volume i.—number 13.
For the Reporter.
Thoughts.
Thou great and glorious God of Nature !
Far worlds chant their mystic storv,
Hiring wisdom, praise and glory
To Thee, most glorious Teacher.
Eternal God of Thunder !
Thy rid-winged messengers of flame,
That engrave on clouds thy awful name,
First taught my soul to think and wonder.
A world, a cubic inch of sod,
The Universe, one grain of sand,
Tell us of an Almighty Hand
And of thy being, God.
Thou walkcst in the twilight,
When evening’s watchtires blaze the west;
And on high heaven’s spacious breast,
We see Thee in deep midnight.
Thou lead’st the legions of the sky,
From bleak Arctarus to the Southern Cross;
The burnished bucklers of the mighty host
Gleam in the radiance of Thy dazzling eye.
Through the high heavens re-echoes loud
The thundering canonade,
And on sky gleams thy glist’ning blade.
Drawn from its sheath of cloud.
In tempests, storms, and on the surging sea,
Thy laws are writ. And in thy mighty power,
Through the wild eloquence of Naure’s prayer
Displayed, my soul would worship Thee.
Fmvn Godey’s Lady’s Book.
The Robbery on the Turnpike.
BY EDITH WOODLEY.
“Lizzie, do run to the w inder, and
sqe if you can tell who that is goin’
down the lane that leads to Deacon
Palmer’s.”
“I believe,” replied Lizzie, “that it is
Mr, Brown.”
“Which Mr. Brown ? for yon know*
there are five Browns live in the north
parish, and two in the east.”
“It is Mr. James Brown, who lives
close by the old red school-house.”
“I wonder if he remembers the quil
tin’ all the young folks went to at Mr,
Maylalid’s, when Lucy Mayland was
gettin’ ready to be married to Ben Pal
mer? Ben didn’t much think, then,
that he should ever be a deacon, I
guess; and Lucy had as little thought
of ever bein’ a deacon’s wife. Jeemes
Brown meant to have Lucy; and her
father encouraged him all he could, for
he had a first-rate farm, free and clear
from all incumbrance; while Ben Pal
mer had nothin’ on the face of the airth
to depend on but his head and hands.
For all that, he’s worth twice as much
now as Jeemes Brown is.
“Well, as I was savin’, Lucy May
land was gettin’ ready to be married;
and one pleasant day in January she
invited all the young folks, far and near,
to a quiltin’. I guess you never went
to a right-down, old-fashioned quiltin’;
did you, Lizzie ?’’
“I suspect I never did.”
“Yon don’t know what it is, then, to
have a real good time, and enjoy your
self. I’d give more to go to one quil
tin’, sich as I used to go to in my young
days, than to forty parties, sich as they
have now'. All the gals made a p’int
of havin’ dinner airly, when there was
goin’ to be one, so as to he on the spot,
and ready to go to work by one o’clock,
sartain, if not afore. The young men,
in a gin’ral way, didn't come till a .ter
dark; and by that time the quilt, un
less there w'as an uncommon deal of
w'ork in it, was rolled up into a purty
small compass.
“The quilt Lucy was goin’ to have
quilted, the time I’m speakin’ of, was a
dreadful handsome one. ’Twas made
of patch work called the risin’ sun, and
had jest come into fashion. There
wasn't room for ono-half of us to sit
round the quilt at a time ; but the more
the merrier, yon know; and, while one
set were at work, the other had nothin’
to do but enjoy themselves. Sometimes
we laughed and chatted, and, when we
got tired of that, sung some new tune
we'd been lamin’ at singing-school.
“It had got to be near seven o’clock,
and most of the beaux (we used to call
’em sparks in them days) had arrived.
Jeemes Brown and four or five others
were all that were missin’. At last,
there was a great jingle of bells—for
’twas dreadful good sleighin’—and
Jeemes dashed up to the door in his
new tub-bottomed sleigh, with a red
and green kiverlid spread over the scat
and back, for there was no sich thing
then in the country, w hatever there was
in the city, as buffalo rob os. There
was a boy stood ready to onharness his
horse; but he said he was goin’ furder,
and couldn't stop more’n five minutes.
‘l'll jest step into the house, and say a
word or two to the gals,’ says he; ‘and
then I must be off’
“So he came into the room, where
we all were, puffin’ away at a long nine,
for he considered it mighty genteel to
smoke cigars.
“‘You’d better stop till arter sup
per,’ says Lucy.
“ ‘When will it be ready?’ says ho.
