The Syracuse Enterprise, Volume 1, Number 4, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 28 January 1875 — Page 1

J. P. PRICKETT, Editor and Proprietor.

VOLUME I.

THE FARMER# FIRESIDE.

Aitov ,yi> the fire, one wintry night. The farmer'* rosy children- **t; . . The fagot lent its blazing light. And mirth went round, and hartnjess chat ' When hark l>* gentle hand they hear Low tapping at the bolted door, ‘ And thus to gain their willipg ear A feeble voice was beard Implore “ Cold blows the blast aeries the moor, Tire sleet drive* hissing in the wind ; Yon toilsome mountain tie* before, A dreary, treeless waste liebilid “ My eyes are dim and weak with age;' No road, can I descry; And these poor rags ill stand the rage Os such a keen, inclement sky. •' So faint I am, tliese tottering feet ' No.more my palsied frauw 1 can l*ear; My freezing heart forget* to beat. And drifling>nows my tomb prepare.— “ Open your hospitable door, ,’ And shield me from the biting bias*; - Cold, cold it blow* acro«j» the moor,' The weary moor that 1 hare passed." With hasty steps the farmer ran. And close beside the fire they place The poor, half frozen beggar-man. With shaking limbs and pale-bluoface. The little children fio king came And chafed hi* frozen bands in-theirs And busily the good old dame A substantial meal prepares. Their kindness cheered his drooping soul. And slowly down bi» wrinkled check •Ths big, round tear w«* seen to roll. And told tbs; thanks he could nbt apeak. The children then began to sigh, I ; And all their merry.ebal was o'er',' t And yet they felfFTficy know not. why, More glad than-they had done before. a . A—. »■ — SMI TH'.S REHEARSAL oI - ever knew a nicer fellow tlu.n Smith lie wa* an artist, and everything you could wish for- in the man w hom you made your friend For instance, he w as good looking, but ' not so good-looking that you felt jealous of him when .you introduced him to the ladies of your acquaintance. He was A tall and str"nc i nWugh to take your part * where phy <> was necessary He was well enough off nut to want to bor row money of you and to lend it when you wanted to Ixirrow,yourself And to crown all. he had a -temper of the most suave de-criptioh imaginable. If he played whist with you and won he pock; eted the money; if, on tin contrary. yoh[ won. it did not make the slightest diffcrChee to Smith;-you pocketed the money, that Was all. To use the language of the by-gone professor* of “ the noble art of self-defense," Smith was a man who always came up smiling, and for him life Seemed to have no care. It is said to be a long lane that has no turning; and Smith found that there was a'turning in his at. last, and the turning led hjm into a quagmire of misery-Mnto a Slough of liespond. 1 mpst tell you, by thtf way, that Smith, in ((pile of his good looks, was a/bjt of a cynic 4 . He sneered at women and l<»oked upon them as an inferior/orddr of beings—only suited to make into ‘ahirt makers, the setters-on of buttons and washers of gar meats. It wat very objectionable for a ru«n to have sueh points, i>ut then wt are none of us born pyrfccVt ■■ How' a his senses, ' ~ mind," said Smith to me one day in confidence—“can go, with his eyes wide open and say to a ‘ Here, my dear, let me be your slave for life,'find ifig you in house room and dresses,* gets over me. And the matter doesn't stop then*, -for n>> one could possibly supply a woman with all that she wished for. Then look at her children and th* conse ijuenl expenses there Even if a man could treat it in this light, namely, that his income would double on and go on doubling w ith every i child born unto him, it .would be a great un dertakinrg; but as masters are, oh„ tay ddjfU»oy. it s atroc-ou'* * I'll never marry **t look-at Jennings " Not here," I said, "to lookai" “ No. dear boy," he said suavely; “ but Idpk at his position, mentally—twelve twin* three limes, which makes k sextet. Fancy—being a man with a sextet! It’s h«rri’>J« ’ Try another of these .cigars, bld fellow. I wouldn't be Jennings for all the world '' “ Nice little wife, though," I said. “Yea, the rehllv ia»" *aid Smith, “ a - moat amiable little woman. How welcome she always make* you when you go! Jennings is very proud of her. ’ ■“So he ought to be,” lYaid. •" Mrs. J; is a model little woman; love* her husband dearly and always has a sweet, candid smile for hi* o|d friend*. Seen her sister? 1 ’ J ' "Yes," said Smith. ‘♦Tve seen -her.' But, after all, it’s a sad position for a . man to be in—tied up to a woman How he must look with'envy at his bachelor acquaintance! Ah. woman, woman!— as Milton said, ‘ whose mortal taste brought death into the world, and all our woe.” ,", . ..... “Mgntly,’’l said; “if you must inflict quotations on your friends, do it correctly ‘ “ That’s' quite correct. I assure you." said Smith. ' , “ Quite incorrect,’’ I said. “b it really, though?" he answered, opening his pleasant gray eyes venwide. “ 'Veil, do you know, now, 1 thought that was quite right ?" “ By the way,” 1 said, “ the Jenningses ■ gijfC * psr’y next week. Axe yon going?” ‘•Dear boy, no> said Smith; “they " a*lw>d W* _ j . “ And you declined?” >. “ WeQ. no, 1 haven’t declined yet. I’ve Icadyhadthc letter a week. But lmean to.” ' . I ‘ “Don't decline, then; but go.’’ “ Why, my deaz fellow, they'll have all the children out, and cake, and oranges, and bliadman's buff. It will be a regular rough-and tumble affair. Perhaps ask you to hold the twin*. ’ “But you like old Jennings?" I said. “Dear old hoy. isn't her said Smith, earnestly. “ Well, he will feel alighted if you stop sway" ' “Think he wIHT* T . -■ “iw'ru go,” .aid Smith. “But ! ahaii be a regular "Vol blanket on the party.” ‘ Tne night of the Jennings party came and, having a weaknem for children, I

