Decatur Eagle, Volume 2, Number 5, Decatur, Adams County, 12 March 1858 — Page 1

TH E I)EC AT U R E A RLE,

VOL. 2.

TH i: EAGLE. I _ HI ■— 111 PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING. O£o«, on Main Street, in tha old School House, one Square Uorth of J. & P Crabs' Store. Terms of Subscription : For one year, 50, in advance; $1 75, « ithin six months; $2 00. after the year has expired. IjT No paper will be discontinued until all arreragesare paid, except at the option of the Publisher. Terms of Advertising: One square, three insertions, $1 **o Each subsequent insertion, '-‘5 O’No ad vertisement will be considered less than one square; over sue square v ill be counted and charged as iwotaMter two. as three, etc. JOB PRINTING. TVs are prepared to do all kinds of JOB I WORK, in a neat and workmanlike manner, on the most reasonble terms. Our material for, the completion of Job-work, being new and of j the latest styles, xve are confident that satisfac- . tiou can be given. Law of Newspapers. 1. Subscribers who do not give express notice . to the contrary, are considered as Wishing to, continue their subscriptions. I 2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their papers, the publisher may continue to send them until all arrearages are paid. 3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their papers from theoffice they are held responsible till they have settled the bill and ordered the paper discontinued. 4. If subscribers remove to other places without informing lire publisher, and the paper is [ atill sent to the former direction, they are held responsible. ! lEFThe Court have derided that refusing of take a paper from the office, or removed and leaving it uncalled forisvniMA facie evidence of intentional fraud. AN OLD BALLAD. WRITTEN ABOUT THE YEAR 1 150. "I have a younger sister Far beyond the sea; Many are the presents That she sent to me. She sent me a cherry *•<}.. Without any stone, She sent me a pigeon Without any bone; , • Without any thornes She sent me a briar; She hade me love my lover, And that without desire. S - .*,., car> R cherry Be without a stone? flow can a pigeon . Be without a bone? How ca.i a briar Be without a thorne? And who e’er loved without desire Since true love first was born? "When the cherry was a blossom Then it had no stone, When the dove was in the egg !jr - Thin it had no bone; When first the briar sprouted Never a thorne it bore; And when a maiden has her love Oh, then she longs no more, ‘Mother, ’ said a little three year old whose nose bad been ‘put out of joint’ by the recent arrival of a baby brother.— j ‘Mother, if the baby should die would it goto heaven?’ ‘Certainly, iny child,’ re- | sponded the parent. ‘Then I think heaven is the best place for him,’ was the as- I faclionate sister’s conclusion. —1 * i A Sensible Man.-Rev. Anson Smyth, State Commissioner of Common Schools, of Ohio, in his advice to teachers, says: “Every teacher should read at least one good newspaper; otherwise he will live in ignorance of daily occuring facts, in regard to which his profession requires that he should be informed. Newspapers are fast becoming the teachers of the world; and the man or woman who is not a ha- , Ritual reader of this department of literature cannot be thoroughly qualified for the teacher’s profession. A Charity Indeed. Mr John B. Farmer, of New York, opened in November last a Free Dining Saloon at 47 Ludlow street. Across the street is stretched a banner bearing the I inscription, “Plenty to eat and nothing to pay.” We find a description of this char- i ity in the Tribune. Six hundred to a thousand are daily fed here, among them , as regular attendants are 60 women, 500 men, and 400 children. The women are ' placed at the table first, then the men, and then the children. None are refused a meal, except those under the influence of liquor. No questions are asked but food is furnished as long as any one sees fit to eat. The food consists mainlv of soup, boiled beef, boiled hams, mashed potatoes, turnips. &c. die. The bread is made on the premises, and 35 huge loaves consumed daily; 135 gallons soup are daily eaten. Since the room was first opened there have been devoured 32 bbls, flour, 7 quarters of beef, 300 bushels potatoes, 120 hams, 10 bushels of onions, «kc., <fcc. Four men and four women be sides Mr. Farmer, attend upon the people. This has been done at Mr. Farmer’s expense, and thus far has cost 64,000. Mr. F. says he shall continue it as long as the bird times ler‘