“ ‘At seven.’
“ ‘And it is now jest six,’ says he,
lookin’ at his watch, that had seals and
trinkets enough danglin' at the end of
the pinchbeck chain to till a half-pint
dipper.
“ ‘Let me see,’ says he; ‘I shouldn’t
wonder if I could drive over to Capting
Hilliard’s, trade with him for his sad
dle-horse, and be back by seven.’
“ ‘I don’t b’lieve the Capting will sell
his saddle-horse,’ says Ben Palmer.
“‘Yes, he will,’says Jeemes. ‘He
loves money, and the price is no object
to a man like me. Besides, I happen
to be purty well off for cash jest now;’
and by way of provin’ what he said, he
pulled out lus pocket-book, which was
stuffed full of bank bills.
“ ‘Here’s five hundred dollars,’ says
1110 ci h ®oixnta Bejmftet
lie, ‘in good current money; so I guess
I’ve got enough to buy the Capting’s
horse, and have a little left.’
“ ‘lf I were goin’ to travel that lone
ly turnpike road that leads to Capting
Hilliard’s,’ says Ben Palmer, ‘I should
not like to have everybody know that
I had five hundred dollars in my pock
et.’
“You see that Ben knew Jeemes was
awful timorsome, and said it to tease
him. *
“ ‘Well,’ says Jeemes, straightenin’
up, and lookin’ as grand as if he thought
himself equal to a gin’ral, ‘there isn’t
an individual critter on the face of the
airth that I’m afeared to meet single
handed, neither robber nor wild Indian,
let it be in a place ever so lonesome.—
Thank fortin, I’m no coward, nor never
was.’
“‘I want to ask you one'or two ques
tions, Jeemes,’ puttin’ on a long, seri
ous face.
“ ‘You may ask me a dozen, if you’re
a mind to; only I want you to be quick
about it,’ says Jeemes.
“‘Well, then, did you call at Prin
gle’s tavern, as you came along V says
Ben.
“ ‘Yes, I jest run in a minute, to get
a few cigars.’
“ ‘And did you, while you was there,
say that you were goin’ over to Cap
ting Hilliard’s to buy a horse ?’
“ T shouldn’t wonder if I mentioned
it,’ says Jeemes.
“ ‘Well, if there were no strangers
there, ’twas all well enough.’
“‘But there were a number; and I
remember now that, when I took out
my pocket-book, and told Pringle I
hadn’t a cent of change, and should be
obleeged to get him to take his pay for
the cigars out of a ten dollar bill,* one
of ’em eyed me purty sharp.’
“Ben shook his head, but didn’t say
anything.
“ ‘P’r’aps,’ says Jeemes, ‘l’d better
not go over to the Capting’s, this eve
nin’. What’s your advice, Ben ?’
“ ‘lf Sam Peters was in your place,
and had asked me the same question,’
says Ben, lookin’ towards a young man
six foot high, that everybody knew had
the courage of a lion, ‘I don’t-know as
I should try to discourage him from go
in’. On the whole, I should advise him
to, by all means. What do you sav,
Lucy ?’
“ ‘The same as you do,’ was Lucy’s
answer.
“ ‘I guess,’ says Jeemes, ‘l’ve got as
much courage and fortitude as Sam
Peters has, any day; so the advice that
will do for him will do for me.’
“Upon that, he lit another cigar, but
toned up liis great-coat, and tollin’ Lu
cy that iie should be back by the time
supper was ready, he sot off for Cap
ting Hilliard’s.
“ ‘You wore too bad, Ben,’ says Lu
cy, artcr Jeemes was gone ; ‘you know
he’s always skeered at his own shadder,
and won’t take a mite of comfort till he
gets back agin.’
“ ‘He no need to lie al’ays and etar
nally boastin’ of his courage, Jhen,’ says
Ben. ‘He only makes himself an object
ot radicule by doin’ it, and whoever
can fix on some plan to cure him, will,
in my opinion, do him a rightdown good
turn.
In a minute or two, a parcel, more of
the young men arrived; so avc got to
talkin’ about other things, and thought
no more about Jeemes, Avhen all at once
Sam Peters speaks up, and says he, ‘lf
I’m not mistaken, Jeemes Brown is
coinin’ back.’
“ Tt isn’t time for him to be back
yet,’ says Ben; ‘he hasn’t been gone
more'n ten or fifteen minutes.’
“ *W ell,’ says Sam, ‘I can hear bells,
and I can tell the ring of his, from any
other in the place.’
