TTER’S
BITTERS,
some period, every
mily is subject to disuse
c bodily functions
3d tonic and the exercise
se, they may bo able eo to
ns to seethe permanent
i accomplish this ,desired
sc to pursue, is -oertairdv
luce a natural state of
zard of vital strength and
•sc. Dr. Hostetler has in
uy a preparation bearing
it a new medicine, but one
or years, going satisfy,
re used it. The Bitten
pon the stomach, bowels
them to a healthy and
thus, hy the simple pro*
: nature, enable the sva.
iisease. J
pepsia, Indigestion, JJati
)f Appetite, oranyßilfoua
from a morbid inaction
weleyproducing Cramps
ole?ft Morbus, I
f or flux, so generally con*
•a, and caused principally
r and diet, will be Hjp&dily
use of this preparation,
which ,is probably non \
various forms, than, any
c of which may alpaye
igcme.nts of the digestive
d without fail by uslmr
MACH BITTERS, as per
10. For this disease every :
icnd Bitters of somqjtind; i
irticlc known to be infid! ;
vo their Bitters, as Ji.pre- j
strengthoner of the sy*. ! i
imong thorn all there I hi I
arc healthy peoplethaa 1
3m this preparation cm* I
ntific experimentawhioh I
the value of this great
:c of medical science.
This trying and provok
its relentless grasp on
icing him; to a mere ah*
nd rendering him phy,
useless, can bdi driven
use of HOSTETXEE’B
S. Further, ndneof the
•an he contracted, even
if the Bitters are used
>1 as they neither create
palate, and render n^.
of diet or interruption
ut promote sound sleep
the complaint is re*
consistent with the pro*
xml perm'anentoure.
unced Years, who are
eblcil constitution and
;rs arc invaluable as a
i and vigor, and need
i'predated. And to a
i heic Bitters ere indie*
ierc the mother’s now*
to the deSands of the
r strength must yield,
•x good tonic, such as
i ers, is ucededto ixhpart
■1 vigor to the system,
means try this remedy
, and, before so doing,
sician, who, if he u
me of the Bitten, will
l all cases of weakness,
n the public against using
ns or counterfeits, but ask
ejltcd Stomach BmatßSr
has tho words “Dr. J.
:cu" blown on the .side
9cd on the metallic cap
servo that our autograph
Id by HOBTETTEHA ,
Pa- and sold by all
id dealers ceherolly
states, Canada, South,
<■:<! A P.onsb. Altoona; OA'
Murray, Uollidayabutg; »irf
[Au K 2B,'lB6Mp
;p in the praue of
.TON'S
: COHOI^iL,
ud.: to afford inttantanjous rt
nets as if by magic, andon*
that wbat we say Ja tfpe. It
C OE OPIATE
i ves by removing the suffer
)iv deadening its sensibilities'
as fnu only reliaiU png
iu.nr..y Trrimsa, DiafiMflU,:!
AtiniTl OF TWS BW*-,
, i.ml Cr.oup, also, for soften- \
, tfieni. regulating the JtoKtu, <
■:.d —lioiiip an anti-spasmedit
in all caws of CoSTVISWX •
*;„■ life and health ofyemr
; 'Vi .'.'i tl osc sad and blighting
■'.'re-all from the ate of nor
h. • for Infantile (hmplaints
K '.TON'S IntastiixCobdial,
i '-rfoctlv harmless, and can-
Price, 25 cent*.
Mb-. Prepared only by ■„■
rm.-KCU i DUPONT, j
; .■ llroaJwuy, New-Tyrk. j
Sjtinp
YZED
uao essential
e-.i-.n. Analyze the Bloninf
nimij.tion, Liver ConipWnt,
timl in every uitfanosctt':
k ill., of Blood. Supply# >e»j
,ie well. Tlie M!X»n 1 *«»
-■-hence its astonishing »nv
‘RATIONS
.r the Blood m j
1./.Xfiiras, or any
:n BSi inducing OwmW*»J
for Depression ofSpiWTS,
'iir.o.vin OoMHJUStfcMWJ*
I :rv, and Nebtocs PBO»m
Lnts, Ko. 3' for DIBPEPBU; m
option it la BT
the circulation, so
•; is fur Female
tc. SCO filieclardircctionUof
i uons, SraoFuiccs. Kin^;
■ Nr,. 5. In all CiIMStWW
a ::f P ,rS;rK».
