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Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, August 09, 1854, Image 1

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VOL. 1.
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All lottcrs'itc, should bo addressed, Bcnj. Jones,
Raftsman's Journal," Clearfield, Pa., (post-paid to
receive attention.)
The blood that flowed at Lexington, and crimsoned
bright Champlain,
Streams stitl along the Southern Gulf, and by the
Lakes of Maine ;
It flows in reins that swell above Pacific's golden
And throbs in hearts that love and grieve by dark
Atlantic's strand.
It binds in one vast brotherhood the trapper of the
With men whose cities glass themselves in Erio's
classic breast;
And those to whom September brings the fireside's
social hours,
With those who see December's brow enwreathed
with gorgeous flowers.
From where Columbia laughs to greet the smiling
Western wave,
To where Potomac sighs beside the patriot hcro'3
grave :
And from the streaming everghides to Huron's
lordly flood,
The glory of the nations past thrills through a
kindred blood '.
Wherever Arnold's tale is told it dyes in cheek
with shame,
And glows with pride o'er Bunker Hill or Moul
trie's wilder fame ;
And wheresoever above the fray the stars of em
pire gleam
Upon the deck or o'er tho dust it pours a common
It is a sacred legacy ye never can divide,
Nor take from village urchin,' nor the son of city
pride ;
Nor the hunter's white haired children who find a
fruitful homo
Where nameless lakes are sparkling, and where
lonely rivers roam !
tircen drew his sword at Eutaw; and bleeding
Southern feet
Trod the march across the Delaware amid the snow
and sleet ; .
And lo ! upon tho parchment, where the natal re
cord shines,
The burning page of Jefferson bears Franklin's
calmer lines.
Could ye divide that record bright, and tear the
names apart,
That erst were written boldly there with plighted
hand and heart ?
Could yo erase a Handcock's name e'en with a a
bre 'sedge.
Or wash out with fraternal blood a Carroll's double
Fav. can the South sell out her share in Bunker's
hoary height ?
Or can the North give np her boast in Yorktown's
closing fight !
Can jo divide with equal hands a hermitage of
. graves,
Or rend in twain the starry flag that o'er them
. proudly waves ?
Can ye cast lots for Vernon's foil, or chaffer mid
the gloom,
That hangs its solemn folds about your common
Father's tomb f
Xr could ye meet around his grave as fratricidal
. ; foes,
And wreak your burning curses o'er his pure and
calm repose?
Ye dare sot! is the Allcghanian thunder-toned de
'Tis echoed where Nevada guards the blue and
tranquil soa,
Where tropic waves delighted cla'p or flowery
Southern shore,
And where through frowning mouutain--atcs Ne-
' braska waters roar. '
From the Flag of our Union.
i La Vinctte is 3 beautiful village. You
jnjgbl search through France, and hardly find
rair. How indeed cocJd it be otherwise
'With. ts -XruiMvJ vineyards, it? substantial white
..farmhouses, ana its streets uneu w,
side with varieties of .fruit trees 7 Everything
"iooiii so' comfortable and hoja;e-Iik, so ex
pressive of peaceful plenty, thai .it is no won
der that the traveller, as he passes through he
jrillage, permits his eye to rest with pleasure
upon its neat appearance, and exclaims,
."Surely it is a little paradise !"
After all, I have not named its chief recom
mendation. A'o where will you find .prettier
maidens than those of La Vinctte.' To be
sure, they are not high-born, nor versed in the
elegant accomplishments, since there is not
one amongst thera of higher rank than a far
mer's daughter. Fortunately, however, beau
ty and high birth are not always inseparable,
nor do . liry Always go together. At least,
there is many a countess who would count no
price too great by which she might purchase
the charms of Marie Maillard, who outshone
all other maidens of La Vinette as the sun
does the stars. For all that, Marie was a great
favorite with all her companions. Uncon
scious of her own superiority, she did not ob
trude it upon others.
One afternoon -it chanced that Marie and
several of her companions were returning
merrily from the vineyard whither they had
been to estimate the probable amount of the
coming vintage. All at once, one of them
espied in the road an old woman, walking
along by the help of a stall' which she held in
her right hand. She turned towards them,
and awaited their coming.
"What can we do for you, good mother,"
inquired Marie.
" Cross my hand with a silver piece, my
pretty maid, and I will tell you your fortune."
