"No, a—look I'm all swelt sup ! Mine
vbest wont go on my back. Oh, Got I"
"Tunder and blixen I" cried old Jake, as
he took the same conclusion, and with might
and main he lugged and carried the boss some
quartei of a mile to the house. •
Young Peter had shinned it for home at
the earliest ,stage of the dire proceedings,
and so alarmed the girls that they were in
high strikes when they saw the approach of
poor old dad and his assistant.
Old Peter was carried in, and begin to die
as natural as life, when in came the old lady,
in a great bustle, and wanted to know what
was going on. Old Pete, in the last gasp of
agony and weakness pointed to hie leg. rhe
old lady rapped - upon his pantaloons, and out
fella thistle-top, and at the same time con
_
r3f75 9l9lrig
"Call dis a sohaake? Bphl says the sgd
"Oh, but I'm pizened to death, Molly.—
See I'm all pizen, mine vest won't come over
mine body at all.
"Haw! bawl haw! roared the old woman.
"Vat a fool. You have got Peter's Oat
on." ,
"Koahl" roars old Pete, shaking off death's
ice fetters at one serge, and jumpinic
"Itacob, what an old fool you _ must be, to
say I wap,tichnake bit. . Oo 'bout your busi
ness, galls, Pete, bring me some beer.
SCANDELOI3B.-..-A letter in the Chattan
ooga Rebel says that the ladies in portions of
Tennessee have been' stripped of everything.
Did you ever?
Why was Jonah in the fish's belly like a
fashionable young lady? Beeause h , had
more of the whalebone about hint than
good for him.
,
A- $1,1300. Pilie
When, found the following good thing.
It appears that_,Thaekeray's Nagastine, .in
London, paid Tennyson, the Poet Laureate
of England, sixteen hundred dollars, for a
poem, and the following two stanzas are just
one-half o f it, or eight hundred' dollars
worth :
What noes little birdie•eay
In her nest at peep of daY?
Let me fly, says little birdie—
Mother, let me fly away.
Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till thy tiny wings are stronger;
Bo she rests a little longer,
Then she _flies away.
' Whit does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day ?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and haste away.
Baby, sleep a little longer,
n til your little legs grows stronger;
And after waiting, like the birdie;
Baby, tab, shall tly away. .
Isn't that grand ? Isn't it the quintes
sence of poetry? Here's sixteen lines of our
own, says an exchange,' same style, same
measure, and embodying 'about as much sen
timent,lor which wa will willingly take a
quarter:—
What does little froggie say,
In his pond at peep of dayl
Let me swim, says little froggie— •
Bullfrog, let me swim away.
Froggie,vait a little longer,
Till your legs are st ronger; !
-Bohe Mounts upon a.chunk,
Aid then into the pond her4)-ch-n-nfk.
What does little piggie say,
In his sty at peep of day
•
g&i• . •
Let me go and toot tailay.
Figgie, wait a little longer,
Till your snout grows hard and stronger;
If you suck a little longer,
Figgie then may root away.
A Word for out Soldiers:
There is abundant food for thought and
banding and return of the great armies that
have won the victories of tho past four years.
6 4111 the world wonders,' at the readiness with
which the loyal millions laid down the ham
mer and the spade, We - yard stick - 11nd - the
pen, and rallied in armed defence of their
threatened nationality. It was tt , grand sight.
But it will be no less grand, no less subject
for wonder, to see the gallant; armies of the
Republic return to their homes, resume their
former•occupatiqns, and conduct a campaign
in the interests of Peace, as gallant and as
honorable as their late campaign in the in
terests of war. Upon Government and Peo
ple alike those men have the first claim.—
They have saved the Republic, and God for
bid that the Republic should forget them,
when their heroic, virtues are no longer need
ed_in the field. For four long and eventful
years they have endured all, and risked all
for the good of our common (inn try, and it
would be meanness worthy only of savages,
the nation failed to manifest the tenderest
interest fon-them.