Twas scarce a minute afterwards,
afore he came driviu’ up the door, Jehu
like. The next breath, he rushed into
the house, Ayith eyes wide as they Avere
long, and with lips as white as a cloth.
“ t hat’s the matter, Jeemes?’ spoke
up halt a dozen voices all at once.
“ ‘Matter enough,’ says he ; ‘ IVe
barely ’scoped with my life, and that’s
all.’
“ ‘Did your horse run away with
you?’ says Lucv,
“ ‘M orse than that! worse than that!’
says he. ‘1 lie tact is, my friends and
feller-citizens’—-[Jeemes, you see, A\*as
a flamin’ politicianer, and that’s the
AA*ay he al ays begun when he made a
speech] ‘my friends and feller-citizens,
says he, ‘I ve been through a solemn
and try in scene, one of the most sol
emnest, and the most tryin’est, ’tAA'as
ever my fortin to pass through.’
“ ‘Let us hear ivhat it was,’ says Sam
Peters.
“ ‘Sumthin that ’ill lam me not to
slight good advice, for the futur.’
“ ‘Come, out Avith it; what has hap
pened ?’ says Ben Palmer.
“‘I ve been robbed; my five hun
dred dollars are gone,’ savs Jeemes.
“ ‘\ on don t say so,’ says Sam.
“ ‘lt is the solemn truth, my friends
and feller-citizens. But j don’t rally
the loss ot the money, more than if the
bank bills had been so many bits of
broAA n paper, as long as my life is
spared.’ ® J
“ ‘lbiA'e you any idee avlio the robber
Avas? says Sam Peters.
I guess I have; J knoAV him the
minute I sot ray eves on him ’
“‘Who was it? Do tell'us!’says
Lucy May land.
“ ‘Why, who should it bo but the
identical, terocious-lookin’ villain that
eyed me so sharp Avli cn I was a t Prin
gle’s?’
gebofec) io &übotq, agriciftojty ifyqlio.), ftetos, 4>]d flje giiffifsloi} of o§cft|) ifootoledge.
GRAND RAPIDS, WISCONSIN.-WEDNESDAY, MARCH 3, 1858.
“ ‘Did he threaten your life ?’ says
Ben.
“ ‘You’d have thought he threatened
it if you’d seen his gun p’inted at my
head.’
“ ‘Whereabouts did you come acrost
him ?’ says Lucy.
“ ‘On the turnpike; the most lone
somest and the most desolatest part of
it, I’d got right off agin him, afore I
diskivered him, when, happenin’ to turn
my head a little, I seed him standin’
stiff* as a stake, a little tother side of
the fence, p’intin’ his gun right at my
head.’
“ ‘Where the robber stood wasn’t? a
great way from the powder magazine,
was it ?’ says Lucy Mayland.
“ ‘No, o’ny a rod or two.’
“ ‘I thought so,’ says she, turnin’
away her head, so he needn’t see her
laugh.
“ ‘The robber didn’t fire, I hope,’
says Ben.
“ ‘Xo; I wasn’t fool enough to wait
for that; I knew what he was aider, and
so I cries out: Don’t shoot me—don’t
shoot me !—here’s my pocket-book 1 —
take it—take it! And with that, I give
it a fling, and it went over the fence,
and fell at the robber’s feet.’
“‘And what did he do next?’ says
Lucy.
“He neither spoke nor moved a sin
gle inch, but kept his gun levelled at
my head, as if he was bent on havin’
my life. But you see I disapp’inted
him; and I’m here safe and soun I.—
’Twas a narrer ’scape, though, I tell
you.’
“ ‘You’re sartain the pocket-book,
when you threw it, went over tother
side of the fence ?’ says Ben Palmer.
“ ‘A r es. I am sure of that, ’cause he
was standin’ tother side; and I’d no
idee of obleegin’him to come any near
er to me than lie was.’
“ ‘We may as well wait, and not go
till aider supper, then,’ says Ben, whis
periu’ to Sam Peters.
“ ‘Yes,’ says Sam, ‘for there’s but lit
tle passin’ that way; and it will be as
safe where it is as if it was in his pock
et.’
“ ‘I guess you don’t b’lievc he seed
a robber,’ says I, who was standin’ so
near, I could hear every word they said.
“They smiled, but didn’t make me
any answer.
“ ‘Come, Ben, let’s be goin’,’ says
Sam, as soon as supper was over.
