SUBSCRIPTION TEH MH, Arc. ThcIsgLiRHRK publisbc l every FRIDAY IN rn ing at the ful!owinj r atcs : ONE YEAR, (in alvai;e,) $2.00 11 (it R"t pax] xvithm ,-i\ 52.-D " (if not pain iihta tin -ir,)... -."..0n AII papers outside of t < untv ■- i.tinue.l without notice, at the rx: ■!.. lim- ft . which the subscription h*. ■ V n j.-u! Single copies of the pi; erfuriwiohed, in wr.-j pert, at five cents each. Communications on subjects of local or general interest are respectfully solicited. To ensure at tention, favors of this kind must invariably be accompanied by the naino of tho author, not for publication, but as a guaranty against imposition. All letters pertaining to business of the office should be addressed :o PURBORROW A LI'TZ, BEDFORD, PA. (Cards. ATTOItAKY'S AT LAW. I OHN T. KEAGY, • I ATTORN'EY-AT-LAW. Office opposite Reed A Sehell's Bank. Counsel given in English and German. [apl26] KIMMEL.II AND LINGENFELTER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BEnroiin, PA. Have formed a partnership in the practice of the Law Office on .Juliana Street, two doors South of the Mongol House. [April 1, 1864-tf. 11. A. POINTS, ill ATTORNEY AT I.AW, BKOPORP, PA. Respectfully tenders his professional services to the public. Office with J. W. Lingcnf'cltcr, Esq., on Juliana street. gi?|-Collections promptly made. [Dec.9,'B4-tf. M AYES IRVINE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. Will faithfully and promptly attend to all busi ness intrusted to his care. Office withG. 11. Spang, Esq., on Juliana street, three doors south of the Mcngel House. May 2l:ly I7ISPY M. A LSI I', 1 j ATTORNEY' AT LAW, BEDFORD, PA., Will faithfully and promptly attend to all busi ness entrusted to his care in Bedford and adjoin ing counties. Military claims, Pensions, back pay, Bounty, Ac. speedily collected. Office with Mann A Spang, on Juliana street, 2 doors south of the Mcngcl House. apl 1, 1864. —-tf. B. F. MEYERS J- W. DICKEIISO.N At EYERS A DICKERSON, iVI ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BEOFORO, I'ENN'A., Office nearly opposite the Mcngel House, will practice in ihc several Courts of Bedford county. Pensions, bounties and back pay obtained and the purchase of Real Estate attended to. [may 11 ,'66-ly I IT. CESSNA, ') . ATTORNEY AT LAW, Office with JOHN CESSNA, on the .-quarc near the Presbyterian Church. All business entrusted to his care will receive faithful and prompt attention. Military Claims, Pensions, Ac., speedily collected. [June 9, 1865. P B. STFCKEY", ATTORNEY AND COINSELLOR AT LAW. mil REAL ESTATE AGENT, MAP r i Main Street, between Fourth and Fifth, Opposite the Court House, KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI. M | lacticc in the adjoining Counties of Mis : ., •J , Having permanently located respectfully tenders his pofessional services to the citizens of Bedford and vicinity. Office on Juliana street, opposite the Bank, one door north of Hall A Pal mer's office. April 1, 1864—tf. I vi; S. G. STATLER, near Schellslmrg, and I ' Pr. J. J. CLARKE, formerly of Cumberland • minty, having associated tlicin elves in t lie prac t i aoi Medicine, re | ••■(fully offer their profc iotial crviccs to the citizens of Schcll-burg and vicinity. Pr. Clarke's office and residence same a.- formerly occupied by J. White, Esq., dee'd ' S. G. STATLER, .-'■• hell.-burg, April 12: ly. J. J. CLARKE. HOTELS. / ILL ALIL BEATE HOUSE. NOTICE. Per.- Ms vi.-iting the Watering Pla ces. will find a . cry de irablc resort at the < 'PA LI BEATE IlOt.-K. near the Chalybeate Spring, Be lford. Pa., where the undersigned is prepared to a oinmodatc from eighty to one hundred per .-nils. The house is new and airy, ani' neatly fur nished. Terms moderate. Hack- running to Mineral Springs, and Miner al Water always on hand. May 31 .am ' JVM. t'IIENOWKTII. WASHINGTON HOTEL. Thi large and commodious house, having been re taken by the subscriber, is now open for there cept i >n of visitors and In,aiders. The rooms are large, well ventilated, and com! rfably furnished. The table will nlway. be supplied with the best the n arkcl ran afford. The Bar i- stocked with the choice st liquors. It. short, it i- tuy purpose : keep a FIRST CLASS HOTEL. Thanking the public for pact favors, I respectfully solicit a rem iv a I of their patronage. N. B. Hack will run constantly between the II i. I aud the Springs. i y 17,'67:1.1 WM. PI BERT, Prop'r. HIM ELLAMiOI S. | > I PP A SHANNON, BANKERS, I