Newspaper of Bedford Gazette, May 25, 1860, Page 1

Newspaper of Bedford Gazette dated May 25, 1860 Page 1
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VOLIIIE 36. NEW SERIES. rjIHE BEDFORD GAZETTE, ■ IS PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING BY B. F MEYERS, \t tVi following terms, to wit: $1.50 per annum, CASH, in advance. $•2.00 " " if paid within the year. " " >' not paid within the year. tYS?™No subscription taken for less than six months. (X7"No paper discontinued until all arrearages are raid unless at the option of the publisher, it has t,een' decided by the United States Courts that the stoppage of a newspaper without tne payment ol ar rearages, is prima facie evidence ot fraud and is a criminal otience. . , courts have decided that persons are ac countable for the subscription price of newspapers, il the) take them from the post office.whether they subscribe for them, or not. 011 tt t |) o£t rg. THE LONG AGO. liY B. F. TAYLOR* Oh! a wonderful stream is the river Time, As it glides through the realm of tears, With a faultless lhythm and a musical rhyme, And a broader sweep, and a surge sublime ; And blends with the ocean ot years. How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow, And the summers like buds between, And the year in the sheaf—so they come and they go On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow, As it glides through the shadow and sheen. There is a magical isle up the river Time, Where the softest of airs are playing ; There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, a song as sweet as a vesper chime, And the Junes with the roses are straying, And the name of this isle is the' Long Ago, And we bury our treasures there ; Thpre are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow— There are heaps of dust, but we loved them so ! There are trinkets and tresses of hair. There are fragments of songs that nobody sings, And a part of an infant's prayer ; There's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings ; There are broken vows, and pieces of rings, And the garments that she used to wear. There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore, By the mirage is lifted in air ; And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar, • Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, When the wind down the river is fair. Oh ' remembered for aye be the blessed isle, All the day of life, till night— When the evening comes, with its beautiful smile, And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile. May that "Greenwood" of souls be in sight. Select £ ale. i VOICE FROM THE WAVES. It is midnight and lam alone ! Yet my sol itude is peopled with many busy memories ; for beyond the precincts of this silent little room, i the sound of rushing waters, dashing on im petuously, filling all the air with hoarse, fitful murmurs. Above the tumult rises one voice, speaking to my soul in the eloquence of woe. Thus it spoke to me once before in the years that are past. My cousin Kuth and I shared this littie room together. From its deep window we watched the windings of the beautiful stream rippling in the sunlight, or leaving the drooping branches of the spreading beeches that miriored their graceful forms in its cool shadows. Another, too, knew well its windings; and from that window we had watched hiin moor his little boat and spring upon the mossy beach with a boyish halloo ! as he caught the flutter of Ruth's waving handkerchief, hei free,cousin ly signal of welcome. My noble brother Horace ! What wonder that Ruth's loving heart bounded at the sight of him, so manly and so brave ! His presence made sunshine for the ramiest day that ever be fel, and even old Growler, octogenarian as he was, according to the reckoning of the canine calendar, gamboled in quite a juvenile wav at the sound of the familiar voice ; and the sleek little greyhound, Flora, thrust her cold nose forward, in a privileged way, to offer a salute after the most approved "pug" fashion. The summer with its wealth ot roses, was on the wane. But as the roses ot the garden were shedding their glowing leaves in tbp chill of the autumn winds, those on the cheeks of my beautiful cousin were growing deeper day by day. How royally beautiful she was as she stood in that past window, in the bright glory of the morning sunshine! So Horace thought, as he stood looking down upon her so fondly. Her soft brown hair was drawn smoothly back from her broad, white brow, and her small, beautiful hpad encircled with ivy leaves. When she raised her deep, lustrous eyes to ] his tace, he compared her to Dante's "Beatrice."