The Kansas Chief from Troy, Kansas • Page 1

i Hurwrff'S DEVOTED TO THE INTERESTS OF DONIPHAN COUNTY. JCJur Motto: "Talk for Home, Fight for Home, Patronize Home." SQL. MILLER, PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR. SUBSCRIPTION, $2.00 PER YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOLUME XXXVI NUMBER 4.

TROY, KANSAS, THURSDAY, JUNE 23, 1892. i WHOLE NUMBER, fnxwii twill fewP vswjj "IIOH WII1TK," THE SIXGISO IX GOD'S-ACRE. citement in the prison a batch of new criminals had just been brought in, and with them intelligence from the outer world. The convicts gathered about the new arrivals, plying them with a thousand and one questions. "From what city or village had they come?" "For what crime had thev been sentenced etc.

THE HHOOL-KUOH DOOIt but Lady Jane, fearing lest such a scene might unsettle the minds of both, wished otherwise. She sent a message to him, reminding him that their parting would be "but for a moment," and their meeting afterwards would be in a world where pain and sorrow could not enter. She also wrote him a touching letter in which she said that in the other 2 EDGAR A LI. AX POK. And the raven, never flitting, suil is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above the chamber door And fais eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming.

And the lamp light o'er him streaming throw his shadow on the flour And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted never more. Thk IUvkn.J Edgar Allan Poe 1 How much the heart throbs with emotion at the bare mention of such a name, and how quickly is the eye dimmed with tears when we reflect upon a life so brief, bo brilliant, and bo melancholy in it sad termination Few men have ever died, around whose memories arc clustered so many mingled recollections of pleasure and pain. Was there ever a life in which good and evil, high intelligence and strange inconsistency, fnnil exrertation and blasted bones. IX jrSE DAYS. They walked down the meadow, one morning in Summer, Among the sweet scents of the -withering hay.

And heard, in the woodland, the brown partridge drummer Beat up his shy soldiers to drill for the day. The song of a lark, far above them, was ringing. It seemed that heaven's gate to the bird must be near. While, like a refrain to the far-away singing, The sound of the mother-bird's talk they could hear. j.

They paused by tnsj bars where the blossoming clover Made bright the il grass, lifting; clusters of red For the kiss of the Ban, as a girl to her lover Lifts up her pink cheek with her wishes unsaid. "Did you hear wtut the south-wind was telling the clover He asked of the girl with the rosy-red cheek "It thiuks it's discovered in me, dear, a lover Who's something to tell you, and yet fears to speak. "It said to the rose by the wall, See him trying To hide from our eye what he's thinking today- Were we blind we know all his thoughts by his sighing Speak out. tooiish fellow while the sun shines make Her eyes fell, and pale grew the sweet briar roses With envy to see the bright cheek he had kissed 'Tit strange what the meeting of mute lips discloses How eyes tell of love with no words assist. The wind and the birds and the brook fell to singing, Because two youag lives plighted troth in that kiss.

And down in their hearts was a gladder song ringing. And lovers will learn what the tune of it is. him bat a par ar low-quartered shoes, short woollen socks an eel skin garter to keep off the cramps, an his skeer wur growin' on him fast. He wur plum crazy, fur he jist spit in his hans an leaped over the front nv the pulpit rite inter the middle uv the pious part uv the congregation, kerdiff, an sot in tu gittin away. He run, or ruther went in a lumber in' gallop, hevy, like an ole wagon hoss skeered at a ingine.

When he jumped a bench he shook the yetii an hiself too. Bonnets an fans clared the way, an he had a clar track to the woods. He weighed nigh on to three hundred, had a black stripe down his back like an ole sorrel mule, an his ole belly looked 'boat the size an color nv a beef paunch, and hit a shakin' from side to side. lie leaned back from it like a leettle feller totin' uv a a big drum at muster, an I heern it slosh plum to whar I wur. Thar wur cramp note on his legs as big as an all over he 'minded me uv a crazy ole elephint wot wur possessed uv the devil, with hits years, enoot an tushes sawed off, an rared up an gwine on hits hind legs away from immejet trouble an tribulation.

He did the loudest and skeeriest and fussiest run-nin' I ever seed since dad raced with the to be no faster than it wur. "Well, he disappeared in the brush, an uv all the nizes ye ever heern it wur thar in a circle uv two hundred foot ortherbouts; sum wimmin scream-in' they wur the ekeery ones; some laffin they wur the wicked ones; some cryin they wur the fool ones, (sorter Lovegood stripe; some tryin' to git away ur hide ther faces they wur the bashful ones; some lookin' arter ole Bullin thev wur the curus ones; some BY AUXKS K. V1T Kl I'd give the world to ho a boy. A little bare-foot 1kv nani To feel upon my sunny hrow The cooling dmis of Hummer rnin Once more to cliiuli the woMy hills. To drive the cattle (Iiimukii 'thv di-w.

To answer to tin- Hob While's call, To idle as I used to do. t'horns "Hoh Whit, Tiie sound comes fror.i nfar. The simple cull ot'thc rustic iiuil. From his sunny ervh on ths pjisturt bar When the iy -rv -ps alon? the rail "Hob White On the verge of tender tears Is the ninsie of the hsrp alwav "Hob White "Hoh gone with the years. But his song is in my heart to-day I once again ti lie and dream Among the clover and the liccs Once more iion my sun-browned cheek The kisses ol the truant hrevzr Again to wander throUKli the ilcMs, 111 love with leaf and bloom and sky, Oav as the blossom in the wind.

Free as the bird that flitted by. 1 would lie a lsv uiraiti, The hue of health on ctuH'k and lip. And find in nature's hnppy wilils The old and true companionship To lailtfll with the lllerrv laughing brook That ran to meet tin biiretimt boy To whistle with the Isiholink That shared so ott in idle joy I feel the Summer's That came to ine so tenderly, The sweetness of 1 lie wild red rose That hispers thought of love to mi' What is the world to me tiwlay I am a hare-foot tsty again. The Hoh White's call is sweet and clear. And on my cheek 1 feel the, nun IIO.MK.SWKKT HtlllK," Ah When John llovtHrd I'livnc minis' the foils' I llder uiiiiuIsiimi.

I was once acquainted with a Swotlo who had been adopted by the Inao Indians. Ho wim a friend of John Ross, the celebrated chief of ho Cherokee, ami gave his name in the Cherokee language-it whs written J. i). Sc J. (., pronounced Koh-wch-s-koh-vt eh, and means swamp spar row.

1 1 is brut tier, Ijewis Kohs, was named To-tjih-te, which means spoon. My informant was himself called by the I'herokees Ta-kaw-whu-loss-ky, which signifies 'The man who writes orders for flour." John Howard Payne, tho author of "Home, Sweet Home," was a warm personal friend of John Ross. At the time thn Cherokee were removed from their homes in Georgia to their present home west of the Mississippi River, Payne was spending a lew weeks in Georgia with Ross, who was occupying .1 miKerahle caliin, having been forcibly ejected from his former homo. A number of prominentt'hero-kees were in prison, and that portion of Georgia in which tho tribe was located was scoured by armed squads of tho Georgia militia, who had orders to arrust all who refused to leave tho country. While Ross and Payne were sealed before tho tire in the hut, the door was suddenly burst open and six or eight militia men sprang into the room.