We are not of those who look upon war as
a great demoralizer, unfitting the soldier for
the quiet pursuits of Peace. On the contra
ry we believe that the stern discipline of war
has turned many a worthless fellow into a
good citizen. Who does not known of some
wild trifling, good for nothing, going off into
the army, proving himself a good soldier,
winning promotion, and coming back a dig
nified and steady man ? But the material of
our armies has*never been of a worthless
character. The best men of the land have
stood in the. ranks, And so high is the stan
dard of the personal character in some cases,
that to have been in the army is a presump
tion of merit. Those who were men at home,
were men in the army, and they come back
men, all the better for the sharp discipline
of war.
And now how are we to discharge our du
ty toward the returned veterans? First, by
polluting them for all offices which they are
fitted to fill : Second, by giving them steady
and honorable employment on our farms, in
our work shops, on the Railroads, wherever
they choose to apply for work. The Gov
ernment has already signified its intention to
discriminate in favor of soldiers in the selec
tion of officers and employees. This is right.
Let us carry the same principle into the or
dinary pursuits of common life.
Saturday Evening.
How many a kiss has been given—how
many a caress—how many a look of hate—
how many a kind word—how many a prom
ise has been broken—how many a heart has
been wrecked—how many a soul lost—how
many a loved one lowered to the narrow
chamber—how many a babe has gone forth
from earth to heaven—how many a little
orib or cradle stands silent now, which last
Saturday. night held the rarest of the treas
ures of the heart! A week is a, history. A
week makes events of sorrow or of gladness
w hich_peoplu- never_heed_Go_bome,_you
heart-erring wanderer. Go home to tbe
cheer that awaits you,;wrong waifs on earth's
billows. Go home to your family, man of
business. Go home to those you love, man
of toil, and give one night to • the joys and
comforts fast. flying by. Leave your books
with complex. figures—leave everything—
your dirty shop—your business store: Rest
with those you love; for God alone knows
what next Saturday night may bring them.
Forget the world of care and battles. with
which life furrowed the wreck. Draw cleats
around the family hearth. Saturday night
Las awaited your coming with•sadness, in
tears and silence., Go home to •those, you
love, arid as you bask in the loved presence,
and meet to return the embrace of your heart
pets, strive to be a better man, and 'to bless
God for giving His weary children so dear a
stepping-stone in the river to the Eternal, as
Saturday night.
unity to the last—female rebels.
lii a Sabbath School
When 'Mr: Lindoln: was is Neiv 'York oity
in 1860, some,menths before his, nomination
for the PresidenoT„be manifested much in
terest in kb - of - fawns reformatory institutions
several of which he' examined. He fished
among others the Sabbath School 'attuned
to the Rive,Points House of Industry. He
went alone. and unaided,, , and what happen
ed on the odeasion is described by the Super
intendeot of the School in this wise.
— thieSunday I saw a tall, remarkable took
lug wan mite* the room and "take a ieat a
mong tte: ' He listened with' fixed attention
to our exercises, arid his conntenace expres
sed such genuine interest that,l approached
him and suggested that he, might be willing
to say something to the Children. He 'ac
cepted the invitation with evident pleasure ;
and coming forward. began a simple address,
which at once fascinated every little hearer
and hushed the room in silence. His lan
guage' was strikingly beautiful, and his tones
musical with intense feeling. The little fa
ces would droop into sad conviction as he ut
tered sentences of warning, would brighten
into sunshine as he spoke cheerful .words of
p romise. Once or twice he attempted . to
close 'his remarks, bat then the imperatife
shout of "Go onCO, do go on," would impel
him to resume. As I looked upon the gatt — if
and sickly
,frame of the stranger and marked
his powerful head and determined features,
now touched into softness by the impression
of the moment. I felt an jrresistable curi
osity to learn something - more about him and
while he was quietly leaving the room-Ibeg
ged to know his name. He courteously re
lied "It is' Abraham Lincoln, from Illi-
'The Cure of a Ditnikaid;
A man long noted for intemperance habits
was induced by Rev. John Abbott to sign
the- pledge "in-his 'own way!" which he did
in these words: "I pledge myself to drink no
intoxicating •drinks for one year." Few be-
teve. e con • eep i, • a near aen( o " 1
the year he again appeared at a temperance
meeting without having once touched a drop.,
"Are you not golug to sign again?" asked
Mr.—Abbott. "Yes," replied he, "if I can
do it my own way," and accordingly he wrote,
"I sign this pledge for nine hundred and
ninety-nine years, and if I live to that time
I intend - to take a life lease!" A few days
after he called upon the tavern keeper, who
welcomed him back to his old hut. "Oh, land
lord," said he as if in pain, "I have such a
lump on my side." That's because you have
stopped drinking," said the landlord, "You
won't live long if you keep on." "Will drink
take the lump away?" "Yes and if you don't
drink you'll soon have a lump on the other.
