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THE NATIONAL TBIBTJNE: WASHINGTON, D.Q., DECEMBER : 10, 1881;
AN "OLD BOY'S" ADVICE.
BY KBEN E. KKXFOKD.
My boy, you're soon to be a man;
Get ready for a man's work now,
And learn to do tbe best you can,
When sweat is brought to arm and brow.
Don't be afraid, my boy, to work ;
'You've got to, if you mean to win !
He is a coward who will shirk ;
Roll up your sleeves, and then ugo in ! "
Don't wait for chances ; look about !
There's always something you can do.
He who will manfully strike out,
Finds labor; plenty of it, too.
But he who folds his hands and waits
For 'something to turn up," will find
The toiler passes Fortune's gates,
While he, alas, is left behind !
Be honest as the day is long;
Don't grind the poor man for his cent.
In helping others, you grow strong,
And kind deeds done are wisely lent.
And this remember : if you're wise,
To your oivn business be confined.
He is a fool, and fails, who tries
His fellow-men's affairs to mind.
Don't be discouraged and get blue
If things don't go to suit you quite;
Work on ! Perhaps it rests with you
To set the wrong that worries, right.
Don't lean on others ! Be a man !
Stand on a footing of your own !
Be independent, if you can,
And cultivate a sound backbone!
Be brave and steadfast, kind and true,
With faith in God and fellow-man,
And win from them a faith in you,
By doing just the best you can!
THE BOY SENTINEL.
Fred Myron Colby, in golden Days.
One spring day, in the year 1745, the settlers
of old Londonderry, near the Merrimack, were
alarmed by the news, brought by a friendly In
dian, that a large body of French and savages
was advancing toward the neighborhood. The
alarm was somewhat strengthened by the addi
tional information that the combined force of the
enemy was led by the Frenchman, Hortel du
Rouville, notorious, even in that age of force and
cruelty, for his ruthless and unsparing hate
toward the colonists.
The settlers were busy sowing their grain,
but at the dread information they left their har
rows in the furrows and hastened to prepare as
well as they might for the attack of the French
partisan and his red and white warriors.
Londonderry had been settled about twenty
years previous to the time of which we write by
a large body of Scottish emigrants tall, stalwart
men, and stately women nearly as strong and
vigorous as the men. Tho larger part of them
had settled in the valley, and thirty cabins dot
ting the greensward made a pleasant picture in
the summer landscape. A few had strayed away
from the village, choosing a more retired neigh
borhood, allured partly, no doubt, by the fertility
of the broad hillsides that stretehed to the north
ward. Among this latter number was Donald
Donald was a man in the prime of life, a large,
angular Highlander, blunt and outspoken, but
an excellent man withal. He was the possessor
of means above most of his fellow-emigrants,
ample evidence of which was given by his broad,
well-tilled fields and the superior architecture of
The home of the thrifty Scotchman was a
regular block-house. It was a large structure,
two stories and a half high, the upper portion
protruding over the lower story. Upon the front
side there was a singular feature, unique in early
colonial architecture. From the top of the second
story a small balcony or gallery was built out
several feet from the main building. A door
opened upon it from the attic, and it was sur
rounded by a low paling. Here the Scotchman
and his family sat every Sunday, Donald con
tentedly smoking his pipe, as he gazed upon his
spreading acres, the rest of the family amusing
themselves by singing Presbyterian hymns as
old as John Knox.
The Scotchman's family consisted of his wife,
Mysie, a girl nearly grown to womanhood, named
Agnes, and young Douglas Fraser, a boy about
fourteen years old. The household was larger,
embracing Gilbert and Andrew, the stout, freckle
faced, good-humored help, and the buxom niaid-of-all-work,
On the morning of the day upon which the
expected invasion of the French and Indians was
causing so much stir at the hamlet, Donald
Fraser, wholly ignorant of the threatened danger,
stood before his dwelling with his roan work
horse saddled and bridled, preparatory to going
to mill. The two hired men were in the field at
work but the rest of the household stood at the
door as stout Donald, with his pipe in his mouth,
mounted old Dobbin and shook the roin over his
grizzly mane. He did not go more than a rod
before he halted.
"Ye aren't ane bite-worrit . gude wife?" he
asked, looking backward.
fCGoo lang, Donald. What be ye stopping
fur?" said Mrs. Frasctc. "Ye won't be back to
lunch if ye dinna mind. Have I not Douglas
" Od, Mysie, doo, yer tongue is loupin' like a
mill-hopper. I only asked ye a proper question,
but I'll say nae mair."