The Syracuse Enterprise ~r ’ z . ■. .

meant to go early ;.but, being a medical man, I was called away, slid did not reach the Jennings’ place till half pa>t ten. „ There was a regular shriek in the dining room, mingled with roar* of laughter, the knocking together of chairs, and fries of “ Take care.'” as I divested myselflof top-coat and hat; and when I in through the door if was to see full evening costume, with two Sjtnds gone out of bis.shirt front, his white tie under one ear, the »aid shirt front a regular rag, his hair all touzled, a big white bandkerchief tied over his eyes, a young Jennings hanging on *to each coat tail, and others baiting him, as ‘with ioutstretchrtl hands he groped about trying to catch somebody to take hts’place. — Ah.; Dobby, glad to see you," • said Jennings, coming up open handed. “Oh, Mr. Dobby, how late you- are!” cried Sirs Jbnnlnes. " Raw gahie. i>n i it?" cried Jennings. mopping the perspiration off his head. “1 declare it isn't fair,” cried a pretty, silvery litjle voice; and Grey, Mrs. Jennings' sister, with rosy face,eye* sparkling, and her sunny hair flying, dashed undef my arm just as a pair of stout ones were tlirown about me, and I turned around to gaze full in,the face of Smith, who, with the handkerchief dragged,down, exclaimed loudly,. and. evi<lentlv in great astonishment:" - ‘ " “Caught the wrongon< . eh’ - ' I said. “ Didn’t know you’d come,” said Smith, evasively. "Oli, Mr b<cn -uch fun.” cried one of the children. ■■ Do de Smiff.” cried * twin-’-tli-ird series. .‘'Thow Mithtcr Dobby the pigth in the thty," said another twin —second series. », " No, n.->; 'lr Sm- !i. do make. the jHx ket-handk< r< liief dance, and the old man on tin wall,” said another.' 1 “ My dear children, y-»u will worry Mr.Smith todi alh,” exclaimed beaming little Mrs Jennings. „ “ Oh, never mind—l—l*rather like it,’’ said Sfnith. " “ Give me another ride on your back, Mr. Smith, ' cried another; and as lie stooped to lift a chubby tyrant on to hi* shoulder there Wess a yell of delight and a charge like p hurricane —children hanging on to hi* coat fails, bis legs, his arms, garuting him, and he suffered it all with the greatest composure—(indeed, with a «|ense of enjoyment shining out of his face that was most refreshing. . At last,.by installmenfii and pairs, the family departed for bed; but not without Smith being inveigled into carrying little Johnny up stairs. sThcn. with his feathers smoothed, he Was called upon to go down to the s.iyg supper provided ‘for dur "especial bc&flt. , "Will you take Jenny down. Smith?’’ *aid-Jennings° ‘ ■ Mr. Dt&b yis going to take me down.' Tom,’? said the prejty little lady. And I played cavalier without noticing the air of discontent in Smith's coun tenancc » The supper passed off very pleasantly t for little Jennie certainly was the liveliest liule girl 1 1 hid taken' down to supper for years. She was chatty, 100, and full of repartee and mirthful .remark. while Smith grew silent and staid “Those children have completely tired you but, Mr. Smith,” said - Mrs. Jennings. “ And Smith sighed and said-. “No, hot at all." •- Hut he kept very-quiet all the same: and when we went out together, abouttwelve, there was hardly a word spoken on the to our chamoera 1 saw Smith again and again during the next two months, and could not help remarking that a change had come over him. “ It's your Ibrer, 1 think, old fellow," I said;let me write'you a prescription.” ' No.". l.c said,, "it isn’t liver. I’m as well as can be." I 'book my head. But as he did not seem disposed to give mg his confidence I did not care to press him; and time slippedon, with the poor fellow growing more quiet day by day. 1 think I told you that Sintth was an artist Hg was. but ia i crf.' j <-'r’ kind of way. He was ibp risur by rights: T>ut he did not briefs, and he did not want any, but spent bis time writ ing smart little article* ser* rfe .secMta. for a> well-known magazine Smith’s chambers were in the Temple, up at the top of one of the range* of buildings, where he could enjoy a capitaTN iew of the river and embankment, and many were, the .pleasant evening* wb had spent there together. It happened one day during thi* present autumn that, trying by Temple Bar, I encountered a couple of ladies turning up the one-sided remain*of Bell yartL and one of them asked me if that wa* the way into the Temple. I hastened to set them right when —— “ Hallo, said a cheery voice, “ where are you going?” “ I was just going to see Smith,” I replied, shaking'Jennings heartily by the band. “ Here’* the wife and Jenny here," he said; and the next moment I was paying ■my court to the ladies., “I say," said Jennings, “let’* go and storm Smith.”. ’ -Oh, ho, Tom——” began Jenny. *• Why not?" said Jennings. “ He’ll be delighted to see us—won’t he, Dobby?" - u That I’ll answer for," I said ; and a few mintnes afterward we were climbing the cold stone stair* and passing dismal oak door*. - . , A* I beared the top fiber—for I wa* sent, on first byway of pioneer—l became aware of the fact that the door was ajar ami I heard Smith’s voice; but, nA be wae evidently repeating *omcthing to himself as if learning Jt, I had no hesitation in listening, especially as wearer* such old friend*. But I paused on the threshold, for this is what met my eye: < Smith in a short jacket and slipper* was kneeling on the carpet before an easy chair in which he had stuck the bolster from hi* bed, and on the top of it was his smoking-cap with its long tassel.' “Amateur theatricals," I said to myself —“ rehearsal.” But the next moment T was dbmb witk astonishment, for Smith went on: , “Dearest Miss Grey, since the flrat night when Lbebeid.you al year sister's house I have madly, passionately loved you. Here, then, kaiteling nt your feet,

