Orleans County Monitor from Barton, Vermont • 1

Orleans VOL. 0. BARTON, VERMONT, MONDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1877. NO. 43.

r.s rxunx urn r.cxon x. i 1IAHTON, MKS. n. O. MAW, kKAt.FR IN MILMNERT AND ALL KIXPS OF Funry Goods.

Work done at short notice anil I dii-tlun guaranteed, (klnnrr A I'rew's Block.) 32 IuTbINHON UIOTIIEKS, ir.Ai.Ena in ciioick brands of flour. Dcjuit Store. J. N. WEBSTER, AND ACCIDENT INSURANCE Aiinnl.

l'ERCIVAL it FOKSAITH. KALF.R IV FURNITURR, COFFINS CASKETS F. rsRCITAL. F. T.

FOMAITH. I J. N. WEBSTER. IIOTOOIUPHF.lt.

DEALER IN STEREOSCOPES, Views, oval, Sqimro, nml Hustle Frame. i n. J. KOHINMoN. AND RURVRYOR AND PRACTICAL MILL-i wrlnht.

Will Enulnerr anil ilo Mill Work. Ag't i (limit Water Wlifcl. ami all Mill Machinery. 1. W.BALDW I N.

TTORNEY AT LAW. SOLICITOR IN CHAN-V eery, ami Auenl for the Champlain Mutual Fire ii'ranee Vt lnsurnncoof allklnds I 'll in the Wit Stuck and Mutual Companies. J. J. HI LL.

i CCErfSon TO F. P. CnENEY. WILL CONTINUE 4 In anil Largo Variety of Sewing ami knitting flilnes. Orilert lollrlteil.

E. F. DUTTON, i CCE3SOR TO WM. JOSLYN A PONS. DEALER In Meillclnea, Dye BlnrTs, Paints, Oila.Jap Turpentine.

Varnishes, Hrnshea, Window Glass, iv. Iliok.Htaliinery anil Fanry Good. FRED IIOYT. TAILOR. AND DEALER IS READY- Made Clothing.

Rarton Landing, Vt. Mtk A. r. ROWS it F. C.

LEONARD. fCLKCTIO PHYSICIANS AND PUROEONS. OF-J flee at Barton Landing and Weat Charleston, A. P. Rrown at Wm.

Twonibly'a, llarton Landing; Leonard at France Chase's. Weat Charlealon. C. J. ROW ELL, TTORNKY AT LAW, BARTON LANDINO.VT.

1. rpni'iai aiM'iiiion given iiiiivw-i iu iwum ui'' null in the United BUilei Courta. 0-41 WM.B. DODGE, DWELL. AOENT FOR THE CHAMTLAIN 1 Mutual Fire insurance Company, Burlington, Insure Dwelling.

frm Property. Household inturo, and Risks, for the. term of or five yeara. All honest losses equitably luted and promptly paid. 6-3 L.

II. IHOMrSON, TTORNEY. COUNSELLOR AND SOLICITOR, i. AWo Bounty and Pension Agent. Iraslmrgh, Vt.

w. v. ani.ics, i TTORNEY AT LAW. 3.2U North Craftsbury.Vt. ItOltttKT till.

I. IS, BALER IN HARNESSES, blankets, whip, curry combs, Ac, Barton Landing, VI. J. F. WItHJUT, Ihvalolan and Surgeon.

Olllee at hlsresldcnce. 03-1 Hat ton Lauding, Vt. I) It. O. A.

HK.IIIM, OMCEOPATIIIO rilYSICIAN AND SURGEON 1.1 Crartsbury, Vermont. J. W. SCOTT, MANUFACTURER OF AND PEAtER IN ALL 1. kinds of Harnesses, Blankets, Roliea, Ac, Ac.

'a to conform to hard times, and work warranted, ver. Vt. 07-11 33. DEEW, REPRESENTING OILLIS, MORISON A In stock at Barton Landing, Vt, In his now atore building, a large atoek of bber Coated, Tin Lined, Tarred and Plain Wrought HON PIPE, AT WHOIMALI AND TAIL, adapted for the conveyance of water. Patent l'iinip.

Hydraulic Kama, I ti. Taut Iron and Akron Sewer Pipe, mi and Water FIHIngs.Bras and Copper Pipe, Brosa vet, Corks, Faucets, Gongs, Steam Whistles, Steam ups, I'nve veu i oinis, tu iui Hose racking, uose i ipc, Mika. Plnln. F.nainrled and i ..1.....1 ai PinniiierB- Maienais. i-uncim ntion given to Heating Buildlnga with Hot Air, im and Hot Water.

Estimates given ior iiuwi- water for Fire and Family Use. if ire r.nsmes, and Fire Apparatus of all kinds. r-fT- Oood numbing dono at ahort notice. Bend Price List and Catalogue. I ..,,1 in a VL.

