Decatur Eagle, Volume 2, Number 34, Decatur, Adams County, 1 October 1858 — Page 1

TII F DF P A T*IT R F A F- I F 1 11 ii O lit v A 1(J ri lii Alj L .[Li .

VOL. 2.

THE EAGLE. PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING, BY j PHILLIPS & SPENCER, Office, on Main Street, in the old School House, one Square North of J. & P Crahs' Store. Terms of Subscription : Pur one year, $1 50, in advance; $1 75, within j the year, and $2 00 after the year has expired. ' ' (EFNo paper will be discontinued until all arrerages are paid, except at the option of the I Publishers. ■ Terms of Advertising; One square, (ten lines) three insertions, $1 00 Each subsequent insertion, 25 (EPNo advertisement will be considered less than one square; over one square will be counted 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 most reasonable terms. Our material for the completion of Job-Work, being new and of the latest styles, and we feel confident that satisfaction ■ can he ttiven. ELLEN BAYNE. Soft be thy slumbers. Rude cares depart, Visions in numbers Cheer thy young heart. Dream on while bright hours And fond hopes remain, Blooming like smiling bowers. For thee, Ellon Bayne. Gentle slumbers o’er the glide, Dreams of beauty ’round the bide, While I linger by thy side, Sweet Ellen Bayne! Dream not in anguish, Dream not in fear, Love shall not languish, Fond ones are near; Sleeping or waking, In pleasure or in pain, Warm hearts will beat for thee, Sweet Ellen Bayne. Gentle slumbers o’er the glide, Dreams of beauty round the bide, While I linger by thy side, Sweet Ellen Bayne. Scenes that have vanished Smile on thee now, Pleasures once banished, Play ’round thy brow; Forms long departed. Greet thee again. Soothing thy dreaming heart. Sweet Ellen Bayne. Gentle slumbers o'er the glide, Dreams of beauty' 'round the bide, While I linger by-thy side. Sweet Ellen Bayne. Love in the Rain. Mv love took shelter under the tree From rain, the summer rain, And I. by love made bold and free, Took shelter with her in the lee Os the wide high-spreading chesnut tree, And blessed the rain, the rain. Quoth I, “Post think the storm will pass?” Quoth she , “I'm but a silly lass.” Quoth I, “True love hath rainbow light-” Quoth she, "Most beautiful and bright.” Quoth I, “My love is hard to tell.” Quoth she, “Come close, I’ll listen well. Oh, ram! oh, rain! Oh, blessed rain! No sunshine e’er shall come again So dear to me as that stormy rain! Au Irishman in Court. During a session of the Circuit Court at Lynchburg, an Irishman was indicted for stabbing another on the canal, and the only witness was Dennis O'Brien, who was required to enter into bonds For bis appearance at the next court. The recognizance .was read in the usual form: ‘You acknowledge yourself indebted to the commonwealth of Virginia in the sum of 5500.’ Dennis—“l tell you I don’t owe her a cint, sir.’ As soon as the clerk recovered from the amusement at the answer, he explained the meaning of the form, and read it over again. Dennis—‘l tell ye I don’t owe her a cint. It’s more money nor I ever saw, nor my father before me.’ At this stage of the matter a brother of Dennis interfered, and said: ‘You must jest say it, Dennis. It’s one of the forms of the law.’ Dennis—‘But I won’t. I’m a dacent honest man, what pays my debts and I’ll spake the truth, and the devil may drink all my whisky for a month if I say 1 owe any body a cint. Now chate me if you can.” The gold dust excitement in Kansas is intense, and daily increasing. Several parties, numbering in all one hundred and fifty persons, prospecting in the neighborhood of Pike’s Peak, joined in the report that they found gold wherever they experimented, yielding from five to twen-ty-five cents to the panful of soil. This has emboldened some of the most energetic citizens of Kansas to start conveyances from Ft. Riley to the new Ei Dorado

