VOL. 48. The Huntingdon Journal J. R. DURBORROW, Ogiee on the Carnet of Fifth and Washington streets. THE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL is published every Wednesday, by J. N. DURBORROW and J. A. Naga, under the ' firm name of J. It. DURDORROW tt CO, at $2.00 per annum, IN ADVANCE, or $2.50 if not paid for in sin mouths from date of subscription, and $3 if not paid within the year. No paper discontinued, unless at the option of the publishers, until all nrreamges are paid. pauce. however. will he sent out of the State unless absolutely paid for in advance. Transient advertisements will be inserted nt TWELVE ASO A.-RALF corm per line for the first insertion, SEVEN AND A-HALF CENTS for the second, and FIVE CENTS per line for all subsequent inser tions. 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JOB PRINTING of every kind, in Plain and Fancy Colors, done with neatnoes and dispatch.— Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Zee., of every variety and style, printed at the shortest notice, and every thing in the Printing line will be execu ted in the most artistic manner and at the lowest rates. Professional Cards. AP. IV. JOHNSTON, Surveyor and , Civil Engineer, Huntingdon, Pa. OFFICE : No. 113 Third Street. aug21,1372. BF. GEHRETT, M. D., ECLEC • TIC pH YelelAN AND SURGEON, hav ing returned from Clearfield county and perma nently located in Shirleysburg, offers his profes sional services to the people of that place and sur rounding country. apr.3-1872. DR. H. W. BUCHANAN DENTIST NO. 228 Hill Street. 1117NTINtIDON, PA. July 3. 1 - 111 F. 0. ALLEMAN can be con- JJ at his office, at all hours, Mapleton, Pa. [marelsB,72. T 1 CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law, , sNo. 111, 3d street. Office formerly °coupled by Messrs. Woods Williamson. [apl2,'7l. DR. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his pmfessional services to the community. °Mee, No. 523 Washington street, one door east of the Catholic Parsonage. (jan.4,11. EJ. GREENE, Dentist. • morel to Leinter's nett buildii ) 7, —itingdon, kL. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. • Brcwn'a now building, No. 520, AM St., Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2,ll. ITT GLAZIER, Notary Public, corner • of Wallington and Smith streets, Hun tingdon, N. [jan.l2'7l. IC( C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law • Office. No. —, Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa. [ap.19,'71. T FRANKLIN SCHOCK, Attorney • at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Prompt attention given to all legal business. Office 229 Hill street, corner of Court Home Square. [de0.4,'72 JSYLVANIIS BLAIR, Attorney-at • Law, Huntingdon, Pa. 01See, Hill street, hree doors west of Smith. pan.4ll. CHALMERS JACKSON, Attor• to • ney at Law. Office with Wm. Dorris, &sq., No. 403, 11111 street, Huntingdon, Pa. All legal business promptly attended to. [janls R. DURBORROW, Attorney-at rfi • Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the several Oourts of Huntingdon county. Particular attention given to the settlement of estate.; of dece dents. Office in he JourmaL Building. [fab.l,ll. T W. MATTERN, Attorney-at-Law o ' , • and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., Soldiers' claims against the Government for back pay, bounty, widows' and invalid pensions attend ed to with great care and promptness. Office on Hill street. S. GEESSINGER, Attorney-at- L• Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office with Brown Bailey. [Feb.s-ty J. HALL Moss.. Ti. ALLEN LOVELL. LOVELL & MUSSER, Atioraep-at-Law, liturrixerioN, PA Special attention given to COLLECTIONS of all kinds; to the settlement of ESTATES, se.; and all ether legal business prosecuted with fidelity and dispatch. Lnov6,'72 IP M. 8t M. S. LYTLE, Attorneys -A- • st-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to all kinds of legal business entrusted to their care. Office on Fourth Street, second door of Union Bank Building. Dan. 4,11. 'I? A. O]IBISON, Attorney-at-Law, • .01fieo, 321 Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa. [may3l,'7l. JOHN aeon. M. T. BROWN. J. N. BAILEY COTT, BROWN & BAILEY. At torneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions, s.nd all claims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against the Government will be promptly prosecuted. Office on llill street. [jan.4;7l. 'WILLIAM A. FLEMESTG, Attorney at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention ir,iven to collections, and all other ligal business attended to with care and promptness. Office, No. 229, fill street. [aplB,ll. Hotels MORRISON HOUSE, OPPOSITE; PENNSYLVANIA R. E. DEPOT HUNTINGDON, PA IL CLOVER, Prop. Apil 5, 1871-IT WASHINGTON HOTEL, S. S. BOWDON, Prop', Oorser of Pitt it JoIiODR Ste., Bedford, Pa. mayl. Misoellaneous, OYES! 0 YES! 0 YES! The subscriber holds himself in readiness to cry Sales and Auctions a,t the shortest notice. Having considerable expecte/lot in the business he feels assured that be can give satiefilotion. Penns reasenable. Address G. S. HENRY. Marehs4mos. Saxton, Bedford county, Pa. - PIC ROBLEY, Merchant Tailor, near •Broad Top Conker, (second Actor,) Hooting don, Pa., respoctfully solicit.s a shore of pnblio lottronago front town and country. [0ct.16,72. A. BECK, Fashionable Barber I. end Hairdresser, Hill street, apposite the runklio Honee. All kinds of Tonic!' as Pomades . 'pt on handand far role. rapl9,ll-Fan QHIRLEYSBURG ELECTRO-MED ICAL, Ilydropathic and Orthopedie Insti tute, for the treatment of all Chronic Diseases and 'Deformities. Send for Cireulam. Address Drs. BAIRD h GERRETT. Fhirleysburr, 'a. .nov•27,'72tf] _.::,.. The _'::il,,_Tuntiinoadon,,,;;, 5:.,. ;.i nat. Ulu etc ' fflower. J. A. NASH, The Flight of the Birds , 0 wise little birds, how. do you know The way to go Southward and northward, to and fro? Far up in the ether piped they "We but obey One who calleth ns far away. Ile calleth anoiealleth year by year, Now there, now here Ever he maketh the way appear. Dear little birds. its calleth me Who calleth ye: Would that I might as trusting be I —Scribner's Monthly, [Seteeted for the JotettAL.] No Sect in Heaven, Talking of sects till late one ere, Of the various doctrines the saints believe, That night I stood, in a troubled dream, By the aide of a darkly flowing stream, Watching the souls, as they onward move, Over the waves, to the realms above. A crowd of unerefeeniatios first came down, Each