Rensselaer Republican, Volume 14, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 December 1881 — Page 3

PLEASUR B& OF SCHOOL TEA CM- . ISO. ‘Delightful task! to rear the tender thought; To teach the young Idea how to shoot!’’ How sweet it is to watch the mind’s unfoldlug! To tiain the young thought and the guile- ' less word! Tosee where plastic characters ardjnoldlng—f“Can Igo out?” My lesson Isn't heard!”) Half-formed ideas through the young mind flitting—(‘Shan't George be still,msrm?” Joseph keeps a spitting!” 1 here is a throng of glad young faces round me. li iglit with the lreshness of lile’s early spring; And books and slates and maps on all sides bound me, (“Shan’t them girls stop? They’re playing with a string?”) And eager looks and minds intent on study—(“Jim pushed me down and got my books all muddy!”) No shade or earthly sorrow e’er has clouded Their brief, bright lives, so Innocent and fair—(“Please, m.rm, make John move down, my seat is crowded!”) No grief or sadness—(“Sammy pulled my hair!”) Existence is to them all sunny weather—(“Bill’s been a pinchln’!"—“No, I havn t nAitUA.im A precious charge to me has been entrusted. The guidance of each youug immortal mind— « - ’ {“Can’t write with Uie steel pen! its got all rusted!’” To nourish gentle thoughts and qeelings kind, . To lead lucin in the path which heaven pleases, (“My spelling book has got to pieces!”) * . Oh! for more strength, more gentleness of spirit! More wisdom in the better way to ruide—(“l’ve got my lesson, now! Oh, please to hear it?”) More patience to endure when“llls betide’, (“Jim Taylor gave my arm an awful twist!”) Oh, such confusion! School may be dismissed. —(Teacher in Troy Telegraph,-

TWO SECRETS.

BY SUSAN ARCHER WEISS.

*You don’t mean it, Hetty?” Loyd Button, a Rood looking, manly young fellow, leaning on the halfopen field-gate, looked earnestly in the faee of the of the young girl on tli6 opposite side of the fence. Bhe shrank from meeting his eye as she answered: “I am not accustomed to saying what I don’t mean.” He made no answer. Hetty scratched industriously with a bit of wild rose stem upon the trunk of the beech tree which overshadowed them. Suddenly she discovered that she was unconsciously tracing over the initials L. 6. and H. *W. —the latter her own, cut in the beech bark. She hastily withdrew her hand, and threw away the rose stem. “Do you remember what you said to me, Hetty,the day I cut those letters?’, asked the young man. “Something foolish, I dare say,” she answered, with affected carelessness. “You told me you loved me,”hesaid in a lo w voice. Hetty stooped and plucked a head of clover. “Perhaps I thought so then,” she said, intently examining the blossoms. “And only discovered your mistake wheu this rich popinjay from the city made his apjearance,” said Loyd, bitterly. She looked up with a flash of her dark eyes. She knew very well she . was doing something unworthy of her, and lowering herself in Loyd’s opinion, as well as causing him pain, and his reproach stung her. “I havq a right to like or dislike whom I safd haughtily. He seized an unlucky grasshopper which at that moment lighted near at * hand, and savagely crushed it to death. Hetty looked a s him in surprise. It so unlike Loyd to deliberately hurt «6ything. \ “You are cruel!” she said indignantly. MNot half so cruel as you. Hetty I had no idea you were so heartless and mercenary.” “The word escaped him unawares. Hetty flushed hotly. “If that is your opinion of me you ought to be glad to nave found me~out in ’time,” she said. “Perhaps I ought,” he retorted bitterly. “Then I hope you will be satisfied.as I am!”

