jh: Sk, SSK (AwtiB& u rrio^ |S> if S ||*|% B 3 s I*l* r3*--SHa R; s I :g“l® R S Ni .i i lit» »fsf s 1 ilw i I i “fei« ; - M’***, - si: •r^ LND BAKERY! SIGNED ANNOUN- A Altoona and Ticlnlty tbitt he iorofa** of BUSIES, NETS, KPIOKR th»BsM»n. i qo iuuut a good otock of tditiu ißumbctiiro. SES, RAISINS, AC. UD« of the r«or. ?ar. Molasses, Batter, UTE WESAT FLOUR. 3CE, CORK MEAL, AC, O to targe or rami I qustttta*. > Htfrtoclc had' yon wtllSod yln town . . JACOB Wig*. 3TIONEBY ER SALOON, IBER WOULD IS ■f Altoona'and Tlctoltr that kU ! «nd EROIT STORE,ianlnji gt articles to bo had, and {a gnat R SALOON irkkdt hr will aerrs apOTWEES .seanon. AP 4 J*l£3 alwayt on hand, Mt to supply cake*, candk*, Ac., toe. Sefinrites • share of public |s cau rsodPT foil satisfaction to •alooais on Virgin las tteet. two v OTTO ROSSI [GKB’S Ms igency, 7, MAIN STREET i, BLANK BOOKS, ON FECTION ARIES fTOBACCO, snr^i^rvA^m iTOUCHAND. r. !T> & CO., ■■‘■“■i jztodXA, rx- . , JACK £Co„ mooirairaw, rx TrT; I—t.rS i * \>kj 9 uton, Jock $ Cp.’’) ; T## PRINCIPAL ■A iBaU tor Mia. OoUtetiou ,KR—PjRACW^ *lams*me vajwish- hwir jart r i*—*r- **■*”***' ***• >rii»»«iil m& &**• tytofQfy IIT!SA^ mTm> 1 BSK: 1 -A « f 'jßjyr^y '_y«p mm** U cCRUM & BERN, the altoowa tribune. , , ~,-ORUM, -H. C. DUES ' ■' rCBUSHUS AKD FROrBUIOU. •uuuci.« payable invariably lu advance,). sl£o. li' ,c <'“ tiuu ~ \n *• ) „... ISO - 200 2 60' { ° rCP ft»re,. wcrfld for all Private Disuses, Weakness of the Back ■ Limbi. Stricture* Affections of the Kidneys and Blad ’ . r n roluhtarT Discharges. Impotency, (icueral Debility, \ f rfouin»*ss Dyspepsy, Languor. Low Spirits. Confusion f liiwts Palpitation of the Heart, Timidity,Tremblings, a moei# of Sight or Giddiness, Disease of the Head. Threat Nose or Skin, Affections of the Liver, Lungs, S tom h nr K>wels—those Terrible disorders arising from the wViitarv Habits of Youth—those secret and solitary prac uu'i more fatal to their Tictims than the song of Syrens to " e Mariners of Dlytses, blighting their most brilliant ,‘prt or anticipations, rendering marriage .Ac., impoasi- YOUNG WEN f’Aucdallv. who have become the victims of Solitary \ ice, Liidri‘.ulful an 1 destuctive habit which'annually sweeps “ ia uolimolygrave thousands of Young Men of the most •viuUcl talents and brilliant intellect, who might other the have entranced listening Senates with the thunders if eloquences or waked to ectasy the living lyre, may call ti:h fill confidence. MARRIAGE vlArried Persons, or Young Men cotemplating marriage, heiDS &w&re of physical weakness, organic debility, defor mity, Ac., speedily cured. He who places himseli under the cure of Dr. J. may re ligijoAly confide in his honor a« a gentleman, and confi •Lntlr reh upon his. skill as a physician. ORGANIC WEAKNESS Immediately Cured, and full Vigor Restored. Thu Distressing Affection—which renders Life miserable >&.l marriage impossible—is the penalty paid by the tictims of improper indulgences. Young persons are to *pt to commit excesses from not being awaie of the dread ful that may ensue. Now, who that under lUodi the subject will pretend to deny that the power of procreation is lost sooner by those falling into improper babiti than by the prudent? Besides being deprived the pleasures of healthy offspring,’'the most serious and de ilructive symptoms and mind artee. The lyitem becomes Derangdd. the Physical and Mental Punc hes* Weakened, Loss of Procreative Power, Nervous Irri tability, Dyspepsia, Palpitation of the Heart, Indigestion Constitutional Debility, a Wasting of the frame. Cough, Consumption, Decay and Death. OFFICE, NO. 7 SOUTH FREDERICK STREET, Lift bond side going from Baltimore street, a few doors from the corner. Fail not to"observo name and number. Letter* must bo paid and contain a stamp. The Doc tor’s Diplomas hang in his office A CURE WARRANTED IN TWO DAYS. ifo Mercury or Nuseons Drugs. OR. JOHNSON, Member of the Royal College of Surgeons, London, Grad aite from one of the most eminent Colleges in the United taut, and the greater part of whose' life baa beenspcnt in the hospitals of Lendon r Paris,' Philadelphia and else where, has