Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 8, Decatur, Adams County, 3 April 1857 — Page 1

THE DECATUR EAGLE.

VOL. 1.

THE DECATUR EAGLE. PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING. Office, on Main Street, in the old School House, one Square North of J. « P Crabs Store. Terms of Subscription : For one year, $ I 50, in advance; $1 75, «ithin *ix months; $2 00. after the year has exp,red TT No paper will be discontinued unt “ *“ arreragea arc paid, except at the option of the Publisher. Terms of Advertising: One Square, three insertions, $' "Jl considered !ess than one square; ever one square will be conn 4«d and charged as two; over two, as three, etc. JOB PRINTING. We are prepared to do all kinds of JOB WORK in a neat and workmanlike manner, on the mos’t reasonable terms. Our material for the completion of Job-work be mg new and of the latest styles, we are confident that aatistac tion can be given. I,aw of Newspapers. 1. Subscribers who do not give express notice to the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue their subscriptions. ' If subscribers order the discontinuance of their papers, the publisher may continue to send , them until alt arrearages are paid. j 3 If subscribers neglect or refuse to take then ) papers from the office they are held responsible till they have settled the bill and ordered the paper discontinued. . , j y 4 If subscribers remove to other places with- j out informing the publisher, and the paper is still sent to the former direction, they are held | responsible. .... , . • I (CrThe Court liave decided tr.at refusing of ; ♦ake a paper from the office, or removed and I leaving it uncalled forispaiMA facixevidence oi ■ intentional fiaiuh : *LL IS TKEE IN HEAVEN. BY JOHN KORAS. O, what a transient world is this. Os mingled joy and sorrow; For hope that’s born to-day in bliss, ilay fade and die to-morrow. For I have learned, alas, to know, While by fate’s tempests riven, That all is false on earth below, But all is true in Heaven. I’ve seen the rays of sparkling nyos. To love them seemed a duty; Like stars upon the morning skies, I saw them lose their beauty. I’ve seen the strong and mighty man. Once buoyant as a maiden; With cheeks of deathlike hue so wan. And heart with sorrow laden. And thus I’ve learned, aiasto know, While by fate’s tempest riven, That all is false on earth below. But all is true in Heaven. THE UNFASHIONABLE FURS, OR A Model Lady of Wealth. ‘Nowfather I’ll thank you for that five hundred dollars you promised to give me this morning.’ ‘Yes, child, but I have not so much 1 here now; ride down to my office at twelve i o’clock and you shall have the money;! I expect some tenants to pay their quarter’s rent to-day, and can make up the sum for you by that time.’ ‘Five hundred, and not a dollar less; and you may as well say six hundred,’, said the gay, laughing girl; she knew her ; father’s fond indulgence. ‘Oh! extravagant!’ exclaimed he, but whatever of reproof the remark implied, 1 it was completely nullified by the caresses j given at the same time. ‘Five hundred dollars 100 much for a set of furs! No, indeed. Why Clara Morgan’s cost eight hundred, and. mother thinks those she selected for me very cheap.* The man of business smiled upon his darling daughter, then left his elegant anil comfortable house for the cheerless office in Wall street. At noon, Alice was in Wall street, too. Springing lightly from the carriage, sfic tripped up stairs, and was at Mr. Durand’s desk just as a young female turned from it to go out. Having received the six hundred dollars, Al- j ice left immediately, and was soon at Smith’s bazaar, chatting gaiiy with a young friend whom she met there. Both were looking at the handsome cape and ! muff which Mrs. Durand bad fixed upon for her daughter the day before. They were beautiful indeed, and the young ladies having exhausted the usual vccabu lary of epithets in praising them, turned to look at others. Just then a hollow, suppressed cough close by her, caused Alice to turn, as a young girl passed on her war to the sewing rocm. Thither, too, she went, a few moments after, to see if a dress she had making there was finished. The superintendent of the work had it iu her hand, and was reprimanding some one coming late. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Durand.’ she said, seeing that young lady to approach, ‘but Jane Lester, who is embroidering your dress, did not get here until just now, and it is not yet fin»hcd.’ Thva turning, she ssid, ‘Here,