k BEDFORD, PA. BANK OF DISCOUNT AND DEPOSIT. Collections made for the East, West, North and • utli, and the general busine-s of Exchange trim a cl. ,V te- and Accounts Collected and Remittances promptly made. REAL ESTATE 1 a ugl.t and sold. feb22 I v \ MEL BORDER, LJ PIT* STREET, TWO SOOM WIST or iu BEI> J Fußli HOTEL, BEEFORP, PA. WATCHMAKER AND DEALER IN JEWEL- i BY. SPECTACLES. AC. He keeps <>n hand a -took of fine Gold and Sil- I vcr Watches, Spectacles of Brilliant Double Refin ed Glasses, also Scotch Pebble Glasses. Gold . Watch Chains, Breast Pins, Finger Rings, best ' quality of Gold Pens, lie will supply to order < any thing in his line not on hand. [apr.2B-'65. , OYES! 0 Y'ES!—The undersigned has taken out auction license, and tenders his service.- to all who have sales or auctions to cry. Give lima call Post Office address, Spring Meadows, Bedford countv, Pcnn'a. Aprils:6m* HENRY B. MOCK. M RBOUUOtV i I.I'TZ Editors and Proprietors. -1 THE BROTHER OF HEKCY. IIY JOHX G. WIIFTTIEU Piero Luea, known of all tlic town As the gray porter by the Pitti wall Where the noon shadows of the gardens fall, Sick and in dolor, waited to lay down His last sad burden, ami beside his mat The barefoot monk of I.a Certosa sat. Unseen, iti square and blossoming garden drifted, Soft sunset lights through green Val d'Arno sifted; Unheard, below the living shuttle-shifted Backward and forth, ftz.d wove, ill love or strife, In mirth or pain, the mottled web of life; But when at last came upward from the street Tinkle of bell and tread of measured feet, The siek man started, and strove to rise in vain, Sinking back heavily with a moan of pain. Ind the monk said. ''lis but the Brother hood • O" Mercy going on some errand good- Their black masks by the palace wall I see," Piero answered faintly, "Woe is me! This day for the first time in forty years In vain the bell hath soundt d in my cars. Calling me with my brethera of the mask, Beggtr and prince alike, to some new tti.sk Of tore or pity,—haply from the street To bear a wretch, plague stricken, or, with feet Hushed to the quickened ear and feverish brain, To tread the crowded lazaretto's floors, Down the long twilight of the corridors, 'Midst tossing arms and faces full of pain. I love the work; it was its own rewad. I never counted on it to offset My sins, which are many, or make less my debt To the free grace and mercy of our Lord: But somehow, father, it has come to be In these long years so much a part of me, I should not know myself, if lacking it, But with the work the worker, too, would die, And in my place some other self would sit Joyful or sad—what matters, if not I ? And now all's over, woe is me!"—"My son,' The inonk said soothingly, "Thy work is done: And no more as a servant, but the guest Of God thou enterest thy eternal rest. No toil, no tears, no sorrow foe the lost Shall mar thy perfect bliss. Thou shalt sit down Clad in white robes, and weara golden crown Forever and forever." Piero tossed On l.is sick pillow. "Miserable me! I am too poor for such grand company: The crown would be too lieavy for this gray Old head: and God forgive me if I say It would be bard to sit there night and day, Like an image in the Tribune, doing naught With these hard hands, that till my life have wrought, Not To* bread only, but for pity's sake. I'm dull at prayers: I could not keep awake, Counting my deads. Mine's but a crazy head, Scarce worth the saving, if all else be dead. And if one goes to heaven without a heart, God knows be leaves behind his better part. I love my fellow men; the worst I know I would do good to. Will death change ine so That 1 shall sit among the lazy saints, Turning a deaf ear to the sore complaints Of souls that suffer ? Why. I never yet Left a poor dog in the slnt'la hard beset, Or ass o'erladen! Must I rate man less Than dog or ass, in holy selfishness? Metliinks (Lord, pardon, if the thougkt be sin! I The world of pain were better, if therein One's heart might still be human, and desires Of natural pity drop upon its fires Some cooling tears." T licrcat the pale monk crossed His brow, and, muttering. "Madman! Thou art lost!" Took up his pyx and fled: and, left alone, The sick man closed his eyes with a great groan That sank into a prayer. "Thy will be done! Then was he made aware, by nil or car, Of somewhat pure and holy bending o crhim, And of a \oioe like that ofber who bore him. Tender and most compassionate: "Never fear! For heaven is love, as God himself is love: Thy work below shall be thy work above. And when he looked, lo' in the stern monk's place He saw the shining of an angel's lace! lIOM I ( At GUT AIY I IItST TROUT. We caught our big trout in the Mar.