Clayton herald., January 11, 1868, Image 1

About Clayton herald. (Clayton, Del.) 1867-1870

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INDEPENDENT IN EVERYTHING ; NEUTRAL IN NOTHING."
TERMS: Two Dollars a Year,
Invariably in Advance,
CLAYTON, DEL., SATURDA]
MORNING, JANUARY 11, 1868.
YOL. I.
NO. 38.
■eiert Dortig
YOUR MISSION.
If you cannot on the ocean •
ball among the swiftest fleet,
Booking oti the highest billows,
Laughing at the storms yon meet,
You4an stand among the sailors,
Anchor'd yet within the bay,
You can lend a hand to help them,
As they launch their boats away.
tre too weak U
■ l V iiiounMUa
Is!» - *1
They will
Ifyaa have not gold and sliver,
Ever ready to command,
XT you caiuaot toward« the needy
Reach an ever open hand,
visit the afflicted.
You
O'er the erring you «an weep,
You can be a true disciple,
Bitting at the Saviour's feet
It you can not in the conflict,
Prove yourself a soldier true.
If where fire and smoke are thickest
There's no work for you to do,
When the battle-field is silent,
You can go with care*»l tread.
You can bear away the wounded.
You can cover up the dead.
Do not then stand Idly waiting
For some greater work to do,
Fortune Is a la*y goddess,
Khe will never come to you.
Off and toil in any vineyard.
Do not fear to do or dare.
If you want a fleld of labor.
You can flud it anywhere.
relcrttb j|b>rg.
The Old Table«
BY B. KING BENNETT.
Precious to me is the old walnut table
which stands In the parlor of uncle Ran
dolph Granger. It is loved by my uncle.
This you would know if you only had a
glimpse of the prominence he gives it,
the garments with which he dresses it,
and the vigilant care that he untiringly
exercises over and about it. And it is
fully as dear to a multitude of others,
too numerous for individual designation,
as it is to him and me. It is not its beau
ty of outline, symmetry of construction,
or polish of finish, that endears it to us
all—for is only a plain, »ubstanti il and
unostentatious walnut tabio, built for
use, not ornai
The lid ofri
in length se' Jjr'^sSiSS
to out, and its ■ Fp
exactly. The frame on which the top
rests is strong and massive, and its legs,
squaie, large and clumsy, continue of
equal size from the frame to the brass
lion's claws on which they sit. At the
bottom of the lion's claws, in sockets,
•re globular castors on which the table
moves. It has a single drawer, deep
and capacious, and a dragon's head of
brass for the knob, to move it in and out.
Neither paint, varnish nor staining lias
ever marred tj^e primeval color that na
ture gave its material. Such is the ta
ble, and is it not a plain one?
But this table is venerable in years
and has a history. Long before our pa
triot fathers, sitting in humble council
in Philadelphia on a certain Fourth of
July, sent out a shock amorg the politi
cal reiutions of men, that still jars tho
firmest thrones of hereditary succession,
loosens the grasp of tyrants from the
soeptres of their waning powers, and
arouses the down-trodden and oppressed
people of earth to a just consciousness
of their true dignity and manhood, the
artificer had fashioned it into shape.
Years, indeed, before the thunders of
Concord startled the patriotism of a Con
tinent to arms, Or the smoke of Bunker
Hill, while shadowing this patriotism in
gloom, intensified its determination to
be free, this old walnut table was thor
oughly domesticated to the purposes of
its creation in the family of my great
grandfather, George Granger.
Whon uncle Randolph, over fifteen
years ago, became the happy legatee of
the old table, by a curious provision of
my greatgrandfather's will it was placed
centre of his
UKti
ft spread a^riniHjgp
rood orange fringe, richly gaihered in
largo plaits and folds as it falls about its
•ides and ends. The cloth and fringe
bang down so low that the tips of the
lion's claw» barely gleam out to view
from beneath them. Lying on the cloth
I« a large family Bible ; over the Bible is
a/oc simile of the original Declaration of
Independence, with the interlineations
and erasures, and a copy of Trumbull's
picture scene of the signing ofthat illus
trious political document. I4y uncle
resolutely keeps the old table in fill l
costume, except on oertain days of na
tional celebrity, or religious reverence.