Jane, you must work fast, and make up for lost time.’ As the sewing-girl took the garment she coughed again. On, that dismal sound! It touched the heart of Alice, for she recognized in Jane Lester the one that passed her m the office and show room. She looked at her a moment, and thought, is it by the labor of sucli as she that my father’s rents are paid, and I obtain money to lavish on eostly clothes!— She went up to the girl, who by this time was diligently at work, and said, in a Lind, low tone: •Don’t hurry at all; I’m not in the least need of the dress.’ ‘Thank you ma’am, but I will soon have it done; if I am not on this, it will be something else.’ ‘But why do you work at all? With that cough you ought not to come out in such weather as this.’ ‘What would become of us—of father, I mean, and the children—if I were idle?’ ,Do you have to support them?’ asked Alice, with eager curiosity. ‘Not when father is well, but he lias been sick all the winter, and 1 paid out | the last of his savings this morning; so I j must try and earn more than ever.* — ' Astain, that cough. •Well, if that is the case you must j i consult a doctor, and do something for i yourself, or you will soon be unable to { work at all.’ Jane shook her head sadly. ‘No, indeed, wo canot afford to have a doctor 1 for father, and 1 couldn't think of such » i thing myself.’ | There was a tnomen’s pause—then Al ice spoke. •Give me your address, and I wl! send a kind physician there, who will not cliarga you anything. But he must prescribe for both, and you must follow his directions.’ ‘Never mind me Miss, I’m not so bad as you think, and shall be better in a little while. I cough more than usual this morning, from having walked so fast.’ Miss Dnrand returned to the store more thoughtful than when she first entered it. bhc did not get near the five ! hundred dollar furs, but took a set at one | fifth _f that priao, - J 1.-.1-Q | her friend and the clerks astonished at bersudder. change of taste. Great was the indignation of her fa.shionoble mother, when she learned the result of her daughter’s shopping. ‘Why this is not the sell chose!’said she, when the boxes were opened. ‘I know it, mother, but I preferred these.' •You have a strange taste, I must confess. Anybody can get s,one marten.’ ‘Then I shall still be a la made,’ replied her daughter with a smile- • Yes, with the vulgar herd,’said the lady, scornfully. ‘These are pretty, equally comfortable, 1 and did not cost as much as the sables,’ j answered Alice, in extenuation. But her I mother was not to be mollified.

| ‘What had yor to do with the cost?— i Diden’t your father give you enough to j pay for the others?’ ‘Yes ma’am, and more too.’ ‘llow Clara Morgan will laugh when she sees those old-fashioned things?— And well she may.’ ‘I care not for C.at, and shall enjoy j mine none the less for seeing her with ! more costly ones.’ I To avoid futher remonstrances, Alice ! retired to the library, and addressed a j note to Dr. Weston, the family physician. { She begged him to call that evening at 1 No. 14 Ann street, and prescribe for the | two invalids there. Enclosed was a one | liundi Cu dollar bill, from width she wished him to deduct liis fee. and appropriate | the remainder to the necessities of the family. There was also a request for him to keep the mnt’er a secret. IK understood and appreciated Ms, for more than once lie had been the almoner of Miss Durand’s bounty, and he would not { abuse her confidence. A few days afterward the dress came home. It was nearly made, and beauti{fully embroidered. As Alice examined the graceful design 'and elaborate needlework, she thought of : tut l.cmbling fingers that wrought it. 1 Yielding to the impu.se of her heart, 'she set out immediately for the residence of Mr. Lester. Something told her that I she would find T ne at home; and sure enough, she had become so much worse that it was impossible for her to leave tiie ; the house, yet she was trying to sew, ! that the family might not starve, The i doctor had found Jane and her father ex- ! tremcly ill: but as they were in acomfort- | able house, barely furnished with necessaries, it is true, for not a superfluous ftf- ; tide was there, he feared to worn, ’.Mir : pride by offering more than Lin profes- | sional services. It is needless to say lie ( returned the money sent by Alice, on the { first oppertunity. Alice, to whom the contrast between her own luxurious home and the cheerless apartment she was in, suggested real poverty, which the feeble ' effort* of Jene to continue at work con-

"Our Country’s Good gHall ever be eta* Aim—Willing to Praifle and not afraid to Blame."