— Rut Ruth was sportive as a fawn, and that be seeching look, failing :n its object, the white lids drooped over the tender eyes, and the red lip pouted ominously. Horace held his gloves and riding whip in one hand, while he extended the other to Ruth for a parting clasp. The little shoe, with its shining bucklp, tap ped impatiently against the white oaken floor, while the rosy fingers busied themselves with an embroidered slipper. Perverse girl that she was ! not to be daunted by the half deprecatory glance of those expressive eyes ; but she kept silence. "Come Ruth, cousin, mine, have pity, and don't dismiss me without one cousinly salute. How can 1 bear up under a whole week's ex lie from mv little wife that is lobe, without e ven one kiss of parting V' Playfully bending down to look into her a verted eyes, he continued : "Why, you are as silent as a sphinx. By vour leave, 1 will present you as a rum avis at the next convention of ."Naturalists"—a woman that has lost the use of her tongue !" ".Such a favor would scaicelv compensate for the loss of your wit," she replied, indtgnantlv. "I ain dumb with surprise !" "At what ?" "That you are so unlike a man." "What then am I like V' "A monster !" "Brave, Ruth ! You have been studying "Guillauine Tell !" And, since you are as de fiant as the Swiss liberator, I must be as haugh ty as the tyrant Gessler. But I won't plead tor a privilege, that I have a right to demand. So cousin mine, here's to a better humor when we meet a week hence." And with a polite haw, he was about to withdraw. Ruth made a step forward, and said, in a spirited wav "Horace Wilrner, are my wishes reallv of so little importance to you, that you can pass them by so lightly ? Two weeks before our mar riage, aud you are already playing the tyrant. Once more, Horace, will you forego this en gagement fir my sake, and sustain me by your presence this evening 1" "A littie too austere, myrustie maiden ; you must emulate the tenderness ot your scriptural namesake it you would gam your plea. But Hamilton is waiting, let us part friends ; you are too exacting, dear Ruth. lam sure I have given you reasons enough to satisfy anv gener ous person. So say good-by, aud 1 will return as quickly as I can." "Since my wishes are of 4 so little consequence my favor must be as lightly esteemed. You need not write ; you are under the ban of mv displeasure, sir ! Good morning, Mr. Wil mer !" And with a stately step she passed into ano ther room, leaving Horace half-amused and half pained, to bid me a hasty adieu, and find 11s friend who was waiting for him in a carriage below. Ruth came forward as the sound of wheels struck her ear. Peering through the blinds she saw the carriage passover the little bridge and lose itself among the trees. Then with a sigh, she sat down to finish the velvet slippers she was embroidering for Horace, with a resolution, no doubt, to banish him from her nund. Entering the room a half hour later, I found her leaning idly upon the embrasure of the window, with the miniature of Horace lying before her, which she was regarding verv at tentively. Horace had gone to a neighboring town to attend to some court business which required his personal supervision, and which he could not possibly neglect or entrust to pother hands. But Ruth had set her heart upon having him at "Clovermead" that evening, to a company given to a bride, for whom she had officiated as brides maid. The position was embarrassing, and she "par ticularly wished Horace to be present, to spare her the annoyance ot the too pointed attentions ot the groomsman—a matter which she had not altogether explained to Horace, and whiih consequently he did not quite understand. She felt piqued at his seeming indifference, for they had loved each other from childhood, and tor the first time in their lives had parted coldly he, vexed that she should insist on controlling him, and she half disposed to question his love. Three nights alter Horace left there was a ter rific storm. The tali poplars shading the ave nue were tossed like reeds in the strong wind, and occasionally in the lull ol the tempest we heard the roar of the swollen stream, as it over flowed its banks, and lore up by the roots the knotted beeches that hid cast their shadows up on its bosom for half a century. Ruth, startled from her light slumber, clung to me in an ago ny of fear, as the deep voiced thunder reverbe rated along the lowering heavens, and the vivid lightning shed a blinding glare through the sul len gloom. Again and again she called Hor ace by name, and ejaculated prayers for his safety. "Oh, cousin Annie," she would say, "should anything happen to Horace, I can never foigive myself." Trembling and dismayed myself, agitated bv strange forebodings, I sought to soothe her.