-hpcc, and we will tell you how we did it, though the words make u- blush us we write them. We were young then, and it i- to be lioped innocent; and having gone to Sandwich, on (Jape Cod, in search of untried fields, dis covered a jolly, corpulent landlord, named Tcascdalc, who, with his friend, Jonny Trout, so named joco-ely. wore the fislicr it.cn of the neighborhood. That was before the stream wa- preserved fo'r the benefit ol the "poor Indian," and poorer fishermen mulcted, as at present in five debars a day for the privilege of fishing. We drove to the stream, almost six tuilcs, Teasedale en livening the early Jane morning, " with snatches of hunting songs, and when there plunged recklessly in. Oh! but the water was cold —a dozen large springs poured in their freezing contents —and the blood fairly crept back to our hearts. The stream ran through a narrow defile, overhung with the thickly tangled vine and creeper-, rendering a cast of the line impossible, and had worked it.- way far under the steep banks, making dark watery caverns, where the great fish could he in wait for their prey. We re moved the upper joint of our fly-rod, which was heavy and strong, and leaving the line through the la.-t ring of the second joint, we put on a bait next to the fly in beauty and effect, the minnow. The water was freezing cold—the closely entwined houghs and leaves shut out the heavens above, and wc were left alone in the shadow darkness with the tenants of the deep. The herring frequented the book, and pursued by the large trout, darted in shoals between our feet. It is always a good sign when the A LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWSPAPER, DEVOTED T> POLITICS, EDUCATION, LITERATURE AND MORALS herring arc running, and we had excellent luck. I was using a single hook, keeping the bait well ahead of mo and creeping cautious ly in the freezing water, watching the tiny float as it danced its merry course aloDg now borne swiftly over the rippling current, anon caught iu an eddy and returning in its track, and then again resting motionless in some dark and quiet pool. It was scarcely visible beneath the dense shadows, and once iu a while it would disappear from my straining sight; then followed a sharp blow with my rod, a fierce tug, a short fight be tween fear, despair aud cunning on the one side, and strength, energy and judgment on the other. The prey once hooked, and skill there was not; it was a lucre contcution of two brute forces, in which the weak er went to the basket. An exhibition of akill and tenderness would have resulted in an entanglement round the nearest root, and the loss of fish, leader and hook. Still, there was excitement; the situation was ro mantic; the narrow gorge, the deep and rapid stream, the closely matted trees and vim-, the ever-changing surface of the current, which adds beauty to the tamest brook, all combined to lend enchantment to the scene. The fish were large and vigorous, fresh run from the sea. where they had, the winter long, been a terror to the small fry, and early death to juicy and unsuspicious shell-fi 11. They fought fiercely for life and liberty, their homes and their household gods, and alas! too often successfully. The risk of their escape added to the interest of the oc casion, and the number of herring darting past, gave continual promise ot the presence of their arch enemy, the trout. I had half-filled my basket, and had met with wonderful escapes and terrible heart rending losses, mingled Avith exhilarating successes. I had made about half the dis tance, as well as judge 1, and felt proud and happy as no king upon his throne ever did or will. 3ly rod. though a fly-rod, was whipped every few inches with silk and thus strengthened had stood the unequal conflict admirably. Still hoping for better things—who will not hope for the impossi ble?