THE COUSINS. A TALE FOR FICKLE HUSBANDS. ! . — I ‘Emily, Emily, my darling, is it true? I Say it again—only once again, Emily!’ Emily lifted up her face, with a soft, i tremulous smile, as her hazel eyes answeI red the ardent questioning of her lover’s I glance. ‘Yes, yes, Edward,’ she replied; and the words was sweet to his eager ear. ‘Again, and again. Emily! I could i hear you say it forever, my love!’ said the , young man. He bent his handsome head to kiss the lips that had said—what no other lips had said to him—-‘J love you.’ But bis caress was given back with half-timid, yet earnest terderness, and his soft blue eves beamed with happy emotion. It was, Ed ward Vane’s first wooing, and the plea- I sure he experienced was as rare and de- i llcious as it was novel; for, to the young' lover declaring his earliest attachment, is not the timid ‘yes,’ and the kiss ot her he loves, the sweetest thing he has ever known? Under the trees, in the garden of the old parsonage, they walked together in the sunset, after this sweet confession—i walking side by side—Edward holding Emily’s hand, and talking tenderly to her ] as they went, with his warm heart beaming in his handsome face, and Emily lis- ■ tening silently, with a happiness whose very silence manifested its depth; and the ■ sun sank lower, and the shadows grew : longer, as the pleasant moments slipped I away—golden moments to Edward and i Emily—and, finally, as the twilight began I to gather, they heard the voice of Emily’s father calling her from his study. i They went back; and now, standing for ■ a single instant longer in the old stone porch under the curtaining vines, Edward drew Emily to his breast again, and pressed his lips gently to her cheek. ‘A few moments, my darling, before vougotohim,’ said Edward. ‘Let me I see him first. 1 must tell him ’ 1 A happy thrill ran through Emily’s 1 ; heart. She laid her hand quietly on her; ! lover’s bosom, and kissed softly the belovi ed band that held her own in a lingering • clasp. | j ‘Yes, tell him,’ she said with a blush, and then loosing herself from his embrace | she went away, while Edward Vane] sought her father s study. It was no new thing to the good old , pastor that Edward and his daughter loved each other; he had seen it long since , —had known it perhaps before they knew I it themselves. Edward was not, it may be, the husband her father would have chosen for her; affectionate in disposition, with an ardent temperament, but impulsive, changing, uncertain of purpose, all this the old man had seen him to be.— But he himself had not many years to live; they loved each other, and it might I be after all, for the best. At any rate he could not find it in bis heart to cross their love, and so his consent was given, and Emily and her lover received his blessing. And now the old parsonage seemed another Elen, in whose garden dwelt only happiness. But has not. every Eden its serpent? It came in dark but beautiful and shining guise; it came in the shape lof Emily’s lovely cousin, Helena, who, with her sweet, bewitching face, glided in (upon the happy lovers, and brought lan- ] scination with her. It. was not that Helena Windham, with her beauty and her pride, cared for Emily’s lover, that she left for awhile the score of suitors, at whose expense she had been amusing herself, coquetting with them all by turns, and giving hope to none. But Edward was handsome, and winning, and elegant; and, above ah, he ' had never knelt at her shrine—the insat- > iable heart-hunter! And so, for the eclat !ol a new conquest, she came daily over from her father’s magnificent estate to Iladlev parsonage, to win away, with her bewitchingsmile, the heart of her cousin’s ( lover. | i Emily saw her riding lightly along upon her white steed, with her dark locks braided, and her snowy plume waiving in I the breeze, her red lips smiling, and hetdark eyes beaming with delight of an anticipated triumph. Emily, sitting with her father and her lover in the old parsoI nage study, saw her brilliant cousin, and i thought. ‘How lovely Helena is.’ But the thought was not mingled with envy. < She has won a heart without Helena’s fanscinations; and her soft cheek colored, I her clear hazel eyes beamed with innoI cent happiness as she looked at her lover. A moment more, and the quiet of that happy little cicle was broken by the appearance of this beautiful enchantress cousin. Emilv and her father both knew Helena's hollow heart, yet they gave her I kindly greeting. She was their kin. — They never dreamed with what intent she had come. They, in their charity for others, could not conceive that she had an idea of evil regarding them. _ ■ . * But Helena Windham laughed at their ,' charity, She did not scruple to abuse it 1

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

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, OCT. 1, 1858.