But it is not its venerable age, its rich
and costly attire, or that it was the silent
cotemporary of the grandestand sublim
est scenes engrossed on historic page,
that endears to us all the old walnut ta
ble that stapes in the parlor of uncle
Randolph Granger.
By ah accident, almost purposely oc
casioned by myself, I was the fortunate
guest of uncle Randolph on the Fourth
of July, 1865. He w^fi brimful of the
rush of patriotic ardor. Tilie parlor was
open ; the cloth removed from the ojd
table and hung on the backs of chairs ;
the Bible, the Declaration of Independ
ence, #bd the picture above It, carefully
laid in a mass on the bureau. The frag
ments of our family were gathered at
my uncle's. At meridian, as has been
• custom of qor ancestors for seventy
years, we all assembled in the parlor, in
which stands this heir-loom of our fina
lly—relic of the past. Uncle Randolph
trembled as he sat under the burden of
years. A tear stole out at the corner of
Itis eye, but he did not brush it away,
and It hid itself in a Wrinkle on his
cheek.
The alienee was broken finally by un
cle Randolph, who said :
•T have something to say^bout that
old table which mat y of you have n ever
~ ~ ~ ISMa, eftMTf <>>d tag—
*
had
juBt arrived from England, at my grand
father's home.
"Well, when the revolutionary War
broke out, my grandfather still owned
the old table. One night, the night of
the day of Burgoyne's (fUrrendor, late In
the night, my grandfalber aw oke, and
heard h strange noise in the room. He
turned his feet out of the bed, and sat
upright on its side. The noise contin
wed. He yawned, stretched himself,
und rubbed his eyes to be Bure he was
awake. The noise grew louder and
clearer. Although my grandfather was
extremely old, yet he was a brave man,
He listened intently. The noise contin
ued, louder and clearer still. The
noise was like the united sound of Jing
ling toy-bells, the thud of a lead bullet
dropped on a naked floor, and the far-off
beat of a drum. It occurred by regular
beats, and the duration of tho interval
between them was as uniform as the
ticking of a clock, but about four seconds
long.
"He hobbled to the ? re-pi ace, obtained
a pine splinter, and with it lighted a
candle. The noise was the same as be
fore, only a little sharper. After due
search, he found the noise proceeded
from the table. On closer examination
he discovered that the table was in mo
tion, see sawing from and to corners di
agonally opposite. He sat the candie on
the table, and placed his hands firmly
on the top. The vibrations cessed, and
the table stood as solidly upon its four
legs as table could possibly stand. He
removed his hand», and the motion of
the table and the noise were renewed.
rtico
family to witness tho very curious sign!
and sounds, and many were the excla
mations made, and opinions about them
advanced. My grandmother knew them
to be tokens that a great battle had been
fought, for one had long been impend
ing, and that my father and my brother,
who were with General Morgan's com
mand, had been killed. Grandfather
scouted this notion, and referred the
sti ange phenomena to the returned spirit
of Gregory Jermyn, a British officer who
had been killed in the room, and whose
body in falling had displaced the table
from its position on the floor.
"But the table heeded not the discus
sion, and continued to vibrate and jar,
until five o'clock in the morning, when
it stopped its motions and suspended its
sounds ; and it is a remarkable fact, that
from this time to the close of the war, on
every night succeeding a victory to the
colonial arms, the old table pursued un
deviatingly the actions just related.
"Nor would it ever after tolerate in its
presence an opponent of the patriot cause,
without expressions of disgjst by unea
sy jarrings and sensible Vibiations from
the upright line of its perpendicularity.