JulT 2. 1877. OA2 THE MILD POWER OMEOPATMC SPECIFICS. Ilrrii In -nrral tine for twenty year. er where proved tli itiont NAFF ONOMICAL, and EFFICIENT medicines own.

They are jimt what the people want, vlim time anil money, averting Ickneaa and Iferinu. Each alngle uprclflc tne wrii irie enrrlptlou of an eminent phyalolan. Ko. Cure. cents.

1. 7nvn. Congestion. Inflammation. to 2.

3. 4. 7. X. I).

Worm. Worm Fever, Worm Uoltc, Crying-Colic, or Teething of Infants, Dlarrhusa, of Children or Adults, Iyentery, Griping, Bllloua Colic, Cholnra-Morbua, Vomiting, Cougha, Colds, Bronchitis, Neuralgia, Toothache, Faccache, Hoadnche. Hick Headache, Vortigo, lylcpsla, Blliou Stomach, Suppresscd.orralnftiirerloda, Whites, too Profuse Terlods, Croup. Cough, Dllllcult Breatlng, Salt Uhnnme, Erysipelas, Eruptions, Rheumatism. Rheumatic Pains.

25 23 23 23 23 23 S3 23 23 23 23 23 23 23 Jo. 31. l.i. It. is.

17. IS. -i. i'2. 'J 3.

j. a. L'7. '3. Fever and Ague.

Chill Fever, 60 Piles, Blind or Bleeding. 80 Oiihthalmy. or Sore or Weak Fyc. 80 Catarrh, Acute or Chronlo, Influenza, 60 Whooping-Cough, Violent Coughs, 60 Asthma. Oppressed Breathing, 80 Kar Discharges, Impaired Hearing, 60 Sciofula, Enlarged Glands, Swellings, 60 General Debility, Physical Weakness, 60 Dropsy and Scanty Secretions, 60 Sea-Sickness, Sickness from Hiding, BO Kiilney-Dlcasc, Gravel, 60 Murvous Dclillitv.

Seminal Weakness or Involuntarv Discharges. 1 00 30. Sore Mouth, Canker. .......60 3D. Urlnarv Weakness.

Wetting the Bed. 60 31. ralnful Periods, with Spasms, 60 U. Disease ol Heart, Palpitations, 100 t. Epilepsy, Spasms, St.

Vitus' Dance, f0 ft. Dlptherla, Ulcerated Sore Throat, 60 Chronic Congestions and Eruptions, 60 FAMILY CAS EM. tie Morocco) with above 33 large vials and Manuel of directions, $10 00 ie (Morocco) of 20 large vial and Book, 6 00 Theno rrmedira are Kent by the oaac or jmle box to any part of the ronntry, free of karice, on receipt of price. Aurt-na umpbreys Homeopathic Medicine O.lloe and Depot, No. 109 Fulton Street, K.

For Sale by all Bold In Barton by E. F. Dutton and L. D. Wilson, AGENTS WANTED FOR THE JillEUTAL 170RL I contain, full descriptions of Poathern Urrme, Ai Minor, The Holy Eand, cte.

u.trmlrd with fin Knirravinir. This Is th onlu mpicw History published oi tlia countries Involved in the Russian-Turkish War This rnind crv work li th mult of Recent Extra 4rm Trmvel tn ail thai muntHci ntmrd. It li ft Itvm mod -HirnHy lKwk th otri.T on on tha iuhjwt nd th fat mt riling oni tw On Agrat told tttf copiet Jie firm dntft nrthr, 1 In on wtrk; nnoUir, 914 in 9 i.ttrivtiin. Atr'ntt. don tmla this th very iT chance makr mnntT fr" im the (h1 thrr ymr.

Now Tour i mf. 8-n1 for our Trrmn Atrnl, nd full d- r- iMon nf tti'm rrrkt wo- and juri fr vnurwlrft. AddrrM ktiii wu run i'uuiwuvrt uAriuru vown D. McDougall, MERCHANT TAILOR Burton, Keep constantly on hand Foreta anJ Domestic And Gent's Furnishing Goods. New IndialVheat Flour AT BARTON 0R1ST MILL.

WHAT OF TIIAT1 Tired! Well, what of thatT Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease, Fluttering the rose leaves scattered by the breeze Come, rouse thee I work while It is called to-day I Coward, arise I go forth upon thy way I Lonely! And what of that? Some must be lonely! 'Tls not given to all To feel a heart responsive rise and fall. To blend another life into ita own. Work may bo done in loneliness. Work on. Dark I Well, and what of that? Didst fondly dream Ihe sun would never act? Dost fear to lose thy way? Take courage yet! Learn Dion to walk by faith and not by sight; Thy step will guided be, and guided right.

