Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 December 1874 — Page 1

HORACE E. JAMES & JOSHUA HEALEY, Proprietors.

VOL. VII.

NEWSPAPER ENGLISH OF 1884. Picked up a paper here to-day, ind, by my conscience, I must say. That they do write in the funniest way! 7373 Some time ago, over my cup. Went sound asleep—just woke up; Must hare been —well, let me see— Eighteen hundred fifty-three. Cow came along—hell would tinkle; Housed me up—second old Winkle; Pell asleep, by their say so, One and thirty years ago. 'Bout that paper? I was struck All in a heap, sir—just my luck; “ Miss Susan Smller’ll elocute Next Thursday evening.” I stood mute; Never, in all my life,* had heard Of such an outlandish, barbarous word. ’ Elocute! Elocute! I declare! Bit my whiskers; pulled my hair; Looked in my Webster—'twasn’t there; Gave the thing up in wild despair— Said to myself, it's mighty quair! Pretty near choked myself with rage; Papers set forth on another page— Wonderful piece of local news—- “ People up town are going to enthuse;" And then the thing got worse and worse, “To-morrow the people anniverse;" “July 4th— happy to state— People all going to declarate;" Think I’d better shut up shop, “ Mr. A. B. is a philanthrop;" And then, look here; why, bless my eyes, What in the world is “ Bismarckizef" Eyes of mine, you can’t be trusted! “ Coal-oil factory all combusted ; “ Circumtrench your favorite fruits;” “ Mexican Empire revolutes And since the days I went to school, What sort of a thing’s a perqendicule f" Reading along—why, bless my fate! Here’s a man who’s going to orate.” Why, what on earth’s this paper about? Go stark mad if I don’t find out. Must be French, and yet, I vow, Never heard of the word till now. Folding paper, undecided— Dear me! some one’s “ homicided." Laid down paper right away; For, by my conscience, I must say, That they do write in the funniest way. —E. W. Lowrie , in Boston Transcript.

BLOWN UP.

Can’t say, I’m sure, sir. Been used to bilers all my life; but working ’em’s different to making ’em. There’s something wrong, as you say, or they wouldn’t always be a-bustin. ’Tain’t once nor twice, nor now and then, for it’s a thing as is. always a-happening; and though I’ve never had more than a scald or two myself I’ve seen some strange sights: men all blown to pieces, so that they were picked up afterward in baskets; men taken to the hospital with their flesh hanging to them in rags, and there they’d lie writhing and tearing at the wrappings in' such agony that—there, I ain’t above owning it—l’ve cried like a child to see my poor mates’ sufferings. And there they’d be day after day, till a sort of calm came over them and the pain went, when they’d quite smile if you spoke to ’em, they seemed so easy; and it would be because a gentle hand was laid upon ’em and they were going into the long sleep. Some gets better, but not when they’re scalded badly; for it’s strange stuff, is steam. Well, no, I’m not afraid and never do feel afraid. What’s the good? One’s got it to do, and there’s the mouths at home to feed, so one can’t aflord it; and then the odds are precious long ones against it being one’s own bustin’. But now so many more steam engines are coming into use day by day, it seems as if something ought to be done in the way of making bilers stronger. Cheapness is cheapness; but then a thihg’s dear at any price that makes such ruin as I’ve seen sometimes; so why don’t they try some tougher metal than iron?—though certain! v"st,cam's strong enough to tear up anything. But there seems to me to be some fresh plan wanted for making bilers. I didn’t work there but I went and had a lcok d’reckly after that horrible accident at the Big Works last autumn. Well, there was about an acre of buildings—sheds and setrer—swept away as if you’d battered ’em all down; great fire-bricks, weighing a hundred and a half, pitched here and there like chaff; sheets of lead sent flying a hundred yards; tall chimneys powdered down; and the big busted biler itself jumped right out of its place; while as to Ahe middle of it, that was torn off and crumpled up and blown, like a sheet of paper, to a distance. Plenty of life lost plenty of escapes; but what I Took'most notice of was the plates torn off the biler —torn'off, as I said before, like so much paper; while these sheets or plates of iron had . ( given way at the rivets and looked for all the world like torn-off postage stamps —torn off of course along the perforating.