T., Murray, IIollIJ«^h“f» : j
t- throughout the country j
ACE GAZETTBH
f Crime and Cr^'^oS
i i-Iy circulated tnrou^-j
the Great Trial*.
thon the Home, tog«th
■.,19, Dpt to bo found W
iitoin; *1 for
-1,0 should write their
t„ where they remde phttnwi
■X. MATSEBt * COj
,1 GENTLEMEN
iosupu
ready to ]
ted upon. lv* a, “ j
McCRUM & BERN,
VOL. ,5.
THE ALTOONA TRIBUNE.
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NONE BUT tSeE.
SOI BOBCAT QUANT.
Whom have I in heaven but thee* and there is none
upon earth that 1 desire beside thee.”—l’salm Ixxiii; 15.
Lord of earth, thy forming band
Well this beauteous frame bath planned,
Woods that wave, and hills that tower,
Ocean rolling in his power;
All that strikes the eye unsought.
All that charms the lonely thought,
Friendship—ge t m transcending price ;
Love—a flower frpm Paradise;
l et, amidst a scene so fair,
Should 1 cease thy smile to share,
What were all its joys to me ?
Whom have 1 on earth to thee f
Lord of Heaven I beyond onr sight
Rolls a world of purer delight;
There, in love’s unclouded reign,
Farted bands shall part again;
Martyrs there, and prophets high,
lilazc a glorious company;
W hile immortal music rings
From unnumbered seraph strings;
„ 01 that world is passing lair;
Yet if thou were absent there,
, What were all Usjoys to mef
Whom havo lin heaven.but theef
Lord of earth and heaven! my breast
£eek» in ihte its only rest; v
1 was lost I thy occeats mild 1
lured thy wondering child;
I, was blind I thj healing ray
Charmed the lung eclipse away.
Source of every Joy I know,
Solace of my every woo,
0, if once tby smile divine,
Ceased ui«on niy soul to shine,
M hat were earth or heaven to mo ?
Whom have I In eatjh but thco f
Bflcd ||lktllang.
A STOEY OP THE GOLDEN AGE
In the far off Golden Age, which. historians
allude to and poets describe—in the beautiful
talley of a small river which empties into the
Caspian Sea, where Toses bloomed in a perpetu
al Spring-time; where all sweet flowers filled
the air with fragrance, and all the melodious
birds with song—was gathered one of those hap-
PJ groups of families into which mankind were
divided in the first ages after the Deluge; before
there were cities, kingdoms, wars, and,the splen
dors, and vices and cruelties of a more advanced
civiliiation.
The V ale of Roses glowed like a new para
dise. Tho mountains, whose glittering peaks
w «re likd a jewelled crown, surrounded the val
!y, and shielded it from the qold blasts of the
■-iberian winds. Silver cascades dashed down
e precipices through evergreen trees, flower-
shrubs and long, pendent vines. The emer
-4 d-green sward that sloped down to the river
was bespangled with a thousand gay and odor
ous flowers; red strawberries gleamed through
> the grass; the clumps of shrubbery were filled
with delicious berries ; and grape-vines loaded
the trees with purple clusters. The choicest
rait grew spontaneously, and the upland terra
were covered with wheat and tftrley, sown
J the lavish hand of Nature, for the food of
man. :
In this delightful scene were scattered groups
0 rustic cotages—-small, simple, rode in stnic
toi-e, but so embpwed with foliage and surround
t(?wiUl spreading .trees, and so in harmony
*‘th the landscape, that eaoh cluster was a new
Picture of delight. Herds of cattle were lowing
m the ®endows, horses neighed in their rich
Pwtures, and fiooksof sheep and goats gave
and animatiop to the landscape. These
** re attended bf shepherds .andshopherdesses,
used in simple but graceful robes, And crown
with flowers. TVith th? lowing afad: bleating
. e ter 4 B , mingldd with mixsip of ihe dis-
Z casca des, the
di». r ° fbbee Be rt “ingM with the melo
-1 ° shepherd’s pipes, and choruses of
iatbo u -<»?Med %,with silver locks sat
tro ;,‘ b 7 e Qf "P r ®“ d i n g ! talking togeth
er W&K »■ the;
thei, 10DS ° f tbeir ancestors jand Hie events .of.