—l strode on. Below me the current made a sudden turn at a bend in the stream, and eddied swiftly under the overhanging bank. The brook almost disappeared in what was evidently a vast cavern deep in the bowels of that bank, in such watery places, amid the worn rocks, the tangled roots, the undulating moss and weeds, fierce-eyed, monstrous trout delight to dwell. In such fortresses they await unwary travel ers. and dark deeds are done in the conge nial darkness—outrage, riots and murder stalk boldly about. The migratory herring, .harmless and unsuspicious, peers in and starts affrighted back, then peers again, at last ventures forward, and then, compelled by instinct to ascend, tries to dart hastily by; there is a sudden rush, a frantic strug gle, a piteous look entreating mercy of piti less hearts; for an instant the water is dyed with blood and then flows on, washing all trace of the deed away. L approach the den carefully, the feather like float dancing merrily far ahead over the rippling tide, and as the line is paid out, swaying froin side to side, clo.-o In ru.nt of the roots that fringe the bank, still not a sign; a step forward —the water carries it under the bank out of sight. I stand still, expectant; nothing yet. 1 creep cautiously to the very bank, and thrust my rod in the water, aye, under the bank its full length. What's that! Ah! what a tug! I haw him the monster, the Riant Despair of the wayfaring herring. I low he pulls ! I must have him out of his retreat; it is a great risk but my only chance. 1 strain my rod. my line, almost my arms to the utmost; he comes; disdainful of surreptitious advan tages, relying on his great strength; he has not taken protection of weed or stump. Now my boy. do your utmost; ye -, leap from the water, dart down with the current; 1 must give to you a little; no line can stand that strain; but you will never reach your lair again. Turn about, head upstream, that is what 1 want; there i- ~ .-.inly ' ink above us, can 1 but reach it and laud you there. Ah! you perceive the danger or have changed your mind; now you fly down steam with the slackened fine hissing through the water behind you. Well, go, you will soon return again. Already beautifully, you have passed the batik: now, rod, be true; hue, do your duty. The pliant ash bends, the up per joint lias pa-sed below the but in a wide lioop. lie comes, his head is up; if I can but keep it out of water! he dashes the foam ing waves with his strong tail; one more effort; bend rod, but do not break; he is out of water; I have him. Ile is dancing on the yellow sand his last dance in mortal form; his changing hues glancing in the mild light, his fierce mouth gasping, his bright side befouled with sand and dust, his glittering -cale- torn off by the sharp stones. His effort- grow fainter, the flashing eye dims, a few convulsive throes and he is quiet; the grim hand of death has pressed upon him. He is indeed the prince of monsters, the paragon of giants; so thick, so deep, with so small a head for so large a body; such brilliant hues; the fins so red. the blue and carmine spots so numerous and delieate. 1 wash him off and stand gazing at him in my hand regardless of farther sport. I have captured the king, and care not to follow his subalterns. L lay him gentlv in my bas ket; he will not he at full length. I cover him with moss, filline the little room left and forcing my way through the overhang- ing hushes, and, reaching the broad light of day, proudly await the arrival of my com panion. Then the moss is carefully remov ed, and tlm beauties of my tlatling arc un veiled, and flash and gleam in the sunlight. |"(Vutu Fish of tlir Aorlh, hy Jinni- K( If. | CAKI.VI.E.S SKETCH OF LVTIIKH.—A coarse, rugged, plebeian face it was with great crags of check bone- .1 wild amount of passionate energy and appetite! IJut in his dark eyes were floods of sorrow; and the deepest melancholy and sweetness were ail there. Often did there seem to meet in Luther the very opposite points in man's character. ' lie, for example, of whom llichtcr had said his words were half-battles, he, when he first began to preach, suffered un heard of agony. I)r. Staupitz. Dr. Staupitz. Dr Staupitz," said he to the vicar-genera! of his order, "I cannot do it, I shall die in three month -. Indeed I cannot do it." Dr. Staupitz. a wise and considerate man. said upon this, "Well, Sir Martin, if you must die, you must, hut remember that they need good heads up yonder, too. So preach, and then live or die, as it happens.' So Luther preached and lived, and he became, indeed one great whirlwind of energy to work without resting in this world; and also before ho died, he wrote very many books books in which the true man is found, lor in the