when it served her purpose so to do; and she glided in, in her elegant attire, with her soft, yet brilliant beauty, her captivating manner, her keen, delicate, light-1 Hashing wit, and placed herself in bewild? I ering, dazzling contrast co her fail, sim i pie, unworldly, and yet noble cousin Em * I ily. It was not the first time Edward had ' seen her; but he had never viewed her st> nearly, never spoken to her before ths j evening. Helena took care that ids ear lliest impression ot her should be only al j agreeable one. i She was peerless in her loveliness, her i grace, her mental gifts; she would havt i adorned a royal court. Edward w».-« I scholar ni'. -La g“ r -Ictsltiv .ied an/*’' refined, and a passionate lover of beauty. It would have been a marvel if one like him Lad restrained her enchantments, for I she was the very spirit of beauty. I ‘How incomparably lovely!’ was his, I mental exclamation as she sat near him,' gayly and carelessly chatting with her uncle and Emily, and now and then turning her bright, yet softened glance upon i him, with some smiling word of remark, ,or of question, that drew him ere long i from silent admiration into animated conj verse with the rest. He did not mentally compare her with ■ Emily. He was not thinking of Emily i when he said to himself that the world i could contain no face more enchanting j than this charming guest; but during the hour that Helena stayed he experienced i ■ pleasure, the nature of which he could hardly have defined, had he tried, and the depth of which he never sought to fathom. He only knew that he admired Miss Windham very much. And so the heartless beautv lingered as long as it suited her, seeing plainly, and with secret delight, how Edward Vane was attracted, until she was fullv satisfied with her first attempt, and bidding the party a graceful adieu, she vanished like some brilliant star, that while we are eagerly, delightedly watching it, hides itself far behind the clouds. And ! Emily never dreamed whose eyes that I star had dazzled. When next she met her beautiful cou- | sin, it was after service at the litttle village chut ch, and as Emily lingered near j the door, awaiting her father, Helena, ui passing slightly tapped the young girls I check with her gloved hand, j ‘Hww came vou ever to attract. | Vane?’ she asked. ‘Do you know that I lam quite pleased with h’m? and that is , dangerous for you, you know. Take care I my pretty cousin, that Ido not win him away from you. By the way, dear, my ■ brother Frederick has also become aeI quainted with him, and, I believe, cultiI vales his acquaintance most sedulously, j At any rate he has invited him to spend ' a day or two with us this week. Aou can afford to lose him for that time—can’t I you Emily dear?’ Finishing her heartless speech with a soft laugh and a kiss on her cousin’s lips, ! she passed on to her carriage; and Emily looked after her an instant, with a sudden 1 tremor at her heart, a startled pallor overspreading her cheeks, saying in a low, half-bitter tone, ‘Helena, Helena, was i that what you came for?’ Emilv only said to Edward when he i came again, ‘Do you know Frederick Windham, Edward?’ ' ‘Yes, Emily—l was introduced to him not lone ago—did I not mention it? I am forgetful of everything but you, my darling!’ he added with a beaming smile. Then he continued, ‘Yes, and only yesterday, he made me half promise to come and pass a day or two with him at his ' father’s. Ido not know whether I shall I go, though he is very urgent. He seems ' s to like me.’ A dull pain went through Emily’s heart but she would say nothing, nor let him suspect what she felt. ‘Will he go?’ she asked mentally, and with slow and unhappy suspense she , waited to see. I Edward did go. If he had forseen the result, he might have been wiser; but with him, as is the case with many others, wisdom was purchased with experiI ence. I During the days that he spent with Frederick Windham, he was thrown ir. quently into the society of the beautiful ' Helena; their acquaintance matured, and I his admiration grew deeperwith every | hour that passed, revealing some new beauty, some new grace in the variable, wayward, yet ever enchanting Helena. When Emily met him again she longed I to ask him, -Do you not like my beautiful cousin?’ But she refrained. ‘I will not mock myself,’ she thought; ‘how can he help liking —nay, even loving her.’ It was not Edward’s last visit at his friend’s, Helena chose to win him, and there was little resistance made. Frederick was a pleasant friend, and Edward Vane, neglecting to question his own heart too closely, said that it was Decause of this that he liked so well to go there. ' But he always saw Helena. They

