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McCKUM & BERN,
VOL. 7.
THE ALTOONA TRIBUNE.
fi B. iIcCRUM, :...H. C. DBBNj
.PPUJBHIEB ASJ> fBOmSTOU.
per aamim, (payable invariably in advance,) sl*so,
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paid for
TOMS or 4DTMTUUO.
' 1 insertion S dq.- S do.
roar linn orloM * * -V* *1 no
iso ££
?hr.e “ (21 “;• 1 M « 2«
Of #r three weeks end lees then three months, 25 cents
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Sr*r- :::z; S . JS iSS.
Three 600 800 12 00
}„“« soo woo uoo
H»lf a column • »JJ
One column ***J*. UW • i-k
Administrators and Kxecutors Notices , * 10
Merchants advertising by the year, three squares,
with Überty tochange V.““*q 1 w
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding 8
lines with paper, per year.....
Communications of a political character or individual in
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Advertisemen * not marked with the number of inser
tions desired, will be continued till forbid and charged ac*
fording to the above terms. . .
Business notices five cents per line for every insertion.
Obituary notices exceeding ten lines, fifty cents a square
TRIBUNE DIRECTORY.
CHURCHES, MINISTERS, AC.
PRESBYTERIAN—Rev. Baku, Pastor—Preaching
•TK7 SahhatU morning at 11 o’clock, and in the evening
»t 7 o'clock. Prayer Meeting iu the Lecture Room every
Wednesday evening at 7 o’clock. Sabbath School in same
room at 9}{ o'clock in the morning.
METHODIST EPISCOPAL—Rev. W. Leb Spotskood,
Futor.— Preaching every Sabbath morning at U o’clock,
ssd In the evening at 7 o’clock. Prayer Meeting lit the
Lecture Bdom every Wednesday evening at 7 o'clock.—
Ssbb&tb School in t hesorueroom at 2 o’clock P. M.
EVANGELICAL LUTHERAN—Rev. C.L; EntKiFSU),
Pastor.— Preaching every Sabbath morning nt 11 o’clock,
and In the evening at 7 o’clock. Prayer Meeting, in tho
Lecture Room every Wednesday evening at 7 o’clock.—
Sabbath School in same room at 9 o’clock A. 51.
BAPTIST—Rev. A. H. Sbkbowbe, Pastor.—Preaching
•rary Sabbath morning at 11 o'clock, and iu tho eveniugat
7 g’cleck. Prayer Mooting every Wednesday evening at
7 o'clock. Sabbath School at 9 o'clock A. %I.
UNITED BRETHREN—:Rev. Sahcsi Kbphabt, Pastor.
Preaching every Sabbath morning at 11 o'clock.andiu the
eveuingat 7 o'clock. Prayer Meetingiu tbo Lecture Room
every Wednesday evening at 7 o’clock. Sabbatn School in
the same room at 8 o’clock in the morning.
PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL—(No tegular Pastor.)—
Preaching on Sabbath morning at 11 o’clock, and in the
tTeolUg at 7 o’clock. Prayer Meeting every Wednesday
evening at 7 o’clock. Sabbath School at 9 o’clock A. M.
ENGLISH Jonjf Turco. Pastor—Di
vloo services every Sabbath morning at o’clock and
la theaflerhoon at 3 o’clock. Sabbath School at 2 o'clock
la the afternoon.
GERMAN CATHOLIC—Rev, , Pastor.
—Divine services every Sabbath morning at o’clock,
and in the afternoon at 3 o’clock. Sabbath Scnool at 1
o'clock iu the afternoon.
AFRICAN METHODIST—Rev. Alexander Joaxsxpn,
Pastor.—Preaching every Fourth Sabbath in each mouth.
Prayer Meeting every Friday evening nt 7 o'clock. Sab
bath School at 2 o’clock In the afternoon.
RAIL ROAD SCHEDULE.