around ihebidU of affectlbd and rev
pej. is %*P7 ballsy of the .almost forgotten
moat beautiful, as her grandfather, Olem, was
esteemed moat rage. The mother of Tamar,
who, in her youth, had held the place now filled
by her daughter, I was esteemed for her virtue
and wisdom, as much as she had ever been ad
mired for her loveliness. The beautiful Tamar
was beloved by all—old and young. As she
wandered along the romantic banks of the river
|,in the dewy morning, the blue'firmanent, with
its embroidery of silver clouds, seemed but her
canopy; the trees and shrubs nodded their hom
age; the flowers up their incense of per
fume; the birds wabbled their melodies for her
delight; the very flocks Stopped gracing to look
at her; the horses neighed at her as she drew
near them ; sweet-eyed gazelles approached her
without fear. In this harmony of nature she j
walked—its queen—robed in lustrous white, and I
crowned with choicest flowers.
Axnongall the youths who admired fair Tam
ar, two of the worthiest aspired to the favor of
her lore. Arnetts was one of the bravest os
well as one of the noblest of the youths of the
valley. No foot was swifter in the race—no
arm stronger in flood. He could climb the
precipice with the mountain goat; his' arrow
pierced the heart qf the spotted leopard or the
fierce wolf, that came to prey on the docks of
the volley.
His cousin Jsleph was scarcely inferior to him
in manly sports. They, had grown up together,
and loved each like brothers. Arnctto
was dark—Jaleph fair. Arnette’s black, and
clustering locks were like sthe raven’s wing;
Julepb’s shone like: the golden*sunshine on the
sea. Arnette’s deep brows : Jaleph’s reflected
the hues of the cerulean heavens.
Both were bravfe, and strong, and heroic. If
Arnettte had more strength and dignity, Jaleph
had more skill and grace. One more statelier
in his walk ; the other more serial in the dance.
Both loved Tamar. la a thousand ways, each
told his love. Aruette presented her with a
ghrgeous plume of the bird of paradise : Jaleph
woje for her a garland of matchless beauty,
mode of shells and flowers. Aruette trained for
her a horse fleet as the antelope, Jaleph learned
to play the melodics which filled her innocent
slumber with enchanting dcams.
So beloved, Tamar was very happy. No one
could tell which swain she favored. Had each
one been her brothef, she could not have been
more kind. The ngied people, who had loved
nil their children, looked on and shook their
heads; for they saw that this must end, and
they feared it might end in sorrow,
Tbe, time .came when Tamar also saw and felt
that the noble cousins IdVed her with more than
a brotherly lobe. Arnette, the more impetu
ous, first declared his passion.
“ Tamar,” he said, “ beautiful Tamar, I love
thc.e!”
L '
Dear Arnette, 11 breathed from the open heart
of the innocent maiden.
“ Wilt thou be mine?”
Her lovely face which had been radiant with
happiness, was clouded now with doubt and
perplexity. Arnette saw, and asked again in
deep subdued tones, “O beautiful one! wilt
thou be mine ?”
The queenly girl covered her face with her
hands, and burst into tears.
Jaleph at that moment came upon them, hold
ing In his hand an offering of flowers. He stop
ped a moment in surprise at the dark hrow of
Arnette, and the tearful distress of his beloved
Tamar. He grew pale, as his heart told him
the decisive hour had corner
With the frankness that belonged to the age
of heroic innocence—before centuries of selfish
ness, rapacity, poverty and crime had marred
the bodies and deformed the souls of meh—he
held out one hand to his rival, and the other to
the beautiful one they both adored. \
“I, too, love you, beautiful Tamar!” said the
youth with the blue eyes and golden hair.
“ God of our fathers, witness my deepiove!
Here .we stand! Choose between us I”
A pang shot through the heart of each, but
they stood, each nobly resigned to the fate that
awaited him.
Tamar looked on each. So long had she lov*
ed both, with the- pure Jove Of saintly maiden
hood, that the deeper love now proffered only
perplexed and distressed her. HoW could she
take herself from either ? How hurt one, when,
both were so dear ? *
- “Arnette 1 Jaleph! why ask me to choose 1
Are wenothaj>py? So let us remain.”