I make you the offer of my heart and hand." '“That isn’t so bad," he muttered- “ Let’s try again.” And so intent was he that he did pot hear the fresh Steps on the landing, while I maliciously allowed Jennings to lead Miss Jenny close up to where I stood, when I held her hand, and let her 'listen.as tM poor fellow went on :' “Dearest Miss ; Grey, since the first night when I beheld you at your sister's houseUl have madly, passionately loved you. Here, then, kneeling at your feet, I make you the, offer of my heart and hand.” "Bravo, Smithy," I said, throwing open the door. “That’s pretty perfect. Now go through it again with the lady.” I'm afraid it was rather malicious, though it may have been some wicked jnip prompting me. At all 9 events 1 did the deed; and these two looked at mejri if they wished to crush me out of existence, while Jennings roared with laughter, and Mrs. J. said it was a great shame. J Little Jenny was very indignant, but she carried it off well; and a* soon as Smith had got over the surprise he knocked the bolster he had been addressing as Miss Grey off the chair, and tried to Seat Mrs. Jennings in it. But Jennings was too quick, and popped the little sister there, to her infinite ' L ' ; We had refreshments and a pleasant chat, during whjch I said to Smith: “ Don’t look like that, man, when I brought the real tljing here." I saw it all plainly* enough now—cynic al Smith had been most desperately gone with Jenny, who liked him too; but, afte r the fashion qf some young ladies, snubbed him and kept him at bay.. After the meeting, though, at his chamber.' and thje discovery of his rehearsal, Jennings .wm not long, aid(jd by his wife, in ar-, ranging for the proper acting.of" the dram*. So Smith declared, was ac <-opted, the play came off, and I was one of the actors —beSj man was my part; and I could not help thinking how pleasant? it- would be if some little Jenny would take pity bn my forty-five years and gray hairs, add make me as happy a man as was Smith upoji his wedding day. ;|' The rehearsal, though, is a' standing joke; and the sticking up of a sofa pillow whenever, we may meet is sure to bring a red flush into the cheeks of Mrs Smith and a declaration from her that it is too bad for anything. Poor Smith! hbw he oughj to have, thanked us for bringing matters to a climax.' • \ <. w Miners and Gambling. A Dexvek i Col f correspondent of the Fitclibuyg (Mass.) Seniinß, writes: Early in the year INfiO a boy left his home in the States, bound for the, new El Dorado then known as Pike's Peak. After several years of varied experience made a raise" from a mining enterprise and Started on a visit to the old folks at home. But on reaching Denver the in fatuations of that city were too much for him In hopes of increasing his fbrtune he played heavily and lost all, and returned to the mountains without a dollar. Years passed on and another “ windfall" came into his possession, and again hi* passion for the “ green doth” got the better of him while on his way through Denver and he was obliged to borrowmoney in order tp get back to the mines. Last month fortune again favored him, when he succeeded in passing Denver and it* allurements in safety and is now enjoying the pleasures of home and the society of his early friends for the first tirnfe in nearly fifteen years. There are countless numbers of men here w ho have squandered thousands of dollars that they have suddenly acquired from working or selling for them to repeat the operation a* for the sun to shine; money Hies in every direction a* lang as they have any/ A Nice Man to Ride With. The Ixmdpn correspondent of the GrapAic (ell* this story: “ One of the most popular notions in England is that our system of railway traveling surpasses yours in comfort from the fact tbat wifti our small' carriages it is easy to get a compartment to oneself, or, at worst, a carriage with only one nr two occupants. Theire are drawback*, however, even to this summit of. earthly felicity, a* the adventures of a worthy director who recently traveled from one Midland station to another may show. The train he had to catch was very full and he was rather late, and in hurrying to and fro be observed a carriage ten anted by two ; men, one of whom was leaning out of the window whJU JNo. 2 was asleep tn tkie corner. No. 1 endeavored to assert that the carriage Was taken, but the director would stand no such nonsense and bustled into the car ! nage, followed by the' solicitor to the i company. The train started immediately, And tenant No. 1 proceeded toexplain | that bis sleepy triend was a lunatic, and i|hat he wa* hi*keeper, and that a* his patient was excitable all that was to be hoped was that he might not wake. Unluckily this hope proved vain, and the invalid, being aroused, required the director to sit opposite to him while he explained the theory of the connection between fish-pond* and frogs, the director’s open mouth doing duty for'the former and the ranuacittt being represented bV little pellets of paper, which were hurled i down the aperture with great precision by the lunatic. This interesting invalid i next insisted on the director's daubing * hi* face with ink which wa* produced > from a traveling-bag, and the entertainment wound up with a screaming farce > called 'Hot Pancakes,’ in which the ’ fun consisted in the insane gentleman’s slapping each of hi* companion's faces ‘ in turn, and exclaiming: ‘There’s anr other hot pancalre-’ This finally resulted r: in a free fight, and the capture of the » lunatic; but the director take* care now whom he travel* with.” — The Chinese have names which cor j respond in frequency with the Browns and Smiths of Anglo-Saxon Christendom t Those mote frequently occurring «rt s, Ching. Chang, Wang and Shih, whkd dare we equivalent* of “gold,” “long,’ J “prince" sad “«t«w.”