ON AMD AFTSE MONDAY, JAN. 27, 1502, TRAINS
*lll autre at and leara Altoona Station a. fullows;
Biptotv Train Kastarrivea y. 35 r. 31.. leaven 9,65 P. 51
'• “ Wait “ B.UO A. It. “ S.4OA.M
Fait ‘‘ Kaat “ 7,40 A.M. “ 7.55.A.M
“ “ Wot “ 8,55 P. M., “ S,lo:P.m'
Hall “ .'Xut 11.50 A. 31., 12.05 P.M
“ “ W«»t “. 345 P.M., “ 3,30 P..M
Th« lIOLHDAY3BURG BRANCH connects with Ei
proM Train Wut, and Fait Line and Mail Train Bast and
ITe.t. !
INDIANA BRANCH TRAINS connoct with'Mail train
and Johnstown Accommodation Rost and West, Express
West, and with Local Freights.
ENOCH LEWIS, Ctn'l Si.pt.
MAILS CLOSE AND OPEN.
MAILS CLOSE.
Butern Way,
Western Way..
Hotlidaysburg
Western Through.
Eastern Thraugh.
51 AILS ARRIVE.
HolUdaysborg. 6.15 A.M. A 11 15 A.JI,
western Through 3 jq a. M
Eastern .Through g jo *•
Western Way 11 22 a. M,
Butern Way ...., .-. 1 55 p. m,
Ornca Homs:—During the week, from 6 45 a. si. till
7 *(.«. On Sundays, from 7 45 till 3 fit) s. m.
OEO. W. PATTON P. M
MEETINGS OF ASSOCIATIONS.
MOUNTAIN LODGE, No. 261. A. V. M.. meets on second
Tuesday of each month, at 7% o’clock P. 31., in 010 third
story of the Masonic Temple,
MOUNTAIN K. A. CHAPTER, No. 189, R. A. C„ meets
on the first Thursday of each month, at ~]j o’clock P. M.,
In mime room as above.
MOUNTAIN: COUNCIL, No. 9. R.A S. M, meets on the
fitat Monday of each month, at ~'A o'clock; F. il,, in same
room as abore. -
mountain commandery, No. 10, k. t. mept* on
lbs fourth Tuesday of each month, at o’clock F.H-,
»n same room as above.
ALTOONA lodge; No;47S, 1.0. of 0. Fa meet# every
/ruißy atßuing; at 7u o’clock, in the second story of the
Masonic Temple. ,
VERANDA LODGE. No. 532, 1.0. of 0. F., meets every
1 aMday evening; at VA o'clock, in third story of PattcmV
fluiuJing, on Virginia street.
" INSEBAGO TRIBE, No. 35, I. 0. R. M., meeU every
ruesday evening in the second atory of Moronic Temple.
.?m i ls" kin hled »t 7th run 30th breath.
a AhTiEINA DIVISION, N 0.311, S. of T., meets every
rsturday evenirig, at 7 o’clock, in the second atory of the
Masonic Temple. . ..
„ State officers.
Androvt Q. Curtin.
“mtory *afc-KH Blifer.
jGnwref—WiUiam M. Meredith.
Auditor Ontcrul—Thomas E. Cochran.
General—William L. Wright.
Agutrmt Cetimi-E. M. Biddle. *
IVomuTr—Jleury D. Moore.
COUNTY OFFICERS.
' r% f/r U —rreei ' k ' ut Judge, lion George Tar-
Saiuml Adam. Mow*
«af« fiowtof-Hon. Lrwii. IT, U.ll,
AntmNjmoe—tliaddeus B»iik«.
•jwjjwto’jf—Anthony S. Morrow.
2Wer«lid^ec«rdpr_lI ug h A . Caldwell. •
Mark*.
S" Se'Jamin L. Ilowit. (
We.W a &-° wr « e L ' Co-*-. Ooorgo Koon,
Surveyor —Jmiits 1.. Gwln.