effected some of the most astonishing cares tint ware ever known; many troubled with ringing in the had and ears ! when asleep, great mirvoosness, being burned at sadden souoas, bashfulness, with frequent Mashing, attended aometimes with derangement of mind, were cured immediately. TAKE PARTICULAR NOTICE* fr.J, addresses all those Who have Injured themselves by improper indulgence and solitary habits, which ruin both body and mind, unfitting them for either business, itudy, society or marriage. ' Tstsi are some of the sad and melancholy effects pro isxi by early habits of yootb, viz: Weakness of the B*:k sod Limbs, Pains In the ‘Head, Dimness of ’Sight, Um of Muscular Power, Palpitation of the Heart. Dys- P*P*y, Nervous Irritability, Derangement of the Diges ts Functions* General Debility, Symptoms of Consump tion. kc,- Mejttallt.— l The fearful effects of the mind are much to iread^l—Loas of Memory, Coufusion of Ideds, De : region of spirits, Bvll-Forebodings, Aversion to Society. '“lfDiotraat, Love of Solitude,Timidity, Ac., are some of evils' produced. of persons of all azes can now judge what is cause of thefr declining hesdtb, losing their vigor, be* '®ing weak, pale, nervous and emaciated, having a sin gular appearance about the eyes, cough and symptoms of „. L YOUNG MEN »bo have injured themselves by a certain practice ro dulged iq when alone, a habit frequently learned from ‘vii companions, or at school, the of which are tugbtly felt, even.when asleep, and if not cured renders atrriags iraposible, and destroys J>oth mind and body, ’’ijuM apply Immediately. Wbat a pity that a young mao, the hope of his country, darling of his parents, should be snatched from adl pnApects and enjoyments of life, by the consequence of ieriatlog from the path of nature, and indulging in a secret habit. Such persons must, before contem plating; „ „ s MARRIAGE. '«aect that a sound mind and body are the.most necessary to promote connubial happiness. Indeed, with out these, the journey through life becomes a weary pit pimage; the prospect hourly darkens to the view; the Qiad becomes shadowed with despair and filled with the melancholy reflection that the happiness of another be* Joiaeq blighted with our own. .DISEASE OF IMPRUDENCE. the misguided and Imprudent votary of plfcwure that he has imbibed Hie seeds of this painful dls *'w» b too often happens that an ili-timed sense of shame,' °r dread of discovery, deters him from applying to those from education and respectability, can alone be in-nd him. delaying till the constitutional symptoms of ; !t | s horrid disease make theirMbearauce, such as ulcera- Mre throat, diseased nose, WVCturnal pain s In the head 'w limits, dimness of .sight, deafness, tmdes on the shin and arms, blotches on the head, face and extreml* ■ ; m. progressing with frightful rapidity, till at last the P«»te of the numth or the bones of the nose Jail in, and ; he of this awful dlsease.becoinoa a horrid object of till death puts a period to his dreadful ? fff, rihgs, by sehdinghlmtu “that Undiscovered Country rr jia Whence no traveller returns.” melancholy fact that thousands fall victims to disease, owing to the upsklllfulness of igno pretenders who, by the use of that Deadly /bison, min the constitution and make the residue of ■ tf% miserable. • , W STRANGERS Ir wt not your lives, it .health to the care of the many '•“leacne.l ami Worthless Pretenders*, destitute of knowl- Dame or character, who copy Dr. Johnston's adver or style themselves, in the newspapers, regu in M DC4tnd containing * th s r ®P*y Perwns writing abonld state Pfioni a i d /t rtl l,ln e *ymptdin» '•'lttTto p f, rtl ; nlnr •» directing their thrt Inrtttntion, In the following manner: -JOHN JOHNSTON. M. D , Of the Baltimore lock Hhand is uo the door; And 1 hold my breathe and listen For his voice, but all in vain ; It was nothing but patter • And the sobbing of the rain:. .