Plirtnological Journal. THE FISHERS OF GALILEE. BY AL1CI CART. There wero seven fishers with nets in their hands, And they walked and talked by the sea side sands, Yet sweet as the sweet dew fall The word they spake though they arioke low, Across the long, dim centuries flow, And we knew them, one and all-Ay, know them and love them all. Seven sad men In the days of old, And one was gentle, and ono was bold, And they walked with downward eyes; The bold was Tetcr, the gentle wa John, And they all were sod, for the Lord was gono, And they knew not if He would rise-Knew not If their dead would rise.

Tho livelong night, till the moon went out In the drowning waters, they beat about; Beat slow through the fog their way; And the sails drooped down with wringing wot, And no man drew but an empty net. And now 'twas break of day The great glad break of day. "Cost In your net on the other side!" (Twas Josu speaking across the tide And they cast and were dragging hard-Cut that disciple whom Jesus loved Cried straightway out, for his heart was moved, "It Is our risen Lord Our Master and our Lord?" Then Simon, girding his fisher's coat. Went over the net and out of the boat-Ay, first of them all was he Repenting sore the denial past. He feared no longer his heart to cast Like an achor Into the sea-Down deep in the hungry sea.

And the other through the mist to dim In a little ship came after him. Dragging their net through the tide; And when they had gotten close to the land. They saw a fire of coals on the sand, And, with arms of lovo so wide, Jesns, the crucified! 'Tls long, and long, and long ago Since the rosy lights began to flow O'er the hills of Galilee; And with eager eyes and lifted bands The seven fishers saw on the sands Tho fire of coals by the sea On the wet, wild sands by the sea. 'Tls long ago, yet faith In our souls Is kindled Just by the fire of coals That streamed o'er the mists of the sea; Where Peter girdled his fisher's coat. Went over the nets and out of the boat.

To answer, "Lov'Bt thou me?" Thrice over, "Lov'st thou me?" A two foot rule keep the feet dry. I'robahlv tho. t-a 10 accompany a lady vocalist is a bus-band. The Boston lady who makes a "dash" has brought her husband to a full stop. The four boxes that rule the world The ballot box, the jury box, the car tridge box and the bandbox.

A woman at eighteen wants five trunks when she travels. At fifty she can get along with a bottle of cold tea. "What did the young lady mean when she Baid to her lover, "You may bo too late for the train, but you can take a buss?" "Madam," said a certain nameless one to Mis. Brown, the other day, "you are talking simple rubbish." "Yes, sir," replied the ever-crushiDg lady, "because I wish you to comprehend me." My dear," 6aid a husband, in start- line tones, after awakening his wife in the night, "I have swallowed a dose of strychnine 1" "Well, then, do for good- ness sake lie still, or it may come up. A little cirl was teaching her little brother the Lord's Prayer, and when she had said, "eive us this day our daily bread," he suddenly called out: "Pray for syrup, too, sister; pray syrup, too.

There is a man in New York so close that when he attends church he occupies tho pew furthest from the pulpit, to save A t. IM- il. ine lnieresu on ma money wnue me cot' lectors are passing the plates for contri bution. Husband. "My dear, why are you making such an elaborate toilet Now that you are married, you need not dress to please the men." Wife.

"I do not dress to please the men, my dear, but to worry other women. Marriages are not so common as usual "The young ladies," says the New York Mail, "oueht to cet up a strike tor their altars. The strike for the fires can come in afterward, when the question of build mg them comes up. What do you cet from iodine?" asked a medical professor of one of our popular colleges. get a-ah, usu ally get idiotic acid, yawned the stu dent.

"Have you been taking some quietly asked the professor. An old German buried his wife, and was telling a sympathizing neighbor of her disease. His friend inquired if the i i. i iu Ri emeu "wus reaigueu iu uci iuie. "Pkesigned 1" exclaimed the honest Teuton, "mein Gott, she had to be." "Is your father at home inquired the man of the little girl who admitted him.

"Is your name Bill?" she asked. "Some people call me so," he replied. "Then he is not at home, for I heard him tell John if any bill came, to say he was not at home An old-fashioned minister was preaching in a tight, unventilated church, in which, by some means, a window was left partly open. A good deacon, during the sermon, closed it. The minister stopped, and, turning to the deacon, 6aid, in solemn tones "If I were preaching in a jug I believe you would put the cork in." Two men were ridiDg in the cars on a railway the other morning, when one asked the other if he had a pleasant place of residence.

