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~ y. '. Y. _' 3..y,Yat. AM n' ' .l . .1. .l ..:. .. .S- - A Family Companion, Devoted to Litera re, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c. - Vol. XTX. NEWBERRY, S. C., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1883. No.48 Ilit msIk . Vuplratia of 6a w"tOft k." * O e3AP3ND 3U18Tlbr .. -te itOr Ge#bs tp Cinbs. PRPATTERN&:' "-" ? "h- . bgOnseez MAAU they ,u s~ is tuhetbt ad.h tand I tamale.h S'Depeoeeeanhe of "Josiah toWmy a cam 'la *At3mbroMt7r.FIioweei *Gdpu ~0o rn-tnibortL eveytbilk. for 3 ti _A Wi&superbz iarieBi,ass pe the0. abbt oa.-"Wo tDe person l.Um - !' - IOtlu'r Inducmeul ': aqen amt- patia, it wrten foe, $25,000! In Dry Goods, Boots, Shoes, Hats, Carpets, Clothing, &e. &e., to be sold at remarkably low figures at the Grand Dry Gooda Emrm of W. T. TARRANT. A few hints will not be amiss to buy a right thing, buy where you are sure to and the goods for sale to be correct In style.and of the best quality: Do not .-make your purchases until you have seen my magnificent stock of ds, the largest that ever was in this The, poor crops has occas ioned mueb eomplaint of dull times. My sales bowever have been good and t have no complaint to make on that o e tj order to give additional e 'tru I shall offer this week RIGILY IYTESTING -BARGAINS Particularly in departments referred, to in this advertisement, viz: Woman's yest grade Bay State Shoes @ $1.25, worth 1.50; Men's Boots 2.50 formerly sold for 3.0);. Boys boots 1.00, sold for 1.50; Chas. Heiser's, hand made Gait ers 6.50 fornerly sold 7.50; Ladys', Misses, and Children's shoes in propor tion. I defy competition in the Shoe and Boot trade. DRESS GOODS ! gest Gro Grain Silks 1.00 to 1.50, sold for 1.50 to 2.00 per yard. My Cash meres, -Satins, and all Dress Goods have been reduced in price. I have the largest stock' in this department that has ever been exhibited In New berry. LI$8JIKfTS & CLOkS. Of which I have.a beautiful line, and will sell them now at amazingly low prices. Cloaks that I sold for $4.00, I will now sell for 3.00, and all the rest in proportion. ~Las. Jackets (Walking) iednced greatly in price. :-: Cassimers & Jeans :-: I can beat the town in, both in Price and Quality. READY MADE CLOTHING, Men's Suits from$5.00 to'$30, reduced from $4.00 to $25. Boys suits in pro portion. SADDLES, The best stoek-'of Kentucky saddles this side of Louisville Ky., also Har nesBrldle, Whips, Saddle Blankets: WM h .amselng lQwer than ever Fr:a i.5c. to 9.e. per yd. Brussels that I sold for $1. now 90c. Rubber Rugs, &c. To be eenvinced f iow eit-. seas that I mead bW4ness give me a call before purchasiag. POLITE SLESkEN And no unnecessary solicitation to buy. Very respectfully, -W. T.fTARRIlT. Sep't.-3m. Important Notice. ,Buying and se.ling for (ASH ONLY I am enabled to offer to the public IMPORTED AND AMERICAN BRANDI ES, I3GA1I AND7TOBAIJIJ, ilso theflnest and best FrenIch Brandies he celebrated or family use, at prices which defy COMPETITION. !SINBII'S TIVOLIhBEB for family use, one dozen Pint Bottles at $1.'0 All orders will receive prompt atten tion. -With thanks for former patron age to this house' I respectfully solicit a continuance of' the same. 0. RLETTNER, Under Newberry Opera House. June II, S4-.?KRos. besi-e bay an tyd RETROSPECT. Oh I to go back in our lives, To live them over again, Knowing,all that now we know, Seeing all we saw not then. Oh ! to refrain from speaking . Where that hasty word was said. Oh f'but to break that silence Which weighs on our heart like lead. Oh ! but to tarry once more At that point where two rcads met. And choose as we,chose not then, Made wise by a life's regret. Oh ! but to set out afresh With some who from earth are flei, Now we've read them by the radiance Death sheds around the dead! Thus cry we now and again In words of remorseful pain. Yet deep in our heart of hearts Thank God that the prayer is vain. SMIT 111THE8 --- BY RALPH HUMPHREYS. -O You can vead . lipan our sign "Smith Brothers." "Smith Broth ers" head our advertisements. We have always been 'Smith Broth ers" at heart, except for one brief space. We are in the wholesale -dry goods line, as our father was before us. When he died he left us his store and his business, and "Smith Brothers" took the place of the old sign-"Johnathan Smith." We were not young when our father departed his life. I, Abso lum, was thirty-five and my brother Abijah was thirty-three. Our mo ther died when we were children, and her last charge, as they say in novels, was that we should love each other and try to console father. We can remember her very distinct ly, both of us. She was a fair little woman, with a pale face and gen tle' eyel of a. sort-of. brownish blue. Her voice was srery sweet and low; and she loved us