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- M’***, - si:
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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^
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vajwish-
hwir jart r i*—*r- **■*”***' ***•
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U cCRUM & BERN,
the altoowa tribune.
, , ~,-ORUM, -H. C. DUES
' ■' rCBUSHUS AKD FROrBUIOU.
•uuuci.« payable invariably lu advance,). sl£o.
li' ,c <'“ tiuu<lJ at the expiration of the time
k .iJ f° r - TtaMS or ADTSRTmiHfI.
1 insertion 2 do. 3 do:
rll „„ ~rlo« 25 f * 601
'•" ,r ' ~. ( s line.) 50 <» liW
ll “"" 1 , lf, •• ) .... 100 150 2 00-
I»‘> ~ \n *• ) „... ISO - 200 2 60'
{ ° rCP ft»re<? week* And le*« than three mouths, 2o cents
rladif* 1 f° r each » n,iert * on * . -
Smooths, 6 months. 1 year.
$ 1 W
■)« ,• 1 0 0
1,0 ... 500
[hre ' 8 00
fcour " 1A AA
ii.ir» JJ ■«*
‘j™iJutntot* »“<* Kxeculore Notices ....
the'year, three snuares,
6 00
Conrnuolciitto" ’»*'M»UlieSi orindiridual in
-1 V charged according to the abore rate..
’ Urert «m« - not marked with the number of ta.er:
i. "wired, will he continued till forbid, and charged ac
•-Mine to the above term*. ~
L.Lu notice, fire cents per line for erety insertion.
Snsry notice, exceeding ten linen, fifty cents a squa e
BALTIMORE LOCK HOSPITAL
AS A REFUGE FROSI VUAOKKUY
Tke Only Place Where a Cure Can
be Obtained.
DU. JOHNSON has discovered the
mo«t Certain, Speedy and only Effectual Remedy in
■ >,. 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 DC4t<KI Physicians, incapable of Curing, they keep
trifling month after month, taking their filthy and
compounds, or as long as the smallest fee can
t,.? ? »nd in despair, leave yon with rninetf health
' h i°J er y° Qr Killing disappointment.
• f ohnston Is the only Physician advertising,
credential or diplomas always hang in his office.
jjrJrJ 1 or treatment are unknown to all others,
Uimt »i ra * *P e nt in the great hospitals of Europe.
0 ***• country aud a moreextensive Private JPrac
“Q any other Physician in the world.
Xk.JNOORSEMENT of the press.
»nr .l thtTOßand * 01116(1 nt thin.institution, year after
s»rf(i^ V 1 * important Surgical operations
M u j£. J hhnston, witnessed hy the reporters of the
wliicwu. '-Upper," and many oDirr papers, notices of
WdSAVAW*"* a B aiu * nd n %* [n before the public,
ipomihii ! st^ndlll K M ft gentlemen of character and re*
minty, is a sufficient guarantee to tho afflicted,
No'lrtli«£. , ? E t L ? E ? SPEEDILY CURED.
‘UmDtor^ - nnlw ’ ! P°**-P*W >nd containing *
th s r ®P*y Perwns writing abonld state
Pfioni a i d /t rtl<Ml,en ' dMcr > 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 H<wpiui,
THE SOLDIER’S DYING WIFE.
* a oo
A 00
6 00
8 00
10 00
14 00
25 00
$ 5
7 00
10 00
12 00
14 00
20 00
40 00
1-76
1 You must tell him then my mother,
That aa gfcew the hectic deep.
Flamed the torches death hud lighted
On the paleness of my Cheek
Tell him how I lougedto see him,
\ But was happier, the bride
Of an absent, soldier husband.
Than with u co%oa,rd by my
' $ . “ This may seem like weakness, mother,
HI becoming a soldier's wife; •
But tlie heart wifi not bo stifled— ■'
Love.is parallel with life;
Bat the heart mustyield to duty, .
Though it should be cleft in twaju,
And were Verner here, as last Spring,
I should.send him forth again.
Jlikrt ||lis«!kn|.
FATE IN A TIN DIPPER.
“Want to buy any tin ware,: to-day,
ma’am 1 pails, brooms, needles, scissors,
thread, washboards —all kinds of glass
ware, cheap for old rags, iron, money, or
credit 7 Want to purchase should like to
trade with you ?” \
This was the salutation of a tall, hand
some youth, as he opened Mrs Philips’s
kitchen door, one fine morning: in Au
gust, and addressed the lady of the house
at her seat by the window. Npw Mrs.
Philips was a little nettled with jthe diso
bliging conduct of a skein of yam which
i-ahe- was winding, and she answered the
follow’s string of inquiries rather tartly
for her: :
“ No; 1 don’t want any of your trash!”
Mrs. Philips’s eyes snapped portentously,
and her eyebrows grew into closer rela
tionship, as if determined that no peddler
should be suffered to annoy their? amiable
owner.
“ Please, Mr. Peddlerman, I want a tin
dipper!” called a childish voice from a
back porch, and little Eva Philip®, the
first and last bom of her parents, came
bounding into the room. Eva was a beau
tiful child, and the young peddler gazed
at her in undisguized adituration. i
“ And pray, for what does ray curly
headed girl want a tin dipper?” hp asked,
with an amused expression on his face.
“ Oh, to dip up water from the bropk—
to get berries down on Blackberry Hills,”
and, she added, with charming i naivete,
“ to see my face in.”
The peddler laughed.
“ Female vanity alike the world over ?”
§kmt Ifflrtfg*
**l am weary waiting, mother,
Through the days and nights so long;
I am weary, weary, weary watching,
At the eveninguud the dawn
And when tossing on my pillow,
Brow and heart so full of-pain,
the chill aud solemn midnight
Holds o'er earth iU.silent relgu.
« I half foacy he is ooqjiug.
That I bear his steps once mure,
i Comibg up the flag-stone pavement,
That his >hand 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, <is before ns,
the title page of which reads as follows:
“ Tactics for Mounted Riflemen. By
Col. Basil W. Duke. Morgan’s Power
Pres Print, John Haps, Printer. Lex
inxton, Kentucky, October 4, 1862.”
Mr. John Haps, “ Morgan’s Power
Press” printer, doubtless made a good
thing out of the situation for himself} for
we understand he boasted, preceding his
departure for further mauranding expedi
tions, that he cleared, during hisstay,
four hundred dollars. He left our mate
rials, however, in a most unworkmanlike
condition, the floor being ankle deep in
unwashed scattered types, tom paper and
all manner of filth. We are not anxious
to receive another visit from said Haps, as
we infinitely prefer more cleanly woridnen.
In so deranged a condition was the whole
establishment, that it has required nearly
two weeks to put it in anything like .work
ing order, but for which we should have
issued a paper earlier in the present Week.
er lf I was to think daily and hourly,
and think ot nothing else for a thousand
yean but to deanse ihy heart, or root ooe
vice out of it inmyown if should
he jw
at Uto hegißpiwg. v
NO. 40.
i; -LV-H