;-m : ?*y. I, Pa. Mk&wiiHi' ralrot :; UL itf Ts 9*mmk**r *r. 5 U i\ j ' p. iy pi s 2 *ll U ■* £3s Itoonynd LBI«, '• Hand!* unfcctare. t~j,T ■ - S, RAJ^i-NS^, iftb* j««t. Mdaases. Bntfrr, £ WHEAT FLOUR, , OQRK *pj,; town. "'” •../ - / - - Tinfttf ißiiß . esmc&ts t ariWßr'l^B mttcn, th» J lr«ct, Imtjt; IDES rgtala itiMtt t^sedtaMi " ■■*, ' 04*^300Jume r'T Z ~'i McCRUM & BERN, VOL- 7. the altooha TRIBUNE. i U. C. MUM, fi. “• ua> WOFUMOIB. ■annul. inrnrUWy to vlnacej SWO. it IS» explr»tUm«f thettaw piiii f» r timift o? juivMffifi* o - _ . 1 insertion 2 do. 3 do. ... « 25 $ 87}4 $ M < * U “ < . .... 1 00 1 60 2 00 I« Yq, « C... 1 60 2 00 2 60 I o"-r”«» TRIBUNEDIRECT^ C HURCHEB- MINISTERS, AC. •SSSS£tt:»hS atg=23 j&s-jsrihsaE iiissiais , t tu o'clock in the morning. METHODIST BPISeOPAL-nov. W. .' ," _Pre»chine»v»ry Sabbath morning at U u clock, rlhiilio evening it 7 o’clock. Pr^yorMcetmginthe Jtnre Boom every Wednesday evening. ‘t p < M ° Ck ” oabbath School in the same room at 2 o’clock P. M. ‘ BVAViKLtCAL LDTHBHAN-Bev. C. L. t«i!ireßoum evfry Wednesday evening at 7 o clock.- I,l, lath School In same room at 9 o’clock A. M. mffljT-Kev, A. H. Ssnnowta, Pastor -iPraaehing , . -v Sabbath morning at 11 o’clock, and in the evenmgat Vclock. Prayer Meeting every Wednesday evening at ■ /clock Sabbath Sclioel at 9 o’clock A. M. UNITED BKKTURBX-Bev. Biku.l Kwhjjw. Pastor. Preaching every Sabbsth morning at 11 o clock.andin thn . - o’clock Prayer Meeting hi the Lecture Boom 7 o’clock. Sabbat* School in die iame room at S o'clock in the morning. PIIOTBSTANT KPI9COPAL-% “To and fro,'to and fro, little one, sleep— Angels their watch o’er thy cradle shall keep; To and fro, to ah 1 fro, thus its we i;ock, Boftly and solemnly ticketh the clock, And the swift moments, while hurrying by, Lnllably, InlUbly. sing an they fly.” snt the light momenta bear years on their wing— Sommer and Autumn and Winter and Spring Quickly succeeding, pass quickly away, And the yonng parents are oarewofn and gray, Children are. gathered by table and fire, Bleating and honor to mother and sire. Still the old cradle rocks steadily there. Still there are treasures to trust to its care, He who Its pilluw in infancy prest. Soothed by the sung of a mother to rest, -Now in his manhood stands proud at it* aide, Watching the sleeper with fatherly pride, And the old cradle as lovingly still Guards like a casket 1 its jewel from ill. Gone are the aged ones now to repose, Sleep which nor dreaming nor wearioeas knows— Gone are the children who grew by their side Far from the home of their childhood and vide, And the old cradle, forsaken, forlorn, To its long rest in the garret is borne. Yet not forever its usefulness o’er. In age it is summoned to service once more. Another new-comer, bewildered, astray, Would sleep in thy bosom ita troubles away. Bot for the love that Ita sorrows would share, Alas! for the ceaseless and weariless care, A guardian sterner is sought In thy room, And the sleep of the cradle exchanged for the tomb. Rest, then, old friend, in a quiet profound, Stirred not or startled by movement or sound, Or, if the wind, with Its deep, mtmrnful sigb, Bring to the memories long since gone by, Softly as one whamfty.munnnr in sleep. Rock in thy dreams, and thy eolifnde keep. INCIDENT OP THE REVOLUTION. The Diaguised Lieutenant* ‘ It was while the American .army was freezing and starving at Valley Forge, and the British army were rioting and luxuri ating in Philadelphia, that a lame, dirty, beggarly looking fellow, walking with a crutch, approached the northern outpost of the royal forces, andj .with a simple, idiotic laugh and leer, announced his intention of entering the city, and taking the British general prisoner. “ Indeed! then I shall be Voider the ne cessity of arresting you,” said a young sub altern, winking at some of his companions, and assuming a serious air." “He! he! ho!” laughed the idiot; “just you try it—that’s all.” “ Why, my good fellow, what would you do? “Do 1” exclaimed the other, drawing himself up with an air of defiance—“why, I’d tell the great General Washington.” “Then, I’m afraid to enter upon your arrest, so pass on; you will probably find Gen. Howe prepared to receive you.” The idiot suddenly looked s troubled, glancing about him wearily and suspicious ly, as if he feared he might meet the gen eral he was so boldly going to capture, but finally hobbled off toward the city. With some such silly dialogue he got past the different sentries, who seemed to give him no thought beyond the amusement of the time. By night ho was; fairly within the town, and kept on his way,' sometimes humming snatches of old songs, and, in general, not much noticed by any.