Good, WiUi.m Borloy , Drrid
U. Lloyd, Kobt.il.MM.imgr, L.i.
S^y-A.J.Froenuui.
“TO'uttemfeßt o/Cbmmoii Schoolt—lohn Mitchell.
ALTOONA BOROUGH OFFICERS;
“• ***"*' Jolm Mccieu*nd
io R »S U^ a rn£:^^s' , n , l. lI J. nit, ' Ijau B hm * n > John Mc ;
w!ei ißWghman.
Shoemaker, J.B.
*■ •*•
K •K'r- «■:
a " mi *> and Sdml IVuv-jo..
a C -’ r x - “cCormi*.
335?,* J - *-• Jtol/rajdor.
„ . * f WMtWMdP-Johnt'W^-.
fSlfiK
* r * h *obt. MoComkk, Jobs Grads.
ll 00 A.M,
6OO “
8 09 A. 31. A 11 #0 A. 31,
7 00 P, M
7OO •<
ffcrirt §«ttrg.
Prom the Philadelphia 1 Evening Bulletin.
THE TRIUMPH OF THE RIGHT.
BT RICHABD COE
Let every loyal heart to-day ;
Send op a about of praise ;
Unto the mighty Triune God,
Tho Author of our days;
That' lie hath given victory : ;
Unto the cause of right,
And laid the rebel nilnions low J
Beneath tho'bloody fight!
ITe know full well our cause is just—
Our men both-true and brave;
That Freedom’s banner ne’er waq meant 1
To float above tho slave;
We know that “truth when crushed to earth
Will rise again” In might; ;
And, knowing this, wo give to God
The glorjr of the fight I
We have a faith, outreaching time,
That this out laud shall bo
The heritage of all the earth, -
That labor to ho free—
That stricken millions shall arise,
And kindle at the sight;
Believing this we give to God
Tho glory of the fight 1
Now, unto each and eVery-nno
That hastened to the field,
Tho homage of a nation's praise.
With grateful hearts we yield I
But unto Him who led our ho*ta,
And bared hi* arm of might)
To Him we gite the choicest praise.
The glory of tho light!
Then let each loyal heart today
Send up a shout of praise
Unto the mighty Triune God,
The Author of our days;
That He hath coat the victory
Unto the cause of right,
And laid the rebel minions low
Beneath the bloody fight I
THE DYING SOLDIEE,
A True Story.
The chaplain came at last to a cot, set
somewhat by itself outside the wards.—
Here, reclining at length, was a young
man, whose face bore slight traces of suf
fering. It was flushed with a hue like
unto health ; the eyes were undimmed, and
only the positiop of his hands, which were
thrown over his head and locked in almost
spasmodic tightness, told tlmt he was in
pain. He was unusually iioble in liis
countenance. His brow was broad and
fair, and the thick locks that clustered back
from the temples, curled like the ringlets of
a boy. He knew not why, but the chaplain
experienced an unusual and sudden sympa
thy for this young man, struck down in his
beauty; still he felt that there was no im
mediate danger.
“How is he wounded?” ho of
the surgeon, as the two approached the
bed, softly.
“In the right side below the ribs,” was
the reply.
“Is lie in danger?”
“O! no; that is, not at present. The
ease may take a bad turn, to be sure; but
it looks very well now. Charles,” ho ad
ded, addressing the sick man familiarly,
“ the chaplain is going the rounds, would
you like to see him?”
“0! certainly!” exclaimed the young
man, smiling. “I am very glad to sec
him,” and he held out ids hand. His
voice was strong and ringing, as with the
highest health, his clasp was vigorous.
“1 am sorry to find you wounded, un
friend.” said the chaplain.
“ Q ! only the casualty of war ; wd must
some of us expect it, you know.” '
“Do you suffer much ?”
“At times, sir, very severely; I feel so
well, only the distress here,” and he pres
sed his liand to his side.
“You vyill be up soon, I hope.”
‘ “I trust so, sir; the doctors say it is a
bad wound but will yield with tare. 1
only wish I had my mother ; here. She
has heard of it, and doubtless; started be
fore tl)is. It will seem so Comfortable to
ace Jier; 3011 don’t know how I long for
lief.”
AJj ! mothers, you are first thought of
when the hardy soldier feels the pang of
pain. It is your name he calls, your form
ho sees through the mists ofdolinum, your
voice he hears in every gentle word that
is spoken. He knows whoso touch will
be fendercst, through the sympathy of sirf
i fering, he knows who lias borne the most
for him; and on the tented field, the holy
name of mother receives a fresh baptism of
love and beauty. _ :
“I can imagine how you feel,” said the
chaplain, “and I have no doubt you will
see her soon. Meanwhile you know there
is a Friend who will be to you more than
mother or father, sister or brother.”
“ I realise that, sir,” said the young
man. “lam a professor of religion, and
have been for years. When 1 was shot,
aye, and before, J commended' my soul to
him- for life or death; but I confess I have
much to Kve for. I am not 'brought yet
where I am perfectly willing to die/'
“It may be for the reason that you are
not yet called to dje,’’ replied the chaplain,
“ » n JiGa you ipow it li lihehlie im
After a short prayer, the minister and
the sick man parted, “IJesecms very
ALTOONA, PA., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1862. .
strong and sanguine,” he said, as he met
the surgeon again, “ and likely to recover.”
“No doubt of it, sir, no doubt,” was
the hasty reply of the surgeon, as he
passed on!
The hour,of midnight had struck from
the great halL Slowly and solemnly it
knelled the departing moments, and the
echo rolled through the halls, vibrating on
many an car tliat would never hear the
sound of the striking hours again. The
chaplain still sat up in his own room wri
ting lettere for three or four of the wound
ed soldiere, and a strange stillness fell
around him as he closed the last sheet and
set back with folded hands, to think. He
could not tell why, but do what and go
where he Would, the face of the young
volunteer with whom he had spoken last,
haunted him. lie arose to move to the
window where the breeze was cooler,
when a knock was heard at the door, and
a rapid voice called “Chaplain.” lie
hurried to lift the latch. The surgeon
stood there, looking like a shadow in the
dim moonlight tliat crept into the pas-
sage.
“ Chaplain, sorry to disturb you, and
more sorry still to give you an unpleasant
duty to perform.”
“ Why, what Is it?” was the quick re
joinder.
' “ The fine young fellow- whom you
talked with is going.”
“ What! you do not mean—-”
“ Won’t live an hour or two at the
most. I tried Id tell him, but 1 couldn’t;
and finally I thought of you. You cun
ease it you know.”
A great shadow fell on the chaplain ;
for a moment he was stimned :md choked,
and his voice grew husky as he replied:
‘•lt is a sad errand, but none the less
my duty. To or fellow! I can’t realize it,
indeed, I cannot. His voice was .‘so strong,
his manner so-natural! I’ll be there
presently.” And left alone, be threw
himself upon his knees to wrestle for more,
strength in prayer.
The atmosphere was tilled with low
sighs from the stragglers with pain and
disease. Going softly up to the couch at (
which he had stood before, the chaplain
gazed upon the face before him. It looked
as calm as that of a sleeping infant, but
lie did not sleep. Hearing a slight noise,
his eyes flew open and rested with some
surprise upon the chaplain.
“ I Iclt as if I must "see you again be
fore I retired,” said the latter, striving to
steady bis voice. ‘‘How do you feel
now?”
“O! better, X thank yon : in fact almost
well. The pain is gone, and 1 feel quite
hopeful. 1 rather think the surgeon docs,
though he said nothing.”
Again that fearful swelling in the chap
lain’s throat. How should he tell him of
his danger?—how prepare the mind so
eahply resting on almost a certainty?—
the poor, hopeful soul that, would never
look with earthly eyes on the mother he
so longed for. Another moment, and the
young man appeared to be struck with
some peculiarity in the face or movements
of the chaplain.. The large eyes sought
his with an intensencss that was painful,
and strove to interpret that which made
the difference between this and his former
demeanor.
