Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 18, Decatur, Adams County, 12 June 1857 — Page 1

TIIE I) Ee A TE R E A (i LE.

VOL. 1.

hllE DECATUR EAGLE. — —«»» mar n> —— PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING, ua Main Street, in the obi School House, & 77 ■ c ; aW bt ’ re Terms of crip'.: : ... *; VJ ; n adyntice; $1 75, V ithin *•” <,ne e .■...■ h.. (be ve;i: . h . is ; re j ill ’ ' uue.i until nil nrr .rag.sar.: puid.sxc-ut ■•• the option of the IhibUsnetTernv- as A On? Square, three * Each subsequent in >■ > *» ' '.T n Tiv.- :•■■'- . JOB PR.LN ViNG. Wear,- l tod., all kinds of JOB WORK, in ai.eaan.lv.- I. mer,on thenH't reasonable term- p.»i m.ueiial tor the latest styies, u.j a.•• 11 S>ausl,ic tion can > .■ t - .• ~f N .. .papers. rgr , r p re express notice LJTTTT -J as'wishing to TV'T ■'■•" .7 discontinuance of *>••■'■ '•••-' u. l y. ) .nt.nuetosend i T 'AT' Vv, 1 .: ■ ~’r‘efu- to take their nTrs'fr'. :-. • ■ tie.. th ■ responsible n th' 1 Liner discontinued. 1 If subscriber-: . .r.. toother pliers’.veh- , informing the pnbhslmr, :ml til. pa pet “ i J sent to the former directum,they ate mm. TTi. lemde.lt! ' L:.. s ki. r front ti>- ot.i ■•:, or < •*■“■_■ I’aving it it ' •' - ' linf.mtio.ml fraud. i j THE BIAND BvAT£S. ‘V. —— EY MISS ELIZA COOK. — TL ; , .-, ... :a » ■'• ' ’-er. | And i ■ cry games wo Lad! We led .pint cn his >r. L And v.l - I ■”• iV wcr - And praised im u-i. . sue. ■ I' A tear came Iretnbli'c; down his cheer, Just like a d o/ of dew. V> < took : ■ the mi", ' ■ I er. Where fi’Lnwaters made A rainbow o’er th rill, mother, A.' golden snnray- ' '.aj'rl; But when we ■'.outed at the scene, And bail'd th • clear, blue sky, . He stood q;. .sfi.l >4 • the back, And bre:u..ed uL. ;. long sigh. We asked him why he wept, mother; Whene’er we found the spots Where periwinkles crept, mother. O’er wild f.>rgfo-mo-nots. “All me!” he said, while tears ran down As fast as summer showers — “It is because I cannot see The sunshine and the Howers.” Ob! that poor, sightie •« boy, mother, Has laugh t . tint I'm bl ’; For I can ' •); w th joy, mother, C.i ill I love ■ ...J b.»t; And when I see the dancing stream, Ami daisies red and white, i I kneel tip.m the meadow- od. Ami I',, uh my (>od for sight. Indolence of.'m assumes the appearance of patience Love is blind, tv-l Hy men is the occulist that generally manages to open its; eyes. The barn of Henry Spangler, in Adams county, Pa., was struck by lightning la- t! Friday and w,.s ;;i rely consumed by the. lire that followed. How is it that so many men, who are extremely amiable in private, make themselves so supremely ridiculous the moment j that they e» r-ge into public lite? Never say more ta in is necessary. The word never does harm; what is «»nee uttered can never be recalled, and no an m can foresee it ■ r •frequences. Geology supplies us tiie medals of the past; the world’s history is written on i stones; link by jink wu unite the chain [ which assures us oi a divine architect. An old gtn . m tn, wh > has u.*oolcd nil I his life in statistictS, says he never heard | | of but one woman who insured her life. I lie accounts for this, by the singular tact ! of one of the questions being, hat is your age?” When the Cliii.v c want to d> scribe a. fellow who pretends to be very brave, and make a parade in order to show his courage, they say that‘he is cutting of a hen s head with a battle-axe.’ ’« An eminent artist is about getting up a panorama of—;i lawsuit! it opens in the year 1, and closes -.■'.*.h doomsday.— Hope that a view of the English Court of Chancery w ill stand prominent in the foreground. All the American people should visit this panorama. .It may ; l 7 v . e w cure j ’hem of their too prmni'r.cut litigious pro , pensi'ies -pcvL-’p’. «