" You are a sybil, then ?"
" You may call me so. It is given to me to
see ere they arrive the chances which fortune
mav have in store."
They looked at her with growing reverence,
despite her tattered garments and unprepos
sessing face,but none spoke at first. However
mueh one may wish to know what is to happen
to him or her, he caunot avoid feeling a little
reluctance a little disposition to defer the
eventful moment.
" Here mother," at length said Lizette, one
of the gayest of tho party, holding out her
hand to the old crone, "you may tell my for
tune. But I must tell you beforehand, that
you need not take the trouble to provide me
with a husband, as I have vowed to be an old
The sybil took the hand of the laughing
maiden, and, after a single glance, fixed her
penetrating eyes upon her.
" I see," she said slowly, "a bridal train
marching slowly to the village church. Flow
ers are strown along the way, over which pass
the bridal pair. Xeed I mention the name of
the bride ?"
Lizette drew back with a blush; the sybil
was right, for on that day week she was to
stand at the altar. Another took her place,
and still another, till Marie, alone remained.
Come, Marie" said the girls impatiently;
"don't keep us waiting. We want to know
what vour fortune will bo. It should be a
good one."
Marie came forward and submitted her hand
to the interpreter of fate. The sybil started,
as if suspicious that her art had failed her.
But a moment's survey dissipated her doubts
and she murmured, as if to herself.
" Maiden, a brilliant destiny awaits you.
You will wed a title and become the mistress
of a fair estate. Servants shall be in waiting
to do your bidding, and wealth will pour forth
its choicest blessinzs at your feet. Such is
the decree of destiny."
" Mother," said Marie in extreme astonish
ment, " you have certainly read wrong for
once. Such a fate is not for me, and I would
not that it were. Enough for me that I settle
down in the same position that I now occupy,
surrounded by my friends and acquaintances."
" No matter," said the . sybil, composedly;
" you cannot change the course of events.-
Wait patiently for their unfolding. Be not
apprehensive of evil, for this line," and she
placed her withered finger on Marie's palm,
"betokens a long life and a happy one."
" I am much obliged to you, mother," said
the latter laughing, "for your favorable pre
diction, and when I become a countess, I will
take care that you are provided for."
" You owe me nothing," was the reply, "I
am but a mouth-piece of fate. I may demand
the fulfilment of your promise sooner than you
" Be it so mother. When jou arc entitled
to make it, bo sure that I shall not withdraw
from my engagement."
When the sybil had hobbled away, richer
by some francs than lefore, Marie was ban
tered not a little by her companions on the
destiny which hail been marked out for her.
" Which shall it be, Madame La Duchesse,
or Madame La Comtessc ?" inquired Lizette,
" I have a good mind," said Marie, "in re
turn for your malice, to steal away jrour Philip,
and marry him myself. In that case, at least,
the prediction. "
Lizette, who would have been very unwilling
for Marie to attempt in earnest what she threat
ened in jest, thought it best to drop the ban
tering tone she had at first assumed. As for
Marie, she thought little of the prediction.
To her mind it was so altogether improbable
that she did not think it worth while to waste
a thought upon it.
The soil of La Vinette is somewhat uneven,
though it contains no very" high hills. In the
northern part there is a little broo& flowing
over a roeky bed, with considerable impetuosity-
Over this stream, which is, however,
too shallow to be dangerous, there is a narrow
tfoot bridge for the accommodation of passen
gers. .
It so happened that about a week after the
events above described, Marie, who was just
returning from a visit to a neighbor, the other
side of the stream had occasion to pass over
the bridge. Doubtless her thoughts M ere pre
occupied, or she would have been more care
ful. As it was, her foot slipped when half
way across and she fell in. It was not a very
serious affair, but she felt awkward enough,
and vexed at the necessity which compelled
her to wade through the water. She had hard
ly picked herself up, when a pleasant voice
was heard at her side, saying :
" Mademoiselle permit me to escort you to
the other side."
Marie looked up, and encountered the re
spectful gaze of a young man dressed in work
in" alt ire, with a broad brimmed straw hat
upon his head. She had time, though it was
but a moment to perceive that he had fine
black e3'es and a prepossessing, countenance.
Not being disposed to prudishness or coquetry,
she accepted wirhout hesitation the proffered
aid and was soon upon the bank.
