The Syracuse Enterprise, Volume 1, Number 1, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 7 January 1875 — Page 1

J. P. PHICKETT, Edilor Proprietor.

VOLUME I.

4 PHOTEST. WSr pr»« wf »o «X»lu>-< the <t“»f that Fate Ha* barred npun oar heart*! fariret Why hold ortr hereft and deeojaie B«« :a**e G-rt wrii-« th> It almanac In flrv* , Why »b<ni>d we sadden with dark-Vloaded rtie», When other# i<akc * ladder of their lore. And while We deem arrselera too weak to rfre, ' ' They'v -cl ! tubed alsuseil ,S • ’ ' ,• » Why alt and dream tn »pri*s”» aweel -Larval dream*. wboae aadnesa make* then eweet. ij • - » Ami -ince WC mar and break ■ »nr-l i full ; rime, them that-wv real Contented at U<xl »l feet’ Win ■r» h v .v • lrf-r ’■“t .:nj k ,h-»Br-. For faith an* hope that faded ion* ajpi, e \ When still within our heart# new fruitful powers Are budding now' ■ ■ ■'l ■*!■ .’< O eye*, tamed inward on onr darkencdShearta, Open to aee God'a beauty on the earth. ■ Self pitying tear* that flow spun 1 Hi* »«iart*|~~-~-Fructify all our bMTeanaea and da.-’li; O folded bauds, aiuee cla-pt la dull despair. Grow busy with tiod'a Work of love aid («are: tr an . I* where Mistriviors cease. ' ’ j ' »|" Car-.li.u Xorth.itS'.XHi.-i'W Jfjayord.z. AUNT BETSY'S TRIP TO "NEW YORK TOWN." hr m vur i» i;Hi'.r “ Tell ye all about it, hey? Get ye larfln - a( an old creeter who # rot more es I du say it. than hrklf of you City gals. W all, now, I don’t know hs I blind Idlin' on the atory art< r all; but, thoutrti it may be fun to your giddy cars, fll i gapin' to listen, tw.irn',l no sorter un to me, mind, I tell ye!" Attat Betsy. who, without kith or k'in saw a bwchi lor brother, was vet ' Aunt Betsy" to the whole neighborhood, settled herself bark in h< r chair. li»t 1 her knitting in her lapj smoothed her apron carefully and began . , ‘ " Let's sea, now.'pears to fnh ’twu« nigh onto four years ago this very < hrtstmaa time when I sex to Lot. sex I. lx>t. I'm a goin’ to New York town to Me the sights. They du, say that ‘lobg about < liristma* time the shops in that are pi n e du beat all for fine thing*, and I ni a p»ln’ to take a |ook onto 'em all for a »p 11 * Lor', now, Betsey,’ ways Lot, Says he, ‘ Lor’, 'now, you’d a sight better stay tri hum and no nd that there hute ' in my trow ser leg that * keg it waitin' luost a year for an- v knee ' With that I riz rile up and srz I, ‘Lot, don't you darst to way a word agin my care of your old clo's! I I’m a palchin' and a-mendin’ the hull time, and (bat there knee may wait till I cum hum from New York town fort 1 set a titch onto It, minj. I tell you:' > “ lAt h,e sat down and larfed to kill hiliself. That riled me, and I rix up agin and looked him kind o’solemn in the face and didn’t larf back-nor nothin' 01) he grew $o shatnedybe did, that he came [down yffhia high hAte in away amazin' d <pi\e ineek.like for a >| ■’ W’< H. gals, it didn't lake long for ... ..**'* e < ' u ‘b -'ty Sami *go*nfi» ninqy inter that there hairkivi o i trunk what you're .a sluin' on this nuntilc, Julia .Johnson, a sprcmlin’ it over with yer tkmnci sand rigermajig*. La' <f I i a had etch doin'a to njty gowns 'iwould a been jist onpossible to"git cm inter that' trunk Wall, artir I’d a packed tny .Sundaj- gown and out my bunpit in. the baiwibQg and gut my ginghjuu -ambril in cao« of a . shower of rain, yer know, I was I all ready and a wailin' for the stage the next day Oh' I Ua<J nigh forgjot to fay ‘ that I hed about twenty dollar* tied in the corner of my han'kereher, and reckoned that arc would carry me through andjpay all my tavern bill*, and mebbe I might bring Lol hum a present I of suthin or another. So when the stage driv up at last I alepped in, .quite bnportanl likc. Lol he sroroled o ki»* me good-by, but 1 felt kind a snealdn' about it, rite afore the hull crowd of people, so I kind of edged off sideways apd got in with a tear in my eye. for it wax affectin' partin' With brother, especially when 1 w as goin' a lectlc agin him, yt|r kno*. . . 1 “ Wall, ihat alan shook my old .hopes (or well nigh unto an hour be fore 1 got to the place where the. keen keer-houM, they cal) it, don't they* There was the big inginc a-snortin* and biowin' and I felt just a leeilt afraid, but stepped rite in other folks, and we started. Tain't no matter how t got to New York town, but I <fc say the times I was to death v#ab really surprisin’. My ambrtl was Well .nigh broke tn pieces, with everybody a-knockin’ there knee* agin it, and my band box was rolled clean oft the seat and all unkivered. and my best bunnit was exposed to dust like everything. And the conductor, be acted like all possessed, a-tryin’ to keep me out of the kcerwhar (wanted to stay, secin* as I'd got seated down, y This is the smokin’ keer, ma’am,\ said he.|- 1 larfed in hi* face, *nd said, sex 1, *1 reckon they're all smokin' keert, ain't they:’ said I, * with that there inginc apuffin' smoke rile inter the winders.' Wall, he found 'twnrnt nd sorter use to arger with me« for I’m the most sat women, I am, whin once I am sot in a thing as ever you see, ’ And so the conductor he jist stepped, kind of smilin'like, away, and 1 felt lilrt Queen Victory a-having my own wiyi “ Pretty soon a lot of men came inter tny keer, and a ruder passel of men (beat all how rude they were,to be sure) I never seel They didn’t seem to notice my presence, but chawed and smoked rite before my eye* till I couldn’t aee a mite. Anil when I ria" up, rgrparkin’, ‘ I object to sinokin,* the fellers larfed. and told me to git out of the smokin’ keer. With that my dignity ria up and I said no more, but sot down rxornful-like; but it their feelin’s a mite We got to New York tovm wtonh it was nearly milkin' time, and, sakes alive! the way a great crowd of noisy men yelled inUr my ears was awful—mind, I tell you! I didn't knotr what they " wanted me to do—a talkin’ all tu once and a pintin' to a lot of kerriges all In a row. 8»» I pul up my ambrtl and whacked at them all till they aee I had spunk inter my natur ami left me alone, and finally a nice-spoken gentleman came up and so he: 'Mi’mj, where do you wish to go? I’ll strive you to the spot’ Soldropped b aad said kindlv sir, Fd like to be drtv to the best tavern.’ H ** wUe < l a ***»ly. “d l«rt my baggage ISV : lliStftyll 4?**' Ft#*l irfei.xWFC! a '

The Syracuse Enterprise.

