£j». : \f i i j■! ■/., <fec. leoe&mrge of tb»B«rait*r« » street, opposite KeuUr't tortpstj lotkelrptockara now ip toe Hardware and Cutler* Csai Asian, Adw*, ChtaU tiU»tanDn. - lo the Hardware 11ns.« r . their stocit. ’;■ lints, Carbon QH, etc., to their these articles at a small ad- JSINESS, issortment from which m* .article, to pslasa their tkpej. IRONWARE, XOW-WABE lljvsndl will maka to otd \y attended to.' SPOUTING style. oops. rould respectfully in ub& and surrounding touo* from the Kaet, where be&av NTER GOODS, rice. iCAanotJ*; «nqpMM4 in rock ie much. larger than an object, tn lhwe exdtfng rcheeo wbenitbar iNtt get t the Lowest Prices, 1 Trill sell as low, lf not a •e In.-thia plade. J9e withes t'ftre purchasing tleewhere. inducement* which, jriU unisiiU of )$ of every description, EE WEAR, i £S' jwjsss shoes, | ’ BOOTS AND 3UOSS, MEN’S IUALE HOBB WOOL. HOSE. * LEACHED MtISLIN, IVD HEAVY; DRILLINGS. Ireted Boorava at slAog)l.l6 Li... IA7©IAO ■tt. - .\ RIES. t- CoR.-'f, Syfnps, Trea, Ac.‘ kept in a Drr Goods Store, J. A. BPKANKLE. BWB I . EDUCED I IAINB TO BE HAD, AT ns STORE, Virginia St. the Ka*t with a Sue aaaort It. BBOWN AND BLUE. IIXAIIi, BARATHEA, DELAINES, Plaids, &e., &c. iloakinf: Cloth, Canteen, Kudina Bleached and Un tinetta. Dennnia. Ginghania, kfeat Capes: Blanket# and rtniturt of Ladles' Winter iat reduced price*. Alao, rp« n, 34c; and Bine White, oiir stock, if you wish to Befe. - ' : lace, J. B Hiteatao’s Old JSFULLY! ftG TO THE euBUC. TO BUV XOOR VIMER GOODS. of Ladies’ Dress i has 'Jnat bees opened at ooa, and will be cold for in ion. W> are determined tc the lcad,mnd the* the it in the Tint. Oomock Urinoe#, Palmetto Clothe, i, All'Wool pSaide, Delaines, | y of other goods, of differ* ; there Upoihthgtheladiet. mot furnish there with,— I of evlsw Balmorals, Gaiters so* ngetting to mention our etnswa&z. rtc. ; money can ba saved by K tnuce, we are felling good L Muslin* aalow, ee IBete., ♦ and rood Tee* for 90 eta, iliN J. MPKPUT ICO.» eet Iron TjTare. G. &C. \ lESPECT-aJ m» of ntly ob rlor- Office iuitfJHH iz««, to tnlt th» wyn*?T" at k> w prices, mi rssson- etoct of 3>‘» ;c-i for culinary pui poses: Lt of tale in BUlr cowity UE BTOFFF.B, > Jmj. ve«n tobeftppngU. luntr, batcher It. patting op ffIOUTISO ting pointed ond pirtap • r»pril M, W«fiy kiEK’S ; s Agency, MAINBT&BPT LANK BOOKS* fKCTIONABJfiS great ysßtßrr s hash; ATfON, «»*■• far awtt in wtfedJßgg irtM. -pr. 3. BgagDU» i,, Bi»3.Bw«bi»W^» noa* eojftjfiX; McCRUM & DERN, VOL. 9 the aetoona tribune. ir „ . - B. C. DEHS. AB AHB PROPRIIT obs. m /niivablt* invariably in advance,)...... SI,M at the expiration of the time l'>*‘ iSTOtTISWO : 1 inbvruon 2Uo. J ao. , « ‘i6 * 37 % 3° Poor lines or less 50 75 1 00 On.- i‘inare, (“• ““W l 00 1 60 2 00 Two '• (’® ! . 1 50 2 00 2 50 r 'o r "r three three month., 25 c.nl. p. r square for each insertion.^^ B C month®. I year. t I 50 $ 3 00 $ 5 00 2 60 . 4 00 7 00 4 00 0 <)0 10 00. Six Urn* or le»»- Om* square Trirm-* Four Half ft column i„.. Notices admioistratilrs and KX . thß year. three aqoaree, Merchants advert. -mg b J J „10 00 with iihorty to c uot exceeding 8 linen |>rof -Mioiial or Business Cards, uc » 8 Q 0 with paper, per year ' or individual Oommuivo.tlons of a t* thoabov*rates, interest. Will lie » h,r J ! *^ rkp ? w u h the number of imer .™iH mi forbid and charged according to the above “IS'iier line for every insertion. KXSww lines, fifty cents a square §Um f THE BAYONET CHARGE a sound, not a breath. All as still as death. , , As we stand on the steep in our bayonet’s shrine ; All is tumult below — Surging friend, surging foe ; But not a hair's breadth moves our adamant line— Waiting so grimly. The battle-smoke lifts From the valley, and drifts Bound the {till where we stand, like a pall for the world ; And a glimpse now and then Shows' the biiiows of men. In whose black boiling surge we are soon to be hurled, Redly and dimly There’s the word 1 Heady all 1 See the serried points fall— The grim horizontal so bright and so bare ! Then the other word—Ha ! We are moving! Huzza! We snuff the burnt powder, we plunge in the glare, Rushing to glory! Down the bill, up the glen, O'er the bodies of men, Then on, with a cheer, to the roaring redonbt ! Why stumble so, Nc<l ? No answer —He’s dead And there's Dutch Peter down, with his life leap ing out, Crimson and gory ! On! On! Do not think Of the falling, but drink Of the mad, living cataract-torrent of war ! On ! On ! let them feel The cold vengeance of steel! Catch the Captain —-he's hit! ’Tu a scratch nothing more! , ■ £ ’ Forward forever 1 Huzza ! Hero’s the trench ! In and out of it! Wrench From the jaws of the cannon thft gucrdon of Fame! Charge! charge ! with a yell, hike the shriek of a shell — O'er the abattis, on through the curtain of flame I back again ? Never! The rampart! Tis crossed— It is ours 1 It is lost 1 No—another dash now and the glacis is won ! Huzza! What a dust! Hew them down ! Cat and thrust 1 A T-i-g-a-r! brave lads, for the red work is done— Victory! victory! There’s a lull in the fight. In the glad morning light, I stand on the works, looking back there with pain, - . Where the death-dew of war Stains the daisy’s white star, And God’s broken images scatter the plain, Hush! Do not speak tome! Mart |||isi»Ua»|j. the SILENT WITNESS. FROM A LAWYER'S DIABT n I had spent some years in the west 111 the practice of my profession, aed was on a visit to ray friends in New England. Among those who came first on ray list of friendship, was Fred. Elliott, and I arranged to visit him as soon as I could. Fred, and I had grown up together as boys; we had entered college to gether, and graduated together; and the practice of law, he entered his uncle’s store in the capacity of book-keeping, with a good promise ahead. And there "as another between us—a near and dear one to us, who were both orphans, and who had few relatives, living. Fred, had married my owu cousin, sweet Hattie Keene. He married her since I went away, though the jvent had been upon the doeket'a long time before. And thus I was to meet two of my dearest friends beneath the same roof. ' before dusk when the carnage aft me at the house which had been pointed‘dut as the one occupied by| my friend, and which I at once recognized us the former home of *old Timothy Ellrott, the uncle .of whom I have spoken. My summons wa|s answered by a light, quick step on the hall floor; and when the door was opened I recog nized the fair, fond features of my dearly remembered cousin. She was. five years older than when I saw her last, I and grown to be a Ilf tie more womanty, and a little more sedate. In fact, she had put on the holiest of characters—that of a mother. The beauty, the,life, the animation, the smiles of other years had'not gone ; but they were eleva ted with, softened by, and blended into, that noble character. At first she did not; know me, but when I called her .Hattie, as I used to in the olden times, she caught me by the hand, , and in-a moment more her soft, white arms were around my neck. She Was a sister to me in heart and sohl, and with a sister’s love she greeted me. We went into the parlor, where an astrhl lamp was already burning upon the centre table, and, where a fire was reflecting a genial warmth from a polished grate—for it was autumn and the evenings were quite cool. Upon a chahv near by the table, sat a little boy of some three years, playing with the richly orna mented bridle of a rocking horse; while upon the carpet was a glee some child, not yet able to walk with safety, engaged in tumbling a arge marten jmuff. : And these were Hattie’s children—two as bright and beautiful beings as ever made music in am earthly home. She told them that I was Uncle Enoch. She had neither sister nor brother, so I was forced to be an uncle to her children. Where had I been ? What had I been doing? How had I been? Was I'married ? Did I ever mean to be ? and a more ques tions of like character were shower ed upon me before I bad time to ask any in return. By-and-by Fred, came in. There was a cloud upon his face when he entered the room. I saw it very plainly; but bis wife burned to his side, kissed him, and whispered ip his ertr, and in a mo ment he brightened up: and when he greeted me, and held my hand and patted me upon the shoulder, he appeared the same warm and genial spirit ajs of the olden turm At the tea fable he asked ;’ after mv fortunes ;in the distant hbme I had sought;;and when I told'ihim I had succeeded 5 beyond my most san guine expectations, and thatmateriai wealth was fast accumulating - for me, he wasjnot only pleasant, but intimated that such business .and such prospects would suit him. I laughed outright at what I con sidered the absurdity of .this last idea. It would do very well, I told him, for a poor fellow, with only his two hands to help him, to get off into the western wilds; hut for one like him, with an independent fortune at his command, to think of such a thing was -ridiculous. He smiled as I spoke, .and turned the suhjecl of conversation. 6 oo 8 oft 12 00 0 00 10 00 14 00 20 00 to oo 14 oo 14 00 25 00 \ 40 00 1 76 "Within an hour after we adjourn ed to the parlor, I was sure some thing had gone wrong with my friend. He tried to be cheerful, to talk of our old pranks, and to laugh and joke as' in the days of our youth; and as a last resort, endeavored to arouse himself by caressing his sweet children. But it would not do—l had seen top much. Hattie succeed-, ed much better than he did; yet as' the ’ evening wore on, I could see there was a heavy load upon her' heart as well. • ;i At length the children were abed, and the mother soon followed them. I plainly heard her sob as she left the rPom, and a smothered groan, which could not escape me, b*rst from her husband’s bosom., Fred poked up the coals, and took two or three across the floor, after which he 1 ! returned and sat down near me. | ’“Enoch,!’ he said, his face all wrapped in gloom, “perhaps you think I act Strangely.” j “I think something is the matter with you,” I returned. “Something must have gone wrong.” ‘ , “you ape: , Something has gone wf£WgC< Stf tact,” /he added,, as a over his, frame; ALTOONA, PA., SATUEDAY, MARCH 11, 1865. “a storm has burst upon me which is to ruin me.” He spoke this so solemnly and so steadily that I knew there must be some deep meaning in it; and I asked him if he could tell me his trouble. Of course he would tell me. He was anxious to tell me, for I was not only one of his dearest friends, but I was a lawyer and might possibly assist him. “You know,” said he, “that I went into business with my uncle Timothy. When I was married he made me come and live in this house; he put the whole establishment into our hands, and he then hoarded with us. I had no money—not a dollar, but when 1 served hup one year as book-keeper, he gave me a good share in the business. Throe years ago he died, leaving me an estate of about sixty thousifnd dollars. “There was no will left, or, at least such was supposed to be the case: and it all came to me, as I the only blood relative living.— .Uncle Timothy had one brother and one sister. He marked when quite young, but his wife died without is sue. His sister married a man named Isaac Staffer, who had one child by a former wife, but he never bad any children by my aunt. He died at the’end of two years, leaving her no means, and,she found a hdme with a brother, taking her step-son with her. In time she died, and the boy was left; in my ; uncle’s charge until he was twenty-one.— So much for the sister. The brother iparriedV find had one child, and that child was myself. My father died when I was a, mere child, and my mother’died before I was graduated. So you see, I v as the only represen tative of Uncle Timothy’s blood.” “Certainly,” J said, “and of course the whole property fell to you.” “Yes,” he replied, “and it was given to me, and I took possession, and opened a. flourishing business. Upon the strength thereof, I have Entered society, and responsible offices Jiave been put upon me.” “Well,” said I, as my, friend paused again, “what has happened to disturb all this ?” “I’ll tell you,” lie returned, start ing frpm amoody reverie into which he had fallen. “You know thatmy father?and Uncle Timothy once had a serious falling out.” “Yes,” I told him, “Ihavo some recollection of it; but that was a great many years ago. We were hoys then.” “Ay—it was near twenty 'years ago,” said Fred; hut I remember it very well, for I recollect how badly it made moth er feel. The. estrange ment lasted tor some years; and during that time, the bitterness was very strong. My uncle declared that he would have nothing more to do with his brother; and. under the influence of this feeling he made a wall conveying the great bulk ot his property to Staffer, the sou of his sister’s husband. You remember that, don’t you ?” “Yes,” I said. And ]|4idremem ber it very well, for it mad® consid erable talk at the time ; and more so, because Staffer, who had... mar ried Timothy Elliott’s sister, had not been considered much of a man, and it was not generally supposed that the boy, whom he had left upon the care of his wife’s relatives, gave any promise of a valuable life. “And,” continued Fred, “you probably recollect when my father was very sick, Uncle Timothy came to him and the quarrel was thrown away, and from that time, while my father lived, their brotherly love was warm and generous. “Yes, I know all that.” “Well, at that time my uncle spoke ofthe will be had made, and said he | would de 9t roy. it, aud I believe lie did. I know it as well as I know anything which I did not see with my own eyes. Before toy uncle died he bold me that he should make no will, for there was no need of it. He said I was the only lawful heir, and that was enough. My uncle died and I came posses sion of the property; and I have En joyed it, and have tried to do good with, it; and I have added some thing to the original fortune, for I careful and prudent. In a dark hour/however, a storm has burst upon' me. It seemed only a cloud at first; but it proved a fearful one. Jdhfl Staffer hik •ENT ra He went away about ten years ago —went away because my uncle would, not give him a , home any longer—and has now come and has laid claim on my property. He claims the whole of it!” “But how?” I asked, as my friend stopped to take breath. “You remember Stephen Akers, the old lawyer?” said Fred. “Ay,” I replied, “I know him' very well. He has. been out west and done Some business there ; but he can’t do more where he is known, for he proved himself a villiaii.” “Ha! do yon know if.?” " “Yes; but what bus v that to do with you now?” •Til tell yon. In the first place, he used to do business here, and my uncle employed him some.” “I remember that.” “Audit was he who made that will tor my uncle.” ' “Yes, I recollect It now.” “Well,” continued Fred, “this old villain of a lawyer came hack here about six months, ago, and ere long he and John Staffer had their heads together. In a little while Staffer/ame and laid claim to. my uncle’s property; and when asked what he meant, he produced a paper which appeared to be the last will and testament of Mr. Timothy Elli ott; And, Stephen Akers swears that this is the same will which pay uncle made many years ago, and that it has been in his charge ever since. He says that when he went away to the western country he over looked it among his papem, and took it along nidi him. He furthermore declares that he received many let ters from Mr. Elliott, in which he requested him to be careful of .the will, and keep it so that it could be brought to light in case of need.” “Of course,” said I, “thisrnust be a fraudulent one.” “Most certainly it is,” returned Fred. “And yet it has been admit ted to probate,’and the judge has accepted it. I have appealed, and it goes to the Superior Court, and', moreover, the trial /comes off to morrow. : For myself, Enoch, —if I were alone in the world) —I would care little, for I could put forth my cnergies'anew; but for my wife and children, oh I it is hard!” He burled his face in his hands, add wept aloud; but in a little while Ire became calm again, and I ques tioned him as I saw fit. Another witness to the will, besides Stephen Akers was living, and he had testi fied that he believed the instrument now produced was the one to which he put his name. In short, the case looked dark enough, and I dared not give my friend much hope. Yet I promised to think of the matter, and be present with him at the trial. i On the, following morning I got away as soon as possible, for I could not bear to hear Hattie’s grief; but I promised to come back again, and as I held her hand at the door, ,told her to keep up a good heart. An uncle of mine, named Ansel Forbes, a brother of my mother, was in town on business, and I went to see him. He was a paper manufac turer, and worth a handsome prop erty. I found him at the hotel, and passed a happy hour with him; for I was his pet in boyhood, and it was by his generous bounty that I went through college. I told him about the trial which was to come off, and he said he meant to be present if he could. He had been well acquaint ed with Timothy Elliott, and he was firmly convinced that the only will which Elliott had ever made had been destroyed. When the hour of trial arrived it was announced that I should assist in the case. I took my seat with the counsel already engaged. As the trial went on it certainly did look dark enough for my friend; Steph en Akers, a dark browed, tbxy look ing man, with hair ot grizzled red, which stoodkmt like a hedgehog’s quills upon his head—swore maf this will was the will ’which he, as Tim-, pthy Elliott’s attorney, had made eighteen years before, and tbatit had been in his possession ever since,, until he had lodged it in the probate office. And he-also siyore to the receipt of letters from., Elliott, bid ding him keep it safe. .1 There was no getting around his testimony—it was plain and direct, and we could not break through it. _ An old man namedjackson, who md been one of the witnesses of the old will, testified that he believed the instrument now before him was the one tp whicß he had put his mud. He could say that this was iis own signature. He was aff hon est old fellow, andTadmitted that; lie lad always-'Stipposed the will had )een destroyed. JPot our client we had nothing of clear, plain facts to help us. We any amount of impressions and opin ions in our favor. It had been thjJ impression of all Timothy Elliott’s intimate friends that the will which ie had made had been destroyed,— : He had talked to theinrin-tlqat way. And yet no one of them could swear that they 1 had ever heard him say, directly, that such was the fact. In short, though - the belief in the des truction of thht will was so general and so firm, “yet wefcould not , pre : sent to the jury rf single feet to sus tain us in ” Had the counsel for the appellant any more testimony to produce ? Fred placed his hand, trembling like an aspen, upon my arm, and whispered:— “ Oh, my soul! lam lost!” He was pale as death, and his suf ferings intense. As the case now! stood, I could have no hope* What ever may have been the opinion of the court and gun 7 upon the right and justice of the thing, there could have been but one opinion upon the law and fact. Were the counsel for the appel ant ready to rest the citse? I held the will iu my hand. Ibe eved it to be a forgery, : I believed 1 re only will which Timothy Elliott; ever made had been destroyed, and 1 that Akers, in consideration of a share in the spoils, had, from the old draft in his hands, forged this in strument, counterfeiting even Jack son’s signature so nicely that the simple old man could not disown it. ;; was about to give the instrument up, and my last faint hope with fit, when a dim mark in one comer of the sheet caught ray eye. It was • a stamp —an impression on the paper —.not so large as the point of; a fin ger’s end, but I bent my head for a aoment to call to mind something of the past. “What is it?” asked Fred, who lad noticed my emotion. I told him to wait; and then arose and looked around the ccflirt room. Was my uncle there? Yes, I saw him close by me. I a&ked that Ste phen Akres might be called to the stand again. The wretch saw that I was excited, and he trembled a lilr tie when he started to answer to the call, though he was firm enough when he had gained the stand. . “Mr. Akers,” said I, controlling myself as I possibly could:, “you made this will.” , “Timothy Elliott made it,” he re plied; “I merely wrote it down for him as he dictated.” “This will is dated,” said I, look ing at its sign and seal, “October third, eighteen years ( ago this very month.’’ “Certainly,” replied Akers, “that is just when it was made.” s “And you swear that this is the identical instrument?” “Ido.” “And you swear that Timothy El liott set his b'rnd and seal this paper at the ti mentioned?” “I do.” I looked th He must have read in that look something of my thoughts, for his countenance changed and his knees actually shook beneath him. I told him I had done with him. Then I asked that Ansel Forbes' might be called to the stand. What did I want with him ? And my unde was also anxious to know why he was called agon, for he was well known, and stood as high as the judge himself. : “Mr. Forbes,” saW I, “you are a manufacturer of paper ?” JEe said he - * - “How long have you-been enga- j ged in the business ?; ; He thought a moment, and then replied, “I entered the business in eighteen hundred and thirfy-q|m j. so"! have been in it just ten years. “Kow sir,” said I, handing him the instrument which I held, “will you tell me, will you tell the jury, when that paper Wija made ?” t ; Ho took’it, and the moment m. eye rested u|ton it he started. He EDITOKS' AND-PBOPSIETOBA gazed upon the comer, and then, in a bursting, amazed tone, be cried— “l made it myself!” « “When?” I,Amended. ! f “It could not haye been oVer nine years ago, for hepe is my'mark— my name—upon it, as 1 alone have stamped paper ip ibis country I” He then showed to the court and to the jury the mirk which be bad detected. It was plain enougb now :—a little oval impression, with 'tbe name “A Eorbes v embossed in ti lt was defaced and soiled, but not pbliterated, ... his way -frbpi the But the deputy brought hpu back. Two whbleaale dealers were sum moned? and when they eXaibtned : the paper they at once recognized it as Ansel Forbes’s manufacture.— They knew it— there could Ibe. no question... , Vi -i •• •- ;.i - , And thus* qlftost. piraculousjy, was the whoje current of changed. We gaye thepase in, and in a Very fcW minhtes we bad the verdict. ■ ’ ';v v ’ ' That evening Hattie abbdt my neck, andbiessed {Old ' thanked me until !feirly’criect And Fred, .whan he tried to apeak of whas had .qpce, broke down under the weight of joy and gratitude that was,upon, hiim lie was s£fe,_ hi B fortune was safe bis wile 'end little ones were ! Still blessed. 1 ’!;' Some asked me' hdw 1 happened to' detest that ■ silent witness 1 Uway up in the comer of that paper. I answered that my uncle gave me half adozeu reams of that, paperi wben he commenced making it, and Iha,d been usiugit ever since, so that the stamp was Very &mmaf to me. The forger'hid selected for his wicked purpose a sheet of ‘ Respecta ble age; but it bid notprovecDquite old enough to' answer 1 the date he had just put upon it.. ; ■ > Master John Staffer got off to sea again;. but Stephen Akersfoutidhis way to the State Prison, where for a terin of years, he was forcibly re strained from cheating his fefiow men. "■ Practical Jokes Plated by 4 Horse.— Tho’ many curious tricks and mischievous butharmless capers have been played by horses within our kriqwledge,.yet it is hardtofnta credence to the following anecdote from an English paper “3?here was, some years ago, a very fine horse in the possession of Henry Mens & Co., the eminent brewers. ’ Itwas uaedas a dray horse, but was so tractable that it was left sometimes without restraint, to walk about the yatd and return to the sta ble, according to its fancy. In the yard there were also a few pigs of a peculiar breed, fedpn gxain,,and these pigs the horse had evidently, an insuperable : objection., There was a deep trough in the yarddiold ing water for the ; horses, where this horse went often, taking his month full near it on the ground, and when the young swine approached: it ££br the old ones kept aloofjl he would seize one of them by the tail, pop him into the trough, and then about the yard, seemingly delightecgp with the frolic. The noise or the * , pig soon brought the men to his asr sistance, who knew from experience what was the matter, Whiletnd Korte indulged in all sorts of antics toshow’ his glee, and then returned quietly to his stable. ; in the eye.' ■ ~: i; -- A Eemabkabiiß Case.—A yetyjp markable case is that of a solder,pp. ra hospital in Phnladelpiiia, wi[o,, it Wid, has net slept Wmqmeet |or ever; fourteen He says that sleep forsook him in the summer of 1360, and he has never felt even drowsy sinW that tinre r j Ete has been years in bar atnty, holding the posi tion.of (Orderly Sergeant and h£« seen hard service, and taken part in. several raids, without affecting hi* remarkable waketulness., Qnoae occasion, a number of scieptifio gcm-n tiexneh investigated hiscaae,\an<i watched him conBtantlyforfer^4wioi day a; and nightewithout detecting*’ single doze,ftr discoveringtiie ,cao»e V>f. the phenomenon. The man<goe»j to bed when fatigued, simply for* physical rest. He has been flJfVtitiiE 5 ji s lin Altoona and elsewhere. NO. 49.
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