played and sang together —together ram- : bled over the fine grounds around the j mansion, and read from the same book. | [And Helena’s voice had wondrous sweet-: ( ness in its tones and the gentle glance of j her her dark eyes, in her subdued moments, was one of the most enchanting; ; softness. And Edward listened to the | sweet voice, and met the suit glances of i the lovely dark eyes, yielding each day | more completely to their delicious fasci- ] : nation, until his heart was won quite away ' ■ from Emily. Yes—he loved Helena; he acknowled-j ged it at last to himself; and now, unable I ■ > resist her influence, and dreading to i ■ei»T.] r .;jy’. a ..i-Ki, ha went no more to Hadley parsonage. He gave himself up now to this new j happiness; it was strange, too, how bitter j Ihe found it! For whenever he sat by! Helena's side, and looked into the beau- . ; tiful depth ofthose dark eyes, the thoughts of his neglected love rose up. He seem- i ed to see Emily’s sweet, pure face before ! i him, pale and, sad. Self reproach wore upon him—but he hated to listen to it; and, fiially, braving and defying it, in i very desperation, lie declared his love to ( Helens Windham. It was a moment of triumjii for which she had waited and watched with suspense and impatience. — 1 Despite herself, a blu-h of pleasure rose , io hercheek, even while she assumed a ! little air of mingled annoyance and regret, j ‘Mv.dear Mr. Vane!’ she said, shaking i her beautiful head—‘how sorry I am that this hat happened— that you have imagined—tliat you have mistaken —I have been engaged to marry Mr. Carruthers I since last week!’ Edward Vane saw the dupe—the plaything he had been. Incensed almost beyound indurance, lie left the scence of infaitation, of his blind folly, for the last time. I It was bitter repentance for his fault - that-led him back to Hadley parsonage, toseek forgiveness and reconciliation from Emilv. i 'Emily, I have been mad—insane, 1 ! believe,’ he said. *1 have forsaken your sweet face for a will-o’-the-wisp that has led me to wretchedness. Emily, for the • j sake of our old love, will you forgive me?’ > ‘For the sake of our old love—yes,’ ..answered Emily, extending her hand to I him. She was quite pale, but there was ; no trane of unhanpiness in he.r rule- I' .;- iicd ume nance. Yu&, the j ui you iiave .! caused me I will not remember; but the - pain is over now, and the love has died !! out with it, Edward.’ i' ‘Emily, I deserve it,’ be uttered, with • a cry of anguish, ‘I deserve it! But oh! •I do not say it, Emily! May I not hope —’ ■ j ‘No; there is no hope,’ she replied geni tly, but firmly. ‘I forgive the pain you I ‘ have given me, but 1 dire not risk that i pain again We can never be anything ; i more than we are n ow to each other.’ The words were sacred—they proved i true He went out from her presence , ashamed, and their paths never were the ' j same .again. , I . I The Rev. Mr. Martin, of Burlington, Me., a man of decided talent, and worth, ; was somewhat noted for his eccentricity j and humor, which occasionally showed .! themselves in his public ministrations —• In the time of the great land speculations , in Maine, several of his prominent parish- ! ioriers were carried away with the mania of buying lumber tracts. Mr. Martin re- ! sisted this speculating spirit, and more ! than once rebuked it in his sermons. — One evening at his regular weekly meetings, he noticed that several of his prominent men were absent, and he knew at J once that they were gone to Bangor to attend a great land sale. After a hymn had been sung, lie said — ‘Brother Allen, will you lead us in i P a - ver? ’ , , Some one spoke up and said — ‘He has gone to Bangor.’ Mr. Martin, not disconcerted in the ' least, called out—- ■ Deacon Barber, will you lead us in prayer?' ■ ! ‘He has gone to Bangor, another answered. Again the pastor asked—■ ‘Squire Clark, will you lead us in prayer ?’ ‘The Squire has gone to Bangor,’ said some one. Mr. Martin being now satisfied, looked round upon the assembly, as ii the same reply would probably be given to every similar request, and very quietly said—- ! ‘The choir will sing Bangor, and then we will dismiss the meeting!’ The Art of Conversation. —Not only to say the right thing in the right place but far more difficult still, to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment. Beware of an article in the market for cleansing teeth called ‘Chinese Oil.’ It is a mineral acid, and will destroy the teeth in a short time. There are none so wicked as represented.

