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... « ........ — ^ : • : /:-YH BPwVï , 1* v : 1 |. ¥ Y l n o 0 r* Ig ' \ . i m . 0mQ J ■ Q tt 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