sure to himself of a heavenly crown, Beea nse baptised and regenerate so, Made, a child of God and redeemed from woe, Reseals their hopes on what forms had d me, Instmd of by faith, upon Christ alone, Onward they pressed without doubt or fear, Whem a voice from above cried loud and clear "Na outward rite, or mere empty form, Can ever a sinner to Christ conform : ItiereWater from out the baptismal howl, Is powerless to wash away sin from the soul W hoover these gates would enter in Must by the Spirit be cleansed from sin; Re renewed in heart—like the saviour be. Or he never the world of light can see!" .4nd as these words, in upper air, flaming sword was seen waving there, .4.nd away—away, from the shining shore, It drove them back, to return no more. A Boatanict next to the river strayed, Who all his life to the saints had prayed; To the priest had looked, to the Virgin along, As though all his hopes upon her Were hung: But his near approach to the rolling stream Dispersed the mists of his Popish dream, And the wooden cross which he thus far bore He speedily dropped as he reached the shore. In the light which from over the river shone, I saw him look unto Christ alone: To llim, in his hour of need, he cried. 'And thus safely passed to the other side, While "Popes," and "Councils." and "Church,' forever Floatwd away on the rolling river. An Epiecopalian, next, drew nigh, When a voice addressed hint out of the sky "‘Good pilgrim, stop, when you cross this tide Yon must leave your robes on the other side." But, set in his way, he did not mina, -kad his gown still floated out behind, And on to the stream his way he took, With both his hands clasping a gilt-edged book, "I'm going to heaven, and when I'm there I shall want my book of 'Common Prayer And though I may wear a starry crown, I should feel quite lost without my gown." So he fixed his eye on tee shining track, But sic gown was heavy, and held him back. And though struggling hard, he tried in vain A single stet) in the flood to gain, I saw him, soon, on the other side, But hisgown was floating away on the tide, And his written prayers to the winds were given, For he felt no wish for such forms in heaven ; And no one asked to that blissful spot Whether he belonged to "the Church" or not. Office re ing, Hill street tjan.4,'7l. Newt down to the river a Quaker strayed ; His dress of a sober hue was made, "M• coat and my hat must be all of gray, And wear them I must on my heavenward way." So he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin, And staidly, solemnly waded in, And his broad-brimmed beaver ho pulled down tight Over his forehead, so cold and white ; But a strong wind carried away his hat, And a moment he wistfully gazed at that; And then, as he looked to the further shore, His coat slipped off and was seen no more, As he entered heaven his snit of gray Went quickly sailing away, away; And none of the angels questioned him About the width of hie beaver's brim ; And the dress of the soul, he found, was there, The only dress for which angels care. A Smite/man, next, with King David's Psalms, Clasping them tight in his aged arms, Believing t'wonld be an unheard-of thing If the ransomed in heaven aught else should sing. But I beard him heave an anxious sigh As be saw the river run broad and high ; And astonished be looked, as, like a stone, The book of his "Psalms" in the waves went down; And he found that, in heaven. theeountless throng Sing only, and ever, the Lamb's new song. Next came, with serious, solemn look, A lVcaleyan, holding his Methodist "Book." In the fullness of faith through the waves he pressed, Looking upward, with joy, to big coming rest ; But he saw, as he turned his glance below, That the water had soaked his "Discipline" through ; And that next, on the river, far and wide It Heated away on the rolling tide, While the saint, astonished, passed through alone, Wi&hout his "Disoipline," up to the throne, Forever assured, in that blessed place, That he never again should fall from grace. Two saints came next to the river's brink, But one from the other appeared to shrink, And as they were passing along the way, I heard the one to the other say : "I fear, indeed, that you've not, my friend, Rightly attained unto life's great end; You've had but a few drops on your brow, While I have been plunged.las you'll see me now, And I really think it will hardly do, As I'm 'eloee-communion,' to cross with you ; You're going, I grant ; to the world of bliss, But do you go that way, and I'd go this." So straightway plunging, with all his might, Away to the left, anu his friend to the right, Apart they went from this world of sin, But I saw that together they entered in-- The light of eternity making it plain That plunging, or scramoling, alike, is vain : That the water itself was but meant to be The emblem of inward purity; That the mode is nothing--tbe only flood That can cleanse from sin is the Saviour's blood. And, now, where the river is rolling high, A Presbyterian Church drew nigh, The Bible each right hand firmly grasped, While "confessions of Faith" in the left they clasped ; Their leaders were marked with thought profound, And intellect high with love seemed crowned, "Elected," they said, and with holy fear They were all determined to "persevere." But concerning the road, it was hard to agree, The old way, or ,new way, which it could he ; And the sound of debate, oft long and loud, Came up to my ears from the moving crowd; "You're in the old way ;""you're in the new;" . . "That is the false;" and "this is the true;" Without for a moment pausing to think That both would lead to the river's brink, I watched them all in my curious dream Till they came to the borders of the stream ; And there, just as I thought, the two ways met, And though there were many disputing yet, Still, as they went in, the rolling tide Bore them all over side by side. Side by side, for the way was one, And on the long journey of life was done, And the crown, through theorem, was forever won. And besides all these woe a eountless band Gathered to Christ out of every land ; Heathen, from nations scattered afar, Looking, by faith, unto Bethlehem's star; Jews, now seeing in Christ alone The only Messiah for sin to atone ; Skeptics—believing in the Holy One; Thomases—doubting forever gone; Timothys—steadfast, in faith, through the word ; Peters—no longer denying their Lord; Slarthas—now anxious and troubled no more; Marys—still pressing, in love, to the shore ; Children, by thousands, from every land; Women, in throngs ; a countless band, First in sorrow, by sin undone, But first, in crowds, to the cross to come, Counting all "isms" and theories vain, All but a loss for the "endless gain ;" Humble, faithful, glowing with love. Always ready for realms above, Baring no fears for the swelling tide, Longing to pima to the other side. All these, in my dream, I saw go o'er, Safely, by faith, to the other shore; No sign of the sects any longer there, As they breathe the breath of the upper air ; No forms, no crosses, po books have they, No robes of silk, and no suits of gray, No confessions of faith, no boots of prayer, No psalms in metre, for worship there; No name but the name of Christ alone Do they know or aalsnowledge before the throne ; But there, robed in white, they all wear the dress Of a Saviour's perfect righteousness ; And with but one voice, the whole vast throng Sing only, and noir, TEE LAMB'S yaw .5.T. ght story-Zella. "I WILL IF YOU WILL." THE Kay House is a pleasant little ho tel, standing half way up the side of the mountain in New Hampshire. In the parlor there, one July evening, were four people—Mrs. St. John and her daughter Elly, Miss Emily May and Mr. Millburn. As Elly St. John went to the piano, these two last slipped out on the balcony, and stood listening as Elly sung: "Could we forget, could we forget ! Oh that Lethe were running yet, The past should fade like a morning dream, In a single drop of the holy stream. Ah! we know what you would say, But we are too tired to hope or pray ; For, hurt with carelessness, jar and fret, Body and soul cannot forget. "Can they forget, will they forget When they shall reach the boundary set.— When with the final pang and strain The" are parted never to meet again ? Ever to them shall rest ho given. Senseless in earth, or happy in Heaven? That which has been it might be yet If we could only learn to forget; But the stars shall cease to rise and set, And fall from Heaven me we forget," Elly sung with an intensity and pathos which borrowed none of its three from within, for she was a good-natured, incon sequent sort of girl, who bad never had a trouble in her life. The gift of musical expression is often quite independent of feeling or experience. Elly's music hurt Emily cruelly, and stirred and roused the old sorrow which had but just begun to fall asleep for a little. She bad loved fond ly and deeply a man who had grown tired of her and left her, because he was greatly her inferior. Much as she suffered, I rejoiced when her engagement with Lewis Leighton was broken. I had known Lewis from his earliest childhood, and I had always disli ked him as a selfish, conceited sprig. The last I heard of him, he had turned Catho lic, and joined the Jesuits; and I only hope he got well snubbed during his novi tiate. Had Miss May married him, her disappointment would have been unspeak ably greater than it was. As she leaned over the balcony while My sung, and looked out into shadows and starlight, her heart was wrung as with the first anguish of loss, the sickening sense of her own blind infatuation. "Oh God I" she said to her self, "when will the bitterness of this death be past ?" Then she became conscious that Mr. Millburn was speaking to her; but he had more than half finished what he bad to say before she realized that he was asking her to be his wife. He spoke at a very unfortunate rapment. He and Emily had been very good friends that summer. They had wandered in the woods, ascended Mount Washington, and been to Glen Ellis together. She had liked him, but she never dreamed of him as a lover, and when he presented himself in that light she was shocked, and startled, and a little provoked. "Oh hush she mid sharply. "I never can be—never I" "Do you then dislike me so 'much ?" said Evert Millburn, trying very hard to speak very quietly. "No," she said, making an effort to col lect her thoughts. "I have liked you— you have been good to me ; but all the love I had to give is dead and buried, and there is no resurrection." He made no answer; but she felt that she bad hurt him. "I am very sorry," she faltered ; "I nev er meant—" "I understand," he said quickly. "It is no one's fault but my own. Good-night." And they touched hands and parted. Evert went up to his own room, where his friend, Dick Bush, was sitting in the dark. Dick was a boy of nineteen. He had been trying to work his way through college, and had worn himself out in the effort, and Mr. Millburn had brought him to the mountains for his vacation. Dick made a hero of Evert, and he had been mortally jealous of Emily May. ''Dick," said Mr. Millburn, after a little "we will go over to the Glen to-morrow." And then Dick understood the case, and mentally abused Miss May as "a cold hearted flirt," which epithet she did not in the least deserve. Evert and Dick went away early in the morning. Emily heard the stage drive away, and turned her face to her pillow, and thought bitterly of the horrible per verseness of things in this world. She knew that Evert was good, and man ly, and sensible. He was in a fair way to win reputation at the bar, and, if not just handsome, was attractive and gentlemanly. "There are dozens who would be proud and happy to accept his love; and nothing would do but that he must throw it away on me," thought Emily impatiently. "Bat it's never worth while to pity men very much. They mostly get over their trou bles very easily, if there is no money lost." From which it may be inferred that Miss May was perhaps a bit of a cynic. Emily May lived with her mother, in an inland town in New York. She had a little property of her own, and, with what she could earn by her pen, she managed to dress herself, pay for a summer's journey now and then, and keep her own house over her head. It was her way to look after her sick neighbors, poor or not, to visit, now and then, at the hospital and the county house, and do what her bands found to do. She made no fuss, and laid down no rules, and was under no ecclesiastical "direction" in particular; but I am inclined to think she was as useful and far more agreeable, than if she had made herself hideous in a poke bonnet, and committed mental suicide. When her holiday was over that sum mer, she came home, and settled quietly down to her work. She was busy at her desk, one day in October, when a carriag e drove rapidly up the street, and stopped at the door, and Dick Bush jampped hurriedly out, and rang the bell. Emily