Ross's wife was seated on a trunk containing many vnlualile papers and a small amount of money, unl nt tho unexpected intrusion she sprung up and screamed wildly. Ross spoke to her in tho Cherokee language, telling her to bo seated, as sho would savo the contents of the trunk. She sat down again, and the intruders told Ross that he and Payne wcreuntlerarre.it, and must prepare to accompany tho squad to Milledgeville, where they were to be imprisoned. Tho soldiers lost no time in taking their prisoners away. Ross was permitted to ride bin own horse, while Payne was mounted on one led by a soldier.

As the little pur-ty left the hovel the rain began fulling, and continued until every man whs drenched thoroughly. Towards midnight, Payne's escort, in order to keep himself awake, began humming 'Home, home, sweet, sweet when Payne remarked: "Little did I expect to hear that song under such circumstances and at such a time. Do you know tho author?" "No," said the soldier, "do you?" "Yes," answered Payno, "1 composed it." 'The devil you did You can toll that to some other fellow, but not to me. Look hero, you made that song, you say; if you did and 1 know you didn't you can say it all without stopping. It has something about pleasure and palaces.

Now pitch in, and reel it and if yon can't I'll bounce you from your horso and lead you instead of it." The throat was answered by Payne, who repeated the song in a slow, subdued tone, and then sang it, making the old woods ring with the nder melody and pathos of tho words. It touched the heart of the rough soldier, who was not only captivated but convinced, and who said that the composer of such a song should never go to prison if he could help it. And when the party reached Milledgeville they were, after a preliminary examination, discharged, much to their surprise. Payno insisted that it was becaus tho leader of the squad had been under the magnetic influence of Ross's conversation, and Rous insisted that they been saved from insult and imprisonment by the power of "Homo, Sweet Homo," sung as only those who can feel can sing it. The friendship existed between Ross and Payne until the grave closed over tho mortal remains of the latter.

The t'orff FiiuerMl. She was a fair child, with tresses of long, black hair lying over her pillow. Her eye was dark and piercing, and as it met mine she started slightly, but looking up smiled. I spoke to her father, and turning to her asked her if she knew her condition. "I know that my Redeemer liveth," said she, in a voice whoso melody was like the street strains of tho yKolian.

A half hour passed in silence, then she spoke in that same deep, rich, melodious voice: "Father, I am cold, lie down beside mo," and tho old man lay down by his dying child, and she twined her thin arms around his neck, and murmured in a dreamy voice: "Dear father, dear father "My child said the man, "doth the flood seem deep to thee?" "Nay, father My soul is strong "Seest thou the thither shore?" "An angel smile! But I am cold, cold, cold Father, there is a mist in the room You'll be lonely, lonely "Is this death, father?" "It is death, Mary 'Thank God replied the child. Her eyes closed she slept in the arm of Jesus 1 Sabbath evening came, and a slow procession wound through the foreut to the school-house. There with simple rites the clergyman performed his duty and went to the grave. Tho procession was short. There were hardy men and rough in shooting Jackets, and some with rifles on their shoulders; but their warm hearts gave beauty to their countenances, as they stood as mourners, and the birds sang, and so we buried her 1 I saw tho sun go down from the same spot, and the stars were bright before I left, for I always had an idea that the grave-yard was the nearest glace to heaven on earth; and with old ir Thomas Brown I love to see a church in a grave-yard, for even as we pass through the place of graves to the temple of God on earth, bo we must even pass through the grave to tho temple of God on high.

Whebe are the mothers? Every paper yoa pick up has a column of inquiries from young women ask in? for advice In their love affairs, how to make their dresses, what Is good for their complexion, what attentions to accept from young men, etc. The mothers know more about such affairs than editors. Why do not the girls go to them for advice A mother is the only person on earth who will advise a girl regardless of self-interest. Something is wrong when she asks such advice from a stranger and a man. Atchison Globe.

Since it is generally admitted that women never understand the male nature, it is unfortunate that most boys are controlled by women. Thouoii men realize how perfectly helpless the man is who has no money, they continue to fool their'a away. it scants nKLD. Out yonder in the moonilght, wherein Ood s- Acre lies. Go angels walking to and fro, singing thetr lullabies Their radiant wings are folded and their eyes are bended low.

As they sing among the beds whereon the flowers delight to grow "Sleep, oh, sleep The biiepherd guardeth His sheep Fast speedeth the niht away. Soon cometh the glorious day Bleep, weary ones, while ye may Sleep, oh, sleep The flowers within God's-Acre see that fair and wondrous sight. And hear the angels singing to the sleepers through the night And, io throughout the hours of day those gentle flowers prolong The music of the angels in that tender slumber-song "SleeD. oh. sleep The Shepherd loveth His sheep He who guardeth His flock the beat Hath folded them to His loving breast-So.

sleep ye now and take your rest Sleep, oh, sleep From angel and from flower the years have learned that soothing song. And with its heavenly music speed the days and nights along So, through all time, whose flight the Shepherd's vigils glorify, Ood's-Acre slumberetb in the grace of that sweet lullaby "Sleep, oh, sleep The rihepherd loveth His sheep Fast speedeth the night away. Soon cometh tl)e glorious day Sleep, weary ones, while ye may-Sleep, oh, sleep THE MAX WHO KXEW A mighty knowing man was Caleb Page, who kept the grocery at the forks of the road near Woodchuck creek, in the village of Uornville. No occurrence had ever taken place, of all the particulars of which, Caleb did not possess a thorough knowledge in the minutest detail. All matters in the perspective were anticipated, discussed, arranged and satisfactorily disposed of, long before they took ulaee.

If a neighbor rushed into the store to communicate what he believed to be a recent piece of news, he would have the conceit taken out of him by being told by Caleb that 4he had heard of that a week Events of the past, present and the future, were all the same to him; hisubiquitous knowledge grasped and covered thm all to him they were stale news. A small bet waa made, one evening, between Si Stephens and Joe Stubbins. Si bet Joe couldn't nonplus Caleb with any piece of intelligence, real or imaginary. Joe took all such bets as The following evening, Si and Joe, accompanied by two or three more of the 'boys' of the village, who were to help the thing along, and fill proceeded to Caleb's store. After being comfortably seated here and there on barrels, boxes, Si opened the amusements by asking, in a manner that indicated he was continuing a conversation begun before they entered the store: So you say, Joe, they caught him last night? 'Yes, sir, about seventeen minutei past 'Well, Joe, how far up the creek was 'On a careful consideration, I should say it was about three miles, or three and a quarter, or perhaps a half, up said Caleb, who had lost not a word of the conversation, dropped his sugar-scoop with astonishment, and opened his ears, for the boys were talking about a matter in which he was not 'posted The conversation con? tinned: says Si, 'that couldn't a been far from Deacon 'Just answered Joe, 'it waa about eighty rods from Deacon Hunt's hog pen, in a slanchwise 'Did you hear, asked Si, with a face as solemn as a grave-stone, 'how much ile they 'Yes, I replied Joe, with another face as solemn as two grave-stones; I heard tell they got nigh upon sixty barrels of The wags olserved that Caleb was getting exceedingly uneasy, and 'piled it 'Well, Joe, how long was the reptile 'Well, Si, the insect was about eighty-two feet long, and twenty-eight inches broad, and thick in 'I thought, Joe, that there was two of That's a fact; there was a pair on 'em, but they only caught the he At this point in the dialogue, Caleb became so desparately excited that he could contain himself no longer, and snappishly demanded to know what in thunder they were talking said Joe, with well-feigned astonishment, 'don't you know about their catching that ar' That ar' what? peevishly snarled Caleb.

'Why, that are whale seriously answered Joe Stubbins. 'A whale exclaimed the bewildered Caleb; 'have they caught a whale up the creek 'They have'nt caught anything said the imperturbable Joe. 'And how much ile did they get inquired Caleb, recovering his wits. 'Ninety-two replied Joe, forgetting the amount he had previously mentioned. 'Well, said Caleb, with slow deliberation and a satisfied look.

am glad they caught thai wliale, I heard they viere after Joe paid the bet. Months. The names of the months were given by the Romans. January, the first month so, called from Janus, an ancient king of Italy, who was deified after his death, and derived from the Latin word Junuarius. February, the second month, is derived from the Latin word Febro, to purify, hence Februariu; for this month the ancient Romans offered np expiatory sacrifices for the purifying of the people.

March, the third month, anciently the first month, is derived from the word Mars, the God of war. April is so called from the Latin word Aprilus, i. e. opening, because in this month the vegetable world opens and buds forth. May, the fifth month, Is derived from the Latin word Majores, so called by Romulus, in respect toward the Senators; hence Males or May.

June, the sixth month, from the Latin word Junius, or the youngest of the people. July, the seventh month, is derived from the Latin word Julius, and so named in honor of Julius Caesar. August, the eight month, was called in honor of Augustus, by decree of the Roman Senate, A. D. S.

September, the ninth month, from the Latin word Septem or seven, being the seventh month from March. October, the tenth month, from the Latin word Octo, the eighth, hence October. November, the eleventh month, from the Latin word Noven, nine, being the ninth month from March. December, the twelfth month, from the Latin word Decern, ten; so called because it was the tenth month from March, which was anciently the manner of beginning the year. When a young man earns money, his mother thinks it wrong that be should be asked to contribute any thing toward the support of the family.

"He is saving money to go into business for himself." she will say, "and needs every cent." But if a young woman earns a salary, she is expected to contribute toward the "table," and the best things are not saved for her, either. Atchison Globe. Little children sit around and wish in their play that their dolls were real babies that could talk and cry. Their mothers, poor things, wish that their babies were dolls that could be pat away when they are busy. The prettiest things fades the quickest.

A delicately pretty woman at twenty will be homelier at forty than women who were never considered good looking. A deadbeat is a great collector. JI E-T1I)E IJI THE MORNING. The boat went out with the ebb to sea. That June-tide in the morning, bonnie boys waved their hands to me.

That June-tide in the morning, I stood and watched them from the door. My bonnie. brave boys came back no more. That June-tide in the morning. The sun shone bright and the wind was low, That June-tide in the morning.

And I kissed them ere I bade them go. That June-tide in the morning. The leaves were young upon the vine When my boys' warm lips were pressed to mine. That June-tide in the morning. I watched the boat as it left the bay.

That June-tide in the morning And ever until my latest day That June-tide in the morning Comes back to me when the skies are clear. And the roses bloom yet I felt no fear. That June-tide in the morning. A mist came np and it hid the sea. That June-tide in the morning Little I thought what awaited me.

That Jane-tide in the morning. How those lips had been pressed to mine. On earth for the last time pressed to mine. That June-tide in the morning. The rising tide brought them home no more.

That June-tide in the morning. Ere noon the boat drifted safe ashore, That June-tide in the morning. The mist had hidden the Dead Man's rock. And never a boat could withstand its shock, No matter how fair the morning. They fonnd their graves in the great North Sea, That Juae-Ude in the morning.

My boys that came never back to me. That June-tide in the morning. Yet the waves were stilled and the wind was low. Thank God we kissed ere I let them go, That June-tide in the morning. LADY JA.E CiREY.

Horn 1 3.1? Beheaded 15-11. Few characters in English history have attained so great a notoriety, and enlisted the sympathies of the world to so great an extent, as Lady Jane Grey. Born the favored child of fortune, reared in luxury, surrounded from infancy by loving relatives, yet doomed in the end to a sad fate which neither wealth, position nor the influence of friends could avert, Bhe went to an early grave. Lady Jane Grey was the eldest daughter of Henry, Marquis of Dorset, and her mother, the Lady Frasoss Brandon, was a niece of Henry VIII. Her teachers in early childhood were Harding and Aylmer, her father's chaplains; but afterwards her education was carried on under Reger Ascham, and she is said to have made wonderful progress in all her studies under this celebrated man of learning.

Some of her biographers have ascribed to her the most wonderful and unheard of attainments. She has been represented as speaking Latin, Italian, French and Greek with correctness and fluency, as well as being thoroughly acquainted with Hebrew, Chaldee and Arabic. But these are doubtless exaggerations, but for the age in which she lived her acquirements were astonishing, while her talents and natural endowments were unquestionably of a very high order. Lady Jane in early life showed a decided preference for the Reformed faith, and she corresponded with leading Protestants in Europe. She first appeared in public with her mother, on the occasion of a visit of the Dowager Queen of Scotland to the court at Greenwich.

In May, 1553, being then just sixteen years of age, she was married to Lord Guilford Dudley, fourth son of tho Duke of Northumberland. The young couple em to have been truly and sincerely attached to each other, yet this marriage was productive of much sorrow to them both. Lord Guilford's father was one of the most ambitious of men, and he determined, by some means or other, to procure for his daughter-in-law the English crown. He carefully concealed his own selfish and ambitious motives under a show of great zeal for the mainance of the Protestant faith. He persuaded Edward who was in almost a dying state, that it was clearly his duty to set aside the claims of his two sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, and provide a Protestant successor to the throne.

This artful reasoning of Nothumber-land had an effect npon the young and gentle King, and he was induced, from a sense of duty, to name his cousin, Lady Jane Grey, his successor to the throne. On the 9th of July, 1553, Edward VI. died, and the ambitious father-in-law announced to Lady Jane that the crown of England had been left to her. Grief for her cousin's death, astonishment and dismay at her own unjust elevation to a throne to which she certainly had no right, worked in her mind at once with such force that she fainted away at the news. At first she refused to be made Queen, saying that she could have no right to the throne to the exclusion of the King's sister, adding also this noble and just sentiment as a final argument: "Besides, it were but to mock God and deride Justice to scruple at the stealing of a shilling, and not at the usurpation of a crown." But she was not allowed to act on the dictates of her own true heart.

Her husband, Lord Guilford Dudley, was persuaded to prevail upon her to accept the honors offered to her, and at last, in submission to the will of her husband, to whom she was tenderly attached, she consented to be crowned. Lady Jane Grey was proclaimed Queen in London, and Mary at Norwich, on the same day, which, of course, caused immediate dissensions and turmoil in the kingdom, but it soon became evident which party was the strongest and would untimately succeed. The Duke of Northumberland was the first to inform his daughter of the turn of events, telling her that' she must content herself with returning to private life again; to which she replied: "I better brook this message than my former advancement to royalty. I have grievously sinnsd, now do'l willingly relinquish the crown." Alas she was not allowed to retire into the quiet peace of private life unnoticed. Measures were promptly taken for her arraignment, as well as that of her husband and her two brothers.

Lord Ambrose Dudley and Lord Henry Dudley, on a charge of high treason, and they were all four con-demed to death. When Lady Jane was told that she must prepare to die in a few days, she said with more than resignation: "You are much deceived if vou think I had any desire for life, fbr I assure you that I long for nothing so much as death." She wrote to her father only a few days before her execution, and in the letter to him speaks as follows of her fate: "Although to you, perhaps, it may seem wofuL, to ne there is nothing more welcome than from this vale of misery to aspire to that heavenly throne of all joys and pleasures with Christ our Saviour." To her sister, Lady Catherine Grey, she wrote thus beautifully: "I have sent you, my dear Bister, a book, which, although it be not outwardly trimmed with gold, or the curious embroidery of the artfullest needles, yet inwardly it is more worth than all the precious mines which the vast world can boast of: it is The Book, my only, best beloved sister, of the Law of the Lord, which shall lead you to the path of eternal joy. 'My good sister, once more let me entreat yoa to learn to die. Deny the world, defy the devil, and despise the flesh, and delight yourself only in the Lord. Now as touching my death, rejoice as I do, my dearest sister, that I shall be delivered of this corruption and put on incorrupt ion." In this short sketch it is impossible to quote these letters in full, as they are very lengthy; but the foregoing extracts will show her unshaken confidence in God, and implicit faith and reliance in the divine goodness and love of the Father of life and mercy.

All her letters evince the same high order of Christain faith, and willing, joyful acquiescence in the disposition of His providence. Lord Guilford Dudley was anxious for a parting interview with his wife; HBZEK1AB BLTTKKWOKTH. The light is warm on Auburn' hills. With quiet meadow crowned, And sunset's shadowy splendor UUh The memory-haunted ground. bowery fields 1 Illumined trees! My eyes to you once more Is turned, and dim with leelini? seeks What once it sought with glowing cheeks.

The open school-house door I walV the upward path alone. Where once I walked with friends A pilgrim to the halls alone, Mr halting step ascends. I see the glimmering tree-tops rise Around me as of yore. Below, the placid nver lies Above, the blue lakes of the skies, And fading hills, before. shaded windows, that see By pUgrini years endeared.

Where oft I dreamed when fair to me Life's happy skies appeared Grounds, where I used to sport and play With class-mate, seen no more, Bpringiess and Hammcriesn to-day 1 wind alone my Autumn way. To that old school-house door. Where are they now, where are they now, The friends that galhered there. That stood beneath the morning's brow In life's celestial air Where are the warm, young faces met Ho freuuent at the door My -youth is green in memory yet, And never can my heart forget That old-time school-room door Home sleep beside the mobile seas, Whose lives had hut begun. And some beneath the crimsoned trees Where slants the Southern sun And here kind nature spreads the fern The graves of others o'er And flame-tipped leaves above them burn; Their feet, alas will ne'er return To that old school-bouse door.

Oreen springs have not the light of old. Nor Mummers bright that follow, ICach year from skies of duller gold Flits Autumn's purple swallow And life goes on, a fire-fly's light, its lost thread ever spinning. And that which makss the future bright. We lose, alas in winning Behind us, longer grow the ways. And shorter, rise before I've travelled further than the rest Towards sunset windows of the West, comrades seen no more What sayest thou, old class, to-nighl.

Amid these years of cares Who soon must seek the taper's lighlt Before life's altar stairs Our hopes in Heaven remain alone Of all our quest, my brothers. And all the joys that we have known. And all we own, or yet can own. Are those we've given others. The school of life, than all more wise.

This final lesson leaves He who himself the most denies. From Heaven the most receives And in the night-shades of the past The eternal Btars we see Kach year is better than the last. And will forever be One taper lights a thousand laniits. One wave through thousands tlowj, One bugle's notes awake the camps Beset with hidden foes. And all the efforts we have made.

The good for which we've striven. Though battled oft, as gold is weighed In the true scales of Heaven. A nobler school, in mornings bright. Before our eyes appears. And we are happy in the light Of graduated years.

Or far or near, old friends of yore. Or pupil, teacher, guest. He ever loves time's school-room door Who does in life bis best. The light is warm on Auburn's hills With peaceful harvests crowned. And still hope's happy prospect tills The meinory-bauntecl ground.

Farewell, shadow-man tied hulls, 1 ne'er may see thee more. Be mine to go where duty calls. Well pleased waere'er the sunset falls That I may scenes like these renew. Come back and take a parting view At life's old school-room door Sftlttt 3toxK A RUSSIAN ROMANCE. In the city of Vladimir there lived a merchant by the name of Aksenov.

He was the owner of two Bhops and one dwelling house. Aksenov was blonde, handsome, and fond of merriment and good company. In his youth he drank a good deal, and when nnder the influence of liquor made a terrible uproar. Since his marriage, however, he had indulged but seldom. One beautiful summer morning, Aksenov concluded he would go to the fair at Niini Novogorod, but when he went to bid his family good-bye, hia wife said to him "Ivan Dimitrievitch, thou must not go to-day I am afraid for you to go." "Afraid cried Aksenov, beginning to laugh "what are you afraid of that 111 commit a folly at the fair "No," said his wife, "and I do not know myselfwhylam afraid.

Only I have had a bad dream about you. I aw you return from the city, and when you took off your hat, your head had suddenly became as white as snow." At this, Aksenov only laughed the more. "That's a good sign," said he "I shall have good luck, and bring you a magnificent present," and kissing his wife affectionately, he took his departure. Half way to the fair he met a merchant of his acquaintance, and stopped to spend the night with him at an inn near by. They suped together, talked till bed-time, and retired to sleep in adjoining chambers.

Ivan Dimitrievitch was not a great sleeper, and ha awoke in the night, restless and wide awake. To avoid the heat of the day, and travel more comfortably, he decided to pursue his journey, without waiting for morning. Rousing his postilions, he ordered them to harness the horses, and after settling his account with the inn-keeper, he drove away. Ooing about forty versta, he decided to rest again, feed his horses and eat his own dinaer at another little au-berge by the side of the roadwav. While waiting for the samovar to be lighted, Dimitrievitch seated himself upon the door-step, and began playing upon his guitar.

Suddenly there was a furious ringing of bells, a troika dashed up to the auberge, and a tchin-ovnik (officer of the State) descended, followed by two soldiers. Approaching Aksenov, he asked him what he was doing there, and where ho was going. Aksenov answered him very politely, and then invited him to join him in a cup of tea. The official declined, and continued to press him with questions "Where had he slept the night before "Was he alone "Had he been alone all the evening with his friend the merchant "And why had he left him so precipitately Aksenov, surprised at these questions, related all that had happened to him. The officer beckoned to the soldiers to approach, then turning to Aksenov, said sternly "If I question you, it is as a commissioner of police, and because the merchant with whom you passed the night wag found murdered in his bed.

Where is your baggage We must have it." Dimitrievitch pointed out his trunk and bag, and tbey began to search them. "What is this?" cried the officer suddenly, holding up something that he had taken from among the clothes in the bottom of the satchel. Aksenov looked and saw that it was a knife, all Bpotted and brown with blood he shuddered with terror. "And why this blood upon it?" continued the officer. Aksenov wished to answer, to tell them that he knew nothing about it, that the knife was not even his, but he was unable to articulate a word.

"Bind and place him in the carriage," cried the officer, peremptorily, "and take him to the prison." On the evidence against him, Aksenov was condemned, llrst to the knout, and afterwards to transportation and hard labor and with wounds scarcely healed, departed with a gang of other convicts for Siberia. At the end of twenty-six years of exile, hardship and sorrow, Dimitrie-vitc Aksenov had become an old man his hair was as white as snow, and his long white beard fell almost to his waist. All of his gaiety had disappeared he rarely spoke, and never laughed, spending his time when not at work In praying to Heaven. No one wrote to him from his old home, and he did not know whether his wife and children were living or dead. Thus the time passed on.

One morning there was a stir of ex Askenov also drew near, and listened to what was said. Among the prisoners was a man perhaps sixty years of age, tall, muscular and robust. "The reason why am here," said he, "is simple enough. I was unharnessing a horse from a sleigh, and they took me for a thief. I told them I only wanted to go faster, but all the same I am here.

Truly I am a great criminal, and should have been here before, only, you see, the police didn't know it." "And you are from where "Vladimir I am a shop-keeper of that city. My name is Makar, and that of my father, Seraionoviteh." Aksenov lifted his head. "Did you ever hear them speak of the merchants Aksenov said he. "Are any of them living?" "Of course," said Makar; "they are rich merchants now, although their father was sent to Siberia," "Did you ever hear them speak of my affair, Semionovitch said he "and do you remember anything about it?" "No," he responded "the earth is full of ears, and I heard of it, of course; but it's so lorrg since it happened, that I have forgotten what was said." "But do they know who killed the merchant A'ksenov continued. "The one in whose bag the knife was found, of course.

How could it be otherwise Why, Dimitrievitch, the bag was under your head, and you would have heard him." Makar did not seem to notice the slip he bad made, and Aksenov said nothing either but, more and more convinced that he was in the presence of Riazan's murderer, got up and Ifet the room. Thus fifteen days passed by. Aksenov neither touched nor spoke to Makar Semionovitch. He never closed his eyes at night, and spent the hours in such a tumult of conflicting emotions, that he scarcely knew hat he was doing. One night, as he was pacing his cell, as usual, wondering what it was best to do, he suddenly noticed that a plank nau wen toosenea Denina nis nea.

lie stooped to examine it, when all at once Makar Semionovitch stood before him, a frightful expression of rage and chagrin distorting his countenance. He would have turned away and left him, but Makar seized him by the hand, and held him telling him with what incredible labor he had tunneled beneath his cell, carrying away the dirt in his boots. "Keep silent, and you shall go with me," he said "say a word, and I will kill you "Thou hast no need to kill me," said Aksenov, trembling with passion "thou tlidst that years ago. As for myself, I have no wish to escape but whether I denounce you or not, God only will decide." The next day, when the convicts were taken out to work, traces of fresh dirt wore discovered on Makar's boot. An examination of the prison was made at once, and the tunnel was found.

There was no evidence against any in particular, and the convicts would not reveal the truth, for they knew that the offender would Ijc whipped Co death. "Man of Ood," cried the Governor of the prison, addressing Aksenov, "vou are iust and truthful cive me the name of the man who did this thing." Semionovitch remained impassable, but Aksenov trembled like a leaf his lips opened, he struggled to speak, but the words would not come. "If I am silent," he thought, "they will let him off but why should I do this I believe him to be the assassin of Riazan, and yet I cannot, if I would, prove it." "I will not tell you," he said, at last, to the Governor, fixing his eyes upon Semionovitch "God will not permit me. You are master here do with me as you will I will not tell To every effort of the Governor his answer was the same. On account of his unvarying good conduct, he was not punished and they failed to find out who had made the tunnel.

The following night, as he was stretched upon bis bed, he heard some one approaching and lean over him. He opened his eyes, and recognized Makar. "How now," cried Aksenov, angrily, "hast thou still more need of me Go, or I will call the guard and he attempted to rise. "Do not do that, Ivan Dimitrievitch," said he, "for I am here to beg your pardon. It was I who murdered the merchant, Riazan I who placed the knife in your bag I would have murdered you, too, but a noise in the corridor startled me, and I made my escape by the window.

In the name of God, Ivan Dimitrievitch, give me thy pardon I will declare myself guilty at once thou shalt be set at liberty, and return to thy home "This is all very easy to say," Aksenov replied sadly "but I have suffered too much my wife is dead my children and friends have forgotten me. I have no place to go but I forgive, all the same and lifting Makar from his knees, the two old men mingled their tears together. "1 will declare your innocence tomorrow," said Makar, finally "I will suffer less under the lash of the knout than I did when you refused to denounce me the cause of all your misfortunes." "I forgive and pray for you," Aksenov replied, a great peace suddenly filling his soul. He no longer regretted his home, his wife or his children he did not even care to leave his prison. Makar Semionovitch was as good as his word he declared himself the murderer of the merchant Riazan, and ready to suffer the punishment.

But when the order arrived to set Aksenov at liberty, Aksenov was dead! A Hindoo Prophecy. Are we to have a new dispensation We have thought ourself that the world may be entirely changed yet in our time. There is something new continually coming up, and we hardly know from one year to another what wonderful change may take place in the whole arrangement of creation. These reflections were called up by the following article which we see going the rounds recently A strange story is now being circulated in India, about a gold plate with inscriptions upon it, in the Tamil and Telcgu languages, which is said to have fallen from heaven. The Hindoo Patriot gives the following version of it "A plate made of the finest gold, containing the following inscription, fell from heaven, and was found in the temple grounds at Benares by the person who saw it fall.

The inscription is as follows "'From the month or June. 1S90, Ood himself will rule as Emperor of Hindoostan, incarnating himself in human form. From that time forward there will be justice all over the world, and the munis (sages) will be worshipped by the people. "All the diseases of men will be cured, dogs will walk and talk as men do, and man, whose life is now established at Beventy years, will in the future have it extended to one hundred and twenty -five years. After a man has been accused of stealing, though he may have proven his innocence, the people for the rest his life will tighten their hold on their pocket books when they see him coming.

A max may say he does not care how much a thing is going to cost him, but he can't keep the funny look out of hU eyes when the bill comes in. The girl who flirts plays with fire, and the man she flirts with is fireproof. world "friendships were happy, and onions indissoluble, and that theirs would be eternal if their souls carried with them nothing of the terrestrial which might hinder them from rejoicing." All accounts agree respecting Lady Jane's adherence to her religious faith to the last, with the constancy of a martyr. The last evening of her life she spent almost entirely in prayer. Some Roman Catholic priests, however, were sent to interrupt her by trying, even at that late moment, to convert her to their faith an act of heartless cruelty or superstitious bigotry.

She received them courteously, but remained steadfast to her faith, being unmoved by their arguments and unawed by their manner. It had been intended that Lord Guilford and his wife should suffer together on Tower Hill, but the Council fearing the effects of such a tragic scene on the populace, reversed their order, and Lord Guilford only was beheaded on Tower Hill. Lady Jane was beheaded within the precinta of the Tower of London. On reaching the scaffold she showed no fear, but exhibited the impress of true inward peace on her fair countenance. She addressed the spectators in a short speech, in which she owned her crime against the Queen, then kneeled and repeated the "Miserere mie Deun." After this she had her eyes bandaged and was led to the block.