Once there were seated about it, at din
ner, six of the friends of Congress and
Independence. None doubted the patri
otism of the others. All were regarded
as the unequivocal and firm friends of
the colonies. But the table jarred and
jostled, and jostled and jarred. Each
piercingly eyed all the others, but none
could tell on whose brow should be writ
ten traitor, uor whose cheek tingled with
the hot blood of shame. A few days af
ter it became known that one of their
presaings of a mort
"I incidentally mentioned a while
ago," continued uncle Randolph, "the
name of Gregory Jermyn, and that he
fell when killed so
the
ee It
to displace the old
table from its situation on the floor. On
the east side of the table as it now sits,
and about a foot from the northeast cor
ner, there is a deep gash on the edge of
the lid ; a,l BO ? the same side and a lit
tle toward tfre ipiddle of the table from
the gash, th«re are stain spots and
speckles of a brownish eolor, united by
delicate lines of the same color. The
story of the death of Gregory Jermyn
contains the history o! that gash and
those stain spbts..
"Gregory jermyn wui a remote rela
tive of my grandmother, and held a com
mission in the British army. He was a
very stout man, about thirty years of
age, a little above the average height and
fearless of danger. He was a gentleman
in bin deportment at all times, except
when undçr the influence of strong
drink ; then he almost always talked and
acted very indiscreetly.
"Andrew Gwynn was the only son of
my ouly aunt, and was an officer in the
Continental army. He was only a little
over twenty-one, ofatnall stature, lithe*
active, and of an effeminate appearance.
"These two young men, by arrange
ments conducted by others, were onee
at my grandfather's. Such meetings be
tween relatives often took place in that
memorable struggle, although the par
ties belonged to opposing armies. Their
meeting was In the winter. The snow
lay deep and heavy upon the ground.
The victorious army of Sir Henry Clin
ton had just carried its banners in tri
umph to Independence Hall, and they
waved in defiance over the very spot
where separation from England was first
proclaimed. It was the winter of gloom.
The pennonsof our copniiw dtumsjtL
darkness ; the heavens above it gave no
light, and the earth beneath its feet was
black with despondency. Its only army
beaten, broken and driven back, wjb
hemmed in at Valley Forge. The*e
lank-jawed hunger gnawed at the heart
strings of the soldiery. Mutiny stalked
at broad day-light ill the tents of the of
ficers, and held carnival in the hats of (he
rank and file. Hope had no altars, save
in the stout hearts of a few undismayed
men, and of these ^as Andrew Gwyin.
"Gregory Jermyn and Andrew Gwvnn
were seated at the east side of the taole,
stands. Gregory was dressed
in a full British uniform, new, rich and
dazzling. His military coat was thrown
negligently over the back of his chair.
At his side hung a broadsword ill jtw
scabbard ; the hilt and guard were of so
lid silver, and a silk cord terminating in
tassels, looped in a bow-knot, swbng
suspended from his belt down acrosf the
scabbard, giving a flashy and dashing
appearance to Gregory Jermyn. j
"Andrew Gwynn sat toward the south
end of the table. His garments weVe of
homespun blue, old, threadbare and
torn. They were the best he had. There
were boles at his elbows, through which
his red flannel shirt slightly protruded.
Rents were on his coat and his pan ta
rent» made by service in scenes of blood.
|Troin a rude belt at his waist hung a
still ruder sword—a sword made by a
neighbor blacksmith from a portion of a
whip-saw. Its blade was thick, wide,
long and heavy, and curved tremend
ously. The hilt and guard were of
wrought iron, having no other finish
than the rough filings of a coarso rasp
could give it.
as it
•* i litj
soon to separate. Gregory's horse was
already hitched at the stile, when he put
this very rude and unmanly question to
Andy:
" 'Andy, we ore about to part, and per
haps we shall never meet again in a so
cial v'ay, now tell me candidly your
honest opinion of the military situation,
and the prospects of your cause.'