“Now, then,” Isays to myself, “that’s a thing as wants altering. You perforate the edges of your plates to admit rivets, and so take half their strength off—p’r’aps more; then you puts, perhaps, hot rivets in, and they p’r’apajyystallizes the iron” —only p’r’aps, mind,"! don’t say so, only the raw edges of the biler looked crystal - ly and brittle. “ Well, then, some day comes a hextry pressure o' steam, and up goes.your biler—busted, and spreading ruin, and death, and misery around” “ Then how are we to fasten our biler plates,” says you, “if we don’t rivet em?” How should I know? I ain’t a scientific man—l only stokes. That’s for you to find out. But you ain’t a-going to tell me, are you, that you scientific men and biler-makers can’t find no other way to make bilers only by riveting them? Say you bend the plates, edges over, and hooks one into the other, like tin sarspan makers does their tin. They’d stand some strain that way. and you wouldn’t weaken your plates. I ain’t a bilermaker, or I should try that dodge, I think; but there, that’s only one way out of many as could be fciund by experiment. Seeing to me, sir, as if we English people hates anything new, and always wants "to keep to what our fathers and grandfathers had before us. They went along and made their footmarks, and we go along after ’em, putting our foots in just the same spots, thinkingdt must be right, come what will ot it. Had to do with engines many years. Stoked locomotives anu stationaries, agriand manufactories, and „print-ng-offices, and been down in the engine’Yooms of steamers; and that last’s about the hottest and worst of ail. Killing work, you know, for anybody, 'specially in a ho£ country, where every breath of air that conies down to you is already

THE RENSSELAER UNION.

roasted, as it were, and don’t do you any good. Bustins? Well, no, only one, and that was quite enough; for though it didn’t hurt my body it did hurt my heart, and if you happen to be a father you’ll understand what I mean. It was dinner-time at our works —a great place, where the engine used to be going to pump water night and day, so that there were two of us; and one week I’d be on daywork, next week nightwork*, and so on. Now it so happened that our water in that part was terribly hardwater that would cover the inside of a biler with thick fur in no time. But whether it was that or no I can’t say; all I know is that one dinner-time I went out into the yard to wash my hands and have a cooler, when I heard a strange wild, rushing noise, and felt something hit me on the back of the head; and then, turning round, I stood fixed to the spot, for the air was black with tiles, and bricks, and laths, and rafters, while the whole place seemed to be crumbling up together, just like as if you’d built up a tall card-house and then tapped it so that it fell, one card on top of another, till there was a little heap all lying close and snug, so that out of a tall building there was nothing left but some smoking ruins. I knew it was not my fault, for I had looked at the gauge just before, and the pressure of steam wasn’t heavy. I knew there was plenty of water in the biler and the safety-valve was all right; so that all I could do was to be thankful for the accident happening at dinnertime, and also for my own wonderful escape. And then, though I wasn’t hurt, something seemed to come over me like a flash, and struck me to the ground in an instant. When I came to I felt horribly sick and deathly like, and I looked about from face to face wondering what was the matter; for I couldn’t make it out why I should be lying on my back with people round me in the yard—one holding up my head and another sprinkling my face with water. Then it all came back at once, and I shuddered as I turned my head and looked at the ruined works; for I knew what it was struck me down to the earth. I said before it was like a flash, and it was—it was one quick thought which came across my brain, for I knew that, being dinner-time, my little golden-haired gal would have brought my ’lowance tied up in a basin; and something told me that she had gone into the stoke-hole to find me when I had gone into the yard. “Let me get up,” I says; and Iran toward the ruins, and began tearing away at the heap of brick rubbish, while the crowd now gathered together, hearing that there was some one underneath, began tearing away at the rubbish like fury. By and by the police came and some gentlemen, and something like order was got at, and people worked well to get town to where the stoke-hole had been. I had said that there was some one there, but I couldn’t shape my mouth to say who it was; and some said it was one man, and some another; but whoever they named seemed to come directly back from his dinner or because he had heard the explosion. So, by and by, people began to look from one to another, and ask who it was. “Ask Wilum,” says some one; “he was here at the time;” and some one asked me. But I had no occasion to speak, for just then, alarmed at the child not going back as usual, the little gal’s mother came shrieking out, and crying: “Where’s little Patty? where’s little Patty?” and then, when no one spoke, she gave a sort of pitiful moan, and sank slowly down—first on her knees and then sideways on to a heap of bricks; and I remember thinking it was best, for I could not find it in my heart to go to her help, but kept on tearing away at the hot bricks and rubbish. It was puzzling and worrying; for one could not seem to be sure of where anything had once stood, in the horrible confusion before us. One said the stokehole had been here, and another there; but even I, who had worked there two years, could not be sure amidst the confusion. Hour after hour went by, and still we worked on; while, as every big rafter or beam was lifted and dragged away, I was obliged to turn my head, for I felt sick, and the place seemed to swim; for I expected to see Patty’s little bright curls torn out and hanging to the jagged wood, and that underneath there would be something horrible and crushed. I know it wasn’t manly; but what can I say, when there was a little, bright, blue-eyed child in the case—one of those little things whose look will make your great rough hand fall to your side when raised in anger, while the tinjvtliing can lead you about and do what she likes with you? P’r’aps I ain’t manly; but somehow children always, seem to get the upper hand of me. And so on we worked,hour after hour; men getting tired and dropping off, but always plenty ready to fill their places; while I —l never thought of it, but kept on tearing away till my hands bled and the sweat ran down my face; but I turned away every time there was something large lifted, for I said to myself, “She must be under that!” And then again and again in my mind I seemed to see the torn and crushed face of my darling and her long curls dabbled in blood. In the midst of the piled-up, blackened ruins—bricks, mortar, tiles, lead, and ragged and torn beams, huge pieces of wood snapped and torn like matches — we toiled on hour after hour till the dark night came, when the gas-pipes that had been laid bare and plugged were unstopped and the gas lit, so that it flared and blazed, and cast a strange, wild light over the ruined place. There had been flames burst forth two or three times from parts of the ruins, but a few sprinklings from the fire-engine in attendance had put them but; and as we worked on the rubbish grew cooler and cooler. Some said that the child could not have been there, but the sight of her mother tearing out was sufficient, when once she got away from the people who had her in their house —a house where

RENSSELAER, JASPER COUNTY, INDIANA, DECEMBER 17, 1874.

bjit part of the windows had been broken by the explosion—and came running to where I was at work, snatching at the bricks and wood till I got two or three to take her back, for I couldn’t have left where I was to have saved my life. But I remember so- well asking myself why it was that women will let down their back hair when they’re in a state of excitement, and make ’emselves look so wild. By and by some one came to say how bad my wife was, and that she waited to see me; but I felt that I couldn’t go, and kept on in a fevered sort of way, work, work; and I’ve thought since that if she had been dying it would have been alLthe same. However, I heard soon after that she seemed a little better; and I found out afterward that a doctor there had given the poor thing something that seemed to calm her, and she went to sleep. It would have been a strong dose, though, that would have sent me off to sleep, as still on, hour after hour, I worked there, never tiring, but lifting beams that two or three men would have gone at, and, tossing the rubbish away like so much straw. The owners were kind enough, and did all they could to encourage the men, sending out beer and other refreshments; but the heap of stuff to move was something frightful, and more than once 1 felt quite in despair, and ready to sit down and cry weakly. But I was at it again the next moment, and working with the best of them. “ Hadn’t you better leave now?” said one of my masters; “ I’ll see that everything is done.” I gave him one look, and he laid his hand kindly on my shoulder, and said no more to me about going; and I heard him say “Poor fellow!” to someone by him, as he turned away. ■ We came upon the biler quite half a dozen yards out of its place, ripped right across where the rivets went; while as for the engine it was one curious bit of iron tangle—rods, and bars, and pieces of iron and brass twisted and turned and bent about like so much string; and the great fly-wheel was broken in a halfdozen places.' This showed us now where the great cellar-like place—the stoke-hole—was,and we worked down now toward that; but still clearing the way, for how could I tell where the child might be? But it was weary, slow work; every now and then rigging up shears, and fastening ropes, and pully, and sheaf to haul up some great piece of iron, or abeam; and, willing as everyone was, we made very little progress m the dark night. Once we had to stop and batter down a wall with a scaffold pole; for the police declared it to be unsafe and the Sergeant would not let us work near it till it was down; and all the while I was raging like a madman at the check. But it was of no use and the man was right. He was doing his duty, and not like me, searching for the little crushed form of my darling in the cruel ruins. The people made me worse, for they would talk and say what they thought so that I could hear. One would say she might still be alive, another woula shake his head, and so on; when I kept stopping, in spite of all I tried not, listening to what they said, and it all seemed so much lost time. The engine-room was now cleared, and, in spite of my trembling and horror as every big piece was disturbed, nothing had been found; but all at once as #ve were trying to clear behind the biler and get down to the stoke-hole one of the men gave a cry. I caught at-the man nearest to me, and then lights, rubbish, the strange wild scene all seemed to run round me and I should have fallen only the man held me up and some one brought me some brandy. I was myself again directly, and, stumbling over the bricks to where a knot of men had collected, and a policeman had his bull’s-eye lantern open and they were stooping to look at something that lay just under a beam they had raised—to the left of where I expected she would be found. “Smashed,” I heard some one, with his back to me, say; and then some one else, “ Poor little/thing, she must have run past here!” Then, with my throat dry and my eyes staring, I crept up and thrust two men aside; right and left, when the others made way for me without speaking, and, when I got close up, I covered my face with my hands, and softly knelt down. The pbliceman said something, and ‘some one else spoke cheerily; but I couldn’t hear what they said, for my every thought was upon what I was going to see. And now, for the first time, the great, blinding tears came gushing from my eyes, so that when I slowly took down first one hand and then another I was blinded, and could not see for a few moments; till, stooping a little/' lower, there, smashed and flattened, covered wftfa mortar and dust, was my old red cotton handkercher, tied round the basin and plate that held my dinner, dropped here by my little darling. For a few moments I was, as it were, struck dumb—it was so different a sight to what I had expected to see; and then I leaped up and laughed, and shouted, and danced—the relief was so great. “-Come on!” 1 cried again; and then, for an hour or more, we were at it, working away till