SYRACUSE, INDIANA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 28, 1875.

1 ITEMS OF INTEREST, The Titusville Courier says that the production of petroleum in Western { Pennsylvania during the year 1874 would fill a canal thirty feet wide at the top, • fifteen feet at the bottom, seven feet deep | and over seventy-five miles long. r Rev. Cyrus W. Oliver, of Jersey City, 5 pointed at two of his lady listeners, called them by name and pronounced < them the black sheep of Israel, lost in I the mountains of sin. And they had him arrested for defamation of characi ter - . . . : A recent number of the Sunngride, , an English paper, contains, under thej, head of “Wants,” the following: “A| • first-class teacher for the Northam School,' Lot *l3. A male teacher preferred < I one a little ordinary, so that he may notl f attract the. attention of female scholars.’’ , Those* English people are foolish. '• Howeveb a man'mey be, however i titled, however proud, let him go his t way with humility, remembering that he is only about the two-billionth part of i the population “of the a world and,that he s will some day die and be missed by men just about as much as a mashed grass- - hopper is missed by his swarm ' t 1 A Syracuse girl declined to engage ‘ herself to the object of her affections ’ until his father hail given her a. written guarantee that his son was not only sound “ in wind and limb/* but of good l gentle, and warranted to behave both in “single and double harness.” That girl I did not intend to be seen in a divorce court. " ' . ; A singular case of death from fright > occurred recently at Lerwick, Scotland. • A young woman who was employed to • watch with a sick woman was found one ' morning dead in a chair by the bed, on. I which lay the corpse of the invalid. The 1 medical opinion was that, the patient having died in the night, the shock killed ’ the watcher. Saßah Yates, of Abington, Mass;, has always been a strong-minded girl and ; opposed to matrimony. Recently, however,; she received an excellent offer of marriage, and compromised with her, 1 principles in this style: “Mr. Bates, I have reflected on your proposition, and ’ have concluded to submit to the humiliating sacrifice you demand." , p r - • A Boston girl, sixteen and pretty, ad< ’ vertises that ’she will marry any man who will pay for her education, and will ’ fulfill*(he contract on the day she graduates. In her view, therefore, education is happiness and marriage a secondary ~ consideration. One can scarcely ciill ’ this wisdom; and yet it is more or less characteristic, ofßoston. > “Papa is dead," suddenly exclaimed the little daughter of Mr. Jones, a surveyor jL the Nova Scotia Government employ, the other day. The mother hushed the child, but in a few minutes i the Ijtfle one repeated the words emphatically. During the same day intelligence came that the father had been drowned while attempting to cross a small lake on the ice. J Mr. Sumner’s pictures, which were recently sold at auction in Boston, did not bring so much as it was expected they wohld. About >5,000 was realized from the sale. Some of them were very fine as works of art, but the great Senator thought quite as much of the sentiment of. a picture as its artistic merits, and often the former made him exceedingly tolerant of artistic defects. ’ * « A Boston merchant failed lately owing ■over >20,000. When a committee, of creditors waited upon him to investigate his affairs, in reply to their request for, his books and papers, they were politely informed that he had never kept any , books, but if they desired a list of the persods owing him he thought he ebuld easily furnish a list from memory—a statement which afterward proved to be true. ’ ■ i “ A man sent word to me last night," said the Hon. Sheridan Shook, yestefday, “ that he wanted to see me privately: I came out of the theater and took him intotuy office ‘ You have lost your watch,’ said he. ’ Yes* said I. ‘There it is,’ said he, handing it to me. ‘Any .ex., penses?’said I, ‘ None,’said he. ‘Will you explain*’ said I. ‘No,’ said he, ■ you have the watch and that’s enough.”’ —AT. f. Sun. •’< -F . '• A oooixLookino house-girl employed in a family on Congress street received a present of a muff the other day.' and in a day or two after the lady of the house discovered a receipted bill ip her husband’s desk, reading J “ Forone muff hadn't had a new muff, and when the man came home to supper that : night the okl girl was gone and a pew one was wrestling the dishes about.— i Detroit Free Preu. , I* ' The editor of the Madison Centner, siding with the chewers of tobacco. de- • dares that the weed is “ a powerful trah- • quillizer and allayer of irritability,” and that, therefore, it might be “ usefully employed in the, household." If he - would step into a Texas bar-room about i the time the shooting commences, and I see how lively some of his tobacco-chew-i ing friends can make a dull evening, he > would place less confidence in the great ■ tranquillizer. — Courier-Journal. For a number of years various deserving charities of London and other parts of England have received anonymous gifts of £I,OOO ata time, which, it ‘ is needless to say, have been of * great asr sislance in their works. Efforts. |o find ’ the giver have been fruitless, now and then a pretender has aspired to J the honor. Recently, al Chesbunt, in -he diocese of Rochester, a Mr. Attwood, ’ a somewhat eccentric old bachelor, died, 1 and his books show Jhat he was the mys- ’ terious benefactor. His gifts altogether 1 amounted to nearly £850,000, or nearly B >3,000,000, and during the past year he B has given away nearly >250,000. ’ Nor long Since a German was riding along near ’Sansom street, in Sacrae mento, when he heard a pistol-shot be r hind him; heard the whizzing of a ball near him, and felt his hat shaken. He turned and saw a man with a revolver in *- his hand, and took off his bat and found is a fresh button-hole In it. “ Did you i shoot at me?” asked the German. U “Yes,” replied the. other party; * that’s h my hbrse; it wu stolen from me recent- ,* ly." “ You must be mistaken,” said the German; “ Xhave owned the bone for