"'Don't let us talk on this Bubject,
here, Gregory, if you please,'
"'Getting ashamed of your sinking
cause, are you ? Glad of it—-hope soon
to greet you as a fellow-soldier in the
army of your rightful sovereign.'
"'No; not ashamed of the sinking
cause, as you have seen fit to say, and as
to greeting me as a soldier in the army
of George tho Third, that you will never
do, unless I lose my senses.»
" 'Why not talk about it, then ?»
" 'Excuse me, this seems to me not to
be the proper time nor place for such
discussion. Besides, permit me to say,
that such conversation is not agreeable
to me.*
'"You and all your family deserve to
feel disagreeable for espousing so mean
a cause. I'll give my opiniou of this
matter, anyhow.'
"And he went on for some time, abus
ing the efforts of the patriots to maintain
colonial separation and independence,
and finished with this prediction:
" 'When Spring opens up and the roads
become suitable for military movements,
our grand army will sweep your county
surveyor and his vagabond stragglers
from the face of the earth.'
"At the words 'vagabond stragglers'
the veins in Andy's neck swelled nearly
(1 II
hut wi
or BTs patrio
'fury I
smothere
dignation, replied:
" 'The abuse it has pleased you to give
the rebel cause, as you term it, only in
creases my love for that cause. And so
far as your predictions is worth answer,
I offset with another. I see just as clearly
as I see your face, and feel jus£as keenly
in every tissue of my being, as I have
felt the intense cold of this dreadful
winter, that friends will rise up to help
us; that the God of hosts and of battles
will renerve the arms of our people, and
freshen with deeper inspiration the zeal
of their hearts; that my country will
yet rise up and .'•hake off, as dust from
her garments, the vast armies that now
tread her down, and establish herself
proud mistress of a hemisphere. Then
will freedom be lodged at every hearth
stone, and enshrined all over the land,
will be liberty as unrestrained as the
breathing of the gods.*
" 'Ha ! ha t ha ! Quite an orator, Andy ;
all the mere shadowy illusions of insan
ity. Now, the health of my King, and
I'm off.»
"So saying, he filled his glass.
" 'Not here, if you please, Gregory.*
" 'I will—by heavens, I will !.*
"'Neither here nor ever in my pres
ence.*
" 'Egad ! I will, or die.»
"Gregory took the glass in his left hand
aud arose quickly to his feet, drew his
'■
sword and brou
t it to a prepare on
guard.
* 'Here's to Geohre*—
"Andy sprang ? his feet and with the
spring drew bis sword. Gregory, in
stead of finishing the toast, burled the
glass at Andy's : |e. Andy dodged it.
Coarse voices souf :eU without the house.
Gregory knew tl($i to be the voices of
friends. Andy
d them not, too in
;V"
Gregory wm> foiled, he was too good a
swords-nmn not to remember what blow
would /ollow. He therefore curled his
sword to a head guard, but Andy whirled
his, and sent it Gregory by a right
downward cut, pripelled by the power
of his arm and s\{ing of bis body. In
its descent, Gregory's sword, ill poised,
glanced backward inder the prodigious
weight and crush ig force of Andy's
long curved sword and Gregory's head
was nearly severe! from his body.—
Just as Andy swu g his body to swell
the force of his bl w, the door behind
him burst open wih a crash, and three
rough soldiers e tered. As Andy
straightened, thefoi unost soldier dashed
at him with a ba: »net but missed his
aim, and sent it though Andy's arm.—
In its passage it at nek nn artery, and
the blood spirted lorn his arm, on the
table The soldier j rked out the bayo
net for another thru t, but Andy sprang
past the falling bod, of Gregory, leaped
the style, and mouned Gregory's horse.