side, Come, let's drink together." and he
poured out two glasses of whisky. "I guess
I wont drink," said the former inebriate, "es
pecially if keeping the pledge will bring a
nother lump for it isn't very hard to bear,"
and with this he drew out the. lump, a roll
of greenbacks, from his side pocket, and walk
ed off, leaving the landlord to his reflections.
The Rebel Leaders.
No fair man can doubt that the rebel lead
ers, and particularly Davis and Lee, are re
sponsible for the starvation and cruel expos
ure of Union prisoners, resulting in thousands
of deaths. The crime in this connection,
that they stand guilty of before the civilized
world, is murder—murder in its worst and
most barbarous aspect.
Henry S. Foote who was a member of the
rebel Congress, has written a letter, in which
he shows the rebel leaders to have been the
authors of the horrible miseries endured by
our brve men in Southern prisons. .He
proves that the Commissary Geneial of - the
Confederacy proposed the starving of Union
prisoners, that the rebel Secretary of, war
approved and endorsed it, that the rebel
HOLM of Representatives tried to prevent an
investigation of 'it. And as Davis and Lee
were at the head of the military department,
of course this starvation policy could not be
carried on without their approval. We sue.
mit to a candid world whether mcn who have
thus taken the lives of thousands of innocent
and helpless prisoners should not suffer the
death penalty, unless capital punishment be
forever abolished?
SCARCE ARTICLES.—A parson who prac
tices all he professeS;
A beauty who never feels proud when she
dresses;
A lawyer whose honesty pleads for his cli
ent;
A braggart whose courage is always defi
ant;
A sensible dandy, an actual friend;
Philosophy publishing, money to lend.'
A skillful physician regardless of self;
A staunch politician forgetful of pelf; ,
A sour old bachelor neatly arrayed;
And last though not rarest, a cheerful old
maid.
FRIGHTENED AT SIIADOWS.-A fellow
went to a parish priest, and told him, with a
long face, that ho had aeon a ghost.
"When and where ?"
"I was passing by the church, and up a
gainst the wall of it, did I behold the spec
tre."
"In what . shape did it appear?" asked the
priest.
"It appeared in the shape of a • O'reat
ass." • . .
"Go home and bold your tonguenbout-it,"
said the parson; "you are a very timid man,
and have been frightened at your own shad
ow." •
We can tell provision, deEelers how to keep,
hates. the year reeled. ~Vharge three *Des
as much as they are worth.
It is impossible. to look at the sleepeis
a church without being re*ded that Sun
day is a day of root:*
. 1
s.ciO
a Wear
The ' ThiePp Plea
• sir,': said the City Judge to a Piis
(Mar charged with stealiug, !it appears to me
that ifiVe seeu you before. Your figuro•head
looks very lamillian • Have you beau here
tefare ' ' ' ".
.'How many times,?'
'Not oyer,a,,dozen ?'
" 'Ah !: yon old rogri, "I thought so.—
Weren't you before me once for stealing 'a
shawl " ' '
*Yes, air.' .
'And a watch?' -
rememberootnethingabont it'
'And a bieastpin r.,
• shotildnit belturprised,'
'And .a ease of boots ?'
11. do recollect that time!'
'And some pieces of dry goods, if I am not
mistaken ?'
'Well, yort.han't
And an Old gentlemea'a wallet ?'
'That's-so, your Honor.'
'And on one occasion a barrel of cider,?'
'Only one.'
And about a year ago, a horse and , wa
gon ?'
•Quite likely.
'And here you are, ir
ifc,-thm tin- — 1 ifr"."
junk,•th - ts time.
. f itiEre Ely conscience !
What excuse have you?'
'A very good one, par Honor.'
'What one? Necessity ?
'Not exabtly:
'Then what - ?' ,
'Your-own-advice,-'
'my adviee ? How dare you ? Bold fel•
low! Yon*: been here so many times•you've
_gotiamiliar,and-grown-asu, • .'
'I say I acted upon your advice, and I
stick to it.'
'To steal F 'Fell tat Wheti I advised you to
steal.'
'Every time I've been - brought before you,
the evidende Wad not sufficient, and you dis
ehatged me, and said: 'Go about your busi
,essl-and I did. My business is stealing; I
only followed your orders' .
'VVell, sir,' now said the astonished Judge,
the evidence is not sufficient this time, eith
er, and you are diseharged, you lucky rogue.
But take care you - don't stick to business so
close, hereafter, or you may find you've over
worked yourself, and
,I shall have to send
you to a hospital'
Practical Joking.
"A fei , days since," writes an attorney,
"as I was sitting with brother C— in his ot•-
fioe in Court Square, a client came in unt.
said :
"Squire D— the stabler, shaved me
dreadfully, yesterday, and I want to come up
with him.
"State your case," says C—
...
Client—"l asked him how much he'd
°barge mo for a horse to go to Delham
He said one dollar and a half. T. paid him
one dollar and a half, and ho said he wanted
another dollar and a . half for coming back,
and he made me pay it."
0— gave him some legal advice, which
the client acted upon immediately as follows:
He went to the stabler and staid :
"How much will you charge me for a
horse and buggy to go to Salem ?"
Stabler replied—"five dollars."
"Harness him up."
Client went to Salem, came back by rail
road, went to -stablerasaying—
"Here is your money; paying him five
dollars.
A Where pia my .horse and wagon?" says
`7—•
"lie is at Salem," says client, "I only
hired him to go to Salem."
A cute Yankee, in Kansas, sells liquor in
a gun-barrel instead of a glass, that he may
avoid the law, and make it appear beyond
dispute that he is selling liquor by the bar -
rel. Of course the cute Yankee's customers
Lieu liable to go off half cocked.
Love can do much, but scorn or disdain
can do more,
Like with little looks well and lasts long.
Let us enjoy the present, we shall havo
trouble enough afterwards.
Let your letter stay for the post, not the;
post for your letter.
Little sticks IC dle the fire, but great ones
put it out.
Little doge the hare, but great Ones
match it.
, A CLEAR CONECIEr CE.—How. bravely a
man can walk the earth, bear the heaviest
burdens, perform the , severest duties, and
look all men square in the lace, if he only
bears in his breast a clear conscience, void of
offense toward God and man. There is no
spring, no , spnr, rte inspiration like this.—
To feel that we have omitted • no task, and
left no obligations unfilled, this• fills the
heart with satisfaction, and the soul with
strength.
USZFUL lIINT.-A tablespoonful of pow
dered alum will -purify, a hogshead of foul
water. Try it.
•At a negro ball the following notice was
posted on the,doorratep:—Tiokete,.fifty pants.
No gentleman admitted unless he COMM hini.
self!
• Ilia a gpod-sign to have a ram to enter
your awe wit h
. a friendly greeting, "here's
$2.00' for my paper. •
A draokardi nose is said to be a 'light
louse* warning us of. the little water that
passes underneath.'
•Mvisione. art SotacesTowderiplots to blow
The reward of the plow is.eternal,
for stealik old