T — — i. three years." “ Well,” said the other, “ when I come to look at him 1 believe I am mistaken. Excuse me, sir; won’t you take a drink?” In an inland town of California is an individual who seems to have a secret cure for diphtheria, to the sale of which Ihe devotes his energies. The man .lately professed to have, become religious. At a church meeting he is reported to have >!j made a speech, as follows: “I have made up my mind to give my property 'I to the service of the Lord. I have several thousand dollars in money, all of R-hich I bestow on the church. I have some fine blooded stock, especially some Black Hawk horses, all of which I give ] to the church. I have also a lot of I grain and farm produce, which in . like manner 1 bestow on the church. There is but one thing in all niff possessions which I'reserve for myself, and that is my celebrated medicine for the c.ure of diphtheria, which I will continue to sell as heretofore for the moderate price of >2 a bottle." Memory in the Study of Language. Os all the exercises which most favor ignorance in teachers who are not, duly prepared, and which inspire most ennui in students, the worst are those mnemonic exercises in which the master acts a? purely passive part and the pupil an automatic means we develop the memory of children, best for this no special effort ia needed, as the culture of memory, like that of attention.is secured by the Activity of the other faculties. It is more particularly in exercising the judgment that we enrich the memory with useful things. The knowledge we gather in the first years of life we owe to observation and experience—the best of masters — and it is more profoundly engraved upon the memory than all the memorized lessons of college. The mother tongue is acquired without learning anything by heart. > Those w ho, in teaching their pupils to speak a foreign language, give them words to learn, to form into phrases, commit a triple error. In the first place, the child does not learn to talk by passing from words to phrases. In the second place, in order to speak, be learns to understand what is said to him. In the third place, no mother ever attempted such a proceeding; the instinct of imitation alone suffices the child in learning to speak. ‘ ■ The expression of thought is not aided by learning from authois, because, for thb giost. -part, these extracts contain not a phrase on an* idea that would aid inZconversation. In this work the attention is directed exclusively to words, and the memory is aided by their juxtaposition. By means of repetition they are revived in the mind in their order of succession, each word suggesting that which follows. The more we repeat the lesson in order to retain it, the more easy and rapid the recitation, the more the text escapes analysis and the will. Excellent as,the exercise may be in pro.nunciation aiid oratory, it is inefficacious as a means of learning to speak. To learn a model by heart no more teaches to speak than tracing a drawing-model teaches to draw. — Claude Marcel, in Pop-' ular Science Monthly. A Willful Yoikshirenan. , S.; Baring Gould has recently ptlb- ’ lished a couple of volumes filled with “ Yorkshire Oddities, Incidents and Strange Events.” The collection fully bears out the assertion of the Abbe of York, who wrote to Cromwell, in 1556* •• There be such a company of willful gentlemen within Yorkshire as there be in all England beside." Among the obstinate and eccentric characters illustrating this truth Mr. Gould gives an account of one William Sharp, afterward known as “Old Three Laps." At the age of thirty William was unfortunately crossed in love. The blow broke hffi heart, but not his will; and he took to his. bed with the dogged resolution never to leave it again. And he did not. .For forty nine years he lay like an invalid or an imbecile on the cduch from which he was finally borne to his grave, During all thatdong, dreary term he never spoke with a human being; nor were the windows of his room once opened for the last thirty-eight years of hfe life. His legs gradually contracted, until they were bent as if in the attitude of prayer. He never had an illness; his appetite was unfailing, and when he died, at the age of seventy-nine, his flesh was firm, fair, and unwrinkled, and hfe weight was seventeen stone. He Was averse to being seen and, if anyone intruded upon his solitude except his niece, he instantly concealed himself under the bedclothes. A gentleman who once visited him out of curiosity says: “He had white hair and a handsome head well set on a strong chest. Hfe body and all about him was scrupulously clean, and his condition healthy, as his nurse proudly pointed out, digging her fists furiously into hfe ribs. He no signs of joy or pain* but lay like a mass of inanimate matter. It struck me at the time that his limbs were stiff; but a neighbor oF his, who after his dinner stole a peep into hfe bedroom-window, told me that he saw him playing with hfe plate in the manner of a Chinese juggler, and with considerable ability. On my informant tapping the he vanished under the The Pottery Tree. Among the many vegetable products of Brazil the pottery tree of Para is not the least worthy of note. This tree, the Moquile't utilie of botanists, attains a height of 100 feet up to the lowest ’ branches. The stem is very slender, ' seldom much exceeding one foot in • diameter at the base. The wood is very hard and contains a very huge amount ; of silica—not so much, however, as the - bark, which is largely employed as a - source of silica in the manufacture of I pottery. In preparing the bark for the j potter’s use it fe first burned and the i residue is then pulverized and mixed I with clay in varying proportions. With i an equal quantity of the two ingredients . a superior quality of ware fe produced s It fe very durable and will bear almost - any amount of beat The natives ems ploy it for all manner of culinary purr pMM. Whfthfrprii the bark cuta like