“Your cares weary yon, chaplain,” lie
Slid quietly: “you must be very 'faithful
for it is past midnight.”
“I was on the point of going to bed
when I was called to prepare a dying man
for his last horn:,” was the tearful res
ponse.
! what poor fellow- goes next ?”
rejoined the, young man, with a look of
mournful inquiry.
There was no answer; for the wealth
of the world the chaplain could not have
spoken now. That tone so unconscious of
danger; that cyo so full of sympathy!
Still a strange silence! What did it
mean? The sick man’s inquiring glance
changed for a moment to one of intense
terror. He raised both arms—let them
fall heavily on the coverlet at his side,
and in a voice totally altered by emotion,
he gasped:
“Great heaven kyou mean me.”
“My dear friend?” said the chaplain
unmanned.
“I am to die, then—and—how—long?”
Ms eyes once more sought those of his
chaplain. - V
“Yon have made your peace with God,
let death come as soon it will, lie will
carry you'over the river;” ,
“Yes; but this is awfully sudden! aw
fully sudden !” his lips Quivered; he looked
up gricviugly—“and shall I not see my
mother.” \
“ Crhist is bettor than a mur
mured the cliaplain. i \
“Yes.” The wprd came in a whisper.
His eyes were closed; the lips still worh
that trembling grief, as if the chastisement
were 100 sore, too hard to be home, but
as the minutes passed, and the soul lifted
itself pp stronger and more steadily upon
the wings of prayer, the countenance grew
calmer, the lip steadier, and when the eyes
were opened again, there was a light in
their depths that could have come only
torn heaven. * '
“I thank you for your courage*” he
[iKDEPEKDEKT IN EVEKTTffiNG.]
said, more feebly, taking the hand of the
chaplain. “ The bitterness fa over now
and I feel willing to die. Tell my moth*
er”—he paused, gave one sob, dry, and
full of the last,anguish of earth—“tell her
how I longed to see her, but;if God will
permit me, I will be near hear. Tell her
to comfort all who loved me, to say that
I thought of them all. Tell my father
that I am glad he gave me his consent,
and that otlier father's will mourn for oth
er sons. Tell my minister, by word. or
letter, that I thought of him,, and that’ I
thank him for all his counsels! Tell him
I find that Christ will not desert tho pas
sing soul; and that I wish him to giro
my testimony to the' living, that nothing
is of real worth but the religion of Jesus.
And now will you pray for me 1”
O! what emotions swelled the heart of
that devoted man, as he knelt by the bed
side of that dying volunteer, the young
soldier of Christ ; and with tones so low
that only the car of God, and that of him
who was passing away could hear, besought
God’s grace and presence. Never in all
his cxpenenc had his heart been so pow
erfully wrought upon; never, bad a feel
ing of such unutterable tenderness taken
possession of his soul. He seemed already
in the presence of a gloried spirit; and af
ter the prayer was over, restraining his
sobs, be bent down, and pressed upon the
beautiful brow, already chilled with the
breath of the coming angel, twice, thrice,
a fervent kiss. They might have been
as tokens from the father and the mother,
as well as himself. So perhaps thought
the dying soldier, for a heavenly smile
touched his face with new beauty, as, he
said: “Thank you! I wont trouble you
any longer; you are wearied out—go to
your rest.”
“The Lord God be with you!” was the
fervent response.
“Amen!” trembled from the Cist white-
ning lips.
Another hour passed. The chaplain
still moved uneasily about las room.—
There were hurried sounds, overhead, and
footsteps on the stairs. He opened his
door: encountered the surgeon/ who whis
pered one little word—
“Gone.”
Christ’s soldier had found the Captain
of his’salvation.
