Rensselaer Standard, Volume 1, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 September 1879 — Page 1

103.© Starve agedMMLIABix MUmi^CAM. Published Every. Saturday, — —Brit KB VIM 10. CISSEL. T**M6: • * 3 4 |ArM BMmtfcs—- * Office- Ib Leopold*■ Wane Building, up ■tain, rear ,oon.

THE WIND-SWEPT WHEAT. ■nr BA BT Ala©* pa VBBK. £ p a int. faint and dear— . . Palm *u» the manic that in drearoa we hear Khaking the eartain-told of Bleep Th£* voice—the sights and Her pr*y*Joys!%*r phantom*, false and tt e° trin< r-f**l ow banner In the rippled •' wheat. The'wtkrm hrtuUh blow*, the slender beads drop low. Again morehKhUy loosed In merry play, They bend and bow and away, E?2s?”!£rV~w. •*-*<>- ““ through *un (joe* on the tender rnatle of the wheat. Dreams, more than sleep. Kail on the Batenina heart, and lull tta care. Dead yean sead back Home treasured half-forgotten time. Ah, long ago, When sun and sky were sweet, WestooJ. breast-high, ’mid waves of ripened And fieard’the wind make music In the . wheat 1 . . Not lor to-day— Not tor tbl* hour alone—the melody. Ho sott and deiwelem, thrills the dreamer a , ear -J 1 Of all that was and la, of all that yet shall be, It holds a park— One. worrow, longing, pain; The rc-tiosßn«n» that yearns; The thirst that burns; The bliss that, like a fountain, overflows; The deep repttte: . . . „ tiood that welynlght have known, but shall not know; The hope l«od took, the Joy he made complete— Life's chords all answer from the wind-swept wheat. ■ .. . —Christian Union.

MRS. CLEMENTS’ HELP.

“Of ail things this is the worst! If I ever in my life expected to hear such news! Why, our George has gone and got married! D’ye, hear?" Good Mr*. Clements pushed her steel-bowed spectacles off her bright eyes, and dropped her letter in her r lap, as she turned round to her husband, the stout, clever old farmer, who was contentedly stroking at an old * white cat. “De.icou, d'ye hear?” Thiatime when she asked the < uestion there was a touch of sadness in her voice. V “Yes; what if he is married? I’m sure it’s natural euough. It kind o’ runs in the family, ’peare to me." But Mrs. Clements would take no notice of the little pleasantry. “Well, if you like it, I can tell you I don't. He needn’t think he’s coming here with his fine city-bred lady, all airs, and graces, and flounces, and ruffles. There’s plenty of good girls hereabout that wanted him. Right in the middle Of work, too! To talk of bringing a lady here in hog, killin’ time! I do declare, J think George is a fool!*’, .•♦,• • * * • A graceful, dainty little lady, in a garnet poplin and a ruffled apron, with a small, proudly-poised head, covered with short, dusky Curls, having a pair of dark blue eyes, so wistful and tender, a tiny rosebud of a mouth, an<4 a dimple in each pink cheek. That was Mrs. Marion Clements. Was it any wonder that George had fallen in love with her? She sat in the bright little parlor, close beside the lace curtain window, watching for the loved husband’s return: and then when she heard the click of the latch-key iu the hall, flew for the welcome kiss. Looking up, she aiked—“Haven’t you the letter this time, George! I’ve felt sure of it all day. Indeed, I’ve quite decided what dresses to take with me." He put his arm round her neck. “I hope they will not take it amiss that I had married their son." “And supposing such to be the case, do you think it would make auy difference with me?" v “Oh, no, no! ■ Only it would grieve me so if I knew I had alienated your own parents from you.V • “And a one-sided alienation it would be, too! They had never seen you., And when they know you they cau’t help loving you." f “Oh, George." *The exclamation was caused by the kiss aeeompayiug his owu flattery. “That’s, true as preaching. ißy-the-by, my dear, what would you say if • the Arm sent me off on a traveling tour of six weeks?" - / A little dismayed cry answered him. “You won’t stay here alone, eh? But Marion it would be SSOO clear gain to us.”