A FORTUNATE RUIN. BY SYLVANOS COBB, JR. George Ballarton sat in Ids room at his hotel. Ho was a young man of six-and-twenty; tall and slim of frame; with a face of exceeding intellectual beauty; and dressed in costly garments, though his toilette was but indifferently performed He was an orphan, and for some years had boarded at the hotel. Lt required but a single glance into his pale features to tel! that he was an invalid He sal with his head resting upon his hands, and ids whole frame would ever and anon tremble as though with some powerful emotion. 1 zAs the youth sat thus Ids door was opened, and an elderly gentleman entered. ‘Ah, doctor —you are moving early this morning.’ said Ballerton‘as he lazily, erose from his seat and extended his hand. 'o—not early forme, George,’ returned Allyne, with a bright smile, ‘lam an early bird.’ ‘Well-you’ve caught a worm this time. ‘I hope ’twill prove a valuable one.’ 'I don’t kdow,’ sighed the youth. ‘I fear a thousand worms wiil inherit this poor body ere long!’ 'Nonsense! You’re worth halt a century yet,’ cried the doctor, giving him a gentle slap on the shoulder. ‘But tel! me, George—how is it with Rowland?’ , ‘Just as I told you. Allis gone. •I don’t understand it, George.’ •Neither do I,’ said the young man, sorrowfully. ‘That Charley Rowland, could have done that thing 1 would not--could not —have believed. Why—hud an angel appeared to me two weeks ago, \ and told me that Rowland was shaky, I would not have paid a moments attention t< it. But only think: W hen my father died, he selected for my guardian his best.; friend —and such I even now believe Charles Rowland w is—and in His hands he placed all his wealth, for liith to keep, until 1 shouldjbecome of age. And when 1 did arrive at that period of life 1 left my money where it was. 1 had no use for it. Several times, within three or four years, has Rowland asked me to take my money and invest it, but I would not. 1 hade him keep it ami use it if he wished I only iLked that when I wanted money ■ lie would honor my denim.!. 1 felt mon safe, in fact, than 1 should have felt had my mount been in a bank on deposit.’ | ‘ftr«w much had he when he left?' ‘How much of mine?’ ‘Yes.’ ■He should have had one hundred and ; twenty thousand dollars.’ ‘What do you mean to do'?’ •Ah—you have me on the hip there.’ ‘And yet you must do something, George. God knows 1 would keep you if 1 Could. I shall claim the privilege of pay-, ing your debts, however.’ ‘No, no, doctor—none of that.’ ■But 1 tell you I shall. 1 shall pay vour deb’s, but beyond that I can only help you to help yourself. Wiiat do you say to going to sea?’ A faint smile swept across the youth’s I pale features at this remark. •[ should make a smart hand al sea, doctor. I can hardly keep my legs on shore - No, no—l must ’ ‘Must what?’ ‘Alas! I know not. I shall die—that's: all!’ •Nonsense, George. I say go to sea. You couldn’t go into a store; and you wouldn’t if you could. You do not wish to remain here amid the scenes of your happier days. Think ol it: At sen you will be free from all sneers of heartless snobs, and free from all contact with things you loathe. Think of it.’ | George Bailerton started to his feet and paced the floor fo r some minutes. —, When he stopped a new life seemed already at work within him. ‘lf I went to sea what could I do?’ ‘You understand all the laws of foreign trade?’ | ‘Yes. You know I had a thorough schooling at that in ray father’s countinghouse.’ i ‘Then you can have the berth of a su-j percargo.’ ‘Are you sure I can get one?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And the salary?’ ‘Two thousand dollars.’ 'Doctor John Claudius Allyne, I will go!’ 5 ****** | George Bailerton walked one evening, to the house of the wealthy merchant,: Andrew Wilton. It was a palatial dwelling, and many a hopeful, happy hour had he spant beneath its roof, lie rang the bell, and was admitted to the parlor. In a few minutes Mary Wilton entered.; She was only twenty. !zhe had been waiting until that age to be George Bailerton’s wife. Some words were spoken —many moments of painful silence ensued. •Mary--you know all. I aru going upon the sea. I am going to work for< p>v living. lam Roing forth from my

“Our Country’s Good shall ever be our Aim —Willing to Praise and not afraid to Blame.”