— Through one street after another, he con tinued to hobble forward, until he came to one of great length, containing a block of three-story respectable looking houses, which might have been occupied by per sons in middle circumstances. This street was not lighted, and appeared deserted, so that when he stopped before one of the dwellings he was not perceived. He" knocked at the door. A woman’s head appeared at “the second story window. “Won’t yon give me something to eat, ma’am? I’m nearly starved,” said the idiot. “ Yes, poor fellow!” replied the woman, in a kindly tone; “in a minute I will hand yon something.” Soon after a lower shutter was pushed back, and a hand containing some bread rand matt was thrust out. “Mother,” said a low voice. “ Gracious Heavenl” ■exclaimed thefe- Tpaln within, in an agitated tone. “Hush!” returned the beggar, in a , guarded whisper. \ A moment after the door was thrown open. “Yes, ma’am—thank you—don’t care if I do,” as if in answer to an invitation to come in, at the same time crossing the threshold with an appearance of deep hu miliation. ' The moment the door closed behind him the man dropped his crutch, and flung his arms around the other, fairly sobbing— “ Mother! dear, dear, mother!” “William!” exclaimed the other, press ing the ragged mendicant to her heart; “oh, my dear, dear William! what is the meaning of this? and how is it that I find you in this sad plight ?” “ I have passed the British lines in this disguise, playing the fool to the sentries. But tell me how you are, dear mother, and how you fare in these troublesome times?” “ indifferently well, my son. The Brit ish are our masters bore; but so far I have little to complain of in the way of per- sonal treatment.; Provisions are very scarce and high, and only by the strictest econo my shall I bo able to live through, if they continue to retain possession of the city any considerable time. Your sister Mary is at your uncle’s in Delaware, and will deeply regret that she has missed this op portunity of seeing you.” “ Are you alone, mother?” “No; two English gentlemen are board ing with me.”’ “Do they belong to the army?” inquired the young man, quickly, uneasily; “and are they in the house 1 ?” “ No, they appear to be private gentle men of some means, and neither is within at present. Hut you look troubled; have you anything to fear, my son ?” “ If detected, I may be hung as a spy.” “ Good Heavens 1” exclaimed the mother, in alarm; “you terrify me. Are you here without permission.? without a pass ?” “ Yes—-did I not say I played the fool to the sentries, and got past them?” “ But I thought that was for your own amusement. Oh, William, if you should be discovered-. Why did you venture in this desperate manner ?” “I could not get a pass, and I was so anxious to see you and Mary, that I re- solved to risk all.” “ Quick, then, come up stairs, and let us fix up a hiding-place at once, before anything happens. Oh, William, I am so alarmed.” Both hastened to the third story, and after considering several places, decided that the loft, close under the roof, might be the best place for concealment, as the trap-door leading to it could be fastened underneath, which would tend to blind the search; while the young man, if pressed, could escape to the roof, and by means of a long rope, fastened to •the chimney, could lower himself either into the street or yard. This would not insure his escape,, but it was the best plan the two could think of, and served to ; render both less fearful of detection and the serious consequences.— Having provided the rope, the mother hastened to bring up large quantities of food, which he soon began to devour with ravenous appetite, which showed he had told no untruth when in the character of a beggar, he .had declared himself in a state bordering on starvation. While he was eating, his mother plied him with questions concerning the army at Valley Forge, in which he had a lieuten ant’s commission, and which he hadleft on a furlough, and the answers of the young soldier depicted a state of destitution and suffering that caused his hearer to weep for very sympathy. Three thousand sol diers were down on the sick list at one time, and without the common necessaries of life, had perished by hundreds; while of those capable of doing duty, scarcely any had a blanket to cover him at night, Or food enough to keep soul and body together. Pale, emaciated, ragged and dirty, many with their bare feet upon the frozen earth, they walked shivering through the camp by day, and crowded themselves together by night, to get what little warmth they could from each other’s bodies—the most forlorn and wretched set of beings that ever a nation called to arms. “ God help us!” ejaculated the mother, in a dejected tone. “ I suppose, after all our hardships, we shall be compelled to succumb to our tyrannical foes.” “ Never!” cried the youngofficer, “while there is a thousand men left in our country to make a desperate standi We can only be conquered by annihilation; and if it is God’s will that a tyrant should rule oyer this broad continent, not a single true heart will live to feel the oppression and disgrace. Ere that time, dear mother, I shall be beyond the reach'of earthly mon archs!” “God bless you, William !” cried the mother, enthusiastically grasping his.hand. “Your father's spirit speaks in you. He died on the battle-field with those senti ments in hia heart; and 1 freely give you —my only son and hope—to the glprious cause which; his Mood'and that of thous ands of others has hallowed,” For severe! days the intrepid young offi cer remained beneath his mother's roof, supposing his presence to be known only to themselves. But, one evening at the end of his furlough, when he was begin- {independent in everything.] ALTOONA, PA., THURSDAY, APRtL 3, 1862. * mug to think about preparing for his se cret-departure, an officer and six men ap peared at the door, and said he had, orders to arrest one William Buggies, supposed to be somewhere in the dwelling.” : “ Why, that is my son,” said the widow, in great trepidation. “ So much more likely that he should be here, then,” was the unfeeling reply. “ And for what would you arrest him, and what will be done with him if found ?” “We shall take him for a spy,;and if found guilty, he will be hung, of course, as every cursed rebel should be. Here, you Bent and Walters, begin the search; and you, Jones and Johnson, remain where you are. Sharp, now, all of you! Let the fellow be taken alive, if possible—but, alive or dead, let him be taken. Now, good woman, if he is in your house, of which we are strongly assured, let him ap pear, and save yourself much trouble; otherwise, the consequence be on your own head.” “ If you think my son is in the house, search to your heart’s content!” returned the mother, externally calm, internally suf- fering. And forthwith the search began; Meantime, the young lieutenant, who had heard enough to comprehend his danger, had set about effecting his escape, but not altogether in the manner first intended.— He went on the roof, it is true, and lied the long rope to the chimney, casting one end of it down toward the street, but this only for a blind. He had seen that the bricks of the dividing wall, between the houses occupied by his mother, and one or two adjoining buildings, had been loosely put np under the ridge-pole, and his pres ent design was to remove a few of these, crowd through into the loft of the other house, and then replace them, This pur pose he effected before the soldiers search ing for him came up near enough to hear the little noise he was compelled tp make. The open trap-door of the roof, and the rope around the chimney, served to mis lead them as he had hoped, and it was with intense satisfaction that he heard them announce the manner of his escape. Immediately after, the whole party left in haste, first threatening Mrs. Buggies with subsequent vengeance, for harboring, con cealing, and conniving at the escape of a rebel spy, even though the man were her son. When fully satsified that the soldiers had gone, young Rugglee had attempted to return into his mother’s dwelling by the way he had left, but in agaib displa cing the bricks for this purpose, one of them slipped and went down through an open trap-door, upon the floor below, ma king a loud noise. Immediately after, a light flashed up through the opening, and a timid female voice demanded who was there? Here was a dilemma. Should the young soldier reply, he would be exposed; and should he keep silence, a search would be made, which might prove more serious in its consequences. What was to be done? A sudden inspiration seized him. It was a woman’s voice, and women are seldom steeled to pity. He would make himself known to her, appeal to her sym pathies, and throw himself upon her mercy. “Lady,” he began, in a gentle tone, calculated to reassure his fair hearer, “ be not alarmed. lam a friend in distress, the son of your next neighbor. I am hunted as a spy .by the British soldiers, and if found my life will be forfeited. If you cannot pity me, for God’s; sake pity my poor mother, and assist me for Iter sake!” He presented himself at the opening to the loft, and boldly descended the loft lead ing down from it directly before the lady, a sweet beautiful girl of eighteen, who stood with a light in her hand, and seemed dumb and motionless, with a commingling of fear, s uiprise and curiosity. The young man continued to speak as ho descended, and hurriedly went on to narrate all that had occurred, concluding with the search of the soldiers, and his escape, into the loft above. “ Thank God, it is in my power to aid you, sir!” were the first words of the girl, spoken with a look and feeling of sympa thy that made the heart of the young soldier bound with strange emotions. She then went on to tell him, that a cousin from New Jersey, about his size and build, and looking not unlike him, was then on a visit to the family, having a pass from General Howe. This pass she had been looking at, and, by accident, it was in her possession, the cousin having gone out with the rest of the family and for gotten it. - “Take it and fly, and may God pre serve you,” she said; “I can arrange it with my kinsman. I can have lost it, and he can easily procure another.” She hurried him down stairs, throwing a cloak on his shoulders on the way, which she insisted upon his wearing, saying that it had belonged to a deceased brother, and he could return it at any future time.— She then hastened to get the pass, which she placed in his hand and urged him togo at once. “If I could but see mother for a mo ment,” he said. “No, no—-leave all to me—l will ex plain all to her—go while you can, before it is too late.” “ God in Heaven bless you, sweet lady I” he said, impulsively seizing her hand, and touching it to his lips ; “I will never for get you.” The next minute he was gone. He es caped. And true to his declaration, he never did forget the sweet girl who be friended him in his hour of peril. Years after, the honorable wife of General Bug gies was many a time heard to tell of her first romantic meeting with him she loved, then a hunted fugitive from the Continen tal army. TRUTH. f The following beautiful illustration of the simplicity and the power of truth, is, from the pen of S. H. Hammond, formerly editor of the Albany State Register. He was an eye-witness of the scene in one of the higher courts: A little girl, nine years of age, was of fered as a witness against a prisoner who was on trial for a felony committed iii her father’s house. “Now, Emily,” said the counsel for the prisoner, upon her being offered as a wit nes, “ I desire to know if you understand the nature of an oath ?” “ I don’t know what you mean,” was the simple answer. “There, your Honor,” said the counsel,' addressing the Court, “ is anything further necessary to demonstrate the validity of my objection? This witness should be re jected. She - does not comprehend the na ture of an oathi” “Let us see,” said the _Judge. “Come here, my daughter.” Assured by the kind manner and tone of the Judge, the child stepped forward toward him, and looked confidingly up in his face with a calm, clear eye, and in a manner so artless and frank that it went straight to the heart. “ Did you ever take an oath?” inquired the Judge. The little girl stepped back with a look of horror, and the red blood mantled in a blush all over her face and neck as she answered: “No, sir.” She thought he intended to inquire if she had ever blasphemed. “ I do not mean that,” said the Judge, who saw her mistake; “I mean were you ever a witness before ?■” 'i “ No, sir; I never was in Court before,” was the answer. He handed her the Bible, open. “ Do you know that book, my daugh ter?” She looked at it and answered, “ Yes, sir; it is the Bible.” “Do you ever read it?” he asked; “Yes sir, every evening.” “Gan you tell me what the Bible is?” inquired the Judge. “It is the word of the great God,” she answered. “Well place your hand upon this Bible, and listen to what 1 say;” and he repeat ed slowly and solemnly the oath usually administered to witnesses, “Now,” said the Judge, “you have sworn as a witness, will you tell tne what will befajlyouif youdonottell the truth?” “ I shall be shut up in the State Pris on,” answered the child. „ “Anything else?” asked the Judge. “I shall never go to Heaven,” she re plied. “How do you know this?” asked the Judge again. The child took the Bible, and turning rapidly to the chapter containing the com mandments, pointed to the injuction, “Thou shaft not bear false witness against thy neighbor.” “ I learned that before I could read.” “Has any one-talked to you about your being a witness in Court against this man V’ inquired the Judge. “Yes, sir,” she replied; “my mother heard they wanted me to be a witness, and last night she called me to her room and asked me to tell her the Ten Command ments, and then we kneeled down together, ‘and she prayed that I might understand how wicked it was to bear false witness against my neighbor, and that God would help me, a little child, to tell the truth as it was before him. And when I came up here with father she kissed me and told me to remember the Ninth Commandment, ; and that God would hear every word that I said.” , “ Do you believe this 1” asked the Judge, while a tear glistened in his eye, and his lip quivered with emotion. “Yesj sir,” said the child, with a voice and manner that showed her conviction of its truth was perfect. - “ God bless you,- my child,” said the Judge, “ you have a good mother. This witness! is competent,” he continued.— “Were! on trial for my life, andinnooent of the charge against me, I would pray j God for such witnesses as this. ; Lot her I be examined.” | She told her story with the eioiplieity of i a child, aa she was, butthere was! a diroct | ness abottl it which carried conviction of i ito truith to the heart She was rtoily I The couhi«d '#Ad^ EDITORS AND PROPRIETORS. with infinityjand. ingeniOUß questiwuiig, but she varied from-her first statement in nothing. The truth as spoken’ty 'that little child was-sublime. Pateehood* and pequry had proceeded her testimony. ..The prisoner had entrenched himself ip he deemed himself impregnable. Wijtr nesses had falsified facts in his favor, and villainy hadmanufacturedfor him a Sham defence. But before her testimony fabw hood was scattered like chafF, The little child for whom a mother Had _ prayed for strength to be given her to speak thetbruthi as it Was before God, broke the cuftning device of matured villainy to pieces She the potter’s ve&el. The strength that her mother prayed for was given hpr* and.the sublime and terrible simplicity—terrible I mean to the prisoner and his associates —- with which she spoke, was like a revela tion from God himself. BU KIND TO THE AGED.— Age, when whitening for the tomb, is an object of sublimity. The passions have ceased hopes of self have ceased. They litiger with the young, and pray for the young while their spirits are looking beyond) the grave—and oh! how - careful should the young hearts, bo to reward the aged with their fresh warm hearts, to diminish the chill of ebbing life. The Spartans looked upon a reverential respect for old-age as a beautiful trait of character. Be kind to those who are in the autumn of life, for thou khbwest not what suffering they may have endured, or how much of it may still be their portion. Do they seem unreas onable to find fault or murmur! AUow not thine anger to kindle against them; rebuke them not, for doubtless many have been the crosses and trials of earlier years, and perhaps their dispositions, while in the springtime of life were more flexible; than thine own. Do they require aid of thee ! then render it cheerfully, forget not that the time may come when thou mayest de sire the assistance from others, that thou renderest unto them. Do all that is need-, ful for the old, and do it with alacrity, and think it-is not hhrd if much is required at thy hands, lest when age sets its seal on thy brow and fills thy limbs with teem? bling, others may wait unwillingly, and feel relieved when the coffin-lid has cov ■ ered thy face forever. O' Of Mr. Haynes, the colored preacher, it is said, that some time after the publi cation of his sermon on the text, “Ye shall not surely die,” two reckless young men having agreed together to, fry hi? wit, one of them said, “Father Haynes, have you heard the good news!” “No,” stud Mr. Haynes, “what is it!” “It is great news indeed,” said the other, “and if your business is done.” “What is it 1” again inquired Mr. Haynes. “ Why,” said the first, the devil is dead.” In $ mo-; ment the old gentleman replied, lining up both hands, and placing them on the of the ymmg men, and said in a tone of solemn concern, “Oh, poor fatherless chil dren ! what will become of you !” The Jug. —The jug is a most singular utensil. A pail, tumbler, or pitched' can be rinsed, and you may satisfy yourself by optical proof, that it is dean; but Imejug has but a hole in the top, the ig all darkness. No eye penetrates hand moves the surface. You de&n it only by putting in water, shaking ilnji and pouring it out. If the water comes ,v out clean, you judge you have wcceejtediri 5; cleaning the jug and vice veraq. Hence the jug is like the human heart. Nomorr tal can ever took into its recesses, aiv| you can judge only of its purity by whal romes out of it. A Simple Question. —An attorney in a province of France having fought a charge of bailiff for his son, advised film never to work in vsuin, butto raWoOritß butions on those who requiredhisateist ance. “What, father I” Said the ton; in surprise, “ would you have me kU Jus tice?” “ Why not!” answered the father “it is too scarce an artide to be givcin ftn* nothing.” tell you that 1 shall commit sui cide if you don’t have me, Susan.” “Well Charley, as soon as you have given me that evidence of your affection, I will believe you love.” He immediately hung himself upon her neck, and said: “There now! is that not an act of Stt syside?” ■,'? She wilted. •T“I say, Bill, what have you done with that hone of youmt” “Sold him.” “ What did you sell him fort” - “ Why, he moved so slow that I got prosecuted half a doxentimesibrviobtiag thelawagainststandinginthestreet. ; «9*lf youwishto let the worldknow you are in lore with a particular man, treat him with formality, andemyNoae else viith ease and frnMtam. i#The first app& trasehfelSgF first pair. ‘ • NO, 9.