the light began to come in the east, and tell us that it was daybreak. Late as it was, plenty of people had stopped all the time; for, somehow or another, hundreds had got to know the little bright, golden-haired thing that trotted backward and forward every day with my dinner-basin. She was too littlp to do it, but then, bless you! that was our pride; for the wife combed, and brushed and dressed her up on purpose. And fine and proud we used to be of the little thing, going and coming—so oldfashioned. Why, lots of heads used to be thrust out to watch her; and seeing how pretty, and artless and young she was,.we used to feel that everyone would try and protect her; and it was so. Time after time that night I saw mother-ly-looking women that I did not know, with their aprons to their eyes, sobbing and crying; and though I di'dn’t notice it then I remembered it well enoueh afterward—ah! and always shall; while the way in which some of the men worked—- „ V .. • ’ i

well-to-do men who wojild have thought themselves insulted if you’d offered ’em five shillings for their night’s job—showed how my poor little darling had won the hearts of all around. Often and often since, too, I could have stopped this one and shook hands with that one for their kindness; only there’s always that shut-upness about an Englishman that seems to make him all heart at a time of sorrow and a piece of solid bluntness at every other time. Well, it was now just upon jpnorning and we were all worked up to a pitch of excitement that nothing could be like. We had been expecting to come upon the Eoor child all the afternoon and night, ut now there could be no doubt or it. She must be here, for we were now down in the stoke-hole, working again with more vigor than Jiad been shown for hours. Men’s faces were flushed and their teeth set. They didn’t talk only in whispers, and the stuff went flying out as fast as others could take it away. “ Easy, easy,” the Sergeant of Police kept saying aa he and two of his men kept us well lit with the strong light of their lanterns But the men tore on, till at last the place was about cleared out and we had got to a mass of brick wall sloping against one side and a little wood-work on the other side, along with some rubbish. And now, was the exciting time as we went—four of us—at the brick wall, dragged at it and raised it, when some women up above shrieked out and we stood trembling, for it had crumbled down and lay all of a heap where we had raised it; from. “Quick!” I shouted, huskily. And we tore the bricks away till there was hardly a scrap left and we stood staring at one another. “ Why, she ain’t here, arter all!” says a policeman. “I’m blest,” says another. But I couldn’t speak, for I did not know what to do; but stood staring about as if I expected next to see the little darling come running up again unhurt. “Try there,” says the Sergeant. Then he turned on his light into a dark corner, where the bits of wood lay, and I darted across and threw back two or three pieces, when I gave a cry, and fell on my knees again. For there was no mistake this time; I had uncovered a lit* tie foot, and there was the little white sock all blood-stained; and I felt a great sob rise from my breast as I stooped down and kissed the little red spot. “ Steady,” said the Sergeant, and then quickly, as I knelt there, they reached over me, and lifted piece after piece away, till there, in the gray light of the morning, I was looking upon the little motionless figure, lying there with her golden hair, as I had fancied, dabbled in blood from a cut in her little white forehead, where the blood had run } but now lay hard and dry. Covered with blood and scraps of mortar, she lay stretched out there, and I felt as if my heart would break to see the little, peaceful face almost with a smile upon it; while, as if out of respect to my feelings, the men all drew back, till I knelt there all alone. And now far up in the sky the warm light of the rising sun shone, and it was reflected down upon that tiny face, lighting it up with almost heavenly beauty; and as I knelt there in the still silence of that early morn I could hear again and again a half-stifled sob from those lookingon. With trembling hands I leaned forward and raised her head; then, passing one beneath her, I rose on my knee to bear her out, when I stopped as if turned to stone, then let go, and clasped both my raw and bleeding hands to my blackened forehead, as, shrieking out, “ My God, she’s alive!” I fell back insensible; for those little blue eyes had opened at my touch, and a voice, like the faintest sigh of the wind in summer, whispered the one word, “ Father!” * * * * * 1* * That’s her, sir. Fine girl she’s grown, ain’t she? But she was beautiful an a child. Hair ever so many shades lighter; and, unless you went close up, you couldn’t see the mark of that cut, though it was some time before the scar gave over looking red. But really, you know, sir, there ought to be something done about these bilers ; for the rate at which they’re a-bustin’s fearful.— Once a Week.