“ ‘Stop a minute,’ says Ben; and,
goin’ up to Jeemes, ‘What’ll you give
Sam and me,’ says he, ‘if w'e’ll go and
overtake the robber, and get your pock
et-book, with the five hundred dollars
untouched ?’
“ ‘Friends and fellow-citizens,’ says
Jeemes, ‘it’s too solemn a thing to risk
your life for the sake of money. I shan’t
give my consent to any sich proceedin’.’
“ ‘We’ll go, then, without your con
sent,’ says Ben. ‘Come, Sam; arc you
ready ?’
“‘Yes,’ answered Sam; ‘and we’d
better go afoot, I s’pose, for ’tisn’t
more’n a quarter of a mile.’
“ ‘lf you’re detarmiued on goin’, my
horse and sleigh is at your sarvice,’ says
Jeemes.
“ ‘Thank you,’ says Ben; ‘but your
horse will be better oft* in the stable,
with a blanket on, arter bein’ driv so
furiously; and it’s my candid opinion
that we shall find no difficulty in coinin’
up with fhe robber, if we go afoot.’
“ ‘You don’t mean to go without bein’
well armed,’ says Lucy, w ith a mis
chievous smile, for she understood the
psalm, as the savin’ is.
“ ‘Natur has pervided me with two
good arms,’ savs Ben, ‘and that’s all I
ask.’
“ ‘Or I citlior,’ says Sam.
“While they were gone, avc all, jest
for the fun of the tiling, put on awful
long faces; while Jeemes walked the
floor the whole of the time, and kept
say In’: ‘Friends and feller-citizens, if
they’re killed, you’ll bear witness that
they went without my consent.’
“ ‘Sartainly! sartainly!’ avc all kept
savin’; but it didn’t seem to compose
his feelin’s a single bit.
“ ‘You’ve no idee what a great, saA'-
age-lookin’ critter he Avas,’ says Jeemes.
“ ‘Did he Avear a slouched hat, sich
as the robbers I’ve read about in story
books wear ?’ says Lucy.
“ ‘I don’t knoAV what kind of a hat
he Avore,’ says Jeemes; ‘but I’m sartin
I could see his eyes shine under the
brim, jest like balls of fire.’
“It Avasn’t long afore Ben and Sam
got back.
“ ‘There’s your pocket-book, and all
its contents, I expect,’ says Ben, throAv
in’ it on to the table.
“ ‘lloav did you get it ?’ says Jeemes,
with a look of astonishment.
“ ‘Oh, the robber was no match for
Sam and me !’ says Ben.
“ ‘But he might ’ve shot you right
through the heart. Arter all, I don’t
see hoA\’ you got it.’
“ ‘Why, I jest stooped doAvn and
picked it up,’ says Ben.
“ ‘The robber must Ve dropped it,
sure as I’m alive,’ says Jeemes.—
‘Whereabouts did you find it ?’
“ ‘Jest Avhere avc expected to—right
afore the old pump that stands a little
way in from the road.’
‘“And the handle was p’iutin 1 right
at him the whole of the time,’ says Sam
Peters; ‘but it did’nt daunt him a rarite.’
“Jeemes never said another word ;
but, takin’ his pocket-book from the ta
ble, and puttin’ it into his pocket, ho
sot doAvn in a corner of the room, look
in’ as meek as a lamb. From that day
to this, hehvas noA'cr hcern to hoast of
his counure.”
How Ben Purtle got his Wife.
The very climax of ugliness was Ben
Purtle. He was red haired, and each
hair stood as ifit cherished the snprem
est contempt for its next neighbor,—
His face was as freckled as the most
bespotted turkey egg. His nose sup
ported at the bridge a large lump,
while the end turned viciously to one
side. His mouth had every shape but
a pretty shape. His form* was as un
couth as his face was ugly. The very
climax of ugliness w*as Ben Purtle—
what was more still, Ben had a hand
some, bouncing, blooming wife—such
as only can be grown upon a country
lawn.
“How the deuce,” said I to Ben one
day, “did you ever get such a wife, you
uncouth, misshappen, quintessence of
monstrosity ?”
Ben was not at all offended by the
impertinence of my question, and forth
with began to solve the mystery thus:
“Well, now, gals what’s sensible
ain’t cotched by none of your purty and
hifalutin airs. * I’ve seed that tried
mor’n once. Aon know Kate was al
lers considerable the purtiest girl in
these parts, and all the fellers in the
neighborhood used to try to eotch her.