— So the night passed, and the morning came. The solt haze floated like a veil of cossamer over the yellow maples, till their bright leaves deepened to a ciimson glow. Through masses of snow white clouds were rifts of smiling blue —no trace ol the leartul starm, except the roar of the turbid stieam and the masses ol floating timber along by the swift current. There was sunshine, too, in the trusting heart of cousin Ruth ; for the good doctor, her lather, had brought from the post ofiice, a formal note from Horace, stating that, in consideration of her displeasure, if she would grant him upon his return, the boon she had denied him at parting, he would brave alTthe adverse fates extant, and be with her that evening. All day the name of Horace was upon her tongue. Busily she plied her needle, waving in the bright blue "forget-me-nots" upon the purple ground of the velvet slippers—peace-of ferings for Horace upon his return. "It was so wrong of me, Annie," she would say, "to behave so imperiously to Horace. He has so often told me that my unwavering con fidence in him endeared me to him more than all the rest. Ob, the laggard moments! how slowly the pass—l am so impatient to acknowl edge my fault, and convince him that I appre ciate his noble worth. Let us go down to the old ash tree, Annie, and perhaps we may hear the sound of "Harry's" hoofs as he crosses the little bridge !" 1 humored my cousin's wish, for there was a something oppressing my heart, of which I da- , BEDFOHD, PA., FRIDAY MORNING, MAY 25, 1860. red not speak—a half recognized lbreboding of evil. The sun was setting gloriously as we neared the stately ash, under whose broad shad ow we three had so often sat, chatting in the very recklessness of joy. A las ! its day of pride was passed. It was riven to the heart by the lightning's unerring bolt ! Cine half standing erect waved its blighted branches menacingly ; and the other lay prone upon the earth. A faint shudder ran through Ruth's limbs as she stood by the wreck of her old favorite— Glancing toward the stream the color forsook her cheeks, her laige eyes dilated ; and, cold and rigid as marble, she raised h>-r finger and pointed to a huge tangled mass of interla cing branches that were rising and falling in the rushing whirlpool of water. I followed the direction ol her eyes, my blood congealed with an indefinite horror; but I could discern nothing to excite alarm. '•What ? what, Ruth T" I eagerly exclaimed clasping her quivering form in my arms. "Oh, Annie," she said, as the color came faintly back to ner writhing lips, "I thought f (•aw—but it is too horrible—help me to dispel the dreadful illusion ! Let us return ; I cannot remain here." I did not urge her to tell me the cause of a larm. Hurrving through the gathering shad ows, we spoke no word until we reached the house. It needed all the cheerful aspect of the comfortable little tea-room, with its genial in mates, to restore composure both to Ruth and myself. As the evening wore oil, my uncle noticed Ruth's restlessness, and asked, in his abrupt way ; "Whom are you expecting Ruth ? Not Hor ace, my daughter. He surely would not ibe such a madcap as to attempt crossing the bridge with the stream rushing at such a fearful rate ! The waters are subsiding, and to-morrow per haps, lie will find the undertaking a little less dangerous. Keep up a brave heart and don't take trouble or interest. Such a sunny face as yours wis tievei meant lo be clouded by sad ness. Come inlo my oiSce, you and Annie, and let me see if I can't cheer you up a lit tie !" i- We followed the dear old man. He unlock ed his private desk, and took there-frorr. two handsome jewel cases. 'See here!" he said, as he pushed back the spring, 'what a simpleton my two spoiled pets make of me.' Hartman insisted upor. mv pur chasing these while I was in New York, three months ago, as bridal presents lor *you both. Now you saucy rogues,' he continued, as we both fell into extacies of admiration over the exquisite pearl ornaments—necklaces, braces and brooches—'l verily believe vou would sell me, if you were ofleied such gimcracks in ex change. Now if you don't promise my present before all others, I will pull the ears of you. You see, Annie, since you are no* to have a husband, but are to stay and tyranize o ver me, after this ungrateful girl leaves me, I am going to bind you by a chain of pearls ; and if that won't keep you in check, why, I will sell you to the first bidder, and think it a hap py riddance!" W* hall-smothered him with kisses and thanks and betook ourselves to our room to try the effect of our beautiful gifts Very lovelv the white pearls looked on Ruth's scarcely Kss snowy throat ; but she laid them aside and turn ed to the window, looking lingeringlv at the clear, cloudless moon, and thinking ot the mor row. We chatted hopefully until the night wore on, and 1 knew by Ruth's regular breath ing that she slept. 