Ligonier Banner., Volume 14, Number 23, Ligonier, Noble County, 25 September 1879 — Page 3

The Ligomier Banmuer, LIGOI\IIER. ; n: r“: m;r;l;;mA.

' IN THE CORN FIELD.. THE south wind stirred the tasselled corn, And brightly glowed the dew of morn On every waving blade, As though the fields, on ‘?lcasm‘e bent, . With dainty step sweet Jessie went—é Sweet Jessie, loveliest maid! + "The south wind blew upon her hair, And tossed it from her forehead fair, . And in its tresses pla‘fyed; I : Joy sgarkled in her eyes of blue, i And dyed her cheek with rosier hue—- \ Sweet Jessie, radiant maid! . . Now in'the shadow of the corn Stood Jesgie, p{lowing like the morn, : And shyly, half afraid, . : Between the rows coy glances threw. - ‘What sought she there? Ah, well she knew— Sweet Jessie, artless maid! - For, brave and strong, above the corn, : She hears her lover’s voice u?borne, ; And hears his ringing blade, As far along the breezy rows, e + With songs of her, he gayly goes— Of Jessie, beauteous maid! ‘ * Then suddenly he lifts his eyes . And Jesgie sees, with glad surprise, In loveliness arrayed. S A moment, and he’s at her side, : And clasps her hands with tender pride—- : Sweet Jessie, roseate maid! : # I heard thee singing, Will,” she said, ! Then quickly bowed her lovely head, . . -By rosy floods betm{'ed. And what said he? Ah, who can guess? * But Jessie softly whispered, ¢ Yes’'— ° Sweet Jessie, happiest maid! With yellow floss he decked her hair, - And twined it with her tresses fair . In many a glossy braid, - - : Till Jessie, like a rural queen, i . Stood garlanded in silken sheen— Sweet Jessie, comeliest maid! Ah, brave young hearts, how bright the morn When, standing by the rustling corn, - Ye vowed, through lightor shade, | In foulest as in fairest weather, i _ To hoe life’s varying row together—. Strong lover and sweet ?mid ! S \ —Harper's Weekly.

A STRANGE STORY.\?; A Society for the Procuring of Substitutes for Rich Criminals—Vicarious Atoneinent for Penal Offenses—How, for Bread, the Poor Bear the Sins of the Rich. : : : - THE New York Grapkic recently contained a revelation which, if true, demands carefuland vigorous investigation. -While inspecting one of the State prisons of New York for that paper, a reporter recognized a man in prison garb whom he had known in private life as an orderly and law-abiding citizen. There could be no mistake about his identity. The Graphic man attempted to speak to him, but was prevented by the keeper. When they left the room the keeper demanded to know why the reporter had attempted to speak to the prisoner. The ansyer was: : : _ “ Because, sir, that man is an old neighbor and acquaintance of mine. I have known him for years. I know his wife and family, and see them almost daily. They believe him to be now in Australia, in a wool commission house in Melbourne. Letters purporting to come from him at that place are frequently received by his wife, and once a month she has received a remittance of money for the support of the family, which she has always duly acknowledged to his Melbourne address, in care of%\{essrs. J. M. Wilkiinson & Co., of that city, by whom he has been understood to be employed.” ¢ You are certainly - mistaken,” said Keeper ——, with emphasis ; ‘‘the man you spoke.to and take to be Tompkins, is Mr. R. W. Parker (we, of course, use fictitious names for the present), formerly cashier of the —— National Bank of New York city, who, you must remembeér, was convicted of forgery and embezzlement between three and four years ago, and sent up here for a term of four years. He got it light, too, you bet, considerin the circumstances. If he-had_n”tfhag‘ plenty of friends and money he’'d a got ten years at hard labor in the quarries, sure’s you live. We are living in a thunderin’ corrupt age, that’s a fact—’thou%h I s'pose I have no call to grumble at corruption as I got my position through a little dash of it.” - “How’s that?’ exclaimed the reporter, the instincts of his .vocation stirring mightily within him as he thought he saw a chance for a column artic%e. ¢ Tell me how it was done.’”