soft sand-stone and the presence ctf the silex may be readily ascertained by grinding a piece of the bark between the teeth. When dry it is generally brittle, though sometimes hard to break. After being burned, if of good quality, it cannot be broken up between the fitigers, a pestle and mortar being required to crush it. Mind Your Own Busineaa. When you begin life make two resolutions and stick to them: First, ft mind your own business. Second, to let .the. business of other people alone. These people who are always meddling with the affairs of others are a nuisance, and ought to be legally “ abated," like any other nuisance. 1 We would as lief live near a soap-fat boiling establishment,, or a petroleum refinery, as near one of them. If you belong to that class of nuisances we pity you, for your life is an uneasy and unsatisfactory one. You can never be happy, because it is utterly impossible that you can find out everything which is going on in your vicinity. What is it you if your neighbor does bring home a brown paper package and a covered basket? You will live just as long if you never know what they contain. It is none of ydur business. Suppose Mrs. B. has got a new bonnet? How does it concern you? Your life, liberty and sacred honor are in no way imperiled by the fact. Suppose she did pay ten dollars for it? The money does not come otit of your purse, and consequently it is none of your business. If the mirtfeter does call on Ana Smith twice a week, why exercise you/ brain o/er- it? Wfitft if he is her? Let him court away. Suppore she has got an awful temper and powders her face, as you say she does? Her temper will not trouble you; and as for the powder—why, just you find us a woman’who doesn’t powder! Don’febe foreugr poking your noseTnto other people’s business! If one young lady “ cuts out” another young lad/, it is nothing to you. That is for the young ladies themselv.es to settle. If neighbdr Small keeps two cats, and feeds them oh beefsteak, don’t let it harrow up your feelings. That is Small’s, affair, not yours. If Mrs. Small throws her dish-water out of the front door, let her do it, and enjoy it; it doesn’t concern you. Don’t sit up nights to see how long there sea light in Miss Bell’s parlor when the young lawyer is there. If Miss Bell thinks him Worth the oil burned.it is nothing to you. -He isn’t making love to or any of your folks. What if they do have “three pairs of stockings apiece every week over to ’Squire Hill’s? Haven’t they a right to? As long as you don’t do the washing it qeed not trouble you at all. And if Hill’s shirts are three inches longer than com mon, don’t excite yourself about it! If you hadn’t been watching she clothes line you never would have knibwn anything about it, and “ where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise." ? Mind your own business thoroughly, and you will find little leisure to attend to the affairs of others. When you feel as it you mu»t learn what they are having for dinner next door, take the Almanac, or the President’s message, and read it through faithfully, and by that time you will feel as if you didn’t care a picayune about-anything—not even the affairs of your neighbors.— Kate Thom, inN. Y. Weekly. ■ a A Zealous Watchman. A bucoijc individual who recently came to Chicago and was employed as a night-watchman by one of the “Captains" in the business showed extraordinary zeal in the discharge of hfe duty the first night he was placed on beat. At a clothing store on West Madison there are “ forms” or figures, containing heads, but minus everything else except a wire-bust. Rusticus peered into the store about two a. m., holding his darklantern above his head. He beheld a dressed-up figure confronting him, and, not having received any previous information regarding the images, thought of fame and renown, and pictured in an instant, in hfe mina's eye, visions of greatness. Here vvas a chance, and he drew life little gun and let fly at the supposed burglar.* Then he ran and yelled “Police!” blew hfe . whistle, clubbed the lamp-post, and stamped up and down the sidewalk, screaming frantically meanwhile. Two regular patrolmen and a half-dozen citizens came to hfe assistance, and he pointed at the store in breathless excitement, exclaiming: “I’ve killed him; I shot him right through!" The officers ran to the store with Rusticus and, by the aid of hfe lantern, discovered the prostrate form on the floor. The true situation dawned upon the minds of of the regulars at once, and what a moment before Skas excitement was changed into merriment, and the small crowd laughed heartily at the expense of the countryman, who has not been seen since. —Chicago Tribune. Religious Views of the American Indians. The religious ideas of the aborigines were in the main of two kinds: those which clothed natural phenomena with a mvstical meaning, and those which indicate a theory of the aoul. The Indian’s expecration of a future life in the happy bunting grounds, under the government of the Great Father, is well known. But it is not so commonly known that he recognized in the phenomena of human development a mysterious significance, which was celebrated by peculiar customs. A girl’s arrival at maturity was in many tribes observed by religious certmonies, a fnct which receives additional* significance from the degraded condition of women among them. Though th? man was absolute lord of the woman, who worked for him as a slave works for a master, and could be beaten at his pleasure ot discarded at his will, yet hfe maturity passed unregarded, while hers was made the occa sion of proceedings which not only appear to have sometimes embodied nearly all that the tribe had of religion, but in a few cases are supposed to have had a powerful effect in the development of I particular tribes.—Gotary,

