The Syracuse Enterprise, Volume 1, Number 17, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 29 April 1875 — Page 1

J. P. PRICKETT, Editor and Proprietor.

VOLUME I.

THE HAPPY VILLAGE. j BY XXXI O'DOXX»U ' As oimx I pa»» the 1 When wearily falls thcMay, I turn to look from the hill-top At the mountains far away. - The red sun fhrotighlhe forests Throws hither his parting beam*, And far in the quiet Valley . ■ The happy village gleams. 4 There the lamp is lit in the cottage • the husbandman'* labors jcease, And I think that all things are gathered And folded in twilight peace. • ■ But the sound of merry voices Is heard in the village street. While pleased the grandatne watches The pl.>y of ffre little feet. - And at night to many a fireside The rosy children come; To tales of the bright-eyed fairies They listen and are dumb. There seems It a Joy forever To 1-ibor and to learn, For love «i.lh »h eye of magid ■[ Is patient to diseeni. , And the father. Ide sees the mot her, And the children bless the |sjrc. And the cheer and joy of the hearthstone I*.<» light from an idlsr Hri . Vh. flowers of rarest beauty In that green valley grow, And whether '(were earth or heaven tVby should*! thou care 10l know? Sas c that thy brow is trout>le,<l. And dlin Is thy tn Ipm'ate’wvyc; And grin -«w gn n l:> the > ,il’, y. . And stars are bright in the; aky| ' fur .tfuy: “ MI NIECE NINA* UY KI II N TRACY At-DItX. Nika’ Such an absuplly fantastic name to give a child' But, then, Adeline was full of fantastic notions. I supjww there never were two sisters more unlike than she and I. As long apo at I can renvmbet. 1 think 1 posse-seed what might l-e b-nned cornet views of lite. I believe 1 can, w ithout any sembisnee of bbastfulnero. lay claim- to a fair share of common sense and sound judgment Whatever duty lay lefore me I did w ithout demurring I wa* no dreamer, never locked myself up in my chamber to woo, the iniw, and. spend hours—vinys—that had better have ta-en devot.d to more prn< ties) employment torturing incomprehensible sentences into rhyme and measure But Adeline, rib' I i; cd t > get io outyif patience with. She imagined she had a talent for .writing {that i». 1 suppose she-' did; *hc never said anything of the kind. Adeline was no t.alkijo S nd it was just the ruin of her 1 u*«*.' »n m> and say all I could to cure her of the notion, but my efforts were of no avail. What an amount of time she contrived to wasta w ith her scribbling*—verses or w hatever **-n*e lc*» things, I thought ; but there were some who did in>t agree with me—Nivis'on, for Instance - (How angry I got wuth bin on* day during a discussion we were having as'to the merit* of one of her poems') I foresaw jnst how it would turnout when th<r*c two were ‘married. I knew it would be a struggle for existence, for the ' fellow w asn't worth a cent, and was a parson In the bargain. I did all I could to pre*ent it. 1 kn<» v that Hut father always tMUf let her have her own way. So. married they were, and off Ithey went. > IX -'ll. 1 expect *he saw- [ some pretty hard times out there in Wisconsin, So far from th* paternal puckct-book —w hich I used to Miqwct was, even at that distance, «k« a’aionally diawu Upon. / (I never could comprehend why father sh-itiid think SO much more of Adelina titan of the; Tobcturv, she was always .coaxing ami palaveriug about him, like th» great baby she was, calling bim-pet . name*, embroidering slipj»ers and <lr<->-ing ptwus, comisi.ns dainty dishes for him and all that I had n» lime for such foldcroi, with tin* hotiMktypmg hands and the necessity devolving upon me. the elder of hi* two motherless daughters, to represent the family in society. Thai after my long and faithful drohrrge of duty he should, in his will, divide is projicqjy equally bctw«-en us seemed to m v an act of inexcusable favoritism ) After father's death no correspondence whatever p:<**«l between. Adeline and myself, and indeed we never met again Qf course, then, after years of separation and 'estrangement, it was a matter of no little surprise to my husband and myself all at once to find ourselves the guardians of her child. SWregularly appointed (puard. ians. it is true; for. both parents having been suddenly and within a few days of each other carried off l>y ,a Contagious fever, no arrangements had been mads concerning her. At least sw we wers informed by an acquaintaiKc Os theirs who wrote to u«, the nearest relative*, inquiring w hat should I* done in the case. My husband want on directly, disposed of their effects (the proceeds he afterward - in reMed in railroad stock; a very profit, able investment, too, it has proved, cotupensatinf -u* in a mea«t!t»ff»r our care and trouble). On his return -ha brought Nina with bim. Could I have anticipated all I yltould doubtless have prevented this. But lie child was only ten at the time—that ps eight years ago—atfd so ext evdiugly V and quiet I could not pcwsibly foresee lj trouble I was bringing upon myself, /vertliclcss, I must admit that I had an Uncomfortable presentiment when, at first sight, J noticed her close likeness to her !* mother,, and later when I found the reL semblance consisted not in looks atone. She was Adeline’s counterpart in manner, temperament—everything. I have heart! some say they thought Nina pretty. I never could see it. She »* too |»ale by half, and her gyro—well. I never could enduro to have her look at me. In tort—l will confess it hero—l | never liked the girl. However. J hare J tried todto my duty by her. If she had | had any other kith or kin to go to I I should bate hesitated abont taking her I in. But she hadn’t, and there was no al- '■ tentative. ‘ > I resolved on the start she should be of some use to me, and that t would have no ffne-tady airs. And I must say she has been serviceable in caring for the children (1 Imve been able to dispense with a housemaid since her c^mtof—at toast ms item off our bill of expenditures—and thaw days it dm require so much mom - ey to live in any kind <»f rtyle.v eational advantages of my o*n chUdren. much -be has contrived to pick up I eannot say. She inherited her mother’s

The Syracuse Enterprise