A Male Coquette, and What he Got by it. “Engaged to be married—really engaged to be married 1 Goodness gracious! there’s an amount of responsibility in the thing that I never dreamed of before!"— And such a giddy, reckless little creature as I’ve always been, how can 1 ever) become worthy of such a noble fellow as Charley Warren? Oh! I must be very, very demure and steady now!’ Thus mused little Cora Clifford, sitting in the pink shadow of the rose colored silken curtains of her boudoir. The waxen cairn-lias were still gleaming in the golden curls around her brow, and the diamonds vet flashed on her full white throat. You might see a deep rosy tint I <>n her dimpled cheek, and a radienee be- [ neath the downcast bps of her glorious ' eyes, as if she was in a happy dream. Ah! no wonder that she foruot to lay I aside the glittering robe of lace and azlure satin; no wonder that her tiny fin- 1 J gers played mechanically with that stray ; curl, and neglected to unclasp bracelet , and necklace! For Cora had entered an enchanted land that evening in thein'erI vale of the 'German, while they stood together in the cool conservatory, under the shadow of orange blossoms and pure lilies, Charley Warren had told her that he loved her better than any one else in the wide world. And the crimson fire j had burned in tier cheek until the red | rose at her bosom was pale beside it.— [ *nd somehow her bead had dropped up- . 'on his stately breast, and he had capt- ' ■ ured her little white trembling hand, and, and. she couldn’t remember axactly how it happened, only she was quite sure they were engaged to be married! And she Idd away the shining gems.' and parted back I< r gull-bright hair, and when ti e sleeping angel sprinkled liis utility incense on tier brow, there-, we're tears on her pillow of down; oh! such happy, happy tears! ! No chance for the other whiskered ex- ' quisites now! They all had to stand | aside from Charley Warren’s triumphal path. Dick Ainslie, Chester Howard, | Frank Irwin, even the magnificent St. Aulyn, just from Italy, who mowed down feminine hearts just as a reaper mows nodding grass, acknowledged with sighs that the belle oi the season had no more thought for them. No matter how like mininature horses their moustaches were trained, no matter how carefully their perfumed curls were arranged, no mat-1 ter how like Apollo himself they stalked into bail rooms and saloons, the beautiful Miss Clifford deigned them merely a cool bow, and reserved all her soft glances and smiles fur that wretch of a Warren! Men are conceited creatures at best—it doesn’t take much to spoil them; and | Charley Warren, though as noble a specimen of the genus homo as one often meets, ' began alter a while really to fancy him- I self a little more fascinating than anything else that ever wore pantaloons. “Else,” j he argued, “why did Cora Clifford, for whose slightest smile the masculine world j j was sighing, prefer him to ah their be-[ witching array ?” I Cora stood in the dressing-room at ( I Mrs. Archer’s arranging a wreath of| I French rosebuds in the folds of her lovely I hair She was a little late this evening, and Warren was paticntlv waiting her re- i appearance. She was unusually beauli- ; I ful to-night, and very well she knew it as , j she stood before the mirror. The string of her little satin slipper: broke, just as she reached the door, and she stooped to fasten it. As fortune would have it, the door was slightly ajar, and the voices from without reached her 1 ear. I “She’s really superb-a regular Boston beauty. Splendid —Juno-like, you know! ‘Ah? and Warren’s Jove was decidedly imliffvrt nt. ‘1 merely mentioned it as an abstract fact, returned Dick Ainslie in a piqued manner; ‘of course we all know it wouldn’t do for you to take any notice of her. j ‘What do you mean? said Charley, rather sharply [ ‘Nothing —only that as you have already won the loveliest creature in NewYork, you’ve no right to enter the lists | again. 1 ‘I suppose I may admire a pretty woman when I see her at; ;asl? queried Wai - ren. •Not if you’re wise. A girl like Miss ' Clifford, accustomed to being worshiped i ’ with all the soul of her admirers, won’t endure a divided homage. Don’t try any > perilous experiments, Warren! ‘I can say of Cora, ‘once won, won i forever,’ returned Warren, with a dignified air, ‘and it is a mistaken idea, that when you are engaged to a lady, you are thenceforth to give up all other female society. ‘Don’t know anything about that, said Dick, pr ivokingly. ‘but this I do say — ; once commence flirting with other wo--1 men. and Cora will ‘flare up ‘And I say,’ exclaimed Charley, in an excited tone, ‘that Cora loves me too well, I to question for an instant the property of I

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

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, MAR. 12, 1858.