1 was restless,dark thoughts kept surging over me, which spite of a resolute will, I could not subdue. Finally a light slum ber was stealing over my senses, when I was startled by a sudden ring of the office bell. Mv, cousin, Henry slept in the adjoining room, and in a few minutes 1 heard my uncle's voice calling to him in a low, suppressed tone. 1 sprang from my bed and stood at the door lis tening. •Henry! Henry, my son,' he said, 'get up quickly for God's sake ! Horace is drowned !' J laid my hand upon my heart—lor even tiien came a thought ol that silent sleeper, breath ing so calmly under the very sound of the ap palling words that would fall upon her ear like the crash of a thunderbolt! Through tan inexplicable whirl of confused thought, T "heard Henry's bewildered exclamations, as bis father said, softly, 'Get up quietly, my son, and do not disturb those unhappy children !' I heard the sound ol voices below ; then my cousin Henry's cautious step passing by our door and descending the stairs.—Then, silently as I could, I passed through the outer door and stood at the landing of the stair till they all had gone and I heard my uncle closing the door as he re-entered the house. Like a spirit I had glided down, and awaited him in the hall. He rame forward holding the lamp in his hand, the light falling upon his white hair, and facesrrong ly compressed. At sight of me he started, then set down the lamp and took me in his arms. I could hot weep—only look at him with a beseeching eagerness in my eyes, which he readily understood. •My child' he said,'! will not repeat whatjl see you know too well. They have gone in search of the body. There is no possibility of his being found alive. But, Ruth, my jioor darling ! how can wj feieak the dreadful tidings to her? You must tell her, Annie—l never can. It would be like thrusting a dissecting knife through her genntle heart!' Then he told me all. My brother and his friend had left 0 that afternoon, in a one horse carriage. Upon reaching the stream they found it very much swollen, but anticipated no difficulty in crossing the bridges which stood some few feet above the water, with a gradual ascent from the bank on either side. On uiging the horse through the stream towards this ascent, his feet became entangled in some drifting branches, and in stri ving to extricate himself he was fast proceeding beyond his depths. Several persons standing on Freedom of Thought and Opinion. flie banks called to the two young men to save themselves and Jet the horse go. But Horace sprang out upon the wheel, and in reaching o ver lo cut (tie traces was dragged lrom his foot ing, and was lost to sight beneath the loamin waters. Mr. Hamilton, his fiiend, caught by the pier and clambered to the top of the bridge, while tfie vehicle and the noble animal that Horace had last his life in trying to save, were swept dowu by the current. Horace was seen no more. Many had followed down the stream, thinking, perhaps, the body might be found ; but as yet were unsuccessful.. A deputation of young men had called for Henry, and they were now on their way to seek "die beloved dead. 'And now, my child,' he said, 'go to Ruth, but keep 'he painful tidings from her as long as you can. My poor child, your own heart is is breaking, but sympathy for another, will make your own grief less hard to bear!'" Kiss ing me tenderly, he sent me back to my own room. f he light was gleaming faintly from the east, and in its soft glow I could see the flushed face of the sleeper. The loosened hair lav in wavy masses over tl e lair temples, and every flexible, uelicate feature, indicated a sweet, painless rest. V\ dhout, was the sullen roar of the remorseless waters, filling my ears with wild requiems for the loved and lost. I nestled closely to mv cousin's side and clasped my arms tightly a rourid her, gathered -strength from her peaceful unconsciousness. Oh ! the intensity of that si lent suffering! the crushing of the strong sob that pained my throat to suffocation! The morning sun broke radiantly thro' the folds of the close curtain, when Ruth, clasping my hands closely in hers, exclaimed : 'Dear Annie, how cold you are !' Then suddenly raising her head, she looked into my fice with an expression ol tender sym pathy. Noticing my paleness, she continued, 'Oh ! Annie you are very ill ! Let me call pa lustantlv.' But as she was in the act of rising, I mastered my emotion, and bade her dress herself quick ly, as I had something important to tell tier. Half-bewildered, she passively allowed rne to assist her; and then I held her head closely to my breast, and asked her, 'lf Heaven had de manded of her a sacrifice ot that which she val ued most on earth, what would it be V With an indescribable terror in her face she only clung to me the closer, and I told her, as composedly as I could, ot the dreadful catastro phe. lor a little while she sat gazing abstiactly in my face ; then realizing the puiport of mv words, in a sudden revulsion of feeling she sprang to her feet exclaiming : 'Oh, Horace! Horace' let me die, too ! I can not—l will not live without you! Oh, Hoiace, my cousin ! come back and speak to ir.e once more arid let me clasp the hand which I so scornfully repulsed !