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JACOB WlB*.
3TION.ERY
PER SALOON,
JBER WOOL® IN
it Altoona and vicini tyrtkat bic
and FKCIT STORE, isslvsy,
A articles to bo had, and in poll
SALOON
bJjewiUserve op OTfiTXU
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m fa ooTirginia*ttMt,tv«
OTTO ROSSI.
■BOSS’S
»s Agency,
KvMAIN,ai^EJST_
■ BLANK BOOKS,
ON FECTIOtNAHJES
ItoBACiOO, ■
Mb? GREAT VA&DSaX
B ox lUND.
& CO.,
AZTOOtU, JRA,
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McCRUM & DEKN,
VOL. 7.
the altooha tribune.
t a, iicCiUJM.— -—••• r>oPal „ o>B .
„„„ m i payable inratiably lb adrance,) *1,60.
lup»P er * dincoutinned at the expiration of the time
paid for
TftftMft or 4»vs»timhq
1 insertion
. . * » * $ SO
„«r .1““ „ u 50 75 100
16 “ ) 100 150 I 2 00
fee ” j'ji i. , ISO 200 12 50
iare ' i. M «e«k« »i>d l«“ than three months, 25 cents
for each insertion,
pirujoare s months. 6 month*. 1 year..
.. .$l6O $ 3 00 $5 00
-it lion or !«■« . 250 4 00 7 00
■JM 4 oo 6 00 10 00
i»» ‘ soo soo 1200
Tnrea - ... 6 00 ■ 10 00 UOO
f J “ r “ 10 00 14 00 20 00
DOf • colom" _.. 14 oo 26 00 40 00
C ni«trttor“ auO KxecaU)re Notice*,..... 1 TS
iS»t.»S»rtUlng by the year, three «,»«.*,
P not •««* 600
* j am en .* not marked with the number of jnecr
; iSwilt be continoed till forbid and elmrgri ac
'■"«« u notices fUe conta per line forerery Inaertlon.
exceeding ten line*. dfty cent, a .qua e
BALTIMORE LOCK HOSPITAL
AS FROM QUACKERY
Only Place Where a Cure Can
be Obtained.
LWI JOHNSON has discovered the
f most Certain, Speedy and only Effectual Remedy in
* 11 r,r alt Private Diseases, Weakness of the Back
toS™ "Ta "lions of the K idnoys and Rind
,.rLl?volunury Discharges, Impolicy, Generali Debility,
‘ ninASH DvaoeDsy. Languor, Low Spirits. Confusion
’alViS o y f toU Timidity, Tremblings,
of Sight or Giddiness. Disease of the Head.
StXose or Sirin. Affections of the Liver. Lungs. Stom-
1 1 or Bowels-tbose Terrible disorders arising from the
;:,L r “Habits of Youth-those secret and solitary prac
' more fatal to theix victims than the song of to
IhV Mariners of dysnes, blighting their most brilliant
h i\**oT anticipations, rendering marriage-Ac., unpoesi-
YOUNG MEN
L'l'tftritllv who have become the victims of Solitary vice,
.isUreadful and destuctive habit which annually .weeps
“.a amimely g.ave thousand, of Young Men of the most
Cihdtcl talents and brilliant intellect, who might otlier
«i.e liave entranced listening Senates with Me thunders
, f eloquence, or waked to ectasy the living lyre, may call
»itk full coufidence
MARRIAGE. t . • .
Harried Person*, or Young Men cotemplatmg inurnam,
aware of physical weakness, organic debility. «.etor
mitv.ic.. speedily cured. , _ ,
lie who places himself under the care of Dr. J. may ?e
-iiiijusly cuufid-in hb honor as a gentleman, and conn
relv upon his skill as a physician.