midst of all they denounced and cur ed, what touches of tendena - lay. Look at the Table Talk, for example. WOMEN fill up all the intci vals in conver sation and in life like the down placed in glass boxes: we reckon the down as nothing, yet everything would break to pieces with out it. BEDFORD. Pa.. FEED AY. JULY iiij, IBG7. tONGFXLOW. Few lives have cvcibeen so symmetrical and satisfactory to otfcrs as that of the poet i who has now translatd I'ante's great work. fienius, terupcramcnt'nd opportunity have ' all combined, and in tfe summer of his life he walks before the we ld unharmed by that most terrible ordeal, niversal admiration. The senilis of Longfebw is neither epic nor dramatic. It is not aiower that astonishes or appals, and of couse it has not escaped .-harp criticism. Froi the unhappy Foe down to the priggish Sturda;/ Uericic, there have been occasional vices that denierrcd to the chorus of sympthy and pleasure, and insisted that the void was all astray in its admiration of the inger; that lie was neither Shakspcarc norllonicr and that_ it was high time to have Cite with the praise of pretty verses. And even while they protest and complain, ft' peaceful voice of the l ard is heard lib * wood-thrush auiid the chattering of jay-: Beautiful lily, dwcllng by atill rivers. Or solitary mo'e, Or wh'"\. the sluggish meadow-brook delivers Us waters to the weir ! Thou laughesUt the mill, the whirr and worry Of spiuills and of loom. And the great wheel that toils amid the hurry And risking of the iLnie. IJorn to the purple, horn to joy and plcasance, Thou COMI not toil nor spin, But makes' glad and radiant with thy presence The meadow and thelin. * - •* O flower-de-luce, bloom cn, and let the river finger to kiss thy feet! o flower of song, bloom ia,and makeforcver The world more fair and sweet! So stand.- the poet with the flower of song in his hand; an ideal minnesinger, touching our hurrying, noisy Aiuericau life with the romance of a troubadour. Vet, while the sweetness and grace of Longfellow's muse give an air of extreme felicity to his poetry, and although a poet is supposed to sing as naturally as a bird, there is no more faithful and thorough worker in hi- vocation than he. If any youth, en chanted by the pensive melody of the line thai flows as smoothly as the blossom-scent cd breeze of May, thinks that he can warble Hkcwi.-c- or lost in the soft reverie which, like a delicate summer haze upon tranquil hills, is the atmosphere of his verse, sup poses that the poet is an idle dreamer—it is well for him to know tha; such works are the result not only of orginalperception and sympathy, but -ifthe most careful, scholar ly training. That indefinable air of fami larity with all poetic legend and romantic tradition, which implied rather than ex pire -cd, springs In.ni the fact of familiarity. Patient. long, diligent and sympathetic study has given the poet the secret of all poetic literature. This flower of song is not tied to the stalk —it grow- in the richest garden mold. And now, as a crown to his literary life, Longfellow combines his exquisite scholar ship and his poetic skill and experience in the translation of one of the great poeuis of the worhl. and of all thoso no— — 1. most difficult tor a foreign mind of a latter to understand. The work is so well done that it seems to he finally done. And why not well done, since it is the result not alone of the poet's scholarship and skill, but of the most competent assistance which the coun try, or perhaps any country, can furnish ? Kvery Wednesday evening, for many a hap py month, in the pleasant study of the (Jra gie Ilou-e, tho poet read the canto he had translated to his friend- Norton and Lowell, who with him arc the three bc.-t Dantcans among our scholars; and they fell upon the translation with all their mother wit, with all their critical skill, with all their poetic instinct and faculty, and intent only upon a faithful and poetic rendering of the exact meaning of Dante, they spared no felicity of praise which did not seem to them wholly accurate, and no melody nor picturesque epithet which was not perfectly justified by the poem. The translator heard, weighed, rejected or approved, accepting a correction or reasonably clinging to his own conviction. Never was a poem so studied and so trans fused into another tongue. It is a monu ment of the most beautiful literary friend ship as well as of scholarship. WOItTU. HKTTEIt THAN SHOW. A young orii ntal prince was visiting at the castle of a duke in one of the finest coun tic.