"Yes, was the re ply, "we have several nice rooms over a store." "Over a store I should not think that would be a quiet place." it is quiet enough. The folks don't advertise." I said the friend in a tone of relief. "Tramp, Tramp." A lonely country road, with the night closing upon it the sun Bet and the sky black, and white streaks where he had been the color gone from all the earth, even from the many-tinted mapies and sumacs that an hour before had flamed in their October brilliancy the air frosty and fresh just the night to go bowling swiftly home in a light wagon over a well-graded road, with the prospect of a bright fire and hot supper at the end of the journey. Mrs. Cuthbert wished that her husband would come "bowling home," as she lighted the lamp and placed it in the centre of the pretty tea table, so daintily set forth with her wedding glass and silver the supper would not be fit to eat if he were much later, and Mrs.

Cuthbert was too conscientious a housewife not to feel alarmed at the idea of her good things being spoiled. But, like the even-tempered little woman she was, she only put an extra stick on the wood fire crackling on the hearth, and settled down in her favorite arm-chair, with her sewing to keep her hands busy, while her ears were on the alert for her husband's step, or a cry from the baby upstairs. She was quite alone, it being one of those periods that so often befall American housekeepers, when the "help" has taken it into her head to depart without waiting for a successor to be appointed. The fire snapped and blazed, the clock ticked on, and all was quiet. But if Mrs.

Cuthbert had chanced to look up she might have seen a face pressed close against the window-pane an ujly face with a rough beard and tangled hair, a broken noso that looked most unprepos sessing flattened on thefilass, and eyes that gleamed 'greedily at the silver on the table but she did not and all was quiet. The clock struck seven, and Mrs. Cuthbert started, surprised and distressed. She forgot about the supper frizzing away to nothing in the oven, and began to worry about her husband it was such a lonely walk, if it was only two miles, and she did wish he would come. Footsteps on the front porch sent her fears to the winds, and a spirit of mischief took possession of her in their I frir rlnnr xrn.a lnr-frorl nrA cVn would make him wait a few minutes to pay him for making her wait so long.

She bent her head and pretended not to notice, even when she heard the steps descend from the porch and tramp over the grass to the window. The sash was violently thrown up and the ugly face that had been regarding her a short time before, was thrust into the room, and then a fierce voice demanded "Why don't you come and open the door for me Mrs. Cuthbert nodded her pretty head and without turning around, answered, saucily "No, sir, I don't mean to let you in, to-night." The ugly face looked thunder-struck, then frightened, and hnally two grimy paw3 clutched the window, shutting it with a crash that made the glasses quiv er, and the ugly face was gone. Oh dear I now he's angry I always do carry mv fun too far," cried Mrs. Cuthbert, springing from her chair and rushing into the hall.

"George George 1" She turned the lock. "George 1" The porch was empty, but she caught sight of a dark figure hurrying up the path to the barn. "Oh, you're not going to hide from me in that way, sir 1" she called out, Tunning down the steps and on toward the barn. Ihe dark hgure was swallowed up in the great black doorway before Bhe reached it "Oh, you great goose she said, standing on the threshold, "don you suDPOse I can find yoa You had bet ter give yourself up at once." Then she waited. The dark figure crouched still closer behind the old car riage, and there was no answer.

"I 6hall nnd you, sir Know every corner, she gave warning tnen, witn arms stretched out before her, commenc ed to search. In and out among the barrels and boxes she went in the utter blackness, calling out merrily now and then that she would find him and pun ish him for giving her so much trouble. Once she almost touched the shrinking figure but it held its breath, and she passed on. It was a weird game of hide-and-seek the dark figure with the ugly face cow ering among the wheels, listening with a Btrange kind of savage fear to the light footsteps that sounded now here, now there he heard them climb the ladder and patter about in the loft overhead, then come down again, ana the voice not bo merry now repeat her assurance of finding the truant, and a sudden desire entered his brain to spring upon her and choke her. It would not be the first time he had done such a deed, but her perfect audacity seemed to paralyze him, and again Bhe passed him all uncon- scious.

He saw her pause in the doorway, dimly outlined against the sky, and then disappear down the path. Ef she ain't the pluckiest un he growled, as he crept from behind the Hanged if she ain't a ghost or suthin." And with this peculiar comment on Mrs. Cuthbert's bravery, he shook himself and made his way out of the barn with a sidelong gait, as if he were used to slinking in and out of places. Mrs. Cuthbert meanwhile sped on to the house, her step3 hastened by the idea that her husband might be there perhaps he might have slipped out of the barn while she was up in the loft, or perhaps he had not gone into the barn at all.