anything I may choose to do or say.— Ami furthermore, I wish you todistinctI ly understand that I am tied to no woman’s apron string. 1 am a tree agent, and shall flirt, as you term it, just as much as I please! Cora turned away from the door with burning cheeks and flashing eyes. Her first emotion was that of anger and scorn, her second of passionate grief. Wiiat would she not have given for the luxury of a ‘good cry, ‘at home rn her own chamber? If she had not loved Charley Warren so dearly, those foolish words would not have so agitated her. And after all, she reflected, they were only foolishwords—vain boasts, uttered when he was ■ stung by Ainslie’s insinuating taunts—- [ she knew his heart was loyal and true! — But then to speak of her in the that manner, it made her spirited blood leap up in her veins. Charley needed a good lesson, 1 and he should have it! She rose, and once more smoothing down her sunny curls, joined the unconscious couple, who were still talking in the passage, and they entered the ball-room 1 together. At the conclusion of the first polka, as the radiant little beauty sat on a low ottoman, surrounded as usual bv a crowd lof admirers, a buzz and a hum at the ' , door announced the arrival of the star, and in a minute Dick Ainslie came up to I Warren. ‘Come, Charley, I want to introduce; ' you to that chai rning Boston novelty, Miss ! Howe She has just come in, and 1 want , her to form as lavorable an impression as : possible ofour New York beaux Have ! I vour permission, Miss Clifford? : O, by all means! said Cora, smiling her brightest smiles, as she caught the quick , hurried glances which passed between them, ‘1 put. him entirely under your charge, Mr. Ainslie. Pray, Captain St Aulyn, clasped this bracelet! and as the I wo gentlemen walked away, she held up her round wiiite arm to the fascinating Captain, who had been leaning against the wall in a disconsolate manner. He came eagerly forward to perform the service, and a thrill passed throgh every nerve in his body as he touched the blue wined wrist. Cora spoke so cordially to him that he plucked up courage to ask her if she was engaged for next dance. Sh" wasn’t and in half an hour Capt. St. Aulyn was in such a state of delighted heI wilderment that he didn’t know whether the lovely creature hanging on his arm was a human mortal in gold-colored silk, or a glorified cloud of mist and sunshine, he was only conscious of a pair of magnificent violet vts shining on him ; through long drooping lashes. Ah! CapI tain, beware! women are proverbially deceitful, and you’ve walked into the snare with your eyes wide open! Miss Howe was a sallow, dark-eyed I girl, with :i sovpean of rouge on her olive cheek, and a bold, flippant way, and [ Charley heartily wished himself back by Cora's side; but Dick looked so provokj ingly calm and incredulous, that he talkled with her just to prove that he was a [ -‘free agent.” Miss Howe was “dying” Ito visit the Dusseldorf, and Charlev osI tentatiously invited her to accompany him thither the next morning. Ainslie ' slightly elevated his eyebrows, and Chari ley begged leave to take her to hear Frez- , zolino next evening! Os course she acceded tn all these propositions. Charlev I | had a faint idea, at the end of the ball, that he had been ‘going it‘ rather fast, | but Cora’s perfectly natural manner as they rode home together reassured him She was in charming spirits—‘never enjoyed herself better’so Warren concluded 1 that he was entirely safe. The whole of the next day was immolated at the shrine of Miss Howe, by the faithless cavalire; be bad not intended it, and felt decidedly guilty, but under the circumstances it could not be helped.— Not until the day after did he see Cora. I Thenjslinking’up the steps of her residence - he enquired for Miss Clifford She was i at home, and he found her reclining on a sofa, deeply absorbed in reading. Just as lovely as a dream! Talk about your blase, high featured Miss Howe! 1 What a faint, rosy shadow there was on the bright lips, what a blue transparent light in the liquid eyes! He felt as if he could have knelt down to worship her glorious beauty, as he came forward to claim a smile. Good Jubiter! how coolly she extended her little jeweled hand, without raising her eyes from the book. i ‘There, sit down, Charley, till I’ve fin- [ ished the chapter. Such a love of a book, j 1 Lamartine, you know, his sweet leniinis- , cences. Wait, and don’t disturb me,, there’s a good fellow! Charley sat down, completely confounded ‘I don’t approve of Lamartine, lie commented. ‘Pray where did you get the book! ‘Captain St. Aulyn lent it to me. Do hush, Charley. C'narley fidgeted on his chair. ■What have you been doing to your