scribbling too. But I was determined not to have a repetition of that folly. I would have no more bookworms about me; and a* often as I caught her, duster in band and sweeping-cap# on head, idling over Hhakesjwarc, or Milton, or dear knows w hat not, I have taken the book Away and bidden her attend to her work.* 1 fear, however, delinquencies of this sort are not the only ones of which she has been guilty. One day, I remember, I had been out shopping, and, on reluming, "found her singing one of EstelSe’s songs, accompanying herself on the piano. Os course I couldn’t have that. It docs injure a piano so to l»e drummed upon. How -indignant Estelle was when k told het about it! The dear child! I'-ohly-wish she. might have beem spared the many'annoyances she has endured from having that girl in the -house. I know vcry'wcll what a trial it has been V> her to have; Nina, always wearing about tlie dn sses she had outgrown; but that was an 'economical measure which could hot well be.avoided, and I- have Iseen. careful to k<-p her out of sight as much as possible whenever my daughters' acquaintance* were with us. . . . i If I had only managed a little mors adroitly when Walter Ransom was here . last winter. If 1 cotdd have foreseen what has transpired I should certainly have got her out of the way for the time being. I inighKliavc M-nt hcr ofl to Cousin J. j.ui.h . i ;• |" io ip-. I should not have invited him to r< main A young man who could behave with such shocking rudeness little deserved even that favor. But business which would detain him several day* brought him to our city. He happened t<> call njxmttty son Fred, w ith " whom he had 6ecn intimate at college, and so it was very natural that I -should ask. him to tic yttr guest during hi* stay. A y'oung -man of property, talents and pre-■p,--ing npjMwrancei it occurred to me it tuL-ht Iw a |»lca*:ait, arrangement to bring him and ’Estelle together in this friendly fashion So I prcvailc*! upon him to remain w ith us (How often since have I deplored my cordiality upon that occasion.) < Os cotir.*e we did everything in our power to make the visit agreeable. He and JEstelte nxle. sung; pinyed billiards.’attend<l the open*—in sh*«rt. were ..dnns-t constantly in each other's society. and matters tseetobiito lie progressing finely, at hen w hat should I discover one mortiing. oh entering the library, but Walter and Nina -i'.tieg *i?!e hy-ido- on the sofa She h.xd in*n sue. ping. I supp -e. and he had conm in And found lier 1 did not ■ think it possible she .would ycnture.to atldress or engage in conversation with a giicst in the liov.si like that. I never allow < d her to sit at table or meet, socially with our visitors, all of whom doubtless had the impression she was one of the doj meMics. . ■ ■ I think I staffed at her a full moment in mute smaxcmenl. She quailed visibly under my gare. “ Nina," told 1, sternly, I ” y<?u may.go up stairs and took after the children ". She left the nx‘m without a word. I j wi.-hed. afterward, 1 h>4 concealed my ' vexation, at least before Ransom; for im Ito dial- !y aft> r bn ;'.kfa*t (he had l«-o uniil.ually silent during the meal) he annqtint eti hi* int> ii!i<>n to depart on the next ti I iiiiihii gcou’ ■ di-siuule him from ' his purpose. '.-J . .- | I.thought it extremely impolite in him to leave.**) ttncere'monioUsly, con-idering al'the trouble we l ad taken to entertain him. his attentions io E*|elie. and fiow. iug..a* he did. that we had semi out itrvi- . Nis to a dance for that very evening— ; , an efilertaiuiiM-nt got up especially on hi* 5 account. E*t< lie, poor child, was almost incon- | soluble, and as tor myself I could only ; give vent-to my feelings by taking Nina ■ to t-.-k. 1 reprimands 1 her Sharply.' i ’•What wasiny surprise w!>> n at last she ; I remarketl:. ■ r j 1 “Why, AniH.Uliarlotte. I didn't think th-fv could he any harm in sjwxking to i him! We used to be neighbors in Havre-| villc Hi- father s hoiro- was next to I ours We used to play' together. We w ! i;i to the salite school.’’ .1 couldn’t find a word to say. How , should I know that jtan- m hail ever live<l in Havreville? W> 11, in a ft w days there came a letter addressed in a masculine hand to Nina. I . ; thought teat to eXfiniine its contents before j delivering it to her.. I thought best to fl ml out for myself what tort- of person this might l>e writing to Miss Nina. E" It was from Ransom! It began with Dearrot Nina!*’ alluded to her “ unhappy situation” and the “ trials she was obliged to undergo!” (the ungrateful girl! I wlist falscboods she mtiM have told him!) and ended with a prop'-ai to correspond. Correspond, indeed' and-with Nina—a I girl so vastly his inferior in every respect. How edifying, to be sure! M ins N ina never eujo; cd a perusal of that interesting communication. I tlirew 'it into the fire. I considered 1 wusd.-ing a kindness in preventing a pnimising young man from wasting his sympathy . and ink in that foolish fashion. Ami, besides. 1 still had hopes that, if the case were carefully handled, I might yet bring about a more satisfactory understanding ; between him ami Estelle. As for Nina, I was *» out of patience ; I with her I should certainly, then ahd there, have bidden her take her depart- ' her"bwn livelihood in some way or other (she might teach, perhaps, ina primary school, I thought; might do any- ; thing, I didn't care what, if only she got herself out of the way), but the younger children were just then coming down with the measles, and I could not well dispense with her services. Some weeks later, the little ones having entirely recovered, “Now," said I to myself. “it is time to speak.” I was revolving the matter in my mind one afternoon, aa I took a. short cut through the park on my way home from a call I had beta making. I caught sight of Nina through the shrubbery as I passed along. She had the baby mit in his carriage for an airing. A man waa walking beside her. I approached. “This giri,”thought I, •*must be watched a* iong as she remains with ■■ me.” ■ 3 SO ■ The man was Ransom! He saluted me in the most courteous manner possible. ; *’Nina.”said I, speaking in the mildest tones I could £a£inand, “I think the ' little darling has been out long enough, i Hadn’t you better be going home?” Ransom hastened to relieve her of her :