Alas for her hopes" I "The sitting-room was empty, and just as she had left it. Not despairing yet, sho snatched up the lamp, and determined to search the house. From room to room she went, calling upon George, and looking into every closet and behind and under every article of furniture, but not a glimpse of her husband gladdened her eyes, and at last she sat down by the baby's cra dle and burst into tears. "Oh, how can he be so cruel she sobbed, "and for such a little thing. He might have known I was only in fun but maybe he's only in fun himself, and will come in soon." Cheered by this last reflection, she trotted briskly down stairs, stirred the fire into a blaze, and stood watching it too fidgety to settle to her sewing again.

The wood flamed noisily, then glowed a silent red, then crumbled and fell, an untidy, dreary mass of whitened ashes and dying embers, and still her husband did not come. The clock struck nine, and Mrs. Cuth bert looked at it reproachfully, as if it were tne time-piece iault that it was 60 late. Where teas her husband? Per haps he was wandering about in the dark, unable to find the house. Why hadn't she thought of that before She would put a lamp in every room.

Aua in a iew minutes lights were twinkling from all the windows, giving the little cottage quite a gay and festive air. no coma nave guessed that a lonely woman and a sleeping child were its sole oceupants Not the dark figure with the ugly face, doubled up under the lilac bushes that bordered the grav- i As the hours wore on, another dark figure ioined the one of the ugly face, and was greeted with an oath upon his laziness, and the information that "something was up," that the first chance was "spiled," and they would have to "lay a while;" and then both the dark figures, with many a curse and shiver, crouched together, biding their time. Poor Mrs. Cuthbert, as the night crept on, wandered from window to win dow, with the vague feeling that if she could not see her husband from one, she might from another. Sometimes she stood at the door, listening intently, and conjuring every breath of wind into the longed-for footsteps, her heart dying within her at each fresh disappointment.

She must have walked miles in that small house the baby waxed restless, and she was up many times to replace the coverings that the sturdy little legs had thrown off in climbing the invisible mountains that the child is always as cending in his sleep. The clock struck one. How like the voice of fate it sounded 1 It was not at all the cheerful ting that, when the sun was shining, had announced the dinner hour that day. A distant dog barked, and Mrs. Cuth bert rushed to the door she had resum ed her sewing to keep herself from going distracted, and she still clasped it in her hand.

What a black, black night 1 and how cold the wind was Hark she was certain she heard voices by the gate. Yes she did. Just then the baby be gan to cry, and only stopping to call back, "in a moment, darling," she plunged down the walk. All was suent there was no one there. She stood with her hand upon the gate a few seconds, looking eagerly up the road, and then walked slowly back to the house.

As the front door closed, the lilac bush by the gate quivered, and two dark ngures crawled from under it When Mrs. Cuthbert laid the baby in his cradle, after singing him back to the invisible mountains, the clock struck two, and Mrs. Cuthbert looked hopeless ness in the face. George was never coming home, she decided. It was no uso watching he was never coming home any more.

Then, as the next gust of wind sent a twig rat tling on the gravel, she wa3 at the win dow, straining her eyes as she had been doing all the evening. How strange every familiar object in the house seemed the lights burned so whitely, and the sitting-room looked so uncanny, with the tea table spread, and the bands of the clock marking the small hours. An unseasonable moth went banging about the ceiling with what sounded a tremendous noise in that dead silence and the fire refused point-blank to be cheerful, despite the armfals of wood piled on it How the hours dragged She seemed to hive lived years since she heard those footsteps on the porch. Why had she been, such a fool It was five o'clock now, and the roost ers far and near began to herald the approach of dawn. The sky turned from black to gray, and a whitish smudge in the east announced the rise of the glori ous sun.

Mrs. Cuthbert put out the lights and went to the front door. A drizzling rain had set in. and the damp, raw air made her shudder. She went back to the sit ting-roon, and, in a dreary, mechanical kind of way, lit the fire there and in the little Jstchen then brought baby down stair washed and dressed him as usual and put him on the floor to play while she prepared his bread and milk.

But baby was not destined tOvget his breakfast just yet, for at that moment a light step was heard in the entry, and a tall young man walked into the room. The bread and milk were dropped any where, and Mrs. Cuthbert flung herself into his arms, sobbing, crying, and begging his pardon all in a breath. "I'll never do it again. Won't you forgive me, George Forgive what I haven't anything to forgive," said the astonished George.

"Oh, yes, you have. I know it was dreadfully wicked of me but I will never do it again." "What on earth is the matter "Won't you forgive me was all Mrs. Cuthbert's answer. Eleanor, what it the matter de manded the distracted young man, all kinds of awful visions flying through his brain. "What have you done Why, I didn't let you in when you came home last night.