Waving his sword ver his lieud, as the
other soldiers fired on him, he shouted
out: "Hurrah! for Washington and in
dependence !" and lion dashed away
for Valley Forge. Gregory died in a
very few minutes, ! id while they were
rendering him the ui istance he needed,
Andy's blood dried < i the table. Grand
father would never ermit the blood
stains to be removal. "Let them re
main,'' he said, "thr are the marks of
patriot blood ;—and f at any time our
hearts grow weak in »ve of country, let
us look on these sj rts, and with the
sight renew our p, riotism and our
vows."
ibl
it
I
a
-,-lfevVqj
tbj
rtu
a reproach, that e
it 4 ars to us all the
rulnut table* vidch stands in uncle
(,!<!
Randolph Granger'! parlor.
Sweet sad menions are clustered at
its verge, and joys
the dear departed a
its out-spread lid. lireo generations of
our lineal ancestor have sat around it,
und eaten their "c ly bread." Some
times tho chairs v re all full. Father
and mother, broth s and sisters, were
all there. Then o merry laugh of
childhood rang out om merrier hearts,
and father and m< her gazed in enrap
tured fondness on 'beruh little faces,
twinkling with del lit. Then glad eyas
sparkling with 1m , glanced ucross at
other eyes, beami ' buck responsive
looks freighted wit affection. Oh ! the
bliss of an unbro >n family with the
chairs all full,
chairs became vadnt.
with rosy cheeks,
shining ringlets of
Then aching heart
and tearful eyes suy>unded the old table.
The chair was th
form was gone for^e
the family temple
temple was broke
derbolt,. It cruinled away piecemeal
—a family wasren ved and a generation
was gone.
Another succeor id it, but was soon
pressed out to giv room for its succes
sors. So nature, i unending routine of
life and death,, hi i gathered and dis
persed three gener Lions of our kindred,
and their bodies
sward of the vallefs; but the table re
mains a cherished monument of them
ver springing from
: garlanded above
it one by one the
Now a child
anghing eyes and
dr, was taken away,
throbbing temples
e, but the treasured
r. Now a pillar of
as removed, and the
if rifted by a thun
under the green
teil
ind
resi
shattered tablet o my memory, the re
collection of sad i cidents and pleasant
nminiscenes connected with the old
table and my owr father's family, while
he owned it, as 1 1 tin the parlor on the
Fourth of July, lî
Hbw vivtdly I * ww the nut-brown tur
key on Thanksgr ng day, fresh roasted
from the spit lyii j in state in the cen
tre of ifbe table, kj rory vapors stealing
up from it, and fi ing the room with de
licious odors, su ported on every side
by regiments of Jhrts and jams of every
rank, while bâtirions of curds were
held at reserve tb sweep the field of ap
petite. How shai^ly defined were the
Fourth of July «'inners, with sirloin
roast and boiled him ; and as the apex
of the feast,, "jolly good wino and old,"
bearing
and. bubble, and its rubicund currents
glittering with the grandeur of the grand
old day.
There, at the drrwer end of the table,
used to sit'in y mother, whom I can just
remember—grave, dignified and precise^
in the pith of middle age. So she sat
at her meals, until time had run many
little while lines in her hair, seamed and
ribbed down her cheeks, bent her body
and cramped and palsied her dear old
hands.
There, at the opposite end of the table
was my fathers place. Father, over
its purple bosom both bead
hopeful and cheerful, was religious from
instinct, and devotional from habit.
Here perpetually, as the coming of the
meal, he invited .down the blessing of
heaven on the food prepared.
Over at the corner that wears the scar,
was little Lucy's station. Lucy, the
youngest, and the pet and darling of ns
all. Disease in silence and stealth had
n
some naughty little trick, which should
not have been noticed,
ever strict, slightly slapped her on the
cheek. Lucy folded her arms on the
table, laid her head on her arms and
cried aloud. Presently, half laughing,
half crying, she loooked up at mother—
it was the gaze of a spirit—and said :
"Never mind, mother, you will be sorry
for slapping me so.'» It was the last
time she ever sat at the old table. She
pined, and died, and was buried, and
mother was sorry for slapping her so.
But all of those loved forms and bright
faces are vanished. Large are -the wil
lows, and long are the branches, that
grow on their graves, and I alone am left
of th *t once happy little throng. Now
I am old, solitary and desolate among
men, verging the dark river, beyond
whose dreary waters and unseen shores,
lie ihe land of promise and the home of
my friends. Who, then,Is there to
demn me or sneer, when I say that these
are the things that endear unto me the
old walnut table, which stands in the
parlor of uncle Randolph Granger?
But mother,
onn
Fenelon's Opinion.
Uninstructed girls are always possess
ed of an erratic imagination. For want
of solid nourishment, all the ardor of
their curiosity Is directed towards vain
and dangerous objects. Those who are
not without talent, often devote them
selves entirely to the perusal of books
which tend to cherish vanity; they have
a passionate fondness for novels, plays,
narratives of romantic adventures, in
which licentious love occupies a promi
nent place;—in fine, by habituating
themselves to the high-flown language
romance have invented to gratify the
imagination, have no connection with
the true motives that excite to action,
and control the interests of society, or
with the disappointments invariably at
tendant upon human affairs. A poor
girl, full of the tender and the marvel
lous, which have charmed her in the pe
rusal of such works, is astonished not to
find in the world real characters
bling those heroes. She would wish to
five like those imaginary princesses,
who, In the fictions of romance, are al
ways charming, always adored, always
placed beyond- the reach of
resem
necessary
duties. What must bo her disgust w hen
compelled to descend from the flights of
fancy to the humble details of domestic
life.
ll
There's Light Beyond.
tt
"When In Madeira," writes a traveler,
"I set outline morning to reach the sum
mit of a mountain, to gsze upon the dis
tant scenes and enjoy the balmy air. I
had a guide with me, and we iiad with
difficulty ascended some two thousand
feet, when a thi^k mist was seen descend
ing upon us, quite obscuring the whole
fuce of the heavens. I thought I hail no
hope left but at once to retrace our steps
or be lost t hut as the cloud came nearer
and darkness overshadowed me, my
guide ran onibefore me, penetrating the
mist, and caling to me ever and
saying, "PreW on, master, press on,
there is light beyond!" I did press
In a few miaules the mist was passed,
and I gazed lipon a scene of transparant
beauty. All was bright and cloudless
above, and bineath was the almost level
an, n
mj
woofer
clouds are gathering, or who have sat
beneath the shadow, be not dismayed if
they rise before you. FretA on—T hebe
IS LIGHT BEYOND.
Phs.
How Old is He ?
It became necessary, last week, hi the
Criminal Court at Newport, Ky., in or
der to render a boy witness competent,
to pt-ovq that he bad leached, the agi of
ten years, and his mother, an Irish wo
man, was called for that purpose.
" How old is your son Jolln?" quoth
the lawyer.
" Indade, sir, I dunno, but I think he's
not tin y it," was the reply.
"Did you make no record of his
birth?" f
" The praste did, In the onld country]
where he was born." ]
" How long after yonr marriage was|
that?"
" About a yatff maybe llss."
" When were you married ?"
" Dade, sir, I dunno."
" Did you not bring a certificate of
your marriage with you from the old
oountry ?"
** Hey, sir? and what should I nadJ
wida certifikit whin I bad the ould mon
himself along wid me?"
No further questions were asked.
-Do right aud risk the concequen<
REfltOSPECT.
Tl
jfllds the faded lawn,
t i cawlm the wide air fills;
t - eruiert mist is drawn
Across i i e purple of the hills.
No aranfl
A brea
A silver
An azure
With sc
't in the river flows,
% •. -e a murmur throaeh the vole:
hanks- t herein sweet April blows
:ie trei Wing violet, chill and pole.
rst vj
LndoveraTTthe landscape broods
A tender sense of something lost,
La*t year when ripened was the wheat,
And copse and neld with song were gay,
When sort and low, the wind blew sweet
With scent of clover and of hay.