park entrance and pushing it himself. No sooner had we reached the house door than, pausing, he took Nina’s hand in his. It was right these on the street, in broad daylight! I could not but wonder at hi* audacity! Well, I don’t recall his exact words. I know he made a very smooth little speech, the substance of which washe w anted my consent to their marriage! .• R -. A , I Marriage! For two minutes—longer, 1 perhaps—l was unable to utter a syllable, so great was my astonishment. At last I managed to say: • ‘ “ Mr. Ransom, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me in what manner this' i young woman, may choose to dispose of ’ herself. I only knirw that I close my doors to her—hew and foreter!” And with that I IJfted baby from his carriage and passed in. I suppose they went straitway to a clergyman for their marriage notice appeared i in the next morning’s And that is Jhe last I have heard or care to hear of either of thorn. A precious pair, indeed! VARIETT AND HUMOR. „ i — Is ths Welsh for spelling-match. —The Czar of Russia has American pumpkin-pie. aud he calls 'tin good, j. —Walrzes are; tike bricks—you can't ■ achieve 'em without Strauss. —An eccentric B<»«ton man has 4.120 big red cents laid away against a rainy day. > —When a cat sings does she not do it on purpus? She simpjy does it to a-mews herself. —The Louisiana sugar-planters are now more prosperous than at any time since th« war. —Dio Lewis says *’ Let a woman teach school five years and no man can live with ’ her as a wife.” —Why is the capital of Turkey like a whimsical pflient? Because it’s constant to no pill. —According to present’plan* some of the Philadelphia Centennial buildings will be a mile apart —- —A Florida-paper feeomtaends the passage of a law forbidding the killing of alligators for mere sport. —A French court has decided that landlords who fail to wake guests to take their trains are liable to damages. -r-The third husband of a, fascinating woman spent his last breath .in imploring her not tp marry till after the funeral. —Some one,of the company at tea with a Spring street family spoke of the excellence of the honey, whereujioD tlie head of the house, who stands in reputed dread of his wife, feelingly observed Honey is the most delicious of delicacies. It is the nectar of beautiful, flowers, sipped from the brilliant petals by tjie never-tiring bee and molded into a glory that would tempt tha god of——” “ Ephraim.” enunciated j his wife, with stern solemnity, “ have you j been drinking Again?” Ephraim; : . groaned — Danbury Neir». —Writing about die medical profession of New York, a correspondent says a fashionable practitioner ha« a difficult nWe !*• perform. He know* that round advice to his patients is useless. Were he to speak his mini! he would say: “ You inu4, ' stop this course of dissipation , go 4o taxi i ’ at ten, rise at six and take a walk before breakfast,” etc. ffudi language, however, would lie ineffectual, The patient likes a social chat, and the elegant manners of the physician makes him a pleasant eompanf ion for a half hour. A little repartee, a ■ little gossip and a little allusion to ill- | | health is al) that i* wanted, and the phy- i f sici.nn i» entitled to charge ten dollars for j such'an interview. ■ ' . |. , —A correspondent of the Boston AdeerI titer projjosves the following elegant sentences as an exercise for spelling-matches; I “ Looking up into his gvlopticu* eyes, she ! aaid; ’And i» it indeeil true, Alfred, that j our soul, in the process of transmogrifies-. ‘ tion, explunctifies it-M ls .t|irough the whole j cabomlie of eternity V ‘ Nay, dearest,’ replied Alfred, and bis countenance betrayed an expression of irasclfication, not say ilisgruntlcmeat, which cavorted' ri *.r ii» features for an instant ‘Our souls cannot become *ufi.< i< ntly m.ittersteil to admit of the necessary spifflicaj lion which —The sentence was never I finished;-f->r as he *p<>ke he seated h!ihseif upon a chair whose legs had licen ex"•erratrcltwo inches, aud ht came down | unexpectedly kerchunk,” I ‘ “ The fool-killer.” aujn the New York Tribune, “should l>e let loose at once among ihcyoung ladies of the metropolis hit is reported on the most undoubted authority that a number of young women ! have funned a club for the purpose of 5 glorifying the charms of a popular young ; actor, who** personal beauty greatly overI balancea his moral character; They have called it after his name,.and the condition of membership Is that each new comer jj shall give a dinner to the charmer, invit-; ing. of course, all of the old members.. No other man » allowed to be present. This is bad enough, but the worst Is yet to come. One of the members, who might be called the most woe begone idiot of the | j lot, has fitted up'a shrine in the sacred re- ' cesses of a closet, where shq keep® candles burning continually around a phtaof graphic likeness of the adored one and sits before it in admiration hours at a* I tilae ” : r —Last Saturday a man residing near , Cohoes was trying to move a large cake ot j | ice which was on the point of being cast out on the roed by the current in the river. He stepped upon the ice with the intention of breaking it. when it began to move off. j taking him with it The ice moved out f into the center of the river and rapidly ] toward the dam. The man was in a fever of excitement, expecting his last moment to appear when he would reach the dam. ■ The water being very high the fall at the dam was unusually low, and the ice, with the man ort it, passed over in safety and drifted in the direction of the gas-house. When nearing the gas-house the Ice landed on top of a little shanty which was nearly covered with water. The man got off the ice and stood on top of the house, but im- i mediately fell through a skylight iu the < roof, falling on some girls who had gone to the top floor to escape the water. A scene immfidjalsiy ensued, the girto rotur- ; it>g. ■ and " Murder ft’. OMr, | fatljw l appeared from the next room, and i an explanation followed.—Troy (Jf. T-) I

SYRACUSE, INDIANA, THURSDAY, APRIL 2!), 1875.