VV"ell, I used to go over to old Sammy’s
too, just to kinder look on, and cast
sheep’s eyes at Kate. But marcy sakes!
I had no more thought that I could got
Kate than a Jerusalem cricket could
hide in the hair that wasn’t on old
Sammy’s bald head—no-sir-ee. But
still I couldn’t help going, an’ my heart
would kinder flatter, and my eyes would
bum all over, whenever I’d go to talk
with Katy. And one flay when Kate
sorter made fun of me like, it almost
killed me sure; I went home with some
tiling like a rock jostling about in my
breast, and declared I’d bang myself
with the first plow line I found.”
“Did you hang yourself?”
“Xo; daddy blazed at me for not tak
ing old Ball to the pasture in the morn
ing, and scared me so that I forgot all
about it.”
“Go on,” said I, seeing Bon pause
with apparent regret that he had not
executed his vow.
“Well, so one Monday morning—(l
reckon it was a year after that hang
mg scrape)—l got* up and scraped my
face with daddy’s old razor; and put on
my new copras britches, and anew
linsey coat that mamy had died with
sassafras bark, and went over to un
cle Sammy’s. Xow I’d got to loving
Kate like all creation, but I never cheap
ed to anybody about my feelings. But
I knowed I was on the right side of the
old folks.”
“Well, now, ain't it quar,” continu
ed Bon, “how a feller will feci some
times? Something seemed to sav as I
went along, Ben Purtle this is a great
day for you, and then my heart jump
ed and fluttered like a jay bird in a
trap. And when I got there and seed
Kate with her new checked homo-spun
frock on, I rally thought I should take
the blind-staggers, anyhow.”
Ben paused again to brush the fog
from his eyes, and then continued:
“Well, I found the order of the day
was to go muscandiue hunting, Joe
Sharp and his two sisters, and Jim
Bowles was thar. I’d knowed a long
time that Sharp was right arter Katt”
and I hated him worse than a hog hates
to find his way out of a tater patch;
but I didn’t let on. Sharp had on white
britches and fine shoes, and broadcloth
overcoat, but everybody knowed that
he wasn’t w orth a red cent, lie walk
ed with Kate, and you ought to have
seed the airs he put on. It was Miss
Kate this, and Miss Kate that, and all
such nonsense. After awhile we came
near a slough whar we had to cross on
a log, and I’d a notion to pitch the sas
sy good-for-nothing into the water.”
“VVhv didn’t vou ?”
“Stop, never mind, 1 said Ben giving
me a nudge, “Providence done that all
up brown. Nothing must do but Joe
Sharp must lead Miss Kate across fust.
He jumped on the log in high glee and
took Kate’s hand, and they put off.—
Just as they got halfway across, a tar
nation big bull frog jumped off into the
water, you know how they holler—
Snakes! screamed the fool, and knock
ed Kate off up to her waist in the nas
ty, black, muddy water. And what
dye think he done ?—Why he runs
backwards and foreds, a hollerin’ for a
pole to help Kate out of the water with.
Kate looked at me, and I couldn’t stand
it any longer. Curchuck I lit ten feet
from the bank at the first jump, and
had Kate out of there in no time.—
And d’ye think the scamp didn’t come
up after we’d got out and said: Are vou
hurt Miss Kate ?”
“Mv dander was up. I couldn’t
stand it; I cotched him by the seat of
his white britches and coat collar, and
gin a toss. Maybe he didn’t go clear
under when, he liit the water, I didn’t
see him out. Me and Kate put for the
house. When we started off. Kate
said:
“Ben, just let me hold on to your arm,
I kinder feel sorter weak.”
“Gepeat Jiminy 1 I felt so quar when
she took hold. I tried to sav some
thing nice, but my drotted mouth would
not go off, no how. But I felt as strong
as an elephant, and helped Kate along.
Bimby Kate said:
“Ben, that Joe Sharp’s a good for
nothing, sneaking, cowardly nobody;
ef he ever puts his head inside of our
house again, I'll souse him with dish
water, sure.”
“I tried to say something again, but
hang the luck, I couldn’t sav nothin?.
but squeezed Kate’s hand, and sighed
like a cranky bellus.”
“When we’d got clean out of sight
of the others, Kate says:
“Ben, I feel that you are my protec
tor, and I believe daddy’s right when
he says yon are worth all the rest of the
boys in the naborhood.”
Ben Purtle, says I, “this is a great
day for you,” and I made a tremendous
effort to get my mouth off* again, and
out it popped, sure enough:
“Kate,” says I, trembling all over, “I
love you to destruction, and no mistake.