He rode away at a quiet trot, and the woods
shut him in r peedily. The mill was at the ham
let four miles distant, and the journey there and
back usually c onsumed half a day. They had
no anxiety about his safety or their own, and after
the settler's depaiture work went on as usual at
It was about ten o'cck. Mrs. Fraser was in
the kitchen, clearing up after the churning;
Agnes and Janet were in the yard, spreading the
week's washing upon the green; Douglas was in
the garret, decking himself in the brave array of
a Highland chieftain, when they were alarmed
by several musket-shote, fired in close proximity.
Dropping a huge claymore, which the elder
Fraser had borne gallantly in the long and ter
rible siege of Londonderry, in Ireland, the lad
hastened to the balcony, and looked around the
Upon a distant hillside was the four-acre
wheat-field where Andrew and Gilbert had been
at work. It was in plain sight from the house,
and Douglas had seen the men there not half, an
hour before. To his suprise they were not visible
"While he was striving to obtain a sight of the
vanished laborers, there was a dash of hoofs be
low, and the work-horses, detached from their
harrow, came panting up to the house, as if to
The next moment the boy saw a sight that
explained alike the musket-shots and the flight
of the horses.
Along the borders of the wood Douglas caught
a glimpse of severai skulking Indians, and just
as he was turning away to alarm the household,
he saw the glint of arms among the trees, and
detected a large body of white men riding into the
clearing. A banner glistening with the fleur-de-lis,
borne in front, showed that they were French,
and therefore enemies.
Douglas rushed down to the lower rooms very
hurriedly, wrhere he found the women pale and
trembling with affright.
Deeply impressed with the idea that he was the
only man about the premises at this crisis, he
seized the opportunity to show them that they
had a defender in him.
"Eh weel, ye dinna muckle fear, mither o'
mine," he said. "They're ainly French and
savages. We'll beat them off weel enow."
"Alack! I trow not," said the Scotch wife,
wringing her hands. "Oh, why is not puir
Donald here ? We shall all be killed entirely."
"Nae, mither, nae. We kin keep the blamed
red-skins off with hot water. As for the French,
those gray springalds are not worth much one
way or anither. Bar the doors ! Ye and Janet
run to the south door; I will bar the north one."
The doors, which were of solid oak and very
heavy, with ponderous wooden bars stretched
diagonally across them, were speedily closed.
They were just in time.
Douglas had only drawn the bar across the
north door, when several of the savages ran
against it with a crash.
" Open open, without delay ! " cried a French
man, "else we will scalp every woman and child
under the roof!"
"That is much mair aisy said than doun, I'm
thinkit," said the lad. " We will never open to
ye bluidy Frenchmen, God helpit us ! "
The reply to this was a shower of blows on
the door, so heavy that the whole building shook
For a few seconds nothing was heard but the
din of the blows struck by the tomahawks of
"We canna never standit that. The heathen
wi' bring doon the house over our heads, if we
wi'staun' them not."
That was said by Mrs. Fraser, and she con
"Janet, we wi' bring soum water to warm
them. I ken they wi' not endure the likes o'
Mrs. Fraser and the buxom Janet hastened
for the hot water. It was a happy thought. It
was washing-day, as we have said before, and
the great brass kettle in the kitchen fireplace
was full of steaming suds. To fill several pails
with the burning flud was the work of but a
Then the two women carried them to the loft
above the door where the savages were busy at
work with their hatchets.
There was a trap-door in the floor of the loft,
which the pioneer had caused to be constructed,
with an eye to such an emergency as the present.
This was carefully lifted, and the contents of
the pails at once enrptied on the heads of the
Indians, who uttered terrific yells, and leaped
backward, as the scalding water flowed over their
Meanwhile, Agnes at the other door had sent
the savages flying by overturning upon them a
barrel of rye-flour, which, working into their
eyes, had entirely blinded several of the dusky
assailants. Douglas, where was he ?
The boy had not waited to see the effect of
boiling water and fine rye-flour upon the besiegers.
He had gone at once to the attic, for he recol
lected that there was a hole under the eaves of
the roof, which would serve an admirable purpose.
There were plenty of muskets and ammuni
tion in the house, but Douglas seized a weapon
with which he was much more familiar. This
was a yew-tree bow, about three feet long. He
had practiced with it oft and oft, fill he had
acquired a skill wonderful in one so young.
He found an excellent spot to exercise his craft.