" I am much indebted to you for your kind
assistance,' said she, casting down her eyes,
for she could not avoid noticing that those of
the young man, were fixed upon her in admi
ration. " There is no need, mademoiselle. The ob
ligation is all on my side," was the reply.
"Will you be kind enough to inform me,"
he added after a pause, "whether there is any
one in the village who would be likely to em
ploy me upon his farm 7 Fardon my troubling
you, but I am a stranger, and know no one
I think," said Marie, after some hesitation,
"that I heard my father say lately that he
wished to secure additional assistance. If you
would like to inquire, you can accompany
me." .
" Thank you," said the young man, "noth
ing would please me better."
They walked along together, conversing so
ciably. Marie learned incidently that her
companion's name was Henrique Armand,
and that he was the only son of a widowed
mother, living in a village some twenty miles
away, and that it was for the purpose of re
lieving her necessities, and placing her in a
more comfortable situation, that he was now
about to hire himself out. This information
led her to regard Henrique with still greater
favor, and she could not help wishing that her
father might engage him.
Farmer Maillard was also prepossed in fivor
of Henrique, and as he really wished to hire
some one to gather in the vintage and aid in
other farm-work, it was not long before a bar
gain was struck, and the new-comer was in
stalled as a member of the household. Hen
rique's after course did not belie these impress
si 6ns. It was not long before he became a
general favorite. When the labors of the day
were over, he would get his flute or guitar for
he was versed in the use of" both instruments,
and play for the entertainment of those who
were attracted to him. Occasionally he would
accompany himself on the guitar, in a pecu
liarly rich and melodious voice. These songs
were so pleasing that a repetition would often
be demanded. On one occasion, having re.
hearsed a popular song to tho general satisfac
tiou, he was pressed to sing it through once
" No," said he, " I will not do that, but if
you like, I will sing you one of my own com
This proposal was received with evident
pleasure, and after a moments pause ho com.
me need :
Know'st thou my love ? Her dark blue eyes
Shine with soft and pleasant glow,
As if the colors of the skic3
Had found its way to earth below.
Know'st thou my love ? AVhen morning comes
And sunbeams on her pathway fall,
She trips along the flowery meads,
Herself the fairest flower of all.
Know'st thou my love ? Full well I know
No fairer dwells beneath the sun ;
Ah ! would that our divided lives
Might in ouo peaceful current run.
The rich voice of the singer lent much sweet.
ness to the simple words of the song. All ap
plauded the effort all except Marie. She
stood apart from the rest with a pensive and
abstracted air, and said nothing.
" Don't you like it, Marie 7" asked one of
her companions.
" It was very pretty," she replied in a con
strained voice. " M. Annand is a good sing.
er." So saying she went into the house,
Henrique not appearing to notice the move
ment. :
" But are the words true 7 Have you really
a lady love, M. Armand 7" asked a lively mai
den of fifteen. Come, describe her. . What
does she look like 7 What is her name 7"
" You are altogether too fast," aid the
young man, smiling. " Don't you know that
we poets are not obliged to adhere strictly to
the truth. In fact I have usually noticed that
those who are in love, arc the very last to
write songs about it. How do you know but
it may be so with me 7"
I don't believe it at all," said the young
girl, shaking her head. . " You sang with too
much feeling for that. Depend upon it I will
find out who it is this love of yours if I
It is well accepted," said Henrique. "I
defy you to the discovery.
'- From this time Marie treated Henrique with
less familiarity and more coolness than she
had been accustomed. Her spirits : became
less buoyant and more edatc. One afternoon,
Henriqne, in passing through the garden, saw
her sitting in an arbor, at its foot, with her
eyes fixed musingly on the ground.
" It is a fine day, Mademoiselle Marie,"
said he, approaching her.
She started, for she had not been awaro of
his approach,aud murmered an affirmative. He
laid down his pruning knife, and stepping into
the arbor, he sat down on a rustic bench at
her side. It was now his turn to look embar
Marie," said he, after a pause, " there is a
question I wish to ask, but I hardly know how
to set about it. Will you promise not to be
offended ?"
" I do not think you would ask any question
which would render it necessary."
" Tell me then why for some days past you
have seemed to avoid me, and when in my
presence, have shown a reserve and constraint
altogether different from the friendly famil
iarity you used to evince. Have I offended
in any way 7 If so, I will gladly make repar
ation, for I value your regard and good opin
ion highly."