She gathered up the skirt of her blue lawn dress and turned away. Loyd passed through the gate and walked by her side along the grassy meadow path. “I didn’t mean to offend you,Hetty,” he said, in a more subdued tone. ‘•I am not offepded. I don’t in the least care for your opinion of me,” replied Hetty, biting her lip end turning away her face that he might not see the tears in her eyes. They had reached a point where the pathway branched right and left, and coming along the latter was a portly, fashionably-dressed middle-aged man, twisting a cane, with which he was decapitating the tali weeds and held ' daisies. On catching sight of Hetty he quickened his Dace.', "Mr. Frisbee will see me home. I won’t trouble you further, Mr. Sutton,” said Hetty, with an air of great dignity, as she took a step, to the left. Now, this left-nand track was the most direct and frequented way to Hetty’s home; but the right-hand pathway, leading along the little stream and aldar-nedge, had ever been the favorite with herselfand Loyd. The young man paused now, and standing just where the two diverged, said, in a low tone, agitated, yet full of decision: “Hetty, decide now, once for all. Will you keep on with me down this path, or will you go with Mr. Frisbee on the other? Choose?” She hesiuted, and her color went and came.; “You have no right to speak to me o.” . , *“I have a right,”Jhe replied, firmly—“the right to know whether the girl I love is false or true.” Hetty, like Loyd, was high-spirited, and his look and tone angered her. “Go your own wav, and I will go mine!” she said, proudly. • And without another word she turned down the pathway by which Mr. Frisbee Vas approaching. Loyd, as he reached the gate, turned back to look at the two figures slowly sauntering along the green meadow. '•‘l could never have dreamed it of her,” he thought. “I believed she

loved me. And to cast me oft for a fellow like that, whose greatest recommendation is his wealth! Oh, that I should have been so mistaken in you!” And Mr. Frisbee, as he walked by Hetty’s side, admiring her girlish beauty and her pretty, coquettish ways, and thinking how he would “show off his young wife among his friend*—did the thought ever occur to him a3~to Loyd, that this girl, young enough to be his daughter, could -possibly iind-nr-him any attraction save his wealth ? But poor Hetty, since her father died bankrupt, had experienced enough of poverty’s ills, and heard enough from her mother and sisters to learn to look upon riches as the key that, could open to her the golden store of life’s pleasures. . . Loyd could give her comfort and competence,-but as Mrs. Fii9bee she would have an elegant city residence, carriage and servants, balls in winter and watering-places in summer, With everything else that she might desire. Not that she was light and frivolous, or longed for mere worldly pleasures; but for the time being the picture had <ioo-7i<ui hf>r «nd in hpr nresent angry and resentful mood against Loya, what wonder that she listened to all that Mr. Friebee had to say, ana before she reached home had accepted the rich widower’s proposal?” And yet somehow Hetty felt in her own heart that this was the 'most miserable evening she had ever spent. As the days went by, Hetty grew no happier in the contemplation of her brilliant prospects. She turned with a species of loathing from the man she had promised to wed, and her heart went out more and more to the lover whom she had discarded.

They sometimes met, but he was distant and proud, and it was not for her to make advances. So she decided to let her engagement become publioly known, and one day went over to Mrs. Sutton’s and asked Sue Sutton, Loyd’s cousin, to be her bridesmaid. “You ought hardly to expect it of me, Hetty,” Sue said, with some spirit. “I think you treated Loyd badly.” “How so?” “Because I know be loved you, and I used to think you loved him. You certainly did behave in a manner'to encourage him.” “Perhaps we were mistaken in fancying that we loved each other.” “If you were mistaken, Loyd wasn’t. I have never seen a person so changed and so unhappy,” said Sue, with tears iu her eves. “He didn’t appear to be unhappy last evening, flirting wfth Josephine Willis.”

“Oh, that was merely put on! She flirted with him, and he humored her, as a blind. I know Loyd—how proud he is, and that he would never allow any one to suspect how he suffers. But when we came home from the narty—where he had heard from Mrs. Carter that you were really engaged to tnat Mr. Frisbee— ob, Hetty, he looked so wretohedly, and we heard him walking up and down his room for hours, and tossing about on his bed 1 I’m certain he did hot sleep a wink all night.” “Where is he now?” asked Hetty, a little tremulously. “1 don’t know. He went out before breakfast, aud I haven’t seen him since. I believe his heart {is broken, and that he will pine away and die, or perhaps take his own life,” said Sue, with tears in her eyes. “And he had been looking at your portrait, Hetty, for I found it on his table, propped up against a book.” “Aly portrait? Why he sent it back to me.”