I only meant to keep you waiting a little while.1 "When I came home last night Why, I haven't been within fifteen mile3 of the house since seven o'clock yesterday morning. I've just come down on the four-thirty train." "Didn't you come home last night gasped Mrs. Cuthbert 'Come home No, of course I didn't I've been working at the office half the night Didn't you receive my telegram saying I should be detained in the city all night?" 'No, I haven't received any. What does it all mean inralher an Incoherent sfoe, but she made him understand, and he 3 greatlJ a3 10 om 11 coma have been. Mrs.

Cuthbert, now that her mind was relieved, began to remember that she had eaten nothing since dinner the day before, and was soon flying about broiling ham, and poaching eggs, stopping to have a hearty laugh over the charred re mains of her husband's supper, which 6he took from the oven. Then they sat down to the tea table, baby and all, and ate their breakfast, That afternoon the village youth who did their "chores" was unusually late in coming, but when he did. arrive it was with such a budget of news that his tar diness was forgiven. He had been an eye-witness to the capture to two burglars at Squire Jones' they had been discovered in the very act of carrying off the silver. "Laws, how they fit said the boy.

They smashed Bill Williams' head in with the plate basket, an' came 'most near hittin me an' when we had 'em caught tight, how they did talk I They told about how one of em tried to get into this house, but Mrs. Cuthbert would not let him in. He called to her through the window, but she wouldn't look around at him. When he left the window she came out of the house, and he ran away. She chased after him, but he hid till she went in again.

Alter awhile she came out after him again, when he an' his pal was hidin' under some bushes, an' they was afraid to tech her, 'cause they "seen suthin shinin' in her hand, an' didn't know but it might be a six-shooter." "My scissors, I suppose," faintly murmured Mrs. Cuthbert her husband only heard her. "Wa'al, they're safe enough now at' I guess I'll fetch the coal," said the boy, with the stolidity of a true son of the soil, seizing the coal scuttle, but dropping it again to rummage in the inner pocket of his jacket. ''Here's a letter for you, sir the man Baid I might as well bring it 'long, as his boy could not get up this way 'fore to-morrer mornin', an' you might be in a hurry." "My telegram," said Mr. Cuthbert, handing it to his wife.

"What a convenience these modern scientific discoveries are!" The capitalist who made his thousands, while the soldier was standing between him and the enemy for thirteen dollars a month, now, when the financial skies are lowering, never once thinks of cur tailing his own luxuries, put at once applies the pruning-knife to lop off a portion of the small pittance of the laboring man, who stood between him and the enemy when the life of the nation was at stake. Your goodness must have some edge to it, or else it is none. FIFTY CENTS A WEEK. "Tommy," observed a Ninth Street mother to her son, a youth of thirteen years, "you must cut some wood for the front stove. Mr.

Crawford comes tonight" Mr. Crawford is a young man who is keeping company with Fanny, Tommy's sister. The time was one Wednesday evening. Tommy had been skating since school, and was now anxiously awaiting his supper. The announcement came upon him with a disagreeable force.

that old rooster comin' around here to-night he impetuously inquired. "Thomas cried the mother, in a voice of horror. Thomas having cased his mind somewhat of the burden, proceeded to the wood-pile without further remark. He was not in a good humor as he looked around for the ax, and articles foreign to the search were moved with graceless haste. "This is a reg'lar dog's life," he moodily ejaculated.

"First it's Sunday night, an' then it's Friday night, an' every little while an extra night is thrown in. I don't see what's the use of a girl about the house. If I've got to cut wood every time that fellow comes, I'll know the reason why. I won't be put on like this. I ain't going to be made a pack-mule of by all the Crawfords and Fannys on earth.

It's all nice enough for them to be in there toasting their shins and actin' sickish, but I notice that 1 have to do all the work. It's played out, by Jinks 1 I ain't that kind of a hair-pin. I'd just like to have somebody tell me," he added, looking around for the person in question, "how much of the candy an' oranges an' other stuff that Fanny gets that I get. Not one whiff, by gracious 1 Not one single, solitary whiff An' here I chop wood for her an' him night after night, an' if it wasn't for me thev'd shake all their teeth outen their heads. Oh, they are a sweet-scented pair, they are." Closing his remarks with this gloomy observation on his sister and her company, he worked away at the wood until the amount necessary was prepared.

About seven o'clock Mr. Crawford's knock sounded at the door Fanny's mother was to have let him in, but Tommy volunteered his services. He escorted the young gentleman into the front room, dooVe pointed to te stove, which was a welcome heat, and sternly inquired "Is that what you'd call a good fire "Yes, indeed," said Mr. Crawford, rubbing his hands gratefully. Ah 1" observed Tommy, in a tone of relief, although his face scarcely relaxed the severity of its expression.

You couldn't very well get along in here without a fire, could you "Hardly." "S'pose not Now, who do you s'pose made that fire "Why I I Buppose why, I don't know," said Mr. Crawford, apparently embarrassed by the question. "No Well, I can tell you I made that fire. I cut the wood for it. I cut the wood and make every fire you have here.