must be out, and just then the wagon stopped afore a big. high house,that had, lights all over it, like Squii.e Jones' when He gives a party. The civil gentleman g»>t down from the wagon-ruff and opened the wagon door, and skid he: ‘This U the St Nickelus, ma’am.’ ‘ls itF* said I, peekin! out: ‘what a riqh man Mr. Nickel ns’must be, to be sure.’ , ‘ YotCrv to git out here, if/ you please, ma’am| said the driver. ‘Oh,’ »aid L, j'ddes Mr. Nickelus take boarders? is thit a tavern*’ He smiled again and said yes, and 1 got out and curtsied, and said: ‘Thank *ye, sir. kindly for bringin' me.' Then I watchejd him bring tny baggage up the step*, gnd he slammed it rite down hard -onto the stun floor of the tavern till I was riled a leetle, but didn’t durst to say nothin'. Just as 1 was agoln' up the steps h» ev’led •My r&VC,-n»W"Um »*•' TTnM. now, ghls, I watt clean, beat at that, for I thought be had dfuv me out of the kindness of his heart, Hut I took out tny i han'kertber and untied the corner and gave him a few pennies. With that he up and'screamed real loud : 4 “ I want a dollar, old lady; none of your nonsense' ’ La, sit" said 1, as red M a beat, ‘you " .ain't Stf purlite as 1 Vptjsed you to be.’ 1 and raftfer than lower myself ‘to a’n arger. 1 ment 1: gaFe him a dollar, but la! didn't - I .We so let it _ go! Wall 1 drew a long • lireath; when that kerridge. driw off at r IMU ' . j ■■■; ByimC’-by a nmn see me a wanderin' 1 round and A-kyd what I wanted. Then iu gayi; 'me a room, but I' had to tell a .assy clerk my name, and lie writ it in a book jfor fv.lr he'd forgit it. 1 slep’ r pretty well that night, but la me! how late solroe of the folks in that tavern did 1 sit up a larkin' and talkin'! I riz up at aunrisf an»l put on my best gown (it's • a ms*iy it hadn’t b>«n spiled >-bangin’ -i alniut |n my trunk) and thought I’d lake 1 a look atxjut the house before breakfast; but, would you believe it* 1 coUldb'.t find 1 my riimji again, and the black darkey ‘ whony t me. souftwhar way down , stairs wlrnr they was a cookin' the vittles larfed • all the! while he was a-takiu’ me back - agin 'whar I bad slep’ all night? l Pears to me I never see such merry folks as * them i|n the tavern. Whenever 1 talked * to a blessed creeier he larfed to kill, hiar self, And everybewly acted''like they was e’en aijnost tickled” to death 1 ‘-Rut’oh! 1 had thy «cuk( time "at the ‘ breakfast table, gal i I*..- down to a ‘ long table with a lot of other people, and. bein’ hungry, cat a great deal, mind, L l.tcll you. I wasn't half through earin' i wbcn.l'jist leaned back in my cheer to laki i ; Ik ;<: >und th<- r<»" ;. When up 1 i am<»a’-.»*-y waiu-Aand he whisked my • plateful of vittels away clean out of | a minit I was too » scart lo call bin. back, but my! hdw I did r hankef arter the things. I hadn’t no time . Wei,!, they brought. t:iv a kind of ■ pfokfij\ with ffoth cm tbe top of it. I i did think~The~wa’'" r might have been i’ more keerful andnoT a-spilled milk all inter the opiate, but grumblin' ain't my s way, laud 1 didn’t say nothin', only a . sighed. ’ * ‘ Prt«ently thintos I, ‘ lavs-a-massy? 1 I’m a Linin' on my gown all ia wrinkles! l —«. 1 just riz up to snp»olh nr *cl(, when A, the mu> behind me (the sasaicst fellow 1 1 ever #;e!khe Jlst up and pullet my cheat ' away, quick-like, when I ,didnt know it, ) and l\ ;t down real hard rite o> the floor, a ‘ Sir,' iex I; a riain' mournful and digni--1 fled, ‘don't try your sass on me agin, mind,-I tell you!' With that a.l the folks i bust out aiarhn’, and the waiter he axed 1 my pardon real bumble. Wai, la! bow e lat«- it i» gitun', 1 ruust burry and git • through. Let me see. I went to walk e arter breakfast, and, my suz how the I 'folks was rigged to kill. I bowed pleas- > ant-like to all 1 see, because, gals, I was a allers brung up kind of mannerly. And i' every blessed time I curtsied the folks a they began to larf. 'Spoae they never w see so guod nalurcd a crcetur as I be s afore, andiit nigh tickled’em to death, t La' iww 11 pitied them poor, smothered e cjity. folks, a ■ livin’ in lhe» crowd-- * eld jitreelt) and never aeein’ a 1 rtite of f sky 'cept where there's t holes between the houses. 1 thought of I our old caow to burn a croppiu' the sod- > diet in the barn and chawin' of her cud, s contented-like, and, my! the critter’d a '.- gL»ne well nigh crazy if she’d a been . turned out to pasture in New York town,b I reckon! 1 did wish my old man—him i that died ten years ago, before some of r yomgals were on the face of the airth—e had been a walkin' with me that mornin*, e The shops looked so fine and Christmas f> things was a bangin' all,above, lemptin'- ■, like. How them eyes of his’n would a b opened and abet with tbe Sights 1 was a 1 seein’. Wall, byme-by 1 wanted Uncross I the road, and jest as I got a leetle "way t over, a pickin’ my steps, nod boldin' my - gown elean up from the taud, one of ’ them big kerridges, with the firiter a o sittin* dear to the top, driv rite along and < nigh upsoi me. La! how mad I was, to » be sure! I gim,one screech, enough to r. wake the dead, and rix up my ambrtl and '. shook it in to the man’s face. With that I he reined up hi* critter,, and sex he, •Qoin’ up, ma'am? Want lo get inf* r ‘No, 1 sex I; ‘ but 1 want you to prt ettf j He looked queer a minit and said some- < filin’ about yrora, and then ke up . and driv rite dus to me and J splashed my Sunday gown with mud. j Now, gals, that are gown hadn't a mite 0 of dust onto it for nigh ten years or more, j and I was clean beat with the sassiness r . of that man. Just then a big man, all j dressed up like a soyer, come up, r and sex he, ' Ma’am, let foe assist you,’ e and afore 1 rekivered from my surprise g be put bis hand familiar-like agin my B “ arm: My dander had riz mighty high by i that lime, mind, 1 tell you! and I stepped U back Jike Queen Victory, and hex I; j ‘ Sir,’ sex L ‘ I’U thank you to leave me a akme. iJf my old man was 0* the face ■ lof the airth, ye wouldn’t dm to insult t the like of me. Yer tryin’ to rtrike: op T an acquaintance, and yer quite too faa miliar-like!’ With that, said he: *l*m a t pleeceman, ma’am, a-gotn’ to purteci * you from the crowd.’ Set I, ‘I ain’t 1 agoin’tobe purtected; so there now!’ i, and I rix up my ambril to him to stare .' him; then I turned away aa grand a* b Victory, and gathered up my gown and I v t -a.£■ *

way. Finally, arter tryin* and tryin’ to ; go the rite arty to Mr. Nicklusses’ house, ' I sot down - on the edge of the -sidewalk and thunk of Lot lo hum and the caow critter all alone in the ele ban, and laws! how I wished I hadn’t never a come to New York town. Byme-bya. man took me home to the tavern where I told him I was a puttin’ up, aid I was so Clean- tuckered out that I said to the man behind the big desk, said I: ‘Sir, will you be so kind as to hurry up the tea, 'cause it ■’pears to me a cup of tea will cheer my sperits a little mite.’ He only looked at me kind of impudent, and I knew ’twarnt no use to arger with him on that pint, so I didn’t; but would you I believe it? Them waiters never rang the ! tea-bell till.| was nigh starved. Tbe next day I went out .agin, but when I , got as. far as the steps I kincluded to *» Wmn. fwr f««r <ert gectro’ iwmrttcd agin, and. oh,’ my! what an awful long day that w as, to be sure! • ■ Wall, to n&kc mv story short, I thought I'd rather, oa the hull, be to hum a mendin’ Os Lot's trowser leg and feedin' the caow critter than to be a tryin* to cultivate my style in New York ; town, and so I put my Sunday gown back Inter the Jrunk (and la! how siled • it was. gals! »1 nigh erforf to see ths dirt on it) and my bunnit inter the bandbox - (ph, gals, if you could a seen how tumbled it was!) and then I went down and told the clerk I,was goin’hum. I bid him fcood-by as perlite as I knew how, and ( sex; sez I, ‘ I’m obleeged to ye, I’m’ ■ sure, yer perliteness. I’ve eni joyed myself very considerable sence I c<me.’ Then I ontied my handkercher and gev him a dollar for my puttin’ up. - Bleu rfie, gals, how he did stare! I das.sent tell ye what he said; it would mafce yer tears come to think how he treated a defenseless old pUsson like me. I had to give that creethf well nigh ontd all my money afore I could git out of his tavern. I I hadn't none left except jest to git back to hum with, and. laws! I hadn’t bought ■ a present nor nothin for Lot. except a I stick of chawin’-gum I bought of a feller . in the road rite in front of the big tavern, i I forgit what they call the road now—a i big, wide place, you know, where lots and I lots of hollerin' is goin’ on, and tbe men ■ and beast critters is alters a tryin’ to git ? in each other's way, as jt’pears. There were sights and sights of fine folks a per- • ambulatin’ in tintbroad and a admirin’ot r tharselves in the big lookin’-glaases of , the shops. I see so many a-looking in , ope of them glasses, or winders, >-what- ’ ever they was. that thinks I to myself: » ‘ I’ll see es my bunnit is on rite,’ and law > sakes! es ft warn’t all knocked sideways, r and the big rose what ought, ter be in f front like was away.to the back of my > head So I laid my ambril s down and i sot my bag on it, ami I off with soy bun- : nit and combed my hair with my fine- ! tooth comb, which I alters carry in my t pocket, and should hev got on first-rate i es the sassy boys had a left me alone. I They kep’ a lartin’ a-larfin’, till it warn’t no use for me tu try to fix my • hair before tAof winder;so I put my bunnit on and picked up my duds and came »• away. But then, gals, thia was before : I - said g<H>d by t<> the tavern-keeper, i Where was I?" I>e’me see. Oh! I was a- . Idlin’ of ye how I kem hum. Wall, I • was driv to the kcers, and paid the driver , another dollar. Oh, deary me! Then I had lo be rattled away oyer ■ tbe road agin; but 1 didn’t git into a smokin’ keer this time, mind, I tell i ye’ I kep’ a thinkin’ all the time how 1 glad Lot would be to see me to hum agin, and I sighed a sigh of satisfaction ; when at last the ingine stopped rile to ; the depot whar I got out. I am free to ■ confess to, ye, gals, that my old body was lame and stiff for many a day arter that s trip, and 1 didn’t keer about goin’ about 1 much, ye aee. Lot he was powerful glad t when 1 walked in ujxin him. But he r was so beat when I tellcd him my story > that he larfed that ere larf of his’n till I was that riled I well nigh slapped him— I a thing I ain’t done, gals, for this twenty ■ year. ; ' ‘ “ Wall, gala, I'm done now. S'pose > ye'U larf a sight when yn get hum; but r ye may es ye’ve a min’ ter. AU 1 say is, ■ I’ve seen all of New York town I want ter *ee, and I do eiyoy my vittels a sight t better to hum, where l can eat till I'm ‘ clean filled up without havin’ my plate t drawed away afore I'm nigh through; 1 and I feel free lo confess it’* a comfort - to git up and smooth myself once in a ’ while without being scart lest a sassy • man behind should draw my chair away. ’ Tain'l sot down hard onto the floor sence • 1 kem back, and it’* a matey my old i bones wasn’t bruk that day at the tav- ‘ ern ’ “ La! how late it i*» to be »ure. Ooodr by, -gal*. My! Augusty Brown, does yer ma allow of yer to wear sech long dresses a trailin’ in the dirt? Ain’t they 1 orful hard .tew wash?"—Nuraf New 1 Forfar. ! > — > TH Decliae M the Buffalo, I l A cormkfoxdest, writing of the , “great American.bison,” thinks it must ’ be acme satisfaction to him to know that • he is subserving several good purpose* in - the social economy of the nation. Bat > he doesn’t look nowadays as though he 1 took satisfaction in anything. He has - lost hi* traditional spirit and haughtiness. ! He no longer lords It over the plains, , bat, on the contrary, skulks in the rai vines like a runaway slave, tod never 1 show* fight whUe he see* a chance to flee , He has been crowded oat of nearly all ’ Kansas; the Indian Territory is no longer s a safe habitation for him; and Colorado r offers him no refuge. Turn he which r way he will, pitiless destruction stares I him in nbe face and urges him sorrow- : fully forward. He i* on hi* last legs, » and he acts aa if he realized it. Hau t not a handsome or talented brute, but he l has good blood in his veins, and deserves • a better fate. Just how much longef hi - will endure cannot be accurately copjecL t ured, but, a* we say on the border coni cerning the Indian, “ his paper is maturI ing fast.” The locomotive and thehome- • steader have been at hi* heel* for several s years past, and they will still pursue on and i on to the westward until seme rare and I radiant sentiment monger shall imortaL I ize the lad of hia *peries in a venerable