The young men looked in each other's sadden
ed eyes, and felt th ? t it could be so no longer.
The happy time had passed.
Aa the group stood, hand-in-hand, in the glow
of eunset, the mother of Tamar- came, in her
•weet, matronly dignity, to greet them.
; she*i^edjp
,»Mhe faceeapd: her
-
** ‘ Tarnwr, *Vhow can I
. the smile. not
freefro/nsadnesa. .■■:,.,;/£■ "■
“** daughter.? ri,e replied, Hthero mußtie
OBfr whom we love above ftil othtrt.” T
Ce ■■— i>San.
so kind, so noble, so loving to me
how oan l hurt on* or the other?**
Again the sad smile. ' :.. .
“ Come with ws, >on,:Wpijl.
ln seTea.
you. ,? ; . V ; ;: V:
ou i to
’ f
girl, aad talked •W»jr|;'*!”&&>*«?£ ; '• There
ALTOONA, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 1860.
wm 40; rancor .or jealousy in their noble hearts.
IMs true each one felt that the happiness of
his life was at stake. To fight, for the posses
sion of the,: object of their love, however, was a
mode of settling their rival pretensions left to
the darkness and ferocity of succeeding ages,
when!the earth should be stained with crime
and blood.
and Jaleph were together, as ever, in
their light labors and their manly pastimes
Two days bad passed, and they were swiming in
the river. .Whether exhausted by exercise or
weakened by emotion, Jaleph could ,not swim
with his usual strength. Soon his golden locks
were seen to sink beneath the wares. His sin
ewy arms grew powerless. A cry from thd shore
alarmed Arnette. He looked for his cousin and
the nexi moment he plunged beneath the sur
face. In a few moments he bore him to the
shore, where he soon recovered.
Again, they were hunting the leopard in the
mountains. Jaleph fell, and the wild beast
sprang upon him. The lance of Arnette pierced
the fierce animal’s heart, and saved his rival
from death.
The Seventh day approached. Neither had
spoken to Tamar. They had but seen her at a
distance, Each had refrained from every offer
ing or sign of love. Their loyal hearts would
not permit them to take advantage of each other.
N On the eye,of the seventh day, they met in
the assembly that gathered to prepare the mor
row’s festival.
Tamar had decided. Her heart, questioned! n
solitude, declared for the golden haired musician
But her love and pity for Arnette, her apprecia
tion of bis noble qualities, and her thankful
ness to him for twice saving the life of her cho
sen one, made her look at him with such a look
of admiration and gratitude, that Jaleph’s
heart sank within him. He went forth and wept.
It seemed plain to him that the question of
his life this decided. He would not wait for the
morrow. Revealing his plan to one faithful
friend, we went forth in the darkness, and bade
adieu to the happy valley.
1 When the morning came, Arnett? repaired to
the lovely cottage of Tamar. She was pale, but
more than ever beautiful. As she saw Arnette,
she looked round for his cousin. She grew
paler os he came not, and was nowhere to be
seen. It was the appointed hour. Arnette, too,
looked round, with visible concern.
“ Arnette,” said the mother, “my daughter
has decided. She will give her hand to him her
heart hath chosen. But where is Jaleph f”
“I know hot!”
“ You know not ? He should bo here!—
What has become of him ? Where is he!”
“ Alas . I know not!” said the heroic youth,
grieved to the heart with the suspicion which
these quick questions conveyed. l
“ Mother!” cried the pale and trembling girl,
“be not unjust to Arnette. Twice has he
saved the life of Jaleph since we last met.”
The confident of Jaleph_ came, and whispered
to Tamer-tbat her lover had gone. The roses
that had left her cheeks now fled from her lips ;
she sank fainting on the flowery sod.
“ What is all this ?” cried Arnette.
He was told that Jaleph had fled, and why—
And he knew, all too well, that he who had fled
from bis fate despairingly was the chosen love
of the beautiful Tamar, now lying in her mo
ther’s arms.
Arnette knelt down by her side, pressed his
lips upon her beautiful forehead, and said to
her mother, ‘‘.l will bring him to her, or never
see her more!’’