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA. JUNE 12,1857.

native land a beggar. I cannot stay long now. Mary, did I know you less than 1 ■ do —or, knowing you well, did I know you as 1 know many—l should give you , back your vow , and free yon from al! bondage. But I believe 1 should trample upon your heart did I do that thing now. 1 know your love is to pure and . deep to be turn from your bosom it will. So 1 say —Wail—wait!’ ‘But why wait? Have I not enough? ‘ —sh! You know not, again, what you say. There are other feelings in the humi’ii heart besides love. Uiiar love is a poor profitless passion which pu ,s asl '**■ all other considerations. We must love for eternity; and so our love must.be rf r ait. lam going at work. Aye. —upon the sea, at work!’ ‘But why upon the sea? Why away where my poor heart must ever beat in anxious hope and doubtas it follows thee? ‘Because 1 cannot remain here. Hundreds of poor fools have imagined that I shunned them because 1 was prond. ! They knew not that't was the tainted atmosphere of their moral life that 1 shunned. They gloat over my misfortune.— Men may call me foolish; but ’twOuld kill , me to stay here.’ ‘Alas! Must it be'?, ‘lt must. You will wait?’ ‘1 will wait, even to the gates of the tomb!’ ‘Then Heaven bless and preserve you!' ***. * * * The ruined youth was uptm the < :e.;n —his voyage commenced—his duties as j labores for his own daily bread, all fairly assumed. Ah—it. was a stiangelife for him to enter upon. From the ownership of immense wealth to the trade-books of la merchant-ship was a transion indeed! But ere he went on deck again he ha 1 fairly resolved that he would do his duty, come what, would, short of death. He would forget that he ever did else but work for his livelihood. With these resolves clearly defined in his -mind he already felt better. I At first’our supercargo was too weak to do much. He was very sea-sick, and it. lasted nearly two weeks; hut wlmn that passed'fiff, and he could pace the vibraitng deck with a stout stomach, his appeite urew sharp, and Lis muscles began to grow strong. At first Lis appetite craved some of the many delicacies he had i been so long used-to; but they were not to be had, and he very soon learned to do without them. The result was, that Lis : appetite became natural in its wants; and : his system began to find itself nourished I by simple food, and in proper quantities. Foi years he had looked upon breakfast as a meal which must be set out and partaken of from mere fas],ion. A cup of coffee, and perhaps a piece of dry toast or some seasoned and highly-spiced tidbit, had constituted the morning meal. But now when the breakfast hour came !he approached it with a keen appetite, and fellas strong and hearty as at any time of day. By degrees the hollow cheeks became i full; the dark eye assumed new lustre; the color, rich and healthful, came to the face; the breast swelled w ith increasing power; the lungs expanded and grew i strong; the muscles became more firm i and true; the nerves grew calm and steady; and the garments w hich he had worn when he came on board had to be let out some inches, in order to make them encompass his person. His disposition became cheerful and bright, and by the time the ship had reached the southern capes of Africa the crew had all learned to love Idm. Through storm and sunshine; through tempests and calm: through dark hours I and bright, the young supercargo made his voyage. In one year from that day on which he left his native land he placed . his foot again upon the soil of his home. : But he did not stop. The same ship, with the same officers, was going upon the same cruise again; and lie meant to ■go in her. He saw Mary Wilton, and she would lie saw Doctor Allyne .an the kind old gentleman praised him 'for his manly independence. Again George Ballerton was upon the 'sea; and again he assumed the duties oi I his office, and even more. He stood watch when there was no need o: it, ami 1 during seasons of storm he claimed a post • on deck. At the end of another year the young | man returned to his home again. He was now eight-and-twenty, and a few who knew him two years before could ; recognize him now. His face was bronzed by exposure; his checks full and plump; I his frame stont and strong, and erect like ! a forest chief. His muscular system was | nobly developed, and the men were few who could stand before him in trials of physical strength. When he first left the I city, two years before, he bad weighed just one hundred and thirty pounds av-, oirdupo'is. He now brought up the beam ; fairly at one hundred and seventy-six'. •Surely he wa» a new man in every rc-j spec'..