“What need-we care for mouey? I’d rather have you.” A miscbevious smile played over the young man’s lips; he was more matter-of-fact than thia romantie, tender little wife of hii. “I thiok the addition to our balance at the hunker's would be very consoling for the abeenoe. But never mind, that little pet. Let’s go down to dinner. I hope wie’li get a letter from home soon.”-’ "< And soon it was, for Marion snatched It front his pocket the very next night. Biit her husband’s face looked grave andvstern, and his eyes looked augry when she looked gleefully over the envelope. 44 My dear, .you must remember I care very little What the letter contains. Remember, I Id id not write it; that you are dearer to me than ever before. Kiss me, first, while I watch you.” A little pang of misdoubt troubled her when she glanced over the note; then tears stole “from under her lashes, and George saV her tender mouth quiver ana tremble: then, when she had finished it; she laid her head upon his shoulder and cried. “It was cruel to let you see it, my wounded birdie. Let me burn it. And doift forget darling, what our Bible says—that a man shall leave father and mother, and cleave to his wife. You are my precious wife, Marion, and to you I turn for aii the happiness my life will ever hold.” He dried her tears, and then they talked it over. “Just because T am city bred she thinks I am lazy, ai.d haughty, and dainty, aud —” “Never mind, Marion. She will find out some day. My father—” “Yes, bless the dear old man! He has added: 4 My love to my daughter Marion.” Oh, I know I should love him, and your mother, too, if she would “We will invite them down when 1 come borne. Bv the way, Marion, I will slop at the farm on my way home

THE RENSSELAER STANDARD.

VOL- I.

and invite them down, and bring them { home with me." “George, dear, I’ve been thinking I about that trip West. I think you had better go and leave me at borne. H won’t be bo very long.” Marion was eating her egg while she spoke across the oosy little breakfast ! table. . tliil , “Hpoken like my true little Marion, : and when I come back I'll bring you a i present. What shall it be, dearest?’’ “Your father and mother from the farm. It shall be the hope that shall bear me company when you are gone.” A fortnight after that. Marlon Clements ate her breakfast alone, the traces of a tear or so on her pale cheeks; then I she dashed them away with a merry, j joyous langh. “This will never do, and now, that j George has gone for six weeks, to prepare for hia return. And I pray Heavi en that It shall be such a coming as shall delight his soul.” v • • "a • • * “I’m sure I don’t know what to say. The* land knows I need help bad I enough; but it ’pears to me that such a slender little midget as you couldn’t earn your salt. Whatdidyou say your name was?” “Mary Smith. And, indeed, if you will try me for a week. I’m sure you will keep me till the season’s over.’ Mrs. Clements looked out of the window at the great clouds that weje piling gloomily up; and then the wind gave a great wailing shriek around the corners of the house. “You can cook, ken you? or shake up feather beds—good big ones, forty pounders?” A gleeful little laugh came from Marj-'s lips. “Indeed I can. I may not cook to suit you, but 1 can learn.” | < Mrs. Clemeuts walked out to the huge open fire-place in the kitchen, where the deacon was shelling corn. “What d’ye say, deacon; keep her or not! I kind o’ like her looks, and the dear knows it ’ud be a good lift while we’re killin’, if she couldn’t do no more’n set the table or make mush for the bread.” ‘‘Take her, of course, Hannah. You are hard driv’, I know. Let her stop a week or so, anyhow.”' 8o Mrs. Clements came slowly back and sat d >wn again. “You can’t get away to-night, anyhow —there’s a snowstorm been brewin’ these three days, and it’s on us now, sure enough. Bee them ’ere flakes fine and thick. You may as well take your things up stairs to the west garret, and then come down and help me get supper. Then followed directions to the west garret, and when she was gone Mrs. Clements turned to the deacon, and said: “I never saw a girl before I'd trust up-stairs aloue. But such as her don’t steal. I can tell you that, if nothing else.” * Directly she came down iu a purple Erint dress and white apron; her hair rushed off from her face into a net, a narrow linen col'ar, fastened with a sailor’s loop of narrow ribbon. It seemed as if she had life, too, so handily she flitted in and out of the pantry, and theu down the cellar. Then, after the meal, she gathered the dishes in a neat, quiet way, that w T as perfect bliss lo old Mrs. Clement’s ears.

“Bhe’s determined to earn her bread, anyhow', and I like her turn, too." And the deacon had “taken a shine" to Mary Smith. One by one the days wore on; the hog-killing was over and done; long strings of sausages hung in fantastic rings, arranged by Mary’s deft fingers; sweet hams and shoulders were piled away in true housewifely manuer, and now Mary and Mrs. Ciements were sitting in the sunny dining-room, darning, patching, aud mending. • . “I don’t know' what I’m going to i do without you, Mary. I dread to see you pick up your clothes." Ablush of pleasure overspread Mary’s face. _ “1 am so glad you have been suited with my work. Indeed I have tried.” “It ain’t the work, altogether, though, goodness kuows, you’re the smartest gal I’ve seen this many a day. As I say, it ain’t the work, it’s you. Mary—me and the deacon —" Mary’s voice trembled at the kindness of the old lady’s voice, but she sewed rapidly on. “It’s so uncommon lonesome since the boy left the farm," she went on, “but it’s worse since he got married. It seems like deserting us altogether." “Have you a son? You never mentioned him." • No, George has £one his way, and we must go ours. Yes, he married one of those crack-headed boarding-school people, who ean’t tell the difference between a rolling-pin and a milk pan." But despite her scorn, Mrs. Clements dashed off the tears with her brown, fist.

“Is his wife pretty? I suppose you love her dearly?” “I don’t know anything about her,_ and never want to know. He’s left us for her, and us old folks will leave him for her, too. Mary, just turn them cakes around; seems as if they’re burning.” When Mary had turned the cakes, Mrs. Clements was leaning on the arm of her chair. “Mary, supposin’ you stop with us another mouth vet, anyhow. The deacon will make it all right.” "It isn’t the money I care for, Mrs. Clements. I only wish I might stay always. You don’t know how much I love you.” “Love us! do, you? Bless your heart If poor George had only picked you out, what a comfort it would be to us ail! But it can’t be helped now.” She sighed wearily, then glanced out of the window, looked a moment and then threw down her work. “Bless my soul, if there ain’t my son George coming up the lane! Deacon! deacon! George is coming!” With all her mother-love rushing to her heart she hurried out to meet him. Oh, the welcoming, the reproaches, the caresses, the determination to love him still, despite poor, innocent little Marion! Then, when the table bad been set in the next room by Mary’B deft fingers, and she hsd returned to her 44 west garret, ’’ Mrs. Clements opened her h* a-t.

“There’s no use talkin’, George, this fine, fancy lady o’ yours ’ll never suit me. Give me a smart girl like Mary Smith, and I’ll ask no more Come into supper now. Mary, Mary!” She raised her voice to call the girl, when a low voioe near supprised her. "Oh, you dressed up in honor of my

RENSSELAER, INDIANA, SATURDAY., SEPTEMBER, 27. 1879.

boy! ‘Well, I must confess I never knew you had such a handsome dress, and you look like a picture with your net off; and them short, bobbing curls! George, this is Mary Smith, ray-” George came through the door and glanced at the corner where the young woman stood. Theu, with a cry, sprang, with outstretched hands to meet the little figure that sprang into them. The deacon and Mrs. Clements now stood in speechless amazement. Then Marion, all blushes and tearful smiles, went over to the old pair and took them both by their bands. “I am George’s wife. I was so afraid you would never love me, so I came determined to win you if I could. Mother, father, may I be your daughter?” And a happier family, wbeu they had exhausted their powers of surprise, amazement and pride’in the beautiful .Marion, never gave thanks over a supper table.

A Brave Old Horse.

La Porte Chronicle, He is dead. Poor old Cbicamauga has gone to join his comrades. “He sleeps his last sleep He has fought his last battle, No souml can awake him to glory again.” The battle-scarred veterau has been led to his final resting place at last. Time, the merciless, all-conquering destroyer, makes no distinction between the humble beast of burden who plods his weary way along, and the gailycaparisoned steed who carries his master to the battle front and defies the bullet and the bayonet. Horse and rider alike go dbWts before his deadly onslaughts. We are writing of General Gleason’s black gelding, which carried him safely through the war. It appears that, while iu pasture Friday night, he broke his right fore leg at the shoulder {oint. How he did it will never be mown. As there was another animal iu the pasture it is thought the horses may have been playing, and that the. accident was the result 'of a sportful Rick. At auy rate the noble horse was thoroughly disabled, and it was thought best to relieve him of his sufferings. Accordingly, on Saturday afternoon, he was shot. He was purchased seventeen years ago of a man named Burhans. General Gleason took him to the war, and, at the bldody battle of Chicamauga, the horse received two balls in his body producing five wounds. One of the balls struck the jaw bone and lodged in his neck. He was also shot in the thigh. Want of proper care and feed during the seige of Chattanooga endangered the animal’s existence,and, for sometime, his life was despaired of, but he survived and brought his owner and rider safely home. For his gallant behavior iu the great battle mentioned above General Gleason named his horse Cbicamauga,and worthy was he of the title, as every living member of the 87th Indiana volunteers will cheerfully testify. The writer well remembers how Cbicamauga stood in the battle front on the memorable 20th of September, 1863, and faced the rebel colors, meeting, unflinchingly, the enemy,s mnrderous fire as it fairly blazed into our eyes. Had he been a coward, he might easily have severed the slender rein by which he was held, but his record that day read: “Went into the struggle with the regiment and retired only when the army retired.” Heroic Chicamauga! We cannot forget you Mot while patriotism exists and bravery is rewarded. Our own wounds will remind us of yours. The inscriptions on our well-worn banners will revive memories of you, and when >we meet iu reunion, to drink once shore from the same canteen, and fight our battles again, in song and speech, we shall sing your praise and tell, with words of glowing eloquence, how you brought our gallant leader from the Ohio to the sea. Chicamauga was 24 years old at his death. He lies buried in his master’s yard.