SYRACUSE, INDIANA,!THURSDAY, JANUARY 7, 1875.

ITeBS OF INTEREST. . n Braclets, long neglected, are coming again into fiishion. • ' , The bunion product of Nevada LIT , 1875 is estimafotl at |t»,ooo,ooft. “He provoked me into loving him,’ L was a Rochester girl’s excuse for engag-1. ing herself to a man whom she had ab I ways professed to bate. It is claimed for the Gaelic language that it is more ancient than the Provencal, the Latin, the Hebrew or the Sanscrit. The Chinese is probably the oldest spoken tongue. A yockg man in Boston. Mass., who couldn't afford to provide himself with $l5O coal-scuttles had a salute of 100 guns fired in honor of his Avedding the other night. ’ The sacred Ganges has at spanned by a bridge, much to the horror ' of the devout Brahmins, who confidently predict that the structure cannot ytand. The span is across the Iloughiyjonc of the deltoid mouths of the Ganges, which is regarded by the Hindoos as the true oourse of the sacred river and which is the only channel now frequented by large ships. , ■ ! Pimple* on the face usually indicate* some defect of nutrition or some error in food. Many persons on foe adoption of a wise and reasonable diet become for the first time free frOm pimples on the face; therefore, instead of doctoring them with medicines, you should look well to your habits of life, improve your digestion, wisely regulate your diet and keep the skin active by proper brthing and much life out of doors. -Says the Batar: “The next extravagance when jet shall have its day promises to be in tbe mohair braids that arg now popularly known as Titan ’braids. These braids have already reached such prices as sl2 for a piece of a dozen yards and Are bought in great quantities. Jet is literally fading before them, for dealers already show ‘dull, lusterless beads made dull on purpose to match lusterfess braids,' and surely w;hen jet loses, its glitter it has ho further reason . for being.’’ • • Dvbino the three weeks from the Ist of January a total of not less than $150.o*o,ooo will be distributed in dividends on Government, railroad and other securities in New York alone. Including Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Chicago and other business centers foe aggregate will be largely increased: and will reach a total of several hundreds of millions. All the indications are favorable for a decided improvement in business from and after the beginning of the new year. A boy about twelve years old entered a Michigan avenue barbei; shop yesterday and asked the barber to cut bis hair down close. The barber inquired if he wasn’t afraid of catching cold, when the boy replied: “ I've .got to run the chances, for there's trouble ahead. To-morrow *is the day set forme and a Sixth Ward boy to meet over behind Goodhue s barn and see who’s the boss boy of Detroit, and he's powerful at pulling hair. Cut 'er right down to the skulp ” — Detroit Free Preet. The convicts in the Massachusetts State Prison at Charlestown may attend school if they desire to, instruction in the common, English branches being a recently added feature of the institution About a hundred prisoners, mostly young men, now receive regular instihiction.. The teachers are also convicts, one of them having once been a professor in a Western college. At a recent examinathe exercises included writing, arithmetic, grammar, geography, composition and drawing. A new excitement has broken out in Paris. Certain of the philosophers of that city have discovered that dogs are as much subject to hydrophobia in extremely cold as in extremely warm weather. Figaro says: We are in receipt of many letters calling, for severe penalties, not only against mad dogs, but against the owners of them. These letters remind us of a small paper which printed at the head of its editorial columns this terrible notice: ‘ The authors of articles which are not inserted will be burned at foe stake.’ ” , Jvuax Hawthorne writes, to the London in reference to HtetemeuU published in this country concerning the secluded and desolate appearance of bis father’s grave. He says the family never chose the site with a view to publicity, , as a certain amount of privacy and seclusion was deemed derivable, and adds: “ But I have neither excuse nor palliation to offer for. foe exfopordinary blight which it appears has visited foe surrounding vegetation. Perhaps, indeed, foe ‘ entire disappearance’ of th* hawthorn bushes planted at each coruor may tee due to the fact that no such bushes were ever seen there at all , and this would certainly account for the ‘ ghostly’ aspect of the dead one wjiich is described a* remaining. rest I can only hope that foe eye* of the writer in foe Home Journal may have been so obscured by tearful sympathy g*'to have become incapable of distinguishing between ‘dead grass’ and pine-tree needles. And, finally, I think that foe grave of Nathaniel Hawthorne may safely be left to take care of itself.” When a Worn* Will She WBL _ A few year* ago an American lady, while studying medfcine abroad, having been ref used admittance io a course of medical lecture* in one of foe most noted universities in Germany, determined to pat on male costume and pass herself off for a young man. One day aa American Consul was summoned to* bbtel to see* lady from foe United State*. A* there was do reception-room in the hotel he was shown up to foe room indicated in foe note lie had received by foe servant. He looked in vain for the lady, bat saw what he supposed was a young man titting on a trttnk. He was soon undeceived. The “ boy" said be wan simply in disguise and set forth at length foe reasqns for such ertTaordinazy conduct. She said she was resolved to attend font coarse of lectures and had called in foe Consul to cl Ifr*- oT I j-td* -■ z " j. — —.-1 a.