I've been doing it all the while you've come here, an you an' Fan have set by it, an' toasted yourselves, an' ate candy, an' sucked oranges. You an' Fan have had all the comfort of it, an' I've done all the work, every bit of it, an' not a smell of them candies and oranges have I had not one living smell." The unhappy boy knit his eyebrows, and instinctively clenched his hands. Scarcely less disturbed appeared the young man. He glanced uneasily from the fireman to the stove. But he made no reply.

He -waited apprehensively for what was to follow. "I'll bet you've got a pound of assort ed candies in your clothes this minute for Fan." This came so directly in the form of an interrogation, that Mr. Crawford un hesitatingly nodded. "So I thought," pursued Fanny's bro ther. "Now, I want to tell you that if this fire business is to be carried on by me, there's got to be a different arrange ment of awards.

It not you can come here and cut your own wood. Will you divvy on them candies "Why why I hardly woula like to do that, Tommy. I got these for Fan ny, you know." "Yes, 1 know," said Tommy, grimly. "When I see you coming up here again, 1 shall expect to see you luggin an ax over your shoulder." Mr. Crawford looked nghast "But, Tommy," he expostulated, "you won't go back on me like that I'll pay you for doing it" "Oh! What will you pay?" "I'll give you fifty cents a "Hope to die "Yes," said Mr.

Crawford, eagerly. "Then I am iust your cheese." said the youth, the hard lines melting entire. ly out of his face. "There's nothing mean about me, but I don't want to go along in the dark. This thing had to be settled one way or the other, for it was wearing the life out of me.

But now that it's fixed, you'll find me up ta the mark every time, and if I don't make that stove rear right up on her hind legs, I am a bald-headed leper without a pedigree." And with a flourish expressive of the deepest earnestness, he stalked out of the room. WHAT IT COSTS. Those who commit crime seldom look at more than one side of the ballance sheet. Satan always shows the gilded side of sin, and that side only, when he tempts men and when they are drawn away by their own lusts, they take into account only the profit they hope to derive from an evil course. How otherwise could so many intelligent men cover themselves with disgrace and plunge their families into a sea of wretchedness for the doubtful enjoyment of ill-gotten gains.

We wish every young man, and every old man as well, could examine the following balance sheet drawn up by the New York Jbvening Post. It is the result of the forgeries committed by Wm. C. Gilman of that city, which re cently came to light He has gained, at most one or two hundred thousand of dollars not a great fortune by any means, even if it had been honestly earned and could be open ly enjoyed, and a mean and paltry sum with which to sneak away into some obscure hiding place and drag out the existence of a hunted felon. This is the sum total of the credit side of his profit and loss account.

The debit side makes a much larger showing. He has lost, in the first place, an honored name in the world a name which he inherited from his father and which he had kept in honor for years a name which was of priceless worth, and one which, estimated by a purely pecuniary standard, was good in bank and on the street for more than the sum that he has carried away with him. He ha3 lost, in the second place, his own self- respect, and must henceforth know himself as a felon. He has lost his liberty, too for whether he shall be cauffht bv the police' and thrown into prison for his shall escape the vigilance of the law's officers, he is henceforth without that liberty of action which alone makes life worth living he must run and hide he may not write his name upon inn registers, or proclaim it to his fellow-men he cannot live in his native land nor can he safely travel in any civilized country he must hide as the hunted liato Jow, K--a i capture must be perpetually present as a hideous nightmare, from which the dawn brings no relief. He has lost, beside, his family.

A wife and children were his, but they are his no longer. He is shut out forever from the home that he had made for himself. His wife -and children were dear to him doubtless, but he can see their faces no more forever he has sold them for money. Worse still.he has done them irrepairable wrong. They must suffer for the wrong that he has done, a punishment infinitely severer than the worst penalty that the law prescribes for such offences as his.

He has brought upon them a calamity worse than death, a loss greater than bank ruptcy could have brought. Those young children of his had a right to one inher itance his good name was an entailed property which belonged to them and was held by him in trust. He has de stroyed it forever, leaving them infinitely poorer than they would have been had he wasted their uttermost substance, leaving them penniless in the streets Money he might have regained for them, and they might have got it for them selves that good name is lost past recovery, When we thus cast up the profit and loss account of the misdoer, it seems in credible that any man of business, know ing as every business man does the great value of an honest reputation, should ever be so blind to his own selfish inter ests to leave all moral questions out of the account as to listen for a moment to the whispers of temptation." Tub School op Hard Knocks. A great deal of useless sympathy is in this day expended upon those who start out in life without social or monetary help. Those are most to be congratulated who have at the beginning a rough tussel with circumstances.