" There is nothing in which you have of
fended me," said Marie in a tremulous voice.
" I am glad of it," said Henrique, his face
brightening, for it emboldens me to make still
another request. I love you, Marie," he ad
ded, impulsively." "I love you most devoted
ly. You must have noticed it. in my looks,
and every action. Do you remember the
evening when I sang by request a song,
" Kuow'st thou my love ?" It was of my own
composition, as I said. Did you not divine,
dear Marie, that it was of you I was singing 7"
Marie started with surprise, and a blush of
pleasure mantled her features.
Was it indeed of me .that you were sing
ing 7 I thought that is, I did not know "
Marie did not finish the sentence. Henrique
perceived at a glance, that herein lay the se
cret of her apparent estrangement, but with
true delicacy he forbore to speak of it.
" May I hope," he asked timidly, "that I
am not wholly indifferent to you ? I am poor
it is true, but the recent legaey of a relative
has given me the means of supporting you in
If you think me worth taking," said Ma
rie, with engaging frankness, "you may have
When the engagement of Henrique, and
Marie became knowu, it was universally pro
nounced an excellent match. It was a mooted
question which was the more fortunate, the
bridegroom or the bride.
" I shall never more believe in fortune tell
ing," said Marie to Henrique one day as she
sat busily employed in preparations for her
approaching marriage.
" Why not 7" he asked.
" Because," was the reply, "it was foretold
of me that I should wed a title, and become
mistress of a fair estate."
" Was that the prediction 7" he asked in
surprise 7 Who told you 7"
" A sybil who was passing through tho vil
lage. But I put no credit in it. I told her if
ever It should come to pass I would provide
for her."
" And are you sure that you do not regret
the non-fulfillment of the prediction ?"
" Can you ask 7" said she reproachfully.
It was the bridal morning. The sun shone
out with more than ordinary splendor, as if to
do honor to the occasion. Before the altar of
the village church stood reverently Henrique
and Marie, and the white-haired priest pro
nounced with trembling voice the word which
united them. The nuptial blessing was scarce
ly over when an old woman bent with infirmity
passed up the aisle and stood before the bride.
" I have come to claim your promise," said
It was the old sooth sayer.
" But," said Marie, "it was dependent on
my marrying a title. You see I have not done
so. You were wrong."
Rather," said the old woman, raising her
voice, "it is you who are wrong, Madame La
" What can she mean 7" asked Marie, look
ing towards her husband with surprise.
She is right, Marie," said he gently. "In
me behold not Henrique Armand simply, but
Count Henrique D'Armand, the possessor of
much weiilth, but of none more precious than
yourself. Listen, and I will explain all. Be
ing desirous of seeing country life in all its
varieties, and mingling in it without being
known, I found my way to your pleasant vil
lage. The rest you know. Will you forgive
me?". . : '
' It is needless to say that pardon was accord
ed, and that Marie graced the high station to
which she had been elevated. Her promise
to the sybil was fulfilled so the letter. - ; t .1.
A Sufferer .A. garrulous fopj who: iai
annoyed by his frivolous remarks his partner
in the ball-room, among other empty nothings,
atked whether "she had ever had her ears
pierced ?" - - --
- " $" was the reply ; "but I've often had
them bored!" - .'
CP"' Will you .rise npjr, my dear 7" said a
broker's wife to her. sleepy spouse ; ".the day
brpke Jong ago." "I wonder," replied ihe
somnolent financier, "if the endorsers Here
Omer Pacha
A friend in Paris has furnished us with an
interesting anecdote of Omer Pacha, one of
the master spirits of the Turkish Empire.
The son of a poor Austrian Lieutenant of the
name of Hattah, Omer was, in his youth, ap
pointed Sub-Inspector of Roads in Dalmatia.
Already he was tired of Austria, whose Gov
ernment he detested. Turkey being the
neighboring country, offered him the best
chance of making his fortune ; with a passport
and some money he passed the froniier, and
entered by the village of Omer-Assay. Hard
ly had he penetrated into Bosnia, than he was
plundered by robbers of all he possessed, even
to his shirt. A Turkish peasant took pity on
him, and furnished him with clothes and
money. Arriving at Benja Loaka without re
sources, he was happy to find employment in
the house of a Turkish merchant; he had a
daughter, with whom the young Austrian be
came enamored, and was about to marry her,
when, unfortunately, she died. From this
time Ilattah turned Mahometan, and took the
name of Omer, in remembrance of the first
Turkish village he stopped at. From Benja
Loaka, Omer went to Widdin, to seek service
under Hussim Pasha. At this time he was in
the flower of manly beauty, representing one
of the most graceful models of the Croat race,
with pure soft complexion, eyes soft and pen
etrating, and a splendid figure. He presented
himself before Hussimr The Pacha was en
camped in sight of Widdin, iu a superb green
tent, lined withiu with red velvet and gold.