Casting a swift glance around him as though in search of hidden Zulus, and thus assuring: himself that nobody was near, Keeper Briggs slowly opened the lids of his left eye with two fingers of his left hand, and anxiously inquired of the Graphic man whether he discerned any verdancy of color in that optic. The reporter gazed.for a moment at the organ referred to and answered, ““No; your eye is blue as a Sunday in Boston. So you won't give anything away?"’ , g Onlé this much,” responded Keeper Briggs: ‘1 got my place here by polishin’ up the handle of the big front door of the right man’s house. That’s all. But as to the man you got 8o excited about, he’'s no more Tompkins than he is Senator Conkling.” “Well, my friend,”” said. our persistent reporter, ‘‘l know he is Tompkins. How under the sun he came to be sent here I can’t imagine, but I'm going to find out if it takes all summer.”’ . g

‘¢ Suppose we go up to the office and see the Warden about it, and you tell him what you have told me,”’ suggested Keeper-Briggs. ¢ Just my Idea; come along.” We need not give the details of the interview with tﬁ:e chief local authority of the prison. He laughed at our reporter’s story, and said its truth was out of the question. It is simply impossible that your assumption can be correct,” said Warden ——, “for I myself was present when this man was received into this institution. He was delivered into my hands by the proper officers, and duly accredited to us by the order of the court and the Warden of the Tombs in New York, from which prison he came direct to this place. Here is the date, his name, and :all the customary facts recorded on the register. You can see for yourself.” ﬁe Graphic r?resentat_ive saw but was not convinced, and expressed himself to that effect. - .

~ “Very well, sir,”” answered the Warden,getting on his diﬁnityv‘in his turn at this example of the most extraordinary and unreasonable perverse-

ness he had ever seen, ‘‘then we need talk no more about the matter. We know the prisoner to be Parker, the bank defaulter, and you ‘know’ him to be one Tompkins, who is in Australia. Young man; you should join the Murpﬁy movement. Taking Parker for Tompkins! Well, I vow. That’s rich enough to do without raisins. Ha! ha! ha!! ho! ho! ho!!"” and the excellent Warden laughed until he burst the penultimate button off his white vest, {)rojecting it clear across the office with he violence of his stomachic ground swell. : ; ““One question, Warden, if you please,” said our reporter, becoming all the more serious as the prison officials grew hilarious over their joke. ¢« If the man we are talking about was a bank cashier, how comes it that I find him making shoes in this prison? Bank cashiers are experts at writing and the keeping of accounts, not at mechanical trades.” : : ;

The Warden started as though something had hit him in the abdomen about in the locality of the lost button, and he replied in the tone men are apt to use when they are more eil_gaged in ransacking the drawers of meth‘;"g_}han in trying to enlighten their auditors: ““ Now 1 look back to the circumstance, I remember thinking it a little odd that Parker should object to be set to work at bookkeeping, and requested, if convenient, that we should put him into the shoe manufacturing . department. He gccounted for that, however, by saying that desk work had already injured his.health, and that, beside, he preferred some kind of employment not unpleasantly associated with his offense. So we put him where he: wanted to go and never thought another breath about i’ j L ¢ Did you ever notice anything peculiar about his work?”’ : *“ Nothing, except that he begun at the bottom and '‘learned rapidly. He could have been foreman, only he preferred running that machine where you saw him. = Said the machine didn’t require him to write; being foreman would.” : / » - ““Then you will institute no inquiries into the case amon% the New York police, or otherwise?”’ deduced the reporter. ‘ P ¢Do you take me for a fool, young man?’’ said Warden ——. ¢Of course, we shan’t.” Nothing would come of it, and we should be laughed at, from Center street to Auburn. Beside, after deducting the time thrown oft for good behavior, Parker’s term will be up in just ten days, and then you newspaper chaps will have a chance to cipher out the mystery for yourselves, if there is a mystery in the thing at all—which I don’t believe for a minute.”’ S