“Did he? Then this must be a copy. Wait a moment, and I will get it for you to see.” . if Sue was hardJy out of the room, when Hetty heard a well-know step in the ball, and the next moment Loyd himself entered. Instinctively she had draw’ll back, and tbe great book-case screened her from his view. He did not, however, look around, but throwing himself into a chair," leaned back with closed eyes, and seeing him thus she was struck with the change in his appearance. His face was pale, aud bore unmistakable traces of suffering, repressed by the strong will which she knew he possessed. But now, alone as he thought himself, the strain seemed relaxed. He bowed his (ace in his hands and groaned. Hetty’s heart beat fast and the teafs rushed into her eyes. Ob, if be would but bend from that, stubborn pride, she would give up Mr. Frisbee, wealth, everything in the world, for his sake! But for her to make advances— never! -Loyd rose from his seat and walked across the room to tbe book-case. Hetty shrank more closely iuto her corner, and the high-backed arm chair hid her. She heard him rummaging about behind the books on the shelves, and then she saw his arm extended to the light, holding up two glass vials. So near was she that she could distinctly read the labels, on© of which was “Laudanum.” This he thrust into his breast-pocket, and, seizing his hat, turned to leave the room. But at the door he paused, went back to the table, and, scratching a few hurried lines ou a sheet of paper, left it lying open and went out.

Hetty, almost as pale as her lover, instantly *q>rang up, and seizing the paper glanced over it, murmuring brokenly as she read: “Dear Mother: Can no longer bear—agony—seek relief—home tell Johnny—take good care of you—go before you—meet you in—" Hetty was trembling all over; but now a great light, as of a sudden res >lve, dawned upon her pale face, and without a pause she rushed from the room, crossed the lawn, and with light, swift steps followed the retreating figure down the road. She overtook him just as he turned the clump of cedars, near t the stables. Was it there that he desigued to commit this terrible deed? Loyd turned, on hearing her breathlessly call his name. He looked a good deal surprised at seeing her—no longer pale but flushed, and with disordered chestnut curls hanging about her forehead. > “Oh, Loyd, don’t do'it! For my sake, don’t!” J “Hetty,\;what ails you? Don'tdo what?” * “You know; you didn’t see me, but I was in the room when you took—the poison—the laudanum. Oh, Loyd,don’t kill yourself—don’t V’ He looked at her Bteadily, with a curious working of his coutenance. “Why should I not? You would not care,” he said, gloomily.

“lndeid, indeed I should!” she (ebbed.* “Qb, Loyd, I could cot itweultLkill me!” A JP Her pleading, tearful eyes were upturned to his. He looked down into her face for a moment, then took both her hands in his. “Hetty, you are going to be another man’s wife.” • “Never,lLoyd, never! Im? wrong —forgive me!” 1: J [T ‘ ‘ “You don’t mean to say, Hetty,”— his face lighted nti onrer as with trflushof ut*\y lif%—“you dop’t naeaii to say that yoh dp really tpVe me?”: < “Yes/ I do!'~I always *loved you, Loyd. I wouldn’t have told you but for this—but for that horrible poisoD. Give it to me,.Loyd, that I may feel you are safe.” . j He answered by taking her in Uia* arms; There was na one fiijar to sdn, them. Aqd-tbeß-he gave the deadly vial Into her hands, and she flung it as far as she could into the neighboring ifond. “Life is worth living for now, Hetty,” he said, as, with her arm in his, and her hand clasped in his own, they’ walked toward her home. • “But you \yj|l nevor know wlactfc paia I LlHVtt HUfleredT” Most people said that Hetty had done ngnt iu choosing Loyd Sutton, after all; and Mr. Frisbee indignantly went back to the city and consoled himself by selecting as his wife some other youug and pretty woman. His -marriage took the same time with Hetty’s. Some three years after this, Mr. Loyd Sutton, a comfortable and happy looking pater familias, said to his pretty wife: “I believe that any man can keep a secret from his wife; but no woman can keep one from her husband.” “Don’t you, indeed, dear? Now I think the contrary.” He laughed knowingly. “Perhaps I oau oouviuce you. I’ve had a secret from you, Hetty, ever biuce w« were mariied.” “Indeed! Won’t you tell it to me, Loyd?” “Wny, yes, as I don’t seejany reason in keeping it longer to myself. I wouldn’t tell you at first for fear you should feel mortified in knowiug it. Do you remember when you pleaded with me so {earnestly not to take my life? Well, the truth is, I hadn’t the least idea of swallowing thatlaudnum, I merely intended to use it as a remedy for the pain I was suffering from a terrible toothache.” “Yes,” said Mrs. Loyd Sutton, demurely, but with an arch glance of her black eyes. “I knew that all the while, dear. You sete, I read the note you left on the table, telling your mother that the pain was such that you could not wait till to morrow to take her to town, must go at once to see a dentist, and that Johnny would bring her, and you would meet her there. Then I knew what the laudanum was for.’, “Mr. Loyd Sutton opened his eyes very wide, and gave a low whistle. “You, see love,’-’ resumed bis wife, stealing her arm around bis neck, I had no other way of luting you know how I loved you and regretted my folly. It saved us both from being very miserable. But,” with the same arch look, “don’t you think that a woman can keep a secret from her husband as well as can a husband from his vrtfe?” And Loyd Sutton, kissing his wife, haa the manliness to acknowledge kimeelf convinced.