Mormans in North Carolina.

For several months past a large number of mormans from Halt Lake City and other portions of Utah have been settling iu Cborekee, Clay, and others of the far west counties of of this state, endeavoring to obtain a foothold, and. as the people of this vicinity fear, with a view of controlling the localities in which they settle. The leaders of Brigham Young’s desciples at once set about inculcating their peculiar and revolting religious ideas, and seeking to convert the rude but honest people of the mountains to their views of martial relations. These efforts directed especially to the female members of the communities in which the newcomers have taken up their abode./ This so enraged the men that meetings have been recently held, and the mormans notified that they must quit within three days. Failing to do so it was intimated that suck-mpans would be adopted as would linUre their speedy removal. The people are thoroughly aroused, and seem to make things so lively for the lecherous carpet-baggers that they cannot remain. The Mormans appeal to Governor Jarvis to frotect them in Lheir rights as citizens. n answer to this appeal the Governor has promptly communicated with the authorities in the counties in which the complainants live, directing them to see that everything is done to protect the rights of these people as guaranteed by the laws of the state... This will no doubt', quiet matters for a short time, but it cannot stem the tide of indignation felt by the mountaineers, at what they deem a gross outrage that is sought to be perpetrated by the Mormans, in settling in lheir midst. They will evidently be driven out.

The Longest Beard in the World.

A correspondent of the Detroit Post and Tribune writes from Adrian, Mich., of a certain Edwin Smith, who is the possessor of a remarkable beard. The correspondent says: "Ordinarily, Mr. Smith and his beard would not attract especial attention. He does not let it sway at its own free will at all times, but keeps it tied in a compact bunch under his chin, holding it fast with thread and hairpins. When thus ’done up* it does not appear to be of unusual length unless the obeervation is dose. So, while it has come to be generally known in the vicinity of Mr. Smith’s residence that his beard is unusually long, but few people have seen it in all its enormous length except as hereinafter stated. He is 47 years of age. He 1* about six feet high, and weigh* 146 pounds. His hair and beard are sandy and tinged with gray- He has a pale face, blue eyes, a high forehead, ana an intelligent and pleasant appearance. \At thirteen years of age he began to

raise a beard, and while yet a young schoolboy, was possessed of a light silken covering to face and neck, rivaling in length that of many of his seniors. But he became tired of this, and shaved almost dally for several years, keeping his face smooth and beardless. He eon tin Ued to attend school in what used to be known as the Sherman District, Huron county. The growth of his beard was not, however, sufficiently rapid to attract any especial notice. Jn 1858 he came to Michigan, where he married. His health from boyhood lias not been of the best, bilious and lung troubles being most common. In 1861 his health failed, and he went to California in the hope of regaining it “It was the fashion among the miners of those days to allow their beards to grow. It was agreed among several ol them, Mr. Smith among the number. that they would allow their beards to grow for six months, and see which could at the end of that time boast of the longest. Mr. Smith outstripped all rivals, and allowed his beard to grow from then on. The nature of the miners' work made It convenient to tie or tasteu the beard under the chin. In this way Mr. Smith first became accustomed to wearing it long, with the superfluous length tied up out of the way. ‘And now,’ said he, ‘you see what it has grown to.’ And as your correspondent looked from the smilling face of the man, and then turned to, go in search for the other end of the beard, he thought of the story of the steeple which was so tall that you had to look twice to see the top of It. There could be no mistake about It. Each individual hair stretched its silken, wavy length from face to floor. ‘Now I will show you how long it is,’ said Mr. Smith, and he stepped upon a chair and stood erect. Still its length was so great that the foot could be placed on the ends, which touched the floor. The beard has been carefully trimmed, so that it is even weight and size to the end. Unrolling a little paper, which was laid away in a drawer, ne said: ‘That’s its length last winter/ and unwound a seemingly endless hair. When measured, it was found to be 7 feet 4 inches long. ‘Now we will measure the beard as it is to-day,’ said he; and he looked for a yard-stick. Seven feet, six inches and a hair, was the length.”

GEMS OF THOUGHT.

Victor Hugo: Our acts make or mar us—we are the children of our own deeds. W. T. Bacon: All our actions take their lines from complexion of the heart, as landscapes their variety from light Hilliard: Man is an animal thatcan not long be left in safety without occupation; the growth of his fellow nature is apt to run to weeds. Rochefoucauld: The art of being able to make a good use of moderate abilities wins esteem, and often confers more reputation than real merit. Seneca: The whole duty of man is embraced in the two principles of abstinence and patience; temperate in prosperity, and courage in adversity. Goldsmith: Absence, like death, sets a seal on the image of those we have loved; we can not realize the intervening changes which time may have effected.! Rousseau: Temperance and labor are the two best physicians of mau; labor sharpens the appetite, and temperance prevents him from indulging to excess. Ruskin: To cultivate sympathy you must be among living creatures, and thinking about them; and to cultivate admiration you must be among beautiful things and looking at them.