ORGANIC WEAKNESS
luntfbdiaiely Cured, amt full Vigor Uestored;
This Distressingifection—which renders Life miserable
*ui marriAi'c impossible—is the penalty paid by the
uctiias of improper indulgences. Young persons are to
!p t t, commit exces-e* from not being awau* “f the dread
!ul consequence* that may ensue. Now, who that under-
the subject will pretend to deny that the power of
recreation is lost sooner by those falling into improper
babita than bv the prudent? Besides being deprived the
i nures of healthy offspring, the most scions and de
structive symptoms to both body and mind arise. Ihe
irsfem becomes Deranged, the Physical and Mental rune*
twos Weakened. Los- .if 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,
Lefr band side going from Baltimore street, a few doors
f-.jin the corner. Fail not to’olnerve name and number
Utters must be paid and contain a stamp- The Doc
tor's Diplomas hang in hi* office
A CURE WARRANTED IN TWO DAYS.
Xo Mercury or Xustons Drugs.
OR. JOHNSON. „ j
Hember of the Hoyal College of Surgeons, Loudon, Urad
uste from one of the most eminent Colleges in the United
states, and the greater part of whose life has been spent pi
the hospitals of London, Paris Philadelphia and .else
where, has effected some of the most astonishing cures
that were ever known; many troubled with ringing in the
inland ears when asleep, great nervousness, being
dunned at sudden sounds, bashfulness, with frequent
blushing, attended sometimes with derangement of mind.
v*re cored immediately.
TAKE PARTICULAR NOTICE-
Dr. 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,
daily, society or marriage.
Taiai are som£ of the sad and melancholy effects pro
ceed by early’habits of youth, viz: Weakness of the
Sick and Limbs, Pains in the Head, Dimness of Sight,
Loss of Muscular Power, Palpitation of the Heart. Dys*
{’•P*y, Nervous Irritability, Derangement of the Diges
tive Functions, General Debility, Symptoms of Consump
tion. ic. ...
MrrrALLT.— The fearful effects of the mind are much-to
t* dreaded— Loss of Memory* Confusion of Ideas, De
pression of spirits* Evil-Forebodings. Aversion to Society,
Love of Solitude, Timidit>, Ac., are some of:
’tie evils produced.
Thousands of persons of all ages can now judge what Is
the cause of their declining health, losing their vigor, be*
r 'ialog weak, pale, nervous and emaciated, having asln
sular appearance about the eyes, cough and symptoms of
C/oiamptioo
YOUNG MEN .
Who hare injured themselves by a certain practice in
dulged to when alone, a habit frequently learned from
••vU companions, or at school, the effects of which are:
aigbtjy felt, ereb when asleep, and if hot cured renders.:
cwrrtage irnposible, and destroys both mind and body,
iboald apply immediately.
what a pity that a young man, the hope of his country,
'ht darling of h!a parents, should be snatched from all
prospects and enjoyments of life, by the consequence of
‘hriating from the path of nature, and indulging iu a
>ruln secret habit. Such.; persons MUST, before contem
plating '
MARRIAGE.
tnat a pound mind and'body are the most necessary
requisites to promote tannabia! happiness. Indeed, with
out these, the journey through life becomes a # weary pH*
primage; the prospect hourly darkens to the view; the
-tuiod becomes shadowed with despair and filled with the
melancholy reflection that the happiness ot another be
comes blighted with our own. * •:
DISEASE OF IMPRUDENCE. ,
When the misguided and imprudent rotary of pleasure :
4nds that he has imbibed the seeds of this painful dis
ease, it Coo often happens that an ill-timed sense of shamej,
if dread of discovery,deters him from applying to those
education and respectability, can alone
friend him, delaying till the constitutional symptoms of
this horrid disease make their appearance, such as ulcerar*
M Rore throat, diseased uoee, nocturnal pain s in the bead
*ad limbs, dimness of sight, deafness, nodes on' the shin
tone* and arms, blotches on the head, face and extremi
ty, progressing with frightful rapidity, till at last the
palate of the mouth or the bones of the nose fall in, and
rh? victim of this awful disease becomes a horrid object of
l ' J anni*6ration, till death puts a period to his dreadful
sufferings, by sending him to 44 that Undiscovered Country
from whence no traveller returns.” '
It 1» a ndajichoty /act that thousands fall victims to
•hit terrible disease, owing to .the unsklUfulhess of igno
r*Qt pretenders,'who, by the use of that Dt&d Zy ibiswi,
X’r&iry, ruin the constitution and make the residue of,
'to miserable. ' '' i
T STRANGERS
‘rust not your lives, or health to the care of the many
Colterntd and Worthless Pretenders, destitute of knowl-
Mea,
name or character, who copy Dr. Johnston’s odver
or style themselves, in the newspapers, regn
al Educated Physicians, incapable of Curing, they keep
trifling month after month, taking their filthy and
poisonous compounds, or os long as the smallest fee caa
obtained, and in despair, leave yoa with mined health
tf -£lgh over your galling disappointment.