The Victim of a Crime.

A terrible chapter of crime, of remarkable tenacity of life, and of misfortune is related in the life history of Tilford Gregory, who, twelve years ago was a well-to do and influential citizen of Louisville, Ky. About that timd he was enticed by an assassin to a lonely spot 100 miles from Louisville, in 4 Indiana, on pretense of showing him a valuable tract of land for sale. There the assassin seized a favorable opportunity to fell Gregory to the earth with a club. He then drew a knife and stabbed him Beveral times to the brain. To make sure of killing, he attempted to search out the man’s heart with the sharp steel, and plunged the blade seven times in the breast of his victim. Gregory being a large, fleshy man, the knife did not reach the vital spot; yet when the robber le't him ho was at death’s door. In this condition, with his life’s blood gradually wasting away,he lay in that lonely spot all tbe afternoon and through the night till the next morniug, and when by chance he was discovered he was so nearly dead that it was feared ho would die before he could be gotten to the nearest village to identify the man who had been arrested in-the flight froin the wood. He, however, held on to life and identified the man. and the fellow was immediately hanged to a tree in the presence of his victim. Gregory slowly recovered, but thereafter was iucapaciated for business,aud his property gradually wasted away. He could once have drawn his check for SIO,OOO, but has been of late vears a street beggar, and now, at the 'age ol 00 years,he is slowly dying in a garret.

A Southern Romance.

j? ivo ye ar» ago a maiden r iir, who*e home was at a little town near Macon, Ga., anxiously awaited an important letter from her absent lover. Days passed wearily. Th. sighing haunted the Post 'fie- , w ut the Postmaster s face al * ays wore that look of exasperating quietude common to those from wnom expected things ?w r K Coa ? e - . The malden thougnt that her heart would break, for she realized at last that her lover was faithber'l Jl 16 r Ce s e Bhiftt V 11 is Septemher, 1881 In Macon dwells the same lady, but she is now a happy wife with two children. She h M £ ultl “* °f ber days of wo. She therefore, is surprised when from the town of her youth comes a letter bearing as a subscription to her maiden name that derived from her hSSbSd An accompanying note from the Postmaster explains that In tearing awav missive was found. The envelope Is postmarked “1876.” The ladvspunks the baby to keep it quiet while she eagerly devours the contents. Heavens ! It is from John, who proposes in glowing words, and begs for a kind reply- The lady's husband also enjoys the letter, and, out of cariosity, oom. muntcatee with relatives of the former lover. It is learned that he is a happy Chicago pork-packer, with a wife and three sous.

Blessed Babies.

Collected from Exchanges. 1. - fast Week th#passengers in a car bound out from St. Louis on the Ohio and Mississippi railroad began to be annoyed by the cries of a baby. The men swore secretly and the women wondered why the baby’s mother didn’t stop its mouth. Bptit soon becam# e#idtht Che. baby was alone. The tiny creature, no bigger than a bandbox, wriggled off_ its seat and fell, in THemidsT of ah ear-splitting squall, to Die floor. Then the nearest woman rushed over to pick the infant up, and in less time than it takes to tell it all the passengers got to know of the sensational matter. “No. indeed, it isn’t my young one!” indignantly exolaimad the maiden yho first ran'to us assistance. “It Isn’t repeated several other ladled to’ fne inquiry of the conductor, but an old maid in a corner seat bit the handle of her umbrella half off in silence. From that momment until the train stopped at Relay Station the excitement was iir keeping with the narvelty of the 6ccurance. Some thought that, the !»- rnui's mother had deserted it. Others were Of the opinion that she had been left behind through accident. As the train pulled into Relay, Depotmaster Whitney,who was seen wildly flourishing a telegram, shouted: “Ain’t there a lost baby on this train?” A dozen heads were out at a dozen windows and a dozen voices cried, “Yes.” The baby was handed to Mr. Witney, and the train passed on. Meanwhile, at the union depot in St. Louis a disconsilate mother was walking up and d >wn the platform. Her agony was almost unbearable. When she was handed a dispatch from Relay couched in the bcaufilul - words: “Kid safe,”" she wept for joy. From her explanation it appears that before the train started she had “just run across the street to get a bottle of milk.” A resident of Battle Creek, Mich., was called to his front dour last Thursday morning by a vigorous jerk of the bell. What he saw on the door-step was a clothes-basket, and it did not take long to discover that the basket contained a baby. As that household already had a full assortment of treasures of that kind, the citizen was angry as well as shocked. He lost no time in sending the basket with its .contents to the police station. As the colored man who had 'been hired to carry the baby to the station entered the door he saw a young woman frantically endeavoring to give an officer a piece of information. Glancing at the basket, however, the woman uttered a scream and hugged the infant until it in turn became demonstoative. The fonndling had found its mother, whose strange explanation that a discharged and angry servant girl had kidnapped it while the family were at breakfast, proved to be true. Near Abilene, Kan., a few days ago, a mother left her infant strapped in a chair in the summer kitchen. A wind storm came up suddenly. From a dead calm a gale £,:o3e in twenty seconds. At the first warning the mother hurried to look aftef «her child, expecting to find the cherub quietly drinking the contents of its thumb. To her amazement and extreme horror, she saw her baby and basket, pots, pans and buckets flying promiscuously along with the tornado. The wind subsided almost as quickly as it had risen and the mother had the satisfaction of seeing the basket drop right side up on a pile of hay, abviut 130 feet beyond the yard fence. She was much more gratified to see that the baby had sustained no serious injury. Its appetite was good immediately after the rescue. A man djpve up at a terrific pace to the railroad* fetation at Farwell, Mich., and inquired for his. wife. She haa eloped with a neighbor and was about to take the train for the East. “Thank

goodness, I’m in time!” the husband cried in great excitement. The wife shrank cowering iuto a seat, and the bystanders,expected a tragedy. “Here is your baby,” he continued producing a wee bit of a girl; “reckon you forgot her in your hurry. Now you can get off as fast as you like.” Leaving the baby with the runaway pair he drove away, with his placidity entirely recovered. „ On the afternoon of the 2d inst Raphael Durbin, a farmer, was driving with his wife and baby near Howard, Ohio. Coming to Little Jelloway creek, Mr. Durbin found that stream very much swollen. He whipped his horses into the water. About midway iri the stream the horses were swept from their feet and the wagon overturned. In the excitement of the moment the baby was forgotten. A few minutes afterward it was found-alive ahd'well on the wagon seat several hundred yards down stream.

An Evening in Damascus.

