Village record., May 29, 1868, Image 1

.
. .
. .
. .
_ I ,
. . . -
.
......
• .
. .....,.a.ot ...?..y.".771. • - ''''. .
.
y...**...•,.....
..
'
.
~ . . _ .
. . •
. .
, .
. . ,• - . .0.,,.:
.....
.....,•
....:.,...,,,,,,,......,....., ~_.......:,.,..
..
..... .
,
,
i„..„,,...,,,....:,...
..,.!.....
,
•,....;.,....„,..._
, 1 ...,.. ! ,
.........,_
....,.„.,...,..,,
.... . .
. _
•
. •
,
,v..
_
',ell - 64 OA:- fliE .i .
.. 17,-.3E.,. s olk.C. • .
...
' ' ' ''. . ;' :.......At t - ,,,t . ......1 . , ,•...... , •: ,.- s•O. , ': - . 7. :.." '.-
' • . . . ..,
. . ,
,
• I . . , . ' •
.... , .... .
. _
33y' 'TNT. 331exixe.
VOLUME XXI.
I=NCONSTICI-itLMI.
. g
. --
% < -4- / -14 ka ^
// '-z, .
i'''' ,
; i ) - --vic - :....t, " 4
.:V : '.;:el:. - --.4-.'•••;-
-•-• •. , ..-.,.. 1 - - :.,.2--- - I - %;......- 1. --,... ' ..... , ..p . )O e:?
THE POETRY OF SPRING.
BY PREDRIKA BREMER.
Now the trees their snow caps doff,
While the swallows, light of wing;
On their airy trips set off,
Merry harbingers of spring.
Zepher with his team is dashing
Swiftly over land and sea,
Where he sweeps—the waves are flashing,
Banks are green, and streamlets free.
'Neath the azure skies of spring,
All the budding groves arnoug,
Little birds in joyous ring,
—Ostber for their feast of song.
Charmed by their strains, each bud
Opens its in field and Crake ;
While applauding in the wrod,
Tender leaflets thrill and shake.
Merry ini;lgea loudly cheer,
Dancing in their chamfers bright ;
Round the honyed blossom near
Bees are murmuring with delight.
In the golden sunbeams gash
- Purple winged butterflie• ;
O'er the flow'ry meads they dash,
Full of (lettering holfes and joys
Spring all
tying 'creatures
Whilst man c aims, with yearnings high,
Promises !hat neer shell fail,
As he gazes toward the sky.
For this short-lived spring, this clear
CruFeent mookof life was given'
As a type, foreshadowing hero
That eternal Spring of Heaven:.
LITTLE GRAVE.
Pear little grave, bestrewn with flowers,
God's smile thy sun—our tears thy showers
come to claim of thee a part,
And o'er•thee bend a yeirning heart..
I come and kneel with upraised eyes,
While on my lip each murmer dies ;
As faith beholds beyond the skies.
The bud, whose seed within tifei-ifel
Pear little grave thou dust enshrino
The treasured dust we thee_consign
To keep for us until the day
'When soaring soul shall claim its clay
Thou hidest no woe, sweet little bell,
Our spotless lamb from earth's dark World
To light and love in his dear fold—
Where we, when made pure as the child,
Agnin mny clasp thee undefiled.
2UPCIFSCIMILIT_EfA6M - Sr.
Waiting.
We are all the time •tvaitiog for something
in this world, which we are anxious to meet
with and which does not satisfy us, after it
has come and gone. Our longings are nev
er quietdd, cur desires never gratified and
our expectations are constantly on' the alett.
Idopo does not entirely die within us, no
matter how many deep sorrows and hitter
disappointments we may endure We are
waiting for something. In the Winter_we
wait for Spring with its buds and flowers;
in Spring we look forward to Summer with
ita gulden beauties; in Summer to Autumn
with its ripened fruits and variegated fuli•
age; and then again we look for Wieter
with its_itheerful fires and its long nights of
pleasure and repose. They all come and go
io their season and the months and years roll
round and find us waiting still.
`What aro we waiting for ? Can any one
answer this question ? Is it for the grave
to which we are all hastening ; an old ego
of wealth and honor • a change in the ma
terial universe by whioh created things will
wear new forms of beauty, the sun and moon
put on a new splendor and the stars twinkle
with a more brilliant.light * There are those
waiting for all these things and with the
earnest expectation of realizing them; but
there is something beyond these upon which
our hopes are fixed rigid centered— We are
waiting for the close of life and the promises
That lie in the future; for the transfer from
a world of sorrow to one of everlasting joy ;
for the crown of glory and the palm of vic
tory; for the society and .songs of the re
deemed; for that rest which our dreams
haverpietured and our Odd bas promised.—
We are waiting for these things quietly and
patiently; and that is the end of our being
here, to watch, to pray, to labor and to wait.
Earth's Curiosities.
At the city of :kleclino, in Italy, and about
four wiles around it, whenever the earth is
dug, when the workmen arrive at a distance
of sixty-three feet, they come to a bed of
chalk, which they bore with an augur five
feet deep. They then withdraw from the
'pit before the aueur is removed,, and upon
its extraction the water bursts up thro' the
aperture with great violence, and .quickly
fills the new-made well, which continues Full,
and is affected neither by rains nor drought.
But what is the most remarlotble in this op
eration is the layer of earth as we descend'.
At the depth of fourteen feet are found the
ruins of an ancient city—paved streets, hous
es, floors, and different pieces of mason
work.
T%ronoy is thq r doiZiiii eiii:
WAYNESBORO', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA, FRIDAY MORNING, MAY 29,1868.
From Harper's Weekly] '
A STRANGE PRESENTIMENT,
About forty years ago, in the western
part of New York, lived a lonely widow mo
ther. Her husband had been dead many
years, and her only daughter was grown'and
married; living at a distsnce of a mile or two
from the family mansion.
And thus the old lady lived alone day and
night. Yet in her conscious innocence and
trust in Providence she felt safe and cheer.
ful, did her work quietly during the day
light,. and at eventide slept sweetly.
One morning, however, she awoke with
an extraordinary and unwonted gloom upon
her mind which was impressed with the ap
prehension that something strange was a
bout to happen to her or hers. So full was
she of this thought that she could not stay
at home that day, but must go abroad to give
Tent to it, unbosoming h - erself - Wher friends
especially to her daughter. With her she
spent the greater part of the day, and to her
several times repeated the recital of her ap
prehensions. The daughter as often repea
ted the assurances that her good mother had
never done any injury to any person, and
added, 'I cannot think any one would hurt
you. for you - lrave not an enemy in the woild.'
On her way borne sbe called on a neigh
bor who lived in the last. house before she
reached her own. Here she again made
known her continued apprehensions, which
had neatly ripened into fear, and from the
lady at the mansion she received aoswerS
similar to those of hor daug,lter,---LY-ouLha-ve
- hi
termed no one in your lifiTtifie. urely no
one wIl molest you. Here, nover,' she said
to a stout watch dog that lay on the floor„
here, Rover, go home with Mrs. Mozhre,
and take good care of her.' Rover did as
he was told. The widow went home, milked
- t - tFe - c6ws - t - o - ok - care - oreverythin - g - nutYlrdMOtS, -
agd went ri bid e ii. Rover had not
left her for an instant
When she was fairly in bed he laid him.
self down upon the outside, and the widow
relied upon his fidelity, and perhaps chid
herself for needless fear she fell asleep. Some
time in the night, she awoke, being - startled,
probably, by a slight noise outside the
It was so slight, however, that she was not
aware of being startled at all,- but heard, as
soon ae she awoke, a sound like the raising
of a window near - her bed, which was in a
room on the ground- floor.
The dog neither barked nor moved. Nest,
there was another sound, as if some one was
in the room and stepped cautiously on the
floor. The woman saw nothing, but now,
for the first time, felt the dog move, as ho
Ide violent - - - itiring from the bed, and at
made a viol ,g .
the game moment something fell on the floor,
sounding like a heavy log. Then followed
other noises, like the pawing of a dog's feet;
but soon all was still again, and the dog re•
sumed his place on the bed without having
barked or groxled at all.
This time the widow did not go to sleep
immediately, but lay awake, suffering-, yet
not deeming it best to get up. But at last
she dropped asieep,.and-when she awoke the
sun was shining, She hastily stepped outof
the bed, and there lay the body of a man,
extended upon the floor, dead; With a large
knife in his hand, which was even now ex
tended.
The dog hadseized him by the throat with
a grasp of death, and neither man nor 'dog
could utter a sound till all was over. This
man was the widow's son-in-law, the husband
of her only daughter. Ho coveted, her little
store of wealth, her house, her cattle, and
.her land ; and, instigmed by his' sordid im
patience, be could not wait for the decay of
nature to give her property up to him and
his, as the only heirs apparent, but made
this stealthy visit to do a deed of darkness in
the gloom of-the night. A tearful --retribu•
tion awaited him.
The widow's approhensiqns, communica
ted'to her mind, and, impressed upon her
nerves by what,unscen power we know not,
the sympathy of the woman who loaned the
dog, aa_d the silent but certain_ watch_of the
dog It/twelf, formed a chain of_events which
brought the murderer's blood upon his own
head, and which are difficult to be explained
without reference to that Providence which
numbers the hairs of our heads, watches the
sparrow's lull, and 'shapes our ends, rough
hew them as we will.'
Strong Men
Strength of character consists of t - wo
things—power of will and• power of selfte
straint. It requires two things, therefore,
for its existence—strong feelings and strong
command over them. Now we all very often
mistake strong feelings for strong character.
A man who bears ail before him, before
whose frowns domesties tremble, and whose
bursts of fury make the children of the
household quake, because he has his own
way in all things, we call him a strong man.
The truth is, that he is the weak' man ; it is
his passions that nrcT - strong ; he, mastered
by them, is weak. You must measure the
strength of a man by the power of the feel
ings he subdues, not by the power of those
that subdue him. And hence composure is
very often the highest result of strength.--
Did wo ever see a man receive a flagrantine
jury, and then repl3i quietly ? That is a
man spititually strong. Ur did we ever see
a man in anguish stand as if carved out of a
solid rock, mastering himself ? (.1r one bear
ing a hopeless daily trial remain silent. and
never tell the world what conquered his .
home peace ? That is strength. 110 who,
with strong passions,.renanins chaste; he who,
keenly sensitive, with manly powers of
dignation in him, can be provoked and yet
restrain himself and forgive., those are the
strong men, the spiritual hero,.fst
A man in.Qinoiunitti once ativalised for
a -wife, and the 'next day he received letters
from thirty husbands, saying be might have
tl}{ire.
Xiacte•pe - ino cle)3at Family iVervalsionv
A Mother's Influence.
A BIOTEIERS MANNERS MOLD THE OETILD,
There is no disputing this fact—it - shines
in the face of every little child. The coarse,
bawling, scolding woman will have coarse,
vicious, bawling, fighting children. She
who cries on every occasion, 'l'll box your
ears—l'll slap your jaws—l'll break your
neck,' is known as thoroughly through her
children as if her unwomanly manners were
openly displayed in the public streets
These remarks were suggested by thetcon•
versation in an omnibus—that great institu,,
Lion fet — • the students of men and manners—
between a friend and a schoolmaster. Our
teacher was caustic, mirthful, and sharp. —1
His wit flashed like the polished edge of a
diamond, and - kept the 'bus' in a 'roar.'
The entire community , of insiders—and
whoever is intimate with one of these con
veyances can form a pretty good idea of our
numbers, inclusive of the 'one more' so well
known to the fraternity—turned 'their head,
eyes, and ears one way, and finally our teach
er said : can always tell the mother by
the boy.' The urchin who draws back with
doubled fist and lunges at his playmate, has
a very questionable mother. She 'may feed
hini and clothe him, cram him with sweet
meats, coax •him with promises, but' if she
gets mad she fights.
'She will pull him by the jacke'; she will
give him a neck in the back; she will drag
him by the_hair; she will call him all sorts
'
f lamb( IF
he could, and itW - c — oll - 1 (WI
find her to liring him back an Ohio girl any
way, 'for you know,' said she, 'the — Ohio girls
'And we never see the courteous little fel- are rights smart.' So John packed up his
low with smooth looks and senile manners—
little
,wardrobe and. took the first train out
in whom delicacy does - not detract from cour. for Ohio, and lost no time in reaching Fre
aae or manliness, but we say that boy's
mont.
mother - isa True tidy. Her words and ways ti, g_gut-
.ace ient flames that curl and
writhe: out at the corners of her eyes.
_ _ _
'7r7.77i)ving, au quiet. a e reproves,
language is 'my son'—net 'you little wretch
—you plague of my life—you torment--you
scamp l'
'She Vovers before him as a pillar of light
before the wondering Israelites, and her'
beams are reflected into his face. To him
the word mother is synonymous with every
thing pure, sweet, and beautiful. Is be an
artist ? In alter-life, that which with holy
radiance shines on his canvas will be the
mother's face. Whoever flits across his path
with sunny smiles and soft, low voice will
bring 'mother's image' freshly to his heart.
'She is like my mother,' will be the highest
meed of his praise. Not even when the hair
turns silver and the eye grows dim will the
majesty of that life and presence desert him.
'But the ruffian
. mother--alas, that there',
are such—will form the ruffian character of.
the man. He in ttirn will become a merci
less tyrant, with a tongue sharper than a
two-edged sword, and remembering the
brawling and cuffing, seek some meek, gentle
victim far the sacrifice, and make her his
wife, with the condition that he shall be
master. And the master he is for a few sad
years, when he wears a widower's weeds till
he finds a victim number two.'
We wonder not that there are so many
awkward, ungainly men in society—they
love all been trained by women who knew
not nor eared for the holy nature of their
trust They had been made bitter to the
heart's core, and that bitterness will find
vent and lodgment somewhere. Strike the
infant in anger, and he wi!l, if he can not
reach you, vent his passion by beating the
door, the chair, or any inanimate thin.. with
in reach. Strike ° him repeatedly, and by the
time he wears shoes he will have become a
bully, with hands that double for fight as
naturally as if especial pains had been taken
to teach him that art of boxing.
'Mothers, remember that your manners
mold the child. Who !wilt not say that moth•
ers ought to be thoroughly educated, wheth.
er their sons are or not ?
A Cheerful Face
Carry the radiance of your soul in - your
Let th - e IfOild have the benefit of it.
Let your cheerfulness be telt for good where
ever you are, mod let your smiles be scatter
ed like sunbeams .'ou the just as well as on
the unjust." Such a disposition will yield
you a rich reward, for its happy effects will
come home to you and brighten your me-
merits of thought.
Checrfulucss makes the mind clear, gives
tone to thought, adds grace and beauty to
the countenance. Joubert says : "When
you give, give with joy an 3 sm ling "
Smiles are little things, cheap articles, to
be fraught with so many blessings both to
the giver and the receiver, pleasant. little rip
ples to watch as we stand on the shore of
every day life. They are our higher, better
nature's responses to the emotions of the
soul.
Let the children have the benefit of them,
those little ones who need the suni-laiee of
the heart to educate them, and would find a
level fur their buoyant natures it the cheer
ful, loving faces of those who lead them
bet them not be kept from the middle-a
ged, who need the eucourrgement they
bring. '
(Jive ; your smiles also to the aged They
come to them like the quiet rain et summer,
making fresh and verdant the long, weary
path of e. They look fir them from yuu
who ar4 rejoicing io the fullness of I:fe.
13e g':entle and - indulgent to all. "Love
(he mg, the IteatteijiV, the j_gt,the—
A rood story is told of General Sherman.
During his stay in Savannah, after his march
to the sea, ho gas one day at a table, when
a lady•tiomplAined of the devastation of bi 9
army. 'Madam,' said the general looking a
cross the table, with his peculiar axpression,
'what I have done in Georgia is nothing to
what 1 shall do in South Carolina. Madam,
if a crow flies over my truck io South Caro
lina, he will hare to take his rations with
ttirA• •
Strange dream and a Wedding.
One of the-happiest men that ever journ
eyed a hundred miles from Michigan took
the Toledo express on Saturday at Fremont,
bound for Toledo and his home in Michigan.
He told a strange story, of which - the fol.
lowing is the substance :
Some weeks since, while at home in Mich.
igan he retired to rest after a hard day's
work; andJallinc , e' asleep - dreamed a dream.
He appeared to have taken a long journey
from 'hOme,' where he had been located for
ten years, and had scarcely lost sight of, and
where be had lived 'a happy old baeh,' and
never thought of matrimony.
In that dream a vision appeared unto him.
He arrived.at a place in Ohio, which was
called Fremont. It appeared that soon after
his arrival in that place, he formed the, ac
quaintance of a pun.' lady, and that, after a
-sh-ort-bu t_happy coujship.,lte_married--b
and retutned to his home in Michigan, where
he became wealthy, lived happily, and raised
a numerous family of children, and in time
trotted his grandchildren upon his knee.—
lie then awoke; it was broad daylight, and
his mother was at his door calling him down
to breakfast.
At the breakfast table he relates his
dream to the Old lady, and she was deeply
impressed-with it. He told her it was his
intention to at once seek out the beautiful
creature of , whom he had dreamed, and the
old lady, believing there was a special provi.
dente, in it, and being also a firm believer
in dreams , advised nteana. - _t ,
urd find kern nould, and it he
prised to discover that the sign at the depot,
containg the name of the place—was an es•
act duplicate of the one he had seen in his
dream, and that the depot buildings and the
general appearance of the city corresponded
exactly with his vision. He put up at the
Kepler House and began his search. For
two or three days he was' unsuccessful, but
finally, just before be was on the point of re
turning home he came face to face with a
maiden at the post office. 'Tis she,' said he,
all to himself, and then he walked up man•
fully and told her his story ; his dream, and
of his place in Michigan, and franUy asked
her to share his lot with him.
She said something about its being sud•
den ; she would rather wait a few days be
fore giving an answer; but he was deter
mined to have it there and then, and she fi
nally eaid she was dl his own. Ile accom•
panied her to her home, and that evening h.o
told her fond parents all about it. And they
pronouneetbit good. The day following they
were married, and at onoe commenced their
journey DI ichigan-ward,
The man vas a fine looking fellow, and so
happy that he could - scarcely contain him•
sell. lle protested' roundly that it was the
woman he saw in his dream that he had met
and married, anti that all, from first to last,
had been exactly as he pictured in his dream.
The lady was a pleasing appearing, comely
looking lady, a few years younger than the
man, and seemed to be brim full of fun and
to enjoy the novelty of the thing fully as
much as her husband. Take thew all in all,
they were well. matched and wore doubtless
made for each other. lie said only one
thing was lacking to make their happiness
complete, and that was the fulfillment of the
latter part of his dream.— Clew:eland Lea
der. •••
canny Fern
flas been reconstructing a rebel. It seems
that' Mr. Parton (her husband) has an aman
uensis who served in the Confederate army
—a young gentleman of fine manners and
accomplishments. Now,- Fanny_ has heard
_of--sundry - sadh American citizens refusing
to walk under the American flag. So she
fastened the loyal bunting over the door of
Air. Parton's writing room, whereby the a
manuensis could neither get in or out with
out passing under it. Appreciating the juke,
the rebel pinned on the flag a pencilled slip
to the effect that 'lovely woman's wit had
done what five years of war could not do ;
but though bis body passed tinder his soul
soared above.' Next morning Fanny [laced
in the entry, by the side of the hat rack, a
bust of General Buller, so that the gentle
man rebel could not fail to take off his hat
to it. Whereupon the amanuensis left on
the pedestal a memorandum intimating that
'persons curious to see Butler's face as it ap
peared, there might have seen his back as it
appeared at Bethel.' *During the afternoon
Fanny set a bottle of 'Gettysburg water' by
the statue, with the words 'Good for bad
blood and secession. Butler was not at Beth
el, accordieg to his biographer, James Par
ton ; therefore, his kick could not have been
there. But if •it had been, ho nevcr would
have covered it with his wife's petticoats in
decamping,' The rebel's retort was, have
no fancy for being 'bottled up.' I leave
that to Butler.'--IV. I'. lidependent.
A western paper says that it is strange
that some people will starve to death in Eas
tern cities, when numbers of acres of west
ern lands can be bought on time,. and east
pl_tiLl for that wilt yield largoharvests and
i — ndopencieuce; strange that thousands of
able bodied, intelligent men and women will
work like slaves and.cconomize like misers
to get a support when by half the industry
and economy, wealth and opportunity for
selt•cultivation might be obtained in lowa.
But so it is—evor has been, and ever will
be—people will starve and rich lands will be
uncultivated.
A man's chartieref i 3 frequently treated
like a grate —blackened all over arbt, to euwe
otit'Oe biiah.er afterwards,
Get into your Ho
During_tho 'late utipleasantuez.,'.
was a cool, unquenohible sort of a Yankee;
named Gun; who ran a stage in Western
Virginia over a route much infested by
bush ; whackers. We frequently told Gunn
that ioe would,some day get smashed up and
gobbled, and he had better give up his job,
but all to no purpose, for be kept on driving
stage and pocketing the greenbacks. So
three of_us concluded we would give him a
- good scare that he would accept as a warn•
iog. In coming from his stables late at night
its alwa , s took a short cutacross an old bur .-
ing gro - und. To point we repaired.—
One of our number, wrapped in a sheet, !ey
ed down stark and stiff on one of the newly.
made graves, while the others dodged lbehiati
tombstones, and impatiently waited G una's
arrival. Soon he came along, whistling and
!win''e
at once he was confronted by the counter.
feited spectre. There ho stood for a few
moments with his arms akimbo, and coolly
eyed the object from head to foot, than rais
ing his bridles, began to give it a tremendous
thrashing, bawling out at the same titne.---
Tonsarn your old piotur, what you doin' out
here this time of night ? Get into your hole.'
We concluded to let Gunn alone after that.
I=l
THE TERRORS OS BASHEULNERS.--Jf
there is any defect more striking, than anoth
er in the American character it is bashful
lar, ie plain
merica in par
Bess. Tong
ly-affected b • it
fuinvi - dent - isrm - orrtio - n - ed - by a correspon
dent, who was desired by his aunt to go to
neighbor Shaw's and see if he had for sale
any straw, suitable for filling beds. "Mr.
Shaw," says our informant, .'was blessed
with a goodly number of Misses Shaw," and
I therefore felt a little timid at encountering
them. To mak g •
just as the family was seated at dinner.—
Stopping at the door-way, hat in hand, 1
stammered out:
"Mr. Straw can you spare enough Shaw
to fill a couple of beds ?'
"Well," replied the old gentleman, glanc
ing around at his large family, and enjny
ing my mistake, "I don't know but 1 can:—
How many will you need ?"
Before I could recover those hateful Shaw
girls burst into a chorus of laughter and
returned to my excellent aunt.
Bra FEET.—lay be,' said an affectionate
husband to his loving spouse, 'you would
not be so handy about displaying those big
feet of yours it you knew what occurred at
the shoe makers when I took your shoe to
be Mendell the other day.'
'11 7 (11, what was it F'
'The shoemaker took it in his hand, gaz•
ed upon it a few moments and burst into
tears.'
'What was the fool crying about ?'
'lt seems that his grandmother raised
him, and be was exceeding fond of her, and
during his absence from borne one time she
died and he returned only in time to attend
her funeral. Your shoe, in size and shape,
painfully reminded him of her coffin.' A slap
in the race accompained by a 'take•that, you
ruffian," put and end to the story, and uur
readers nauA imagine the rest.
THE TOIIACCO NUISANCE.---A traveller
through a country town in Maine where
there are no hotels, obtained lodging with a
farmer. The nest morning, when he in
quired for his bill, the farmer said 'B5 cents
for Meals and lodgings, and 25 cents for
squirting tobacco juice over the floor.'
The only fault in the Maine farmer was a
want of sense. lie should have 85 cents for
the meals, and $1.85 for the tobacco nui
sance.
That a man chews tobacco is his own
business—where ho spits it is everybody's
business.
JOEIN RANDOLPIL—Thera is no end to
the sayings of John Randolph, of Rout
oho.
Randolph was in a tavern, lying on a so
fa in the parlor, waiting for a stuge to come
to the dour. A dandified chap stopped in•
to the room ; with a whip in his hand, just
come from a drive, sod standing before the
mirror arranged his hair and collar, quite
unconscious of the presence of the gentle
man on the sofa. After attitudinizing a
while he turned tu go out, when Mr. ILO.
delph asked him :
'Has the Stage come ?'
(Stage, Eir l Map I' said the fop 'l've
nothing to .1) with it, sir!'
! I beg sour pardon,' said Randolph,
quietly, thought you were the driver!'
Two street sweepers were overheard dis•
cussing the merits of a new .hand, who bad
that day joined their gang
'Well, Bill, what do you think of the
new comer 'l'
• 'Oh, doo't reckon much of him, he's all
very well for a hit of up and down sweeping
but' shaking his head, •Ict him try a bit of
fancy work around a post, youl; see he wilt
make a poor hand uI it.'
DON'T advertise it's a bad plan.
It will•eull attention to yiiur place of busi
nuns, and it is mush holier for people . who
wish to trade with you to hunt you up. It
gives your customers exercise and wakes
them - healthy. Besides, if you advertise
somebody will buy your goods, and then you
will lve to got mete, and it w.ll be a hith
er to iou
M===
To the depths of the. sea the waters are
still; the heaviest grief is that, 'borne in si
Jeuce; The deepest lore bows • through the
eye and touch tl•e purest joy is uuspeaka•
tole; the most impr6ssive preacher at a funer
al iN the s bat one whose lip ' are c
Iqutloration iy The pillion string running
threugh the chain of 4 1 4 the virtues.
,roar Year
The. Efibet, Of Gioaning
A , eertain_Datehman tnade his entry into
New Orleans last summer while the cholera—
was raging there, and was greatly troubled in
finding a boarding house. Lie inquired of— -
the first one he saw if they had the cholera- -
in the house, and learning that they had, he
went to another, and another, determined not
to stop at any house whew the disease was
doing its work of death.
At last, after a long and weary search, he
found one where them_ was . no cholera, and—
he took up hisluarters there. The master
of the house was a godly ruin, and bad _a -
Ile hs.• bile t•-
rule to have family worship. oe was
offering prayer, he groaned with some force
and fervor, when the Dutchman started up
and cried out—,_ .
'ltot ish ter matter r - ' "
'Nothing' said the host,
.1o;t-time-he_groari-n r -and-thte-
Dutchman started, hie eyes glariog like eau , te
cers, and exclaimed—
'Oh ! mine Got ! der is something ter mat•
ter mit you.'
'No,' said the landlord, and to calm his ap•
prehension, he added, 'l'm a Methodist, and
it is the habit of the members of the Meth
odist church to groan during their dove
.
This was enough for the Dutchman, who
rushed into the street fora doctor, and then
begged him to run to the house on the cor
ner,
'Have t
ey o (rot tho cholera :PI asked tho
___
o, worse; &Rot ter 4fettoclis, and
man will die if you don't run quick
Newspaper subscriptions are infallible tests
of wen's honesty. If a wan is dishonest
will cheat the printers in some way—say that
he has paid when he has not—or sent mon-
paper and will not pay for it, on the plea
that he did not subscribe for it; or will move
off, leaving it to come to the post office he
left. Thousands of professing Christians are
dishonest, and the printer's books will tell
fearfully at the foal settlement at the Judge
ment day. How many who read this para
graph wilt be guiltless of this offence ?
A Darkey was examined in a Washington
court; recently, to prove the identy of a
white man.
'DI you see the man r agked the .attorn
ey..
'Yes, sah, I P eed him.'
'Was he a white wan 1'
'Dunno, sah.'
'Do you say yott saw the man and can't
say whether he was white or black?'
'Yes, sah, I seed him, but dere's so many
white fellers eallin' derselfs niggers round
here I can't tell ono from toder :'
-.11/11
WANTED liElt Sew York
state editor tells this story of a recent wed•
ding in Ulster county, in that state:
'When all was arranged, and the minis
ter called on any one who 01 - 'jected to the
marriage to 'speak now,' there came from
the corner, a husky note of protest. Of coarse
all eyes, astonished, turned is that direction,
when a loan, hungry looking man, six feet
high, emerged from the crowd, holding his
handkerchief over his face, and blubbbring.
Why do you object e asked the parson.—
"Case, ' case, sir, I [ want 'or for myself, I
do.'"
THE ITAR3tr.Ess PIPE. —An an'ti.tobacco.
nist in addressing a company of Shilors, wan
ed them against chewing and smoking, and
declared that every kind of pipe was bad,
however moderately indulged in.—'Avast
there !' exclaimed an old sidr, know a pipo
that never hurt anybody "What is it?'
blandly asked the lecturer. 'A hornpipe,'
yelled the old tar, and' the lecturer was ex.
tinguished in a fl iod of' laugh ter.
A negro lately gave his idea of faith in
God's promises in the follJwing words :
War is a brick wall, and de L)vd he stand
dar and, say to me, 'Now I want you to gc.
troo Oat,' I aiot gwiue to say, 'Lord, can't.'
I got nuifto to do 'bout it. All I havo to
do 'bout it is to butt agin it, and it's de
Lord's busiuess to put me trou.'
AN ETHIOPIAN CONUNDRUM.--`l. say,
Sam, if I tells you a lie, why is dat like my
ole arm chair ?' I (lobate t see de resemb.
lance, Pete."Wal, look yere, cos Ws de
seat dat I use.'
'Don't trouble, yourself, to stretch your
mouth any wider,' said a dentiat to a ruin
extending his j tw, frightfully,.‘as I intend
to stand outside during the performance.'
An old 13dy, hearing somebody say that
the mails were very irregular, said :
'lt was just BO in my-young days, no trust.
ing :toy et Went.'
Why are old maids and doubtful propo
sitions alike ? • Because neither of Chem is a
parent (apparent) to any body.
The young ladies of Chicago who wear
false calves; exeu•e the practice by saying
that 6hey aro protected against wad-dogs.
A young Atigsourian, ealor•iziog his girl's
beauty, said, , ca be cinggone r d if she ain't al
party as u red wagou.'
• wish,' said a son of Erie, could' find
the place where men doo't die, that I way
go and end my day's there,
A lidy who held a glass' of water in bat
hand. said :----Oh, if it were only wicked tu
drink this, how oleo it would be!
A wealthy young widow recently adver
tised as 10/I.JWS : A-gent
,wauted. We say
A,-ntan to that.
This line Vs a evh&uni
NUMBER 50