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTV, INDIANA, APRIL 3,1857.

firmed, felt that something mofe was needed. ‘This snrely is disobedience so the doctor’s orders,’ she said, gently taking the work from the invalid. ‘Now you must not plead poverty,’ she continued, for here is a reply in advance to that argument, and she slipped her purs* into Jane’s trembling hand. No word of thanks fell from the poor girl’s quivering lips, for the generous aid |so delicately given; but her glistei ng eyes and silent pressure of the hand Harfl bestowed it told her gratitude. | Many visits, after this, did the child of l luxury and wealth make to the dwelling jof the sick girl, w hom neither her loving ! cave nor physician’s skill could save.— ! Gradually she paled away, very gradually her strength failed, but her heart grew j stronger all the while—strong to endure the sundering of sweet ties that bound her | to the earth—strong to meet the torrors | { ofdenih so near. Her father was recuv- ’ ering, so the meek daughter was resigned I since the little ones would have him to provide for them. Alice was returning home from visI iling the Lester family, one day, and had ■just emerged from the cross street into 1 Broadway, when a gaily decorated sleigh j passed, filled with ladies and gentlemen { {of her acquaintance. She did not observe them, but Clara Morgen caught sight of | her, and said to a young man by her ! side; ‘Well, if there isn’t Alice Durand com-j ing out of Ann street, and on foot, too 1 — What in the world can she be doing there? 'Not visiting any of her friends, I imagine,’ said Mr. Benton. ‘There is no knowing; she takes very curious freaks sometimes. Only think of her purchasing a set of cheap furs, when, to my certain knowledge, her mother wanted her to have some like mine.’ •She certainly could afford the most fashionable and expensive.’ ‘Of course; and that’s what makes it appear so strange. It seemed somewhat strange to George Benton, too, for he had , heard the circumstances of the purchase, from his sister, who was with Alice at the time; bui 'still lie ucuocu uirtv aue unu ft vuij good motive for the act —Miss Durand ilid not act unreasonably. ‘So,’ thought j he, ‘she has been to see someone in Ann street, where only poor families live.— ] That is fact number two,’ and he began I to make deduction, yet reserving the final inference to be drawn from further premises. Fact number three was furnished not long after. It was on this wise. He was at a large party and searching through the crowded rooms for Alice, whom he presumed to be there, his attention was arrested by the conversation of two young ladies. ‘Yes, Bell, it is, as you say, a beautiful dress, but not half so pretty ns I intended to have it. You know that elegant embroidered robe of Alice Durand’s? Well, I determined to have one like it. but the only person I know of who does that kind of work had to get sick just as I wanted her.’ ’How provoking! That’s always the way with the-so needle-women; they think nothing of disappointing as. I never would employ her again if I were you.’ ‘Nor shall I; Jane Lester has done her last work for me,’ said the speaker—no other than Clara Morgan, j ‘Yes, Miss Lester lias done her last work of that kind. You are quite right, ; Mis 3 Clara.’ They both sfarted—it was Dr. Weston who spoke: he heard their heartless renarlte, anu there was unusual seriousness in his tone. ‘Why, what do you know o? her?’ asked one of them. ‘That she is very ill, and will not recover, Indeed, l think she would have been" 1 in her grave before now, but for the kindness of care.’ ‘I am glad she is so fortunate,’ said ! Miss Morgan, wilh a sense of relief. ‘lt ■ is not every one in her situation that can 1 afford a good nurse.’ j ‘Nor could she but for the goodness of lone in similar circumstances to yours.’, ! ’lndeed! but you do not mean that anyone of cur circle is exercising such uncalled lor condescension?’ 1 ’I do mean the*, there is one young lady of my acquaintance, of ‘ our circle,’ | that can both devise and perform generous ! deeds, however lowly the object.’ ‘Of whom are you speaking, doctor?’ ' dot inquired Mr. Benton, wild had been an observant listener. •I must mention no names,* feplied Dr. Weston, with a smile. ‘Shj would not thank no for making public her private charities.’ ‘Yet you have actually done it,’ said one of the youug ladies. i Jo ‘I have commended lue action without ' giving to the actior a notoriety she j would shun; and let me add, my dear girls, her conduct is worthy of imitation. ‘lt‘s plain to be seen som« one is to be 1 esac-aued as a saint, or 'sister of mercy.

1 to say the least, said Clara, as soon as the doctor passed on. ‘lt must be Alice, mused George Benton, ‘I know of none other to whom Dr. Weston's words can apply, and I half suspect it is sonic charitable mission that keeps her from here to-night. It was a sprinS morning in April.— Jane Lester’s couch had been drawn to the window, that she might share in the sweet influence of that glorious morning. She lay there calmly thinking of the present and the future, when Alice Durond j entered the room. To her kind inquiries how she had pas- ! sed the night, and how she felt this roorni ing. Jane replied: ’ ’Oh, comfortable—qnite comfortable; I much pain, but patience to bear it; little j sleep, but many pleasant thoughts.’ ! ‘1 have brought you the first spring [flowers from our garden. Are they not i beautiful?’ ‘They are indeed. I thank you for 1 them, and oh, much more for the flowers {ofpeace and hope with which your kind- ! i.ess has cheered my pathway.’ ‘Think not of that, dear girl,’ said Alice, with much feeling; ‘I have been I far happier for the little I have done than | it could possible render you.' ‘I will tax your kindness with but one : more reque.-t; it is that your father will i permit us to remain in this house until : I am s-one. You know that next week |we shall move, as father must take n smaller dwelling now. •That is all arranged; he will not move at all, but stay here free of rent; and 1 will come sometimes to see the children. They shall not want. ‘God bless vou—he w ill bless you. But they will not long be dependent or. your charity; as soon as father is able—‘Call it not charily; it is only help which the stronger should give the weak in time of need. A look of grateful satisfaction overspread Jane’s pale face. She clasped her hands, and closed her eyes a moment, as it in silent prayer, then whispered, ‘Now you will read to me. I Alice had already taken from her pocket j”*... DlGlv, r * - had been tho sewing girl's solace, and ! which she had requested Miss Durand to | keep as a memorial of her. ‘ls there any particular chapter you ! would like to hear? she asked. I ‘This morning reminds me of the res- | urrection; read, if you please, tne fifteenth 1 of Ist Corinthians. | Alice complied, and while she wr.3rea- ! ding that sublime argument on the doc- | trine of a future life, Mr. Lester and children lud quietly entered the room. When i she name to the words, '0 death, where |is thy stint;! 0 grave, where is thy vicI toryl* the dying girl repeated after those exulting words wilh such an energy as to I cause nil to turn their attention to her, j and lo! with that triuphant exclamation { upon her lips, the breath had left her mortal body! Her freed spirit had ‘put on immortality. The first ot May came. Jane Lester’s father and bereaved sister remained in the same dwelling; her whose only anxiety I had been for them, was removed to her 1 heavenly mansion. j Her last days on earth were rendered ! comfortable and happy, by her whose : still active and self-denying benevolence j continued to relieve the sufferings of many , who yet remained in our midst; to impress !as it were, the hearts of those, who have the means, with the God-given truth, that | ‘it is more blessed to give than to receive. A sharp Youngster —A little boy on his return from Sunday School recently, addressed his mother as follows: ‘Mammal’ ‘Well, my dear.’ 1 ‘Mamma,* the teacher says people are made ot dust.’ ‘Yes my dear, so the Bilble says.’ ‘Well mamma, are white people made of dust.’ ‘Yes.’ •Well, then, l s’pose colored people are made of coal dust, ain’t they?’

‘I wisli you would not smoke cigars,’ said a plump little black-eyed girl to her lover. •Why may I not smoke as well as your chimney?’ Because chimneys don’t smoke when thev are in good i rder.’ Ho has quitsttioking. Dennis., darlint; och, Dennis, rthat is it you’re doing?’ ‘Whist, Biddy, I’« trying an ixparimint.’ ■Muthcr! what is itj’ •It’s meself that’s giving hot wather to the heus, so they’ii lay hiied aigi.' Beautiful is the love and sweet the kiss of a sister-— Old Paper. Exactly; and of a pretty cousin too.— If you have not a sister or cousin of your own, try somebody else’r sister or cousin, it’s all the same,

A LEAP YEAR INCIDENT Tire other evening, as my friend > Ibert : and I sat in my study, with our heels elevated on the backs of two chairs, and two glorious Havanas elevated from nur Ji'ps, looking around through the cloud of smoke, I espied the evening paper lying on the table, which Tom. in ins usual quiet manner hed deposited there. Without in the least disturbing our cogitation, I picked it up, and began languidly to I doze over its columns, when my eve ,; ght-; ed on the following paragraph, '.v:.;ch, old bachelor like, I felt quite enough interest j in to read ulotul to my companion: I ‘Take the Lot.— The young ladies of ; Aurara, Illinois, having resolved thnt if ! they didn’t get married this year—leap | year—somebody will be to blame, the ] seuier class in William’s College hare • [sent a communication to the Aurora pa- } per* offering to take the lot. They s.y j that now, having been four years under | i college discipline, exiled from ; 'most all ■ intercourse with the facsimiles of Adam's rib, we think with Sliakspcare that ’there jis a tied in the affairs of men,’ anJ that the time for that knot lias come lo us." , No sooner had I finished, than Albert, with a merry chuckle—nobody else cm ichnckle like him—when he chuckles he chuckles all over--tapped me on the shoulder, and exclaimed: ‘By Jupiter! Seth thereby hangs a tale.’ ‘Ah,ahl’ said I. j ‘Would you like to hear it?’ ‘Of course, if there is any end to it, and j i anv point to the endl’ ‘ Well, there are botli according to my [way ot thinking. Anyhow, wilh perj mission. I'll tell the yarn. Os course j you know where Aurora is—one ol the j smartest towns in all the West. It lies just below Geneva, on the Fox River, lend is in Kane county. Whether the {county was named after or for the North Pole Kane, and the town called Aurora { | Borealis shines brighter at said Pole than anywhere else, it is a question that some j nomenclators may discuss; but one little i item you may bet your life on. they raise ; I the prettiest girls there that ever made a j i fellow’s mouth water.’ 4 l'low <iv» > Ku'iß'. j -now ao i know? wasn’t lat Geneva; i this last winter one whole month on bus- j iness? And was I not out at Aurora ei - ;ery other day, to see our old friend, Jack ! Spaulding, who has just hung out liis I shingle there, and gone into the practice {of law —or, rather, intends to, when he | j gets a case? Os course 1 was; and as j {Jack is death among the women, he toted |me ail around. Ah, Seth, you ought to {go to Aurora—vou ought-—’ ; ‘But the tale.’ ’ ‘Why you see, one glorious afternoon, { when it was just cold enough out doors , to make it comfortable by Jack’s old { i Franklin, while he was dozing away over j I —somebody, I forgot who, no matter — Soil contracts, uni 1 engaged in n.y usual ! | occupation, reading Dickens and smoking, j j ‘suddenly there came a tapping, at of | ! some one gently rapping at the office door. { iJack while visions of o fair client who i s wanted to get a (iivoreo or get rid of testy guardian filled his mind, cried, ‘Come i in!' and in walked two special constables | of Cupid. I ‘One was a noble looking girl—eyes as j dark as the future to a fellow who doesn’t i ktiow where bis next meal is coming from, ; and cheeks as deeply red as a Cara, i i bridge professor. Ah, Seth, she war, a j : perfect Goddess; the other—Well, I won't I say anything about the other, for she hasn’t much to do with my story.’ ‘But how came they theie?' ‘Why, up the stairs and through the! door to be sure!—but their object?’ ‘Yes—their object?’ ’Why, that was to Invite us—yes Jack ; and me, to a lc<tp year ride—ball—supper ! —and all of that.’ •You?’ 'Yes, me; and she of the black eyes,! too, was the identical one who would be i very happy to ha-.e the company on a little sleigh ride to Geneva, to wind up with a little warm flip, a hop ut 's, i and a slide home by star light.’ | ‘Dnl you go?’ i ‘Did I go? Jack went, and could I back out?’ Besides it isn’t eVefy day a ! man gets such an offer. At 5. p. at we ! started— one of the merriest crc-s that lever went anywhere; thirty single sleighs j — they don’t, go in tor your gicatdoubie | 1 arks there. With a hip and a hurrah, j off we speed, and over the road tve skim-1 hied, like a comet dashlfig along the mil- ! ky way. The girls »*erc excellent whips, i and my black eyed Kate was ‘Genesse Mills extra superfine.’ She bail selected her steed wilh admirable taste ' ‘As well as her bean • ,Gct ontj His neck Arched like the {Thames Tunnel, nnd his broad breast I marked his noble strength, while his slender legs told you volumes ,or liis swiftness which were backed up by the ; very example. We went by them all — , we did, I and Kate led the grand proces- | ston. prouder, I dare say, than any Julius 1 ever was of any Roman triumph.

‘What did you talk of on the road?* 'Of the weather, the delightfnl sleigh* ing, tbc difference in horses, <kc. After supper came the hop—well, now, it wa* a hop—none of your tame parlor dances, through which the parties go with the same regular precision that two old chess players move, who have played draw games tor over half a eenlurj—no, sir! It was a regular western hop—bat if you 1 want it described any further, yoa must I do it yourself, words can't express it—it was ’action, action, sublime, god like action’— mat’s what it was. But, like i everything elce, it had Mt end; and we were o-ff oft the road again. ‘And here I must confess that I hail { been somewhat coquettish during the evening, and had, with no little satisfaction, ! seen those black eyes still on me whereI ever I moved, with whomsoever I danced, anu on whomsoever I smiled. Was I wrong to enjoy it? How often I bad been 'served the same war. And when it came ’-■’go, of course. I couldn't find my oter- ' coat, and my hat was missing; so I called to my aid half a dozen misses, who sort { of half hunted for them and half a dozen not, and under the shawl of one of whom I at last discovered the or.e, nnd under that of another (he other—Kate ail the while standing by, nad looking as demure jas I have done a thousand times under | siuiilar circumstances. And then I got into the wrong sleigh, of course, bt acciI dent, as you will, no doubt, when I tell ! you I slapped the naughty girl who kissed me for being where my room was better than my company, as she laughingly sard. Kate, meanwhile, quietly standing with the ribbons in one hand, and ready with the other to help me in. ‘But, as I said betoru, at last we were on (he road again? but what a change I had come over the spirit of Kate. Oa her way up, she was all talk, mirth and fire; now she was all silence, abstraction und gentleness. Her ve;y steed j caught hei sentiments, and, although ho , started off" ahead, the acknowledged lead,i r of the party, half a mile had not been I gune, before every one was past him, and ! far oone ou! o! sijit. | *>*• ; qr—* —• *• —« *— i reir.a swinging as ioosly as the clothcsI lino in a gale of wind, at last they drop- ; ped c-ntii ely from the hands of Kato ! and hung trembling over the dasher.— :And now, half asleep, l.ajf bewildered, I i felt a gentle arm crawling stoathily around liny waist, while mv l,nnd was clasped by 'tapering fingers, whose press tire grew I every moment more perceptible; and then !came the gentle weight of glorions cuils upon mv breast, and upturned eyes of beauty met ray perplexed gaze. Where was I? What a dream? Or was 1 suddenly bereft of reason’ Was it a voice I {heard pronounce, with tremulous tone, j yet strong accent, ‘Albert, do you lovfe the?’ ‘lt must have been a dream. To be I sure, my hand Was clashed in hers—her : little artn Was around nu—her eyes right [opposite to mine—hdt then the didn’t | speak—thrft was all rhy imagination, and 1 so I made ho answer, but merely drew a long breath, ris one will, you know, when l tveary of a load lying upon liis breast. The arm was clasped still tighter around ' me—my hand was fri«t growing beautifully lets in width, nhd more in length beneath its warm embrace—Kate's black j eves were fast growing blacker and her j (are redder, when with a rich voice, i whose gentle ca lencb I shall never fovI get. till my latest day, she said: ‘Yes, Albert, t Lr.ow you love me, atd ! Heaven only knows how truly I love!— j will you—will yod be mine’?’ i ‘Kate,’ leplied 1, at the seme time : giving her a kiss to show my willingness, ‘Kate, you must ask my—wife,’ ‘lt was too much. Kata took advantage of a women’s privilege and fainted! ! Rut the cool air brought her to, and gathI ering dp the reins, 1 drove briskiy Into ! town. 1 It*ft in the mourning, if vou si » f I ever go to Aurora, don,t say anything about it.' How to Cure X Cough. —Well Briget, did you put the blister on yoUr chest as I told j ou, and did it rise?’ ‘Och! misthress, dear, never a chest <ii»» I have to put it oh, but sliure, ma’am, 1 have a hair trunk, and I stuck it on i that, but sorry a rise did it riz; but ma’am 1 it tuk of iverv bit her hair as sure as I’m ; a sinner!’ Anxious Father.— What am I to do with you, sir—what am I to do wilh you? Do you know if you continue your present course of cruelly and cowardise, you will Ibe fit for Coining but a member of Conj gress? Distracted Mother-'Oh! don't say that ; father! don’t father! vou will humiliate the boy?’ Liu;ii Hunt, was n-ked by a lady at dessert if he wouldn't venture on an orange. ‘Madam. I should be very happy to do so, but indeed I am afraid 1 should tuna'We off’

NO. 8.

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