JOHN RANDOLPH OUTDONE,
Of the marry anecdotes of this eccentric
man of Roanoke, we don’t believe the fol
lowing was ever iu print: *
He was traveling in a part of. Virginia
with which he was unacquainted. In the
meantime, he stopped during the night at
an-inn near the forks of the road. The
inkeepor was a tine old gentleman, and, no
doubt, of one of the lirst families of the
Old Dominion. Knowing who this dis
tinguished guest was. he endeavored fo
draw him into conversation, but failed in
all his efforts. But in the morning, when
Mr. Randolph was ready to star t, he called
for his bill, which, on being presented,
was paid. The landlord, still anxious to
have some conversation with liiiir, began
as follows;
“ Which way arc you travelling, Mr-.
Randolph?”
“Sir!” said Randolph, with a look of
displeasure.
“I asked,” said the landlord, ,“ which
way are you traveling?”
“Havel paid inv bill?” -
“ Yes.” ' - *
“Do Lowe you anything more?”
“No.”
“ Well, I am going just where I please—
you understand?”
“ Yes.”
“The landlord by this time got some
what exqitcd, and .Mr. Randolph drove off.
But, to the landlords surprise, in a few
minutOs the servant returned to inquire
which of the forks of the road to take.—
Randolph not being out of hearing distance,
the landlord spoke at the top of Iris voice;
“Mr. Randolph, you don’t owe me one
cent! just take which road you please.”
It is said that the’ air turned blue with
the curses of Randolph.
•faT Many years ago a man appeared in
court, whether as: plaintiff, defendant or
witness, tradition docs not inform; us. Be
this as it may the following dialogue en
sued:
Court—What’is your name, sir? ;
Answer—My name is Knott Martin,
your- honor.
C.—Well, what is it? '
A.—lt is Knott Martin.
C.—“ Knott Martin,” again! We don’t
risk you what your name is not* but what
it is. No contempt of Court, sir.
A.—lf honor will give mo leave
I’il spell my name.
C.—Well, spell it.
\ double t, Knott, M-sr-r-t-i-n,
Martin—-Knott Martin.
C.—O, very well, Mr. Martin, we see
through it now, but it is one of the most
knotty cases we have had before us for
some time. ; ■'
jjar “Much unsung,” as the
tom-cat remarked to lire brickbat when it
abruptly cut short Iris serenade!
CLERICAL ANECDOTES.
"Wherever the rifle and the axe of the
hardy pioneer were seen, there were also
sure to appear not long. afterwards the
saddle bags of the Methodist minister.-
An anecdote which we find in: the sketch
of Richmond Nolley well illustrates this.
Mr. Nolley was one of a small bond of
missionaries sent out from the South Car
olina conference, about 1812, to labor in
the wilds of Mississippi and; Louisiana
winch were then very sparsely settled, and
occupied: to some extent by tribes of not
always .friendly Indians. Mr. Nolleywas
a man of great energy, zeal and courage.
He was exposed to many dangers in the
prosecution in his work both from the hos
tile savages:and the opposition of white
men. Rut he was rigidly faithful, and
omitted no opportunity; of doipg good to
persons of any color or condition, in what
ever obscure comer he could find them
On one occasion, while traveling ho came
upon a fresh wagon-track and following it
he discovered an emigrant family who had
just reached the spot where they interided
to make their home. The man, who was
just putting out his team, saw at once; by
the costuipe and bearing of the stranger,
what his calling was land exclaimed,
“What! another Methodist preacher? I
quit Virginia to get oat of the way of
them, and went into a new settlement in
Georgia, where I thought I should be quite
beyond their reach, but they got my vvife
and daughter into the church. ' Then, in
this lute purchase/ Choctaw Comer, I
found a piece of good hind, and was Sure
I should have some peace of the preachers,
but here is one before my wagon is un
loaded.” “My friend,” said Nplley^“if
you go to heaven, you’ll find Methoclist
preachers there; and if to hell, I’m afraid
yofrll find some there; and you sec how it
is in this world. So you had better make
terms with uS, arid be at peace.’! ;
Hope Hull was one of the pioneers of
the denomination in Georgia, and Ids fiiniie
was very extensive in that section, lie
was not at all a' facetious map, hut liis
wonderful penetration into character with
his honest directness in dealing with souls,
sometimes gayc to his language all thoap
positencss of genuine wit. On one occa
sion while a circuit missionary, after
preaching he met the class, or of
the society, and spoke with them, is
customary, respecting their religious expe
rience. After going through with the
members,»he turned to an elderly man kit
ting apart; and inqured after his spiritual)
state. The old gentleman, after some hes
itation, replied: “I am like old Paul, —
when I Would do good, evil is present with
me.” To /which Mr. Hull; answered,;
“I’m afraid you arc like old Noah too, —
get drunk sometimes!” He was: a perfect
stanger to; liim but it was a centre shot; j
for the poor' old man was a drunkard. : I
Billy Hibbard was one of the most ec
centric of characters, but withal a most
agreeable person, and a man of unbounded
good will. Of large general information,
with an ease of manner which made him ;
equally: uti home in the highest and in the
lowest circles, bis remarkable powers of
conversation and exuberant yet sensible
pleasantry, together with his enterprising
religious zeal, made him wonderfully pop
ular and successful! in his calling. No
man was ever a heartier Anninian than
he, and the Five Points of : Calvinism,
were almost sure to receive a ; blow some
where in his sermon, no matter what the
'theme or the text. Yet he was always on
the most, intimate terms with this preadi
ers of the antagonistic theology. Brother
Hibbard, said a good Presbyterian friend,
“you hurt iny feelings yesterday.” Why
how Brother did Ido that ? He referred
him to some doctrinal remark: in the dis
course. “ Oh,” said Hibbard, “I’m sorry
you took that/ —I meant that for the devil
and you have stepped in and taken the
blow. Don’t get between me and the
devil, brother,' and then you won’t got
hurt.” '
On one occasion he had a newspaper
controversy oh some theological topic with
Dr. Lyman Beecher, the disputants being
personally! strangers. Not long after,
while journeying on horseback ih Connec
ticut, the two met. Dr. Beecher Suspected
his companion to be a preacher- but could
not draw out the fact by any indirect con
versation till "he asked him plumply, “ are
you not a minister of the gospel? “I am,”
said Hibbard, i “ Dp you belong to the
standing order?” “No, I belong to the
kneeling order.” So characteristic a reply
unmistakably indicated Billy Hibbard to
the shrewd mind of his interlocutor, and he
at once ihtroduced himself. The .acquaint
ance thus begun was an amicable one. ‘
His ready hit never failed him. Once
when the roll-call of the conference gaye
his home a? William, he arose and objected
to answering to that name, insisting that
his name Ms Billy. “ Why Brother Hib
bard,” £oid Bishop Asbury, “Billy is a
little boy’s name.” “Yes, bishop,” Ire re
plied, “and I w?s a litle boy when my fa
ther gave it Jq me.” ■
Tins quality |n these pioneer npsach|rB
was by no jbeans a rare one, ana iteome
times became a most effectives weapon,
whether Jpfilencing an antagonist, reptd
siirg a cayiiei’, or giving desk to n.spt*ml
EDITORS AND PROPRIETORS.
: intercourse. Of Jesse lee, the early ympt
tie of Methodism in New England, it iso
lated that one day, while traveling oh
i horseback, he fell in in with two hyjffli
who taking a place oh each side of him*
to quiz him. They inquired if he
wrote his sermons. He replied in the neg
ative. But do you not sometimes make
mistakes, for instance, in quoting scrip-'
tore? “Perhaps so, sometimes, but not
often.” “A\ lien you find you have made
a mistake, do you not correct it?” Not
always; if it involves no essential I lot it
pass. The other day I tried to. repeat the
passage where it says the devil is a Bar
and the father of them; I got it “ The devil
is a lawyer and the father of them,” but I
hardly thought it necessary to rectify so'
unimportant an error. By this time one
pf the young sprigs was prompted to re
piark to the other, ho hardly knew whether
(the fellow was a knave or a fool Lee
glanced meaningly on either hand, and re
plied, perhaps between the two. The
young gentlemen by this time concluded to
leave tfic itinerant to his own meditations.
i —North American Reviac. !