went to the door herself, upon which Dick's hurry seemed suddenly to subside; and when he came into the parlor, he appeared to find great difficulty in expressing himself, and Emily, greatly wondering, asked after his friend Mr. Millburn. Dick's tongue was loosed. "Oh, Miss May," he said, with a sha king voice, Evert is dying." "Where ? How?" said Emily, startled, and sincerely sorry. Now Dick bad been rather melo•dramat ically inclined. He had meant to act like a hero of a lady's novel, and administer a severely inflexible reproof to the woman who had trifled with Evert ; but in Miss May's presence he found this plan imprac ticable, and wisely refrained. "He went out shooting with a fool of a boy, and he, the boy, fired wild, and Evert was badly hurt, and fever set in; and oh ! Miss May he keeps asking for yon, and he HUNTING-DON, PA., WEDNESDAY, APRIL 23, 1873. won't be quiet; and the doctor said, if you eould you ought to come, for it might make a difference. There's his note. and Mrs. Millburn's." The doctor wrote, succinctly, that con sidering the state of the case, ivliss May's presence might possibly keep the patient quieter, which was all important. Mrs. Millburn's note was an incoherent blotted epistle, begging this unknown young lady to come and save her boy. Emily c mild not refuse; her mother hur ried her off and in two hours she was seated beside Dick. on her way to Spring field. Her reflections ware not pleasant. Every one would talk, and suppose there was a romance. Elly St. John would be sure to know about it, and Elly was such a little chatter-box; and to try to make a mystery of the matter would be still worse. Then she said "nothinr , ' to wear." And how should she get along with Evert's mother and sister ? And who would take the Bible class on Sunday ? And what was to become of he' little book promised for "the spring trade ?" "I dare say its all nonsense his wanting me," :11C thought. "People never mean What tie) , say in fever. I remember Pat Murphy insisting that ha would have a hippopotamus "handy in the house;" and if Mr. Millburn comes to himself, how hor rible embarrassing it will be!" On the whole, Miss May's feelings were rather those of vexation than of romance. They rode all night, and when Emily reached the door of the handsome old fashioned house in Springfield, she was conscious of "looking like a fright," and wished herself anywhere else. The door was no sooner opened than she was embraced by a little old lady in black, and a pretty girl in an elegant morning dress. Both were in tears, and had evi dently been for some time on the verge of hysterics; and Emily at once set them down as "the sort of women who are never of any use." . . - "Oh, my dear ! It is so good of you! So very good of you !" said Mrs. Millburn. "I am sure you will be his guardian angel," said sentimental Batty. ..;:got at all. Mr. Millburn and I were very good friends, and I shall he very glad if I can do him any good," said Emily, in a very matter-of-course tone and then the doctor made his appearance, and begged her to come up stairs. "If he could keep quiet, there might be a chance for him," said the doctor ; "but so much depends on nursing"—and the doctor ended with an expressive silence. Evert was moaning and sobbin.:, and beg ging that some one would send Emily May with "one drop of water." The nurse. who, to Emily's critical eyes looked anything but capable, was fussing over him in a way that was enough in it self to drive a sane person mad. Emily poured out a goblet of water with a steady hand, and as the ice tinkled against the side of the glass she held it to his lips. "There is water," she said. in her ordi nary sweet, cheery voice. 'Now if you will try to be quiet, I will stay with you." She could not tell whether he recognized her or not, but the nervous, feverish dis tress and excitement seemed in some meas ure to subside; and, after a time, he was comparatively quiet. Now nursing a wounded man in a fever sounds very romantic in a novel ; but, in its real details, it is anything bet a romantic business. Emily May, at Evert Millburn's bedside, felt herself in an entirely false position ; but she took care of him, for there was nothing else to be done. The nurse went off in a huff with Miss May and the doctor, and Mrs. Millburn and Hatty could only cry and rustle about, and overset things with their dresses. Evert would grow restless as soon as Emily left him, so that the charge, in spite of herself, fell into her hands. Happily Mrs. Millburn and Hatty were not jealous. On the contrary, they admired Emily extremely, and were very grateful and affectionate. Before the end of the week, Evert came to himself. "I have dreamed you were here," he said, with a faint smile. "Now I see it is you, and no phantom." The delirium had gone, but the doctor said nothing encouraging. Evert insisted on hearieg the exact truth; and learned at last that he might possibly live a few days, but not longer. Then, to Emily's wonder and dismay, Evert entreated that, for the little time there was remaining, she would take his name. His heart was set on this idea, and he pleaded, fer what seemed such a use less boon, with a vehemence that seemed likely to hasten the last moments. Mrs. Millburn and Hatty seconded the petition with tears, and were sure that "darling Emily" would not refuse dear Evert's last request. Emily did what nine women out of ten would have done in the male ease, and con sented. "'rVhat harm can it do ?" she thought; "it is only a mere form, but it gives me the right to be with him to the end, and will prevent any talk ; and he is so good, and has loved me so well; and if it com forts him now to think that my name will be Millburn instead of May, why should I refuse ?" And then it crossed her mind that a widow's cap would be very becoming to her, and she hated herself because this silly notion had come to her unbidden, and twisted up her hair tight and plain, and went to meet the clergyman in her old black mohair, which had become considera bly •spotted down the front in the course of her nursing. The rite was made as short as possible, and then Mrs. Millburn sent every one away, and for two days the bride stood over the bridegroom, and fought against death till she was ready to faint. The doctor gave up the patient entirely, and ceased to do anything; and, as some times happens in like cases, he took a turn for the better; and slowly the balance trembled, the scale inclined, and life had won. "I'll tellyou what it is," said the doctor, "your wife has saved your life." Evert turned his head on the pillow,and looked for Emily; but shehad slipped away into the next room, where she sat d,wn, feeling, for the first time, with a strange shock, that she was actually married.— What should she do ? What could she say ? How could she tell Evert, after all that she had only come to him as she would have gone to Pat Murphy, if he had sent forher, and consented to that marriage rite as she had lent her silver candle sticks to hold Father Flanagan's blessed candles when Judy Murphy died ? The doctor went down stairs; and pres ently Mrs. Millburn and );Tatty came to her, and overwhelmed her with embraces and gratitude, and a point applique set, and frat„.mentary talk about her "things '" and proposals to send for her mother, all mingled together. Emily resolutely put away thought for the time, put she could oot help feeling, in an odd surprised way, that she was not unhappy, and despised herself for having a sort of ashamed, fur tive interest in those "things," which Mrs. Millburn and Hatty were longing to pro vide. A week after that dsy, Evert was allow ed to sit up in his easy chair, white and wan enough, hut with a look of returning health and life. Emily was sitting almost with her back to him, looking tut into the tossing leafless branches of the great elm. "Emily," said Mr. Millburn, at last. 'YeS3' she answered quietly, hut she did not turn her head. I did not mean to get. well.' No answer from Mrs. Millburn. I know how much you must feel what has happened. Believe me, I will take no advantage of your goodness ; I will set you free as soon as I can. My only wish is to spare yon trouble ; I will take all blame ou myself. I know you are longing to be away; and why should I delay what must come at last I dare say Dick and Mrs. Macy, the nurse, can do all I need now." "Oh, if you prefer Mrs. Maey's atten dance, I am sure it is nothing to me," said Emily, iu a remarkably cross manner. "You are angry with me, but there need be no difficulty, dear. You came away from home so hurriedly that it woula be perfectly natural for you to return to your mother now." But here, to Erert's dismay, Emily bid her face, and began to cry in quite a pas sionate and distressful fashion. Evert rose with difficulty, and went to her,—it was not mere than three steps. "Do you want to kill yourself?" she said through her sobs, and she took hold of him and made him sit down, and then turned aw2.y, and laid her head on the win dow seat. "What can I do ?" he said distressed. "It's too bad ! Oh, it's too bad !" she said in the most unreasenable way. "I know it Emily. You are as free as though no word had ever passed between us. Do you want to go to day? I will make it easy for you with mother and Hat ty," he said, with a pang. She went on crying, and then in a min ute she said, in a most incoherent fashion. "I—l didn't think I was so very disa greeable." The words dropped out one by one between her sobs. "But, of course, if you don't want me.—" "Emily ! What do you mean ? Will you stay ? Will you really try to care for me ?" he asked, with a sudden light in his eyes. "I don't know. I—did think—as mat ters are, we might try to make the best of it," she said in the faint6t whisper, while the color ran to her fingers' end. "You will ?" "I will if you will," said Mrs. Millburn, with a sweet, shy smile.. And she kept her word.—From the Al dine for April. €.ol4ing to the j: illion. Brigham Young's Retirement, What the public sentiment of a whole nation has not been able to affecthas been wrought by the process of time. The re tirement of BRIGHAM YOUNG from the political and the ecclesiastical primacy of Mormonism converts him at once from a disturber of our present politics and our present churches into a historical charac ter. Whether we regard hint as a spirit ual heresiarch or as a political dictator we shall find him equally a remarkable figure. We elsewhere give an account of his life, and an estimate of the influence it has had upon the singular theocracy by which alone it will be remembered. And there can be no doubt that for the standing Mormonism has won for itself among the religions of the world, und the community of Utah among the nations of the world, the praise or the blame is to he ascribed to YOUNG alone. Up to the time of his accession Co the headship of it the Church of the Latter-day Saints was"a feeble folk' wandering hither and thither without rest. The heap of ghastly ruins which remains upon that bleak bluff which over hangs the upper Mississippi and still bears the name of Nauvoo may be considered the monument of Joseph Smith. It is a monument of failure only. The capital of Utah, around which was put down in the geographies of our childhood as the "Great American Desert" now blossoms as the rose, and which furnishes an example of thrift and of order that shames older cap itals where fanes of purer faiths are rear ed, is the monument of Brigham Young. It Ins grown up from nothing in the thirty years since the reins of the Mor mon Church and the Mormon state were given into his hands. This is a moment of success as men count success, as Nauvoo was a monument of failure and of brilliant achievement whereas Nauvoo gives evidence only of weak and baffled attempt. Durims ' the haterval Mormonism has been subjected to severer testthan any applied to it under the prophetship of Smith. A gang of Illinoisan rowdies was sufficient to bring it to nothing then. The military power of the Federal Government has been brought against it since in vain. For Johnston's expedition, which was real ly set on foot for the extirpation of Mormon ism, succeeded ucither in that object nor in its ostensible object of reducing the Mormons into subjection to the laws of the United States which bad been passed to abate their special and superior preten sion,. Mormonism, in spite of military expeditions fitted out under Democratic' administrations, and of the clap-trap "plat forms" laid down avowedly for the guid ance of Republican administrations, is stronger now than it has been at any time in its history befhre. The very retire ment of Young is a proof of his confidence in the stability of the state which he has founded. It is true that he is seventy-two years old, and that for thirty ye - rs he has borne the brunt of the Mormon cause. But he has given no reason to anybody to suppose that he would preferhisease now to the commonwealth which he has reared if he did not suppose it could be safely left to itself'. His resignation of the con duct of Mormonism is a defiance in its be half of all that man can do to it. We think his confidence is unfounded, for the reason that the Pacific railroads will bring Mormonism into the contact which for thirty years it has shunned with the outer world. To doubt the result would be to doubt that our religious and civil policy is better suited to the wants of Americans in our day than the religious and civil policy of the Mormons. But, whatever the decision on that point may be, or how ever soon it may be rendered, the fact remains that Mormonism, as Brigham Young has made it, is one of the most re markable of the social phenomena of our modern world.—N. Y. TVorld, 1 Curiosities of Vision , In order to have distinct vision and the power for estimating the distance of one object from another under water, the mag nifying lens of the eye of aquatic animals must necessarily be much more convex than inland animals. A fish sees in the air just as wo do in opening our eyes under water—indistinct ly. Submarine explorers arc provided with glasses which meet the emergency. Seals, frogs, terrapin, crocodiles and water birds, that seek prey alternately in air and water, possess a marvellous mechan ical provision for varying the optic axis in passing from one medium to another. Human eyes, having no such adjustable apparatus, meet the emergency by a lens outside, as in wearing glasses. No individual organ has been more pro foundly studied, nor is any department of science better understood than optics, yet the sense of vision is not in the eye, but far back in the brain. The eye is simply a receiving instrument, like a spyglass, directed by the will, through which the conscious soul contemplates what is beyond. Through those organs the mind holds in tercourse with the world. Yet with such facts for guidance, based on possitive dem onstratioqs, philosophers have not been able to explain how the mind operates on the optic mechanism to see. Insects are abundantly provided with motionless eyes, but they see without brains. They have ganglionic nervous centres, and so have we, but vision has its location in certain white tubercles. Spi ders, flies, bugs, even mosquitos, with the nicest kind of distinct vision, both micro scopic and telescopic, have nothing like a brain. Slander. It seems a little thing to slander our neighbor; to repeat all the harm we have heard of him, to whisper away reputation, and to stab in the dark. Yet it is a great thing to him, though a small thing to us. We can never know the amount of re peating all the harm of him that we have heard. The human heart is prone to slan der, and we would watch ourselves careful ly when we find that we are about to speak ill of our neighbors. We heard a lady once say, "I make it a rule never to repeat any thing bad that I hear of another! lam resolved that I will never take part in in juring any one." What a wise resolve! Would that all made it the golden rule of their life. How much misery would be spared, bow much more kindly would be our intercourse with each other. Why, the world would be like Eden without the serpent. But instead of hiding the evil that we have heard, bow eagerly we spread it; how we gloat over the story; how glad we are to pour it into the ears which open so gladly to receive it. Deprive us of that great staple of conversation, slander, and some of us would be at a loss what to talk about. Would that we were only as anx ious to tell the good we know of our ac quaintances as we are to tell the bad;' what a charming thing society really would be. There are people to whom slan der is the very breath of their life ; social spiders, hideous and venomous insects, and in darkness they weave their webs of detraction. They are a curse to society, a danger to their friends, and a disgrice to themselves. Playing Indian, A New York man is very ranch annoy ed because his two boys have read so many Indian stories that they have gone wild with anxiety to play Indian, and to go out on the prairies hunting for the real noble red man. The man was taking a nap, af ter dinner in his easy chair, when he was waked by an alarming noise and a strange sensation in his head. He jumped up suddenly and found that one of his boys, dressed in a red table-cloth. and with his nose decorated with blue paint, was trying to scalp his father with a carving knife, while theother boy, attired in a blanket shawl and a rooster feather, flourishing a hatchet and emitted war whoops from be hind a thicket composed of two chairs and a card table. The man determined to put a stop to this kind of thing. So next day, while the boys were playing with bows and arrows in the garden he dressed him self in Indian costume, and jumped over the fence with a wild, unearthly yell; for the purpose of frightening those children. The oldest boy, however, stood his ground, and drawity , an arrow, to the head of which was inserted' a tenpeuny nail, he buried it in the chieftain's leg before be took to flight. That night the father walked up stairs on a crutch and flogged the flintily all round before he sent them to bed. He is thinking now of some oth iw way to effect a cure of the sanguinary disposition of his offspring Pi Pretty Parlor Ornament. An interesting ornament for the sitting room or parlor may be easily obtained by growing one of the club moss tribe under a glass shade. Procure an ordinary glass shade, such as are used to protect small vases andother articles, and of any size that offers—also a china dish that is three or four inches deep, or a common flower seed pan. Fill the latter with light soil, as vegetable mold or sand, and get from a nurseryman or florist a plant of one of the common varieties of club moss—place this on the soil in the pan, and then the glass shade over it, pressing it down a little into the soil. The earth being kept moist, this moss will grow rapidly and will climb up and fill the inside of the glass. It requires to be kept in a window near the P and soon becomes a pleasing object from the delicate texture and form of its ramifica tions. Although the moss requires to have a constantly moist atmosphere within the glass, yet it takes but little water, because the evaporation from the soil condenses on the inner surface of the glass shade, and de scends in the form of water down it again. The shade should never be taken off; when water is needed, a small quantity may be poured between the outside of the shade and the side of the pan, which will find its way under the edge of the glass to the earth which is inside.