S. S. Cox, In the N*w York Son. It was a sweet and pensive evening, fitted to make one think of dear friends at home, and the sadness which afflicts my country in its lours of bereavement and sorrow. I am not one of those who are ashamed to confess that the teachings of Nature not only lead me to love my friends and my coumtry, but in a larger sense to 'love the ftrimal loving cause of all our blessngs. Nothing so binds me in “willing fetters” as the silver meshes ofa brook, and these seven rivers of Damascus produce , a pleasing acquiesenec, to which thd beautiful moon adds its fascination. There was a song in the groves of tali poplars and cypresses, like music heard in dreams. Besides, there were old plane trees, whose branches have listened to many a story of the good Caliph’s time. They spread their great arms in gestures of Eastern welcome while giving their veperable asj>cct to the mellow light and reflecting their shadows in the pleasant waters. We entered a garden where, along with the murmur of the fountains, we hear the tinkle of the guitar and the ‘thrumming of the tambourine. They accompany some voices singing that olden drawling ditty of {the Orient, heard from Morocco to Bagdad. Seated under the trees are some hundreds of Arab* in every posture smoking cigarettes and nargiles. They are old and young, but* all grave as their tombstones. We ordered a chibouque and coffee and listened. I ask the the dragoman, “What is the song about?” “It is the old love song,” he says. “P heart! why lovest thou so much? Knoweet thou not that thy- beloved will fade as the roses? Come to me, beloved, before thou diest! Heart o my heart! come and solace me before the end cometh,” This was too lacbry-

’ moe» for our jocund spirit, so we ask: “Csn npt lYoife get dPp* jolly song, and smile?” No one smiles in this strange country. The dogs even partake of the geueral gravity. The way they howl, even bteJbre hurt, is a sample of the melancholy characteristic of all. Men —big men—burst into tears on the least occasion. They are tender and simplehearted. I should infer, therefore, thfet they would be pervious to mirth: and Rt thls festive place! bscame .to know what resource this land has, f«>r any vent and vein of humor. The guide tries it with a silver mejideab (a dollar). And the baud ’ strikes up a roundelay, which was only a quicker variation, of the same lyrical drawl. This - music barf words a little more spiightly. v I ask wbat they purport. “Oh, it is a song of a love-sick boy for a passionate girl and the girl’s anxiety to see the boy.” A few old Arabs make a hilarious grifhf at some of the verses, and soma, cl the young men look at me askant with t curious smile. It w*as a song not ail "fitted for cars polite, as I surmised: but, not understanding Arabic, I stood the embarrassment The truth is, this Arab music has an Offenbach immoral twang, and much of its sweetness and characteristics in certain tones: but it is incapable of notation on account of its short quarter notes and its irregularity and capriciousness. I have had enough of it. I prefer the sweet solace (ffrhe bray of the meek and miserable, donkey to this “damnable iteration” of barbaric wailing.

General Kilpatrick.

New York Sun. ' General Kilpatrick w r a3 popular in Chili. He liked the land and its people next to his own. He was Presidtnt of a fashionable club in Santiago, and of an educational institution there. General Kilpatrick’s house was a big and substantial wooden house two miles out of Deckertown, N. J. He imitated farming there on a plan that amused those of bis neighbors who had neither politics nor the lecture platform wnerewith to piece out their incomes as he had. He had thirty cows, and sold their milk and the butter it made. He had two hundred acres of pasture land, and used to say that Rome and his farm had tne same number of hills. Next to his giltedged butter he was the proudest of his pigs, and a visitor who spent Sunday with him not long ago wa3 astonished at an invitation'' to go out and chase in the pigs which wero running wild in the woods. After he and his guest were exhausted he * flung himself on the grass and talked of his plans. Incidentally, he said he thought there was a great opportunity for an American soldier to enlist in the Chilian army during the war against Peru. “I was spoken of as a reckless soldier during the rebellion,” he said; “but then I was but twenty-four years old, with nothing but fame to look forward to, and nothing but my sword to get it with. Now, at past foity, with a wsfe and children and my comfortable pursuits, I doubt whether I could maintain my r character a* a soldier.” I# He lived somewhat pretentiously; kep\a culoied waiter in fuir dress in his room, served dinners of many courses with various kinds of wines, and a house full of curious and costly things he had brought from Chili. His most remarkable characteristieswere those of the traditional soldi r. He was quick-tempered, wanting in business judgment, prodigal with his means, and not always guarded in his speech. Living in clover in his master’s stable, a year or more ago, was ‘Spot,’ the General’s war-horse, who carried the soldier thiough all the battles in which he took part under Giaut, and again under Sherman.