Public Funerals in England.
Albert - had -a decided aversion to
expensive or extensive obsequies, and it
■>vas in accordance with Ids known wishes
‘hut his funeral was conducted in suck a
tpiiet unpretending manner, and in tips
connection it might be remarked that the
aversion to public funerals isfgfowing m
England. The hist Duke of Portland,
onei of the wealthiest noblemen in Eng
land, expressly directed in his will that
the expenses of his funeral should not ex*
c ecd £lOO. The mortal remains of the
late Lord Herbert were carried by Ids
pwn servants from his mansion 1° the by
zantine church, winch he had built, and
Wore followed by bis widow, his children,
and lus tenantiy, all on foot. The body
of Sir James Graham reposes in a coun*
try churchyard, under a plain stone bear
ing onjy his name with the date of his
'birth and death. The late Duke of Sus
sex, the Duchess of Gloucester, and the
Princess Sophia,'the uncle and aunt of
the Queen, who were entitled to a rovid
funeral in the chapel at Windsor, chose
to be interred in one of the public < ceme
teries in London. The Duchess of Jvpnt,
the Queen’s mother, desired to be hurled
in tlie garden of Frogmore, and her fu
neral was quite private, with no official
pomp. So it was with the Prince’s Con*
sort. ‘
; A “ Zealous” Colonel vs. a “ Zeal*
ous” Chaplain— One of tho Chaplains
of the Army of the Potomac called on a
Colonel noted for his profamty, in orddr
tg talk about the religious interests of his
njien. \Mo was politely received, and beek
oped to a seat on a chest. h “
: “Colonel,” said he, “you have one of
the finest regiments in the army.”
“I think so,” replied the Colonel.
“Do you think you pay sufficient atten
tipn to the religious instruction of your
men ]” " s j ' V- pt
“Well, I don’t know,” was the Colonel’s
answer. • • , ;
“A lively interest,” remarked the Ghapi
lain, “Imp been awakened in the ~
regiment; the Lord has blessed thplaborp
of his servants, and ten men have I>e&
already baptized I” [This was a 1 rival re
giment] . >■■■■ ,■ ;
“Is that so, pon honor?” asked the
Colonel. '
Yes, sir,” replied the Chaplain.
“ Sergeant,” said the Colonel to an at
tending orderly, “have fifteen men de
tailed, immediately, to be baptized - I’ll
bp -j if I’ll be outdone in anyrespect!!’
j I lie Chaplain took a note of the inter
view, and withdrew.
; A kind hearted ivilb once waited
on a physician to request him to prescribe
for her husband’s eyes, which wore sore.
“Let huu wash them every morning Vri'th
brandy,” said the doctor. A few
after the doctor chanced to meet the wtfr
‘“Well has your husband followed my 'ash.
vice?” “He has done evetything inlils
power to do-it, doctor, hut never
get the brandy higher than his month.”
i WiIAT A EpiJXMBk
TV anted at this office, a bulldogs nt gijy
color except pumpkin and milk ;of res
pectable size, sntffi nbee,
bpmted
—who can com whea calfel ||y
beefsteak, and will bite the naan who spits
tobacco-juice «n the stove, and sfeafaTthe
exchanges. w 5 -v -*,*s
- ■ 2 . ... :
| Pious Dabkey.—“ wKj^»»tyow
to yoar massa,
bps trcasureB.in SeiVftii?’*'
Hy§ C ? e «»
jßP^‘Whatcaa aiiaaft
mm
NO. 4.
Hvit