The Bank-Note. Thk following amusjng scene, which occurred recently in an American family, will be found not uninteresting to our readers. The chief rote is played by money, the prime mover in such affairs. An eye-witness recited to us the occurrence in the following words: One evening I took tea with an int timate friend of mines and while we were seated at the table Mr. Baker, my friend’s husband, while absently feeling in his vest pocket found a five-dollar note u'lych he had no recollection of putting there. f “-Halloa!” he exclaimed, “that is no place for you. I should have put you in jmy pocket-book. Here wife, don’t you want some ready money’” and he threw the note across the table to her. I “ Many thanks." she replied: “money is always acceptable-, although I have no present need of it.'' ' Sh'e folded the note and put it under I the tea-tray and then proceeded to pour , out the tea and attend to the wants of her guests. At her right sat Mrs. Easton, or Aunt Susan, whom all knew as an old acquaintance who, from time to time, spent a week with Mrs. Baker. Her visit was just at an end and she was about to return home that evening. As Mrs. Baker was pouring out her tea it occurred to her that she was in her aunt's debt Tor several small matters, and when she had an opportunity, she pushed the •note under her plate, saying: “ Heie, aunty, take this five dollars in part payment of my debt.” “Very well," she replied; “but the money dot's not belong to me. I owe you fifteen dollars, my dear Grace, which you lent me last Saturday. I had to pay the taxes oq toy little house and had not the ready money, and Grace lent it to me.” ex-, claimed Aunt Susan.” Grace, an orphan, was a cousin to Mrs. Baker. She and her brother Frank boardcd with her, and made a very pleasant dition to the family circle. She was studying music and her brother was a clerk in a mercantile establishment. As soon as Aunt Susan received xJie note she handed it to Grace, saying: V “ I will give' you this now on account, and the rest as soon as I get it. “All right,” answered GracZ laughing; “and since we allsecmin the humor to pay our debts, I will follow suit.Y Frank, I . owe you something for music you bought tue; here is a part of itand sho threw the bank note across the table to her brother, who sat opposite.. Wc were all highly amused to see how ilie note wandered around the table. “This is a wonderful note,” said Mr. Baker; “ I only wish somebody owed me something, and I owed somebody something, so that I could come into the ring.” i “ You can,” said Frank. “ I owe Mrs. Baker or you, it’s all the same, for my board; I herewith pay you part of it.” Amid general laughter Mr. Baker took the note, and playfully threw it again to his wife, saying: “ It’s yours again, Lucy, because what belongs to me belongs to you. It has completed the roltnd, and we have all had the Ix'nefit of it.” “And now it must go around again,” replied she, gayly. “ I like to see money circulate; it should never lie idle. Aunt Susafi, you take it; and now I have paid you ten dollars.” > “ Dear Grace, here is another five dollars ofi my~6ccount,” said Aunt Susan, handing it to Grace. 1 “And you, Frank, have received ten dollars for the music you bought me,” said tjfrace, handing it to her brother “ And I pay you ten dollars for my board;,” continued Frank, t and the note once more rested in Mr. Baker’s hands. The exchanges were as quick as thought and we were convulsed with laughter. “ Was there ever so wonderful an exchange?” exclaimed Grace. ’ “It’s all nonsense," cried Mr. Baker. “Not in the least,” answered his wife. “ It’s all quite right. It is a fair kind of an exchange, though very uncommon.” ‘ “It shows the use of money,” said Aunt Susan. "“It makes the circuit of the world, and brings its value to everyone who touches it.” " And yet this note has not finished its work yet, as I will show my dear husband, if you will give it to me again,” said Mrs. Biker “I present you with this five-dollar note," said Mr. Baker. “And I give it to you. Aunt Susan. I owed you fifteen dollars, and I have paid my debt.” . " . * • . I “You have, my friend, without ddjMst, ; and now, my dear Grace. I pay yowpny indebtedness; many thanks for your assistance." “ I take it with thanks. Aunt Susan, and now the time has come when this wonderworking, this inexhaustibly rich bank note j must bedivided, because I don’towe Frank five dollars more. How much ha-el to pay yet ?• “ Two dollars and sixty-two cents,” replied Frank, “ Can you change t" “ Let me sec. two thirty-eight; yes, there is the change; the spell is broken, Grace; ; yon and I divide the spoils.” ' “This bank note beats all I ever saw. j How much has it paid? Let us countit up," > said Grace. “Mrs. Baker gave Aunt Susan fifteen dollars, which Aunt Susan gave me—l »gave Frank twelve dollars and sixty-two cents—Fiank gave Mr. Baker ten dollars —altogether fifty-two dollars and sixty -two cents.” “It’s ail nonsense. I tell you, "cried Mr. Baker again. “ You owe each other what you owed before.” “ You are deceived, my dear, by the rapid, unbroken race thia litUe sum has made; to me it is as clear as daylight,” ■ ; replied Mrs. Baker. “Is it all nonsense’ How could the note j , which you gave Mrs. Baker, if nothing to me or to you, be divided between us two *” i asked Grace. ~ Mr. Baker didn’t seem to see it very I clearly, but the others did, and they often relate this little history for the amusement of their friends — LttUdt Budget of Fun. I :— ; -■ W —ln the bright lexicon of feminine fiutoion there i» such a wont as'-fMße.'*:- ■ • —Moonlight mechanics is the latest for »--■A ?