I’ve loved you long and hard. My
heart s been almost broken for years;
and I want you to say right up and
down, whether you are going to have
me or not?”
Kate hung down her head and didn’t
say nothing, but I felt encouraged, for
she kinder sighed. Says I, “Kate, cf
you’re gwine to have me, say so, and
ef you dent want to say so, just squeeze
my hand.”
“TV ell, she squeezed my hand right
off! Lorry, how I did feel. I felt like as a
stream of warm water or sassafras tea,
sweetened with molasses, was running
through my bones!—and I just cotched
her in my arms and kissed her, and she
never tried the fust time to got loose.”
Ben was so overcome with this nar
ration of courtship, that a pause for
breath was necessary.
“How long after that,” said I, “be
fore you w ere married ?”
“Old Sammy was mighty proud, and
so was the old ’oman, about the thing,
and we married next fall after the mus
candine scrape.”
“Do you think vour wife loves you
yet?” I asked.
“VV by, lordy, yes. She thinks I'm
the purtiest and best feller in the
world. I toll you, sir, it’s no use talk
ing; hiaflutiu airs, and quality dressing,
and cologne, and such things, ain’t
gwine to go down with sensible gals,
sure.”
Fretting. —Fretting won't pay. On
the contrary, it is always practiced at a
Joss of time, strength, and temper, end
ing in the greater loss of happiness.
Fretters are much more apt to prac
tice the pernicious habit because of
small matters than great ones. Xay,
imaginary troubles are quite as apt to be
the subject of disquietude as real ones.
And so, if they have nothing real to
stew themselves over, they will conjure
up something wherewith to make them
selves miserable.
VYe have read an anecdote well cal
culated to show the folly of people
fretting over their misfortunes. It is told
of a couple of gardeners, whose pea
crops had failed because of the frost,
or some other adverse influence. One
of them went about amongst his neufli
bors fretting, and insisting that he was
‘the most unlucky creature inexistence.’
Some time afterwards, on visiting his
unfortunate neighbor, and getting a
glimpse of his garden, he exclaimed—
“ What a flue crop of peas you have!
—How is this, that you have peas this
year, and I none? I thought your plant
ing was all for nought, like rny own!”
“Precisely so,” said the other. “But
while you were fretting, I re-planted
my crop !”
Fretting would not be so bad a hab
it, were its consequences confined to
the fretter. But they are not. Fret
ters are almost certain to make their
families and friends and neighbors uu
-1 nippy. And so they become social
nuisances, calling loudly for abatement.
Remember this, ye fretters, and fret
no more!
Corn Cura per than Coal for Fu-
ET - —11 11 - 1 Chicago Tribune notes that
a gentleman who just returned from a
trip on the Illinois Central, tells that at
Kankakee, only a few hours ride from
that city, he found a man burning irood
sound corn-in-the-ear in his° office
stove. Inquiring the reason of what
to him seemed shameful, he was
told that while poor coal was worth 30
cents per 100 lbs, at the depot, un
thrashed corn was dull at 25 cents for
the same weight. He was assured that
the latter made the brightest, hottest,
and cleanest fire. If it is cheaper to
burn corn than coal, there is nothing
shameful, for the reason that every
commodity is made to use for the most
economical pm pose in support of life.
V here there is more corn than the con
sumption ot bread-stuff requires, it may
be better used for fuel than for whiskey.
m i e> ■
The Investigation not a Failure.
—The transactions before the land
grant investigating committee are not
public, and little is definitely known as
to the testimony already taken by them.
Quite a number of witnesses have been
examined, however, and notwithstand
ing the refusal of Messrs. Falvey and
Kilbourn to answer, it is understood
that sufficient evidence of corruption has
already been disclosed to justify the
investigation, even if the committee
should proceed no further in their inqui
ries.—Madison Journal.
A Venerable Joke. —Dr. Jackson,
the elder, of Boston, meeting his old
friend, Josiah Quincy, (both past eigh
ty years ot age) on the sidewalk, ac
costed him with, “Well, Mr, Quincy,
how much longer do vou intend to
live ?”
“Till I send for a doctor,” was the
quick reply.
“And when did you send for one
last?” inquired Dr. j,
“Just eighty-six years ago!” answer
ed Mr. Quincy, adding the precise
dav of Ids forth.
A Race with a Widow.
Oh, merciful Jehosophat and big on
ions, what a time I've had with "that
widder. Wo chartered an omnibus
for two on Christmas, and started.—
Widder, said I, where shall we go to?
She blushed, and said she didn’t like to
say. I told her she must sav.
“W"ell, Jehuel, if you insist upon it,
and I am to have my choice, I had
rather go to ch urch"
“What for, widder!” said I.
“Oh, Jehuel, how can you ask me?'’
“Cause I want to know,” said I.
“Well—(blushing redder than beef)
—it is such cold weather now, and the
nights are so awful cold and—oh, Je
huel, I can't say it!”
“Oh, pshaw, widder, spit it out, what
do you mean ?”
The widder riled. She biled right
over like a quart of milk on the fire,
and burst out with—
“lt you can’t understand me, you’re
a heartless brute, so you are.”
“Hold your horses!” said I. “What
is all this about! I’m not a brute, nor
never was and if a man called me that
I’d boot him, sure.”
And then I biled right over, and un
buttoned my coat collar to keep from
bustin’ off my buttons. The widder
saw I was going to explode, or else
collapse my windpipe, and she flung
her arms round my neck, put her lips
to mine and cooled right down.
“Jehuel, dear!” said she, in an insin
uatin' way and a voice as sweet as a
hand organ, “Jehuel, honey, I wanted
to go to church to get mar —no I can’t
say it all, you finish the word, Jehuel,
sweet.”
“ What word, inarm ?”
“Oh, you stupid Jehuel, dear. T
mean the word married, Jehuel, love.”
“Married, widder!” said I, “didyon
mean that f"
“Indeed I did, Jehuel, love !”
“Look here, marm, my name isn't
Jehuel love, nor Jehuel dear, nor Jehu
el sweet, I’d have you to know. And
I wont get married to nobody but one,
and you are not the she."
Oh pewter pennies, but didn't she
rave! She made one dash at me, I
dodged, and she went butt up against
the upper end of the omnibus. Crack
went her comb, and smash went that
bran new bonnet that I didn’t buy for
her and down she went with her * face
in the straw. But in a moment she
rose again, and made one more dash at
me. I dropped—she went over me
and butted the door of the omnibus.—
The strap broke and out she went—her
gaiter boots higher than her head as
she struck the pavement.
“Drive on !” I yelled to the driver.
“VV oman overboard—woman over
board !” yelled a passing sailor.
“Stop that white coat—breach of
promise—reward—herald publish !”
shrieked the widder, in tones of mortal
agony, while tears of blood streamed
from her beautiful pug nose.
“Drive on—drive on !” I shouted.
“Where to?” asked the driver.
“To the Devil—to Harlem—Ma
comb’s Dam—Degroots—anywhere so
that we escape matrimony and the wid
der.”
He started, so did the widder, and
then we had it up the avenue, the buss
having the start of about a hundred
yards. Foot by foot the widder gain
ed. Thinks I, Jehuel, you are a goner.
I thought it was best to lighten ship.—
So first I hove overboard the straw.—
Still she gained on me. Then over
board went the cushions. But still she
gained. “More steam, driver, for mer
cy’s sake!” I yelled.
“We are going faster than the law
allows now,” he answered. “Thirteen
miles an hour.”
Jehosophat, how the widder did run;
she hove offher bonnet and came up
hand over hand. A thought struck me,
so I off with my white coat and flung
it right down in her path. She sprang
on it like a she panther, and tore it to
pieces; oh, how they flew. I wept to
see it go, but life is sweeter than a coat,
and my tailor is making me anew one;
here wc gained full two hundred yards;
but on she came again; once more I
could see the green in her eyes; merci
ful Moses, how I felt.
“Driver,” said I, “kill them horses
or get another mile out of them.”
“Will you pay for ’em?” he said.
“Yes, yes, yes,” said I, “only save
me from the widder.”
By cracky, we did slide; the widder
no longer gained, but she held her own
beautifully. Thus we had it—out pass
ed the red house—through Harlem—
where Capt. Graham, with three moun
ted policemen, in vain attempted to
catch us, he probably supposing that
we were running away with some bank
fund. My only hope was in reaching
Degroot’s ahead of her, for I kftew
they would hide me. Wc were on the
bridge, and, oh, Moses, the draw was
up, and a sloop going through. “Dri
ver,” said I, “jump that bridge and I
will make your fortune for life, as sure
as you’re born.”
“I'll do it or die !” he cried. And he
did it. The widder jumped after us,
fell into the Harlem river, and hasn’t
been heard of since.