as no one will ever love us -again. TOd this day I can 'recall her cooing, murmurous into nations, as she called us a mother s thousand endearing names; the warm clasp of her soft arms; the sweetness of her smiles; the deli cacy of her beauty. So can Abijah. it is not strange that after 'her death, as our lives expanded from boyhood to manhood, our mother, as we remember her, became to our ~dreaming fancies the type of all that was lovely in woman. The future wife, of whom .we both dreamed, was little, a fair creature, with brownish blue eyes, sweet oice and tender smile. We used ~to talk about her freely with each other and the one who found his mate first was to marry and take his brother to live with him. It was a queer life which we led, all through our boyhood and young manhood. The servants who had lived with us at my father's death, two staid, church going spinsters, all lines and angles, and a grey haired servingman who looked like the very incarnation of family re spectability. Besides these we had no housekeeper. My father did not like a stranger about the house and ~himse'lf bestowed upon the domes tic affairs the slight amount *cf supervision necessary, until I be come old enough to relieve him. We went to school until we were shy boys, and besides each other, made no, intimate friends. When we were sixteen cur father took us into his store. This pleased us vastly better thian a longer school life. We were con tempative, rather than communica tive, and we used to sit, when the day's work was over, and look from an upper window dowvn the harbor and watch the ships coming home, bearing to temperate New England oriental musks sad spices and essence; shawls and robes wrought with many a strange' Eastern device; hints of acacias and Indieu palms and dusky women roving under them. I'speak for us both; our tastes were as one taste; what one liked the other liked also. We used to associate the gentle.woman of our dreams with all our oriental fancies. She should wear the bright hued silks, fold her light figure in the quaint, rich shawls, bear the odor of spices inher soft hair and the folds of her garments. But when my father died and we got along in our thirties we were no nearer the dream.:wife than in our boyhood. We saw no ciompanyf save the people.we met in our busm ness.~ Year in and year not E fe nale ToggpS lighter-eIUiker than Jane's d~plaas ever wandered op an the stairs, in and out of the roomsof our spae:~ lus, old-fashioned house. We dreamed-of the dture still, with the shy tendernessa of ou -ohod We did not at all reaifr;eha we -wr g.lnWbkg o mo v.ing away from the possibilities of youth and beauty and tenderness. Our life had been so quiet, so barren of events, that it seemed short, uncon scious of the hostages time was leaving with us in the shape of gray hair and wrinkles. It is a sudden shock, rather than bitter grief, when our father died. His heart had been buried twenty five years ago, in the grave. of our mother, and since that time, though kind and just to all, there had been no sun 'to melt for him the ice of life's long winter. We loved him. There was a saddening sense of loss and absence when we looked at his vacant chair at home, or in .his counting room when we saw "Smith Brothers' on the sign, in place of the honored name which had hung there for forty years, but there was none of the anguish of desolation which rends the heart when one is taken whom we loved -who loved us. "It would not have been.right to marry while father lived,' I said to Abijah, one evening, as we sat by the library 'fire. "It would have pained him to bring home a wife here where mother died. But now-" "Yes I think it is time, now, brother Absalom; but of course we must wait till our year of mourning is over." Our eyes met each other and we smiled. We maae no confessions in words, but the truth came home to us both that we had lived so long out of the world, it would be a work of more magnitude that we had rea lized to go into society and choose the household angel we both coveted. And so it went on for another year-the house silent and quiet as ever; the old servants and "Smith Brothers" growing old together. Our father had been dead something over twelve months when ' there came to us a letter superscribed in a female band, It was a very .un usual event and we speculated a little as to its possible origin before we opened it. It proved to be from a lady of whc.n we had ofteil heard as our mother's most intimate friend. This was what it said : "I write to you, gentlemen. as surely Mary Chelmsford may feel privileged to wrfe to the children of Margaret Smith. Your mother and I loved 6a4)=ther wit. a te derness deeper than most- sisters know. All t:at one- woman cotld have done or ventured for another she would have done for me or I for her. Sinee she died I have seen neither of you. but I remember the promise of :our boyhood. You, Al.salom, had your mother's smile, and you, Al.ijah, your mother's kindly eyes. I believe that you both inherit your mother's tender heart. At any rate this is my only hope. Under heven I have no where else to turn. I am dying in a strange place, 'of slow decline, going to join my husband. I have no near friends or kindred to look tot-only you. I am not hiarsased by any anxieties f or myself. My soul is at rest. for iknow in whom I have believed. I have property enough to make n:y last days com fortable, and leave a provision for my daughter Margaret, who was named for your mother. It is in her behalf that I appeal to you. She is not much over twenty, for I was not married till late in life, some years after your mother died. She has a gentle, loving nature, which, save at her father's death, has never yet b)een subjected to any of the harsh discipline of life. It is from this time that I beg you to save. She will not suffer from any bodily wants, but d.o not let her soul starve. Don't let her feel her self friendless, lonely and loveless in life. But this time one or both of you must surely have chosen some gentle woman to bless your home, who will not refuse a moth er's welcome to Margaret Chelms ford. I will not urge my entreaty. I kno~w that to make it at all to your mother's son will be enffcient, if you have it in your power to- com ply with it. I am able to w~rite no more, but I hop? to hear from you before I go h:-nec. Address Mary Chelmsford, Osw&;o, New York." We were (of one minid and one heart in the matter, my brother and I. If Mrs. C'ielmnsford would con fide her to our care. the daughter to our mother's friend should seek no farther fo:' a home. I do not think the prospect at first afforded either of us mu.:h pleasure. A young lady in our very house would sadly disturb our wonted quiet, especially if she were fond of gayety and wanted to go into society. But neither of .us :elt any hesita tion as to what was to be done. We geolved not.trust to the delays and chances- of a letter. One of us would remain at home, to- superin tend business and make ready for the reception of the young lady, and her mother,'if we found lirs. Chelmsford able to travel. The other was to proceed at once to Oswego. My brother insisted that this latter duty belonged to me, as the elder, and I began my jonrney the next morning9 When-A reached the ~1g among the lakes I found the ist~ more feeble- thaa ae4d She had evidently not very many days to live. I resolved to remain till all was over. She welcomed me with feverish eagerness; entrusted to my care all the papers which concerned her daughter's inheri tance, leaving the settlement of her affairs in my hands. I had some hesitation in proposing to her that Margaret shoul,d reside henceforth with my brother and myself; some doubt as to whether she would not think us too young to receive such a ward. I was glad that she saw .oimpropriety in it. I suppose I en twelve months. with interest iron gs day of sale, by bond and mortgagt the premises. .s. SILAS JOHNSTONE. Master, N. ed Master's Office, 8th Nov. 1883. e STATE OF SOUTH CAROLIN COUNTY OF NEWBERR a IN THE COURT OF COMM( of PLEAS. Samuel A. Hunter, Executor. vs. Sai J F. Davis, Adininistratix. By order of the Court herein da Nov. 1883.ijj,l selL at Du so many whom I loved have gone before-my husband, the little boy, my first child, who died in baby hood, and my mother, my truest friend. More are there than here." It was.my place to' console Mar garet. She grieved for her mother at first with an intensity of anguish which no words could portray, but after the funeral was over she grew calm amid her sadness and began, with serene patience, to take up again her burden of life. I re mained with her at Oswego until I had completed the settlement of her mother's affairs. They had been badly managed and I found that when they were reduced to a system there would be scarcely enough left for Margaret to keep gloves on her pretty hands. I was very glad when I made this dis covery, that I and no other had the charge of this business. Now I could spare her from any feeling of dependence. Every quarter I could give her an ample provision for her expenses, in such a manner as she should receive it as the income of her own property. I would not have her feel under a' feather's weight of obligation to me. V hen all our arrangements were satisfactorily completed I wrote to apprise my brother of our comi1, and we starW. fpr, home. AItijai met us at the depot. t '-My other ~ cousin," Margaret said, pleasantly, as she extended her hand, removing all restraint with her graceful womanly tact. She had called me. "Cousin Absa lom," from the first. - I