-in F.ngland. lie looked from his window into the beautiful garden, and inhaled the fragrance which was wafted towards him by the gentle breath of June. "What exquisite perfume," he cried; "bring me, 1 pray you, the flower which so delights my sen-c. See you yon stately -talk, hearing on it- shaft those gorgeous lilies, whose snowy petals arc veined with blood red lines and with violet shade; that is undoubtedly the plant I seek. They brought him the curious lily of Africa. "Its odor is nauseating," he -aid; "hut bring nic that flower of a hue so much deep er and richer than oven the beautiful roses of my own fair land. Bcc how it glows like flame ! surely a rich odor should distil from that regal plant." It was a dahlia, and its -cent was even less agreeable than that of the lily. "Can it he, then, the large white blossoms clustered on yonder bu.-h, or tlic blue cups on the neighboring shrub?" he asked. No, the snowball and campanula proved ■dike scentless. \ arious plants yielded their ■dories- buds or broad spreading petals for his inspection. But he found not what he -ought. "Surely it must he that golden ball," lie -aid: "for so showy a bloom should at least charm the nostril as well as the eye." "Faugh !" It was a marigold. At length they placed in his hand a wee brown blossom. "So unpretending a thing a-this cannot SUP ly be that for which I seek, exclaimed tin prinee. with a vexed air—"thi- appears to he nothing hotter than a weed." He cautiously lifted it to his face. "I. is possible?" he cried. "1- it really thi- unobtrusive brown weed which gives forth -o preeiousan odor? Why, it hangs over the whole garden, and comes fanning in at my window like_ the very breath of health and purity. What is the name of this little darling?" "Precisely that, your highness" answered his attendant—"this flower is called 'mig nonette. the little darling.' "Wonderful! wonderful!' repeated tfro astonished prince, placing it in his bo -oni. "Thu- your highness perceives." remark ed his tutor, gravely, "that the humble and unpretending often exhale the most precious virtues."— Littb I'ilgrim. TAKE heed not to he overloaded in the soft luxuries of worldly enjoyments, for he who drinks too deeply of pleasure, will find sediment at the bottom, which pollutes mid ! embitters what he relished at first. AN INNER VIEW OF ROME. The following extract is from Carletou's racy letters to th a.lioston Journal, from llome: "But before leaving Home, let us see what kind of liberty it is which the people, cqjoy under the rule of the Roman Chuicb- We shall not find if in all respects like that of America, neither like that of mose civil zed nations. The l'opc requires a strict observance of the saint's days, though he makes amends bj allowing the people to enjoy themselvi s on the Sabbath, which is his reception-day. He is zealous for the honor and glory of the saints, and requires the shutting of the museums. Calling upon an artist on a feast day, I found his studio closed. There was no pleasant sound of the workman's hammer chisselliug the white marble. All was silent as the grave. "The l'opc permits no hammering on the feast days," said the arti-t, who also remarked that it was a severe tax on his workmen, to be compelled to remain idle so many day- of the year, that St. Catharine, the Virgin, St. Stephen, St. Clement, St. Sylvester, St. Louis, St. Gregory, St. Ncri, St. Balbina, together with all the apostles, till souls, all saints, that they might be glorified. Kvcry day in the year is a saint's day, but the shops are only required to he closed on sev cntyonc week day.- during the twelve months. That is a loss of two and a half months out of the twelve —a serious matter to a people, the majority of whom find it no easy matter to keep body and soul together, whose average earnings will not exceed ten cents a day. Here we come in contact with tin ugly fact. This forcible restriction laid tipmi in dustry shows itself in a marriage li-t. Men cannot support families in Rome, working hut nine months and a half out of twelve. By the census of Ist',:; it app.-a- there were fifty-nine thousand untnarric ! >n -n and fif ty thousand one hundred and -e\ ■ nty-one unmarried women, out of a population of two hundred and one thou-at ■!. Follow the matter a little Curt L. and vou will di-eov<. a reason for tlm establishment of a hospital in which women may enter, closely veil' b where they may i.