a. liar r ail -. . ; ! . mr!1: : : ; , : an , ''independent"; EAMnvr newspaper: ; 9jZaJ? Vol. VII. IVow Bloomflold, I'a., Tuesday, IelVriiary-' 11, 1873. ' '.'No. O. IS PCW-.1BHSD SVBHT TUESDAY MOBIHHO. ST . . FEANE KOETIMEE & C0., : , At New Bloomfleld, Terry Co., Ta. Belli? provided with Stflftm Power, and large Cylinder mid Job-Presses, we are prepared ;yu 1U U HH K1IIUB til Iftfu-J 1 Ill.MlH M good style and at Low I'rlces. , AnVBHTISINQ KATES1 TraniimtH Cents per linn for one Insertion ( , , . JS " . " ,- two Insertions , i 18 : " " ?' three Insertions Business Notices in Local Column 10 Cents ,er line. Notices of Marriages or Deaths Inserted free. ' Tributes of Respect, Ac, Ten cents per line. YEARLY ADVERTISEMENTS. One Inch one year ...,, ',n'J? Two Inches . . J 18-00 -For longer yearly adv'ts terms will be given apou application. THERE IS NO DEATH. There is no death! The stars go dowu To rise upon some fairer shore, And bright In heaven's Jeweled crown They shine forevermore. , There Is no death I The dust we tread Khali change beneath the summer showers To golden grain or mellowed fruit. . Or ralnbow-tlnted flowers.' 1 I The granite rocks disorganise, And feed the hungry moss they bears The forest trees drink dally life t From out the viewless air. There Is no death I The leaves may fall And flowers may fade and pass away; They only wait through wlntery hours The coming of Mny day. There Is no death t An angel form ' ' Walks o'er the earth with silent tread ; And bears our best loved things away, And then we call them " dead." He leaves our hearts all desolate, ' He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers. Transplanted into bliss, they now ' Adorn Immortal bowers. And ever near us, though unseen, The dear immortal spirits tread ; For all the boundless universe Is life Were are no dead I Mrs. Parson's Victory. BT F, DELACT. rM!ERE'S no use trying any longer 'X to suit Isaao Parson," muttered the, forenamed Individual' bettor half, aa bSg tat in a corner of the farm kitchen, rapidly divesting a chicken of its feathers ; " I've worked and slaved myself to death for hit and his'n, and all the thanks I've had for the last fifteen years has been short words and general growllu', and fault find ing, until now I'm just determined to stand out aud have my own way, or let tilings take their own course, and he'll And, after ' all, Melissa Taloott has got some spirit In her, that can't be crushed out with all his abusin' aud aggravation I" " To think he should have the heart to refuse a new carpet after he has had such good luck with bis wheat orop, and I just slaved myself through harvesting and got along with one girl." "The more that man gets, the stingier he grows, and there isn't a woman among all my acquaintances that would stand such treatment, and I won't. I'll put my foot down from this moment," setting down most emphatically that solid member of ber comely person on the kitchen floor ; if lsaao Parson won't come to terms, I'll quit Aim that's all !" It was a still, serene morning in the oarly autumn. The kitclum windows were open, and through them came, like golden wings, the sunshine, to linger aud laugh on the while kitchen floor, aud Cash along the ceiling, and brighten everything into pic turesque beauty In that old farmhouse kitchen. The song of the birds iu their nests among the old bell pear trees, came also through the windows in sweet eddies and jets of music, and so did all those ripe, fragraut, spicy sceuts which belong to au tumn, and which have also always a whis per of the tropics, with their still, stately splendor, their groves of balm, and forests odorous with gums, and beautiful with all strange and gorgeous blooms. ' . , But better than all this, that autumn morning was one to brim the heart with gratitude to God, the giver of perfect beau ty, to calm the soul into peace, and trust in the wisdom and love which had ordained that day a high-priest to man, and its robe was like the robe of Aaron's ephod, all of blue, 1 and its bells were the merry winds ringing to and fro in the slill air, and on the forehead of the morning was written, so that all eyes might read "All his works do praise him." But Mrs. Melissa Parson heard and saw none of these ' things. 