found that my brother had worked wonders during my absence. Our old home no longer looked a gloomy sbode, even for s young girl. Fresh, bright paper was on the walls, carpets of warm, rich lhues covered the floors, tasteful fur niture was disposed about the apartments, and a room, leading from the . little parlor, especially designed for our guest, bad been transformed into a conservatory and was already gay with flowers. With one consent we entreated Miss Chelmsford to assume the office of housekeeper, as neither ot us felt competent to regulate any longer the affairs of a household which- was to number such a mem ber. She promised, with her cus tomary sweetness, to comply with our request, and presently our lomestic arrangements put on an order and beauty they hail never before known. When we were fairly settled at ome I had leisure to study Mar garetChelmsford,the first young lady with whom I had ever been famil iarly associated. Until then I had not observed what affected me strangely now, her remarkable re semblance to my memories of my mother; to the ideal I had so long herished of niy future wife. Here was the lithe, graceful figure, the brownish blue eye, thle low, sweet voice, the winning smile; here, and my heart thrill'ed as sit had never hrilled before, was the woman I ould love. Thirty-six began to ~em very old to me. Sixteen years between me and the young life I onged to link in my own. I did iiot mention these thoughts to my brother. For the first time in our lives Wjjjwas a shadow between us; a fi83, th(pable ice of reserve. thinkdec nt't on my part, not from any~ unwillingness that he should read my heart, but from a se cret fear, as bitter as secret, lest he might recognize in her the ideal we had both so long cherishmed, and loved her as I loved her. Besides, had so little- hope it seemed use ess to talk about it. She made no distinction in the manifestation of her regard between my brother and me. To us both, she was uniformly all that a young sister. could have been; the joy and brightness of our homes and our lives. Perhaps she came to me most frequently concerning her affairs, which was biut natural, as I. had taken thmem upon me first. A year passed away thus. She growing reconciled to her loss and blessing our home with her youth and beauty. We, alas ! I could not ht my eyes to that now, we lov .mhe d ie bothof us des-I perately, secretly, almost " hope lessly. There are flower-s that blos sou only once in a century, but fervid and tropical in their late un folding. Love was slow and late in coming to our lives, but now its sway was absolute. And yet we were faithful brothers, still. I do not think either of us darad-to i: dulge a heai..felt longing for a spc cess overshadowed by such black ness of desolation as it must bring to t!he other. A i,:ngth I resolved to speak. She could but refuse me. Better to row at once that the flaming sword O arded forever against me the te of my longed for Eden, than C..ifait afar off in such intolerable Spense. I would try my fate. I nt toward her especial sitting A,: n. In the passage I met my ther going also in the same di ion. In an instant it flashed - me that his errand was iden ah l with my own. Come what eld no woman's love should di us whom Heaven had made brothers. I went up to him and laid my hand upon his arm. "Come with me; brother," I said, opening the -library door. He followed me in and stood silently before the fire. - I went on; "I know what your errand was brother mine was the same. It was im possible that we should not both love her, you and I.. But we are brothers still. No other tie can sever that. Let us love each other, whatever comes." We -are much alik, but I think my brother has more fire in his na ture thai I. His eyes kindled, and he answered with an earnestness that was almost savage "Brother or not; no man has a right to force me to ' give up my love. I will have her, if I can get her, in spite of all the world." "So you shall. If she loves you, she shall marry you. I know her well. No power would force her, neither want nor gratitude to give her hand where she did not love. I only meant to pray you to let notlng separate us. However she may decide, one, at least of us will have bitter need of consolation. Go you first; I myself think your hope is better than mine. He would have hesitated then. but I urged him forward. .Ii le succeeded. she. would never know how my wholiing~iad poured out its adoration for her; if he fail ed I could but try my fate also. He was not there long. I was cool enough in the midst of my sus tense- to know that he had been absent but a few moments when he opened the library door. His face was white with repressed suffering. He caie to me and said hoarsely : ""Brother she does not love me. I told her you