Buying Cheap. We Americans arc charged with being overfond of our dollars. If we are it ‘ seems a curious anomaly that we arc so ready to part with them. The truth is that the Americans have a love for money which is not thatof the miser, but of the prodigal. They show a great eagerness to get it, but are more zealous in its expenditure than in its accumulation « ,! Our countrymenare srfid to.be, moreover, sharp at a bargain. This may be true in the sense that their acuteness, «> characteristic of an intelligent people, as they undoubtedly are, is not easily blinded to the difference between a hawk and a hernshaw. They are quick enough, doubtless, to distinguish degrees of value, and proportion price accordingly. They ordinarily manage to get their money’s worth as far as this may be indicated by the current charges of the market. The ntanner of trade has conformed itself to the intelligence of our people in this respects and nowhere in the world are price and value more nicely adjusted. There is no occasion in this country for that invitation to Unsophisticated purchasers so commonly displayed on the shop fronts of European tradesmen. Fix fire— one price —which, by the bye, serves only to tighten the grasp, by the knowing ones, of their money. The practice, so universal in Europe, of close bargaining, or “beating down,” as it is termed, hardly obtains here. There the most insignificant article cannot be had at a fair market price without a hard struggle, lengthened in proportion the avidity of the seller and patience of the buyer. A huckster, eager as she may be_ to sell, will not part with a ]<*sf of cabbage until, after a negotiation as serious as, and hardly less protracted than, the treaty for the settlement of the French indemnity. It is almost the universal practice in France and Germany for trades-people and others to demand a price greatly beyond what they are willing to take rather than lose a customer. With the necessary patience and tenacity of purpose any pur- . chaser is pretty sure of being able to obtain the article he wants for 50 per cent; less than i 3 first demanded. In the Continental resorts of fashion the proprietors of houses, almost without exception, ask* 30 per cent, more for the rent than they are willing, if pressed, to take. The natives, of course, never pay, if demanded, the first price; but Americans, accustomed to the direct dealing of their own countrymen, and being habitually free-handed, are generally ready to give the highest sum the most extortionate landlord may have the impudence to ask. The Americans on their travels, if they want to buy cheap in Europe, must give up some of the confidence acquired in the course of the more straightforward dealing of their countrymen/ and hold their money with a less impatient grasp. Buying cheap is quite inconsistent with the system of credit so common in this country. This, within certain limits, may lie- necessary and advantageous in the commercial business of a nation where/ capital is small in comparison with the •enterpriseof trade; but in the ordinary transactions requisite for the supply of household and personal wants there should lie no exception to the rule of "cash on delivery.’’ The tradesman, if guided by the usual prudence of his craft—and if not so he would' soon find himself recorded on the list of bankrupts—must get compensation for the risk he runs in giving credit. This, of course, is something m addition to the interest of the money value of the articles with which he has trusted the purchaser, who accordingly has to pay not only the usual 7 or 8 per cent., or whatever may be the prevailing rate, but an in- I definite sum in addition as a premium to ; insure the dealer against loss. The honest are made to pay for the dishonest, for -to the tradesman they stand only in the onW relation of debtors, ’ and he strikes an av. I erage of probable loss among them, and, not being certain who will be the defaulters, he charges all with such a proportion as will be likely fully to compensate him in the case of the failure of some. The honest debtor thus not only pays his own debts, but a part of those of his less scrupulous fellow-customer. The credit sys- I tern has the further disadvantage of'provoking inordinate expenditure. The cost : of a thing which can be met with a prom- j ise to pay is never fully realized. The imagination, moreover, is apt to take such [ I an exaggerated view of future Resource that most, even with little in hand, see an abundance in the time to come. Purchasers on credit not only buy freely, but pay dearly. - i Buying cheap has its disadvantages too, and occasionally illustrates the old saying that parsimony is not the best economy. | The adulterations of food and shoddy materials, of which the consumers of Europe so greatly complain, have been attributed not so much to the avidity of dealers as to the meanness of purchasers. The obstinate persistence in the demand for cheap luxuries has forced, it is said, into the market those nasty products which ingenious roguery is so ready to supply. If people i will insist upon drinking champagne at a j cost hardly more than that of Newark , cider, Uiey may congratulate themselves it S’?! Newark cider. They certainly cannot hope for anything better, and will probably gel something a great deal worse, I for they have placed themselves by their ; unreasonable the hands of the rogues, apd must be lefr\to their mercy. The cheap tea and coffee so universally demanded fully account for the plentiful supply in % the market of dried willow leaves, iron filings, chiccory and bean grits, for which, of course, there is no need of sending to China or Mocha, notwithstanding the assurance of the corner grocer that they are direct importations from those remote regions.—Harper’s B<var. * | Banting the Leopard. i Osg night we were to sleep in the forest;: so, before sunset, we built a large camp for shelter. But there was no sleep for me, 1 the leopards were too plentiful; and their dismal and ferocious bowls sounding not . far from the camp told me that we had better keep a bright lookout. I forbade anyone to move out of the light of the fires during the night; but there was little need of caution, as they knew very well that if they did they would never come back to camp. The next 4ar I proposed »leopard hunt. The next morning, when I got up and said we must find the lair of the leopard, tri Haplf llllt I