The Graphic man made a note of the day on which Tompkins, alias Parker, would be set free, and took the next train for New York. The above incident has led to the discovery. of a most startling and amazing fact—the existence in the city of an organization for providing substitutes for rich criminals who have been sentenced” to imprisonment. The operations of this band of persons have hitherto been so adroit and completely covered as not to have been suspected by thamost astute detectives or other ofﬁce&f the law. The facts now in our possession prove that these have gone on for a number of years. The raison d’etre of the organization is, of course, to make money. Its profits are enormous. It acts upon the fact that in all dense communities there are thousands of men in desperate circumstances for want of money—men out of employment with starving families, utterly broken and' ruined financially. As is known by everyboday, most of these stand ready to respond to almost any preposition that will temporarily or permanently relieve them. Anything is better to them than utter destitution on the one hand, or, if they have belonged to the higher classes, to be badgered beyond endurance with duns, threats and prosecutions. To this large class, running through all social and business strata, this substitution society appeals with assured success.

“The mode of operation is simple. A wealthy man is approached after his conviction-of crime by an agent of this organization, which agent may appear in any garb or in the ostensible carrying out of any function. The agent may be a personal friend of the criminal, his reputed pastor, a nominal city missionary, an apparently casual visitor to the prison, or it may be a woman, as in the case of the Sharkey escape. Through this agent the society offers to furnish a substitute for the offender in consideration of the payment, when the arrangement is successfully made, of a large sum of money—say from $25,000 to %50,0()0, according to circumstances. Part of this sum goes to the substitute, and the balance into the treasury of the organization. It is among the simplest and safest of business operations. The actual exchange of parties takes place in the city prison, usually after sentence and pending an appeal, and as nearly as possible to the day on which the condemned individual is to be transferred to one of the State prisons. ~ As a matter of course, such a substitution is possible only when a close personal resemblance pertains between the true prisoner and his counterfeit. In many cases the organization is not able to do anything, no available substitute coming within their reach; but in other instances they accomplish the end with much less trouble and risk of detection than would be imagined by people not familiar with the wonderful closeness of resemblance one person often bears to another. When necessary, easily managed disguises assist in vp\fﬁir;% wool over the elyes of the careless officials. The whole thing is an exchange of identities. The substitute goes to prison and the actual criminal goes abroad, arrangements for the im~mediate carrying out of the latter part of the programme having been fully made in advance. At the State Prison the substitute is not known, and, of course, the friends of the genuine eriminal, who know of the facts, are interested in concealing them, while the family of the substitute, if he has one, are told that he has gone to a for‘eign land, under c_o%nate’ conditions to those under which Parker went, as already narrated. On the release of the substitute at the end of his term the original also appears in his old haunts i | a 0 O AT Y

and the substitute in his. They simply trade back their personalities, and the whole thing is dome. All correspondence, the payment of moneys, ete., is arranged by the 'o'rganization, the security for whose good faith in the affair is the continuance of their own existence and the secrecy of the other parties in interest. : . After his release a few days later the reporter met the released convict, who told this story : ““You know where Ive been for the last four years, and can guess whatl've suffered, all for the sake of my ' wife and children. For them I gave up my liberty. To get money to make them happy I became in fact, if not in name, a common convict. I looked forward through all the dreary and dreadful years in prison to—but what am I saying?” _ “Go_on; Isaw you there, you remember.’’ ] ““Yes, you did ; and what made me so patient under durance that no offense of my own deserved? What, but the thought that when the end of my living death should ¢ome I should be welcomed by my wife, whom I loved as man never loved woman before? Now, I am here, a free man, with thousands of dollars in my pocket, and she—curse her—gone with another man. She took my money, wrote me thankful letters—the false and lying devil—accepted the last installment of the $2,500 to make the first payment on a house I told her to buy, and now she’s run away with the whole. Curse the money ; I don’t care for that without the woman, and I did care for her, oh! so much, so much.”” Here he broke down in tears.