On the afternoon of the thiid day, ns lie entered the office of his hotel, the clerk handed him a letter. He opened it, and ' found it to be from Mr. Wilton. It was a request, that he would he at the tnel chant’s house at nine o'clock on that evening. A t the appointed hour George B illerton entered the merchant’s parlor. He found Mr Wilton and Dr. Allyne there. A warm greeting ensued, and then the conversation was bri-k and interesting. ‘George,’ said the Doctor, after the youth had given a full account oi his adventures, 'I should think you would almost forgive poor Rowland lor having .ma le off with your fortune.’ ‘Forgive him.” returned George. ‘0 — I did that in the first place.’ ‘Well, George,’ resumed the doctor, ‘Mr. Rowland is here. Will you see him? ‘Sue him? See Charles Rowland? Os course I will!’ The door was opened, and Mr Rowland entered He was an elderly man, but hale and hearty. The old man and the young shook • hands, and then inquired after each other’s health. 'Y’iju received a note from me, some I two wars ago,’ sal 1 Mr. Rowland, ‘in which I stated that one in whom I had trusted had got youi money, and mine with it?' ‘Yes, sir,’ w' ispered t.ie yutilh. ‘Well,’ resume ! IL is I.ml, Doctor Alli n w . F. He had your money.’ ‘How? What'.’’ gasped George, gazing from one to the other in blank astonishment. ‘Hold on, my boy,’ cried the doctor, while a variety of emotions seemed at work within his bosom. ‘I was the vill lain. It was 1 that got your money. I worked your ruin, my boy. And new •listen, and I’ll tell you why; ‘I saw that you were dying. Y our father died of the same disease. A consumption was upon you,—not a regular pulmonary affection — but a wasting away of the system for the want of vitality.— The mind was wearing out the body.— The sou! was slowly but surely, eating, its way from the cords that bound it to j earth. I knew that you could be cured; and I knew, too, that the only thing in the world which would cure you was to throw you upon your own physical resources for a livelihood. There was a morbid willingness of the spirit to pass away.— You would have died ere you would have made an exertion, from the very fact that you looked upon exerion as worse than i death. It was a strange state of both • mind and body. Y our large fortune rendered work unecess.ary, so there was no i hope while that fortune reinaind. Had i‘. been wholly a bodily malady 1 could ‘ have argued you Into the. necessary work . for a cure. And, on the other hand, had it been wholly a mental disease, 1 might have driven your body to help your mind. But both were weak, and 1 knew that i you must either work or die. ‘And now, my boy. I'll tell you where imy hope lay. I knew that you possessed : such a true pride of independence that you would no! depend upon others. I • j knew if you were forced to it you would work. I saw Rowland, and told him my plans. I assured him that if we could ’ j contrive to get you to sea, and make you 1 | start out into active life for the sake of lite : you could be saved. He joined me at. once. I took your money and his, and then bade him to clear out You know the rest. And now tell me, my boy; if I give you back your fortune will you forgive mt? Your money is safe—every penny of it—-to the amount of a hundred I and fifty thousand dollars. Poor Rowland has suffered much in knowing how you looked upon him: but I know that lie iis amuly repaid by the sight of your noble, powerful frame, as he sees it to-night. And now, George—are we forgiven?’ It was a full hour before all the questions of the happy friends could be asked and answered; and when the doctors am! • Rowland had. been forgiven and blessed • furthe twentieth time, Mr. YVilton said, — ‘ IFai//’ He left the room, and when he returned he led sweet Mary by the ha I. Late in the evening, hi it iiie hearts of our irii-iids Lad \iily begun to grow tired wit.li jav, Georg- ked Mary how much longer she was willing to wait. Mary . asked her father, and the answer was—‘Two weeks!’ “Dad,” said an incipient legislator to his indulgent parent, who had gratified him with a visit to the galleries of the • Capital, ‘say do you see any row going on? 1 don’t.’ ‘No,’said the astonished father, ‘ofcburse not. Why did you ask? I ‘Cause the man in the big desk says—the eyes have it!—and just now he said the nose had it—so 1 thought there was some /u>i down there some’ers!’ I T The ladies of South American, during the bot weallier of July, wear cabbageleaves forJxmnets, triraffied with radishes. Quite a I 'rti.’Uirai i lea.