** >lothqr, darling, I shall never Lo«k again upon his lace; 1 had hoped through all these.spring days For one more, oue last embrace; But 1 bow in resignation, For 1 feel it may uot be; I am by the River Jordan; — lie is by the Tennessee. « If he comes when 'war is ended, . W ith that step so proud aud high, With the fire of battle flashing In his lofty eagle eye: If his dear face seems expectant, As he enters at the gate. And K towards the door he glances, Seeming some one t£> await - Go out, mother, dear, and greet hiin Tenderly, but do not weep; When be eager asks for * Annie,’ Tell him that lam asleep: Take him to our own room, mother. Let the books be all arranged. And the vases aud the pictures As they were; let nought be .changed. “Give him then tbisletter, mother, His deep sorrows it will tell^ With my dying blessing f. sighted, . Closing with my sadilarewell; You must go and leave him, mother. Till the first wild storm is past— Fur his form will bead and quiver, Like a strong oak in. the blast. “If he says that all the honor ' He has earned is nothing now— He would rather havertban laurels, Annie’s hand upon his brow— He would rather have one accent Of her voice, than all the pniiUe, Than all the acclamations ■ A grateful laud could rai*c “Go, uudsitdowo, by him,*muthei\ Wipe the hot tears from hi* face— Take the curls I cut off, gently From their quiet resting place; Place them in his hand, where banging, They may Dill in a caress; Oh, how often in his fondness, lie has toyed with each tress! “ Mother, it is very bitter, And my aching heart is sore, That lus voice's tender accents I shall listen to no more. That my nead so weak and drooping, Never, never more will rest, Whefe so oft it hath been pillowed, On bis broad and manly breast. ~ ‘Donelson’ and ‘Pittsburg Landing! Names I shndderyet to bear, For within those long wjde trenches, Frieuda of others Just os dear As the one for whom I trembled, ; Sleep nnshrouded and unblest By the rain-drops of affection, Drooping o’er their place of rest. ki But you must not tell him mother, Of the chills that shook my frame. As among the ‘killed and wounded* List I searched tp find bis name; Cold suspense seemed like a serpeut, Twined around my shrinking form, And my drooping life has yielded, ; 1 As a flower in the stprm. “ Is the evening coming, mother? For the room is getting dark; No—l feel ills the shadow Of the valley, which my bark ' Of life is swiftly nearing. Farewell, mother, mother d.-ar; Tell biro all that I have told you—4 Tell him Annie stilUis near.” ALTOONA, PA., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1862 he muttered ttr-himself: then—‘‘hut my dear girl you shall have the dipper. The best tin in the world might be proud of mirroring such a face! Come out to the cart and get it.” ■ ■ Eva ran merrily down to the brown gate, where the peddler’s good natuml horse was patie&tly awaiting the roaster’s coming, her happy head of the grand times she’d have wiljh that tin dipper. The peddler opened the box, and took from thence a very bright dipper, and then with the point of his knife he engraved his name —Eugene Fuller—upon the outside, and gave it into the child’s hand. “ There, my little miss, what is your name ?” “Eva Pearl. Philips,” said the girl, in specting her gift with sparkling eyes. i “ Mis? Eva? a pretty name —well ac | cept this dipper as a love gage from Eu i gene Fuller, whet, when he gets older, is coming back to ntake you his little wife ! Good bye, wifey!” and the laughing boy sprang upon his seat and drove off. “His little wife!” mused Eva, on her way back to the house. “I wonder what mother will say ? 1 wonder if she will begin to make pillow cases and sheets just sis Aunt Ethel did before Cousin Carrie Pearl was married ? 1 must tell her about it.” And Eva dashed into the kitchen full of the important news.