Taking Tompkins aside into a side street, our reporter endeavored to quiet him by soothing and sympathetic words. Becoming calmer in a few moments under the influence of human kindness, but still retaining the hard and hopeless look which was from the outset stamped upon his face, he suddenly and impulsively said: ““You want to hear my story, come with me; I don’t care who héars it now.”’ ,

Linking arms the pair took their way across town to the east, Tompkins being guide, on and on until they reached East River. Here at the extreme end of a shaky old wharf they sat down upon a timber string piece. It was a weird time and place for'the singular revelation our reporter had reason to expect. A few feet below them a strong flood tide rushed like a mill race against and around the pier, swishing, chafing and rattling, constantly forming and then obliterating great eddies, which looked in the thickening gloom as though white appealing human faces were in the vortices of them, being surely and swiftly sucked down to death. Behind them were the subdued noises of the city—before them the dark and fateful stream. They were alone, and with the half sigh which is often the prelude to a distasteful task, Tompkins said :

“Just four years ago this month, at eleven o’clock one dark and stormy night, I stood on this very spot alone. I was desperate. Troubles had swooped down upon me like vultures. I had struggled long and hard, but it was of no use. Everything was going; all that I had saved up and made in business—everything. My wife knew I was in trouble, but not how deep; at least not until we had to give up our old home and seek the wretched quarters we were in at the time of my reported departure for Australia. On leaving I sent my wife money to hire a better place. She did it, and has been in it since. Imeant now to give her a splendid home, but—oh! Gm% what treachery! Who would have believed it? But I might as well tell the rest. After we moved intothat garret we nearly starved. Sometimes we had only a few crackers to live on for a whole day. I ransackedthewhole town for work, but could get nothing to do. Thousands were idle. Why should I expect a better fate? ¢Friends —apply to friends?” Why, dear sir, friends are for the days when you don’t need them. When you do, where are they? Poor as the liole was that we burrowed and starved in, I couldn’t pay the rent of it. I went home one night —oh! Heaven! to call such a spot by such a name! and found my wife and babies crying from want and desolation. It was too much forme. I am a ten-der-hearted and sensitive man, and have the weakness of that class. I rushed off, not knowing nor caring wheré I went. I found myself here. The devil guides the desperate. I cast a gla.nce at the rushing tide. You hear it? So it ran that night. The water would soon hide me .and my sorrows from a pitiless world. I looked around and saw the picture of oneman between me and the shore end of the dock, just out there. Why should Ilive? I could do no good. {threw myself into the water. " ]

¢“I remember nothing more until I found myself rescued and in a little shanty. Three or four men were about me who had done, in my case, the usual things for the restoration of the partially drowned. What with the brandy and the friction I was soon able to walk. On my promising to make no further attempt on myiife, I was permitted to depart. One of the men followed me out. I saw at once that he was not a waterside character. Coming up, he atldressed me in these words, ‘ Why did ¥ou want to kill yourself?” <‘Because I was wretched and hopeless,’ I said. Then I told him all about my circumstances, as you know them. lyle‘ ended with proposing that if I would take the place -of a person then in the Tombs under sentence of four years’ imprisonment in a State Prison, I should have five thousand dollars placed to my wife’s credit in a bank the moment the transfer was made, and ten thousand dollars more on my release. Nob‘o‘gﬁf need know where I should go. the details would be attendef to for me by an association which made a business of buyin% substitutes for wealthy or influential men co;wictedhof ch}'lx:ae I was to say to my family that an engagemznt in Kustralgx. I refused at first, point blank; but on reflection con‘sented. Anything was better than my then situation. gl'he exchange was made in a cell in the Tombs the night before the prisoner, who was Parker, the bank de&ulter, was to be committed 'to h&igon. The resemblance between him and me was’ almost perfect.

A little neat disguising, and common acquaintances—if there had been any—could not have distinguished between us. I was taken to prison and Parker went abread. That is the substance of my story, the details would take hours.” ‘;’}Vere you never suspected in prison! ; ; By no one but you. How should I be ? Parker’'s immediate friends knew he was not there ; I had no friends, and of course strangers cared for neither of o : . ‘““Have you ever heard of similar substitutions being practiced ?”’ Tompkins laughed cynically. *‘Yes, many ; and know of them, too. Why, sir, the organization that sent me make a business of it, as I told you. They pick their men anywhere among -the poor and the desperate, and put the job through when the resemblance is sufficiently close. Rich men seldom go to prison, and are never hanged—money can do everything.” : ‘‘ But is this safe for the organization you speak of ?”’ e Wt ¢ Certainly; safe as keéping a grocery store. Who is to ‘squeal’ on it, and who could testify against them ? I tell you the execution of criminal law is honey-combed with fraud of this kind, and the easy-going outside world thinks things are as square as they seem. Bah! I could reveal facts that would make the good people of this city:stare with amazement, and unless I find and can reclaim my wife, I will.” * Tompkins, come with me,” said his friend. ' v The poor fellow yielded to the gentle persuasion, and our reporter left him in a good hotel, where he promised to take a room and go to bed.

FACTS AND FIGURES. THE value of the American cotton crop of 1878 was $260,000,000. - Wit Liam H. VANDERBILT employs twenty-seven thousand seven hundred and six men. THUs far this year 1,476 miles of railroad have been made in the United States, against 614 in 1875. THE State of Ohio stands fourth in manufactures, the value .of the annual product being valued at $270,000,000. Two hundred and fifty tons per day is the quantity of ashes thrown into the New York rivers and harbor by steamboats, tugs, ete. THE expenditure of the London School Board this year is estimated at $3,000,000, involving a rate of 5} per cent. on the pound sterling. : THE valuation of one hundred and fifty-eight cities and towns in Massachusetts for 1879 is $299,835,608, as compared with $306,432,367: lest year. THE annual rate of mortality in England and Wales was 22.26 from 1840 fo 1850; 22.24 from 1850 to 1860; 22.51 from 1860 to 1870; 21.64 from 1870 to 1871; : v THE deaths from violence—by murder, accident, ete.—are ,four times greater in England than in Italy, although the latter has a lar%er population. This is due to the number killed in mines in England. » IN the first six months of the present year 19,957 immigrants entered the Argentine Republic. This was an increase of 4,375 on the corresponding half of last year. Most of the immigrants engage in agriculture. ; . CANADA has already paid bounties to 2,412 survivors of the war of 1812 from the grant of $50,000 made by the House of aommons in 1877. Somehow, to have fought in that war seems to have been a great aid to longevity on both sides of the line. = . | Boston shipped out 1,795,793 cases of boots and shoes for the year ended July 10, 1879.- Of these Chicago took 173,226 cases ; St. Louis, 117,668 ; New York, 113,871; Philadelphia, 94,492, and Cincinnati, 93,459 cases—making a total of 695,831 cases. THE loss of crops by the recent storm is already beginning to attract the attention of merchants, and they unhesitatingly assert that every inhabitant must suffer to some extent by this disaster. The sugar crop in the Attakapas and the river parishes, including Lafourche, " Assumption, Ascension and Iberville, appear to have suffered most, and the falling off in the sugar crop is estimated at 50,000 hogsheads of sugar: and 100,000 barrels of molasses, worth in the aggregate over $2,000,000. The loss in t%e cotton crop is not. so easily estimated, but it is believed that in the low lands of Mississippi there has been great destruction, which, in the a,g%regate, will not fall short of 250,000 bales. The damage to sugar machinery, fences and ohtbuﬁdings 1s another important item, and it is believed that the loss to this city alone will amount to $5,000,000.—N. 0. Times.

IN an official report on coal supplies, made to the British Government, the statement is made ‘that the depth to which it is possible to follow coal is limited to about 4,000 feet, on account of heat ; at fifty feet below the surface, the temperature, it is said, is constant at fifty gegrees, winter and summer, in that country ; from this point the rate of increase is pretty constant, or one deix;ee for each sixty feet in :the mines. the deepest mine, at 2,419 feet, the temperature is ninety-four degrees, at which rate, at 4,000 feet it would be 105 degrees. The attainable quantity of coal, at this rate, is estimated at 90,000,000 tons from the present known deposits. In addition to these, are districts in which coal exists at greater depths than 4,000 feet, and areas in which coal would appear to be discoverable. Thus estimated, the whole amount that may be counted upon is set down at about 146,480,000,000 tons, at depths less than 4,000 feet, allowg%g for all deductions, and some 41,144,000,000 tons between 4,000 and 10,000 feet.

—A well-known carpet drummer gives the following itemized account of his spring operations: Miles, 8,964; trunks, 4; shown goods, 116; sold, 98; been asked the news, 5,061; told, 2,210; lied about it, 2,160; didn’t know, 691; been asked to drink, 1,861; drank, 1,861; chanﬁ’ed politics, 46; daily expenses allowed by house, $8; actual average, 87; clean profit, $1; cash on hand, $2.60; been to church, 1.

~-Lightning rods are not good conductors for horse cars.—X. 0. g’icqyum,

9 ' P : - Youths’ Department. AND THEN WHAT? . WHENE'ER the story-hour came, o The children gathered close around : The mother’s knee, and lent their ears To her with interest i)rofound. Charmed with the music of her voice, : Too zoon for them the ending came, And when the stor;'»teller paused, . ; © *t And then, what?'’ they would all exelaim.! ‘* Well, Mamma has no more to tell, For that is really all she knows.” And with dejected air they say: “Well, ean’t you ’spect? and den’t you : spose?”’ : If it should be the sad ‘account Of bears that went on stealthy paws To where the naughty children were, And seized them in their cruel jaws, The little listeners, with their eyes As big as moons, their cheeks atlame, Lean closer toward the mother’s knee, 3 ** And then, what?”’ eagerly exclaim. ** Well, Mamma has no more to tell, ; For that is really all she knows.” And disaﬁ)pointedly they say: . . **Well, can’t-you ’spect? and don’t you rspou 6?" ¢ : No fairy story is complete, e Though peace and happiness abound, And suffering virtue is at last : Amid rejoicing duly crowned. Like hungry birds, with open bills, _ Exhausting memory’s richest store, i TheX are not satigfied, but cry: ) ‘* And then, what, Mamma? Tell us more!” ‘ But Mamma has no more to tell, For that is really all she knows.” And still reproachfully they say: i ** Well, can’t you ’spect? and don’t you 182)0861’7 S As yet their fancy has not learnedTo plume its wings, and so they pout, And cannot tell exactly how To piece the pretty st-orées out. : But as they older grow, and read Of bears and giants, gnomes and elves, E’en though the tale be incomplete, They’ll guess it out to suit themselves. And when I lay aside the book : That comes abruptly to a close, I almost hear the writer say: : ' “Well, can’t? you ’spect? and don’t you ’spose?”’ : —Josephine Pollard, in N. X¥. Independent.