How a Sailor got a Wife. A sailor, roughly garbed, was saunter- 1 ing through the streets of New Orleans,] then in rather a damp condition from the] recent rains and rise of the tide. Turning, the corner of a touch frequented al-; I ley, he observed a young lady standing! ]in perplexity, apparently measuring the : depth of muddy water between her and ' the opposite sidewalk with no very satis- ; : fled countenance. 1 The sailor paused, for he was a great ! admirer of beauty, ami certainly the lair ] face tliat peeped from under the little ] ] hat, and auburn curls hanging glossy and unconfined over her muslin dress, might ' tempt a curious or admiring glance. The i lady put loitb oner liitlo luot, when the ! gallant sailor, with characteristic impul-1 ! siveness, exclaimed: I ‘That pretty little foot, lady should not. be soiled with the filth of this lane: wait a moment-only, and 1 will make a path ; for you.’ I So, hastening to a carpenter shop opposite, he bargained for a hoard that stood ! iin the doorway, and coming back to the I smiling girl, who was just coquetish ' enough to accept the services of the ‘ handsome young sailor, he brigded the > i narrow, dirty ditch,, and she tripped | across with a merry ‘thank you,’ and a roguish smile, making her eyes as daz- . zling as they could be. Alas! our young sailor was perfectly (charmed! What else could make him' i catch up and shoulder the plank, and Cell- i duct the little witch thiough the streets to her home? She twice performed the ceremony of ‘walking the plank,’ and each time thanking him with one of her eloquent smiles. Presently our hero saw the young lady walk up to the marble stens of an elegant mansion and disappnar within its rosewood entrance. — For a full moment he stood looking at the door, and then, with a wonderful big sigh, turned awav, disposed of his drawbridge, and wended his path back to the ship. The next day he was astonished by an order of promotion from the Captain. Poor ! Jack was speechless with amazement — He had not dreamed of being exalted to I the office of second mate on board of one ,of the most splendid ships that sailed i from the port of New Orleans He knew , i he was competent, for instead of spending , ( his money fur amusements, visiting thea- ■! tres and bowling alleys, on his return from sea, lie l.ari purcnascu ouuas «uu ueuuuiv quite a student; but he expected years to 'intervene before his ambitious hopes could be realized. His superior officers seemed to look upon him with leniency, and gave him ' many a fair opportunity of gathering ; maritime knowledge; and, ill a year, the 'handsome, gentlemanly young mate had acquired unusal favor in the eyes of the portly commander, Captain Hume, who : had at first taken the smart black-eyed little fellow, with his neat taipauliu and tidy bundle, as cabin hoy. | One night the young man and the other I officers were invited to an entertainment at the Captains house. He went, and, to his astonishment, mounted the identical steps up which two years before had trip ( ped the bright vision he had not forgotten, i Thump went his brave heart as he was ushured into the grand parlor, and like I a sledge-hammer it beat again when Captain Hume introduced his blue-eyed daughter with a smile, as ‘the young la!dy once indebted to vour kindness lor a ! safe and dry walk home.’ His eyes were ; all a-blazed, and his cheek flushed hotlv I when the noble Captain sauntered away j leaving Grace Hume at his side. And in i all that, assembly there was not so handII some a couple as the gallant sailor and the i j ‘pretty lady.’ I It was a year from that—the second i mate trod the quarter deck only second ]in command, and part owner with the i Captain, not only in the vessel but in the l affections of his daughter —gentle Grace • Hume—who had always cherished a respect, to say nothing of love, for the bright i eved sailor. His homely but earnest act of politeness towards his daughter had pleased the Captain, and, though the youth knew it : not, was the cause of his first promotion. And now the old man has retired from business, Harry Wellsis Captain Wells, and Grace Hume, according to polite parlance, is Mrs. Captain Wells. In tact, ■ our honest sailor is one of the richest : men in the Cresent City, and he owes, ! perhaps, the greatest part of his prosperity to his act of politeness in crossing the i ' street. A Cat not considered property. —The Newark (N. J.) Evening Journal says that a suit was tried in that enlightened city a short time since before a justice, 1 brought to recover §ls for losses sustained in the death of a cat, alledged to have been shot by defendant. Counsels on . both sides made eloquent addresses to the jury, the main point being w hether a ] cat is or is not property. The jury retired about five o’clock, and caine in about half past nine with a verdict of ‘No 1 cause for action.’