—that warm tender, kind hand ! Annie ! Annie!' she said almost stern ly. It cannot be!— Horace dead ! No, no : I will not believe it!' Thus at intervals, she moaned and laughed incredulously, looking with an eager, question ing look into the faces of each one who enter ed our room with words of sympathy and con solation. Then, as the day wore on, there was the sound of wheels without, and then followed the hurried retreat of shuffling feet in the hall be -1 >w. I knew too well the import of that sound. Ruth raised her bloodless face from the pillow on which she had been nestling. For two hours, she had spoken no word. She moved hurried ly towards the door, but a kind, firm hand re strained her. "Not yet, my child," said the soft voice of aunt Esther. "Bear up yet a little while, and you shall go to htm." Another long blank period passed, and then, when all was still, I took the handot Ruth, and we descended the stairs, and passed through the hall, where groups of anxious faces were silent ly waiting for a look at the beloved dead. We entered the room so dark and chill, and together we two, whom he had loved best in life, stood pale, tearhss, beside him—dead ! The noble features wore no trace ol the death strug gle. A beaming peace rested upon brow and lip. The knife was still clasjied in the right hand, with a grasp no power could unloose. Ruth lifted the wet hair from the temples, until the holy repose of the dead face passed into her own young stricken soul. I left her ttiere along with him to whom, in life, her heart had been Unit with firmness that not e ven death could sever. I hastened back to mv room, and the wild passion of woe that had garnered up iu my soul, found relief in blessed tears. Our dead was borne from our sight, and in the agony ol her grief, Ruth told mil how she had seen as she thought, the face of Horace looking out at her from the eddying waves. His body bad been lound some miles below, on the day following. Time came to both, with healing in its wings, but the brightness had passed from Ruth's life forever. And now, as she passes on her holy mission through the heedless throng, many are the faces that look into hers for sympathy, un conscious of the death-lhroe that sanctified Iter heart, and made her one of those "who profess godliness and adorn themselves with good works.''— Home Journal. savs that a lady should al ways ask the four following questions before accepting the hand of any young man : Is he honorable ?- Is he kind of heart ? Can he support me comfortably ? Does he take a paper and pav for it in ad vance^ A dying West India planter, groaning to his favorite servant, sighed out, "Ah Sambo, I am going on a long, long journey." "Never mind, massa,"' said the negio, consolingly, "it am all de way down hill." ' miscellaneous. THRILLING. A gentleman who was present at the late awful catastrophe at Pemberton Mills, made the following most thrilling and touching state ments at a recent meeting .of the New Yoik Fulton .street prayer-meeting : He said that he wished to speak of a woman who was among the victims; and while she jay crushed with others in the same condition, among the fallen walls and timbers, became a missionary to the dying. She forgot hersell and her wounds in tier eager desire to pursuad e her feuow-suflerers to look to Christ in all their guilt am! sin, anu sorrow, and dismay and he would paidon all their ins and dispel all their fears. She preached to them of that precious blood which cleanseth frovn all sin. She exhorted tnem lo ask anything which their souls requi ted liom their heavenly Father, for the sake of that peace-speaking blood.—The gentleman said that while she was leading her fellow suf ferers to Jesus, by all her powers of persua sion, they were digging for her witn all their might, and he saw her taken alive from the ru ins, and carried away in the arms of stalwart men, whose tears had been flowing at the words which she addressed to those around her.