>vas not willing to give it up, as the leop- I , anls were not far from us and their lair ! .. must be near by. I wanted just four ! Apingi to go with me. I called four of f the warripfs. I gave two guns to them, and oke was prepared to go with his war shears. After awhile wc came to the bank of a little stream, where I discovered tlie tracks of a huge leopard in the soft ground. What paws! It must be an old and ferocious arjimal > I have not the slightest doubt /that the monster was an old fellow, and that it was the one that came so near our camp during the night, and nothing but the big fires that we kept up had kept him away and prevented him from pouncing upon us. Unless the leopard had caught something last night he must be fearfully hungry, and, consequently, very fierce. I must look out, for in that case, if I see him, I will have very little time to fire,<br in a jiffy he will spring Upon me, said Ito myself. I carefully followed along the banks of the stream the footprints of the huge cat. It he sees me first he 'may pounce upon me as a cat does on a mouse. I must be careful. The Apingi are watchful. They look all around ; their ears are ready to hear the least noise. ‘All at once I hear a cluck / from one of the men. I stop; he points out to me a spot ahead, just by the stream, where the underbrush or jungle is very thick. Huge trees have fallen one upon another, and it is impossible to see through the mass. The leopard must be there. This dark place must be his abode for the day. There he hides, himself and sleeps and from there he starts' upon his depredations, spreading fear and terror among beasts and men. I stand ready to fire at a second's notice. I wish youtould have seen me. I knew it was a matter of life and death with me. I follow the the leopard, for it had walked along the little stream. The Apingi men are not mistaken. Suddenly the footprints leave the river and the last I see ot them . show that the animal has retired into that thick, dark and almost impenetrable part of the jungle where the Apingi had told me that thb leopard was concealed. Tliis is dangerous game. I cannot see the enemy. I cannot back out; I dare not show the Apingi. lam afraid. But then I do not wish to be killed by an infuriated leopard. The best thing I can do is to use caution as I enter the thicket. The Apingi are almost afraid to go in, but we must do it. I lead. Oh! I wish I had some native dogs xx itli me; they bark and sh>»w us the lair of the leopard. After a while I succeeded in climbing to the top of a huge tree that had been blown down by a tornado. Jt is at least ten feet in diameter. When once lodged there I take a view of the surroundings. For myself, I do not feci very comfortable, for you will agree with me that it is a difficult position to be in, not to see . the exact location of such a dangerous enemy as the leopanl, which at any moment might be down upon my back; his claws fastened in my shoulders and his big teeth in my neck. Such thoughts were not very reassuring to a worn traveler’ I must confess that I was very excited. I looked round and round. The slightest noise ma’de by the wind through the trees would startle me. I thought the leopard was close at hand and ready to spring upon me. I would have given a good deal to see him. I carefully came down the trunk of the huge tree and continued to press forward with my Apingi men into the thickest part of this already thick jungle. Suddenly the faces of my Apingi men became excited. They stop walking. The strong odor of the leopard became perceptible ; he is evidently not far from us. We. are upon the leopard, and he is probably eying us, and ready to make a spring. We must hurry to see hitn, for sttrely destruction is : coming upon us unless we destroy the /animal. I look ahead into a thick bush where there were a large number of broken branches. It seems almost dark, L' although it is not noon yet, and the sky is clear and the sun shines resplendently. Everything around is gloom. A cold shiver runs through me. A feeling of insecurity begins to possess me. I must check it, for, if I do not, my arm will not be steady and I shall miss the monster if I see him. The thought of home and friends ; rushed to my mind. The feeling of inj security suddenly disappeared.* I must ; conquer this big wild-cat of the forest. If he is wary, I too must be wary. Whew! halloo! I see the monster. He leaps upon the ground and crouches upon it. His long tail wags to and fro, showing that he isenraged. His eyes glisten with a singular light; he is ready to; spring. He springs, and just as his body seems to rise from the ground a tremendous and deadly steel-pointed bullet goes through, his head, and three spears of the Apingi are plunged into his body. The monster rolls on the ground upon his back, uttering fearful yells of pain, that fill the forest and drive every living animal from the neighborhood. By this lime my breath is taken away. lam so excited that my heart beats with fearful quick-; ness. I must be pale as death, for the excitement is great; for, one second more, • and the monster would have made its deadly spring, which would hare been destruction tome. — Pauldu ChaiUu. —Smith says this spelling-school fever is getting to be an intolerable bore. On going home to supper in a hurry, one evening lately, he found his wife sitting in front of the parlor fire with, a spellingbook in her hand, and heard an indistinct mumbling, in which he could occasionally distinguish: “ C-o-m-p-l-a-c-e-n-t, j s-a-t-i-s-f-i-e-d, h-a-p-p-y,” etc. “Is supper ready, my dear’” asked he. “S-u-p- ; p-e-r," was all the answer he could hear. i “ Come, come, I must go up-town short- • i‘ |y 9 ” he said. “ S-h-o-r-t-Ly,” echoed the lady, moving toward the kitchen door, ; pausing in the door to take one last look . : at McGuffey. “Mrs. Smith, I must be 1 back up-street in a few minutes, and must have my supper immediately!” yelled the / now irate husband. 4 “ I-m-m-e-d-i— —", but this was too much, and here the coal- i scuttle crashed against the kitchen door 1 just as the unfortunate lexicographer dodged behind and closed it, while Smith ! avers that he heard something as she whirled through the door that sounded like “c-oa-1, coal, s-c-u-t ” and here the sound was lost amid the clatter of tin pans, skillets, etc. Hei« nowprepared to fight any man who may be rash enough to •ay “McGuffey” to him.—/acfctoa (Oido)