— “ Mother, mother! the peddlermau says he is going to many me one of these days —ain’t it funny ? Only think, then I can have just as many tin dippers as I like!” “Ag many fiddlesticks! Go help Jane shell the beans for dinner. Ido wish there hadn’t been a peddler created; they’re a pest ?” Mrs. Phillips rocked violently back and forth in her cushioned chair, and made an extra knot in the refractory yarn. Time passed on, and Eva kept the tin dipper among her most cherished play things—-she did not use it often to hold berries or to dip spring water, for fear its luster would be spoiled, and the name of the donor effaced. Mrs, Phillips deman ded the dipper, because she despised ped dlers, and she would have destroyed the “ amulet” had not her mother's love for Eva pleaded against it. " So when Eva had reached her tenth year—a bright, blooming little lassie, full of gaiety and happiness—the dipper was still in existence, bearing bravely its age, and its oft repeated struggles for favor with Mrs. Phillips. Eva, though quite a young lady, was as fond of it as eyer ; she kept it on her pretty dressing bureau, that it might meet her eyes the first thing in the morning. One would have thought that the. little maiden was completely infatuated with what, five years ago, Eugene Fuller, the peddler, had styled a “ love gage,” and perhaps she was:—we cannot say. Certain it is that there is no accounting for the fan cies of a female head ; no philosopher has ever discovered a test by which to analyze the mysterious composition, and, moreover, never will. One evening Mrs. Phillips was coming into the kitchen in something of a hurry, and it being dusky in the room, she hit her foot against some obstacle, and in consequence lost her balance and fell down into a large pan of buttermilk, which Jane, the careless housemaid. had left on the floor. There was quite a splashing and spattering, and Mrs, though un hurt, was decidedly put nut —not out of the buttermilk, but out of temper. Her favorite poodle dog was frightened so much at the noise of her fall, that he flew on the cat’s back for refuge, and the latter animal made her escape through the chim ney, leaving poor Roche to drop down at his leisure. From the ruins, Mrs. Phillips arose: and on Jane’s bringing a light, she proceeded to investigate matters —wondering all the time what she could have stumbled against. The wonder was soon dispelled by the appearance of Eva’s fin dipper, for the child, wearied out with a long ramble over the field and- pasture, had returned home so drowsy that her mother had sent her directly to her room, without giving her a chance to put away her treasure. The sight of the dipper only seemed to increase Mrs. Phillips’ indigna tion, and she vowed vengeance on the un fortunate cause of her downfall. Consequently, the next morning when Eva arose and looked jabout for the dipper, it was not to be seen. She went to her mother for information, but that lady was profoundly ignorant in the matter; and Jane proved, on being brought to the in quisition by Eva, to be in a like blissful state with her mistress. Then Eva went through with a grand system of reconnoiterjng, which resulted in the recovery of the dipper from a mass of rubbish in a comerlof the wood shed. It was bruised and battered a little, but in other respects, as good as new, and Mrs. Phillips, though guilty of the intent, was not exactly guilty of jthe sin of the icon oclast. v Resolved to guard against all further profanation of her idol, Eva carefully tied the dipper up in a piece of strong silk, which bad been given] her by the village miller to make her a idol! dress ; which she deposited all in a little hollow' at the fINDEPENDENT IN EVKEVTUING.] ! foot of the pasture, and covered the aper ture with a flat stone. Some days afterwards she was sent by her mother on an errand to her Aunt Ethel, and as her way lay down the pasture lane, she thought she would take out her dipjjer, give it an airing, and perhaps till it with strawberries down in Grant’s meadow. Singing blithely, she went her way, the exhumed dipper still in its ban dage, hanging upon her arm. She came to the narrow bridge across the Dead River, and was nearly in i the middle of the crossing, Mien her attention was at tracted by a large cluster \of wild dragon star, clinging to thet Mllows which hung over the bridge. Thoughtlessly, her eyes fixed on the she advanced to the verge ot the bridge-Mhe plank bent and tipped with her weight—one scream, and the little form ot Eva struggled in the water. She closed her eyes, and gave hersell up for lost; but no, the dipper bound with silken cloth, acted a life pre server, and kept her above the surface. “ Help me! Do somebody come and help me !” screamed the girl as she was borne rapidly past a field where some far mers were engaged in planting their corn. In a moment a stalwart man cleft the waters and reaching Eva, he grasped her in one hand, while with the other he swum to the shore. “ Where am I, where is my dipper ?” queried the child, as soon as she came to realization. “ You are here,” replied the man ; “ but what of your dipper 1 Ha ! as I live, ’tis un old tin dipper, rather the worse for wear—‘tied up in a rag! Well, it's saved vour life !” Then the good man put her into ids rough farm wagon, and conveyed her home, hiking particular care to relate to her mother the important part the dipper had played in the rescue of the child. “ I tell you ma’am if it hadn’t been for that ar’ tin dipper’s keepin’ her above water, she’d a’ been dead drowned afore any mortal man would a’ reached her ’ Thank the dipper, inarm, and not me !” This unbiassed account of the praise worthy behavior of the dipper, softened Mrs. Phillips toward it, and she allowed Eva to keep it wherever she chose. Mouths and years rolled away, and when Eva Phillips was fourteen, she was sent to a celebrated female seminary in a neighboring State, from whence, after, a three years course, she was emancipated a “ finished young lady.” But her learn ing and acconplishments had not spoiled her, and she was the same gay, light hearted little fairy who had begged a tin dipper from Eugene Fuller, twelve years before. Shortly after Eva’s return to Wheat wold, her mother sickened and died, and although in many respects a harsh woman, she was long and sincerely mourned by her daughter. With the coming of summer, Mr. Phillips, at Eva’s urgent desire, let his farm for a couple of years, and with his child set out upon a European tour. — Eva’s beauty excited the most fervent admiration wher,e ever she went, but al though she received many offers of mar riage, she preferred to remain with her father. They visited all places of interest in southern Europe —sighed over desolate Borne, walked übon the lava of Vesuvius, beheld the magnificent prospect from the highest peak of Mont Blanc, floated upon the waters of Lake Constance, admired the impregnable fortress of Gibralter, and sojourned for some months in the French capital. At last they took passage from Liver pool to New York, and with melting hearts looked out daily towards the blue distance where they knew home was. A prosper ous passage was theirs; and from the bustling American metropolis they took the express train on the eastern railroad, which would set them down at home be fore sunset. But alas! how little do we know of coming events! How little do we realize upon what a slender cord. hangs our des tiny. At lightning speed the train which carried our travelers sped on, Eva, joy ous and cheerful in view of beholding once more the. dear old place: her father re joicing in his daughter’s happiness. In crossing a bridge built on a broad, but a shallow river, the machinery of the en gine became disordered, and in an instant the foaming monster plunged into the river, dragging the train after it. At the first shock of the overthrow, a young man, who for the whole journey had been regarding Eva with a fixed at tention, dashed toward her and clasping her in his arms, reached the tottering plat form just as it was going over. One frantic leap, and he, with his senseless burden, went down beneath the water to .rise almost instantaneously and strike for shore. Boldly he swam on, and at last in safety reached the land,'when, after giving Eva into the care of some benevolent people who dwelt near the bridge, he returned to the scene of the accident, hoping to be of some service in rescuing those yet imper iled. i Sad to relate, Mr. Phillips was among the killed, and Eva, on the return of con scioukneas, found herself orphaned, and alone in the world, among strangers,: It was a new and terrible experience to: her, and her shrinking spirit was nearly broken by the shock. She suffered herself to be guided .entirely by the advice of hey; un known preserver, depending upon him with the trust of a helpless child. Under his protection, Eva set out for home; home no longer, now that there were noneon jearth to care for her. The house at Wheaiwold had been closed the greater part of the time during the absence of its owners, and had only been opened a few weeks before in expectation of their coming. Every thing there was damp and mouldy—the curtains were falling to pieces in the con tinual moisture of the atmosphere-r-everyr thing bore the impress of gloom. Still heavier fell that gloom when the closed coflin holding the remains of Mr. Phillips was brought into the long, dark parlor, awaiting the funeral service of to-morrow’s morn. Eva’s affliction was dreadful to witness She took notice of nothing, neither eat nor slept, and refused all attempts at consola tion from her sympathizing neighbors. The young stranger, who accompanied her home, took charge of everything, and the good peodle of the vicinity, supposing him to have been an intimate friend of the deceased, made no inquires concerning his right to act as he saw fit. Mr... Phillips was buried by the side of his wife ; and Eva on the arm of the pity ing old clergyman, went down to the grave, icily, tearless—like a stone statue. She exhibited no emotion—uttered no sigh ; her eyes looked vaguely into vacancy with a fixed immovable stare. The funeral over, the stranger engaged two trusty servants, a man and his wife, to take charge of the domestic affairs about the place, and then he made prep arations for immediate departure. The morning upon which he was to leave,' he sent a message to Eva, requesting a private interview. It was granted, and she met him in the little boudoir attached to her chamber, where she passed the greater portion of her time since her return. — He came in with a little hesitation in his steps, and took the chair her silent nod in dicated. As he did so, his eye fell invol untarily upon the dipper, which still re tained’, its old place upon the dressing bureau. He started up, and, approaching it, took: jt into his hands and examined it long and attentively. Still retaining it, he came to Eva’s side. “ Miss Phillips.” She looked up drearily on hearing her mame spoken, but her face brightened in stantly when She beheld her favorite plaything. “ May I ask how you came by; this, Miss Phillips V'' “It was given me by a peddler, very many, many years ago. His name is on the side.” ‘‘ And have you .preserved it through all this-time? {strange! You evidently prize it” “ Prize it! sir, it has saved my life.— But who are you that question me thus.” “ Would you like to see the giver of that trifling toy T would it please you to see Eugene Fuller?” “Yes, it would gratify me above all things. Then I would thank him for the pleasure his gift has proceed me.” * “ Then, Eva Phillips, look up ih my face, and thank me! lam Eguene Fuller.” The girl rose- hurriedly to her feet,' and threw a long, searching look into the-face of the young stranger. Then her , eyes fell, and she said, with something of doubt, “ Is it true 1” ! “ It is true,” he answered. She put her bands confidingly in hia. “ And it is to Eguene Fuller to whom I owe my restoration from a terrible death in that time when —” Her voice failed, a sigh heaved from the inmost depths of her heart, shaking her frame, and tears, blegsed tears, flowed like rain down her face. They were the first sho had shed since her orphanhood. Eiigene blessed them, for he knew that ;only through much weeping could the burden which crushed her be lightened. When she was calm, he drew her down beside him on. a settee, and then said— “ Eva, it is fifteen years ago, that I, a peddler-7-a merry youth of fourteen, charmed with the childish beauty of a little giirl, gave her atm dipper, with my name written thereon, telling her that when I was older I should come back and make her my wife! Po you remem ber this, Eva?” , ' Eva’s voice was low and subdued as she answered him—• ‘ “Yea, I remember it.” “ Weil I am older now. Twenty-nine summers have passed pyer my head, giving me wealth and influence, mid to-day the heart of. the man but echoes the Senti ment of the boy. 1 have always remem bered you—have always cherished the fond idea of coming back to this country town, where I first saw you, and renew , our ac quaintanceship ; but until last Thursday, my business could never l|e arranged for leaving. Fate placed me on board that fatedtrain of cars, and the first face which I saw, on seating myself, was ybu& . I yoh as Eva Phillip*, bat I recognised yon as the twin of ,myt soul. EDITORS Alp) ■ for I have been a stropg.believerin m*; destined marriages. I saved you from death because I nit that my lift would be desolated without, you; and when, after wards, I learned that yon were Eva Phil lips, my contentment was perfect. And now, Eva, the mate of my spirit, may I waive all etiquette, now in this moment when your heart is suiftring from, your sorrowful bereavements, and ask yon to give me, of all the world, die light to comfort you ?” ‘‘Eva’s head drooped lower, her lips quivered, and she spoke, the words he so longed to hear— “ Eugene, I give it to you!” He drew her into hie anna, and. off the tears which still clung to. her cheeks. And she, feeling again the warm fold of affection around her, looked with hope and trust to thesourceof all happiness—to heaven. Eugene Fuller and Eva Phillips were married two months from that day, and the health of the bride was drank, by the coterie of distingished guests assembled, frohi the tin dipper, which subsequently became an heirloom in the Fuller mmily. Mr. Fuller and hiswiferemoyedto Boston immediately on the union, and their lives were blessed to them. There, dear, bright eyed reader, is the story of the tin dipper. Quite a dipper, wasn’t it t REBEL TOLERANCE AHD INTOL- ERAKCR. The editor of the Lexington (Ky.) Ob server and Reporter, a staunch Union pa per, resumes his pen and issues his sheet after a suspension of nearly two months. In one of his articles he thus shows up the “ freedom of opinion” which the Kentucky Statesman boasted would be tolerated under the rule*of Kirby Smith and John Mor gan:— Odb Office.— The following editorial notice appeared in the first number of the Kentucky Statesman, after the resumption of the publication of that paper, upon the appearance of the rebel army under com mand of Gen. Kirby Smith : “ Our amiable editor of the Observer and Reporter, it is said, has sliipped his print ing materials to parts unknown ; possibly to the Western Reserve, Ohio. Remem brance of his many sins against free gov ernment probably excited his apprehen sions on the approach of the Confederate conquerors. It is. to be regretted that he did not remain to enjoy that freedom of opinion and its expression which is once more secured to our citizens. We hope no editor will ever be restricted in his lib erties in Kentucky, under Confederate rule.” Now, this was simply a willful misrep resentation, conceived in malice, intended to mislead the pnblic mind in regard to the facts. The writer well knew that no portion of the printing materials of this establishment had been removed, and, if not, he certainly put himself to ho trouble to leam the facts in the case. Preceding the entrance of Kirby Smith’s army into this city, ther account books of the office were removed, and nothing else. This was done on the evening preceding Smith’s arrival, when the establishment was locked up and left to the tender mercies of the enemy. Upon the arrival of John Mor gan with his guerilla.troops, in a day. of two after, they proceeded at once (which was their first act of Vandalism) to break every lock of the concern, and took pos session. Our sign was immediately cov ered with this Inscription' “ Morgan’s JSeackquarters, Adjutant QmeraTs Office” From that time until their departure from the flity Morgan’s officers occupied the front office, whilst his printers, several of whom travel with him, occupied the printing department, using the types, ink, and stationery as suited- their purposes. They printed any quantity of army blanks, pamphlets, &c. One of their jobs, a pamphlet of twelve pages,