In a week from that day, the brave Arnette
led his cousin to the cottage of Tamar, and,
placing their hands together, said •• Take him,'
Tamar, he is thine ! He fled that I might be
happy ; I; have found him, that thou mayest be
happy with him thou lovest Let mo be the
brother oif both !”
The arms of both were twined around him—
Who shal| (jay; that he was not as hapfiy in his
generous ; self-sacrifice as they in their mutual
love?
The Golden Age lives in dim traditions and
poetic dreams. It lives also in every heart that
is generous; ami noble. He who can love with
out selfishness is a hero of the Golden Aqe.
“If I catch yees near my house again
I’ll break ;your neck, ye rascal,” said one Irish
man to another*
** Bui yioii asked me yourself.”
' “But I didn't ask yees to make love to my
wife, yon scoundrel.”
“ I Lavfn’fcimade love to your wife j you are
laboring under some mistake."
‘f Don’t tall me that now j didn’t I see you
wid rny own eyes trying to come the blarney
over-her!’?
Vfipt Jfell,79a I didn’t do any suck ding;
1 *>£’*.you* w^e, v ’giving kw fin
gem > soap u?e words, “ nor that."
“ Fees doln’tioare ftr' her, hey ? She’s as
good a-wotnan as you- are,"any day, ye dirty
if je« ; 4pealr dismay of
fieri TH be after thcbiii’ ye better manners. ” '
Mas. jPABTiKo don’s Last.— Heading the
fms9
JUrs. P.capaetd tbe complimentary
exgreßßion regard to ; V ftillot*-JTeol in
® “ifiLtidgale
towards! the unfortunate and need;. Intel
untary raifflog iber spectacles, and lodking tbe
Tery personification of amazement, tbergocnl : bIS ;
tbatain t just the way the fellera oMfrtoJeu
when I .wai agirt I” '.
[independent in everything.)
“Yes, yes; God is witness, as I hope for
mercy hereafter, I freely forgive you, and in turn
ask your forgiveness for my unchristian conduct.”
A feeble pressure of the hand, and a beaming
smile were all the answer.
Many days the brave young man hung upon a
slender thread Of life; and never were there
more devoted friends than those who hovered
over the sick bed. But a vigorous constitution
triumphed, and, pale and changed, he walked
forth once more among the living.
“Ohl if he bad died with my unkindness
clouding his soul, never should I have dared to
hope for mercy from my Father in Heaven I”
said John Locke to his wife, as they sat talking
over the solemn event that had threatened their
lives with a living trouble. “Never—now I
have tasted the sweetness of forgiveness—never
again will I cherish revenge or unkindness to
wards the erring; for there is new meaning to
my soul in-the words of our daily prayer, and
see that 1 have only been calling judgments upon
myself, while I have impiously asked, “ Forgive
us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass
against us. 17
Refuses to nx Comfokted.— “Come, come,
my dear madam,” said a doctor, “ there is evi
dently something wrong; make a confidante of
tion (sob) to bo the wife of a dry goods mer
chant, and now I have thrown myself away upon
a hardware (sob) dealer, and although the dear
fellow is as kind as he can be, (sob), and brings
me home any quantity of scissors, and files, and
door-knobs and things, yet what are these to
the (sob) wounded spirit that expected oceans
of brocades and pointed lace ? (Sob, sob, sob.)
A Good Hit:—An invalid once sent for a
physicUn, an<l after -detaining him for some
time with a description ©this pains, aches, &c.,
ho thus sums up :
doctor, you bare humbugged me
loD g.?“ough yo.nr gopd-for-notiiingpilla
and worthless syrups; they don't touch the real
difficulty; I tnshyqntd'strike the true cause
pf my ailmentfl' if it is in year power to.reaoh
it," 5 * ‘ ' ‘ : " :t v;.
' ** the at the
thio lifting his niid demolishing a dfr-
stdiod onthe ‘ e *
A Cincinnati am T»i *)npan
at s*nd broke aeTeaop
iipop idt head: without doing him
l«Mt The pagro, who
oop} dwngthe
hF*J* white man—die chjiedan.'tialnd de® peb
pies so how ! yah! hah 1”
FLL NEVER FORGIVE HIM.
7&e following sketch of an event or two in
real life should bo read by every one. It contains
a moral worth treasuring in the memory:
“ I'll never forgive him—never !*’
“ Never is a hard word, John,” said the sweet
faced wife of John Locke, as she looked up for
a moment from her sewing.