: BOB’S DIARY. THE other day Mrs. Cumming brought out of the clothes-press for a poor woman who had seven small children and stood at the back door, an old coat of Bob’s. Before giving it away she sought the usual assurance that there was nothing in the pockets, and in the search she felt something between the, coat and the lining just under the in-: side pocket. ' After some difficulty she succeeded in recovering it through a hole in the aforesaid pocket, by which, doubtless, it had found its way to its hiding-place. It proved to be a little black-covered book fastened together by a tongue and loop, having on the back, in gilt letters, ¢ Diary, 1879.” Opening it, she saw, on the upper righthand corner of the title page, the words, ‘¢ Robert Cumming,! gr. From Uncle Joe ;”’ and then she remembered to have seen the book before about the first of January. Below is an exact copy of its contents : : January I.—This is New Year's Day. Uncle Joe gave me this diary to-day. I am going to write in it every night just before going to bed. Every boy and girl ought to keep a diary, so when he gets a man he can see what he did when he was a boy. This is New Year’s Day, and there ain’t no school to-day, and I have played with Billy all day. Billy is my goat. 1 got up and ate breakfast, then I harnessed Billy and went round and saw Uncle Joe, and he gave me this diary. He says it is the best thing a boy can do to keep a diary, but he says it is the hardest thing a boy can do.- I don’t see where the hard comes in. I like to keep a diary. Ilet Jimmy Green drive my goat while Uncle Joe told me how to keep my diary, ~and he let all the boys drive him, and they broke my sled. I ain’t a-going to lend Billy any more. I ate dinner and then played with Billy some moree I showed all the boys my diary, and, they are going to ask their fathers for one, too. I ate supper and played dominoes with Uncle Joe till eight o’clock. lam going to begin to write in my diary every night at eight o’clock, so I won’t get sleepy. It is nine o’clock and lam agoing to bed. January 2.—Got up in the morning and ate breakfast. Come to the conclusion to leave off the ¢‘l" in my diary. Don’t see any use of it. Went to school in the morning and didn’t have my geography lesson, but the classis so big T only had one question to answer, and Jimmy Greeia he told me that. Showed my diary to Jimmy Green: and he showed it to Johnnie Barlow, and he showed it to Georgie Steiner, and the teacher came near seeing Georgie reading it. Ate supper and played with *Bile. Then wrote in my diary. lam going to bed. o ' - January 3.—Concluded not to say I got up in the morning. Jimmie Green and Georgie Steiner have got diaries. Johnnie éz:rlow‘had one, but the teacher took it from him and threw it into the stove. He was awful mad and says his father will make the teacher pay for it. Ate dinner and went to school in the afternoon. The teacher said weé must all write compositions for to-morrow. Am going to write about Diaries. Must stop now and write my composition. Forgot to say I ate my supper. Now for my composition. . January 4.—Concluded not to say I ate breakfast and dinner and supper, because 1 do that every day. Went to school - this morning. Johnnie Barlow* has got another diar%",r but he don’t let the teacher see it. ent to school in the afternoon. Read my composition on Diaries. . The teacher said he hoped other little ‘bo{s would keep their diaries at home like I do. I'm glad to-morrow is Saturday. : : ' | January s.—Played so hard I'm too sleepy to write what I did to-day: Perh s{-will to-morrow. L ﬂ.*l)aaj.ima;ry 6.—Went to church this morning. The minister's text was Matthew 28th chapter, first:verse. . Am oing to put down the text every Sunﬁ&r» ‘Went to Sunday-school. r{n ‘the afternoon read in my Sunday-school ‘book, which is named, ¢ The goy who Saved the Life of an iAngjl;We%m"’ Amgmn ing to try to be like him. Went to ol “Nﬁ in, ;ieeewnin& ~ Can't re: ‘member the text. Neitherommﬁather addmtothers) 1T el e e

January ‘7.—After this when 1 s‘:}y I went to school I.mean all day. Went to school. Wrote in my diary last night till I was too sleepy to {earn my lessons, and had to stay in after school. Too sleepy to write ja,ﬁy more. S January B,—This is written in school

on January 9th. Concluded to go to bed eaw and write in my diary next day. Went to scheol. Didn?»t».lzlyq anythingmueh, .. .. & Fyt, January 9.—Guess I'll write every other day. This is January 9th. Didn't do anything much. e e January 10.—Went to school. Didn’t do much. : St b Jativary 11 —vivr 08 Ssl e o January 12— % o oA ae o Lo# January 13:—Forgot what I did yesterday and day before. . Will finish this to-night. i e L January 14.— * - * 3 - Janulry 15— % 08 RO EETE » January 16.— * R . January 17.—Going to wait until I'm sick and then catch up. =~ = January 18.— * ~ * e s January 19.— * mora . January 20.— * * e January 21.— * Wi W e January 22.—Sick to-day. But what good’s a diary anyhow? - = o ~ Skipping three white pages in the little black-covered book from which we copy the above entries,we find two pencil sketches, which, after longiland close examination, we conclude to have.been intended for portraits of Bob’s schoolmaster and the goat respectively; and that is all that we ﬁgd in Bob’s diary for 1879. = Probably Bob will not resume the task until next year.—American Rural Home, : Fais ol