According to tho Eastern custom, Omer en
tered the tent without ceremony just as the
chief had risen from his siesta.
" What do you want 7" a&ked the Paclia.
" To enter the service of your Excellency."
We have already too many strangers in
our troops," was the reply.
Omer then took out of his pocket a small
package, neatly folded, and begged the Pacha
to accept it.
What is all this 7" asked the chief.
" Some gloves, your Excellency."
" And what are they used for 7" (gloves
being a thing unknown to him.)
" When you are marching in the broiling
sun," replied Omer, "have not your fair hands
sometimes blistered, and do not your fingers
often get stiffened holding your hard bridles?"
" And how do you get them on ?" said the
Pacha with a smile
Omer quickly showed him. Having got
them on, Hussim raised his arms and : gazed
upon his hands in astonishment, as did hi
officers, who then entered the tent. These
gloves got Omer employment, and soon after
he became the Pacha's aid-de-camp. When
the Governor of Widden died, he set off for
Constantinople, and rising gradually, became
First Step to Ruin.
" My first step to ruin," exclaimed a wretch
ed youth, as he tossed from side to side on
his straw bed in one corner of his prison house,
"was going fishing on the Sabbath. I knew
it was wrong; my mother taught me better;
my Bible taught me better ; but I would heed
none of them. , I did not think it would ever
come to this ! I am undone ! I am lost !"
What a warning is contained in the above
lines, to Sabbath-breakers ! The wanton des
ecration of that holy day, may be looked upon
as a light thing, by frivolous young men ; but
it is not so. God, in his Word and in his
Providence, makes it a very serious matter
It is more corrupting to the heart than many
suppose. It seems to lead directly away from
God ; and, consequently to crime, with a
strange facility ! Just watch the course of
the habitual sabbath-scorner, and, you will
most likely see him come to some bad end
Perhaps he becomes an infidel, and "says in
his heart," "There is no God!" Beware of
"the first step to ruin 7"
05s" "Don't carry on so," said Mrs. Par
tington to Ike as she saw him resting his head
on the ground in a vain attempt to throw his
heels into the air. There was solicitude in
her tone and a corn broom in her hand as she
looked at him.
" You must not act so gymnastily, dear,"
continued she, "you will force all the brains
you have got into your head if you do. You
can't do like the circus riders, because Provi
dence has made them o'purpose for what they
do,outof Ingee rubber,and itdon'thurt 'cm at
all. They a'nt got bones like other people,
and can turn heels over head with perfect im
purity. Don't do it!" screamed she as the
boy stood on one leg upon the wood horse,
and made a feint as if about to throw a suni
merset, "you'll descerate j-our neck by ajid
by with your nonsense, and then you'll regret
it as long as you live." '
. A fashionable lady, a would-be-somebody
said to a friend :
" My new house, now 'directing,' is to be
SUbliniated and 'splendiferous.' There is to
be a Por to Kico' in front, a Pizarro' in the
rear, and a 'lemonade- w around it.' The
water is to come in at the side Cf the house in
an anecdote,' and the lawn is to be 'degrad e
and some large trees are td be'uppTaiiVed' in
tho 'critic' iu the rt-ar." '
tXT-Some , la;?)- fellow fpe.Us Tencessee, af
ter this fashion ; 10 a C.
M 0.
Beautiful Euloty on the Bible.
We would be pleased to know the' author of
the following most eloquent eulogy On the Bi
ble. It appears to have been addressed to the
young men. We have seldom read anything
"Study now to be wise : and in all your get-
tinss. set understanding. And especially
would I urge upon your heart-bound, soul-
wramu-d attention, that book upon which all
feelincrs are concentrated all opinions; which
enlightens the judgment while it enlists the
sentiments, and soothes the imagination m
songs upon the harp of the "sweet songster of .