Church-Going in New York.

Detroit News. «*, According to some statistics gotten together by the Rev. Albert Simpson, who ought to know whereof he speaks, there are only 78,000 professing, Christians in New York, or one person in every sixteen in,a population of 1,250,000. * There are,\ it appeals, only 490 churches, the same number which existed in 1875, although the population has immensely increased in the i-ix {tears. Some of the denominations ;re osing ground/ the Presbyterians having eight less churches than they had in 1870. Above Fourteenth street there is one church for every 2,200 persons, while below it there is but one for every 5,000. To make matters worse the comparatively few churches are not filled to anything like their capacity at any time. The same state of things exists in the subuibs of New York; there are many churches, but only the rich and the poor make extensive use of them, the lower middle class being conspicuous by its absence. Take an Episcopal church, for instance, iu one suburb. The rent of an ordinary psw is $l2O a year, and offerings axe. expected from , the congregation every Sunday in envelopes supplied for the purpose. What is the consequence? The Episcopalians iu the vseiuity wuo wilt not or cannot pay the sl2o the maJority--do not go to church at all, but attend to their own spiritual wants in their own way. The fact is, pew rents and offerings, aud what not, are stifling religion here as elsewhere, perhaps in a more marked degree in this city than any where else, because the demands for money for church purposes aud clerical salaries are more exorbitant here than elsewhere. Take it altogether, the clerical professiou in proportion to the ability exhibited, the work done aud the hours aud conditions of laoor, is about the best paid oaliing we have in New York.

The Awful Foreman.

Denver Tribune Primer. Who is this Ferocious looking Man? He is foreman ia a Printing offloe. He gets Paid for Throwing Men Down Htairs when they come to Lick the Editor, and Putting Wrong Dates at the Head of the Paper. He can Pi more type in Fifteen Minutes than Seven Printers can set up in Two weeks. Hejovee to ask the Hditor for Copy. If it were not for Him the paGr would Look pretty well every orning. Everything would be set and none of the Live Ads would be Left out.

JOCOSITIES.

Educifibfltfl :A ten*housaud-dol-lar education on a five dollar bov.fis money thrown away. If a two-wheeled vehiele is a bicycle, and. a three-wheakxLa tnewefc*. jfedoes hot follow that the one-wheeled is an icicle. yjy jay An Irishman Who was' about to fight a duel, insisted he should stand six to,hipq,.as h,e,sva3 f near i When thfe Alika! physician' placed his door-plate in pawn he was to remark: “Had I pledge, I 'Would not now nave so pledge my sign.” Q At JLI AH 2 71A M It works Uyiyi ways;, jEVjgg fays to love your as yourself is a good rule; huT one slinutUaTsoToye his neighbor’s neighbor: Edgar ilifiSß.-ha is his neighbor’s neighbor-. - —. “la it true,'!:.' sheo writes,? “that all funny men are sad?”. you. Annie, no; they are the people who read their fhhny pieces, Annie, they are sad. their’s is the sorrow that mocks at sympathy. A society itemV “Mary" bring 'Mrs. Smith a glass of wine. f&xifc-Mary). You must be so tired (Mary brings it). Not that way, my -child. You should always bring it on a plate or a salver. (Exit Mary). She is very willing, but really she knows so little.” Mary, re-entering With the wine in a soup plate.: “Slafcit I bring a snoon, ma’am or wiU the lady kip it up?” 'i-J - ■ J » J Here we have an Oyster. It is going to a Church Fair, When it gets to the Fair it will Swim around in a big Kettle of Warm Water. A lady will. Stir it with a Spoon, and Sell. the Water for Two Bits a, pint. Then the Oyster will move on. to the next Fair. In this Way the Oyster .will .visit all the Church Fairs in town,, -and Bring a great many DoUars into the Treasury. The Oyster goes a great Way in a Good Cause. “Those rubber garments are sxgjh a blessing!” remarked a fat man, as he brought into a street car a v pet(ect diluge of water. The lady at his right, who mopped one side of his coat with her costly dress, agreed witir him*perfectly ; the man at his Left, whp caught about a pint of the drippings'in his shoe, could scarcely conceal his admiration’; while the young miss to whom the fat man gallantly .offered his seat a few minutes latter, we^tiin 4 *) perfect ec3tacies as she sat dowh'in a pool of water left on the car sadt^

Here we Have an Album. It is Full of Pictures for Little 'jChiUlren ,wiih Dirty Fingers to Look. at. Hej:e,are two Pictures of Papa. Tflis is one df Him before he was Married- JUx Mamma. He looks like a Two-year-ol Uolt behind a Band v -©f Music. • • HCpeJ is a Picture of Papa after he Married Mamma. Now he Lobks like? 0 ’ Govern- | ment Mule hauling a Lqad of Pig Iron. See if you Can put your finger on the Nose and the Eyes and the- Mouth of Each Picture. Turn down a leaf when you Come to a Pretty Picture you Like. The Baby is bating Bread aud Moiasses. Let him Take ithe* Album and Lobk at the Pictures, too-. - 1 The train had run Into s'«Qbw fdtift and the engine was butting its head in vain agaiDst a six-Aet? D'lirk. “For once the iron horpe to be beaten,” remarked fl fat Vdman in a second class carriage. You shotrtdtPlfcall • itran iron horse,” mildly remarked a solemn faced mac. “Why not?i.’ asked the fat woman in some surprise, “Because it’s block tin,” softly murmured the solemn faced 'man,-as he gazed out of the window and across the wintry waste- with a4*r-»way look in his eye. We don’t want a Three Spring girl for a lung tester.- At a simtiug school up there the other night a youngtman was bragging about the'strength of his lungs, and invited, a girl hi company to it him iu the breast. She said she was left handed, fh*d. been washing that day, was tired/ ana did * not feel very active, but bis’ifr&eiit request let go at him. /When .his friends went to pick him up he eiid he thought he would die easier . lying down. He had lost all recollfecfidn of having any lungs, but the youngfwoman consoled him by admitting that she didn’t hit him a 3 hard as she” might have done; because; she rather liked him. •< • '

Washington's Clock.

New York Tribtmp. ■ t { ' f A “mysterious incident” is said te have happened the other day in. Washington’s favorite room in the old mansion at Mount Vernon. In,the Foom are manycrellcs of Washington,in4luding an old, round faced, peculiar-shap-ed clock, which has stood: jn silence for forty years. Only two or three rusty wheels are left in it. On the afternoon of Nov. 16 Mr.' J. McH. Hollingsworth, superintendent - of the Mount Vernon association, was Showing the relics to a party of visitors. He came to the old clock. “This clock/* said he—when, to his astonishment and terror, “three afropg, distinct strokes” were struck upon the bell of the clock, and were heard by all in the party. Mr. Rollings worth ‘‘was Overcome with emotion,” and requested, the visitors to leave the room. He could not understand the phenomenon. The clock, he said, hSti not been disturbed iu the twelve years that he had been superintendent of tbe grounds. It is open in the back, and one can see, he said, that the works are broken and only a few of the wheels reteain in position. The whole thing was a fcnysterv to him. The details of th.»' occurrence are given by “J. W. Buel,” in a letter to the St. Louis Republican, and “this story,” he says, “is not a sensation, but a fict.” If he or "Mr. Hollingsworth could muster The courage t-> examine the ancient t.nid-pleoe, it would probably be found"; shat? the mysterious striking was due, to?, the breaking of a spring or wheel. -

Gay and Festive Priests.

Cincinnati, 0., December^). The Enquirer’s Bt. Louis fM-t) gays . “Father O’Hanlan and Father Ryan took a buggy ride to the Mansion House, in the suburbs. They imbibed freely and quarreled with (ijedandlord about the bill." The' latter flfeh four shots, each striking causing serious wounds. Ryan beat the landlord severely with a fence nailing.”