-, Which Is Best? .. - - . : ¢ OH, deai!” | - i by i Little Nan epened her éyes and stretched out Her arm with a sleepy yawn, as the summer morning, all rosy and. sweet, . peeped into her garretChamber. - - e “1 wish I didn’t have to get up ‘so soon! I wish the fire would make itself, - and a Pitcher-Fairy would fetch the water from the spring, and a BroomFairy would sweep the kitchen and grind the coffee, and a good Brownie would bring "us a lovely breakfast already cooked! I'm tired of sifting cinders, and washing dishes. I wishli was a lady, like Miss Anastasia!” - ! But she wasn’t a lady and PitcherFairies and Brownies didn’t grow in her neighborhood; so little Nan “had to shake off her sleepiness and jump up to her work. The sun was just coming up over the edges of the rosy clouds; the robins and the orioles were singing with all their might; the morning glories had hung out a thousand pin%,x and purple, and speckled bells, to welcome the sunshine; and the .pinks and mignonette in the garden were sparkling with dew drops. How sweet they smelled and how lovely everything was in the cool, fresh, beautiful summer morning! : e S Little Nan came back from the spring with her cheeks like roses, and her eyes as bright as stars. She danced about her work as lightly as any Broom-Fairy ever did; and the fire was made, the breakfast cooked for grandmother, and the dishes washed up afterward, long before Miss Anastasia raised her drowsy head from her great soft feather pilJows. When - she did, the sun was streaming across her bed, hot and bri%ht. The flowers on her dressingtable drooped in the heat; the dew was dried up on the roses outside. o Miss Anastasia yawned and stretched herself." ¢“Oh dear! how hot it is! How tiresome to have to get up and dress one’s self!” I won’t do it; I'll have my breakfast'in bed.”” = = e And so'she lounged amongst her pillows, and drank her coffee, and nibbll)-ed at her toast, and had no appetite, and complained of the heat, and sighed and. fretted like a person oppressed with grief. She had nothin% in the world to o but to amuse herself and take her ease, and now nothing amused her; and she tossed about on her- fine bed, and did not find half the rest there that little Nan took on her hard cotin the garret- 3 Sl = : 3 - If only she had some useful work to do, how much better she would' have felt! She missed all the dew and freshness of the morning; she loses all the purest pleasures of life. For no one can be happy that walks through the world with idle hands and a selfish heart. Sl T Little Nan had the best of it; for honest work brinfs ‘a double blessing, and we serve God best:when we do our duty to men.—Baptist Weekly. :

| it e -Rem—lmi,_ Girls. : . LEARN to darn sStockings neatly and then always see that your own are in i order. Do-not let a button be off your shoes a minute longer than needful. It takes just about a minute to sewoneon, and oh, how much neater a-foot looks in a trimly-buttoned boot than' it does in a lop-sided affair with half the but‘tons off. Every girl should make the simple articles of clothing. We know a little miss of seven who could do all this and who also made the whole of a blue calico dress for herself, and pieced a large bed-quilt. Shewasnot an over‘taxed child, either, but a merry, romp‘ing, indulged, only daughter. But she was ‘‘smart,” and she did not die young, either. Indeed, we have selydom known children ‘ton smart to live.”” Very few ever die of that com- . plaint, whatever their grandmothers may think. U R So never be afraid a bit of ove'rdoisng the business. Help all you can an study over the business ~daily, +Once “gic;t“m the habit of looking over your .things, and you will like it wondérfully. ‘You will have the independent feeling ‘that' you need not wait for anyone’s ‘convenience in repairing and makuﬁi ; but that you can be beforehand with all” - ‘such matters. The relief to your weary \mother will be more than you can ever ' \estimate.—Presbyterian Journal. -

' —An Episeopalian preacher recently married a young :coupleyand in the service omitted = the word . ‘‘obey.' ‘When asked his reason therefor, he said that the parties were not members of his church, and hence were ‘not entitled to all:that the rubric alJOWBs oo s e soiiial St

—The colored Baptists' of ‘Aldbama have for the 'past Jear sustainéd a theological and normal scheol at Selma, with. two_hundred and fifty-two students, without 'inpﬁtﬁ%g" debt, and have also paid one thousand dollars on their grounds and buildiggs:’ ©