LITTLE JACKS TROUBLE. a BY CHARLOTTE V. DALEY. Little Jack bad adeal of trouble, And this is the reason why: His eves would always see double When they looked at a pudding or pie. And when there was chicken for dinner His eyes saw enough for four, ?. And he cried when the meal was over Because he could eat no more. If you could have seen him at table, You had thought without a doubt That his legs and arms must be hollow, And he ate to fill them out He had only one little stomach. Not six, as he thought ho,had; And one day when he dineq with grandpa t That one felt exceedingly bad. ‘ f For he filled it so full of goodies, i Os pie and puddding and cake, That the Jack who went home to mamma Was nothing but one big ache. { « Thi doctor came with his physic, I His rhubard and oil di castor, And they soaked his feet in hot water, i And they put on a mustard-plaster, j He lay in bed for a fortnight, With many groans and sighs, And the next time he dines with grandpa I hope he will be more wise. —Hearth and Home. HOW CHUBBY READS HIS LESSON. 1 ; i “ Mamma, is it most time to read a lesson?” asks Chubby. “ Why’, yes, dear,” says mamma; “get l jfc’our book now, and let us have the lesson rtrdone by the time Maria rings the dinner |<bell.” ' ’ - . Well, mamma,” says he, in a hope- . rally obedient frame of mind, “where • shall I read?” “ Your next lesson, of course, dear.” j “ Well tl mamma, I just want to say over the A, B, C’s first,” says Chubby, , seating himself on the sofa with his little , boots across the back of a chair. Mamma i doesn't notice; she is very busy with her , patterns just then. This manly attitude, however, is not very good for Chubby’s [ breath. He gets red in the face, and the . words come ratherjerky. Mamma looks i “P- " . . '■ i “Why, Chubby Merton, take your feet ; off that chair, this minute!" t “Papa puts his up so, sometimes,” says Chubby, turning on mamma a look • of injured and vindicated innocence. Mamma is cornered, for papa does elevate his.feet now and then. “Only, , when papa is very, very tired, dear.” she , says. “Now you must just sit up straight, and read your lesson ■ without stopping. I cannot have you , dawdle so.” “ Yes, mamma, I just want to say these letters first. A for monkey, B for bat, C for cow, D for dog, E for elk—what is an elk, mamma? is it a cow ? ’t’s got horns.” “No, Chubby, go on with the right lesson.” “ Yes, mamma, G for goat, II for bee hive.” “Chubby," says mamma, sternly, “you are wasting your time; read your lesson.” ‘ “ Well, mamma, can’t I just read ‘ We go in,’ first? It’s right here.” “No, no, read your regular lesson first. There isn’t time for anything else before dinner.” * . “ Well,” says Chub once more, turning the leaves slowly, “lemme see this picture first. Is this George Washing- , ton, mamma? didn’t he never tell a lie?” ’ “Is that reading, Chubby?” asked mamma, reproachfully. “ Oh, I forgot. Here’s the lesson: The —sun —is —up —and—we —are—up — too. Mamma, does the sun get up?” “ Now, dear, I explained all that yesterday. You must not stop now.” “ Oh, yes, you said the sun stood still and let the cunning little world go around it. How.can it?” \ '■ “ How can what, the sun ?" “No, mamma, the world. How can the world turn round?" ’ , “ How can you tarn round, Chubby?” ? “ Yes, but, mamma, the world hasn’t got any ‘ think’ inside of it, ’n’ I have.” “ That is true, dear, but I can’t possibly make you understand about the world turning round now. You must waffjeveral years yet.” ‘“How old’ll I be then, mamma?” “ Never mind, now, read that lesson this minute." “ I guess I'm kind o’ lazy,” says Chub. “ The dew—is—off—and—we—can—go . to—see—the—boy—w-h,o, who—is—i-1-1, sick.” . , ■ i 111, Chubby,” corrects mamma. “ Yes, ma'am.- He—did—not —do—as he—was—bid. Now—what did he do, - mamma?” •“ I don’t know, dear ; perhaps he ate ' green apples.” “ Mamma, I won’t ever, ever eat another green apple.” < “ Don’t make any rash promises now’. Chubby. It is winter time, and there are " no green apples; read on.” “ ‘ It—is—bad—to—lie—in— ’ Mamma, if I was to eat green apples and get sick you wouldn’t make me lie in bed all day, . would you?” “ I think it very likely I should, dear.” i "We are—not—ill —Mamma, I’m aw ' ful hungry; what are we going to have i for dinner?” “Nothing at all jf you do notread, Chubby.” • “Mamma,” says he, coaxingly, “I’ll • buy you some candy after dinner." I “ Why, you haven’t any money, dear.” r “ Yes, I have, in my head.” “In your head, chilcL, what do you • mean?” I “ Why, mamma, papa said the other I day ’at I had good, common, hard—penr nies—no—cents; ain’t cents pennies?” “Not that kind, dear,” said mamma, s laughing. 5 t' “ There’s the dinner-bell," says Chub- ? by, who does not like to be laughed at. t “ Come on, mamma,” and before mamma I can possibly get the words out of her t mouth to call him back he is down-stairs >- and behind his chair eying the roast . like a wild beast in a cage. His book i- lies in the coal-scuttle up stairs, whence r he is sent to pluck it when mamma i comes down. But he is not yet five i yean old, and she doer not make him go f without his dinner.—Jennie Jf. Zimmer Unton.