From his place of concealment he could observe
all the actions of the enemy, without being him
A group of Frenchmen were standing at the
further side of the green, discussing, with ani
Douglas bent his bow and sent a cloth-yard
shaft, wThich fixed itself in the left shoulder of
one of the men. Before they could move their
location, the boy had launced another arrow.
This one struck an officer in the eye, and pros
The group now sought shelter behind a couple
of huge oaks, which, for the time, put an end to
the boy's archery in that direction.
But the Indians, who were retreating from the
south door, rubbing the rye-flour from their
eyes, now came under his notice.
One of them received an arrow in his back,
which put an end to all maraudings of his in the
Almost before that shaft had reached its mark
a second was on the string, and in another instant
it pierced an Indian's left leg in the thigh, mak
ing him howl with pain.
A savage, who was preparing to discharge his
musket, received a bolt that transfixed his right
hand, which, of course, frustrated his intention.
The whole party now seemed to act as though
they had become suddenly convinced that they
stood exposed to the shafts of an archer who
could use them with unerring certainty, for they
drew off a short distance for the purpose of con
sultation. Douglas watched them through the hole under
the eaves. Presently a man came forward, hold
ing a white flag. The boy knew that this indi
cated a desire for a truce.
The man who bore it was a richly-dressed
officer, and, as Douglas conjectured, none other
than the leader of the expedition himself Hortel
de Rouville. The Indians stood in the back
ground, but a score of musketeers advanced to
within a dozen paces of their leader, where they
halted. The officer and his men had not long to
On the balcony, twenty good yards from him,
and some twelve feet above the level of where
he sat on his horse, Douglas Fraser appeared,
looking strikingly handsome in ' his brooched
plaid, his kilts ani philibeg, and with a glen
garry cap surmounsing the clear-cut Celtic face,
with its blue eyes and flowing hair; but a war
rior, even if a child
In his hand he held, half-bent, his yew-tree
bow, and on the ftring was a cloth-yard shaft,
with strong steel point, .with the thumb and
finger ready to let i fly with a force and an aim
that could not be oherwise than deadly.
And, as the Frenihman looked up, he saw that
the arrow was aimtd directly at his heart, and
held as steadily as ii the boy had been pointing at
a distant deer of a nountain eagle.
"Halt there! Wia are ye, and what want ye
noo ? " was the salutition of our hero.
"Who am I, boy? That you will learn soon
enough ! " was the cply of the officer. "I am a
Frenchman, and tin commander of these soldiers
an Indians, and yot had best send some of your
elders to consult will me about the surrender of
"Eh, weel ; sea mickle, I thocht ! " came from
the set lips of the by his arm, meanwhile, not
chauged by a hair-bieadth. " Ye want my elders,
daeye? Then nans o' them wi' ye find. My
feyther is awa' aneit the matin, and I rede ye
gay-coated Frenchnan ye ca' yersel' to tak'
tent to yer coat, gin ye dae no address me wi'
mair respect ! "
" God's mercy ! " bioke from the officer. "And
what will you do if treat not your young lord
ship .with greater coirtesy ?"
"Gin ye move fraewhar' ye sit, or gin ye dae
not dae what I will ; I will send this bit shaft,
wi' the which I brocit doon an aight-foot eagle
yestre'en, that clean through the body o' a king's
officer, fearsome nigh the heart. Tak' warnin',
Frenchman, while the play's nae that rough."
" Ha ! " cried De Rcuville, with a sneer, while
his face flushed hotly. "Do you say so? By
Notre Dame, the play begins to be earnest ! Men,
cover the popinjay with your musketoons. Let
us see what he has to say to that."
At the word, into every man's hand fell the
barrel of his weapon, and twenty deadly tubes
were aimed full at the heroic youngster.
But there he stood, as if in stone the bow
drawn further now, and the thumb and finger
griping the pointed shaft that might fly in an
instant, witli the result of certain death.
" Oh, ay !" he exclaimed. " I ken the likes o'
that ! Let them shoot, gin they will, but they
canna shoot quick enuch to save yer heart, bluidy
Frenchman. Gin ye gie ane mair order to shoot,
an' ye dee! Dae ye unnerstaun' me the noo?
Gin ye order them to tak' awa', a-weel, and gin
ye hae anything to say that can be listened to
wi'out shame, I'm aye ready to hear."
"I want you to surrender," said the partisan.
" I have two hundred soldiers and Indians here.
If you will not yield we will take you by storm,
and kill every soul of you."