hair, Cora! It’s all twisted back, isn’t it? not becoming, I should say. ‘Oh, I dressed it solo please Captain St. Aulyn. ! ‘Has he been here this morning? quer- ; ied the lover, with a gathering frown. ‘Yes, and he says I look <x<ctly like the Empress Eugenie. I had Fanny in | to dress it exactly to his taste, u Za Par . isinne Oh, he’s so amusing! | ‘ Ahem-but. I don’t like the style at all!' i ‘Don’t you? Well do keep still, and give me a chance to read a moment I Charley relasped into a gloomy silence, 1 bat his brow was dark overcast What ‘Lusinrss had St. Aulyn down stairs! A ring at the door bell, and a whisper from Fanny in her mistress’ ear. Up I started Cora, ‘My bonnetand mantle. Fanny, quick There—fasten the collar—and now mv I parasol. Charley, you’ll excuse me, 1 know; but a previous engagement —Captain St Aulyn. ! ‘But Cora— ’ ! 'Au revoir,’ and before he could speak 1 further the little beauty had flitted down stairs with a parting wave of the hand. [Warren folded his arms tightly across his breast, and walking grimly to the window, had the satisfaction of seeing Cora | seated beside the smiling St. Anlyn, in bis dashing turn-out, and of witnessing I their ‘riumpha.it departure! Poor Charley! he turned t .ie and red j with angry emotion. Never had Cora, ‘ treated him so before, never had she evinced the least tendency to coquetry;! and he knew not what course to pursue. ’ If he had not felt so tttterlv wretched, he would have proceeded straight to Miss Howe; but he was too far gone for that, and he bowed iiis head upon liis hands in j hitter reflection. What could it mean? : He would hoi sewliip St. A uiy n, he would - No, he wouldn't either; for hadn’t lie just been playing exactly the same game with ! Miss Howe? O, conscience, what a reI morseless accuser thou art! , j That evening he sent an excuse lo Miss i Howe, whom he had volunteered to take |to Wallack’s and turned his footsteps [ again towards the residence of his fincee ‘! Fanny was m the hall, chatting with John, II the huge footman. ‘Miss Cora was gons to the opera with j Captain St. A ulyn. ; The maid delivered this speech with a I half-suppressed titter. Warren colored I in lignantly. ‘1 will come in and wait, he said, firmly, i Fanny showed him into the drawingI room. Lamartine was lying on the table, | with all the love passages marked in the [captain’s handwriting! The reader may i imagine what kind of an evening Warren parsed. Towards midnight the captain’s voice was heard, bidding Miss Clifford ‘goodnight! and promising to call ‘early to'morrow morning; and the next moment I the little coquette tripped in, all Lee and plumes anil jewels. But what a pale, haggard face met her glance! Spite of herself, she started back. Why, Charley! ‘Cora! said Warren, ‘have pity upon me What have I done to mem this conduct! ‘Good gracious, Chat ley, I don't know what you mean! ‘This strange indifference to my feelings, this deliberate coquetting with that: i scoundrel, St. Aulyn. Cora, I must have some explanation! Cora sat down on the sofa by his side; 1 and placed her lily hand on his trembling arm. ■Charley, dear, don’t be so ferocious. AU I want is, to have you understand that I am tied to no man's dickey-string, ! that I am a free agent, and shall flirt just I as much as I please. Every drop of blood in Charley’s sys- ’ tern seemed to have concentrated in his burning face. lie recognized his own I foolish boast. ‘lt’s a mistaken idea, continued the i unmerciful Cora, that when you are engaged to a gentleman, you are‘.lienee-1 1 lorth to give up alt other masculine so--1 ciety.’ Warren understood it all in an instant Good heavens, what a relief it was! His i i heart bounded from the soles ot his boots as light as a feather! ‘Cora, you darling little eaves-drop-per!’ He caught her in his arms, smothering her musical laughter with a succession of very lovelike kisses, and listened in smiling silence while she related tne wnuie | occurrence. He was bitterly mystified, and deeply indignant athimselt; but oh, it was such a relief to know that Cora’s heart was all ; his own. He forgave her the little stra-1 tagem; be forgave her every thing. ‘Pardon mj’ foolish words, dear Cora I regret them more than you can ever imagine. lam sick of Miss Howe, and Dick Ainslie too. There is only one woman in the world for whose smile I care a fig, a>,d she shall be my pride and care : henceforth. Have I your forgiveness,; darling?