—That nobie Christian woman he believed was now living, and was slowly recovering lrom her in juries. Jhe same gentleman spoke of another scene which he witnessed there. Among the num ber who were held last by the fallen timber, and mangled more or less, were three little girls, children of Irish parents, who were mem bers of one of the Sabbath schools of Lawrence. In it they had learned some of the sweet hymns which are sung in the Sunday school, aud they were very fond of singing them. Thev had communicated the knowledge of these hvmns to some of their fellow working girls. A compa ny of these little girls was involved in the ru ins in such a manner as to be comparatively safe and uninjured until the fire broke out. They would soon have been rescued, if the de vouring flames had not shut out every hope of escape horn the prison in which thev were im mured. But wher. the fire began to roar a rcund them they joined their voices in singiiu* : "I want to be an angel and with the angels stand, A crown upon my forehead, a harp within my hand; .t here right before my Saviour, so glorious and * 0 bright, 1 11 vvake the sweetest music and praise him day and night." Beautifully and calmly they sung through all the hvmn ; and their sweet voices could be beard above the noise and cries of the rescuers, and the crackling of flames, as they that other joyful hymn, "We're going home to glory," unti' their voices were silenced, to be heard no more until they are beard, as we hope thev will be, in the triumphant anthems of heaven." THE DOCTOR 01 TWITTED. When Dr. Bodge, an eclectic physician was lecturing on the laws of health, and particularly on the evils of tea and coffee, Tie happened to meet one morning at the breakfast table a witty son of Erin, oi the better class. Conversation turned on the Doctor's favorite subject ; he addressed our Irish friend as fol lows ; "Perhaps you think I would be unable to! convince you of the deleterious eflect of tea aud ! coffee!" j "I don't know," said Erin, "but I'd like to be ! there when you do it !" "Well," said the doctor, "if I convince you ' that they are injurious to your Health, will vou ' abstain from their use ?" "Shure and I will, sir." "How otteu do you use coffee and tea ?" ask- ! ed the doctor. "Morning and night, sir." " Well," said the doctor, "do you ever expe rience a slight dizziness of the brain on eoino to bed ?" ° ° "I do—indade I do," replied the noble son of Erin. "And a sharp pain through the temples, in aod about the eyes in the morninc." " froth, I do, sir." "Well," said the doctor, with an air of con fidence and assurance in his manner, "that is the tea and coffee." '•ls it, indeed ? Faith and I always thought it was the whisky J drank." The company roared with laughter, and the doctor quietly retired. He was beaten. LOVE JOY'S INHUMANITY. —The Bureau Coun ty Democrat, published at Princeton, the resi dence of Owen Lovejov, says that during his boisterous and abusive speech the other day, he referred to the killing of his brother at Alton, a few years ago, and declared he would be avenged. But, add? tfie Democrat , he was very careful not to mention how he defrauded the disconsolate widow of his brother out of the small estate left her by h-r husband, leaving her dependent upon the cold charities of the world. The sister of the unfortunate widow is also an inmate ol the Lee county (Iowa) poor house. Notwithstanding the destitute condition of this woman, this boisterous hypocrite is con stantly prating about his charity to the runaway ! niggers that he takes in and protects, and ex-! ultingly proclaims that the hungry shall never ' be turned away empty from the philanthropic 1 doors of his home. This very generous and ■ Christian man is too great tosinile or look upon the objects related to him by the ties of con-I sanguinity. To help them might elicit angel smiles, but it would not carry him to Congress i where he can preach the most offensive aboli- ! tionism, and boast of his nigger stealing opera- I tions under the plea of humanity and love to the i race. His sole aim being office, he is willing to : ride any hobby in order to acquire it, while" his ! poor sister-in-law may pine in want without : attracting his attention, or receiving any of his ! boasted charities. Out upon such a villaiuous ! hypocrisy by a political clergyman. 1 WHOLE * HIRER, 2903. | AMERICAN GIRLS AND MATRIMOMV i American girls of good education do not know how lucky they are. Every American g.rl neither H'" aR '° lhefC a '" e rcanv who are neither the one or the other-has not one, hut EuroT Cf T mar ,^ ing - f very d;ffer -1 j > " pe * In lhe country towns in Eng land fnarrying men are 50 rare that it ,s uu.fe common to see a dozen charming girls, all well a™,,, English mo,h", a JS?