«r. Johnston li the only Physician advertising.
Hw credential or diplomas always hang In his office.
“U remedies or treatment are unknown to all othert,
from a lift spent In the great hospitals ofKurope.
® *r*t in the country and a more extensive PrivOtePra&-
than any other Physician i« the world.
indorsement of the press.
l “® many thousands cured at this Institution, year after
• ***• the wiinwm* Important Surgical operations
or by Johnston, witnessed by the reporters of the
Clipper,” and papers, notices of
t Te a PPeSfed again and again before the public,
cZI .v M* ~and lng as a gentlemen of character and re-
Possibility, ia a sufficient guarantee to the afflicted.
„ skin diseases speedily cured.
»®tter« received unless postpaid and coqtaining a
»mpto be rued on the reply Persona writing should
S«sadiend portion erfadvertisement describing symptonis
fifr ol ! l * l heparticalsrln directing their
lers to ihls Institution. in the following manners • *
"PeHN'M, JOHNSTON. M. D.. :
OCth* Baltlaon Lock HMpital, MkryU
Shoice
THE SOLDIER’S WETTER.
How sweet wbeu. night her mipty veil
Around the weary soldier throws,
And twilight’s golden, skies grow pale,
And wooing winds invite repojpv,
To sit beside the waichfire’s blue,
2 do. 3 do.
Where friendly comrades nightly come,
To sing the song of other day*
And talk of things gt home.
Of those we love, who list anti wait.
Beneath the same benignant moon.
The postman’s step beside the: gate,
With tidings from the absent one;
And beaming smiles their thoughts reveal.
And love is mirrored is their eyes,
As eagerly they break the seal,
Elate with Joy and glad surprise.
Bat dearer yet, the shout that rings.
In exultation, loud and clear,
To hail the messenger who brings
Letters from home and kindred dear;
And *neath file pale moon’s smiling light
The soldier reads his treasure o'er.
And tUrough lhe hours of silent night
He dreams he visits home once more.
In dream* be sits beside the beat th.
Afar from camps and traitor’s wiles.
And deems the dearest spt
Where loving wife and raether smiles,
And many a face almost forged.
And many a word so fondly spoken
Come flitting round the soldier's cot.
Till the sweet dream, at morn, is broken.
On! ye wbo loves the soldier well —
Bid him be bopfeful, brave and gay—
Better he knows than yon can tell.
The perils that attend bis way.
Some word of hope in battle's boar,
While striving with a vengeful foe.
Has nerved the soldier’s atm with power.
To strike or ward the pending blow.
The soldier brave, is often prone
To deem himself forgotten quite.
A wanderer on the earth alone,.
When friends at home neglect to write.
Then cheer him oft with words like these.
And thu? your deep affection prove;
Let every keel -that plows the seas
Hear him some message full of love.
Jjlwt
THE MYSTERIOUS WATCH,
You have no faith in supernatural ? 1
have. Yon do not believe in necromancy or
astrology, or in the power of the evil eye ?
I do. The reason for this is you are
Americans, descended from English ances
tors, while I have German blood in my
veins, and inherit a reverence for what you
at. Were a disembodied spirit to
rise at my bedside to-night, I should
question it, and own to being; frightened,
while you would throw a candlestick at
its immaterial head, and insist to the last
upon its being a burglar in disguise. Yet
mark me, in spite of yourself,, your hair
would rise and your blood curdle, and you
would feel what you would ndt acknowl
edge for the world. Bah! If'such things
have no existence, what do our strange
shiverings and shudderings mean ? and why
do we look about- us with aye stricken
when we pass grave yards after dark?
You do not, you say. Are you sure of
it | I have never seen a ghost and I cannot
say I desire the spectacle: There must be
ah uncomfortable beating of the heart at
such a sight. I doubt if many could re
tain both Ufe and reason through such an
ordeal.
lam a doctor Years ago I was poor
and young. I came from my own country
with fny diploma and nothing else. I found
that the great cities of the : new world
were full of doctors youhg and poor as 11
was. I left them and went Westward. I j
settled in the State of Indiana. It was |
then a great forest with clearings here |
and there for fields of com and rude log ;
houses. Any one. led a hard life there,!
and a doctor’s it seemed to hie the worst j
of all. Miles and miles of hard riding,
through rain and mud, to Visit patients
who would pay nothing 5 miles back again,
to steal a few minutes of repose before
another announcement of some one being
“ very bad.” I was skin and bones in
a twelvemonth, but that; was'nothing un
common in that part ot the ‘world. The
only wonder is that I did not have the fever
and ague. 1 was the only person free
froml it for fifty square nufes.; However,!
prepared after a certain fashion, and in a
year or two made a considerable local
reputation. The place Was; growing and
my spirits began to revive. j
It was about this tlipe when I first saw \
my watch, to which all- I have now to |
tell relates. A cold night in November i
i had set in. I was at supperi in ‘my little ■
j home, add enjoying it as only a hungry
and weary man can enjoy food. Don’t I
i ask what I had; it was opt West remember.
Of course there was a preparation of
whiskey-; com meal, pork And whiskey
i are the staple articles offerded “ out west.”
I was enjoying my supper as I have said,
and a loud knock at the does- was not the
most delightful sound which could have
broken the silence.,- However, I said
, “ come in! ” with as good igrace as pos
sible, and a stranger entered. He was
a tall, broad shouldered man, in the dress
of a backwoodsman, and his large features
wore a troubled expression. 1 saw at
once that serious bad occurred.
“ It’s a bad night to trouble you to
ALTOONA, PA. r THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1862
come so far, doctor,” he said, looking at me
from under hjs fur cap ; but there’s a bad
accident happened oyer at our elearin;
and if you can do anything for the poorchap
I’ll be glad to see it done, more particu
larly as I helped to shoot him.”
“Helped to shoot him!” I said with a
start, “ what do yon mean T”
We took him forsopie kind of a critter;
that’s how N it was,” answered my visitor;
“ not a purpose, stranger. We thinks heaps
of him. I’d sooner hev shot myself.”
1 knew that the man spoke the truth,
and taking my box of surgical instru
ments tinder my arm followed him to the
spot where his horse- was tied. Mine was
already saddled; my little darkey knew well
enough what the arrival portended, and
bad made him ready. We were off in a
few moments.
Few words were spoken as we rode
alongf through the darkness. I asked
whether the Wounds were very serious,
and my compamion replied —“ I’m afeared
they be, doctor.” I asked if the injured
man was young or old, and he answered,
—“ Rising forty and then, after a few
words upon the badness of the road, we
relapsed into silence.
At last a glimmering light told that we
had approached a dwelling, and with a
short “ We’re fhar, doctor.” My company
sprang from his saddle and entered the
door. I followed him. The room was
feebly lit by flickering candles. About
a bed life the center were grouped four or
five men and a woman, large and broad
shouldered as any of her masculine com
panions. A child too, lay crying in its
cradle, but no one seemed to notice him.
They made way for my approach, and I
saw a figure stretched upon the bed. It
was that of a man with sinewy limbs and
weather beaten face. His shirt was un
buttoned, and the breast and sleeves were
soaked with blood.
“ Taint of no use, doctor,” he said as I
bent over himl’m a gone good. Doctor’s
stuff aint no account to me now.”
I did not believe him. His face was
not that of a dying man and the wounds
scarcely seemed dangerous. “ These bul
lets are bad things to have in one,s side”
I said, “but men have lived through
more than that. Cheer up !”
“ I ain’t down hearted, doctor,” an
swered the man. I shan’t leave no children
nor no wife to fret after me and suffer for
want of my rifle, I never have been so
much afeared of death. But I tell you
all you can do’s no use. There’s a sign
that cant be mistook.”
The group about the bed .glanced at
each other; and the woman shook her
head at me as though she would have
said, “ Never mind his words.”
I did what I could for him. The bul
lets were extracted and the wounds bound
up He was weak but not desperately so.
I looked at him and smiled. “ How
now?” said I.'
“ ’Tain’t noi use—-the watch is stopping
fast,” he answered.
Then for the first time I noticed that
beside him on the bed lay a great big
old fashioned silver watch, the fiase bat
ered, the face discolored, and that it
ticked with a strange dull sound, as though
it was very old and t feeble.
“ The watch has been injured by the
bullets, I suppose,” said I; “ besides all
watches stop sometimes.”
il Not this one stranger,” said the
wounded man. They’ve laughed about
that watch a hundted times ; now they’ll
find my story’s true, I reckon. That
watch and I will stop at the same minute.”
The woman at the bedside shook her
bead again. “ It’s an old fancy o' youru,
Mike Barlow,” she stud; “ you’ll live to
see the folly of it.”
“ So they talk,” said the man. “ Now
listen doctor. You’ve come to see me;
and done all that you could. I’ll give
you that watch. It’s money value am’t
much, but it’ll do you service. It was
given to me by an bid Frenchman, out o’
Canady, when he [was layin’ Just as I am
layin.’ ; It had been his father’s and his
grandfather’s, and his great grandfather’s
and his great grandfather’s before that;
and this is what he told me about it, and
that is what you’lllfind to be true. That
watch will tick slow and steady, reg’lar as
the sun, as long os whoever it belongs to j
is well, and safe I and thriving. When I
there’s danger coming, it begins to go fast, i
faster and faster and faster, until it is past
and so loud that you can hear it across
the room as plain as if you held it in
; your hand. When death . is coming that j
: watch begins to strip. It goes slower and |
| slower. Ite voice grows hollow, and j
i when the breath leaves the body, and !
' there’s! no more] sound to be heard,
| all you can do won’t make it go for a
year. ! At the endj of that time it will start
all of a sudden, and after that time you
i can read your fate by it and know your
i death hour. It was so after old Pierre
(died. It will be so now. Keep the
| watch when I am gone, doctor.”
i I could not helpj looking with some in*
I teresti at the tottered time piece. A
| strange story had \ been woyeh about it,
and the marvelous always had a charm
i for me. I sat beside my patient until he
annk to sleep. He seemed to be doing
("independent in everything.]
well still, and I had no doubt but that
the morning light would see him greatly
.better. But western hospitality would
not admit of my departure at that late
hour, and I was lodged in an upper cham
ber upon a bed as clean and simple as it
was fragant. I slept soundly. At mid
night, however, I was awakened by the
news that my patient was worse. He had
awakened in mortal agony. Some inward
injury, impossible to discover, had done its
work. I said nothing of hope now, and
the dying man looked at me with a
ghastlys mile.
“Take the watch,” said he. “ Watch
it and me; yon will find me right.”
These were the last words he uttered.
He muttered incoherently after this, tossed
his arms about and struggled for breath..
At last he seemed to sink into a slumber
My hand was on his heart, 1 felt its beat
ing grow fainter, fainter, fainter still.
At last there was no motion. He was
dead. I lifted the watch to my ear—that
had stopped also.
There were tears in the eyes of the rough
men about me, and the woman as
she might for one of her own kindred.
I could do no good now, and I turned
away, leaving the watch upon the coverlid,
but one ot the men came after me.
He gave it to you,” he said, “ and its
your’n. He had nobody belongin’ to him,
so you need not be afeered to take it.—
He must hev taken a likin’ to you, for he
thought a heap of it. Take it doctor.” —
And so the watch was mine.
It was dumb and motionless, and re
mained so. I took it to the watchmaker,
and he laughed at the idea of its ever
going again. This was after I had left
the West and dwelt in a lafge and popu
lous city in the States, some
eight or nine months after poor Mike
Barlow's death. The watchmaker only
comfirmed my own suspicions. It was a
strange coincidence that it should last ex
actly its master’s lifetime, but that was all.
So I hung it upon my chamber wall, a
memento of those days of toil and struggle
in the far West.
One morning I awoke early. The
blushes of dawn were just breaking over
the earth. It was the month of Novem
ber, but still the day was lovely. There
was an unwonted sound in my room. —
At first I could not guess from whence it
came. Had the sky been cloudy I should
have imagined it to be the rain upon the
roof. Then I began to feel that this
sound I had heard was too delicate for the
patter of rain. It might have been the
clang of a fairy hammer, or the tapping
of the beak of some minute bird, save that
it was too regular. But the mystery of
the sound was that it seemed to appeal to
me—to reproach me with forgetting it.
I sat up and looked about me. In an
instant I understood the sound. It was
the tick of the old watch on ihe wall.—
Silent for a twelve-month, it had suddenly
found voice, as though some spirit voice
had touched its springs. I looked at my
memorandum book. Twelve o’clock of
the past night was the anniversary of
Mike Barlow’s death. His words had
come true ;at last. He had said that
when it once began to move, it be
as my monitor of safly or danger. All
else had happened as he had foretold; —
why should not this come to pass? I
wore upon my guard chain a dainty
little Geneva watch. I unfastened it, and
put the battered silver monster in its
place. The budding developments of the
mystery made it more precious to me than
if it had been set with jewels.
It did not stop again. I heard the soft
clear “ tick, tick,” all the day, and when
I awakened in the night. Once or twice
it beat more rapidly than usual, and always
before peril —the first time when a fever
threatened me; the second as I stood upon
a broken bridge, which was swept away
one hour afterwards; and at an other
moment which I have forgotten, but which
served to keep alive the fancy that I
loved to cherish. Never was its voice so
clear and soft as on that evening when I
first met Sosa Grey. I loved her from
the first moment, and she loved me in return.
We had neither of us any friends to in
terfere, for she was an orphan, brotherless
and sisterless; and so after a brief court
ship, we were married.
I had no secret from my wife, and in a
little while she learnt Ihe story of the
watch.. She had faith in it, and thought
or fancied could detect the very shades of
difference in its utterance when I was
weary, she said the watch was weary too;
when I was glad it had a joyous echo. 1
know that on that night when a feeble
frame, and the little creature to whom
our love had given existence struggled
vainly for its life, there was a piteous
cadence in the voice of the old Watch 1
hoped never to hear again.
So we lived together. It was God’s
will that we should be chidless, but we
loved each other all .the more. I grew
rich and prosperous, and our only grief
was the missing of those baby eyes and
voices which we had hoped to bave about
our hearth.
; It was my fortieth birth day—l shall
never forget the day—when the watch
began its warning. My wife and 1 heard
it at one moment. Never before had the
voice of that watch - been so loud and
rapid. All day long, all the next and all
the next, that warning continued. The
strong pulse within- the watch shook the
tableon which it rested, when I drew it
from my pocket, and made the garment
on my bosom rise and fall when I re
placed It. -Were we with
illness? No! her cheek was blooming
and my pulse was regular. What could
it mean?
After four days I began to laugh at my
own credulity, and even Rosa began to
lose her faith in the monitor. , About
noon I left her, and went'alone in a little
room where I kept my medical works and
some rare drugs and curiosities. It was
my purpose to study for a lecture which
I was to deliver that evening. I seated
myself at the desk and commenced to read,
but after a few moments I began to ex
perience a singular faintness and to. inhale
a disagreeable odor. I recognized the
smell in a moment. In one of the jars
upon my shelves was a rare essence of
great- use in cases where a suspension of
consciousness was necessary, but exces
sively dangerous save in skilful hands.
Some one—a servant probably—had been
meddling with the jar and removed the
stopper, and the room was full of the
powerful odor. I must leave if I would
live. I staggered to the door, put my
hand upon the lock, when horrors! it
remained unmovable—something had. hap
pened to the catch. 1 strove to call: aloud,
but my voice failed me. I clutched the
table for support, but lost my hold, and
fell heavily to the floor. I could see
nothing—all grew dark about me. Me
chanically I placed my hand upon my
watch within my bosom. It stopped! and
I remembered nothing more.
Consciousness came back to me, as it
may come back to a new born babe, fur
aught I know. I felt without understand
ing ; was conscious of facts for which I
cared nothing ; I was in the dark ; I was
very cold and my movements were con
strained —but it did not seem as though that
were any affair of mine. Hunger at last
awoke me—the animal aroused the mental,
and I began to wonder where I had been and
where I was. I put my hand up as well
as I could. There was a low roof over
my head, folds of muslin lay about me
and something was on my breast, which
emitted a sickly fragrance—a bunch of
flowers seemingly half withered. 1 knew
this by the touch. What was the mat
ter with me ? Why could I not breathe
freely 1 Was I blind and deaf that I
could neither see or hear ? Suddenly the
truth flashed across me ; I had been buried
alive —l lay in my coffin!
And all this time you ask, where was
my wife, how had she bom the blow
which bad fallen so suddenly upon her ?
She it was who found me senseless upon
my study floor, and sbe it was who hoped
for returning consciousness after all others
despaired. At last they told her I was
dead, and shrouded me for burial. Learned
men decided that the strange preservation
of my frame was caused by the manner of
death, and at length my body was committed
to the tomb.
I bad then made my wife promise me
that if I died first she would take the
watch into her own possession, and wear
it while she lived; and so, now that all
was over, she took it voiceless as it was,
and laid it next to her bosom. For three
days and nights she never slept, but at last
exhaustion did its work, and she fell into
a heavy slumber. She was awakened by
a sound as strange as it was unexpected.
The watch, silent since that fatal day,
had begun to tick—fast and furious, as it
never ticked before—loud enough to
arouse her—loud enough to make her
spring from her pillow in agony of hope
and fear.
Those abont her thought her a mad
woman —but nevertheless, the strength of
her purpose bore all before. Through the
streets of the deserted town she passed in
her white night robe, like a ghokt, and
they dared not hold her back. She Reached
the church door atliast, and beat widly at
the old' sexton’s gate.
“ I am come to tell yon to open my
husbands vault,” “ he’s come to life again.”
He also thought her mad, and. yet
dared not disobey her, and all the while
the furious ticking of the watch could be
heard by each one there. It softened, it
stilled, when the doors were opened and
the black coffin stood upon the turf. It
grew musical when my wife bent over me
and capght me to her heart no corpse,
buta living man,; and it has bad no change
in its regular beat since that moment.'
It is before me now, battered and worn
as it was when it first came into ihy pos
session, and you may langh alike; at the
watch and the superstition with which it
is connected. But my wife believes in it
firmly and loves it as though it; were a
living thing; and, for the matter Of that,
so do I.
itar It is enough to niake oneshudder
to read the printers' for a,
boy of “ moral character,” whexut is well
known the; inlaid Uwnske » rt devil" of
hjm ‘
EDITORS AND PROPMETOBS.
EYES.
A knowledge of the structure and funo*
tionsof the eye has been prescribed as a cure
i for Atheism. lam not certain that the pre
scription would prove generally efficacious
among the fools who say in their hearts
i “ there is no God.’* But certainly the
evidence yaf skill and wisdom are so ap
parent in the mechanism of the human eye,
as to make manifest the stupid depravity
of those who fail to see that a divine
ham was employed in its creation. Nor
is the .human eye more curious of beauti
ful than tiie organs of vision of many 't>f.
the lower orders of animals. The’ in
vestigations of the anatomist, specially
when aided in his studios by tbd micro
scope, make us acquainted with-a world
of wonderful facts. Crabs have their
eyes te placed at the extremities of shelly
foot-stocks, which are themselves on
moveable binges, capable of being pro
jected at pleasure, moved in different di
rections, and packed away, when not in
active use, in certain grooves hollowed
out expressly for them in front margin of
the shell.” The garden snail carries his
eyes at the extremity of a pair of horns.
Most persons suppose' the scallop to be
blind, but it has eyes by the score, and
every one ofthem bright as an emerald,
and beautifully set. A single dragon-fly
accord!ng to the computation of naturalists,
has more than twenty thousand eyes, and
splended ones they are. The spider has
fewer eyes—generally not more than eight
in number—but they are perfect in form,
finely set, and almost as brilliant as dia
monds. The eye of the eel is protected
by a tough transparent covering that ena
bles him to thrust his head through, sand
and mud without at all impairing his vis
ion. The'fish-hawk has eyes that are both
microscopic, to fit him for the life be leads.
Animalculm too minute to be seen by
the human eye, are found when examined
by a magnifying glass, to have well-defined
and useful organs of vision. Solomon
seems to have made the eye .a, study, and
frequently refers to it in his writings.—
He warns us against eating: the bread of
him that hath an evil eye —that is, of the
covetous hyppocrito who grudges his guests
;he entertainment to which he has invited
them.- In .the East, the words of Salomon
would receive a more literal application;
for to this day there are whole nations
that have full faith in the malignant po
tency of an evil eye. Thomson tells' us
that the Syrians stand in such dread of
this blight that they resort to countless
charms to ward it off. If you only look
at a beautiful child, you must repeat the
name of the Prophet of God, or if the
Virgin, with a prayer for protection. If
you extol the beauty of a horse, you must
immediately spit on it; and the same is
done to a child, though most persons are
content to blow in its face and pronounce
a charm. Bright and striking figures
are made on figtrees to draw attention
from the fruit, lest it should be blasted by
a too steadfast look. We read also of
haughty and lofty eyes, of eyes that are wan
ton,of tbe eyes of a fool that are in the ends
of the earth, and of the eyes of the spouse
in Canticle, which are like the “fish
pools in Heshlow, by the gate of Bath-rab
bim.” R. M. Hatfeld.
The following “ lines” were picked
np bn the forecastle of the Wabash. They,
evidently, are the production of a Jack
Tar, whose abstinence from the diurnal
“tot” has made him childish, taking his
mind back to the days of Maternal Goose;
“Jack lost bis Gill
So said to Bill—
‘ I know I hadn’t oughter,
But. at seven bells
I cuss the Welles
That give us nought but water.’ ”
•9* A loafer who had got his Fourth of
July load on, “ fetched up,” against the
side of a house that had been newly paintr
ed. Shoving dear by a vigorous effort he
took one glimpse at bis shoulder, another
at the house, a third one at,his hands,
and exclaimed. “Well, that’s a mighty
careless trick in whoever painted that
house, to leave itstanding out all night for
people to run against”
0* Make troth credible, ► and children
will believe it; make goodness lovely and
they will love it make holiness cheerful
and they will be glad in it; but remind
them of themselves by threats or exhorta
tions and you impair the force of tNir
unconscious affections —your words pass
over them only to be forgotten.
An American paper announced the
illness of its editor, piously adding:, .
“ All good paying subscribers are . re
quested to mention him in their prayers.
The others, need not, as the prayers of
the wicked avail nothing according togopd
authority.’
tv A witty dentist having
<vain to extract a decayed tooth
lady’smontfa, gave up the task
felicitous apology: “The feet is,
inßeems impassible for anything I*s to
nomaont of joar month” .
._ * 0
- f.-
♦
NO. 42.
ViV-i.'i