’ She laid her soft velvet cheek against h;s shaggy whiskers, and put her finger i on his lips. Hush Charley; not another wore.— ■ Put that sentimental trash on the fire, please, and ring the bell. . Fanny answered the sound. i 'l’m nt at howie to-morrow, when Captain St. Aulvn calls—do you understand? ‘Yes, ma’am: and Fanny vanished — Cora went to the mirror, and drawing out , one or two little diamond headed arrows, ! shook the rich luxuriance of golden hair about her face. In an instant the borJ rible Eugenie twist was gone, she was his own radiant, sunny-browed Cora once more. ‘There’s one comfort,’ she said, pansling, with a mass of shining hair still in [her hand; I have comolelely cured you ' of coquetry, haven’t I, Charlev? The reply is not chronicled, but we think it was satisfactory. Jealousy.—There is more jealousy between rival wi f s than rival beauties, for vanity hits no sex. But in both cases' th-re must be pretensions, or there will be no jealousy. Elizabeth might have been merciful had Mary neither been beautiful nor a queen; and it is only when we ourselves have been admired by some, that we begin thoroughly to envy those who are admired by all. But the basis :of this passion must be the possibility of I competition; for there are more envied bv i those who have a little, than by those : who have nothing; and no monarch ever heard with indifference that other monarch were extending their dominions, except Theodore of Corsica—who had none! -11 l —I Mind Your own Business —Husbands and wives should not attempt to pry too closely into each other’s private affairs. Every human being has some thought, i confidences, and secrets, which are sacred [ even irom the curiosity of those with whom he is the most intimately connect[ed, and which should never be meddled . [ with by an uninvited hand or tongue. — [The temples of the soul and the heart ! have their secret chambers, their holiest |of holies, into which none but the Great , 1 Builder thereof himself may enter. Were [ this vital truth clearly understood, and ; i its legitimate requirements obeyed, ! much ot the strife and bitterness, domestic as well as social, now so rampant among the sons and daughters of men. Would disappear. Tile en'ire philosophy and system of the thing is summed up in the blunt old phrase—‘Mind your own 1 business. A negro was brought up before the mayor of Philadelphia for stealing chicklens. Theft conclusively proved. ‘Well’ Tobby,’ said his honor, ‘what have you got to say for yourself?’ ‘Nuffin, but dis, Boss. I was as crazy as a bedbug when I stole dat pullet, coz I mite hab stole de big rooster end neber done it. Dat shows, clusivelv to mv r.ind dal I was laboring under de delirium tremendus Al the time the cholera was so bad in Prague, Dr. R was called out of a warehouse suddenly tn see a patient. At the time he entered the sick room the family [ physician did the same. The two doc- [ tors found their patient in a strong perspiration, and put both their hands under [ 1 the bed clothes in older, to feel his pulse, ■ bui, Ly aeciden', got hold of each other’s. ■ ‘He lias the Cholera!’ cried Dr. X. ‘No such thing,’ said the other; he’s only drunk!’ Goodness and Genius —Genius and , goodness are inseparably connected in menial origin. Genius is esseroinllv <> naotal —nay, a religious power. The difference between genius and talent, is perhaps included in the neees’ary con- ; scientiousnessof the former. Talent mav j ! be conscientious—genius must be so — | Nobility of purpose, the truest an I most! [patient sympathies, must combine in a [woikihat is to penetrate, elevate, and 1 subdue the hearts of mankind. If we [ rise from a book with no sacred and sol- [ emit emotions, no deep sense of human relationship and sympathy, we have not been in communion with genius. A Knotty Question. —Can a man commit suicide in his own lifetime?’ was a question recently started among a group ‘■t ‘counsellnrs learned in ihe law. in one of our courts. At the first thought one would be apt to answer. ‘Yes, of course he can;’ but there is much to be said, and much was said on the occasion referred to, for the other side. In fact, one eminent lawyer convinced several of his hearers that a man cannot commit snic'de in his own lifetime, and staggered his op- [ ponents by tns ingenious arguments. I say, Pat, what are you about, sweep ing out that room? ‘No, ‘answered Pat'i j ‘1 am sweeping out the dirt, and leavingth» room,