• cared for during sick ness, and from which they may depart with out any question- a-ked. n turning again t • society, the world knowing nothing of their shame, leaving be! ind them, in the wards of the hospital, ehifln-u. who through life, will know no father 111- mother. Entering one of the hook stores, where English hooks are kept, I inquired fur a Bible. "Wc are not allowed to keep them," was tlm reply. Every book, before being exposed for -ale, must come under the eye of the l'opc. All ncw.-q ipcr- en tcring Rome, are subject to a like ordeal. Not unfrcquently, those who fre qui nt read ing rooms, find the London journals miss ing'. the papers having b on -up! rc.-sed bv the government, n ae-ouut of obnoxious articles. Should yon over vi it Rome, pray that death may not overtake you there, for though kind friends might bear your re remains to the Protectant burial.place, out side tlie city, the 1 'ope would not permit them to ptaeu an; lose*!! 1 " I* ; ii oil .-tuno, indicating that you h id hope in the resurrection, or o! u-nial life. Vou arc a heretic. aeeui>e A PLEA I" OH YOUTHFUL EN THUSIASM Think bow, without a friend like St. Paul to throw his mantle over him, Timothy's own modesty would have -ilcneed him, and his young enthusiasm might have been withered by ridicule or asperity. From tiii. iiistaue.- we are enabled to draw a lesson for all ages. There are few periods in life more critical than th it in which sensibilities and strong feeling begin to develop them selves in young people. The question i.- aiioiit to be decided whether what is at pre nt merely romantic feeling is to become ge.ncrous devotion, and to end by maturing in!' . elf-denial, or whether it is to remain only a sickly sentiment, and, by re action, degenerate into a bitter and a sneering tone. Ami there are perhaps few countries in win h tic dinger i so great, and -o much to ho guarded a trains! a< here in Kngland. Nowhere i- feeling met with so little sym pathy as here—nowhere is enthusiasm so iiiiieh kept down —nowhere do young per son- learn so soon the fashionable tone of strongly admiring n "thing—wondering at nothing—rev. rencing nothing and nowhere does a young man -o easily fall into the ha bit i laughing at his own best and purest feeling-. And this v. a danger which the Aposth- Paul knew well, and could not over look, lie foresaw the ri.-k of paralyzing that young and heautil'ul enthusiasm of J: i thy to the pan- pint of Corinth, by the fear of the world's laugh, or by the re coil with which a young man, dreading to he "i-pi .-el. hid. - whi- i '.-stand noYe-st in It e -••'t'atid i ..ii-i |U.- itlr befome he: J and commonplace. In . liter days Appellor himself ran lite satn.- risk. He set out preaching all the cruth that he knew enthu sia-ti •ally. I was very poor truth, lamen tably incomplete, embracing only John's baptism, that i-: the doctrine which John taught. 1 lad the Christians met iiim with -ii' • i had tli'-j -aid. "This young upstart dm -not. preach the ijospol,' thorn would lint I con either a creat tnaohnr Mighted, oi else ;i strong mind embittered into deS anc-c and hernsy. But from this ho was ds la I'm d l.v the love and prudence ol Aquila and l'riscilla. who, wo read, "took him un to lie in. and expounded unto hint tho way of find tnoro perfectly.'' They made allow - ai they • his enthusiasm; they united liiin with tln-ill-elves; they sttongthened what wa- weal they lopped away what was luxuriant: thro directed rightly what was energetic. 11a] py the man who has been true to the ideal of his youth, and has been stroti - enough to work out in real life the plan which pleased his childish thought! Happy lie who is not ashamed ot his first enthusiasm, but looks back to it with natu ral | iety, a- to the parent of what lie now is! But fir me !' whom this is true—how many ate there whom the experience of life h "Ui'd and rendered commonplace! How many who were once touched by the -unlight of hope have grown cold, settled down ii in clfishness. or have become mere domestic men, stifled in wealth or lost in plca-uie! A box i all things, therefore, let u- beware 01 I llttl colli, Miporailimu In TIC wKicVl wl.ai i- generous, and affects to disbelieve all i bat N disinterested and unworldly. Let u guard again-t the Mephistopheles spirit, which iovesand reverences nothing.