Gently declining assistance, she felt for the block in her blindfolded condition, and one who stood by guided her hand to the spot where her head was to lie. The executioner, with tremulous tongue and quivering lip, had implored her forgivness for what he was about to do, which was sweetly accorded with the assurance that she knew he was not to blame for what he did, and a request that he strike a sure blow that the pang of death be not prolonged. This was said in" a low voice. She placed her head upon the fatal spot, where friendship had guided her hand, and signified that she was ready. All present were bathed in tears.

The last words she uttered were, "Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit." The ax, fell, and at one blow severed her head from the body. Thus in the bloom of early life per-isned one of the most beautiful, amiable and accomplished princesses that ever lived a victim of grasping ambition on one hand, and bigoted hatred on the other; and with her were dragged down to death those she loved. But though cruelly murdered, her memory and the holy example of her pure life and saintly faith is like "precious ointment poured out," or incense from a heavenly altar. In her death she did more, perhaps, for humanity and the cause of -God than she could have accomplished in a lifetime, had she been spared, and even Queen of England. EXEtl'TIOS OF1 A IIIIV.

Written by nn Enclish HanaiiiMn. A few years ago I was called out of town hang a boy who had been convicted of killing with malice afore-t hough t. If guilty, he must have been in the hi.bit of going to executions. Ten thousand came to dabble in the poor young creature's blood. That was the youngest fellow creature I ever handled in the way of our business; and beautiful child he was too, as you have seen by the papers, with a straight nose, large blue eyes and golden hair.

I have no heart, no feelings; who has in our calling? But those who came to see me strangle that tender youngster, have hearts and feelings as we once had. Have no had; for what they saw was fit to make them as hard as your servant and his master. They saw that stripling lifted, fainting, on to the gallows; his smooth cheek the color of wood ashes his little limbs trembling and his bosom heaving sigh after sigh, as if the body and soul were parting without my elp. This was downright murder; for there was scarcely any life to take out of him. When I began to pull the cap over his baby face, he pressed his hands together, fhis arms, you know, were corded fast to his body,) and he gave me a beseeching look, just as a calf will lick the butcher's hand.

But cattle do not speak; this creature muttered, "Pray, sir, don't hurt me." "My dear," answered "you should have spoken to my master; I'm only the journeyman, and must do as I am bid." This made him cry, which seemed to relieve him, and I do think I should have cried myself if I had not heard shouts from the crowd "poor lamb! shame! murder!" "Quick," said the Sheriff. "Ready," said I. The Rev. gentleman gave me the wink the drop fell one kick and he swayed to and fro, dead as the feelings of the Christian people of England. The crowd dispersed, some swearing, some weeping with passionate exclamations; some cursing as if hell had broke loose; and some laughed while they cracked jokes on you and me and the dangling corpse.

They had come for the sight. They would have come to see an angel murdered. They had come to get drunk with strong excitement; they went back reeling and filthy with the hot debauch. They had come to riot in the passions of fear and pity; they went back some in a fever of rage, some burning with hate, some hardened in hearts, like me or you; all sunk down in their own respect, ready to make light of pain and blood, corrupted by the indecent show, and more fit than ever to make work for us the judge and the hangman. wise law makers who think to soften the hearts of the people to make them gentle and good to give them a feeling of respect for themselves and others, by showing them a sight like this Piotia I'hiloMophy.

The Lord's side is never the whisky side. More people fail from discouragement than from misfortune. Finding fault with Mary was Martha's way of calling attention to her own industry. There are so many folks who never get religion below the ears. A fanatic is a man who takes a burning interest in something we don't like.

If gravestones told the truth, the devil would soon be walking on crutches. Some people pray too much for themselves, and not enough for their neighbors. Every time you find fault with a neighbor, you are telling somebody that the man who wears your shoes is not as good as he ought to be. There was weeping at the grave of Lazarus, but we don't know that there was a tear shed when Metbusaleh was buried. Ram's Horn.

Many a smoker wonders what the letters on a clay pipe, means, and some one has found that they stand for Timothy Dexter, "My Lord Timothy," the eccentric Newbury port man who endowed a clay-pipe factory, wrote a book with a few pages of punctuation marks in the back, and insisted on viewing a mock burial of himself, at which he whipped his wife because she did not weep enough. The first thing that was done to yoa when you came into the world was to give yoa a bath. It is the last office performed for yoa when yoa are dead, and there are some people who look as if they never took a bath between times. How much does a man have to have to be so rich that when he fails to return a borrowed dollar, the people will laugh and call it "carelessness," instead of dishonesty were so strangely blended That l'oe was a man of extraordinary endowment no man can doubt that he was a genius, in the fullest sense of the word, all have acknowledged that his style is characterized by e'uliar powers of analysis and unequalled fertility of imagination is incontrovertible. Poe's disposition waa peculiarly opposed to anything like submission.

The yoke of restraint was ever too galling for his rash and fiery nature. With feelings like these, and an almost ungovernable temper, he became the adopted son of Mr. Allan, who never curbed in the least his impetuous emotions, never denied a single wish, never thwarted a single plan but gave loose reins to his every passion and furnished him the means of gratifying every lust. For reasons which we are not pre- fared to give, Mr. Allan very sudden-y disinherited Poe of every cent of an estate which he had been taught to consider his own, and he was thus thrown upon the cold charities of a still colder world.

How bitter was tho draught which he was forced to drink Is it strange that a disposition once ho buoyant, and a mind filled with such bright anticipations should then have become as cold, as lifeless as a block of marble Is it strange that a heart whose every throb once was joy, should have been "ground to powcler" beneath a weight so heavy and unexpected After this act of Mr. Allan, tho character of Edgar Poe was completely changed. He who once loved to minglo with the youth and beauty of both sexes, then became the cynic and the heartless misanthrope. All without spoke to him of the hollowness and deception of the human heart within, tho scorpion fang of remorse lashed him to almost fiendish madness. "The future stretched before him All dark and barren as a rainy st No sun of Hope, fringed with a silver border tho dark cloud of Despair, which lowered over his pathway.

Poe, as a magazinist, has few equals, no superiors. At one time he was connected with some of the principal magazines in this country, and not only won for himself a wiue-spread and enviable reputation, but swelled the list of subscribers to the magazines over which he presided, to an almost unparalleled extent. As a writer of romance and a novelist, Poe possesses a style peculiarly his owa. With morose, melancholy and high wrought enthusiasm he was ever a dreamer, and dealt but little in the sober realities and stern conflicts of every day life. His characters are either drawn from tho angels of Heaven or "the demons of Hell.

His style is pure, animated, elegant frequently sublime. His principal faculty seems to be in the perfect control he exercises over the emotion of his readers, and the complete knowledge of every faculty of the mind. In reading his "Fall of the House of Usher," you first feel a faint emotion of fear, which soon grows to awe finally, such an intense feeling of dread and horror creeps over you, that the book is clasped more tightly in your grawp, the cheek pales, the eyes glare, the limbs tremole, tho teeth chatter, and the very hair of your head stands erect. In this state vivid and intense feeling, the houne is suddenly swallowed up no sound is heard the fierce war of the elements ceaseH, the calm complacency of your feelings again returns, and you find it almost impossible to realize the extreme height to which the rehearsal of an act which only transpired in the mind of the writer, had carried you. Poe's first article in prose "MSS Found in a Bottle" was published in 1833, when he was only twenty-two years of The appearance of the youthful author, at that time, was peculiarly poverty-stricken.