Israel." That Book which gives you a faith
ful insight into your heart, and consecrates its
character in
Such as the keen tooth of Timo can novcr touch.".
Would vou know the eil'ect of that Book
upon the heart 7 It purifies its thoughts and
sanctifies its joys; it nerves and strengthens it
for the sorrows and mishaps of life; and when
these shall have ended, and the twilight of
death is spreading its dew-damp upon wasting
features, it breaks upon the last glad throb,
the bright and streaming light of Eternity's
morning. Oh ! have you ever stood beside
the couch of a dying saint, when
'"Without a sigh,
A change of feature or a shaded smile, .
He gave his hand to the stern messenger.
And as a glad child seeks his father's arms.
Went home."
Then you have seen the concentrated influ
ence of this Book. Would you know its name '
It is the Book of Books. Its author? God.
Its theme? Heaven Eternity. The Bible!
Read it search it ! Let it be first upon the
shelves of yonr library and first in the affec
tions of your heart. Search the Scriptures,,
for in them ye think ye have eternal life, and
they are they which testify of me. Oh ! if
there be sublimity in the contemplation of
God if there grandeur in the displays of Eter-nity-if
there be anything ennobling and pu
ritiing in the revelation of man's salvation
search the Scriptures, fur they are th.vy which
testify of these things.
The Miser.
Or all the creatures upon earthy none is so
despicable as the miser. It is not- impossible
that the profligate may have afriend, for there
is usually left aoout him some touch of hu
manity some unbroken chorJj of the finer
feelings of our nature; hot the-miser meets
with no sympathy. Even the nurse '.VUjj,
hired to attend him in his latest hours; loathes
the ghastly occupation, and lngs for the niu-
ment of her release; for although the dvath..,
damp is already gathering oa his brtvw, thu,-,
thoughts of the departing sintitr are stiltapon, ,
his gold; at the mere jingle ofa key ho ' Marts .
from his torpor in a paroxyisu. of terorj' Jea,
surreptitious attempt is being, made upon lhc .
sanctity of his strong box. There are: no,
prayers of the orphan or thcjdow' for him
not a solitary voice lias ever breathed his name-.
to Heaven as a benefactor- One poor penny
given away in the spirit of true charity, would
now be worth more to him than all the gold;
that the world contains; but,.not Withstanding
that he was a church going man, and familiar .
from his infancy with those awful texts in
which the worship of mammon is denounced
and the punishment of Divefc told, he has nev
er yet been able to divorce himself from his
solitary love of lucre or to part with one Atom .
of his pelf. And so, from a mi serable life, de
tested and despised, he passes into a drear
eternity; and those whom he has neglected or
misused, make merry with the hoards of the
SamglipV on Courting:.
Oourtm7 a gal, I guess is like catchio' a-
young horse in pastur. You put the cats in a
pan, hide the haltar, and softsawder the crit-. t
ter, and it comes up softly and shyly at. first, j
aud puts its nose to the grain, and gets a taste, .
stands off and munches a little, looks round to
see that the coast is clear, and advances cau
tiously again, ready for a go if you are rough.
Well, you softsawder it all the time : so-so,
pet! gently, .pet ! that's a pretty doIT! and geta
it to kind of like it, and comes closer,'and you
think you have it, make a grab at its mane,
and it, ups head and tail, snorts, wheels short
round, lets go both hind feet at you, and is
oft' like a, shot. That comes of being in. u
iiurry. If you had put your hand, up slowly
towards its shoulder, and felt for the mane, it
might perhaps have drawed away, as raich as
to say, hands off, if you please ; I like your
oats, but I don't want you, the chance is, you
would have caught it. WelL what's your play,
now you have missed it 7" Why:you ctat
give chase, for that only; scare the critver J
out you siana su.s Yne oats In the pn
and say, cope, cope, copev and it st'C8
looks at you, and comes up again, but awful
skittish, stretches its neck out eyer so far
steals a few grains, and then keeps a respect
ful dIStance. Now, what do you do then t
why , aiake the pan, and ,moe slowly, as if
you. were goinff toi leave; the pasr and mako
for hum ; wheu it ream's of bein' o distrust
ful, comes up ad yAVi iip the halter ou.
03- Mr. Ferguson says that he ought to be
considered a friend of the Maine Law, for'he
has made as great personal e forts to PhI
liquor as anybody.
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