Schmidt’s Musings.

New York Herald. “Frederick Schmidt,” said tne Essex Market court justice to a sleepy looking German, “you are fined $lO for intoxication. But what’s the matter, my friend, you appear to be on the point of crying.’* “Nodings, shudge, I was only dinking.” “Think of what?" “Veil I’ll spoke it, if you told me so.” “Then I,do tell you." “I vas a dinking, shudge, dot you vas me und I vas you. Dot ish, you know, mitout no change. You vas der poor dutchmau. I saw you come in mitout friends und sorryful, und I say “Schmidt, wat vas doze trubbles?” Mind you spoke out. “Shudge, I took me some little peer." Und I say mit a look in your face, “Schmidt you vas married?" You say “Yah." “Und got you some children?" “Yah." “Und don’t vas so drunk as you can’t valk?” “Nein.O “Veil, Schmidt, you go right avay home.” Und dot vas my dinking." “Those are very pleasant thoughts," said the magistrate in good humor., “I think we’ll make the fine $3, but I can’t let you off altogether." “Dree dollars! Veil I paid it, und vas dsukful; but you vas not so good a shudge mit me as I vas mit yon." Aud rousing himself he waddled out of court.

Siberian Exiles.

The Siberian exiles, when released from prison and the mines, have had to choose between starving or stealing the means of subsistence; being deprived of all civil rights, they were not allowed to adopt an honest calling. Such has been tne situation of Siberian exiles for centuries. Under the circumstances it was natural that during the warm seasons the Siberian forests should be filled with criminal vagrants who resorted to begging, stealing, robbing and murder, in order to keep body and soul together. Both the economical and the moral interests of Siberia suffered from these evils, and the Government has often been petitioned to remedy,them. It had been found that, iu order to keep all the exiles in prison, It would hie necessary to erect a large additional number of prisons, costing not less than 50,000,000 roubles. The Goverment could not spare such a sum of money, and so the Czar recently promulgated an order allowing the exiles to pursue different occupations, upon the recommendation and under the surveillance of local authorities. The political exiles, however are denied this right of honestly making a living. Warsaw proposes to enjoy the benefits of a telephone exchange, at a foe for each person using the lines of $36 per year.

A BRAVE HOOSIER GIRL.

Catting a Cancer, from Her Arm with Her Own Hand. Olen (Ind.) Times. Living in a plain cottage situated between two farms on the main settlement near Portville, about seven miles from Olen, is a young woman named Mary Langdon. Her mother has been .almost a helpless invalid for many years. She herself has long suffered with a terrible cancer on the upper part of her left arm. To cure this or to alleviate the torment of mind and body which it has caused has been her constant thought, her ever-present care. The aid or competent physicians has been called In and every kind of treatment resorted to, but with no hopeful result. Expert medical men pronounced the case a hopeless one, and the poor girl was regarded by all, and by herself, as the doomed victim of the dreadfril disease. A lady doctor of reputed skill in the treatment of cancer recently visited the sufferer, but gave no word of encouragement. After she had gone Mary shed no tears, but resolved upon a desperate and dangerous expedient, and when she had resolved speedily carried her design in to execution. she ran a stout needle beneath the cancer, drawing a thread through it. With this thread she tied the artery, using her teeth to aid her. She then took a sharp table knife and cut the cancer, which was of unusual size, out of her arm. This done, she took the mass of quivering flesh which she had removed from her arm. and without a word to any one, buried it in the rear of the cottage. So quietly had the girl gone through with tne terrible operation that no one in the house was aware of it until some time after. Having bound up and covered the terrible wound in her arm, she went about her household work as usual. Of course the result of this fearful piece of surgery is difficult to predict. The girl is not at present suffering any ill effects, and it Is sincerely to be hoped that so much courage and endurance will be rewarded by a complete cure.

“Old Si.”