Hire a A tail rough-shod, sh.arp-visaged, goodnatured looking indi' iduai arrived in our city about a week ago, fresh fiom the mountains, and put uj> a', what might be called one of the tiiird-i .ate houses. The rules were like those other establishments of the kind, the boarders being taken bt the day, week, or by the nival. Jim Polter (so the register called i.im) bad gone in by the week, with the understanding with the landlord that he was to be credited for what he called “lust lime,’’ at the usual rate. There was nothing very unusual in this arrungiuent, though it did not turn out altogethei to i the landlord’s satisfaction. a A» the end oft.be second day it occurto Jim that lie had not seen Sacramento for upwards of a year, and, as a thought with him was almost a deed, he, without saying a word to the landlord disappeared. He spent the remainder of of the week • at Sacramento, and reached hisboaiding house here just in time to find the pro prietor calculating that Mr. Poller vas indebted for one weeks board. 1 It did not take long tor Jim to prove I that he had been out of town four days, and the bill against him was utdowu accordingly. ‘See ycre, old feller,’ broke out Jim, as : the biil was being altered,‘ef it’s all one to yeou, I'll lake asquint at them 'ar books.’ •There’s your account, sir,’ the Inn 1-! lord, pretending not to notice Jim's last remaik—‘Two days board, S2,t>2|.’ Jim took the bill, and eyeing the puz zled landlord as though he suspected some ‘shenanigan, he broke out, — ‘I want to see them ’ar books.’ The latdord told I.im he wasask nz too mu'-h, —that no outsider was pemitled lo examine his books. Jim was saiisfied now that all was not exactly right, and resolved to see the end of it. ‘Give me pen, and ink and paper,' said he, ‘I want io show yeou how to keep books. ’ He took the pen, and after haling added up various small sums, made rut and handed (he nmtized landlord the following account: — Jim Polter to landlord — Detter two dais bored . 52.62 - ! Landlord to Jim Polter—Detter 4 dais lost time . . &5,20 ‘There she is,’ said Jim, as he passed the slip of paper across the counter. — ; ‘Cordin’ to your wav of kecj in’ books, a feller ain’t 'lowed nuthin’ for lost time.’ I The landlord said nothing, but gazed with astonishment. 'Y'.zU ee,’ said Ji; t, anxious to establish the correctness of his bill, ‘I tuk board by the week you know.’ ‘Y-e-s. Ahem!’ mutterd the halfchoked landlord ‘And the bargain was, that you was to credit, me for lust time at the usual rate—- ; you know.’ ‘Y-e-s. Humph!’ ‘Well, 1 boarded with yo’tf two days—you know,’ ‘ Y -e-s.’ ‘I didn’t board with you for four days —'you see.’ 'Y’-e-s,'gasped the landlord. ‘And you owe me for that” ; The landlorp took a long breath, brushed the perspirations from his face, and casting his eyes vacantly about the ceiling ejaculated,— ‘Why, oh, y-e-s- Humph!’ ‘Now I ain’t goin to be bard on you,' i said Jim; ‘you fed. very well—and as I’m' I goin’ up country to-morrow, we'll just spend the little balance for champagne tonight. But I’ll tell you one thing land- • lord,’ he added, after a pause, ‘you would make money if you would hire a clerk.’ We are inclined to think it would have ' taken a number of ek-rks to make Jim bei lieve that the landlord did not owe bim for four days board.— Mnrysi'lUe Herald, Cal. Sister Nance one ‘Agur.’—We were j travelling not long since in Illinois, and called at. a I...use mar the road side to solicit a drink <4 water, when the following conversation ensued: ‘Well’ my boy, how long have you liv'•ed here?’ ‘I don’t know, sir, but mother says ever since I was born.’ ‘Have you any brothers or sisters?' ‘Y'es, a few,’ ‘How many?’ ‘Ten or 'Liven, I reckon.’ ‘Pretty healthy here, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes, a few on us goin to have the shakes ihis afternoon.’ ‘How many?’ ■Why, alien us, except sister Nance, and she’s sich a tarnation cross critter, the agur won’t take on hers; and if it <lid she’s so cussed contrary, she wouldu’t ! shake no how ye could fix it.’ All a man has to do in these days to pass for a genins, is to buttom his coat behind, and wear his hat wrong side out. l lf he can upset an apple- stand two or ’throe times, it wiil help the matter vawtlv.

A Shut vp.— A celebrated engineer bong examined at a trial in England, where both judge and council tried in vain lo bi •'.v-beat Um, made use, in b is evi lencc, of the expre.'si j:i, ‘the creative pow, r j.f >t met luo, ; .’ On which the j -dga, ratjier lartly, asked the witness what be muaui by ‘ihe creative power of a mechanic?’ ■G I y, my. lend, Im< i,' said ;i,e engineer, ‘ihat power which enables a'iuau to convert a goat’s tail into a judge’s wig-!* A titter in the c:ui t room, and the judge rather hastily adj.>ui ned the Couit. | A n Eye to Be autv. — A friend of ours, a gentk man of taste, has a fine little residence in the country, upon which, at J considerable expense, he lias succeeded 1 in producing one of the most beautiful little forest imaginable. The oilier day a | countryman, of a shrewd and practice! ! Hirn ol' mind, but. with .very hltk ■>! sen.-e of the beauty of ilie ,taroal woods,’ enquired of a neighbor of our fiicnd’s v.ho owned that little place? ‘Mr. M , of Tn>y,’ was the answer. ‘Mell,’ says Thrift, ‘why in tho thunder dont he clear it up and raise sonithing Oll’l?’ An Old TaAbi ti—‘Wail, stranger,' said a bxCB woodsman to a man wi.vin llin landlord of the l.otel wio-re t.oili stopped ; detailed to sleep with btni, ‘wall, stratiger. I've no objections to your sleeping with inc, none in the least; but ilscems to Ime the bed's rather narrow for you to sleep comfortable, considering how I dream You see lam an old trapper, and I generally dream if shooting aiid scalping Injuns. W liere 1 .-.top]" ,i to nf'jre i ,si they charged me ti vedollars > xtra, ‘can e I happened towhittie li.e I, iad bo rd in j the night. But you can conic, stranger it you like. I (eel kinker peaceable now.’ Stranger vamosed. Keek Your Tewiper. ‘I never can keep anything.’ criei’ Emma almost cr\ ing oir with icxniion,— 'Sunicbo.h always talus my things and loses them.’ She had mislaid some of her sewing impliments. ‘There is one tiling,’ remarked mamma. ■tli.it I should think you might keek up, if you should try.’ ‘1 should like to keep even one think.’ answered Emmn. ‘VV( 11, then my dear,’ resumed mamma, ' 'keep your temper, if you will only do that, perhaps you will find it easy to keep 1 other things. 1 dare say, now, if you had employed your time in searching for ihe missing articles, you might have not even looked for them. You have only got into a passion—a bad wry of spending lime, and you hai e accused somebody, iand very' unjustly, too, of taking away your things an losing 11 em. Keep your i temper, my dear; when you have mislaid any article, keep vour temper and look lot' it. You had beltei keep vour temper. if von lose all the liltli property you . possess; getting into a p«»ion never brings anv'.l'ing ,o light, except a distorted lace; and by I ising you temp r. you become gu-'ty of two stns—you ge: into a passion and accuse somebody ol being the cause. So, my dear, 1 repeat, keep your temper. Emmn subdued her ill humor, searched for the articlvs she had lost, ami fo.i.J • them is her work bag. ‘Why. mamma, here they are; I might , have been sewing all this lime, if’-l had i kept my tempi r Hen I’i Rst ADERS —The spingiivld A’cjaililnun in speaking of anew invention tor hens nests, where the eggs drop through a trap-door, and sodvenes it < hi a tli.-.t sb. - ? keeps on laying, is responsible for the f< llowii; ;; [Foods met with a loss however, with one ol the persuaders. Bloods had a lovely voting Shsn.'liai pullet, ol bounds less ambition.- Bloods bought a persuader, and his Shanghai u-ed it. She went upon the nest in the morning. Bloods saw her go. and his heart bo”.i ■’< d will in him. Alas! In r. -v--i saw her ttutm .>:« again A t night he 11- te i'he p. rsuarier. In the upper r. mr :.t wer ■ c handful of feathers, a few tne-nnrls and a bill. In the lower coinparti, ■• tvure i three dozen and eleven < g's! Bloods -aw it till! Her delicate constitution had i been unequal to the • t'rort, mid fired l y voting ambition, she had hi; 1 herself all : away. A Lucky '1 an!—Onte of mir exchanges announce-', that a Mr. YVhite. living in Yenice, l’a., was recently mt’.nL'.ed in his own bed Ly some one who w’siiei! to get his money. The editor adds that 'luckily Mr. W hire hod deposited his money tn the bank the day before.’ Mr White lost nothing But Lis life! A little girl hearing her mother speak of going into halt-mourning, said, ‘Why are you going into half-mourning tnaimna are any of <>ur relations half dq.'id?’

NO, 18.