sul was a novel one,[but he finally consented to take the lady’s statement and promised to keep the secret inviolate unless she should be discovered. This did not happen. The disguise answered its purpose; foe lady remained at 'the i institution a year, passed through foe ■coarse with honor, and is doubtless now (applying the knowledge gained in .. her practice somewhere in the United States: We suppress all names of persons and places for obvious reasons but give the fact in illustration of the indomitable parseverance of women ambitious of a professional career in pursuit of knowledge under difficulties.— Cincinnati Commercial. c Scrap-Books and Scrap-Screens. Making scrap-books is an amusing occupation. For the roughest scrap-book the foundation may be an old copy-book or a couple of newspapers folded, stitched together, cut even at the edges and pasted over with brown paper outside. Pictures from illustrated* papers, catalogues, etc, are usually to be had in abundance in these days of pictorial weekly publications. Cut ojit the pict- . ures and-paste them close together on ‘ the leave* of thp book so as to. cover •very part of it, or if any corners and strips art left blank cover them with bits of colored or silver paper. . The latter is often supplied gratis by the grocer in the form ofa wrapping for coffee or chocolate. When the book is filled it still furnishes amusement for many evenings to-come; indeed, foe best part of the joke occurs when, with a box •f colors and a few cameVs hair brushes, foe juvenile amateur artists set °to work coloring the labor of their hands accord-” ing to their notion of things in general and good taste in particular. We have seen a family of children and even some of their elders amused with making a succession of such scrap-books, taking two or three at a time as they were finished'to the hospitals and giving them to the sick children. Such gifts are a real boon #to the little tones of the very poor, who seldom possess toys or books; to children pictures furnish ideas, and silently assist in the great work of education by making them wonder and think, even when they do not learn much. While the juveniles find amusement in such things as these their elders, wno possess some artistic taste and the ambition to produce a really beautiful object, need not think “ scraps” contemptible. Folding scrapscreens are sometimes very handsome and werth four or five sovereigns each. It is usual to order a screen from a carpenter to be covered with plain paper, black or colored. Violet, chocolate and indigo blue make good grounds, but' black the beef of all. A clothes-horse, covered first with canvas or unbleached calico, and afterward with paper, may be converted into a screen. Friends who take an interest in the work will gen erally contribute a variety of colored scraps, such as music frontispieces, valentines, fashion plates, and pictures they are tired of keeping, fruit, flowers, fig ures, landscapes, butterflies—in short, any subject is available. Sufficient for thfe screen should be cut out before application is commenced. Very sharp scissors are needed, for their work can not be too exact; on this the finish of appearance depends—a white margin left destroys the beauty of the screen. Fruit, flower* and figures are generally entirely ent out, but a tiny bit of standing ground is sometimes accorded to the latter. In a landscape too much foreground is not .desirable. The appearance of a patch anywhere on the screen should be avoided, so that landscapes must be handled with great taste and judg ment, using part perhaps. Little pictures, wreaths, flies, etc., serve to fill the interstices between large objects. Great care must be taken in keeping foe scraps they are cut out, not to damage foe fine point* and edges which will abound in some of them. Good gum is the best to fix them. To try the effect, fix them all on by a mere corner with a morse] of gum, easily detached without injury to foe ground. Formality is altogether to bt avoided; foe effect ought lo be that of perfect carelessness, and the greater the jumble as to size, subject and antagonistic posi--8 lion the better. The pictures are never to touch one another, but show the ground and the space between, and must harmonize in size (not, of course, in shape) when viewed from a distance. Where too great a space appears to exist put a little flower, a bee, a tiny wreath, or any convenient picture. Allow the gum a day or two to dry before applying the varnish. The screen must be locked up in a room quite undisturbed during the latter process, as a touch, or even the imperceptible dust set floating in a room by a person walking across, would jeopardize the beauty of a work that has cost much time and patient labor. Copal is the best varnish, and one coat must be allowed to dry before toother is applied. It should be put on urith a brush like paint, taking care to chww it down by little strokes close on one Another, but it should be one smooth, even coat. The coatings should hot be repeated too many times, as an undue thickness of varnish renders it liable to crack.. As soon as a good glossy surface exist* foe work is complete.— Leitttre Hour. A Cwt'* Worth «f Paataje. . A gentleman of this, city having oc- , casion to send a large photograph to Albany, N. Y., took it to the postoffice to ; ascertain foe postage thereon. He was t informed that by inclosing foe photok graph in an unsealed envelope it would be transmitted through the mail for one cent. This he paid, wrote tbe name of , tbe party for whom the photograph wa* . intended on foe envelope, also the name L of the street, foe number of foe house and foe word* “New York,” but forgot , to write “ Albany.” He also attached the i stamp. After several week* he found i the envelope with its contents in his postoffice box. The cover bore marks 1 showing that foe carriers in New York ! tod even in. foe surrounding ci tie* had f made numerous unsuccessful attempt* t/h find nFFSOB nanYpd in thF diWiCk lion. | How did foe package find ft. way

picture bore the name of a well-known photographer of this city, and to him as a last resort the picture was sent by the postoffice authorities for identification He recognized it at once, and the photograph, after a‘ journey of over 1,500 miles, after passing through many hands at horpe and abroad, returned whence it came, all for a cent. The Postoffice Department may congratulate itself on possessing some conscientious cmployes.-r-CincinnatfGatette. ,* Snappy People. We know persons so genial that their face is always full of sunshine, and there is no night there. When they have trouble you can hardly tell whether they are crying or laughing, the wave of tear* dashing against a bank of smile*. But we meet others who are explosive and gunpowdtry under slight provocation. There is such a thing (who would have thought it?) as a snappy editor. When you enter his editorial rooms he does, not look up for a long while. You stand with your hat in your hand thinking what a luxury jt would to be asked tp sit down. While you are meditating the best way of attracting his attention he suddenly look* over his shoulder and spits out, “ What is it?” There is .flash in the eye and a venom in thp tone that make you feel yourself a villain, though previously you had supposed yourself honest. Before you get through telling him what you want he is at another editorial and he finally puts you off by telling you he cannot attend to it now. You back out wiQi apologies for iuteiTuption, but inwardly resolving that you will never risk your life again in an editorial sanctum. There is such a thing as a snappy railroad conductor. When he announces the name of a depot he bites off the first letter Mid the last syllable. It is al your peril to ask him foe name of the next station. White you are deciding in which of your eight pockets you put your ticket he gapes upon you devouringly, as much as to say: “ I have you now! Y’ou expected to get a ride without paying for it, eh?" If you venture to tell him that the car. i* very cold he will f reeze you still worse with a wondering stare. If you ask why there* is noj water on the train he will throw ovei; you the wet blanket of a curt reply, tot that is water enough. lie ts snappy to the old,lady who is too long getting off, and the old gentleman who is too long getting on; snappy about where you put your feet, snappy about where you set your valise. Before many miles all the passengers feel the contagion from having been bitten by such a snappv disposition, and so they get snappy too. You have noticed, furthermore, the snappy merchant. After you have asked for a certain style df goods he halts before showing them, a*-much as to say: , “Do you really w’ant to buy, or are you among those who do nothing but go .-shopping, and are you going to take up my time for nothing?” He talks over the counter in exasperating monosyllables. When you point out a defect in the fabric he asks: “Do you expect to find anything perfect under the sun?” While you are meditating whether or not you-had better take the good* he says: “You need not have it if y»u don’t want it!” As you qpietly suggest that you saw something a little cheaper at the next store he howls at you: “Go there ' and get it!" As you go out he slams the door after you, and you go down ths street with irritations all over you, just because you came in contact with a snappy merchant. Suavity is an art that we all need to cultivate. It pays to be gentleman or lady. Porcupine? are fit for nothing but , museums. Most) of us need to have a smoothing iron run over our tempers. ’ Many people get up to a cherry heat At a ( moment's notice and do not always cool off *o quickly. Some are like hot jour- ( nals on foe railway car* —a little friction ■ and, lo! they are on fire, and it takes ice and salt and waste and lime to get things running smoothly; and then there ; i* no saying when they will be on fire again. If we had more of foe spirit of Him concerning (Whom it was said, ’ “ Grace is poured into Thy lips,” we , would all cease being snappy.— Chritlian at Work. Lycaathrogia. I .1 t Closely connected with outbreaks o£ ’ lupine rabies, of which we have authentic accounts as torly as the thirteenth century, was the remarkable superstition of the middle ages termed IgoantAropia-n ’ belief that human beings were tempora- ' rily transformed into wolves (or ‘- were- ’ wolves” as they were called:),- in order to satisfy an unnatural craving for human blood. It is well known that the ’ wolf, when rabid, exhibits a peculiar 1 change of habit and character. It quits ‘ it* customary haunts in the forest re- ’ cesses and displays no fear or hesitancy 1 in entering towns and villages, where it 5 boldly encounters dogs, men and other ■ creatures, attacking them furiously, bit- ' ing and tearing them and then continu--7 ing it* dreadful course of destruction. 1 Brer a relates that at Crema, I taly, in;I8O4, 5 a mad wolf descended from the mountains ’ and bit not only a vast number of animals, t but thirteen person* besides, of whom 5 nine perished of hydrophobia. This ' peculiar audacity of foe rabid wolf, tod foe fact that a human being suffering from foe disease often imagines himself personally identified in some mannei with the animal that bit him, were doubtless - largely concerned in the maintenance of - this superstition at a period when, a* > Lecky observes, the air was surcharged s with foe supernatural. But, in fact, this * fable may be traced back to mythological 1 ages, and the existence of the “Weres wolf ” ha* been attested by Herodotus, f Pliny, Strabo, Virgil, Ovid and other » ancien. authors. Most of os remember ’ foe story recounted in Ovid’s “Metas morpboses,” of Lyeaon, King of Arcadia, t who entertained Jupiter with human F flesh, iu order to prove his I and was punished by having nil his »sons, I. save one, and himself, transformed into ’ wolves.— Popular Monthlg. ’ r “ 1 The Prineess Beatrice is described as 5 1 very sharp-witted, rather ihrewiih in - disposition and aniuveterata.*ticklt r for j all U>e jpriVilegw of a® iii’

Qomtg I . •’ , 1 -•" I WEAVE AND WIN. i i BT OKORGB KLIMOLB. '■ ( Fifty times over a epider had tried To fasten hia web to a certain aide Os a dark, low dungeon, where never a ray Os eunahine entered the livelong day. Except through a crevice quite small to behold— A crevice to small that a sunbeam leks Im Id Would never have ventured. "Wha» folly to try." Said a pale, puny spider, in wandering’by; <- What folly to think that by struggling there To fasten your web in the sunlit-air; v . Hundreds have tried it—yes, thousands—before; But behold! they are dust, and nothing more; They have tried and.failed. Far better, I know, To wait for-grubs in the space below ,t ■ Than to try iu such a difficult way To spread a trap for more delicate prey.” “ Spider,? the other replied, as he turned. The delicate prey is for those who have earned A post in the sunshine; pray starve on still Hit salts roar taste: but I can and wjil Sit in the sunshine, breathe ths pure air, ; Plentifully feed on delicate fare. Others may fail, may tire ere the end. To starve and to whine over grubs may descend, Bnt I know that by patience and labor alone I shall fasten the strands of my sunlit throne. I may die at the task, but, spider, I fall Only when dead from the sunlit wall!” Eagerly over and over again. Fastening the threads and fastening in vain; Eagerly upon .the. dungeon wall. Trying and failing, yet conquering for all. s • Behold! at length in hie joy, alone. The spider swung an his airy throne. And drank in the sunlight, breathed in the air. Rejoiced in flavor of delicate fare. But where was the spider so. puny, so wise, Wailing for grubs to walk under hie eyes? Shriveled and gon l -. Haring frettesd and whined At the darknees, the dampnese, the nothing to And. And died, poor epider, you well may believe, Bocauee too4<tle to work and to weare. —Chritlian at Work. k BEAR STORY. Abe and Ulysses had no business to go up the mountain that sunitmerafternoon; but they seized the opportunity, while their father and mother were in Manchester on a visit, to do what they had long wanted to dq—to go trOut fishing. The boys lived half way up one of the Green Mountains and three mile.s from the village in the valley. Their father Mr. Waite, was a farmer, and he had no children except Abe and Ulysses, who .were twins. Away up on the top of the mountain ■ was a lake out of which ran the brook, that flowed by Mr. Waite’s house, and finally joined with several brooks from the mountain across the valley to form Otter Creek. On this brook stood a saw-mill, where every autumn Mr. Waite sawed the logs he had cut on the mountain the winter before. Twenty or thirty years ago the mopntain was Covered with large trees; an<| the man who built the saw-mill, built at the same time, out of great logs, a gutter, or “ shoot,” in which tp send his timber down from the top of the mountain to themiil. The sheot was qf the shape of a wine-butt cut open lengthwise; it was two miles long and so steep that, it didn't take a log more than .five minutes to go down. Think of that, boys! Abe and Ulysses, as I told you, had no business to go up the mountain; but near the house the brook had been pretty well fished, and they wanted to follow it up, to stay all nifht at the log-house that had been built for the wood-cutters, and, in the morning, to fish arouml the' edge of the pond. They told Patrick, the q hired man, where they were going; and, taking some of mother’s “goodies” from the pautry, they started up the brook. After they had gone.a little way, Abe called out: “ Lyss, suppose we should meet -that bear that Ben Bennett saw up here last winter?" “ Ho,” said Lyss, “I don’t believe that he saw any bear; besides, if we tKould meet one, I know what I’d do.” “ What?” said Abe. • , ’ “ Why, stand still; and when he cante near and opened his mouth to bite push foe butt end of my fish-polo sdown his throat, and that would kill him; and then, if he didn’t die soon enough, I’d cut his throat with my jack knife.” “ I should be scared,” said Abe; “ I hope we shan’t see him. I should run if he came after me.’’ The boys were now at the bottom ’of ’ foe shoot, and since it was easier to fish ( standing in it they got in and began to ' walk up. They carried their basket of food Sy turns; they fished in every little pool for a few minutes, and they had , caught two large strings us trout before " theywssched the cabin. , The boys put their fish into the brook j to keep fresh, and then gathered some leaves and twigs for a fire. Before long k s fire was burning brightly and five or six trout were forked sticks over it. With these as a relish they ate' r their bread and butter on the step of the cabin-door, and planned how to ’ spend the money they knew they could r get for the trout from the city boarders ’in the village.. 11 After supper they put out their fire r and climbed up the ladder into the loft ‘ where the wood-cutters slept in winter. After brushing a clean place on the floor they carried up a lot of grass to lie upon; then they went down tod shut the door and put a chopping-block against it—“ to ’ keep out the bear,” Abe said. This done, 1 they went up-stairs to bed, and, tired out ’ with their walk, were soon asleep. i Next morning the boys woke up early. I After eating their breakfast they toox , their fish oat of the brook and started for 1 foe lake, which could not, they knew, be , far off As they went, they began to ( think of what Ben Bennett had told them f —how, when was going up foe , brook alone, tbe bear suddenly came out. I of a thicket upon him, and chased him so ; tar that he ran all the way down the I mountain in great fright, vowing never . to go up again alone. “Shouldn’t you really be afraid,” said f Abe, “if he should jump at us out of r that bush?" “Pohl not” answered Lyss. “It never seemed to me that David was so ’ very brave because be killed foe lion and the bear.** Lyss, nevertheless, as he said ’ this, pretty hard at foe bush; and jumped when, a minute laters partridge that they had started up flew off » with a load whirr. All at qaee Abe » called out : f r “ There he ,!•!** 51 * Over theres

TERMS: $2.00 a Year.

NUMBER .11 -

thing, some animal, was toward them. Lyss didn’t wait to a closer acquaintance but tuitned around and ran as fast as he couldjtoward shoot, tumbling down and lof iug his fish on the way. As Abe started to -follow^ bis brother he heard a great crackling of bushes behind ; the animal was following him at a run. The noise came near©)’ :md-wearer in spite of all Abe’s efforts to escape. He looked around and sa‘ r — Farnwij ’Bensbn’s calf, which had st ’bycd away, jand, glad to see a human jpeing again, was galloping down the patl|. 1 Abe stopped, picked up Lyas' fi-b 'ar 1 driving the calf before him wen; . ougl» Hie woods home, where he found ’'iis father and Patrick just starting i of him. . ■' Lyss was heartily ashamed of bin-cow-ardice; and when he saw Mr. Benson pay Abe half a dollar for bringing tW calf home' he determined that he woulc try to be a little more courageous tin next time he saw a bear. — From Uteri# for Children. . How Nelly Saw the Old Year Go Out Little jNeUy Neal couldn't derstand it. She heard folks talk aboui the Old Year “ going out” and the Ney Year “coming in,” and shewondered tc herself where the Old Year went to, ant if anyone ever saw him go, and when the New Year came from, and if anybodj ever saw him come. It was a puzzle She ■ determined, however, that sh< would watch this season and see fur her 'self the Old Year “go out” with hei own ejds. Therefore, when she over heard mamma say to Aunt Josie on< night, as she undressed the children. “When Nelly goes to sleep we’ll g< down to * Trinity watch-meeting’ and sei the Old Year out,” Nelly just made uj her mind she wouldn’t “go right U sleep, 'V as mamma bade her, but shr would stay wide awake ever so long iti Stead, And then, maybe, she would sei the Old. Year go, too. But after mamma and auntie ha< kissed her good night, heart mamma say to papa: “ You sit\uP us. the girls are tired, and look aT th! children once in a whije,” Nelly fel very sleepy. Her eyelids felt so heavj they wouldn’t stay open at all, not »vOt when she tried to hold them apart will her fat little fingers; and it wasn’t ver] long before Nelly was away off in ttal beautiful country of childhood’s dream land. She must have' been there somi time, for she had been having some re* good times with her dollies, wW always conversed with her tju real voices in that Jmjjpy land when, suddenly’, with a little -fltdTl Nelly opened her eyes, and, sun enough, there stood the Old Year rigH by mamma’s bureau. He was a dark cross-looking old man, to be sure, anti he seemed to be moving around irerj cautiously. Nelly saw him open the toj drawer and but mamma's new watci that papa had given her Christmas. .’ Bht supposed, in a sleepy sort of thal must be Time he was taking along will him. She did not stir or make any noise but just watched him put things into t bag he held in his bund, and waited tc see where he’d “ go” to, so as she couli tell Dollie Deane apd Susy Silver 4T about it next day. She lay very sul until she saw him move over toiard the crib w here Baby Bunn lay sleeping. Oh, no; she couldn’t let him take the baby too Why, the New Year only brought lira to them last winter, and —no, no—-the Cid Year should not “go out” with thdi baby! ■ Just thenjffveryshrill, pwreingM’Tcsh startled papa. ‘‘.No, no!” it sljriebed “you shan't have my baby brother.’ From the library to the nursery was ini a step, and papa rushed wildly over t< discover the cause of the outcry. Oi the stairs he met a figure... which hci past him .swiftly® knd rushed down pie stairs and out of the A* dropping a package as he ran. “What is it, Nelly? Speak, tnycß ling! are you hurt?” cried paps, will pale lips, as he came toward the Httli white-robed figure that stood beside th< crib. “ No, papa—but he was going to tak< Bunn, too, and I wouldn’t let him—and ] hate him, and I’ll never watch to see an other Old Year go out,” and Nelly burs into a passion of tears. J* Papa understood now, and, .seeing hi; little ones were unharmed, he bade Nell’ take care of baby, who opened his browi eyes and seemed to quite enjoy the ex citement and dissipation of the hour while he should go down-stairs to seei there were any traces left of the burg • lars. It was too late, however, to catch tni thief,foiSall his spoils warn,gestured, fa the A, n dle he b»d droppeu. In DlrtMlll to escape, contained, all the valuable booty he had selected. _ 1 Mamma hugged her darlings close tc her bosom when she came home ant heard the story, and declared she woulc never leave them again to go to “ watch meeting.” Nelly fel t herself quite a heroim when papa told everybody pext day boa brave she had been to give the alarm ant frighten off the burglar. But Nelly stil declares, when she tells the story to hei playmates, that it was the Old Year ahi saw “go Princb Nicholas * Ser vian noble, died the other d’Amsterdam in Parts'.' Ire -j2ml b® obliged to leave/’Js own when he could no longer remain, from tire ide among the country people that he b< longed to a family of vampires, the ek est sons of which for three generation came out of their graves to suck th blood of living people. It is said tha five days before his death he yas cob versing with his landlord and lold hin that it would- he well, after hie depease to remove his heart so as to prevent hi ; J Kim. Kaiakafa has. it Is saidjau it come wf522,•500 per annum. Think-<l< [ worth of X r SmTutSsdmoSSL 0 *