—Prof. Tousley discovered them in Mr. A. B. Barton’s cellar. Mr. Tousley occupies Mr. Barton’s residence during the latter’s absence ip the East, and in searching the cellar foe vegetables the other day the learned professor ran across a few remarkably fine-looking onions, which the servant prepared .(they Were real mild and pleasant onions, and didn’t draw a tear) and boiled ’em—boiled ’em for a day or two, in fact, but they stubbornly refused to yield to hot water —couldn’t cook ’em tender! They were a very hard and solid onion, and, if ornamented with a turnip top, at first sight might easily have been mistaken for that vegetable. One of these onions was about to be submitted to the Academy of Natural Sciences when a neighbor happened in and remarked that It looked to her like a gladiolus bulb! and so it was! The professor never was fond of onions, anyway! —Chicago Post and Mail. —The Sing Sing (N. Y.) Republican relates the following incident: ' “Oh Wednesday afternoon of last week, as Barnes was engaged in the back yard of his residence on Liberty street, he came across a live pirtle. On picking it up he was greatly surprised at finding the names James Ryder and Stephen Aayles, 1833, scratched on the shell. Upon bringing the turtle to the village, and showing it to the abovenamed persons, they remembered the circumstance of the cutting of the names in the turtle’s shell over forty-one years ago, when they were young men.” —Never wait for anything to turn up but go and turn it upfyourself. —lt requires no particular skill to make a blunder. ■ '

Little Liars.

The Inter-Ocean desires to utter a few maledictions against liars. All liars are bad enough. The vain liar, the slander-r ous liar, the political liar, the piousliar, the plausible, improbable and marvelous liars, all these are subjects to be detested; but just now we wish to deal with another class entirely. These are the business liars. We dare say that humanity has suffered more annoyance, vexation and disappointment from these pests than all the others combined. And we do not refer now to. the gigantic cheat who carves out a fortune and fleeces a community by a bold and des--Berate falsehood. But we speak of the ttle liar; the foolish, absurd, contemptible little scamp, who lies without ever dreaming that he is committing an offense, and who is so entirely innocent that he actually does himself an injury in order to tell a falsehoood. Now to particularize:

Mrs. Featherby keeps a millinery store. She has a shop on State street, and you live south at the city limits. You have seen a hat that came from Mrs. Featherby’s. Your soul pants to have one like it. You fix up Dan and Joshua and Hezekiah, and start them to school. You charge Miggs to look out for fire, and, clutching your porte-monnaie, take a car for down town. You see Mrs. Featherby, frankly state your admiration of her wonderful genius, and leave an order for a hat precisely like your friend’s, Mrs. Highflier’s. You are smiled upon and assured that the hat shall be ready the day after to-morrow, at noon. How tediously that night, and the next day, and the next night drag themselves away! But at last the longed-for day arrives. You wait till past noon before you start. You will give Mrs. Featherby plenty of time. At last you go. You reach the shop in an hour and a half. Your face gleams with expectation as you enter; it fades with disappointment as you emerge from it. The hat is not done. It will be ready tomorrow. The next day you try it again. Mdlle. Therese was ill yesterday, and Mrs. Featherby could not think of permitting anyone else to touch the hat. However, she is well again to-day, and if you will send to-morrow you shall certainly have it. You send. You have grown weary of going yourself. You .give little Hezekiah minute instructions, roll him up in his father’s scarf, and start him off. Four hours after Hezekiah, with a very red nose and a very tumbled appearance, comes in at the alley door. He has the box. You open it and take out the hat. It is not trimmed as you directed; it is not the kind of velvet or felt you selected; and, finally, it doesn’t look any more like Mrs. Highflier’s* hat than a dandelion looks like a rose. The next day you take it back. Bat why go through the details. Every lady reader has been through this or a similar experience, and will bless the Inter-Ocean for saying that Mrs. Featherby deserves the tortures of the inquisition. Now, having stated the case for the ladies, let us look for a moment at the experience of the average gentleman. Mr. Plunkett orders a new suit from Trabb, the tailor. He can have the clothes Wednesday. They are not ready Wednesday, but will be done Friday. They are not done Friday, nor Saturday, and Sunday Plunkett stays at home and swears, instead of attending church and praying like a Christian. Finally he consoles himself with the reflection- that at least he will have his suit by the next Friday night, when he is invited to a party at the Spangleses. He calls around once or twice and reminds Trabb that his future happiness depends upon having those clothes, sure, Thursday. Trabb promises; he is always promising. Plunkett need not fear. He bhall have them all right for the party at any rate, if he don’t get them before. Friday morning comes; they are not finished, but they will be by noon; Plunkett calls at twelve; they will be ready at three; Trabb will send them round. Three arrives—fourfive—six. Plunkett gets frantic. He goes to Trabb’s. Trabb is excited He is

doing all he can. Sixteen tailors are at work on the breeches, and the great draper even has his coat off himself and is handling the goose with something of the old spirit which won him his first renown. Plunkett sits down and waits. After a while the garments are completed and hurriedly folded into a package. Plunkett grabs them and starts on a trot for the cars. At last he reaches home. His wife has been waiting for him with her bonnet on for an hour. The poor mau dashes to his room. What takes place then need not be told. A half hour later Plunkett appears with a very red face and looking wonderfully like a canary-bird with a waterproof on. “ They don’t fit me at all,” says he. “Fit!” says* Mrs. Plunkett, and then for the moment she is speechless with indignation. But it’s too late for words; too late to send excuses, and so, with mild and desperate thoughts rushing through his brain, Plunkett goes out into the night. How he looks, and feels, and behaves at the party it is not necessary to state; but itwrings one’s heart to see him making efforts to seem pleased and unconcerned, and laughing when the others laugh, and then stopping with a jerk and casting a glance of despair at his pantaloons. He stands up Co talk calmly and collectively to the beautiful Miss Brown, and is about to forget his misery for a moment, when he sees Benson whispering to Jones, and both glancing toward him and drawing their mouths down to suppress their smiles, and then all his anguish comes back again. To say that his evening’s pleasure is spoiled is the very faintest way of expressing it; and all because of this contemptible custom of lying. Why didn’t that rascally^,Trabb make the clothes as he agreed to? There’s no answer from Trabb, because the wretched destroyer of peace and tranquillity cannot answer. We might follow this through all the traders. Particularly is the boot and shoe maker addicted to ,the babii, it being considered perfectly safe to offer a reward of SSOO for any artist in this business w r ho ever had a pair of boots done according to promise. But this is enough. There is no sense, reason or

SUBSCRIPTION; $2.00 a Year, la Advance.

excuse for continuing this intolerable nuisance. If a tradesman will no! keen his word cut him. Don’t order a second time of one who needlessly lies to yon. If a shop-keeper comes back at you and says it’s no worse for him to lie about his work than it is tor his customers to lie about the pay, tell him to practice his plan of retaliation on the guilty alone, and not make the innocent suffer. We may reform this villainous practice in this way, but otherwise we shall go on, being made miserable through all time to come. —Chicago Inter-Ocean. * %