would come next. Shc said something in answer. I did not hear what. Go you in now." I found her weeping, but she roused herself at the sound of my footstep and cried passionately. "Not- you-not you also ! Do not give mne the pain of thinking I must wound.my best friend. Your brother said you were coming and I told him it would be of no use. You would not want mes with out my love. Oh!I wretched girl that I am, to have brought un happiness to the roof that sheltered me when I was an orphan and alone. I found strength to answer her. "'D not fear dear Margaret. You have brought us more good than evil. We are men. We will conquer ourselves like men. You will be our sister, then you can forgive us -for the paif we have caused you." I went out tQ Abijah, who had waited for me. "I have failed also," was all l' could say. * His arms opened and clasped about me in an embrace, such as those which we had comforted each other in boyhood. I had lost Mar garet, but I had found again my brother. I have nothing more to say about the sufferings that fol loed. It is idl.e to dwell upon it. God sent it and we bore it man fully. I and my brother. The next day there came to us a little note from Margaret. It was such an one as it was like her kind ness and delicacy to write. She had chosen that mode of communi cation because she thought it would be easier than to speak to us of what so dearly concerned her own heart. She wrote very ten derly, thanking us far. more warm ly than we deserved for our kind ess to her, a lonely orphan, prais ing us far beyond our poor merits, and telling us it would have been scarcely possible for a girl whose heart was free to have remained in sensible to our devotion to herself, but hers was not free. Before she came to us it had passed from our keeping. She had loved an'd been loved by the physicia--a young man; poor, but talented-who had attended her m6ther in her last ill ness. She had never known his love for her until the day befort she left Oswego. Then he told her all, and though, because he must be, for a long time to ceme, too Ipoor to mnarrywhe would not per mit her' to bind herself by any en gagement, she knew that be looked upon her as his future wife. She took great blame to herself, for not having told us this at first. If there had been a Mrs. Smith she was surt she should have confided all to her; but, as there was no actual promise of marriage, she could not bring herself 'to speak of it to us, particularly as she never supposed it' possible that she possessed any hold upon our hearts save the gen erous sympathy which had opened them to her. She had hoped in time we should both be far.happier than she should have made either of us. She knew us too well, alas.l to think that we had loved.her with a love to be at once conquered; but time and her absence, for she must leave us now, would. bring heal ing. We read the letter together, and as we finished my brother looked up. "We have much more than enough for two solitary men; let us make her happy with part of it."" He had uttered-the thought that was in my heart also. He replied to Margaret's letter; for nature had made him more eloquent than I. He begged her to remain with us, by entreaties that could not be re sisted; exculpating her from the faintest shadow of blame, and for the sake of the tender love between oui- dead mother, for our sister, . henceforth. In the meantime I wrote to Dr. Wentworth, at Oswego, informing 1 him that circumstances had induced my ward to confide to me the rela tions existing between them, .and hinting that her dowry would be sufficient to make their marriage prudent at any time. In conelu sion, I begged leave to offer him the alvice of a man that had seen more of life than himself, not to delay his happiness too late. It ended as we had foreseen and intended. We persuaded Margaret to -emain with us until she was married and that was not long. The dear- cild was very happy, though- I could see .with that deli cate tenderness she strove to show us all her joy. We see her often, and we alike think that she owes part of her happiness to us. It is all the sweeter .that ,he does not know it. t - _ We live alone again in the old house, with the old servants. The paper on - the walls, the carpets:on the floors, have growh dim, and time. has softened a little the memory of the sharpest wound our hearts ever received. We have given up all thoughts of love and marriage. We shall live together till death parts us; when that hour . comes, and they pull down the sign "Smith Brothers," there will be no one to take our place. PUTTING ON - A POULTICE.