A W ild Cat.—A wild cat, weighing
32 lbs, and measuring better than 6
feet in its extreme length, was shot by
Mr. Ira E. Sweetland, near Baraboo,
Sauk County, a few days since. So we
learn from the Republic.
For late news, see last week's paper I
TAVO DOLLARS'A YEAH
Pact, Fancy and Fun.
—He who follows in the footsteps of
another -will always remain behind.
—Most men employ their first years,
so as to make their last years miserable.
—Brave actions are the substance of
life, and good sayings the ornament of
it.
—The trials of life are the tests
winch ascertain how much good there
is in us.
—“You are a little bear, madam.”—
‘‘Sir 1 “About the shoulders, I mean,
madam.”
—b hy is a cowardly soldier like
butter? Because he is sure to run when
exposed to fire.
—Always doubt the sinceritv of a
girl s love when you see her wipe her
mouth after you kiss her.
—A secret has been admirably de
fined, as “anything made known to eve
rybody in a whisper,”
- Sophistry is like a 'window curtain
—it pleases as an ornament; but its
use is to keep out the light.
—ln order to live justly, and be re
spected, we must refrain from doing
that which we blame in others.
—A young man without money,
among the ladies, is like the moon on a
cloudy night—he can’t shine.
—b hy is a lady bathing in the sea
like one in a very unpleasant predica
ment? Because she is in a great pickle.
—lf you observe a gentleman with
his arm around the waist of a young
lady, it is morally certain that they are
not married.
—M hy should the memory of Gener
al Jackson be commemorated by the
ladies? Because he was the first man
that made a cotton breast-work.
l'he Albany Dutchman says there
is a man in Troy with a nose so long
that he has holes bored in it, and uses
it occasionally for a clarionet.
—Punch says that the reason why
editors are apt to have their manners
spoilt, is because they receive from one.
correspondent and another, such evil
communications.
; on need a little sun and air,”
said a physician to a maiden patient.
“If I do,” she replied, “I will wait till
I got married.” Bolus looked thought
ful, and thought that Avas best
—A young gentleman who had just
married a little beauty, says, “she would
ha\‘e been taller, but she is made of
such precious materials that Nature
couldn’t afford it.”
—ln an interesting article about the
inauguration of the new hospital build
ing in New York, the writer states
that an extensive view is presented
from “the fourth story of the Hudson
River.”
—Why is an editor like the hook
of revelation ?
Because he is full of “types and shad
ows,” and a mighty voice, like the sound
of many waters, is ever saving to him,
“Write.” ’
—A gentleman asked a lady, the
other day, why so many tall gentlemen
were bachelors. The reply was, that
-they were obliged to lie corner wise in
bed to keep their feet in, and that a
wife Avould be in the way.
—Almost a Gal-ox of Puns.—A
chap was asked what kind of a “gal”
he preferred for a wife. He replied,
“One that is not a prodi-g al, but a
//•//-gal and tru-gr\\ and one that Suited
his conju-g al taste.” He’s right.
—“I thought you Averc born on the
Ist of April,” said a Benedict to his
lovely wife, avlio had mentioned the
21st as her birthday.
“Most persons would think so from
the choice I made of a husband,” she
replied.
—“Hoav do your friends feel now?”
said an exultant politician in one of our
Western States, to a rather irritable
member of the defeated party. “I sup
pose,” said the latter, “we feel just as
Lazarrns did when be was licked by
the dogs ?”
—What is a coquette ? A heartless
fiirt; a thing with more beauty than
sense, more accomplishments than
learning, more charms of person than
mental graces, more admirers than
friends, more fools than wise men for
attendants.
—What is a dandy ? A thing in
pantaloons with a body and two arms :
a head without brains ami a cigar stuck
in a hole before; tight boots; a edne}
a scented, Avhitc handkerchief; a stand
ing collar; tAvo broaches, and a showy
ring on his little finger.
—A dying man njon the gallows
lately affirmed that the first step in ca
reer of crime was that of not paying
for his newspaper.— Exchange.
If it was a locolbco newspaper, the
felloAv’s first step in crime was taking
it and the second not paring for it.—
Louisville Journal,
—A Kentucky editor advertises as
folio avs :
“Wanted at this office, a bnll-dogof
any color except pumpkin and milk, of
respectable size, snub-nose, cropped
continuation, abbreviated ears and bad.
disposition—who can come when call
ed with a raw beaf-stake, and will bite
the man avlio spits tobacco-juice on the
stove and steal* mir cXchauaes.”