Here, where of old my feet were used
To linger in the yearn before,
In silent thought I sat and mused
On all the future hod in store.
To-day I turn my searching gaze
Back through the vista or those yeekn,
through a slender haze
The shadowy past once more appea rs.
Ind
All round me are the leafless woods
By many a silent pathway crossed
Ana in my secret heart there broods
A tender sense of something lost.
Picture of an Editor.
An editor's qualifications are various.
It is to work harder, more hours in the
day, with less recreation, or less sleep
and poorer pay than any of your fellow
mortals. It is to be busy when your
neighbors were idle, busier when they
sleep, and busiest when they are enjoy
ing a good time. It is always to be in a
hurry, always under a press of business,
always setting up when others are lying
down, and always charitably distribut
ing the results of their daily labor. It is
always to have your opinions put to
proof, and seldom into practice. It is to
advertise other people's wants, wishes
and wares; to announce facilities for
pleasure, to herald the approach of dis
eases and the invention of cures for them;
to make known who has been robbed,
how much, where, who is the robber, his
personul history, his trial, sentence, and
its execution. It is to receive nice fruit
and notice it, to be shown natural curi
osities and describe them, to be every
where and at all times, and to be able to
answer all questions on all subjects. It
is to
h sentiment for cne
to
■VI
istotal
_ com
plimentary tickets to everything, and
pay for them ia complimentary notices.
It is hard to be bored by friends suggest
ing how you should curry on your busi
ness, and bullied by those whom you
have hit In vulnerable spots. It is a life
of mingled good and ill, trial and tri
umph, never ending toil and never be
ginning felicity, wherein yo'^work
your allotted time with the **devil" al
ways at your elbow, calling for sole end
in this life—a little more copy.
out
Welsh Boy and his Bible.
As I was traveling, not long since, on
the mountuin of Conway, there passed
on the road a little boy with a big book
under his arm. I asked him what book
he bad got, but he could not understand
me. He was a little Welsh boy, and the
book was a Welsh Bible. He passed on
out of sight. Our party proceeded along
the mountain side, and shortly alter
stopped to sketch. A small voice from
distance above us, caught our ear.
I said to my friend, a Welsh pastor,
who accompanied us, 'Climb up those
rocks a little, and see who it is.* He did
so. It was that little boy on the moun
tain top, praying to the God who made
the mountain. His Bible was open be
fore him. He read and prayed ; he was
asking God to bless the town of Conway,
and that on the morrow (it was Saturday
afternoon ) many sinners might be con
verted, and that God would bless His
servants everywhere, as they preached
His word. J felt strengthened in my
work the next day, and ofton since that,
as I have thought that many »uch pre
Prefichman, who
like many/of his countrymen, had won
a high ranjk among men of science, yet
denied the God who is the author of all
science, was crossing the Great Sahara
in company with an Arab guide. He
noticed wit! a sneer that at certain times
his guide, whatever obstacles might
arise, put tiens all aside, and kneeling
on the burnitt sand, called on his God.
Day after lay passed, and the Arab
never failed till at last, one evening,
the philosop *r, when he arose front his
knees, asked dm, with a contemptuous
smile; "Ho' do you know there Isa
God?" The hide fixed his burning eye
on the scoffethr a moment in wonder,
and then ssli solemnly ; "How do I
re K
kn
? How did I know
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
[I
unît
rOOT.
-Bumris of curiosity—Chignons.
Uetnun in Kansas undertook
Ml clam without taking the
to is now troubled with 0yv
-A
to eat a stop
shell off. B
pepsia. i
—^A wwggish editor says that"'i^|
streets of the Western cities are to be
lighted with readheaded girls. We'd
like to hug the lamp posts.