His cheek was pale, his eye sunken, his garments threadbare and tattered, no covering sheltered his head, none protected his feet. The poverty of his apparel served only to show to a much greater advantage the richness and lustre of an eye which bespoke the no ordinary amount of intellect that glowed beneath his matted locks. Genius in rags Oh, what a scene Let us glance for a moment nt Poe as a poet. The rich rythm, the frequent sublimity of his style, the tender pathos which many of his productions, together with his unequaled knowledge of the "Poetic Principle," have deservedly ranked him among the first poets of America if not made him the poet. His touching, beautiful "Annabel Lee" has awakened a response in almost every heart, and found a welcome at almost every fireside where the English language is spoken.

No piece of poetry in the English language surpasses 'The Bells," for peculiar adaptation of sound to sense. Now we hear, breathing from its well constructed numbers, the merry jingle of the life-inspiring sleigh-bell, now the mellow notes of the wedding-bells, as they bespeak a world of happiness to the newly married couple suddenly, the loud alarm bells break forth in their wild iinerle. as ther tell their startling tale of terror in "the affrighted ear of night," and awaken the unconscious slumberer to the awfnlness of his situation. But his "Raven" immortalized him. None have ever dared to attempt such a production.

We have never met, in any article, such sombre loneliness and never-ending despair but a portrait of the author's feelings. The quiet solitude of the night on which it was doubtless composed, tells of the still greater solitude that brooded over his heart the feeble flickering of his well-nigh exhausted lamp, reminds us of the faint flickering of hope which still lingers in his breast, while we see in the dying sparks which shoot their ghost-like gleam" athwart the floor, some faint token of the sparks of intellect which lie embedded in the sparks of a once proud and noble mind. In the year 1849, when about thirty-eight years of age, while passing through the place of his nativity, Baltimore, he met with several of his old companions, in an unguarded moment drank to excess, and in a state of raving madness and wild delirium was taken to a hospital, where he breathed his last, with no friend near to smooth his dying pillow or moisten his parched lips. One of the brightest if not the brightest star which ever lighted up the firaia-ment of American literature, thus went oat in almost midnight gloom his son set while it was yet day United States Magazine. When a woman tells her husband that their son is just like him, it is more often said as a defence for the son's meanness than as a compliment to the father.

A max should be a high board fence between his wife and the wickedness of the world, but by his own worthless-ness, he is often a bridge. Evert time yoa do a thing that is worthless, yoa fulfill the prophecies of those who dislike yoa. It is a very rare man who can't lay all his misfortunes on Providence or his kin. III news spreads fast. SIT LOVEtiOOD-g LIZZAKDS.

OF TENNESSEE. E1T DULLER REW-ARDS. This cash will lie paid in korn or pro-jace to be collided at ur aboute nex karri p-meetin' by ene wun what ketchis him, fur the cacus ove one Sutty Lovegood ded ur alive an safly in over to the car ove Pas-son John at Squire mack Junkina fur rasin' ore the devil persniscusly, dis-cumfuntin the wiruen powerful ai a scar-in' ove folks g-iueraly at the ratilsnaix springs big nieetin' siened by me John Bcllin the paxson attested by Jehu Wethebtos. I found written copies of the above highly intelligible and vindictive proclamation stuck up on every blacksmith shop, doggery, and store door in the Frog Mountain range. Its bloodthirsty, vindictive style, and, above all, its chirography, interested me to the extent of stealing one from a tree for preservation.

In a few days I found Sut in a good crowd in front of Capehart's small doggery, and as he proved to be about in tune, I read it to him. "Yes, George, that ar docymint am in yernest, sartin. They dust want me powerful bad. I spect eit dullers won't fetch me. I'll go myself fur fifty, planked down, ef you'll go long and see me have jestice.

Lite, lite, old feller, an let that rjan ov yourn blow a leetle, an I'll plain tho cussed 'fair wot hes ruinated my karacteras a pius pusson in the sasiety about here. Ye see, I went to last year's big meetin' at Rattlesnake Springs, an wer settin in a nice shady place conversin' with a frien' in a huckleberry thicket, when the fust thing I knowed I woke from a trance, what I'd bfcen knocked inter by a four-year-old Hickry stick in the han' of ole Passon Bullin, durn bis ali-gator lookin hide-yiin he wur standin a straddle ov me, at the mouth, an a preachin tu me abeut sartin sins an my wickednestt giner.xiy. Mjf fren wur gone, an I Kvur glata ov it, fur I thot he meant to kill me with his club ef he failed to preach me to death, an I didn't want her to see me die." "Who was the friend you speak of, Sut?" None-your-bisness durn your little ankshus picter! But I'll tell yer one thing, George: that nite a naber gal got an orful confounded stroppin from her mam with the stirrup lether uv a saddle, an old Passon Bulliu had et supper thar that nite; an what's wuss ner all, she cooked it fur him, and begged him a tremblin' an cryin' not tu tell on her, an the durn infernal hip-ercritercal, pot-bellied, whiskey-wast-in' ole ground hog, but I paid 'im fur it all, ef I haint I will. I mean to keep payin' uv him all the time. "Well, at the nex' big meetin' at the Springs, I wur on hand, as solim as a hat carrier at klection time, fur I had promised the ole hog to come an be convarted, jist to keep him from kiilin' me.

I tuck a seat on the steps uv the pulpit, to prove I wur in yernest. Thar wur a monstrous crowd in that grove, an ole Bullin was a preachin' to 'em at an orful rate how the hell sarpents wad sarve 'em ef they didn't repent how they'd crawl over 'em, wrap ther tails roun ther necks, poke ther tongues into ther eyes an blow inter ther years; and ef it wur an oman, how tha'd quile in ther bosom, an try to crawl under ther frock strings. An he had 'em hot, hollerin, and skeered; the fac is, the thing war workin' powerful. "I'd kotch five big gray pot-bellied lizzards, an hed 'em in a leetle narrer bottom poke, an packed as tight as a bundle uv sticks. So wile he wur a rarrin onto his tiptoes, onbeknownst tu anybody, I ontied my poke an put the mouth under his britches leg, an gin ther legs a squeeze an a shake, when they all tuk up his bar legs, ma-kin' uv a noise sorter like squirrels a climbin' a shellbark hickry.

He stopped fur a spell like he wur a listnin' fur suthin, sorter like an ole sow does when she hears you whistle fur the dogs. I giv a big groan, an helt my head 'twixt my knees. Then he commenced slappin' uv hiaself whar ye cut steak outn a beef, then he'd fetch a rub whar a hosses tail sprouts, then he'd stomp, then run his nan a-tween his waisban an 6hirt, an reach down an roun mightily with it then he spread his big Tegs and give his back a good shakin, sorter uv a rub agin tha pulpit, sorter like a hog scratches agin a stump; a lean in' to his work powerful, and sqairmin' ginerally zif hed jist cum ourfra dog bed, or hed slept on a pisant trail. About this time one uv the lizzards, skeared an hurt by all the rubbin' an slappin', poked his head out atween the passon's shut collar an his ole brown neck, fuk a peep at the circumstances, an dodged back agin. "Ole Bullin's speech now cum tuhim; his eyes stickin' out like two buckeyes flung agin a mud wall, an his voice tremblin'.