" Oh, weel, gang yer way, then, for we shall
never yield to ye, bluidy Frenchman. Sae dae
yer worst the noo."
De Kouville uttered a savage oath.
"Shoot the boy where he stands!" he cried.
"Sae be it; but ye dee first, said Douglas,
drawing his arrow to the head.
There was a moment of hesitation. Then,
moved by the almost certainty of instant death
for, as the boy said, the shaft would fly quicker
than even the bullets could ,speed the French
man lifted his hand, and the second command
"Recover your arms, men! "
The leveled tubes were lifted. Then, for the
first time, the drawn bow was allowed to slacken,
though the hands did not alter their position,
and the aim of the deadly arrow was not changed.
"Retire to those women and children behind
the walls," continued De Rouville. " There has
been enough of boy's play. We will see what
fire can do. Retire at once, for my Indians are
about to advance."
De Rouville turned his horse, and at that
instant the war-whoops rang out again, wild and
terrible, while a hail-storm of bullets came rat
tling against the sides of the block-house.
But Douglas was safe under the roof of the
attic, where he once more took up his position
with deadly intent.
" Dinna kill the puir heathen, Douglas, dear,"
said his mother her woman's heart gaining the
mastery over her fear.
" But they're gaun tae burn us, mither burn
the auld hoose o'er oor heads ! "
" Eh , weel , they canna dae that same ! Disable
ilka man o' them ; but avoid takin' life."
Douglas promised to obey.
An Indian was approaching the door at the
moment, with a bundle of fagots on his back.
When he was within ten feet of the house an
arrow struck him in the fleshy part of the
shoulder, which caused him to drop his bundle.
Another red-skin took up the fagots, but was
forced to relinquish them speedily. The biceps
muscle of his right arm was tranfixed by a
pointed shaft. He uttered a yell and took to his
Several other savages who tried to approach
the house to fire it received like treatment, till
at length they became so frightened at that fear
ful discharge of arrows, which maimed but did
not kill, that the sternest commands of the
partisan could not prevail to make them advance
upon a house defended so skillfully.
De Rouville stormed and blustered, but it was
of no avail. The Indians refused entirely to
work, and the Frenchmen were quite as un
willing as their red comrades to undergo the
risk of disabling wounds in the further prosecu
tion of the business.
After an hour or two, and after discharging
their muskets in futile rage at the walls that
defied them, the enemy retired. By noon the
cry of the war-whoops and the sound of the guns
died away in silence.
So, the bravery and the skill oour loy-sentinel
saved the block-house; and not cnly that, but
the settlement probably oed its preservation to.
him as well ; for, discouraged by his futile at
tempt upon the block-house, De Rouville and his
savage force did not proceed against London
derry. Unmolested ly the vengeful enemy, the littfe
hamlet reposed quietly amid its circle of green
Just before nightfall, the pioneer Donald re
turner!, accompanied by a few of the settlers.
He had heard at the hamlet of the inroad of the
French partisan, and expected nothing less than
to find his buildings burned and his family car
ried into captivity or worse. His thankfulness
can be imagined when he discovered his property
safe and his family unharmed.
The two hired men came in during the night.
They had been hiding in a secret recess in the
forest, having thus escaped the toils of the enemy.
One of them was suffering from a bullet-wound,
but no serious results followed, and in less than
a fortnight he was able to be at work again.
The after-fate of such a man as should grow
from the Douglas Fraser of that boyhood is a
matter of interest. He became a gallant soldier
in the old French war, and was with Wolfe in
the memorable capture of Quebec, which put an
end forever to all French invasions in America.
In the Revolution, he and his son fought
bravely in many of the battles for our liberty.
He died full of honors and of years, and to-day
his descendants are among the leading citizens of
the old town on the Merrimac.
THE SAND BLAST,
Among the wonderful and useful inventions
of the times is the common blast. Suppose you
desire a piece of marble for a gravestone; you
cover the stone with a sheet of wax no thicker
than a wafer; then you cut in the wax the name,
date, etc., leaving the marble exposed. Now pass
it under a blast and the sand shall cut it away.
Remove the wax and you have the cut letters.
Take a piece of French plate glass, say two by six
feet, cover it with fine lace, and pass it under the
blast, and not a thread of the lace will be injured,
but the sand will cut deep into the glass wher
ever it is not covered by the lace. Now remove
the lace, and you have a delicate and beautiful
figure raised on the glass. In this way beautiful
figures of all kinds are cut in glass and at a
small expense. The workmen can hold their
hands under the blast without harm, even when
it is rapidly cutting away the hardest glass, iron,
or stone, but they must look out for finger nails,
or they will be whittled off right hastily. If they
put on steel thimbles to protect the nails it will
do but little good, for the sand will soon whittle
them away; but if they wrap a piece of cotton
around them they are safe. You will at once see
the philosophy of it. The sand whittles away
and destroys any hard substance even glass
but does not affect substances that are soft and
yielding, like wax, cotton, fine lace, or even the
human hand. Journal of Science.
. THINGS TO MAKE A NOTE OF.
Curate's Pudding. Beat the yolks of two
eggs with two ounces of flour, and one table
spoonful of milk ; set half a pint of milk, less
the tablespoonful, on the fire, with two ounces of
sugar, and two ounces of butter; make them hot,
but do not let them boil ; when the flour and
eggs are beaten quite smooth, add the hot milk,
etc., also the whites of the eggs, beaten very light.
Mix thoroughly, and pour into four saucers, but
tered and heated hot; bake twenty minutes in a
quick oven; when cooked a light-brown color,
lay two of them on a dish spread with plum or
other jam, place the other two on top, and serve
Plum Pudding Without Suet. Half pound
of flour, half pound of currants, half pound of grated
carrots,half pound grated potatoes, quarter pound
of butter, two ounces of sugar ; mix all together,
adding a little salt, and any other approved sea
soning ; boil in a buttered basin an hour and
a half, and serve with sweet sauce. A large spoon
ful of molasses is an agreeable addition. Some
persons use butter, in the place of suet, for pud
ding, as it makes them lighter and more digesti
ble. Potato Croquettes. Season cold mashed po
tatoes with pepper, salt and nutmeg. Beat to a
cream with a teaspoon of melted butter to every
cupful of potato ; bind with two or three well
beaten eggs, and add some minced parsley (if you
like). Roll into oval balls, dip in beaten egg,
then in bread crumbs, and fry in hot lard or drip
pings. Pile in a pyramid upon a flat dish and
Stew: d Leg of Lamb. Choose a small leg
of lam') weighing about four pounds, and put it
into a :ittle which is just large enough for it,
with t .v onions, a small carrot, an ounce of salt,
a smai: easpoonful of pepper, two cloves, a small
bundle of sweet herbs, and a quart of stock.
Cover e stewpan closely, and let it boil gently
for tv hours. It will be well to try the meat at
the e:i ! of an hour and a half, and if it is then
tender cease boiling, and let it stand on a cool
part o ! : 1: erange until wanted. Strain the gravy,
take o ' the fat, and reduce it to a pint by boiling
without the lid of the stewpan, pour it over the
meat and serve. Boil a quarter of a pound of
Italian pastine in a quart of water slightly salted,
until tender. Most shapes take about ten min
utes. Take care when you throw in the pastine,
that the water boils, and that it continues to do
so daring all the time of cooking, as this will
keep the pastine from sticking together. Put
this by way of garnish round the dish on which
you have placed the leg of lamb. Household
For Cancer. Gather wood-sorrel when in
blossom (that bearing a blue flower is better than
the yellow flowered); pound and press out the
juice; put it in a plate and cover the whole plate
with glass ; set it in the sun until a paste is formed ;
then cork it tightly in a vial. When applied, it
should be spread on a cloth or washleather, and
placed over the cancer only in the daytime, so
that the patient may sleep. If properly gathered
prepared and applied, it will, it is asserted, draw
out the cancer in about four days. Meantime the
patient should drink much yellow-dock tea.
Neio York Times.
THE CRATER OF KILAUEA..
The following peri-picture of the fearful crater
of Ktfauca is from the Honolulu Advertiser.
Tourists to the volcano for many years past all
reaiember certain active pools of lava, the North
.md South Lakes, which ordinarily bubbled and
tossed a fiery flood at a depth of about 120 feet
below the floor of the great crater. Now these
lakes have all been filled up, and there have
arisen peaks and cones of hard lava that rise over
100 feet above the south bank of the great crater,
which is aboutl,000 feet high. But there has burst
forth a new opening in, the great crater floor not faro
distant from the old lakes, and created a new laket.
almost round in form, about GOO feet across and'1
some seventy feet in depth, in ordinary stage?
below the surrounding brink. Here the grea,:
Hawaiian volcano presents the most varied fan
tastic play of liquid lava. Here are some of the
phases of the play of a fire lake, as recently ob
served in the crater of Kilauea.. Sometimes it
seems almost to sleep, and the disappointed visi
tor looks down into a black valley and observes
a smoking pit giving no more evidence of com
bustion than a tar kiln. But the observer stands
on the brink of the pit, or great pool or lake, as
now appears, about 600 feet across, and whose
surface is about seventy feet below him. And
what is this surface? It presents a dark silver
gray hue, with a satiny shine. This is a crust of
quiescent lava, and the observer who has expect
ed to have his sense of wonder strained to speech
lessness, says : " Is this all ? " No ! look ! the frozen
glassy lake is alive. What a heave in the centre
some mighty beast lifting up that floor ! Now
a wave of undulation runs round the incrusted
marge. And there is an outburst, a blood -red
fount, gushing and bubbling from one of earth's
arteries. The broad disk of the lake heaves and
trembles ! Fitful gaseous flashes flit across, and
now the moving floor cracks and a serrated fis
sure like the suture of a skull runs from marge
to marge, and quick, darting streaks, sudden
cracks of the crust, shoot across in all directions.
These serrated streaks are at first rosy lines on
the gray surface, then they widen like crimson
ribbons, broadening to the view. They undulate
with the billowy motion of the whole upheaving
surface. Another crimson fount springs up along
the now fretting and roaring rim of the lake ;
and another and another of now wildly upleap
ing fountains of fire toss high their gory crests,
even casting gouts and clots of the red spray that
fall and harden near the observer's feet. By this
time the spirit of our inferno is aroused. The
whole fierce red lake is all boil, and leap, and
roar. It is more than the roar of loud sea surfs
beating bold bluffs. The surging tide of the mol
ten earth sounds a deeper bellowing bass than
any note of the sounding sea. And now the
heaved-up crust broken into fragments is churned
up and dissolved in the boiling flood. The roar
ing gulf is now, indeed, a vortex of indescribable
glories and terrors. Caves open on the sides of the
surrounding wall, and a man sees more of a hell
than he ever imagined. A thousand demons are
now holding high carnival in this bottomless pit
and the leap and play of a fiery flood, the dance
and swell of a red surging tide, and the roar and
shriek of the dread forces issuing from the red
hot pulsating heart of the planet, make a thought
ful observer hold his hand to his own heart and
say, " This is enough ; the Almighty is here."
The rarest of all gems is not the diamond,
which follows after the ruby. This in its turn
allows precedence to the chrysoberyl popularly
known as the cat's eye. The true stone comes
from Ceylon, though Pliny knew of something
similar under the name of zimilanipis, found in
the bed of the Euphrates. Can we wonder, when
we look atone of these singular productions of na
ture, with its silvern streak in the centre, and
observe, as we move it ever so slightly, the magic
rays of varying light that illumine its surface,
that it was an object of profound reverence to the
ancients? The possessor was supposed never to
grow poorer, but always to increase his substance.
The largest known is now in the possession of
Mr. Bryce Wright, the well-known mineralogist.
It is recorded in the annals of Ceylon, and
known to history as the finest in the world.
Two stars of lesser magnitude shine by its side,
and we are informed that three such stones are
not known to exist elsewhere in the wide world.
A PUZZLED MAN.
The inebriate is sometimes as simple minded
and over-credulous as a child, and we may add,
as easily puzzled. One such, too good natured
and witty to remain sober long, was vainly try
ing to find his way home. He accosted a passer
by with, "Beg pardon, sir, I've been having too
good a time to walk very straight. Will you be
kind enough, beg pardon, sir, to tell me which is
the other side of the street?" The stranger
kindly answered, " Why, my dear fellow, I sup
pose it is just over there," pointing with his fin
ger. The inebriate seemed to be strangely puz
zled by the answer, and for a moment was lost
in profound meditation. At last he looked into
the stranger's face and said sweetly: "Beg par
don, sir, that's just what I thought myself, but I
went over there about ten minutes ago and asked
a gentleman the same question, and beg pardon,
sir he told me it was over here. What in the
world I'm going to do I don't know. You see
beg pardon, sir I live just on the other side of
the street from the club, and I've been more than
two hours trying to find it."
Thought is the property of him who can enter
tain it, and of him who can adequately place it.
We are never deceived, we deceive ourselves.
Orthodoxy is my doxy, Heterodoxy is another
man's doxy. Bishop Warfotrton.
That action is best, which procures the greatest
happiness for the greatest numbers.
Better to wear out than to rust out. Bishop
God sends meat, and the devil sends cooks.
Women, like princes, find few real friends.
Every man is the architect of his own fortune.