^ in "tS , r.ed on to an extent unknown here (*Je in the very highest circles of our aristocracy:) and this not from mean motives, but from JelrZ^ , t 1 00 / 3 ' l'" PecUb,s daugh ter to get a husband unless she buvs bim Ev ery man who has a daughter begins, when she *h o, Je .„ oWi , 0 £< Pana~jnH ' purchast - ™ney of a husband. , 1 apa and mama deprive themselves of luxuries and even necessaries, to amass a respectable sum , the boys' education is cut short, and their patrimony discontinued, in order to save the IV Of h P K r T rt !f n t0 1,5 afcounl * the qual ity of the husband. A father who can give his i < aughter a half a million of francs wilf expect fhm ene 7 i°! Dat ° r: ,1P who ba * a bundrS : awve'r a r tOW 7'' 1 6xhis mark a t a rising lawyer, a dashing colonel, or a prefect : he who 1 sat sfiedTl t r enty th ° Ußand <rancs will i tor Fit h mercbant a clever doc tor. But he ho has no money to -ive his |. a r "^ e d nm ™r is a thoroughly obsolete in ! f' tut 7 ' £ ranee. I„ Cermany aSmdeed throughout Europe, the rule is rapidly becoro tef to rn? me ' A / . ilher Wh ° eXpeCU his dau Sb ter to marry must buy her a husband. Hearts A LAD CHARACTER. —YVe always were a ware of the importance ol preserving a eood | reputation for truth and honesty, but we have met With nothing lately, so well calculated to | impress the disadvantages of haying a bad char da!" ° n miQd ' M lhe lollow ' n g anec- A mortal lever prevailed on board a ship at sea, ana a negro man was appointed to throw the bodies of those who died from time to time overboard. One day when the Captain was on deck, be saw the negro dragging out of the fore castle a man who was struggling violently to extricate himself from the negro's grasp, and re monstrating very bitterly against the cruelty of being buried alive, "V\ hat are you going to do with that man you black rascal ?" said the captain. ' he'<£d nt0 lbfoW hira cveiboar d,massa, cause "Dead ! you scoundrel," said the captain, "do you not see he moves and speaks ?" l '\es, massa, I know he says he no dead, but he always Le so, nobodyjnever know when to be lieve him !' , " Last winter an Irishman, recently lan j ( ed on our shores, applied to a merchant on the ; wharf, tor work. Willin* to do him a kindness ihe latter handed him a shovel, and pointing to die back of his store, told him to shovel offlhe j sidewalk. The merchant forgot all about the Irishman , until the lapse ol an hour or two, when Teddy j thrust his head into the counting room, (which i was up'stair and inquired : "Mavhaj. yee'd be having a pick, sir V* "A pick to get the snow off ?" said the mer chant smiling. "The snow'd be off long since," replied Ted "an' the bricks too, for that matther, but it's the' site (soil) that shticks !" In some alarm the merchant ran to his back window, and shure enough, the fellow had thrown nearly all the pavement into the street and made quite a hole. "Good gracious, man ! I only wanted you to shovel off the snow !" "Arrah, sir," said Teddy, didn't y o ur honor tell me to shovel off the sidewalk PRACTICAL REPUBLICANISM. —In Cleveland the Republican leaders carry out the principles they profess. They allow negro children to sit side by side with white children in their schools. Upon objection being made to this condition of things, one of the members of the Board of Ed ucation said : "I would rather mv little girl should sit BF SIDE A COLORED GIRL, than by a FRIZ ZLY HEADED IRISH, or BARE HEELED DUTCH ONE!" That is what we call showing their faith by their works—Rut when election time draws nigh, these same Republican leaders will pro less to be the only true triends of the "frizzly headed Irish and bare heeled Dutch." "WHAT a blessed thing it is," said Mrs. Jones, to the widow Partington, one day during the' late revival, "that so many poor souls areVinc called to be saved." "Dear rne, yes," replied the widow, "I only wish that my dear late concert, Paul Partington, could have lived to see this blessed revisal. He was a most imi nenl christian in his day and gineration, Mrs. Jones, although I sav it and have no doubt that he is now happy in Beelzebub's bosom." And as the old lady closed her eyes to get a glimpse of the spiritual vision, a loud scream of pain came fiom Isaac, who had got a hornet between his thumb and finger. A YOUNG HEENAN —In order to amuse the children on the Sabbath, a lady was engaged recently in reading to them Iroin the Bible, the story of David and Goliath, and coming to the passage in which Goliath so boastingiy and de fiantly dared the young stripling, a little chap almost in his first trousers, said, "skip that skip that—he's only blowing ! I want to know who licked." VOL. 3. NO. 43.

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