Youths’ Department. POLL TADPOLE. .■ ▲ SWAMP BALLAD. There was a little pollywog, The sprawling baby of a frog. Hatched in a green and slimy bog One pleasant day. He had a puddle of his own To play and sleep In, all alone, And dull as any other drone He passed his life away. Sometimes a steel-blue dragon-fly Would poise a moment in his sky. And look at him with glittering eye As if he said: “ You little damp, unpleasant thing. You never seem to know it's spring; Why don’t you jump, or fly, or sing ? Not he all day abed!” Sometimes a heron, lean and talk With flapping wings and horrid squall, Would pollywoggy’s heart appall It ith open bill. The little thing, half dead with fear, Would scuttle off, for, brown or queer, His fat, round careass made.good cheer A heron’s crop to fill. But as the year slipped slowly on, And polly’s days of shade or sun, Just as they do for everyone, Too quickly went: One day—oh, ’tis a dreadful tale! Our pollywog almost turned pale, He felt’s wiggle in his tail That he by no means meant. He turned about with startled eyes And saw. with terror and surprise, A black thing on the water rise, Unseen before. He shook himself, he swam about; lie eould not steer —beyond a doubt His tail had just slipped off, or out— Was gone forevermore! But if you have philosophy (Which means what can't be helped, must be, In spite of you, in spite of me— No use to fret!) * You will commend this pollywog— Poor discontinued baby frog!— For only hiding by a log. Not splashing in a pet. There, after many a day and night, Silent or stormy, dark or bright, He felt a tickling on his right, ■ - ■ And on his left; And, like a small potato-sprout, A little foot caine growing out, And then another, just about As little and as deft And soon behind each forward leg Another budded like a peg, As like the first as egg to egg, But big and strong; ' i And longer, longer still they grew, Till he could jump as well’as you; Then over log ana all he flew. And croaked a little song. He was so very glad to find Four legs exactly to his mind. Instead of one poor tail behind. He quite forgot How scared he felt to see them grow. How sad to see his rudder go. For now he vaulted high and low, And sprung from spot to spot. Oh, Jack! how dreadful it would be If legs should grow on you or me, From side to side, till each should be Fid 1 for a bog! If suddenly “development” Fliould turn and take a downward bent, And you, who for a boy was meaut, Should dwindle to a frog! But if you should, I beg of you To keep this little tale in view, Aud take it coolly, for 'tis true What can’t be cured (This is the moral of my rhyme), Just wait, like polly in the slime, And, by and by, there'll come a time When it can be endured. — Hou Terry Coo kt, in St. Micholat for May. KING DOASILIKE. A Charlie Benson said some bad words that I should be afraid.to repeat. “Oh, Charlie! Charlie!” said his Aunt Nelly, as she tucked him up in bed; “how can you be so naughty! you must not say such things—it is very wicked!” “James so, sol may," stubbornly replied Charlie. “ You may not; James is an ignorant man. and it was very wrong of him.” “ What men may do I may,” said Charlie and as he turned over in bed he said ' to himself. " Such rubbish! as if I could not do as I like; and I will, too; I’ll do as I like. I’ll do as I like, I’ll do as I like,” he repeated, dreamily. "Very well,” said a deep voice in his ear. “do, I admire your pluck; but are you sure vou mean it J” “ Positive! of course I dot Who are you?” said Charlie, raising himself on his arm and looking about him. He saw a very tall man standing by him; his eyes were black, and sparkled like diamonds ; he had reel hair that fell in heavy Jocks each side a swarthy face. His dress was made of black velvet bound with yellow, and he wore a scarlet cloak. “If you are sure,” said the man, "you had better coms w ith me. Mv name is .King Doasilike, and I live at Please Myself Hall. Come along.” He caught hold of Charlie by the hair and drew him out of bed. “Oh, you hurt!” cried Charlie. “Do I?”, said the giant, with a complete indifference; “oh. it pleases me, it s mv way; I'm Doasilike.” 'He bore him in bis arms to a great castle. and stixxl him on the floor of a large hall with doors all round it. There were a lot of people about, but they did not seem very happy. Every now and then one would give the other a spiteful push, or tread on liis toes, especially if the other had corns, and then would laugh, as though it had been a very good joke. Charlie was surprised; nut he had to attend to his companion. “ “ What was it I heard you say tills evening you should do?" asked he. “ Why, I said that what a man could do I colild." “ Yes, and you said you should; of course you meant it?” “ Os course I did, and ! do,” said Charlie. who began, however, to wish himself at home. “Just so; you are quite right; come with me, and whatever a man can do you shall. Come along.” The giant was rather rough in his manner, for he led Charlie by the ear, and, as the boy’s legs were short, he could not walk as fast as his leader and got several pulls. “ Don't you like my style? It pleases me. I’m Doasilike.” Charlie did not like it, but was afraid to savso. The man led him to one of the doors, which he opened with a large key. It admitted them to an extensive smithy where men of ail sizes were hammering at a huge piece of red-hot metal, making a great noise. The heat was dreadftil. “ Here,” said the giant, handing Charlie •a large hammer, “set to work; men are never idle." Charlie tried to lift the hammer, but it was so heavy he dropped it on his toes.' All the men buret out laughing. He thought it very unkind when he had hurt himself, and said so rather angrily, but they only laughed the louder, and shouted: “We like to de so! we please ourselves! Set to work!” They gave him a lighter hammer and made him keep time with them. He soon became tired, but they refused to let him leave off. "No," they said, “you must do as men do while you tn here ” They kept him busy for a long time and then be was allowed to go to bed, where he dropped to sleep directly. The next morning very early he was awakened by a tell ana was told to get up and set to After a hurried breakfast of beef and beer, wliich set him for his nice

TERM#: $2.00 a Year.

NUMBER 17.