“ He is a mean dastardly coward, and upon
this Holy Bible I—”
“Stop, husband. John, remember he is my
brother; and by the love you bear me, forbear
to curse him. He has done you wrong, I allow,
but oh I John, be is very young and very sorry.
The momentary shame you felt yesterday, will
hardly be wiped out with a curse. It will only
.injure yourself, John, Oh! please don’t say
anything dreadful!”
' The sweet-faced woman prevailed ; tho curse
that hung upon the Ups of tho angry man was
not spoken; but still he said, “ I’ll never for
give him—he has done me a dreadful wrong.”
The young man who had provoked his bitter
ness. humbled and repentant, sought his forgive
ness in vain who, in a moment of passion, he
had injured almost beyond reparation. John
Locke steeled his heart against him.
In his store- sat the young village merchant,
one pleasant morning, contentedly reading the j
morning paper. A sound of hurried* footsteps
opproacbed; but he took no notice of it until
a hatless boy burst into the jdore, screaming at
the top of his voice, "Mr. Locke, Johnny is in
the river—little Johnny Locke.”
To dash down the paper, and spring for the
street, was the first impulse of the agonized
father. On, on, like a maniac he 9ew, till he
reached the bank of the river, pallid and crazed
.with anguish. The first sight that met his eye
was little Johnny, lying in the arms of his mo
ther, who, with her hair hanging dishevelled
around her, bent wildly over her child. The boy
was just saved. He breathed, and opening his
eyes, smiled faintly in his mother’s face; while
she, with a choking voice, thanked God. Another
form lay insensible, stretched near the child
From hia head the dark blood flowed from o
ghastly wound. The man against whom John
Locke had sworn eternal hatred, bad, at the
risk of hie own life, been the savior of the child.
He had struck a floating piece of driftwood as
he came to the surface with the boy, and death
seemed inevitable.
John Locke flung himself down on the green
sward, and bent over the senseless form. “Save
him, he cried, huskily, to the doctor, who had
been summoned. “ Hestoro him to conscious
ness, if it be only ono little moment; I have
something important to say to him.”
“ He is reviving,” replied the doctor.
Tfie wounded man opened bis eyes ; they met
the anxious glance of his brother-in-law, and
the pale limbs trembled forth, “ Do you forgive
me?”
“ Well, doctor, it was always my great ambi-
' ’l 1 '
DYSENTERY.
i Multitudes of lives are lost by ignorance of
i the nature of simple diseases! at their; appear*
ante. Diarrheal discharges always afford *
feeling of relief, without pain, necessarily, or
• blood. Dysentery, on the contrary, is always
■ attended with painful gripings, with distressing
and ineffeotnal straining, and more or less blood.
In dysentery, too much blood is throw in upon
the bowels, and nature, attempt*: to relieve her
self by passing it off. If she is interferedwith,-
and the mouths of the .little] tubes which are
throwing off the blood are suddenly closed up by]
sty tics, suob as alum, or sugar of lead, or log
wood and the like, or by opiate in any form,
which, in effect operate in the, same way, then
the blood takes another direction, and goes' to
the brain, oppresses it, weighing.down all the
powers of life, and there is delirium, stupor,
death. These are vital facts, known to all edu
cated physicians, and yet the : very first effort
made in the cure of dysentery is to stop the
blood, and its diminution is considered enconr
agin by the 'ignorant There is intolerable heat;
and thirst in dysentery; this htat extends from
the tip'of the tongue all through the body; this
attracts more blood, just as a ■ mustard 'plaster
attracts blood. The true cure is to cool the in
ternal surface of the bowels, and nature calls
ravenously for this cooling; jot every swallow
of ice water increases the pain ; bat ice broken
into pieces small enough to be swallowed "whole
and taken to the fullest capacity of the patient,
cools off the inner surface of the intestinal ca
nal just as certainly as smalHumps of ice con
stantly placed on a red Lot surface will at length
cool it. As an aliment, raw beef in the shape
of mince meat, given in quantities of two table
spoonsfulis four times a day, facilitates the cure,
while it sustains the patient.