Natur never puts on enny airs. She knows her strength too well for that. Men never forgit the favors they bestow on others, and seldum remember thoze they receive. If a man iz natral now days he iz charged at once with trying to be excentrik or silly. The man whom prosperity makes haughty, adversity iz sure to make a groveling coward ov. I am violently oppozed to betting, but it I do bet, I am violently in favor or winning. Thare iz no grate danger ov too mennv getting famous; there iz too much jealousy amung mankind for that. Cunning men are despized more than they are feared, bekauze we have to watch them so cluss. Menny a man haz reached the summit ov fame, and then lookt down into the humble valley he cum from and longed to be back thare agin. Thare are but very few people who are superior to their fortune. Friendships are like mutiny in one. respekt: it is easier to make them than to keep them. __ z_ - One-haff the trubbles ov life kan be traced to not saying “ No” at the right time. Thare are but few people who kan dress just az they pleaze. Don’t forget one thing—thare iz no <me but what kan do yu sum hurt or sum good, and thare is more that kan hurt yu than thare iz that kan-help yu. It iz the little things that enable us to judge ov a man’s karakter; he don’t try to hide them, and couldn’t if he would. A desire to be popular iz not only natral, but propper; it iz the means we use to gain it that iz so often disgracefull. Very humble people sumtimes want az mutch watching az a snapping turtle dus.

Silence iz one ov the strongest arguments a man Kan use. A man waz born not to satisfied, therefore he waz born not to be happy. If you kan speak well ov a man dont fail to do it; if yu kant, pleaze let him alone. If yu kno that yu are right yu kan afford to wait until time and cirkumstansiss prove it. If a man tells a lie, he iz allwuss in a grate hurry to prove it. Yung man, i dont want to make yu avarishus or covetous, but yu will find out az yu gro older that munny iz a friend, if yu use it rightly, that never will disapoint yu. There iz more real happiness in redusing our wants than in gratyfying themj No man ever failed ov suckcess who could do a thing better than another could, and kept a doing it. Aim high; yu had better fire into the klouds than a dunghill. Fashion costs more than bred and butter duz. We are all ov us brought up to think that munny iz the chief end ov man, and when at last we find out our mistake it iz too late to rektify it. If a man wants to find out the utter weakness of munny, let him try to hire a dubble tooth to stop aking. • A matter-of-fakt man iz one who when he hits hiz thumb with the hammer, iusted ov the nail, thinks it’s all right. Munny that is spent foolishly,, and then mourned over, is spent twice foolishly.—Jo*/* Billings, in Neu> York Weekly. —The newspapers indicate that more men are trying to live by their wits than can do it honestly. They recite countless and varied incidents of petty swindling. Up the Hudson a man goes into houses with a woful tale of sudden poverty, and asks for a loan on a gold ring. He would not permanently part with it on any account, as it is a hallowed keepsake, and he only wants a dollar until he can return and redeem it. He has thus disposed of hundreds of brass rings at a big profit. An operator in Connecticut starts lamp-shade stores as a cover for borrowing money, and then decamps. An Ohio knave sells cows of a supposed new breed to farmers, showing only fictitious photographs. He collects a small sum “to bind the bargain,” and leaves the rest of the payment until the cbws are delivered—which of course” never happens. The old dodge of fooling farmers into signing promissory notes, under the’delusion that they are simply putting their names to an agreement of some kind relating to patent rights, and then selling the notes for collection, has been revived in Western New York. And finally a seller of a new grease-extractor in Buffalo cleans one of a pair of gloves “just to show how it works,” ana then refuses to make the pair mates in cleanliness for less than ten cents.— N, Y Sun. —A scene was enacted atf* the Hahnemann Fair yesterday afternoon which was not down on the bills. A very fash-ionably-dressed lady, from whose ears hung diamond drops, and on whose fingers sparkled gems of the first water, was detected stealing some children’s underwear. The services of a detective were secured, and the kleptomaniac subjected to a custom-house search, which revealed the fact that her pockets we're staffed with fancy articles of various descriptions which she had pilfered from the different tables. The managers of the fair, with a magnanimity much too liberal in the present era of crime, allowed the woman to take her departure, with the injunction to keep away- from theffair for the future. —Chicago Inter - Ocetm.

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