-A little Norwalk boy got a sliver in his foot, and a motion to poultice the wound, made by his mother and seconded by his grandmother, was carried in spite of his object ions. lHe kicked and screamed, and protested that he would not submit to any such indignity, but the majority against,. him was two to oj:e, and the poultice was made ready. It was arranged that the grandmother should apply the poul tice while the .patient's mnother stood over him with a stick with authority and instrpctions to apply that also if he made thme least show of resistance. - When all was ready the-youngster was placed on the bed and opera tions began. As the hot poultice touched the boy's foot, he opened. his mouth to say something, but his mother, with the stick, awed him in to silence. Again the boy strove to make himself heard, and! again the upraised stick warned hIm to keep quiet. In a few short min utes the poultice was firmly in place and the boy was tucked up in bed there to remain until the med-. icine had done its work. As the urchin's tormentors moved away, a shrill, sinall voice came from under the bed-clothes:] "You've dot it on the wrong foot !"-Norccalk (Cornn.) Hour. A STATE OUTsmE OF THE UNIoN.- 4 A hittie anecdote in which the wife I of Ge*neral t'ook played a part went the rounds of the newspapers wihile she was still in her school 1 days. On his way to Wheeling - in a private car, President Ba chanan made the usual wait' at Oakland Station, where many persons assemkled to be presented to the chief magistrate. When. Mary-s~ turn came, the, exalt-. ed bachelor put the question to her that had served him throuighonit1 the interview: "And what State ar,e yon from, Miss?' "'From the same st.ate as your excellency," she quick-j ly replied, "the. state of single. blessednese!" The reason "the boy stood on the' burning deck"' was because it was{ nntotAwtt itomn AD Doe C09-I ,on abbmej '!9! otrespect, am rates pr,qua adversemmw $peda Notioes In ms t o L i Advermtemwuota not ber or ieroes wirbe kept sad egare sol'ing $p~sec s ug b !? spedeotac--. ters, with liberai dedeios a - -:o-- k- - DONE WIT$N&S d TERMS CA I- W LL, comE a4 t - you. You have a father?. Yog a mother ? You love them. But in a while you grow in and the meanness of your dS erops out; it wreaks itself oniim sent father and: mother, and they su1rer the pnni n cross wdrd caled upbya annoyance. Th6 hard - poken. It may' -1 rer given and forgot; it' be recalled. Father and will sigh and'forgive, but - Some day it will Come heaqr Yesterday, maybe ran up to you smniligy,w phe- innocent. beare o t :ienee of childhood, bands, - that worh not _e - in your face. The 1 *elighted its anthr,but vou. You were. the liltle" one, "TWe stood' in her great e' y lips faltered,and he o d rrom you. The -e with its happ,.t erase the unkind word, = no- "' Some day it wil coma A beggar stand at.. rhe rain is dashiig Int tbrough. the.. black Ghe night, and theshisrp i mings only intensifyf b. ?ontrast the awfulness: aess. The beggarsplea is puntuated%by- ts:.ib howls forth its ager. "ad your brother off. This will cone LCk lay.. - If you are impatient, est limored, spiteful, maeIcwmw. trdly and mean,* -n will be a cbnats. evil actions whoile.' r xqualled byr the eseekof the.future;a psd past is alway .ths rod~ muore 'repteneui m~e ueart is a- boomerang -f whose evil conqunnes. au the head of their htor.; -On the of,heriia4 ieeds work in a simit*. ~he rules that gv~ i erodiAba,te Four --oJ~s~ apon-the d a ri lecidethe verdic t lespair. ' Some day tlie~ wil D 'ou. - r ArxLrtyra To THS r.az saptain of 'police t the~ station h'a<4 i call tlhe oh rrom g b:nker, who came to away a suspicion's charanter "Hlow long hav..yount round?" asked. the atai -; "About three days~' "How islh4dresselr "In a birown suit. 'o* ;pectable?" "Is lhe quiet or talk*itP "And youbeligeee ~a who should be watched?~'~ - "I eertainl~ -. "Whatlay;do youtMn*. [that is, what do-;youe ct "Why, he is~ the pre* Bat uewly-discovered Nev4ar nine, and her~e for the ielling 'shares. Yes, eirehf uave convinced mes that e shadowed whenever he lsi' ~otel"-Detroit Free Prep. TRYNGo A.TENOB.-A o ga' ~btained a hearing before ~f one of the. provinacisdte He sang, but the manae ~edhim at the end of thrwor f* totes. "Very welL" he leave me your address and I. hink of you.if it should hpe-Z "What do you mean by Iti ~houki hapFen?" interrupted tha roang tenor. "Why, if my theatre shoe? urn 'Well?" -"I should engage you to cryfire Atlas upholding the world: 'Are nto take astronomy next toru alsie ?" inquired a clamaeo jer young friend. "Hardly. : ingUstus is givirig me le Lstronomical lessons during < - ext books gtnd . an atiaa? aonise, my dear, hesaysri41 ro,rld to him, and when 19ea idad on his shoel#ter hEW A tratqgalled'his s enp itions," beimse they no sotfas A thorn in the bush is worth twa a thehand The plea .of the crow-Y eain for my eaws. The mule .sap to be behin ~id bnues Takes things isn't watched & More il than xeFma. -