aliuvinK u Note. Old Skinflink was the most celebrated j broker in Philadelphia—his ‘shaving op- ! erations were famous, as he usually ] took not only the beard and whiskI ers, but ‘one pound flesh in addition.' Young Harry Searum was one ] of those diisl-.ing chaps who love win? and .horses, and who form a majority of the i borrowers. Harry having many wants, lon various occasions borrowed of Skinflint al three per cent, a mouth ‘off,’ and : having at sundry periods made ‘raises ! paid off'his responsibilites. At last he got tired of such constant borrowing and repaying. It would be six years before his estate could he sold, under the terms of . Ids fathers will, who had prudently post- ! poued that event until Harry shtuld reach ■ the age of‘thirty,’ and Harry concluded it would be better to make heavy operations at once, and be rid of the botheration of continual borrowing. Away to Skinflint’s he hied, determined to procure a good round sum, and so be done withit. ! ‘I want ten thousand for six years.’ ‘Hem! What security will you give?' •Oh, vou may have my bond. — that will bind my property.’ I ,Hern! What discount will you give? You know my rule is always to take discount -off’—besides, you owe me one j thousand, due to day, and I lent you ten ! in the street the other day. •I won’t pay what I have been paying, one and a quarter per cent, is enough — : You take it ‘out,’ and what I owe you beI sides.’ I ‘Hem! well, here's a bond for ten thousand dollars at six years; sign it, and it will all be right.’ 1 No sooner said than done. Harry affix-. d i.is autograph and hummed a tune : while Skinflint got his check-book and made a calculation. ] ‘Have you got ten dollars about you?’ 'asked Skinflint in a moment; if so, let me I have it.t’ ‘All right, old boy,’ said Harry, supj posing he wanted to make change, ‘hero ’i it is.’ ‘Hera! hem!’ cried Skinflint, locking up ' his desk, and making preparation to I I ‘shoot.’ i ‘Stop, old fellow,'said Harry. ‘Where jis my money?’ ‘Your money! you’ve got it!’ ‘Got it? wliat do you mean?' 1 ! ‘Whv, I was to take ‘oil’ the discount. ■ wasn't 1, and the thousand: ' j ‘Yes; I want my money!’ 1 ‘Why, my dear fellow, you’ve got it. Ten thousand at one and a quarter a month for six years, is nine thousand — 1 a thousand you owed me—and jest paid '■ me the ten —its all right, my dear boy—- ■. a fair business transaction.’ I How John Swore for Betsey. The law of the State of Virginia pro- ! hibits marriage unlesss the parties arc of lawful age, or hy consent of the parents. . I John D., a well to do farmer in the vallev of Virginia, was blessed with every comfort, except that grand desideratum—- . a wife. John cast bis eyes around, until 1 they fell upon Betty —daughter of John Jones —one of the prettiest and nicest J girls in the country. After a courtship of about six weeks, John was rendered happy by the consent of his sweet Betty, i The next day John, with a friend went to town to tret the necessary documents, t with the forms of procuring which he was , ; most lamentably ignorant. ’ I Being directed to the Clerks office, . : John with a great deal of hesitation, in- ) formed the urbarne Mr. Brown that he was going to get mrrried to Betty Jones, and wanted to know what he must do to encompass that desirable cousumation. I ■ Mr. Brown with a bland smile ififormI ! ed him, that he, after being satisfied that no legal impediment prevented the ceremony for the sum of S 3 grant him the license. John much relieved handed him ' : the necessary funds. t ‘Allow me,’ said Brown, ‘to ask you a few questions. You are twenty-one I 3 suppose Mr. D ?’ p ‘Yes,’said John. ’ ' ‘Do you solemnly swear that Betty Jones, spinster, is cf lawful age, (made 3 and enacted by the Legislature of Virgin j ia) to take marriage vow?’ ‘What’s that?’ said John. Mr. B. repeated it. Weil said John,‘Mr. Clerk, I want to ■ get married, but I joined the church last ’ revival, and I wouldn’t swear for a hunI I dred dollars. ‘Then sir you can’t get married.’ Can’t get married! Good gracious Mr. ' Clerk they'll turn me out of the church if ‘ I swear! Don’t refuse Mr. Clerk, sot heav- : en'ssake. I’ll give ten dollars if you will . let me off from swearing. 11 Can’t doit Mr. D . ‘Hold on Mr Clerk, I'll swear. I 1 couldn’t give Betty up for ten churches, 3; I'll be damed it she ain’t eighteen years ’ old —give me the documents. He got the license. in hi — 3 You may find ycur worst enemy or your best friend in yourself.

NO, 31.