-A man in St. Louis drinks so much
whiskey that several musquitoes, who
have bitten him, have died of delirium
tremens.
-Why is a man ascending Vesuvius
like an Irishman trying to kiss a pretty
girl?—Because he wants to get at the
crater's mouth.
-A French bishop said lately In a ser-
mon, "Let woman remember, while put-
ing on profuse and expensive attire*
how narrow are tho gates of paradise."
-An old lady announced in court at
Atlanta, Ga., that she "had no counsel,"
that "God was her lawyer." "My dear^
madam, He does not practice in this
court," replied the judge.
-A crOp'y old bachelor, not liking
the way his' landlady's daughter had of
appropriating his hair oil, filled the bot-
tle with liqnid glue the day before a ball,
to which the girl was in vitod. She stayed
at home in consequence.
-"Mrs. Brown, they say your ii'is
band follows very crooked ways." "Well,
Mrs. Smith, that is not strange, for when
he was a boy he got so much in the
habit of chasing snakes, that he never
could get over it."
-"An unloved wife," who ought to
know of that of which she speaks, bo
cause she has had so much experience,
says that the reason that ladies look so
much to money In the matter of marri
age is, that now-a-days they so seldom
find anything else iu ja man worth hav
ing.
-At a Printer's picnic in August
m
hope ; pearl of our middle age ; she
recta the lost stick, smoothes the last
embrace ere w e/i'isket to the skies.
-A young minister went into the
country to preach, and observed, during
his discourse a poor woman w'ho seemed
to be much affected. After the service
he resolved to pay her a visit, and see
what were the Impressions on her mind.
"Well said the woman," "I'll tell you.
About six years ago me and husband
removed to this place, and all the pro
perty we had was a donkey. Husband,
he died, and then me and poor donkey!
was left alone.
At last donkey, he died; and to tell
you the truth, your voice put me so
much In mind of that dear old critter,
that I could'nt help taking on about It."
--So» 1 « years ago a gentleman died.
His widow inherited his property and
collected the insurance on his life, and
very soon enlarged, repaired, and fit
ted up her residence in a quiol, luxurious
style. A friend calling, expressed some
little surprise that she had made these
nice arrangements so soon after the
decease of Mr-, "Why shouldn't I do
it?" replied the practical "relie." "My
husband, good man that he was, ia en -
joying a glorious mansion in the skies,
and of course he wishes me to be ns
comfortable as possible hero on earth."
Who says that woman's faith waa not
shown by her works?
-A clergyman who enjoys the sub-
stantial benefits of a fine farm, waa slight-
ly taken down a few days ago by his
Irish plough-man, who was sitting cn
hi» plough in a tobacco fleld, resting hb /
oor*
/
! TTr , alon B the fence,
while the horse is resting a short time?"
John, with quite as serious a counte-
nance, as the divine himself, said • "See
her., wouldn't it he well, sir, for you to
have a tub of potatoes in the pulpit 8 nd
when they aresinging, to peel 'em awhile
to be ready for the pot ?"_The reverend
gentleman laughed heartily and left,
-Talking of muslin, the author of
the following has it badly:
Softo'erthe mountain, lingering, shona
the summer moon. I went to a vanilla
shop and thought I'd sling „ spoon. Be
hind the counter stood a maid with her
hair in a balloon.
"Are you a nice
as in I drew. "Y«
screamy ?"
id
\y
lor
»I
PBP<xw^»Wniccents dart sun
>ugh the soul. She didn't bring
in a saucer—she brought in a bully bowl.
Four kinds, with a raspberry on the top.
And I swallowed up the whole.
I took lier by the fingers, as at her my
glances went. "How many pence is the
recompense?" and says she, "to touch a
gent I ul ways give double sassers full and
never charge a cent."
The shadows were slowly falling as our
moaning glanoes met. I putmystlfon
the sofa and down on my knees she set,
while I whispered, "Do you love me?"
and she answered, "Beloved—you bet % "
sli