Sez he, 'Brethrin, take keer uv yerself, the hell sarpents hev got me? Some uv the wimmim fotch a painter yell, an a ramrod-legged doctor wot sot near me 'lowed hit wur a clar case uv delicious tremenjis, an I thot he wur right, fur it wur tremenjis, afore it war done with. Off went the claw-hammer coat, and he flung it ahind him like he war a gwine inter a scrimmige, he had no jacket on. I Nex he foteh hia shfrt over his head faster nor I goCwten my pasted one, an he flung hit up in the air like he didn't keer a durn if hit kept up forever, but hit lodged in a black-jack. I seed one uvmy lizzards racin' over the big ole dirty-lookin' shote, skeered like the deviL Then he gin a sorter shake an twist, an he come outn his britches, an he tuk 'em by the bottom uv the legs and swung 'em roun his head a few times, and then fotch 'em down cher-whollop over the front uv the pulpit. You could nv hearn the smash a quarter mile! Nigh onto about fifteen big shortened biskit," a briled chicken with his legs crossed, a big dubil-bladed nife, a club uv terbacker, a pipe, some copper ore speciments, a heap of berkin glass, a sprinkle nv whiskey, a sqnt an three nv my lizzards flew permiscusly all over that' meetin' groan', outn the upper eend av them big flax britches.

One av the smartest av my blae lizzards lit hed fast inter the basum av a fat ole oman, as big as a skinn'd hoes, an nigh onto as ugly, who sot thirty yards off a fan-nin herself with a turkey tail, an smart to the last, hit commenced a ronnin' down. "So Bhe wur bound to faint, and did it fust rate; jist flung her turkey tail np in the ar, rolled down the hill, tangled her legs an garters in the top ova huckleberry bash, an war thar all safe an quiet when I left. "Now, ole Bullin had nothin' left on hangin'to ther beaus they wur the sweet ones; some on ther knees with ther eyes sot, but ther faces turned the way the ole mud turkil wur run-nin' they wur the deceitful ones; some doin' nuthin they wur the wait-in' ones, an the most' dangerous uv all uv 'em by a durn long site. I tuk a big skeer mj'self, arter a bible about as big as a brick, a deesiplin an a book called a catkisrn, a few rocks, and sich like splattered onto the pulpit ni to my head, an as the Lovegoods, durn 'em knows nothin' but to run when they git skeered, I jist put toward the swamp on the crick. As I started a black bottle of bald face smashed agin a tree forninst me.

Sum durned fool professor done this, who had more zeal than fur I say that any man who'd waste a quart uv whiskey fur the chance uv knockin' a pore devil like me down with it, if the bottle was wuth nothin, aint as smart as ole Squire Mackmullin, an he shot hisself with a hoe handle; an hit loaded at that. Well, you know, George, I orter run fast jist look at these legs I used 'em some atween that meetin' groun an the swamp, and they haint kotch me yit. Ole Barbelly Bullin, (as they call him since his tribulation with the hell sarpints), haint preached but onct, an then he hadn't an oman to hear 'im. His tex wur, "Naked I cum into this world, an I'm gwine outen it the same way ef I'm spared till then." I'm told 'twar a powerful sarmint it wur heern three miles. He proved that nakedness warn't much arter all, ef you take the right view uv the thing that hell sarpints uv all sizes was skeery, cold, an troublesome that it warn't to be expected uv him, a pore, weak, frail worm uv the dust, to be sarpint an lizard proof either that one small sarpint uv the tribe uv Milkizidick ruina-tid the world through an oman while he wur beset with a barrel full uv em.

An six.teenthiy an finally that Sutty Lovegood is the biggest rascal, fool an scarecrow ever hatched in the mountain range. "Now, George, that all may be so but I want ye to tell ole Grounhog this fur me ef he'll let me alone I'll let him alone; an ef he don't, ef I don't lizzard him agin I wish I may be turned into a poultice. Let's go to the spring an mix a ieetle uv it with this ere whiskey afore you start. Mind, tell ole Barbelly wot I said about another big skeer, with say a peck and a half uv lizzards try an skeer 'im, ef ye kin. Good-bye." A SlRPRISIXO MEMORY.

Some people have photographic memories. If they see a face once under circumstances calculated to impress it upon their recollection, it remains fixed there forever. The memories of others are like looking glasses, from which the image passes as the substance is removed. One of the most extraordinary specimens of the former class of memories we have ever heard of, is said to be possessed by a gentleman of New Orleans. It is indeed, if our authority may be believed, "wax to receive and marble to retain." Our informant states that some months ago, this New Orleans phenomenon who.bythe way, is an officer in the United States army accosted an individual on the levee with "How do you do, my dear fellow; glad to see you looking so well.

But that was an awful scare we got, was it not?" "Sir," said the accostee, gravely, "You have the advantage of me." "Had the advantage of you, you mean but not much, you were down nearly as soon as I was." "Sir," said the party addressed, still more more gravely, "you speak in riddles. Be good enough to expound." "Ha!" responded the phenomenon "don't remember me. I suppose? Quite natural. We only had a passing glimpse of each other." "Sir, you probably mistake me for some one else," returned the other, more mystified than ever. "Not a bit of it," said the man with Ehotographic memory.

"You were on oard the steamer when she blew up near Memphis, on the 22d of April, 31 minutes past 11, a. nine years ago, were you not?" "Yes, I was; but" "But me no bute. So was I. You were blown sky high. So was I.

Not that I saw you previous to the explosion. My first and onlv interview with yon was in the air. You were going up as I was coming down. The glimpse I bad of you was necessarily short. Your features were distorted by fright, our pace was killing, and I was wrong side up.

Consequently my opportunities for observation were unfavorable. But I never forget faces under any circumstances, however discomposing. I photographed you, sir, and have had you in my mind's eye ever since. The moment I saw you on the levee, I recognized you as the original of my mentalj daguerreotype. Glad to see yoa looking in better trim than when I saw yoa last.

But we all have our tips and doirns in the world. Suppose we adjourn where we can crack a bottle of champagne for the sake of an auld lang syne." "Which," said our informant, as he wound up the story, "they accordingly did." Some anecdotes are best "taken with a grain of salt." Our readers will probably consider the above one of the kind that requires a little of that seasoning. The practice of head hunting still exists in Borneo, though it is evidently dying out in tha region over which the Dutch have any control. It is a curioua custom. No youth is allowed to don the tokens of manhood or pay his addresses to any Malay maid till he has been able to bring in two or three of his enemies' haads.

Births, marriages and deaths, and many other events in the lives of these half-savage people cannot be properly celebrated without the presence ol a few fresh heads; and in almost every house one or more of these trophies are stowed away wrapped up in banana leaves. It appears likely that the custom is simply a survival from cannibalism. Indeed, among the few remaining cannibal Dyaks in Koetei it is still the custom to reserve the head for the chief, the remainder of the Tictim'a body being divided among the common people. There will be lots of nnmended holes in the garments of the poor, to confront those women in the next world who spent their time in embroidering altar cloths. -V i'.