Dysentery is very generally caused by sudden
cooling of the skin, especially after exercise;
or in weakly persons a sudden change in the
weather is all-sufficient, particularly when with
a greater coolness there is a dampness in
the atmosphere. Thus it is that this serious
ailment is so common in the fpll of the year;
mid-day being Lot, and the cool nights closing
abruptly the pores of the - skin, which the heat
of the day had relaxed. The best preventativbs
are wearing woollen flannel shirts, and having
fires kindled in the' lamily room at sundown, es
pecially in valley situations, and those otherwise i
damp, beginning these on the first cool night of
the fall,— Hall's Journal of Health.
A NEW MYSTERY.
A Wisconsin paper, the Taylp* Falls Reporter,
tells the following story, and Touches for its ac
curacy. The editor says that strange as the
facts may appear, he does not doubt their truth
in any particular, as they ore well authenticated
by many witnesses, in whose vpincity be places
implicit confidence:—
On Tuesday. while Mr. Corey and his two
sons were at work in a field nearlus house, their
attention was arrested by smoke which appeared
to rise from his stable. They hurried to the
bam as quickly as possible, and discovered a
pile of straw near by oufire. This was imme
diately extinguished, and as they were return
ing to the field, the stable caught at different
places, which, by considerable exertion, was put
out. Before, however, they had left the pre
mises, another fire was discovered underneath
the granary in a pile of boards} The bottom
board was nearly burned through;, but the others
were not even scorched. After ibis Was put out
Mr. Corey sent one of the boys into the house
to Ascertain whether all was safe there. He im
mediately came out and told bis father that the
house was on fire. Mr. Corey immediately ran
up stairs, where he found some clothes that his
wife had laid away the day before burning.—
They were thrown out of the window, and from
that time until late at midnight jthe fire broke
out all over the house. First a i paper would
catch, then a mosquito bar, then a straw bed,
etc., and it was only by the Utmost cxertiofis of
Mr. Corey, aided by two gentlemen, Messrs.
Hole and Treadwell, that the building was saved
The fire continued at intervals until Sunday, !st
nit., and attracted many visitors. ‘We shall not
attempt to give any cause for thiawonderful
freak of nature, but will leave the question*©
be solved by some of ottr
facte, as we leam them l>pm an ey'e-withees axe
true ; and if any one can solve jjhle mysteiy w$
we shall be glad to bear from them!:
ijir A cross-ga}
. Pi. nd wly mw», too crook,
64 ¥ nat P r ? t 0 k*w> still, ore* t* his
Mr.
T W? piece of feiice is mine, jurf sbutt
hateit;.” '• .; \
" Wh*,” replied Mr. *-
mistakep, I ,'tfiiftk.l', V '
*‘s°t ,ff®> >*/» nrinoatujl I iJ.’ , ...
V‘/iy*)ij” sa,id
rial! choose.” :.
“?■ W 0 le » T « 1H 1 *
Other. :, d
contipoed It»f|;
it to any four myn in, the TUl&gp. jtka^y^kh«U
select r.’ . l
■ i‘;. ; ?, v ,, a.
Not at 01l
neighbor. 1 shall Jeavej-4t4o.„yourtelf.lo«*y to
m afc**h loltortby xm
i:SO;7 'v’^i
fcfttft »»0 tbfci
won’t eonitadibyldi;otnt rights. 1 '
■ir
>?da
;:A
you must bo
EDITORS AND PROPRIETOKS.
t r O THA , f r YbtrKG L AD’S 1 .
“Say nothing, do nothjtom whlob a mother
deep not approve and you awon the certainroad
tohappineis.”—AsoS. .
.Have few confidants, and let year mother ho
the principal one. “ Pudge,” yon say,'with a
curling lip, or an upturned nose, “a pretty doc
trine; indeed—let my mother ■ into my private
affairs ? I think I can keep my own secrets and
if> not, she is not the, one to 1 whom I would en
trust them.” Let me tell yon one thing. Miss.
The young lady who makes her mother her con-,
fident has rarely, if erer, been known to go
astray.. Whatever explanation may be given
(and it is easily explained,) the foot isoertoin—
such a one is secure against the. wilpe of the
tempter. On the other hand, she'who shuns, the
counsel and confidence of. her mother is almost,
certain, at least is in great danger, of being led
astray. Seek, then, a mother’s counsel, and
never, as you valne your temporal salvation,’ pt
least, never listen for a.moment to one who
says, “Don’t tell your mother.” fo all snoh
say at once, “ Don’t tell me anything that you
are not willing to have my mother know."—
Young ladies, there is safety fpr you iq that
course.