Atlanta Constitution. “Look hyar," said Old Si, ns he encountered a negro trudging along with his head through the middle of a ladder, “look hyar, don’t ver slew dat ladder round heah so rash! First thing yer knows, yer’ll brush off two or free white folks fram dis pabment, and den dar’ll be ernurinderpendent candydate for de chane-gang suddintly spred round twixt de gutter an’ de kyar track." “Es yer don’t waut ter git dad ole jaw ob youm busted oil ober de leP side yo’ hed, yer better git off in de wagin-road when I cums ’long!" replied the darky ladder-man. Old Si regarded the fellow with one eye on the squint, and then bent down an end of the ladder and held it to the ground with his foot, and the saucy fellow stood painfully in this improved stock the old man said: “Hit ’pears ter me you is er onripe nigger in dese ports. Es you’d bin ’libiu ’round hyar long you’d know’d fore now dat hits equivalent for goin’ ter Memphis ter nuss yellow feber ter sass me. I’se de man you’se heerd tell ’baut what cripple’d dat eierfint in de cirkus las yer by juess layin’ my ban’ on his hack. Dey had ter men’ dat eleflt by bracin’ his backbone wid *’er bar of ralerode iruu, you heah me!’* “I didn’t mean no harm, sho’!’’ whined the darkey iu the ladder. “I don’t speck you dis, but den yo’ mouf ’pears ter be sot on moughty loose hinges. Dis twon hez got sartin rules ob ettiket de frunt wuu oh whutn are dat pung niggers aud furrin mokes mus’ keep order when de ole folkes is passin’ by I” “I’ll do dit, sartin’ —you see es I don’t!" “I kno’s dat yer will, kase I’m gwine ter keep you in min’. Wheneher I heads dat some nigger wid jaws on him like de side ob er 1864 habberstick, an’ er nose like er burnt pine peg mauled In de groun* with er fencerale, an’ eye on him likede knuckle bones ob de Texas steer, on’ wool on his head liker black ram bo’n in er cuckle-burr Eatch —I’ll kno’hits you; an’ when I etches up wid yer I’ll bourn’ yer tlifk Atlanta is sicherwated right in de middle of Yazee City an’ I is de haifbrudder of Gineral Barksdale wider shotgun in bofe han’s. Now, go on an’ sin no mo’—’don’t you’se reddy ter exode simultanter." And the old man raised his foot and passed on contentedly.

A Debtor’s Device.

Argonaut. ' A gentleman of San Francisco lias devoted a great part of the time he has spent on the Pacific Coast in contracting bills, which he does not find could be conveniently paid when due. Having lived in California since ’59, and being what iscalled "agenerous liver,” he has numerous creditors, and the sum of his debts is respectably large. Some years ago he determined to attempt he gradual payment of all his liabilities. Endowed with a fine sense of justice, it puzzled him to decide upon a plan of liquidation that woidd be fair and equitable to all his creditors. After a long consideration he hit upon a method which he found entirely satisfactory. He explained his plans the other day to one of his recently-a c quired creditors. A bill was present e him with a request for immediate payment. He took the account, and carefully checking all the items, and footing up the long column of figures, found all correct. Then he quietly and neatly folded up the bill and filed it away in a pigeon-hole marked " W.” Turning to his waiting creditor, he explained as follows: "Mr. Williams, it will be some time yet before your Dill vill come up in the regular order, but you may depend upon my attention. Some years ago I adopted an alphabetical system of paying off my indebtedness, and I nave now got as far as C. Don’t trouble yourself to call again. As soon as I get to W, I will call upon you with the amount.” Struck with the debtor’s systematic and equitable method of doing business, the creditor hopefully withdrew.

The Jovial Judge.

London Telegraph. The proclivity of joking in courts of law Is a homage paid to a deep human instinct. People like justice best when it unbends a little, and injustice Itself may be softened by ingenious judges

who conciliate the loeer with an irresistible jest. Even among a grave people like the Turks, this love of humor ofteu overpowers complaint. There is a story in the East of a Pasha who had received a present of two fat geeee. These succulent birds were very scarce at the time, and the great man called a feast of his intimates, where roast goose, stuffed with pistachios, was to form the central dish. But a rival magnate, who greatly wanted a goose for dinner, had offered the cook 500 piasters for a bird, whereupon that too venal officer repaired to the Cadi and said: “If I give your worship a goose, will you see me safe, supposing anybody complains about the other one?” The magistrate winked and took his bird—the other also disappeared—and at the banquet, wheu the eagerly expected dish should have been produced, there was an awful disappointment; the cook, being summoned, protested with many protestations that the geeee had “flown away.” “Recover them,” the infuriated Pasha cried, “or I will have thee before the Cadi for the basinado.” The guilty cook-rushed madly along the high road, wondering what to do, when ne was asked by a donkey driver, “in the naraeof Allah,” to help him .to lift hLs beast, which had fallen. He forthwith pulled at the donkey’s tail with such thoughtless ftiry that it came off in his hand, and the cook then rushed on more frantically than ever, pursued by the cries and curses of the driver. A little further he ran in his blundering haste against a Christian and knocked the man’s pipestick into his eye, destroying it Yet a little further, still wildly hurrying, he came around the corner full tilt upon a very fat and ugly Bulgarian matron, who, being in an Interesting condition, was so upset that she then and there suffered miscarriage. Being chased by the husband ana some Zaptieths, the miserable man ran up the steps of a minaret and when the muezzin would have seized him leaped down to the earth in his desperation, from the first platform, killing a Greek who chanced to be sitting with his brother below.

Such a situation as that presented in the above narative, it must be confessed, was embarrassing, even to the humor and resources of a Turkish judge. To the original sin of the goose were now added four separate misdemeanors, and the spectacle presented shortly afterward before the Cadi was one of terrific hubbub, though the prisoner exhibited a strange confidence, which proved not unfounded. First came the Pasha, who told how the sinful cook had pretended that geese, plucked and drawn, could fly away. “Dost thou, then, doubt, brother," said the Judge, “the power of Allah to call the dead to life? Let us not limit the Divine might by our foolish disbelief. It may have been so. Go in peace." Next the donkey man held up the rest tail of his beast and cried for justice, but the Cadi said: “Give him the donkey, my son, to feed and use until the tail has grown again; then he shall restore it to thee." The Christian pointed to his missing orb, aud clamored for punishment. “It is written," said the Judge, “that one eye of a believer equals two of an infidel. Do thou, therefore, suffer me to put out thine other eye, and then it will be but right that I should restore restitution by removing one from this abominable cook." The Christian deEarted,and was succeeded by the injured usband, who told his woes. “By the prophet’s beard!’’quoth the Cadi, “I see no other way in this save that thou shouldst divorce the lady and marry her to the cook. Afterward, if it be Heaven’s will that she come again unto thejiame state, let him send her back to thee, and all will be well." This suitor also declined to proceed to execution, and there was only left the Greek, who vociferated for retaliation on the slayer of his brother. “Inshalleh!" said the Judge, “truly ‘hurry is of the devil,’ as the wise sayi lhe cook shall suffer for it; this is but just. Get thou, therefore, to the top of the minaret, and jump down on this offender, whom I will place below, and it shall be that if thou slayest him none shall complain." Hereupon the Greek also left the court like the others, amid acclamations from the bystanders, who were loud iu praise of the Cadi’s wonderful decrees; but that functionary was presently heard to whisper to the cook, as he quitted the court, “Never you send me any more geese, my friend."

How Personal Influence Grows.

Rev. Dorus Clarke. Sometime in the last century, a poor woman in England,of whom the world knows but little, had a son. and she poured out her prayers and her tears for his conversion. But lie grew up reckless and dissipated and profane. He engaged in the slave trade on the coast of Africa, and was perhaps as hopelessly abandoned as any pirate who ever trod the deck of a slave-trader. But at last, when all hope had nearly expired, his mother’s ceaseless prayers were heard. He was converted to Christ,and finally became one of the most eminent ministers in London. The man was the celebrated John Newton. John Newton in turn was the instrument of opening the eyes and bringing to the foot of the cross that moralist and skeptic, Thomas Scott, afterward the distinguished author oftheoommentary on the Bible. Thomas Scott had in his parish a young man of the most delicate sensibilities, and whose soul was "touched to the finest issues,” but he was dyspeptic, and sore, and despairing. At times he believed there was no hope for him, and that he should go to hell. After long and repeated efforts, Dr. Scott led him trembling to the Great Physician. The darkness broke away, and the 4 ’true light” shone. That man was William Cowper, the household Christian poet, whose sweet, delightful {hymns nave allured hundreds or sinners, and the most polluted, to the

“Fountain filled with blood, Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins.” Among others whom he conducted to that fountain was William Wilberforce, a distinguished member of the British Parliament, and the great philanthropist who gave the death blow to the slave trade in Great Britian. Wilberforee brought Leigh Richmond to Christ, and he wrote the “Dairyman's daughter, ” jvhich has been read with devoutest gratitude and through blinding tears In many languages all over the earth. All this indescribable amount of good—which will be redoubled and reduplicated through all time—can be traced back to the Christian fidelity of John Newton’s mother —that humble, unheralded woman—whose history is almost unknown.

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NO. 15.

Cincinnati school-boy's- thought—- “ Wonder whether Napoleon ever sat down on a pin withouthoUerin' ?” A recent picnic was turned into a hollow mockery by every fellow remembering to bring a corkscrew and dependingon somebody else to farnlsh the bottle. > “We wish,” says a Texas newspaper, “that a few of our citizens could be permitted to live till they die a natural death, so as to show the world what a healthy country Texas really is.” “Green street!” called out the conductor. “Green’B treat, eh I” ejaculated an inebriated individual iu the corner of the car, “all right (hie), just as lieve drink off of Green (hid)' ’s any other man.” At a ‘uneral service in Slawson last week, the minister, in his remarks, was dwelling upon the loss to the husband of tne deceased, when that worthy spoke un: “Never mind me. Just throw your nest on the corpse.” “I’m a rutabaga, and here’s where I plant myself,” said a tramp as he entered a farmhouse near Freeport, Illinois, and seated himself at the table. “We allers bile ours,” said the farmer’s wife, and soused him with a dish panful of boiling water. They were out driving. Said Theodore, “What tree, Angelina, bears the most precious fruit?”- Angelina—“Oh, Dory, I can’t tell, unless it is a cherrytree!” Theodore looked unutterable sweetness as he gazed Into Angelina’s eyes and said, “Tne axle-tree, darling!” Class in the agricultural college— Professor—ls there any way to obtain good fruit without grafting or budding? tudent—Yes, sir. Professor—Please explain the process. Student—Watch your chance, and when tne farmer goes to dinner crawl over in the orchard and steal it. Willie, aged 10, and Jemmy, aged 6, were playing together. One of them was minutely examing a fly. “I wonder how God made him!” he exclaimed. “God don’t make flies as carpenters make things,” observed the other boy. “God said let there be flies and there is flies.” A sobbing English lady, who had Just lost her husband, asked the clergyman of her parish whether relative?are able to find one another readily In the next world. He -said emphatically that they will be reunited at once. “Then,” said she, “his first wife has got him by this time.” All the spelling reforms of all the men in all the world will hot succeed in lessening the intensity of the schoolboy’s affection who scrawls on his slate with a broken pencil, “Iluvyou,” and hands it across the aisle, with is big apple, to a pretty little blue-eyed girl who reads iu the Second Reader. James Liar and Henry Slander are citizens of Dubuque, lowa. They have their little jokes between them, for when they meet the former says, “Well, well, here I’ve met a Slander right on the street,” and Slander retorts with, “you’re au old Liar.” Then each shake hands, giggle over the joke and walk off. - tr

“Irene the Missionary’/ inJSepteraber Atlantic. They traversed the luxuriant verdure. and variegated bloom of the Bukaa, and camped for the night amid the venerable solemnities of Baalbec. Next day, onward .through Anti Lebanon, a widespread and rugged and arid upland, with one winding valley of moderate fertility and one thread of crystal river. At last they stood on the bare, rounded knoll where one looks down from the desert of mountain upon the desert of the great ashy plain of Damascus, with its stripe of sparkling green marking the course of the Barida, and, half-hidden therein.! the gray city of Hazael. By nightfall they were housed in a mansion which looked to Irene’s wondering eyes as if it had been taken out of the Arabian Nights. “I think that Aladdin must have built it,” she wrote in her first letter to DeVries. “Outside it is nothing but shapeless, unburnt brick, daubed with gray slime; but inside it is all marble, fountains, wood-carving, stained glass, fresco and painting. The great court (or it is a hollow square) is paved with white and black marble, and has a marble fountain of bubbling water in the center. There is another fountain in an alcove, and a third in the principal saloon. This saloon consists of four rooms, each over twenty feet square, and opening into each other by Saracenic arches twenty-five feet high. The arches and the walls are decorated with an infinity of kaleidoscope pictures, in the richest of colors. The beams and cross slats of the ceiling are richly carved, gaily painted and lavishly gilded. The ceiling of the center room (around which the other three are clustered) cannot be less than forty feet above the marble pavement. “The floors of the outer rooms are slightly elevated, and have each their mukaad running along the wall, covered with broad mattresses and cushions. The very simplicity and scantiness of furniture make the great fourfold apartment seem the larger and more magnificent. I never in my life saw or imagined anything so deserving ol the word palatial. Do you wonder what right a missionary has to such a mansion of gk.ry? Well, in the first place, the saloon will serve for a chapel; in the second place, the rent is only $l3O a year. Mr. Payson shakes hu good head over our native helper for having taken such a palace; but we women believe that It was a wise step, and have So told the poor man in my poor Arabic."

A Doctor’s Fatal Bargain.

A singular case of homicide was lately tried at Spoleti, Italy. Hie accused was a rich former named Carlo Mar? ronni, and his offense was shooting a doctor who had foi.ed to cure his child. When the child, a boy of fourteen months, fell ill the former sent for the doctor, and told him if his treatment was successful he would pay him 2,000 lire (about $400) but if the child died he would kill him. The doctor undertook the case, but his medicines seemed to aggravate the disease, and death ensued. A few days alter the funeral the former laid in wait for the unfortunate practitioner and shot him. Hie court Sve a lenidnt sentence of ten ywre’ i prison ment and 25,000 lire flne.^^ Ex-Minister Wkl«h, believes thit his Illness was due to exposure in fox minting.

CONDIMENTS.

A House in Damascus.