John Ruskin sets it down as one of his calamities that in early life he had "nothing to endure." A petted and dandled child makes a weak and insipid man. You say that Ruskin just quoted disproves the theory. No he i3 showing in de jected, splenetic ana irritable old age the need of the early cudgeling of adver sity. A little experience of the hard ship of life would have helped to make him gratefully happy now. No brawn of character without compulsory exertion.

The men who sit strong in their social and financial elevations are those who did their climbing. AListortune is a rough nurse, but she raises giant3. JLet our young people, instead oi succumbing to the influence that would keep them back and down, take them as par allel bars, dumb bells, and weights of gymnasium by which they can get mus- cle for the strife. Consent not to beg your way to fortune, but achieve it God is always on the side of the man who does his best. God helps the man who tries to overcome difficulties.

Exchange. ROVING FARMERS. There is a class of farmers, says an exchange paper, who are constantly on the lookout for a better place to go. Ther farms are always "for sale," and they dream of luxurient lands, in some other part of the country, which can be bought "for a song," where they imagine they would be more prosperous and enjoy life better than where they now reside. Many of these men" own mortgaged farms and for such men to desire to remove where they can own a free farm though it be far, far away, is but a natural manifestation to better one's condition which the human mind cannot resist.

But where can those men go, after selling their farms, and be contented This is a serious question, which no man can of own knowledge. Suppose they can sell out, and command a thousand or fifteen hundred dollars after paying all their debts, and they start for "the West," Kansas, Missouri, Iowa, or some other State. Eighty acres of land, with a comfortable house or log cabin on it, can be bought for from $5 to $10 per acre. The land is all right, as good as "lies out of doors but alas for the surrounaings. JNeighDors are scarce, society is myth and the poor, frail housewife, who follows her husband without a murmur, pines for friends.

The children have to go two miles or farther to school and in the winter sea son they cannot attend much of the time in consequence of storms. Churches are "few and far between," and the people are generally a mixture of various nations and the result of all is, that many an Eastern farmer who goes West is unhappy and wishes himself back on his old homestead. So if one goes bouth, or anywhere, he will not find things just to his mind. If one thing is better than on the old place, another is worse and taking all things into consideration, but few farmers change their residence, who are able to make a living on the old place, that bet ter themselves by removing to a distant State. One may obtain rich lands at a low price where therA-ia-j for viiac he grows and he may get into an unhealthy locality, and soon he may bury his wife and children, and what then a gloomy world for him.

A BOY WHO HAD SCHOOLING ENOUGH. TV TV-J 75 T7njr amusing hit at the school education of the present day, in the following reflections which it puts in the mouth of an illiterate urchin, who is supposed to be getting ready after the holidays to go to school again "The cause of education be hanged he muttered, a3 he sat down on the curbstone on Shelby street, recently. He was' a lad of thirteen. "I don't believe in a feller diffing in and learning all there is to learn, and not letting other folks have a chance. There's lots of other folks in this world besides me, and I ain't going to be a hog and try to learn all there is to learn." After a minute he went on "Don't I know 'nuff now Three times two are six, four times five are twenty, and four and four are eight.

That's as correct as I could get 'em if I went to school for a hundred years. And don't I know how to spell I C-a-t is 'cat' the world over, and I'll bet on it every time. H-e-n spells and I know it as well as if I had weighed a ton. "Jogerfry kinder wrestles me down, but I don't go much on jogerfry. What do I care whether an Island is entirely surrounded by water, or whether there ain't any water within ten miles of it S'pose I'm going to buy and sell Islands for a living I don't care which is the highest mountain or the largest river, do I I'm going to keep a feed store, and when I'm rolling bales o' hay round will I care about mountains and rivers I've heard the boys go on about exports and imports and straits, and seas, and capes, but what's them to me If a feller wants a bag of oats, is he going to wait and ask me when the Island of Madagascar was discovered "The old folks are making ready for to push me into school, and I've got to make ready to keep out I can't take to school somehow.

I could sit here and study all day, but the minute I git into a school-house I'm nervous." "Not Prepared." The "Drawer," in the November Harper, has this from the very down Eastern most section of our precious country It i3 customary with the students in our college to say "Not prepared," when called upon to recite a difficult and not well-memorized passage. On a hot summer afternoon, the class was sleepily stumbling through the introduction to Butler's Analogy. The reverend doctor was quite as familiar with the subject matter as with the number of chapters and sections, and had a way of his own in calling for a recitation, which sounded quite as much like a call to judgment as a call to recite. The lesson was going badly, and the doctor, nestling in his chair, called out "Mr. you may pass on to the 'Future Mr.

was too much of a wag to let the opportunity slip, and promptly responded, "Not prepared.".