off to the forest to fell trees. In this he was no more clever than he had been the * day before with the hammer, and many were the hard thumps he got and hard words he heard. That afternoon he was taken into a room where a group ’ of persons were sitting on forms, listening to one standing in the middle, who was asking them what they had done to bring them there. “ Oh,” said one, “ I said ‘ I sha’n’t’ to my mother when she asked me to do anything.” ■ » ■ “ Then say ‘ I sha’n’t’ 10,000 times, so that you will know'how to pronounce it; we are very fond of hearing it; it’s a favorite word in Doasilike.” The man next asked the rest.' They had been swearingjot using bad woHj, or been rude to their parents, and had tasks set them according to what they had done. When he came to Charlie, the boy was very frightened, and could hardly answer, “ Oh, sir, I said bail words to Aunt Nelly." * “bid you! Then say them over 5,000 times to please me; that is only fair ; you pleased yourself before, you know." Charlie was forced to begin; but .somehow it was.not so funny now, though the man liked it, for he jumped up and down with pleasure. 'Every time he stopped for breath or hesitated a great gray bird flying over their heads gave him such a whack with its wings-that he almost tumbled down, so that he was careful not to stop more than he could help. It was anything but funny. He had repeated the words about 3,000 times, and his throat was getting sore, when there was a loud knock at the door, and the rough man he had seen in the forest came in. He bore in his hand an oak tree, which Charlie recognized as one he had tried to fell, but had been obliged to give up as a bad job. • “ Where is that boy who thought himself a man?” he cried in a terrible voice. “ I’ll kill him. How dare you, sir?” seizing hold of Charlie, who had hidden behind the others. “Do you know that you half cut through this tree, and when I chopped it on the other side it fell backward on my head? It didn’t hurt much, only knocked the dust out of my haif, but I’ll chop your nose off, just to teach you not to pretend to do what you know nothing about.” '• p The gray bird flopped away and brought back a large sword, which the rough man took, and. rushing up to Charlie, caught him by the hand. The sword was within an inch of his heart. *At three I’ll 1 kill yon, for I’m Doasilike. One, two-£— ’’ " Are you going o lie in -ed all day, / Charlie, boy?” said a pleasant voice. Charlie looked round. His dear old Aunt Nelly. stood by his side. It was morning, and he ' was lying in his own little bed. Then he saw the events of the last two days were only a ’dream. He threw his arny around auntie's neck and kissed her face, her spectacle* ar.d her soft gray hair; He told he r of his dream and said it would always b* a leaeou to him > and mak- ’.im mor* cs/ef«d te d> as she wished for -hr fo’ure - Wort- and Play. The Dog Whe Lost Hi* Master. Spot was a little dog who mad come all the way from Chicago to Bo’t'm in the cars With his master. But. as they were about to take the cars back to their home, they entered a shop near the raihoad station : and there, tefore Spot c-jlih’ get out to follow his master, a bad boy shat the door, and kept the poor dog a prisoner. The cars were just going to start. In vain did the master call “ Spot, Spot!” In vain did poor Spot bark and whine, and scratch at the door, and plead to be let out of tlie shop. The bad boy kept him there till just as tlfe bell rang; and then he opened the door, and poor S|»ot ran—oh, »o fast!—but the cars moved faster than he. Mile after mile poor Spot followed the cars, till they were far out of sight. Then, ; panting and tired, he. stopped by the roadside and wondered what he should do without a home, without a master. He had not rested many minutes When he saw' two little girls coming' alongHhe road that crossed the iron track. They were Nelly and Julia, two sisters. .Spbt thought he would try and make friends with them. But they were afraid of strange dogA Julia began to cry; and Nelly said : “ Go\ away, sir; go home, sir; we don’t want\ anything to do with you, sir. ’’ \ Spot was sorry to be.thus driven off. He stopped and began to whins in apleading sort of away; as if saying: “lam a , good dog, though a stranger to you. I have lost my master, and I am very hungry. Please let me follow you. I’ll be very good. I know tricks that will please you.” . The children were not so much afraid when they saw him stop as if to get permission to follow. “He is to good dog, after all,” said Nelly; " he would not force his company on us; he wants his dinner. Conie on, sir!" Thus encouraged Spot ran up, wagging his tail, and showing that he was very glad to And a friend. He barked at other dogs who came too near, and showed that lie meant to defend the little girls at all risks. When they arrived home they gave him some milk and bread, and then took him into the sitting-room and played with him. “ Beg, sir!” said Nelly, and xt once Spot stood upright on his hind legs and put out his forCpaws. Then Julia rolled a ball along the floor, and Spot caught it almost before it left her hand. “Now, die, sir, die!” cried Nelly; and, much to her surprise, Spot lay down on the floor and acted as if he were dead. When papa came home and saw what a good, wise dog Spot was, he told thechilaren they might keep him till they could find the owner. A Week afterward they saw at the railroad station a printed bill offering areward of thirty dollars for Spot. He was restored at once to his master, who proved to be a Mr. Walldorf, a German. But the little girls refused the offered reward,, for they said they did not deserve it, and Spot had been bo trouble to them. Three weeks passed by and then there came a box from New York directed to NeHy and Julia. They opened it; and there were two beautiful French dolls and two nice large dolls’ trunks filled with dolls' dresses and bonnets—dresses for morning and evening, for opera and bailroom, for the street and the parlor, for riding and walking. The present was from Mr. Walldorf; and with it came a letter from him, thanking the little girls for their kindness to his good dog, Spot, and, promising to bring Spot to see them the next time he visited Boston.— Nuriery. Enlarged Powers of Women in Maine. It is officially announced in Maine that any woman who has been ordained to preach for any organized religious denomination, on proof of such fact and proper recommendation by any person personally known to the Governor, will be appointed to solemnize marriage in any pint of the State. Any woman who has duties to discharge in a public or private office, or in any other position where the discharge of the duties imposed upon her makes it necessary or convenient that she should receive the authority, will be appointed to take acknowledgment of deeds and affidavits as well as to solemnize marriages, for the county in which she resides, on presenting evidence of this and furnishing the Governor with appropriate recommen- , dMions of citizens generally known to him. The persons appointed are to pay