I’-S Kp&ti. IP*' v ,l “™--■ ,fa oi u<‘r. Ivf ' ,fV " ■sfetei*. msmrßss^ Bjjs*feyp»J« «i« «,i.-' hindiug.. r- ■;' r toßst SrS^sg^. - * u 1 - rr EO £:.~r — « i -- L OS c .•= » tv ot£ g r 2 gj ,|=...f BvW’**.:. M'f * IL • .■ a S. .’ J ? « j CJKfSxS , *•' §j> <-« *1 ' ■ S ~4 r ' jss as-i , ■■ *■ .O O a t£.i ta*-* :? - .*• «;- SVER ONWARD’ BY STEP! T# ED DESI RES TO ?•?*• *“<• 4lie public gwnerallv Plij lato the »ry.OopdlssJi fgcajHl entirely new atuek of i Groods * { Uie latent, prrttirrtaod me.- *EE PATTERNS. K ewry quality of p™. lab) t« t.m r-dioiui tot-mini era." [litre, Trcsli and cb«a|. • i & PROVISIONS r of my competitors. h * *y** X-ciiu nsiuler nfttirf iffyehtc* tak on in f.,, Mitt pricv all<>w««l. * Aimi* ami fl-ien afiref*. Er*. '’•••• riIuMAS lIESLOP. & WETS, CONFECTIONER. »SEI. Aitocka, Pa.. I ANTLY ON HAND JAKES, -CANDIES -|»K own maoulacfiir*.which I • *Jrt orl ivCait.at the moot re»« *n fciK FRUITS, oacli afl DNS, PINE-APPEES. ESINS, NUTS, &C.. &( Ipecflee iMuions, ED TO ORDER, »6horto f >ticeandin Dip mai- ' WJT stock nod yon tJw purth-osed elaewbero. FINGER’S f Wvvs Agency. i -T, MAIN STREET 8, BLANK BOOKS, SONFKCTION ARIES i TOBACCO. TS IN CHEAT VARIETY IT ON HAND. X> & GO., ALTOOIfA, PA. . JACK & CO., ; mtuDArsavaa, pa.. KppS, , urton.Vtrrit £ Co.") , Tilfi PRINCIPAL <4 M itt ntat Cußectiou, 1 4epu»lte, p«T»UI* on demnml, Kil PRACTICAL CCtUix mmniMM. t 4 9* fttlte poJflM tbe btefcbraimwi^B^^y # k<«p(a»«tatitly 'U liHlSotaQ.BKVOfi, OUA, VARNISH- d m, ud r«nrtw »>• Of «o4tjU«l]|J. he li'ij** t’ ; ufrty piiriffliiffl nppltad an ttKtotpble pftwjjfiy Kttewlef te. dteHy eunmwioJofl. ENDS WOULD DO the choke ’ and dfewt* M* o *?' ri» nupr dkidnxed «pra thf tftJBWIT*McPijtK. 6fTirglttfe and CarbHo* DXIILB, GAM OlLAc^at It of Raufe-Had* elutbl"? ■ Not. iifvtf. A LAK<m ANP .aUAVl*.ti t’&lNTjKOj Ptwant* tttx-'i a# >AttAsO^- .<s»B!ryi#y,ot \jtT IJL McCRCM & DKKN vOL. 8. 0, YES! 0, YES!I THIS WAY! THIS WAY! NEW SPRING & SUMMER GOODS. JIS. has just received a jarjje nnd well selected *tock of Goods, consisting . f ciolUt, I'lahi and Fancy Cas*iiner*a, Satlnetta, K*»- lickv Jeans. Tweetfc, Bearerteena, Blue Drilling, and.aU other kinds of Goods for - MEN AND BOYS* WEAR, with a gram! And magnificent Assortment Of LADIES’ DRESS GOODS- W. at Bkilk and fhncg SUlt. Challia. Berrgtt. Brilliants. 'La ans. Mainer. ChinJtt, Deßegtt , CVupei, Printt, s Crape and Stella Shamir. UantOlar. Undentmu and Hosiery. Bonnets and JHbbonr. (Toltan..Hand. k-achir/s, Kid (Sara. Hooped Slirtr, Stirl ing. trace A line, etc.. etc. ALSO, licking". Chnckp, BWncUrd noil Unbleached Muslins. Cuton aud Lima 1«U« Din per. Cnudi, Nankeen; he. - BOOTS AND SHOES, ~ ■ ' IIIKDWARE. QUBKNSWABE. WOOD AND WILLOW WAHK, OIL GLOTUSi CAll PETS, AC. GROCERIES. our stock of Omceriee is more ext-move than /rer. and .■of Rio And Java Coffee, Crunhed. Loaf and N 0. Grwn, Y. 11. and Black Teas; Molawe*, Soapk, ; v'.iifis. Suit. Fish. 4c. Thinkful to the public fo” the very liberal patronage hri etoixre received, he hupee by strict attention to bust •„ ,4. and an endeavor to please, to meric a continuance ol ;bosaiue. and examine hi* Stock, and you will be con vinced tli t be boa the beat assortment and cbeapent Goods •ij Um‘ market. *•* Omntrv Produce of all kinds taken in exchange for du-M.l« at mark't price*. * \Uoona. April 28. 1863. EXCELSIOR Hat & Cap Store. T 11 H PHOPIII K'l OR OF Til K j “ EXCELSIOR" hat Ami «ai> st.*- w.iiiM inDu in tiis CiiMimiit rs. and the Public icemfcmlly ijiiit lie bunjust relumed from tic* city with tin* larged r.ii-i varied »l‘»ck of panlt* in hi" Him* ever hr. uirht t* i It.Nitm. al cf which lietan ip»w «m exhibition and sab* at bis new *tore loom on Virginia street, next door t*> Jar yard's store. Uis stock embraces nil the latest styb sof SPRING AND SUMMER HATS, J[ CAPS, MISSES’ ]•", \TS, &C. Him ’ B t>*cl; of 11-Mh ;>n«i Eu; - ai • - ■' tli«- v-ry !».—i '•election .\ • \ -lyie. o>l<»t nn.l ■»!. -V . '• ■< h n ••!«{ u'..l \ .tunc V ; * h i" {hut M - t--u . . ! ' I if 11 I HI . I t,r I nl lU- i- m lilies’ ami Uiialrens’ Hals an! Fla is. '.i,."! 1 hid c:uiu< f 1 e '«< pas<- rl !1 •! »li ill I will.- !! ,r »I • f. ; I. .Mr lII.* 11., 1i „f la-1ii..,. v ■ km* <if M .v 4. V^f >*T e w 1J imi o* s tore. iJ UK KLIN o: A N<>l N‘'F. T< i O t’ltiZOo* **r .A il‘ *' 'li.i •(:: ! vie fj.ty (hat they have • uj-ii .1 inug and Variety Moiv m WO.KK’S XKW IU*IM>LVG. \ "infinia Street, firf'crcn Jntioaud Caroline. Shvets, wlierv way lie had IUiCGS. CHEMICALS. DIE-STUFFS, PATENT MEDICINES, PERFUMERIES. PMNTSyQILy GLASS, runr, md ail other articles usually sold in the Drag business. OUR MEDICINES ire of the purest Hud oest quality, and our Chemical* bear the marks of the best manufacturer*. Painters. Ulaaiers, builders and others requiring to use P.iiNTi, OILS: VARNISHES, TURPENTINE* Window Qla**% Paint Brushes. Sash, Toots , dc. t <fc.. •rill find our assortment t«» be of the BEST QUALITY AND AT THE LOWEST PRICES, The pure*t Wines aud Liquor* for Medicinal. Mechani 'll anti aacratuental purpose* always in store. All md-r* correctly and promptly answered, and ’lufocians Prescription* accurately compounded. Altoona. May 12. 18C3J THE [EX lON FOREVER! GOOD TSTZE'W'S 1 WOLF would respectfully V* |o the citizens of Altoona aud vtciuit> that ha has opened a CLOTHING STORE. On Corner of Miin and Ctroline Streets, where he will keep on Itaud a large stock of ready-made clothing eonaiatimr of DRKSj< CUATS. PANTALOONS. OVERALLS, AMT JACKETS, Ac., at Phßadel ,*hia prices. HATS & CAPS! I have a large and varied stock of bats and caps which Vt will be to Disadvantage of all to examine beforit pur chasing elsewhere. Also, a fins *tock of Gents* Fatal h iog g.io is. Much as shirts, collars, ru ck-lies. han'dk«rchlfef*. r ra. Gl«»vu-% Hosiery. Ac. Determined to sell. 1 have marked my good* at the tery Jj*wret figures, aud teel Confident that all Will be fttiUcffed with The price and quality of tuy stock. Alttvxm. May 12.18C£. From the Front! r pUE Subscribers would respectfully £ announce Jo the citizen* of Alt ona and vicinity, that they have Just retonu-d from the East with their SPRING AND SUMMER STOCK OF ■HATS & CAPS, BOOTS Sc SHOES. Tii.-ir Mybk of HATS & CAPS Sht. IwpS w with' great care, ana with ih«* view of Huitiiig all wiio may fiyur them with their patronage. Their Hue ot >t* and filBN is complete. Their L AWES' AHSSESand CHILDREN'S SHOE* *re of City make,,and warranted. Their Balmoral Hhre»- far Ladies and 'Masea. are Just the .thing for wet wratht-r and saving health Thankm! to the public for thoir very liberal patrpuage uerepjfore. they hope to .merit a continuance of the name. Store on MAIN AX next U mr to iLiwraarT* Exchange ilnfel. SMITiAMANN. Altoona. May 12. IMS. confectionery; ASD .ice: CEEAM, SALO-OW. jV/IRS.. |C. BETTER respectfully ! an mMltxff,* to ti>** L.I•;;;••■ U| 1 (J-uUfAicU ol Altuui.a a-... ' (ll i( ah* i.a- ■■i t ‘ * <:«3.SKri«'TIO.NIiJi-V AM> ;('o CJiKAM SALOON, ft Smith'* old \(‘ind. • fityiuia r.titct. t>pp iilt thf. LUTHEKANCHURCH, wlu-rt* Mi<? wilt kf*-|i ■ • tml m ».lu»k*i* lot uIV«mU-cih»nsriq§ out-, fruit, c h.-a, etc., wjiicli *tot; ’Will e«ll ut tlur i»«*l r-.iL-.»ualiie n. the !M-ua*u» she will also kncji l <- e Cicnm.'ofillffiT ■ nt 11 nor-, w iiicli « e « ill t .k> j» t* mire hi nerving iucil* , .t'lu.-i H r«t mII hour* m('the u.iy.uml ••V'-mn#. *ii>> me ac«h. Hi»h I will jjivt;-t.-itiihaciion. Aj.ril-JUt. PAIS i ISO. GLAZING and PAPER- A llA^Ul.NU.—Toe r r JuBir<*« t* infurtn (tie Alt»«Mui uiifl vioiuit.v Unit t»« is pref«re<l ;ti>an* d rtakeau,v»iiiiu«ut uf ivork in liis line, and lie feet*; danllv fj-uii hii Jimzex|n*riHiic*- in the Oilaiit&w. lliAt ,!t*ciui r>-mJer eotip’ Aitlxfiicihii) lu*ih priiu* amt the fiathib tie pots n|*on his work Kaihuuten mmie At any .time. rew.,«a tmrlcg work hi my Hue to executt umy ‘-save nanicy hvcalfitijt U|h»h tue. nearly opnout* the Called Kallir.Mi Chuich. but AHooua. J. A. JDAKtt. A l-ril 21,1863,-2nt. TfT THE ALTOONA. TRIBUNE. E. B. MtCRUB. Per annvin. (payable lurari »tily in «£tnqc«,) $1 60 All papers dkcotttiuoed at t|ut expiration of tbs time .fttkl lor. 7 mm dr asrsßTUUio: 1 lutertkm 2 do. 3 Fo«r linen or 25 $ 37J£ $ 50 On - Square. (8 liuer.) 50 75 1 00 Two (16 - ) 1 00 1 50 2 00 Tara* “ (24 - ) 1 60 2 00 . 2 60 over tbreo week* «Dii lew* Uiftti three mouth*. 25 cent* per *qu»rw <or etch luaertiwu. Smooth*. 6 month*. lywr. $ 1 50 5 3 00 $ 6 00 Six linrs or least Out? •quare Two - Three ** four .Half a column Oue column Kxeculuic 1 75 Merchants adverti iui; by the: year, thro** sqi’tircs, with liberty b* change * •••••• 10 00 Prufowtioual or Bu«iuewi C«rd*,,ifot exceeding 8 Hues v Uh paper- per year..,, 5 00. -Communication)* of a politic* cbaraeto or individual interact, will be charged according to tbelkbove rates. Advertisement* not marked with the number of inser tion* de*ir«d. will be continued till forbid and c mrged according to the above t*mis. x r»u<*ine*a notices five cent* pe»* line for every Insertion. Obituary notice* exceeding ten lines, fifty cents a square. Clwitt SUMMER IS: COMING. “ Summer is coming I” glad voices say, But they spring from hearts which lightly play At the morn .of lifetime, free fr *m pain; Not from the ones who harp hoped lu vain Fur the dove of peace. Summer is coming! what doth it mean! Blue skies o’erarching bright shades of green; Waves crowned by glorious beams of light. With a •hivering sparkle like diamonds bright; Aye. and more than these. It menus that the v&rslmll start anew, And its smoke o'erclood the heaveui blue; Tliat thousands shall sink to new made graves. Where blood washed grasvshall sigh as it waves v O’cr heroes beneath. Its sunbeams'drying the moistened soil. But fit the earth for It* sad turmoil. it* rays shall light on many a tomb, \\ host* w>*t hl-knmvn iiameshlilt be filled with gloom i- -b«;h But 1-t it come: in its fearful strifr Whatever i«* lo?l of joy «>r lit; Hath u record above uh. and tlm heart For country stilled hath a deathle-s part <:•! th'- ir uw:iy | .• . ,n. • I 1 ,|-1- t! 1 1 v 1M.i1.. •, np.il l)». :i - .. . X r «• x!iioitl V- 1 why can nature smile and be glad U heu human heart** are convulsed and sad? 1 hV plan is wide which enfolds a* hero: The -un will hliin*- though-Ihe world is drear. And earth is the same. ihe c«>UTifr\ u u i11 > • ii;j tli.r id JK.-SK S.MITU Nor ought we to murmur; for her child The mother toniles, though her grief i* wild. Ami the sky wi l never w«;ar h pall; The impending grief is not for all. We’ve a country still: oarprayers should rise For a warmer sun and brighter skies; That the stroke may fall aud treaaon’sdoom Be sealed In blood ere the autumn** gloom. None should weakly shrink. *The lightning stayeth not in the sky Because it may blast in passing by— Its stroke may shatter the forest’s pride, But its pureness savea what else had died. Thanh God! we may live, though sad the coat, lie loveth us yet—we are not lost. Though fearful and long may he the strife In which we must win oar nation’s life Again from the dost. <friwt |||is«Uang. “ No, John Blaiklie, I shall never marry-you,” I said in a tone which I meant should be particularly severe. — “ Let the conversation end here.” Mr. John Blaiklie laughed in my face, which, by the way, was just what he ought not to have done. The consequence' was that I grew angry in a moment. “ You can laugh as much as you please,”. I continued. “ There is a certain class of people in the world that charac terize themselves by laughing at their own folly/ You have heard of them,.haven,t you?” “ Oh! yes.” Again John Blaiklie laughed a good natured, happy laugh, which did not tes tify very strong for the depth of his anguish at my decision. Of coure, I grew more and more piqued; nothing more could have been expected of me. “ You Are very gentlemanly, Mr. Blaik lie,” I said, in a tone which I meant should lie very sarcastic. “And taro awar» of that, too. my little Bessie,” he answered good naturedly. “ Cousin Fannie admires you very much,” I said significantly, for a moment forgetting my anger. •• -ho does?” : He;gre‘w suddenly thoughtful, and bent his large, honest blue eyes to the floor.— Then, as if a new resolution had suddenly become fixed iojds mind he aros?, saying “ You are quite sure of tnis, Bessie, quite sure?” “ Yes, quite sure., If you wish to try your luck in that direction, you may be certain of success.” ‘ “-Thank you, Miss Bessie! I will try ” “Miss Bessie!” In all his life John Blaiklie had never mein that way before. [ I stared at him in very sur prise. He did pot Appear to notice toe, but went towards the door, saying, a lit tle sadly, I thought, as he paused at the threshold — * “I have troubled you, not importuna tely, Bessie, j but because, until now, I XDItORS Ann PAOPAIXTOAJI 2 50 4 00 7 4 00 6 UO 10 5 00 6 UO 10 00 14 10 00 14 00 20 14 00 And of terror bredthe. In the hook of fume. Aud no heart should sink. Let ua learn to tnuc MY COUSIN FANNIE. have been ignorant of your true feelings. ) The future shall speak for itself. Good morning!” ! “ Good morning!” I faltered forth, staring still at him in blank amazement. For a moment I could not really believe that he had gone—not until his footsteps grew faint in the distance, and looking out of the window I could but in distinctly see his tall figure through the thick mass of shrubbery that lay between the house and the road. Then I drew a long sigh, not of relief, I am sure, as might have been expected from a young lady who had suddenly found herself rid of an annoying lover: but a sigh which puzzled my own heart to define. 1 do not know what first put the thought into my head that I should not marry John Blaiklie. From my childhood, even, I had been taught to look upon him as my future husband. 1 hrough the whole neigh borhood our engagement had grown to be such a settled affair, and of such long standing, that the'people forgot to tease us about it, and passed by as indifferently as though we had been a married couple for years instead of interesting, engaged young persons. But somenow, as I said before, I cannot tell why the idea came to me that marry ing John Blaiklie was not the best way of settling myself for life, after all ; and so. working u[K>n tl is, 1 grew to believe that I did not love him—and not loving him, what could I do but assure him that I should never be his wife 7 And that assurance I gave him: as I have already shown. But after he left me, that morning, 1 felt anything but comfortable. Indeed, the tears came constantly to my eyes, and though 1 tried as well as I could to keep them down, they conquered me at last, and sinking down in my chair, I gave up and had a good hearty cry. I fcli a little | better after that, and tried to p.ursuade I myself, in my own mind, that I had done I just the best thing 1 could do tor the in -1 surance ot John's and my own happiness. I But the worst was yet to come. 11. C. DKRN, 8 00 12 25 00 40 1- The next Sabbath Jolm attended eousin [ Fannie to church. This was such a new | and strange order of things, Unit it set the ! whole congregation to staring. Cranston ! could not sleep under anything so ineom- j prehensible, and tor that Sabbath, at least, good Parson Green preached to a wakeful set of hearer*. But they could only con jecture as to the cause of the change, and | conjecture they did without leaving but little lime for any other mental specula tion. Some were ready to declare that cousin Fannie had supplanted me in John's affection, and that 1 was breaking my heart in a secret kind of way about it; others said that the fault rested with me. and that 1 was looking in another and higher direction for a lover. But I had the truth, and most sacredly did I guard it. It grew to be a very plain truth be fore the summer was gone. As time wore atvay, and I saw plainly into the depths of my heart, I knew 1 that, fora childish, girlish whim, I had put the happiftss of a lifetime away from me. But 1 could only wear a brave face, and keep my secret away from the prying, curious gaze of those who were searching for it. I did not often meet John, and but twice during that summer were we thrown into each other’s company for a sufficient length of time to exchange a dozen words. Once we met at a picnic. From the moment I stepped upon the grounds I knew that he was intending to speak to me. Perhaps I felt it by the way he watched m 6 as I went from place to place. When he came to my side, it seemed that the whole party hushed voice, heart and soiil to listen to us. He smiled at this, and commenced talking in a pleasant, gossipy way about the weather, appearing not to notice my flushed face and slightly disturbed manner.-: “ Are you enjoying the best of health, this summer ?” he asked, at length, with, as I thought a faint touch of mischief in his countenance. - “ The very best of health, Mr. llhukUe,” I answered, curling my lip. “ Perhaps you have been informed to the contrary, however,’" I continued, more in answer to his smile that aught else. “.Cranston gossips have, I believe, given mu the credit of bearing up under a settled heart dis ease.” “ They are inferior judges, Bessie. — Do not class me among them.” “ I never have,” I answered dryly. “No I suppose not,” he said, smiling again. “This is a beautiful grove!” “Very,” I answered, feeling that it was my turn to smile now. “ Have you noticed the arrangements made for dancers ?” I .hook my head. “ Come this way, then, if you please.” Ho offered me his arm, which I took without thinking to thank , him. For a linle moment I forgot that the right of claiming his attention was not mine. It seemed so like old times to be walking by his side, watching his face and listening to the tones of his V jicc. Before I conld help it,. I found myself sighing long and deeply- If John noticed it he was very forbearing, for by look or word he did not reply to it; but I thought the silence was [independent nr evektthing.] ALTOONA, PA., TUESDAY, MAY 19, 1863. a little too long for an ordinary one, and bo I made a bold push to break it. Again I forgot myself. “ What a nice place this is,” I said.— “Do you remember John, how crazy I used to be about danciagt father used to say if my heart would always keep ns light as my feet, life would go easily with me.” “Yes, yes, I remember,” he replied, as I thought, a little sadly. “ Will you dance with me to-day ♦” “ Oh! yes, certainly,” I was glad to have him ask me that.— Of all persons in the world, I best loved to dance with him. I had told him so hun dreds of times, too, so that he knew well enough what ray smile meant. We danced together so many times that day, that the Cranston people—or at least all of them that attended the picnic—grew big-eyed with wonder. Noticing how close they watched us, John said, as he led me to my seat for the hist time, after dancing— “ We are saving our good townfolks form a great deal of sin, Bessie ; because while they are speculating about such innocent sort of people as yon and I, they cannot be talking about worse ones. We ftre get ting famous.” I was happier that night after I re turned home, than 1 bad been for weeks before. But my happiness was of short duration, for after supper was cleared away, and while I sat by an open win dow, recalling the events of the day, my mother said to me— “ Your aunt Hastings was here to-day. and she said that John Blaiklie was finish ing his house on the hill. Did you hear anything about it at the picnic V’ “ No.” I said scarcely above a whisper. “ And she said that if Fannie was going to marry John, she keeps it dreadful sly : for. l>eside? peiemg up a few squares of patchwork, .-he has not made the first step towards getting ready. What do you think about it f” “ 1 think she will be ready as soon as the house is,” I answered, turning my tace towards the window, that she might not notice the expression of my features. “ Well, lake it altogether, Bessie, it's s> queer piece of business.” I did not answer, but only let my fore head droop low upon the window seal. Seeing this, mother came up to me. and rested her hand upon my head, and said — '■Poor child 1” „ How from my liCart I blessed her for her quiet sympathy. The next two weeks that followed were sad and tedious ones to me. Eyery way that I turned, news of John Blaihlie's ap proaclpng marriage with cousin Fannie was /poured into my ears; and even Fannie herself, who had always been very prudent about it, seemed pleased in telling me of the arrangements that were going on up at John’s new* house—of this piece of iurniture-he had selected, of the carpets which had been left to her judgment ex clusively,-and of the beautiful toned sera phine that John’s uncle had presented liim for the little parlor. “ You will be very happy,” I said, one day, in answer to all this. Fannie looked up suddenly into my face. I thought a quizzical expression drifted across her features. “ How pale you look, Bessie,” she said. “ What is the matter with you ?” “Nothing, I am sure,” I answered, with some little show of spirit. ' “ I am glad of it; but, indeed, you do look downright ill. Won't you go up to the new house with me to-night ? Per haps that will make you feel better. 1 believe you keep too closely in the house. But you need not shake your head; you will go. John will be there, and we will have a pleasant time of It.” I went, in spite of myself, although every step towards the house that was once to have been mine was very like torture to me. Oh! what a pleasant house it was; and how simply and tastefully furnished, from the cunning, neatly grained kitchen to the fine well carpeted parlors. Every thing was just as I ; bad planned it, a Hundred times, in a laughing, jocose way to John. Had be, indeed, remembered it all on purpose to torture me with it now t It seemed so. “Do you like the house. Bessie ?” he asked, as if divining my very thoughts. “ Very much, indeed,” 1 answered.— “ Everything is neat and tasteful. Is it too early to wish you joy ?” I asked, feel ing that he was expecting me to say some thing. “ No, not too early *, but it may be too late.” • I looked up into his face. Its expres sion puzzled roe. “ I do not understand you very clearly,” I said. “ But never mind.” I added, noticing that Fannie had gone from the rooml have a wretched headache to night, and hardly know what 1 am saying.” Headache! when all the time it seemed as if ray heart was breaking! “Where is Fannie?” 1 ashed, s mo ment after, seeing that she did not re turn. “Gone home!” he answered, in the coolest tone imaginable. “ What, and left me here?” “Yes, and left you here, frightened?” “Not much —my poor head—l will go.” •** Wait a moment, if you please,” he said, detaining me. “ 1 have something to say to you.” Something to aay to me! Did he know that every kind word that he spoke to me pierced my heart like a barbed arrow ? “ Ihis house is yours, if you wish it, Bessie, 7 ’ he began, in a slightly embar rassed way. “I am afraid you : made a hard decision in casting me off forever. It seems to me that 1 know your heart belter than yon know it yourself.’’ I looked up into his face. It seemed to me that 1 was dreaming. I told him so, between my sobs and tears. “God forbid!’’ he said, taking both my hands. “But the past summer has been a wretched reality of doubt tod despair to me. Tell me, Bessie, is it ended here t”. m . I could not answer him in words, only went closer to his side, and nestled my hands fondly in his. “ This shall be your home then, Bessie, 1 ’ he said, kissing me. “But, remember, my dear, that I cannot allow my bouse to go without an incumbrance, as the news papers say. Dues that idea please you ?” “ Oh ! yes,” I answered. John believed me. Why shouldn’t he! Singing Schooi-— The editor of the Montgomery Democrat thus soliloquises over this old fashioned institution: Of the old-fashioned singing schools how much has been said and sung!— Great institutions were they; arrange ments charmingly suggestive of fun, frolic, snow,.-starlight, love, laughter, belles, and allowable “ bender*” Those singing schools “ away out in the country,” we mean—held in the only church—and that a small one—within a circuit of twenty miles. They mad-s the church the weekly trysting-plate of the *• paired off” couple for iniks around ; they made it the week's centre of gravity for the old folks to get to tor a shake of hands: they, made it a grand gathering place, where matters practical could be talked over, and mat ters musical could be sung over and learnt. How maoy sung themselves form Old Hundred to matrimony! What life part nerships for the future sprung from the rides which William and Alary Ann had to and from the singing school I They went to church to learn to sing, and they only learned to soft sawder. They went in single harness and came back in double, with the usual promises never to kick ,over the traces or shatter the mutHmonial dashboard. And Mary Ann’s spit curl was accordingly sobered back, and Wil liam worhpd the old farm till he went to Congress or Canaan. Spy Shot. —A few days ago a sentry on duty at Maj. Gen. Stanley’s headquar ters shut a rebel spy as be was endeavor ing to escape through our lines near Franklin, Tenn. Ihe spy wasfirst chal lenged, and, having twice disregarded the order to “ halt,” the sentinel took deliber ate-aim and killed the unhappy victim at the first shot He was recognized as an individual who had been lurking around the camp for several days, in the vocation of a songster, reciting patriotic airs for the soldiers, and receiving small' sums of money for bis trouble. He was detected, arrested, and thrown into prison-when be made his escape, and was going,but of the linos when he was shut After his death his body was searched by the guards.— Inside his boots, and between his feet and stockings, were found skillfully-drawn plans ot the Federal fortifications, the strength of their armament, and correct details of the organization of this army, number of forces, Ac. Had the spy suc ceeded in eluding our sentries, ihe rebel commander would have been in possession of invaluable information on which he could have based his plan of operation. Bad Books.— “ Beware of bad books— never open one—they will leave a stain upon, the soul which can never be re moved. If you have an enemy whose soul you wish to visit with a heavy ven geance and info whose heart jrou would place vipers which will live, and crawl, .and torment him through life, and whose damnation you would seal up for the efernal world, you have only to place one of these destroyers into his hands. Ton have certainly paved the way to the abode of death, and if he does not tread it with hasty strides, yon have, at least, laid np food for many days of remorse. Those who print, sell or peddle rach works to the young are the most awful scourges with which a righteous God ever visited the world. “'lhe Angle of death can sheath bis sword, and stay bis hand in the wro-fc of destruction. But them wretehe*! they dig graces so deep that they reach into Mil. Ihe blight the hopesol parents, and pourlaore than seven viafe of woe upon the family whom: affection* are bound up in the sons thus destroyed. i EDITORS.AND PROPRIETORS HBVEB PLOW POTATOES. Thia raay wa Mraagt logic, no doubt, to many of our readers; but if I- they will only try it, I think they will find the difference in the yield, equally strange. Plowing potatoes will not answer with, me. If the season is dry "they do not grow until the autumn rains come, and they then grow so rapidly that they are very tender and soon rat after being taken out of the ground, if they do not before, which is very often the case. My mode of planting Mid cultivating potatoes is to take a piece of corn stubble and cover well with barn yard manure; then plow deep, and plant in every third furrow, the potatoes about ten inches apart in the furrow; then, after you have finished planting, harrow down smooth and toll with n light roller; then, when they begin to come through the ground, harrow again in the same direction of the rows; then, when! they reach he height of about four inches, run the cultivator through the rows, twice to each row. After this, use the cultivator as often as you think proper, taking care to keep down all weeds and grass, and if any weeds .grow in the rows that cannot be reached by the cultivator, pull them out with the hand. Never use the plow to cover them, as you form a ridge that runs all the water from your potatoes in between the rows, where it can do no good. Potatoes grow in the Warm, dry months, and we sometimes have a number of small or slight showers that moistens the earth a few indies each time, and revives vegetation very much; but it is only the heavy, soaking rains that reach potatoes that are ridged up Go into your potato pitch, after a slight shower, and examine the potatoes that have been ridged up and see if they have been fienefited by it much.—Cor. Dollar Newtpaptr. Ara you Coal Oil foe Fruit Trees. — A gen tleman formerly connected with the coal oil business, says that, several years ago, in taking a lot of sample bottles of coal oil on a journey for exhibition, acci dentally had a buttle broken, saturating the sawdust in which the bottles, were packed. When he arrived at bis stopping place, he put the sawdust at the foot of a plum tree, it being about the time of the blossoming of the plum trees, 'ihe result was watched, and it turned out that the curculio, which ravaged the other plum trees: in the orchard, gave this one a wide berth, and the plums were saved to ripen. 'lhis ciftumstance led to still further experiments, with like favorable results The sawdust thus saturated —which can be done with the cheapest kind oi coal oil —retains the odor for a long time, which is quite* offensive to the very fastidious tastes of this little pest. The borer, also, will hot put his gimlet into the trunk of a tree which is encircled with this stuff. Witness Three. —Shortly before he died, Patrick Henry, laying his hand on the Bible, stud: “ Here is a book worth more than all others, yet it ifciny sad misfortune never to have read it, until lately, with proper attention.” With voice and gesture pertinent, and all hh> own, John Randolph said : a A terrible proof of our deep depravity is, that we can relish and remember any thing better than the Book. When the shades of death were gather ing around Sir Walter Scott, he said to the watcher, “Bring the Book.” “What book?” asked Lockhart, his son-in-law. “There is but one Book,” said, the dying roan. With such testimony as to the value of the Sacred - Scriptures, reiterated by the great and good, in all ages, it is a sealed book to many. - W A man went to Philadelphia some years ago, exhibiting six hoys and rix girls, but all of them were dressed in girls clothes, 'i bey were all so ranch like girls in appearance, that he made money bet ting that no one could tell t’other from which. An Irishman went out and re turned with a dozen apples. Throwing one to each of the children, be observed that some of them caught (hem in their handa; these were boys. Others held out their apronsthese he catd were girls. Pat was right An Eorroß Married.—One of that unhappy fraternity, a bachelor editor, has lately married a pretty girl, and talks as follows of his bliss: * A pur ot sweet lips, a pressure of two delicate hands,, and a pink waist ribbon, will do as much to un hinge a man as three fevers, the measles, a large used whooping-cough, a pair of lock jaws, several hydrophobias, and the doctor's bill” ’ "■’> tir “Papa, didn’t you whip me once for biting Tommy?” “Yes,* my child, you hurt him very much.'* “Well, then* Pfpa, you ought to’whip sister's music master , twj, for hebitsoter, yesterday, right on the mootb,a»d | know it hurt her beeaufo she arms , around his neck and tried to choke him.’’ I NO. 16.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers