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.