1 Down among the fogs and darkness of her own narrow, fret ful cares and anxieties, she walked with warded vision and angry thoughts, which seethed and flashed into rebellion and ha tred. For her there was no beauty in that autumn day, no token of God's love and care fotf man in its sweet face no voice calling her to prnyer and to praise, in tho whisper of the winds or the Bongs of the birds. ' ' .' 1 ' Mrs. Melissa Parson had been a remark ably pretty girl in her youth and thirty seven years had made her a fair and comely woman. ' ''' , . . Her husband was a somewhat phlegmatic man, stubborn and 6plnlonnted, and as his early life and social atmosphere had not enlarged nor softened his character; the hardest and most disagreeable part of It expanded with his years. He loved money, aud as tiie (esthetic part of his nature had never been cultivated, he regarded it as wastefulness and extravagance to indulge in much grace or1 beauty of surroundings. Still, there was another side to the man ; his affections were deep and tender, and a judicious and loving woman could have reached and influenced him to almost any degree through these.1 But Mrs. Melissa Parsons never' understood her husband. She was' an impulsive; high-spirited, and really warm hearted woman, with a great deal of potty, social ambition, and she and her husband were constantly jarring each other. ' ' " ' i . His obstinacy always inflamed her anger, while her Imperious temper only hardened him into fresh ' stubbornness', and so the current of their lives ran most inharmoni ously, and was constantly interrupted by jars and bickerings, and altercations. That one fair lily of tenderness, whose grace and beauty filled her youth with fragrance, cast its leaves, and at last only the root was left and what dews or sunshine could nourish it in souls that were overgrown with this tles, and rank and noisome weeds? ' Tot ail these years the bams and store houses, the lund and gold of Isaao Parsons inoreascd, and God sent children two boys and a girl to soften the hearts of the fath er and mother, and to be to them angols of a new covenant of household peace and tenderness. But, alas I alas ! the sweet faces, and all the beautiful ministrations of childhood never accomplished their mission; and with hearts and tempers fretted and soured, and worn, Mr. and Mrs. Parsons counted the years going over them, and both felt that their marriage had been a mistake and a misery, and with blind eyes that would not see, and hard hearts that would not understand. Each blamed the other, and mutual recrimination only pro duced ficsh bitterness. ' At lust a crisis came. Mis. Parsons had set her hoart that autumn Upon a new par lor carpet, which was in no wise unreason able,' and in which her husband ought to have indulged hor, but the manner of her request, which was in reality a command, at once aroused the inherent stubbornness of the man, and he flatly refused hor. Tbon followed passionate words and angry re torts, till the husband and wife separated with mutual bitterness and rage. ' But as Mrs. Parsons took up her denu ded chicken and plunged it in a pan of hot water, hor eyes glanced on the weekly pa per, which lay on the table, and they sot tied upon this passage, which completed a short skotoh " Who when he was reviled, reviled not again, but committed bis cause to Him that Jadgoth righteously." ' Again these words stole, iu a still serene, rebuking voice, through the soul of Mrs, Parsons. Bhe had read them iuuroerablo times before, and they had for her no special message nor meaning, but now God had sent his angel to drop them in her heart ; and in a moment something of the real sin and tho vWoiig of her life rose up and confronted her. Bhe sat down iu a low chair by her kitchen table, and rested her forehead on hor hand. The harsh, fretful, angry look went out from her face, and was suoceeded by a soft thoughtful expression, and the sunshine hovered " in yeurning, guidon, shifting beauty about her. Aud the years of Mr. Parsons roue up liko pale, sorrowful faces from the dead, aud looked reproachfully upon her, and suddenly in sharp, clear, strong features, stood revealed to her roused conscience the heavy part she had borne in aH the sin aud misery that had blasted her married life, And then the . woman's memory went back to her first acquaintance with Isaao Parsons he had chosen her from among a score of others who envied her that good fortune, and how those early days of their ' courtship came ovor the softened heart of the woman, as the first winds of spring came up from the south, and go softly over the bare, despairing earth. Then she saw herself once more a shy, tremulous, joyous bride at the altar, leaning on the strong arm and tender heart, to whom she gave herself gladly and trustingly, as a woman should. And she remembered that morning, a little later, when her proud and happy young husband brought her to the home which had been her father's and how for a little while the thought of her being mis tress of the great old farm-house , fairly frightened the wits out of her. , Bhe went to make it a sweet aud happy home for Isaao Parsons. She remembered, as though it all happened yesterday, the little plans and contrivance she had made for his surprise, and their mutual com fort. . , .. . Bat the quarrol came. How well she re membered it, and how clearly she saw now the foolish and sinful part sho had borne in that 1 If she had controlled her temper then if she had only been gentle and patient, forbearing and forgiving, instead of being proud and passionate, fretful and stubborn! If she' had only borno her woman's burdens and done hor' woman's duties! Here the wife and mother broke down; she buried her face in her apron and wept like a child. ' ' Mrs. Parsons was an energetic, deter mined woman, and when sho had once made un her mind on any one course of action, she would not shrink from it What went on in the softened woman's heart on that morning, as she sat with her apron at her eyes, and the sobs in her rock ing to and fro in her low chair, and tho sweet, restless sunshine all about her-what went on in the woman's softened heart, only God nnd the angels know. ' " Are you tired, Isaac?" The farmer was wiping his face and hands on the brown crash towel which hung near the window. He was a tall, stalwart, muscular man, sun-browned and weather-beaten, yet he had keen, kindly eyes, aud the hard features had an honest, intelligent expression. Mrs. Parsons was cutting a loaf of rye bread at the kitchen table. Her husband turned and looked at hor a moment, as though he was half doubtful whether he had heard aright. His wife's face was bent over the bread, and he could not see it ; but the words came second timo. ' ' " Are you tired, Isuao ?" It was a long time slttco Mr. Parsons had heard that soft, quiet voice. It stole over his heart like a wind from the land of his youth. " Well, yes, I do feel klud of tuckered out. It's hard work to get in all that corn with only one hand besides Roger." "I reckoned so ; and I thought I d broil the ohlcken for tea, aud bake the sweet potatoes, as you'd relish them best so." Mr. Parsons did not say a word ; he sat down and took the weokly paper out of his pocket, but his thoughts were too busy to let him read a word. lie knew very well his wife's aversion to broiled chickens, and as the kitchen was her undisputed ter ritory, he was obliged to submit, and have bis chickens stewed, and his potatoes served up in sauce, notwithstanding sho was per fectly aware that he preferred the former broiled and tho latter baked ; and this un usual deference to his taste fairly struck the farmer dumb with astonishment, and he sat still and watched his wife as she hurried from the pantry to the tablo, in her preparations for tea ; and then came acioss him the memory of some of the harsh angry words ho had spoken that morning, and the words smote the man's heart. And while Mrs. Parsons was iu the midst of taking up the broiled chicken,two boys and a girl burst into the kitchen. "Hush, hush, ' children," wound in among tho obstreperous mirth like a silver chime, the soft voice of the mot.hor, "Father's busy reading the paper, and you'll disturb him." ' The children wore silenced at once, not iu fear of the reproof, but in wonder at it, for the wife as seldom consulted her hus band's taste uud convenience in these small everyday matters which make the happl ness or irritation of our lives, as he did hors. ( ' Iu a few minutes the buugry fumily gathered around the table, There was littlo spoken at the meal, but a softer, kiudlier atmosphere seemed to pervade the room. The children felt, though they did not speak of it. " Are you going out this evenlng.Isoac?" " Well, yes, I thought I'd step round to the town meeting. Want anything at the store?" continued Mr. Parsons, as he tiled to button his collar before the small, old- fashioned looking-glass, whose mahogany frame was mounted with boughs of ever green, around which blight berries hung their ruby charms. , , r But the man's large fingers were clumsy, and after several ineffectual attempts to ac complish his purpose, Mr. Parsons dropped his hand with an angry grunt, that "the thing would not work." ( ... , , , "Let me try, father." , Mrs. Parsons stepped quickly to her hus band's side, aud in a moment had managed the refractory button. Then she smoothed down a lock or two of black hair, which had strayed over the sunburnt forehead, and tho touch of those soft fingers felt very pleasant about the farmer's brow, and woke up in his heart, old sweet memories of times when he used to feel them fluttering like a dream through his hair. ' ' He looked on his wife with a kindness in his face, and a softness in his keon eye, which he littlo suspected. And the soft ness and the smile stirred a fountain warm and tender in Mrs. Parsons' heart, which not for years yielded one drop of its sweet wators. She reached np her Hps Impul sively, and kissed his check. ' Any one who had witnessed that little domestic sceno would scarcely have suspected that tho married life of lsaao Parsons and his wife counted three-quarters of a score of years. The woman's comely face was as full of shy blushes as a girl of sixteen, and Isaac Parsons seized his hat and plunged out of the house without sayiug a word, but with a mixture of amazement and something deeper iu his face not easily described. But at lost he cleared his throat, and muttered to himself, "Mclllssy shan't re pent that act I say she shan't!" and when Isaac Parsons said a thing,everybody know he moan't it. '' ' ' ' Tho sunset of another autumn day was rolling its vestures of purple and gold about the mountains, when tho wagon of Isaac Parsons rolled into the farm-yard. He had been absent all day in the city, and the supper had been awaiting him nearly an hour, and the children had grown hun gry and impationt. ' ' "O, father, what have you got there?" they all olamored, as he came into tho house, tugging along an immense bundle, tied with ooi ds. " It is something for mother, children," was the rather unsatisfactory answer. At this moment Mrs. Parsons entered the kitchen. Her husband snapped the cords, and a breadth of ingrain carpeting rolled on the floor, through whose dark green groundwork trailed a rusBet vine and golden leavos a most tasteful pattern. Isaao Parsons turned to Ills amazed wife " There, MellisBy, there's the parlor car- pot you asked mo for yesterday morning. I reckon there ain't many that will beat it in West Farms." A quick change went over Mrs. Parsons' face, half of joy, half of something deeper, " Oil, Isaac !" She put her arras around the strong man's neck, and burst into tears. The trio of children stood still, and looked on in stolid amazement. I think tho sight of their faces was the flint thing which re called Isaao Parsons to himself. " Come, come, mother," he said, but his voice was not' just steady, "don't' give away now like this. I'm hungry as a panther, and want my . supper before I do anything but put up my horse," and he strode oil' to that impatient quadruped in the back-yard. ' Bo the new carpet proved an olive branch of peace to the household of Isaao Parsons. While others admired its pattern or praised its quality, it spoke to Mrs. Parsons' heart a story of all that which love and patience may accomplish. - After many struggles and much prayer, the tiiumph over pride and passion, nnd evil habits, was at last achieved ; and' this was not accomplished In a day, but the ' " small leaven that leaveneth the wholo lump," worked silently and surely, completed at lust its pure and perfect work, and in tho farm-house of Isaao Parsous retailed the spirit of forbearance and relinquishment of gentleness and lovo, which ' was given unto those "who fear God aud keep his holy commandments." . i; tW Doctrines are of use only as they are practiced. , Men may go to perdition with tholr beads full of truth. To hold the truth and fight for it is one thing ; to be sanctified through it is another. The Story of Some Hot Water. About two hundred years ago, a man, bearing the title of the Marquis of Wor cester, was sitting on a cold night, in a small mean room, before a blazing fire. This was in Ireland, and the man was a prisoner. ; A kettle of boiling watr was on the fire, and he sat watching the steam, as It lifted the lid of the kettle and rushed out of the nose. ' : ' ' ' ' 1 He thought of the power of the steam, and wondered what would be the effect if he were to fasten down the ltd and stop up the nose. He concluded that the effect would be to bumt tho kettle. " How much power, then," thought he, " there must be In steam 1" ' ''' As soon as he was let out of prison ho tried an experiment. ''I have taken," ho writes, " a cannon, and filled It three quart ers full of water, stopping up ' firmly both the touch hole and the mouth, and, having made a good Are under it, within twenty four hours ' it burst aud mado a great crack." ' After this, the marquis contrived a rude : machine, which, by the power of steam, drove up water to the height of forty feet. ' ' ' About one hundred years after this, a little boy, whoso name was James Watt, and who lived in Scotland,Bat one day look ing at a kettle of boiling water,' and hold ing a spoon before the steam that rushed out of the nose.' " ' ' ' His aunt thought he was idle, and 'said, " Is it not a shaino for you to waste your time so?" But James was not idle : he was thinking of tho power of the steam in moving the spoon. ; James grew to be a good and great man, and contrived those wonderful Improve ments In the steam-engine which have made it so useful in our day. What will not the steam-engine do ! ' It propels, it elevates, it lowers, it pumps, it drains, it pulls, it drives, it blasts, it digs, it cuts, it saws, it plfines, it bores, It blows, it forges, it hammers, it files, it polishes, it rivets, it cards, t splns,it winds, it weaves, it coins, it prints ; and it does more things than I can think of. If it could speak it might say, "I blow the bellows, 1 forge the steel ; ' I manage the mill and the mint; , I hummer the ore, and turn the wheel, : And the news that you read I print." In the , year 1807, liobort Fulton, au American, put the first steamboat on the Hudson River, and in 1820 a locomotive steam-carriage went over a railroad in Eng land. And this Is the story of some hot wator. From so small a beginning as the steam of a tea kettle resulted the steam-engine, the steam-boat, and the locomotive engine, by which the trains of cars are moved with such speed on our railroads. Learn what the power of thought will do. How many men had looked at kettles of boiling water, but how few thought of the force of the steam, and the good uses to which it might be turned ! A Disgusted Landlord. Once on a time tlieir dwelt In the city of Altou a worthy but rather irritable gentle man, who was the host of a famous hotel thoro known. as the Fiauklin House. Numerous citizens daily drew their rations from his liberally furnished table, and not , a few visitors from the rural districts pre ferred the substantial fare of the Franklin House to the more pretentious board of the Alton House. One day, in addition to all the good things with which the dinnor table was loaded, thoro was at the lower end a nice roast pig, that would have tickled the palate of the gentle "Ella," who discours es so eloquently on that savory viand., . At the conclusion of the meal this roast pig remained intact, when along came a belated drover, who sat down beside it, and having a good wholesome appetito, . soon devoured the whole of It. The landlord looked on amazed, aud was puzzled to sue whore his profit was to come iu after de ducting a dollar-ond-a-half pig from a fifty cent dinner tickot. Giviug vent to his dis- , gust, lie said very sarcastically to tho dro ver, " Isn't there something else you would like to bo helped to?". " Wal yss," drawled out the drover ; . "I don't care if I take another of them littlo hogs." This was too much for the . equanimity of the landlord, and to keep himself fiom "spon taneously combusting" like Dorothea, he was compelled to rush out in the open air whore ho could vent k few unorthodox expressions without being ovei heard by the elect, of which he was one. . , tW " Truth is mighty, and will prevail." So goes the ancient saw. But It is mighty slow sometimes prevailing.
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