“1 Can’t.” I Never say‘l can’t ‘ When we consider the energy and ability palsied bv it, and how many fail in life by ‘fearing to attempt,’ we feel to wish, with Napoleon, that the words ‘imposible,’ and ‘I can't,’ were obliterated from our language Tamerlane was taught better in the midst ,of I.is despair, and the pertinacity of a i spider nerred the warrior Bru e to a finial struggle and a glorious triumph If what is desired be worth the toil necessai ry to win it, examine the ground deliberately, and let nothing short of absolute lack of means, or incompetence of powers, ideterryou from winning. Many a man ; passing for a genius, as artist, ana even as man of letters, worked bis way to pro- [ ticiency by slow steps, and through years [of ceaseless care and toil. There is little that man has done, that it is impossible [ for man to do again—again, forever.. As ‘necessity is the mother of invenI tion,’ so perseverance and faith conquer every obstacle. Because the road is rough and toilsome, and the labor harsh and vexirg, is it manly to falter when the ' prize is ail the brigther and the goal the more-glorious therefor? The crown of triumph is reserved for those who strive, ' and however accident may seem to elevaie this or the other man, there is no ‘royal road’ to fortune or fame. These ■ are seldom, if ever, won by the 'I can’ts.’ On the lips of the ycung, no words so miserable as these. They betray a pnny, coward spirit. Alexander sternly rebuked the lieutenant who uttered them in his presence—and to give his rebuke force, [spcred forth and accomplished what bis subaltern deemed impossible. Mt not this ! will and decision conquer in whatever they attempt. Seek not to do too much hut measuring your means arc! faculties, : accept the bravest toil possible, and win. Never say ‘I can’t.’ I’ll try’ are the ■ words that hava made more than one name immortal. Lovers’ Sorrows. Os the great misfortunes and calamnities incident to humar life t! < re are nona that touch one so sensibly as those which befall persons who eminently love, and meet, with fatal interruptions o! their happiness when they least expect it. Tha ; piety of children to parents, and the af- ' faction of parents to their children, are [ the effects of instinct; but the affection between lovers and frh-nds is founded on reason and choice, which I.as always made us think the sorrows of the latter much more to be pitted than thos.e of thu 'former. The comempla'ion oi distresses lof this sort softens the mind of man, and ■ makes the heart better. It extinguishes [ the seeds of envy and ill-will towards mankind, corrects the pride of prosperity, : and beats down all that fierceness and insolence which are apt io get into the minds I of the daring and fortunate. i The Changes of Life.— Cicero says, as the mind, by foreseeing and preparing for grief, makes all grief the less, a man : should consider all that may befall him | in his life; and certainly the excellence of wisdom consists in taking a near view of ' things, and gaining a thorough experi- [ ence in all human affairs; in not bt ing [ surprised when anything happens, and ia thinking, before the event of thinus, that there is nothing but what may come to pass. Wherefore, at t/ie time that our affairs are in the best situation, at that very moment we should be most thought- [ ful how to bear a change of fortune. 1 Lord Brougham’s son, who is yet a minor, and consequently dependent upon ; his father for support, has been noted somewhat ot late for his attention to a young actress in the French Theater.— His father recently wrote the following la- ! conic episuie? If you 'Jo not quit her, I’ll i stop your allowance.’ To which the sou replie:!: ‘lf you do not double it, I’ll marry her.’ The son will enjoy a seat in I Parliament when he becomes of age. Professor of Latin — Now gentlemen, I ! suppose you all understand what a declension is, and what is a conjunction.-— Will Master Tompkins tell us the difference? Scholar (rather too smart for bis age)—Mhy, sit, suppose a young gentleman pops the queetion to a young ladywell, sir, if she dosen’t choose to conjugate she declines! The Troy Budget says that in the [ County Poor House in that county is an aged couple, the parent of an only 'on. who lives within a hundred miles of Troy in a brown stone front, and from whose •able is daily thrown away enough to feed and support the poor couple for a week. The direst curse of old ags is a thankless i qj.ild. ‘Keep your dog away from me!’ said I a dandy 'o a hacther’s boy. ‘Darn the I dog!’ replied the boy, ‘he’s always after I puppies!’ A wheel, unlike ahorse, runs the better for being tired

NO, 5.