— Cor. Country Gen. demon. SIDNEY SMITH made the quaint eon fewion that according to his computation, he had eaten and drank, between his tenth and seventieth year, about forty-four wag on loads more than he needed. Howmany people. dull-headed from such a cause, would be frank enough to confess as much? COMMENTING on Brick Pomeroy's state ment: 'I have served the nation, and I think I have its confidence," the Chicago Post says: If he has the nation would thank him to return it, satistactorlty ac count fur its absence. Miseellapeous News Items General Sherman esnsidera Cook our best Indian officer. The new opera house in Reading will soon be ready for use. Highwaymen have been bold in their operations in Lnzerne county of late. A railroad frost Clarion to Troy is un der consideration by capitalists of the for mer place. Sixty tons of clover seed wei, sold and shipped by a Lebanon matt (luring the past two months Thomas Long and Hannah Short were lately married in Virginia. The notice in the local paper adds, "No cards, no whis key. The next anniversary meeting of the Pennsylvania reserve association will be held at Gettysburg on Tuesday, the 15th proximo. The Sun inn, at Bethlehem, was built by the Moravian society more than a cen tury ago. Its present owner is Charles Brodhead, Esq. Wild pigeons and ducks abound in great numbers on the mountains and streams in the vicinity of 'Warren, Pa., and sports men are in their glory. The Westmoreland County Coal Compa ny has bought and leased 2,000 acres of ground about a mile west of New Florence, for the purpose of making coke on an ex tensive scale. A Pekin (Ill.) woman was asked by the preacher if her husband feared the Lord. She replied, "Fear him ? Why, bless you, he is so feared of him that he never goes out of the house on Sunday without taking his gun along." Proposals are now being received for the contract of building the Perkionten rail road front Greenville to Ematta, on the East Pennsylvania branch, the balance of the road being contracted for. In this proposed extension there will be a tunnel about 1.700 feet in length. Geary Sherburne, who eloped with Jo sephine Drew, from Fisherville, N. H., last fall, was arraigned on a criminal charge in the Supreme Judieal Court. at Concord, yesterday, and pleaded guilty. He was sentenced to the full extent of the law, three years in the State prison. The authorities of the county in which Portland, Me., is situated, exact a ten cent the from those persons who wish to see Wagner, the Isle of Shoals murderer. The receipts from this source, which al• ready amount to a large sum, will be ap plied to the liquidation of thecounty debt. Crops in Nebraska are generally in a fine condition. The winter wheat looks well, and the August planting is a sure crop. There will be a much greater breadth of land sowed to spring wheat than common this year. Peach buds bare all been killed and the peach trees badly in jured in some places. Apples promise abundantly enough. A paragraph relating the strange career of Lady Ellenborough having appeared in seve:al London journals the London Times has been requested to state that Lady Ellenborough's relatives "have the best reason to believe that the report of her death is as unfounded as the account of her career is false." The following changes in the army were made during the week ending April 5, announced by the Adjutant General Captain James E. Putnam, Twelfth infantry, resigned March 31; First Lieutenant Augustus P. Greene, Fourth artillery, dismissed March 28; Second 'Lieutenant E. S. Holden, resigned March 38; Assistant Surgeon Morris J. Asch, resigned March 31. Henry J. Mason, one of the Senate short-band reporters for the Legislative Journal, was found dead in bed at the Lo ehiel House, Harrisburg, on the morning of the 9th inst. At midnight he was ap parently well. Heart disease and paraly sis are supposed to have caused his death. His residence was in New York city, but for eight years past be has been reporting at : , arrisburg during the sessions of the Legislature. He leaves a widow and two children. In the State prison at Charlestown, Mass., the other morning as the convicts were marching in line from breakfast, William Patterson attacked John E. Shaw, prison official, on the cort,and dealt him two terrible blows with alarge knife which he bad secreted upon his person. Shaw's hand was nearly cut off, and his face laid open with a gash eight inches long. Ho was removed to the hospital in a preca rious condition. Patterson was at once secured. The packages of partially burned bonds, notes, &c., received at the Washington Treasury a few weeks age from Franklin, Pa., which the insane cashier, Anderson, attempted to destroy before committing suicide, have not yet all been examined. The most promising of them were first ex amined by the experts of the Treasurer's office who report they have already iden tified $llO,OOO in United States bonds, $30,000 in railroad bonds, and a few dol lars worth of greenbacks. The greatest loss will probably be in bills, as many of them were burned to cinders. A new gold-note bank has been started in Stockton, California, and has commen ced operations, having received its notes from Washington. It is probable that sev eral more new gold banks will be started on the Pacific coast. The San Francisco gold•notes already in circulation are very popular, and the two gold banks in,San Francisco find no difficulty in keeping their notes in circulation. Both of them will soon have the full amount allowed by law afloat, say $2,000,000. The organi zation of similar banks in the prominent towns of the interior of the State is likely to take place at no distant period. The Viekburg Times says "Colonel Tom Scott, President of the Texas Pacific Railroad Company, has been negotiating for some time for the purchase of the North Louisiana and Texas Railroad, and we are credibly informed that terms have been agreed upon by which that road passes into his control, and virtually be comes a part of the Texas and Pacific, a link in the Trans-Continental line, and that the papers perfecting the transfer arc now being, prepared. if this be true, it makes an era in the history of Vicksburg and places her at once on the high road to prosperity and commercial greatness. It will concentrate here a vast trade, which will give new life to the projected roads radiating from Vicksburg, and will force their construction. NO. 17. I around tilttivoillt. The Dread of Death. There are many persons who have a life long desire to see Europe. It hangs like a vision above their common life. The Alps and glaciers, the historic cities, the great paintings and statues, the places of beauty and association. haunt their imagi nation. Such Lames as London and Ed inburg, and Venice and Rome, get a magic sound to their ears. At last, after a half a life-time, the day nt good fortune comes. They stand on the ship's deck : they are really going to Europe Two lovers grow so into one that life apart from each other is only half life. But poverty or other circumstances keeps them apart fin. years. At last the wedding day comes on. Ah, how slowly the weeks and the months revolve But it comes at last —the day of perfect union of lives made wholly one, never again to be divided.