A word of advice to mothers. In the train*
ing of your children, endeavor by all means to
gain their confidence. Begin - early', and man*
age in snob a way as to. Induce them to come to
yoiij at once, for dounsel in all their difficulties.
In order to do tbis,| take an interest in all their
little troubles and perplexities, especially when
they come to you for counsel or sympathy. Do
not put them away with a “ pshaw,” “getaway, 1 *
“ I can’t be troubled with yoa,”’ Ac., ic., but
answer their reasonable inquiries,' encourage
them to bear their little troubles, counsel them
in difficulty, &c., and you will soon find them
growing in confidence and affection. If you
think this to much trouble,” when they are
young, yon cannot expect them to Confide in you
as they become older. 1 this subject deserves
further consideration. It will probably be re
sumed.—Prairie Hon^e.
Taks Cabs of Yonn Commas.—A new. York
pnpcr in announcing the wreck of a vessel, near
the narrows, says : '
“ Tbe onl J passengers .Wefo T. B. Nathan t
who owned three-fourths of the cargo and the
captain’s, wife.-”, ; . .
In another paper we. find the following adtef-
tisement;
*.* Yd® Sal*.—Ah excellent young horse t
would suit any lady or gentleman With a long
silver tail.
A good Methodist preacher once got off the
following: ’‘ ’ r
“ As 1 was riding along one of those beautiful
Western prairies with my dear old wife, who has
since gone to heaven in a buggy.”
A Good Stout Spoiled.;—A cynical inaivid
ual on reaching a pathetic story in one of tho
papers lately, noted in his memorandum book
as follows: »
Somebody whistled. Teacher calls up big
boy oh suspicion.
Big boy comes up and holds out Ms hand,
sullen and savage. .’ I
Noble little boy comes manfully forward, and
soys: ■ ■ ••' - ■).' ■ ■
“l am the boy what whistled, sir/’ at the
same time extending his hand.
Teacher simmers down, and lets 'em Both off.
(Mem—Noble little boy thought teacher
wouldn’t lick him if he told the truth, but knew
big boy would lick him if he didn’t) r
A Secret roa One Htwimtb Years.— The
treasurer bf Amherst College has lately received
from Mr. Daniel Sears, of Boston, a heretofore ;
liberal Jjenefactor of the College, a sinall and <
sarefully sealed box, with the instruction that it
is not to be opened for one hundred years, on
Jain of a forfeiture gift whi<* it, con
tains. Speculation is at fault as to the oi)htents
w»d the reasons for the accompanying condition, i
The shrewdest guess is that the box holds deeds •>
real estate in Boston, now under leisefor
one hundred years, but then to be traaEferred
to the college.- But let njf be patient : tiUl»6o, '
uid then we shall all know, says the SprioigSeld
Republican. ■ . V ..■ ■ •, ■
A Oood Rbabor for X^oaatiß.—M. do Bal
*a« wasonce lying awake In bed, when he saw --
» mail' enter bis room cautiously,, and -
io piokthotock ofbir writing desk.- Thi| rogue 1
wasnotalittlediseonoertdathkjiiigß-loud
laugh'from 'the 'wmupant apartment,
whomhe supposed asleep. ’ - T - ;
’* doyoonauguf? hsktd the thief -
“I am laughing, ray good fellow, ’? said M.
*?* *Mo-think - what parasyouare ta
kiugj, 4nd what risk you-run, in hope of* finding
moneybynight'hi a desk where tie lawful diriw
or oanueVerfindany by day.’?' ' >;
The thief '** evacuated Flanders’? at onee.
' The arm of a pretty
r around yodrneok, has been diseoteng to he an -
infallible remedy in’; cose of sore throats.- 1 It 1 >
heats pepper tea all hollow.
i tom o|»-
of unless =
d«n pull without gfoyghfo ?|ftippp
; -cSi^cl^e^gp. lUflUo*!-•
■
1:3-1
NO. 31.
I-'"'