- /•'. If. IMit rlsi n ISolis /Ici'uttL TUB proudest man, as well as the greatest, i will stoop to a flower. KATES OF ADVERTISING. All advertisements for less than 3 months 10 Cents per line for each insertion. Special notices onchalf additional. All resolutions of Associa tion, communications of a limited or individua ir.tcrets and notices of marriages and deaths, ex ceeding five lines, 10 ets. per line. All legal notil cc? of every kind, and all Orphans' Court and other Judicial talcs, arc required bylaw to bo pub lished in both papers. Editorial Notices 15 cents per line. All Advertising due after first insertion. A liberal discount made to yearly advertixers. 3 months. 6 months. 1 year One square $ 4.50 $ 6.00 $lO.OO Two squares 6,00 9.00 16.00 Three squres 8.00 12.00 20.00 One-fourth column 14.00 20.00 35.00 Half column 18.00 25.00 45.00 One c01umn.......... 30.00 45.00 80.00 FLOWERS. No sitting room is completely furnished without a few choice plants within to give it. an airof cheerfulness, with their freshness and fragrance. Almost every article of or namcnt and luxury cost money, but these the poorest household may enjoy at the ex pense of a little pleasant care, the reward of which will surely and speedily follow. It is a constant source of delight to watch the ex panding leaves and swelling buds growing as they do to be once cherished friends in stead of things inanimate, whose influence upon the character is ever refining and ele vating, whose lessons ofinstruction are ever ennobling and purifying. Who that has watched the growing beauty of some tender plant can wonder that the French infidel, t.'otnptc de Charney, who spent months in the care and study of a delicate flowering plant, was led bv its influence to believe In its Maker? They are among the available means that have been placed within reach of mothers and sisters for rendering home at tractive t-o its inmates, and holding them within lie walls, leading them into the higher walks, of refinement and purity which those who !o\o the beautiful pursue. The lesson which they may teach by means of them can not be forgotton, even though the pathway in after life may lie among thorns.— Chris tin„ h'mman. THE SKI ÜBTOP S m; RU E< >NS ' S E R Etc I ENC v —Spurgeon's efficiency is said to lie in his administrative ahilitv. He not only works himself, but inspires others to work with all their might. 1; is said that a commercial firm in London were so impressed with his administrative ability that they effered hitn a year to embark his influence in heir enterprise. He manages a chutch of ■> : SHO members, a theological seminary of 100 students, publishes a monthly magazine and a weekly sermon, has just issued aliynm book, and is about to establish an orphan asylum. He has inf'u-ed this spirit of work into his church. Six huudred young men go out every Sunday to preach wherever they can get a hearing. I'raycr meetings are held in fifty or more places every evening. A Hiblc classof 300 young men is conducted by one of the elders. Mrs. lhutleU, a mem ber of this church, has a class of nine hun dred, the average attendance being seven hundred, which at its inception, numbered only three. Success, in religious as well as secular enterprises, is generally proportion ate to the amount of well-directed effort. If we would reap, wc must sow. The most shining abilities cannot dispense with active labor-. SILENT I.NFU F.NTES. It i- the bubbling spring which flow- gently, the little rivulet which runs along, day and night, by the farm house, that is useful, rather than the swollen flood or warring cataract. Niagara excites our wonder, and wc stand amazed at the power and greatness oft rod there as he pours it from the "hollow of his hand, lint one Niagara is enough for the continent or the world, while the same world requires thousands and tens of thousands of silver fountains and gently flowing rivulets that water every farm, and meadow, and every garden, and that shall flow on every day and night with gentle, quiet beauty. So with the acts of our lives, It is not by great deeds, like tho-e of the martyrs, that good is to be done, hut by the daily and quiet virtues of life, the Christian temper, the good qualities of relatives and friends. A DAY. —It has risen upon us from the •Trent deep of eternity, girt round with won der; emerging from the womb of darkness; n new creation of life and light spoken into being by the word of