TERMS: $2.00 a Year.

NUMBER 4.

The Little Torn Primer. . ■' Milub ran into the dining-room and threw her books doftn on the diningtable. “ I kne w’my lessons to-day,” she said, “ and I want my dinner; and oh! did you have blackberry pie?" But what I am going to tell is not about Millie or blackberry pie, but about the books after Millie and her mamma | had gone out of the room and left them to themselves. “Millie is a very clever little girl,” said the Grammar, “ and talks > I take great credit to myself for,teach*- 1 ing her to speak so correctly.” ]■ “Yes,” said the Arithmetic, “she it bright, and can’t be beat in addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. Really bright children always understand my rules; I make them so clear and ft ? plain.” “ She should be very much obliged to " us,” joined in the Geography, “for ft without us she could not be clever at all. *3 For instance, see how much Ztell her. I describe all countries, including her own; all bodies of water, all mountains, the different kinds of people— | thousands of things. In fact, I think the S information I impart” (most books use big words) “ the most ‘ interesting and valuable she obtains." | “ Pshaw!” . sneered the History. “ You’re alone in that opinion. Where does she learn all the particulars about • i different countries, including her own, as you say? ’ ‘ Christopher Columbus, a na- ■ five of Genoa, Italy,’discovered America in the year He set sail with three , 1 small —. 1 “ Oh,, do stop that,” interrupted the' ’ r other books; “ we’ve heard that until we are sick ot it.” * “ Sometimes I wish he had never set 5 sail,” added the Geography. jWhere does she learn about the great , battles—the lives of the Kings, Queens r and Emperors?” continued the History, > waving its cover triumphantly; “ about 5 the illustrious Father of his Country, k George Washington, who never- ” i r “ Qpn’t believe it!” interrupted the | > books. ; 3 “ And if he never did, History does," : said the Arithmetic —“ maqy- a ’ is only/pure* that never lie.” ’ ‘.‘From what does our Millie. "gain 1 knowledge'”—here spoke the Natural History— of beasts and birds and fish? All things that salk, of fly, or 1 creep, or swim, or stop still and only breathe? The wonderful habits of the ' I insects, the traits of the massive ele- ) phant and the capers of the mischievous ’ monkey?” ' “My friends” —here joined in a"' tiny . voice for the first time,causing the books* 1 td stand up on their edges and look over fl at the corner of the room where lay the ■ r little torn Primer, from which it pro- ’ ceeded —“ my friends, I know you all j help to make Millie ♦ise and learned; • *! ' but of what use would be all you can tell 1 i: she could not read it? You <a Id be fl ’ nothing without me!" “You!” cried the others, in a scornful ’ voice. “Yes, me,” answered the little torn | Primer. “I taught her her letters. Without knowing them, what good wdßlldantjMr book be to her?" ! “How tiresome small books are,” the History. “ I guess I’ll take a nap,” yawned th< Geography. And so the conversation® ended.— Margaret Eytinge, in St. -Vic/wius.ft ’ d ' - - Sewing-Aches. t.„ . ■ c Jessie sat down by her mother to sew. She was making a pillow-case for her ? own little pillow. “ All this?” she asked in a discontented tone, holding the seam out. - “That is not too much for a little girl ® who has a work-basket of her own,” said ..fl, her mother. “Yes,” Jessie, “mother has j given m£ a work-basket, and I ought to 1 be willing to sew,” and with that she tooß fl a few stitches quite diligently. “ I have a dreadful pain in my side,” j said Jessie, in a few moments. “My , 1 thumb is very sore,” she said in a few minutes after. ; “Oh! my hand is so | tired," that was next. And with that she laid down her work. Next there was J something the matter with her foot, and fl then her eye. ■ At length the sewing was done. Jessie ■ i brought it to her mother. “Should I not first send for a.doctor?” , I said her mother. " . ' ■ , j , “ The doctor for me, mother?” cried the fl little girl, as surprised as she could be. ■ '‘.‘Certainly,” said her mother; “ a lit- i tie girl so full of pains and aches must I . be sick, and the sooner we have the doc- fl tor the better." ’ ’ “Oh, mother!” said Jessie, laughing, s “they were sewing-aches. I am weir ■ enough now.” ® I have heard of other little girls be- W sides Jessie who had sewing-aches and jfli pains whenever their parents had > for them to do. These aches and pains do show are symptoms of a bad disease, a disease which eats ■ some people up. ■ This disease is cdlled ' 6 “ selfishness,” It makes children cross, ’ and fretful, and disobliging, and trouble- ’ some and unhappy; and I am sure it . makei those--selfish and unhappy who J . have the charge of them.-A7An«t»on at ’ Who Are Rich? The man with good, firm health is • rich. , A : So is the man. with a clear conscience. So is the parent of vigorous childhen. ' 1 Sb is the editor of a good paper with r a big subscription list. So is the clergyman whose coat the children pluck as he passes them by in their play. So is the wife who has the whole ot . the heart of a good husband. So is the child who goes to sleep 1 i with a kiss on its lips and fyr whose r waking a blessing awaits. s So is the maiden whose horizon is not > t bounded by the coming man, but who | r has s purpose in life, whether she meets ■ e him or not. | k So is the young man who, laying his | B band on his heart, can. say: “I have - , treated every wonun i ever met as I . should wish my sister treated by other mem"