— The 'mother gives up her daughter ; and, though there is pain in her heart; there is joy for her daughter's sake that conquers the pain. TLere were thousands of souls that bow ed under the yoke of slavery, sighing for release, trusting that somehow the Lord would deliver his people, yet hardly ex pecting ever to see it. There came a time when from one cabin to another. and at midnight gatherings, the news was whis pered that they were declared free. Then, when they hardly knew whether to believe. came suddenly the Union armies; the old flag waved again, and they were free for ever ! All this, and more than all this, will death be to us. That day will be our freedom day, our bridal day, the day when we begin to live. Here we are like birds tethered to the ground. We fly a little way upward, and are pulled down again.— The best that is in us gets only half ripe. The weak body clogs the soul. A great wall of darkness shuts in all our knowledge. Our best affections are only half fledged. Our most perfect joys end sooner or later in loss. This life may contain—and, for most of us, ought to contain—a great deal of brightness and happiness and present good. But at its best, it seems like a glorious suggestion of something better than itself. In our best moments here we touch what we cannot hold. We get glimpses, snatch. es, tastes of something far above our com mon lives. We breathe the air of a higher world. In our human affections, in our worship, in our enjoyment of beauty, in our sense even of bodily vigor, we get passing moments that are hardly here be fore they are gone. And these are all foretokenings of what we shall be when the shell of the crystal is broken. No man who i; fit to live, need fear to die. Poor, timorous, faithless souls that we are ! }low we shall smile at our vain alarms when the worst has happened ! To us here, death is the most terrible word we know. But when we have tasted its reality, it• will mean to us birth, deliver ance, a new creation of ourselves. It will be what home is to the exile, what health is to the sick man. It will be what loved ones given back is to the bereaved. As we draw near to it, a solemn gladness should fill our hearts. It is God's great morning lighting up the sky. Our fears are the terrors of little children in the night. The night, with its terrors and darkness, its feverish dreams, is passing away; and when we awake it will be in the sunlight of God.—Uhristian Union. On the Rock. Once upon a time there lived a power ful king, who reigned over a large and fer tile country. He had crowns of gold and pearls, and sceptres of ivory and precious stones. His treasury was full of costly things of the earth; tens of thousand of armed men were ready,to obey his bidding. and his dominion extended from sea to sea. But, without God's blessing worldly pos sessions are but an increase of care, and as this mighty monaroh feared not God, he was dissatisfied and unhappy. In the dominions of the king there liv ed a certain dervish famed for abstinence, sanctity, wisdom and piety; and the king, willing to profit by the instruction of the holy man, paid him a visit. He found him in sackcloth lying in a cave surrounded by high rocks on the border of a wilderness. "Holy man, "I come to learn how I may be happy." Without giving any reply, the dervish led the king through the rugged pathways which led to the place, till he brought him in front of a high rock near the top of which the eagle had built her aerie• "Why has the eagle built her nest yon der ?" "Doubtless," replied the king, "that it may be oat of danger." "Then imitate the bird," said the der vish, "build thy throne in heaven, and thou shalt reign there unmolested and in peace." Now the king would willingly have given the dervish a hundred piecesof gold, if he would have accepted it, for the pre cious piece of advice. It may be as useful to you as the king, for you are all as much interested in being happy as ho was. As the eagle built her nest in the rugged rock, build your hope on the "Rock of Ages." As the dervish told the king to erect his throne in heaven, so I tell youto "seek those things which are above, where Christ is seated on the right hand of God. Set your affections on ihings above, not on the things of the earth." Do this and you will be above the reEn of danger for time and eternity. The Night Cometh, Is it possible to do too much work for Jesus ? Is there any danger that Chris tians will overtook themselves in the ser vice of their Master? Ought we to im pose any restraint upon ourselves when the Lord calls, lest in our seal to follow him we overstep the limits of the strength which he has given no ? We do not — believe that one Christian worker in a hundred breaks down with excess of work for Christ. Work poorly systematized, work performed in a need lessly clumsy manner, work hurried over, done in a self-sufficient, vain-glorious spir it, without patience, without faith, without prayer, without conseeration, this may well break down the health and destroy the usefulness of any man. But the Master does not say "restrain your seal ;" fur welt he knows that none of us have not too much of that. But he would have us be lieve that his special blessing and proteo tion is given to those who are earnest in labor ; that self-sacrifice is the law of Christian living, and that to work while the day lasts, doing all with one's might, should be the burden of every Christ-like soul. For the night cometh when no man . can work.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers